"We look for peace, but find no good; for a time of healing, but there is terror instead."  Too many people of every age and race, of every nation and religious inclination could say this right now.  Because we often look for peace and find no good, yearn for healing but find only terror, these words seem contemporary.  In fact they are from the ancient prophet Jeremiah (chapter 14, verse 19).

Does the fact that these familiar sentiments are ancient mean the world has gone nowhere - that there has been no progress?  One could argue that position and gain quite a footing in times like this  - times when violence tears at human lives and at the fragile fabric of hope.  If only human goodness received as much air time as human evil, we might not feel so despairing.

At such times as these we want to rail against God, especially if we believe in a powerful God of justice. There is never any justice in acts of violence and terror against innocent beings because such action are evil.  I believe the worst evil lies in justification and that people who call upon God or religion to justify acts of violence and oppression commit sacrilege.  Such acts would be antithetical to the supremely loving nature of the Divine.

Yesterday when I read these words from Jeremiah I wept, as perhaps millions have since those words were first written.  We weep because we recognize wanting healing but feeling terrified, wanting peace but finding no good.  For me, the weeping brought relief.

In my work I meet people in great pain who believe it is wrong to be angry with the Divine.  The fact that you can find outrage towards God in the bible suggests that is not true.  If it were wrong to have and to express such feelings, why would such passages appear in scripture?  The Divine is big enough to handle our outrage. Our Creator knows our nature and how it can react to the world as it is.

"We look for peace, but find no good; for a time of healing, but there is terror instead."  It's hard to sit with such feelings, but to me it would feel artificial to go too soon to the place of redeeming meaning.  So instead, for now, I choose to lament with the ancient prophet. Of course that prophet does not leave things in lamentation but let us not ask too much of ourselves. For now let us mourn.  God is big enough to embrace our laments, our broken hearts.  I believe God weeps with us at such times.  Such actions much break God's heart as well.

I have a confession to make.  I had given up hope.  For most of my life I have been an idealist, working for change, marching for heartfelt causes, demonstrating against war and greed,  for peace and integrity. My main concerns were for economic justice and nonviolent resolutions to social and political differences.

In the past several years, multinational corporations' unstoppable dominance over our media and our political process has led me to cynicism and despair.  It is hard to watch our government's increasing disregard for our poorest people, the systematic annihilation of the blue collar middle class, and what seems like endless warfare to protect and promote our addiction to petroleum.

All that seems to matter to most of our politicians is gaining and holding onto power. For that you need money, the backing of multinational corporations and those who hold wealth. Politicians who want to be re-elected cannot promote any real reforms.  And so despite high-flown rhetoric that periodically raise my hopes for the country I love, no real change happens and my hopes are dashed, again and again.

Mark Twain is quoted as saying that we have the finest Congress money can buy, and it still seems true to me.  It no longer feels to me like we have a democracy, but a plutocracy, a government of, by, and for the wealthy.  Using the language of democracy to promote corporate interests is as bad using religious language to justify terrorism, violence, and intolerance.  It goes so far beyond hypocrisy in my eyes that I just want to close them.

After so many body blows, my idealism decided to stay on the mat and let the bell ring.  I stopped listening to news that crowed the triumphs of greed and violence over common people and sovereign nations.  I elected to stop my ears, go about my daily work, and withdraw from a political process that seems rigged not only against me but against democracy.  I believe in democracy, its underlying principles and the promise it could hold.  I wish we still had it in our country. It seemed like that nothing I could do would turn the political tide.

Then there was the economic downturn of 2008.  I have seen the effects of long-term unemployment (loss of self-esteem,  depression and despair) not only in members of my congregation but also among my family and friends.  It surprised me to hear recently that we're in a new economic slump.  I had not realized we were out of the last one.  In fact, I had thought it was slowly worsening.  I feared for my son and all our children.  What would this mean for them?

The only thing that seemed to "recover" was Wall Street. It is cold comfort for those who are jobless, who have lost their homes,who have no access to health care, to hear that things have improved for the richest people, enormous corporations.  It is cold comfort to know that the people whose greed and graft led to a supposed need for a bailout are becoming richer because of it, when conditions for so many of us slowly worsen.  What sort of marker is the Dow Industrial Average for real, person-centered economic recovery?

Then a couple weeks ago I started hearing of a movement to Occupy Wall Street.  I did not hear about it from the national media, but through the same sorts of social networks that supported the Arab Spring. (Funny, that.  Is this the United States Fall?)  The more I read and heard about it,  the more heartened I have become.

I do not know if it will make any difference, this real populist movement for  tax reform and accountability. To the extent that we truly have democracy, perhaps it will. Whether or not it succeeds in promoting  reform, it is heartening to see some people rise from the mat and assume a stance, any stance, against the giants.   Images of David and Goliath come to me.

The demonstrators' courage heartens me.  Their insistence that they have a right to be heard, and to use the rights guaranteed by our constitution in gaining that hearing gives me some hope.  They remind me of something Ghandi said, that satisfaction lies in the effort, not the attainment - that full effort is full victory.  Some of my colleagues have joined and supported the demonstrators.  Me, too.  I may not be the idealist of my younger days, but I want to make an effort.  I am rising off the mat.

How many Davids will it take to have any effect on this Goliath that we're told is "too large to fail?"  Perhaps it  is really to large and influential not to prevail?  I don't know.  Perhaps we will never have the numbers to gain any ground, but at least I will do what I can to hold what little we have.

Recently we have heard stories of people standing up to institutions that misuse and abuse power.  We have seen those institutions put down such protests.  The news is both heartening and disheartening. We wonder how it will all turn out. Nearly two thousand years ago, Paul wrote to assure church leaders that the sufferings of their time were labor pains of something coming to birth.  This may be true in our day, as well.

Like many religious liberals, I tend to distrust institutions, partly because of the power they hold.  My uneasy relationship with power is rooted in childhood experiences of authority figures who misused and abused it.  As an adult, at times my conflicted feelings about power manifest as trying to control others, and at others as giving power over my life to someone else.  At times my unease with power leads me not to speak up when I should, and at others it leads me to push my agenda when I shouldn’t.  Finding the right balance between those extremes has been a difficult and often painful process of making mistakes, making amends, and trying again.

Mae West once said, “Marriage is a fine institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet!”  Many of us may feel the same way about the institutions of organized religion.  There’s good reason for that.  Institutions are made of human beings and subject to the weaknesses of the human character. Deep down I don’t think religion per se is to blame for this. I think the core problem is a human tendency to “draw power to ourselves in the name of things that cannot be questioned,” as children’s author Phillip Pullman puts it.  Humans have used different excuses to misuse power, including nationalism, racial pride, and religion.

The best human institutions, and I rank the Unitarian Universalist Association among them, build in ways to point out, correct and balance power.  This is exactly what is happening in demonstrations around the world.  Protesters are speaking the truth that some of the world’s leaders are abusing power. Protesters are demanding institutions that are humble and responsive, that serve rather than rule, that exercise power with others rather than power over others.

Every Unitarian Universalist shares power with others.  We each have the power to rectify our religious institutions, from our congregations to our national organization.  As religious liberals with issues about power, we must be careful not to distrust institutions and authority figures simply because they are institutions and authority figures, without reference to their actions or intentions. We need to balance individuality with community, and trust with skepticism, in order not to become mired into cynical isolation. We are not and should not each be in this for ourselves.  We are deeply connected to one another in power-full ways.

A few years ago my son did a report on String Theory.  This theory holds that everything in the universe, including solid objects, is made up of tiny strands of energy.  It’s all energy, all around.  Everything is energy, and another word for energy is power.  So perhaps everything in the universe is power - us, our institutions, the way we interact.  It’s all power, all connected, woven into the fabric of our existence.

If in fact we channel and express power in everything we do, it is really important to make our hearts, spirits, and institutions as free as possible of internal obstacles that misdirect and distort power.  That way, when power flows through us and through our institutions, it can move in positive ways.  One way we unite spirituality to ethics (an important function of religious institutions) is to strive to become better channels of power in a deeply interconnected global community.

There is so much amiss in our world.  It can feel overwhelming.  We gather in faithful institutions to watch the events of our day unfold and to seek ways to respond. When we come together, knowing we are deeply connected, and strive together to become better, clearer channels of power, we give birth to something new.  We give birth to faithful institutions through which power moves in ways that affirm, include, heal, and create justice.  May it be that the struggles of our times are the labor pains of the births of institutions of justice, the serve the common good.