"What is Sacred"

Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau challenged the religious conventions of their time with bold declarations and imaginative new perspectives. "Nothing is at last sacred," wrote Emerson in his essay "Self-Reliance," "but the integrity of your own mind." With that sentence, one among many iconoclastic pronouncements, Emerson discarded thousands of years of western religious tradition. The Bible was not sacred; what happened in church was not sacred; only what you deemed for yourself to be true was sacred.

Henry David Thoreau took an earthier approach, but with comparable results. To Thoreau, everything was sacred. He announced that he could worship his nail clippings, because they belonged to the wonders of nature. That's a little strange, but perhaps we should not judge what he wrote in his personal journals. He was sincere. A self-taught naturalist and observer, Thoreau saw the sacred in everything from sunlight to stones. Emerson and Thoreau may have shocked their more conservative contemporaries, but they lay the ground work for the way we Unitarian Universalists think about religion today. Trust in our individual perceptions and respect for the wonder of nature, the "interdependent web of all existence," as our Principles describe it, are foundational to our faith. We live comfortably with the apparent contradiction of "nothing is sacred" and everything is sacred, because the sacred is an intuitive feeling, not a rational position, for us. Love of family, reverence for ideals that lift us up, moments that fill us with wonder and awe - the sacred is a human experience, described in terms we all understand. This is our legacy from Emerson and Thoreau. And we can stick with it, except that the world constantly challenges us with questions about what is - and is not - sacred.

Every day the news brings us a fresh reason to ask ourselves, "Is nothing sacred?" Abu Ghraib. Trafficking drugs in the bellies of puppies. Children shooting children.

In a world where the desecration of nature and the human spirit is a daily occurrence, Emerson's idea that the sacred is something we hold, personal and inviolate, may or may not be sufficient for us today. Thoreau's assertion that nature is sacred appears to cover everything, but offers no way to understand how we feel when we are repelled by something that we just know is wrong. And even if we are clear with ourselves about what is sacred, what do we do about others who see it differently? How would we feel if someone used it against us?

The story of the satirical cartoon in a Danish newspaper caught the world's attention this week. The cartoon depicted Muhammed, the prophet of Islam. This alone is blasphemy, according to Muslim tradition, which strictly forbids reproducing images of God or any holy person. Muslim art is renowned for its intricate patterns, but never depicts anything animate. The living image is sacred and irreproducible.

The Danish cartoon offended Muslims - and others - not only because it was a picture of Mohammed, but because it demonized him by showing him with a turban that looked like a bomb. This caricature touched an inflamed nerve. Angry Muslims interpreted it as provocation and hate. Their outrage set off reverberations from Palestine to Paris to Jakarta to Beirut.

Defenders of the cartoon contended that freedom of speech is a higher value than respect for religion. Freedom of speech is an individual right, a safeguard against oppression. Some hold it sacred. It echoes, in a secular way, Emerson's statement that "Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind." But it can do nothing to resolve what happens when opposing notions of the sacred collide. Neither can it safeguard one religion - Islam, in this case - from oppression. Rather it may, in fact, contribute to it.

Attitudes about the sacred are not entirely private; there is always a social aspect to them. It is not enough to care only about what I hold to be sacred. To enter the realm of the sacred, even within the integrity of my own mind, is to experience a sensibility that humankind has protected and cultivated for thousands of years. We all possess the instinct to set aside something as sacred, to cherish it, and to protect it with our whole selves. I must make room in my world for others to do the same, even when we do not agree. Because the sacred is something we share.

Sandy Eisenberg Sasso, author of the children's book "In God's Name," teaches this simple lesson. She writes about how people name God after what is central to their lives: the farmer called God "source of life," the tired soldier called God "maker of peace," the young woman called God "mother." The people learned that all their different names for God were good; none was better than another. Eisenberg Sasso quotes a fifth century Jewish midrash, "The voice of God is in the uniqueness of each and every person." Sounds like Emerson. It continues, "The Holy One said, ‘Do not be confused because you hear many voices. Know that I am One and the same.'" What is sacred for me may not look or sound like what is sacred for you, but we are not so different after all. Except that sometimes we are.

While we were in Morocco this fall, we spent an afternoon at the mosque in Casablanca. The "Hassan Deux," as everyone calls it, was completed fairly recently. It is the third largest mosque in the world - and the largest mosque open to non-Muslims. Twenty thousand people can fit inside, eighty thousand more on the huge plaza outside. Non-Muslim visitors are allowed to take a short guided tour of the mosque, but only when prayers are not taking place.

It is exquisitely beautiful. The building showcases the most advanced Moroccan craft work and artistry, drawing from native materials of the region - granite, marble, cedar - and using them in a design that includes a roof that opens like the Superdome and chandeliers made of Murano glass from Italy. It must have cost a fortune to build. The royal family kicked in a large sum, but every Moroccan had to give something too.

Morocco is not a wealthy country. People made sacrifices for this mosque. I'm sure you could find Moroccans who resented the expense, but it was much easier to find those who shared in the collective pleasure the building inspired. I shared in it too.

Still, there were active differences between my idea of sacred space and the Hassan Deux. I had my doubts about its extravagance. I chafed at the regimented tour, the restrictions on non-Muslims coming and going. I think a sanctuary should be open to everyone.

But it's not for me to impose my ideas of the sacred on someone else. Isn't that what Emerson meant? And didn't Thoreau, in his sweeping statements about worship, carry everything and everyone along with him - seeing the world as the original big tent, with room for every difference imaginable? Didn't Thoreau throw in the comment about his nail clippings just to make us see that? And if so, how do we people of faith, who affirm freedom of speech, look at the offense it has given to Muslims?

We may never experience religion the way they do. I had a hard time during Ramadan, watching Moroccan construction workers laboring in the sun, all day, without food or a drink of water. Then again, what do I know about abstinence? How can I begin to understand how sacrifice belongs to the rhythm of a holy life? Or know what adjustments the workers made to withstand the deprivation? Moroccans kept assuring us that they were experienced at Ramadan, that we shouldn't try to fast, because we weren't used to it. They were right.
The landscape of the sacred will not always make sense to us. Out of ignorance or arrogance or fear, we will form judgments against those who are different. Yes, we are free to speak or publish those judgments. But when we do, we will hurt people. The lack of sensitivity - and the desire to ridicule, perhaps even hate - those we do not understand, is a violation of something as precious as freedom. It is a violation of our faith in the human instinct to take what it loves, and protect it, and to ask others to respect it, for the sake of the sacred, which one way or another, is our common bond. Our faith, still informed by Emerson and Thoreau, teaches us to hold our differences gently and decently, and to mean no harm towards those we do not understand, even those who misunderstand us. Let us be people of our faith, cherishing what we hold as sacred, and living so that others can do the same.