Text of a sermon offered to the First Unitarian Church in Salt Lake City

I just got back from meeting with my study group in Boston, a loosely configured band of 18 UU ministers who have been meeting for 22 years. Originally we were all Boston based, but over time our church settlements have spread us throughout the country. Nonetheless, most of us make it back to Mecca and I especially enjoy breathing the air of Unitarian dominance. I understand, however, that no effort will be made by Boston Unitarians to purchase Beacon Street, now or in the future.

During one of our happy hour occasions, we reminisced about mistakes we have made in the ministry, which we surely would never make again. We seemed to center on memorial services, and all that could possibly go wrong. One dear colleague of mine shared the story from the earlier years of his ministry when a woman from his congregation died unexpectedly. She was very well liked, admired, and her death was a jolt to everyone. I believe her name was Nancy.

Nancy's sister from California whom nobody knew, came out for the service and asked the minister if she could say a few words. He of course agreed. His mistake, however, was in failing to warn the congregation that Nancy's sister was an identical twin. He has never heard a congregation gasp and shriek like that ever again. Their entire theological underpinnings came unglued.

Death and the possibility of an afterlife - let alone a resurrection, which about 200 Unitarians thought, they witnessed during that memorial service - lies pretty much at the heart of a person's theology. We all ask: Is there really some special place other than this world to which we may go after death? Many religions have myths that speak this way. It's quite a dualistic system whereby this present world and an entirely "other" reality somehow co-exist. The other reality may be a place where we go when we die, and it also somehow represents cosmic head quarters that sends communications down to this world from above. And in turn, we mortals pray that our requests of those who inhabit the heavens are heard clearly and compassionately.

In this particular cosmic scheme humanity has really no power of any significance. In fact, all human responsibility is undermined by this dualism because truth and authority dwell in another realm. We're pretty helpless, or at least humbled by our powerlessness.

In traditional Christian thought, God is conceived largely as a personal agent. That is, the point of reference is based on the model of a human person. God is thought of and referred to as a king, or lord… as father, as a Being who judges and speaks and acts and loves and hates and rules and creates all and who will ultimately bring all to its end.

The tendency to frame God in our likeness and to understand God as a concrete reality existing in some identifiable form is increasingly difficult to defend. Human beings have progressed greatly in their understanding of the world and the universe to the point where contemporary thinking clashes significantly with traditional views. A very simple example of a radical shift in human intellectual development reveals grave doubts that we ever entered into a covenant with God. We tend now to dismiss a special relationship between God and Humanity, one that was never realized between God and other creatures. Now that we have grown so very conscious of the ecological interdependence and interconnection of all of life, we see an exclusive relationship between God and us as highly problematical.

A Christian theology professor of mine, (from way back), Gordon Kaufman, questioned whether 'Christian God-talk" can even continue to be regarded as intelligible. I believe he would take the position similar to Paul Tillich who emphasized that "God does not exist." That is, God as a particular being does not exist but that God should be thought of simply as "being-itself." "The Ground of Being" is the phrase that Tillich popularized. The Power of Being." The modern mind can't help but resist the concept of God as an object, or a concrete reality out there. If space exploration has taught us anything it's that there is no such concept as "out there." There's no up or down in the universe.

The Humanist movement, originating in the early 20th century, embodied a philosophical pragmatism that reinforced the premise that a dualism between creator and created just didn't compute. And by rejecting God, Lord, Father, other worldly being, a new religious orientation developed making traditional faith highly suspect.

But Humanism actually contributed more to religious conversation than just negating God. By eliminating an anthropomorphic God, Humanism stirred the pot by proclaiming that the future of the world rested in human hands. That is to say, we are not helpless after all, and we need to make the world a better place because our fate is not left up for grabs, to be determined by an angry or judgmental God. Humanity has the power to save itself, save the earth, and we had better not squander this gift of life by our propensity for greed and war and intolerance.

The formal beginnings of Humanism lie within Unitarianism. Perhaps the first Unitarian to use the word "Humanism" was Frank Doan, in 1908. He was a professor of psychology and philosophy of religion at Meadville Theological School. He had great influence over young Unitarian minds, and several of Doan's students were signers of the Humanist Manifesto in 1933. (1) The big Unitarian names often associated with launching Humanism more formally in a religious context were John Dietrich and Curtis Reese, who in their meeting in 1917 discovered that they had compiled a similar volume of Humanist sermons. The Humanist disdain for traditional theology and language began making significant inroads in Unitarian churches, especially in the west.

In 1937, Frederick May Eliot was elected president of the American Unitarian Association. He is part of the Eliot family who founded our church in Salt Lake City, a nephew I believe, but his election proved quite a turning point for our denomination. Eliot, not really a flag waving Humanist himself, but rightfully considered an ally of the Humanist movement, raised the anxiety of New England theists when he ran for president. Don't forget that the Unitarian establishment in Boston even at that time, consisted mainly of liberal Christians, but Christian theists nevertheless. They may not have been Trinitarians, but their theism did produce hymns and liturgy that offered all the trappings of mainline Protestantism. (I have the old hymnbooks from that era in my office, and -with your permission - we may want to do a traditional Unitarian service from say…1930. That might be a good Sunday for you to bring your conservative friends to church).

At any rate, the nervous theists felt obliged to challenge Frederick May Eliot and nominated their own candidate, a Rev. Joy. But just before the election there was so much fear of yet another theological controversy within Unitarianism that Joy withdrew and Eliot ran unopposed - similar to Saddam Hussein's sweeping victory last week in Iraq. But the point is, Unitarianism and Humanism were now somehow fused at the hip.

Humanism obviously did not evolve out of thin air. There existed a climate or a liberal impulse that made Humanism possible. Let me briefly summarize just some of the milestone publications that (in my opinion) served as building blocks for Humanism.

Back in 1835 when Transcendentalists challenged the corpse cold Unitarianism in Boston, a German theologian named David Strauss wrote "The Life of Jesus." The book offered (perhaps) the first wave of good biblical criticism where he stated that the bible needed to be scrutinized with the same requirements of consistency, accuracy and supportive evidence as are reserved for any historical document. And in doing so, he concluded, we were left with no option than to view the miracles of Jesus as symbolic.

Another German, the philosopher Ludwig Fuerbach wrote "The Essence of Christianity" in 1855. Fuerbach challenged the conventional views of religion in that he attempted to understand divinity as a projection of human needs, desires, and fears. In other words, he formulated the old cliché: God is made in man's image not man in God's image.

Moving ahead to the turn of the century, just as Humanism was being formulated, Sigmund Freud explodes onto the scene with "The Future of an Illusion." God, as Freud maintained, serves merely as a projection of human fears and wishes.

Humanism gives us much to be grateful for, namely a clear departure from a judgmental God who fills us with fear and guilt. Humanism brought science and reason to the religious table. Humanism shook all the superstition out of religion and forced us to look squarely at the world with humans as responsible for charting the future course.

This church in Salt Lake was served by one of the greatest Humanist ministers of the 20th century. Ed Wilson, a signer of the Humanist manifesto and editor of the Humanist Press Association, ministered here from 1946-1949. Ed was raised a Unitarian in Concord, MA, but that church shaped him into a fine theist. While at first he thought of a career in business, he went instead to Meadville Theological School to become a Unitarian minister. Meadville, as you'll recall, was influenced greatly by professor Frank Doan, the Humanist. And the last words Ed heard from his family as he embarked by train to Meadville was "Don't let those Humanists take away your faith." (2)

It was on the train, however, not at Meadville, that Ed had a conversion experience. He sat next to a philosophy professor who upon learning that Ed was headed to seminary, told him that it was a shame that such a bright young man would throw away his life for a profession grounded on such false premises. By the time Ed got off the train, he had converted to Humanism and was hungry for the Humanist teaching he would receive at Meadville.

Ed finished his life at Friendship Manor, and he was a wonderful support to me, and also a personal friend. Thus it's with some trepidation that I dare speak this morning to the limits of Humanism. Ed's ghost may still lurk in this chapel, and this church has (historically) been very committed to Humanism. I once owned an American Humanist membership card myself, and although I would never burn it, I have put it aside.

Humanism was right when it declared that religion need not involve a relationship with the supernatural to be justified, but Humanism simply substitutes scientific truth for the old religious truth. Whether the truth you seek to order the universe comes by way of God's revelation or the laboratory, the same kind of desire exists to find certainty in a terrifying world.

Religion for me must deal with life and death and all its inherent problems, difficulties, and anxieties. The very human needs that religion must address gave birth to Christianity, for example. Early Christians had no need for a miracle based religion among the Jews, but the profound need to address those same fundamental human issues that still confront us today. For the early Jewish Christians, Jesus was a prophet who called God, "Abba" or father. It was a way to connect personally with the frightening elements in the universe because people felt alienated and alone…unbelievably alone in the vastness of it all.

Jesus' suffering gave them meaning in that they no longer suffered alone. And when Jesus asked, "Why hast thou forsaken me?" the Jewish Christians no longer felt isolated and abandoned themselves. Because in life, even today with all the science at our disposal, we feel abandoned in our suffering and just alone in the universe. Religion must address how we live and how we die. Forrest Church, my Unitarian Colleague and friend from New York, defines religion as "our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die." Knowing that we are going to die we question what life means.

For me, the Humanist "statement of truth" however grounded in scientific inquiry, offers little to quench the thirst for a deeper understanding of what life means. Or, as the Buddha might put it - "What is useful to bring the fullness of life to human beings?" The Buddha says, "I have taught a doctrine similar to a raft. It is for crossing over to the other side, not something to be grasped or clung to." (3)

And Jesus' ministry, understood in so many different ways, always comes back to figuring out what is meant by "an abundant life."

Empirical evidence, one of the hallmarks of Humanism, seems poorly suited in dealing with these dynamic human concerns about meaning, bringing fullness to life, and discerning an abundant life. Humanism debunks supernatural orders, which I appreciate - I think we all do - but even in that generation that followed the early Humanists like Reese and Dietrich, we have the likes of Eustace Haydon who said: "Through science man will become master of the earth and rise to undreamed heights. Science will release the potentialities of every soul in the new world, and the production of sick souls will no longer be possible. Purpose will be given to life. The old tragedies, the ancient evils, will pass away." (4) I have not heard Humanism offer much different in the last 60 years.

Old tragedies and ancient evils have not passed away, and I doubt they ever will. It seems to me that Humanism either ignores or stoically endures hardships. There is no room in Humanism's sunny disposition and its teaching of human progress forever upward and onward, for evil, suffering, and tragedy.

I want to introduce a new term, which frightens Humanists and many Unitarians as well. The word is "mystery," and it smacks of other words like "unclear," or "obscure," denoting some distant object (possibly God), which we cannot quite discern. Mystery is unfortunately associated with the notion of God or some transcendent reality enveloped in a fog that can't be scientifically proven, and thus rendered inconsequential.

But the theologian, Karl Rahner, gives "mystery" a totally different understanding that I find helpful. Life itself confronts us as mystery. "Mystery" say Rahner, "is something with which we are always familiar. In the ultimate depth of our being we know nothing more surely than that our knowledge, that is, what is called knowledge in everyday parlance, is only a small island in a vast sea that has not been traveled. It is a floating island, and it might be more familiar to us than the sea, but ultimately it is borne by the sea. Hence the deepest question for us humans is this: which do we love more, the small island of our so-called knowledge or the sea of infinite mystery?"(5)

This crucial question prompts me to consider that Humanism remains confined to the small island of our so-called knowledge rather than admit - let alone love - the sense of infinite mystery.

Mystery, then, does not refer to a direct perceptual experience of something like darkness or dense fog. Instead, mystery is an intellectual term rather than an experiential one. When we explore whether life has meaning or why anything exists, we are (to be honest) baffled. We're dealing with questions, concerns, issues, that exceed what our minds can handle.

I try to be comfortable (not always easy), acknowledging the mystery of existence. I am prepared to leave the tiny island of empirical evidence and embrace the infinite sea of mystery - a dimension that surpasses the very limits of my intellectual capacity.

When I confront loneliness and suffering and tragedy…

When I confront the puzzles and conundrums of life's meaning and death's meaning…

I am dealing with the very stuff of religion.

Life is more than the sum of its parts. It's not just about understanding the physical, biological and historical processes. It's more in line with "what brings about life's fullness? How do we live abundantly? Or as Thoreau put it, how, at our deathbed do we avoid feeling we were never alive?"

It is mystery that nourishes the very center of our lives. The small island of our so-called knowledge provides us perhaps with a bit of certainty that we crave. But it is the infinite sea of mystery, that which baffles and befuddles, that ultimately engages our hearts and our passions in the business of religion. Answers will always be illusive, but the adventure in the sea of mystery, the continual search for some illumination fuels our religious sensibilities and keeps us fully engaged in trying to plumb life's meaning as we breathe, love, exist…while always in the shadow of death.

Humanism has helped us think critically, and underscores the virtue of rational thought. Humanism is limited from my experience in that it refuses to honor the mystery in which the real fullness of our lives must be explored.

Footnotes

1. Schulz, William Making the Manifesto: The Birth of Religious Humanism Skinner House p.19
2. Ibid p.106
3. Kaufman, Gordon God, Mystery, Diversity: Christian Theology In a Pluralistic World Fortress Press p.192
4. Schulz, William Ibid p. 43
5. Foundations of Christian Faith Seabury Press p.22