HUU Sermon Archives

Losing Faith

by Merle Wenger
September 24, 2006

Chalice-Lighting Reading

You know of the disease in Central Africa called sleeping sickness . . . There also exists a sleeping sickness of the soul. Its most dangerous aspect is that one is unaware of its coming. That is why you have to be careful. As soon as you notice the slightest sign of indifference, the moment you become aware of the loss of a certain seriousness, of longing, of enthusiasm and zest, take it as a warning. You should realize your soul suffers if you live superficially.

Albert Schweitzer

Reading

I once heard a story from an old African-American man in the mid-south. He came out of an alley as I was sitting amidst the graffiti of the inner-city "park." Some people would call him crazy for he spoke to anyone and no one. He shuffled along with one finger held out as thought to test the wind's direction. Cuentistas recognize such persons as having been touched by the gods. In our tradition, we'd call such a man El Bulto. The Bundle, for souls such as he carry a certain kind of ware and show it to any who will look, anyone who has the eyes to see it and the sense to shelter it.

This particular kindly El Bulto gave me this story. It is about a certain kind of ancestral transmission. He called the story "one Sick-Two Stick." "This is the way of the old African kings" he whispered.

In the story, an old man is dying, and calls his people to his side. He gives a short, sturdy stick to each of his many offspring, wives, and relatives. "Break the stick." He instructs them. With some effort, they all snap their sticks in half.

"This is how it is when a soul is alone without anyone. They can be easily broken."

The old man next gives each of his kin another stick and says, "this is how I would like you to live after I pass. Put your sticks together in bundles of twos and threes. Now break these bundles in half."

No one can break the sticks when there are two or more in a bundle. The old man smiles. "We are strong when we stand with another soul. When we are with another, we cannot be broken." By Clarissa Pinkola Estes

The Service

The faith of my childhood seems simple--so simple that I have attempted throughout my life to reject it entirely. It was the faith taught to me from the pulpit of the conservative Mennonite church by men only, that faith that celebrated carefully selected passages from the King James Bible--passages chosen to attempt to bring me to a condition of the begging repentant not unlike those subjects of the Spanish Inquisition who were tortured with heated braziers filled with red hot burning coals placed at their feet and left there until they perished--sometimes taking days.

Make no mistake. I too was scared-for days, months and even years. In that achievement the preachers were successful. But apparently, I may not have been scared enough, because from day one, my faith in the society within which I lived--first and foremost being my farm family home I shared with my ten brothers and sisters and Mom and Dad, and second the Dalton Local School that I attended--my faith in that society grew faster and stronger than did the faith in my church.

It did not help that the church had a long, somewhat arbitrary seeming, list of evil people. Women who cut their hair, men and women who wore short pants, women who wore swimming suits or worse yet bikinis, people who drove colored cars (ours were black) red was the worst, people who went to the movie houses, danced in the dance halls, watched TV or listened to the radio, people who smoked cigarettes, people who drank alcohol, women who wore makeup, or "painted their faces." The list was quite pervasive.

These people, simply put, were going to burn in hell for their worldliness. It did not matter how good they were, because it was obvious they had not read their Bible, the inerrant word of God, and if they would have, at least if they could have divined the same interpretation as the bishop of the Maple Hill and County Line Mennonite Churches, they would have known that the above mentioned sinners were going to burn.

In other words, what the church of my childhood celebrated was a judgmental trial by the preachers of all humankind, without any of them present to defend themselves. When these same church leaders examined the size of women's head coverings, or the blackness and seam-worthiness of ladies hosiery, the length and non-form-fitting attributes of their dresses, the judgment continued. Although men could be challenged more directly, since they were permitted at times to speak in the church, the preacher knew his responsibility was to focus his attention on the depravity and fallen nature of his flock. This faith I learned here was that goodness in other people, especially outsiders, is seldom emphasized. The "us vs them" standard is inflexible. We are helpless until we turn to God for help. I learned to pray. I imagined that with just enough practice, I could be as good as Jesus, and although never perfect, I too could walk in silent judgment among my worldly peers. I tried that out for awhile.

Although I did not realize it at the time, 40-50 years ago, the minute I stepped outside of the church, my experience taught me otherwise. My parents enjoyed relating to the rest of the world in their business dealings. For us children, direct praise was seldom heard, but I knew, along with all my siblings, that when we brought home good grades from school, when our teachers praised out scholarship, my Mom and Dad smiled from ear to ear. They had difficulty threatening us with eternal damnation. They didn't seem to practice the same judgment that the preachers did. I noticed this "wiggle-room."

This is a simple story. SO simple that I feel somewhat like a voyeur when I bring it to you-like I am tattling on someone. But I share it because I think it points out how difficult it is to reach out to the children of fundamentalist homes, not only in our own country, but especially in Muslim countries on the other side of the globe. My life story is simply an example of how a person raised in a simple faith tradition, moves on through education and parental acceptance to another level of questions, and finally a new kind of belief system.

Beyond my parents, my primary schooling also did not celebrate the fallen nature of humanity. Rather it provided a constant eye-opening parade of examples of how peoples curiosity unlocked the most wonderful secrets of the universe and moved the element of mystery from the level of "god makes the grass green" to the quixotic evolution story that ends with the complex development of photosynthesis processes so simple yet so complex, that I have come to fully appreciate Egyptian Sun worship-worshipping the one source of all life that we can at least see and experience.

In first grade my curiosity about letters and words taught me to read. I will never forget the day Mrs. Haney made us put our heads down on our desks and close our eyes as she hauled a 3 foot by 4 foot version of our first Little Red Reading book out of the closet, simply to inspire us and join in the exploration of reading. I adored Mrs. Haney for that. Her teaching was attending my mind in a way that my church had not. But, Mrs. Haney had cut hair.

In second grade I fell in love with my teacher. Her name was Mrs. Gerber. Maybe she sensed my tender shyness and gave me a few winks of encouragement and like any under-appreciated pet; that little bit of praise made me prance around her feet seeking more. My response was to do excellent school work for her. But, Mrs. Gerber wore bright red lipstick.

In 3rd grade Elsie Burkhart taught me that a passion for bird watching is a passion that is religious. She arranged our school day as often as possible, so all 30 of us could sneak out the back door and take a walk in the village park or the cemetery that bordered the school yard, anywhere we might spot a bird and exalt in their unique color designs and habits. But Ms Burkhart who was single, and dressed rather plainly, drove a bright green car.

In 4th grade Mrs. Mumaw had us all bring our pets to school one day for pet day--all 30 of us brought everything imaginable from turtles to horses. I don't remember what I took-just that it was fun. I personally rather liked getting away from animals: our 100 dairy cows, thousands of chickens 20 or so cats, a few ponies and a couple dogs-they represented work to me. On another day in Mrs. Mumaw's class, we had breakfast at school. It took a half day to prepare, eat and clean up but it was a memorable way to teach the importance of eating a good breakfast. We had so much fun in Mrs. Mumaw's class that I didn't really look forward to recess. But, Mrs. Mumaw often talked about shows she had seen on TV.

In the higher grades, like any eager student, I soaked up science and math because they were easy for me to understand and I marveled at these school teachers and their infinite knowledge. I now can see that I understood on some level, that they held one key to freedom for me-the key to finding my own faith. I learned as the linguist, Noam Chomsky, explains that when you go over to the science department, they don't teach you to trust people: you are trained to probe, investigate, and trust your own mind

I could go on but I think you get my point. My spiritual growth might be best described as UU minister Peter Morales states in an essay. "A true spirituality does not ask me to deny any part of who I am. It does not ask me to turn my back on all that our species has learned in the last few thousand years." In my case, as fast as the church piled up dogma, my daily experience was showing me something different. I was actually in a spiritual crisis mode: one that was permitted to simmer on the back burner for the next 30 years.

Along the way a few other significant events have shaped my perspective.

I enjoyed going to school studying 6 years in undergraduate school : biology first, and then arts and the humanities followed by two years theatre studies on the graduate level.

I fell in love and got married. No other single experience forced me to examine the relationship between me and another person and come to understand that someone who appeared very different from me on the outside, experienced joy and sorrow the same as I did on the inside. This was the ongoing revelation of my spiritual crisis. As soon as any religion banished a person or group of persons to the woodshed, it was always obvious that it was based on some arbitrary code of belief--like whether you drove a black car or not.

I had a child. Finally my belief in original sin was forever banished. To this day, I have not met a baby or toddler that emanates a sinful nature.

I found work with people I loved. I learned to love many people--to feel grateful for the good spirit that unites individuals in an institutional community, working toward a common goal.

I went to therapy and learned that it was a struggle, but that I could really learn to like myself. I finally learned that disagreeing with others and understanding when we must take a stand was healthy. I learned I did not need to be like Jesus. Rather that it was important to value my weaknesses as something other than evil.

I joined some small groups where members celebrated life together, AND

I found this church. I read and re-read our prophets like Ralph Waldo Emerson who describes arguing about original sin, the origin of evil and predestination as the mumps and measles of life, which if you have never caught them, you can not understand. "A simple mind will not know these enemies." But Emerson states "It is quite another thing that (we) should be be able to give account of (our) faith and expound to another the theory of (our) self-union and freedom. This requires rare gifts."

All of these epiphanies in my life were based on the opposite belief of my childhood church. Instead of celebrating the negative nature of humanity, I found I was drawn to a celebration of the goodness. I was stopped one day in my reading tracks, stunned by the clarity of Alexander Solzhenitsyn's statement that "the line between good and evil runs through every mans heart." I was startled because I knew that this was the profound proof of my life. I did not believe, could not believe the fallen man story--that my salvation, my atonement, my eternal life was dependent on parceling out damnation to all those about me who were falling down as if that would raise me higher. I came to doubt leaders who apparently had not read or understood Solzhenitsyn, or Martin Luther King, Dostoevsky, or Thomas Merton and come away with their conclusions that there is goodness to be found and appreciated in all humanity, as well as countries-that we can no longer divide the world into populations of good and bad.

For the mentally ill, for the alcoholic, for the drug abuser, for the kid who likes to lessen his anxiety and fear by carrying a gun, for the child who likes to defend himself with his fists, for the teenager who wants to grow up and be a Madonna, Brittney, or Brad Pitt, --for all of these there are bigger dreams to aspire to than my group vs your group. There is real help to turn these lives away from the last 70 years of capitalist expansionist-materialism. But that turn-about is not celebrated by fundamentalist churches who imagine jewel bedecked after-lives, the saved dancing on streets of gold, and sleeping with blessed virgins. There is little hope included in the plans of fundamentalist religions, and the governments spawned therewith, for as we see in Iraq, the respect for the un-chosen is negligible. We don't even count the enemy dead. Recovery for such blighted social views is only possible in a culture where, at least in it's principles, the chosen are not divided from the un-chosen.

My childhood faith was further tested when my friend Carol suffered mental collapse 10 years ago after her husband joined the Army and was shipped off to Europe, leaving Carol to raise the children on her own and relocate to Europe briefly. Carol found care and compassion in one of the fast-growing Pentecostal churches in the United States. Carol walked the "salvation story" with her congregation but as her depression and delusions deepened, the image of Christ came into her dreams and directed her to kill her daughter. Carol attempted that with a butcher knife, fortunately stopped when there was only blood and psychological damage committed, rather than killing her child. Although I can not lay the blame solely on the church, mental health professionals often deal with clients who combine their faith stories with their own life stories to commit delusional acts.

Over the past five years, I have given serious thought about whether I have faith. Through reading, study and contemplation--through rejoicing in the good advice and empowerment other have given to me, I have finally arrived at a place where I feel confident to proclaim what I believe in--rather than what I do not believe in. Sam Harris' book, The End of Faith, has served as a watershed in this quest. For those of use who have "kicked the habit" of organized religion, The End of Faith is a good read. But I was not satisfied with Harris' wholesale rejection of faith.

Having thrown off the annoying horse hair blanket of my parent's faith in my teens and twenties, my faith in the American white-picket fence dream during the Vietnam war and civil-rights movement in my 20s, my faith in the American capitalist model in my 30s, and my faith in the traditional organized Christian church in my 40's, I have come into my fifties realizing that my belief system might be perceived as empty, vacuous and uninspiring. I know that I fit the mold of the Unitarian Universalists whom Garrison Keillor portrays as believing in "nothing." Or in the words of an old gospel song "They got what they wanted, but they lost what they had."

I am challenged by quantum physics which implicates the observer's consciousness in reality. Amit Goswami in The Visionary Window says that throughout history mystics have experienced a "visionary window" perhaps through a quantum perspective. He explains how consciousness affects matter and how the insights reached through current scientific inquiry render intelligible the power arising from disciplined spiritual practice.

I am challenged too when I return to my childhood community and visit with my conservative relatives, I find them living a rather idyllic, simple, less educated, and slowed-down version of life. Yet it is not a life based on a belief system that I can hardly call invalid. I sense that many of the customers I depend on for my well-being in my business have much more traditional religious beliefs than I do, and by reading the local newspaper, I know that I live in a community where conservative political and religious perspectives are to the right of my own beliefs. I know that around the globe, traditional religious belief systems are key to making war and keeping peace. I sense that all these groups struggle with maintaining traditional belief systems in light of new scientific and technological discoveries. I am frustrated that they would choose to ignore science and technology and follow a belief system seemingly based in fantasy. I agree with John Henderson who writes in his book, Fear, Faith Fact, Fantasy that "We have to allow others to believe what they want, but we should not allow them to undertake actions that are inimical to the public good based on their fantasies."

At the same time I realize that many of my conservative relatives are highly charitable: my cousin Dana and his wife adopted a baby from Russia twenty years ago, only to discover later that she had came to them HIV positive. For the past 20 years, Dana and Mary Jane with the help of their church, have provided medical care for their child as if she were their own.

I realize that in the evolution of social systems, organized religion has worked, is working, and is slowly dying but will be with us for a long time. The "One Stick, Two Stick" reading we heard this morning clearly shows how primitive people would have valued stories that bound their people together as one were essential to the group's survival-(whether the stories were based in fact or not hardly mattered). I seek to find shared understanding with people of traditional religious faith systems, at least in my head, that would also help me understand the common ground between me and the young Muslim students in Afghanistan who hate my government , and me by extension. In an essay I read recently, Jennifer Leaning, a physician, states, "If we are ever again to re-create the innocence and certainty in the future that we had just a few years ago, we are going to have to extend a sense of human security to other people elsewhere. This is the blowback about globalization. We are never going to be able to be isolated and okay."

So I am uncomfortable with Sam Harris' The End of Faith. I want to know what replaces faith for me and others. In our evolutionary development religion has been the archetypal glue that binds communities. Some theologians now argue that the free market system has replaced God. That almost makes the faith of my childhood seem cozy and warm. But of course, you don't want to go backwards. I can't return to the cradle and more than civilization can do the same. I ask myself, am I really that different, that separate from other religious groups or is my attempt to set myself apart from them only another method of perpetuating the "us vs them" paradigm that I so disdain in conservative religion? Isn't it just name calling of a different color to take any religion: Muslin, Mennonite, Buddhist or Jewish, and throw stones at their belief system? This is where I leave you today.

I have come up with a few questions that I am going to attempt to ask in my next service called "Finding Faith" which I will present on October 15th.

1. Do you have a faith story or if you "bristle" at using that word, a system of beliefs that inspires your day to day life?

2. Many youth appear to create their faith stories or belief systems based on epic movies, cartoons, works of fiction or video games. These belief systems contain a strong element of fantasy. How does having a faith story differ from having a fantasy inspired system of beliefs?

3. Why might owning a faith story or unified system of beliefs be important?

4. How does you system of beliefs respond to fear-mongering from your friends, religious institutions or your government?

5. If it seems OK for a personal system of belief to have an element of fantasy, then what about the belief systems of countries, corporations and governments. Should we tolerate any fantasy in their belief systems? Can they exist excluding all fantasy?

6. Finally, can you exist without using any fantasy to guide your system of beliefs and keep you moving toward the future? In other words, do you believe in an organized system of where you are going and what desired outcomes you hope for.

I will close with a reading by Jung, reflections made after World War II that are just as relevant today.

A selection from Modern Man in Search of a Soul by C. J. Jung

We cannot suppose that this aspect (awareness of the psychic mind) of the unconscious or of the hinterland of man's mind is something totally new. Probably it has always been there, in every culture. Each culture gave birth to its destructive opposite, but no culture or civilization before our own was ever forced to take these psychic undercurrents in deadly earnest. Psychic life always found expression in a meta-physical system of some sort. But the conscious, modern man, despite his strenuous and dogged efforts to do so, can no longer refrain from acknowledging the might of psychic forces. This distinguishes our time from all others. We can no longer deny that the dark stirrings of the unconscious are effective powers-that psychic forces exist which cannot, for the present at least, be fitted in with our rational-world order. . . . The revolution of our conscious outlook, brought about by the catastrophic results of the World Wars, shows itself in our inner life by the shattering of our faith in ourselves and our own worth.

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