One of the challenges in a faith that does not profess a specific system of belief is the ultimate question of good and evil. How do we judge moral behavior without a supreme moral authority outside of ourselves? How do we live our values?

The answer is of course multi-layered, and open ended. This excerpt from Ralph Waldo Emerson (May 25, 1803-April 27, 1882) gives us a place to start in an ongoing dialogue.

Emerson is seen by some as the quintessential Transcendentalist, a true “father” of modern Unitarian Universalism. Although he graduated from Harvard Divinity School and was ordained as a Unitarian minister, he left the official ministry after just three years in the parish due to theological and philosophical differences.

He spent much of the rest of his life lecturing and writing, and much of his writing is now online. This snippet comes from one of his earliest sermons, collected at emersonsermons.com, before he left his parish, probably written in the late summer of 1827. His text is a phrase found in I Timothy 5:4, in the King James: “let them learn first to shew piety at home.” His own records show that he preached this message no fewer than 27 times!

As with any material from this time period, you’ll want to engage your internal translator.

from an 1827 sermon numbered “X” by Ralph Waldo Emerson (May 25, 1803-April 27, 1882)

It is the duty of but very few of us to command armies or rule or counsel nations. If we therefore keep our virtue in store till it find a field which we shall think worthy of its action it will wait long, or rather it will never exist for virtue exists only in action.

(Read on … )

What better way to acknowledge the great Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who the nation honors today, than in his own words?

Dr. King spoke to the 1966 Unitarian Universalist General Assembly in Hollywood, Florida, as the distinguished Ware Lecturer. His remarks are very long, so I reprint only a segment here. The entire address can be found on the UUA website.

For some context, the Montgomery Bus Boycott was in 1955-56, the “I Have a Dream” speech was delivered on the Washington Mall in 1963, and the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded in 1964. At the time of this speech, the Civil Rights Act had been in place for not quite two years, and the Voting Rights Act for not quite one year. Dr. King was tragically killed almost exactly two years later.

Note: I have added some paragraph breaks to make this easier to read.

from the Ware Lecture to the 1966 Unitarian Universalist Association

by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Another thing about this philosophy [non-violence] which is often misunderstood and that it says that at its best the love ethic can be a reality in a social revolution. Most revolutions in the past have been based on hope and hate, with the rising expectations of the revolutionaries implemented by hate for the perpetrators of the unjust system in the old order. I think the different thing about the revolution that has taken place in our country is that it has maintained the hope element and at the same time it has added the dimension of love.

Many people would disagree with me and say that love hasn’t been there. I think we have to stop and talk about what we mean in this context because I would be the first to say that it is nonsense to urge oppressed people to love their violent oppressors in an affectionate sense. And I’m certainly not talking about that when I talk above love standing at the center of our struggle. I think it is necessary to see the meaning of love in higher terms. The Greek language has three words for love – one is the eros, another is the word filio, and another is the word agape. I’m thinking not of eros, or of friendship as expressed in filio, but of agape, which is understanding, creative, redemptive good will for all men, an overflowing love which seeks nothing in return. When one rises to love on this level, he loves a person who does the evil deed while hating the deed. I believe that in our best moments in this struggle we have tried to adhere to this.

(Read on … )

Right about now is when I look up from all of my December busy-ness and try to remember just what it’s all about. Rev. Jane Rzepka, the senior minister of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, comes to my rescue, with this selection printed in the December issue of Quest.

The Mystery of Christmas Past

by Rev. Jane Rzepka

The middle of December. I know what it’s like. I know what goes on. The time has come. You bundle up, start the car and drive in the drizzle over to The Mall. You can’t find a parking place. Finally you spot somebody—a fellow walking to his car—and slowly, you follow him as he wanders around the parking lot, drifting from aisle to aisle, lane to lane, until he finally finds his car, fumbles with his packages and car keys, gets in, smokes a cigarette, and vacates the parking space. Why are you in single-minded pursuit of this space? You need this parking space because 2000 years ago, a baby was born in a stable.

The store is crowded. It’s 30% off, plus the 10% off coupon you hope you really did put in your pocket on your way out the door. You purchase the percolator for your mother-in-law even though as it turns out, the 30% off does not apply to “small appliances” and the coupon wasn’t in your pocket after all. You harvest a number of Christmas presents, a baby doll — “Baby Wiggles and Giggles” to be precise — an electronic dart board, a large bottle of rum, a gingerbread house with M&Ms on it, a chain saw, an oversized tin can of caramel and cheese flavored popcorn, and some gift bags with illustrations of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on them. Oh. And an inexpensive Grinch wristwatch for yourself, and a red sweater, too, for those parties coming up.

Why are you buying the reindeer bags and the chain saw and the gingerbread house? You spend your money and your time on percolators and popcorn because—well because once upon a time, it is told, a wrinkled little baby was born to a mother named Mary.

(Read on … )

The days grow shorter and shorter, and so a reflection on the Darkness seems appropriate.

Poet Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) was raised by Unitarian parents and strongly influenced by Unitarian minister Ralph Waldo Emerson, among other like-minded individuals, and so is often claimed as a Unitarian Universalist. Her poems are used in many modern Unitarian Universalist churches, and this one is particularly apropos at this time of year.

419

by Emily Dickinson

We grow accustomed to the Dark –
When light is put away –
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye –

A Moment — We uncertain step
For newness of the night –
Then — fit our Vision to the Dark –
And meet the Road — erect –

And so of larger — Darkness –
Those Evenings of the Brain –
When not a Moon disclose a sign –
Or Star — come out — within –

The Bravest — grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see –

Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.

Source: Poem 419 by Emily Dickinson, via Google Books, Emily Dickinson, selected poems, pg 57.

Celebrated German poet Rainer Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926) would have been 132 years old yesterday. While he was not a member of a Unitarian or Universalist church, his words are heard in many of them today.

This particular passage, from Letters to a Young Poet, is particularly inspiring to Unitarian Universalists in context with the Fourth Principle of our Association, “We covenant to affirm and promote a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.”

For consideration: How do you approach your own search for truth and meaning?

from Letters to a Young Poet

by Rainer Maria Rilke

My dear Mr. Kappus: I have left a letter from you unanswered for a long time; not because I had forgotten it — on the contrary: it is the kind that one reads again when one finds it among other letters, and I recognize you in it as if you were very near. It is your letter of May second, and I am sure you remember it. As I read it now, in the great silence of these distances, I am touched by your beautiful anxiety about life, even more than I was in Paris, where everything echoes and fades away differently because of the excessive noise that makes Things tremble. Here, where I am surrounded by an enormous landscape, which the winds move across as they come from the seas, here I feel that there is no one anywhere who can answer for you those questions and feelings which, in their depths, have a life of their own; for even the most articulate people are unable to help, since what words point to is so very delicate, is almost unsayable. But even so, I think that you will not have to remain without a solution if you trust in Things that are like the ones my eyes are now resting upon. If you trust in Nature, in the small Things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable; if you have this love for what is humble and try very simply, as someone who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier for you, more coherent and somehow more reconciling, not in your conscious mind perhaps, which stays behind, astonished, but in your innermost awareness, awakeness, and knowledge. You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within you the possibility of creating and forming, as an especially blessed and pure way of living; train your for that - but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don’t hate anything.

Source: from Letter 4 of Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926).

Working on a theme here, on how Unitarian Universalist create religious identity, or how we answer the question of, “What is Unitarian Universalism, anyway?”

Today, a sermon from the Rev. Lisa Ward, who serves the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Harford County, Maryland, tackling the question of a creedless faith and what it means to join in covenant rather than in creed — a way of being together in community rather than a list of religious beliefs one much confess to in order to join in.

From Creed to Covenant: Roots of Unitarian Universalism

by Rev. Lisa Ward

Reflection: Navigating Creeds

The most common question asked of any faith community is “What do you believe?” Most expect a formulaic answer, one that is easily recognizable and repeatable, one that would be the answer if you asked anyone of that faith anywhere. A creed. That is not, however, the kind of answer a Unitarian Universalist can give, nor one, I might add, that a Buddhist or Hindu or Taoist can give, so we’re not alone, really, in this communication gap.

One could give any number of answers, based on our seven principles. A Unitarian Universalist could reply: “God Is One,” which is the phrase chiseled on the walls of Transylvania Unitarian churches that remain standing from the sixteenth century. Or one could say “There is unity within infinite diversity,” as a transcendentalist might say, observing nature as the key toward understanding. Another Unitarian Universalist might say “We must all work together for a fair and free world,” much like our Unitarian and Universalist forebears might have said as they helped draft the Declaration of Independence and Bill of Rights in this country. Or one might say, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” honoring our Judeo-Christian heritage, and add, “You are the light of the world.”

(Read on … )

At first glance, this speech by Rod Serling (December 25, 1924–June 28, 1975), the television writer who brought The Twilight Zone into the world, is pure politics. But, if you read to the end, you’ll find a message of hope and truth that echoes, I think, far into the future.

Rod was a Unitarian Universalist, having converted from his childhood Judaism upon marrying Carol Kramer, a Protestant. The couple were active members of the Unitarian Community Church of Santa Monica, California, and Rod often spoke on behalf of the newly formed Unitarian Universalist Association. This speech, in 1968 at Moorpark College, took place in the height of the Vietnam War, a time when the echoes of Senator Joseph McCarthy still rang. At that time, it was not unusual for organizations to require speakers to sign oaths of loyalty to the United States, something Rod adamantly opposed, and refused to comply with:

Speech by Rod Serling

delivered December 3, 1968 at Moorpark College, Moorpark, California

There seem to have arisen some complications relevant to my appearance here this evening that should be clarified before I begin. Plainly and simply. I refused to sign a loyalty oath which was submitted to me as a prerequisite both for my appearance and my pay. I gather that your local newspaper and some of its readers read dire and menacing implications in this refusal of mine, and I broach the whole thing only by way of a kind of personal disclaimer.

Number one, I have no interest in overthrowing the government of the United States and number two, to the best of my knowledge I have not or am not now a member of a subversive organization whose aims are similar. I know there are many of you out there who’ve put me in a genetic classification of someplace between a misanthropic kook and an ungracious dope. Actually, I’m neither. I did not sign the loyalty oath and I waived my normal speaking fee, only because of a principle. I think a requirement that a man affix his signature to a document, reaffirming loyalty, in on one hand ludicrous—and on the other demeaning.

(Read on … )

I’m still working my way through the 1914 American Unitarian Association New Hymn and Tune Book, and bring you three hymn texts today.

There are a few things I try to keep in mind as I go through this material. Firstly, though this collection was published in 1914, many of the texts are from far earlier than that. As in our present-day hymnal, there was probably consideration taken to well-loved traditional hymns, balanced with some new things. Secondly, the language is unabashedly theistic and in many cases patriarchal.

What I take away from these texts into my here-and-now life experience is the sense of longing expressed in so many different ways — longing for the touch of the Holy, longing to be free from the flaws inherent in all of us, longing to see a better, brighter world. I think we have many of the same longings now, but we don’t express them nearly so eloquently.

Hymns from The New Hymn and Tune Book

published by the American Unitarian Association, 1914

100. Where is thy God? set to the tune Domenica S.M.
Thomas Toke Lynch, 1855

Where is thy God, my soul?
Is he within thy heart;
Or ruler of a distant realm
In which thou hast no part?

(Read on … )

I’ve spent a very enjoyable portion of the morning exploring The New Hymn and Tune Book, with services, published by the American Unitarian Association in 1914. Blogger Fausto was kind enough to point me to this book in the comments on this post over on my journal, and luckily, Google Books has the whole thing readily available and searchable.

The theologies and liturgies from the turn of the last century fascinate me, and make me wonder what Unitarian Universalism might look like today and in the future if we were to engage more fully with the words used in our churches a hundred years ago, perhaps adapting them for our modern sensibilities. This prayer is one of many from this particular volume that speaks deeply to me.

Prayer for Comfort and Faith

from The New Hymn and Tune Book, with services, 1914

O thou whose name is Love and whose compassions fail not: let thy merciful kindness be for our comfort when burdens are heavy and sorrow is near, — when our hearts fail us for the things that are coming to pass, and we fear as we enter into the cloud. When our dear ones die out of our sight, still, grant to us a large and happy faith, and in our own last hour lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us. Thou art the strength of those who put their trust in thee. Send out thy light and thy truth, to shine pure and strong over death and the grave. Amen.

Source: Prayer for Comfort and Faith, from The New Hymn and Tune Book, with services, pg 48, published by the American Unitarian Association in 1914

Today, words from the poet John Albert Holmes, Jr (January 6, 1904-June 22, 1962). A prolific writer, he penned seven volumes of poems and the texts to two of the hymns found in Singing the Living Tradition, #11 “O God of Stars and Sunlight,” and #164 “The Peace Not Past Our Understanding.”

In his Address to the Living (1937), as quoted by the Dictionary of Unitarian and Universalist Biography, John Holmes wrote:

“We live, we are elected now by time,
Few out of many not yet come to birth,
And many dead, to use the daylight now,
To stand up under the sun upon the earth.
Then break the silence with a voice of praise;
Open the door that opens toward the sky;
Press mind and body hard against this world,
Before we fall asleep, before we die.”

And in 1950, in The Double Root, he wrote this lovely poem, as quoted by The Harvard Square Library’s “Notable American Unitarians.” Enjoy.

The Double Root

by John Albert Holmes, Jr.

Ready with meaning in the pulpit of today,
This morning on my face, and both hands light,
the book before me and the ritual bright,
I wonder how in God’s name I can say
In any church to anyone of my kind
Gathered and hushed and willing for the word,
The Tree. The Tree’s law. The truth I heard
When I was dark, a root, and deep and blind.

But you are near me, You are my people. You
Know what it is to sodden a season through.
How should I lead you, though you charge me to?
Yet listen to me. I have learned a thing to do.

We grow, we grope with a few unfolding leaves
Upward and opening toward the sun — the sun
that draws whatever green we are, and drives
Roots opening downward toward the single source,
Sun under, sun over earth, one law, one force.

Be in your earth, and there will be well begun.
Climb in the dark. All ground is open door
To the open sky. Break through, reach up the air
To air above, and there green yourself round
Planets, as roots on deep-struck rock are wound.
Grown tree; boughs big; under leaf fruit found.

Source: “The Double Root,” from the poetry collection of the same name by John Albert Holmes, Jr, as quoted by The Harvard Square Library’s “Notable American Unitarians.”