AISHA HAUSER
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
One of the most impactful trips I have ever been on in my life was with a friend to Olympic National Park in Washington State, specifically the Ancient Forest, an area that dates back to pre-contact, when only the indigenous people lived and thrived on this land, before the arrival of European settlers.
We were completely cut off from any of the digital and online life we were living. Being this off the grid took a bit of getting used to, however I quickly found something shifting in my physical body and my emotional state.
I felt calmer and inching closer to feeling relaxed. I hadn’t fully appreciated that there is a different kind of relaxation one feels when fully unplugged from anyone who isn’t in your physical presence.
Going into the ancient forest helped ground me while paradoxically allowing me to become more expansive at the same time.
Old growth and ancient grown forest ground contains layers upon layers of flora and fauna. In fact, the word “flora” means goddess in Latin. How fitting that divinity is part of the naming of these natural and sacred living entities.
The quiet of the forest is not silent. There is the rustling of the trees, the sound of a stream, birds chirping and the muffled sounds of our feet along the forest floor.
I felt myself release tension as I walked.
I placed my palms on the trees, leaning on them for comfort and solace.
It was truly a cleansing experience, a forest bath.
According to the National Geographic website:
The term emerged in Japan in the 1980s as a physiological and psychological exercise called shinrin-yoku (“forest bathing” or “taking in the forest atmosphere”). The purpose was twofold: to offer an eco-antidote to tech-boom burnout and to inspire residents to reconnect with and protect the country’s forests.
While the term ‘forest bathing’ may be relatively recent, humans have found ways to heal and cleanse while communing with nature throughout millenia.
Jesus prayed at the foot of olive trees in the Garden of Gethsemane.
The Bodhi tree also known as the Wisdom Tree is believed to be where the Buddha found enlightenment.
Integral to Pagan practices are communing with nature often among the trees.
While I did not find enlightenment during my time in the ancient forest, what I did find was a deeper connection to myself and the earth.
My childhood consisted of navigating what it meant to grow up Egyptian in America. My mother spoke only in Arabic, and she very much passed on the traditions of our culture to my sister and me. She cooked delicious Egyptian meals, told us stories from her childhood and she taught us the ways to be a good Muslim, in an effort to raise us as devout as she was.
One of the lessons that I embody from my childhood is that of generosity. Not only of money, but also of spirit. The Muslim faith mandates generosity and giving to those who have less.
While I have never been a devout Muslim the way my mother still is, I remember that she donated money every year to help feed poor Muslims during the Eid (the feast marking the end of the holy month of Ramadan). She did this even when we were on public assistance. One year, I let her know that I thought we didn’t have enough to give to others, but she responded that since the government was helping us, we were mandated to help others.
My mother and I have had our share of disagreements and challenges over the years, but her spirit of generosity is one lesson that I have held dear and been grateful for, and that I try to replicate. In my personal life, this is something that I have easily embraced. This is not something that is as prevalent in modern U.S. society.
It has been more than a little disheartening to witness the dialogue about student debt forgiveness and universal basic income. I have heard people lament that they had to pay off their debt, so why should anyone else be “let off the hook.” When I bring up universal basic income people immediately dismiss it as unrealistic and one person asked me what the incentive would be to work. I responded by asking what the incentive is now. Is it death? Is that really the society we want to maintain? Don’t we want to support people not only living, but thriving and experiencing joy and creativity in ways that nourish our spirits?
These are just two examples of the ways I experience a lack of generosity of spirit in the United States. We find ways to make people “earn a living.” Instead of affirming the value and inherent worth of every person by offering a universal basic income, universal healthcare and free college education (thereby preventing student debt to begin with), this country asserts a scarcity mentality and creates barriers for thriving.
There is no reason to live this way except the stories we tell ourselves. While I know that the idea of transforming our systems is daunting to think about, we do have it in us to practice a generosity of spirit in the ways available to us.
I have witnessed examples of mutual aid that not only centers generosity of money, but also food donations. One wonderful example is Lasagna Love (lasagnalove.org), a continental organization that pairs people who want to cook a homemade lasagna with folks who would love to receive one. What a caring and generous way to affirm community care.
If you are interested in finding out what mutual aid programs exist in your community, and you have access to the internet, you can check out Mutual Aid Hub (www.mutualaidhub.org) for a map and list of organizations. The website hosts the networks across the United States, the organizers want to connect people but they do not vet or endorse any of the programs; please research once you find one you would be interested in.
These are ways that communities are embracing a generosity of spirit and community care. These initiatives feed my spirit and offer hope for the ways that society is already shifting to one that rejects scarcity and embraces abundance.
When my daughter was nine years old, she asked me which religion was the “right one.” The reason this was even on her mind is that my children are part of an interfaith family. Their father was raised Jewish and I was raised Muslim. When we married, we had a secular wedding and for a time chose not to raise our children in either of the traditions exclusively. We thought we could get away with raising them with no religious identity. However, this turned out not to be the case.
At the time we were living in New Jersey and my children’s best friends (also siblings) attended a conservative Christian congregation. I would let my kids attend programs with them mistakenly thinking it would be benign. This changed after my daughter returned home at age 5 declaring to her Jewish father, “Jesus is the light of the world.” To which he responded, “No he’s not, we’re Jewish.”
I realized at that moment that we weren’t being intentional in how we raised our children and they were clearly wanting to engage in some kind of religious community, even at their young age. It was age appropriate, wanting to belong.
I had already known about Unitarian Universalism and promptly looked up the closest UU congregation. Thankfully, there was one just two towns away, in Ridgewood. We attended together and the rest is history.
One year later, I was the religious education coordinator for a small congregation in Orange, NJ and from there I dove deeper into the world of faith leadership, eventually becoming credentialed in religious education leadership, a long and thorough process demonstrating competencies in leadership, faith development and the UU faith, among other things.
The reason we chose a Unitarian Universalist community is that it is pluralist. UUs do not claim to be superior to any other faiths and we affirm that there are many paths to what we understand to be spirituality, whether or not that includes belief in a deity.
This is a profound and sacred notion for the modern era. Especially because it seems that the world around us is doubling down on religious extremism. Religious dominance causes intolerance of those who are of a different faith, or choose no faith at all.
Truly embracing pluralism and the freedom to coexist in the same society while maintaining your own religious identity is a transformative idea. We are witnessing in real time the impact of religious extremism, whether it is anti-trans laws that purport to “protect children” or taking away the right to bodily autonomy, this kind of thinking is oppressive at its core.
The path to a liberated society includes embracing pluralism and not holding up any one religion over another.
As for my children, they continue to be on their own path. I will not share where they are, as this is their story to tell. I will share that their values and who they are is shaped by growing up as part of a Unitarian Universalist community.
Altars, places to honor our ancestors along with displays of that which we experience as sacred, were never part of my upbringing. I didn’t start having an altar until well into my adulthood. A central part of my home altar is my connection to the ancestors. My ancestors include family and friends who died and some becoming ancestors too soon on their life path.
Our connection to those who lived before us can be deep and profound if we invite their memories into our lives. Not only their memories, but what they worked for and how
they lived.
Those of us who hold identities that have been the target of oppression know that our ancestors faced hardships we may never fully understand intellectually, but we carry the memory in our bodies.
As a woman born in Egypt and raised a strict Muslim in the United States, I have had to face challenges that include anti-immigrant sentiments when I was a child from those here in the United States, and in Egypt I was faced with misogyny and strict rules of conduct because of my family’s interpretation of the faith. I often felt stifled as a child and teenager, rules imposed on me did not apply to my male cousins of the same age. I was angry at the unfairness of it and I finally left the faith in my early twenties.
I connect most closely with my female ancestors, especially my two grandmothers. I knew my maternal grandmother, Labiba (her first name) and I adored her. She was feisty, gregarious and honest to a fault. I am grateful that I remember my maternal grandparents. My grandfather Abdelgawed (his first name), was more of a quiet introvert, who was kind and generous. I have a picture of both my grandparents on my altar.
My paternal grandmother is my namesake, Aisha. By all accounts she was the life of the party, a vivacious, generous and welcoming soul. She died when I was young and I don’t have any memories of her. I was born in Egypt and spent my first year of life living with her in Alexandria.
There is a picture of me as an infant on her lap and it is the only picture I know of with the two of us together.
I will never know what my grandmothers had to endure as Muslim females who were mandated into behaving a certain way in order not to be ostracized. They made the best of their circumstances, that I do know given how generous of spirit they were and how I heard stories of their antics.
My grandmothers are the reason I am alive, they suggested to my parents that they marry each other. They were friends and loved to laugh with each other, host parties and socialize.
I think of them often with the knowledge that I am living the life they didn’t know was possible for a female. I am independent, a faith leader and working for liberation of all. I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams.
Despite the theological diversity within Unitarian Universalism, there are many things that we agree on and hold sacred within our communities. The following list is of 10 things that are important to know about what Unitarian Universalists believe, and how we try to be in the world.
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The following is adapted from a sermon that Aisha gave in CLF online worship on Nov. 6, 2022.
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