Learning Imperfectly

Reflection after taking 11 youth to GA 2017 --Part 1 of 2--

'Karma' by Korean sculptor Do Ho Suh**

Our youth program has settled into a groove of weekly meetings each year, sprinkled with a few service learning trips and social outings. Generally the end of each year culminates with the largest of these experiences. This year, many of us ended our year together by spending almost a week in New Orleans, attending General Assembly.

Last year was the first year I ever attended GA, flying down to Columbus, OH with our youth group coordinator and 3 youth, we felt our way through the gathering awkwardly, and travelled on to West Virginia afterward to engage in a week of community service learning joined by 9 more youth and 2 other advisors from our church. GA2016 fell into the shadows of the second part of that trip, but we certainly brought home a new fascination with this mega-church sized gathering of UU’s from all corners of the country and beyond.
This year, the justice theme of General Assembly, as well as the location and costs associated, led us to commit wholeheartedly to GA as our end of year trip. We wanted to find ways to engage in the community while we were in New Orleans, and so we signed on to one of the service learning opportunities created by the CELSJR for attendees at GA. Our group participated in a morning discussion with staff from Ubuntu Village, an advocacy organization supporting incarcerated youth in New Orleans. The discussion was interesting and our youth were clearly taking in the information being shared. Then, following the discussion we had the opportunity to visit a youth detention facility and meet about 50 incarcerated youth.
The part of the program was pretty awkward. We arrived, a multi-generational pack of about 50 people, mostly white, each holding a paper gift bag we had put together along with a card we had written, anonymously addressed to one of the youth we would meet, packed along side deodorant, a pair of socks, some shampoo. We walked through the facility as groups of about 10 youth at a time came out to greet us, all but one were black, all but two were male, and they were each instructed to say thank you to us as we, in turn, each awkwardly handed one youth a gift bag.
There were a few questions exchanged, more than a few moments of kind eye contact, I heard longings amongst the youth traveling with me that they might have time to throw a basketball around, or just hang out and let the awkwardness of this initial encounter drift away a little, but this was the extent of the time we would have together. We were soon moving on to the next area, and in not much more than 30 minutes, we had come and gone. Leaving behind a building filled with youth the same age as those with whom I was traveling. Children- on the cusp of adulthood, growing into themselves -but children. One of whom had observed while we were there that he felt safer inside this facility than he did at home, but of course he missed being home, and he missed being free, but also, he felt safer.
In my mind I think about this complexity, and it strikes me like every other aspect of the program that day, that none of this is simple- except for the fact- that children do not belong in prison.

We left with very little chance to even reflect as a group. We returned to the convention hall and had to hurry off to the next event. It wasn’t until later that evening that our youth and facilitators had a chance to gather on the patio where we were staying, and talk about what had happened, about what we thought of the experience, and about why it was set up the way it was. The beginning of our reflection included a fair amount of critique about how the trip went- that it felt rushed, and awkward, and that it felt like our being there was the opposite of comforting for the youth living in that facility, there wasn’t enough time, and so on.. When everyone had a chance to speak, I agreed that it didn’t feel great. Then I shared three things that I knew-

Talking with staff from Ubuntu Village and the Youth Facility

1. That the CELSJR, who organized the trip, were a group who I have worked with before, who I know to be incredibly thoughtful and intentional about how they work with this community from within this community.
2. That I suspected finding small ways to offer people an opportunity to engage here in NOLA within the constraints of GA (Lots of people, limited time, many other obligations pulling staff in multiple directions) was a very challenging task for CELSJR. and
3. Ubuntu village, though not a group I knew before this experience, clearly had a strong relationship of trust and support with the facility we visited, as evidenced by the fact that we were allowed to come in at all.

So, I asked our youth, "Considering those things, what do you think the folks who created this program hoped for us to learn in this experience? What was meaningful for you, what might you remember as you move forward? How does this day fall into the context of the reading and reflecting we’d been doing* over the past few months as we got ready for GA?"

What followed was a beautiful deepening of our first round of reflections, new insights and observations, and agreement that even in it’s imperfection, it had been a valuable experience.
This feels like an important thing to hold up- that we look for the balance that comes from complex endeavors. That we are cautious and thoughtful about how we engage, particularly when it involves marginalized and disenfranchised people, but also that we remember to ask new questions and different questions. That we remember to take time to reflect on experiences even (or especially) if they aren’t perfect, and by reflect I do not just mean sit and critique the ways in which they may have fallen short, but also what is it we learn from engaging imperfectly? What do we know now for next time? What are we carrying forward?
I can not tell you what new understandings, or moments of insight any one of the youth from my congregation will be carrying forward with them into their life after our week in New Orleans. Those are for each of them to hold and to discover. I can say that there were some less than perfectly executed moments on our trip, and it is those moments right now, that I am feeling most grateful for- even as I soak in the brilliance of the 11 teens and two other adults with whom I traveled.
This is true about any ministry we offer to one another in all aspects of our faith. We do what we are able, we find ways to engage with each other, to challenge each other, to support each other-- to explore together, but we never really know how those points of contact with one another unfold within anyone else’s hearts. We only know ourselves, and our own unfolding.

'Love'  by, Robert Indiana**

That is a part of the magic, to me. It is why this work is so immeasurable and essential.

* Our preparation for this project included: Watching 13th on Netflix, reading several other articles from the GA prep materials, and engaging in discussions at youth group about youth incarceration statistics and the school to prison pipeline.

**Both Sculptures are a part of the Sculpture garden at City Park in New Orleans, in connection with the New Orleans Museum of Art.

Strong Ears

Sermon for the #White Supremacy Teach-In at South Church, Portsmouth, NH

April 30, 2017

In Laura Esquivel’s novel Like Water For Chocolate, she writes:

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves; we need oxygen and a candle to help. [when a match is lit..]For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it. Each person has to discover what will set off those explosions in order to live, since the combustion that occurs when one of them is ignited is what nourishes the soul.”

When I received my undergraduate degree from college, my family came out to New Mexico to celebrate. They travelled 2,000 miles, and along with friends, formed a small band in the bleachers.

There were thousands of us graduating—a huge gymnasium of caps, yet when my name was called into the room, my people cheered so loudly that the person reading paused.

I was mortified, but also, I felt deeply loved.

We need our people. We need to feel cheered and loved.

It is human to surround ourselves with people who hold us up, encourage us, and are ready to catch us if we fall.

And

It can be problematic if we surround ourselves with voices who affirm, but don’t necessarily challenge us to grow. Voices that say, “You are right- like me- we are right. Let’s take on those guys, they are wrong.”

Sometimes we need help to see other perspectives, we need encouragement toward compromise. Our loved ones can help us to look at ourselves in the mirror and see what we can do better.

We are our best selves when we have people who support us, and also push us forward, because change often comes from relationship. You’ve experienced this certainly. People- with whom we feel a connection- share an idea and it sways us. Little moments where we awaken to someone else, where we say “wow, I never thought about that before”.

Sometimes this feels good. Sometimes not so much. There are even times when we feel shame at our own ignorance- and shame is a dangerous thing, but less so, when we know that there is love and support around us. I am grateful for Unitarian Universalism because this faith offers us both. We are here to love each other, together we are able to work toward change in the larger world, and, our relationship with one another also allows us to hold a mirror up for each other sometimes.

Unitarian Universalists have ‘earned some stripes’ when it comes to social justice work, and there is a lot of pride in that history. I suspect that even many of our newest members or visitors, have heard about how much Unitarian Universalists value and embrace justice as being integral to our faith. We have a history of showing up and speaking out, and it is one of the reasons many of us have chosen to hitch our wagons to this star.

We UU’s have also made mistakes, and have missed opportunities to lead in the face of injustice; missed opportunities to affect change within our faith community, and beyond. In the late 1960s, for example, two groups were formed within national UU leadership which were intended to foster black empowerment and promote integration, but after UU’s initially committed to fund these groups, both ultimately lost funding and support within our UU community. It is a complex story and there has been a lot written on the Black Empowerment Controversy of the late 60s, but one of the long-term consequences was the loss of a significant number of UUs of color, particularly Black UUs, from our congregations. The scars of that moment are still carried by many who remain.

In reflecting on that time Mark Morrison Reed writes:

“I have come to believe that the only way to move forward is to look upon what transpired as a tragedy. What do I mean? These were all honorable people responding to cultural circumstances not of their making while in the grip of emotional forces beyond their control. These circumstances compelled them to choose between dearly held values, and they brought to their decision making their humanness: lofty hopes and moral certitude, grim earnestness and inflamed passions, some self-delusion, lots of defensiveness, and as tragedy requires, hubris. Conceived of as tragedy, this drama does make sense.”

---

I don’t know how many of you have been following recent events in our national Unitarian Universalist Association, but I share that piece of our history because it relates to things unfolding today.

The UUA (which to oversimplify, is our national office) made a hiring decision early last month which was publicly contested as an example of how we, UU’s, perpetuate white supremacist culture, in part, by maintaining nearly exclusively white leadership in the top positions within our organization. As you might imagine, there was an immediate flurry of responses and reactions. Shortly after the initial letter of dissent was published, Peter Morales, the UUA president, reacted to the public challenge in a way that felt, for many, to be both dismissive and defensive. In this era of high speed news, the result of these events created all kinds of waves in the UU community. One unexpected consequence was President Morales submitting his resignation 3 months prior to the end of his term; several other leaders followed suit.

Much of the reaction and continued discussion that has stemmed from these events relates to the initial use of the term white supremacy culture. It is certainly a provocative choice of words, and arguably unfair because for many people, that term refers to the most atrocious and hateful examples of racism.

As reverend Don Southworth expressed in one reaction:
“Most congregational members... have not sat in multi-day classes and read books and essays on the changing definition of white supremacy over the years as many of our clergy and UUA board members have done.”

While the term was intended to reference the much more subtle, systemic set of norms and standards that exist in the world we all navigate. For many, white supremacy evokes the Ku Klux Klan, swastikas, and violence against black bodies. The use of the term makes defensiveness- in a community of people who have committed to fight for human liberation- almost unavoidable. There is a significant number of people within our UU family, who believe the provocative nature of the term makes it unnecessarily difficult to move past it and have a real conversation about the intent behind it’s use.

This might be true. And. “These are all honorable people”---

It is not a coincidence that all of this is happening within our UU community right now. It is a time when our planet is groaning. A time where many nations are experiencing an upswing in dangerous nationalism, polarized opinions, and in-fighting. Where too many governments are making decisions that benefit only the very rich, and are using their power to instill fear and division amongst their citizens. Moments like these are terrifying. I see that fear being expressed by my family and friends, by many of you who are here with me this morning, and, yes, in so many ways in the media that we consume.

I also see, clearly, that the degree to which we feel afraid right now is directly related to the body into which we were born. Some of us in this room, are experiencing fear about our overall safety in the US for the first time ever, while others have been navigating this fear for most of their lives, and are now just feeling it heighten. This discrepancy in how a person experiences life in our country depending on their race- as well as their gender, sexual orientation, economic status and so on, relates to the white supremacy culture that is being held up for examination. Whether or not we feel comfortable with the use of the term, we can certainly reflect on why it was used.

Within our Unitarian Universalist community, I can understand how marginalized people, would feel an increased need to demand more from those around them who have power and claim to be allies in fighting for a more just world. I can understand it, because I feel it in myself as a woman in response to the current tone and policies playing out related to women in our country and the world. There is a correlation between feeling increased threat and needing to be sure we are surrounded by people who ‘have our backs’. It is helpful for me to recognize that even with my own life, I can reflect on times when I needed to test the fortitude of people who claimed to be on my team. This is a human need, to trust others and feel confident in that trust, and as insecurities build in our lives, testing the strength of our bonds to others is all the more important.

As is true with many things, the specifics of this moment are far less important than the universal truth from which it has come. We need one another. Whether we are speaking about our family or friends, our neighborhood, or our town, or our country.. we are at our best when we are working together and doing our best to hold each other up. If we are climbing a mountain and someone behind us reaches out for us to give them a hand, that is not the moment to evaluate the wording of their request. First, we help them up.

Amongst my Religious education colleagues, there has been strong agreement that we can use this moment as an opportunity for collaborative, intentional growth in our faith community. We are being called to look in the mirror. This is an opportunity to say we will not walk away from that call simply because we are not comfortable with the wording of the request. And so, in every single state across our country, over the next two Sundays, there are UU congregations like ours who are exploring the culture of white supremacy in which we live; more than 600 individual churches and fellowships have committed to what has been named a “White Supremacy Teach-In”. Imagine the possible impact of this choice. Easily more than 60,000 people, in the span of a few hours, engaging in an opportunity to transform their understanding of an often invisible reality in which we ALL live.

French philosopher, Michel de Montaigne, wrote:

“We need very strong ears to hear ourselves judged frankly, and because there are few who can endure frank criticism without being stung by it, those who venture to criticize us perform a remarkable act of friendship, for to undertake to wound or offend a man for his own good is to have a healthy love for him.”

---
You may recall that back in January, Reverend Chris and I travelled to Nicaragua with 8 other adults from our congregation, to witness the work of FEM, a non-profit organization working to empower disenfranchised rural Nicaraguan women. As we began to learn about the work they were doing, I was blown away by their comprehensive and effective organizational model. They were deeply grounded in a clear mission and vision, and seemed to consider the complexities of their challenge with deep intention. They knew, for example that in addition to helping women secure education, they also had to find ways for them to then find employment within the communities where they lived when they returned with their degrees. 

Their work would impress anyone, and yet, as I returned to the states, and reflected further on my experience in Nicaragua, I realized that there was something more at play in my reaction to what I witnessed during the trip. I realized that there was a part of me that did not expect to see such intelligent and effective activism. There was a part of me that, deep down, away from my own consciousness, believed that kind of efficacy was unique to my own country. That it was something out of reach for ‘developing nations’, or even, struggling communities. I actually asked at one point, if the leader of this organization spent a lot of time reading about feminism, neoliberalism, and so forth-- because in my mind I had assumed the opposite, but why? Of course, the head of a non-profit organization that has, for decades, been working to dismantle a destructive oppressive system would be reading and learning at every opportunity. Why would I feel surprised that she was so smart?

This was a very unsettling realization for me. It is embarrassing to see bias in yourself. It is completely uncomfortable and makes me feel less like ‘one of the good people’. In the context of our church, it makes me feel like I’m failing at being a Unitarian Universalist.

The opposite is true, actually. It’s all part of growth- finding the ugly, or destructive, or limiting pieces of our subconscious, helps us bring them into the light and grow to a new, better place. Sharing them with all of you makes me feel exposed, but it also allows each of you to relate to the discomfort- something that might not happen if I kept my mistakes to myself. Furthermore, it gives me compassion for others when I see them stumble over similar mistakes.

This is part of why, I think, the term white supremacy was held up in reaction to last month’s hiring decision. The culture of white supremacy is ugly and it is insidious, and is nearly invisible to us. It does not start to get pulled apart until we are willing to examine the moments we catch a glimpse of it. In order to do that, we have to be willing to feel uncomfortable, and maybe embarrassed. We have to learn to recognize when we feel defensive, and to intentionally choose not to step away, not to start talking, but to engage our strong ears. To listen and learn.

Tema Okun writes: “Culture is powerful precisely because it is so present and at the same time so very difficult to name or identify. [Characteristics of white supremacy culture] are damaging because they are used as norms and standards without being proactively named or chosen by the group. They are damaging because they promote white supremacy thinking. Because we all live in a white supremacy culture, these characteristics show up in the attitudes and behaviors of all of us – people of color and white people...”

I cannot, with any degree of thoroughness, explain in a few hundred words, the subtle workings of this white supremacy culture we’re examining.

Ironically, it has woven itself throughout my attempts to write this sermon. I’ve worked for hours and hours on it, and I share that, not to brag, but because this need for perfection is a part of our culture. I am afraid that if I don’t get it just right, then it will be all wrong.

My tendency toward academic writing- it is part of this culture

My consciousness of who holds power in our community

My fear of conflict, and my awareness of your fear of conflict.

My belief that I can be objective.

and on and on...

There has been progress in some ways when it comes to these truths I’m holding up for you. AND. The roots of white supremacy are very deep.

I have rarely seen complicated events resolve themselves in a positive way without intentional, careful, and considered response by those involved. I often see conflict erupt, and watch as the opportunities to grow through them are forfeited. For multitudes of reasons, people don’t always rise to the occasion. Or, sometimes, we begin to rise and then lose momentum, and stall out.

I don’t know that we will see an end to this particular struggle in my lifetime, but I am committed to trying. Finding the words to share with all of you today required me to do a lot of reflection. I tried to think of each of you, and of the many experiences you all carry, and as is often the case, I found myself feeling grateful for all of you. We are on this walk together, and it is long and sometimes hard, but we are truly in good company.

Amen.

The Human Story

Sermon from November 20, 2016

South Church UU

In her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Naomi Remen writes:
Hidden in all stories is the One story. The more we listen, the clearer that [universal] Story becomes. Our true identity, who we are, why we are here, what sustains us, is in this story. The stories at every kitchen table are about the same things, stories of owning, having and losing, stories of sex, of power, of pain, of wounding, of courage, hope and healing, of loneliness and the end of loneliness. Stories about God. In telling them, we are telling each other the human story.

This month’s worship theme has asked us to reflect on the ways in which we are a community of Story. The Thanksgiving holiday is filled with reference to stories of the beginning of our country. Effective stories, told and retold to help solidify American identity. In his 1789 Thanksgiving Proclamation, President George Washington called for

"A day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by [the people of the United States] acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness."

At the time of this proclamation our new nation had already decimated the native populations of this land. When our then president speaks of ‘Our’ safety and happiness, he does so with a very focused lens as to who ‘we’ are. In 1789 citizens of our country are fluent with the use of selective humanity. George Washington was not offering safety and happiness to the slaves in the new world. He was not offering it to native people, or to women, for that matter. We have made progress since 1789 in terms of our understanding of ‘who’ is included when our government refers to it’s people, but we still have a long way to go. I am not alone in feeling like we are losing ground right now. We still live in country that employs selective humanity.

Story is powerful. I believe it holds answers to some of the complex issues we are facing as a nation and a world. Conversely, we do not have to look far to find countless ways in which story has been used as a weapon. Stories can be intimate, reflecting experiences that live at the core of our formation. We hold on to stories in our lives. We connect with each other through stories. Sometimes stories offer us power and sometimes we wield power by silencing stories.

Over the course of this past year I found myself, several times, in conversations about sexism, misogyny, and the commonality of sexual assault of women and girls in our country. Many of these conversations grew out of the palpable discomfort that was felt by myself, and others, in reaction to the discourse of the election year. The rhetoric of this campaign season was a triggering example of the ways in which women in our country are continually dismissed, devalued, and assaulted. Each time I found myself in conversations that circled back to this topic, women would inevitably begin sharing details about their our own stories of assault, because the words being slung across debate stages, ringing out from T.V news, and in twitter posts brought these traumas boiling to the surface of our minds.

The largest group-sharing I experienced occurred at a collegial training with no less than 150 women in the room. In every one of these moments, every woman had a personal story of physical sexual assault, and many had more than one, often beginning during childhood.

In a room of more than 150 women, when the question was raised asking who in the room has experienced sexual assault in their life, EVERY WOMAN RAISED HER HAND.

This prevalence surprised me some, but watching the men who were present for some of these moments was illuminating. They were stunned. Stunned in a way that women are not. Often, the men who were present for these emotional conversations, left with an understanding of the experience of being female that they did not have before. The shocking tone of this election offered them a glimpse of stories women tend to share only with one another because we lean on one another to get past these traumas, teach one another ways to try to keep ourselves safer- We all know we are not safe.

Many men, however, do not know this experience, and we do not as a culture, often talk openly about it, it does not get much attention in a still-male dominated system. These stories have been silenced for a long time. And clearly, it was not damning enough to have a person (running for the highest office in the land) be disqualified when he confessed to a pattern of engaging in sexual assault of women regularly. No matter that this is illegal, morally reprehensible, and horrifying.

And I need to be clear, here, because in this election cycle, in this moment in our history, and every moment up until this point, the struggle for women’s safety and women’s equality is well down the list if one were to rank the realities of what it’s like to be marginalized in America. Being female makes you a marginalized person, and I can speak from my heart about it. However, being a black woman is exponentially harder. Being transgender, arguably harder still. If you are black and trans, I can’t even fathom the regularity of hate you experience. Being poor in our country makes you marginalized. Native populations, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, disabled, Muslim, Jewish, immigrant… the list goes on and on. The melting pot of America, has always been simultaneously held up as a point of pride, and used by people seeking to maintain power as a place to direct our anger, fear, and blame. In our presidential election it was used with stunning finesse, all the while hidden behind a crass demeanor that made many of us, myself included, blind to its effectiveness. This strategy is older than our country:

1. Define the ‘other’(always pick an already marginalized population)

2. Explain over and over again, how separating ourselves- from the other- will offer us safety and happiness.

The thing is, this strategy never works. It is a false and dangerous story. There is no long term, lasting happiness that comes from valuing one human being over another, and safety… is not real. None of us are safe. We can only aim for safer.

And

Safer comes from understanding one another, from breaking down the construct of ‘other’. This is our work. This is what is meant when we say: “we celebrate the worth and dignity of ALL people”.

On Tuesday and Wednesday of this past week, I started my work day at the Kittery community center co-facilitating a 7th grade parent discussion about adolescent sexuality. A one-hour talk to offer some information to 7th grade parents from Portsmouth middle school about how to be the primary sexuality educator in their child’s life (because, as parents, we are just that, whether we know it or not). I was asked to volunteer my time with this program because South Church offers comprehensive sexuality education, the Our Whole Lives program (OWL for short) multiple times through adolescence, as a supplement to the work our parents do while trying to raise healthy adults. I do not say this lightly: I believe that the OWL program is the single most effective justice work that we do at South Church. It is a life-changing program, and it is desperately needed in this world. Students who participate in the OWL program become sources of accurate information for their peer network. Marginalized youth have shared that OWL is a life saving experience, because it validates and values their truth. Owl is steadily arming our youth with the power of knowledge, self advocacy, and the skill of deep acceptance of one another as sexual beings. This program creates advocates for change.

We are doing this. Here.

When I travelled to West Virginia last June with our High School youth group, we arrived in a community very different from our own. We arrived with a resolve to learn, and to listen. We talked before hand about how our trip was less about the work projects that would fill our days, and more about the people we would meet, and the understanding we would gain from spending some time in this community, seeing it’s challenges in real time, and hearing stories. The stories filled almost every moment. They are woven into the culture of West Virginia in a way that sucks you in immediately. I got the sense that people share stories more in communities that are suffering, because they need one another. Without a doubt the many stories we heard during our trip helped us to build a deeper connection with our hosts.

When we returned from West Virginia, each of our youth wrote reflections and a handful of them shared some of their reflections in a worship service. One of them was Annika Strand, who said something that struck me immediately, and many of you have come back to her words in the past few weeks. She said: being in West Virginia was the first time that she could understand why someone in our country might vote for Donald Trump. I credit this understanding to the stories; to narrative’s ability to disarm us, and allow us to put ourselves into the shoes of ‘the other’. Every service learning trip, every justice project, brings us closer to others. We are doing this. Here.

There are a few members of our congregation who have been actively volunteering their time in the Strafford county prison, near Dover. They have had a long-term relationship with the prison, and have brought to our congregation the beginning of an opportunity to partner with this part of our community, through a book drive this month. It is a beginning that I hope will grow into a deeper relationship between our congregation and these families who are so often dismissed in our country as ‘others’. Kimberly Cloutier-Green, and Maggie Cataldi are both wisely protective of these marginalized people, even from us. Stressing the importance to go slow and be intentional in how we offer help, in how we begin to learn and connect as a congregation so we do not do harm. They know, deeply that this work is not short term. It does not help to show up once and check it off our list.

We are learning this. Here.

When the shooting in Orlando happened this past year, you were probably sitting in these pews. Our congregation has built a network with other like-minded faith communities and our larger community, and this building often hosts our shared grief when devastating events play out in the world.

We will keep holding that space, and forging that network. Here

I know that I am not the only one who felt gratitude for this South Church community as the outcome of the election unfolded. This is a ‘thing’ about having a church in your life. It is a community that will hold us when our hearts are breaking.

But I have to say this. There is difference between claiming membership to this congregation, and being a member. Change requires us to be verbs, not nouns; to be active; To be awake; To be advocates; To be allies; To sign up. It is sloppy work, where we stumble on our own feet. It requires us to be humble, introspective, and vulnerable. It requires the consistent gift of our time, and even when we do all of that, this is a slow climb, replete with moments, like this one, when we find ourselves sliding backwards. Together, we are a force, and we are one of many.

We are doing this. Here.

This week, if you are counting the moments till you can exhale and break bread with the people you love most, challenge yourself, to look for the ways in which stories deepen that love, and to take time to reflect on the stories of others. Consider checking in on friends who may be feeling deep fear right now. Offer them welcome if you are able. Offer them love, it makes more of a difference than you can possibly know.

If you have yet to figure out where to go this Thanksgiving because you do not feel safe, this is not a time when you need to roll up your sleeves and argue ideology. Be kind and gentle with yourself. Reach out if you need help, or company. Trust your feelings, they are real.

And if you are anxious about how to navigate through time with people that you love, but from whom you feel deeply disconnected and hurt. Maybe the answer is stories.

Share your stories. Hear their stories. Speak from your heart and listen from your heart. Start where we are, and slowly climb.

Things hoped for

Offered to the New England LREDA spring retreat

March 30, 2017

Reverend Jason Shelton spoke about our sources in Unitarian Universalism, and he offered these words:

“There are differences between us that are real and substantive, and if we let them, they could tear us apart...  If we don’t engage with what it means to be Christian in a UU setting, or humanist in a pluralist setting, then we are lacking the tools to be in community with one another. Instead of watering everything down to the theological least common denominator, we need to be in integrity with each of our Sources—not watering down Christianity so the humanist feels comfortable with it, or watering down humanism so the pagans feel comfortable with it. Sometimes there will be things that express your theology and make me feel uncomfortable, but I will grow spiritually by being in community with you, who sees things differently.” [1]

This really resonates for me, and I see many parallels to the conversation we are facing right now. I would offer that it is equally important, maybe even more important for us to be in integrity with each other, to be considering each of our rich tapestries of cultures, and experiences as sources for our growth as a faith community. Our leadership must reflect those many diverse experiences, not because it is just, but because it is essential to what Reverend Mishra-Marzetti called “the promise and dream of Unitarian Universalism.”

I believe in that promise and I will fight passionately against critique of the deep down seed of our shared religion. And still, there are a million examples of ways that I fail to meet the values and promise that are offered to me through Unitarian Universalism. If living into my faith is a mountain I must climb, it is hulking, and I don’t expect I’ll ever reach the top.

It is essential for me to critique myself as I live into my faith, and it is equally essential that we critique our larger institutional structure; this does not weaken our faith, it nourishes it.

I don’t generally get to attend worship on Sunday mornings-perhaps you can relate- and so I have developed a practice of streaming a worship service each week, from one place or another. Last week I watched a worship that was given during the Black Lives UU convening, by Reverend Osagyefo Uhuru Secou. He is a Pentecostal minister, he was at GA last year, I imagine some of you are familiar with him.

In the worship he sang a song using a verse from the bible- Hebrews 11:1 

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Being able to find wisdom in bible teachings is a fairly new thing for me, as a lifelong-UU, but that verse really struck me. It spoke to so many twitchings I’ve been navigating of late, and during the sermon I wrote it down so I would remember it.

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A few days later, the frustrating news about the recent UUA hiring emerged. I know many of you have been reading and thinking deeply about this same event. I found myself looking back at moments where I’ve seen our community take on this task of self evaluation with grace. I re-watched Gail Seavey’s Berry Street lecture, I read again, some of the reflections of Reverend Dr. Mark Morrison-Reed, and I returned to Reverend Secou’s worship.

Reverend Secou was offering his sermon to a room of black UU’s, and he was preaching to them about the ways in which the black community has served as a moral compass in our country and how black UU’s serve as a moral compass in Unitarian Universalism. He spoke about black joy,

“This joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me, and the world can’t take it away”.

He spoke about the strength that comes with having survived suffering, and he suggested that there is power in reclaiming resiliency as being normative, rather than pathologic. As I watched his sermon I felt in my heart the reality that we still have a lot of work to do in our UU community related to our accountability to one another- I have felt that before, and I know I will feel it again.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

This moment is not a comfortable moment. It is not even a welcome one, really, in the sense that I wish it had not happened. I wish, when the UUA hiring committee was faced with a choice between these two candidates, that they had made a different choice. It is, however, interesting to ask the following question. IF Christina Rivera had been hired, would our community be in a much different place?

The larger context has to be kept in our minds as we consider what is unfolding. The reasons for this decision, the wave of outcries, and these gasps of disbelief are complicated and rooted in the history of our faith and our country. And they are playing themselves out through the members of our community, who, like you and I, are climbing a very big mountain and are nowhere near the top.

Since Election Day, my congregation has been welcoming many new faces, new families, and many long time folks seeking to be more active, looking for ways to resist, to organize, to speak out against a shift in our country that feels dangerous. Instead of the winter slump in attendance that we usually experience, our numbers have stayed steady. People are coming to us searching.

I think this is true for many UU churches right now, because we have a reputation for being justice minded, for fighting for equality. We host discussion groups, organize busses to DC, hold vigils in response to hate. If you are looking for somewhere to engage, this is an obvious place to look. Unfortunately, when a community of people have this reputation, it is very easy to start to believe you have climbed to the top of the mountain and that now, you simply need to invite others to come on up. Our reaction to this week’s turn of events suggests we’re uncovering a myth about Unitarian Universalism that many of us had bought into, but which is not true. “the promise and dream of Unitarian Universalism” is something we are striving toward, but we are not there.

So, returning to the question of ‘what if’, I would suggest, that if this particular moment had gone differently, then this conversation we are engaging with would have waited until next week, or the week after that, or a few months from now when something else would have unfolded, reflecting how very far we still need to walk together to become what we covenant to be with each other.

Our despair in this conversation, I think, relates more to a false assumption than it does to an individual staffing choice. We live in a country built with a foundation of patriarchy and white supremacy, and we are members of a faith that grew from that paradigm. No matter what identity we claim as individuals, breaking down this hegemony is a very complicated task. It is elusive in part because for many of us it is comfortable, at least in the sense that it is what we know. But remaining comfortable is not climbing.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

In my congregation, most of the volunteers who teach in Religious education identify as women.  At the LREDA conference in San Diego last year, I think you could have fit the number of men in attendance at one table—maybe two. American public education, particularly elementary education, reflects a similar imbalance. My son’s elementary school is staffed entirely by female teachers with the exception of 3 men, one is the PE teacher, one teaches art, and the third is the principal. Every classroom teacher is female. How does this reality affect our children’s understanding of the world, of gender roles, of learning styles and communication skills? How does the prevalence of female educators in public education affect our opinion of the profession?

When Peter Morales spoke this week, one of the comments he made was that hiring a religious educator in a staff leadership position is problematic because they often do not have “as much management experience as ministers. “So the question is, are you willing to overlook that and train them?” he asked, adding, “you don’t want to set people up for failure” by putting them in positions they aren’t ready for.

Buddha observed: In a controversy the instant we feel anger we have already ceased striving for the truth, and have begun striving for ourselves.

Let us receive this moment as an opportunity- an invitation- to climb. If we can recognize that this is another moment of illumination along our path, another glimpse at the deep work we have set ourselves toward as a community of faith, then this moment becomes a moment of opportunity.

In his sermon, Reverend Secou said:  “we must be very careful, as Unitarian Universalists, that we are in the practice of remembering our history and the history of our country, and that we are not, instead creating myth and calling it history. “ He was speaking in the context of navigating our faith as a black UU, but his warning applies to all of us. We have not reached some pinnacle of enlightenment, but rather are, I hope, committed to the climb, and that requires us to be humble and be prepared to face the mistakes we make on the journey. It requires us to be accountable to one another. And again, Reverend Secou’s message relates, “Accountability” he said and I agree, “is predicated on the idea of relationship. You cannot hold somebody accountable that you are not in relationship with.“

I believe in that accountability and in that relationship.

I believe that resiliency is normative.

I believe that the hardest moments in my life are the source of some of my greatest strengths,

and I know that I have a mountain of management experience, even though I’m just a religious educator.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Amen

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[1] From: http://www.uuworld.org/articles/the-story-the-sources-cantata