Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
May 29, 2005
First Reading:
"The Young Dead Soldiers”
by Archibald MacLeish
The
young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses.
(Who has not heard
them?)
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
And when the clock counts.
They say,
We were young. We have died. Remember us.
They say,
We have done what we could
But until it is finished it is not done.
They say,
Our deaths are not ours,
They are yours,
They will mean what you make them.
They say,
Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope
Or for nothing
We cannot say.
It is you who must say this.
They say,
We leave you our deaths.
Give them meaning,
Give them an end to the war and a true peace,
Give them a victory that ends the war and a peace afterwards,
Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say.
We have died.
Remember us.
Second Reading:
from War Is a Force
that Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges
The
rush of battle is a potent and lethal addiction, for war is a drug, one I
ingested for many years. It is peddled by mythmakers—historians, war
correspondents, filmmakers, novelists, and the state—all of whom endow it with
qualities it often does possess: excitement, exoticism, power, chances to rise
above our small stations in life, and a bizarre and fantastic universe that has
a grotesque and dark beauty. It dominates culture, distorts memory, corrupts
language, and infects everything around it, even humor, which becomes
preoccupied with the grim perversities of smut and death. Fundamental questions
about the meaning, or meaninglessness, of our place on the planet are laid bare
when we watch those around us sink to the lowest depths. War exposes the
capacity for evil that lurks not far below the surface within all of us. And
this is why for many war is so hard to discuss once it is over.
Third Reading:
from the Gospel of Mark
- Mark 9:49-51
If
your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life
crippled, than having your two hands. And if your foot causes you to stumble,
cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame, than having your two feet.
And if your eye causes you to stumble, cast it out; it is better for you to
enter the kingdom of
God
with one eye, than having two eyes, to be cast into hell, where their worm does
not die, and the fire is not quenched. For everyone shall be salted with fire.
Salt is good; but if the salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it?
Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.
Sermon:
The
first war I became aware of, complete with its heroes and strategies, was one
that never took place on earth but in a galaxy far, far away. I was nine years
old. My cousins and I stood in a line that stretched for hundreds of feet
outside the theater so that we could be among the first to see Star Wars.
This past
week, I just couldn’t suppress the urge to see the new Star Wars movie. Not only
because of my inner nine-year-old, for I haven’t seen the last couple episodes.
No, a review in The New York Times said it was surprisingly good and that George
Lucas has finally engaged in some political and cultural critique. For those of
you who aren’t in the know, this is the sixth and final movie in the Star Wars
epic, while being only Episode Three. If that doesn’t make sense, don’t ask.
Just understand that this is the saga where Anakin Skywalker gives in to the
dark side—the story of the making of Darth Vader, the evil leader who has the
voice of James Earl Jones and sounds like he’s breathing in an oxygen tank.
Integral
to the story are Siths—thus the name of this episode, “The Revenge of the Siths”.
Siths are evil. If you are the head of State, as General Palpatine is, and you
intend to replace democracy with empire, you need other Siths on your side. For
Siths, there is no need for messy human politics or lengthy discernment
processes and there are no moral dilemmas. Simply put, Siths are about power and
efficiency. The story is about Anakan Skywalker coming to believe in the
efficiency of centralized power. At one point, Anakin already having turned to
the Dark Side hisses at Obi-Wan, “If you’re not with me, you’re my enemy.” Obi
Wan Kenobi responds, “Only a Sith thinks in absolutes.” The reviewer in the New
York Times believes this will be a bumper sticker in the next election. Only a
Sith thinks in absolutes.
There’s
only one problem. Just gleefully declaring, “Only a Sith thinks in absolutes” is
rather Sith-like behavior. It’s one thing to state it as Obi Wan Kenobi does to
his former friend and student who descends into obsessive desire for power. It’s
quite another to cavalierly put down one’s political opponent. The problem is
that we all are encouraged to think in absolutes. And as we gather here this
Memorial Day weekend, I want to reflect on the nature of war and where we stand
today.
Memorial
Day is a day for remembering, remembering those who have lost their lives in the
service of our nation’s ideals. And to do so meaningfully, remembering the
lessons learned from wars, both past and present. For how better to honor our
young dead soldiers, especially in a culture that systematically forgets the
past?
The
history of Memorial Day goes back to communities in the south following the
Civil War and their custom of decorating the graves of those who died in combat.
In Columbus, Mississippi, the town’s cemetery contained the graves of soldiers
from both the South and North. The women of the town decided to decorate all the
graves, not just those from their side. It was a gesture of reconciliation to
make no distinction between the political loyalties of the dead. Other towns
followed suit. Soon the practice spread throughout the country and Memorial Day
was made a national holiday—in 1868 with flowers placed on the graves of
Union and Confederate soldiers at
Arlington National Cemetery.
Those
southern women who chose to honor all of the Civil War dead did so simply
because their lives were cut short by a willingness to put their lives on the
line for something greater than themselves. Their act of reconciliation
demonstrated an essential realization if peace is to prevail: there comes a time
when we all must move on together, recognizing the humanity of each other.
Over the
years I have become very critical of Star Wars mythology. The whole story is
based on a division between good people and evil people. As battle scenes
unfold, it is sad when good people die but cheering and excitement break out
when those on the other side are shot, smashed, or blown away to smithereens.
This isn’t the only movie that provides a rush of excitement. Star Wars and
other films help me understand Chris Hedges’ claim that war is a force that
gives us meaning. War is addictive. It blinds us to our common humanity. It
lures us to think in absolutes, thus dehumanizing others. When the most powerful
military in the world views the world through the lens of such a strict
dichotomy, the result is devastation and ruin for so many.
Two and a
half years ago, this congregation voted overwhelmingly to oppose the American
invasion of Iraq.
A clear expression of values and convictions. Similar resistance occurred all
over the country, even in the sleepy suburbs outside
Seattle,
including Woodinville, Washington where never before had any form of public
protest occurred. Yet every Wednesday night, dozens of people gathered outside,
often in the rain, on the corner of a busy intersection to witness opposition to
the administration’s plans of attacking Iraq. I was out there many of those
Wednesdays—I had hosted the planning meetings. I wrote letters to newspapers.
And when the war went forward as our leaders appeared to have utter disregard
for opinions other than their own, we cried and mourned for what our beloved
nation was doing. We continued to protest. The only consolation was that the
2004 election would surely hold accountable the decision to wage a pre-emptive
war on such thin pretenses that later proved baseless. We were wrong.
Don’t get
me wrong, I support the women and men who put their lives on the line for our
country’s ideals. I support our armed forces who are willing to sacrifice
themselves on behalf of liberty and justice for all. I want to advocate for
those women and men who serve our country. However, I don’t support the war in
Iraq because I condemn pre-emptive strikes. I condemn rushing headlong into war
when diplomatic avenues have yet to be exhausted. I condemn methods of war that
needlessly kill innocents. I condemn torture for any reason. I condemn arguing
that oil resources will pay for the war. The facts that have come to light
regarding our invasion and occupation of
Iraq are damning to this country and what it stands for.
There is
one awful truth that prevented voices of reason and peace and diplomacy to
prevail. War is a force that gives us meaning. Chris Hedges from his book with
this provocative title identifies the seduction of war: “Lurking
beneath the surface of every society, including ours, is the passionate yearning
for a nationalist cause that exalts us, the kind that war alone is able to
deliver…. We abandon individual responsibility for a shared, unquestioned,
communal enterprise.”
I know
this war did not go forward unquestioned. But as in any war, a mythology emerged that allows our country to do
what, under ordinary circumstances, we would not do—to dehumanize the enemy.
This is a demonic impulse, just as it is to glorify our own heroes by spreading
lies about those who die, such as occurred when football star Pat Tillman was
gunned down by fellow Americans in
Afghanistan while the military
fabricated a story of him dying with courage and honor while chasing down the
enemy. Even though torture and utter humiliation has clearly been a part of
American prison camps, our government keeps a tight lid on their practices all
in the name of fighting terror. There’s something in human nature that is
capable of far more violence than we'd like to admit. Hedges quotes Eric Maria
Remarque, writing in
All Quiet on the Western
Front: “We
run on overwhelmed by this wave that bears us along, that fills us with
ferocity, turns us into thugs, into murderers, into God knows what devils; this
wave that multiplies our strength with fear and madness and greed of life,
seeking and fighting for nothing but our deliverance.”
An
excellent question to ask: Given this congregation’s stance on the war in Iraq,
why have there been no further protests, extended pulpit commentary, or public
witness on the part of Unity Temple? Why so little creative resistance among UU
congregations? A Christian commentator has said of our mainline Christian
cousins, “We’ve been playing church while the world bleeds.” The only answer
that I see is twofold. First, it’s been a time of exile, emotional,
intellectual, and spiritual exile. Daily we learn of ever-new degradations.
Those opposed to the war feel swept to the margins of society, even if those who
oppose the war are a staggering number. The 2004 election results deeply
bewildered and disheartened activists, only to watch the advocates for war
strengthen their hold on both congress and the administration. The second reason
why there’s been a lack of creative resistance, is that I believe we, both here
in this room and beyond, need to cultivate greater faithfulness to our core
beliefs. We are in need of learning the art of resistance. We need to become
salted with fire.
There is something I must say, though it is
causes me great angst to say it. And it goes against my better judgment to
further invoke Star Wars imagery. But I’ve already ranted about
Iraq, so I
might as well say what also weighs heavily on my conscience as clearly as I know
how. I believe we are entering a time of rising empire. We are entering a time
of rising empire both in the political arena and the religious arena. Everywhere
around us so many people are thinking and preaching in absolutes, including the
Pat Robertsons who say that Episcopalians and Presbyterians are part of the
anti-Christ (I’d hate to learn what that makes us); or Catholic bishops and even
popes who have silenced movements of liberation theology and say it’s a sin to
vote for certain candidates; or the Bill Frists who insist that ours is a
Christian nation that needs to be ruled by his Christian values and therefore
advocating that secular judges be replaced with Christian ones. The goal of
fundamentalist groups whether political or religious, evangelical or papal, is
to brand those who disagree with them as heretics and to seek to marginalize
their participation in society. Fundamentalism is thriving, not just among
“them” but also among “us”. Fundamentalism thrives among liberal camps among
those who are similarly absolutist. At core, fundamentalism emerges out of the
need to be right. This need to be right is so great that it overshadows the
truly religious imperative of being in relationship, being responsive, and
engaging the world.
Chris Hedges says so aptly: “The moral
certitude of the state in wartime is a kind of fundamentalism. And this
dangerous messianic brand of religion, where self-doubt is minimal, has come
increasingly to color the modern world of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Dr.
James Luther Adams, my ethics professor at
Harvard
Divinity School, used to tell us that we would end our careers fighting an
ascendant fundamentalist movement, or as he liked to say, ‘the Christian
fascists’. He was not a scholar to be disregarded, however implausible such a
scenario seemed at the time. There is a danger of a growing fusion between those
in the state who wage war – both for and against modern states – and those who
believe they understand and can act as agents for God.”
A century
and a half ago, our country was filled with absolutists about the nature of
slavery. Prior to and during the Civil War, President Lincoln was besieged by
clergy and politicians from both the North and South. People were so impassioned
that they willingly took up arms. They all claimed to know God’s will for the
country. Lincoln
said, “I am the only one who doesn’t know it.” Such humility is possible.
The women
of Columbus, Mississippi chose to honor the Civil War dead, not for the causes
that led them to fight, but for the simple, awful fact that they had died
fighting for what they believed in. The women’s act of reconciliation was blind
to who was a winner or a loser, right or wrong, but instead acknowledged that
there comes a time when we must move on together.
It seems
hard to imagine such a thing happening in the conflict our country began
twenty-six months ago with a pre-emptive strike. The number of Iraqi people dead
and wounded are just about as invisible to our media as photographs of coffins
that bring back American soldiers. Yet, it is an authentically religious impulse
to honor the dead of both sides, whether they be relatives, friends, or enemies.
For every casualty there is a mother or bride or sibling or child whose life is
shattered as well. It doesn’t matter if they are rich or poor, black or white or
brown, American or Iraqi. If we choose to honor only the dead of our country, we
commit the sin of putting nation above God. May we put God above nation and
mourn the loss of all God’s children.
Early in the 20th century, the eminent
psychologist, William James, called for a ‘moral equivalent for war’.
Recognizing that self-sacrifice often marks warfare, he wondered why we humans
typically do not commit ourselves with equal zeal to the cause of peace and
justice. It’s a good question. There is no denying that as our government
pursues war and seeks stability in
Iraq,
poverty increases while the rich get richer, our schools starve for funds, our
health care system has become unaffordable for tens of millions, and our
environment suffers.
What will salt us with fire? What will
awaken us out of despair and bewilderment?
Where’s the passion, the zeal, the
determination to wage war on poverty? Where is that same zeal, passion, and
determination to pursue peace to resist the efforts of war? In the Gospel of
Thomas, Jesus says, “If you bring forth what is among you, what you bring forth
will save you. If you do not bring forth what is among you, what you do not
bring forth will destroy you.”
In the Gospel of Mark he says to cast out
that which causes one to stumble. And then he proclaims, “For every one shall be
salted with fire. Salt is good; but if the salt has lost its saltiness, how can
you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” That
salt is what true religion cultivates. That salt comes with engaging the world
with authenticity and through profound truth. The salt leads us to learn to be
at peace with one another.
Some folks express puzzlement how a silly
sci-fi movie created a mythology that shaped many of my generation. But I know.
My sense of self was influenced by that movie. Not infrequently would I walk the
streets of
Bakersfield
under the hot sun and feel a little breeze through my hair. A sonorous melody
wafted through my mind, a lone violin playing and I would feel my entire body
straighten up with a pretension of knowing that my life will have destiny! In my
mind’s eye, I was somehow destined to devote my life to the good and the just,
that I would be called upon to rise up to make a difference, perhaps even to
sacrifice my life for the sake of others.
Now this
wasn’t so much the Star Wars mythology as it was a piece of salt within me
wanting to be on fire. I beg to differ with some Star Wars fans who say the
George Lucas epic has the depth and breadth of human nature to sustain one’s
faith, but the Christian scriptures do as do the Hebrew scriptures, and modern
literature, the history of poetry, and the Buddhist teachings and those of
Islam. There is a reality and foundation upon which we can stand, truth preached
by sages of many traditions, accessible to all who seek. The heart of life
unites us with all, a relational way of being that some call the love of god,
others call the spirit of life. I call it the profound truth at the heart of the
universe.
What does
all this have to do with Memorial Day?
To honor
those who died for the sake of others, we ought not seek to glorify or tell lies
about how they died. To honor the dead, we need to acknowledge the truth of war,
remember the lessons of wars past and present, resist the fundamentalisms of our
day, and resist creatively. Resisting creatively takes faith.
What are
you willing to sacrifice for your faith? For what are you willing to devote your
life?
Intervene
in our broken world by standing up to show your soul. Doing so is empowering,
even a nourishing act. Commit to cultivating an impassioned faith that
transcends dogmatic religion and divisiveness. Our hurting world waits for faith
that is fresh, vibrant, thoughtful, and liberating, a faith grounded in love, a
faith that affirms, uncovers, and enhances our connection to others.
Do not
allow despair to eat from your plate. Struggle with the questions these violent
times raise to prepare to meet the challenges ahead. As people of liberal faith,
we sustain hope in humanity. May our soul-searching lead us to new forms of
reconciliation and resistance, new gestures of courage and compassion, and
renewed respect for the sacrifice so many have made.
May you be
salted with fire. Amen.
© Copyright 2005 Rev.
Alan Taylor, All Rights Reserved.
