Finding the Center

Just over five years ago, I made my way on a series of buses and trains to Rush-Presbyterian-St. Luke's Medical Center - the busy hospital in downtown Chicago where I would serve for the summer as a chaplain. As I made my way to the bookstore that first day to buy my lab coat, the other more experienced chaplains let me in on a secret. Rest assured, they told me, as I fumbled to find the awkward white coats with the chaplain and cross patches on the shoulder, rest assured they said, that no one in this hospital will call you looking for help in celebrating some great joy. You will be called, they said, with a bit of a sadistic glint in their eye, to the bedside of every death, every crisis, and every life-changing diagnosis. Your pager will go off and you will have anywhere between 2 and five minutes to make it to the scene, and you will be a face, a voice, and a hand of comfort.

I was, of course, terrified.

Over the next few days, I watched my fellow chaplains carefully. Aside from myself, the chaplains all came from different Christian denominations, and many of them relied heavily on the sacraments of communion and baptism, on shared hymns and prayers and Biblical readings in their interactions with patients. Knowing that I would be walking into people's rooms and - thanks to the cross patch on my shoulder among other things - that they might expect me to be able to help them with these elements from their traditions - I made it my mission to learn what I could, and after learning each prayer, each rite, each way of being with Christians, Muslims, Buddhists and Jews, I tucked another piece of paper into my pocket. Before long, the pockets of my lab coat bulged precariously - stuffed full with keys to the sacristy, hand-written prayers, a pocket-sized Bible, donated rosaries, a plastic bottle of holy water, emergency phone numbers, a cheat sheet for last rites and baptism, and Buddhist prayer beads. Honestly, it got to be a little ridiculous.

I wanted desperately to offer comfort to everyone who called on me - but in the hospital, as in life, there was no way to be prepared for every situation. As the summer wore on, I found quickly that very few people wanted a specific prayer or ritual from me - I hardly ever reached into those bulging, unwieldy pockets of my chaplain lab coat - the people I encountered wanted a listening ear, a kind heart, and someone to hold their hand. They wanted me to tell them what to expect when I could, and they wanted me to be open to hearing their anger, their disappointment, and their most difficult and beautiful stories. They wanted to connect on a human level, essence to essence as they struggled to make sense of their experience.

In many ways, my Unitarian Universalist faith prepared me well for this task - walking in to those hospital rooms without assumptions about what the other person might believe allowed me to start the conversation with openness and without a preconceived idea of where we needed to go together. Thanks to this tradition, I was able to trust the experiences of others and treat them as valid even when they differed from my own. I asked people to explore their questions with me, rather than offering my own answers, and on many days I simply sat with families as they struggled over the seeming injustice of the world. That summer in the hospital I learned to navigate the world with lighter pockets, relying less and less on theological labels and props and more and more on the language of the heart, on genuine curiosity, and on the common experiences that we all share as human beings in this world.

Our shared Unitarian Universalist faith and heritage prepared me well for that summer, and I believe that it prepares us well, also, for life in this increasingly diverse culture and world. We are a religious tradition marked with change, blessed with persistent controversy, dissension, and a desire for constant improvement. We are a religious tradition that welcomes the stranger, that offers a spiritual home to all honest seekers, that values and builds up the community we form together.

We have long rejected the idea of a test of faith, of a common creed that we must all adhere to for membership, continuing to choose instead to emphasize the primary authority of individual conscience and experience in questions of religion. This emphasis on the individual, along with our commitment to diversity and our ever-shifting nature, sometimes makes it difficult to define who we are to others and sometimes even to ourselves.

"A legendary Universalist minister, when asked," years ago "what Universalists stood for, famously replied, 'We don't stand. We move."[1]

As a religious tradition that moves, that welcomes diversity, that emphasizes individual conscience and experience, we have at times faced great difficulty in constructing a statement of faith that adequately represents the core of our varied beliefs. Most recently, the Commission on Appraisal, an independent group of Unitarian Universalist ministers and lay leaders took up the question, What is the unity in our theological diversity? And published their report entitled, Engaging Our Theological Diversity, just months ago.

"One of the goals of this report," they wrote, "is to promote the notion that a healthy diversity requires common ground."[2] A healthy diversity requires common ground. - I agree. I agree, in fact, with many of the outcomes and recommendations of this report - including a call for more theological conversation in our congregations, including the development of opportunities for in depth study of Unitarian Universalism for our members, including the call for an association-wide effort to articulate the theological unity in our diversity.

There is a challenge here, of course. As I mentioned before, historically, we have shunned creedal statements of any kind, and we have fought against professions of faith as a requirement for membership in our congregations. I believe that this is a healthy element of our history, a defining characteristic of our faith and of our covenant of how we will be together - and therefore I am not, and neither is the report by the Commission on Appraisal, recommending the development of a creed, - but rather I believe that strength, courage, confidence, and clarity for our religious voice - both as individuals and as a collective -will grow as we engage in the conversation - as we open ourselves to the diversity that surrounds us both within and outside of our church walls - as we let down our guard and empty our pockets and say this is who I am, and this is what I believe.

Taking that step of daring - of claiming and proclaiming that which we hold most dear -- hard as that step may be - it is only one small step in the journey we are charged to undertake. As we share our individual core beliefs, that to which we give our hearts, we are charged also to listen. To listen deeply and reverently to the experiences of others, trusting that their experiences are true and valid for them, even if we think their logic seems faulty, even if our own experiences tell us differently. This kind of listening requires a sense of internal security and a willingness to risk the possibility of being changed by the encounter, and I believe, in the metaphor that Emily Dickinson uses, that this kind of deep listening is one of the Props, one of the tools, perhaps the Carpenter or the Auger, in building a perfected life which we might call a soul.

But unfortunately, in this culture we live in, and sometimes in our congregations too- we find that we are given so many of the tools necessary for developing and expressing our individuality and so few tools necessary for developing our communities. With this predicament, we can, I believe get out of balance. Relying more and more on our individuality - on our differences - than leaning into the communities of family, of friends, of civic life, of church and of the larger world that inevitably both support and challenge us - those communities where people come to know us deeply - offering both their praise but also their critique - offering their own unique ideas that may differ from our own - causing us to question and even be swayed by the differences we encounter.

In a culture and in a religious association that emphasizes individuality and diversity, that at times aspires to draw the circle wide enough so that no one is left outside, our shadow side, of course, is the temptation to become a nation and a church of dabblers, knowing much about a little but having very few in-depth experiences or relationships. As we call ourselves back into balance - as the pendulum swings, hopefully, to a resting point squarely in the center of individuality and community - we face the great challenge of becoming a people who value depth of experience as much as we value breadth of experience.

While we may differ over the definition or even the need for individual and communal spiritual development - teachers of all times acknowledge that development of any kind, and especially spiritual development, requires time, discipline, attention, and most importantly, focus. As religion scholar Huston Smith writes, "The problem with cafeteria-style spirituality is that Saint Ego is often the one making the choices at the salad bar. What tastes good is not always the same as what you need...I believe that it is most helpful for people to choose one main meal, to commit and focus on that tradition, and then to add to it if the need arises."[3] What if the main meal we chose was Unitarian Universalism, adding to it as the need arose? Discovering the depth and heritage of our own community? What stories would we tell of our coming of age, of our homecoming - and of our transformation?

As a religious association of come-inners and born-inners we consist, as a group, of folks perhaps most comfortable on the fringes. "When the Commission on Appraisal met in focus groups with theologically oriented organizations within the Unitarian Universalist Association (UU Buddhists, Pagans, Jews, Christians, etc.), numerous participants from most groups expressed a sense of marginalization within the Unitarian Universalist Association. What, therefore," the commissioners asked, "do people believe to be the current theological mainstream within Unitarian Universalism?"Amongst the respondents, "No consensus was apparent."[4]

The contrary mad farmer, Wendell Berry, whom we heard from in our readings this morning - refused to come in from the margins - refused to do or think as he was told, refused to relinquish his own lived experience when it came to questions of faith. In his own, seemingly solitary way, challenging and opposing and bumping up against the different points of view in his community, the mad farmer found one way to come to the truth - not the only or the easiest way, he recognized of course, but one way. This mad farmer, in all of his humor, told us of the gifts that living as the sole member of the International Brotherhood of Contraries offered him.

Living on the margins offers us gifts too, of course. No person or individual holds on to a vision of themselves that does not in some way serve them. By living on the margins we may find a greater self-knowledge, a greater awareness of others, and even a certain useful and exciting comfort with risk. The feeling of marginality, of persecution, even, can hold a community together - but it is not a sufficient force to bind us in the long run, and as we have found by observing and participating in our most recent political elections - being against something is not nearly as powerful in our lives as being for something. It moves individuals and it inspires crowds if we stand on the side of love, valuing equality and respect. It matters if we speak for something rather than against something - offering a vision based in our values. By insisting on living on the margins, we may at times, relieve ourselves of the difficult duty of acknowledging our own power, falling instead into apathy and failing to work whole-heartedly to create change in the world.

Nothing strengthens a community or an individual so much as a clear sense of its values and a relevant prophetic mission. We stand at a moment of unique social and political importance - a time when the values we share are being challenged in our congress and in our courts. The need for a clear, religious alternative - the need for a clear, coherent alternative religious voice to sustain us as individuals and to inspire others in these times is great, and we will, I believe, seize this moment in this dangerous time only if we can offer a clear, coherent message - a message based in our shared beliefs and in our shared values - a vision of depth and integrity. The benefits of engaging in this conversation - of articulating the center of our faith as individuals and as a community is great. And I believe, that if we work towards defining our clear, coherent message, that we will see that the task is easier than we first feared. The center of our faith exists. It must, I believe or we would not be here. Our faith, whether it is spoken aloud or held quietly in our hearts, guides our thoughts and our actions each day. It is the scaffolding from which we build our lives and this religious community.

As we approach this difficult and exciting task of exploring our individual and our shared beliefs, it is quite likely that we will run into some disagreement. Many of you may have already experienced these disagreements among family, friends, co-workers, and even among members of this church community. It is inevitable that as we share our individual beliefs and experiences, some conflict will arise. What if, in these moments, instead of gathering our defenses and raising our walls, what if we took it up as a spiritual discipline - to consciously let down our guard, to empty our pockets of our props - of our labels - and step forward, willing to connect with one another in that moment essence to essence, with all of the vulnerability and courage that kind of meeting requires, recognizing that our own individual experience is just one piece of the puzzle, remembering that we live interdependently connected to the web of all existence, discovering together the universal truths that bind us one to the other.

As we move forward with honesty and boldness in our relationships, let me leave you with the words of our religious ancestor, the Universalist minister, Hosea Ballou, "If we agree in love, no disagreement can do us any harm. If we do not agree in love, no other agreement can do us any good." May we, in our common quest together, agree in love - in our families, in our homes, in all of our relationships, and here in this church. May we share freely with one another the beliefs and practices that give meaning and shape to our lives, listening deeply to the great variety we discover, willing to be changed by what we encounter, and developing then for ourselves and for our community a center we can speak from, claiming our power and our voice in this world.

May it be so, and Amen.

Jen Crow, Associate Minister
July 31, 2005

1. The Commission on Appraisal of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Engaging Our Theological Diversity. Unitarian Universalist Association: Boston; 2005, 17.
2. The Commission on Appraisal of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Engaging Our Theological Diversity. Unitarian Universalist Association: Boston; 2005, 7.
3. Elizabeth Lesser and Huston Smith, "Are You Religious or Spiritual? Letters from the Heart," Spirituality & Health (Spring 2001). Available online at www.spiritualityhealth.com/newsh/items/article/item_2930.html.
4. The Commission on Appraisal of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Engaging Our Theological Diversity. Unitarian Universalist Association: Boston; 2005, 33.