Dan Harper | Sermons

  • Is It Religion? (part four) — Christmas

    Sermon copyright (c) 2023 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. As usual, the sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation.

    Readings

    The first reading is titled “Jingle Coins.” It’s a parody of “Jingle Bells” which Dan learned from the San Francisco Rocking Solidarity Labor Chorus:

    Dashing through the mall, I’m spending all the way,
    I’ve got to buy more gifts, it’s almost Christmas day!
    And then I go online and buy more useless stuff;
    I have no self-esteem which means I’ll never buy enough.

    Jingle coins, jingle coins, credit cards from banks,
    Retailers are in the black, and so we all give thanks;
    Jingle coins, jingle coins, money in their tills,
    Oh, what fun it is to shop, and to call it all good will!

    The junk I buy all comes from China and Hong Kong,
    Where there’s no overtime, workdays are twelve hours long;
    They get so little pay they almost work for free,
    So I can buy cheap ornaments to dangle from my tree.

    And when I get the bill, I’ll find out what I spent,
    Twelve thousand seven hundred bucks and fifty-seven cents.
    Who cares if I’m in debt, it doesn’t bother me,
    As long as I’ve got heaps of junk to stash under the tree.

    The second reading comes from the Christian scriptures, the Gospel according to Luke, chapter 18. This translation is by Robert W. Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar.

    Someone from the ruling class asked Jesus, “Good teacher, what do I have to do to inherit eternal life?”

    Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You are not to commit adultery; you must not murder, or steal, and you are not to give false testimony; you are to honor your father and mother.’”

    And [the man] said, “I have observed these since I was a child.”

    When Jesus heard this, he said, “You are still short one thing. Sell everything you have and distribute the proceeds among the poor, and you will heave treasure in heaven. And then come, follow me.”

    But when [the man] heard this, he became very sad, for he was extremely rich.

    When Jesus observed that he had become sad, he said, “How difficult it is for those with real money to enter God’s domain! It’s easier for a camel to squeeze through a needle’s eye than for a wealthy person to get into God’s domain.”

    Sermon — “Is it Religion, pt. 4: Christmas”

    Back in 2010, I sang for a short time with the San Francisco Labor Chorus, and in the first reading you heard the words to “Jingle Coins,” a parody song they used to sing. I may not have remembered the words exactly right, but the opening lines went: “Dashing through the mall, I’m spending all the way, / I’ve got to buy more gifts, it’s almost Christmas day!”

    It’s easy to parody Christmas. It’s easy to see Christmas as just an excuse for buying lots of useless stuff, an excuse for consumerism. Honestly, that interpretation is not exactly wrong. Businesses do in fact see Christmas as an opportunity for selling more stuff to all of us. And equally honestly, it’s fun shopping for other people; it’s fun buying Christmas trees and holiday ornaments. It’s a cheerful thing to do.

    Christmas shopping is so fun and cheerful that American consumers are projected to spend a total of $1.2 trillion dollars on holiday shopping (see end note). Admittedly, holiday shopping also includes Hannukah spending and Kwanzaa spending and Diwali spending; but let’s be honest, in the United States nearly all of the spending is on Christmas.

    If we translate that into billions of dollars, that’s 1,200 billion dollars. If we look at the other top three holidays for total spending, Mother’s Day is in second place with total spending of 36 billion dollars, while Valentines Day and Easter are tied for third place with 24 billion dollars each. Total Father’s Day spending reaches about 23 billion; Super Bowl spending about 15 billion; Halloween spending about $10 billion; Independence Day about 9 billion; and St. Patrick’s Day is a measly 6 billion. I wasn’t able to find any information on the spending habits of other holidays, so presumably those other holidays have so little spending that it’s lost in the noise.

    Now, if you add together the non-Christmas holiday shopping events, the grand total comes to roughly 150 billion dollars. Compare that to 1,200 billion dollars spent for the winter holidays. We Americans spend eight times as much during the winter holiday shopping season as we do in all the other lesser holidays combined. We Americans spend an astonishing amount of money on Christmas.

    Every year, we’ll hear from devout Christians who tell us that this is A Bad Thing. These devout Christians will tell us: Christmas is supposed to be a religious holiday, not a consumer holiday. The most sincere among them might even refer to our reading from the Christian scriptures, reminding us that wealth may prevent us from living a truly Christian life.

    Every year, we’ll also hear from devout atheists who also tell us that all this Christmas spending is A Bad Thing. The devout atheists have a different explanation for why Christmas spending is A Bad Thing. They will point out that ours is supposed to be a secular society, and a religious holiday should not result in the biggest consumer spending event of the year.

    You will notice that we do not hear these kinds of arguments for any other holiday. Nobody thinks Mother’s Day or Valentine’s Day are religious holidays. A few devout Christians believe Halloween has religious implications, but they simply find their own ways to celebrate. Everyone acknowledges that Easter is a religious holiday, but it’s easy to ignore Easter if you want to.

    But you can’t escape Christmas. We see Christmas decorations in almost every store. We find Christmas logos on almost every online shopping site. Social media gets clogged with Christmas-themed memes. People start wearing red and green clothing and put reindeer antlers on their vehicles. The Town of Cohasset puts up lights around the Common, which no doubt are officially called “holiday lights,” but most people are going to think of them as Christmas lights. Christmas is everywhere. It has become an inescapable part of American popular culture.

    Thus, the question of whether Christmas is religion or not is actually quite important. What if the devout Christians and the devout atheists are correct, and Christmas is in fact religious? If that’s correct, then America is in fact a Christian nation — or at least we’re a Christian nation from Thanksgiving to Christmas. And if America is a Christian nation, that may make the devout Christians and the Christian nationalists very happy, but it will make the rest of us very uncomfortable.

    On the other hand, what if Christmas is not religious? What if Christmas actually has little or nothing to do with religion? That will make the devout Christians very unhappy, but it will also leave the rest of us felling a bit strange. If Christmas is not religious, if it’s actually a secular holiday, then why do we have these references to Jesus Christ, who is clearly a religious personage? Why do we talk about St. Nick, who is a saint, and who is therefore clearly a religious personage?

    Here in America, we have arrived at a majority agreement that Christmas is both religious, and it is not religious. While this is a majority agreement, it is not an absolute consensus that everyone agrees with. Most obviously, the devout Christians say Christmas is not religious enough, while the devout atheists say that Christmas is far too religious. Less obviously, but more importantly, a small but increasing number of Americans follow a non-Christian religion; from the point of view of a Muslim, or a Jew, or a Hindu, Christmas does indeed look religious. For people who belong to non-Christian religions, it might even seem dishonest to try and claim that Christmas is somehow not religious.

    Nevertheless, we still think of Christmas as both religious, and not religious. To be more precise, Christmas is based on a major Christian holiday. We cannot escape the fact that Christmas celebrates the birth of someone named Jesus, a religious prophet whom Christians consider the founder of their religion, and more, whom most Christians consider to be one of the personages of the triune God. At the same time, Christmas is 1.2 trillion dollars of consumer spending and parties and gift-giving and concerts and too many calories and too much drinking and classic movies and decorations and visiting family members and many other things that have nothing to do with Jesus or religion. Like it or not, Christmas both is, and is not, religious.

    The fact that Christmas is both religious and non-religious can lead to cultural conflict. Andrew Torba, a Christian Nationalist and ultraconservative, recently devoted an episode of his “Parallel Christian Society Podcast” to his anti-Semitic conspiracy theories about how people are trying to remove Christianity form Christmas. Torba is all bent out of shape because he found out that many of our favorite Christmas songs were — get ready to gasp in horror — written by Jews. I didn’t have the stomach to listen to listen to his podcast myself, but according to Religion News Service, a generally reliable source, Torba claims that this is all part of a conspiracy to turn Christmas into a winter holiday that Jews could also celebrate. Torba then said to his listeners, “Knowing this, how could you allow your household to be filled with this music?” (For the record, I know this, and I’m happy to fill my household with this music.)

    It’s distrubing that Torba is looking in all the wrong places for a conspiracy that’s trying to take Christianity out of Christmas. There is such a conspiracy, and it’s not a secret conspiracy to take Christianity out of Christmas, it’s an open conspiracy to turn Christmas into profits. The guilty party is consumerism. Businesses that produce consumer goods actually do want us to go dashing through the mall, spending all the way, and then to pretend what we’re doing is in the name of holiday good will. These businesses really would like it best if they could take the religion out of Christmas, because that would allow them to expand their markets even more, and maximize their sales. Jeff Bezos, the former CEO of Amazon, knows he can get more consumers to spend more money if he can convince them that Christmas is really a winter holiday that non-Christians should also celebrate — and they should celebrate by spending money on the Amazon website. How could Torba miss the fact that the real threat to a religious Christmas is actually consumerism?

    As it happens, Andrew Torba is the CEO of an alt-right social media site called Gab. He is, in other words, the owner of a consumer-oriented business. Torba is targeting the small market niche of alt-right ultraconservative Christian comsumers. This is how he makes his money. When you realize this, you also realize that his podcast might actually be a pretty good marketing strategy for promoting more people to use his company’s services. So of course he’s not going to point out how consumerism is a far bigger threat to Christmas than is singing “White Christmas” or “Let It Snow.”

    It’s not entirely fair of me to pick on Andrew Torba. His tiny little social media company is not in the same league as Amazon. Yet Andrew Torba and Jeff Bezos and all the other CEOs of consumer businesses all make money by manipulating the religiosity of Christmas in order to serve their own ends. Andrew Torba and Jeff Bezos and all the other CEOs of consumer businesses seem more motivated by profits than anything else.

    So the real question we are faced with is not whether Christmas is religious or not. If Christmas were just a simple religious holiday, instead of a holiday season worth 1.2 trillion dollars of spending, I would not be preaching this sermon. Think about it this way. There are three main holidays in the Christian calendar: Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost. There is no consumer spending associated with Pentecost. Therefore, there is no cultural conflict associated with Pentecost. As for Easter, even though there’s significant consumer spending on that Christian holiday, it’s an order of magnitude less than consumer spending at Christmas. As a result, there’s not much cultural conflict associated with Easter.

    It should be obvious that I’m not telling anyone that you should spend no money at Christmas. Go ahead and spend money on Christmas if you wish (as long as you’re responsible and keep your spending within your financial means); or don’t spend money on Christmas; that’s entirely up to you. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Rather, I’m trying to make an observation about Christmas as a whole.

    The only reason that we’re even talking about whether Christmas is religious or not is that there’s so much riding on the question. Businesses that depend on Christmas for much of their profit want to have it both ways. When their customers celebrate Christmas as a Christian religious holiday, these businesses are only too happy to call it religion. If their customers celebrate Christmas as a cultural holiday, then these businesses are quite willing to go along with that interpretation. With the non-Christian population in the United States is rising, which is to say with an increasing number of people for whom Christmas holds no interest as either a religious holiday or a cultural holiday, these businesses are also quite willing to call the period from Thanksgiving to Christmas the “holiday shopping season.”

    Consumerism has put us into this odd situation where Christmas is both a secular cultural phenomenon, and a religious phenomenon, and an economic phenomenon. As a result, Christmas can make atheists and Jews and other non-Christians can sometimes feel as though Christians are forcing their religion on everyone else. Yet at the same time, some religious Christians (not Andrew Torba, but genuinely devout Christians) can sometimes feel as though the business of Christmas is forcing the religious aspects of Christmas to the sidelines. No wonder the culture wars have spilled over into Christmas.

    As for the rest of us, all this can make Christmas feel a bit overwhelming at times. It is not pleasant to watch the culture wars play out in Christmas. Couple that with the subtle pressure businesses put on us to spend more money at Christmas, it is no wonder that Christmas can sometimes feel overwhelming.

    I don’t have a solution to all this, but I do have a suggestion. In the weeks leading up the Christmas, let’s remember to be gentle with one other. When we talk with non-Christians who feel that someone else’s religion is being forced on them, of course we’ll have the sensitivity to not talk about Christmas. When we talk with devout Christians who feel that Christmas is being turned into something they do no like, of course we’ll try to be equally gentle with them. And when we talk with the people who feel overwhelmed by Christmas but who can’t escape it because it’s everywhere — in the supermarket, on Cohasset Common, on TV and all over social media — we can be equally gentle with them.

    And we should remember to be gentle with ourselves, too. As Unitarian Universalists, we might fit into any one of these categories — non-Christians, devout Christians, people overwhelmed by Christmas — and, being flexible Unitarian Universalists, we could even fit into all three of these categories at once. So let’s be gentle with ourselves. If you celebrate Christmas, take it at a pace that feels comfortable to you. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, find ways to escape from the pressure. If you ever feel overwhelmed, take care of yourself and find some way to relax. To paraphrase a famous Christmas song written by a Jewish songwriter, may you find some way to be happy tonight, perhaps with some beautiful sights, or just dreaming by the fire.

    End note:

    As pointed out by several who heard this sermon, the figure of 1.2 trillion in Christmas spending is a projection. Others have projected lesser amounts will be spent in the 2023 Christmas season. But all the estimates I’ve seen hover around one trillion dollars.

  • Humanism for Such a Time as This

    Sermon copyright (c) 2023 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. As usual, the sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation.

    Readings

    The first reading is by Russell Moore, an evangelical Christian who forced out of the Southern Baptist Conference for speaking out against Donald Trump’s morals, calling out white nationalism as sinful, and demanding ethical accountability for clergy sexual misconduct. In an interview on NPR< Moore said:

    “…Multiple pastors tell me, essentially, the same story about quoting the Sermon on the Mount… in their preaching — ‘turn the other cheek’ — to have someone come up after to say, ‘Where did you get those liberal talking points?’ And what was alarming to me is that in most of these scenarios, when the pastor would say, ‘I’m literally quoting Jesus Christ,’ the response would not be, ‘I apologize.’ The response would be, ‘Yes, but that doesn’t work anymore. That’s weak.’ And when we get to the point where the teachings of Jesus himself are seen as subversive to us [evangelicals], then we’re in a crisis….”

    The second reading comes from: “Anybody There? Reflections on African American Humanism,” by Anthony B. Pinn, published in the UU Humanist Association Journal in 1997:

    I argue for the possibility of a humanist theology, a theology that holds community rather than God as the center of life-altering questions, accompanied by an understanding of religion and theology as centered on the problem of evil, or theodicy. Christian theology as done within African American communities is premised upon a sense of redemptive suffering as the best response to moral evil in the world. Furthermore, this theological stance is intimately tied to the Christian tradition, complete with a God who is concerned for and working on behalf of the oppressed. It continues to be my belief that, although important in many ways, this theological stance and its narrow perception of religion may not be the best means of achieving the social transformation or liberation sought by the African American community. I conclude that a theological stance on moral evil requires an alternate religious system — African American humanism. This is not meant to dismiss Christian approaches out of hand, rather, to broaden the possibilities, the religious terrain, and to foster conversation concerning liberating ways of addressing the problem of evil.

    Sermon — “Humanism for Such a Time as This”

    Since I want to talk with you this morning about humanism, perhaps I should begin be defining “humanism.” Like many terms that have to do with religious conviction, different individuals and different organizations are going to define “humanism” in different ways. Some conservative Christians, for example, probably lump humanism together with atheism; those conservative Christians would probably define humanism as just another name for the heresy of not believing in their God. And some fundamentalist atheists would no doubt define humanism as “atheism lite,” by analogy with lite beer — half the calories and half the flavor, and why not just drink the real thing.

    In contrast with these derogatory definitions, I choose to define humanism as a positive and valid religious outlook that does not include belief in God. I would call humanism a religious outlook, although I also understand that some followers of humanism would prefer not to be considered religious. After all, these days religion in American popular culture is often equated with narrow-minded conservative Christianity. Nevertheless, I’m going to say that humanism is religious.

    As its name implies, humanism puts human beings at the center of religion. The African American humanist theologian William R. Jones calls this “humano-centric” religion. Jones says this is quite different from traditional Christian religion, which — using his terminology — is “theo-centric.” That is to say, conservative Christianity puts God at the center of things, and therefore God has the primary responsibility to solve problems. Humano-centric religion tells us that we human beings are responsible for our own actions; humano-centric religion tells us that if we humans see something wrong with the world, it is up to us to try to repair it and make it better.

    Humanism is not unique in teaching us to take responsibility for our own actions. Liberal Christianity, liberal Judaism, engaged Buddhism, and similar groups are also humano-centric religions; that is, each of these groups teaches us humans to take primary responsibility for our own actions. But humanism is different because it says there’s nothing beyond human beings and this present world. Humanists say there is no God, except whatever human-made gods and goddesses we might choose to invent. Humanists teach that there is no supernatural world — no heaven, no nirvana, no karma, no holy beings or holy persons — there is just this world.

    I’m not a humanist myself — my current religious self-identity is Haven’t-figured-it-out-ism. However, in this current political and social moment, I find myself both inspired by and grateful to humanism. A certain kind of conservative Christianity has become very emboldened here in the United States. These conservative Christians are giving Christianity a bad reputation. No, more than that, these conservative Christians are giving all of religion a bad reputation. And this type of emboldened conservative Christians is epitomized for me in the story told by Russell Moore, which we heard in the first reading this morning. Let me remind you of this story.

    A Christian pastor preaches a sermon based on Matthew 5:38-39. That’s where Jesus is preaching the so-called Sermon on the Mount. During the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.” So this Christian pastor preaches on this classic text from the Christian scriptures, and after the sermon he is confronted by an angry parishioner who demands to know why the pastor is preaching those liberal talking points. The pastor informs the angry parishioner that, according to their Christian beliefs, those words were spoken by Jesus Christ, which is to say, those words were actually spoken by God himself. The angry parishioner says, “That doesn’t work any more”; in essence saying that the Word of God is outdated.

    Russell Moore, who tells this story, has impeccable conservative Christian credentials. He was a very powerful figure in the Southern Baptist Convention. He taught at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He was the chairman of the board for an evangelical Christian nonprofit called the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood. In this latter role, he would have been diametrically opposed to our Unitarian Universalist notion of the full equality of men and women and other genders. We here in this room would find many areas of disagreement with Russell Moore.

    Yet there are several key issues where we would agree with Russell Moore. For example, in 2016 Moore condemned Donald Trump’s derogatory comments about women and his alleged sexual misconduct. But Moore was forced to recant by Southern Baptist leaders and say he had been unnecessarily harsh. At about that time, Moore made a public statement saying the Confederate flag was not compatible with Christianity. Once again, some influential Southern Baptists took him to task for standing up for the dignity of African Americans. Then a few years later, Moore began calling on his co-religionists to face up to the serious clergy sexual abuse crisis among Southern Baptist churches. Once again he faced bitter backlash from other Southern Baptists for taking a moral stance. He finally grew tired of being forced to apologize for taking moral stances that he felt were based in the Bible. In 2021, Moore left his post as president of the Southern Baptist Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, and left the Southern Baptist Convention entirely.

    Unfortunately, this is what American conservative Christianity has come to — Christians rejecting the teachings of Jesus, Christians ignoring sexual misconduct in politicians and in their own pastors, White Christians refusing to deal with racism. A growing number of people don’t want to be associated with the excesses of conservative American Christianity — the clergy sexual abuse crisis, the blatant introduction of partisan politics into religion, the Confederate flags in churches. And the reality is that American conservative Christianity has become the paradigm for all religion in the United States. As a result, a growing number of people don’t want to be involved with any kind of religion at all.

    And so it is that humanism has a lot to offer in this current moment of history. In a time when the conservative Christian God appears to be a deity which is sexist, racist, and homophobic, many people are ready to reject all religion. Humanism provide an alternative to conservative Christianity that can help Americans see new possibilities for religion.

    And we actually do want people to be part of organized religion. Sociological studies have shown that religion is good for people. This apparently has little to do with belief or lack of belief. After reading some of these sociological studies, and comparing them with my own observations, I would say religion is good for us in large part because we participate in a community of shared values. The shared values I’m talking about are not abstract theology like: do you believe in the Trinity or not; I’m talking about more basic shared values like: being kind to one another; helping one another; working with other people to make the world a better place.

    Humanism can help us see this truth about religion. It doesn’t much matter whether everyone believes in God. It does matter that we attempt to lead moral lives, that to the best of our ability we treat all human beings with respect. If someone becomes disillusioned with God, they may feel compelled to leave all organized religion behind, thus cutting them off from the benefits of a religious community. Humanism offers the opportunity of having a religious community without the perceived hypocrisy of today’s American religion.

    Humanism can also serve as a healthy challenge to those who may not be humanists, by insisting that we human beings are responsible for our own actions. Humanists teach us that when we see something wrong with the world, it’s up to us to repair it. By contrast, conservative Christianity promotes a kind of passivity — everything is up to God; it’s God’s will if you live or die; all you need to do is pray. As an example of this kind of thinking, some conservative Christian pastors right now are saying we should not strive for peace in Israel and Gaza, because they believe the war there is a sign of the End Times when Jesus comes back to earth. God has decreed this — so these conservative Christian pastors say — and so we should let the warring parties do whatever they want. If the war escalates, then so be it, that’s what God wants. Humanists help us understand why these conservative Christian pastors are so wrong. Humanists teach us that when human society goes wrong it’s up to us to fix it. Progressive Christians, progressive Jews, and progressive Muslims might word this a bit differently; they might say God has given humans freedom to act, or something similar. But it comes down to the same basic principle: the war in Gaza and Israel was started by humans, it is being fought by humans, and therefore it’s up to us humans to put an end to the fighting and violence.

    Humanists apply this principle to many other contemporary social problems. In the second reading this morning, Anthony Pinn, an African American humanist, argues that humanism offers the best hope for repairing the evils of racism. In his opinion, the Black churches have responded to racism based on “a sense of redemptive suffering as the best response to moral evil in the world.” Pinn rejects the notion of redemptive suffering — in Pinn’s view, suffering the evils of racism is not going to redeem anyone. Instead, Pinn argues that a religious outlook focused on the problem of evil, a religious outlook which relies on community rather than God to address the evil of racism, is what we need. No more redemptive suffering, let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work.

    Once again, I don’t think that humanism is all that different from progressive Christianity or engaged Buddhism or progressive Judaism. The main difference I can see is that humanism doesn’t have a central personage like Jesus or God or the Buddha. Yet all these religious outlooks are similar in placing a very high importance on community. God, or Jesus, or Buddha remains important, but human community is also critically important.

    And here is where we find the main distinction between religious humanism and organized atheism. Both atheists and humanists do not believe in God, or in any divinity. But the most important thing for organized atheists is their disbelief in God. By contrast, the most important thing for religious humanists is that they come together in community to try to solve the problems facing the world. Thus, the well-known atheist Richard Dawkins spends much of his time trying to convince others that God is a delusion. By contrast, humanist Anthony Pinn is mostly concerned with addressing society’s problems, and he brings up his disbelief in God only because he feels it can get in the way of fighting evil. Theoretical physicist Peter Higgs — who predicted the existence of the Higgs boson — once quipped in an interview that “Dawkins in a way is almost a fundamentalist himself, of another kind.” I think there’s some truth in that. Just as the conservative Christians feel they have to defend the purity of their belief, atheists like Dawkins feel they have to defend the purity of their disbelief. Whereas atheists like Anthony Pinn don’t spend much time on purity of belief or disbelief. Humanists believe that instead of spending so much time on purity of belief, we should be spending most of our time on ending racism, or on promoting world peace, or addressing any number of other social evils.

    I already told you that I’m not a humanist myself, that I’m what you might call a Haven’t-figured-it-out-ist. Yet as a stalwart proponent of Haven’t-figured-it-out-ism, I find myself inspired by humanism, and by humanists like Anthony Pinn. I admit that I really enjoy talking about abstract issues like the nature of God, the requirements of the Dharma, and the ways the rabbis have interpreted the Torah. (I have an undergraduate degree in philosophy and a graduate degree in theology, of course I like talking about such things!) But I feel Anthony Pinn is correct. It’s more important, as he says, “to foster conversation concerning liberating ways of addressing the problem of evil.”

    In other words, what I learn from humanist is that our top priority as a religious community should be ending racism, sexism, homophobia, war, and so on. What each of happens to believe or disbelieve about God, or Dharma, or Allah, or any of those abstract religious questions, deserves less of our energy at this particular historical moment. Let’s take care of racism first. Let’s end hunger and poverty first. Let’s solve the looming environmental crisis first. Let’s focus on the human problems that human beings can solve. Once we have those problems taken care of, then we can find the time to argue about the existence or non-existence of God.

  • Dinner Table Conversations

    Sermon copyright (c) 2023 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. As usual, the sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation.

    Readings

    The first reading is an excerpt from the long poem “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay:

    …And thank you to the quick and gentle flocking
    of men to the old lady falling down
    on the corner of Fairmount and 18th, holding patiently
    with the softest parts of their hands
    her cane and purple hat,
    gathering for her the contents of her purse
    and touching her shoulder and elbow;
    thank you the cockeyed court
    on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads
    made of some runny-nosed kids
    a shambles, and the 61-year-old
    after flipping a reverse layup off a back door cut
    from my no-look pass to seal the game
    ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods
    and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar
    grinning across his chest; thank you
    the glad accordion’s wheeze
    in the chest; thank you the bagpipes….

    The second reading this morning is from Mourt’s Relation, written in 1622. This reading gives the story of the first Thanksgiving celebration in the words of one of the Pilgrims who was actually there. (The language has been modernized.)

    “You shall understand, that in this little time, that a few of us have been here, we have built seven dwelling-houses, and four for the use of the plantation, and have made preparation for divers others. We set the last spring some twenty acres of Indian corn, and sowed some six acres of barley and peas, and according to the manner of the Indians, we manured our ground with herrings or rather shads, which we have in great abundance, and take with great ease at our doors. Our corn did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown, they came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom.

    “Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after have a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors; they four in one day killed as much fowl, as with a little help beside, served the company almost a week, at which time amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest King Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain, and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.”

    Sermon: “Dinner Table Conversations”

    Remember back in 2019, before the pandemic? It’s so easy to put on our rose-colored glasses, and think — those were the good times, the easy times. We sat down together at Thanksgiving, never knowing that the very next year we wouldn’t be able to have Thanksgiving dinner with all our relatives. And in 2019, we didn’t have to worry about the war in Ukraine, or the war in Gaza and Israel. Ah yes, those were the good times.

    Except, of course, they weren’t. Maybe there wasn’t a war in Ukraine nor a war in Gaza and Israel. But I remember some of my friends coming back from Thanksgiving with reports of combative dinner table conversations between the opposing sides of the culture wars. And I remember talking to a non-binary teen who felt exhausted at having to accept that their relatives were just going to refuse to use their preferred pronouns. No, we should not look at 2019 through rose-colored glasses and think: Those were the last good times.

    Ah, but if I think back to my childhood…. That was a long time ago. Surely those must have been the last good times. Well, no. I remember Thanksgiving dinner conversations that got onto the subject of the Vietnam War. An uncle would say something about Vietnam, that would provoke a cousin into challenging him, and then my grandmother would have to say in a firm voice, “Do you think it will rain this week?” That was her hint for everybody to drop the subject, and talk about something less controversial. Or actually it wasn’t a hint so much as a command to change the subject; my grandmother was a bit of a Tartar. No, I cannot look back at those childhood Thanksgiving dinners through rose-colored glasses and think: those were the good old days.

    Well, then, surely we can think back to the very first Thanksgiving, back in 1621…. That was a really long time ago. Surely those must have been the good old days. In the second reading, we heard an excerpt from “Mourt’s Relation,” a contemporary account of the first celebration of what we now call Thanksgiving. It sounds pretty wonderful, doesn’t it? They had had a pretty good harvest that year, then they went hunting and got even more food, enough to have a big celebration. And when King Massaoit and ninety of his warriors stopped by, together they came up with enough food to go around, and they all shared a big meal together.

    And in many ways, that first Thanksgiving really was the good old days. But we also have to remember what happened the previous winter. Less than a year before that first Thanksgiving, something like half of the Pilgrims had died of cold and exposure and starvation. Many of the Pilgrims must have felt sad on that first Thanksgiving; I imagine that more than one of the Pilgrims shed a tear or two for the people who didn’t live long enough to see that first Thanksgiving. And then when we remember that as recently as 1619, King Massasoit and his followers had been subject to a plague that killed off as many as ninety percent of their people, they too must have some sadness on that first Thanksgiving.

    So when I imagine the dinner table conversations at the first Thanksgiving (not that they were seated at a table, there’s no way the Pilgrims had tables enough to seat a hundred and forty people) — when I imagine the conversations at that first Thanksgiving, it seems to me that there were many things people didn’t want to talk about. On the Pilgrim side, I can imagine that when the conversation started getting too close to the too-many deaths they had experienced in the previous ten months, one of the elders would firmly say whatever the Pilgrim version was of, “Do you think it will rain this week?” Similarly, on the Wampanoag Indian side, I can imagine that when their conversations started heading towards the aftermath of the plague, and the probability that the Naragansett to the west were going to try to invade, one of the elders would say, quite firmly, the Wampanoag version of, “Do you think it will rain?”

    More to the point, the story as told in Mourt’s Relation shows that the Pilgrims and the Wampanoags knew the value of doing things together. The Pilgrims, you may remember, “among other recreations, exercised [their] arms” — meaning that the men played games together, winding up with some sort of shooting contest. And when the Wampanoags showed up, they didn’t just hang around talking — they went out hunting so there would be enough food for everyone. As for the Pilgrim women, with only four of them to cook for a hundred and forty people, their focus had to be on working together. Communal events seem to go most smoothly when we’re working together or doing something together.

    All this may sound like the usual holiday platitudes that you’d expect from a New Englander: if we all just work together and not talk so much, we’ll be fine. Maybe it’s a platitude, but sometimes platitudes represent wisdom. And I found confirmation for this kind of wisdom from a surprising source: from Seth Kaplan, a professorial lecturer at the Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International Studies at Johns Hopkins University, and internationally-known expert on fragile states. Fragile states are those countries that have such a weak governmental infrastructure that their citizens are exceptionally vulnerable to a variety of shocks. While the United States is not a fragile state, Seth Kaplan realized that some places within the United States function exactly like fragile states — he calls these “fragile neighborhoods.” He contrasts these fragile American neighborhoods with his own neighborhood, which is the opposite of fragile. Kaplan lives in a tight-knit community where neighbors look out for each other, where nearly everyone belongs to several community organizations, including religious congregations and secular groups. Neighbors also help each other out in informal ways, buying groceries for an elderly neighbor, chaperoning at school events, and volunteering in many small ways to help each other out. Kaplan writes:

    “As a result of all this, we know all sorts of details about just about every family for many blocks around us — how many kids they have, which schools and camps their kids attend, and what leisure activities they enjoy. However, we spend surprisingly little time talking about politics, and thus know little about many of our neighbors’ political leanings and preferences.” (Seth Kaplan, Fragile Neighborhoods: Repairing American Society, One ZIP Code at a Time [New York: Little, Brown, 2023], p. 184.)

    When we change our perspective and focus on local community, there simply isn’t much time to spend in highly partisan arguments about national politics. This is not to imply that national politics are unimportant. They are important. But in America today, when it comes to national politics, it feels like our highest priority lies in expressing our individual political opinions. As much as I value free speech and free expression, I don’t think we want to be our highest value. Instead, our highest values are, or should be, hope and courage and love. As the Pilgrims knew deep in their hearts, we humans are meant to be together and to work together; we are communal beings before anything else. My grandmother knew the value of conflict avoidance when she would say, “Do you think it’s going to rain?” Then after dinner, she got us all to avoid conflict by playing cards: sometimes a vicious highly competitive game called “Pounce,” other times poker played for matchsticks.

    I’d like to propose that at Thanksgiving, there’s no need to talk about national politics or international politics at all. There will always be people who really do want to talk about partisan politics, or international topics, at Thanksgiving dinner; you may be one of those people. If this is something you want to do at Thanksgiving, and if you can find someone else who wants to express their individual opinions, go ahead and find a corner somewhere where you can go at it hammer and tongs. The rest of us will be doing something like helping in the kitchen, or setting the table, or washing the dishes, or playing cards. The rest of us need not get involved in conversational conflict at Thanksgiving. And even if everyone who comes to your Thanksgiving celebration is in complete agreement — even if you agree completely on every aspect of domestic and foreign policy — you still don’t have to talk about anything to do with the culture wars. In fact, that might be a good way to keep everyone’s blood pressure down.

    To put this another way: There are many strategies for managing conflict. Conflict avoidance is one valid conflict management strategy. And there are times — Thanksgiving is one of those times — when conflict avoidance is the best conflict management strategy. Now that I say this, I’m sure that you can think of lots of conflict avoidance strategies. In my childhood, we asked if it was going to rain, or we played vicious card games. Watching football games also works, or playing video games, or — well, you get the idea.

    May our Thanksgiving dinner conversation avoid the culture wars. Instead, may our Thanksgiving dinner conversation center on what’s really important: the people you love and care about. May our conversations revolve around questions like these: Who is doing well, and who could use some support? Who would benefit from getting a phone call or a handwritten card? How are the young people doing, and how can we support them? Has anyone visited this or that distant relative, and should we reach out?

    May your Thanksgiving conversations center on hope. May they center on courage in daily life. May they be filled with love for neighbors and family and friends.