War and Peace

It’s Martin Luther King weekend, 2010. I preached the following homily this morning. It’s called “War and Peace.” 

            Last year on Martin Luther King weekend I preached a sermon about President Obama’s inauguration. I said it marked the fulfillment of at least a portion of Martin Luther King, Jr’s dream of a nation where people are judged not by “the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”[1] I still believe that.

But let us be clear: Barack Obama never claimed to be another King. He never promised to prioritize nonviolence as a guiding principle in the conduct of United States foreign policy. While his decisions to announce a time-table for the withdrawal of troops from Iraq and to close the prison at Guantanamo Bay, and his proclamations that the United States will not use torture all signal to me a welcome change in the direction of United States foreign policy, they do not signal a revolution in that policy. They do not suggest that the United States will finally transform its military-industrial complex into some more peaceful system. They signal perhaps a more cautious, sensitive, and principled approach to war-making and the use of state-sponsored violence when compared to previous administrations; but they don’t fundamentally replace war-making and the use of state-sponsored violence as a central element of United States foreign policy.  In fact, President Obama’s decision in December to escalate troop levels in Afghanistan—as measured, thoughtful and careful as it appears to have been—demonstrates the ongoing centrality of war-making and state-sponsored violence in the conduct of our foreign policy.

            It was very challenging for me when the announcement came that President Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. I understand it is likely the Nobel Committee wanted to encourage the young administration in its demonstrated willingness to engage historic adversaries in dialogue, to pursue a range of diplomatic approaches to international conflicts, and to work in partnership with other nations. But the Peace Prize seemed to require something more: the achievement of some tangible, measurable peace somewhere in the world. President Obama had not achieved such peace.

            The week the President accepted the prize was also the week he announced his decision to escalate in Afghanistan, an immensely complicated, difficult and painful decision, but ultimately a decision not for peace, but for war. As he said in his Nobel Lecture on December 10^th, “we are at war, and I am responsible for the deployment of thousands of young Americans to battle in a distant land. Some will kill. Some will be killed.” [2]

He also said something I simply didn’t expect to hear him say. When I heard it I felt like I’d been slugged in the stomach. I felt dazed. He said we must acknowledge “the hard truth that we will not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes. There will be times when nations—acting individually or in concert—will find the use of force not only necessary but morally justified.”[3]

Hear me when I say I know this statement is true. We will likely not eradicate violent conflict in our lifetimes. We will not eradicate war, poverty or racism. I get it. But when the President of the United States accepts the Nobel Peace Prize and simultaneously proposes a doctrine for the justification of war, it begs the question, “what are we doing to create the foundations upon which our descendents might be able to eradicate war in their lifetimes?” Maybe war is necessary. But prepare for war, no matter how morally justified, and we will get war. If we must prepare for war, let us also agree that we must prepare for peace.

The President talked about Martin Luther King. He said he was mindful of what King said in his own Nobel Peace Prize Lecture in 1964: “‘Violence never brings permanent peace. It solves no social problem: it merely creates new and more complicated ones.’”[4] He praised King saying his own life is a “living testimony to the moral force of non-violence.”[5] He said “I know there is nothing weak—nothing passive—nothing naïve—in the creed and lives of Gandhi and King. But as a head of state sworn to protect and defend my nation, I cannot be guided by their examples alone. I face the world as it is, and cannot stand idle in the face of threats to the American people. For make no mistake: evil does exist in the world. A non-violent movement could not have halted Hitler’s armies. Negotiations cannot convince al Qaeda’s leaders to lay down their arms. To say that force is sometimes necessary is not a call to cynicism—it is a recognition of history; the imperfections of man and the limits of reason.”[6]

I think Barack Obama is brilliant. ‘To face the world as it is’—to be realistic—is certainly a path to sound governance and to wisdom. I deeply respect his realism. I deeply respect the reasoning behind his justification for war. It is thoughtful, honest and fair. It is bold where boldness is required. It is humble where humility is required. It is sensitive. It is principled and consistent. It is respectful. And if the goal is peace, it will not get us there precisely because, as the President said, quoting King., “violence never brings permanent peace. It solves no social problems: it merely creates new and more complicated ones.”  We may agree war is necessary. We may agree on a moral justification for war. But war, especially in these times, cannot guarantee peace.

I believe with all my heart, body and soul that nonviolence is, in the end, a more realistic path than violence. Remember satyagraha. Remember soul force. Millions upon millions of Indian people wanted to see an end to British rule, yet never believed it would end in their lifetimes. They kept struggling nonviolently, and they won. Remember the American civil rights movement. Millions of Americans wanted to see an end to racial segregation, yet never believed they would see it in their lifetimes. They kept struggling nonviolently, and they won. Remember Poland’s Solidarity trade union, Czechoslovakia’s Velvet revolution, the Ukraine’s Orange Revolution. Millions of Europeans wanted to see the Iron Curtain fall, yet they never believed it would happen in their lifetimes. They kept struggling nonviolently, and the wall came down. Know that even today there is a nonviolent movement for peace between Israel and Palestine made up of people who may not believe they will see peace in their lifetimes, yet who continue to struggle nonviolently. And bear witness to Iran. There are millions of Iranians struggling nonviolently today to bring about transformation of their government and society.

Are these nonviolent movements not part of the world as it is? And have not such movements succeeded where violence has failed? Perhaps it is true that a head of state cannot be solely guided by the examples of Gandhi and King. And perhaps President Obama inherited impossible situations in Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, Yemen, Somalia and North Korea. But a moral justification for war will appease no enemy and assure further violence. My heart will sing when we wrap our foreign policy around a moral justification for peace; when we prioritize and approach the world with the soul-force of nonviolence; when we believe as a nation that peace is possible and worthy of our highest commitment; when we believe that peace is not simply the goal, but the starting point of all our endeavors.

Amen and Blessed be.

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[1] King, Jr., Martin Luther, “I Have A Dream,” delivered at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, DC, August 28, 1963.

[2] The full text to Barack Obama’s 2009 Nobel Peace Prize Lecture is at: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34360743/ns/politics-white_house/page/2/.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

Hartford Courant Op ED

I was very pleased to have an Op Ed published in the Hartford Courant on 1/6/10.  it appeared under the title, “Real Problems Demand Real Leadership.” It’s a departure for me in that it’s not one of those unrelenting liberal clergy rants about government needing to pay attention to the plight of the poor and the vulnerable. While I still agree with that position, the scope of our economic crisis demands that government do far more than that.  Here it is:

The Connecticut economy was spiraling downward before the current recession. It will continue to do so after it is over unless our elected leaders enact fundamental structural changes in state government. Certainly there are immediate, short-term challenges that must be addressed: Current revenues are not meeting expectations by as much as $600 million and multibillion-dollar deficits are predicted through 2014.

But these immediate challenges pale in comparison to long-term problems, which will still remain after the recession:

•Well-educated young adults are leaving the state in droves, eviscerating the skilled workforce, decreasing our income tax base and reducing our attractiveness to employers.

•Elderly residents make up a disproportionately large population segment, yet the higher level of social services they require are not adequately funded by an increasingly low-wage workforce.

•Our massive, race-based educational achievement gap means that many poor, urban people of color remain mired in poverty, require high levels of state services and continue to be at risk for criminality, incarceration, health problems and premature death.

•Chronic problems in transportation and widespread shortages of affordable housing make Connecticut unattractive to both employers and highly skilled young people who might otherwise want to locate here.

•Streamlining in the defense industry and consolidation in the insurance industry will result in further Connecticut job losses.

These problems are well-documented. They are not new. Connecticut will become an increasingly poorer state, unable to meet the basic needs of its residents unless our political leaders confront these issues with long-term strategic thinking and action.

Members of an informal statewide group of clergy have been meeting and offer the following New Year’s advice to our elected officials:

Love thy neighbor. The partisan sniping and ideological brinksmanship that characterized last year’s endless budget debates and which are beginning to rear their ugly heads now are at best a distraction, at worst a monumental failure of leadership. Please do not sacrifice Connecticut’s economic future for the sake of winning short-term political battles against each other.

Replace political posturing with courage. The challenges we face require immeasurably difficult, painful decisions. You cannot lead us through these times without courage.

Promote a culture of responsibility. Where cuts to vital services must be made, be clear about institutions that can take responsibility in the absence of state funding. Think broadly and creatively about public-private partnerships. Where taxes must be raised — and there is no doubt in our minds that comprehensive tax reform is essential — be clear that everyone, individuals and corporations alike, must share the burden fairly.

Trust that we are stronger together. Accept the reality that Connecticut’s long-standing home rule system is unsustainable. There is widespread agreement that regional cost-sharing will lead to greater government efficiency, yet we still lack the will to abandon home rule. Regionalism’s day has come.

Attend to fundamentals. Invest wisely and abundantly in education, affordable housing and transportation. Such investment is essential to boosting the fortunes of our most vulnerable and marginalized citizens. Skilled workers and employers will seek to locate in a state that takes these fundamentals seriously.

Resist false dualisms. We often see business interests pitted against the interests of poor people, as if the two are mutually exclusive. The reality is that the two are intimately related and cannot be effectively addressed if they are forced to compete against each other in the halls of government.

Have faith in the people of Connecticut. Lead with courage, and we will follow with courage. Put aside partisan differences and attend seriously to the deep structural problems in our economic life, and you will find us willing to sacrifice. Promote a culture of respect, decency, cooperation and caring, and we will strive to make it real.

•The Rev. Josh Pawelek is minister of the Unitarian Universalist Society: East in Manchester and president of the Greater Hartford Interfaith Coalition for Equity and Justice.

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Copyright © 2010, The Hartford Courant

Christmas Eve 2009

I decided to post my Christmas Eve 2009 homily, mainly because my three-year-old, Max, kept interrupting me that evening. Granted, it was bed-time, and Max had missed his nap that afternoon. By 8:00 pm he was punchy. Every time I opened my mouth to speak,  he started speaking.  It didn’t help (or maybe it did) that there was a family with three young girls sitting right behind him. They occupied him for some of the time. He listened very attentively while Vicki, our Director of Religious Education, read The Polar Express. But when I prayed, Max wouldn’t shut up. When I preached, Max wouldn’t shut up. At some point I got to a line about the holy quiet. The congregation erupted in laughter. I guess I’m forgiven. For those who missed the homily, here it is. It’s called “Do You Believe?”

Do you believe? Do you believe?

I ask because the longer I spend in ministry—this is my tenth Christmas Eve in a pulpit, by the way—the more I suspect that what makes human beings different from all other living creatures—not better, not more important, but different—is our capacity to believe—our capacity to believe in the power of things we cannot see, hear or touch, things the existence of which we cannot prove.

I suspect this capacity to believe is a legacy of our ancient ancestors who told stories to explain all manner of things: to explain the origins of the tribe, to explain earthquakes and monsoons, floods and famines, scarcity and abundance; to explain the passing of the seasons, the motions of the sun and moon, the movements of the stars; to explain planting and harvest; medicine and healing; to explain birth and death. The ancients believed the stories because the stories gave meaning to an otherwise meaningless universe. The stories made sense out of things for which the ancients had no other explanation. The stories helped the ancients endure through times of difficulty, chaos and grief. The stories maintained hope in otherwise hopeless moments. I suspect that in ancient times, to believe the stories was a key to survival.

So, in more recent times, though still many moons ago, why not craft a story about shepherds—people of lowly stature, people who lead a difficult life under Roman imperial rule; people barely able to eke out a living for their families, people who have little confidence in their future, people who have little hope—why not craft a story of a savior—not an emperor ruthless and powerful, but a baby innocent and meek, establishing a kingdom not of violence, but of love and compassion? Why not angels heralding a future not of domination, but of peace and justice? We know the story was crafted to serve a certain purpose, to instill a certain faith. The question is not, in the end, whether the facts of the story are true. That’s not what we are called to believe. The question is whether we will be people who despair, or people who hope!

And why not Santa Claus? Why not a legend, a saint, a spirit, a kindly person who brings gifts at midwinter—no conditions, no contingencies, no ifs, ands or buts. You get a gift simply for being alive. And behind that is the more profound message not only to children but to all of us, “you matter.” I am not interested in debating the existence of Santa Claus because I am not interested in debating the question of whether each of us matters. I believe we do. I welcome Santa and the reindeer and the elves and any story that inspires in us the belief that we matter no matter what our age. But children—especially children—who learn to believe they do not matter, cannot learn to hope. And that is a tragedy the world cannot afford.

Given what we now know about how the world works, about how the universe is ordered, it is certainly the case that our survival no longer depends on our belief in the historical truth of ancient stories. But when I pause to breath, to reflect, and consider the challenges we face as a people, as a planet, I am convinced that our capacity to believe that a more peaceful, just and loving future is possible still figures prominently in our ability to survive. Hope. We cannot see it. We cannot touch it. We cannot prove it is any more than a figment of our imagination. But it makes all the difference. This Christmas Eve, let us choose, once again, to be people who hope. And may our hopefullness inspire us to act in ways that bring love more fully into the world.

The midwinter is bleak. It is cold, barren, dark. And yet, in the end, there is something deep inside us—as a people—that leads us to light lights, to give gifts, to seek out friends and family, to worship, to sing, to transform a bleak, cold, barren dark landscape into something beautiful. We believe. The bell does ring. And each night a child is born is a holy night. And angels do sing hymns proclaiming peace on earth and good will to all.

Amen and Blessed Be.

Pokemon League

Mason and I went to Grid Games in Manchester today. Grid Games is a game shop which hosts a Pokemon league on Saturday afternoons. Actually, the main attraction is a Magic league. About thirty men of varying ages show up around 2:00 pm to play Magic. It’s a card game, but I’m not really equipped to explain it. Each card has some kind of monster or creature on it. Each monster or creature has different powers. The men battle each other with their cards. I suppose it’s reminiscent of Dungeons and Dragons. My nephew once tried to teach me how to play. I was lost.

Over in the corner sit a group of boys, mostly middle-schoolers, mostly dressed in black. They are the Pokemon league. The first time I brought Mason to play in the Pokemon league, I didn’t see the boys over in the corner. All I saw was the throng of men playing Magic. But I didn’t realize they were playing Magic. I thought they were the Pokemon League. The whole scene made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t grasp why grown men would spend Saturday afternoon in a dingy basement room playing Pokemon. I felt it was one thing for Mason to play with kids his own age, but another thing entirely to play with grown men. Now that I know the men were not playing Pokemon, but Magic—now that I know these men are not the people Mason would be playing with—I’m more comfortable with the scene. But I still don’t fully comprehend any of it. Whatever. To each his own. I play games too. I love Scrabble. And Stephany and I have become big fans of Carcassonne, a tile-laying game also reminiscent of Dungeons and Dragons. Maybe these men don’t have people at home they can play with, so they show up at Grid Games on Saturday afternoons.

Stephany had more information than me that first day. Or she was just more brave. She found the Pokemon league over in the corner, beyond the men playing Magic. There were a few kids in the upper elementary grades (whose parents were there), and the usual middle-schoolers, mostly dressed in black, most sporting skulls on some part of their clothing. The league is organized by a gentle young man in his mid-twenties named Dan. Dan made sure Mason was included and had someone to play against.

Pokemon is an entertainment empire. It originated in Japan. I believe it started with the card game, similar to Magic. Mason loves it. A lot of the boys in his class—and some of the girls—love it as well. It has its own jargon which they speak fluently. Mason also plays Pokemon video games on his DS (the new Nintendo Gameboy). And he spends much of his free time making up Pokemon scenarios and acting them out. He loves watching the Pokemon movies. I assume there are other kids as deep into it as he is. Except that he’s the only second-grader who comes to Pokemon league on a regular basis. Maybe he’s as deep in as a seven year old can get.

Today was a bit out of the ordinary. The Magic league was apparently cancelled. And Dan didn’t show up to organize the Pokemon league. But there were six middle-schoolers, all dressed in black, all with skulls on some part of their clothing, all with longish, unkempt hair. They were doing what middle-school boys do: hanging out, chatting, listening to music on their I-Pods, playing games on their I-phones. They seemed very relaxed. Besides the guy who sits at the desk, I was the only other adult in the cavernous basement. At least today, Grid Games wasn’t adult space. It was definitely kid space. But the kids weren’t playing Pokemon.

Mason was completely confused. “No one’s playing,” he whimpered to me under his breath.

“Go ask someone to play,” I responded as matter-of-factly as I could.

Mason isn’t so skilled at this kind of asking. He wasn’t sure how to relate to these kids, especially in Dan’s absence. They pretty much ignored him. He stood beside them, holding his sack of Pokemon cards, hoping someone would notice and invite him to play. But they didn’t. He seemed invisible to them. That was in part because he’s half their size, and they literally looked over him. But it was also true because they were just enjoying each other’s company, and not really concerned about what the “little kid” wanted.

Mason came back to commiserate with me. I really wanted to help him, to organize a game with one of the kids. It would have been easy for me to do. But it was one of those moments where he needed to ask. If I did it for him, he wouldn’t learn. It was basic growing up stuff. “Mason, you didn’t ask anyone to play. You can’t just stand there hoping someone will ask you. You need to ask someone. Put some power in your voice and ask someone.”

So he did. He worked up the courage. I knew it was hard for him. He got right behind one of the biggest kids—the one with the most unkempt hair and the most elaborate skull on the back of his jet black jacket. The kid turned around to do something and practically stepped on Mason. He looked down. “Wanna play?” asked Mason, loudly and clearly.

“Sure,” said the kid. They played. The kid crushed Mason. But Mason didn’t care. He was so happy to be playing. After that game was over, he asked another kid to play.

“Sure,” said the other kid. He crushed Mason.

After four games, the middle-schoolers were undefeated. But Mason was part of the group. They were sharing candy with him, showing him their favorite Youtube vidoes on their I-phones, and rockin’ out to Green Day, Linkin Park, and the Flobots (they had never met a second-grader who knew the song “Handlebars”).

If you had asked me, before I became a father, whether I imagined myself accompanying my child as he does the things he loves, I would would have readily said “yes.” Yet if you had asked me whether I imagined myself spending Saturday afternoons in dingy game store basements while my second-grader played Pokemon with people twice his age, dressed in black with unkempt hair and skulls embroidered on their clothing, I would have sneered. But Mason loves the game. It’s not all he does, but it’s something he really longs to do. So we do it.

Amen.

Thoughts in Preparation for Easter

Easter is a rich and multi-layered holy time, with roots reaching far back into human history. The story of the resurrection of Jesus is but one, fairly recent branch emerging from these roots—one, potent expression of the hope that arises in the human heart each year at this time as winter ends and “Lo, the Earth Awakes Again.”

Yes, Easter is the story of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem on a donkey, palm leaves in the road keeping down dust, shouts of “Hosanna,” turning over tables in the temple, washing feet, sharing bread and wine, prayerful struggle in the garden, betrayal, arrest, torture, the cross, weeping, taunting, “forgive them for they know not what they do,” “it is done,” death, tomb, stone rolled away, new life proclaimed.

And Easter is more. Easter is the land shifting from grey, frozen and barren, to brown, wet and muddy, to green, moist and growing. Easter is faint red buds dotting New England trees; crocus tips breaking through muddy earth; robins yanking earthworms from the muck; earthworms tilling and softening the dirt; field mice waking from winter slumbers and bouncing about meadows and lawns; brooks and streams, ponds and lakes swollen with melting snow. Easter is the thawing of the earth inspiring a thawing in our hearts.

Easter is the first planting; the farmer turning over soil; removing rocks brought forth from winter frost heaves; sowing seeds; tending crops; living not by the clock but by the rising and setting of sun and moon.

Easter is the ancient symbols of fertility—the egg, the rabbit—reminding us of birth and rebirth; reminding us of nature’s generative and creative capacity; reminding us of our own generative and creative capacity; reminding us of the persistence and  resilience of life; reminding us of our own persistence and resilience through even our most troubling and despairing moments in the depths of our darkest tombs; reminding us that stones can be rolled away and we can come back to lives of meaning and purpose.

Easter is the same spirit at the heart of the myth of Persephone, the grain maiden, renewer of the dead—the story of her return from her underworld journey through a ring of purple crocuses, into the embrace of her mother, Demeter.

Easter is the same spirit at the heart of Norwuz, the ancient Persian New Year celebration linked to the vernal equinox, a celebration of rebirth and renewal.

Easter is the same spirit at the heart of Ostara, the Neo-Pagan and Wiccan celebration of spring, looking back to the ancient and only dimly remembered Germanic goddess Eostre, Goddess of spring and fertility, Easter’s namesake.

Easter is the same spirit at the heart of the Passover Seder, the telling of the archetypal story of the movement from bondage to freedom, the movement from slavery to self-determination, the movement from death to life; the movement from a barren wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey.

Easter is the same spirit of the child who senses the contradiction and asks, innocently, yet with that wisdom all children possess, “If they killed him, how can it be good?”

Easter is the spirit of those who engage in civil disobedience out of a conviction that wars founded on lies, motivated by revenge, and seeking petty, personal profit are atrocities and ought to be challenged in every way we can challenge them.

Easter is the spirit which transcends theology and doctrine and prays for peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing.

Easter is the hope—that idealistic, naïve hope—that human beings can come together in the midst of all that divides us and actually create peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing. Easter is the belief—that idealistic, naïve belief—that, as president Obama has said, “We are not irrevocably bound to a tragic past,” that we can indeed come together in the midst of all that divides us, in the midst of war and violence, and actually create peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing. Easter is the firm conviction, reborn and rekindled in our hearts with the coming of spring—that idealistic and naïve conviction—that we can come together and turn this world around for the better, turn this world around for the sake of peace, justice, reconciliation, and healing; turn this world around by bringing love to bear as the earth awakes again.

Happy Easter my friends. Amen and Blessed Be.

How the Spirit Moves

Today we had a meeting of the CT Clergy for Marriage Equality (CCME) Steering Committee at Tisane’s in Hartford. This was the first time we’d met since the CT Supreme Court handed down its decision in the Kerrigan case last October, making civil marriage legal for gay and lesbian couples in Connecticut. We’ve been organizing clergy on this issue since about 2000. At least that’s when I started. I’m sure others were trying to bring clergy into the struggle prior to that time.

The situation in CT is not like that in California. We don’t have a public referendum process. There won’t be a popular vote to decide if the Supreme Court somehow overstepped its authority. Even if there were such a vote, polling data shows that marriage equality would likely win. This decision is rock solid, far more secure than even the MA decision when it was initially handed down. So, naturally there’s a question that arises among those of us who’ve been organizing for marriage equality: what happens to all the structures we’ve put into place? What happens to all the energy? What happens to the huge grass roots collective? What happens to all the coalitions? And for me, the pastor who’s been chairing CCME these past three years, the question about what becomes of our 300 plus member clergy organization weighs heavily. Do we just go away now that this victory has been won in the courts? Can we find other ways to use our energy and our structure on behalf of related causes?

The Steering Committee agreed to have CCME join the Anti-Discrimination Coalition. This is a coalition of organizations fighting to change the state’s anti-discrimination statutes to include transgender people as a protected class. We’re going to provide some advocacy training opportunities to our members. We’ll get some of them to testify when the Judiciary Committee holds its hearing on the bill. Transgender people and transgender organizations worked hard for marriage equality. Those of us on the CCME Steering Committee wouldn’t think of abandoning them now. We’ll be there for the trans community as long as it takes to get this bill passed into law. And we will win.

Still, there’s a strange sadness that has set in among us. At least I felt it today. We dedicated years of our lives to creating a culture in CT that was ready to embrace marriage equality. We met each other while working on this issue. We became allies while working on this issue. We became friends while working on this issue. We ministered to each other while working on this issue. We worshipped together while working on this issue. We joked and laughed together while working on this issue. We prayed together while working on this issue. We sang together while working on this issue. We came together across lines of race, class and faith while working on this issue. We followed God’s call in our lives together while working on this issue. So it is sad to contemplate not having this issue to bring us together anymore. I’m happy we won–profoundly happy. And I will miss being together.

One of our colleagues, a young seminary student who was working as a paid organizer in faith communities, announced today that he will be leaving Connecticut. He has graduated from seminary and will be moving with his partner to Minnesota. He says the two of them are hoping to work with clergy there to create Minnesota’s version of CCME–maybe MCME.  He says he’s learned a lot from our work in Connecticut and he’s ready to do it all over again in a new state.

When he said this I had one of those “aha” moments about finitude. We built something in CT that we can all be proud of. We put everything we had into it. Now it’s done. And although it is much more sweet than bitter to have won, the moment is nevertheless bittersweet precisely because we are now beginning to let go of what we built, to lay it aside, to let it rest. Celebration and mourning go hand in hand. But it’s not exactly a death. There’s a palpable spirit in the midst of this experience. It didn’t come from us. It was here before us. It certainly came through us for a time. And now it’s moving on. But it isn’t dying. That spirit can’t be curtailed or limited or stifled or killed. Some of the energy and insight and wisdom we cultivated in Connecticut–some of that spirit- is going to Minnesota. It will live there. It will flourish there. It will win there. And the energy and insight and wisdom cultivated in that state will surely move onto others. In the midst of grappling with a sense of loss and sadness–in the midst of grappling with finitude–I could sense how my life and my work are part of something larger than me and CCME and Connecticut. The only word I have for it is spirit. And this was a source of immense joy for me.

Evolution Sunday

This morning our congregation celebrated Evolution Sunday. Most of the 1,000 or so congregations around the US and Canada who celebrated did so last week to coincide with Darwin’s 200th birthday, but whatever. I preached on Darwin and evolution today. I spoke about the difference between mythos and logos, an idea I got from reading Karen Armstrong’s The Battle for God. Here’s an excerpt:

The heart of the debate over evolution—and to some extent the heart of the United States culture war—has its origins in the failure to distinguish two very different, but complimentary forms of truth, mythos and logos. Mythos is the truth at the heart of myths: the enduring values, the timeless themes, the stories that help us make meaning of our lives and give us a sense of purpose. Logos is the truth resulting from scientific inquiry and the exercise of reason. It gives us cold, hard facts about our world and the universe. We apprehend Mythos through intuition; we verify it through the heart. We apprehend logos through logic. We verify it through the mind. Mythos is metaphorical. It responds to and expresses human passion, desire, longing, fear. Logos is empirical, based on evidence. It seeks to explain the physical world. Mythos is timeless, eternal. Logos is bound in time, historical. Mythos seeks to inspire. Logos seeks to inform. The stories that give rise to mythos—myths—are not to be taken literally. These ancient stories don’t need to be factual or historically accurate for their truths—their mythos—to play a useful role in peoples’ lives. On the other hand, the only way logos can play a useful role in peoples’ lives is if it is taken literally.

The truths of the creation story in the book of Genesis rightly belong to the realm of mythos. As mythos this story is about values, character, human and divine nature, human and divine struggles. It is the story of a people and their relationship to their God. For me it is a story that identifies creativity as a primary characteristic of divinity. All of this is mythos. But look what happens when mythos becomes confused with logos. To read Genesis as logos is to accept as fact that the earth is approximately 5,000 years old. To read Genesis as logos is to accept as fact that there is a God who created the earth in seven days, placed the sun and the moon, made a dome separating the waters below from the waters above, created human beings in God’s image, created Adam and Eve as the first human beings 5,000 years ago. But “I have secretly read the chapter on evolution… and there are pictures of fossils and skeletons, human bones too old to be Adam and Eve.” [This is a quote from a reading I had done earlier from Laura Moriarty's The Center of Everything.] The theory of evolution obliterates Genesis as logos. If we are descended from apes then Genesis is factually incorrect. If all known species evolved from earlier species, then the order of creation as presented in Genesis is factually incorrect. If there is 200 million-year-old ocean water leaking out of Texas oil wells, then Genesis is factually incorrect. If one reads Genesis as logos instead of mythos, and really believes it, then Darwin’s The Origin of Species and The Descent of Man are the most terrifying, dangerous books ever written, and it makes sense that 150 years later people are still fighting over what is true, still wondering, “Who is lying, the preachers or the biology teachers?”

Yet if we as a society can learn to not confuse these two very different yet complimentary forms of truth, then neither the preacher nor the biology teacher is lying. When I say I believe it is possible to reconcile science and religion—when I say a life of faith is compatible with evolutionary theory—I mean we can have both mythos and logos in our lives. In fact, we need both. The fullness of our spiritual lives depends on it. We need logos to inform us about our world; we need mythos to teach us how to live in it. We need logos to show us how things work, mythos to teach us how to use them wisely. We need logos to ground us, to remind us of our limits, to show us how we are connected to the earth. We need mythos to set us free, to inspire us to reach beyond our limits, to help us honor our connections. We need logos to understand the origins of life. We need mythos to teach us how to treat life with dignity and respect. We need logos to apprehend that which is finite; we need mythos to apprehend that which is eternal. You might say we need the head and the heart, the body and the spirit, roots and wings.

“I have secretly read the chapter on evolution…and there are pictures of fossils and skeletons, human bones too old to be Adam and Eve.” As the good news of evolution continues to spread in these early days of the twenty-first century, it is my prayer that this confusion of mythos and logos that plagues our larger culture will begin to wane, that each form of truth will have its proper place, that both religion and science shall flourish in positive ways, and that together they shall continue to make our lives whole.

Amen and Blessed Be.

Doing Battle With Cynicism

This was a great week for cynicism. Top level Obama appointees dropped out of contention for their jobs because of failure to pay taxes. Congressional debate over the federal stimulus package looked disappointingly partisan in a moment that cries out for bi-partisanship. Here in Connecticut our governor has offered the legislature a budget she attempts to balance on the backs of poor people, college students, the elderly, state employee unions, and the working uninsured. She makes no appeal to the wealthy and the big corporations to share in our collective pain through increased taxes. And in Hartford–our “rising star”–Mayor Perez and a city contractor were arrested on bribery charges.

Meanwhile January boasted the highest level of job losses since 1974, and the US unemployment rate reached its highest level since 1992.

Every time I encounter one of these stories I feel like giving up. What’s the point? People are hurting–people are really hurting! But the folks with the real power to do anything about it are so deeply mired in privilege and entitlement that they break the law with impunity or, when they offer solutions to social and economic problems, the solutions ultimatley benefit themselves and their constituencies first and the common good last.

But I don’t want to give up.

As far as I know, I am an upper middle class person. I am putting an addition on my home this spring. I will be taking out a loan and I will have no problem getting it. My church is an upper middle class church. We are putting an addition on our building this spring. We will be taking out a loan and, while we have some anxiety about paying it back, we will get the loan and we will pay it back. God, President Obama and Governor Rell hear this: I DO NOT NEED A TAX BREAK. I WILL GLADLY PAY MORE IN TAXES TO HELP OUT IN THIS ECONOMIC CRISIS.

There is a cynical voice within me. But it’s not my voice. I think of it as a toxin that builds up in me the more I encounter stories of corruption and selfishness and greed in the media; or the more I encounter stories of economic suffering that arise from the recession, which has its roots in corruption and greed.

I selected hymns for this Sunday for the purpose of doing battle with cynicism. We’re singing “Standing on the Side of Love,” “The Fire of Commitment,” And “Hail the Glorious, Golden City.” (The first two are from the Unitarian Universalist hymnal suppplement called Singing the Journey; the last is from the Unitarian Universalist hymnal, Singing the Living Tradition).

I need to remind my parishioners–and I need to remind myself–that though our cynicsm may be justified, it is not an answer to the challenges we face in our cities, states and nation. We are in the midst of a potent economic recession, but that is no excuse for a recession of our hearts; no excuse for a recession of our imagination and creativity; no excuse for a recession of our compassion or our desire for a more just and equitable society.

Sledding

I would normally be working tonight, but it was snowing pretty heavily so I canceled everything I had planned. It took me nearly an hour to get home. Normally it takes about twenty minutes. The roads were a mess.

When I got home I took Max (my two-year-old) sledding in our backyard. I really wanted to get outside. The snow was falling–big flakes, very gentle. And it was getting dark. I can’t say why this time of day calls to me in winter, but it does. I find it very peaceful.

Max didn’t want to go sledding at first. He wanted to build a snowman. We’ve had a lot of snow this winter, but it’s all been dry and powdery, probably because it’s been so cold. Well, tonight was no exception. The snow wouldn’t pack. No snowman. This is the first year Max has been old enough to really understand the concept of a snowman, so he’s bummed out every time we go out to build one and the snow isn’t right.

Instead, as usual, I got the sleds out. We have a green plastic saucer that Max likes to use. He sits down in it at the top of the hill, and uses his body weight to nudge the sled forward. He gets mad at me if I try to give him a push. He also gets mad if I run along by his side, or stand at the bottom of the hill and try to catch him. The problem is, there are trees at the bottom of the hill, and it takes a pretty skilled sledder to navigate through them. Max is not a skilled sledder. Max is two. He’s not skilled at anything. He can’t really react physically to fast moving objects, like trees at the bottom of sledding hills. What’s a father to do? Should I argue with a screaming kid who wants me to lay off and just let him sled? Or should I do what I think is best and try to spare him a scraped face?

Tonight I let him sled the way he wanted to. He hit trees twice, pretty hard. And three or four times he crashed before actually hitting a tree. Once he ended up face down in the snow. He has a scrape on his left cheek, and another little one near his right eye. Not once did he cry. No, in fact it was the opposite. He loves crashing. It makes him laugh–big chuckling belly laughs. Which makes me laugh. God, is it good to laugh like that, in the evening dark, with the snow falling gently, making everything still and beautiful.

First Post

Dear Ones:

I’m just getting started with blogging.  I know, it’s 2009 already. What was I waiting for? I think I was waiting for my second child to be done with toilet training. He’s almost done. So it’s time for me to start blogging.

Some of my parishioners have been asking me to blog for a while. I like the idea. I’m still not sure I have the time to do it on a regular basis. Whatever. I’ll give it a shot.

A bit about me: I’m a Unitarian Universalist minister serving the Unitarian Universalist Society: East in Manchester, CT. I have a strong interest in social justice ministry. I currently serve as President of the Greater Hartford Interfaith Coalition for Equity and Justice. I serve as Chairman of CT Clergy for Marriage Equality (not sure where that’s going since we have marriage equality in CT now!).  And I serve as one of eight co-chairs on the Steering Committee of of the Interfaith Fellowship for Universal Healthcare. This latter organization was created under the auspices of the Universal Health Care Foundation of CT, which is an amazing organization. We’re going to build a universal health care system in CT. I’m convinced.

I like pastoral ministry too. I spend a good deal of my time visiting with people in the congregation or talking to them about whatever challenge they’re facing. It’s very fulfilling for me.

I also like ministry with children and youth. While this isn’t technically part of my job-description, it’s very important to me that children and youth know I’m their minister too. I try to visit the religious education program and lead children’s worship at least once a month. And recently I’ve decided to work directly with our youth group. I have a not-so-hidden agenda in my desire to work with youth. You see, I really do want to bring our ministry into this postmodern, multi-media age. And I’ve already seen that our youth have something to teach me about this. So, more to come on that.

More to come on lots of things, but I think that’s enough for now.