A Golden Oldie: Hope Has Human Hands

It's been more than ten years since I preached this sermon at the Pacific UU Fellowship.  I wonder if anyone will remember it from those long ago days!  I still like it myself and find that it still expresses my theology of Hope.  I hope others do too. 
 

HOPE HAS HUMAN HANDS

Rev. Kit Ketcham, May 18, 2014

         In the late 40’s, early 50’s, there was a song which, when it came on the radio, would make my dad  groan and move as if to turn it off, muttering “that darn song, it’s so sticky!”, and my mother and I would cry out, “no, we want to hear it!”  It was a sentimental song and its words could even be said to be a bit schmaltzy.  And I’ll bet you haven’t heard it for years, but if you remember it and feel like joining in, sing with me.

         “Soft as the voice of an angel, breathing a lesson unheard, HOPE with a gentle persuasion whispers her comforting word:  Wait till the darkness is over, Wait till the tempest is done, Hope for the sunshine tomorrow, after the shower is gone.  Whispering Hope, oh how welcome thy voice, making my heart, in its sorrow, rejoice.”

         In those days, hope--to me--meant miracles; it meant a sort of Pollyanna-ish optimism that “everything will be fine in the morning”.  It meant that no matter how desperate the financial situation of our family, we would have food on the table; someone from my dad’s little Baptist congregation would deposit a freshly killed Canada goose  or venison roast or string of fish on our doorstep. 

         Hope, in my young mind, was a kind of insurance policy, a belief that God would not desert us if we were faithful.  Hope provided for miraculous recoveries, last-minute rescues.  It meant that the sun would always rise, that spring would follow winter, that seeds would grow, that birth would produce new life, that Superman WOULD arrive on time! 

          I’m not sure how I reconciled my beliefs with my experience in those days.  Though I knew at some level that Hope as a technique didn’t always work, I continued to profess my belief that it would and did produce miracles.         

         But I guess I figured that even Hope had to take a few days off occasionally; that was probably why my friend Lynn did not recover completely from an unusually serious bout with mononucleosis,  why my dad, who was a Baptist minister, sometimes couldn’t make it all the way through his sermon and had to sit down to catch his breath, scaring us all to death.   Hope was on break those days.  And, of course, it wasn’t Hope’s fault that I didn’t make straight A’s in school; I hoped I would, but obviously Hope wasn’t enough.

          What does Hope mean to Unitarian Universalists?  We are kind of past the miracle stage.  If we are ill, we may hope for a rapid recovery; if a loved one is dying, we may hope for an unexpected sudden cure or a peaceful death.  We may hope, as I often do, that the rattle in the car will turn out to be harmless, that the problem ahead of us is not really as bad as it looks, that the grocery line will not be too long, that we can pay the bills, that the kids will  be home soon.   Our daily hopes are usually simple and focused on our immediate needs and desires.  

        Over the years, as I’ve examined my religious faith in light of my own experience, I have gradually revamped my thoughts about Hope as a religious concept.

         It seems to me that the Hope that is innate in the human spirit is more than simply a wish for good outcomes, for peace on earth, a politically correct holiday greeting.  Hope is far more than cliches or a wish for miracles.  It is not trivial or sentimental.

           The definition I’ve come up with after many years of observing my own need for hope and the moments which seem to create hope, for me and for others, is this:  HOPE IS MY AWARENESS, MY DEEP UNDERSTANDING,  THAT I AM CONNECTED TO THE INEXTINGUISHABLE STREAM OF LIFE, THAT I AM PART OF THE WHOLE.

        Let me repeat that definition and ask you to compare your own experiences to it.  For me, HOPE is the clear sense that I am a part of the inextinguishable, inexhaustible stream of life.  For me, it is a tangible sense of my place in the universe.  It is the fiber of the interdependent web of all existence, the connection I have to all else in life.  

        When I have lost HOPE, I have lost my sense that I belong to the universe, to the web, to life itself.  But HOPE is strengthened in me with every reminder  I receive of that connection.  It may  start when I first see the seedlings pop up in my garden.  It may be triggered by the purring of the cat on my lap as I read.  Even a stranger’s greeting on the sidewalk or beach may evoke a warmth that reminds me that I do belong here, I am a part of life.

        Hope is found in relationship, whether it is in my relationship with my pets, with my friends and family, with strangers, with all of nature or God, if you are comfortable with that idea. 

        If religion is defined as the expression of human relationships with self, with others, and with the universe, then Hope is a manifestation of that relationship and a valuable piece of our active faith.  Unitarian Universalists mostly do not hope for a heavenly home; we hope for an earthly home that is heavenly and we know that is our job.  

         A friend talked with me about her second biopsy for breast cancer.  “I was scared to death,” she said.  “I’d already had one surgery and was terrified that this was the beginning of the end.  I felt loose from my moorings, adrift, disconnected, hopeless.  And I knew I couldn’t bear it without help.  The nurse started to move away from me after the test, and I said to her, ‘I need you to hold on to me’.  She took my hand and I felt myself re-connect with life.  She gave me more hope than a negative biopsy.”

          Hope does not rely on Divine Intervention, but on human hands.  Hope is our job, not God’s, despite nature’s constant and faithful supply of hopefulness.  The sun always rises, spring always comes, the snow  always melts, the cycles of creation go on and on.  We derive great hope from that faithful repetition of nature’s patterns.  But nature also socks us in the teeth:  tsunamis and hurricanes demolish whole coastlines, avalanches wipe out homes and travelers, the wind whips fire through dry underbrush, the sun burns our skin, disease wipes out millions, rains bring flooding and mud slides.

        We can’t control it but we can respond to it.

         “Hope springs eternal in the human breast”, according to the poet Alexander Pope because human beings have an innate gift for hope.  When disaster strikes, other human beings immediately reach out to victims.  It seems inherent in human nature to give aid in times of trouble.  An old Judy Collins song says “Friends are like diamonds, and trouble is a diamond mine.”

  

         That doesn’t mean all human beings give aid, just that we’re all capable of it.  Some of us have so squelched our natural inclination to help that we  will walk right by, ignoring trouble or fearing the consequences to ourselves.  Sometimes it is truly dangerous to offer help; it’s not always easy to know right help from wrong.  But sometimes we withhold our help because we see no benefit to ourselves from it, we see no reason to help because our goal in giving help is so we’ll get something back later on .

             Like love, hope is active.  We can give hope to ourselves and one another.  In fact, I believe, we have a responsibility to do so.

        I believe that it is in everyday human acts of kindness and respect that we find our own hope rekindled and that others’ hope is also reborn when we reach out to them.

        I believe that hope is not passive, something we wait around for, but that it is created and recreated daily in ourselves and others.

          I believe that hope comes in many forms--hugs, smiles, acceptance, kindness, respect, patience, thoughtfulness, listening, generosity, appreciation, forgiveness, working for justice.        

        I believe that we need to recognize our own capacity for giving hope and increase our efforts to do so.  And I believe that we must recognize our own need for hope and actively seek it out.

        I believe that hope is at the heart of liberal religion, of Unitarian Universalism.    We give it to ourselves and to others as we live out our UU principles and purposes.           It is the sinew that links us with the interdependent web of existence, the fiber that binds us to one another.  Without it, we cannot resist evil.  It is our daily work, to give and receive hope.

        Hope is our human response to tragedy, whether it is evil brought by perverted human nature or the damage of natural disaster.  When another human being is injured, it is up to fellow humans to mend the damage.  We might wish that a vengeful God would strike down evildoers or quell natural forces, but it is up to human hands to offer hope.

        What does it mean that we are responsible for giving hope?  It means that we have a job to do.  We don’t know, always, in our daily lives, just who needs hope at any given moment.  We have to assume that everyone does.  We have to be ready to offer hope to everyone we meet, whether that’s the crabby clerk at  the store, the multiply-pierced and tattooed teens in the park, the stray cat or dog, the frustrated parent with a toddler, the nursing home patient who can no longer remember our name, the homeless man camping in the woods, the beleaguered teacher, our gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender neighbors, or the victim of domestic violence.

        We ourselves also need hope and we can seek it out for ourselves, whether we do it by taking a walk, talking to a friend,  giving money to charity or the homeless guy on the corner, listening to music, pulling weeds, reading poetry, asking for a hug or a listening ear, starting seedlings, feeding the birds, cleaning out a drawer, greeting a stranger, or spending time in prayer or meditation.  We give ourselves and others hope every time we reach out to those who need justice and love.

        Several years ago in Denver, a young woman named Jeannie Van Velkinburgh ran to help Oumar Dia, a West African man who was shot at a downtown bus stop just because he was black.  She got a bullet in the back for her efforts and became a paraplegic.  A cynic might say she should have left well enough alone, that she shouldn’t have gotten involved, because look what it got her. 

        Jeannie VanVelkinburgh didn’t think so; she knew that not only did she offer hope to Oumar Dia, she has also given hope to us AND to the murderer, who--though he may never understand it--has received a powerful lesson in human nature.  Human beings are supposed to care for one another.  

        Let’s  revisit the definition of Hope I am using this morning:  Hope is the conviction, the reassurance that I am connected to, am part of, the inexhaustible, unquenchable stream of life.  It is my knowledge that I am supported and nurtured by my place in the interdependent web of existence and it is my job to give it to others.

         I’d like to close with a story from my own life. 

        It was June, many years ago when I was still living in Colorado.    I’d been driving Interstate 80 since dawn, from Farewell Bend  on the Snake River in eastern Oregon where I’d camped in my van the night before.   I was returning to Colorado after burying my mother, crossing the hot dry deserts of southern Idaho and over the border into Utah, pondering the lessons of her life and death and crying as I drove, my tears drying almost as soon as they appeared, in the hot blast coming through the open window.  And now I was beyond tiredness, in that late afternoon state of mind where rational thought and fantasy merge, and reality has a fuzzy edge.

        I’d been seeing a lot of hawks poised on telephone poles or circling overhead, their broad wings barely flickering to stay afloat.  My mother had loved birds, and hawks and eagles were interesting to both of us.  Each bird felt like a message, but in my emotional state, I couldn’t quite figure it out. 

        Every redtail or northern harrier caused me a fresh pang, and by the time I reached the outskirts of Salt Lake City, I had exhausted my tear ducts and my brain.

        I wanted to be back in Colorado as soon as I could.  I wanted to drive a favorite route through the mountains, but I had no idea how to find it in the maze of interstates, beltways, and smaller roads that interlace the Salt Lake valley.

        I drove south into SLC, peering through my foggy contact lenses at unintelligible signs, looking for landmarks.  Nothing.  I realized I was in the far left lane of a 6-lane interstate and, in my weariness, nearly sideswiped another car as I tried to pull the huge van over so I could read my map.

        At last came a break in traffic, and I eased over to the shoulder, cringing for fear I had missed seeing some hapless little car in my mirror, and half-expecting to feel a sickening crunch.  But I made it, stopped the van, and, once again, the tears came.  I was safe, I hadn’t hit anyone, but I was exhausted and bereft.

        Suddenly, in my rearview mirror, I saw the ominous blink--blue and red, blue and red.  “Oh no,” I thought, and hastily mopped my eyes as I fumbled for my car registration.

        There appeared at the driverside window a short stocky cop, his hat pushed back on his head, his face serious and concerned.  I braced myself for the worst, assuming he’d seen my near-accident, but in a voice of infinite kindness, he just asked, “Lady, are you lost?”

          That man could not have known just how lost I was.  I couldn’t find myself on any map--neither the map of Utah nor the map of my life.  I didn’t know where I was after my mother’s death; I only knew I needed to go home.        

        I don’t know what I said to him, besides asking how to find route 40, but he neither remarked on my tears nor ticketed me, and within a few minutes I was on my way again.        

        As I topped the last long hill up out of Salt Lake City, my eye fell upon the broad winged silhouette of another redtailed hawk, soaring just above the horizon.

        And all the confused, jumbled thinking that I’d been doing all day--the memories of my mother, my grief at losing her, my anger at myself for all the years I’d felt motherless because of my own rejection of her religious beliefs and because of her illness, the link to birds and mountains and all of nature, the incandescent flame of her unconditional love for me---all these coalesced into one single thought. 

        I AM NOT ALONE.   I AM NOT ALONE.  I AM IN THE ARMS OF THE UNIVERSE,   I AM IN THE ARMS OF LOVE.

        Emily Dickinson wrote:  “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.”

        When we offer hope to ourselves and to one another, with each smile, each touch, each act of kindness and understanding, we knit up the rips and tears in the interdependent web of existence and bring each other closer to spiritual wholeness.

        Let’s pause for a moment of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION

         Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place.  Let us go in peace, remembering that no act of kindness is in vain, that our efforts to bring hope to each other and to the larger community will bring us hope as well.  May we find ways to minister to the community in which we live, ways which will foster lovingkindness in the world, ways which will address some of the systemic problems that plague society, and ways which will bring us the peace of mind of knowing that together we have offered hope to a hurting world.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Easter Through a Unitarian Universalist Lens

It's been awhile since I last posted, but I've been rethinking my understandings of the Easter/Passover/Solstice season and am speaking about it tomorrow.  Here it is.

EASTER THROUGH A UU LENS

By Rev. Kit Ketcham, April 20, 2014

          As Frank and I worked together on this Easter service, we noted the many ways human beings celebrate this time of year.  We recognize the Vernal Equinox, the changes in weather patterns, the shoots of plants popping up in gardens and fields, the new lambs, calves, and foals.  Rebirth, even resurrection, seems possible in the fervor of spring’s changing and sometimes tumultuous conditions.

        How do we respond to the gleeful springtime promise which also brings the uncertainties of weather and frequent natural disaster?  Looking at this religious season through a Unitarian Universalist lens tackles the problems of believability and our quest for trustworthy answers.

        Phyllis McGinley, an Oregon-born poet whose heyday was the 40’s and 50’s, wrote something I’d like to share with you as we begin.  It’s entitled “Lament for a Wavering Viewpoint”, and it’s one of my favorites.         

I want to be a Tory and with the Tories stand,

Elect and bound for glory with a proud, congenial band.

Or in the leftist hallways, I gladly would abide,

But from my youth, I always could see the Other Side.

How comfortable to rest with the safe and armored folk,

Congenitally blest with opinions stout as oak!

Assured that every question one single answer hath.

They keep a good digestion and they whistle in their bath.

But all my views are plastic, with neither form nor pride.

They stretch, like new elastic, around the Other Side.

And I grow lean and haggard with searching out the taint

Of Hero in the blackguard or of Villain in the saint.

Ah, snug lie those that slumber beneath conviction’s roof.

Their floors are sturdy lumber, their windows weatherproof.

But I sleep cold forever, and cold sleep all my kind,

For I was born to shiver in the draft of an open mind.

Born nakedly to shiver in the draft of an open mind.

         My conservative Baptist minister dad used to say to me, “Honey, don’t be so openminded that your brains fall out.”  He’d say this on the many occasions when I’d defend some---to him---indefensible act or position, such as my summer crushes on the cute boys who came to Athena for pea harvest.  Or that living with one’s future mate before marriage might be a good idea.  Or that the war in Vietnam was crazy.

         I never brought up my religious opinions, because I was pretty sure I’d get the same response, and yet it seemed to me that there something worse than being so openminded that my brains fell out.  It seemed to me that being so closed-minded that my brains dried up was worse.  But saying so  seemed tantamount to accusing him of dried-up brains, and that didn’t feel so good either.

         As a child, I depended on my parents and other trusted adults to tell me the truth, whether that truth was about religious matters or grammar or history or how to conjugate a Spanish verb.  They knew more than I did, and I trusted their knowledge.  I trusted them to be right.

         As I grew older, I gradually began to realize that my parents and other adults were telling me the truth only as they saw it.  Though I knew that they had my wellbeing in mind, I also began to see that they had received their version of the truth from still other persons.  Filtering this received truth through their own experience, they had passed it along to me.  How many people were there in this line of truth-telling?  Where did the original people get their truth?

         Well, you know how adolescent minds work---always questioning, wondering, considering alternatives.  Despite all the good advice available for free from parents, teachers, police, doctors---adolescents prefer to work out their own truth. 

         “Yeah but, Mom, I’d rather do it myself” became my refrain as I sorted through the sources of wisdom that I knew about and looked for others that made more sense.  Which of course gave my dad a chance to use his other favorite stock phrase:  “A yeah but is a half-brother to a halibut”.

         I loved the romance and tragedy of the ancient Christian Easter story:  Mary’s anointing of Jesus’ feet and his acceptance of this act; the commandeering of a donkey for a triumphal ride into Jerusalem; the overturning of the greedy vendors’ stalls in the temple; the clever answer to the trick question “is it right for us to pay taxes to Caesar?”; the chilling words spoken at the Passover Seder with his disciples—“this do in remembrance of me”; the betrayal by a kiss from Judas the disciple; the arrest in the garden and the subsequent series of denials from Peter the disciple; a kangaroo court, a condemnation, a beating, a savage public execution in front of Mary Jesus’ mother, and all his friends.

         This all felt completely believable to me.  As thrillers go, it ranks right up there with some of our best modern stuff.  It displayed human nobility and human frailty in extremely clear detail.  Shakespeare had nothing on the Gospel writers when it came to drama and tragic endings.

         But that famous story as told in the Gospels of the Christian scriptures ends with a twist---a twist which turns a human tale into a ghost story.  Jesus’ body disappears from the tomb in which it is placed.  Angels appear to the women who are searching for his body to cleanse and wrap it.  Jesus the living person appears to his friends in several places, vanishes again, and then reappears to offer them advice about evangelizing the world, building an institutional church, and living his teachings.

         This part of the story bothered me.  A lot.  I didn’t know what to think about it.  All the ghost stories of my youth notwithstanding, I didn’t believe people could rise from the dead.  Surely there was another explanation.

         In studying the Bible as literature in college, I discovered that there were actually several different versions of this story in the Gospels.  Either it happened several different ways or it didn’t happen at all or somebody made it up or at least embellished it.  Or maybe people dreamed it.  In any case, the entire Christian tradition in all its many variants seemed to be built on a supernatural foundation.  Never mind the perfectly sensible and inspiring events of Jesus’ life.

         My sources of authority---how I knew what I knew---began to shift dramatically as I dealt with the ramifications of a possibly-fictional Easter.

         I met non-theistic friends who told me that Easter was proof that the concept of God is absurd.  What loving parent would send a beloved child to be killed as a sacrifice?  This God didn’t make sense.

         Nor did the Hebrew scriptures seem any less fantastic in their authority.  Laws which mandated that wool and cotton not be combined in fabric?  Which recommended death for a myriad of seemingly minor offenses?  Which dictated laws of diet that collided with modern science?

         “You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free…”  one of Jesus’ most famous sayings.  We want to find truth, to believe the truth, to be able to trust the truth we hear.  We want to find reliable sources of authority, but we are hard-pressed to find those reliable resources.

  

         In the daily news, we hear conflicting reports about international events, domestic issues, political situations.  Even the best medical research offers us thousands of studies proving both sides of any given subject:  butter is good, butter is bad; organic is good, organic is bad, estrogen works, estrogen harms, fiber is good, fiber is overrated.

        If we followed all the studies available, we’d go nuts.  So we sort things out according to our own experience.  Uncle Bill had a heart attack and ate lots of red meat and dairy products; therefore, too much fatty stuff is probably not so good.  We grow our vegetables organically and have few pests or diseases and all we have to wash off is the dirt; therefore organic is probably good.

        The jury is still out on many issues, but we’re wary----if the market says it’s good, they’re probably saying so out of economic self-interest.  Therefore it might not be so wonderful.

        Religion is a little tougher subject to sort out.  Many of us were raised to revere certain texts and authority figures as sacrosanct, infallible, or at least metaphorically true, if not factual.  The Hebrew Bible, the Christian scriptures, the Koran, the Bhagavad-Gita, Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths---these are all sacred bodies of knowledge, revered by humans world-wide, accepted by many humans world-wide as absolutely true.

        Now, we have come to Unitarian Universalism at least partly because we have a problem with accepting a sacred written text or body of knowledge as absolutely true.  We have come to Unitarian Universalism because we believe that our actions toward each other and toward the earth and universe are more important than certain beliefs about God or the creation of the earth or the lives of the Buddha or Jesus or Muhammed.

        Yet we still need authoritative sources of knowledge.  What will they be?  How will we decide?

        As a religious humanist, I am convinced that human experience and wisdom can be an authoritative source of my knowledge.  My own experience and wisdom are authoritative for me, but may not be authoritative for others.  I am willing to accept the experience and wisdom of credible others, but I insist on filtering it through my own experience and wisdom.

        I accept certain texts as authoritative---the Declaration of Independence is, for me, an authoritative text, as is the Bill of Rights.  Imperfect as they may be, they establish principles of democracy that I believe to be right.  The Constitution---well, with the challenges it’s getting these days and the current membership of the US Supreme Court---well, who knows?

        As a Unitarian Universalist, I find great wisdom and credibility within many sacred texts.  I do not consider them historical documents and would not use them as the basis for a history lesson.  Yet these poetic literary works offer me a great deal of universal wisdom:  to treat others as I would be treated; to act with justice and mercy toward others; to be generous with the poor and downtrodden; to love freely and unconditionally; to express compassion and to work for freedom.

        Our UU principles are based upon the universal wisdom of many religious and secular thinkers.

        My friend and colleague the Rev. Harold Rosen of Vancouver BC, in his book “Universal Questions:  Exploring the Mysteries of Existence”, lists his methods for arriving at useful truth and declares that each balances and complements the others.

        He lists as his sources of authority, how he knows what he knows, the following methods.  See what you think.

        The scientific method, the combination of reason and experience applied to an idea.

         Common sense, a personal and practical understanding of reality.

         Tradition, accumulated patterns of thought and behavior, often of enduring usefulness and patterns which define a culture.

         Intuition, a sense about the way things are that leaps ahead of ordinarily available information.

         Artistic expression, a way of seeing, hearing, and feeling that is different from ordinary knowing.

         Wisdom teachings, useful axioms and spiritual principles that can improve the human condition.

         Revelation, direct communication of insights by prophetic persons such as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and others, both ancient and modern.

        In addition, Rev. Rosen believes that we are morally obligated to follow the laws of our government, except when those laws violate universal standards of justice.

        So what do we use as our sources of authority?  How do we sort out truth from fiction, hype from reality, ethical direction from self-serving manipulation?

        Living in a multicultural world, we are always called upon to interpret and evaluate the sources of authority that bombard us.  We are forced to rely upon media reports of national and international events that seem hysterical, inaccurate, and often evasive.  We hear rumors and stories from friends and family about other friends and family.    And don’t even get me started on Facebook!

        We cringe at the proclamations of truth that we hear from certain groups:  creation scientists, big corporations, cults and many political organizations, fundamentalist religions and hate groups.  We step carefully through our lives trying to live by our ethical and moral principles but always knowing we don’t have enough accurate information to know for sure.

        And so we often become like Phyllis McGinley in her poem---chilled by the draft from our open minds, hoping that our brains won’t fall out but hoping just as much that our brains won’t dry up from too little openness.

        How do I know what I know?  I find it helpful to look at the things that I think I know “for sure” and tease out from them the reasons that I know them with such certainty.  And I find that almost invariably there are common roots to my sense of certainty.

        For example, I believe deeply that Easter is a season to celebrate, that it is meaningful, that its meaning has profound consequences for my life, and that I neglect that meaning to my detriment.

        Sixty years ago, my conviction was based on my Christian upbringing.  I believed that it was the day that Jesus rose from the dead.  My parents and teachers had told me that this was the truth, and I believed them.  I found the story inspiring and the great love and sacrifice it portrayed thrilled me to the core.

        But one day, Kit the teenager was sitting on a windy bluff early one gray Easter morning with other youth as a single ray of sunlight pierced the clouds, singing an old hymn about light and space and thunderclouds and storm and then the words “it breathes in the air, it shines in the light, it streams from the hills, it descends to the plain and sweetly distills in the dew and the rain.”

        My understanding of the truth of the Easter season changed at that moment, from a concentration on the death and resurrection of Jesus to the ever-present, all-embracing sense of wonder at the infinite divine which I saw at that instant portrayed in the natural world before me.  It was bigger than Jesus, bigger than I was, bigger than all the doctrine I’d ever heard.  With its boundary-less, inclusive power, the Living Universe subsumed the Christian message.  And I would never again be satisfied by a doctrine or a creed as my source of authority.

        Today I find the truth of the Easter season even more embracing as I understand the true source of its meaning and power, the Living Universe that enfolds and connects us all.

        Our celebrations in the spring of the year, of the Vernal Equinox, of Passover, of Easter, all come to us out of the same source of universal truth:  LIFE, the life which infuses us with strength and inspiration and is revealed most fully in nature as we explore its mystery and power.

        Because we are human, we have developed specific ceremonies to celebrate our sense of mystery, of gratitude, of awe at the gift of life.  We celebrate the renewal of the earth in spring, we celebrate deliverance from evil, we celebrate the rebirth of love.

        But all our celebrations, all our joy and passion flow from a common source---our recognition that life is sacred, in all its pain and all its triumph, that living things all die and yet continue to live, whether in the fertile soil, within our hearts, within works of creativity which outlive us, and in our families and culture.

         Yes, we do use our reason to determine truth; yes, we do rely on human tradition for continuity and connection.  We trust our intuition, we respect our artists’ work, we use our common sense and our knowledge of wise words from many texts, and we pay attention to the prophets we hear, to discern what truth they may offer us, even when we disagree.  And we trust most of the laws of our land.

         But I believe that for virtually all of us, LIFE is our final authority.  If it is life-giving, we can trust it.  Even when it hurts, if it enhances life in its greatest form, we can believe in it.  We sometimes get sidetracked by the needs of daily living---money, possessions, luxuries, are these not life?  No.  They are only what we accumulate in our day to day living.  They are not life itself.

         Life itself is in the threads that connect us, in the relationships we have: with one another, with ourselves, and with the Living Universe, or God as we may understand God.  Life is indestructible, and it can be nurtured into a greater profusion of joy and passion by our careful attention.

         Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION:  Our worship service has ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place.  Let us go in peace, considering our own sense of life and its gifts.  May we rededicate ourselves in love to Life, for ourselves, for each other, and for the Living Universe of which we are a part.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Unfinished business

    I woke up this morning about 2:30 or so, took a melatonin after going to the bathroom, but didn't go back to sleep again, so after an hour of calm wakefulness I took another melatonin.  Still no sleep, so I read my book for awhile, but it's a kind of tense story (a Gamache murder mystery) and though I yawned a bit, sleep did not come.

    What kept going through my mind was the preparation I'd done yesterday for emergency evacuation.  I got a box packed and stowed in the car (which I will now park in the driveway, just in case), and a few things were placed in another box which I will stow on the front porch.  But it needs to be finished as does my go-bag, the one I keep in the bedroom to grab and go if I have little time or warning of a tsunami.  With a little luck I'll make progress on both of those today, which may help me sleep tonight.

    But my sleeplessness, I think, is connected to my "J"personality, the piece of me that likes to have things completed, finished, behind me, not ready to pop back into my consciousness at the inconvenient time of the middle of the night.  Last night I ruminated at length about my preparations, what I still needed to do, what my family's response would be if I were in danger or missing, what to do about the cats if I have no time to take them with me, if my supplies would be accessible in the moment of reckoning.

    I need to get to the point where I can say to myself, "I've done the best I could.  The rest is in the hands of the universe.  Please help me cope" and go back to sleep secure enough to let go of the possible outcomes.

    I think that's a common theme in much of my wakeful hours.  I have mostly come to terms with Mike's life; it is in his hands and I don't need to worry, even though I do.  I can't help it, I'm his mother!  I can't do anything about my sibs' lives either, so mostly I can let go of that.  It's the things I feel I should be able to do something about  that keep me awake.  Sometimes I'll even get up and write out my concerns, make notes about possible next steps, and relieve the tension of non-completion in that way.  It works pretty well for me.

    But this morning at 4, it felt like a good time to get up and start the day, though the cats were surprised and a bit logy.  I decided I'd write about this topic for awhile and get it behind me.

    I was also, I think, affected by watching the Llewyn Davis movie.  A talented musician hobbled by his inability to think farther ahead than the moment, Davis soiled everything he touched, it appeared.  He was a personable guy and a good folksinger, but his frustration with his nonsuccess erupted into fits of temper and irretrievable insults to people who didn't deserve them.  He seemed to think that his method of living in the moment was better than the method of those who looked to the future, who took precautions, who were conventional in their lives---and successful where he wasn't.  I pitied and disliked the guy, but I loved his singing.  I thought "loser" most of the time I was watching and almost turned it off, but I paid $2.50 for the movie and didn't want to waste it.  It's been called the movie of the year, which I might dispute, but it was a Coen movie and they are always worth watching.

    But Llewyn Davis was an unfinished man.  He could never get anything really finished or done right.  It wasn't bad luck, it was his own nondoing.  In another era, he might have been taking ritalin or other ADHD drug; at least he hadn't turned to alcohol or pot or other drugs, if the movie portrayed him accurately.  He did smoke incessantly, but he was unable to find a niche and scorn was heaped upon him by family and others.  I got the feeling, at the end, that he would probably commit suicide and jump off the same bridge his duo partner did.

    I researched the story a bit and found vague parallels to the life of Dave Van Ronk, a singer I never got much acquainted with.  Llewyn Davis is a composite character and it's a fictional story, though based on some real characters and some real events. 

   Well, I feel better now.  Maybe it's time for a nap!

Love is Not a Sin!

LOVE IS NOT A SIN

By Rev. Kit Ketcham, Feb. 16, 2014

         When I was a little girl, my family lived  in SE Portland, near 39^th and Steele.  There were lots of children on our block, but my particular favorite friend was a little boy about my age whose name was Milton. In those days, mothers didn’t worry too much about their children visiting other families on the block, so occasionally I was allowed to walk down the sidewalk past two or three other houses to visit Milton at his house.

         One day I came home mumbling something under my breath, a gleam of satisfaction in my eye. (I must have been about four years old at the time.) My mother’s sharp ear caught something unexpected and she asked me to speak up.

         “God damn it,” I said. “God damn it, God damn it, God damn it!”

         My mother, a good Baptist preacher’s wife, looked at her cherubic darling in horror. Blonde dutch boy haircut, blue eyes, innocent face: “God damn it, God damn it, God damn it!”

         “Sweetheart,” said my mother, “where did you learn that? Do you know what that means?”

         “Milton says it,” I answered. “And I like to say it. God damn it. God damn it. God damn it!”

         Gulping, my mother pushed on. “Honey, you are asking God to send someone to hell. Is that what you really want to do?”

         I apparently was unimpressed; my rebel ways were clearly already beginning to be established. It felt powerful to be able to tell God what to do, especially when God apparently wanted to tell me what to do a lot of the time.

         But my mother’s good heart and gentle ways eventually prevailed, and I learned to say “God bless it, God bless it, God bless it.” Not nearly as satisfyingly rebellious, but more socially acceptable, especially at Calvary Baptist Church.

            This was one of my earlier brushes with the idea that something could be wrong in God’s eyes.  I’m sure, as a toddler, that my parents’ explanations of God’s will went way over my head and that I obeyed them because I loved them and wanted to please them.

         But Sin in all its ugly desireability was a fairly familiar theme in the life of a Baptist child; the Ten Commandments were held up as a model of virtue and sinning became that thing we did even though we knew we were making God unhappy and possibly courting eternal punishment.  It was just too much temptation to resist sometimes.

         We Unitarian Universalists have a love/hate relationship with Sin.  We don’t like the word, we tend to have more of a relational ethic when it comes to wrongdoing, and yet we can be very moralistic when others are behaving in ways that we believe are wrong.

         We know right from wrong.  We just tend to avoid the word Sin.  It’s a word that seems out of date, puritanical, judgmental, considering how often people are accused of sinning when, in actuality, they have done something that is only against ancient laws of behavior which were intended for an ancient civilization entirely different from present day civilizations.

         That’s why it may seem so odd and even irrational to many of us that fundamentalist believers, whether Muslim, Jewish, or Christian—and likely others as well—consider certain behaviors to be deeply sinful and worthy of the kind of protest that we have come to regard as normal only when done by Fred Phelps’ Westboro Baptist church and its minions.

         Most of us are aware that the Bible has some pretty diverse views about right and wrong.  It seems okay for God to allow atrocities of human behavior and natural disaster but odd for God to frown on any number of things listed in the Bible such as planting two different crops in the same field or combining two types of fabric or eating shellfish---or, according to some folks, being in love with someone of the same gender.

         Another story:  growing up a Baptist preacher’s kid, back in the 50’s in small town
Oregon, I was pretty conversant with the Bible, if a bit confused by some
of its meanings.

         In my family, we were rewarded for every scripture verse
we learned and could recite at family meals---I think it was a penny apiece,
which in those days eventually mounted up.
Of course, there were the easy ones: “Jesus wept” was a favorite
and some of the begats were fun to say: so and so begat so and so,
including names like Enoch, Methuselah, Shem, Ham and Japheth.

         Of
course, we were just getting old enough to understand what “begat” really
implied, so it was always with a smothered giggle that we would repeat
those words.
 

         The book of Revelation was a challenge and we didn’t even try to figure it out, we just reveled, so to speak, in some of the imagery, which included
horses and a lot of the use of the word seven, which seemed cool at the
time.


         I can remember one particular occasion on which my Sunday
School class---led by me, uncharacteristically for me, then-- asked our
teacher a leading question: “Mr. Mayberry, what is circumcision and why
was it so important to the Jews?”


         Now, I expect that Bob Mayberry had seen a lot and had heard a lot
of questions in his work as the postmaster in Athena, Oregon, but he was
stumped by this question from a bunch of 11 year old girls, some of whom
had little brothers and knew darn well what the word meant, if not its ritual meaning.


         He ended up referring us to yet another scripture passage about
Jewish rituals and advised us that in the Christian scriptures, circumcision
was a ritual act that was unnecessary to be Christian.  The implication, of
course, was that the Christians knew better about such things than the
Jews, so we didn’t need to worry our pretty little heads about it.


         Hmmmm. that wasn’t the first time I’d come up against Bible
 passages that contradicted each other. and it wasn’t the last, either, So
gradually I came to believe strongly in only those passages which seemed
to make rational sense, which affirmed my own experience and emphasized greater love for God and for others, not less.


         As I matured and learned more about human beings and myself, I
encountered the disconnect between law and justice. I learned that there
were laws that were not just. I learned that there were some laws people
ignored and others which they enforced, sometimes harshly.


         When I began to realize that I had a number of friends and students
who were gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender, I encountered yet
another disconnect-----the practice of deeming certain ancient laws from
Bible texts as sacrosanct yet ignoring others which were less convenient.


         I speak, of course, about the purity laws which the radical right uses as its
weaponry in the persecution of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender
persons. and I have since then made a study of this topic.


         What does the Bible really say about sexuality? what are the
texts, from Hebrew and Christian scriptures, which are used by some
conservative groups to justify discrimination and even outright persecution
of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender persons?


         Here’s a brief description of several passages.  Genesis, the first book in the
Hebrew scriptures, tells the creation story of Adam and Eve, (not Steve) their
residence in and eventual expulsion from the garden of Eden, and
subsequent life beyond the garden.
 

        In a later chapter we find the story of the
 cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.    When the Hebrew god sent two angels to
warn Abraham’s nephew Lot about impending doom for the city of
Sodom. some of the men of Sodom came to Lot’s house to attack and,
according to some translations, to rape the angels who were assumed to be male. Lot fended them off by
offering the men of Sodom his virgin daughters instead to use sexually, an
offer which was rejected.


         The angels then protected Lot’s household from the mob by striking
the men of Sodom blind, while Lot and his family escaped the city. This is
also the story in which Lot’s wife looked back at the burning city and was
turned into a pillar of salt for her disobedience.

         The book of Leviticus contains the holiness code of the early
Hebrews, a standard of purity of behavior which is meant to distinguish the
Hebrews from the Canaanites, whose land they have been given by the
God of Israel, with permission to take the land by force and capture and enslave the Canaanites.  The holiness, or purity code of the ancient Hebrews is the major source of these so-called proofs that God rejects same sex relationships.

         The punishment for violating many clauses of the holiness code is death.
 For example, children who curse their parents are to be put to
death.  The sentence for adultery for both parties is death. The punishment
for incest or bestiality is death. and the punishment for males lying with 
males as with females is death.


         And in the Christian scriptures, in the book of Romans, the apostle Paul is quoted as saying that “behaving sexually with another man as with a woman” is a sin, as he scolds one of his fledgling Christian churches for their many sins.

         There are other passages in the holiness code which are overlooked entirely by those who would enforce certain laws and not others:  it is wrong to plant two different crops in the same field.  It is wrong to wear clothing made of two different types of fabric.  It is wrong to eat shellfish or any animal with a cloven hoof.  Cud-chewing animals are favored---unless they have cloven hooves. 

         Aside from the cherry-picking of Bible passages to justify one’s own fears and prejudices, the problem with all these Biblical laws, in my humble opinion, is that they are all the product of an ancient religious code which applied specifically to a tiny, struggling nation of people who were trying to stay alive and to retain the purity of their ethnic roots.  They needed offspring—polite and obedient ones only, apparently-- and plenty of them, to offset the losses of life normal in those dangerous, Stone Age times.

         There are numerous reasons why these restrictions need to be re-thought for the 21^st century.  The Bible also allows slavery and sexual violence, forcible overthrow of weaker civilizations, and an insistence on certain religious beliefs.  We have come a long way from those times.  We have different understandings of why people fall in love with members of their own sex, why sometimes people are born into bodies that don’t match up with their gender identity.  We are revolted by sexual violence and war. 

         And so it is time to take a hard look at sin and what it really is. 

         When California first briefly allowed same-sex marriage a few years ago and when that permission was summarily yanked out from under the many couples who took advantage of the opportunity, I was actively writing a blog entitled “Ms. Kitty’s Saloon and Road Show”, a personal journal about current events which bothered or amused me.  I wrote this post at that time.  It was 2008. 

         “I've been reading the news reports and watching the TV segments about the same sex couples getting married in California, some who have been together for 50 years. The joy on their faces, as well as the joy on the faces of their loved ones, is so stunning that I wonder how anyone could in good conscience deny people this joy. Clearly those who speak so viciously (and vicariously, even voyeuristically?) about same-sex love and marriage have hard hearts, which they claim are a gift from God.

         ”To say no to joy for another person, particularly joy that has been proven in the long hard years of a relationship, is incomprehensible to me. To me it suggests a joylessness on the part of those who say that no and even try to enforce it by laws that regulate against joy for others. I'm talking real joy, not sexual pleasure, but the joy that comes from being together as a partnership, facing life's challenges, raising children, being a family. That's real joy. It's wrong to deny anyone that hardwon joy, especially after they have proved themselves over the long haul.

         “It came to me suddenly in the midst of one of the many diatribes that erupted after California's justice-seeking justices declined to reconsider: LOVE IS NOT A SIN. And using the language of traditional religion, language that comes from humans saying they speak for God, here is what else I think is not sin. And I, as much as anyone, can say I speak for God:

Love is not a sin.

Commitment is not a sin.

Taking responsibility is not a sin.

Trust is not a sin.

Being honest about oneself is not a sin.

Sexual intimacy between committed, consenting adults is not a sin.

Here's what's a sin:

Injustice is a sin.

Betrayal is a sin.

Resentment is a sin.

Rape is a sin.

Faithlessness is a sin.

Unkindness is a sin.

Cruelty is a sin.”

         Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION:

         Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place.  Let us go in peace, remembering that human joy and love are two of the greatest blessings of life.  May we seek to bring joy and love to all around us and not begrudge the joy others find in honest and committed relationships.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

"Don't Let the Light Go Out...

"it's lasted for so many years.  Don't let the light go out, let it shine through our love and our tears."

Though Peter Yarrow wrote "Light One Candle" and Peter, Paul, and Mary sang it most often, this chorus reminds me today of Pete Seeger, who died yesterday at age 94.

Pete changed my life.  His songs were meaningful without being religious, at least according to my Baptist upbringing, and when I found him, I was looking (mostly subconsciously) for meaning, not doctrine.  "Washed in the blood" lyrics were dramatic and the tunes were catchy, but largely meaningless to me, for I had already figured out that blood sacrifice as salvation was not for me.

During my young adult years, his songs and ideals were my songs and ideals and gradually I found my own musical way and new, idealistic composers and singers like Peter Mayer, Libby Roderick, and others.  But Pete was a polestar, a guiding light, a model to be emulated.  "What would Pete do?" would have been a better mantra for me than "What would Jesus do?"

Pete was real, not a gussied-up icon of religious passion.  His songs were about basics:  love of natural things, love of humankind, respect for creation, healing of wounds, peace across the earth, and, most of all, how singing together can create this vision of one world.

Four years ago, realizing that Pete Seeger was about to turn 90, after years of creative work, activism, and radical advocacy for the earth, for humanity, and for the power of music, my musical friends and I pulled together an evening of Pete Seeger songs, in homage to this man who had been such an inspiration for us.

We called it "A Pete Seeger 90th Birthday Bash" and held it in the sanctuary of the church I was serving at the time, the UU Congregation of Whidbey Island.  It was a benefit concert for a local charity, Hearts and Hammers, which repairs homes for aged and disabled residents on the island.

We hoped we'd sell enough tickets to make a few hundred dollars for the charity and for the congregation.  It was a standing-room-only crowd.  People were jammed into the foyer, every available chair was shoehorned into the sanctuary, we put chairs out on the tiny patio, and the musicians were crunched into a single row at the front of the sanctuary.  The building rocked for hours, as people sang and clapped and smiled and even danced in the aisles.

What a night!  What a celebration for an iconic figure in the lives of our generation!  It was one of the proudest moments of my life, to gaze out at the packed audience and see what music and an idea can do when they come together.

Pete Seeger, you are gone, but your light won't go out, not if I can help it.