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!