Category Archives: Reflections

Saint Dutch

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Grandad is always intentional.

When I was younger and we left the house to work in the yard there was a process. We walked to the basement and sat on the steps, we changed from our shoes into our boots, we left out of the garage, past the second refrigerator full of coke, past Grandma’s car, past the tennis ball that hangs from the ceiling (so that she knew when to stop), past the air compressor on the left. We walked past the old well that’s been covered up as long as I could remember and took a right, walked parallel to the creek, and across the front yard toward the shed that looks out upon the garden.

Every move, every step, full of intention.

At the right time of year, the garden would be full of tomatoes, corn, cucumbers, and green beans. Lots of green beans, so many in fact Grandma and Grandad would sit on the porch after harvest to wash them to prepare them for canning, usually well over 100 cans. But that day wasn’t a canning day.

As we approached the shed we passed an old horse drawn plow, an antique, it was now a reminder of days’ past. I would always place my hand on its handle, thinking how strong the men who controlled it must have been, even if it is being pulled by some form of animal. The giant blade would cut into the soil, and the man behind the plow would guide it, walking every inch. Touching the plow, I wondered, “What is strength,” and then I would look to Grandad.

My grandfather grew bush beans instead of the pole beans I often see in the south, and that day I went to pick with him. He’d pick each plant three times because the beans would grow back. We would each get an old milk crate to sit on while we picked and a basket in which to place the beans as we moved down the row.

“Be careful” he’d say, “don’t pull the plant out of the ground, we will pick it again.” He repeated this so often it could be a mantra for some strange religion. In all honesty, I would get a little tired of hearing it, wondering when he would move on to something else.

I said, “Okay,” then pulled the plant out of the ground, hastily returning it, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I realized it takes a firm and gentle hand to pull the beans from the plant without pulling out the plant, and that’s my grandad, firm and gentle.

By trade my grandfather was a painter, I went on a few jobs with him to make extra cash in the summers, well, I just went on one, I was harsh and impatient, he was firm and gentle. I noticed his hand moved with intention, never swaying, never veering, and never any proof that paint had been anywhere it wasn’t supposed to be. I would stand in awe, I don’t think I did anything with that much intention, and for him it was so natural, though never mechanical. His movements were elegant and rooted in peace.

I remember coming in from the garden that day with Grandad.

I was a young minister, and I spoke to grandmother of sermons I would preach about that day, even though I wasn’t sure what they were. To this day, I’ve not preached those sermons, I don’t know if I will ever have the authority to preach them. On my best day, I struggle to live them. Grandad, a military veteran and a boxer would teach me that true strength came from peace.

I was never any good at my grandfather’s trade, but some Sunday’s as I prepare for church I put on my shoes with intention, and I think of Grandad. He is known by many names, Grandma calls him John, his friends call him Dutch, but to me, he is and will always be Grandad. My patron saint of peace.

Mississippi Fall

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I can feel it in my gut, that muggy air
As my tires kiss the road beneath me

The oppressive wrench, like a blanket
as my mouth bites that, which was once beneath my tires

I can’t see you, but I hear… You call for my stillness
You seek to shackle me against that which I don’t belong

Your knee in my back you quiet me…
My eyes down making no contact

My arms are still in the wind, but nothing helps
As the sweat runs down my body…

I fear in my distance that I should never see my home again
I fear in my heart those I love will see me gone

But I make it home, because my path is Straight
and I am White in my iniquities like a Mississippi Snow.

Of Max and Me: In Honor of My Grandma

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My father called me while I was sitting in my car in the drive through at McDonald’s. I had just handed the woman behind the window my debit card as he told me that Grandma Max had died. My grandmother was not an open book, she seldom spoke of her past, neither child nor adult. I asked her once, when I had become an adult, to tell me about her childhood and she began by telling me about her mother. She told me that the day her mother died was like losing her best friend. I don’t remember much about the rest of our conversation, and I am ok with that. I asked her a lot of hard questions about the stories she’d always avoided, and she answered every one of them fearlessly, and though that past may survive in her brothers, I am happy to let that part of her memory die without giving it a second thought, because regardless of the struggles and difficulties of her past, she loved me thoroughly without question. So I will always focus on the stories she chose to tell when I didn’t ask, and the life we lived side by side. I will remember her as I always have, her grandson.

And our story begins like this…

There is an alley that runs through Warwood, in Wheeling, West Virginia. My grandmother walked that alley daily, in hindsight it strikes me how much of her life and mine was spent walking through that alley. It was not very wide, only one car could fit through, and though I drove through it frequently as a teenager. Now, when I visit I refuse to even attempt a trip through because the alley was constructed out of blind intersections and potholes.

When I was very young Grandma Max would visit every Saturday. Our visits were always the same. My brother and I would put on our shoes and we would walk, for my grandmother did not drive. We walked for what seems like hours, but it was always worth it. It was worth it because at the end of our walk I would gaze ever so hopefully on the golden arches of McDonald’s Restaurant. My brother and I were regular visitors to McDonald’s, sometimes after school Dad would pick us up in his yellow truck and take us through the drive through. That generally happened on Thursday, because Thursday was pay day. But there was one big difference between my father’s visits and my Grandmother’s visits, Grandma would buy us Happy Meals.

My father’s refusal to buy happy meals was very logical. First, it wasn’t enough food. Second, nuggets didn’t come in happy meals at the time, and dad wasn’t going to let me waste a hamburger. And finally, the toys were cheap and often broke or didn’t work right. Grandma however, bought the happy meal and an order of nuggets so I could get my toy, even though in most cases the toy was either forgotten or broken before I got home.

After McDonald’s we would stop in to see my Grandma’s best friend Katherine. Katherine worked at a dry-cleaners on Warwood Avenue. I remember she would always give us pennies or nickels while they talked, Aric (my brother) and I would feed them into the gum machine. The gum machine would spit out these tiny square shaped pieces that, after 5 minutes, tasted like cardboard. Though, for some reason they were great. I didn’t realize until later how much Katherine treated us like family. She would send us a gift on Christmas and did not mind us raiding the penny tray by the cash register.

Some days we went to her home to visit, I don’t remember much about her home other than the ring shaped pipe holder on the end table, I didn’t figure she actually smoked them but I could not get over how cool they looked.

Grandma’s rented a house right off the alley, and after leaving Katherine’s we would sometimes stop by. I don’t remember a lot about that house, only really the day it was torn down. I don’t know if that place held good memories for Grandma, and I never thought to ask. I remember a lot though about the duplex she rented on 19th street afterward, it also sat right on the alley. The apartment had a boiler in the basement and a radiator in the living room. During the winter by brother would scoot by in his sox touch the radiator to watch the spark, then he would touch me to watch me jump.

We spent a lot of time in that alley, walking ever to and fro. If you grew up in Warwood with me you may remember my Grandmother walking through. I also grew up in a house almost right off the ally, and I imagine next time I am home I won’t be able to sit on that porch of the house, without expecting Grandma Max to come around that corner and walk Aric and I to McDonalds.

On the phone I couldn’t help but tell my father how glad I was that he waited to call until I was in the drive through at McDonald’s. It gave me the chance to think only of her as I drove to my meeting eating my chicken nuggets. I think next time I may get a happy meal, of course they don’t have enough food and the toys always break anyway. But still, a happy meal, an extra order of nuggets, a milkshake, and Grandma Max, what could be better?

In Defense of Religion

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Since coming to the Unitarian Universalist Church I have meditated often on reclaiming theological language, I have enjoyed getting to write sermons and blog posts about things like faith, hope, redemption, and salvation. These words have deep theological history and meaning but over the years have been overwhelmed by religious baggage. At the end of the day these ideas are still relevant but we have to be responsible about the way we use them. For me reclaiming a theological heritage that has been hijacked by one group is paramount in the study of theology. And though I would never take away their right to use these terms narrowly it doesn’t mean I have to give them up either.

During the late 90’s into the 2000’s the statement I’m not religious I’m spiritual became popular. The goal of this article is not an incitement of the people who make this statement but to ask the question what is religion? It is an important question because within the culture the terms religion and religious are often spat out like bad fish. So this post will ask, what is this religion we do not want to associate with? It is important to explore this because the current aversion to religion makes clear one basic truth religion is failing people. The second question we will discuss in the latter half of the article is, what is spirituality? Finally we will explore a different understanding of true religion.

I find it easier to understand the negative usage of the term through a series of basic images. The first that comes to mind is luxury. The preacher makes six figures and has even more hidden off shore. The church has an IMAX Theater and gift shop that sells little crosses that say things like Faith, Hope, and Love, with the name of the church printed on the stand. This church, feeding off of its congregants, looks beautiful, and makes us feel even better while we are inside, whether it positively effects and represents its community or not doesn’t matter, but it sure is sparkly.

The next Image is described by the word Mask. The preacher, the elders, the staff, they are not what they seem to be. They all have their own sins that stay hidden. The congregants are the same. They act one way in church and a different way at home or at work. They talk about helping the poor, but take few actions, they mention freedom but rest in control. This church is not about making the community better, but about making its members look better. In fact they all live somewhere else and drive in. They revel in the theology, “Do what I say not what I do.”

The last image I will use is described by the phrase, out of touch. This gospel was for another time. It doesn’t take into account the world in which we live. The congregants aren’t part of the neighborhood like they were when the church was founded, they rest behind gates both in their communities and the church itself keeping the neighborhood from finding its way in. The curriculum screams 1972, and the music no longer has depth. And if you don’t like it they will be happy to quote Hebrew 8 that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Their god doesn’t like you, and chances are they don’t either, just keep walking.

I suspect there are many people who would not feel accepted in the places I just described. These places are unfeeling, disconnected, and unaccepting. They only care about their issues and they don’t want to change anything because they are afraid of change. These churches are all about what they look like, not what they do. They are luxurious, out of touch places where people where masks. And these practices have been the defining factor of religion for a few decades now. So prevalent in fact that people stopped using the word all together.

But what I find most important about these images is that they are caricatures not real. Don’t get me wrong there are some frustrating churches out there but most churches I walk into, even the out of touch ones with which we don’t agree, are full of people who struggle with life and do the best they can. The descriptions I have given, I do not believe. In fact, I would call them inappropriate and judgmental. If I were to explain them to a copy of myself seriously I would respond with the statement, “Who made you their god, and who gives you the right to judge them?” Though it is these images we use to describe religion as “everything that is wrong with faith.”

Now we have to look at the other side of the matter, spirituality. Merriam Webster defines the word spiritual simply as relating to a person’s spirit. That’s a nice definition and I like it, but will expand on it because I am a minister and that is what I do. Spirituality relates to our individuality, it is a part of who we are as a people. It is our communion with our spirit, and it relates to our core. We all have spiritual practices, many of them are personal, and they all help us understand our meaning and purpose. We do not seek to infringe on someone else’s spirituality with rules and regulations, they can be as orderly or chaotic as one like. Being spiritual is freeing, no one else can say how it should be done for you, but sometime we need others.

Spirituality is very personal, and we choose how much of our personal spirituality to share, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be spiritual together and when we are spiritual together we have to talk about guidelines and basic rules that help us treat each other with respect, which brings us to religion. Religion, when appropriate, becomes a vehicle for spirituality, it is a part of but not the whole. However, religion cannot exist without spiritual people. Religious practice then offers an opportunity to be spiritual together. When we light the chalice, sing together, share joys and concerns, and listen to a sermon, we are being spiritual and since we are doing it together we are being religious too.

Originally the two words were synonyms, but the movement to be spiritual but not religious changed that. I don’t think that was a negative change I think it better helps us understand who we are and our part in the community. It helps us bring a very personal thing into our relationships with others in a way that benefits everyone but protects who we are. Because of this multiple decade conversation I can say very clearly I am a religious person, but I could not be one if I was not first spiritual.

Religion doesn’t have to be close minded, hateful, and set in the old ways. Religion should be as vibrant as the people who practice it, and we as UUs are a very vibrant people, with many different traditions. But when religion becomes a negative force I question then whether it is truly religion anymore. The book of James describes true and faultless religion to be one that looks after orphans and widows. We expand this as UU’s but keep the core of the verse, religion should be about the thi

The Forgotten Virtue

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There are a number of standard answers from all the variety of traditions within Unitarian Universalistism in regard to the number of individuals it takes to change a light bulb.

One tradition says that we should accept the light bulb as it is, another that we think the light bulb if it desires to change should change itself. One tradition calls for a quorum, which is 5 or 6 – wait, how many are in a quorum, and did we call Paul who is in charge of buildings and grounds . . . oh God, wait, no, hold on . . . never mind – what was I talking about?

Oh yes, as to light bulbs, my favorite response is:

We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if, in your own journey, you have found that light bulbs work for you that is wonderful. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your personal relationship with your light bulb. Present it next month at our annual Light Bulb Sunday Service, in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including incandescent, fluorescent, 3-way, long-life, and tinted, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.

I remember when I first came to the UUCJ one member offered a new UU joke every week. This never offended me, it actually kept me coming back. In fact, the light bulb joke helped me decide I wanted to be a Unitarian Universalist. Being able to laugh at myself has always been important, I do many silly things, and though sometimes I am being serious when they happen, learning to laugh at them helps me realize not to take myself so seriously. I find I often take myself way too seriously, and most the arguments I get into are when I am doing that very thing.

Ken McLeod, Buddhist teacher, makes the point that we should be okay with laughing at ourselves while discussing beginning meditation. He states that one of the first things we learn is that our minds are never quiet, and we must learn to laugh at our Monkey Mind, always jumping from topic to topic, and never being still. He doesn’t call upon us to lament our inability to be light-hearted about it.

In the Hebrew Bible we read about the story of Isaac. Angels came to visit his parents before he was born. They said to Abraham, who was 100 years old, that his 90 year old wife, Sarah, would have a child in the next year. Sarah, over hearing this laughed, but the angles never condemned her lack of faith. Maybe they understood the silly notion of a 90 year old woman giving birth, and they probably also understood that her first 90 childless years had been very hard on her. The angels said, because she had laughed, she would now have to name him Isaac, to which the root word in Hebrew means laughter. Nine months later she never complained about naming her child Laughter, because now her laughing was not in derision but in joy.

The seven heavenly virtues go like this:

  • Chastity
  • Temperance
  • Charity
  • Diligence
  • Forgiveness
  • Kindness
  • Humility

Granted, we have not had the opportunity to discuss these in forum or during a board meeting because we don’t consider these words dogma, but they come from one of our sources. Of course, if we were to take these into conference, I would make a point on one very important forgotten virtue–humor. If humor was added, I would be alright with the Heavenly Virtues. It is important to have a good sense of humor, especially when we work so hard to do important things. As UU’s we are often working toward very lofty and difficult goals and we face a lot of discouragement. Sometimes we just need to have a good laugh.

Many times Jon Stewart has been accused of being too light-hearted about serious subjects–making jokes about important issues. To this, Jon Stewart generally reminds dissenters that he hosts a comedy show on a comedy network. He does take very important issues and relate them to us in a way in which we can laugh, but he has found this amazing middle ground where we can laugh, while at the same time look upon these topics seriously. That is the gift of comedy, the gift of humor.

Why don’t we take some time and give that gift to each other this week, either in the comments here or on the facebook page? Just remember to keep it positive and PG-13–after all, we are Unitarian Universalist–what would people think?

Reflections on Happiness

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Growing up, my parents and grandparents made clear their goal for me in life was to be happy. I hear my wife’s parents say the same thing to my wife–“I just want you to be happy.” As a parent, I look to my children and find myself hoping for their happiness. Since it does seem to be that important, it doesn’t surprise me that when I walk through a bookstore’s self-help isle (which I often do), I see many titles on attaining happiness. I don’t know if it is just Americans who want to be happy but we sure do want to be happy. I often wonder if the dialogue relates to a human struggle with happiness.

A few weeks ago, I preached a sermon on the meaning of life–articulating very clearly that I do not know the meaning of life. In closing, I articulated my belief that asking the question is more important than getting an answer. As I consider meaning with happiness I wonder if you, as readers and human beings, think much about happiness like I do. For me, meaning and happiness cross paths. These few paragraphs are simply my reflections on happiness, and as reflections they may not resolve much, but it is part of my belief that we should always think on and ask the questions, whether we ever find the answers.

Happiness is a feeling, at least that is how we often handle it. When I worked with people who have a hard time articulating their feelings I ask for a simple response to external stimuli; are you sad, glad, mad, or scared? This simple question offers the beginning of a path toward self-awareness. I often find it easier to list the negative ones than the positive. I wonder if that is because I spend more time fixated on the negative.

I struggled growing up (and into adulthood) with negative emotions. Maybe not with the emotions themselves but with a very obsessive focus on them. I had grown up with various physical limitations that made me keenly aware of when I was getting too excited. In general, excited led to nervousness, then anxiety, then fear, which led to physical pain. I grew up with (simply stated) “a nervous stomach” that was later fixed with surgery. And though the physical issue was fixed the emotional one stayed behind.

As I approached adulthood, I noticed that I was never really happy. That doesn’t mean I never felt joy or excitement, but that the positive emotions never sunk in deeply. Over time, I actually had to learn how to let the positive happen–happiness was fleeting while anxiety and sorrow was lasting. Happiness only led to disappointment, thus happiness became something to fear. However, when I started seminary, I began to learn spiritual principles that changed my understanding.

I was a reactive child (and am often a reactive adult). I believed it was external pressures that caused negative feelings. My feelings were caused by people and situations. There was nothing I could do to change them. I was enslaved to them. If I could only change the outside, I’d fix the pressures. If only I could find the right friends, faith, or woman, I wouldn’t have to fear sadness anymore. I wouldn’t have to fear sorrow and that would fix my anxiety. If only I could create the world in the image I wanted then I could find happiness.

Over time, I learned that happiness did not come from degrees, jobs, friends, faith, or even a wife. These things could not cause happiness to grow within me, because happiness didn’t come from without, but from within me. The fear of sorrow was always stalking me. Therefore, if I could equate joy with happiness, I had to think of joy and wonder. I knew joy. I had felt it many times. I loved the feeling of joy and I craved it. When joy would come, I would hold on to it, grasp it with tight fists and never let go. However, what I noticed was that the joy was gone when I opened my hand. All that was left was a feeling of loss.

Over many years, through different perspectives, something more has seemed to emerge. This truth has risen through the waters of chaos like a small peak. Joy is an emotion and maybe it is fleeting; but then isn’t sorrow also an emotion, thus also fleeting? What if all emotions are fleeting, what if they all evaporate into the spiritual atmosphere around us once they are finished? What if in one day I can feel joy, sorrow, love, fear, hope, and anger? How do I categorize that day happy or sad?

Over the years I have learned I cannot always control those emotions, but maybe I can control how I respond to them. When I felt joy and grasped hold of it, I couldn’t keep it–I lost it; but when I left my hands open, I let it evaporate into the atmosphere. Maybe a simpler way to put it is, “I let it go.” When I felt sorrow, I kept my hands open and let it go. When I felt love, I kept my hands open and let it go. Then, and only then, could I truly experience life and really know joy.

A fact of life is that there will always be bad. The problem is that when we take away bad, we have to take away the good, and, over time, we decide, however unintentionally, that it is just easier to sacrifice the good so we can avoid the bad. But maybe happiness comes when we realize the good and bad flow through us. Our hearts are permeable. Our feelings come and go as they will, but the minute we try to hold them too tightly we lose them, especially the good ones. What if the secret to happiness is being willing to let good and bad feelings run their course–fully experiencing all of life–not just the parts we want to?

In the Attics of My Life

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Some nights I sit in my home office to write. I might be writing a sermon or even a blog post. Sometimes my fingers hover ever so motionlessly over the keys of my keyboard. Some days I lack inspiration. Growing up, when this happened I went to the hymnal. The hymnal was full of so many subjects ordered in a way that spoke, in song, directly to my spirit. A hymn is defined as “a song of praise, or a religious song; a synonym might be canticle, or carol.”

Early in my practice as a chaplain I noticed more songs beginning to fill the place of hymn in my mind. More and more, I found that music spoke to me in a different language and very much, a different voice. Even in my home my habit of listening to music has become very much a practice. I recently pulled my vinyl records and I would sit to listen to them in whole, without break; not as background music but the foreground of life. I have started the spiritual practice of chronicling this procedure–writing down my experience.

I notice that when I need inspiration my fingers walk over the tops of my records and often stop at one in particular. I take that record and often place it is on its “B” side. Then the sound of the Grateful Dead’s American Beauty overtakes me. I close my eyes, open my ears not just to the words, but the music and the harmony.

And we sing together–the record and me:

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were you own?
– Robert Hunter (The Grateful Dead)

This song speaks to me–not just because it is AMAZING but also because I have an emotional connection to a specific human being that is forged forever in this song. He has long passed, but this song provides conversation, remembrance, and a reminder as to why I work where I work, believe what I believe, and dream the things I dream. It settles me, resets me, and clears out the gunk that stops me from writing. The whole album does that. The words have become to me like scripture, the images like icons for my own theology. The songs are hymns that speak.

Perhaps you know another song that will say it better. So I will leave you with a song but I want you to answer a question when it is done–what songs, hymns, and spiritual songs drive you to be a better person?

In the attics of my life,
full of cloudy dreams unreal.
Full of tastes no tongue can know,
and lights no eyes can see.
When there was no ear to hear,
you sang to me.

I have spent my life seeking all that’s still unsung.
Bent my ear to hear the tune,
and closed my eyes to see.
When there was no strings to play,
you played to me.

In the book of love’s own dream,
where all the print is blood.
Where all the pages are my days,
and all the lights grow old.
When I had no wings to fly,
you flew to me, you flew to me.

In the secret space of dreams,
where I dreaming lay amazed.
When the secrets all are told,
and the petals all unfold.
When there was no dream of mine,
you dreamed of me.
–Robert Hunter (The Grateful Dead)

Reflections on Being an Ally

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“In every age, no matter how cruel the oppression carried on by those in power, there have been those who struggled for a different world. I believe this is the genius of humankind, the thing that makes us half divine: the fact that some human beings can envision a world that has never existed.”

-Anne Braden

Anne Braden was a white civil rights activist in Louisville, Kentucky; one of very few white American’s Martin Luther King, Jr. was quoted to say that he trusted to have his back. I was introduced to her legacy while attending the Unitarian Universalist General Assembly in Louisville, Kentucky, in 2013. Her story quickly began to weave its way into my soul. If you don’t know much about her there is a wonderful documentary about her life. This post is not about Anne Braden, but her life story is very important when we consider what it means to be an ally.

Sadly, in our generation being an ally is a learned ideal. With the recent news from Arizona, Kansas, and a myriad of other states our ability to stand with others will become very important. Civil rights leaders have fought a long embittered struggle through the latter half of the 20th century to end one form of segregation only to be met with segregation anew in the 21st. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people have been fighting an uphill battle for many years and they must be gaining ground because opposition to equality has really kicked into overdrive. In the United States we look to Arizona reinstituting Jim Crow. Russia now makes demonstrating for the LGBTQ community a crime, and different countries in Africa calling for prison and death–all for people who just want the right to be themselves. Now, this new segregation is making its way into Mississippi.

When I was a child I never understood why two people of the same sex couldn’t be married. When I was in high school very brave friends starting coming out, and as I grew to be an adult I found that I knew more people in the LGBTQ community than I had imagined. Human beings–not faceless masses huddled in alleyways–but friends, family, and loved ones. I noticed that when I needed an ear, they listened; when I needed a shoulder to cry on, they offered; and when I needed support, they provided. They are different than me, but not really. Our hearts beat the same, our blood pumps the same, and when it comes down to brass tacks, we want the same thing– love. In fact I find the continued use of the terms they and them in this post problematic. I feel limited by language, but then in reality isn’t that just a reflection of the privileges I am granted automatically by being white, male, and heterosexual?

The happiest day of my life was my wedding, and it is a terrible tragedy that weddings only come to those born within a narrow range of acceptability. Love shouldn’t be allowed only for the privileged. Over the years being an ally has meant different things, but the core has always been the same. People I love are being marginalized and mistreated because of who they are, and I find that unacceptable. Perhaps a better word is shameful. But we have to continue to work together with that vision of a different world– the one we write poems about, the one we sing songs about. Staying in the struggle and the power will enable us to get there together.

Justin

I have a Quick Question

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When I was new to Unitarian Universalism a lot of my friends and family wanted to know more about the religion. After doing a fairly “shoddy” job of explaining it I would get the response, “So it’s not really a religion then.” I was always confused by that statement, because after my time with the UU church I came to see what many would call “true religion.” My Christian heritage actually defines true religion, and I have seen it as long as I have been a UU.

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

-James 1:27

In fact there are two big things that strike me the most about this statement: first, UU’s do this without having to fear God will strike them dead or send them to hell–care is part of our nature; and second, we are not afraid to make it part of our politics. UU’s generally try, though partners and members, to make this list a little longer. We argue on behalf of those who are unable, and we help let others know their voice matters.

In fact, one of the most important things “religious” people do is practice their religion. Okay, maybe that sounds a little cyclical. Let’s take a look at it. Most people define religion very narrowly. I notice often that many have a hard time defining a religion to be a religion without invoking the name of Jesus. UU’s go one step further and don’t even require members to invoke the name of a god.

In so doing, we still use words like faith, communion, and even prayer. I believe UU’s do something revolutionary and extremely honest. We set a basic set of principles and ask that while we work together we abide by them. Religion for us then is not about belief or necessarily even G/god–it is about being part of community and our responsibility to that community.

For Unitarian Universalists, religion is about what we do. What does the existence of G/god even matter when we let children starve, prejudice to be defended, and the innocent die? What makes us strong is that we work together so we don’t have to be afraid, even though we rest in the minority.

Many religions are also defined by their daily practice–whether that practice be prayer, reading, or doing good deeds. Unitarian Univesalists do this as well. We just let others decide their own practice. While some may practice through reading or prayer, others do so through feeding the poor. Still others define practice through revitalizing their community. What is your daily practice, and why is it important to you?

Justin

What We Lose in the Debate

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I would assume many of you who follow or read this blog know about the debate that took place Tuesday night between Bill Nye and Ken Ham at the Museum for Creation Science in Petersburg, Kentucky. The event was well attended and live-streamed on the Internet. Bill Nye represented a side that said the earth came into being through a multi-billion year process, whereas Ken Ham argued that the earth came into being through a six-day creative process invoked by the God of “The Bible.” Both sides outlined their viewpoint, articulated their evidence (as they saw it), and probably didn’t convince anyone listening of anything new. I would guess that most people watching were already set on how they felt.

I suspect most Unitarian Universalists went to bed feeling that Bill Nye articulated well the right view and probably won the debate, as I suspect evangelical Christians went to bed feeling the same thing toward Ken Ham.

That doesn’t mean the debate was fruitless. Both debaters acted civilly toward one another and articulated clearly their views. It is necessary to model communication without name-calling and fighting.

But I got something else out of the debate. My questions for Ham would have come from the realm of theology not science, in fact it didn’t sound as if Ham was conversant with the Hebrew text, and when converting theology to science you might as well start with the original text. But the problem is when anyone tries to fit theological text into a scientific mold, we lose something very important–soul. In fact turning Genesis into a scientific text waters down the great theology that can be derived.

Genesis 1 and 2 is a piece of beautifully crafted literature. The words were not chosen simply or quickly. There was redaction and obvious work done to weave the beauty of humanity, ethics, and morality into the world. Humanity is created in this story and placed into an important role–that of steward. We were made, planted onto this earth to care for it, the world was good, we were good, and when we are good, good things happen. But the flood teaches us that the world will reflect our work–even when the work is not so good.

The first chapter of the creation story actually tells a wonderful story about the conversion of chaos into beauty. When I first read the story in Hebrew, it reminded me of something Michelangelo had said about sculpting marble. He didn’t add things, he just removed the parts that weren’t supposed to be there. In the creation story, life is art. I will never forget the first time I read the creation story in Hebrew–it completely changed my understanding.

It wasn’t about days, it was about hearts; it wasn’t about structures, it was about majesty; it wasn’t about science, it was about soul. I can theologically argue why I think this text is being misused, but I fear if I do that I become part of the problem.

In Genesis, God breathes into our nostrils, into our souls, makes us special, pointing out that the spirit of life is our spirit, and the poetry of our days remind us that all good things require work. That is just fine for someone like me.

-Justin