Okay. Here is a little math question. How many times in your life have you seen the image of the cross? My own very rough estimate is that I have seen the image of the cross more than 10,000 times. Heck, the number might be 50,000 or even 100,000 times. I have lived for more than 22,000 days. The image of the cross is everywhere; I probably see it several times a day. The cross appears on churches as I drive by, on bumper stickers, on television, on the web, on T-shirts, on jewelry, in cemeteries, on makeshift roadside memorials, on tattoos and, well, you get the idea.
The cross is so pervasive in our culture that we probably don’t even notice it most of the time. Most of the crosses that I see are the empty crosses on Protestant churches. Some of the crosses are crucifixes -- crosses with an image of a suffering of Jesus slowly being tortured to death. I know that many of us have toured old cathedrals in Europe. In these old cathedrals crucifixes are everywhere. There seems to have been some sort of competition among artists to see who could create the most grotesque representation. I think of a number of cathedrals and Catholic churches in Latin America, where the art of the gruesome crucifix seems to have reached its peak. In these churches the crucifixes are typically brightly painted, and the emphasis is on blood pouring out of wounds. Blood is everywhere. It looks fresh. The sense of suffering is palpable and powerful.
The cross, and the suffering of Jesus, are the cornerstones of the Christian faith as we know it. We all know the orthodox teaching. Jesus suffered and died for our sins. This is the classic Christian doctrine of substitutionary atonement.This doctrine is what is taught in the vast majority of Christian churches, whether they are Catholic or Protestant or, for that matter, Eastern Orthodox. This is so much a part of our society’s religious culture that it is like the air we breathe.
It was with some surprise and disbelief that I learned that the whole focus on the death of Jesus and the doctrine of the substitutionary atonement did not occur until almost 1000 years after Jesus lived and died. In a recent book, Saving Paradise, theologians Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock explore a major change in Christianity that occurred during the Middle Ages. Rebecca Parker, by the way, is president of Starr King school for the Ministry, our Unitarian Universalist seminary in Berkeley.
They began with the observation that the earliest known crucifix did not appear until the 10th century in Saxony, Germany. Their research took them to the oldest known Christian ruins in Rome and Turkey. As we heard in this morning’s reading, Parker and Nakashima Brock were surprised by what they found. The imagery of the early church emphasized life rather than death and joy rather than suffering. Early Christians coming to church would see images not of a bleeding Jesus, but of Jesus in paradise (and we have to remember that these were largely illiterate people for whom visual images of their religion were probably more important than written texts). And this paradise was not somewhere above the clouds with angels playing harps. The images were of a very earthly paradise, with animals and orchards and grass and water. These were standard Mediterranean images of the good life.
Then it all changed. A religion that celebrated life and that saw Jesus as someone who opened the way to a paradise of compassion, harmony and shared abundance was transformed into a religion preoccupied with suffering, death, atonement and heavenly rewards after death.
What in the world happened? Parker and Nakashima Brock argue that this shift in theology coincided with the desires of empire. The church had taught for centuries it was a sin to participate in warfare because killing broke the fifth commandment, “Thou shalt not kill.” Soldiers had to perform penance. This teaching was in conflict with the aggressive desires of the holy Roman Empire. By the time of the first Crusade at the end of the 11th century, the teaching of the Church had turned upside down. Soldiers were told that to participate in the crusade would substitute for all penance for sin. In the words of Parker and Nakashima Brock, “War ceases being a sin and became a way to atone for sin. Killing became a mode of penance, a pathway to paradise.” Theology became war propaganda. The pronouncements of Pope Urban are disturbingly familiar to us today. It is the same argument used by Islamic fundamentalists to recruit terrorists.
How could this happen? How could a religion that taught peace, that celebrated community, that emphasized sharing and generosity, that imagined its savior is a gentle shepherd get twisted into a religion preoccupied with suffering, death and judgment?
Here I would like to bring in a concept from outside religion and theology. I think it will help us understand what happened in the Middle Ages and, far more importantly, what is happening all around us today. I want to bring in an idea from the field known as the sociology of knowledge. Don’t be frightened by the pompous sounding phrase “sociology of knowledge.” Some wiseguy once suggested that the sociology of knowledge was a fancy way of saying that where you stand depends on where you sit. It is a way of looking at ideas through the lens of what function ideas have in their society.
One of the classic concepts of the field is that ideas in a culture often function as either “ideology” or “utopia.” An idea is labeled “ideology” if it functions as a rationalization for the way things are. For example, the concept of the divine right of kings is a way of justifying the existence of a king and a hereditary ruling class. On the other hand, ideas that offer an alternative to what exists, that criticize the status quo and imagine a different and better way are labeled “utopian.” The Marxist concept of a classless society would be an example of a utopian idea. And this, happily, concludes our lecture on the sociology of knowledge.
What is important for us to understand is that religion historically sometimes has functioned as utopia, sometimes as ideology, and often as both simultaneously. That is, religion creates images of what might be. Think of how Hebrew prophets talked about beating swords into plowshares and talked about justice rolling down like waters. Religion as an expression of utopian ideals upholds values like love, the value of each individual, honesty, caring for the helpless, loyalty, justice and community.
But religion has always had a dark side as well. Religion everywhere has been used by the powerful to legitimize their power and to help control the powerless. Priests anoint royalty. They pray to the gods to smite the nation’s enemies. Think of how religions have taught people to suffer patiently and await a reward in another life. This side of religion is its ideological function.
What we see in Christianity in the Middle Ages is a classic case of a religion that was largely utopian becoming twisted into a religion that did the bidding of the powerful. Religion has often been a complicated mixture of both ideology and utopia. On the one hand it expresses deep human longing for the ideal life, for Paradise -- for life that is joyous and wonderful. On the other hand, religion has been used as a tool of oppression. Just in the past couple of centuries religion has been used to justify slavery, racism, oppression of women, and the marginalization of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Just look at Catholicism in Latin America in the past 50 years. A religion that had been a tool of the elite was transformed into an institution that supported the demands of the poor and of indigenous people. In a movement that found expression as Liberation Theology, God was seen as being on the side of the poor. Priests and bishops caught up in the Liberation Theology movement helped organize the urban poor and campesinos all over Latin America. Then, as so often happens, the forces of the status quo struck back. The Vatican hierarchy squashed the movement. Religion went from functioning as ideology to being a utopian force for change and then back again.
If we look at our own movement through from this perspective on religion, I think we see ourselves in a slightly different light. Both halves of our movement, the Unitarian half and the Universalist half, were created as reactions against what Christianity had become. In a religious world dominated by the rigidity of a Catholic hierarchy and a dour Calvinism that saw humanity as utterly depraved, the Unitarians and the Universalists rebelled.
We owe a particular debt to our Universalist forebears in this regard. They, even more than the Unitarians, rejected the very premises of orthodoxy. They argued, in the theological language of their day, that God is not an angry judge. The Universalists said that God was a loving father and that no loving God would create humanity for the purpose of condemning most of them to eternal punishment. In the famous phrase of John Murray, he told Universalists to give people hope, not hell. The most influential Universalist of the nineteenth century (and of all time), Hosea Ballou, completely rejected the Christian doctrine of atonement. Ballou taught that it was not the death of Jesus that saved us, but rather his example of a life ruled by love. Ballou taught that we can create a heaven or hell right here on earth.
Isn’t it ironic that most of us Unitarian Universalists no longer claim a Christian identity—and yet we are far closer to the teachings of the early Christians than are the vast majority of churches that claim to be Christian. Our emphasis on love, on community, on justice, and our focus on this life rather than some future heaven is actually closer in spirit to the early Christian congregations than are churches that teach people that Jesus died so that they can go to heaven after they die.
Religion, at its best, begins as what sociologists would call a utopian expression. Religion, at its finest, helps us to imagine and to experience Paradise. Religion that truly saves people today must save them from isolation, from the banality of consumerism, from the false gods of individualism and self absorption. True religion teaches that each one of us is lovable and is loved—and then creates congregations where love can be put into practice. True religion teaches us that we are all in this together and that everyone matters. And if we really take that to heart then we will work to end suffering and hatred and violence and oppression. If we are to create a little corner of paradise, there is no room for hatred and injustice.
But we must also never lose sight of religion’s dark side. Religion and power do not mix. The worst thing that happened to Christianity is that it became powerful. Power will always seek to preserve itself and to preserve privilege. When power seeks to justify itself, it becomes “ideology.” Islam broke into factions fighting for power and lost much of its liberating thrust. When religion begins to serve power, it gets twisted and becomes a source of human oppression rather than a source of liberation. It begins to serve death instead of serving life. It creates hell where there could be an earthly paradise. In traditional theological language, it turns God into an angry judge or into a God that implores people to suffer in silence in exchange for rewards in another life.
I entitled this sermon “Paradise: Lost or Stolen.” The sad fact is that paradise keeps getting stolen and we keep losing it. The powerful will always try to steal it. They will always seek to distort and co-opt religious images and religious language to preserve privilege.
And, of course, we lose paradise. When we allow ourselves to be distracted by ambition, when we succumb to envy, when greed rules our lives, when we look the other way and are indifferent to the suffering of others, when we despoil our environment, we let the possibility of an earthly paradise slip away.
Our challenge today, our religious mission, is to create a little corner of paradise right here, right now. We do this every time we share a meal, teach a child, help a friend, and make time for another human being. We help create a corner of paradise when we let compassion and generosity guide our actions.
But this is not enough. We must also be willing to share what we create. We must be open to others who want to be part of a community that celebrates life and works for justice. Paradise has no lock on the door. Paradise is a place where hearts are open and where there is always room for the newcomer.
And even this is not enough. Paradise must be extended. The possibility of an earthly paradise needs to be proclaimed to a world that is hurting, confused, angry and afraid. We need to bear witness to another way. This is what it means to be an evangelist. We have good news. Life can be rich and beautiful and filled with meaning. Together, together, we can create something wonderful. We need to bear witness to that religion—and life— need not be about guilt, judgment, suffering, and ignorance. (We will be returning to the themes of true religion and of bearing witness several times in the coming months. The truth is that we need to get a lot better at articulating the core of our faith. We cannot extend paradise until we can learn to talk about it.)
The great tragedy of our time is that a human paradise is within reach as it has never been before. For the first time in human history, we have the knowledge to end hunger, to lift all people from grinding poverty. We can extend understanding and respect for all people. Paradise is really within reach.
The real question—the central moral and spiritual question of our time— is whether we have to courage and commitment to make paradise real. Paradise has been stolen hundreds of times. And it has been lost thousands of times. But it need not be this way.
Together, we can create a paradise right here, right now. We really can.
Let’s get busy. Amen.