as preached at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Houston, February 9, 2025
… loss is our common denominator. None of us will escape it. None of us will outrun death. What do we do in the space between that is our lives?
you’re dead, america
& where you died
grew something worse
Words from Elizabeth Alexander and Danez Smith start our sermon on “Life After Death.” It addresses the most religious of subjects. In the past, I have suggested that means religion is what binds us together.
We are all bound together by death. When Elizabeth Alexander wrote, “None of us will outrun” it, she was thinking of us as individual mortals. But she might have been writing of all being. Insects die. Reptiles die. Birds die. Flowers die–the tight bud breaks into blossom and then drops from stalk a mottled wilt. Trees die–the boughs bending, falling, in the wind until they in the last decompose amidst fungal mycelia.
You, me, everyone, everything, dies in the end. Even the good green Earth will die. The sun will burn away. Long after the last star has shone and the last human tongue has spoken the last human word, the universe will fizzle or collapse upon itself.
These truths lead to two fundamental religious questions: “What do we do in the space between that is our lives?” What is life after death? All of us are bound by these questions.
We approach them as part of our “Future Visions, Future Selves” series. As you might recall, over the course of a year, we are exploring three aspects of the future–societal, personal, and planetary. Together, we are asking questions like: “What does the future hold? How might we prepare for it?”
This morning, we approach them as …
you’re dead, america
& where you died
grew something worse
We proceed towards our questions as the nation plunges into crisis. The world’s richest man has declared war on the poor. Acting more like a corporate raider than a public official, he has set out to dismantle U.S.A.I.D., the government agency responsible for providing the bulk of international aid from the United States to other countries. Millions of people in Africa alone rely on it. The savage cuts that are being made mean that in just Kenya 40,000 health care workers will lose their jobs. That country also contains two large refugee camps. Together they house 700,000 people. Most of what they rely upon comes from this country’s financial contributions.
All aid to South Africa is being halted. The President has declared that the nation’s Afrikaner minority, the community responsible for the brutal apartheid regime, are “victims of unjust racial discrimination.” The landmark program, PEPFAR, attached to U.S.A.I.D., has dramatically reduced the spread of and mortality from AIDS in that nation. It is estimated that across the region it has saved 26 million lives. Its disappearance, the gutting of Kenya’s healthcare system, and the defunding the refugee camps will likely lead to thousands or even hundreds of thousands of deaths in the next four years. Across the globe, the withdrawal of international aid by the United States will probably lead to the deaths of millions.
you’re dead, america
& where you died
grew something worse
Nations, like humans, like birds, like flowers, die. Amid the calamity of the hour, it is reasonable to wonder if the United States is dying. Long established constitutional order appears to be passing away. We may well be confronted with the question of national life after its death.
U.S.A.I.D. is not the only institution that the man we might label President Musk is trying to kill. He is reported to be going after the Defense Department and the Department of Education. Mass firings have been reported at the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. Every single federal employee is supposed to have received an email titled “Fork in the Road.” It offers the option of receiving full pay and benefits through the end of September in exchange for immediate resignation. The email is accompanied by threats that no one’s job is safe. It is strongly hinted that many of those who refuse to resign will be fired anyway, without adequate severance.
Unelected President Musk is trying to gain control of the Treasury Department’s data and payment system. It is unclear to what extent he has. But whatever is happening, many federal payments are frozen.
All of this is illegal. Congress, not the President, is supposed to control the nation’s finances. Union contracts, government policies, and congressional legislation are supposed to regulate the hiring and firing of federal employees.
Judges have temporarily blocked much of what is happening. Nonetheless, it appears that the United States is in the midst of a full blown constitutional crisis. John Naughton, a columnist in The Guardian, calls the situation “a thoroughly modern coup d’etat.” Mike Masnick, another journalist, has described it this way: “A private citizen with zero constitutional authority is effectively seizing control of critical government functions. The constitution explicitly requires Senate confirmation for anyone wielding significant federal power–a requirement Musk has simply ignored as he installs his loyalists throughout the government while demanding access to basically all levers of power.”
you’re dead, america
& where you died
grew something worse–
The potential death of the constitutional order offers two insights about our mortal condition. First, no one knows what comes after death. Second, all of us will live, and do live, after death. Religion can help us prepare for living in death’s aftermath. Let us examine each of these insights in turn.
No one knows what comes after death. Still, many traditions approach the matter with certainty. Many Buddhist and Hindu scriptures describe our fate as an endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth–perhaps broken by enlightenment that allows escape into final oblivion and perhaps not. Most Christians speak of the somewhat unscriptural schema of Heaven for the righteous and Hell for the wicked–there is satisfaction in imagining that the lords of wealth are headed there. Some add in Purgatory as a place in between. A fair number of African and North American Indigenous religions offer narratives in which the dead become ancestors to be worshipped. The deceased watch over us and can bless us as we go about the messy business of living. Even humanists speak with a confidence that I cannot muster. There “is nothing after physical death,” writes Anthony Pinn. “At best, we remain ‘alive’ only in the memories of those whose lives we touched during our living,” he continues.
I only have confidence in the belief that whatever fate awaits one of us awaits all of us. I agree with the universalist sentiment, expressed by the great abolitionist and Unitarian Frances Ellen Watkins Harper. We “are all bound up together,” she taught. Maybe there is a Heaven to which we are all headed–possibly after we are cleansed of our Earthly sins or perhaps immediately. Alternatively, there might not even be the consciousness of nothing. But truly, no one know what comes after death.
you’re dead, america
& where you died
grew something worse–
Such agnosticism is also warranted for the fate of nations. Historians, sociologists, political scientists, economists, and politicians all like to pretend that they have great insight into the future. Many a Marxist has predicted the inevitable collapse of capitalism. Thirty years ago, the philosopher Francis Fukuyama wrote with some confidence, “we may be witnessing … the passing of history as such … That is, the end point of mankind’s ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government.”
Such a perspective seems tragicomic as we witness efforts to turn the United States into a plutocracy–government by thieves–and the President and his allies prepare to loot public institutions. In the face of their actions, it can be easy to feel despair. In reaction to their campaign of “shock and awe,” it might seem like an invocation of George Orwell’s dystopian quote is in order. “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face–forever,” he wrote.
If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stomping on a human face–forever. Sometimes when I get stuck on such an image and fall into a sense of powerlessness, I recall a conversation I had with the photographer Nigel Dickinson. Nigel has taken pictures of all sorts of social conflicts and marginalized communities around the world. He has seen humanity at its worst. He maintains a generous spirit.
Our exchange might have been an argument, with Nigel you can never quite tell, but however I characterize it, it took place during the President’s first term. I was in despair about all the awfulness he had unleashed upon the world. I had little confidence then–as I lack it today–that the leadership of the Democratic Party was going to stop him. I feared that the world was plunging into an existential crisis from which it would never emerge.
All those fears may still be justified. However, when I offered my anxious litany for the future to Nigel he responded to each item on it the same way. Every time I made a point about something awful appearing inevitable, he would reply, “Nobody knows.” My worries about the future of democracy, “Nobody knows.” My concerns about the climate crisis, “Nobody knows.” My funk about the rise of plutocracy, “Nobody knows.” Nigel’s point was one well captured in words from Joe Strummer of the Clash, “the future is unwritten.” We can speculate. We can look to history. We can look to science. We can imagine and forecast and try to figure out what is going to happen but really, nobody knows.
It is possible that attempts to enshrine government by the rich for the rich into the marbled halls of Washington power will spark democratic renewal. Yesterday, I went to an organizing fair put on by the Democratic Socialists of America. Under a blue sky, amid beer and music at the Axelrad, there were hundreds of people learning about what different organizations are doing to try to better our city and our world. I suspect that a couple of thousand folks passed through the event over its six-hour duration. It was certainly the most well attended affair put on by the political Left that I have been to since I moved to Texas. Most of the individuals there were a good twenty years younger than me–the future of Houston.
What happens next? Nobody knows. We are denied certainty in life as we denied it in death. But it appears to be the human condition to crave certainty. Most of us, it seems, want to take gravity as our guidepost. We want to be able to proceed through life with the knowledge that most of our actions will lead to the same inevitable conclusion as dropping a rock. Take a stone into your hand. Let it go and it will fall to Earth. Life lacks that predictability.
There is an old Taoist tale that I find helpful when I want certainty or feel confident that one tragedy will lead to another. It might be that you have heard it. It runs like this:
Long ago in China there was a peasant whose horse had run away. His neighbor commiserated with him. He replied, “Who can know if it’s good or bad?’ The very next day the horse returned bringing with him a herd of wild horses. The peasant was suddenly very rich. When his neighbor commented on his good fortune he retorted, “Who can know if it’s good or bad?’ The next day the peasant’s son tried mounting one of the wild horses. He fell off and broke both his legs. Again, the neighbor offered the peasant his sympathy and again the peasant responded, “Who can know if it’s good or bad?” The very next day the army came to the village to draft soldiers into service for some stupid faraway war. The peasant’s son was exempted from military service because of his injuries. You cannot know in the midst of things how they are going to turnout.
Who can know if it’s good or bad? Nobody knows. Death is the great undiscovered country. As with people, we do not know what will happen when nations die. We speculate. We can look to history. But really, nobody knows.
But we do know that–at least for a longtime–life will continue after death. We can prepare for the life that occurs after death, both as an individual and as a community. Here at First Unitarian Universalist, we try to help you do just that. Last month we offered a workshop on end-of-life planning. Rev. Scott led a conversation on such matters as wills and final directives. Our goal was to help you prepare to both have as comfortable a death as possible and let your loved ones live after your death. It was so popular that we will be holding it again in the next few months.
We also offer a grief group. All of us live after loss. All of us are grieving. We will all live after the death of loved ones. In our congregation we create space for you to consider how you want to continue to live after death.
Elizabeth Alexander described our condition as “The beginning, the end, and most of the time in the middle.” In our grief groups and through all of time as a religious community we seek to make sense, to live into, the uncertainties and certainties of the time in between.
We know that it will be time of celebration and a time of grief. Life is as replete with loss as it with beauty. What shall we do with all of it? How shall we prepare for death as we live our lives? How do we live after the deaths of loved ones?
These are questions we all must answer. My own approach to them has been to seek out community. It is easier to live with uncertainty if you have a bit of companionship along the way.
At last night’s jazz concert, we had an illustration of this. The bassist who had been booked for the gig got stuck in Galveston. Tex Allen, the band leader’s, did not despair. He is part of the community of Houston jazz musicians. He was able to make a couple of phone calls and–with thirty minutes delay to the gig–find a replacement musician. The show went on and what a show it was!
Consider it a small illustration of how community makes it easier to live through the uncertainty of life and the uncertainty of life after death. And here I conclude with a reflection on the death of the current constitutional order. It seems clear that whatever political institutions and arrangements had held steady for the last decades are in the process of dissolution. What will come next, nobody knows?
But I have a proposal to stop the looting and transform the moment into one of democratic potential. In opposition to mass layoffs, federal workers everywhere should stage a massive sit-down strike. They should report to work and then refuse to leave until President Musk is no longer President but has been forced back into the role of private citizen, all fired federal workers are rehired, all funds unfrozen, and the power of the purse returned to Congress.
The modern modern coup d’etat we are facing is borrowing tactics from the playbook of hostile corporate takeovers. Sitdown strikes have proven effective in such situations. I encourage you to watch the Naomi Klein’s 2004 film “The Take” for examples of how they have been deployed in recent years in Argentina.
Here in the United States, we have a more recent instance. In December 2008, Republic Windows and Doors in Chicago declared bankruptcy. The company’s management quickly declared that they would close and sell off the their assets to pay their creditors. No mention was made of severance for the workers.
In response, the 240 members of the United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America who were employed at the factory sat down. They occupied their workplace. They refused to leave until they were given 60 days severance and earned vacation time.
Within a few days they had won more than just their initial demands. They had won their jobs back. Banks agreed to loan the company money to stay open. A couple of years, after another sit-down strike, management agreed to sell the factory to the workers. Today, the New Era Windows Cooperative continues to operate as a worker owned cooperative–manufacturing and selling windows throughout Chicagoland.
The beauty of such sit-down strikes is that they prevent normal business operations, and they stop a company from selling off its assets. They ensure that workers, not management, maintain control of their physical work premise and, therefore, are able to continue operations–or not–of a business while negotiations are ongoing.
Strikes in South Korea recently prevented an attempted coup d’etat there. The country’s President tried to organize it. He has been impeached and is presently under house arrest.
Militant sit-down strikes built the middle class in the 1930s when they were staged at manufacturing plants throughout the country. They were eventually made illegal but at a time when it seems that President Musk, the elected President, and their minions are ignoring the law as they see fit reviving them could be what is necessary to change the balance of power–especially if congressional Democrats loudly and visibly support a wave of sit-down strikes by federal workers. Few people voted to gut Social Security, Medicare, or Medicaid. Few of us want a massive redistribution of wealth from the middle classes to the richest through budget cuts, budget deficits, and massive tax cuts. Few of us want to see millions of people die. All of that is coming unless this modern coup d’etat is ground to a halt.
Would a wave of sit-down strikes be effective? Nobody knows. But the old world is dying. A new one is struggling to be born. Living through the afterlife of one might allow us to play midwife to another. I cannot promise certainty. I do not know what will happen after death. I do not know what the end of the United States, as we have known it, might mean.
But I can promise you that it will be easier in community. In community, we can dry each other’s tears while we mourn. In community, we can celebrate beauty where it can be found. In community, we can imagine new possibilities. In community, we can live together after death. And in community, we join our spirits together in song with words like those from our earlier hymn:
When tyrants tremble as they hear the bells of freedom ringing,
when friends rejoice both far and near, how can I keep from singing!
To prison cell and dungeon vile our thoughts to them are winging;
when friends by shame are undefiled, how can I keep from singing!
In the face of uncertainty, living together after death, facing death, how can we keep from singing? May such words and the community of which they speak help us all to live together after until we each experience our own deaths. To that, I invite the congregation to say Amen.
