Today we are at the end of what in Judaism is called the High Holy Days or the Days of Awe, a period of time stretching between Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. It is the time during the year when Jews are expected to gather in worship as a way of looking at themselves and deciding what they want said about them on their page in The Book of Life, the summing up of who we are as persons.
Unitarian Universalists don’t have regular rituals like this, though perhaps we should, for, like Judaism, our faith stresses ethical responsibility. Unlike some approaches to religion, ones in which it’s belief or membership that promises some kind of better life, what Unitarians and Universalists have stressed, since the time of our beginnings, is what William Ellery Channing called “salvation by character” - that is the achievement of a better life by developing such virtues as thoughtfulness, intelligence, compassion and a commitment to peace, freedom and justice.
Like Judaism, ours is a lived faith. It is based on a notion that was reiterated over and over again in Scripture and was brought to this country by the Puritans, from whom both our Universalist and Unitarian forbears evolved. It’s the belief that we are born into a covenant with God or Life to further the creation of which we are part. We assume that even though there may be aspects of our lives over which we have little command or no control, we share in a responsibility for not only what becomes of us, but for what becomes of the world in which we live. This is the underlying theme of the Days of Awe. On Rosh Hashanah, which is the beginning of the Jewish Liturgical Year, as well as the beginning of High Holy Days, people are asked to begin thinking about what has gone on in the year just passed, particularly the mistakes they’ve made. In the Jewish tradition it’s believed that unless people are intentional about this and do it periodically, they’re unlikely to do it at all – or, if they do it, to do it when it’s too late.
I’ve always thought of myself as much Jewish as Christian, though it’s not a part of my actual ancestry. So, I’m intrigued by the work of Jewish authors, like Bruce Feiler. Feiler writes about what happens to him as he travels through biblical lands as a way of trying to in touch with the roots of his faith. Feiler’s latest book is called Where God Was Born. One of the things that intrigues Feiler about the stories that come from these ancient biblical lands is how many of them are about people who make mistakes, like my namesake, David. After David gains fame because of his ability to kill the giant, Goliath, he is chosen to become king of the tribes of Israel. But David isn’t the benevolent ruler one might imagine a biblical monarch should be. He’s a tyrant, not only when it comes to his enemies, but to his own people. When it comes to his treatment of women, for instance, he makes Henry VIII look like a saint. David dismisses his wife, Michal, because she objects to him dancing in he nude in front of crowds of people. Then with Michal out of his mind, he spots Bethsheba taking a bath and decides he’d rather have her. But she’s married. So, David sends her husband off to battle so he’ll be killed and he can do whatever he wants with his widow. It sounds like the scenario for one of those crimes shows on TV, but David is king, so he can do whatever he wants to do.
The reason stories like this are included in Bible is because those who wrote the stories didn’t believe God expected people to be perfect, not even kings. Like Shakespeare, those who wrote the biblical stories wanted to show that not only could people from humble beginnings rise to positions of power, when they do they can misuse their power. I’m no wielder of power, even if I’m named after one, and I’ve never misused whatever power I have, like him, but I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life – and I still make them. That’s why, for me, it’s helpful to have a time every year when I’m asked to take a look at my life to see how things are going and do what I need to do set right whatever it is I’ve done that’s wrong. But I don’t do so with despair. After all, I’m a Universalist – and Universalists believe in a loving God. They believe that Whatever It Is That Has Given Us Our Lives want us to be loving, too. And I’m a Unitarian – and Unitarians believe that the same Whatever gave us the ability to think about what goes on in our lives and to learn from our mistakes. I believe that the Whatever It Is That Gave Us Our Lives calls us to join with it in furthering this creation of which we are a part. “Weep and press on,” as one of my favorite poets once put it – and as the biblical authors put it when they wrote the stories of Eve and Adam, Noah, Jonah and the Prophets. It’s what Jesus told his followers – and it’s what any good therapist or spiritual director would say.
It’s in this spirit that a shofar is blown at the beginning of the service on Rosh Hashanah. The sound of the horn is meant to scare away whatever demons may haunt us and let us know that, if we’re willing to do our part, we can defeat whatever chaos or negativity might threaten to engulf our lives. So, even though I left my shofar behind in California, let me symbolically blow it this morning.
Having done this, I invite us to think for a moment about what it is you’d like written about you on our page in The Book of Life. It’s said that in that book there are three sections. The first contains pages for those how are virtuous – those who have been able to learn from their mistakes, do something about them, and move on with their lives. The second contains pages for those who’ve done things that are wrong but have no regrets. The third, which is the largest, has the pages for those of us who are in-between, those of us who have made mistakes but haven’t yet done all we need to do to get beyond them.
Yom Kippur, which comes at the end of the High Holy Days, is the time when those of us in the middle are asked to face up to our mistakes and to atone for them. In the Jewish tradition – and in ours – atonement isn’t like what it is for conservative Christians. It’s not something someone else can do for us, even if it’s as special a person as Jesus. Unitarian and Universalist believe that although Jesus had important things to say about how to live our lives, especially about the need to care for other people and Life Itself, it’s up to us, not him, to do something about our mistakes. Salvation, that is a better life, isn’t derived from the act of a Savior.
What people are called to do in the rituals of Yom Kippur is commit themselves to doing whatever they can to restore what is broken in their lives, in the lives of others and in the greater life of which we’re a part. They are asked to commit themselves – to restore the wholeness, the at-one-ment, with which, it is our belief, all life should be blessed. Like our Jewish forbears our Unitarian and Universalist forbears believed we are born into a covenant with the Divine or Whatever It Is That Has Given Us Our Lives to interact with Life and each other in ways that will give something back to the “interconnected web of existence” of which we are all a part, as our UU Statement of Principles and Purposes puts it.
But doing this isn’t always easy, which is why it helps to set aside a time during the year to examine ourselves and think about what we might do to move our page in The Book of Life to that section where we’d like it to be. To help them do this the ancient people in whose lands Feiler traveled made use of a scapegoat during the rituals of the Days of Awe. The scapegoat wasn’t a person, as it usually is today. It was an actual goat. On its back people would pin notes on which they’d write the things for which they believed they should atone – the things they believed they should set right. Then the goat was pushed over a cliff, taking with him to him to his death all the bad things people had written down. Although I don’t like the idea of killing an animal as a way of doing away with whatever it is we’ve done that’s wrong, anymore than I like Jesus having to die for our sins, I like the idea of having a time during the year not only to think about the mistakes we’ve made but to remind ourselves that we don’t have to hang on to them. We don’t have to let them control our lives.
Mary Carolyn Richards, the poet and potter I quoted earlier in these comments, is the author of a book whose message I’ll never forget. It’s called Centering – In Poetry, Pottery and Personhood. In her book Richards says that like a potter we have to keep working the clay of our lives centered to keep them from flying off the wheels on which our lives spin. Richards writes: “We do not stroll gaily and confidently down life’s path, merrily sowing seeds of wisdom and contentment and merrily reaping their harvest. This ecology in which we are involved operates by no such simple design. The facts of life are hard.” There are forces at work that make life difficult. “So it helps to consider ourselves on a very long journey” realizing “the main thing is to keep to the path, to endure, to help each other when we stumble or tire, to weep and press on.” Richards says that if she were to create a coat of arms for herself this would its motto: “Weep and Press On.”
The shofar blows, people gather, prayers are said, a message is heard, reflection is undertaken and we’re reminded that whatever it is that’s now written on our page in the The Book of Life can be changed if it doesn’t yet say what we’d like written about us. Without pin notes about whatever it is we’d like to be free of on the back of a goat there are always things we can do to set things right and achieve the at-one-ment – the positive connection with Life and each other we all want – things we can do to move our page to the section where it belongs. Closing Words
This past week Forest Church, one of the most eloquent spokespersons for our faith died, after a long struggle with cancer. Forest spoke and wrote often, during his bout with his disease, about the themes in our service this morning. Forest was a man who truly lived his life well, and to it’s fullest.
George Bernard Shaw was a person like Forest. In his play Man and Superman, Shaw wrote this. I leave it with you as a tribute to my colleague:
I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can… Life is no brief candle to me. It’s a sort of splendid torch, which I’ve got to hold up for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations… I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. Forest did this. May we do it, too.