Reflections of a New Mom

This service was presented on Sunday, September 18, 2016, by Rachel Alvarez. 

Hymns
301 Touch the Earth, Reach the Sky!
338 I Seek the Spirit of a Child

Responsive Readings
Generation To Generation
by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Give Us the Spirit of the Child
by Sarah Moores Campbell

Reflections of a New Mom
by Rachel Alvarez

I have been a mother for almost 6 months now.  I can't believe how quickly the time has passed already, and I know it will continue to fly by as Natalie grows.  By no means do I consider myself an expert on motherhood.  In fact, there are days I feel lost and confused. 

Watching her has prompted me to consider human nature and societal issues.  I have been reflecting a lot. I've been reflecting in the middle of the night during feedings, while I am scrolling through her pictures during my lunch, and while driving, with her cries ringing out from the back seat.  She has not yet realized the joy of road trips, which her dad and I love.

So, today I’d like to share some of my musings from this first half-year.  I apologize if some of my thoughts are a bit disjointed.  It has been rare for me to have more than a few minutes at a time to really focus on any single task.  I have lots of questions, and not as many answers, but here we go.

Observation #1:  Babies are born ready to love.  At this time in her life, Natalie's list of needs is relatively short.  As long as she is fed, clean, and comfortable, she is generally satisfied.  She loves to be held, and if she can stare into a smiling face, she's happy.  Bonus points for swaying to some music in her dad's arms.  She has no grudges, no self-doubt, no ill will toward anyone.  She is open, confident, and friendly.  She does not yet know of the discrimination and hatred that some people hold toward others.  Hopefully she will continue loving all types of people throughout her life.

In a scientific study I recently read about, children have been found to be naturally helpful and giving.  According to Adam Gorlick in “For kids, altruism comes naturally, psychologist says”

“kids are quite altruistic... They gesture to communicate that something is out of place. They empathize with those they sense have been wronged. They have an almost reflexive desire to help, inform and share. And they do so without expectation or desire for reward.

“But as they grow, children's spirit of cooperation is shaped by how they judge their surroundings and perceive what others think of them. They become more aware of what's around them, and worry more about what it's like and what it means to be a member of a group. They arrive at the process with a predisposition for helpfulness and cooperation...But then they learn to be selective about whom to help, inform and share with, and they also learn to manage the impression they are making on others—their public reputation and self—as a way of influencing the actions of those others toward themselves."

How can we continue to encourage that spirit of generosity?  I think in part, it is making an effort as a parent to model positive behavior.  I will try not to express negativity or ill-will that Natalie might be influenced by.  In fact, I will try to let her young sense of positivity influence me in my relationships with others.  That sense of love and beauty in a child’s world is truly inspiring to me.

In the words of comedian Denis Leary, “Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list.” In Natalie's case, her list is comprised of only car rides.

This brings me to my next observation...

2) Babies are born ready to learn. Natalie is learning.  All day.  Every hour, every minute, every second.  In the past six months, she has had to learn to breathe, to eat, to vocalize, to smile, to laugh, to grab, to roll over, to sit up....  When I see her clear, bright eyes focusing on Mark's facial expressions, on our cat walking by, on the pictures in her story books, on the ceiling fan blades turning... I am reminded of how she is a sponge.  She is constantly observing, learning, and growing. I admire this, and rather than spend mindless hours on my smart phone, my goal is to observe the world around me more and soak up as much as I can, the way Natalie does. She is just interested in everything!  I want to feel that spark of curiosity again and realize how much I can continue learning myself each day.

Now, my little sponge is soaking up lots of love, laughter, and new lessons.  But, how long can I shield her from the ugliness and hatred of the world?  At what point might she start to learn about the tragedies of the world?

In Natalie's short life, so many tragic and horrifying events have already taken place: the Orlando night club massacre, a long list of shocking Trump comments, various instances of police brutality and the sometimes violent backlash, the mishandling of rape cases,  Islamophobia, Internet trolling, deadly forest fires, floods, earthquakes... the list goes on. 

I myself feel so desensitized by all the world's violence, that I am ashamed to admit I hardly feel any emotion in response to most tragedies.  I don't want Natalie to be numb, but I also don’t want her to feel debilitated by the world’s sadness.  I hope that she develops confidence, while remaining sensitive and thoughtful.  My friend's daughter, a 2nd grader, was working on a school assignment last week about 9/11.  My friend said that each time her daughter rehearsed the presentation, reciting the number of deaths and detailing a victim’s last phone call to his wife, the little girl would burst into tears, crying, “that's so sad!”  What a heavy assignment for a 7 year old.  And I admire her sensitivity.  I feel embarrassed that I don't feel that emotion when reflecting on 9/11 or other more recent events.  How terrible for someone to have to confront such horrors at such a young age.  I hope Natalie can feel sadness and anger at these events, but that she will also see the good in humanity and look positively toward the future.  If hatred and racism can be taught, so can love and compassion.  What lessons can I teach her to give her a solid foundation so that she can face the ugliness of the world with confidence by the time it reaches her senses?

What about the pressures she will face as a girl growing into a woman?  Will she meekly apologize for everything or undermine her own ideas?  There's a funny, but at the same time too-real sketch by Amy Schumer in which the women are apologizing for every little thing.  In the sketch, a panel of women-- experts in their respective fields-- sit on a stage.   They apologize for interrupting each other, for speaking up, for requesting a glass of water, and, in an exaggerated sequence, for getting injured and bleeding on the stage.   I, too, find myself saying sorry when someone bumps into me, when sharing an opinion at a faculty meeting, and when asking a question of a friend.  I am determined to do everything in my power to help Natalie develop confidence and be proud of herself and her abilities.

Will she start to feel insecure and be uncomfortable in her body?

I hope to instill a positive body image in Natalie as she grows up, but I know how difficult that can be.  I grew up disliking my own body and lacking a lot of confidence as a girl and into my teen years.  How can I avoid passing on my insecurities to her?  Now she is uncorrupted and safe from the photoshopped, glossy magazine covers and the comments of her peers.  In a few years, will negative thoughts begin to seep into her consciousness?  How can I support her?  Can I arm her with the tools to fight those demons of hatred, self-doubt, and insecurity?  I am starting now by being mindful of my own thoughts.  Instead of criticizing my own body, I remind myself of the amazing things it has done for me.  It has run half marathons, traveled the world, and most impressively, created a tiny human which it now supports and nourishes.  When I look at Natalie, instead of referring to her “chunky” thighs, I try to rephrase, calling them strong, instead, so that I will be used to this mindset by the time she can understand and speak.

The following passage is taken from an article called, “Dear Daughter, you are so beautiful” by Chaunie Brusie, published Dec 4, 2015.  Recently I read this and it really resonated.

“The truth is, sometimes I just watch you. I realize that perhaps that might sound a little strange, but I make no apologies because I’m a mother and therefore just a tad clinically insane, because it’s impossible to live with your heart walking around outside of your body in a world that’s basically a ticking time bomb of hate and sorrow without losing your mind just a little bit.

“But I want to bottle up the beauty I see in you, in every careless way you jump and run... in every breath you take while you sleep, in every hug you give me without even thinking about it. I want to scoop your breathtaking beauty up, like piles of sand and hand it to you when you hit that age I know is coming, that age when you start to live not just for yourself and the pure joy of being you, but in comparison to others—to women, in the eyes of boys, against your own harsh standards.

“I want to hoist up the world’s biggest mirror, a mirror that could magically show you what I see, and gesture wildly, begging you to look, just look at what I see in you.

“To see the kindness, the strength, the sensitivity, the intelligence, the kindness, every quirk and flaw and trait, woven together in a tapestry I could never create.

“Because dear daughter, you are so beautiful.

“Even though someday, I know you won’t believe it.”

What will the world be like over the next one hundred years, throughout Natalie's lifetime?  How are we leaving the world for her generation to take over?  How much can I support her while also giving her independence? How much is within my control at all? How can I best support and prepare my daughter for living in this world of ours? This tragic, scary, but also wonderful world of ours.

What Shall We Do Now?

               What Shall We Do Now?
                 by Shirley Rickett
               July 31, 2016, UUFHC   

     Let’s talk about speech.  About what we say, how we say it, when we say it, and the other half of that, listening. I’m going to attempt to weave an essay by Phillip Kennicott, a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer for the Washington Post with some of the text of President Obama’s speech at the Dallas Memorial for the five fallen policemen.
     The time frame for this goes back to July 12th when we had gone through a month of violence.  Since that time the terrible attack in Nice has happened, an attempted coup in Turkey took place, and more troops were commissioned to Iraq.  Remember Orlando?  Forty-nine killed, fifty injured. In Louisiana a black man was held down by police and ultimately shot, and in Minnesota, another black man was shot with his girlfriend in the front seat of a car and four-year-old in the backseat. And now we have Nice, France and a 19-ton truck.
        Kinnicott talks first about empathy in his essay.   He says, “If we can’t empathize across lines of race, religion, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, then there’s no hope of preserving democratic governance. Before this day is over you will have dozens of encounters with people who disagree with you, and the vast majority of those encounters will be amiable,” and later he says, “It is difficult to persuade anyone to change his or her mind about political, ethical or religious matters; it is virtually impossible to persuade a stranger to change his or her mind about anything. You may shame someone into silence for a while, but you will not change their heart.  It is possible to transform the way people think, but this takes years, or decades, and it requires love.”
     So what shall we do now? 
     President Obama found himself in one more church, one more memorial, with the job of speaking to violence and death, to more than one audience.  Like Lawrence O’Donnell, I believe that speech is something we have not heard and may never hear again, although I would go further.  The structure and performance of the presentation, (half-sermon, half-speech some say) was profound. It is difficult enough to focus a speech on one audience and keep people engaged, but the President spoke to at least three audiences:  the bereaved families of the policemen, the bereaved families of the most recent African Americans killed by police, and local and national audiences.
     “You may shame someone into silence for a while, but you will not change their heart.” That’s Killicott.  The President spoke of the heart also.  Late in his speech this is what he said:
“Can we do this? Can we find the character, as Americans, to open our hearts to each other?
     Can we see in each other a common humanity and a shared dignity, and recognize how our different experiences have shaped us?  And it doesn’t make anybody perfectly good or perfectly bad, it just makes us human.  I don’t know. I confess that sometimes I, too, experience doubt.  I’ve been to too many of these things.  I’ve seen too many families go through this.  But then I am reminded of what the Lord tells Ezekiel.  I will give you a new heart, the Lord says, and put a new spirit in you.  I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”
     “That’s what we must pray for, each of us:  a new heart.  Not a heart of stone, but a heart open to the fears and hopes and challenges of our fellow citizens. That’s what we’ve seen in Dallas these past few days.  That’s what we must sustain.”
     Empathy. What both Killicott and the President are saying we need empathy.
     Empathy implies more than feeling.  Miss Hester, my fifth grade teacher, once taught us the difference between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is when you feel sad for someone else.  A grandmother dies and your friend was very close to her.  You see your friend sad and you feel sad for what your friend is feeling.  However, empathy is different.  You become involved with the loss, the suffering of another friend, or someone you never met.  So you make a card, (or a protest sign) and your mother bakes cookies and you go to their house after the funeral and try to comfort your friend and the family. And you tell your friend how you felt when your beloved uncle died.
     Empathy can work on another level, too, said Miss Hester.  You go to a concert and sit through a piano concerto. You play the piano yourself and as the music rises from the keyboard your hands move on your lap and the music reaches a crescendo and the audience rises as one at the finish.  As you go home, you realize your fingers and hands are tired. You were so lost in the music and the playing that your own hands were moving and you weren’t aware of this. Part of the enjoyment and appreciation of art involves empathy.

The First Principle: Our Inherent Worth and Dignity

This service was presented by Rachel Alvarez on Sunday, January 31

Reading #1:  Reflection on the First Principle

“Reverence and respect for human nature is at the core of Unitarian Universalist (UU) faith. We believe that all the dimensions of our being carry the potential to do good. We celebrate the gifts of being human: our intelligence and capacity for observation and reason, our senses and ability to appreciate beauty, our creativity, our feelings and emotions. We cherish our bodies as well as our souls. We can use our gifts to offer love, to work for justice, to heal injury, to create pleasure for ourselves and others.

“‘Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy,’ the great twentieth-century Rabbi Abraham Heschel wrote. Unitarian Universalists affirm the inherent worth and dignity of each person as a given of faith—an unshakeable conviction calling us to self-respect and respect for others.”

—Rev. Dr. Rebecca Ann Parker, minister, theologian, and author

Reading #2:

The following quote was written in the wake of September 11, 2001, by Rev. Sean Parker Dennison of South Valley UU in Salt Lake City, Utah.

In a time like this, it is important to remember that "inherent worth

and dignity" is not the same as blamelessness or freedom from

accountability. If we uphold the inherent worth and dignity of every

person we are not saying that whatever they choose to do is somehow

okay. What we are saying is that unlike the people that planned and

carried out these horrific events, we value human life—every human

life. When people behave cruelly and with hatred we will intervene,

but we will do so in ways that protect and preserve life. Even when

we are enraged and seek to redress a horrible wrong, we will measure

our acts by the standards of dignity, honor, and justice. Even in the

face of tragedy, we must not forget that every life—American, Arab,

Persian, Afghani—is precious. May we not waste a single one.

Inherent worth and dignity is not something we confer upon people

when they are good and rescind when they are bad. Inherent worth

and dignity is not something that resides in the other, but

something that is demanded of us.

Presentation

            As Unitarian Universalists, we don’t have specific creeds that we must all agree upon and follow.  Instead, our Seven Principles provide guidelines for us to live by.  Growing up, when friends would ask about the church I attended and our beliefs, I would struggle with how to respond, but usually, I said something related to the importance of “being a good person.”  In my opinion, the Seven Principles are the foundation for UUs to be good people.  Knowing that UUs may have different beliefs than me about the existence of a god or gods, heaven, hell, etc…  I generally understand that UUs share the Seven Principles as a common foundation, which is comforting to me in a very diverse religious community. 

          Today’s presentation will be kicking off a second cycle of a series discussing our Seven Principles.  To begin, I wanted to discuss the Seven Principles in general, before specifically focusing on the First Principle, promoting the inherent worth and dignity of every person.

          In preparation for this sermon, I found an article that resonated with me and made me think of the Seven Principles in a slightly different way.  I would like to share some excerpts from it.  In the Summer 2014 issue of UU World, in his article titled “I don't 'believe in' the Seven Principles: I don’t think of them as beliefs at all…” Doug Muder writes, “The absolute worst of the common answers [to the question of what UUs believe] is “[that we] can believe whatever they want.” In fact the exact opposite is true. Maybe more than any other religion, Unitarian Universalism pushes us to ask: “Is that really true or is it just what I want to believe?  Precisely because I am a UU, I question ideas whose primary virtue is that I want to believe them.  Once you step around that pothole, discussions tend to gravitate towards the Seven Principles. As a list of things that our congregations are committed to affirm and promote, the Principles have at least a formal resemblance to the creeds of Christian churches; we teach them to our children, introductory books are organized around them, and so forth. So if someone comes to a UU congregation looking for the Unitarian Universalist creed, the Principles seem to be it.  But if you’ve ever tried to present the Principles to creed-seeking newcomers, you’ve probably seen their disappointment. “And?” their expressions seem to ask.

          I can relate to this feeling.  In telling my friends that my religion promotes “being a good person,” I feel like I fall short of some deeper meaning.  Is “being a good person,” really such a great feat for us to strive for? Do we really need a religious community to remind us and encourage us to be good people? 

          Muder continues, “The Principles fail as a creed because they’re too easy. Billions of people who literally would not want to be caught dead in a UU church can nod along with them. Take the Second Principle: “Justice, equity, and compassion in human relations.” Does some other religion take a bold stand for injustice in human relations? People may argue about what “justice” means, but everybody is for it.

The Principles are littered with feel-good terms like that: “spiritual growth,” “democratic process,” “search for truth and meaning,” “world community,” “peace,” “liberty.” If all Unitarian Universalism wants you to do is approve of such concepts, that’s not very demanding, is it? In addition to thinking that they describe a really wimpy religion, I have an even more serious objection to the Principles as a defining set of Unitarian Universalist beliefs: I don’t believe in them.  In fact, I don’t think of them as beliefs at all. I think of them as visions.

          “The point of putting the Principles in the front of the hymnal and teaching them to our children isn’t to assert their truth, or even to encourage you to nod along with the idea that they should be true. Unitarian Universalism is a commitment to envision a world in which the Principles have become true, to envision it so intensely and in such detail that it becomes a genuine possibility, and to join with others in making that possibility real.  That’s how the Seven Principles turn into a challenging spiritual path.  So, do I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person? No. I am committed to envisioning it. Together with others, I hope to imagine it so well, so convincingly, and so beautifully that the vision becomes viral and takes over the world.

          “That’s much harder than just believing the First Principle is true, because truths can take care of themselves. The difficulty of our task is why Unitarian Universalists need each other. If the point of Unitarian Universalism were just to believe the Principles, I could do that on my own. But the path of not believing—or believing that the First Principle is not true yet—is more challenging. I can’t do it by myself. If I’m trying to envision the Principles into existence, then I need my congregation and all the other congregations and all the help they can muster.  So what do Unitarian Universalists believe? We’re not committed to beliefs, we’re committed to visions.  That’s much harder.”  [End quote]

          So, looking more specifically at our first principle, we as Unitarian Universalists we “covenant to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person.”  According to Merriam-Webster, “inherent” can be defined as “belonging to the basic nature of someone or something,” “involved in the constitution or essential character of something,” or “belonging by nature or habit.” The definitions of “worth” include “the value of something measured by its qualities or by the esteem in which it is held,” “moral or personal value,” or “usefulness or importance.” Finally, “dignity” is defined as “the quality of being worthy of honor or respect.”  Putting all of these terms together, the first principle, to me, means consistently and deliberately recognizing and promoting the importance and value that is essential to each person’s very being.  According to our first principle, each person is unconditionally worthy of honor and respect.  Building off Muder’s assertion, this may not be true in our world yet, but we are envisioning a world in which all people are treated with unconditional honor and respect.  That is, indeed, much more challenging than just believing that it should be the case.

          Even this can potentially be a struggle for some of us when we encounter stories of crime, racism, terrorism, or even just a difficult co-worker.  How do we reconcile the inherent worth and dignity of people with their sometimes careless, hurtful, or downright tragic actions?  How do we treat people with respect, honor, and compassion, when we don’t feel they are offering the same treatment to others?  To skip ahead a bit, I’ll tell you now that I don’t know the answers to these questions, and I struggle with thoughts like these.  When challenged by a person I can’t seem to understand or with whom I cannot find common ground, I want to make a greater effort to treat that person with kindness.  I try to remind myself of the quote, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”  By acknowledging that every person is complex and that any number of factors can contribute to his or her beliefs or behavior, it is slightly easier to remember their inherent worth and dignity.  Beyond this, how can we commit to building a world in which this is, undeniably, the case?  I don’t know, but I feel that in coming to our services here and reading more about UUism, I feel closer to that reality.

          Finally, part of honoring every person’s inherent worth and dignity must be applied to the ways in which we perceive ourselves.  On the UUA website, a downloadable cell phone wallpaper reads, “Remember your inherent worth & dignity.”  I love this message.  Sometimes, we are our own worst enemies and critics, and UUs who may be extremely forgiving and compassionate toward others may put themselves down or be too hard on themselves.  In addition to treating others with respect, it is arguably more important to consciously remember and reinforce our self-respect. 

          As I think about raising my own daughter, who will be arriving in just two months, I remind myself of the messages I want to teach her.  I want her to be self-confident, curious, open-minded, and compassionate.  I hope that she learns to treat herself kindly, which has not always been easy for me to do for myself.  I also hope that she treats others with respect and kindness, no matter their gender, race, ethnicity, age, or background.  And I hope that she doesn’t just nod along in agreement to the first principle, but that she strives to contribute to the building of a community based on that vision of each person’s inherent worth and dignity.

Standing on the Side of Love II

This sermon was presented by Doug Trenfield on 21 June, 2015.

Reading 1:
Poem
Langston Hughes

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There's nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began --
I loved my friend.









Reading 2:
1 Corinthians 13, The Bible

 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Sermon: Standing on the Side of Love II
by Doug Trenfield

Last Wednesday night, I’m sure you all know, June 17, 2015, a 21-year-old young man, Dylann Roof, went to a bible study at a historic and still lively church in Charleston, South Carolina, the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal (AME). The Rev. Peter Morales, president of the Unitarian Universalist Association, responded the next morning. I thought we should all know what he said for us, so here goes:

"News of last night’s shootings at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church in Charleston, SC, fills me with a profound sadness. My heart goes out to the families and friends of the victims and to the entire Emanuel Church community.

“Unitarian Universalists are sadly familiar with the tragedy of church shootings. When two congregants were killed and six wounded at our Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in 2008, the entire community reached out and embraced our congregation with love and support. We will pass that love along to the Emanuel Church community in any way we can.

“Emanuel AME Church has faced many hardships over the years, but the church has persevered and thrived. May Emanuel’s faithful find the strength to make their way through the tragedy that has taken the lives of nine of their members, including their pastor. We share their grief, and we stand with them in love and solidarity."

That church has been through a lot. It was burned in the 1820s during the tumult of a slave uprising for which the church was clearly a catalyst. In 1834, black churches were banned in the south, so congregants worshipped secretly until the end of the Civil War in 1865. The first building on the church’s present site was erected in 1872, and it was destroyed by -- a classic case of “can’t win for losing” -- an earthquake in 1886.

So back to last Wednesday night. You know what happened. I suspect you, like Rachel and I (and all our FB buds who’ve posted news and opinion pieces this week), have been a little obsessed by it. But for context, I want to give a recounting of the events that night in Charleston. I’ve chosen a brief piece to read, part of a NYT article from the next day. A just-the-facts-ma’am accounting can be chilling, and, well, even though you’ve undoubtedly warmed up since you first heard this news, I’d like to try to chill you again:

Mr. Pinckney [the 42-year-old pastor] was holding a Bible study session with a small group on Wednesday when, surveillance video shows, the suspect arrived after 8 p.m. — a slight, blond man with a bowl haircut and a gray sweatshirt. He sat down with the others for a while and listened, then began to disagree with others as they spoke about Scripture, said Kristen Washington, who heard the harrowing story from her family members who were at the meeting and survived.

Witnesses to the killings said the gunman asked for the pastor when he entered the church, and sat next to Mr. Pinckney during the Bible study.

They said that almost an hour after he arrived, the gunman suddenly stood and pulled a gun, and Ms. Washington’s cousin Tywanza Sanders, 26, known as the peacemaker of the family, tried to calmly talk the man out of violence.

“You don’t have to do this,” she told the gunman, Ms. Washington recounted.

The gunman replied, “Yes. You are raping our women and taking over the country.”

Then he shot up the room. Victims aged 26 to 87, nine of them, including Rev. Pinckney.

I don’t know what to make of this, but I’m obsessed, like someone picking at a scab. Is this about randomness? Race? Gun laws? Mental health? Parenting? Of course, it’s about all of those. But what can we do? Should we demonstrate? Should we send a card? To the church, or to the families of all the victims? They don’t need canned foods. I don’t mean to make small of efforts to help where sending canned foods is appropriate; I mean only to highlight my desperation. Our desperation? We all want to do something besides talk about our horror and share our analyses. This is getting old, and nothing we do seems to work. I posted lots of good stuff on FB in the aftermath of Ferguson, Missouri, and we still had Baltimore, Maryland, and McKinney, Texas. What the hell?

Silly, I know. Not really funny, but silly. I think you know what I’m getting at. It’s a big, big world with lots of problems, and we all want to help, but very few of us can do more than put a few drops in what we hope is the right bucket. But you know what? We have to keep trying to fill those buckets.

I wish you all could’ve known my dad. And I wish he could’ve known you. You’d’ve all hit it off. He had a little more influence -- that is, drops in buckets to contribute -- than most. He was a college professor, so had an audience and a little more than a modicum of credibility. As a man who felt his obligations deeply, he spoke when he could on behalf of the good fight -- civil rights, funding for education, reasonable foreign policy and generally better government -- and believed it was important that we all speak (even, he’d begrudge, if you disagreed with him). And vote. And if we spoke and voted, we’d fill up those buckets for good.

I agree, but I think there must be more we can do, or we need to do our speaking out in more emphatic and concentrated ways. I don’t want to just bluster away until the scab clears up or my bad feelings go away. But what?

Coincidentally, almost exactly a year ago, I gave my second sermon here. It was on the UUA initiative “Standing On the Side of Love,” an initiative that was prompted by a church shooting. Here’s what I said then:

“In 2009, moved by shootings a year before, on July 27, 2008, at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville, the Unitarian Universalist Association began a campaign, Standing on the Side of Love. At the church that day, after the shootings -- he killed two and injured six -- a letter was found in the car of the shooter indicating that he had targeted this church to ‘strike out against liberals in general, as well as gays.’

“After the shootings, Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church and the other Knoxville UU Church, Westside, pledged to remain open and welcoming. According to UUWorld, The bravery of these two congregations and the support of the Knoxville community inspired the organization of Standing on the Side of Love.”

I went on then to give information about what we could do to formally participate in the initiative. We could, should, look into it, but I don’t want to talk about that now. I want to talk about generically standing on the side of love. Because it’s clear to me that if I respond meaningfully, helpfully, to the shootings in Charleston, it will come from love.

By the way, did you hear what members of Emanuel Church said at Roof’s plea hearing? One, the daughter of a 70-year-old victim said, “You took something very precious away from me . . . . I will never talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again. But I forgive you. And have mercy on your soul.” I didn’t listen to all those who spoke, but all I heard conveyed similar sentiments. Love. Forgiveness. Anguish, of course, but no overt anger. No words damning him, as he verbally damned those at the bible study before he opened fire. Can any of us say with certainty that we’d face the killer of those we loved with this much love? Their very beings must have wrenched them toward words of vengeance, but their better selves wrenched them toward words of love and forgiveness. I’m astounded.

This tells me a lot about love. That’s got to be the source of their strength. I will add with reverent deference to their probable belief that the source of their strength is Jesus, but a conception of Jesus as being a force that would give them such charity that they can forgive Roof is not so different from my conception of love. And I want to stand on that side.

Love listens. Let’s not pull punches. If Roof hadn’t been such a racist (and, by the way, yesterday’s news of his blog posts made it clear he was one, and of the worst kind), he wouldn’t have targeted Emanuel Church. And racists -- hard to believe as this is -- think they’re right. Are we going to argue them out these beliefs? No. Belief is too entrenched. No one’s going to argue you out of your insistence that racism is wrong, either. But when we listen -- not listen collecting evidence for our rebuttals but listen to understand -- we love. And if, in fact, we are right, having shown love (and the implicit acceptance), then those who oppose us just might change.

Don’t tell me I’m naive. I know the arguments. History shows over and over again that the good don’t win just because they’re good. I will not relinquish political tools we have to effect policy. Because one loves a racist does not mean one lets a racist set policy.

So. I think we should send a card. Rachel stopped by and got a sympathy card, big enough for all of us to sign. I’ll mail it tomorrow. Of course Emanuel Church by now has gotten so many cards that it’s entirely possible no one will read ours. But they’ll count it. It’ll be a loving drop in a bucket full of other loving drops. It’s something, and though it won’t on it’s own effect measurable good, it won’t be bad!

Emanuel AME Church

Expanding our Religious Vocabulary

This sermon was given on Sunday, March 29, 2015 by Ashley Hummel.

Children's Story: The Gnat on the Bull's Horn, from Aesop's Fables

 It was that time of year, late in summer, when the air is often filled with gnats, swarming and making a sound like Zzzzz Zzzzz with their tiny wings. 

A very dignified bull, grazing in his pasture, tried his best to ignore the pesky gnats, but one of them suddenly alighted on his horn. And there it sat, going Zzzzz Zzzzz, until at last the bull could control his annoyance no longer, and he began shaking his head.

"Say, what's your trouble?" asked a tiny voice near his ear. "If I'm too heavy for you, I'll go visit someone else, who's not such a sissy!"

And the gnat buzzed off, much annoyed. 

Moral: Everyone takes a large view of his own importance.

Reading 1 (responsive): #654 from Singing the Living Tradition

Impassioned Clay- Ralph N. Helverson

Deep in ourselves resides the religious impulse.
  Out of the passions of our clay it rises.

We have religion when we stop deluding ourselves that we are self-sufficient, self-sustaining, or self-derived.
  We have religion when we hold some hope beyond the present, some self-respect beyond our failures.

We have religion when our hearts are capable of leaping up at beauty, when our nerves are edged by some dream in the heart.
  We have religion when we have an abiding gratitude for all that we have received. 

We have religion when we look upon people with all their failings and still find in them good; when we look beyond people to the grandeur in nature and to the purpose in our own heart.
  We have religion when we have done all that we can, and then in confidence entrust ourselves to the life that is larger than ourselves.

Reading 2 (responsive): #647 from Singing the Living Tradition

An Eternal Verity- W. Waldemar W. Argow

Ancient as the home is the temple; ancient as the workbench is the altar.
  Ancient as the sword is the sacrificial fire; ancient as the soldier is the priest.

Older than written language is spoken prayer; older than painting is the thought of a nameless one.
  Religion is the first and last--the universal language of the human heart.

Differing words describe the outward appearance of things; diverse symbols represent that which stands beyond and within.
  Yet every person's hunger is the same, and heart communicates with heart. 

Ever the vision leads on with many gods or with one, with a holy land washed by ocean waters, or a holy land within the heart. 
  In temperament we differ, yet we are dedicated to one august destiny; creeds divide us, but we share a common quest.

Because we are human, we shall ever build our altars; because each has a holy yearning, we offer everywhere our prayers and anthems.
  For an eternal verity abides beneath diversities; we are children of one great love, united in one eternal family.

Sermon: Expanding our Religious Vocabulary, a narrative:

This sermon was originally an essay I wrote for Steve’s Sociology of Religion class a year or so ago. The assignment required us to visit three places of worship for a service and write up a sociologically significant observation. He had these categories, and each place we visited was supposed to come from a different category. If we had a sound argument for planning visits outside of the categories, we might get special permission to go outside of this categorical outline.

As you know, my arguments are always thorough and persistent. Three of the four categories were different kinds of Christian groups, and the third was non-Christian. I don’t say this as a criticism, either, because there is much diversity among Christians. My family is Southern Baptist, Catholic, and Methodist, among other things. I felt overly familiar with Christian worship, and if I’m honest, I have to say that I was bordering on resentful at being required to go to yet another Christian church. I explained this and asked if I could go to all non-Christian churches, to observe what their corner of the Valley was like. This is such a heavily Catholic and Latino area that the minority religions likely also represented minority ethnicities, too. Steve is a reasonable sort of fellow and told me to go for it. When I turned in my essay, I said that it was more of a sermon than a paper. While my observation had the required sociological significance, what I learned from it had a deeper moral implication for my life. We talked about revising it a little for the pulpit, and that’s what you’re getting today.

I was raised in a white Protestant congregation and saw much of the world just as I expected to. The culture at large represented things that my church of origin taught me were correct: modesty is a lack of glittering decoration in your church and a fashionable just-above-the-knee skirt; generosity is sharing a coin in the bucket for the foodbank; these might be considered universal virtues, even though they are practiced in different ways around the world. Even after leaving my childhood faith, I took this spiritual/cultural cohesion for granted, and would hazard a guess that many of the majority do the same.

--

When I arrived at the Shiv Shakti Temple in Edinburg it looked closed. It was 9:30 on a Saturday morning; their website advertised a weekly Balaji Suprabhatam and Vishnu Sahasranama, which I think are some kind of prayer service. I removed my shoes and left them on a shelf, then pushed open a large, ornately carved wooden door to find myself in what appeared to be a banquet hall. The room was dark, but I tried an inquisitive hail from the door. With no answer, I wandered outside towards the back of the building to discover brilliant white marble tiles leading up to the actual temple, which had a large bell handing above massive double doors. Upon entering, I was greeted by the priest, who seemed a little perplexed at my presence. “Do you need anything?” He asked as though he expected some tragedy had befallen me and I had only come to the temple seeking aid—perhaps a phone or a tire iron. When I told him my purpose in coming was to see and learn, he welcomed me to walk around, or sit out of the way, or offer puja, which is prayer, if I knew how. I sat for a while to enjoy the visual feast. 

There were nine shrines around the walls of the temple, each to a different deity. I recognized Ganesh the Elephant God and Krishna with his flute, but not the others. Some had multiple statues, some had statues of multiple incarnations of one god, and all were glittering with gold, silver, brass, and gems. The shrines were in alcoves lined with garlands of flowers and filled with fruits; the air was thick with incense. A handful of men were in the temple, visiting shrines at will, and sometimes going back and forth between two or three, performing some kind of water ritual at the fountain near the front of the room. There was no pattern; people prayed at will, sometimes here, sometimes there, standing, sitting, bowing, or prostrating as they chose. A few women came and went as well. 

Though the people were aware of me and would not in greeting if they passed close, only two spoke to me. First it was a woman who asked if I was pure (not experiencing menses), because if I was impure the priest would have to cleanse the whole temple after I left. “He cannot ask you because he is a man, but I am asking you because you might not know this,” she said. While on the surface this may seem a bit forward, and WASPs would certainly consider it inappropriate, this woman was acting on the knowledge that many people don’t know about Hindu beliefs and practices. She was not mean or snappy, she was simply trying to protect her religious culture from the honest mistakes of ignorant people. She had no way of knowing whether or not I had done my homework. She and her husband spoke to me for a while, and on confessing my limited knowledge of Hinduism, her husband smiled and said, “You will learn.” Shortly after, he explained some of the shrines. The first was a Yogi, Sai Baba, who is venerated as a saint. “He is like Jesus. He was killed, and then three days later he was resurrected,” the man said, and proceeded to tell me other similarities between Sai Baba and Jesus of Nazareth. He pointed out Ganesh and advised me that this is the god to pray to when you are starting something new and that he prays to Ganesh regularly for his business. When I said I recognized that one, his reply was an amused, “Everybody knows that one!” Then he took me to the shrine of Hanuman, the monkey god, and told me that was the prayer coming out of the two large speakers at the front of the room. Near the shrine was a basket of prayer books and he encouraged me to take one and read it in English, adding that he said this prayer every Thursday in his home. 

Before the temple closed, the priest performed some sort of ritualized prayer and blessed the couple who spoke to me as well as another couple in a complex ceremony of incense, flower petals, water, and constant musical chanting. When all was done, the priest gave me a piece of holy fruit, called prasadam, from one of the altars, instructing me to eat it and not give it away so that God would bless me. As I walked out, the couple spoke to me again about the temple and the Monday night potluck, inviting me back if I wanted to learn more. The man said, “Soon, you will be Hindu!” Then promptly followed it with, “No, I am only kidding,” which struck me as something an American Christian would never say. It was as though they wanted to convey hospitality and openness to outside curiosity without offending my presumed religious identity. 

At the Temple Emanuel Synagogue I was greeted with the same assumptions. One man asked if I was Jewish, and on discovering I was not, proceeded to speak to me as though I were Christian. “Come to Torah study! We have Christians who sometimes come to Torah study, and they say they learn more about their own faith. You will learn more about your religion if you come to Torah study.” 

Temple Emanuel blended more with the surrounding neighborhood than the other places I visited. The architecture was modern and inside it looked like many Protestant churches I have been to, just a bit more pretty. There were offices to one side, a banquet room with a large-quantity kitchen on the other, a hall leading to a gift shop, and right in the middle was a small chapel. The chapel was plain, carpeted in blue with bookshelves near the back, which held copies of the Torah and the Siddur. From my seat in the back I could see an American flag in one corner of the room and an Israeli flag in the other, which seemed very… American. There was a dais at the front which had a table for laying out the Torah scrolls and a large stained glass cabinet in the form of a window which ran all the way to the ceiling; it looked like a depiction of the burning bush. Another table was placed near the front of the seated area for reading from the Siddur. 

The rabbi, who is a South American immigrant and medical doctor, had a young girl accompany him in leading the Shabbat prayers, which lasted above an hour, and sometimes included the rabbi banging on a drum. He would ask the congregation questions sporadically: 

                Why am I using the drum?! 

                How many instruments were in the temple?! 

                What means Hallelujah?!

                And in what language does it mean this?!

Eventually, the young girl and a boy of similar age opened the cabinet to reveal five massive scrolls wrapped in blue cloth and crowned and crested with silver. The rabbi took one down and paraded around the room with it, the children behind him. As he went by, men touched their prayer shawls to it and women would use the Siddur or a sleeve to touch it; each person kissed what had touched the holy scrolls to show devotion to the Torah. Then everyone took turns reading from the Torah. The first man who read stepped aside for the next woman who read, then when she was finished they shook hands and he sat back down, while she stepped aside for the next person to read. Each turn ended thus, with a handshake or a kiss on the cheek. When the reading—the story of Noah—was complete, the Torah was again paraded around the room before being placed back in the cabinet. Shabbat ended with more prayers from the Siddur: for the country, for the government, for the sick, and for the dead. These rituals moved me to tears. 

Afterwards, everyone gathered in the banquet room to partake of challah and toast with wine blessed by the rabbi. I was strongly urged to participate in the toasting and join them in fellowship over Latkes and smoked salmon. The was great curiosity over what kind of university class would send a student out to a synagogue, and one woman was particularly interested in whether or not I planned to go to a mosque as well, and if I would promise to come back and tell them about my experience there. This is when I was invited to Torah study to enhance my understanding of Judaism and my presumed Christianity. The rabbi is enthusiastic about educating the synagogue members about Jewish culture and traditions, which is reflected in their weekly Israeli dancing lessons, group trips to Israel, and the videos he makes for their website. I was fortunate enough to have lengthy discussions about Judaism with a few members, who were generally volunteering information and appeared pleased that someone was curious about their community. 

Of all three visits, the congregants at the mosque were the most prepared for curiosity. My experience up to this point lead me to expect that I would again be assumed a Christian, but the first question that many people asked me was which university I came from and what was my major. Masjid Arridwan evidently hosts a great number of students and student groups who, for various reasons, would benefit from learning, as one man put it, “how to interact with the Muslim community.” Though I missed the weekly service, the correct time was established and I was welcomed to come back and see “the whole thing,” which included the midday prayer and a lecture by the imam. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, a large group of boys were playing outside with fishing poles and two men were supervising their activity. When asked, one kindly directed me to the women’s prayer area, where I was approached by a woman in traditional robes and a hijab, who prodded me gently for my purpose and offered me a slice of home-made orange cake that she and the other women and girls were sharing. The feeling in the women’s area was one of fellowship. From what was visible over the partition, the men’s prayer space was the same. There were at least thirty men scattered about the room in pairs and small groups who were engaged in discussion, many of them were also dressed traditionally. The woman who greeted me was able to hail one of the men—I am not sure how—and he came to the entrance of the women’s area to discuss the basic workings of the mosque, the monthly potluck, weekly lectures (and their correct time), and community functions. He even offered to get the imam to discuss the mosque with me in his office, but, having no questions prepared, I declined the offer and made my way out. 

The mosque, even more than the temple and the synagogue, struck me as a place for community and support. Their complete lack of surprise at a stranger coming to watch them was—and perhaps should not be—astonishing. In the typical American Protestant church, visitors are assumed to be interested in joining. No one would think that it might be a Hindu, Jew, or Muslim who popped in to learn about their religion and worship style. In many, if not all, Protestant churches visitors are asked to fill out a form with their names, addresses, and phone numbers, then gifted with church literature or a miniature Bible. This was not the case in any of my visits. When people thought I was not of their faith the reaction was not to proselytize, but to educate in language they guessed I would understand. It was a fair guess, because I was born to a majority faith and my religious vocabulary reflects that. Even with a burning curiosity about other religions, it never occurred to me that my ignorance was one-sided, or that these foreign religions would have to learn the language and customs of the majority faith in order to successfully navigate society. I consider myself a hobby-scholar of religion and mythology. I know a considerable amount about many different religions. I would even say I know more than most lay people on the subject of religious practices around the world. But, during my visits I was just another ignorant American. As I’ve said so many times, people of other faiths aren’t so different from each other, nor are their values, but the voice of minority faiths is small and muffled in the religious dialogue of our society. My adventure has urged me to strain my ears a little and try hard to truly hear and understand the experiences of all religious groups.