Church and State HUU service 7.17.’16 –

Robin McNallie: Intro of Ben Fordney

When Ben Fordney was alive, he on a number of occasions would introduce me as a guest speaker in the history classes he was teaching at Blue Ridge Community College and JMU’s Lifelong Learning Institute. So I now, with some real sadness, get briefly to do the same for him. Before his first retirement, Ben had a distinguished career in the foreign service, including a posting to South Vietnam in the ‘60s during the war there. No career could have suited him better, for he was, I can sincerely say, one of the most gracious, reasonable, and civilized men I have known in my long life. After that, Ben came to Harrisonburg and earned a master’s degree in American history from JMU. He was a leader in the local Democratic Party, serving at once time as chair of the city Dems. Besides himself running for political office, he helped campaign for other candidates. He unflaggingly promoted liberal causes, most especially tighter gun legislation. This morning’s presentation, “Church and State,” includes an abridged version of a talk that Ben gave to the local interfaith association some years ago which Chris and I attended. We thought then that it would be good to have him do a Sunday service here addressing the same issue, and Ben sent us a copy of his lecture. Somehow that service never quite materialized. Although Ben is not here to read his words, I believe the wit and reasonableness of the living man are still present.

Reading of Ben Fordney’s paper:

RELIGION OF THE FOUNDING FATHERS
Ben F. Fordney
Two questions come to mind: What were the religious beliefs of the Founders, and perhaps more importantly, what kind of nation did they want to create: a Christian America or a secular nation? One common thesis that some historians advance is that they were Deists who wanted a secular state. They embraced a radical Enlightenment philosophy that considered religion only in terms of religious freedom Others believe the Founders were evangelical biblical literalists Christians who created a Christian nation. Out of this comes the belief of American exceptionalism – the idea that America has a divine mission- a City Upon a Hill, as governor John Winthrop said at the time of the Puritans.
When you delve into this question and read the extensive historical treatment of the faiths of the Founders, you begin to understand that there are no simple answers to these questions. Most of the Founders were complicated men and it is impossible, in the case of most of them, to put them into definite categories.
Most historians but certainly not all, do not believe that most of the Founders accepted all the tenets of Christianity, in fact some scorned and mocked it. Few, however, were outright deists, in other words, believing in a clockmaker God who allowed the world to run by natural forces. [Read more…]

This talk was given as a segment of HUU’s Jan. 26, 2014 Sunday service about teachers. It followed reflections by educators David Lane on his work with JMU student teachers, and Mary Hahn on her years teaching in Rockingham County schools.

I’m not a teacher. I have huge admiration for teachers, including my husband Robin, my son Eddie, and, as an education reporter, all those I met who keep helping young people learn while weathering SOL’s and all trends thrust upon them. I discovered long ago I couldn’t be them. Remember a ‘’60s game called “If you were a book, who would you be written by?” When I was starting my work life, my answer might have been William Golding, whose characters in his bestseller reminded me of some students I got as a substitute teacher. (That was Lord of the Flies. I hope that, no thanks to me, those kids’ lives have turned out well.)

Golding had been a writer-in-residence at then-Hollins College – one among scores of famous writers, including Eudora Welty and Flannery O’Connor, brought to that campus by Louis Rubin – subject of my tribute, who died this fall, three days short of 90. As a publisher; author of more than 50 books; and mentor to countless writers, Louis is credited with making Southern literature a respected scholarly field. Last year, the visiting author for what has become Hollins’s Louis D. Rubin, Jr. Writer-in-Residence Program was Natasha Trethewey, national poet laureate.

So it seems amazing Louis corresponded with me for more than 40 years!

He talked to our classes about great works having universal application, with the intriguing example of the Japanese devouring translations of William Faulkner. I think that’s where I first consciously learned to appreciate how stories can go deeper than the limits of literal experience, into what Faulkner called “the human heart in conflict with itself.”

When Louis explained Huckleberry Finn’s “All right, then, I’ll go to hell” moment, I learned how a great story challenges without preaching. When Huck refuses to betray his friend Jim, a runaway slave, he chooses between the “morality” he’s been taught and his own conflicting, decent instincts.

A classmate, then, who did become a college teacher recalls when her first class with Louis, teaching Proust, felt like expecting to be seated at a banquet but instead being ushered into the kitchen to see the food being cooked. His approach inspired her work.

At our “girls’ school”/later to be “women’s university,” Louis encouraged us to have it all – careers, families, everything. Follow our talents, hopes and dreams to the limit! Nothing new now (and some may call it too much work), but then, worlds were opening.

Creative writing seminar met Wednesday evenings in Louis’s basement. Third house on the right on Faculty Row. (If American literary sites received blue plaques, like in the U.K., the basement entrance to that otherwise nondescript mid-century rancher would deserve one at least as much as the ancient, picturesque cottage-like schoolhouse so-marked in Salisbury where Golding taught, perhaps to early prototypes of Ralph, Jack and Piggy.) Those of us who read and discussed our work in the Rubin basement ranged from faculty and graduate students, down to sophomores. The ranks included Annie Dillard, Lee Smith and Henry Taylor.

The year my class graduated, 1967, Louis moved on to UNC-Chapel Hill. He remained incredibly generous with the time he gave ex-students. His comments on our work could be tough but could be lavish in praise.

His son Robert hiked the Appalachian Trail (as did my son Eddie). After I’d told Louis about reading Robert’s book on that hike, Louis answered, “He’s a much better writer than I am.” This winter Robert said Louis had valued his work “much higher than it probably deserved, but I imagine that’s true of most of us. He was a generous soul.”

For Louis’s memorial, recalling his and his wife Eva’s Unitarian wedding (a match that would last more than 60 years), his brother said the couple rolled their eyes when the minister recited “the night has a thousand eyes.” (I Googled the phrase and found there have been at least three different songs with that title. I wonder if the one quoted was an 1895 poem; might it have appeared in an early UU hymnal?)

Before academia, Louis’s career was journalism. He wrote a memoir about that, optimistically titled An Honorable Estate. He was city editor in Staunton, and worked for the AP with our friend Jim Geary. In 1956, after graduate study at Johns Hopkins, he became associate editor at the Richmond News-Leader. Years later when I asked Louis about his career there, at a time when I’d become uncomfortable with the biases of those I worked under, he told me about waking up and growing disgusted with the Richmond paper’s crusade against school integration. He moved to Hollins soon after that. He said his reasons for the move were complicated. Of course, journalism’s loss was Hollins’ gain.

He liked to repeat a quote by H.L. Mencken, “Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.”

Louis was pragmatic. He honored his Jewish heritage, but didn’t do mysticism or theology. Yet in his final illness, we heard he told a visitor (when he was quite alert), “I’ll see you again. There are other worlds, you know.” He’s buried in a family plot at Temple Beth Elohim, in Charleston, S.C., where he grew up.

Some obituaries called Louis “curmudgeonly.” He had that side, especially while going deaf – but it doesn’t capture him. Just before the long strange trip that would land me in Harrisonburg, while driving my old heap on a job search, I blew off a forecast of heavy snow. In March? No way. So I blundered head-on into The Blizzard of March ’93. Spun 360 on the interstate. No fun, but it made a good story later. Here’s Louis’s response to my report, from a letter I’ve saved these 20 years: “As for your escapades on icy roads, you’re fortunate to have emerged so harmlessly. Next time you had better listen to the weather bureau; they called that storm, and predicted how bad it was likely to be, several days ahead. These days they are quite accurate. What I do every November is have a set of steel-studded snowtires put on my car’s drive wheels. They can handle ice… The only cost is having them put on and taken off. Moreover, they have the fortunate effect of keeping the ice and snow away from these parts; it hasn’t iced up or snowed in three years.” In the same letter, he gave me a job-search tip that I wonder now why I didn’t follow.

Sometimes I think calling a memorial a “Celebration of Life” is euphemistic, but Louis’s “wake” two weeks ago at Hollins felt like a true celebration. I wish he could have heard what we all said, and even what I’m telling you now – and no doubt, made corrections.

–Chris Edwards

May 19, 2013 Sunday service
By Chris Edwards

Last Fall, in the UU World’s cover story, the Rev. Thandeka explored President Obama’s childhood attendance at a Unitarian Universalist Sunday school in Honolulu. She concluded by expressing regret that many who, like him, had early exposure to UU’ism have not remained in the fold.

Interestingly, Thandeka gave the first report I’d seen about the opposition portraying UU’ism as the culprit for Obama’s alleged leftist worldview. His other spiritual paths, real and fictitious, became bigger targets.

But the article wasn’t “political,” and what I want to say isn’t. The question I raised in a letter, published in UU World, is different: How much does UU attrition really matter?

A poll by the Pew Foundation says 20 percent of Americans identify themselves as “nones” – n.o.n.e.’s — having no religious affiliation.

A “None’s” world view may be anything, but why, really, does any free-thinking person need organized religion?
• Want spirituality? – Get up and look at a sunrise.
• Like-minded friends? You might find them almost anywhere.
• Or a chance to do acts of kindness, support charities, work for a better world? Ditto.

In Ray Bradbury’s “Martian Chronicles,” missionary priests arrive on Mars expecting to preach to the other colonizers from Earth. The “Martians” seem to have died out. But one priest finds that the lovely blue fire balloons, floating over the landscape, are intelligent beings, who even step in to save human lives. So the priests build an altar on a mountain, to bring in these balloons and save their souls. Eventually the balloons respond and say, thank you, but we don’t need this. They’re a remnant of old Martians who attained immortality. They have no conflicts, no sins. They’ve found peace.

Not a UU story, you say? But can we be sure the world needs us? [Read more…]

We are disappointed to find the following edict in a UUA pamphlet that is available on a table in our sanctuary, headed “10 Things Your Congregation Can Do To Become More Welcoming”:

“Avoid using words which are necessarily gender specific. Use the word ‘children’ instead of ‘boys and girls’ and ‘people’ instead of ‘women and men.’” (It’s Item No. 8 in an updated version of the pamphlet; an earlier version is on the UUA website.)

We live in a time when misguided, however well-meaning, people try to wipe out prejudice by sterilizing the language. Do they expect to prevent sexism or homophobia by stamping out awareness of sex or gender? Once that step has been taken, will someone next perceive speciesism in the use of “people” and demand we say “creatures” instead? Must “creatures” then be replaced by “life-forms;” next, by “things”?

Will any of these measures add the tiniest spark of kindness to the world?

In George Orwell’s famous essay, “Politics and the English Language,” he laments a trend for prose to move “away from concreteness.” He writes that “Orthodoxy, of whatever color, seems to demand a lifeless, imitative style. . .The great enemy of clear language is insincerity.” Citing vagueness as a tactic in propaganda and exploitation, he makes the case for “language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought.”

Orwell might turn over in his grave.

But at least we are not being stopped at the door and given instructions not to say “women,” “men,” “boys,” “girls,” etc. Not yet. How “welcoming” would that be?

Chris Edwards and Robin McNallie

Once in a while a UU says they have trouble with the first UU Principle: “The inherent worth and dignity of every person.” I heard that more than once this past Sunday.
A scene from the 1980s film “Ironweed” which somehow got burned into my memory seems to illustrate that principle. A homeless, very drunken woman has frozen to death on the sidewalk in front of a shelter where she had been turned away. Other homeless people find her. Standing in the bitter cold, they bestow a sort of impromptu memorial on this almost-stranger:
“Who was she?” “I dunno.” “A whore.” “She wasn’t always a whore. What was she before that?” “A child, I guess.” “A little kid.”
That moment, for me, makes sense of the first principle: every person was born innocent.
That doesn’t mean it’s instinctive, though. I can’t in my heart feel the essential dignity and worth of people who get rich and famous by spreading hate and paranoia, or of the careless driver who almost hits me, or even someone sending me a hateful email or blog post, or anyone who is unkind to one of the people I’m closest to.
Believing a principle is easy. Living it, internalizing it — no.