Sermon Series:  On Disability
Reading & Sermon preached by Reverend Carolyn Patierno
September 14, 2008

Readings

John Bohstedt, long time Tennessee Valley UU Church member, reflects on his quick response after a gunman opened fire in the church killing two and injuring six.  (From an interview that appeared the online UU World)
This guy comes in whom I’ve never seen before and puts down a little bag and his guitar case. I thought, “There are no guitars in this musical.” The bag looked like it could be a photo bag of sorts, and I thought he could be a photographer. Then he opened the guitar case and took out a gun. At that point I didn’t know what was going on.
Then he stepped into the sanctuary and fired a shot into the sanctuary. At first many of us thought it was some new sound effect ... Then he fired the second shot and people started screaming.
You literally have to decide, “What am I seeing?” Then you know this is the real thing. When he fired the second shot I rushed at him. ... I didn’t perceive myself to be in physical danger. There were three or four other guys rushing at him, too. He was down on the floor in two or three seconds.
I wasn’t at all surprised that there were lots of us on top of him. If I’d had time to think, I would have said that that was what was going to happen.

Second Reading from an essay by Fr. Charles Berine, SJ

When I was little, I pictured martyrs as heroic figures in a world far beyond my own. But the martyrs of El Salvador were very ordinary people made extraordinary by the way they responded to dramatic challenges. Much of their day involved writing, praying, studying, watching soccer on TV, and hearty laughter. Because they did not take themselves too seriously, the Lord could work through them effectively on behalf of the poor. ... And they did it well.  

Sermon

On a Sunday in July the Unitarian Universalists who live in or near Knoxville, TN gathered to celebrate their children and their shared faith.  The children of the two UU congregations in Knoxville had joined to offer to their family and friends a condensed version of the musical, Annie.  Into this sweet assembly came a man bent on violence.  From the reading, we heard what happened next. 
I have been mulling over this event in these weeks since.  The vigil of solidarity that was held in this sanctuary three days after the shooting brought 70 people together and released us feeling renewed in our commitment to our shared values.  My discernment continued differently thereafter.  It got more specific. 

To be clear, I haven’t wondered about this violent incident and one violent man’s actions because I’ve needed to make sense of it all.  To me, it always made some kind of sense, perverse sense, but sense nevertheless.  That said, I strongly encourage you to read the essay by Reverend Meg Barnhouse in the The World’s online materials.   Barnhouse is in a unique position as she had met the gunman several times and offers some insight – but not an explanation – into the tragic choices he made that morning.  The preface to the essay specifically states that she didn’t “need an explanation for his actions.”  But rather she “need[ed] stories of ... kindness and compassion.”  I hope you’ll seek out her essay.

I would like to focus on something different this morning.  Like many of you, in the immediate aftermath of the shooting, I held those killed and wounded in my thoughts and prayers.  Greg McKendry and Linda Kraeger were shot and killed that day.  Greg McKendry was on the congregation’s Board of Directors and was serving as an usher that morning.  The story goes that Mr. McKendry put himself in harm’s way and likely saved other people’s lives in doing so.  And so I began to ponder the meaning of martyrdom and the more I did, the more I came to understand Greg McKendry as a martyr, as someone who made a great sacrifice in honor of an idea, a belief.  The word “martyr” comes from the Greek word for “witness.”  For what commitment or belief did Greg McKendry offer the ultimate witness, that of his life?

I believe that in the aftermath of this shooting, our brothers and sisters in Knoxville embodied the beliefs and values for which Greg McKendry died.  In his words to that congregation one week after the shooting, UUA president Bill Sinkford said it best when he said,
What happened in this room a week ago was a profound violation of everything a house of worship is supposed to represent.  [T]he crime was shockingly profane, but your responses were, and continue to be, deeply reverent.  ... [Y]ou could have responded with fear, with anger, or with despair.  You could have returned the hatred that was directed at your community.  But instead you greeted hatred with love, and you created meaning from an unthinkably destructive act.  ...

You have chosen to reclaim this space, a choice that reflects your deep commitment to your religious mission and an abiding belief in the power of community.  It is the presence of gathered community that makes a place holy, and today the world is moved by your example.  Together, your love has overpowered fear just as your faith is helping you heal and move forward.  Your gift of courage is a blessing to us all.  August 3rd, 2008 (adapted)
Indeed.

The word “hero” has been so abused, mis- and overused so as to render it practically meaningless. As Tina Turner once sang, “We don’t need another hero.”  However, we do need to honor Greg McKendry’s act of selfless witness to the values for which he died.  I have learned something profound from Mr. McKendry’s witness.  I have learned about the courage of the martyr; not only the one who is propelled by instinct in the face of unbidden horror and violence but also the one who acts and responds to injustice knowing that horror, violence, and ultimately death may well be the consequence. 

So I began to read about the lives of martyrs – both ancient and contemporary.  I read about Perpetua, the Christian martyr who in Carthage was “put to the beasts” (the ancient, slightly veiled articulation of a kind of torture I would not dream of describing to you from the pulpit – or from anywhere, for that matter.  Apparently since time immemorial, human beings have devised brutal ways to torture each other yet find it necessary to use euphemism to name said brutality.)  I read about the martyrs in El Salvador in 1980 – three Dominican nuns and one lay woman who had been working in the refugee camps there when they were abducted from their van by that country’s corrupt National Guard, tortured and then murdered.  Four lovely, courageous women.  Martyrs all.

I learned about the Catholic priests and lay people who were murdered in their home nine years later for the same reasons their predecessors met their deaths and by the same forces.  In our reading today, we heard Jesuit priest Charles Berine, SJ describe these people – all of whom were his friends - as, “very ordinary people made extraordinary by the way they responded to dramatic challenges.”  He described having abandoned his childlike perception of martyrs as heroes.  To equate the two is to dismiss the possibility of embodying the level of courage and commitment ordinary people are surely capable of achieving.  

Quite a few of you have pondered whether or not you would have responded the way that Greg McKendry had in that awful moment - for he had but a moment to act.  As well, this question was raised as the gathered community shared our thoughts at our vigil.  Perhaps the better question is how we might live our lives in a way that prepares us for such a moment – a trial we hope we are never forced to face.  With each day comes the opportunity to cultivate and choose courage over hesitation so that if, God forbid, we are faced with such a moment, we are able to act swiftly and justly, fueled by the values and commitments that are woven into the very fabric of who we are.

That’s exactly how our brothers and sisters in Knoxville responded.   However, we are increasingly faced with a world that hesitates in the face of injustice, pain, and violence.  But I believe that one of the reasons for this hesitation is something other than what you might imagine.  Here’s what I mean. 

Twice I have myself been confronted with unexpected and violent eruptions: once in NYC and then again in Berkeley.  Both of these incidents happened before the advent of cell phones.  Both times the people who were in a position to telephone for help were absolutely paralyzed. Could. Not. Respond.  And then there’s this:  Do you remember the recent story out of Hartford about the elderly man who was hit by a car and dozens of pedestrians and drivers walked by him?  Somehow, it was all captured on video.  The incident was being touted as proof of an unconcerned and dispassionate humanity.  I don’t buy that explanation. 

I think that among other things, that story revealed an increasing and utter lack of courage.  I think that in general, human beings will do anything to try to convince ourselves that everything is okay.  We twist what we see in every which way so that we feel okay just walking by the man slumped on the side of the street.   Maybe he’s tired. If everything is okay, I won’t risk appearing foolish by intervening.  What would I do if I did intervene?  If everything is okay, I won’t have to tap into the deep, deep river of courage that moves me and all of us to respond.  

But here’s where hope lies.  Consider the Knoxville story:

This guy comes in whom I’ve never seen before and puts down a little bag and his guitar case. I thought, “There are no guitars in this musical.” The bag looked like it could be a photo bag of sorts, and I thought he could be a photographer. Then he opened the guitar case and took out a gun. At that point I didn’t know what was going on.
Then he stepped into the sanctuary and fired a shot into the sanctuary. At first many of us thought it was some new sound effect ... Then he fired the second shot and people started screaming.
You literally have to decide, “What am I seeing?”. Then you know this is the real thing.

In each of these stories, stories that take place in Knoxville and Hartford - and others like them that happen in New York City in Berkeley, CA and everywhere, everyday - there are witnesses who, as our brother in Knoxville said, literally have to decide, ‘What am I seeing?’”  The difference is that in Knoxville, guided by their values, propelled by courage those people very quickly believed what they saw and saw it for what it was: violence.  Hatred.  Yes friends, I’ll say it: evil.  And the people in that sanctuary that Sunday morning were Unitarian Universalists like you and me, “very ordinary people who were made extraordinary by the way they responded to dramatic challenges.”  That fire of commitment to values that we hold up, aspire to and celebrate asks for our witness and honor.  These values include caring, welcoming, justice seeking, and most of all, love.  But friends, without courage we will fail to see and name injustice and misery for the real and present danger they present.  Without courage, comes hesitation – hesitation in directly applying love and compassion to the too- prevalent wound of hatred.  Bill Sinkford was right to thank the good people Knoxville for their courage.  As he said, their gift of courage is a blessing to us all. 

Our brothers and sisters in Knoxville were ambushed that morning.  One was martyred in the process.  There are the martyrs who long before their deaths accepted the danger that came with their commitment and willingly and righteously walked the dangerous path.  The following quote is one that moved me so deeply ... I can’t even tell you ...  It is from a letter written by Jean Donovan, one of the four women martyred in El Salvador.  Sr. Jean wrote:

I love life and I love living.  While I feel compassion and cry for the people here, I’m not up for suicide…. Several times I decided to leave.  I almost could except for the children – the poor, bruised victims of this adult lunacy.  Who would care for them?  Whose heart could be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and loneliness?  Not mine, dear friend.  Not mine.  Jean Donovan, Dominican Sister martyred in El Salvador in 1980.

I have thought of those Unitarian Universalist children in the sanctuary that morning who only wanted to sing of tomorrow just as children all over the world want for the same but end up victims of all sorts of adult lunacy.  As I have thought of those children, I have thought of you.  Of this congregation.  I do not doubt your commitment.  I am moved and grateful that so many of you have asked yourselves the question about how you might have responded.  In a sermon I once preached on the matter of evil, I shared a thought from William E. Connolly from his essay entitled “Faith, Territory & Evil.”  He wrote:  “If the most compelling task is to forestall evil, it becomes pertinent to work upon ourselves so that we respond firmly to it without extending the phenomenon we seek to expel.”   I believe that any number of us would have stood between adult lunacy and our children.  Because as difficult as it is sometimes, we strive to always stand on the side of love. 

Yes, we must be ever diligent in the struggle, that lifelong struggle for righteousness and good.  John Bohstedt concluded his interview with this thought, “I’d like to tell people, think about what you would do [in such a situation], and when your moment comes, do it.”  There you have it.  An ordinary man drawing from all he’s come to know at least in part from being part of a congregation, a Beloved Community, for 30 years.

Today, I find that I am filled with gratitude. I am grateful for the strength exhibited in the congregation’s non-violent response to unimaginable horror.  I am grateful for the compassion that this congregation showed in holding Jim Adkisson, the gunman, in our thoughts and prayers at our vigil.  I am grateful that the wider UU community has responded generously with emotional, financial, and practical support for the two Knoxville congregations.  I am grateful for the overarching courage that made all of these responses possible. 

Most of all, I am grateful for Greg McKendry’s life and the lives of all of those who have died for righteousness’ sake.  May we be inspired by and seek to embody the courage with which they blessed the world.
Amen.