The Afterlife and Before

"The most rational cure after all for the inordinate fear of death is to set a just value on life."

-- William Hazlitt

Meditation: a poem by Mary Oliver entitled “When Death Comes”

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

Reading: by German theologian Hans Küng from Eternal Life? - Life After Death as Medical, Philosophical, and Theological Problem (p. xiii)

“Do you believe in life after death?” Even theologians are embarrassed when faced with this direct question. It is in fact a question that has tormented humanity from the beginning, in the Old Stone Age, but which seems now to be a little out of fashion. Eternal Life? What is this supposed to mean…?

“Do you believe in life after death?” “No, I’m not religious.” Today this answer does not sound so “modern” as it once did, but somewhat unimaginative, uninformed. It is like the answer to the question about music: “No, I’m not musical.” This is not an argument against music; it is at best an excuse for a further question: a life with or without music, with or without religion; does it really make no difference?

Reading: by neuroscientist and author David Eagleman from Sum - forty tales from the afterlives (p. 5)

In the afterlife you discover that God understands the complexities of life. She had originally submitted to peer pressure when She structured Her universe like all the other gods had, with a binary categorization of people into good and evil. But it didn’t take long for Her to realize that humans could be good in many ways and simultaneously corrupt and mean-spirited in other ways. How was she to arbitrate who goes to Heaven and who to Hell? Might not it be possible, She considered, that a man could be an embezzler and still give to charitable causes? Might not a woman be an adulteress but bring pleasure and security to two men’s lives? Might not a child unwittingly divulge secrets that splinter a family? Dividing the population into two categories - good and bad - seemed like a more reasonable task when she was younger, but with experience these decisions became more difficult….

For months She moped around Her living room in Heaven, head drooped like a bulrush, while the lines piled up. Her advisors advised Her to delegate the decision making, but She loved Her humans too much to leave them to the care of anyone else.

In a moment of desperation the thought crossed Her mind to let everyone wait in line indefinitely, letting them work it out on their own. But then a better idea struck Her generous spirit. She could afford it: She would grant everyone, every last human a place in Heaven. After all, everyone had something good inside; it was part of the design specifications… She shut down the operations in Hell, fired the Devil, and brought every last human to be by her side in Heaven…

The most important aspect of Her new system is that everyone is treated equally. There is no longer fire for some and harp music for others. The afterlife is no longer defined by cots versus waterbeds, raw potatoes versus sushi, hot water versus champagne. Everyone is a brother to all, and for the first time an idea has been realized that never came to fruition on Earth: true equality.

The Communists are baffled and irritated, because they have finally achieved their perfect society, but only by the help of a God in whom they don’t want to believe. The meritocrats are abashed that they’re stuck for eternity in an incentiveless system with a bunch of pinkos. The conservatives have no penniless to disparage; the liberals have no downtrodden to promote.

So God sits on the edge of Her bed and weeps at night, because the only thing everyone can agree upon is that they’re all in Hell.

The Afterlife and Before

A Sermon Delivered on October 30, 2011

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

Five years have passed now since my father died. And it is sometimes still hard to believe he is gone.

It was the summer of 2006. My wife, Elaine, the kids and I had just visited my parents in Germany that summer. It was a good visit. We all tried hard to get along, and indeed the usual tensions that often accompany extended family gatherings seemed more manageable. We ate at our favorite restaurants, and kept our favorite fights to a minimum.

Just ten days after we returned home to Urbana, my father was dead, and I got on a plane back to Frankfurt.

It was hard to believe he was really dead, even when I saw his body lying in the coffin, as if asleep. Even as I spoke at the memorial service, and even as his casket was lowered in the ground, and even as I threw a handful of earth into the grave, it was hard to believe.

And even now, five years later, I find myself strangely surprised, when it occurs to me. Or Elaine sometimes remarks - apropos of nothing in particular - “You know, your father’s dead.” And we both shake our heads in disbelief.

His influence on my life and the life of my family is still distinctly felt. In a way, his presence is palpable. But, of course, he isn’t really here. Or is he?

They say, the veil separating the world of the living and world of the dead is thinnest these days surrounding All Hallows Eve. Some say, the spirits of the dead walk among the living.

I don’t know that this is what my father believed. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person who held out much hope for an afterlife. But I honestly don’t know. This is one of the many things we never talked about.

* * *

“Do you believe in life after death?” This is an awkward question, Hans Küng says, embarrassing even for theologians. Küng was writing for a secular German audience in the early 1980s. Among his readers, he imagined, only the fewest would admit to a belief in the afterlife. For most Germans, life after death is nothing but an ancient superstition, evidence of wishful thinking for the religiously naïve. No self-respecting German intellectual believes in an afterlife.

Americans are different. According to a recent survey by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, seventy four percent of Americans believe in a life after death. And according to informal surveys done in this church, we are split about evenly, between those of us who believe there is life after death, and those who believe there is nothing.

What happens when we die?

This is a question with which humans have grappled for as long as we have existed. According to anthropologists, every religion on earth has something to say about death. Some say people die but their shadows stick around. Or they die and wait for the Last Judgment. Or they come back in another form.

* * *

In a book entitled A Very Brief History of Eternity, Carlos Eire argues that for the overwhelming majority of human history, we have believed in some sort of eternal life after death, because death itself is such an unfathomable phenomenon. Because we are alive and conscious, because we exist, it is almost impossible to imagine what it would be like if we didn’t exist. “Conceiving of not being and of nothingness is as difficult and as impossible as looking at our own faces without a mirror,” he writes.

A century ago, the Spanish philosopher Miguel de Unamuno wrote, “Try to fill your consciousness with the representation of no-consciousness and you will see the impossibility of it. The effort to comprehend it causes the most tormenting dizziness.”

The finality of death is unimaginable, because life is so thoroughly invested in continuing to live. As Eire puts it,

“All life on earth is programmed to survive, and thrive, and reproduce. Occasionally, nature goes berserk and living beings kill themselves, be they lemmings, beached whales, or anguished artists, such as Vincent van Gogh… But the vast majority of living organisms go on living and struggling to thrive, even as others die by the thousands, or hundreds of thousands, or even millions.” (p. 11)

“Death always intrudes rudely, uninvited;” Eire writes, “very few living beings ever consciously seek it out, even when they refuse to wear seatbelts and smoke three packs of cigarettes a day. Scientists affirm this concept, emphatically and without question…” (p. 12)

* * *

Is there life after death? Well, of course there is. Life will continue, as it has for millions of years. The elements of body and soul will be transformed. We will return to the earth - ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The physical building blocks of who we are - biologically, chemically - will return to the natural world, just as the leaves of the trees in autumn fall to the ground and turn to earth, becoming soil and nourishing new life.

The law of conservation of energy in physics tells us energy in an isolated system cannot be destroyed. It can change its location. It can be transformed - chemical energy can become kinetic - but neither can be created or destroyed. Energy has an equivalent mass, and mass has an equivalent energy, and that’s that, said Einstein.

As Rick Warren - the author of the bestseller The Purpose Driven Life - sees it, “We were made to last forever, and this life is like a warm-up act, a dress rehearsal, for the real show in eternity. Once we fully grasp this, it makes all the difference in the world, affecting our choices, values, relationships, goals, and how we use our time and resources. We reorder our priorities and start emphasizing the enduring, important things over temporary things that ultimately won’t matter.” (Life After Death - The Evidence, by Dinesh D’Souza, p. x)

This notion of eternal life, which highlights the most essential values of our lives, and the enduring consequences of our actions, is not unique to Christianity.

Diana Eck writes that both Hinduism and Christianity affirm that death is not decisive. “Both presuppose a life, a Godward life-energy which, as the Bhagavad Gita puts it, “does not die when the body dies.” Both address the mystery of that ongoing, irrepressible life that cannot be done in by death. Both convey the notion that our actions will have consequences far beyond our understanding, and even beyond death.”

The Hindu view, she writes,

“takes seriously our sense of the “immortality of the soul,” … and our sense that what we call “life” is usually too short a time in which to grow up. It gives us a sense that we do indeed reap what we sow, though it may not be evident in this life. The soul bears the imprint of the deeds, attachments, and emotions that drive this complex being we call “me.” Genius like that of Mozart is accounted for. The death of a child, the mental illness of a loved one, is somehow more explicable in the larger context of this long drama we cannot fully see or understand. It is a plausible and attractive worldview for those of us who would like a little justice done, whether we ourselves can see it or not.” (Encountering God, p. 114)

But life after death does not necessarily involve an immortal soul. Buddhism, for instance, shares Hinduism’s notion of reincarnation, and the on-going cycle of rebirth. But the Buddhist doesn’t believe in an eternal essence called the Soul.

Yes, something is passed on and transformed after death, but it is very elusive. Trying to describe it, the Buddha spoke of the flame that is passed from one candle to the next, to the next, to the next. It would be difficult to imagine the flame on the final candle to be the same as the flame on the first - and yet there is a causal connection. Some influence was transmitted, even without lasting substance.

* * *

Some of us may embrace the idea of an afterlife. Others may dismiss it as a kind of escapism. Some of us say that in hoping for another life after death, we invariably give insufficient attention to life before death, the life we have right now. Hoping for a heavenly reward encourages us to tolerate the intolerable, to refrain from challenging the injustices of this life, because our suffering will be compensated in the next life. In the next life our tormentors will get their due, and we will be redeemed.

But, of course, there are many ways to imagine the afterlife. Each image gives a different spin on the meaning of life itself.

David Eagleman offers 40 whimsical stories of the afterlife. With no ambition to provide foolproof evidence, nor attempting to win us over to a particular view, he indulges in a series of thought-experiments:

What if in the afterlife, you can choose to be reborn as whatever creature you want. You choose to be a horse. But as the transformation is taking place, you realize too late that as you become a horse you lose your human consciousness - you are simply a horse - and for a split second wonder what sort of magnificent extra-terrestrial creature, might have wished for a simpler life after death, and chose to become human.

What if after death, you live in a world inhabited only by people you met in the course of your life. A small selection of humanity with whom you are stuck for eternity. So you are left longing to meet others - the millions from cultures and classes you ignored all your life.

What if in the afterlife, we meet the creators of the universe, and realize that they are a species of dim-witted creatures, who designed humans to be their superiors. We are supposed to help them answer their questions of life’s meaning and purpose.

What if in the afterlife, you realize that you yourself are a godlike creature - of enormous size, power, and knowledge - and your time on earth was merely a brief vacation from your divine duties and worries.

* * *

Every story and every theory about the afterlife - whether denying it our affirming it, whether describing it in simple terms or in elaborate detail - every single one is designed to help us live this life more fully.

Each one tries to broaden our understanding of who we truly are, and what life we are called to live. Each one tries to turn our attention to what really matters.

Which is the better attitude: to live as if you would live forever? Would you be a better steward of the earth? Would you be more compassionate, more generous, and more just - if you knew you would need to face the consequences of your actions for eternity?

Or is it better to believe that this, right now, is your one single, precious life? Every day a unique opportunity to make difference. This day could be your last. So you are compelled to put aside all things cheap and trivial, and devote yourself to the most essential concerns of your life - to the people you deeply love, and ideals that are worth dying for.

* * *

I don’t know what my father believed about life after death. But I do know that his life continues within my own. I know he hoped his failures would serve as cautionary tales for me, and that his accomplishments would be both inspiration for me to do likewise, and challenge to do better.

And so, looking at my own life, I know that, in ways he could not imagine, his hopes have been fulfilled.

* * *

Death is the ultimate mystery. What lies beyond is the ultimate unknown.

May the questions that arise in our minds,

expand our sense wonder,

and deepen our commitment

to serve the greatest good we can imagine

- to make the world better.

And may we live our every day to the fullest.

Amen.

Remembering Troy Davis

"It is better to risk saving a guilty man than to condemn an innocent one."

-- Voltaire

Reading: by Steven Stewart, Prosecuting Attorney of Clark County, from the website of the Fourth Judicial Circuit of Indiana

Along with two-thirds of the American public, I believe in capital punishment. I believe that there are some defendants who have earned the ultimate punishment our society has to offer by committing murder with aggravating circumstances present. I believe life is sacred. It cheapens the life of an innocent murder victim to say that society has no right to keep the murderer from ever killing again. In my view, society has not only the right, but the duty to act in self defense to protect the innocent.

Reading: by the anti-racism activist Tim Wise from a piece entitled “Killing One Monster, Unleashing Another: Reflections on Revenge and Revelry” (May 2, 2011)

There is a particularly trenchant scene in the documentary film, Robert Blecker Wants Me Dead, in which Blecker — who teaches at New York Law School and is the nation’s most prominent pro-death penalty scholar — travels to Tennessee’s Riverbend Prison for the execution of convicted murderer, Daryl Holton. Blecker is adamant that Holton, who murdered his own children, deserves to die for his crime. Yet, when he gets to the prison on the evening of Holton’s electrocution, Blecker is disturbed not only by the anti-death penalty forces whom he views as dangerously naive, but also by those who have come to literally cheer the state-sponsored killing. He agrees with their ultimate position, but can’t understand why they feel the need to celebrate death, to party as a life is taken. The event is somber, he tries to tell them. Human life is precious, he insists; so precious, in Blecker’s mind, that occasionally we must take the lives of killers so as to reinforce that respect for human life. But there is no reason to revel in the death of another, he tries to explain. While I disagree with Blecker on the matter of the death penalty, I felt sympathy for him in that moment, trying to thread the needle between advocacy of killing — any killing — and the retention of the nuance that allows the supporter of such a thing to still preach about the sanctity of life. It was a nice attempt, and heartfelt.

Of course, his pleas for solemnity fall on deaf ears.

Reading: a prayer attributed to the twelfth century Christian Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals

Where hate rules, let us bring love; where sorrow, joy.

Let us strive more to comfort others than to be comforted,

To understand others, than to be understood,

To love others more than to be loved.

For it is in giving that we receive,

And in pardoning that we are pardoned.

Remembering Troy Davis

A Sermon Delivered on October 23, 2011

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

On a hot summer night twenty-two years ago, August 19, 1989, in Savannah, Georgia, Mark MacPhail was killed.

Late that night a neighborhood bully named Sylvester Coles was harassing a homeless man, named Larry Young. Young had a can of beer in a paper bag, and Coles wanted to have it.

It turned into a fight, as Coles followed Young up the street, and it got loud. A crowd of bystanders started to gather, some of them pouring out of a nearby pool hall when they heard the ruckus.

But Coles did not relent. He loudly threatened Young. Then Coles pulled a gun out of his pocket, and began hitting Young on the head. Fearing for his life, Young shouted someone should call the police.

Mark MacPhail was a police officer, off-duty that evening and nearby. He heard the cries and approached the scene hoping to help. MacPhail was shot twice and died. Mark MacPhail was twenty-seven years old and father of two young children.

That August in 1989, nine witnesses went on record saying twenty-year-old Troy Davis was the one who shot the gun and killed MacPhail. Sylvester Coles was one of the witnesses. A day after the killing, with a lawyer at his side, Coles identified Davis as the gunman.

A few days later Troy Davis heard the police were looking for him, so he turned himself in. He figured this was a simple case of mistaken identity, that would be cleared up quickly. Instead he was arrested, charged with the murder, and two years later convicted of the crime. And sentenced to death.

Twenty-two years after the killing of Mark MacPhail, on September 21, 2011, Troy Davis was executed by lethal injection and justice was served.

Justice, as understood by the Supreme Court of the United States, as understood by countless district attorneys like Steven Stewart, who believe that society has a duty to kill a killer. Justice, as understood by over 60% percent of U.S. citizens, who support capital punishment.

* * *

If you kill, you deserve to be killed. This is the simple logic of the death penalty. If you commit the ultimate crime, you deserve the ultimate punishment.

But I wonder, if it is wrong to kill, if murder is a profound injustice, then how can another act of killing be justice? Two wrongs don’t make a right.

“Thou shalt not kill.” This commandment sounds straightforward. Nevertheless we have always found ways to bend this rule.

* * *

The justification for capital punishment has a long legal history. It also has a long religious history. For several centuries now, the religious philosophy of Thomas Aquinas has provided a theological justification for the death penalty.

In the thirteenth century Aquinas argued, civil rulers may “justly and sinlessly” execute evil men, “in order to protect the state.”

Thomas Aquinas taught that, when lawful authority kills an evildoer, Christ’s command to love is not broken, because “by sinning man departs from the order of reason, and therefore falls from dignity... and falls somehow into the slavery of the beasts… Therefore,” Aquinas writes, “although it be evil in itself to kill a man who preserves his human dignity, nevertheless to kill a man who is a sinner can be good, just as it can be good to kill a beast.”

Christianity, at its best, teaches that love conquers all. God is love. And God’s justice is guided by love. Likewise we must learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.

But, according to Aquinas, evildoers have forfeited the right to be considered our neighbors. Evil people, he says, can hardly be considered human.

For centuries these religious ideas have informed our notions of justice and guided our legal practice. But over the centuries, our understanding of justice has changed. Other religious ideas have been lifted up. For instance, the ancient teaching that we are all God’s children, provided inspiration for the political ideals of equality and democracy, which were central in the founding of this nation. These ideas found expression after World War II in the United Nation’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and in our own affirmation of the inherent worth and dignity of every person.

Today capital punishment is being outlawed by an ever-growing number of nations. According to Amnesty International “more than two thirds of the countries of the world have abolished the death penalty in law or practice.”

They all agree that it is wrong to kill a killer. They agree, two wrongs don’t make a right.

And in the 1990s the Catholic Church revised its teachings on capital punishment. Today the Catholic Catechism says the death penalty is never justified.

Today all Western democracies have banned capital punishment - all Western democracies with one notable exception: the United States of America.

* * *

Just as the religious justification for capital punishment has a long history, opposition to the death penalty has a long history, as well.

Even in the 14th century, Aquinas’ position was not universally shared. An alternate argument was offered by the Jewish philosopher Maimonides, a century before Aquinas. Maimonides understood that the practice of execution would inevitably lead down a slippery slope of ever diminishing burdens of proof. Maimonides wrote, “It is better and more satisfactory to acquit a thousand guilty persons than to put a single innocent man to death.” To some degree the act of killing would be determined by a “judge’s caprice.”

In 1994, the Supreme Court Justice Harry Blackmun wrote, “the death penalty must be imposed fairly… or not at all, and, despite the effort of the states and courts to devise legal formulas and procedural rules to meet this daunting challenge, the death penalty remains fraught with arbitrariness, discrimination, caprice, and mistake.”

There is unavoidably a degree of capriciousness in our justice system. The judgments handed down invariably reflect the political sensibilities of a particular judge and jury, and the communities in which they live.

What does it mean that since the death penalty was reinstituted in this country in 1976, 80% of executions have been carried out in the South, and less than 2% in the Northeast?

What does it mean that the vast majority of death row inmates are men who couldn’t afford their own trial attorney?

Despite our best efforts, sometimes our legal system makes mistakes. Sometimes the accused receive an inadequate defense, sometimes testimony is perjured and sometimes eyewitnesses are mistaken. Sometime racial prejudice is involved. Sometimes evidence is suppressed, overlooked or misinterpreted.

* * *

Things would have turned out differently for Troy Davis, if he had been living in Illinois rather than Georgia.

Over a decade ago Gov. George Ryan put a moratorium on executions here, after over a dozen condemned men on death row were cleared of charges. Had the executions been scheduled earlier, these thirteen men, though ultimately declared innocent of their crimes, would have been killed by the state.

Earlier this year Gov. Quinn signed the bill into law, which officially brought an end to capital punishment in Illinois.

If he had lived in Illinois, Troy Davis would be alive today.

According to the New York Times, since the death penalty was reinstituted 35 years ago, 129 inmates on death row have been exonerated based on new evidence, including DNA.

* * *

On the night of August 19, 1989 in Savannah, Georgia, Troy Davis was one of the on-lookers who had come out of the pool hall when he heard the noise outside. He said, when he heard Coles threaten to shoot Young, he turned around and ran, and didn’t look back.

There was never any physical evidence linking Davis to the crime. The gun was never found.

Since being convicted of the murder, new evidence emerged that cast doubt upon the guilty verdict. After the trial, seven of the nine witnesses recanted. Six of them said the police threatened them if they didn’t identify Davis. And Coles himself later confessed to the crime. (Editorial, New York Times, Sept. 20, 2011)

In the course of the last twenty years, Davis’ execution was stayed three times. The fourth attempt to prevent the execution, just weeks ago, failed. Last month Amnesty International submitted more the 630,000 letters to the Georgia State Board of Pardons and Paroles asking for clemency. Petitioners included 51 members of congress, a former FBI director, a former president, and even the pope.

Troy Davis maintained his innocence throughout. Davis’ final words, before the lethal injection was administered, were recorded, and then transcribed. He said:

“Well, first of all I'd like to address the MacPhail family. I'd like to let you all know, despite the situation -- I know all of you are still convinced that I'm the person that killed your father, your son and your brother, but I am innocent. The incident that happened that night was not my fault. I did not have a gun that night. I did not shoot your family member. But I am so sorry for your loss. I really am -- sincerely. All I can ask is that each of you look deeper into this case, so that you really will finally see the truth. I ask my family and friends that you all continue to pray, that you all continue to forgive. Continue to fight this fight. For those about to take my life, may God have mercy on all of your souls. God bless you all.”

* * *

Two wrongs don’t make a right. It is a tragedy that Mark MacPhail was killed. It is a tragedy that Troy Davis was killed.

May their tragic death inspire us to do our part to bring an end to all killing, and create greater justice.

May we use our powers

to heal and not to harm,

to help and not to hinder,

to bless and not to curse,

and to serve in the spirit of love.

Amen.

Rituals of Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is again made clean."

-- Dag Hammarskjöld

Reading: by journalist Lee Kravitz from …unfinished business… One Man’s Extraordinary Year of Trying to Do Things Right (p. 12)

On Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, we fast and pray. I used to love Yom Kippur when I was a kid. At temple I would stand next to my father, lightly beating my chest as we recited the sins we had committed.

We each would elbow each other when we though a sin was particularly applicable. “For the sin which we have committed before Thee by spurning parents and teachers.” (I got elbowed.) “For the sin we have committed before Thee by hardening our hearts.” (I elbowed him.) “For the sin we have committed before Thee by denying and lying.” (I got elbowed.) “For the sin we have committed before Thee by stretching the neck in pride.” (I got elbowed, then him.) It would go on and on for dozens of sins until we would say, in unison. “For all these, O God of forgiveness, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.”

On Yom Kippur, God forgave us… But he only gave us absolution for the vows that involved him. It was much harder to atone for the sins we had committed against other people. We had to ask the person to forgive us. If he [or she] chose not to, the wrong would persist…

Reading: by psychologist and Buddhist monk Jack Kornfield, from The Art of Forgiveness, Lovingkindness, and Peace (p. 36)

[Alan Wallace illustrates a truth from the Tibetan teachings:] Imagine walking along a sidewalk with your arms full of groceries, and someone roughly bumps into you so that you fall and your groceries are strewn over the ground. As you rise up from the puddle of broken eggs and tomato juice, you are ready to shout out, “You idiot! What’s wrong with you? Are you blind?” But just before you can catch your breath to speak, you see that the person who bumped into you actually is blind. [She], too, is sprawled in the spilled groceries, and your anger vanishes in an instant, to be replaced by sympathetic concern: “Are you hurt? Can I help you up?” Our situation is like that. When we clearly realize that the source of disharmony and misery in the world is ignorance, we can open the door of wisdom and compassion.”

Rituals of Forgiveness

A Sermon Delivered on October 9, 2011

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

“Whatever you do, don’t say you’re sorry.”

That’s the message that was conveyed to me last winter by a concerned member of this church, when he heard that an older woman had slipped on the ice in our parking lot. Fortunately she was only bruised. No bones had been broken.

He was right to offer words of warning, because apologizing was indeed the first thing I wanted to do. But he explained that by apologizing I would inadvertently be acknowledging that the church was at fault. By apologizing, I would be saying that we were negligent in failing to keep the parking lot ice-free. I would be opening the door to a lawsuit.

“Deny and defend” is the policy that has long been recommended by lawyers and insurance companies looking out for the best interests of their clients. Any admission of fault, any expression of regret would likely invite litigation, and a costly day in court.

It is the same policy that has long guided doctors and hospitals when dealing with patients who are somehow harmed in the course of their medical treatment. Maybe a surgery went wrong, maybe a misdiagnosis occurred, maybe a doctor or nurse simply made a mistake. An innocent mistake, with serious consequences for the patient. A number on a chart misread, a word misspelled, a critical detail overlooked.

The result is that someone ends up hurt - often both physically and emotionally - frightened, confused, maybe angry, maybe bent on retribution or revenge.

Saying you are sorry means making yourself vulnerable to someone you have wronged. Someone who, you know, has reason to be upset with you, because you know you hurt them. Someone who may want to hurt you back.

* * *

Apologizing is not easy. It is risky. But it is a necessary first step toward forgiveness.

And maybe apologizing isn’t as risky as we think. Beginning in 2001 the University of Michigan Health System implemented a new program that encouraged doctors to report their medical mistakes, which included “telling patients about errors; explaining who made the error, how it occurred and what steps were taken to prevent a similar mistake in the future; making a sincere apology to the patient and their family; and offering fair compensation for harm [done].”

Some worried that the new program would be like handing over a “blank check” and inviting lawsuits.

But in fact, it turns out that once mistakes were acknowledged and sincere apologies as well as compensation offered, the claim rates went down more than 30 percent. Not only that, the number of lawsuits filed went down by more than 60 percent. And legal expenses dropped by 60 percent, too.

I hadn’t heard about this study last winter. But its results are consistent with the course of action I chose. Despite the words of warning - I did apologize profusely to the victim of our slippery parking lot. And no lawsuits followed.

* * *

Saying I’m sorry, and asking forgiveness has never been easy. Humans have struggled with this long before the invention of litigation and malpractice attorneys.

Because we are human, we sometimes mess up. Sometimes we make bad choices. Sometimes we act in anger. Sometimes - caught up in the moment - we close our eyes to the consequences of our actions. Sometimes we are thoughtless and careless, and do things we know aren’t right. We say things we regret and which we wouldn’t have said, if we hadn’t been so rushed, or so tired, or so anxious. And someone gets hurt.

Sometimes we mess up. And then what do we do? Do we deny it, embarrassed by our failure to live up to our own moral convictions? Do we try to belittle the harm done, minimizing our mistake, and its effects on others? Do we try to sweep it under the carpet?

Sometimes we mess up. We do things that don’t reflect our best selves.

There is a religious term for this. The Hebrew word is cheyt. According to Rabbi Michael Lerner, cheyt is a term from archery, which describes an arrow shot toward a target, that’s gone off course. It missed the mark. The English word for cheyt is sin.

The Jewish High Holy Days, which ended yesterday with Yom Kippur, are devoted to the effort to cope with the human reality of sin, the reality that sometimes we mess up, sometimes we miss the mark.

* * *

In his book …unfinished business… Lee Kravitz writes about an unexpected spiritual journey he undertook, when he was suddenly fired from his job as a writer. This was an especially hard blow for him, because throughout his adult life he had always been a workaholic. For years, he put friendships, family relations, and most non-work-related activities on the back burner. He lived for his work.

Now, suddenly out of a job and at loose ends, he realized how disconnected he had become from the people who mattered the most to him. Once that insight thoroughly sunk in, he decided he would not immediately hurl himself into the search for a new job, but instead take a year to reconnect and make amends.

So he sets out to repay a thirty year old debt. He makes a condolence call that has been long overdue. He visits an abandoned family relative. And he fulfills a forgotten promise. His journeys take him to a refugee camp in Kenya, a monastery in California, the desert of southern Iran, and a Little League game in upstate New York. On each of these journeys, his effort to reach out and reconnect opens new and unexpected paths toward personal and spiritual growth.

Kravitz writes,

“All of us have unfinished business. It can be a friend we lost touch with or a mentor we never thanked; it can be a call we meant to make or a pledge we failed to honor. It can be a goal we lost sight of or a spiritual quest we put on hold. Too often, life takes over and pushes the experiences that might enrich, enlarge, or even complete us to the bottom of our to-do list.

The hurdles we face in tackling our unfinished business can seem impossibly high, but the first step in clearing them is usually quite simple: Write an e-mail or make a phone call. You can never tell when the weight you’ve been shouldering will slip away, leaving you a more complete and loving person.” (p. 209)

* * *

There is some debate about whether it is more important to seek forgiveness or to offer forgiveness.

The vast majority of literature on forgiveness you will find in the library or the self-help section of book stores focuses on the human need to forgive, rather than to be forgiven. It seems more readers are interested in healing the hurts they have suffered, rather the helping heal the harm they have caused.

Perhaps this reflects the bias of a Christian culture. Some of the most memorable passages of the gospels speaks of our need to forgive. “How often should I forgive my brother, who sins against me? As many as seven times?” Peter asks Jesus. And Jesus responds, “I do not say to you seven times but seventy times seven.”

In the Gospel of Luke we are told, you should “forgive and you will be forgiven.” Our own desire to be forgiven is what drives the need to forgive others. That is one way to understand this passage.

Another way to read it is as acknowledgement that the give and take of forgiveness often go hand in hand.

That’s the message I find in the Buddhist reflection about two grocery shoppers who collide on the sidewalk. The storyteller’s first inclination is to be angry and self-righteous because of the hurt suffered, and the groceries spoiled. His first impulse is to place the blame on the other person - the woman who thoughtlessly knocked him over.

But at second glance he realizes that he himself may be the one who is responsible for the accident. The other person on the sidewalk, after all, is blind.

And thus in a split second the storyteller is transformed from an angry man demanding an apology, to a compassionate man offering an apology.

The Buddhist story side-steps the question of whether the man or the woman is the one to blame for the harm done. Instead it tells us our misery isn’t caused by other people, but is perpetuated by our own ignorance - our own blindness. Once we understand this, we can open the door to wisdom and compassion.

* * *

Life is complicated and people are complex. In real life, no one is completely innocent of wrong-doing. In real life, everyone has suffered hurt.

The collisions and conflicts, the harms and hurts we suffer can serve to divide us. Creating walls of anger or guilt, of accusation or denial. We can be divided in assigned categories or self-selected roles, with those who inflict harm on one side, and those who suffer harm on the other. We can be divided within our selves, conflicted about our failures to live up to our own cherished ideals, our struggles to fully embody our beliefs.

Rituals of forgiveness are designed to help us break down the walls that divide us.

I don’t know what sort of ritual would work for you. We can beat our chest and recite the sins we have committed. We can send an email, or pick up a phone. We can reach out to a family member nearly forgotten, or to a friend we slighted long ago. We can light a candle or visit a grave.

Jack Kornfield suggests a series of three meditations. The first focuses on forgiveness from others. He says, “Let yourself remember and visualize the ways you have hurt others. See the pain you have caused out of your own fear and confusion. Feel your own sorrow and regret… and then as each person comes to mind, gently say: I ask for your forgiveness.”

The second focuses on forgiveness for ourselves. He says, “Feel your own precious body and life. Let yourself see the ways you have hurt or harmed yourself… Feel the sorrow you have carried from this and sense that you can release these burdens… Repeat [quietly]: I forgive myself.”

The third meditation focuses on forgiveness for those who have hurt you. “There are many ways we have been harmed by others, abused or abandoned, knowingly or unknowingly, in thought, word or deed.” We each have been betrayed, Jack Kornfield writes, “Let yourself picture and remember the many ways this is true. Feel the sorrow you have carried from the past… You have carried this sorrow long enough… To the extent that you are ready, offer forgiveness. Mindful of those who have wronged you, recite to yourself: I forgive you.”

* * *

Seeking forgiveness isn’t easy. Sincerely saying “I’m sorry,” can seem risky. But odds are, it is not as risky as it seems. And the rewards are great.

We will always be flawed. Despite our best intentions, we will make bad decisions again. We will mess up and we will miss the mark.

But when we dare to say “sorry” our every failure becomes an opportunity to reach out to others. Our every flaw becomes an opportunity to make healing connections with others, and within ourselves. Every accident becomes an opportunity to extend sympathetic concern.

Forgiveness can turn life’s most persistent troubles into doorways to wisdom and compassion. Forgiveness can teach us the deepest meaning of love.

May we dare to take this risk.

Amen.

Many Sources of Faith

"There are no elements so diverse that they cannot be joined in the heart of a [person]."

-- Jean Giraudoux

Opening Words: by Unitarian minister Theodore Parker (1810-1860)

Be ours a religion which, like sunshine, goes everywhere;

Its temple, all space;

Its shrine, the good heart;

Its creed, all truth;

Its ritual; works of love;

Its profession of faith, divine living.

Reading: from the Bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist Association, Section C-2.1. Principles.

The living tradition which we share draws from many sources:

- Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life;

- Words and deeds of prophetic women and men which challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice, compassion and the transforming power of love;

- Wisdom from the world's religions which inspires us in our ethical and spiritual life;

- Jewish and Christian teachings which call us to respond to God's love by loving our neighbors as ourselves;

- Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit;

- Spiritual teachings of earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature.

Reading: by Stephen Prothero, from God Is Not One - The Eight Rival Religions that Run the World (p. 16)

Included in this book are the great religions of the Middle East (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam), India (Hinduism and Buddhism), East Asia (Confucianism and Daoism). Also included is the Yoruba religion of West Africa and its diasporas…

Although these religions appear here in discrete chapters, none really stands alone. As Confucians are quick to remind us, no human being is an island, and as Jewish philosopher Abraham Heschel once wrote, “No religion is an island” either. One of the great themes of world history is interreligious contact, and interreligious conflict, collaboration, and combination have only accelerated in recent times. So this book aims to present the eight great religions not in isolation but in contact, and comparison. You can learn a lot about your own religion by comparing it with others.

Reading: by John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887), the poem “The Blind Men and the Elephant”

It was six men of Indostan

To learning much inclined,

Who went to see the Elephant

(Though all of them were blind),

That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,

And happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,

At once began to bawl:

"God bless me! but the Elephant

Is very like a WALL!"

The Second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried, "Ho, what have we here,

So very round and smooth and sharp?

To me 'tis mighty clear

This wonder of an Elephant

Is very like a SPEAR!"

The Third approached the animal,

And happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,

Thus boldly up and spake:

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant

Is very like a SNAKE!"

The Fourth reached out an eager hand,

And felt about the knee

"What most this wondrous beast is like

Is mighty plain," quoth he:

"'Tis clear enough the Elephant

Is very like a TREE!"

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,

Said: "E'en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an Elephant

Is very like a FAN!"

The Sixth no sooner had begun

About the beast to grope,

Than seizing on the swinging tail

That fell within his scope,

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant

Is very like a ROPE!"

And so these men of Indostan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right,

And all were in the wrong!

MORAL.

So oft in theologic wars,

The disputants, I ween,

Rail on in utter ignorance

Of what each other mean,

And prate about an Elephant

Not one of them has seen!

Many Sources of Faith

A Sermon Delivered on October 2, 2011

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

Last Sunday, between our worship services, I had a chance to sit in a pew, and carry on a conversation about Unitarian Universalism and what it means to me. The conversation was part of the religious education class offered this year for our sixth and seventh graders, which is called Neighboring Faiths.

This year the kids in that class will be spending their Sunday mornings visiting different religious communities around town. They will attend their services, meet their members, and then come back here to talk about what they heard and saw. Next week they will be visiting the local Quaker Meeting House.

But last week, to get started, the class attended our worship service. And after the service, they asked some good questions about UUism, like “What is the difference between Unitarian Universalism and atheism?” and “How do UUs proselytize?” and “What distinguishes UUism from other religions?” These were some very good questions. And I, for one, thought our conversation was very worthwhile.

* * *

Trying to offer a nutshell description of UUism, I started off mentioning our three classic key ideas: freedom, reason and tolerance.

We think it is important, when it comes to religion, that every person have the freedom to study religious teachings and traditions rationally and reasonably. Because when people are free to explore religious questions on their own, they will find different and perhaps conflicting answers, we support a spirit of tolerance.

Now, I have been a minister for quite a few years. And for a long time this is where my mini-lecture on UUism ended: with freedom, reason and tolerance.

Over the years, however, after having engaged in many inter-religious dialogues, I have slowly come to the conclusion that the ideals of freedom, reason and tolerance are not unique to us. I have spoken with enough Christians, Muslims, and Jews, with enough Buddhists, Hindus and even atheists, to realize they all think rationally and reasonably about their beliefs and their practices. The vast majority of people I have come to know from diverse traditions see the value of religious tolerance and freedom.

So, what distinguishes us, then? Struggling to find a short and pithy encapsulation of our faith, I came up with this: “Unitarian Universalism begins with you.” Get it? “UUism begins with U.” (Haha.)

What I mean, is that for us religion begins with your questions, your wonderings, your sense of mystery and awe. It begins with you. With your sense of meaning and meaninglessness, your life experiences of joy and pain, your understanding of right and wrong.

That’s where our religion begins. It doesn’t begin with a holy book, or with the teachings of prophets or saviors. It doesn’t begin with stories of God or the creation of the world. It begins with you.

* * *

Part of the reason I like the Principles adopted by the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations, is that they make a similar point. The living tradition which we share draws from many sources, but the first one is: “Direct experience of… transcending mystery and wonder…”

Your direct experience - every individual’s direct experience - of mystery and wonder is where we begin.

But please keep in mind, this is only where we begin. UUism is an individualistic faith, but it isn’t only about you.

Your unique life experience is your point of departure. It is our first source of faith. It not our only source. We have many sources of faith: words and deeds of prophetic women and men, wisdom from the world's religions, humanist teachings and science, and spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions.

Our sources of faith are limitless. Like sunshine, we find them everywhere. Our temple is all space; our creed is all truth.

* * *

Our effort to find religious meaning in many places is expressed visually in our place of worship by the wall hangings you see around you. (The wall hangings portray symbols representing the world’s great religions.)

Now, if this were your first visit to our church, and you saw these religious symbols so prominently displayed, you might imagine that those who worship here are all experts in world religions. You might think, each of us could concisely describe the tenants of these traditions, perhaps provide a brief overview of their respective histories, and explain how their religious practices are relevant to us here.

But, you know what? I don’t think that’s the case. My guess is not many of us know much about the history of Hinduism, or the significance of Muslim calligraphy. I bet the fewest of us can recite the eightfold path of Buddhism, which is represented in the eight spokes of the wheel, nor the evolution of the crucifixion as central symbol of Christianity.

In principle, we affirm the diverse truths conveyed by these competing religious traditions. But in practice, we don’t necessarily know much about them.

Our principled affirmation is a very good thing. But our practical ignorance is a problem.

This is the point Stephen Prothero made in his 2007 book Religious Literacy - What Every American Needs to Know - and Doesn’t. Prothero is a professor of religion at Boston University, who specializes in American religion. He makes the case that America is one of the most religious countries on earth, but also a nation of shocking religious illiteracy. For instance, only 10 percent of American teenagers can name five major world religions, and 15 percent can’t name any. Almost two-thirds of American adults believe the Bible holds the answers to all or most of life’s basic questions, but only one half can name even one of the four Christian gospels. Most Americans can’t even name the first book of the Bible.

Religious illiteracy is more than an academic problem. It has very concrete consequences. This is a lesson Prothero learned back in 1993, when as a freshly minted PhD he watched the unfolding stand-off between the Branch Davidians in Waco, Texas, and the FBI on the national news.

Given his religious training, Prothero could see that the leader of the Branch Davidians, David Koresh, was luring FBI agents into playing roles he had assigned to them, based on his own interpretation of the biblical book of Revelation.

Remembering those days, Prothero writes,

“It’s going to burn,” I told myself, and I remember thinking that I should pick up the phone and call the FBI, tell them what Koresh must be thinking, tell them to give him the time he requested to unlock the cryptic meanings of the book of Revelation’s Seven Seals, show them how perfectly, how eerily, they were playing the parts he had assigned to them, let them know that, if they persisted, the whole thing would end in fire.” (p. 2)

But Prothero didn’t call. He didn’t know who to call. And no one else offered the kind of counsel he could have provided. And so the siege did end in fire. The FBI attacked the compound with tear gas and combat vehicles on April 19, 1993, and the compound went up in flames. Koresh and about seventy-five followers, including twenty-one children, died. Prothero believes it could have ended differently, if anyone among the FBI that day, had known about apocalyptic Christianity.

* * *

Religion is powerful and dangerous. It can serve to create community, or it can divide us. It can inspire compassion and selfless service, or it can incite violence and hatred. Religious scholar Lloyd Steffen says religion is like fire: powerful, mysterious, fascinating, and dangerous.

Like fire, religion can be positive or negative, life-preserving or life-threatening. When appropriately controlled, fire can “serve as creative catalyst for vital human activities; when uncontrolled it can destroy and kill.” (The Demonic Turn, p. 20)

There are those who believe religion has become irrelevant in modern times, and that our religious practices are little more than personal preferences with little impact beyond the privacy of our homes.

Prothero disagrees. He believes religion matters socially, economically, and militarily. Religion is one of the prime movers in politics worldwide. From the toppling of the twin towers in Manhattan to civil war in Sri Lanka and Darfur to the current events in the Middle East - religion matters. We cannot afford to be ignorant or oblivious to something so powerful, potentially life-threatening or life- preserving.

* * *

In this world there are many sources of faith. And depending on our sources, we will reach different conclusions about which religious teachings are true, and which are false. We will reach different conclusions about right and wrong, and how to serve a greater good. This is the message of the story of the blind men and the elephant.

The moral John Godfrey Saxe draws from the tale, is that those who engage in theological debate do so in utter ignorance of each other’s beliefs. And that while each claims to have grasped the truth, all are equally ignorant of an elephant none of them has seen. That is one lesson we can draw. But it is not the only lesson.

The story of the blind men is over two thousand years old. And while it was first told in India, over the centuries it has traveled the world. For Buddhists the story is about the suffering caused by the pursuit abstract metaphysical questions. Sufis believe the story tells how God can be seen through the heart but not the senses. Hindus find the lesson that God can be reached by different paths.

The poem by Saxe seems to draw the moral that all theology is stupid. But I would prefer to focus on the minor point Saxe mentions along the way: he says each of the blind men is partly right.

* * *

This is where the distinct genius of Unitarian Universalism can be found and must be practiced. We believe, when it comes to religion - when it comes to ultimate questions of meaning and morality - we are each partly right.

In the course of our lives, through hard-earned experience, through moments of suffering and moments bliss, through our knowledge of despair and our knowledge of hope - we each gain a perfectly unique perspective on life.

The personal truth each of us finds invariably contains elements of universal truth. We are each partly right.

To discover greater truth, we need to learn from one another. We need to learn from others within this room, and from others beyond these walls. We need to learn from community members on the other side of town, and from believers on the far side of the globe.

Paradoxically, as Prothero points out, as we learn about others, we learn a lot about ourselves. Moving from ignorance to understanding, we can discover the power of our own faith, its potential to transform our lives, and to change the world.

Whether we succeed in creating a better world depends on you. This is what Unitarian Universalists believe.

UUism begins with you. This is the lesson I hope our children learn in our church.

Through the ups and downs of my own life, it is a lesson I need to be reminded of, again and again.

May we each have the wisdom to see

How we are partly wrong and partly right.

Together, may we each move from ignorance to understanding,

And each do our small part to serve a greater good.

Amen.