as preached on September 29, 2024 for the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Houston
This weekend First Unitarian Universalist has joined with Unitarian Universalist congregations across the United States to be part of a climate revival. This effort hopes to empower Unitarian Universalists to collectively reimagine a spirit-filled and liberating future. “What will the world look like in 2050?” we are asked. Faced with the problems of the hour, it is easy to imagine collapse. But can we imagine renewal?
Asking a question like this is an opportunity to renew our commitment to the planet. It is something that surely needs renewal.
For as children of the Earth, we collectively face the horrifying challenge of the climate crisis. Storms are becoming more frequent. This past week, Hurricane Helene battered the East Coast. Next week, it might be Houston’s turn, again. Power outages and temporary displacements are routine.
Around the globe the situation is worse. Right now, the United Nations Commissioner for Refugees estimates that there 21.5 million climate refugees. That number could reach 1.2 billion by 2050.
It is increasingly unlikely that carbon emissions will be limited enough to keep the planet from warming beyond 1.5 degrees Celsius. Widespread ecological collapse is probable. The collapse of civilization is possible. It is like Naomi Klein has observed, “our economic system and our planetary system are now at war.”
We, children of the Earth, cannot win this war. We cannot change the laws of nature. We can imagine collapse. But can we imagine renewal?
Unitarian Universalism is a small religious movement. We cannot alter this trajectory on our own. But, of course, we do not have to. There is a global movement trying to address the climate crisis. When we work with it, and each do our part, we increase the chance that catastrophe might be averted or, at least, the damage from it mitigated.
I say mitigated because, unfortunately, as climate scientists have been warning, we are not even close to meeting the carbon reduction goals necessary to ward off disaster. But as Bill McKibben, the veteran climate activist, has observed, we do not have “a chance at stopping global warming” but we do have a “chance at surviving.”
A chance at surviving, nothing is promised in life. But rather than wallow in despair, we are called to do what we can. We are called to inspire each other and work together to bring the world we dream about into existence.
Children of the Earth, the world we dream about, the climate revival is meant to stir our spirits and bring us together–in this community and across our Unitarian Universalist movement–so that we can make a difference. It is a big vision. It draws on the traditional evangelical tactic of revival.
Evangelicalism and revivalism are not things that are typically found in the Unitarian Universalist repertoire. Evangelicalism, the sharing of the good news, is something that makes many of us uncomfortable. It is not uncommon for Unitarian Universalists to dislike talking about congregational life with their friends. Many of us have religious trauma. Some of us are a bit embarrassed about the fact that we still go to worship services. More than a few of us do not like to admit that we go to “church.”
And revivalism… Is there anything that our Unitarian religious ancestors hated more than revivalism? When the First Great Awakening–that period of religious evangelicalism and revival–swept the British colonies in the eighteenth century, people gathered in fields to hear preachers give emotional sermons designed to prompt swift conversions. Preachers told people that the “wrath of God burns against” them. They called on them to open themselves to “an extraordinary opportunity” and be “born again.” If they did, they then they would be “in a happy state” and find their hearts “filled with love” and “washed from … sins.” If they did not, then they were doomed to “the torments of hell.”*
Our religious ancestors thought that this was nonsense. They believed in a different form of salvation. It was not oriented towards avoiding pain in the afterlife. It was focused on ethical action in this one. It was not something accomplished in an instantaneous moment of conversion, under the spell of an emotional preacher. It was the work of a lifetime.
“Living is an art, a difficult, elaborate, and most momentous art,” is how they described this perspective. Sometimes they called it salvation by character, the understanding that we demonstrate our spiritual depth not through righteous belief but through consistent action. Deeds, not creeds, is how it has sometimes been summarized in this pulpit.
Salvation by character, deeds not creeds, when considering the immediate salvation–the rapid relief from sin–promised by evangelicals and their revivals, our religious ancestors were not amused. They denounced such efforts in the strongest of terms. In one famous sermon, Charles Chauncy, minister of the First Church in Boston, went so far as to call revivals “Disorders.” He claimed that they left people in a state of “doleful Confusion.” He said that when confronted with such rubbish the only responsible choice was to pray and preach “against the Errors of … [the] Day.”
Disorders, confusion, nonsense, the errors of the day, Chauncy was not the only one to make such statements about revivals. More than two hundred years later, my predecessor, Horace Westwood, could be found making similar statements here in Houston. “I am certain Billy Graham is not good for our city,” he stated during the visit of the famous evangelical to Harris County. He feeds the “starving … sawdust” and peddles “half truths,” Westwood warned. The release from sin that such people offer, is “a menace” that leads “from the path of honest salvation,” he told this congregation. We cannot escape our problems “by accepting Jesus as our savior in a supernatural manner,” Westwood preached. “[O]ur first concern [must be] … this earth, not the promised land after we are dead,” he concluded.
A disorderly menace, feeding the starving sawdust, the errors of the day, on some level it is distinctly odd for the Unitarian Universalist Association to be calling for a climate revival amongst our congregations. It does not seem to be a very Unitarian thing to do.
But, here we are, and as the sermon progresses, I am going to share with you why I agree that something of the spirits of evangelism and revivalism are necessary in this time of climate catastrophe. But before I do, I thought we I would get us into the revivalist mood and establish a Hallelujah choir and an Amen corner.
A Hallelujah choir, I have shared with you in the past, hallelujah is one of the oldest religious words. It is a mash-up of two Hebrew words, “hallel”–to praise–and “jah”–signifying God.
Hallelujah, let us say it together. Hallelujah, it is a word that has been used to express gratitude for spirit filled worship, for the joy of being alive, for the joy of flowers, for a hundred generations. Hallelujah!
Hallelujah, the hallelujah choir, in any revival there needs to be a group who enthusiastically embrace the preacher’s message. I anticipate that Charles Chauncy would have called them a disorderly bunch. So, who wants to be part of a disorderly hallelujah choir this morning and get into the spirit of revival? No volunteers? What about this half of the sanctuary? Any time you hear something you agree with, hallelujah!
Now, I know that such praise centered worship is the antithesis of classical Unitarianism. So, think of this as your opportunity to mess with your preacher a bit and throw me off. Offer a hallelujah when I am least expecting it. See how long it takes me to recover.
So, hopefully, in the spirit of a disorderly revival, we have got a bit of a hallelujah choir out there. It is time for the Amen corner. Here is a bit more Hebrew. The word Amen translates roughly to “truth.” Sometimes, it is rendered “I agree” or “I support.” Our friend Rabbi Scott Hausman-Weiss says that one of the best interpretations for Amen is “I’m in.” Amen, I’m in.
The Amen corner, the I’m ins, the I’m up for its, the I have got the spirit of the climate revival corner. Who wants to be the Amen corner? What about this half of the sanctuary?
Amen, hallelujah, Horace Westwood defined a revival as, “A renewal of special interest in and attention to religious services and duties and the subjects of personal salvation.” There were three things that he and other of our religious ancestors despised about such events. First, they disagreed that conversion was instantaneous. Second, they objected to the idea that it was individual. And third, they disputed that it was related to the afterlife. Such religious activity they believed, in Westwood’s words, was merely a form of “propaganda” designed to encourage people to “shirk political responsibility.”
Amen, hallelujah, our Unitarian Universalist climate revival has a different objective. Instead of hoping for instantaneous release from sin and perdition, we are aware that grappling with the climate crisis is the work of a lifetime. Rather than praying for individual salvation, we are committing ourselves to the work of collective liberation. In contrast to hoping for Heaven after we are dead, we hope, as children of the Earth, to make this beautiful blue spinning planet a better place. We do not wish to inspire you to shirk political responsibility. We want to help you claim it.
Amen, hallelujah, despite these differences, we are hoping that the spirit of revival will renew and strengthen our engagement with this central issue of our time: the climate catastrophe. It is all too easy when speaking of it to give ourselves over to despair. The conditions it is unleashing are hellish. Look at a Florida, look at North Carolina, look here in Houston, look almost anywhere and we see the impact of the climate crisis.
Skim an article by a climate activist like Bill McKibben and you are apt to find descriptions that mirror those found in the works of those eighteenth-century revivalists. Such texts are replete with words such as carnage, firestorms, drought, and collapse. In include warnings about the melting glaciers, the rising of the seas, and the coming of the storms.
Children of the Earth, they warn, our very terrestrial beings are threatened with the eternal burning of a warming planet. Repent! Repent! Repent! That is the cry. You, me, we, are responsible, they tell us.
The spirit is like that found in the Nicaraguan poet and theologian Ernesto Cardenal’s piece, “On the Banks of the Ohio in Kentucky.” We have destroyed our “second paradise,” he tells us, with our lawnmowers, highballs, volleyball, and barbecued meats. A river that once beautiful has been rendered a place to “spew industrial waste.” Repent! Repent!
The climate revival has invited us to take a different approach to the climate crisis. We can imagine collapse. But can we imagine renewal?
Yesterday, about thirty-five members and friends of our community, including people from the Emerson, Bay Area, and Galveston congregations, came together to participate in the climate revival. The core activity did not have us dwelling on the coming Hellscape. Instead, it asked us to imagine a world undergoing renewal.
I found it to be an inspiring activity. It renewed my own commitment to addressing the climate crisis. It sparked my sense of hope. I want to invite you into that sense of a renewed future. Close your eyes. Get comfortable. Imagine that the year is 2050. It is not that far away. Imagine renewal. Imagine that your wildest dreams for the human future have come to true. Imagine that politics of cruelty no longer run rampant in the state of Texas. Imagine that we have created society where the climate crisis is being taken seriously by the high and mighty and the low and humble.
Imagine that we live in a society that has placed love at the center. Imagine that everyone is committed to widening love’s circle. What beauty do you see? If twenty-six years from now, those dreams were to come to pass, what would you experience when you moved outside of this sanctuary? How would our religious community be different? How would your home be different? How would our city be different? What is your dream?
I am going to give you two minutes to dream. Then when Becky rings the bell, I am going to invite you to wake from your dream, and turn to a neighbor and share one thing that you saw. If no one is sitting near you, feel free to get up and move around. We will ring the bell a second time when the period for sharing is over.
Did you find the exercise inspiring? Yesterday, I certainly did. I started in my home. If the congregation calls me as your settled minister, I suspect that there is a reasonable chance I will still be living there in 2050. And so, in my dream, I went up to the fourth floor and looked at the rooftop. On it, I saw solar panels. All of my neighbors had them too. And so did all of the roofs in all of the houses of the neighborhood–a transition to green energy.
The plants in the living bits of earth by the front door and the garage were native plants. There were purple coneflowers, black-eyed susans, and bluebonnets. Next to the house was a planter filled with more flowers and vegetables that tolerate the Houston weather.
Leaving the house, I saw a neighborhood transformed. No one was unhoused. Everyone had a home. The Salvation Army building by us had been turned into a cooperatively managed apartment complex. Its parking lot was converted into a park. There were children at play.
The big street by us, now had a streetcar line. There were bike lanes and more bicyclists than motorists. The partially abandoned factory near us had been turned into a bustling market like the one out on Airline only better–lots of stalls with vegetables from urban farms, handmade, high-quality clothing, books, places to buy flowers, mushrooms, and beautiful pastries and bread. One vacant lot had become a community garden. Another was split between a housing cooperative and orchard.
The more I dreamed, the more I saw, the more I felt inspired. What about you? The invitation to dream filled me with hope, left me feeling empowered, and gave me a vision that I felt I could share with my neighbors. There is a lot that I can control. But there are certainly small things I can do to bring this vision into being. I can plant native plants. I can grow more food at hope. I can unite with others in advocacy for better mass transit and more bike lanes. I can explore solar.
Are there small steps you can take to bring your vision into being? Are there steps that we can take bring our visions into being?
When I met with the Search Committee, they asked me to share something of my vision for our congregation. I told them that my vision was to help First Unitarian Universalist realize its mission. We say that we are committed “to being a growing multicultural, multigenerational, and multiracial congregation in the city’s diverse urban center.” We state that we want to be “a pillar congregation for Houstonians of many faiths and build the Beloved Community.”
That is something of the dream that you have for this community. The important thing about it is that when we truly live out that mission we are blessed with the possibility of helping to bring our visions for 2050 into being. There is a lot that our congregation can do. In previous years, during earlier struggles, our religious ancestors hated revivals, in part, because they took people away from the work of this world and focused them on what would happen in the next.
When Unitarian Universalist congregations connect to beautiful dreams for the future, we can do powerful things. People who participated in the climate revival yesterday shared some of them. They included such shimmering beauties as democratically affordable housing, a congregational campus filled with native plants, a religious community devoted to providing shelter and power to our members and neighbors when hurricanes strike, more solar panels, a community investment fund devoted to sparking worker owned cooperatives, deeper connections to community gardens and healthy, sustainable, eating…
None of this beauty is impossible to realize. Much of it is like the things I can imagine for my home. It is achievable. I know this because there have been spirit-filled, powerful, Unitarian Universalist congregations and other religious communities that have brought such beauty into the world before. Unitarian Universalist congregations in Washington, DC, California, Minnesota, and Florida have all developed affordable housing complexes. There a plenty of religious campuses filled with native plant. Congregations in New Orleans and Louisiana have gotten federal funding to turn themselves into sanctuaries for the aftermath of storms–lighthouses with solar power to provide energy, clean water, and a safe space when the grid fails. The largest worker cooperative in the world, the Mondragon Corporation in Spain, was started by a religious community. It provides over 70,000 workers with a good, living wage, and democratically managed workplaces. Even the small neighborhood congregation I served in Cleveland, Ohio was able to started a community of garden. There are so many dreams we can bring into being.
A revival, Horace Westwood once told this congregation, is a “renewal of special interest in and attention to religious services and duties.” We Unitarian Universalists have long understood that our religious duty is not to hope for Heaven when we are dead. It is, instead, to bind up the broken, to roll up our sleeves, and to do our part, however, small, to bring a more beautiful world into being.
In the hopes that our climate revival has stirred our dreams, renewed our spirits, and rededicated us to the power of our visions, I invite the congregation to say Amen and Hallelujah.
*The reference here is to Jonathan Edwards and his sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.”
