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Rev. May Has Shown Me the Way |
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A
Sermon by The Reverend Richard R. Davis Used
with permission. Back in February of
1986 I met with our denomination's Fellowship Committee in a conference room
in a hotel in Berkeley, CA. The committee's unenviable task is to determine
if ministerial students are intellectually, emotionally and personally
qualified to become full-fledged Unitarian Universalist ministers. My task
that day was to convince them that I was. This is the day that
most ministry students dread and want to put behind them—it is a harrowing
ordeal to go before an imposing committee of distinguished ministers and lay
members to have them decide your vocational fate. So much hinges on this one
meeting that it is difficult not to get a bit overwhelmed by all the
pressure. You begin by preaching
a short sermon to the committee, and then you sit down to get grilled on a
vast array of topics. Each member of the committee has studied an extensive
file on you before the meeting, and one of their primary tasks is to probe
for weaknesses or particular areas of concern. Since I had not
attended a Unitarian Universalist theology school the committee was concerned
that I might not know enough Unitarian Universalist history and theology, so
they were asking me a number of questions to test my knowledge in that area. Everything seemed to
be going well until someone asked me which figure in Unitarian Universalist
history I most admired. Normally, you would expect students of our history to
respond by naming one of the great, well known figures in one our movement's
history, say Theodore Parker or Susan B. Anthony s or Ellery Channing or
Margaret Fuller—somebody like that. Instead, I
instinctively and impulsively said that Samuel J. May was the person I most
admired in was our movement's history. Everyone had blank expressions on
their faces because them most of them had never even
heard of Samuel J. May. Everyone that is except the head of the committee at
that time, the Rev. Nick Cardell. He seemed a bit stunned by my response. He squinted and looked
directly at me and asked, “Did you say Samuel May, Samuel J. May?” "Yes," I
stammered. Now I became alarmed because the truth of the matter was that I
knew very little about Samuel J. May, and it seemed that Nick Cardell knew
something terrible about the man that I did not. My only knowledge of the
Rev. Samuel May came from a very brief reference in one of the books on our
required reading list. Yet I was so deeply inspired by what I read about him
there that I said to myself at the time, "That
is the kind of minister I would like to be." And thus, I named him as my
favorite Unitarian Universalist that day in Berkeley. Much to my relief,
Nick Cardell started smiling appreciatively as he announced to the rest of
the committee—“back in the middle of the nineteenth century Samuel May was
the congregational minister in Syracuse, New York, where I now serve, and
they loved him so much they named the place after him—the May Memorial
Unitarian Society. He was a wonderful man.” Nick Cardell seemed very
favorably impressed by my wise choice. Everyone else laughed
because they thought it was extraordinarily clever for me to mention an
obscure figure that the head of the Fellowship Committee deeply admired. In
fact, I was not clever at all—just lucky. In any event, the Fellowship Committee
gave me their stamp of approval that day, and I was able to fulfill my dream
of entering the ministry. So I'll always
remember that early on in my ministry Samuel J. May gave me a helpful boost.
But for several years thereafter I lost contact with him because there are no
books about his life or ministry currently in print. Only the more assiduous
students of Unitarian history learn about him from obscure sources—he was
widely known and admired in his own day, but he has now more or less fallen
through the cracks of our historical memory. Yet fate seems to have
ordained that I, at least, should have a significant encounter with the
spirit of Rev. Samuel J. May. Recently, I was browsing through the stacks in
the library at the Theology School at Claremont when I saw a book
entitled Memoir
of Samuel J. May (Thomas
J. Mumford, Editor; Boston: Roberts Brothers). I thumbed through this
fragile, old book, published in 1873—there are probably very few copies left
anywhere. It's amazing that I had the good fortune to stumble upon one of
them. Having now read and
savored this charming and inspiring book I must say that if I had to face the
Fellowship Committee again, and they asked me what figure I most admired in
Unitarian Universalist history I would again say without hesitation and even
more emphasis, "Samuel J. May." As Unitarian Universalists, most of
us are fairly familiar with our Principles and Purposes, and the vision and
ideals embodied in that document can serve as a sure guide for us in our
religious lives. But I need more than abstract ideals to get me going—I need
real life embodiments of those ideals to inspire me to live by them. So great
souls like Samuel J. May serve a profound spiritual need for me—he reminds
me, by virtue of his example, of who I am called to
be and what I am called to do as a Unitarian Universalist minister, for he
faithfully embodied the moral and spiritual ideals that I hold dear. I cannot begin to sum
up his life in one sermon, and I feel some frustration that I cannot tell you
all that I would like about Samuel May, but I hope you will soon understand
some of the reasons why he inspires me so much. I first learned about
Samuel May when I was reading about the ugly sectarian controversy that
surrounded Theodore Parker well over a century ago. Theodore Parker, you
may remember, was the prophetic Unitarian minister who we now claim as one of
the greatest figures in our history: Yet Parker would see a bit of irony in
that since the Unitarians of his day did everything they could to expel him
from our movement. They lacked the power to officially expel him, but they
did ask him to leave the Unitarian movement because of his outspoken and
unorthodox Transcendentalist views. Even for Unitarians he was too far out. He refused to leave
our movement, but he was effectively ostracized by other Unitarians—few would
speak to him, and was not invited to speak from other Unitarian pulpits. Parker,
being a sensitive man was deeply hurt by this rejection. He bitterly
commented on Unitarian clergy: "I once thought noble; that they would be
true to an ideal principle of right. find that no
body of men was ever more completely sold sense of expediency." Yet there was one
Unitarian minister who was open-minded and courageous enough to befriend
Parker and welcome him into his pulpit—Samuel J. May. May did
not fully agree with Parker's theological views either, but he clearly
recognized Parker's greatness. As May said, "I respect Theodore Parker
because he is a man of intellect and of wonderful acquisitions. I love him
because he consecrates so much of his knowledge, his genius, and his
eloquence to the cause of suffering, outraged humanity . . . when I see the
tremendous blows he strikes at the foundation vices of society, I respect and
love him, his opinions on some points notwithstanding. Yet May also
recognized that Theodore Parker was partially to blame for his own fate—he
was often sarcastic and condescending toward those who challenged his views.
And thus, many people resented Parker and broke off their relations with him.
On the other hand, even those who strongly disagreed with Samuel May, who
also held unpopular views on controversial issues, found it hard to break off
their relations with him due to his kind and loving personality. One politician who
deplored May's abolitionist views frequently denounced him in the bitterest
of terms—he did everything he could to become an enemy. But one day he
confessed "I have got to give up trying to hate that man. You know I
have a sick child, but I went to a meeting to attack the Abolitionists. Soon
after the meeting I heard. Mr. May's voice calling my name in the street.
Turning round, I found his face full of neighborly tenderness; and all he
said was, "I do hope your little boy is better." As one of the earliest
and most outspoken advocates for the total abolition of slavery, May had to
endure a great deal of hateful abuse in the north—he was burned in effigy,
verbally assaulted, and physically threatened. Yet he refused to regard any
person as an enemy; and time and again he was able to overcome senseless
hatred with love and compassion. May's profoundly inclusive humanitarian
vision affected all his relations with people, wherever he was, whatever he
was doing. At one point in his
career he was induced by the great educator Horace Mann to leave the ministry
for a while and head a school May did so reluctantly, but under his guidance
the school thrived. In a speech to a teacher's convention he shared the
secret of his success. "Be mindful," he said "of the
neglected, ill-looking, ill-tempered, not wishing them away, but rejoicing to
have an opportunity to do for them in school what is not done for them at home.
Let this class of children be at once made to feel that they are really cared
for; that they are not shunned, but sought after; not despised, but valued;
not doubted, but trusted; not despaired of but hoped for: let them be treated
thus, and a prolific source of trouble in schools would be dried up. Love the
unlovely, and they will put their unloveliness away." Back in the early
nineteenth century when harsh discipline was the rule in schools, this kind
of enlightened, compassionate approach was a revelation to his hearers, and
for some time after that phrase "love the unlovely" echoed
throughout the region. It was one of May's central tenets, whether he was
dealing with children or adults. May had a singular
genius for bringing out the best in those around him, for appealing to the
better angels in people's natures. He approached each person with the
awareness that his manner of dealing with them could positively affect their
attitudes and behaviors. Very early one morning
Samuel May was traveling along a road where another man had recently been
robbed and murdered. As he rode along he noticed a suspicious character in
the road ahead. The man was dirty and unkempt, and he was carrying a big
bludgeon in his hand. It seemed as though he were planning to attack May, but
before he had the opportunity May called out, "friend, you are going my
way: will you not ride with me?" The man seemed
embarrassed and disconcerted by this offer, but he accepted. The two rode
along together all day as May made friendly conversation. Toward the end of
the day, when they parted, the stranger looked at May very earnestly and with
a voice filled with emotion said, "Thank you, sir: probably you never
will know the benefit you have conferred upon me today." When the man made that
unusual confession May realized that he had indeed intended to beat and rob
him that morning, but once again, May's loving kindness transformed an evil
possibility into a good reality. As a minister Samuel
May also understood that he was called upon to inspire others to transform
bad relations into life affirming ones. Once May visited a dying man who was
wailing loudly not because of physical suffering but because of his spiritual
misery. It seems that this old man had always been crotchety, argumentative,
and abusive with practically everyone, and now, on his deathbed he was
feeling tremendous remorse for his terrible behavior. May told the man that
all his loud groaning neither was pleasing to God or the neighbors, and that
there was a better way for him to spend his final days: "instead of
wasting your time, and disturbing your family by your groans and outcries,
set about forgiving those who have injured you, and ask the pardon of those
you have injured." The old man started telling May about all the wrongs
that others had done to him, but May finally said "if they are really as
bad as you have described them, I should think you would pity them, and pray
for their repentance and forgiveness. But it your special duty to think
rather of the wrong you may have done to them in your anger; be sorry for
that, and sincerely ask their pardon." The old man agreed, except to say that he was unwilling to forgive one
particular man who had abused him a great deal. May said that "above
all, he is the one with whom you most need to be reconciled." Finally,
the old man realized that this was indeed what he must do. Soon one neighbor
after another came in to be reconciled with the old man. As this dying man
asked each of them for forgiveness they were all so touched by this sincere
gesture that they, in return, asked him for forgiveness as well. And the
sweetest reconciliation of all for the old man was with the man who had been
his greatest enemy. Tears flowed freely between them as they each granted
forgiveness to one another. A day or two later the man died, at peace with everyone,
including himself. Yet May was not the
kind of minister who simply occupied himself with personal morality. He was
even more engaged in the larger battle to make his society more moral and humane.
The battle that most engaged his energies was the fight against slavery.
Early in his youth on a journey through Maryland, May saw a line of manacled
slaves being led to an auction. He was horrified by the sight and said
"I am ashamed of my country and my race." A great
deal of his later energies were spent working to eradicate that shame. What really set his
soul on fire was hearing the radical abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison one
evening at a lecture. "That night my soul was baptized in his spirit,"
wrote May. "The impression which he made upon my soul has never been
effaced; indeed, it molded it anew. He gave a new direction to my thoughts, a
new purpose to my ministry." May became
an abolitionist in the 1830's when they were a very unpopular minority
everywhere. Even the Unitarians distanced themselves from them, for they, too, were afraid to rock the boat and challenge the
status quo. This unfortunate state of affairs made it necessary for May to
make a very difficult visit to the great Unitarian minister William Ellery
Channing. May had revered Channing since he was a young boy—revered him more
than any living soul, but now he was compelled to confront him, for Channing
was not actively participating in the battle to abolish slavery. May was accustomed to
deferring to the older man, but on this visit he launched into a impassioned and eloquent
rebuke of Channing's inaction. May was surprised at his own
temerity, and after he finished speaking he waited for Channing's reply in
"painful expectation." May wrote that
"the minutes seemed very long that elapsed before the silence was
broken. Then, in a very subdued manner and in the kindliest tones of his
voice, Channing said: "Brother May, I acknowledge the justice of your
reproof. I have been silent too long." Never shall I forget his words,
look, whole appearance, " wrote May. "I
then and there saw the beauty, the magnanimity, the humility, of a truly
great soul. He was exalted in my esteem more than ever before." May did more than
speak out against slavery. He was very active in the underground railroad,
offering hundreds of slaves temporary sanctuary in
his home. He visited Canada to see that they had good places to go, and he
frequently took up collections in church to support this cause. And fortunately,
he lived long enough to see Abraham Lincoln issue the Emancipation
Proclamation freeing the slaves. May firmly believed in
the equality of all people and, thus, he was also moved to support women's
rights in an age when men rarely did such a thing. He prophetically announced
"I am fully persuaded that never will our governments be wisely and
happily administered until we have mothers as well as fathers of the
State." Indeed. May naturally
gravitated toward any cause that would help alleviate human suffering and
oppression. One admirer wrote that "it was said that his father, while
traveling on the road, would alight and remove a stone or other obstacles
that might jolt or inconvenience other travelers. So Samuel May's whole life
was, I think, spent in efforts to remove obstacles in the way to the
happiness and peace of others." And he has, by his
example, removed some of the emotional and psychological obstacles that
periodically keep me being the minister I am called to be. He reminds me to
befriend and support outspoken prophets, even those whom the rest of society
repudiates. He
reminds me to counter hate with love. He
reminds me to "love the unlovely," to respect the inherent worth
and dignity of every person. He
reminds me to courageously find ways to transform evil potential into life
affirming reality. He
reminds me of the healing power of forgiveness. And
he reminds me to enlarge my vision and find effective ways to challenge the
great evils and injustices that oppress people and diminish the human spirit. Albert Schweitzer once
wrote: "sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by an
encounter with another human being. Each of us owes the deepest thanks to
those who have rekindled this inner light." So I owe a great debt
of gratitude to Samuel J. May, even though I have only met the memory of him.
I must humbly and honestly acknowledge that I will never be as great and good
a minister as he was. But I am undoubtedly a better one for having
encountered the memory of his life and his ministry. And my hope this
morning is that having heard about him, you will be a better Unitarian
Universalist. |