Heaven on Earth: Who's In Charge? by Rev. Michael McGee, Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010

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“Heaven on Earth – Who's In Charge?”

         This morning I want to talk to you about one of the most complex and difficult subjects in the history of humanity: God.

[Cell phone rings...]

        Excuse me just a moment, I'm expecting an important call... Oh, thank God, it's you, and just in the nick of time. Yes, I left you a message, but I know how busy you've been lately, what with earthquakes and wars and The Final Four and the IPad (great job on that, by the way), but if you'll just give me a few minutes, I would really appreciate it.

        And I hope that you won't hold it against me that I don't believe in you. That is, I don't believe in a God I can talk to, like I'm doing now, or in a God who listens to the prayers of human beings, like you're doing now. Being the religious liberal I try so hard to be, I don't believe in that bearded cosmic grandpa in the sky who gets involved in political and religious squabbles – no offense. Which must make you curious as to why I bother talking to you at all.

         For some strange reason, when I get myself into trouble I come to you for help. I know it doesn't make sense, that it's probably my cultural conditioning, and yet you seem to always be there for me -- in a kind of existential way -- and I always come away from our little chats better able to cope with the crisis at hand. So here goes!

        My problem is that we're doing this sermon series on “Heaven On Earth” – oh, glad you like it – and this one is on “Who Is In Charge?” So, how can that not be about you, right?

        But then it hit me: how am I supposed to tell Unitarian Universalists about God? It's like telling the Washington Nationals what it's like to play in the World Series: I don't know if they'll have any idea what I'm talking about.

        And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I really know what I'm talking about.

         How can I even begin to explain the biggest concept human beings have ever tried to wrap their brain around? How can I give anyone an inkling of an idea of what you are when I don't know myself? You see my problem?

        Maybe you can give me some hint, some sign -- like maybe speak to me with a thunderbolt or celestial music [Bob] or even better, let me hear you whisper just a few profound words into my ears – or my phone; please tell me what to say in front of all these people....

         I think we got cut off... Can you hear me now?

        Oh, I get it: you're doing that silent divinity thing, which, I guess is how many of your prophets have heard your voice.

        When I enter into the silence I remember a time when I was filled with love for you. Then as a college student, I rebelled. I couldn't figure out how a good god could let so many people suffer such terrible pain and injustice. I pleaded to hear your voice but refused to listen to your silence. Like many others, I declared that God was dead.

        Of course at the time I didn't realize that I was merely peeling off one of the many masks that hides your essence, only to have another mask take its place: the illusion that human beings, myself included, are in charge. We do like to think we're in charge of our lives, and then something big comes along, like an earthquake or a doctor's diagnosis or the death of a loved one, that makes us feel so small and vulnerable and out of control.

        Expelling you from my life only made my struggle more intense. What I began to hear in my heart, when I would stop and listen for a moment, was that throwing away the God who looked like me was only the first step in my spiritual quest. Now there had to be something to fill the void. There had to be something that would quench my thirst for meaning and my desire for the holy.

        Ever since that time I've tried to be more attentive to your voice. But it hasn't been easy. There's so much racket in the world, and so much confusion inside of me. And yet I'm learning to hear you wherever I go: in the wind that blows through trees, in birdsong, and rain, and of course, most of all, in the silence.

         I've long wondered, are you the Creator – or the created, molded from our hyperactive imaginations? It's true that myriads of gods have been created by humanity, each one a projection of that particular culture, the land and its people.

        And for some bizarre reason each religion tends to believe their god superior to all others. And you've had a lot of bad press lately with pedophile priests and terrorist bombers and gay-bashing preachers. God, you have been used so long as a stooge for power-hungry politicians and greedy religious leaders who seem to think that their self-interests and yours are the same that many people have either rebelled against the entire notion of divinity or have simply lost interest in you. That's what is meant by "the death of God," not that you have died, but that a part of us that has reached out for something beyond ourselves has died.

        And words have killed you inside of us. We've tried to imprison you with words, to analyze and scrutinize, as if you were an object that could be gawked at under a microscope for detailed examination. Then we argue about whether you exist and what you look like and whose side you're on.

        By naming you “God” we diminish your being, and yet the very nature of humans is to name everything, whether we understand it or not. If I must use words to describe you, I choose to call you the Great Mystery, as the Plains Indians do. And that's what you are: the greatest of all mysteries, incomprehensible, unknowable. We can never encompass you in our thinking or feeling or language. You are too vast, too deep, too mysterious.

        What I've discovered however is that though we can never understand you, we can relate to you, and that, I believe, is our purpose. We may outgrow the imagery of the past, but we still hunger for truth, beauty, love, and goodness.

        We still thirst for a relationship with the world around us, a sense of unity with nature and with the family of humanity.

        Sometimes I see you as having no face, no image, no shape, no form, as a force, a void of mysterious energy that flows through all of creation. And at other times I see you as having billions of faces, not only the faces of all the gods of all religions but also I see you in the faces of every human being, every animal, rock, and tree.

        Yes, I know what you're thinking God: it's not quite that simple. We see you as a fragment of being when in reality you are all being. We're like the blind men who touch the different parts of an elephant and think that what we touch is a totally different creature; we cannot imagine the totality of the being that stands before us.

        It's said that you told Moses "I am who I am." Perhaps that's the best way to describe the indescribable. You are what you are. Or as Old Turtle says, “God is.”

        And it was one of your greatest mystics, Meister Eckhart, who said that you are beyond names and forms, and the ultimate and highest leave-taking is leaving God – for God. This is one of the biggest challenges for a spiritual person: to leave the notion of God for the experience of God.

        But what is the experience of God? I like the way the sacred scriptures of Hinduism expresses it: "When before the beauty of a sunset or of a mountain you pause and exclaim, 'Ah,' you are participating in divinity." Ah, yes. This is the time of year when I most feel your presence, when spring is in full splendor I can't help but exclaim “Ah” over and over again.

        But Easter reminds me as well that you are more than creator; you are liberator and transformer; you are love. I don't get the resurrection thing, bringing Jesus back from the dead, and I can't see him as the one and only Son of God. A bit too theatrical for me. But I do believe that we are all sons and daughters of the divine, and like Jesus, we can have new life when we open ourselves to the transforming power of love and compassion. I believe miracles are all around us, and we have no need for cheap magic tricks.

         It's in the spring when I most sense your power as a vital, creative energy pulsing through the universe, spinning new suns, planets, and moons into existence; surging through nature, pushing seeds into plants and trees and bright blooms; and flowing through human beings, urging us towards compassion and justice. You become real to me when I remember all of those who, like Jesus, were inspired by your power to break the bonds of injustice, to turn swords into plowshares, and to be stewards for our fragile planet.

        I think I sometimes diminish your being God because I fear that if I really believed in you, I would have to answer your call. And to answer your call I would have to become a prophet in my own time, challenging myself and others to stand up for those with no voice and no power. And that would mean I would risk crucifixion. And I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Unless of course I believed in the resurrection.

        But perhaps resurrection means more than bringing the dead back to life; maybe resurrection is when a life is so compassionate and powerful and prophetic that even when the heart stops beating, the love lives on in all those who were touched by that persons words and deeds. Yes, that's a resurrection I can believe in.

        So, thank you God for listening and understanding and for helping me with this sermon, as trivial as it is compared to so much in our world. And by the way, thank you for this most amazing day and this glorious life and this beautiful planet. And, happy Easter!

Photos From The Service

Covenant Group Questions

1. What did you believe about God when you were a child? What do you believe about God now?
2. If you were having a conversation with God, what would you say? What do you think God would say?
3. Have you ever prayed? Do you pray now? What does prayer mean to you?

Sermon Resources & Sources of Inspiration:

• God Has A Dream by Desmond Tutu
• Working On God by Winifred Gallagher
• Why Christianity Must Change Or Die by Bishop John Shelby Spong