Stone Soup Sunday

This service was presented by Rachel Alvarez on November 29, 2015.

 

 

Reading #1:  GARDEN MEDITATION by Reverend Max Coots

Let us give thanks for a bounty of people, for children who are our second planting, and though they grow like weeds and the wind too soon blows them away, may they forgive us our cultivation and fondly remember where their roots are.

Let us give thanks for generous friends ... with hearts ... and smiles as bright as their blossoms;

For feisty friends, as tart as apples; for continuous friends, who, like scallions and cucumbers, keep reminding us that we've had them;

For crotchety friends, sour as rhubarb and as indestructible; for handsome friends, who are as gorgeous as eggplants and as elegant as a row of corn, and the others, as plain as potatoes and so good for you;

For funny friends, who are as silly as Brussels sprouts and as amusing as Jerusalem artichokes;

And serious friends as unpretentious as cabbages, as subtle as summer squash, as persistent as parsley, as delightful as dill, as endless as zucchini and who, like parsnips, can be counted on to see you through the winter;

For old friends, nodding like sunflowers in the evening-time, and young friends coming on as fast as radishes; for loving friends, who wind around us like tendrils and hold us, despite our blights, wilts and witherings;

And finally, for those friends now gone, like gardens past that have been harvested, but who fed us in their times that we might have life thereafter.

For all these we give thanks.

Reading #2
Strange and Foolish Walls by Rev. A. Powell Davies

The years of all of us are short, our lives precarious.
Our days and nights go hurrying on and there is scarcely time to do the little that we might.
Yet we find time for bitterness, for petty treason and evasion.
What can we do to stretch our hearts enough to lose their littleness?
Here we are -all of us- all upon this planet, bound together in a common destiny,
Living our lives between the briefness of daylight and the dark.
Kindred in this, each lighted by the same precarious, flickering flame of life, how does it happen that we are not kindred in all things else?
How strange and foolish are these walls of separation that divide us!

 

SERMON

               At First Parish Church in Cohasset, Massachusetts, where I grew up, we had an annual tradition around the time of Thanksgiving, called Stone Soup Sunday.  The RE program would participate by acting out the legend of Stone Soup, and parishioners would contribute vegetables to the pot.  After the service, the whole congregation would enjoy a lunch of soup, prepared by the children and the RE teachers.  I always enjoyed this tradition, and it became the inspiration for today’s service, which I hope we can make an annual tradition here at the UUFHC.  At times, I feel like, as UU’s, we lack some of the ceremony and ritual that other religious denominations have, so I find it comforting to establish our own meaningful traditions.

            The story of Stone Soup can be interpreted and retold in a variety of ways, but for me, the take-away is that we, as a community, are better and stronger together than we are apart, as individuals.  As stated in the second reading, “strange and foolish walls” divide the world, as we’ve seen historically as well as in recent events, when unfortunately, we all possess unique strengths and assets that we could share with those around us, if only we could be generous, open, and caring enough to do so. 

            I would like to examine this concept from the small scale, as our congregation, and also from the large scale, as members of the global community.  In considering the small scale, I have been thinking about previous presentations by Laurie, Ashley, and Dale, in which we as a congregation are being called to come together and strengthen this fellowship, and also to consider how we can give of ourselves to others.  I found a relevant sermon, called “Covenant Power,” by Rev. Anthony Makar, which I will read from now.  In “Covenant Power,” Rev. Makar calls the members of his congregation to support one another, and take an active role in making the church community stronger and better.  He explains:

            Just like the [soldiers] in the story, Unitarian Universalism comes to us. Comes to our        village, and like the [villagers], at first we are cautious. “What? Me?” “I’m sorry, I have            nothing in the house.” Now, to be fair, this might not echo absolutely everyone’s experience. You might have grown up in some religious community and it was a good experience for you. You might have been in a place in life where you were ready again for another experience of religious community. If so, you handed over food to the stranger immediately. You already knew what was going to happen next, because you’ve been there before. And since you carried no burdens of hurt or anger, your heart was open and easy.

            For some of you, perhaps. But I suspect that for many of us, especially many people now, Unitarian Universalism came to us and we WERE cautious like those villagers. For one reason, we might have grown up unchurched, so we don’t have any first-hand experience of what we’re getting ourselves into. This is especially true with regard to being asked to make an annual financial pledge. It can take a while to understand what this means and why it’s important. Couple this lack of familiarity with what we hear about organized religion on the news—the way the news often focuses on the negative—and you bet we’re cautious. It’s no wonder it no longer works just to wait for people to find us. People who identify with no religious tradition whatsoever—don’t just show up.   We have to reach out….

            Now, maybe we did grow up in church. But what if the experience we had was not so      good? Was terrible, in fact? God is an Incredible Hulk figure to us. Religion is the last place where we seek out adventure and joy because it was always a scene of terror, no   mistakes allowed, got to toe the line and get it right or you are going to HELL! It wounded us, it hurt us. And like all wounds and hurts, our old experience plays inside us like a broken record, making it nearly impossible to hear a sound that is truly new and sweet. Making it nearly impossible to believe that religion could be anything other than brutalizing and diminishing…

            For all these reasons, and more, Unitarian Universalism comes to us, and we are cautious. What is it? Is it the same old thing as before?

            But here you are. Here we are. The story doesn’t end with caution or with the villagers      saying, “I’m sorry, I have nothing in the house right now.”

            Because what happens is that the soldiers say, “Not to worry. If we just use a few stones and if you will let me put it in a pot of boiling water I’ll make the most delicious soup in the world.” They have a vision. We can create something amazing, if we are all engaged, if we all contribute.

            The most delicious soup in the world. Not the same old thing as before, but something      truly different. That’s why we’re here. We want it! Soul food! Soul soup! Unitarian Universalist style, which tastes of fundamental sacred Mystery and many paths into the Mystery and truth about the Mystery that takes a lifetime to encounter and we are changed and changed again and it is savory, it is just the best thing, it is GOOD!

            Unitarian Universalism says we can have this, and we are curious. Can it be true? So, just like the villagers, we give into the possibility. Someone brings out a big pot filled with water, another brings out potatoes, a third adds tomatoes, then another adds onion, then comes the celery… We do this. It happens because we give our gifts, we create the common meal.   How otherwise can the most delicious soup in the world be made?

            There has to be a vision that makes all the work worthwhile. And then, there must be the power of WE to make it happen. Which is so very different from the very American emphasis on the power of ME. For some things, yes, power of ME. OK. But when you want to bring a little slice of heaven down to earth? When you want to do that? NOT power of ME. It takes power of WE. How do we channel and support the power of WE?

            This big question resounds throughout all aspects of our life together. The most obvious    case of this has to do with our theological diversity. We are atheists and we are theists in         worship together. We are atheists and theists and Buddhists and Pagans and Jews and           Christians and New Agers and star-bellied Sneetches and plain-bellied Sneetches and I- don’t-know-what-I-am-but-I–know-what-I-don’t-like and on and on and on. "Whaaaat?" says most of humanity. Whaaaat? How do we do this? How do we work this miracle?

            How do we get anything done? How does it all hang together?

            The answer is one of our Unitarian Universalist essentials. Covenant. If you open up your hymnal to the pages right before the first hymn, you will see: “WE, THE MEMBER   CONGREGATIONS OF THE UNITARIAN UNIVERSALIST ASSOCIATION,             COVENANT TO AFFIRM AND PROMOTE?” See that? “Covenant” is a word you need to know if you are a Unitarian Universalist. It’s one of our essentials. Because it tells us how we come together and stay together, and this way is different from what you might see in many other religious communities.

            Go back to the story. The soldiers want to engage the village community in making the     most delicious soup in the world. But they don’t care what you may believe about God or the afterlife or any of the other key religious questions of life? All they want to know is, will you contribute something good to the making of the soup? Will you protect the space of our common meal? This, as opposed to such things as:

            • bringing something rotten and insisting that you have every right to add it to the pot       (freedom of speech you say! inherent worth and dignity you say!) even though it spoils             everything for everybody;
            • gossiping about what someone else brought, behind their back;
            • if you feel there’s only one way to make the soup and it’s your way, and you aren’t        getting your way, then you take your particular contribution out of the mix and go home;
            • pushing the pot over;
            • getting into fights around the pot;
            • getting so caught up in conversation about the soup that nothing actually happens about actual soup being actually made.

            What the soldiers want—what Unitarian Universalism wants—is not this. We dare not      have this, if we want to channel the power of WE in constructive, creative ways.

            Therefore, we Unitarian Universalists say that the best way for individuals to journey        together in community is through covenantalism, not creedalism. Creedalism basically says that the best way to organize as a group is everyone believing in the same things, down to the details. To this way of thinking, you can’t really have a religious identity otherwise. Identity means uniformity.

            Covenantalism, on the other hand, is when a group organizes itself around the deep           promises people make to each other about how they are going to treat each other and work together, and this leaves the details of particular beliefs to individuals themselves. Thinking alike is not the point, but loving alike is. That’s where we get religious identity from.

            The practice of covenant runs deep in our way of religion. Trace it back, for example, to    1568 and the first and only Unitarian king in history, King John Sigismund of Transylvania.  The reason why Transylvania looms large in our history is that during the 16th century and beyond, Unitarians were pretty much murdered everywhere else in Europe. Transylvania was one of the only safe zones for people like us. This is what he said, this Unitarian king: “In every place the preachers shall preach and explain the Gospel, each according to his understanding of it, and if the congregation like it, well. If not, no one shall compel them for their souls would not be satisfied….” Essentially this says that the preacher in our tradition gets to say what his or her heart moves him or her to say; the pulpit is free. But it also says that the congregant in the pew doesn’t have to swallow it; they are free too. They can agree or disagree, as their own reason and conscience and heart dictate. What gathers preacher and congregant together is not agreement on everything but respect. That is the spirit of covenantalism. That is what makes what we are doing right now work.

            Not thinking alike, but loving alike.

            The answers to questions we have about the future are unknown. But getting to the           answers I think is a lot like making soup. Promising we will all contribute something good. Promising we will protect the common space of our common meal. Don’t bring something rotten. Don’t gossip. Don’t insist that it’s my way or the highway. Don’t push the pot over. Don’t get into fights around the pot. Don’t get so caught up in talking that we never get to doing.

            Unitarian Universalism comes to us. Our congregation comes to us. All there is at first is   a stone. But if we fulfill our deep promises of respect to each other: that is how we can know we are living in the truth of our spiritual way. That is how the most delicious soup in all the world is made.

            On a more global scale, I wanted to share some thoughts from a sermon titled, “Not in Isolation,” by Rev. Susan Frederick-Gray.  She states:

            Obviously, giving is a central part of the holiday season. This is one of the most charitable times. But the story of Stone Soup is not a story of charity, but a story of common wealth, the abundance we have when we work together. The soldiers appear at first as beggars, but turn out to be wise men. They remind the people what they find when they come out of their homes, out of isolation, and raise their concerns beyond their own families, to really share and live together.

            This story is in deep contrast to so many of the stories we are told, and that we tell            ourselves, about how we are to live. Arising out of the American dream itself, we have told (and often tell ourselves) that we need to do everything for ourselves, provide everything to our children, be completely self-sufficient, self-sustainable, in need of no one. This is the success we celebrate as the American dream, money, power, and the idea that we are independent and solely self-reliant.

            Now, some of this is good--self-reliance encourages individual creativity and innovation. It fuels new ideas, new technology, new art. It is a powerful motivator. But it is also not  entirely true. When we move too far down the path of valuing the myth of isolated self-sufficiency, we are deceiving ourselves, and more than this, depriving ourselves.

            Now I’m going to add in a little side note: With the recent events in the news, and the horrifying backlash against refugees, I have been reading and hearing a lot of this rhetoric—that we need to worry about ourselves, our own people, etc., rather than open our doors to those from other corners of the globe, who are feared as threats to OUR security, when in reality, they are fleeing the same violence we also fear.  I won’t get into the politics more than that, at the moment, except to connect this current issue to Rev. Frederick-Gray’s assertion that, “We are all dependent and interdependent on one another and on the larger system.”  She continues to say,

            “When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the    universe.  It is the same with our own lives. We are all dependent on one another and on our system of community. To deny the value of the ways in which our lives can be enriched by widening our understanding of independence and common wealth, and turn instead to a one-sided story of independence and self-sufficiency, leaves us hungry as a people for the riches that lie beyond money.

            Fundamentally, when we all try to each have everything we need--our own swimming       pool, TV’s for every person in the house, personal computers for each person, a playground in the each backyard--we have far more than we “need.” When we have all this we rarely have a need to go out and do things with our neighbors. Taking care of all our needs in our own private homes depletes our community’s strength. It minimizes or eliminates our relationships of sharing, socializing and depending on our neighbors.

            At the same time, it has an environmental cost -- and that cost is coming around in such a way that we are realizing we cannot solve the issues of climate change, food shortages, and water and energy issues by each person doing their part. We have to work together, locally, nationally and globally, to really address these issues.

            For my money, the key, the wisdom, the path to sustainable lives and the path to a            satisfied life is a balance: a balance between our individual dreams, desires and concerns and our attention and contribution to common life with our neighbors, our community and one another. One without the other is not sustainable. When each of us feels like we have to provide alone for all our families’ needs, the pressure is intense and we can feel like failures when we can’t do it all. Yet, without nurturing some of that spirit of independence and personal dreams, our spirits languish as well.

            Chuck Collins, and economist, an activist for the commonwealth, a Unitarian         Universalist, and an heir to the Oscar Meyer fortune, who at 26 years old gave his entire trust fund away to charity said:  “Do you build a wall of money around your life to   protect yourself, or do you invest in the commonwealth? You can't be too rigid or ideological. So you put money in a college fund and give to the United Students Association so they can work toward making tuitions lower. I want to cast my lot with everyone else I know. I would rather work for a society where people take care of each other and not one based on whether you can amass a small fortune to provide basic care. I believe you shouldn't have to be rich to have a decent life in this society." From Riches to     Responsibility: Defending the Estate Tax by Kimberly French, UUWorld. March/April 2003, (12.5.09).

            During this holiday season, let us remember our dependence on one another, and the interdependent web of existence.  We must care for one another, and remember our own vulnerabilities.  Our community, whether that be our congregation, our city, our region, our nation, or the whole world, will be stronger if we can work together and share what we have to improve the common good.  In the words of Rev. Frederick-Gray, “In this season, may we all be called out of isolation and into the common life, finding true wealth in common wealth.”

 

Who Do I Think I Am?

This sermon was presented by Laurie Ruiz on September 20, 2015.

Hi.  My name is Laurie Hamblin Oliver.  I am a white middle-class Presbyterian from Wisconsin - well I used to be Laurie Hamblin Oliver, but now I am Laurie Oliver Ruiz.  I used to be from Wisconsin, but now I live in Texas.  I guess I’m still middle-class – it depends on your definition and it sure doesn’t go as far as it used to.  Presbyterian – not anymore – now I'm a Unitarian Universalist.  And white - I still am, right? So much of our own identity comes from those words we use to describe ourselves:  religion, race, ancestry.  I consider myself a member of each wonderful, or not so wonderful, sometimes transitional  category.  But, come on, I’m from Wisconsin?  I learned way back in 4th grade that Wisconsin didn’t even become a state until 1848 - OK, I didn’t really know that, I had to look it up.  Better said - I was born in Wisconsin. I have lived in Texas for more than 30 years which is why I no longer consider myself a Wisconsinite but yet can’t, or won’t claim to be a Texan.  I've always considered myself to be part of a broader group – Scottish. Maybe that is part of the reason I have had such a desire - more accurately described as an minor obsession - with researching my family tree. To borrow from the TV show - “Who Do I Think I Am?”

I’ve never really thought about why I can’t seem to stop doing research on my ancestors.  I decided to look for reasons that people do genealogy.  They varied greatly: finding adopted family members, finding stories and pictures before they are lost forever, understanding personal traits, knowing where to travel on vacations, finding connections to people and places in the world, proving and/or disproving family lore, conquering the puzzle, a personal connection to history. Another important reason was for medical reasons - tracing genetically passed on conditions or a pattern of health problems.  For me it’s a combination of reasons and it seems they change as I get older.

     Alex Haley, author of the book and miniseries Roots writes: Young and old alike find that knowing one's roots, and thus coming better to know who one is, provides a personally rewarding experience. But even more is involved than uncovering a family history, for each discovered United States family history becomes a newly revealed small piece of American history. Stated simply: a nation's history is only the selective histories of all of its people. It is only through an unfolding of the people's histories that a nation's culture can be studied in its fullest meaning.

In  my words - Have you ever done a crossword puzzle?  If you have, you quickly learn that one wrong entry can sabotage filling in the rest of the puzzle.  Did you want to “cheat” and peek at the answers in the back of the book - maybe just one or two words that would enable you to then use your brilliant thinking skills to find the answers on your own  - only to find out that the answers are not printed - anywhere?   Now imagine a puzzle that immediately dangles two new questions for every solution you do find. Growing exponentially , taunting you to continue on. That, to me, is the essence of genealogy. Add in the fascinating stories, internet “friending” of relatives and I find myself unable to stop. 

I have always had an interest in my ancestors.  When my son was in kindergarten and Thanksgiving rolled around I figured he would love to share the story of his ninth great-grandfather, John Howland, coming to the New World on the Mayflower, falling overboard, and being one of the original pilgrims. Nah, he didn’t want the attention and never took the carefully printed paper out of his backpack . Now, me, I had gone on this new “internet” to get the Pilgrim details that I had long since forgotten.  Wow - talk about a “New World”. Once I started I didn't stop.   I thought I “knew” my heritage.  I was Scotch and English.  My dad’s parents were born in Scotland and my mom's family were from England of the Mayflower and through the Revolutionary war.  How little I actually knew.

One of the first things that became crystal clear was that I could not choose my relatives.  By the time I looked him up online that pilgrim, John Howland, had racked up some 2 million descendants.  I discovered a distant relation to Ralph Waldo Emerson, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Christopher Lloyd.  Pretty cool.  But then - you've got to take the bad with the good.  I was also related to George Bush - and I have more recently learned Sarah Palin.  Genealogy research can leave with with some warm fuzzies, but you also have to be prepared for anything. And I mean anything.  Partway into my research I heard from my cousin, a fellow family historian, that some of our ancestors had been slave owners. 

I started searching, back in 1998, with a simple internet search using the few names I knew and I was not finding any results.  This was back when most of the research sites were free, with slow, loud, dial-up connection that worked best in the middle of the night.  I had a hand-written list with names of my grandfather’s parents, his grandparents and some scribbled names for his uncles, Georgie, Scn, Mac - but according to the internet these people were all attached to the wrong families. It was frustrating and I figured my ancestors had all “been gone”  when the census taker came by.  I remember standing in the kitchen late one night and, out loud, asking my grandpa, long since gone - who are these people?  Lo and behold - he answered.  The very next day in the mail I got a letter from my aunt - telling me she had a letter from a cousin of my grandpa.  She lived in New Zealand and was trying to contact the American “Oliver” family.  The letter went on to tell me that her father was George - one of the names from the paper!  The “coincidence” still makes me shiver and I thank - or maybe blame -  my Grandpa for pushing me to research further.  After a few mistakes - like writing a wrong answer on that crossword puzzle-  I was pretty sure that my grandma’s parents had been first cousins - I quickly learned that accuracy and attention to detail and proof is very important.  I also learned to look passed or maybe around the obvious.  A wonderful, detailed copy of an old letter of family information from my new relative in New Zealand explained why the names I had been searching for never matched up.  My great-grandfather was , and I quote “the product of a liaison between William Oliver and a local servant girl”.  He was raised by his father’s family and both parents went on to marry other people.  My first lesson in making no assumptions.  With reference “make no assumptions” another family I found that during a 10 year period between the census records the mother had disappeared,  the kids were living with other families as “wards”, and the father was living with a cousin. I mourned for the kids losing their mother so young.  Just this week I came across a death certificate with her name, correct birthday, but apparently 92 years old, remarried, and up near Houston.  I need to do more research, but it appears I had taken the easy path, not the correct one.

Another interesting experience was one of those late night research endeavors to find death certificate of a particular ancestor.  These documents can be rich with details, including relevant medical information, like the one I just mentioned.  It was one of the few time I was using a paid source and being “Scotch” ( in other words -  thrifty) was used my credits sparingly.  Of course I had the misfortune to be looking for James Stuart in Scotland - sort of like John Smith here in the United States.  I knew generally where, when and with whom he had lived but none of the matches were quite close enough for me to spend the money to open the links.  Finally exhausted from the middle of the night search I decided to sleep on it.  During the night I got up and glanced at my box of old pictures near the bed.  I saw a picture of a woman I had never seen before but at that moment -knew to be Jane Green - wife of the man I had been searching for.  I can still see the details - long skirt with an apron, hair pulled back tight into a bun, black boot-like shoes....so vivid.  She was repeating -”You’re looking in the wrong place, You’re looking in the wrong place.”  I never figured out if it was totally a dream or if I had even really gotten up, but in the morning I cranked up the computer and looked for James Stuart - in a different city, a different place - and there he was. I ordered the document and got a wealth of information.  For me - the connection - real or perceived - to this much greater “web of existence” is a big part of what keeps pushing me. 

I long ago decided that I didn’t want to collect names - but rather collect stories.  It’s a sort of like detective work.  I find a person in the different census reports and imagine the changes that had happened over the years.  A move across the country or the ocean, the death and/or birth of more than one family member, a marriage.  All of these can be pieced together to put together a story.  I knew that my great-grandparents had been married in Terre Haute, Indiana and didn't know why one family married in Indiana when everyone else was on the East coast.  Further research in the census showed me that my great-grandparents had lived a block away from each other in Boonton, New Jersey.  After the death of her mother the family moved to Indiana where her father had relatives.  Within months of the move she married, in Indiana, her beau from New Jersey and was again living on the East coast. I can imagine her emotions at losing her mother, moving away from her true love, and then leaving her father to move back East.  All done in the late 1800’s.  Another example was figuring out how my Grandparents met when they lived at opposite ends of Scotland.  The death certificate of my great-grandfather (my grandma's side) listed his place of death as the city my grandfather lived in – a connection that explains how they may have ended up meeting. Those are the details that I find so compelling.

 I've discovered that my mom's mother had been one of the few women Yeoman in the Navy during the first world war and worked a “decoder”.  And that my great great-grandfather had contracted malaria while camped in the Chickahamony Swamp during the McClelland Campaign outside Richmond during the Civil War.  His military pension file is full handwritten descriptions of the conditions, treatments, and lasting effects of the mercury pills they were given to “cure” the disease.    Or another ancestor – a soldier at Gettysburg in the Civil War – who for the rest of his life set an extra plate at the table and left the porch light on for his younger brother who had died  in a confederate prison camp.  For the first time I’m excited about history. I feel like I am a part if it.

Another unexpected benefit of my research was discovering the vast network of individuals who are willing to help each other in their research.  I had people In Scotland look up birth records in Edinburgh, others look up headstone inscriptions in Aberdeen.  The kindness was overwhelming.  Even better was when some of the people I “met” online were in fact cousins.  I have found grandchildren of my grandma’s sisters and brother in Scotland, England, and Australia.  We’ve set up a Facebook page where we can all share picture and stories.  It is an amazing connection.

Fast forward to fast internet and DNA testing.  Talk about expanding my web of existence!  My sister had her DNA tested and shared it with me. The first thing I saw was - 42% Ireland.  It was an odd feeling to see that what I had thought all of my life - who I was - dismissed so easily.  I don't feel a connection to Ireland, the people, the customs. Careful reading of the results explained that there isn’t a specific Scottish, English, or Irish category because they have been so busy conquering each other for centuries.  They do split it into Great Britain(more English) and Ireland (more Gaelic) I was about half and half.  So I was back into my comfort zone, but in the end maybe a little disappointed.  I also had just enough different traces of other European countries thrown in to keep me looking for those elusive “other countries”.  Alas, it's again the unexpected but the first day I looked at the DNA results I connected with a women who shared my great-grandfather, but not my great-grandmother.  It seems that my great-grandfather, an archeologist at Chichen Itza and consul to Yucatan had 3 familes.   One when he first moved to Mexico(about 5 kids), one when his wife moved to Mexico(6 kids – one of which was my Grandpa)and one after my great-grandmother and her school age kids came back to Massachusetts(about 5 kids).  It's been an interesting online reunion with some of the other grandchildren.  Another woman was angry because our trees didn't show an immediate match while our DNA indicated 3-4^th cousins. She wanted me to call Ancestry and tell them they were wrong. It's been an interesting journey.

But what if your DNA results really don’t match what you always thought of yourself to be.  Would it make a difference in the way you think of yourself? If we live in the present does it matter where your ancestors came from, how they got here?  How much of our self image is tied to our ancestry?  My husband recently did a DNA test.  For those of you who haven’t met him he was born in Edinburg and is Mexican American.  He’s always know that he had a little bit of European ancestry, although you wouldn't really know it by looking at him.  One grandparent supposedly had some German background, there were some green eyes and fair skin that supposedly came from Spain…  Before his results came back we made some “educated guesses” about what we expected to see.  We assumed a lot of Mexican Indian, some Spain, and maybe a little German.  And, we were wrong.  To make a long story short - his DNA showed his ancestry to be 41% Native American.  It was a little disappointing to not be able to pinpoint which type Native American but it was surprising that it was under 50%. Even more surprising was that 52% of his ancestral DNA came from Europe- and only 15% was from the Iberian Peninsula.  A whopping 28% of his DNA came from Italy/Greece.  We never imagined, never once thought to look there for records.  He had never considered himself to be Greek or Italian, at all.  Then his trace DNA - well 9% Ireland, Scandinavia, Britain, European Jewish - throws a few more ingredients into the soup.  It puts a whole new spin on the 1900 census where his grandfather is apparently the ward of a family living in Brownsville - and the head of the household is Conrad Lawrence Cloetta born 1832 in Livorno, Italy.  Cloetta's obituary states that he came to this country as a young child and chose to live in Matamoros from 1868-1898.  What a story that will be to unravel - if the connection proves correct.

Most importantly, does it affect the way my husband thinks of himself in the world. In a nutshell - Hell, yes.   Suddenly there is a connection to millions of people never before considered.  He now feels compelled to learn about the area, geographically and culturally.  And the thought that he  might have 2^nd, 3^rd, 4^th cousins in Italy or Greece is mind blowing.  The term “Mexican American” no longer seems adequate to describe him. It will take more research until he feels comfortable with any new “label”.

So, who do you think I am?  How do I fit into this world?  Our UU “web” is a perfect description – it's ever expanding and sometimes tangled.  If you look at my family tree and DNA results and put them with my husband's tree and DNA results, which coincidentally makes up my son's ancestry, it will touch, in some way, every continent.  With that connection to history, that connection to so many countries, that many people how can I not continue to do research.  How can I not care about the lives, the stories, the travels that are in some way tied to me, to the life I know.  Again, Alex Haley says it perfectly: Every genealogical researcher shares one frustration that I know I will always live with. Was there something else I should have uncovered? My long curiosity about my family's roots and the twelve years of obsessively pursuing and writing about them surely have not ended my curiosity. Again put simply: I have learned to live with my genealogical addiction..... I can relate, Alex.

So. Hi, my name is Laurie Hamblin Oliver Ruiz and I am a Gaelic, British, a little bit European, Unitarian Universalist living in Texas.  Who do you think you are?

Finding my UU Identity

This sermon was given on August 16th by Rachel Alvarez.

Reading # 1

“As responsible religious seekers, we recognize that we are privileged to be free, to have resources to pursue life beyond mere survival, to continually search for truth and meaning, to exist beyond bonds of dogma and oppression, and to wrestle freely with truth and meaning as they evolve.

“This privilege calls us not to be isolated and self-centered, believing that our single perspective trumps all others, but rather to be humble, to be open to the great mysteries of truth and meaning that life offers. And those mysteries may speak to us through our own intuition and experience—but also through tradition, community, conflict, nature, and relationships.

“As a faith tradition, Unitarian Universalism makes sacred the right and responsibility to engage in this free and responsible quest as an act of religious devotion. Institutionally, we have left open the questions of what truth and meaning are, acknowledging that mindful people will, in every age, discover new insights.”

—Rev. Paige Getty, UU Congregation of Columbia, Maryland

Reading # 2

“Unitarian Universalism is a fierce belief in the way of freedom and reverence for the sacred dignity of each individual… we have sworn eternal hostility against every tyranny over the mind.

           

“Unitarian Universalism is cooperation with a universe that created us; it is celebration of life; it is being in love with goodness and justice; it is a sense of humor about absolutes.

           

“Unitarian Universalism is faith in people, hope for tomorrow’s child, confidence in a continuity that spans all time.  It looks not to a perfect heaven, but toward a good earth.  It is respectful of the past, but not limited to it.  It is trust in growing and conspiracy with change.  It is spiritual responsibility for a moral tomorrow.”

--Ed Schempp, quoted in Our Chosen Faith:  An Introduction to Unitarian Universalism by John A. Buehrens and F. Forrester Church

Sermon: Finding my UU Identity by Rachel Alvarez

               My religious identity has shifted throughout my life, as I’m sure it has for many of you.  The way I identify myself, and my views of religion, have changed over time, and I imagine they will continue to evolve in the future.  As the child of a Jewish mother and a Catholic father (neither of whom were very religious), I found that attending a Unitarian Universalist church, which I began attending in first grade, confused me.  Growing up, I struggled to explain my religious background to friends, and often wished I could provide a clear-cut, familiar answer when the topic of religion arose.  Recently, however, I have been reflecting on my upbringing and find that I am grateful to have been exposed to a variety of systems of belief, and can now identify as a Unitarian Universalist, and explain our faith in a (mostly) coherent and effective way.

My father was raised in an Irish Catholic family.  As a child, he went to church reluctantly with his family, and he attended a Catholic high school.  He recounts stories of the nuns who taught him, and the trouble he caused at Archbishop Williams High School, just outside of Boston.  As a result of his antics, he claims, his three younger siblings were barred from his school and were instead sent to the city’s public high school.  As an adult, my father has never attended church. He studied philosophy and English in college, and has always encouraged me to think critically and question the ways of the world.  He is interested in different cultures and systems of beliefs, but as far as I know, feels very little connection to his Catholic roots.

My mother was raised in a reform Jewish household.  She attended Hebrew school and had a Bas Mitzvah, and her parents were active members of their synagogue.  They did not keep kosher, but did celebrate holidays each year.  My mother travelled to Israel with my grandfather when she was 20.  By the time my parents had met, my grandmother had passed away, but my grandfather was supportive of my mom marrying a non-Jew.  Coincidentally, one of my mom’s two brothers, by that time, had married an Irish Catholic woman who grew up in the same town as my dad!  Small world.  So, while Jewish, my mother’s family was rather liberal.  Aside from the occasional visit to a synagogue, my mom does not identify spiritually with her Jewish upbringing.

As a child, I grew up identifying myself as “half-Catholic, half-Jewish.”  Living in a predominantly Catholic town in Massachusetts, the Jewish part of my background made me feel unique, and was a source of pride to me.  This appreciation for my mixed religious heritage persists, although I do not feel much connection to the belief systems of either Catholicism or Judaism.  I found an article that resonated with me.  It was published in the Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle, and written by Leah Blankenship, a graduate of the Jewish Cultural Studies program at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.  She writes,
"Many children of intermarriage say they simply cannot turn their backs on the non-Jewish half of their identity.  This openness to multiple identities is particularly true among college students, according to Daniel Klein and Freke Vuijst, who interviewed hundreds of students for The Half-Jewish Book, published in 2000.  Klein says that those who consider themselves to be half-Jewish 'feel they are a combination, they are an amalgam, they are bicultural.' A 2005 survey by Hillel, The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, found that 48 percent of college students who consider themselves Jewish come from intermarried homes. It's from this population that a new subculture is emerging of 'people who draw from both sides of their heritage and synthesize their cultural halves into a remarkable new identity,' the authors write."
Like many young adults from intermarried homes, I felt a sort of crisis in trying to synthesize the two halves into a whole identity.

Now thinking of being “half-Catholic and half-Jewish,” seems laughable to me.  Rather than fitting into both Catholic and Jewish communities, I did not feel that I could fit into either one.  After all, that “Catholic half” of me did not understand the rituals, like First Communion, CCD, and Confirmation, that my peers went through during elementary, middle, and high school.  I could not recite the Lord’s Prayer, and I felt entirely lost during the few Catholic masses I attended with friends after sleeping over at their houses.  I never knew when to stand up, when to kneel, what to say in response to the priest, or what to do while all those around me went up to the front of the church to get their communion bread.  I never felt that I fit in with Catholicism.  It seemed to me like an exclusive club that I would never be a part of.  And yet, I still called myself “half Catholic.”

Similarly, my “Jewish half” would have been lost in a synagogue, and, despite celebrating Passover and Hanukkah in addition to Easter and Christmas, I never felt connected to the holidays for their religious or spiritual significance.  Each year, until I was about 8, and a few odd years sprinkled in later, we went to my aunt and uncle’s house for a Passover seder.  According to ritual, the youngest person present at the seder asks the four sacred questions.  I was always the youngest, but as a shy little girl, I always hated this part, and refused to ask the questions, leaving my older cousin to take my role.  After the seder dinner, the kids looked for matzoh hidden around the house, and got little chocolate coins as treats.  These are my only memories of Passover, which I haven’t celebrated in nearly twenty years. For Hanukkah, my mom and I lit the menorah each night, and I would say the prayer with my mom, both in Hebrew and in English.  I took great pride in learning to pronounce the Hebrew, but didn’t really agree with what I was saying. This was about the extent to which I understood my “Jewish half.”

Even during the years that I called myself “half-Jewish and half-Catholic,” I could have provided another, albeit more complicated, answer.  Beginning in first grade, I started attending First Parish Church in Cohasset, Massachusetts, a Unitarian Universalist congregation, with my mother.  She decided that, as a compromise between the differing backgrounds of her and my dad, UUism would be a good solution.  UUism is quite common in that part of the country, where it originated, and First Parish is located right on the town common, where it was built around 1750.  Despite its impressive history and place in my hometown, I never knew how to explain UUism (something I still struggle with as an adult), and so, lacking a good description of it to share with my friends, I abandoned this identity and deferred to the Catholic-Jewish hybrid. 

In an article titled "The UU Identity Crisis," Rev. Dr. Todd F. Eklof writes,   
   
"Today I hear lots of talk about individual UUs needing to have an ‘elevator speech' prepared in order to readily tell others about our unique faith. But these statements are often so different they hardly seem to be describing the same thing, and many, even at that, have trouble coming up with just a few simple sentences to describe the essence of Unitarian Universalism. Some say it’s a religion that accepts all faiths and you can believe whatever you want. Others say we believe in the worth and dignity of every person, along with some other principles they can never quite remember. Still others highlight our emphasis on social justice in the wider world, while some describe our support of one another’s individual spiritual journeys. Although all of these touch upon some genuine aspect of who we are, none seems entirely adequate in expressing our UU identity, if there even is such an animal at this point."

And so, because of the challenge in truly explaining what UUism is, I found difficulty in explaining it to others.  Even so, it was a wonderful community to be raised in. First Parish had a strong religious education program, and I grew up attending Sunday school, singing in the church’s junior choir, participating in our annual traditions, and eventually participating in the UUA program, Our Whole Lives, which was sexual education.  Thinking back, it’s pretty interesting to me that I took sex ed at my church, and it was very open and progressive, from what I remember.  Since the time we first started attending First Parish in 1991 my mom has been very involved in the church.  I still attend with her when I am up in Massachusetts, and it feels like home, among people who have watched me grow up. My dad doesn’t attend, but each Sunday, when my mom is heading out to get to church, he jokingly reminds her, “Say hi to God for me!” 
   
During my 7th and 8th grade years at First Parish Church in Cohasset, Massachusetts, in addition to Our Whole Lives, I took part in the church “Coming of Age” program.  For the program, we were instructed to choose a mentor in the church, a supportive guide along our path of religious exploration.  I chose Janet, a woman around my mom’s age who took me out for lunch dates, recommended books for me to read, and bought me a nice journal in which to record my thoughts and reflections.  Along with the other 13 and 14 year-olds, I spent two years exploring religion and trying to formulate my own beliefs.  During our 7th grade year, we visited several different UU churches all over Massachusetts, to compare them with our own experiences at First Parish.  During our 8th grade year, we visited places of worship representing other religions, including Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism.  At the end of the two years, each of us gave a presentation to the congregation called our “Statement of Belief.”  I don’t recall exactly what I said, but I think I mentioned that I don’t think God is some white man with a beard in the sky, but that some kind of higher power exists.  I remember I was given a hymnal, signed by our minister and a necklace in the shape of the chalice from my mentor, which I decided to wear today.  I felt very grown up, worldly, and sophisticated.
   
Although I felt confident as a graduate of the Coming of Age program, I continued to question my religious identity.  Growing up, I knew I wasn’t Catholic, because of my meager participation in any of the rituals and rites of passage.  I also didn’t feel Jewish, but since my mom was Jewish, and since I was “more” Jewish than most of the people in my hometown, I felt connected to that side a little more strongly.  As a senior in college, I heard about an opportunity to learn more about my Jewish half.  Someone told me about The Birthright program, and I decided to go to Israel.  For those of you not familiar, Birthright is non-profit educational foundation that sends Jewish young adults to Israel for ten days to explore their heritage and beliefs.  The trip is completely free, funded by philanthropists and the Israeli government, in the hopes of helping young adults forge a stronger connection with their Jewish heritage.  Thinking back to the study I mentioned earlier, that states that 48% of college-aged Jewish people came from intermarried homes, I can see the reasoning behind the efforts to strengthen connections to Judaism.  Because of my strong sense of wanderlust, I really wanted to go, not so much to explore my spirituality, but to visit a far-off land at no cost.  I was worried that I wouldn’t be “Jewish enough” for the trip.  After all, I didn’t attend synagogue, I didn’t speak Hebrew, and I didn’t know much beyond the basic beliefs of Judaism. However, once I made it through the application process and phone interview, I was surprised and comforted to find that many of the others in my group of about 30 people, ages 18-26, had similar feelings.  Many had been raised in a similar, secular home, by parents of different backgrounds.  Throughout the week, we hiked at Masada, floated in the Dead Sea, sang songs, learned about the history of the Jews, visited the Western Wall, toured historic synagogues, and even celebrated Shabbat, the Sabbath, with an orthodox family.  I remember at one particular session, one of the leaders, Michael, discussed the insecurity many people have with “not feeling Jewish enough.”  It felt wonderful for these feelings that I had held for much of my life to be spoken aloud, acknowledged, and validated.  Michael assured us that, no matter our background or upbringing, we would be welcomed and embraced in Judaism, and just knowing that made me feel so good, so accepted.  I felt a new interest in my Jewish side.  I started imagining that, upon returning to the States, I could join Hillel, the Jewish organization on campus, for my last semester, and start attending synagogue.  Still, though, I had trouble reconciling my beliefs, or lack thereof, with the tenets of Judaism.  I had an amazing time in Israel, but upon my return, my enthusiasm waned, and I never did make it to a Hillel meeting.

After graduating from the University of Richmond in Virginia and moving here to the RGV, I did not attend any religious services for about five years.  When I first moved here, the lack of separation between church and state turned me off religion completely for a while.  So many coworkers asked me which church I attended, that I felt the urge to rebel by proclaiming that I did not attend church, and no, I did not want or need help in finding one.  However, during one of my visits home to Massachusetts, when my mom and I attended a service at First Parish, I was struck by the sense of community I felt, and the thought-provoking discussions people held afterwards.  Back in the RGV, I decided to finally check out this fellowship that I had driven by so many times, and I am so glad that I did.

Now, as I wrap up my twenties, I have found myself revisiting my beliefs.  Despite what I said as part of my Statement of Belief so many years ago, I have begun to question the existence of God.  I feel grateful to be part of this fellowship where, whether one believes in one God, many gods, or no god, we are all encouraged to pursue our own spiritual paths, while also being accepted by such a supportive community.  In preparation for this presentation, I looked through the archives of the NPR series, “This I Believe,” and found an essay by Penn Jillette, the comedian/magician.  In his essay, titled “There Is No God,” he states that,
“Believing there is no God means the suffering I’ve seen in my family, and indeed all the suffering in the world, isn’t caused by an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent force that isn’t bothered to help or is just testing us, but rather something we all may be able to help others with in the future. No God means the possibility of less suffering in the future."
As part of my shifting religious identity, I have begun to question the existence of God for these same reasons.  Why would an all-powerful God allow such horrors to occur, without intervening?  I used to say that, “everything happens for a reason,” to comfort those going through a challenging time.  However, the more I think about it, I doubt that I believe that.  With all of the terrible tragedies occurring around the world each day, would God continue to watch it unfold for the sake of testing our faith?  Would he or she watch people die young, tragic accidents occur, deadly wars ravage thousands of lives (often over religion itself), doing nothing?  Do these things truly happen for a reason?  In the words of Rev. Marisol Caballero of Austin's First UU,
“…healing, peace, and even happiness may be found in the direst of circumstances – not because of some half-baked theology that causes people to say such things as, 'everything happens for a reason,' and, 'God never gives you more than you can handle in a day.' That's crap! The gaping holes in this thinking are apparent in the face of tragedy, stark injustice, and disease."
So maybe these tragedies do not follow rhyme or reason.  Instead, as Jillette states, could it be that we have the capacity to work on resolving those challenges?  Of course, the prospect of us humans solving some of these big problems, whether by developing a cure for cancer, bringing about peace, or ending racism and poverty, sounds ambitious and overwhelming; still, for me, it brings me some comfort to think that we could be in control of the future, rather than letting that higher power have all of the control over our world. In both First Parish and the UUFHC, I have found myself surrounded by people who are active in social justice issues, and I am proud of UUism as encouraging us to take action and face these challenges affecting our global community.
   
Along with the presence of God, I wonder to what degree, if any, fate exists.  I used to think that each little piece of my life was like a puzzle piece, and that the pieces would fit together for a reason.  Now, I’m not so sure.  For example, did I move to Texas because I was destined to meet my husband, Mark?  I don’t think so.  However, I do at times reflect upon the small, seemingly meaningless choices that led me to where I am right now.  If, when confronted with the choice between taking Spanish or taking French in 7th grade, I had chosen French, perhaps my whole life would have turned out differently.  That one decision, seems to have contributed to many of the major life events that I have experienced.  I chose Spanish.  I majored in Spanish, I studied abroad in Spain, and I ranked the Rio Grande Valley region as my first preference on my Teach For America application partly because of my interest in utilizing my Spanish language skills.  So, did it all happen for a reason?  Did I choose Spanish because I was destined to make my life here?  I’m not sure I would go that far. 

I do feel that the decisions we make add up to make the lives we lead.  I guess this is different from the concept of fate.  I, after all, was the one to make each of those decisions.  But, it still makes me wonder at the amazing importance of the many choices we make along the road of life.  We are in control of our futures.  This comforts me more than the idea that God has a plan for us laid out, a plan over which we have little control.
           
Because of my lifetime spent in the Unitarian Universalist community, I feel comfortable with my questions and my evolving religious identity. I enjoy thinking about these concepts, like the existence of God and the reason things happen. My more recent move toward agnosticism/atheism can still fit into UUism, and, as a UU, I feel I can still honor my family's backgrounds, both the Irish Catholic Doyles and the Eastern European Jewish Litvins.

I feel very lucky to have been raised in an amazing, supportive, liberal, open-minded congregation in Cohasset.  Now, as an adult, I truly appreciate having rediscovered UUism as an adult, here at the UUFHC.   No matter one’s individual beliefs or backgrounds, whether he or she was raised Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Hindu, or atheistic, all religious journeys are welcomed by our faith.  While this can make our religion a difficult one to define, the diversity of UUism makes it richer and gives us great potential for affecting change in the world. 

In Our Chosen Faith:  An Introduction to Unitarian Universalism, UU leader Wallace W. Robbins is quoted as writing:
Ours is a church of reason-- not because the mind is free of errors, but because the dialogue of mind with mind, and mind with itself, refines religious thought.
Ours is a church of moral work-- not because we think morality is a sufficient religion, but because we know no better way of showing our gratitude to God, and our confidence in one another.
Ours is a church of conscience-- not because we hold that conscience is infallible, but because it is the meeting place of God and the human spirit.
Ours is a non-creedal church-- not because we have no beliefs, but because we will not be restrained in our beliefs.

Often, I have described UUism by what we are not.  We don’t have dogmatic beliefs, we don’t have requirements for membership, like specific rites, rituals, heritage, etc.  However, it can be useful to consider what UUism is and what it provides to us as members of this community.  For me, it provides a sense of identity and fellowship, and an opportunity to consider my impact on the world around me.   

Now, instead of identifying myself as “half-Jewish, half-Catholic,” I proudly identify as 100% Unitarian Universalist.  Just as the title of the book I referred to indicates, I feel now that I have truly chosen UUism as my faith, and feel proud of this community.  As a UU, my years of feeling incomplete, or not enough to fit into any religion have been replaced by an understanding and appreciation for the challenges, for the uncertain journey, for the freedom to question and reinvent oneself that is part of Unitarian Universalism.