Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, May 21, 2023.
I love that we have this beautiful Jesus up front here. And that this prophet, teacher, and healer was so central to our forebears that when they built this church they put him front and center. I love that at night, our Jesus turns from light- to dark-skinned. Which is what he actually would have looked like. I’m pretty sure our forbears back at the start of the 20th century didn’t intend for their Jesus to be other than light-skinned, but this is what they got. As an old friend of my mom used to say, “God moves in mischievous ways.”
Back when I was in theological school, some people told me, “You say ‘God’ a lot for a Unitarian Universalist.” I wondered if I was in the right denomination. I worried about this, and talked to some of my colleagues and teachers. Was there a place for me in this tradition? Then I saw an essay by Rev. Rosemary Bray McNatt, a Black UU minister, in which she shared her own similar story. She wrote:
“I had engaged in a spiritual struggle only a few years earlier that nearly ended in my leaving our faith for a more traditional expression of Christianity. Yet in the end, I could not go. Unitarian Universalism won my heart and mind because both God and freedom are precious to me, and it is only within our non-creedal tradition that I felt there was a chance, however slight, that I might lay claim to both.”
Our stained glass windows remind us that liberal Christianity is where we come from. We are open here to diverse expressions of spirituality and theology. And in this month when we’re celebrating 200 years Universalism, I want to affirm, my spiritual companions, that there are riches and resources in our roots. When I became a UU, I didn’t intend to be led back to a new, more liberating understanding of Christianity. But that’s what happened. This journey nourished my soul, and set me free. What about you? Is it possible that going deeper into our Universalist faith can help strengthen and sustain you, for the living of these days?
Universalism asserts that the nature of God is love, and that none of us are beyond it. . As one song puts it, "the power of the universe knows my name.” And this is what Jesus came to teach; that we are part of a great and abiding love, so why are we afraid? You hear this in the parables he told, like the one pictured over there: the symbolic story about the son who ran away from home and squandered what his father had given him. But finally, he comes to his senses and comes back home. Does his father punish or banish him? No, he welcomes his beloved son back, with open arms, and even throws a party for him. Jesus taught that the love of God is like this—always waiting and wanting to welcome us home.
Growing up in the South, I had ambivalent feelings about Jesus, mostly because of the hateful things some Christians did in his name. And this is still a problem. As we heard Rob Bell say, “Jesus’s story has been hijacked by a number of other stories, stories Jesus isn’t interested in telling, because they have nothing to do with what he came to do. The plot has been lost, and it’s time to reclaim it.”
One of my teachers wrote about book about this, called Saving Jesus From Those Who Are Right. At first she thought of it as a response to the so-called Religious Right, but then she came to see that “those who are right” can be any of us “so set in our ways or judgments that we assume we ‘have it’ politically, intellectually, or spiritually.”
In this tradition, we try to be open to diversity, and even uncertainty; to new ways of understanding. To the wonder and mystery of this life, and the beauty of this earth, and the Spirit moving in and around us. In this way we we are the opposite of fundamentalism, which says beliefs and doctrine are set, and not to be questioned or challenged. Do you know Jesus was against this too? He regularly criticized the Pharisees, who took things literally and cared more about being right and proper than about mercy, justice, and faithfulness. He was a reformer, willing to go against the tradition when people’s wellbeing was threatened. In this way he was a humanist, and particularly concerned for those at the margins, whom he called “the least of these.” Shouldn’t he one of our heroes and exemplars?
Do you know that some oppressed people see the Bible as a text for liberation? That it has inspired people to struggle for freedom and dignity? Theology matters: what we think and believe and give our hearts to will shape how we perceive the world and how we act. In these days, as we celebrate the 200th years of Universalism in Haverhill, I’m feeling called to more deeply explore the implications of this theology for how we might live in these days. I wonder if some of you are feeling this too. If so, please let me know: I have resources to share. Maybe we should have a theology class in the fall?
I hope you might find this month’s exploration of Universalism compelling enough that you’re inspired to do your own theological work—to engage in the spiritual struggle of discerning what you give your heart to, what nourishes and sustains you. This church, and our openhearted faith tradition, are a good place for that.
Two weeks ago, Tori spoke about the off-center cross in her home church, the Universalist Church of Essex, and how that cross and the space around it was a gift and blessing to her. “I would find deep healing in that space,” Tori said, “There was so much room to move…” This is what we try to offer here—room to move and grow, ways to find spiritual depth and freedom. Jesus is important to me, but I’m trying to convert you! I’m on the journey too, and inviting you to find the way or ways that will lead you home.
After Tori talked about the off-center cross, I joked that some of you might like to move our Jesus off center. And in recent years, that’s what UUism has done. But look what our forebears did; the space around him, to the left and the right. It looks like a garden or a temple, doesn’t it? A sanctuary where you might hear birds singing and witness new life, the Spirit moving in your midst. I hope you sense that there’s plenty of room for you here.
Our dear Sally Liebermann, when she was Director of Religious Education here, she would sometimes look up at our Jesus and tell me about the Christian church she grew up in, where she learned to see Jesus as a friend, a trusted companion and guide. What if we could see Jesus that way, as a spiritual companion, as a soul friend.
For me, Jesus is a teacher, a prophet, an example of a loving and courageous life. A man who was so full of the Spirit, so aware that he was loved by God, that he had an uncommon presence and power. People followed him because they felt inspired and healed in his presence. This is the Jesus who traveled among the common people, telling them, “Your are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world (Matthew 5:13-14). Who saw them tired and struggling, and offered them a way and a blessing: “I came that you may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).
When things are quiet around here, sometimes I come in here and sit for a while. I think about those folks who came before us, and wonder if their spirits are watching over us. I look up at Jesus, and in his open hands I hear his welcome: “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28).
We are part of an ongoing story, a progression of openhearted people of faith, tending our spiritual lives and journeying with one another; reaching out beyond these walls, joining hands with others to help heal and bless our world. Aren’t we so fortunate? Aren’t we so blessed? Who knows what good lies ahead, for us and for our world?
Will you join me in prayer?
God of grace and God of glory, on your people pour out your power;
crown your ancient church’s story; bring its bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of this hour.
Fill us with a living vision, heal our wounds that we may be
bound as one beyond division in the struggle to be free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, ears to hear and eyes to see,
ears to hear and eyes to see. (from the hymn God of Grace and God of Glory, by Felix Adler).
Now and forever,
Amen.