CLF Quest Forums CLF Quest Podcast Enhanced Podcast for iTunes Podcast for Other Software
Be not simply good; be good for something.
Quest Archives Quest Submission Guidelines
Did You Know... ...that you can discuss this and other issues of Quest? Click on Forums under Online Community at the CLF website.
BY ALICIA ROXANNE FORDE, MINISTER, NAMAQUA UNITARIAN UNIVERSALIST CONGREGATION, LOVELAND, COLORADO
After Jesus died, according to the Gospel of Mark, the next part of the Easter story goes like this….
When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Imagine their surprise…. Who will roll away the stone for us…. Can you see them? Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome with spices for his body. A body once vibrant with life, once filled with passion for a radical kind of justice, teaching the promise of the kingdom here on earth. What were they thinking? Did they believe that he would still be there after three days and three nights? Lying still, breathless…passionless? Who will roll away the stone for us…. What did they believe when they saw that young man dressed in white… calm, steady at the entrance of an empty tomb? And what did he say? Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. …go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you. Do not be alarmed, he is not here. And what did they do? Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome?
The gospel writer Mark says: They fled…for terror and amazement had seized them. They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. They said nothing to anyone. Nothing. What did they believe–saying nothing? Do you suppose they waited? Do you suppose they ever spoke to each other of that day? Something so tremendous happened and they were silent…. What did they believe? Can it be enough to go and tell no one, to keep it to ourselves? Amazed in silence…. Something tremendous is happening. We can’t afford to be silent, to say or do nothing. The young man dressed in white did not say: “Go and wait for a sign.” He did not say: “Go and say nothing.” He did not say: “Go and be amazed, but afraid.” He said: “Go and tell.” Go and tell. And maybe we believe that he was not speaking to us. He couldn’t be. But you see, I believe that he was. Speaking to us. Here today. Saying: “Go and tell.” Go and practice. Jesus was persecuted, crucified, And, according to the gospel writer Mark, he got up on the third day and continued to share the good news:
Injustice does not have to triumph, if we believe in speaking truth to power, if we practice: Loving the world, loving someone who does not deserve it, practice resurrection. The gospel is literally the good news. It can not end with silence. The fulfillment of that good news depends, in part, on us. Yes, us Unitarian Universalists. Depends on us to ask and answer: What might be required of us in the way of doing justice in this community? In being agents of love and mercy? In walking more humbly with our neighbors? Depends on us to prophesy, depends on us to evangelize…. Scary, right? To approach lifeless situations with wonder: Who will help…roll away the stones of despair, injustice, apathy? And once those stones are gone… we who believe – who come to be free, who come to find comfort, who come to share wisdom, who come to find compassionate community with its moments of struggle must tell. Tell. UU minister Robert Karnan says: “Hardly a soul seeks out and joins a congregation because it gives away food baskets or because it has a big net worth or owns a great building or has thousands of people in attendance.” We do not gather, he says, with the thought in mind to balance the budget…. We do not come to worship, to fix sound systems, or create storage space…. “We come because we believe something tremendous and life giving is happening.” So go…. Tell without fear, without worry, that we believe, that our faith, our community, matters. It is a place of spirit, of forgiveness, of compassion, of powerful and enduring friendship. Our community of faith is one of courage and transforming love. A place where we can face the times of our lives with honesty. Tell that we are about liberation from fear; we are about giving the depth of our hearts to those with whom we would very much want to share it. Tell that our task is to set free forces of love and justice that may scare as much as they might delight. Tell that we believe in resurrection. It is not enough to see and believe and be silent. If you have experienced and believe that the transforming power of love lives and breathes in the midst of your community of faith, Go, says the gospel writer, and tell.
BY JAMES ISHMAEL FORD, MINISTER, FIRST UNITARIAN SOCIETY IN NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS
As you may know, we have an annual convention of Unitarian Universalist congregations called the General Assembly. It serves a variety of functions, but one is to put some issue of concern on the front burner, to invite our various congregations to reflect and perhaps take a course of action. Sometimes this takes the form of a statement of conscience. And sometimes it takes the form of a study/action plan, where the issue is given support through reports, study guides, and such like. The results are published and often sent to relevant parties outside our denomination, including governments and governmental leaders. While we are a fiercely non-creedal community, resistant to any firm self-definition, by looking at what we pay attention to, I believe one can see something of who and what we are and who and what we hope to be. For instance, our first public statement calling for an end to persecution of homosexual persons dates to 1970. Among religious communities we were anticipated in this social justice concern only by the Quakers. Over the years we’ve addressed women’s issues, religious freedom, the rights of youth, criminal justice, ecology, and, over and over again, questions of international conflict and war.
Now the issue that has been put before us is gathered together under the general rubric “peacemaking.” The study/ action asks us to reflect on how we choose to engage the questions of war and peace, to consider what our theologies (that’s a plural term, of course) might be, and to consider if we should create some communal statement regarding war and peace. We’re invited to consider a number of questions, including whether there should or could be a UU theory as to what, if anything, constitutes a just or necessary war, or whether we should make a communal declaration against violence in any form, becoming effectively a peace church, joining the Friends, the Mennonites and others like them.
While I think it ’s safe to assume that we’re all in favor of peace, the realities of peacemaking—and the situations that call for it—are almost never simple. I suggest we’re often driven by urges we barely discern within ourselves—appetites, fears, desires. We are like the prince Arjuna, hero of the Hindu classic, the Bhagavad Gita, following his divine destiny, following his duty down to the plain and a devastating, fratricidal war. It’s a story I’ve thought about for much of my life. The Gita is about many things, some quite important to me, but one is a story of inevitable violence. It carries within it an assumption that violence is a core part of our human condition.
When thinking of violence and how to address it, I recall in particular two incidents in my life. The first comes when I’m perhaps eleven or twelve. A bully has beaten my brother to the ground and is pounding on his head. I run up, grab the boy, pull him back and hit him as hard as I can in the face. His nose bursts with blood, and crying and bleeding, he runs off. I exult. I feel I’ve done my duty by my brother; a sense of power runs through my veins, the rush of a drug following the push of the needle’s plunger.
The second comes years later; I’m in my early twenties and staying with my brother at my mother’s home. I’ve only just left the Buddhist monastery and my hair is still a monk’s stubble. Late in the afternoon my mother comes to the door from work, herself bloody. She’s just been mugged and violently beaten when she tried to resist losing her purse, which, as is often true with poorer people, contained all the money she had. My brother was fascinated with guns. So we take a pistol and a rifle from his collection and walk down the darkening late-evening Oakland street. We really want to find that guy.
Fortunately, we didn’t find anyone that looked like he might be the one who hurt our mother. We very well might have killed him. Could have killed him, certainly would have hurt him terribly. Just weeks outside the monastery walls all I could feel was blood-red rage narrowing my focus in a blinding desire for vengeance. There I was, hooked, a fish who had swallowed the bait.
A flood of thoughts and feelings follow as I consider these things. Let me address three. First, we human beings are violent and are always capable of terrible things. At least I am. Our forward looking eyes and the incisors in our mouths speak of predators. To some degree biology is destiny. Second, as dangerous as it is, I believe we have a right, at least a deep need, to self-defense. I would kill to protect my mother or my wife or my auntie. But, also, and my third take away: violence is a monster that will devour its children. To shift the metaphor, it’s a sword that is, if at all possible, best left sheathed.
I find, in that knowing of myself, one more thing. For humans, biology isn’t completely destiny. I don’t have to act one way or another. It isn’t easy. Just trying to eat less and lose some weight, I know how hard it is to change a lifetime of habit; but I can. I don’t have to follow Arjuna down to the plain and that terrible war. My biology, our human biology, gives us some freedom—an ability, if we’re paying attention, to say yes or no, to act and to refrain from acting. We are the animal that gets to choose.
That said, things happen and we must respond. Was there another way to deal with the bully beating my brother? Certainly, but right then, with fists flailing, my brother’s head bouncing on the sidewalk, and no adults around to intervene? That later event should never have involved my brother and me walking down an Oakland street with guns. That was insane. And it opens real questions about communal responsibilities. This was a poor neighborhood sinking into despair. My mother wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a mugging or worse. But there was no official witness, to that or to my brother and me walking the streets with guns.
While speaking from my personal life, I think everything I’ve said so far can also be extended to our communal lives, to how we interact with each other here, to how we live as citizens of this nation, to how we are part of the human family, indeed, the family of life itself. Right now I’m thinking mostly about those of us in the US as a nation. As a people we are not irreversibly destined to act one way or another. We have strong inclinations—sometimes it can feel like hard wiring. But just as we can choose our actions as individuals, so in the case of nations, history need not be destiny. By consciously engaging, by choosing one thing or another, some doors close, other doors open, and lives change.
The catch is that there is no simple cure for the hurt we face in this world. Our problems have ten thousand causes, and therefore we must seek many cures. There is a method of honest looking within our own hearts that is a necessary start. “Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me,” is not an empty slogan. Still, the world is dynamic, and specific situations call for unique responses. So, regarding the question of war and peace, I suggest, there may be a place for a Just War perspective.
Our Catholic sisters and brothers have given this a great deal of thought and have come up with some rules that make sense to me. War must only be a last resort. It must be to a specific and just purpose, and can only be undertaken with a reasonable chance of success. It must be seen as likely to lead to something better than if there had not been a war; the violence needs to be proportional; and every effort must be made to avoid killing noncombatants.
This doesn’t open the door to war very often; the sword should rarely be drawn out of its sheath. The greatest danger here seems to me to be the amazing ability we humans have to justify doing what we want to do. I think of myself and my brother walking down that street brandishing a rifle and a pistol. Our capacity for self deception is incredible. High rhetoric has justified many evil acts over the years. And of course, there is that pesky principle of unintended consequences. You let the sword out, and you don’t know, can’t know, who it will cut. Still, and with these serious caveats, I’m impressed with Catholic Just War thought, and I believe if we’re honestly looking at who we are and what we want to be, we need to seriously, rationally consider that proportional violence in service of justice is defensible.
However, I am also profoundly impressed by Mohandas Gandhi’s principles of nonviolence. If biology isn’t necessarily destiny, then what are the better hopes for our lives? To what may we actually aspire? Pace e Bene, an interfaith peace group, summarizes Gandhi’s principals neatly in ways that are resonant, for the most part, with our Unitarian Universalist sensibilities.
This pathway provides an alternative that doesn’t mean there isn’t violence, and that acknowledges that there might be occasions where violence could be the only response. However, it is a call to a spiritual discipline that can alter our own hearts, yours and mine, should we undertake it as our life’s vow. It is the path of healing, the way of the peacemaker. Here they are—eight guidelines for transformation:
First, we need to recognize that all life is one. The beginning of wisdom is the terrible realization we are all connected, not as some vague ideal, but as our most intimate truth. Second, we must see that we all have some access to truth, and that we are also all, to some degree or other, deluded. Third, we are more than what we do. Fourth, what we do, our means, must be consistent with our goals. Fifth, we need to celebrate our differences as well as our similarities. Sixth, we are wisest when we avoid thinking oppositionally, as “us” versus “them.” Seventh, out of our investigation of what our unity means, we discover a desire for the well-being of all. And eighth, we must remember that always the nonviolent journey, the peacemaker path, is a process, a way of transformation, a move from fear to love.
And isn’t that an implicit part of our Unitarian Universalist covenant: to be with one another, to allow each other to change us, even as our presence can change others?
Isn’t that wonderful, if a little daunting?
Isn’t that who we are called to be?
BY DAN KANE, CLF INTERN MINISTER
Sue Burke and Jerry Finn
“Most people here in Spain can’t quite understand Unitarian Universalism,” says Sue Burke, “but I think it’s hard for most people back in the United States, too.”
Sue was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in a non-religious family, but in her mid-20s she felt a need for organized spirituality in her life. After some investigation, she discovered Unitarian Universalism. Soon afterward she joined the First Unitarian Society of Milwaukee, eventually serving on its board of directors.
Her husband, Jerry Finn, also from Milwaukee, had a Catholic upbringing, which he rejected. He became a UU when he married Sue in 1992. Even before they married, they wanted to live overseas to experience another culture. The only foreign language they spoke was Spanish, so when they got the opportunity to move to Madrid in 1999 they went, though they had never been to Spain before. But first they joined the CLF, since there was no UU church in Madrid. Some things didn’t change with the move. He still works in computers, she works as a writer. (You can read some of her work at www.sue.burke.name) But there was a lot to learn about living in Spain, such as a different daily schedule, different foods, being without a car, and coping with a foreign language. As the years went by, cultural differences became clearer.
“People are very Catholic here,” Jerry says, “even the atheists. Their religious history permeates every aspect of their culture, including their language. If you say you’re not feeling very Catholic, you mean you feel under the weather. Most people can’t imagine a church without a supernatural being and a set theology that separates ‘us’ from ‘them.’”
Sue and another UU from the United States teamed up with a few Spaniards in Madrid to form a Madrid UU Association that holds monthly services, but growth has been slow. “After centuries of state-imposed belief, people want religious freedom,” Sue says, “but that doesn’t mean they want to change their religion—they just want to be able to choose freely not to change.”
“That’s fine,” she says. She and Jerry came to learn about Spain, not to judge. And that’s what she likes about being a UU, in a way. “There’s no set theology and no ‘us’ and ‘them,’ so I can learn about other beliefs without having to judge them as true or false,” she says. “I’m an atheist, but for me, that’s a matter of faith. I can’t prove it’s true, but I don’t feel that I have to, and Catholics don’t have to prove anything to me, either, because as a UU I’ve learned that different faiths can coexist, and each benefits from the presence of the other.”
Still, it’s a bit lonely to be far from a big, active UU congregation. She participates in several CLF Internet groups. “I think faith should be an every day practice, and I appreciate having a little faith every day in my inbox.”
At the end of this month, the CLF's board of directors will appoint our 22 delegates to the June 25-29 Unitarian Universalist General Assembly (GA) in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. We hope you will volunteer to be a delegate if you are going to GA. Our delegates vote their conscience; we invite all to join an email list where they can communicate with each other and with CLF staff. See the UUA.org General Assembly page for general information, or contact Lorraine at ldennis@clfuu.org or 617-945-6166 for information specific to the CLF.
Do you know someone who... works on a Sunday morning? lives in an isolated area? does not have access to a local UU church? is housebound and unable to attend a local church? is an active member of a local congregation who wants even more? is a UU professional who would enjoy a congregation of their own?
In other words, do you know someone who might enjoy Quest’s unique monthly collection of sermons, meditations and more? You can provide an introduction or connection to our liberal religious community by giving the Gift of Quest. To order a year’s introductory gift subscription (11 issues) for $50 go to the CLF website. From the left side, click on “Share CLF,” and then “Gift of Quest.” Or, order over the phone at 617-945-6166.
If you’d like to invite that friend to check us out, go to the CLF website and click on “Welcome”.
BY JANE RZEPKA, SENIOR MINISTER, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
Sooner or later, because we are human, our souls and spirits ache. Sometimes the aching settles down into a yearning; sometimes, way down beneath our living out the day, we feel only traces of a gentle longing, but still, somewhere inside, over time, we feel the ache of people everywhere.
Religion is supposed to help with that. Sure, it’s easy enough for religion to jump in with celebrations, but can it recognize the tougher times? I want to mention three of these universal longings:
First, it seems to me, there is a part of each of us that wants to be cared for, to know we’ll be provided for. I’m talking about security at its most basic. We would appreciate knowing for sure, for example, that we will never go hungry, even if we become very old or very sick or very unlucky. And if we move beyond the aching to know that we’ll be OK, we uncover concern for the people we love, and the people of the past and present and on into the future who don’t have and will never have a fraction of what they need.
Secondly, none of us is happy with ourselves all of the time. And other people aren’t always happy with us. That’s just how it is. For everybody. How nice it would be for some cosmic presence—or even just a person whom you trust—to assure you each night as you drifted off to sleep that even though you may have turned your back on someone you care about, even though you may have raised children who disappointed you, even though you may have betrayed someone badly, even though there’s not a chance you can deliver what you promised—in spite of all that, you are forgiven and loved? And equally, wouldn’t it be wonderful if, when someone has neglected you or let you down, hurt you, or disappointed you, you could find a way to move on? A second common yearning is to be able to forgive and be forgiven.
A third kind of ache is the fear of crumbling in the face of life’s trials. We don’t have any idea what’s ahead. We see outlandish tragedy and moral ambiguity all around us. If disaster (or further disaster) or temptation should come our way, could we stand up to it? Would we have what it takes to move through the crisis with strength of character, courage and grace?
The fact is, we aren’t ever really secure in life. Neither we nor the people around us will live up to all of our expectations, and life may require us to cope with more than we feel able to bear. Sadly, that’s just the way it is. And it’s old, old, news.
The prayer known as the Lord’s Prayer, or Jesus’ Prayer, contains three active requests: for bread, forgiveness, and strength, the three timeless longings I mentioned above. “Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” It turns out that over the ages, we humans are in the business of being human together, and lo and behold, the sentiments expressed in that section of the Lord’s Prayer are shared on some level by most of us today.
To be sure, Unitarian Universalists have a wide variety of responses to Jesus’ Prayer in its entirety. For some, it’s a central spiritual resource. Others disagree with many of the actual words, but love the sound of it. Some object to the exclusively masculine imagery found in the familiar translations, while others have miserable childhood associations with the recitation of the words, and still others find that the prayer means nothing to them. I, myself, did not grow up knowing this prayer, and while I personally can’t imagine myself fully embracing a prayer that begins with anthropomorphic imagery and a passive approach to life, I do appreciate the connection I feel with an ancient people who felt a need for bread, and forgiveness, and strength.
As far as we know, Jesus believed in praying spontaneously from the heart. He would not have recognized the liturgical evolution and translation that resulted in “Our Father who art in heaven,” or “Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.” But he probably would have recognized the universal needs behind the body of the prayer.
This month, Christians recognize Good Friday and Easter, where in the space of three days they acknowledge the worst of times and the best. Here we have a religion that really does embrace the range of human experience. And isn’t that religion’s job?
Unitarian Universalists have a lot of latitude when it comes to religious expression, and Easter time is no exception. Acknowledging the tough times and the glorious, whether through images of autumn death and new life in spring, the waning light before the summer sun, or the death and return to life of Jesus is an assignment for all of us. And this is the time to do it.
BY LYNN UNGAR, MINISTER FOR LIFESPAN LEARNING, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
March 21st marks the spring equinox, one of two points during the year when the day and the night are of equal lengths (the other is the fall equinox, September 23rd—unless, of course, you are in the Southern Hemisphere, in which case it is now the fall equinox and the spring equinox is in September). Because of the way the earth is tipped in relationship to the sun as it rotates, during the winter the daylight is shorter, with the shortest day around December 21st (in the Northern Hemisphere). Then, very gradually, the period of daylight starts getting longer, until the equinox, when there is a brief point of balance when the length of the light and the dark are the same, before the daylight gets longer still and we move through spring into summer.
In some pagan traditions this moment of equal light and dark, which marks the start of spring, is a holiday called Eostara, named for a Germanic goddess of fertility and growing. The name of that holiday might sound just a bit familiar…the holiday we call Easter not only gets its name from Eostara, it gets a bunch of its traditions as well.
For instance, dyeing eggs is a tradition that goes way back before Easter. You might want to celebrate Eostara by dyeing some eggs. However, you also might not want to get too attached to how pretty your eggs look, because what follows is a suggestion of a spring equinox ritual to do with your dyed eggs. To do the ritual, everyone should have a special egg that they have dyed, and a plate or napkin.
Since it is the time of year when the dark and the light are equal, when the day and night are in balance, it makes sense to think of the equinox as a time of seeking and honoring balance. What might it feel like when your life is out of balance? Think quietly for a moment about what it feels like when your life is in balance—when your relationships with your friends and family feel good, when your homework and chores feel under control, when you have time to do what you enjoy, when you feel like you understand everything you’re supposed to be learning in school. When you think you’ve captured that feeling inside, stand up and try balancing on one leg. Feel your point of balance. Pay attention to the feeling of balance, so that you can find it again when you need it. If you like, say out loud or just to yourself: “I will find my balance as I move through this year.”
The spring equinox is also a time of honoring growth. Not only do we pay attention to flowers that may be coming out, or to baby animals that may be born, we also can pay attention to the new things that are happening in our own lives. Pick up your egg. It’s beautiful, covered in the colors your chose for it. Think about your life, and what feels new, or any new thing you wish would happen in your life. It could be a new skill, like riding a skateboard, or it could be a new friendship or an ability like patience or bravery, or whatever you would like to have more of in your life. Imagine that the egg holds inside it whatever new thing you hope will become real, or more present in your life. Imagine that the shell of the egg is whatever might be keeping your new thing from hatching out. It might be circumstances blocking you, or it might be your own attitudes or fears that get in the way of it happening. Gently crack your egg and peel away the shell.
In an egg that becomes a chick, the yolk is the part that develops into the chick, while the white of the egg is there to feed the developing embryo (the not-yet-chick). Thinking about what you want to grow in your life, peel away all or part of the white of the egg. The white is everything that helps your new thing to grow. It could be your own efforts, or help from others, or a change of attitude or anything that helps to make your vision of what you want real. Eat the white of the egg (or at least a bite if you’re not wild about hard boiled eggs) and imagine that you are taking in whatever it is that will feed your vision and help it to grow. Now you see the yolk, the center. Imagine that this is you, your power, your dream. Eat all or part of the yolk, imagining that you are making your vision real inside you.
If you want, you can also draw a picture of the thing you hope to have grow in your life and post it on your wall or your refrigerator to remind you of what you are working and hoping toward. Or write or draw your new thing on a small piece of paper, and find a place in the garden to plant it, as if it were a seed that you are helping to grow.
As the sun grows warmer and the days grow longer, you may just find that something inside of you—a talent, a skill, or a wish—is growing too!
As plants grow best with a balance of sun and rain, as people grow best with a balance of rest and action, may this spring equinox be a time in your life for both balance and growth.
BY KATHLEEN ROLENZ, CO-MINISTER, WEST SHORE UNITARIAN UNIVERSALIST CHURCH, ROCKY RIVER, OHIO
Somewhere across the world, Easter is breaking. Not the Easter we may think of, with arms upraised and “He is risen” echoing from canyons, but a much quieter, less dramatic Easter.
Somewhere in the world—perhaps not this day, but some day soon, a woman and a man rise from their beds, shaking the sleep from their eyes, and find their children already awake and preparing for their morning prayers. There has been no gunfire, no drug wars, no yelling or shouting or screaming, only the quiet of the night and the peace of silence around them.
And somewhere in the world, perhaps not this morning, but soon, very soon, a soldier is packing his duffle bag, has emptied out all his bullets, is changing into civilian clothes, and is coming home, for peace has long been established, and there is no need for his presence.
And somewhere in the world, Easter dawn breaks over the earth, not only on this day, but every day, and the familiar pulse in our veins throbs of “peace, peace, peace.”
Last updated January 18, 2008
Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF), 25 Beacon Street, Boston, MA 02108-2823 Phone: (617) 948-6166 · Fax: (617) 523-4123 · E-mail: clf@clfuu.org
