The “F” Word:
Some Thoughts on Faith

A sermon delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of the New River Valley, March 16, 2003, by the Reverend Christine Brownlie.

It was obvious to me that the gentleman at the microphone was distressed, but even so he waited politely for Bill Sinkford, the President of the Unitarian Universalist Association, to recognize him. Bill had been speaking to a group of UUs who were gathered at our church in Richmond for a “Day of Possibilities,” a training session for UUs from all over Virginia on how to lobby our legislators to promote our point of view on issues that concerned us. Bill spoke of our association of congregations as a “community of faith.” He reminded us of the ethics and power of “our liberal faith.” In an earlier speech given to the same group that morning, Bill had used the word “faith” several times. When he was invited to speak, the gentleman said he was disturbed by the word “faith.” In his eyes, we are a community of reason and he said he looked forward to the time when we would return to the glory days of rational humanism, the golden era of our religious movement.

I’ll share Bill’s response with you later, because it deals the broader issue of religious language. But first I want to consider the implications that I heard in the statement of the gentlemen who objected, very politely yet very decisively, to the word faith as applied to our religious tradition. What I heard in the objection that was made to Bill’s comments were the following points:

• Reason has no need for faith, and our power as a movement lies in our commitment to reason above all other human faculties.
• As a movement, we lose power and weaken our claims to truth when we include faith as a way of knowing truth.

Faith, said a wag, is believing in what you know ain’t so. That’s the way a lot of us tend to think about faith. Faith means believing in things that can’t be proven: things like miracles, revelations, and visions. Faith is accepting that something is true, simply because it’s written in a special book, or taught to us by an authority who can’t be questioned. Faith reminds us of the bumper sticker that reads,

“God said it. The Bible teaches it. That’s good enough for me!”

For many of us, the words “faith” and “religion” are synonymous. So if we’re bothered by the word religion, then faith will also trouble us. And even if we do accept the old idea that faith and reason are partners in spiritual matters, for us it is usually reason that we see as higher authority.

This is a very narrow understanding of the concept of faith, and I think that all of us know that there are layers of meaning that surround this word. Some of the most thoughtful work on faith comes to us from James Fowler, who has spent most of his life studying the development of faith in human consciousness; much the way others have studied cognitive development. Fowler understands faith as the wellspring of values, hopes, dreams, images, goals and purposes that give direction and shape to our lives. He says that we all have a core set of values, a faith that is our bedrock and beyond which we cannot go. If we are challenged to defend the values that are at the ground of our being, we can only blush and stammer. Words fail us, and we can go no deeper.

Faith doesn’t have to include a belief in divine beings or church doctrines. It does have everything to do with the way we engage in life and find meaning in our numbered days. It has everything to do with how we see ourselves in relationship to others who share our sense of meaning and purpose.

Another way to approach faith is through the language of Paul Tillich, who asks us to look at the “centering values” of our lives. What are the ultimate concerns that call forth true devotion and real worship? These can be anything from among our own ego, material possessions, our work, status, family, a beloved partner, an institution, a nation, or a church. Our ultimate concerns are the things to which we give our lives in a wager that in the end they will make our lives meaningful and fulfilling. We give our deepest love and most costly loyalty to our ultimate concerns. If you’re not sure what your ultimate concerns are, ask yourself what will be engraved on you tombstone as the legacy of your life. What do you live — not wish for or talk about — but live?

Let me give you one more facet of the definition of faith: the idea of trust. Richard Neibuhr saw faith growing through relationships with those who are close to us. If we experience trust and fidelity, then we are more likely to have faith in the goodness of life and a sense of an overarching, integrating, and grounded trust in a center of value and power that gives our lives the sense of unity and meaning that we long for.

This notion of trust resonates with me at an experiential level. Because of my own life experiences and relationships with important people, I trust that my life matters, that the meaning of my life is enhanced by connecting with others, whether through my family, or friendships, or through my ministry with this congregation. I have faith that my values matter in this world, that my own “ultimate concerns” affect the lives of others. It matters how I live — beyond the daily gratifications, frustrations, and disappointments of my own life. I am not “my own person” singular and self-made. I believe that we are all connected to each other and to all living things through “miracle and mystery.” This is a faith statement. I’m not sure that I could prove it through any method of hypothesis, observations, theories, or double blind studies. And I couldn’t be bothered to spend the time to conduct such studies. I believe it is true, and this belief or faith statement is a core of my life.

Another core faith statement of my life is the claim that we lift up, as our first principle, the inherent worth and dignity of every person. I don’t know if the gentleman who protested Bill Sinkford’s use of the work faith really believes this statement, but certainly many UUs would echo his sentiments. Whether we are humanists, atheists, Buddhists or theists, many of us see this statement as the grounding of our Principles and Purposes. This is not just a “new age” personal belief, but a claim that comes from our liberal heritage and which has become a part of our covenanted community.

The problem is that this statement can’t be proved by either reason or experience. There are many days when I’m not at all sure that it is really true, but somehow I hold on to it through all of the horrifying news reports of ethnic cleansing and the abuse of little children and the terrifying consequences of war. I can’t ignore the realities of life, but I also can’t deny my faith that every person does in truth posses a core of dignity and the potential for goodness and compassion. Yes every person, even Saddam Hussein, even those in our government with whom I disagree on so many issues.

For me, faith is as necessary for life as breathing, and I suspect that if that gentleman who took issue with Bill Sinkford over this word were to consider the layers of meaning that we’ve explored today, he might find it more acceptable and maybe even wonderfully descriptive. Or, like some of us, he might suggest that we use some different words instead of this very loaded one that is so contaminated with old and painful connotations. Why can’t we use “world view “ or “belief system” or “grounding values” instead of “faith”? Fowler argues in favor of the word “faith.” He says,

“There is no other concept that holds together those various interrelated dimensions of human knowing, valuing, committing, and acting that must be considered together if we want to understand the making and maintaining of human meaning.”

I’d like to add one other important reason for using this difficult and even offensive word. It is part of a vocabulary of words that we UUs have abandoned, turned over to others who have reshaped and colored these words. There are those in our movement who say that we need to reclaim these words and renew our own connection to the vocabulary of theological language. Bill’s column in a recent edition of the UU World calls on us to re-examine and re-claim the common vocabulary used by people of many religions.

For some of us, this work of reclaiming won’t be easy. It might be that our understanding of the scope of theological language is limited, or we’ve had a bad experience because someone used a word to call up shame in us, or abused the meaning of a word and used it to excuse damaging behavior. Carl Sandburg was right: there are words that wear long hard boots, and the words associated with religion and belief can have steel toes too.

Knowing this, I appreciated Bill Sinkford’s response to his critic, because the words Bill chose were honest, yet kind and soft. What he did in his response was to move the dialogue away from the debate about whether we are a community of faith or a community of reason. (He said that both apply to our way of the spirit.) Instead, he went into a broader discussion of religious language. Bill said that he finds our Principles and Purposes lacking in the kind of language that calls us to explore and contemplate the depths of the spiritual quest that we claim as our way of doing religion. He says that we may not be a creedal faith,

“ ... but we do affirm the importance of an individual credo.”

And he encourages us to use religious language to explore those depths, so that we can explain our way of the spirit to other people who use a theological vocabulary, and so that we are more deeply grounded ourselves.

Again, we might ask why shouldn’t we have words of our own — words that, to paraphrase Emerson, express our unique and original relationship with the universe? My colleague, the Rev. David Bumbaugh, a Humanist to the core, offers a powerful reason: so that we can get back into the arena as a religious community and be taken seriously by other peoples of faith. David believes that Humanists, who

“... once offered a serious challenge to liberal religion, now find [themselves] increasingly engaged in a monologue.”

This has happened because we no longer have the words that will engage people from other religions.

“We have manned the ramparts of reason and are prepared to defend the citadel of the mind, ... But in the process of defending, we have lost…the ability to speak of that which is sacred, holy, of ultimate importance to us. We no longer possess the language which would allow us to enter into critical dialogue with the religious community.”

Brumbaugh calls the language we have lost, a “vocabulary of reverence.”

How can we do this work? I’d suggest that we turn to the poets like Mary Oliver, Billy Collins and W. S. Merwin; essayists like Wendell Berry and Annie Dillard who open doors of mystery and transcendence that we find in the everyday world of nature and daily life. I’d suggest that we set aside our goal-driven, multi-tasking lives — at least for a couple of hours a week — and spend some time in reflection and connection with the natural world. Something as simple as sitting for a half an hour a day looking at our own backyard and writing about what we see, can open our eyes to a universe that, in the words of David Brumbaugh,

“... continually incarnates itself in microbes and maples, in hummingbirds and human beings, constantly inviting us to tease out the revelation contained in stars and atoms and every living thing.”

In these words we hear the intimations of the sacredness of life, without the necessary presence of a supernatural being or hard-and-fast doctrines of evil and salvation. Even so, other religious people can resonate with these words and enter into a dialogue that includes us, instead of responding with a polite conversation-ending silence or startled hostility. Perhaps, as we engage people of other religious traditions in a discussion of faith, we will get to matters of hope and meaning, and discover common ground where we can stand together for the causes that represent our shared life values. We may rely on different books, or use different images and rituals, but we may discover that our ideas of justice and community are very similar. We may even find that we can work together!

Faith is a forest in which doubts play and hide;
insight can hear the still small voice deep inside.
Web of Life, may this thread I weave
strengthen commitment to all I believe
Vision be my guide as I seek my way
lead me into this tender day;
speak through me in all I do and say.

These words by Shelly Jackson Denham, a UU composer, connect faith to our human experiences of wondering, reflecting on life and spiritual growth. This is a lovely expression of faith as we know it in our way of the spirit. For us, faith isn’t something that we receive through doctrine and age-old tradition. We grow our faith through the faculties of reason, experience and listening to the still small voice within. Our faith in ourselves, in others, in the values that guide us, and in the goodness of life isn’t static, but something that grows and breathes and maybe even hibernates during the cold hard times of life. If our faith is well placed, then our lives will be well rooted like an old tree, roots dug down, ready for the storms and the wind. May your faith, like the roots of a sturdy oak, keep you anchored and nourished and well grounded.

May it be so

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