Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
January 15, 2006
First Reading:
from Matthew 5:42-26
You
have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy."
But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those
who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, so
that you may become sons of your God in Heaven. For God makes the sun to rise on
the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if
you love only those who love you, what reward do you have?"
Second Reading:
Upon receiving the Nobel
Peace prize, Martin Luther King, Jr., said in his acceptance speech:
Nonviolence
is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time; the need
for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and
violence. Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge,
aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.
I refuse to accept the idea
that the 'isness' of man's present nature makes him morally incapable of
reaching up for the 'oughtness' that forever confronts him.
I refuse to accept the
cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militaristic stairway
into the hell of nuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and
unconditional love will have the final word in reality.
Third Reading:
from Buddhist teacher Jack
Kornfield’s book, Soul Food, written with Christina Feldman.
There
is no power greater than the power of love, no shadow that can withstand the
power of compassion, no demon that can overwhelm the power of openheartedness.
Through their example our eyes are opened to the possibilities of bringing light
to our own shadows. Whether we are in positions of power, or in poverty, we
will be tested. We will be asked to summon the spirit of greatness, of
compassion, of openheartedness over and over again in our lives. Perhaps this is
what we are here for, to learn this single lesson. In the end the strength that
we have to fall back upon is not our credentials or accomplishments or the
ideals we hold but our humanness itself.
Sermon:
The
weekend prior to Thanksgiving, I traveled to Columbus, Georgia where Ft. Benning
is located. I joined five members of our congregation, 146 members of the
Chicago Religious Leadership Network, and over 20,000 people from all across
North America to protest the American use, training, and sponsorship of torture.
The School of the Americas which has been renamed the Western Hemisphere
Institute for Security Cooperation, has trained thousands of soldiers from Latin
America in the methods of torture. At Ft. Benning, I encountered countless
Presbyterian activists and Catholic nuns, people of faith who remind me that our
distinct traditions are not what is of ultimate importance, but our shared
humanity.
A
funeral procession was held to remember the thousands upon thousands of people
who have been tortured and killed by soldiers trained and equipped by American
forces, supported by our taxes. As the funeral procession unfolded, and the
names were read of people who have been killed by graduates of the School of the
Americas, tears filled my eyes in sadness and grief for those lost to violence.
But also a deep appreciation welled up inside that so many others care just as
deeply as I about the egregious practice of torture. During the funeral
procession, most every person carried a cross or a poster that bore the name of
a victim. I carried a cross with the name Luz Samora, 33 years old, from
Guatemala. When I finally reached the fence that prevented access to Fort
Benning, thousands of other crosses already were tucked into the fence. I added
mine to the overwhelming number, hardly able to believe that each of these
represented a life of a human being that had been killed by paramilitary
soldiers trained in the techniques of torture, killing, and cover up. Tears
began streaming down my face as my heart sunk with grief and anger and a sense
of helplessness.
My
thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a group of people cheering. I instantly
knew what had happened. A member of the protest had climbed over the fence in an
act of civil disobedience. My heart leapt with hope. I realized that I was not
alone in my grief and anger, that I was not entirely helpless, that some
individuals chose to do more than bear witness. And each person who scaled the
fence or found a way through it buoyed the hope of the rest of us. From a young
twenty-something girl to a man who looked well over 80, the forty people who
crossed over and were arrested symbolized our collective opposition to torture,
each of them likely to receive three to six months of jail and a $5,000 fine.
When I talked with those who planned to get arrested, they spoke in terms of
this being a form of religious witness, not simply a political gesture but a
form of creative resistance to evil, indeed an act of love.
These
past couple months, I wanted to get clearer on just what it is that I believe
that we as human beings are called to put our lives in the service of. And, so,
in my journaling, I’d write pages about what is truly important to me and then
rewrite and pare it down and do that again and again until finally I arrived at
a phrase that just wouldn’t let me go: the transformational power of love. I’m
not talking simply about the sentimental, rosy forms of love as lovely as they
can be—I’m talking about the kind of love that provides a foundation for living
in a fragmented, broken, often hurting world. I’m talking about the kind of love
that has been embodied by people who resist injustice such as Martin Luther
King, Jr., the kind of love that has the power to transform individuals,
relationships, and communities.
This
morning’s sermon is the first among a four-part series on the power of love.
Over these four sermons, I want to reflect on the power of love, specifically on
how love can transform through creative resistance to evil, on how love has been
manifested in our Unitarian and Universalist faith traditions, on ways love
plays out in relationships to transform individuals, and lastly on the power of
love within community, both as I have experienced it and in the pursuit of what
Martin Luther King calls the Beloved Community. It was intentional to begin this
sermon series on this weekend that celebrates the life of Martin Luther King,
Jr. For there is no American, in my mind, who has embodied the transforming
power of love so effectively in both word and deed.
Each
year, I make it a habit to read or re-read works of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
And every year, I derive inspiration from this practice. This year, I focused on
autobiographical material, in part because I was told last year that King
considered becoming a Unitarian minister before deciding to return to his
Baptist roots. I hadn’t ever heard that and I wanted to verify this as well as
learn about the development of his own theological perspective. What I have
discovered is both inspiring and disturbing. It is true that while in seminary,
Martin and Coretta King enjoyed attending Unitarian churches. In his quest to
develop a method to overcome social ills, he had become enthralled with what is
called “theological liberalism.” And intellectually, they found themselves at
home with Unitarian theology, at least at first.
Why did
King not enter the Unitarian ministry? First and foremost, he felt that he could
not contribute as effectively to cultivating an African American social
movement. But secondly, he explains in an essay published in 1960 in the
Christian Century called "Pilgrimage to Non-Violence" — published in the series,
"How My Mind Has Changed,"
“I
was a thoroughgoing liberal.” King wrote. “Liberalism provided me with an
intellectual satisfaction that I could never find in fundamentalism.…was
absolutely convinced of the natural goodness of man and the natural power of
human reason.
The basic change in my thinking
came when I began to question some of the theories that had been associated with
so-called liberal theology. Of course, there is one phase of liberalism that I
hope to cherish always: its devotion to the search for truth, its insistence on
an open and analytical mind, its refusal to abandon the best light of reason….
It was mainly the liberal
doctrine of man that I began to question. The more I observed the tragedies of
history and man's shameful inclination to choose the low road, the more I came
to see the depths and strength of sin. … I came to recognize the complexity of
man's social involvement and the glaring reality of collective evil. I came to
feel that liberalism had been all too sentimental concerning human nature and
that it leaned toward a false idealism.
I also came to see that
liberalism's superficial optimism concerning human nature caused it to overlook
the fact that reason is darkened by sin. The more I thought about human nature
the more I saw how our tragic inclination for sin causes us to use our minds to
rationalize our actions. Liberalism failed to see that reason by itself is
little more than an instrument to justify man's defensive ways of thinking.
Reason, devoid of the purifying power of faith, [a faith based on love], can
never free itself from distortions and rationalizations.”
King turned away from the
Unitarian theology of his day because the Unitarians tended to look to reason as
the foundation of their faith, and King came to believe that reason alone was
not enough, that the ultimate foundation for social transformation is love.
How did
this happen? It all began one Sunday afternoon. He went to Philadelphia to hear
a lecture by Mordecai Johnson, the president of Howard University. Johnson had
just returned from India and spoke of Gandhi and his method of nonviolent
resistance. King was electrified by the address and immediately bought several
books on Gandhi and his teachings. He was profoundly inspired by Gandhi’s
concept of "Satyagraha" (Satya meaning truth or love, and agraha meaning force;
"Satyagraha", therefore meaning truth-force or love force). King writes, “Prior
to reading Gandhi, I had about concluded that the ethics of Jesus were only
effective in individual relationship. The ‘turn the other cheek’ philosophy and
the ‘love your enemies’ philosophy were only valid, I felt, when individuals
were in conflict with other individuals; when racial groups and nations were in
conflict a more realistic approach seemed necessary. But after reading Gandhi, I
saw how utterly mistaken I was. Gandhi was probably the first person in history
to lift the love ethic of Jesus above mere interaction between individuals to a
powerful and effective social force on a large scale. Love for Gandhi was a
potent instrument for social and collective transformation.”
It is
one thing to believe it and another to have it tested. When the Montgomery bus
boycott shook his community and the nation first learned the name of Rosa Parks,
King agreed to be the spokesman. King later reflected, “As the days unfolded, I
came to see the power of nonviolence more and more. Living through the actual
experiences of the protest, nonviolence became more than a method to which I
gave intellectual assent; it became a commitment to a way of life.” It is
important to note that Rosa Parks did not one day simply decide not to get up
out of her seat when asked. She was one among a coordinated group of social
activists who carefully planned their non-violent actions according to Gandhian
principles and the power of love.
The
Greek is helpful to sort out what King and Gandhi mean by love, for, as King
often pointed out, the Greek language has three different words for love. First
there is eros. Eros originally signified the soul’s longing for the divine but
over time has come to mean romantic love. Then there is philia. Philia is love
of friends and kin, love that gets reciprocated and produces feelings of
belonging. And finally there is agape. Agape love seeks understanding and
goodwill for all. It is neighborly love, a spontaneous, unmotivated love for
humanity. Agape is loving others for their sake, regardless of whether they are
friend or foe. King goes on to say, “Agape is not a weak, passive love. It is
love in action. Agape is love seeking to preserve and create community. … Agape
is a willingness to sacrifice in the interest of mutuality.” King calls agape,
“the love of God operating in the human heart.”
Gandhi
said to his countrymen, “Rivers of blood may have to flow before we gain our
freedom, but it must be our blood.” Martin Luther King justifies inviting his
own people for this mass political application of the ancient doctrine of
turning the other cheek with one short sentence: Suffering for the sake of love
is redemptive. I’ll repeat it: Suffering for the sake of love is redemptive.
This is not an easy idea for me, a privileged man in the 21st century
to swallow. But many of those who have tasted struggle, and many of whom have
raised children have come to know this. Many parents go to such great lengths
for their children; they make tremendous sacrifices. And they do this out of
love, philia love. Agape love asks us to consider what sacrifices we are willing
to make for the sake of people outside our circle of close friends and family.
Now, I don’t want to say
that suffering is good in and of itself. It’s not. I don’t want to suggest that
you ought to go out and suffer for suffering’s sake. No, what I’m saying is
that when you act in the name of love, suffering may result—it likely will
result, but that suffering in the name of love holds transforming possibilities.
King quotes Gandhi as saying, "Things of fundamental importance to people are
not secured by reason alone, but have to be purchased with their suffering.”
Gandhi continues: "Suffering is infinitely more powerful than the law of the
jungle for converting the opponent and opening his ears which are otherwise shut
to the voice of reason." And here we come to the crux of why Martin Luther King
was not a Unitarian in his day. Reason does not provide the primary vehicle for
a way of life that seeks to change people and society for the better. Love does.
Now
love may not have been at the center of Unitarian theology, but it has always
played a central role in Universalist theology. Another sermon will explore
Universalism more thoroughly, but there is a significant Universalist connection
to today’s theme of the kind of love that transforms society and the world. Over
the ages, there have been two significant interpretations of the gospel’s call
to resist evil by acting in the name of love. One interpretation is to withdraw
from all evil structures in society and instead cloister one’s community around
the ideal of love while minimizing interactions with the wider world. This has
long been the route taken by oppressed Christian communities and resulted in
them being virtually unknown by those in power. Indeed it provided a method of
survival for religious communities under brutal regimes. Another interpretation
of the gospel’s call is to seek to change the world by engaging in society and
its structures of government—to bring the talent and influence of members of
one’s community in the service of the ideals of love. In 1846, Adin Ballou, a
Universalist, originally synthesized the two in his groundbreaking work
Christian Non-Resistance. Several historians acknowledge that Gandhi’s
revolutionary idea of satyagraha, was in part inspired by our Universalist
heritage, as Ballou argued that we cannot withdraw from society if we want to
change it, but we can choose to seek to actively withdraw from structures of
evil by resisting injustice and violence through the power of love. It is
interesting to note that Ballou's Christian Non-Resistance was published
three years before Thoreau's Civil Disobedience.
When I
was at Fort Benning and walking in the funeral procession, I suddenly realized
that I was in the presence of agape love shared by twenty thousand people. The
night before I heard a young woman named Jennifer recount her story of scaling
the fence the previous year. The act of civil disobedience was for her an act of
love, an act of love that changed her life and the lives of others. For she said
that she has long been opposed to the School of the Americas, but that the
people she talked to would typically look at her funny. It was as if the stories
she told about American trained soldiers who tortured and killed others had done
so on another planet—it was simply too far removed from other people for them to
understand. And then, last year she decided that she was willing to go to jail
and pay a fine for what she believes in. For her, this was a religious calling,
an act of love. And this action transformed her life. Plenty of others supported
her so that she didn’t suffer financially. As for going to jail, now she had a
story that when she tells people that she was imprisoned for calling upon the
closing of the School of Americas, her acquaintances listen—and listen intently.
For the slight young woman they knew had gone to prison on account of a peaceful
protest. Here was someone they knew personally that had suffered for the sake of
others. Her act of love provides leverage to her spoken convictions that her
acquaintances are more responsive than ever before.
Jennifer’s
words remind me of those of Martin Luther King, Jr.: “The nonviolent resister
does not seek to dodge jail. If going to jail is necessary, he enters it ‘as a
bridegroom enters the bride's chamber.’” Congress closed down the School of the
Americas five years ago, but it then let it open three months later under a new
name in the same buildings with the same faculty and virtually the same
curriculum. People like Jennifer have generated growing opposition to the School
of the Americas among our elected leaders, and this May, Congress shall likely
vote on whether to close what many call “the School of Torture.”
Agape love
finds ways to sacrifice with others for the sake of justice. And it also is the
kind of love that cultivates personal dignity. To paraphrase King, if I meet
hate with hate, I disconnect from my own humanity, because creation is so
designed that my personality can only be fulfilled in the context of community.
Then King quotes Booker T. Washington: “Let no one pull you so low as to make
you hate.” And to paraphrase King: When someone pulls you that low that person
brings you to the point of working against community, dragging you to the point
of abnegating your dignity. Agape love recognizes that, in the final analysis,
all life is interrelated. All humanity is involved in a single process, and all
human beings are kin.
As Buddhist teacher Jack
Kornfield says: “There is no power greater than the power of love. Whether we
are in positions of power, or in poverty, we will be tested. We will be asked to
summon the spirit of greatness, of compassion, of openheartedness over and over
again in our lives. Perhaps this is what we are here for, to learn this single
lesson. In the end the strength that we have to fall back upon is not our
credentials or accomplishments or the ideals we hold but our humanness itself.”
To strengthen ourselves, I
have come to believe that we need to hone not so much our capacity to reason as
we need to hone our capacity to love. For it is in our innate humanness where
God dwells. As we cultivate our capacity to live in the name of love, we
participate ever more in the creation of goodness and the resistance to evil and
injustice.
May this be our work.
Blessed be. Amen.
© Copyright 2006 Rev.
Alan Taylor, All Rights Reserved.
