Drinking from Deep Wells: A Candlemas Reflection

I was a faithful member of the United Methodist Church from the age of 12 until I was 18 and in college. When I left, for good in my mind, at the age of 19, I told myself that I was a leaving behind a church that condemned me, a religion that left me malnourished, and a God who had forsaken me for eternity. In a period of less than two years, my spiritual journey led me along a path from doubting Christian, to anti-religious atheist, to inquisitive Unitarian Universalist. My dalliance with atheism was short-lived and half-hearted, and my embrace of Unitarian Universalism was initially borne of gratitude for discovering a way to be religious that allowed me to be rid of the Christianity that I’d left behind me. I have now been a Unitarian Universalist for 18 years – at 36 years old that’s half my life so far, following the 18 years I was a professing Christian, and threefold the years I belonged to the United Methodist Church with which I identified for so long. A lot about my theology and my religious outlook has changed in all that time, and I continue to reassess my beliefs as I age and have more life experience.

I remember a class called “The New UU” that I took at the first UU congregation I would join on my new path, which is now called the Unitarian Universalist Congregation at Montclair (NJ). In one of the early sessions, a gay former Catholic got into a heated debate with the minister leading the discussion about the role of ritual in Unitarian Universalism. This man was angry at even the merest suggestion that what would be his newfound faith should in any way resemble the one which had scarred him, which meant that there was absolutely no room for ritual of any sort, or even the word ritual itself. At the time, I thought he was being ridiculous; but in him I recognized the hurt that I, too, was feeling as a gay man ostracized by the faith of my upbringing. Who was I to judge him? Unfortunately, he did not find what he was looking for that evening, so he got up in a huff mid-class and he left. I sometimes wonder where his journey led him after that night. As for me, I decided that religion was still a worthwhile pursuit and I chose to remain.

My early years as a Unitarian Universalist were ones in which I was comfortable being dismissive of Christianity and also being around others who were equally or more dismissive. For a modern movement whose roots lie in two Christian denominations, it bewilders me how much we have come to embrace an overall disdain for our origins. Granted, I appreciated this tendency at first; but my years of study and open encounter with those UU’s who would still follow Jesus, not to mention my separation from the particularist and fundamentalist interpretations of the Bible that I’d fled, rendered me less hostile to the faith of my upbringing than I’d once been. Reading the works of Marcus Borg, whom I declared to be my favorite theologian upon his death just a year ago, was a great influence on my willingness to not disregard and discard all the good that I’d known within Christianity. In my experience, many Unitarian Universalists are open to the wisdom of ABC religion – Anything But Christianity.

Now, I don’t mean to suggest that I have come full circle and consider myself a Christian – I haven’t evolved that far, yet! – nor do I mean to imply that everyone can and should find that the Christian story is of ultimate value to their lives. I’m simply observing that, at some point, we became a faith that is comprised largely of people whose major impulse is to leave behind rather than to move toward. How do we overcome that?

In the eighteen years since I left Christianity behind me, I have attended Christian churches of various denominations only for weddings, funerals, and, after I met my husband and began observing Christmas again, Christmas Eve services. I once attended a Lutheran service on Palm Sunday because a nephew was being baptized. In almost every instance, I felt like an outsider. A welcomed and well-treated outsider, but an outsider nonetheless. Last year on Candlemas, a time of purification, preparation, initiation, and commitment, I decided that my spiritual life was spread too broadly and that I needed to choose the wells from which I would drink more deeply. On that day, I joined both the Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship, having decided to stop fighting my background, and the Covenant of Unitarian Universalist Pagans, having long ago come to the conclusion that an observance of the natural cycles of the earth, and of life, held great value for me. I’ve spent the year between that Candlemas and this embracing the idea of claiming a narrower path than the one I’ve been taking all these years. I began moving closer to the rhythm of the Christian liturgical cycle during Advent, reflecting on quiet hope in the dark of the year. I continued observance of the rhythm of the pagan wheel of the year, participating once again in my church’s Winter Solstice ritual. In eighteen years, I refused communion at every Christian service I went to where it was offered (except once a year, at most, in my own UU congregation where I could partake in good conscience). On this last Christmas Eve, after ten Christmases in a row of letting my husband and in-laws go up for communion and waiting behind, I led our pew up to the front of the church and partook with them. Just this weekend, I attended the Imbolc ritual of the Baltimore Reclaiming Community, where I honored the lengthening of days, asked a blessing on holy candles, gazed into the ignis purgans, and made a pledge to “live fully now” in the coming year. Next week brings Ash Wednesday... There’s something about these rituals that I’ve been missing in Unitarian Universalism, notwithstanding the sometime belief that there is too much ritual, as espoused by the wounded man I’d met so many years before as a new UU.

Part of what we as Unitarian Universalists value in religious life is the “encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations”, and we promote the “direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life”. I have come to a point in my life where that means I must dig more deeply and draw from the wells that I have chosen for myself. The words of what some view as the Unitarian Universalist’s most sacred hymn plead “roots hold me close, wings set me free”. For the year ahead, I intend to explore ways in which I might be held close by my Christian roots and set free by Pagan wings. I will continue to be nourished from other wells, as they offer me their resources; but I will tend to my own at this time, and I will pray that this anchoring and expanding might continue to be held within my chosen faith community. Spirit of Life, come to me…come to me.

Should all Unitarian Universalists embrace a neutral humanism?

This morning I received a message from a friend who recently joined a Unitarian Universalist congregation for the first time a little under a year ago. The message asked for my take on an article posted on the Huffington Post titled "Welcoming Unitarian Universalists Home to Humanism", by the executive director of the American Humanist Association, Roy Speckhardt. At the time, I thought that the article was freshly written and posted - I now see that it was originally posted on that site in 2013. Nevertheless, I enjoy receiving such queries from friends and gave my friend a rather wordy response, essentially stating that I disagree with much of the author's premise, and explained why using just the first sentence of the article. I will respond to the content of the rest of the article in as many posts as necessary, and I hope to continue the many great conversations I have been having with UUs and others about the past, current, and future state of affairs among Unitarian Universalist worldviews.

And now that I've piqued your curiosity and you've read the article (seriously, read that first), what follows is a version of the response I sent to the friend who asked my opinion. I invite your opinions in the comments. I welcome constructive criticism and debate. I do not tolerate abusive language or mean-spirited diatribe. Here we go!

Adrian

Note: There has been discussion over the appropriate use of the word "humanism", and the differences between various forms it takes, such as religious humanism, secular humanism, etc. What I understood from the word's use in the article and the meaning that I ascribe to it below is probably more accurately termed "nontheism", or "antitheism", as the case may be.

What an interesting article! Thank you for sharing it with me. My take on it, for the most part, is that I disagree with him almost in entirety. Starting with the first sentence, which reads in part that a humanist approach has been viewed as "the appropriate neutral philosophical place for all UUs to convene". Full disclosure - I am a theist, not a humanist, but I will try to be as unbiased as I can in my response. By and large, I don't believe that UUs should be neutral in our outlook, philosophy, faith, or other positions, whenever a strong opinion is preferable to neutrality. I also oppose the insinuation that "all UUs" must have the same position on the nontheist-theist continuum. That misses the larger point of Unitarian Universalism altogether.

From among our Six Sources (listed here with our Seven Principles), the one drawn from humanism itself reads:

"Humanist teachings which counsel us to heed the guidance of reason and the results of science, and warn us against idolatries of the mind and spirit;"

One of the major influences humanism has had on Unitarian Universalist thought is that we cannot and ought not allow any one "idolatry" overtake us. Note, too, that it says "of the mind and spirit". We should no more idolize the supremacy of reason than we should allow theism to be the only valid stand that a Unitarian Universalist may choose. Sure, humanism has held a high position of power and influence in the UU world for decades now, but it certainly should not be the place where we all "convene". Rather, I believe that we each forge our paths, along with others on similar paths, and we convene together with our differences and learn one from another. "God talk" may be uncomfortable from time to time for those who don't find such language useful, or even believe it to be harmful. The lack of such "spiritual" language is distressing for those of us who are not humanists. Church should be a place where we work through our discomforts, together, not a place where everyone toes the same line.

All that from just the first sentence! 

Humanism is a vital and necessary part of Unitarian Universalism...but it is only a part, not the whole.

I now ask self-identified humanists who read this article: What is your take on it? Do you feel threatened by shifts in language or tone in your congregation? Would an increase in "god talk" in your congregation, if not to the exclusion of more "neutral" language, be a deal-breaker for you? My observation is that this same argument — that one or the other group within the broad tent of Unitarian Universalism is falling victim to some position ostensibly hostile toward it — is being made from all sides. Many UU Christians and other theists have written similarly about how humanism threatens the historical dominance of theistic thinking in our earlier history. This is not a new conversation, but the tide seems indeed to have swung some, which is what I imagine spawned this article. I hope we can find our way to a place where people feel validated, secure in their views, and unthreatened by those who don't share their theological/philosophical stances. 

Bet you weren't expecting an essay! But there you have it, my take. Or the beginning of it, anyway.

To be continued...

Unitarian Universalists Believe What We Must

I'm tired of people claiming that Unitarian Universalists don't believe anything, or that we are just a social—or worse yet, political—club. Where does the notion come from, and why is it so easily perpetuated? Every Unitarian Universalist that I have ever met has either known precisely what they believe in, or have been somewhere on the path of discernment, discovering just which beliefs resonate with them and which do not. Mainly we are both of these types at the same time. I know this is just a shade of difference from that latter type of person, but I don't know anyone who believes in nothing. Who believes in nothing? How does one believe in nothing? Everyone believes something about the nature of reality and our existence in it, right?

I am also weary of people claiming that Unitarian Universalists can believe anything we want to. Although I find this to be a slightly less offensive position than the first, I find it to be equally untrue...or at the very least, ambiguous enough to warrant serious doubts. Unitarian Universalists don't believe just anything. True, we believe many different things, but is that really saying the same thing? There are other non-credal faiths out there. What makes us the ones that people just don't get? Let me try to explain non-credal: we are not required by any institution to accept any theological position as true and binding which does not resonate with and originate within our own spirit. Non-credal doesn't mean non-belief, and it doesn't mean belief in any- and everything. It means that Unitarian Universalists believe what we each must believe.

Yes, I believe what I must believe. I believe that God is present within everything that exists, and that we all exist within God. I believe that God is not a person, but that I am personally connected to, related to, indebted to, enamored with, and dependent on God. I believe that everyone else is, too, but that we each speak from our own experience and background, and thus use the words of our own language to describe what we can only describe very poorly, perhaps ineffectually. I believe that I, with God, can make a difference in people's lives, including and perhaps especially my own. I believe that many Unitarian Universalists who are not me will not believe any of the things I just listed and may bristle at all the "God-talk". I believe that that's OK. I believe that how we treat one another is more important — and a better indicator of the presence of God in our lives — than the differing beliefs we hold and the words we choose and use to express them.

Do I believe these things because I want to? No. I believe them because I have to. Life simply does not make sense to me if I don't believe these things. I would be in perpetual despair if these things were not true, because every fiber of my being tells me that they are. If I could believe in whatever I wanted, I would believe that Jesus Christ is the only begotten Son of God the Father Almighty up in Heaven, that He is my Lord and Savior, and that He came to Earth, suffered, died for my sins, and rose from the dead to offer me eternal sanctuary with Him now and at the end of days. Why would I want to believe these things? Because that's what most of my family believes; and because I don't like conflict, I don't always enjoy being on the outside of the in-group (it gets lonesome here), and life in the United States of America might just be a little less rife with tension if I believed as many others claim to believe. Yes, I would believe these things if I could believe whatever I wanted. But I don't believe these things. And not just because I don't want to, but because I can't. My beliefs are not a matter of desire or volition.

Being a Unitarian Universalist is a tough job. We have to figure out what we must believe, many of us by learning from what others believe and sifting out the things that don't evoke in our spirits a sense of the Divine, while retaining those things that do. Our institutions do not determine or proscribe what those precise things might be, but we collectively share guidelines to help us along the way. We agree to walk with one another on the journey, in love. Sometimes that walk is exciting and filled with joyous discovery and revelation. Sometimes it can be boring and dull as anything—but the point is that we do it together. My boring jaunt on any given day with other souls might provide that life-changing and life-affirming moment that they need to make their own connection to the Divine. Who am I to deny them that opportunity? Who am I to deny it to myself?

Unitarian Universalism is a saving faith. The more ways and opportunities we have to connect to the Divine, the better. Hallelujah!

So no, we do not believe in nothing, and we do not believe in everything. Each of us struggles to uncover what it is that we absolutely must believe. How do we put an end to the perception that we are "just a club"? How can I stop being annoyed by these misconceptions?

Union Sunday 2013

Are you in the Baltimore area? Come to the Union Sunday service at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore tomorrow morning, May 5, 2013 at 11AM!

This special service commemorates the sermon given in 1819 by William Ellery Channing at the ordination of our first minister, Jared Sparks. The sermon, titled "Unitarian Christianity" and popularly know as the Baltimore Sermon, was essentially the first public declaration of Unitarianism as a distinct thread of Christian thought in the United States.

Although we are no longer predominantly or nominally Christian per se as a body, each year on the first Sunday in May, we invite a distinguished Unitarian Universalist to challenge us in a manner that pays homage to the way Channing's original sermon challenged the orthodoxy of his day (and ours?).

This year's speaker, from the Unitarian Church of All Souls in New York City, is Rev. Galen Guengrich, preaching on "A Departure from the Course Generally Followed".

All area Unitarian Universalists are invited for this wonderful service, and as usual you are welcome to join us! It's going to be packed, so come early to find a good seat. See you there!

Click here to read Reverend Channing's "Unitarian Christianity".

Click here to see the facebook event for May 5, 2013.

Stealing Jesus: to claim, or not to claim, my Christian heritage?

So - working in a synagogue has given me new perspective on the value of scripture, heritage and tradition. Although I briefly thought of myself as an atheist after leaving the United Methodist Church I was raised in, God has never really been far from my heart, and certainly has never been far from my mind - I'm for all intents and purposes obsessed with theological reflection. I once had a conversation with a fellow member in my home Unitarian Universalist congregation, where I must have asked him something along the lines of "why do you stick with Christianity", although I can't remember exactly what either of us said. Even though the words of his answer are lost to my memory, what I understood him to be communicating to me was that he remains a Christian because he has to. Because that's who he is.


At the time, I didn't quite get what he meant. But learning about the yearly cycle of festivals and observances, of weekly Torah readings and study, and all the trappings of what it means to be a Jew - all of that is leading me to realize that I, too, cannot escape who I am. As a Unitarian Universalist, it is incumbent upon me to learn from any and every faith tradition that provides meaning for me and to apply what I've learned to my life. But no amount of respect and study of the Mahabharata will make me a Hindu. No amount of study of the Tripitaka will make me a Buddhist. Although I appreciate Judaism and learned more about it in the past six months than I realized I didn't know...I will never be a Jew.


I have come to the realization - or decision - that I can study and appreciate any of these faiths and more, but that I cannot adopt them as my own. I can learn from them, but I am unable to fully embrace them. The Judeo-Christian Bible and its stories, its legacies, are ingrained in me by way of my upbringing in a way that is more immediate and comprehensible to me than any other tradition has a hope of becoming, by the mere fact that I was raised with it. It's a part of me. And whether I agree or disagree with Christianity as it has become in our society, I have to admit that, as an American with my background, it's still the first lens through which I understand the universe.


So why not claim my heritage, make it my own, and run with it? Because I still have baggage. I cannot, I will not, call myself a Christian unless and until I can deal with the baggage that comes along with that for me. However, I can stop fighting it. I believe I already have stopped fighting it; but saying it out loud should make it easier to let go. Rev. Rolenz' sermon helped me to see that I don't have to accept other people's understanding of Jesus' message - which has been morphed over the millenia into the myriad churches we have today. I am also reading Marcus Borg's Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, which, after reading his book The God We Never Knew, is allowing me to feel more comfortable with my history, and by extension with my future. Can I be a Jesusite without Christianity? Can I call myself a Christian without all the Jesus stuff? Can I, like so many of my Jewish friends, just put secular in front of Christian and be happy with that, ignoring whatever (temporary?) cognitive dissonance it creates in my mind? Hm...


So yeah - that's a lot of babbling. And I'm not sure it came out coherently. Watch the sermon, maybe that will help.


For now, I will continue to reflect on harmonious ways to claim my inherited Christian tradition, melded with my pagan a.k.a. nature-based spirituality. I'm blessed to have a home in Unitarian Universalism, my chosen faith, that provides me the space to do so.

The role of religion in my life

Years ago, I was a very active member of a community of Unitarian Universalists on the popular website beliefnet.com Participating there actually helped me on my journey into Unitarian Universalism, and provided a virtual community that I sorely needed at that time. In the decade or so since I first joined, Beliefnet has gone through many changes...many of which I did not appreciate, and therefore my participation in whatever community may remain there has become nonexistent.

However, the memory of what once was occasionally draws me back to the site, and I sometimes find little gems of conversation that spark more thoughts in me about my spiritual journey.

Today I happened to catch a tweet (@beliefnet) that led me to the site, where a user posed the question "What role does religion play in your life?", followed by a series of illustrative questions to elicit responses. Most folks answered the questions individually, and so that's what I did. Here is my response, with questions included:

What role does religion play in your life?
Religion is pretty central to my life, and everything I am and do is an expression of that.

Do you believe in the absolute historical accuracy and authority of your religious text(s)?

I believe that all religious texts are representations of a people’s attempt to understand themselves and the universe they inhabit. They are true inasmuch as any story illustrates its truth, and need not be literal in order to have meaning. In this sense, the text has only as much authority as is given it by the reader, who must find some resonance with it. The question of “absolute historical accuracy” is therefore moot.

Is it just a cultural thing for you, something you were raised with and identify yourself as, but otherwise don't care much about?

No. I actually “converted” in my late teens/early twenties, and my religious identity is very important to me.

Do you participate in your religion because it gives you comfort and strength? Or maybe a sense of community and belonging?

Both. It also provides me with opportunities to fulfill my own human potential, a challenge to help others fulfill their potential, and a safe framework within which to struggle with “the big questions”.

Do you feel like you're fulfilling a destiny of some kind by carrying out the teachings of your religion?

I feel like am doing the best I can to comprehend existence and to improve our experience of it. If that moving toward wholeness and holiness is “destiny”, then I must answer yes. If by destiny you mean something like “the inevitability of fate”, then I would say no.

I welcome you to state your religion when answering, if you feel comfortable doing so.

I am a Unitarian Universalist.

UUA.org

More questions? Feel free to ask me anything cultural - especially about language, music, sexuality, religion and faith - by clicking here. Account not required; anonymous questions allowed.

formspring question: If everyone goes to Heaven, as Universalists traditionally believe, whats the reward for doing good works over doing bad works?

Universalists have understood the concepts of Heaven and Hell in different ways over the centuries. Few (if any) modern Universalists within the Unitarian Universalist movement believe in Heaven or Hell as a literal place-destination. If they find the idea theologically useful at all, it is more likely that these terms will refer to frames of mind and states of being.
When Christians refer to “building the Kingdom of God”, this usually means creating a world that is just and at peace in the here-and-now, rather than designating any otherworldly heaven in the afterlife. I would wager that for most Universalists, Christian or otherwise, creating such a world is the only way to “get to Heaven” right here on Earth, and that in itself is enough motivation for doing good.
As for rewards, I’m not sure Universalists seek any…but if the consequence of doing bad works is living a personal hell, then I’d say that’s deterrent enough to live as best a life as one can.

Thanks for the question. I hope I’ve done it justice with my response!

Ask me anything cultural, especially about language, music, sexuality, religion and faith.

Facts and the Truth

This is the reflection I shared during a Young Adult-presented summer worship service at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore, July 18, 2010.

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The poet Maya Angelou is quoted to have said, “There's a world of difference between truth and facts. Facts can obscure the truth.”

I never did finish college. Having an existential crisis involving issues of sexuality, a loss of faith, and psychological duress is not conducive to study! For a period of about 2 years I attempted to convince myself that I would live purely by the facts, the scientific, the observable and falsifiable. But it eventually became apparent to me that something was missing. I felt empty. All my background in science and learning left me with the facts of my life and an ability to analyze them, but helpless to do anything with this information. The truth of my life, the meaning that connected the fact-engendered dots, eluded me. It was then that I started on the path that led me to becoming a Unitarian Universalist, and after more than a decade I still see evidence that we have not overcome the false dichotomy of science vs. faith, of fact vs. truth.

Science and faith are not of necessity at odds with one another. In truth, I would contend that they can both be seen as tools in our human search for understanding. Which tool one chooses to use primarily is likely based on one’s personal experience.

If we take Angelou’s quote at face value, we may be tempted to conclude (if we equate facts with science and truth with faith) that science can and does obstruct faith. That faith is the better tool to use. However, in addition to the statement “facts can obscure the truth”, I would argue that facts help to reveal truth as well.

When I was a very young child, I loved to play outside in the dirt and observe all the little creatures that lived in our garden. By the time I got to high school, my interest in nature and in science was great. I took six science courses in 4 years, half of these in my senior year.

But I have also always had a love for language, for music, and for culture. Ever since my earliest years growing up in Irvington, NJ, I have been blessed to have friends who come from many different places around the globe. I have always been surrounded by Spanish-speaking peoples. I studied Italian, Greek, German, and French, besides a host of other languages. When I entered college in the fall of 1997, I had no idea which direction to go in. Should I follow my interest in science? Or should I go with my passion for culture, focusing on language and music?

These were and are some of the facts of my life. But at some point, a decision had to be made about the truth of my life.

In Marcus Borg’s book The Heart of Christianity (which is subtitled “Rediscovering a Life of Faith”, so if the word Christianity has too much baggage feel free to engage in mental gymnastics and leave behind the fact of the word and hear the truth of the statements he makes), the renowned professor of Religion and Culture explores a paradigm shift in Christian worldview from that of a tradition of divine authority that is literal-factual to one primarily of metaphor, human response, and transformation. Borg asserts that faith is at the heart of Christianity, and provides four ways to understand what faith is — assensus, or faith as belief; fiducia, or faith as trust; fidelitas, or faith as loyalty and commitment; and visio, or “faith as a way of seeing the whole, a way of seeing ‘what is’.” If we take this last understanding of faith, we might start to see facts and truth working in concert with one another, even as we choose to see through one lens or the other. To me, science (or the facts) provides the dots and the lines of our daily lives, the material in which we exist and with which we work to understand life as we know it. To me, faith (or the truth) provides a holistic understanding that goes beyond reason and intellect; it is what connects the dots of science and that which allows us to read between the lines of factual existence. We may be able to factually describe what happens to us when we experience emotion, awe, and wonder; but for me, the power of language, of story and myth, was and is the more transformative path. However, I believe we need both the facts and the truth in order to fully live.

In fact, my main academic interests growing up were science and language. In truth, learning several different languages opened my mind to different ways to view the world, and life in general. Language helped me to understand the sciences as other forms of communication and understanding. In his book, Borg goes on to explain the Latin word credo, which is usually translated as “I believe”, splitting it into its constituent parts of ‘cre’ (think cardiac) meaning ‘heart’, and ‘do’ (think donate) meaning ‘to give’. When I say “I believe”, it is with this understanding of giving my heart to something, which is different than believing something intellectually – with mind.

Again, I believe we need both the facts and the truth in order to fully live. May we Unitarian Universalists continue building bridges between them.

Personal Transitions

This text is from a reflection on Transition that I shared during a summer worship service at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore back in 2008.

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Harry Emerson Fosdick, the early 20^th Century liberal Baptist minister who was a prominent force against the emergence of modern-day Fundamentalism, says, in part, in his 1932 book entitled As I See Religion:

The whole discussion…as to which is the true church, seems…a poor expenditure of time because there is no such thing as a true church. All religious organizations, like all secular organizations, are approximate endeavors to meet changing human needs; and one of the best things about them is that, in spite of themselves, they cannot remain as they are.

Fosdick goes on to say, that:

The envenomed controversy also as to which is the true theology…seems largely futile, not because the discovery of the truth about God is unimportant, but because the idea that anybody has so discovered and defined God that he should controversially desire to enforce his opinion on another is absurd. All theology tentatively phrases in current thought and language the best that, up to date, thinkers on religion have achieved; and the most hopeful thing about any system of theology is that it will not last.

Well, the most hopeful thing about my own personal relationships has also been that they do not last. Before you get all anxious about what I am going to say, let me clarify: they do not last as they are, but grow and blossom into something new. Or, when the time has come, they fade away into the past. A concept that has been useful, hopeful, and saving for me, is that of the circle or of the spiral. In a circle one can see that the ending is the beginning is the ending is the beginning. In a spiral, one sees more clearly that a cycle doesn’t necessarily require a ceaseless repetition of the same, over and over and over again; the spiral illustrates the ever-widening scope of experience—every round goes higher and higher.

Today I am 29 years old, and have come to see clear decade-long demarcations in the quality and type of relationship that I have had. My first 5 years were spent almost carefree, living in a 3-story house filled with aunts, uncles, parents, siblings, cousins, my grandmother and great-grandmother! The next 5 years – my first 5 in school – I became much more guarded and cautious with the world. For awhile, I did not know what the word ‘fag’ meant, but could tell by the meanness of those who chose to apply it to me that I did not want to be associated with it.

My grandmother, Shirley Mae, died when I was 10; and so started the next decade of my life. I’d be willing to bet that none of you would have recognized the Adrian of 10-20. Sure, I was friendly and outgoing; but I was deeply closeted and unhappy. Severely depressed at times. My relationships with people, my family, with God, they all deteriorated slowly until at times I felt I would not reach my 20^th year.

But I did. I came out to my friends, I came out to my family, I came out of a theological environment that was harming my soul and came to Unitarian Universalism, which as I once told [the Reverend] Phyllis Hubbell, is saving me every day as my mind and spirit are expanded in love. My 20s have proven to be a time of personal trial and error—a time of learning who I want to be, and of learning to be who I am in all my relationships again. Relationships with other people, my family, with God, with faith, and yes, with myself. The most hopeful thing about any system of theology – or any system for that matter – is that it does not last; that it is not static and stale, but grows and is ever-becoming.

My 20s are coming to an end. I have met the love of my life in my partner, Joel Graham, who is now officially a full-time resident of [Baltimore City], I thank you very much. And a new phase of life begins, calling me to grow even more, in the spirit of love. I expect my 30s to be, like my 20s, years of personal trial and error. But though the cycle be repeated, these next 10 years will be even better than I can possibly imagine. Blessed be each transition, as they are times of holy action.

September 11, 2001, helped solidify my UU faith

I stayed up pretty late on Monday, September 10, 2001. At 22 years old, I was a supervisor at Borders and working the closing shift the next day; there was no reason for me to go to bed early. In all likelihood, I probably went out with friends and partied. After all, that’s what 22 year-olds do, isn’t it?

But I don’t remember much of anything factual about Monday, September 10, 2001. What I do remember is my brother waking me up way too early the following morning with some stupid story about an airplane flying into one of the twin towers. At the time, I felt that my younger siblings were more of an annoyance to me than anything else — a prejudice I was privileged to hold as the eldest of our parents’ three children. So having my sleep interrupted by such an incredible claim, coming from Nemesis No. 1, just made me angry. I was much less forgiving then!

Nevertheless, he was persistent and continued to try and get me out of bed.

My father worked in midtown Manhattan then, my mother in central New Jersey. In our den, we had a decent sized television with DirecTV and a sound system appropriate for a small dance club. Now lying awake in bed, I could hear my brother and sister watching the news downstairs. I still didn’t believe that anything had happened but was curious to know what had gotten them up and watching the news, so I got out of bed and walked down the stairs into the living room.

From there I could clearly see on the screen the faces of people in shock, people in tears, people running, and a building in flames. Shortly after, I watched as the second plane flew into the first building’s twin. Despite witnessing the event, there was still a certain amount of incredulity that kept me from having any real response. It was an unreal scenario, outside the realm of the possible, and it didn’t make any sense.

Then my mother called to tell us that she was coming home from work, and that we should stay there. The phone lines into Manhattan were jammed and we were unable to get in touch with my father. And that was when everything became “for-real real”.

***

I came out to my family in a 1999 letter written specifically to them. My mother bugged me for weeks about what I wanted for my birthday — her firstborn was turning 20. I told her that what I wanted for my birthday was to give my family a gift, and that that was all I needed. It must have been quite a shock when I delivered my five-page letter, but I wasn’t there to witness it because I had left home, anxiety-ridden and with no game plan.

The letter eventually got around to revealing the fact of my sexuality, but the bulk of it served as written catharsis, finally exposing years of depression and religious angst revolving around unanswered questions, questions answered unsatisfactorily, and questions left unasked. Although it felt good to relieve the burden of a hidden sexuality, I still found it difficult to admit that I was unsure of my religious views. Unsatisfied with and even harmed by the dogma of our family’s particular brand of Christianity, and confused by much of its theology, I left the church. The only options for salvation were miserable-now-and-saved-for-eternity or content-for-now-and-damned-to-hell. I decided that I was an atheist, I didn’t need any organized religion, and my choice—my heresy—would seal my fate.

In 2000 I officially became a Unitarian Universalist. Atheism didn’t pan out, and I missed the community and the living religion only found when likeminded folks get together with common purpose. After much research, I landed in a UU church and believed I had found a new religious home. Initially, I took the introductory religious education courses offered, but didn’t really integrate myself too well into the life of the congregation. And then my nuisance of a younger brother woke me up with some story about a plane and the World Trade Center…

After the stresses of the day had waned, all my friends and family who worked in Manhattan were accounted for and I was grateful. My yearnings for the “spiritual food” my aunt insisted I needed a few years earlier began to grow, and I was eager to get more involved in Unitarian Universalism. Returning to the slightly-less-than-omniscient Internet, I stumbled across what was then a thriving group of lively UUs on the popular religion site Beliefnet.com. Using my newly inspired handle “ExPluribusUnum”, I there became acquainted with ChaliceChick, the Socinian, and several other people with whom I have enjoyed (sometimes intense) theological and ethical discussion. It was there that I first encountered the ubiquitous RobinEdgar.

I dove right into this new, exciting religious community, and was hooked. As my moniker suggested, I was convinced that human beings can coexist, and indeed that out of many nations we are one people with the same struggles and possibilities. The “9-11 attacks” were an affront to humanity itself, and in my mind the only spiritually appropriate response was to unite in godly love and combat the hatred that arises out of desperation, as we have forgotten the truth that we are all “God’s children”.

***

As 2002 began, and after a nasty car accident, I began riding New Jersey Transit’s Midtown Direct train into the City and attending services at the Fourth Universalist Society on the island’s Upper West Side. It was there that I met the Reverend Rosemary Bray McNatt, who had just begun her ministry there on Sunday, September 9; and the Reverend Nathan C. Walker, then 4th U’s interim Director of Religious Education, who lead a group for congregants in their 20s and 30s that I found most helpful.

At 30, I have now been a UU for longer than I attended the church of my teens. I love the openness, the community, the breadth of theologies, and especially the freedom (and expectation!) to question things — even God. Years later, now living in Baltimore, I can recall participating in a group at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore called “Foundations”, in which we discussed what defines today’s Unitarian Universalism. I struggled with the concept of salvation, still carrying the baggage of heaven vs. hell in my spirit. One day, taking a break from work, I stopped to listen to some Bible radio — something I do on occasion to test, question, and strengthen my faith. Listening to the fire and brimstone preaching of this particular program, I remember being totally unattached to the rhetoric and having more of an intellectual curiosity than an emotional response. Eureka! That was the moment I truly stopped believing that God would condemn me to eternal damnation, and all I could feel was pity for the radio host. Universalism more so than (but not independent of) Unitarianism is the part of our heritage that really allows me to feel free, and to be free, awash in God’s love.

We are all one people, sharing the same little blue planet, on a common course through the universe and through history. And every year on September 11, I reflect on all of this personal history, and am convinced that becoming a Unitarian Universalist has saved me.

Eight years later we are stuck in multiple wars; and despite having elected the first Black president, tensions based on difference are heightened around the globe. Differences in race, class, ethnicity, and belief — these all make for a beautiful bouquet that should be honored and celebrated. This is something that Unitarian Universalism can do well, if we work at it.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had this to say:

Returning violence for violence multiplies violence,
adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness:
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

Violence and hate do not bring salvation. Only the Spirit of Love and of Life can do that. Unitarian Universalism was open to me when I needed to be loved, and I am forever grateful.

That is what September 11 reminds me every year.

May we share Love and create Peace wherever we go.

Amen.