Can We Say That Here?

This sermon had several titles on the way to today. Can She Say That Here? Can They Say That Here? And finally Can We Say That Here? These are related but distinct questions.

The ‘she’ is me, of course. And phrased this way, the question interrogates the meaning of a clause in my letter of agreement that states: the pulpit is free. The Minister is expected to express personal and faith values, views, and commitments that are consistent with our understanding of our evolving living tradition.

A non-Unitarian Universalist friend from Divinity School once asked me, “So what do you do, just take any book off the shelf and preach on it?” Given that we have no one sacred text or set of scriptures, and that our ministers (including me) have freedom of the pulpit, the short answer to that question is, yes. Any book off the shelf, any story in the news, any topic on my mind. And not only that, but also whatever I want to say about any book, any story, any topic on my mind. With freedom of the pulpit, anything goes. That's the short answer, the flip answer. The real answer is much more complicated.

Any freedom carries with it great responsibility. The responsibility that comes along with freedom of the pulpit is the call to exercise that freedom with respect and care and wisdom. As minister of this church, I am called to be in touch with, respectful of, responsive to the interests and concerns and needs of this congregation. As a member of the larger Unitarian Universalist ministry, I am called to uphold a tradition of free, responsible faith, grounded in a common Judeo-Christian heritage, and rich in the wisdom, thought and stories of people of all ages and all religions. As an individual, I am called to reflect on life as I experience it, and speak the truth with integrity. Within these demanding and noble parameters, I exercise my freedom of the pulpit.

King Sigismund’s “Act of Religious Tolerance” clearly gave preachers the right to preach what they believe, and the congregations the right to call preachers whose beliefs were in line with their own, while at the same time stating that a preacher must not lose his job because of his preaching. It takes a minute to figure out how all those rights could coexist. Sometimes I’m still not sure how they do, even though Unitarian Universalist congregations operate within those same basic parameters today. Congregations want ministers whose theology isn’t too divergent from their own, and they want to support traditions of free and prophetic preaching by giving their ministers free pulpits. And ministers want to exercise their right of freedom of the pulpit without alienating their congregations. Those are fine lines to walk. They demand care and trust from both the congregation and the minister, and rely heavily on an honest, open and rigorous search and call process–such as we have recently completed.

From time to time someone will tell me that there’s no way in the world they’d ever do my job. I understand that, I guess. I suppose almost any job looks difficult from the outside but I happened to think this is a fantastic job. I get paid to care about you, to listen to you talk about your lives and families, to have coffee with you. I get paid to network with and learn from and work alongside interfaith colleagues and Unitarian Universalist colleagues. I get paid to read books I want to read, and to stand up here and talk about whatever I want to talk about. I can’t imagine a better job.

Where it gets complicated is when what I want to talk about, or what I have to say about what I want to talk about, is in conflict with what you or some of you at least want to hear. Or when the topics I address aren’t of interest to you. And so on.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

We were wrong, of course, when we flung those words back at another kid who’d called us a name or taunted us verbally in some other way. We were wrong, and we knew it even then. Words can hurt us. Words, both spoken and written, have great power. The power of words–to inform, educate, persuade, entertain, and to hurt–is one of the reasons for censorship. The power of words is one of the reasons we’ve come to be so careful about the ways in which we speak about others, and the labels we use or don’t use to describe individuals and groups. And it’s one of the reasons people take to X formerly known as Twitter, and Truth Social, and Tik Tok, and old-fashioned letters to the editor lashing out against political correctness or wokeness—or against reactionary backlash to wokeness. The power of words is one of the reasons freedom of the pulpit is not a universal right granted to all religious leaders. And why those of us who do have the right must exercise it with care–for words are particularly powerful in religious contexts, when people’s beliefs, values, and very sense of identity are at stake.

Yes, I have freedom of the pulpit, but no, I must not use it indiscriminately to attack, or destroy, or belittle. On the other hand, neither must I be afraid to use it in service of truth and our Unitarian Universalist faith. I have a responsibility to be mindful of the theological diversity of this congregation, of the interest some have in Eastern thought, and the ways others have been beaten up by forms of Christianity, and the visceral reactions some have to any mention of the word God, and the affection some retain for the religious traditions and languages of their families, and the respect others hold for science and skepticism, and the wisdom still others find in earth-centered spirituality–I must be mindful of this all, but to allow any individual or group within the congregation too much influence (positive or negative) over what I’ll say from the pulpit would be to fail us all.

One of the questions I’m asked most frequently about what it’s like to be a Unitarian Universalist minister is: “How can you preach to a group of people who all believe different things?” Sometimes I answer in words attributed to 16th century Unitarian theologian Francis David, we need not think alike to love alike. Other times I explain that that’s part of the reason I’m out of the pulpit once a month and for the month of July–because one preacher can’t address every topic or present every viewpoint, and you all want and need to hear voices and views other than mine.

But the deeper answer underlying all the other answers is this: I can preach to this theologically diverse congregation (as I have others) because you have given me a free pulpit, and the great gift of trusting me to use it wisely, responsibly, respectfully. Still, the system isn’t infallible. Sometimes I fail to live up to the challenge and the trust. I have favorite subjects. I get lazy. Sometimes I choose easy topics and familiar texts, or don’t make sufficient effort to ensure that the variety of theologies present here are all acknowledged, and explored and celebrated. When that happens you call me back, gently, asking a question or telling me a story or suggesting a reading, reminding me that this free pulpit exists within and by the grace of a religious community to which I am responsible. Trusting you to demand the best of me, in turn, allows me even greater freedom.

As such, your comments, ideas, suggestions, and even complaints are important to my preaching and my ministry as a whole. I’ve just said I need to avoid allowing any individual or group too much influence over what I will or will not preach, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what you think. Freedom of the pulpit doesn’t do anyone any good if a preacher’s messages become so irrelevant or offensive to their congregation that everyone stops listening. What you say may not change my mind, or show up in next week’s sermon, but I do listen, and add your recommendations to my files, and take your ideas into consideration the next time I’m working on a related topic. Talk to me during coffee hour, join me for Lisa on the Loose, send me an email or give me a call. About the only instance in which I’ll become really stubborn and disregard what you have to say is if you try to tell me not to say something or read something because to do so would be un-Unitarian Universalist.

Having freedom of the pulpit written into my agreement with this congregation means that not only don’t I fear imprisonment because of my words, I also don’t fear getting fired because of my words. That’s no small thing. But when we do it right, when I preach freely and you listen and respond freely, and I listen to you and then respond, and we do it all out of love for this church and this faith, something even better than not getting fired happens. Each time we do it right, we come just a little bit closer to the Truth we seek.

As I said at the outset of this sermon, one of its earlier titles was Can They Say That Here? We have several guest speakers over the course of each church year. Often they bring ideas, information and viewpoints about our community or their work that are intriguing and enlightening. Sometimes they’re excellent speakers, and once in a while they aren’t. On one notable occasion they forgot to show up, and on a recent occasion, they spoke about an unexpected and not particularly well received topic.

Opening our pulpit to folks from outside our congregation always entails some degree of risk. Requiring me to preach 52 weeks a year would eliminate the risk–but would in turn have some consequences that wouldn’t be ideal for either you or me. Not enough of you want to preach to fill all our open Sundays with inhouse folks. We don't have an abundance of UU ministers within reasonable driving distance. And we’re not large enough or wealthy enough to hire a second minister–yet! So, we take the risk of inviting guests. And we seek to minimize the risk by offering those speakers clear and informative guidelines about Unitarian Universalism and our values. My thanks to Jozef Biscerano, Jessica Oatara, Tish Hamilton, Yvette Upton, and Robin Kemp for recently updating and clarifying those guidelines.

But you know what? Even if we did have a second minister or if a good dozen or more of you were willing to speak each year, I think we’d still want to invite outside speakers on a fairly regular basis. We are a bright and curious congregation of more than 130 people living in a city of almost 150,000 people. We’d get bored if we only listened to one another talk week after week, year after year. More importantly than that, we’d become ignorant of our neighbors, what they think and feel and value and believe.

Can they say that here–whatever that is–? I think if we are discriminating with our invitations, and diligent and forthright in our discussions with speakers once the invitations have been accepted, the answer is almost always, yes, they can say that here. We might not like what we hear. We might not invite some speakers back. We might have to do some clean up. But our congregation and our individual spirits will be deepened and enriched by our lack of fear.

Now, I say this as someone who once stopped a worship service and asked that the speaker be removed from the pulpit. It was the right thing to do, and I’d do it again in the same or similar circumstances–but that’s once, in 30 years of ministry. I don’t anticipate such a situation will ever arise here. However, I trust our worship associates, or board officers who might be present, would take necessary action in the unlikely event a guest speaker was causing harm with their words. I am not deputizing anyone else to act in my absence.

After cycling through Can She Say That Here and Can They Say That Here, I landed on Can We Say That Here? as my final title for this morning’s sermon. It should be the easiest yes. We don’t have a creed. We don’t reject members or visitors based on what they believe or don’t believe. We’re strong advocates of freedom of speech. Our UUA by-laws as currently formulated list six sources of inspiration:

Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder;

Words and deeds of prophetic people;

Wisdom from the world's religions;

Jewish and Christian teachings;

Humanist teachings; [and]

Spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions.

And the proposed revision of Article Two of the by-laws includes pluralism as one of our core values. Rejecting creeds, drawing wisdom from many sources, holding pluralism as core value–what couldn’t we say here? But I believe that question is a bit more complicated than it first seems.

Some historical context:

King Sigismund’s Edict of Religious Tolerance, granting the right of conscience to preachers and the right to call preachers whose theology fit their own to congregations, was radical in its day and is narrow by today’s standards, in that those freedoms were restricted only to Christian preachers, Christian congregations, Christian believers. In this country, our founders seemed to follow and expand upon Sigismund’s example, by making religion the first right guaranteed in the first amendment to the US Constitution: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.

Within Unitarian Universalism interest in religious pluralism–the state of being where every individual in a religiously diverse society has the rights, freedoms, and safety to worship, or not, according to their conscience– shows up at least as far back as the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions. The Transcendentalists, including Unitarians Emerson and Thoreau, were reading and influenced by Eastern thought, both Buddhist and Hindu, several decades earlier even than that.

Unitarian minister William Channing Gannett wrote the lyrics to the hymn we sang before the sermon this morning. Published in 1911, the hymn was originally called The Word Of God. It’s just as well we no longer use that title, given the range of beliefs about God in our congregations today. But I like knowing what it is that sounds along the ages. I like knowing that more than a hundred years ago our theological forebears believed that the word of Truth, if we might call it that, echoed from Sinai, breathed from Buddha’s tree, charmed Athen’s market and hallowed Galilee. That the Word of Truth rang out from Luther’s hammer, and was heard in the Pilgrims’ seaside prayer, and from those Transcendental oracles of Concord. I like, even more, knowing that those theological forebears were proclaiming that the holy Word of Truth is heard and proclaimed wider and anew by each generation.

For all our justified grumpiness about old, white guy hymns, we have some treasures like this one that remind us that our 21st century interest in pluralism isn’t a departure from the mostly Christian roots of our merged Unitarian and Universalist tradition; it is an outgrowth of it.

So, so far, so good. We’re living in a long line of folks who sought and found, still seek and find, wisdom in sources familiar and unfamiliar, predicable and unexpected, as close to us as the words of our families and as far from us as the words of people in countries we might not be able to find on a map, in communities that have histories and languages, customs and cultures we can scarcely comprehend. We know the Word of Truth, the Word of Love, the Word of Life, echoes and rings and resounds in all those places, and so we want to say and sing all those words here, that we might learn and heal, be inspired and blessed, have our souls and our hearts opened.

We know all this and that’s one of the reasons our gray hymnal, published in 1993 replaced the blue one published in 1964, and why the teal supplement came along in 2005, and why a new, all digital hymnal is in the very earliest stages of development right now. Because we have wanted, and still want, to include words and music reflective of as much of the all-encompassing circle of wisdom and inspiration that is the entirety of human culture and religion as we can gather.

But a shift has occurred in the past couple decades or so, as we have begun to question our right to say and sing all the words, engage in all the practices that are rooted in specific living faith traditions and communities, that are sacred within those faith traditions and communities, faith traditions and communities to which some of us belong–as sort of dual citizens of Unitarian Universalism and a native tribe, or and Judaism, or and Christianity, or and Islam, or and communities of color—but most of do not belong. Is finding wisdom and inspiration in a text from another tradition an act of homage or an act of theft? Does our use of a song or prayer, outside of the context and setting in which it arose and is commonly sung or prayed constitute borrowing or does it render the song or the prayer profane? What if a ritual is suggested by and led by a UU Jew or tribal member, or person of color? What if it’s not?

Such questions have proliferated since I was in divinity school in the 1990s. And the answers seem to shift continually. Our sincere desire to have our worship practices reflect the diversity within our congregations, and the breadth of the sources of wisdom we recognize, and the cultural preferences of people not yet Unitarian Universalist who might want our need our life-giving faith–this desire often bumps up against our growing awareness that adherents, believers, followers of living faith traditions don’t always welcome our interest in and use of their sacred words and songs. Different Unitarian Universalist ministers and congregations engage the potential conflict differently and reach different conclusions.

Seldom a week goes by when our music director, David Neches, and I don’t wrestle with the tension inherent in being a pluralistic faith that strives also to be a respectful neighbor, so to speak, of other faiths. Sometimes can we say that here becomes should we sing that here. Often our answers are at odds. Always our worship services are better for us having asked the question can we say/sing that here, no matter what answer we temporarily settle on. As we, as a congregation, seek to provide the breadth and variety of worship experiences recent ARC surveys and inventories indicate this congregation wants, the conversations will continue and will involve more people and will explore more nuances. We’ll make some mistakes. We’ll get to practice being uncomfortable and resolving conflict. We’ll learn as we go, how to be pluralistic and respectful, to branch out and remain true to who we are as a congregation.

We’ll never compile a compendium of words, phrases, songs, prayers and ideas to which we can turn for a definitive answer when the question arises, can we say that here. But, as I said a few minutes ago, when we do it right, asking the question out of love for this church and this faith, we’ll get something better than a definitive answer: we’ll come ever closer to the Truth we seek. Amen.