White Lies: James Reeb, a Podcast, a Missing Murderer, & Liberatory Memory (sermon)

January 19, 2020

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick, NJ

Reverend Karen G. Johnston

most of the sermon made it — just the last few minutes were lost

[a clip 1:17 minutes from the White Lies podcast, episode, “A Dangerous Kind of Self Delusion”]

…Why must good men die for doing good? “O Jerusalem, why did you murder the prophets and persecute those who come to preach your salvation?”[i]

These words, along with those that Marie shared with us in our earlier reading, come from the eulogy that Dr. King gave at the memorial service for Reverend James Reeb.   Dr. King admonishes us not to look just for the actual persons who held the weapons and inflicted the mortal blow, but to the system that led, and allowed, and actively cultivated such murder.  Don’t look just to WHO killed James Reeb, but WHAT killed him.

It might seem that the two journalists behind the White Lies podcast did not heed Dr. King’s words, because they went looking into the mystery of why no one was held to account for the brutal murder. 

However, by returning to this violent history, they are exercising what is called, liberatory memory[ii]. And they have extended to us the invitation to do the same: to liberate our history from a lie and out of that, possibly be saved by the truth.  And if not saved, then healed. And if not healed, then to experience a sense of integrity that might allow for a more resilient future.

~~~

Originally Presbyterian, James Reeb turned to Unitarianism after seminary. He was a minister in our faith tradition, drawn by our focus on social justice. Reeb, and his wife, Marie, had four young children. They were committed to do what was theirs to do to resist racism. In the different cities where they lived – Philadelphia, Washington DC, Boston –as a white family, they chose to live in neighborhoods where Black people lived, despite segregated neighborhoods in these Northern cities.

We just heard part of his last sermon, which he gave at All Souls in Washington, DC, where he served as assistant minister.  Longing to do community organizing, he left that position, unsatisfied with parish ministry.  He ended up working for affordable and integrated housing, moving to Boston.  Here is a small window into that new life, from a letter a friend[iii], dated the fall of 1964. I share it with you so you can remember the man alive, not just the martyr made:

It took me many days of looking to find this house.  It has three floors, 11 rooms and full basement plus a vacant lot across the street. Almost no one wants to encourage you to move here. One lady asked me if I was crazy when I told her I really wanted to move into the neighborhood. The children are in school and, in general, happy. John wanted to help to integrate his class.  Some gal in Washington wanted to know if I really wanted my children to go to school with Negroes and I said yes, of course, all children are lucky who integrate schools. 

Marie is busy, getting the house in order. I am faced every day to stretch my mind. There are new problems, new ideas, new experiences to deal with. I have seized the bull by the horns. I am doing what seems important. And let the damn torpedoes come.

We have a challenge to meet as a family.  We are together sharing in what I think will probably be one of the most significant times in our lives.  We are all amazingly well and I am spending more time with the family than ever before.  We have finally got our ping pong table and Marie, John, and I play regularly.  We are resuming our Friday night birthday festival: we have a cake, candles, and someone tells us about a person we admire, and we sing happy birthday. 

Just a few months later came Bloody Sunday – the violent encounter between police and marchers from Selma to Montgomery –  immediately after which Dr. King to put out the call to clergy across the nation and from all traditions to come to Selma.  Which Reverend Reeb accepted.

~~~

Chip Brantley and Andrew Beck Grace are both journalists. Brantley is a professor at the University of Alabama. Beck Grace is behind something called Moon Winx Films. They are the authors of the White Lies podcast published by NPR in May and June of last year. Both are Alabama-born white men whose families go back in that state before it was a state; families that had been slave-holding and Confederate. 

I’m not a fan of the true-crimes genre of most anything, but this podcast, with its intersection with Unitarian Universalist history, captured my attention. It was riveting. And even though this sermon contains spoilers, it is well worth your time to listen to. According to its makers, the podcast is

“the story of a murder at the center of the civil rights movement and the lies that kept it from being solved. It’s an event that rippled far beyond the time and place where it happened, sparking national outrage and galvanizing support for one of the most significant laws of the 20th century.”

It is also an exploration into what happens when, in their words, “you call a lie and lie” and “find out what it means to live into that truth.”

~~~

James Reeb, along with other Unitarian Universalist clergy, arrived in Selma. That very evening, hungry for dinner, he and two other UU ministers – Orloff Miller and Clark Olsen – ate at a Black-owned diner. As civil rights workers, they were welcome there in a way they would not be at a white-owned diner.  As they were departing the diner, in a town unfamiliar to them, heading back to the organizing headquarters, they chose a route that brought them in harm’s way. 

Ultimately, three men would be arrested and charged, and quickly acquitted, for the beating that mortally wounded James Reeb on the street near that diner.  Initial reports said there were four men involved in the beating.  It is through the journalism of the White Lies podcast fifty years after the fact that the fourth man, never charged, is identified!  The podcast also establishes it was Elmer Cook, one of the three originally arrested, who was the man who swung the club that crushed Reeb’s skull. 

The night of the beating, during a harrowing ambulance ride to Birmingham, for there was inadequate medical care in Selma, Reeb lost consciousness and never regained it.  A few hours later, his wife was called before she would hear about it on the 11 o’clock news: you must come.  The national and world media was watching, as was President Johnson and Lady Bird.  Two days later, Reverend James Reeb died.

~~~

Out of this act of brutality, out of the culture of that place and time and system of justice, there arose a counter narrative of what happened.  While there was no denying the death, a story arose that he did not die from the beating outside the diner, but because the people with him in the ambulance – his colleagues and friends – inflicted an injury that led to his death. 

He died, they would say, because the movement needed a martyr.

This was not just some vague rumor or personal rationalization that the four men who beat the civil rights workers told themselves and their families (although they did do that).  This was the narrative that the prosecutor used in the courtroom, that secured the defendants’ acquittal.  In the podcast, Beck Grace and Brantley interview the only surviving juror from that case, who says that he still very much believes that Reeb was killed by his friends and by the movement. It was chilling.

This is not the only time of such a nefarious counter narrative arose during civil rights struggles.  Surely you remember the church bombing in Birmingham in 1963, the one that killed four little girls and maimed one? There was a widely disseminated – in the white community – that the church had bombed itself.  It had staying power until 1977, when then prosecutor, Doug Jones, now Senator Doug Jones, won the case against the actual bomber.

Though not as violent, but made of the same dangerous cloth, I think of the modern myth of the so-called transgender person – a person dressed as a woman who is really a man who goes into women’s bathrooms in order to creep on little girls and vulnerable women.  To my knowledge, there is no verified account of this happening, even though there are many substantiated cases of harm being threatened and inflicted on true transgender people just trying to pee. Yet the myth is perpetuated and transphobia grows.

To what lengths will we humans go to avoid culpability for our own evil?  To rationalize our own bigotry and ignorance?  It’s chilling.

~~~

In the podcast, they tell of the local cemetery in Selma, how there is a Confederate memorial circle with glorification of the fallen soldiers in the civil war.  There is one statute erected thirteen years after the war ended – like many others throughout the South, and the North, trying to make meaning after that horrific event. 

There is another statue, erected much later.  This one is of Nathan Bedford Forrest, the first Grand Wizards of the Ku Klux Klan, a slave trader himself.  This statue was erected weeks after the first Black mayor of Selma took office. It was not a response to a war that had just concluded.  It was a response to a Black person holding political office. It was the KKK saying, we’re still here.  Want to guess what year that was? 

The year 2000.

I want to caution us.  Today’s sermon is about a story that took place in Selma, Alabama, it is true.  And in the story, we can see how that particular place struggles with history and memory in a particularly Southern way. This is also true. 

But let us not be arrogant or find ourselves wallowing in false exceptionalism.  There is no integrity in living such a life.  There is no liberation there.  The North has our versions of whitewashed lies. It is on us to call these lies the lies.

Perhaps you have heard of the concept of Sankofa.  That word comes to us from Ghana, from the Twi language. It translates as “go back and get it.”  It calls us to acts of “liberatory memory”: to look back to the past in order to learn for the future; to do so that we might liberate ourselves and others from some of the shackles of history – harm done, harm experienced, lies told, truths buried.  The Sankofa symbol is a bird.  Its body faces forward.  Its head turns back.  In its beak is an egg – fragile, precious, full of potential: the seed of knowledge from facing our past that we plant for a resilient future. A future with integrity.

The Lost Souls Public Memorial Project is our chance to exercise “liberatory memory.” It is our chance to call a lie a lie and learn to live with the truth of it. It is our chance to help others to do the same: to live a communal life of more integrity.

these are only some of the recovered names of the Lost Souls

For some of you the following is new information.  For some, this is an update. The Lost Souls Project is making known the horrific history of 1818.  A corrupt Middlesex County judge, who resided in what is now East Brunswick, along with what turns out is a cadre of other people, sold enslaved and free African Americans into the Deep South and permanent slavery. We are currently aware of 180 of whom we have the names for 141.  Just a month ago, we recovered three additional names. We have even discovered that the governor at the time was implicated. It’s chilling.

We call them the Lost Souls, though they were not so much lost as actively stolen away.  We are trying to build a memorial with all their names, and the history, so that it can never be forgotten, or whitewashed.  This spring we are developing the process for soliciting designs from artists and continuing community education.  In fact, next Saturday, Peter Kahn and I are presenting, along with Kristal Langford, at the Elizabeth Public Library.

The Lost Souls Project is a multi-racial, grassroots group in partnership with two African American community groups and in conversation with the Township of East Brunswick.  If you ever wonder how your life might be more multi-cultural, you might consider participating in this meaningful work.  We consider Lost Souls a ministry of this congregation, which currently acts as the group’s fiscal sponsor, enabling them to receive two grants so far.

~~~

In its conclusion, the podcast acknowledges that in this case justice is never done.  Three men were acquitted.  The counter narrative blaming the victim and absolving the white community took deep root.  The journalists identified the fourth man guilty of murder – yet, he died before any formal charges could be made.

The family of Elmer Cook knew he was involved in the beating, but they never acknowledged that his swinging the club caused Reeb’s death. That counter narrative – that lie — absolved their patriarch of murder.  A white lie to be sure, but not the kind we might call innocuous or harmless.

Still, acts of liberatory memory came out of this journalistic exploration. Katie Cook, the great granddaughter of Elmer Cook, went to college and learned outside and beyond the counter narrative told in her family. Out of that, she went seeking. Eventually, she met with the daughter and granddaughter of James Reeb and practiced authentic curiosity and reconciliation. 

Marie Reeb, James’ widow, had spent these fifty years not wanting to learn the names of the three who had been briefly arrested, for she did not want hate to grow in her heart.  In the course of the podcast, for the first time since her husband’s death, Marie chose to listen to the story of that tragic night. Not to start growing hate, but to rest in truth.

There came even further reckoning.   Katie’s grandfather – the youngest son of Elmer Cook – met with the podcast journalists. Despite a lifetime of holding fast to the counter narrative, he listened to what the journalists had to share and accepted as truth what they shared, opening himself to the possibility of healing, of liberation, of integrity. Opening his family, and his community, to that very same possibility. 

Just as the podcast offers us as a society and a nation.

~~~

In his eulogy for James Reeb, Dr. King asked us to work passionately, unrelentingly, and to make the American dream a reality, so that Reverend Reeb did not die in vain.

Let us take to heart the words those words, along with the words of Reverend Reeb in his last sermon, that we not allow ourselves to succumb to any kind of dangerous self delusion about how long in the making a truly racially just world is.

Let us keep each other company, making each other brave enough to call a lie, a lie, and to live lives of ever deepening integrity.

Let us be like the Sankofa bird: willing to look back so that the future might be more resilient.

Amen.  May it be so.

This plaque hangs at the Unitarian Universalist Association headquarters at 24 Farnsworth Street in Boston. It depicts Jimmie Lee Jackson, the first to be killed near Selma (in Marion) and whose death was the trigger for the march that led to Bloody Sunday. Next is Rev. James Reeb, Unitarian Universalist minister. On the right is Viola Liuzzo, Unitarian woman from Detroit, who came South to be a civil rights worker and was shot while driving a car of other civil rights workers.

Deep gratitude to the White Lies podcast and its makers.


[i] https://www.uuworld.org/articles/memoir-kings-eulogy-james-reeb

[ii] Chandre Gould and Verne Harris, https://www.nelsonmandela.org/uploads/files/MEMORY_FOR_JUSTICE_2014v2.pdf

[iii] https://www.npr.org/2019/06/21/734713126/a-dangerous-kind-of-self-delusion

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Three Gates: A Sermon on Right Speech (sermon)

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick, NJ

January 12, 2020

John Woolman, a New Jersey Quaker from before the Revolution, is most-known for seeing abolitionist values among the Quakers.  It is also from him that the concept of “right relationship” comes, calling on humans to live in right relationship with all creation.  In a nod to our Soul Matters theme for this month, integrity, as well as next month’s (resilience), modern day Quakers Peter Brown and Geoffrey Garver tell us,

“A thing is right when it preserves the integrity, resilience, and beauty of the commonwealth of life and wrong when it does otherwise.”[i]

While our story from this morning comes from the Quaker tradition, the ever-unreliable internet also says it comes from Socrates.  It’s hard these days to know what is fake news.

That concept of right relationship belong to all humanity, which has always yearned to do right by each other, even when there are more than enough examples of the opposite.  Humans have sought, and continue to seek, a workable combination of freedom and limitations, what one might call rules, even if we choose to disregard, or even to break, them.

Some of these are BIG RULES, like the ten commandments from Judaism and adopted by Christianity. There is the Tao Te Ching with its long list of virtues, which might be considered rules for living virtuously. Along Buddhism’s Eight-Fold Path are suggestions for how to live ethically in the world, with instruction about right understanding, right thought, right speech, right conduct, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

Then there are small rules, or considerations, for how we might build a better world, perhaps even build Beloved Community. Or at least become a better person. Today I’ll be focusing on, to borrow Buddhism’s phrase, the right speech.  How do we use our words responsibly and well?

Let’s start with the concept behind that Quaker story, which is called by the Three Gates.  It seems to come to the world from the mystical side of Islam – the Sufis — though it has become so ubiquitous and widely adopted, it’s not easy to trace its actual origins.  The Three Gates are three questions:

Is it true?

Is it necessary?

Is it kind?

There is a simplistic poem from the Victorian era, written by Beth Day in 1835, with the subtitle “After the Arabian”[ii]:

If you are tempted to reveal

A tale to you someone has told

About another, make it pass,

Before you speak, three gates of gold.

These narrow gates: First, “Is it true?”

Then, “Is it needful?” In your mind

Give truthful answer. And the next

Is last and narrowest, “Is it kind?”

And if to reach your lips at last

It passes through these gateways three,

Then you may tell the tale, nor fear

What the result of speech may be.

There are many who attribute these three questions to the Buddha, though the perfectly wonderful and well-researched web site, Fake Buddha Quotes (#BuddhadidNOTsaythat), assures us that the Three Gates or Sieves or Funnels – whatever you call it — did not come from the Buddha, no matter what the pretty meme on Facebook says.  The Buddha had four – or five, depending on which sutta you look at – rules for right speech.  Inclusive of the three gates, with more[iii].

~~~

Oh! That life, and decisions, were so easy that all we needed to do was ask three (or even four) questions and the answers we received would be clear and incontrovertible, not subject to disagreement or subjectivity!

Interesting, for here the order of the gates is different than what I first found in my travels to write this sermon, which shared truth as the first gate and changed to order of kind and necessary.  Or of this button, which arrived in the mail yesterday, sent to me by a colleague who heard I was preaching on this topic.  It turns out that at some point in the not far past, there was a minor movement in our denomination that resulted in many of these buttons being spread far and wide.  They are lovely, but slightly different than the three gates, stating: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it helpful?  Which is a bit different than necessary – more proactive, in my estimation.

A gift from the Rev. Dr. Hope Johnson

Here’s a question that dogs me about this guidance – are all three gates of equal import? Do they co-exist on an egalitarian plane? Or is there some hierarchy, with one being fundamental, thus always the first gate by which to parse one’s words?

I have more questions.  First, what are the definitions of true, kind, necessary? Who decides?

Is the definition of what is true, or what is kind, or what is necessary strictly personal and subjective – each of us decides for our own selves? Is it covenantal, which is to say, a community-based definition? Is it possible that there is some absolute, universal definition that works at all times, in all contexts?

For instance. there are things I know to be true now, yet I did not know them to be true twenty years ago.  Others did.  My own maturity, and my social location, with its privileges and marginalized identities, impact this greatly…as do yours. My true experience as a white kid of Safety Officer Joe in elementary school is very different than the true experience of Eric Garner, a Black man murdered by a police officer who used excessive force.

How about kindness?  This, too, is both subjective, not only in that one’s intention can be different than impact, but also one’s own judgement of a thing that is kind can change over time.  Parents know this when we set limits on our children – they don’t think we are doing them a favor.  Yet, most of the time, by the time they grow up, there is a sense that what we did was beneficial, was kind.

And necessity?  That’s another one where one person in the equation might not ever agree that it is necessary, but another – perhaps the person speaking up on behalf of their own humanity – knows that it is true, that is a kindness to self, and that it is utterly necessary to speak up and say a thing that might make everyone else in the room uncomfortable.

Another question.  Or point of reflection. I wonder about the role of silence, of what happens when we decide not to speak.  Silence, too, can be unkind, or unhelpful.  Our silence becomes complicit with untruth, when silence is avoidance of hard necessities. 

“A thing is right when it preserves the integrity, resilience, and beauty of the commonwealth of life and wrong when it does otherwise.”

Laura van Dernoot Lipsky wrote in her book, The Age of Overwhelm: Strategies for the Long Haul, the following: 

There is merit in remembering that there can be a tension among the choices we make. There may be internal and external consequences. We may choose to do something that may mitigate consequences. We may choose to do something that may mitigate internal harm, but that, of course, doesn’t mean others will agree or understand or even respect our decisions.

Which is another way of saying, we might not all agree on what constitutes kind or necessary, or even true.  van Dernoot Lipsky’s response to this conundrum?

In these times, it can be helpful to take the long view. Don’t watch the ripples on the surface of the water; watch the still depths.

But why listen to her? She asks us to grow comfort with tension, and that’s hard.  So, why don’t we live by the wisdom of the 1970s heavy metal rocker, Meatloaf, and consider that “two out of three ain’t bad?” 

That still leaves us with two. Which may make life a little bit easier. Maybe.

~~~

So, if all these different traditions, faith or secular, have these different takes on right speech, what does Unitarian Universalism have to say? Do the Principles give us some idea of how to live into our best selves when it comes to our covenanted community? Or when we spend the holidays with our in-laws? Or when we are online and deciding whether to respond to a social media post? Or when we have to deal with that annoying co-worker who won’t stop with the xenophobic or transphobic pronouncements?

The 4th Principle can be invited to be our companion, along with all the gates and sieves and funnels, no matter their order.  The Fourth Principle names the free and responsible search for truth and meaning, which I propose are our UU gates: the qualities of “free” and “responsible.”

There is creative tension between free and responsible. I think of it as the creative tension between the individual (who wants to freely be themselves fully) and the community (be that a partnership, a family, a covenanted community, Beloved community, or the whole interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part) – which requires different levels of conformity to be coherent. Free means that I (or my group) do not lose my humanity to conformity.  Responsible means that I do not, by intention or impact, demean or threaten the humanity of others, individual or group. Free means I have agency to enter into a covenant.  Responsible means that I sometimes place the needs of the community ahead of my own.  Using these as our gates raises these questions:

Are my words spoken freely, so that I am honoring my reality and the reality of those groups and peoples who claim me and I claim them?

Are my words spoken responsibly, so that from whatever my social location, from the intersection of my particular mix of privilege and marginalization, they are responsible not only to me, but to others with whom I am in relationship, or aspire to be?

These two additional gates greatly enrich the discernment process around right speech.  Because, what if being kind necessitates, from one perspective or another, that you subvert an important part of yourself, collude with making invisible some aspect of yourself that others actively, intentionally erase, refuse to acknowledge?  This is untenable in the long run.

Or it may not be kind to remind someone in public that they are misgendering you, but it may be necessary for your own dignity. And for them to live more fully into the First Principle, which affirms the dignity of all.  This is where that tension comes into play.  This is where learning to sit with the discomfort of tension is a key capacity for living a well-rounded human life.

I do want to say, because I think it’s important, especially as we talk about those the gate of kindness, that we confuse kind with nice far too often.  Frankly, as people of conscience and faith, with ethics to draw us, and the call to make a more inclusive world, we often have to choose a fierce kindness over a limp niceness.

That said, I like the interpretations of this gate that suggest that once you have determined that something is true, the kindness gate requires you to do it as kindly as possible, which exists on a continuum.  That might means saying what you have to say in private, to help save someone from embarrassment. It may mean waiting until any of our own anger or self-righteousness has ebbed, so we can offer our words in an unattached way, letting the other person accept it if they will, letting them drop it if they choose.

Sometimes, the kind way to say a thing is to say it publicly because the kindness is not to the person who said the mean or hateful or racist thing, but is to others who are watching or listening – others who need to hear that as a white person, you don’t condone racist behavior; others who need to hear that you don’t share a fear of a transgender person using the same restroom; perhaps it’s youth in the room, or even your own heart, that needs to hear that you won’t abide by fat-shaming or slut-shaming. I think about this often when I am trying to pass my words through the gate of kindness – kind to whom?

~~~

Which is more important?  Truth? Kindness? Necessity? Freedom? Responsibility?  I can’t answer that for you.  I do believe that they live in a synergistic relationship with each other.  It was probably not kind, the other day, when I spoke the truth that on the East Brunswick interfaith clergy council, we do not agree about the inherent problem of homophobia, but it was necessary. And I believe that I was being responsible with regard to how I represent this congregation, and our Unitarian Universalist values.

This is the thing: there’s no simple formula that will save you from being awkward, or clumsy, or from making mistakes, or from causing harm.  No formula that will ensure your good intentions will always have beneficial impact.  Life is much messier than that.  To live a life of integrity means getting it wrong sometimes, it’s a dance, it’s an art not a science, it’s an approximation. It’s when we choose to enter into that dance that the tension of messing it up can become creative tension, which offers the chance of deep connection and robust covenanted community.  

I encourage all of us, as Unitarian Universalists, to use both touch stones of free speech and responsible speech, free action and responsible action, free belief and responsible belief – not one or the other, but both in relationship, in regular check-in with one another, informed not just by our own most excellent thoughts, but also with reality checks from others with whom we are in relationship with, with others with whom we are in covenanted relationship, whom we choose as primary in our short and precious lives.

“A thing is right when it preserves the integrity, resilience, and beauty of the commonwealth of life and wrong when it does otherwise.”

Amen.  Blessed be.


[i] Right Relationship Building A Whole Earth Economy by Peter Brown & Geoffrey Garver; thank you to Lara Campbell for this reference/citation

[ii] https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2012/5/23/1092850/-Is-it-true-Is-it-kind-Is-it-necessary

[iii] [iii] https://fakebuddhaquotes.com/if-you-propose-to-speak-always-ask-yourself-is-it-true-is-it-necessary-is-it-kind/: speak at the right time; the truth; with affection; beneficially; with good intention

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Awestruck (sermon)

It is said that in each of his pockets, Rabbi Simcha Bunim carried a slip of paper. On one was written: f

or my sake the world was created...

How awesome is that?!?

On the other was written:

I am but dust and ashes...

How awful is that?!?

Both messages he carried with him, living his life in between these two realities.

What is it to live a life as if awestruck? Aware of the motion, and commotion, careening and gliding between these two experiences of the world – of the universe – overwhelmed, fearful, humbled, reverent, inspired?  What is it to live a life understanding that these two experiences are not polar opposites – awesome and awful – but at their deepest root, are knit of the same stuff, two sides of the same coin?

Are the meticulous making of the awesome sand mandala…and the awful – or was that awesome too? – destruction of it?

It turns out there are many entrances into awe: song, prayer, dance, theology, philosophy, great art, great architecture, even great science. And possibly, death. Let me tell you a story of the most awful, and the most awe-filled, moment of my recent life.

Three weeks ago, the wife of a dear friend – and herself a dear friend – died.  A year of awful for them both, in and out of long hospitalizations. Awful for my friend, now a widow.  Awful for this woman, who had struggled for months with swallowing, not able to eat enough on her own. I had been visiting three weeks before, when her ambivalence about fighting for her life was palpable presence in the room; yet she was worried about disappointing others if she “gave up.” That was awful.

Then, I was there for the awe-filled part. Awe-filled: the minutes and hours after she died, I was there along with her dedicated, desperately sad friends, many of whom had known her for forty-plus years. I was with my friend, her wife of just under a year ~ for they had gotten married in the hospital when the cancer abruptly raged, (they had been together for the sixteen years before that). She was both in shock and completely present to her beloved.

Altogether, filled with awe at the absence of our dead friend and the presence of her dead body, we washed that body, we took cotton balls and tenderly anointed it with baby oil, and then put on clothing picked out especially.  In twos, and threes, and just her wife alone, we said our good-byes.  Then came the hospice nurse, to pronounce her dead. Then came the funeral home to take the body away, placed on a stretcher, covered. All of us put on our jackets and shoes.  We created a human arch through which the funeral home personnel processed as they carried out the stretcher. We whispered and sang and said our good-byes.

As I said, a most awful, and a most awe-filled, moment.

Wherever or however you access it, Rabbi Lawrence Kushner suggests that when we enter into awe, it is the “Unio Mystica,” or being at One with the Holy One or the Holy One(ness).  He writes,

There are many ways we reach for the Holy One(ness). We can attain self-transcendence through our mind in study, through our heart in prayer, or with our hands in sacred deed.  We say, in effect, that through becoming God’s agent, though voluntarily setting God’s will above our own, we literally lose our selves and become One with the One whom we serve.  It rarely lasts for more than a moment.[i]

According to him, it’s not about becoming the same as the Divine; it’s about forgetting the boundaries of the Self. Forgetting where you end and creation or existence begins.  It is perceiving deeply, sensing in all the ways possible that creation is in you and you are everywhere in it.

Kushner practices from a Kabbalah perspective – an ancient, mysticial Jewish tradition – but these thoughts belong not just to Judaism. Think of Buddhist Thich Nhat Hanh’s concept of Interbeing, and we are in the same place.

So, there are many entrances.  Often, we think that to access awe, we must place ourselves in the midst of the rare and the extraordinary.  Visit the Grand Canyon, or Machu Pichu, or Alaska before it melts.  What if awe was available to us at home, in the ordinary?

There is an old story — told by many, I read it in Kushner’s book called Eyes Remade for Wonder — of a rabbi named Isaac, who lived in Krakow.  He was a good man and he was poor.  So, when he had the same dream, three nights in a row, of treasure buried under a bridge in Prague, he paid attention.  He made the long journey only to discover that the king’s soldiers patrolled the bridge.  He kept watch for several days and nights, hoping for his chance.  Instead, the captain of the guard spied him.  He was caught and questioned about his purpose there at the bridge.  Rabbi Isaac told the captain about his dreams.

The captain laughed in his face! “You mean to tell me you believe in such things?  If I believed as you did, I would be on my way to Krakow to find some rabbi named Isaac, because I have dreamed there is great treasure buried beneath his bed!” The captain never asked our friend Isaac his name or his vocation, but did allow him to return home, which he did.  Upon his arrival, he pushed aside his bed, removed the floor boards, and dug up the treasure that had been there all along.[ii]

That story makes me wonder what possibilities for awe am I missing here, where I make my home?  Here, among the mundane? On this side of the fence, even if the grass is not greener? 

What about you?  What might you be missing that is right under your nose?

Like the treasure beneath Isaac’s bed, might there be entrances into the Holy, to the Awe-filled, the Awe-some, nearby, waiting for you to discover them? Supposedly Albert Einstein said,

This might be another version of Rabbi Bunim’s two pockets. I know that while I’d like perceive the shine of miracles, I am often stuck in the tarnish of no miracles. So, while there is access all around us at all times to awe does not mean that we actually open that door.

There’s a wonderful Jewish tradition called midrash: telling stories to fill in the gaps from ancient scripture. Likely you are familiar with the broad strokes of the miracle story of the parting of the Red Sea, right? When Moses, with the aid of god, led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt by crossing parting the great waters? Well, there’s a midrash that focuses on two of the people who made that journey.

In the midrash, they are given names: Reuven and Shimon. Like all the others, they cross the bottom of the sea, yet they complain the whole way.  Though safe, the ground was muddy:

Reuven stepped onto it and curled his lip. “What is this muck?”
Shimon scowled, “There’s mud all over the place!”
“This is just like the slime pits of Egypt!” replied Reuven.
“What’s the difference?” complained Shimon. “Mud here, mud there; it’s all the same.”
And so it went for the two of them, grumbling all the way across the botom of the sea. And, because they never once looked up, they never understood why on the distant shore everyone else was singing songs of praise. For Reuven and Shimon, the miracle never happened.[iii]

This story, too, makes me wonder: have there been miracles – opportunities for awe – that I have missed, due to my own sense of grievance, or my own ignorance, or distraction, bidden or unbidden?  Due to my focusing on the solid facts beneath my feet, instead of the intangible possibilities swirling around me?

How about you?  Have you chosen to see the awful, when the awesome was available?

The skeptical mind, the mind habituated to poo-pooing miracle-talk, the mind that would rather explain why starlings fly as a collective awe-inspiring pack called a murmuration than let the awe-filled elegance wash over and be enough, calls out and asks, what’s so important about awe? And chides, don’t make me give up my science and my reason.  And by god, don’t make me have to do god, if you want me to even consider your invitation.

If that is you, I offer two gifts.  First, the work and words of Phil Zuckerman, author of Living the Secular Life, in which he writes about “awe-ism:”

Aweism is the belief that existence is ultimately a beautiful mystery, that being alive is a wellspring of wonder, and that the deepest questions of life, death, time, and space are so power­ful as to inspire deep feelings of joy, poignancy, and sublime awe. To be an aweist is to be an atheist and/or an agnostic and/or a secular humanist-and then some. An aweist is some­one who admits that existing is wonderfully mysterious and that life is a profound experience. To be an aweist is-in the words of Paul Kurtz-to embrace and experience “joyful exuberance” sans theistic assumptions. Aweists suspect that no one will ever know why we are here or how the universe came into being, and this renders us weak in the knees while simultaneously spurring us on to dance. 

So that’s awe from a secular point of view. Here’s awe from a scientific perspective.

Dr. Melanie Rudd, from Stanford University, studies the phenomenon of awe[iv].  She says awe has two defining characteristics.  One is the sense of perceptual vastness or immensity – this might be size (think Grand Canyon) but it can also be scope, or power, or complexity (think of those sand mandalas we saw earlier). 

Dr. Melanie Rudd & her dog

The second trait is what she calls “the need for accommodation.”  For something to evoke a sense of awe in us, it must challenge our mental structures or worldview.  We must work to accommodate what we are perceiving.  That need for accommodation is the likely source when we experience the fearful or humbling aspects of awe: we are confronted with something outside our ability to fully understand, brought into the territory of uncertainty. Not comforting, and, at times, awful.

Research shows awe is beneficial.  This past May, a study came out that suggests that awe helps us to stop ruminating on our problems and daily stressors, inspiring generosity and a sense of connection with others.[v]

Dr. Rudd’s research shows that awe increases humility. It results in our feeling smaller and – this is key – AND connected to the larger world, the larger universe. Not small and alone, but small and connected.

Secondly, in Dr. Rudd’s studies, and this is relevant, given our service a few weeks back about slowing down since we haven’t much time: experiencing awe impacts and expands our perception of time. We feel that more time is available. 

Lastly, connected to that shift in the perception of time, we feel more open to the prospect of learning, which somehow draws us to create. Which kind of leads us full circle back to that list of human responses to awe, the many entrances into Unio Mystica: song, prayer, dance, theology, philosophy, great art, great architecture, even great science.

Kinda cool, huh?

~~~

I want to close another loop – one related to my friend whose wife died. She texted me while I was writing this sermon. When I told her that I was struggling with writing my sermon on awe, she offered her take on it. With her consent, I share what she wrote. Listen for some of Dr. Rudd’s concepts — the unknowing and uncertainty that leads to the need for accommodation, the immensity of the experience that there is a gap that must be bridged…

Well, for starters, you bridged the gap between awful and awesome on that Sunday night to Monday when you showed up for me! I had no idea I needed you and how important you became in that space between an in the beginning and the end.  Maybe you didn’t know either?  Birth and death (metaphoric and actual) are awful and awesome.  In between we hopefully keep showing up because and in case our people are in need of hand holding, witnesses. Or in the words of Hafiz, in the poem called A Great Need:

Out

Of a great need

We are all holding hands

And climbing.

Not loving is a letting go.

Listen,

The terrain around here

Is

Far too

Dangerous

For

That.

~~~

As our reading from the Poet Laureate of the United States implores us to do, let us remember that you are this universe and this universe is you.

As our Unitarian ancestor says at the top of your order of service, “Let us express our astonishment before we are swallowed up by the jaws of the abyss.”

Let us not forget to look for awesome possibilities and hidden treasures that hide in our midst, available to us only if we embrace our dreams.

As we make our way through the mud and muck of our lives, may we not forget to look up and around, to perceive the ordinary miracles around us, reminding us of the blessings in our lives, the grace extended to us even in the midst of our fear, and the possibility of liberation for all, even if we cannot in that moment feel it.

Let us live our lives careening ever so gently between the realities in the rabbi’s two pockets, for we live there, whether we want to or not.

Amen. Blessed be.

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These Walls as Clouds of Witnesses: Our Library Re-Dedication

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick

November 24, 2019

What if these walls were a cloud of witnesses?  How can they not be?  For 55 years they have offered their shelter and their witness to the comings and goings, the hustle and bustle, the ups and the downs of this congregation, a once bigger, now Little Engine that could… that can, that will.

What stories would these walls tell, were they to speak?  Surely both symphony and cacophony; joy and pain; disagreement and resonance; delicious food and food politely left on the plate; conflict and reconciliation; voices far too aggressive and whispers so tender they were salve; acts of temerity and ultimate gestures of giving up.

This space had been home-central to the minister: meetings with lay leaders, pastoral care conversations, and thoughtful reflection in solitude. Not to mention a more convenient back and forth between Minister and Office Administrator than our current arrangement. We thank those who gave funds in Reverend R. Paul Mueller’s memory to improve what had once been his study, outside of which now sits a plaque that we might remember this beloved former pastor, leader, preacher, minister.

This room had been home to the burst of mural that laid claim to your attention as soon as you walked in, or even walked past, it commanded your gaze. A labor of love offered by former congregational president, Randy Bramwell, one of many artistic gifts he left so that we descendants might have art at the center of our collective identity. The mural enhanced and heightened the experience of this room for nearly half a century.

Then damage to the outer wall became damage to the inner wall, sadly neglected too long to be able to save the mural.  You can see here, to the right, the salvaged remnant of the original mural, and here to the left, the first of ten prints by the artist, gifted to us by Shirley Bartlett when she learned of the loss of the mural.  And here, between them, one of our current artist members, Coleen Tyler, paid homage to the mural and the artist, pulling out key symbols and painting them after the wall was repaired.

No more when you crank open the window does the glass pane fall to the ground outside.  Through the efforts of the Building Task Force, under the leadership of Cindy Mussman and Paula Lieb, and others, too, this library once with encroaching shelves of books mostly left to gather dust, an aging paint job, and a large table difficult to maneuver, has transformed into a bright and welcoming space, where day-to-day and evening time liturgy of the congregation takes place. 

I say liturgy, for the etymology of that work is ‘work of the people.’ That is what happens here now: the Board meets here; sometimes Shakespeare is read aloud here; on occasion, orders of service are folded here; this past fall, white fragility was examined and its demise plotted here. One day just last week, a succession of Montessori parents passed through the door and twenty minutes later out, for parent-teacher conferences.

This renovation is just one of the many recent signs of renewed attention by the congregation to the congregation.  It was made possible by gestures of love that came from the affection and admiration that many – MANY – had for Reverend Paul Mueller – and dare I say, for he was not a man alone – for Peg Mueller Richardson as well.  I have been here three-and-a-half years and it is a rare occasion that Paul’s name is uttered without Peg’s following close behind.  What a legacy to see come to fruition, fifteen years after his death! What a gift of the legacy of his ministry here!

It is said that when a congregation honors, respects and yes, even idealizes, a past minister, it speaks not only to that minister’s gifts, but more so to the congregation’s ability to be in constructive and synergistic relationship with their minister. Not a guarantee, but at least a possibility. Not all congregations have this capacity ~ especially Unitarian Universalist ones, with our ubiquitous ambivalence towards authority.

So, well, done, The Unitarian Society, a Unitarian Universalist Congregation, in so many ways. Well done. These cloud of witness walls are cheering us on. Cheering us on that we may not let another wall fall into such disrepair.  Cheerig us on that we not lose yet another thing precious to us. Cheering us on that we may cherish the creativity and art that sparks our spirits and spread it abundantly here.  Cheering us on that we may find synergies that create the path of the future. 

May we hear the roar of their praise and applause. 

May we continue to offer it to each other.

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Pivoting the Sweet Spot: The Future of The Unitarian Society

November 23, 2019

This address was given on the occasion of The Unitarian Society’s Rededication event, marking the 64th anniversary of the congregation and 55th anniversary of the building.

Theologian Frederick Buechner once wrote:

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

It’s like the Venn diagram that used to be taped to a wall in my office: one circle was the hurt of the world and the other circle was the gifts you bring. The overlap is “the sweet spot.”

Both circles change over time.  Though it sure seems constant, the hurt of the world does.  As each of us knows so well, our abilities shift and develop over time, with maturity, with aging, sometimes growing, sometimes waning.  Sweet spots shift and change, too. True for individuals. And true for congregations.

I have come to see this weekend’s Rededication festivities not as a sweet spot, but as a sweet spot pivot. Borrowing from that clever turn-of-phrase in an early congregational pamphlet – the sweet spot requires pivoting “where the past meets the future.” 

Granted, a bright future was easier to discern during the height of the fellowship movement, a time when Unitarian Universalism was experiencing its most robust expansion, this congregation being one example.

Our current societal landscape makes that phrase more daunting.  National – and our own – trends reflect declining participation by adults, children, and youth in congregational life – even though Unitarian Universalism is doing better than many mainline Protestant denominations.

And this congregation has its own history. We are much smaller than we used to be and are still figuring out how to adjust to this new reality. We are still healing from conflict a decade ago that sent too many of our beloveds away.  Some of whom are here today; that is a blessing and a gift.   Thank you for returning.

So, the question emerges: how to pivot to meet the future? Here is my offering:

Release. Come alive.

Release. In order to grasp the future, we must give the past its due. Then we must release it.  While I’m not sure that it was ever helpful, the refrain of “that’s not how we used to do it” is not useful in a territory and landscape that has changed so drastically in the past 64 years.

Acknowledging the loss of a religious education program that used to have scores of children and youth, and then letting it go, has allowed us to release the “used-to-be’s” and make space for new possibilities. Literally: make space, here in the sanctuary, with our V.I.P. – Very Inquisitive Person – space that recognizes while the Sunday School model is dying, the need for faith formation and religious exploration is very much alive and it is ours to give it voice and form.

Come Alive. Theologian Howard Thurman said it this way:

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

The past half year, leadership at TUS has met to connect and claim its mission – to identify the sweet spot we now occupy.  We continue this work, so we’re not done yet.  However, in August the Board identified two purposes that make The Unitarian Society come alive and I’d like to share them with you.

One purpose is to Connect with Something Greater than Ourselves, both through doing good in the world and through connecting with a sense of higher power or Unity. We talked about how to bring alive the concept of the very space you find yourselves in: sanctuary.  Sanctuary for spiritual exploration and development, perhaps even moving beyond our Bond of Union’s threshold of spiritual satisfaction to spiritual growth.

The other purpose is to Build Partnerships in our Diverse Community. Examples of living into this purpose include

  • our commitment to ensuring that the Montessori School thrives;
  • continuing our decades-long relationship with Elijah’s Promise, which we recognized and amplified earlier this past year with a gift of two $1,000 scholarships to students at the Promise Culinary School;
  • our institutional support to the Lost Souls Public Memorial Project, a community partnership with individuals, non-profits, and now, the Township of East Brunswick, thanks to the leadership of Mayor Brad Cohen, an effort that we lead, to not forget or erase a truly horrific local event of an 1818 slave ring run by a corrupt judge who lived in East Brunswick. The Lost Souls Project envisions a public memorial to the 177 Lost Souls who were sold into permanent slavery. Until this congregation lent our institutional, ethical, and moral support to remembering this history, it was white-washed and forgotten.  This is truly work that is ours to do. And as anyone who hears me speak about it, this is a ministry that makes ME come alive; and
  • our newest ministry that we hope will become a signature annual event for the congregation, meeting a need here in the local community: a gathering that focuses on what is ours to do to bring racism to an end.  Called MLK@TUS, this January 20th will be our second time pulling this event together. We welcome your participation: helping to organize, attending, spreading the word, inviting others.

Looking inward – creating sanctuary and connecting with something greater than ourselves – and looking outward – building partnerships in our diverse community – not one without the other.  Where they intersect, combine, resonate, overlap, and create new synergies – this is the sweet spot this congregation can claim, here at the pivot, as we release the past, as we meet and make the future.

I am blessed to be on this journey with you.

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Pivoting the Sweet Spot: The Future of The Unitarian Society

delivered at the Rededication event at The Unitarian Society

November 23, 2019

Theologian Frederick Buechner once wrote:

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

It’s like the Venn diagram that used to be taped to a wall in my office: one circle was the hurt of the world and the other circle was the gifts you bring. The overlap is “the sweet spot.”

Both circles change over time.  Though it sure seems constant, the hurt of the world does.  As each of us knows so well, our abilities shift and develop over time.  Sweet spots shift and change, too. True for individuals, and for congregations.

I have come to see this weekend’s Rededication festivities not as a sweet spot, but as a sweet spot pivot. Borrowing from that clever turn-of-phrase in an early congregational pamphlet – the sweet spot requires pivoting “where the past meets the future.” 

Granted, a bright future was easier to discern during the height of the fellowship movement, a time when Unitarian Universalism was experiencing its most robust expansion, this congregation being one example.

Our current societal landscape makes that phrase more daunting.  National – and our own – trends reflect declining participation by adults, children, and youth in congregational life – even though Unitarian Universalism is doing better than many mainline Protestant denominations.

And this congregation has its own history. We are much smaller than we used to be and are still figuring out how to adjust to this new reality. We are still healing from conflict a decade ago that sent too many of our beloveds away.  Some of whom are here today; that is a blessing and a gift.   Thank you for returning.

So, the question emerges: how to pivot to meet the future? Here is my offering:

Release. Come alive.

Release. In order to grasp the future, we must give the past its due. Then we must release it. 

While I’m not sure that it was ever helpful, the refrain of “that’s not how we used to do it” is not useful in a territory and landscape that has changed so drastically in the past 64 years. Acknowledging the loss of a religious education program that used to have scores of children and youth, and then letting it go, has allowed us to release the “used-to-be’s” and make space for new possibilities. Literally: make space, here in the sanctuary, with our V.I.P. – Very Inquisitive Person – space that recognizes while the Sunday School model is dying, the need for faith formation and religious exploration is very much alive and it is ours to give it voice and form.

Come Alive. Theologian Howard Thurman said it this way:

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

The past half year, leadership at TUS has met to connect and claim its mission – to identify the sweet spot we now occupy.  We continue this work, so we’re not done yet.  However, in August the Board identified two purposes that make The Unitarian Society come alive and I’d like to share them with you.

One purpose is to Connect with Something Greater than Ourselves, both through doing good in the world and through connecting with a sense of higher power or Unity. We talked about how to bring alive the concept of the very space you find yourselves in: sanctuary.  Sanctuary for spiritual exploration and development, perhaps even moving beyond our Bond of Union’s threshold of spiritual satisfaction to spiritual growth.

The other purpose is to Build Partnerships in our Diverse Community. Examples of living into this purpose include

  • our commitment to ensuring that the Montessori School thrives;
  • continuing our decades-long relationship with Elijah’s Promise, which we recognized and amplified earlier this past year with a gift of two $1,000 scholarships to students at the Promise Culinary School;
  • our institutional support to the Lost Souls Public Memorial Project, a community partnership with individuals, non-profits, and now, the Township of East Brunswick, thanks to the leadership of Mayor Brad Cohen, an effort that we lead, to not forget or erase a truly horrific local event of an 1818 slave ring run by a corrupt judge who lived in East Brunswick. The Lost Souls Project envisions a public memorial to the 177 Lost Souls who were sold into permanent slavery. Until this congregation lent our institutional, ethical, and moral support to remembering this history, it was white-washed and forgotten.  This is truly work that is ours to do. And as anyone who hears me speak about it, this is a ministry that makes ME come alive; and
  • our newest ministry that we hope will become a signature annual event for the congregation, meeting a need here in the local community: a gathering that focuses on what is ours to do to bring racism to an end.  Called MLK@TUS, this January 20th will be our second time pulling this event together. We welcome your participation: helping to organize, attending, spreading the word, inviting others.

Looking inward – creating sanctuary and connecting with something greater than ourselves – and looking outward – building partnerships in our diverse community – not one without the other.  Where they intersect, combine, resonate, overlap, and create new synergies – this is the sweet spot this congregation can claim, here at the pivot, as we release the past, as we meet and make the future.

I am blessed to be on this journey with you.

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Healing the Heart of Democracy (sermon)

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick

November 10, 2019

What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb? What if our America is not dead but a country still waiting to be born? What if the story of America is one long labor?

These are the words of American lawyer, activist, and follower of the Sikh faith, Valerie Kaur.  She spoke them just after the 2016 presidential election. They have stayed in my head and heart ever since.

Valarie Kaur speaks at TEDWomen 2017 Ñ Bridges, November 1-3, 2017, Orpheum Theatre, New Orleans, Louisiana. Photo: Stacie McChesney / TED


The darkness of the tomb could be the climate crisis. Or the rise of right-wing nationalism throughout the world. Or corruption in our own nation. The rising river of refugees seeking safe home all over the world.  The growing violence towards trans women, especially those of color, of anti-Semitism in this country. The rise of gun violence in this land.   So many kinds of suffering, so much danger: take your pick.

All over the world, there are democratic uprisings happening – RIGHT NOW. Are these labor contractions? Chile. Lebanon with the human chain of people across the length of the whole country and protestors singing Baby Shark to an upset toddler to calm him down. Haiti. Hong Kong with crowds somewhere between one and two million people joining in protest. Ecuador. Iraq.  Iraq? Yes, even there. Are these the darkness not of the tomb, but of the womb, new possibilities about to be birthed?

Have you heard of the 1619 Project?  Headed by Nikole Hannah-Jones, it is a project of the New York Times, focusing our national attention on the commemoration of the 400years since the first enslaved Africans arrived on the shores of this continent, ushering in the second existential threat to aspirations of true democracy (the first being the violent displacement of the original residents of the continent). 

In addition to a riveting podcast series, Hannah-Jones published an article in the Times that provocatively titled, “America wasn’t a democracy until Black people made it one.”

Nikole Hannah-Jones

This is the part of the American story of democracy that squeezes the breath from me and stops me from calling us back to our roots, stops me from invoking our founding fathers, as if the problem today is that we have simply gone astray, as if slaveholding George Washington and Thomas Jefferson didn’t mean to own humans, to profit from their suffering. 

What Langston Hughes described in his poem, Let America Be America Again, that we heard earlier is what the writer Parker Palmer calls the tragic gap – “the gap that will forever separate what is from what could and should be.”

Malcolm X

Malcolm X knew personally and up close the tragic gap.  Only he called it something else: a sham.  He did not think there was any tension between the lofty ideals of this nation and how Black people (or Native Americans, for that matter) were treated because he was clear that this gap, rather than tragic, was intentional and built into the system right from the start. He saw the core corruption in American democracy as fundamental, not something that could be reformed or fixed.  And yet, he also wrote,

Sometimes, I have dared to dream … that one day, history may even say that my voice—which disturbed the white man’s smugness, and his arrogance, and his complacency—that my voice helped to save America from a grave, possibly even fatal catastrophe,” Malcolm wrote.[i]

Sounds like Malcolm was also hoping not for the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb for American democracy.

Where there is a tragic gap, there are also paradoxes, in this American democracy. The paradox that the same darkness might be that of the tomb or the womb, depending on how we bring our attentions.  The paradox (or is it irony?) that the very people enslaved and made less than human in this nation’s founding document become the agents of a truer democracy. Hannah-Jones writes,

The United States is a nation founded on both an ideal and a lie. Our Declaration of Independence, approved on July 4, 1776, proclaims that “all men are created equal” and “endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.” But the white men who drafted those words did not believe them to be true for the hundreds of thousands of black people in their midst. “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” did not apply to fully one-fifth of the country. Yet despite being violently denied the freedom and justice promised to all, black Americans believed fervently in the American creed. Through centuries of black resistance and protest, we have helped the country live up to its founding ideals. And not only for ourselves — black rights struggles paved the way for every other rights struggle, including women’s and gay rights, immigrant and disability rights.[ii]

I struggled mightily to write this sermon. I silently cursed myself for thinking that the Sunday after Election Day would be a great fit for a sermon about democracy.  I feel as if I must invoke in ALL CAPS the quote so often attributed to Winston Churchill:

In writing this sermon, I had to come face to face with my ambivalence about American democracy. In so doing, I came to understand that my intellectual ambivalence was a defense… against heartbreak – heart break at the lies I was told in school about the founding of this nation; heart break at how so deeply entrenched white supremacy was, has been, and still very much is in this land of not-all-are-free. 

Yesterday, I was scheduled to attend the annual luncheon of the local NAACP – our nation’s largest civil rights organization.  Even though this sermon was not yet done and I was fretting about it, I knew I had to attend because we are in partnership with the New Brunswick NAACP on the Lost Souls Project, and because last year they were generous to us, recognizing this congregation with their faith-based advocacy award.  So, it was important that I go.

It was an unexpected gift and a salve, for I was given a visceral reminder of the resilience of a community of people who, despite the history of deep disenfranchisement and false promises of universal liberty and true racial equality, remain deeply committed to democratic ideals of full representation through participation in the 2020 census, registering people to vote, and overall engaged citizenship.

It was while sitting there that I began to see the many layers of democracy at play in our national landscape.

Writer and environmental activist, Terry Tempest Williams tells us that

The human heart is the first home of democracy. It is where we embrace our questions: Can we be equitable? Can we be generous? Can we listen with our whole beings, not just our minds, and offer our attention rather than our opinion? And do we have enough resolve in our hearts to act courageously, relentlessly, without giving up, trusting our fellow citizens to join us in our determined pursuit-a living democracy? 

Here we are again, with this question of attention. Can we offer our attention, not just our opinions, she says, when it comes to building the first home of democracy in the human heart?

Unitarian Universalism makes longstanding claim on democratic processes as ethical and moral values, not political ones.  So much so that it is part of our Fifth Principle:

We…covenant to affirm and promote…the right of conscience and the use of democratic process within our congregations and in society at large.

So, there is the political layer of democracy – voting, representation, sitting on juries, and so on. Even, at least theoretically, having a healthy checks and balances system, including the three separate branches engaging with each other in respectful, healthy, transparent manners [pause]. 

Yet there is this other layer that Tempest Williams is getting at: an ethical/moral one.  Which is to say, qualities informed by democratic impulses that reside within us as individuals and as groups. Parker Palmer has identified five habits of the heart for healing democracy – qualities and capacities that We the People are responsible for cultivating.  They are

An understanding that we are all in this together;

An appreciation of the value of ‘otherness’;

An ability to hold tension in life-giving ways;

A sense of personal voice and agency; and

A capacity to create community.

Parker Palmer

Palmer believes, for a healthy political democracy, these qualities must reside within THIS human heart.  He refuses to point to those people over there – groups of which we never seem to belong to but who are always responsible for all the problems. 

Over and over, he comes back to himself, and asks the reader – asks me, asks you – to do the same. And he warns,

If American democracy fails, the ultimate cause will not be a foreign invasion or the power of big money or the greed and dishonesty of some elected officials or a military coup or the internal communist/socialist/ fascist takeover that keeps some Americans awake at night. It will happen because we—you and I—became so fearful of each other, of our differences and of the future, that we unraveled the civic community on which democracy depends, losing our power to resist all that threatens it and call it back to its highest form.

Palmer says we must be people who “know how to hold conflict inwardly in a manner that converts it into creativity, allowing it to pull them open to new ideas, new courses of action, and each other.”  I raise this particular way of healing the heart of democracy to your attention because I think this is the very description of what it means to live in covenant with one another, the very description of what it means to be not a creedal religion, but a covenantal one, making this quality especially relevant to us as Unitarian Universalists.

*****

We are in the midst of a national election that holds the potential of the womb and of the tomb.   Given the attacks on so many democratic institutions in the past few years, so much is on the line with the presidential election. 

At our General Assembly in June, delegates democratically adopted a Statement of Conscience, “Our Democracy Uncorrupted,” that recognizes that democracy in this nation has always been compromised (think the Constitution’s 3/5 Compromise, which counted enslaved individuals as equal to 3/5 of a white property-owning man), and that we must nevertheless continuously strive for an uncorrupt democracy.  Here we are again: paradox and tragic gap.

Restricted access to voting rights for felons and the disproportionate incarceration of Black and Brown people results in significant disenfranchisement in communities of color. It’s easy to see this as white supremacy’s continued evolution of the original disenfranchisement of people of the African diaspora. Yet, things are changing, at least in some places.  Last year, there was much attention to Florida’s restoration of the right to vote to felons; currently, Georgia is considering it.

Here in New Jersey, you cannot vote if you are serving a prison sentence, or if you have been released but are parole, or if you are probation. This means that over 100,000 residents of the Garden State cannot vote.  Half of these are Black, even though only 15% of the Jersey population is Black.  No other state in the Northeast denies voting rights to as many people living in the community as does New Jersey.[iii] I was shocked when I learned this just a few weeks ago at the UU FaithAction New Jersey Issues conference.

The UUA is encouraging congregations to #UUtheVote, to foment engaged citizenry, noting that

“with the increasing control of our government by corporate and special interests, voter suppression, and the alarming rise of authoritarianism, we face many challenges to ensure democracy and a just society.

That’s the darkness of the tomb. Yet the statement continued with what sounds so much like the promise of the womb:

We also have seen a rise in people’s movements led by people of color, women, and others impacted by injustice, a rise in activism, and the election of progressive candidates. This is electoral justice.”[iv]

The UUA has resource – webinars and tips for how to help foment an engaged citizenry. The opportunities are there, should we choose to bring our individual or congregational attentions. How might we harness our connections with UU FaithAction? or with the New Brunswick NAACP chapter? Or our close proximity to Pennsylvania, a swing state? How might we do what is ours to do to close the tragic gap?

[pause]

Back in 2016, Valerie Kaur included these words in her speech-prayer: 

What if all the mothers who came before us, who survived genocide and occupation, slavery and Jim Crow, racism and xenophobia and Islamophobia, political oppression and sexual assault, are standing behind us now, whispering in our ear: You are brave. What if this is our Great Contraction before we birth a new future?

May we live our lives knowing and acting on the belief that democracy is not something we have, but something we must do.

May tend to the legacy and wounds of this nation’s corrupt and racist origins, persisting at the painful work that will bring about a democracy that is truly inclusive, reparative, and life-giving.

May our hearts know the “alchemy that can turn suffering into community, … tension into an opening toward the common good.”

May we live our lives knowing that progress is “never permanent, will always be threatened and must be redoubled, restated, and reimagined if it is to survive.”  

May we listen with our whole beings, not just our minds, and offer our attention rather than our opinion, all in service of healing the heart of democracy.

May we do all that we can, in the life given us, to lessen the tragic gap, that others and our descendants might know more compassion, more inclusion, more justice, more life.

Amen. Blessed be.


[i] https://www.commondreams.org/views/2015/02/02/malcolm-x-was-right-about-america

[ii] https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/08/14/magazine/black-history-american-democracy.html

[iii] https://www.njisj.org/1844nomorereport2017

[iv] https://www.uua.org/liberty/electionreform

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Race & Power: Then & Now (sermon)

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick, NJ

October 27, 2019

Fisticuffs.[i] Violent shoving. Spitting in the face. Name calling.

In June, I preached on the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Rebellion, what is commonly understood as the start of the gay or queer liberation movement. But the aggressive behavior I just described, while it did happen in June of 1969, was not in front of the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village.  It took place at General Assembly – yes, our General Assembly, the annual gathering of Unitarian Universalists across the country and the globe – in Boston.

1969 was quite the year.

As I said last week, “Our whole existence as Unitarians, or Universalists, or Unitarian Universalists, we have been engaged in controversies related to race and power.”  Today we are going to explore what happened a half century ago and how echoes, some subtle, some incredibly loud, are reverberating today.

Before I go further, I want to affirm that Unitarian Universalism is, and always has been, a multi-racial, multi-cultural movement. There are people of many races and ethnicities who are Unitarian Universalists, including who are members of this congregation.  Yet, we cannot hide from the reality that we are predominantly white, not only in membership and attendance, but also in cultural comforts and leadership. We have aspirations to be more multi-cultural than we are. We have a gap that we cannot easily explain. It causes pain, and sometimes harm, to the people of color who are us. So, while I tell a story today that is largely Black and white, I want to explicitly recognize, that it is not our only race story.

In 1966, Reverend Steven Frichtman, a white minister at First U in Los Angeles, preached these words upon observing the emergence of Black Power on the civil rights landscape:

 “The future will be hard, stormy, and unpredictable. Our own hearts will often have to change, our subconscious minds must be cleansed. Our own value system must be shaken up. And we must not run away from it because we grow weary in the struggle.”

The United States was responding in one way or another with the emergence of Black Power, whether they knew it or not. Black people were demanding that they get their fair share, that Black is Beautiful. It raised defensiveness and fear for those who were not ready, who felt threatened, or who felt that too much was being asked too quickly. The parallel with our own time, and the emergence of the Black Lives Matters movement, is undeniable.

Until a decade or so ago, this era had been known as the Black Empowerment Controversy. You heard what Reverend Sinkford suggests it be called more accurately: the White Power Controversy.  It has a certain ring of authenticity to it.  In the end, I think what has most stuck is the politic “Empowerment Controversy.”  Even without the nomenclature, race still vibrates throughout this part of our history.

In summarizing this history my primary, but not only, source was, Revisiting the Empowerment Controversy: Black Power and Unitarian Universalism, written by Reverend Mark Morrison-Reed.  Here is an incomplete timeline:

  • UUs proudly take part in the civil rights movement of the early 1960s, including two who would become civil rights martyrs in 1963: Reverend James Reeb and Viola Liuzzo, both white. We also have congregations that attempt to use our polity to assert their right to stay segregationist.
  • Black Power arrives on the scene, nationally and within Unitarian Universalism.
  • In October, 1967, the UUA holds a conference to develop a response to Black Power. Out of this emerges the Black Affairs Council. Unexpected by the white male leaders of the UUA, BAC insists in choosing its own leaders and articulates a philosophy much in line with Black Power.
  • A group with an integrationist philosophy, called Black and White Action, alos forms.  From the beginning, the philosophy of these two groups are in conflict, and competition.
  • In the spring of 1968 there are riots across the nation after the assassination of Dr. King – a man who told us that “a riot is the language of the unheard.”
  • BAC demanded that the UUA fund them for $250,000 a year for four years – a million dollars that in our time would be like $7 million. BAC would have complete control over the money.
  • At General Assembly that year, a vote overwhelmingly approved the formal establishment of BAC and full funding.
  • The 1969 General Assembly was in Boston. The division between BAC and BAWA had grown deeper. BAC council members walked out of General Assembly. Rev. Jack Mendelsohn, a white minister, called for others to join them in solidarity.  Four hundred white people joined the walk out (about one fifth of the voting delegates).  This was when one of Jack’s colleagues spit in his face.
  • Delegates voted to continue the funding for BAC, but not for BAWA.  The vote was very close, nearly 50/50.  This did not bode well and marks the beginning of the end.
  • After GA, the new UUA president discovered that the Association was nearly bankrupt. This had not been made public. Looking to the survival of the Association, President Robert West cut funding in many areas, including to BAC.
  • This was not received well by members of BAC or their allies. It was seen as yet another betrayal by white leaders and a faith movement that continually placed African Americans’ needs last. BAC disaffiliated from the UUA.
  • At General Assembly in 1970, delegates ended all funding to BAC.  BAC eventually disbanded.
  • A significant number of Black Unitarian Universalists, as well as white ones, to left Unitarian Universalism[ii].  Most did not return.

In the fifty years since, there have been numerous reflections from different perspectives on what happened and why. Mark Morrison-Reed has written extensively on this topic. He notes that the passage of time was necessary to allow what had become metal hot had to cool for it to take shape that we might be able to recognize and make use of.  Morrison-Reed’s conclusion in his latest book, which came in 2018, surprised me.  Here are his words:

Theorizing about the role that paternalism and patriarchy played during this era is a more speculative endeavor than chronicling what happened, but the effort leads to the most cogent explanation for why the empowerment tragedy played out as it did. Patriarchy turns to violence to depose the leader when it must, because patriarchy is about the exercise of power. In this case, it was also transracial and manifested in both the generational conflict within the UUA and in BAC/BUUC’s overthrow of the African American old guard.

Morrison-Reed, an African American man, concludes that it was racialized patriarchical power grabs at the heart of the division and rupture. While we lost a higher percentage of Black UUs, we lost members of both races. Both BAC and BAWA had Black and white supporters. Morrison-Reed drilled down deeply in this book, so it’s a compelling supposition.  

While Morrison-Reed names patriarchy as the culprit, this does not let white people off the hook or mean that racism did not play a critical role. It was a complex and deeply destructive combination of race and gender oppression that wreaked havoc, not one or the other.  A havoc that brought lasting loss to our faith movement, loss of cherished members from congregations, and even the splitting of lifelong friendships and marriages.

~~~

There are cycles in our faith movement’s engagement with race, racism, and white supremacy culture. After the controversies of the late 1960s and early 1970s, there was a decade or so where we did all kinds of social justice work, as long as it was not explicitly racial justice work. Some might call it avoidance. Some might call it healing. Probably it was a bit of both.

Echoes of the Empowerment Controversy remain with us today. An awareness of the origins of these echoes helps us to build the Beloved Community to which we aspire and about which we dream.

Paula Cole Jones, who works for the UUA and has a decade and a half of experience working with congregations, observed over and over that a person can believe they are a “good UU’ without ever thinking about or dealing with racism or other oppressions at a systems level. This struck her, a Black woman, as wrong. She led the process of creating an 8th Principle to correct this. Together with Bruce Pollack Johnson, a white member of a UU congregation in Philadelphia, they drafted in 2013 what is now known as the 8th Principle, which has been adopted by about a dozen UU congregations and has been recommended to the wider Association for adoption.  It reads

“We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote: journeying toward spiritual wholeness by working to build a diverse multicultural Beloved Community by our actions that accountably dismantle racism and other oppressions in ourselves and our institutions.”

In 2017, we saw the emergence of Black Lives of UU (BLUU), a Black-led UU organization that is in covenant with the UUA, helping to create Black leadership and healthy spaces for anyone from the Africa diaspora, as well as supporting other people of color, to find and make their place within Unitarian Universalism, instead of having to leave, instead of having to endure frequent microaggressions that come from well-intended typically white ignorance.  Because that is a thing that we UU congregations do fairly well, I’m sad to confirm.

In 2018, the UUA promised BLUU to raise $5.3 million to fund their work, including committing a sizeable portion of its endowment, and inviting other UU organizations, including congregations, to commit as well.  Along with nearly 700 other UU congregations, our congregation took part in the Promise and the Practice. We met the goal of contributing $10 per member to BLUU. Many people, myself included, feel that this our way of making good on a fifty-year-old promise by paying a long-standing debt.

We know that we are not done with race, racism, or white supremacy culture – out there or here, in our midst. America is not post-racial and neither are we. As it has always been, it still seems that General Assembly acts as a thermometer for showing us how hot the issue of race is in any particular year.[iii] This past year’s General Assembly was no exception.

In 2017, the Commission on Institutional Change was established to get to the root to what ails us racially.  You heard an excerpt of their most recent report as one of our readings this morning. At this past year’s GA, the Commission conducted a survey. About one quarter of GA registrants responded.  60% ranked as 10 (the highest score) that the most important work for the future of our faith is anti-racism, anti-oppression, and multi-cultural work.  An additional 30% ranked it with an 8 or 9.[iv]

On the other hand, the efforts to make space for voices of those with marginalized identities encountered the harshest backlash to date at this General Assembly, the wake of which continues to cause damage.

Last month, the Commission on Institutional Change reflected on General Assembly, asking some truly compelling questions that fit well with our theme of belonging this month. The Commission asks, “Can we recognize that there are legitimate and differing interpretation of our past and present? Can we reconcile our differences in love?”[v]

Whether we apply these questions within Unitarian Universalism, or to the transformations taking place in our larger culture, we must wrestle with what it is to be a predominantly white community in a society that is increasingly “browning,” — something that I personally welcome, but recognize causes me to have to learn new ways of being, to face uncomfortable truths, and to let go of certain expectations I was taught to have because of my white racial identity. 

I think this is harder for those of us who have sat more solidly in traditional positions of power.  I am thinking here of straight white males of Baby Boom generation — some of whom sit in this very room, and for whom I have genuine affection; one of whom I share a home and a life with.

The backlash that our nation experienced in response to the civil rights movement, in response to Black Power, has not gone away.  In fact, in recent years, it has intensified. In addition to backlash from more conservative quarters, there is also unmanaged fragilities, both mild and extreme kinds, from all directions: conservative, center, liberal, and progressive. 

We are not immune, though we like to hold ourselves apart from it. Indeed, we are in the midst of it. If we do not engage in thoughtful, intentional self-examination, it may very well, if we allow it, pull us apart.

Let us join with Reverend Sinkford, who says at the top of your order of service, that most days, he believes there is growing traction to point us toward hope.

Let us live into our aspirations of a deep and true belonging for all who are on the journey to Beloved Community.

Let us find ways to recognize legitimate and differing interpretations of our past and of our present. And may we work for a future together.

Let us find ways to reconcile in love.

Let us not grow weary in the struggle.

Amen.  Blessed be.


[i] Morrison-Reed, Mark. Revisiting the Empowerment Controversy

[ii] Takahashi-Morris, Roush, & Spencer. The Arc of the Universe is Long, p. 11

[iii] Arc, p. 446

[iv] UUWorld https://www.uuworld.org/articles/coic-survey-preview

[v] https://www.uua.org/uuagovernance/committees/commission-institutional-change/blog/deepening-spiritually-reflecting

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This is Not a Drill: A Global Call to Strike for the Climate (sermon)

September 15, 2019

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick, NJ

Reverend Karen G. Johnston

We refuse to bequeath a dying planet to future generations by failing to act now.

We act in peace, with ferocious love of these lands in our hearts.

We act on behalf of life.

Powerful words in the midst of a topic – in the midst of a REALITY – that is so heavy it is leaden beyond leaden, it is difficult to offer the proper invitation, sufficient space, for full consideration.

We refuse to bequeath a dying planet to future generations by failing to act now.

We act in peace, with ferocious love of these lands in our hearts.

We act on behalf of life.

Last month I preached of how we have shifted from climate change in the present tense to climate changed – past tense, the change already happening, damage already done and now beyond our prevention, to be sure, and beyond our fixing, but not yet – according to many – beyond our being able to minimize, not yet beyond the choice to lessen the suffering – to lessen our suffering and the suffering of others, never the first without the other.

There are so many voices, some in resonance with each other, some in contradiction – and these are just the science-based ones.  David Wallace Wells who tells us that climate nihilism is just as much a delusion as climate denial. Jonathan Franzen, in this week’s New Yorker, telling us that it’s beyond time to stop pretending. We can read Dahr Jamail’s The End of Ice and weep lavishly for all that has been lost, is being lost.

We can listen to visionary feminist fiction writers of the 1990s who knew what was in store.

Starhawk’s Fifth Sacred Thing and Octavia Butler’s Parable trilogy (with its two books).  A quarter of a century ago these wise women were listening to the Earth, to activists and healers, could perceive the path we have been on, are on. In these offerings of fiction, there is wisdom of how we might realistically move forward in a climate constricted world.

Currently, there is Jem Bendell, a British academic, who speaks of “an uneven ending of our normal modes of sustenance, security, pleasure, identity, meaning and hope.”[1] Or, in other words, collapse. His approach to this fraught topic is that a failure to normalize conversations about collapse, will cause us, and the planet, even more harm.

We refuse to bequeath a dying planet to future generations by failing to act now.

We act in peace, with ferocious love of these lands in our hearts.

We act on behalf of life.

~~~

Jem is just one in the multi-voice environmental movement that is Extinction Rebellion. Called XR for short, its hourglass symbol on the back of my robe today, it is a global movement formed less than a year ago in the United Kingdom. Non-violent, artistically creative, and intentionally disruptive, Extinction Rebellion gives shape to the rebellious instinct against the existential threat that we call climate crisis. 

Extinction Rebellion’s primary demands are fundamentally intersectional. They recognize that we cannot end dominion over nature without attending to all forms of dominion, of cultural oppression. The struggle for climate justice is “the struggle for racial, gender, sexual, and economic equality.”[1]

Thanks to XR, the UK declared carbon neutrality by 2050 — and XR continues to push for even sooner, for truly, 2050 is far too late. XR presses for municipalities all over the world – nearly a thousand so far – to declare climate emergencies.  Just a week or two ago, they pressured the New York Times to recognize the hypocrisy of so-called objectively reporting on climate change and sponsoring a major conference of the oil industry conference. Due to XR’s, and others’ actions, they scrapped their sponsorship!   

Three months ago, XR published a handbook called, This Is Not a Drill, from which this sermon takes its title. In it, there is a mini-primer on Donut Economics by “Renegade Economist” Kate Raworth, advocating for an economy that makes us thrive, whether or not it grows, rather than the kind we currently have, which is an economy that grows, whether or not it makes us thrive. One chapter is a deeply disturbing window into how the ultra-rich are preparing for collapse (FYI: it does not include you and me).  There is a recipe for how to hold successful non-violent, civilly-disobedient actions, including how to feed people.  And it includes XR’s declaration of emergency, which ends with these three lines:

We refuse to bequeath a dying planet to future generations by failing to act now.

We act in peace, with ferocious love of these lands in our hearts.

We act on behalf of life.

XR is intentionally non-partisan. And though some faith leaders are associated with it, it is not a faith-based movement. Even so, I wonder if you hear, like my nephew did, the echoes of the ancient text of Deuteronomy from Hebrew Scriptures:

“Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.”

What I find resonant — theologically, spiritually — with XR is part of our Universalist heritage: there is no individual salvation. All salvation is universal.  All liberation is collective.  And thusly must we bring it about.

Extinction Rebellion’s message and methods are dramatic because the reality we are facing is existential. Last October’s IPCC report informed the world we had less than 12 years to…to what? Not to prevent climate change – it’s too late for that.  Eleven years to make changes now so that we might create a path to net zero CO2 emissions by mid-century,[2] which is one goal in averting total disaster. That eleven-year forecast is conservative. So conservative, that it does not serve us in fully understanding the emergency in our midst: time and time again, the timelines put out by the IPCC have shown themselves to be wild under-estimates.

~~~

This is perhaps why Extinction Rebellion, and other climate movements have gone global so rapidly, resonating so deeply, captivating the imaginations of so many, including people who had never considered themselves activists. XR has emerged as part of the same Zeitgeist as the Sunrise Movement in this country. And as the climate strike movement that has blossomed out of the actions of now 16-year-old Swedish Greta Thunberg (you might remember her from our Earth Day service called, “I Want You to Panic”).  Last fall, Greta stopped attending school on Fridays, choosing instead to sit outside her nation’s parliament building to demand that the government respond in a way that is proportionate to the emergency at hand.  This year, she has taken a leave of absence to focus on the climate crisis. She traveled to the U.S. on a solar-powered ship, not wanting to fly, given the carbon footprint.  She is here to do many things, including attend to the United Nations climate talks beginning a week from tomorrow.

Days before that meeting is the global strike for the climate on September 20. THIS FRIDAY. Initiated by youth climate activists, the call is for ALL to participate – and it is just five days away.   The global climate strike is supported by many organizations world-wide, including the Unitarian Universalist Association, including the Board of this congregation. 

Including the Central Jersey Climate Coalition, a group begun by students, faculty, and staff at Rutgers, responding to the call to strike.  We are blessed that some of these pragmatic, diligent, insistent organizers are here with us this morning.  They’ll have some time after my sermon to speak invite you to take part in the rally.  I’m hoping that they will stay for at least some of coffee hour to share with you more of their passion on this topic.  

The call to strike is wide – whatever level of participation your circumstance allows (and maybe stretching beyond your comfort zone).  Perhaps you can still put in for a day off from work this Friday.  If you own a business, you shut it down for the day (I know of at least one TUS congregant who is considering this – pretty impressive, if you ask me). Or if you can leave work early, you could join one of the 10 rallies statewide. 

If you are in this area, you can go to the rally at Rutgers at 2:30, with a march to Representative Frank Pallone’s office, demanding that he call hearings on the Green New Deal, since he is the chair of the House Energy and Commerce Committee.   

Here’s what I know: If we continue with our business as usual, fed by our own versions of denial and wishful thinking – that is what our elected officials will do too.

On Friday, I will not be here (none of our church staff will be; as an employer, on the church side we are honoring the strike). Our emails will be silent as well.  (Of course, if you have a pastoral emergency, still call or text me!)  In the afternoon, I will be at the Rutgers rally.  I’m hoping to see some of you there, too.  Or you can start at the other local rally at the Reformed Church in Highland Park at 3pm. Both rallies are coordinated and will join together on our way to Representative Pallone’s office.

In the morning on Friday, the President of our Unitarian Universalist Association, Reverend Susan Frederick-Gray, is speaking at Community Church in New York City, as is the new Activist-in-Chief of 350.org – May Boeve. I’ve been wondering about whether I can squeeze that into what will be a busy, busy day. If any of you want to make a congregational trip of it, please let me know.

~~~

Before we hear from some Rutgers students, I want to bring your attention to the ClimateSpirit gathering happening this evening.  Its goal is to create over time a pocket of deep community through connecting, singing, sharing, and eating, providing a resilient space to process climate grief, in order to make room in your psyche, soul, or spirit to do whatever it is that is yours to do. I’m thankful to TUS member Stephanie Sasso, who will be leading the singing. It’s open to ages high school and older. It starts at 5:30. Each of you is invited.  All of you are welcome.  As are your friends, your neighbors, the wider community. Word of it has gone far and wide.  I can’t tell if we will have five people or fifty.

~~~

It is not easy to make room in our psyches, in our heartminds, for the reality of climate chaos, no matter the scale. If we did — if we do –it means that it is not just other people who must stop “business as usual.”  It is we who must do this.  And must do it now, for time is ever so short.

Let us, in whatever ways possible, rise up to the call, not only of this strike, but of this larger moment.  Let us raise up our personal sense of connection and our communal sense of hope. 

Let us refuse to bequeath a dying planet to future generations by failing to act now.

Let us act in peace, with ferocious love of these lands in our hearts.

Let us affirm: we act on behalf of life.

Amen.  And may it be so.

I’d like to welcome Rutgers folks from the Central Jersey Climate Coalition to come forward and share a few words with the congregation.  While they are speaking, baskets of climate strike buttons are being passed around.  Please take one – two if you will give the other away – to show your support for this global effort.


[1] Yamin, Farhana. This Is Not a Drill.


[1] Jem Bendell, Doom & Bloom, This is Not a Drill

[2] https://insideclimatenews.org/news/27082019/12-years-climate-change-explained-ipcc-science-solutions

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Each a Part of the Beautiful Whole (sermon)

Water Ingathering 2019

September 8, 2019

The Unitarian Society, East Brunswick, NJ

All of us need all of us to make it.

These are words from Reverend Theresa Ines Soto, the Senior Minister at First Unitarian in Oakland California.

All of us need all of us to make it.

No matter our shape or size, no matter the hue of our skin, no matter if our brains are neurotypical or not. Whether we are tall or short or inbetween.  Young or once young. Old or gonna be old.  Cranky, cheerful, skeptical, naïve – there’s room for you here.  Not despite whatever it is that makes you you, but because of what makes you you.

What makes you you, makes us us.

Each of us, a part of the Beautiful Whole.

All of us need all of us to make it.

The author, environmentalist, and Mormon, Terry Tempest Williams wrote a book awhile back called, Finding Beauty in a Broken World.  The last third of the book is about the unexpected complexity of prairie dog communities. The middle third is about healing after the Rwandan genocide.  The first third of the book is about learning how to make mosaics. 

She writes about a class she took from a master mosaicist in Ravenna, Italy.   There she learned that the tiles used in mosaics are called “tessera.”  She also learned the eleven classical rules. 

Number one: The play of light is the first rule of mosaic.

Number three: Tesserae (the plural of tessera) are irregular, rough, individualized, unique.

Number eight: There is perfection in imperfection. The interstices or gaps between the tesserae speak their own language.

Number nine: Many colors are used to create one color from afar.

Finally, number eleven: The play of light is the first and last rule of mosaic.

Tempest Williams learns things in this class beyond how to make a mosaic.  She learns classical history: the first mosaics were made in Mesopotamia, two and a half millennia before Jesus walked the earth, but died out as an art form.  It reappeared in 9th century Greece, first made of pebbles, a cheaper alternative to carpet.  Then, as cut stone became the primary material, the art form spread geographically: Greece, Turkey, Egypt, and those famous ones in Pompeii, buried under volcanic ash.

She learned other things.  Wisdom that might be applied beyond making a literal mosaic. How it is not only interesting, but necessary, to have diversity of color, of texture, of shape, of size.  How sometimes, it is not commonality that ties one tessera to another, but is the tension between them.  That somethings, if we perceive them from too close, in distance or time, they appear messy or disjointed, perhaps even at odds.  But with distance, there is a beautiful blending and belonging that was not, could not be, perceived close up. 

Her teacher said, “A mosaic is a conversation between what is broken… Mosaics are created out of community.”

All of us need all of us to make it.

~~

This past summer, I took a mosaic class while I was in Santa Fe.  I’ve placed what I made here for you to admire.

I made this!

I, too, like Terry Tempest Williams, learned some life lessons from those hours in the studio. For example, there were times when I was frustrated at my own limits. The teacher used the tools with ease. When I used them, I was clumsy. Still, the teacher showed me how to use the tool; she never offered to do it for me—which meant that by practicing, I had to figure it out for myself.

I learned that there were two ways for us to turn large sheets of glass into smaller, usable pieces: the intentional precision of a pistol-handled glass cutter. Or using a ball-peen hammer and a thwack of force. Each method renders very different results, both of which are necessary. The beauty of our mosaics emerged from a mixture of precision and chaos, control and surrender.

As instructed when I registered for the class, I arrived with a design in mind. However, the further along I got—transferring the design from my imagination to paper, then to the wooden base — the less the mosaic looked like my original design. Vision is essential, but I had to hold mine loosely so the final project could reveal itself to me along the way.

Here is the wisdom I gleaned from this class, different from Terry Tempest Williams’:

As much as you can, surround yourself with skillful teachers, no matter what you are learning. Let them teach you. But don’t let them do it for you. That learning is yours to do.

Respect the fragments and shards, whether they’re multi-hued glass or your life’s own story. Yes, they offer the occasional sharp cut, but they can offer also beauty and new ways to perceive the world. 


Resist the urge to fully map out the future. Instead, cultivate humility and a capacity to trust. Know that there is a bigger picture out there, something bigger than any one of us, and we can connect with it, hitch our tent to it, and discover unexpected beauty. 


~~~

Terry Tempest Williams wrote,

“Mosaic celebrates brokenness and the beauty of being brought together.”

May you get through this life, not unscathed, but with all your broken parts available for you to piece together into a beautiful whole.

May we all.

All of us need all of us to make it.

Amen. Blessed be.

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