A sermon delivered by The Rev. Kathy Schmitz on January 6, 2008
At Pathways Church, A Unitarian Universalist Community in Southlake, Texas
My heart is moved by all I cannot save: So much has been destroyed
I have to cast my lot with those who, age after age, perversely,
with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.
- Adrienne Rich, American poet, teacher, and writer (1929 - )
Reading before the sermon: from Passion for Justice by Carter Heyward
from The Long Road by Marge Piercy
Meditation: a reflection on E.B. White by The Rev. Richard S Gilbert
The subject tonight is love
and for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact,
I know of no better topic
for us to discuss
until we all die
—Hafiz
These are the words of the 14th century Sufi poet from Persia known as Hafiz. Hafiz lived and wrote about 100 years after the better known Sufi poet Rumi, whose words we sang for our opening song this morning… “Come, Come, whoever you are.”
Hafiz’ poetry is love poetry – sometimes addressed to God, sometimes written as if from God – love poems. While the poems personify God and even use the masculine pronoun, there is also a reading of these works that make it clear that this God is no old man in the clouds with white beard.
Sufis are often referred to as a mystical form of Islam. Given their place in history makes this sense, however, it is not the way they would describe themselves. They would describe themselves as a wisdom tradition, seekers of the truth. Like Unitarian Universalists they draw on the teachings of all religions. But they are a heart centered tradition. Their symbol is a heart with wings. (slide with symbol) The god they worship can be equated with all of reality. They would say – look, see, understand – the reality of all existence. It is amazing! Choose to love it!
The subject tonight is love
and for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact,
I know of no better topic
for us to discuss
until we all die
—Hafiz
I had the opportunity to visit a Sufi center in New York State a couple of year ago.
You might not be surprised that the visit deepened my understanding of love.
What might be surprising is that it also had a deep effect on my understanding of justice.
The subject this morning is love, a Sufi understanding of love, and the way that this might speak to us… us as Unitarian Universalists, and transform our work for justice.
Before my visit to the Sufi center, I had been reading the work of two Unitarian Universalist theologians. These writers, whose work I deeply respect, offer critiques of liberal religion, which includes us, Unitarian Universalists. The prime area in which they offer critique is in the area of social justice.
There are two parts to the critique made by these two UU theologians.
First, they suggest that being predominately middle class, in spite of our sympathy for the poor, we tend to hold back on any change that might challenge our comfortable way of life.
Second, they also suggest that we tend to shy away from committing ourselves to anything unless we are guaranteed tangible results in our life time.
We don’t want to give up our comfort – especially if it might not guarantee results.
In considering these critiques, I was thinking about how we could challenge ourselves – to see if we were willing to give more, risk more, for the greater good.
That’s what I was thinking about when I encountered the Sufis.
I was thinking about our second of Unitarian Universalist Association Principles. The one that says that we affirm and promote justice, equity, and compassion in human relation.
I was thinking about giving more, risking more.
I was thinking about this in the context of a world that presents so many challenges.
I was thinking about this and I was aware of the frustration and even despair that many among us feel about the state of the world today. The concerns before us, both those that come from natural phenomena and those that are the result of human action, can seem overwhelming.
Still, I was thinking about giving more, risking more.
And I realized that to work for social justice, in any or all of the various ways that the world calls to us, we need to move out of despair. To work for social justice we need to move out of despair – and – into a place of hope, a place of confidence and action.
That’s what I was thinking.
And then I met the Sufis.
And I had a new thought.
We need to do more – more than move out of despair – more than move into a place of hope, and a place of confidence and action. We need to step out of despair and into joy.
Impossible some might say – to feel joy with the state of the world as it is!
No – it is not!
Not only is it possible – it is critical – I would argue – to feel joy at a time such as this.
Possible? Yes! – Critical? Yes! – Inevitable no!
If you do not feel joy now – you cannot sit where you are and expect joy to come and land on your shoulder.
If you do not feel joy now – you will need to make a choice – you will need to take a step – you will need to take a risk.
Risk is not something with which all of us are comfortable… and yet... it is important part of a truly free life. This is pointed out in this piece by an unknown author (variously attributed a short version of this appears in Singing the Living Tradition, #658)
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.
They may they avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love.
Chained by their attitudes, they are slaves.
They have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.
My 4 part assertion this morning is this…
… To live just lives and help create a fair society we will need to act.
… It is hard to act when we are filled frustration and despair.
… To move out of frustration and despair we need to move into hope, love, and even joy.
… We can do this best by loving the world, and this is a choice, and this is a risk.
Come with me on this journey.
We begin with the Sufis.
My encounter with the Sufis took place when my partner, Charlie, and I found ourselves at the Abode of the Message. The Abode is a Sufi Retreat Center nestled in the hills and it is the headquarters for the Sufi Order International.
How did we happen to find ourselves at the Abode? We, and other extended family members, were gathered to see a touring two person play. One of the actors happened to be Charlie’s niece. In other words, we were there to be a good aunt and uncle.
That would have been a good enough reason, but happily, it turned out to be a fun and interesting experience for other reasons as well.
In the play, Charlie’s niece plays a young woman named Noor Khan. The other character is Noor’s brother, Viliyat Khan. Noor and Viliyat. (slide with picture of Noor and Viliyat)
The play is based on the true story of Noor and Viliyat Khan who were the children of an American mother and an Indian father. Their father is the person credited with bringing the Sufi tradition to the west.
As you might imagine, Noor and Viliyat had a rather unusual childhood. They traveled broadly as their father worked to spread Sufi teachings around the world. Noor was born in the Kremlin while her father was there as an advisor. From age 10 Viliyat was raised to be his father’s successor as the spiritual leader of the International Sufi movement.
When World War II breaks out, Noor and Viliyat are living in Paris. They flee to Britain. For a time they imagine that their deep spirituality places them above worldly conflict and they attempt to remain neutral concerning the war. Eventually they find that this is not honest. They want the Nazis to loose. They struggle to understand the relationship of their spiritual beliefs to the realities around them.
They realize that they have no choice but to become involved. Viliyat enlists with the British Navy. Noor joins the French resistance. Because she is familiar with France and is multilingual she is an ideal operative. As a wireless radio operator she moves from place to place to avoid capture. She is the only one of her group to escape during a Gestapo raid. She is recalled to England for her own safety. She refuses to leave. She will not leave her French associates without communications. Her resolve is firm.
Ultimately, she is betrayed by a friend. She refuses to talk. She is kept separate from other prisoners because she is considered extremely dangerous. Why is she considered extremely dangerous? Because of her spiritual depth. She remains calm but resolute. In spite of apparent torture she refuses to hate her captors. This is something the enemy is not prepared for. It makes her dangerous. They do not want this quiet resolve, this deep strength, to spread to the other prisoners.
In the end, she is transfer to Dachau and subsequently executed.
Too full of love to be allowed to live.
Her brother, Viliyat, survives the war, and goes on to lead the Sufi movement, to found the center that we were visiting, and to try to understand his sister’s death.
Noor Kahn lived at a time few of us would choose to return to and through experiences most of us can barely begin to imagine.
It would have been possible for her rather idealistic, rarified Sufi upbringing to leave her unprepared to deal with the world. Instead it gave her the one tool that they could not take away from her.
In the end, the enemy’s fear of it would cost her life.
She was too full of love to be allowed to live.
I did not actually learn all this from the play – I did some research afterwards – because I was intrigued by the character, the person, of Noor.
We stayed at the Abode that night and in the morning I got up early so that I could attend morning prayers. A combination of prayer and meditation, I found that with an open mind and minimal translation of a few things, it was a very fulfilling experience.
(back to sermon slide)
At breakfast, a family member asked me it and about the Sufi tradition in general. I reminded them of the poem from Hafiz that had been in the play the night before.
The subject tonight is love
and for tomorrow night as well.
As a matter of fact,
I know of no better topic
for us to discuss
until we all die
—Hafiz
This, I told her, pretty much summed it up.
She then told me about a minister friend of hers. At sermon time one Sunday, he got up and said simply “love one another.” Then he sat down. The next week, at sermon time, he got up and said simply “love one another.” And the next week and the next. He kept it up, she said, until the people started doing it.
We sometimes mock the simple, dare I say idealistic, lessons taught by the world’s religions. They may be simple, but imagine the change in the world, if people started to follow them.
Love one another.
The subject tonight is love.
The theme for this morning is justice.
And I would suggest to you, that if the theme for this morning is justice, then, the subject for the morning is love.
Why?
Because, as much as we would like to think that all of our ideas about justice are fully rational, it is often the case that our thinking is colored by that part of us that we sometimes name emotions. Of course, it’s not really a separate part of us, it’s all in there together, but I’m talking about that part of the mixture that we name things like: frustration, despair, fear. That condition of our being that we call out as: hope, love, joy.
Here’s the thing.
I have not been impressed with the justice decisions that have been made in the frame of, for example, fear. It does not generally bring out the best in us.
I know that when I am afraid I revert to a very basic place of self-interest, to a place where I will feel safe. When I feel threatened, my tendency is to protect myself – not to consider what is or is not fair to the people around me.
And when I feel despair, my thinking becomes apathetic. It doesn’t matter. Nothing I can do will make any difference. Just? Unjust? Who cares?
And when I feel frustration, well that’s low level anger. Anger can be a powerful and motivating force. It can also be dangerous. It is a double edged sword and it needs to be handled extremely carefully. Anger can lead us to seek revenge. This is more likely to lead to a cycle of injustice, rather than the creation of a fair and peaceful world.
But what if we nurtured our ideas about justice in an environment of hope, love, and joy?
When our consideration of justice happens through a hopeful lens, through a lens filled with hope, then we are able to imagine the possible fulfillment of our ideals. The decisions we make will be ones that help to move the world closer to what we imagine is possible.
When we hold love in our hearts as we consider justice, it helps us to keep from dehumanizing those with whom we disagree. The worst atrocities of our species have come when people have allowed themselves to view their enemies as less than human.
We can love someone and still tell them no. We can love someone and still tell them their behavior is unacceptable. We do this all the time with children. We can love – much more than we than we know.
And joy… if only we could create justice out of a place of joy.
Is that too bold a proposal?
There is a pendulum in history. It swings back and forth. Now away from the world we want. Now back toward it.
Does it tend toward justice? Maybe. In the 1800’s Unitarian minister Theodore Parker said: the arc of history is long but it bends toward justice. Does it? I don’t know. I hope so. I hope that arc of history ultimately bends toward justice.
If so, I’m pretty sure it will need some hopeful hearts helping it along its way.
But even if, even if I can’t be sure about the arc, I am pretty sure about the pendulum.
There are steps forward. Steps backwards.
I’m pretty sure the steps backwards are tangled up with hate and fear. That backsliding is allowed to happen when there is frustration and despair.
But those forward steps – those are hopeful steps taken in love.
And joy, that bold proposal, that place where our heart feels full and our spirit soars. That attitude of gratitude. That feeling that the sun shines within our heart… so much that we don’t just want to be fair… we want to share of our abundance. We want others to have what we have. Our ideas about justice become an invitation to selfless giving.
Justice done in joy is not just a step forward – it’s more like a hop, skip, and a jump. It’s more like a dance.
So, I suppose you are wondering what this has to do with you.
As you go through the next week, I invite you to consider the lens through which you take in the world, and attitude with which you decide what steps to take.
Is your frustration and despair moving you in the right direction?
Is your anger and hatred taking you where you want to go?
600 years ago, our Sufi poet, Hafiz wrote words that have been translated to this:
Now That All your worry
Has proven such an Unlucrative Business,
Why Not Find a better Job.
Why not indeed?
Because hope may be a risk.
Because love may be a risk.
Because joy may be a risk.
But they are risks worth taking.
Because the best way to create a world of hope, and love, and joy is to choose to live a life of hope, and love, and joy.
Why not… give it a try?