TO EVERY SEASON

A Sermon by
James Ishmael Ford

10 September 2000

So once again, in the great rhythms of life and death and renewal, we are gathering together today in this wondrous and mysterious company. The seasons have shifted. Summer is quickly passing away. The fall is almost here. School begins. And the church year, at least for us, finds a new turning, a new beginning.

I hope we realize that in our coming together here we are joined in a vast throng and a great work. There is a line from the Episcopalian Book of Common Prayer, a reference somewhere to great clouds of witnesses. This summer, as I’ve stood alone in the half-light of this sanctuary I’ve thought frequently of those clouds of witnesses, memories, dreams, generations of hope and action.

Here in this meeting room, in this sanctuary, human imagination runs rampant. There should be no doubt, we gather together here surrounded by more than just those whom we see sitting next to us. This congregation contains all who’ve come through those doors and all that will. I hope we remember. Because in our remembering of this larger reality, we come upon one of those profound secrets of the universe: we are not alone. You and I are not alone.

Here, in this sacred space, we find one of those most appropriate places to ask the great questions. You know, the adult versions of that question "Where do balloons go?" Who am I? Where am I going? What is to become of me? Of us? Ours is a tradition of question, of search. And more. Here we can also find answers that nourish the human spirit and allow us to flourish.

As most here certainly know we Unitarian Universalists are notoriously difficult to define. I think that here in the Western world it is particularly difficult to understand how we UUs are religious at all, or in our preferred contemporary usage, how we might be spiritual. We are, after all, so focused on our work in the world. As we look at ourselves we seem to lack much of the traditional forms that most identify with spirituality, with religions.

In the West, in our culture creed and holy book are frequently assumed as essential to a faith. But of course, while we offer clouds of witnesses, nonetheless we Unitarian Universalists lack most traditional signs of faith. No creed. No one holy book. So what are we? I’ve heard us described as not a religion at all, but rather a compromise. I’ve heard us described as a way station between faith and the golf course. The jokes are too numerous to repeat. But I stand among you and what I see is a profound seeking. And I also know of the possibilities for great finding.

Now this quandary about the nature of authentic religion is neither new nor limited to us. In the middle of the nineteenth century when the discipline of Religious Studies first emerged in American and European universities, there was a great confusion about how exactly to define religion. After thinking about the shape of Christianity and Judaism and maybe a little about classical Greco-Roman paganism, those early scholars in this field eventually decided that religion had to do with the worship of God or gods.

However, not long after coming to this definition these European and American scholars realized at least one of the major faith families of the world, what they began to call Buddhism, didn’t seem to play by the rules they’d come up with. Buddhists didn’t actually seem to be focused on a god or gods. Indeed most major strands of that family actually seemed to deny the existence of any eternal divinity.

These scholars quickly learned that they had been too narrow in their definitions. In fact few of the religions of the East, or below the Sahara in Africa, or on the American and Australian continents followed the patterns of those birthed in the West, Judaism, Christianity, and yes that other "Western" religion, Islam.

Creed and a particular holy book are simply the characteristics of one family of religions. And fascinatingly, as we Unitarian Universalists, in many ways true children of Judaism and Christianity, are here to witness, creed and holy book are not even necessary for the children of the West to find an authentic spiritual way.

And so people wander into a congregation like this, like FUSN, the First Unitarian Society in Newton, a member society of the Unitarian Universalist Association, one of more than a thousand scattered across the North American continent. One looks around and sees this church is old, it’s obviously been around a long time. It sure looks like a Christian church--in this case of a particularly "high" type, maybe even Episcopal.

But then minister after minister occupying this very pulpit says things that don’t seem to fit our preconceived religious ideas about what’s what. Much of our teachings seem rather more to resemble Judaism than our Christian symbols might imply. In fact sometimes we seem rather more to resemble Taoism or Buddhism. And frequently we even seem to be pagan, celebrating the earth and images of the divine as feminine.

And wait, there’s more. The preacher occupying this pulpit often seems to speak more about questions than answers. What answers are given frequently seem to be prefaced or followed with qualifiers like, "at least in my experience," or "so it seems to me." There appears to be in this congregation an invitation to think for ourselves. We seem to be invited to look within ourselves to find truth. So, what is that about?

Here in this meeting room, in this sanctuary, we are engaging the great questions of human existence. We are asking the adult versions of where do balloons go: why are we born? Why do we die? Why is there so much suffering in the world? And then mysteriously from these questions, and within this company; frequently something beautiful births; something beautiful grows out of these concerns and giving of serious and sustained attention: like a lotus rising from muddy waters.

We see how we are worthy. We notice the individual counts. And frequently we come to understand deep within ourselves how we all of us are woven into a web of relationships, where meaning and purpose are found in our doing, in our actions. The sacred heart of the universe comes to be revealed out of our constant questioning our constant observing.

And then, in this room as well as those other places we gather, as we confront the mysteries of existence we simply, we purely, we so beautifully ask that most necessary next question: How can we act? What can we do? What can I do? And so often, we then do act. We act to help our neighbor. We act to help in the education of our children. And we act to help make this world a little better.

Now all along this way, for us, instead of looking to a book or simply articulated formulas for our answers, however profound they may be; we have found another way to discover the mysteries of love and relationship. This is a way that works for those who cannot accept some one else’s answers, for one who must find for herself, for himself. And it works. As we engage this way we so frequently discover our own depth and our deep connections.

Some other times we can explore the historical evolution of our liberal religious movement, this profound spiritual way, how its deep roots in Judaism and Christianity have flowered into this liberal religious perspective. A perspective, I would add, that allows us to continue to be Jewish or Christian or Buddhist or pagan, and at the same time something more. Ours is a living way, one that accepts wisdom wherever it may be found, and then engages with some powerful "more."

Here, today, I would like to confine myself to that something more, to what it is that emerged out of the generations of profound seeking which birthed Unitarian Universalism, that gave us our existence. Today I want to describe a bit of our engaged faith, to remind those who are already on the path, and to introduce those who are seeking a way that respects the individual and also knows how we are woven together with all of nature.

That word engaged is a hint at what we are about. We are, in the best senses of those words, rationalist and humanist. We tend, and one can only ever say tend among us, we tend to be this-worldly, non-supernatural. Our general perspective is naturalistic. So, we are attracted to the arts of this world, such as scientific method, and critical thinking. We’ve added these disciplines to our spiritual quest. And they’ve served us well. Critical engagement is a clear characteristic of our liberal religious way.

Now, another of the characteristics of Unitarian Universalism is an almost magpie interest in the world’s faiths. We professional UUs, like ministers, are sometimes even described as permanent untenured lecturers in world religions. I, personally, am particularly mindful of the untenured part. But perhaps that’s a subject for another sermon.

We look to the world’s faiths with a critical but loving eye. If something works, we’re interested. If something seems to take people to a perspective of depth and wisdom, we notice, and frequently we adapt it into our admittedly eclectic traditions. So, these days the meditative disciplines of Buddhism and the profound insights of differing indigenous religions are teaching many of us new ways of seeing—without our needing to leave our wonderful liberal and rational tradition.

One thing we see in the world’s religions, and particularly in the faiths of the West, is giving attention to cycles. As we look for ways to live in the world, to find purpose and love and depth, we discover how noticing the passing cycles of life can be particularly helpful. So, for instance, I have made it a regular part of my spiritual discipline to preach every year on the subject of Rosh Hashanah or at least Yom Kippur.

I find it a powerful subject, one worthy of deeply exploring. Then, also, returning to it year after year as the cycle turns on itself. In fact it wasn’t until the fifth time I returned to this specific subject that I discovered the real value of a meditation rooted in the natural cycles of life. In Rosh Hashanah, which is about renewal, it wasn’t until that fifth time that I would run out of historical sermons, run out of reflections on the scriptures associated with the holy days. Finally I was exhausted. Finally, I had run out of things to say.

And for me that can be a startling experience. I am filled with reflection and speculation and abstraction. A veritable stew of thinking. But sometimes I am gifted and my mouth is shut up. And, then I can really see something. Indeed, so much of my spiritual life is finding ways to cut off what Buddhists call the "mind road." And my fifth time around with the Jewish New Year did that. Only then did the connections, the deep and invisible strands of relationship being taught in this ancient celebration, begin to really reveal themselves as truths for my living.

Another example might be our Unitarian Universalist church "New Year." The first Sunday following Labor Day. Today. Frequently I think there is nothing more to say on the subject. We’re starting our New Year. Sign up for a committee. Don’t forget to register the kids for the Religious Education program. Get involved.

And then what? What may birth in the silence beyond knowing what’s what? Well here is one thing I found this time around, trying to prepare for today, and discovering myself bereft, with little to say. A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the basement office of our rental house on campus up at the Andover Newton Theological School, sorting through books.

I was, sweaty, tired, and more than slightly annoyed—you know, with that general base-line disgruntlement of someone who has spent just too much time moving across a continent. So, I picked up my can of Yoo Hoo, that nasty chalky chocolate drink that I like for a treat, settled myself on a box of books, took a swig, and began to poke through things.

Rather quickly I came upon a box of pamphlets and materials that had been presented to me as we were packing up at the beginning of the summer. I barely remembered the gift even as I opened that box. I quickly saw it contained mostly who cares kind of stuff? Church newsletters with names I didn’t recognize, pamphlets proclaiming an early sixties version of our liberal faith, and orders of service from churches in Ohio and Arizona. Then I found the pile of old denominational magazines. I started flipping through the first one that came to hand, an issue of the Unitarian Universalist Register-Leader, published in October 1962, and priced at 40 cents.

I took another swig from my Yoo Hoo and read how a young minister Rudy Nemser had been arrested for picketing an Arlington, Virginia theater that barred African Americans. That caught me as I know Rudy slightly and know that he has just retired after nearly forty years of ministry.

Elsewhere I saw that James Reeb had been given final fellowship as a UU minister on June 27thof that year. James Reeb: an important name for us. Not long after this, as many here know, Reeb became the only UU minister to be murdered during the civil rights struggle. These are our people. These are the clouds of witnesses that fill this room. Here is the whispering of our faith, our call to integrity and justice and the depth of knowing we are all connected.

And then, as if that were not enough, just a little further down the list I saw that on that same day as Reeb gained final fellowship, the 27th of June, young Gerald R. Krick had been admitted to preliminary fellowship as a Unitarian Universalist minister. Our Gerry Krick, beloved minister emeritus, at the dawn of his career, those nearly forty years ago. Integrity. Justice. And those invisible strands of love tying us all together even through past and future.

So, what do we find as we stop, as we attend, as we let the mystery reveal itself? This is a proud and glorious community, with deep roots and lush foliage. We are a rational and socially engaged religious community. We draw upon the spiritual disciplines of all that have striven for authentic depth, without prejudice.

And from that we make a life. We weave a life of purpose, manifesting justice and wisdom and love. Such has been the work of our living liberal faith, and of this particular congregation for a hundred and fifty years—and counting. It is our work. And, God willing, it will be our children’s work.

So, welcome home! Welcome back. Welcome to that great work.
Amen.