“For the Love of God”
by Reverend Charles Blustein Ortman
September 30, 2007
READINGS:
The first and ancient reading is Chapter 72 from the Tao te Ching by Lao Tzu, translated by Hua-Ching Ni:
When people lack a sense of pure spiritual piety toward natural life,
then awful things happen in their life.
Therefore, respect where you dwell.
Love your life and livelihood.
Because you do not disparage
your life and livelihood,
you will never become tired of life.
Thus, one of natural whole virtue respects his own life, but is not egotistical.
He loves his life, but does not exalt himself.
He holds a sense of spiritual serenity for all things, and disparages nothing.
Hence, he does what is right and gives up what is not right.
Our second and modern reading is from Frederick Buechner, the mid-20th Century popular novelist, chaplain, preacher and theologian:
The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you. There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.
SERMON:
There's a story, perhaps familiar to some of you because I love it so much I feel compelled to tell it every few years. I think it’s been a while this time, about six years. The story is, The Rabbi’s Gift and this is my version of the story, based on M. Scott Peck’s adaptation of the old medieval tale.
There was once an abbey that had been the site of great learning and spiritual exploration. It was known far and wide for the gentle monks who lived and worked there together. Its gardens were both beautiful and bountiful. The generous monks graciously provided produce to those who were hungry for food, and solace to those who were hungry in spirit.
But recently the abbey had fallen on hard times. People from the village stopped visiting the brothers. The gardens didn’t look so nice. Singing in the chapel services became, well… discordant. The monks rarely sought one another’s company, and often at meals—they snapped at one another.
Abbot Thomas didn’t know what to make of the situation. No matter what he tried, the monks just got more surly. Off a ways, in the deep woods surrounding the monastery, there was a little hut that a Rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. Through their many years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the Rabbi was in his hermitage. "The Rabbi is in the woods, the Rabbi is in the woods again," they would whisper to each other.
As he agonized over the imminent demise of his order, it occurred to the Abbot at one such time to visit the hermitage and ask the Rabbi, if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might help to save the monastery. So he decided to visit his old friend, Rabbi Jacob. He left early one morning and told the monks he’d be back in time for vespers.
Rabbi Jacob was delighted to see his friend. It had been far too long. The two men visited over a hearty lunch and then Jacob asked, “What’s wrong Thomas? I can sense something is troubling you. What is it?”
Thomas, relieved by the invitation to the Rabbi’s counsel, told his friend all that had come to pass at the abbey. When he finally got to the part about the insults he’d overheard in the dining room, he was surprised to see an expression of puzzlement on his friend’s face.
“I had expected to hear quite a different story,” Jacob confessed. “I had heard through the grapevine that one of the magi (who are persons of great wisdom and understanding) had come to live in your abbey. I’d have thought things would be going quite differently for you. This is quite a mystery.”
The two men talked for a while more and then it was time for Thomas to head for home. All the while on his walk back, Thomas thought about what the Rabbi had said. Jacob had it on good authority that one of the magi had come to live in the abbey??? There might be such a wise one living right there?! Could it be one of the monks? Which one? None of them seemed likely.
Over the next couple of days, Thomas called each of the brothers into his office. He told them about his conversation with Rabbi Jacob, and asked if they had any idea of who might be the one the Rabbi spoke of. Of course they all honestly denied any awareness whatever.
In no time at the entire abbey was abuzz. Who could it be? No one knew; it could be any of them. Some even suspected that they them self might be the one.
Things began to change overnight. One mustn’t be rude to one of the magi; better to err on the side of graciousness even to non-magi, than to come up short with you know who. Those that thought there was a possibility that they were the one began to think that, not only should they extend their best friendliness to those around them, but they’d really ought to try to live up to the standards of the magi. Yes, things began to change around the abbey.
Once again the monks’ singing became harmonious. So did their meals and their greetings. The flowers and the vegetables in the gardens even began to bloom and grow in greater beauty and abundance. The people in the village once again returned to the abbey seeking succor and sustenance.
One afternoon as the townspeople were heading out of the gate, Abbot Thomas heard one of them comment to another, “I don’t know what happened here, but this place is filled with the greatest joy I have ever seen. And the brothers are the most loving people I have ever met.” It was then that Abbot Thomas recognized the gift his old friend the Rabbi had given.
And it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them… then another… and another. So within a few years the monastery once again became a thriving order, and, thanks to the Rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.
Back in the early days and years after I had left the faith tradition in which I'd been raised, I was pretty sure of what I did not believe. I found it quite impossible to accept the idea of God as anyone, or anything that remotely resembled anyone. The thought of God being a super-human kind of being, capable of all kinds of shenanigans and magic, determined to reward and punish, bent on being a Peeping-Tom and intervening with nature, just didn't make sense. I didn't need or want a God like that. And the idea that Jesus, one of the all-time great human beings and teachers, was in cahoots with such a God was equally untenable.
So I found myself disbelieving the tenets I'd been taught. Okay, I thought, if I don't believe in the God of orthodoxy – the God I’d been assured was the one, true God – then I must be an atheist. There didn't seem to be any alternatives, none that I knew. So, atheism was perfectly fine. God didn't need to be saved by my believing in him or not. Instead, people and the world needed to be served, a monumental task in itself.
I did have some other thoughts along the way, but that's pretty much how my theological underpinnings continued until many years later when I found myself, one lovely spring day, sitting in on a class at Meadville/Lombard UU Seminary at the University of Chicago. I was visiting to see if I might want to enroll as a divinity student the following fall term. The late John Godbey, who would one day become something of a nemesis for me, was teaching the class. John was an ardent Humanist, but not narrowly so.
He said, "I know a lot of people who claim to be atheists. So I always ask them, 'Do you believe in the concept of goodness?' Everyone always agrees that they do.’ So then I ask them, 'What is the source of this goodness that you believe in?'"
He had me! I surely did believe in goodness and in the possibilities of goodness. I don't know where goodness comes from, I thought. And I don't need to know. It's fine with me that the source of goodness is a mystery. There need not be a sentient being that is the source of goodness. I believe that, I have faith that possibilities of goodness exist, are real. Goodness is quite God enough for me! Anthropomorphic superheroes not apply!
And so I ask, how is it with you? Do you believe in goodness? Do you know, or believe that you know the source of that goodness? Does it matter whether or not you know? And if that does not matter, then what does? What does matter?
Here’s what the whole history of the world tells me: if we live in fear and rely on force to protect ourselves, we promote even more fear and always more violence; if though, we live in faith and aspire to peace, we encourage greater faith and we promote possibilities of goodness. One of these ways is about evil; the other is about love. Goodness and love are interchangeable, here. We are never beyond the possibility of choosing to participate in the possibilities of goodness. And we are never left to face life without the possibility of being held in the arms of its universal love.
In the story of The Rabbi’s Gift, loving behavior and faith in the possibilities of goodness promoted a loving spirit and encouraged those very possibilities. In time, the understanding of these possibilities grew in depth and expanse from shallow to profound. And the spirit of that growth fostered the development of the communal, the moral and physical worlds around it.
For the love of goodness – for the love of God – we can act in ways that cultivate goodness in ourselves and in the world, from shallow to profound. We can’t do that through fear and force. By living in faith – aspiring to peace and justice and the common good, by believing in, affirming and promoting every person, by believing in, affirming and promoting the interdependent Web of being of which we are a part, this is how we can promote the possibilities of goodness. Such has been the aim of true religion from time immemorial in promoting the love of God.
So often the love of God is portrayed as piety, or introverted spirituality, or some kind of private relationship with a deity. I can imagine very little to be more useless, more egotistical or more dangerous to the spirit and to the planet as such a spiritual/religious model. Life does not call us to be inside our heads, or simply inside ourselves. Life calls us to life, to the greater life. Humanitarian philosopher, theologian and Unitarian, Albert Schweitzer, once wrote:
“Reverence for Life affords me my fundamental principle of morality, namely, that good consists in maintaining, assisting, and enhancing life and that to destroy, harm, or to hinder life is evil. Affirmation of the world – that is affirmation of the will to live, which appears in phenomenal forms all around me – is only possible for me in that I give myself out for other life.”
And so I ask again, how is it with you? Do you believe in goodness? Do you know, or believe that you know the source of that goodness? Does it matter whether or not you know? And if that does not matter, then what does? Frederick Buechner, who provided the words in our reading earlier this morning also wrote, “The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.”
We live out our lives in the context of community. And evermore the community that we live in is the world community. If, for the love of God, we are going to be in right relationship within that universal community, if we are going to be agents of healing in it and not of harm, then we will surely need help from one another along the way. We will need to associate ourselves with others who might find it more of a religious experience to embrace the other, and less significant to be right. We will need to keep company with others who, as we attempt to do here in this congregation, would spend their lives in service to the love of goodness (if you prefer), or, if you don’t mind, for the love of God.
Especially for those of you who might be visiting for the first time this morning, I would want you to have some kind of understanding of what it means to us to be religious within the context of this Unitarian Universalist community.
Being religious for us, first of all, means that you are not alone. It means that you are in the good company of others who struggle and celebrate, who stumble and strive just as you do. It means being with others who might sometimes have a better idea of the way to go when you might find yourself bewildered, or still others who may not hold the answer for you but perhaps the pertinent questions that can help to light your way.
Being religious for us means that you are not alone. You are in the good company of others who hold the thought of you highly, and not just in regard but in expectation, too. You are responsible for your own beliefs here, but we are responsible, accountable to each other for how those beliefs matter – in our own lives and in the world.
Finally, being religious for us means that you are not alone. You are in the good company of others who stand in awe and gratitude amidst this incredible creation, and others who, like you, need to respond to that experience with service to it. On our own there’s not much we can do about racism, homophobia, sexism, classism, able-ism and so many other oppressions and problems that plague our world. Alone we can hardly do more than to abhor these woes. Working together though, we have a real chance of making a difference in the world. To that end we have our Afterschool Program, our Undoing Racism Committee, our Rainbow UUnion, and a host of other programs that serve our community and our world. The world is in great need of healing for, like us, it too is quite broken. And if we are going to be meaningful agents of change in its healing process, we can do that best in association with one another, in the context of community, being human together and religiously for the love of God.
Paraphrasing Frederick Buechner: “Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. [Love is forever with you.] Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you [all of you] I created the universe. I love you. There's only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. [And so I bid you, reach out with and to one another.] Maybe being able to reach out and take it [in this way] is a gift too.
The Buddha was once reportedly asked if there was such a thing as God. He answered, “There is a road that goes from here to the city, but there was not always this road. Before there was a road to the city, there was a path. And before the path there was the thought that surely there must be a way of getting from here to the city.”
There are magi among us here. Perhaps you are one of them. I suspect it is so. Let me live my life, let us live our lives in the faith that it is indeed so. And if it is – or even if it is not – by having faith in love and in the power of love, we can surely make it more so. Failing to try, we and our world have much to lose.
So may we be moved:
From fear to faith;
From force to peace;
From isolation to love.
Acting for the love of God, we’ve nothing to lose;
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