Unitarian Universalist Ghosts,
Part Three: the Reverend John Murray

I want to begin this morning with an apology to those of you who came today expecting to hear about P.T. Barnum. Mr. Barnum was, indeed, a Universalist, and at one time I thought to focus today's sermon on the showman. I changed my mind, however, and neglected to inform the person who sends press releases and advertising copy to the papers. So yesterday's newspapers advertised the focus of my sermon as being Phineas T. Barnum, who did, indeed, say there is a sucker born every minute. I hope you will find something redeemable in my remarks about the life of the Reverend John Murray, who was born in 1741, 69 years before P.T. and about 200 years after Michael Servetus was burned at the stake by followers of John Calvin.

John Murray lived in both England and Ireland. He was raised by his parents in the Reform tradition, which was deeply influenced by John Calvin. Throughout his early life Murray was tormented by horrible nightmares, visions of hell where all but the elect would live on in agony for eternity. These nocturnal visions were reinforced by life experiences which were a living hell. By the time Murray was 29 his young wife and son had died, and Murray had served time in debtors prison. Finally, Murray was excommunicated. It was following this event that he left Ireland to sail to America.

As I relate some of the facts of John Murray's life, I want to share with you five lessons I believe we can learn from him. The first is the power of fear. The second is the power of hope. The third is the power of our own woundedness. The fourth is the power of affirmation. The fifth is the power of proclaiming your beliefs. Finally, the sixth is that when your power has been recognized, you have a responsibility to offer affirmation and hope to others.

As a young man Murray was converted to Universalism by James Relly. He resisted Relly's concept of universal salvation for a long time, gripped as he was by his fear of letting go his orthodox belief. In fact, he was persuaded as much by Relly's followers as by Relly himself.

Once Murray set out to save a young woman who was a follower of Relly. Murray's account of the interview indicates the man's ability to laugh at himself, as well as the remarkable rhetorical skills of the woman he was attempting to save. Here is what he has written:

The young lady received us with much kindness and condescension, while, as I glanced my eye upon her fine countenance, beaming with intelligence, mingling pity and contempt grew in my bosom. After the first ceremonies, we sat for some time silent; at length I drew up a heavy sigh, and uttered a pathetic sentiment, relative to the deplorable condition of those who live and die in unbelief; and I concluded a violent declamation, by pronouncing with great earnestness, "He that believeth not shall be damned." "And pray, sir," said the young lady, with great sweetness, "Pray, sir, what is the unbeliever damned for not believing?" "What is he damned for not believing? Why, he is damned for not believing." "But, my dear sir," she asked, "what was that, which he did not believe, for which he was damned?" "Why, for not believing in Jesus Christ, to be sure." "Do you mean to say that unbelievers are damned for not believing there was such a person as Jesus Christ." "No, I do not; a man may believe there was such a person, and yet be damned." "What then, sir, must he believe, in order to avoid damnation?" "Why, he must believe that Jesus Christ is a complete Saviour." "Well, suppose he were to believe, that Jesus Christ was the complete Saviour of others, would this belief save him?" "No, he must believe that Jesus Christ is his complete Saviour; every individual must believe for himself that Jesus Christ is his complete Saviour." "Why, sir, is Jesus Christ the Saviour of any unbelievers?" "No, madam." "Why, then, should any unbeliever believe, that Jesus Christ is his Saviour, if he is not his Saviour?" "I say he is not the Saviour of any one, until he believes." "Then, if Jesus be not the Saviour of the unbeliever, until he believes, the unbeliever is called upon to believe a lie. It appears to me, sir, that Jesus is the complete Saviour of unbelievers; and that unbelievers are called upon to believe the truth; and that, by believing they are saved in their own apprehension, saved from all those dreadful fears which are consequent upon a state of conscious condemnation." "No, madam; you are dreadfully, I trust not fatally, misled. Jesus never was, nor never will be, the Saviour of any unbeliever." "Do you think Jesus is your Saviour, sir?" "I hope he is." "Were you always a believer sir?" "No, madam." "Then you were once an unbeliever; that is, you once believed that Jesus Christ was not your Saviour. Now, as you say, he never was, nor never will be, the Saviour of any unbeliever; as you were once an unbeliever, he never can be your Saviour." "He never was my Saviour till I believed." "Did he never die for you, till you believed, sir?" Here I was extremely embarrassed, and most devoutly wished myself out of her habitation; I sighed bitterly, expressed deep commiseration for those souls who had nothing but head-knowledge; drew out my watch, discovered it was late; and, recollecting an engagement, observed it was time to take leave.

Even given the persuasive arguments of this woman, Murray resisted Relly because of the fear instilled in him during his experience with the Reform Church. Many people who enter our doors today are also full of fear. Just recently someone told me and others in a Pathway to Membership Class, "I'm not ready to join your church yet. I'm not sure what I learned as a child isn't true. I don't agree with it. I want to revoke my allegiance to orthodoxy. But what if it is true. What if I give up my old beliefs and then end up spending an eternity in Hell because I did!?"

Fear is a powerful motivator. We sometimes joke about the fact that we Unitarian Universalists are a relatively small religion because we have no "fear of God" to throw at people to make them come to church or to motivate them to give generously to the church. I wonder if our joshing doesn't come from our own fear of not having enough faith in our convictions to proclaim them. Asking people to give so they can be saved in this life rather than the next could be a powerful motivator. We also reveal our fear when we sometimes all things spiritual, fearing intimacy, relationship, and love will cause us to abandon our search for truth through facts, proofs, and science, and tempt us into a false paradigm where truth has no value.

An important part of any spiritual journey is to be aware of what you fear and to question the truth of your fear. This is John Murray's first lesson for us.

Murray decided his fear was not justified and he embraced Universalism before he left Ireland. He boarded the ship which brought him to our shores with new hope, born out of a new paradigm.

Orthodox Christianity in Murray's day was a five legged stool. First of all, God was totally other, completely transcendent, unknowable, supremely powerful ­ a true sovereign. Secondly, humans were considered depraved and God in his majesty had predestined some people to eternal hell and others to eternal heaven. There was no way of knowing who was elected to heaven. Third, God's law as revealed in the Bible governed all matters of doctrine, discipline and worship, as well as rites, offices and ceremonies in the church. Sundays were austere, without hymns or instrumental music. Revealed law was also the yardstick by which personal behavior was gauged and the measure by which punishment was meted out to the penitent. Fourth, the Christians of Murray's day were optimistic about remaking the world in their theological image. Finally, they brought new life to the Old Testament God of vengeance by naming their children after prominent heroes of Israel.

Murray did not reject all of orthodoxy, only the second leg of the stool. He was known to chide clergy who held fast to "double predestination". Once in America Murray encountered a Baptist who said he walked nine miles every week to preach. Murray asked him, how many his congregation contained? "About an hundred." How many of this hundred do you suppose are elected to everlasting life? "I cannot tell." Do you believe fifty are elected? "Oh no, nor twenty." Ten perhaps? "There may be ten." Do you think the non-elect can take any step to extricate themselves from the tremendous situation, in which the decrees of heaven have placed them? "Oh no, they might as well attempt to pull the stars from the firmament of heaven." And do you think your preaching can assist them? "Certainly not; every sermon they hear will sink them deeper, and deeper in damnation." And so, then, you walk nine miles every week to sink ninety persons out of a hundred deeper and deeper in never-ending misery!

Murray, by embracing Universalism, entered a new paradigm of hope ­ eternal salvation instead of never-ending misery. This is a marvelous lesson for us. Often our fear causes us to resist and resist and resist new possibilities. Especially one as uplifting as the good news that we shall know peace, justice, joy, and love as we embrace Universalism. We have lost the curse of fear and gained the blessing of salvation for all people.

As he left Ireland, his shedding of his old fear and his embrace of the hope of Universalism provided Murray the courage to face his deep woundedness, caused by the loss of his two loved ones and the shame of both debtors prison and excommunication.

Many people enter these doors because they are wounded. They are alienated, separated, isolated, and lonely. They grieve losses ­ a former home, a former certainty, a former love. They feel incompetent, unable to help themselves, unclear about where the answers lie.

Henri Nouwen, writing in his book The Wounded Healer, calls on us all to minister to one another out of our woundedness. He advises us that hospitality shall be basic to our ministry. Nouwen calls hospitality the ability to pay attention to the guest ­ without taking over. He invites us to concentrate on our guests in ways that are inviting and liberating rather than threatening and demanding. He also counsels us that "hospitality becomes community as it creates a unity based on the shared confession of our basic brokenness and on a shared hope."

I think of John Murray's encounter with Thomas Potter. When Potter asked Murray to preach, Murray acted at first out of fear, rather than hope. He prayed for the wind to change, to be delivered from revealing to Potter and Potter's friends his Universalist perspective.

As much as Potter wanted Murray to come ashore and preach in his chapel, Potter did an amazing thing: he allowed Murray to come on his own volition. Giving Murray this space, Potter allowed for the possibility of Murray's inviting God to go with him in his brokenness. The quote in your order of service was Murray's prayer as he went ashore, "O my merciful God! Leave me not, I beseech thee, for a single moment; for without thee, I can do nothing."

When we act out of our woundedness we allow for the possibility of the holy to stand with us. This is Murray's third lesson.

That Murray's message was exactly what Potter hoped to hear is a blessing and an important part of our religious story. Call it a miracle, call it coincidence, call it serendipity, call it synchronicity. However you chose to label it, you must call it a good story. What an affirmation for both men! A Universalist chapel builder looking for a Universalist minister. A Universalist minister, not yet daring to think he might find a friendly pulpit in his new country, having his first sermon so enthusiastically affirmed. This common event occurring totally by accident! Or, perhaps not. Here is how Murray reported it, "I retired to the cabin; I had leisure for serious reflections, and serious reflections crowded upon me. I was astonished, I was lost in wonder, in love, and in praise; I saw, as evidently as I could see any object, visibly exhibited before me, that the good hand of God was in all these things. It is, I spontaneously exclaimed, it is the Lord's doings! and it is marvelous in my eyes."

This is Murray's fourth lesson ­ the power of affirmation. In this church we each believe differently. That which we hold most dear is different for many of us. Yet each of us has something we would point to as sacred, as holy. When what is that important to us breaks through and becomes manifest it takes our breath away. It is so blessed to be affirmed by that which we trust.

Imagine how differently Murray's life in America might have gone had he not had his encounter with Thomas Potter. As it was, he carried the Universalist message with such confidence that today he is called the father of Universalism. Not every church was as willing to offer its pulpit to him as was Thomas Potter's. Murray had to proclaim his beliefs with assurance and endurance, because the established religion was resistant to him.

Murray arrived in the United States 17 years before the federal constitution established religious freedom, and 63 years before state support for established churches finally ended. At the time he arrived, the established churches were supported by taxes. The way I see it, a new church meant smaller slices of the pie for everyone! Is that the way you history buffs see it? So, not only were the established churches threatened by Murray's new theology simply on principle, they were threatened by the possibility of his establishing congregations which would cut into their share of tax dollars.

Murray did preach extensively throughout the colonies, and he settled finally in Gloucester, Massachusetts. Once again he found a patron, a well known ship captain named Winthrop Sargent, who had read James Relly's work and taken an interest in his ideas. Throughout most of his fourteen years in Gloucester Murray had legal struggles trying to establish his dissenting church. It was Sargent's support and that of his congregation which made it possible for the church to survive.

In the latter half of the 18th and the early 19th century churches in the United States became entirely voluntary associations. This remarkable cultural change meant that those who attended the church had to support it. No longer were tax dollars available to pay minister's salaries and other expenses. The success of Murray's Gloucester church was due in large part to the support of his congregation, much as any church today is dependent on its members' and friends' pledges and plate contributions. The fifth lesson we learn from Murray is that a religion worth our time and interest is worth our enthusiastic support in three ways: by carrying the message to those who have yet to hear our good news; by providing leadership in operating the voluntary association which must be governed and managed; and by making generous monetary contributions toward its operating and capital expenses.

We come to the final chapter of John Murray's life and our final lesson for today. Not only was Winthrop Sargent Murray's chief benefactor, he also became his father-in-law when Murray married Sargent widowed daughter, Judith Sargent Stevens in 1788. Murray was 47, Stevens was 37.

Judith Murray was a writer, and she participated actively in her husband's ministry. Late in his life she helped him edit one volume of writing, called Letters and Sketches of Sermons and after his death she completed the autobiography he had started earlier.

In 1793 the Murrays moved to Boston. John Murray remained active in his ministry there until he died in 1815, at the age of 74. His final years bring his final lesson ­ what I think Eric Erikson calls generativity. It's something like mentoring, but less specific. It's an awareness that as a respected, successful, mature adult one has a responsibility to nurture the next generations, to encourage them in their interests and activities. I think Murray must have done this well, witness this testimony to his character:

He sympathized with the afflicted, and largely partook their sorrows; while, so often as the course of events brought joy to their bosoms, his eye beamed gladness, and his tongue exulted to dwell upon facts, which illuminated the hours of his protracted pilgrimage. His voice, at the bed of death, was the herald of consolation. Are there not uncounted numbers, still passing on, in this vale of tears, who, while attending upon their expiring relatives, have witnessed the divine effects emanating from the luminous understanding of the preacher, and lighting up a blissful smile of anticipated felicity, amid the agonies of dissolving nature. To the aged he delighted to administer consolation; his presence gave a face of cheerfulness to those social hours, which the numerous classes, with whom he mingled, were wont to appropriate to enjoyment. Children lisped with infantile transport the name of the philanthropic preacher, and they were even eloquent in expressions of unfeigned attachment. The pleasures of young people, if under the dominion of innocence, were uniformly sanctioned by their preacher; and his appearance in well-regulated circles of hilarity, so far from clouding, was always considered as the harbinger of high-wrought entertainment.

This wonderful sketch suggests a man supportive not only of those afflicted but also those aflame with life. How delightful to be considered a "harbinger of high-wrought entertainment" and to win "expressions of unfeigned attachment" from children.

I hope you will remember John Murray and his gifts to us ­ that we are not alone in our fear, that new possibilities open us to hope, that our woundedness permits the manifestation of what we most truly value, that affirmation is blessed, that carrying our message and supporting the institutions which incorporate it is important, and finally, that our lives are powerful examples to those who come after us.