Fire of Thought

Guidance of Reason(s)

Sun, 19 May 2013 23:12:41 -0400

When people who “heed the guidance of reason and the results of science” arrive at a diversity of answers, it may be that they are asking different questions. Three ethical frameworks help us to make sense of our moral choices. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, May 19, 2013.

My children are curious about how the world works. They will turn three years old this summer, and have learned how to design and implement experiments to test their hypotheses about parental behavior. The other night, we heard them on the monitor conversing about their strategy. “I think we should fuss about our toys,” said one. “Good idea,” said the other one. (“Fuss about our toys” means asking for even more stuffed animals to have in bed with them.) They paused, then lifted up a chorus designed to try to draw one of us into the nursery. It didn’t work. Like true scientists, they continue to refine their hypotheses and research methods.

As parents, we’ve had to be mindful of the examples we set in terms of right and wrong behavior. We also have to consider the ethics of how we guide their behavior. I do want them to show respect to adults and to take on age-appropriate responsibilities. I’m not sure I want to reinforce “because I said so” as a rational argument (although I haven’t ruled it out). We tell them all the time, “Be a mensch,” which is Yiddish for “a person of good character.” The traits we’re usually looking for at that point are self-control and kindness. What I don’t want is for them to become perfectionists, trying to reach an impossible standard. I want them to learn cause and effect, so we talk about natural consequences that follow their actions. “You used that toy as a hammer. Now it is broken.” We know that anticipating results is advanced for their age, so we’re mostly laying the groundwork for later with that one. What I don’t want is for them to become too anxious about possible outcomes to initiate any choices.

The questions we’re asking with those three strategies are common to all kinds of ethics. First, there’s the respect and responsibility angle. Moral choices are anchored in the framework of duty. From this perspective, a person aims to do the “right” thing, regardless of what might happen next. The big question is, “What are my obligations in this situation?” The fancy name for this is deontology.

Next, there’s the “be a mensch” angle, anchoring your moral choices in a set of virtues. Character building is the essential aim in this framework. A person works to develop a set of desirable traits and to figure out what traits are operating in others. The goal is to become a more fully virtuous person.

Finally, cause and effect figure into ethics. In this framework, a person balances the potential for help and harm in every action. Moral choices lead to the best outcomes, or at least good enough outcomes. Philosophers call this consequentialism.

As UU’s, we “heed the guidance of reason and the results of science.” Even so, we sometimes advocate for different moral choices, especially in questions about actions we should take as a community. Sometimes, we may step back and realize that we arrive at different answers because we are asking different questions. Exploring these three ethical frameworks may help us understand each other.

Wake Now My Conscience: Rational Thought and Duty

My senior year of college, I moved into an apartment with a friend. It was my first grownup place to live. Packing up my whole room and getting heavy furniture to the new apartment seemed like an overwhelming task. I asked a few friends to help, and they turned out in droves. My parents’ house was full of friends from school, from work, and from science fiction conventions. I’m not sure what my parents thought about all of the odd people coming out of the woodwork to help launch their oldest child. Actually, I do know one of their thoughts: “We have guests, let’s feed them.”

Having been through way move moves than I care to count since then, I am all the more appreciative that my friends showed up for me. I realize that, even when people want to help, sometimes they are prevented by injury or other obligations, so I was lucky that my friends were both willing and able. For those who had the capacity to help, the most likely reason I can think of that they showed up is because they believed that’s what friends in their early twenties do for each other. The sense of duty prevailed. These were some of the same friends who took pleasure in challenging each other’s opinions, solving technical problems together, and coaching each other in obscure skills like fencing or costuming just for fun. There was a set of social expectations around supporting each other’s exploration, learning, and growth.

In some times and cultures, there are thoroughly defined roles and sets of expectations for everyone, and people behave a certain way because that’s just what people do in that time and place. In twenty-first century United States pluralistic society, there are a lot of conflicting ideas about a person’s duties and responsibilities. No one can accomplish all of the things a person “ought” to do. Because there’s no clear agreement about what our social obligations actually are, we face the danger of either ignoring them or over-identifying them and getting overwhelmed with impossible and unhealthy expectations.

Duty is important, yet it needs to be balanced with other perspectives. When social obligation conflicts with the goals we have as individuals or a society, or when responsibility doesn’t match the virtues we hope to develop, we run into trouble. An ethic of duty has also contributed to oppression, where women and people of color are trained to think that it’s our/their responsibility to uphold a system that benefits white men at our/their own expense.

I think the framework of obligations, also known as deontological ethics, is helpful as a first response. Being drawn toward duty is an invitation to think about what our choices mean. If we have a gut feeling that we should respond a certain way to a disruption in civil rights or to care for our seniors, let’s research and see if strategic thinking and the group most affected by the situation agree with that impulse.

Here in this congregation, we help each other bear emotionally heavy things, even if some of us aren’t as able to lift futon frames as we used to. I think we do have a sense of duty that helps us know when to show up for each other. In other contexts, showing up might look like giving assurances about spiritual truths, but that’s not generally a UU’s first response. We affirm the guidance of reason, so our support comes in forms such as practical assistance, giving evidence-based suggestions when asked, and joining in shared exploration.

Reason and duty go hand-in-hand here. We each travel the spiritual path in our own way, and we might each see the set of obligations a bit differently. That could theoretically cause some friction if we have different assumptions about duty. In this congregation, we’re pretty good at giving each other the benefit of the doubt. I believe every person here has an authentic commitment. The Membership Committee is considering a “Continuing On the Path” refresher class next year, which would help seasoned members discuss shared expectations. Meanwhile, let’s continue to show up, to meet our mutual expectations as the caring and supportive congregation we are.

Wake Now My Reason: Rational Thought and Virtue Ethics

The second lens for ethical decision-making has to do with character traits or virtues. Viewing our UU Principles and Sources as virtues to work toward rather than everyday standards is appealing. I can’t perfectly behave with respect for the inherent worth and dignity of every person all the time, but I can work toward that as a character-building goal, and I can celebrate progress. I think defining the person we want to be is worthwhile, although I realize that virtue is culture-bound.

The source of our living tradition that we’re talking about today is “Humanist teachings with counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit.” Let’s look at that through the lens of virtue ethics. The quality we would be aiming to develop in ourselves and to encourage in others has to do with our ability to check evidence and to change our minds; in other words, critical thinking is a UU virtue. I don’t mean critical as in negative, I mean critical as in analytical. We seek ways to stretch our minds and spirits so that we can develop this characteristic, and we seek ways to make it possible for other people to develop it to the best of their abilities. This is why scientific learning is incorporated into worship themes, and why science is a major component in our children’s Religious Education.

This virtue is absolutely at work in UU congregations that are able to sponsor “Our Whole Lives (OWL),” comprehensive sex education classes that incorporate practical information as well as opportunities to develop relational values. OWL deals directly with diversity in sexual orientation and gender identity, and provides facts about birth control. “Idolatries of the mind and spirit” motivate some communities to block this information from reaching teens, despite overwhelming evidence that health outcomes are improved for youth who receive comprehensive sexuality education. Reason guides us to promote health.

I don’t have experience as an OWL teacher, but I am guilty of luring young minds into the arts. In my professional life before I became a minister, I did public relations and administration for a few arts organizations. I believe appreciation and practice of the arts is a virtue in itself. Aside from that, disciplines like music, dance, sculpture, drama, painting, and fiber arts help people train their minds and bodies for analytical thought and focused attention.

When I worked in the education department of a university art museum, our docents were trained to help school groups really look at a painting or a print and ask, “What’s going on in this picture? What do you see that makes you say that? What more can we find?” (Docents and staff received training in the Visual Thinking Strategies curriculum by Philip Yenawine and Abigail Housen) Part of the point was to help the children work together, listening to and building on each other’s ideas. The docents would go to at least three different galleries so that the children could find similarities and differences across time periods and cultures.

It was my job to set up the tours with the teachers and to help them find information and materials to prepare their class for the visit. Some of the teachers were really concerned that their students wouldn’t get to see everything in the museum. This was their one shot at a field trip, and the teachers envisioned a whirlwind tour, stuffed full of information. I shared with them the evidence that students were more likely to retain information from an interactive tour focused on a few highlights.

Other teachers wanted to stay in one gallery, such as Native American art or the 19th century American art, depending on their social studies standards for that grade level. They worried that covering material that students wouldn’t be tested on that year was a waste of time. Anxiety about having students pass their state-mandated testing is understandable. Usually we were able to put together a tour that worked.

If a tour was just not going to meet the teacher’s goals, I suggested self-directed gallery activities for their group. For instance, I helped put together a “scavenger hunt” map, which invited the visitor to search for certain small details in works of art all over the museum. In any case, we offered students a chance to practice close observation and problem-solving. Even among educators who value analytical skills, barriers of time and resources (not to mention pressure from a memorization-based testing industry) compete with developing critical thinking as a virtue.

As I said, virtue is culture-bound. Not everyone agrees that the capacity to reason is a desirable trait. The practice of training young people to engage in critical thought is being attacked in some circles as a threat to parental and religious authority. When analytical skills are not being directly attacked, they are being de-valued as resources are shifted away from children and poor communities. If we are a faith that heeds the guidance of reason, let’s put our backs and shoulders into it, campaigning for and providing resources that ignite the flame of critical thought.

As UU’s, reason is a major pathway by which we “reach out to the new.” (This is a quote from “Wake Now My Senses,” the hymn we will sing in a few minutes.) The guidance of reason is not just a dry imperative, but fuel for our spiritual exploration. Let us open doors for developing critical thinking among ourselves and in our community.

Wake Now My Vision: Applying Reason to Consequences

The third and possibly most popular ethical framework for us as UUs is consequentialism, examining the potential results of our actions. We’ve talked about duties and virtues as two options for focusing our moral discernment. There is more to it. We want to grow our cities and towns into just, peaceful, and free communities. We want to relieve suffering with compassion. According to the hymn, we “work toward a planet transformed by our care.” Those wants are results-oriented.

Consequentialism does have drawbacks. We can cause harm when we decide that the ends justify the means, or through unintended consequences. We can devolve into considering people and ecosystems as utilitarian objects in our calculations. Our goals need to account for the pitfalls of consequentialism, explicitly figuring human dignity and ecological health into the equation. In an ethical framework that asks about the potential outcomes of our moral choices, we have to decide which results are most desirable and how we measure them.

Preserving the possibility for sustaining human life on this planet seems like a fairly desirable end. How people respond to global climate change is deeply affected by attitudes toward “the guidance of reason and the results of science.” Humanity needs drastic changes in public policy, a revolution in the practices of multinational corporations, and a seismic shift in the daily lives of those of us who consume the most. For people who trust other sources of authority more than they trust science, or for people who don’t believe that sustaining life on earth is important, there is no motivation to make these changes. Religion can be a force for the declining status quo or a force for ecological healing and justice.

UUs tend to have a broad consensus on environmental issues. Respect for the interdependent web is part of our tradition. Within that broad consensus, there are UU interest groups that help us continue to uncover information and who help congregations make plans for ecological action. Organizations like UU’s for Social Justice in the National Capital region and UU Ministry for Earth have taken the data about consequences, combined it with their confidence in science, and translated that into a spiritual mission to heal our relationship with the planet.

People who have felt a calling to environmental justice as a UU religious witness have helped our faith movement maintain awareness, even when international progress has been slow. Delegates to the 2006 UUA General Assembly, which is our annual meeting of congregations, adopted a “Statement of Conscience on the Threat of Global Warming and Climate Change.” The statement articulated spiritual motivations, described scientific evidence, and outlined actions that could be taken on individual, congregational, denominational, and national levels. The statement also named the disproportionate negative effects of climate change experienced by poor communities and developing countries. In part, the statement said:

We declare by this Statement of Conscience that we will not acquiesce to the ongoing degradation and destruction of life that human actions are leaving to our children and grandchildren. We as Unitarian Universalists are called to join with others to halt practices that fuel global warming/climate change, to instigate sustainable alternatives, and to mitigate the impending effects of global warming/climate change with just and ethical responses. As a people of faith, we commit to a renewed reverence for life and respect for the interdependent web of all existence.

So ends the excerpt. The last sentence I quoted mentioned “reverence for life and respect for the interdependent web of all existence.” That part appeals to our sense of duty. In addition, the statement as a whole was very clear about the current and expected consequences for human activity. We can allow things to continue as they are in the direction of devastation, or we can take action toward spiritual, social, and ecological healing. That’s a consequentialist argument. Even if you don’t feel the deep power of the Spirit of Life moving in your soul, there are still moral and religious arguments for action because: science.

Members of congregations from across the country drafted and voted on the Statement of Conscience. While it is not binding for us as a congregation, it does help us to articulate the way our faith might inform our actions. The statement also gives the UUA Board and staff some idea about what the congregations they serve need in terms of leadership and resources.

The 2006 Statement of Conscience wasn’t the last word. UU’s are still involved in research, writing letters to the editor, showing up in legislators’ offices, and organizing public rallies for the planet. UU Ministry for Earth has collected ideas for congregation-sized sustainability projects, developed an adult religious education curriculum, and produced CDs with action ideas and worship resources. There is a river of strength in our faith movement flowing toward environmental justice; any one of us can join any time.

The consequentialist arm of ethics has its drawbacks, but one of its advantages is that it lends itself to a vision of the future. We have something to work toward. We have hypotheses to test, outcomes to reach, and dreams to manifest. May our love for future generations continue to guide us toward positive choices.

Conclusion

Two years ago, this congregation worked together on a vision statement. We considered our values, our role as a member in the community, and the goals we hope to achieve. In other words, we used all three ethical frameworks. Here is the vision statement that the members came up with:

As UUs of Fallston, we strive to be a welcoming and diverse community that cares for the needs of others and the stewardship of the environment.

We promote lifelong spiritual growth and inquiry, the growth and sustainment of the UUF community, and the advocacy of social justice.

I think coming to a consensus about our vision as a community is something to be proud of, especially when you were so thorough about considering the moral implications from all sides. Even if people start from the same framework, it’s not easy to agree on which set of duties or which virtues or which outcomes are most important. As we meet today and beyond to consider the congregation’s future directions, I continue to be impressed with your ability to respect each other and to listen. You have a good foundation for determining the future moral and ethical decisions for this church as a body.

Individually and in our families, we have a number of tools for applying “Humanist teachings which counsel s to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit.” We can look at the evidence about things like human development and global climate change to help us discern our ethical obligations as neighbors and as members of the interdependent web. That’s deontology, or the framework of duty. We can articulate the virtues we’d like to see in ourselves and listen for the values that are motivating others. If reason is one of the traits we favor, let’s work to develop it in ourselves and make sure others have the opportunity to do the same. That’s virtue ethics, or the framework of character building. We can make hypotheses based on evidence and reason about the potential effects of our actions, and make choices that promote healthy people, healing for the planet, and justice in our communities. That’s consequentialist ethics, the framework of outcomes.

Whether we base our decisions on one of these or a combination, realizing that there are different frameworks beneath all of our moral choices may help us understand each other when we end up with multiple perspectives. Part of why we reach different conclusions, even though we all use reason, is because we are asking different questions. May we listen each other into speech, strengthening the bonds of fellowship and the practice of peace.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Nurturing Faith

Sun, 12 May 2013 14:42:51 -0400

We have inner resources for our community’s work of encouraging young souls. Whether you are a parent or part of the larger circle of care, the abilities to articulate your own faith, to stay present, and to let people grow beyond our predictions can be helpful in our mission to nurture. This sermon was written for the Unitarian Universalists of Fallston for Mother’s Day, May 12, 2013.

Two children showed up that day for the lower elementary Religious Education class. The warm California sun eased its way through the window, into our small classroom. I had been a Unitarian Universalist for about a year. My previous experience with children had been as an older sister, a babysitter, and as a mentor to at-risk girls, but not as a teacher and certainly not as a spiritual guide.

My friend, the Director of Religious Education, encouraged me to face my fears and to rely on the excellent curriculum. He didn’t seem to mind that I was neither a parent nor a professional teacher at the time. It just seemed to me that a person ought to know all of the other people in church, young and old. Teaching was the best way I could figure out to build relationships. As it turns out, I was right.

Anyway, it was somewhat of a relief that I wouldn’t have to manage half a dozen children in a small space. We read a story about how people can have many different ideas about God. After the story, we took crayons to paper to express about our own ideas. One of the children drew a human figure with a beard flying through the clouds. “Is that God?” I asked.

“No,” the child said. “That’s Jesus. God got old and died.”

This led to an argument with the other child, which saved me from wondering how to move the discussion along. Is there a guidebook for introducing Nietzsche to eight-year-olds? Part of what was challenging for me about that experience was that I didn’t feel confident about my understanding of my own position or the UU tradition. I needed a firm place to stand while I received their questions and ideas. I could have benefitted from spiritual support so that I was more resilient to moments of panic. More experience would eventually teach me that spirituality grows and changes, so neither the children in class nor I had to have a final answer that day. I learned a lot from my first experience with teaching.

As a community, there are many ways we come together to nurture young people. Today being Mother’s Day, we especially honor people who take on parenting roles. At the same time, I don’t want to forget that we all, as a congregation, dedicate ourselves to growing souls when we bless the children among us. We may be aunts or uncles, neighbors, mentors, teachers, or activists preparing a better future. Some of us have turned around to parent the previous generation as they drift into their sunset years. Many of us are role models and cheerleaders, consciously or not.

Whether we care for children in our daily lives or we’re part of the larger circle of care, there are a few ideas that can help us nurture the faith of growing Unitarian Universalists. Taking time for our own reflection and contemplation can help us handle complicated questions and surprise learning moments. Know yourself. A regular spiritual practice brings a little bit of peace and a greater ability to take each moment as it comes. This is important because being around human beings in progress is seldom peaceful. It is tempting to ignore the present with its chaos and uncertainty, which would mean losing its gifts. Know this moment. As UUs who affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person and the possibility for spiritual growth, we maintain hope for what people can become given encouragement and resources. That means we have to be open to change and humble about predicting outcomes. Know that we don’t know.

There is no shortage of advice out there for people who have concern for children. Those outside sources only go so far. I’m suggesting that the experience and open-mindedness we bring are important sources of information as we support growing souls, especially the souls of young UUs. Know yourself. Know this moment. Know that we don’t know.

Reflecting as a Nurturer: Know Yourself

As a new Unitarian Universalist, I relished the freedom to be around people who believed a range of life-affirming things about the sacred. Learning about the responsibility to reflect on my beliefs and what they meant in terms of my actions came later. We don’t have to have a final answer about the nature of the Divine or the meaning of death. As UU’s, part of the fun and the challenge is to figure out what our answers are about the big questions for now.

Applying the ethic of freedom and responsibility to children is more difficult and all the more important. Children think differently than adults do. They ask different questions. They need different kinds of information and frameworks to find comfort and make sense of their world. We are a community of people of different ages and perspectives who travel together on a spiritual journey. For me to support and encourage someone else in their way of traveling, it helps if I know where my own head is pointed.

In her book, Tending the Flame: The Art of Unitarian Universalist Parenting, Michelle Richards, emphasizes this point in her first chapter, which is titled “Know Thyself.” She writes:

Sharing our personal spiritual and religious beliefs with our children is not indoctrination. It is offering the wisdom and the insight that they eagerly seek from us—just as they look to us for guidance when choosing between right and wrong courses of action. If we are vague and ambiguous when our children ask us theological questions, we lose the opportunity to have a positive influence on them in this area. Eventually they’ll stop asking us their religious questions and look for answers elsewhere. Many of the other people they encounter in life will not be so hesitant to pass on their beliefs, opening up the possibility that the vacuum we leave in our children’s lives will be filled with a belief system contrary to our own.

(End quote.) Richards suggests that articulating our faith through word and deed, and allowing other people to see us go through that process, is more supportive than leaving a void and inviting the people who depend on us to fill it.

I hear some of my friends who are unaffiliated with a religious community say they want to let their children make up their own minds. People will make up their own minds no matter what you do. Give them a set of tools and a decent sample of data to start with in their exploration. Give them a sense of belonging so that they have a safe place to think and an ethical framework to help them test their beliefs. Give them epic stories with flawed characters as well as positive role models, because they will need both to understand how to overcome challenges.

Even problematic stories are teachable moments. Delving together into mythic tales where good and evil are all mixed up forces us to exercise our powers of discernment. What can we learn from this story by example? What can we learn by counter-example? Every legend is fair game, from Bible stories to Greek myths to honest history. This morning’s Time for All Ages book is one such problematic story.

When it comes to knowing yourself and being comfortable enough with yourself to support the growth of another, Horton Hatches the Egg gets it a little bit right and also wrong. Horton knew himself well enough that he propped up the tree where the nest was sitting. He knew that keeping his promise was a core value, so he was firm when that value conflicted with popular opinion or the risk to his life.

On the other hand, Mayzie the bird knew herself, too. She knew that she needed a break. I am reminded of some times when my own twins were just a few weeks old, when none of us were sleeping much. “Sleep when the baby sleeps,” my friends would say. “Which one?” I thought about replying. Sometimes, putting two crying babies down, safe in their cribs, and walking away to have a sandwich was the best option. People who care for children have to know their limits, because crossing those limits isn’t good for anyone. I think the egg’s mother gets an unnecessarily harsh portrayal.

I will cut Dr. Seuss a little bit of slack for having first published this story in 1940, when depicting an awkward male figure as the primary nurturer might have been more radical. On the other hand, since we bring this book into our contemporary world, I’m very concerned that this story could be over-generalized as a criticism of parents who need rest and support (which is to say, all parents). I worry that the story reinforces negative stereotypes of people who choose not to parent. Part of the story is an exercise in critical analysis, while the better part of the story is about keeping promises and about how there is more than one way to form a family.

As I explore classic tales with my own children, something I know about myself is that I am suspicious of narratives that dismiss people as being entirely bad at the core and unworthy of sympathy. My kids have discovered the Star Wars toys we collected before they were born. They ask constant questions about “who is this guy” and “what is the Death Star for.” I roll my eyes at myself a little bit when I do this, but I describe Darth Vader as someone who made bad choices. His bad choices hurt others, and that’s why the rebels had to try to stop him. (I also spoil the ending of Return of the Jedi in my explanation of the character’s arc of decision-making. I imagine other Star Wars parents will find this controversial.)

I am hopeful that my way of unpacking stories about good and evil being mixed up together will help my children understand that I will love them no matter what, and that we can always start right now with making better choices. We don’t have to demonize and distance ourselves from other people in order to prove our worthiness. We need to learn together from mistakes. As a Universalist, I believe that love is big enough to embrace us all, even lazy birds, even Darth Vader.

In short, I try to apply the same religious principles to fiction that I do to non-fiction. Children are able to deal with stories much sooner than they are able to handle abstract moral arguments. Stories give us common ground in our shared spiritual exploration. By knowing what I believe right now, I can use stories to get the conversation started and launch growing souls toward their own conclusions.

Daily Practice: Know This Moment

Once we’ve had a chance to get to reflect on our beliefs, the next step is to get comfortable with being in the present. People in general and children and youth in particular are subject to change without notice. Living creatures are unpredictable. Those who devote at least some of our time to caring for others need something to hang on to from one minute to the next, because we don’t know where this ride is going to end up. Spiritual practices such as prayer or meditation can help us to honor each moment.

That doesn’t mean every single second is lovely and enjoyable. Quite the opposite. Taking care of humans who are dependent on you means bodily fluids in inconvenient places, arguments with little reference to rational thought, and an ongoing search for what circumstances can still be embarrassing. There are awe-inspiring experiences, too. I am grateful for all of the people who allow me to journey with them, especially my family. The highs are high and the lows are low.

Because human outcomes are unpredictable, we can’t pin our hopes on the promise of a future reward. The best place to find meaning is in the now, tangled up with the struggles and joys of reality. Mindfulness with the day-to-day environment and relationships around us takes work. A little bit of distraction can make life bearable. Too much distraction means we miss opportunities to learn, discover, and solve problems alongside our loved ones. A daily spiritual practice can help keep us on track … at least sometimes.

Horton, for instance, used meditation. He had a phrase to focus on, “I meant what I said and I said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful one hundred per cent.” That meditative phrase reminded him of his resolve when his task was difficult and tedious. I wish he had been part of a UU congregation to challenge him to expand his definition of faithfulness, where he could ask for help without judgment, and where he could have found friends to stand with him in resistance to the hunters and hucksters. Sometimes all you can do is survive. Horton did that. His spiritual practice helped him to get through the times when he was vulnerable and alone so that he could continue to nurture the egg.

Meditations set to music tend to work a little better for me. When I teach a musical meditation or prayer, it sometimes comes back to me when I need it for myself. In my first few years of ministry, I taught the do-re-mi version of our seven UU principles to children and their families. We’ve used it occasionally here at UUF. It’s sung to the tune of the song from The Sound of Music. Here it is:

“One: Each person is important. Two: Be kind in all you do. Three: We’re free to learn together. Four: And search for what is true. Five: all people need a vote. Six: build a fair and peaceful world. Seven: We care for Earth’s lifeboat. And that will bring us back to me and U-U.”

These days, you can get a very similar translation of the Seven Principles in a colorful, square pamphlet and as stickers from the UUA Bookstore.

I started teaching this song when I was a new minister as a form of rote instruction, because it seemed like a good idea for the children in the RE program I was leading to be familiar with a basic outline of our faith. I think we sang it once a month, and the children learned it very well. What surprised me is how often the lyrics came to me when I was alone. The song continues to be a handy reference point. I will read in the UU World magazine about the Fifth Principle Task Force, and I’ll think, Which one is the fifth one? Oh, right, “All people need a vote,” that’s about democracy within our denomination. If I’m interacting with someone and not feeling like my best self, “Be kind in all you do” comes to mind, unbidden, much more quickly than “justice, equity, and compassion in human relations.” The bylaw version of our Seven Principles is important, too, but it’s good to have a meditative quick reference.

Honestly, maintaining a regular spiritual practice as a parent has been hit and miss. When my children were little babies, I kept up my prayer and meditation practice more often than I would have expected. Once they became mobile, I found it more difficult to focus on grownup contemplation. My partner and I found a rhythm for our shared meditative practice in the last couple of months, and I’m sure we’ll have to adapt again soon as our children need different things from us. Meanwhile, I’m also finding meaning in what we can do together as a family. We sing together, the kids “help” me in the garden, and sometimes we’ll follow a ten-minute yoga video. Since my kids are Jewish, we also say prayers in Hebrew at bedtime. I’ve had to learn to adapt and to forgive myself, which is probably what I needed from a spiritual practice in the first place.

Regular spiritual practices can help us to get through the day, to stay true to our values, and to pay attention to the present in all of its complicated glory. If we have the added bonus in our lives of nurturing other people, regular practices show them in actions louder than words that spiritual growth is important. What we do builds stronger memories than what we say. May we be faithful to the actions that replenish our souls, and may this very moment yield its blessings.

Openness to Change: Know That We Don’t Know

So far, I’ve talked about what we can come to know through reflection about our own faith and through mindfulness. I’d also like to talk about what we don’t know. The mature fruit of a growing soul is unique, there is nothing else in all of time and space like it. Building a world where every person can fully realize their potential is an act of faith. There are no guarantees.

In her essay, “Family Values,” Rebecca Ann Parker demonstrates how liberal theology has historically translated into the way we understand the growth of children, the relationships of families, and the actions we take as a community to support families. (This essay can be found in her anthology, Bless the World: What Can Save Us Now, edited by Robert Hardies. Parker is the President and Professor of Theology at Starr King School for the Ministry.)

Going back as far as Universalist minister Hosea Ballou in 1805, Parker notes that liberal theologians “understood that how people imagine God influences the social structures they create and how they, themselves, behave. Theology and family values are inextricably linked: If God is a harsh father who demands punishment for human sin, earthly fathers should follow suit … In place of a punishing father-God, nineteenth-century religious liberals reimagined God as a gentle, nurturing parent.”

Parker goes on to describe Unitarian minister William Ellery Channing’s view that human beings are born good with gifts waiting to manifest. “The purpose of life, religion, and education, Channing said, is to unfold and direct aright all the powers of the soul and thus to grow in likeness to God.”

Part of Parker’s point is that our heritage of the Divine as a nurturing rather than punitive figure is directly linked to a vision of a society where we care for one another with abundance. I think that’s true, and I think that’s part of why we’ve committed as a congregation to our exploration of “Hospitality and Human Rights.” We want to dismantle the oppressions and the divisions between people that slow down our unfolding powers.

Let’s also take a look at what this living tradition means for the way we relate to each other in our families—however we define them—and in our congregation. I would hazard a guess that most of us wish for our loved ones a chance to develop their gifts, to be appreciated, to practice resilience, and to move in harmony with others. We don’t know exactly what that will look like in the future. We aren’t sure where their path will end up. We want the people we care about to be equipped for the journey. Is that right?

Being willing to co-write our story with the next generation is a powerful aspect of liberal theology. Tradition has a voice, ethics have a voice, yet we still have respect for the growing souls in our collective care.

I have taught Coming of Age a few times in several congregations over the years. Coming of Age is like bar or bat mitzvah, or confirmation, for UUs. I designed one overnight retreat to focus on UU history. The youth had gone on a scavenger hunt for quotes by famous UUs, acted out skits, and discussed the short summaries they were supposed to have read for homework.

Late in the evening, the youth sat in a circle, the walls of the room covered with posters showing the names and faces of Unitarian Universalists from history: Abolitionists, suffragists, racial justice reformers, engineers, educators, and many others. One of the youth asked me, “Who do you think will be the next big group of UU’s? Like the Transcendentalists in their day?”

I didn’t have to think about it. “You guys,” I said. “The next movement will come from your generation.”

What I did not say is that I don’t know what that movement will look like. I don’t know what will capture their imaginations and draw out their gifts. I don’t have to be in charge of that. If I have offered a sense of belonging in Unitarian Universalism, the mentorship of adults who are committed to their own spirituality, and skills for religious practice and exploration, I feel like I have done my job.

Nurturing souls is partly a meditation like sitting on Horton’s egg. You never know what will hatch.

Conclusion

Today, we honor those who have tended to growing souls. We honor grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers, and mentors. We especially honor parents in all of their forms: birth, step, foster, and forever, awesome and imperfect. In whatever way our gifts of love and service are offered, may we remember the perspectives we bring from within. Articulating our beliefs is the beginning of a conversation. Being comfortable in our own faith helps us to listen and accept the faith of others. Know yourself. Replenishing our own souls, increasing our capacity to keep faith with the present moment, sets the tone and offers an example from which our loved ones can learn. Know this moment. Encourage the powers of the soul to unfold, past the horizons of our vision. Know that we don’t know.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Prayer for Union

Sun, 05 May 2013 15:44:00 -0400

Spirit of Life,

Ground of our being,

Root of unified mystery

Growing into myriad branches of expression,

Bring us together now.

Bring us close to the earth,

Ear to the whispering grass,

Quietly,

Attentively,

Waiting with slow breaths,

Listening for the very stones to cry out

With their rocky stories of

Tectonic plates meeting and parting meeting

Their mineral memories of

Hadean days, molten rocks flowing and joining

Their ancient legends of

Stars born out of the collapse of other stars

Help us to re-member.

Help us to piece together

Our one-ness with matter,

Our one-ness that matters.

With one more deep breath,

May we rise, star-stuff walking and rolling

Across the surface of an impossible blue-green planet.

May we join together to heal what is divided.

May we find wholeness within, without, among, between.

Eternal Source, Seed of the Universe, help us to grow peace.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Context: This prayer was written by Rev. Lyn Cox for Union Sunday at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore, May 5, 2013. Union Sunday is an annual regional celebration of Unitarian Universalism. It commemorates the 1819 “Baltimore Sermon” by William Ellery Channing, which launched the Unitarian movement in America. This year’s Union Sunday preacher was the Rev. Dr. Galen Guengerich from the Unitarian Church of All Souls in New York City. Rev. Guengerich is the author of the forthcoming book, God Revised: How Religion Must Evolve in a Scientific Age.

An It Harm None

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 18:04:57 -0400

The Wiccan Rede, “An it harm none, do as ye will,” can be considered a version of the Golden Rule. It may seem like an “anything goes” guideline, but a closer look reveals the rede’s strong limits and its requirement for active critical thought. Following the Wiccan Rede would involve considering potential harm to beings outside our immediate awareness, taking care to cultivate willpower that matches our values, and caring for ourselves as members of the interdependent web. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, April 28, 2013.

I am attempting to grow things again. You may recall a few years ago when we planted some cucumbers late in the season, to the great delight of the neighborhood squirrels. This year, I thought that the kids would appreciate planting seeds and watching little sprouts poking up from the soil.

For phase one, I dug in the back yard and had the kids help me add garden soil in four little hills, then put a few pumpkin seeds in each spot. We got out the watering can and they helped me sprinkle the soil. The next day, there were pumpkin seed shells next to four small excavation sites. The squirrels struck again.

The next part of my plan was to have my two-and-a-half-year-old children drop just a few seeds into each square of the biodegradable planter, separating out neat rows of basil, carrots, cilantro, and rosemary. I bet you can guess how that turned out. I’m pretty sure I know where most of the cilantro is, but the basil and carrots got mixed together and planted in enthusiastic quantities. I’m not sure any of the rosemary seeds ended up in the soil. It was fun anyway.

I dug a little furrow in the yard and planted the leftover seeds. I considered them an offering to the squirrels and the birds. The spot was not especially sunny, and I didn’t bother with mixing much garden soil in with the sand and the clay. I kind of forgot about the offering seeds.

For the next ten days or so, the children helped me water the soil in the planter cups. Surprisingly enough, a bunch of seeds sprouted. Last weekend I transplanted some of the cups into a container outside. I tried to thin out the seedlings, choosing the strongest one in each group. That was heartbreaking. I wanted all of the little plants to thrive, but the directions on the seed packet said they needed room. The remaining seedlings in the container are doing OK, but not great. The basil seeds I planted as an offering to the birds and squirrels sprouted into a forest of beautiful, fat, and lush plants. It is possible that the universe is trying to tell me something about going with the flow, letting go of the illusion of control, and being mindful of where and to whom I dedicate my labor.

Since I’ve been getting my hands in the dirt more lately, I’ve been thinking about earth-based spirituality. As I have mentioned before, I have a Pagan personal practice, as well as other traditions that intersect to form my spiritual path. Paganism is a wide umbrella term that covers some earth-centered traditions. Within Paganism, a person might identify as a Wiccan, or they might focus on ancient Greek or Sumerian pantheons, or they might study Old Norse runes and legends by way of learning about the gods or goddesses to which they are dedicated. Those are just a few examples. There are also people who follow earth-centered traditions who don’t consider themselves Pagan. Earth-centered spirituality describes a complex, multi-faith category of religions.

Personally, I’m a non-denominational Pagan. I organize my meditations in terms of the elements of earth, water, fire, and air. I find meaning and comfort in the company of trees, or among ocean waves, or in mountains layered with the evidence of time. Myths about heroines, heroes, gods, and goddesses from around the world help me unpack my ideas about the holy. If I had a specific tradition and Pagan community to which I were accountable, that might help me make the most of my spiritual practice and ensure that I’m not mis-using sacred stories and images, but I haven’t been able to connect strongly with one tradition. I do the best I can by consulting with friends and being accountable to Unitarian Universalism.

One idea that has been helpful to me as I build my Pagan identity is the Wiccan Rede: “An it harm none, do what ye will.” That’s the version that was first published in the modern era by Doreen Valiente in 1964. There are variations in the wording. “Do what you will, as long as it harms none.” I like throwing the word “thou” in the phrase, because it reminds me of Martin Buber’s “I and Thou,” remembering the personhood of everyone I meet and the sacredness of relationships. “An thou harm none, do what ye will.” The grammar isn’t quite correct, but it works for me.

There’s plenty of debate about how far back the Wiccan Rede goes and where it comes from. The important thing for now is that this Wiccan version of the Golden Rule has been very influential among English-speaking Pagans over the last fifty years. The rede reminds us about gifts such as freedom and trust, yet also reminds us to be responsible for the consequences of our actions.

The Wiccan Rede is open to interpretation, almost by design. To use it as a guide, we have to figure out what “harm” is, and who or what counts as one not to be harmed. We also have to come to an understanding of will, or willpower, and how we develop the capacity to make conscious choices.

To me, this sounds very similar to our pattern as Unitarian Universalists. UU’s don’t have a creed, and we believe a variety of things about the sacred, yet we have a shared commitment to acting with justice and compassion. One of the skills we need to develop in order to grow into a mature UU faith is the power of discernment: matching our choices, our life goals, and our shared ministry to our deepest values. Exploring the Wiccan Rede can help us to understand how to apply UU principles. With the rede and with UU principles, we need to consider consequences beyond what is right in front of us. We need to develop a sense of ourselves as ethical decision-makers with goals. We need to consider how we, ourselves, fit into the picture of cause and effect in the moral universe. In other words, harm none who are hidden; harm none through lack of will; harm none including yourself.

Harm None Who Are Hidden

First, harm none who are hidden. Beings who are unseen, unheard, or beyond the borders of our awareness still matter. Like Unitarian Universalists, many Pagans find meaning in the image of an interdependent web of existence, a model for the universe that acknowledges the far-reaching consequences of our actions. The interdependent web is a way of approaching the world that encourages responsibility and emphasizes relationships. Sometimes the way we interact with soil, water, and air has obvious, concrete outcomes. Sometimes the results are more distant in time or place, and we have to consciously attend to the links between cause and effect. We can harm people and other beings without seeing them.

If I grow or buy organic produce, it will have consequences I’m not going to see right away for the local soil and water. If I support fair wages and safe working conditions for farm workers, the effect on me is not going to be as visible as the result of collective support on the lives of people who put food on our tables. If I plant a native tree, future generations of humans and animals will breathe easier in its shade. We don’t always have the reward of seeing the effect when we make positive choices. Sometimes we need the help of scientists and data-gatherers from all over the world to make sense of the cumulative effects of humanity’s actions.

Individual actions matter, mainly because they are symbolic of our aims as a society. Personal decisions keep me connected to the bigger picture. Be forgiving about doing what you have to do and letting other people do what they have to do to survive on an individual level, and let’s do the best we can to guide our civilization toward healing. If we’re preoccupied with judging our neighbors who don’t use Compact Florescent light bulbs, we’ll miss the opportunity to advocate for powerful change in the way oil corporations and energy companies privatize their profits and pass the costs of the environmental degradations they cause on to us.

Whether our choices are large or small, sticking to our values can be more difficult when the effects of our actions are obscured by time or distance. There are a couple of ways to stay mindful of what’s happening outside our immediate experience.

One option is to spend time contemplating the potential consequences for nearby non-humans, beings whose presence affects ours, even if they don’t walk or roll around like we do. What would it mean for the fox I see through the window if the city quit protecting the creek that runs through our neighborhood? How would the health of my favorite trees be affected if we didn’t have the Clean Air Act? Pagan spirituality values the lives of beings who swim, fly, and walk on more than two legs. Earth-centered traditions are rich with stories about the Divine manifesting in animal form. The sacred is present in the fox, the deer, and even in the squirrels who ate my pumpkin seeds. The health of the creek has an impact on these messengers of the holy. Again, the specific examples matter, and they also stand in for the larger picture. The fox doesn’t matter more than the whole watershed, he’s just the part I can see and relate to as I vote and otherwise try to influence my community.

There is a danger in confusing the part for the whole as we figure out the path of least harm. I killed little basil sprouts in order to thin them out and give the remaining plants the best chance at survival. I’m probably going to kill a bunch of competing plants that take root alongside the carrots. I hope that the end result will be an organic garden that will reduce my trips to the store and my reliance on non-local produce. There are ways to move with the flow of life and death as we practice stewardship. As my offering seeds proved to me, we can’t always predict the future. My tiny container garden is not going to save the world, but it might remind me of other ways I am connected to the planet.

Another option for maintaining awareness of hidden consequences is to regard the earth itself as a holy, living being. As the bumper sticker says, love your Mother. Maintaining environmental consciousness out of a sense of relationship with Gaia may give us motivation to compost or to reduce our reliance on oil. Our small steps to reduce harm become spiritual practices and offerings of love. Following eco-friendly guidelines out of a sense of duty and anticipating the needs of future generations is great, but there’s something about the Gaia hypothesis that feels personal and nurturing. Caring for the earth, and being more aware of how the earth sustains me, becomes a real-time relationship. Harm none, and regard the planet as a person not to be harmed.

Do What Ye Will

In addition to harming none, there is another half of the Wiccan Rede, “Do as thou will.” Some would argue that willpower, acting with intention, is the more important part of the guideline, and that “harm none” is just the boundary around a wide circle of possibilities.

I would suggest that the two halves balance each other: the freedom to act according to conscious discernment and values, and the responsibility of developing that willpower while causing the least harm. Perhaps this rings a bell from one of our UU principles, “the free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” Deciding how to act, choosing our words and behaviors on purpose, is just as important as considering the possible consequences. For me, true will is related to a sense of calling. “Do what ye will” means taking action toward our deepest values, listening to the wisest voices within and planning accordingly.

This realization of willpower is one of the steps in the hero’s or heroine’s journey for a lot of the mythic stories that give shape to Pagan worldviews. Whether it’s someone like Thomas the Rhymer, leaving the human world to follow the Elf Queen into the realm of the Faeries, or it’s a story like the Twelve Wild Swans, where the heroine leaves the comfort of her castle in search of the twelve brothers she never knew, symbolic tales often hinge on the theme of making choices on purpose.

This morning’s Time For All Ages story follows the same pattern. An ordinary girl named Maya is troubled by the seeming arbitrary chaos of multiple sets of rules. She departs from her usual routine and goes out of her way to ask questions in an attempt to bring meaning to her way of being in the world. She seeks wisdom from places she might have previously overlooked. The reward of discovery, of uncovering the spiritual framework to guide her path ahead, is due to Maya’s determination. Maya set out to reorganize her understanding of right action. Nobody asked her to do it. She could have continued to obey without knowing why, or she could have ignored the rules in a way that caused harm. She took the opportunity for a quest, to manifest her will power.

That’s how it would be according to the Wiccan Rede. If we choose not to take on the quest, if we choose not to manifest the will arising from our values, we’re responsible for that, too. But fear not! We will not miss the opportunity to follow our calling. When we ask questions about the systems of power and privilege that comprise the status quo, when we seek to dismantle oppressions that are so influential in our society that they are nearly invisible, we share Maya’s quest.

Taking responsibility for accidental harm is also part of the rede. It says “harm none,” not “harm none intentionally.” Even if we didn’t mean to cause an injury, we still have to do something to correct it. This is one of the advantages to basing an ethical system on values instead of on strict adherence to specific laws: If we’re not busy proving which rules did or didn’t get broken, we can focus on healing. Living in the world, we are going to cause some damage and we are going to experience some pain. Ideally, we find ways to minimize suffering and to maximize health.

It is possible to get so worried about making the wrong choice that we try to avoid making choices at all. I would invite us into an attitude of holy boldness, of confidence that we can work with the Spirit of Life to make amends when we make mistakes in our quest for healing. Let us be gentle with ourselves and each other. There is no shortage of opportunity to improve the world. We also have a moral and spiritual impulse to savor the beauty of the earth and the love we have for the people around us. Intentionally thriving by practicing gratitude and celebrating life is an act of will that harms none.

Harm None, Including Yourself

One of the things I find interesting about the Wiccan Rede is that it frames the limit as “harm none” rather than “don’t harm others.” We, as moral decision-makers, also have to consider ourselves in the circle of care. A person is part of the divine/earthly system rather than separate from it. We are one with the earth that we are called to honor and protect.

Personally (and I can’t speak for other Pagans on this or any other matter), I regard the universe itself as Divine. We are made of star-stuff, and so are the animals, vegetables, and minerals that we come into contact with every day. I may temporarily have my own personality and consciousness, but all that I am came from the ocean of being, and one day I will be released back into that ocean. As a Universalist, I believe that the birthright and the destiny of all beings are shared, and that love is the best response to our cosmic kinship.

In the context of reverence for the earth and other people, and with confidence in the interdependent web, it should follow that I would also have plenty of love and respect for myself. Perhaps you share my experience that self-care is easier said than done. When I feel like my obligations are overwhelming, things like exercising and eating satisfying food are some of the first things to go. I aim to follow my calling, as long as it harms none. Every once in awhile I need to recalibrate to bring myself back into the healing zone. Chances are, if I’m not taking care of myself, I’ve been snapping at other people and doing harm in other ways, but none of us needs an extra reason to practice self-care.

The holiday that’s coming up now, Beltane, is a good time to meditate on that. This is a season about the sacredness of the body in all of its aliveness and connection. The larger culture may hold up self-abnegation and sacrifice as high ideals, but a Beltane observance says that we can nurture growth and healing in the world without diminishing ourselves. With this holiday, we celebrate abundance, new life, and creativity. Arts of all kinds, from writing to baking to sculpture, add to the festivities.

When I think about the things that have been energizing me lately—the themes that have been helping me stay connected with my calling—abundance, embodiment, and creativity are right up there. The surprising liveliness of the carrot and basil seedlings is lifting my spirits. Days when I can find a moment to reach my arms toward the rising sun and stretch down to touch the earth are good days for my body and soul. Writing gives me a chance to spark conversations. When I remember to fully apply it, the Wiccan Rede reminds me that, as long as I consider the health of myself and others, the will to create is a spiritual practice.

Conclusion

The Wiccan Rede, “An it harm none, do what ye will,” is more difficult to follow than it might seem on first glance. It is not a moral computer, spitting out the right course of action if you feed in the available data. It is a guideline that invokes thoughtful discernment. We make conscious choices, based on our best estimation of potential consequences. May we take into account the health of beings beyond our immediate experience. May we find the will power to follow the callings of our values. May we have reverence for all people, including ourselves.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

faithfollowingtrauma: apatosaurus: (Text below from the Murray...

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 20:12:22 -0400

faithfollowingtrauma:

apatosaurus:

(Text below from the Murray Grove Retreat and Renewal Center, where this video was filmed.)

A group of Unitarian Universalist professionals and lay people has been gathered at Murray Grove this week for a series of workshops led by Rev. Julie Taylor of the UU Trauma Response Ministry, a community minister and volunteer Emergency Medical Technician specializing in critical incident response, trauma, and disaster spiritual care. Upon hearing of the tragic events at the Boston marathon, she recorded a video last night on ways to respond spiritually to crises like this, which was then posted to YouTube for the use of the UU Church of the Larger Fellowship by CLF ministerial intern Lara Campbell.

Julie’s talk offers ways for anyone to deal not just with this tragedy, or events like it, but with traumas of any kind that all of us may encounter in our lives. The UU Trauma Response Ministry provides direct care and training in crisis response and congregational procedures:

www.traumaministry.org

(Video filmed and posted to YouTube by Lara Campbell)

In addition, the following links and resources from the Unitarian Universalist Association may be helpful:

Religious Education resources for adults, children, and families

Trauma response resources for congregations and families

Sesame Street: More Tragic Times, Helping Families Cope

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 16:47:32 -0400

Sesame Street: More Tragic Times, Helping Families Cope:

sesamestreet:

Once again families are coping with how to explain tragic and scary news events to their children. This time the news is in regards to two explosions that occurred near the finish line of the Boston Marathon. For those living in the affected areas, these are particularly stressful and anxious…

All You've Ever Wanted

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 16:05:29 -0400

Sometimes we need recalculate our route when it seems like we’ve reached a dead end or find ourselves rushing down a road in life that’s not right for us. The book of Ecclesiastes (also known as Koheleth) has some surprisingly timely advice for those situations. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, April 14, 2013.

I’m not especially a morning person. Early in the morning when my coffee isn’t ready yet, or in the middle of winter when my weekday commute starts before the sun is up, I can get pretty gloomy. Poems and lyrics that match my mood come to mind. Sometimes that’s 90’s alternative rock or dystopian musical theater (Little Shop of Horrors, Sweeney Todd, Once More With Feeling), but sometimes verses like this one come up on the internal playlist:

Vanity of vanities, says the teacher; vanity of vanities! All is vanity.
What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun?  A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever.

(Ecclesiastes 1:2-4, NRSV)

All things are wearisome; more than one can express;
The eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing.
What has been is what will be,
And what has been done is what will be done;
There is nothing new under the sun.

(Ecclesiastes 1:8-9, NRSV)

On most days, the wearisome mood doesn’t last. Usually, once I get some momentum going and I am reminded of the talented and committed people I get to work with and to live with, I can be more positive. I can embrace my whole day, frustrations and hopes, taken together. In those moments, verses like this spring up:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4, NRSV)

The funny thing is, both of these passages come from the same book. These words are from Ecclesiastes, which is also known as Koheleth, a book of sayings meant as advice from an elder to a younger person. According to tradition, the speaker is Solomon in his later years. Ecclesiastes is not so much a book about God as it is practical advice for living a meaningful life. The speaker takes apart some of the usual suspects that are supposed to make people happy: wealth, power, pleasure, even perfection in religious practice. All of these can be attempts to carve out immortality in a mortal existence, and not one of them actually works in isolation.

Rabbi Rami Shapiro points out that the Hebrew word at the beginning of the book that is usually translated as “vanity” can also be translated as “emptiness.” Taken this way, Koheleth sounds less cranky and more serene. His translation begins:

Emptiness! Emptiness upon emptiness!
The world is fleeting of form,
Empty of permanence,
Void of surety,
Without certainty.
Like a breath breathed once and gone,
All things rise and fall.
Understand emptiness, and tranquility replaces anxiety.
Understand emptiness, and compassion replaces jealousy.
Understand emptiness, and you will cease to excuse suffering and begin to alleviate it.

(Ecclesiastes 1:1-2, Rami Shapiro translation, from The Way of Solomon: Finding Joy and Contentment in the Wisdom of Ecclesiastes)

Now we’re talking right? Understood this way, I think this text gets to the heart of why most of us are here. We are seekers, but not the kind of seekers who are looking for a spiritual high without responsibility. We have some sense that we’d like to make the world a better place, yet we’re realistic enough to know that we can’t control the outcome, and we certainly can’t accomplish great things alone. A lot of us have some skepticism about promises made in the guise of religion. We aren’t going to find either inner peace or immortality by amassing wealth at the expense of love, or by controlling the people around us, or by achieving perfection.

In his commentary on Ecclesiastes, When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough, Rabbi Harold Kushner says that these questions are timeless and timely. He writes, “Our souls are hungry for meaning, for the sense that we have figured out how to live so that our lives matter, so that the world will be at least a little bit different for our having passed through it.” (Kushner, p. 18)

Ecclesiastes suggests that, if we don’t try to force a unique and personal mark on history; if we forget about cementing some permanence in an ephemeral world; if we let go of the vain illusion of separateness and instead relax into the truth of our interdependence; we may yet live a life of meaning as we move through a universe that appears meaningless.

Personally, I need this wisdom, not only to seek meaning, but so that I can be more compassionate toward myself and others. Pursuing those false pretenses of permanence like fame or eternal youth are not good for me. That journey feels like a hamster wheel, one where I constantly berate myself for not grabbing the lettuce just out of reach. One might think that I would cut my fellow travelers some slack for being moody, jealous, or impatient due to their hamster-wheel exhaustion, but I’m not always as mindful or forgiving as I’d like to be.

Ecclesiastes reminds me of what I know from the “no outlet” streets of my spiritual history. Cul-de-sacs and dead ends are safe places to stop, check the map, and turn around. At that point, I can check on my behavior and find some compassion for others who are stressed on their own journeys. With reflection, encouragement, and appreciation for the beings I’m connected with, I have brief insights of not worrying about where this strange trip is going and can instead give thanks the sacredness of this stretch of road. For this gathering of seekers, let’s explore together the practice of making U-turns at dead ends, the practice of compassion for those on the journey, and the practice of savoring the current step.

U-Turns at Dead Ends

Many times in my life, I have found myself out of breath from racing toward the wrong finish line. In most cases, this was just metaphorically true. Whether I failed at something and the world didn’t end, or I succeeded at something only to find my victory didn’t solve my problems, I’ve had the experience of refining my path through the process of elimination. Being wrong can be informative. There have also been times when the race was more literal.

I was on a summer swim team starting from about fifth grade through eleventh grade. My team was based at a community pool, not a prestigious training facility or an exclusive private club, so it was an interesting mix of talented athletes and regular kids like me. My coach encouraged each of us to work on our own skills rather than comparing ourselves to each other. I know participation trophies are frowned upon in some circles, but she believed in them. The success of the team came one point at a time, and motivating kids to do a little better than they had the week before is how we earned those points. Praising only the kids who came in first place would not have helped our team. In reviewing the results of each meet, which she tried to do in private conversations, she commented on the percentage improvement in our time and on how to improve the stroke. I participated happily and earned a few points in backstroke, but my real niche was in team spirit. I tried to cheer loud enough so that my teammates could hear me in the water. I brought bubbles so that the team spirit could float across the pool and hang in the air. Not everybody appreciated it, but I had a good time.

When I got to high school and went out for the school team, the vibe was totally different. It was very competitive. The team didn’t really get into group cheers. The coach had been a nationally ranked swimmer. He wasn’t mean, but he also made it clear that he was more interested in winning meets than in being an exercise program. There was a lot of attention on the high school swim team, and it made me nervous.

At one meet, when I was lined up on the blocks to dive in for a freestyle race, a photographer from the newspaper clicked his camera. I thought it was the starting gun, and went twenty-five meters before I knew any different. One false start was an automatic disqualification. It doesn’t matter how fast you’re going if it’s not your match. I realized at some point that the school team was not my crowd, and I didn’t go back for my sophomore year.

In the grand scheme of things that we can exhaust ourselves trying to do, this is a small example. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to win swim meets, but it wasn’t the right goal for me. I believe the way we go about pursuing our goals, and how we prioritize them in relationship to things like love and compassion, are just as important as working toward success. Ecclesiastes/Koheleth names some specific ways people try to achieve immortality or happiness that don’t necessarily work. Shapiro’s translation frames it this way:

When you are deluded by the illusion of permanence,
You become trapped in the pursuit of profit.
Profit for the body—wealth.
Profit for the mind—knowledge.
Profit for the soul—eternal life.
Vanity and foolishness!
Profit requires permanence, and there is no permanence.
Therefore, there is no profit, and the pursuit of profit yields only suffering.

(Ecclesiastes 1:3)

So ends the quote. The speaker systematically goes through all of the dead ends he has tried in life—amassing great riches, gaining political power, being renowned for knowledge and wisdom, denying the body through ascetic religious practice—and concludes that none of them brought the satisfaction or immortality that they seemed to promise.

As an aside, I’d like to differentiate here between meeting basic needs and getting caught up in the wrong contest. Secure food and housing are not barriers to happiness. Nobody is suggesting a life of deprivation. The text is very clear, and I want to be very clear, that it’s good to enjoy our families and our work, to take pleasure in the food and drink in front of us, and to rest when we are weary.

At the same time, trying to collect stuff or awards or opinions we don’t need can block happiness. I think it’s very easy to get sucked into trying to win a prize that doesn’t exist. Whether that’s being known as the cleverest among friends, achieving 100% mastery of the mythical work/life balance, gaining recognition as the most perfect parent ever, I’d like to be able to let go of the labels and focus on living out my mission on this earth as I understand it, even if nobody notices or remembers.

At least, that’s the person I’d like to be. Facebook is making it difficult for me to resist comparing myself with others, but I’m trying. Living a meaningful life is, apparently, something that has to be practiced constantly rather than achieved once and for all through insight.

Perhaps not everybody has had the experience of a dead end. Perhaps some of you have been better navigators on the spiritual path, choosing trails that you can enjoy as you journey, regardless of whether the end point passes through wealth, fame, or perfection. I’m guessing, though, that most of us have learned something about ourselves from trying a road that didn’t lead where we thought it would. That’s OK. We can always step to the side, check the map against our deepest connections and priorities, and make a U-turn.

Compassion for People on the Journey (Including Ourselves)

We make mistakes sometimes about the speed, direction, or velocity that’s right for us in living a meaningful life. That’s OK, that’s part of the learning process. It seems to me, though, that we are not our best selves when all of our energy is going toward winning the wrong contest. Again, from the text:

If you are trapped by the quest for permanence,
Each day boils with anger, frustration, and needless suffering.
Night grants no rest ,
And your mind seethes with rage over the theft of security.

(Ecclesiastes 2:22, Shapiro translation)

I don’t know that my symptoms are that severe all the time. I definitely feel grumpier, more rushed, and less satisfied before I realize that I’m accidentally chasing a goal like recognition or superiority rather than listening to my values.

This morning’s Time For All Ages story described a carriage driver who was so hell-bent on getting somewhere that the safety and dignity of the teacher and student walking along the road became insignificant. The fancy rig with six white horses forced two people into a ditch. This morning’s telling described grass and mud off to the side of the road, but I’m imagining that there were some less savory things to jump into if there were horses around. The student focused on indignation and had choice words about the character of the driver. The teacher recognized the pain that undergirds thoughtlessness. We can guess that the carriage belonged to someone with money, but we don’t know if they were fleeing for their lives, or trying to save someone, or beholden to someone who inspired fear if they turned up late. Harmful behavior can come from maladaptive ways to meet real human needs.

The carriage story reminds me that not all of my interactions are all about me. Aggressive drivers don’t always make their choices out of personal spite. Co-workers who fail to greet me might have something else on their minds. Even feedback that is, on the surface, about me is also about the person who gives it. Their words tell me what they value, what’s on their minds, and that they believe in the possibility of change. Making room for sympathy when I feel hurt is not easy, and I can’t manage it all the time. It’s worth a try.

Having compassion for people on the journey makes it much easier to bring up negative behavior directly, kindly, and effectively. UU ministers tend to put this in the category of speaking the truth in love. My counseling professors call it care-frontation. If we wish the best for someone who caused an injury, pointing it out to them is a necessary step for everyone’s healing. I’m not saying that we should allow the carriage driver to continue in the same manner indefinitely. It’s OK to be angry and sympathetic at the same time, although that’s not always possible. When we are able to have compassion for the carriage driver, that helps our chances for reconciliation when we address their behavior rather than dragging ourselves down with name-calling and dehumanization. If reconciliation doesn’t catch on, we can send the carriage driver our love and blessings from far away. We do not owe it to anyone to allow ourselves to be harmed repeatedly.

The need for love and understanding is equally true when applied to ourselves. I find it difficult to forgive myself when I’ve been so focused on saving time or winning points that I forget to be considerate. If I can stop focusing on my regret, I can learn something.

There was an incident in seminary when I was a student body officer, in charge of getting ready for an event. Other students stepped forward to take leadership roles. I checked in with them constantly, giving them little reminders. Finally, one of my friends invited me on a walk, told me I was micromanaging, and said she felt disrespected. I felt awful. But my gratitude for my friend’s courage in speaking up and her faith in my ability to do better helped me get over it and try again.

Compassion for other people on the journey comes easier when we’re not in a rush to achieve imaginary prizes, and when we have what we truly need. May all of our deepest, healthiest desires be satisfied, and may we show kindness for all of the travelers on the road, including ourselves.

Savor This Step

So far, we’ve talked about practicing U-turns and practicing compassion as we go our ways. There’s also the aspect, not of going, but of being. We seek meaning in the everyday: the spirituality of sunsets, of casual gestures of kindness, of appreciation for the here and now.

I’ve been reading magazine stories about the cherry blossoms in DC. I grew up close to the city, I’ve seen them before, and I’d like to go back someday. The reality of our schedules and the vital importance of our kids’ nap time has led us to invest our time and logistical energy elsewhere, so I haven’t had a good look at cherry blossoms in a couple of years. Last year around this time, I was sad about missing the opportunity. I looked at maps and traffic patterns, investigated parking and transportation options, and did a lot of thinking about what it would be like to take the kids on a road trip to the Tidal Basin. It just wasn’t worth it. Even though this was the right choice, I was bummed. I was so bummed, I almost missed the fleeting signs of spring in my own neighborhood.

There is a tree in our front yard, and a matching one across the street in our neighbor’s yard. It has these huge pink blossoms that only come out in early spring, then drop down like a carpet of petals on the front yard, making way for green leaves in its wide branches. I am glad for this tree because of the shade it offers in the summer and for the refreshing surprise of its color in April. If I cared too much about the look of my lawn, I might be less glad for the petals it drops.

As it happens, my kids are fond of the color pink. My son likes pink. My daughter is the number one fan of the color pink on our block. Now that the kids are old enough to have conversations, we were very excited to watch the petals unfold with them this year. My partner started a practice of opening their window shades every the morning and inviting them to look out the window at the tree. First the little covers over the buds fell to the ground. The next morning, there were little points of color on the top of the tree. By the afternoon, the blossoms were open, a riot of pink on our otherwise sedate neighborhood. With the wind and the rain, the petals are falling steadily, and I know we have to drink in the vision while we have it. This is pretty similar to what I would have gotten out of the cherry blossoms, except that I get to do it in my pajamas. Thanks to my partner’s introduction of the simple spiritual practice of opening the blinds, I am able to appreciate what I have rather than grieving the experience I’m not having right now.

This is the wisdom offered by Koheleth/Ecclesiastes. When we are able to respond to the brevity of satisfying events by enjoying them rather than trying to nail them down, we are open to transcendence. It is part of our job to care for and appreciate the world for as long as we can. I’ll offer a few final verses from the text:

Whatever is given you to do,
Do it with full attention.
Withhold neither body nor mind,
But allow Life to consume you.
Live like a log aflame and tended,
Give warmth, light, comfort, and fuel,
And in the end leave only ash.
For there is neither deed nor planning,
Neither knowledge nor wisdom,
In the grave where you are going.
Seek not to buy your way out of the grave.
Seek only to spend yourself wisely in life.

(Ecclesiastes 9:10, Shapiro translation)

Conclusion

As Unitarian Universalists, we look to sacred text to inspire us and to ignite our curiosity, but not usually to direct our lives. Exploring together what inspiration Koheleth/Ecclesiastes might have for us, it seems to me to be an ancient advice column with timely relevance. May we all have the insight and strength to make U-turns when we need them. May we practice compassion and direct communication among spiritual travelers. May we savor this very moment on the journey. So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

First Unitarian Church of Baltimore: Humanism

Wed, 10 Apr 2013 17:18:37 -0400

First Unitarian Church of Baltimore: Humanism:

firstubaltimore:

A church member recently shared a great video featuring Lutheran Pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber, an inspiring speaker who had a few things to say about trying out Unitarian Universalism in her past. She expressed a lot of respect for us, but noted that UUs are “REALLY smart, but they have this…

Gratitude and Resurrection

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 20:32:07 -0400

Christians, Pagans, and Humanists all have perspectives on resurrection. This sermon was written for the Easter service with the Unitarian Universalists of Fallston, March 31, 2013.

Our region had snow on Monday. (You may have noticed. And by “may have,” I’m using poetic understatement.) I imagine this disrupted Spring Break plans for some folks. At our house, it was the last straw that led us to cancel our big, extended family Passover seder and to plan a simpler dinner just for us. Every time I looked out the window, I was shocked again that, near the end of March, we had actual snow falling and sticking on the ground.

Part of me was crushed. We had been to the park to enjoy the spring just a few days ago! We did this already! How could it be winter again! This past season has been challenging. I am craving the springtime. As the ice and snow drifted across our porch, there was too much to do to dwell on the betrayal of the calendar. Even though we didn’t need to impress anyone else for our holiday gathering, we still had to chop apples for charoset and cut up carrots for tsimmes and somehow set up the kitchen for eight days of an alternative diet. Having some mutual responsibilities and having a holiday that spoke about hope got me through the day without being frozen by disappointment. Maybe just family would have been enough, maybe the excitement of new recipes would have been enough, maybe the celebration around our kitchen table would have been enough. The day passed and left behind positive memories.

The next day, with March winds blowing and the sunshine sending melted snow back into the earth, I was able to find more appreciation and meaning in the throwback storm. Snow melting around the daffodils and crocuses looked like actual spring. Official spring before the snow felt like a deadline had passed. It was a relief to put that part of the calendar behind me. Watching snow melt invoked resurrection. I don’t just see the deep green in the azalea bush, I believe in it, I believe that there will soon be blossoms. New life is coming, no matter what the obstacles.

Resurrection is on many minds and hearts today. For those who follow Jesus in the Western traditions, today is Easter Sunday, the day that Jesus’ tomb was found to be empty. Yet rebirth is a theme for other groups, too. Pagans and other earth-centered spiritual practitioners find hope in the turning of the year, the rebirth of the sun and the renewal of the cycle of life. Even without the mythic stories from around the world, just observing our corner of the natural world this time of year can give us inspiration for the daily resurrections of our lives. Christianity, Paganism, and earth-centered Humanism all sing of gratitude for rebirth. I’d like to briefly explore resurrection through each of these lenses.

Resurrection Requires Letting Go

Christianity is centered around one clear story of resurrection, and also offers smaller stories and images and rebirth. For Christians, Easter Sunday is steeped in wonder that the Supreme Being voluntarily gave up power for the vulnerability of human life, and celebrates the the mystery that eternal love turned out to be stronger than death. At every point in that story of Jesus, a miracle was preceded by giving up power, by letting go. We can understand incarnation and free will as aspects of God’s decision to let go, to share power and to suffer with humans. Jesus let go of the earthly measures of victory and success that people may have been expecting in order to go about the ministry to which he was called.

In order for there to be resurrection, there has to be a kind of death. There has to come a point where a being loses autonomy or control. Sometimes that loss is a choice, and sometimes it isn’t. To live in the world is to go through these metaphorical deaths, times when we experienced separation and not-knowing and not being powerful. If we are able to emerge from these tombs, the loss can be seen in retrospect as a reminder that we are in this together, we are not isolated heroes.

None of us is all-powerful. When we can accept that complete control is an illusion, we are ready to practice gratitude for all of the conditions and people and spiritual forces that have allowed us to reach this moment. As long as we maintain the fiction that each one of us as an individual is completely in charge of every outcome in this life, it is difficult to see the ways we’re being held and lifted up by forces beyond our control. The softer side, the more accurate side, of being human is that we are vulnerable and interdependent, and that these qualities make us more able to care for each other. Letting go of invulnerability allows us to be reborn in love.

Madeleine L’Engle, who is known for her Christian inspirational writing as well as for her young adult science fiction, had some thoughts about this aspect of holy vulnerability. She said that this is all about love. She wrote:

“The enfleshing of the Word which spoke the galaxies made the death of that Word inevitable. All flesh is mortal, and the flesh assumed by the Word was no exception in mortal terms … What one of us can understand a love so great that we would willingly limit our unlimitedness …?” (From The Irrational Season, p. 17-18)

L’Engle wrote elsewhere about what this letting-go-motivated-by-love meant in terms of giving and receiving compassion, both compassion from human sources and from spiritual sources. She wrote:

“Would I really be able to worship a God who was simply implacable power, and who was invulnerable? If I am hurt, I don’t turn for strength and help to someone who has never been hurt, but to someone who has, and who can therefore understand a little of what I am going through. The people I know who are the most invulnerable also tend to show the least compassion. The kind of person I turn to is someone who has been strong enough to face pain when it comes—and it does come. Someone who faces it, endures it, and tries as hard as possible to go through it and come out on the other side. Someone whose urge for health is strong enough to hold on to wholeness even in the midst of suffering. And someone who manages to retain a sense of humor, who has the gift of laughter. As these are the qualities I look for in another human being when I am in need of healing, so these are the qualities I look for in God.” (From A Stone for a Pillow: Journeys with Jacob, p. 59)

I notice that L’Engle referred to people who show the least compassion. I think it is possible to feel compassion and yet not feel the freedom to show it. For a time, staying contained can be a short-term survival strategy. For the long term of living abundantly, we need the freedom to be weak, flawed, fallible, and vulnerable. Accepting those limits helps us to grow. Revealing those limits helps us to support each other, to become conduits for the Spirit of Life.

This is where gratitude comes in. We cannot simultaneously take something for granted and also be truly thankful. Appreciating the failed experiments that have brought us to deeper wisdom, being grateful for the inspiration and the people who have carried us through, reminds us that there is yet more to uncover. There are deeper mysteries to be revealed about what it means to be human.

May we help each other hold on to wholeness through the metaphorical deaths: the death of success, the death of reputation, the death of invulnerability, the death of plans made in earnest. May we find new life in the sharing of our fully human joys and sorrows.

Resurrection is a Collective Effort

Pagans also have perspectives on resurrection. This morning’s Time for All Ages story (“The Rebirth of the Sun” by Starhawk, from the book Circle Round) described a spiritual way of understanding the cycles of light and darkness as the wheel of the year turns. The story is actually about the Winter Solstice, yet for many of us the rebirth of the sun is something we have to take on faith until about this time of year, when the earlier sunrises and later sunsets are finally noticeable, when the daffodils might be experimenting with blossoming, when there’s a day here or there that tempts us to leave our winter coats at home.

On one level, the story suggests that the sun needs our collective effort of gratitude to emerge from the arms of night. As mythic stories go, that works. We do benefit in spiritual and material ways through collective gratitude, and it’s a good idea to respect the major forces of nature that affect our lives. Group appreciation as an ingredient for the rebirth of the year is a major theme in stories from earth-centered traditions, from Amaterasu in Japan to Demeter and Persephone in Greece. There are great, mythic stories about journeys to the underworld or retreats into quiet caves, while whole communities await and encourage the return of the goddess or god who brings light and warmth. May we all know such support when we return from the underworld.

On another level, perhaps the function of communal gratitude is not to keep the sun moving toward the dawning horizon, but to keep us moving until we can meet the new day. Appreciating the world we have helps us to find meaning in the turning of the year. Noticing the blessings we bring to each other gives us something to hang onto when the evidence for new hope is not yet visible.

My experience with Pagan literature and practice (recognizing that “Pagan” includes a great diversity of spiritual paths, and no one person can speak for the whole movement) is that making offerings and petitionary prayers are very common. I might leave cream as an offering by the roots of a tree, or create offerings on my altar at home. I ask the elements, or a particular goddess, or the universe for strength or assistance with something. As Unitarian Universalists, we don’t often do petitionary prayer. We tend to look for solutions that we can participate in actively on this plane. I think UU’s do active problem-solving well, and it’s a strength, but we also miss something by not calling attention in a spiritual way to the ways we depend on the universe. Human beings need help. We are not yet what we hope to become.

One Pagan symbolic messenger that has worked its way into popular culture is the practice of decorating and hunting for eggs. There are lots of stories about where those traditions came from, including 2,500-year-old Zoroastrian celebrations around the Spring Equinox, decorated ostrich eggs in ancient Sumerian graves, and pre-Christian European associations between eggs and fertility. I am fairly certain that there were no eggs or bunnies in the four gospels. On the other hand, it makes sense for those who fast during Lent from rich foods like eggs to celebrate by eating them on Easter. In any case, I’m willing to believe that the practices of decorating and hiding eggs were influenced by earth-centered spiritual traditions.

Here’s the thing: Eggs represent potential. You can’t necessarily tell by looking at it whether a freshly-laid egg is going to hatch successfully. An egg is not yet a bird or a reptile. Eggs are a symbol of hope because they have not yet hatched. Depending on the species, an egg may need a little bit or a lot of help before a living being can emerge from it. The egg may need protection from predators or constant warmth from a living body.

When I am trying to hang on to hope that is not yet visible, I am like the egg. The possibility of emerging into new life is definitely there, but I’m going to need some help. Although I may not be able to tell from inside my shell, there’s likely a couple of other eggs around me, others who are also waiting for the fullness of time. There’s a lot I can’t know from in here, but that doesn’t mean I will always be in this contained place. [Alert readers will see the light reference to Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein. I am only an egg.]

The practice of searching for eggs may also give us opportunities to search our surroundings for signs of new life. In the process of looking around for Easter goodies, we may discover a new burrow dug out by a local mammal, or worms enriching the soil in the future vegetable patch, or a tiny little green shoot reaching for the sun. We are connected, body and soul, to all of these changes in our environment. Appreciating a single egg as we decorate it, slowing down to search for something hidden in the new grass, these are ways that gratitude can remind us of our connections in this season of rebirth.

Earth-centered traditions offer a great deal of wisdom about interdependence. We rely on the land and on each other for our ability to thrive. All life is connected. Our own effort is only one part of success; we grow out of a whole ecosystem. When we falter, we are not alone, but are met with the holy ground beneath our feet. When we die, we are received into the earth to become part of something entirely different and yet still connected to everything.

Resurrection from a Pagan perspective is a group effort. Communities encourage and shape new life through gratitude and awareness. People are reborn by allowing themselves to become part of everything, to lose themselves in the web, from which new life is re-formed for a new day.

Resurrection Need Not Be Rational: Rebirth In Nature

Even without the mythic stories, simply studying nature can inspire us to emerge with change and growth after an experience of loss or isolation. Rebirth, or at least something that looks like rebirth, happens all the time in the observable world. The phenomenon does not have to make sense in order to be true. The Rev. Lynn Ungar at the UU Church of the Larger Fellowship has a poem about this. She writes:

Living in the violence of Spring Living in a time where shells are cracking and shapes alter Who can afford to risk forgetting the danger forgetting the moment the crocus bulb breaks ground Never knowing whether snow or sun or ice awaits in warm or jagged welcome
There are no choices here No careful path or reasoned way No holding in reserve for some more settled, more propitious time But only the unconsidered faith of the crocus whose saffron petals echo or demand the sun
http://clfuu.tumblr.com/post/46667077669/living-in-the-violence-of-spring-living-in-a-time
So ends the reading. I believe that Ungar is calling all of us forth with this poem. She is saying that now is the time for us to emerge from the underworld, to grab a lever so that we can remove the stone from our neighbor’s tomb. Accepting the change of a new life may not feel rational. There may not be a five-step plan written out. Yet the snowdrops have come out to greet us, and it seems polite to respond to that gift with gratitude and a return greeting.

Resurrection is not always pretty, and is rarely orderly. The anticipated arrival of the 17-year cicadas comes to mind here. If it seems like less than seventeen years since the last time this happened, you are right. There are a few difference species and different family groups within each species. We had other groups of 17-year cicadas in Maryland in 2004 and 2008. Their life cycle is no less amazing to me for being familiar. We tend to notice these guys (Genus Magicicada, of which some species have 17-year life cycles and some species have 13-year life cycles) when the nymphs are ready to molt and they come up from underground to the surface.

The nymphs hang on to something vaguely tree-like and shed their skin. Once their wings are dry, the adult cicadas look for a mate. They lay their eggs on tree branches. When the eggs hatch, the larvae suck on the fluid of living trees, called xylem, until they fall to earth and burrow in search of a tree root. Learn more at http://www.cicadamania.com/

The adult part of the life cycle is short, just a few weeks. The rest of that long lifespan involves larvae and nymphs eating xylem from the roots of trees, aerating the soil, and living quiet, peaceful lives. From the cicada’s point of view, coming up out of the ground isn’t resurrection, it’s a short, dangerous, yet exciting retirement. From my human perspective above the surface of the soil, the emergence of the nymphs and their transformation into a sudden chorus of exuberant creation reminds me that it is never to late to be surprised by the Spirit of Life. It is completely incomprehensible to me that a bug could live that long, or that a swarm of harmless insects can simply appear with so much fanfare and then disappear for an odd number of years. The ridiculousness of it makes me want to learn as much as I can.

I don’t believe that the cicada was put on this earth so that I could translate its existence as a metaphor for my spiritual path, but I can’t help searching for meaning any more than a cicada nymph can resist seeking out tree roots. One of my deepest fears as an adolescent and a young adult was that I had missed my opportunity to make something of my life. I worried a great deal that my potential had been lost, and that it was too late to find a direction that would matter. Hearing the story of cicadas—that they exist outside of our awareness for most of their lives, then come singing into the air, full of passion and ready to go out in a blaze of glory—I could have hope that there would yet be opportunities to find my voice, and to place my voice in the chorus of life.

Even when we stick to the facts, putting aside the spiritual and emotional power of myths, we cannot account for all of the cold cause-and-effect that puts life in motion. We can still be surprised. There are so many gifts of wonder and discovery that the world has to offer. We might think of the irrational generosity of the universe as a form of grace, blessings that simply exist, whether or not we deserve them. Certainly, it is incumbent on us to be the stewards of those blessings once we have received them. Even so, the crocus does not bloom because we have earned it.

Conclusion

Resurrection is all around us, whether we are looking through a theological lens, celebrating a mythic story, or finding inspiration in the natural world. Images of rebirth are so powerful because they are so necessary. Throughout our lives, we find ourselves in situations that may feel like caves, tombs, or labyrinthine underworlds. When we experience loss, despair, or hopelessness, we are waiting to rise again. When we have to live on through the literal death of someone we love, we look for the inspiration of rebirth. May we find the courage to let go of the illusions of control, practicing gratitude for the vulnerabilities that allow us to care for each other. May we find the wisdom to join together, appreciating the people who support us now and all of those who have brought us to this moment. May we give thanks for the world around us, unfolding in surprising ways, calling us to collaborate with the forces that create and uphold life.

So be it. Blessed Be. Amen.

"Hell is, in fact, a burning issue for it is the issue of separation, whether we can, with safety..."

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 16:12:59 -0400

“Hell is, in fact, a burning issue
for it is the issue of separation,
whether we can, with safety and impunity,
set up little islands in the human experience
and therefore protect ourselves
against any relationship with the mainland.
And Universalism says unequivocally, it cannot be done.”

- Gordon B. McKeeman (via uurebaltimore)

Ascending & Descending

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 14:17:18 -0400

The story of Jacob’s ladder offers clues about staying connected to spirituality while on the move along our religious path. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, March 10, 2103.

This morning’s Time for All Ages story was about Jacob and Rachel, two characters who showed strength in different ways. It’s a loose interpretation of a story in Genesis. The interpretation uses Jacob’s weeping as he meets and kisses Rachel for the first time evidence of his emotional strength. There are some things that the interpretation leaves out, such as Jacob’s history of playing tricks on family members. Jacob is not perfect, and I don’t think he was intended to be perfect by the writers and editors of Genesis. We can still glean wisdom from stories with imperfect characters, in spite of and perhaps because of their humanity.

We may be more familiar with another story about Jacob. He is fleeing his home because he has just tricked his brawny and tough brother Esau out of the benefits and blessings Esau was entitled to as the firstborn. Jacob stops for the night at a “certain shrine” and uses a stone as a pillow. Continuing with the Revised English Bible translation, Genesis 28:10-22:

“In a dream he saw a ladder, which rested on the ground with its top reaching to heaven, and angels of God were going up and down on it. The LORD was standing beside him saying, ‘I am the LORD, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. This land on which you are lying I shall give to you and your descendants. They will be countless as the specks of dust on the ground, and you will spread far and wide, to west and east, to north and south. All the families of the earth will wish to be blessed as you and your descendants are blessed. I shall be with you to protect you wherever you go, and I shall bring you back to this land. I shall not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.’

“When Jacob woke from his sleep he said, ‘Truly the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it.’ He was awestruck and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; it is the gateway to heaven.’ Early in the morning, when Jacob awoke, he took the stone on which his head had rested, and set it up as a sacred pillar, pouring oil over it. He named that place Beth-el; but the earlier name of the town was Luz.

“Jacob made this vow: ‘If God will be with me, if he will protect me on my journey and give me food to eat and clothes to wear, so that I come back safely to my father’s house, then the LORD shall be my God, and this stone which I have set up as a sacred pillar shall be a house of God. And all that you give me, I shall allot a tenth part to you.’”

So ends the reading. I think it’s interesting that the voice in the dream spoke to Jacob about the land and about spreading out, but Jacob zeroed in on that very spot where his head had rested. Jacob dreamed of a ladder and called the shrine THE house of God and THE gateway to heaven, as if God’s house has only one entrance and exit. He’s not really ready to consider the impact of his vision or his actions on future generations, but he is very curious about being personally protected, and proposes a kind of bargain in retrospect, his faithfulness and resources in exchange for physical safety. In the dream, God didn’t set out any conditional arrangements, God didn’t say that Jacob had to do anything to earn a blessing.

Imperfect though he may be, Jacob as a character still has some wisdom about being a spiritual person on a practical road, someone who is open to inspiration and guidance while still maintaining an independent view of reality. He’s willful and he wants to be clever. I can identify with that.

Jacob is a traveler. Many of us feel like travelers, too. Perhaps you would rather describe it as being a seeker, or being on the move. Our world and our faith often ask us to be flexible and dynamic. Early twentieth century Universalist minister L. B. Fisher said, “Universalists are often asked where they stand. The only true answer to give to this question is that we do not stand at all. We move.” Fisher’s words are still relevant. We are a faith that moves freely. For those of us who are trying to figure out how to be spiritual people when feel like we’re always jogging up and down the escalators of our lives, the ladder story may offer a bit of wisdom, even as we understand that there are layers and perspectives at odds with each other within the story. The ladder story teaches us that, to follow a religious path that moves, we need to be able to create portable connections to our sense of spirituality, we need to create and strengthen and recognize holy places where we find them, and we need to value the journey apart from its beginning and end points.

Portable Art Forms

Jacob dreams of a higher power who speaks to him of the journey, and he responds by marking the place where he spent the night. Jacob “took the stone on which his head had rested, and set it up as a sacred pillar, pouring oil over it.” To paraphrase, he created a monument out of the materials at hand. He also creates with words, promising dedication in return for protection, and pledging one tenth of what he receives. The place was already identified as a “certain shrine,” and Jacob renames it as “Beth-el,” “a house of God.” He knew the place was sacred to somebody, and he came to the realization that it was also sacred to him.

There is a clue in the story about what can help people to stay connected to a faith on the road. We need to craft words and other acts of beauty that remind us where we’ve been, that provide information with others on the path, and that help us to understand the spiritual landscape. We need portable art forms to make sense of who we are in the world. Jacob’s skill set for portable art involves rearranging and re-naming what he finds along the way. I am reminded of the balanced piles of rocks that hikers make to mark their paths. Resourcefulness and creativity can help us understand who we are as a people of faith on a journey.

There are yet more tools available for staying connected with spirituality in motion. Dances that are passed down through generations can tell stories and hold memories. Lightweight objects meant for both beauty and usefulness can be decorated with symbols and characters from sacred legends. Memorable prayers, stories, and music are carried in our hearts, leaping to minds and lips when they are needed.

Before I became a Unitarian Universalist, there was a time when my only spiritual path was solitary Paganism. These days, I would say I have a Pagan personal practice, I have Christian roots, I observe Jewish holidays with my interfaith family, and Unitarian Universalism is my spiritual community. It’s complicated, but it works. I think I’m not the only person here who can describe my spirituality with Venn diagrams. Anyway, back in the day I was focused on my solitary earth-centered practice. I was also hanging around with historical re-enactors, the kind of people who cook food from Renaissance recipes and hand-sew medieval linen tunics just for fun.

My dad made a wooden spoon with the faint suggestion of a salamander carved into the handle. He said he was disappointed that the carving didn’t show up more clearly, but I loved the way the design seemed to be growing out of the spoon, as if the salamander were in formation and needed only the right kind of soup to finish manifesting. Dad thought this spoon would be useful for my re-enacting projects. I immediately thought this would be a great tool for my spiritual practice, something that represented fire and transformation. The spoon was the right size to fit on a small altar in a very small apartment or to come along on a camping trip. I didn’t need to worry about the spoon taking up space in any of the seven times I moved over ten years. A small, durable, symbolic, and useful object was valuable to me as I figured out how to be a spiritual person on a journey. That it was handmade by someone I love was even better.

Over time, I realized that I also needed to be able to carry things with me internally that could sustain me in my travels. I knew a few chants and myths that I had in common with other Pagans, but I longed for a common language, music that would come to mind after years of repetition in a shared community, sacred poems that would be engraved in my memory, and stories that could be told and retold and remixed among people who knew those stories by heart. There are a lot of spiritual communities where I might have found those things, but the one that was the best fit for me was and is Unitarian Universalism.

Here, there are stories of prophetic women and men who inspire us to act with justice, compassion, and the transforming power of love. Here, there are hymns that speak to open minds and generous hearts. Here, we celebrate poems that carry healing words, worthy of the space they take up in our memories. The more we practice these songs, poems, and stories, the more they are collectively ours. We bring them with us wherever we go: into the hospital room, on the airplane, during the difficult meeting, negotiating with our parents and children, sitting at home in quiet moments of discernment.

Perhaps this explanation helps make sense of some of our worship services. Often-repeated words of welcome may come back to you later in the week, reminding you that there is a community here ready to hold you in love. Stories of our UU ancestors that we learn from retelling over and over can give us hope when fairness and kindness seem to be endangered. Hymns that we know well enough to hum bring comfort, not just because of their lyrics, but because they carry the memory of singing together. We can be a community of spiritual travelers equipped with the words and music that populate the temples of our minds and hearts.

We return to familiar words and songs because well-traveled paths become part of us, they help us understand who we are as a people. Just as much as a chalice pendant or a wallet card with the Seven Principles, the words and music we learn by heart together are tools for our portable altar. Some people are fond of saying that Unitarian Universalism is about “deeds, not creeds.” If that’s the case, we’d better be out practicing deeds, which means we need inspiration and advice that comes with us into the field. May we craft and carry words, songs, and objects of beauty that help us to feel connected to our faith, wherever we may be on the journey.

Creating & Recognizing Holy Places

One of the things I get out of my interpretation of the Jacob’s ladder story is that we can be in a holy place and not know it. We come across sacred ground throughout our journey through the world. When we notice, and can share that sense of spiritual connection with others, our lives are enriched.

Whenever we are gathered for a spiritual purpose, we are on divine turf. When we positively touch lives as a community, we discover that we have been on sacred ground. When we join hands at the coffee shop before discussing church committee work, the circle is cast. All of these are gates of spiritual presence. They count.

I’ve heard it proposed that congregations would be better off measuring the number of lives being impacted through service and spiritual practice rather than adding up members. The number of people in seats reflects only a small part of who we as UUs are called to be in the world. Being aware of the holiness of all of the places we travel through helps us to remember our connections with the Spirit of Life, no matter where we are. Lighting a chalice raises that awareness. Singing a hymn or a short sacred chant can do this. One of the simplest and most portable ways to recognize a holy place is to say grace.

At the Sharing Table [interfaith hunger relief], when it is our congregation’s turn to serve, we are called upon to offer grace before the meal. If I’m there, I’m happy to lead the prayer, but we’re a faith that respects the priesthood and the prophethood of all believers (thanks, James Luther Adams), so any one of us can fill that role. When I’m the person leading grace, it makes me really stop and think: What does our faith have to offer to the community of guests and servers who have gathered here? What is within Unitarian Universalism that can feed all of our souls? I hope I find something that others can find meaningful and that’s authentic to our tradition. I do struggle and second-guess myself, but even the struggle is a useful spiritual practice. The act of searching is good for me. I am reminded to return to the wellspring of our faith. Reflecting on the holiness of relationships usually leads me to words that feel right for the moment.

I believe the sacred space is created by the life-affirming relationships in the room. Guests sharing a meal and fellowship across the table from one another create sacred space. Divine presence is strengthened when guests and volunteers show kindness to one another and take an interest in each other’s lives. The ground beneath our feet is made holy wherever there is kindness and compassion, when people reflect the image of the divine as they meet face to face. When we sing a religious song, say grace, or light a chalice, we are recognizing the sacred space that has already been created.

We want to maintain a sense of connection and belonging to our faith in motion. Whether we are going up or down the ladder, wandering or staying put, we need to train ourselves to recognize, create, and celebrate holy ground. We may discover new places where the divine is found, and we did not know it. I hope we can increase and share that awareness with mindfulness and spiritual practice, remembering that we are one with the web of life, wherever we may go.

Sojourn rather than Exile

A third lesson I get for portable spirituality from the Jacob’s ladder story comes from the detail that the angels in his vision were not all doing the same thing. They were ascending AND descending. I think this mirrors God’s promise to be present with Jacob and his family as they go out AND as they come back to the land. As I said earlier, I think Jacob has some selective attention to the signals he’s getting. Jacob is more concerned with marking a specific sacred spot than in trusting the divine presence “wherever you go” or the dispersion of his descendants “far and wide, to west and east, to north and south.”

I also think that we as readers may be limiting ourselves with selective attention to the wisdom in this tale. People often speak of Jacob’s ladder as a one-way street, and I think that’s about the theme of exile and return. A lot of us think of ourselves as exiles. The hymn we sang earlier (which has been edited from the original) says, “every round goes higher, higher” and “we are climbing on,” implying one direction, toward heaven, toward home. (I’m not criticizing the original hymn or the culture it came out of, I’m wondering about our appropriation of the hymn.) We are longing for return, for a place where we can be home and whole. That’s the power of the exile and return theme.

Personally, I can remember feeling like an exile as far back as the fourth grade. My family had just moved, and I was not finding acceptance among my neighbors, my peers, or my teachers. I became keenly aware of the doors that were closed to me for reasons of economics or gender, or just because I was the new kid and the cliques were already formed. I didn’t respond especially well. As I shared with the Adult Religious Education group recently, I think it would be fair to say that I had an anger problem. I continued to have a temper in middle school and high school. I didn’t have any patience for perceived disrespect, and it seemed pointless to change my behavior because I felt stuck in the role of an exile.

There was a certain amount of freedom in that. When I became a Pagan, which I believe was an authentic calling for me, I didn’t worry too much that people would think I was weird because that horse had already left the barn. On the other hand, I was so caught up in the doors that were closed to me that I failed to see the ways in which my access to education, my whiteness, and my condition as a U.S.-born speaker of English gave me advantages I didn’t earn. I spoke without thoughtful filters both from the disadvantaged place of not having anything to lose and from the privileged place of assuming that what I had to say was the most important thing.

It wasn’t until my twenties that I really thought about learning how to listen. I started to be able to understand myself as a person growing toward a goal and building relationships with a network, not exclusively someone who had been cast out or was going away from something. Exile may be part of my story, but it’s not the only part.

Many UUs have adopted the story of exile as being the formative experience of faith. We may have been exiled from the faith of our family of origin, or from the social world of peers who shared a religion that we didn’t, or from a spiritual community that seemed right at one time and not right for us as we grew. Rather than searching for a place to come home, we can understand ourselves as a community of travelers, taking with us what we need to support each other and to stay connected to our spiritual center while we create sacred space on the road. Among ourselves, we are not exiles. This is a place of acceptance and encouragement. Yet we still move. We are sojourners and journeyers, on the path together.

There’s more to the ladder story than the climb, and there’s more to faith than reaching heights of spiritual bliss, and there are more than two possible destinations on a religious journey. We might be traveling from point A to point B and back again, or we might be making a circular pilgrimage, learning something and offering something in return at every way-station, coming back around for deeper reflection each time. We have access to the Source of Love whether we’re on the way up, down, or sideways.

Conclusion

“We do not stand at all. We move.” Fisher’s words remind us that Unitarian Universalists are a people on a journey together. We want to cultivate spiritual practices that help us stay connected to our sources of inspiration and to each other as we share this path. We develop portable reminders, including objects we carry in our bags and words and music we carry within. We create, strengthen, and recognize holy spaces throughout our journey, not just at the destination points or the obvious vistas. We honor the pilgrimage in progress, accepting that exile is only one way to understand the direction of our spiritual movement. May we find connection when we sit at home, and when we travel on the way, when we lie down, and when we rise up. May we form temples in the heart and sacred circles with our relationships. So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

"Epitaph When I die Give what’s left of me away To children And old men that wait to die. And if you..."

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 20:11:59 -0500

“

Epitaph

When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.

I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.

Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on your eyes
And not on your mind.

You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting
Bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.

Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.

- Merritt Malloy

”

-
Noticing this morning’s reblog from Humans of New York, our producer Phyllis Myers was reminded of this poem, which is a favorite of hers, and it’s so lovely I wanted to pass it along to the rest of you.
(via nprfreshair)
This is one of my favorites, too, and one I suggest for memorial services. It pairs well with the “Memory and Hope” topic we explored recently.

On-Line Adult Religious Exploration in March

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 17:35:00 -0500

March is an exciting and busy month. The spring weather calls to mind our interdependent web of existence, bringing us into deeper awareness of the connections between the people and ideas that bring us life and hope.

For this month’s Adult Religious Education in our “Hospitality and Human Rights” journey, I’m suggesting that we agree to investigate resources and post short reviews and links. You are welcome to use Disqus to post them here, or to reblog to your own Tumblr with your thoughts. I’ll also start a conversation on the UU’s of Fallston Facebook page. For March, let’s look especially at resources having to do with feminism, gender justice, reproductive rights, transgender issues, and the history of people working to dismantle heteropatriarchy.

The UUA website has some “101” level handouts about different LGBTQ identities and has a list of recommended books and videos.

For women’s issues, the UU Women & Religion movement has some resources and ideas.

You can also check out the biographies of famous UU women online .

If you want to get political, you might be interested in the work around Maryland’s SB449, the Fairness for All Marylanders Act, which would provide literally life-saving legal protections for Transgender people.

The Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice (assisted by my UU colleague Rev. Rob Keithan) is advocating for the revival of the Violence Against Women Act, among other things.

Happy exploring!

Memory and Hope

Sun, 24 Feb 2013 19:33:08 -0500

Memory and hope are some of the gifts that may cross the divide of death. Whether we are receiving those gifts, cultivating them for the next generation, or creating a life of justice and compassion in between, memory and hope carry messages of love from generation to generation. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, February 24, 2013.

I emerged from my study yesterday to discover that the rest of my family had spent the morning making hamantaschen. The little triangles of pastry had windows into their inner fillings of jam and chocolate. Traditional hamantaschen are often filled with poppy seed preserves, and we might tackle that for our next batch.

Hamantaschen are cookies that tell a story. They carry a cultural memory of resistance and hope based on the story of Esther in the Hebrew Bible. This is the scroll that is read at Purim, the Jewish holiday happening right now. Esther was a Jewish orphan, being cared for by her cousin Mordecai. This was during the Jewish exile in Babylon. According to the story, there happened to be a job opening for the position of Queen in the court of Ahasuerus (who is thought to represent the historical King Xerxes I). At Mordecai’s suggestion, Esther auditions and gets the job, but does not tell anyone that she is Jewish.

After a series of personal and political events, a high-ranking officer at the court hatches a plan to kill all of the Jews in Babylonia. Mordecai urges Esther to speak up to the king. Esther reminds him that she risks her life going before the king without being summoned. Mordecai asks, “Who knows whether it is not for a time like this that you have become queen?” (Esther 4:14) Esther does, indeed, use courtly skill to arrange a meeting where she can dramatically reveal her lineage and the plot to the king. Thanks to her bravery, the Jews are saved.

Throughout history, the memory of Esther has been important for Jews who didn’t feel safe living out loud. During the Inquisition, Jews who had been converted against their will said a prayer invoking Esther as they entered the churches they were forced to attend. Purim helps people remember the hope for freedom, also the hope for an opportunity to advance justice. The story of Esther is a story of what is hidden and revealed, a story about what is quietly remembered and loudly proclaimed, and a story about matters of life and death.

Some of us might find familiar that feeling of pressure to be hidden, or find inspiration in the stories of those who came out of hiding. There are so many reasons why we can’t be completely vulnerable all the time, such as protecting ourselves from oppressions like racism or sexism or ableism, or putting tragedies behind us, or projecting the confidence we need to survive and hoping our self-esteem catches up. There are hidden and revealed aspects for all of us.

Our memories of departed heroes, role models, ancestors, and friends can give us the strength to be who we are, at least sometimes. Stories of struggle and perseverance can give us hope for our own challenges. Perhaps we find ourselves here for just such a time as this. Death may divide us from people we loved who helped us grow, but death cannot erase their positive influence. We have received gifts that outlast mortality.

Looking ahead to the future that will continue beyond us, what does this mean for the legacy we are building? How shall we live? What gifts do we want to leave behind? I would suggest that memory and hope are gifts that survive death. We need these gifts for our own abundant life. We can cultivate these gifts of memory and hope to sustain our loved ones and our communities after we are gone. In this middle place between birth and death, the giving and receiving of memory and hope mixes together in a rich life of the spirit.

The Gifts We Receive, Despite Our Losses

My maternal grandmother was an Esther kind of role model for me, in that she carried with her memories and interests that didn’t necessarily match her environment. My grandmother grew up in Malden, Massachusetts, which today we would think of as a suburb of Boston. As a young woman, she attended a teacher’s college that was eventually folded into the Tufts University system. She worked as a nanny for a wealthy missionary family. She traveled to China with them for a few years, and lived with them in Cambridge, Massachusetts, after they returned.

A friend of hers who was also working in the area was from Maryland and had a highly eligible brother on the farm back home. My grandmother started corresponding with him, met him twice, and married him. She traded a cosmopolitan world for the deep connections of a multigenerational family farm. She did some work and some volunteering in the schools part-time, and I’m not sure how difficult it was to find trained teachers in a little mountain town in the forties and fifties. She devoted a lot of time to caring for her in-laws and her four children. The social world she lived in became more focused, but she always maintained an openness of mind and heart and spirit.

My grandmother had treasures from her time abroad that she let her grandchildren handle, and that I wish we had been more careful with. She respected my interests growing up, and constantly encouraged me to think about how to grow those interests into an education and a career. She saved newspaper clippings and magazines to give to me when I visited so that I would keep the future in mind.

On the other hand, she didn’t judge or complain when I made a different choice than the one she suggested. Most of all, she believed in the people she cared about. She died in 2001. When she was alive, my grandmother gave me gifts of acceptance and affirmation. She also gave me an example of someone who could be underestimated at first glance, which helps me trust that there are talents hidden in everyone I meet as well as in myself. Reflected in my grandmother’s eyes, I could accomplish anything, but I didn’t have to accomplish anything to be loved.

The gifts my grandmother left behind have continued to sustain me after her death. Her presence in my mind and heart has been important in times of discernment. There have been times I have had to choose between something that looks like a good career move and something that feels like a calling. There have been times when I felt powerless and invisible, and I remember my grandmother’s example of spreading acceptance and encouragement around the world and across the kitchen table. Wherever I am, I have the capacity to wonder, like Esther, whether it is not for a time such as this that I have become the person I am.

Now, as Unitarian Universalists, we tend to act based on the theory of free will. There may be some larger meaning in events beyond our understanding, but in general we look first to the choices that have been made and what choices remain to be made in order to bring more justice and compassion to the world. Personally, I don’t believe that I have been placed in a certain position at a certain time like a piece on a chessboard. The meaning of my life is not based on predestination. I do believe that I am faced with opportunities to uncover the significance of the gifts I have received, despite the losses that came with those gifts. I can create meaning. With that understanding, maybe it is for a time such as this that I have become the person I am.

The love that we received from those who have died is a legacy that lives on. That legacy might be hidden in the palace of our mind, passing as common sense, or habits of speech. Like Esther, the love that has been blending in may reveal itself in times of crisis. If it’s not love from a family member or a friend or a spiritual source, maybe it’s the love that a departed role model showed to the world, or the unconditional love of an animal, or the love of UUs whose commitment made it possible for us to gather today. The deaths of role models and loved ones bring loss and pain, but that does not diminish the gifts of memory and hope that live on. The next question is, given these examples, how do we create legacies of love, how do we set the stage for memory and hope that will outlast our own time on this earth?

The Gifts We Leave Behind

I have learned something about memory and hope from the families I have worked with in planning memorial services. UU memorial services tend to emphasize the relationships and passions of the deceased more than the condition of our souls after death. There are songs, poems, and stories selected because they communicate something about what the departed meant to those who live on. I learn something different with every memorial service about the kinds of gifts that a life can leave behind.

I learn about the practices of people who leave behind vivid memories, stories that carry messages of love from generation to generation. People who create story-messages with their lives may have a holiday they are known for celebrating, or they may be the person who always remembers birthdays. When there is a tradition or a regular practice such as a weekly phone call or an annual reunion, our minds are better able to create amalgamated memories, images that are supported by deeper engraving, year after year.

I recently participated in a memorial service for someone who cultivated memories. He was the sort of person who liked to surprise people with generosity and hospitality, and loved to re-tell the humorous anecdotes that arose out of those surprises. At the memorial, his loved ones retold those tales, each out of their own unique relationship with the departed, yet all finding common threads in the love contained within those story-messages. The anecdotes didn’t have to be lengthy or epic, they could be about a personal moment of joy, or a sly conspiratorial look. The person who died had made a habit of appreciating large and small moments of life by retelling, and his loved ones remembered him by retelling in their own way.

In other memorial services, I’ve seen the way remembered words turn into hope. Like my grandmother, there are those who help their loved ones see themselves as capable of following their dreams. They remind you of the times when you were clever or brave or determined in the past. These story-messages help carry people into the future. People who make a habit every day of saying the positive things on their hearts leave behind tremendous gifts that help carry their loved ones through the difficult passages ahead.

Being active in a spiritual community can help us out here, both with the traditions that give us layered annual stories and with the people who communicate hope. The wheel of the year gives us an opportunity to mark time and to come back around to positive memories. The stories people bring to Water Communion every September and the food we bring to the annual cook-out each June are just some of the symbols that will help us hold on to the acceptance and encouragement we find here. Every week, we find personal and mythic stories that give us reasons to hope.

Of course, keeping traditions also means we have to deal with change when someone dies and can’t be with us for that celebration in the same way. And that’s a gift, too. Figuring out how to handle each holiday gives us something to focus on as we process the loss. A holiday may give us a reason to make the changes we need to make in someone’s absence. The Mother’s Day brunch or the Independence Day fireworks or the Halloween Party will never be the quite same after a significant loss. Maybe that’s how it should be; we should acknowledge our grief. On the other hand, continuing with a holiday may help us re-commit to that which endures, a way to make a place for their memory while moving on. If it’s a good fit to return to the seasons and cycles of life, especially after the first year, we may invoke the memories from before the person died while creating new memories that we can link in a chain of love that is stronger than death.

The Life In Between

So far, I have talked about the gifts of memory and hope we receive, despite our losses, and the gifts we can cultivate that will outlast our own lives. Looking at it that way makes it seem like the passage of memory and hope from generation to generation is a straight line with discrete parts, like volunteers passing buckets of water down the line to fight a small fire. The life in between receiving and bestowing memory and hope is more fluid than that, more like an estuary where fresh water meets salt water, mixing influences and supporting a whole different way of life than either the rivers that pour in or the ocean at the other end. In this middle place, we draw wisdom from those who have gone out and inspiration from those who are on the way in.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how this flow of generations mingles among people who work on diversity, anti-oppression, and multiculturalism issues, especially people who are conscious of those issues within our UU movement. Our understanding of dynamics like racial justice and gender equality seems to have been constantly in development over the past fifty years. Not only that, the way we talk about issues of oppression and healing changes as our points of reference in the larger culture change. For instance, the conversations we were having about gay rights in 1973 are not the same conversations we are having about lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, and queer rights in 2013.

This sounds like a big picture, but like all things, anti-oppression work is done by individuals who have friendships and disagreements, loyalties and epiphanies. The activists and justice-oriented writers who came before us deserve respect. Some of what they said and did is still extremely relevant and timely. Some of it hard for us to access from our current time and place. We want to honor our elders and ancestors while moving forward. The people we have worked with and admired leave it to those of us swimming in life, those of us in the in-between place, when their own souls become a drop of rain received back into the ocean.

This is the backdrop for figuring out how to approach “A Litany of Restoration” by the Rev. Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley, #576 in the back of the hymnal. When the hymnal was published in 1993, this reading was a current and relevant way to emphasize unity and commonality:

“A Litany of Restoration”

Rev. Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley

If, recognizing the interdependence of all life, we strive to build community, the strength we gather will be our salvation. If you are black and I am white,

It will not matter.

If you are female and I am male,

It will not matter.

If you are older and I am younger,

It will not matter.

If you are progressive and I am conservative,

It will not matter.

If you are straight and I am gay,

It will not matter.

If you are Christian and I am Jewish,

It will not matter.

If we join spirits as brothers and sisters, the pain of our aloneness will be lessened, and that does matter.

In this spirit, we build community and move toward restoration.

So ends the reading. There are a lot of great things about this litany. It is hopeful, while plainly naming “the pain of our aloneness.” That is a pastoral balance in itself.

After another decade of examining diversity in UU congregations, it seemed to those working on the issue that there were more identities that could be included. There was also the possibility that “it will not matter” would be interpreted to mean that our individual cultures and identities are unimportant, that we should all ignore the things that make us who we are. That wasn’t the intention, but a reading that more firmly guided us away from myth of colorblindness would be useful.

Michael Sallwasser, a lay person from southern California who has been active in anti-oppression issues for a long time, worked on a response that honored Bowens-Wheatley while continuing the conversation. At the time, Sallwasser was on the Journey Toward Wholeness Transformation Committee, a denomination-wide group looking at issues of anti-racism, anti-oppression, and multiculturalism. His introduction to a new litany was reprinted for participants in the UU Leadership Team Institute in 2008. He writes:

“The Journey Toward Wholeness Transformation Committee had its first face-to-face meeting of the current members. We were just getting to know each other when we received word that Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley’s life was quickly slipping away. Marjorie’s connection to the committee was manifold - Colleague. Role model. Foremother. Inspiration. Beloved friend. To honor her contribution to the Journey Toward Wholeness, we read her Litany of Restoration. As we reflected on her words, we realized that there were people who were not included. We sought new language that could make us whole. In her final days, Marjorie, herself, was engaged in the search, but there was precious remaining time… and then she was gone. Holding fast to the spirit of Marjorie’s words and mindful of all she had done to bring us to where we were on the journey, I wrote a new litany in her honor. Dedicated to the memory of the Reverend Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley, I share with you a Litany of Diversity.”

“Litany of Diversity”

Michael Sallwasser, 2006

If the colors of our skin or the

lands of our ancestors are different,

It need not divide us.

If the genders we claim are different,

It need not divide us.

If the stages in our lives are different,

It need not divide us.

If our means of achieving the common good are different,

It need not divide us.

If who we love and how we love are different,

It need not divide us.

If the spiritual paths we follow are different,

It need not divide us.

If our abilities to think and do are different,

It need not divide us.

If our resources are different,

It need not divide us.

If we join spirits and hearts,

Our differences will not divide us,

but deeply bind us together.

So ends the new reading.

I am interested in this piece of recent history because it is at once so personal and so systemic. I didn’t know Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley personally, but I did know of her during her lifetime. The memory of her work and the hope she offered matter to me, even at this distance. Sallwasser’s introduction brings home the point that mingling the wisdom we have received from those who are gone with today’s experience and tomorrow’s vision is a matter of the heart, not simply a strategic calculation.

Here at UUF, we will likely have our own struggles of the heart as we explore what diversity and multiculturalism might mean for the way we welcome people into our church and the way we pursue our mission. Each one of us will be influenced by a different set of memories. I imagine that those who experienced civil rights work in the 1960s will have a different perspective than those whose formative experiences were with the sanctuary movement of the 1980s or the Occupy movement of recent years. There are ancestors, departed friends and loved ones, martyrs, and role models to remember from all of the experiences we will bring to bear.

We are reaching toward a harmony of complementary hopes. There is a widespread understanding in the congregation that oppressions are linked, and we can’t really unravel one kind of injustice without touching on others. Racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism, economic injustice, ableism, and all kinds of systems of exclusion and discrimination feed into each other. That being said, each one of us may lift up a different aspect of those linked oppressions that is especially relevant to our experience or our passions. Some of us will be more focused on how all of these forces influence our ability to be loving and hospitable in the congregation. Some of us will be paying attention to how we build coalitions and show compassion in the community in light of what we learn. We have a lot of hopes for the world we want to leave as our legacy.

Again, we are in the in-between place, the estuary where influences mingles and life finds a way. There are memories and hopes entrusted to us that lead us to do the work of diversity, anti-oppression, and multiculturalism. There are memories and hopes we want to cultivate, to carry our community into a future that we can’t yet envision and may not get to see for ourselves.

We are engaging in this conversation about hospitality and human rights out of love. I would like for us to put that love first throughout this process. Let us speak the truth in love, because this work demands nothing less than the truth. Let us listen and assume the best intentions in love. Let us honor the work that has already been done in love, continuing what still fits and gracefully releasing what doesn’t. That’s what will fill this in-between place with life. Love will strengthen our community building to become a force for salvation.

Conclusion

In this morning’s opening reading, we heard the words of Kathleen McTigue:

“This house of laughter and silence, memory and hope, is hallowed by our presence together.”

When we remember the love of those who have passed on and allow their memories to strengthen our hopes, this house is hallowed by our presence together.

When we cultivate memory and hope through affectionate laughter and comforting silence, this house is hallowed by our presence together.

When we rest for a moment, gathering awareness and gratitude in this in-between place of flowing, shifting, creative life, this house is hallowed by our presence together.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Agape

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 14:46:08 -0500

Agape describes the unconditional love of the Divine for humans and of humans in spiritual community for each other. As we approach Lent, we reflect on what Agape means for us now. This sermon was written for the UUs of Fallston, February 10, 2013.

In the kitchens of my internal calendar, the smell of soup is in the air. Lent starts on Wednesday. For some people, the important related calendar item is that Mardi Gras culminates on Tuesday. Mardi Gras is meant to help folks use up the non-essentials before settling down into the calm thoughtfulness of the next six and a half weeks. Our neighbors who belong to western Christian churches might be taking on a discipline or a spiritual practice or an aspect of living simply until Easter. (Eastern Christians such as Greek Orthodox have a calendar and a set of traditions related to Lent that differs from western denominations such as Roman Catholics. This year, Orthodox Lent is March 18-May 4.)

The idea is that, just like Jesus took time in the desert for spiritual discipline and challenge before beginning his ministry, Christians enter a sacred time to prepare for the holiest day of the year. How that looks and feels may vary a bit depending on the church. The emphasis might be on self-denial or repentance, but Lent can also be framed as paring down, removing the distractions that get in the way of an authentic spiritual life. By whatever road they reach Easter, Lent helps Christians make room in their hearts and souls so that they can deeply experience the hope and promise of their faith. At least, that’s how I understand it. I know some others in this congregation have personal experience with Lent, either from the past or from your current practice. I look forward to hearing your perspectives.

In the Christian church where I grew up, people gathered for potlucks every Wednesday night during Lent. Basic, nourishing foods like soup and bread kept us warm while we gathered in the social hall. A lay leader would introduce reflection questions for small groups to discuss. Topics might include materialism or how we respond to world hunger in light of Jesus’ observation that we do not live by bread alone. When I went back to visit as an adult, I was struck by how the tone of the discussion was guided by curiosity and affection.

These Lenten potlucks were called Agape meals. Agape is a Greek word that means the kind of love the Divine has for humans and, by extension, the kind of love that humans in the spiritual community have for one another. Agape love is not a response to someone’s accomplishments or usefulness or even moral virtue. Agape love is there from the beginning. We are loved, not because of anything we have done or will do, but because love is the primary force in the universe.

To me, Agape has always evoked the sacredness and the strength of a community of ordinary folks who show extraordinary love for their neighbors. That sounds a lot like this congregation. I’d like to explore three aspects of this concept that are relevant for our spiritual life together: Agape is unconditional. Agape demonstrates what love looks like in public. Agape is a discipline of readiness for change.

Agape is Unconditional

First, Agape is unconditional, because love is a primary force in the universe. This may sound either naïve or novel, but it’s not just 21^st century hippie talk. Love is foundational for Jewish and Christian teachings.

There is a story about Jesus that appears in both Mark and Matthew (Mark 12:28-31 and Matthew 22:39) in which someone asks Jesus about the most important commandment. Jesus responds in two parts. The first part is drawn from Deuteronomy: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one, you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” That first part is the beginning of the Shema, the most basic Jewish prayer. For the second part, Jesus quotes Leviticus, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” That’s it in a nutshell. Jesus said the most important thing to do is to love.

Neither Jesus nor the writers of the Torah put a caveat on that. They didn’t say, “Love your neighbor, unless he annoys you, then nevermind.” There are standards of behavior, but not limits placing members of the community outside the reach of love and respect.

Similarly, in the Gospel of John (John 13:34-35), during the Last Supper, the moment when the disciples are supposed to be paying the most attention to what Jesus says, he tells them:

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Love is the soil that embraces and nurtures the roots of the most enduring Jewish and Christian teachings. Universalism, one of the two main sources of our living tradition, sends more roots into that soil and keeps the vines and blossoms of our faith close to it. Universalism brings love into focus, and makes caring for that soil a priority. Universalism says that Divine love is unconditional and is so powerful that no one is beyond its reach. That theology has been around since Origen of Alexandria in 225. The Universalist movement that is tied most closely to us in an organized way goes back to the 1700s in England. We’ve been doing this love thing for awhile. We keep practicing. We’ll get better at it.

As I was preparing this sermon on Agape and looking for love in all the religious places, imagine my delight when I came across an essay invoking love by Rev. Naomi King. It’s her response to the question, “What is it about Unitarian Universalism that makes it a faith worth living?” The essay is part of a series leading up to her participation in the Minns Lectures on March 9. She writes:

“Unitarian Universalism is a faith worth living because we teach that everyone is loveable, loved, and our work together is to make this world a more loving place. I spent years convinced that I was unloveable and that the people who said they loved me did not really know me. I was fearful of being found out as not enough, not good enough to be loved, not kind enough to deserve kindness, not enough in any way.”

She goes on to say: “Universalism has long taught that God loves us all, imperfect, insufficient, and downright troubled. And that gave me a foundation for my heart to rest upon and open up.”

So ends the reading. I encourage you to read the rest of the essay and whatever else you can by Rev. Naomi King.

Her description of the feeling of being “not enough in any way” resonated with me. Maybe you have felt the same way. I could also identify with the transformative discovery that we are—I am—deserving of dignity and love just as we are, and that we can make a positive difference in the world without achieving perfection. In fact, the action of joining together to make the world a more loving place is part of what helps me understand that.

Which is not to say that being in community is painless. But I can be OK with struggle, and OK with not being perfect, because the love arising from the Spirit of Life is unconditional. Without presenting it as a conflict, King brings up the point that Unitarian Universalism is accepting and also challenging. Love sounds simple, but simple is different than easy.

Whether we call it Agape or Universalism, unconditional love is a gift. We can rest in that gift, knowing that we are acceptable just as we are. We can respond to that gift through practicing respect and kindness, knowing that the face of the Divine shines all around us.

Agape Demonstrates What Love Looks Like in Public

A second aspect of Agape is that it is concrete. You can experience Agape in a real sense through the words and actions of the beloved community. That’s because Agape love, like all forms of authentic love, is not just about a sense of emotional connection. Speaking to each other in loving and respectful ways is an outgrowth of Agape. Actions that demonstrate care for one another are manifestations of Agape. We are concerned about our mutual wellbeing. When we clear away the barriers that are preventing the members of our beloved community from thriving, that’s Agape.

For us as Universalists, because we believe that worthiness and love don’t stop at the church door, that sense of interdependence keeps going, too. Pretty soon we see that relieving hunger in Harford County is a form of Agape. Resisting racism is part of Agape. So is ending gender identity discrimination. The list goes on. Love is a primary force in the universe, but it is up to us as humans to respond to that love and to fix the messes humans made when we forgot the source of life.

Dr. Cornel West writes that “Justice is what love looks like in public.”

To put it a slightly different way in a 2009 interview, he said:

“The condition of truth is to allow suffering to speak. And as a Christian, I believe in unconditional love…. But unconditional love is always tied to justice. Justice is love on legs, spilling over into the public sphere.”

Dr. West speaks about racial justice and economic justice as current concerns for love made visible. He speaks about racial justice and economic justice as current concerns for the visible work of love. The connections he makes between justice and faith are not new. To use one example from Christian scriptures (Matthew 25:35-40) Jesus imagines a future meeting between God and the faithful:

“I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’”

Jesus talks about concrete forms of affection and respect for “the least of these,” in other words, those who are most vulnerable. I think we’re pretty clear that includes the most vulnerable among our neighbors in the cities and towns where we live and work. As a congregation, we’re in constant conversation about how we can be as effective and as spirited as possible in feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and visiting those who are imprisoned. Some kinds of vulnerability are obvious. On the other hand, we might forget that the people we interact with every day have their vulnerabilities, too. Being respectful and emotionally present with the loved ones nearest us can be more difficult than being nice to the strangers we meet as we go about our business through the day.

Our little congregation is awesome, but we are human and we are not always a perfect example of loving, respectful, anti-oppressive relationships, and certainly neither is society at large. As I said, love is simple, and simple is different from easy, yet none of us are beyond its reach. We can learn to do better.

The practice of love, especially the practice of unconditional love in community, is actually quite difficult. The practice of love benefits from mentoring, reflection, trial and error … all of the elements that go into helping us to learn any other skill necessary for life. In her book All About Love: New Visions, bell hooks talks about recognizing this need for learning. (Read more about bell hooks and her recent work at her faculty home page. )

“Everyone assumes that we will know how to love instinctively. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, we still accept that the family is the primary school for love. Those of us who do not learn how to love among family are expected to experience love in romantic relationships. However, this love often eludes us. And we spend a lifetime undoing the damage caused by cruelty, neglect, and all manner of lovelessness experienced in our families of origin and in relationships where we simply did not know what to do.”

For bell hooks, it is not enough to allow vague definitions of love and harmful practices that claim to be love to slip by just because we are supposed to automatically know better. She explores the implications for racial justice and gender justice when we approach love as an accountable, truthful activity.

She may or may not agree with me when I say that congregations like ours can provide some of the resources and emotional space we need to educate each other about love. We study the most life-affirming aspects of the great religious teachings, including our own Universalist heritage. We are rooted in a living tradition of love. We practice community building in a way that invites dialogue and mutual responsibility.

Agape is a Discipline of Readiness for Change

Jesus, as he is depicted in the Christian scriptures, taught by example that cultivating openness to transformation and taking bodily and spiritual risks are aspects of the path of love. He spent time in the wilderness, risking injury and starvation, to confront ideas that would stand in the way of his mission. According to the stories in Matthew (4:1-11), Mark (1:12-13), and Luke (4:1-13), the spirit leads Jesus into the desert following his baptism. While there, Satan tempts Jesus to satisfy his hunger by turning stones into bread, to jump from a pinnacle and rely on the angels to save him, and to worship Satan in exchange for power over all the kingdoms of the world.

Personally, I follow the interpretations of these passages that suggest the story is from the mind’s eye of Jesus, a spiritual vision rather than a physical reality. I remember the story of Job in the Hebrew Bible, in which Satan is an employee of God, assigned to audit the world. It occurs to me that, at a pivotal moment right after the baptism, maybe what met Jesus in the desert was only what he brought with him. He had to be willing to wrestle with human things like physical vulnerability and self-centeredness. The temptation of political power is interesting, because theoretically Jesus is going to rule with God someday anyway. I would like to believe that the choice Jesus is making is between the short-term, obvious authority of domination and the slow-building, resilient power of just and loving community. He is giving up the idea that leadership means absolute control over people and outcomes.

Let’s think about what that means for us. Our congregation relies on consensus for all of our major decisions. This is not a quick process. We will go into a meeting with a proposal, and it might look very different by the time we’re done with that meeting. Every member of the congregation has a shared leadership role. Being involved means a certain amount of letting go of control of outcomes, and we can do that because we trust each other to be committed to the essential values and mission of our congregation. Absolute power and control would be faster, but it wouldn’t be an expression of Agape. Divine love as it is manifest in the beloved community is flexible and resilient. We are prepared to be surprised and amazed by what we can do together, which necessarily means we have to be open to change. Maintaining that openness requires some work.

That’s where spiritual practice comes in. I don’t think we have to go out to the desert and eat locusts (associated more with John the Baptist than with Jesus, I know). I do think that we do a better job of Agape as expressed in shared leadership when we can take a deep breath, practice mindfulness, and center our discussions on mutual care and concern. It’s easy to get caught up in the fear of the unknown, yet we have the courage to follow our mission when it leads us to unexpected places. To me, the story of Lent and Easter is that love is stronger than fear.

When we skip the reflection and intentional choices that accompany Lent and move straight into the joy of Easter, we lose some of the tools of transformation that could help us to sustain and share that joy. I’m thinking of tools like meditation or prayer, when we quiet down so that we can confront the devils we bring with us in our own minds. I’m thinking of tools like simple living, when those of us who can choose to make do with less create room to share more with others. I’m thinking of tools like asking forgiveness, when we create change and invite new beginnings. One might even call those tools for transformation a discipline, in the sense that discipline means a choice to focus methodically and purposefully.

If we need schools for love, if church is going to be a school for love, Lent is an opportunity for intense study. We are Universalists, so this is a school with no grades and no failing. I’m not talking about a month of exams. For me, periods of intense spiritual practice are more like preparing for the science fair—a time of experimentation, exciting discovery, and thinking about how to share my findings. Other folks may have more anxiety about the science fair, so that’s probably not a metaphor that works for everybody. My point is that a time to spiritually stretch ourselves, a time to challenge ourselves to love justly and concretely and to accept love that is fully nurturing, a time to invite positive change into our religious lives is a valuable season.

Conclusion

So that’s what I’m proposing: a season of practicing the spirit of love. It doesn’t have to be Lent. It can be Passover or the moon cycle surrounding the vernal equinox or the month leading up to Daylight Savings Time. We can benefit from a period of reflection.

Sharing that time with a group has a lot of advantages in terms of holding ourselves accountable and giving each other encouragement for the journey. Let’s join together for the next few weeks in disciplines that will increase our abilities to embody love in the community.

We will need to remember that we, ourselves, are worthy of love, and that our neighbors are worthy of love. We will stick to spiritual practices that support mutual wellbeing.

We will make love visible, here at church, in our mission together throughout Harford County, in our homes and in our work places. We will not leave affectionate feelings to fend for themselves, but will clothe them in works of justice and compassion.

We will open our minds and hearts to transformation, because experiences of true love will challenge habits and attitudes we didn’t even know we had. Agape, experienced madly, deeply, and passionately, will lead us to new ways of living.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Here’s a brief introduction to Standing on the Side of...

Sun, 03 Feb 2013 15:58:14 -0500

Here’s a brief introduction to Standing on the Side of Love, a justice-seeking campaign that is sponsored by the Unitarian Universalist Association and inclusive of people from a variety of faiths.

The service next week (February 10) is all about love, specifically agape: the love of the Divine for humans and the love of members of the spiritual community for other humans.

You might be interested in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry on love as we sort through the different kinds of love that might come up in the coming week.

clfuu: “The job of religion is not to set out false absolutes,...

Wed, 30 Jan 2013 16:47:00 -0500

clfuu:

“The job of religion is not to set out false absolutes, declaring that the church has the capacity to decide which lives matter the most. The job of religion is to call us to continually examine what it means to choose abundant life, and to make life-affirming choices. And then the job of religion is to remind us that we must continually expand our vision of which lives matter, of who deserves to have life abundant.” - Rev. Lynn Ungar

I should emphasize that this quote is from the fabulous, famous, and more experienced than me Rev. Lynn UNGAR.

I’m reblogging it for its relevance to last Sunday’s meeting, when we discussed finding common language for the philosophies and values that fuel our commitment to welcoming all seekers.

Geologic Time

Sun, 27 Jan 2013 20:43:38 -0500

This sermon about drawing spiritual insight from earth science was written for the UUs of Fallston, January 27, 2013.

We had a play date with some friends a few weeks ago. Their kids are a little older than ours, but they were excited to play together. It was an unseasonably warm day. As soon as we arrived outside their house, the children came running over to show Mokey and Wembley their project for the day.

With their mother’s help, our young friends had marked a point on the sidewalk to represent the formation of the earth—the beginning of geologic time. Chalk marks on the sidewalk in front of their house and down the block were labeled with things like the formation of continental plates and the first Oxygen. The chalk marks got closer and closer together near the end of the timeline, with labels marking the appearance of land animals, the era of the dinosaurs, and then lots of little lines for the events of the last 64 million years or so.

The seven-year-old took great delight in explaining that all of human history could fit inside the width of one chalk line. Then the children went running up and down the sidewalk, racing across 4600 million years and back again. Wembley and Mokey may not have understood the metaphor of a timeline, but they may have grasped the idea that science involves running really fast and getting to make chalk drawings in unusual places, so that’s just as good.

One of the benefits to an activity like the timeline is igniting our sense of wonder and curiosity about the verifiable facts of this earth. To put it into perspective here in our own space, imagine a timeline of earth history, in which I am standing at the point where rocks and space dust accrete into what became our earth. The doors to the foyer represent the present day. That’s about nine meters. We don’t get oxygen in the atmosphere until about halfway across the room, 2450 million years ago. We start getting multi-cellular animals about a meter away from the door. The Mesozoic Era, known in popular culture as the age of the dinosaurs, would start about half a meter to the door. The Cretaceous mass extinction is about 12 centimeters from the door, 64.5 million years ago. Humans get less than 4 millimeters since our first appearance, and all of recorded history is not quite 2 hundredths of a millimeter. (I used this tool to come up with the analogous distances.)

I am breathless at the company we keep on this path: bacteria that don’t even need oxygen, Trilobites wandering the Cambrian seas, dinosaurs of all kinds … this is a pretty cool planet to be from. At the same time, it’s pretty humbling to think that humans don’t represent the main plot in the earth’s biography, but a footnote. Trying to wrap our minds around a concept like the vastness of geologic time is exciting, it invites further study and reflection.

Two weeks ago, we talked about the spiritual inspiration of the big bang: the hope that comes with change, the benefits of imagination, and finding comfort in being part of an interrelated universe. Today I’d like our exploration of faith to take root in earth science. Learning more about our planet can inspire us with spiritual values such as perseverance, humility, and gratitude.

Moving Stones: Perseverance

In some ways, it seems like we have all the time in the world. In other ways, I am struck by the brevity of our moment in history. It’s hard to know whether I should push with all of my might to make something happen right now, or whether I should relax and trust that the same forces that create fossils can also help us make an impression in the fullness of time.

Perhaps it’s both. We take the opportunities we have right now, because this is the moment we have. It’s OK if the transformation is completed later, because there will be more days to come. There’s a saying from the Talmud (Pirkei Avot 2:21), “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.”

I think about this when I see canyons carved out by ancient rivers, drops of water moving mountains. I think about this when I look at an ocean beach and see sand made up of generations of clam shells crushed and tumbled in the waves, mixed with granite from the hills washed down the river one tiny grain at a time. I think of this when I see mountains, lifted up in slow motion by the collision of one tectonic plate into another. Time can be viewed through different lenses.

In 1853, there was a Unitarian minister named Theodore Parker. He was an ardent abolitionist and he was known for drawing crowds with his sermons. He wrote:

“I do not pretend to understand the moral universe. The arc is a long one. My eye reaches but little ways. I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by experience of sight. I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends toward justice.”

In the twentieth century, Martin Luther King, Jr., came to the same conclusion. He put the idea more concisely: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Dr. King used this phrase many times, to great effect. He used it in 1965 in a march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. He used it in a sermon at the National Cathedral in 1968, four days before his assassination. “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” It’s a phrase that calls for faith and confidence.

Neither Parker nor King was calling for complacency. They were explicitly not suggesting that we wait around for justice to bend itself. Theodore Parker was an activist and an organizer as well as a preacher. He was speaking about a moral universe where human actions matter.

Similarly, Dr. King said over and over that justice would not come about by waiting. He expressed in other places and again at the National Cathedral:

“Somewhere we must come to see that human progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals who are willing to be co-workers with God. And without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the primitive forces of social stagnation. So we must help time and realize that the time is always ripe to do right.”

So ends the quote from Dr. King. President Obama put it another way on Monday in his second inaugural address: “For history tells us that while these truths may be self-evident, they’ve never been self-executing. That while freedom is a gift from God, it must be secured by his people here on earth.”

End quote. Three out of three community organizers agree that we can look ahead at the long term and find hope, yet that hope is cemented by the actions we take. The arc of the moral universe is long. The geological history of the earth is long. The futures we are capable of imagining are long. Our moment is now. May our exploration of faith yield the spiritual values of perseverance and courage.

Humility and Dinosaurs

This morning’s time for all ages story looks at the history of paleontology as an example of a time when most people were wrong, and the evidence helped some people change their minds. There was something about the fossils that didn’t quite fit with what people thought they knew about the history of the earth. Here were some things, sunk deep in the earth, that made people ask questions.

UU’s are big fans of things that make us say, “Wow.” Put more elegantly, we draw from “direct experience with transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.” We also look to “Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit.” Those are two of the six sources of our living tradition, as described in the democratically adopted bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations.

To me, both of those sources remind us that we can be wrong. I will say that again: We can be wrong. Being open to mystery and wonder means that we are open to change. Any one of us can stumble on “idolatries of the mind and spirit.” Studying the sources of our tradition gives us some safety checks so that we can correct the path we’re on. The ability to admit a mistake or change our minds from a learning experience is something we can strengthen through spiritual practice. Some people might call that humility.

I can tell you that the study of dinosaurs continues to be an exercise in humility. It’s a hobby of mine to follow paleontology in popular science writing. Our collection of dinosaur picture books and toys at home was there way before we had children, although they have appropriated most of it. Dinosaurs roamed for a long time, and studying them teaches me that there are many ways to be successful. Fossils remind me that we never know when we will have the chance to make a lasting impression. I learn a lot from dinosaurs, but I’ll try to be brief here. I can tell you that merchandising does not keep up with science. Coloring books are still based on outdated theories. Plastic figures don’t have to be accurate at all, let alone responsive to recent discoveries. That’s OK, I love it all. Where I have to be careful is to remember that my imagination is influenced by the images I see every day, not just what is more likely to be true based on evidence.

Earlier this week, I saw a pair of illustrations of a Velociraptor, comparing the image of this dinosaur with and without feathers (by Finnish science writer and artist Maija Karala) I did a double take. I was kind of emotionally attached to scaly, non-feathered Velociraptor. If you saw the 1993 movie Jurassic Park, you may remember them as the “clever girls” that terrorized the children in the kitchen. The movie took liberties with Velociraptor, which was actually about the size of a turkey. In the mid-1990s, scientists started uncovering evidence of feathers on other dinosaurs. In 2007, Velociraptor had her turn, with the discovery of quill knobs on the bones of what we would either call the forearm or the wing. I knew all of that. I knew about the size exaggeration in the movie. Intellectually, I knew about the feathers, yet if you ask me to picture a Velociraptor, I’m more likely to jump to the cinematic version than the scientific version. I’m so glad I came across an illustration that brought me back to the evidence-based conversation.

My dinosaur hobby reminds me that uprooting incorrect attitudes and assumptions takes time and effort. That’s how I know that idolatries of the mind and spirit can happen to anyone. I think our brains and souls get into a groove, we get used to assuming the world is a certain way. Being around other people who are trying to stay in touch with a sense of wonder, who pay attention to the guidance of reason, can help us to step up when we’re stuck in the wrong groove. It helps when we can admit that we might have more to learn.

This is relevant for a lot of dimensions, not just being a dinosaur nerd. Humility helps us thrive as a theologically diverse spiritual community. We have many ways of opening ourselves up to transcending mystery and wonder. The insight that one person gains from prayer may be a different perspective than the wisdom someone else finds in yoga, which may not match the understanding someone else comes to through art as a spiritual practice. We can be here together because we’re willing to admit that maybe our neighbor has a point, or at least we can appreciate the validity of each person’s experience. May we maintain openness to wonder and to reason, and may our spiritual quest continue to evolve.

The Flow of Life: Gratitude

Perseverance and humility are two of the spiritual values that are supported by a faith that respects earth science. A third one is gratitude. There’s a Hebrew word dayenu. We hear it most often around Passover. The word basically means, “It would have been enough for us.” Dayenu is a word of thankfulness, acknowledging that the forces that have preserved us until this moment worked through a chain of events, one blessing resting on another.

The flow of events that brought us to this moment in the history of our planet is astounding. If there had been just the presence of life in the form of single-celled Prokaryota 3 billion years ago on an Earth with no oxygen in the atmosphere, it would have been interesting enough. If the ancient cyanobacteria had generated the oxygen that built up in the atmosphere 2 billion years ago, but there weren’t any multi-cellular animals, that would have been remarkable enough. If there were vertebrate animals in the ocean but not on land, it would have been wondrous enough. If there were multi-cellular, oxygen-breathing, vertebrate animals roaming the land but there had not been dinosaurs, it would have been amazing enough. But there were dinosaurs, and they were spectacular. Every transformation of the solids, liquids, gases, plants, and animals on Earth is an incredible thought. And here we are, on our current awe-inspiring planet, with the minds to investigate those transformations and the spirits to yearn for more exploration.

We don’t have to go back billions of years to find something to appreciate about our world. Perhaps there is a small gratitude that you brought with you today. Tug on it. See if it’s correlated with other conditions or events, even things that didn’t seem so positive at the time. Maybe there’s a direct cause and effect, or maybe some things just seem to go together.

Today, I am thankful for the chance to be here with you. I am grateful that I got to meet with the Religious Education teachers and mentors this morning. I am glad for the gathered community in this worship service. I am looking forward to our workshop after the service, knowing that it took compassion and courage for the members to request topics that will challenge us. We would not be here today without the time, talent, and support we have brought together over the past year. We would not have been able to do that if it had not been for the members who came before us, dedicating themselves to the future of this congregation. Their vision grew out of friendships that were forged over half a century ago.

Gratitude spreads out through the present day, too. I appreciate the parents and spouses and friends who support and encourage the volunteer work so many of our members do. I bless the children, grown and growing, who inspire their parents to search for meaning here. I am thankful for the cantankerous relatives and ornery Facebook friends whose provocative comments lead us back here to center ourselves and to seek discernment about our own beliefs. I am grateful for the open minds and hearts that every person in this building brings, allowing us to come to deeper understanding and practice of our mission together in the world.

The interdependent web of existence connects us through both matter and spirit. History, biology, and faith come together in recognition of the threads of conditions and events that connect all things. The blessings we enjoy today are blossoms growing out of deep roots and long, running vines, growing wider than our minds can reach. May the forces that create and uphold life inspire us to practice gratitude.

Conclusion

The history of our planet is inspiring from a spiritual as well as a scientific perspective. We can find meaning in the evidence-based story of Earth.

This world was formed over eons, and is likely to outlast us. Our highest aims may not be completed in our lifetimes. The arc of the moral universe is long. Let us use the brief moment we have to bend it toward justice. May we have courage and perseverance.

Humans are newcomers. Let us gather in honesty and accountability, lest we forget that we are neither the center of the universe nor the infallible judges of unchanging truth. May science and religion together teach us humility, compassion, and curiosity.

Earth has been through breathtaking transformations, from one unrecognizable age to another. Correlations and causes link the events of each phase to the next, and an interdependent web connects all life at any given moment. Let us give thanks for the spirit of life, in our own time and beyond time. May we practice gratitude for all of the forces that have brought us to this moment.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Begin Again

Sun, 13 Jan 2013 19:57:51 -0500

This sermon, about the origins of the universe and how it can inspire us as we make our own new start, was written for the UUs of Fallston, January 13, 2013.

My household is not usually Christmas-focused in December. We celebrate Hanukkah. We exchange our personal gifts to each other at the Winter Solstice. We have a tradition of making a huge fruit salad on New Year’s Eve. Christmas isn’t the highlight for us. Yet somehow we ended up with two Christmases this year.

We spent Christmas Eve with the Jewish side of the family, eating Chinese food and discussing politics, as you do. We planned to do a great, big extended family thing with the Christian side of the family on Christmas day, but our hosts gave us a winter flu quarantine warning, so we had a last minute mellow Christmas Day at my Dad’s house instead. He made a frozen turkey breast. We brought Tofurkey. Dad put together stocking stuffers for all of us. It was festive. We still wanted to see the rest of the family, so we had a Christmas do-over when our hosts were feeling better on New Year’s Day. Again with the turkey and the Tofurkey and the stockings, plus lasagna and pumpkin casserole and all kinds of cookies. Second chances can be elusive, but this one turned out well.

Going back to my counseling internship the next day, it sort of felt like I jumped from December 25 to January 2. Having a do-over was great, and it also meant adjusting my expectations. For instance, I had to adjust the expectation that I would go back to work with a closet full of clean laundry. It was so worth it to have a chance to spend time with people we care about.

There’s a saying, “begin as we mean to continue.” Starting the new year with family and food is a blessing. It occurs to me that do-overs are possible more often than I realize, that there are many opportunities to begin again as we mean to continue. Beginnings are happening all the time, and our understanding of beginnings that have already happened continues to develop. There are continuous opportunities to make a new start, and to reconsider what our beginnings mean for us in the future. Today I’d like for us to talk about beginnings as seeds, beginnings as an exercise in imagination, and beginnings in the context of relationships.

Begin with Seeds

Our Time for All Ages story from this morning, The Everything Seed, imagines the Big Bang as the sprouting of a seed, the beginning of something large out of something small that looks quite different. (The book is out of print, but the text of The Everything Seed is available here )

My scientist friends tell me that the universe started out 13.7 billion years ago as an extremely hot, dense point smaller than a single atom. It took about a minute after the Big Bang for Hydrogen and Helium to form. There was a lot of transformation, but no flashes of light yet. The universe inflated like a cosmic balloon. After 300 million years of expansion, the universe was big enough to be transparent, and light began to travel. The first generation of stars began to form after 400 million years. When those stars ran out of things to burn, they exploded and re-formed into the second generation of stars and planets, including our home.

Just think of all of that reaction and expansion, light and darkness moving at all different speeds. It’s an amazing story, one that is made all the more exciting and relevant the more we know based on science. It is a story that lends itself to art, poetry, and the search for meaning. I love that I get to tell this story in church. A faith informed by science tells us that transformation happens, is always happening. We are part of a reality that is constantly in motion. The idea that the sum total of the universe was once a tiny seed, and that change is a fact of reality, inspires me to have hope for great things starting out as small things. We may not be able to eliminate poverty or implement the reign of justice or achieve inner peace today, yet we can find seeds and plant them.

Scientific data tells us a great deal about the universe of which we are a part. Spirituality opens us up to awe and wonder in response to that data. I think we need both disciplines. Gratitude for all of the changes that have brought us to this moment and curiosity about what might happen next lifts our awareness past our daily struggles and into the realm of amazement.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. When we were getting ready for the twins to be born, one of the baby shower gifts we received from a friend who is a mom and a scientist was a pair of framed prints of photographs from the Hubble Space Telescope. The pictures show stars being born. One is from the Eagle Nebula, focusing on a region they call a “stellar nursery.” The other picture is from the Carina Nebula, where new stars are breaking free from the pillar of gas and dust and chaos where they were formed. We hung those pictures up right away. They are really beautiful, and they remind us that bright things are born from dust and chaos. We have a lot of dust and chaos at our house.

Before I leave the topic of star formation as spiritual inspiration, I wanted to go back to the Big Bang story. There were two phases of star creation. The first generation of stars cooked the hydrogen and helium into elements like carbon, oxygen, and iron; things we need for life. Those stars burned until they exploded, then re-collapsed into new stars and planets. It’s hard for me to imagine a star that is also the mother of future stars and planets and moons and comets.

Going back to the acorn metaphor, there are seeds within seeds. Not only can something surprising grow from a tiny seed, more surprising things will grow from the seeds that are contained within it. The “again” part of beginning again holds its own blessings.

The same is true for us. We carry not only unknown possibilities, but the unknown possibilities held by unknown possibilities. Let us cultivate wonder at what has happened, and hope based in the fact that the universe is still unfolding.

Begin with Imagination

The second thing to keep in mind as we begin again is imagination. When I was a kid, one of the most exciting field trips we went on from school was to the local planetarium. I don’t even know how many times I saw the same show. The basic gist was recognizing constellations and telling the Greek myths that went with them. The lights in the domed ceiling went on one by one as the narrator talked about Orion and the big and little bear and rascally planets that moved through the sky.

Once I hit middle school, I was more critical of spending time on old stories instead of new science. I think I understand better now. Mythology fuels our curiosity about where we come from. Constellations help us to see patterns, which is essential for doing science and math. Stories give us a framework for details, a way to catalogue information that isn’t written down in front of us. All of these things—narrative, science, patterns, curiosity—work together. In a faith informed by science, we respect the powers of imagination, our ability to use stories and inferences to outline the path ahead.

What I wish there had been more room for in my elementary school science education was practice forming hypotheses and testing them. I think it would have been valuable to imagine different possible outcomes, and to find out that informed guesses might turn out to be right or wrong. It would have helped me to know that being wrong is part of what the process looks like when it’s working. Making informed guesses is a pretty good skill to have, as long as we’re willing to check those hypotheses out. We need that capacity to jump to tentative conclusions in order to make sense of our world.

We also need to be able to look back and correct wrong turns. Science has a mechanism for that, a continual process of gathering data and testing theories. Applying that experimental process to life, on the other hand, is a little daunting. Can’t we just know how the world works and stick with those rules? Dancing with the web of life is more exciting than that. Adrienne Rich writes:

No one ever told us we had to study our lives
Make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history or music,
That we should begin with the simple exercises first and slowly go on trying the hard ones,
Practicing till strength and accuracy become one with the daring to leap into transcendence.
And in fact we can’t live like that: we take on everything at once before we’ve even begun to read or mark time, we’re forced to begin in the midst of the hardest movement,
The one already sounding as we are born.
(“Transcendental Etude” by Adrienne Rich, excerpted in reading #665, Singing the Living Tradition) So ends the reading.

January is a popular time for people to try new habits. I think this can be a good thing if we approach it like a scientific experiment instead of a test of moral perfection. We do not need a test of moral perfection. We can use our powers of imagination and inference to create the next chapters of our own stories. Based on experience so far, what happens if I try one new thing in an intentional way? We can imagine the possibilities for an experiment with kindness, gratitude, or self-care. One might be discouraged by past disappointments, yet eliminating hypotheses is part of science. Every scientific endeavor builds on what has happened before. We can always begin again with a new experiment. Each moment is a chance to re-start with the powers of creativity and inference.

Begin with Relationship

A third aspect for our discussion today is the interconnected nature of beginnings. The Everything Seed reminds us that the whole universe came from a single point. All of the bits in existence are related to all of the other bits. Carl Sagan put it more elegantly: “We have begun to contemplate our origins: starstuff pondering the stars; organized assemblages of ten billion billion billion atoms considering the evolution of atoms; tracing the long journey by which, here at least, consciousness arose.”

Not only does Sagan’s quote inspire admiration for the science that brought us such insights, it reminds us of connection. We’re all made from the same recycled building blocks that once burned in the hearts of suns; we, and all the rocks and soil and water we will ever touch, and all of the living things we will ever meet. Humans are part of the universe, not separate from it. We are all related.

This is important because, on the edge of a new beginning, a person might be inclined to feel isolated. I’m especially thinking of those among us who are in transition as we come into the new year, those who are in the middle of a change in marital status or residence or career, those who have to keep going when a loved one is on the other side of the world or the other side of mortality, those who are ready for new horizons. Some transitions are lonely. Yet even when taking a personal step forward, we are embraced by the universe of which we are a part. The interdependent web quivers as we each walk across our own thread. We are not alone.

I was reminiscing with friends not that long ago about a time when I didn’t have that sense of interconnection. I was in my early twenties, scared to death of crossing the line from being a young person with potential to a not-so-young person who had once had potential and failed to achieve anything with it. I thought I needed to do something world-changing in order to justify all of the investment in my education and in me as a person. Ondiru asked me what kind of accomplishment I would need to achieve to feel as if my life were worthwhile. I didn’t have a ready answer, so it was a long conversation with a lot of clarifying questions. What it came down to is that I would have to save the planet from a hostile alien invasion in order to feel like my existence on this earth was meaningful, and even then I couldn’t really be sure. Not only did I think I needed to do something amazing, I thought I needed to do it by myself.

These days, I don’t feel as pressured to change the world alone. For one thing, I think any revolution that is accomplished single-handedly is probably not a very good revolution. We have more strength and wisdom together than we have when we imagine ourselves to be isolated beings. Somewhere along the way, I learned to better appreciate the amazing things that were happening around me, among and because of the people I cared about. I think my experience in Unitarian Universalist congregations was a big part of that change.

Recognizing that I am part of something larger than myself, it becomes less important that I accomplish some great heroic rescue. I could channel my energy to joining with the people and forces that sustain life. I received the saving grace of ordinary love when I needed it. I watched my friends practice small acts of conservation that fueled their larger commitments. Refocusing from impossible goals to the everyday web of relationships, it is easier to love what is while aspiring to what could be.

The stars are amazing and worthy of study and imagination. That includes the stars we see in the night sky, beacons from across time and space shining in the darkness. That also includes the stars that live on in you and in me, and throughout the world that we know through our senses. If you are making a new beginning, may you find the strength you need for your independence, and may you know the warmth of the stars sitting all around you.

Conclusion

According to the way time is measured conventionally, we are almost two weeks into a new calendar year, but it’s not too late to begin again. We are not single-use rockets, built for only one launch. We are the descendants of ancient stars, made for spinning and orbiting, seasons and cycles. Begin again, knowing that there are millennia of beginnings behind you and before you.

Begin again with seeds, knowing that the potential for what is to come is hidden inside surprisingly small packages. The love and compassion we give now can take root, produce fruit, and hand down yet more love and compassion beyond our lives.

Begin again with imagination. Our human abilities to create stories and anticipate patterns are powerful tools for both scientific and spiritual advancement.

Begin again in community, knowing that you are not alone.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

Grow Three Sizes

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 20:45:55 -0500

This homily for all ages was written for our December 23, 2012, inter-generational service featuring our pageant based on How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss.

In the book, How The Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss, the storyteller thinks the most likely reason for the Grinch’s grumpiness at the beginning “may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.” I don’t think the storyteller means his real heart, the one that pumps blood through all the parts of the body. The Grinch’s emotional heart was too tight. There was not much room for feelings like happiness or love.

Have you ever felt like that? Have you ever felt tight in your chest and your shoulders, as if you were so full of being sad or angry that there was no room for other feelings? Most people have. It’s OK to have those feelings, even on Christmas. Emotions are important. We notice our emotions and figure out what to learn from them. What we want to do is to handle those feelings without hurting other people or ourselves, so that our hearts can grow again.

There are three things the Grinch did that helped him to make more room in his heart: listening, puzzling, and returning. I think those same three things can help us to open up to happy feelings when the tight feelings have taken over. In order to have time for discussion and sharing this morning, I’ll just say a little bit about listening, puzzling, and returning.

Listening

The Grinch started listening because he wanted to hear something that would feed his grumpy feelings. He wanted to hear the Whos being sad. But that’s not what happened! He listened, he really listened, and heard something that helped him to think and feel something different.

“And he did hear a sound rising over the snow. It started in low. Then it started to grow … But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry! It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!”

Luckily for the Grinch, the very moment he paid attention to what was really going on, the Whos were singing. When our hearts are two sizes too small, it can be hard to notice good things. We might go through the world as if we have earplugs or goggles or thick gloves that block out evidence for hope. When we realize that anger or sadness or despair is taking up a lot of room, we can stop and find out if there are surprises to help us feel other things, too. It’s possible to feel sad and hopeful at the same time. Listening to the Whos sing on Christmas morning, I bet the Grinch found that there was some room for peace in his heart next to the anger.

The Whos didn’t tell the Grinch to stop having grumpy feelings. They were being themselves. Standing hand-in-hand and singing was something they looked forward to, and they didn’t need to have boxes wrapped in ribbon to do it. Their town, you may recall, had been through a lot. During the time when they became friends with Horton the Elephant, their whole world had been tossed about. They had to join every last voice together to protect their community, and they had to rebuild. The Whos understood the need to raise their voices in times of trouble as well as celebration. They felt thankful for every day they could join hands together. If someone came in the night and took away all the food in my house and all of the presents I wanted to give away, I don’t know if I could be merry. But I believe that the Whos were being honest with their song.

When we’re feeling Grinchy, maybe part of the challenge is to put ourselves around people and places that will help us grow our hearts. We can read stories about positive change. We can meet with friends who inspire us. We can put on music about comfort and joy. Notice the evidence that supports expanding our horizons. Listen for signs of hope.

Puzzling

The second thing the Grinch did that helped him to grow his heart was that he puzzled. He stopped to think about what the surprising song might mean for him. In the animated movie and in our retelling this morning, the time he spent on his internal struggle is glossed over, but he actually spent awhile on it.

“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling: ‘How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes, or bags!’ And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!’”

He puzzled three hours! That’s a long time to stop and think. Changing your whole outlook on life takes awhile. As a Unitarian Universalist, I can’t help but notice that the Grinch did not finish answering the question. He wondered if “Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!” He did not say for sure what the meaning of Christmas actually is, he just knew that it was bigger and more joyful than he understood before. Puzzling does not mean finding the final answer once and for all. What’s important is to spend time with the questions.

The Grinch did his puzzling by standing in the snow at the top of the mountain. Each one of us might have a different way of puzzling. Some people stop and think. While they are thinking, they might sit quietly, go for a walk or a run, talk with someone who listens, or write down their thoughts. Some people puzzle by clearing their minds. They meditate, do yoga, take a nap, or build or bake something. This can help your mind and heart find solutions when you come back to a problem. Some people pray, which is a way to talk to God or the Universe, and to listen to what your faith or your soul might have to offer. Some people put their thoughts and feelings into artwork, using paint or paper or clay to create something out of the puzzling inside.

Puzzling is not the same thing as keeping busy. The Grinch was very busy with his mean trick of pretending to be Santa Claus. He put a lot of effort into that project. But he put effort into that project while being sure that he knew the answer. He was convinced that the answer was taking things away from other people. Our faith says that if hurting other people seems like the answer, we should go back and puzzle about it some more. We work on justice, equity, and compassion, which means being kind and fair. Nobody is perfect, but we try to keep asking questions about how to do that better. We keep open minds and open hearts as we think, meditate, pray, and create. Puzzling is very important to Unitarian Universalists.

Returning

The third thing the Grinch did was to return. He came back to Who-ville. He brought back the toys and the food for the feast. The Grinch didn’t just drop off the stuff he took. He joined the community.

There’s nothing in the book that says where the Grinch came from, but I suspect that his origins are in Who-ville. He is about the same size as the Whos. He is familiar with their traditions, their stories, and their language. I think he RE-joined the community at the end of the book. He returned.

I’m doing a little bit of creative interpretation here, because the book implies that the Grinch’s heart grows first, and then he brings back the toys and food. I think it’s both. He had to open his heart to returning first, then follow through with action. Returning grew his heart some more, and made it possible for the Grinch to stay in town.

Again, the Whos and their attitude to life are the heroes. They accepted the Grinch’s return. They welcomed him back. They went ahead with the feast in one big group, with all of their toys and food having been mixed up together in the Grinch’s sacks. The book doesn’t say this directly, but I think the Whos forgave the Grinch. I believe he was sorry for what he did, and that the Whos accepted his apology. The Grinch was open to being received, and the Whos were open to receiving him. The Whos and the Grinch together made return possible. “And he … HE HIMSELF …! The Grinch carved the roast beast!”

One of the ways we can make room in our hearts is to allow ourselves to feel sorry and to tell people that we are sorry. This is not actually very easy to do, especially if we’ve been living in a cave above Who-ville for a long time. It’s possible to feel hurt by what other people have done and sorry about what we have done at the same time. There is room in our hearts for lots of feelings next to each other.

Returning means coming back with our whole selves, and it means bringing things back that we have borrowed. It also means reconciling, which is another way to say making things right. As we get close to a new year, I hope each one of us has some chances to return.

Conclusion

The Grinch starts out in a difficult place. His head isn’t screwed on just right. His shoes were too tight. His heart was two sizes too small. Around Christmas, there are times for all of us when we don’t feel so good, and some years are worse than others. If it’s possible for the Grinch to listen, to puzzle, and to return, I believe it’s possible for all of us. May we stand hand-in-hand with a song of hope.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.