Unto All the Inhabitants Thereof
Our worship theme for the month of June is, as Kurt said, the Practice of Freedom. So, I’m going to need you all to return here at 4:00 this afternoon, and then at 11:00 and 4:00 again tomorrow, and for each of the 28 days after that, so we can begin to scratch the surface.
And there’ll be homework.
Freedom of. Freedom to. Freedom from. Freedom for. Freedom for whom? Under what circumstances? With what limitations? Ought we to concern ourselves with granting freedom or gaining freedom? How does this year’s overarching theme ‘the practice of’ change the nuance of the focused monthly theme ‘freedom’? And what of liberty? Are freedom and liberty synonymous?
Perhaps not exactly. Liberty comes from a Latin root meaning 'unbound', while free derives from an IndoEuropean word meaning 'to love'. We’ll come back to that distinction, and specifically the etymology of free, in a little bit. But the two are near enough, perhaps, in our contemporary usage, to excuse my turning our attention for a few minutes to the Liberty Bell.
The Liberty Bell that didn’t start out as the Liberty Bell but rather as the bell for the Steeple of the State House in Philadelphia, ordered in 1751 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of William Penn's 1701 Charter of Privileges, Pennsylvania's original Constitution.
The Liberty Bell that was melted down and recast and recast again – first, because of a crack that made it unringable and then because the tone of the bell was unpleasant. The Liberty Bell, the tone of which was still unpleasant after the second recasting, at which time a replacement was ordered from England–which, when it arrived, evidently, didn’t sound any better than the second recast bell sounded.
The Liberty Bell that was rung
"to call the [Pennsylvania] Assembly together and to summon people together for special announcements and events." The Liberty Bell [that was] … "tolled when Benjamin Franklin was sent to England to address Colonial grievances, ... when King George III ascended to the throne in 1761, and… to call together the people of Philadelphia to discuss the Sugar Act in 1764 and the Stamp Act in 1765…. [and ] for the First Continental Congress in 1774, [and]the Battle of Lexington and Concord in 1775"
The Liberty Bell that, despite legend, was probably not tolled in July 1776 to summon citizens for the reading of the Declaration of Independence, as the steeple was in too poor condition to support active ringing.
The Liberty Bell that, despite its origin commemorating an event in the history of just a single state, despite the inaccuracy of some of the legends, despite and because of its crack, is a powerful, beloved symbol in our nation’s history and mythology. The likeness of which was adopted as a symbol of the abolitionist movement. It was, in fact, that movement that first called it “the Liberty Bell”, in reference to an inscription on it–more about that in just a minute. After the Civil War the Bell traveled across the country as a symbol of unity to promote healing. In 1915 a replica of the Liberty Bell was forged to promote the cause of women’s suffrage. It
"traveled the country with its clapper chained to its side, silent until women won the right to vote. On September 25, 1920, it was brought to Independence Hall and rung in ceremonies celebrating the ratification of the 19th amendment."
The Liberty Bell that, because it was indeed commissioned to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Charter of Privileges, was therefore inscribed "Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.” Those words come from the Hebrew Scriptures, Leviticus 25:10, one of the directives for the observance of a Jubilee Year–every 50th year when servants and enslaved people must be released to return to their homes and families; debts canceled; cheating prohibited; and the land allowed to lie fallow.
David’s choice of If I Had a Hammer for this morning’s anthem started me down the rabbit hole of the history and symbolism of the Liberty Bell, though as far as I can tell Pete Seegar and Lee Hays weren’t specifically referencing the Liberty Bell when they wrote it. The ‘bell of freedom’ is an allusion to the more general historical and widespread use of bells as a tool for calling people together, calling people to action. Still, I’m grateful to have made that journey down the rabbit hole, and especially to have learned about the inscription on the Bell, from which I drew my sermon title.
I find it poignant, paradoxical, and perhaps quintessentially American, that an object inscribed with a call to proclaim liberty throughout the land, unto all of the inhabitants thereof, has been called into service time and time again precisely because our country has not granted liberty throughout the land nor unto all the inhabitants thereof. The abolitionists needed it because there were enslaving states and free states–well, because there was enslavement, full stop. The suffragettes needed it because women were not granted all the rights of men under our Constitution. And still today groups denied justice, liberty, and the freedoms our founding documents promise, need this symbol, continuing to travel to Philadelphia to call attention to those injustices in its presence.
Theories abound about why the United States has failed and still fails to live into First Amendment promises of freedom of religious (and the practice thereof), freedom of speech, press, right of peaceable to assemble, and right to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. Why and how the youthful patriotism Alicia Ostriker recalls in her poem–the same youthful patriotism many of us remember from elementary school–began to crumble and disappear, replaced by shame, disenchantment, disgust as we looked farther and farther beyond the small circles of our childhoods, and saw how our neighbors are treated, how people in other parts of our cities are treated, how people visibly or invisibly different from the ideal of image of middle America are treated. Historians, sociologists, political scientists, feminist scholars, womanist scholars, theologians and economists, talk and write of racism, white supremacy culture, greed, xenophobia, transphobia, scarcity mentality, homophobia, misogyny, the original sin of manifest destiny. Pundits and politicians argue about it all in soundbites and gotcha moments. Ds and Rs, red hats and blues, trade memes and insults. Families and friendships become battle zones. And none of it, neither the theories nor the performative showmanship nor the destroyed relationships, seems to get us any closer to liberty throughout the land unto all the inhabitants thereof. Not consistently. Not without frequent reversals, or shifting prevailing political and societal winds that grant liberties and justice to some inhabitants of the land while curtailing them or denying them for other inhabitants.
I don’t have a favorite among theories explaining our seeming inability to answer the clarion call of the symbol of Liberty and Freedom, and I certainly don’t have a theory of my own. But I do have a wondering. And the wondering brings us back to the very different etymological roots of the words liberty meaning unbound, and free, meaning to love.
Actually it’s not my wondering. It comes from the Reverend Dr. Anna Blaedel, a chaplain, writer, and public theologian who wrote:
"what if freedom, instead of an impossible demand or a futurist fantasy, is what effloresces as we turn toward one another, bearing witness and practicing “withness,” enfleshing the sacred through fierce and tender care, and practicing spirit as the wild love that makes possible what we are told is impossible - survival with joy, collective liberation?"
The words of Anna Blaedel.
If free, sharing a common root with the word friend, means to love, then why wouldn’t we have more success at spreading freedom–and liberty, too for that mater–unto all this inhabitants of land, if we practiced turning toward one another rather than turning away, rather than separating ourselves from anyone unfamiliar, any different from us in any way, anyone whose history, culture, motivations, choices and knowledge of themselves we don’t understand?
Freedom and liberty come together, becoming almost synonymous in common usage despite different derivations, because we want our friends and others whom we love to be unbound. To enjoy all the freedoms promised in our founding documents, to enjoy the liberty proclaimed on the side of that bell, and all the other liberties that open pathways to lives of fullness, autonomy, meaning and joy. So, if we want those things for the people we love, the people we know to be friends, then theoretically at least the more people we extend our circle of friendship to the more people we love, the wider and more encompassing the circle of liberty becomes.
I don’t suggest that such a turning toward others, toward strangers, toward those who are unknown or heretofore feared, disdained and distrusted, is easy. It may not even be possible, not more than very rarely, very slowly. I acknowledge that right now, in these fraught and perilous and uncertain times, our impulse is to do just the opposite. Our impulse is to turn away. Our impulse is to restrict our gestures of with-ness. Our impulse is to make our intimate, trusted circles smaller, tighter, more homogeneous. Almost daily I see friends and colleagues posting notices on social media saying things like, “if you deny the humanity of immigrants, or the existence of my trans beloveds, then just go ahead and unfriend me.” Or “if you believe billionaires deserve tax breaks more than babies in this country deserve food or mothers in other countries deserve treatment for HIV, just go ahead and unfriend me.” I know from my own experience that offering love, or even simply friendship, to people whose values, as evidenced through their words, and actions, stand in stark opposition to my own, feels like giving permission, feels like condoning those values. It feels like withholding my friendship, withholding my love not only signals disapproval of their actions, disavowal of their misguided and cruel (according to my values) values. It feels like withholding gestures of with-ness is the right and moral thing to do–the only way, sometimes, to stand with the most vulnerable and imperiled people in our land and around the world.
But here’s the thing–it has never worked, not for very long. Not border walls. Not segregated schools and public transportation and health care and professional sports teams. Not Jim Crow. Not don’t ask/don’t tell. History has shown us time and again that restricting the liberties of others (including the liberties of free thought, free speech, free assembly) rarely, if ever increases our own freedom. Either because someone with more power, more hatred, more callous disregard for humanity always comes along to take away from us the same things we took away from others or failed to protect for others. Or because we find ourselves living in fear of reprisal from those we have oppressed. We can’t increase liberty by restricting it. It never works. Our liberty is woven inextricably into the humanity of our beloveds, our neighbors and our foes.
So what if Dr. Blaedel is right? What if the key to luminous, effervescent, dynamic freedom is practicing radical with-ness? What if “enfleshing the sacred through fierce and tender care, and practicing spirit as … wild love” [does make] possible what we are told is impossible - survival with joy, collective liberation? Collective–that is to unto all the inhabitants thereof–liberation–that is to say unboundedness.
There is, after all, an almost infinitely wide swath of space between condoning words and actions and putting those who speak the words and take the actions beyond the pale, exiled from society, undeserving of rights and privileges and love. Enough space within which we might shout down the words, protest the actions, seek to remedy the harm, and still turn toward with-ness. Not solely because those whom we would put beyond the pale deserve to be left to God’s universal loving embrace rather than our own finite and too often vengeful justice–though they do deserve that, otherwise why proclaim ‘love at the center’? No, we need to inhabit that space, shouting down, protesting, seeking remedy, and turning toward ‘with-ness’ degree by degree by slow incremental degree, because our liberty is woven inextricably into the humanity of our beloveds, our neighbors and our foes.
We can start with easy, natural with-ness–strengthening our bonds of love with family, friends and neighbors, but we must not pause there before extending it outward to strangers near and far, to communities at all the edges of what has been considered acceptable society, and out from there to all we want least to cast our lots with. Because only then, beyond the now visible horizons of time but nearer every day, will liberty spread throughout the land and unto all the inhabitants thereof.
May it be so. Amen.
