The importance of ritual

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers

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Stephanie Canada Gill

Sandra Ries

June 26, 2011

Stephanie Canada Gill

It’s always fun; when preparing a sermon, to look up the dictionary definition for your topic. So I went to www.dictionary.com; which gives me some choices from a variety of dictionaries, and the one which I found the most amusing, was this one from “The World English Dictionary”:

Ritual – (noun)

1. the prescribed or established form of a religious or other ceremony

2. stereotyped activity or behavior

3. [psychological] any repetitive behavior, such as hand-washing, performed by a person with a compulsive personality disorder

With that in mind, I am happy to be here with you this morning, so that we can enjoy our compulsive, repetitive behavior together.

It’s worth noting that some in this church don’t necessarily qualify what we do here together each Sunday as ritualistic or ceremonial. Yet each aspect of our worship service has a meaning, a context, and a reason why it is performed in the way that it is, and the manner and order in which we perform it are vitally important to us.

If you doubt that; I urge you to have a chat with any of the “old timers” here such as myself about our discussions; as a congregation, about any changes in our worship services. For those of you who have been here a while, please take a moment and cast your memories back to the time we added “Joys and Concerns” to the service… and when we removed it later. Or our discussions about how, when, and in what manner we would be including our children within the worship services.

Yes, I don’t believe that “Vitally Important” is too strong a phrase.

Ritual can be seen in terms of a structure, a template. There is something repetitive in the nature of ritual, but it is the way we each conceptualize ritual that is important. So let me share an experience I had about that, many years ago.

I had a period of time during my teens where I was still attending church, but no longer felt a deep connection to the faith of my childhood. And during that time, I had an experience worth sharing.

It happened on one of those many, nameless mornings, just as my mind was waking up in response to the communion plate being passed around. Ah, the sharpness of unsweetened grape juice, and its contrast to the tasteless little wafer squares. For me, it meant that the service was nearly over and my freedom was within sight.

But then I noticed something; one of my fellow congregants, who was sitting in the pew in front of me. I saw her face light up as she put the wafer in her mouth. I was captivated. I watched carefully, and I then I turned to look at others across the aisle, and in the pews behind me. It happened again and again, there, and then there! Somehow in that sad little square; people were tasting something I didn’t, and whatever it was, it was not something inherent in the wafer itself. It had touched their hearts.

I remember sitting back in the pew; almost light-headed, and thinking about what I had just seen. And then I realized that it wasn’t that the rituals of that church were meaningless, it was that they had become meaningless to me.

They felt something, something very profound.

It may seem obvious to you all now; but I tell you it shook me, and it made my heart clench. I was excluded from what I had witnessed, and I came to realize later that it was because they were experiencing the spiritual expression of their god, a god with whom I no longer felt contact.

Although it came to me much later, that day was the start of a personal quest. I began a search for rituals which did have meaning for me. I did not find meaningful expressions of ritual again until I came to THIS church. And it was here that I began to open up to Paganism. Until that time, I did not know that creating our own rituals was an option until I came to this church.

What was I missing? Well, let’s start by considering this concept:

Ritual is a way to make non-observable reality manifest.

I’ll say that again, a little slower:

Ritual is a way…to make non-observable reality…manifest.

Ritual touches something in our core, something significant and deep in us which has existed at least as far back as the painted caves, and likely before that. It touches our emotions, but it also appeals to our minds. Ritual speaks to the part of us which is so often beyond words.

In fact, we are going to perform something ritualistic together today after this sermon. Words give a clearness of direction; it is a way of expressly stating our sacred intent, if you will. But the non-verbal part is key. The non-verbal portions of ritual give us the opportunity to digest the words, and allow them to touch us on an emotional level. So here is an opportunity to transmute words into emotions. Later in the service, we are going to smudge this sanctuary.

So let’s look at smudging. This is a sacred act, which revolves around some similar concepts world-wide. It’s an ancient rite, we really have no idea how far it goes back in any of the cultures which use it.

Smudging has an element of purification, and of defining sacred space via scent. The two are intertwined, because in essence it sweeps away whatever is mundane, in order to make room for the sacred. Distracting thoughts, impurities from outside the circle of the holy space – smudging pushes those things out in order to create a void which the sacred can fill. It recognizes that in order for something new to be born, something old must give way. The smoke fills the room, and then fades. Now a new space is created.

Within that context; smudging has a symbolic connection to planting, to rededicating, to preparing the way for something new to begin. The way is made clear. What will we plant once the weeds have been plowed under? What are the furrows waiting for? These are decisions which are planted in our hearts, and later will bloom into words and actions

I believe we are accustomed to thinking of sacred space as someplace where the sacred somehow simply happens. But; in fact, the sacred consists of what we bring to the space, what we do while we are there, and how we take it and apply to our lives both within the ritual context and beyond. A ritual can be seen as a temporary construct, but in truth no ritual is successful if it does not in some way impact our lives on an ongoing basis.

The ancients understood this. They understood the core aspect of ritual construction – intention. Ritual takes the reality we envision; but cannot yet see except with the eyes of our heart, and ignites the process through which it will become our reality in time yet to come. So it’s important to know what our intentions are.

Ritual is a way to connect our emotions with our thoughts. This happens; in the case of smudging, through our sense of smell. The only way we have to begin the process of connecting with the unseen; or inexpressible, is by using one (or more) of our five senses.

The sense of smell is tied to memory. Scientific research has shown this. As such, it has the ability to create a strong memory, to create a path way in our brains; if you will, so that the repeated use of a given smell, over and over in a particular context will naturally take us more and more quickly in our minds back to that context. And that context was designed intentionally and so is supported by that smell. As such, it is absolutely ideal for religious ritual.

Nor is the sense of smell the only sense ritual can use to great effect. Our sense of hearing can be used both actively and passively. Passively, we had have music sung to us or played for us by a variety of amazingly talented people over the course of time. It lifts our spirits, it opens our hearts.

I sometimes refer to ritual as storytelling, as it is within ritual that we tell the story of who we are. Like a story, our ritual has a beginning, a middle, and an end. In our worship services, we begin the process of creating sacred space by the introductory music, which alerts us that we are entering the place where we create the sacred together. This space is infused with sacred sounds, unlike our day to day lives.

Just as a storyteller might set the stage by saying, “Once upon a time…”; our opening music says that we are stepping into a place where our ordinary reality takes a backseat to a magical sort of reality, where we are both the best of who we can be and; at the same time, the seekers who hope to learn more about the connections we long to feel, the connections to each other, and to the sacred within each of ourselves, In the most effective rituals, we meld heart and mind together to guide us on the next step of our journey.

We feel connected to the sacred, when we listen.

Our intention can be touched actively when we sing together. The hymns we sing together are an expression of our roots as a Christian denomination, in many ways. Singing is universal, but hymns are associated with Christianity. We join in aural communion via the sense of sound, when we stand together and sing a hymn from our hymnal. We’ve worked very hard to be more egalitarian, non-sexist, and so on with our hymnal, but that in no way changes these facts. Singing is a way to affirm our unity over our differences.

And our emotions are connected to our senses. We feel bonded as we sing. That bonding is intentional and deliberate.

Ask a Buddhist sometime about the importance of “breath”. He or she will tell you that the Universe was created via “the breath”. A Buddhist would say “Breath is the beginning of all things, and the crux of awakening”. Turn that over in your mind after the sermon. Oh, and breathe deeply when you do.

Now, I did mention that ritual context was designed and supported by our senses to bring our sacred intentions manifest. So what is our sacred intent? Our church mission statement reflects it as does our invocation of the chalice and the flame. This is not a church of sinners trembling before an angry god, this is a church of seekers!

This is our sanctuary, we designed and paid for it together, we collectively decided (or at least delegated) the decision of who will stand where I am standing each Sunday. Standing before a podium emphasizes something different about me and my purpose here than how I would be seen sitting at the edge of a circle. We have had active and; let’s say brisk and intense discussions about any ongoing changes about our rituals which take place here. Our emotions are very much involved, whether we like to admit to them or not.

It feels a little odd to say that Unitarian Universalists are emotional about ritual, doesn’t it?

But there’s no question that we are. And that is because ritual is the key to our intentions; as a congregation, and as a faith. There may words involved in the UU approach to ritual, actually with UU’s there are always words involved. Lots and lots of words. Let us never forget however that a vital part of our lives is happening between the words.

This weekly Worship service IS our ritual. We may draw from Christian traditions, we may draw from other faith traditions; for example today we will be drawing from traditions which use smudging darn near globally across the face of this planet. We have a multitude of influences throughout our hymnal, and I could go on and on, picking apart our ritual; piece by piece to show you the where and why each aspect of our “Order of Service” is done how it is done, why it is done, and the reason in this order, but I would prefer to get you started wondering; as I did so many years ago. Does it have meaning for you?

What about the smudging? I urge you to “push your envelope” a little and stay here for it, unless your allergies prevent it. Does it feel too “out there” for you? Or is there something some how satisfying about sitting through a brief few minutes in within our ritual which are strange, yet comforting in their own way. And in either case, why do you feel what you feel? What is your heart saying to you about this experience?

Let me return to the concept that smudging clears the way. Now we have a new minister coming. But have we thought about what we are willing to give up, in order to make space for what we hope to put in the place of what went before? What are the comfortable old ways we have done things in this church, which need to be set aside for the new? What are the outdated visions of how we see this congregation, which now need to be plowed into the furrows, so that they can fertilize and support new growth? I encourage you to consider those questions in depth over the coming weeks.

Change is uncomfortable. But change is the only truth which is inevitable in life. Resisting change is difficult, but embracing change will transform you.

Here is our opportunity to transform ourselves.

Ritual is a way to make non-observable reality manifest. Who we hope to become in our spiritual journey can’t be seen. The emotions which are summoned up in ritual, their power, our connections with the divine are invisible which which are summoned forth in ritual are not tangible. But these are the seeds of something which can compel us to express then beyond the confines of ritual. They grow day by day and if we nurture them, they bloom in the actions we take in the world to express ourselves as the best of who we can they be, and take those first steps in the process of making our world the best it can be. They change us, and they change our world, casting their seeds in turn to everyone who is touched by what we do. They become manifest.

Feel the new wind which is blowing through this congregation. Be ready to plant the seeds of your choice within your heart. Embrace the wind, and be transformed!

 

Sandra Ries

To continue the theme of change and transformation, I share with you some words from Unitarian and from Universalist leaders from our history.

For an expression of our hope, we look to Clara Barton:

“I have an almost complete disregard of precedent, and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things have always been done. I defy the tyranny of precedent. I go for anything new that might improve the past.”

For an expression of our determination in days to come, we look to Henry David Thoreau:

“All endeavor calls for the ability to tramp the last mile, shape the last plan, endure the last hours toil. The fight-to-the-finish spirit is the one characteristic we must posses if we are to face the future as finishers.”

For inspiration, we look to Ralph Waldo Emerson:

Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.

 

Responsive Reading

The Spirit of those leaders who have walked this path before us, calls to us

We recognize their work, and its legacy.

They have joined people together in common purpose

Or have written in solitude and contemplation.

They have labored to bring justice and compassion to the world

And we are their heirs.

Each of us is human, each of us has stumbled and fallen

And yet we have risen, and we are gathered today.

With hope in our hearts, with joy in our vision

I seek to be nourished, I seek to nourish others.

Ready for new beginnings

I wish to be transformed, I wish to transform others.

Ready to help create a better world

I want to do justice, I want to join with others to do justice.

And so we set out on this journey together,

to participate in building a community of souls,

bringing our diverse perspectives together

To manifest the light within us, and around us

In this congregation, and in our lives

So May It Be!

 

As Stephanie said during the sermon, in a ritual, intent is important. In the group ritual we are about to perform, our shared intent makes it even more powerful. As Stephanie performs the smudging, I invite you to envision what “sacred space” means to you as an individual as well as to our congregation as a whole. And I invite you to reaffirm our sanctuary as a sacred space.

Endings and Beginnings

by Posted in Audio available, Ed Brock, Guest Speakers

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Nell Newton

Chris Jimmerson

Eric Hepburn

Brendan Sterne

Susan Thomson

Rev. Ed Brock

June 19, 2011

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Tribute to Ed Brock

Nell Newton

As Mick and Keith have already told us, “You can’t always get what you want, but you’ll get what you need.”

That is exactly what we got when we called Ed Brock and asked if he would consider serving as our interim minister for this past year. We didn’t know this at the time, but let me back up.

The process by which churches obtain interim ministers is much more streamlined than the search for settled ministers. While a settled search takes nine people about 18 months, an interim search can be done by five people in three months with the UUA serving as matchmaker.

Last spring we were wrapping up a successful and soothing year of interim ministry with Rev. Janet Newman. We knew we still had some work to do before we’d be ready to call a settled minister, and we’d heard stories about other interim ministers who specialize in shaking up the status quo. These are the SWAT ministers who come in swinging their brooms, with a critical eye for bad habits, and who cut no slack for sentimental tradition if it stands in the way of progress. Perhaps that’s what we should look for – a no-nonsense interim who would make us stand up straight, straighten our tie, and do things their way. It would be good for us. We knew we had some bad habits, and we were ready to be humbled, if necessary.

As the president of the congregation, I was kept apprised of the progress and would be the one to make any formal offers. The search team was sent four names of possible interims – and two had the reputation of being stem-to-stern change up specialists. Oooh! Perfect!

But nothing went as planned. For assorted reasons, none of those four names answered when we called to inquire. Oh dear. Perhaps we weren’t challenging enough for them? Or worse — maybe we were we too far gone…

I called the office at the UUA and tried not to let them hear the rising worry in my voice. Uh… could we maybe, uh… well, you see… we need more names… Of course, we’ll send more names. Not to worry, this happens all the time. Trust the process. You’ll get the right minister.

Four more names arrived, and immediately the search team pushed one name ahead of the others: Rev. Ed Brock. A minister trained in family systems theory – Oh! We’ve heard about family systems theory! And he’s a trained counselor – Oh! We could use some counseling! I was a little nervous when we called him. Would you? Could you? Consider us? Yes? Wonderful. Thank you. Yes! Yes! Yes!

When Ed first arrived, he didn’t kick in the doors, he didn’t tell us we were doing things all wrong, and he was nice. He was the kind of guy who would pull you over to the side and quietly tell you if you had spinach stuck in your front teeth. And during his first visit with the board, he gave us the nicest gift. He told us that during this year, we would be busy at work searching for our next settled minister, but that one thing we should always remember is that we already have our settled ministry in the form of our lay leadership and our community. We are the enduring ministry of this church.

Oh, my heart just melted then and there! Instead of telling us we were a lost cause, he had held up a mirror and showed us how strong, and lively, and beautiful we are.

Instead of marching ahead, he walked alongside us during a year of heavy work. He pointed out dusty places, and held a flashlight steady as we went into some dark spaces. He kept us company and encouraged us to keep going as we cleaned the windows, overhauled the by-laws, and learned to trust ourselves to do good work.

Ed’s ministry showed us that, No, you don’t always get what you think you want, but if you do the work, trust the process, and say “yes, yes, yes!” you’ll get what you need.

 

 

Chris Jimmerson

In the past year, I have had the opportunity to work with Rev. Brock, Ed, in a variety of ways and on a nearly weekly basis. After spending all of this time with him, I can tell you one thing for certain – The Reverend Edward L. Brock is …not normative.

And that’s a good thing! When it comes to large systems, oftentimes, normative is great because what has become normal practice is the result of much experience, experimentation and research to determine what works best.

In an interim minister though, normative could mean average, when what we are hoping for is excellence. Excellence is what we got in Ed Brock!

So, let me count the ways that Ed has been “not normative”.

1. Despite his self-effacing and modest disposition, Ed has dared to tell us how his experience and training might inform the opportunities and challenges we have encountered – to help up us begin to implement the covenant, governance and mission groundwork we had laid in our first year of interim ministry – even when it meant challenging prior ways of doing things and ingrained ways of thinking.

And all without disagreement or controversy!

2. He has sent us some of the wisest and most detailed email messages I have ever seen. Many of them sounded just like one of his sermons; some of them were shorter.

3. His sermons have contained a terrific mix of humor, inspiration and topical wisdom that we needed to hear. Some of them were even better than his email messages.

4. Ed gave some great stewardship speeches that helped increase pledges at a time when the church really needed it. As they said in the small Texas town where I grew up, “he can talk a dog off a piece of meat.”

5. Ed did all of this while mentoring not one but two new Unitarian Universalist ministerial aspirants. I’m so grateful for the advice and opportunities he has given me, not to mention for all of the various recommendation forms and paperwork he has had to complete for me as I applied to seminary, scholarship funds, the Unitarian Universalist Association, etc. In fact, it got to be so much extra work for Ed at one point that I took to taking previous forms he had filled out, reformatting them to fit wherever I was applying this time and giving them to Ed to sign if he was OK with what I had done.

Oh, that reminds me – (to Ed) Ed could you … (back to congregation) excuse me … (take to Ed) Ed, could you just sign and date this here. Oh, and on the second page also.

(Back to congregation) Sorry.

Suddenly I’m realizing, I can’t possibly cover all of the extraordinary gifts Ed has brought to us in the last year, so let me just close by saying this: If helping a congregation to call an exceptional settled minister by guiding us through the work necessary to chart a future filled with magnificent promise with that new settled minister is what we hope is “normative” for a second year interim ministry in UU churches, then Ed has set the new gold standard with us.

Thank you Ed, for a wonderful year.

 

 

Brenden Sterne

Our new congregational President Chris Jimmerson asked me to say a few words about this past year and the work that the church has accomplished with the help of Ed Brock. I am tempted to say a few nice things about Ed, but afraid that all the nice things that can be said about Ed have already been said, by Ed.

In all seriousness…

Early on during my first year on the Board of Trustees, a dozen or so of us sat around the tables on a hot Saturday morning in one of the classrooms, and Nell Newton, our president at the time, asked us to check-in by taking turns sharing with the group, what is was that we were giving up to be at church that Saturday

I thought it was a great idea to recognize what we sacrificing that day to do the work of governance. And that it would help us get to know each other better. There were a variety of answers. If I remember correctly I felt most keenly that I was missing time with my family – my daughter’s soccer game that morning, and maybe swimming in the afternoon.

Whenever anyone in our community, devotes some of the their time, talents or treasure in serving the mission of our church, they are giving up something too. Just to be here this morning, each of you has given up something. Maybe it’s time you could spend on your house. Or time reading. Or maybe it’s just sleep. As the parent of toddler I know how precious, precious sleep is. So we’re all giving up a little something to be here.

Ed was joking around these past two weeks as he asked us if we members of the congregation wouldn’t mind recording a brief message of support, that he could bring back with him and share with his family.

And if you reflect on that request for a moment – the human side of Ed comes out. On father’s day I think it’s particularly appropriate that we recognize that behind the professional role of Minister that Ed lives so well, there is also the role of husband and father. As many of you know Ed has a wife and children 7 and 9, in Washington state, that he has been apart from this year.

And that’s why he asked us record those videos. Because as he wants his wife and children to know why is doing what he does, and that what he is doing is important.

This shows that Ed has had to make some big sacrifices to be here with us. And what it also shows is how much faith he must have in our religion, and this church, leaving his family for a big part of this year.

Now I can’t speak for the good Reverend Ed, but I’ve come to know him a little bit, and I think that I understand why he is doing what he does. Just like most volunteers at our church – he does it for the money.

You can’t do Interim Ministry without a deep belief that what we do here at church is important. I can’t recall where I first heard the words, but they’ve stuck with me, and that is: ‘We have a life-saving message’.

Let that one sink in here for a second. ‘We have a life-saving message’. The ‘we’ in that sentence can mean Unitarian Universalism. And it can mean the First UU Church of Austin. Whatever works for you.

I know Ed really believes that we have a life-saving message, and that we can make a real difference in our community and the world.

I want to thank Ed for all his wonderful contributions to our church this year. And I want to thank the congregation for all your hard work and trust that you have placed in the board.

When I’m at church I’m always delighted to see that there is a community of people who are willing to make sacrifices – small and large – towards a higher purpose. I hope that you are, and continue to be nourished, and that you find your life being transformed, as I find mine.

I look forward to my final year on the board as your board secretary. And I’m excited about the arrival of our new Minister Meg Barnhouse.

 

 

Susan Thomson

I have been reflecting a lot lately on the state of our church 2 years ago and now. I was not excited about the prospect of an interim minister, even though I had been in congregations, including this church, with interim ministers of whom I was very fond. And perhaps that was why I was not looking forward to more as I had quickly bonded with these interim ministers only to have them move on from my congregation in a short time. So I was eager to just get on with it and hurriedly organize a search for our next settled minister. And if I had been the Grand Poobah, or the Decider, to quote a former President from Texas, that is exactly what we would have done.

I came to believe, though, in the wisdom of not only having one interim minister for one year but a second interim for the following year. Our church has been so blessed by both our interim ministers, Janet Newman and Ed Brock, who each brought different gifts at just the right time for us.

I have been struck in looking back on the past two year about how much our church has grown by doing things the right way. To have a deliberate transition from one settled minister to the next, with time for re-examination about who we are as a congregation, resulting in a beautiful new mission, values and ends-that was the right way to do things. For time to identify what needed to change to make us a better, healthier congregation as we prepare for our next settled minister-that was the right way to do things.

Joe Sullivan, a consultant with Unity Consulting, observed at our board retreat last weekend that we not only commissioned the Bridge Builders report from Peter Steinke, contrary apparently to many churches, we actually read it and actually implemented the actions called for in the report. So we have done many things the right way these past 2 years.

But what I would like to speak to today is not only the part that Rev. Brock has played in helping us do things the right way, but the courage he has demonstrated in pointing us toward the right thing to do. And there is a difference. Doing the right thing is much riskier. It involves poking more sacred cows. It is often more challenging to determine the right thing to do than to look through a rulebook or a policy manual for answers on the right way to do things. It takes more courage.

Ed has worked tirelessly to help us determine the right thing to do. He has done so with our mission, our values and our ends as his compass. And as we wish Ed Godspeed with grateful hearts for his time with us and prepare to welcome Meg, we know that we now have the foundation upon which we as a congregation can work tirelessly to do the right thing at First UU, to allow our mission and our values and our ends to guide us to become the thriving congregation we want to become.

 

 

When we pray

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers, Nell Newton

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Nell Newton

March 13, 2011

You can listen to the sermon by clicking the play button below.

“Laughter is also a form of prayer.” Kierkegaard

Sermon: When We Pray

I am here to report back to you all that prayer has been discovered to exist among Unitarian Universalists! Back at the end of November I was up here and mused a bit on what prayer might look like for us. After dispensing with the juvenile aspects of prayer (oh lord, won’t you buy me a mercedez benz?) I asked you all to consider the possible uses of prayer, and to tell me about your experiences with prayer. Many of you kindly responded with wonderful stories. And yes, despite your stern and sensible exteriors, many of you have private rituals and words that, if looked at out of the corner of the eye, would bear strong resemblance to prayer.

This might be unexpected to those who don’t know us well. We do not have a fixed liturgy of prayer in our denomination. The rituals and words we have here at this church are not necessarily shared in other UU churches. You cannot walk into any UU church on a given Sunday and hear the same words spoken in the same way at the same time in the service. Our congregational roots give us the freedom to construct our worship as we see fit. Sometimes we include prayer and sometimes we don’t. While we treasure this freedom, some have pointed out that we might actually have a hollow space, a place otherwise filled by a shared and powerful practice of prayer. We have no common words to carry us through the rough parts of the journey — no call and response that wraps everyone together. Honestly, it is my guess that we would not trust any attempt at a one-size-fits all common prayer. But, while Unitarian Universalists are expected to build our own theologies, we often are not given the tools or formal instruction in how to build any prayers. In some ways, this is an underdeveloped part of our denominational psyche. We’re all over social action and the more cerebral bits of spirituality, but too often we don’t do the basics of grief and loss very well. And when we hit these terrifying transitions in life, we have no vocabulary to help us see ourselves as part of something larger, and we feel uncomfortable with our human need to ask for assurance in the face of self doubt or crisis.

Some have identified this as a “shadow” issue for Unitarian Universalists. “Shadow” because prayer was often rejected when we migrated out of mainstream churches. It was left behind or pushed away as a superstitious vehicle of dogma. But so often, that which we reject is exactly that which we need to be whole. And just as we are slowly reclaiming god-talk and other aspects of spirituality, the necessary re-examination of prayer will provoke anxiety until we learn to put prayer into a UU framework.

The good news is that when we do pray, we are inclusive and expansive. And, as a lifelong UU I see this empty spot as open and beckoning, a blank book that each of us is expected to fill in. But how do we begin?

Many of us started with prayers from our source traditions and, like careful seamstresses, let out places that were too tight and added in ease with amended words. Several people shared fresh translations of the Christian Lord’s Prayer which they use to serve as a grounding point in their days. Try this version and see if it fits better:

Great Spirit of all the universe, father and mother to us all We stand here in gratitude for all that is given to us. Please guide us to an awareness of the profound peace, wholeness, growth, and bounty that is possible. Teach us to recognize grace and forgiveness and to practice this in our lives. Bring us what we need each day and guide us to the contributions we can make that give our lives meaning. Thank you! Amen. Blessed Be.

Others among us left our home traditions and struck out into wilder woods. We learned to pray or meditate from other teachers, foreign and domestic. And even though we eventually made our way into this sanctuary, we brought along some interesting souvenirs from our experiences. Handy bits of Buddhism or calming affirmations — struck and stuck with us, and are touchstones we reach for in moments of crisis or joy.

And there are also the homemade prayers – made from durable materials we find laying about, or custom cast. Here are some tips to guide you in this process:

  • Remember that “God” is not god’s name! How you address your prayer must only make sense to you.
  • Whether you choose to focus on the holy outside or to connect more closely with the divine residing inside your own skin is again, your choice.
  • Prayer need not have anything to do with the supernatural! It can be a humanistic, naturalistic, or an ecstatic grounding of the self in the moment.

Retired UU minister Annie Foerster has pointed out that the traditional prayers were once new. And that the Psalms in the Hebrew bible were created by poets and lovers. She instructs us to think like poets and lovers as we set out to create our own prayers.

When I sit in prayer here at church, I close myself in to more closely feel the warmth and pulse of my palms pressed together. I feel my own breath close by. I find my center, where my universe spins, and I breathe. I find my bones and my blood and I breathe. I find my skin and my nerves and I breathe. Then I still myself just enough to become aware of the Everpresent. And that is when the tears of astonishment begin.

In my earlier sermon I spoke of prayers of intercession as a more juvenile form – but I have since changed my mind. Mature prayers of petition are not self-serving wishing and whining. Truly mature prayers that ask for something beyond oneself can be powerful and healing. One man explained that he had never been taught to pray, but now that he is older, he finds himself praying frequently. After surviving cancer, heart attack, and stroke, I think he’s entitled to whatever keeps him strong. But, here’s what struck me about his prayer – its simplicity and selflessness. The prayer he utters during times of stress or suffering consists of this simple sentence: “Oh God, help this go well.” “Oh God, help this go well.” He admits that he doesn’t know what “going well” might mean, but he’s seen so many ways that things can go bad. And, note that he’s not asking for “the best”, just “well”. He’ll be grateful for that.

Now, let’s think of the children… How or even should we teach our children to pray? Must we ask that they give thanks for what they already know is their birthright? And I doubt that many of us have laid them down to sleep, their souls offered up for god to keep. But what prayers might we weave above their heads so that they might feel loved and protected throughout the night? I’ll admit, when our son was born we filled his nursery with a Korean grandma spirit face, a St. Anthony medal, a Sri Lankan tiger mask, a Turkish glass eye amulet, and a dream catcher his grandmother made to keep him safe from evil spirits. And, for the record, he’s always been a good sleeper!

After listening to my first sermon, a fellow shared one prayer memory. He remembered being a little kid out shopping with his Mom. They were at the shoe-store, and he saw one of those sit-in metal cars that usually had pedals. But this one was battery powered and was on display as the prize in a drawing. That car totally captivated him. He was filled with utter desire, became obsessed with it, and probably annoyed his parents over it. He prayed to win that car. Prayed hard. But, for some reason he gave god an out: “Let me win that car or let me forget about it.” It was twenty years before he thought of that car again. He’s still not sure why he gave god an option. And he’s still not sure why the event came back up to the surface decades later but he recognizes that it reflects Kierkegaard’s insight that “The function of prayer is not to influence God, but rather to change the nature of the one who prays.”

My 12 year old daughter recently reported with some bitterness that she’s done with prayer because she’s tried it and it doesn’t work. Thinking back to my own trip through the maelstrom that is the world of the 12 year old girl, I had to agree with her prayer is pretty useless here. But this is because, I suspect that if there is a god, like so many fathers, he prefers to jam his fingers in his ears and hum loudly when faced with his daughter’s demand that he referee adolescent disputes. And, I also suspect that if there is a goddess, like the wisest of mothers, she simply smiles with compassion at her daughter’s despair and says “there, there” but leaves her to learn on her own.

Nonetheless if we are to be our children’s spiritual guides, we’d better start modeling the behaviors we want them to consider normal and useful. We’d better show them how we give thanks and what prayer looks like when it’s more than just wishful thinking.

When our children were little our bedtime ritual included a soothing inversion of counting one’s blessings. Instead of praying to god to take care of folks, we would calm down by bestowing blessings. “Blessings on Grandma Gerry, blessings on Cousin Bella, blessings on the kitties, blessings on the baby chicks, blessings on our neighbor Helen…. Our lists were exhaustive – exhaustion was part of the goal here – but more importantly the ritual was one where we called for and implicitly co-created the blessings. I did not teach them that blessings were the sole labor of a god – blessings are our work as well. By spooling through our friends, family, and pets each night we closed down one day and laid out our work for the next.

And now, what about those of us for whom prayer has no use? There are many of us for whom prayer feels like a hollow chanting into emptiness. I will acknowledge that prayer is not essential to happiness. However, for those of us who do not feel a need to connect to an eternal presence, may I invite you to connect to the essential parts of the human experience that are best expressed in poetry? For, there are times in our lives when ordinary conversation will not suffice and we want the finest of words available to carry us through the moment. And this is where poetry serves and saves us. Go find a poem – long, short, old, or new. Dig it out of a dusty anthology on your bookshelf. Poets.org will send you a fresh poem every day if you like! But find a poem, and carry it around in your pocket or your head for a while. Read it in your spare moments. Find another one and hold that one for a while. Write your own. Gather a handful of poems that you can hold onto for those times when you are sick at heart, or when joy erupts and spills out as tears.

My father retains the last few lines of the poem April Inventory by his friend W.D. Snodgrass: Though trees turn bare and girls turn wives, We shall afford our costly seasons; There is a gentleness survives That will outspeak and has its reasons. There is a loveliness exists, Preserves us, not for specialists

The one line “there is a loveliness exists” is his favorite. It encompasses and affirms the grace he has found in life, and has carried those words around for some fifty years.

There are some of us who still pull up short and feel the scarred places — for whom prayer is still linked too tightly to a previous church experience that hurt or denied our whole selves. I think of this as spiritual “Sauce-Bearnaise” syndrome. That is the term used in psychology for conditioned taste aversion to explain the quirk of our brains and palates that associates the last thing you ate right before becoming nauseated, with the illness – regardless of its actual influence. What this means, is that if you had a meal with sauce Bearnaise and shortly thereafter become ill, you are likely to find sauce Bearnaise unappealing for sometime thereafter – even if the sauce had nothing to do with your illness. This is a useful adaptation for omnivores – a good way to learn to avoid bad foods. However, too many of us who will have nothing to do with prayer because of the indigestible theologies that it was mixed with, and that left us feeling clammy and unwell. For those of us who might still be made queasy when presented with prayer, try this soothing mint tea in the form of words from the English mystic Julian of Norwich: All shall be well, And all shall be well And all manner of things shall be well.”

Now, here’s a challenge for the really bold among us – going public with our prayer! What would it be like to offer a prayer as a greeting or farewell? What if you could sincerely and unselfconsciously offer “Bless your heart” and not have it taken the wrong way? Would you take a moment before you tear into the basket of chips and salsa you are sharing with friends and be brazen enough to look them all straight on and say, “I am so glad to be here with you all” and mean it as a blessing? Would you share a ritual of parting with a dear person? Remember my pragmatic Aunt Ruth? The one who didn’t want folks praying for her? I’ll tell you something she does every time a precious friend prepares to leaves her house – she simply says “Go well”, and those of us who know and love her answer “Stay well”. It is a blessing that flows both ways, and makes the moment of parting sacred. For our taciturn Midwestern clan, that is some pretty heartfelt stuff.

What would your days be like if you were to invoke the holy into ordinary moments? Not as a superstitious warding off of evil spirits, but to call awareness to the slippery rocks we are treading upon. So many things can go wrong in a moment — what would it be like if you could simply ask “may this go well”. For, truly, it is the pure heart and pure intention that turns simple words into prayer, and simple rituals into holy time.

Ours is an empty book to fill. We are creative people, with the courage to be changed. Keep me posted.

March 12, 2011 ©

Experience of the Holy

by Posted in Audio available, Chris Jimmerson, Guest Speakers

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Chris Jimmerson

February 20, 2011

You may listen to the sermon by clicking the play button below.

Sermon

Ralph Waldo Emerson famously asked, “Why should not we enjoy an original relation with the universe?”

Last year, when we were in the process of discerning that wonderful mission statement, along with our values and ends, our facilitators had us participate in an exercise they called the “Experience of the Holy”. They put us in pairs and asked that each of us in the pair tell the other of a time when we had experienced the holy.

Here is how they described such experiences and encouraged us to recall them:

“I invite you to reflect on an experience of the Holy in your life — A time when you felt connected to something larger than yourself, a time when you felt your heart and mind expand.”

As a member of your Board of Trustees, I was fortunate not only to get to participate in this exercise myself but to be asked to observe as other pairs described to one another their experiences of the holy.

I remember that the irony in a bunch of non-theistic humanists sitting in a church talking about holy experiences was not lost on me.

On the other hand, I do not remember anyone saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I have never had such an experience.”

But mostly, I remember how powerful and moving it was.

The individual stories of what prompted peoples’ experience of the holy varied widely. Some people spoke of it happening right here in the church, when the actions of our community evoked something transformative within them.

Some of the women spoke of giving birth. Other people spoke of quiet times surrounded by the beauty of nature. Some spoke of being moved into the experience through listening to music, viewing a wonderful piece of art, watching an exhilarating moment of live theatre. Still others told of experiencing the holy during the simple or the seemingly mundane – just catching the beauty of patterns of sunlight streaming through the kitchen blinds. One war veteran told of holding a dying buddy in their arms, of being the last person who would hold and comfort their friend.

The stories were beautiful and evoked a wide range of events from the solitary to occurrences of being a part of something terrific in a large group. The descriptions of the experience of the holy though, were remarkably alike, and people expressed that they were struggling to convey their experience because normal, everyday words and emotions were inadequate.

This is how some of your fellow church members struggled to describe their experience of the holy:

“I was enveloped by mystery, awe and wonder.”

Another person said, “I felt suddenly at peace with myself and with everything – connected to something larger.”

Another said, “It was hyper-realistic, being truly present and in the present, receptive to greater wisdom than can be known in words.”

Someone else put it as “timeless, transcendent, a sense of unity and compassion with and for, well, everything.”

We described these experiences as deeply meaningful, profoundly moving and powerfully motivating, sometimes life altering.

Reverend Dr. William F. Schulz, the most recent self-described humanist to serve as President of the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations called this the “apprehension of the holy” and spoke of the holy being “embodied in the abundance of a scarred creation.” One of our church’s values, “Transcendence – To connect with the wonder and awe of the unity of life”, is another way of trying to describe this.

Humanistic psychology’s founder, Abraham Maslow, described essentially the same type of experiences as what he called “peak experiences”, and he believed that they were instances wherein people become maximally what he referred to as “self-actualized”. More recently, researchers have examined similar phenomenon, such as “quantum experiences”, a sort of peak experience that the person evaluates as profound in a life changing way, and “flow” experiences, a sense of timelessness and ultimate fit in the universe.

You probably remember that Maslow was the creator of the pyramid or hierarchy of human needs. In Maslow’s hierarchy, as our basic needs, such as food, water and shelter get met, we move up through successions of higher level needs. Finally, if each of the preceding levels of needs have all been met, human development results in our fulfilling our highest need, self-actualization. He described self-actualized people as, creative, fulfilled, fully alive, connected with something larger, dedicated to justice, compassionate, playful – well, basically what most Unitarian Universalists want to be when we grow up.

Maslow described these characteristics as “Being-values” and found that they were parts of the knowledge people reported carrying forward from within their peak experiences. He found descriptions of such experiences across all cultures and within all of the world’s major religions.

Maslow thought that peak experiences were random occurrences of self-actualization that arise when uncontrollable life events happen to push us into a moment of such self-actualization. In fact, he said, “In general, we are ‘Surprised by Joy’. Peaks come unexpectedly…. you can’t count on them. And hunting them is like hunting happiness. It’s best not done directly. It comes as a by-product, an epiphenomenon, for instance, of doing a fine job at a worthy task you can identify with”. Thus, he did not think we could induce our own experience of the holy; although, he did seem to think that self-actualized people might be more likely to have peak moments.

Recent research has found that Maslow was only partially right – that there may be a neurobiological mechanism behind peak experiences that can be activated not only by random life events of being “surprised by joy” but also though meditation and other forms of what I will call spiritual ritual and practice. Using a brain scanning technique called Single Photon Emission Computed Tomography or SPECT, researchers examined brain activity in a group of experienced meditators. What they found is that while meditating, particularly at the point of reaching a deep meditative state, wherein the meditators reported experiencing a sense of universal connectedness, a peak experience, there was decreased activity in the areas of the brain normally associated with a sense of ones own body image and with the sense of the time and space one inhabits.

Could this explain the experience of the holy? Could this elucidation of a potential biological mechanism behind our peak experiences mean that such experiences are really just delusions?

Further research examined long-term meditators and found that their brain patterns, even in a non-meditative state, were different from the patterns in people who do not meditate. The researchers also found that the brain patterns during meditation were different from those induced by dream states, as well as different from those associated with delusions, including delusions with religious themes. In fact, they reported that, unlike people who experience a delusion, people who have these peak experiences articulate them as hyperlucid and MORE real than their normal state.

This has led some to question a purely reductionist interpretation of the SPECT research as failing to explain the whole of the experience – to find yet more awe and mystery in the fact the we appear to be biologically equipped with the capacity to experience the holy.

The SPECT researchers themselves, taking perhaps a more postmodern viewpoint, stated “…spiritual or mystical states of reality recalled in the baseline state as more certainly representing an objective condition than what is represented in the sensorium of the baseline state must be considered real”. Whew! In other words, intellectual investigation alone cannot reveal the experience itself. Knowing the potential mechanism may not fully explain — or explain away — the phenomenon — or epiphenomenon, as Maslow put it.

Beyond this, there is also evidence that peak experiences can be beneficial. Studies have found that meditation and other spiritual rituals can reduce anxiety and stress, even blood pressure, not only in the moment, but also over the longer-term. Even more fascinating, research has shown that peak experiences can lead to what some psychologists have termed “quantum change” – a sudden shift in one’s values from things like achievement, fitting in, attractiveness, career, wealth and power to values such as peace, humility, spirituality, forgiveness, growth, creativity and generosity.

It appears Maslow’s theory about “Being Values” and self-actualization may have been correct. Perhaps, we should lock our political and economic leaders in a retreat center and tell them “we will not let you out until you have experienced the holy!”

More and more, I have come to believe that we do enjoy Emerson’s “original relation with the universe”. I have had too many of these experiences to answer otherwise and believe that they can have profound implications for how we live our lives – how we are ABLE to live our lives.

I’ve known the movement toward wholeness and self-actualization, the shift in values, that can occur in these experiences, but this knowing comes from within the experience of the holy itself and is a knowledge that like other people, I have trouble expressing in normal, everyday language. I’m struggling to express it now.

Maybe I can come closest though, by sharing one of these peak moments that, for me, led to a beneficial change in life direction, even though it occurred during a time that was contained a sense of sadness over an anticipated loss. Maybe, it is the sharing of these experiences, no matter how difficult it is to find an adequate vocabulary for describing them that allows us to bring forward those “Being-values” that Maslow talked about.

My parents divorced when my brother and sister and I were very young, so my maternal grandparents became more like a second set of parents to us. They helped raise us while my mother worked often long hours. They were our role models and always instilled in us a sense of worth, value and respect for ourselves and for others. I owe much of the adult I became to them.

Later, they welcomed my partner, Wayne, into our family with great love and genuine warmth. In fact, my grandmother always called us “her boys”, even long after a time where either of us could claim any resemblance to the term. However, we had never discussed the … exact nature … of our relationship with my grandparents. My Grandfather was a deacon in the First Baptist Church of Groves, Texas, after all. Still, to their great credit, they treated us both with genuine love, even if it was never openly discussed.

After my grandfather died, my grandmother only lived two more years. Wayne and I were visiting her in the hospital for what we all knew would likely be the last time – she had congestive heart failure and had decided against any more medical intervention after having been in and out of the hospital too many times, after deciding to let go with grace and dignity.

As we said our goodbyes and prepared to leave, she took us both by the hand and said, “Take care of each other.”

Then she locked her eyes with mine.

It was only a moment, maybe even less. Just an instant.

In that instant, we knew as much love as it is possible for human beings to comprehend — more love than the mere humans in the room could contain. The love rushed forth, sweeping us into a different state of experience, spreading us out into an ever expanding way of being, permeating us with all that is holy.

In that instant, we experienced existing in connection with, being one with, not just each other, but with all that has ever been and ever will be. In that instant, we experienced existing in all times and all places at once and yet outside of linear time and in no material space at all.

For an instant, we knew all that we would ever need to know.

I still carry something of that knowledge with me now, but in fragments, in smaller pieces of understanding, because the knowing that occurs during these experiences is a knowing that is outside our usual language of thinking and emotions. That is why it is so hard to express our experiences of the holy to others.

Perhaps, it is a level of understanding that occurs in a more fundamental, yet more encompassing language; a knowing that exists in a language we can only rarely fully access – a language that we have sometimes called, “God”.

Still, I believe those smaller pieces of understanding we are able to retain are important, because they are the burning embers that have the potential to spark further peak experiences and quantum change — what we call in our church’s values, “transformation — to pursue the growth that changes our lives and heals our world”.

I wonder, since research has shown that these peak experiences can lead to a shift in our values, if it is possible that the reverse is also true. I wonder if, combined with spiritual practice, living those values can help us experience the holy more and more, further reinforcing and deepening those same values? I wonder if living lives of transcendence, compassion and courage, if gathering in community to nourish souls, transform lives and do justice wouldn’t be the ultimate experience of the holy?

I say we find out! Let’s conduct our own experiment by bringing our best translation of that “language of mystery and awe”, our values and mission, into a growing, vital, thriving reality.

I invite us to actualize the Holy in our lives — to actively seek connection with something larger than ourselves, to continuously expand our hearts and minds.

I invite us to embrace our original relation with the universe.

Benediction

In “Our Humanist Legacy”, Rev. Dr. William F. Schulz wrote: “What is of supreme importance is that I live my life in a posture of gratitude-that I recognize my existence and, indeed, Being itself, as an unaccountable blessing, a gift of grace. Sometimes, it is helpful to call the source or fact of that grace God and sometimes not. But what is always helpful and absolutely necessary is to look kindly on the world, to be bold in pursuit of its repair, and to be comfortable in the embrace of its splendor. I know no better term for what I seek than an encounter with the Holy.”

May we each go forth and encounter the holy in our world, be open to its presence in our lives — however we may know it.

Amen.

Beyond Categorical Thinking

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers

Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Rev. Keith Kron

UUA Director of  Ministerial Transition

January 23, 2011

You can listen to the sermon by clicking the play button at the bottom of the page.

Reading

“Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two and one.

And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t.

You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today.

And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are – underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid and that’s the part of you that’s still ten.

Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mother’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five.

And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like you’re three, and that’s okay.

That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next. That’s how being eleven years old is.

You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say “Eleven” when they ask you.

And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.

Reading

“The Possum” by Cynthia Rylant

from The Van Gogh Cafe

Kansas is not what one would call picturesque. It is flat. So flat it could make some people a little crazy, people who need a hill now and then to keep their balance. But in Kansas at least things get noticed. The flatness makes everything count and not one thing slips by. That is why, if a possum was going to choose to hang upside down somewhere, Kansas would be a good choice. People would notice. And if the possum chose to hang outside the window of the Van Gogh Cafe in Flowers… well then, everyone would start talking about magic. And that would be good for the possum, too.

The Van Gogh Cafe is owned by a young man named Marc and his daughter, Clara. Clara is one reason for all of the magic in the cafe. She is ten and believes anything might happen.

Marc and Clara open up the cafe at six every morning except Sundays, when they sleep until ten. Clara takes breakfast orders for MarcÑwho is the cookÑfor half an hour on school mornings, then she goes to their apartment across the street to get ready for school. Clara likes taking orders because everyone is sleepy and sweet and all they want in the world is a cup of coffee, please. Clara thinks morning is the kindest time of day.

Most of the people who come to the Van Gogh Cafe are Flowers people and know each other: “Hi Ray.” “Hello, Roy.” But sometimes someone is new, for Flowers sits near I-70, which people take when they are escaping from an old life in the East to a new life in the West or the other way around. Clara has met many people between six and six-thirty on their way to something new.

But she has not met a possum until today. Today is Saturday and she’s working a couple extra hours for her father, and it is eight o’clock in the morning when suddenly a possum is hanging upside down in the tree outside the cafe window. Right on Main Street. A minute ago it wasn’t there and now it is.

Clara sees it first: Look, there’s a possum. Coffee cups go down, heads turn, and outside a little gray possum enjoys being noticed. It scratches its nose and blinks its eyes and stares back at all the faces.

No one sitting down can say hello to a possum. So everyone in the cafe gets up and stands in front of the window. Now, this is the magic of the Van Gogh Cafe: not one person says, “Amazing! A possum upside down on Main Street!” No, everyone is not all that surprised. They, like Clara, have come to believe anything might happen, because they have been having breakfast at the Van Gogh Cafe all their lives.

What they do say is, “Hi.” Many of them wave. Ray asks Roy what possums eat. And, with their usual curiosity about every new person in Flowers, they all say, “Wonder where he’s from?”

Well, it’s hard to know a possum’s story before he does something magical, but after he does, there’s story and more to tell.

One of the first stories is that the possum starts coming back to the Van Gogh Cafe every day. Eight in the morning, he’s up in the tree.

But that’s a small story.

The possum begins to attract people, and this is the bigger story because he attracts people who haven’t been getting along. Best friends who had a fight the day before: today they’re standing on the sidewalk next to the possum. The possum is hanging upside down and blinking, and the two friends are talking, and suddenly they’ve got their arms around each other and are coming into the cafe for some pie.

A young husband and wife: the day before they’re yelling in the front yard, the next day they’re kissing beside the possum.

Two neighbors: the day before they’re arguing about loud music, the next day the possum is watching them shake hands.

The story becomes even bigger when people start bringing food out of the Van Gogh Cafe, food for the possum. Half an English muffin here, two pieces of oven-fried potatoes there, a cup of milk. They can’t help themselves; they want to give it some food. The possum isn’t hungry. But a stray dog from the other end of town is, and he starts stopping by for breakfast. So does a thin cat and two baby kittens. And a shy small mouse. Several sparrows. Even a deer.

And this goes on for a while until the biggest story happens. A story that will enter quietly into the walls of the cafe and become part of its magic.

For a man whose wife has died drives through Flowers, Kansas, one morning on his way to something new. He is sad. He really isn’t sure where he’s going.

But passing the Van Gogh Cafe, he sees the possum. He sees the possum and he sees all the hungry animals standing beneath it, eating the scraps of muffins and potatoes. And the man sees something else there, too, something no one has seen until now. And because of what he sees, he turns his car around and drives back where he belongs, back to his farm, which he turns into a home for stray animals, animals who come to him and take away his loneliness.

Since that day the possum at the Van Gogh Cafe has disappeared. One minute it was there, the next minute it wasn’t.

But the customers still bring food out of the cafe every morning, leaving scraps beneath the tree in case anyone hungry happens by. There is always a new stray dog, a new thin cat, sparrows.

Clara is not surprised the possum has gone away. Things are always changing at the Van Gogh Cafe, and something new is sure to happen soon. Perhaps when the silent movie star arrives…

Sermon

The Van Gogh Cafe

Not surprisingly I was unpacking children’s books at the time.

My principal, Jay Jordan, walked into my classroom and closed the door. He surveyed my room and shook his head, definitely a Keith Kron fourth grade classroom–a few books here (well, more than a few books), a few chairs there, two bulletin boards scattered all over the floor, my desk already swamped with papers. And school would not start for two days yet.

We looked at each other, and I knew I was at the OK Corral. I wasn’t sure what I was about to be shot for, but I knew something was up.

Perhaps you have seen the face and fidgeting of a nine-year-old child who lied to you twenty minutes before about having to go to the rest room and now really needed to go. My principal looked somewhat less composed than that.

He asked me if I had gotten his message from the day before about wanting to talk to him about something. I told him I had. Silence. More fidgeting. I began to have an inkling about what this conversation was going to be about.

“I am glad we’re on your turf,” Jay said. He looked at me for a minute. I nodded. Silence. Jay took a breath.

“You know Tristan Burke is no longer on your class list.” I nodded again.

“His mother made me take him out of your class.” Jay looked down and then back up. I nodded again. Tristan’s mother was president of the PTA that year. I only vaguely knew who Tristan was–and the only thing I knew about him was that he was the most effeminate boy I had encountered in five years of teaching.

“His mother made me take him out of your class because she says she knows you’re a homosexual. I don’t know how she knows it, but she knows it.” Jay looked at me. I looked at him and could see the wheels spinning in his head. I would wonder later if he could see the wheels spinning in mine.

Fortunately, and sadly, I had prepared for this moment. I had no doubts it would come at some point. Years of thinking about it had almost kept me from going into teaching, but the call to teach had won out.

I knew to say nothing. I knew to wait to be asked, then I would answer yes, and only then. I raised my eyebrows back at him. More silence. Part of me was hoping he would ask, that I would be given an opportunity to tell him, that I could finally tell my story.

He didn’t ask. He broke the silence. “This is ridiculous. You’re not the type to harm children.”

We looked at each other. I nodded quietly, realizing the support I was getting. It was a bittersweet moment for both of us. Jay finally mumbled, “I shouldn’t have pulled him out of your class.”

“She would have made your year horrible. Mine, too, for that matter.” I paused. “It’s okay.”

Jay nodded quietly back at me.

“We did reading groups today. Tristan will be in my class for reading. It’s an hour each day.” My voice trailed off.

Jay was firmer now. “You’ll get my backing. She’ll just have to deal with it. There’s another parent concerned too. I’ll deal with him too. We won’t talk about this again.” Jay surveyed my room.

“Now get this room cleaned up. I don’t know how you are going to be ready to teach in two days.” He spun on his heels and turned toward the door. He opened it and turned to me.

“I’m glad we did this on your turf,” he repeated.

He looked at me one last time, tried to smile, and left, closing the door behind him.

For the next four years, I never heard any of those complaints again. Tristan and I got along famously. I invited his mother into my reading class to help out when she could. She did, and we laughed a lot together. From me she learned the fine art of teasing children–and probably a few other things.

It occurs to me to tell you why I am here–why I do the work now as Director of the Office of Bisexual, Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender Concerns for our Unitarian Universalist Association–and not teaching fourth grade anymore.

I left because I was afraid.

It is more than being found out and fired because I was a known homosexual, though that’s certainly part of it. The longer I stuck around the greater the odds were that my private life would become public knowledge.

My parents, who have not used the words “gay” or “homosexual” in the twenty plus years I have been out to them, are a part of this story too. My dad was a principal in the same school system as I, and my mother taught first grade in Lexington as well. I never had the opportunity to think of fighting this battle alone, and my folks had given a lifetime of modeling to know how to overprotect people. Any public battle I chose there would have included them.

I lived four lives in Lexington, Kentucky. I lived a work life where I loved the work of teaching elementary school. I lived a family life where I had dinner with my folks once a week, visited my grandmother a lot, and overspent on my young relatives at Christmas. I lived a gay life where I hung out with friends, led a support group, and played volleyball. I lived a religious life where I sat on every committee in my home UU congregation and moved on to district and denominational work beyond that.

I even managed to begin to see some overlapping. Certainly my work life and family life overlapped some. And as I came out in church, my gay life and my religious life began to merge. I worked very hard at making my church a welcoming place for gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. I worked very hard at bringing gays, lesbians, and bisexuals into my church. And it happened.

It happened in part because I started telling stories in church. I was able to tell the story about having a crush on Mr. Gardner, my high school drama teacher, and then telling him about it. I was able to tell the story of being in very Southern Baptist church as a teenager and having my “Anita Bryant” type Sunday school teacher ask me if I agreed with her that homosexuals were sick people.

I was able to tell the story of coming out to my parents and having my father ask me if I was going to molest children while my mother cried. I was able to tell the story of meeting a Unitarian Universalist minister in a gay bar and that’s how I became a Unitarian Universalist.

I was becoming aware that not only could I be eleven and ten and nine and eight and seven and six and five and four and three and two and one, but I could talk about them as well. You see, my real fear was not that someone like my principal would ask me if I was gay, would ask me my story. My real fear is that I would never get to tell it.

This is what the radical right wants–to control our society so that only certain approved stories can be told.

I was afraid I would never get to have a life. I was afraid I would always have four of them.

My fear was not that my private life would become public knowledge. My fear was either that it never would, or it would happen only on someone else’s terms.

When I hear people say they want to make sure they have a private life and a public life, I wonder, “Do they really want two lives?” Categories for human beings are really a bad idea.

I think I learned that during my conversation with my principal.

As an aside, I do understand that people are talking about control and choice when they make the point about having a private life. I’m all for that. I just believe human beings do better when they only have one life to juggle. It’s more than enough to do.

So it was after this conversation with my principal when I began to know the need to make a change. I looked around me and became sadly aware of the number of people leading more than one life at a time.

My teaching colleague who had been married to a man with a sexual addiction for children.

My father who tried to pretend he never had a father and never talked, or talks, about him.

My friend Steve who quit playing the piano because he became a librarian.

My friend Saundra who told no one about her live-in boyfriend, Dick.

All of these people and so many more who never got to be eleven. It was hardest for me to see in the children I taught. Children who came to school and then went home and cooked and cleaned for younger brothers and sisters. Children who knew they could not fail. Children who went home to wars. And by the time they were nine years old they knew to keep these lives quiet.

Religious Educator Maria Harris talks about implicit education–what is taught without saying it. I knew I was implicitly teaching these children to have more than one life. There had to be a better way.

I looked at how I might make it a better way. I learned of cities that had nondiscrimination policies for teachers. I did not trust that those were real.

I looked at the amount of work I had to do. And I thought about the fact that I often spent more time documenting what I taught and how I taught it and who was there to hear it, than I did actually getting to teach.

So I decided to look elsewhere. The person I saw doing the most teaching was my minister and the other ministers I knew. And they didn’t have to fill out report cards either.

I remembered Jesus was a teacher in many ways. Rabbis consider themselves as teachers. I watched the UU ministers I knew and I watched the way they taught the people around them–by telling stories, often their stories.

At the same time I was leading homophobia workshops in UU congregations–not how to have more of it, mind you, but how to have less. I learned quickly three things about teaching adults.

1) They don’t necessarily have longer attention spans than children. They just do a better job of faking. Usually engaging people on an emotional level increases their attentiveness.

2) Adult learning is as much about unlearning as it is about learning.

3) The product isn’t nearly as important as the process.

So how do you teach people to be less homophobic? You are explicitly teaching them about homophobia. You are implicitly teaching them about vulnerability.

That’s where the possum shows up. That’s where the magic happens. As people let themselves become more vulnerable, they become stronger and less homophobic. I did this through telling stories–sometimes my stories. And I was blessed with the stories of others.

I saw the possibility for having one life.

A friend of mine from seminary and I were talking one day and she said you could learn a fair amount about a person by asking them these four questions:

1) When did you stop singing?

2) When did you stop dancing?

3) When did you stop playing?

4) When did you stop telling your story?

For the record, I stopped singing in third grade in music class when Mrs. Rice told me I couldn’t sing–though I still hum to myself when I think no one is looking.

I still go dancing.

I still play.

And as I told my friend, “It’s more a matter of when I started telling my story than when I stopped.”

I stopped telling my story at fourteen. It would be ten years later that I started telling some of my stories again. It’s only been in the last few years that I’ve not had to figure out what story I could tell where.

Like the story of the possum, one story leads to another. And when we hear our story in another’s story, well, that’s the magic. That’s when we encounter mystery.

What are your stories? Have you stopped telling them? Do you only tell them in certain places, in certain lives? How well do you know the stories of those around you? The stories in this room–your stories–are magical. I hope you are not afraid to tell them. They are your life and they let you be fully eleven or whatever age you are.

A final story from the Van Gogh Cafe’ and then I will close.

It is winter at the cafe’.

Marc is in the back cooking, though the restaurant is empty. Clara is putting napkins into the napkin holder when a man walks in. He is tall and slender and moves like water. He is strikingly handsome and a fabulous dresser. Black cloak, black cashmere scarf, black wool gloves, black cane.

His white hair sets it off perfectly. He must be 90. Clara takes his order.

“Tea, plain. Boiled egg, please. Thank you.”

Clara thinks there is something romantic about him.

After his food is served, Marc comes out looking for his watch. He looks around and sees the man. Marc stops what he is doing and stares. He is staring because he knows who this elegant man in the cafe’ is.

He is a star.

Clara doesn’t know, of course. She has watched the old movies with her father, but, except for Chaplin, doesn’t know their names. Only their movements.

And it is perhaps the way the elegant man has moved through the cafe’ that reminds her of something she has seen before. Reminds everyone. But none can quite place the memory.

The breakfast hours pass and people go their way, to work, to the mall at the edge of town, back home.

But the elegant man stays on. He has hardly touched his egg. His teacup is still half full. The door of the Van Gogh Cafe’ opens and closes, opens and closes, and he stays on looking out the window.

Marc cannot help himself. When there is no one left in the cafe’ except the silent star, Marc walks over to his table. Clara, curious, shyly follows.

Marc offers his hand and the man gracefully takes it. They shake.

“I know you work,” Mark says softly. “I love it. I love all your films.”

Clara’s eyes are wide. She has not known until know that a star is in her cafe’. The old man blushes and smiles.

“Thank you,” he says.

There is an awkward moment, then graciously, he offers Marc and Clara the two empty chairs at his table. Happily, they sit.

Marc and the silent star talk about the old films as Clara listens. There is an innocence in her father’s face she has not seen before. He is like a boy. The silent star seems pleased, quietly thrilled, to talk of his work with someone who who understands so well–to finally tell his story. He laughs and sighs and even trembles slightly, reliving it all.

There is a moment or two when each is quiet, catching a breath.

“Why, sir, are you at the Van Gogh Cafe’?” Marc gently asks. Clara waits.

The old man seems glad someone has asked. He reaches into his coat and pulls forth an old photograph. He hands it first to Clara, then to Marc.

It is of a beautiful young man in a waistcoat and top hat, standing before an old theater. Marc looks carefully at the building in the picture.

“Is this…?”

“Yes,” replies the silent star.

The building is the Van Gogh Cafe. In 1923. When it was a theater.

“He and I did some shows here together, the summer we met.” The silent star smiles and puts the photograph back inside his coat.

“Today I am waiting for him,” he says.

Clara’s heart is pounding. She feels that she herself is in a movie. Every gesture the man makes, each word he speaks is so beautiful to her. She knows the cafe remembers this man. She can feel it drawing in to him, reaching for this man who has been a part of its first magic, on the stage of the old theater.

Oddly, not one person has walked into the cafe to break this spell.

Marc offers the star a fresh cup of tea and a piece of apple pie, which is gratefully accepted. Then Marc and Clara leave the old man to his waiting.

The lunch hours come and go. Then the dinner hours. The silent star waits. Occasionally Clara or Marc offer him something, but he politely declines. And they find themselves watching the window, watching the door, for a beautiful young man in a top hat and waistcoat

Finally, it is time to close and still the old man is waiting. He seems very tired now. But unworried. He asks Marc if he might sit by the window a little longer

“Of course,” says Marc, though he offers his guest room to the man, offers to take him home for the evening and return him to the table by the window the next day.

But the man is certain his friend is coming very soon.

“Very soon,” he says.

So Marc takes Clara home and returns to the cafe a few hours later, to check on the old man.

At first Marc thinks the man is asleep. Then Marc realizes that he has died. In the old man’s hand, Marc finds a newspaper clipping, cracked and yellow. The clipping shows the face of the beautiful young man in top hat and waistcoat. It reports that he has drowned, in 1926.

And in the old man’s other hand is the same photograph that Marc and Clara were shown. But now the photograph is changed. The beautiful young man is gone, and there is only a soft empty light where he was standing.

Marc and Clara keep the photograph and the newspaper clipping inside a small box near the cash register, and on Christmas Eve when everything is quiet, they look at these again. They each think how perfect that the silent star has died where he found his true love. That he came to the Van Gogh Cafe and waited for his friend to take him home.

Whatever forces are against you, whatever pain and suffering is yours, whatever joy you have, whatever your story is, my wish for you is that you share your story whenever and wherever you choose–whether you are 11 or 90 or somewhere in between.

Sing. Dance. Play. Tell your stories. Listen to the stories of others. Live your one life. Feel. Feel its magic.

A Unitarian Universalist View of Prayer

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers, Nell Newton, Sermons

Nell Newton

November 28, 2010

Do you pray? Really?

Is there “something” you do – almost automatically – in certain situations?

I mean, outside of the times, when midway through our service we are invited to “join in an attitude of prayer” and someone reads something worthy of pondering. Do you really pray? Or do you just adopt an attitude?

If you do pray, would you admit it to anyone else — to the person sitting next to you in these pews? Would you tell me?

Our practice has no fixed liturgy of prayer. We have no cannon, no formal recitation of holy words to use in times of turmoil to calm our hearts, or focus our thoughts. If you walk into any Unitarian or Universalist church in North America, you will not hear the same words spoken in the same way at the same part of a service. We have no shared doxology for giving thanks or acknowledging blessings. We have freed ourselves from any requirements that would dictate how and when, or even IF we should pray. And, for the most part we seem to be getting along okay.

In fact, some of us are probably pretty glad to be done with certain prayers. (Our father who art in heaven… hmmmm…, lift up his countenance… uh hunh… , and it is in dying that we…. hmmmm….) It well might have been in the middle of a standard prayer that you stumbled, and were caught up short when you realized I Cannot Say That And Mean It.

So what DO we say?

Maybe we don’t. Maybe prayer isn’t a part of your life. Maybe, you are a pragmatic person like my Aunt Ruth. Ruth lives outside a small town in southern Michigan. While her family is not particularly religious, plenty of her neighbors attend the many Christian churches. One day, while fixing supper for her family, Ruth collapsed on the kitchen floor in an epileptic seizure. It was a one-time thing, it never happened again. But it meant countless trips to medical specialists, and the inconvenience of losing her drivers license for a whole year. After the initial scare, she heard from too many members of the community “Oh Ruth, we’re praying for you.” It wore on her patience. She told me “I don’t want their damn prayers – I want someone to help me pick up my kids from school and take me grocery shopping!” Like I said, she is a pragmatic woman.

At its worst, “We’re praying for you” carries a whiff of condescension. As if the speaker can plainly see from your sorry condition, that your own prayers have been insufficient, so they’ll lend you some of theirs.

Perhaps that is why UU’s tend to shy away from that particular exchange.

From the get-go, that type of prayer is beseeching and calling upon a god for intervention or intercession. Could you lend me a hand down here? In its most immature, prayer is wishing – wishing for a puppy, a sparkly pony, a good grade on the test. Up one level comes the bargaining – “I’ll give up cussing and taking your name in vain if only you’ll…” And many of the wordiest of prayers amount to flattery: “Oh all powerful and merciful god…” The speaker is but a humble servant buttering up a vain and capricious deity. I’ve had some bosses like that, and, for me, such a character is not a god worth serving.

So we’ve grown up and we’re past the wheedling and pleading prayers. We’re not waiting for god to bring about changes we’re not ready to make for ourselves. We know better than to bargain with the universe. If we are going to make a personal connection to a greater power, it better be one we respect. And for several of us, god simply does not fit into a deity-box. And that’s where it gets a little complicated… To what address should we send such messages?

And what do we say – almost reflexively, after the first gasp of sadness follows bad news? What do we say when someone has had a loss – a death – and there is nothing one can do. And yet there is the wish to affirm for that person’s well-being and the longing to offer healing. These are the times when prayer would be a traditional response. What do we say when our heart is pained with sympathy? Do you have prayers to offer? Would you consider them of any value to offer?

I’ll stop asking you questions and quickly tell you straight up. I do pray. And it is a physical and quiet practice with almost no words – only names. Each day I pray specifically for a family I know. Earlier this year Jim died from a brain tumor. He left behind his wife and teenage sons who now must reconstruct their lives without him. Each day I still my body, clear my head, and think of each one of them completely, and open my heart to hold them all. Do they know about this? No. Should they? No. Do my prayers have any effect upon them? Honestly, that’s not the point. But this action keeps them present in my life, and makes it easier for me to pick up the phone, invite them over to dinner, offer to pick the kids up from music lessons, and be of some real use.

Frankly, the efficacy of prayer has yet to be proven definitively. There have been assorted studies that mostly show the placebo effect is alive and well. Many have tried to measure change in patient outcome following intercessionary prayer, and when the double-blind data is reviewed, prayer does not seem to improve the sick people who are prayed for.

But like so many studies, I wonder if the researchers were measuring the right part of the process. Perhaps, rather than measure the outcome of the people prayed for, perhaps we should measure the outcome of the people who are praying for someone else. Or we might examine the outcome of the family members who know their loved one received prayers.

Reverend Ed Brock told me how upon the death of his wife’s mother their family received many kindnesses from friends. The most unusual was a special gift made by two nuns they know professionally. They sent a card that said, in effect, we have made a gift to a convent in upstate New York and for a year the sisters in this convent will give payers for your family.

There was nothing in the note suggesting a wish for conversion, or that the prayers would produce any specific outcome. But to Ed and Alphise it seemed like and felt like an act of love. The idea that out there, amid the crazy frenzy of society, a group of people somewhere were simply mentioning her name daily — that idea was powerful. It wasn’t the potential supernatural dimension, but the caring dimension that touched them.

There is the other type of common prayer – the act of giving thanks. As Meister Eckhart explained “If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is “thank you,” that would suffice.”

My favorite instruction came from my Korean martial arts master who was raised in a Buddhist temple. In his broken English, he scolded us: “Before you eat the pig, thank the pig! Because, if they could, the pig’s family would sue you!!”

As UU’s we’re a bit more comfortable here. Giving thanks doesn’t presume that we’re flawed, or helpless, just appreciative and observant. And we can be munificent in our thanks to the animal, the farmer, the cook!

In stopping to give thanks, we allow ourselves a moment to experience beauty and bounty more fully. Who wouldn’t want to spend time in this type of prayer? But do we – other than for formal occasions? Do you offer thanks over the morning’s oatmeal or the leftovers eaten at your desk? Have your kids ever seen you pause at breakfast on Tuesday and say “thank you” before the fork touches the food? What would that be like? Are you really up for three-squares of thankfulness every day?

Years ago, I worked as the Kitchen Manager and cook at a Quaker residential house on Beacon Hill in Boston. It was the Quaker custom of that community to have a good solid minute of silence before we ate our evening meal. There was nothing structured and no one led us with instructions or guidance through that silence. As the cook, it was generally the first time I had sat down in 6 hours and the first few times, if god spoke to me it was through bone-deep fatigue and if I gave thanks it was for the chair under my butt. But in time, I found myself placing a final blessing upon the food. It had passed through my hands, and was about to be received by people (who were grateful that they had not had to cook), and who would use the energy it gave them to study medicine, choreograph new dances, arrange flowers, build houses, and change their world. Eventually I found whole afternoons of chopping onions, crimping pie crusts, washing pots became an extended action of prayer. Living in an intentional community can do that sort of thing to an impressionable young person.

However, these days, I’m like most folks, hurrying to fix dinner, with NPR telling me about the horrible state of the world. I snap off the radio and fling the food at my tired and surly family who generally do not bother to thank me, the pig, the farmer, or anyone else. It is not ideal, but at least we have a place to work up from…

Just as many UUs have started to reclaim the language of god-talk, some of us are starting to reclaim prayer on our own terms. Perhaps there was a baby in that bathwater. But to rescue it we’ll have to do more than simply deconstruct or demythologize the practice. In short, to understand it, we’ll have to do it.

One splendid Unitarian Universalist woman I know set out to develop her own ritual of prayer and tied it to her every day. She turned some of her daily actions into sacred rituals. Each morning, first thing, she scoops up a handful of birdseed and steps out onto her patio. She scatters the seed in a small mandala marking the four directions and recites a scrap of a Navajo prayer “There is beauty before me, there is beauty behind me.” She fills in her circle with peanuts for the blue jays, and pauses just long enough to feel connected with nature. Then, every evening, after the dishes are done, and the dog is walked, she stops and simply gives thanks for her guardians who have helped her that day. She calls for blessings on her children and grandchildren. She calls for blessings upon her animal companions and asks that the presence of love be with people she knows who are having troubles in their lives. This is simply what she does.

I came to prayer sideways – through meditation. They aren’t the same thing, but they improve one another. In meditation, a person looks inward to consider their actions and find where they might be wanting. Once the internal landscape has been surveyed, then the individual is ready to connect to the outer in prayer. Many time I found that I might dive down into meditation only to rise up in prayer — prayers of resolve and prayers of remembrance — prayers of thanks and prayers of acceptance. Sometimes a deity is referenced, and sometimes not. And that last detail, so far, has not proven injurious to my health, or limited the usefulness of the practice.

When I pray, I am not asking for anything, I am not expecting any change in the world, only a change in myself. If I surrender anything, I offer up my ego and selfishness, and invite Grace to enter and fill that space. And afterwards, I take my changed self forward, with that small spark of the divine inside me, burning just a bit brighter.

So, how do you pray? How might you take old words and blow new breath into them? Have you created a ritual and observed any changes within you? When faced with a crisis, would you have the humility and trust to open up and allow a caring person to pray with you, to help fan your divine spark so that it might burn a little brighter as you go forward to face what you must?

Now, I have an assignment for us here. You see, this topic is too big for one sermon and I need your help.

Honestly, I suspect that many of you do pray, in your own fashion, and for your own purposes. Being the humble and private people you are, I’ll predict yours are humble, private, prayers. But, if you could, please tell me about them. Tell me how you might have retained or reclaimed prayer. Where it fits in your day, and what you say when life rises up and threatens to overwhelm you. Tell me about it. And in another couple of months, I’d like to be back up here, and I’d like to share some of your stories about prayer.

Until then, if prayer isn’t in your life, be a diligent UU and at least question why. And then question “why” again. For those who would consider “why not?” may I invite you to bring along your god, your breath, and your willingness to be changed.

Blessed Be

© Nell Newton 11/28/2010

Unmasking Courage

by Posted in Audio available, Chris Jimmerson, Guest Speakers, Sermons

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Chris Jimmerson

October 31, 2010

Happy Halloween! One of Halloween’s main themes is fear. On this Halloween, what do Unitarian Universalists fear as a religious community and where do we find courage, one of our churches values, in the face of those fears?

I’ve been studying our earliest Unitarian predecessors and have found in their stories remarkable examples of courage – courage in a religious context, what we might call “spiritual courage”. So, I’ll ask you to indulge me for a bit, as we travel back to the 16th century, Reader’s Digest version.

Very frightening things are happening. The Gutenberg press has allowed for the wide scale printing of the bible, so people outside the Catholic Church hierarchy can actually read it! The protestant reformation has begun. The Renaissance in literature, arts and sciences has begun. Those scary Humanists have started studying things. Now, all of this is a great threat to the Catholic Church, so the Inquisition is in full force also.

It is a time when the power and wealth of governments and that of the Church are tightly intertwined, and biblical interpretation, doctrine, has been a major role of the Church in this power structure.

So, to protect their own influence (not to mention to avoid becoming victims of the inquisition themselves), the leaders of the larger reformation movements have expressed their differences with the church as points of practice, not essential doctrine.

Into this volatile situation, a book appears, On the Errors of the Trinity, by a Spanish Scholar in his early twenties named Michael Servetus, questioning one of the sacred creeds of the Church – God in Trinity; the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

The year was 1531, and young Servetus had published his book hoping to convert the Reformers to his position that there was but one eternal God. His hopes were dashed. The Reformers quickly reaffirmed the Trinity. After trying and failing again with a second book, Servetus realized his books had put him in danger, changed his name and went into hiding in Lyons, France. He eventually become a medical doctor and is even mentioned in medical history texts for having elucidated the pulmonary circulatory system – like a good proto-Unitarian, he couldn’t be satisfied with only one field of excellence.

However, also like a good proto-Unitarian, Servetus had a little trouble letting go of things, and so, 15 years later, in 1546, he began another book AND, using his assumed name, struck up a correspondence debating theology with none other than John Calvin, the influential Protestant reformer who had established a powerbase in Geneva.

Calvin was courteous at first but quickly grew exasperated and sent Servetus his own views, as set out in Calvin’s, “Institutes of the Christian Religion”.

Upon receiving Calvin’s seminal book, Servetus responded with one of the first recorded instances of a long and beloved religious tradition still practiced in Unitarian Universalist churches across North America even today. He scribbled disparaging notes in the margins on where he thought Calvin was wrong and sent it back to him.

This may not have been wise.

An incensed Calvin, realizing he had actually been corresponding with Servetus, wrote to a friend that if Servetus should ever come to Geneva “I will not suffer him to get out alive”.

In 1553, Servetus published his new book, “The Restoration of Christianity”. By April 4 of 1553, the French Inquisition had arrested and jailed Michael Servetus for heresy, with evidence for the charge supplied by Calvin.

By April 7, 1553, Servetus had escaped from jail. After convincing the jailer to let him out so he could relieve himself in the jails walled garden, our proto-Unitarian ripped off his nightgown, and fully dressed underneath, scaled the wall and ran away. Inexplicably, he headed to Geneva. This most definitely was not wise.

In Geneva, he was recognized, arrested and convicted of spreading heresy, in a process largely manipulated by Calvin.

On October 27, 1553, Michael Servetus was burned at the stake. They used moist, green wood so that it would burn more slowly and prolong the suffering. They placed a crown sprinkled with gunpowder on his head.

And as the flames grew and the terror consumed him, as flesh was slowly turned to ash, Michael Servetus cried out in agony, but he never renounced his beliefs.

I wonder if today our religious beliefs could cost us our lives, could we summon that kind of courage? If facing that kind of terror, could I? Of course, I’m just speculating, because in modern America, such a situation seems to be a long ago and far away threat.

On September 21, 2005, the DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church received a bomb threat because of their support for marriage equality for gays and lesbians. It would be only one of many such threats against supporters of marriage equality.

On July 27, 2008, Jim David Adkisson walked into the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church and opened fire with a shotgun, murdering two people and injuring several others because “he wanted to kill some liberals”. Not so long ago. Not so far away.

Perhaps the crazed acts of disturbed individuals. Perhaps the consequences of a growing rhetoric of violence over disagreement in “modern” America.

Michael Servetus left two legacies; 1. His execution led to a slow growth in religious tolerance and 2. His writings influenced many to reconsider some of Christianity’s most central doctrines, including the Unitarians in Poland and those in Transylvania.

The histories of both are fascinating and contain lessons in spiritual courage.

The Socinians, as the early Polish Unitarians came to be known, thrived for a while in the 16th century protected by the Polish minor nobility, even establishing their own township. However, it was not to last. The Catholic Counter Reformation, a series of invasions by surrounding peoples and shifts in economic and social influences led to growing persecution, until by 1660, the Socinians faced a choice – recant their beliefs, leave Poland or be but to death.

Many did recant. A few gave up all they owned and left, seeking the freedom to practice their beliefs elsewhere, some eventually joining the Unitarians in Transylvania. After only a little over a century, the Unitarian religious movement in Poland had all but perished.

Again, having to make such a choice – to have to summon the courage to migrate, destitute to a foreign land in order to remain true to our religious convictions – may seem like a distant and remote possibility to us now.

Any yet, thousands of people from throughout the world come to the U.S. every year seeking asylum, having fled religious persecution in their home countries, having made exactly that choice. We imprison most of them as soon as they arrive here and, since 9-11, fewer and fewer are seeing their asylum requests granted, especially those we consider to have the “wrong” religion.

Even closer to home, a group calling themselves “Repent Amarillo” has been attacking our Amarillo UU Fellowship, using techniques learned from the “New Apostolic Reformation”, an international organization that provides training on, quote, “taking communities though militant spiritual warfare techniques” — mapping whole geographic areas to identify where the sinners are located (such as in UU churches apparently) and either convert them or “drive the demons out”. Now in case you’re picturing me wearing a rather large tinfoil hat at this point, consider that, before his disgrace, the Rev. Ted Haggard in Colorado Springs adopted these same techniques to harass people he had decided were witches. Ten of his 15 targets sold their homes and moved away because of the harassment.

Last week, Reverend Brock spoke about America’s rising intolerance toward Muslims. Interesting then, that the Unitarianism that exists in Transylvania today was able to develop in the 16th Century because of the tolerance extended to them by the Sultan of the Islamic Ottoman State and because an intermixing of Islamic and Christian cultures bred an ethos of religious acceptance.

Their history is a long one, and religious tolerance toward the Unitarians in Transylvania has waxed and waned, as governments and societal influences have changed, yet they have persisted, providing us lessons in courage.

One such lesson is that spiritual courage requires standing up for religious tolerance. Our Amarillo Unitarian Universalist Fellowship knows this! You see, on September 11 of this year, the head of Repent Amarillo, part-time Reverend David Grisham, had planned to burn a Koran in a public park. The UU Fellowship organized a counter demonstration.

As the good Reverend doused his copy of the Koran with lighter fluid and held it over a barbeque pit preparing to set it on fire, the counter-protesters held their hands over the pit to stop him. Twenty three year old skateboarder, Jacob Isom, an avowed atheist, came up behind the Reverend, grabbed the book from his hands, said, “Dude, you have no Koran,” and ran away with it.

And so it came to pass that thanks largely to a bunch of Unitarian Universalists and a skateboarding atheist, no holy books were burned in Amarillo Texas that day.

A second lesson is that courage is not always one short act in time – that courage may be required over the long run, in the face of societal challenges and changes. We must practice a vigilant and a persistent courage. Only a few years ago, the Texas State Comptroller at the time, Carole Keeton Strayhorn, some of you may have heard of her, denied non-profit status to the UU church in Denison because they did not have one system of belief.

The Texas State Board of Education has been busily rewriting the rules for our childrens’ textbooks to, among other things, strengthen requirements for teaching the “Christian beliefs of the Founding Fathers” and to deemphasize Thomas Jefferson because he was a deist.

At the national Values Voters summit this year, attended by several of the nation’s most well-known politicians, the following statements were issued: that the U.S. should ban the construction of any new mosques anywhere in America; and that the 1st amendment to the constitution does not justify the separation of church and state.

Of the politicians attending, several of whom stand a chance of becoming our next President, not one of them disavowed these statements.

How are we to have courage in light of such challenges? How we do we avoid becoming discouraged in a culture filled with dogmatism and intolerance?

Well, research has found that practicing small acts of courage in our daily lives, such as reaching out to those with whom we have disagreed, builds confidence and prepares us to act with courage when confronting far greater risks.

Research has also found that discerning our values, and reflecting on them often, provides a higher purpose and the impetus for acting courageously. And this idea of finding courage in our values is why, this Halloween, I have resurrected our Unitarian ancestors; although, saying ancestors is a stretch. For the most part, Unitarianism in the U.S. developed independently of that in Europe. Still, each embraced a set of strikingly kindred core values, a shared religious DNA if you will, which UU historian Earl Wilbur identified as commitment to religious freedom, unrestricted use of reason and tolerance of differing views and practices.

This religious DNA is still a key element in the blueprint for Unitarian Universalism today, when we proclaim, “One religion, many beliefs”, or when we affirm our 4th principle, “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning”. This religious DNA drives our congregation’s support of individual spiritual practice and growth.

You see, this foundational core of our belief system requires that we not only work for religious tolerance in the outside world, but that we practice religious freedom within our very religion itself.

And that is good news. That is a saving message that people, whether secular or spiritual, need in our world today.

It demands that we proactively invite people into a place of spiritual exploration without creedal requirements. It compels us to evangelize. Now, I know this idea of UUs evangelizing is controversial. Nonetheless, I will risk being branded a heretic even among Unitarian Universalists by advocating for evangelizing!

Evangelizing is controversial because we’re afraid of it. We don’t even like the word. For many of us, rightly or wrongly, it carries connotations of an irrational, overly emotional form of religious worship; of fundamentalism and restrictive dogma; of conversion and coercion, promises of heaven and threats of eternal hell.

Those of you who are Star Trek nerds like me will understand when I say that the evangelism practiced by the small-town Baptist church I grew up in felt more like a “church of the Borg” – “Resistance is futile. Freedom is irrelevant. You will be assimilated.”

We are also afraid of evangelism, because if we bring to the world our good news (what evangelize means by the way), people might just join us, we might just grow, and growth means change and change can be scary. We are afraid of it because we are much better at talking about what we do not believe than what we do believe. But what we do not believe is not a saving message. Taking about what we do believe takes a lot more courage, but we might start practicing it with our UU principles or our churches’ values: “We find meaning in acceptance of one another, justice, equity, the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process.”

“We believe there is eternal beauty in transcendence, community, compassion, courage and transformation.”

“We find there is God in the inherent worth and dignity of every person; in the interdependent web of existence of which we are a part.”

Wherever your personal beliefs meet those of our shared religion, that is our faith. Our core values, our religious DNA, will not allow us to keep it to ourselves. As the President of our denomination Rev. Peter Morales so aptly demonstrated in a recent sermon, there is a tremendous need for a safe community within which to explore life’s deeper questions.

After I found this church, I realized that I have been a Unitarian Universalist all of my life and just had never known it. I’ll bet many of you had the same experience or have heard the same thought expressed. Sometimes, we seem almost proud of this, but I think it is heartbreaking. I wonder how many more people have never found community with us because they have never heard of us; never heard from us.

If we were to evangelize, if we were to radiate the light from that chalice out beyond these walls and into our community and our world with our saving message of religious freedom, hope, dignity, peace, love, justice, compassion — the sacred beauty of shared existence, well, we might just transform the world, reclaim this paradise we have been given. Here. And now.

And that is what terrifies us the most.

“How DARE we dream that?” we ask ourselves. We dare it because our most deeply held values compel us to do so. We have the spiritual courage. It is in our religious DNA.

The Joy of Giving

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers, Sermons

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Nell Newton

October 10, 2010

Click the play button to listen.

Prayer:

After performing the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Jesus and his disciples made a quick get away in a boat to leave the Pharisees to themselves. Once in the boat, the disciples realized that someone had forgotten to grab one of the seven baskets of extra bread, and there was now only one loaf of bread among them. While Jesus warned them against the leaven of the Pharisees and of Herod, the disciples got fixated on their one loaf of bread. Jesus was not impressed. “Were you not paying attention? Do not you yet see or understand?”

Now, you and I do not perform miracles. If there is a great crowd who have nothing to eat, we cannot break apart seven loaves and expect more than crumbs to reach every mouth.

So instead, let us gather the flour and water to bake more bread. Let us share our leavening among our neighbors. And let our efforts fill the hungry empty places in our world with love.

Great Spirit, I ask that we might each know the comforting weight of a small smooth stone in our pocket, waiting for its chance to become soup.

I ask this in the name of every thing that is holy, and that is precisely every thing.

Amen

Sermon:

Have I told anyone recently how much I enjoy being the past president of our church? It’s really quite nice. As past president, I attend all of the board meetings, but don’t have a vote. Instead I simply serve as advisor and offer insight when asked. And if anything goes kaboom, I genially defer to our current president Eric Stimmel who will smilingly attend to the clean up. It’s really very relaxing. And it’s allowing me more time to do other things that I enjoy around the church, like washing dishes, greeting guests, and assisting with our worship.

+++++++

From an imaginary posting on a website for Unitarian Universalist ministers:

“Fun-loving, plus-sized church seeks compatible minister for long-term commitment and growth. Turn-ons: stimulating Sunday morning chats and community engagement. Turn-offs: Calvinism and put-downs. Must like self and others. Ability to nurture souls, transform lives, and do justice a plus. Please, only serious inquiries.”

Or, so that is how I imagine how it might read if our search for a settled minister read like a personals ad.

Instead our Settled Minister Search Committee is preparing a detailed congregational report and a fat packet of information that will make the rounds of ministers in search. Many will pore over it and try to imagine what it might be like if they came here. Some will quickly realize they are not up to the challenge, but several will lean forward and re-read some sections excitedly and wonder “What would it be like to be with First Church Austin?”

But, let’s back up a bit…

Susan Smith is our district executive overseeing the Unitarian Universalist churches in the southwest, and in a conversation she explained that in some ways the relationship between a minister and congregation is a bit like a marriage. It is a covenantal relationship, with shared goals and mutual respect. Like actual marriages, the joys are mixed with tough spots – but the agreement to stand in right relationship with one another helps keep both partners on track.

And, like actual marriages, the relationships generally end in either death or divorce. At the end of our last settled ministry, some of us wondered if we would ever feel such a connection again. Others felt we might not even deserve such connection. And still others were ready to find someone new right away.

But, have you ever been on a date with someone who is on the rebound? Over a plate of otherwise good fettucine, you get hear about that person’s last love’s awful habits or endearing charms, and then all of the disappointments, betrayals, and bitterness that accompanied their parting. It’s enough to put you off your pasta.

Congregations can behave much the same way, which is why the advisors from the Unitarian Universalist Association recommended we spend at least two years with interim ministers before calling our next settled minister. We were encouraged to play the field, so to speak, before making a serious commitment. Bring some new voices into the pulpit – they told us. Try out new ways of doing things, take some classes, look hard at some old habits, and dream about your future!” And that is exactly what we’ve been busy doing for the past 18 months.

But all along, we have been looking forward to finding a special someone to share our dreams and journey with.

Unlike in other denominations, our congregations and ministers do not have arranged marriages. Our ministers aren’t sent down from a central authority. There is no bishop to play matchmaker. Instead, like modern marriages, UU congregations and ministers choose one another after careful consideration. So, into the documents the search committee has prepared, they have compiled our most appealing attributes, but have also been frank about our weaknesses. Yes, we’re attractive, but we’re also modest, and good company.

The report and packet are almost ready, and they will be sent out by the end of this month. They tell a rich story, and you are all in there! Your dreams are included in there because you’ve already given so much of yourselves. You participated in groups to build our covenant, name our weaknesses, define our values, and shape our mission. You completed a survey of what is important to you in a minister. Your voices will come through loud and clear to anyone who will read through the pages. Many thanks to our Settled Minister Search Committee for the hours they spent compiling them. I know they will represent us well.

Now, like a small town, in our small denomination news travels fast and most of the ministers know that First Church Austin is entering into search. Some have been waiting to see our documents for a long time. “Would it work out between us?” they wonder.

There are several months of more work ahead for the Search Committee. They will read many packets posted by ministers in search. They will listen to countless sermons. They will eventually travel to see the strongest candidates preach and have many conversations. By next spring it is likely they will recommend a candidate for us to consider.

What do the rest of us do in the meantime? Well, there are a few specific things we can do – keep up with the self improvement – our leadership development classes, our move to policy-based governance. And, while this might not be an arranged marriage, there are a few traditional touches that it is time to attend to. Namely, the trousseau and the dowry.

Like birds and mammals that line their nests by pulling fluff from their own breasts, this fall we will be making a nice soft, warm budget to hold our vision and welcome our new minister.

Now, in traditional communities, there are uncles and aunties who make sure that a good arrangement is made, and they will put up the extra resources to seal the deal. While the bride-to-be weaves and sews the linens she will need as a wife, the extended family sets aside extra resources to give the new couple a good start. One uncle provides a few extra goats, another buys a modern stove for the couple’s home. Aunties sew coins onto the ceremonial garments and set aside extra food for the feast. With all these preparations, family alliances are secured, and everyone deepens their commitment to the community.

We are now in the middle of our stewardship campaign, and each of us has the chance to be the aunties and uncles whose commitment to the community will seal the deal. Several of us have already dug a little deeper than usual to make our congregation’s next budget look healthy and attractive. The search committee’s documents will include a proposed budget based upon the results of the stewardship campaign. You can be sure that interested candidates will look closely at that detail. And who would really want us if our budget were scrawny and underfunded?

Are you in? Will you set aside a few extra goats? Will you help stuff grape leaves for the feast? Will you raise your pledge a bit to secure your family’s alliance, and deepen your commitment to this union?

Ask yourself: What will you bring to the feast and are you ready to be fed?

Benediction:

Ean Huntington Behr

You are in the story of the world.

You are the world coming to know itself.

May you trust that all you will ever say or do

Belongs in the story of the world.

Salvation – A UU View

by Posted in Audio available, Guest Speakers, Mark Skrabacz, Sermons

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Rev. Mark Skrabacz

August 29, 2010

Yesterday was the 47th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have Dream Speech.” He gave his soul-stirring message to 200,000 on the Washington Mall in what has been called the crowning moment of the Civil Rights Movement. It was ranked the top American speech of the 20th century by a 1999 poll of scholars of public address.

I suppose you know that yesterday Fox Network Commentator Glenn Beck held a Tea Party Rally on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Beck says Christians should leave their social justice churches. He says social justice is a code word for communism and nazism. I don’t know if Beck is just strange, or just trying to be controversial, or just trying to make money. But in any case, what he has said attacks the very heart of Dr. King’s message and of the Christian faith, and I wonder how many Christians will express their faith by no longer watching his show, and even decrying his rally, since Beck denies one of the central teachings of the Bible, and Jesus and Dr. King — that of social justice.

Of course Unitarian Universalism is largely a social justice advocacy movement. The fact that we meet as a church and in a church building just might cause many of our neighbors to wonder exactly what it is our church believes. No doubt some of us have searched for ways to express our UU experiences and, hence, I continue to speak about our roots, practices and understandings. No doubt our UU views can appear as disperate as the contrast between Dr. King and Glenn Beck. Today, I’m going to entertain the notion of a controversial topic, that of salvation, salvation from a UU View.

Are you saved? This is a question that is usually only asked by evangelical Christians. What, if anything, might a Unitarian Universalist answer?

If we’re feeling facetious we might be tempted to respond with something like this, “Saved from what? or Saved for what? or Saved by whom, or what? ” But those answers might end the conversation. And if, like me, you believe that Unitarian Universalism has something marvelous to offer a tired and troubled world, you might want the conversation to continue. I would instead offer something like “Yes, I’m saved, but I’m not sure we mean the same thing. What do you mean when you say saved?” And I would ask the person to tell me his or her salvation story. And then I would tell mine.

Because you see, I am saved, just not in the same way fundamentalist Christians mean. That is the reason I am here in this pulpit today, proclaiming with enthusiasm the good news. So what do I, a Unitarian Universalist, mean by salvation?

Well, part of my answer has to do with theology, and goes back to our roots in Universalism and Unitarianism. In America, both began as reactions against the prevailing orthodox Calvinist doctrines of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. These said that human beings were “totally depraved,” with no free will and no ability to make choices that would bring good into the world. The God of Calvin and many Biblical literalists had elected from the beginning of time which humans would be saved and which would be damned to suffer in a fiery hell for all eternity. Jesus was crucified and died in order to pay the penalty for the sins of the elect. The way to know whether a person was one of the elect, who would be saved and resurrected in the new and perfect world that God would create at the end of time, was to read the “signs.” One of these signs had to do with how much material wealth a person had; prosperity was therefore a sign of election. Perhaps this theology describes part of Glenn Beck’s view of what a true Christian should be about? There would be no need for social justice if humans were merely pawns in God’s chess game of life. Besides who could possibly do good and just things for another when only God can effect such goodness?

Two of our best known Universalist preachers were John Murray and Hosea Ballou, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. They could not accept the Calvinist conception of God. For them, God was a good and loving father. This God would no more condemn any of his creatures to an eternal fiery hell than a loving parent would place a child in an earthly fire. Further, a God who would require the cruel and tortured death of a beloved son as atonement for the sins of some of humanity was not fit for our worship. Ballou argued that God’s purpose was to “happify” people, sending Jesus to teach us by example how to live a happy, healthy and holy life. If we lived in accordance with God’s purposeÑto love God and God’s creation and one another, yes, and practice social justiceÑwe would be happy. If we did notÑif we lived, instead, separated from God and from each otherÑwe would be unhappy. We, ourselves, would create our own heaven and hell here on earth.

Now, here is what I think is the essence of Ballou’s theology, the part that rings as true today as it did two centuries ago. And this very same idea was argued by Unitarians William Ellery Channing and, a generation later, Theodore Parker. It is this: what we need to be saved from is not original sin, and not the fiery pits of hell. What we need to be saved from is the concept of the angry, vengeful God who redeems humanity through violence and divides people into the saved and the damned. Ballou, Channing, and Parker argued that since people model their own behavior on what they imagine God to be, this concept of a wrathful, bloodthirsty God results in earthly hell. It results in the division of people into the worthy and the worthless, and it sanctifies violence against and oppression of those deemed to be worthless. This theology causes people to live in and from fear. A theology of a loving God would enable people to live in and from love.

Ralph Waldo Emerson put it this way: “It behooves us to be careful in what we worship, for what we are worshipping is what we are becoming.” For Ballou, the critical thing was to liberate people from fear so they could live in love. And fear resided in what Ballou called the carnal mind, by which he meant in the body. Fear resided in the body. So Universalist thinking in the nineteenth century made salvation not about where our individual, personal souls go after we dieÑthat was a non-issue. Instead, salvation was a collective enterprise. In both Universalism and Unitarianism, this enterprise meant attending to conditions in the here and now, in this world. If we could liberate people’s bodies from fear of hunger and violence, they could live in love.

We North American UUs can proudly remember the heroes and heroines of our heritage of social justice, like Benjamin Rush and his timely defense of social equality in the late 18th century. And Theodore Parker’s passionate advocacy of abolition in the mid-19th century. We remember Adin Ballou and his critique of the industrial society, and William Ellery Channing with his abhorrence of poverty. Olympia Brown was ordained into the ministry in 1863, the first denominationally ordained woman minister in the US. We remember her along with Red Cross founder Clara Barton, women’s sufferage pioneer Susan B. Anthony, and Dorothea Dix, a social justice activist on behalf of the indigent insane who, through a vigorous program of lobbying state legislatures and the United States Congress, created the first generation of American mental asylums. During the Civil War, she served as Superintendent of Army Nurses.

The UU view of salvation is for life here and now, in love. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, “I come that they might have life, and have it abundantly.” Present-day Unitarian Universalism still reverberates with these ideas about salvation. While some of us believe in a personal deity and some do not, we agree in our covenant of seven principles that are underpinned by the following theological notions: the equal belovedness of every person, the importance of caring for this beautiful world here and now, the need to live in love and not fear.

This is part of my explanation of what I mean by salvation, but only part. Why do I say so joyfully that, yes, I am saved?

I grew up as the eldest son in a family whose Catholic roots were generations deep. Our image of God was that portrayed as the rule maker and law enforcer in the sky and of the fear of the final judgment. I began more than 20 years of formal Catholic schooling before I was 5, where I was taught that people are inherently sinful because Adam and Eve disobeyed God at the beginning of creation. Still I tried my best to be good and do everything right, but still I felt that God was angry with me and I was motivated by fear. In order to redeem myself and reach heaven someday, I must do all I could to be like Jesus. I must suffer, and forgive, suffer, and forgive. I was smart, and strong-willed, and I loved earthly things like Nature, and my friends and all things artsy, and it was hard for me to focus on getting to heaven. But I wanted more than anything to be good enough to be loved, so I did my best. I suffered and I forgave. Some fundamentalist Christians would say that this Catholic view of God is inaccurate and that basically all I have to do is accept the sacrifice of Jesus and his Lordship over my life and that all will be well, because God will only see Jesus when looking at me.

Perhaps this next part will sound familiar to many of you because this is your story too, and I have heard it from you many times. When I first began to attend a UU church in Midland during breaks from college I was overwhelmed that people cared enough to listen to me…and I didn’t have to worry about towing the party line. I found I was encouraged to develop my own ideas. This was in the late 60s and I was upset about the conflict in Vietnam and the continuing racial prejudices supposedly righted by integration, yet when I went to the UU church, I could express myself and be heard. That meant a lot to me. Sometimes I’d go to church services and just sit in the back and cry. There was a lot of stuff in my life to process, much of it from my Catholic upbringing. Then I started participating around the edges a little bit, joining demonstrations and small groups to discuss and act on social justice issues.

Finally, years later at the same Midland UU church, after my father’s death in early 1986, I started a men’s group, in which we gathered around and talked with each other and listened to our real stories. When it was my turn, I couldn’t resist being open. The other men had shared deeply, and their stories were riveting. No one had been judged, no one had been rejected. So I told my truth. And instead of turning away from me in disgust, the men leaned in and listened, nodding in recognition of what they heard. It was the first place I had ever been where I felt I could be my whole self, and be accepted for it — truly loved. My community looked into my face and saw light there, and reflected it back tenfold — a hundred fold.

In this way was I saved. Unitarian Universalism taught me that I have inherent worth and dignity, and that I am a beloved member of the interdependent web of all existence. The community that embodied this theology liberated me from fear by gathering around me in love. It gave me the ability to break out of the cycle of codependence and violence in which I was trapped for so long. I finally developed the strength and courage I needed to pursue my dreams and clarify my intentions. I also had the help I needed: my community showed up, with meals, work, rides when my car broke down. People visited me in the hospital when I had surgeries and held my hand when the stuff of life appeared bleak. This was redemptive.

Learning I was inherently lovable helped me to accept the profoundly generous love of others. Knowing all people have inherent worth and dignity helped me share my life in ways that bring me closer with others and to get upset when their freedom is limited. My community helps me create a life that is worth living. This is what I mean by salvation. This religion saves lives. And I think it can help save the world.

At this moment in time we are in the midst of economic, ecological, and political chaos that is unprecedented in our life’s experiences. We know that the sheer scale of change means that nothing will ever be the same again. We have no road map for the future. Some of us have lost many of the securities we were accustomed to. I’ve learned that whenever the human organism is confronted with sudden, potentially life-threatening change, its first response is fear. This is automatic. And right now fear is rampant in our world, as the religious fundamentalists and persons like Glenn Beck and others in many countries and many religions skillfully use apocalyptic rhetoric to manipulate people into acting from their deepest fears rather than from hope or love. This strategy has and is working very well in American debates on health care, immigration and economic reform, as people are manipulated into thinking their individual lives are endangered by changes that may actually benefit the whole.

But shall we have a little compassion for these people who ask us if we are saved? Their God would cast them into the depths of a fiery hell for all eternity if they do not believe just the right thing. They are sore afraid. They are alone and far from home; salvation for them is so individualized, and involves going to a world that is not this one. But we can offer something different in this time of crisis. We can offer real liberation from fear, and a fall into love. We can offer a theology that recognizes our interdependence with each other and with the larger community of life, in which salvation is collective and involves healing this world. We can embody this theology by doing what we do best: gathering together, and listening to each other’s stories. Singing songs, speaking words that matter and making life and art that give us hope and courage. Let’s help each other imagine what might come next. Then, show up to help.

My friends, we have here a religion that could be the salvation of the world, if we will but claim its power and take it to the streets. The stakes are too high for us to hide our light under a bushel. What do we say in the face of a culture that preaches salvation from hell and damnation? We could echo the words of John Murray, “Give them not hell, but hope”

I hope today’s message will encourage you to think, what will you say? I hope today’s message will encourage you to act, what will you do?