First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis

Rev. Kendyl Gibbons
First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis
March 23, 2003

This is not the world I would have made, if I were in the business of making worlds. This is not a war I would have started, if I were in charge of our nation's foreign policy. This is not the legacy I would wish to leave for our children; this is not the right as I am given to know the right. These are not the days that we have yearned to see together. Yet this is the world we have; these are the days in which we live. And what is now required of us is not the duty most of us have sought for, but it is still what is required of us, in this strange and disturbing new time into which the hand of history has now ushered us.

To my way of thinking, there are three things required of us now. The first two are simple enough to understand, though in practice it takes some discipline to do them. It is the third thing which is intellectually and spiritually challenging, that we need to take some time to think about, for it is what will make the difference in the long run.

First of all, we need to remember to breathe. We must continue to take care of ourselves, and of those nearest to us. It will help to remember that we are physical beings whose bodies respond to stress, anxiety, horror, anger, and fear and even sympathy with rip tides of chemical reactions. In the long millennia of our species' evolutionary history, these states of arousal and tension made it possible for our ancestors to deal with the imminent threats which directly confronted them; natural selection did not prepare us for satellite transmissions and CNN. If you are edgy, weepy, anxious, sleepless, it just means that you are paying attention. I'm finding it hard to concentrate; I do not want to watch the war unfold in real time on television, and yet it is difficult to look away; everything else seems somehow trivial. It is hard to be reconciled to a life that goes on in accustomed safety while others are in mortal danger. But who would want to be so oblivious? Who would want life on its ordinary terms while the world is rocked on its hinges and the future hangs in the balance? Not I. And so I must remind myself once in a while to keep breathing; to eat, even if the bread is flavored with the ashes of bitterness and the water salted with tears. We need to reach deep for an exquisite patience with one another, and with ourselves. Now is the time for all we know of gentleness and forbearance; now is the time to acknowledge our needs and our fragility; to give on a small scale the innocent kindness that is so terribly absent in the panoply of missiles and bombs. Now is the time to be tender with our children, so that what they learn from us is the longing for reconciliation rather than vengeance. Now is the time to practice our humanity, in its most elemental need and goodness. Now is the time to rediscover community, to turn toward one another and to ask in compassion, "How is it with thy spirit?" Let us remember to breathe; let us make a conspiracy - a breathing together - for peace and wholeness. If we are to be of any use in what comes after; if we are to bear a part in the restoration of a righteous world, we must come through this time of crisis with our spirits intact - and that means we must remember to eat and sleep, and care for the children and do the work of the world in patience and gentleness, and above all, we must remember to breathe. That is the first duty, for without it, the others cannot be sustained.

The second duty that is ours now, whether we sought it or welcome it or not, is to speak the truth of our own perceptions, including the deepest truth that we know, and the deepest of our confusions. I cannot say how it is for others, since we are blessedly different in this as in all else, but here is how it is for me. At the profoundest level of my moral intuition and my awareness of my connectedness to all of humanity and the oneness of everything, there is a loud, wailing NO!, a sustained note of grieving, not only for the tangible death and suffering that are being wrought even as we speak, but for the world as I wanted it and believed it to be. I mourn with a kind of primitive, keening cry the outrage to justice and compassion, the crumbling of the structures of human trust and restraint that have taken so many generations to build, and that can be crushed so suddenly. This is not a place of level-headed argument or reasoning; it is too naïve for strategy; it is only a revulsion from wrongness and pain. I must and will speak from that place, because not to do so would be to deny the deepest truth of my being. At the same time, here is what I also understand to be true: for other people, including people whom I love, whose intelligence I respect and whose goodwill I trust, there is at that same profound level of awareness a cry of AT LAST!, and a rising hope that something dangerously wrong in the world might be quickly put right, and many innocent people freed from bondage and long suffering. And here is what I think: they come from the same place, the hope and the revulsion, and neither of them is arguable. They both come from the place within each of us that longs for the well being of others and the good of the world; the place that makes us capable of sacrifice on behalf of others and the world. We cannot afford to silence that place within each other, or within ourselves; we must speak our hearts' and souls' truth, or there can be no health for any of us. Now is the time - now more than ever - to hear one another's intuitive knowing in compassion, acceptance, and respect.

To be sure, there are many other levels of conversation, many questions of strategy, of history, of fact and vested interest and perspective, that are entirely arguable, and that should be argued, vigorously. This is the time for those arguments, most especially that ones that look forward even from misguided actions and tragic mistakes to contemplate how best to redeem the situation, how to create reconciliation and justice and better options for the future. Moreover, it seems to me that these conversations need to concern not only the future of the Iraqi people, their land, their oil, and their choices about government, but also our own understandings as citizens of the United States, about our vision of democracy here in our country, our role in the world community, our most basic definitions of what it means to be powerful and generous and responsible and just. For it is clear that we have no national consensus about these matters, and the great half-century balance of world powers no longer exerts the discipline of caution upon the ambitions and visions of those now in authority. When our collective American consciousness feared and contended with the Soviet Union, our leaders were necessarily somewhat circumspect in their international adventures. Now that that long threat is gone, so is the restraint that came with it, and we are free to dream of unchallenged dominion, if that is what we really want. My friends, it takes uncommon personal maturity to refuse the option of imposing what one knows to be the right answer when one has that opportunity; how many of us could resist it, if the chance to make everyone agree with us were to fall into our individual hands? Do we have the audacity to dream of standing as the globe's unchallenged national power, and not seeking to remake the world in our own image? That would be something new under the sun, indeed. And it will take every scrap of self-discipline, reflection, persuasion and moral leadership that all of us can lay hand to. Now is the time, even as the tanks roll across the desert into Basra and Baghdad, to engage this entire country in asking what kind of superpower we intend to be. If democracy means anything anymore, it means that this conversation is now our most urgent patriotic duty.

And that brings me to the third requirement of us at this pivot point of history, which is to keep our faith. The values that we have said we believe in as humanists and hold dear as Unitarian Universalists are as precious now as they ever were, and nothing that Donald Rumsfeld or Osama bin Laden or George Bush or Saddam Hussein or even all of them together can do, can diminish those sacred things, or dim their light. If we have ever believed that all points of view deserve a fair hearing, even when we disagree with them; if we have ever believed that all people, even our enemies however we define them, ought to be treated with dignity, now is the time to put those principles into practice. Indeed, if we are willing to abandon those ideas at the height of our anxious and indignant passions, then they are no principles at all, but only convenient slogans. If we have a commitment to democracy as a method and to diversity as something to celebrate, now is the time to seek understanding of the wide spectrum of world and national opinion, as well as to recognize the differences among intelligent people of good will here in our own community. If we hold non-violence and reason as fundamentals in human communication and problem-solving, this is no time to throw them out the window in favor of confrontation and irrational rhetoric. If we have ever truly thought that human beings, working together, could help to mend the world's brokenness, even a little, now is the time to hold that conviction fast; now, when it is most challenged and taken in contempt.

We must remember to breathe, and in that breathing to find our sadness and anger at all the destruction we were not able to prevent, and mourn for that. But out of our mourning must once more arise the conviction that things don't have to be this way, and that by reasoning together we, the people of the world, can try again to find a better way. I carry in my heart through this dark time the words of Dr. Robert Muller, former assistant secretary general of the United Nations, now Chancellor emeritus of the University of Peace in Costa Rica, and one of the people who witnessed the founding of the U.N. "Never before in the history of the world has there been a global, visible, public, viable, open dialogue and conversation about the very legitimacy of war," he says. "This has not happened on this scale ever before -- not before WWI or WWII, not before Vietnam or Korea. No matter what happens, history will record that this is a new era, and that the 21st century has been initiated with the nations in a global dialogue, with the largest peace demonstrations in the history of the world taking place even before the war itself began. We, the world community, are WAGING peace. It is difficult, hard work; it is tense, it is tough, it is challenging, it is constant and we must not let up." Dr. Muller believes that this work must go on, in spite of our dramatic momentary failure, and I agree with him. New connections, new ideas and new duties have been opened up in the collective consciousness of our global community, and they will not go away. One day - and may it be very soon - the guns will fall silent, and we will look around for the principles of just community, which our leaders threw aside in their haste and petulance and will to power. If those principles are to be found alive and well, we must sustain them, here in our faithful covenants of memory and promise, in these fragile little voluntary associations that we call congregations. This I think is why, in the final analysis, it is altogether appropriate that on this sad, portentous day we welcome into that covenant our newest members, and celebrate the commitments that many of us have so generously made to support this institution and what it stands for in the coming year. This is the time; I can imagine no moment in which religious community would be more precious, and necessary to us all.

The faith to which I aspire to be faithful was beautifully expressed a few days ago by a United Methodist minister, a friend of a colleague of mine, who when she was asked about the reason for her opposition to the bombing replied simply and unarguably, "I have family in Iraq." And so she does, dear friends; so do we each and all, have family in Iraq. So do we each and all have sons and brothers, sisters and dear ones with the troops, battling dust and thirst and fear, striving to keep one another alive and to do competently what they have been asked to do on our behalf. This is no time for despair, this is no time for cynicism. This is the time to renew our commitment to what we have always said we believe in; democracy, non-violence, human kinship, diversity, liberty, reason, community, the possibilities of a brighter future in a better world, and the importance of the promises that we make to one another.

Almost seventy years ago, on the eve of yet another shattering conflagration of armed conflict, the poet John Holmes sought to describe the meaning of peace - not to the calculations and strategems of the politicians, the diplomats, and the generals, but to ordinary people hoping to live unremarkable lives in a peaceful world. The people's peace, he said, was not the academic disinterest of scholars surveying the world from an academic ivory tower; nor was it the raptured enlightenment of religious mystics, which the church said was peace beyond our understanding. He wanted the peace that was not past our understanding; the practical, tangible peace of country towns, warm houses, harvest celebrations. The people's peace was to be found in long lives passing down names and wisdom to future generations, houses lived in so long that the door sills got worn away, something as simple as lamplight in the evenings and tablecloths. Today, in Iraq, there are no houses lighted late, no holiday; the doorways shake from the explosion of missiles, and the country towns tremble. Victory for the U.S. forces will not bring that peace; victory, assuming it comes eventually, at whatever enormous cost, is only the prologue. Peace is what must be built up again, little by little, over time; the peace that we believe in, the people's peace, the peace of freedom, justice, kinship and community. This is the faith we must keep, even as we remember to breathe, and to speak both our heart's truth and our mind's understanding; a faith in the world as we have always known it could be - as we have vowed to one another, here in this community of shared aspiration, to help make it be.

This is not the day that we have longed to see together; this is not the world we would have made. But this is the world and the time in which our duties lie; we all have brothers on the front lines, we all have family in Iraq. And we have one another, and one day soon, a new world to build once more. Let us stand and sing together.

Opening words:

Dearly Beloved, on such a day as this, how shall we rejoice?

Death and destruction rain from the skies on the people of Iraq,

And our great nation stands before the judgement of the world with blood on its hands,

Even if it is believed to be the blood of needful sacrifice.

Surely we greet one another in pain. Surely are hearts are heavy within us,

And it is hard to look our children in the face,

When our leaders have failed so badly to give them the world we want them to have,

Or to be the example we would urge them to follow.

Yet where better to bring our pain and fear, our shame and our heavy hearts,

Than here, into the presence of community,

To this place where we have lifted up what is precious to us in the human venture,

And spoken brave words of aspiration and commitment?

What better comfort is there than one another's presence,

And the renewed promise of those who believe we can do better, be better,

Build even upon the ashes of our failures, a better world?

This week has seen the firing of missiles, swift and deadly as modern technology can make them.

And it has seen also the ancient fires of Noruz, the Persian new year at the spring equinox,

A celebration so old that both Easter eggs and Seder plates have their roots in it.

Even today's culture, Iranians leap over ritual bonfires, chanting wishes for good health,

And seeking to leave all bad fortune from the old year behind in the flames --

So timeless is the human impulse to purify ourselves by fire.

The light returns, and life stirs out of winter bleakness, in spite of all our destruction.

Patiently, the earth prepares for the long process of healing,

And if we will quiet ourselves from our distress for a moment,

the lengthening light may touch us too with a hint of hope,

a reminder that even where there is war, war is not everything,

and cannot hold back the spring.

And so we come, even in the face of tragedy, even in fear and rage and helpless sorrow,

To be with one another, to remember our promises and renew our dedication;

To acknowledge, even if we have no mind for rejoicing, the growing light of gathering springtime;

To cast yet again the vision of an earth made fair, and all her people one.

Today we enfold into this community those who have chosen to declare their allegiance here,

And honor the contributions of those who have made this their spiritual home for the past

Quarter or half century.

In a way, I am sorry that what should have been an occasion of simple joy

Should be so burdened with our national agony;

And yet, we need today perhaps more than ever a new common strength of purpose,

And a long view, that we may take heart for the struggle that is before us,

And persevere in the hope and the practice of peace.

In profound sadness, and with unshakeable devotion to the light of the human spirit

Which no darkness can put out, we kindle once again this chalice.

Song:

Greetings and Announcements:

Recognition of 25 and 50 Year members:

Fifty years ago, in early 1953, this Society had not yet built the office and religious education addition to the building. The minister, Carl Storm, preached from a pulpit built into the platform, offering thoughtful and intelligent, well-crafted sermons, and encouraging opinions of all sorts to be heard with respect. The religious education program for children was run by Merneva McClellan, and her husband Bob offered a cheerful welcome as the Sunday morning receptionist. The Society attracted a large number of faculty members, including department heads, as well as staff and spouses from the University of Minnesota, and many graduate students came to explore liberal ideas here as well. Forums were presented much as they are today, except that the building was closed, with no programming at all during the summer months. The organ had not yet been installed, and the congregation sang hymns from a self-published mimeographed collection. The social hour often featured such stimulating discussions that coffee drinkers were in danger of having their cups knocked out of their hands by the vigorous gestures all around them.

Today we celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the membership of Jean Beireis, George Lykken, and Matthew Stark, and the 25^th anniversary of John and Mary Fisher, Dorothy Harrison, Carole and Roger Rydberg, Jean Toll, Wanda McCaa, and Jane Anderson,

...who could not be with us.

, would you please come forward to receive your pins and be recognized?

We thank each of you, as well as those who could not be here, for your example of dedication to the spirit and heritage of liberal religion, for your witness of support and faithfulness to this society and the values in represents. May the example of your commitment inspire us and those who follow us to build upon this foundation, that we may offer to others what you have given to us, and may you continue in friendship and fellowship with us for many more years to come.

Will the congregation please join me in expressing our gratitude and congratulations to these long faithful friends?

Centering:

Remember to breathe.

Even in this moment when the whole planet and the entire human family seems to hold its collective breath,

We still must remember to breathe.

We must let the universe continue to nourish us.

We must keep our hearts open to wisdom, compassion and justice;

Even though we don't know how;

Even though we are angry;

Even though we are appalled and sad;

Even though we are afraid;

Even though frightful mistakes are made;

Still we must keep our hearts open to wisdom, compassion and justice;

Still we must let the universe continue to nourish us;

Still we must remember to breathe.

Let it be confessed - the evidence is set plainly before all:

We are not so wise as we have the capacity to be;

We are not so kind as we have the capacity to be;

We are not even as prudent, or as patient, or as persuasive as we have the capacity to be.

We confess it, and yet --

Still we must keep our hearts open to wisdom, compassion and justice;

Still we must let the universe continue to nourish us;

Still we must remember to breathe.

It is our responsibility now not to give in to despair;

We must believe that what human hands have marred, human hands can seek to mend.

Even as we bear witness to folly and mourn destruction,

We must be alert to find and save all that may persist of good.

Still we must keep our hearts open to wisdom, compassion and justice;

Still we must let the universe continue to nourish us;

Still we must remember to breathe.

Even through our heartache; even through our righteous anger; even through our tears.