Grasshopper Dreaming: Reflections on Killing and Loving

By Jeffrey A. Lockwood. What a fantastic little book of essays from a Unitarian Universalist professor of entomology at the University of Wyoming.

In “Confession of a Deserter” Lockwood addresses the scientific hegemony on defining truth and argues:

I would not advocate a form of epistemological relativism in which any question can be answered with any method (mathematical theorems are not proven by prayer, despite my desperate entreaties during geometry exams), but for the big questions of the world, there needs to be scientific humility and epistemological pluralism. The question of human existence is a matter of both how we came to be (the legitimate purview of science) and why we came to be (the valid realm of religion). For scientific texts to assert that there is no purpose or direction in evolution is as unfounded as the religious tracts that claim to interpret fossil evidence and geomorphology in terms of the Bible. Science has no method, text, or instrument to detect meaning in the universe.

Later in the same essay, he describes a widely interdisciplinary engagement:

I co-taught a course on science and religion in which we had the four instructors (a theologian, a sociologist, a zoologist, and me) engage in a panel discussion of holism. From this discussion emerged three conceptual models, best illustrated with an example. Let’s assume that we want to develop a management plan for a lake. The “scientific model” of holism would suggest that sound management requires the involvement of biologists, chemists, hydrologists, geologists, atmospheric scientists, and the like. No single scientist coudl possibly have sufficient expertise in all of these fields. The class generally agreed that scientific holism was a better approach than claiming to understand the lake through any one discipline. However, there was a more expansive approach, the “academic model” of holism. According to this notion, the team studying the lake should be composed not only of these scientists but also of historians, anthropologists, sociologists, political scientists, and economists. This breadth of expertise assured that matters of policy, culture, and valuation were included. In general, the inclusion of the soft social sciences was viewed as an enlightened concession, but this was as far as holism could be taken. The final approach was my “radical model” of holism, in which the team would include a shaman, a poet, and a fish. For the most part, my colleagues and students found this to be absurb–these entitites could not even communicate with the scientists. I hesitated to suggest that they might, however, be able to communicate with the lake. In fact, perhaps the shaman and poet were the only beings who might be aopen to communication with both the fish and the chemist.

It’s published by Skinner House Books.

Reluctant Saint: The Life of Francis of Assisi

Donald Spoto. Very interesting to read a current biography of St. Francis. The book is a little odd–Spoto capitalizes all the references to God (Who created us, Who sustains us, etc.) and he also has these little interludes where he theologizes under the guise of suggesting things like “What kind of a God did Francis believe in?” There are several great nuggets in these sections.

Similarly, the less we consider the particulars of our social, cultural and (at least in the broadest sense of the word) spiritual roots, the more easily do we fall into the trap of considering ourselves and everyone else as some kind of mythic “human standard issue.” The particulars of time and place always matter; more to the point, faith in God means that God continues to disclose Himself in the particulars of our time, our life, our circumstances. In this regard, one of the glories of medieval Christian spirituality was its conviction that God was God for them–that is, the confidence that God had not fallen silent, had not ceased to play a role in history. A God Who is distant and univolved, or Who once spoke and acted but has ceased to do so, is not God but a fragment and figment of an impoverished imagination.

The Life of Francis of Assisi

“Traditional Christian Marriage”

Christian Century reports on page 7 of its Sept. 20, 2003, issue on an editorial from the August 16 Los Angeles Times:

The actions taken by the New Hampshire Episcopalians are an affront to Christians everywhere. I am just thankful that the church’s founder, [Henry VIII], and his wife Catherine of Aragon, his wife Anne Boleyn, his wife Jane Seymour, his wife Anne of Cleves, his wife Catherine Howard and his wife Catherine Parr are no longer here to suffer through this assault on our “traditional Christian marriage.”

Way to go, LA Times! (It’s on their website, but you have to pay to get the full text.)

Most recent religious service

> Why don’t we describe the last religious service
> we attended and then explain what was religious
> about it?

For those of you who have been reading along, you know I’m a Quaker. Yesterday at meeting for worship, I was a greeter. We meet in an old mansion on Beacon Hill, just around the corner from the UUA offices. (The house was given to “the Quakers” by a stranger in the forties or fifties. It’s now a residential community of about 20 as well as housing Beacon Hill Friends Meeting.) Because of the nature of the building, greeters stay near the (locked) door to open it in addition to welcoming people as they come in.

I propped the door open and sat on the sill to welcome late arrivals. Two couples came, and with whispered greetings I directed them to the parlor to wait for the second seating. (We ask late arrivals to wait and go in 15 minutes into meeting for worship, when the children and young people come out for First Day School.) When they went in to meeting, I continued to sit on the doorsill in case there were any really late arrivals (there was one). Even with interior doors open, it was impossible to hear any spoken messages, although I could tell there were two or three very near the end of the hour.

So on a beautiful, sunny day with a light breeze, I sat in the doorway sharing a sense of stillness and purpose with those gathered inside, until the meeting ended (with a traditional handshake for those inside), when I stepped inside for announcements and introductions.

I’d like to make a distinction between a “religious service” and an occasion when worship occurs. Friends would say that you can have a meeting for worship but that doesn’t guarantee that worship will occur; likewise, Quakers believe worship can occur anywhere, at any time.

It was religious in the sense of a religious service:
–by definition (an appointed meeting for worship within the Quaker tradition)
–by intention (those present aspired to an experience of the divine)
–by practice (it was rooted in and fostered a sense of connection; the service I was providing, though mundane, was essential in allowing people to connect).

My actual experience was also religious in the sense of worshiping (which I was not sure would be the case):
–by intent (I hoped that even sitting on the stoop I would feel a sense of connection to God and to the worshipers inside)
–by achievement (It was lovely. What a reminder of the goodness and fullness of life to sit quietly in enjoyment and to truly see a slice of the world. It was an occasion of feeling the numinous. It was atypical of my experience of Quaker worship in that the stimulus of the feeling was the external loveliness; usually, sitting in the meeting room, my attention is inwardly focused unless someone speaks. I felt a modest connection to those inside.)

spiritual formation

One of the ways I think about spiritual autobiography is in terms of spiritual formation: what has shaped the person I am, and what has shaped my spiritual life?

Only in the last couple of years have I come to realize how a particular aspect of my early life has shaped my spirituality: *Where* has shaped me.

I was born and raised in an agricultural area created from and surrounded by desert. (For inquiring minds, that would be Brawley, in Imperial County, California, about 100 miles east of San Diego and about 30 miles north of Mexico. It’s been in the news in the last year as part of a water dispute over the Colorado River involving several Western states and the federal government.)

From my upbringing, I learned that the world is a beautiful and harsh place. I learned the beauty of spareness and silence. I learned that there are certain realities of the world that must be accommodated, or there will be repercussions, up to and including death. I learned that human existence is created and made possible by hard work, cooperation, and large-scale manipulation of the natural world.

Wow! Ever since I moved to Pennsylvania, I’ve realized the desert still lives in me as an aesthetic. (Oh, those nasty, quaint country lanes in spring, overhung by that dense, brilliant green! You can’t see the bones of anything; you can’t see the contours of the landscape; you can’t see the sky!) New England countrysides are sometimes better, because the woods are less dense.

But I’m shocked to consider the other ways in which my early life shapes my response to the world in unseen ways. For instance, the desert, which is beautiful and loved as my native home, is utterly indifferent, indeed hostile, to human life. Is it any wonder that I don’t have any deep struggle to accept metaphors of the divine that are violent to human life or capricious? Do I actually believe in a God like that? Not really. (I think.... maybe I’ll find out by doing BYOT!) I certainly don’t *want* to believe in a God like that.

But it’s become clear that there may be things under the surface worth examining.

In a more traditional “spiritual autobiography” vein, here’s a link to something I’ve written to describe a particular part of my religious life. In the Religious Society of Friends, there was a traditional practice, now widely abandoned, of recognizing ministers and acknowledging elders. “Eldering” came to have the bad connotation of telling someone how they were doing something wrong. There’s a growing movement among liberal Friends to reclaim the role of elder as spiritual nurturer of ministers and of meeting communities.

eldering stories

Religious texts

As part of my attempt (as an employee) to increase my understanding of Unitarian Universalism, I’m working along with an online discussion of Building Your Own Theology. Here’s my response to a recent topic.

Here’s one of my favorite religious texts from a nonreligious source:

Only in silence the word,
only in dark the light,
only in dying life:
bright the hawk’s flight
on the empty sky.
–The Creation of Ea

Ursula K. LeGuin’s dedication page in A Wizard of Earthsea

It seems religious to me for these reasons:
1. the feeling it evokes (most important to me, but least expressive)
2. it deals with the nature of existence, and touches upon the role of suffering
3. it contains precepts for behavior
4. it celebrates mystery and reminds me of nonverbal ways of knowing or of transmitting knowledge

Building Your Own Theology

I’ve joined the UU-Books mailing list that the Unitarian Universalist Association sponsors, as a way of enriching my office experience. Some of the participants on that list are working through the book Building Your Own Theology. I plan to post my contributions here with minimal editing.

I’m excited about being able to join in the BYOT experience, even though I’m not a UU. I expect my participation will be useful in my life and hope it will not be disruptive to you all. I suggest that we use a “BYOT” tag in our subject lines so that anyone not participating can more easily apply a filter or rule if they want to routinely discard our messages.

Name: Kenneth Sutton

Religious value I cherish: immediate (un-mediated) experience of the divine

Religious value I have rejected: “the use of the democratic process within our congregations”

Faith in which I was raised: cultural (i.e., not religious) Christian

Religious value with which I struggle: how to be faithful in my life to my experience of God

What I hope to get out of BYOT: A more systematic understanding of my own theology; a deeper acquaintance with UU religious thought.

Bishop calls for tolerance in gay row

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Bishop calls for tolerance in gay row A lay leader at Greyfriars Church, Reading, responds: “The gravest consequence will be to the Anglican Church’s witness to the name of Christ in our land. May God have mercy on us all and give those in authority Godly wisdom at this time.”
Well, sure: if John is appointed suffragan bishop, it will be a witness that Christ is for everyone, a repudiation of the hatred and bigotry all too often promulgated by the so-called Christian Church.