“God: A Multiple Choice Test”
A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
January 11, 2009
A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
January 11, 2009
God is… God is not… Surely these are among the most loaded of lead-ins. They can start conversations, or they can stop them cold. It all depends. See, already we’re into the realm of relativity, true to the spirit of conventionally unconventional Unitarian Universalists. It all depends on a, b, c, d and so on. Yet this matter is far more than an intellectual premise with contingencies. I’m betting that your notion of God or non-God is more emotion-filled than intellectual.
What kind of a God did you grow up with? I’ll start with mine. The God of my childhood was something like Santa Claus, but not always as jolly. He—and it was definitely He—had a long white beard and probably flowing robes. A red and white suit with a snowy white pom-pom on the tail of a floppy red cap would have served him better, and such attire would have led me to believe he was cutting me some slack if I did something “bad” whatever that might be—from being snippy to a friend to saying a cuss word to not doing my homework to talking back to the real gods of my childhood, my Mom and Dad! At least neither Santa nor God would say to me, “Janice Marie, come here right now!” when the jig was up. Not that my parents weren’t also loving and tender. Both were, but I tested the limits enough to evoke their no-nonsense discipline, as if they were God’s very own representatives on the be-good-or-else front.
The God with whom I first became acquainted was the God of my Sunday school. Even a Presbyterian Sunday school unwittingly set forth lots of notions for a child to consider, from a God of love to a God vindictive and vengeful, from a God who forgives to a God who would send his only son into the world and let him be crucified. There was a lot that never quite gelled. No wonder I ended up in this living tradition of liberal faith and doubt.
We as Unitarian Universalists have strong Judeo-Christian roots which inform this elusive living tradition that we espouse. So let’s begin with the Bible, with a promise to get nothing more than our theological toes wet when it comes to the myriad manifestations of divinity set forth in what Christians call the Old and New Testaments and Jews call the Law and the Prophets.
The God with whom I first became acquainted was the God of my Sunday school. Even a Presbyterian Sunday school unwittingly set forth lots of notions for a child to consider, from a God of love to a God vindictive and vengeful, from a God who forgives to a God who would send his only son into the world and let him be crucified. There was a lot that never quite gelled. No wonder I ended up in this living tradition of liberal faith and doubt.
We as Unitarian Universalists have strong Judeo-Christian roots which inform this elusive living tradition that we espouse. So let’s begin with the Bible, with a promise to get nothing more than our theological toes wet when it comes to the myriad manifestations of divinity set forth in what Christians call the Old and New Testaments and Jews call the Law and the Prophets.
God the Creator
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” reads the very first verse of the Book of Genesis. The writers of Genesis—and there were more than one—go on to deliver two Creation stories and a dramatic sequence of what was created when and who ruled over whom. It’s a high drama story of what some call “intelligent design.” Given our hurting world, even one who cleaves to “intelligent design” would do well to reconsider that adjective, “intelligent.” Nonetheless, many millions, even billions, of humans understand the world as we know it and the world as it was first formed as the creation of a transcendent being called God, an English translation for Adonai, Elohim, and Yahweh for starters.
One notion that defines God the Creator is the Latin phrase, deus ex machina, god from the machine literally. It was a device used by ancient dramatists when a plot became so entangled that the construct of a god was introduced to resolve the confounding strands. It seems to apply just as well to the improbable creation from nothing of the sky and the seas and the continents and women and men and all the non-human creatures that populated the earth in its earliest days. Rather like a plug-in device. Blame Creation on God. Praise God for Creation. Take your pick! For some the notion evokes wonder. For others, it stunts it. Yet I can’t imagine anyone who affirms the observations of Charles Darwin suggesting that the man lacked a sense of wonder!
One notion that defines God the Creator is the Latin phrase, deus ex machina, god from the machine literally. It was a device used by ancient dramatists when a plot became so entangled that the construct of a god was introduced to resolve the confounding strands. It seems to apply just as well to the improbable creation from nothing of the sky and the seas and the continents and women and men and all the non-human creatures that populated the earth in its earliest days. Rather like a plug-in device. Blame Creation on God. Praise God for Creation. Take your pick! For some the notion evokes wonder. For others, it stunts it. Yet I can’t imagine anyone who affirms the observations of Charles Darwin suggesting that the man lacked a sense of wonder!
God the Intervener
It’s confusing sometimes to pray to a Spirit of Life. So much easier to direct our hopes and wishes and gratitude even to an invisible albeit image-laden form, who listens and responds and alters her/his marionette strings in the affairs of history. Now remember, we’re talking in terms of this earth, and there’s a lot more out there in space that no one has begun to measure from the vantage point of our tiny planet spinning in it.
It’s confusing sometimes to pray to a Spirit of Life. So much easier to direct our hopes and wishes and gratitude even to an invisible albeit image-laden form, who listens and responds and alters her/his marionette strings in the affairs of history. Now remember, we’re talking in terms of this earth, and there’s a lot more out there in space that no one has begun to measure from the vantage point of our tiny planet spinning in it.
Does God intervene in human history? We read in the 20th chapter of the Book of Exodus, the second book of the Torah,
“And God spoke all these words, saying,
‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt,
out of the house of bondage,
You shall have no other gods before me.’”
(Exodus 20:1-3)
This would indicate a faith tradition that holds to the notion of God as intervener, liberator, and the one and only manifestation of divinity. The writer of this segment of Exodus continues:
“You shall not make yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous god, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.”
(Exodus 20:4-6)
By now, some of you have surely recognized the narrative of what has come to be known as the Ten Commandments. The God of Exodus is intervener, liberator, and “commander in chief,” with severe consequences for anyone who doesn’t lend full allegiance to him and constant love to all who do.
God the Forsaker
Among the questions raised by mortals who have initially bowed to an almighty seemingly merciful God is the cry of the same mortals who have been visited by suffering that seems too much to bear: Where is God when we suffer? Volumes have been written by angst-filled theologians struggling with this age-old question. Prayers unending have been raised by common folk who could care less about the fine points of theology but whose torments of body and soul have evoked the same question. Where is God when we suffer?
In the words of the psalmist:
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Why art thou so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but thou dost not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
Yet thou art holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In thee our fathers trusted; they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.
To thee they cried, and were saved;
in thee they trusted, and were not disappointed.
But I am a worm, and no man;
scorned by men, and despised by the people.
(Psalm 22:1-6)
In other words, where in the blankety-blank are you, God, and why me?
The scribes of both the Gospels According to Matthew and Mark echoed this cry of ultimate despair through the voice of Jesus of Nazareth, crucified and suffering. In Matthew:
“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice,
“And God spoke all these words, saying,
‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt,
out of the house of bondage,
You shall have no other gods before me.’”
(Exodus 20:1-3)
This would indicate a faith tradition that holds to the notion of God as intervener, liberator, and the one and only manifestation of divinity. The writer of this segment of Exodus continues:
“You shall not make yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous god, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.”
(Exodus 20:4-6)
By now, some of you have surely recognized the narrative of what has come to be known as the Ten Commandments. The God of Exodus is intervener, liberator, and “commander in chief,” with severe consequences for anyone who doesn’t lend full allegiance to him and constant love to all who do.
God the Forsaker
Among the questions raised by mortals who have initially bowed to an almighty seemingly merciful God is the cry of the same mortals who have been visited by suffering that seems too much to bear: Where is God when we suffer? Volumes have been written by angst-filled theologians struggling with this age-old question. Prayers unending have been raised by common folk who could care less about the fine points of theology but whose torments of body and soul have evoked the same question. Where is God when we suffer?
In the words of the psalmist:
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Why art thou so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but thou dost not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
Yet thou art holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In thee our fathers trusted; they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.
To thee they cried, and were saved;
in thee they trusted, and were not disappointed.
But I am a worm, and no man;
scorned by men, and despised by the people.
(Psalm 22:1-6)
In other words, where in the blankety-blank are you, God, and why me?
The scribes of both the Gospels According to Matthew and Mark echoed this cry of ultimate despair through the voice of Jesus of Nazareth, crucified and suffering. In Matthew:
“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice,
'Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?' that is, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
(Matthew 27:45-46)
And in Mark, the earliest written Gospel, we read exactly the same words.
(Mark 15:34)
For him whom millions understand to be the Son of God, indeed a manifestation of God himself, came the most mortal of cries to a God experienced as a forsaker. Yes, there were later words that suggested Jesus commended his spirit into the hands of a loving and ready God. Yes, there is the legend of resurrection. But this cry of utter wretchedness is a cry ultimately human.
(Matthew 27:45-46)
And in Mark, the earliest written Gospel, we read exactly the same words.
(Mark 15:34)
For him whom millions understand to be the Son of God, indeed a manifestation of God himself, came the most mortal of cries to a God experienced as a forsaker. Yes, there were later words that suggested Jesus commended his spirit into the hands of a loving and ready God. Yes, there is the legend of resurrection. But this cry of utter wretchedness is a cry ultimately human.
God the Giver, God the Taker
How can one begin to describe the deity cast into the plot of perhaps the most haunting book of Old or New Testaments, the Book of Job? It is God who meted out Job’s early wealth and happiness—his family, his land, his power, his position. The story goes that one day Satan came to God with a challenge. God had held up to Satan the goodness and faithfulness of his servant Job, and Satan essentially said, “Of course Job is good and faithful. He has everything any man could possible need. But ‘put forth thy hand now, and touch all that he has, and he will curse thee to thy face.’” God proceeded to do just that. Job lost all that he had except the last shred of his own life. He lost his family, his land, his power, his position, and his health. Then friends come who end up rebuking and accusing him. Job himself despairs of his plight, but he does not curse God.
The story of Job is far more complex than this. It is nuanced, multi-stranded, a story credible for our understanding of how some among us suffer so much without having done anything “to deserve it” as we glibly say. Toward the end of the Job narrative, God declares his power:
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding,
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?”
(Job 38:4-5)
followed by a long string of evidence.
Job is broken, but he does not curse God. Rather he declares:
“…I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”
(Job 42:6)
In the end, God “restored the fortunes of Job,” his faithful servant. It is written that “the Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning...” (Job 42:10a, 12a)
Did this “justify” the actions God? In the tenor of Job, we who are mortal are in no position to even suggest that God needs to be justified. Like no other book in the Old or New Testament, the Job narrative embodies the God who gives and the same God who takes away. In the very first chapter lies the seeming kernel of an answer to the seemingly futile question of why God allows us to suffer. Job has just learned of the death of his children. He is bereft, AND he falls upon the ground and worships, saying:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return;
How can one begin to describe the deity cast into the plot of perhaps the most haunting book of Old or New Testaments, the Book of Job? It is God who meted out Job’s early wealth and happiness—his family, his land, his power, his position. The story goes that one day Satan came to God with a challenge. God had held up to Satan the goodness and faithfulness of his servant Job, and Satan essentially said, “Of course Job is good and faithful. He has everything any man could possible need. But ‘put forth thy hand now, and touch all that he has, and he will curse thee to thy face.’” God proceeded to do just that. Job lost all that he had except the last shred of his own life. He lost his family, his land, his power, his position, and his health. Then friends come who end up rebuking and accusing him. Job himself despairs of his plight, but he does not curse God.
The story of Job is far more complex than this. It is nuanced, multi-stranded, a story credible for our understanding of how some among us suffer so much without having done anything “to deserve it” as we glibly say. Toward the end of the Job narrative, God declares his power:
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding,
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?”
(Job 38:4-5)
followed by a long string of evidence.
Job is broken, but he does not curse God. Rather he declares:
“…I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”
(Job 42:6)
In the end, God “restored the fortunes of Job,” his faithful servant. It is written that “the Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning...” (Job 42:10a, 12a)
Did this “justify” the actions God? In the tenor of Job, we who are mortal are in no position to even suggest that God needs to be justified. Like no other book in the Old or New Testament, the Job narrative embodies the God who gives and the same God who takes away. In the very first chapter lies the seeming kernel of an answer to the seemingly futile question of why God allows us to suffer. Job has just learned of the death of his children. He is bereft, AND he falls upon the ground and worships, saying:
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return;
the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
(Job 1:21)
As the Book of Job concludes, the character of Satan is not even mentioned.
(Job 1:21)
As the Book of Job concludes, the character of Satan is not even mentioned.
God who so loves the world
As a child, I learned from memory that lodestar of a verse from the Gospel According to John, the most enigmatic of the four gospels that made it into the biblical canon:
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life.”
(John 3:16)
It is a topic of centuries of controversy that led to centuries of murder and mayhem, this matter of God and the relationship of Jesus, who millions believe was indeed the incarnate Son of God. Among Unitarian Universalists there are Christian grounded believers who might debate how woven into the fabric of a Godhead Jesus was, but who deem the life and teachings of Jesus so highly that they are not willing to forsake the term, Christian. I understand myself to be Christian inclusively but not exclusively, given the seeming truth in so many other faiths.
What seems wholly credible, given our most limited knowledge of the life and teachings of Jesus, is the centrality of love and compassion in the Jesus narratives. Nowhere is this more pronounced than in that passage from the Gospel According to Matthew that describes Jesus going up onto a mountain and teaching his disciples about who is blessed:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
On into:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”
(Matthew 5:3-5, 9)
Underdogs, unpopular, non-mainstream describe those who were deemed blessed by this teacher of love and compassion. Of all the figures of the Judeo-Christian tradition, Jesus was wholly about love and preached a God of love. It is a teaching held up more than any other in that outer branch of the Judeo-Christian tradition that is our Unitarian Universalist faith. It has always confounded me that for a faith that holds doubt in such high esteem, we are so opinionated and quickly contrary in our dealings with one another about what matters, when our grounding lies in a relationship of covenant based on love.
(John 3:16)
It is a topic of centuries of controversy that led to centuries of murder and mayhem, this matter of God and the relationship of Jesus, who millions believe was indeed the incarnate Son of God. Among Unitarian Universalists there are Christian grounded believers who might debate how woven into the fabric of a Godhead Jesus was, but who deem the life and teachings of Jesus so highly that they are not willing to forsake the term, Christian. I understand myself to be Christian inclusively but not exclusively, given the seeming truth in so many other faiths.
What seems wholly credible, given our most limited knowledge of the life and teachings of Jesus, is the centrality of love and compassion in the Jesus narratives. Nowhere is this more pronounced than in that passage from the Gospel According to Matthew that describes Jesus going up onto a mountain and teaching his disciples about who is blessed:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
On into:
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”
(Matthew 5:3-5, 9)
Underdogs, unpopular, non-mainstream describe those who were deemed blessed by this teacher of love and compassion. Of all the figures of the Judeo-Christian tradition, Jesus was wholly about love and preached a God of love. It is a teaching held up more than any other in that outer branch of the Judeo-Christian tradition that is our Unitarian Universalist faith. It has always confounded me that for a faith that holds doubt in such high esteem, we are so opinionated and quickly contrary in our dealings with one another about what matters, when our grounding lies in a relationship of covenant based on love.
_______________
None of us has the last word on God or on how many there might really be and what forms deity assumes. All of us are challenged to consider the context, including the personal history, which we bring to our statements of belief, disbelief, affirmation, and worship of what we sometimes call “God.” As Karen Armstrong reminds us,
“…there is no one unchanging idea contained in the word ‘God;’ instead, the word contains
a whole spectrum of meanings, some of which are contradictory or even mutually
exclusive. ….the reality that we call ‘God’ exceeds all human expression.’”
Hers is a perspective echoed in the lyrics of the hymn we sang earlier:
“Great, living God, never fully known, joyful darkness far beyond our seeing….”
If “God” exceeds our expression, how is it that we speak or write a name at all? The ancient Hebrews didn’t. Yahweh was an acronym for “I am who I am,” that ineffable elusive non-name given to Moses by the ineffable elusive voice in the third chapter of the Book of Exodus.
By now, you may have realized that this isn’t a multiple choice test at all, but a reflection on how we might consider the multi-faceted, perhaps infinitely-faceted notion of transcendence. If we who are mortals understand that we are not Creation’s last act, we strive for a language of transcendence, a language of reverence. This in no way denies scientific discovery. Rather it unleashes our capacity for awe and humility on all fronts of being. “Reverence,” suggests Paul Woodruff, “is the virtue that keeps human beings from trying to act like gods.”
Unitarian is in many ways a misnomer. We hold in our religious imagination a panoply of gods, even as we hold up the notion of One God. Perhaps like our Muslim sisters and brothers, we can embrace an Allah, who is the God of Abraham, the God of Moses, the God of Jesus, the God of Muhammad, the God of all. Perhaps like all mortals who have ever wondered beyond ourselves, we can embrace a wisdom grounded in awe, embodied in compassion, and fluid with gratitude.
Amen.
Hers is a perspective echoed in the lyrics of the hymn we sang earlier:
“Great, living God, never fully known, joyful darkness far beyond our seeing….”
If “God” exceeds our expression, how is it that we speak or write a name at all? The ancient Hebrews didn’t. Yahweh was an acronym for “I am who I am,” that ineffable elusive non-name given to Moses by the ineffable elusive voice in the third chapter of the Book of Exodus.
By now, you may have realized that this isn’t a multiple choice test at all, but a reflection on how we might consider the multi-faceted, perhaps infinitely-faceted notion of transcendence. If we who are mortals understand that we are not Creation’s last act, we strive for a language of transcendence, a language of reverence. This in no way denies scientific discovery. Rather it unleashes our capacity for awe and humility on all fronts of being. “Reverence,” suggests Paul Woodruff, “is the virtue that keeps human beings from trying to act like gods.”
Unitarian is in many ways a misnomer. We hold in our religious imagination a panoply of gods, even as we hold up the notion of One God. Perhaps like our Muslim sisters and brothers, we can embrace an Allah, who is the God of Abraham, the God of Moses, the God of Jesus, the God of Muhammad, the God of all. Perhaps like all mortals who have ever wondered beyond ourselves, we can embrace a wisdom grounded in awe, embodied in compassion, and fluid with gratitude.
Amen.
Sources:
Karen Armstrong, A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, Ballantine Books, New York, 1993, xx-xxi.
The Book of Genesis, The Book of Exodus, The Psalms, The Book of Job, The Gospel According to Matthew, and The Gospel According to Mark in the Bible (Revised Standard Version)
Paul Woodruff, Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue, Oxford University Press, New York, 2001.
Brian Wren, “Bring Many Names,” in Singing the Living Tradition, The Unitarian Universalist Association, Beacon Press, Boston, 1993, 23.
Karen Armstrong, A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, Ballantine Books, New York, 1993, xx-xxi.
The Book of Genesis, The Book of Exodus, The Psalms, The Book of Job, The Gospel According to Matthew, and The Gospel According to Mark in the Bible (Revised Standard Version)
Paul Woodruff, Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue, Oxford University Press, New York, 2001.
Brian Wren, “Bring Many Names,” in Singing the Living Tradition, The Unitarian Universalist Association, Beacon Press, Boston, 1993, 23.
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