SALVATION BY BIBLIOGRAPHY

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Religious Society in Carlisle Massachusetts
Sunday December 4th, 2005


Opening Words: My Symphony by William Henry Channing

To live content with small means;
To seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion;
To be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich;
To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly;
To listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart;
To bear all cheerully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never;
To let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.



[Extemporaneous Introduction]

I know it may seem a little strange to some of you who are perhaps still a little new to Unitarian Universalism, that the minister should take a Sunday off every once in awhile, and let someone else -- and not just another minister, but someone from the congregation -- have a turn in the pulpit. But the way it was explained to me is that, if a minister is any good, then we deserve a Sunday off every now and then; and if we aren’t, then the congregation deserves one. But from my perspective, the best thing about letting somebody else have their say every once in awhile is that once they’ve done it themselves, they generally develop a lot more appreciation for what I do all the other weeks of the year. And it sounds to me like Roy also had a chance to experience how much fun it can be as well, simply to follow the thread of your own curiosity while at the same time attempting to shape a message that will be inspiring, and enlightening, and encouraging for others. It’s not an easy thing to do, but it can be quite rewarding, especially on those rare occasions when everything comes together just right. But mostly it’s just a discipline which takes on a rhythm all its own, and around which every other aspect of a preacher’s life revolves.

Today we come to the fourth topic in this informal series I’ve been preaching about “the Purpose-Driven Unitarian,” which Rick Warren would call “discipleship” but which I generally refer to under the more general heading of “education.” A disciple is basically just a disciplined religious learner; and discipleship is simply a specialized kind of apprenticeship, where the learner/the apprentice/the disciple is not only expected to master a particular set of skills or techniques, but also to develop certain insights, personal beliefs, and ethical values, along with a profound sense of principled moral integrity -- qualities which educate the soul as well as the mind. Discipleship is about both Doing and Being: not just how well we perform, but who we ARE and how well we express that identity in every other aspect of our lives.

The title of today’s sermon -- Salvation by Bibliography -- is actually something that was once said to me by an older colleague who was trying to explain why so many UU ministers have such huge personal libraries, and why whenever someone comes to us with a problem, more often than not one of the first things we do is recommend a book about it. It was a tongue in cheek remark, with a sharp edge of truth, all based on the realization that none of us in this line of work really feel like we are smart enough to do the job the way it really ought to be done. So we surround ourselves with the wisdom of the ages, hoping that perhaps some of it will sink in. During his lifetime, Theodore Parker (the 19th century Unitarian minister for whom my dog is named) had a private library of some fifteen thousand volumes -- it was the largest library of its type anywhere in North America at the time, and (just for purposes of comparison) was about five times as large as mine, which (as some of you know) is already overflowing my office and crowding me out of the parsonage as well. Bibliomania is an obsession not only tolerated, but actively encouraged among Unitarian Universalist ministers, “...an innocent habit” the Rev. John Haynes Holmes wrote in his autobiography I Speak for Myself, “to be indulged, I believe, to the limit of ambition.”

***My library proliferated like a biological organism. It grew into hundreds, then into thousands of books. Each new volume, like a newborn infant, was classified and then placed upon the shelves, there to produce a little library of its own, in its own proud field of learning. Just to look at this collection of books, lined up like soldiers at drill, was to be instructed, inspired, uplifted by the discipline of imagination and order. To handle them by taking them one after another haphazardly from the shelves, if only to caress their handsome bindings, and consult afresh their learned indices, is to feel the gates of wisdom swing wide to our approach. Then there are the first editions to be sought out once again, the authors’ inscriptions and signatures to be re-examined, the classics to be consulted for fresh study and delight. “Have you read all these books, Grandpa?” asked a skeptical young miss on a certain day of intimate disclosure. “No, my dear,” was my reply, “I don’t believe I have read half of them. But I know what’s in them all, and why they are here.” I count this the real justification of the private library. To have the great books on hand, and the current books as they pass by, to be used when needed or desired!***

I can also still remember the first time I ever read that passage, shortly after receiving a copy of Holmes’ autobiography as a gift from the personal library of the retired Universalist minister Tracy Pullman, when I was still a divinity student at Harvard. Tracy actually gave me two huge paper grocery sacks full of books, which I had to carry home with me on the Red Line in the dead of winter. But when I was finally able to unpack them and put them up on the shelves of my snug little room in Divinity Hall, they warmed the place better than a fire in the grate, and made me feel cozy and at home. It was more than just a gift of paper. It was an intellectual legacy being passed down from generation to generation: an act of faith and trust that I would carry on the good work which Tracy had done for an entire lifetime.

It used to be that erudition and personal piety were the two criteria on which aspiring ministers were examined prior to being approbated for ordination. Nowadays we’ve changed the labels somewhat, but the qualifications are still pretty much the same: an appropriate academic credential, plus good “people skills” and a somewhat vaguely-defined quality known as “ministerial presence,” which as best I can tell is a delicate balance of gravitas and levity which allows good clergy to take their work seriously without necessarily taking themselves TOO seriously. Good ministers need to be sensitive, but not thin-skinned; we need to be smart but not arrogant; confident, but also humble. And since none of these combinations really comes naturally to a normal human being, it takes a lot of practice to get them kind of close to right, which is why clergy consider it such a blessing to serve generous and forgiving congregations, especially early in our careers.

Of course, sensitivity, intelligence, confidence, humility, a thick skin and an open-minded, non-defensive attitude are not merely attractive qualities for ministers only. Together they describe a style of spiritual wisdom which represents an important asset for any person of faith. And it’s not necessarily something that can be learned from books. Academic scholars often differentiate between formal theology and what is known as “lived religion” -- the kinds of spiritual beliefs and practices which shape and inform the everyday experiences of ordinary people’s lives. The two are obviously related, but they can also be quite distinct. You don’t need to have a graduate degree in theology in order to live an ethical and meaningful life. Most of the values by which we live our day to day lives we learned from our parents, or from our peers...from friends, family, mentors, colleagues, coaches, neighbors, perhaps even ministers or Sunday school teachers. These lessons may have started out in books, but now they have made their way into the very fabric of our lives and our society. Tell the truth. Be honest, and true to your word. Don’t take advantage of those who are weaker than you, but do unto others as you would have others do unto you.

What other lessons have you learned, and where did you learn them? And how has “reality” sometimes tempted you to compromise your “childish” beliefs about right and wrong? We all know that life isn’t always fair, and that often the experience of disappointment or betrayal can leave us feeling wounded, bitter and cynical. Often we may feel that our innocence makes us vulnerable, and that we need to protect ourselves by acting in ways that we know under “normal” circumstances wouldn’t be right. At times like that it takes a lot of moral courage to refrain from doing something you just know deep down in your heart is wrong, even though you can rationalize it in your mind as necessary and justified.

Of course, there are some people who never really do develop that basic ethical conscience most of us form in childhood...who are incapable of real empathy, or perhaps even of anticipating the consequences of their own bad behavior on the lives of others. Scholars call them “sociopaths,” and they generally do require very specific rules and a fair amount of supervision to keep them on the straight and narrow. But most of us are capable of policing our own lives, while at the same time protecting ourselves, to a large degree at least, from the bad behavior of others, without resorting to bad behavior ourselves. Even honest people can be victimized and exploited. But innocence does not necessitate naiveté -- it is possible to live one’s life in reasonable safety by faithfully practicing a few simple precautions, without necessarily assuming or expecting the worst from every situation we encounter.

Our Unitarian and Universalist ancestors used to talk about this process of educating one’s conscience in terms of two closely related ideas. The first was the notion of “Self-Culture.” And the second was a doctrine known as “Salvation by Character.” Both shared a belief that the human soul was something organic, like a flowering plant, which if properly cultivated (or “cultured”) would blossom into something at once both beautiful and useful. The “fruit” of this process of cultivation was Character: a distinctive and essential pattern of personal attributes which embodied moral strength, self-discipline, and the various other exemplary characteristics of a principled and virtuous life. By educating the moral sentiment, through (for example) exposure to uplifting works of literature, and by exercising their moral fiber through acts of charity and the performance of other good works, our liberal religious forebearers attempted to transform their lives into living testaments of their religious values.

For Rick Warren, of course, discipleship is ultimately about following and imitating Jesus, and the list of uplifting books begins with the Bible. Character is formed by overcoming adversity and resisting temptation, as we grow to spiritual maturity “transformed by Truth.” The nineteenth Century Unitarians and Universalists who practiced Self-Culture would have agreed with all of this. But they also looked for inspiration beyond just the Christian tradition, to the scriptures and sacred writings of the world’s other great faith traditions, where they discovered passages like this in books like the Tao Te Ching:

Cultivated in the individual,
Character will become genuine;
Cultivated in the family,
Character will become abundant;
Cultivated in the village,
Character will multiply;
Cultivated in the state,
Character will prosper;
Cultivated in the world,
Character will become universal.

May it be as true in our time as it has been in all times, as we work to transform our lives into worthy testaments of our faith....