Quest Article – Quest for Meaning: Recent Episodes
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Rev. Deanna Vandiver
Church of the Larger Fellowship Affiliated Minister
The Pink Haven Coalition is actively seeking Unitarian Universalists to offer welcoming villages, to serve as hosts and housing support for internally displaced trans and gender expansive persons and their families. While many calls to action ask for you to write your policy makers or show up for public witness, this is a direct ask for the abolitionist practice of accompaniment.
At a recent meeting with our Unitarian Universalist Association, the chalice lighting shared was this provoking invitation by the glorious Billy Porter,
“I think one of the things that we don’t talk about enough is the positive. Our news cycles are based in the negative. One of the things that I’ve been trying to lean into is the positive. The reason why the pushback is so acute and so severe is because the change has already happened. We have to remember that.
I stand before you as an out black queer artist who’s in the mainstream. The changes already happened. That’s what the pushback is. So let’s celebrate the joy of that.”
Yes. Let’s take a moment together and celebrate the joy of that. Many of us carry the brutal stories of pushback in our beings, AND for this moment, let us give thanks that joy does not wait for the struggle to be over.
It is because Unitarian Universalism honors the inherent dignity and power of all human beings, celebrating the plurality of possibilities with the realm of gender, and creating welcoming congregations that Unitarian Universalists are being explicitly invited to support the abolitionist work of the Pink Haven Coalition.
And yet, our history as welcoming congregations is rather recent on the scale of religious time. It matters that we are accountable to our own struggle to live into the promise of universal love.
David Pohl, who spent twenty-two years with the UU Department of Ministry…recalls helping to place the first two openly gay ministers in UU pulpits in 1980, when Douglas Morgan Strong went to Augusta, Maine and Mark Belletini went to Hayward, California. “I was kind of proud of that,” Pohl said, “proud of working with the churches and search committees that had the courage to make those decisions early on.” (The Premise & The Promise)
Rev. Douglas Morgan Strong’s own recollection of this breakthrough reflects more of the pain than the pride – He wrote “When I went before the Ministerial Fellowship Committee, I was petrified. Back then [in 1979], the number of out gay ministers successfully serving congregations was easy to count. There were none.” He lifted up that the General Assembly vote in favor of an Office of Gay Affairs – now housed within the Justice & Inclusion office of the Unitarian Universalist – was by no means unanimous and that many objected vehemently. Strong recalls “one colleague asking the assembly if the next step would be an Office of Bestiality.” (The Premise & The Promise)
Mercy.
It wasn’t that long ago, beloved. We must be humble in our becoming abolition.
And.
“The changes already happened. That’s what the pushback is. So let’s celebrate the joy of that.”
We celebrate the joy and we do not stop showing up for the struggle for collective liberation, an abolitionist future where we turn towards each other in care and treat no one as disposable.
How could anyone ever tell you
you were less than whole?
Many of us have been introduced to the concept of abolition through frameworks based in the negative. Taking a lesson from the wisdom of Billy Porter, let us lean into the positive and turn towards becoming abolition as a project of creation.
“As Ruth Wilson Gilmore and Angela Davis have taught us, abolition is a project of creation. To end criminalization, policing, and prisons, we need to build up life-affirming practices, institutions, and infrastructure that generate care and safety.” – Amanda Alexander & Deanna Van Buren
Universalism proclaims that no one is outside of the love of the holy, that not one soul is disposable, no matter what the legislators decide and police enforce. Whether you are being criminalized because of your identity or because of your poverty, systemic violence requires a faithful response. Becoming abolition is a faithful response.
While a writer in residence at the University of Washington, Madison Snider wrote an elegant essay on The Vigilant Imagination of Abolition. They wrote “The work is a continual, slow burn of justice. Abolition rejects the idea that anyone is disposable and reinstates hope in healing…Engaging in practices of “constant becoming” pave the way toward a world built on a foundation of care rather than harm.”
Snider concludes: What abolitionists have taught me is the value of holding space simultaneously for worldbuilding and radical dismantling. What ultimately must be abolished are the means by which community resources are drained to perpetuate harm and present the community back to itself as unworthy of care…The vigilant imagination of abolition is a confluence of resistance to persistent and evolving forms of oppression and steadfastness in the knowledge that another world is possible.
Another world, a loving world, is possible, dear ones. Together we make it so. Let us commit to becoming abolition and creating together.
Aisha Hauser, MSW
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
What does radical community care look like, in what ways can we be the ones to offer the welcome hand to hold and the compassion that bonds us together?
Within systems of oppression, we can find examples of radical community care, the kind of care that exists in spite of efforts to subjugate entire communities.
One example of radical community care in the form of community organizing happened in the spring of 2020 in Los Angeles when a landlord sent an email to 300 tenants informing them they must pay their rent, the landlord did not blind copy the tenants thus sharing the contact information of all the renters with each other. One of the recipients hit reply all and suggested a rent strike. The renters joined the Los Angeles Tenant Union’s effort launched amid the pandemic called Food Not Rent in an effort to build their network of renters who do not want to have to choose between having a meal and having shelter.
This is an example of creative and radical community care.
Another example are the many urban farms that have been cultivated across the country. Urban farms are crucial to communities that have been impacted by food deserts, areas where access to fresh and affordable food is nonexistent.
Growing and sharing food is one of the most fundamental ways to offer community care. In 2012 NFL player Jason Brown at age 29 walked away from professional football and multi-million dollar offers to live on a farm and grow food to give away.
Brown knew nothing about farming and in fact learned how to plant sweet potatoes and cucumbers by watching YouTube videos. He recalls a conversation he had with his agent:
“My agent told me, ‘You’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” Brown recalled to CBS Sports in 2016. “And I looked right back at him and said, ‘No, I am not.’”
To date, Brown has given away over 100,000 pounds of sweet potatoes and 10,000 pounds of cucumbers to food banks all over his home state of North Carolina.
Brown, having been born and raised in North Carolina, felt a commitment to return to his roots and give back to the community and state that raised him.
What all of these examples have in common is people building on relationships. We cannot exist in community without relationship.
The invitation to all of us is to remember that nothing is inevitable, we can engage in and create the radical community care needed to transform our hurting world.
Katherine Hofmann
Learning Fellow, Church of the Larger Fellowship
Our dreams and imagination fuel childhood. The world encourages children to use their imagination through words and actions. We often hear an adult tell a child to use their imagination. This behaviour is encouraged through educational shows, playground structures (rocket ships anyone?), and toys. But then adults are told to “put away your childish things (C.S. Lewis),” as if becoming grownup precludes any need to use our imaginations.
Yet, if we want to experience life fully, we have to be able to imagine what we want our life to look like. How can anyone figure out their ultimate desires if they can’t imagine them? All the goal-setting gurus tell us to envision our futures and act as if it is already true. In other words, to use our imaginations to create our reality. I believe that our spiritual reality is drawn from imagination as well.
Our Unitarian Universalist faith encourages us to explore our own beliefs and to draw from a wide range of spiritual traditions and experiences. Because being a UU is about openness and freedom in spiritual practice, imagination plays an important role in how individuals connect with their faith. Rather than seeing imagination as something separate from spiritual life, UUs embrace it as a tool for deepening our spiritual journeys, building connections, and inspiring positive change. Using our imagination to develop our spiritual practice empowers us to envision new possibilities for ourselves, others, and even the world.
One of the core beliefs of Unitarian Universalism is the idea that everyone has worth and dignity and that everyone’s spiritual path is unique. This makes it a perfect place for imagination to thrive. Using your imagination allows you to engage with your beliefs in creative, personal ways. Whether through prayer, meditation, or everyday life, imagination helps open new doors to explore the divine, connect with the world, and grow spiritually.
Perhaps the most important way imagination is currently used in Unitarian Universalism is in the area of social justice. As UUs, we are committed to making the world a better place, and imagination helps fuel that work. By imagining a world where people are treated fairly, where the environment is cared for, and where peace prevails, we are inspired to take action and create positive change.
Ultimately, within our Unitarian Universalist congregations, imagination is a creative gift and a profoundly spiritual tool. It encourages personal growth, enhances communal worship, and inspires justice-driven action, making it an essential part of the UU spiritual experience. Unitarian Universalists can use imagination to connect to the divine, engage with each other, and work toward a better world. And that’s a dream that I hope we can all imagine.
Authentically and with a heart full of love, grace and a determination to do what I can to bring about liberation in all I do.
AISHA HAUSER, msw, cre-ml
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
Growing up in an Egyptian Arabic speaking home, we never just said, “hello” to greet each other. We would say “Ahlan wa sahlan” which translates to “easy family.” You are part of our family and it is easy to be together is how I would explain this. An affirmation of connection.
I learned that the Zulu greeting is “Sawubona” which means “I see you, I acknowledge you, I recognize you as a person.” What a powerful and life affirming greeting.
I acknowledge you.
I recognize you as a person.
This month’s theme is witnessing, and the greetings I describe above are a way of witnessing who we are to each other in community. As humanity has become more transient in the last few hundred years, many of us travel and live in many places throughout our lives. This means our friendships and connections are fluid. Before the internet, I would maybe receive a handwritten letter from a friend I met after they or I moved to a new town. This was a rare occurrence.
Now that social media is a pervasive part of our lives, I have found that I am able to remain connected to people that I got to know and care about during a moment in time when we lived in geographic proximity to each other. I can follow people as they acknowledge milestones in their and their loved one’s lives.
Through TikTok, I have learned more about non-famous people all over the world and here in the United States than I ever would have on any other platform. People who are interested in transforming our hurting world into a more healing and equitable place.
We all are continuing to bear witness to the genocide in Gaza, the Congo, Haiti, Sudan among other places, thanks to social media. Awareness has been brought to our phones. We can never again claim, “we didn’t know.”
We do know. What we do with that knowledge is part of choosing how we move forward as a collective.
The Church of the Larger Fellowship would never have the reach it does at this moment in history if it wasn’t for the internet and social media. We as the CLF are able to bear witness to the lives of our members all over the world, including our beloved incarcerated UU community.
Bearing witness is part of the ways we share stories of our lives and the lives of those we care about. Humans have been sharing these witness stories for as long as we have could communicate. It is a blessed thing to be able to bear witness to the joys, sorrows, horrors, celebrations and all that it means to be human. We will support and love each other through it all..
AISHA HAUSER, msw, cre-ml
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
I have always had a strong personality and for much of my professional life, I took that to mean that I can be a “good leader.” In time and with many experiences of leadership throughout my life and in different contexts, I have come to realize that leadership is not about telling people “what to do” or “asserting authority.” Rather, true leadership is about modeling and collaboration.
When in a position of leadership, that person is more visible to more people and what the leader does and says is under more scrutiny than others in any given system.
Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber is a Lutheran minister who has gained notoriety over the years for her progressive social views, while also being a devoted Christian and follower of the bible.
A few years ago, I attended a lecture she gave promoting one of her books and she began by talking about authenticity in leadership and how there is a lack of authentic leaders in the U.S. Bolz-Weber is almost six feet tall and has many visible tattoos. She is bold and unapologetic in how she asserts the teachings of Jesus, centering care for the under-resourced, underrepresented and targeted.
She told us that it is useless to try and hide some part of yourself when you are a faith leader, “Whatever you think you are hiding, people already know.” She was alluding to the fact that as a leader, you are always modeling and being true to yourself and others is the way to be a leader that people can and will trust.
It is hard to be both authentic and bold. In the age of social media, where people with any platform are scrutinized more than ever, it can be scary to show vulnerability and authenticity.
Even in the face of this, I assert it is important to model what it means to be true to the values and ideals you hold dear.
As a Unitarian Universalist, I have taken to heart the ways I can model what it means to center liberation, love and community care. I try to model what it means to move through the messiness of being human. I often share through my sermons and on the podcast The VUU, the ways I grapple with uncertainty, injustice and how to respond to the enormity of the ills in the world.
I almost never have any “answers,” what I do offer is what I think about and why. I offer the ways my UU faith informs how I imperfectly navigate the world. Perhaps the most important thing I do is show up authentically and with a heart full of love, grace and a determination to do what I can to bring about liberation in all I do.
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the LargerFellowship
“This being human is a guest house
Every morning is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!”
— from “The Guest House,” by Coleman Barks, based on the original poem by Jallaludin Rumi
Around the world and for many thousands of years, humans of different cultures have created rituals of sympathetic magic intended to invoke unknown powers to act in our world. This kind of spiritual work asks us to make connections between objects and actions and the ways in which we want to affect the world.
In the northern hemisphere, it is winter now, and the farther north one goes, the shorter the days become at this time of year. Where I live in the northeastern United States, the darkest days of the year, clustered around the Winter Solstice, have just over nine hours of daylight in them, a full six hours less daylight than we enjoyed in June.
Our bodies feel that difference. For some of us, it is a welcome feeling of cozy darkness as the long nights wrap us like blankets. For others, it is a dreadful feeling of loss as the light dwindles and comes at sharper angles from a sun closer to the horizon.
And the sympathetic magic that many cultures from the farthest north places have developed to face the winter involves light. We adorn trees, festoon our houses, hang lanterns, and light bonfires. We welcome the fullness of the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow. We bask in the warmth of the blazing Yule log (or the psychological warmth of its digital equivalent on our TV and computer screens).
The Christmas trees that became traditional in the United States began as pagan German celebrations, hung with dried fruits to capture the color and scent of summer and lighted softly with candles. Throughout the Northern Hemisphere, people are celebrating in ways that were designed by the ancients to convince the sun to be reborn, to return to us and give us light and warmth. And, lo and behold, it worked, every year.
And yet, we cannot escape the reality that many people greet the winter—and the many holidays celebrated at wintertime in order to bring cheer to this desolate season—with dread, with fear, and with a profound sadness that no amount of merry-twinkle lights can break. Our spiritual houses are too often visited at this time of year by the guests of grief and sadness, loneliness and fear.
Sometimes the role of the religious community is to inspire us to action. Sometimes, it’s to mark the important moments in the cycles of our life. And sometimes, religious community exists just to hold us together for a little while. Sometimes, we come together in community despite the unwelcome guests knocking at our doors. Sometimes, because of them.
We need the touchstone of community, the embrace of love, the practice of reverent stillness, in order to summon the courage to welcome in those guests. To welcome in the crowd of sorrows that persists in knocking on our door again and again, demanding a room for the night.
To welcome in those guests, though, goes against our nature. Rumi suggests to us that such guests have something to teach us if we sit with them a while. To welcome these guests in, however, doesn’t mean we have to resign ourselves to their permanent residence in our spare room. Listening to our pain and learning from it is not the same as letting it take us over.
We have to learn how to encourage these guests to move on when they’ve overstayed their welcome. Nature does this automatically. The darkness builds through the fall, and peaks at the Winter Solstice. And then the light returns. We can learn from nature, especially at the darkest time of the year.
But we have to do this work ourselves. There is no tilt to our axis that leans us away from the sun—and then towards it again as we revolve around it.
Luckily, we don’t have to do it alone.
We do it together, beloved. Together, we create winter magic. We sing, we light candles, we bear sacred witness to one another. May your life be filled with magic this winter.
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
The results of the 2024 U.S. Presidential Election have been devastating for many of us. The election of Donald Trump to a second term as President is more than worrying for all of us grounded in a commitment to love and liberation — we know that his fascist and authoritarian agenda threatens the lives and well-being of many of us and our beloveds. The following message was shared online by Rev. Dr. Michael Tino on the day after the election.
November 6, 2024
Beloveds,
I am trembling today with grief and fear. I am finding it hard to breathe, even as I force myself to focus on ways of breathing meant to calm my body. I hugged my child extra long this morning as she left for school—it was all I could do at that moment.
I am reminded again and again of my relative privilege right now. My BIPOC friends remind me that this is exactly who the United States has always been. It doesn’t make it easier. I am mourning a nation that has never really existed, and knowing that doesn’t make the grief less.
Perhaps you are feeling some of this, too. Please know that you are not alone.
At some point, we will figure out what we need to do next to protect those who are most vulnerable right now. At some point, we will be part of a movement to save the lives of those who are threatened by the fascist agenda that won the day in yesterday’s US elections. That doesn’t need to be today (even if we know it’s coming).
Right now, I am reminding myself that I am part of a faith grounded in love. A faith that always has been and always will be profoundly counter-cultural. I am leaning on my faith ancestors to guide me, and I am trusting that my faith community will rise to the challenge presented to us.
I invite you to pray with me (or center yourself, or meditate):
O love that will not let us go, remind us of your presence now.Remind us of your power now.Remind us of your tenacity now.Fill us with your strength that we might know ourselves connected to a love greater than we can imagine.For we will need that love as we move forward together. Amen.
Yours in faith,
Rev. Michael
Christina Rivera
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
Family is one of those topics that can be both celebrated and filled with tension. Sometimes at the same time! It can bring to mind images of parents, children, siblings—those bound by blood or marriage. And within a liberatory theology, family is something more. It can be a chosen, dynamic, and inclusive concept that welcomes all, just as we are. When we speak of family as Unitarian Universalists, we are called to expand our definition beyond the typical Western idea of family. We are called to understand that family is not something we have but something we build, together.
Western culture is generally considered to be an “I” culture. These cultures have characteristics in which the person is the center and include the idealized version of the nuclear family: mother, father, children. However, if we just scratch the surface of Western culture, we find the vast influences of the global Southern majority and our “We” cultures, in which the community is the center. A “We” culture includes chosen family, identity families, and community family. And while “We” culture is not as widely acknowledged; it is more widely practiced.
From the Article II Study Commission Report: a visualization of the new proposed language for Article II, defining six Unitarian Universalist Values, with the value of Love at the center. Design by Tanya Webster (chalicedays.org)
The exciting news is that our newly affirmed UU values centering Love, Justice, Equity, Transformation, Pluralism, Interdependence, and Generosity can help us in our framing of family. Family doesn’t have to be confined to those who share our DNA but rather, it can embrace those who share in the journey of life with us. In this sense, family is a covenant of love and support, a relationship defined by care, mutual respect, and shared commitment.
And in thinking about that covenant of love and looking at the “I” culture of family, we can see how it can feel limiting and sometimes even harmful. We must ask ourselves: what about those who don’t fit that mold? What about those who find their deepest sense of belonging in friendships, in chosen family, in their communities? What about family who have hurt us?
I think some of those questions can be answered if we look to the lessons from “We” culture. A culture in which family can be the person who sits beside you during difficult times, the neighbor who cares for your children when you’re in need, or the community that rallies around you in times of celebration or sorrow. These relationships are just as sacred, just as valuable, as those bound by biology.
In fact, they may be more intentional and powerful precisely because they are chosen. And they have the added benefit of being able to ask harmful people to move away from community for the time it takes for them to heal and take responsibility for actions. This isn’t a shunning, but rather in the best practice of family, accompanied by non-affected individuals, the person doing harm can have support while they seek to address the issues which led them to harm.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that “We” cultures have it all figured out and that everything is perfect and rosy. Harm still happens, conflict still exists. But still — no one is thrown away. No one is beyond the hope of God’s love. We simply understand that we don’t need to participate in harm by saying, “oh, that person is family so that’s why they get to keep doing what they do and hurting people.” Rather we say, “you need some time out of community with some folks who can help you heal so that you don’t continue to harm others.” It doesn’t always work, and that is the beauty of our UU commitment to covenant. We can keep practicing so that we do better the next time.
At its heart, family—whether born or chosen—is a covenant. It is a promise to care for one another, to show up when it’s hard, to forgive, and to grow together. As a UU community, we strive to model this kind of covenant at the CLF. We strive to be a place where individuals find the family they may not have experienced in their own lives. It is within these sacred spaces that we nurture one another, celebrate milestones, and bear witness to life’s sorrows and challenges. Our Unitarian Universalist values challenge us to constantly examine and dismantle systems of oppression that prevent people from forming families in ways that reflect their truth. Whether it’s advocating for marriage equality, defending reproductive rights, naming the ongoing genocide in Gaza, or ensuring access to healthcare and childcare, we are called to create a world where every family can thrive. We must continually ask ourselves: Who is the “We” we are talking about and centering? Who is being left out? How can we do better?
In my own life, I have found that family is not something that has stayed exactly the same from season to season. It is one that changes and requires constant attention, love, and patience. We never get it 100% right, we are always asking for grace.
In the end, family, like justice, is love made visible. It is the place where we practice our Unitarian Universalist values, where we learn what it means to live in covenant with one another. Whether through birth, choice, or circumstance, we are all called to create and nurture families that reflect the beauty of our shared humanity. And in doing so, we honor that divine spark of the holy which is within each of us and live into the beloved community that is at the heart of our faith. So say we all and amen.
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.
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
Recently, I’ve heard more and more people wondering what is the place of covenant and accountability in Unitarian Universalism. In some circles, they have become almost dirty words–signs that we are somehow abandoning the individualist faith that so many people mistakenly think we are. And yet, both of these concepts are central to our faith.
Covenant consists of the sacred promises we make to one another. It is not a fixed set of beliefs, but rather a living understanding of how we are in community together. Covenants define the practices of Unitarian Universalism as well as what we are striving to create together.
As a faith movement, our congregations are bound to each other in covenant. That covenant is expressed in Article 2 of the Unitarian Universalist Association by-laws. It lives there because covenants and by-laws, unlike creeds, are meant to be changeable. As our understanding of our faith deepens, as our understanding of our world develops, and as the circle of our faith widens to welcome in those who have too long been marginalized, we must adapt the promises that hold us together.
And so it is that our covenant has been updated recently. Rather than simply asking our congregations to “affirm and promote” principles (a phrase that I came to see as the faith analog of the meaningless phrase “thoughts and prayers”), our new covenant asks us to engage in specific actions to live our faith in the world. It asks us to understand power, how it is abused to lead to oppression and exploitation, and to actively work to dismantle those things in our world. It asks us to commit to changing, growing, and repairing damaged relationships. It asks us to create fully accessible and inclusive communities, and to embrace our differences as we learn from one another.
These are good promises, solid promises that, if we keep them, will help us center our faith in love and live from the values we claim: justice, equity, transformation, pluralism, interdependence, and generosity.
But what if we don’t keep our promises?
That’s where accountability comes in.
In 1646, the congregations in the New England colonies brought delegates together to discuss how they would be governed. The 1648 Cambridge Platform has served since then as the basis for what we call “congregational polity,” the way in which Unitarian Universalist congregations still come together. Even in 1648, congregations realized that one of their responsibilities to each other was to be able to hold each other accountable to the practices and ideals of their faith.
How this happens has changed a lot since 1648, but it has not ceased to be part of the relationship among congregations. We are collectively responsible for the covenant of our faith. And so, we have to be collectively responsible for asking our sibling UUs to be accountable to that covenant.
Accountability does not mean punishment, nor does it mean banishment, like so many people seem to fear. It does mean that we are allowed to ask each other to do better. It means that we are allowed to point out when each others’ actions fall short of the values we claim. Yes, it might mean that we are going to have to get used to giving and receiving constructive, loving criticism.
For too long, our faith has been mired in a hyper-individualism that is good for no one. We are not the faith where, as some claim, one can believe or do whatever one wants to. We are instead a faith where we proudly center our interdependence with one another, a faith that insists that none of us are in this alone.
In the back of our hymnal is an uncredited (anonymous) reading that blesses us with these words: “May we know once again that we are not isolated beings, but connected, in mystery and miracle, to the universe, to this community, and to
each other.”
To these words, I add this: May our connection to each other be grounded in covenant. May it be a connection of mutual accountability and growth. May it be a connection that helps us all live with love at the center of our lives.
Companioning One Another Through These Timesby Nicole Pressley
Organizing Strategy Director, Side With Love – Unitarian Universalist Association
On November 15, 2015, the Minneapolis Police Department killed a black man named Jamar Clark. That night, community members, organizers, and activists formed an encampment outside the Fourth Precinct to demand the release of the body camera footage and justice for Jamar Clark. For 20 days, as the Minnesota winter set in, businesses, organizations, unions, and people came together to build and sustain community. Meals were served, warm clothing was provided, and systems of care, security, and conflict resolution were designed. People danced. People sang. And people preached.
On a very late night, as many of us huddled under the propane heaters donated by the Sierra Club, Rev. Danny Givens preached a sermon about Henrietta Lacks, a black woman whose cells were used without her consent to lead to breakthroughs in science. He called us to remember the many ways in which that violation of black bodies feeds heteropatriarchal capitalism. He invited us into the powerful call to ground our work demanding justice for Jamar Clark in a broader demand to dismantle state violence and commit ourselves to black liberation.
This was the beginning of my journey into Unitarian Universalism. Rev. Danny Givens worked at Unity Church in St. Paul. At this encampment, I experienced “church” and activism in a new and powerful way that transformed my relationship to both. In my prior experience, sermons were delivered from ornate pulpits in the comfort of a building, not on a cold wet street under the threat of arrest and violence from police and white supremacists. The primary subjects were usually men whose stories felt too far away to be easily relevant to the struggles I find to be critical, as a black queer woman. Instead, he elevated the story of a black woman. Instead of focusing on salvation as a reward for our good deeds after death, he opened us up to the possibility of transformation and liberation as an urgent spiritual and political practice.
I reflected on this moment recently as I stood in solidarity with students at their encampment at Northeastern University. I was in Boston because I had the honor of being the respondent to the Minns Lecture, an annual Unitarian Universalist theological presentation, offered by Rev. Jason Lydon a few days previous. Rev. Jason spoke about the UU Service Committee’s National Moratorium on Prison Construction. He opened his remarks with the connection between the police violence against students on Emerson College’s campus and that of the cruelty of the prison system. At the Shabbat service that followed the early morning raid and arrests of Northeastern students, attendees discussed the police repression on Emory’s campus and at Stop Cop City actions in Atlanta. In the midst of this political action, the U.S. Supreme Court heard a case on the criminalization of encampments of unhoused people across the country. With the Court’s ruling in favor of criminalization, students at elite universities and their unhoused neighbors will sit in the same jails, with the same charges, and for different reasons with vastly different resources. I think about how our jails will fill with trans people, medical professionals, and people seeking abortions, because life-saving care is also criminalized.
“If they take you in the morning, they will be come for us that night.”
—James Baldwin
Baldwin wrote these words on November 19, 1970 in a letter to Angela Davis in solidarity after her arrest. These words are not a warning like those we usually hear, “you’ll be next,” or, “first they came for…”. It is an understanding. Baldwin knows, deeply, that being targeted by the state can happen to anyone who finds themselves out of favor with those in power. LGBTQ, BIPOC, and disabled people, union organizers, sex workers, the unhoused, even women in bathing suits have found themselves the target of state based violence.
Criminalization as a tactic is not new, yet under increasingly fascist conditions in this country, we may find the connections between our struggles more easily.
As I wrote in this year’s 30 Days of Love, a project of the UUA’s Side with Love campaign: “before criminalization becomes a political tactic of disconnection and domination, it is first a spiritual acquiescence to dehumanization and disposability. We deny a moral mandate of mutuality in search of the protection of power over others.” Too often, we take up solidarity in a reaction to a threat. We use it as a political strategy, attempting to build larger coalitions as a means to pass or block legislation or win some other material demand for our communities. I hope that instead, like Baldwin, we can begin to know in our bones that our liberation is inextricably bound — that maybe, we are not just all we have, but we, together, are all we need.
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.
Interaction Institute for Social Change | Artist: Angus Maguire.
Perhaps you have seen the widespread cartoon image that illustrates the difference between “equality” and “equity” [above]. First drawn in 2012 by Dr. Craig Froehle, it shows two panels. In each, three people of varying heights are trying to watch a baseball game over a fence, and they have three crates to stand on. In the scenario labeled “equality,” everyone gets one crate, which allows the tallest person to tower over the fence, but the smallest person still can’t see the game. In the scenario labeled “equity,” the crates are distributed so that everyone can see over the fence.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this cartoon as Unitarian Universalists discuss naming equity as one of the core values of our faith. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about why there is a wooden fence in the first place, and about all of the people in the stands whose access to the game doesn’t depend on the distribution of crates.
If someone were to attend the game in a wheelchair, they’d need more than crates to see over the fence. They’d need an expensive ticket, and a ballpark policy that carves out appropriate and desirable places for wheelchairs to be. (It is purely coincidental but illustrative that this week, a friend who uses a wheelchair and loves baseball took to Facebook to decry the ways in which several major league teams make it harder for him to attend games by putting additional steps in place if one wants to buy a wheelchair-accessible seat.)
It seems to me that true equity is that everyone has access to the game in a way that fits their bodies and brains and not their wallets or the willingness of someone to give them a temporary boost.
It wasn’t until I decided to write about this cartoon, though, that I learned that its original creator researches inequities in healthcare. This makes the difference between getting into the ballpark and trying to see over the fence even more stark. For too many people, inequity leads to death.
I have hope that our Unitarian Universalist embrace of equity will be deeper and more meaningful than a cartoon. Part of the proposed language for what would be our core values reads that “we covenant to use our time, wisdom, attention, and money to build and sustain fully accessible and inclusive communities.”
If we are really serious about equity, then, we will work to make our communities—inside and outside of our congregations—fully accessible and inclusive.
This means accessible and inclusive to all bodies. This means accessible and inclusive to different ways that brains work. This means accessible and inclusive to people with different financial means. That means accessible and inclusive to people with histories of trauma and also those who are imprisoned.
It also means that Unitarian Universalists are called to understand ourselves as part of accessible and inclusive communities, so that when we build structures that allow everyone to be part of things, they don’t come across as unfair or unequal.
Have you ever complained that someone else got a crate to see over the fence, even if you didn’t need one? Sadly, over my years as a minister I’ve fielded way too many similar complaints.
Instead, let us tear down that fence and let everyone into the game. Let’s create space where we can all have the place we need to participate, and where we don’t resent the full participation of others.
What does it mean to value equity? How does it look?
Darrell
CLF Member, incarcerated in CA
To be honest, at first I thought this theme might be about real estate. Then my mind switched gears and I began to grasp the foundational meaning of the word equity — value! Upon taking the backseat of my life’s vehicle (I tend to let the Universe do the driving nowadays), I’ve become more conscious of our society in regards to our behavior towards ourselves and others.
When I was in my late teens, an older guy once told me, “people that live in lower class environments are blind to their true worth and potential.” Hopefully this same individual has come to the realization that this imaginary blindfold can be worn by individuals from all walks of life, expanding all over the planet. Do we exhibit self-value when we fill our bodies up with harmful narcotics? Are we expressing our self-value by overindulging and drinking alcoholic beverages? Is self-value being shown by the clothes we wear, cars we drive, people we socialize with, and the amount of money we possess? What is self-value anyway? Does self-value (or acknowledging that you have self-value) determine how you treat or value others?
Someone asked me a few years ago if I would rather be loved or valued. What a profound question! Not knowing the meaning of self-value back then, I decided to choose love, because I was ten times more familiar with its existence. If you were to ask me that same question right now, I would say both — but overall, I would rather be valued.
Why? Consider the society that we all are experiencing together. This country runs off capitalism. I hear people say, “money isn’t everything,” and I would concur. But let’s be honest with ourselves for a moment: everything you need to survive in this society only becomes available through the exchange of currency (food/clothing/shelter). This economy has a strong influence over its inhabitants that leads them to place value on people, places, and things when, in all actuality, the majority of those objects (or subjects) have no value at all.
Let’s face it, everybody might not love their boss, but we all value our paycheck because it helps pay our bills, provides clothes for our children, keeps gas in our cars, and so on and so on. This emotion that we call love can be fleeting at times. We all know what it feels like but half of us have a hard time expressing it, because of fear of getting hurt or it not being reciprocated. Some of us don’t even know what love looks like when other people display it to us through their actions. I see way more conditional love then I see unconditional love (which is true love).
This is my suggestion on what I believe this country needs to place value in: God/higher power/nature/knowledge/wisdom/and understanding of various aspects of the Universe and how we correlate to them. We need to place value in our physical well-being, mental well-being, emotional and spiritual well-being and the well-being of our Mother Earth. We need to place value in positive, powerful, and uplifting beliefs about ourselves and others, and build a positive attitude towards life, self, and others. We need to value unconditional love, family ties, real friends, discovering one’s purpose in life — and so much more.
As I continue to build equity in my life experience, I am forced to go with the flow of the collective consciousness that sees value in some of the most ridiculous things. I will never confirm their beliefs, nor will I condemn them. I will only adapt and use my awareness of this knowledge in a way that will empower me and along the path towards true prosperity. We are all more than worthy!
Kathleen
CLF member, incarcerated in VA
First, let us look at what equity means.. Webster’s dictionary defines equity as: the quality, state, or ideal of being just, fair and impartial. The first thing that stands out to me in that definition is the word ideal. I’ve been feeling a lot lately that as Americans, we are not living up to our ideals, equity being one of them. I feel that this is because we are often alienated from one another due to our so-called differences. I think that equity means putting aside our differences and looking through them, to the throbbing, pulsing, living divinity that exists in each one of us.
Equity means that I want for you what I want for myself. Equity is not selfish. As a trans woman of color, I think the more we fight for equity, the more it becomes exacerbated in the media, and people become fatigued by slogans. Many people are tired of hearing us rally for justice in an unjust world. So what do we do, where do we turn?
I think the key is trying to relate to each person, even when they do not want to relate to us – whoever they are. Because in the big picture, it really isn’t us vs. them. It’s just us. I think it’s time for the world to see that.
Seamus Vonn-Jernigan
CLF member, incarcerated in OR
Oh Great Creator,
We are humbled to have been created by you and to witness your creativity flow through us daily. We understand that we are your instruments of peace, play and innovation, and intend to funnel your imagination through our very existence.
We are your hands, that sculpt the clay and paint the canvas.
We are your eyes, that capture a photograph and perfect a design.
We are your ears, listening to the harmonies among the song of birds, crash of waves, cries of babies and the wisp of the wind.
We are your feet, that dance across the stage, and your arms, that conduct a symphony.
We are your words, that form haiku and fill pages to create great novels.
We are your voice, that sings in the choir and whispers our prayers
at night.
We are your laugh, that fosters joy and heals our souls.
We are your mind, that seeks the truth and guides us to think
objectively.
We are your heart, that allows us to love our neighbors and forgive our enemies.
We are your spirit, that shepherds us to share peace and compassion with each person we meet and to extend grace to all, especially those who appear to deserve it the least, as they need it the most.
We are your creation, and your creativity lives on through us.
What we dream in our minds, help us to believe in our hearts. What we believe in our hearts, help us to cultivate in our lives.
In the name of the Great Creator,
Amen.
When I think about transformation, I often think of when people say they had a “transformational experience,” or when, as religious professionals, we look for the ways in which ministry can be transformational for our congregants.
And it gets me thinking: What is all this transformation about? In my experience, a lot of people really don’t like change. Even people who say they want to be “transformed” also can really not like change! Why would we seek that which we can’t actually embrace? I tend to think it is because our entire human experience is leading to an ultimate transformation which we cannot know the result: death. So sometimes we are, at best, ambivalent, and other times outright hostile to change.
Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower is one of my favorite books about Change. Because in the book she explores the idea that God is not some distant almighty spirit, but rather the very up close and real experience of Change (capital C.) What an exciting idea to explore! Her most often quoted refrain from the book, and that which the central characters revolve, is “All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth is Change. God is Change.”
When I first read that phrase as a young adult, it blew my mind! I loved it. I loved the capitalizations which conveyed the idea that what we’re reading in the capitalized word carried with it the reverence of the word God. Here was a religion I could get behind. The idea that I could continually be both transformational and transformed?! Wow!
This idea helped me look at the changes in my young adult life in a new way. It helped me realize that while there was change that I couldn’t control, I could still make that change part of my life. And it helped me realize that I had a deep responsibility for the Change that I created in the world. That Butler chose to capitalize the Y in “All that you touch You Change” was something I thought about frequently. That I continue to think about when faced with difficult situations and decisions.
In Parable of the Sower, the people who couldn’t change, couldn’t adapt, those who desperately clung to racism, sexism, and fascism, did not survive the new climate changed landscape. They met the ultimate Transformation while resisting the very changes which could have helped their survival. And when I think about the difficulties we face as Unitarian Universalists, I think about what it is we are resisting and could those things be the very things that can prepare us for survival?
In creating the community structures of Parable of the Sower, Butler relies heavily on the community building foundations seen in the “We” culture communities in which she was raised. “We” culture communities in the U.S. are most often found in Black, Latinx, Asian, and Indigenous peoples as well as other BIPOC communities. Among many “We” cultural values, most strikingly, the requirement of putting group needs ahead of the individual needs is foundational in Parable of the Sower.
So I wonder: What would it look like to put the needs of our entire faith community ahead of our individual needs? What are the needs of Unitarian Universalism at large? How do we meet those needs even when it feels like we are not getting what we want as individuals? This feels a lot like the conversations which are going on right now around the proposed changes to the UU Principles and Sources, often referred to as Article II.
As we’ve written about in recent issues of Quest, our denomination is in the process of adopting new language to articulate and ground our faith community. This new language is framed as seven UU values: Justice, Equity, Transformation, Pluralism, Interdependence, Generosity and Love.
I wonder if haven’t we actually already made these changes in spirit. Haven’t we already touched, and thus Changed how we practice Unitarian Universalism? What if the proposed changes — the new UU values — are simply the language catching up to the spirit of Unitarian Universalism?
Perhaps we have already touched and been Changed. Because in the end, Change cannot be successfully resisted but it certainly can be influenced. And we can do so together. ′
How do we remain open to change and transformation?
JACK
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
Transforming is the action of changing every day, and each and every one of us is witness to transforming experiences whether we know it or not.
For those of us in prison: we meet new inmates, new staff. We are exposed to expressions of concern, love, happiness, sadness, sorrow, and even fear. Every one of our senses meets something new or different, something we had not noticed before, something we had not heard before or smelled before, and we can be open to being transformed by them.
So often we think over the years that nothing is new, and prison life never changes; one day in prison can seem like any other. You know what day it is only by what food is served. But each day is new, each day is different. Each day has the opportunity for us to think differently, discover something new, something we didn’t know before. You may discover someone you had only passed in the hall, someone different from those you talk with every day.
Journaling is one of the best ways of always looking for that one thing, that one day that was new. It may be the one thing that transformed your day into something different, or that offered you the opportunity to be transformed in ways we had never thought possible. Use your senses. Look around. Let your mind out of the cell around you. Let your thoughts roam. Dare to be transformed, to welcome change.
JACOB
CLF Member, incarcerated in AR
Being open to change and transformation is an important part of growing spiritually, maturing and succeeding in life. Transformation is to change or alter in some way shape or form. To remain open to this means to put yourself in situations, to experience new things, to learn — especially to learn of other cultures and religions and practice the knowledge you’ve gained.
By keeping your mind open, you stay open to growth, change, and transformation, but you have to want to.
JASON
CLF member, incarcerated in IL
Transformation is an interesting word, especially for someone who has been in institutions for as long as I have.
As I write the word transformation, it makes me think of who and what I used to be. When I was younger, I was full of hate and fear. I acted impulsively and reacted to what people said or did towards me, which got me into a lot of trouble, as well as a number of fights.
Now, I’m no longer filled with hate, and though I still have some fears, they are nowhere near as bad as the ones I used to have. Now, instead of reacting to what people say or do, I take a mental step back, think things through, and then respond to them.
Now, because of the changes I have made and continue to make as I work to transform myself into the person I want to be, my life is a lot less stressful than it could be.
Frances Koziar
CLF member
Our transformations
are our own, paths we choose
but are never forced to take.
What doesn’t kill you does notmake you stronger, but—
you can choose for it to,
learn lessons from your suffering
that help you create what you believe in.
And those transformations are yours
to be proud of, no one
gets to take credit for the good inside of you
or the skills you have worked on, especially
not those who have abused you.
Because you choose your self
if not your path, and that has always
been your strength.
Kay Anderst
CLF Member, incarcerated in KS
When I read that April’s theme was Transformation, I decided that it was time to share my story with the world for the first time. 2024 is a big year for me, as I have begun the Male to Female (MtF) transition process. It took a lot of prayer and soul searching to get to where I am now.
My journey begins in rural South Dakota. My parents are immigrants, I am a first generation American. We are of Eastern European and Jewish descent, so old Testament laws and morals were imprinted into me as I grew up. There was right and there was wrong with no shades of gray or alternate choices. The result of this strict upbringing was inner turmoil as I got older. I saw that my orientation and gender identity were not compatible with what I had been taught.
How can God love me, I thought, when every thought and action I took were tainted by sin? Why did He make me so broken, so against everything He wanted mankind to be? These questions haunted me every time I tried to pray.
In my 20s I turned away from God completely, going years without a single prayer. I embraced a bisexual identity and found a measure of happiness. After a time, I figured out that I was transgender, and it was only then did the pieces start to fall into place.
I was then angry with God. How could he do this to me? Was he asleep at the switch the day I was born?
My turning point came when a woman I was dating told me something. She said that God didn’t make mistakes, and that He put me here on earth because she liked girls like me. I was like this to be there to love her. Something else she pointed out was that there were millions like me, all through history. Would God have allowed so many of us to be made if not by his will?
This happened right before I came to prison. While it helped me make the final decision to make the MtF conversion, I have spent the last 4 years in hiding, biding my time until I felt it was safe enough to come out into the light. While difficult, God has helped me through this dark time. My personal relationship with Him is the strongest it’s been in my entire life.
So now is my time for change and transformation. It’s not an overnight process; in fact it will take a couple years. I will face many challenges ahead, but I know that what I do is by design. This is what He wanted of me. This place, this prison, is no longer my place of confinement.
It is now God’s tool of transformation and change. I am right where I need to be. I will emerge from this cocoon in 2 years and like a butterfly, I will be free to live the life and be the woman he always wanted me to be.
If anyone reading this is contemplating similar choices, or has been down this road before, your welcome to share your story with me.
You may contact me at: Kay Anderst 18611-273, PO Box 1000 USP 2, Leavenworth, KS 66048.
Gary
CLF Member, incarcerated in NC
Without darkness, nothing is born;
Out of the midst of despair,
a flame is kindled — hope.
Prison can be a tomb,
or a womb.
A cocoon of transformation,
the darkness
becoming a metamorphosis.
A triumph born of adversity,
giving no counsel to the fear.
The alchemy of hope,
determination to survive.
A refusal to live in shame,
dwell in fear,
countenance hate.
Tenacity of the indomitable
human spirit
To tunnel under enemy lines
planting mine fields of
compassion, belief, strength,
will, unity,
To forever replace prejudice,
intolerance, mistrust.
Transformation occurs
in the darkest of places.
To all members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, Unitarian Universalist:
Per Article VII, Sections 1 and 2, of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Bylaws, the 51st Annual Meeting will be held via video/telephone conference call and screen sharing on Sunday, June 16, 2024 at 6:45PM EDT/3:45PM PDT. RSVP to attend the meeting at www.clfuu.org/joinannualmeeting.
All those who have access to the Internet or phone are encouraged to join our meeting via Zoom and participate in the discussion. Meeting materials will include absentee ballots for those unable to attend in person. Please send your ballots to our office at the address on the ballot so we receive them no later than Friday 6/14/24 to ensure your vote can be included in our process..
We will send the meeting materials in April. All incarcerated members will automatically be sent paper copies of the meeting materials and do not need to send us a materials request form. All free world members will be automatically be emailed the materials as an electronic document. If we don’t have an email address we will send a printed copy. Meeting materials will also be posted on our website (www.clfuu.org/annualmeeting). Free world members who would prefer a printed copy sent to them may request that by sending back the form on the final page of this issue of Quest, or calling the CLF office at 617-948-6150.
The purpose of the meeting is to:
– Report on highlights of CLF activities and finances
– Vote for the following leadership positions (see nominations from Nominating Committee in the packet):
· Elect three members to 3-year terms on the board of directors,
· Elect one member to 2-year term on the board of directors to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,
· Elect one member to 1-year term on the board of directors to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,
· Elect one member to a 3-year term on the nominating committee,
· Elect one member to a 1-year term on the nominating committee to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,,
· Elect a clerk and treasurer for one year
We will elect a moderator from among members present to preside at the meeting.
One of the important tasks we undertake as a congregation is voting for our elected leadership, and my hope is that as many members of the congregation will participate as possible.
Aisha Ansano, Board Chair
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.
What does it mean to be pluralistic in our beliefs?
Jack
CLF member, incarcerated in MA
Is God an old man in flowing robes with a long beard who looks down from on high? A Lord and Lady offering blessings to those in worshiping circles? A pantheon of Gods, each representing another face of a Supreme Being? Or Gaia, Mother Earth, in which we and all were created?
Is Jesus a prophet? The long awaited Messiah? A forerunner of Mohammed? An issuer of great wisdoms like the Buddha? On the son of a supreme being — but then aren’t we all sons and daughters of the Supreme Being?
Is Heaven a place of pearly gates, streets of gold, food aplenty, where we all learn to play harps and praise our God; a place where all earthly pleasures are ours? Is Hell a place of fire and brimstone, a land of ice and perpetual cold, where our earthly bodies are eternally tormented?
Is Heaven and Hell the legacy we leave behind, the kindnesses we showed, the ones we befriended, fought, touched, challenged to be better, to show love for all? Or is it the pain we left behind to be suffered generation after generation?
Does it really matter? Does it really matter how we envision a thing beyond human comprehension? Does it really matter what happens to our earthly bodies after death? Does it matter what name we use for those forces of creation?
Names come and go. Visions change as our lives change and evolve from a primitive society living on the land to a people of computers, space travel, and seeking to understand the stars.
What does matter is how we lived our lives, how we respected each other, and how we had reverence for all creation of the heavens and the earth. What does matter is not what we will gain or suffer after death but the legacy we leave for future generations. Will they show the love we shared or the pain we caused?
The future of and those who live beyond us is not written in stone—yet—but you are the sculptor with the hammer and chisel who will write it. What will you write?
Jacob
CLF Member, incarcerated in AR
Pluralistic is, by definition, holding to the doctrine of pluralism, which is accepting and embrace diversity in all of its forms. The act of accepting and encouraging diversity leads to a better acceptance and love for others. It helps us to remember the fact that the Divine is Love; accepting others and their differences is a step to acting in Love and embodying the true essence of Love.
A Utopian Crucible
Lauren Silverwolf
CLF member, incarcerated in TX
Oxford defines pluralism as, “the acceptance within a society of a number of groups with different beliefs or ethnic backgrounds.” This does not sound like the world we live in today, but it does sound like somewhere I would bleed to see become a reality.
I joined the U.S. Army at the age of 18, straight out of high school. I was an Airborne Infantryman, and I swore to defend the Constitution. What I wanted was to defend the principles of being truly free, of being accepting of all who came to us, and of being what we proclaimed ourselves to be in word, although never truly in deed. I would love nothing more, and I would serve again to defend a truly pluralistic society.
I would like to introduce two more terms to define what this would look like: utopia and crucible. Again, we go to Oxford: utopia is defined as, “an imagined world or society where everything is perfect,” and crucible is defined as, “a container in which metals or other substances may be melted or heated.”
This may seem completely out of context, but think of a society like the crucible. If we melt together, we become one out of many, and if we could coexist in this manner, most of our reasons for war or violence would diminish, creating a utopia. Pluralism seems far off, to my eye at least, but I believe it is achievable. The day we see it, we live truly in a Utopian Crucible.
Chaos and Concord battle in the collective mind.
Chaos whispers to every tribe, religion, and race
“Fear ‘the other’
They covet your power
They envy your advantage.”
She sings to each group,
“You’re the stronger, the higher, the better,
You’re the blessed. Privilege is your right.”
Concord’s small voice speaks of equity, justice and peace.
“Like us, ‘the other’ has tradition, history, community, art.
Like us, they are right to exist.”
“No,” cries Chaos.
“Only the strong, the worthy, the majority can rule.
The vote is your modern weapon for keeping them at bay.
If you cannot defeat them,
feign tolerance to hide your enmity while you bide your time.”
“Tolerance is not enough,” Concord interjects.
“We must be happy for them and their community.
Erasing a culture is not up for ballot.
We can’t hide our violence and bias behind popular votes.
It kills freedom, feeds Chaos, it is cruel.”
“Conquest and conformity,” Chaos asserts,
“is the only way to happiness.”
“Belief that, someday, all will accept the same beliefs,
the same god, the same history,
only perpetuates sadness and despair.”
Concord challenges,
“pursuit of happiness is not by forced acceptance.
Happiness grows
by being happy for each other,
by supporting each other’s spiritual growth,
by helping each other build meaning,
by trying to understand and encourage all those around us.”
May Concord’s voice be heard.
The Unitarian Universalist Society of San Francisco hangs this banner in support of a permanent ceasefire now. The banner is from the Interfaith coalition of Faith Communities across the San Francisco Bay Area. Photo credit: Aisha Hauser
Recently, several people have taken the time to write to us about the ways in which we talk about Israel and Gaza, especially on our weekly talk show, Voices of Unitarian Universalism (aka The VUU). I thought that our wider community would be interested in my response.
It is correct to say that the CLF Lead Ministry Team has taken a clear stance on the current state of the conflict. We believe strongly that the preservation of life is the value that should be most paramount. I have been taught by Jewish teachers that this value is in line with the highest teachings of Judaism. We believe that all lives are worthy of preservation, even if all lives are not equally threatened by violence at present.
We also believe strongly that those with the most power to preserve life have the most obligation to do so. On a recent show of The VUU, my co-minister Christina Rivera eloquently spoke about the power imbalance present right now in Gaza, and why our stance is that Israel needs to be responsible for a cease-fire. Some have noted that Chris made them think; for this we are grateful.
We have not taken a stance on Zionism, nor will we; it is simply not our place as non-Jewish people. We understand why criticizing the actions of the State of Israel might make it seem as if we have done so, but we are clear that the actions of Israel are not on behalf of Jewish people everywhere. We have strongly opposed anti-Semitism in all of its forms, as we oppose all forms of hatred, oppression, and violence.
We have invited Jewish UUs onto the show who share our viewpoint on the abhorrent ways in which current Israeli leadership is dehumanizing Palestinians, abrogating treaty obligations, and murdering innocents. To be frank, we don’t want to feature voices who might support that. I don’t think that academically debating the term “genocide” is worthwhile as hospitals and refugee camps are being bombed. It’s a strong word on purpose.
We are committed to continuing this dialogue in the future. We are working on having Jewish UUs speak on The VUU about the ways in which anti-Semitism is rearing its ugly head around the world. When we do so, we will invite people who have been chosen by Jewish UU communities as leaders.
We hope that the CLF community appreciates the values with which we have come to these positions. We hope that you will continue to let us know how we can live out those values, when we agree and when we disagree with each other.
To all members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, Unitarian Universalist:
Per Article VII, Sections 1 and 2, of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Bylaws, the 51st Annual Meeting will be held via video/telephone conference call and screen sharing on Sunday, June 16, 2024 at 6:45PM EDT/3:45PM PDT. RSVP to attend the meeting.
All those who have access to the Internet or phone are encouraged to join our meeting via Zoom and participate in the discussion. Meeting materials will include absentee ballots for those unable to attend in person. Please send your ballots to our office at the address on the ballot so we receive them no later than Friday 6/14/24 to ensure your vote can be included in our process.
We will send the meeting materials in April. All incarcerated members will automatically be sent paper copies of the meeting materials and do not need to send us a materials request form. All free world members will be automatically be emailed the materials as an electronic document. If we don’t have an email address we will send a printed copy. Meeting materials will also be posted on our website. Free world members who would prefer a printed copy sent to them may request that by sending back the form on the final page of this issue of Quest, or calling the CLF office at 617-948-6150.
The purpose of the meeting is to:
– Report on highlights of CLF activities and finances
– Vote for the following leadership positions (see nominations from Nominating Committee in the packet):
· Elect three members to 3-year terms on the board of directors,
· Elect one member to 2-year term on the board of directors to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,
· Elect one member to 1-year term on the board of directors to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,
· Elect one member to a 3-year term on the nominating committee,
· Elect one member to a 1-year term on the nominating committee to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,,
· Elect a clerk and treasurer for one year
We will elect a moderator from among members present to preside at the meeting.
One of the important tasks we undertake as a congregation is voting for our elected leadership, and my hope is that as many members of the congregation will participate as possible.
Aisha Ansano, Board Chair
Interdependence has been a central concept to our Unitarian Universalist faith since our current principles were adopted in 1985, and yet, too often Unitarian Universalists have focused on the implications this has for our relationship with the natural world around us, without understanding that we, too, are part of that web.
What does it mean to acknowledge our place in the web of all existence?
Our Universalist ancestors taught us that we all end up in the same place when we die. Centuries ago, they meant that all souls would be in heaven, but I like to expand this theology and filter it through my scientific brain.
I am regularly stopped in my tracks by the unfathomable beauty of this notion that we are inextricably bound to one another. All of our being ends up in the very same place when we die—the same place it came from in the first place, the same pool of atoms and energy that has created all life since the formation of our Earth, the same protons and neutrons that will create all life for the duration of our planet’s existence.
We are one with the stars. With the planets. With the oceans and mountains and ice caps. With the forests and the deserts and the fauna running through them. We are also one with one another. This unity of existence has profound implications for how we live. We need to learn together to make decisions that consider the other beings with whom we share our fragile planet.
The theological notion of interdependence exists in relationship with other parts of who we are, and the most important has yet to be inserted into our principles. The most important concept that interdependence relies upon is accountability.
When we are accountable to someone or something, we hold ourselves responsible to them. When we are accountable, we allow others to measure our success. In justice work, we talk about accountability to those who are most vulnerable, those who are oppressed, those who are the targets of discrimination and hatred.
When we practice accountability in justice work, we take instructions from those who are most effected by the work we are doing. When we practice accountability, we learn to live the tenets of interdependence.
We understand that climate change is changing our oceans. Carbon dioxide is acidifying them, hotter temperatures are melting ice and causing sea level rise. We understand that we are interdependent with the beings of the ocean, and that our fate as humanity requires that we address their fate.
What does it mean to be accountable to them, though? What does it mean to be accountable to the people of Kiribati, whose island nation is disappearing under the sea? How do we live understanding that our actions might determine whether or not they have a home in a decade?
We understand that modern agricultural systems are wreaking havoc on our planet, on its soil, on its beings, on pollinators and birds and animals. We feel our interdependence with the earth when we eat. What does it mean to be accountable to this knowledge? How do we change our behaviors to take into account the needs of those most vulnerable to this change?
At CLF, we also understand that the addiction of dominant U.S. culture to mass incarceration is a direct descendant of the systems of oppression that founded this country. The United States began with slavery and genocide and continued into an era of terrorism at the hands of private individuals, and now it is the government itself practicing that violence.
We ask ourselves often what it means to be accountable to our incarcerated siblings, who are the targets of this violence. We ask ourselves often what it means to be accountable to Black and brown communities torn apart by systems of injustice. And now we are asking how our larger faith movement might be accountable to the voices of our incarcerated UU members. It changes the way we do things to practice that accountability.
I have heard some recently say that accountability is something they fear—because accountability requires those of us with power in this world to exercise that power as power-with, and not as power-over. It requires us to take directions, to listen, to understand relationship.
Instead of being something to fear, however, I invite us to think about accountability as the way in which we live our commitment to interdependence.
How do you relate to and honor interdependence?
DAVID
CLF member, incarcerated in AR
I find this concept to be new and exciting. Throughout my life I’ve been taught to depend on God and family only when I need help through hard times and to help those in need, but with the undertone of looking down on them, because they didn’t have family like I did to support them. In prison, my family is not here to help me, so I must make a place in my heart for my fellow prisoners, and accept their help as I also help them.
Through sharing this newsletter and talking about what I learn through the CLF, I have found people I can create a community with, and be interdependent with. We lean on each other by learning together through this church and community in written letters. We devour our mail from the CLF as soon as we get it, and can’t wait to get a pen pal (hopefully one from Boston, since the Red Sox and the Patriots are my two favorite teams!).
Connectedness
JOSEPH
CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
“Every man and every woman is a star.” Those words, from Aleister Crowley’s Liber AL vel Legis, illustrates both the simplicity and complexity of the human condition. We are all special and unique, and are part of the larger cosmic dynamic set in place at creation. While special and unique, humanity must remember that they are not the center of everything, that the energy of others is necessary for vital existence.
Animism states that everything is alive and interconnected. This is true in the objective and subjective sense, in the microcosm as well as the macrocosm. We do not think twice about swatting a mosquito that bites or annoys us, but even those creatures play their part in the world. One may wonder how he/she/they are connected to the planet Jupiter, for example, as that planet is so far away from us on Earth. However, the universe is ordered. Jupiter is a sort of shield for Earth, taking hits from meteors that would end life on Earth. What benefit Jupiter receives from Earth is, as far as I know, unknown. However, because the universe is ordered, and reciprocity is one of the highest laws, one can rest assured that Jupiter also benefits.
The connectedness of humans comes through largely on the sociological scale. “People need people,” as the saying goes. However, the exchange goes far deeper than mere sociological “obligations.” People need people because nothing happens in a vacuum. We need each other to work out ideas, create the next generation, and bring about progress. These things all sound sociological, but in reality, they are the building blocks which enabled society in the first place. We not only need each other personally, we need each other professionally.
Remember, everything is alive and interconnected. As the form of creation with the highest ability to reason (as far as we know), humans are charged with recognizing our connectedness to the rest of creation, and being good stewards. Show me any religion, and I will show you the mandate for humanity’s stewardship. However, we must start with ourselves. If we cannot recognize and utilize our connectedness with each other as humans, the rest of creation will suffer.
Every human deserves the respect of every other human, and until the day this truth becomes manifest, our interdependence will remain a shadow of what it could be. Crowley’s formula, based in the Greek word Thelemn, stated: love is the law. Love under will. How strong is your will? Strong enough to hold the basic law of love? Reconcile your head and your heart, and you will find true connectedness with the rest of humanity, the world, and the universe.
Nambi Pambi
CLF member, based in TX
A girl with a curl and a ton of sass
Went
to class.
Killed in (and by) NYC,
She quit the act
To teach the facts
In Chi – Shy town.
Having no idea that even though the earth was round,
A person without a net
could still fall off.
Sissy pushed
And pushed
The stone up the hill of affiliation by achievement.
And then, She thrashed, and
She crashed, and
Her fragile health fell into a million pieces of relationships,
Broken by unavoidable need, ugly crying, and underutilized potential.
Oversharing, overcompensating, and
Overwhelming disability took care of the rest.
With characteristic persistence she fought to file down the jagged edges,
to pivot on the axes of former privilege
until they were smooth again,
And all her,
Again.
To no avail.
“If you have your health”… they say.
But what do they say next?
Now she says, some day, you’ll all understand.
Some day you will all need more than an occasional hand.
What a world we live in;
The definition of a support system,
or its politicization
or vilification
or our procrastination
because we are all so busy resisting.
Everyone has a battle to fight, a bullet to bite, a goal,
in sight.
But nonetheless,
She is going blind.
Who will be her eyes.
TIA
CLF member, incarcerated in KY
Love is the wish for all human beings to have happiness. Compassion is the wish for all human beings to be free of suffering and what causes suffering. Prejudice and being judgmental alienates us from each other. A quote from Mother Theresa captures this well: “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”
The monk and theologian Thomas Merton also spoke to this, saying, “the whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all living beings, which are all part of one another and all involved in one another.”
Spiritual practices like meditation and prayer can be used as tools to calm our mind, make us more peaceful, eliminate worry, develop concentration and understanding, as well as control our anger and jealousies, and rid us of negative actions and guilt. It is a tool of transformation; by taking the time to reflect on ourselves and our faults, we can change them.
How you treat someone is dependent on you, and you are only responsible for your actions, not everyone else’s. You can choose to change or transform anything you don’t like about yourself. You choose who you are and also who you associate with.
Many of us were reminded of the central role of community and chosen family in our lives by the articles by Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera in the most recent issue of the Worthy Now Newsletter. I was forced to create my own chosen family starting in 1990, when I was disowned by my family of origin for coming our as LGBTQ. I’m male to female transgender, and I’m not a devout Catholic, which didn’t earn me any familial credits. Since then, I’ve seen no one, and not been invited to any family functions, or been notified of any births, weddings, or deaths. Looking back at this time, my one regret is not finding the Church of the Larger Fellowship or Unitarian Universalism earlier — though I know I may not have been ready to join the community at that time, given the long spiritual journey I’ve been on and the religions and philosophies I’ve studied in the time past 30 years.
Prayer now helps me to center myself in love and compassion. I’d like to offer a prayer that may also speak to you:
Prayer for World Peace
Peace be spread throughout the Earth!
May the orient express peace,
May peace come from the East and go West,
May peace come from the North and go South,
And circle the world around!
May the garments of the Earth,
Be in the place to magnify the Divine.
In this day and hour of this night,
May the world abide in an aura of Divine Peace.
General Assembly (GA) is the annual gathering of UUs from churches across the country to worship together, learn together and make decisions about how we run the association of congregations, and what we stand for as an association of congregations. GA 2024 will be held fully online from June 20-23, 2024 and will include worship, speakers, access to on-demand workshops, and sessions for association business (called General Sessions) that this year will include discussion and voting on the new proposed Article II of the UUA bylaws.
While anyone can attend GA, only congregational delegates can vote on association business. The CLF is entitled to 22 GA delegates. GA General Sessions will be held on 6/20 from 1–2pm and 5–6pm ET, on 6/21 and 6/22 from 2:30–5pm ET, and on 6/23 from 3–5pm ET. Delegates should be able to be online to attend the majority of these General Sessions live. CLF delegates vote their conscience on matters related to the denomination of Unitarian Universalism, and are responsible for their own expenses. There is no registration fee for delegates who are attending business portion of GA (General Sessions) only and not the worship and programs.
If you’d like to participate in GA 2024 as a CLF delegate, please fill out the online application at clfuu.org/delegate-application. Rev. Michael will be leading a training for CLF GA delegates later in the spring. For more information about General Assembly, visit www.uua.org/ga.
Recently a Young Adult Unitarian Universalist I know asked me “I know Love is at the center of our faith but how the hell am I supposed to love my oppressor?!” This is such a good question. As we embark on a new year with the knowledge a genocide is happening on one hand and constant consumer messaging on the other, how do we center Love?
To be clear, there are as many different kinds of love as there are grains of sand on a beach. Family love, friend love, partner love, pet love, etc. But when we talk about Love being at the center of our faith, the most relevant love is called Agape Love. Agape Love is known for its qualities of empathy and sacrifice. It wants the best for everyone and is intended for everyone. In the Christian faith, from which both Unitarianism and Universalism was born, it is the love God extends to us and the reciprocal love we extend to God. That love includes all things and all people. It is a covenant of unending care.
What Agape Love is not is absolution. It does not mean that we do not hold each other accountable for wrongs. It does not mean we do not name a genocide as a genocide. It does not even mean we have to like one another. We can go so far as to hate someone and still find Agape Love for them. This is because even in our hatred we still must see the humanity in the other person. Even if they have acted in inhumane ways, Agape Love, our UU Love, calls us to uphold their worth and dignity as we hold them accountable for the terrors they have committed. See the difference there, we can hold people accountable and uphold their humanity. We can Love them.
So after I got through that mini sermon, of course this UU had more to say! Here’s a replay of the rest of our conversation:
young adult: So I can tell them I love them even if I hate them…that seems hypocritical.
me: Why are you even talking to them if you hate them?!! If they’ve done something so terrible to you, why are you allowing them into your life?
young adult: Well you just said I have to affirm their humanity, don’t I have to engage with them to do that?
me: Goddess no! Agape Love says that you affirm their humanity, it doesn’t say that you are solely responsible for that.
young adult: So I can hate them and love them, just from a distance?
me: Yes, set a boundary. Make sure that their access to you is exactly as much or as little or as none as you want. There is no need to take care of your oppressor or abuser. Agape love means that when they are held accountable for their actions, it is done by someone else and it done while keeping their humanity intact.
young adult: Well what about revenge, what if I want them to suffer?
me: Ah, that’s really getting to the crux of it all isn’t it? It’s not about not wanting to love them or not. It’s that we want them to feel what we felt, suffer the way we’ve suffered. And we know that if we’re called to Love them, we can’t allow them to suffer. Even if we have. Even if we have at their hands. That’s really what this conversation is about isn’t it?
young adult: Well, yeah.
me: Will their suffering heal you? Will it make the world a better place? Will it in any way change what happened in the past?
young adult: No but…is this like the time you told me that hate is like drinking poison hoping that the other person will die?
me: Do you think it’s like that?
young adult: Hmmm, maybe. I’m gonna have to think about it.
me: Absolutely, that’s part of our faith too! And if you can, please let me know what you come up with because that’s how I learn and grow as a Unitarian Universalist too.
So beloveds, there it is. Let me know what you think so we can learn and grow together.
What does it mean to center the value of love?
Hank
CLF member, incarcerated in LA
Through my eyes, I see all humans with equal vision, regardless of diverse qualities, color, gender, and belief — this is what love looks like to me. Through my senses, I perceive all as one and the same, directed by cosmic order, consciousness, self, God or Guru, which are all synonymous — this is what love feels like to me.
Through my ears I hear and hold no judgment, condemnation, ridicule, or punishments for whatever is said — this is God, through me, in me at all times. Love is God, and God is love: not separate from me, and never forsaking me, for me are one and therefore I am.
Donald
CLF member, incarcerated in CO
Love is a simple yet complex emotion for us to truly describe. However, we seem to know it when we feel it. Problems arise when we grasp at, try to control or desire love. Problems also happen when we reject or do not reciprocate love.
Love is at its best when we just allow it to be, and in turn, when we just “be” in it. Love exists outside of us, sometimes with, sometimes without us. We are not necessary for love, but love is a necessity for us.
What is Love?
Ryan
CLF Member, incarcerated in FL
L-O-V-E. Probably one of the most misunderstood words in the English language. Mostly due to the fact we only have one word for it. The Greeks however have multiple words to describe different types love. Here are four of them:
Eros, the easiest, is physical love. This is where we get words like erotic. It’s the love of how things look/feel/smell/taste or any other physical property. This might be an initial feeling towards someone we’re attracted to.
Philia is brotherly love. Think of philanthropy, coming together to raise money for a cause. This describes the love towards friends, co-workers and even humanity as a whole.
Storge is familial love. Not a common root word in the English language, but this is the love one typically feels towards parents, children, siblings or cousins.
The most powerful form of love is agape, or unconditional love that continues despite and perhaps even due to our flaws.
This is sometimes the hardest to achieve because as humans we put conditions on so much, usually unconsciously. This is what we as UUs strive for, especially in our acceptance of the LGBTQ+ and incarcerated members. This is the love to strive for.
What about your love?
Elaine
CLF member, incarcerated in AR
Desperate and alone, this trans heart has been,
forever seeking its needs in places bereft of such things.
Trying to make due with what’s at hand,
knowing its needs would never be met.
Dark and tainted this trans heart has been,
always ignored and forgotten in a world so cold.
Always being refused and abused,
rarely has it known the warmth and light of real love.
Hated and jaded this trans heart has been,
just for refusing to adhere to the world’s ignorance and lies.
Never rewarded for standing true to itself,
but always cast aside, unwanted by others.
Begging and pleading, this trans heart implores you,
those who have the capacity for love and caring.
Don’t let others rule who and how you should be,
let you heart judge; it knows the deepest truths.
Danny
CLF member, incarcerated in CA
Drops of water fall
Onto sidewalks and raincoats
Gloomy clouds stretch on
Shifting winds and sunshine say,
“This will not be forever.”
From the Article II Study Commission Report: a visualization of the new proposed language for Article II, defining six Unitarian Universalist Values, with the value of Love at the center. Design by Tanya Webster (chalicedays.org)
If you’ve been tracking the next 6 months of Quest themes, you may have noticed something: we’re using these themes to explore the Values of Unitarian Universalism, as articulated in the proposed new Article II of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) Bylaws.
In the February 2022 issue of Quest, in an article titled “Embracing the Living Tradition,” Rev. Michael Tino introduced these new values and the process through which they may be adopted by our Association. During the 2023 UUA General Assembly, delegates voted to move forward with the proposed language; there will be a vote during the 2024 General Assembly on whether or not to adopt these as the official articulation of our shared faith.
We’re looking forward to exploring how we relate to and understand each of these values over the next six months. As Rev. Michael wrote last February: “One of the defining characteristics of our Unitarian Universalist faith is that ours is a ‘living tradition.’ We do not etch our faith in stone precisely because we hold sacred that it must change. It must adapt to new challenges, it must meet new understandings, and it must evolve based on new experiences and connections.”
As beloved as the Principles of Unitarian Universalism have become in the almost 40 years since they were adopted, working with these new values is an important way to lean into the promise of our living tradition.
For those of you who will be submitting reflections for upcoming issues of Quest, I invite you to consider these values through the particular lens of how they may shape our shared faith. If the new Article II is adopted as our official faith language, that is the next phase of work ahead of us: to continue to co-create this faith with these values in mind, shaping and expanding their meaning by how we live them together. I’m so looking forward to being in that work together.
Artwork made by Rose Gallogly for the pageant version of this story, performed by the children of Theodore Parker UU Church (West Roxbury, MA)
Part I: the beginning of things, when cycles are born
When the world was very young, there were not yet any seasons. There were not even any days — the Sun and the Moon shared the sky in harmony, quietly watching over the world together. After time had been passing for some time, the Sun suddenly realized that he was tired.
The Sun said to his friend the Moon:
“Moon, I have realized that I am tired, and would quite like to rest. What if we traded places here in the sky, so that we each get a break from watching the world, and have some time to rest?”
The Moon thought this was a wonderful idea, so they tried it out: each taking a turn to watch over the world in the sky, while the other rested. This is how the day and the night were born. This new cycle suited the Sun and the Moon very well — so well, that they decided that they each wanted their own larger cycles, in addition to day and night, so that they each had more time to rest and be renewed.
The Moon decided that she would wax and wane, showing up a bit less each night, until she was able to take an entire night off, and then come back slowly until she was in her full, beautiful glow. And so the months were born.
The Sun decided that he wanted a longer cycle: he would go to sleep just a bit earlier every night and wake up a little later every morning for six months in a row, and then, more fully rested, he would start getting up earlier and staying up later for the next six months. And so the years were born.
The Sun and the Moon loved their new cycles even more than they had loved the days. So much more felt possible in the world when everything worked in cycles. In fact, the Sun and the Moon felt so energized by their rest times that they decided they were ready for more life to join the world: in each new cycle, they introduced a few new beings. One new being at a time, they added mountains and rivers, trees and mushrooms, grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts. After many, many cycles, the world was full of beautiful new forms of life.
Each time a new being was introduced to the world, the Moon whispered to them: remember always that this world works in cycles. There are times of great light and activity, and there are times of darkness and rest. This is the great rhythm of the world, and all beings must follow this pattern in their own way.
The mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts followed these instructions, and they each found their own cycles. And for a time, all was well.
Part II: Squirrel arrives, disrupts the cycle
The world continued on for some time, with the mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts living on, each in their own cycle. Things were going well, so more and more creatures were added to the world: now the world had Owl and Crow, Deer and Spider, Hedgehog and Fox and Bunny Rabbit. Some beings struggled more than others to learn about the rule of cycles, but especially by the time the year got dark and cold, they always seemed to find their natural rhythm.
One day, Squirrel was born. Squirrel was small and fast and so happy to be in the world. He was so excited, in fact, that when the first instructions from Moon were whispered in his ears, he didn’t quite absorb them — he was already scampering away, running up the nearest tree to explore and learn as much as he could about this new world he had found himself in. The other animals saw this, and it worried them a bit, but little Squirrel was so cute and inquisitive, they all figured that he would learn the way of the world sooner or later.
Squirrel arrived in the world on the summer solstice, when Sun was at his brightest and most full. Everything was blossoming and bursting with life, and Squirrel saw that the world was full of abundance. Even though every day after Squirrel was born, the Sun went to rest a little earlier and woke up a little later, each change was so small and Squirrel moved so quickly, that it was many months before he fully noticed what was happening.
A few months in, the days had become darker and colder, and the trees had started to shed their leaves as they prepared to rest for the darker months of the year. Squirrel finally noticed these changes, and one day, he asked Owl (who had been around for many years, and always seemed to have the answers) what was going on. Squirrel asked:
“Old Owl, why have the days become so dark and cold? The world had such abundance and warmth when I first arrived. Has something gone wrong?”
Owl replied: “Oh little Squirrel. Did you not listen to Grandmother Moon when you arrived? Our world works in cycles — the Sun and the Moon each rest in their turn, and so must we. There is abundance also in our rest.”
Squirrel heard what Owl had said, but quickly dismissed it. Squirrel was very young, after all, and had some of the arrogance that often comes with youth. He thought, “Surely that only applies to the old beings who have been here for many years — I don’t feel tired at all! I’m so small and quick, I’m sure I’ll be able to zoom right through this cycle thing without missing anything while resting. I’ll stay awake all the way through these long nights and soon enough, the Sun will be back to brighten the long days again.”
The days kept getting shorter and the nights kept on getting longer, and most of the beings in the world watched this great cycle turning and responded in their way. Many of the trees shed all of their leaves, and the plants closed up their flowers. Crow and Hedgehog and Spider and Bunny Rabbit cozied up their homes and rested all through the long nights. Even old Owl, whose way was to stay awake through the long night and to sleep during the day, still honored this cycle in her own way: she grew a thicker coat of feathers to keep her warm in the beautiful cold and dark world.
But Squirrel, in his youthful arrogance, did not respond to the cycle’s turning. Squirrel pretended he was not cold and did not grow a warmer coat, but instead kept on moving so quickly that no other creatures could keep track of where he was. And even though it should have been Squirrel’s way to sleep through the long nights, he kept himself awake, wandering far and wide when he really needed to rest.
Finally, the world got to the longest night of the year, the turning point in its cycle, and the Sun went down for his deep, restful sleep. The Moon, who lived on her own cycle, was up full and high in the sky that night, watching over all of creation, as she always did.
As the Moon watched the world that night, she was pleased to see so many beings still following her important first instructions: some were awake, as was their way during the nighttime, and many were resting, as was their way. All seems well as the night went on and the Moon made her way through the sky.
Then, when the night was almost over, the Moon spotted something strange: there was little Squirrel, wearing much too thin of a coat of fur, and staying awake in hurried activity even though she knew full well that was not his true way of things. Moon suddenly felt a flash of anger that this being she had brought into the world was ignoring her instructions so fully! Were none of the other beings seeing this and helping him learn? In her anger, the Moon stormed away from the world — leaving the dark night without even the light of her presence. The Stars, who always watched the world kindly from their far-away homes, saw the Moon leaving and thought they should follow suit. The Sun, without the Moon returning to wake him and start the next day, slumbered on. So the world was left in darkness without Moon or Stars or Sun: the cycle of the year had stopped turning.
Part III: Squirrel learns to rest, everyone learns to turn the year around
It was Owl who noticed first. She loved the dark, so it was not the long darkness itself that she minded — but her heart felt it the moment the Moon and the Stars had left, and she knew something was wrong. There was an unnatural stillness to the world: the year had stopped turning.
Owl, even in all her wisdom, didn’t know what to do. The year had never stopped turning before! How could she call the Moon back and keep the cycle going?
Owl decided she needed help, not just from her animal friends, but from all of the beings of the world. She flew around waking everyone up: the trees and the flowers, the deers and the spiders, the mountains and mushrooms, telling all of them, “Wake up wake up! The Moon has left us, the year has stopped turning!”
Soon, all the beings were awake, disoriented and confused in the pitch darkness. Owl was trying to get everyone ordered, to see if they could come up with a plan, when she felt a little tug on her bottom feathers.
She looked down and saw Squirrel, small and tired and shivering in his too-light fur coat. Tears were streaming down his young face, freezing in the cold night air as they fell. He tried to speak, but words failed him.
Owl said: “Oh my dear, it can’t be as bad as all that! What’s wrong?”
Squirrel, speaking through his tears, said, “But Owl, it is, it is! It is all my fault that the year has stopped turning. The Moon saw me running around when I should have been resting… It’s because of me that she felt so angry that she left the sky altogether. I don’t know what to do!”
Owl sighed, and was still for a few moments. The poor young Squirrel in front of her was so very tired and distraught — Owl knew that more than anything, before anything else could happen, Squirrel needed to sleep. Owl thought back to her earliest days and remembered a song that a grandmother of some kind had sung to help the beings of the world learn to fall asleep.
Owl said, “Dear child. Rest now — the year has stopped turning, so really, we are in no rush. Let me help you fall asleep.”
And she started singing:
Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul*
Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul
The other beings who had been woken up in all of the commotion started to listen in — and particularly the older ones, who had been around in the very first cycles of the world, realized they knew the song too.
Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul
Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul
Before long, all of the beings of the world, all of the mountains and rivers and trees and mushrooms and grasses and flowers and animal beings of all sorts were singing. It felt right to all of them, somehow, to join together in song when the world was suddenly so strange and uncertain. Little Squirrel, who had been so very exhausted from trying to outrun the turning of the year, was soon fast asleep — but the other beings of the world kept on singing.
The sound grew so loud and resonant that even in her far-off place away from the world, the singing started to reach the Moon. She inched closer and closer until she could hear them clearly:
Return again
Return again
Return to the home of your soul
Then the Moon, the great grandmother of the world, realized: they were singing the song she had taught them! The anger in her heart started to soften, and she realized how hasty she had been to leave the world. After all, the beings she created were all still so young (that little Squirrel especially!) — of course they didn’t understand how very important cycles were yet. And now they were singing the very song that she had created to help them fall asleep! All was not lost after all.
And so, slowly but decisively, moving to the rhythm of their singing, the Moon returned to the world. She appeared again low in the sky, to the exact point she had left, just staying for a moment before going on to wake up Sun.
The many beings of the world, still circled up in song as all of them knew they should be as soon as they started singing, started to feel a lightness in their hearts. The sense of unnatural stillness began to shift. Just as the sun started peaking over the horizon line, they all realized together: the year had started turning again.
Little Squirrel, exhausted from his distress and his long refusal to follow his natural rhythm, slept for most of the month of this re-started year. When he woke up, the moon had gone through her full cycle, and was back in the dark, cold sky in her beautiful fullness. He saw her just for a bit, when she was low in the sky at the beginning of night. The young Squirrel was still moving as quickly as ever, but with purpose this time: he had much to gather to keep himself warm and fed before returning to a restful slumber for the rest of the night. Squirrel had found his natural cycles of things, and honored it as best he could. The Moon was glad, and she hummed an old familiar tune as she traveled, as ever, through her cycle in the sky.
All was well.
* “Return Again” by Shlomo Carlebach, Singing the Journey #1011
Return again,Return again,Return to the home of your soul.
Return to who you are,Return to what you are,Return to where you areborn and reborn again.
In the quiet moments of reflection, I find myself thinking about my own life story, each page revealing moments of growth, resilience, and transformation. I wonder, where are there places in my story where I did my best? My least? When did I show up for myself or others? When did I disappoint? When did I choose to make amends? When did I chose to pretend I was infallible? All of these things are human, and owning up to them is how we get a clear picture of who we are, through the stories we tell. These stories, the tales we tell about ourselves, are the keys to unlocking the doors of personal and spiritual growth.
Think about a time in your life when everything shifted, when the world seemed to pivot on its axis. These are the turning points, the moments of realization that alter the course of our stories. Perhaps it was overcoming a challenge, navigating a difficult choice, or coming to terms with a decision you made. What story did you tell to get you through that moment? Did you make something up that you could aspire to? Did you own up and lean into honesty?
Adversity is not the end of the tale, nor a stopping point, but an opportunity for growth. It’s not the smooth, easy paths that define, but the rocky terrains that build us. Each obstacle becomes a stepping stone, a testament to the resilience cultivated through the struggles faced. Loneliness and isolation were experiences that many of us faced during the COVID 19 lockdown, and too many are still in this space. Enduring this kind of long-term struggle has given most of us a greater sense of connection when we are in the presence of others, in person or online. This is one of many examples of adversity shaping us. What struggles shape you? How do these points of adversity influence your overall story? Do they define you? Are they stepping stones for learning?
I think about the unwritten pages of my story. The narrative is far from complete; the journey of transformation is ongoing. What will the next chapters hold? How will my story continue to evolve? These questions excite me. Encourage me to have hope for a future. To dream big, knowing that anything is possible because I have the capacity to imagine my story. To create the reality I want. It also gives me incredible focus to determine what I really want. If I dreamed to have a big, beautiful thriving garden but no space for one, I would think about what I wanted from that garden. If I want beautiful flowers that I could see all around me, then I can draw or paint them on every scrap of paper I can find, and put them on the walls around me so that every place I look I see beautiful flowers. The method is different, but the result is the same. Dream big.
In the stillness of your own reflections, your own dreaming, consider the stories you tell yourself. What tales shape your understanding of who you are? Are they stories of resilience, growth, and self-discovery, or are they narratives that hinder your potential for transformation? Take a moment to explore the narratives that guide you and reflect on the power they hold in shaping the person you are becoming.
Our stories have the power to script the future chapters of our lives. With intention, we can embrace the story that unfolds with each word, each reflection, and each move forward. After all, the story we tell about ourselves is not just a recounting of the past; it is a living, breathing narrative that shapes the person we are becoming.
What are the stories that shape you?
What role does storytelling play in your life?
Jacob
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
This has been a harder question for me to approach. Many times we hit the point we want to ignore or hide the truth about the stories that have shaped us, either because of embarrassment, fear, or some other now silly-seeming emotion. As I sit here, though, I realize that if those stories had not shaped me, I may never have made it so far in life before incarceration or even possibly death.
To start, a bit about my familial/social setting. My mom’s side of the family is from Iowa, and my dad’s side of the family is very Hillbilly, Good Ole Country boy types from the Northern Hills of Arkansas. All of that meant a very big learning curve for a child.
The stories of Hedge Witches, Shamans, and Healers are accepted truths from my dad’s side of the family. On my mom’s side, there were hardcore Catholic rituals, teachings, trainings, and underpinnings. The two do not readily mesh, but I always enjoyed walking in both paths of my family, learning from both sides.
Then, you add in the fact that I am homosexual, and could never hide my effeminity. My father and his fifth wife loved to give me lectures on the stories of Sodom and Gomorrah, fixating on the homosexuals while ignoring the full stories. They never appreciated me pointing out the key fact that is was the culmination of the sum of all of the inequalities that led to their destruction. Often this would lead to arguments and anger on both sides.
Disney Princess stories such as Mulan, Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast made me think, “If they can find love then maybe someday I can as well.” Or can I?
The stories of various novels, like the Ramona series, gave me an escape from the pains of daily life, while motivating my curiosity and creativity.
The stories that family and friends told of their experiences and things they had seen helped shape my ambitions and drive to leave our small town. Grandpa, my dad’s dad, would tell of the antics of his peers and family. Often these would make me not want to be trapped in those same patterns. My Grandma, my mom’s mom, would point me to stories of succeeding, being yourself and fighting for something. These encouraged my drive to help others as well as be an outspoken advocate.
All of these stories have pushed me on, opened my eyes to things I may have missed, as well as motivated me to leave the hills and to see what I could learn and do.
Overall, storytelling has greatly shaped my life. Now I write fiction and non-fiction stories in an attempt to help others in similar situations push through and succeed. We have to share our stories, our truths, and our experiences to help others know that it’s possible to push through it all.
Comfortable
Barney Silk
CLF member, incarcerated in TX
They say I must have grown up with a ‘chip on my shoulder,’ but I’d like to see you come and push my boulder. Or walk a minute in this mile I call my life, and see how well you manage strife. I grew up watching other kids get things they never had to earn, that was a tough lesson I had to learn.
Because you see, I grew up in poverty and never knew what it was like to be rich, having to cut steps in the dirt to get to the mailbox from the ditch. Or wondering how me and my Grandma would make it another day, when black eyed peas and cornbread proved to be the only way.
So please don’t sit in judgment of me from the comfort and confines of your nice big home, because ain’t no one ever just throw me a bone. And don’t try to say, “you know what it’s like,” because I’m no fool, see you don’t know anything about the beatings and sexual abuse when I came home from school. Or about the times I was almost killed, lying torn and bloody in an old farm field.
And I’m not just some writer whose dream it is for his name to be called out from a crowd by a Raven fan, I’m comfortable enough just being a man. Because you see I’m a Silk and I know what it’s like, to not have all the tools yet still get it right.
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
Growing up in the South of the 1960s, my pre-school days were spent in the tender care of my maternal grandmother. These were seemingly innocent times long before video games, cell phones, or computers. The turbulence of the time, the Civil Rights Movement and War in Vietnam, were far removed from the fresh-baked bread smell of Grandma’s Kitchen.
My days were filled with tomato sandwiches, iced tea with lemon, and snow cream in the winter. But each day came with “naptime.” And naptime always came with one of Grandma’s “Lake Swamp Stories.”
Grandma was from a “little speck of a place,” as she termed it, called Lake Swamp in the South Carolina lowcountry. About 30 or so miles outside of Florence, Lake Swamp was little more than a local school, a tiny grocery store, and a barbershop.
Her daily tales were like a fantasy world to my childhood ears. No TV? No refrigerator? No indoor bathroom? I was fascinated.
The 1920s in rural South Carolina may initially seem a quiet, pastoral scene. Yet, Grandma’s stories of barn dances, alligators crawling out of creeks, thundering circuit-riding preachers, and huge Sunday dinners seemed like an amazing place in time.
But beyond being mere childhood pre-nap stories, Grandma’s tales gave me a unique sense of identity. She, unknowingly, lit the fire for my own love of writing and fed that flame with the basis for many of my short stories.
The 1960s were truly not “Leave It To Beaver” innocence for many, if not most, especially in the South. But my Grandma carved a safe space for my childhood and, importantly, gave me a love of writing.
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
Over a pot she’d dice wild onions
add a “mess” of greens cut from her garden
toss in a chunk of salt pork
then feed us lip-smacking joy
Wells of goodness from humble fare
the magic of a Grandma
a quilt from precious scraps
a christening gown, an old shawl
cornhusks made into dolls
snowcream dusted with cinnamon
and just a speck of rum
Tuberose snuff, yeast-baked bread
pillowy, soft, just life her hugs
Leo Cardez
CLF member, incarcerated in IL
“Corners,” my newest celly, is middle-aged and polite — the sort of man who carries the normal toil of the world. We have a lot in common and often spend hours talking about this or that. He’s easy to talk to, quick to grin with a wry sparkle to his eyes when he shares stories that are close to him.
Neither of us are much for idle chit chat or gossip, but occasionally we open up about our fears, hopes, and dreams and it can be quite powerful. I can always tell when he’s getting into a story, he leans forward pinning me with the force of his words. Stories of his past life, pre-prison, are tinged with regret; nothing more so than the loss of his daughter. She’s not dead, but when he came to prison in many real ways he died to her. Prison is certainly a type of death. Are we buried yet undead or are we dead yet unburied? She was only 8 years old when he came to prison and he still recalls her bright pink pajamas with the footies she was about to outgrow in another growth spurt. In fact, he told me, there has not been a single minute in a single day since he left that he hasn’t thought about her — not a moment has slid by when the world was not still oriented toward her. His words shook me to my soul. The depth of his tragic story of multi-generational addiction and abuse pinched the oxygen from the air. Yet, by all measures, it was clear to me he had learned to use his grief as a weapon for his faith and inner recalibration.
I see myself in all his stories, it is as if I’m speaking through him, only the names and dates are different. I suppose that is the purpose of good storytelling: be tiny and epic at the same time. The best stories are local slices of Life. They concern the neighborhoods where we grew up, our closest friends, and favorite things. They are close to the bone, the flesh of our lives. And yet, they are universal, too, because they speak to our shared humanity; the fears and hopes we all share as sons, brothers, fathers, and friends. Stories of prison woes, I’ve learned, are very similar regardless of age, nationality, or culture; what happened to one, happens to all.
Corner’s story is rooted in suburban privilege, but the story arc plays out similarly around the country’s prisons: an unfair criminal justice system, fear, loss, and the desperate attempt to find and hold onto hope and purpose in our cold, austere world.
It is an undeniable truth, when we open our hearts to hear each others’ stories — we oftentimes find ourselves in them; we realize we are not so different after all and others’ experiences can become our own. I’m confident employing shared storytelling as part of a larger restorative justice effort, connecting victims and offenders, would certainly break down barriers, shatter stereotypes, and be a conduit to true healing. But, that’s a bigger story for another time.
“There is no agony like leaving an untold story inside of you,” Zora Neale Hurston wrote in Dust Tracks on a Road. That quote is the principle that guides my writing. As much as my writing may have a self-help angle or sense to it, what I really want to impart is the human pulse of the stories. The essence of their message is that we’re all in the same boat just trying to get through this harder-than-we-could-have-ever-imagined thing called life. We need, nay, we must, share what we’ve endured as a means of catharsis and connection. I’ve often encouraged my fellow inmates to write their story. I believe everyone in prison has a novel inside of them waiting to bloom, if only they’d sit down to write it.
Corners’ stories keep unfolding, every one as poignant as the last and as we get to know each other the recitation and exchange of these stories is where the common ground begins to emerge. It is how respect and friendships are built.
My greatest fear is that my own daughter may follow in my addiction footsteps. I’ve read that young people today have the highest rates of anxiety, depression, and suicide in history. Many experts believe they are symptoms of a generation being raised during the digital revolution. As connected as the internet has the capability to make us, apparently today’s youth has never felt more alone and unheard. Stories are unfolding in them and they need to express them. I encourage my daughter to seek help, if and when she feels she needs it; to talk about her feelings. And she does. She’s putting cracks in the emotional walls that hold her hostage, so eventually the whole thing will fall. That’s what happens with enough time and pressure, even the hardest rocks will eventually turn to dust. But, the waiting and continuous effort needed to break down the walls is what is heartbreaking. But, that’s why we must continue to share all those stories we keep hidden in secret chambers of our hearts — they are what make us and what may save us all.
There is a famous joke about early-20th century U.S. President Calvin Coolidge, who was known as a person of few words. One day, it is said, Silent Cal, as he was known, went to church and his wife Grace stayed home. When he got home, Grace asked him what the sermon had been about. “Sin,” replied Cal. “What did the preacher have to say about it.” Grace asked. Cal paused, sighed, and replied, “He was against it.”
Theologians for millennia have disagreed about the nature of sin, and whether and how sins are ultimately reconciled. Some have declared that, thanks to the great harm done to people perceived as committing sins in the name of religious judgment, it is not even a useful concept.
I believe that having a moral code is useful, and that looking at our actions through the lens of that moral code is a worthwhile exercise. I also believe that we, as Unitarian Universalists, need to be careful not to make “sin” into a permanent mark against someone. Sin is not a useful concept if it is used to make people into the dehumanized “other.”
James Luther Adams, a famous 20th century Unitarian/UU theologian once wrote, using the unfortunately gendered language of his time, “It cannot be denied that religious liberalism has neglected these aspects of human nature in its zeal to proclaim the spark of divinity in man. We may call these tendencies by any name we wish, but we do not escape their destructive influence by a conspiracy of silence concerning them. Certainly, the practice of shunning the word ‘sin’ because ‘it makes one feel gloomy and pious’ has little more justification than the use of the ostrich method in other areas of life.”
I agree with Adams.
So what is a Unitarian Universalist theology of sin?
Many Christians define sin as that which separates us from God. This, of course, asks humans to pretend that we know what it is that God wants, and we know the danger that thoughts like that have wrought in humanity. I believe that sin is defined as a separation in relationship as well, just not necessarily our relationship with a divine.
Once again, I turn to Adams, who declared that Unitarian Universalists “deny the immaculate conception of virtue and affirm the necessity of social incarnation.” What does this mean? Virtue—and its opposite, sin—are defined by relationships. There is no such thing as goodness or evil in and of themselves—both are defined by the effects of our actions. The effects of our actions on other people as well as on the interdependent web of existence of which we are a part.
Sin is what separates us from one another.
Sin defines people as “other.” It makes them invisible when they are right here in front of us. Sin silences. Sin abuses. Sin gaslights. Sin knowingly harms another and then blames them for overreacting to that harm. Sin creates systems of oppression that target people for who they are, and makes those systems of oppression replicate themselves again and again.
My colleague the Rev. Molly Housh Gordon draws upon womanist theologians in her understanding of sin. She writes, “I have come to think of sin as an ethic of domination that desecrates particular lives as well as perpetuating sinful systems. Drawing upon the work of womanist theologians like Emilie Townes and Delores Williams, I conceive of sin as the exercise of control over another in a way that objectifies, or, in Williams’s words, ‘invisibilizes’ others and our connection to them. This domination destroys difference—tearing the fabric of the web of life.”
Gordon continues, “Sin is the acts of domination and annihilation that result in part from our illusions of separateness. Our sin is every moment that we forget or violate our relationships within the web of interconnection that binds together all creatures and our world.”
Sin is what separates us from one another. It is what breaks relationships. It is the point at which one stops listening, the point at which one stops caring. It is the point at which we believe another to be irredeemable.
And sin is something we all must grapple with. We all do it. And we all must seek redemption for it when it occurs. It might not be a permanent mark on our souls, but it certainly is a permanent part of life as we know it, since none of us is perfect.
If someone asks you what your minister had to say about sin, you can tell them I’m against it.
How do you relate to the idea of sin, and/or the idea of atonement?
Jacob
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
I do not find evidence to support the existence of original sin, and find it hard to believe that we all pay for one person’s actions. I do find that if you relate sin to the idea of karma within the Buddhist and Hindu traditions, it becomes more legitimate and likely. We pay for our actions either in this life or the next, and through our actions we can burn off good or bad past karma quickly. Ultimately, we have shaped what we are dealing with and as such have to handle it, whether by ourselves or with the help of others.
Adam Scott LYTLE
CLF member, incarcerated in WV
I am writing as a 31 year old inmate, who got locked up at the age of 19 and sentences to 15 years to life.
Sin is not nails in our feet, driven into the floorboards. As individuals or groups we make choices, we make mistakes, and we even commit sins for personal reasons, some wrong and some for the right causes. God understands that, justified or not, “sin” will be “sin.”
“Atonement” is a strong word. It has throughout history been utilizes in so many different ways, from the most gruesome torture to a loving embrace to get people to “atone,” which means to make amends.
I believe that to atone means to be at peace, and to know that change will happen, to realize right from wrong and push toward what is right, no matter what evil stands in the way. It is also to gain intelligence and be happy knowing what you have discovered.
Life is short in general, be as happy as you can be and embrace your peace!
Christopher
CLF member, incarcerated in WV
How do I relate to the idea of sin and/or atonement? Because I’m a Christian who trusts in God’s words, sin is very real for me, and there is a very long history with sin and I’m tempted to get into it, but I’m pressed for time because I see parole for my first time in 2037 and I gotta get ready, so I’ll try to keep this short.
I relate to sin like this: I know what the difference is between doing right and doing wrong. Because of who I put my faith and trust in, to intentionally do wrong against a person, an animal, the earth, or property, first and foremost I’ve committed sin according to Christian scripture. Sin is an intentionally wrongful act. That is how I relate to sin, in a nutshell.
I believe most people, and not surprisingly most Christians as well, do not understand what atonement is. Atonement is an Old Testament word for a blood sacrifice from a pure animal for forgiveness and cleansing. It was the temporary practice until Jesus was able to sacrifice His pure blood on the cross. Fast forward to today, and now God’s forgiveness can be had simply by asking through prayer.
However, not everyone believes this way, so another way of relating to sin and atonement for me is this: when I intentionally say or do something harmful to any mentioned above, I know that I’ve done wrong.
I have done wrong to a lot of people in my lifetime, and even though I pray for forgiveness for which I receive every time, I know I still need to try and make things right with whoever I did wrong to. I have to start by asking for their forgiveness, but there is no guarantee that they will give it. If they do forgive me, I still need to try and repair anything else I may have harmed in order to complete my atonement to that person. It is the right thing to do. If someone damaged something of mine and I forgave that person, I still expect that person to try and make any repairs necessary to complete their atonement to me.
That is how I relate to atonement — but with God, I believe that He just wants us to ask, and it will be given.
ASHER
CLF member, incarcerated in AK
In “Christian Apologetic Universalism’s Scriptural Exegesis” (CAUSE), a book by Jon Neil Herd, it briefly states that sin’s definition is to miss the mark.
I would further illustrate that it is to miss the mark of moral perfection inwardly, and to miss the mark of eternal life and zero suffering outwardly. Everyone of us can achieve this, and it can be accomplished through atonement, which means that we make amends for our ancestors by adherence to the truths we see all around us every day. We can achieve it by striving toward perfection inwardly, and by striving towards our many just causes outwardly.
The Bible speaks of Jesus Christ in this fashion. As a Unitarian Universalist, I believe that I should have hope in God, because Unitarian means one God and Universalist means for all people. Insomuch as we have differences of doctrinal ideas, we may all come to agree under our many banners of faith. That is awesome! And it pushes me onward to discover the deep mysterious truth.
“Brothers of Healing” is an original song written by CLF member Maverik Storm. Maverik wrote this about the piece:
“I hope this can be an anthem for those who are healing, who know brokenness, and those who are committed to advocating for change. I hope that if this song reaches the hearts, minds, and voices of those who hear it and sing it, that they’ll share it. It is an anthem to be shared.”
The Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) is a great community of communities made up of people connected and committed to reminding each other that we are more together, that we can take turns at the resistance, that cultivating and growing communal joy is part of what helps us stay stronger and focused on the collective liberation and transformation of all.
One of the tasks of the CLF Nominating Committee is to help our community leadership stay fresh and strong. The CLF Nominating Committee knows that the lead ministry team and staff of our church need the energy and joy and enthusiasm of leaders to co-create our future. Does CLF help you grow your joy and keep your eyes on the prize? Would you like to join leadership teams to continue to work for liberation and transformation at church?
The CLF Nominating Committee is seeking individuals who are actively involved in our congregation to assist how we engage in ministry, leadership, and governance together. Specifically, we are looking for individuals to serve on the CLF Nominating Committee who are committed to matching peoples’ gifts with opportunities to contribute and who understand the role of Nominating in widening the circle of care and leadership.
We are also seeking individuals to serve on the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Board who are deeply rooted in Unitarian Universalism. The CLF Board and Nominating Committee are explicitly seeking ways to incorporate CLF members with personal or familial experience with incarceration, as we continue the journey of involving incarcerated and recently incarcerated members in leadership opportunities.
Please watch for two opportunities in January 2024 to join a Town Hall meeting. We will chat primarily about CLF Board and Nominating Committee volunteer leadership opportunities. However, there will be opportunities to hear about the broad band spectrum of leadership! This is for the interested and the curious! The only invitation will be an invitation to additional conversation. Representatives from the CLF Board, Nominating Committee and Staff will be on hand to share their experiences and answer your questions. This will be an interesting time to explore the ways you might contribute to CLF. And I am sure we will also have fun together.
Please let us know if you or someone you know is interested in this way of investing in our community. Email nominating@clfuu.org with the subject “Board/Committee Interest” and let us know if you would like to learn more about leadership opportunities at CLF, or if you think someone in your circles would be an excellent person to recruit.
If you do not have access to email, and are interested in CLF leadership, please mail a letter expressing your interest to the CLF Nominating Committee, 24 Farnsworth St, Boston, MA 02210. If you do not have access to Zoom, please let us know and we will arrange an alternate way to explore your interest.
— The CLF Nominating Committee Members: Debra Gray Boyd, Julica Hermann de la Fuente (CLF Board liaison to the Nominating Committee), Michele Grove, and Tie Resendiz
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.
What is your relationship with your ancestors like? What shapes that relationship for you?
Shawn
CLF member, incarcerated in PA
My relationship with my ancestors is very, very important. I have relationships with them just like you would with your living relations. Because, as I see it, they are just as alive as our relations, they are just on another plane of existence, yet here with us. They are around you all the time. You just may not be able to see them. Some of us can.
Ancestor worship is important to Wiccans, Druids and Native Americans. The Japanese also have ancestor worship. You can learn from them because they lived in another time and/or place. You can talk to them and worship them. Revere them. They still shape our lives as they did in the past. They flow through our veins. So it is very important to have a relationship with them. I learn from them as I would with my living relations. We have remnants of them in our Megalithic structures.
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
Growing up in the South during the 1960s was tumultuous but also a time of tremendous change. Coming from Quaker ancestry, my forebears were active in the Underground Railroad at what is now Guilford College, Greensboro, North Carolina.
Heritage means many things. Just as each individual is unique but also complex, so too is one’s ancestry.
Jacob
CLF member incarcerated in AR
My relationship with my ancestors is definitely not what I want it to be. I have barely explored it and feel like I am ignoring parts of their sacrifices and wisdom. I know some of my father’s side but have not been in the situation where I have been able to explore my Cherokee ancestry. My great grandmother Easter Sunrise dropped off the Trail of Tears in Missouri. I do not know much of anything about my mother’s side of things. Who are her ancestors? Due to all of this I have decided to start trying to learn more of both sides. I truly want to know where I came from, where my ancestors’ beliefs came from and what shaped them.
GARY
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
I am from persimmons,
from Karo syrup, and grits.
I am from the front porch,
wide, long, cool in the Southern heat.
I am from magnolias,
whose fragrance is the quintessential South.
I am from Sunday dinners and blue eyes,
from Joseph and Kathleen.
I am from the stiff upper lip,
from seen and not heard.
I am from back row Methodism.
I am from Glenwood and Randolph,
Guilford and Shropshire,
the Queen Anne II,
Icebox fruitcake, fried chicken,
homemade cream puffs.
I am from the Christmas ornaments
made of cardboard and glitter
that Pop bought during World War II
when metal and glass went to fight Hitler,
carefully preserved, precious, rare.
I am from Grandma’s tea set, fragile,
tea pouring from a dragon’s mouth,
Sitting out of reach upon the sideboard,
teaching me to value heritage, tradition,
family.
This piece was originally written and shared in October 2021 at my brick-and-morter congregation, Theodore Parker UU Church.
In the almost seven months since my beloved mother’s death, I have needed to learn the world all over again. Every seasonal shift, every holiday and tradition lands differently now; every detail of the world exists only in relationship with my grief.
When Halloween decorations started cropping up around my neighborhood this month, I realized that I was seeing the fake skeletons, ghosts, and gravestones — all of these casual references to death — entirely differently. It’s not exactly that I’ve minded that images of death on display around me, but more that I felt their irony in a new way. Halloween might be the closest this culture comes to having a holiday where death is on the surface, honored in some way, but even saying that is a stretch — this is a season of surface-level nods to death, with little space for holding its reality.
I don’t fault Halloween itself for this, nor do I begrudge my neighbors and the plastic gravestones on their lawn. The denial of death and grief in this culture is so much bigger than any one holiday. Modern Western culture, particularly white, mainstream Christian culture, sees life as an onwards and upward trajectory, and grief as a hard but brief, quiet, private time to get through. Even in this time of pandemic, in the mass death event we are all living through, dominant culture urges us to move ever forward, ever more quickly back to ‘normal’ — with little to no mention of our need to mourn the beloved people and things we have lost.
I’ve been feeling the irony of how we (sort of) (a little bit) reference death around Halloween particularly strongly, because the roots of this holiday offer something very different. Our modern Halloween has its roots in the cultural tradition of many of my ancestors: the ancient pre-Christian Irish/Celtic festival of Samhain (pronouced Sow-en), and its Christian equivalent of All Hallow’s Eve.
I’ve been interested in the culture and spiritual traditions of my ancestors for a long time; I see it as part of my responsibility as a white person to try to understand who my people were before we were considered white, and how the processes of colonization and assimilation brought us here. And now, as I try to process my grief, my interest in ancestral practice feels more like a longing, a need to be connected to a deeper sense of time, lineage, and culture.
So I’ve been exploring what is known about the spiritual traditions of my ancestors, including this ancient festival of Samhain, and trying to see what in those traditions might serve as antidotes for all that modern white culture lacks, particularly in relation to holding death and grief.
Samhain is known as one of the cross-quarter days in the Celtic wheel of the year, the approximate mid-point between the fall equinox and the winter solstice. It was a feast day, a festival to mark the end of the harvest season and welcome in winter’s darkness. The always-fluid boundary between the worlds — meaning the world of the living and the otherworld, where ancestors and other spirits dwell — was thought to be particularly porous around Samhain and the other seasonal festivals, like spring’s Beltaine; all times of great transition and liminality.
In contemporary pagan practice, Samhain is often referenced as a holiday about ancestors, a day to honor our beloved dead and perhaps feel closer to them than at other times. But much of my research suggests that seeing this as the one day to connect with beloved dead is more of a modern way of understanding the festival. Within the Celtic culture and worldview, ancestors were always present in daily life, and most major festivals honored and celebrated them in some way. Samhain has come to have a particular association with the dead simply because it marked the entry point into the winter, into the dark part of the year — and that whole season brought with it both a closeness to death, and more regular, ritual honoring of beloved ancestors.
I want to step back for a moment, and sit with that a bit more. Particularly if you are someone who knows and carries with you any kind of close loss — can you imagine how different it might feel to live within a culture were your beloved dead were held closely by your whole community at every holiday, and even particularly for a whole season of the year? A culture in which it was normal to speak their names, leave offerings for them, hold feasts in their honor, regardless of how long it was from their year of death?
Ancient Irish culture is, of course, far from the only culture to have practices of ancestor veneration, and to have holidays that honor the dead. I’m sure, actually, that in every one of our lineages, as close as in this generation or thousands of years back, we could all find traditions with deeply similar themes — because, of course, death is universal, and the need to honor it and tend to our grief is perhaps the most basic human need.
This is something I keep coming back to: these ancient cultural traditions of ancestor connection and honoring all come from the same universal human need to keep our loved ones close, especially when we are separated from them by death. Those traditions are now largely absent from our dominant culture — but the need for them has not gone away. Death is just as much of a reality in our lives now, it is simply less acknowledged; grief is just as present, it just less collectively held.
What would it look like for us now, in this tradition we are co-creating, to hold and honor our beloved dead together? Not just on this holiday, or even just this season, but all of the time? Informed by ancient practices or by simple human need, how can we begin, in whatever small way, to un-learn the death-denying norms of modern culture and embrace our ancestors once again?
In a world marked by imperfections and the passage of time, the concept of repair takes on a profound significance. Repair is not merely about fixing broken objects or restoring functionality; it extends to healing relationships, bridging divides, and nurturing our connection with the world around us.
Repair, at its heart, embodies the essence of compassion, forgiveness, and growth. It’s not about sweeping problems under the rug; it’s about facing them head-on, armed with the belief that even the most shattered connections can be healed.
For us, this sentiment resonates strongly with our belief in the inherent worth and dignity of every person. This principle reminds us that every individual, no matter their background or circumstances, deserves respect and the opportunity to rebuild what might be broken.
Rooted in the Unitarian Universalist values, the idea of repair is not just a practical necessity but a spiritual calling that encourages us to cultivate compassion, empathy, and a commitment to justice.
Not too long ago, I was harmed inadvertently. My first instinct was to run, to put as much distance between myself and the people causing the harm. I’d never been in a position where repair was on the table, much less the next step in a relationship. Over time, I received apologies that were sincere and full of ownership and a change in policy and rules to make sure no one else would have to endure the same harm in the same way. I didn’t have to do or ask for any of these things, they did it on their own. As time went on, I realized they not only meant it, but they were eager to repair the relationship.
It’s up to me to accept when I’m ready. I share this live story because this is not the normal outcome. It is more often the case that harm is met with gaslighting, anger, or even outright denial. This incident showed me that there could be another way. Mistakes and harm, intentional or not, could lead to stronger relationships. I can’t predict the future to know if this will lead to lasting relationships that survive this ‘ouch’ but I can accept their apologies and allow repair with grace.
Communities can heal and thrive through repair. In a world filled with divisiveness, UUs stand as advocates for unity and harmony. Repairing the bonds that hold communities together exemplifies the transformative power of commitment to growth, both individually and collectively.
Repair is inherently tied to justice and equity. It involves acknowledging historical injustices, working to rectify them, and ensuring that compassion and empathy guide our interactions with others.
In the warm embrace of Unitarian Universalist values, the concept of repair takes on a transformative meaning. It becomes a guiding light, illuminating the path toward justice, compassion, and interconnectedness. Repairing brokenness, be it in relationships, communities, or the environment, aligns harmoniously with the principles that Unitarian Universalists hold dear. As we navigate the complexities of our world, may we draw inspiration from these values and strive to be agents of repair, fostering healing, understanding, and unity in all that we do.
Scars JeKaren Olaoya
from All the Pieces Fit
Scars
Are proof that
Life has moved forward
Has either hurt
Or healed
Changed
There is strength there
In the space between
Where the skin
Knits itself together
The power of what
We can’t see easily
Gives us strength
We didn’t know we had
There is beauty there
Where the healing happens
It seems angry like fire
But it is life
Eager to be repaired
There is no brokenness
Though fragile
Our skin is strong enough
To break only under
Extreme pressure
And we are mostly ok
After
Scars don’t take away from
Or make us less
It’s ok to be afraid
To show them
But know
You will always be
Worthy
And free to be
Whole
No matter how many scars
Grace your body
In service to who you are
What does repair look and feel like to you?
Have you experienced significant moments of repair in your relationship with yourself or others?
Jacob (Momma Bear)
CLF member incarcerated in AR
To me, repair means to mend, heal or fix. It is a way to fix, correct and heal what has been neglected, broken or allowed to decay. The hardest part of repairing relationships for me has been figuring out why. Why did they fall apart, flounder or just disappear? To help me with this I went through a year of therapy as well as Vipassana (or Insight) Meditation. Through this struggle I have seen things within myself that have caused the relationships to flounder, disappear, or become negative.
By seeing this I have tried to truly address and change these things. It has led to the creation of new relationships, but I have not been successful at repairing any of the old ones. Disappearing into the prison system seems to have made it so that the ones who were my friends and family could disappear, leaving me clutching thin air.
Matthew
CLF member, formerly incarcerated in ND
Repair for me as I sit here comes from the heart of a sorry man. Change must always start with yourself and must do it for yourself — if you do it for someone else, you as the individual will never take the change fully to heart.
As you read this, I will finally be free and home after spending 7 years of a 10 year prison sentence in North Dakota. Take time to get outside and breathe some fresh air, read books that are educational to learn a skill to bring out here. Seek help for mental Illness — it is ok to be weak, you don’t have to be a tough person!
Remember: you’re placed on this earth for a purpose, and someone is looking up to you. If anything, help yourself so you get well to mentor the younger generations.
Kyale
CLF member, incarcerated in MI
After wronging another human being and becoming a convicted felon, I looked at the fences around me and made them a reflection of my personality and soul. At the time, I could not grasp the concept of being repaired because I believed that I did not deserve to have my self image repaired, nor did I deserve to have my life restored. As a result, I made suffering my penance, believing I had lost my right to pursue happiness, make meaningful friendships, and contribute to society in the ways I wanted to. When it was all said and done, I experienced so much misery and heart ache from these beliefs that I lost myself and all of my motivation to do the things I loved.
I never would have escaped that dark spiral if not for the love and charity of friends and volunteers. They came from all walks of life, some were free and some were incarcerated. They were Christians, Jews, Muslims, Wiccans, Humanists and Atheists. And though their beliefs about the origins of our Universe were different, they all embraced the same kind of love when they came to my rescue.
They showed me that prison could be more than just a house of suffering. Behind these bars I could grow and change for the better. They encouraged me to participate in classes and rehabilitation programs that introduced me to new ideas and new friends. My mind expanded, my heart grew, and I finally saw that my self-imposed suffering and solitude was doing a disservice to my neighbors. Why? Because we all belonged to each other, which meant they needed me to uplift them just as much as I needed them!
There is no “repairing” without a return to a prior state. In other words, I had this joy and purpose within me all along but had simply forgotten about them. It took a community and the grace of God to show me that I had so much more to offer than just my suffering. And when I finally committed to my right to experience joy, to pursue my dreams, to be loved and to serve others, I was repaired and restored because I was free to be me again.
Looking back on it all, that’s what repairing means to me. It’s about more than just fixing a broken person. We all have it in us to be happy, peaceful and productive, but it requires us to see ourselves clearly. To be repaired is to be returned to ourselves. We already have the power to forgive ourselves and to make the most of our lives no matter where we are. We just need to be reminded of this.
Thank God for the people who held up that mirror and said, “Remember who you are.” It was this insight and help that repaired my relationship with myself, to stop punishing myself and start spending more time being that mirror for members of my prison community who need it.
And to you, the reader: who in your life is always reminding you about your best and authentic self? Who looks at your hopes and dreams and tells you they are beautiful and worth pursuing? Who tells you when it is time to forgive yourself? Who out there has repaired you by returning you to yourself? ′
Leo Cardez
CLF member, incarcerated in IL
There is nothing exactly like living in Hell, but there is something close to it: jail and prison. In my hell, where I lived for most of 2015, there is, as Dante understood, no hope. People think the worst part of being locked up is the loss of freedom. They are wrong. The worst part is the loss of hope and purpose. You wake up every morning realizing your nightmare will continue into your waking hours. The loss you have suffered is permanent. Life will never be the same. In many real ways you are already dead, just unburied. There is no healing, no improvement, but even worse, there is no possibility of any to come. The most unbearable thing about your unbearable life is that you will always be forced to bear it.
In the midst of my horrific incarceration experience, alone and desperate to stop hemorrhaging relationships, I wondered if those who hated me were watching somehow they might find my misery satisfying? I might have, if I believed everything that was said about me. On a particularly dark evening, I considered doing
just that. I doubted anyone could despise me more than I did myself —
I couldn’t even stand my own reflection. But one can only fall so deep into the well before being consumed by the darkness. I admit, I considered the coward’s solution, but in writing my final note, I could not find the right words to convey the magnitude of what I was feeling. I refused to settle and postponed my act of desperation another night. Night after night I tried, but there were no words big enough… Instead, I found myself simply journaling about my day.
I wrote about everything and nothing, whatever popped into my head. My only rule was raw honesty. I figured if this was to mean anything to anyone it must above all be true. I didn’t realize honest writing will tear your guts out. Like when I wrote about the shame and pain I saw in my mother’s eyes when she came to visit me in prison — knowing it was my fault, and worse,
I could do nothing to help her. That feeling of helplessness was like being stuck in a barrel at the bottom of the ocean with no options. There is nothing worse.
Still I wrote. Everyday. I wrote by the light of the morning sun through my dirty cracked window or glare of the hallway lights through my cell bars. I promised myself I would write every day, no excuses… and I have. Now, 7 years later, I have learned that writing to me wasn’t a diversion, it was my church. It offered salvation in the promise of change. Escaping Hell is difficult because sometimes there are too many people who enjoy seeing you there, but with enough effort, grace; and in my case, pens and paper, it can be done.
As I re-read some of my earliest journal entries, I marvel at the flawed, petty, unhappy person I was. I also noticed that as my writing evolved into a more positive realm, so did my actual life. My writing became prophetic. As I tried to make the best of things, every now and then, I succeeded. As I look around today I can see that writing has helped me appreciate life in a whole new light.
When my parents wrote to tell me they were proud of me, even as I sat in prison, I am not ashamed to admit: I wept. I cried again after my sister’s last visit, seeing her changed and beautiful from the inside out; having found what she had been searching for, though not in the places she had been looking. I owe all of it to the power of the written word. It has taught me how to look inward in order to look forward. It has provided me with the key to an escape hatch to the next chapter of my life.
The CLF held its Annual Congregational Meeting on Sunday June 11, 2023. Anyone who could not attend the meeting was invited to vote by mail ahead of the meeting. We received 248 votes by mail and 43 members attended the meeting.
CLF members voted for the slate of nominations presented by the nominating committee (272 yes, 3 no, 7 abstain) as follows:
– Rev. Dr. JJ Flag for Board of Directors for a three year term
– Heather Gatland for Board of Directors for a three year term
– Rev. Christe Lunsford for Board of Directors for a three year term
– Doreen Christiani for Board of Directors for one year (to complete an unfinished term)
– Darbi Lockridge for Treasurer for a one year term
– Mandy Neff for Clerk for a one year term
– Katie Resendiz de Perez for Nominating Committee for a three year term
CLF members also voted to ordain Steven Leigh Williams, a CLF Learning Fellow, as a
Unitarian Universalist minister (269 yes, 2 no, 9 abstain). Steven was recommended for ministry by the UUA Ministerial Fellowshipping Committee. The now-Reverend Steven’s ordination was on July 2, 2023.
Welcome! Welcome to Quest, welcome to the Church of the Larger Fellowship, and welcome to Unitarian Universalism. This is a special issue of Quest meant specifically for those who are new to the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) and Unitarian Universalism, and want to learn more about both.
Our Unitarian Universalist faith is bound by covenant — the sacred promises we make to one another — instead of by creed or dogma.
In the 1940s, as the German army began to impose its totalitarianism across Europe, many people fled in fear of their lives.
Despite the theological diversity within Unitarian Universalism, there are many things that we agree on and hold sacred within our communities.
The following image traced the history of the Church of the Larger Fellowship from the first Unitarian “Post Office Missions” in the 1800s, through to the present day. To view a larger version of this visual timeline, click on the image below, or on this link.
The months of May and June often bring transitions related to academic promotions, graduations, and other milestones related to the culmination of years of dedication and hard work. At this time of year, we often celebrate loved ones as they move from one phase of life into another. We wrap up another year in the […]
Often, when people find out that I was a scientist before becoming a minister, they make assumptions about how my brain works, or about how I must see the world. These assumptions are based in a perception of science as cold, distant, and rational. And while it is true that I bring a certain rational brain to bear on collecting and analyzing data, that skill is reserved for when it is truly needed.
Instead, my science background invites me to see magic and mystery in the world around me. It invites me to wonder at everyday occurrences—to find the special and the sacred in the blooming crocus, the varied songs of the cardinal, the laughter of children, and the storm blowing in from across the river.
My science background invites me to see all of these things as intricately interconnected to all of existence, and to marvel at how complex it all is.
My science background invites me to realize that the depth of that complexity means that it is impossible that humans will ever understand it fully.
Too often, people see science as an attempt to do just that—to understand everything fully. But any good scientist will tell you that every new discovery brings with it a new depth of understanding of what is still not known. Every question answered means two more questions asked. As Physicist John Archibald Wheeler once said, “We live on an island surrounded by a sea of ignorance. As our island of knowledge grows, so does the shore of our ignorance.”
My experience of science is that it asks me to see our world as full of wonder. Full of possibilities for understanding. Full of questions that are exciting to pursue.
Many times as a graduate student in cell biology, I holed myself up in a small, dark room with a very large microscope for hours as I experimented on immune cells taken from lungs. My experiments examined the movement of those cells, and on testing whether the proteins I studied stimulated those cells to move.
It was amazing and humbling to understand that the things I did on the large scale made those cells move on the microscopic one. There, in that small, dark room, looking at those very tiny cells, I could not help but be overwhelmed by my connection to a vast and unfathomable universe. I could not help but be filled with a sense of wonder and awe.
PHOTO BY DREW HAYS ON UNSPLASH
In this world away from that microscope room, I also see wonder and awe everywhere.
I want to invite you into this wonder-full way of experiencing the world. This way in which everything is an exciting and sacred thing.
When next you read about a scientific study, I want you to imagine the scientists who produced it. I want you to imagine them in their labs, or field stations, or conference rooms. Imagine them asking questions—lots and lots of questions. Imagine them getting more and more excited by the questions before them. And then imagining them figuring out how they are going to ask those questions in their work. Not how they will answer them—but how they will ask them.
When next you experience something you don’t understand (and for me, that is almost every moment of every day), ask questions about it. Change your questions and see if it changes your experience of that thing. Ask other people what their questions are and see if those questions change your experience. Enter into the world of wonder. It’s a wonderful place.
How do you access a sense of wonder? What does wonder feel like?
Russell
CLF Member, incarcerated WI
I remember how excited I always got as a kid at an approaching thunderstorm. It always started with me smelling the charged Earth in the breeze. Then the feel of warm wind mixed with cool. The fast approaching thunder clouds signaled the parade of the oncoming natural light show. Fingers of lightning streaking across the deepening gray sky. Then the reverberating boom of cackling lightning growling down at us small people below. It always made me feel like a spy on Mother Nature’s most active display of beauty. The thrill of such power felt like a roller coaster that never lets you down!
And the softening of the end of the great scene let me feel relieved that I wasn’t set on fire on the spot by a stray bolt of lightning, each time I watched a storm. I was aware of the danger it posed. In nature’s everyday workings is wonder beyond my wildest dreams. A baby bird learning to fly, a car crash avoided in split seconds, a last minute three pointer from my favorite basketball player at the buzzer for the win.
All of these things seem ordinary at first. But when observed, one can easily tell that there is a hint of brilliance hiding in every act. What is there not to find wonder in once one realizes this fact?!
PHOTO BY JOHANNES PLENIO ON UNSPLASH
In a recent Quest article titled “Embracing the Living Tradition,” Rev. Dr. Michael Tino shared more about the work of the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Article II Study Commission, and the changes they are proposing to our Association’s Bylaws. These changes propose new language for how we articulate the center of this faith tradition, replacing our Principles with seven core Values. We have received numerous responses to that article and the proposed changes, some of which are shared below.
——–
Gary
CLF Member, incarcerated in NC
Inclusiveness is what drew me to the CLF. At 63, I have explored many faiths, endeavoring To chart a path and find a spiritual home.
I grew up Christian, as a member of the United Methodist Church. Being gay, I knew that the dogma of traditional Christian churches fluctuated from “love the sinner; hate the sin,” to outright abhorrence, considering me an “abomination” in God’s eyes.
Seeking a place, I drifted to the Roman Catholic Church, going from mild disdain to sheer condemnation. Yet, I found a certain measure of comfort in the liturgy and ritual, and a presence of the Divine amidst the incense, prayers and Eucharist. Still, I could not be me.
I joined the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) — the “gay” church. At last, I thought, I have found a place. I became sadly disillusioned when the MCC visitors came to see me only to develop relationships with younger, better looking inmates they asked to be introduced to.
I left the MCC and explored Buddhism, seeking the inner peace so elusive in my life. While Buddhism did offer comfort, I wanted a connection to the Divine.
For 9 years I practiced Wicca. I even attended Wiccan Seminary and became a First Degree Wicca Priest — a Witch. I should also point out that I hold a degree in Pastoral Ministry from Seminary Extension of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary Nashville, TN.
I felt “at home” in Wicca, only to be again disenchanted by our Coven’s High Priest, who, contrary to Wicca belief, used our services to lambaste all other faiths and employed foul language to do so.
I briefly explored Humanism, but I fundamentally believe in “God.”
No, not an old bearded white man sitting on a gold throne, smiting all who cross “Him.”
Rather, I believe in the Divine God without sex, without race, who is love.
Then, I discovered the CLF. I can’t say exactly how it happened, to be quite honest. Maybe it was the work of that Divine Creator, who I had prayed to, begged for mercy, help.
It was in Unitarian Universalism that I found that beautiful inclusiveness, that spiritual liberty to embrace those elements of any or no particular faith, and to chart my own path. Here I could embark on my own spiritual journey, unique to me as my DNA.
I can combine the love of Christ, the wisdom of the Buddha, the ritual prayers of Catholicism, the peace of Islam the Mystical qualities of Wicca, and make my own spiritual “vegetable soup” using the very best of all faiths as I continue this beautiful journey called life.
The Article II as described in Quest captures the tradition of Unitarian Universalism as a living faith. UUism is not mired in dogma with an unwillingness to progress as humanity does. Who could doubt that were Christ to be on earth today that he would not avail the use of social media?
Illustration of the new Article II language by Kavin, CLF member incarcerated in OH
As I study the image of the new Article II language, I ponder the meaning of each:
Interdependence: No one is an island. As the Baha’i say, “The world is one nation, mankind its citizens…” We are all neighbors on this tiny blue speck in this great universe.
Equity: We are all equal. There is a sanctity in life. All lives matter. Race, ethnicity, gender, identity, sexual orientation, are of no consequence.
Transformation: Everyone has the capacity to “do good.” There are no “evil” people, only poor choices. All have the spirit of the Divine dwelling within, with the power of this transformation.
Pluralism: Every faith practiced by humanity has worth. Labels are but a device of humans and like race, gender, origin, has. no consequence. There is room at the table for all.
Generosity: It is only in giving that we can experience a taste of the very Divine which we claim to worship. Love one another is, perhaps, the greatest of all commandments. The poor, homeless, sick, aged, imprisoned, orphaned, abused — are not these our fellow humans equally created in the image of the Divine?
Justice: It is indeed sad that America ranks third in human history (behind Hitler’s Nazi regime and Stalinist Russia) to imprison such a huge percentage of its people. The US is but 4% of earth’s population, but this country houses 20% of the world’s incarcerated people. Justice isn’t justice until it is truly justice for all.
So you see, UU embraces the very best of what it means to be human. I, for one, am glad I was somehow led to the altar of acceptance, love, mercy, and a congregation where my past does not define me.
Thank you for allowing me this opportunity.
Larry
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
My reaction is simple: I love it. One of the main characteristics of the Unitarian Universalist faith that I felt so strongly about was what I will call “evolution.” This evolution of growth and the ability to honestly and continually re-visit the Association’s bylaws in order to not only stay current but ensure progress is, I believe, a necessity.
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Doctrines and dogma have destroyed tons of potential in other organizations who may have otherwise progressed in spiritual growth. It’s sad, but very true. By embracing a living tradition, we are setting a fantastic example, one that I believe that great spiritual teachers such as Buddha, Christ, Muhammad, Moses, etc. would all approve of. I often look to the greats for inspiration, and this bylaw inspires me in and of itself.
In response to whether or not I am interested in learning more about the process and language, I definitely am. Today, I live and breathe spiritual knowledge mainly because of the deep impact it has had not only on my life but on those closest to me. Altruism has become a life-long goal and a driving force in many people’s lives who have been fortunate enough to find organizations just like this one. I thank you all and hope that Unitarian Universalism continues to be a beacon of light in a harsh world.
Prison life has beaten the hell out of me. It has helped me to learn not to be hardheaded, when God is trying to teach me something. For these lessons, I thank God.
Life is a painful struggle, but only the dead need not struggle. For these struggles, I thank God.
Working through the trials and tribulations that have made me stronger, and when that pain mysteriously turns into beauty. For the trials, tribulations, and pain, I thank God.
“Prison Wisdom” by Leo Cardez
When I can use my strengths, to help others who are going through what I have endured — for what good is being strong, unless it can be used to help the weak? For those opportunities, I thank God.
Honest friendships, deep conversations, and a good laugh, even in the midst of chaos, I thank God.
The opportunity to focus my energy into making needed changes in my thinking; that even behind these bars, I can make a positive shift in my outlook. For these changes, I thank God.
Food, water, and shelter — for these basic necessities whom so many lack, I thank God.
For getting into shape and living a healthier lifestyle removed from my addictions, I thank God.
For all those who go out of their way, to make things harder than they need to be; For all the inmates who whine and complain about anything and everything;
For all the friends and family who turned their back on me in my darkest hour, and chose hate instead of love, anger instead of compassion, animosity instead of understanding, and rancor instead of forgiveness;
For all the frustrations that come with a life lived inside a concrete jungle on the fringes of society — all of which drove me to do what I didn’t before: give my life to Jesus Christ. For all these people, I thank God.
For this soul-saving intervention that has opened my eyes and heart to the importance of real family, loyal friends, unflinching love, and to the God who made it all.
For all of this, I will forever thank God.
Suzelle and Brad have been pen pals for years. They wrote this exploration of imagination together.
Suzelle: Imagination is human magic. It gives us the power to make mental pictures and feel feelings beyond the input of our senses. It helps us believe, remember, reason, fantasize and solve problems! Imagination misused fuels our fears, but more often it beckons us toward a better life.
I always thought I had a good imagination. I’m a writer, an artist, and a songwriter… But I never imagined I could have a rich, beautiful, loving friendship with somebody like Brad the Dad, a young incarcerated Black man who grew up on the streets in poverty, fear, and violence.
Brad the Dad: Imagine a child born to a single mother addicted to crack cocaine and alcohol. She has utter disregard for this child; his basic needs are at war with the merciless enemy, crack, and only one desire can be fulfilled. The child loses every time…
There is no father. Often, there are no lights, heat, or hot water; no food or rules; no love, attention, or affection. There’s only crack smoke, empty beer cans, and strange men coming and going day and night. And if the child cries from hunger, he’s fed punches to the face to shut him up.
Imagine a child who wanted to be Superman; who dreamed of being a lawyer or policeman; who dreamed of his mother loving him and his daddy being home. Feel the bite of cold, hard steel around his tiny wrists; the loneliness, fear and sadness of being locked in jail for trying to protect and earn the love of a mother who cursed the day he was born. Honestly, would it surprise anyone if this child answered the call of self-preservation and took to the streets?
Now imagine the surprise of this child grown to adulthood, in a prison cell, watching TV as a crowd of black and white people march through the streets, professing “Black Lives Matter!” I thought it was some kind of a hoax. Frustrated and angry, I asked myself, “Who are these Black Lives everyone claims to matter…?”
Suzelle: It was my congregation and me that Brad saw on the TV news. We were marching to fight the dismissal of charges against the police officer who murdered Jay Anderson, Jr., a young black man from our neighborhood.
Brad wrote to me. He asked. “Does my black life matter? Does my son’s black life matter? Or is it just the black lives who are dead that matter?” His question hit my face like a dash of cold water. We began writing back and forth.
Brad the Dad: Throughout the 20 years I’ve been incarcerated, I’ve always imagined myself as something greater than the six-digit number the prison system assigned me. I HAD to imagine in order to survive. I’ve spent more than ten years in solitary confinement, with one stint lasting almost four years straight. Having a vivid imagination and hope is the ONLY way to survive the hole for such a duration. You must be able to live in your mind and work towards something greater for tomorrow. I imagined myself as the most loving and understanding father the world has ever seen, and the most supportive, loving, and loyal husband a wife could ask for. I imagined I was smart; a scholar even, so I studied and read a lot of books. I imagined myself as a Freedom Fighter. Despite the barriers the prison administration placed in front of me, I never ceased to imagine. To believe. To hope.
Suzelle: I didn’t understand Brad at first. I thought he wanted help from me. I asked a committee of my congregation to assist, but they returned only fear and suspicion. But Brad had imagined something far more powerful than help: he imagined honest conversations, a sharing of laughs and lives, caring support for his son. In a word, he imagined kinship. And that is what we now have — Brad and me, my partner, Brad’s wife, his son, and Lynn and Marc — a wonderful couple from my former congregation who wrote to Brad when I could not. We are a circle of kin, companions on life’s path. We love each other; we listen and learn from each other.
Brad the Dad: I never knew exactly how I would bring my imaginings to fruition, but I always believed I would. Now I can proudly profess to you that I stand here today as a loving husband of an amazing wife, who has enriched my life beyond anything I could have ever imagined; a supportive father of a wonderful son and step daughter. I am a college scholar with a 3.8 grade point average, and I am a staunch defender of the freedoms and liberties of all people, regardless of age, race, gender identity, or sexual orientation. So much love is reciprocated between my great friends Suzelle and Lynn and me, and their partners, whose friendship and support has helped me turn my imagination into reality. We have all dared to hope, believe, and imagine something beyond the boxes of each of our cultural or social demographics. I encourage you to have the courage to do the same.
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What role does imagination play in your life?Michael
CLF Member, incarcerated TX
Imagination has had a major role in my life ever since I was a little boy. My imagination started and grew, from my shoe box full of G.I. Joe vs. Cobra action figures. I’d create story lines, and they’d be my actors for my imaginative movie. To be honest, that carried on until I was 17 years old. At that time, I gave my action figures to my oldest nephew.
Then, I started writing short stories, getting critique and advice from my Reading and English teachers in high school. By 20, I went online to find out how a screenplay is properly written and formatted. After reading a couple of screenplays online, like Die Hard and The Sixth Sense, I started writing my own screenplays.
Every day, I have new ideas and imaginative plots for stories, screenplays, and novels. Being able to go into my world of imagination really helps me to be able to cope and manage a cool mind and time while in prison. Of course, movies, commercials, TV shows, classic literature and novels, really help to spark an idea and let my imagination fly and take me into a place of wonderful, awesome, and potential possibilities. I’d be one lost and crazy individual without my imagination. I’m very thankful for the imagination I have and hope one day, I can use it to help and bless others.
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Michael
CLF Member, incarcerated WI
Your mind controls whether you live in a paradise, or hell. Imagination gives us the power to believe, and push the limits. My imagination has granted me ideas, innovation; the natural outcome of creative thinking. The proper use of imagination is to give beauty to the world.
Talib
CLF Member, incarcerated FL
When we’re incarcerated we lose a lot, but one of the main things we lose is our ability to connect to the world. We become very isolated, and we start to forget the world outside this one — our dreams even start to become defined by the parameters of prison. Our interpretation can become distorted through the prism that is prison.
Our imagination plays the vital role of keeping us connected to the outside world.
We use our imagination in a variety of ways: we tell stories about our life before incarceration, or imagine what we’ll be doing upon release. We imagine playing games with our kids, of having intimate moments with loved ones; we use artistic mediums to remember the world as we once saw it, or re-imagine it in a way that renews our connection to it. There is no shortage of inventive ways that those of us in prison use our imagination as a means to feel connected to a world that some of us haven’t seen in decades.
I will tell you the three main ways I use my imagination as a means of connection. First, I am a constant student. I enjoy learning; I love to study philosophy, sociology, and politics. I strive to understand reasons. My love of studying started with myself: I was 20 years old, facing down the rest of my life in prison, and did not understand why. I needed to figure it out. I wanted to know what happened to me that caused me to want to be someone who inflicted pain. This led me down a rabbit hole in which I found some of those answers, and also led to me finding myself, and being able to imagine how I fit in the world.
Next, I am a writer. I write a variety of things, but my passion lies with poetry and short-fiction: this is where I can play with ideas of identity and emotion. Writing helps me to imagine the world in new ways, the type of people that exist in it, and how we’re all connected to it. It allows me to imagine an existence beyond the walls. When I write, I am in a different world — connected to it, not in a prison cell.
Lastly, I use imagination with the people I correspond with. I have been told that I can be quite an inquisitive person, it is only because I desire to know. I’ve spent my entire 20s and almost all of my 30s in prison, and the experiences that people normally have at that age — things that helped them discover themselves — are things I didn’t get. I live somewhat vicariously through others’ stories. I rely on their information when discussing an array of topics, to hypothesize my own likes/dislikes and desires/needs. The more detail, the better I can imagine. It is through those interactions that I can see the world.
My imagination for me, and for others in my position, is about maintaining a connection to other people and the world. It is a necessary component to staying a person, instead of becoming a prisoner.
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George
CLF Member, incarcerated FL
Imagination has always played a big role in my life. As kids we often imagine ourselves as superheroes or any other type of fictional hero. As we grow up, so does our imagination. As a teenager, I used to imagine myself as a firefighter or a police officer (still heroes, but more reality based). Now as an incarcerated man, I truly understand the power of a good, strong imagination.
Relaxed thinking is the key to your imagination, and imagination is the key to your power and talent. As an incarcerated man, I have time to think clearly. Once activated, it’s easy to find and focus on your power and talent. For some it’s drawing, and for others it may be writing or story telling. For me it’s all of the above. I tell stories in graphic novel form, so my imagination is always going, even while I sleep. For all people in the free-world or who are incarcerated, if you want to be successful or just happy in life, my advice is to slow down. Close your eyes and let your imagination guide you to your true calling. Blessed be.
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Russell
CLF Member, incarcerated MD
I have discovered that the most powerful super power in the Universe is the imagination.
Imagination dictates every single thing I do. Many people may be unaware how our imagination creates everything around us. As a lifelong artist I know this to be true. Before I draw, I imagine. Before I sleep, I imagine. Before I awake, I imagine. It is a fact that dreams are mere imagination run wild.
What I do is allow my imagination to combine with the actions that will lead to my revealing the imagined thing simply by not interfering. In Buddhism, this is said to be what Zen is: the mind and actions moving effortlessly in unison.
My imagination gives me inspiration to contribute to a future world where everyone loves one another and shares all of earth’s resources for the good of the whole planet. Those that are using their imagination in the same way will quicken this imagining into physical reality.
If I never learned to just let my imagination live free I would be one of the most miserable people alive. I believe I only exist simply because I imagine it!
Would you like to represent the Church of the Larger Fellowship at General Assembly (GA) this summer?
The CLF is entitled to 22 delegates at the UUA’s General Assembly, which will be held both online and in-person in Pittsburgh, PA from June 21-25, 2023. You will be able to attend online or in-person workshops, programs, and worship services. Proof of vaccination for COVID-19 is required to attend in person.
As a delegate you will vote on association business during General Sessions. General Sessions will be held from 2:30-5:30pm ET on 6/22-6/24 and 2:00-4:00pm PT on 6/25. Delegates should be able to be online or in person to attend the majority of these General Sessions. CLF delegates vote their conscience on matters related to the denomination of Unitarian Universalism, and are responsible for their own expenses. There is no set registration fee for delegates who are attending only for business virtually at General Sessions.
If you’d like to participate in GA 2023 in this role, please fill out the online application here. Visit the UUA’s GA website for details.
When Rev. Michael Tino reached out to me and asked me to reflect on persistence, I laughed and laughed. The dictionary definition of persistence calls it “an obstinate continuance in a course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition.” As a person with ADHD, I am pretty much the opposite of the definition of persistence. My squirrel brain is easily distracted and finds anything new more interesting than something old. I have been known to make to-do lists and then think I have already done the task. I am then surprised that my laundry is still in the bag by the door because I was sure that I had done laundry. I mean, I wrote it down!
This essay is already three days late.
In 2017, U.S. Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts read a letter from Coretta Scott King into the record on the Senate floor. As she continued to read it, Republican leaders, including Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell told her to stop. After much back and forth, the Republican majority voted to silence her for the remainder of the hearings.
Afterward, McConnell explained himself: “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.”
That line became a full-throated rallying cry for many people. It resonated deeply within a broad U.S. culture that lays out the idea that persistence in the face of opposition is a sign of strength. Warren didn’t take no for an answer. We love that stuff. We read story after feel-good story of the person who tried for years to accomplish their goal and then did, through persistence.
If only we try hard enough, we are told, we will be able to succeed at whatever we put our mind to. Our single-minded commitment will overcome all obstacles. Persisting, someone decided, is something that a person does or does not do. Keep going. Don’t stop. Continue in the face of opposition. Just Do It.
But hand in hand with that idea is the ugly underbelly that if persisting will get us to our goal, then if we don’t accomplish something, it will be our fault for not continuing. Just Do It. And if you don’t do it, it’s your fault.
Nonsense.
Joking aside, there are plenty of things at which I’ve persisted. I have completed complex tasks, essays written, children fed, courses completed, and painted rooms. But I never did them alone. That’s the myth that we persist independently.
I think persistence is not an individual character trait. It’s a group activity, and we should understand it as part of community care.
Persistence is collective. It is in the endurance of actions of those who would not give up on me when I gave up on myself. It’s the support of our family and friends and even strangers. It’s the people who grow our food, even people we pay to help us do those things we cannot accomplish alone. Persistence is in the people who let me sleep on their couch while I commuted from Philly to N.Y. for school. It’s the people who took me in and fed and watered me when my mental health collapsed in on itself. It’s the people who send me cards with stickers in them to remind me I am loved. We move forward together.
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Persistence is a group of people moving toward their goals. Taking turns, like geese flying in formation, take turns at the front, at that hardest bit. As a community, we take turns with the things we are best at and alternate our effort at the most challenging activities. We persist collectively in the face of collective opposition.
Wonder what happened to the letter by Coretta Scott King? Senator Jeff Merkley read it into the Senate record. Warren persisted, and then Merkley continued. Someone else completed the task she set out to do.
Persistence is a group activity. All of us persist together, supporting one another when and how we can, accepting the help of others. This group activity is part of how we all get free together.
What is the value of persistence? When have you struggled with it, or felt its benefits?
Michael
CLF Member, incarcerated WI
Persistence drives people to accomplish great things. I have struggled with persistence throughout my life, I put limits on the tasks I take on, and at times, I take on too many tasks. I keep it up, because I can feel the benefits of 90% of my persistence.
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Russell
CLF Member, incarcerated in MD
Ever since my first incarceration at age 14, I have been meditating with the goal to escape my physical body. I sucked at meditation at first! I would either fall asleep trying to do it, or give up out of boredom. But I had read every book about the subject, so I knew that the goal to escape my body was possible.
One day in 2004 while I spent the summer in solitary confinement, I had read a book that gave me the key I was missing. It said: lay down. Plug your ears and cover your eyes, deprive yourself of all senses. Relax. Breathe easy, don’t concentrate on anything but leaving your body. Once you feel your body begin to feel loose, commit to forcing your consciousness up and out of your forehead, and don’t stop this course, come whatever may. I did this. I felt the looseness as if I were half asleep and half awake. Then came swirling white light in a cyclone type motion behind my eyelids that began to increase more and more as I looked at it and forced my mind upward and outward. Suddenly the swirling light began to make the sound of a tidal wave, like crashing water in my ears. It grew louder and louder as I forced my concentration upward. Without warning my body felt light as a feather, as if I was laying down on the floor of an elevator as it was going up.
This feeling increased until I felt myself being sucked through the cyclone like a wind tunnel. Within seconds I was surrounded by darkness so thick that it felt tangible. I was aware that this experience was real and that I was no longer in my body. I sought to prove it by waving my hand before my eyes. What I saw was an imprint of atoms that made up what was my physical hand. I had no words for this experience other than utter amazement. I saw no up or down, only space.
I became afraid that a guard might come up to my door and think I was unresponsive, so I sought a way to get back in my physical vehicle. There were no sounds to hear, nothing to see. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. Since I felt myself ascending, and I saw the light atoms of what made up my hand, if I pushed myself back down into my body I should be okay.
As I thought this idea, I began to feel myself descending. I kept pushing myself down until I suddenly heard voices, the same waves crashing and swirling white light. I had the feeling of being shocked awake as when someone makes a loud bang and one wakes with their nerves buzzing. Then I could feel the shirt over my eyes and toilet paper balls I used as ear plugs in my ears. I moved my hand before my face and saw only the fabric of my state shirt. I jumped up and screamed, “I did it! I escaped my body for real!” I was absolutely ecstatic with joy.
Were I not persistent, I would never have learned what exists beyond the physical world. My reward was a disillusionment about life and death that only comes from personal experience. Never ever give up!
The purpose of this class is to give the tools necessary to confront deeper issues based in fear.
Students will learn what fear really is and how it applies to them. They will learn that some of the negativity in their lives is based in their own fears, and hopefully begin a journey on a more positive path. Coming to terms with fear can lead to a more positive outlook on life and on people as a whole. This can result in more peace and happiness for the individual negating the need for negative expression (i.e. violence). Confronting one’s unhealthy fears in a positive way can influence genuine change. Students will also learn that some level of fear is natural.
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What is fear & how do we master it?Definition:
- A feeling of alarm, caused by the expectation of danger, fueled by a basic lack of trust.
- Anxious concern.
Judging by these definitions, fear can range from not jumping off a cliff because of the fear of being hurt, or buying coffee because you are running out. Fear can motivate you to do something as well as not to do something.
The 5 Universal Fears:
- Being hurt
- Hurting others
- Abandonment
- Inadequacy
- Losing ourselves
These are the roots of other fears. Everyone has some level of these fears. It’s okay and natural. When we allow ourselves to act in ways that affect ourselves or others in negative ways, you may be experiencing an unhealthy amount of one or more of these fears. It’s time to confront this within yourself. Let’s break down these fears…
Being Hurt:
In what ways can we be hurt?
- Physically: any way to the body
- Mentally: any way to the mind
- Emotionally: any way to emotions
- Financially: any way dealing with money
- Materially: any way to do with material things
- Spiritually: any way to our sense of spirituality
Looking at this list, which one do you think affects you most?
Hurting Others:
In the same ways we can be hurt, others can also be hurt. Some fear hurting others. There are multiple reasons for this fear, but most are attributed to empathy or fear of consequences for doing so.
Abandonment:
This is in greater or lesser degree the fear of being alone or rejected. This fear can lead to poor relationships, isolation, depression, and bottled up feelings. Remember you cannot have healthy relationships if you have no trust.
People who have an unhealthy amount of this fear may contribute to one or more of these categories:
- People who have never dealt with being alone. People who always were alone or away from key members of their development (i.e. parents).
- People who have been in traumatic situations. Socially under-developed individuals.
Inadequacy:
This is the fear of not being “good enough.” This comes from setting your expectations for yourself too high, or from low self-esteem issues that may have a deeper cause that you need to confront. Oddly enough, one common way this fear is expressed is defensiveness, though not all defensiveness is caused by this. Another way this may be expressed is self-defeating attitudes.
Have you ever not done something because you thought you would fail?
Losing Ourselves:
This is the fear of losing our sense of self, how we want to be seen, or what we represent. People who have an unhealthy amount of this fear, may have at one point lived a shallow life with no purpose or direction. Or at another level, live in or worry about the opinions of others too much.
A thought that may go with this fear is, “This is all I have so I have to maintain it.” Some people express this fear with the fear of change.
Have you ever not talked to somebody because they were a “weirdo” and you don’t talk to weirdos?
What fear really boils down to is lack of trust in Yourself, Others, and/or A Higher Power or Greater Power. That being said, it is perfectly normal to have some fear. We would be dead without it. Fear is normal, fear is natural.
Ask yourself this question:
When have any of my fears caused me to act or think in a way that was negative?
When fear becomes that, or False Expectations Appearing Real is when it becomes unhealthy.
Unhealthy fear may affect our judgment and reasoning, it may harm our relationships, and it may affect our spirituality or our sense of purpose.
So how do we balance fear? A way to balance something may be to seek its opposite. There are many schools of thought on the opposite of fear but for the purpose of this lesson see fear as a lack of trust.
If fear is a lack of trust, the first step is to recognize where the lack of trust lies and to take it for what it really is. This does not mean to go around trusting everything!
A lack of trust in self can be helped with a buildup of self esteem.
- Set realistic goals for yourself
- Don’t compare yourself to others
- Learn from mistakes instead of holding them against yourself
- Challenge yourself
- Bask in your achievements, no matter how small
- Force yourself to smile sometimes
- Be honest with yourself
Do not confuse this with ego, which has its roots in self centeredness.
A lack of trust in others is a harder one to balance. First, determine if you are basing this fear off an experience with someone else. Look for another way to assess your relationships.
Trust in relationships is built with honesty and the acts of sharing deep feelings. This often requires you to share your feelings first. Don’t hold others to your own expectations. Learn to appreciate what makes others unique (the world would be boring without it).
A lack of trust in a Higher/Greater power comes with time and development. What’s the difference between a Greater power and a Higher Power?
A Greater power is anything greater than you alone (i.e. an organization, authority member, or a cause/idea). For those who have a Higher power, this comes with building your relationship with your higher power.
The same effort that goes into your other relationships should go into developing your relationship with your greater or higher power.
Become part of a greater purpose. You already have taken the first step. Build upon your knowledge on various subjects.
Keep an emphasis on the question of “why” when searching within yourself. This is only the surface of fear but it does give you a starting point. Remember that this takes time.
“Where do we find that space of connecting, of belonging. Really, that space where there is no other.” — bell hooks
Connection is a lifeline. To extend oneself, to belong to something larger. Inviting a conversation outside of one’s head or examining an internal relationship, perhaps to bring it into a state of balance.
That internal state of balance is one of the underlying losses during the pandemic that is rising to the surface for some of us as we emerge—in whatever ways we do, don’t or can’t emerge—from these last three years. There’s a yearning for a long-promised return to “normal” even when we know there is no normal and that what society has called “normal” was problematic, full of injustices and oppressive systems that continue to hurt so many of us.
Living through a time when our lives depended on our distance from one another and when breathing in the same space together could be deadly, some of us were able to question, “How can I possibly find safety and still have a sense of connection?” And some of us didn’t have the ability or choice to be safely distanced. At no time in recent history have we been so in need of connection and so uncertain about the means or the consequences of such contact.
Now, many of us are having to relearn how to connect and who to connect with. Even before we reach out to other people, we may have to go through a process of considering how connected or disconnected we are with ourselves. We’re, at once, catching up with and reinventing our lives and the process can be overwhelming. Even in writing this, we are feeling the challenges of reintegrating into some kind of new rhythm. We are bridging our own gap between what was and what is now, who we were and who we are becoming to meet this new reality. And we’ve needed a lot of patience and compassion, trust and love, both for ourselves and for each other, so that we can help create whatever happens next, personally and societally.
We’ve weathered our own losses and made dramatic changes to what we do in the world. And, like a snake shedding its skin, this new layer is still tender as we grow into it.
As songwriters, we connect best to ourselves and to the world through our music. What keeps us most rooted to the larger community is that we’re activist songwriters. Our job is to listen closely to people’s stories, especially stories that are silenced or obscured by dominant culture, and amplify those stories through songs that invite you to close your eyes and sink into a steady rhythm, shed a tear for a story of someone you’ve never even met, shout down an injustice or celebrate in joyful harmony.
Music creates a web of connection. It suspends a moment in time for us to get a closer look at what’s really going on, what we feel in our hearts and in our bodies: the loss, the pain, the power of what’s possible when we join together to create change. The song can reveal for us how we’re all connected in a moment in time. What things in our lives have we done that led to that moment. And what things have we not done that led us here. What needs have we paid attention to and what needs have we not.
PHOTO CREDIT: TERRY GEORGIA
In March of 2020, we started leading a weekly songwriting class that is still ongoing. We began the class so that we would have some source of income when all our gigs disappeared but we have found that it went much further than that, keeping us connected to our own writing as we pass on what we’ve learned over our decades of writing songs and giving our students an opportunity to hone and strengthen their skills, an expanding exploration into themselves—what they care about, what they love, what makes them laugh, what brings them comfort. We also started a weekly Sunday online gathering that included teaching our songs, inviting guest artists to teach theirs and joining together for monthly concerts. (The videos are archived on our YouTube channel and our Facebook page.) These gatherings lasted until the end of 2022 and were a touchstone for people—including some who were isolated because of health concerns, disability or geography—a place they could come every week, make friends and be in community. It was a touchstone for us, too, because it provided us with a routine for doing music and being part of and caring for a community. While we miss those gatherings, the demands of planning for and performing in person again require more of our time.
Writing, singing, performing with and to an audience has all shifted in these times but the power of music and song to connect us remains strong. Music super charges connection. The message goes deeper when it’s carried in a tender or powerful melody. It spreads farther as we carry these songs, sometimes through many years of our lives. As the CLF community knows well, people can still sing together, with the music physically vibrating in them and from them, helping to create a moment of sanctuary, even if our surroundings are not a sanctuary or a moment of collective power and unity, even when we are singing from our own separate spaces. May we each find that place of connection, of belonging. That space where there is no other.
How do you cultivate and sustain friendship? What role does friendship play in your life?Russell
CLF Member, incarcerated in MD
This may sound ridiculous to some people but, I didn’t know what actual friendship was until I got sentenced to Life Without Parole. When I found all of my known family and the people I considered friends fleeing my side, I felt devastated. I felt betrayed, neglected, rejected, lied to, and despised by everyone that I ever knew who said they loved me.
In this abject abandonment I held on to one sacred truth: “I still love me!” I was the only friend I actually ever had regardless of who rode with me through my hard times or smiled alongside me on the ones that were good! And as long as that love resided in me, the people who were truly meant to be in my life would damn sure show up. Why? Because I never gave up on myself. Friendship means never giving up on a friend.
It took me hitting absolute rock bottom to learn that that’s where I’d find all the true friends I would ever need in this world! When I felt that I “lost” all these people I previously knew, the truth is that I realized that I never “had” them. Learning how to be my own best friend prepared me for being another person’s best friend, not to be quick to judge them in their circumstances, how do I know what I would do if the shoe were on the other foot? Be honest but understanding, not laying out ones faults but helping them through them. And above this, love them for loving you! Not to seek to use them for personal gain, or violate their privacy when you feel inadequate. In doing this, a Twin-Like bond will appear and the communication will always continue to improve. Friendship is a word made up of Friend and a Ship. If two Friends work together there will always be Smoooooooth Sailing!
PHOTO BY MARKOS MANT ON UNSPLASH
“We are writing this in pencil, not etching it in stone.” — from the Article II Study Commission Report 1/17/23
One of the defining characteristics of our Unitarian Universalist faith is that ours is a “living tradition.” We do not etch our faith in stone precisely because we hold sacred that it must change. It must adapt to new challenges, it must meet new understandings, and it must evolve based on new experiences and connections.
Members of the Article II Study Commission & some UUA Board/Administration Liaisons (l-r): Dr. Paula Cole Jones, Dr. Rob Spirko, Maya Waller, Becky Brooks, Kathy Burek, Rev. Meg Riley, Rev. Cheryl M. Walker, Satya Mamdani
This change includes our most central language as well, which is why our Association’s Bylaws mandate regular reviews of Article II of the UUA Bylaws, better known as the Principles, Sources, and Purposes of Unitarian Universalism.
The current version of how we articulate the center of Unitarian Universalism is the seven Principles. Those principles were introduced to us in 1985, and were a significant change from the concepts that preceded them. Their passage was not without disagreement, some of which was rooted in a love for the 1961 language.
In mid-January 2023, the commission that has been faithfully working for the past two years released their proposal for an Article II that leads our faith into the future. Most dramatically, it replaces our Principles with seven core Values, each of which comes with a charge to each of us, expressed as a covenant.
The values are centered on Love, named as a spiritual discipline that holds us together, and are named as Interdependence, Pluralism, Justice, Transformation, Generosity, and Equity. There’s even a beautiful graphic representation of them in the report. There are more words, of course. And most of what we love about our current Principles lives on in some version in our Covenant.
Of course, this is the central document for the Unitarian Universalist Association, centered in the United States. It is not the guiding force for UU congregations outside of our Association—including non-UUA member congregations elsewhere in our world. It remains to be seen how this understanding of Unitarian Universalism might ripple out and be transformed as it meets the realities of other cultural understandings of our faith. I hope it changes as it does so. It’s a living tradition, after all.
I hope that CLF members will read the report and reflect on this new way of understanding our Unitarian Universalist faith. Delegates to the 2023 UUA General Assembly will vote on a final version of this proposal in June. We will likely hold engagement sessions over the next few months as materials come available to do so. Keep your email open for such announcements.
From the Article II Study Commission Report: a visualization of the new proposed language for Article II, defining six Unitarian Universalist Values, all centered in Love. Graphic design by Tanya Webster.
A little girl said to her make-believe best of friends:
“Today, I shall light a white candle.
No wait, maybe a green one, or
Perhaps an orange and a red.
There are so many to choose from —
Why not one of each color?
Yea! That will do,” and so she told her make-believe best
of friends,
“We shall see
A white light
A green light
A red light
A brown light
A black light, and even a
Blue light, and let’s not forget,
An orange light.”
And so she lit one of each —
Only to find that the rainbow of colors
She had hoped for, got lost somewhere in the dark.
Should she cry and wait for Mom to come
To help her look for the rainbow of color lights?
Her make-believe best of friends said,
“Wait, call no one. Look, do you see?
All the tiny flames, their heat and their light
Are the same, and just as bright.”
Even the space which separates one candle and the other
Can not change the sameness.
Oneness was born in the mind of the child.
Colors like skin and like many dresses were only robes
Which neither added nor subtracted anything from the flames of the chalice.
Colors are stronger than light:
They blind the darkened mind
From seeing the same flame in one, as in the other,
Including the reflection of “mine.”
Would you like to represent the Church of the Larger Fellowship at General Assembly (GA) this summer?The CLF is entitled to 22 delegates at the UUA’s General Assembly, which will be held both online and in-person in Pittsburgh, PA from June 21-25, 2023. You will be able to attend online or in-person workshops, programs, and worship services.
Proof of vaccination for COVID-19 is required to attend in person. As a delegate you will vote on association business during General Sessions. General Sessions will be held from 2:30-5:30pm ET on 6/22-6/24 and 2:00-4:00pm PT on 6/25. Delegates should be able to be online or in person to attend the majority of these General Sessions. CLF delegates vote their conscience on matters related to the denomination of Unitarian Universalism, and are responsible for their own expenses. There is no registration fee for delegates who are attending only for business virtually at General Sessions.
If you’d like to participate in GA 2023 in this role, please fill out the online application. Visit the UUA’s GA website for details.
In 2019 the Rev. Bill Sinkford and the wonderful staff at First Unitarian Portland invited me to join them for “Seminary for a Day,” when we reflected together on how our inherited liberal tradition is accountable to the theological work of liberation. Such transformation is central to the promise I find in our living tradition. I rarely speak of liberal theology in isolation unless specifically asked to do so. This conversation, this accountability, and this transformation are why I consistently draw on my understanding of our liberal and liberating faith. So what does that ask of us in this season where we are working together on expressing our highest values in community?
Recently the Rev. Dennis McCarty in his blog, “Thoughts from a Gentle Atheist,” reminded us of central values in Unitarian Universalism. “The worthiness of the human condition is one… investigation, research, and intellectual growth is another. Openness to change produced by that intellectual investigation and research is a crucial third.” This promise is described in the current language of Article II of the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Bylaws as “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” In the September 2022 draft of a revised Article II, it is described as both a promise to “collectively transform and grow spiritually and ethically,” as well as “learn from one another and openly explore the depth and breadth of our many wisdoms.” The human worthiness that Rev. McCarty highlights is beautifully reflected across both versions, and both call us to the work of justice.
Latin American liberation theologies often speak of a preferential option for the poor, but also for a range of inequities in our living. The “preferential option” teaches that God themself, the work of the Church writ large, our values, and our wisdom are centered on those most impacted by systemic oppression. Traditionally one might say that if we want to know God, we need to live in solidarity with those facing the injustices of poverty and class oppression.
Unitarian Universalists might say that we are most able to co-create the All-Embracing Love that our tradition teaches us when we center those most impacted by long established systems of injustice. We save one another, and remake the sacredness of the world, through prioritizing what is truly needed for that remaking. Anything less drives us away from our faithful living.
PHOTO BY SIIM LUKKA ON UNSPLASH
Today’s Unitarian Universalism asks us to re-engage the largest questions of our living in the service of liberation. I want a Unitarian Universalism that troubles the waters of what we mean by freedom, just as the Rev. Dr. Mark Morrison Reed asked of us quite some time ago. I want a Unitarian Universalism that offers up its power and authority in the service of justice, and embraces new learning and surprise as sacred offerings. This especially when our beloveds directly impacted by injustice over generations somehow still welcome us when we show up in the spirit of lamentation, regret, determination, and a deeply invested discipline of hopefulness that together we might yet survive.
My hard-won hopefulness, as Ecowomanist scholar the Rev. Dr. Melanie Harris would call it, is that many of you might want to build a Unitarian Universalism together that is humble, that demands little from those who have been made to sacrifice much, and that prioritizes its commitments to faithful living even when we don’t quite know how to make our way. That is the Unitarian Universalism that I believe in. Right now, I think it is on a journey from liberal to liberation. And I am orienting myself toward the day when those words have new and fully empowered meanings in the world.
What does liberation mean to you? What does it feel like, and how do you access it?Russell
CLF Member, incarcerated in MD
I often hold deep discussions over the tier between me and my Brothers in Chains. The object is always to get each other to share what we’ve learned from life and insights we’ve gleaned while doing time.
Often this leads to arguments, but for the most part it leads to self discoveries. When I find myself learning something unexpected from a brother I feel elated at the new information. Especially when it destroys a long held belief of mine that is ultimately wrong.
PHOTO BY ENGIN AKYURT ON UNSPLASH
This is liberation to me. A changed view. A new realization, some witty information I’m made aware of, or simply something I’ve deduced via the open conversation that leads me to a feeling of evolving and getting closer to a certain truth. Often, these revelations come simply because I don’t look for them, but keep an open mind. It is often said that liberation can not be obtained in its actual form in physical life. I have discovered this to be a lie.
Liberation is anything that frees you from your current state of ignorance. We alone can prevent our own liberation. I strive to be liberated in my everyday affairs!
The following is adapted from a sermon that Aisha gave in CLF online worship on Nov. 6, 2022.
A few years ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about learning to love myself fully, especially my body. I was jokingly explaining that I never learned to dress myself in a way that was truly flattering to my body type. She explained that the problem wasn’t that I didn’t know, it was that I was conditioned through marketing to think fashion looked a certain way and only on certain bodies. Primarily what looks good on thin, white women — and those things simply didn’t look good on me.
She suggested I follow plus sized, Black women on social media. She sent me invitations to gorgeous Black models and activists who I continue to follow.
As their posts showed up in my feed, I was able to expand my notion of what is beautiful and as time went on, I was able to see myself through a more expansive and generous lens.
These fashionistas are unapologetic, fierce and simply beautiful.
One of the people I found myself in awe of was Leah Vernon, a Black Woman whose posts continue to expand my imagination with regards to fashion, because she does not exist in a prescribed paradigm. She is the author of a new book, Unashamed: Musings of a Fat, Black Muslim.
Through Leah’s posts and those of Black leaders like, Sonia Renee Taylor, Ijeoma Oluo, Jessamyn Stanely and adrienne maree brown, among others, I was able to change my perception of beauty through changing the default of what I was exposed to throughout my entire life.
Through a friend’s recommendation, I was able to challenge assumptions I held about myself and about beauty for my entire life. This has helped me experience beauty differently and in a much more liberated and loving way, for myself and others.
This brings me to an email the CLF received a while back about the assumptions the writer seemed to hold. The person, who is not incarcerated, wrote to us asking why they seemed to be getting the “prison ministry version of Quest.” They said that, though they support work with incarcerated people, it is not their work, and they have no interest in being a part of that ministry — they would simply like to get the traditional version of Quest.
Over two long email responses, I told this CLF member that as we center liberation at the CLF, we care about giving opportunities for all to grow an awareness that extends beyond an intellectual understanding that there are “people in prison.” For those of us who are not experiencing incarceration, reading the thoughts and feelings of those who are is powerful. I invited this member to consider the possibility that they have something to learn and be moved by something written by someone whose words you may not otherwise be exposed to, and emphasized that the Worthy Now Prison Ministry is not separate from the ministry of the CLF. We are one entity and one congregation that centers Unitarian Universalist values of community care.
This exchange and the response of this person to the changes in Quest, a publication that for decades centered primarily on the words of ordained clergy, had me thinking about assumptions being made about others.
We are a faith community that does not promise heaven or hell. In essence, we are trying to figure it out. Why are we here? What does it all mean? How do we navigate this beautiful, scary, joyful and painful thing we call life?
I don’t have answers to these questions and the hard truth is no one really does with any degree of accuracy. No one is an expert at being human, not even faith leaders.
What we can offer as faith leaders is a place to grapple with the questions and create a container that invites into an expansive and loving way of being.
Faith leaders receive training to become either ordained, credentialed, or lay leaders in order to have a shared understanding of the container we are creating. Faith leadership is not a science, it is where those given the sacred charge of ministry (in all its forms) choose to be in an accountable relationship with the members of the congregation and in many ways an accountable relationship to UUism itself. I center UU values in how I approach my faith leadership, a leadership rooted in religious education.
Revelation is not sealed, and as part of the search for truth and meaning, learning from those most impacted by oppression is a crucial way to learn the ways we need to do better and love more as we work to dismantle systems that actively cause harm.
When the three of us, the current Lead Ministry Team, started our leadership of the CLF, one of the aspects of this ministry we knew we wanted to transform was that of Quest and how this publication can more faithfully serve all of our members, both incarcerated and free world. The three of us were in agreement that Quest can both include reflections and sermons from faith leaders and our members, both incarcerated and those that are “free.”
In the email I referenced earlier, this CLF member took exception to being called a “free world member.” In retrospect, I realize that this person is accidentally correct to take exception to this term.
As Fannie Lou Hammer said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
Every day in the U.S., it is painfully clear how those in power who want to affirm white supremacy and patriarchy are doing all they can to make sure no one is truly free. The rights of half the population have been taken away with the overturning of Roe vs. Wade. There are hundreds of anti-trans bills across the United States and there are people running for office in the U.S. that are running on platforms of intentional disenfranchisement of those with target identities. While the CLF is based in the U.S, the results of policies enacted by the U.S. government impact people all over the world.
It is more important than ever that those of us in faith leadership positions center the voices of those most cruelly impacted by the systems of oppression that harm us all.
However, those with privileged identities have been deceived into believing they are separate and somehow protected from oppression. This is a lie. Humans are inextricably connected and the destinies of the most powerful are tied to the most marginalized, history has demonstrated this over and over.
Countries with wealth disparities like the ones we have now in the United States do not last, and in fact topple.
We have an opportunity to save ourselves by caring for each other and learning from each other by being open to the reflections from those who are most in harm’s way. Not only Black people, but also indigenous people, trans people, immigrants, those with seen and unseen disabilities, but also learning from people who are incarcerated, most holding some or all of the identities I just listed.
Let us embrace the opportunity to be nourished and impacted by the reflections of people we may never meet in person, but whose lives matter.
I want to share with you the words of Joseph, an incarcerated UU and CLF member. Joseph shared their reflection of the idea of sacrifice. They write:
The value of sacrifice is relative. Without sacrifice, I would not be here living life as I know it. If my mother hadn’t sacrificed her time and put her dreams on hold, then she wouldn’t have been able to raise me so lovingly. She was 20 years old, barely an adult and I feel certain I wasn’t planned. She probably had many other plans. Maybe traveling, concentrating on school. I thank mom for her sacrifice, it was very valuable to me.
Some sacrifices seem small to us but can be very valuable to the recipient. Perhaps you sacrifice some time once a week to go visit a nursing home. If you have spare time, you would normally watch TV or spend it on the internet, you could make a sacrifice that is of little value to you, but could be of enormous value to the nursing home resident who has no family.
Our sacrifices are offering to the group soul of humanity. No matter how small or large, if it does good for one, it is good for all. Depending on my commitment and intention, my sacrifice doesn’t have to be public. When things are done without my attachment to the result, they are more pure and powerful. Some sacrifice all their lives, in order that others may live. Some make small sacrifices of that social awkwardness to overcome that to share a kind word with a stranger. No matter how small a good thing is, it is still good.
In sharing their reflections in Quest, incarcerated CLF members — people who have had their freedom taken away — are now giving the gift of their presence and reflections.
It is incumbent upon those of us with more privilege to examine our assumptions and do what we can to learn from those most impacted by this cruel and harmful system we call the United States. It is incumbent upon us to center love, community, compassion and liberation.
May we be humble in how we receive and move through this faith community and the world.
Last night, I awakened
from a dream
I dreamed of an America
in which those sworn to protect
and serve, abused and killed instead
An America whose hunger turned barbed
wire into shredded wheat and
stomachs became caskets
An America where masks were discarded
and grown men hid under sheets
as they stormed halls of democracy
An America who forgot her history
her polls claiming hate was history
an animal extinct like polar ice caps
An America in which no one escaped the
brutality of law and order ran amok
or escaped the massacre in a nightclub
or massage parlor
or a high school
or a supermarket
An America that claimed there were “good” Nazis
but… didn’t Uncle Sam go to war
to stop the goose-stepping in ‘44?
An America where a wall grew in a
land that once told a foreign leader
to “tear down this wall”
An America where hatemongers
quoted the words of Dr. King
and you are no longer safe in a church
An America whose Statue of Liberty
was silenced, her torch gone cold
the ashes our new mascara
An America whose populace quaked
slouching towards a coming apocalypse
Was it just a dream?
Gary
CLF member, incarcerated in SC
The Church of the Larger Fellowship is migrating our member and donation database. Our new system, called Church Center, allows you to see your history and make changes to:
- Contact information
- Stewardship donations
- User profile
If you have access to the internet, it is now so much easier to manage your information with the CLF! Just go to clfuu.churchcenter.com and log in following the prompts.
As part of this migration, we are asking everyone who has set up a recurring donation with us prior to June of 2022 (in our old system) to recreate their recurring gift in Church Center. It is not secure for us to move your donation between systems ourselves. In addition to reaching out via email to those who are affected by this, we are also now reaching out via Quest. If you have received such an email before and ignored it out of concern that it may be a scam, rest assured — it is not! The CLF does need your help to complete this migration. We will eventually shut off our old system, and when we do, we will lose your donation. Without your generosity, we can’t do all of our important ministry. Thank you!
Once you set up your recurring donation in Church Center, our staff will be notified to shut off your old recurring donation in our old system. We appreciate your prompt attention and willingness to help us make this upgrade a success!
Tech & Membership Staff
Church of the Larger Fellowship
Did you know that there are 7 kinds of rest? Physical, mental, spiritual, emotional, social, sensory, and creative. There’s been a lot of talk about rest in our society lately. Some people have called rest ‘revolutionary.’ Some say it is wealth, or can be a kind of reparations. Whatever you believe about it, every one of us needs it, and many of us don’t get enough.
Last winter, I made a commitment to deep rest. I aligned my vacation days, my children’s winter break calendar, and my employer’s office shut down to allow myself for two solid weeks of not reporting to work, keeping my commitments limited to self, family, writing and slowing down to a stop as often as I possibly could. During what I call my Hibernation Time, I didn’t know about the 7 kinds of rest list, but I offered myself all the hours of sleep my body desired, all the laying in bed reading and coloring I wanted, all the books I wanted to read, all the warm tea, soft comforters, and breakfasts made slowly and lovingly with no tasks, no meetings, no need to run toward any event with a piece of toast in my mouth and a cold cup of coffee in hand. For the better part of two weeks, I took time to figure out how I wanted to be treated, and I treated myself that way. In hindsight, it looks a lot like seven kinds of rest. Deliberately slowing down and protecting my rest was uncharted territory for me. Black women are not encouraged toward leisure. We are expected to take care of everyone and clean up messes and save elections and be inspiring and dignified and refuse to back down and never appear angry about any of it. Anything else runs the risk of being called lazy or unmotivated, which are historically punishable offenses for people who look like me and live in this country. So Hibernation Time was actually difficult to get started with. But once I got into the groove of it, it became transformative. That time changed me, and I have not been the same since.
Fast forward to June 2022, when I had the joyful experience of seeing my first book published — a collection of poetry and meditations, titled Incantations for Rest. This was a big deal for me and I committed to celebrating my accomplishment instead of playing it down. This, like resting, was also quite challenging. Self-appreciation is also not encouraged in people who look like me.
I planned two book release events, starting in April, and while I had been wonderfully fortified by the time I took to practice resting, life is what it is, and eventually, my rest reserve waned.
I felt it most acutely when my first book release event was just about to begin. As we finalized the set up, I realized that I was doing the thing where I think to myself (tell me if you’ve heard this one before): “They’re not gonna do that the way that I want it done, so I’ll just do it myself.” Or, this great time-saver: “Explaining how to do it will take a lot longer than just doing it myself, so I’ll just do it myself.” It felt like there was so much to do, I was keenly aware of a feeling in my body of the clock bearing down on me.
Ultimately, thanks to my family and amazing community, the event was a success. Still, I had a little nagging feeling afterward, feel guilty about getting stressed out, and then I felt guilty about feeling guilty about it. I was thinking, “What happened, Atena? You did such a good job learning how to chill—three months ago, you were the mistress of chill! Now your Auntie Anxiety! How did this happen?!” This is a pretty human thing that we do: we put great effort toward learning a lesson, practicing the learning, and working towards getting it right. We feel proud of ourselves. And then after some time, pretty inevitably, we find ourselves at the bottom of the hill, looking up at that looming lesson yet again. And feeling terrible that we did not “learn our lesson,“ saying, “What’s wrong with me? How could I forget it all and have to start all over again?”
I was listening to Brene Brown’s ‘Unlocking Us’ podcast recently, and she said something that resonates strongly with the point that I’m trying to make: it’s not about having a knowledge base; it’s about practice!
It doesn’t matter how many books you’ve read (or written) about rest; What makes it possible for us is practicing it. It doesn’t matter how many retreats you’ve gone to in the past; are you practicing yoga now? It doesn’t matter if you have a masters degree in it; are you engaging in best practices currently?
So I don’t have a revelation, just a reminder: keep practicing.
Whether it’s a matter of enough sleep, enough time to play, occasional vacations, or a season of hibernation, rest is a human need. To think of it as a privilege or revolutionary tells us how far we have strayed from practicing rest in the ways we need and deserve. Rest is not revolutionary, but being able to practice rest in a racist, capitalist, ableist hetero-patriarchal society is rare and transformative. The revolution may lie in creating conditions where Black and Brown and Indigenous folks have equitable access to those seven kinds of rest as anyone else. The revolution will need us to claim and practice rest for ourselves and each other.
Realize that we were taught
to fear the dark.
Consider the seed that splits and unfurls
unseen within the Earth . . .
Consider the inside of the egg;
consider the place where
the Big Bang exploded . . .
Unknown and generative,
darkness is unpredictable:
limitless possibility.
We are in the habit
of learning to fear our potential,
but imagine embracing rest and dreams . . .
We learned early to believe in
the whiteness of certain magic and light
And blackness of certain arts and hearts;
confronted with the sky and its stars, I must reject this entire premise.
Remind me, siblings
to unlearn these bad habits
and accept the gifts I’ve been given.
Darkness is free and abundant;
There is joy in unfurling
from the shadows we were made in.
We need only close our eyes to go home.
What does true rest look like for you?Carleous
CLF Member, incarcerated in CO
For me, rest is a state of calm. It is a winding down, a meditation of stillness.
PHOTO BY HENDRIK MORKEL ON UNSPLASH
When I speak of rest, I don’t refer to sleep — I refer to our Creator. Rest shifts my attention to the one responsible for it all. It’s a release and giving into a higher power.
Rest is a break and a breakthrough that allows us to regain the energy to continue on.
In a recent conversation with other religious professionals at Liberal Religious Educators Association (LREDA) Fall Con—the annual conference for religious educators—Aisha Hauser, one of our CLF lead ministers, invited us to name what gives us joy and what sustains us in these difficult times that feel like a slow-moving apocalypse.
One of the annual events we recognize every November is the Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR).
Down the cliffs to the black sand of the Pa’iloa beach, and right on the shore, was an opening.
Most Sunday evenings, members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship with internet access gather for an online worship service.
The following sermon was originally given at the service to formally install our Lead Ministry Team in their role as ministers of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, which took place on June 25, 2022, during UUA General Assembly in Portland, OR.
One of the spiritual joys a religious professional receives is their installation to the congregation to which they’ve been called.
One of the many reasons I choose Unitarian Universalism as my faith is that I don’t believe in saviors.
For me, growing up in the nightmare of my childhood and the abuses I suffered, compassion was an unknown word and concept.
In October of 2020, I suffered a week of torment within which I was repeatedly beaten, extorted of property and medication, and sexually abused by a cellmate.
Religious scholar Karen Armstrong has studied the teachings of religions large and small all around the world. And she has, as we all have, witnessed the strife in our world: the pain, the isolation, the injustice, the inequality.
The CLF held its Annual Congregational Meeting on Sunday June 5, 2022. Anyone who could not attend the meeting was invited to vote by mail ahead of the meeting.
They wouldn’t show me the path in which to walk... Only the roads sidelined, with bodies in chalk...
When Aisha, Michael, and I were called as your Lead Ministry Team in 2020 we were excited to learn all the behind-the-scenes workings of CLF.
I am terrible at remembering names. I have tried all of the tricks to be able to do that, but nope, not for me. Thank goodness for name tags!
How do you honor memory in your life?
JOHNCLF Member, incarcerated in TX
I feel like I am going to take this topic in a direction most are not expecting. The way I honor memory in my life is by trying to remember it. I know that may sound strange, but allow me to explain. Due to a past of very heavy drug use, I have done some pretty severe damage to my brain. My thoughts are slow, my ADHD is harder to keep in check (and yes, I actually have ADHD, unlike the massive numbers of people who have been falsely diagnosed). I will lose my train of thought, and if I don’t have a good reminder it stays lost, no matter how much I rack my brain to retrieve it.
When I think of things I need to get done, I either have to do them right then and there, or I have to make a note of it, or it won’t get done until something reminds me to do it. When I pick up a book I’m reading at the time, I have to skim the last page or two to remember what happened before I put it down. When I write a long letter, I periodically have to reread the letter to remember what I have already written (I’ve already done it once with this essay). I used to be quite skilled at mathematical calculations in my head, but that’s impossible now, I have to do it on paper.
I have been sober going on two years now, and unlike all the other times I quit using, I honestly have no desire to use anymore. Yes, on occasion I feel a slight urge, but it’s so fleeting that I have already decided I don’t want to before the thought is even finished. I know from experience that if I indulge in any kind of intoxicant, even slightly, it’s a full on cannonball into the pool. I’m that kind of addict. I know this about myself. Ten years of experience taught me, so I stay away from everything.
Since I’m sober, the ongoing damaging of my brain has stopped. I was told by a highly intelligent friend of mine that my brain can slowly heal the damage that I have done to it, and omega-3 fish oils will help. So I take two 1000mg gel tablets a day. He also told me that exercising my memory by memorizing things helps. I memorize song lyrics. I’m also trying to teach myself to speak Russian and read and write Cyrillic. Tackling a new language at thirty with a brain that drugs have turned into oatmeal is difficult, but I persevere.
I’m doing my best to honor my memory. I really hope that I can bounce back from my poor decisions. But if I can’t accept the consequences of my bad choices, I really have no choice, right?
ROBERT
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
Memory can be a fickle thing, especially with me. “You have autism, so you must have a photographic memory!” Well, a) it’s technically called idyllic memory, and b) I don’t have it either way. My memory just functions differently than the norm; some things are just easier for me to recall, and others less so.
Pretty much anything that involves static events and not people, I can recall, even if I can’t recall them that quickly. When people become involved, even in those life-changing, life-affirming events, I struggle to remember. I may know that something happened, the “wide-strokes” if you will, but the nitty-gritty details can escape me.
But not always. Not in the sense that when I was younger I could and that as I got older the ability lessened, but that there was a time for me when I could recall all memories with the same level of clarity.
The time is simple to define: it was when I was able to be with, be near, my one and only, my Forever & Always. When in her presence, I could bring to mind all those things that mattered so much. When I first met her and when our daughter was born, everything, good and bad, felt as if it just happened. (Though mind you, the bad wasn’t really that bad, for it was always a learning experience, and something greater always came out of it.)
Then with the separation, brought about from me being charged and incarcerated, things started to slip. Now it’s a struggle to hold onto any little detail, every smile, every hiccup, fading away to nothing.
What hurts even more is that I know that there’s a hole there, a missing spot within my memory, like an empty folder in a filing cabinet. Something important was there, I just don’t know what it was.
Nowadays, people bemoan social media and living your life online, taking needless pictures, posting irrelevant information that only matters to them. But that’s the thing: all of that matters to them. It’s a digital record, a “backup” of your memories, that allows one to easily go back and relive those memories. I find the expression of the self and the sharing of it to be a wonderful thing. Through that, one can live true to themselves, and remember all they were, are, and can be.
DONALDCLF Member, incarcerated in CO
When I reflected on this question I realized I don’t really honor the memories in my life. What I do is long for them, grieve for them, reminisce, and become nostalgic. Memories come all the time, triggered by sights, smells, sounds, and stimuli that I can’t always put my finger on.
When these memories arise now and flood me with emotion, I will pause and rest in whatever it is I am feeling. I give that memory the proper place it deserves, and give myself the extension of that time and place. This will give that memory the honor and respect it deserves — good or bad, there is always a knowledge and understanding to be grasped.
To all members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, Unitarian Universalist:
Per Article VII, Sections 1 and 2, of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Bylaws, the 49th Annual Meeting will be held via video/telephone conference call and screen sharing on Sunday, June 5, 2021 at 7:00PM EDT. To join the meeting, click here.
We will be distributing materials electronically to all CLF members for whom we have a current email address, and posting the documents to our website (www.clfuu.org/annualmeeting). All incarcerated members will automatically receive paper copies of the materials along with postage-paid ballots to return. Others may request hard copies mailed to you by sending back the form on the final page of this issue of Quest, or calling the CLF office at 617-948-6150.
All those who have access to the Internet or phone are encouraged to join our meeting via Zoom and participate in the discussion. Meeting materials will include absentee ballots for those unable to attend in person.
The purpose of the meeting is to:
- Report on highlights of CLF activities and finances
- Vote for the following leadership positions (see nominations from
Nominating Committee in the packet):
- Elect three members to 3-year terms on the board of directors,
- Elect one members to 1-year term on the board of directors to fill a term vacated before the term was finished,
- Elect one member to a 3-year term on the nominating committee,
- Elect a clerk and treasurer for one year
We will elect a moderator from among members present to preside at the meeting.
Aisha Ansano, Board Chair
A phrase landed in me during the week that my mother was dying, as I grasped at any words I could find to make sense of the enormous shift in front of me.
The shape of every memory is changing.
I was seeing with painful clarity what anyone who has experienced big loss knows: I would now have two lives. The first life was the previous 26 years in which I was lucky enough to have my beloved mother with me in life, and the second, however much time I have in front of me, in which I would have to hold her close as a beloved ancestor. And every memory from that first life was now changing, shaped by the reality of this sudden ending.
My mother was a constant in all of the life I’d already known. Her steady presence, her love and care, was a backdrop to all things — a backdrop so fundamental to my experience of life that it was hard to see it clearly at times. Her love had always been at the center of my life, but I wouldn’t have named it as such until I realized I would have to live without her living presence reinforcing it. Perhaps that’s just the way of everything that is fundamental. We assume there will always be air to breathe, until there isn’t; we assume the sun will rise every day, until it doesn’t.
Now, the backdrop of my every memory was suddenly shifting into focus. Now, in the constant foreground: the gift of having had my mother for any time at all, my gratitude for any moment we spent together in life. The shape of every memory had changed.
So many other things have come into clearer focus along with that shift. There is painful truth to the cliche that major loss makes you realize what’s most important. I’ve moved through the past year with much more clarity about how I want to use my time and energy, letting go of past insecurities and narratives that no longer serve me. With my mother’s love at the center, I understand the sacredness of my life more fully. The shape of my every memory has changed, and with it, the shape and direction of my life.
Memory is not static, an unchanging account of events and relationships and facts. It is the source of our meaning-making, a collection of threads from which we weave the narrative that holds our life. The shape and texture of our memories change along with us, as we need them to, to make sense of the ever-changing reality we are faced with.
Letting the shape of my memories change to foreground my mother’s love is one of the things that has saved me, that has made surviving this first year without her possible. How we remember matters — and the shape of our memories can shape our lives as we move through them.
May you each find a shape to your memories that allow you to move through loss and change with more ease. May you know, always, that you are loved, and let that holding shape all of your life to come.
When I was a teenager, I loved Ralph Waldo Emerson, particularly his essay on self-reliance. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. I repeated these words to myself often. Back then my family was large and everyone knew everyone’s business. This was by design. As somewhat recent immigrants, we had learned how to keep our family safe. My mom and aunties would often prod me on the details of my life, cross-referencing information, verifying. I kept several diaries at that time, some of them in code, because I knew that if my diary was discovered it was getting read. Probably by more than one person.
All of this was done for your own good, they liked to tell me, because they loved me. And I felt loved. I also felt stifled. I planned my escape to a mythical land of self-reliance, where one day I could do for myself alone and not worry what anyone else thought. Think Henry David Thoreau, but Doc Marten boots, drug addiction, and a basement apartment in downtown Seattle.
My journey of rebellious self-reliance indeed led me to some mythical places, but they were scary, too. And self-destructive. It took many years of sobriety for me to finally appreciate my family. During some of the worst days of my addiction, those same aunties helped my mom pull me out of drug dens and bring me home. These are the kind of aunties who will drop everything when called, pick you up from anywhere you ask, and bring along a plate of salami and bread in case you’re hungry. They arrive early to help and stay late to clean up and they never ask for anything in return. They know how to care for you because they know you. They take the time to get up in your business and ask.
The aunties know that Emerson’s idea of self-reliance is a white supremacist lie. And it is always, ultimately, self-destructive. None of us, no matter who we are, relies on ourselves alone. Not even Thoreau, who was famously cared for by his aunties, too. The aunties have always known. We are all inherently interdependent, meaning mutually dependent, dependent on one another to survive. Without community care—without a multitude of generations leaning into that interdependence and making use of it—none of us will make it. The earth and its creatures can live no other way.
Emerson was wrong. It isn’t self-reliance that secures the integrity of my mind, but self-care. And even that doesn’t secure the integrity of my soul. For the integrity of my soul, I look to my community: my family, my ancestors, the earth, all the communities of people who claim me, and my body, as I claim myself. For the integrity of my soul, I build resilience by building relationships. I follow the example of my aunties, asking for help when I need it and showing up for others when they need me. Interdependence means we rely on one another. We depend upon each other. We actively care. It is the very opposite of self-reliance. And in this time of global pandemic and social revolution, it is the only way we will survive.
What does it mean to live interdependently? DeShaun
CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
To be interdependent is to depend on one another. Living in a way that not only allows interaction and participation with others, but encourages and is founded on such principles.
It can be one living within a fully functioning community of like minded individuals, or simply a fellowship of individuals living separately operating as a collective. Either way, it is an active union amongst individuals.
To live interdependently is to give, receive, and share what one has to offer with others. It is to allow yourself to rely on and trust others outside of yourself to meet needs in your life.
In a way, it is an acknowledgment through lifestyle choice that we as humankind are meant to live in connection with life outside ourselves. It is a need that when not fulfilled, we are left with a feeling of incompletion. Can anyone truly make the claim that they have met every need in their life without the assistance of anyone else?
When I have people around me as a part of my life whom I can depend and rely on, my life seems as though it flows more easily and is not as restricted. It opens up more and new possibilities in my life to explore.
Carlos
CLF Member, incarcerated in VA
“No man is an island.” This is a quote that most of us heard early in life, along with such aphorisms as, “two wrongs don’t make a right,” and “slow and steady wins the race.” But what does it actually mean, this figure of speech that brings to mind palm trees and coconuts?
I would like to think that the meaning of this saying lies under the fact that each of us, as individuals, as families, as communities even, live in ways that are interdependent with one another. By this I mean that each of us, whether intentionally or not, affect the lives of those around us — and it is up to each of us to decide whether it is for the good of others or not. In the same way that a soft breeze can throw a flurry of oak leaves in the autumn, so can the simple act of a friendly gesture, a smile, or a sharp word affect the outcome of someone else’s day.
In this way, each of us is interdependent with everyone else — we are each free to act as we will, but with the knowledge that our actions affect others, not just ourselves.
Jonathan
CLF Member, incarcerated in WA
I used to believe that the only way to be successful was to be independent, and that meant that I needed nobody’s opinions, teaching, or help. This worked well all the way up until about 4th grade. At that point, I wasn’t getting picked to play on anybody’s team. I was an outcast and alone.
I had to come up with a solution, and my solution was to ask for help. Knowing who to ask and when developed over time, and I created a network of friends, family and spiritual leaders that guide me interdependently.
Please don’t ever be afraid to ask for help. I believe that God intends for us to need each other!
Robert
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
As COVID has shown us, we live in an interconnected world. One life affects another, distance no longer isolating each of us. Mind you, to combat this virus, we physically had to distance — which highlighted our need for physical connection, many not realizing until it was too late how much we depended upon each other, needed each other.
For we do need each other. We all have something to contribute. Some may say that those of us in prison don’t do anything to help; I feel the same way about the talking heads that say this. It may be hard, and there are those that feel they don’t owe anything to the greater world, but we do help, in our own way.
Beyond that dichotomy, looking all around, you see new and inventive ways for people to connect and stay connected. That human interaction cannot be stopped, for it is a part of our core, as essential as the air we breathe.
There are those that isolate, not in a medical sense, but a geopolitical one. They feel that they don’t need anyone, that caring for the hurt and downtrodden is not only beneath them, but it is their right to, well, tread on them. It’s sad, for in the end, not even they gain from these actions.
For we all need each other, Everyone has something that they can do, something that is needed by another, not only to live, but to thrive. You can exist without others, but can only prosper with the support of others.
In April of 2019, I led a youth and adult delegation from the local congregation I serve on a service-learning trip to Pine Ridge, South Dakota. We engaged in a year-long series of learning sessions about Native American history, with an emphasis on the history, spirituality, teachings, and practices of the Lakota people.
Our time at Pine Ridge began with a tour of important sites on the reservation. I wrote this after returning from Wounded Knee, site of the 1890 massacre of nearly 300 Lakota people by the United States Army. I was reminded then that our interdependence transcends not only place but also time—and that in order to make a better future we must learn about and atone for the sins of the past.
Forgive Us Our Trespasses (Pine Ridge Reservation, 4.14.19)
How do you prepare
to visit the site of genocide?
Where the soil has been stained
with the blood of innocents?
If you’re Jewish, perhaps
you find a small, smooth stone
and carry it reverently
to place on the grave of
Lost Bird, infant survivor,
kidnapped and sold and displayed
like a trophy.
We remember you, you might say.
I took a walk with friends
up a steep, snowy hill
to pray,
to see the sun set,
to feel close to the Earth.
Along the muddy path
the meadowlarks trilled and chirped
from their hidden nests
amidst the dry grass
blessing the journey
with their song.
At Wounded Knee, we listened.
First to an oral history of a people who survive, told
with sage burning for purification,
eyes closed in memory of
the inherited trauma of generations.
And then,
after the stories,
to the meadowlarks.
The lost birds singing
through time
across borders
announcing the holiness
of the ground on which we stood.
Reggie
CLF Member, incarcerated in PA
I offer my condolences to the families who have lost loved ones
And became victims to the violence
I offer my apologies for having been derelict in my duty and responsibility as a man
In not being the guardian, educator, and leader my communities needed
In order to be vital and life-affirming
I want to inform you that it is my goal to counteract
the insanity of the destructive mindset
And I do not embrace those who prey upon any people
But particularly, my people
I want my voice to be heard:
Let the violence, drug dealing, physical, and spiritual
abuse of the communities stop
As a man, I want it to be known that I have come to value and recognize
That the children need and deserve a safe and secure
environment in which to grow and develop,
Be educated, have access to equal opportunities to excel
And become who the Creator intended them to be
I ask that everyone reading or hearing this looks at a child
Whether at home, school, at play, in church, or mosque, and consider these words:
I am the African child
The whole world awaits my coming, all the earth
watches with interest
To see what I shall become
Civilization hangs in the balance; for what I am, the
world of tomorrow will be
I am the African child
You have brought me into this, about which I know
nothing
You hold in your hand my destiny
You determine whether I shall succeed or fail
Give me, I beg you, a world where I can walk tall and proud
Train me, as is your duty unto me
To love myself, and my people
And to build and maintain a great nation
It is I who proclaim
I am the African child
The whole world awaits my coming, I shall not delay it
For I too have a dream
I came fractured, I healed, and now I live in a stained glass mosaic of faith. The ME you see is a collection of shards, reconfigured and made into a whole new kind of beautiful.
I am proof that spiritual growth is both possible and worth it, proof that life is such a beautiful, complicated mess.
I grew up in a home where faith was spoken but never personally practiced. I know the words of belief, but not the behaviors. We swore to g*d, but we never visited a house of worship. I learned reverence for faith, but I never adopted a faith ideology.
As a teen, I came out to myself as a bisexual. This knowing was huge and shaped much of my life at the time. In parallel, having always been drawn to topics of faith, I began seeking out a faith community.
The churches I attended told me two things: I was a divine creation of gd, AND gd was casting me into hell for being bisexual. I tried to reconcile these two juxtapositions. I lived as a sacred creature of g*d who was also hell-bound. I took on the posture of the unredeemable.
In 2000, I took a job at a local Unitarian Universalist (UU) Church, a faith/church/ way of relating to gd that was new to me. I treated that first community like a hostile suspect. I took on the posture of a disbeliever. Who were these people? Where is the sales pitch? When do we talk about my time in hell?*
My suspicion dissolved when I learned more about the seven principles of UU, communal rituals, and social justice dedication. This faith was not asking me to worship a book or man; the ask was to join a beloved community aspiring to be their best self.
This invitation was the gateway I needed to dive “heart first” into the faith community and bring myself whole/ holy. You can see the evolution of my journey as I have moved from lay leader, paid staff, and now as a minister in training. I have come a long way in 20 years. And over time, I have gained a posture of spiritual maturity and curiosity.
My faith looks like being a community member, volunteering on different committees, and financial stewardship. It includes the hosting of altars for African Ancestors, participating in seasonal rituals, movement as prayer, and by no means is bound to Sunday morning.
I used to say I came to UU whole, but that was not true. I stumbled into this faith with open wounds and deep scars that needed severe tending.
I stayed because the approach to healing was holistic, encompassing, and expansive.
I remain because I believe that access to spiritual healing will be a crucial component in our freedom fight.
Can you imagine what systems we could dismantle if we came to work from a place of healed + honored wholeness?
That is what I am working toward, what I believe is necessary and possible.
A stained glass mosaic of faith, reconfigured and made into a whole new kind of beautiful.
Whole and holy.
How do you practice and cultivate joy, especially when times are hard?
Double-Edged Joy SCOTT
CLF Member, incarcerated in CA
“ I slept and dreamt that
life was joy.
I awoke and saw that
life was service.
I acted and beheld
service was joy.”
—Rabindranath Tagore
Joy is one of the few things we humans desire for its own sake. It inspires us to pursue our highest ideals and is the fuel of hope when the fell clutch of circumstance gives us no season to continue. The swell and rush, the soaring of the heart, the urge to smile and laugh and dance: we dream of life being filled with such joy.
There is, however, a dark side to joy. Too much can be an easy lure into complacency or can feel like a veil hiding our problems from ourselves. Depression has its secret joys — the enticing liberation from the duties upon our weary shoulders. Drugs are abused exactly because they throw a euphoric haze over the brain, even as they rob it of chemical self-reliance. Then there is the dogmatic zealot, who condemns, while reveling in the joyous throes of blind faith. Joy can lead away from service to our better angels.
Where does that leave us? Should we moderate our joy? I think we are better off rethinking joy: it is a practice we can cultivate. We can learn to find joy in the small details of life, the everyday gifts we largely take for granted. We do not have to wait for disaster to rob us of our bounty to finally appreciate it — that is the power of a spiritual practice. For me, having a liberal spirituality calls me to love the world as it is right now. It helps me see the beauty everywhere and resist the darker joys that try to pull me away from my own path. I want joy to better serve me so that I might better serve others. That is a joy worth having.
JOY TIMOTHY
CLF Member, incarcerated in NY
Joy is all too rare behind bars, yet it is here that I experienced its power.
After a year of legal proceedings, I was transferred to a state facility. Arriving well into the evening I was physically stunned at the intimidating walls, razor wire, and unearthly lights from the towers creating a forbidding estate — ghostly and lifeless. If the prison designers intended to conjure Dante (Abandon All Hope All Yet who Enter Here) they succeeded.
Soon I received a letter from my aunt saying she was planning to visit me. I considered writing to wave her off. I longed to see her, but how can I be so selfish as to allow her to experience the visceral injury that is arriving here and being subjected to visitor processing. I did not write.
After a long hug and happy greetings, I told her how I worried for her, entering a totally depressing environment. She held my hand and said, “As I pulled up, all I felt was joy for seeing you.”
What an incredible gift! Circumstance did everything to defeat joy. Ignoring the circumstance, she lovingly created joy for both of us.
JOSEPH
CLF Member, incarcerated in NC
How do I cultivate joy, especially when times are hard? Well, the first thing I do is wiggle my toes, move my legs and arms, open and close my eyes, remembering that all things I can physically do with my body should not be taken for granted, and I thank the higher power for those gifts.
I also give thanks for many other things. Even though I am in prison, there are many blessings if I count them. Food, water, shelter, clean clothes, and a clean comfortable bunk to sleep on. Even though many of the people surrounding me have been sentenced for violent offenses, I somehow feel safe and serene.
I have plenty of time to study and plenty of material to fuel my desire for self improvement, as well as knowledge of self. I have a budget that allows me to buy things I want. I have a job that allows me opportunities to serve others, which allows me to take my mind off myself for a change as well. I have a release date, which some people in here do not.
I have developed a meditation practice which has begun to calm the stormy hail-field of my mind, parting the clouds and fog slowly, allowing me to realize many things and gain insight on developing a purpose-driven life.
So anytime things seem to get hard, and I feel down and out, I practice these steps, and I pray to my creator and all is good, and ask forgiveness for any past violation against the order of goodness and love. I ask for the peace that surpasses all understanding to come over me, and that’s when I receive the gift of joy, and how I cultivate it daily. This was not an overnight result, it is a practice, one that I have and will continue to revise and allow to evolve in my life. Even though I am in prison, and still have some time to go, I have significant hope for the future, and I’m filled with joy when I think of how far I’ve been brought out of the pit of despair that I found myself in prior to being incarcerated. I am blessed and look forward to future opportunities to bless others as part of my spiritual quest here on this earth. ′
KEVIN
CLF Member, incarcerated in VA
I practice and cultivate joy by helping others through these times of hardship — and I still take time for myself to connect with our Creator and Savior so that I can remain in a joyous spirit, to continue passing joy to those that come to me, or I find in my walk of the day.
I surround myself, even when the negativity surrounds me, with the light from who created us, and remind myself that this is all part of the “plan.” I believe that all is part of the trials and tribulations that we have to go through until it, the whole plan, is put to rest and made new and everlasting.
So, surround yourself with this knowledge — seek and you shall find, as all you have to do is ask and receive and know that one must have faith. Believe and fight the good fight and it (the Joy) will come in time. Seek friends, company, to help bring you out of the funk you might be in.
Be hopeful, be around others, and activate the energy to create the joy needed for our lives.
KWANETA
CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
I’m a 50-year-old menopausal Black mother of three, who has been living in a non-air conditioned solitary confinement cell the size a parking space for the past five and a half years.
In this environment, which has been designed for human torture and suffering, the holidays are always a time of increased suicides and suicide attempts. I practice and cultivate joy by “mothering” the many 17-19 year old adolescents living with me in here.
It’s fulfilling to offer guidance and life lessons in kindness to other people’s children, as I would my own. I can only pray and hope the Universe will reciprocate for my three children. These acts of love and kindness provide an immense sense of purpose for me.
ADRIAN
CLF Member, incarcerated in FL
What do I think of the Quest Monthly theme?
How joy from within will be as a light beam,
when you live in the present moment,
connecting and uniting with humanity
Start now and make a covenant,
with the I am I am within
Interconnectedness through humility,
We are one so count me in…
Balance, spirit, covenant, and race:
all part of my daily compass
Union, embodiment, creativity, and grace:
What I will express en-mass
But first I must connect
with divine love within and not neglect,
the mission of compassion today,
touching hearts with my words and
leading with examples one way.
The Daily Compass is a ministry of the Church of the Larger Fellowship crafted by Rev. Michael Tino of the Lead Ministry Team and other CLF staff members. It offers words and images to inspire spiritual reflection and encourage the creation of a more loving, inclusive and just world. Short reflections and prompts related to monthly themes are posted every day at dailycompass.org. The following are a few selections from February Daily Compass offerings.
Joy Amidst the harshness of our world, it is an important spiritual practice to claim (or reclaim) joy. To wrap it around us like a blanket against the coldness of our world. Joy keeps the ember of our soul burning when forces outside of us would conspire to snuff it out.
Find something today that makes you rejoice. Find something that makes you feel warm and alive.
Resistance In recent years, I have come to embrace joy as an act of resistance. There is so much evil and sadness out there and it was through reading and following Black activists that I realized that we can’t get lost in the idea of finding joy wherever we can.
How do you resist the evil and sadness of our world?
Mayhem We must find places to restore “our deep knowing that we have to take care of ourselves and each other with love and joy if we are to soulfully survive the world’s mayhem.”
—Heather Rion Starr
What is your place of refuge amidst mayhem? How is your joy restored?
Wholeness “I have learned to trust those who are witnesses rather than gurus, those who express their confusion as well as their knowledge, and those who share their suffering along with their joy.”
—David Rankin
Practice being a whole, authentic person with someone you trust.
Would you like to represent the Church of the Larger Fellowship at General Assembly (GA) this summer?
The CLF is entitled to 22 delegates at the UUA’s General Assembly, which will be held both online and in-person in Portland, OR from June 22-26, 2022.
You will be able to attend online or in-person workshops, programs, and worship services. Proof of vaccination for COVID-19 is required to attend in person.
As a delegate you will be able to vote during General Sessions. General Sessions will be held from 9:30-12:30pm PT on 6/23-6/25 and 12:30-2:30pm PT on 6/26. Delegates should be able to be online or in person to attend the majority of these General Sessions. CLF delegates vote their conscience on matters related to the denomination of Unitarian Universalism, and are responsible for their own expenses.
If you’d like to participate in GA 2022 in this role, please fill out the online application at clfuu.org/delegate-application. Visit the UUA’s General Assembly website at www.uua.org/ga for details.
As we enter the third year of the global pandemic, there has been a general malaise and exhaustion. We wonder when it will be over and we long for socializing in person, we long for gathering carefree. We long for the time when we receive an invitation to meet in person and we gratefully accept the opportunity to be with those we love.
Some of our most sacred moments in life start with an invitation. We are invited to witness weddings, celebrations of birth, memorials of loved ones just to name a fraction of the ways we gather. These times remind us of our connections to each other and to the community.
In community, we are invited to learn and grow. In community, we are invited to listen to the experiences of others and to share your experiences with them. In community, we are invited to be a part of a constant process of change that pulls us all towards liberation.
Choosing to be a part of a Unitarian Universalist religious community comes with a host of invitations.
It is in the religious community that we are invited to a way of being with one another. Through bringing our skills and gifts to bear in service to others, we find and express our calling. We invest in the institution of our congregation in real and meaningful ways. We are invited to be faithful stewards of a common mission.
Often, when we think about the invitation to stewardship, we understand that to be a request to financially support our congregation. And certainly, it is that, but it is so much more. We are also invited to participate. Members of the CLF serve our church as facilitators and moderators of online community groups, as members of committees that write grants and monitor our finances, leaders in our governance, and authors for our publications (like this one). Our congregants serve each other as pen pals, witnesses to the joys and sorrows in each others’ lives, and members of our circles and groups. Our congregants serve the world by working to make everyone free and building beloved community one small piece at a time.
You are invited. You are invited to the stewardship of the Church of the Larger Fellowship. To support one another and our common mission of liberation and justice. Over the years, the CLF has invited Unitarian Universalists to engage with our faith in myriad ways. We began as a monthly snail mail packet to soldiers in WWII and we have evolved to provide worship each week through a weekly live stream. We provide a ministry to incarcerated UUs who find sustenance in a liberatory faith. We are finding new and creative ways to invite all those who seek a liberal, loving community to engage with this expansive and inclusive faith.
As you flip through the pages of this month’s Quest, let it be an invitation into deeper reflection and contemplation.
In Faith from the Lead Ministry Team,
Christina Rivera
Aisha Hauser, MSW CRE-ML
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino
When have you felt invited and welcomed as your full self? GARY
CLF Member, incarcerated in SC
Growing up gay in the South, especially in the turbulent 1960s, was a childhood of secrecy and shame. The established mainstream churches preached intolerance and damnation on being “queer,” just as 11am on Sunday is still one of the most segregated hours of the week. I attended Sunday School, worship services, youth fellowship and never once did I truly feel part of all that was going on. I knew I was “different.” Sneaking into my father’s den, I scoured books, trying to decipher this mystery of who I was and where I fit in.
As the confusion of childhood became the certainty of adulthood, I was active in political campaigns on a local, state, and national level, and even sought local office myself. Still, the “full” person of me, who I am, could not be admitted, accepted, or even acknowledged. A gay politician in the South doesn’t go far. So I closeted myself and denied myself the freedom I observed others enjoy.
Strangely, as I’ve said before, incarceration has been a liberating experience. Having lost virtually everything (home, bank account, reputation), I had nothing to lose by emerging from the shadows of shame, and being me.
Still, my spiritual life lay vacant. I maintained a belief in the Divine and sought books on being gay and Christian, but could find no house of worship accepting. I gravitated to Buddhism, Wiccan, and explored Humanism, but my ingrained belief in “God,” and yes, in Jesus, would not let me enjoy any other faith fully. I tried the Metropolitan Community Church, which a friend had told me about, but could not find a willingness to admit a prisoner by those I contacted.
Then I discovered Unitarian Universalism and the CLF, and it was as if (waxing poetically), the clouds of gloom parted and a shaft of light finally appeared to my battered soul. Here was what I had sought! A church home. I can not only be me, but the CLF wanted me. I felt the warmth, the love, the genuine desire to welcome me and show me the love of the Divine that I had been so long denied. I am still on a spiritual journey as I evolved in my relationship with God. The CLF allows me the freedom to explore, to reach for beyond the limits of church dogma, to finally enjoy my road to religious liberation. For I can be Wiccan, Christian, Buddhist, or none of the above, but most importantly, I can at long last be me — fully invited and welcomed just as I am.
CARLOS
CLF member, incarcerated in VA
I have found my home in music. Music is forgiving and it resonates not only physically, but also spiritually.
In singing with my congregation, the very attempt to harmonize with each other brings a sense of inclusion and belonging. Each note I contribute lends itself to the melody of the community’s worship. There is no past, no regrets — only a collaborative effort to unite our efforts into making something beautiful. There is a selfless giving of our individual talents, great and small alike, to convey the melody of a given piece of music.
In music, I feel valued and at home.
ROBERT
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
What is to be truly invited in? Being yourself, letting who you truly are shine through, not be covered up, hidden. Not only that, but when you felt welcomed to be that person.
Growing up, there was always that expectation to fit in, to be like the rest of my family, so I was never able to relax, ultimately for my entire childhood. Being myself was frowned upon, because otherwise I was just too odd.
The side-effect of that was my happiness. I was typically a bit too serious, a bit dour, if you will. I existed but never really lived. It took major changes in my life, where and how I lived, to not only feel welcomed, but comfortable in my own skin.
Like many things in my life, the turning point, the linchpin, occurred once I became a husband and became a father. The first time I felt like I belonged was when our daughter was Dedicated.
My wife and I, by the Church’s altar, having our little one blessed. Her whole life was in front of her, and my life was now just truly starting. The two most important people in my life, the ones that I would lay down my life for, were there: one in my arms, one right next to me.
At the party afterwards, the celebration of introducing her to the world, was when it was acknowledged by my aforementioned family. My uncle came up to me and let me know that seeing me up there, with my wife and daughter, was the first time in 25 years that he had ever seen me happy.
Periodically. I think back on that, both the Dedication, and what my uncle said afterwards. That sense of belonging is hard to put into words, for it transcends description. It’s a feeling of perfection, a pinnacle obtained, a sense that everything is right in the world.
I miss that feeling. I miss them. In here, I don’t have that access; you’re not allowed to be your true self, to show that vulnerability. There’s a need to always have a front, a “tough guy” persona, which I am not. To be able to relax, welcomed to be yourself, is a treasure, and not noticed until it is lost.
Dedicated to the CLF
GARY
CLF Member, incarcerated in SC
To Whom It May Concern
Last picked for softball
first to be blamed
taunted and jeered at
hiding in shame
To Whom It May Concern
Last born child of eight
awkward and confused
never feeling love
knowing only feeling abused
To Whom It May Concern
Told there’s no place for me
I would never fit in
God’s love is not for you!
no way to win
To Whom It May Concern
Rejected and ashamed
life as dark as night
love finally parted the clouds
at last I saw the light
To Whom It May Concern
I found a place at Christ’s table
there really is room for me
I have emerged from the abyss of despair
and at long last I am free
JACK
CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
I’m a volunteer Suicide Companion, assigned to watch over and talk to other prisoners who are in crisis, severely depressed, who hear voices telling them to harm themselves, those who have found prison life beyond their ability to endure.
My schedule had me leaving my unit at 3am recently, only to find a gaggle of officers outside staring up at the moon, as it was nearing a total eclipse, something no other inmate was blessed to be outside to see.
As a Druid and practicing UU, we are taught that there are three facets we must honor—the Earth Path of nature awareness and natural living, the Sun Path of seasonal celebrations honoring the Sun’s cycles and the yearly cycle of growth and harvest, and the Moon Path. To live the Moon Path is to touch the divine energy that creates the universe and lives in all things. We do this through meditation and prayer, opening a wider awareness of the universe, ourselves, and our place in it.
Locked up, I seldom see the moon, since prison yards are islands of light at night, making the moon and stars invisible, and seldom are we even allowed out at night. So to see the full moon at 3am is true soul food. To see the moon nearly covered by the Earth’s shadow put my mind to thinking, meditating for days after.
The moon’s white color comes from the Sun’s rays. The blue tint is a reflection of the blue marble that is the Earth during the eclipse, the white and blue had become a dusky red-brown disk. I began to wonder if it was a reflection of my soul, my daily life. Prison has a way of tainting our lives with negativity and endless drama. It taints our Moon Path meditations and prayers.
Seeing the moon fainted by Earth’s shadow rather than the pure blue made me take stock of the red-brown reflection of my current life and the place I’ve allowed negativity to grow in it. The only way I’ve been able to do nearly 20 years behind bars has been to be positive, to reflect the pure blue, the pure white light of positivity, to not be drawn into the prison dramas and voices of negativity. Yet like the Moon’s eclipse, I’ve been eclipsed by those who live negative lives, those whose lives are drama, those who stare vacantly at nothing while the drug courses through their veins, and whose every waking minute is focused on finding something to alter their minds. I’ve allowed those who live negative lives, who live for drama, who live for conflict, and who live to escape reality to affect me.
My meditations since that 3am shocking visage have shown me the way out of my frustrating and negative prison games. The first way is to say: “No! I’m not going to play your games. I’ll be here to talk, if you need me to be a sounding board, to counsel you as a friend, but don’t bring your drama, your negativity to me. If you are going to do drugs, take it somewhere else, but I’ll gladly support you if you want to quit.”
At 76 with seven years to go on my sentence, I’m considered one of the trusted people by some, but to become a part of the problem negates my status as “old school,” and I begin to reflect the dull red-brown of the Moon’s eclipse and I begin to wallow in the my pity pot of negativity.
It was fated for me to see the total eclipse while over 1200 other inmates slept behind locked doors. It was fated for me to see the Moon’s Path when I had been sinking into the pit of negativity and feeling helpless to escape it. Once again the Moon’s path of reflective meditation allowed me to see the road to freedom from the negatives of prison life. It allowed me to be a touchstone for some who need me to listen and reflect, to help them overcome the ever-present negativity of prison life, the trap that we all face.
Buddha, the Goddess, Allah, or God of three persons — whichever — we are led when we open our lives to the creation of the universe, and we open our lives and our hearts to hear them speak to our souls.
TIMOTHY TARKELLY
CLF free world member, living in KS
A task is only as dull as its suitor,
and if you listen, you can hear your work
calling you, the joys of occupation
waiting to unveil their rewards: a chance to pray,
name your talents, a chance to sing.
Find rhythm in the feathers
scraping their wetted tips against
darkening sheets, open skins
soon to hold some ancient secret,
hallowed verse, hardened holy rule,
or in the marriage of wool and work,
the blood of pressed flowers fueling
the swimming needle, binding spun black
oceans, adding stones to heavy oaths,
to tonsured ethic,
or in the fields, the stench
of soil as its churned for new life,
rising to meet the spade
gripped in purposeful hands, pendulized
by the bulged and sweaty breaths of repetition,
and in the rise and fall of duty,
the long-hewn, calmative voice
of a thousand hopes burning at once,
smoldering inside righteous chests,
every candle’s daring lash at cobbled darkness.
Call back to it, say that you’re coming,
muscle and timbre, there is no other
that can wear your name,
sing these songs, mold the earth
quite like you.
About a decade ago, my husband and I traded in our old cell phones for iPhones, a move that heralded a subtle but profound change in our lives.
You see, wherever we go, we have instant access to the internet in our pockets. With Google, Wikipedia, the Internet Movie Database and other sites at our fingertips at all times, most questions that come up in conversation can be answered in a matter of minutes. Our shorthand for this phenomenon is “no mysteries.”
There are many fewer mysteries in our lives since this technology attached itself to our hips. And that’s not always a good thing.
You see, I love mystery.
I love being surrounded by the unknown and the unknowable.
I love living in a universe whose known parts are dwarfed by the immensity and vastness of those parts yet to be discovered.
I love being a human whose knowledge is just deep enough to reveal all of the things I do not know and never will.
As a child, I devoured mystery books by the dozens, graduating quickly from The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew to Agatha Christie and beyond. I was invariably upset at the end when everything was tied together neatly.
What makes a good novel, I guess, isn’t the stuff of real life, in which the right answers are, more often than not, never known. I’m pretty sure there’s not a single book in which Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple gathered people together at the end and pronounced “I haven’t the foggiest idea who did it.”
Now that would be a mystery. And I’d love it.
I knew I had found the right college for me when the essay I was asked to write was to ponder “a question with no provable answer.” I should have re-examined my intended major, though, when I wrote my es say on belief in God—it would have saved me lots of time wandering in the desert of cell biology.
I became a scientist not because I thought it would be a way to find answers, but because it was a field based on questions.
I loved asking questions, probing their depths, removing successive layers of ignorance to reveal deeper and more numerous questions at every turn.
PHOTO BY AARON BURDEN ON UNSPLASH
I loved the mysteries of science. I loved making guesses at the unprovable, amassing evidence for the unseeable, moving deeper into the unthinkable, and asking more questions than I ever answered.
I loved contributing to the mystery of the universe.
Ultimately, the mysteries of science weren’t enough for me, though. I moved on to being part of a greater mystery, a greater question: What is the purpose of our existence?
I know that there will never be an answer to that question that satisfies me. Rather than turning me off from the pursuit, though, it ignites my love, my passion, and my drive. I am energized and fed by the pursuit of unprovable knowledge—I am inspired to pay closer attention to all that I experience, lest I miss a clue, a path to the ultimate or an experience of the true.
I love mystery, and I love thinking that there is an unknowable love that surrounds us all—a love that can be sensed, but whose source remains beyond our comprehension.
It is this mysterious love that drives my ministry and asks me to seek connections with all the beings with whom I share this universe.
In their 1991 song “Mysterious Ways,” the group U2 sang of love that came from an unknown and unknowable source. Their song has the added bonus for me of mysterious meaning: people have debated for almost 30 years whether the song is about love between two humans or the love of God, referred to in the feminine. The band members aren’t saying. Good for them.
In that song, they sing:
One day you’ll look back,
and you’ll see
Where you were held now by
this love.
While you could stand there,
You could move on this moment
Follow this feeling.
That mysterious love holds us now—and yet we have no idea where it comes from. One day, it might be clear, but for now, just go with it. Just feel it, just kneel before it and make yourself humble in its presence. Wherever it comes from, whatever it means, whoever or whatever is its ultimate source—just let the love surround you.
It’s all right, they conclude, she moves in mysterious ways.
What role does wonder and mystery play in your life?
PHOTO BY ZDENĚK MACHÁČEK ON UNSPLASH
Thyra CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
Mystery is defined in the Webster’s Dictionary as “something unexplained, unknown, or kept secret…” It is, essentially, the void of knowledge. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. As I’ve pointed out to many students in my tradition, sometimes the fact that there isn’t an answer is the most beautiful thing about the question. The purpose is to seek, not to know. Mystery gives us something to strive for, and even if we don’t really need the answer, the journey we take shapes us and helps us grow.
Imagine a world where all information is readily accessible. Sound familiar? Today, finding wonder and mystery is truly a gift, and one that, in my opinion, shouldn’t be overlooked. Take joy in the mysteries you come across, whether it be something as simple as whether or not it will rain today (without the assistance of the local news), or something as deep as who and what
Divinity is. Remember that even if the answer isn’t one you wanted or expected, you went on a journey for this wisdom, and you are forever altered by it.
What will tomorrow bring? I truly don’t know, but I do know that I will face the day with courage, honor and joy. I challenge all who read this to do the same. May the Gods and Goddesses of the Northern Traditions watch over you all on your journeys.
Tyson CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
“The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. Whoever does not know it can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead” — Albert Einstein
“Oh mystery! Oh mystery! It’s you…” — Yeah Yeah Yeahs
The first prayer I ever actually “felt” was labeled a Native American prayer, and a friend had brought it back in her stuff from rehab. She showed it to me and I insisted that we hit our knees at the edge of the bed to say it… My own spirituality was still operating within the Western Christian paradigm (or prayer-adigm, rather) at the time.
I remember that the prayer started, “Oh Great Mystery, we pray to the North, South, East, and West” (maybe not those exact words but that’s basically how it started).
What I “felt” then is that if any prayer I’ve ever prayed could fly, it’d be that one. Oh Great Mystery.
Today, I see mystery as what hides the seams between the world and dimensions of the life I live in. Mystery keeps my ego in check when universal synchronicity lines up exactly as I wanted, when I wanted it, how I want it. Mystery delivers humbling failures during the most seemingly simple operations or endeavors, just to let me know I can’t ever know Her, let alone master Her. Harsh yet beautiful. Baffling and elegant.
Mystery is also a place. The place where waves become particles that function as waves. It’s the space between our consciousness and the moon when we look up at the night sky. Mystery is that island we reach when we just know this ocean called life is about to drown us.
The Mystery that I find essential to my emotional and intellectual survival everyday, especially the days we call today, is the mystery of why and how the lost are often the first to try to give you directions; the haters are often the ones to tell you how and who to love; the spiritually dead tell you how to live. This mystery removes all the mystery from why I am, who I am, and why I’m a UU.
PHOTO BY GREG RAKOZY ON UNSPLASH
Asher CLF Member, incarcerated in FL
The Holy Bible is full of mystery. I am fond of the men and women of God (prophets and apostles), who explained the mystery of God and his wonderful traits that produce light and life in all created things. Furthermore, by studying what role wonder and mystery played in their lives through wonderful miracles and fantastic, mysterious assertions, I have been able to understand how it plays out in my life.
Wonder is the wisdom gained through hard work and studying, and mystery is how I’m going to use these great gifts; on what platform will I be able to explain my mysterious revelations to share with all living humanity. Moreover, the role of mystery and wonder will play out in my life through mentorship and counseling to whoever will listen or is in need. I desire to lift our collective conscience, that I see as the literal consciousness of God. I rebuke all doubt, fear, guilt and all evil thoughts. I acknowledge that the devil is only a manifestation of evil thoughts like doubt, anything less than truth, and fear that can only materialize as death and hell.
So, today try to think only the thoughts of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control (Galatians 5:22-23). Keep your conscience clear and do not let guilt have any place in your mind, and do not let the adversary of doubt, lies, guilt, and fear possess you, leading down the road of death and hell. Instead, choose the road of wonder and unpredictably keeping only good thoughts and shunning evil as you walk down the road of light and life. Although, I may stumble and it may hurt my perseverance and endurance will help me get back up to that mysterious, wonderful place with you!
Gary CLF Member, incarcerated in SC
The old television show, “The Wonderful World of Disney,” would begin with a song “the world is a carousel of color.” Truly, if one stops and looks, the divine is present in our everyday life. Even in prison, amidst the drab colors and harsh contours, the beauty of a snowfall drapes the ugliness with a mantle of beauty. The glint of barbed wire can be ignored when one beholds the swath of red, purple, and pink as the sun rises in a burst of magical colors that no artist but the Creator could possibly exact. Have you ever watched a hummingbird hover? Or a bee gather nectar? Or the changing colors of Autumn, like a quilt of patchwork as nature puts on a show every year? The world is filled with the intricate mysteries of nature and the marvelous wonders that we are often too busy and rushed to consider.
This spectacular daily display fills me with a humble reverence for our world. We are stewards of this celestial orb and caretakers of its treasures. With this role comes responsibility for its care, just as parents care for their children. But earth is not our child; in many spiritual traditions, the earth is understood as our mother.
We have no other home. No place else to go. Alone here in our “Cinderella belt” of the solar system, the very hand of the divine is present and available to us, if we only (as the old saying goes) stop and smell the roses. Yes, Disney was right. The world is a carousel of color.
The theme of this issue is mystery, which is defined as something difficult to figure out. It conjures up images of unclear paths, murky environments with the way forward vague, narrow, and tricky to follow. If the idea of mystery feels fitting for the darkest time of year, perhaps the traditions and celebrations of this month offer us a way forward.
On the first Sunday of December, I was amazed and somewhat relieved to find the altar at my brick and mortar church’s worship service filled with many lit candles creating a brilliant light. As always, we began this service by lighting our flaming chalice, the symbol of our faith. Every time the chalice is lit, we recommit to building Beloved Community, creating a safe harbor for all. It restates our commitment to love, acceptance and working on social justice. The light from the flame serves as an anchor for the service. It helps to light our way.
PHOTO BY SIXTEEN MILES OUT ON UNSPLASH
Also on the altar was a Hanukkah menorah, with seven candles lit on that day. Hanukkah is also called the Festival of Lights. By the end of the festival, the Hanukkah menorah will have nine candles lit, producing a glorious light which is traditionally placed in a window to amplify the glow. This is the time of the year that, through this holiday, Jews celebrate, dedicate and re-dedicate themselves to justice and freedom.
Sitting next to the Menorah were Advent lights, with four candles signifying the four weeks of Advent. Some Christians light them with the idea of hope, love, joy and peace. Two candles were lit on the first Sunday of December, the second Sunday of the Advent season. This is the season of preparation for the mystery of Jesus’ birth. It is the time of year when we are reminded of the importance of creating heaven here on earth; when we hold both the divine and human inside of us, and when, true to Jesus’ life, we must feed the poor, heal the sick, and redistribute wealth.
Although not represented yet, Kwanzaa will be added at the end of the month. Seven candles will be placed inside the Kinara. Each candle represents one of the seven principles Umoja (unity), Kujichaglia (self determination), Ujamaa (cooperative economics), Kuumba (creativity), Ujima (collective work and responsibility), Nia (purpose) and Imani (faith). For African Americans, Kwanzaa is a celebration of our culture, our history, and each other.
The entire month of December will have all of these lights coming from our shared altar. They will be extra beacons showing the way, acting as anchors, reminding us that we belong to a group that cares about creating a Beloved Community. A chalice flame will continue to be lit at the center, to remind us that love is a principle that we embrace.
This is often a difficult time of the year. In this culture, there can be so much pressure to smile, pressure to be merry. Adding to regular difficulties, this year has been particularly hard; in addition to the toll of the pandemic, there has been increased violence against trans people, Black people being targeted for more violence, gun violence escalating, homelessness on the rise, opioid drug abuse increasing, more and more Black and brown people being incarcerated, and increasing demonstration of white fragility.
I want to hold on to hope, love and peace — but if I’m honest, I am really tired of 2021. I would like to be done with it and try anew. Here’s hoping and praying that 2022 is less violent, includes fewer deaths caused by guns, and that it begins a dismantling of the prison industrial complex and a redistribution of wealth. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But I think the holidays of this season call us to dream big. With the bright lights of many traditions sharing space on our collective altar, let us rededicate ourselves making the promises of those traditions come true in the world around us.
In this section, we offer questions for reflection based on ideas explored in this issue.
You may wish to explore it individually or as part of a group discussion. To submit your reflection for possible inclusion in a future issue of Quest, tear off your answer and mail it back to us using the envelope included in the middle of this issue, or mail a longer reflection separately.
Do you love mystery, or do you often look for a way out of it? In what ways do you feel the presence of mystery and/or answers to it around this time of year?
If you would like us to be able to publish or share your writing in the future, remember to include “You have permission to edit and publish my words” somewhere on your submission.
WTF?!?! Those three letters and what they mean seem to come to mind and sometimes roll off my tongue with more regularity these days. Honestly, there was a time in my life when I would never have admitted that, especially as a clergy person. There’s a spoken and unspoken expectation that those of us who are ministers will be more put together, more pious than others. We definitely shouldn’t use four-letter words that aren’t “love.”
I get it. People want and expect their spiritual leaders to have a certain level of control. The work we do is sacred, and I am by no means trying to evade the responsibility of what it means to journey with others through the highs and lows of life. However, sometimes all you’ve got in you, no matter who you are, is, “WTF?!” COVID-19 has been one of the greatest WTFs as of late, but so is the presence of ableism, racism, sexism, and so many other isms present in our world today. W…T…F…? It’s 2021! When will we get beyond where we have been and where it feels we still are in so many instances?
Some may choose not to use certain words or language to express their frustrations or dismay. But, again, I get it. Eloquent articulations come easier to some than others. In any case, I want to convey more than anything the collective need for lament. We lament the loss of loved ones and friends, the loss of work and provision, the loss of community, the loss of a sense of balance. Loss. The weight of it all is tough to bear. And so, I am; we are all seemingly screaming, “WTF?!”
I said earlier that the only four-letter word ministers should use is love. But, unfortunately, the English language (my native tongue) and its conventions make this an impossibility. To adequately convey a thought using English, one would need to string together a collection of words that are maybe four letters or more, and perhaps even less. For example, the words that comprise the fullness of WTF are 4, 3, and 4.
Now, some might critique my message as being crass or irreverent. I’m not trying to be. What if we experienced WTF as an invitation to create and hold space for our collective lament at this moment? Space to cry, space to yell, space to pause and ponder. A space that is absent the policing of language and the angst of respectability? One open to the lament of our hearts? Over the last eighteen or so months, WTF has become my most honest prayer. It is a lament and a statement that seeks to make meaning out of what has been confounding.
May we all experience the kind of liberation that frees us to lament those things that weigh heavy on us, with whatever words we choose. May we be reminded that we are held together by a word that is just four letters long yet is so much bigger than that, LOVE.
What does it feel like to have your experience centered? How do you find your own center?
PHOTO BY DEWANG GUPTA ON UNSPLASH
TYSON
CLF Member, incarcerated in TX
When I think of “centered,” several concepts pop into my mind. Spatial reckoning. Centricity. Centrifugal forces. Center punch, meaning the tool I used to mark metals and plastics for precision drilling — and the center punch that I used to use to swiftly break car windows when I was a “bad kid.”
What makes me feel most centered is the sky at dawn. Looking at the sky, I often think, “wow, all of this for me right this moment. Thank you for allowing me to share it with everything else.” I get pretty emotional these days, seeing the sky at dusk, and at midnight… the sky and me seem to have a thing going lately.
My experience feels centered when the sky tells me that I am precisely as insignificant as I am suppose to be. The sky tells me to stop belittling myself even more; I have the entire world between my ears and the universe is in my mind and the sky is in my eyes. So what else could matter?
How do I find my own center? When I can’t find it, I go outside and look up. Maybe it finds me?
ETHAN
CLF Member, incarcerated in AZ
To find a gathering of like minded souls
Makes me feel at home, I am now whole
Acceptance of every person no matter the faith
Has opened my eyes to a new loving embrace
My spirituality has grown in so many ways
I look forward to your publication as I count my days
Being forced to sit here and do time, I mean literally wait
Has shown me how I can strengthen my traits
Patience takes on a whole new truth
Hope that I can make up for lost youth
Understanding that the world must move on
Acceptance that an old love is gone
How I reminisce the good ol’days
Except I know I must change my ways
At least I do not fight this fight alone
I try to learn and make lessons known
Maybe I can help another like you helped me
Behind bars your mind can still be free
I joined a Church of Larger Fellowship
In a past life I was anti-religion, what a trip
So I want to thank the people who opened up my mind
I received a gift that is rare to find
That is acceptance of my lost soul
You make me feel at home, I am now whole
The Daily Compass is a ministry of the Church of the Larger Fellowship crafted by Rev. Michael Tino of the Lead Ministry Team.It offers words and images to inspire spiritual reflection and encourage the creation of a more loving, inclusive and just world. Short reflections and prompts related to monthly themes are posted every day at dailycompass.org. The following is a selection Daily Compass offerings from recent months.
BALANCE Vital to the balance of a stone arch is the keystone, the wedge-shaped stone against which the two sides of the arch push in equal measure. In architecture, this is a vital and important role; in life, this is not a healthy situation in which to find ourselves.
When have you experienced balance brought about by things pushing you in opposite directions? How did you interrupt this?
SPIRIT Carolyn McDade described the night she wrote the hymn Spirit of Life to Kimberly French of UU World: “When I got to Pat’s house, I told her, ‘I feel like a piece of dried cardboard that has lain in the attic for years. Just open wide the door, and I’ll be dust.’ I was tired, not with my community but with the world. She just sat with me, and I loved her for sitting with me.” Writing the song was the prayer that refilled her spirit.
What words or prayers refill your spirit when you feel like you’re about to fall apart?
COVENANT The power of covenant derives in part from the fact that all parties to it must agree, and that agreement must be renewed and renegotiated constantly. Healthy relationships require mutual consent; that includes spiritual relationships as well as intimate ones.
How do you seek consent from others in meaningful ways?
GRACE Sometimes grace comes through sheer will, through persisting despite the odds against us. Sometimes grace comes from hanging on, from inching ourselves forward until we are somewhere better.
What do you need the strength to persist through today?
UNION The union of two people or two entities requires negotiation. The best negotiations don’t get mired in positions, but instead focus on needs and values. Each party must be able to articulate their values and state their needs; each party must be able to say how they will help meet the needs of the other. Sometimes, sacrifices are made. Sometimes, synergy is developed.
How can you make your needs and values known to others today in generative ways?
EMBODIMENT You share 55% of the DNA in your genes with a banana tree, 80% with a cow, 98.5% with a chimpanzee, and 99.99% with every other human being on the planet. One ten-thousandth of the DNA in our genes is responsible for all of the differences we see in humanity. For the hundreds of rainbow shades that skin, eyes and hair come in. For the differences that make it so hard to find organs to transplant. For every shape and size that humans come in.
Notice your connection to other living beings today. Feel your relation to them. They are your kin.
CREATIVITY Where will you pause to touch the Earth? Where will you marvel at the hints that lie scattered around you in the grass? Where will you discard what you previously thought was true, and try on a new belief for size? Where will you stop for directions, for advice, for a conversation with another, for a relationship, for a moment of grace brought to you by the mind of a child?
What does it mean to you to persist through difficult times on your journey?
REV. DR. MICHAEL TINO
Lead Ministry Team, Church of the Larger Fellowship
If there is to be peace in the world,
There must be peace in the nations.
If there is to be peace in the nations,
There must be peace in the cities.
If there is to be peace in the cities,
There must be peace between neighbors.
If there is to be peace between neighbors,
There must be peace in the home.
If there is to be peace in the home,
There must be peace in the heart.
—Taoist philosopher, Lao-Tse, sixth century BCE
PHOTO BY JUNE WONG ON UNSPLASH
Philosophers and theologians throughout the ages have pondered the roots of peace, and have come to the conclusion that peace between and among people is not possible without smaller bits of peace, especially peace within oneself. “Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with me,” the popular song goes.
Peace within oneself is the challenge of centering: How do we center ourselves? How do we go within and cultivate peace?
Many people turn to spiritual practices to do this. Spiritual practices are regular things that we do that connect us with something greater than ourselves, and there is not one right way for everyone to engage in them. We each need to figure out what it is that gives us that feeling of inner peace, of centering.
But the trick to spiritual practice is doing it regularly, and if we’re already overwhelmed by the world or our circumstances, one more thing to add to our day is just one more thing to knock us off of our center, one more thing to cause anxiety instead of cultivating peace.
I have begun to think about this differently.
Instead of carving out twenty minutes to sit in meditation, or an hour to walk a labyrinth every day, I find moments of spiritual centering throughout the day.
In giving advice to people in caring professions about cultivating peace and centering themselves, psychologist Ashley Davis Bush writes about “micro-practices,” one-moment-long glimpses of peace and mindfulness. Bush encourages people to fit them in throughout the day—in the pauses and cracks around other things, with no pressure or timeline or necessary outcome.
Take a breath. Notice how the air moves in and out of your body. Just one long, slow, deliberate breath.
Drink a glass of water. Feel it fill your body and think about how you will absorb that water.
Take just a moment and visualize in your mind something that makes you feel happy, or calm, or connected, or grounded. Choose an image and come back to it—just for a few seconds—throughout the day.
Choose a few words to guide you, and repeat them in your mind every now and then, whenever you’re feeling unmoored. “I am grounded,” perhaps, or “I am loved.”
Spend a moment acknowledging the difficulties in your life right now. They are real. You are real. Your pain is real, too, but it does not own you.
Find a way—a small way—every day to connect to another person. Write a letter to your pen pal. Smile at a friend, or if it’s safe to do so, a stranger. Help someone out. Cultivate the knowledge that you are not alone in this world.
Think of something you’re thankful for. Take just a moment to feel gratitude.
Say something kind to yourself.
These practices don’t need to be long—ideally they’re just a minute, a moment, a breath. And they are all ways to connect to our center, to cultivate peace within our hearts, and to connect to something beyond our individual being.
Let peace begin with you. Let peace begin in your heart. Find your center, a little bit at a time.
I love the phrase “praying with our feet.” It often comes to mind for me in protests at the Texas Capitol, when I wait in line to vote, and perhaps most especially every Friday, when I lead my Zumba class, where we pray with our arms, our hips, our everything.
“What is your intention for this hour?” I ask folks Zooming in from around the world. “What are you dancing for today?”
On a recent morning, the answers included, “my 18-year wedding anniversary!” “another job interview,” and “seeing my grandkids again for the first time in COVID.” A woman in College Station, Texas, showed us her wrapped wrist and asked for healing prayers after surgery. A dancer in Canada requested the song “Best Friend” by Saweetie and shared sadness about a friend in hospice care.
We took deep breaths and held each other across the miles. Then we danced — for joy, hope, and grief. For the chance to move together as one, even in a time of isolation.
Happiness ain’t something you sit back and you wait for
Feels so good to dance again”
—Selena Gomez, “Dance Again
Since finding dance nine years ago, it has become my joy practice and a form of embodied prayer. I choose music and choreography to reflect Unitarian Universalist principles like interconnectedness, equity, and acceptance. Moving to the music of Lizzo, Kesha, and Gente de Zona, I am praying to the Spirit of Life — to summon the energy for another day of pandemic parenting, to feel in my hips and heart that I am enough. We are all enough.
Uruguayan journalist and novelist Eduardo Galeano wrote, “The church says: The body is a sin. Science says: The body is a machine. Advertising says: The body is a business. The body says: I am a fiesta.”
As UUs, I hope we can bring church and science into the body’s celebration (and do our best to ignore advertising altogether).
Lately, my own body and spirit have been telling me to slow down. I am feeling the impact of pandemic trauma, plus the natural effects of aging (and a decade of jumping up and down to Pitbull songs).
Thankfully, Zumba can be medium-impact or low, on your feet or in a chair or swimming pool. Sometimes just listening to the playlist is enough. When I forego a high-impact jump in favor of a grounded shimmy to protect my back, I am not failing my class — whose members range in age from elementary school to their 80s — but honoring the sacredness of all bodies.
PHOTO BY DYLAN NOLTE ON UNSPLASH
Similarly, when my brain is tired and I forget a move, I try not to apologize (as I have been conditioned to do for the most human of mistakes). Even though I feel embarrassed on the inside, I throw my head back and laugh, improvising through the moments Richard Simmons used to call “accidental solos.” I remember that we are called to let go of perfectionism — a piece of dismantling white supremacy culture in ourselves and our institutions. I remind myself that we need these moments, to dance through discomfort and even embrace mistakes, having faith we will learn from them.
I remember the wise words of Cynthia Winton-Henry in her book, Dance – The Sacred Art: “As much as you might want a ‘perfect’ spot in which to dance, it is really the other way around: You make the space around you holy when you dance.”
What does prayer look/feel/sound like to you? ROBERT
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
Little things, big things, anything; people pray for them. From the mundane, like to perhaps hit the lottery, to the serious, like for someone’s life. (Though perhaps, for some, winning the lottery isn’t mundane at all, but a serious need.)
It all cycles around to prayer. A want, a need, a desire, leading to hoping, wishing, possibly even begging, some greater power to hear you, to help you.
Do I pray? Probably not enough. I attend services, I meditate, I take part in my faith, and take it seriously. But praying? In here, it can be hard to do.
PHOTO BY PEDRO LIMA ON UNSPLASH
There’s a mentality that pervades all here: avoid weakness, lest you be preyed upon. To pray, is, in a way, a surrendering yourself to another, to ask for help to do something.
Is that weakness? No, but in here, it can be viewed as such. So that energy hangs in the air, sapping you, putting you on edge.
But when I pray, it, in its way, helps and hurts. That surrendering lifts a weight off of you, it can be an emotional release, a reset of one’s self, an acknowledgment that you can’t do it all on your own, and that everything will, in its time, be okay.
So pray. Not for me (though admittedly I wouldn’t mind), but for you. For your world, big, little, whatever size it is. May it help you.
That is my prayer.
KEVIN
CLF member, incarcerated in VA
We all should know that though the look of prayer could be one on their knees with hands held upright, fingers straight up, palms together, prayer can look many different ways. For me it is often sitting down anywhere — on the ground, in a chair, at a desk or table, with my hands held together. Of course it might be alone, or it could be with someone who needs a prayer more than me, as I say a prayer for them. I pray anywhere, anytime, needed or not, as a way to think about what the situation needs.
If I see a death happened in the news, I say a prayer for the family for strength, a prayer for the deceased. A flood — I say a prayer for support, goods, rescue. A fire — the same and more, to have shelter along with healing. A nice day with no huge troubles — a prayer of thanks and gratitude, with a prayer for more of these days.
The sound of prayer: it could be noisy, mildly busy with the hum of every day life all around, or it could be complete silence, a prayer said or thought.
The feel: if nervous, anxious, or feeling the weight of the world on one’s shoulders, then a prayer feels like relief. A great feeling of no burdens.
I’ll end with a prayer of thanks and acknowledgment, for the gift of all that prayer is for me.
VYLETCLF member, incarcerated in FL
Quiet as kept, be slow to speak
The tongue of death is death indeed
Let temperance and virtue be thy speech
Consider silence and still thy feet
Be thou fearless, feel not dismay
For thou art spirit to what is pain
Deep meditation shall make things clear
The weapons of war that thou should fear
Speak no lies, be not the fool
Boomerangs of deception bareth dark rile
If a word be uttered, let freedom reign
Sever the yoke and break every chain
If I be bound, may they be free
If I face danger, let them have peace
If I must die, let them live
Return I shall and with them sing
Divine decrees establish the link
Of things unseen, oh what of faith
This body clad of clay and dust
But I am greater, the creator’s touch
Infused in soil, the morning star
A living soul, the lawful heart
Ponder the path thy foot is upon
Consider the workings thy hands have wrought
Be thou calm in every endeavor
And radiant as the sun
Forever-ever, forever and ever
I and my father are one
DALE
CLF members, incarcerated in TX
PHOTO BY DENIS DEGIOANNI ON UNSPLASH
Looking at the night sky,
Staring at the galaxy,
Watching the Milky Way swirl.
Pondering things like,
“What is my purpose in life?”
While I’m watching the stars
Coalesces into a ball of fire
Brighter than the sun.
As I watch it forms
the face of God.
Burning white hot,
Igniting my world,
causing my fears and doubts
to flee, clearing my mind
and chasing away the shadows.
Enlightening.
Searing through me from the ashes
A phoenix arises,
stronger than before.
And as I look at the face of God,
I see me.
RICHARD
CLF member, incarcerated in NY
Written in response to “End” by Charlie, May 2020
All things end.
It’s people who refuse
to accept it.
We hold on with a death grip to avoid the inevitable.
Nature knows that to live all must also die,
to make room.
So is it really the “end”?
The sun still shines,
The rain still falls,
Grass and flowers and trees still grow.
And we all do what we can
in the time we’ve been given To do the best we can
To make our being here worthwhile
Before our “end.”
Note: a version of this article also appears in the Fall 2021 Worthy Now Newsletter
I am often asked by folks who don’t have a belief structure how they can “connect” or reflect on their own growth. In response, I often recommend a modified version of the G.R.A.C.E. model, developed by Roshi Joan Halifax, as an ideal method. This can be done by anyone, and even better, requires only your own mind.
Here’s an outline of the model: G.R.A.C.E.
- Gathering attention: focus, grounding, balance
- Recalling intention: the resource of motivation
- Attuning to self: What is helping or blocking your work
- Considering: what will serve
-
Engaging: ethical enactment, then ending
-
Gather your attention: In this step, you take the time to ready yourself to do your work. You might pause, do breathing exercises, do sit-ups, or simply sit in silence: you need to know what you need to do. Invite yourself to be present, and use this moment of gathering to interrupt your assumptions and expectations. Allow yourself to relax and be ready.
- Recall your intention: Remember what you want your life to be about, and then set your intentions. Will you act with integrity and respect yourself? Will you open your heart and mind to the world of growth? This step can happen in a moment, or take a little time. Your motivation keeps you on track and connected to your highest values.
- Attune by first checking in with yourself: Notice what’s going on in your own mind and body. Don’t judge yourself: who you are is more than enough. This is an active process of inquiry. Open a space in which the encounter, questions, or time of reflection can unfold.
- Consider what will really serve by being truly present letting insights arise: As you deeply consider or reflect, this is the time when you let the insights… simply unfold or rise up. Then ask yourself: what will really serve here? Does it serve me only now, or will it serve me as I grow? Does this protect me? Does this keep me from becoming a better me? This is the time to let go of what does not serve you. These steps are hard, and if it hurts, step back and consider that it might not be the time to work on that feeling or item.
- Engage, enact ethically. Then end the interaction: Part 1: Engage and enact. Thinking of the previous step, hold on to what will serve you. What emerges is love and compassion for yourself, while offering a sustainable process. Create practical and actionable plans. These plans may not always be realized; but perhaps the goal is to simply see, and acknowledge, what can and can’t be, with only love and compassion in your heart.
Part 2: End the interaction. Explicitly recognize when the encounter is over so that you can move cleanly to the next thing in your life. This recognition can be marked by attention to your out-breath, or simply coming back to your time and place. Acknowledge what transpired without being pulled back into the thoughts. Even if you feel you didn’t progress very far, acknowledge that you did the work. This is the time to honor the work you are doing.
Do you have any thoughts related to these topics? All CLF members, both incarcerated and living in the free world, are welcome to submit entries for future issues of Quest. Write to us!
Due Date: November 1, 2021
Quest Monthly Theme: December 2021 – Mystery
Response Question: What role does wonder and mystery play in your life?
Due Date: December 1, 2021
Quest Monthly Theme: January 2022 – Invitation
Response Question: When have you felt invited and welcomed as your full self?
Due Date: January 1, 2022
Quest Monthly Theme: February 2022 – Joy
Response Question: How do you practice and cultivate joy, especially when times are hard?
Due Date: February 1, 2022
Quest Monthly Theme: March 2022 – Interdependence
Response Question: What does it mean to live interdependently?
Due Date: March 1, 2022 Quest Monthly Theme: April 2022 – Memory Response Question: How do you honor memory in your life?
Due Date: April 1, 2022
Quest Monthly Theme: May 2022 – Love
Response Question: What does love look/feel/sound like to you?
Due Date: May 1, 2022
Quest Monthly Theme: June 2022 – Integrity
Response Question: What does integrity mean to you?
Last semester, in a class on global Christianity at Meadville Lombard, I was reading examples of the early Christians in the Roman Empire taking a stand and becoming martyrs. I was inspired by their resilience and sacrifice as they were being persecuted for their conversion to a new faith. Those who became martyrs could have possibly saved themselves by denying who they were and who they served but decided that it was better to die in faith and in truth than to live in denial and a lie. They were followers of Jesus Christ and followed his example of faith and commitment unto death— his Crucifixion—for they believed that the ultimate sacrifice would yield the ultimate reward—for them, it was everlasting life.
The early Christian martyrs’ sacrifice of their lives made me reflect and think: For what cause would I be willing to risk my life? For what cause would I give up my security, my comfort, my safety? For what are we called to martyrdom now, in this time, and in this place? In my practice, I call upon my ancestors for guidance.
When I do, the spiritual Wade in the Water comes to my mind almost instantly. “Wade in the Water, God’s Gonna Trouble the Water.” But then the Civil Rights Movement comes to mind, and the risks it took to bring about change that was felt globally. By the later years of the Civil Rights Movement, activists began to realize that water had already been troubled. It was no longer about, “God’s Gonna Trouble the Waters,” but that the waters were already troubled, as activists through the years had been rocking the boat of white supremacy and racism through their own successes, through boycotts, through protests, through massive voter registrations, through sit-ins, and through marches, and we saw backlash of against all of them by segregationists and racists, peoples and institutions that did not want to see them succeed.
PHOTO BY JASON LEUNG ON UNSPLASH
As a professor of African American history, I remember lecturing about the Freedom Singers leading those gathered in Black churches, mostly in Alabama and Georgia, with rousing songs to lift up their spirits and get them ready for what they were about to face. These resistance fighters staged many peaceful, nonviolent protests met with fury, violence, and incarceration—like the early Chris tian martyrs. Their songs went from “Wade in the Water” to “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize” to “This May Be the Last Time.” It was the last time for some of them, but the looming threat made them prepare for the inevitable. They may have to give up their lives like the early Christian martyrs.
What about now? In this time and in this place? What kind of lives are we living, bowing down to fear and oppression? For what cause would YOU willingly risk your life? For what cause would you give up your security, your comfort, your safety? For what are we called to martyrdom now, in this time, and in this place?
Where in your life have you felt most at home? We posed the above question in the most recent issue of the Worthy Now newsletter (a biannual newsletter sent to all incarcerated CLF members), and received the responses on the next two pages in response. Thank you all for offering us this window into yourselves and the experiences of your lives through your reflections — we are so grateful.
ROBERT CLF Member, incarcerated in MA
Home. A small word with big meanings. They say that, “home is where the heart is,” and I couldn’t agree more. It’s been nine years since I’ve been home, and I feel every day that yearning to return.
Growing up, I never thought I’d have a home to call my own. I had loving parents who provided for me, so there was always a place I could call home, but the fullest meaning of home never fully resonated within me. Since I have autism, I thought that I’d never find someone to love, who could love me. I thought I’d never have kids, be a father, a teacher, a protector.
Then I found her, and it all clicked. It just made sense, felt right, all the way to my core. We had a little one, we got our own place, and another little one was on the way. All was right in the world.
Until it wasn’t. I was torn away from my home. I fought to have the opportunity to go back, but was denied. Separated from them, I was emotionally torn to shreds. The pain is still so great. Now, they are still torn apart, neither of our kids under her care, or even cared for by the same person. Our family of four now lives in four different places.
So I end with this: home is a precious thing. It’s delicate, fragile, nearly ethereal. It is perfect in its imperfections. Never take it for granted, for you never know when your world will be upended, and it will be gone.
KEVIN CLF member, incarcerated in VA
I feel most at home where I both give and receive respect from those around me. Respect leads to a great deal of appreciation in which accountability is held. This appreciation and accountability from respect can and should lead to honor and loyalty, which combined, should lead to trust. Trust leads to love. With love comes a place that we feel comfortable and safe — an environment we can call home.
This can be anywhere as long as we hold all these things together. We must have courage to make that first step, and hope and faith that it will all lead to a place one can call home — not necessarily a house or a building, but a place of real peace, a sanctuary called home.
In my life, I find this sanctuary with my girlfriend of 37 years, along with my son, mom, sister, and those who have the qualities I’ve described above.
EDWARD CLF Member, incarcerated in OH
PHOTO BY FLICKR USER ANTHONY VIA FLICKR
This is an easy one to tell. Every year I would make the journey down I-75 to a town called Middlesboro, Kentucky. My travel was always around the fourth of July. It is a tri-state town with neighbors called Tennessee and Virginia. There is a spot that I would go to that is located at the top of a small mountain. The spot is called “the Pinnacle.” It is located about 2,200 or 2,400 feet up the mountain. To get there you drive up a winding road with hairpin turns. Once there, you walk a path that is maybe a hundred yards to my favorite spot, the pinnacle. It is a man-made ledge that stretches about ten feet over the edge of the mountain. Up there you can see all three states. On a very clear day you can even see North Carolina from there. An airport sits off to the right. A man-made lake is in the middle. To the right is the town of Cumberland Gap, Tennessee.
While there, I feel Gaia’s strength flowing through the spot. The view is spectacular. It is a calm and peaceful place where you can talk to God or the Goddess and God, whatever your preference. There is where I feel at home.
TALON CLF Member, incarcerated in CA
Home is such a strong word. For most of my life, I have never really felt at home anywhere. From living with my family, to foster housing, to juvenile hall, to prison, home has been seemingly unattainable for me.
The closest concept of home that I have is when I was 13, in a court-appointed group home for a bad decision I chose to make. It was the first time that I felt truly safe. There was no more violence, abuse, and expectations to be someone that I never really was. I was happy.
My current incarceration is due to another bad string of choices I made. I have spent the last eight years working on myself to create a new me dedicated to helping others and living a productive life. During this process of self-improvement, I have learned that happiness comes from within.
So, I realized that as long as I am happy, home is where you make it. Home is within oneself, and family is who we choose. Despite my incarceration, I am at home, and the CLF is my family.
ERIC CLF member, incarcerated in TX
PHOTO BY DAVID GAVI ON UNSPLASH
For me, home was never really a place. It has always been more about the people I’ve surrounded myself with. I’ve never had a place to call home, but I’ve felt at home with people who loved me, and in nature, with the full cycle of life. We come from earth, are placed in the bosom of earth, to be reborn again.
I think there is no better place to call home as the place where life begins: in the wild, like our ancestors once had. Not in a building, but a place you can go to rest. One day I’ll have that again.
Some prefer a house or apartment, but for me, home is outside where the wild things roam.
Hello beloveds,
I’m Rev. Aisha Ansano, and I am thrilled to be serving as the new Chair of the Board of The Church of the Larger Fellowship!
You may recognize my name from the last few years. I just completed my first 3-year term on the Board, and I’ve served as the Board liaison to the Nominating Committee during this time. I was also a member of the search team that called our amazing lead ministry team, which was a complete joy.
When I joined the CLF Board 3 years ago, I didn’t know much about the CLF besides a general familiarity. When I got the email from the Nominating Committee, I wasn’t sure if I would say yes—but during the conversation, I got excited for the work that the CLF was doing, and the potential work that could be done. And so I said yes, decided to make a commitment to this congregation, to give my time, energy, and resources to help make it thrive. And I said yes again to serving on the Nominating Committee, because I knew firsthand just how much the conversations had by the nominating committee have a huge impact.
And when the Board was putting together a search team for the new lead ministry of the CLF, even though the task felt daunting, I said yes, again. I said yes because I was excited to be part of the visioning for the next phase of the CLF. I said yes because even though I knew it would be a lot of hard work, I wanted to be part of the conversation to help shape the next chapter of the CLF.
I have not said yes because I think I’m the perfect person for any of these jobs. I’ve said yes because the CLF is important to me, and important to Unitarian Universalism. Even when I’m nervous about taking on a new role, or not sure what to expect, I say yes to service to the CLF over and over again, because the CLF gives me hope for our faith and how it can live into our dreams of what it can be.
A little bit about me: I’m an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister living in Malden, MA, a city north of Boston. I am the affiliated community minister at First Parish in Malden, which means that, while I am not on staff, I serve and support the congregation in other ways. My dream is to plant a dinner church, to create a community where people gather together around the table for worship and a meal, where all are welcomed exactly as they are. The pandemic has put those plans on hold for the moment, but I’ve been lucky to create Nourish UU Dinner Church Consultants with my friend and colleague Rev. Emily Conger. Through Nourish, we help Unitarian Universalist communities create communal, embodied worship experiences through the model of dinner church.
I’m excited to continue to serve the CLF in my new role as Board Chair, and can’t wait to experience what comes next for the CLF, together.
Yours in faith,
Rev. Aisha
PHOTO BY MELISSA ASKEW ON UNSPLASH
After the close of Summer,
before the land lies ‘neath snow,
there comes the Magic of Autumn,
when all nature is aglow.
Days grow ever shorter,
harvest time is nigh,
‘tis Mabon now my love,
as the earth breathes a sigh
The Moon doth shine her glory,
reflecting Maiden, Mother, Crone,
the Wiccan Year comes full circle,
like our love which we have shown
So arise my love and come away,
let us sing, feast, and make love,
for Wiccan Mabon is a celebration,
of the Goddess’ bounty from above.
Over the last year, the CLF Board, Nominating Committee, and Lead Ministry Team have been examining how to best serve and be accountable to our membership, nearly 50% of whom are currently incarcerated. As part of that process, the Nominating Committee and the Board looked at who is serving on the Board and other CLF committees, asking:
- Which voices and perspectives are missing from our leadership tables?
- How can we bring a liberation lens as well as a racial analysis to our work as we bring new people into CLF leadership?
- How do we live in integrity with our Unitarian Universalist values by making board and committee service more accessible to a wide variety of people, including those with personal or family experience with incarceration?
With the blessing and full support of the board, the Nominating Committee began exploring what changes need to be made in the culture of CLF leadership teams that would make board service an engaging, uplifting, and spiritually satisfying experience for those with direct experience with incarceration, including formerly incarcerated people and family members impacted by incarceration.
The Nominating Committee began a process of educating itself, learning from those with prison ministry experience and those who work in organizations supporting incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people. We spoke with leaders from the prison abolitionist organization Black and Pink which supports LGBTQ and HIV-positive prisoners. At their suggestion, we read the book The Church and the Sex Offender. We considered economic, racial, cultural, and other issues that might be barriers to participation in leadership. A joint conversation between the Board and the Nominating Committee about necessary cultural and procedural changes is in process, as well as plans for more education for current board members.
As the work of educating ourselves and removing barriers to service proceeds, the Nominating Committee is committed to bringing the vital voice and perspective of our incarcerated members to the leadership table. Although at this time, it is not possible to include on the Board those of our members who are currently incarcerated, we are committed to nominating one or more formerly incarcerated people or family members with direct experience with incarceration for anticipated available board openings. We will begin talking with potential candidates for board service this fall.
The CLF Board is responsible for the vision and mission of the CLF. The CLF Board met twice a year in person pre-pandemic and held regular meetings and discussion via email and videoconferencing. (During the pandemic, all meetings have been virtual.) There is also committee liaison work which board members may volunteer to do. Transportation and housing for in-person meetings and other expenses is covered by the CLF budget. If you would like to serve the CLF in some capacity, but board service doesn’t seem like the right fit, we are also looking for potential volunteers with a finance or HR background to be part of CLF committees.
Might YOU be a person with this perspective who is interested in finding out more about board service or committee work?
Is there someone you know who might enjoy and be good in such a role? Please pass this article along to them, and encourage them to be in touch. Or, reach out to us and let us know so we can follow-up. Please email nominating@clfuu.org with the subject “Board/Committee Interest” or return the tear-off form with your questions and comments, as well as your suggestions about potential new CLF Board and committee members. See the tear off section on the next page for a reflection question. We’d love to hear from you.
We are excited about this new approach to CLF leadership and hope you are, too. Thank you!
In this section, we offer questions for reflection based on ideas explored in this issue. You may wish to explore it individually or as part of a group discussion.
To submit your reflection for possible inclusion in a future issue of Quest, tear off your answer and mail it back to us using the envelope included in the middle of this issue, or mail a longer reflection separately.
FROM THE CLF BOARD, NOMINATING COMMITTEE, AND LEAD MINISTRY TEAM:
What skills and talents are necessary for a liberatory lens on CLF leadership? What support might you need to help grow these skills?
Creativity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Neither is freedom—at least absolute freedom. There’s nothing that shuts me down like being told, “Do whatever you want. There are no limits.” Perhaps it’s related to the way I sometimes feel frozen at the sight of the blank page or empty canvas. I always hear the echo of a voice from childhood, “Don’t mess it up, kid.”
To get creative, I have to trick myself. I have to make rules like “you can only use three colors” or “this has to be done, start to finish, in 2 hours and 23 minutes. Go!” I’ve learned to love limits, even the ones that are arbitrary or seem silly. They give me somewhere to start, something to weave my thoughts around, and yes, something to resist.
I’m not alone. When I teach poetry or art classes, I create a prompt for each week’s assignment. No matter whether a student is intrigued by the prompt or hates it, as they grapple with what it means, what it requires, and what it refuses, it gets the artist thinking and creating.
“Write a poem your mother wouldn’t like ” is a perennial favorite. The potential poem asks the writer to recall all they know or do not know about their mother, all they carry with them about her approval and disapproval. It is fertile emotional ground, but left to roam without fences or landmarks, they may never have found this particular field, this garden bed and these seeds of feeling and the poem that grows from them.
Once they begin to appreciate the prompts, it’s time to introduce the poetic forms. I start by telling them that even if they never again use any of the traditional forms we study—tanka, sonnet, cinquain, double dactyl, or the dreaded villanelle—they will be better writers of free verse if they learn about and find a way to play with the rules of poetic forms.
And it’s true. Though most of the poets return to free verse, they never forget that every poem has a form and that by making form intention al, they have new tools: meter, line length, stanzas, rhyme, and even the white space on the page, to build worlds and create encounters with the reader. Suddenly iambic pentameter is not just an archaic rhythm, but a way to carve words into a familiar shape which can create comfort or discomfort, depending on the context of the poem and the choices of the poet.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to apply what I’ve learned to other areas of my life. Whenever I hear someone insisting on their right to absolute freedom, I question the wisdom of their argument and wonder if it’s boring and lonely and empty to be so free. I guess I’ve come to prefer the kind of liberation that comes with limits. Give me a covenant to live into, a promise to keep, a deadline to meet, a form to wrestle, a community to serve, a prompt to remind me that I am more creative, more powerful, more alive when I choose to set aside my ego’s hunger for the glaring expanse of freedom and learn to love the limits.
We were honored to send over 20 CLF member delegates and 16 religious professional delegates to Virtual General Assembly 2021. Now that it’s over, we want to let you know some of what happened.
General Assembly (GA) is the annual meeting of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), during which UUs from around the world vote on the business of the Association, and come together to connect, learn, and worship. This year’s GA was held entirely online, due to the COVID-19 pandemic.
The delegates from UU congregations passed, with 93% in favor, a Statement of Conscience entitled Undoing Systemic White Supremacy: A Call to Prophetic Action.
The delegates also passed three Actions of Immediate Witness: Stop Voter Suppression and Partner for Voting Rights and a Multiracial Democracy; Defend and Advocate with Transgender, Nonbinary, and Intersex Communities; The COVID-19 Pandemic: Justice. Healing. Courage.
Two Responsive Resolutions passed. Responsive resolutions are responses to reports made during GA; they are not binding, but they represent strong feedback and input of the assembled congregations.
The two resolutions passed were: Article II Responsive Resolution: Include Systemic Anti-Racism in Principles; and Divestment Responsive Resolution: Creating a More Just Future Through Divesting from Pipelines and Investing in Young People.
PDFs of all above statements and documents are available online here.
Finally, there was one contested UUA Board election; Rev. Sam Trumbore was elected to the contested position. The other positions on the Board, as well as Financial Advisor and the positions on the Commission on Appraisal, the General Assembly Planning Committee, and the Nominating Committee, were all uncontested.
The Church of the Larger Fellowship had the pleasure of kicking-off the General Assembly Banner Parade, you can watch a recording of that here.
Public worship services and sessions from the conference are available here.
For those who are able to join, we hope to see you in-person next year!
I have been locked up for four years now and I have seen all things created in the penitentiary. The one thing that has stood out to me most is cakes and pies. I have always loved to bake and since I found out how to make cookie cakes three and a half years ago, I haven’t stopped making them.
You see, people like to make things for money or extra food in their locker, I love to make cakes for pure joy and smiles on peoples faces. Everyone always says, ‘Kuntry, you can make so much money on this,’ and I have to explain why I do it the way I do.
Very rarely do I do it for the extra food. I go into a depressive state of mind when I run out of supplies to make cakes. I love to make cheese cakes and I am always looking for different recipes.
I have a famous Blueberry Jalapeno Cheesecake that folks are always asking for. They will come up to me and be like, ‘Kuntry, when are you gonna make a cake?’ I love making people happy in a place that is set on making folks sad.
KUNTRY
CLF member, incarcerated in TX
To create or to reshape. My understanding is that these are two different things. They are often blurred in my mind even as I acknowledge the distinction. Can people truly create? Or can we only reshape what has already been created? If the platonic ‘ideal’ holds true then it seems that everything I, we, do is a reflection, an iteration maybe, of the ultimate.
The idea that I could perhaps create a new ultimate is intriguing but has no possibility of being authenticated. It is most likely an exercise in idle speculation, but the thought process has led me to some interesting places. These places, these recesses in the corners of my soul have often gone unexplored. Why? Because I have no way of qualifying what I find there. I can’t compare myself, my darkest deepest mysterious elements with anyone or anything. Who could I ever safely share them with?
In my core, in my heart of hearts is the blackest of darkness absolutely impenetrable by light or reason. It is not evil, nor good. It is total chaos and utter stillness. It is the yin yang in its every application. The Wellspring of all things. The Great Mystery.
It is within this darkness that I often send my consciousness. I try to find the things about myself that can help or hurt me. I am always amazed at the riddle that is me. It can not be understood in any conventional way. It can not be expressed in any words but yet, I am compelled to try.
This is the force behind my “creativity.” I express myself through music, through my writing, my singing, my guitar. I take the secret parts of myself, I take the inexpressible, and I express them. I unveil to the world and sometimes even myself, the mystery of self.
I have found that this is the best way for me to quantify and qualify my darkness. I cannot bring light into my black heart, but I can bring my heart out into the light. A little bit by little bit, I am insulated from internal damnation and external condemnation. Art, music, artistic license: these protect me. Even though I can still feel the pain of rejection (I often do), I can also recognize that the rejection may simply be of the manner of presentation, not what is being presented. That may seem like semantics, but it’s still true.
I have found that it is impossible for me to explore these caverns and not return again to the surface with a gem. I have found that when Jesus said the Kingdom of Heaven is within me, he wasn’t kidding. I have found that although I have many flaws and shortcomings, I am actually an amazing being, completely and totally without equal, and pricelessly valuable. I have found, often to my chagrin, that so can everyone else be. I am not unique in this potential. Everyone has the Kingdom of Heaven inside them. One needs only to go for a walk one day and they too will find these truths.
How can I exist and not create? How can the space between that mysterious darkness of the limitless unknowns, of myself and the well-defined light of my reason and awareness not be charged with possibility? The constantly renewed flux of the streams of consciousness flowing up through the wellspring to the mysterious subconscious, bringing with it all the possibility of the unknown. How could I not create in this situation? How could whole new worlds not be formed? New ideas, new vistas, new fears, new hopes. The dreams of a slumbering god.
To return to my initial question regarding the concepts of creative and reshaping, I find that creation is not an act of deliberation. It happens spontaneously and instantly. It is then that the individual reshapes, polishes it up, smooths the rough edges, makes a second draft, and starts all over.
What many call creation is really just the process of deciding how to present what was created.
A sculptor works hard to free the image from within the stone. The painter strives to capture the image in their mind or sitting in the model’s place. The musician struggles to deliver the song within their soul. But all these “presentations” are not creations but simply the revelation of what already is. The creation is done instantly, instinctively and every time we look into the darkness.
Gregory
CLF member, incarcerated in NH
For many years, you all have sent us your incredible works of visual art along with your poems and essays. In this new era of Quest, we would like to feature visual art more regularly, knowing that the full range of creative expression cannot be captured in words alone. If you love drawing or painting, please send us copies of your work for inclusion in future issues of Quest!
If you are a free world member of the CLF and have access to email, please email us at clf@clfuu.org. If you are currently incarcerated, you can mail a copy of your work to The Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF), 24 Farnsworth Street, Boston MA 02210. Thank you for sharing your many creative gifts with our beloved community.
Flaming Zen Chalice
MICHAEL
CLF member, incarcerated in FL
[This is] my rendition of our symbol. I have been wanting to render it this way for several years, but apparently the time was now. I personalized it, as you can see, with a Zen Buddhist flower (the Ensō) and with the heart under the flame. If by chance, my version has offended anybody, I meant no harm. Just wanted to share this art, how UU and my individual path has helped me.
Please share with all who find such work inspiring, uplifting and thought-provoking. Please, place it somewhere as a constant reminder that we are a “flame in the midst of fire, motivated by Love within this mysterious circle of life.”
Venice – Dawn
GARY
CLF member, incarcerated in NC
DERECK
CLF member, incarcerated in VA
ROD
CLF member, incarcerated in IL
Yeah, I know you want something a little more up-beat
And all my poems are sad
I’d write about being happy more often
If I were happy more often, eee’gad!
But for you let me try this
It’s no big deal
For you I will write
What I do not feel
With imagination it’s easy
Word play I create
A mind set to set minds
In a worlds. Realist. State.
Happy happy joy joy
Ahh, forget this, what do you want from me
My heart is dark as midnight
And only death holds a key
I hate people, I hate life
I wish death, I stir strife
I talk proper and fool people
Sophisticated learned evil
I wasn’t always full of resentment
Bitterness and sorrow, pain and depression
But that story will not be told
This morning or after lunch
Use your imagination, and make one the hell up
Ah yes, I imagine and day dream it’s true
That one day I won’t have to imagine what it’s like to be happy
And happily write a poem for you
VYLET
CLF Member, incarcerated in FL
Just like a flower, we bloom into ourselves,
Taking our precious time as we open up to the world.
Each one of us different and unique,
As diverse as nature herself.
We emerge in big cities and small towns,
Wherever our roots have taken hold.
Sometimes we are welcomed and sometimes not,
But regardless we strive to thrive.
Some of us are allowed to live and grow,
Though some are harshly plucked like a common weed.
Yet for those who we’ve lost another grows in their place,
As delicate and stubborn as any other.
So whether you’re a daylight daisy or a darkling orchid,
Or even an atypical Irish rose like me,
Never be afraid to blossom,
Show off the fierce beauty you have to chase away the ugliness around you.
ELAINE
CLF Member, incarcerated in AK
The body is the slowest part of ourselves. Our thoughts, emotions, spirits — these can move at lightning speed, switching from one state to another in an instant. The body, though, takes time to learn. The metaphor shifts from lightning to ocean liner, changing direction in the vast sea: slow, laborious, needing time before it can complete the turn.
The other side of that, though, is that once the body gets it, it knows how to keep moving steadily in the direction of healing. It demonstrates what a loyal and powerful ally it can be.
Everything we do in our lives is mediated by the body. Ultimately, our deepest thoughts are transmitted by electrical pulses along neurons. A parent’s profound love for a child involves a massive dump of hormones into the endocrine system. Peak spiritual experiences may expand the chest or cause tears to stream down cheeks.
We are in this world, embedded in this physical reality for however long we’re alive. What’s more, we need not delay finding paradise until after death — it’s available to us in the here and now. This is known as a radically realized eschatology. (Eschatology is the theological term for how we understand final things.)
Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker notes that radically realized eschatology “begins with affirming that we are already standing on holy ground. … Instead of striving to get somewhere else, our goal can be to fully arrive here and greet each day of life with gratitude.” This applies as much to arriving fully in our bodies as in the world.
For years, due to my own trauma history, I spent most of my time away from my body. With time and practice, I started recognizing the signs that I was dissociating: the edges of my vision would grow a little hazy. I’d lose track of what I was saying. My sense of presence turned into a notable absence.
I also learned techniques to come back to myself. I’d wiggle my toes within my shoes, or I’d go around the room noticing objects and their colors: brown table, blue shirt, yellow book. By grounding myself in the here and now, my body became an anchor in my current reality rather than my traumatic past. I came alive rather than merely existing.
I know that this can get tricky when the trauma is still ongoing. But I also know — after decades of hating my body and believing that it had betrayed me — that our bodies are always on our side. They alone remain with us from birth until death. They consistently lean towards healing as best they can, even if they can’t make it to wellness.
Whether or not the spirit is willing, the flesh is not weak. It is the magical machine that makes the human experience possible. We find paradise, Dr. Parker reminds us, through “a profound embrace of this world” — including our own embodiment.
If we can feel at home in this world — truly at home, without any asterisk about our size or disability or anything else — we won’t just benefit from the steadfast gifts of the body. We’ll also have better access to the gratitude, compassion, and peace that keep us connected to all the beauty of this sacred world. May we always remember that we, too, are holy ground.
This might sound strange, but I have felt the most present, the most interconnected mentally, spiritually, and physically when I have experienced loss. It’s easy to see life and acquiring good things as blessings, but loss is a pretty powerful catalyst for change that a lot of people don’t recognize because, let’s face it, who wants to focus on things that make us suffer, give us pain, and can sometimes be traumatizing?
Everyone wants to reach for the light (carpe diem!), but few want to give themselves over to the dark night of the soul, to look at your own shadows, face them, and be thankful for the opportunity to embrace that pain and hardship and grow from your past (carpe noctem?).
Life and creation are just as sacred as death and destruction — both are needed for existence to even be possible in the first place. Some trees can’t grow without the occasional forest fire. Mothers sacrifice their life force just to bring in new life. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Loss has been a gateway to com passion. It shifted my perspective, forcefully and not too gently, but sometimes we need to be shoved out of our comfort zones to get to where exactly you need to be, whether it’s to learn something yourself or to be there to help someone else.
RACHEL
CLF member, incarcerated in MO
Thank you to Rachel for your above piece, “Loss as a Gateway to Compassion” — this reflection is prompted by and written in response to your words.
As I write this, I’m about two months into the most significant and all encompassing grief journey of my life. My beloved mother passed away at the beginning of April — a fact that still feels completely impossible, no matter how many times I share it.
I’m new to the experience of this level of grief, so I won’t pretend to have particular wisdom on it. But I can say that so far, this has been the most embodied experience of my life. I’ve never felt more completely in my body than in the moment I learned my mother would soon be leaving hers, and every day since is teaching me more and more about how to care for and love my full, embodied self.
My family had a precious almost week between my mom’s stroke and her death, during which we knew that she was dying and that the most we could do for her was to sit by her bedside and surround her with our presence and love. Every inch of my body hurt that week, and I found myself uninterested in numbing the pain — feeling it made this unfathomable thing that was happening more real, somehow. The pain was as appropriate and warranted as my sobs and panic attack I had by her bedside, each one a physical expression of my complete love for her, and how very much I wanted things to be different.
I could barely eat for that entire week, as if my love for her was taking up too much of my being for there to be room for anything else. I’ve regained my appetite in the time since, but it often feels like my body chemistry has been changed by this loss. My mom loved cooking nourishing, vegetarian meals, and these days, any food that’s even slightly less healthy than what she would make doesn’t sit well anymore (and food that does remind me of her feels even better than it did before).
As I’ve waded into grief, I’ve found that it’s impossible to describe without some level of contradiction. I never experience it as just one feeling: for me, pain and sadness have been woven so tightly together with love and gratitude, there is no
separating them out. Noticing and naming where I’m experiencing each of these feelings physically, in my body, has become a necessary and almost constant practice for me just to move through the overwhelm.
The pain and heaviness usually shows up in my back and my limbs, building up as tension in moments when I feel the wrongness of a world without my mother’s physical presence. But that pain is always coupled with a feeling of warmth and protection wrapping around my heart: what I understand as her presence and love as it’s with me now.
I do feel that warmth around my heart as my mother’s spirit, with me now as she is with all that she loved in life — and I try to simply rest in that feeling as much as I can, and to ignore the nagging pull of my mind when it doubts the ‘realness’ of what I’m feeling. It is easy to doubt, because our minds can’t ever fully make sense of even our deepest spiritual truths; they can simply be experienced, known at the level of the body, and disembodied Western culture has taught so many of us to mistrust what is felt.
Through the heartbreak and exhaustion of feeling so much all of the time, in grief, I’ve also found myself more able to appreciate the everyday pleasures of simply being in a body. When I feel the sun on my skin and smell the spring flowers coming alive in my mother’s garden, each of those sensations feels like a huge gift, anchoring me to my love of this life. There’s no more room for me to take for granted the miracle of physical presence on earth while I’m this close to the otherworld of death.
Loving my physical body, caring for it through its overwhelm and pain, also feels like the most important, everyday way to honor my mother. She cared for me, for my body, so completely in life — caring for myself with that level of love is perhaps the most simple and most significant way for me to carry on her legacy.
If you are on your own grief journey — whether from a recent loss or one still carried close from many years ago — I hope that some of these words have landed gently in your body, either as a mirror or comparison point for your embodied experience. There is no one right way to feel or live with grief; each of our experiences plays out within our unique, messy, infinitely complex bodies, and I think the most important thing may be to simply be with what our bodies are feeling. I hope that’s true, anyway — being with all my body is feeling has been my way of making it through so far, so I’m holding on to it and trying hard to understand it as sacred. Our bodies are sacred, without a doubt, so all their experiences of love and grief must also surely be so.
The CLF held its Annual Congregational Meeting on Sunday June 6, 2021. Anyone who could not attend the meeting was invited to vote by mail ahead of the meeting. To date we have received 440 votes via mail, with over 400 coming from our incarcerated members. 33 members voted in person at the meeting. We are still receiving ballots that were postmarked prior to the meeting and will have final tallies in next month’s Quest.
CLF members voted for the slate of nominations presented by the nominating committee (preliminary vote 445 yes, 1 no, 21 abstain). Annalee Durland-Jones, Aisha Ansano, and Julica Hermann de la Fuente were all voted onto the board. Danielle Di Bona was voted as clerk. John Hooper was voted as treasurer. And Debra Gray Boyd was voted onto the nominating committee.
CLF members voted to affirm the 8th principle, which states that “We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote: Journeying toward spiritual wholeness by working to build a diverse multicultural Beloved Community by our actions that accountably dismantle racism and other oppressions in ourselves and our institutions.” (preliminary vote 420 yes, 34 no, 19 abstain)
CLF members also vote for the new revised bylaws developed by the board (preliminary vote 427 yes, 8 no, 24 ab stain). For those with internet access, the new bylaws can be found on the CLF website by choosing About on the main menu and then About again.
“I loved my grandmother every moment of my life. I still do.
I know she did not invent the racialized trauma that both white and Black people blew threw her. None of these people, or their parents, or their grandparents, or many generations of their ancestors, invented this trauma. It was passed down and passed down and passed down and passed down. It is now up to us — to you and to me and to everyone else who cares about human beings — to put a stop to this cycle of trauma. This means metabolizing trauma in our bodies.” —Resmaa Menakem
When I first came to somatics practice, I had been in talk therapy for most of my life. I could tell you, at great length, all of the things that I was working on. I knew myself very well. Changing my behaviors was still a big struggle. My trauma responses to triggers were so hard to shift. My body had absorbed so much and given me coping mechanisms for survival.
Healing is a physical act. It happens in our soma, our body. Our bodies are incredible at carrying so much pain and trauma and memory for us – until we are ready to release them by moving through them. Research shows that our bodies carry more than even what is ours, though. They carry the pains and joys of our ancestors.
In his book, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathways to Mending our Hearts and Bodies, therapist, teacher and somatics practitioner Resmaa Menakem lays out a theory of how generational trauma must be healed in order to overcome racism in the United States. He ties the brutalism of early colonizers of what would become the United States to the terror and torture of the Middle Ages, explaining how a whole people could inflict such trauma on another. Deeply hurt people hurt people. He describes the different ways in which white body supremacy impacts BIPOC bodies and white bodies today that must be healed.
Healing the trauma in our bodies is particularly fraught for those of us who have our own trauma history. If you have a history of trauma in your life, take it slow. Give yourself a lot of grace. Do not go it alone, ask a trusted friend or therapist to support you. Take breaks whenever you need to. Embodiment can be risky and scary for those of us who have stored painful memories within ourselves. It is an amazing gift that our bodies have taken this in for us. The process of feeling and releasing it needs to go at the pace that feels right for you.
Central to the practice of somatics in the practice of centering. It is how every somatics class or gathering begins. We can do this practice standing, sitting or lying down.
First, we find our core, just above the belly button. We can place a hand there if it helps us connect. We center from this place.
Next, we center in length or in our dignity. We can lift one arm up and one arm down. We allow our lower body to settle into gravity and our upper body to lift in our full height.
Then, we center in our width or in our connection. Perhaps we reach our arms wide to feel our wideness and our interdependence.
And finally, we center in our depth or in our place in history. We feel the space between our back body and our front body. We feel our ancestry behind us and our future before us.
If you take up this process of healing, it will be uncomfortable. Remember, refusing to heal is always more painful over time than the pain of healing. And remember these words from Resmaa Menakem: “When we heal our own trauma, individually and collectively, we don’t just heal our bodies. By refusing to pass on the trauma we inherited, we help heal the world.”
It is our job to do what we can while we are here. To pass on just a little less to the next generation. To heal as much as we can. We are not either traumatized or healed — it is an ongoing process of healing that we all must engage in to stop the cycle of racial violence from continuing to pass from generation to generation.
Healing is hard work. Embodiment can feel dangerous. And it can awaken within us more joy, more compassion, more resilience. It can build a stronger connection between our mind and our body. It can help us more easily access the power and wonder that lives inside of us. It can bring our actions into alignment with our values. And it heals the world.
This is my last column for CLF in my capacity as Learning Fellow for the Worthy Now Prison Ministry. My fellowship ends on June 30, after which I will be moving on to my first parish ministry in Bridgewater, Massachusetts. My columns in Quest and the Worthy Now newsletter have been the primary way I have communicated with you, our incarcerated members. So this is my good-bye to you, dear friends in faith. I want you to know how deeply I value the countless ways you have moved me over these past ten months.
You have taught me, inspired me, challenged me, mobilized me to action, enlightened me, moved me to tears, and made me laugh out loud. Without ever exchanging a passing glance, much less a smile or a handshake, I have experienced the power of sacred connection through your words.
The CLF worship theme for this month is Embodiment. Sometimes, the relationships we build across prison walls can feel dis-embodied. Our bodies are never in the same place at the same time. For the most part, we come to know one another by no other means than words on paper. I grieve this reality. I am outraged that you, beloved siblings in the human family, are denied the gifts of physical presence with the members of your chosen faith community. Yet, the idea that our relationships are not embodied is, I believe, simply untrue. We may not be together in body at the same time and place, but our relationships are powerfully embodied.
I’m thinking of all the physical effort and energy that goes into connecting through prison mail systems and the United States Postal Service. Your efforts to procure paper, envelopes and stamps. Your labor of writing by hand the insights of your mind and feelings of your heart and spirit. The unceasing efforts of our indomitable prison ministry administrator, Beth Murray, to process the endless piles of mail and redistribute it to CLF staff and pen pals in the far-flung places where we live and work. I’m thinking of the way I settle into my office chair with each one of your letters, pen pal applications, and course responses. How I say your names out loud before reading through your reflections. How your words, your stories, your insights, your kindnesses elicit embodied responses—not only laughter and tears, but also a heart at times softened by compassion, or lightened by humor, and at other times fired up for justice. I cannot express all the ways you have moved me.
As I take my leave, I want to emphasize how deeply grateful I am to each one of you for overcoming the barriers imposed on you in order to build healing relationships with those of us on the outside. I promise to carry your friendship with me — in body, mind, heart, and spirit — as I grow in my ministry. More than any other teachers, you have taught me the truth of Universal Love and Universal Belonging. I will keep your lessons close at heart. May they ever guide me, and all of us, towards a ministry of love and liberation.
In faith and gratitude,
Jennifer
Dearest Beloveds,
We come to you once again following the state-sanctioned murder of yet another Black man, Daunte Wright. We write to you with anger, grief, rage, and hearts torn asunder. We know many of you will feel similarly. We also feel fear, afraid for the next Black person whom police will murder. Will it be our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, siblings, parents? When will it touch us even closer, as it is bound to do?
We know this to be true because the system is working as designed. The policing system of the United States is working exactly as designed. There is no reforming a system that is predicated on the belief that Black and brown lives are worth less than white ones. That Black and brown people are to be over-policed, feared, caged, and their lives are worthless. This belief has been part of the national consciousness since the arrival of colonizers. It is easy to deny Black and brown people their rights to humanity. Rights that include democratic representation via voting, housing, health care, food, and education. And also the right to simply exist — to walk down the street eating candy, to play in a park, to sleep in one’s own bed, to drive home to one’s child — without being killed by the police.
As the Church of the Larger Fellowship moves to center the lived experiences of those from historically marginalized communities, there will be disagreement over how to live out our Unitarian Universalist theology. As your Lead Ministry Team, we can make clear that there is no police reform but only abolition. There is no freedom without justice. No divine peace without holy struggle.
A Prayer for us all: Spirit of life and love, give me the will to notice and say the things that need to be said. To gain resolve and respite in the shadows and then move into the light with renewed courage to speak and fight for the truth. To remember that I am not free until we are all free.
In Unitarian Universalist Service,
Christina Rivera
Aisha Hauser, MSW, CRE-ML
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino
In response to my November article about why we use the phrase “Black Lives Matter,” Clifford, a CLF member incarcerated in Illinois, asked me to look into the work of political philosopher Hannah Arendt, who wrote extensively about power and accountability from her vantage point as a survivor of the Holocaust in Germany.
Specifically, Clifford challenged my assertion that “I do not blame individual officers” for police violence against Black people. Drawing on Arendt’s work, Clifford wrote, “by not placing blame for particular action or inaction on the individual officers we not only strip them of the personal responsibility necessary to holding them… accountable, we undermine the importance and significance of the actions of those officers brave enough to stand up against the system.”
Hannah Arendt, in the essay Clifford asked me to read, “Personal Responsibility Under Dictatorship,” writes, “where all are guilty, none is.” Making the case that “it is better to suffer than to do wrong,” Arendt says that individuals have a moral obligation not to perpetuate systems of injustice, even when their own lives or livelihoods are at stake. Clifford, and Hannah Arendt, of course, are correct. It is vital—even in an unjust system—that the individual perpetrators of acts of injustice be held accountable for their actions.
Arendt also notes that politically, “those who chose the lesser evil forget very quickly that they chose evil.” “Acceptance of lesser evils,” she continues, “is consciously used in conditioning the…population at large to the acceptance of evil as such.” This is precisely how systems as violent and unjust as modern policing in the United States have become institutions that most white Americans support and trust—those of us acculturated to whiteness have been conditioned to accept evil.
Clifford is also right when he asserts that the notions of responsibility and accountability are not limited to extreme cases. Each of us makes moral judgments every day. Each of us makes choices for good or bad every day. Each of us has the option, again and again, to choose to participate in perpetuating wrong or to oppose it. And each of us should be held accountable when our actions cause harm to others.
It is here that we find tensions inherent in the principles that Unitarian Universalist congregations covenant to affirm and promote. One example is the tension between freedom and responsibility. Our fourth principle says we affirm “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” Freedom has limits. Elsewhere, the “right of conscience” promised in the fifth principle is not always compatible with the “justice for all” we seek in our sixth. Conscience has limits, too.
As a covenantal faith, we rely on how we agree to be together to help us decide what to do. And we rely on processes that help bring us back to covenant when we cause harm—processes of accountability in which we are asked to stop the harm that we are doing, to understand the harm we have done, to make amends for the harm, and finally, to agree not to do it again. Within our faith, just as in our society at large, these processes are imperfect. And yet, they are how we move forward towards creating better systems.
Dear Quest readers,
Hi, I’m Cir L’Bert, Jr., the new Prison Ministry Manager for The Church of The Larger Fellowship.
I’m 35 (which I think makes me the oldest possible millennial), a single father, and have worked as a waiter, warehouse picker, and indie theater manager.
My hobbies include combat sports, history/folklore, and podcasting about pop culture. I’m a lifelong hip hop head and lover of the blues. I’m also a lifelong native and product of Akron, Ohio, where I’m active in the local arts and organizing scene as a writer, public speaker, and racial justice advocate.
A decade ago, my place within my community was less assured. In 2009, a night out with friends resulted in my arrest, and subsequently charged with OVI, drug possession, and carrying a concealed weapon.
After lawyer fees and thanks to my demand to be treated fairly, the drug and weapons charges were dropped (the drugs were revealed by lab analysis to be postnatal multivitamins that I’d purchased for my partner at the time, and the weapon in question was a knife I’d bought at a flea market in high school).
Even so, I spent two years on probation, with six months of that under home monitoring, thirteen days in jail, and one weekend at “DUI school.” Even though I’d only dealt with a fraction of our carceral system, the experience left me frustrated, drained of energy, and depressed about the time I’d lost.
During the final phase of my probation, I’d been required to show proof of attendance at two AA meetings, though I had the option of substituting one of those with a church event.
My parents and brother had started going to a UU church so I decided to give it a try. The open dialogue on religion was refreshing to me, who’d been raised Christian. The focus on social justice was especially important, as my experience with the court system had validated so much of what my parents had taught me about systemic racism and inequality.
More than that, UU gave me a path to deepen a lifelong passion for philosophy, reconnect with my local and wider community through service and advocacy, and helped restore my own sense of worth and dignity, which had been damaged by the carceral system.
I believe that Unitarian Universalism is a liberatory religion. Our First Principle affirms “the worth and dignity of every person” (including the incarcerated), our Fourth Principle calls for a “free and responsible search for meaning,” and our Sixth Principle calls for “justice for all.”
And now, we are widely adopting the Eighth Principle in our churches, which calls us to “dismantle racism and other oppressions in ourselves and our institutions.”
Unitarian Universalism has helped me find a community where I can continue my journey of liberation and abolition. I’m glad it has led me to this moment and I look forward to serving as your Prison Ministry Manager.
AFGHANISTAN — I can never go back, but it doesn’t let me leave. It latches on to you like an addiction, mentally and physically, and tears you apart like a ravenous dog. The jewel of the orient, along a highway of silk, into the graveyard of empires.
It gnaws at you, especially when you know you can’t go back, mustn’t go back. Yet you go back, like a bad habit, finish a mission started but never completed. Always passing it along to your relief/replacement. Not knowing if they will ever be as good as you see yourself.
You want to go back to finish what was started for the ones who have fallen, not wanting all of the past 20 years to have been in vain for the sacrifice by them and their families.
Every time I left I’d say I’ll never return, I’ll find a new job; but never did. Like my addiction, “I quit, and never again,” but always going back.
A bad compulsion that eventually became exposed to the truth and justice at the barrel of a gun pointed at me, and my family as they slept. I had turned into the monster just like the ones I fought in Afghanistan. Unable to return on my next mission and finish honorably, I ended in shackles with a stain I cannot get rid of. Head hanging low unable to comprehend why I let myself fail. Why I didn’t do more to help myself instead of walking down the path of destruction I made.
Failing to do my part and seek help for a habit that was getting out of control. Not letting someone, any one, help me. All the tools, weapons, and loving support were there, but I spurred them away. Saying, “I can handle this.”
This war I have been fighting; long before Afghanistan became part of my vocabulary. Fought long before the Soviets were there.
Afghanistan is the “graveyard of Empires,” but for me it is my mind. Trying everyday to stay out, and in the light,
locked up by the Commonwealth in an institute of supposed “Corrections.” Trying to resurrect something; salvage the positive from this disaster I created.
I was headed back to “The Stan,” but ended up here! Locked away from society, thrown away, seen as a worthless cause, my honor stripped away by my behavior.
Is it possible to return with honor? Salvage something of my life left, and the family I hurt so bad? Make something good out of all this?
Working day by day, one step at a time, working the steps, seeking the counseling, having faith, and soldiering on.
DERECK
CLF Member, incarcerated in VA
In the March 2021 issue of Quest, Rev. Jennifer shared a prompt to send us remembrances of incarcerated loved ones whose deaths may have not been marked by the outside. Here are some of the names and reflections we received.
March/April 2020, the Marion Correctional Institution, Ohio, became ground zero for COVID-19 within an incarcerated environment. Such a helpless feeling, being in total lock down, surviving on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, watching CNN Headline News and seeing film clips of protesters outside the fence with signs reading, “Let Them Go.”
The virus was brought into the prison by a guard who was not screened before reporting to work. In the beginning, inmates were routinely moved from one living area to another, and were not permitted to wear a face mask. This institution quickly became the poster child for what not to do during a pandemic, as over 1,900 inmates were infected, hundreds of men were transferred to hospitals and 17 inmates had lost their lives.
By year’s end, our administration leadership was given an award, “Warden of the Year” and was granted a promotional job to the ODRC Central Office.
Do not stand by their grave and weep, learn from their sacrifice and offer a moment of silence in their memory.
We remember:
Charles Abrams
Jan Becker
Richard Berger
Larry Bruce
David Farmer
George Henderson
Rodney Hobbs
Robert Johnson
Johnny Johnson
Lance Love
Romulus Neda
Kenneth Roth
Walter Sayre
Aco Simonoski
George Small
Robert Williams
Jesse Zeigler
Michael
CLF Member incarcerated in OH
Christopher
CLF Member incarcerated in KY
BoxerHe was a close friend who died of COVID-19 last year at Green River Correctional Complex. His daily thing was working out, drinking coffee, and wearing his state jacket. He was positive, and encouraged me to smile, be kind, and do what I had to do to stay in shape. He always told me to stand up for what I believe in and never waver or give up. His favorite saying was, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, let it run its course.” I live by that. Boxer’s deep human kindness and spirituality is a guide for me.
Dereck
CLF Member, incarcerated in VA
“Speedy”
I didn’t know him well, or his name, but he was a funny old man walking with a cane. Didn’t know why he was here; it doesn’t matter. He was friendly to everyone. He was the 2nd victim to COVID here at Dillwyn from the sad, pathetic response the admin had. Blessings and “speedy” travels on the Big Journey.
Jennifer
CLF member incarcerated in CA
“Casper” Shively, an elderly white man who was confined here at Salinas Valley State Prison, CA, was infected with COVID-19 and was hospitalized for severe symptoms, which caused his death. I first met Casper in 1991 at New Folsom (CSP – Sacramento), the first year of my incarceration. Casper was an Asatru/Odinist and worked as the chapel clerk at my facility. His long gray hair and beard and Thor’s Hammer necklace reminded me of the Vikings.
Perhaps we should honor Casper by ending mass incarceration and releasing our elderly, chronically ill prisoners, rather than allowing more deaths by COVID-19. Support #CagingCOVID!
Carol
CLF member incarcerated in AL
My sister Dona Jean Robinson was not incarcerated physically in a prison, but mentally and emotionally she went to jail the same day I did. She stood by me, answered every single phone call and we always had had words of love, and memories of happier times. You see, my sister was very sick, but she hardly ever complained of being in pain because she wanted to be that person who made me smile. My beautiful sister passed away on March 25, 2021. She was my best friend and confidant will forever be loved and truly missed. She was 53 years old and had congestive heart failure. I know that she is in a happier place and I can’t wait to see her so we can dance in the sky together. Rest in peace my beautiful sister.
Kevin
CLF member incarcerated in VA
Sadie (Chris) Virden was a light to everyone she came in contact with. Sadie could see through the ‘put-on’ smiles and ‘fake it til you make it’ smiles and be there to just listen. I talk with her mom about two times a week and I can see where she got her liveliness from. She had about as much spirit as someone who was actually free, and lived within the realms of even knowing that she was in prison, but still was a strong spirit and force of life. She will never be forgotten.
Earl Monroe was days from the gate and lived a life of someone whose life had taken its toll, but still fought to be free, and lived a full helpful life, seeing others as if they always needed something — an ear, a shoulder, just someone to be there for them.
Buffalo / Louis Michael HealyIf a card was ever needed, a drawing to be done, a portrait of family — his hand was always at work to take pencil/pen/ colors to paper and get it to families for their birthdays, anniversaries, or just a ‘I love you, thinking of you.’ He always had a smile; even as broken as he was, he never showed it, because he felt it showed weakness. This was coming from someone who spent the majority of their lives incarcerated. He smiled still to show that one must be strong, always. The true Native brother that he was, he always looked out for other fellow Natives, no matter the tribe.
These three all passed within the same year and a half of each other in our unit. We had 5 total deaths in the whole facility from September 2018 to January 2020 (Sadie in September 2018, Earl in December 2018, Buffalo in August 2019, Farmer in November 2019, Byrd in January 2020). Rest in peace to all, you are all loved!
Christian
CLF member incarcerated in IL
Lopez, aka D-Town, was a person who was hard not to befriend. He possessed a heart almost the size of the state he was from, and had the type of personality that instilled hope and faith in those that had little. The more I continue to reflect on his character, the more I’m beginning to understand how our emotions are like filters, ones in which we may view the aspects of reality at any given moment. Those truly familiar with D-Town would tell you he was known for his humble attitude and his contagious smile. Some couldn’t comprehend how a person who so much time could always be so happy.
I believe the emotional filter Lopez operated out of the most was love. For example, where most people may have judged another fellow inmate to be a pest or potential thief, Lopez might have just seen a dude in need. D-Town died of an overdose back in 2015, but his memory lives on through his works.
Dezi
CLF member incarcerated in CO
Unfortunately, I know far, far too many fallen soldiers and comrades to offer individual tributes. So I say to all of our sisters and brothers who lost their lives in the belly of the iron and concrete beast, that death is no enemy to man. It is a friend who, when the work of life is done, cuts the cord that binds the human boat to its shores, so that it may sail on to smoother seas.
In this section, we offer questions for reflection based on the idea explored in this issue.
You may wish to explore it individually or as part of a group discussion. To submit your reflection for possible inclusion in a future issue of Quest, tear off your answer and mail it back to us using the envelope included in the middle of this issue, or mail a longer reflection separately.
Grief is weighing heavily on so many of us. Whether you are grieving a loved one lost in the past year, to COVID-19 or otherwise, or you are grieving someone lost long ago but never forgotten, the weight of loss never fully leaves us. Do you have any rituals or other spiritual practices that help you to hold and tend to your grief? Are you struggling with grief and looking for more support or ideas to help you hold it? Either way, we would love to hear more about what grief looks like for you and how it lives in your daily life.
If you would like us to be able to publish or share your writing in the future, remember to include “You have permission to edit and publish my words” somewhere on your submission.
Photo by Sean Bonner via Flickr
Perhaps the very simplicity of grace is what makes it hard to describe. I’ve been in more than one meandering conversation with Unitarian Universalists about what is grace anyway. Rather than focus on the what today, I want to tell you about the who: Grace Lee Boggs.
Grace was a Chinese-American activist who lived in Detroit and worked for seventy years, connected in community for Black liberation. She was a teacher and writer who believed that freedom was possible and that people could learn how to achieve it, especially by working together to make change. In one conversation with journalist Amy Goodman, Grace Lee Boggs said:
“One of the difficulties when you’re coming out of oppression is that you get a concept of a messiah. You have to get to the point that we are the leaders we have been looking for. We are the children of Martin and Malcolm. I don’t know what the next American Revolution is going to be like, but you might be able to imagine it if your imagination were rich enough.”
Grace Lee Boggs offered the wisdom of change; as Unitarian Universalists, we find ourselves swimming in the deep end of the ocean of change. Most congregations have not been meeting in their buildings for going on more than a year now. We find the political climate and even the meteorological climate to be in the process of change. This would not have been a surprise to Grace Lee Boggs. She viewed change as a container for possibility. She also gave this encouragement:
“Keep realizing that reality is changing and that your ideas have to change. Don’t get stuck in old ideas.”
What does that mean for Unitarian Universalists in this particular moment? First, it is true that no one is coming to save us. If one of the definitions of grace is refined movement, we come to the legacy of Grace Lee Boggs as a framework that can allow refinement of our movement, or the embodiment of grace. As a movement, we will continue to change. As the risk level of COVID-19 transmission decreases, we will move into multi-platform modes of worship, or online and in-person combinations of worship that continue to keep our communities safe and move toward a goal of in-person worship. We will encounter the changing political climate with courage and the stamina that it will take to change both feelings and ideas, toward equity, toward Beloved Community.
One of the ideas that we have the opportunity to embrace as refinement of our movement is the Eighth Principle.
“We, the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association, covenant to affirm and promote: journeying toward spiritual wholeness by working to build a diverse multicultural Beloved Community by our actions that accountability dismantle racism and other oppressions in ourselves and our institutions.”
It is both a new idea and a new practice to say this out loud and to plan to live into it. And we, who have now endured a season of change in which we had few choices, can use our adaptability to continue looking for the ideas that will allow us to live into who we say we are, Seven Principles, then Eight, by which we love each other, our communities, and the world, into healing, into wholeness, and into a new horizon of joy. Come. We are the ones who must lead us forward.
Does believing that God’s grace extends to everyone prove there’s an end to suffering? The contradiction mollifies itself because a loving, wrathful God is graceful and merciful from a Christian Universalism point of view.
When I was six or seven years old my mom read to my brother and I the Bible. I lit up! I believed all of it. She read to us for a few more years, and then we grew up. After that I rarely picked up the Bible, but I remember, one time I opened it to the book of Revelation and attempted to decipher it. I soon gave up.
Then, at twenty-two years of age, I was incarcerated because I went undiagnosed and untreated for more than a year with a major mental illness. This disorder did not allow me to refrain from thinking (and acting out) a false reality, in which my crime was necessary and sufficient to help — save — humanity from suffering, as well as my well-being, and my own recovery. This was a grandiose delusion, even though I should have known I was wrong from a black and white perspective, my mind colored every perspective in support of my delusion. Thus, I was strongly compelled to act on it contrary to the law, regardless of the real consequences which compromised my promises to society due to my insanity.
I could not understand why a loving God would allow my life to turn into, what seems like, a crash course with no end in sight. Fast forward eighteen years of incarceration with another twenty-two years remaining on this course and, in short, it seems God has let me down at every turn. I expected to finish the racecourse.
Fortunately, this is still the case because in my recurring delusions, this life is still the best, most true, and most real life I will ever have, unless the reality is far greater than the delusion. The point is that much did turn out far better for me than I had expected! I can explain every circumstance and event, because I have tasted that the Lord is good (1 Peter 2:1-3).
Moreover, I have a peace that I know I have a choice. It is human nature, and the peace I feel comes from faith in my interpretation (from my experiences). It is my truth. Can I share it with you? May I? It is this Christianity — that almost has it right! That is much better than I expected, but it was that curiosity when I attempted to do something I thought no one on earth has done — justify my life with anything less than grace.
ASHER
CLF member, incarcerated in FL
I know her
In times of turmoil she is unexpected respite
I cherish what she is, what I am not
Her countenance is hopeful
Her words are kind without rebuke
Hers is not charity, yet no debt is incurred
She assumes I am worthy. I am sure I am not
I know her, but I have never been her
When the turbulence passes
She departs with this wise impress
Do not wait for others to prove worthy
They are already
You are able to be Grace for them
Are you willing?
One of my favorite books is Frank Herbert’s science fiction classic Dune. The story centers on the desert planet Dune, where enormous sandworms burrow under the sands. People who attempt to mine the valuable substance known as “the spice” constantly have their machines destroyed by the sandworms. Later in the story, the main character, Paul, manages to turn the sand worms into an asset rather than a liability.
I grew up in the Bay Area of California, which is well known for being balmy and temperate. Yet, life’s slings and arrows pushed me south into the blaring hot Central Valley; it might as well have been the desert of Dune as far as I was concerned. Although I did not think of them as such at the time, l was also haunted by my own sandworms: depression that robbed me of my strength and hope, fears that devoured my courage. There is something about these unseen terrors that sabotage the best of intentions. The wounds endured early in life have the tendency to fester and become their own unmanageable monsters. For a long time, I saw no way to overcome them.
In our culture, we have a lot of platitudes related to overcoming adversity. Many have become cliches, and I have never met someone who said they were saved by a cliche, myself included. How do you make lemonade out of lemon without sugar? That is what I always wanted to know. And how exactly do you pass a “test given by God”? Professor G. never gave any lectures, and no angel ever came down to provide some tutoring. The alleged textbooks I was given second hand always left me with more questions than answers, I know people were just trying to be helpful when they told me these things, but their words became bricks in the wall I built around my heart.
That wall was there for a long time. However, no wall stands forever. There came a time when I could no longer hide my pain and was desperate enough to seek help. The healing was slow, but it did happen. My epiphany came when I realized all those problems I had helped make me the person I wanted to be: depression and fear made me sensitive to the struggles of others, making me an adept teacher — I now work as a paid tutor and I plan on becoming a professor. In the dark night of my soul, I found grace.
In Dune, Paul turns the sandworms into an asset by cooperating with the indigenous people of the desert. He learns the creatures are actually essential to the production of the sought-after spice. I have found that grace works the same way; it is a gift hidden within our struggles, within the everyday muck of life, rather than being bestowed from on high in the aftermath. So, now I make a habit of looking for sandworms, the power that burrows in the fell clutch of circumstance waiting for me to become its ally.
Ali speaking during the February 28th online meeting in which the CLF voted to ordain xer to Unitarian Universalist ministry.
In our UU tradition, ministers are ordained by congregations. Only the vote of a congregation can give someone the title “Reverend.” Only the vote of a congregation can place that sacred bond of trust onto the shoulders of someone seen as a minister.
It is with great joy that the membership of CLF on February 28, 2021 voted to ordain Ali K.C. Bell (who was previously known as Antonia Bell-Delgado) to the Unitarian Universalist ministry. It is with deeper joy that I report that our vote included some 92 “yes” votes from our incarcerated members, able to vote because of the tear-off sheet we printed in the January Quest.
Ali will be ordained by the CLF along with the UU Congregation at Montclair, NJ (where xe is completing a ministerial internship) and the First UU Church of Wilmington, DE (xer home congregation). The ceremony will be Saturday, May 22, at Noon and you are all invited. We hope to feature an excerpt from the ceremony in our summer edition of Quest.
To all members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, Unitarian Universalist:
Per Article VII, Sections 1 and 2, of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Bylaws, the 48th Annual Meeting will be held via video/telephone conference call and screen sharing on Sunday, June 6, 2021 at 6:30PM EDT. To join the meeting, go to www.clfuu.org/joinannualmeeting.
We will be distributing materials electronically to all CLF members for whom we have a current email address, and posting the documents to our website. All incarcerated members will automatically receive paper copies of the materials along with postage-paid ballots to return. Others may request hard copies mailed to you by sending back the form on the final page of this issue of Quest, or calling the CLF office at 617-948-6150.
All those who have access to the Internet or phone are encouraged to join our meeting via Zoom and participate in the discussion. Meeting materials will include absentee ballots for those unable to attend in person.
The purpose of the meeting is to:
– Report on highlights of CLF activities and finances
– Vote for the following leadership positions (see nominations from Nominating Committee in the packet):
- Elect three members to 3-year terms on the board of directors,
- Elect one member to a 3-year term on the nominating committee,
- Elect a clerk and treasurer for one year
– Vote to affirm the proposed 8th principle (see 8th principle and board recommendation in packet)
– Vote to approve revised bylaws (see revised bylaws in the packet)
We will elect a moderator from among members present to preside at the meeting.
Danielle Di Bona, Clerk
Growing up in a mostly secular family, I had very little exposure to prayer in my home. I have only vague memories of my grandmother on my mother’s side raising her hands over the lit candles of her Seder table and reciting the Hebrew blessings for Passover. My father, a preacher’s grandkid, fled his southern evangelical Christian upbringing with its fiery rhetoric of eternal damnation.
My own early relationship to prayer was, well, awkward. I was untaught and unversed in prayer. That made me different from my childhood peers, almost all of whom were raised in practicing and sometimes devout Catholic families. As they prepared for first communion, my friends shared the prayers they’d learned, the Our Father and the Hail Mary. They punctuated their reverent words with graceful hand motions—fingertips to head, heart, one shoulder, and the other.
I was intrigued… and envious. My friends seemed to know a wondrous, rhythmic language that was utterly unfamiliar to my lips. They had access to a world of rituals from which I was apart.
My feeling of awkwardness is best captured in a singular memory. I was six years old and sleeping over a friend’s for the first time. Missy’s parents had considerately prepared my favorite dinner. As soon as the steaming plates were set and everyone seated at the kitchen table, I eagerly tucked into my spaghetti. Missy gently nudged my arm with her elbow. Looking up, I beheld the family raising their hands to their heads as they began to pray. Meanwhile, I sat frozen and silent, my fork suspended in front of my face, saucy spaghetti strands dangling in the air… Awkward.
That awkwardness caused me to avoid prayer and religious life for a long time. Praying was simply something I had never learned to do, akin to riding a bike or playing an instrument. I would rather not expose my ineptitude. Yet, I couldn’t shake a longing to speak a language of reverence and to enter a world of ritual.
Unitarian Universalism opened a door to that world and extended lessons in that language. Our faith tradition has encouraged me to bring my awkwardness through the doors with me, to take it as a starting point for spiritual exploration, deepening, and growth.
Unitarian Universalism invited me to understand prayer not as a predetermined language or skill that I had failed to master, but rather as a means of spiritual self-expression that we are called to develop and practice over a lifetime. Unitarian Universalism encourages us to ask the “Why” and “How” and “What” of prayer, and to earnestly seek answers in dialogue with our friends on the journey. Our prayers may not all look the same, or sound the same, or invoke the same source. They may change with the seasons of our lives, and as our understanding evolves. And that’s ok.
Last fall, the Worthy Now prison ministry extended an invitation to our incarcerated members to explore the meaning, purpose, and practice of prayer in their lives by taking part in the “Spirit of Life” faith formation course.
Participants reflected on why they pray, and some composed their own prayers. Weaving together their shared insights and prayers, I offer this prayer in their honor:
Spirit of Life, Goddess of Reality,
Heavenly Mother, Heavenly Father,
Children, Air, Fire, Earth, Water,
Source of All,
We pray to remember the transcendent
in our daily lives.
We pray to connect with Nature and
the Divine.
We pray to become one with
the Universe.
We pray to confess without fear of
judgement.
We pray to give voice to the experiences
of injustice, pain, and suffering,
in and around us.
We pray that we may know we belong
to one another.
We pray for comfort and nourishment;
for hope, love and joy,
for wisdom, courage, and balance;
for acceptance.
We pray for the strength to fight the
systems of oppression
that confine and separate us.
We pray for another chance to live
freely on the outside again.
We pray for health and survival.
We pray for liberation
May it be so. May we make it so.
Amen.
I invite you to explore your relationship to prayer. Why do (or don’t) you pray? How has your relationship to prayer changed over the course of your life? If prayer is part of your practice, to whom or what do you pray? For what do you pray? How do you pray? With whom do you pray? How do you believe your prayers impact the wider world
Is it any wonder that we have a crisis of relationality in our nation? After diligently equipping our children to out-perform one another in a narrow number of ways—which becomes the primary focus of their young lives and formal education—it is left to congregations, to community centers, to social groups of various kinds to teach us how to be in complex relationship with one another—if that. By and large, even in relationally-oriented institutions, very few offer classes or training in how to engage well in the most fundamental of human needs: how to be in healthy, mutually meaningful relationship with one another. It is as if, en masse, we have collectively decided that these skills are somehow acquired by osmosis. And, if they are not learned by osmosis, we wait until someone ‘screws up really bad’ (gets into difficulty with their community, at their workplace, or in their personal relationships) and then we enact a disciplinary model: punitive action must be taken and boundaries put in place.
Indeed, at times, healthy boundaries and accountability are needed. But why do we, as a society, make almost no effort to teach, not just the fundamentals of human relationship, but the more advanced skills related to: what do we do when we screw up? How are we present to one another across deeply held differences? What should we do in the midst of volatile conflict? How do we ‘show up’ in meaningful ways for the diversity that we claim to value and constantly stumble over? What do we do with our own subjectivity and reactivity in the midst of such critical relational needs?
This is a spiritual crisis, for ‘spirit’ (however we choose to understand it) is ultimately about interconnectedness, interdependence, and the connective tissue invisibly binding everything and everyone to each other. When we are struggling with how to relate to one another—how to even care about one another—in one of the wealthiest nations in the history of planet Earth, a nation in which no one need ever starve or sleep without a roof over their head, and yet people do—there is a profound crisis of disconnection. When it feels ‘safer’ to only be among those who almost exclusively think like ‘us’ —cutting off neighbors, family members, community members, and co-workers who hold divergent needs and experiences—we are deepening that disconnection, not healing it or working with it.
The frayed connective tissue of our society must first be strengthened locally, wherever we are, with whichever groups of people we are immediately connected to. Only as tissue gets stronger, as it first heals and then grows, can it bear the harder and more weighty loads. Social, civic, and communal healing requires more than convalescence, or worse, hiding in cliques of uniformity. It requires building muscle, in this case a spiritual-relational muscle. This muscle, this connective tissue, requires challenging and transforming the faulty assumptions that have been shredding it; it requires practice with relational skills that many of us were never taught and some of us may feel embarrassed not to have or intimidated in learning; it requires patience and grounding in love, love, and then even more love. We are already—each and every one of us—siblings to one another and to all that exists at the level of ‘spirit,’ essence, the ontological nature of ‘all that is.’ We just need to start behaving like we really get that. The good news is that intentional practice and learning—not osmosis— can get us there.
This piece is an excerpt from a larger essay of the same title. A link to Rev. Manish Mishra-Marzetti’s full essay is available on our website, clfuu.org.