Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell

First Unitarian Church
Portland, Oregon

March 22, 1998

“You can have as much of God as you want. These seminary preachers don’t understand that. They don’t understand the spirit of the Lord. They’re taught by man. They know the forms of godliness, but they deny the power."

In the fall of 1991 in Scottsboro, Alabama, a snake-handling preacher named Glendel Buford Summerford tries to murder his wife, Darlene. He forces her at gunpoint to stick her arm into a box of rattlesnakes. She is bitten twice and nearly dies. A reporter from The New York Times, a man named Dennis Covington, goes down to cover the trial. His people were from this place two generations ago, and through his research, he discovers some were snake-handlers. He decides to explore this insular culture and take up the serpents himself. The following is an account of the first time he actually participates in the ritual.

The church was small, covered with waves of linoleum. There were only twelve pews in the place. Portraits of Jesus hung on the walls, and a faded tapestry of “The Last Supper.” Up front was a flat wooden serpent box. “The longer you witness snake-handling, the more you become a part of it,” writes Covington. “I did, and the handlers could tell. They knew before I did what was going to happen. They saw me angling in. They were already making room for me in front of the deacons’ bench. So I got up there in the middle of the handlers. And yes, it was the big rattler, the one with my name on it, acrid-smelling, carnal, alive. As low as it was, as repulsive, if I took it, I’d be possessing the sacred. Nothing was required except obedience. Nothing had to be given up except my own will. I stepped forward and took the snake with both hands. I turned to face the congregation and lifted the rattlesnake up toward the light. It was moving like it wanted to get up even higher, to climb out of that church and into the air. And it was exactly as the handlers had told me. I felt no fear. The snake seemed to be an extension of myself. And suddenly there seemed to be nothing in the room but me and the snake. Everything else had disappeared—all gone, all faded to white. And I realized that I, too, was fading into the white. I could see the snake’s scales shimmering in the light, and the way its head moved from side to side, searching for a way out. I knew then why the handlers took up serpents. There is power in the act of disappearing; there is victory in the loss of self.¹

This group of snake handlers is one end of the spectrum of religious life in America today. But if you believe that the typical religious conservative is some weird Gothic character from a Flannery O’Connor story, you would be wrong. Dead wrong. Let’s get our terms straight, first of all, and see what we mean when we speak of evangelicals, pentecostals, and fundamentalists. The most inclusive designation is evangelical, an umbrella term usually associated with being born again, interpreting the Bible literally, spreading the gospel to the unsaved, and a belief that the end of time is coming. There are different wings within the movement, however, including nonfundamentalist progressives like the Sojourners, for example, which make up about 20 per cent of evangelicals. Pentecostals overlap with evangelicals, but pentecostals are characterized by their stress on the immediate and spontaneous experience of the Spirit of God. These charismatic movements are taking hold not only in traditional Holiness churches but in mainline faiths like Catholic, Methodist, and Episcopal. Scholar Harvey Cox claims that this is the fastest growing Christian movement on earth and estimates that world-wide in all its varied forms, it claims over 400 million adherents. It is not mainly a rustic religion, but is spreading most rapidly in urban centers. The fundamentalists, on the other hand, are suspicious of the pentecostal reliance on personal testimony and ecstatic experience, and instead place their faith in the authority of the scripture, which they interpret literally. In addition, the fundamentalists believe that their path is the only true path, and the only way to salvation. They are a smaller group within the evangelicals, and by far the most vocal.

The “born again” group is growing. That is clear. In 1990 a survey showed that of the 500 fastest-growing Protestant congregations in the U.S., 89 percent were evangelical. Approximately 40 percent of Americans believe that the Bible is the literal word of God. Eighty per cent believe that they will appear before God on judgment day. And, surprising to me, nearly 1/3 of all Americans say they believe in the rapture—that is, the end of time will come and Jesus will appear again. Conservative evangelicals number about 80,000,000 Americans. And listen to this—20,000,000 of these true believers have incomes exceeding $50,000 a year. They have the money to fund their convictions, and they do.

Who are these educated, relatively well-off people who believe that the rest of us are going to hell? They are business people, engineers, computer software consultants, accountants, and civil servants. They are individuals with college degrees and good jobs. I discovered this for myself when I visited my brother and sister-in-law in Chicago a few years back. During my visit, they happened to be hosting a family support group from their church, which met in different homes each week. About 10 or 12 of them showed up. They were all professionals, doing well, pursuing the American dream. I was accepted warmly into the group, and we began a discussion about how to keep the family strong. I listened until the “keep the women barefoot and pregnant” solution was presented, and I could contain myself no longer. They smiled and tolerated me, but it was obvious that the leader was only humoring me. After all he was the leader, and I was only a woman, and this group believed that women were incapable of being leaders. How can this happen, I asked myself—this group of intelligent people could be caught up in this movement? I began to look for answers.

For one thing, they are invited. An engraved invitation arrives in the morning mail. You are invited to a dinner party at one of the city’s nicest hotels. You wonder. You don’t know the hostess, but she has written a personal note explaining that an old friend of yours from business school gave her your name. So you stop by the party. You see some familiar faces from the fitness club, and you see a business friend. He rushes over and says he’s thrilled you could be there because tonight could be the most significant night of your life. “Our speaker is going to talk about Jesus Christ,” he says.²

The organization that sponsored this event is Grady House, of which Sam is the executive director. Let me tell you Sam’s story. Sam led a happy, middle class life until his mid-forties or so. His children were doing all right, and the family lived in an expensive home in a good neighborhood. Sam worked every waking moment at his job, which was selling dog food for an advertising firm. Somehow, his life lacked something. Then he missed a crucial promotion at his agency, and the suggestion was made that he might never become a partner in the firm. Then his wife, who was depressed, committed suicide. In the middle of this crisis, he attended an evangelical dinner, where he heard the testimony of a prominent lawyer. The man talked of the new “peace and direction” he had found after establishing a relationship with Christ. Sam was impressed and started attending Bible study sessions. He kept reading and talking to people, seeking guidance. Finally one night he prayed, asking Jesus into his life. He became available for a fundamental change in his life course. He began volunteering for evangelical work with businessmen and found he was very good at that. He was remarried to a woman who warmly supported the changes he was making, and finally he was asked to head up Grady House, a richly endowed center for Bible study and outreach to business executives. Grady House offers free dinners in elegant settings for as many as 700, including business leaders and members of the Social Register.

Again comes the question, why do so many respond? Is it just the free dinner? No, says Charles Strozier in his book Apocalypse, a study of the psychology of fundamentalism. He explains, speaking of his research: “All fundamentalists I met described their personal narratives as broken in some basic way. Before rebirth in Christ they described their lives as unfulfilled, unhappy, and usually evil. . . . . Faith healed them.” Like Sam. But are the rest of us so different? This sense of brokenness and isolation and meaninglessness is prevalent in our culture. How many people in the advertising industry sell dog food or the equivalent and feel that surely life must hold more than this? I do think, however, that in the fundamentalist mentality is characterized by a kind of bifurcation of goodness and evil, a kind of reductionism that places everyone on one side or the other. They have experienced pain and sin in their lives, and they see Satan lurking everywhere, ready to take over if they give him a chance. Their lives have been transformed, and they believe that you, too, can have the peace which they claim—but only by strictly following the one true path. Their inability to consider that truth may be more challenging, more complex, than they see it comes from fear: their truth is what keeps despair away from the door.

Another appeal of fundamentalism—at least the pentecostal variety—is the compelling nature of what Harvey Cox calls “primal spirituality.” Practitioners speak in tongues, give themselves to visions, dreams, dancing, healing. For many thoughtful people, these forms of expression seem strange and even scary, but long before primal scream therapy and liturgical dance and dream interpretation workshops the early pentecostals were engaging in worship that included mystical elements.³ People are hungry for more than words, words, words in their religious life. They want more music, more movement, more incarnational expression-- that is, expression that includes the body, the emotions. Eros is not as far from agape as we thought. Many of you may have seen the fine film “The Apostle” currently playing in Portland. Robert Duval gives a portrayal of a charismatic preacher who, though a flawed human being, conveys a powerful religious message to people who want to express their faith through their whole being. They want ecstatic expression and release. They want to be filled with the fire of the Spirit. I can understand that. I wish we could be freer in our UU churches. Freer to move. Freer to say amen, if we felt like it. Freer to worship with our bodies as well as our minds. I’m not ready for the rattlesnakes yet, but we need to loosen up! I’m tired of hearing us called “God’s frozen people.”

Continuing on. People respond to the message of the fundamentalists because these folks take evil seriously. They understand that there are forces at work in the world and in each one of us that would tear us from the good. They know that repentance and forgiveness are human needs. They are calling our attention to the pain of our families and of our young people, and they understand that radical solutions are called for. Their solutions are all too often regressive, we believe, and divisive instead of compassionate and inclusive. They label folks like us “secular humanists.” They want to discredit Darwin and teach creationism. They want only one kind of sexual experience to be sanctified.

Which reminds me of a story. On a Christian radio station, word went out that Barney the Dinosaur came from hell. According to a minister from North Carolina, the lovable tyrannosaur was “a tool of Satan” and “a new-age demon.” He was lavender, the minister said, and therefore promoted homosexuality. Then two other regulars on PBS, Bert and Ernie, were outed. “They live together in a one-bedroom house, never do anything without each other, and exhibit feminine characteristics,” one minister said. As word spread that the muppets were homosexual, executives at Children’s Theater Workshop felt compelled to refute the charge. “Bert and Ernie,” they stated in a press release, “do not portray a gay couple, and there are no plans for them to do so in the future.”

So sometimes the fundamentalists descend to the ludicrous. But give it to them, they do see that the secular world has failed us. They see the greed and materialism, they see the violence, they see the breakdown of the family and the disaffection of the young. Liberal religious folk—not just Unitarian Universalists, but other mainline religious liberals--have too long been silent on these issues and have in fact too often been co-opted by the secular values of our culture. Garry Trudeau in his Doonesbury cartoon lampoons the Unitarians from time to time. He shows the beleaguered minister telling the prospective members about volleyball and yoga and support groups—but never mentioning religion. People are attracted to the fundamentalists because they recognize evil, call for morality, and ask for deep commitment. They are unapologetically religious.

Wait a minute—they are successful because they ask for strong commitment? Yes, the fastest growing groups today are those that ask for the most, not the least, commitment. Take the Mormons, for example, who are growing faster than any other single group. Not only do they ask for a hefty tithe of one’s income, but every young person is asked to give two years of service as a missionary. How do we explain this? Because people want to be taken seriously, and want to be committed to some endeavor that is greater, that is nobler than themselves. High commitment churches grow. In terms of financial commitment, these folks beat us hands down. The fact is that Unitarian Universalists have the highest average income of any religious group with the exception of the Reformed Jews, and yet we give approximately ½ of the amount of mainline Christian groups, and I’m sure less still than fundamentalist groups.

These folks are not only committed in terms of their giving and in terms of their personal ministry, but they are committed in terms of their spiritual growth. In January I flew to Grand Rapids, MI, to preach, and on the morning of my return I found myself in my hotel having breakfast right next to a table of seven or eight men who were having what appeared to be a Bible study breakfast. That wasn’t what I had hoped for at 8:00 in the morning over poached eggs, but as I listened, I became fascinated with what I heard. In the first place, it was obvious that understanding the scripture was crucial to them. They had studied the passage in Genesis ahead of time and they put forward their opinions earnestly. Their leader, a lay person himself, was a bit of a bully and kept correcting their interpretations—I kept wanting to interrupt him and say, “Let these people speak! That’s how they learn!” but I wisely restrained myself. But I had to admire the fact that these men were all stirred up about scripture, that they committed themselves on a regular basis to the study of what they considered to be God’s word. What would be our equivalent of a prayer breakfast, I wondered. Would we ever be that passionate, that committed, to this search for truth that we talk about so easily?

And the fundamentalists are committed politically. This is the scary part for me. They are committed, and they are successful. They are the ones who largely financed the anti-gay ballot measures here in Oregon—and almost got them passed. Many supported apartheid in S. Africa and the Contras in Central America. They are lobbying heavily for state governments to pass restrictive laws around abortion rights. Extremists in their number are responsible for the violence at abortion clinics. They sponsor book booking and book banning. And massive numbers of them are running for political office in every state. Since 1989, 12,000 conservative Christians have been elected to school boards in this country, and many states are politically dominated by these fundamentalist activists, including all of the deep South, Texas, California, and most of the West Coast. Ralph Reed, the former director of the Christian Coalition, introduced sophisticated organizational techniques nationwide, with the goal of taking over the Republican Party and Congress. This country has now moved so far to the right that there is no such thing as the left, except in third party groups. These deeply committed people are organized, they are funded well, and they are determined that their morality will also be your morality and my morality.

We have a sense of what they’re doing wrong. But instead of just wringing our hands in self-righteousness, we need to ask ourselves what we’re doing wrong and how we can learn from them.

First of all, they are clear about who they are and what their commitment is. We have to be clear about our own religious identity. And I emphasize the word religious. We are not a club, we are not a discussion group, we are not here chiefly for fellowship with, as we say, “like-minded people.” No, we are here for spiritual growth and discernment. Further, we are here to take the fruits of our religious faith and bless one another and to bless the larger community. Everything we do here, from serving coffee to witnessing for racial justice, should have a religious dimension. We must be in the world, but not of the world. We must ask ourselves concerning every event we sponsor, “Why are we doing this in a church and not at the City Club or in the Continuing Education program of a college?” Otherwise, we fall into a kind of secularism that fails to distinguish us religiously and furthermore will not afford the spiritual grounding we need to sustain us.

And then we need to think in terms of radical mission. Not just a band-aid approach, the way most liberals are wont to do. Our way has been to tinker with the system, so as not to make ourselves too uncomfortable. We’re pretty self-satisfied, really. After all, we’re doing OK, most of us. The stock market is strong. Oh, we would like to see fewer homeless people on the streets. More diversity. Health care for everyone—if, of course, it doesn’t cost us too much. Welfare reform would be good—gee, I hope those people can get jobs. We need to understand that our well-meant tinkering with an unjust system hasn’t been very effective, really. In fact, we’re losing ground on almost every count. We need a deeper understanding of class conflict and what that has to do with big money and politics. We need to understand that, yes, there are forces of evil to contend with in our own lives, but the really devastating sin is systemic sin—that is, the sin of a political and economic system that disregards the needs of so many so that the greed of a few can be satisfied.

And third there is commitment. We cannot afford any longer to take a casual approach to our faith. We need to take our own spiritual development seriously, whether that means study, or engaging in a spiritual discipline, or joining together with others to explore the making of meaning in our lives. We need to be financially committed to our church in a much stronger way than we have every been—and we’re doing better, we’re getting there, I’m glad to say. Work up to a pledge that represents 5 per cent of your income. We need to tell others about this faith of ours, if we think it has value. “Oh, I don’t want to proselytize,” we say, and people who would love to know we exist never find out. We need to ask of ourselves—not how is the church meeting my needs—but rather what does my faith require of me? How can I best serve this institution and my community because of who I have become religiously?

I know I’m asking a lot of you this morning. But aren’t the principles of our faith worth the kind of commitment I’m asking of you? Principles like freedom of conscience, the motivating power of love, the belief in the inherent worth and dignity of all people? I’ll tell you outright—I have no hidden agenda: I’m inviting transformation here, for me and for all of you. The stakes are too high for us to drift along in complacence. You have only your one life to live, and you want to live it well. And we have this one moment in history that it our own. Will we drift on through it, or will we give ourselves away, out of radical love, to bring about healing and wholeness?

Remember Dennis Covington, the writer-turned-snake-handler I told you about? He was right, you know. There is power in disappearing. There is victory in the loss of self.

So be it. Amen.

¹ Dennis Covington, Salvation on Sand Mountain. Addison-Wesley Publishing Company: Reading, MA, 1995, pp. 168-170. I have shortened and adapted this passage for inclusion in this sermon.

² Deidre Sullivan, “Targeting Souls,” American Demographics, October 1991, p. 42.

³ Harvey Cox, Fire from Heaven. Addison-Wesley Publishing Co.: Reading, MA, 1995, pp. 81-83.

Copyright © 2000, Reverend Dr. Marilyn Sewell. All rights reserved.