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A few months ago in a provincial city of China, a young toddler wandered into a busy street.  The scene was captured by a surveillance camera.  The child was struck by a white van, run over and left injured and bleeding on the street.  Numerous people on bicycles and walking on the sidewalk clearly saw the injured child and even looked directly at her – but all went by without helping.  After a few minutes, the child was run over by another van.  Once again, many cyclists pedaled by – many within mere feet.  Over five minutes passed before a trash collector ventured into the traffic to rescue the girl.  She later died from her injuries.

The video spread virally throughout China.  It sparked a national dialogue about whether the nation’s rush to modernize had sapped the Chinese of a sense of morality and responsibility to help others.

Just last month, the Hartford, Connecticut police released a video showing a 78 year old man step off a curb into a street.  One car sped around and swerved to just barely miss him.  A second car, however, struck the man and sent him flying like a rag doll.  He fell to the street and lay motionless.   Over ten cars drove around the injured man but did not stop.  Some slowed down as the drivers looked directly at the injured man but nobody got out to help him.  Several minutes passed before a police car pulled up and the officer got out to render assistance.  The police chief later commented about the incident, “At the end of the day, we have to look at ourselves and understand that our moral values have now changed.  We have no regard for each other.”

Over a year ago in a Brooklyn, New York hospital psychiatric ward waiting room, another camera recorded a woman fall off her chair, land directly on her face and begin convulsing.  Two patients sitting nearby stared at the woman but did nothing.  A hospital staff member entered the room, observed the woman convulsing, saw her hospital gown pulled above her waist, but then casually watched TV for a few minutes before walking away.  The woman stopped convulsing but still lay on the floor.  A long time passed before another staff member entered the room, saw the woman, nudged her with his foot and then also walked away.  Many more minutes passed before finally a gurney was brought into the room, the woman was given oxygen and wheeled away.  She was soon declared dead.  The woman was a Jamaican immigrant here to work and send money to her two children.  Over one hour passed between her initial fall and when help was finally rendered.  What is not seen in the video is that she fell only a few feet from the reception desk window where many staff continued to work.  Many staff members were reprimanded and four were fired –  including one doctor – all of whom had seen the woman’s condition but did nothing.

Such harrowing tales of indifference to human pain and suffering are common.  We know of many such examples in history, the most extreme of which occurred during the Holocaust.  The documentary film “Shoah” attempted to understand why so many Germans did nothing during that time.  Most people in the film answered defensively in interviews that they did not know the Holocaust was going on.  One Protestant minister who spent seven years in a concentration camp would later write, “First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out because I was not a communist.  Then they came for the labor leaders, and I did not speak out because I was not a labor leader.  Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.  Then they came for the Catholics and I did not speak out because I am a Protestant.  Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

As the famed Nazi war crimes hunter Elie Wiesel once said about the failure of so many to do anything to stop the Holocaust, “The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference.   Indifference is the epitome of evil.”

The epidemic of bullying in our schools occurs precisely because of such indifference by school administrators, teachers, parents and a majority of students.  In the documentary film “Bully”, Alex, a teenage boy who was born premature and remains small, thin and developmentally different in appearance, is ruthlessly teased and taunted with the name “fishface.”  Pushed into lockers, poked with pencils, nearly strangulated and constantly laughed at by other kids, the documentary shows the boy trying to stoically persevere.  The assistant principal is indifferent to his plight, claims she will take care of the problem but then simply asks the bullies to stop.  The boy’s parents seem indifferent to his suffering and ignore his troubled demeanor.  Mostly, we watch a few bullies regularly torment the boy while the vast majority of kids watch and do nothing.

Another teenage boy in Mohawk County, New York committed suicide due to constant harassment by bullies after he came out as gay.  His cell phone was forcibly broken, food was often thrown at him in the cafeteria and he daily endured vulgar insults within full earshot of teachers.  His parents complained to the school and offered evidence of the psychological damage done to their son, the changes in his personality and the sharp decline in his grades.  The school district claimed that as an open gay teen, the boy was not protected against harassment since homosexuality is not a legally protected classification like race, gender or disability.  Indeed, it appears many of this boy’s tormentors knew that due to the indifference of adults, they faced little risk of punishment.

Just last week Pope Francis, of whom I am a growing fan, commented in his Sunday message about a lack of widespread concern for the hundreds of undocumented immigrants who recently died when their boat sank off the coast of Italy.  He said, “There exists a globalization of indifference; we’ve grown accustomed to the  suffering of others;  it doesn’t concern us;  it’s none of our business.”  Citing mothers who drowned still clutching their children and fathers who died in a desperate effort to find a better life for their families, Pope Francis asked where are the tears for these people and others like them?  As he said, too many people in our world suffer from an anesthesia of the heart.

The pope echoes what is a disturbing isolationism in our communities and nation.  Even as cultures and economies become more diverse and global, too many people react with fear at this trend, pull up their proverbial drawbridges and withdraw into the seeming security of their own group.  The poor, the homeless, the hungry, the immigrant, the disabled – they are no longer persons deserving of compassion and assistance.  They allegedly sap the economic vitality of a community and nation.  A cold indifference grips our culture.  Social safety nets are undone, reasonable taxes are condemned as theft instead of as ways to help the most vulnerable, and charities beg for donations and volunteers.  Millions suffer under dehumanizing poverty, through no fault of their own, while too many fellow humans isolate within a smug cocoon of indifference and pretended ignorance.

As one anonymous commentator said many years ago, “we must all fear the actions of evil people.  But the kind of evil we must fear the most is the indifference of good people.”

The important question we should ask ourselves is how we react when faced with a decision to help others?  Is the indifference we see in the world a disease that infects us too?  Deep inside any of us, is there an apathetic little creature that often fails to serve the plight and need of others, or, is there a hero waiting to boldly act to save the wounded, defend the tormented and serve the needy?

Psychologists and sociologists maintain that indifference to the suffering of others is a common attitude.  It’s reflected in what many call a bystander effect.  As social creatures, few of us are willing to act alone or in very small numbers.  We tend to act only when many others act too – whether in our heroism, hate, or deliberate indifference.  Indeed, according to social psychologists who have studied the bystander effect, large numbers of bystanders tend to discourage individual heroic action.  When we see those around us not act, we fear acting alone.

Reasons for this are many.  We see that others are not acting so we comfort ourselves by doing the same.  We tell ourselves that others are better trained, have more time or more money to act and serve.  We also fear acting while others are watching – fearing being judged in how we help.  This diffusion of responsibility allows individuals to be indifferent to doing something themselves.  We reassure ourselves that our inaction, our apathy, our laziness, or our indifference are OK because many others are not helping, and those who do help, they are the ones who are most capable.

Experts assert that the vast majority of people act with indifference in situations of need.  We are herd oriented creatures.  We care deeply what others think of us and so we conform to what the mass does.  Only a very few are willing to step outside the herd to act, serve or give.

According to Paul Loeb, who is a lecturer on ethics and author of a book entitled “Soul of a Citizen”, most people believe bad things that happen to others are not their personal responsibility.  They transfer responsibility to unknown others – police, charities, hospitals, experts, or simply someone’s family and friends.  People do not believe the pains in this world are their responsibility as a fellow human or citizen.  We can watch women and children in another nation be murdered and poisoned by gas but believe its not our responsibility to do anything about it.  We know that children in poverty in our own community lack the home environment, parenting and community resources to learn basic skills but we assume it is not our fault and not our responsibility.  We witness other people, agencies and charities doing the work to assist people in need and believe it is their job and not our own.

Even more, says Loeb, is a common belief that our duty as individuals is to just take care of ourselves.  Personally, I hope others will not get sick, suffer in poverty or be injured – and I despair when they do.  I’m happy when people do help others but transferring my hope into action by myself is difficult.  Helping people in need is not my duty or my moral imperative, I can tell myself.  I’m not a person’s relative, I’m not his or her fellow citizen, I’m not their doctor, I’m not their Pastor, policeman, fireman, emergency medic, social worker, fellow church member or rich friend.  Those people can and should handle the problem.  Not me.

But when does the proverbial buck stop at my door?  When do my excuses, my apathy, my indifference become sins not against any god but sins against universal laws of compassion and common goodness – laws that I know deep in my heart?  I make no excuses for myself.  I’ve done many things in my life to help others.  I know deep in my soul, however, that I could have done more.  I am guilty of the sin of indifference.  I must take off that scary mask.  I must do more.

Jesus, according the Biblical book of Luke, is said to have told a story about a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus.   The rich man dressed in expensive clothing, lived in a large and luxurious house, ate extravagantly and spent his days in leisure.  Outside the gates to his home, the beggar Lazarus sat and hoped for scraps of food or glimmers of compassion from the rich man.  He got nothing.  After both died, the rich man appealed to God to relieve his unending misery in hell.  God answered him by saying he had lived his life of ease and indifference.  He was now reaping what he had sown.

While I reject the idea that there is a literal reward and punishment system at work after we die, that is not the message to be learned from Jesus’ parable.   We build our own heavens and hells.  The rich man had built his own hell – one of arrogance, aloofness, indifference and greed.  Physical indulgences and material wealth offer fleeting pleasures but they are not lasting.  We deceive ourselves with an alleged heaven of comfort and luxury.  We ignore the hell-like consequences of hate, indifference and judgment.  Failing to do all we can, failing to serve, failing to give, failing to act when we have the time and ability, no matter how small, to help others in need – those little failures can add up to a life of little worth, a soul with little warmth, an ego with little humility and a hellish existence with little meaning or purpose.

Experts tell us we can avoid this hell of our own making.  To banish an attitude of indifference and failure to act, they recommend several choices to make.  First, we can endeavor to teach others the skills and knowledge we have acquired.  Teaching throughout our lives gives us purpose and the opportunity to build a legacy that will reach far into the future.  Second, we can be creative by building and beginning new ways to serve and give.  Such bold creativity in charity allows us to step away from our herd instincts to instead be leaders and creators.  Third, we can connect with like minded people who share our vision to serve and give.  As we all know, churches are perfect places to meet those who selflessly give and serve.  Churches are one of the few institutions where service to others is made possible.  It is one of the key reasons to belong to a church.  None of us should therefore fail to participate in the many ways to regularly serve others here at the Gathering.  Fourth, we can stay informed about world issues, world poverty and world-wide needs.  News and information about hurt and pain in the world keeps us grounded and alive to the needs others have.  Finally, we can decide here and now to always act when we see incidents of hurt or injustice.   We can decide to never excuse such incidents as unintended, normal or none of our business.    We can decide to banish fear from our minds – choosing, no matter what, to act, serve and give when we perceive a need.

A life worth living, a life worthy of all that we consume, a life worthy of being called a human being, is one of continuous, active and concerted care for others.  Such a life is one of true heroism – a life where we step outside fear and apathy.  The timid, the weak and the uncaring are the ones who wear scary masks of indifference.  The superheroes are the ones who act, serve, and give even though the crowd all around them are frozen in their inaction.

The Gathering, while I serve here, will not be a place of indifference to the needs and injustices of this world.  We will do our part to build a form of heaven for others in need.  While I serve here, I pray it will not be a place where the few do more than their share – filling in for the indifference and inaction of others.  As I said earlier, we each owe a debt – for our lives, for countless blessings, for the good that has been given us, for the privilege of each and every day.  This debt we owe continues until the day we die.  Some people are takers in life.  Some are givers.  The same is true for churches.  This place, this congregation, this little collection of heroes and doers – we will be givers.

 

 

 

 

Message 144, Scary Masks We Wear: Hate, 10-6-13

 

 

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In a startling scene from his classic novel “1984”, George Orwell describes a large audience watching a film showing a traitor to the Party and that man’s critical views of it.  Within mere seconds, the happy and docile crowd transforms into a vicious mob that throws anything it can at the film screen image.  As Orwell writes, “A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledgehammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic.”  Even the novel’s protagonist Winston Smith, who himself opposes the dictates of the Party, joins in with the mob in their mass display of visceral hatred.

Such a scene in the book is described as a hate session when people were ordered to participate in an exercise designed to promote the Party’s agenda.  Orwell based these fictional sessions on literal fact –  modeling them after two minute hate sessions held at mass rallies when Stalin ruled Soviet Russia.  But “1984’s” hate sessions find parallels in episodes of mob hate that were fomented in the United States after screenings of  D.W. Griffiths film “Birth of a Nation” in which African-Americans are depicted as lazy, menacing and stupid.  These scenes were juxtaposed in the film against the virtues of the Ku Klux Klan as defenders of morality and the American family.  So too does Orwell draw comparisons with the German Nazi film “Jud Suss” which depicted Jews as greedy and treacherous.  It was required viewing by all of the German SS troops and helped to inspire in them a mass hatred of Jews.

Right now, we can currently witness examples of mass expressions of hatred towards political opponents – as Republicans voice hateful words toward Democrats and they return the same.  Some have called President Obama a Marxist, the Anti-Christ, and a closet Muslim bent on destroying democracy and Christianity.  Just a few years ago, President Bush was labeled a village idiot, a baby killer, a war criminal and a fake Christian.  Washington Post columnist Walter Milloy has said he would like to spit on members of the Tea Party, saying they are a faction full of bile, anger and venom – even as he displayed those very attitudes with his words.  Senator Al Franken wrote a book entitled “Rush Limbaugh is a Big, Fat, Stupid Idiot”.  Glenn Beck on his TV and radio shows often refers to Progressives and liberals as nefarious thugs and bullies bent on destroying the US Constitution and indoctrinating young school children.   As Orwell himself said, “In our age there is no such thing as ‘keeping out of politics.’  All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, schizophrenia and hatred.”

We witness it around the world with Jews hating Arabs, Hindus hating Muslims, Muslims hating Christians, straight people hating gays, ethnic groups despising other ethnicities, the rich hating the poor and, in most of these cases, those who are hated returning the very same sentiment.  Such hate would not be so bad if it was not manifest in most of the above cases by murder, torture and unspeakable cruelty against fellow human beings.

This extreme and violent emotion of hate is in our homes, our schools, our places of worship and in our government offices.  Indeed, hate is in this room and likely resides, in some form, in each and every one of our hearts – a kind of deep rooted antipathy toward another person or group of people that hungers for physical, mental or emotional harm to come another.   We nurse hatred in our souls and we manifest it in the words we use, the attitudes we have and how we act toward the object of our hate.  Merriam Webster dictionary defines hatred as having an intense hostility and aversion toward someone, usually stemming from fear, anger or sense of injury.   Who among us can claim to be free of having felt such an emotion in the past – or even right now?  I ruefully confess I have been a hater and, too often, I still am.

In a startling study about the biology of hatred, it’s been shown that love and hatred are not opposite emotions but are instead closely related in terms of the brain areas and biochemistry responsible for them.  MRI scans of people show that both love and hate come from the same insular cortex area of the brain.  A distinction arises, however, when people feel a strong sense of love.  The frontal cortex, that area of the brain associated with judgement and critical thinking,  largely shuts down.  It is a common truth that passionate love is usually irrational.  But when hate is felt, the frontal cortex of our brains lights up and is quite active.  Hate is thus guided by reason and thought.  In other words, we consciously choose to hate.

While some assert hatred is an evolutionary phenomenon originating from a tribe’s need to justify taking scarce resources from other people in order to survive, others believe hatred is a largely human emotion that goes beyond mere survival.  It’s rooted in jealousy, envy, fear and anger but it is not a feeling over which we have no control.

The masks of hatred we often wear are hideous to behold.  Caught in the throes of my hatreds, I can barely recognize myself.  I can inwardly seethe and dream that my version of justice will befall the one I believe has injured me.  I hope for their downfall.  I think about it, hope for it and delight in it if it should happen.  I want those I hate to suffer.  Even such an admission is a horror to me.  I do not like that ugly me.

It is remarkable, given the widespread existence of hatred in our world, that the prophets of all major world religions taught and preached against it.    Jesus radically called people to a totally new way of thinking about people we consciously choose to hate.  He called his followers to think and act against their hating nature and against thoughts of revenge and anger.  As he taught, “You have heard it said ‘you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’   But I say to you, ‘love your enemies,  do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak, do not withhold your tunic either.’”

Jesus taught that we can act as he did – to allow ourselves to symbolically be crucified on the altar of hate as a sacrifice for love, decency and the common good.  By choosing to act totally counter to our lust for revenge, we can crucify our baser thinking.  We can kill it.  We can act against the selfish ego that hatefully seeks retribution and punishment.  Instead, we must counter-intuitively forgive the one who hurts us, act kindly to the one who hates us, and understand the one who disagrees with us.  Just as the Buddha said hatred can only be eliminated with love, and the prophet Muhammad said that hatred is no excuse for actions of violence, Jesus boldly declared that hate in any form, especially that which dwells in our hearts, is a form of murder.  We cannot allow ourselves to self-righteously claim we are not murderers and purveyors of violence when we harbor hate toward any person or group of people.

The causes of hate, experts say, are often subtle.  This extreme and intense emotion comes from our fear, envy or anger towards another.  Allowed to ferment unresolved, these initial emotions turn violent in our minds whether or not we have any intention of acting violently.  Just the mere thought of hatred is a cancer within – denying us peace of mind and causing forms of stress and angst that harms us more than the person we hate.  Indeed, when we hate we have symbolically climbed down into the pit of violence from which we were originally harmed.  We become just as evil and just as violent as the one who hurt us.  Even more, we have not exercised the opportunity to stop the cycle of hate and violence.  Our hate and our retribution against one who has harmed us will only feed a response.  Hatred begets hatred begets hatred – in an endless spiral of evil.

We deceive ourselves, however, that acts and words of retribution are a show of strength but, in reality, they are evidence of weakness.  As Jesus modeled with his breathtaking examples of counter-intuitive teachings and actions, forbearance in the face of violence, forgiveness to those who hurt us, and gentle empathy for those with whom we disagree, these are marks of greatness and strength.  It is easy to lash out, to label an opponent with nasty words, or to harbor bitter resentment and violent thoughts.  It is far more difficult to channel anger in appropriate directions, choose ways to empathize, deny emotions of hate, and act with grace.  Indeed, I propose that when we choose not to hate – in any form – we have chosen a radical, holy, divine and miraculous way of thinking.

Experts assert that like any human emotion and thought pattern, we have the ability to not only control hate but to choose healthier ways of thinking.  Most psychologists, for example, indicate that those who hate are often manifesting a deep hatred for themselves.  While some turn self-hatred upon themselves with harmful addictions, isolation or self-mutilation, many turn their self-hate outward as a way to lash out at the very demons inside themselves.  Carl Jung, the famed psychologist, termed this a projection of one’s inner shadow when he or she disowns parts of themselves and projects them on another who must then be hated and fought.  Indeed, it’s been shown that the degree of love or hate people show others is a measure of the love or hate they have for themselves.

By understanding this diagnosis, we can then examine why it is we feel hate.  What am I projecting on another that which I inwardly harbor in myself?  If we often lash out against others using hate filled speech or actions, can we first examine if such words are subconsciously meant for ourselves?  If we can, we will not only see how we project hate on others but also then understand our unhealthy thoughts about the self – I’m inadequate, I’m unloved, I’m a failure, I’m unhappy.  If we are willing to be honest with ourselves, we can begin to change those thoughts about the self and thus our thoughts towards others.

A second solution to our hate is to move away from an “us versus them” way of thinking.  As many of you discussed here last week with Stuart Blersch, we too often divide ourselves into factions and tribes, believing that the one to which we belong is superior.  We dehumanize the other person or group and attach labels to them that not only demean them but stereotype them in ways that are false – I’m good, he is bad, I’m hardworking, she is lazy, I’m moral, he is immoral.  Such labels are easy and simplistic.  They derive from our hate.  Psychologists identify this behavior pattern as one where the other group cannot simply be disliked, they must be made an enemy to be aggressively fought with words and deeds.  Take a look at a chart depicting “us vs. them” thinking and the various hate filled word labels we often use.  (Show chart.)   

Words we use about others lack nuance, understanding or empathy.  They are simple generalizations that fail as descriptions.  Further, these labels dehumanize the other and overlook the links that bind people together – our shared humanity, our common goals to build a family, to be loved and to love, to seek the betterment of society and the world.  Conservatives and liberals, for instance, may disagree on methods, but both groups are American, both are interested in the well-being of the nation, both want the best for all people.  When each side descends into a spiral not just of policy disagreement but of name calling, personal attacks and outright hatred, we have gone too far.

If we are truly introspective about ways we are purveyors of hate, we might see our inconsistent and often hypocritical attitudes.  Just as the Washington Post columnist exhibited with his words about the Tea Party, we are often blind to how we exhibit the very same qualities we say we hate.  It is the other who is irrational, uncaring, or deceitful.  Me?  I’m the good one!

Such hypocrisy angered Jesus more than any other attitude.  Don’t point out the speck in another person’s eye, he famously taught, when you symbolically have a log in your own.  Don’t decry another’s adultery when you secretly lust in your heart.  Don’t condemn those who physically act with violence when you nurture hatred in your heart and mind.  Don’t judge the sin of another when you have sinned thousands of times yourself.  (As Pope Francis famously said a few weeks ago about gays and lesbians, “who is he to judge them?”)

Don’t arrongantly display your good deeds and your charity when all you really want to do is show off how good you are.  Don’t openly display your acts of piety, religion and prayer when all you really want to do is appear as a moral person.

Jesus asked us to first heal ourselves – to first seek our own personal goodness and to stop the hypocrisy.  Give to others in secret.  Pray in private.  Address our own hate filled thoughts, our own flaws, our own subtle prejudices first.  So often we spew our hatreds on others when it is each of us who need the most help to speak and act with gentleness, empathy and love.  As the Buddha and Gandhi both eloquently taught, the hate we see in the world, the injuries and offenses perpetrated against us, these things will not be solved by returning hate with hate.  They will only be solved with love.

My friends, it is normal and fun at Halloween to celebrate mythological frightening creatures – vampires, ghosts, witches and monsters.  Indeed, part of the fun of Halloween is that it allows us to make light of our fears.  But a far more real and sinister evil in the world is not a cartoon monster or devil that hides under our beds.  The real devil is in us.  Every time we mock or speak nasty words about others, we perpetrate evil.  Every time we fail to forgive, when we nurse inner feelings of resentment, when we dream of violence or humiliation against a perceived enemy, we perpetrate evil.  All of the acts of extreme hate throughout history and witnessed in the world today began with simple thoughts of envy, anger or fear.  Allowed to fester and grow, they evolved into hate and a desire for violence and harm upon the other.  Such hate is easy to spread.  People do not like to be alone in their hate and so they use lies and propaganda to stir it up in others.  We want company when we hate.

I pray we might each begin to change our ways, our language, and our inner hearts.  We must be honest with ourselves and admit to ways we hate.  I pray we will also admonish one another to change – gently pointing out when someone uses hate language or actions.   The high ideals we hold in this congregation are worthless unless we too practice them.  Hate is a mask I can too often wear.  It is ugly and foul.  Help me take it off.  Help me to throw it away.  Help me to replace it with the face of who I aspire to be – a person of peace, joy and love.

I wish the same for each of you here and listening online.

 

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We all know the Frank Baum story of the Wizard of Oz and its themes of fantasy, discovery, and personal empowerment.  A theme that is central to the story, but one which we often overlook, is Dorothy’s growth from thinking like a child.  Finding life in Kansas to be strict, boring and, literally, very grey, Dorothy imagines a brightly colored world of fantasy, populated with happy people, an emerald city, and figures who love and protect her.  In her dreams, she is carried away to Oz only to find that it, surprisingly, is far from perfect.  Its yellow brick road and gleaming city are facades constructed by people with everyday fears and neuroses.  It has its share of evil with nasty witches and flying monkeys all ready to do battle against the forces of good. Even in her imaginations, Dorothy comes to understand the adage that the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence.  A fantasy place is just that – fantasy.

Caught in a world of her own imaginations, Dorothy realizes that home in Kansas may not be perfect, but it is not so bad either.  And she soon desperately wants to return.  She then relies on the further fantasy that a mythic being, a great and powerful wizard, will miraculously grant her wish and send her home.

But the wizard proves to be a fraud – a little man hiding behind smoke and mirrors to cow and control a gullible population.  Not only can the wizard not miraculously transport her home, he cannot even manage the everyday, simple means to do so.  The basic science of a hot air balloon is beyond his understanding even as he claims great powers.

Through the kindness of Glinda the good witch, Dorothy finds that wizards and supernatural powers are the stuff of myth.  Trust in such abilities is worthless.  Instead, Glinda tells Dorothy she has within herself the power and the light to return home and, more importantly, to enable her to find an elusive contentment.

Dorothy is amazed that she can control her destiny.  “I have that power?”  she asks.  “Well,” Dorothy finally concludes, “I – I think that it, that it wasn’t enough just to want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em, and it’s that if I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard because, if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

Dorothy has her epiphany and her key to a life of happiness.  The Ruby Red slippers are the symbolic means to her self-realization – contentment and her home are found in the here and now.  They’re found within one’s own heart and mind.  No wizard, no god, no Oz, no mythological heaven, no alleged paradise on earth or in the hereafter will bring true contentment.  There is no place like home and, for Dorothy, home is in Kansas, home is where she began her journey and where, ironically, she had never left.   That old and worn farmhouse, that flat and dull prairie, that place of rules and structure, are all Dorothy ever needs – a place of loving family and friends, a place of security, a place of shelter.  Home is not perfect and it never will be.  But in the power of her mind, it can be her refuge.  It can meet all her needs and grant her the contentment and the peace she so desperately wants.

As we intuitively know, but generally fail to believe, happiness is not found in the circumstances or places of our lives.  It is not found in hoped for heavens, wondrous scenes of great beauty, large and luxurious mansions, in perfect, flawless people or in fleeting moments of physical pleasure.  Home and happiness are not found in places, people or things.  Home and happiness are states of mind.

And so I ask my second question for this month of imagination messages, “have you ever dared to imagine…that home is where you are right now?”

Some people don’t distinguish between the words ‘house’ and ‘home’.  They both seem to imply the structure in which we live.  I, however, understand these words to have two very different meanings.  A house is the physical structure in which one eats, rests, recreates and sleeps.  It offers physical security, nourishment and shelter.  A home, on the other hand, is a more abstract concept.  Home is where one feels loved.  It’s where one feels emotional security.  It nourishes, protects and shelters the soul.  Ultimately, we find houses on maps.  We find homes in our hearts.

Paul, the writer of much of the New Testament, had a lot to say on the matter of contentment.  From his life experiences he gained insight and wisdom on how to be at peace.  On most other matters, I am not a fan of Paul.  I believe he was a fanatical early convert and interpreter of Jesus as Messiah but he was not an Apostle – one who personally saw and followed Jesus the man.  He has no eyewitness credentials like Peter or John, other than very dubious claims, to be an authority on the meaning of Jesus’ teachings, life and death.

Sadly, however, much of modern Christian theology is based on the writings of Paul.  Many Christians, for instance, quickly turn to Paul’s denouncement, in his letter to the Romans, of gays and lesbians as worthy of hell and eternal death.  Christians grant Paul the authority of teaching on a subject that Jesus never mentioned.  The namesake of their religion is ignored on the issue of homosexuality – one that was obviously not important to him – while accepting the views of a false Apostle.  Paul’s teachings about women, Jesus’ alleged second coming and other matters are equally unfounded.

My intent is not to demonize Paul but rather to frame what he wrote and taught in its proper context.  Some of it has merit, much of it does not.  In that regard, Paul’s teachings on contentment nevertheless have the ring of truth.  He lived a life of great hardship in his zeal to spread the new Christian faith.  Having always wanted to proselytize in Rome, he instead made it there as a prisoner – an enemy of the state who had tried to convert Jews back in Jerusalem.  Facing the judgment of the notorious Emperor Nero, Paul languished in prison awaiting his fate – one that appears to have been his execution.

Before his conversion, supposedly after seeing a vision of Jesus, Paul had been an elite Jewish official of wealth.  As a Christian missionary, he courted the wealthy for their support and he lived in many fine homes during his travels.  As a result, in one of his letters he confessed to struggle with coveting and wanting the nice things of life.  But, locked in a dank Roman prison cell facing likely death, he also wrote, “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”

Paul’s words in this instance are key to my message today.  By imagining the feeling of being at home and of being at peace in every place and in every situation, good or bad, we can like Paul learn to be content – and the key word is “learn.”  Despite his desire for the easy things in life, Paul was able to learn how to be content.  Too often we simply don’t dare to imagine we can be at peace, content in our home, when we are in the midst of hardship, when we are visiting or living someplace we don’t like, or when the world is seemingly set against us.   We tell ourselves that home is not a hospital room, a dirty motel room, a jail cell, our work desk, the house of our in-laws, or any other place we would rather not be.  Instead, we hold our personal pity party, we convince ourselves life has been unfair, and we harbor seeds of anger and resentment at our current situation and the people we blame for causing it.

But as I discussed in my message last week, imagining ourselves in new and better ways is crucial to escaping our prisons of depression, addiction or discontent.  To imagine ourselves at home and at peace in each and every situation of life is to change our reality.  As we think, so we are.  This is not the idle fantasy that Dorothy first engaged in – to create a make believe world that suited her liking.  It is, instead, a way to step outside our present feelings of discontent and imagine the feelings we connect with being at home – peace, love, security, happiness.  As Glinda the good witch told Dorothy, all she needed to do to get home was to imagine that there is no place like home.  The key to her happiness was in her mind all along.

Tad Williams, an award winning contemporary science fiction writer, once said, “Never make your home a place.  Make a home for yourself inside your head.  You will find what you need to furnish it – good memories, friends you can trust, love of learning and other such things.  That way, home will go with you wherever you journey.”

Finding contentment is not easy and I do not mean to imply that it is.  I have struggled all my life with finding genuine and lasting contentment.  I often place too much importance in my circumstances – where I live, the job I have, the friends around me, to determine whether or not I am happy and at peace.  Once again, in choosing a topic for today’s message, I chose one that speaks to me as much as anyone else.  For many of us, genuine and lasting peace of mind is as distant as the farthest star but, in reality, it is as close our next thought.

Many experts, philosophers and spiritual prophets encourage a pursuit of contentment.  Jesus taught that we should follow the wisdom of nature and see how the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, for instance, do not spend their time worrying about physical well-being.  Simplicity and security are necessary, but that is all.   Birds find the shelter they need in simple nests and the food they require in basic seeds.  Flowers are adorned with natural beauty and they do not worry that it is fleeting – here today and gone tomorrow.  Our treasures in life, Jesus taught, are not found in our inanimate possessions that will one day rust away or end up owned by someone we don’t even know.  All of the things on tables in the other room – set out for our rummage sale – are testimony to that fact.  Things we once believed we needed and wanted are now rummage and cast-offs that this congregation will sell for 50 cents an item.  Our treasures in life, instead, are found in gestures and actions that last – the legacy and positive impact we have in building a heaven on earth for all to enjoy.

Muhammad taught much the same as Jesus.  “Wealth,” he said, “does not come from having a great amount of property.  Wealth is finding self-contentment.”  Balance is crucial according to the Koran.  Those who are cheap and hoard all their earnings are just as broken as those who spend it all on material possessions.  Indeed, Muhammad’s implicit message was to understand what motivates our discontent.  Do we desire things that bring us fleeting pleasure or the kinds of things that offer lasting contentment?

Buddhism is even more explicit on this point.  Craving is the source of our unhappiness.  We desire a life without struggle, the ease of a rest filled retirement, the luxury of a nice house, the joy of perfect family members and friends – all to find that such things and people are illusory.  As we discover the latest thing we buy or the newest object of our affection is flawed and soon outdated, we move on to wanting something newer, bigger or better.  Contentment is found in our soul and not from any object or person.

Experts echo this same thinking.  By letting go of, or scaling back on our desire for physical things and pleasures, we ironically discover greater happiness.  If we find that we always want new and better things, we can, psychologists say, scale back on those desires and seek a balance point between what we desire and what we already have.  And this is something we intuitively already know – most of us are blessed beyond compare.  We have so much.  We bask in immense wealth of things, money, food and good people.  If we adjust our scales in life to acknowledge and measure all that we already have, we will no longer feel discontent.  We will no longer desire that which we already have.

In order to count our blessings, experts encourage us to first be willing to admit to the cause of our bitterness, anger or discontent.  Dorothy had to realize that she yearned for a more perfect place like Oz because she was not satisfied with her supposedly boring and strict Kansas home.  Admitting that, she could change her perspective and see that not only was Oz not as perfect as she had dreamed, but that Kansas was not as bad as she had once complained.  Indeed, Kansas was full of loving friends and family who cared about her and protected her.  The story is a classic promotion of positive thinking and of seeing all the good in life that we already possess.

Even more to the point, some philosophers assert that in an imperfect world, we often have an unrealistic expectation that we deserve to live in perfect situations and with perfect people.  The reality is that life is difficult for everyone and who am I to believe that I am special and thus immune from heartache, hurt or pain?  Will I retreat into my pity party when confronted with hardship?  Will I cover up my discontent with opiates that mask my dis-ease – drugs, alcohol, food, sex, material things, depression?  Or, will I imagine, and thereby create, a better me at peace, a me at home wherever I am, a me who is happy and loving and giving?

I have told this story before, but it bears repeating in the context of my message today.  Mabel lived in a nursing home after suffering a severe stroke.  She was paralyzed, unable to speak, feed or take care of herself, and she was confined full time to a wheelchair or bed.  All day she would sit in her chair and stare blankly ahead, her mouth half open and drool running down her chin.  To any outside observer, her life seemed pointless and so very, very tragic.

One day, a computer was placed before her and she was slowly taught how, with the slightest twitch of her hand, she could move a joystick connected to the computer and type out words and sentences on a monitor.  As she gained the ability to form written words, the staff and others in the nursing home were amazed.  Nobody realized her mind was still alert and aware.

At one point, she was asked how she felt.  With painstaking slowness, Mable carefully typed out: “I am wonderful.  I am surrounded by people who love me and take care of me.  Life is good.”

Have you ever dared to imagine that right here, right now, in whatever situation you are in life at this very moment, you are at home?  You are at peace?  You are content and happy beyond compare?  Let us imagine that beautiful self.  Let us see ourselves in all of the abundance, goodness and joy we already possess.  And, then let us be that imagined, content self.  Let us no longer hunger for an Oz-like paradise that does not exist.  Let us, instead, bask in the heaven of right here, right now.

I wish us all great peace and joy…

 

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Back during the long ago time period when the internet was still in its infancy, when cell phones were the size of shoe boxes and when people were transitioning from musical cassette tapes to compact discs, the music industry faced a crisis.  New technology was allowing people to copy CD’s onto their computers and then give away songs, for free, to friends and family.  The new internet was even allowing people to transmit copied music to complete strangers – all for no charge.  If music could be had for free, why bother buying a cassette or CD?  The entire multi-billion dollar music industry was at risk of financial ruin.

One man, however, had a different image of how things could be.  The public wanted cheap music but it also wanted simplicity, easy access and quality ways to listen to it.  While digital music players had already been invented, they were clunky and difficult to use.  Steve Jobs, the CEO of Apple, envisioned an entirely different scenario.  He imagined a simple and easy storage and playback device that could acquire the digital music – for a nominal price – from an internet based store.  The IPod digital music player and ITunes internet store were born of his imagination.  Since the debut of the device and the new way to sell music, the recording industry has experienced a resurgence and the idea was born that almost any form of artistic content could be bought and delivered instantly via the Internet.

It’s reported that Steve Jobs was always a visionary – a person with the imagination to see in his mind situations and products that were totally new in ways that upended the status quo.  He was inspired by growing up in a Joseph Eichler designed house – one that was reasonably priced for average families like his, simple in design, and elegant in its clean lines and basic utility.  When he and Steve Wozniak built the first Apple computer, it was Jobs who dreamed how to market it with the now familiar logo, saw its potential as a device of great utility and how to design it in a way that was pleasant to look at and highly functional.  Wozniak was a technical genius but his vision was limited – he wanted to give the computer away to other scientists and techies.

The personal computer – a device that was inexpensive and available to anyone – changed our world.  Suddenly, computers and their immense data storage and computational abilities were accessible to all.  Without the personal computer, none of the technological advances like the internet or smartphone would have been possible.  It is not hyperbole to say that the imagination of Steve Jobs fundamentally changed human history for the good – much like Robert Fulton, Thomas Edison, or Alexander Graham Bell did.

Great persons in history have all been visionaries – from Plato to Jesus to Marie Curie to Martin Luther King to Steve Jobs.  Imagination involves thinking of something that is not presently perceived but which has the potential to become reality.  It is not idle dreaming or fantasy.  It involves a creative effort and mental ability to envision something no others can foresee.  Everyone has the capability to imagine but only a few have trained their minds to consciously and regularly step outside the past and the present – to see creative potential.

For this month of September, I want to explore with you the power and importance of imagination in our lives and our thinking.  It is a function of the mind that is vital to our progress as individuals, communities, nations and as a species.  Imagination is a progressive characteristic.  In its positive form, it is rooted in love and the divine force of goodness.  Fear, on the other hand, is the enemy of imagination and progress – it holds back, it clings to the past, it imprisons one in seemingly safe thinking that can harbor seeds of hatred or prejudice.  Love and imagination take us forward.  They envision the possible and the good.  Albert Einstein said it best, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.  For while knowledge defines all we currently know and understand, imagination points to all we might yet discover and create.”

And so, over the next three Sunday mornings, we will embark on a journey to imagine three scenarios about ourselves and our lives.   In two weeks I will ask, “have you ever dared to imagine that every experience in your life has happened, and will happen, for a good reason?”  Next Sunday, “have you ever dared to imagine that home is where you presently are?”   Today, I ask, “have you ever dared to imagine that YOU are the light of the world?”

And that last question echoes what Jesus taught to his many followers.  As an itinerant rabbi and preacher, Jesus stood out from many others who travelled and spoke to crowds.  As a visionary, he painted pictures in the minds of his listeners that were dramatically different from anything previously heard.  His parables, aphorisms and word images were masterful ways to teach and they were used in ways that could be remembered and retold to exponentially greater numbers of people.  Whether or not we believe he was the Christ, it is clear Jesus taught ideas that resonated.  Despite his humble background, his lack of wealth and holding no formal means of power, his teachings captured the imagination of people in such ways that a lasting movement was created.  Countless other persons have taught in profound ways but Jesus totally revolutionized human thinking. It’s clear that almost immediately after his execution, followers formed a narrative about him that soon became mythological in nature.  Within three hundred years, his teachings – both authentic and mythological – became the predominant spiritual philosophy throughout the known world.  We often take for granted the immense influence of his visionary ways – even if we reject his alleged miracles and supernatural attributes.

Just after Jesus’ famous Sermon on the Mount, when he extolled the virtues of the meek, the poor, the humble, the persecuted and the peacemakers, he immediately told those very same people that they are lights to the world.  Such a statement flies in the face of common sense.  Poor nobodies, outcasts, thieves, prostitutes and those struggling to eke out survival in a backwater area – they are lights to the world?  Such an idea would be laughable if it was not supported by Jesus’ implicit message – that each human has a god-light within, a power and potential to touch other lives, change the world and envision new possibilities.  Our individual life purpose must be, according to Jesus, to uncover our light – whatever that might be – and figuratively let it shine.

Our failure and our problem is that we listen to the narrative that plays in our heads and that we often hear from others – that we are weak, that we are deficient, that we will be laughed at, scorned, and not taken seriously.  Our fears of our own abilities, our fear of failure, and our fears of how others will judge us act like prisons.  But so too does our fear of success.  Shining our light is frightening to many of us.

Marianne Williamson, a well-known author and commentator on all things spiritual, wrote in one of her books, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’  Actually, who are you not to be?  Your playing small does not serve the world…And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Williamson touches on a vital point about the human condition – one that Jesus spoke to in his Sermon on the Mount and following comments.  We are weakened by our fears.  The source of any of our neuroses, flaws, compulsions, depressions, addictions, prejudices and angers is fear.  We fear success.  We fear the unknown.  We fear the other tribe.  We fear progress.  We fear emotional intimacy.  We fear love.  We fear death.  Ultimately, we fear life itself.

And so we dim our lights.  We hide them.  We fail to try new things.  We fail to move to new places, undertake new endeavors, speak to large crowds, try a new job, fall in love, forgive someone, extend ourselves in service, draw meaningfully close to another, etc, etc.  All of our outward flaws and personal issues are ways we react to those failures.  Fear is the cause.  Inaction is the result.  Harmful behaviors and thoughts are the cover up.

To the poor in spirit, meek, humble and persecuted – to everyone dealing with inner demons, Jesus had a simple cure.  Let your light shine.

As trivial and cliche as that might sound, it is profound advice because it got to the cause of most human misery.  In a threatening world, humans naturally react to threats with fear.  Instead, we must counter-intuitively react with love – with our inner light.  And that light can be shined and expressed in countless different ways but it is our calling as individual human beings to discover what our light is and then shine it.  As Jesus taught, we are not candles to be placed under a bowl.  We are bright beacons born to be raised high.

The specific ways we shine our light to the world is something we must discover.  What are my gifts, what are my passions, what are my unique abilities that enable me to impact other lives for the better?  Even more, what are the normal human expressions of love that I can shine to the world that will help?  How can I teach a child, feed the hungry, defend a victim?

As most of you know who have been here since I began four years ago as Pastor, I undertook this role with experience and training in pastoral care, in leading outreach efforts and in church administration.  But I had limited experience as a Sunday morning speaker.  And, in my first weeks and months, it showed.  I’m sure it still does!  What held me back in the past was my fear of public speaking, of being judged, criticized and ultimately failing – the kinds of fears Pastors should not have.

But confronting my fears and allowing my light to shine was not as easy as simply saying I must do them.  Because of a few friends at the time, and because I had a vision of myself serving and succeeding here, I was able to apply for, accept and find a level of capability in this role – things that never would have happened otherwise.   And being a Pastor is a role that fits my abilities and passions.  I’m practicing a profession that I once imagined doing – and I’m shining whatever light I have.

And that is precisely the message I hope to convey today.  Shining our light into the world is not just a matter of saying it should be done.  We must take the leap of imagination to see ourselves as a light for change and goodness.  We must see ourselves in ways nobody else might see – acting, doing and then succeeding at whatever it is that we can imagine succeeding at – in love, in new work, in our relationships, in serving, in new friendships, self-improvement, or being a person that makes a positive impact.

Every time Jesus told a parable or painted a word picture, he was asking his listeners to imagine themselves in that role – and to imagine others in that role too.  Those we forgive are much like the woman caught in adultery.  Those we love and treasure are like a lost sheep.  Unconditional love is like that of a father who smothers his wayward child with hugs and kisses.  Freely opening our arms and our hearts to others is much like the man in one of Jesus’ parables who goes out to the streets to invite the dirty, diseased, disabled and immoral into his home for a lavish banquet.  Jesus painted the pictures – he cast the visions – and then asked his listeners to imagine themselves as characters playing those roles – to imagine they are a shepherd who has lost a lamb, a poor widow searching for a lost coin, or a parent overwhelmed with tears, joy and love when a rebellious child returns.  Imagine, he asked, the feelings and the hunger to be a force of goodness.

And countless experts and psychologists agree with his solution.  Imagination is a form of self-empowerment.  It confirms the adage that as we think, so we are.  Studies say that those who can actively imagine themselves thinner, they succeed in losing weight far more than those who do not regularly so imagine themselves.  Beyond being a visual motivational cue, maintaining an image of a thinner or more successful you casts away self doubts and narratives of defeat.  A self-image of success creates success.

Carl Jung, the great psychoanalyst, encouraged this form of what he called “active imagination.”  By casting wonderful visions of ourselves in new and different ways, we can examine who we are now and what we want to become – and thus find the steps to do so.  We will find the self-realization we have been too afraid to become.

Jung encouraged a form of inner dialogue with our imaginations.  He asked that people imagine alternative, but positive, scenarios, selves or beings.   By conducting an imagined conversation with the subject of our imagination, we can discover clues to who and what we are now and how we might change.  The process is not easy or simple and it must be regularly undertaken.  Therapists are usually needed to help guide one in the imagination process and in asking the right questions.  For persons beset with stress and self doubt, a therapist might ask one to imagine a more peaceful self, free of worry.  What would that feel like?  What is it about this imagined, peace filled you that does not have stress?  Why does the imagined you feel so secure?  Much like Jesus did with his word pictures, we are asked to imagine our feelings and our thoughts in our alternative, better selves.  One question that might be asked of the imagined, stress free you is if that alternative you can accept what can be controlled in life, and what cannot?  If so, you might determine that this is one key to your current dilemma and to your goal to be stress free – to accept the few things that you have control over and let go of the many things you don’t – like death, illness or the actions of others.  And that is but one simplistic example of how the process might work.

The key to Jung’s form of psychology, one that has many advocates, is the ability to see and imagine beyond one’s present condition to envision a better situation – the kind of you that you want to be, the kind of you that is not afraid, the kind of you that is self-realized and lives up to your potential.

As our nation celebrated this past Wednesday the 50 year anniversary of the March on Washington and Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, we are reminded of the power of imagination.  That march and that speech were focused on the imperative of achieving Civil Rights for African Americans, but they were, ultimately, much more than that.  In its size and in its breadth of people from all races, religions and genders, the March cast a vision of what America can be.  Invoking the ideals of Jefferson and Lincoln, Martin Luther King entered the pantheon of history’s great prophets with his plea for imagination, with his yearning words calling America to be America.  His dream became our dream – one that did not simply envision a nation of greater racial justice but a nation true to its high ideals and true to the human spirit of equality, liberty, opportunity.  By imagining the vision that King cast, America could imagine its better self and understand how far it had yet to grow and mature.  And in President Obama’s speech this past Wednesday, when he invoked King’s words that the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice but, as Obama said, it does not bend on its own, we are reminded of our purpose and of the eternal teaching of Jesus: our lights must shine.

George Bernard Shaw famously said that the fearful look at the current world, its many problems and ask “why?”  The visionary, however, looks at things that never were and asks, “why not?”  Let us each imagine, let us each continue to dream, and then let us together build for all humanity a shining heaven on earth, right here, right now.

I wish you all much peace and joy…

 

As an alternative to our regular talk back time and celebration of communion, I ask that you – and those listening online – to indulge me and engage in just a few minutes of reflection, meditation and imagination.  In just a moment, I will ask that you close your eyes, listen to Don’s playing of a Nocturne piece, and ease your minds into a place where it is free to dream and imagine.  As you do so, begin to imagine an image of yourself or your life that you want to be.  Imagine your better self, imagine you are guided by your better angels, imagine your life that is completely at peace, perfectly content, and active in doing the things that give you meaning and a sense of accomplishment.  Imagine yourself in that life, what you will do, how you will speak and, importantly, how you will feel.

If you have time, ask that imagined and better you why it is so happy?  Why is it so fulfilled?  And then imagine what your imagined self would answer.  Remember those answers and write them down later.  You can engage in this process at a later time when you have more time to fully analyze your imagination, your questions and the answers.  Most importantly for this time, see if you can imagine the you that you deeply want to become – the you that fully shines your beautiful light.  Hold onto that image of yourself, remember it and go back to it often.  That image of yourself is the you that can become a reality if you take the time to not only believe it is possible but also to explore ways to grow from who you are now.

Let us engage in this time of meditation and imagination – for around four minutes.  I ask that everyone please refrain from talking or making noise during this time so that all can peacefully engage in this process.  Please close your eyes, remain quiet and begin…

Message 140, Summer Poetry to Enlighten and Inspire: Jim Ferris and the Voice of the Challenged, 8-18-13

 

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During this month of August, I’ve used three different contemporary poets to not only highlight great poetry, but to also lead us on a path of empathy for others.  Two weeks ago we looked at Richard Blanco and his poem about his immigrant mother.  Through his simple but beautiful verse, we read of a gay son’s love for his mom but also his pride in her American story – her life as an immigrant.  Last week, we looked at a poem by Pulitzer Prize winning poet Rita Dove and her distinctive way of telling stories with her poems – ones that prompt a reader to feel and experience universal emotions.

Today, we consider the poetry of Jim Ferris to take us on a journey of empathy for the so-called physically and mentally challenged.  Ferris is the winner of the prestigious MSR award for Poetry and he is the acclaimed leader of what is now referred to as “disabled” or “crip” poetry.  This artistic movement, which is joined by many other disabled writers, seeks to reorient thinking and understanding about those who are physically or mentally different.  While some decry the fact that such poetry calls attention to disability, others have praised this expanding genre as a unique way to change the perspective and understanding society has for the handicapped.

Ferris is most known for, and won his poetry award for, his book entitled Hospital Poems which details the many years he spent as a young boy and teenager in hospitals undergoing surgeries and treatments for a birth condition of one leg significantly shorter than the other.  The experiences he underwent were painful, humiliating, emotionally scarring and mostly unsuccessful.  He still has great difficulty walking.  Most of all, the poems call attention to how he was treated, and how many disabled persons are still treated, by the medical community and by society at large.

In a poem entitled “Meat” he describes how he and other young patients were literally treated like slabs of flesh – processed through operating rooms without any consideration of their humanity.  In the poem “Standard Operating Procedure” he mockingly offers advice to the surgeons who treated him, “Tell him this is for his own good, this will hurt you more than him….Then press the drill to his thigh and squeeze the trigger….He won’t like it much, children are like that.”

In another poem entitled “Coliseum” he writes of being subjected to the grand rounds of doctors as they discussed his case – analyzing how to make Ferris supposedly “normal”.  The poem resonates with all who do not measure up to what society expects – and how professionals seek to make them acceptable to a culture that hates abnormality.   “You are a specimen for study,” Ferris writes in the poem, “a toy, a puzzle—they speak to each other, as if you are unconscious.”

In another poem, Ferris writes of a young teenage boy’s nightmare – a poem that adds mordant humor to the indignities he faced.  He writes in a poem entitled “Fear at Thirteen” how he felt as he lay naked on an operating table just before a surgery (and forgive me if these words offend you): “Hatchet men waiting to cut you, and what you fear most, in all the world, is that you’ll pop a boner, and die embarrassed, on this green yet sterile field.”

Finally, in a poem entitled “Mercy”, Ferris describes a time when all of his eighth grade classmates visited him in the hospital.  All being non-disabled, his fellow students approached him and treated him like an object of pity – one to be gawked at, whispered over and used as a way to claim a good deed for the day’s effort.  He writes about them in that poem, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall have mercy.  But not from me.” 

W.H. Auden, the famous writer, once asked, “What good is poetry?  It accomplishes nothing.”  With all due respect to him, I totally disagree.  Ferris’ poems are not intended to elicit pity nor are they written as a way to wallow in the horrors of what happened to him.  Rather, they stridently decry the inhuman treatment shown to most who are disabled – the condescending sympathy offered, the view of them as different, non-functioning, and defective, the interaction with them that is devoid of normalcy and the everyday dignity most others enjoy.  Instead, Ferris takes us on a journey to the hospitals of his youth, into the crowded wards, the operating rooms, and the theatre like arena in which he would stand to be studied and probed as if he were a specimen or, as he writes, a piece of meat.  Ferris wants us to feel the humiliation, to understand the indignity, to know of the indifference with which not only he has been treated, but so too are all other physically and mentally challenged persons.  Ultimately, like the other poets we’ve looked at, he calls us to understand and empathize with the disabled – not to offer sympathy or meager pity – but to fully know and understand how they feel so that they will be treated not as outcasts or objects of compassion – but as fully human worthy of respect.

And that is the fundamental message of Jim Ferris’ poetry.  He demands we understand the difference between sympathy and empathy.  He asks that we treat the disabled or any person, for that matter, much like we would treat a person who has fallen into a deep pit.  Our inclination will be to stand around the rim of the pit and peer down on the poor soul at the bottom.  We’ll offer the usual platitudes of sorrow and perhaps a bit of encouragement.  We offer our sympathy.  But, the person at the bottom of a pit feels little solace – how can we at the top understand his or her perspective and feelings?

On the other hand, as Jim Ferris implicitly asks in his poetry, we can figuratively climb down into the pit with the person who suffers or is in a difficult situation.  Down there we can understand what it feels like to be in a pit, to hope for a way out and to feel fear.   So too can we offer tangible help to the other – we’re with them, beside them and fully aware of how they suffer and what their needs are.  That’s the difference between sympathy and pity versus empathy – to undertake the time and the effort to listen, feel and experience the plight of the other.  That is what we are called to offer the disabled and, indeed, all people.

When it comes to being physically or mentally challenged, Ferris reminds us in one of his poems how we can empathize.  As he writes, we too are disabled and we, too, are challenged.  For the poem we consider for today, read it with me on the back of your programs as I read it aloud…

 

 

Poet of Cripples

By Jim Ferris

Let me be a poet of cripples,

of hollow men and boys groping

to be whole, of girls limping toward

womanhood and women reaching back,

all slipping and falling toward the cavern

we carry within, our hidden void,

a place for each to become full, whole,

room of our own, space to grow in ways

unimaginable to the straight

and the narrow, the small and similar,

the poor, normal ones who do not know

their poverty. Look with care, look deep.

Know that you are a cripple too.

I sing for cripples; I sing for you.

          Ferris’ poem draws heavily on the influences of other famous poets.  It is highly evocative of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass poems – ones where he writes of the song of the body, of its essence, of its oneness with nature and creation.  So too does Ferris use references from T.S. Elliot’s poem “Hollow Men.”  As Elliot wrote in that poem, “We are the hollow men, We are the stuffed men, Leaning together, Waiting and leaning, drawn, they stand in that – Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion…”

As humans, we worship the body while taking healthy bodies for granted.  We idealize the body’s symmetry, its form and its vibrant, sensual beauty.  For bodies misshapen by disease, birth anomalies, injury, or age, we are reminded of death, of the aging process and our fears of them.  And so we diminish the disabled bodies.  They are imperfect.  They are to be pitied.  They are to be studied, worked upon and made supposedly normal.

But Ferris reminds his reader that we are all hollow people.  And, we all have a void within – the inner cavern that we long to fill, the void that defines how we too are crippled and challenged.  Even as Ferris is physically challenged, many of the so-called normal people are challenged by inner demons, inner deficiencies, inner fears, inner depressions.  What is your void that needs to be filled?  What is mine?

As Ferris writes, the disabled have the unique gift of knowing the void they must fill.  They long to be whole, to feel human and able bodied.  As I so often say, such feelings as those come only through one’s mind and cognitive perceptions.  As one thinks, so one is.  While I might smugly reassure myself that I am healthy and abled, I must see the crippling void in me –  my psychological feelings of inadequacy and an insecure desire to be liked and loved.   The physically and mentally challenged persons, however, are daily confronted with their handicap.  It can’t be overlooked or ignored as I do with my more hidden challenges.  And so, as the poem tells us, the disabled find ways to fill that inner void – their missing piece – with a sense of contentment, with strength, confidence, and acceptance in who they are.

How many people, how many of us, struggle with handicaps of addiction, depression, arrogance, materialism, inadequacy, work-a-holism or anything else to fill their inner voids and missing pieces?  As Ferris writes, we are all crippled.  We are all stunted and deformed.  We all need to find the kind of personal awareness that comes from knowing ourselves, from finding self-assurance, inner love and the satisfaction that brings what I repeatedly wish for me and for you – peace and joy.  As the Buddha taught, when we let go of what we lack or what we wish for, we will find that despite our disabilities we are rich beyond our dreams – in life, in friends, in family, in the inner security that surpasses all understanding.

Jesus also taught that we fill our inner voids not by trying to be good enough, not by wealth, not by being hypocritically pious, but instead by claiming and owning our imperfections and our flawed humanity.  We find the god within that is strong, capable, giving, loving and good.  No longer do we fill our voids with false idols like drugs, alcohol, relationships, work, religion or anything else.  We all have feet of clay with our missing pieces and disabilities.  We are born and shaped as the creator made us.  As Ferris says, all humanity is crippled and yet all people are beautiful and worthy in their imperfections.

It is in that light that we identify with the physically and mentally challenged – people like Jim Ferris.  In this recognition of our own challenges, we can discover our ability to empathize with the disabled and understand their perspective.  Such an enlightened and inspired attitude enables us to love them as fully human and to stop our condescending, superior attitudes.  By recognizing the many ways we ourselves are challenged, we can see and understand their struggles.

I have shared with a few of you my challenges the last two months in assisting my parents as they move.  What I have not mentioned to many, and not in here, is how I and my siblings have been confronted during this move with my mom’s advancing dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.  She is slowly fading away from us, becoming a confused, frightened and overly paranoid person.  This move has only added to her confusion and fears.  She’s become combative and angry at me, my siblings and my dad as we helped her move – as we arranged with movers, charities and an estate sale company to transport or dispose of belongings.  Her loss of short term memory and cognitive function has sped up with all of the trauma in this move.

And, she should have stopped driving months ago but she insisted she was fine.  This past Monday she was in a bad car accident that she caused – banging and bruising herself terribly – but thankfully not hurting anyone else.  She admitted on the spot that she should no longer drive and yet that has caused her still remaining faculties to become deeply depressed – her whole life, her home, her mind, her independence all slowly slipping away.

As with most of the messages I deliver, I speak to myself as well as to you.  I’ve had to reflect most especially this month on what I’ve encouraged in here – to find empathy for others. In saying a slow goodbye to my mom, in seeing her terrors, frustrations and combativeness for a move she wasn’t able to understand, I had to let go of my simple sympathy and occasional frustration with her.  Doesn’t she understand what we are doing and why?  No, she doesn’t.  Her whole world was turning upside down.  She’s moving permanently away from her home of half a century – the house she made her own, the house in which she made a family, the sense of place she created.  Many of her belongings that had given her identity and comfort were suddenly ripped away.

This past Wednesday, just before I drove she and my dad to the airport to leave their home and their city – perhaps forever – she asked me to get the gun my dad owns, put a bullet in it, and give it to her.  In that moment, I understood what she meant and how she felt.  I don’t know if she was serious – but then she broke down and all I could do was hold her like she was my child, so small and vulnerable, as she sobbed in my arms.

Placed in her shoes, I would likely be reacting the same way.  The mind is a terrible thing to lose – and as she is losing hers – along with her home, her hometown and so many of her friends.  In that moment when I held her in my arms, I could feel her loss.  I could feel her fear.  I could feel all of the anger and confusion in her life.  I understood.  I knew of her present disability.  I had, totally unplanned, climbed down in the pit with her – to console and help and listen and do – to understand the dimensions of her loss and the depth of her emotions.

Dear friends, we are all a Jim Ferris in our physical limitations.  I have a bum knee, some of you have aches and pains in joints and muscles.  And, we are all my mom in our mental incapacities – emotionally drained or challenged, sad, threatened, afraid.  But in our shared challenges, we feel the humanity in us.  We see the beauty of creation that flourishes in us – the body and mind fantastic in their design and complexity, each person different, each person diverse in ability, each human so very, very wonderful.  We see that empathy is both a way to understand and way to truly help.

To close, I echo the last line from Jim Ferris’ poem: “Poet of Cripples.”  I echo his themes and messages of empathy as well as the other poets we considered – Richard Blanco and Rita Dove.

Know that we are all immigrants in this life.  Understand that we each face times of loneliness and longing.  Believe that we too are crippled.  We sing not for the immigrant.  We sing not for the lonely or for the disabled.  We sing for us.  We sing for humanity.  We sing for the beauty that all possess.                          I wish you much peace and joy…

Message 139, Summer Poetry to Enlighten and Inspire: Rita Dove and the Voice of Loneliness and Longing, 8-11-13

(c) Doug Slagle, Pastor at the Gathering UCC, All Rights Reserved

 

To download and listen to the message, click here:   

 

I don’t know about you, but I have experienced times in my life when I have felt terribly lonely.  There have been a few occasions, however, when I have purposefully chosen to be alone – hiking into the wilderness, curling up at home with a good book or retreating into my yard and garden.  Those are times I have sought solitude – time and space to think, reflect and bask in the company of self.  Those solitude times give me the energy to go back into the world and engage it as much as possible.

But then there are the times when I have felt as if I am adrift in the middle of a vast lake – alone, lonely and sad.  There are people all around me, available to me and even reaching out to me.  But I have felt isolated and disconnected.  My loneliness is not a literal fact but rather a state of mind.  I isolate inside of myself, close the doors and the windows to my soul, and feel all of the darkness of my circumstances – like the trials I experienced when I came out, the void when I did not have a partner, my shyness, my years spent in the closet praying to be made straight and terrified someone would discover my secret.

I imagine all of us have felt such isolation at some point in our lives.  Life’s burdens weigh on our shoulders, we see no light at the end of our tunnels, our pain is acute and it is difficult to explain to others.  It is difficult to feel any comfort from those whose lives seem better than our own.  What we feel is depressed, but such feelings are also experienced as loneliness – times when one IS truly the loneliest number and we have no idea how to correct that.

Loneliness in all of its manifestations is a human disease of the mind and soul.  There are many who are abandoned in the sea of life – the elderly who are shut within their houses or in nursing homes, the sick, the dying, the imprisoned, the outcast and the socially awkward.  But, there are many more who are lonely for lack of a lover, lonely as they face major difficulties, lonely as they feel unable to meet other souls who also long to be connected.

For so many persons – old and young alike – the most profound loneliness is often from the lack of a life partner, spouse, or soulmate.  And, sadly, loneliness is found even for those who have a partner but who feel deeply disconnected from him or her.  As most of us know, it is quite possible to feel the pain of loneliness even when one is married or partnered.

Just as I did last week when we looked at a poem by Richard Blanco to spiritually empathize with immigrants, today we look at a poem by Rita Dove as we seek greater insight into loneliness and longing.  As an African-American woman and graduate of our local Miami University, Rita Dove writes about the small moments in people’s lives as a way to empathize.  Her most famous work, for which she won the Pulitzer Prize, details the big and minor moments in the lives of her grandparents.  Thomas and Beulah, as the book is entitled, is a partially fictionalized anthology of poems about her grandparents and how they made a life in the midst of Jim Crow America.  It’s a poignant work that finds its voice not by preaching the benefits of Civil Rights but rather through telling of the daily indignities and struggles her grandparents faced – and the quiet ways they overcame them.

And that is a hallmark of Dove’s poetry.  She tells stories in her poems that prompt introspection.  In their own way, her poems lead readers to identify with and understand feelings.  Today’s poem, “Golden Oldies”, speaks of the feelings of all women and men who are lonely or longing for a lover.  As I read the poem aloud, you can follow along with the printed version on the back of your programs.

 

Golden Oldies

I made it home early, only to get

stalled in the driveway – swaying

at the wheel like a blind pianist caught in a tune

meant for more than two hands playing.

The words were easy, crooned

by a young girl dying to feel alive, to discover

a pain majestic enough

to live by. I turned the air conditioning off,

leaned back to float on a film of sweat,

and listened to her sentiment:

Baby, where did our love go?-a lament

I greedily took in

without a clue who my lover

might be, or where to start looking.

The poem gives us a clue about the song that prompts such strong feelings in Rita.  The line “Baby, where did our love go?” is from the Diana Ross and Supremes song of 1964 – their first of five songs to reach the pop charts number one ranking.  Rolling Stones magazine has rated it #472 on its list of 500 greatest songs of all time.

As I speak these three Sundays of empathy and figuratively placing ourselves in the shoes of another, let us use Rita Dove’s poetry as a way to now listen to the song “Where Did Our Love Go?”  Imagine it is a hot, sultry evening.  Close your eyes and sway to music if you will.  Recently, life has been difficult, you’re alone, lamenting the absence of love or a lover in your life, and on the radio comes this song:

(Play “Where Did Our Love Go?”)

Interestingly, Rita Dove has been called an American Romanticist.  Her style of poetry is not literally romantic, but rather follows in that form of expression.  Romanticism as an art form began in the early nineteenth century largely in reaction to the aristocratic and elitist ideas of the enlightenment and rationalism.  In paintings, sculpture, literature and music, romanticism focused on the natural world and its transcendent, awe inspiring aspects.  Emotions and feelings were the focus of romantic art – such feelings as longing, passion, love, despair, apprehension, and religious inspiration.  Described as a spontaneous expression of emotion, romanticism in art seeks to reflect the sublime and the ineffable – the kinds of feelings that can overwhelm.

American romanticism is unique in its own way.  American romanticists focus on the feelings of everyday people – the laborers, farmers, clerks and others.  It is democratic and embracing of ideals identified with America – freedom, the individual, and non-traditional themes.  African-American artists embraced the romantic style and made it their own.  Deeply expressive music like jazz and Motown rock and roll are a part of that genre and are fully American in their originality. Rita Dove’s poetry is fully within the American romanticism genre.

The poem Golden Oldies describes a moment we can all understand.  Music has a way of drawing on emotions and memories that remove us from reality.  Maya Angelou, another great poet, says, “Music is my refuge.  I can crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.”   To hear Diana Ross sing her lament, we feel the emotions, as Rita describes them in her poem, of a young woman dying to feel alive.  The incongruity of those words describe exactly how many young women feel when love is lost.  Their world has ended, nothing else matters, their pain is the height of all pain and death seems a fitting Romeo and Juliet ending.

Dove wonderfully captures feelings in her poetic images.  We feel the swoon and the sway as she moves to the music, with her eyes shut, and imagines another place – and four hands, a lovers and her own, caressing and searching.  How many times has a certain song inspired us to imagine, hope for or remember the same, to recall moments of courtship, passion or love?  For one who is alone and lost in loneliness, we can understand the emotion and the longing in Dove’s poem.

And the pain of her moment is not immediately apparent.  We sense the memories the song evokes, the remembrance of lost love, the stirrings of longing once felt, but not the full heartache – until the poem ends and we process her words.

Diana Ross’s musical lament “Baby, where did our love go?” not only pulls the reader into a feeling of loss, longing and loneliness, we learn that  Rita feels it too.  The music first stirs her memories or, perhaps, her fantasies of romance.  But it also confronts her with her present reality, her present pain.  Where and when will she find the love she has lost, the love for which she hungers, the passion and desire that floats on a film of lovemaking sweat?  In that sudden realization, we understand even more the lament of her rhythmic sway where four hands move across entwined bodies and of her identity with young love and a soaring pain so sharp it feels like death.

Such is the lament of too many women and men – those abandoned by past lovers, those who have not experienced the rapture of romantic love, those who hope and yearn and dream of a future lover.  And in that regard, such is also the lament of anyone who feels isolated in their suffering – in the trials of relationship, illness, or poverty.  As I said last week, good poetry evokes such shared feelings.

In those sentiments of empathy, we find spiritual ways to show compassion and care for those who ache in their loneliness.  In his life and teachings, Jesus drew the abandoned and the outcast into his circle.  He touched and healed them.  He advised and counseled them.  To the lonely Samaritan woman at the well, one who had been married six times, he gently encouraged her to seek genuine love – the kind that lasts and is not bound up in promiscuity.  To the blind, the lepers, the women shunned by Jewish society for infirmities and bleeding disorders, Jesus was a presence of compassion – one who purposefully inserted himself into the pain and hurt of their loneliness and them offered the redemption that only feeling loved and included can provide.

Loneliness and longing are experiences of the mind, as experts tell us.  Usually, they are experiences of perception and not of reality.  Even so, the suffering is real.   Humans have evolved to be social creatures in need of nurture, and relationship.   God determined that it was not good for Adam to be alone – as the Genesis creation myth tells us.  And so God gave Eve to Adam – to be his companion, lover and soulmate.

Job suffered losses and pains that would destroy most people.  His wife and children all perished.  His business, wealth and physical well being were taken away.  Job was abandoned and shunned.  But he did not wallow and perish in his suffering.  He persistently sought to understand the purpose and the why of his suffering.  He sought the advice of friends.  He pondered, prayed and reflected – beseeching God and other forces for the ability to cope, understand and find renewal – all of which he did.

The Biblical David was also largely abandoned by his family and friends.  Guilty of adultery and murder, harassed by enemies, David was a chastened man who sought forgiveness and understanding.    He found purpose in seeking redemption from his sins and in making amends for them.

Experts tell us that just as loneliness is a state of mind, so too is a sense of contentment, happiness and fulfillment.  We have the cognitive power to change our circumstances – not by changing our surroundings or the people around us, but, instead, by altering our outlook and perception of life.  Persons who feel alone can refocus their thoughts and actions toward helping others in their pain and toward finding meaning in being active.  Dr. John Capiccio, an expert on loneliness from the University of Chicago, says that those who feel alone must step outside of their own pain long enough to serve others.  Real change, he says, begins by doing.  In serving, in getting involved, in doing random acts of kindness without any agenda to meet another person – but simply to serve and care, one will be transformed.  One will become a person who no longer engages in a pity party of their own making but, instead, one who is capable, giving and content.

Surprisingly, one will likely experience the paradox of serving and giving.  When we give, we receive.  When we let go of the sorrow, longing or actively seeking a lover, we may well find him or her.  When we focus not on our own suffering but on that of others, our pain ironically ends.  A new life purpose is discovered.  New friends are made.  Life reorients itself to be the kind we are called to live – it’s not about us, it’s about others.  It’s about our family, our friends, our colleagues, and even total strangers.

How often have I, over the past few weeks, had to remind myself that the difficulties I face with my mom, her dementia and helping my parents move is nothing?  I’m their son.  I’m called to love and serve them.   That’s what children do for their parents.  That’s what people do for each other.  Out of the ashes of our despair and our loneliness can emerge the seeds of renewal – and that comes only by forgetting the self and remembering others.

We come full circle back to the poem “Golden Oldies.”  As a woman past the prime of her youth, as a woman experienced with lost love and the desire to find it again, Dove calls her reader to remember the power a certain song can hold over us, to feel the ache of young love shattered and lost, to share the reality of deeply wanting something – but not knowing how to get it.  With her beautiful images, we feel all of the emotions of longing and loneliness.  And in our feelings, comes our understanding and our empathy.

That is what we are asked to do in life.  When we meet a dirty and smelly homeless man on the street, we’re called to understand his plight – the pain of poverty, the prison of addiction, the daily indignity of neediness, the inhumanity of living in the midst of plenty but having nothing.   For the immigrant, the criminal, the lonely, the depressed, the enemy, the single mom on food stamps struggling to feed her kids, – we can only show true compassion, we can only offer real help – if we have a heart, if we seek to understand, if we figuratively place ourselves in the midst of their affliction.  Empathy is a path to shared feelings, a path to understanding, and thus a doorway to offering the kind of concern that leads to help that truly heals.

Let us stop offering opinions and judgement of the other.  Let us stop talking.  Let us stop condemning and demeaning.  Instead, let’s listen.  Instead, let’s hear the cries and see the tears.  Instead, let’s feel the pain of another.  In doing so, we will understand.  And in understanding, we will then effectively, and compassionately, serve.

The poem “Golden Oldies” is a good one.  It reminds us of our own experiences of loneliness.  It provokes us to find ways out of our depressions and sense of isolation when we experience them.  Most of all, like all great art, the poem enlightens our minds, inspires our souls and pricks our hearts.  Let us go forth and be empathetic people.

I wish each one of you much peace and joy…

 

 

Message 138, “Summer Poetry to Enlighten and Inspire: Richard Blanco and an Immigrant’s Voice”, 8-4-13

(c) Doug Slagle, Pastor at the Gathering UCC, All Rights Reserved

 

To download and listen to the message, click here:

 

 

Imagine, for a moment, that you are an eight year old boy or girl, growing up like many youth, enjoying cartoons, playing action hero games, idolizing sports figures, attending school and living within a close-knit family and community.  On the surface, life is good.  But, for you and most of your friends, there is a darker life.

You live much of your life in fear.  You fear, more than most kids, standing out in school, being called to the principal’s office or being noticed as you walk, or ride in a car.  You fear getting sick or that someone in your family will get sick because a trip to the doctor or hospital invites the danger of too many questions.  “Who are you?”  “May we see your identification?”  You’ve been taught to avoid the police and firemen – any official in a uniform – even if you are a victim of crime or an emergency.  Your parents darkly warn you that the family could be broken up at any time – some could be taken away forever.

A favorite aunt of yours was stopped a year ago for driving with a broken tail light and you never saw her again.  You heard she was taken to a camp far from home where she was held in a stifling hot tent for many months, forced to wear pink underwear and pink clothing so she and others could be easily identified and, of course, humiliated.  She was often told to strip naked and throw her bedding and clothes into a large pile for burning – while she and others stood in long lines for showers, under the watchful eye of male guards, to ostensibly be cleaned of lice and bedbugs.  Such an event evoked images of long ago showers and even gas chambers, when hate signaled humanity gone mad.

Your aunt never spoke to an attorney and was only once in the presence of a judge, by way of video.  Along with many others, she was convicted of a misdemeanor, similar in severity to a speeding ticket.  She was found guilty of being in the nation without proper documentation and then deported from the land she loved.

For all practical purposes, you could be Jewish and living in Germany during the 1930’s and 40’s.  In truth, you live in America and it’s today – 2013.  You are an American – born here and entitled to all of the rights of any native born girl or boy.  Your parents are hard working, pay taxes and want only what millions of other parents want – to build a life for their children that is better than their own – a life in the case of your parents that is far better than the grinding poverty they experienced before.  But, besides being American, you also happen to be Latino or Asian or African.  You’re the American child of undocumented immigrants.  You live in one of many states in the nation where all of the above actually takes place even as I speak.

I ask you to find some place in your heart and soul that empathizes with and understands that child.  What if that was you?  What if you were born to such parents?  What if these were the circumstances you or your parents and family faced?  How would you feel?  How would you react?

My series this month is one that I have used the past three Augusts.  It’s a series on poetry that both enlightens and inspires.  I’ve chosen this month three poets well known in the world of poetry but who are not widely known outside that small community.  They write, like all poets, of love, life, pain and joy.  As good poets, they speak to a reader’s heart and mind – provoking new ways to think and feel.  The poets I’ve chosen write with layers of complex emotions and ideas that resonate deeply – often in unsettling ways.  Just as most Scriptures are poems that teach and inspire, so too are modern versions of the art – contemporary scriptures that are profound and worthy of spiritual exploration.

Today we’ll consider the poetry of Richard Blanco, a gay Cuban-American immigrant.  Next Sunday, we will look at the poetry of Rita Dove, a product of Miami University, who won the Pulitzer Prize for one of her poetry books.  As an African-American woman she writes of small moments in daily life that resonate across racial and ethnic lines.  In two weeks, we will read a poem by Jim Ferris, an award winning disabled poet who often writes of the pains and joys of his life.

For today, however, we look at Richard Blanco who uses his poetry to humanize the lives of immigrants, gays and lesbians.   His poems offer us a window to peer into these lives and thereby, hopefully, find something in common – something that is universal.

Blanco achieved some fame this past January when he became the first immigrant, the first openly gay man and the youngest person to serve as the poet at a President’s inauguration.  The poem he wrote and read on that day a few months ago, “One Today”, attempted with its simple verse to capture the sweeping nuances of life in America.  As he wrote, dawn’s light moves across our land, illuminating people of many backgrounds, professions, and abilities each living separate, different but ultimately American lives that are a part of who and what we are as a nation – one people, one life.

Blanco was born in Spain but conceived in communist Cuba.  His mother was in transit for only a month when she gave birth to Richard in Spain.  She and he stayed there only a bit longer before they reached her ultimate destination – the U.S.  Both have become naturalized citizens and Richard went on to earn a Civil Engineering degree which he still uses since.

Like many gay men, Blanco is close to his mother and she, like most moms, loves her son unconditionally even as she struggles with a socially conservative Cuban view of homosexuality.  Just after finishing reading his inaugural poem and shaking President Obama’s hand, Blanco turned to his mother and said, “Well mom, I guess we are finally Americans.”  It was a poignant statement for him and for so many whom he represents – not only immigrant sons and daughters but also gays and lesbians.  We’re all a part of the “One Today” of which he spoke.

He writes often of his mother in his poetry and I chose for today a poem that captures many of the feelings he has about her – and thus, many of his feelings about being an immigrant.  From Blanco’s acclaimed book City of a Hundred Fires comes this poem:

 

MOTHER PICKING PRODUCE

She scratches the oranges then smells the peel,

presses an avocado just enough to judge its ripeness,

polishes the Macintoshes searching for bruises.

She selects with hands that have thickened, fingers

that have swollen with history around the white gold

of a wedding ring she now wears as a widow.

Unlike the archived photos of young, slender digits

captive around black and white orange blossoms,

her spotted hands now reaching into the colors.

I see all the folklore of her childhood, the fields,

the fruit she once picked from the very tree,

the wiry roots she pulled out of the very ground.

And now, among the collapsed boxes of yuca,

through crumbling pyramids of golden mangoes,

she moves with the same instinct and skill.

This is how she survives death and her son,

on these humble duties that will never change,

on those habits of living which keep a life a life.

She holds up red grapes to ask me what I think,

and what I think is this, a new poem about her–

the grapes look like dusty rubies in her hands,

what I say is this: they look sweet, very sweet.

 

Blanco uses his poetry to express his feelings about his life – as a gay man and as a Cuban-American.   “Mother Picking Produce” captures, in the description of an ordinary moment in his mom’s life, many of the challenges of the immigrant – nostalgia for an old life, the hardships once endured, and the bright satisfaction of picking produce to buy, instead of picking produce as a low paid laborer working in the fields.  Blanco’s poem is touching and sad in its way: his mother has lost the flower of her youth, lost the vibrant folklore of her past, lost her husband and, perhaps, lost her dream of a son who is straight and gives her grandchildren.

Despite the underlying emotion of the poem, it also celebrates the quiet dignity in his mom.  She’s a humble woman, without self-pity.  With an eye for picking produce taught to her by generations before who toiled under a hot sun, she picks now at corner fruit stands or large grocery stores.  It’s an immigrant – but also American life – that Blanco describes: his mother’s life of stoic sacrifice, of persistent work, of being uprooted from a native land and planted in a new, of aging, of death and, yes, of a gay son.

Implicit in the poem is Blanco’s assertion of his mom’s humanity and American identity.  She’s the face of all moms in her sacrifice, service and love.  She’s the face of all Americans in their daily tasks – shopping, cooking, working, living.   In Blanco’s simple words detailing a simple task, we cannot help but empathize with and understand this mother – much like I asked us to do in my opening description of an immigrant child.

Such is the beauty of good poetry.  It asks us to consider, on a basic level, words and deeds that seem quite ordinary.  But, on a deeper level, we find in Blanco’s words something extraordinary in their simple gloss.  We find a humble human spirit full of the same dignity each of us possesses.  That reminds us of the natural rights of which I spoke in my messages last month:  all are equal, all are free, all have the right to happiness, all have intrinsic value because nature and nature’s god have seen fit to grant us life.

Through Richard Blanco’s words, his mom is no longer an immigrant woman, no longer a widow, no longer a loving mother of a gay son.  She’s my mom.  She’s yours.  She’s an American.  She’s a human being.  Indeed, in the love and pride that Blanco expresses for his mom, I feel the same for my mother – one who has been there for me all my life, but who is now moving into the twilight of hers.

And that, precisely, is the larger point I hope to make in my message today – and one that underlies Blanco’s poem.  Immigrants are people.  Immigrants are just like us.  Immigrants are not worthy of demeaning labels as “alien”, “illegal”, or worse.  No human should be labeled by such hateful words.  Our call is to understand, to empathize, to feel and to know the lives and experiences of others.  In doing so, we find not superficial differences that underscore our petty bigotry.  We find deeper similarities.  We find ourselves.

If we are, as Jesus and the Golden Rule asks of us, to love our fellow humans in the same way we love ourselves, then we have no choice.  We must love the immigrant.  We must show compassion.  We must honor and esteem them.  In doing so, we love ourselves and our own heritage.

Here in my hand I hold an old and tattered Bible – one that is at least one-hundred and sixty five years old.  It’s simple and small but it belonged to my great, great, great grandfather, Hugh Jones, who inscribed in it the date and place he likely obtained it – Montgomeryshire, North Wales, Great Britain, 1848.  His daughter and my great, great grandmother also inscribed in it her name and place – Lydia Jones, Cincinnati, Ohio, 1870.  Hugh immigrated here.  His daughter was a second generation immigrant daughter.  In my own similar, but unique way, I’m Richard Blanco in my immigrant heritage.  Lydia Jones is my ancestral immigrant mom.  I’m her gay son.

And all of you have your own immigrant family stories….

Whether we are six generations removed from being an immigrant, or ones of more recent status, we’ve found our piece of the American dream.  And, we have also contributed in big or small ways to the success of the nation.  It is an old but true fact that we are a nation of immigrants – unless we are Native-American.  We are a nation of mutts – so called cross breeds of many ethnicities, cultures and backgrounds.  On my mom’s side, I’m mostly English.  On my dad’s side, mostly German.  But, in truth, I’m all-American.

First and second generation immigrants are the fastest growing population group in the U.S.  There are over 36 million second generation immigrants in America – the citizen sons and daughters of first generation immigrants.  By 2050, they will account all of the growth in our working age numbers.  In the very near future, the United States will be a “Majority – Minority” nation  – one where the majority of people are members of a minority group.

But such numbers need not scare us.  Over 90% of second generation immigrants speak English as their primary language.  100% of third generation immigrants do.  The children and grandchildren of immigrants assimilate quickly and successfully.  36% of all second generation immigrants have college degrees – compared with 31% of all adults.  Second generation immigrants are less likely to live in poverty than other adults.  By a huge number, second generation immigrants tell pollsters they value hard work.  Immigrants and their sons and daughters are 27% more likely to start a business than are non-immigrants.  And their businesses succeed.  63% of all immigrant entrepreneurs earn at the top one-third of incomes compared with just 51% of all others.   Immigrants founded 40% of the Fortune 500 largest corporations in the U.S.  Sergey Brin, the founder of Google, is an immigrant.  So too is Jerry Yang, the founder of Yahoo.  Together, their companies have added millions of jobs and trillions of dollars to the U.S. economy.  The Social Security Administration estimates that the immigration reform law will add over $300 billion to that fund and, overall, immigrants will help reduce the Federal deficit by $685 billion through the payment of their fair share of taxes – if immigration reform is passed.

Immigrants epitomize what is called the “chutzpah” quality.  Those who are willing to risk it all and leave the only land and life they have known, such people have chutzpah – the kind of motivation, persistence, and work ethic that has made America.

Beyond their economic benefit to the nation, we are still called to show kindness and understanding to the immigrant.   That is a spiritual ethic.  Jesus pointedly praised the immigrants of his day – the Samaritans and non-Jews who were despised by the people of Palestine.  He implored his followers to show concern for them as he praised the immigrant attitude of charity over the self-righteous and bigoted sentiments of native born.  Indeed, Jesus and his parents, according the Bible story of his birth, were immigrants in Egypt when they fled the jealous and murderous King Herod.

In the Old Testament, the people of Palestine were reminded to show compassion to immigrants and foreigners.   They too, the Bible says, were once persecuted aliens in a strange land when all of Israel departed the drought devastated land of Palestine for the riches of Egypt.  How could they mistreat the immigrants of their day when their ancient ancestors had suffered as immigrants?

The same question must be asked of any of us.  Persecution of Italians, Hungarians, Germans, the Irish and many others is a historical fact in our nation’s history.  The term “illegal immigrant” was coined in 1892 when Congress passed laws banning all Jews and Eastern Europeans from entering the U.S.  Without a doubt, some of those same persecuted immigrants are a part of our own ancestral family trees.  If we are the products of those who had been mistreated, how can we do the same to the immigrants of today?  It is to our lasting shame – as humans, as spiritual people – if we do so.

My friends, I’ve used a simple poem to frame my discussion about the issue of immigration.  With our minds, we can read Richard Blanco’s spare words about picking bruised mangoes or ripe avocadoes.  But with our hearts, we can also read of an immigrant mom, proud, determined and yet sympathetic.  Great poetry can do that.  It can lead us to empathy and to deep understanding of the condition of others.  Those are spiritual endeavors and ones which we must practice in all aspects of life – in any situation, think about how the other person feels.  In the poem we read today, Richard Blanco makes a simple plea.  His immigrant mom is an Everymom, an All-American mom, and he is her gay, All-American son.

I wish you much peace and joy…

Message 137, Great Moments in American Spiritual History: John F. Kennedy and July 21, 1963

© Doug Slagle, Pastor at the Gathering UCC, All Rights Reserved

To download and listen to the message,  please click here:

 

Lucius Cincinnatus, the namesake of our fair city, was a well regarded ancient Roman patrician, retired army general and elected Senator who lived during the 5th century BCE.  At one point in his life, his son became ensnared in criminal activity, he was caught and then sentenced to prison along with an obligation to pay a very large fine.  Senator Cincinnatus was understandably humbled by the crimes of his son.  He paid his son’s fines, resigned from the Senate in shame and retreated outside of Rome to a small farm.

In 458 BCE, Rome faced a crisis.  Surrounding Italian tribes were threatening the Republic and, at one crucial battle, they defeated the last Roman army protecting the city.  The Senate was thrown into a panic and a delegation quickly travelled to Cincinnatus’ farm to implore him to return to Rome to help save the Republic.  He did so and was quickly appointed by the Senate as dictator – holding absolute and total rule over all aspects of business, the military and government.

Cincinnatus quickly organized the city, closed down all businesses and commanded every citizen to prepare defenses.  He put together an army and marched out to meet the invaders.  In one day, Cincinnatus and his army defeated the invaders and forced them to abandon any hopes of conquering Rome.

Cincinnatus was hailed as a hero on his return to Rome.  As the savior of the Republic and holding total dictatorial power, literally everything was within his control.  He could have remained dictator for life and Rome would have been happy to agree.  But, only fifteen days after his return, once Rome was assured of its safety, Cincinnatus resigned as dictator, returned power to the elected Senate, and returned to his farm.

Cincinnatus would again be appointed dictator later in his life when Rome faced a political crisis.  Once again, he solved the problem almost single-handedly, resigned and then retreated for a final time to his small farm.

Ever since, Cincinnatus has been looked to as the model statesman – one who placed the common good above his own individual interests, one who did not seek the benefits he might GET from Rome, but instead the benefits he could GIVE to Rome.  In our own American history, George Washington is often compared to Cincinnatus.  After defeating the British army and forcing their retreat back to England, Washington was at the apex of power and popularity.  Commanding a large army and hailed as a hero, Washington could have dictated the creation of a government on his own terms.  Like Cincinnatus, Washington disbanded the army, humbly resigned his commission as general and went back to farming.  Like the many men in his Continental army, he was a citizen soldier, a farmer soldier, and one who acted not with self-interest but in concern for the needs of others, the community, and the common welfare.

In concluding my message series on Great Moments in American Spiritual History, I look today at a more modern moment in our American life.  I look to the inaugural address of President John F. Kennedy on January 21st, 1961.  It is a speech that spoke to the high ideals and ethics of Cincinnatus and Washington – inspiring a nation and the world to seek peace, end petty bickering, sublimate selfish interests and instead work for the betterment of the community and humanity in general.

Whether or not we believe Kennedy himself lived up to those ideals, his speech on a very cold and snowy day is considered a landmark event in American and human history.  It is ranked as one of the four best Presidential inaugural speeches and, according to William Safire, a conservative columnist and adviser to Republican Presidents, one of the 100 best speeches of all time.  It has even been favorably compared to Lincoln’s Gettysburg address and to several discourses by Jesus.

Kennedy’s inaugural address was only 1,346 words long.  It lasted 13 minutes and 42 seconds.  It was one of the shortest inaugural speeches in our history.  It was shorter than my message will be today – proving the point that great comments and statements are usually brief.

But, like the Declaration of Independence and the Seneca Falls Declaration of Sentiments in behalf of the rights of women, of which I discussed in my last two messages, Kennedy’s inaugural address was a deeply spiritual message.  It touched on almost no controversial, political or partisan issues.  He specifically avoided those topics as he wanted his speech to speak to high ideals that are universal in their appeal.  He intentionally aspired, as he wrote the document, to match the power and impact of other great speeches in history.  He succeeded.

The speech began simply but eloquently:  “We observe today not a victory of party,” he said,  “but a celebration of freedom—symbolizing an end, as well as a beginning—signifying renewal, as well as change.”

The address concluded with words that still resonate today:   “And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.  My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.   With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God’s work must truly be our own.”

True to our own Gathering ideals, such an assertion implicitly tells us that God is not some outside force ordering our lives and our existence.  God is us.  It is we, as little gods and goddesses, who build a better earth.  If that is so, then as Kennedy asserted we must put the interest of others ahead of ourselves.

While the speech was not immediately recognized for its greatness, the New York Times and Washington Post barely mentioned it the next morning, within months it received high praise.  Its words have only grown in stature with time.  They captured the universal ethics that ennoble humanity as it reaches for the spiritual ideals of justice, liberty, equality, love and compassion.  The speech was and is a uniquely American statement but also one that clearly speaks to all people everywhere.  In the address, Kennedy said that civil speech toward one another is good, that human dignity is a basic human right, that poverty and disease must be fought on all fronts, that wealth and power must be humble and giving, and that our purpose in life is not to receive, but to give.

President Kennedy was no Jesus or Gandhi in the goodness of his life.  He was, as later history has shown, all too human and all too prone to the common foibles of arrogance, selfishness and sexual license.  But those flaws perhaps only enhance his greatness and the nobility of his ideas precisely because he was so human – like most of us.  As a man born to wealth and privilege, he did not shrink from serving during World War Two and famously saving the lives of over thirty fellow sailors.  Like many people who find themselves unusually blessed in life, he felt a keen sense that he must do his extra share to give back, to serve others, and to show compassion to the poor and powerless.  Such thinking clearly reflects Jesus’ teaching that to those whom much has been given, much is expected.

While Kennedy rode the coattails of a rich and powerful father, and having never experienced poverty himself, he, like many wealthy people of the twentieth century, purposefully tried to empathize with and understand the suffering of others.  We can credit him not with mythological perfection but, at his core, with a deep sense that humans, and more specifically citizens, are called to serve others more than themselves.  Human liberty is not a path to libertarian selfishness.  Individual rights are NOT a means to indulge one’s personal wants.  To have any meaning and any universal goodness, we enjoy the natural and spiritual rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness in order that we work to insure them for all people, to insure the common welfare and to thereby secure those rights for ourselves.

These spiritual ethics were profoundly stated by Kennedy in his address.  He offered not new ideas but rather re-stated truths for the modern era.  Kennedy reminded America of our almost sacred purpose for existence as a nation and as a people.   Such a reminder was as necessary then as it is now, 52 years later.  America does not exist to enrich itself.  Its purpose is not to amass wealth and power.  Its greatness, despite its many flaws, is not found on Wall Street, in the corridors of the Pentagon, or along suburban streets filled with large homes, two cars and an abundance of material wealth.  Kennedy implored Americans and people around the world to consider much higher goals in life – we exist as neighbors, brothers, sisters and fellow humans, each responsible for the well being of one another.   As he said in his speech, “If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.”  Such words speak of a moral imagination for cooperation and mutual care.  The rich will not long be rich if too many languish in poverty.  The powerful will soon be weak if too many are prevented from climbing the ladder of success.  Speaking to all in our land who are economically comfortable, Kennedy insisted that the only way they will maintain their status is if they offer hands up to the poor and disenfranchised.

Kennedy continued in his address, “For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms of human life…Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans — born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage — and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world.  Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and the success of liberty…”

Such words speak powerfully to our souls.  They beautifully express the spiritual sentiments of people of every religion, race, and class.  Human liberty, in all its forms, is an essential and natural right – one granted not by men or women, but by nature and by nature’s god.  If people are to enjoy their right of liberty – they must be free from the scourge of poverty.  They must be free from the oppression of bigotry and hatred.  They must be free from the suffering of hunger and disease.  They must be free from the sting of inequality and injustice.

To enjoy liberty, as a responsible citizen of the world, one is not free to turn a blind eye to the needs of others.  One is not free to pursue selfish happiness at the expense of others.  One is not free to abandon all duties to care for, give to and serve one another.  For the privilege of simply living, to those whom have been granted the blessings of good health, intelligence and ability of body and spirit, there exists a duty, a calling and a responsibility.  We must serve.  We must give.  We must look beyond ourselves to the needs, hopes, fears, hurts and dreams of one another.   That, THAT is what it means to be an American.  That, THAT is what it means to be human.

The legacy of John F. Kennedy is a long one, despite his short time as President.  Consistent with his call to service, he initiated the Peace Corps, in which over 200,000 persons have served in 139 countries.  He initiated the idea of Medicare to which countless millions of elderly Americans have found a health care freedom from fear.  Our nation awaits the day when ALL its citizens might share that same freedom – a form of liberty to which Kennedy spoke – freedom from fear of illness and freedom from fear that one cannot afford equal access to affordable health care.

Kennedy initiated calls for greater Civil Rights.  While it took President Johnson and his courage to confront a racist south and get Civil Rights laws passed by Congress, Kennedy importantly set the tone in his inaugural address and in his administration – none are free unless all are free, none are equal unless all are equal.  We carry forward that appeal in today’s battles for equal rights for women, gays and lesbians and, yes, after so many long years, for African-Americans and our immigrant brothers and sisters.  Ultimately, we do none of us any good when even one teenage boy must walk through his neighborhood in fear that he will be assaulted simply for the color of his skin.  We harm every marriage in the land when any ONE marriage is dishonored and unequal simply because the partners are of the same gender.  We demean men and their desire to live true to their human spirit as dads, husbands and citizens of the world when even one woman is denied the right to an education or to the control of her own body.  As the Bible implies in its many verses about love, compassion and understanding, there is neither male or female, neither rich or poor, gay or straight, black or white in those who follow and practice the teachings of Jesus.  There is simply us, one common species huddled together on this small planet, limited to but a few years of life out of an eternity of time, sentenced to bear the pain of disease and death, but linked in being ONE flesh, ONE blood, ONE human family.

That common heritage and mutual humanity compels each of us to stop our hatreds, stop our bitter name calling, cease our intolerant attitudes, end our failure to empathize with how others must live, and open our blind eyes to injustice and inequality.  As I have discussed in my three messages this month of July, let us sing that ancient song begun when the universe first formed: the song of natural rights whose words were captured by Thomas Jefferson in 1776, shared by Elizabeth Cady Stanton in 1848, and memorably evoked by John F. Kennedy in 1961.  Equality.  Freedom.  Justice.  Opportunity.  Service.

Much as it was for the Roman General Cincinnatus, for George Washington, Jesus, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa and other great figures in history, our life legacy will not be counted by all that we have received, but, instead, by all that we have given.

I wish each of you much peace and joy.

 

Message 136, Great Moments in American Spiritual History: July 19, 1848, Seneca Falls, New York and Equal Rights for Women

 

(c) Doug Slagle, Pastor at the Gathering UCC, All Rights Reserved

 

To download and listen to the message, please click here:

(Some images displayed during the service can be seen by scrolling down through the below text.)

 

I preface my message today with a disclaimer.  As you might have guessed, my message today will explore the great moment in American spiritual history when the equal rights movement for women began on July 19th, 1848 in Seneca Falls, New York.

It is not, I admit, entirely appropriate for a man to recount the details of that event and to discuss spiritual implications of women’s demands for full equality.  As a man, I cannot intuitively understand all of the complexities in how women feel, and how they have been hurt and demeaned.  The same must be said whenever I discuss racism against African-Americans or hispanics.  As much as I want to understand and empathize, I am limited by my race and my gender.  Indeed, as a member of the dominant race and gender over the past many centuries, a white male should be one of the last to speak on such issues.  The era of white male domination of culture, politics, religion and family life is rapidly coming to an end – and that is a good thing for America and all humanity.  This new reality in our nation and the world will not exclude white men from conversations about life, politics and culture, but it will result in a more balanced discussion.  The role of white men, in the future, ought to be one of greater humility and a willingness to listen and participate as co-workers and not as leaders.

And so I proceed with caution in my message today along with the disclaimer that what I say is limited by my gender along with my hope that each of you, women in particular, will add to, or correct my words.

The first half of the nineteenth century in America was a time of rising self-confidence in American identity and national life.  The nation had achieved independence, written a constitution that worked, won three wars, asserted its influence over the western hemisphere in the Monroe Doctrine and expanded its territory from the Atlantic to the Pacific.  Culturally and politically, it wrestled with stated ideals of freedom and equality.  The anti-slavery abolitionist movement was a rising force and battles were already being fought over whether the institution of slavery could expand westward and thus survive, or die a slow death confined to the relatively backward south.

A religious second great awakening was also taking place.  Fundamentalist Protestant churches were rapidly growing in numbers and influence.  A primary focus of this religious awakening was on the supposedly imminent second coming of Christ.  Americans sensed a need to put themselves and society in order, to be prepared for the return of Jesus.  Fueled by a reaction against reason and Deism, Americans hungered for a less hierarchical religion – one based on the pure teachings of the Bible.  Most new converts to such fundamentalist churches were women who sought to diminish traditional roles and power of men in the church.  Faith and the Bible should be interpreted by individuals without the control of Priests or ministers.  That empowered women in an area where they dominated – the teaching and practice of Christianity in the home.  Appropriately, in 1831 the famous evangelist Charles Finney began allowing women to pray aloud during his church services.  This was not only a monumental change in religious practice, it openly defied the Biblical command that women must be silent in church.

In this fervent mix of anti-slavery abolition and the second great awakening, many women became aware of their second class status and the incongruity of living in a nation that asserted ideals of equality.  Women were at the forefront of the anti-slavery movement and most of those women came out of the Quaker religion that allowed for greater gender equality.

It was at one abolition meeting in 1840 that Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott met and began planning for a convention to address women’s rights.  Mott had achieved rare fame at the time for being an accomplished speaker – since women were usually not permitted to speak to crowds of any size.  She, along with other Quaker women, organized the Seneca Falls Convention that took place on July 19th and 20th, 1848 – a great moment in American spiritual history.

The convention comprised 300 participants of whom about one-third were men.  Frederick Douglas, the African-American anti-slavery advocate, was one of the most notable participants.  On the second day, the Convention considered and approved a Declaration of Sentiments written almost entirely by Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  She wisely used the Declaration of Independence as her blueprint.   While the majority of delegates to the convention considered the document too radical for them to sign, the convention as a whole voted to approve it and 100 people signed it.  A forceful speech by Frederick Douglas, in which he compared the plight of women to that of blacks, carried the day and insured its passage.

The Declaration of Sentiments followed Jefferson’s 1776 document almost word for word while importantly including phrases that say, in part, “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal……The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over her.”

Among the grievances against women listed in the document were: the denial of the right to vote, the passage of laws affecting women without their consent, the denied right of women to own property, the forced declaration by women to obey their husbands, the absence of any right by women to divorce or own a share of marital property, the denial of a right to education, a forced subordinate role in all aspects of religious and cultural life and, last but not least, being taxed without representation.  In conclusion, the Declaration of Sentiments states, “We insist that women have immediate admission to all the rights and privileges which belong to them as citizens of these United States.”

          While the Declaration’s statements of equality seem obvious in today’s culture, it was a revolutionary document at the time – one which even many female advocates for greater rights refused to support.  Male reaction was, predictably, demeaning.  One newspaper called the Declaration of Sentiments signed at Seneca Falls “the most shocking and unnatural event ever recorded in the history of womanity.”

          Just as I asserted last Sunday that the Declaration of Independence was and is more of a spiritual document than a political one, the same is true of the Seneca Falls Declaration of Sentiments.  Like Thomas Jefferson, Elizabeth Stanton rooted her demand for female rights in the laws of nature and nature’s God.  Such laws of nature, such human and moral rights are at their very essence deeply spiritual ideals.   Equality of status and rights pertains to the human spirit and not to anything material or physical.  Ideals like freedom, dignity and equality inhabit a realm of the spirit that are beyond anything of the material or scientific realm.  We cannot touch, see or hear equality.  But we know it by intuition, experience and feeling.  In that regard, equality is a core spiritual idea and one that echoes back to the very beginning of time when the universe ordered itself and put into place the kinds of natural laws that, as I defined last week, are timeless, universal and not man-made.  They simply are.  They have been true since the beginning of time and will be so for all eternity.

          As we know, however, history tells us that humans have not always enjoyed a full expression of their natural rights.  Men and women have not been universally free, equal or able to pursue happiness for themselves and their communities.

The Seneca Falls convention was a landmark moment in history that captured the emerging feelings of women that they must equally enjoy all natural rights.  The convention spawned many other meetings and even laid the groundwork for anti-slavery and equal protection claims by African Americans in the 1860’s.  Indeed, when the 15th amendment was first debated in 1866, one that would grant citizen and voting rights to blacks, rights for women were included.  Sadly, many advocates of full equality for blacks argued that including women in the amendment would insure its defeat.  Women who had advocated for abolition and equal rights for blacks were deeply hurt that they had been abandoned.  It took until 1920 and the passage of the nineteenth amendment, for women to be granted full citizenship and the right to vote.  Elizabeth Stanton along with Susan B. Anthony played crucial roles in writing and getting that amendment ratified.

I accuse fear based, fundamentalist religion as the primary culprit in denying basic spiritual rights to women and blacks, and more recently to gays and lesbians.  Jesus, however, famously treated women with dignity, included them in his inner circle of followers and advocated for their rights.  Interestingly, Paul claimed that according to the ethics of Jesus, there is no male or female, Jew or gentile – all humans are the same.  But almost hypocritically, Paul in his other Biblical letters insisted that women remain silent in church, that they submit in all things to their husbands, that they wear a head covering symbolizing their submission to men, that they be ineligible to serve as church leaders and that they have no authority over any male older than 13.  Despite the sentiments of Jesus, Paul crucially set the tone for how women would be treated by Christians for almost two thousand years – up to and including today.

But the Old Testament and other Jewish writings were no different.   According to the book of Ecclesiastes, sin and death entered the world because of “the wickedness of women” – which is why God ordered women to suffer in childbirth.  In the Old Testament, women are considered unclean during their monthly period and for nearly a month after giving birth to a boy.  If she gives birth to a girl, she is unclean and must isolate herself for twice that time.  A man can divorce his wife for any reason – even for burning his food.  A woman can never initiate divorce and is controlled by her husband much like a slave.  Women cannot testify in courts of law and their status was beneath that of male slaves.  As Elizabeth Cady Stanton said, “The Bible in its teachings degrades women from Genesis to Revelation.  The Bible and the church have been the greatest stumbling blocks in the way of women’s emancipation.”  She wrote what she called a Women’s Bible in which she both praised notably strong female characters in the Bible while highlighting the thousands of verses that demean women.

When President Obama said at his second inauguration, this past January 21st, that from Seneca Falls – to Selma – to Stonewall our forebears have been guided by the idea that all humans are created equal, he implored today’s generations to continue that struggle.  We do the legacy of the many unknown heroes who fought for such rights no good if we fail to continue their efforts.  The Gathering is but one of many spiritual organizations that has committed itself to this fight for human equality and so we must NOT just remember the words of Elizabeth Stanton and Seneca Falls, we must engage ourselves in that yet unfulfilled but deeply spiritual effort.

As overt examples of America’s continuing sexism, I turn to easy examples.  Of 535 members in Congress today, 98 are women.  Of 50 current governors, 5 are women.  We have yet to elect a female President.  Of CEO’s to Fortune magazine’s 500 largest US corporations, 21 are women.  Of the 100 largest churches in the US, only two are Pastored by women.  On average, women in America earn only 78 cents for every dollar that men earn.  Across all racial groups, women comprise substantially more than half of those living in poverty.   94 per cent of all single parent homes are led by women.   While even such meagre numbers of female equality would have been unheard of at the time of Seneca Falls, it is sobering that 167 years after that great spiritual moment, women are still not equal.

Just as it is with racism, sexism today is often a subtle but insidious disease.  It lies hidden within our unconscious selves and is often more destructive than overt male chauvinism.  As an aspiring enlightened man of the 21st century, I want to claim I am not sexist.  And yet, I know there are sexist vestiges within me.  If I am to BE the change I want to SEE, I must first admit my own latent sexism and work to correct it.

How often do I and other men defer to women as the supposedly weaker sex?  How often do I unconsciously look to men as strategic leaders and fail to see women in the same light?  How often do I assume women will bear the responsibility of raising children – that they, instead of the father, will sacrifice career or education to do so?  How often do men refer to female colleagues, not by their names but as “Honey” or “Babe”?  How often does our society sexualize and objectify women, discounting their intelligence and ability?  How often do we assume men are stronger, smarter, more stable, and less emotional than women?  How often does our society demean so-called female jobs like nursing, teaching or social work, through lower pay and lower status? Even worse, how often do men and women demean women who work within the home – so called housewives who raise children, maintain a house and serve as a hidden source of strength?  As a side note on that subject, I despair that my own mom sometimes sees her contribution to society, as a lifelong housewife, as meaningless and trivial.  Like so many homemakers – women and men – she is a hero, a woman of dignity and someone who touched the world for the better in countless ways.

How often do we stereotype women as poor drivers or as frivolous people who enjoy shopping, eating and leisure – while men do real work?  How often do we allow boys and men to dominate discussion in classrooms or meeting rooms and thus diminish girls and women?

Advertisements are a reflection of our values and thoughts and they clearly do so in how we view women.  Take a look at how women have been portrayed in a few contemporary advertisements and some from the recent past.  Each conveys ideas that women are naive, simple, unskilled and useful only as sex objects.  Such thoughts reinforce the overt and subtle sexism still alive today.

My point in this month’s message theme on spiritual moments in American history is that we often take for granted the seminal events that advance the well-being of humanity.  Ultimately, what all great spiritual prophets of history did – those like Jesus, Mohammad, Gandhi, Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King – was to cast a vision that foresaw a better world where inequality, cruelty, discrimination and hatred does not exist.  Such spiritual prophets saw humanity as it WANTS to be, as it ASPIRES to be, as it YEARNS to be.  In our hearts, we want a world that respects the life, liberty and happiness of each person.  But our actions and our thoughts too often work against that vision – we hate, we don’t forgive, we act with arrogance, we’re cruel, we discriminate, we are indifferent.  And, as a progressive congregation, we are not immune from such thinking.  Men must repent of their sins against women and, I say this will all due respect, women must claim their natural rights without a fear to be leaders, speakers and decision makers.  They should also speak out.  They, along with men, should tell any man when he has acted in sexist ways – no matter how unintended.

Deeply rooted in all of us are racist, sexist, homophobic and class focused demons that are sinister in their hidden and unconscious nature.  Those are the worst kind of demons.  As a father of two girls, I wish for them and their children a more equal world.

Our calling, therefore, is to remember, learn from and carry forward the spiritual battles of our forebears – in today’s example, those of the brave women and men of the Seneca Falls convention of 1848.

I wish you all much peace and joy.