Befriending the Difficult Emotion of Fear

Fear. The body gripped by a sudden rush of adrenaline. Intense breathing, heart pounding, sweating, trembling. The fight or flight reflex. All of it a result of being faced by a threat, seeming or real, to the safety of what one holds dear—people you love, one’s nation, one’s world, oneself. Lately it’s been shooters in churches; it’s been hurricanes, gas shortages, rising prices, bank failures, a 700 billion dollar plan to avert a financial meltdown on Wall Street, politicians who can’t seem to get their act together. On top of this are constants like terrorism, the Iraq War, and the environmental crisis. Then there are the threats that hit us closer to home: bullies, illnesses, hurting relationships, trouble at work, trouble at school. So many threats. Even when the threat is really an opportunity, as when a hidden potential calls us to do something risky, take a leap of faith. All such things trigger an emotional alarm clock that wakes us up. It’s fear, saying, “Watch out, do something!”

 

 “I’ll never forget the feeling,” says someone who was downsized. “The CEO called me into his office, looked into my eyes and said, ‘Jock, this isn’t working out.’ I was 57. I had never lost a job in my life. All my career changes had been carefully planned. I was in charge of my professional life, or at least I thought I was. Never had anyone come in to yank it out from under me. As I looked back into the CEO’s eyes and realized what was happening, fear rushed through me. My mind felt like it was going to explode. I had a huge mortgage payment, car payments, a family to support, and I was 57. How could I ever find another job? That night, and for several weeks following, I would awaken around three in the morning to a feeling of fear.”

 

Just listen to this person’s voice. The loss of control in a time when a mortgage payment, car payments, and a family to support all demand control. Self-esteem and identity just stripped away. No wonder this man says, “My mind felt like it was going to explode.” That’s fear. And that’s what we’re wanting to befriend today. We’re wanting to see how we can enter into our fears mindfully, rather than banishing them; we’re wanting to see how we can listen to them and respond in ways that are truly helpful, rather than blindly reacting. “To fear is one thing,” says a wise person, “but it’s another thing entirely to let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around.” And so it is.

 

Befriending fear. To this end, I’m going to draw on one of our Sources of Unitarian Universalism, the tradition of Judaism—specifically, the 23^rd Psalm. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” It’s one of the most famous scriptures from the Hebrew Bible, beloved by Jews and Christians and others around the world. And recently, I came to understand why. Not too long ago, in a moment of personal fear, I discovered for myself the healing and calming power of this ancient poem. I experienced it first hand. So let’s take a closer look, see how it might speak to Unitarian Universalists today, facing fear.

 

Feel free to say it with me:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures:
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths for his name’ sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil:
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me. 

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.

 

Part of the challenge of understanding the 23^rd Psalm (or any other piece of scripture) is achieving a historical grasp of what’s really going on. The past is truly a foreign country—they do things differently there—but too often we forget this; too often we can find ourselves rejecting something because it does not make instant sense to our modern American sensibilities. Bring an intolerant, snap-judgmental attitude like this to the Hebrew and Christian scriptures, and we’re always going to miss the good stuff.    

 

So consider the 23^rd Psalm. Its largest meanings about courage in the face of fear are ultimately informed by the practice of shepherding in the ancient Middle East. Take, for example, that evocative line, “You anoint my head with oil.” Writer W. Phillip Keller, who is familiar with sheep herding in the Middle East and who was himself a sheep herder and sheep rancher, says that in the summer time, hordes of insects will emerge with the warm weather. “Sheep,” he says, “are especially troubled by the nose fly…. For relief from this agonizing annoyance, sheep will deliberately beat their heads against trees, rocks, posts, or brush…. In extreme cases of intense infestation, a sheep may even kill itself…. And so, at the very first sign of flies among the flock, [the shepherd] will apply an antidote to their heads…. Once the oil is applied, there is an immediate change in behavior. The sheep will start to feed quietly again, then soon lie down in peaceful contentment.”

 

Or again, consider another line of the psalm: “He makes me lie down in green pastures.” W. Philip Keller explains by saying that “Sheep are notorious creatures of habit. If left to themselves, they will follow the same trails until they become ruts; graze the same hills until they turn to desert wastes; pollute their own ground until it is corrupt with disease and parasites. And so, the greatest single safeguard which a shepherd has in handling his flock is to keep them on the move.”

 

Now press pause for a moment. We have before us the image of flies crawling on sheep and driving them into destructive behaviors; and we also have the image of sheep stuck in a rut, following the same trails and grazing the same hills until the land is ruined. Both are powerful images of what happens when people skip a step in awareness and go straight from the experience of fear to reaction. Fear thoughts, swarming like a horde of insects, and some people cope by inventing an image of a past that never was and then frantically trying to recreate the present in this image, through bad public policy. Fear thoughts swarming, and some people numb out, the fear turns into silent bitter rage, and the rage makes them a school shooter, a church shooter. Fear thoughts, and people turn xenophobic, scapegoat the gays, scapegoat immigrants. Destructive behaviors all, because a step in awareness has been skipped. This is also true when we talk about people getting stuck in a rut. The spreading contagion of fear, locking us into rigid habits and patterns. Investors too afraid to invest, or banks too afraid to extend credit, when doing so would spell true relief. People rushing gas stations when it’s not absolutely necessary—but I see the lines and you see the lines, and so we get in line, we add to the spreading contagion of fear. Or this: the lock-step of a consumer-oriented society, the lock-step of a society that is afraid to give up on its unsustainable ways, afraid to change. Sheep, stuck in a rut, following the same trails and grazing the same hills … until the land is ruined.

 

For myself, all I can say is, I relate. I have an inner sheep. Some people have an inner child; I have an inner sheep. And I admit this sheepishly, since fear is not supposed to affect the so-called mature, the so-called rational. Fear doesn’t seem to have the same dignity that grief has, or anger. Fear is just for scaredy-cats. All I can say in response is … BAA. I’m coming clean about it. I’ve got an inner sheep. And listen to something else that W. Philip Keller has to say: “The strange thing about sheep is that it is almost impossible for them to be made to lie down unless [they are free from fear]. As long as there is even the slightest suspicion of danger from dogs, coyotes, cougars, bears or other enemies, the sheep stand up ready to flee for their lives. They have little or no means of self-defense. They are helpless, timid, feeble creatures whose only recourse is to run.” That’s my inner sheep! It’s hard to admit, because ours is a culture that shames people for feeling fear. But there it is. How many of you have an inner sheep too? Fact is, it’s painfully aware of its vulnerability. Life puts a big target on our foreheads. Bad things could happen any time to us, to our families, to anyone and anything we love. And in case we happen to forget, the media dutifully reminds us about all the dogs, coyotes, cougars, bears, and other things that are out there, out to get us. So our poor inner sheep: constantly on guard, constantly ready to run, constantly ragged and worn down, not fresh like they need to be if in fact they do encounter adversity and hope to have a truly creative, effective response.

 

The 23^rd Psalm is powerful because, in part, it helps us own up to the fact that we have an inner sheep that needs intentional tending. Without that, it can act destructively, towards others and towards itself. It needs oil rubbed on its head; it needs to be led to new pastures; it needs soothing to release it from constant free-floating anxiety. That’s what it needs.

 

And so we turn to the figure of the shepherd. The shepherd who does all this for our inner sheep, and more. Who is this shepherd?

 

I say that the shepherd is anything that gives us strength to enter into our fears mindfully, to listen to what they are saying without blindly reacting to them, or banishing them, or numbing them. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley,” says the psalm, “I fear no evil: for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” The shepherd is whatever goes with us into even the scariest places—and note especially the image of the rod and staff. W. Philip Keller says that for practicing shepherds, “The rod is a symbol of [the shepherd’s] strength, his power, his authority in any serious situation…. If the shepherd saw a sheep wandering away from its own, or approaching poisonous weeds, or getting too close to danger of one sort or another, the club would go whistling through the air to send the wayward animal scurrying back to the bunch…. [In addition to this, the] good shepherd, the careful manager, will from time to time make a careful examination of each individual sheep. As each animal comes out of the corral and through the gate, it is stopped by the shepherd’s outstretched rod. He opens the fleece with the rod; he runs his skillful hands over the body; he feels for any sign of trouble; he examines the sheep with care to see if all is well. This is a most searching process entailing every intimate detail. It is, too, a comfort to the sheep for only in this way can its hidden problems be laid bare before the shepherd.”

 

Who or what plays this role in your life? Helps you know what the safe boundaries are, and so if you go beyond them, you can rely on clear feedback that says, “Danger, Will Robinson, danger!!!!” Our children need this desperately—all ages do. Thoughtful mentoring. Guidance that’s full of care. The creation of safe space in which there can be honesty—hidden problems laid bare—your fleece opened up and searched for signs of trouble. Unitarian Universalists, we need to know who or what the shepherd is in our lives. The health and wellbeing of our inner sheep need it.

 

One answer is this: the shepherd is a healthy relationship. Miriam Greenspan, therapist and author of the book Healing Through the Dark Emotions, talks about how critical this kind of shepherding is for people and how, without it, fears turn into anger—couples playing what she calls Marital Mortal Combat. Know what I’m talking about? “Why can’t you listen to me?” one partner cries. “Why can’t you respond to my feelings?” The other counters, “Why can’t you accept me as I am? Why can’t you see all the things I do to please you?” Portrait of a couple at an impasse: portrait of a couple arguing the same argument for what seems like forever. Inner sheep, stuck in a rut. BAA! But what Miriam Greenspan is saying is that the angry words are just a symptom of something deeper, of fears unfelt and lying beneath the surface. But only if you feel them can you heal them. She says to that couple playing Marital Mortal Combat, “If you could just pause when you are about to say something angry, and search deeper to see the fear beneath. And then—give voice to that fear instead. Share your fears. Say, “When you don’t respond to me emotionally, I feel afraid that you aren’t there for me, and I’m just free floating.” And to this, reply, “When you criticize me, I’m afraid that you’ve lost all respect for me.” Share your fears with each other, says Miriam Greenspan, rather than go for the throat. The good news here is that when couples and people in all kinds of relationships—married or not—learn to do this, hearts that are hard begin to soften. Speaking our fears directly to each other can lead us beside still waters, restore our souls, help us find the right paths. This is one way in which the shepherd can come into our lives: as a quality of relationship that we actively nurture with key people, a safe space we can rely on to give voice to our fears and see what’s in them, what they are really trying to say.

 

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil: for you are with me.” The shepherd can come into our lives as a healthy relationship with another person, and it can also come into our lives as a healthy religious community. Think about it: Here in this place we can experience oil rubbed into our fleece, repelling anxiety flies that get in the way of clear thinking. Here in this place, we can reflect on healthy boundaries in our lives and experience encouragement to live up to them. Here in this place, we can give voice to our fears, personal and global; feel validated in this; be heard into speech; and then together, we can decide what we can do about them—what strengths and resources we can draw on to make a difference. Here in this place we can realize the ruts that fear drives us into and chart a different course, lift up a vision of sustainable living that is positive and attractive, and move. Act. It happens in worship services like this; it happens in classes and small groups and committees; it happens in pastoral care moments; it happens in all sorts of gathering times, formal and informal; it happens through collective action. The religious community can be the shepherd, and it is with you when you walk through the darkest valley, IF you allow it to do that for you, IF you sustain it with your focus and your time and also your generous financial giving. Can’t forget the IF.

 

My hope is that all of us will experience shepherding through our personal relationships and through this congregation. But there can be yet another dimension to shepherding, and this particular dimension won’t appeal to all of us in this wonderfully diverse community, but to some of us it’s crucial. I’m talking about a transpersonal dimension to shepherding. Experiencing it coming from a force or presence that transcends the human. The shepherd as God. The shepherd as the Divine, the Goddess, a Spirit Guide, the Tao. I want to speak for a moment to those of you for whom this dimension of shepherding is meaningful. What’s all-important here is trusting in your relationship with the Divine. Trusting the larger unfolding pattern. Knowing that you can have God’s peace right now, this instant, even if things feel way out of control and things are not yet clear to your mind and the problem is not yet solved. Trusting that nothing is going to come your way that you cannot truly bear. Trusting that somehow you are being reshaped to fit a larger order, you are being ushered forward, you are being nudged towards a greater fulfillment of your destiny. And you CAN trust it. God’s gonna surprise you. So let go and let God.

 

The shepherd can come to us in so many ways. And the shepherd is good, for this is what he does: he “prepares a table before us in the presence of our enemies.” Now just listen to that. Isn’t this an amazing image? Perhaps an odd one, for in the face of the enemy, who might jump up and grab us anytime, how can we eat? How can we actually put food into our mouths, and swallow? Yet the good shepherd knows something—the good shepherd that is a close relationship, a religious community, or a God. This: That life is abundant when one learns how to dwell richly in the midst of one’s worst fears. You can’t get to joy in life if you can’t feel the fear. The truly good shepherd teaches us that. Not escape. Doesn’t smooth away the wrinkles of our lives. Doesn’t solve it for us, doesn’t dumb down the complexity. It can’t do that anyway. But what it can do is invite us into a deeper relationship with our world, and it does this with a sense of wonderful flair. Lays out the finest tablecloth and china. Polished silverware, napkins folded into swans. Pours the drinks, serves the food. Says, “I know you might feel totally out of control right now. I know about the hurricanes, I know about the gas shortages, the rising prices, the bank failures, the 700 billion dollar plan to avert a financial meltdown on Wall Street, the politicians who can’t seem to get their act together, the threat of terrorism, the Iraq War, environmental threat. All sorts of dogs, coyotes, cougars, bears out there, just licking their chops. I know that. The world is scary all over. But it’s not going to help to just thrash about and hurt yourself and others. It’s not going to help to get into a rut, or hide out. Sit down. Relax. Continue the small sustaining rhythms of your life. Sustain that which sustains you. Be grounded in the abundance of this world. Rediscover a sane routine. Find your center, be at peace, and then: accept your fears. Let them come. Let them wander over. Let them find their own seat at the table. Let them become known, and look them square in the eye. Be curious. Talk to them, and let them talk to you. Share in the hospitality of the table, your fears and you, and that’s how you will find your cup overflowing. That’s how your cup will overflow. Goodness and mercy will follow you all the days of your life, and you will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. That’s how.” 

 

Rev. Anthony David

Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta

 

Testimony Before the Firearms Study Commission of the Georgia Legislature

Thank you, Chairman Seabaugh and committee members, for allowing me to share my thoughts about the proposed changes to current Georgia gun laws [which would allow permit holders to carry concealed handguns into our congregations.] I’m Rev. Anthony David, Senior Minister of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation in Atlanta, one of the largest Unitarian Universalist congregations in the United States.

 

Recently, the Unitarian Universalist religious movement has been tested with violence. On the morning of July 27^th, during a worship service at our sister church in Knoxville Tennessee, a man named Jim Adkisson started shooting. 200 people were in the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church sanctuary that morning, including the 25 children and youth who were leading worship that day. Many were wounded and two ended up dead. Based on Jim Adkisson’s own testimony, as well as that of a letter he had written, he wanted to target the church because of its emphasis on freedom and inclusivity—his belief that liberals should be killed because they are ruining the country. He concealed a shotgun in a guitar case, carried that case into the church sanctuary, took the gun out and started shooting indiscriminately into the crowd, fully expecting to keep shooting until police arrived and he was killed himself. He fully expected to die that day, even going so far as to leave his home unlocked to make it easy for police to enter.

 

In the aftermath of this event, Unitarian Universalist congregations across the country are feeling vulnerable to hatred. Our sanctuaries should be places of safety, but we know now that safety is not a guarantee. There are people in this world who are already dwelling in hell, and they want to take it out on the innocent. So it is a time of discernment for us and for congregations everywhere, as we face the question of gun violence. Would things have been different if there had been people in our sister church’s sanctuary carrying concealed handguns? Ready to defend the congregation against the shooter?

 

One thing is clear—even if people in the Tennessee Valley Church had been carrying concealed handguns, this would not have deterred Jim Adkisson from doing what he did. He was not afraid of dying, and I suspect that this is generally true of the kind of person who’d want to kill people at a church.

 

Then there is the issue of competence. Even trained police officers, on average, hit less than 20% of their intended targets. As I understand things, there are no physical force or proficiency training requirements in order to get a concealed carry permit in Georgia. To me, this all adds up to my conviction that, even if some members of the Tennessee Valley church had been carrying guns, they would probably have missed their target.

 

But bullets would be flying, and this leads to yet a third consideration: unintended side effects. Not just in the moment, but over the long haul. In the moment, if some Tennessee Valley Church members had been carrying guns, they probably would have accidentally shot fellow church members. As for the long haul: imagine what happens if a gun accidentally goes off during a church event, or during a service—or if, God forbid, a child or youth somehow gets a hold of one. In the long haul, the presence of a gun does not minimize the possibility of violence but multiplies it. Imagine people coming to church carrying concealed handguns, and because of tragedies like Tennessee Valley, they are on the look out for others who appear suspicious and may, in their vigilance, develop an itchy trigger finger.… The long haul has to do with what happens to the larger culture of a religious community, which is supposed to lay out a welcome table to all who want to connect with the sacred in life. To bring handguns into the sanctuary is to bring the expectation of violence into it and therefore spoil the culture of the generous welcome table, which was so central to the spiritual vision of Jesus as well as to so many other great religious leaders. The guiding religious principle here is that the means we use to achieve the ends of nonviolence and justice in the world must themselves be nonviolent and just. You can’t get to true nonviolence through violent means. You can’t get to true justice through injustice. Perhaps this is why the U. S. Supreme Court, in its Heller decision, acknowledged that houses of worship are truly “sensitive places” where guns do not belong. This is emphasized by even Justice Scalia, who is one of the most conservative Justices on the Supreme Court.

 

In light of all I have said, I believe that for the Tennessee Valley Church, members carrying concealed handguns would not have prevented the tragic shooting and, in fact, would have made things worse in both the short and long haul. What did make all the difference, in the moment, were a couple of heros who tackled Jim Adkisson at full risk to themselves. One of these heros, in fact, died. In a situation like this—when someone is set on killing others—something bad is going to happen. But our task is to identify responses to violence which do the least harm. Our desire to be safe must not make us reach for solutions that will do more harm than good.

 

Is it possible to prevent tragedies like the one that happened at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church from happening ever again? Is there a way to guarantee that our sanctuaries will always be safe places? I don’t think so. Danger and risk are nonnegotiable aspects of the human condition. But what is all important is that religious communities are able to model spiritual leadership and might in the face of evil. Concealed handguns have absolutely no role to play in this. I believe this, and so does the minister of the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church—even after what happened. 

 

Rev. Anthony David

Sept. 23, 2008

 

 

**

 

Objection: But why shouldn’t congregations have the right to decide for themselves? Why not allow some congregations to ensure safety for themselves by developing and deploying armed security teams, while congregations that disallow concealed handguns can put a sticker on the door to make declare their places “gun free zones”?

·        Reply: First of all, a sticker on the door cannot replace the kind of deterrent that exists now, which is a misdemeanor charge. Even with a sticker at the door, people won’t have to be afraid of breaking the law, so what will stop them from carrying them in? Don’t see how this avoids all the negative consequences I mentioned earlier.

·        Also, whereas it may be true that some congregations may want the right to develop and deploy their own armed security guards—and again, given my comments above, I don’t know why they’d want to do this—I would not underestimate the incredible burden that this will put on all the other congregations in Georgia. Even congregations with stickers on the door will need to invest financial and volunteer resources to ensure safety in a world where people are not prohibited by law to carry firearms into churches.

·        Finally: this objection assumes something false about the role of government, as well as the nature of constitutional rights. Government’s proper job is to balance competing interests and competing rights in a way that does justice to the common good. As important as Second Amendment rights are, when they are emphasized to the detriment of other rights, then this is not justice but injustice. Government has the right and the obligation to establish laws that reflect a just balance between competing interests. The decisions it makes then act as healthy boundaries, and within such boundaries, people can exercise their individual freedoms.

 

 

 

Turnings: The Amazing Story of John Murray

From Buddhism we have the following story, about a time when a bandit called Angulimal once threatened the Buddha with death. “Then be good enough to fulfill my dying wish,” said the Buddha. “Cut off the branch of that tree.” And that’s what the bandit did. One slash of the sword, and it was done. “What now?” asked the bandit. Said the Buddha, “Put the branch back.” At this, the bandit laughed. “You must be crazy to think that anyone can do that.” “On the contrary,” said the Buddha, “it is you who are crazy to think that you are mighty because you can wound and destroy. That is the task of children. But to create and to heal—that is the task of the mighty.”

 

And it is our task as well. From all our various source traditions—from Buddhism and Taoism and Confucianism, from Judaism and Christianity and Islam, from humanist traditions and earth-based traditions, from all these and more—we Unitarian Universalists hear the call to be mighty. We hear it clearly, and there is a reason why. It‘s because of our own spiritual ancestors, who paved the way. They opened up our ears—especially our ancestors from our Universalist side. These Universalists were intimately familiar with what the bandit Angulimal in the Buddha’s story represents: evils coming into our lives to steal and destroy. Specific incidents, but also ideas, visions of reality.  Especially this vision: that there’s just not enough love to go around, not enough grace, not enough forgiveness—the vision in that only some are elected to enjoy eternal salvation, while others are doomed to suffer eternal torment. Faced with a vision of reality like this, our ancestor Universalists could not stay silent. They proclaimed, against this vision of not enough, a vision of abundance, in which there is ALWAYS enough love to go around. Even when the economy of life seems to be in a slump, and people are feeling the pinch, there’s ALWAYS enough of what is essential. Love is eternal and abiding, and God does not take sides; God does not divide sheep from goats. God is good. This is the original Universalist vision, which our spiritual mothers and fathers proclaimed in the face of scarcity-based and fear-based visions of reality. They said to America, in the 1700s and 1800s and 1900s, “Abundance is real. Love is real. This is how the universe is. So our privilege is to live into this. Don’t allow fear to rule our lives; fear is not realistic. Connect with joy instead. Connect with compassion. Feel it. Trust it. Live the life abundant. Experience it for yourself to the degree that you give generously. Give back, even as you have been given to. Be mighty like this. Create, and heal.” This is what they said. Be seized by the vision. Be transformed by it. Know it not just in your head, but in your heart, your actions.  

 

And clearly, this is easier said than done, then and now. The vision of abundance is just not unshakeable. Hurricanes of one sort or another just come roaring in. Events like 9/11. Just a little over a month ago, a gunman entered into our sister congregation in Knoxville, Tennessee during the Sunday morning worship, when around 25 children and youth were presenting a musical called “Annie, Jr.” Before people were able to tackle him and take away his gun, several people had been shot, and in the end, two died, including the hero who tackled him. The shooter, Jim Adkisson, said he did it because he hates liberals; he hates their gay-positive stance; he blames them for ruining our country. The vision of abundance is just not unshakeable. In ways small and large, the circumstances of life can turn us away from it, and we get lost in our angers and resentments, we get lost in our sadness and hopelessness, we get lost in our self-absorption and greed. Fear wins. Scarcity wins. And so the continual challenge: to turn back towards the abundance of life which Universalism says is really there, despite the shake-ups and stress, despite the cruelties and pains. Coming to know abundance even more deeply than before, in fact, because the more our hearts are cracked, the more light can come in. Experiencing restoration and healing, so that when the bandit comes, we can be even mightier than before.   

 

All of this—the call to respond to life from a place of abundance and be mighty, the continual challenge of doing this in the face of life’s troubles, and yet the ever-present possibility of restoration and healing, of turning back to the hope-filled vision—all of this we see in the amazing story of the founder of Universalism in America, John Murray. Let’s take a look. His life speaks to our lives today.

 

John Murray. Born in England in 1741, died in America in 1815. I want to start in 1769, when he was still in the land of his birth. That year, he became a Universalist. It happened like this. He and his wife Eliza had heard strange rumors about a church across town. People were whispering that in this church, wicked and immoral things were happening, and a strange doctrine was being preached. John and Eliza absolutely had to check it out! But what they ended up finding was nothing wicked and nothing immoral, but a sober group of people instead who believed that no one was going to be damned in hell for all eternity. At first, the teaching repulsed John Murray, because like so many other people then and now, he believed that without threat of eternal hellfire, what’s going to ensure moral order on earth? What’s going to motivate people to refrain from doing bad, or to do good? But he got over that. Universalism, he realized, was true, and it changes lives.

 

In his case, though, one of the changes was quite painful. One year later, in 1770, he was excommunicated from his home church in London, a Methodist church, where he served as a lay minister. Fellow members had found out about his conversion to Universalism, and they wanted nothing to do with it. John and Eliza had to go.

 

This was just the start of wave after wave of misfortune. It’s but another example of the truth in the idea that when we follow a call in our lives—even a call to abundance—we find things disrupted and shaken up. Wave after wave of trouble: John Murray, arrested and imprisoned for debt, though soon released. His infant child succumbing to illness, and then death. Then Eliza became ill, and while struggling to support her and provide medical care, his debts began to pile up again. Then Eliza died. Then his eyesight began to fail. One thing after another. In the end, John Murray found himself contemplating suicide as the only way out. 

 

Ever had a year like that? Is THIS year a year like that? Wave after wave of bad news, illness, disruption, disaster? But now, consider the wisdom in the following saying: “Every problem has a gift for you in its hands.” Rather than commit suicide, my sense is that John Murray started to look for the gifts in the problems. He started to ask of the circumstances of his life, “What are you here to teach me?” For this reason, when he happened to encounter, purely by chance, a traveler from America, he was curious. Didn’t instantly discount the meeting because it was tied up with chance. Wondered instead, “What is the universe trying to say to me now?“ “What are you here to teach me, traveler from America?”

 

It was this: that he could have a new start in his life. A new start in a New World. Which he was desperate for. A totally new start. One that, as far as he was concerned, would no longer have anything to do with preaching. That’s right: this future founder of Universalism in America went to America with hopes that he was leaving religion behind him. The bandit had roared into his life one too many times, and he had run out of answers. John Murray never wanted to preach again.

 

Oh, life can hurt. There are times when, truly, it feels like there isn’t enough love to go around….   

 

And so, in the fall of 1770, he set sail from the land of his birth, on a ship called the Hand In Hand, for the Port of New York. He had turned away from hellfire and damnation to Universalism; he had turned away from suicide to a new start; and now, without knowing it, he was setting the stage for the next and greatest turning in his life.

 

Ever since, people have called it the Unitarian Universalist miracle. I prefer to see it as evidence of subtle order in the universe, the abundant web of life into which each of our lives is woven. I’m talking about synchronicity, coincidences that are so fine-tuned to the meaning of our lives that they seem anything but random. Have you ever experienced synchronicity? Here’s how it happened to John Murray. 

 

Three days out from the Port of New York, his journey suddenly goes haywire. The Hand in Hand encounters another ship carrying word that the Port of New York is closed, and with this, the Hand in Hand’s Captain decides to sail to Philadelphia. There, he discovers that the news concerning the New York Port had been wrong, and so, scratching his head, he once again sets sail for New York. But midway, off the New Jersey coast, the Hand in Hand runs aground on a sandbar, and it is held there by a strong wind. John Murray and everyone else aboard are stuck. 

 

Stuck at a place called Good Luck. I’m not kidding. The Universe has a weird sense of humor, even as it continually conspires to help us live out our calls. So: John Murray comes ashore, in search of provisions for the crew, and there he has another chance encounter, with a local well-to-do farmer named Thomas Potter. Potter meets him, learns that he has done some preaching before, and enthusiastically invites him to deliver a sermon at his private chapel on Sunday.

 

Now you should know that Thomas Potter was an uneducated but deeply religious man who had heard about Universalism years earlier and was looking for a preacher to preach it fully and truly. Following the “if you build it he will come” principle, he had built a chapel on his property and invited every preacher he met to come speak. But none of them was able to articulate the abundance vision that was so precious to his heart. Ten years later—lots of sermons later—he was still waiting for the right preacher to come.  

 

Enter, John Murray, the man who never wanted to preach again!

 

Of course, Murray refuses the offer. But Potter is insistent, doesn’t give up, and Murray finds himself open to relenting—not just because of Potter’s enthusiasm, but also because he’s getting the uncanny feeling that the universe is trying to teach him something. Too many meaningful coincidences, all coming together around Universalism. But Murray tells Potter that he needs one more kind of confirmation before he is willing to break his promise to himself, never to preach again. One more so-called “coincidence”: If, before Sunday, the wind changes and the ship is freed up to sail, he’ll leave. If the wind doesn’t change, he’ll stay, and he’ll preach. Let God decide.

 

That’s how John Murray put it, and what happened was that the wind, in fact, did not change. The ship remained stuck on the sandbar. Come Saturday evening, John Murray had to face up to the message the universe was sending him. He was gonna have to preach.

 

Here’s what happened next, in his own words: “I had no rest through the night. What should I say, or how address the people? Yet I recollected the admonition of [Jesus]: ‘Take no thought, what you shall say; it shall be given you, in that same hour, what you shall say.’ Ay, but this promise was made to his disciples. Well, by this, I shall know if I am a disciple….”

 

Murray continues: “Sunday morning [came]; my host was in transports. I was—I cannot describe how I was. I entered the [chapel]; it was neat and convenient…. There was one large square pew, just before the pulpit; in this sat the venerable [farmer, Potter,] and his family, also particular friends, and visiting strangers. Surely no man, upon this side of heaven, was ever more completely happy. He looked up to the pulpit with eyes sparkling with pleasure … and he reflected on the strong faith, which he had cherished, while his associates would tauntingly question, ‘Well, Potter, where is this minister, who is to be sent to you?’ ‘He is coming, in God’s own good time.’ ‘And do you still believe any such preacher will visit you?’ ‘Oh yes, assuredly.’ He reflected upon all this, and tears of transport filled his eyes; he looked round upon the people, and every feature seemed to say, ‘There, what think you now?’”

 

Can’t you just see it? Thomas Potter’s overflowing joy, at his hopes fulfilled? And John Murray: his anxiety as he feels the push of an amazing synchronicity of events towards taking up, once again, the Good News of Universalism. And then this, above all: in the very act of doing what he resolved he would never do again—in the very act of preaching—John Murray recovering and rediscovering his life purpose. His feeling for the abundance vision going to the next level, stronger and fuller than before. His life and his heart cracked wide open, and all the light and all the joy streaming inside….

 

And there’s more! The very moment his sermon was done, a sailor came from the ship with news that the wind had just changed direction, and they were free to go. I mean, after all these meaningful coincidences, astonishingly attuned to his psychological and spiritual state,

how could he not be confirmed in a career of preaching Universalism far and wide? How could he not go out and find the other Thomas Potters scattered across America who were waiting to hear the hopeful message? Build this faith? You better believe it. The very universe was saying to him, Yes!

 

Build this faith. And that’s what he did. John Murray. A Johnny Appleseed of the spirit, spreading seeds of hope throughout the country, during the years of the American Revolutionary war, and afterwards. Building spiritual communities that change lives, like you and I are doing here and now. It wasn’t easy. Preaching abundance in a world of fear and scarcity is never easy. People hated it, so they did all they could to stop it. Tried to lynch Murray several times, but he escaped. Interrupted him while he was preaching, but he kept on. Once, in Boston in 1774, he was preaching, and he happened to be standing right in front of a window. Someone outside threw a sharp stone through that window. The stone narrowly missed his head—it could have killed him, the stone was so sharp and big—and this is what happened next. Murray reached down and picked up that stone, showed it to his audience, and said, “This argument is solid, and weighty,

but it is neither rational, nor convincing.” And then got right back to his preaching. 

 

Build this faith. That’s our task too. Build it for all the Thomas Potters in the world who are waiting to hear a good word. Build it for the Thomas Potter that is within our children, and within us. Be mighty in the face of people who hate us because of what we stand for. Whenever it feels like there’s not enough—whenever the fear strikes—to turn back to the abundance vision, to help eachother find that vision again, to remember that for what is truly essential in life, always always, there is enough.

 

Which takes us to what happened at our sister church in Knoxville after the shooting. Afterwards, during the healing service led by Unitarian Universalist Association President Bill Sinkford, those 25 or so children and youth whose performance was so brutally interrupted sang these words from Annie, Jr. (sing along with me if you like):

 

The sun’ll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There’ll be sun!
Just thinkin’ about
Tomorrow
Clears away the cobwebs,
And the sorrow
‘Til there’s none! 

 

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!
I love ya Tomorrow!
You’re always
A day
A way!

 

“The congregation,” said one observer, “spontaneously joined in singing with them, and after a few seconds, when the impact of this moment had sunk in, the crowd erupted into applause, tears, shouts, cheers, and many more tears. As the cast finished their grande finale, they took their long-awaited bows to an adoring, grief-stricken, and healing audience.”  

 

John Murray’s story is our story. Tragedy, like the bandit in the Buddha’s parable, will enter into our lives. But our precious faith teaches us that there is a better way than to respond out of fear. The task of the mighty is to dwell within a place of triumphant love and, out of this, to create and heal. The Life Abundant is real. We can help create it for each other. Whatever our personal beliefs today may be about God, we know that, as we build up this community which sustains us, we can still lay hold of that essential Universalist vision. What is real is love. What is real is service. What is real is compassion. What is real is generosity. Abundance is yesterday, abundance is today, abundance is forever.

 

 

 

 

Rev. Anthony David

Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta

 

Declaring Interdependence

Yesterday I had the privilege of spending some time with the religious educators of this community in their annual, beginning-of-the-year teacher training event. In the part I led, we reflected on the value and meaning of their service to our children, youth, and families, as well as to themselves—to their own personal and spiritual growth. Between us, we shared some thought-provoking quotes about teaching, like this one: “A teacher is a compass that activates the magnets of curiosity, knowledge, and wisdom in the students.” Or this quote: “To teach is to learn twice.” Then there was this one: “Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young.” This particular quote comes from automaker Henry Ford, and the group appreciated it, even though one person did say that Henry Ford has some answering to do for his part in global warming….  

 

A last quote points the way towards my theme this morning: “The future of the world is in my classroom today, a future with the potential for good or bad. Several future presidents are learning from me today; so are the great writers of the next decades, and so are all the so-called ordinary people who will make the decisions in a democracy. I must never forget these same young people could be the thieves and murderers of the future. Only a teacher? Thank God I have a calling to the greatest profession of all! I must be vigilant every day, lest I lose one fragile opportunity to improve tomorrow.” That’s the quote. The future of the world is in my classroom today. Around us: fragile opportunities to improve tomorrow. This is one aspect of the interdependent web vision that takes a place of honor as our Unitarian Universalist Seventh Principle. Future generations rely on what present generations do. Future generations need us, and we need them. This is interdependence.

 

And now, here we are today, in our annual ingathering service. We are seated in the round, and I’ve always liked how this underscores the importance of relationships and community to our Unitarian Univeralist sense of the Sacred. “I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be,” said Martin Luther King Jr., and this sense of mutual reliance most definitely animates the Gathering of the Waters ritual from a moment ago. To this place we bring our separate waters, infused by personal meaning and memory and hope, and we pour them all into a common vessel and a common life, to do things together that we cannot do alone. We may differ in belief, but we come together in common purpose to connect with life’s abundance. We may draw from a wide variety of religious and philosophical sources, but only so that we can invite as many people as possible into experiences of richness, experiences of justice-seeking and healing, expansion and inspiration, forgiveness and grace. Our diversity serves an essential unity. The inner-directed search, the free spirit, requires the encouragement and disciplines of a supportive community, lest that search and spirit become unfocused and too fuzzy to make any practical difference.

 

The interdependence vision. It links us to future generations, and it links us to each other. It’s about people, near and far and yet to be born. But it’s also about the planet. The various parts of our earth reflected in each other, as in a webwork of mirrors. Mirrored in a singular and lovely Georgia peach, you can see sunshine, you can see rain, you can see the red soil out of which the peach tree grew, you can see the human hand that picked it. A whole cosmos comes together to make one Georgia peach possible, or one banana, or one string bean. It is the same for everything. I have seen it. I saw this mystic unity one day long ago when, as a child, living in Northern Alberta, I stood at the top of a hill, feeling the sun on my skin, feeling the warmth in my body; watching the grasses wave in the wind, listening to their hush-hush-hush sounds, their susurrations; and then, far below, the Peace River, winding through the heart of town, silver waters flowing in from far away places and then flowing on, on to different lands, on to mystery. “The rivers flow not past but though us,” says the naturalist John Muir, “thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. […] Wonderful, how completely everything in wild nature fits into us, as if truly part and parent of us.” John Muir puts words to my wordless experience, the wonder of it, fundamental reality. I have felt it, and perhaps you have felt it as well. The web of life. “Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell….” Butterfly effects. Connections upon which everything depends.

 

So let us declare it. That’s my simple, central message this morning. Declare interdependence, because we can lose awareness of it even if it embodies the reality of our lives. This brings to mind a story about the great spiritual teacher, Jiddu Krishnamurti. One day he was traveling by car in the Himalayas. He was sitting in the front seat, beside the driver, while a student of his was in the back, together with another friend. The car climbed past waterfalls, across steep gorges, and over hills covered with flowers, but the two people in the back were oblivious to all that, focused as they were on discussing lofty topics like self-knowledge and awareness. Suddenly, there was a sharp jolt, but they paid it no attention, and kept on talking away. A few moments later, Krishnamurti interrupted them. “What are you two discussing so intently back there?” “Awareness,” they answered. But, said Krishnamurti, “Didn’t you notice what happened just now?” The two had no idea, so Krishnamurti said, “We just knocked down a goat. And you were discussing awareness!” It means that interdependence may be a reality and yet, as with the goat, we can still ignore it, we can still act as if we were merely skin-encapsulated egos and nothing and no one else has a stake in our decisions and actions. Contrary to the hope represented in our Gathering of the Waters Ritual, nothing stops us from choosing to flow apart rather than together, so that in reality we remain as a thousand separate bits of water, rather than the forceful river we could become. Who cares if our neighbor is in need? Who cares that one third of the world’s population now lacks enough safe water to drink? Who cares that ecosystems are losing their capacity to regenerate, or that the population of nonhuman species has declined 35% between 1970 and 2000? Who cares about our young people, or the people who don’t even exist yet, the generations of the future? Most everybody today resonates with the “web of life” image, but when we don’t declare interdependence, when we don’t live accordingly, the web of life becomes an engine of instant karma, and it conveys destruction to everything the web connects together. It can convey hellish impacts as faithfully as it can transmit heaven. Interdependence is a fact of life, and our challenge is learning how to live well and meaningfully within this fact. The fact is an opportunity, but now we must mindfully grasp it. I mean, how many times are we going to run over the goat before we notice what’s happening?

 

We must declare interdependence. And I believe that the way there is practical, through sustainable living. By this I mean lifestyle choices which honor the integrity of the planet and honor the dignity of people near and far and yet to be born—doing all this, even as such choices enrich our lives immeasurably, sustain what is truly precious, and ensure that it won’t be wasted, won’t be exhausted, will be there for future generations as much as it is for us. What I am saying, in other words, is that sustainable living has two sides to it, and both complement each other. Honoring the planet and honoring other people go hand-in-hand with families and individuals living lives of richness and abundance. I like how David Wann puts this, in his recent book entitled Simple Prosperity: Finding Real Wealth in a Sustainable Lifestyle. He says, “It’s time for a new way of valuing the world and our place in it. The good news is that curing the pandemic of overconsumption at both the personal and cultural scale is not about giving up the good life but getting it back. […] By redefining our individual and cultural priorities, we can create a more satisfying sustainable American dream.” That’s what David Wann says. Sustainable living is about getting the good life back, getting clear about what’s truly important in life, crafting a better American dream.

 

And this is the adventure I want to share with you this year: crafting a better American dream, a better human dream. While I know that the phrase “sustainable living” may immediately bring to mind very nuts-and-bolts kinds of things (like recycling, or taking shorter showers, or buying locally) these are all merely ways of putting into action a larger understanding and feeling about the world, a certain set of priorities and values. Sustainable living is unsustainable unless our perception of reality shifts, and we can see sunlight and rain in a Georgia peach. Sustainable living is unsustainable until we get clear about what is of true value and worth, and then use this clarity like a compass, allowing it to direct how we give our time and energy and money, giving until the giving feels good. Recycling, or taking shorter showers, or buying locally are only small parts of a far larger picture that touches everything in our lives.

 

We have an adventure before us this year. Part of it includes a once-a-month, year-long sermon series focusing on the spiritual question of authentic happiness. Part of it involves religious education classes for all ages, focusing on environmentalism and sustainability. A key part of it will be this year’s annual stewardship campaign, “Creating spiritual community … working for sustainability,” in which we’ll have the opportunity to reflect on this congregation and all the ways it sustains our hearts and spirits, our friendships, our good works, our hopes for the future. This, in turn, will feed yet another key part of this year’s adventure: the work of our Care of Earth Team, which includes Lyn Conley, Manette Messenger, Louis Merlin, Sally Joerger, Bill Goolsby, Dana Boyle, Richard Cohen, Helen Borland, and Jules Paulk. Their mission is to listen to the hopes and dreams of this place around declaring interdependence and living more sustainably—to build on the work that’s already been done here on this, to write the next chapter. The Care of Earth Team will listen and then to develop a three-year plan that will empower this congregation to model sustainable living, as well as to support members and friends in their personal lives as they—as we—strive to make better choices. The ideas will come from us; they’ll develop and refine the plan; we’ll make it happen together; they’ll keep us on track and periodically let us know how we’re doing. Above all, it’ll need all of us pitching in. Eco-anxiety can paralyze us, and so can “green noise,” or all the conflicting advice we hear about what’s truly good for the environment, and what’s not. But if we pull together and not apart, we can beat that. We can find a way through.

 

Adventure awaits. The future needs us. The earth needs us. Atlanta needs us, and so does Africa. We need each other. Who cares if our neighbor is in need? Who cares that one third of the world’s population now lacks enough safe water to drink? Who cares that ecosystems are losing their capacity to regenerate, or that the population of nonhuman species has declined 35% between 1970 and 2000? Who cares about our young people, or the people who don’t even exist yet, the generations of the future? We care. We care. And this is what we are going to do: this is it: do all the good we can do. Become the river, all of our bits of water coming together, culminating, flowing forcefully, carrying us to the place of our dreams.

 

Rev. Anthony David

Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Atlanta