Arrows of Love
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Do you remember a time when you attended a Unitarian Universalist congregation or gathering, and it felt like you were finally at home? I recall that feeling taking me by surprise—the minister was preaching about restorative justice and it felt like they were just talking to me. It was the day I became a UU, the day I learned that faith and justice were not mutually exclusive. For the first time I believed restoration was possible.
But no one told me about this faith I hold so dear—I had to find it on my own. Many of us are too uncomfortable to share our faith openly. However, there are exceptions. The most evangelical sharing of the good news I know of in Unitarian Universalism today is going unnoticed in US prisons. My own hope in restoration is strengthened by incarcerated people’s sharing the message of love in such a devastatingly oppressive place.
They are sharing the good news that our faith is not here to focus on the terrible moments or situations or oppression that brought them to prison. Instead they find a home with a community concerned about their personal and faith development moving forward. A place with both unconditional love and boundaries. Long-time prison ministry member John writes: “When the Church of the Larger Fellowship came into my life and I started meeting UUs, I immediately felt that I had a home. And I love that feeling.”
The Church of the Larger Fellowship’s prison ministry team and volunteers are letter bombing our members in prison with love, never knowing what mail will make it through the system or make it back to us. Over the past fifty years our prison ministry has grown to nearly 900 members. It is entirely the folks on the inside sharing Unitarian Universalism with cellmates and friends that has propelled our growth.
In doing the work of prison ministry, I am often reminded of one particular prayer practice of 15th century monks. Their belief was that a cloud of unknowing came between them and God. For those devoted to this practice, prayer was folded into the metaphor of the constant shooting arrows of love through that cloud. The prayer was kept simple, one word, like love or god or grace or hope. The only way to know God was to let go of all preconceived notions of the divine, including gender, appearance, and behavior. Only taking the risk of letting go would allow for glimpses of God.
For Unitarian Universalists, letting go of our concepts of what restoration should be gives new opportunities to work toward a more welcoming faith. Restoration doesn’t mean that when something bad happens we can fix it—it is not getting things back to an imagined perfection of how things used to be. It means doing the hard work of bringing all involved to the table to rebuild community in a new way.
Ted, a CLF member living in prison, writes:
The love of this community brought me back from despair. I’ve learned that not only do LGBTQs belong in church and worship but many have been called to lead. I get very emotional when I read beautiful essays and stories by “my people.”
Of course now “my people” really includes all UUs, regardless of orientation. And to take that a step further, everyone on this planet, because we truly are a part of an interdependent web of life.
Regardless of how much his words strengthen my faith that Beloved Community is possible, and even though I get glimpses of it when the sky clears, I worry. I am worried about what happens when a previously imprisoned Unitarian Universalist shows up on the door of a brick-and-mortar church ready to be welcomed home by their UU family. What if the outside world of Unitarian Universalism is not the place of welcome I promised? I have consistently assured members of our prison ministry that we believe they are worthy of love and justice. So it pains me to pray they will not be turned away.
That’s what systems of white supremacy like mass incarceration tell us to do—turn away from discomfort, not embrace a theology of risk-taking, not live a life that prays the word justice.
I hope I am not giving you the impression that doing prison ministry is easy. It’s humbling at every turn. Every time I start thinking I understand how the prison system works, it reminds me that it is place of evil with the perfect playground for bullying and dehumanization.
When I lose focus or feel overwhelmed by the enormity of mass incarceration, my prayer into the Cloud of Unknowing is the words of Cornel West: “I may not be an optimist but I am a prisoner of hope.” And there is hope for restoration, my friends. It is worth taking chances to push back on systems of white supremacy by shooting arrows of love over the walls of oppression in any way we know how, even if they only bounce off.
We can light a bright beacon of hope for all to see with simply the words: You are worthy of love now.
You are worthy justice now.
- Arrows of Love - April 1, 2019
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