Hiding, Shame and Inherent Worth

--by Mike Adams

Delivered June 2, 2013 in Santa Fe, NM

When my son was four years old, he came home one day from Grandma's house with a sad face. I asked him what was wrong and he said that Chloe cat was missing and she had probably been eaten by a coyote.

I hugged him and I felt a little sad. I really liked Chloe; my sister had rescued her from an abusive situation more than twelve years earlier and she was both sweet and ancient. In fact, I sometimes amused myself by imagining Chloe as witness to the 1680 Pueblo revolt or alternatively, the introduction to horses on this continent. She had lived with my parents for many years and her disappearance wasn't a surprise to anyone. I remember thinking how her body was riddled with arthritis and her eyesight had decayed to near blindness. I figured it was good that she didn't suffer.

Several years later, it occurred to me that perhaps Chloe had never become a coyote snack. That maybe she had been hiding, when my little bug-a-boo came home with a sad face. Animals have a tendency to isolate and hide when they are injured or sick. It is an instinct that originates in the lizard brain, which helps a vulnerable animal to avoid predation or conflict. Maybe Chloe was hiding that day, following an instinct that probably originated with the dawn of complex life on this planet.

The thing is that if she was hiding, Chloe would have been better off coming home and allowing herself to be cared for and comforted. In fact, pets would generally fare better if they went home when sick or injured, rather than hiding. But that simply runs contrary to behavior that has been an evolutionary advantage for millions of years.

The tendency to hide seems universal. Humans do it with what seems like a comparable frequency to any other species. However, like our pets, we often hide when it isn't necessary, and when it causes trouble. In fact, we often mis-perceive threats and react, with anger, fear and even violence, when we should have shown kindness. We protect ourselves from predators when there is no actual threat; the result being we hurt our friends and loved ones, our children and parents in a misguided effort to stay safe from a danger that isn't actually present.

When I was seven years old, I stood in a mortuary and gingerly extended my hand to touch my Dad's cheek. He was lying in a coffin and his cold skin felt like a mild shock to me. Grief swelled  inside me and burst forth with violent disdain for my desire to maintain control. I collapsed and sobbed into my hands with every fiber of my being. A few days later, at his funeral, I had decided that I would suppress any urge to cry for the duration of the service. I wanted to be strong and in control, to display no weakness. I wanted to act like, “a man.” Already my instinct to hide was interfering with my ability to get the help I needed in a crowd of people who loved me and who wanted to provide comfort and support.

In the thirty four years since that day, I have seen every single person I know add layers of complexity to their tough facade. I too have added layers, and they have caused me to sneer when I should have apologized. I've hurled insults when I needed to be kind, and I've been callous, when the appropriate reaction would have been to show empathy. I remember in eighth grade, a school-mate of mine, who was brilliant, but who also had a host of physical challenges. He went home one day, took a gun and shot himself in the chest.

When I heard about his death, I wanted to cry, but he and I didn't get along, so I hardened myself to the tragedy, telling myself that it was good, that he had been mean to people and had humiliated several of us in front of others. When I did that, a little bit of me died, and I made the world a little less kind. I had just added a thick layer to my own facade of toughness and indifference.

I work hard to justify my own poor behavior in light of someone else's actions. I think this is normal and that you probably do it too. My first memory of really working at making excuses is in seventh and eight grade. I endured daily bullying and I regularly fantasized about giving someone a Chuck Norris type of beat down, or at least delivering a well timed and devastating verbal response. But I never could do either, and when the fantasy dissolved in the face of real life, I often found myself wishing for the courage to take control of my suffering a swing from the end of a rope.

That doesn't make me unique, in fact, suicide is the second leading cause of death for our young people between the ages of 10 and 24. It is a final desperate act, aimed at asserting some kind of control in the face of overwhelming emotional pain. Our kids take charge of the only thing they feel they can influence and they leave us for ever.

They are the victims of an acute conflict between people's evolutionary need to be members of society, and our overwhelming tendency to avoid being emotionally vulnerable. This conflict between survival instincts leaves many feeling hopeless and abandoned, even while in the midst of people we love and who love us. We desperately need to experience love and acceptance, but rather than sharing ourselves, we isolate. We're threatened by the prospect of authentically sharing who we are, what we're afraid of and how we're vulnerable—we are ruled by shame.

The introductory line to Dr. Brene Brown's TED talk on shame reads, “Shame is an unspoken epidemic, the secret behind many forms of broken behavior.” Brown has studied shame in our society for nearly a decade, and she has developed the following definition of shame. “An intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of acceptance and belonging.”

Is that what my school-mate experienced as he pulled the trigger nearly thirty years ago? Though decades have passed since I walked the halls of Los Alamos Middle School, I vividly remember being ruled by fear, being filled with anxiety, afraid of what was going to happen next—terrified that my classmates would humiliate me yet again. My daily life was a trial of fear, anger, worry, and embarrassment. This nurtured the seeds of shame, which blossomed in the fertile soil of an insecure, overweight, pimple faced kid, who hated life. Even today, I find myself paralyzed when I need to take actions that could make a difference in my life. I'm terrified of failure and ridicule. I'm afraid to be exposed, because I truly believe that I'm unworthy of being your peer and enjoying your companionship.

Those seeds of shame have profoundly influenced my life, my sense of worth and my ability to follow through on important commitments. Even today, when I look in the mirror, what I see is an unattractive, obese slob. I often see a person who disgusts me, who is neither worthy of a good life nor of your respect. I am ashamed of my body and my weight. I am ashamed of my finances and the fact that I never finished college. I'm ashamed of how I've parented my kids, particularly the one, with whom I've had ongoing and difficult conflicts. I'm ashamed of the husband I've been and my lack of empathy and compassion when my wife needs it most. I'm ashamed to have burdened my parents with ongoing requests for financial help and support and I'm ashamed of all the money that has been spent on college tuition, which never resulted in my earning a degree. When I think of my life, I often think of someone who had great potential and myriad opportunities, but who squandered all of it. I live with deep shame, which impacts every area of my life.

Gosh, what a downer...right?! How many people came here to church this morning to hear someone talk hopelessness? Raise your hands.

Well, you can consider it a gift! I don't know how much you appreciate it and I have to apologize for failing to wrap it nicely, but trust me it is a gift. Every single one of you, knows me better now than friends, whom I've been acquainted with for decades. You've heard me share the things that I never wanted to admit to anyone, not even myself. You have heard me confess my deepest fears and insecurities and I thank you for listening.

I did it for a reason. You see, we've all inherited this society's tendency to use shame as a means of controlling people. As a society, we shame our children and hope they'll do well in school. We shame our prisoners and hope they'll become law abiding citizens. We shame our girls and hope they'll control their weight, and we shame our boys, because they are too distractible at home and in the classroom. We shame people who cross gender lines, or who disagree with our politics. I think our society is addicted to shame, and somehow we don't know that all the while, shame is feeding on us. It is like a fungal infection, rotting our skin, it thrives in dark and hidden places, where it drops spores and spreads. It consumes our sense of worth and destroys our chances for happiness

Shame can't bring about good behavior. It isn't like guilt, which is an uncomfortable feeling we get when we made a mistake and took actions that conflict with our values. Shame tells us that we are a mistake and that we will never be able to live consistent with our values. Shame carries a direct correlation with violence, aggression, addiction, depression, eating disorders, bullying and suicide. It erects high walls, forcing people into isolation and subjugating them to fear. Shame is a monster at our gates, which causes us to tremble and hide. We've forgotten that we are its authors and we have the power to mitigate its damage.

We hide unaware that shame's existence requires secrecy. We're unaware that shame, when exposed to the light of day, once removed from the shadows, whithers and begins to decay. Shame can't survive open and honest expression or empathetic feedback, so it makes people feel threatened and hopeless. But when we're open, when we're honest, when we share ourselves, then we develop resilience against shame and we gain hope for the future. When we're courageous and authentic, we allow others to give us empathy and compassion. We are able to experience love and acceptance, despite having exposed our flaws. We're able to begin removing the terrible manacle from our neck, which shame placed there, and which has prevented us from pursuing our dreams.

There is no substitute for being open either. I went to Mexico over spring break with my son and built houses for impoverished people. It was an incredible experience. In fact, my hands have done all kinds of good work. They have tutored literacy in the county jail, written sermons, prepared RE curricula, held the hand of friends dying from cancer, and comforted distraught children. None of that has compensated for my shame. I've earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, I've worked hard at my job, I've made people laugh, and I've studied history, science, and math. None of that has made me feel worthy of love and acceptance. Finally at forty one years of age, my quest has taken me inward to confront my own sense of uselessness. And if what I've read is true, my job now is to share my insecurities and place my broken self on the exam table for others to see. This is frightening and it requires that I practice courage and faith.

That second word, faith is a tough one. Faith and I have an awkward relationship, owing to the fact that I am an atheist. Practicing faith often feels to me like playing roulette with my mortgage check. It occurs like magical thinking and it never really seems like a good idea. But recently, I stumbled upon a great definition, which has made faith available. According to the CharacterFirst website, “Faith is having confidence that action rooted in good character will yield the best outcome, even when I cannot see how.” So Today, here in church, I place my faith in the notion that shame can be overcome by authentic self-expression. I place my faith in the idea that when we covenant to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people, we actually mean that I too have inherent worth and dignity. As do all of you, even those of you who live with deep shame, like I do. Today, I place my faith in the possibility that my words might touch someone, who is hiding and afraid, who desperately needs the love and acceptance of a community. I place my faith in the possibility that they might find the courage to authentically share their true selves and their deep insecurities, that they might find a path to experiencing the love this community has to offer. I place my faith in you, to be empathetic and compassionate.

In closing, I'll share a short story by Anthony de Mello

A woman dreamed she walked into a brand-new shop in the marketplace, a shop she had never seen before.

To her surprise, God was standing behind the counter.

She looked up and asked, “what do you sell here?”

God replied, “everything your heart desires.”

She smiled faintly, but hardly daring to believe what she heard, the woman decided to ask for the very best things a human being could wish for.

She smiled and said, “I want peace of mind, and love, and happiness. I want wisdom and I want freedom from fear.”

Then she paused, before continuing, “I don't want these things only for me, I really want them for every single person on earth.”

God smiled and with a kind voice, responded, “I think you've misunderstood slightly. We don't sell fruits in this shop. We only sell the seeds.”

I don't like your motives ...well, not the ones I've decided you have!

--by Mike Adams

Wednesday, May 9th was a day much like any other. I woke at 5:45 in the morning, sat in a semi-catatonic state sipping coffee and trying to get my bearings. As usual, I insisted that my feeble mind square itself with the day, an often futile exercise. I ate breakfast and left for work, where I answered calls, fixed computer problems and then returned home exhausted. That evening, I sat reading the NY Times email digest, when my attention was drawn to a rather spectacular headline. Thinking it a mistake, I clicked the link and read the following quote from Barack Obama, "I have to tell you that over the course of several years as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or Marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that Don't Ask Don't Tell is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same sex couples should be able to get married."

With a smile, I turned to my wife and said, "Wow! Did you know Obama endorsed same-sex marriage today?" "Yes," she replied, without looking up from her blogging activities. But I sat there stunned and glad for the change. The next few days saw rampant speculation about the President's timing, about his motives and about the political implications of his actions. But nothing anyone said had the ring of truth. The commentary was pure speculation, peppered with guesswork all wrapped in responsible language trying to masquerade as fact.

Obama had offered a simple explanation for his decision. I suppose his words lacked sensationalism, so our media had to generate engaging reasons for his decision. None were insightful, mostly they were a gage of our society's tendency to ascribe motive as a means of gaining political advantage.

This sermon is about exactly those kinds of motives. The kinds that people attribute to others without knowing what we are talking about. The kinds of motives that we create in order to know which category someone belongs in. In order to determine how carefully we should listen, if at all.

As with most of my sermons, today's talk was inspired by a conversation I had with my wife. Several months ago, she told me that I often attribute motives to her, which aren't her actual motives. I was flabbergasted.

"What?!" I stuttered, "I attribute wrong ...motives?!"

I like to think of myself as being unusually insightful and I'm not particularly fond of having someone point out my mistakes. I prefer, instead, to identify my own shortcomings and then highlight them for others. That way, I can bask in the warm glow of my own self-enlightenment. But she was right, again. I did not know what her motives were and I usually didn't ask. This insight, though annoying, caused me to consider how often people attribute motives to others without actually knowing.

Immediately, I thought of national dialogues concerning same-sex marriage, the war in Afghanistan, pro-life/pro-choice, deficit spending, pro-union/pro-business, race relations, feminism, education and parenting.

Indeed, our media, our politics, our religious conversations and even our personal lives are inundated with alleged motives that may, in all reality, have little or nothing in common with the true reasons that actions were taken or things were said.

Let's consider marriage equality, is it a civil rights issue? Supporters say yes, they insist that any two people, who are old enough, should be allowed to marry. To them, prejudice is prejudice and free choice is free choice. Marriage equality is nothing more than observing someone's right of free choice, in an arena where it is currently being denied.

Simple and straightforward. This represents my sincere point of view. However, my philosophical opponents don't see it this way. In fact, many believe marriage equality supporters are servants of evil. They believe we are pushing a "gay agenda,” which will undermine the sanctity of a bedrock institution and which could tear our society apart. To them, supporters of marriage equality are minions of Satan, bent on destroying this great Christian nation.

Truth be told, THEY HAVE MY MOTIVES ALL WRONG!

But what about assigning motives in the other direction? What if we consider another topic like pro-life vs. pro-choice? I am pro-choice and my reasons for this position are similar to my reasons for supporting marriage equality. I believe in free choice and I feel a woman has the right to choose if, how and when her body is used, including for child birth.

On the opposite side of this controversy, we’ll consider my late Grandfather, who was a staunch Catholic. His pro-life conviction was steadfast. He was clear that aborting a pregnancy is tantamount to murder. He saw an unborn fetus as being no different than any person you might meet in this world. It was a simple matter to him, conception creates people, abortion kills people, killing people is murder and murder is wrong.

Simple and straightforward, I drew different conclusions from him, but I can respect his clarity. My Grandfather’s position on abortion did not make him misogynistic. I reject the notion that pro-life activists are primarily motivated by a desire to control women's lives and bodies. This may be true of some, but I’m convinced that most pro-lifers feel passionately that they are fighting to stop murder. I think they are bewildered when accused of being dishonest or nefarious. Honestly, THE LEFT HAS THEIR MOTIVES ALL WRONG!

These two examples demonstrate a broader problem. A problem, which prevents intelligent conversation, which discourages collaboration, and which undermines the creative power of controversy. I believe the most innovative ideas are spawn from controversy. That when opposing opinions clash, and intelligent dialogue ensues, we create fertile ground for the germination of new ideas.

But in our society, the required dialogue is missing. We hurl insults and categorize people as Nazis so as to insulate ourselves from having to consider their points of view. The soil that should nurture tomorrow’s solutions is growing fallow and most of today’s ideas are little more than a polished regurgitation of yesterday’s discarded plan. This is a concerning state of affairs. With global climate change, a dubious economy, rampant starvation, a growing population and shrinking resources, we face unprecedented challenges.

So what is the solution? That’s the hard part. Humans prefer simple answers, but today’s challenges are complex. They defy black and white categorization, they require thoughtful discourse, a nuanced approach, and wholistic thinking. We need to constantly look for where we are falling short of our own values. UU values include a free and responsible search for truth, promotion of the inherent worth and dignity of all people, and respect for the interdependent web of existence. Those are values, which could make a profound difference in today’s world. They are values that humanity desperately needs, and we could be their greatest champions, if we are willing.

But we’ll have to give something up. We’ll have to pay a price and that price will be our certitude. Ours is a religion, which ought to make room for everyone and yet there are very few African American UUs or Hispanic UUs or Native American UUs or Republican UUs. If we want our message to be vital, we need to reach these people and if we’re going to do so, we must stop thinking that we know what their motives are.

When we assume we know someone's motives, we excuse behavior, which is normally unacceptable. I used to rant that G.W. was a fascist and a Nazi. I was wrong! My wife’s paternal family is Jewish. One of her cousin’s parents lost everyone they knew to the horror of Nazi concentration camps. She has no grandparents, or aunts or uncles. Her parents have no life long friends. They were all murdered in Nazi Germany.

So using the term Nazi to describe anyone who isn’t engaged in the mass murder of millions of people is wrong! It is particularly disgusting when used to score cheap political points. The memory of those men, women and children who were lost during that genocide is worthy of a much greater reverence and respect than to be used for short term political gain or to discredit someone we simply don't want to listen to, because we dislike what they say.

If we’re going to change this world and leave it a better place, if we’re going to really promote our UU values at large. We’ll have to rise above such contemptuous foolery. We’ll have to elevate current dialogues to a level where change can happen, where innovation can flourish, where UU values can sow dreams, which might sprout and become tomorrow’s thriving harvest. If we’re going to create that world about which we talk to eloquently, we will have to abandon inflammatory language and try to gain an honest understanding of why people disagree with us. Otherwise we can’t possibly hope to reach them and we are sure to miss the valid points they make. We're sure to fail at creating the needed ideas for tomorrow. We're sure to short circuit the creative engine of intelligent disagreement, which will yield tomorrow's great ideas.

I believe the values this world needs can be found in our UU Principles and sources of faith. I believe we are the ideal people to promote those values in this world. I think the essence of our shared promise, our covenant to affirm and promote our seven principles is a call to action. I believe it is nothing less than a call for us to stand tall and challenge each other to climb higher, to champion our values with an even louder voice. I think we have a powerful legacy to uphold, that we are the culmination of generations who have struggled to realize these values in this world. We are needed, our message is needed and our values are needed. We've promised each other that we would promote those values and I believe this is the time for us to walk out into this world and shout our good news at the top of our lungs. To sow our dreams into the fertile ground of tomorrow for this world's future. To create the vision we have dreamed and manifest our beautiful vision for the next generation.

Parable of a Demonic Feline

--by Mike Adams

My story begins at two in the morning on a weekday night several years ago, when thankfully, for perhaps the first time in weeks, my toddler slept. He had managed the slowest recovery from chest infection in history. This meant that each night, for more than a week, I had awoken to the sounds of his gentle sobs and wheezy coughs. At intervals of several hours apart, I had risen from bed to comfort and care for him until he dozed in my arms. This repeated night after unrelenting night and each morning, my alarm bellowed, pitiless, and demanding, insisting that I rise and leave for work.

...On this night, however, my little one slept.

Meaning, I too could rest. So there I lay dormant in my bed, sleeping like a battle-weary veteran, when suddenly, I was awoken by the tortured wail of an injured feline.

I stumbled forth from the warm embrace of my bed with the same automaticity that drove me while I tended to my sick child. Down the stairs, into the dark living room, off to rescue the, Super Mike was on the scene. Our cat had managed to drag himself to the back door, and as I approached, he let loose a blood curdling screech, which filled me with concern.

I searched for a switch and ‘click’...the light revealed a cat with no outward sign of injury nor obvious physical distress. Apparently, he had simply hit upon a new and unpleasant way to use his voice.“Great!” I snorted, “The only thing he needs is to go outside...right now! I can’t believe I woke up for this!”

The next morning, I let everyone know what had happened and carefully explained that the cat would not be permitted inside after sunset. My two older sons, however, sharing both the compassion of Albert Sweitzer and the lack of interest in rules common to all children of their age, had other plans. They continued to let this demonic beast into our house.  Every evening, while I was upstairs tucking in my little bug-a-boo, they granted entrance to our cat, who would secret himself away, stowed underneath a table or behind some furniture until two or three in the morning, when he would announce his desire to leave, with torturous volume. This infuriated me, so after a week of sleepless nights, I finally threatened to wake everyone in the house if the cat was let in again. The kids relented and each night, this underworld fiend was ejected from our house, so that Dad could rest and his tirade could cease.

Life resumed normalcy and Marmalade Lion would vocalize an occasional yowl, but generally, he was pleasant, maybe even cute. The problem was that he had found an effective tactic and those are never easily forgotten. M. Lion would, with increasing frequency, employ his demonic yowl to get what he wanted. His wail, which could aptly be described as half strangled kitten and half of a choleric demon, would inundate my senses, pushing me towards a precipice of blind rage. On and on this continued, day after grinding day, until that moment of inspiration, when Ivan Petrovich Pavlov’s notion of “conditioned reflex” dawned on me like the loving embrace of morning’s sunlight, gently caressing the cold, hard earth. I had just explained the history of Pavlov’s dog to my then eleven year old son, when it occurred to me that with the deliberate and consistent use of a well aimed spray bottle, I might train our cat to use a more pleasant sound when making requests.

With high hopes, I undertook this project in secret. I would not be thwarted by the Sweitzer-like instincts of my wife or kids, who never once woke up to deal with cat. I proceeded to administer a squirt to our feline on any occasion that his voice assaulted my serenity. Just one squirt, simple and consistent, this experiment continued for more than a year. I pitted my stubbornness against his instincts, betting on Pavlovian conditioning to carry the day. Each day, I would spray and each day, the cat would yowl. I sprayed again, and he yowled AGAIN. This cycle repeated, until our cat was reduced to a pitiful, sopping wet mound of fur and I, a defeated man, with little faith in the rational nature of life.

Ultimately, my cat learned the wrong lesson. To him, I became the Overload of Terror, the Man of remorseless Spray, a tormentor to be feared. He never associated the spray bottle with his vocalizations. Rather he hid whenever I entered the room and, from his shelter, his serenade courted ghouls.

Finally, I relented. I accepted that he would not be trained, that his vocalization must be hardwired and I could not change it. This was a blow, but I knew I had been wrong. Let me assure you, I did not undergo a thorough change of heart. I still dislike Marmalade Lion, but I do regret having traumatized him. If I had it to do all over again, I’d perhaps, search for a cat muzzle...or perhaps, just leave him alone.

This article is not, however, about my cat. Rather it explores what I have learned from him, about myself. I have learned that through me, Pavlov has tormented not just one slightly barmy feline but also my children, my wife, my co-workers and countless others. Like a merciless scientist, I have, periodically lashed out with this idea of “conditioned reflex” and wounded those who are closest to me, leaving them hurt and confused. Always, this has followed some incident where I interpreted their actions as cruel or callous. Usually, they were simply trying get something done as best they could and they had no more intent of malice than my cat had when he wanted out.

Frankly, this bothers me. I could easily conclude, based on this insight, that I am a thoroughly rotten person. That I have little or no self-control. That there is something seriously wrong with me. But my conclusion would be erroneous, my reactions are rather typical.  It seems, that virtually everyone has a bit of Pavlov in them. His retribution lurches forth from our bruised feelings and inflicts emotional pain on others. This leaves us in the position where either we confront our mess and try to offer a meaningful amend or we justify our cruelty, placing blame solely on those we love.

Now, when things get ugly and we’re looking at poor behavior, there is almost always someone thinking, “This doesn’t really pertain to me.” More often than I care to admit, I am that person. So, if you find that you are having those thoughts, take a moment to reflect on these typical sorts of human interactions:

A parent says to their co-parent, “DON’T talk to the kids that way! You ask why I snap at you and criticize? That’s why! You make me so mad. Stop talking to the kids OR me like that, and I’ll quit snapping at you.”

To which the first parent responds, “Give me a break! You can’t possibly pretend ignorance to the fact that your constant negativity and criticism angers me to the point where I get mean. Why don’t YOU stop?!”

Meanwhile, somewhere else, a married couple has the following exchange, “exasperated GASP...you spilled that drink down the front of the cabinets and walked away? Do I have to do everything around here?”

The other spouse says, “Do everything...seriously? If you could trouble yourself to reattach the lids to juice bottles, vitamin containers and spice jars, we wouldn’t have so many spills. I don’t know why I should clean anything up! Maybe if you did a bit more, you could figure out how to close containers properly.”

I think we get confused. We forget that we’re talking with someone important, like our spouse, our best friend or our children. Instead, we act as if we are dealing with some sociopath, or a rabid Nazi.  We act like Pavlov, remorselessly harming the subject of our experiment.

THIS IS INSANITY!

One of my favorite definitions of insanity, has been attributed to several professional athletes, to Albert Einstein and finally to Benjamin Franklin.  It is frequently quoted in 12-step recovery groups and it reads “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.”

Doesn’t this seem to describe us?  From my perspective, we humans have a strong tendency in this direction. We seem to have some pathological streak that compels us to believe it is not only OK, but advisable to treat people like this:

Wait a minute, that person just acted like a jerk!

I better make sure they know it.

Maybe I can teach them a lesson while I’m at it...They’ll never do that again!

Then, I’ll forgive them...comfort them...and love them.

I am such an enlightened soul!”

This never really works out, but we persist in it anyway. You can see it play out in every theatre of human interaction, spanning the gamut from our close interpersonal relationships to our international policy and cultural diplomacy.

In my life, this oft repeated drama plays out after dinner, during clean up. Each one of my kids is unusually distractible. In fact two of them have a diagnosis of ADHD. So every evening, right after dinner, we all head into the kitchen and begin the cleaning cycle.

It is important to note that when I say “We all begin cleaning,” what happens, is that I begin cleaning, while the kids saunter around our small and crowded kitchen not cleaning. My frustration mounts as I repeatedly ask them to look please at their chore lists. If I’m not careful, this is is where I become possessed of a fury. I begin barking orders and cause all pleasantry to dissipate as I plunge our kitchen into drudgery.

This usually ruins the entire evening, so recently, my wife and I agreed to try and characterize dinner cleanup as time spent with our kids…a time to talk with them and enjoy their company.

To be honest, this takes a considerable effort on my part. I often force a smile and say, “yeah that’s pretty clever...say, how much is left on your chore list?” A few seconds later: “pretty funny, but I don’t think you should be putting the dish towel in your mouth.  Oh that reminds me, how’s that chore list coming along?”

I understand no one would be reminded of chore list, because they see someone chewing on a dish towel.  This communication tactic is effective, thus my kids have never noticed the transition...shhhh!

I suppose the reason I’m sharing this with you is that it points to something I think is important. For a few years now, I have been writing these sermons and delivering them to groups, which are filled with people, who can make a difference. At some point, I had to contrast my actions towards those closest to me with the values about which I speak so passionately. “Parable of a Demonic Feline” is the result of that insight.  I believe that humanity’s ability to coalesce around anything important is rooted in how we treat each other. I am worried about the world we are leaving the next generation. I’m worried about our debt, our pollution and our tendency to constantly be engaged in some military action. All of this seems so overwhelming and truth be told, I will not be able to change the world!

I can, however, try to inspire the best in those around me. I can share my shortcomings, my struggles, my hopes and my dreams. Perhaps, if I’m honest enough, if I share enough hope, enough inspiration and enough passion, then, someone else might do the same and share their dreams. Together, we might start a chain reaction, we might inspire more dreamers and cumulatively, this could cause humanity to change this world.

So I am publishing this article, because I believe that you can make a profound difference for future generations. I believe that you are the agents of transformation. Though I am an atheist, I have faith in my fellow human beings.  I have faith that, despite our Pavlovian tendencies, we humans are miraculous, capable of the most astounding beauty and incredible charity.

You are my teachers, my heroes and my inspiration.  I am writing to try and mirror back to you, your own greatness. I am writing to try and inspire you to walk out into this world sharing that greatness.

I hope my message is well received and I thank you for taking the time to read.

Do We Know What We Believe? ...or Do We Simply Believe That We Know?

--by Mike Adams
January 15, 2012 - Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Santa Fe

Today’s sermon, “Do we know what we believe ...or do we simply believe that we know?” is an evolving series of thoughts originating in last month’s Coming of Age discussion in Los Alamos. The December discussion centered around faith. In particular, theistic faith or belief in god. God was discussed at length and being a rather controversial figure in UU circles, god managed to induce tension with a number of the adult mentors, prompting me to think in a mildly entertained fashion, “How ironic, that god wields such control over people, even those who don’t believe.”

Conversely, our youth, who aren’t generally lugging around any theological baggage, seemed very much at ease discussing god and his or her influence in today’s world. This is the kind of conversation I love, not because I have any belief in God, but rather, like our youth, I’ve not been bludgeoned with any sort of theistic billy club. More importantly, god has played a central and positive role in my development as a person.

Later in the evening, during last month’s conversation, things took an interesting turn, when the leader asked a question, I hadn't considered in quite some time. Retrospectively, I was less interested in the question than in our youth’s comments. You see, we often seem to underestimate our preteen and early teen population, writing them off as being a bit vapid. We excuse their perceived lack of depth as a function of age and absence of life’s experience. We chalk it up to a developmental stage marked by revolt against parents and a fierce need for differentiating themselves from the previous generation. But when our Coming of age leader asked these youth whether they thought the world would be a better if no one believed in god, the answers they gave were both insightful and indicative of thoughtful people.

One said, “I have good friends who believe in god, sometimes I wish I believed. My friends are nice, polite and always helpful. I don’t think they would be better without God? I don’t think we would be better if they were different?” Another youth, talking about the Holy Lands, said, “Lots of people have been killed trying to take that land because it’s important in their religion. People were tortured and killed, because they thought god wanted them to own that land. I think no one should believe in god.” Another chimed in, “If no one believed in god, the Nazi’s wouldn’t have killed people for being Jewish.”

This topic, stirred a reflective discussion among our youth, representing both breadth in opinion and an enthusiasm for exploring important issues. In fact, on the way home that evening, my fourteen year old said, “I don’t think people believing in god makes any difference. You cant change the way people are. If they stop fighting about god, they’ll fight about something.”

His point of view may sound somewhat cynical, but I think it is incredibly practical. I believe it is a perspective that could make a difference in today’s world. That if we collectively confronted our fundamental tendencies. If we all accepted that each of us is capable of both great beauty and great evil, we would begin to have a real choice, we could start living by design in arenas where previously, we lived only by reaction.

This brings me to a friendly disagreement from later that evening. One of the mentors while discussing the possible existence of god, said, “There are certain definitions or conceptions of god that we know are wrong. There are theistic concepts, which are sufficiently illogical and self contradicting, that we can say with certainty, That god does not exist.” While I generally agree with much of his reasoning, I find that I can’t take that last leap of faith. Meaning faith in reason and humankind’s ability to rationally acquire factual knowledge without the ability to prove our assertions. In short, my objection lay not with his reasoning about any particular notion of god, but rather with the assumption that a conclusion, no matter how sensible, can be honestly considered true without proof.

So I went to Oxforddictionaries.com to find definitions of knowledge and belief. It turns out, that knowledge is as follows, “facts, information, and skills acquired through experience or education; the theoretical or practical understanding of a subject” While belief is, “an acceptance that something exists or is true, especially one without proof”

Looking at my life, I’ll start in my early twenties. Picture a militant and evangelizing atheist. Someone who knows that all people, who believe in god are somewhat weak minded. They refuse to be responsible for their own lives. They need someone else whom they can blame and from whom they can beg favors.

Arrogantly, I wore this article of faith, considering it not a belief, but rather a fact, like the effects of gravity. Unfortunately for me, by the age of twenty five, I had given up on college and I could not control my lust for alcohol. Angry, hateful, miserable, I went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in the spring of 1995. The message was clear and I was horrified. “We admitted we were POWERLESS over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable. We came to BELIEVE that a POWER GREATER THAN OURSELVES could restore us to sanity.”

WHAT? A power greater than...WAIT A MINUTE! ...After a few failed attempts at sobriety, I relented. I began praying, every day, to some god, in whom I had no belief. To my surprise I stopped drinking and within a year, I emphatically proclaimed that this universe definitely has a loving and powerful god. While I struggled with defining a personal theology that allowed for both a loving god and somehow explained the rampant evil and suffering in this world, I never questioned the existence of that god.

...Not until three years ago, after being sober for more than thirteen years, during which time, I constantly redefined my theology. I then encountered the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, a humorous and lively group of atheists, inspired by Bobby Henderson’s open letter to the Kansas City School Board in 2005. Henderson claimed that that if the school board was seriously going to insist that Christian based “intelligent design” be taught in science class, they also must teach the theory that everything was created by an invisible flying spaghetti monster, who controls both time and matter. The Pastafarians converted me quickly, and within a month, I once again identified as atheist.

However, this time, I know that atheism, like theism is a belief. It is specifically NOT knowledge!

Some, have insisted that this makes me agnostic...not atheist!

But please allow me to retort.

Agnostics tend to believe that the question of god is irrelevant. They don’t know and they don’t care if god exists. I engage with the god question, because for much of my adult life, I have depended upon god, in fact, for many years, my survival was linked to maintaining faith. So to me, god is an important question. Additionally, having a spiritual direction in life, continues to be a necessity.

This may seem a minor difference in meaning, but consider again, the definition of knowledge, being facts, information and skills acquired through experience or education, while belief is acceptance of something as true without proof.

How significant is something being true rather than simply a belief?

What sorts of actions are are possible in service of “THE TRUTH?” Under Stalin’s leadership, the USSR, saw 23 million people die as the result of Stalin’s “TRUTH”. The TRUTH of his economic revolution, the TRUTH of his atheism, the TRUTH that he had to purge his military. Isn’t history full of senseless and avoidable death and suffering, which was justified by some perceived truth? Might leaders or at least citizens have acted differently were they clear on the distinction between belief and knowledge? Could genocides have been averted and suffering minimized? We can’t definitively know, however, if we look at our own reactions, we might be able to draw some conclusions. I tend to have civil and respectful disagreements with people around personal belief. By contrast, I judge people harshly for denying or ignoring the facts. I do believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but not to their own facts!

I wonder if, as a race, humanity has simply not matured enough to meaningfully distinguish between our beliefs and what we know. Perhaps our lack of evolution in that arena, has been the primary source of many heinous acts, how many future atrocities might our attitude spawn?

Occupy Protesters and Tea Party activists mostly agree on the causes of our Nation’s financial problems, but generally, they are unable discuss these problems with each other. Is this simply because people tend to get hung up on some misguided belief and then proceed to confuse that belief with knowledge?

Consider George Lakoff, a brilliant linguist, who has provided a perspective where people, who share my politics can easily join me in accusing conservative Christians of selfishness and greed...of lacking in compassion. It surprised me, therefore, to learn that as a group, conservative Christians are far more likely than liberals to make charitable contributions or to volunteer their time. I thought...NO WAY, but on personal reflection, I realized that the volunteer organizations and committees I’ve served on, were typically dominated by conservative Christians. Catholic Charities is the single largest donor to HIV relief in the world. I was wrong!

How many other beliefs do I have confused with knowledge?

Several years ago, I took a course called the LandMark Forum. Near the end of the three day course, we participants were asked, “do you want to have power with money?” We all said YES, to which the leader responded, “If you want to have power with money, you have to start with this...You’ve got what you’ve got and you ain't got what you ain't got!”

“Huh”, I said...”what is that supposed to mean?” Well, simply put, it means you have to get a grip on reality, and start from right there if you want anything to change with your finances...or anything else for that matter.

Applied to congregational life, that concept might look something like this:
We have a few hundred members, a vibrant Religious Education program.
Santa Fe, also happens to have one my favorite UU covenants:
We gather together to seek the truth freely,
To celebrate beauty, to ease the world’s pain.
We’re moved by compassion to service and to justice.
All life is our concern and love is our Way

Los Alamos, ends our Vision statement with, “We are a beacon of hope!”

How do we even begin to fulfill on those statements? Is it possible or do we have them just so we can feel good?

I think we have them...NO, that we CREATED them as a road map, a north star by which we can navigate the perilous course through life towards our ideals. For our ideals to be vital, to have practical meaning, we have to be clear about where we actually stand. We have to be grounded in reality, clear about what we know and definite about how that differs from our beliefs.

If we are going to ease the world’s pain, If we are going to to be a beacon of hope, we must start from right here...from this exact point. It is from from here that we can begin the journey towards our ideals. But...If we fool ourselves about skills we haven’t acquired or traits we haven’t developed, if we claim competencies we haven’t mastered, if we fail to work with potential allies, because we’ve confused some belief we have with actual knowledge, our way will be lost. Conversely, if we are clear about who we are, what we actually know, what we can do, where we need to develop...then we stand a chance, then we open the door to possibility, then we might transform ourselves and risk fulfilling on our dreams.

Morality & Spiritual Atheism

--by Mike Adams

It was the late fall of 1998 and I was seeing disturbing coverage of tragic and vile events in another state. I became aware of a sensation advancing from my abdomen at an alarming rate infiltrating every outpost of my nervous system imbuing me with a ferocity that I truly feared. News reports drifted from the television across the room inundating my senses, leaving me in a deluge of deep shame for humanity. I understood on a personal level for perhaps the first time in my adult life how one could without compunction, deny the humanity of another, ontologically, relegating them to the category of barely human refuse...a waste of food and oxygen. I was seeing detailed reports of how Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson had picked up Matthew Shepard at the Fireside Lounge in Laramie, Wyoming. I learned how they had tortured Matthew, tied him to the bumper of their vehicle, dragged him behind the vehicle on a dirt road, tied him to a wooden fence and left him there to die alone. This was disturbing enough on its own, but I was unprepared for the vile disgust I felt for Rev. Fred Phelps and his followers, who arrived at Matthew Sheppard's funeral with signs and banners declaring, "Matt Shepard rots in Hell", "AIDS Kills Fags Dead" and "God Hates Fags".

The intensity of my ire was concerning, I had been sober for only three years and in AA, we learn to deal with resentment immediately, so I began asking my ambiguous higher power for relief from my anger...for some measure of serenity. During the previous three years, my relationship with a Higher Power, my spiritual life and my continued sobriety had been paramount in my life, indeed my precarious grip on sobriety and possibly on life absolutely depended on my spiritual wellbeing. For three years, I had taken regular moral inventories, directly amended the harms I had caused and constantly engaged in a search to enlarge my spiritual life. The result of those actions was a sense of worth and of spiritual strength.

I could, therefor, not understand how people claiming to serve God could act in a vile, hateful and callous manner like Phelps and his followers. The very basis of my spiritual practice strictly precluded me from similar actions. I couldn't even afford to entertain extreme emotions of disgust towards Phelps or Matthew's killers. For me that kind of disgust verges on hatred, which can undermine the kind spiritual strength that I had developed. My understanding of God's will for humanity had me strenuously participate in service to others, I worked to increase my compassion and to carry my good news to any who needed and wanted it
Under the circumstances, I wanted to make a difference, but I couldn't imagine what to do about Matthew Sheppard. I couldn't imagine what would allow me to comfort his friends and family or to seek justice on his behalf. Having no ideas for direct action, I resolved to work for the realization of a world, where no one would be subjected to the callous and evil treatment that Matthew had endured.

Around this time, I received word that a friend of mine was sick and that hospice had been called. A few years earlier, I had taken a job as a caregiver for mentally and physically disabled adults in a group home. Despite limitations imposed by their varied disabilities, the residents were like everyone else, in that they could be simultaneously inspiring and irritating, gentle and vindictive, in short ordinary people, whom I grew to love over the course of a few years. I had started a new line of work but when I heard that my favorite resident, a quadriplegic man had suffered a resurgence of cancer, that it was inoperable and he wouldn't be with us much longer, I rearranged my schedule to ensure that I could visit him regularly during the last weeks of his life. One night, after he slipped into a coma, I sat at his bedside with two other people and as John took his last breath, I held his hand. I reflected that despite his having suffered much in life, he had been fortunate to be surrounded by people who loved him as he walked that last length of life's path. It was a privilege to be there as the last glimmer of his human life flickered and extinguished. The power of that moment is inexorable, the surprise was how it reminded me of Dennis Sheppard's words to McKinney and Henderson at their sentencing trial in court:

By the end of the beating, his body was just trying to survive. You left him out there by himself, but he wasn't alone. There were his lifelong friends with him—friends that he had grown up with. You're probably wondering who these friends were. First, he had the beautiful night sky with the same stars and moon that we used to look at through a telescope. Then, he had the daylight and the sun to shine on him one more time—one more cool, wonderful autumn day in Wyoming. His last day alive in Wyoming. His last day alive in the state that he always proudly called home. And through it all he was breathing in for the last time the smell of Wyoming sagebrush and the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. He heard the wind—the ever-present Wyoming wind—for the last time. He had one more friend with him. One he grew to know through his time in Sunday school and as an acolyte at St. Mark's in Casper as well as through his visits to St. Matthew's in Laramie. He had God.

I feel better knowing he wasn't alone.

Sometimes through tragedy, people find grace. We can never be sure exactly where it comes from, but those moments of grace are what interest me today. They may be found in the face of overwhelming tragedy, in the tender good night ritual a parent has with a young child or the incredible charity that follows a natural disaster. Whatever the source, there is a deep reservoir of peace and generosity inside most people and when that reservoir runs free, it can inspire all who are touched to acts of generosity, compassion and grace. Some attribute this bent toward unconditional love to the shapeless hand of God inspiring the human will, others suggest that we access a sort of universal consciousness or over soul but the explanation which makes most sense to me is that human grace and compassion our an integral part of our genetic coding. That when our ancestors faced extinction roughly one hundred thousand years ago, they were forced to pull together and make communal organizations in a way that had never been done before.

Our ancestors then developed the ability to make long term plans, which would unfold over the course of several years, they developed complex communication and abstract thought. They learned to place greater importance on communal welfare than individual ambition. Those who served selfish ambition were likely ostracized and unable to procreate. After several generations, humanity's ancestors had developed a genetic predisposition towards social cohesion, giving genesis to our modern notion of morality.

On it's most basic level, that morality resonates deeply with most people and many of us yearn for a world where human relations are ruled by basic moral values which preclude killing, stealing, lying and which encourage charity and community spirit. In my experience, fundamental moral values are necessary for a vibrant spiritual life. It is true that among varied religious theologies, there are numerous disputes about specific articles of morality, for example many religions denounce homosexuality as evil, while others, like ours believe discrimination is the actual sin.

Omitting theological controversies, there are spiritual and moral principles common to most beliefs, which can, if nourished, blossom into a vibrant sense of spiritual wellbeing. My spiritual exploration began in 1995, with my joining AA, since then, I have attended several churches or retreats, studied and debated various theologies and philosophies and I have visited numerous locations thought to be holy or powerful. I experienced an unexpected twist in 2008, when my wife's cousin, who is also sober, asked if I had heard about the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster or "FSM". Since I hadn't, she sent me a web link and a note saying she thought I would find FSM entertaining. I read Bobby Henderson's open letter to the Kansas City School Board, which opens by applauding the school board's decision to split science class time in half. One half dedicated the theory of evolution, the other half used to teach intelligent design. Henderson indicates this is a good start but points out that there may be numerous intelligent design theories, and asks that equal class time be given to the theory that a Flying Spaghetti Monster, who controls both matter and time created the universe. Henderson creatively employs creationist arguments to support his FSM theory and ultimately claims that "Flying Spaghetti Monsterism" must be taught by someone wearing pirate regalia. Henderson provides a chart illustrating an inverse relationship between the population of pirates and global temperatures over the past 200 years, proving FSM's anger at the decline in pirate populations and demonstrating FSM's preference for pirates above others.

After reading Henderson's letter, I quickly joined online FSM forums, where I found FSM "followers" or "Pastafarians" to be intelligent, witty and refreshing. Periodically, an evangelizing Christian would join an FSM forum looking for Christian converts at which point, they would be engaged in lively and amusing debates. If the missionary persisted, Pastafarians would gently chide them, resulting in occasional complaints, which Pastafarians would respond to by asking what they expected when they sought Christian converts on a forum of atheists who claim membership a religion called "Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster" and who often post in Pirate Dialect?

The Pastafarian's disarming wit and indisputable logic converted me, I rejected the notion of a supreme being, particularly one which is interested in humanity. My loss of faith in God was disquieting, I worried about my sobriety, about my spiritual condition and about my morality. I tried for a short while to regain faith and forget the argument that if there had been any supreme being who wanted us to live a certain way, it would have left very clear and unmistakable instructions, leaving us no doubt and no basis for argument, controversy or misunderstanding. But without those divine instructions, I could no longer believe in God. My concern was that without God, morality lacks any basis in universal divine wisdom and it seemed that morality must therefor, be entirely subjective.

To my relief, as time continued her relentless march, I never lost my moral values. To the contrary, I realized that with no universal reward or justice, the choices we make about how to live, how to treat each other and how we care for this planet are of greater importance now than I had previously thought. Without God...when there is only us, with our genetic predisposition towards morality, with the suffering we experience, with the suffering we cause and with the suffering we are willing to tolerate, we become the sole source of evil. We are the masterminds, perpetrators and teachers of ill deed...We also have the power to end evil.

So while grace may indeed be something we plug into, I don't believe we plug into any ethereal over soul or receive any divine inspiration. Rather, I think we recognize and embrace an innate, genetic inclination towards moral behavior. We access a fundamental building block, which links us not only to the whole of humanity, but to all life on this planet. Our genetic code contains a wondrous history, chronicling life on this planet, linking us to the evolutionary miracle that continues to unfold. Our very building blocks are a tether to the interdependent web of existence. Far from endangering my spiritual quest or moral life, atheism illustrated to me the immediate necessity of living well. It made paramount the effort to create a just and compassionate world, to employ spiritual principles, to try my best to do right by my fellow travelers as I traverse the labyrinth of life's path.

I can no longer afford to be mollified by any promise that someday marriage equality will be realized, that it is inevitable and that now isn't the right time to push...there are too many loving souls who's rights are being denied right now, whose short, and precious lives are in a sense being sacrificed to quiet the chorus of bigotry.

I can no longer relax with complete contentment knowing that the sphere of my relations and loved ones are cared for, when I know that millions in my extended human family are being forced into economic, sexual or religious slavery. That they are chained to drudgery and made to cede a significant measure of their one fragile and precarious life to serve the remorseless avarice of others.

Faced with what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. called the fierce urgency of now, I can not be truly at peace when I know that throngs of brothers and sisters, parents and grandparents, children and infants live in terror every day. That they are ravaged with the invisible emotional scars of wars and conflicts that they never invited and over which they have no control.

We all have one life...one delicate, precarious and precious life. We get to decide how we will use that life, what we will serve with that life, who we will touch with that life. This congregation's mission statement ends with the words "Living our seven principles, we bring justice and compassion to our congregation, to our community, to our world. We are a beacon of Hope!"

That is a mighty declaration! It is inspiring and worthy of our efforts. Let us stand together, journey together and work together in service of animating that mission with breath and soul. Let us be that beacon of hope lighting the way...creating a world, where Matthew Shepard could have lived a long and happy life, meeting his end in the same manner as my friend in the group home, surrounded by loved ones and embraced by community. Let us stand strong on our values in the face of dissent and hold high the shining torches of our Unitarian and Universalist legacies. Let us do this for ourselves and for our posterity. Let us have courage, strength and wisdom! Let us be kind yet firm. Let it be so!