"When Faith Moves West"

Reading
By Bret Harte
From "The Idyl of Red Gulch"

With such unconscious intervals the monotonous procession of blue skies, glittering sunshine, brief twilights, and starlit nights passed over Red Gulch. Miss Mary grew fond of walking in the sedate and proper woods. Perhaps she believed, with Mrs. Stidger, that the balsamic odors of the firs "did her chest good," for certainly her slight cough was less frequent and her step was firmer; perhaps she had learned the unending lesson which the patient pines are never weary repeating to heedful or listless ears. And so, one day, she planned a picnic on Buckeye Hill, and took the children with her. Away from the dusty road, the straggling shanties, the yellow ditches, the clamor of restless engines, the cheap finery of shop windows, the deeper glitter of paint and colored glass, and the thin veneering which barbarism takes upon itself in such localities—what infinite relief was theirs! The last heap of ragged rock and clay passed, the last unsightly chasm crossed—how the waiting woods opened their long files to receive them! How the children — perhaps because they had not yet grown quite away from the breast of the bounteous Mother — threw themselves face downward on her brown bosom with uncouth caresses, filling the air with their laughter; and how Miss Mary herself — felinely fastidious and intrenched as she was in the purity of spotless skirts, collar, and cuffs — forgot all, and ran like a quested quail at the head of her brood, until, romping, laughing, and panting, with a loosened braid of brown hair, a hat hanging by a knotted ribbon from her throat, she came suddenly and violently, in the heart of the forest, upon — the luckless Sandy!

 

The explanations, apologies, and not overwise conversation that ensued, need not be indicated here. It would seem, however, that Miss Mary had already established some acquaintance with this ex-drunkard. Enough that he was soon accepted as one of the party; that the children, with that quick intelligence which Providence gives the helpless, recognized a friend, and played with his blond beard, and long silken mustache, and took other liberties — as the helpless are apt to do. And when he had built a fire against a tree, and had shown them other mysteries of woodcraft, their admiration knew no bounds. At the close of two such foolish, idle, happy hours he found himself Iying at the feet of the schoolmistress, gazing dreamily in her face, as she sat upon the sloping hillside, weaving wreaths of laurel and syringa, in very much the same attitude as he had lain when first they met. Nor was the similitude greatly forced. The weakness of an easy, sensuous nature, that had found a dreamy exaltation in liquor, it is to be feared was now finding an equal intoxication in love...

 

So they sat there, undisturbed — the woodpeckers chattering overhead, and the voices of the children coming pleasantly from the hollow below. What they said matters little. What they thought — which might have been interesting — did not transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how Miss Mary was an orphan; how she left her uncle's house, to come to California, for the sake of health and independence; how Sandy was an orphan, too; how he came to California for excitement; how he had lived a wild life, and how he was trying to reform; and other details which, from a woodpecker's view-point, undoubtedly must have seemed stupid, and a waste of time. But even in such trifles was the afternoon spent; and when the children were again gathered, and Sandy, with a delicacy the schoolmistress well understood, took leave of them quietly at the outskirts of the settlement, it had seemed the shortest day of her weary life.

 

 

Sermon:

 

Thomas Starr King, the young Universalist preacher 

        who moved from Boston to San Francisco,

                made his mark on the west.

He took a foundering Unitarian church 

        and turned it into a strong and influential institution.

When the Civil War broke out,

        King was instrumental in securing 

California's allegiance to the Union.

He campaigned so tirelessly and effectively 

        that many thought he might run for the Senate.

A dramatic stump orator, he was in high demand for speeches

        in towns with names like Deadwood,

                Rough and Ready,

                        Scott's Bar,

                                and Mugginsville.

 

And the west made its mark on King.

"The Pacific coast claims every [one] who has ever seen it," 

        King commented to a friend.

"Remember that any one that has seen this coast 

        has got to come back."

 

Thomas Starr King spent only four years in the west.

His untimely death from diphtheria

        cut short a promising career.

Still, he accomplished much in a very short time.

The San Francisco church had a checkered early life,

        according to historian David Robinson.

The first Unitarian preacher there had come west to prospect for gold,

        and had little commitment to religion.

He and the others who followed him 

        had volatile, unproductive ministries,

                which culminated in their hasty retreats back to New England.

 

But King loved the west and planned to stay.

He explored the Sierras and the coastline from California to Oregon.

From his writing it is clear

        that he had an appreciation of nature

                and an attraction to the new, raw life on the frontier.

A self-educated Universalist, 

        King could thrive far away from Boston,

                in a place where social distinctions were few

                        and opportunities were great.

 

Unlike his contemporaries,

        King was comfortable within both Universalism and Unitarianism.

According to David Robinson,

        King "refused to acknowledge any significant difference

                between the denominations,

                        seeing them as varieties of a larger liberal faith

                                that encompassed them both."

He correctly understood these rival traditions as compatible,

        looking beyond the superficial categories of social class and style.

He anticipated the time when Unitarians and Universalists

        would recognize their complementary character

                and join together as one:

                        which they eventually did, one hundred years later.

This illustration introduces us to the distinctive quality of our faith

        out here in the west:

                whether we are a hundred years ahead of the east

                        may be debatable,

                                but not our tendency to overlook superficial differences

                                        and get quickly down to basics.

We are, like Sandy and the schoolmistress Miss Mary 

        in Bret Harte's idyllic episode,

                just one picnic away from our true natures.

Close to nature,

        away from the "thin veneer" of  "barbarism,"

                as Harte described urban society,

                        social distinctions and roles dissolve,

                                and sensuous fun is to be had.

That's life in the west.

 

Not exactly, of course, and especially not for those of us

        whose livelihoods consist 

                of polishing the thin veneer of barbarism,

                        or of hours driving the freeways – 

                                about as far from nature as it is possible to be.

But the ethos is persistent.

We may work all the time,

        but we dress like people of leisure.

We may not stay here forever,

        but the Pacific Coast has claimed us.

 

When I moved here nearly eight years ago,

        I had a hard time seeing anything but the differences 

                between this place

                        and the one I had left.

This was where I wanted to be,

        but I adjusted slowly and self-consciously,

                watching myself – and everyone else – 

                        with vacillating reactions.

Odd things startled me:

The sight of a woman, raking her lawn, 

        in a bright pink bathrobe.

A city council member who invariably showed up at public events 

        on his rollerblades.

A relentless, freewheeling informality 

        that prevailed even during serious rites of passage 

                such as weddings or funerals.

 

But just as I was absorbing these impressions,

        I was also grasping that this freedom others enjoyed

                was not reserved for them alone.

And though I have yet to wear my bathrobe outside,

        I have learned to love living in a place

                where anything goes.

And in my own little way,

        I've let a lot go too.

 

It's a fair exchange – more freedom,

        less concern about the superficial differences.

And understanding the west requires 

        accepting that it has its own depth and uniqueness.

That is true of the people too.

Bret Harte's depiction of a picnic romp on a beautiful afternoon

        shows us people who are close to nature,

                but who are also psychologically complex,

                        with histories and adversities to overcome.

Miss Mary was an orphan,

        who left her uncle’s house to travel west

                "for the sake of health and independence."

Sandy was an orphan too.

He'd come to California for the excitement

        and was trying to reform his wild life.

 

Everyone has a story out here.

It's the story of why they came here in the first place.

And if they grew up here,

        then it's the story of why their parents or grandparents came here,

                because we are all immigrants.

The Spanish outnumbered the native people

        long before the Yankees started pouring in.

Within each and every one of us

        is a reason why we are here,

                an immigrant's mind-set, 

                        of radical departure and high expectations.

 

That is so different from other places I’ve lived.

When I lived in the east,

        I never thought about why I was there.

I only thought about leaving

        when I realized that it had never felt like home.

People live their whole lives in one place or another

        and stay right there,

                because it is home.

We come here because we weren't at home somewhere else.

 

Even Thomas Starr King came here for a reason.

He'd done surprisingly well back East, for a self-educated man.

He was widely recognized 

        for his intellectual gifts and speaking abilities.

But something called him west –

        the freedom from superficial distinctions,

                the beauty of the wilderness,

                        the opportunity in San Francisco –

                                and when he answered the call,

                                        his potential and his greatness each grew.

He is the young man whom Horace Greeley – also a Universalist –

        had in mind

                when he exhorted the next generation to "go west."

 

A four-year ministry is brief by most standards,

        so King's impact was remarkable.

Perhaps in the rapidly developing city of San Francisco,

        four years encompassed greater growth and change

                than it would have in Boston.

He transformed a shaky outpost into an established institution

        and gave Unitarianism a firm foothold

                in earthquake country.

Now the example of his ministry lives on 

        in the theological school named after him

                in Berkeley.

 

Unitarian Universalism in the west today 

        is still a rather marginal institution.

We are not rooted in the history of the building of cities

        such as Los Angeles

                the way we are in Boston or New York.

Here we are relatively new,

        lacking the quaintly satisfying connection to the Puritans

                that our east coast counterparts enjoy.

When someone asks us who we are,

        we can’t point smugly to an historic landmark for legitimacy.

 

Our link to our history is through our spirituality,

        descended from the Transcendentalists –

                the mystical, progressive wing of Unitarians 

                        led by Ralph Waldo Emerson,

                                who wrote about nature and self-reliance.

Certainly Thomas Starr King was under the Transcendentalist influence

        when he explored Yosemite and the Pacific coast

                and preached about them to his congregation.

Transcendentalism was itself a radical departure 

        from the Unitarianism of its day,

                another way to leave home 

                        and claim something new and original.

The core Transcendentalist ideas that nature – and human nature –

        are spiritually connected;

                that our intuition can show us the moral laws;

                        and that we can trust our experience to teach us what is true;

                                are also the central themes of our faith today.

 

That sense of openness –

        in our spiritual tradition and in our natural surroundings –

                gives our faith its distinctive character.

It is our history

        and it helps us understand ourselves to know it.

We came here, 

        seeking something.

We are gathered together by a common appreciation

        of values we share

and by experiences that have led us to seek this place

        to build a spiritual home together.

 

Every group of people has a story 

        about how they and their world were created.

The Miwok people – the Indians of the San Francisco Bay Area –

        told the story of how lonely Silver Fox 

                sang by herself until she met Coyote.

They traveled around together,

        but there wasn't much to see,

                so they decided to create the world.

They closed their eyes,

        they sang and they danced,

                and they made the Earth and the "animal people."

According to the story teller, 

        that's how they did things back then.

 

Creation stories vary from people to people,

        but the importance of having a story to tell

                never diminishes.

We Unitarian Universalist people of the west

        can tell our story too.

Wherever our ancestors may have lived,

        our spiritual forbears were making a place for us here,

                on the Pacific Coast,

                        long before we knew we would call this place home.

They came from different places,

        just as we do. 

They cast their lot with the others they found out here,

        and though it's not a perfect place,

                they would find it hard to live anywhere else.

There's too much beauty and freedom to leave behind;

        and anyway, there's nowhere left --

                we've come as far west as we can go.

 

Thomas Starr King's prophetic insistence that liberal religion

        could be open enough to embrace people of any background;

                and that our tradition would thrive 

                        so long as we kept moving forward

                                and not back

                                        is a message that we can still proclaim today.

Our mission – to provide a welcome to the stranger,

        and to build a spiritual home where openness and freedom

                nurture human growth and social justice –

                        is rooted in the reason we are all here.

We came here to find it,

        and we have made it ours.

References:"The Unitarians and the Universalists," by David Robinson (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985);
"A Green Sound: Nature Writing from the Living Tradition of Unitarian Universalism," edited by William Lach (Boston: Skinner House Books, 1992).