In the November 2006 issue of Quest, the newsletter of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, the Reverend Jane Rzepka wrote an article about Unitarian Universalist theology, called "Revelation, Reason, and Moving On." She recalls growing up in a large UU family, where dinner table discussions sometimes involved religious debates. This time is 1959 and the story goes like this:
We are sitting at the dinner table, my mom and dad and the five children, ranging in age from zero to nine. It's me who is nine. Over the din of the kids, over the instant mashed potatoes, the meatloaf, and the canned peas, I can hear my dad saying to my mom, "But Helen, there just has to be something‹some god‹that started it all, that designed all this complexity. The universe couldn't have just happened. The people and the buffalo and tadpoles and everything couldn't have just evolved on their own. It doesn't stand to reason."
And there's Mom, dishing out the red Jello with the fruit cocktail inside and the Cool Whip on top, allowing how there's simply no evidence to support god. None. That this marvelous world and beyond came about naturally, and we need to be good to it and to each other.
My parents embodied a version of the humanist/theist controversy. As they talked, we five little UUs-in-the-making picked up the sense that talking about this religious stuff was fun‹not tense or disagreeable. Everybody chimed in with age-appropriate comments that, coming as they did from younger brother and sisters, I secretly thought were... well, maybe I could have been more charitable. But the point is that nobody felt they didn't belong at the table, nobody was going to leave the table sulking or exasperated, and only the very "immaturest" among us were going to fling the Jello across the table for whatever reason.
Let me be clear. My folks did not invent this discussion topic, and it's not a product only of the 1950's, or the eighties, or the immediately pre-Humanist Manifesto era of the thirties, or however it might be manifesting in Unitarian Universalism last Sunday or next.
Good morning, friends. What a great place to be on a Sunday morning! In this church, a faith community without a creed but with a covenant of being in good or right relations with each other. This is where we can discuss even occasionally argue about matters of faith without getting angry, without leaving the table sulking or exasperated, without feeling the need to fling the Jello across the table. And here no one will be called a heretic or made to feel like they don't belong. This is a wonderful place, a large umbrella, larger even the span of our amazing ceiling. Pretty radical, I think, in a time of religious narrowness and intolerance.
However, don't think that Unitarian Universalists are free from a history of controversy. Rev. Rzepka tells us that back in the late 1800's, there were Unitarian ministers, particularly in the mid-West, "who favored a religion of ethical principles, rational thought, and inclusivity.... Others...insisted that Unitarian believe in God and call themselves Christians. The two factions were fed up with each other." At a conference in St. Louis in 1885, the more conservative Unitarians, the Christian theists, wanted to stem the tide toward liberalism by imposing a creed on all Unitarians...and to excommunicate those who were non-Christians or who were non-theists. The radicals among them threatened to walk out and to split the denomination.
Eventually, more diplomatic folks, like the Rev. William Channing Gannett, got the two sides to reconcile. In 1887 he came up with a statement which said, in part, "Whoever loves Truth and lives the good IS, in a broad sense, of our religious fellowship..." Clever man! That did calm the waters, at least for a while. And it kept the denomination from splitting apart.
Our religious ancestors moved on, but not without conflicts over the ages. Thought and opinions are always evolving and such conflict seems inevitable in human society. In our parent denominations, the Unitarians and the Universalists, the Christians gradually gave way to the theists. Those are the ones who think there must be a God, a divine being with creative power and some sort of consciousness of the Universe.
Then there are the humanists who reject any idea of God and who seem allergic to the mention of God, even in a worship service. Our UUA President, Reverend Sinkford proposed a couple of years ago that we develop "a language of reverence" meaning reverence for whatever we hold sacred. His drew howls of protest from the most ardent humanists.
Humanists place the supreme value in the human individual. Humans are, in every respect, a part of nature, but we are the pinnacle of evolution. Each person, of whatever race or condition, merits equal concern and opportunity. Humanists put a lot of stock in human rights and free will. We make our own moral codes and the meaning of life is what we give it. Laws and governments and other institutions only exist for the service of people, and are justifiable only as they contribute to human well-being.
You can be a religious humanist, which I gather is simply someone who practices humanism in a community like a church or temple. Any belief in the supernatural should not be assumed.
Many white, middle class humanists have an extremely positive attitude toward life. They think that most people have the smarts and the strength to accomplish anything they want ... while respecting others, of course. Some critics consider this awfully elitist. As one UU theologian says, "Radical autonomy is a class privilege." You can't be poor and "be all you can be."
There's another brand of humanism which comes out of the black tradition. Many African Americans who suffered under slavery and then from racial discrimination rejected the idea of God altogether. For them, if this God of Christianity turned a blind eye to such evils and the attendant suffering, then God was not a loving God or didn't exist or was powerless in the face of evil and was therefore irrelevant.
The argument between the theists and the humanists (and among different factions in their own camps) continues, although it has gotten less heated. Our denomination's openness to the search for truth and meaning is what saves us. UU churches which once split over the humanist/theist controversy have healed and are now are more accepting of diversity. It may be that humanism has become more mainstream and acceptable. It may be that theists and humanists are moving closer together. The boundary between them is even becoming a bit blurred. And according to a survey done nearly a decade ago, many UUs think our theological differences may be less important than our attitudes toward each other and actions in the world.
Now I'd like to raise a couple of questions here this morning. Do you believe in God? If so, what sort of God do you believe in? If not, if you are an agnostic or an atheist, what difference does this make in your life? Why should a belief in God matter?
Rabbi Sherwin Wine, the founder of Humanistic Judaism, spoke at our UUA General Assembly in Portland, Oregon last June. The room was packed, with standing room only by the time I arrived. His talk was wonderful, insightful and humorous. I'm glad I got to hear him.
Sadly, in July, Rabbi Wine died in a car accident at the age of 69. He will be sorely missed.
In his speeches and writings, Rabbi Wine explained why secular humanists reject God. Before modern science, people used God to explain the mysteries of the universe. Before the Enlightenment and the ideas of democracy, authoritarian rulers used God to keep people obedient. We served God (and his representatives on earth, kings and queens). Rulers (human and divine) did not serve us. Suffering had a purpose. It was redemptive or was meant to serve as a lesson. The modern age changed all that, at least for many educated people in Western culture.
Rabbi Wine thought the only reason people still cling to a concept of God is our need for comfort in times of trouble, like during a serious illness or a great loss and grief. In the pain and loneliness of the darkest night, we need to turn to someone or something for prayer. We need to feel the arms of a loving parent around us, if only in our imagination. Arms which will comfort and protect us, which will chase away fear and give us hope and strength. I've had these times myself, like when I was a lonely teenager and when my father was dying a painful death from cancer. And I'm sure many of you have had these times, too. But Rabbi Wine thought that wishing for such a divine parental presence does not make it so, but that the strength of this need and desire can cause our minds to play tricks on us. You may agree or disagree.
I know that the belief in such a loving, nurturing God is important to many people. I certainly wouldn't take that away from them. While still in seminary, I trained as a chaplain for two summers at what is now called The Chaplaincy Center in Providence, Rhode Island. I was taught from the beginning not to argue religious beliefs with the patients in the hospital or the nursing home. They were often in crisis and needed comfort, not evangelism... liberal or otherwise. And I saw first hand how a belief in God can be a source of strength, even a lifeboat, in times of need.
I told people that God loved them. If they asked if their illness was a form of divine punishment, I reassured them it was not. I held their hands and prayed with them for healing and comfort and whatever else I thought might help... that their doctors and nurses be wise and skillful, that their families be well. I did this unabashedly, even though I don't believe in petitionary prayer. So you may ask what do I believe? Ministers and other clergy often are asked that question. I'd like to share some of my story. When I was a teenager, I believed in God. However, I had a rather modern idea of God. In the Reform Jewish temple which my parents and I attended, God was often called the Ruling Spirit of the Universe. Not a warm, fuzzy picture of an old man with a beard or a personal God. Certainly not a divine Jesus, human in appearance. Rather a de-genderized King, this Ruling Spirit of the Universe.
Yet I remember attending a youth group retreat one weekend in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, out in the beautiful Berkshire Mountains. I was alone for a moment in one of the rooms in the retreat center. The rabbi, our youth group advisor, had been talking about God being close to us. I suddenly imagined God's presence, a warm, comforting presence, close to me like a loving father. I felt I could talk to God and that God would hear me. It was powerful and uplifting moment. Regretfully, I never had this experience again.
In college, I became unsure of my faith. And in my young adulthood, I didn't think about God much at all. I was too busy with life and had no need for religion. It was only later that I experienced God again only now more indirectly through nature and through meditation. At times, I have felt a profound connection with other human beings and with all that is. I believe there's an order in the universe discernable through science. And I believe there's a basic moral code for human beings. Religious conservatives say this moral code comes from God , but I think it is partly based on culture, partly on reason and human experience. So I'm part religious humanist who is skeptical of any claims of divine authority.
But I'm also part mystic. I believe in a creative and sustaining life force or energy, which some call God, but which cannot break the laws of physics or nature to suit a master plan. Yet I also believe that there is enough freedom, enough randomness in the universe to allow for evolution and our own personal growth and creativity. That's the mystery. And that's enough for me.
So I'll pose the questions again. Do you believe in God or no God? And what does it matter?
[A pause here for individual contributions.]
I end with this prayer:
May we sit together at the same table.
May we each contribute our thoughts, beliefs and feelings
with mutual respect and interest.
May no one be excluded.
May no one become angry, indignant or walk out.
For ours is a beloved community, where all are welcome,
where our differences are a source of strength
and where we are together on the journey.
May it be so. Amen.