Lessons Learned

When I was a first-year college student, I enrolled in "Intro to Biblical Hebrew" at Drew's seminary. It was a last-minute thing, a choice made because the class I really wanted (now long-forgotten) was full. I was the lone undergraduate, and very intimidated. I almost dropped the class.

But then I learned a very valuable lesson. Once I stopped trying to make Hebrew "just like English," things got easier. And once I started laughing at (or with?) this quirky language where everything was "backwards," it all started to make a perverse kind of sense.

When I arrived at Princeton five years later, once again I had to take Biblical Hebrew. "It's not like English," I told my classmates. "Remember to laugh!"

It helped that the prof was the very funny Choon-Leong Seow, who told us that his students are recognized everywhere they go, because they speak Biblical Hebrew with a Chinese accent.

I've decided that Alaska in the winter is a lot like Biblical Hebrew. Once you accept that it's not like the lower 48, you're much better off. And if you can laugh at the fact that it's still dark out way past mid-morning, and dusk by about 3 p.m., you're on your way to being a bona-fide Sourdough. (I've been told, however, that there are residency requirements for that moniker, much like the ones for the Permanant Fund Dividend).

The Rewards of Lonely Exile

Most of the time when I attend the AUUF I am moved to tears at least once during the service. Today it was three or four times.

When I served as a minister in the PC(USA) there was distance between the congregation and its ministers. The most powerful symbol of this distance was the fact that ministers are members, not of the congregation, but of the presbytery (like a UU district).

Even so, I was part of a community. There were Wednesday night dinners, conversations over cookies after Sunday services, Monday night Bible studies, Saturday night volleyball at the Y (we always lost).

But then came exile. Partly self-imposed. Mostly because I could no longer be my true self within the Presbyterian system.

Exile, in my case, has been very productive. For a while now I've known that the desert hast taught me not so much what I believe, as what I do not believe. But today I came to understand a second lesson of exile. It has taught me to value community.

Every time I cry during the AUUF service, it is connected to a deep longing for home.

I hope that this is a lesson that I never forget--particularly if I become a minister within the UUA. I want to remember what it feels like to treasure every face in the gathered congregation, every warm body in my family of choice.

Backwards Progress

It has been strange, coming into this wonderfully progressive group of people (the UUA), only to find them talking about things like "contemporary worship" and "small group ministry" as if they were groundbreaking new concepts. Where I come from, people have been talking about contemporary worship & small groups for a long, long time. Since I'm not real fond anymore of the places I've been, it's kind of uncomfortable finding my new home borrowing from my former places of residence.

Evening All Day

Six months ago in Michigan I thought living through the darkness of an Alaskan winter would be an interesting experiment. In all of the places where I have lived (NJ, OH, MI), I have always loved the Winter Solstice, the turning point of the year, when we celebrate having survived the longest night. I assumed, from the comfort of a light-filled Michigan summer, that winter in Alaska would be the same, but more.

There is a big difference between imagining something and living it.

Most of us are so clock and schedule driven that we forget the little time-cues that bombard us throughout the day. Living here in Alaska has been a sharp reminder of biological rhythms.

The sun rose at 9:58 this morning and set at 3:43 this afternoon. And even when the sky is clear, the angle of the sun is odd, never rising above what would make most people think that it was mid-morning, or late afternoon.

Every day feels like a Saturday when you sleep late, stumble out of bed in whatever clothes you slept in, drink a cup of coffee while you read the paper, slouch around all day, and go to bed at night feeling like you never really got up.

Which explains why it's 12:57 a.m. and I'm blogging.

Good thing we're heading south to sunny MI for a few weeks at the "holidays."

Choosing "We"

The Winter 2005 UUWorld talks about "Our Shared Faith," an excerpt from the COA report, "Engaging Our Theological Diversity." Once again, I find myself saying, "Now this I can live with." (Click the post title for a link to the full article)

Three years of study and conversation have not brought us to a complete consensus about a common core to our faith. Yet we have found much common ground along the way. . . . Respecting the integrity of individual perspective, we offer the following statements as descriptive of who Unitarian Universalists are theologically:

We are a grounded faith.

We are an ecological faith.

We are a profoundly human faith.

We are a responsible faith.

We are an experiential faith.

We are a free faith.

We are an imaginative faith.

We are a relational faith.

We are a covenantal faith.

We are a curious faith.

We are a reasonable faith.

We are a hopeful faith.

We would do well to become a more embodied faith...
a more mindful faith...
more prophetic faith,
a more risk-taking faith.

The Moments of My High Resolve

Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve,

that in good times or in tempests,

I may not forget that to which my life is committed.

--Howard Thurman, UUA Hymnal, Reading #498

This morning I did not want to go to the UU service.

I wanted to stay in bed. Because of the increasingly shorter days, my circadian rhythms have yet to find the beat. I'm tired all day, but when I turn the light out at night, I cannot sleep.

I was afraid to drive. I've totalled three of the four cars that I've ever owned. "Heavenly-minded" people like me shouldn't drive on roads that caused 66 accidents Friday night.

I wasn't really interested in the sermon topic: "The Social Gospel: Liberal Religion in the Nineteenth Century." Good stuff, but not new to someone who's been to seminary.

So when the alarm clock started playing classic rock, I argued with myself for a while before turning over to go back to sleep. What's left of my Protestant work ethic kept reminding me that if I had decided to be a Unitarian minister, shouldn't I get my ass out of bed and into the pews (with a short stop in the shower)? Resistance was futile.

Once safely there, I settled into the back row, nursing a cup of coffee. I looked around me and saw one more reason why I would have wanted to stay home, had I known. There were lots and lots of kids. Great. It was the Sunday where the kids start out in the service upstairs before going to their classes downstairs.

For the record, I have to say that I don't believe in hiding children. I think intergenerational activities should be the norm, not the exception. I just think that Kid Sunday, at AUUF, is a little hard to take. Having 100 kids enrolled in RE in a building that size is a mixed blessing, to say the least. But then again, mixed blessings are part of what I'm trying to talk about in this post anyway.

But I digress. Back to the point at hand.

I decided to light a candle of joy and concern. I had never done that before, feeling that it was an act of fuller participation than I was ready for. But today, with my newfound clarity, it was time to express myself. It was time to light a candle for the joy of the inner call and the concern of the yet unseen outer confirmation.

My heart skipping more quickly than usually, I made my way up the side aisle, following a few other brave souls. My hands were clumsy as I lit the candle, almost burning myself. Then Fran, the minister, leaned forward and whispered to me, "Shoelace alert." "Thank you, I said," carefully heading back to my seat to re-tie my bootlaces.

A few minutes later Fran introduced a period of silent meditation with the above words from Howard Thurman. And all of this was what the sermon was for me today. Sleepless nights, icy roads, rowdy children, untied shoelaces--and High Resolve. The mixed blessings of our sacred, ordinary lives.

Vocational Clarity--For Now

When we moved here to Anchorage this past August, one of the things we had to get used to was the Weather Channel forcast. We learned that seven days of rain didn't mean that we would never see the sun. Instead, on almost every day there would be, at least for a moment, somewhere, a patch of blue sky.

In terms of vocation, right now I feel like I am standing under one of those patches of blue sky.

I've been dabbling with the idea of applying to UAA's new joint PhD program with UAF in Clinical/Community Psychology. Very cool program. Emphasis on rural and indigenous psychology, especially in Alaska. Fun sounding courses like "Native Ways of Knowing."

But in this recent clarity I am remembering that I am a minister. For better or for worse, I love talking to and with people about faith and meaning and why in the world we should get out of bed in the morning. I love creating spaces where conversations like these can take place. I love the poetry and storytelling of preaching--and the passion. I love rituals new and old, the enacted pictures that point beyond ourselves and into the more we long for.

So this is the practical aspect of this clarity. I will find a job that helps pay the bills, one that doesn't kill my spirit, and that keeps the Anchorage apartment version of cabin fever from doing me in. And I will start the process of transferring my credentials to the UUA.

The ordination process in the PC(USA) was a series of hoops I impatiently jumped through. What do you expect? I was a young thing (and still am I suppose, just slightly older).

This time it feels different. Sure, I'll still get impatient with the process. But I do really want it to be a discernment process. I don't want to commit--and then find out, once again, that this is not the place or vocation for me.

God and Shoes

Can you imagine trying to convince all the world's English-speakers that the word "shoe" does not mean "a durable covering for the human foot, made of leather or similar material with a rigid sole and heel, usually extending no higher than the ankle" (thank you, Dictionary.com).

Sure, there are other definitions for the word, but with most people, if you say the word "shoe," they immediately see a hiking boot, a spiked-heel, a sneaker, etc. Variations within the concept, but pretty much the same thing.

Here's my problem. Say the word "God," and despite all my theological training and my extended time in exile from Christianity, I still see some variation of the Old Man in the Sky. I suspect that this is true for most people, but I'm willing to hear otherwise. I do know that I'm an off-the-charts visual thinker, so the problem may be less severe for people without the mental movie playing constantly.

For me, the word "God" is hopelessly corrupted, as are all words related to it. And replacement language has not yet been invented. This is a very frustrating situation. Try being someone who likes to talk about faith and meaning--without using the word "theological."

From the little I know about the development of language, its pace is more turtle than hare. There are some words that still work for me: faith, belief, sacred, holy, mystery, etc. I piece them together, trying to describe this place I've come to where there is nothing that is not holy. And perhaps in doing so I help the turtle to keep moving forward.

Challenge Alaska

We knew about Challenge Alaska before moving here, and of course the famous (in certain circles) Midnight Sun Challenge for wheelchair racers and handcyclists. When we finally made time to drop by, we found that not only do they offer exciting programs, but they are also really, really nice people.

Right now they're offering a Wednesday night course covering the skills needed for winter camping. The final exam is a camp-out in early January.

Ski school is another option that will start as soon as there's enough snow.

For more info, follow the link.

Better-Than UUs?

There's a subtle danger when people try so hard to be good. That danger is pride, and its flip-side is judgement.

Some of this is probably projection, but not all, I think.

I drive into the parking lot at AUUF and have a hard time finding a place to park the Silverado among all the Subarus. Usually I wind up parking down the block, on the street. I often wonder to myself, "How many of these UUs judge me for what I drive?"

The thought that usually follows this question is a gleeful, "Wouldn't they feel awful about their self-righteousness if they knew why I drive a Silverado?" Pick-up trucks with extended cabs and so-called "suicide doors" are one of the few options for drivers who need to stow a wheelchair without assistance. It's a tension between principles one and seven. Principle one: "The inherent worth and dignity of every person." Principle seven: "Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part."

In traditional theology, there is a continuum between divine grace and personal responsibilty. There are churches whose emphasis on human depravity and divine providence is so strong that church members lose all sense of personal empowerment and responsiblity. They give up all efforts to make this a better world, and in the worst case scenario, they give up all personal standards of behavior, choosing to "sin boldly."

On the other end of the scale are the UUs. From what I've read, and some comments I've heard at AUUF, it seems to me that sometimes UUs fall right off the personal responsibility end of the scale. They try so hard to make this a better world that they get burned-out and disillusioned when their efforts don't lead to results quickly enough. In their weariness they fall into bad habits of scorn and judgement of those who are not "trying hard enough."

And so I come around to the title of this post, and its double meaning. First meaning: sometimes UUs think they are better than everyone else. Second meaning: a warning to myself that my outsider's point of view runs the risk of becoming a judgemental critique in itself.

Principle three comes in handy here: "Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations."

Science and Religion

Yesterday at AUUF the 9 a.m. Forum topic was "Science vs. Religion." This was my first time visiting "the early service," which is much less like church than the 10:45 version.

The speaker was Dr. Arndt Von Hippel, an author and retired thoracic surgeon. He was charmingly Alaskan--boots, double-knee Carharts, plaid shirt.

The format for Forum is that the speaker talks for a short time, and then there is an extended, moderated discussion (more people saying what they want to say than actually responding to each other).

The discussion was different from what I expected, but still quite thought-provoking.

I expected a conversation about the recent increase in popularity of so-called Intelligent Design. There was one question about that (the speaker's response was that he thinks our culture has "odometer events," and that Y2K led to fear, which led to a surge in religious fundamentalism).

Most of the conversation, instead, was mainly religion-bashing. Hence yesterday's post asking "What is religion?"

I found myself in a funny position. I expected to go to a pep rally for those fighting Intelligent Design, and instead found myself looking for the sign-up sheet for the Defenders of Religion.

I of all people know that there is such a thing as bad religion.

But that doesn't mean religion is worthless.

Yesterday was a bit of a mirror, in a way. There are a lot of people at AUUF (and in many UU fellowships) who are wounded refugees from restrictive, guilt-inducing churches of all stripes. I am one of them. And I never want to forget how bad it was to live within such a prison (those who fail to learn from history...). But I also don't want to be held captive by my own woundedness. I don't want to shoot down anything that has to do with mystery and wonder just because it looks and smells a little bit like that thing that hurt me.

I think that it's a rare person who can live by science alone. Science is a slow, excruciating process. We have learned a great deal from science, but we are still not anywhere near being finding answers to the questions our hearts ask. Why do we exist? What is this thing called consciousness? What happens when we die? What does life mean?

Science isn't enough. We need spiritual reflection (I won't call it theology), too.

One of the pearls of great price I retain from seminary is a quote from Sally McFague: "Metaphors are strategies of desperation."

Metaphors are the pixie dust we throw into the unknown, hoping it will cling to something, and tell us its shape.

Where religion gets in trouble is when metaphor becomes dogma. A metaphor is not meant to be Truth. It is meant to be an imagined possibility. In a way, not much different than a scientific hypothesis (but with prettier language).

Dr. Von Hippel spoke yesterday about the differences between the linguistic brain and the pre-linguistic brain. He said something like, "If rabbits took the time to say, 'Look, there's a wolf running toward me,' rabbits wouldn't last long." Instead, the pre-linguistic brain reacts before the rest of the brain puts words to what's happening.

This is not unlike the relationship between reason and intuition. Intuition leaps on ahead, scanning the big picture, forming possibilities. Reason brings up the rear, analyzing the information at hand, evaluating possibilities that emerge from the intuitive imagination.

Both science and religion need reason and intuition. And science and religion need each other. How can we facilitate converation between the two of them?

What Is Religion?

Lately I've been thinking about the word "religion." It's one of those words that I've always assumed that I understood--but closer inspection revealed its elusiveness and my ignorance.

The Ontario Consultants on Religious Tolerance provide this helpful collection of definitions, while admitting that none of them are totally satisfying. The rest of their site is a wealth of information, and well-worth further investigation.

An Intelligently-Designed Worldview

Let me say this straight up. I don't want so-called Intelligent Design taught in public school science classrooms. Perhaps in a humanities class, in the context of the creation myths of various cultures throughout the world. But not in science class.

And I am not naive enought to believe that ID-supporters are really talking about a vaguely deist Prime Mover. No, they're pushing the Christian God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

But that being said, I also want to say that I understand what this fight is about, from the other side. Personal history comes in handy sometimes.

I remember what it was like to believe in a six-day creation. I remember what a demon Darwin was, and how evolution threathened to undermine my whole sense of the world and its history.

A fundamentalist reading of the Bible had provided for me a very neat and convenient structure for understanding what had been, what was, and what would be. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. In the end, God would send Jesus back to earth and take the faithful remnant to heaven, and things would be very, very bad for everyone else. In the middle, Jesus was busy saving us for God, and we were supposed to show our gratitude by helping Jesus save as many people as possible.

One day in seminary when the first crack emerged in my fundamentalist eschatology. As I listened to other people speak during a small group discussion, I realized that none of them, not even the professor, believed in a literal Second Coming of Christ. I ventured into the conversation to confirm what I was hearing, and then to ask how such beliefs could be Christian, or biblical.

My mind felt like it couldn't stretch far enough to understand such "heresy," and that if I tried, something would break.

There's been a lot of breaking in the years since then for me, and it has usually been painful. Not everyone chooses that path. In fact, most people choose the easier path of constructing bulwarks around their ready-made worldviews.

In all honesty, I wish such an approach were an option for me. It would feel good to have certainty and continuity. But for some reason, I find myself constantly deconstructing and reconstructing what I believe.

It seems to me that an intelligently-designed worldview is always a work-in-progress--or a creation constantly evolving.

Way to Go, ADN

The ADN today ran an editorial opposing homophobic efforts to amend the Alaska Constitution. Click here to read the editorial and chuckle at the accompanying political cartoon.

You may need to register, but hey, it's free, and a good way to keep up with what's happening up here on the Lasting Frontier.

Cold Dark Night

It's beautiful but chilly these days in Anchorage. One of my goals for this first winter in Alaska is to track my responses to living in such an "extreme" climate.

In many ways, Anchorage is not all that extreme. The Weather Channel this morning was predicting a whole lot more snow for Washington and Oregon than we're going to get here anytime soon.

Anchorage isn't any colder than Saginaw County, Michigan, my last place of residence, and actually gets less snow.

Two things are different, though.

First of all, winter starts much, much earlier. It's only the 3rd of November, and it looks outside like it would in December or January "back home." The trees are bare, the sky is winter-blue, and a light coating of frost or snow covers almost everything. We watched "Scooter" Libbey get arraigned this morning in Washington, DC, and the footage looked strangely dated because the sunlight looked warm, the trees were still green, and no one was wearing a winter coat.

Second, the darkness does not creep up on us here--it runs toward us at full tilt. This is the first time I've lived in a place where they keep such close tabs on the number of daylight hours. Today's Anchorage Daily News reports that the sun rose today at 8:35 a.m., and will set at 4:49 p.m.

There is a plus side, however. Those crisp, dark winter skies are perfect for stargazing--and aurora watching. The ADN also reports aurora conditions, which tonight should be moderate. This means that, "Weather permitting, moderate displays will be visible overhead from Barrow to Fairbanks and visible low on the northern horizon from as far south as Anchorage, Juneau, and Whitehorse, Canada."

Maybe we'll bundle up tonight and head north into the cold darkness for Alaska's brilliant night spectacle.

Rosa Louise

Yesterday it fogged. Usually, fog is such a passive form of weather that it doesn't graduate from noun to verb. Yesterday's fog covered everything in silver-white frostiness. It was beautiful.

Today I learned that Rosa Parks and I shared a middle name, "Louise," which means "warrior." We share, also, the Flower Warrior name pattern. I inherited the pattern from my grandmother, Violet Louise.

I wonder how many other Flower Warriors there are out there? Jasmine Louise? Lily Louise? Daisy Louise?

Fred & Frank Hook Up

Why does bad news follow good news so closely?

Saturday's ADN reported that "the Alaska Supreme Court on Friday ruled it is unconstitutional to deny benefits to the same-sex partners of public employees, a major victory for gay rights advocates in one of the first states to pass a constitutional ban on homosexual marriage."

One of the headlines on the front page of today's ADN tells us that "Resistance to decision on gay benefits is growing."

The story that follows the headline tells us that State Senator Fred Dyson (R-Eagle River) and Governor Frank Murkowski (R) are seriously considering efforts to amend the constitution to prohibit anything that even smells like honoring the commitments that GLBT Alaskans make to each other.

I did like the Democrats' response, however. Senate Minority Leader Johnny Ellis (D-Anchorage) released a one-sentence statement through the Democrats' press office that said, "We'll be happy to listen to Sen. Dyson explain why health benefits for a handful of Alaskans creates a constitutional crisis."

I'm just waiting for a news story about a secret Walmart memo outlining a covert plan to hire predominantly single people without dependents, since they are cheaper, more dependable employees.

No need to subsidize benefits for family members. No sick children forcing the employer to comply with the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA).

Imagine the cost savings!

The Children of Those Who Scorn Me

Yesterday at AUUF the guest speaker was Leaf Seligman, an American UU minister currently serving the UU fellowship in London, Ontario.

London happens to be the city where my mother attended teacher's college. For my mother, and most Christians, UUs are (gasp!) heretics. Now this daughter of a traditional Christian woman from Ontario finds herself in Anchorage, Alaska, listening to a genuine, London-living heretic. And of course she herself became a heretic quite some time ago.

Gives me a new perspective on the baby boom happening in right-wing circles. Maybe, despite all the homeschooling and Disney-boycotting, their minds will survive.

Free and Responsible

The fourth principle of the UUA is "the free and responsible search for truth and meaning."

This is one of those phrases that sounds wonderful to rebels like me...until we take a second look and realize that there are two adjectives describing the nature of the search for truth and meaning.

We pause and think about it for a while, and then decide we still really like this principle. In fact, we think, it will be good for us to be responsible, and not just free.

So what does it mean to be a responsible UU seeker?

Maybe one of the things it means is committing to a community of fellow seekers, submitting to the admittedly broad boundaries of UU sensibilities. Rather than frittering away, bouncing from one faith community to another, running from the inevitable disappointments of human imperfection.

Maybe it means not screaming and yelling at people whose beliefs seem infuriatingly narrowminded. And to balance that, it probably means speaking clearly and courageously about the truth as I have come to understand it.

And it means things like reading a wide variety of books, even boring ones. Maybe it even means watching Fox News every once in a while, with an open mind and a calm demeanor.

It's hard to be responsible.

But the consequences of irresponsibility are even harder to take.

The House of Books

The Z. J. Loussac Public Library, the main branch of the Anchorage library system, is one of my favorite places in Anchorage. It is good to have a place to go where the books are free.

After seven years of living in small towns (Defiance, Milan, Bridgeport) with small libraries, finally I live somewhere big enough to boast six library locations, with Loussac being the crown jewel.

On the first floor are the Assembly Chambers, and other goodies I have yet to explore. The second floor has a gift shop, the check-out counter, the children's section (including some sort of theater), and adult fiction. The third floor houses the library's non-fiction collection, and the fourth floor is home to audio-video materials and library administration. A separate wing is home to the Alaska Collection, and on the way to that wing there is a wonderful wall-sized, 3D topographical map of Alaska that helps me understand where it is that I live in this Great Land.

Brain Pain

The learning curve took a sharp turn upward today. As I've been playing with the technology behind this blog, so far it's been challenging but do-able. Today I googled "link buttons" and happened eventually upon a site that promised HTML Goodies. One thing led to another and soon I found myself pressing forward through three-days-w0rth of a seven-day HTML primer. It was written in plain enough English, and I found myself actually understanding how it worked!

Funny how you believe certain things about yourself, and those beliefs limit who you become.

In high school I almost failed typing (without a correction ribbon my performace anxiety paralyzed me) and I thought I would never learn to type. But then came the backspace key, and now I can type more than 60 wpm.

Somewhere around that time I decided that computers were beyond me, too. But eventually I became quite proficient at MS Word, Publisher, etc. Wherever I wound up working, I usually found myself tutoring someone in the finer points of using these programs.

But I figured that anything beyond that was too much for me. And here I am today, daring to believe that I can stretch my mind again, outside my comfort zone, learning about HTML.

My brain hurts, yes, and it's time for some mindless surfing, but I'll be back tomorrow (or maybe later today) for day 4 of the tutorial.

A free and responsible search for truth and meaning extends to all areas of life, not just those usually described as religious or metaphysical.

Expedition

Yesterday I attended the first of two Explorers' Luncheons at AUUF. They're a funny bunch, these Anchorage UUs. I don't have much experience with UUs elsewhere, but I imagine some of the qualities are constant despite geography.

I suspect that the balance tips toward introversion among them. It is, after all, a gathering of exiles, people whose curious minds drove them from their previous communities of faith. This inner complexity is more likely to exist among introverts than extroverts, I believe. Introverts are not crazy about large groups of people, and not crazy about adding more people to their inner circles.

But these UUs, like all UUs, believe in welcome and inclusion. They want to open their hearts and their doors to newcomers--and yet in the case of AUUF, their physical and emotional space is stretched to the limit. There is little to no room left in their building or in their individual and collective psyche for newcomers.

The clincher for me, as a newcomer, is that they are willing to hear this critique. I look forward to being with them over the next months (and maybe years?) as they struggle with this dilemma. I believe that they will meet this problem with creativity, and that the problem will turn out to have been a necessary part their development.

And maybe as I am with them I will become part of them, and will need to hear from other outsiders.

Terra Firm Enough?

I suppose that the uncertainty of the ground beneath my feet is an appropriate topic for someone who has just moved to Anchorage, located in an earthquake zone where the Pacific Plate crashes into the North American Plate. And for someone who lives in an apartment building constructed so quickly and cheaply that the whole building vibrates when a washing machine goes into its spin cycle.

This morning we were watching Wolf Blitzer on CNN's The Situation Room. When we'd turned on the TV, there was a brief mention of a mid-air collision between two fixed-wing, single-engine airplanes in northeastern Ohio. Given our connections to aviation, we wanted to know more. In typical "keep 'em watching" style, Mr. Blitzer promised more information, "right after this break." Several breaks later, and several additional promises later, there was no more information.

In the midst of my building frustration, I came to understand something: how very little there is that we can trust.

Conservatives talk about liberal bias in the media, and liberals talk about conservative bias in the media, but there's a whole other kind of bias that makes the media untrustworthy: the money-making bias. People watch Martha Stewart promote her "good things" with a cynical eye, because most of the "good thing" are products available from MSO (Martha Stewart Omnimedia). But how often do we recognize that same mind-manipulating tug from the news media?

A typical newscasts has three components: commercials, "next-ups," and actual information. Time and again I watch the news because of a so-called "teaser," one of those 10-second, "Later on the news tonight, a story that will interest you" so-called "news updates." But after spending 30 minutes to an hour watching, I find myself oddly unsatisfied. During that time, I've received very little information, but I've been bombarded by all kinds of messages telling me what to eat and buy.

A few nights ago, I spent about a half hour completing a phone survey about my political views. Among other things, I was asked who I trust more to get things done, Democrats in Congress, or Republicans in Congress. I realized that the answer was neither. I usually vote for Democrats because I loathe most of what the Republican Party stands for, but I wouldn't say that I have anything resembling faith in the integrity and effectiveness of the Democrats, either.

The news media is untrustworthy, hopelessly corrupted as it is by self-interest. The political machine is worse. And on an interpersonal level, I'm discovering a perverse take on the Golden Rule: not everyone will treat me like I would treat them. In other words, just because I wouldn't lie to someone, doesn't mean that other people operate by the same standards.

One of my former spiritual directors told me once, "Trust everyone a little, and trust no one completely." Wise words.

To survive in a world where trustworthiness seems to be increasingly rare, all we can do is to slowly construct around ourselves a raft of integrity that will float on the undulating surface of this terra infirma that is our only home.

We have to start with ourselves, because within us there are faultlines of self-interest, and we would betray ourselves by betraying others. We have to work to become people of integrity, through and through.

We have to look for, and test, people who seem to be of similar mind and character.

And maybe together, slowly, we can call into being terra firm enough.

Here's hoping, anyway.

How I Lost My Orthodoxy

This past Sunday at AUUF the sermon topic was "Atonement." A strange topic in a UU setting, some might think, but it reminded me of a major shift in my thinking that happened during my last semester at Princeton Seminary.

It's all about choices sometimes. I registered for an upper level theology class in "Atonement Theory." Without that choice, made predominantly for practical reasons, so much would be different.

Before taking the class, I had a vague understanding of atonement theory. We had covered the topic, of course, in two required introductory theology courses. But most of my knowledge of atonement came from the "Christ died for my sins" theology of my childhood and adolescence. That theology as so ingrained into the fibers of my worldview that a cursory introduction to alternate atonement theories barely registered.

A whole semester devoted to the topic, however, was another matter. There it was, laid out clearly by a professor who was as meticulous as he was tall (and he was very, very tall). Theory one--moral influence. Jesus saves us by the power of his moral influence (his teachings and manner of life). Theory two--substitutionary atonement. Jesus saves us by bearing the punishment we deserved (death). Theory three--Christus Victor. Jesus saves us by defeating the power of sin and death (as evidenced by his resurrection).

Three theories, and to my astonishment, I discovered that none of them made any sense to me.

Moral influence--didn't work for me. After all, there have been many spiritual teachers who have wielded a significant amount of moral influence. At that point in time, I figured Christianity was supposed to be, if not the one and only, then at least the best of the bunch. Moral influence leveled the playing field of world religions at a time when I much more interested in having my team win.

Christus Victor--again, didn't do much for me. My other classes were chipping away at the so-called virgin birth, Jesus' healings and other miracles, and even the resurrection. If the resurrection was nothing but the disciples' memory-turned-metaphor, then the proof was not in this pudding. Besides, it was clear to me that sin and death had certainly not been defeated.

And then there was substitionary or vicarious atonement--the one that had been unquestionable. I can still remember what it felt like when I realized that this, too, was bankrupt. It was like being jettisoned out the space lock and floating aimlessly in the dark.

I realized that I simply did not believe it was possible to transfer guilt. If I robbed a bank, and a friend of mine took the blame (and the prison time), how does that make sense? I have had no chance bear--and perhaps learn from--the penalty of my crime. An innocent person has been incarcerated. And the justice system has been duped. Considering that the justice system in this metaphor, both judge and jury, is God, it made little sense to me to put my faith in a theory that relied on God being duped.

So I was left with nothing, for a good long time. Which was a tricky situation for a Presbyterian minister. A lot of "blood of the Lamb" hymns to suffer through without rolling my eyes. Good Friday sermons to preach without horrifying the listeners or lying to myself.

I found solace a few years ago in a book by Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker, called Proverbs of Ashes. It was reassuring to know that other people felt like I did about the absurd violence of substitutionary atonement theory.

As I look back on this journey, I find myself most comfortable in the moral influence camp. Not because I believe that Jesus saves us in any way. I believe that we are responsible for saving ourselves, and for helping others. Jesus was saving himself by following his own spiritual path, and in so doing, he helped us.

When I was in seminary, I needed a superpower (God) and a superteam (Christianity). I thought that I was weak and powerless, that I needed a powerful rescuer, and a powerful fortress within which to hide.

It's not that I have delusions of grandeur these days. I know my weaknesses very well. But I am also aware of the power within me, and within each person, just waiting to be tapped. And while I know that terrible things happen--to good and bad people alike--that knowledge doesn't make me want to cower in a fortress.

Life is what we make it, one choice at a time. We live with the consequences of our choices, and the choices that other people make. Sometimes that means ripples of good fortune come our way, and sometimes that means ripples of illness, destruction and death.

I like my theories small these days. They're less trouble that way when they're no longer useful, when it's time for them to be carted to the recycling center.

How Did I Get Here?

When a spiritual journey covers as much geography as mine has, the traveler accumulates a very diverse group of friends and acquaintances.

For me, the last ten years has been like being thrown from a whitewater raft. Tossed this way and that by cold, rushing water, it has been difficult to keep my bearings, to figure out where I am. And nearly impossible to keep track of my fellow rafters.

Now, admittedly, the metaphor breaks down, because some of the people I've lost track of were friends/acquaintances I met after being tossed from the raft, but no metaphor is perfect.

The point is, I've tossed and tumbled from somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun to somewhere to the left of, well, whoever the lefty equivalent of Mr. Attila is...

And very few of my friends/acquaintances have followed me down this particular river.

How do I explain this journey to my friends from college? How can I tell them how I got here?

I like where I am, and I cannot imagine going back upstream.

The recovering evangelical in me wants to share with them the good news of this spacious home I've found, this wonderful place where it's not about what you believe, it's about supporting each other in the never-ending search for truth and meaning.

But trying to recreate how I got here and why is proving problematic. It's tedious work and I have little patience for it.

I guess the thing is that I didn't so much get where I am by thinking my way here, as by living my way here. Changes as dramatic as I've experienced are not the result of a step-by-step, rational, decision-making process. They are the result of a process of transformation wrought in a painful crucible of estrangement and exile.

All I know is that I made choices, one at a time, each of which had much greater repercussions than I could have imagined. And they have brought me to a wonderful place.

I don't know if there's a more direct route. But if I did know of such a route, would I share it with friends from years past? Who appreciates paradise on the far side of the mountains more--those who followed the Oregon Trail in a Conestoga Wagon, or those who set the cruise in their SUV at 70, while their kids watch DVDs in the back seats?

Here's a grand metaphor mix-up: maybe the folks in the SUV are in their own crucible, bouncing along the river, tossed and tumbled toward their own paradise, here on earth, or later on in "heaven."

Who knows?

If You Say It Loud Enough

Today's Anchorage Daily News reports that Alaska State Senator Fred Dyson (R-Eagle River) "would like it if home-schooling families could use their state allotments to buy religious textbooks, software and other curriculum--as long as it's academically meaty." Current law does not allow state money to buy such supplies. So Dyson asked the state attorney general to see if there might be a way around the law, and according to the AG, there might be--through legislative action.

"If the material meets academic standards, then it ought not be disqualified just on the basis that it has some religious connotations," Dyson said. The article concludes, "Dyson knows the issue--blending public school [funding] with religion--could raise some hackles. He cautioned people not to be 'reactionary' and urged tolerance."

I love HBO's Real Time with Bill Maher, and watch it faithfully. The show's panel discussions, however, are often painfully frustrating to watch. Even when the panel conservative representatives are outnumbered 2 or 3 to 1, they get the most air time, and often the last word.

I've decided it's because they're loud. You know, as the song says, "If you say it loud enough, you'll always sound precocious." I think it's a strategy. Your message doesn't have to make sense. Just talk over your opponent, and your message will be the only one heard. Win the shouting match, win the election.

And the strategy isn't just about decibels. In a shouting match between a smooth NPR voice and a strident Fox News voice, the latter will win every time. Conservatives don't seek out people with pleasant, well-modulated speaking voices. On the contrary. They want sharp voices that will cut through thoughtful conversation like noisy gongs and clanging symbols disrupting smooth jazz.

But there's more. The final and perhaps most important part of the strategy is the mindset of the speaker. When speakers banish all alternate possibilities from their mind, their voices are powerful in a way that comes through even in print.

And so we come back to Rep. Dyson. "If the material meets academic standards, then it ought not to be disqualified just on the basis that it has some religious connotations," he said. If you say it loud enough...

There is an unintended but welcome windfall for conservatives when they say things like that. It makes those of us on the left splutter with rage. Needless to say, spluttering is not very articulate. And rage isn't very helpful, either--it freezes our brains in their tracks, delays our reaction time. In the car on the way home from the debate, we compose witty responses, but it is far, far too late.

New rule, Bill. Debates, not shouting matches. I know shouting matches are more exciting (better for ratings), but somewhere there should be a forum for thoughtful discussion, where a moderator levels the playing field so that all voices can be heard.

Oh. I forgot. There is such a place. It's called PBS.

A Big Enough Home

For the past fifteen years, I have lived as a spiritual vagabond.

I grew up within the tight confines of the Plymouth Brethren. The exclusive, "Closed Brethren," not Garrison Keillor's relatively looser "Open Brethren."

During my years at Drew University I took a few steps outside the Brethren confines with friends from Drew's chapter of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship. I visited a charismatic church called the Vineyard, the Methodist congregation adjacent to the campus, and the Presbyterian church that sponsored our IVCF staff worker.

I finally decided on the Presbyterian church, mostly because I liked the pastor's preaching style. I attended new members' classes faithfully, signed the membership book, and was welcomed into membership by the congregation. The next Sunday the pastor announced that he had accepted a position in another state, and would soon be leaving!

I stayed with the Presbies nonetheless, and when seminary seemed the next logical choice, I chose Princeton Theological Seminary. Some of the women at Drew's theological school made disparaging comments about my choice, but I was not enough of a feminist yet to appreciate their wisdom.

I arrived at Princeton with most of my fundamentalism intact, and graduated three years later with very little of it left. Had Princeton been any more progressive, I doubt I would have survived.

Six months after graduation, I received a call to be the associate pastor of a Presbyterian church in northwest Ohio. Another life-changing event. In my four years there, I gained eight years of experience.

Near the end of my time at the church in Ohio, the speed of my left-ward trajectory began to escalate even more dramatically, and I found myself in a state of semi-self-imposed exile from the church.

That extended period of exile changed me so much that even if the Presbyterian Church (USA) were to do an about-face and decide to welcome me with open arms, I would no longer accept its invitation.

I flirted with the United Church of Christ, but found that even that relative freedom felt too much like a cage.

These days I am attending the Anchorage Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. Within the UUA, I hope, I will be free to travel as far and wide as imagination and conscience take me, without abandoning my responsibility and commitment to my adopted home.