by Cecilia Kingman Miller, Summer Minister

A sermon given August 10, 2003

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

Last Sunday, as I was trying to relax after church, I happened to open the Editorial section of the Oregonian, and found an article by Associate Editor, David Reinhard, titled “Jesus of Nazareth: Lord or Lunatic?”

The article’s topic was the suspension of a Danish pastor who, as Reinhard declared, held some “decidedly un-Christian views,” including a lack of  “belief in the afterlife, in the resurrection, in the Virgin Mary.”  Particularly galling to Reinhard were the pastor’s statements that Jesus was “a nice guy,” “a great moral teacher, an admirable human being.”

Reinhard pulled out some serious ammunition, quoting C.S. Lewis’s book “Mere Christianity.”  Lewis, a prominent theologian, wrote:  “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher…You must make your choice.  Either he was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse.”

I was both annoyed and amused by the article.  It irked me to know that, for the first time, I agreed with David Reinhard.  Jesus is more than just a nice guy.  But to say that you must choose between God or Lunatic is, in my opinion, wrong. And, knowing that this Sunday’s sermon would be on Unitarian Christianity, I was amused by the irony that the very issue upon which our own faith was established still plays in our local paper. 

The year is 325 A.D.  The setting: Nicea.  Emperor Constantine has called a general council of all the churches in the Holy Roman Empire to settle an argument so vicious and violent, it threatens the unity of the empire.  The question: the nature of Jesus Christ, human or divine?

Three sides have emerged: The first group, led by the priest Athanasius, asserts that Jesus is the same as God, one with the Father.  The second group, led by another priest, Arius, proclaims that Jesus was essentially different from God, being human.  Both groups were in the minority, for a larger group offered a compromise: that Jesus had two natures, divine and human. 

The roots of this argument lay in the century after Jesus’ death.  Christianity began as a Jewish sect.  A small reform movement, its leader was a charismatic prophet and spiritual genius.  People began to believe he was the Messiah, the anointed one who was prophesied to save the Hebrew people from their oppression. 

That is what Christ means, Christos, the anointed one.  When I was little I thought it was Jesus’ last name—Jesus Christ.  But it was merely a title.  And the term Christian meant only “one who followed the anointed one.”  It didn’t connote faith in miracles or belief in certain doctrines: it meant only that you followed the reformed Jewish faith taught by Jesus.

And then Jesus was martyred, most likely for being a troublemaker.  He was nailed to a cross because that was the usual form of justice in those times. 

In the century after Jesus’ death, his memory became interlaced with legend.  As his disciples began to include Greek gentiles, his story was influenced by the Hellenistic concept of the Logos, an intermediary between the Holy and humans.  This Logos was eternal and infinite. 

The growing mythology of Jesus was also influenced by the Persian religion of Zoroastrianism, popular among the Roman soldiers.  In this religion the God of the Sun, Mithra, was revered.  Mithra was born of a Virgin, and his birthday was the Solstice, in those days December 25.  Shepherds were in attendance at his birth.  At the end of his life, he and his followers “shared a last supper, which was later commemorated by believers in a communion of bread and wine.  Further, the hero was said not to have died but to have returned to heaven, and his followers believed that he would come again at the end of the world.  Then the dead would rise from their graves for a final judgment.”[i][i]

Sound familiar?  Anthropologists tell us that it is common in human history for religions to influence one another and even combine over time.  Gradually, the Logos, Mithra, and the Christos merged as a new religion called Christianity. Jesus became so much more than a religious reformer, or even the Jewish Messiah.  He became a Son of God, a mediator, one who defied death.

This merging of myths and legends assisted Christianity’s spread throughout the Roman Empire.  Yet there remained disagreements over the nature of Jesus, which grew until they threatened the stability of the Empire.  And so, Constantine decided to settle matters once and for all. 

The Council at Niceae was no dry academic conference.  Violence had broken out over the question of Jesus’ divinity.  At a time when priests were likely to have armed men at their command, theological debates were in fact a matter of national security.

For six weeks the discussion raged, and at times, brawls erupted.  Both Athanasius and Arius were banned from the proceedings more than once.  The Arian minority, espousing Jesus’ humanity, soon lost, and the majority held to their compromise: that Jesus was more than human yet not quite God.  But Athanasius and his followers would not yield in the slightest, and finally to end the controversy, Constantine declared the Athanasians the victors, and proclaimed their view the official doctrine of the Holy Roman Church.  All were forced to sign a statement of faith. 

This was the Nicene Creed, which many of us remember reciting each Sunday, and it reads in part:

“We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father…”

The point was clearly made: Jesus was God, and generations of theologians since have struggled to make sense of this and fit the other doctrines of the church around it. 

But Arianism did not die with the Nicene Council.  It went underground, only to resurface over and over again through the centuries.  In Germany, Italy, Hungary, in Switzerland, Poland and Holland—as the Christian empire grew, so spread the ideas of Arius.  Each time, the heretics were condemned, and often hanged or burned for their opposition to the doctrine of the Trinity. 

1553, Geneva—Servetus is burned at the stake.  1579, Deva, Transylvania--Dávid Ferenc, first to embrace the name of Unitarianism, dies in the dungeon prison.  There were others, tortured, beheaded or burned.  But, as you know, persecution did not stamp out Unitarianism in Europe.  The light of reason will burn, even when forced underground.

Eventually, Unitarian influence arrived in the United States.  Once again the arguments began, in the oldest churches on this continent.  Originally Puritan, parishes in Salem, Concord and elsewhere were caught up in the Unitarian Controversy, and it quickly spread through the young nation.  A new depth of Biblical scholarship and archeology provided heat.  This time, the name Unitarian was a pejorative term, used to insult those who were influenced by the new scholarship.  The charge of being Unitarian could cost a minister his pulpit.  The controversy was tearing apart congregations, colleagues, and even families.  Finally, there was a showdown. 

The date: 1819.  The place: Baltimore, at the ordination of a young minister.  The preacher: William Ellery Channing.  Channing had decided to answer the charges against himself and others, and to lay claim proudly to the beliefs and to the name: Unitarian.

His sermon was far longer than mine today—I will not attempt to cover all its points.  But to give you the quickest highlights—Channing gave sound arguments: against the Trinity, against the divinity of Jesus, and for the nature of a loving God.  He did say that Jesus was sent by God, to reform humankind, but he refuted the doctrine of atonement, which says that Jesus died as ransom for human sin.[ii][ii] 

The faith that Channing proclaimed did not focus upon parsing theological points but instead emphasized Jesus’ teachings: to love our neighbor as ourselves.  

Thankfully, the newly enacted separation of church and state protected Channing and the other Unitarians from martyrdom, but it did not prevent terrible divisions within congregations.  Lawsuits ensued, over property and valuables like communion silver.  But the Unitarians would not be silenced.  

They were soon joined by other liberal Christians, including the Universalists, who refuted the idea of original sin, and said there is no hell.  The name, Universalist, comes from the belief in universal salvation, that in death, everyone is restored to God’s loving presence.

Eventually, in 1961, the two faiths had grown similar enough that they merged, into the denomination we know today: the Unitarian Universalist Association.  And other influences came to bear upon our faith throughout that time, as well: humanism, earth-centered traditions and Buddhism to name a few.

Some of you may wonder whether there are still Unitarian and Universalist Christians.  The answer is yes.  Just as we now have Buddhist or pagan practitioners in our congregations, we also have Christians.  I describe myself in this way. 

And you may wonder, what do modern Unitarian Christians believe?  It’s not so different from what our religious forbears thought, or our cousins in Transylvania still practice today: most of us believe in a loving God, and try to follow the teachings of the prophet Jesus. 

People sometimes ask if we believe the more familiar tenets of Christianity. I can only answer for myself:

First, the most curious: Do I believe in the Virgin Birth? No.  Did Jesus die for my sins? No—he died for being a rabble-rousing prophet.  Miracles?  Maybe—there’s a lot we have to learn about the connection between mind and body, and Jesus’ acts of healing aren’t much more unusual than many alternative medical practices.  But do I think he walked on water…no.  Resurrection?  No.  I think that’s an effect of the religion of Mithra. 

And finally, was he divine?  I’ll give you my answer.  Yes. Jesus was the son of God.  As I am a child of God.  As you are a child of God.  As each of us has the spark of divinity within us. 

In his article, Reinhard says that you must reject Jesus Mr. Nice Guy, and choose between Jesus the Son of God, or Jesus the Madman.  But that choice is too simplistic.  Clearly, Jesus was not just some nice guy.  That’s like saying Socrates was a pretty thoughtful fellow.  But saying Jesus was not divine does not mean he was therefore a madman. 

Jesus was clearly in true communion with the Holy.  Like Siddartha Gautama, the Buddha, Jesus achieved, early in his life, a depth of mysticism and wisdom that profoundly affected all who encountered him.  Like Confucius, Mohammed and others, the words of Jesus remain powerful generations after his death. 

For me, Jesus’ example exhorts me to live my own life with integrity and compassion.  His message of love and justice draws me into deeper communion with God and other people.

I have a theory about the reason we humans are compelled to create saints or Gods out of our wisest and holiest people.  I think we want them to be different than us—so different that the lives they lead are easily explained away, set apart from our own ability to lead such lives.  If Jesus was a man, fully human, then we too might be capable of living with as much integrity as he did.  It’s far easier to make up complicated theological algorithms than to follow the teachings of the humble carpenter. 

The assertion that Unitarian Christians have made throughout the centuries is this:  We do not worship Jesus.  We follow him.  We know that Hell does not exist in some other realm, but rather here on earth, made by human greed and neglect and violence.  And the Kingdom of God—the reign of love—is not otherworldly, but something we must build here and now.  Our Jesus lives too, but not through some trick that defies physical laws.  He lives in the real sufferings and sorrows of our fellow creatures. 

The demands that the man from Galilee made still haunt us:  Be compassionate as God is compassionate.  Love your enemies.  Do not pile up treasures here on earth.  Give up all you have and follow me.  Enter through the narrow gate.

We remember these words not because they were said by a God, but because they are the cornerstone of an active and demanding faith.  As Channing once said, the brightest image we can bear of God is the spirit of love, charity, meekness, forgiveness, liberality and beneficence.  This, he said, is the badge of a true Christian.

Today we Unitarian Universalists have multiple religious options—we can choose what practices to follow.  I have chosen Christianity—and I have done so because it is the faith of my parents and grandparents, the stories of my childhood, the journey I’ve already begun. I am grateful for and dazzled by the varieties of religions, but in this too short life, I want to go deeply into one tradition and know it well. 

And this is my advice to you today.  I will not recommend that you embrace the Christian tradition.  Rather, I commend to you depth of religious practice. 

The great temptation in twenty-first century Unitarianism is not fundamentalism nor pietism, but rather dilettantism.  With so many choices, it is possible for us to skim along the surface of our spirituality—to be always seeking and never finding.  But the soul needs depth and yes, a discipline, whether it is Buddhist meditation, Sufi dancing, or Christian contemplation.  Our souls are not fed by the religious equivalent of channel surfing. 

So, lest any of you came to this service today wondering if I would try to convert you—the answer is yes.  I want to convert you to a Unitarian Universalist faith of your own making, a faith rich, deep and committed.  A faith that will nurture you and challenge you each day of your lives.

And once you have made your faith, live it deeply.  Let it shine from you, as a light for others to follow.  Let it hallow your depths, and widen your heart.

And as we live our faith, let us walk side by side on this religious journey, and let us tell the world that we Unitarians still speak from one scripture, the scripture of reason; we preach one Gospel; the Gospel of compassion; we worship one God, the God who is love.

May it be so, my friends.  Amen.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Copyright 2003, Cecilia Kingman Miller, Summer Minister.  All rights reserved.