SALVATION BY...BIBLIOGRAPHY?

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday September 28th, 2008

Opening Words: from 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.

***
[Extemporaneous Introduction]

As I mentioned a little earlier, this is Banned Books Week, which is always a good time to check in to see how I’m doing. On the American Library Association’s list of the 100 most Frequently Challenged Books of the 90’s, I’ve sad to say I’ve only read a total of 40 -- although my total would probably be a lot higher if I still had school-aged children around the house, or was a bigger fan of Stephen King’s. I do a little better with the Pelham Public Library’s Fahrenheit 451 Banned Book Club Reading list for 2008 -- 81 out of 175. But when I finally got around to that classic list of the Standard Sixty-Five Banned Books of All Time (you know, the one that starts out with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and finishes up with Ulysses Uncle Tom’s Cabin and A Wrinkle in Time) I found I had read all or part of all but seven.

Which I guess just goes to show that not all banned books are really worthy of being read. Some of these titles remind me a lot of a review written by Dorothy Parker about a now long- (and probably well-) forgotten volume: “This is not a book to be tossed aside lightly. It should be hurled with great force.” But the quality of the literature itself is really a secondary consideration when compared to the more fundamental “right to read” in the first place. When the act of reading itself is placed under suspicion through the use of tactics like book challenges and attempts to characterize whole catagories of literature (like Harry Potter, for instance) as “anti-religious,” then it is time for religious liberals like ourselves to step up and tell the other side of the story....

***
I also want to say just a word or two about the title of my sermon this morning -- “Salvation by Bibliography.” This is actually a turn of phrase that was first shared with me by a more-experiencced, senior colleague when I was still young and relatively new to the ministry, in an attempt to explain to me 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 very first things we do is recommend a book about it. It was a tongue-in-cheek remark (with a sharp edge of tooth about it), all based on an attempt to communicate to me the plain and simple truth that none of us in this line of work really feels like we are smart enough to do the job the way it really ought to be done.

And so we surround ourselves with the wisdom of the ages, hoping that perhaps some of it will rub off and sink in. Among the many other things it is, Parish Ministry is in many ways a lifetime Spiritual Discipline of Reading & Reflection, Prayerful Meditation, and Thoughtful, Contemplative Composition and Action. It is a weekly engagement, as Emerson put it, with “Life -- Life passed through the Fire of Thought;” and the DISCIPLINE of doing it every week -- or even every other week -- quickly begins to define everything else preachers say or do as living human beings.

During his own 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, or (just for purposes of comparison) about five times as large as mine, which (as some of you know) is already overflowing the available shelf space I have to devote to it. 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 even 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 use those books to help me 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 principal criteria on which aspiring ministers were examined prior to being approbated for ordination. Nowadays we’ve changed the labels somewhat, but the baseline 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; smart but not arrogant; confident, but also humble. And since none of these combinations really comes naturally to a normal human being, it takes lots of practice and a lot of self-discipline just to get them kind of close to right. The very best ministers I know have all learned how to lead by listening, which is also why the clergy I respect the most consider it such an honor and a blessing to serve generous, tolerant, and forgiving congregations, especially early in our careers.

Like any seriously devoted religious or spiritual lifestyle, Ministry is a form of Discipleship: a specialized kind of apprenticeship, or disciplined learning, where the learner/apprentice/disciple is not only expected to master a particular body of knowledge and set of professional skills and techniques, but also to develop certain insights, personal beliefs, and ethical values to accompany those skills, as well as a profound and deeply-internalized 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.

Our 19th century 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 of these beliefs shared the understanding 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.

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 also 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 exclusively from books. Academic scholars in this field 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, teachers, coaches, neighbors, perhaps even ministers...and certainly our Sunday school instructors!

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. Be honest. Tell the truth, and be as good as 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.

Think for a moment about what other lessons like this you have learned. Where did you learn them? And why does “reality” sometimes tempt us to compromise our “childish” or naive beliefs about right and wrong? We all know that life isn’t always fair, and that often the experience of frustration, 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. But it’s EXACTLY at times like those when it takes a lot of moral courage to refrain from doing something we just know deep down in our hearts is wrong, even though we can rationalize it in our minds as necessary and justified.

For most traditional Christians, 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 the knowledge of the Truth that sets us Free. The 19th-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, such as the passage I read earlier this morning to open our service from 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.

And just as frequently, they looked within themselves, and created their own Scripture from the Law they found there written upon their hearts. Here’s one of my favorites: a brief credo written by the Reverend William Henry Channing (nephew of the much more well-known William Ellery Channing), which he titled simply “My Symphony:”

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 cheerfully, 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.

And writing at roughly the same time, the then much-less-renown Henry David Thoreau composed these two lines of verse: “My Life has been the poem I would have writ/But I could not both live and utter it.”

[extemporaneous conclusion]