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This sermon was given on September 14, 2003 at

The Unitarian Universalist Church of Annapolis by

The Rev. Fredric J. Muir.

Terribly At Ease in Zion

Alas for those who are at ease in Zion, and for those who feel secure. — Amos 6:1

Most of this week I was attending a workshop in Talladega, Alabama. The site for this workshop was at a conference center owned and run by the Alabama Southern Baptist Convention. While those attending the meeting were a diverse, ecumenical group of clergy, it was the first time – the only time – that I have ever spent that kind of time in a SB setting, which included, of course, their literature being everywhere. While Unitarians and Universalists once had a robust pamphlet ministry (and what we have today is nothing compared to what it once was), the Baptists put significant resources into this work.

One pamphlet I pulled from the rack carried this title: “Under Attack: Where were you on September 11, 2001?” and after paragraphs that sound close to what Michael Lerner wrote in Tikkun (as well as things I’ve read in other publications), it ends like this:

“On September 11, 2001, thousands of people entered eternity in a heartbeat. Some of them were ready; some of them were not. What about you? Jesus died on the cross for us. If we put our faith in Christ, we don’t have to live in fear of death. We can rejoice, knowing that God has prepared a heavenly home for us and that one day we will live there with Him forever. We can rest in the assurance that we are ready for whatever comes our way. Are you ready?”

Even when I was a Christian, I found it very hard to believe a theology that spoke so clearly and bluntly about the last days, Judgment Day, a personal relationship with Christ, and life after death. This was never part of my theology – not then, and not now. But in the late summer of 1970, it was a different set of issues that was forcing me to think about these questions. Here was the setting: Due to some errors made be my college registrar and my draft board being unable to keep up with the volume of inductees, which meant that they took a long time to process mistakes, I had completed my Army physical and I was on the verge of being shipped to boot camp and then probably to Vietnam. I was at a loss as to what to do – you see, I was only half way through college, I was adamantly opposed to the war, and now I was being put in a corner. I made an appointment to see a draft counselor, which was something pretty risky since I’d been told that FBI agents were staking out counseling centers; I’d heard that those who went to counselors actually had their papers processed faster. With a lot of anxiety for many reasons, I went to see the counselor and was told I had two options: jail or Canada. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I left the center discouraged and when I got in my car, the battery was dead. The significance of this was that I’d been looking for a sign; I was desperate, I didn’t know what to do; I wasn’t ready to make a decision and I wanted someone to do it for me. Could this be God’s way of sending me a message, getting my attention? Was it an issue of faith? Was my car not starting a sign that I should just “put my faith in Christ, and not have to live in fear of death? Didn’t I know I could relax because whatever happened God had prepared a heavenly home for me and that one day I would live there with Him forever? Was I ready?” And if I wasn’t, why not?

Well, I wasn’t ready. I guess I’m still not ready, at least not under those conditions. Some words from Barbara Kingsolver fit quite nicely here in explaining my frame of mind:

“I’ve lived long enough to eat many youthful words, but a few things I have always known for certain, and this is one: If I had to give up my life for anything, it would have to have the resilience of hope, the elation of new literacy, the brilliant life of a field of flowers, the elementary kindness of bread. Nothing short of that. It would have to be something as sure as love.” (Small Wonder, 194) I’m with Kingsolver on this one, and though her words weren’t there for me in 1970, I’d like to think that this was my frame of mind.

Her words are here for us now, now when we are living and struggling and questioning in a post-9/11 world. I take her poetic eloquence and put it along side of Michael Lerner’s prophetic insight, which I read to you earlier. He said: “We need to provide another framework of meaning and purpose for life that does not require either a belief in other-worldly compensations (as the SBC describes) or in domination and control over other peoples.” (Tikkun, S/O2003, “Closed Hearts, Closed Minds”). With Kingsolver’s poetry and Lerner’s prophecy as my progressive lenses, here is what I see.

The United States has become an empire nation. Nearly every magazine I have seen in the last several months has carried a front-page article about “America – The Empire.” In one of those articles, Robert Kaplan (in Atlantic), sounding very irritated, says, Enough with these articles; Yes, we’re an empire; And what does it mean?

It means we can do virtually anything we want, anywhere we want, whenever we want. And if this wasn’t clear before 9/11, it has become increasingly clear since then. Our country’s ability to pressure and shape other nation’s agendas is bold and mighty, especially in two areas. One is our military power. Now, there are many who feel that this is a “necessary evil,” that it simply comes with the free world territory and power that we’ve inherited and accumulated. Understandably, we see our nation as one under siege: On September 11, 2001, we were attacked and everyone felt the horror. There is no question about this. And now, whether it’s a change in the security color code, warning signs on the highway (how does one recognize “suspicious terrorist activity”?), random checks at public events, low flying aircraft, or school evacuation procedures, we are constantly being reminded that we are a country under siege.

And there is another side of it, a side that we don’t usually care to look at.

How are we, individually and as a nation, helping to perpetuate the cycle of violence that has seized and gripped us and the world? What do you make of retaliation and revenge as legitimate forms of justice-making? Listen to this story as reported in a recent Harper’s: these two emails are an exchange between a retired NYC police officer and US military officials. First, from NYC on March 14, 2003:

“Dear Public Affairs Officer, A simple request from a Vietnam Veteran and Retired NYC Police Officer who lost his son on 911 at the WTC. Simply to have his son’s name put on one of the munitions (bomb, missile, artillery shell) that will be used on the war on terrorism including Iraq. Thank you.”

After several exchanges, here is the reply email from the field:

“Sorry for the delay, but business is booming. The weapons don’t stay still long enough to write on them. For the record: The weapon this tribute was written on is a 2000 pound guided bomb. It’s big, it’s ugly, and it’s always lethal, just like we love them. It was dropped on the night of April 1, 2003 against targets east of Baghdad. The mission and weapons were 100% successful. Let me know if there is any more I can do. It’s my honor and pleasure.”

I hope that none of us – that no one – will ever have to know this father’s pain; I can understand his remorse and anger; and how do we – as an empire nation and as citizens – break the cycle of violence (of punishment, revenge and retaliation) that we are all responsible for, that we each must have contemplated at some point in our lives? This will not be an easy thing.

Violence is not our only import or export. When I’ve visited and lived in the Philippines, it has been alarming to see how they imagine life in the United States. Their image is largely based on the marketing programs of American advertisers. So, it should not be surprising that Filipinos see us – and wish to emulate us – as capitalistic, consumerist, influencing, powerful people. Is that the way you feel? Because that’s the way they see us – not just in the Philippines but in many, many other nations. Here’s how one person writes about it:

“Every great empire depends as much on its cultural influence as on its political authority and military might. American culture, through the movies, television and the Internet, pervades the world, but with what message? The affluence and self-indulgence as the meaning of life would not seem to be a firm basis for the dissemination of democracy. To what extent is our culture teaching the world the virtues of citizenship, self-control, care of others? To what extent is American culture teaching the world the opposite of these ideals? (Xn. Cen., 3/8/03, 23-4)

Let me re-enforce these sentiments: I remember a poignant observation made by Arapd Csete, our visiting partner church minister from Romania. You may remember that he visited us this past April. Over a cup of coffee one afternoon, he remarked how big and beautiful our homes are; how well taken care of our gardens and grasses are; we spend so much time and money taking care of the things we own. But when, he wondered, when does anyone have time to enjoy these? “All Americans do is accumulate. When do you use what you have? When do you enjoy it all?” And though he never asked, another question was: Why do you need it?

In the first few hours after the horrors of 9/11, networks must have had a difficult time finding officials to interview, because one of the press conferences I heard was with former Secretary of State George Schultz. And out of all his remarks, what I remember with greatest clarity was his raised voice and his clenched fist, and his saying: “We will not be intimidated! This attack will not change the American way of life! What has happened will not change what we have come to know and expect and love in America!”

I feel that the prophet Amos could have been speaking to us when he told the people of Jerusalem, the cultural, political, and religious center of ancient Israel: “Alas for those who are at ease in Zion, and for those who feel secure ...” Amos’ words are an indictment of a self-indulgent society where the powerful and those of means are accused of arrogant self-satisfaction. We, of the American Empire, are the new Zion. And there’s more.

My experience after the draft counselor made me wonder if God was going to intervene on my behalf. Michael Lerner talks about a post-9/11 meaning being found in religious faith – as is strongly stated by the Baptist pamphlet. And so it is that our political leadership left no doubt that ours is a religious mission the American Empire is embarking on. As the world listened, at the National Cathedral President Bush declared: “Our responsibility to history is already clear: to answer these attacks and rid the world of evil.” (my emphasis)

Wrapping the Empire in the holy cause of ridding the earth of evil – sound familiar? No, this isn’t the most recent Hollywood sci-fi adventure movie. Actually, naming the Other as evil has been a feature of human creative thinking for millennia. Demonizing the enemy, the other, the foreigner, the different – it’s a consumer-tested/tried-and-true way of looking at and understanding the world: it’s us versus them; you’re either with us or against us. It permeates the movies, talk-radio, many of our TV news shows, the military and, of course, it’s the bread and butter of religious fundamentalism (regardless of its name). It was because of human’s proclivity to demonizing the Other that Jesus responded to the accusers of evil in the Gospel of Matthew: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye.”

Should we be contemplating as Unitarian Thomas Jefferson did: “I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just.”? Reflect with me on this: “Once there was Rome; now there is a new Empire. Once there were barbarians; now there are many barbarians who are the Saddams of this world. And then there were the people of faith who were loyal not to the Empire, but to a larger vision. To whom will we be loyal?” (paraphrased and adapted from Sojourners, Jim Wallis, S/O2003, 26)

I’m struck with the parallels between the words of Michael Lerner and those in the Southern Baptist pamphlet. Each one speaks of our need for meaning, love, direction, clarity, and vocation. But that’s where it ends because the paths they describe – how they tell us to go about getting these – are very different. The pamphlet says, Save yourself and do it by repenting your sins and believing in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. Lerner pleads, open your heart and your mind may lead you to a saving message for all people.

Religious fundamentalists are telling us that apocalypse is in the air. And I have to be honest and admit that there have been times, when at the end of a day, or listening to the morning news, that I’ve wondered if our world is on the verge of exploding or imploding as predicted by some ancient apocalyptic traditions, because that often makes about as much sense as what I’m seeing. Then, I step back and find words like these, which in a strange way confirm what I’m hearing yet challenge me, and us: “We live in end times, all right,” Jack Hitt writes. “But it’s not the end of the world that’s coming; it’s the declining power of the sacred word to reach our hearts as something other than shibboleth.” (Harper’s, 7/03, 55) I fear that our Empire, this Zion called the United States of America, is terribly at ease. We have been wrapped in nationalistic and religious shibboleths that prevent us from opening our hearts and minds to words and ideas that will take us on new paths of peace, kindness, and meaning rather than repeating the old and tired cycles of revenge and violence, domination and exploitation.

In his last sermon before leaving for the New World, Pilgrim leader John Winthrop spoke to his congregation about the value of being a community. His words still resonate with challenge: “We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body ...” (Xn. Century, 3/8/03, 25)

There are many minds that will need opening if we are to honor and give witness to Winthrop’s testimony and challenge, minds that must be opened in the communities we call home and if the community of nations is to see itself as one body. Living in our post-9/11 world, I understand the reluctance to be open-minded; the pain, fear, and uncertainty are still too present. But this we know for sure: Without open hearts, there will never be open minds; without both, there will never be change and we will remain committed to traditions and cycles that for centuries have birthed the same results. No matter how powerful the ideas, when the heart is closed, the mind will be closed as well.

It was with an open heart, that Barbara Kingsolver wrote this prayerful comment: “There can be no greater spiritual accomplishment than to come through brutal trials and then look back and see that mean times did not render us mean spirits.”

With the intention of creating an open mind, a mind that will not render a mean spirit, I ask that you take some time to ponder this question: What have you done/What can you do, to keep your heart open? Then, to write down on the post-it in your order of service a few words or a sentence that reflects your thoughts. On your way out of the sanctuary, in the hall, there are two large sheets of paper titled “Open hearts, Open Minds.” I request you share your reflective thoughts with others by placing your post-it on the sheet. This week, they will be transcribed and made available next Sunday. Again, I ask you to ponder during the music this question: What have you done/What can you do to keep your heart open?”

Let me conclude with this poem by Gwendolyn Brooks:

Speech to the Young, Speech to the Progress-Toward

Say to them,

say to the down-keepers,

the sun-slappers,

the self-soilers,

the harmony-hushers,

“Even if you are not ready for day

it cannot always be night.

You will be right.

For that is the hard home-run.

And remember:

Live not for Battles Won.

Live not for The-End-of-the-Song.

Live in the along.

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