Song
“Hallelujah”
by Leonard Cohen
Now I've heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord.
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth,
the minor fall, the major lift,
the baffled king composing Hallelujah.
You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah.
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you.
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.
Maybe there's a God above
But all that I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
And its not a cry that you hear at night
And its not somebody who has seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.
Hallelujah
The Rev. Joshua Mason Pawelek
Unitarian Universalist Society: East
Manchester, CT
February 11, 2007
“There’s a blaze of light in every word; it doesn't matter which you heard, the holy or the broken Hallelujah.” Obscure words from the obscure and highly prolific Canadian songwriter, poet and novelist, Leonard Cohen. I’m very thankful to Jack and Glenn Campellone for putting in the time to learn this song. It is not easy to sing.
Since last September, as I’ve preached this series of sermons on the six sources or building blocks of the Unitarian Universalist living tradition, “Hallelujah”—the ancient Hebrew call of joy, thanks, and praise—has woven its way into our worship services. I didn’t anticipate this. I really didn’t. But somehow that word keeps sounding in this hall. Hallelujah. And as this final service approached—this final sermon which attempts to say why cultivating a deep familiarity with our sources matters—I kept hearing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” “There’s a blaze of light in every word; it doesn't matter which you heard, the holy or the broken Hallelujah.” I’ve landed on these words today, to help me articulate what lies at the heart of Unitarian Universalism, and to make a claim—my claim—about who we are as people of faith.
I want to invite Eric Vogel to come forward. Eric is the artist who has drawn the picture you’ve watched evolve on the order of service over the past five months. I’d like Eric to unveil the final version for us this morning. The central image in the drawing is a tree. If you look closely, you realize the tree is in the shape of a chalice, the most common Unitarian Universalist symbol. Around the base of this chalice tree are other symbols representing the six sources of our Unitarian Universalist living tradition. The sources are situated around the base of the tree to indicate that they nourish the tree, that the tree grows out of their soil.
For the first source, “direct experience of transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life,” Eric drew a mountain-top, a symbol in many religious traditions and mythologies of the place where one encounters the sacred, where one speaks with the gods, or where the gods reside.
For the second source, “words and deeds of prophetic women and men which challenge us to confront powers and structures of evil with justice, compassion and the transforming power of love,” Eric drew a raised fist, a very potent symbol of resistance to injustice in the United States of America.
For the third source, “Jewish and Christian teachings which call us to respond to God’s love by loving our neighbors as ourselves,” there are actually two symbols, a Star of David for Judaism, and a Madonna and child for Christianity.
For the fourth source, “wisdom from the world’s religions which inspire us in our ethical and spiritual life,” Eric drew yin and yang, the ancient Chinese symbol associated with Taoism, yet which predates Taoism by perhaps thousands of years.
For the fifth source, “Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of mind and spirit,” Eric drew a telescope and a microscope.
And for the final source, “spiritual teachings of Earth-centered traditions which celebrate the sacred circle of life and instruct us to live in harmony with the rhythms of nature,” Eric drew an image an earth goddess, specifically Isis, the ancient queen of the Egyptian pantheon. So here it is, a wonderful pencil drawing of the sources of the Unitarian Universalist living tradition. Thank you Eric!
I want to remind us of the questions I was asking back in late August and September as this series began. I preached a late summer sermon called “Apocalypse Then,” where I talked about a different way of understanding the apocalyptic narratives which appear in the Christian and Jewish scriptures. I made the argument, drawn from the Rev. Rebecca Parker, that the apocalypse predicted of old has in fact already happened; that if the violence, genocide, and environmental catastrophes of the twentieth century—now bleeding into the twenty-first—do not constitute an apocalypse, then the term is meaningless. Thus we, human beings, are not waiting for the end of the world. We are living in the aftermath of that end. And our task as people of faith is not one of preparation for salvation, but rather salvaging through the rubble and ruins. As Parker says, “we must become good stewards of history and tradition, identifying vital resources contained in the wisdom of the world’s religions and making them available to people who have lost them, including ourselves.”
I hope these sermons have shown that as we ground ourselves in the sources of our faith, as we plumb their depths for insight into how to live well, as we look back to the blessings of our heritage, we are doing exactly what Rev. Parker suggests. How do we live well in the wake of violence and war, abuse and oppression, apocalypse? We take heed of the spiritual teachings of Earth-Centered traditions and reestablish our connections to the earth. We take heed of Humanist teachings which remind us not only that reason and science are valid and essential pathways to truth, but that our fate, and the fate of the planet, are in our very human hands. We take heed of the wisdom of the world’s religions, noting incredible religious diversity across the globe, yet appreciating the commonalities and sympathies as much as the differences; noting myriad ways to conduct a spiritual life; noting compassion and respect for life. We take heed of Christian and Jewish teachings: their fundamental challenge to love our neighbors as ourselves. We take heed of the words and deeds of prophetic women and men who have shown us how to speak truth to power for the sake of justice. And we nurture in ourselves that capacity—that beautiful, mountain-top capacity—for direct experience of the sacred, which continually reminds us, if we let it, of the truth of the original unity, the deep connections of all to all.
Taken together, our sources provide a map through the ruins of our time. They name the locations of wisdom to help us heal, rebuild, and live in right relationship. Each source is a guide to living with integrity in the wake of violence and suffering. Each source is a blessing. Each source is a gift. Each source is a blaze of light, and the closer we come to that light, the more profoundly we feel, welling up from deep within, an expression of joy, of thanksgiving, and of praise. Hallelujah!
In a sermon in mid-September, I asked whether Unitarian Universalists can believe anything we want, and proposed that a close examination of our sources would bring clarity. The answer I gave at that time is the answer I give today: yes and no. Yes, we can believe anything we want because there can be no constraints upon spirit. No matter your religious identity, spirit knows no boundaries and, like water and wind, will transgress all borders. The heart will follow where spirit calls. When prevented from following, the heart will ache. When enabled to follow, the heart will soar. On the other hand, No. We cannot and will not believe anything we want, because our hearts can only soar so long before they need the safety and stability of some soft place to land. As much as we long to soar, we also long for grounding. We need some place to call home, some place with boundaries, with limits. The sources of our living tradition provide opportunities for both soaring and grounding. They are broad and expansive enough that we can seek for a lifetime. Yet they also offer places to hold on, to anchor ourselves, to rest, to take root. Each source is a blessing. Each source is a gift. Each source is a blaze of light, and the closer we come to that light, the more profoundly we feel, welling up from deep within, an expression of joy, of thanksgiving, of praise. Hallelujah!
But here is the most important insight for me. In engaging in this study of our sources and preaching these sermons, I’ve recognized something about my approach to spiritual leadership which I haven’t fully understood until now. The basic question I posed back in August and September was whether or not our sources help us to live well in response to violence and suffering, both personal and global. And although I believe I’ve answered that question with a definitive yes, I now recognize that through the entire series, and since I’ve been serving this congregation, I’ve actually been responding to a different question—a prior question, a deeper, more fundamental question about our Unitarian Universalist identity. Not what we do and how we live, but who we are. I now recognize very clearly that discerning who we are is the first question. What we do and how we live is second. What we do and how we live flows out of who we are. If we don’t know who we are, we can’t make good decisions about how to live. If we don’t know who we are, any decision we make regarding what to do and how to live is difficult to sustain. You can give someone the best advice, and they may hear it and believe it and long to follow it, but if it is inconsistent with who they are in their core, it won’t happen. If we know who we are, then what to do and how to live begins to take care of itself. Identity comes first. That is what these sermons have been about: who we are as people of faith. The six sources of our Unitarian Universalist living tradition and our unique and particular relationships to each give us insight into who we are—and from there, how to live.
But the closer we look, the more we realize how difficult it is to fully claim the religious identity the sources provide. As people who live in a first world, capitalist, quasi empire, a beast hell-bent on consuming the world’s natural resources, a beast hell-bent on maintaining economic and social privilege for the few at the expense of the many, a beast increasingly militaristic and, frankly, immature in its resort to violence as a way to manage conflict both at home and abroad, we become distracted, overwhelmed, even depressed. We are drawn in many directions. We are splintered and fragmented. We become confused about who we are, and reticent to look closely at who we are because so many of our impulses and behaviors are shaped in the belly of this beast. It is difficult to look at all the ways we are tainted and, yes, broken. The war-like and selfish identity taught by the beast is designed to override, short-circuit and warp the identity taught by religion. And thus, we come to the sources of our living tradition in a fog, a haze, lacking confidence in our ability to look closely; not sure how closely we’re allowed to look, not sure how deeply we may dive, not sure how high we may climb, not convinced the water of these wells is safe to drink. And thus, that holy hallelujah at the core of each source, that connection to the sacred that engenders feelings and shouts of joy, thanksgiving and praise, is sometimes muted, flat, diminished, inaudible, broken. And thus, the challenge to us as Unitarian Universalists is to resist the beast and embrace the sources with the faith that knowing deeply who we are is possible and essential to our survival, and that the hallelujah at the heart of our sources, indeed at the heart of the world, no matter how muted and broken, can be made holy once again.
Yes! Resist the beast and embrace the sources so that, in Leonard Cohen’s words, we may stand before the Lord of Song, with nothing on our tongues but Hallelujah. And of course the word—the “hallelujah”—that lies on your tongue, may be any word or set of words of joy, thanksgiving and praise. It may be amen, may it be so, blessed be, glory be, hosanna, shalom. It may be peace, peace be with you, peace be unto you, salaam aleikum. It may be om, om mani padma hum, namaste. It may be aha or eureka or yes! It may be a name such as Jehovah, Yaweh, Elijah, Eve, Jesus, Ruth, Moses, Bridgit, Sofia, Buddha, Mary, Kwan Yin, Gaia, Allah, Krishna, Shiva, Vishnu, Mabon, Ostara, Athena, Persephone. It may be a description such as Holy One, Spirit of this Earth, Great Kindness, Creator; or a thing such as refuge, mystery, witness, ancestor, wind, rain, sun, moon, ocean. And it may not be words or names or things at all. It may be a chuckle, a giggle, a chortle, or an outright belly laugh. It may be tears, a sob, a sigh, a shout, a song, a swoon. It may be a chirp, a chirrup, a cheer, a chant—Ganesha Saranam Saranam Ganesha, Sri Krishna, Om Namah Shivayah. It may be a dance, a skip, a whirl, a smile, a grin, a whisper, a wordless cry, a breath—taken, held and released—a stillness, a heart-beat skipped.
In all our moments of greatest clarity and connection, Hallelujah comes to us in so many words, in so many feelings, in so many ways, welling up from deep within, it strikes me, the message of these sermons is that hallelujah is who we are! The essential us called forth from the heart of our Unitarian Universalist sources—even if we don’t feel we can always get there, even if we feel broken and diminished and muted—the essential us is joy, is thanks, is praise, is wonder, is awe, is peace, is love, is hallelujah. In the end, each of our sources is a word, and it doesn’t matter which you heard, the holy or the broken hallelujah. Each source is a statement—a shout, a cry, a song—of joy, thanks, and praise, reflecting back to us who we are. My prayer is that we learn to trust the hallelujah at the heart of the world, and approach the world—approach our living and our dying, our loving and are crying, our relationships, our jobs, our justice-making, our parenting, our witnessing, our prophesying, our reasoning, our experimenting, our praying—approach it all confident that the hallelujah on our tongues and in our hearts is who we are, and full of faith that the life that flows from that hallelujah can indeed salvage, and thereby, save the world.
Amen and Blessed be, and yes my friends, Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah!
Over the last two decades Cohen’s “Hallelujah” has been recorded by at least twelve other artists, including Bob Dylan, k.d. lang, Rufus Wainwright, and Bono of the rock band U2. It has appeared on the soundtracks of The West Wing, House, and Scrubs, all television shows. And it has been featured in seven movies, most notably Shrek.
Parker, Rebecca Ann, Blessing the World: What Can Save Us Now (Boston: Skinner House Books, 2006) p. 17.
