The Buddhist on a Bicycle or How I Became a Universalist Without Knowing It
The Buddhist on a Bicycle or How I Became a Universalist Without Knowing It
by John L. Saxon
Once upon a time, long, long ago … well, about forty years ago … there was a teenaged boy
named John who lived with his mother and father, his two younger brothers, and his two younger
sisters in a small town in south Alabama. John’s family was Methodist, so John was a Methodist,
too.
John attended Sunday School every Sunday (or almost every Sunday), stopped by the church
on Friday afternoon to fold the order of service, participated in the Methodist Youth Fellowship,
and sang in the youth choir at the Sunday night worship service. He earned the God and
Country medal as a Boy Scout. He believed in God, Jesus, heaven, and hell. His grandmother
told him that she hoped he’d be a Methodist minister when he grew up.
One summer evening when John was fourteen or fifteen years old, his father told the family that
a young Japanese man named Hiro was going to eat dinner and spend the night with them the
next day. Hiro was a nineteen or twenty-year-old student at a university in Japan and was riding
his bicycle across the United States during his summer vacation. He had just ridden from New
Orleans to Mobile, where he stayed overnight with a friend of John’s father. The friend called
John’s father and asked if Hiro could stay with John’s family when Hiro rode his bike from Mobile
to Greenville. John’s father said “sure.”
Hiro was a nice young man. He smiled and was very polite. He spoke English well enough to tell
us about his bike ride across the United States, his studies at the university, his family, and life
in Japan. When Hiro left the next morning on the next leg of his cycling journey, he thanked John’
s mother and father for their hospitality and gave them a small present—two tiny statues of the
Buddha and Kuan Yen, the Bodhisatva of Compassion.
Shortly after Hiro left, John’s mother told John that she was concerned that she had not told Hiro
about Jesus. The problem, of course, was that Hiro was a Buddhist, not a Christian, and
because Hiro was a Buddhist, and not a Christian, he was not saved and would not go to
heaven when he died.
John was concerned, too, but he didn’t say anything to his mother. John understood that God
sent bad people to hell when they died, but Hiro didn’t seem like a bad person. He seemed to be
very nice, polite, kind, smart, strong, and funny. And it wasn’t Hiro’s fault that he was a Buddhist
or that John’s mother didn’t tell him about Jesus so he could accept Jesus as his savior. How
could a loving God send Hiro to hell? It just didn’t make sense.
John remained a member of the Methodist Church until he went away to college, but his views of
God and religion became more and more unlike those of his parents, his family, and his friends.
Twenty years later, having moved from Christianity, to agnosticism, existentialism, secularism,
and humanism, John joined a Unitarian Universalist congregation and finally realized that he had
become a Universalist without knowing it twenty years earlier after a Buddhist on a bicycle spent
the night in his family’s home.
As a young boy in rural, south Alabama who had never even heard of Universalism, John had
understood that a loving God could not condemn a nice, polite Japanese student to hell just
because he was a Buddhist and did not believe that Jesus was the Son of God.
So John never became a Methodist minister as his grandmother hoped he would. But he is
studying to become a Unitarian Universalist minister and is standing here in front of you today
holding the small statues of the Buddha and Kuan Yen that Hiro gave to his parents—to my
parents—forty years ago.
II
I understand now that my “conversion” from orthodox Christianity to Universalism as a fourteen-
year old boy was not that different from the conversion experiences of the first Universalists in
the 18th and 19th centuries. It was a matter of both the head and the heart—a feeling that a
good and loving God simply would not condemn Hiro simply because he was a Buddhist and an
inability to comprehend how anything as arbitrary as religious belief could have such eternal
consequences.
I have to confess, though, that my Universalism is not at all the same as that professed by
George de Benneville, John Murray, Hosea Ballou, or the American Universalists of the 19th and
early 20th centuries—and I suspect that your Universalism isn’t, either.
In 1793, Universalism was virtually unknown in America. But over the next fifty years,
Universalism spread like wild fire among Christians who simply could not accept orthodox
Calvinism’s doctrines of predestination, election, and limited salvation. By 1845, Universalists
claimed in 1845 to have 853 churches, 512 ministers, and 600,000 members (though they were
probably exaggerating a bit with respect to church membership).
1845, however, was, at least in terms of numbers, the “high water” mark for Universalism.
Universalism continued to grow in absolute numbers during the mid- and late-1800s, but its
growth didn’t keep pace with that of the U.S. population or other religious denominations. The
numbers tell a grim story: in 1896 there were 811 Universalist churches and a total membership
of about 65,000. By 1917, membership had declined to just over 50,000 (and, again, the figure
may be exaggerated). And by the time of the merger with the Unitarians in 1961, there were
fewer than 300 Universalist churches with a total membership of less than 37,000.
III
So what happened to Universalism? Why aren’t there Universalist churches all over eastern
North Carolina? Why do Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Hindus, and Buddhists outnumber
Universalists (and Unitarians) in North Carolina and the United States?
In his book, The Larger Faith, UU minister and historian Charles Howe suggests that
Universalism’s decline “was caused by three factors, one sociological, one organizational, and
one theological. Sociologically, the migration of Americans to the cities and to the West left many
of the rural or village churches without the critical mass to sustain them. Organizationally, the
denomination remained crippled by its distrust of centralized power and the resulting difficulty in
mounting unified action.” Most importantly, though, Universalism’s decline seems to be related
most closely with the loss (or theft) of its essential message and its struggle to articulate a new
identity.
Calvinism, with its doctrines of inherent human depravity, salvation for the chosen or true
believers, and eternal damnation for most of humanity, is still alive and well in many parts of
rural North Carolina. But even the Presbyterians don’t talk too much about predestination
anymore. In fact, by the last half of the 19th century, most of the mainline Protestant churches
had abandoned the most extreme doctrines of Calvinism and held out the possibility that
salvation was not limited and predetermined but freely available to anyone who possessed her
faith in Jesus as Lord and Savior. That took the hard edge off of Calvinism for most Americans
and undoubtedly stole much of the appeal of Universalism’s doctrine of universal salvation, even
though the salvation offered by orthodox Christianity was not truly universal.
Perhaps more importantly, though, by 1900 the focus of many, if not most, Americans and much
of American religion had shifted from the hereafter to the here and now. Salvation, universal or
otherwise, and life after death took a back seat to life before death.
IV
In the fall of 1976, my wife and I took a trip to New England. One day, when we were riding
bicycles on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, I noticed a small, old, gray-shingled church. The
message posted in the church’s wayside pulpit caught my eye and I took a picture of it with my
Instamatic camera—not noticing or appreciating at the time that the church was the home of a
UU congregation. The sign said: “In religion, as in everything else, survival is ensured only by
change.”
Change, in religion as in everything else, is necessary, but it isn’t always easy or embraced with
open arms. And the trick to change, evolution, and growth is to change, evolve, and grow in
ways that retain and build upon what is essential and fundamental while discarding or reshaping
that which is obsolete, unnecessary, tangential, and superficial.
So the history of Universalism over the past 100 years—throughout the history of your church at
Outlaw’s Bridge—has been the history of change, of resistance to change, and of the search for
a new identity that retains and reshapes that which is the true essence of Universalism.
Universalist minister and theologian Clarence Russell Skinner was one of the first to propose a
new Universalist theology and identity in the 20th century. Skinner’s theology went far beyond
the limits of traditional Christianity but retained the essential elements of the Protestant Social
Gospel: the immanence of God, the ethical teachings of Jesus, and the realization of the
Kingdom of God on earth. By 1933, the influence of Skinner’s theology could be seen in the
revised Universalist Statement of Faith, which avowed a faith in “God as Eternal and All-
Conquering Love, in the spiritual leadership of Jesus, in the supreme worth of every human
personality, in the authority of truth known or to be known, and in the power of men of good will
… to overcome all evil and progressively establish the Kingdom of God” on earth, but, unlike
prior statements of faith, did not assert the Bible’s authority as the word of God, did not identify
Jesus as Christ or the savior of humankind, and did not expressly mention the doctrine of
universal salvation.
Although Universalism retained much of its liberal Christian identity during the first half of the
20th century, it moved closer and closer to the outer limits of mainstream Christianity. By 1950,
some Universalist ministers, including Robert Cummins, Clinton Lee Scott, and Ken Patton, were
articulating a new and radically different definition of Universalism that went well beyond the
boundaries of traditional Christianity (and resulted in the rejection of the Universalists’
application for membership in the National Council of Churches).
“A circumscribed Universalism,” Cummins said, “is unthinkable. Any Universalism worthy of its
name cannot recognize divisions between people on the basis of race or class or religion or
nationality … . All are welcome … unitarian or trinitarian, white or colored, theist or humanist.
Universalism cannot be limited either to Protestantism or to Christianity, not without denying its
very name. Ours is a world fellowship, not just a Christian sect.”
V
So what does Universalism mean today—for Universalists like you all, for Unitarian Universalists
like me, and for others in this community, state, and nation?
First, I believe that, within Unitarian Universalism, Universalism’s “heart-centered message” of
love offers, in the words of UU minister Mark Ward, a much-needed “corrective to the often head-
centered Unitarian approach to religious faith” and reminds us of the Christian roots of our
denomination and of the value of the Christian message of love and community.
Second, despite the fact that Universalism has evolved beyond Christianity, its message of
universal salvation remains attractive, I believe, to many liberal Christians. Universalism offered,
and still offers, a kinder, gentler Christianity, a more loving and inclusive Christianity, a more
rational Christianity, a more liberal Christianity. In my studies at Earlham School of Religion, I’ve
met Quakers, Brethren, and Christians who call themselves universalist (with a small “u”) but
have never set foot inside a Universalist Church. And I know Episcopalians, Methodists, and
Baptists whose beliefs about God, Jesus, sin, salvation, heaven, and hell are probably not too
very different from yours. So I don’t think it is too far-fetched to believe that Universalism could
appeal to many liberal Christians here in rural North Carolina—Christians who understand that
the love of God embraces all human beings without exception.
But, most importantly, I believe that a new and expanded Universalism offers an inclusive and
expansive vision of religious faith for the world—the gospel of a “larger hope” that, in the words
of Rev. Tom Owen-Toole, embraces all living things, engages every area of existence, and
enjoys the resources of the entire universe.
“From its birth,” he writes, “Universalism has been a religious philosophy whose governing
metaphor denotes breadth, size, expansiveness. At its truest, Universalism has been inclusive
rather than restrictive in both spirit and structure.” Universalism holds that “our humanity is
judged by the size of our devotions and the stretch of our involvements. Consequently, the only
hope large enough to heal the globe’s brokenness will be one that pays homage to the gifts of
women as well as men, children in addition to adults, and the marginalized alongside those in
seats of privilege and power. A faith of the larger hope welcomes persons of diverse colors and
classes, theologies and sexual orientations, ages and capacities. It aspires to be authentically,
not artificially, inclusive. Once we are grasped by the Universalist worldview, by its concept of a
larger hope, it proves unbearable to rest satisfied with diminishing emotions, petty prejudices,
and small-minded commitments. One cannot pursue the path of Universalism and long remain
void of hope, riddled with cowardice, and stingy with love.”
Recalling his conversion to Universalism, George de Benneville wrote: “And I took it so to heart
that I believed that my happiness would be incomplete while one creature remained miserable.”
Universalism reminds us, according to Tom Owen-Toole, that the “only salvation worth having is
communal, extended to everyone.”
The early Universalists, according to Christopher Raible, didn’t preach that there was no hell;
they were merely arguing over its location. Raible writes: “If human beings abandon their
responsibilities for each other, they make the world more hellish.” It is therefore our duty,
according to Universalist minister Richard Gilbert, to be the agents of an earthly salvation—a
salvation that is truly universal and communal and not merely personal. Universalism, in the
words of Dorothy Spoerl, requires that we “not just talk about compassion and love and
understanding” but place them at the center of what guides our words and deeds.
UU minister Mark Ward writes: “As with the early Universalists, we see many around us who live,
consciously or unconsciously, under an ethic of fear. At some times it walls us off from others,
and at other times it fuels a clutching, grasping mistrust and self-centeredness. Universalism
teaches that we are better than that. There is better nature calling to us, one that would draw us
in if we would but give it free play. It is that center that we act from when our hearts are open,
and it gives us not only compassion but courage: courage to turn from the suspicion, cynicism
and despair that separate us and act on the love that unites us.”
VI
The gospel of Universalism, I believe, is still alive today even if it is not the same as the
Universalism preached by John Murray and Hosea Ballou. But the gospel of Universalism, I
believe, will survive and thrive only if it continues to evolve and grow and we share its light with
the world—or at least our neighbors in eastern North Carolina.
VII
In closing, I’d like to share with you a meditation written by Elizabeth M. Strong:
“Where the heart stirs,
there moves Universalism.
The center holds us
within its transformative power of love.
We know with a wholeness of spirit
that God is love,
that life is good,
that people are created for goodness out of love,
that in the final reckoning
all shall be one.
When we hurt, when we are broken, when we become separated:
Let us seek the center which holds.
Let us remember the goodness for which we were created.
Let us be open to the transformative power of love
that moves within the heart of life
and be whole once again.
John L. Saxon is a part-time student at Meadville Theological School in Chicago, and a UU
campus minister at Duke University.
by John L. Saxon
Once upon a time, long, long ago … well, about forty years ago … there was a teenaged boy
named John who lived with his mother and father, his two younger brothers, and his two younger
sisters in a small town in south Alabama. John’s family was Methodist, so John was a Methodist,
too.
John attended Sunday School every Sunday (or almost every Sunday), stopped by the church
on Friday afternoon to fold the order of service, participated in the Methodist Youth Fellowship,
and sang in the youth choir at the Sunday night worship service. He earned the God and
Country medal as a Boy Scout. He believed in God, Jesus, heaven, and hell. His grandmother
told him that she hoped he’d be a Methodist minister when he grew up.
One summer evening when John was fourteen or fifteen years old, his father told the family that
a young Japanese man named Hiro was going to eat dinner and spend the night with them the
next day. Hiro was a nineteen or twenty-year-old student at a university in Japan and was riding
his bicycle across the United States during his summer vacation. He had just ridden from New
Orleans to Mobile, where he stayed overnight with a friend of John’s father. The friend called
John’s father and asked if Hiro could stay with John’s family when Hiro rode his bike from Mobile
to Greenville. John’s father said “sure.”
Hiro was a nice young man. He smiled and was very polite. He spoke English well enough to tell
us about his bike ride across the United States, his studies at the university, his family, and life
in Japan. When Hiro left the next morning on the next leg of his cycling journey, he thanked John’
s mother and father for their hospitality and gave them a small present—two tiny statues of the
Buddha and Kuan Yen, the Bodhisatva of Compassion.
Shortly after Hiro left, John’s mother told John that she was concerned that she had not told Hiro
about Jesus. The problem, of course, was that Hiro was a Buddhist, not a Christian, and
because Hiro was a Buddhist, and not a Christian, he was not saved and would not go to
heaven when he died.
John was concerned, too, but he didn’t say anything to his mother. John understood that God
sent bad people to hell when they died, but Hiro didn’t seem like a bad person. He seemed to be
very nice, polite, kind, smart, strong, and funny. And it wasn’t Hiro’s fault that he was a Buddhist
or that John’s mother didn’t tell him about Jesus so he could accept Jesus as his savior. How
could a loving God send Hiro to hell? It just didn’t make sense.
John remained a member of the Methodist Church until he went away to college, but his views of
God and religion became more and more unlike those of his parents, his family, and his friends.
Twenty years later, having moved from Christianity, to agnosticism, existentialism, secularism,
and humanism, John joined a Unitarian Universalist congregation and finally realized that he had
become a Universalist without knowing it twenty years earlier after a Buddhist on a bicycle spent
the night in his family’s home.
As a young boy in rural, south Alabama who had never even heard of Universalism, John had
understood that a loving God could not condemn a nice, polite Japanese student to hell just
because he was a Buddhist and did not believe that Jesus was the Son of God.
So John never became a Methodist minister as his grandmother hoped he would. But he is
studying to become a Unitarian Universalist minister and is standing here in front of you today
holding the small statues of the Buddha and Kuan Yen that Hiro gave to his parents—to my
parents—forty years ago.
II
I understand now that my “conversion” from orthodox Christianity to Universalism as a fourteen-
year old boy was not that different from the conversion experiences of the first Universalists in
the 18th and 19th centuries. It was a matter of both the head and the heart—a feeling that a
good and loving God simply would not condemn Hiro simply because he was a Buddhist and an
inability to comprehend how anything as arbitrary as religious belief could have such eternal
consequences.
I have to confess, though, that my Universalism is not at all the same as that professed by
George de Benneville, John Murray, Hosea Ballou, or the American Universalists of the 19th and
early 20th centuries—and I suspect that your Universalism isn’t, either.
In 1793, Universalism was virtually unknown in America. But over the next fifty years,
Universalism spread like wild fire among Christians who simply could not accept orthodox
Calvinism’s doctrines of predestination, election, and limited salvation. By 1845, Universalists
claimed in 1845 to have 853 churches, 512 ministers, and 600,000 members (though they were
probably exaggerating a bit with respect to church membership).
1845, however, was, at least in terms of numbers, the “high water” mark for Universalism.
Universalism continued to grow in absolute numbers during the mid- and late-1800s, but its
growth didn’t keep pace with that of the U.S. population or other religious denominations. The
numbers tell a grim story: in 1896 there were 811 Universalist churches and a total membership
of about 65,000. By 1917, membership had declined to just over 50,000 (and, again, the figure
may be exaggerated). And by the time of the merger with the Unitarians in 1961, there were
fewer than 300 Universalist churches with a total membership of less than 37,000.
III
So what happened to Universalism? Why aren’t there Universalist churches all over eastern
North Carolina? Why do Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Hindus, and Buddhists outnumber
Universalists (and Unitarians) in North Carolina and the United States?
In his book, The Larger Faith, UU minister and historian Charles Howe suggests that
Universalism’s decline “was caused by three factors, one sociological, one organizational, and
one theological. Sociologically, the migration of Americans to the cities and to the West left many
of the rural or village churches without the critical mass to sustain them. Organizationally, the
denomination remained crippled by its distrust of centralized power and the resulting difficulty in
mounting unified action.” Most importantly, though, Universalism’s decline seems to be related
most closely with the loss (or theft) of its essential message and its struggle to articulate a new
identity.
Calvinism, with its doctrines of inherent human depravity, salvation for the chosen or true
believers, and eternal damnation for most of humanity, is still alive and well in many parts of
rural North Carolina. But even the Presbyterians don’t talk too much about predestination
anymore. In fact, by the last half of the 19th century, most of the mainline Protestant churches
had abandoned the most extreme doctrines of Calvinism and held out the possibility that
salvation was not limited and predetermined but freely available to anyone who possessed her
faith in Jesus as Lord and Savior. That took the hard edge off of Calvinism for most Americans
and undoubtedly stole much of the appeal of Universalism’s doctrine of universal salvation, even
though the salvation offered by orthodox Christianity was not truly universal.
Perhaps more importantly, though, by 1900 the focus of many, if not most, Americans and much
of American religion had shifted from the hereafter to the here and now. Salvation, universal or
otherwise, and life after death took a back seat to life before death.
IV
In the fall of 1976, my wife and I took a trip to New England. One day, when we were riding
bicycles on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, I noticed a small, old, gray-shingled church. The
message posted in the church’s wayside pulpit caught my eye and I took a picture of it with my
Instamatic camera—not noticing or appreciating at the time that the church was the home of a
UU congregation. The sign said: “In religion, as in everything else, survival is ensured only by
change.”
Change, in religion as in everything else, is necessary, but it isn’t always easy or embraced with
open arms. And the trick to change, evolution, and growth is to change, evolve, and grow in
ways that retain and build upon what is essential and fundamental while discarding or reshaping
that which is obsolete, unnecessary, tangential, and superficial.
So the history of Universalism over the past 100 years—throughout the history of your church at
Outlaw’s Bridge—has been the history of change, of resistance to change, and of the search for
a new identity that retains and reshapes that which is the true essence of Universalism.
Universalist minister and theologian Clarence Russell Skinner was one of the first to propose a
new Universalist theology and identity in the 20th century. Skinner’s theology went far beyond
the limits of traditional Christianity but retained the essential elements of the Protestant Social
Gospel: the immanence of God, the ethical teachings of Jesus, and the realization of the
Kingdom of God on earth. By 1933, the influence of Skinner’s theology could be seen in the
revised Universalist Statement of Faith, which avowed a faith in “God as Eternal and All-
Conquering Love, in the spiritual leadership of Jesus, in the supreme worth of every human
personality, in the authority of truth known or to be known, and in the power of men of good will
… to overcome all evil and progressively establish the Kingdom of God” on earth, but, unlike
prior statements of faith, did not assert the Bible’s authority as the word of God, did not identify
Jesus as Christ or the savior of humankind, and did not expressly mention the doctrine of
universal salvation.
Although Universalism retained much of its liberal Christian identity during the first half of the
20th century, it moved closer and closer to the outer limits of mainstream Christianity. By 1950,
some Universalist ministers, including Robert Cummins, Clinton Lee Scott, and Ken Patton, were
articulating a new and radically different definition of Universalism that went well beyond the
boundaries of traditional Christianity (and resulted in the rejection of the Universalists’
application for membership in the National Council of Churches).
“A circumscribed Universalism,” Cummins said, “is unthinkable. Any Universalism worthy of its
name cannot recognize divisions between people on the basis of race or class or religion or
nationality … . All are welcome … unitarian or trinitarian, white or colored, theist or humanist.
Universalism cannot be limited either to Protestantism or to Christianity, not without denying its
very name. Ours is a world fellowship, not just a Christian sect.”
V
So what does Universalism mean today—for Universalists like you all, for Unitarian Universalists
like me, and for others in this community, state, and nation?
First, I believe that, within Unitarian Universalism, Universalism’s “heart-centered message” of
love offers, in the words of UU minister Mark Ward, a much-needed “corrective to the often head-
centered Unitarian approach to religious faith” and reminds us of the Christian roots of our
denomination and of the value of the Christian message of love and community.
Second, despite the fact that Universalism has evolved beyond Christianity, its message of
universal salvation remains attractive, I believe, to many liberal Christians. Universalism offered,
and still offers, a kinder, gentler Christianity, a more loving and inclusive Christianity, a more
rational Christianity, a more liberal Christianity. In my studies at Earlham School of Religion, I’ve
met Quakers, Brethren, and Christians who call themselves universalist (with a small “u”) but
have never set foot inside a Universalist Church. And I know Episcopalians, Methodists, and
Baptists whose beliefs about God, Jesus, sin, salvation, heaven, and hell are probably not too
very different from yours. So I don’t think it is too far-fetched to believe that Universalism could
appeal to many liberal Christians here in rural North Carolina—Christians who understand that
the love of God embraces all human beings without exception.
But, most importantly, I believe that a new and expanded Universalism offers an inclusive and
expansive vision of religious faith for the world—the gospel of a “larger hope” that, in the words
of Rev. Tom Owen-Toole, embraces all living things, engages every area of existence, and
enjoys the resources of the entire universe.
“From its birth,” he writes, “Universalism has been a religious philosophy whose governing
metaphor denotes breadth, size, expansiveness. At its truest, Universalism has been inclusive
rather than restrictive in both spirit and structure.” Universalism holds that “our humanity is
judged by the size of our devotions and the stretch of our involvements. Consequently, the only
hope large enough to heal the globe’s brokenness will be one that pays homage to the gifts of
women as well as men, children in addition to adults, and the marginalized alongside those in
seats of privilege and power. A faith of the larger hope welcomes persons of diverse colors and
classes, theologies and sexual orientations, ages and capacities. It aspires to be authentically,
not artificially, inclusive. Once we are grasped by the Universalist worldview, by its concept of a
larger hope, it proves unbearable to rest satisfied with diminishing emotions, petty prejudices,
and small-minded commitments. One cannot pursue the path of Universalism and long remain
void of hope, riddled with cowardice, and stingy with love.”
Recalling his conversion to Universalism, George de Benneville wrote: “And I took it so to heart
that I believed that my happiness would be incomplete while one creature remained miserable.”
Universalism reminds us, according to Tom Owen-Toole, that the “only salvation worth having is
communal, extended to everyone.”
The early Universalists, according to Christopher Raible, didn’t preach that there was no hell;
they were merely arguing over its location. Raible writes: “If human beings abandon their
responsibilities for each other, they make the world more hellish.” It is therefore our duty,
according to Universalist minister Richard Gilbert, to be the agents of an earthly salvation—a
salvation that is truly universal and communal and not merely personal. Universalism, in the
words of Dorothy Spoerl, requires that we “not just talk about compassion and love and
understanding” but place them at the center of what guides our words and deeds.
UU minister Mark Ward writes: “As with the early Universalists, we see many around us who live,
consciously or unconsciously, under an ethic of fear. At some times it walls us off from others,
and at other times it fuels a clutching, grasping mistrust and self-centeredness. Universalism
teaches that we are better than that. There is better nature calling to us, one that would draw us
in if we would but give it free play. It is that center that we act from when our hearts are open,
and it gives us not only compassion but courage: courage to turn from the suspicion, cynicism
and despair that separate us and act on the love that unites us.”
VI
The gospel of Universalism, I believe, is still alive today even if it is not the same as the
Universalism preached by John Murray and Hosea Ballou. But the gospel of Universalism, I
believe, will survive and thrive only if it continues to evolve and grow and we share its light with
the world—or at least our neighbors in eastern North Carolina.
VII
In closing, I’d like to share with you a meditation written by Elizabeth M. Strong:
“Where the heart stirs,
there moves Universalism.
The center holds us
within its transformative power of love.
We know with a wholeness of spirit
that God is love,
that life is good,
that people are created for goodness out of love,
that in the final reckoning
all shall be one.
When we hurt, when we are broken, when we become separated:
Let us seek the center which holds.
Let us remember the goodness for which we were created.
Let us be open to the transformative power of love
that moves within the heart of life
and be whole once again.
John L. Saxon is a part-time student at Meadville Theological School in Chicago, and a UU
campus minister at Duke University.
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