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.

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?

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.

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.