Sermon: AMAZING GRACE
Rev. Laurel Liefert
Namaqua Unitarian Universalist Congregation
17 November 2013
The Famous Song
We probably all have sung or at least heard the song “Amazing Grace.” It has taken on a life of its own, played and sung in thousands of different forms – gospel, blues, jazz, folk. American gospel singer Mahalia Jackson sang it at New York’s Carnegie Hall, the
first gospel singer to perform there. The song has been recorded by Aretha Franklin, Rod Stewart, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Sam
Cooke, Andy Williams, Willie Nelson, The Lemonheads, the Dropkick Murphys. In 2009, a Canadian bagpipe player played it at a
memorial service in Afghanistan.
For those of you who are my age, in the 1960’s you may have sung it or at least heard it during marches for civil rights or in opposition to the Vietnam War. Folk singer Judy Collins, who was just inducted into the Colorado Music Hall of Fame a few weeks
ago, remembers witnessing civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer leading marchers in Mississippi in 1964 singing it. She recalls
how the song seemed to have an equal emotional impact on everyone there - the civil rights marchers, the witnesses, the armed,
uniformed law enforcement men. Folk singer Joan Baez said that Amazing Grace was one of the songs most frequently requested
by her audiences, but that she had never realized it originated as an 18th century Christian hymn.
The Story Behind the Song
The words to “Amazing Grace” were written by John Newton, an Englishman born in 1725, son of a shipping merchant. Apparently
Newton’s youth was wild- with drinking, gambling, insubordination, headstrong disobedience. His insolence and rebelliousness
landed him in the Royal Navy, which he deserted. After being punished and humiliated for his desertion, he managed to get himself traded to a slave ship where he began a career in slave trading. He soon gained notoriety for being one of the most profane
men that the captain of the slave ship had ever met.
Then during one of the voyages, a violent storm came upon the ship and swept a crew member overboard who was standing
right where Newton had been. In that moment of desperation in the storm, Newton found himself crying out for God’s mercy.
Later, when the battered ship and starving crew landed, he began to ask himself if he was worth of God’s mercy or in any way
redeemable, since he had not only neglected his faith, but mocked others for theirs, denouncing God as a myth This was the
beginning of his “conversion.”
It took awhile for Newton to change
It’s interesting, though, that for several years after this humbling experience at sea, Newton continued to work in the slave trade,
sailing up rivers in Africa to get slaves to transport to North America. But at age 30, he was prevented from embarking on his
usual slave-trading voyage when he collapsed from an illness. It was only then that he gave up trafficking in human beings.
Apparently it was during this forced “down time’ after his collapse that the effect of his conversion finally took root. I find it fascinating that Newton experienced the beginnings of his conversion experience during the violent storm on the ship, but that he did
not really change his life until he was struck down and stopped by illness.
Story of the Donkey
It makes me think of that old story about a traveler who sees a man and a donkey by the side of the road. The man is whacking
the donkey over the head with a two-by-four, and the traveler, disturbed, asks, why are you hitting that poor animal? Because I
want him to walk. So why don’t you tell him to walk? Because first, you have to get his attention.
Newton became a minister
So anyway, in 1764, John Newton became a minister at the vicarage in Olney, Buckimhamshire. He finally had come to repent and
regret the misery he had inflicted on the thousands of people who he had kidnapped from their homes, transporting them to be
sold to become the property of other men.
Apparently Newton’s preaching was not like most clergy of the time, who preached from a distance, not admitting any intimacy
with temptation or sin. Newton’s preaching style was unique in that he shared many of his own experiences from the pulpit.
Though it is said that his writing and delivery were sometimes unpolished, he was involved in his parishioner’s lives and they loved
him. His devotion and conviction were apparent and forceful, and he often said his mission was to “break a hard heart and to heal
a broken heart.”
“ Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.” Newton was talk ing about himself.
Wilberforce
One of the parishioners in Newton’s 2nd church in London was William Wilberforce, whose life was featured in the move “Amazing
Grace.” Wilberforce was a member of Parliament who, at least in part was inspired by his minister, took on the English establishment and, over the course of two decades, persuaded those in power to end the inhumane trade of slavery.
Grace?
So is there something in the universe, something in the human heart, that has the power to turn even a slave trader toward justice?
“I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.”
Grace as a theological category
What is grace and where does it come from?
In classic Christianity, the source is relatively is clear. An omnipotent God breaks into human life and saves us from transgression
and alienation. In this worldview, humans are born depraved, and grace is an act of divine intervention, paying for our sins.
Picture the movement of this conventional notion of grace. It is vertical (from humans down low to God up high) and redemptive
(saving us depraved sinners from hell, the punishment for our sinfulness, through grace, the unearned and undeserved gift of the
sacrifice of Jesus).
Grace for Unitarian Universalists
This vertical view of the universe – hell, earth, heaven – does not make sense to most UU’s. As UU minister Tom Owen-Towle writes
in his book Theology Ablaze:
There may be no more slippery and unnerving theological concept for Unitarian Universalists to address than “grace.” Slippery,
because grace is a blessing beyond our grasp and unnerving, because grace is beyond our achievement. To complicate matters,
grace appears too mystical for our rational side and too passive for our activist bent.
Two American Faiths
I have come to realize that this struggle with the concept of grace is an example of one
of the ways that UU is a religion of the middle class.
In a book called Black Pioneers in a White Denomination, UU minister Mark Morrison-Reed describes the vast cultural and economic chasm that exists between black religion and liberal religions such as Unitarian Universalism in the United States.
He writes that black religion is a religion of the disinherited, and Unitarianism is a religion of the middle class that tends to take an
“activist attitude toward life,” a religion concerned with the individual, rather than with the community.
Generally, at least before the recent economic downturn, in the economic arena of the middle class, an individual’s personal energy, skills, and knowledge bring success. This success through an individual’s efforts enhances their sense of self-worth and power.
By contrast, the disinherited must grapple more with the ways of fate. The life of members of the lower classes is often an experience of powerlessness. The religion of the disinherited is based on solidarity and cooperation within their community.
These different life experiences lead to different religious needs.
Salvation for the disinherited comes as an act of God’s grace, their gifts and gains seen as acts of God’s will and mercy.
For the middle class, salvation tends not to be accepting a gift from a source more powerful than oneself, but a goal the individual
strives to earn. Salvation is seen as a task, rather than as a promise.
Chaplaincy at Highland Hospital
I have a visceral sense of this distinction because of my experience as an Interfaith Chaplain Intern at a trauma hospital in Oakland,
CA. One morning at the hospital, I walked out of the Chaplain’s office into the hallway on my way to a meeting. I heard sobbing
and saw a group of people coming out of the hospital chapel. Several women had their arms around a woman who was crying, “I
can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I approached them and learned that the sobbing woman was the mother of a 17-year old son, Danny, who had just died of a gunshot wound. The women asked me to go talk to Danny’s grandfather, who was waiting in a wheelchair in the ICU waiting room.
Danny’s grandfather asked me if I would conduct a memorial service later that afternoon in the hospital chapel. I said of course.
A few hours later when I walked into the chapel, I was surprised to see how many people were gathered there, only hours after
Danny’s death. The pews were filled with members of Danny’s family, friends, neighbors, and members of their church. Everyone
but me appeared to be African-American.
I knew that Danny’s family was Baptist, so I began the service with the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be
thy Name... Everyone there knew the words, and the sound of so many voices speaking in unison moved me deeply. It created an
immediate sense of community among us, and I could feel the trust they placed in me.
I acknowledged the suddenenss and violence of the loss and reminded them that they are not alone. I lift up my eyes to the hills
– from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.... Throughout the service I wove in
readings from the Bible, and each time I recited many voices joined with mine.
During one of the readings, Danny’s baby cousin toddled over to where I was standing and put her arm around my leg. I picked
her up and held her as I read, experiencing a surge of emotion at this tangible connection, skin-to-skin, with the family. I experienced the touch and trust of the child, and the sound of our voices reciting together, opening my heart. I held back tears as
together we recited: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
At the end of the service, we sang “Amazing Grace” together- a capella – just our voices. Amazing Grace! How sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me...
As soon as we started singing, Danny’s mother wailed. I felt her pain as my own.
Through many dangers, toils and snare, I have already come; ‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home
I was struck by the palpable sense of the family’s fierce faith. Faith, humility, and even gratitude, in the midst of unimaginable
pain. I wondered - would my own faith be that fierce, that strong, if it had been my 17-year old son at home who had died?
Conceit to Refuse to Open Our Souls to the Gift of Grace
That experience shifted something in me. The memory is still vivid and powerful. That afternoon, I was humbled. I realized that
it was a kind of arrogance to refuse to open our souls, our hearts, our eyes, to the gift of grace. It is arrogance when we refuse to
acknowledge that our place in life – whatever gifts and privilege we may have been born with, and the fact of our existence - is a
gift we neither created nor earned.
I think of what I once heard someone say of George W. Bush – he was born on 3rd base, and thought he hit a triple.
Do you see any of yourself in that description? I know that I do.
To accept the gift of grace
To accept the gift of grace is to realize that the earth and all its creatures don’t exist simply as “resources” to be used for our pleasure and convenience.
To accept the gift of grace does not mean that everything that happens is God’s will. It does not mean that the death of a 17-year
old was grace. It does not mean that we should not strive to end the cycles of violence in the streets. It does not mean that we
should not work for justice.
To accept the gift of grace, what we can do is to dedicate ourselves to walk humbly with all living things, recognizing their inherent worth and dignity.
What we can do is to dedicate ourselves to walk alongside the Spirit of Life and Love,. We can take our place as co-creators within
the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
Even in the midst of tragedy,
even when we are frightened as we face the heart-wrenching realization of how fragile life is,
to accept the gift of grace, we can notice and be grateful for those unexpected moments of grace:
a toddler, a teacher,
a stranger who becomes a friend, a friend who becomes a lover,
a hummingbird, a hug,
a sickness, a song.
We can see that the river, the flow of life, is bigger than us, but includes us, and we can choose to step into the current and float,
moving with the flow of the river, the Tao, the path, trusting that we will be held up if sometimes we dare to stop trying so hard to
earn grace, and just let go...
I realize now that Mary Oliver’s poem, “Wild Geese,” is about grace:
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
May we say thank you.
BENEDICTION
From The Gift: Poems by Hafiz, the Great Sufi Master, by Daniel Ladinsky:
Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth
“You owe me.”
Look what happens with a love like that.
It lights up the whole sky.
May we accept life’s gifts, with grace and gratitude, and use them to bless the world in the Spirit of Love.