"Everyone is Lovable "

READING

The death of li'l Anthrax
A more vicious little creature you could hardly imagine.
By Barbara Merritt
8-18-07

My oldest son, upon entering college, got a pet. I was appalled by his choice—a dwarf albino hamster. I have a phobia about mice. Full blown. We’re talking irrational terror. And a dwarf albino hamster looks exactly like a mouse, only without a tail. So to even see this creature made me hyperventilate. Purchased in September 2001, in the midst of all kinds of predictions about biological warfare, Robert named the tiny hamster “Anthrax.”

A more vicious little creature you could hardly imagine. With his sharp, little teeth, he bit everyone who put their hand in his cage. He was so fierce that he provided endless amusement, as one college student after another tried to tame him. He would have none of it! Not this hamster! Not li’l Anthrax! Human beings were the enemy and he furiously guarded his cage from any intrusion. His beady little red eyes were always on the lookout for anyone foolish enough to disturb the nest.

I began to feel some concern for the little creature during its occasional visit to our home. I bought him a larger cage and a mouse run that had plenty of warrens and chutes to explore. I found a soft old sock for him to sleep in. I would visit him in Robert’s room, just to make sure he was OK. All right, I’ll admit it—I even talked to Anthrax. But I didn’t touch him. And I didn’t like him. He always just looked like a mouse to me. But then the fateful day came when I checked on him and felt a wave of fear. There was no movement in his cage. He had passed on.

Here is the surprise. I was quite sad that Anthrax had died! Robert was more philosophical about it. He thought that the existence of a dwarf albino hamster was somewhat miserable, even in the best of circumstances. But he also was sad when he saw his hamster all curled up and no longer biting anyone. A tiny creature, with a highly aggressive, fearful temperament, incapable of affection, emotional responsiveness, or very much learning was, nevertheless, mourned.

One of the worst ideas to ever emerge from liberal religion, in general, and Unitarianism, in particular, was the concept of “salvation by character.” Eloquently championed by William Ellery Channing, this faith in excellence was embraced by those who believed in the perfectibility of human nature and the rational conquest of life’s most troubling aspects. “Salvation by character” meant we were going to be so good, so charitable, so wise, and so admirable that there would be little need for grace or mercy.

Li’l Anthrax has taught me something different. Something important. Being loved has nothing to do with character. Anthrax was unapproachable and never gave anything to anyone. But he was alive, and he needed help. Our characters are complex, contradictory, and layered with strength and weakness. But love doesn’t concern itself with the perfection of our personality or our resume. Love sees past the small flaws and the large ones.

“Every creature, great and small, the Lord God loves them all.”

SERMON

I drive by the Calvary Baptist Church on 20th Street at least once a day, which gives me a chance to read the familiar words “God loves you” posted on their sign board facing the street. Unlike our sign board, proclaiming sermon titles, speakers, and events that change from week to week, their message is always the same. We are topical; they are not. That may be a difference worth investigating sometime.

Reading the words “God loves you” never fails to prompt an internal dialogue. “How do they know?” “Does their God really love everyone?” “I wonder if that’s comforting to someone who isn’t feeling loved right now.” “What if God doesn’t love everyone?” “What if there’s no God?” “How do they know?”

I don’t begrudge the Baptists this friendly gesture or its theological message. It has a Universalist resonance to it. And I’d rather believe in a God who loves me and everyone driving by the church than in a God who only loves the people inside it.

Anyway, not to be outdone, this week our sign says, “Everyone is lovable.” That’s not all that different from what the Baptists say, but it changes the subject from “God” to “everyone.” And that is the message we consider this morning.

It’s been only a couple hundred years – not very long in theological time – that the Universalist faith in an all-loving God found human expression in our current day principles. Back in the eighteenth century, Universalists refuted the Calvinist concept of a God who was all too willing to send his creatures to eternal damnation. Universalists simply could not accept the idea that an all-powerful God would inflict eternal suffering on anyone. Out of their rejection of that Calvinist God came their belief in a loving God. Such a God would have compassion for us all – good, bad, believer, non-believer – and would save us all in the end. God loves everyone; God is love; “God loves you.”

What contemporary Unitarian Universalists have inherited from this tradition has as much to do with human nature as it does with the nature of God. If God saw all humans as worthy of salvation, so should we. Belief in an all-loving God transformed itself into belief in the inherent worth and dignity of all persons. The first of our seven Unitarian Universalist principles affirms this position. It is foundational to our faith, our spiritual practice in community and our relationship to all humanity. It is also very challenging and difficult to live.

“Inherent worth and dignity,” after all, is not always apparent. We all know people – and sometimes we are those people – who can raise some serious doubts about that principle. Barbara Merritt’s meditation on “The Death of Li’l Anthrax” provides a helpful illustration. Yes, Li’l Anthrax was a hamster, not a human, but we all know people who are just as unlikable. Someone who is fierce and untrusting, ready to bite at the smallest provocation.

Barbara Merritt observes that the Unitarian idea that we can achieve salvation – or love – through perpetual self-improvement and striving, is “one of the worst ideas to ever emerge from liberal religion.” Like the Universalists, she reasons that “love doesn’t concern itself with the perfection of our personality or our resume.” We are loved just because we are. Like Li’l Anthrax, we are alive, and we need help.

But isn’t it interesting what happened between Barbara Merritt and the hamster. She moved from phobia and revulsion to concern and care-giving. When he died, she mourned. Even Li’l Anthrax was lovable in the end.

This is one of the great mysteries of life. There is a transforming power of love that turns even the most unlovable creatures into someone worthy of being mourned when they are gone. If there is a God, it is here, in the inner workings of connection and compassion, that give rise to love.

Li’l Anthrax reminds me of a parishioner from a church I served some years ago. She was an older woman, very much alone all her life, because she endeared herself to no one. She was selfish, opinionated, childish, and as she aged, she became needy and dependent. At church we treated her gently and took turns doing what we could, but it wasn’t easy. She was never grateful and always somewhat bitter and hard, one of the most unlikable people I have ever known. As she needed more care, we worried about where she would go.

Then one day, and without having had any help from us, she announced that she was going to live with a family in town. Apparently they had an extra bedroom and needed the income. She and they had found each other and decided to give it a try.

I wondered to myself how long that arrangement would last. This was a large family, with teenage children and animals. It seemed rather too lively and noisy a place for a woman who cared only for her china tea cups.

Several times over the next year I visited this woman in her adopted home. Something had happened to her. Her hair, which had once been tightly pulled back like everything else about her, was now wispy and disheveled. Everything about her was softer. She seemed happy. The family adored her. She spent her days in the company of teenagers and animals, doted on, nurtured, and loved just because she was there. Not only that – but she actually seemed lovable. I could see the spark for the first time.

She died that year. The family mourned and missed her a lot. But what an amazing transformation their love had brought about. A modern-day version of Universalist salvation.

In the story that Catherine told earlier in the service, we also have a lonely man, set in his ways, whose life is turned around by a Valentine. Just opening up to the possibility that someone loves him – even having no idea who that is – gives him the ability to love in return. In the end, though the Valentine had been delivered in error, the change was irrevocable. When he showed kindness and interest in others, they reciprocated. When he gave back his Valentine, they gave back love.

Love changes us. Not only that, but every one of us – whoever we are, whatever our limitations – can love and be loved in return. Not everyone finds the perfect life partner, or is happy in love, to be sure. But every one of us has the potential to love and that says everything about who we really are: lovable.

When we affirm “the inherent worth and dignity of every person,” we affirm the potential – however deeply hidden – in all people. It is the potential to be a channel for the transforming power of love. This is who we are; this is who we all are – even the Li’l Anthraxes among us. We are lovable because we are alive and we need help.

e.e. cummings wrote, love is a place & through this place of love move (with brightness of peace) all places This is the channel, the path and the power. “Through this place of love move . . . all places.” All creation; God; whatever name you give to all places that are and ever have been. Inside each of us. Whoever we are. Live that potential, love your neighbors, and let the mystery of love change you forever.

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References used in this sermon include:

cummings, e.e. “love is a place,” in the anthology "Great Occasions." Carl Seaburg, editor. Boston: Skinner House Books, 1968.

Merritt, Barbara. “The death of li’l Anthrax,” in "Amethyst Beach: Meditations." Boston: Skinner House Books, 2007.

Spinelli, Eileen. "Somebody Loves You, Mr. Hatch." Aladdin, 2006.