In each of my first two years serving you as minister, I have put together a series of sermons, designed to provide some continuity and an opportunity for more extensive exploration than is possible in a single Sunday service.

     Two years ago, the series was based on the six explicit sources of our living tradition of Unitarian Universalism.  We considered the wide range of sources we draw on as we construct a theological, religious framework that can sustain us in our life in a complex modern world.

     Then, last year, we considered life as a spiritual pilgrimage.  We used the pilgrimage metaphor to explore the longings, the attitudes, and the tools that help us identify and follow the particular path that defines our personal spiritual journey.  While that journey did include components of interaction with other people and the larger world, the emphasis was more on the inner landscape, than on the outer.

     So now that we have explored the sources we draw on for religious knowledge and wisdom, and now that we have considered what it means to experience life as a spiritual journey, it’s time to gather together what we’ve learned and take it to the streets.  If our religion can’t give us strength and guidance and hope as we navigate the real world, then it’s time to find a new religion.

     And so, for this year’s sermon series, I will be looking more outward than inward.  I’m calling the series “What In the World?”  The idea is to look at some of what’s going on in the world, and to think about how our religious principles and convictions call on us to respond – how we can engage the world religiously.  I really already introduced this theme three weeks ago when we talked about where we can look for hope in a world beset by hatred and violence.

     In her book, Reason for Hope, Jane Goodall identifies many of the features of our contemporary world that cry out for hope, and that also make hope such a difficult task.  She writes:
 

     Yes, we are destroying our planet.  The forests are going, the soil is eroding, the water tables are drying, the deserts are increasing.  There is famine, disease, poverty, and ignorance.  There is human cruelty, greed, jealousy, vindictiveness, and corruption.  In our big cities there is crime, drugs, gang violence; and thousands who are homeless, their few belongings in prams or grocery carts or on their backs, living, sleeping, and dying in doorways, on gratings.  There are ever growing numbers of street children.  There are ethnic conflicts, massacres, and broken peace treaties.  Millions of innocent people have been killed or maimed with bullets, machetes, and land mines.  Millions more have become refugees.  There is organized crime, sale of arms; and the new fear, as Russia’s economy collapses, of an international black market in nuclear products from her vast and crumbling nuclear arsenal.

     And then, as if all that is not enough, Goodall goes on to write about international terrorism and growing anti-American sentiment around the world – this written two years before September 11.  She acknowledges that all this would seem to suggest a hope-less future.  But, incredibly enough, she does find reasons for hope.  But more about that later.

     In the face of all the negative stuff in our lives and in our world, hope is probably not the most natural reaction.  Our responses to our experience of the world are shaped in large part by the nature of our religious faith, or lack thereof.  In the absence of any kind of faith, I would expect the most natural response to be despair, hopelessness, a sense of being overwhelmed and helpless to do anything about it.

    That hopelessness may lead to personal attempts to escape the pain through chemical dependence, or through withdrawal into a private world of one’s own, or simply to paralysis.  But it won’t inspire any kind of constructive attempts to change things for the better.  What’s the point when there’s no hope?  Thornton Wilder describes both hope and despair as projections of the imagination.  And he writes that “Despair all too readily embraces the ills it foresees.”  Hopelessness and despair create a kind of downward spiral from which there is little chance of escape.

    Since there appears to be little hope in hopelessness, how else might we respond to the world?  Some religious approaches provide alternatives.  For instance, one approach is to postulate two planes of existence: the here and now, and the hereafter.  The here and now of this world is characterized by pain, suffering, and evil.  But the world of the hereafter contains an eternal life of paradise for those who make it through this world uncorrupted.

    I have mixed feelings about folks who take this approach.  On the one hand, I’m happy when someone can find what it takes to cope with a difficult life, and not give in to despair.  But I have a couple of problems with it.  First, I personally am unable to pin my hopes on what seems to be wishful thinking.  Deciding that there should be a perfect invisible world to counter the imperfect visible one will not make it so.

    My second problem with this approach is that the emphasis is on saving individual souls from the world, rather than on saving or improving the world.  This point is illustrated vividly by the wildly popular “Left Behind” series of novels, which tell the story of the expected Rapture and Tribulation.  Those souls that have been saved will at some time in the presumably near future be snatched out of this world to be with the Lord, while the rest of the world is condemned to an even greater time of suffering and tribulation.  Hope, in this approach, is transferred from this world into the next, the very existence of which must be taken on blind faith.

    Another religious response to the suffering of this world is to attribute that suffering to our attachments to the world resulting from unhealthy desire.  The means of relieving suffering, in this view, is to let go of attachments and the desire that spawns them.  I may not be able to influence the world in any significant way, but I can take control of my response to it, and let go of my need for things to be different than they are.

    My biggest problem with this approach is, once again, the focus on individual escape from suffering, rather than on improving the external conditions that contribute to the suffering.  There’s almost a sense of resignation.  That the world is the way it is, and it is only by withdrawing inward that we can escape its evil and suffering.

    I must point out here that putting all one’s hopes on the hereafter is not the whole story for Christianity.  And withdrawing from the world is not the whole story for Buddhism.  Especially since the Social Gospel movement of the late nineteenth century, there has been a strong strand of Christianity that emphasizes establishing the Kingdom of God in this world, not the next, by applying Christian principles to social problems.  And there is also a strong tradition in Buddhism of being socially engaged, of acting in the world with love and compassion, albeit with a lack of attachment to particular outcomes.

    If we reject the approaches of despair, denial, resignation, or blind faith, what’s left?  Hope.  But what differentiates hope from denial or blind faith?  Well remember what Vaclav Havel said?  “Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism.  Hope is not prognostication.  It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart.”  And hope is not something to “be invested elsewhere, in heaven or a utopian future.”  No, hope is to be invested here in this world as an encouragement to good works here.
And let’s return to Thornton Wilder and hope as a projection of the imagination.  He writes, “Despair all too readily embraces the ills it foresees; hope is an energy and arouses the mind to explore every possibility to combat them.”  That suggests a good, succinct definition of hope: the ability to imagine other possibilities and the inspiration to pursue them.

    First and foremost, though, hope must be rooted in reality.  We must start with a realistic assessment of a situation, and of prospects for change.  We must have a realistic sense of what can, and what can’t be done.  Reinhold Neibuhr’s Serenity Prayer calls for “the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”  These wise words apply equally to changing ourselves and to changing the world.

    And so the first step in trying to change a situation is to understand it, and to understand the potential for change.  I mentioned earlier that Jane Goodall manages to find reasons to hope.  The first reason she mentions is “the extraordinary nature of human intellectual accomplishment” – the ability of the human brain to figure things out.  While technology has been a contributing factor to many of the world’s problems, it also holds hope for some of the solutions.  “But,” says Goodall, “technology alone is not enough.  We must engage with our hearts also.”  We also must move forward with the awareness of the interconnectedness of everything, and the humility to recognize our inability to foresee all of the ripples that may radiate from the pebbles we toss in the pond.

    Goodall’s second reason for hope is the incredible resilience of nature – especially if it is given a helping hand.  And she points out that “while pollution still plagues much of the world, progress is being made.”  She writes that “There are in fact, success stories everywhere. . . Most of us don’t realize the difference we could make.”

    That’s an important point – most of us don’t realize the difference we could make.  Remember the story earlier about Isis Johnson.  The seed of an idea in a four year old girl led to significant positive impact in her community.  That story is a good illustration of the principle: “think globally; act locally”.  Problems like world hunger can overwhelm us to the point of paralysis until we consider the fact that we don’t have to feed everyone in order to feed someone.  In the words of Edward Everett Hale:

I am only one
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something.
And because I cannot do everything
I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

    Not “because I cannot do everything, I’ll just give up and do nothing.”  “Because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”

    Isis Johnson’s story also illustrates both the third and fourth reasons Jane Goodall finds for hope: the energy, enthusiasm, and hard work of young people around the world, and the indomitable human spirit.  And she provides numerous examples of each.  That is, her hope is based in the reality of her observations of the actual world.

    Finally, at the root of the hope for a better world is the love and compassion that each of us brings to our interactions and relationships with others.  Jane Goodall offers one final, symbolic story:
 

It is about an American, Rick Swope, a zoo visitor who rescued an adult male chimpanzee from drowning in the moat around his enclosure.  And this despite the dire warning of a keeper and the threats of other adult male chimpanzees of the group.  When asked what had made him risk his life he answered: “I looked into his eyes.  It was like looking into the eyes of a man.  And the message was: Won’t anybody help me?”

     And so, this morning and this year, I call on us to bring our minds, our hearts, our faith, our hope, our love, and our compassion to bear, as we look at some of the problems and issues we find in today’s world; as we seek greater understanding and opportunities to effect change.

     I am already planning services later this fall on human rights and on the inequitable distribution of the world’s resources.  I have also set aside three additional services as part of the “What in the World?” series.  The particular topics will depend on what actually is going on in the world as the year proceeds, as well as interests expressed by you.  If there are issues that you would really like me to address, please let me know, either by means of our Suggestion Box, or by talking with me.  I can’t promise to deal with everything, but knowing what’s on your minds will help me choose.

     I also want to tell you about some other opportunities to participate in this process, this conversation.  Malia Fullerton and I are facilitating an Adult Enrichment course on ethical issues and decision-making in health care.  The class begins this Wednesday, and so today is your last chance to sign up.  Check the bulletin board in the lobby.

     Another opportunity for exploring the ethical and moral dimensions of issues in the world comes with the current series of Forums, held in Room 6 at 9:00 a. m. on the last Sunday of each month.  On October 27, the topic is the environmental impact of our transportation choices, and on November 24, the topic is stem-cell research.  You can attend the forum, and still make it to the 11:00 worship service.

     Finally, I’d like to invite you to a special opportunity to help shape the November 3 sermon on human rights, based on the book In Our Own Best Interest by William Schulz.  On Tuesday evening, October 22, I’ll be hosting a “sermon feedforward” session here at the Fellowship.  If you’d like to come prepared, I have copies of the book available for $15 apiece.  Come and share your thoughts and opinions about the book and about the issue of human rights.

     So I invite you to join me throughout this year as we seek to engage the world religiously, explore some of the major issues we face, consider some of their complexities, and identify ways of addressing them while maintaining an attitude of hope, love, and compassion.