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.