Who Cares?
Reflection for Flower Communion Sunday
Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
May 19, 2019
The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
March 28, 1941. A knock is heard at the door. Then again, maybe there wasn’t a knock. Maybe the door was forced open; perhaps it was kicked in, loudly, violently. Precisely how it went down, I do not know. What I do know and what history tells us, is on that day, March 28, 1941, an apartment in Prague was raided by the Gestapo and its occupants, a Unitarian minister named Norbert Capek and his daughter, Zora, were arrested. Accused of listening to foreign broadcasts and “high treason”, Capek’s radio, sermons and other writings were confiscated. Following their respective trials, convictions and appeals, Zora was sent to a forced labor camp in Germany and by mid-October, 1942, Norbert Capek was dead, executed by poison gas at Dachau.
Norbert Capek, the man who gave to us the flower communion we observe today, a ritual celebrating the best and most beautiful in humanity, died at the hands of those who instead embraced the worst and most ugly.
Following World War II, Captain G. M. Gilbert, the Army psychologist assigned to watching the Nazi defendants at the Nuremberg trails, wrote, “In my work with the defendants I was searching for the nature of evil and I now think I have come close to defining it. A lack of empathy. It’s the one characteristic that connects all the defendants, a genuine incapacity to feel with their fellow men. Evil, I think, is the absence of empathy.”
Empathy, sometimes described as the capacity to put one’s self in another’s shoes and it’s near cousin, compassion, in which you feel or recognize another’s pain AND take action to help alleviate their suffering, for most of us, do not disappear overnight. Without practice and cultivation however they can be eroded. Eroded by indulging apathy and nursing resentments.
As I walked the soggy grounds and viewed images and artifacts of the Holocaust in the eerie chambers at Auschwitz on a cold, rainy day in July a few years ago, I wondered, like many before me, how could this have happened? This level of cruelty. On this scale. And then I remembered Gilbert’s understanding of evil as “the absence of empathy.”
The erosion of empathy and compassion in our own time has been on my mind lately. Particularly when I read or hear about some new policy proposal or law that will surely make life harder for many or will benefit only a select few.
Several months ago a plan to rollback financial protections for service members which would potentially expose them to unscrupulous lending practices was making headlines. And the response by some was all too predictable, “Who cares? I’m not a service member.” Similarly, others uttered, “Who cares? I don’t live in public housing” when news broke of HUD’s proposed plan to raise rents on people who do. Still others, say, “Who cares? I don’t have a preexisting condition” in response to repeated attempts by legislators undermine protections for people who do. And on and on it goes… “Who cares? I’m not black…or Puerto Rican…Who cares? I’m not transgender…I’m not hungry…I’m not undocumented…I’m not disabled…I’m not Muslim.” “Who cares?”
Who cares?
There’s a name for this kind of attitude, whether personal or collective. It’s called selfishness.
Now, all of us are selfish at times. And there are forms of self-interest which are necessary and beneficial to both individuals and societies. But, that’s not what I’m talking about here.
The poet Wendell Berry reminds us, “Rats and roaches live by competition under the laws of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.” Humans beings are blessed with the privilege of choice in how we live with one another. A privilege we, as a nation, in many ways are failing to exercise, ethically and morally. From a religious perspective, there’s a name for that too, its called midat Sdom.
Midat Sdom is a phrase in Judaism that describes “the character trait of the people of Sodom.” Yes, as in Sodom and Gomorrah. Often erroneously assumed to concern homosexuality, the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah actually concerns, according to the prophets of the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament), “Idolatry, engaging in meaningless religious ritual, being unjust and oppressive to others, being insensitive to the needs of widows and orphans, committing murder, accepting bribes.” (Isaiah); Strengthening the hand of evildoers (Jeremiah); Being, “arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” (Ezekiel). In the Gospels, Jesus references Sodom’s inhospitality to strangers. And In 2 Peter, the residents of Sodom are described as ungodly, unprincipled and lawless.
Essentially, the residents of Sodom were selfish. But more, they were arrogant. They lacked empathy and compassion for others. As Rav Uri Cohen notes, “They were selfish when in fact they could have afforded to be generous.”
Our faith reminds us we can always afford to be generous. Midat Sdom places nations, institutions and individuals on a path to destruction from within by eroding our capacity for empathy and compassion.
Though he witnessed and lost his life to the erosion, and eventual absence of empathy and compassion in so many, Norbert Capek never lost faith in the best and most beautiful in humanity. In his last letter, written to his wife the night before he was transported to Dachau, he said, "I am faithful to my best and highest hope, resolve, and belief, wishing everyone well, believing in the future good of all of you: the family, the nation, humanity, and especially those most sorely tried.”
Flower Communion, the ritual we observe and celebrate today gives concrete expression to Capek’s faith in humanity and to the humanity-affirming principles of 21st century Unitarian Universalism alike.
Principles which challenge us toward empathy and compassion for ourselves, others and the planet. Principles which, like this bouquet, are given shape by people who care, who show up, and come together to build community where differences can, and do, co-exist and compliment one another.
As Capek’s wife Maja, explained,
“No two flowers are alike, no two people are alike;
yet each has a contribution to make;
each would help to make this world as beautiful
as a colorful bouquet.
Organized and growing into a true community.
We are ready to serve one another,
The nation and the world.
By exchanging flowers we signify that we are willing,
in the spirit of tolerance and patience,
To march together in search of truth,
Disregarding all that usually divides humankind.”
Partaking in this ritual, today, we answer, “Who cares?” resoundingly in word and deed, “We do!”
May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
Reflection for Flower Communion Sunday
Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
May 19, 2019
The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
March 28, 1941. A knock is heard at the door. Then again, maybe there wasn’t a knock. Maybe the door was forced open; perhaps it was kicked in, loudly, violently. Precisely how it went down, I do not know. What I do know and what history tells us, is on that day, March 28, 1941, an apartment in Prague was raided by the Gestapo and its occupants, a Unitarian minister named Norbert Capek and his daughter, Zora, were arrested. Accused of listening to foreign broadcasts and “high treason”, Capek’s radio, sermons and other writings were confiscated. Following their respective trials, convictions and appeals, Zora was sent to a forced labor camp in Germany and by mid-October, 1942, Norbert Capek was dead, executed by poison gas at Dachau.
Norbert Capek, the man who gave to us the flower communion we observe today, a ritual celebrating the best and most beautiful in humanity, died at the hands of those who instead embraced the worst and most ugly.
Following World War II, Captain G. M. Gilbert, the Army psychologist assigned to watching the Nazi defendants at the Nuremberg trails, wrote, “In my work with the defendants I was searching for the nature of evil and I now think I have come close to defining it. A lack of empathy. It’s the one characteristic that connects all the defendants, a genuine incapacity to feel with their fellow men. Evil, I think, is the absence of empathy.”
Empathy, sometimes described as the capacity to put one’s self in another’s shoes and it’s near cousin, compassion, in which you feel or recognize another’s pain AND take action to help alleviate their suffering, for most of us, do not disappear overnight. Without practice and cultivation however they can be eroded. Eroded by indulging apathy and nursing resentments.
As I walked the soggy grounds and viewed images and artifacts of the Holocaust in the eerie chambers at Auschwitz on a cold, rainy day in July a few years ago, I wondered, like many before me, how could this have happened? This level of cruelty. On this scale. And then I remembered Gilbert’s understanding of evil as “the absence of empathy.”
The erosion of empathy and compassion in our own time has been on my mind lately. Particularly when I read or hear about some new policy proposal or law that will surely make life harder for many or will benefit only a select few.
Several months ago a plan to rollback financial protections for service members which would potentially expose them to unscrupulous lending practices was making headlines. And the response by some was all too predictable, “Who cares? I’m not a service member.” Similarly, others uttered, “Who cares? I don’t live in public housing” when news broke of HUD’s proposed plan to raise rents on people who do. Still others, say, “Who cares? I don’t have a preexisting condition” in response to repeated attempts by legislators undermine protections for people who do. And on and on it goes… “Who cares? I’m not black…or Puerto Rican…Who cares? I’m not transgender…I’m not hungry…I’m not undocumented…I’m not disabled…I’m not Muslim.” “Who cares?”
Who cares?
There’s a name for this kind of attitude, whether personal or collective. It’s called selfishness.
Now, all of us are selfish at times. And there are forms of self-interest which are necessary and beneficial to both individuals and societies. But, that’s not what I’m talking about here.
The poet Wendell Berry reminds us, “Rats and roaches live by competition under the laws of supply and demand; it is the privilege of human beings to live under the laws of justice and mercy.” Humans beings are blessed with the privilege of choice in how we live with one another. A privilege we, as a nation, in many ways are failing to exercise, ethically and morally. From a religious perspective, there’s a name for that too, its called midat Sdom.
Midat Sdom is a phrase in Judaism that describes “the character trait of the people of Sodom.” Yes, as in Sodom and Gomorrah. Often erroneously assumed to concern homosexuality, the biblical story of Sodom and Gomorrah actually concerns, according to the prophets of the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament), “Idolatry, engaging in meaningless religious ritual, being unjust and oppressive to others, being insensitive to the needs of widows and orphans, committing murder, accepting bribes.” (Isaiah); Strengthening the hand of evildoers (Jeremiah); Being, “arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy.” (Ezekiel). In the Gospels, Jesus references Sodom’s inhospitality to strangers. And In 2 Peter, the residents of Sodom are described as ungodly, unprincipled and lawless.
Essentially, the residents of Sodom were selfish. But more, they were arrogant. They lacked empathy and compassion for others. As Rav Uri Cohen notes, “They were selfish when in fact they could have afforded to be generous.”
Our faith reminds us we can always afford to be generous. Midat Sdom places nations, institutions and individuals on a path to destruction from within by eroding our capacity for empathy and compassion.
Though he witnessed and lost his life to the erosion, and eventual absence of empathy and compassion in so many, Norbert Capek never lost faith in the best and most beautiful in humanity. In his last letter, written to his wife the night before he was transported to Dachau, he said, "I am faithful to my best and highest hope, resolve, and belief, wishing everyone well, believing in the future good of all of you: the family, the nation, humanity, and especially those most sorely tried.”
Flower Communion, the ritual we observe and celebrate today gives concrete expression to Capek’s faith in humanity and to the humanity-affirming principles of 21st century Unitarian Universalism alike.
Principles which challenge us toward empathy and compassion for ourselves, others and the planet. Principles which, like this bouquet, are given shape by people who care, who show up, and come together to build community where differences can, and do, co-exist and compliment one another.
As Capek’s wife Maja, explained,
“No two flowers are alike, no two people are alike;
yet each has a contribution to make;
each would help to make this world as beautiful
as a colorful bouquet.
Organized and growing into a true community.
We are ready to serve one another,
The nation and the world.
By exchanging flowers we signify that we are willing,
in the spirit of tolerance and patience,
To march together in search of truth,
Disregarding all that usually divides humankind.”
Partaking in this ritual, today, we answer, “Who cares?” resoundingly in word and deed, “We do!”
May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
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