by Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

CALL TO WORSHIP

Good morning!

We come to this place today

To renew our faith in the holiness and the goodness of life;

To reaffirm the way of our free faith;

And to restore memory and hope.

Come now, and let us worship together!

Power has been given a bad name.  I’ve observed that many people fear power, in others and in themselves—we believe Lord Acton’s dictum “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” That fear of power is understandable, given the terrible misuses of power that we see in various arenas—government, business, the church.  It’s no wonder power is suspect these days.  But this morning I’d like to challenge the belief that power itself corrupts. You see, I think it is not power that corrupts, but it is the person who corrupts power.  Power in and of itself is neither good nor bad—it is entirely what we do with that power that attaches value to it.

In contemporary society, our scientific power, our technology, has far outstripped out spiritual power.  When I hear people worry about our education system, they typically say something like, “We’re soon not going to be competitive with other countries.”  They are speaking of math, physics, computer science—that kind of thing, I suppose.  Well, yes, I hope we can educate our children so that they have skills that will be marketable—those of us who have adult children still at home or threatening to come back home want that, for sure—but education is not chiefly about skills, it’s not primarily job training. 

What about the arts and the humanities?  When you think about it, the problems in this country are all spiritual, are they not?  We have a serious problem with economic inequity—we have so many desperately poor people in a rich country—not because we can’t do math: it’s not about our inability to count, it’s about our inability to share.

We all have power, and we all, without exception, exercise power in whatever ways we can to get our needs met.  If you don’t believe that, think about the last time you were on a long flight with a tired two-year-old screaming in the seat behind you.  Who has the power?  Some people have great intellectual power, others charisma, others good looks, and still others wealth or charm or talent. We soon learn how to leverage our gifts, our power, to get what we want in this world.  And that’s okay—it’s not having power that’s the problem, it’s to what ends we use that power. 

Two films currently showing in theatres illustrate my theme today.  The first is “Capote,” starring Philip Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote.  The story concerns Capote’s research for and writing of his acclaimed non-fiction novel In Cold Blood, the true story of the murders of four members of a family in a small town in Kansas.  Capote reads the story in the newspaper and immediately goes to the town where the murders occurred, where he begins a series of lies and manipulations in order to get material for his new book, which he is convinced will make him rich and famous.  And he is right, of course—it does.  He befriends Perry, one of the killers, and appears to be helping him in his legal defense.  But as the film continues, we see that his real motive is to get the story at all costs.  And when in desperation Perry asks for legal help to get a final stay of execution, Capote turns away from him.  You see, he knows that his book cannot be finished until the killers are executed.  I can hardly bear to watch this character’s cold, calculating narcissism, as he uses other people’s tragedy to his benefit.  Capote has power—intellectual power and the power of celebrity as he draws people to him, and as he garners money and fame, but he ruins himself spiritually.  He never finishes another book, and he dies of causes related to alcoholism.  Capote’s writing is brilliant and In Cold Blood is a masterpiece, but he sold his soul to create it.  You do not have to make a pact with the devil to make great art. 

The other film I saw recently was Good Night and Good Luck—the story of Edward R. Murrow and his taking on of Senator Joseph McCarthy during his red-baiting years. McCarthy was ruining reputations and careers by accusing people of being associated with communists—not necessarily of being communists, just associated with them.  Much of his evidence was secret, and he said that he could not reveal his sources.  So people were being tried and condemned without a trial, really.  Edward R. Murrow was the leading newscaster at CBS at the time, and he made a decision to expose McCarthy and his tactics on national television. Murrow had to convince his director as well as his producer to go forward with his story on McCarthy, knowing that they might lose sponsorship, which they did with ALCOA.  Murrow also knew that McCarthy would likely attack him in retaliation, and try to convince others that he, too, was communist.  He was correct, McCarthy did so.  But thankfully to no avail.  Murrow’s truth-telling prevailed.  Murrow himself prevailed and after several frightening years, freedom of speech prevailed in this country . . . at least for the time being.

Murrow put his reputation and his career on the line and took the pressure of the national spotlight to speak the truth in service of the greater good.  Yes, Murrow was powerful.  He was highly intelligent, excellent with words, and held a position of some influence.  He used all of these for the good.  This is what I mean by using power well.  

Last week I told you about speaking at the Multnomah Bible College and the fear and anger that I had to contend with in preparing that speech.  We have to take care with our anger.  It can turn to bitterness, sarcasm and finally cynicism. And cynicism is a spiritually delinquent place.  On the other hand, we can let anger fuel our passion for the good.  I’m reminded of ethicist Beverly Harrison’s essay, “The Power of Anger in the Work of Love.”  She writes:  “Anger is not the opposite of love.  It is better understood as a feeling signal that all is not well in our relation to other persons or groups or to the world around us.  Anger is a mode of connectedness to others and it is always a vivid form of caring.”  I have learned that when I can turn my outrage to action for the good, I feel powerful.  I saw this process happening a few weeks ago when I told the congregation, given the state of things after Katrina, that I felt called to do more media work.  And then many people came forward to help with that project.  Some I had talked with previously, but then others called me, they e- mailed me, they gave me their business cards.  And now we have around seventeen people working in three groups to get our liberal religious message out there more fully.

I want to tell you a story of great personal power.  This is the story of Paul Rusesabagina.  In 1994 when Hutu extremists massacred nearly a million of their Tutsi and moderate Hutu neighbors, 1,268 people took refuge in the Mille Collines Hotel where Rusesabagina was working as manager.  He tells the story this way:  “The genocide broke out on the night of April 6, 1994.  By the next morning twenty-six neighbors came to my house where they felt safer because I am a Hutu.  Soldiers came to take me to the Mille Collines Hotel where I worked.  But I knew immediately that I could not leave my neighbors behind.  I convinced the soldiers that my neighbors were family members.  Later on the road, we were stopped and threatened by the same soldiers.  I said, ‘I know you are thirsty.  You are hungry and you are tired, but do you believe that the enemy you are fighting is this old man, this baby?  Do you see yourself moving through life with this baby’s blood on your hands?  What will be your profit for this killing?’  They allowed me to take my family and my twenty-six neighbors to the hotel with me.  When I had the opportunity to leave the hotel, I had to make the hardest decision I have ever had to make.  By that time about 800 people had taken refuge there and more were coming.  I knew I was the only one who could deal with the militia on behalf of the victims.  I gathered my wife and children and told them, ‘Listen, tomorrow, you will be evacuated.  But if I leave this place and these people are killed, I will never eat and feel satisfied.  I will never drink and feel satisfied.  I will never go to bed and sleep.  I will always feel guilty.’”  Rusesabagina was able to save everyone in the hotel, all 1,268 people. He used his powers of persuasion and his moral authority to save these lives.  Later he spoke of his two heroes, Nelson Mandela and his own father.  He said, “My father taught me that if you want a lasting, serious life, you’ve got to be honest.  We say in Ruwanda, ‘You can eat from a lie once, but not every day.’  A person must eat every day.  The truth is essential.  The genocide was my own moment of truth.  I had no other choice but to stay and help—my father never would have run from such a situation!  I only did what he would have done.” 

Here we have a man who was willing to die in order to protect others from danger.  In one sense this radical commitment to truth and goodness seems to make absolute demands on a person, but in fact, one is never freer than when one is totally given over to the good.  The greatest power is spiritual power, because you see ultimately it trumps every other kind of power.  Other kinds of power, worldly power—power of wealth or position, of intellect or charisma—needs to be undergirded with spiritual power, needs to be used in service to others, lest these gifts be corrupted by the ever- present drives of the ego.  You know, sometimes it’s the most gifted among us who fail to develop spiritually, because of their pride and their self-confidence.  It’s not that we can be free of ego needs—no one can, but we should attempt to be aware of when we are serving ourselves and when we are serving the greater good.  I like what Ram Dass said about power.  He said, “The most exquisite paradox…as soon as you give it all up, you can have it all.  As long as you want power, you can’t have it.  The minute you don’t want power, you’ll have more than you ever dreamed possible.”  I have found that to be true for myself.  The less I want power, the more I have.  The less I need it, the more useful I become. 

I want to speak for a moment about the power of institutions.  We just buried Rosa Parks.  The New York Times referred to her in their obituary as the “accidental mother of the Civil Rights Movement,” as if to suggest that one day she was just got tired and so refused to give up her seat on the bus.  This couldn’t be further from the truth.  Rosa Parks had been active in the local chapter of her NAACP, serving as secretary for twelve years, and the summer before her courageous act, she had attended a training at the Highlander Center in Tennessee, a labor and civil rights education school that Martin Luther King, Jr., also attended at one time.  Rosa Parks did not act as an individual—she was part of a movement.  The NAACP, Highlander Center, and especially the black church were all institutions that supported her actions and made possible the success of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Civil Rights movement.

We need to remember that this institution, the First Unitarian Church of Portland, is a significant force in this community and in this state and when you consider Unitarian Universalism, this church is a significant force in this nation.  It is good for us to be large, it is good for us to be powerful, for there is much fear, much ignorance, much evil in our world.  And we would be a force for the good.  This is our mission.  This is why we are building the Eliot Center, that our children might learn and grow, that they might become persons of noble character and giving hearts.  In addition, we want to welcome others who would join us in this free faith.  And we would like to be a resource for community organizations that are compatible with our mission.

Now I wish to speak to you as individuals.  You are called to be as powerful as you can be.  You were meant to be beautiful, strong and intelligent, not to hide your light from the world.  You were meant to stand tall—and I am speaking to those in chairs as well because I am speaking metaphorically to everyone—and my meaning is that you are to be tall of spirit, to be large of spirit, because you are a holy creation and you must never forget that.  We sometimes pull back from our power.  I know I do.  And it is easy to understand why because when you declare yourself, you become a target.  I am inspired by the words of Audre Lorde which are printed on a post card I keep in my office, printed under a picture of her in a resplendent purple robe, both hands up in the air.  She writes:  “When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”

Of course, we are afraid to manifest our power, but we don’t have to let fear stop us.  Let us remember that we are not alone, that we have these brothers and sisters here in this congregation with us, and that every step along the way we are partnered with the self-same Spirit that led us on this perilous journey to begin with, and that will be with us, holding us, leading us, showing us one step at a time, all along the way.  So be it.  Amen.

PRAYER

Spirit of Life, help us find the courage to be strong and good and true.  Help us with our fears, that they not keep us from doing the right thing.  Give us generous hearts and trusting spirits, knowing that as we give, so we will receive.  Amen.

BENEDICTION

Do not fear your power, your beauty—fear only failing to use your power and your beauty well.  Go in love, and go in peace.