Rev. Kendyl Gibbons
First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis
October 30, 2005
Courage and Consolation
Last spring I had the opportunity to share with this congregation some reflections about the explosive growth of many new Christian mega-churches, particularly the Radiant congregation in the expanding suburb of Surprise, Arizona. That topic stimulated quite a number of responses, one of which in particular raised the idea that seems appropriate to explore this morning. I made the claim that it is not essentially the theology of the mega-churches that constitutes their attraction, but rather their basic institutional competence; that they are clean, convenient, professionally staffed, with up to date technology, and offer programming that responds to popular interests and concerns. And I argued, if this is the case, then there is nothing about that strategy that couldn't be emulated by liberal or humanist communities, if we have the commitment to do it.
Bill O'Dowd, one of our members, wondered whether I hadn't missed a rather significant point about the theological differences. Citing one of his own favorite philosophers, he wrote in part:
Otto Rank suggested that anxiety about death (what he called the "death fear") was the primary source of human anxiety, rather than sexual repression, and over this point he broke with Freud. Rank was not only a practicing analyst, but also a great student of literature, mythology and anthropology, and, based on those studies, he concluded that one of the functions of human cultures is to address this primal fear of death. Every society, at least up until modern times, has provided some sort of collective response to the problem of individual death. These responses have not always involved a belief in individual immortality, as Christianity and Islam do. There have been totem beliefs, reincarnation myths, collective survival (the "chosen people"), immortality through procreation and family: in fact, many "immortality ideologies" have been suggested over the course of history. Otto Rank came to believe that the "urge to immortality" was a universal trait, and that unless it were addressed somehow, the death fear would lead an individual into neurosis and unhappiness. It does seem, said Bill, if we look around, that most cultures do, indeed, offer some sort of shared belief system that deals with death and transcendence.
It seems to me that Bill is quite right about this. From a somewhat more contemporary sociological perspective, the same point is made by Peter Berger in his study of religion entitled "The Sacred Canopy." Berger defines religion in functional terms as "The establishment through human activity of an all-embracing sacred order, that is, of a sacred cosmos that will be capable of maintaining itself in the ever-present face of chaos," and he then goes on to write:
The precariousness of every such cosmos is revealed each time people forget or doubt the reality-defining affirmations; each time they dream reality-denying dreams of 'madness', and most importantly, each time they consciously encounter death. Every human society is, in the last resort, individuals banded together in the face of death. The power of religion depends, in the last resort, upon the credibility of the banners it puts in the hands of people as they stand before death, or more accurately, as they walk, inevitably, toward it.
At one point, Otto Rank wrote the cryptic sentence: "With the truth one cannot live," and it was this truth in particular to which he was referring. This statement is provocative because Rank was, after all, a dedicated scholar who seemed committed understanding and promoting "the truth." Bill O'Dowd comments,
My current understanding of what he meant is this: that with the truth alone one cannot live. Rank is not embracing falsehood or deception, but rather recognizing that the truth, by itself, does not offer any meaning, and it is meaning and consolation, not truth, that the human heart craves. What does my life and my death mean? In that sense, we cannot live with the truth. The question then becomes how one achieves meaning without losing the truth, or how one faces the truth without losing a sense of meaning.
And thus, he wonders whether I have not underestimated the importance of the notions of salvation, resurrection, heaven and immortality in the mega-church message. Perhaps they really are offering something more than institutional competence. Bill goes on to ask, "Can we really do without what Gore Vidal calls the "sky god," and still attract a large number of members? Can we continue to cling to the truth without providing the "consolation" that is such a basic human need, such a need that without it, it is said, "one cannot live"?"
I am always thrilled to find that people pay attention at this level of thoughtfulness to what I say on Sunday mornings, and I think that this is one of the most foundational challenges to which Humanism must respond, if it is to be taken seriously as a religious option. Indeed, for me one aspect of the Humanism tradition is precisely the experiment whether it is possible to find one's consolation about death in courage rather than denial, and in my opinion, the jury is still out on that question. Is it in fact possible for us to say to one another, as I think that the Day of the Dead invites us to say, "Yes, death is a reality; it is the final irony of a universe that we do not control. It is a cosmic joke in questionable taste, and we are all in it together"? Can we ever, as human beings, turn our energies away from seeking some escape from the truth of death, and instead seek acceptance? Could we stop our frantic efforts to bargain our way out of this inevitable destiny, and do the work of coming to terms with it, make peace with it - as one of my colleagues would say, get over it and stay over it? It seems to me that this is a possibility at least worth exploring. And I do not think that it means descending into what Otto Rank called neurosis and unhappiness.
For me, it is not the fear of death itself that leads to neurosis and unhappiness, but rather the false promises of immortality that are forever being offered by power, money, achievement, sex, knowledge, and so on; not excluding superstition and wishful thinking, even in religious clothing. I would suggest that it is the failure of these seductive but ultimately inadequate strategies to deliver on their promised escape from death that makes us crazy, and miserable. Authentically facing and embracing one's mortality is the foundation of freedom, it seems to me, and that is the task into which the good news of Humanism invites us.
Yet it would appear that Rank, Berger, and Bill O'Dowd are all agreed that bleak truth alone is insufficient, and I concur. Together, we must build a universe of meaning, where our mortality is recognized and we learn from one another how to think about it constructively; how to live in this world with passion and gratitude, because our time is too short for sulking; how to walk through our finitude with dignity and a brave spirit. With the truth of death alone, one cannot live - no, indeed. But with beauty and laughter, with candles and flowers and music, with friendship and memory, the truth of death becomes one strand in the web of our days, a part of the structure of life itself, one of the terms upon which the gift of existence is given.
Do our hearts crave consolation, when our parents depart from us, and we lose our beloved children, and the bright leaders of our times go down into the grave? Of course they do; how should we be human if they did not? But let us seek that consolation not in the pretty fantasies of other worlds, but in the better quality of this one. Let us build our meaning out of truth, and not in spite of truth. It's the hard way, I grant you; but it's the path to integrity, and in our bleakest moments, it's the foundation that will hold firm and never fail.
But one word more: An essential element in the consolation we create among ourselves is human compassion, and that is a quality of our individual and collective character that has been called upon urgently in the past year. Our hearts went out to the tsunami victims in Asia; we responded with unprecedented generosity to the devastation of hurricane season in our own southern states. We are still reeling, numb, overwhelmed, exhausted. But once more, half a world away, there is human suffering on a scale we can scarcely even imagine. This is the message that I received recently from the UU Service Committee:
The situation is desperate in the Himalayan regions of Pakistan and India, following the major earthquake of October 8. Some 2.5 million people are without homes. People are dying of exposure and untreated wounds. Thousands are living out in the open in their destroyed villages, without adequate food, water, or medical care in rapidly dropping temperatures and frequent rainstorms.
Time is of the essence. Tens of thousands will die if they don't receive help very soon - and the brutal Himalayan winter is setting in. The window of time in which we can make a difference is closing. The relief effort has still not reached over one-fifth of the villages badly hit by the earthquake, partly because roads and bridges are out - and partly because the relief effort cannot meet the magnitude of the need. There simply are not enough doctors, tents, blankets, and medical supplies going out to people yet. It is essential to step up the aid distribution effort now.
UUSC and the Unitarian Universalist Association have created a joint fund to respond to this disaster, and UUSC's Rights in Humanitarian Crises Program has kicked into high gear. But we must have help! Your donation, together with UUSC's expertise in responding to humanitarian crises, can make a difference. UUSC is already working with organizations in the area. But we all must act before the first snows inflict more casualties. Your compassion can save lives. Your contribution today will help the most vulnerable people have a chance at surviving this disaster.
I know how generously the members of this congregation have responded to help our brothers and sisters in Mississippi and Louisiana; I know what a difference we have already made in the lives of refugee families here in the Twin Cities. And I also know that our kinship of concern is not confined to our own nation or continent. Here on today's altar of memory is a bowl; I invite you to write a check this morning in honor of those departed ones whose lives have given light to your own, and to leave it here at the end of the service. You can make it to FUS, with a note 'for earthquake relief'. Cash will also be forwarded to the Service Committee for its work with the Himalayan communities suffering from quake damage. It is by small gestures such as these that our larger connections are woven; and it is in making this world a place of less suffering, that we create part of the enduring meaning of our own brief, bright lives.
Words of Gathering:
Welcome, to this our celebration of community;
A community that reaches beyond ourselves, the living,
To embrace those to whom we owe our very existence;
The dead.
El dia de los muertos is an important festival in Mexican society.
It has roots in the ancient celebrations of the Aztec culture,
Filtered now through centuries of Roman Catholic theology and practice.
The day of the dead is not, as in North American society,
A time of either fear or sadness. It is not meant to be scary or morbid.
Instead, it is supposed to celebrate the on-going connections that we all have
With those who are members of our families or loved ones who have died,
As well as the great, universal joke that death waits to play on all of us.
Families create festive altars of remembrance in their homes or yards,
Decorated to please the honored dead.
They make up special foods for a picnic,
-- Including candy and breads that are only prepared at this time of year --
And take them to the cemetery,
where they clean and paint the grave markers and the tombs,
And adorn them with flowers and candles.
They bring chairs and blankets and musical instruments - sometimes even televisions -
And stay up all night visiting with relatives and neighbors.
They tell stories and remember the people who have died.
Sometimes the path to the gravesites are strewn with bright flower petals,
To guide the spirits on their journey to visit their old homes.
Although food and other treats are offered to the dead,
This is a ritual, not a superstition, rather like leaving cookies and milk for Santa.
El Dia de los Muertos is a joyful time,
of giving thanks for the wonderful people we have known,
And remembering what made them special.
It is an affirmation of the cycle of life, and the essential role of death;
And a reminder that since each of us will die some day,
We should appreciate the good things of life while we are here with the people we love.
Let's begin with the lighting of the flaming chalice, the enduring symbol of our heritage,
Affirming that every faith and culture has some wisdom to teach us, and some gift to share.