Let Freedom Ring
When strangers live with you in your land, you must
not oppress them. The strangers who live
with you shall be to you like citizens; you shall love them as yourself, for
you were strangers in the
… and whoever saveth the life of one, it shall be as if he had saved the
life of all humankind.
— Qur’an 5:32
Often, it takes but a single
story – one stroke on the human canvass – to paint a near-complete
picture. In his stirring and provocative
book Tainted Legacy: 9/11 and the Ruin of
Human Rights, Unitarian Universalist minister, former President of the UU
Association and now Executive Director of Amnesty International/USA, William
Schulz introduces us to one such story.
It’s the story of Shahram Hashemi.
He wore a firefighter’s
coat, and a respirator hung around his neck.
But, unlike other firefighters rushing toward the
Thousands
of people were running away from the blast, but some people, firefighters and
police, were heading toward it. “They
knew it might be the end of their lives,” he said later, “but they went.” That inspired Hashemi to join them, to try to
help. Racing into the direction of the
towers, he was soon in danger from the raging flames. Near Battery Park, a firefighter spotted him
and handed him a protective fireman’s jacket.
“Is there anything I can do?” Hashemi cried out. “Yes,” the fireman
shouted back. “We lost a lot of people
back there.” “It was a moment I will
never forget,” Hashemi recalled. “It was
dark and the fire was everywhere. You
couldn’t breathe. We knew that at any
moment we could die. So I told the
fireman, “My name is Shahram Hashemi and just in case anything happens to me,
let my family know.” The fireman said he
would, embraced the young Muslim, and then made the sign of the cross. “Christ protect you,” he said.
Then
Hashemi went to work, joining other civilians in teams. Later he would carry water in buckets. Several times he came close to being killed,
and finally, when the forty-seven-story building collapsed, he became trapped
inside, and disoriented. Eventually he
was spotted and evacuated by ferry to a hospital. The doctors in the triage unit were all
Jewish, Hashemi noted, perhaps from
Shahram Hashemi’s heroism could not have prepared him for
what was to follow; his story was just beginning. Frankly, I don’t think anyone was ready for
what was to come next – the trauma and shock that have permeated our lives
since 9/11/01 will continue for years to come I’m afraid. For those who lost family and friends, for
those whose lives are intertwined with the events and challenges that came
later and continue to come – these are all very real and shaping. Many of these are daily headline news and try
as we might – while we may yearn and groan to escape the reminders of conflict
– we cannot dismiss or forget what is going on.
We live with the reminders and we live with the fear, uncertainty, and
the insecurity.
This is all true, it is real. And in the name of freedom and patriotism,
security and protectionism we have given our leaders permission (and in some
cases without our permission) to strip us of the very things that we thought
made us different from our attackers, the terrorists. Every time the overhead highway signs read
“Report suspicious terrorist activity,” every time I hear of yet another new
spin about why we are in Iraq and the “The War on Terrorism” is stuck and needs
more money; when I heard about the recent disruption of an Islamic graduate
program in Virginia and the confiscation of their records, when I heard about a
colleague who left this area because he couldn’t live with the pressure of
being at “ground zero;” when I see the closed gates and barracked entrances at
the Naval Academy, and when our leadership has named legislation that
dismantles and removes civil liberties and human rights in the name of freedom
and accuses those who question its appropriateness as disloyal and unpatriotic
– now, two and a half years after New York Iranian student intern Shahram
Hashemi risked his life to serve those in need of help, two years later, Do you
feel safer, protected, secure? Do you
feel the nation has come together to face a common enemy? And what, who and where is this enemy?
And what has prompted me to say all of this? One of three things. First, it’s the second anniversary of the USA
Patriot Act, legislation that allowed the indefinite detention of immigrants
and other non-citizens. When the
government imprisoned more than 1200 men of Middle Eastern and South Asian
descent and refused to disclose their identity, location or reason for
detention, or when they wanted to question 8000 men who were in the US legally,
they didn’t need to give reason – like they were terrorist suspects. As implied by this legislation, patriotism now
means allowing for the violation of US rights and basic human rights, in
addition to the government being given the freedom to spy on religious and
political organizations, monitor your reading and movie watching preferences,
investigate citizens without probable cause, it broadens secret searches and
surveillance, and a lot, lot more. And
if this wasn’t enough, proposed legislation being dubbed Patriot Act II would
give the government additional "broad, sweeping new powers to increase
domestic intelligence-gathering, surveillance and law enforcement prerogatives,
and simultaneously decrease judicial review and public access to
information," (says the Center for Public Integrity).
I know there are many of you who
know much more about these laws than I do.
So, let me just say that I agree with Rabbi Fred Reiner
of D.C.’s
Which is what
Shahram Heshemi soon learned.
Bill Schulz tells us:
A little more than a year after he became a hero on
September 11, Shahram was required by the INS to report to its office to be
photographed and fingerprinted. It is
not that he had done anything wrong. But
he is Iranian, one of thousands of men from those twenty selected countries,
nineteen of them predominantly Muslim whom the United States now wants to
register and fingerprint en masse.
Shahram who had
been in the United States for four years already, was
chagrined. Humiliated. He couldn’t sleep. “I am not afraid of fingerprint [sic],” he
said. “But the foreign students being
educated here, like me, are the best potential allies for the
Schulz concludes: “In its ‘anything goes’ mentality in
the fight against terrorism; its inclination to downplay, if not ignore, even
the most egregious human rights violations of its allies; its tendency to see
terrorists under every turban; its conviction that international covenants mean
little and matter less, [our leadership] has done more to damage human rights
in two and half years than the occasional hypocrisy and frequent indifference
of [past leadership]. And it has done so
largely with the acquiescence of the American people. Part of that passivity is attributable to
fear, to the assumption that the violation of other people’s rights is
necessary in order to keep [us] safe.” (105-106)
Schulz’s comments are especially appropriate for us as
Unitarian Universalists. In another time
– 450 years ago – and in another place – Geneva – the names were different, but
the circumstances are close enough to be parallel in a very dramatic if not disturbing
manner. This is a second reason for my
sermon this morning. Tomorrow is the 450th
anniversary of the martyring of religious progressive and Unitarian theologian
Michael Servetus who died at the hands of protestant reformer and religious
autocrat John Calvin. Calvin, acting in
a style becoming the USA Patriot Act I and proposed Act II, and with the
support of the Spanish Inquisition, the French Inquisition, the courts, family
and friends (who were terrified that if they didn’t help they would be
imprisoned and/or die), hunted down Servetus using informants, the best
surveillance offered in the 14th century, bribes, laws, threats –
everything he could use – to stop this man who was accused of being a major
threat to the peace, harmony, safety and security of Europe (the world). His crime? Freedom of religious expression.
Specifically, he had questioned the doctrine of the trinity and the ritual of
infant baptism. But what really hurt him
was he denounced the Catholic Church hierarchy and the leadership of John
Calvin. And so, when they finally caught
up with him, walked him through the appearance of a fair trial, he was found
guilty and burned at the stake, along with his books or at least those that
they could find because the book had been banned, in the center of Geneva on
October 27, 1553.
Servetus’ story is a remarkable one, and if you have not
yet read Out of the Flames, I urge
you to – it is a fantastic story that clearly draws a line that leads from
Servetus to our version of Unitarian Universalism (and the book is unlike
anything else I’ve every read). This
story, and those of others, demonstrates without question why we Unitarian
Universalists have been such passionate and adamant defenders of civil and human
rights. It’s because the denial of these
rights have been used against us for centuries.
Not only are we a small faith community, we have usually been on the
progressive, heretical edge of theological reflection and civic action. From the Council of Nicea in 325 (when unitarianism
was denied and the trinity was created) to the ordination of gays and lesbians,
Unitarian Universalists have promoted and affirmed the “inherent worth and
dignity of every person ... with justice, equity and compassion for all.” This principle has been at the heart of our
way of religion, it is our heritage, it is our legacy; letting freedom ring is
at the core of what it means to be a Unitarian Universalist.
We know what it means to be on the outside looking
in. And while that doesn’t mean we want
to be on the inside, we know what it means to be the stranger, the one who is
different, the one who thinks and believes (and acts on those beliefs) in a way
that sets us apart. And like the Jews of
post-exilic Israel, we too should have a special appreciation for the ancient
words (what one professor of mine called the oldest words of Hebrew scripture)
which are found in Leviticus 19: “When strangers live with you in your land,
you must not oppress them. The strangers
who live with you shall be to you like citizens; you shall love them as
yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
Given our history as religious progressives – as
heretics, given the legislation that our political leadership and Americans
appear to have accepted without much question, given our history of being the
stranger, we Unitarian Universalists have a unique perspective. And it is we, with other religious
progressives, who must be asking: “How much security is enough? What is its human cost? When does our quest for national security
destroy the values that have built our nation?” (Reiner) We know that you cannot legislate
security. We know that the human cost
will be tremendous. We know that as our
national insecurity grows, the values that built our nation will erode.
Finally, tomorrow is the first day of the month-long
Islamic observance of Ramadan, a third reason for this sermon. With the traditional fasting, Ramadan
presents every Muslim with the opportunity to commit to acts of faith in ways
of intensity that might be missed during the regular year. Like in Judaism’s High Holy Days and the
Christian’s period of Lent, Ramadan is a time when you renew your commitment to
the teachings and ways of the Prophet, which include, of course, being in right
relationship with your neighbors – with strangers. It has been related that the Holy Prophet
Mohammad said: “Anybody amongst you who notices something evil, should correct
it with his own hands, and if he is unable to do so, he should prohibit the
same with his tongue; if he is unable even to do this, he should at least
consider it as bad in his heart; this is the lowest degree of faith.” From this comes a verse in the Qur’an: “… and whoever saveth the
life of one, it shall be as if they had saved the life of all humankind.”
(5:32)
There is a thread that weaves through my three themes
this morning – anniversaries of the Patriot Act and of Servetus’ martyrdom, and
the beginning of Ramadan – a thread which speaks passionately and boldly about safety
and fear, freedom and insecurity, doing what is right and denying rights. All of these in the larger
context of relationships between communities of people, religions, and nations.
Our future as a people of faith, our future as a nation, our
future and the lessons and promise that we share with Shahram Hashemi and all
the many others who have come to this country and now call it home, is a future
which, in spite of the many valleys and ruts that have shaped our history,
recognizes the wisdom and dream of religious and civic prophets of every age.
It is toward that promise that we know we must work, in whatever ways we
can. We must contribute to shaping a
nation not of fear but of hope and freedom, a nation that welcomes the
stranger; we must contribute to shaping a faith that reminds us and challenges
the world to think and act outside of narrow visions and fear-based
solutions. We know it can be different;
we know it doesn’t have to be like this; we know we can change. We know, as Rumi
knew, there is another vision: “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I will meet you there.” (adapted from Rumi/Riley)
This sermon was given on
the
the Rev.
Fredric J. Muir.