Beyond Boxes: On Christianity and Courage

It came up in casual conversation with some of you the other day—“I hear you are a humanist. Is it true you are a humanist?”

Well, yes it is. Since the Renaissance, humanism has been a proud intellectual tradition, and about more than the intellect:
About the capacity of human beings to create beauty and seek ever deeper truth—in THIS WORLD…a wonderful corrective to religion focused on some imagined sweet by and by.
Unfortunately, in recent years here and in congregations like this one and beyond, “Humanism” has come to be used as a euphemism for militant atheism or for anti-religious secularism. A misuse of the word.

But I think all of us here must surely be humanists, because we are working to enhance human potential and to improve THIS world. We are not waiting for a heavenly reward, whether we believe there will be one or not.

So, YES, I gladly embrace humanism.

And then there are those here who suspect that I am a Theist. Someone who believes in God. I use that word—g-o-d- carefully, because it is big and powerful, easily misunderstood and always inexact--but I do use it, and so some think I’m a theist.

If by theist we mean someone who is convinced that there is a supernatural personality who sometimes intervenes in the world—to cause earthquakes or fix soccer games—no I am not a theist.

But if on the other hand, you mean by God the experience of that which is larger than, More than, self--permeating the natural world—yes, that I do believe in.
One of my colleagues calls himself a “More- thanist” and I suspect I am one of those as well. Experience tells me that there is More Than meets the eye, a spirit that envelops me in love and fills me with wonder. More than. So I’m a more-thanist, and if that is what is meant by “theist” then I am one.

Some here suspect that I am a Christian. If by that is meant someone who can recite the historic creeds without wincing,
Who accepts the literal inerrancy of the Bible,
Believes that God required a blood sacrifice of himself, or someone who thinks to one degree or another that all other religions are false and their adherents going to burn forever in hell, well, of course not.

If on the other hand you mean a Unitarian Christian, one who takes pride in the way Unitarians have brought rational, humanistic progress to the Christian faith for the past 500 years,
One who sets out (and often fails) each day to live out the essence of Christian faith: an attitude of reverence for life, humility, compassion, forgiveness, gratitude, generosity…
If by ‘Christian’ you mean one who finds inspiration and meaning in the gospels, comfort and renewed resolve in prayer, and joy in festive celebrations like Christmas and Easter, well then, yes, I am a Christian.

I have no difficulty with or distaste for any of these labels. They all represent proud and worthy traditions, paths to ethical living and meaningful lives.

What I do have a difficulty with and a distaste for is labeling—is putting people in boxes, sealing up the box with a pound of packing tape, and pasting a big red label on all six sides.

For heavens sake, we are all human beings here, joined in a community of seeking and caring. We need to be recognized and embraced for who we are. Almost never will a label be helpful in such an endeavor.

All too often these days, I hear derisive talk of “crusty old humanists.” This refers to people like me, or at least a little like me. Those of us in our sixties and seventies and beyond who grew up in an America dominated by fundamentalist Christianity or by Pre-Vatican 2 Catholicism—who were religiously damaged, and who still have some anger about it.

We have sought and found refuge in a Unitarian church. We arrived in the nineteen sixties or nineteen seventies or eighties, when most of our congregations were at the peak of rebellion against the excesses of organized religion.

We stuck around as more and more spiritual seekers joined us, those who valued experiential religion, who found meaning in myth and metaphor and ritual, and who were not rebelling against anything.

We stuck around; most of us were willing to change, to learn and grow, to welcome SOME new ideas and ways of doing things. But at any rate, we stuck around,
And we would appreciate your respect for that, and we would rather not be labeled or denigrated.

Likewise, those of us who are Christians, or who find richness and inspiration in the life and lessons of Jesus of Nazareth. I would be so bold as to speak on our behalf as well, and to say that we belong here, do not need to be slapped with labels, and that we deserve your acceptance, respect, and embrace.

Why be a Christian in a church like this one?

First, maybe because we got here first. I’m reminded of something a friend from Eastern Europe said to me in a moment of candor:
She said, “we have been Unitarians here for nearly 500 years, and then groups come to visit from America, and they tell us, ‘We have been Unitarians for 4 or 5 years, and we can tell that you are doing it all wrong.’ They seem to think we are simple-minded and unsophisticated because we are liberal Christians.”

Why be a Christian in a church like this? Some of us are still resolute and captivated by our historic task of protest, or reform, or making a difference from within the dominant religion of the community and the world.

Our role in this task we trace back to reformers of the late Renaissance—towering European intellectuals like Michael Servetus and Faustus Socinus.

Servetus, who insisted that science and religion were natural companions. Socinus, leader of the Unitarians of Poland, who upset European Christendom for hundreds of years with his eloquent defense of rational faith and rejection of a theology of shame and blood sacrifice.

And on down the ages with reforming Unitarian and Universalist Christians who played a major role in a new nation brought forth on Enlightenment principles, who introduced to the new nation what came to be called the “higher criticism” of the Bible—proof to any rational mind that the very human writings of that great parable and story book are just that—very human writings.

And on to Theodore Parker and his Transcendentalist Christian colleagues. Parker who kept two loaded pistols in the pulpit from which he preached, necessary because of his rejection of the supernatural, and his adherence to what he saw as the enduring truths of the faith which demand ethical living and work for justice. Thus, he was not reluctant to use those two pistols to defend runaway slaves from being captured and sent back to their masters.

And on to those of our clergy who put on clerical collars and marched for civil rights, against the Vietnam war, for gay rights. Our churches inspired by Liberation theology offering sanctuary to Central American political refugees, and on to our partnerships, spiritual love affairs with Unitarian Christians emerging from Romanian totalitarianism: Heritage and connection. So some Christians are in churches like this one because of our sense of history and mission, because of pride in the difference we have made and can make.

Tom Wintle, minister of one of our New England congregations, has identified four primary reasons for being a Unitarian Christian:
First, there are among us Classical Christians, those who find rigid orthodoxy and dogma unacceptable, and instead attempt to embrace the religion of Jesus, not the religion ABOUT Jesus.

Then there are Universal Christians, who identify with transcendent truth and ritual, who may be totally comfortable occasionally attending Catholic mass or a mega-church rip-snorter, but who want to be home and anchored in a church where there is theological freedom and interfaith dialogue.

Then there are among us Liberation Christians, who hear in the teachings of Jesus a radical call for liberation of the oppressed, and find a Unitarian church to be a fine place to find both open minds, and kindred souls who want to work for justice, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those stricken and in prison.

Finally, there are questioning Christians—those who are drawn to Christianity, to the inspiration of Jesus, but who are skeptical about the dogma and doctrine of more orthodox churches. They seek here a place to search and to serve.

So, we have among us classical Christians, Universal Christians, Liberations Christians, and Questioning Christians.

These are not labels by the way, but inexact descriptions—they help answer a question that we really should not have to ask: “Why would you want to be a Christian in a church like this?”

This kind of conversation makes some people uncomfortable. Sadly, there are those among us discomforted by the mere mention of Christianity, or Jesus of Nazareth.
Perhaps due, as I said earlier, to being religiously damaged, to being ill-treated by a sadistic nun, pedophile priest, sanctimonious minister or Sunday School teacher. Or being subjected in one’s family of origin to supposedly Bible-based rigid rules.

And then there are those among us who come from Jewish or Hindu or Muslim backgrounds seeking a religious community that is not narrow—that is wide and welcoming.

Some manifestations of Christianity are indeed narrow and unwelcoming, and that should never, never be the case here.

But there may be another reason why this topic brings discomfort to some. It is related to a condition described by a guy from the neighborhood where I was partly raised in Kansas City, Missouri—fellow named Calvin Trillin who writes for the New Yorker and the Nation. A great political satirist, top flight American humorist.

Reflecting on our old neighborhood, Trillin says people from Kansas City suffer from Rubaphobia. And he explains that this is not, as you might think, the fear of Rubes, but rather the fear that someone will THINK that YOU are a rube.

After all, Kansas City is a cow town, and if you are from there, you must have dirt behind the ears and be sucking on a piece of straw. And so, Trillin says, people from Kansas City overcompensate by bragging about what a great symphony orchestra and French restaurants they have. They want to be considered sophisticated, not hicks. Now the truth is, the Kansas City Philharmonic is not exactly world class, and there are no decent French restaurants in all of Western Missouri. Great steak houses, yes. And an annual livestock and horse show called the American Royal that makes the Houston Rodeo pale in comparison. But Kansas Citiens don’t want to brag about cows and horses. People will think them unsophisticated. Hayseeds.

Our image, what we present to the world, is so very important to us. We naturally don’t want people to think we are rubes.

Likewise, many here don’t want others to think they are conventional Christians. Don’t want to be thought to be superstitious, narrow-minded. And if our church values Christianity, even of the liberal and rational variety, harbors Christians, people might get the impression that we are superstitious. Narrow-minded. And you know what? That very kind of thinking can make you narrow-minded.

“I don’t want people to think I’m sanctimonious and intolerant. Therefore, when it comes to Christians and Christianity, to protect my image, the way I want to think about myself and want others to think about me, I’m willing to be narrow-minded, sanctimonious, and intolerant. Don’t do it. You are stronger than that, bigger than that. It gets so damned tiresome, wearing. The insensitive remarks, jokes, put-downs. The often articulated assumption that we are not Christians here, when many of us are. That we do not want to hear about Jesus, when many do.

That all here reject hundreds of years of Christian heritage, when most do not. “Well, if this is going to become a Christian Church, I’ll just go somewhere else!” I’ve heard that here. No need to go there. There is no danger.

Now, consider…
Maybe I have not been talking about Christianity at all. Maybe that is not what this sermon has been about.
Maybe, instead, it has been about the violence done when we label people and put them in boxes.
Maybe instead it has been about listening and growing.
Maybe instead it has been about acceptance and embrace.
Maybe instead it has been about open-mindedness.
Maybe instead it has been about adapting to change, about humility, about respect, about love.
Maybe this sermon hasn’t been about Christianity—at all.