In 1492…
In fourteen hundred ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue…
So began the ditty that most of us (children in U.S. schools) learned about Christopher Columbus, who (we were taught) “discovered” America. I remember making little replicas of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria out of walnut shells, play dough, and toothpicks. This was great fun because we had to perfect our walnut cracking strategy to get an intact hull, and then got to eat the nuts. And who didn’t like to play with play dough? I remember stories of bravery on the high seas, storms, and hardship, which had special meaning to me because my father was a naval officer, often at sea (as I would also be in adulthood). It was also novel, and seemed somehow grown-up to learn as a first or second grader that the Pilgrims weren’t the first Europeans to make it to the “New World,” as we had been taught as early as we can remember eating Thanksgiving dinner at the kid’s table (and for which we also made walnut boats, but usually with adult help in the cracking).
I don’t remember when I learned that even Columbus wasn’t the first European to land in North America (presuming the Bahamas are considered North American soil. I’ve been there, and it’s very different, but close enough, and seemed to suit Columbus just fine). Tales of Vikings landing in Newfoundland centuries earlier were much more exciting. Those horned helmets rocked!
The other thing I remember about these stories is my grandfather’s delight is telling us every Thanksgiving that most “American” ancestors came over on the Mayflower, but our ancestors met it! Although I am mostly of European descent, I have Cherokee ancestors on both sides of my family, recent enough that it is apparent in the facial features of most of my family. Had I chosen to affiliate with a tribe, I could have received access to special scholarships for college.
And so, even though I received the same education as other children in the U.S., I always questioned the idea of discovery. At best, to discover something is to be the first person to realize its existence or witness it first hand (I’ll concede to being anthropocentric here). Columbus, the Vikings, and the Pilgrims no more discovered this continent than I discovered the joy of cracking a perfect walnut.
Anthropologists still don’t have indisputable evidence of when humans first migrated from East Asia to North America. It could have been anywhere from 40,000 to 16,500 years ago. That changes our little song altogether…
In the year… oh never mind.
Heres the thing. The victors always get to write history. And so the history of North America has been told for generations from a Eurocentric perspective. My ancestors met the Europeans (who were also my ancestors), and whether or not there really were instances of friendship and cooperation as all such stories include, they were over the ensuing decades, slaughtered and corralled. I grew up mostly in South Carolina, where nearly 50% of my high school classmates were of African descent. Their history was told for centuries from the master’s perspective, at least until Alex Haley wrote Roots and we all later watched the mini-series in amazement.
Here’s the other thing. As societies and the individuals in them, we mature, we learn, we grow. As we do, we can “put aside childish things,” as Paul writes in I Corinthians. One of the tenets of Unitarian Universalism, articulated best (but not discovered) by minister and theologian, James Luther Adams, is that revelation is not sealed. There is always something new to learn. We can even re-learn, as I did in childhood about my ancestors.
I read another blog this morning that talked about the misguided nature of political correctness and white guilt. The blogger suggested taking a “balanced” approach of recognizing the bad, but not throwing out the good. I sometimes (but not often) wish life were that simple. And so, it is time to lay to rest our celebrations of Christopher Columbus’s discovery. He and others will remain in the history books. Their travels indeed shaped the course of humanity, but our study should be from a more holistic, mature perspective.
As Maya Angelou writes in her poem, On the Pulse of Morning:
History, despite its wrenching pain
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Judge Not…
Toward the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says to those gathered, “Judge not, that you not be judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it, will be measured to you.” He then goes on to illustrate this nugget of wisdom with the well known analogy of noticing the log in your own eye before taking the speck out of someone else’s eye.
I experienced a moment of grace a few weeks ago in which I relearned this important message. While on vacation, I was staying in a hotel near Richmond, VIrginia. I came down to the hotel lobby for their complimentary breakfast. Also getting breakfast was an attractive, well-dressed, young woman, probably in her early 20s. She seemed to be alone at first, but after a few minutes a young man arrived for breakfast as well. He was dressed in a tank top shirt, had many tattoos on his entire body, and was wearing a ball cap tilted to the side. I didn’t take much notice of him until he started talking to the young woman in a low mumble. They sat down together, and I thought to myself, “she could certainly do better than him.” At that moment, he took off his cap, took both of her hands in his, and asked her to to say a blessing for the food they were about to eat. They both bowed their heads and prayed aloud together before they ate breakfast.
I was humbled and embarrassed that I had judged this young man based on his appearance and manner. And yet, don’t we all do this? Each of us makes some judgment, positive, negative, or neutral about everyone we encounter. Sometimes we may not even be conscious of it. As we learn in Matthew, we will also be judged, and maybe rightly so. We have to recognize our own issues, prejudices, and fears (the logs in our own eyes), before we can worry about the speck in our brothers’ or sisters’ eyes.
When we judge someone negatively, the first question we should ask ourselves is, “What is it about me and my experiences that brought me to this judgment?” Our concerns and prejudices say more about us than the person we are judging. The way to overcome this is removing the log from our own eyes first.
The next question we should ask ourselves is, “What if I’m wrong?” Chances are, unless you know someone very intimately, your judgments and preconceptions about them are at least partially wrong. How could they not be? The way to overcome this is to get to know someone better. If they are a stranger, as in my case, then that may or may not be possible. Either way, we should reserve judgment, assume goodwill, and afford each person the worth and dignity that they deserve. If we have judged someone we already know, then we don’t know them well enough, and should make the effort to better know them, which can only be done in direct relationship.
This is difficult work, but it is the essence of building a beloved community.
Every Jot and Tittle
Yesterday was my birthday, so I thought I’d explain how I came about my name Matthew Tittle.
In the Christian Scriptures, in the King James Version of the Book of Matthew (5:17-18), during the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is recorded as having said:
Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.
In English, jots and tittles are best described as the cross of a t and dot of an i, respectively. In the original written Greek of the Christian scriptures they were iota and keraia, the smallest letter of the Greek alphabet and a serif or accent mark. In the spoken Aramaic of Jesus’ time and place, they were probably the yodh (the smallest letter in the Aramaic alphabet) and small diacritical marks, hooks, and points that help to distinguish one letter from another. The point in all three cases is attention to the smallest detail. I could say that my study of linguistics and credentials as a language teacher, combined with my theological training are my credentials for explaining jots and tittles, but I would be misleading you….The real story is this…
My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tittle, bestowed upon me the biblical name of Matthew. They were, at the time, churchgoing folks, Presbyterians, my mother with perfect attendance for many years. So, they certainly knew that the passage in the King James Bible that read, “one jot or one tittle,” came from the book of Matthew. Hence my name Matthew Tittle is inherently biblical. That is, as long as you’re reading the King James Version of the Bible. My parents would not have overlooked this detail, especially since I know my family was focused on the gospels. You see, my older brother was Mark. My older cousin was Jon. I came third as Matthew, but my mother’s youngest sister rebelled, when her son was born, she refused to name him Luke. So we had Matthew, Mark, Jeff, and Jon. If I had been a girl, I would have been Mary, I don’t know if the intent was mother or Magdalene. So, being especially qualified to do so by virtue of my name alone, I am writing on what it means to attend to every jot and tittle in our spiritual lives! (written tongue-in-cheek for those who might think I’m serious…)
Unitarian Universalist minister Edward Frost says, “liberal faith in the perfectibility of humankind is tested to the breaking point by the daily demonstrated truths that human beings are capable of just about anything.”
We need to think deeply and attend to every detail in our practice and understanding of religion. We all encounter much that requires us to understand every jot and tittle of our own religion and that of others.
Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.
When Jesus explains that he hasn’t come to destroy the law and the prophets, he is referring specifically to Jewish law and the teaching of the many prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures. Remember, Jesus was a Jew, and was preaching to those who knew the Jewish law and scriptures, both Jew and Gentile. He had to explain himself in this way because he had just seconds earlier done something incredibly risky by saying, in what we call the Beatitudes, that the poor, those in mourning, the meek, the hungry, the thirsty, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, and the falsely persecuted are those who are blessed. He raised them up over the rich, those without feeling, the bullies, the well-fed, the merciless, the deceitful, the war makers, and the persecutors. He also told them, the poor, the meek, the peacemakers, and so on, that they were the salt of the earth and the light of the world, and that they needed to let their light shine. This was heretical, dangerous stuff. And so, he felt it was necessary to explain himself.
Jesus’ disciples asked him later why he hung out with such low lifes as tax collectors and sinners. He responded that those who are well don’t need a physician, but those who are suffering…
Again, he said he wasn’t trying to destroy the law. He even told the people to specifically obey and not break the Ten Commandments. But Jesus was very much an activist and even subversive. I think he was trying to change the law. He promoted nonviolence, but he also promoted active resistance. He told the people to turn the other cheek, effectively offering an oppressor the chance to take another shot, which may very well land them in trouble. He said go the second mile. Soldiers could enlist citizens to carry their gear a certain distance, but no further. Jesus suggested going the second mile, not to help them out, but to get them into trouble. He said give them not only your shirt but also your cloak. A debt collector had to leave something for people to be afforded basic comfort. The cloak was both a coat for warmth and a blanket for sleeping. It couldn’t be taken, but if you gave it to them, again those charged with protecting the law risked breaking it. And even if these measures are interpreted as gestures of good will to the authorities, the result is additional suffering on the part of the poor, the meek, the pure of heart, the peacemakers. The result either way is that the weak are really the strong. They are the blessed. To invoke a phrase from Joel Osteen of Lakewood Church across town, “the victims are the victors.” Or as he says to his congregation “Be a victor, not a victim.” A sound soundbyte.
I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill.
What was he fulfilling? I think this is the key to the whole passage. Traditional interpretations suggest that the meaning here is nothing short of eschatological– the end times, the fulfillment of the apocalypse, and final judgment. I think that modern Christianity would be a wholly different and even more appealing religion if the book of Revelation had been left out. Which it almost was. Some even tried to have it removed as recently as a few hundred years ago.
If we separate the wheat from the chaff (to invoke another biblical nugget), we find that the heart of Jesus’ teachings (the wheat in this case), was almost exclusively devoted to the theme of love and care for one another, neighbor, and enemy alike. It was for the creation of a beloved community. His message was one also of personal empowerment of those who were considered the least among us. He told them time and again that faith would heal them. Faith comes from within. Faith is the very hardest thing in the face of truth, which is why he spent so much time trying to empower them to overcome adversity through faith.
For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.
This first phrase, “For verily I say unto you” in the King’s English (I’m sorry I don’t have the Greek or Aramaic on the tip of my tongue) is universally interpreted by biblical scholars to be an attention getter. “Hey folks, listen up, you better believe me when I say…” My own paraphrase of the rest of the passage goes like this: “Hell will freeze over before even the smallest detail of the law changes, until all is fulfilled, until you do something about it. Don’t go breaking the law, but change it so that this beloved community can be formed.”
After going through a few examples, he told these underdogs that until their righteousness exceeded the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, until they became victors and not victims, that they would not enter the kingdom of heaven. The scribes and the Pharisees were the recorders, and the interpreters and the enforcers of the political, social, and religious law. Jesus was saying that those who suffer, those who care, those who are oppressed, those who look out for the world, are as well and even better equipped for the task of interpreting the rule of law, than are those charged with doing so.
The kingdom of heaven that he refers to isn’t in the hereafter as many would have us believe. It is here and now. We can create heaven or hell here on earth. Human beings are capable of almost anything. Nothing is going to change until we change it. We need to attend to the details of our spiritual lives. We need to challenge the status quo, as Jesus did, so that we can bring about heaven here on earth. We can sit back and watch and do nothing and feel sorry others, or feel sorry for ourselves. But this would be the worst sin of all.
Over the past few years in the United States many have been criticized and ostracized, and persecuted for doing just what Jesus did–for dissenting–for being critical of the status quo and of those in and with power. But this is our task. This means speaking out, and more importantly, acting out in the world. It means knowing who you are spiritually, and being as certain and secure in that faith as are the scribes and Pharisees of our times. If we shy away from this moral imperative, “Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law.”
A Response to “Can Liberal Christianity Be Saved?”
In yesterday’s New York Times, op-ed columnist, Ross Douthat, published “Can Liberal Christianity Be Saved?” My first reaction upon reading the article was to launch a strident refutation. Other people of liberal faith already have. But as I thought more deeply about Mr. Douthat’s indictments, I found more truth and realized that my own reaction was just that–a reaction to some of the unfortunate realities that liberal religion has brought upon itself. I’m not in complete agreement with all of Douthat’s criticisms. His final premise that liberal churches, “often don’t seem to be offering anything you can’t already get from a purely secular liberalism,” is painfully accurate. However, I think Douthat misses the mark on why this is. There are, at least, other possibilities to consider. The foundation of Douthat’s concern seems to consist of liberal reforms, primarily in the Episcopal church (although he makes the connection to other liberal faith communities). I’m just not sure when reform became a bad thing. The slower moving Catholic Church certainly hasn’t been winning any awards for it’s resistance to and failure to adapt to the modern world. When I read Douthat’s words that the Episcopal Church:
is flexible to the point of indifference on dogma, friendly to sexual liberation in almost every form, willing to blend Christianity with other faiths…
I wanted to swell with pride. These are bad things? I think where Douthat misses the mark is somewhere in his concept of “traditional” religion, which he mentions at least twice. He seems to equate “traditional” with conservative and unchanging, but doesn’t ever define the word, except to invoke foundational practices mentioned by liberal theologian Gary Dorrien. As a person of liberal faith, I have come the understanding that “conservative religion” is an oxymoron. To be religious is to be generous, especially in the Christian context of Jesus’ teachings. There was nothing conservative, traditional, or status quo about what Jesus taught. Quite the contrary, he challenged the religious and political authorities and laws of the time repeatedly and stridently. Jesus taught generosity. Jesus challenged tradition.
So which “traditions” is Mr. Douthat holding up as more sound than the liberal reforms that have been the norm in societies and religions across the globe since human history has been recorded and preserved? I don’t think he meant the tradition that Jesus taught or that his immediate apostles followed, or their followers in the early centuries of Christianity, which was a time of oppression from without and debate from within. The earliest traditions of Christianity were to be counterculture. I imagine, from his own words, that Mr. Douthat means the traditions of the Catholic Church, which rejects the reformations that have been challenging the church for at least a millinium, which still dogmatically calls itself the one true Christian church. I wonder if he also means the fundamentalist interpretations of Jesus’ teachings that have infiltrated many corners of Christianity and subsequently dictate that there is only one path to the divine, through Jesus as lord and savior, all others being damned?
I find none of this “tradition” in Jesus’ teachings, in the early church, or in the liberal faith that I practice today.
Nonetheless, as Mr. Douthat accurately describes, liberal Christianity has moved uncomfortably close to a secular liberalism, and liberal faith communities are declining. But as any good social researcher knows, correlation does not equal causation. The claim in this article that the decline and imminent death of liberal Christianity is inherent in liberalism itself, is unfounded.
So what do liberal faith communities need to do to survive and thrive? I believe, like Mr. Douthat, that we need to offer religion again. Not conservative, traditional religion that is unchanging and uninviting, but the inclusive, radical religion that Jesus taught in his first sermon. A religion that binds together all people in a single garment of destiny. A religion that does not change the law, but fulfills it by holding it accountable, and by breaking the status quo. A religion that invites and creates social change, not because it is becoming more secular, but because change is human nature (thank God), and because social issues are moral issues first, not political.
We also need to reintroduce discipline into our faith practices. As liberal faith communities have progressed we have lost focus, not so much of our history and traditions, but of our discipline. Religion is ultimately grounded in practice. Practice requires discipline. Discipline creates disciples. Not blind followers, but informed, radically-prepared change agents.
This week, I promoted increased discipline in the faith lives of my Unitarian Universalist congregants using the example of the coming month of Ramadan and the five pillars of Islam. Even modern adherents of Islam practice the discipline required in the five pillars. I asked my congregation how they could introduce a regular, practiced, discipline of more reverence, more restraint, and more responsibility in their lives. None of this is counter to the ideas of religious liberalism. All of it will be necessary for us to get back on track with being successful reformers.
So, I absolutely agree with Ross Douthat when he says, “What should be wished for, instead, is that liberal Christianity recovers a religious reason for its own existence,” we just see different paths toward that goal. His are grounded in an undefined tradition and conservancy, mine are grounded in an unabashed liberal spirit and generosity within a healthy practice of religious discipline.
There are many paths…
Quotes and Images – beautiful
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“The” Indefinite Article
Do you remember the Schoolhouse Rock cartoons and songs from the 1970s? Even my kids watch them today on DVD and reruns. There was a series about math, about politics, and about grammar. My favorites were “Conjunction junction, what’s your function,” “Interjection,” and “I’m just a bill, sitting here on Capitol Hill.” I think they remain one of the most brilliant television-learning tools ever created. But there was a serious gap in Schoolhouse Rock, for which I think America’s youth have suffered for too long. They never created an episode about the most important part of speech. The article. If Schoolhouse Rock had taught us the difference between the definite and indefinite article, English speakers would be a more enlightened crowd.
Okay, I know you are trying to remember what an article is. “The” is a definite article. “A” and “an” are indefinite articles. “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” has a very different meaning than “I am a way, a truth, and a life,” or even “I am way, truth, and life.” Sometimes there is elegance in the indefinite, or even in the absence of an article.
John 14:6 is used often by Christian fundamentalists as irrefutable truth that Jesus and Christianity are the only path to salvation. I agree that the author of John, who most scholars do not believe would have been the disciple himself, had as his primary objective, making Jesus the Christ. Chapter 20 verses 30 and 31 even say, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book, but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and by believing you may have life in his name.”
And so, it is likely that the author meant exactly what he wrote. In the Greek original, the definite article “ho”, which is in the nominative singular feminine form (in case you were wondering), is clearly present. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” However, there is no other way to say this in Greek. The indefinite article is seldom used and specifically means “one.” No clarification needed here.
Of course, we have no way of knowing whether or not Jesus actually said these words, especially to that specificity. The best guess of modern day biblical scholars is that he did not. The Jesus Seminar, which is a group of scholars who systematically analyze the Christian scriptures toward the goal of determining the authenticity of Jesus’ words, have come to the conclusion that almost none of the words attributed to Jesus in John, were actually uttered. John is a persuasive story toward a specific goal.
For arguments sake, let’s say that Jesus did say something about being way, truth, and life. Jesus may have understood and spoken the Greek that John was written in, the common language of the occupied land. However, his native tongue was almost certainly Aramaic, which is a Semitic language closer to Hebrew, and very different from Greek. There is also the 50-80 year gap of oral tradition between Jesus’ death and the time that John was likely written. But even if Jesus spoke the words, definite articles in Aramaic are even more troublesome. The definite article doesn’t really exist in Aramaic, but is embedded and expressed in the noun itself, which has three forms. A definite article is expressed via the emphatic form of the noun, but is not really so definite as in English. If that isn’t enough, ancient Aramaic and modern Aramaic (like English and most living languages) are different. Noun forms have changed over time. For example, emphatic (definite) nouns are more used in modern Aramaic than they were in biblical Aramaic. Regardless of what, if anything was said, it seems impossible to know definitively how definite Jesus was being here.
It is also interesting to look at languages that have no articles at all, like Latin and Russian. In Russian (which I speak) this passage reads, “Ya yest’ put, i istina, i zhizn’.” Literally “I am way, and truth, and life.” Another interesting aspect of this is that, in Russian, the noun “to be” is usually not voiced in the present tense. If you and I were speaking to each other, I would simply say, “Ya put, i istina, i zhizn”…or “I way, and truth, and life.” The verb form “yest'” (I am) is likely included in the Russian Bible because it is also emphasized in the various Hebrew forms of the Hebrew Scriptures, and expresses more of an existential quality. One might say, “I exist as way, and truth, and life,” but even that wouldn’t be exactly correct.
The point is that, without any articles at all, languages like Russian are actually more robust because meaning cannot be so clearly defined, or misinterpreted, with a single qualifier. Meaning must be derived in other ways like nuance, word order, emphasis, and more in-depth conversation. The meaning of “Ya yest’ put, i istina, i zhizn’,” requires more information to be fully understood.
Liberal expressions of faith are more like the indefinite article. We are not the way, the truth, and the life. We are more of a way, a truth and a life. But even the singular indefinite article is limiting. Liberal faith can also be lived as faith with no articles at all. And in that absence, I find even more strength. The Bible loses so much of its power if we limit it to a singular and definite meaning. When we say that there is only “the way, and the truth, and the life,” we seal revelation, and there is nothing new to learn. When there is nothing new to learn, put me in my grave. I’m done.
The Unitarian Universalist principles, for example, don’t say that we are have the truth or even a truth. They say, “free and responsible search for truth and meaning—no articles—just truth and meaning. How we define truth and meaning then requires more discussion and explanation and interpretation and even debate. Unitarian Universalism requires nuance, emphasis and more in-depth conversation. I actually believe all religions require this, because I don’t believe any sacred text can be taken at literal face value. Doing so might make it easier on our brains, but would sell the authors short. And Jesus said,
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.
To be a person of faith who does not take the path of the definite article, one must have some comfort with ambiguity. One must be willing to work out truth and meaning with nuance, emphasis, and more in-depth conversation. Grammar matters.
Through the Roof
There’s a transformational story in the fifth chapter of Luke (verses 17-26). Jesus is teaching in a home (probably an upscale home, given the tile roof), and there are many people from Galilee, Judea, and Jerusalem. Even the scribes and Pharisees were there. They were always checking up on Jesus to make sure he wasn’t causing too much trouble. It was standing room only, and the door was blocked. A few guys brought a friend, who was paralyzed, in his bed to be healed, but the crowd was so big that they couldn’t get through the door to see Jesus. The people didn’t even make way to let these guys through. Maybe you’ve been to this church where newcomers weren’t even noticed, and where the members stand at the entrance talking to each other?
Not being deterred, these men actually went up to the roof and lowered their paralyzed friend in his bed through the ceiling tiles to see Jesus. When Jesus saw their faith, he said, “Your sins are forgiven.” Of course, as they always did, the scribes and Pharisees jumped right on that one and challenged Jesus, saying, “Who is this who speaks blasphemy…only God can forgive sins.” Jesus answered, “Why do you question in your hearts? Which is easier to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk.’ I’m going to prove to you that the son of man has the authority to forgive sins.”
The translation “son of man,” “barnash” in Aramaic, does not necessarily mean the “son of God.” It is not exclusively a reference to divinity, but refers to humanity. Jesus isn’t talking about himself as a divine arbiter. He is saying, “I’m going to prove to you that mere mortals can also offer forgiveness,” which he had just done.
Back to the story, Jesus turned to the man in the bed and said, “Rise, pick up your bed, and go home.” And that’s just what the man did. Everyone there was amazed and said, “We have seen extraordinary things today.”
Suspend for a minute the idea that this was a literal healing. I believe that to take everything in the Bible literally actually limits its potential and power. When Thomas Jefferson cut the miracles out of his Bible, I think he missed the point. He was taking these miracles too literally and wasn’t open to the power of metaphor.
If we allow this story to be metaphorical, then it is even more instructive to us today—timeless in its power. Too often the members of congregations, ordinary people of all walks of life, sit around and do their own thing. This is the status quo. We do things the way they’ve always been done, and sometimes forget that there are others who are excluded and cannot do the things that we take for granted and do on a regular basis. The paralyzed man wanted a change. He wanted transformation in his life. His friends wanted it for them. Perhaps this was just an intervention. But they couldn’t even get through the door. They couldn’t even be part of the status quo. Most people would have just given up, but these guys decided to come through the roof. They changed the status quo by changing the rules. In the end, it wasn’t Jesus who healed the paralyzed man. It was his own faith. He came to that synagogue to be transformed. Jesus just said, “Your faith is strong. Your sins are forgiven.” Sin doesn’t always mean that we’ve done something bad, just that we’ve “missed the mark.” Whatever this man had tried to heal his paralysis hadn’t worked. Jesus just presented the obvious. “Get up. Walk.” Too often when we are stuck, stifled, and paralyzed in life, we forget to do the obvious.
How to be evangelist
First, let me introduce myself, as this is my first post at Quest for Meaning. I am Rev. Dr. Matt Tittle, minister of Central Unitarian Church in Paramus, NJ. I have been blogging since 2006, most prominently at the Houston Chronicle from 2006-2010. I am delighted to begin blogging here, where I will post every other Monday. You can read a more complete bio at the “bloggers” link above.
When I was kid growing up in Charleston, South Carolina, there was an old man who we called the “peanut man” at the downtown market. Everyday, he would push a wooden cart around selling boiled peanuts. I love boiled peanuts! The peanut man would constantly sing a little jingle. You could hear him coming like an ice cream truck. He would sing, “Peanuts. Get your peanuts here. Boiled peanuts. I can’t eat all these peanuts by myself.” We always bought a bag or two of boiled peanuts whether we needed them or not.
The peanut man was an evangelist. You couldn’t go to the Charleston Market without knowing about boiled peanuts, because he was always sharing his good news. Some people tried the peanuts and didn’t like them, and that was ok. Maybe they preferred roasted, or a different kind of nut altogether: macadamias, walnuts, almonds and pecans, or the ever-elusive and always hard-to-crack filbert. I love boiled peanuts, but I never tried them until I bought some from the peanut man because I didn’t know about them. I try to be like the peanut man in my own evangelism, never pushy, but always present.
In the Bible, there is a similar story of evangelism. After the Exodus from Egypt, Moses and the Israelites set out into the Sinai wilderness where they wandered for forty years, eventually crossing the Jordan River near the plains of Moab, east of the Dead Sea, before going on to their conquest of Canaan. During their wanderings, the people, some 600,000 of them, did a lot of complaining. They were hungry and wanted more meat, they longed for the fish and abundant produce they left behind in Egypt, even though they had been slaves there. Sometimes God would just punish them for their complaining, and sometimes Moses would intercede on their behalf.
One night, early in the journey, sometime probably during their third year, the people were complaining and Moses was having a really bad day. After walking around the camps listening to the crying families inside their tents, he spoke to God and said,
Why have I not found favor in your sight that, that you lay the burden of all these people on me? Did I conceive all these people? Did I give birth to them, that you should say to me “carry them in your bosom as a nurse carries a sucking child,” to the land that you promised on the oath of their ancestors? Where am I to get meat to give all these people? For they come weeping to me and say, “Give us meat to eat!” I am not able to carry all these people by myself, for they are too heavy for me. If this is the way you are going to treat me, put me to death at once – if I have found favor in your sight – and do not let me see my misery.”
Of course, God knew that Moses couldn’t eat all those peanuts by himself—that he couldn’t minister to 600,000 people on his own, so he told Moses to find seventy others. God put the spirit into them—ordained them if you will—to let them share the burden of the 600,000 with Moses. Hey, that’s less than 8,572 people per prophet, there are many larger congregations.
But, as is often the case, not all of these new preachers followed the rules. Two of the newly ordained prophets, Eldad and Medad, stayed in the camp among the people, and preached there instead of in the tent where prophesying was supposed to take place. When some complained to Moses that there were people preaching in the camp, Moses replied: “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets and that the Lord would put his spirit upon them.”
All the Lord’s people as prophets is a message that has continued throughout the ages. In the 16th century, Martin Luther promoted the idea of the priesthood of all believers when he taught that everyone has access to the divine, not just the priests. In the 20th century, Unitarian minister James Luther Adams framed this idea again in terms of prophesy when he promoted the prophethood of all believers. Each one of us is a prophet. Each of you is a prophetic voice in the wilderness with something to say about your faith. Share it. Use your voice. Don’t squander it out of fear or uncertainty.
“Peanuts. Boiled peanuts. Get your peanuts here. I can’t eat all these peanuts by myself.”
How Do I Live a Good Life?
How Do I Live a Good Life?
Perhaps the central question of religion for Unitarian Universalist is the question of how to live a life that is ethical and compassionate, and leaves the world in some measure better than how we found it.
BY DAVID E. BUMBAUGH, PROFESSOR OF MINISTRY, MEADVILLE LOMBARD THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL, AND MINISTER EMERITUS, THE UNITARIAN CHURCH IN SUMMIT, NEW JERSEY
I suppose that every American of my generation has a “how Dr. King shaped my life” story. Here is mine. I had graduated from seminary in 1964 with a clear idea of the focus and shape my ministry would take. I spent my time reading and reflecting, and crafting sermons which shared the result of that effort with my congregation. Inevitably, in those times, much of my reflection focused on the enormous social issues which confronted the nation— racism, war, poverty. I regarded it as my job to enlarge their sense of responsibility and compassion as people experienced deep and disturbing challenges and changes. But in no sense could I have been considered an activist. Indeed, one of my colleagues, only half kidding, suggested that I was running a spiritual filling station— rounding people up once a week, pumping them full of the holy gas and then, tires and fluid levels checked, sending them out to confront the world, while I stayed home and kept the restrooms clean.
Then came the day that Martin Luther King sent out his invitation to the clergy to come to Selma, Alabama, to help with the drive for voting rights. Now, I knew about the invitation, but I did not for a moment believe he meant me. I had grown up in a community in which we had been carefully taught to avoid attracting attention to ourselves. We had been taught that even when the sign on the door said, “welcome” or “enter,” it probably did not mean us. It never occurred to me that an invitation to the clergy to come to Selma meant me, too. I did not go.
Then came the terrible news that James Reeb, one of our Unitarian Universalist ministers who did respond to that call, had been clubbed to death in the streets of Selma. Another call went out—this time from the Unitarian Universalist Association, urging as many ministers as possible to go to Alabama for the last stages of the march from Selma to Montgomery. I read the call, but once more, it never occurred to me that I was included.
The next Sunday, as I was about to enter the sanctuary, two members of my congregation stopped me and asked if I was going to Alabama. I must have looked very confused. I explained that we had a small child and another child on the way, and I really did not have the money to spend on a plane ticket, and…. They interrupted my ramblings to say, “We have the plane ticket; will you use it?” And suddenly I knew that all the sermons I had ever preached, and all the sermons I would ever preach, would be hollow and empty unless I walked through the door they had just opened for me.
And so I went to Alabama. I had never experienced anything like this—being part of a great tide of people flowing through the streets of that old city, marching from the outskirts, past the shacks and hovels of its African American citizens who greeted us with cheers and smiles, on into the heart of the city, to the very capital of the state, to hear Martin Luther King, Jr. electrify the crowd. He called for an end to the racist practices which condemned so many of our fellow citizens to lives of poverty, brutality and despair, and asked in his inimitable way, “How long?” and promised, “Not long!” It was an exhausting and exhilarating day, made somber by the news that after the march Unitarian Universalists had suffered another martyrdom: Viola Liuzzo, one of our lay-women from Michigan, had been murdered while driving some young Black men back to Selma.
Flying back to Illinois, musing over this incredible, overwhelming experience, I suddenly realized that my life, my ministry, could never be the same again. I could not march for civil rights in Alabama and then fail to be an active part of the same struggle in Illinois. And so, back in Chicago Heights, I found myself drawn out of my study and away from my books as I became a regular participant in the struggle for civil rights in my own town and in the communities around. I discovered that preaching could be dangerous when the mayor took offense at one of my sermons and threatened me with a charge of criminal libel. And I discovered that my congregation came alive, not only in its support of me, (concerned that the community could recognize the clergy of other churches because of their clerical collars, but might not recognize me, they gave me a sweatshirt with a great red flaming chalice printed on it) but also in its determination to engage in the struggle for justice and peace and equity.
We watched as Dr. King’s concerns and insights grew and deepened despite setbacks. He began to teach us that racism in the United States and war in Vietnam were, at some deep level, related. He helped us see that racism and poverty were, at some deep level, part of the same problem. He challenged us to enlarge the focus of our concerns, as he developed plans for a “Poor People’s Campaign” which would bring thousands of the nation’s impoverished citizens—white and Black, urban and rural—to the nation’s capital to confront the rich and the powerful.
No matter how difficult the situation, how intense the hatred he confronted, how subtle the powers raged against him, he seemed always to convey a fundamental faith in the humanity of others, a conviction that, as he said, “the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” He strengthened us in our determination, and by his very presence he guarded us against the temptation to hate and despise those who blocked our dreams and derided our hopes.
And then came the terrible news that Dr. King had been murdered in Memphis, Tennessee, where he was supporting a strike by sanitation workers—garbage collectors. I remember being submerged in my private grief when the telephone rang. A voice on the other end of the line asked me please to come to a special meeting in the African American community, and to come at once. I got into the car, and with tears dimming my vision, I drove across town. The leaders of the meeting hoped that this community gathering might prevent the rioting and bloodshed which were erupting elsewhere across the nation. Together we wept—for ourselves and for the nation and for the world. Together we reminded each other of the dream Dr. King had served, and how he sought to draw out of each of us our very best, and how he had sought to bridge the chasm between Black and white, between rich and poor, and how he had sought to remind us of who we were and the values which had made us a people. And the city of Chicago Heights did not burn or erupt in violence that night. Once more, somewhere in my mind, I could hear his voice and I knew again that if ever God had spoken to my generation, it was through this man.
The years have passed, and I have grown older and I have watched what has happened to the image of Martin Luther King, Jr. First, we made him a hero, andwe softened his message so that it would not challenge us in any fundamental way. Gone is his concern about the morality of an economic system in which the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, in which “the righteous are sold for silver and the needy for a pair of shoes.” Gone is his challenge to examine our cultural life in the light of enduring values, and in its place is a three-day holiday and an excuse for conspicuous consumption for those who can afford it. And then, having made him a hero, we have proceeded to find his feet of clay. We smile and poke each other in the ribs and suggest that he was really a womanizer. We cluck our tongues and point out that he was less than meticulous in crediting his sources in writing his doctoral thesis and perhaps he was a plagiarist, suggesting that maybe he did not really deserve his degree after all. And then we subject his career to critical analysis and suggest that while he may have been somewhat effective in the South, he was no match for the sophisticated northern cities. After a while, we have demythologized and anesthetized his legacy so that we need no longer feel or hear the challenge of his life and work.
I tell you, as one who was there on the fringes of this history, that all the critiques may well be true. Martin Luther King, Jr. was, like all human beings, flawed and imperfect. He was a creature of his culture and his times and he was driven by complex needs and fears and hopes and often his reach exceeded his grasp. But despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, he remains one of the few true heroes. He was a man who rose above his limitations, who felt a conviction about the nature of humanity which he was driven to embody in his life and work. He taught me and an entire generation about what it means to live a life of integrity and courage.
From him I learned that the invitation to be engaged in the life of the world, in the issues of the day, in the challenges of the times, is always addressed to me. From him I learned that personal limitations are no excuse for failing to engage the world. From him I learned that we are not required to succeed, or even to be right; we are required to serve the truth as we understand it. From a distance, Martin Luther King, Jr. added a depth to my life and my profession which has enriched me beyond any telling.
In many ways the superficial changes he sought have been accomplished. As one who grew up in a rigidly segregated society, I am witness to the fact that the world is now a different place and a better place because of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the struggle for civil rights. But I also know that the underlying, structural changes for which he lived and died, the fundamental values he challenged us to serve and advance, have not been so completely realized. The gap between the rich and the poor grows with every passing day. The gap between the favored and the desperate has never been so wide. The dream of a compassionate society no longer guides public policy. Vengeance has replaced justice in our courts and mercy is defined as weakness. And I am saddened beyond measure.
But in the midst of my sadness, I see him as he was that day in Chicago. I see his great, dark eyes, and I hear his voice thanking us for being part of the struggle, and I am reminded that we are not required to win, or to live to see the dream become reality. What we are required to do is to cherish the dream, to measure the world by its standard, to live our lives in service of that which is greater than we are, and to trust the unfolding process to bring light and hope where we had no rational reason to expect them.
BY KELLY J. CROCKER, MINISTER OF RELIGIOUS EDUCATION, FIRST UNITARIAN SOCIETY OF MADISON, WISCONSIN
I’ve been at my parents’ home in Pennsylvania for the past week and a half celebrating the holidays. One of the things my mom wanted me to do while visiting was to go through all of the boxes of school paperwork that she has saved since I was in the first grade. Out of the large stack, one thing in particular caught my eye: my fourth grade spelling tests. These stood out because my mom had saved all of them from the entire year. As I flipped through them she proudly pointed out the 100% written on each page in bright red. But there was one, one single solitary test that had a different mark on its right hand corner—95%. I actually remember that test—I remembered the word I had spelled wrong—innocent. I had mistakenly spelled it with an s instead of a c. I remembered that day because I could still recall how I had beat myself up for weeks over that one simple word, that one test. I remembered because it was my goal at that moment to be perfect. I would study and study and study those words for hours because I needed to get that 100%, needed to have another perfect test in my folder. Because even if other areas of my life were less than stellar, less than ideal, this was one area where I could be flawless, seamless, perfect.
Desires for perfection always arise around the beginning of a new year. Many of us still make New Year’s resolutions in which we strive to improve ourselves in some way—either small and workable or, more likely, completely unattainable and destined to be forgotten by February. I usually resolve once again to never let white sugar cross my lips, to walk on that treadmill at least 30 minutes every single day, to practice yoga every night before bed, to read at least one hour a day and to make sure that all sermons are written and done by Friday evening. But not this year. This year I’m going to resolve to do something much more attainable— I’m going to resolve to be imperfect.
When our striving for perfection slips into perfectionism, the very things in our lives that might bring us joy can bring us torment. Everywhere we look—family, friends, jobs, hobbies— we see not the beauty but the flaws, the faults, the deficiencies, the imperfections. When we expect the various pieces of our lives to be flawless, our expectations will come up short every time. Instead of focusing on the good and being grateful for what we have and what we have done, we are unsatisfied, thinking only of our limitations and shortcomings.
But…resolving to be imperfect…what a liberating thought. We don’t need resolutions to make us perfect; we can find beauty and hope and comfort and peace as ordinary human beings. And we can feel grateful for what is already right and good. As we begin another year, may we rest in our imperfections. May we acknowledge their presence and rest in the power and possibility of loving what is. May we know that we are loved just as we are, remembering that in the center of our beings we are whole, good, no resolutions necessary. May we awaken to the imperfect perfection already around us and be at peace.
BY HENRY DAVID THOREAU
Why should we live in such a hurry and waste of life?
We are determined to be starved before we are hungry.
I wish to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life.
I want to learn what life has to teach, and not, when I come to die, discover that I have not lived.
I do not wish to live what is not life, living is so dear.
Nor do I wish to practice resignation, unless it is quite necessary.
I want to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
I want to cut a broad swath, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.
If it proves to be mean, then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world;
Or if it is sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it.
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