Missing God
“As our faith expands, we can find new, more complex ways of perceiving the unknowable.”
For many of us, it proves impossible to limit religious thought to a narrow creed. The more we learn, the more difficult it becomes to restrict ourselves to the definition of ultimate reality, or God, that we grew up with, or held when we were young. James Fowler writes about this in Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning. But as we progress through different stages of faith development, we may find that certain concepts we felt we had outgrown still hold meaning for us. One of these concepts may be “God.”
Diagnosis of Mental Illness
“There is beauty in the struggle.”
—Brandi Carlisle
Our Universalist tradition teaches that we are all children of God, regardless of the particulars of our human condition. The love of the divine—or the acceptance of the universe, if you prefer—comes to us unconditionally, for better and worse, in strength and in weakness, in health and in illness.
In our theological landscape, illness, including mental illness, is nothing for which an individual should be blamed or shamed. No blame or shame for our human condition. There is great assurance and comfort in that.
But doesn’t our theology hold a fuller revelation?
Accepting Help
“We hear all the time that it is blessed to give. Sometimes, though, we give a blessing when we allow ourselves to receive from others.”
Our Unitarian Universalist 7th principle tells us that we are not alone, that we are part of an interdependent web of existence. Our theology tells us that it is not enough to take care of our own lives, we are also called to build the beloved community through our relationships with others. Deservedly, we take pride in our willingness to reach out to others, to help someone in need.
These are noble ideas to which we aspire. Sometimes, though, we are faced with a different type of call—the call to receive the help and support of others.
When we are the ones who need help, it may feel like our worth and dignity are at stake. We mistakenly feel that to receive help is to lose our dignity. But allowing others to minister to us affirms the worth of all involved.
The Spiritual Act of Complaining
Our culture rewards those who wear an ever-positive attitude. But sometimes, what is honest and right is to express our hurt and anger…to admit “this stinks!”
Optimism is often held up as a cardinal virtue. No matter the situation, we feel we should be plucky, searching for that silver lining, and courageous. With lips trembling, we bravely say, “I’m not going to have a pity party.” We stiffen our shoulders and brace for a hit, a plastic smile on our faces.
Yet the religious faith of Unitarian Universalism is based on authenticity. We encourage people to be their genuine selves in our churches, rather than mouthing things they don’t believe, or pretending to be something other than what they are.
Coming Out in a Conservative Family
“The world is full of suffering; it is also full of overcoming it.”
—Helen Keller
I am honored to be a part of a inclusive religious tradition that values not only the worth and dignity of all people but that also actively seeks to affirm and invite diversity, which is not always the case for those of us who grew up in more exclusive religious paradigms.
There are, still, many religious institutions which cling to a dying worldview that people who are not heterosexual are not normal. Or they take it a step further, and say that lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and transgendered persons are an abomination to God.
This is a sad and harmful stance, and it leaves a trail of pain and suffering for those who have endured such teachings. Some of us have been able to escape the bonds of belief systems that condemn us through religious hate-speak.
As an “escapee,” I offer you words of comfort: You are not an abomination. You are not flawed. You are good and worthy, and you deserve to live life in an unfragmented fashion—as who you are, knowing that you are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” that you are loved, and that you deserve to be happy and whole—as well as confident that you deserve to walk your own spiritual path with authenticity.
After the Disaster
“What people here experienced in the years after Katrina was unique in countless ways—just as the storm and its aftereffects was a disaster unprecedented in U.S. history. But what we have seen are heightened struggles over the same concerns faced by folks everywhere: education, health care, housing, workers’ rights, criminal justice, and the privatization of public services and resources.”
—Jordan Flaherty, Floodlines: Community and Resistance from Katrina to the Jena Six
A disaster strikes fiercely and suddenly. It shatters our homes and property. It puts an end to many community services. It plays havoc with our interiors. A disaster leads people into and through stages of despair. Our once-so-comfortable-existence is replaced with anger, grief, frustration, and confusion. Looking back, I now see this after the disaster calamity as a null zone. In many cases a null zone impinges into the life of those who try to reconstitute themselves after the disaster.
The basic human instinct to recover, return, and rebuild motivates people after the disaster. Unfortunately, the situation around them is not normal; in fact, it is far from being anything like “normal.”
Responding to Trauma Across the World
Tragic images,
a crying sound in my ear,
and I turn to ice.
Have you ever felt frozen after hearing the news of a traumatic event or catastrophe After the sadness and reality of the situation have settled in, you’ve probably also experienced the sinking feeling that there isn’t anything you can do to “fix” the problem.
We hate acknowledging that difficult truth.
Coming face to face with existential powerlessness turns our worldview upside-down. It confronts a sense of security that we depend on and, in fact, spend much of our time trying to build.
Parenting Gender-Nonconforming Children
When our first child was born, we were filled with wonder and curiosity and love for this newest member of the family who had taken up residence in our hearts long before we knew any details of identity. Personality, voice, talents and challenges were all unknown to us, all seeds just taking root in our new baby, all blossoms in waiting.
Over the years, we learned that gender too was one of the seeds that would only emerge in time. How beautiful it has been to watch as our beloved child has bloomed, in gender and identity and expression.
A Quest for Integrity
It always surprises me when people tell me how brave I am for being openly transgender.
It doesn’t seem like bravery to me because I know how painful it was to live in the “before”—the time of hiding and questions and thinking no one would love me if they knew the truth. It took some courage to choose to live honestly—it always does—but no more (or less,) I think, than for anyone else.
That’s the thing. Every time I tell my story, people come to me and tell me about the long journey they’ve made (or wish to make) to live in a way that feels honest and real.
The Quest that Brought Me Here
I joined CLF when I moved to the Missouri Ozarks in 2000. The nearest fellowship was more than an hour away, the nearest UU church two hours. While I had some friends here, I knew not one UU. In Kansas City, I had been a member of All Souls for ten years, active as a leader in both worship and governance, so this was a huge change.
CLF became my refuge, the CLF-L list my everyday church community. Soon I was volunteering to help CLF experiment with improving use of the internet. I was asked to join the CLF board in 2004 and served 6 years, during which CLF undertook big steps in becoming a 21st century congregation.
My service on the search committee in 2010 was deeply rewarding. We worked hard to give potential candidates both an accurate and broad picture of what CLF was, and how her leaders, members and staff hoped it could develop. We had an fine pool of applicants, and interviewed a stellar group of potential candidates, among whom Rev. Meg Riley shone the brightest.
