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People sometimes mistakenly believe that I have entered the ministry to shake their faith and to destroy religion. I say “mistakenly” because I believe that true faith is what emerges only after we have been radically honest about our lives.

Religion can be a helpful scaffold for nurturing the human spirit, but it can even more easily become a prison for hearts and minds. No one can honestly deny the atrocities and failures of religion. Most traditional religion does not answer the great questions of life. Still, I believe the answer to bad religion does not lay in spending our lives laughing at the people groping for light. I believe we need to re-connect with the deep human aspirations that originally gave birth to religion. Then we need to free those aspirations from the fossilized forms of religion that remain.

To believe in a religious symbol or to disbelieve in a religious symbol are both ways to miss the point. Living symbols are not superficial beliefs but beacons reminding us there is something more profound than our deepest values, something more expansive than our widest truths and something more creative than our highest purpose.

To me, “faith” is a trust in the life process, not in religion. But it is hard to sustain that trust without symbols that remind us of wider truths, rituals that awaken us to deeper qualities and practices that remind us of our shared life.

Healthy religion ALWAYS calls us beyond itself and into the shared living some call “love.” We do not need to call it “religion.” We do not even need to use the symbol “God.” Call it what you will, but do not let yourself go numb to your own aspiration to give yourself to moments of wonderment, to the aspiration to live your life as an art, and to give yourself away in compassionate service to our one common life.

Authentic faith can only emerge after our comfortable truths have died. I am not attacking religion to destroy it, but to seek out its deeper roots. The phoenix of love cannot be born if it has not passed through a terrible flame.

I love to study world religions because I love my species. I love to listen to ancient sages struggling to make sense of their world without adequate information. I have no wish to reduce my vision to their groping efforts, but I see my own world more fully when I look through their eyes, even for a moment.

It seems to me the ancients were feeling a tie that bound them to other species. They sometimes felt themselves to be a manifestation of some deeper source. Some cultures imagined the “tie that binds” to be a god or to be gods and goddesses. Even if one leaves what is being called religion today, our species is in deep need for revelations of interconnectedness.

Religion is always but the husk of a deeper intuition of wonderment and interconnection. We can easily become lost in religion’s husks and lose the experience that underlies the religious sentiment. Thich Nhat Hanh, the brilliant Buddhist priest, warned, “Do not be idolatrous about or bound to any doctrine, theory, or ideology, even Buddhist ones. All systems of thought are guiding means; they are not absolute truth.”

Religion is a tragic mistake when we take our beliefs to be truth and our practices to be ethical by definition. But I believe the ancients were haunted by an experience that can be very real. There IS a tie that binds us to each other. The species ARE our extended family. We ARE the offspring of cosmic sources. In a very real sense we are one.

We in the States have been taught to believe freedom as a kind of detachment. Because we have suckled at the cold empty breast of Ayn Rand, many of us believe ourselves to be independent and detached. If COVID should teach us anything it would be the interdependency of all life. A sick child far away IS our business. That means a child working in a sweat shop to make our American products more cheaply will come back to affect us. There may or may not be a heaven to reward the good and a hell to punish the evil. Karma may or may not be real. Still, in a very real sense because we are interconnected, what goes around eventually comes around.

The historic forms of religion can be bewitching and oppressive. No one is poorer for throwing away the empty husks of religion, but we CAN be poorer if we never have an experience of our intimate interwoveness with nature and with humankind. Our lives CAN be smaller if we do not realize we are children of the stars.

Environmentalist Wendell Berry expresses what some mystics were possibly trying to say in a way that is only enriched by his scientific understanding: “I would like you to show me, if you can, where the line can be drawn between an organism and its environment. The environment is in you. It’s passing through you. You’re breathing it in and out. You and every other creature.”

Hope often comes easy when we are young, As young seekers, we often believe we will someday discover unalloyed truth. As young artists, we often trust we will someday give birth to fully blossomed beauty.

After drinking from the bitter cup of experience it is understandable we would question the maturity of our earlier hopes. It is understandable we would question hope itself. But hope is not some wispy dream that may or may not be realized. Hope is our sense of the creative energy of life itself being expressed through our very being.

Hope cannot be defeated by any roll of fortune’s dice because it is not directed toward any one fate. Hope is an expression of the vitality of life itself. Hope beats silently behind the ebb and flow of events. Buried beneath a sea of ashes the hope cannot but dream of beauty. Chained to the withered tree of sorrow, hope whispers to give ourselves to each moment for the sake of something yet to be.

Hope is our trust in the creative unfolding of the universe even amid our own destruction. Hope is not some childish wish for a particular outcome in life. Hope is the assurance that the same creative energy driving the stars is ever to be found in our hearts as well.

Hope is living in the energy more profoundly within us than the temporary life we mistakenly call our own.

The Bhagavad Gita of Hinduism is one of the world’s great spiritual treasures. Gandhi often quoted the following verse of that great classic: “You have a right to your actions, but never to your actions’ fruits. Act for the action’s sake. And do not be attached to inaction.” (Bhagavad Gita 2:47, translation by Stephen Mitchell)

The Gita says somewhere else: “Be even-tempered in success and failure: for it is this evenness of temper which is meant by yoga.” As I understand it, the Gita’s suggestion is for us to focus on what we can control and let go of results that are beyond our control. In other words, we are to do our duty without fretting about setbacks and failures. Over time, this practice is a recipe for a life of activism that also allows us to live in peace and joy.

I met someone who embodied this wisdom. Architect, Tom Shefelman had stepped down from his major projects to help our little church build a new building. We had very little money and our budget would sometimes mean cutting back on the original plan. Tom would draw up wonderful designs only to be met with setbacks and delays. It was amazing to watch him delight in every challenge even if it meant going back to square one. Tom seemed to treat our project like a Tibetan sand painting. He did his best at all times, but, when fate would throw us a curveball, he did not waste a second in lament. Instead, Tom would smile whimsically and say something like, “Well, we could put a little window up high so the light will make the space more interesting.”

Tom is gone now, but I think of him often. Tom embodied for me the truth of the old Hindu maxim. By letting go of what we cannot control we can be fully creative in the present moment. Of course, we need to learn what we can from our failures, but we need never surrender to despair because our joy lies in doing our duty to love no matter what.

When we were designing our new church building, I wanted for us to come up with symbols that would represent the new understanding of Christianity for which we are seeking.

The stained glass window on our church’s steeple is a small wooden cross surrounded by a large colorful pattern known as a “mandala.” The cross is intended to represent our particular history, culture and vocabulary as Christians, and the mandala represents the insight that we are but one element in a beautiful pattern that should include us all.

The cross within a mandala is symbol that contextualizes our church within the common life of all. While our community is organized within a specific denomination, we realize we are called to blossom into a gift serving the whole world.

It is possible for one’s understanding of love to be selfish or sectarian, but it is also possible for one’s definition of love to be so abstract and universal that it is, for all practical purposes, inapplicable.

Unless we remember our own limited particularity, it can be a temptation to believe our group has copyrighted universality and to fight with each other over our various ideas of unity. The safest road is to recognize both our particularity AND our interconnectedness with the whole. We sing a very specific part in the song of life but we must sing in harmony with the whole.

The best statement I know of this principle of realizing our particularity within the larger unity is Diego Rivera’s description of his art: “I know now that those who hope to be universal in their art must plant in their own soil. Great art is like a tree, which grows in a particular place and has a trunk, leaves, blossoms, boughs, fruit, and roots of its own. The more native art is, the more it belongs to the entire world, because taste is rooted in nature. When art is true, it is one with nature. This is the secret of primitive art and also of the art of the masters Michelangelo, Czanne, Seurat, and Renoir. The secret of my best work is that it is Mexican.”

The cross within a mandala is a reminder that it is an accident of history whether we begin as Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Pagan, Atheist, Buddhist, Hindu or any other worldview. The important thing is to be rooted in the particularities of our own story in a way that blossoms as unique and beautiful flowers in service to the one tree of life.

Forget the word “religion” for a moment.

I want to know what rituals hold your life together? Do you light a candle when dining with a special person? Is there a song you turn to at times that are joyful or sad?

Does anything in your life fill you with so much reverence that you set it aside and refuse to use it for mundane purposes? Is there an ultimate value you are giving your life to?

Do you ever find yourself muttering a silent “thank you” to whatever it is that brings us all into being?

Do you ever feel yourself to be a wave in a lager ocean? Do you sometimes experience animals and plants as your extended family? Do you have a desire to share your life with others as an art form? Do you find yourself wanting to celebrate with the parents of a baby that has just been born or to sit with the bereaved at times of death? Does any part of you feel called to sit with the children and help them find their way as they begin their life’s journey?

It is not necessary to use the word “religion,” but how are you celebrating your life as an art? It is not necessary to use the word “God” but are you aware and grateful for the gift of being? It is not necessary to go to church or temple, but how do we share life’s journey with others so that none of us has to walk through life alone?

I’ve never found it particularly useful to discover whether someone does or doesn’t believe in God. I’ve met cruel or kind theists at about the same rate as cruel or kind non-theists.

The pivotal issue, it seems to me, is not whether someone believes in God, but whether one believes in the unified ground of of truth, beauty and goodness to which the symbol “God” should refer. The symbols of religion become divisive idols if we believe in them literally. We end up fighting over our symbols of unity, lying over our symbols of truth and reducing our symbols of beauty to boring rituals.

When we listen to religious symbols as beacons calling us to a common cosmic song it is easy to join hands with those who use other symbols, as well as those who do not choose to use religious symbols at all. A symbol, after all, almost by definition is pointing beyond itself to a wider and deeper experience of reality. A symbol should be a bridge to greater understanding not an intellectual resting home.

When Dr. King sat in jail, abandoned by so many in the church, he sometimes found inspiration in the works of the Existentialist, Albert Camus. Camus’ atheistic humanism led him into the same kind of passionate commitment to humanity King had discovered through his own theistic faith. In his lonely cell, Dr. King was comforted by the Atheist’s clarity and compassion.

Camus once wrote a beautiful “hymn” in the form of a letter: “In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love… In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile… In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm… I realized, through it all, that… In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

One can easily see why Dr. King would consider the Atheist Camus a close comrade in the struggle for love and justice. Symbols are like the glistening light on the surface of the ocean. They are beacons of an unthinkable depth out of which we all come, and of an incomprehensible breadth which holds us all.

I love living in Austin. Being a progressive pastor and activist has permitted me to be a fly on the wall in proximity to some remarkable people, not the least of which are the Rathers.

I recently saw the Documentary “Rather” which gives a glimpse into the career of journalist Dan Rather. Watching “Rather” I realized that the title probably should be in the plural because ALL the Rathers were vital elements of the story.

Living in Austin has allowed me to cross paths with the Rathers. Meeting Dan I was struck by his humility. Dan Rather has been a witness to history like few others. Dan took us nearer to the Kennedy assassination, behind the headlines of the Viet Nam War and into the chaos of the Chicago Democratic Convention. Still, Dan likes to quote Edward R. Murrow saying that his opinion “isn’t worth any more than the guy at the end of the bar.” Looking back at his own life, the journalist is as forthright about his mistakes as his successes.

Robin told me that Dan kept a Bible on his desk through all the tumultuous events of his career. His faith was always that the truth would set us free if we can muster the courage of our convictions.

And when I say Dan loves our nation, it seems to me he loves those ideals to which our nation has aspired but has never come close to reaching. The soundtrack of his patriotism is Ray Charles singing with sadness and with hope: “America, America may God thy gold refine. Til all success be nobleness, And every gain divine.”

As I say, watching the documentary I was powerfully struck by how central Dan’s whole family was to his story. Dan has lived his life in the limelight, but his family has been the oasis that made his journey possible. Meeting the family you can tell you they are all prophets just as equally in their own way.

Daughter Robin is a local activist extraordinaire. It seems to me Robin has the temperament of a Quaker or a Buddhist priestess. Still, she, understands that those who seek peace must struggle even more intensely than those who bring violence and destruction to our world.

An article in a local magazine quoted Robin as saying, “I literally wish we never had to fight, because I don’t enjoy it at all. I’m just wired for oneness. But for the greater good, sometimes you have to warrior up and fight back.” Thus, Robin struggles at the local level on behalf of all the earth and all its people.

Dan’s wife Jean is an artist. She served on the New York Art Commission for either years. Jean honors all human art starting with cave art. Like Dan, Jean is a witness to the world, but her gift is to see the hidden beauty and goodness even in the ugliest of circumstances. Jean and Dan’s home is filled with beautiful art which I’m sure provided a him a respite from the brutal realities he was witnessing.

In some ways, the center of the family is Dan’s grandson Andy. To Dan and Jean, Andy is their heart’s treasure and am ambassador of their hopes for a better world. In the article I mentioned earlier, Robin says, “Look, I’ve done the money thing, the fame thing, and power thing, but nothing, nothing compares to being Andy’s mom.”

Like I say, the documentary was called “Rather,” but Dan’s story would be unthinkable without ALL the Rathers. The documentary spends almost as much time on Dan’s mistakes as his successes. But. We all make makes. We all fall short. Dan Rather is not an exception to that rule. I think the documentary is saying that even when we cannot do things perfectly, even when we face a hostile world, love allows us to do together what we cannot do alone. It is love that allows our frightened species to limp through history’s darkest midnights and yet still be filled with light.

What does it mean to speak of hope after we have accepted evolution and realized the web of life cares nothing for our petty human dramas? What does it mean to speak of hope once we have accepted the laws of physics and realized that, because of entropy, the universe is winding down like a top not ascending in never ending progress?

In biology, life and death are not definitive terms. The seed dies into the soil in order to give new life. From the moment of birth our life is moving irrevocably toward death, but when we contemplate a nearby field we can see new life growing out of that which has died.

Far from the fragile ephemeral nature of our own personal lives, our larger ecological life is ferocious. Antoine de Saint-Exupery said that all of us are messengers of a thing greater than ourselves. From this point of view, despair is the rejection of the larger life of which our little lives are but an expression.

Hope means not being deceived by the puppet figures dancing before us in the shape of personal success or failure. Hope is not some desired outcome, but the energy that drives our own hearts and the hearts of the great whales as well. Life pulses not only through our blood but also in the sap of trees, life will be throbbing even in the grass that will grow upon our graves.

Hope means living in the whole. Hope is not some wispy dream that may or may not be realized. Hope is trusting in the creative unfolding of the universe. When a modern human looks at the heavens we now realize the constellations are not the expression of a clockwork precision as thought by the creationists of old.

We now realize the beauty of the night sky consists of random explosions. We are the pale lights of a cosmic fireworks display. Our meaning does not come from arriving at our human goals, but in manifesting what it means to be human beings in just such a cosmos as this.

We were not born into the cosmos, we ARE the cosmos. What appears to us as empty space is the womb of a life process we see in swamps and meteors alike.

Hope is remembering that we are not only prisoners of time doomed to execution, we are also expressions of that wild frenzied life holding more in common with lightening than with what will be left in our graves. Hope is realizing our meaning is not contingent upon the spin of some cosmic roulette wheel and that our life’s meaning can be manifested as fully in defeat as in victory, sometimes more so.

I do not believe in a physical hell. The idea of eternal punishment for sins committed by a tiny mortal species would be a crime worse than anything HItler did. At least those vicious torments had an end.

It seems to me the symbol of hell developed to express human fears of time itself. Time itself can seem like a cosmic furnace devouring us all. Perhaps the original question was how to pass through the fires of time with our souls intact.

There is a wonderful quote online. The quote is supposedly by Meister Eckhardt but I haven’t found it in any of his original works. Instead, I found it in a movie called “Jacob’s Ladder” by Bruce Joel Rubin. The quote says:“The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won’t let go of your life: your memories, your attachments. They burn ’em all away. But they’re not punishing you,’ he said. ‘They’re freeing your soul. If you’re frightened of dying, and you’re holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. If you’ve made your peace then the devils are really angels freeing you from the earth.”

The Buddha gave what has been called the “Fire Sermon” (The Adittapariyaya Sutta) which gives a similar warning about attachment:”The mind is burning, ideas are burning, mind-consciousness is burning, mind-contact is burning, also whatever is felt as pleasant or painful or neither-painful-nor-pleasant that arises with mind-contact for its indispensable condition, that too is burning. Burning with what? Burning with the fire of lust, with the fire of hate, with the fire of delusion. I say it is burning with birth, aging and death, with sorrows, with lamentations, with pains, with griefs, with despairs.”

There is a sense in which time consumes everything we would hold onto. When we try to possess and control life, it can feel like we are being tortured. Life can feel like hell as every beloved object is torn from our clutching fingers one after another.

The symbols of religion must teach our hearts that life is a mixture of beauty and pain. It must also affirm that the beauty is worth the pain. We are not being punished by life’s changes. Entering into mortality was the condition of our very birth. Salvation is not escape from the fire.

Salvation is realizing that life IS change. Salvation is realizing we ARE the fire not what is being burned. The creative principle that brings us into being is not an object we can possess. It is more like an eternal heart we must live out of fearlessly and completely. We must learn to love the fire in all of its ephemeral shapes and know there is one love burning within it all.