Inherent Worth of Every Human Being

In Unitarian Universalism there are 7 Principles that guide, or inform, our religious denomination.

While certainly not dogma or prescriptions for beliefs per say, they are what could be understood as a common set of values that guide our faith.

Personally, I take refuge in these principles, and recently, I have been spending time contemplating the 1^st Principle: The Inherent Worth and Dignity of Every Person; which, according to the Unitarian Universalist Association website:

“is a given of faith.” It is “an unshakeable conviction calling us to self-respect and respect for others.”

You know how when you learn a new word or decide to buy a new car, you suddenly hear that new word in every conversation and see that type of car every time you take a drive?

Well, as of late, that has been my experience with the 1^st Principle of Unitarian Universalism- it seems to be reflected everywhere.

Take for example the novel I just borrowed from the library by American author Chris Bohjalian called The Sandcastle Girls (2012) that has the Armenian Genocide of 1915-1916 as the background to a story that we now know leads to the systematic killing of 1.5 million Armenians by what is now present day Turkey.

 

Or a poem I heard for the first time the other day by Mexican-American writer Luis Alberto Urrea called You Who Seek Grace From a Distracted God that has several powerful and eloquent lines including the following:

You, who seek grace from a distracted God,
you, who parse the rhetoric of empire, who know
in your guts what it is but don’t know what to call it,
you, good son of a race of shadows—
your great fortune is to have a job,
never ate government cheese,
federal peanut butter—
you, jerked to light from secret dreams under your sheets,
forgotten by 5:15
false dawn—

you, who sleep where you fall, sleep
beside women not yours who keep you warm, sleep
in spare rooms of your brothers, sleep in the old
bed in the back of your mother’s house, sleep
where you are closest to a bus line—
you, who can’t believe your ma rose at 4:45
to fry one huevo and a slice of bologna
laid on corn tortilla—border benedict—
here’s your chance to drag home
eighty dollars a week, for her electric. Food.
What’s left you spend on used paperbacks,
a matinee, amigos, bus fare—
pay the ticket back to work…

…7:00.
Same old downtown street. Same day every day, unchanged.
You blink on Avenue C—fog
disembarks at the docks,
follows sailors drunk and whoring before breakfast
down Broadway. Strange days. Echoes flee the county jail cold beside you:
voices: hymns of rage: inmate and trustee, some of them your cousins,
sing matins, night’s vigils over: offer hosannas of longing: Patri et Filio:
in tedium you walk silent, counting your manifold sins,
to the plaza, stand
in the crush of your family—these children heading for trade school,
the wheelchair man, the woman and her shopping cart,
the nodding hooker with blue tears on her cheek, paisanos
y borrachos, Ticos, Boricuas, Xicanos, Apaches,
Tainos, Habaneras, cariocas, Mayas,
tattooed cholo Samurai’d and inscrutable leaning back,
hushed as he watches
you. And you want to, you
really want to, you are bursting with it, you
are burning with it, you
who have no words
want to cup their cheeks in your hands,
you want to hold their faces between your palms,
you want to say it—say it, you have nothing
to lose—say it: say

I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
I love you.

The inherent worth and dignity of every human being.

A truth that profoundly pierces my heart, and actually pushes me towards what could be an even higher value which is probably more akin to the philosophy or morality of some Christians who imagine every person as Jesus Christ or some Buddhists who believe Buddha-nature is in everybody.

This is a radical belief that goes far beyond what could be argued is a real bare minimum of “worth and dignity” into something much more glorious and world changing because it challenges me, the individual, to not just be “decent” and “non-harming,” but rather instead to be “kind” or maybe even “generous,” or maybe, dare I say it, “loving.”

There is an ancient story in the Judeo-Christian tradition (though I believe it has many different versions) that is sometimes called “Hidden Among Us,” about this very idea.

I found one version of it in the online magazine, America: The Jesuit Review by Peter Feldmeier from December 17, 2012 that goes like this:

The story goes that from a medieval English town Rabbi Isaac, known to be a holy visionary, traveled to the baron’s castle to see him and his wife. “I have been given a divine secret and commanded by God to share it with you,” he told them. “You may never speak of this again.” They agreed. “The secret,” said Rabbi Isaac, “is that the messiah is hidden among us. That is all I am permitted to say.”

The baron knew that Christ had already come, so this must mean that it is the end time. He had one request: “Please Rabbi, tell the monks of our monastery, for they must hear this great news.” The rabbi agreed, and when he met the monks he swore them to secrecy: “The messiah is hidden among us,” he repeated, “but you must not speak of this again, even among yourselves, until he chooses to reveal himself.”

Now this monastery was not in good shape. The monks were fond of quarrels, of gossip and of striving for authority. “Who is he?” they wondered among themselves. Given the humility of divine love, some thought perhaps it was the strange brother who tended the garden. Others imagined perhaps the abbot. It could even be the monk next to them who sang off key day after day. Speculation ran everywhere. So they began to treat each other as though he could be the hidden messiah. You never know.

The baron and his wife privately speculated too. They wondered about each other, about the stable boy, the village fool.... It could be anyone! Not surprisingly, the baron lived quite well, while the peasants’ lives were little more than hardship. He and his wife sold their tapestries, fine clothes and many sets of dishes. They shared their proceeds with those most in need. They also transformed part of their castle into a hospice to care for those most dangerously ill. Who knows if that peasant they washed and cared for might be the hidden messiah.

The people of the realm had never experienced such generosity by their lord and lady. They in turn became even more loyal, and they began to treat each other differently. Thefts became unknown, doors remained unlocked, and strangers no longer found suspicion but hospitality.

News of the monastery got back to the people. The brothers never prayed or worked with such love and devotion. They were so happy, so blessed, knowing that the messiah was hidden among them. Some people even said that on a dark, clear night, you could see the monastery itself seem to radiate light.

The monks aged and died, to be replaced by other young men, some zealous and others less so. The baron and his wife died and were replaced by their children and grandchildren, as was the case with all the townspeople. Rabbi Isaac died and was replaced several times over by other rabbis.

Generations came and went. Bickering returned a bit, and suspicion sometimes replaced trust. The baron’s grandson was not the man his grandfather was. And they all looked back to that time, now many years ago, when it wasn’t that way. “Why has all this changed?” they sometimes wondered. “What secret did they know that we do not?”

This is the secret—but you mustn’t tell anyone—the messiah is hidden among us.

I really love this story, and think of it often because it captures so perfectly the fact that as human beings our attitudes inevitably and predictably manifest into our actions.

The inherent worth and dignity of every human being.

What if?

What if we all truly engaged with ourselves, each other, and the world from this one UU Principle, which is to say, human principle?

May it be so.