Belief and Consequence

 Yamim Noraim is the Hebrew name for the “Days of Awe,” the ten days between Rosh ha-Shanah (the first day of the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.  These are the most sacred days in the Jewish calendar.  For Jews, these ten days are the time of Teshuvah, the time of re-turning one’s consciousness and one’s orientation toward God and toward one’s truest self.

Yamim Noraim.  Awesome days.  A yearly time to contemplate one’s past, to wonder about the future, and to pray that we will still be here a year hence, to do the same thing all over again.  Jewish theologian Arthur Green calls these days, “the Jew’s annual confrontation with mortality, a time to pinch oneself and say, ‘Thank God I’m still alive!’”  (See Green’s Forward in Days of Awe, edited by S.Y. Agnon, Shocken Books, New York, 1965.)

Some two centuries ago the Hasidic Rabbi Judah Leib wrote that “the human heart is a tablet on which God writes.  Each of us has the word Life engraved in our hearts by God’s own hand.  Over the course of the year, that engraving comes to be covered with grit.  Our sins, our shortcomings, the very pace at which we live, all conspire to blot out that word Life that still lies written deep within our hearts.

“So, on Rosh ha-Shanah,” the Rabbi continues, “we ask God to write that word — Life L’Chaim– once again, and to seal it up on Yom Kippur, so that the sensation of being truly alive may not depart from us through the entire year.”  (Days of Awe, p.xi)  Good practice for us all, indeed.

The High Holy Days, for those of us who are not Jewish, illustrate not only a universal principle of religious living, but also highlight, I think, one of Judaism’s most profound insights for Western religious thought.  Judaism never exempts individual persons from responsibility for their own lives or for their own relationship to their god.  Judaism holds that I am responsible for the condition of my own soul.  You are responsible for your own relationship to the source of your own life.  If over time our relationships to each other and to God become constrained, as most human relationships do sooner or later, then it is incumbent upon us as individuals to review those relationships, to own their imperfections and failings, to make confession when necessary for those failings, and to restate our willingness and our desire to remain connected to each other and to the Divine Nature from which we draw our life.

The genius of Judaism was partly the fact that while it claimed a special communal Covenant with its God, it placed responsibility squarely in the hands of each and every person for maintaining that Covenant, for keeping that word “Life” clearly readable on every heart.  Judaism recognized that every human being has the capacity to do Good and to do Evil, to choose the ways of Life or to choose the ways of Death – and it made a claim, this great tradition, it made a claim for the importance of individual choice in the life of the spirit.

In Judaism, belief has consequence; belief carries individual responsibility for living in a manner that reflects one’s stated values.  It is a very old and very mature kind of spirituality that does not allow its adherents to avoid the hard work of yearly self-examination and accountability for the gift of life.  It is a spirituality based on a profound respect for human conscience and human free will.

Belief has consequence.  In fact, within most of the major religious traditions of the world, one’s life is profoundly proscribed by the requirements and practices that touch on virtually every aspect of daily living, from the way one eats or fasts, to the clothing one must wear, to how and how often one prays, to how one worships, also how one relates to others; how one behaves; the kind of art, music, dance, and drama one can produce, and ultimately the kind of civilization one strives to create.  Islamic observance of the Ramadan fast, Jewish dietary laws, Hindu practices, Christian Commandments and Lenten observance acknowledge some aspect of belief that is not merely intellectual or mental, but distinctly corporeal and psychological.

This is religious practice that involves the full human being, body and soul, physical and mental, corporeal and cerebral.  The genius of such involved systems of belief and theology is that such systems can be understood and practiced on any number of levels, by all types of people, regardless of their station or their education level. 

Thus, it was part of the genius of Medieval Catholicism that it could be appreciated and practiced by both the European peasantry and the intelligentsia at the same time.  It could claim the genius of a Thomas Aquinas or an Erasmus at the same time that it captured the pious hearts of illiterate workers pausing for Angelus bells in the fields. 

The peasants had neither the need nor the ability to argue the faith as canon lawyers, but their faith infused their daily lives so as to affect everything they did.

The story is told of Mohandas Gandhi that on one occasion, after he was imprisoned and beaten for taking part in a non-violent demonstration against British oppression in India, he was asked by a reporter what drove him to do such things at such great risk to his personal safety.

“I am a Hindu,” the Mahatma replied, “and fortunately for me, that fact has consequences.”

 My revered colleague in ministry, Dr. Phillip Hewett, has written,

“(Religion) is for some people one isolated department of life, without much bearing on other departments; a sort of private hobby for those who like to indulge in it.  Like the best china, it is brought out on formal occasions and then packed away and forgotten.  Religion they say is all very well in its place, but it should be kept in its place, and that place is a very limited one. 

This results from a very narrow interpretation of what is meant by religion,” writes Hewett, “If it were true that being religious consisted in nothing more than repeating a formal and superficial creed, then such an attitude would be justified.  Where belief goes no deeper than this one may endorse the oft-heard remark that it doesn’t really matter what a person believes as long as he or she lives in a decent and law-abiding way.  But beliefs which are genuinely held have an inescapable effect on the life of their holder.”  (A. Phillip Hewett, An Unfettered Faith, Lindsey Press, London, 1955. p.135)

As a Unitarian Universalist, I am of the strong opinion that it really does matter what one believes, for I see faith and action – belief and consequence – as necessarily welded together.  “Theoria” and “Praxis,” as the theologians call them, (theory and practice) are conjoined in the life of the spirit.  They are mutually informative of the life of faith.

I hold with Phillip Hewett when he says that “professed beliefs which do not affect the believer’s life cannot be taken seriously.  As the Epistle of James puts it, faith without works is dead.”  (Hewett, p.136)

My years in ministry have taught me that people often have the most peculiar notions of what belief is and how it operates.  People who for years do absolutely nothing to cultivate a personal spiritual life, yet somehow expect that, in some distant hour of need, when they suddenly come upon some dark night of the soul, they will be able to draw from some mystical bottomless well of faith to see them through.  As if faith itself were some kind of universal bank from which they may draw at will whenever they need it, but into which they are never required to make any personal deposits.

It never seems to occur to such people that the personal comfort and hope and peace they expect to draw upon in times of personal crisis is something that only accumulates from the practice of faithful living.

Faith properly considered is not something to be held in reserve in some quiet chamber of the heart until we decide we need it.  Faith is lived experience.  Our personal belief is the product of all that we love and trust and value as sacred in our lives.  Faith is not something we call upon; faith calls upon us as actors, as doers, as agents of life and grace.

Gandhi had it right.  His Hindu faith had consequences.  Fortunate for him.  Fortunate for India.  Fortunate for the world.  His beliefs had consequences.  They called him to step forward, to step up to the oppression that enslaved his homeland.  His beliefs had consequences.  They called him to speak up in behalf of principle and justice.  And when he did so, his beliefs gave him the courage and strength to face all manner of threat and attacks on his life.

Beliefs have consequences.  For how are all compelled to live.  For how we view the world and everyone in it.  Our beliefs call us to be in the world in a certain way, with certain duties and obligations to our principles.

Gandhi may have accepted the full consequences of his beliefs as a Hindu, but the ethic of our time seems not so ready to embrace consequences which are inconvenient or difficult, let alone dangerous.  If Gandhi’s actions and consistency in living out his beliefs we easy, we wouldn’t hail him as a modern day prophet.  “How can we change the world?” a student once asked him.  “Changing the world is always an illusion,” replied the Mahatma.  “Start with trying to change yourself.  That would be miracle enough.”

The ethic of our time suffers not so much from hypocrisy as from an impatient human tendency towards what theologian Dietrich Bonhoefer one called “Cheap Grace.”

Indeed, ‘Cheap Grace Syndrome” may be the spiritual malaise of our era, but it is by no means limited only to matters of theology.  Cheap grace Syndrome is wanting all the good things of life without having to pay the cost of either earning them or maintaining them.  It’s like sitting down at the piano and expecting to play Mozart without having spent years first in lessons and training and practice.

Cheap Grace is when we want all the benefits of strong values and beliefs, but we don’t want the inconvenience of a socially aware conscience, for example.  Cheap Grace is when we claim to support notions like social justice and basic human rights for all, but we never actually want get personally involved in hands-on programs ourselves.

Examples of Cheap Grace abound.  Cheap Grace in our relationships means we want friendships without any inconvenience or obligation to reach out when our friends need us.  We want families without expectation or the hard work of shared home life.  We want the joys of parenthood and family but none of the problems, none of the costs.  If we’re parents, we want children who never inconvenience us.  If we are children, we want parents who never make demands on us.  That’s Cheap Grace Syndrome.

Cheap Grace is wanting community without the reciprocal obligations that true community always assumes.  We want a strong healthy church to be ready and waiting here for us whenever we need it, whenever our family needs a funeral or a wedding, or whenever our grandchildren need good religious education.  We want competent professional ministry, and professional music of a high standard, and good community outreach.  But Cheap Grace means we’d like all of that without ever having to serve on any committees ourselves and without inconvenient requests of our expense or time or energy.

Cheap Grace Syndrome also allows us to exempt ourselves of any awkward moral obligations, if we choose.  Since we cannot be expected to solve all of the world’s problems, we can exempt ourselves from having to work on any of them.  With the benefit of Cheap Grace we can feel free to criticize the imperfect effort of others while excusing ourselves from the burdensome notion that any of us might have some obligation to make a contribution to the betterment of the world, or the betterment of our nation’s social policies, or the betterment of our own neighborhoods even.

Cheap Grace Syndrome.  You’d be amazed how common it really is, the tendency to believe it’s really possible to have beliefs without consequences, without obligation, without personal cost.  It’s human nature, I suppose.  But it’s childish human nature, and not the way real life ever operates.

Real life operates on costly grace, not cheap grace.  It’s knowing that your faith will call you sometimes, will lead you into places you never thought you’d ever go, into activities you never expected to join, into relationships you never thought you’d enter.  Because beliefs have consequences.

We’re so quick to criticize – and rightly so – the legalisms and rote requirements and restrictions of other religions and faith traditions, that sometimes we arrange it so that being a Unitarian Universalist can really come kind of cheap.  I mean unless you’re intentional  about working at it, being a Unitarian Universalist can be pretty easy.  It doesn’t cost you much: emotionally, spiritually, or financially.  There are no creedal tests.  There are no required religious practices or disciplines, no fasting, no mandatory attendance, no sacrificial giving requirements, no tablets written in stone, no excommunications.  None of that stuff.

You can come to a church like this for years, attend on Sunday when the weather’s good, hear some wonderful music, get an idea or two from the pulpit, meet nice people, and take the summer off if you like.  It’s up to you.  And that’s the catch.    It’s up to you. 

Because if you are here for serious purpose, if philosophically you are hoping that this church can help you grow into the kind of person you hope someday to become – if you expect this community to be an institution working to make a better world – if you take seriously the values expressed in our Purposes and Principles on the front page of the hymnal – then being a Unitarian Universalist is going to cost you a bit more.  It’s going to call you out of your spiritual comfort zone on occasion.  It’s going to cost you your complacency on occasion.  And it’s going to require you on occasion to walk your talk in the name of principle and ethics and justice and compassion.  And it’s going to change you.

Your belief in social justice, for example, just might lead you into some serious volunteer time in your community or in your church.  Your belief in compassion for the less fortunate might lead you, if you’re not careful, to a few hours a month, say, in a soup kitchen or a Salvation Army dinner hall or a shelter for abused women.  Your belief in the power of friendship might lead you to reclaim or restore a broken relationship in your life.

And if you believe in the value of a strong church community, you might even find yourself signing the membership book of a congregation like this one some Sunday;  you just might find yourself at home and involved around here.  Gandhi was right, you see.  Beliefs have consequences.  Especially if they come from your heart.

Where are your personal beliefs calling you to be an active agent of life and grace this week?  Something to think about while you’re doing the dishes this week.