Unitarian Universalist Polity Series: What are we Celebrating? |
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By Dr. Bruce T. Marshall
December 11, 2011 Reading: Why Not a Star? They told me that when Jesus was born a star appeared in the heavens above the place where the young child lay. When I was very young, I had no trouble believing wondrous things; I believed in the star. It was a wonderful miracle, part of a long ago story, foretelling an uncommon life. They told me a super nova appeared in the heavens in its dying burst of fire. When I was older and believed in science and reason, I believed the story of the star explained. But I found I was unwilling to give up the star, fitting symbol for the birth of one whose uncommon life has been long remembered. The star explained became the star understood, for Jesus, for Buddha, for Zarathustra. Why not a star? Some bright star shines somewhere in the heavens each time a child is born. Who knows what it might foretell? Who knows what uncommon life may yet again unfold, if we but give it a chance? Margaret K. Gooding Sermon: Each year at this time, we deck the halls with boughs of holly, decorate trees with lights and ornaments, we sing carols about the baby Jesus, about the miracle of Hanukkah, we light candles, we tell stories that have been told and retold throughout the generations. We give gifts and have feasts in celebration of—well, what? What are we celebrating? The story of Christmas draws upon biblical accounts of a baby born under miraculous circumstances, foretelling that he will become humankind’s savior. The carols bring those images into song. Children put on plays that re-enact the story, baby in manger scenes are planted throughout the community: on lawns in front of homes, in front of churches. Bumper stickers urge us keep Christ in Christmas. Hanukkah draws upon the story of another miracle, a different miracle. In Hanukkah, it’s not a baby born of a virgin, it’s a light. A lamp burns for eight nights when there is only oil for one. Each night during our Hanukkah observances, the candles burn brighter—rather than diminishing—as new lights are added to the menorah. The trees we decorate have origins that predate both Judaism and Christianity. They take us back to pagan times, as do many of our traditions of this season: holly, evergreen, burning the Yule log. Even the date of December 25 was chosen to correspond to a pre-Christian Roman holiday called Saturnalia which was a time of high revelry and feasting. Throughout the ancient world at the time of the winter solstice, there were observances aimed at tempting the sun to return after months of slow withdrawal from the world, as daylight shrank and nights grew longer. But today, do we really believe any of this? Do we believe that the sun will return because of human appeals for it to come back? Do we believe that the lamp burned for eight nights, even though there was only oil for one? Do we believe that the baby Jesus was born in Bethlehem to the virgin Mary and that wise men and shepherds were guided to the spot by a star in the sky? Do we really believe that, as the carol puts it, Angels on high sang songs of rejoicing that echoed over the plains and the mountains? Hence the dilemma posed by religious holidays for Unitarian Universalists. We are of a rationalist tradition. We emphasize what we can know, what we can understand drawing upon human capacities of reason and reflection. We trust the processes of research and analysis and are skeptical of appeals to faith that appear to contradict the evidence. Most of the stories and symbols of this season do not pass either the test of reason or common sense. So what are we celebrating? ● ● ● This sermon is part of my series this year in which I am considering Unitarian Universalist polity, that is, how we approach basic elements of congregational and religious life. Religious holidays form an important part of the life of any religious community. Key elements of a faith are expressed and recalled and celebrated through its holidays. These are occasions that remind us of who we are as a people of faith. Unitarian Universalism has origins in the Christian tradition. And depending on how we define it, some would insist that we continue to be an expression of the essential Christian spirit. But our faith has expanded beyond Christianity’s boundaries. We are proud of offering religious communities that bring together those who are seekers, who possess a holy curiosity, who do not claim exclusivity for any one tradition. As Unitarian Universalists, we have developed an approach to religious concerns and a practice as a result of values that have been present since our beginnings. These include the affirmation of human reason and experience as valid indicators of truth. That is to say, we trust reason as a tool to help us understand what is right and true. We also trust experience—our own experience as well as that of others. This has placed us in opposition to religious orthodoxy whose trust is centered in revealed truth over what results from human enterprise. So, for example, the birth of Jesus to the virgin Mary: even though it does not makes sense from the perspectives of reason and experience, in Christian orthodoxy it is affirmed as a mystery of faith: a higher category of truth. We don’t start with mysteries of faith. We start with what we as human beings can see and know and understand. From that vantage point, the Christmas story doesn’t add up. Because there is no evidence that Jesus was born in Bethlehem of a virgin, there is no evidence that angels sang on high, that a star showed the way to the stable, or that wise men and kings came to call. No one knows where or exactly when Jesus was born. So what are we doing singing “Silent night, holy night...round yon virgin mother and child...?” Isn’t it hypocritical to sing these carols telling stories that we don’t believe? Actually, that is a criticism that comes to us from those of orthodox belief. Essentially they say: what are you doing telling our story and singing our carols when you don’t believe them? ● ● ● So maybe we should have our own religious holidays, holidays based in reason and fact, holidays commemorating historically verifiable events in our tradition that have made a difference not just to ourselves but to the wider course of human history. I’ve been thinking, well, what would a Unitarian Universalist religious holiday look like: one that satisfies the criteria of accuracy, historical significance and viability for current and future generations. How about a holiday that remembers and celebrates Henry David Thoreau’s act of civil disobedience in 1846 when he went to jail rather than pay a poll tax in protest against slavery and the Mexican War. He was only in jail one night—July 25 or 26, we’re not sure which. Then his aunt posted bail against Thoreau’s wishes. Thoreau claimed that he was freer in jail than were the people outside. In reflecting upon that experience, Thoreau wrote an essay called “Civil Disobedience,” which has been highly influential for subsequent generations. Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. studied that essay as they charted their own efforts to bring change for it showed a way of protesting injustice that did not involve creating more injustice. Both today’s Occupy movement as well as today’s tea partiers are descended from Thoreau, whether they realize it or not. So here would be an occasion that is historically verifiable and firmly based in Unitarian history since Thoreau was a Unitarian. This celebration would uphold values we continue to affirm: a perfect Unitarian Universalist holiday. We could pick July 25 or July 26: the night Thoreau spent in jail. Then we would celebrate by disobeying something, civilly to be sure. We could light candles because there were probably candles in Thoreau’s cell. We could sing protest songs though I can’t quite imagine Thoreau singing; he probably hummed though. We would recommit ourselves to a society of peace and justice which we certainly need in the present day every bit as much as when Thoreau mounted his one-person protest. We could call our holiday, “Civil Disobedience Day.” Or how about one commemorating religious freedom? We could tell the story of the debate which took place in the year 1568, in the town hall of Gyulafehevar located in eastern Europe, the kingdom of Transylvania. This debate was sponsored by the King of Transylvania, John Sigismund, during a time not unlike our own when religious groups competed for influence, often disrupting the peace and civility of his kingdom. So King John Sigismund invited representatives of the four faith groups in his country to debate: the Lutherans, the Catholics, the Calvinists, and an upstart group that came to be known as the Unitarians. The debate went on for a week, starting each morning at 5:00 a.m. and continuing until nightfall. People from all around came to hear the speakers; it was both entertainment and serious discussion of critical issues for the populace having to do with salvation and redemption and belief and hope. At the end of the debate, the king sent everybody home with the promise that a decision as to the winner would be forthcoming. That decision King John issued was unusual, highly unusual for the times. It did not proclaim any side as winner or loser. Instead, it granted the right of people in that kingdom to follow the beliefs of their conscience. “Faith is the gift of God,” the king stated, “and conscience cannot be forced.” It was one of if not the first governmental guarantee of religious freedom, and it came about because the king was convinced by the arguments put forth by the Unitarian side of the debate—arguments promoting religious tolerance as a value to be promoted and protected by the state. That would be an appropriate Unitarian Universalist religious holiday. We could all get up at 5:00 a.m. We could sing songs recognizing that we respect different images and ideas of God—actually there are several such hymns in our hymnal right now. We could have children in the Sunday school re-enact the debate—one could dress up like King John Sigismund, another as the chief Unitarian spokesperson, Francis David. In honor of this holiday, we could sponsor new debates on concerns in our current era. It would certainly be timely; issues of church and state and the relationship between them are still very much with us. Both of these would be perfectly good Unitarian Universalist religious holidays. And yet, they don’t quite work, do they? “Religious Freedom Day” or “Civil Disobedience Day.” I can’t imagine either of them catching on—even though both would be historically accurate, even though they would remind us of values that we still stand for, even though they would invite us to re-commit ourselves to core beliefs we share. They would satisfy these criteria better than the religious holidays we do observe such as Christmas and Hanukkah and Easter. But my proposed Unitarian Universalist holidays miss something. They’re too earnest. They lack joy. They don’t speak to the core of our being. Maybe this tells us something about the nature of religious holidays, that is, what we come together to celebrate. ● ● ● So we return to the old stories. The story of humanity convincing the sun to return and make our days bright again. The story of the lamp that burns, even when the oil that fuels it appears to have run dry. The story of a child born in humble circumstances who is destined to be the Prince of Peace, who brings love and hope and salvation. These stories are historically inaccurate, scientifically inaccurate; they are not reasonable. And yet, they are true. As a novel can tell a story that never really happened but that still conveys something that is real. As a poem draws upon images that speak to us on a different and deeper level than the mere recitation of facts and figures. As a song can sometimes reach down into a mysterious place within us and awaken emotions we did not know we had. As a movie or a play can engage us more completely than anything that ever happens in everyday real life. These old religious holidays that have survived the generations still speak to us, still have the power to bring new meanings as we revisit them year after year. The winter solstice reminds us of the forces of life that have created us, that support us, that sustain us. When we pause to note the longest night of the year, we feel a kinship with peoples throughout the ages who have similarly observed the change in the length of the days and have wondered what that might mean for them. We are reminded of how dependent we are on the forces of nature—how we are related to the web of existence. In this time of threat to the natural forces that give us life, we might find ourselves called to the ancient values of respect for the earth, relationship with the forces of life, seeking to be in harmony with them. We might again hear the ancient warnings of what occurs when we do not heed these powers that give us life. During the longest night of the year, we might also recall our own long nights, as we seek assurance: assurance that as the sun does not forever drift away, that light will also return to us. That we will not alwyas be in darkness, that glimmers of renewal will appear on our horizons as it does on the horizons of the earth. The observance of Hanukkah also reminds us of light and of darkness and of the interrelationship between them. Each of us will encounter times when we need more light than we seem able to sustain. As the ancient Israelites, we are left in the temple with too much need, too little fuel. We also seek a miracle of light to help us through. During the nights of Hanukkah, we light the candles of the Menorah, and perhaps we find our thoughts drawn to the darknesses that are with us during this current season: the worries, the fears, the dangers to which we are subject. We might sometimes feel that we are surrounded by darkness, engulfed in darkness. So what then shall we do? We light a candle. We light a candle of hope, we light a candle of affirmation, we light a candle of defiance, we light a candle to help point the way. Even if it’s all we’ve got, we light a candle and gaze for a time at its light, feeling warmth, reassurance, power. The following night we add another candle, and then yet another night by night, until what was initially faint becomes a great light. And perhaps that helps us remember: yes, there is a fire within us that can grow if we attend to it, night after night, day after day. Then at Christmas—whether we be Christian or not—we open ourselves to the story of the baby born under humble circumstances, a child whose parents were told there was no room for them, at this inn—or another, or another. We might know how it feels to be expectant parents who wander from place to place until they come upon a stable where their child would be born. And what a miracle that is: so much joy that a star seems to shine above attracting the attention of the world, wise men and kings. Even in this out-of-the-way place, life’s greatest miracle is revealed to ordinary people. Who hasn’t felt at least an inkling of that miracle—as we gaze at a newborn, filled with the promise of the ages? “Every night a child is born is a holy night.” When we hear this old story again at Christmas, maybe we find ourselves called to reflect on the births that take place within each of us, small and humble at first, vulnerable, barely viable, and yet brimming with life. The things within us that when they are cared for and nourished become something good and true, they take on life, they become life. So those carols we sing and the stories we tell and the decorations we scatter about—they are not just about something that in all likelihood did not happen centuries and centuries ago. They’re really about what happens in each of us, now, on this silent night, on this holy night, when all is calm and all is bright. ● ● ● So what are we celebrating? During this holiday season—during any any season of religious observances? What are we celebrating as Unitarian Universalists? What are we celebrating as human beings, sharing this world with other human beings who are in many ways the same as us and in many other ways quite different? We are celebrating the miracle of life; we are pausing in wonder. As we also seek its blessings for another day, for this day, that we might be able to find our way, that we may walk with affirmation and courage, that we may occasionally glimpse something that awakens us with wonder, that we may experience the simple gratitude of being right here and right now and what a gift and what a miracle that is. The closing hymn is a traditional advent carol. We are in the season of advent which is a time of expectation. We wait in expectation for signs of life, even in the darkness of this season, we anticipate what is yet to come. O Come O Come Emmanuel. If you grew up with this hymn, you’ll note that the words in our hymnal are rather different. Doesn’t matter. Different words but it’s all the same: expectation, hope, looking forward to a time when we shall rejoice. Rejoice. ● ● ● |
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