Hope and purpose in hard times - Ringwood #Unitarians hear from Amos and Jesus in December 2022

We gathered again in strength after a gap of some months, which was welcome and  which in itself led to a sense of optimism.  The gathering was invited to consider keeping a purpose clear in mind in times that to many of us seem difficult, in what might yet turn out to be a winter of discontent as a result of the cost of living crisis.

The opening music was an uplifting anthem, possibly from the LGBTIQ networks, “We give thanks in these hard times,” which can be found on YouTube at

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1JhiDsQNLo&list=PLuHoqBDN-aPLfCT9JMiG2AGqatHqYyC1N&index=1

(Unfortunately, the IT let us down after that, and we were unable to view the other video music that had been planned, which can be found at 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rw1j8QvtZZc&list=RDg2RBaN3uWOY&index=4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3E7QWLyDWe8  )

After the lighting of the candle in the chalice, we had a lovely story with the idea that the world can be fixed by fixing the humans within it; and then readings from the Bible.  The first was an arrangement of some words in the book of Amos, and the second was a compilation of words from the Gospel of Q and the Gospel of Matthew.

The president for the day reflected on the choice of the readings.

“Early Jewish religion may have overplayed sacrifice and ritual, because in that first reading we have a Hebrew prophet character, Amos, telling us that God does not care for rituals and offerings. In particular, we are told, God does not like them when they come out of a life of complacent luxury and indolence.

“We get a picture of God from this. We see that perhaps God is not looking for empty gestures but for our empathy for the sufferings and oppressions experienced by others in our midst. Looking for us to walk past our own comfort to relieve suffering and to root out injustice. ‘Let justice roll on like a river; And righteousness like an ever flowing stream.’”

the shepherd Amos as depicted
 by Gustave Doré
(public domain image from Wikipedia)

She went on by commenting on the recent COP27 climate conference, and how so little impact would be felt in the real world from the pitifully superficial nature of the agreements reached.  Unlike the prophet Amos, who spoke in terms of justice being a task that would roll on for ever, our speaker suggested that we will only have to carry the burden of this task for a few centuries more.  

We heard that many scientists estimate the breakdown of civilisation as we know it will be in about eighty years.  The threat is more from nuclear war than directly from temperature extremes; this because water and food scarcity will cause mass migrations on a scale so far not imaginable, and together with that, conflict and violence.  There has been almost nothing about planning for us to reduce instead of increase our demand, to use less energy, to want to use less energy.  Almost no recognition that in a finite ecosystem economies cannot grow without limit.  To be sustainable, civilization probably needs to operate at about 20% of the current energy usage levels — 80% less than we currently use. 

Our president said, “The end is rushing up much quicker than we ever thought it would. Though even a proportion of activists are in denial: we are in the end years, the decline years.

“When we truly recognize this, we have a choice. We can eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Or we can wail in hysteria, and wither away in despondency. There are many, many people who now suffer from what is becoming termed eco-anxiety. Or we can loot and pillage, knowing there will be none to come after us to hold us to account. Or, we can stand up straight, centre ourselves, and stand fast to the principles we stood for before we knew the painful truth.

“If the end of human civilization as we know it is getting closer and closer, isn’t that an even better reason to make those days which are left to us, the best days that have ever been? 

“Let us take inspiration from Amos and work even now to let justice roll on like a river, right up to the point where the river is no longer identifiable. Let us work to show those with eco-anxiety that there is a point to living, even in the end days. Let us live in hope beyond all reasonable hope, and live as well as we can.”

So much for the first reading.  And so far, it didn’t seem like much help was being given with what that hope or purpose in hard times might look like, on a daily basis.  Thankfully, our president didn’t leave it there, but went on to discuss the second reading.

“Realistically, what effect can we really have? What difference can we really make? Well: nothing can emerge on the human scene without it first appearing in the human imagination. Meaning that our first imperative is to use our imagination. Failure will be certain if we undergo a failure of imagination. And where do we hear about imagination? Well, in the gospel stories. We have words of Jesus, as Jesus was re-imagining Judaism.

“In the second reading, though we ourselves may be familiar with the words, they were new to those listening. Jesus is providing new and even shocking metaphors in order to re-imagine the kingdom of God. Look, he said, I know the prophets of old compared the realm of God to the famed Cedars of Lebanon, which were used to build the temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. Big; strong; solid; powerful; lasting; awesome, even. Actually the realm of God can also be like a tiny mustard seed which grows into a scraggly plant that most of you farmers consider a weed; but it’s a weed that provides shade and shelter for birds. The realm of God can also be like a yeast that seems insignificant but which changes the whole character of water and meal when you mix them all together.  

“And don’t think for a moment that you who seek the realm of God are unimportant just because you are as ordinary as salt. Without salt how would we preserve food, how would we live? Don’t you dare lose your essential character — if the salt stops being salty, if you stop being so ordinary, how would any society survive?

“Look, it’s hard keeping hold of your sense of direction, said Jesus, it’s hard sticking to this narrow path, and you mustn’t expect ever to be many in number because plenty will fall by the wayside as you go.  But you really are a light to light up the darkness. It doesn’t take many of you to do that. Just keep on keeping on.”

lamp on a stand and the
 growing mustard seed, by 
Johann Christoph Weigel
(image in public domain
 from Wikipedia)

We were reminded that Unitarians in the UK do all sorts of things that might not look very much, and we may not be very visible in our towns and cities, but for those who do come into contact with us we do make a difference.

“We are a gentle, angry people, highlighting injustice when we see it. But also we make provision for ‘mums and tots’ sessions. We house community fridges. We send disadvantaged and deprived children out into the wilds of the Peak District for life-changing adventures. We put a spotlight on the iniquities of the penal system. We fund some activities of the British Red Cross. We travel to Calais to speak with and provide practical support to migrants. We champion religious freedom in all its forms. Not so long ago we worked for greater equality regarding marriage. We make allies across boundaries and remind those we come into contact with that neither we nor they have the entire picture.”

We were then reminded that people in general very rarely fail in their endeavours.  More often, we just stop trying.  In looking for hope and a steering light in these times, we can use these ideas from Jesus to keep alive our imagination of what we can do, to keep us keeping on, working for the purpose of God as we understand it, as expressed by Amos: ‘Let justice roll on like a river; And righteousness like an ever flowing stream.’  Even unto the end of the stream itself.

What does 'being Church' mean? How does that seem to #Unitarians? - Ringwood Unitarians' gathering 11 November 2022

Our gathering in November was nearly cancelled but we are glad that it went ahead despite a very low turn out.  Because this was a very important gathering, asking big and important questions about what Church means to us.  What does ‘being Church’ mean?  What does ‘Church in action’ look like?  Why do those of us who gather find it necessary to gather?  Why don’t we simply carry on with our spiritual journeys, each a pilgrim on their own?

The gathering was really an enquiry about what 'being Church' is, or could be, for Unitarians.

The memorial board for the fallen from the
previous Unitarian congregation at the Meeting House

It being Remembrance Sunday, the candle in the chalice was lit to words adapted from For the Fallen by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943).  And then, as usual, we were invited to privately take stock of the recent days and weeks and to be honest about how we well we had been living up to what is most important to us.  Later on in the gathering, after the readings and reflection on them, we lit candles to share our joys and concerns, and heard words of hope and blessing.

Our blog habitually devotes more space to the readings we hear in a gathering, and the reflection on the readings, merely because words can easily be brought across into the blog.  It is not possible to bring across into a blog the experience we have when we use prayer words together, light candles together, sit in silence together, or the feeling of singing together.  You will only truly get the flavour and feel of our gatherings by coming along to one.  So please do, when you are able.

We heard two stories made famous through the teachings of Jesus, namely “The Good Samaritan” from the book of Luke in the Christian Bible (Chapter 10 verses 30-35), and “The Prodigal Son” also from the book of Luke (chapter 15 verses 11-32).

For those unfamiliar, “The Good Samaritan” is a story in which a traveller gets mugged on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, is ignored in his danger by upstanding members of society, yet is made safe and helped to get better by someone whom Jesus’ audience would have considered outcast.  And the story of “The Prodigal Son” tells of a younger son in a family, who is granted his share of the inheritance, then leaves to go abroad and wastes it all, and eventually goes back where he came from, with his tail between his legs.  Whilst his father makes him welcome, his elder brother is very grudging and resentful. The father attempts a reconciliation between them.

Before going any further, it is necessary to make clear there are (at least) two different inferences in the word ‘Unitarian’.  To be a Unitarian can, as well as other things, mean that (1) you experience or claim or guess that the divine nature is necessarily a “one-ness”, as contrasted with the “multiplicity” of the Hindus and Pagans, or “three-ness/Trinity” as traditional Christians maintain and/or (2) no matter what you experience or claim or guess about the divine nature, you have some form of allegiance to or participation in the movement that calls itself the Unitarian Church in the UK.  The first is a statement about belief.  The second is about involvement in a group or body of people.

(library image)

Like many other religious affiliations, labels about us are messy.  People need wriggle room.  Things are not clear, even privately to each one of us, and less so when in community.

What follows are the reflections on the readings, from the person presiding on the day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unitarians in the UK have a mixed lineage. The congregations we know today have varied histories and were born out of differing Christian traditions.  While it is not hard to find Unitarian people throughout recorded history, and indeed one could argue right back into the Bible, the actual Unitarian congregations we have today are reconfigured from reformed churches (for more explanation of reformed churches, see Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvinism). 

To some now (and, I am sure, it has always been the case), what matters is the personal journey, the search for truth and the striving to live accordingly.  It is no surprise, then, that in both our readings the journey features strongly.  The road from Jericho to Jerusalem on which the journeyman was waylaid.  The road back from foreign lands to the father’s house.  The spiritual path is one that none can tread for us and one that is rarely strewn with palm leaves. 

But while each of us has a private, personal spiritual path or journey, we in Ringwood suggest that what distinguishes a Unitarian from a solitary pilgrim is someone valuing the experience of Church, of gathering, of being part of something; part of a bigger journey that gives a context for our own journey too.  

Without a coming together there would be no congregations, Unitarian or otherwise.  And that would mean there would be no place for those on their personal journeys to rest or find impetus to go further or change direction.  We who gather, often or occasionally, clearly see something of value in our congregations and in our wider movement.

In our first reading we encounter the journeyman in a bad way.  The road has been unkind; and far from making their way onwards autonomously they are in pain and in need.  We will all be in that position at some point, now and again.  Perhaps we will have seen things we cannot accept, or will have done things we cannot undo.  Perhaps we will have led astray people whom we care about; or perhaps we will have been oppressed by questions we cannot approach.  Life is tough, and our journeys through it have their dark places and blind corners, just like that road from Jericho. 

I don’t think it is by chance that the first two people who come along are church people; first, the equivalent of the Minister or Preacher, and second, the Music Organiser or Pulpit Rota Lead. These are good people, people needed in the making and sustaining of a congregation but, in this tale, they are busy on their own personal journeys.  They are visible and essential parts of a congregation, but in this story they do not demonstrate the characteristics of Church.  The story tells us they passed by on the other side.  And so we can see: we can have roles in a congregation, but yet be isolated individuals on private journeys, without being Church. The first reading, and my own heart, suggest this is not enough.

The third person comes along, and you need to picture this person as someone in your congregation who outwardly values very different things in congregation from what you value.  If you like silence, they’ll be the one who wants to discuss everything.  If you like energetic interactive gatherings, they’ll be the one who wants to stick to a sermon and song.  Whichever hymn book you like, they’ll love the other one.  You often find yourself wondering why you and they are in the same congregation at all.

This is also the person who doesn’t pass by on the other side. 

This is the person who puts you onto their own horse or donkey, the person who is aligned with you enough, who cares enough, to share with you what has helped them along the way. 

This is the person who takes the time to pay attention to your hurt and to do what they can to help you heal.

And this is the person, whose support of the wider congregation firstly allows you the space and time you need to heal, and which secondly allows you both to continue on your personal journeys at your own pace and in your own ways.

Our first reading doesn’t denigrate the vital structural roles and responsibilities in our congregations, but it does suggest to us what Church looks like in action.

In the second reading I see a suggestion for why we come together, not just what coming together could look like. 

I was wary of this second reading.  For myself, it is one that comes with weighty layers of imposed meaning, and that might be the same for some others too.  Bear with me.

I remember discussing this reading with some young monks many years ago.  One of them heatedly, and bravely, confessed that he understood the grudging resentment of the elder brother.  That he, too, sometimes felt frustration and injustice that others could come along and enjoy all the good bits of congregational life, whilst not putting in all the hard work and sacrifice that he had. 

It would be easy here to look, once again, at those with clear roles in a congregation  — or even those who just turned up gathering after gathering — and say that doing those things alone isn’t enough to make a Church.  There is no congregation without these people and, like for that young monk, the frustration of the elder son is always a risk on their personal journeys.  But that is not what I take from this second reading.

It is not what divides the older and the younger son that interests me.  It is the words of the father who would bring them together:

‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.  But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’

What can unite us, what has the prospect of bringing us together, is celebration; celebration of rising again every time we fall; celebration of finding a new way every time we hit a dead end. 

We come together to celebrate our personal journeys, united in hope for our way ahead.

I value the personal journey.

I value the camaraderie of the road.

I value those who give their time, their labour, and their resources to provide a place to rest and heal.

And I value the celebration of all of that.  I value the gathering together to sing into the darkness, to set lights ablaze and tell our tales of hope that we might make them true.

Is this what Church is for Unitarians?  I do not know for certain, but I hope there is something in this that you can value too.

A mixed group of Unitarians, some years ago.

The teachings of Jesus, the teachings about Jesus, or something else? Unitarians in Ringwood gathering 9 October 2022

Welcome
Welcome to this table
Whatever path has brought you here
Whatever load you carry
Let us rest a while together.
May our hearts be open to accept what comes to us as a stranger,
May our minds be open to wonder at what we do not understand,
And may our spirits be nourished by our time here together,
Before we again take up our loads and set off upon our many paths.
Welcome !

For some time now we have deliberately focused our gatherings on the heritage endowed by our forebears in the Unitarian tradition, recognising that, while there are many wisdoms in the world, in the UK most cultural references derive from Christianity since the later Roman times.  We do sometimes marvel at the insights from other cultures, are sometimes thrilled by some ideas, and sometimes even pick out parallels, to emphasise a point.  But, in general, we feel ill-equipped to understand the rich nuances of other faiths.  We don’t want to misappropriate or mis-ascribe, and we feel on firmer ground when giving priority to what we were exposed to in our own backgrounds.

We claim no superiority for Christian wisdom.  We do not think there should be any hierarchies when it comes to classical systems of faith, as it is likely that in any long-established faiths the same human conditions will have been addressed sufficiently, somewhere along the line. 

It’s simply that if we can find what seems needed in the moment right there, within the boundaries of our inherited faith, we do not think it necessary for us to go anywhere more exotic.  

~~~~~~~~~

And so it was that on 9th October our small group, meeting once again, found that the readings for the day were taken from our current favourite book about Jesus: the Gospel of Mark.

This is the book that opens with the words: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, God’s Son.”  For the avoidance of ambiguity, we remember that the word “Christ” is not a surname but a descriptor deriving from the Hebrew words meaning ‘one who has been anointed by God’, and that in the Hebrew histories several notable characters, including Hebrew kings, have been “God’s anointed”. Also we note that the term "son of God" is used in the Hebrew Bible as way to refer to humans who have a special relationship with God. 

The first reading was the tale in chapter 14 of Mark, in which a woman brought to Jesus some very expensive ointment — or lotion, as we might imagine it — and poured it on his head.  This act was interpreted by the people in the story in two different ways.  It was a meaningless waste of an asset that could have been sold to raise funds to aid the poor.  Or it was an act of devotion to Jesus, a teacher and friend whom the woman worried she might lose, her act being a metaphor for the cleansing ritual necessary prior to death.   

When we watch a movie, we can tell from the soundtrack that something sinister is about to happen — the director makes a musical reference that we have learned to understand.  But Mark only had the written word at his disposal.  By including this second meaning in the story of the woman with the ointment, Mark is giving us those warning chords, warning us that Jesus is going soon to be in danger, as we see from the next chapter in the story. 

The second reading came from the next chapter of Mark, chapter 15.

The Roman soldiers, who had Jesus in custody, mocked Jesus for the charge that had been brought against him.  It had been told them that Jesus had claimed the role of kingship over the Jewish people.  So, they dressed him in the Imperial purple and they wove some thorny twigs together to make a crown, ramming it on his head.  They beat him and spat upon him, and then took him out to be executed.  Passers-by, including some of his strongest religious critics, continued the mockery as he hung on the Cross dying — they challenged this person who had been involved in the mending and healing of others to save himself also from suffering.

So what is the something new in these texts, promised us at the outset?  

~~~~~~~~~

It is often said within Unitarian circles, and you may well have read it in many different phrasings, that, where they are interested in Jesus at all, Unitarians follow the teachings of Jesus, rather than believe what is taught about him. This is said outwardly, too, on Wikipedia, and on many Unitarian leaflets and webpages.  This is to convey that our prime interests are ethics and spirituality, and not the oft-quoted, rather blunt perception of religion as a set of beliefs involving (what are often rather derisively viewed as) supernatural attributes of someone who may have lived a long time ago, a long way away.

The 'teachings of Jesus' view can appeal to some types of Christian but is also welcoming and open to anyone who sees Jesus as simply one thinker or visionary amongst many others that they value.  It is a phrasing that has appealed to those who have fallen out of love with the established Church but retain a link in some way to that heritage.

But it seems to us that there is something we need to consider here: a new way of approaching this same thing, or at least new to us.

Our first scene is of the woman who anoints Jesus with a costly and calming scented oil.  It has featured in countless works of art as well as in theatre and film, living up to the words Mark places in the mouth of his Jesus, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”  Yet familiar as this scene is, it is all too easy to miss something rather astonishing — though it is there in plain sight.  When Jesus talks of the good news to be proclaimed he is clearly talking about the telling of a story.  

Perhaps the startling thing becomes clearer when we realise what he is not talking about.  Mark’s Jesus is not talking about the passing on of certain teachings, rules, or ideas.  The good news isn’t a collection of wise sayings or thought-provoking aphorisms.  The good news, as Mark would have it, is a story.  It says so, right up there in the opening credits.  This is the good news of Jesus Christ, God’s Son.  This is to be a story in which there are characters and plots.  And it is in the telling of the story that good news is proclaimed.

It was common practice in Israel to gather the sayings of teachers; indeed, we have many examples of Rabbinic texts and Wisdom literature.  There were also collections of the sayings attributed to a historical Jesus, such as the Gospel of Thomas, for example, or the imagined Q document. That was not, however, what Mark wrote.

Mark did not present us with the teachings of Jesus but, rather, the story. 

Mark did not present us with a history of Jesus but, rather, a story.

Mark presents us with a story focused around Jesus, around the things this protagonist did and said, and that were said about him, and done to him.

We are not given a programme to follow.  We are not given a philosophy to expound.  We are given a story to engage with, to be inspired by, and to see our own stories through.  We can ask if that changes the story.  We can ask ourselves who we would be in the story Mark gives us.  We can ask if we are always the same person in that story.  We can ask what we would have done. 

We can be challenged and encouraged by images and phrases from it.  We can learn phrases and lines off by heart, as children learn rhymes and teenagers learn the words to raps or pop songs.  We can strive to emulate the parts we love.  We can see the parts of the story we wish were different and see parallels with parts of our world we wish were different.  Inspired by the story, we can work to change the parts of our world that we wish were different.

So perhaps Unitarians need not be people who follow the teachings of Jesus, in bald, abstracted form.  Perhaps they can be people who cherish the story of Jesus.  

Perhaps rather than argue —  over history, what Jesus did or did not teach; or theology, who or what was Jesus; or what authority we give to those teachings, from where does the final arbiter emerge — we could share a mutual love of a story, and simply and excitedly engage with how it touches us and what it means to us personally? 

~~~~~~~~

So much for what we get from the first reading.  When we left the story of Jesus and the woman with the expensive lotion those warning chords were sounding, about the danger to Jesus coming in the next scene.  All the best stories need some suspense.  And bearing in mind that, in the world in which Jesus as teacher was proclaimed, they saw little new or even interesting in what he said (we know this from the responses of Roman and Jewish authors of the time), what is the suspense all about?  What exactly was it that caught the world alight?

The storyline goes on with Jesus being mocked and beaten, then executed.  The scenes are very powerful.  Whatever one’s beliefs, it is hard not to feel the pain and sorrow of these scenes.  But as with any good tale, there is also something else going on here.

Firstly, look how here, even more than in any nativity tale — or any other tale —  from the other Gospels, Jesus is presented as an alternative to Caesar, dressed in the Imperial purple, crowned, surrounded by soldiers.  The very mockery itself gives the audience a striking and memorable key to the Gospel. There is the kingdom of Caesar, of the State, and there is this kingdom of Jesus the anointed of God.  And the one fears the other, and wants to cast it down.

Secondly, and very much linked to the first point, Jesus is crucified with rebels.  Both the punishment, and the company, make it clear that the Jesus of this story is tied up in the resistance to oppression.  The good news of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, the Jesus story that Mark tells us, is about two ways of living in the world, and about placing ourselves at any given moment on the one side or the other.

The good news is a story of resistance to oppression, and Jesus is written in the style of a Greek hero, though cast as a Jewish Holy Man.

And thirdly, perhaps most shockingly, see what was said of Jesus here: “He saved others, he cannot save himself !”  Let that sink in.  The Jesus of Mark’s story has travelled far and wide, helping in word and deed the weak, the sick, the impoverished, the outcast.  Jesus faces down religious and State power to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. The hero of Mark follows another law, another way of living, bravely, and aware of what the final consequences will be, as we see in the first reading:  “....you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial.”  

He saved others and hoped for his own saving, as Mark tells us between the two scenes we have looked at, in how Jesus prays in the garden of Gethsemane.  But ultimately, despite all that we might wish for him, Jesus living in truth as he experiences it cannot save himself.  The Jesus story challenges and inspires us to save others while we ourselves also live in hope of being saved, without any certainty.

So this is what caught the imagination of the world.  The good news of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, the Jesus story, is not a path or practice that promises to spare us suffering.  Nor is it a collection of wisdom that leads us to personal contentment or prosperity.  There are, and always have been, versions of both of these things out there. 

Instead, the new of the Jesus story is the tale that inspires us to see ‘the world as it is’; yet to embrace the joy of being part of the breaking through of ‘the world as it should be’.  To gaze into the abyss as unflinching as any; yet, moment after fading moment, to dance in the flickering light of something brighter, something better, being passed from torch to torch. 

Jesus is crushed by the Empire of Caesar, by the weight of oppression, and yet the empty tomb Mark leaves us with at the end of his Gospel lets us ask if Jesus too wasn’t finally saved by another.  Is there, in fact, a sequel?  Can we save Jesus in the alternative sequels we play in our heads and hearts?  Nothing tantalises better than the end of a story that half-promises a sequel.  This story has all the ingredients; no wonder it set the world alight.

~~~~~~~

Perhaps it’s more complicated for Unitarians, than aiming to follow the teachings of Jesus.  Perhaps the dance with a narrative, with all that it may invoke in us throughout the weavings of our own lives, is what gives purpose and meaning.  Perhaps some Unitarians are among that broader circle of diverse people who cluster around the Jesus story; who engage with and are inspired by the story of a man who offered another way to be, who did not accept oppression; a man who could save others but could not save himself.

Maybe none of us can save ourselves in this world of ours, but just maybe, if we play with alternative ways of being, and sequels, we all can save each other.

Rachel Held Evans (1981-2019) — Emma Green, writing for The Atlantic, notes that Evans "was part of a vanguard of progressive-Christian women who fought to change the way Christianity is taught and perceived in the United States."  Green goes on to argue that Evans' legacy is "her unwillingness to cede ownership of Christianity to its traditional conservative-male stewards" and that her "very public, vulnerable exploration of a faith forged in doubt empowered a ragtag band of writers, pastors, and teachers to claim their rightful place as Christians.” (Wikipedia)