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Reading:  

   

excerpts from Interdependence: Renewing Congregational Polity, by the UUA’s Commission on Appraisal

One of the deepest convictions that unites us as Unitarian Universalists is a belief in the possibility of a beloved community among people, whether members of a family or the most diverse representatives of humanity. We affirm that such communities are in part a natural outgrowth of human life, but that they must also be deliberately formed and reformed, nurtured and renewed.

This is a spiritual vision that eludes precise definition. It is no wonder, then, that we speak of this vision with differing accents. We speak of unity in diversity, of the community of love and justice, of the kingdom (realm) of God. Our UUA Principles speak of the interdependent web of existence of which we are a part. James Luther Adams spoke of the covenant of being. These terms express a vision of the individual person and the community of persons in harmony with each other, the world around us, and the spirit of life itself.

Unitarian Universalism seeks to embody this spiritual vision and to advance its fuller realization. We seek a way of being in the present that leads toward the future. A primary way that we try to embody our spiritual vision is through the congregation, the face-to-face community of people who seek to walk together faithfully, courageously, and joyfully. We want our religious community and the network of relationships that extends beyond itself to be a living model for the good of human relationships throughout life.

. . .

Talking with newcomers about the Unitarian Universalist faith, we often emphasize that ours is not a single, centralized church, but an association of churches and fellowships. In other words, our denominational structure, the UUA, is a voluntary association of independent, self-governing congregations.

Usually we call these religious communities churches, but sometimes we call them fellowships, societies, or congregations. Sometimes we simply call ourselves “Unitarian Universalists,” suggesting that no adequate term for the group exists, or perhaps that here we are individuals, first and foremost. And sometimes we use the term “parish” to refer to a local congregation, although parish properly refers to the geographical area covered by a congregation. The lack of common terminology, in part rooted in our dissenting tradition, tends to confuse discussions of the basic meaning of being a religious community. A congregation may serve many purely social needs, but first and foremost it must serve our need for a spiritual community, a community of mutual commitment, caring, and support.

We need not adopt any one term for our religious communities, but we do need to understand that commitment to a local, face-to-face religious community—a congregation—is intrinsic to our faith. We may share an understanding of sociological, historical, and organizational perspectives on the religious community. But because we are often radical individualists for whom religion is a private or an inward feeling, a theological perspective on the church (the religious community) seems incomprehensible to us.

Sermon:

            Imagine this happened to you.

            Your grandparents are moving from Atlanta to New Orleans. En route, they stop overnight in Meridian, Mississippi. After dinner, your grandfather complains of indigestion and goes into the hotel bathroom where he suffers a massive heart attack and dies. The hotel moves your grandmother into another room thank goodness, but your mother who is the one that receives the news late at night, realizes your grandmother is more than 10 hours away from the nearest family member. You imagine the long, lonely night for her. But your Mom, savvy person that she is, takes out her UUA directory and looks for the nearest congregation. It’s a small fellowship, without a minister, but your Mom doesn’t hesitate. She calls the president and explains the situation. Without hesitation, the president says she will go to the hotel to sit with your grandmother until someone can arrive. And she did it, sitting there until the next day with your grandmother until Uncle John arrives.

            Or imagine this. Your teenage daughter is about to go on an educational trip to Australia, and you’ve just found out that the host family had to cancel their commitment. Your daughter still wants to go, and the tickets are non-refundable. You show up to your committee meeting that night in tears.

            Your friends, including the minister, dig out that UUA directory, and find information on the Unitarian Congregation in Perth. You take the information home, and the next day you connect through email. The congregation members find a place for your daughter for the duration of her stay. She has a wonderful time, and you’re relieved beyond belief.

            Or imagine this. A hurricane comes through your neck of the woods. You’ve suffered hurricanes before, and know that you and your congregation members will be fine, once you return from the evacuation. But something goes wrong—the levees that are supposed to hold out the water break open, and your city is submerged in water. The water is up to the roof line of your congregation, or up to a five foot level, and by the time you return, the building is impossible to use. Your insurance says that the damage wasn’t created by the hurricane, for which you have insurance, but instead was caused by flooding, and your policy doesn’t include that. Plus, your members can’t move back to the area since their homes are destroyed, and their jobs are missing. You’re not sure what to do as you imagine total financial ruin and no community to hold you up.

            But you’re a member of a larger something than your congregation, and without you even needing to do anything, there are other people stepping forward to help. Over $3.7 million dollars are contributed by individual members of the congregations across the nation; other congregations step up to help with more than this—with some congregations paying your mortgage for over a year, and you’re told that your staff will continue to receive full pay, but from the whole of the body, not from just your members. Hundreds of people flock to the area to help you out, and still more than two years later there are volunteers who come down to help you and your neighbors rebuild your life.

            It’s easy to imagine these stories, for they are true. The first story belongs to colleague Linda Hart, now a minister in England. The second is from Dottie Matthews, from our congregation in Appleton, Wisconsin. And the third one is about Hurricane Katrina—that incredible disaster to one of our most gorgeous cities, and where the havoc still reigns, but the partnerships and sharing from Unitarian Universalists, collectively and individually, keeps our flame burning brightly there. Imagine these stories, because they are true.

            And you and I know that the stories don’t end there. How many of you have a story about your life being touched by Unitarian Universalists outside of this congregation? How many of you have been somewhere else where, a stranger in a strange land, you found help and nurture at the hands of others who share our impossibly long, difficult to pronounce, and sometimes even more difficult to explain religious tradition? Anyone want to make a testimonial here? I’m serious—if you have a story to tell, I want to hear it. Because too often we don’t tell the stories, and we don’t share what an amazing thing it is to belong to an Association of congregations.

            I have one to share, and it happened at General Assembly, our Annual Meeting. One year not too long ago, the meeting was in Quebec City, a gorgeous location, and one that is somewhat exotic because the French culture is so different than what we experience here.

            It was opening night—a time when there is great excitement, and delight at being together again after a year’s absence. That first evening, something happened that had never happened before at General Assembly. As the banner carriers were lining up to begin the parade that starts our gatherings, one man fell to the floor, suffering what appeared to be a fatal heart attack, but thank goodness, was not. Yet the truth of that would not be known for hours.

            The banner carriers stood there in shock. The medical people in the crowd began attending this man, and someone called for help from the conference centre staff. The French speaking emergency medical people came, worked on this gentleman, and then whisked him away to the hospital. For those in that room, the language barrier and the look on this man’s face made them wonder if he was still alive, whether he would be okay. As I said, he was.

            But what was the amazing part of this story is how people came together. I’m not talking about the support groups that were immediately set up; I’m not talking about how someone came forward to locate his RV parked somewhere in the area, and move it to a safer location; I’m not talking about the ministers who went with him to the hospital, or those people who helped support his wife when she arrived; I’m not talking about any of that, though all of that is important. I’m talking about how someone in that banner carrying group figured out what it was that they could do as they stood in witness to this man’s collapse, and to the emergency workers’ attentions. Softly, someone began singing Spirit of Life, and soon they were all there, singing a prayer to this man. I don’t know if he heard it, I don’t know if he remembers that he heard it, but none the less, these good people stood there, singing this prayer, to help the gentleman on his journey to wherever.

            When most people come to our congregations as those newly discovering Unitarian Universalism, what is it that we tell them? We tell them how glad we are to see them, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that this is a free congregation—that the members are the ones who make the decisions around here, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that in our congregation we don’t need to think alike to love alike, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that in our congregations, religious belief is a matter of individual religions conviction, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that it is their right and responsibility to figure out their own beliefs, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that religious seeking is something that will last them a lifetime, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that we love and nurture our children, and help them explore their own religious feelings here, too, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that what we are trying to create here and now is the beloved community, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that we long for them to find a home with us, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that we try our hardest to be there with and for each other through both the joys and sorrows of life, or at least I hope we do. We tell them that it is the work of their hands in healing the world that, along with love, are the greatest gifts we can give, or at least I hope we do.

            I hope we do. I hope we tell people that they are valuable, and share our wishes for a world made fair and all her people one. I hope we tell people that social justice is a big part of how we live our lives, that we’ve worked for racial justice, women’s rights, rights for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender rights, that we’ve worked for environmental justice, like through our Green Sanctuary program here, and that we work for peace. And I hope, most of all, that we make welcome for them, for each other, as we search together for the answers to the ultimate questions of why are we here, what is the right and good and moral thing to do, and what happens after we die. I hope we do all of these things, for that’s what religious community is about: helping each other struggle with the tough questions, the hard parts of life, celebrate together the good, and shape things of meaning. Religion, as I’m sure you’ve heard before, comes from the Latin religare, to bind things together again, and worship, as I’m sure you’ve heard, comes from the Old English weorthscipe, shaping things of worth. So I hope that you tell people that that’s what we do here—bind things together, and shape things of worth. Well, and come to think of it, I hope that that’s not only what you tell people we do here, but that we actually then go about doing it!

            But you know, there’s so much more than all of that. Perhaps what is too often the biggest secret of all is that we are, first and foremost, as Association of congregations. We are not, technically speaking, a denomination. We are not, technically speaking a religious movement, though from time we do move. No, we are, first and foremost, an Association.

            If I were newer to Unitarian Universalism than I am, or if I had not been a minister for as long as I’ve been a minister, the question in my brain right now would be “So what? So what does it matter that we’re an Association?” But I’ve been forced to think long and hard about the answer to that question, and been asked to explain it more often than not, and so rather than ask that question, let me answer. And again, let me answer it by story.

            My colleague Gary Smith told the ministers several years ago about an episode in his life. He and his wife were pretty new parents, and they were driving from one place to another with their infant child in the car. They were far from where they started, and far from where they were going, and far from anyone they knew. Suddenly, Gary’s wife became very, very ill. Gary rushed her to the hospital, where it was discovered that she was critically ill, and they did not know whether she would live, or how long it would take. And there was Gary, worried out of his mind, and with a very small child, and not sure what to do. Frantic was probably an understatement. So what Gary did was he went to the telephone, looked up the church, called the minister, and said, “I’m Gary, I’m a minister, my wife is very sick in your hospital, and I’m bringing my child to you for you to take care of.” In the telling, Gary didn’t give the minister a choice—it was a statement of fact and what was going to happen. Gary drove to the minister’s house, dropped off his infant child, and went back to the hospital. Thankfully, his wife survived, but not before this minister unknown to Gary had tended their precious child for at least a week, and not before they had provided Gary with a place to stay, and comfort along the way. Gary thanked them profusely, knew he would do it again, and knew that he also would always find a way to say yes to other people in crisis.

            I can’t imagine being put in the place where I would have to make such a crucial choice—to be with my child or my spouse. That’s probably why I’ve had cats and dogs. But I can imagine that were I in that position, that I would turn to colleagues—to our congregations—because that’s what we are there for—for the good times and the hard times and all the times in between.

            Because what being in an association means is that we have chosen, freely, to be with one another. We have chosen, freely, to tie our lot with the lots of others who, while they don’t always believe the same things I do, still strive to live out those seven principles you’ll find in the front of the hymnal. By being in association, we make not a contract with each other, but rather a covenant. In contracts, we promise to do things with and for each other, and we expect to get something back that we consider to be of equal value. In a contract you say I’ll see you “X” and you’ll pay me Y. Or you say I’ll fix the deck outside the church, and you’ll pay me so many thousands of dollars. A contract is an agreement to do something for a specified cost for a specified length of time.

            But a covenant, a covenant is different. Because covenants aren’t about promises so much, but more about vows. Vows are open ended statements of intention. In a vow—the most famous of which are in weddings or partnership celebrations—you’re not promising to do something if someone else does something. No, you’re rather promising to do something regardless and unconditionally. Take partnership vows: I promise to love you with all my heart, my soul, my mind, my life. Although in one sense it matters that you are promised the same thing back, in the greater sense, it does not. For when we truly love, it does not depend on them loving us back—we love someone because we love them. It helps a ton if they love us back, but our love, our true deep love, is not conditional on that small fact. Or when we are in court, and we swear an oath to tell the truth, that is a covenant—it’s a promise we make that we will be truthful and honorable. It doesn’t matter if the judge or the lawyers or the other witnesses enter into a promise of their own—our vow at that time is sacred within itself. We vow, we promise, we take an oath, to do what we say we will. It is a covenant.

            Historically, the covenant was what one made with god. It was centered in the knowledge and belief of an ultimate authority to whom, or in front of whom, we were making the pledge, and to whom we’d be accountable. For some of us, it’s still that way, while for others, it is the higher values of community or trust and trustworthiness, honor and fidelity to which they make their vows.

            Now the irony of Gary Smith’s story about his wife and his baby, is that the minister he called was not a Unitarian Universalist. And yet, it doesn’t really matter. For it is this kind of community that we seek, and that Unitarians and Universalists have promised each other since we first set foot on this continent. We vowed, we promised, we covenanted to stand together. To be with each other. To hold each other, nurture each other, and call ourselves back to our best selves with each other. These were the vows: to walk together, in the sight of god, regardless.

            And you know, we’ve proved pretty darn good at doing this. Not only the stories that I’ve shared already, of tragedy and triumph, but also in other ways. Our covenant is not just “disaster insurance,” although it includes that. It is also a banding together to do more than we could do alone. We come together as an Association to certify, honor, and recognize ministry. I wouldn’t be here today without our Association, nor would have any of the other ministers who have served this congregation. We come together as an Association to provide religious education materials with our particular stamp on them, rather than having to adopt and change someone else’s to serve us well. Think of what your kids would learn without the Neighboring Faiths or Our Whole Lives curriculum, to name just two. We come together to help build up new congregations so that we don’t have to be alone. What would it be like to not have neighbors close enough by that we can do things—like this advertising campaign—without each other? There’s no way we could generate enough money for ads in subways, on TV or radio or in the newspaper without each other. We come together to provide support through Chalice Lighter grants to do things we cannot do alone. How many congregations have taken bold steps because they knew others were there to help them out? We come together to provide resources and experts on all the aspects of congregational life so we don’t have to invent the wheel again and again and again. We come together to help bend the arc of justice a little closer to the world, so that we may have our collective voices heard on matters of social justice. And we come together in times of sorrow, and in times of joy, so that we would not be alone.

            I’ve long been an ardent supporter for our Association, and so it’s easy for me to stand up here and talk about who we are as a people, and to ask you to support our Association financially. For that is the reason for this Association Sunday—to ask members and friends of our congregations to share a bit of their money with the larger whole. Association Sunday is a designed to allow you the opportunity to help the Unitarian Universalist Association dream big. Dream of more national advertising, like what you saw in Time magazine this week. Dreams of supporting our ministers of color and Latino/Latina ministers—something we haven’t done as well as we’d like over the years. Dreams, too, of growing Unitarian Universalist congregations. Twenty-five percent of the money raised in each district will go back to those districts to support growth initiatives. Pacific Central District, our district here, is one of the leaders in Association Sunday. All but three of our congregations are holding Association Sunday—the best record in the nation. And all the funds collected today will be matched by major donors in the UUA, a wonderful opportunity.

            Yet at the same time, I realize that it takes a great degree of chutzpah to ask you this as right after this service, this congregation’s members will be asked to approve the budget for this congregation—a budget that at the moment has a $53,000 deficit. Why would you give to the Association, when we here at UUCM are facing financial questions of a very deep sort? I can hear the question out there almost as if you were saying it in unison: Are you crazy, or what?

            Well, I plead guilty. To both parts. The crazy and the or what. I am crazy—because I believe that we as a people can do whatever we want. If we want to balance the budget of this congregation, and give to the UUA, I know that we can do that. Because I live in a spirit of abundance, not one of scarcity. I choose to live in a world of possibility, rather than a world of fear. I am crazy to believe that generosity of spirit can win the day, and with that comes generosity of pocketbook. I believe this so much that my partner and I are making a pledge of $10,000 to Association Sunday. It will take us a few years to pay that off, but I believe in that generosity of spirit enough to stretch my money. Just like I’m stretching my money by pledging $1200 to this congregation. I believe in you, too.

            I plead guilty, too, to the “or what” part, too. Because to me the question of whether or not Unitarian Universalism is in this world is one of life and death. I can’t imagine my world without this precious religion. I am an unapologetic evangelist for Unitarian Universalism, and I put my money where my mouth is. I support the congregation I’m a member of, I support this congregation where I serve, and I support our Association writ large.

            Because what I know most of all is that this religious tradition saves lives. You’ve heard it metaphorically in the stories I started this sermon with—that these people’s lives have been transformed for the better, made more gentle, because of the loving hands of others who were willing to be there with and for them, simply because they share a similar religious path. But we save lives in more ways than those, ones much more direct. As this week the news of young people shooting classmates and teachers comes once again to the fore, my mind went back to several years ago, in Columbine, Colorado. We all know what happened on that horrible day when two young men, disgruntled, unhappy, went on a shooting spree and killed 13 people, wounded 24, and then took their own lives. But what many of you might not know is that the closest congregation to that school is the Unitarian Universalist congregation. What many of you might not know is that Joel Miller, minister of that congregation, was the first, and for a long time, only pastor on that horrible scene. And what many of you might not know is how that congregation saved a young man’s life. For there was another young man who used to be best friends with the two shooters, who was equally dissatisfied with his life, and equally angry with the world. That is, until he found the youth group at our Columbine congregation, before that horrible day. That youth group, those adults in our congregation there, took this young man in. They helped him realize that he was worth something, worth caring about, worth loving. And so that young man turned away from his friends, clung to his youth group. Without that youth group, without the presence of our Unitarian Universalist congregation, supported by the thousand other congregations in our Association, without that Association, there may well have been three shooters on that day, and at least one more life laid waste by that violence.

            Our religion, our welcome and acceptance of one another, our efforts to live in the world with grace and love and commitment, our being here makes a difference. We save lives. This young man is just one example, but I know others whose lives have been saved figuratively, if not literally, and others whose lives have been enriched simply by the presence of their local Unitarian Universalist congregation. May we, here, reach out to all around us, both those who seek us, and those who need us to seek them, and offer to them the home that we have found. May we, here, reach out and give thanks for this precious faith, our wonderful association, and the deep commitments to love, peace, and justice that we share. May we, here, know in the depth of our beings how lucky we are, how blessed. May we, here, know ourselves as Unitarian Universalists. Thanks be. Shalom. Blessed be. Amen.