Today’s reading is called "The Kindness of Lo Mein", by Kaaren Solveig Anderson, and is from her meditation manual: Glad to Be Human

My friend Marcy and her boyfriend Brian recently ate dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. As they enjoyed a plate of lo mein, engrossed in conversation, a hand reached down and ushered away their platter of noodles. A voice quick and agitated mumbled "Sorry!" and a thin, poorly dressed woman left the restaurant with their plate of lo mein.

In astonishment, they watched her walk down the street, holding the plate with the flat of her hand as she stuffed noodles into her mouth, slapping sharply against her face. The owner realized what had happened and darted out the front door, chasing after the noodle thief. He stood firmly in front of her, blocking her way and grabbing a side of the plate. A struggle ensued, noodles slid uneasily from one side to the other, slopping over the edge. He surged forward and pulled with a heroic strongarm attempt to retrieve his plate. The woman’s fingers slid from the plate. Noodles flew, then flopped pathetically on the sidewalk.

Left empty-handed, with soggy, contaminated noodles at her feet, the woman stood with arms hung dejectedly at her side. The owner walked victoriously back to the restaurant with the soiled plate in hand. My friends were given a new heaping plate of lo mein, although they had already consumed half of the stolen plate. A stream of apology in Chinese came from the proprietor. Unable to eat anymore, they asked to have the noodles wrapped up and set off to see their movie.

A block later, they happened upon the lo mein thief. The woman was hypercharged. She simultaneously cried, convulsed, and shouted at the man, who rapidly retreated from her side. My friend, unsure what to do, listened to her boyfriend’s plea to just walk away. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked over to the thief and said, "Ah, we haven’t formally met, but about ten minutes ago, you were interested in our noodles. They gave us some new ones, are you still hungry?" The woman nodded and extended her bony arms. She took the styrofoam container in her hands, bowed ever so slightly, and murmured, "Thank you, you’re very kind."

Sermon

This is the third sermon in a series on the seven principles of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Last month we talked about the inherent worth and dignity of every person; today we’ll talk about the second principle of Justice, Equity and Compassion in Human Relations. Remember, if you ever want to look up the seven principles, they are in our hymnbook right after the preface and hanging on the wall in the Jr. High classroom, and on some pocket cards that we periodically have out on the table in the lobby.

I learned something recently about the order of the principles. The intention of the committee that formulated them in the 1980's was to go from the individual to the expanding context of community, earth, and universe. (Edward Frost, With Purpose and Principle, p. 20) So the second principle takes us from the inherent worth and dignity of each individual to the realm of human relations, and how we want to be in relationship with others. My colleague Anne Treadwell says, "The second Principle follows from the first, I think. It’s because we affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person that we commit ourselves, as congregations and individuals, to work for justice, equity and compassion. If we thought that some groups of people were without inherent worth, were disposable in fact, there wouldn’t be much incentive to work for those values which suggest fair and equal treatment for everyone."

I talked about how the first principle is or implies a theological statement. With the second principle, we put some muscle on those theological bones. Tom Owen-Towle, co-minister of the SanDiego church, describes Unitarian Universalists as "freethinking mystics with hands." The second principle is about those hands.

We Unitarian Universalists talk a lot about what we believe – or what we don’t believe. We talk a lot about our different theologies, our diversity of belief. But what defines us as Unitarian Universalists is not anything to do with belief, but how we act in the world. Our actions define us precisely because we don’t have a creed. "Deeds not Creeds!" has been a favorite UU motto. Usually this is articulated as a concern for justice. As the Rev. Linda Hoddy says, " We UUs are concerned with justice. We are known for our social justice work. There are reasons for that in our theology. Many UUs do not subscribe to a literal heaven to which we will all depart after death. Thus we have always emphasized that heaven is a place we must create here on earth, here and now. The kingdom of God, or the kingdom of heaven, of which Jesus spoke so much, is something we believe we must create here. Not liking hierarchical images very much, we might be more likely to speak of "creating the beloved community", rather than kingdom of heaven. We don’t have much faith in heaven after death. So, values like "justice" and "equity" and "compassion" require incarnation in this life, as we walk the earth." When Lyle Kleman was here to moderate the panel discussion for our October 1st forum, "Understanding our Arab and Muslim neighbors," he mentioned our denomination’s track record for social justice work. We are known for it even in our own local community.

We are known for it because throughout the history of both Unitarianism and Universalism, as well as the post-merger denomination, we have been in the forefront of justice and equity issues. Many of the most outspoken Abolitionists were Unitarians – Channing, Emerson, Parker, and other prominent Unitarians worked to eliminate slavery. In more recent times, we have taken part in large numbers in the Civil Rights movement. James Reeb, who is held up as a modern-day Unitarian Universalist martyr, was killed when he went to march at Selma. The story was covered in a recent issue of the UU World, along with other stories of our history of anti-racism work.

We also have a history of working for women’s rights. The suffrage movement included many of our forebears– in particular Unitarians Susan B. Anthony and Lucy Stone, and Universalist Olympia Brown. As a denomination, we have taken the lead in admitting women into ministry, recently achieving the distinction of reaching 50% female clergy.

We are also leading the way in our work on sexual orientation and gender justice issues. The acronym to describe it has gotten so long and unweildy, I was taken by a replacement suggestion I heard recently. It has been refered to as BLGT, GLTB–I never know the proper order– and I believe new letters have been added. The new one is "GLOW" for "Gay, Lesbian, or whatever." Not only the denomination, but our own congregation has been a leader in the justice work for this population.

We are only just beginning to work on issues of economic justice. There is a group called the UUJEC for UUs for a Just Economic Community, that has been quite active. You can see them picketing at GA. We are just starting to work on issues of ecological justice. The Green Sanctuary program we are initiating here is an important step in that direction.

There are so many more examples I could give, so many more ways Unitarians, Universalists, and Unitarian Universalists have been and are involved in justice efforts. But you get the idea.

Like the first principle, this one seems pretty easy at first. After all, who isn’t for justice, equity and compassion? How could it possibly be difficult to affirm and promote that? But like the first principle, once we start to examine what it entails, we see just how much this second principle really asks of us.

As my colleague David Sammons says, "We want to be challenged, but not too much. So, we sometimes . . .forget that concern for the well-being of people beside ourselves "is a key expression of being a spiritual and ethical human being." We even forget, at times, that caring about others adds to our own well-being. We forget that generosity is one of the most enhancing of human feelings and compassion is one of the best ways to break out of the loneliness that plagues so many of us. It's easier to feel compassionate about and generous toward people we know. That's why it's not hard for a church to be pastoral. People can see and feel the good that comes from caring about those who are around them. It's harder when those who need our concern are people with whom we're not in relationship - and yet they are often the ones who need help the most."

Since September 11, we have been hearing America’s leaders talk of bringing those responsible to justice. But what is justice for the terrorists? Before we took any action, I imagined we could use intelligence to figure out who was responsible and find them. Then we would perhaps bring them to trial, but in any case put them somewhere secure where they could no longer do any harm. I believed that was what our governing officials meant when they said they would bring them to justice. When we started dropping bombs, I realized I was probably overly optimistic about our intelligence capabilities, and I was prepared to believe that a little force might be needed to ferret them out. But as it goes on and on, and we are no closer to finding bin Laden than ever, I have to wonder why we are being so destructive, and what that has to do with justice. Retribution is a kind of justice, but not the kind I thought we were aiming for. It is a justice untempered by compassion, and blocks the possibility of peace.

Dick Gilbert describes a New Yorker cartoon: "It shows three fish swimming, one behind the other. First is a small fish saying, "There is no justice." Immediately behind, ready to swallow it, is a larger fish saying, "There is some justice in the world." Finally, there is a larger fish about to swallow both saying, "The world is just." (Sermon in Edward Frost, With Purpose and Principle, p. 38) America is the biggest fish in the sea these days. But justice does not depend on your point of view. True justice looks the same to any point of view.

John Rawls, author of Theory of Justice (1971), created an intriguing way to get at true justice by getting around any particular point of view. He imagines what he called the "original position," a position of neutrality with no knowledge of our own position in life, so that, sitting behind a veil of ignorance about ourselves, we might create a social contract that is truly fair. Let me share with you the words of my colleague, the Rev. Laurie Bilyeu, to illustrate Rawls’ theory:

"Suppose we’ve found a way to recreate society. Imagine this with me. A new society is about to be formed. Our task is to create the social contract. What would be the rules, standards, agreements that would define a just society? What would a world ruled by justice look like?

Everything is on the table. Every political boundary and system. Every form of social service and policy. Every attitude, every standard of success... We are making up the social contract, and we will participate in that new society, but we don’t know what role we will play or who we will be.

You might live in South Boston. Your skin might be black. 
What must be included in the social contract for you to participate in justice?
You are a single parent.
You are a single parent with a special needs child.
Or perhaps you will be 85 years old and in need of much medical treatment and expensive medications.
What must be included in the social contract?
You are mentally ill.
You are unable to maintain a job.
What does justice look like to you?
You are madly in love with a person of the same gender. How must this new society function in order to include you?
You are a child in Kosovo, in East Timor, in Sierra Leone. How will you define justice?
You might find yourself living in Israel in this new society, or Northern Ireland, or Quebec, or Tijuana.
What would the social contract have to look like to cause you to sign on not knowing who you will be in this society?"
What do you think? Would this work? Could we create a just society if we came to the planning table not knowing what our role in that society would be?

I’ve talked a lot about Justice. What about Equity and Compassion? Justice and Equity are pretty similar. They are both abstractions, both concerned with weighing and measuring, ensuring equal distribution of some good on two or more sides. The symbol of Justice, the old-fashioned scale, could work for Equity as well. On the other hand, Compassion is a feeling. It literally means "to suffer with." But just as "passion" has come to mean any intense feeling, "compassion" can mean to feel someone else’s joy as well as their pain. Why are these concepts put together in this principle? Because Compassion and Justice or Equity need each other. Compassion gives justice a heart. It motivates justice work. And justice gives compassion hope. It overcomes the injustices that call for our compassion.

In the words of Dick Gilbert, "Justice, properly understood, is systematic, aiming at the underlying causes of social problems, not at their symptoms. Treating symptoms alone ... is like putting Band-Aids on a cancer. Thus, food kitchens, however laudable, merely feed the victims of a fundamentally unjust social order instead of rooting out causes of hunger. A systematic approach challenges the underlying premises and workings of economies that produce "poverty in the midst of plenty." (p. 39) Or, in the words of Theodore Parker, one of the greats of our Unitarian Universalist past: "Though our mercy pulls a few out of the water; it does not stop the hole, nor light the bridge, nor warn of the peril! We need the great Charity that palliates effects of wrong, and the greater Justice which removes the cause." (from a sermon by David Sammons)

Let me share with you the story of one woman whose compassion moved her to work to address the underlying causes of suffering. Margaret Sanger was the founder of Planned Parenthood. She started as a public health nurse who day after day visited scenes of suffering in which poor women were plunged into even greater despair with unwanted pregnancies. She says, "These were not merely ‘unfortunate conditions among the poor’ such as we read about. I knew the women personally. They were living, breathing, human beings, with hopes, fears, and aspirations like my own." Sanger told the story of Mrs. Sachs, a twenty-eight-year-old woman who had been badly hurt trying to give herself an abortion. The woman’s doctor told her that one more pregnancy could be fatal. She begged the doctor to tell her what she could do to avoid getting pregnant. The doctor said, "Tell Jake to sleep on the roof." Mrs. Sachs begged Margaret Sanger, "Please tell me the secret, and I’ll never breathe it to a soul." Sanger was haunted by the request, but did nothing. Three months later Mrs. Sachs was pregnant again, went into a coma and died. Sanger left the deathbed scene and walked the streets. That night she decided that she could not go on like this, merely a witness to human suffering. "I was resolved to seek out the root of evil, to do something to change the destiny of mothers whose miseries were vast as the sky." The planned parenthood movement is the social action that grew out of her compassion. (p. 35-36)

Justice, Equity, and Compassion. May we affirm and promote them in our lives, in our families, in our communities, and in the world.