12 Jun, 2009 - Christianity and UU

I came across this rather interesting reference on CUUMBAYA, admittedly from quite some time ago, which I am posting below:

In the latest post in the "Peter Morales for UU President" blog, Morales Addresses “Humanist/Theist” Question, Peter addresses the following question: "Our denomination seems to be undergoing a philosophical shift. Twenty years ago in our congregation, the concept of a “Christian UU” seemed nonsensical. Now our congregation has a Christian UU minister and many of the secular humanists of previous generations, despite the acceptance of diversity that we say we believe in, are feeling bereft - bereft of a sanctuary from the world of deity (Christian or otherwise). The UU church was the one place in many UU’s lives where those who lived to a different drummer, theologically speaking, could live without the expectation that they subscribe to a divine being. Where they could go on a spiritual or religious journey without having to subscribe to the supernatural. How will you lead us as we struggle with this fundamental challenge?"

Truth is, I don't have a clue how that could be done, and I am coming across that challenge more and more often. Rightly or wrongly, I often feel judged by religious people for being spiritual and not set into one tradition, yet ostracised in equal measure by atheists. Several close friends of mine are atheist and certainly do not view themselves as militant in any sense and yet have an uncanny habit of dismissing or angrily debating precisely such issues. With one friend in particular, spirituality is simply not mentioned. I am saddened by this; it is such a huge and beautiful part of my life that I am almost ashamed that I cannot accept his rebukes with more strength. I cannot.

I now find myself in the UK - rather different from the Canadian tradition I have grown accustomed to. I am suddenly finding myself in precisely this divide between the North American UU and the "Christian U" across the pond. I am struggling, I admit. It is certainly not that I am unwelcome, or rejected by Unitarians here, but their worship is very Christian. The Lord's Prayer was read, hymns were decidedly Anglican in style and even the building itself was intensely Christian. The central organisation in the UK is even entitled 'Unitarian and Free Christian Churches'. Different indeed.

I miss my home congregation. I miss its people, its building, its community. The flame at its centre and the light it brought to my life. I miss my friends from beyond the community who accepted UUism as a valid choice, albeit one which didn't suit them. Here, I feel very alone. My university is of equally little consolation, even putting stop to any hint of a multi-faith group being established on the campus. The chaplains are intensely Catholic/Christian. Thus, any mention of my potential Theological study was swiftly followed by my apparent need to hold strict loyalty to the Anglican Church. Umm... no.

I had found a beautiful home, with wonderful, warm-hearted friends and even love - now I have left this all behind and am left with very little consolation.

I hope to find a home here. I hope to find a community that welcomes my out-of-the-box views, and perhaps lacking the Lord's Prayer on Sunday repeat. Thus, I shall keep trying, even within the Unitarian UK groups, to find a more inclusive home. I am not feeling bereft of a sanctuary from Deity distinctions, I rather wish a sanctuary didn't need to be there at all.

15 Apr, 2009 - Did you know?

Apologies for my late postings, I will get back to speed soon enough!

I realise many may have seen this, but for those who haven't - an eye opener:

13 Apr, 2009 - Easter

Happy Easter! I was contemplating this morning, after the prompting of our fantastic minister, on the meaning that Easter holds for me. I thought of the traditional response of the Easter story in the Bible, but as a non-believer of the Christian faith, I was quickly forced to put that one aside. I then remembered the repeated advocations of this morning's service of Easter as an expression of rebirth, both divine and present. Closer, but still not quite.

I will tell you the meaning of my Easter: food. Please, allow me to explain.

I remember my mother hiding chocolates in the garden for me to find, invariably resulting in my mother attempting to remember where they had all been put when several were found to be missing. One year, she had the brainwave to hide them the night before, resulting in several fox-chewed and even more drizzled-upon chocolates. Yet despite these challenges, every year there was chocolate in the garden, right up until I left home, and I would be dragged around the garden in my mother's excited quest. I remember painting eggshells and decorating the kitchen with yellow tissue paper and bunting.

Easter was also an excuse to cook; we produced heavenly cakes and muffins from our kitchen, much to the delight of those around us. When I was six, I insisted on cooking my father something by myself, which consisted of everything besides the use of the oven. Unfortunately, without a concept of either cooking or when something is inedible, my father was pressured bravely, in an act of pure love, to eat a small cooked tartlet filled with eggshell fragments that crunched delightfully. In fact, I still remember that particular tone of crunch.

My perception of Easter therefore, is one of food; the sharing of a communal gift and expression of love, a sense of joy in exploring the newly-emerging garden and the rather daft adventures of a six-year-old with two sacrificial, egg-crunching parents. Yet all of these memories reach beyond food - to chocolate. Once it was the joys of its sweetness and it's limited availability to my six-year-old self, but there is something else I see in chocolate. Not it's sweetness, or its taste, but rather its production.

Chocolate is brought to us from a bean, processed, blended and tempered into what we see. Is life not exactly like this? We are tiny beans, blended and tempered into sweetness from experience and hardship. The more we live, the more sweeter the joys of life become.

Eat well from the chocolate bar of life, my friends!

3 Apr, 2009 - Exciting news!

On a separate note: yesterday, a piece of work I had completed was handed back to me with an A+. And an offer of work. Potential publication. Several of my tutors wish to copy it for their records, and a copy will be entering a major library.

I am over the moon, and have suddenly remembered why I love what I do, despite the copious amounts of caffeine, late nights and distinct lack of pay. Just sometimes, life is all worth the effort.

3 Apr, 09 - Melancholy

I have a friend who trusts me, deeply, with her personal memories and problems. I am honoured by this, and always hope to be worthy of it.

But what do you say when they simply stop listening? Her boyfriend committed suicide two weeks ago and she has been struggling ever since. I think she guessed that something like this might happen but simply blocked all thoughts away, both blocking her own fears and his closest connection to life. Her guilt is tremendous, although not totally justified. She has never been the most practical, down-to-earth sort of person; although she has suffered greatly, her mind resides wholly in her past and her future, in what she might one day change in the world.

She misses the present completely, because she fears that that will hurt more than her memories. Each time she is in the present, she is in her imagination, in her own world that allows for liberty to create and break the rules. She needs grounding in the present, settling into an experience of the real world that is ambivalent, not coloured by such strong emotions that rock her each time she moves.

I don't know how to help. I have stopped knowing what to say to her, because I know she won't listen. Or at least, I didn't listen. I am fairly sure that I am a terrible listener anyway. But beyond being there, I don't know what to do.

She is missing her life by reaching so far into her imagination or into her past - and she is such a fantastic gift to this world.

Sometimes, people are confused by my personality too - so I can try, and of course, fail to understand. I am often my happiest when I appear most stressed, or upset, or alternatively, most boisterous and active. I find great joy in sitting, on my own, quietly contemplating - it took me a while to learn joy in this. I love being with my friends, but I always have a streak of melancholy. Yet that is a joy to me. It helps me to see the world in balance, as clearly as I am able. I have even lost friends because I appear quiet and melancholic, when their enjoyment is derived from clubbing and activity. I must have seemed, and still seem overly depressed, saddened by the world. I understand the difficulty of others to see this as joy.

I hope she may be able to find some joy, even in melancholy.

I wish I knew how to help.

1 Apr, 2009 - April Fools Day

Happy April Fools Day...

26 Mar, 2009 - Breathe

From Praxis Habitus, comes a wonderful and inspiring post, featuring a pastor's video I hadn't previously seen.

I love this. I really needed to hear this two days ago. I seriously needed it.

19 Mar, 2009 - Attentiveness

I was thinking today about a quote I heard (I can't quite remember where) from Malebranche, a 17th century French Catholic priest, who really sums something up quite nicely.

"Attentiveness is the natural prayer of the soul."

I believe this, wholeheartedly. If one is attentive to the world around them, one sees its beauty, its delights and opens up to every experience, good and bad. That is the essential joy of life - and it is exactly that - essential and REAL! Seeing the world attentively allows me to reach towards the universal. That may seem like a contradiction, but allow me to explain.

Most of us spend our whole lives missing things. We fall over, drop things, make stupid blunders that we've made a thousand times before, we forget and put our foot in it. All the time. In seeing the little things that I would normally miss, I express the worth and dignity of everything I see and do, no matter how stupid, mistaken or tiny they may be. In seeing this wonderful dignity, I see how beautiful the universe is as a building of minute parts, and in this, I feel liberated. Free to reach beyond my everyday, stupid experiences and find the unique within them.

I think Malebranche got it right. When we are attentive to all the little parts of the world, we experience joy and gratidute, and express it in our actions and deeds. It is my hope that these actions are worthy of prayer.

19 Mar, 2009 - Whitewash and glass boxes...

Another tough week just beginning. This weekend I travelled. This morning I cried. Over the last week, I have had much on my mind. Some of it, pointless. Other parts, vital.

I have been in a bit of a daze, not considering my place, because it was easier not to. There have been good moments, but somehow they also became lost in the grey blur of existence. I plan to change this.

My other current consideration is about our relationship to objects in the world and how we choose to protect them. At the moment, I am working often in a museum and as such am constantly seeing objects that for whatever reason have been deemed worthy. In placing them in a museum, we automatically ritualize them and cover them in swathes of social and cultural meaning. Have you ever considered how much we are changing history by placing these things together, in one building with its whitewashed walls? An ancient drinking cup, or coin, or stone lion were never meant to sit inside a perfectly protected, zoned building with regulated air conditioning. They were meant to live in the external world, in their contexts. A lion might guard a gate, not a vent. A cup might be slammed on the table with a coin and a demand for another drink. When we view these things in a musuem, we, or perhaps just I, have a tendency to worship them. I revere these objects, sometimes even without consciously reading the label. I trust that these objects are genuine artifacts simply by their presence in a glass case.

It makes me wonder - why do we attempt to shelter these things? For our heritage or culture? But our heritage is in our blood and in our skin; it is how we relate to each other and by what structures we guide and guard our lives.

Perhaps we shelter them for their monetary value? Then why do we protect the shoes and hair of Holocaust victims, or canvasses with splotches of paint that many associate with their six-year-old?

Or do we keep these things in a museum because of our natural love of organizing, our desire to establish the world under our codes and laws? I think this may be nearer the point. We are perpetually structuring and ordering our world around set points that we deem of value, without regard to the surroundings in which those objects are most beautiful. A gold pendant is most beautiful on the neck of someone who loves it; a piece of furniture is of greatest joy where it can be used; a statue is of most worth where it is regarded as beautiful or meaningful in our everyday lives - without the entrance fee.

Every placement we make, every piece removed from its location and set into a glass case surrounded by whitewashed walls is changed by our actions - the people of he future will see our changes and our placements, conceive their own value and regardless of the truth, extend and assume the history of that object further away from its truth.

In our everyday lives, do we try to remove what is beautiful and natural from its environment in order to serve our needs? I know I do. Is this always the right thing to do?

9 Mar, 2009 - Have a little faith...

A few news items caught my attention in the newspaper, which I thought I would share with you.

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Apparently, Italians have been instructed by the Roman Catholic bishops of Italy to go low-tech for Lent, cutting off all technological appliances and refraining from that apparently oh-so-Italian hobby of texting on one's mobile phone every Friday during this period. One diocese suggested that the faithful should not watch television for the month. This can be stretched, for the truly faithful, to cookers, microwaves, washing machines and all those little conveniences of life.

If one wishes to retreat to the true medieval attitude to Lent, one can purchase a washing wrangle, camp in the wilderness in a snow-cave or under bushes and perform some self-mutilation, all for aesthetic glory. Or the faithful could hire a maid for the month, thus fulfilling such requirements.

All this at the same time as the Church is stretching out of its borders and into the internet, with an official Papal YouTube channel. Pope Benedict XVI himself praised social networking sites such as Facebook for their ability to bring people together and spread the word - and yet, those who wish to have a non-face-to-face conversation, or sit blankly watching something on TV, are somehow deemed less "faithful".

Being "faithful" should certainly not be associated with how much TV one watches, or whether one owns a vacuum cleaner! Perhaps that's a personal view, but I think this may be stretching it a little too far. Encourage people to have conversations with each other, rather than with a box or a screen - but do not condemn those who don't! If such things are enjoyed in moderation, go for it!

I do not believe in giving up things for Lent. I am not Catholic, not Christian. However, I do follow Lent, to a degree. I do not give up something, or abstain from the little joys of life; instead I try to pick up something new - perhaps exercise every day, or have a healthier meal, or learn a new skill. Worship should not always be about sacrifice and fear. Sometimes we need a little joy, a few moments of fun and perhaps a little challenge too.

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The other article I noticed was entitled: "Stressed out? Have a little faith", and subtitled: "Religious students remain calmer in the face of errors, study shows".

There are massive flaws in this, which were immediately obvious. They tested 28 people, all of which were required to fit neatly into a named religion-box and asked questions such as whether they would go to war for their faith, or whether their faith was based on objective truth. May I point out, at this point, that neither of these questions quite answer the degree of someone's faith! War for faith depends on the threat presented, and I have never met anyone who could actually say, with vague cohesion, that their faith is objective! A religion separated from personal emotion and opinion - only presenting facts - is not a religion. A religion requires faith, requires that extra moment of emotion that guides your heart, that moment of belief and hope and all associated feelings. Religion for most peole is not rational - it certainly cannot be claimed to be fully rational for all people.

Despite these challenges, the results were that those who were of a strong religion, and thus had a regulated structure or lens through which they view the world were less likely to become stressed when faced with challenges. As far as I am concerned, this is rather obvious. There is less uncertainty, less judgement required in general situations and there is perpetually a wider picture, a sense of being one in a multitude, rather than an isolated unit.

Many Jewish survivors of the Holocaust experienced the same concept at a deeper level; their faith was persecuted because it is so strongly grounded in the here and now, in the truth of this moment and the authority of their traditions, thus prioritising their faith over the authority of the state. But it was precisely this grounding in the present moment that allowed them to survive more strongly and defiantly than the otherwise may have; each moment was, and still is a gift from God and each law must be followed in this moment, each prayer relates to the past and the future, but to both of those elements seen from the second in which the prayer is said. Their reality is daily, earthly and yet still sacred.

I would like to believe that many UU's have the same idea - focussing on the importance of living mindfully and kindly in this moment, seeing the past and future as part of that interdependent web of life that is not only material and spiritual, but also wonderfully temporal. I wonder, if we were faced with such persecutions, would we bear them that well and hold to the importance of dignity and worth? I hope I would. It is my dream to say, one day, that I am certain of that.

24 Feb, 2009 - Mysticism and anorexia

I love the academic world. It is certainly not due to the politics and competition, nor the library fines and perpetual holds on that-book-you-needed, nor the damage it does to my bank account. It is the potential hope it holds. The academic world has its own creed - that of the uninhibited attaining of knowledge and the open sphere of free debate. Too often, universities propagate exactly the opposite. A lecturer stands at the front of a room and simply speaks to the empty vessels sitting in front of them, communicating knowledge directly, and without question. Too often, I have been guilty of sitting in lectures and simply absorbing, blindly, the knowledge that is thrown towards me. I am that tabula rasa, that clay pot into which knowledge is poured, and promptly deposited back out. For those who have read Charles Dickens's Hard Times, this reference will be even stronger.

But there are some lectures that, when I leave the room, have completely shaken up my whole worldview, and shown me a complete new world. This wonderful teacher noted the potential links between medieval mystics, who were predominately female, and people of all sexes who suffer from anorexia nervosa.

I need to think about this further before I complete this post.

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25th March:

To a completion of this - it has taken me far too long, I realise.

For women in the medieval times, at least as far as Caroline Banyum can see, food was their primary source of power, in more ways than one. They had control over food in their households and over their husbands, meaning that they had increased authority over their own eating, but also over the threat of poisoned food for their husbands. There are many recorded allegations of wives poisoning or medicating the food of their husbands to serve their own ends, although to what degree this is the case is another matter. As such, food was where their authority lay. Also, restriction of food and charity were ways in which women could overcome the standard misogynistic perceptions of male as spirit and female as flesh in an emulation of Christ. Further, the Eucharist held an increased significance for many women, particularly mystics, as when fasting, it held a nourishing quality that then led to the notion of a nourishing, feminised God, thus allowing women to place themselves beyond the 'flesh' and literally in the same spirit of God.

Certainly not all cases of fasting were classed as mystical; Catherine of Siena referred to her own condition as an "infirmity". It all depends on definitions: if one takes the classical Catholic distinctions between "natural" (psychological / physiological / sociological) and "mystical" (supernaturally-caused) fasting, female activity becomes fully polarised. I am not sure if I agree; some mystics may have indeed suffered from physiological ailments and yet perceived their own conditions as spiritual, increasing their power and subverting the male gaze. The alternative (and somewhat problematically, more modern) definitions fit better: modern scholars note a difference between "a strong desire for thinness" and "the self-restriction of food when food is plentiful" - the latter definition is divorced from direct links to anorexia, whilst still allowing for genuine mystical choice.

These women viewed spirituality as their way of holding on to control - their requirement to be faithful and pious was still present, but there was still active liberation allowed within this. In a modern study (Pandolfo) of women in Egypt turning to wearing the hijab as an expression of faith, a distinction is noted between "negative" and "positive" freedom, "negative" freedom requiring each choice to be made free of any forms of coercion, as opposed to "positive" freedom, in which choices must be made with a sense of "universal reason", thus inherently allowing for their choice to wear the veil, despite challenges, to be deemed free. Many criticise this choice as upholding a dominant male superiority view - yet for many of these women, their choice is the will of God and they are trained into pious behavior out of choice to worship.

In the modern West, as I have often noted, we experience emotion or passion, which then leads to action. If I am hungry, I eat. If I am tired, I sleep. In the medieval West, and in areas beyond European boundaries, there is often a greater focus on self-education; an action, e.g. the wearing of the hijab is deemed necessary and the passion and emotion associated with this action is built up slowly, out of conscious action. This is no less freedom - it is merely different freedom.

This all causes me to wonder at the lengths we go to to keep control, to hold on to our steady views of how the world should be. Our concepts of freedom are distorted - in the medieval times, women would have certainly acknowledged the requirement of self-education and the development of passion from action. Our freedom is no less worthy than theirs. For medieval women, their authority was exercised by drawing the other, the strange and the uncomfortable into themselves, and expressing it for all the world to see - indeed, their restriction was their liberation. This was happening even a hundred years ago within the Catholic faith, as Saint Gemma Galgani's worthiness was doubted by a diagnosis of hysteria. Her actions were no less worthy, and to prove this, she embraced her illness saying that this would make her a better lover of God and better loved by God. She embraced the definition others gave her, and turned it into her strength.

I need to do this more often too. It is a wonderful strength, to be able to absorb the challenges of others, accept them and use them to form a better self. When people dismiss me, or harm me, if only I had the ability to form that hatred into love. Perhaps that is where her sanctity resided - not in her illness, but in her hope despite it.

20 Feb, 2009 - Joy and Sorrows

I received a message from a lecturer in my previous university's department today, asking how I was. The kindness of this lecturer is wonderful - she always holds humanity high and never treats her students as numbers. She wrote of news, and a little gossip, and plans in the pipeline. I was delighted to hear from her.

I had the honour, a few times in my life, to meet Prof. Sally, and listen to hear speak. I found out today that she passed away a few weeks ago from a massive brain hemorrhage. I did not know her well, but her loss is a sad one. She was a wonderful scholar and from what I have heard from others, a wonderful teacher and friend. I am saddened that I cannot light a candle for her in the chapel on Sunday, but I shall take a candle with me on my travels, and light that for a moment.

Amongst this sad news, there is some joy - I found out in the same message that a previous lecturer of mine is getting married to another member of the department. I wish him and his future wife all the joy in the world.

Thus, the world continues, in balance, the good with the bad. It is always worth remembering that sadness is always followed by moments of joy, and visa versa.

20 Feb, 2009 - Please skip.

Please Skip.



These two words were attatched to a post-it note on my neighbour's door yesterday. They made me think rather deeply - a rare feat for any two little words.



However, completely unconnected, a friend of mine (who incidentally needed cheering up, and realised that I was in a similar boat) made a promise to skip with me down the main and most prominent street of our city. The two of us, arm in arm, indeed skipped down this hallowed road, right along the paths of the local Roman Catholic cathedral. I noted afterwards how this small act had made me feel; exhilarated, happy, joyful, delighted by the company of my dear friend. Yet it also felt naughty, that little word "sin" creeping back into my mind. I do not believe in sin, I loathe the concept, but I do indeed have a concept of it. If I were a child, no one would have thought twice about this small expression of joy. To skip is simply to move in a certain manner, rhythmically leaping towards the sky with a little bounce. Adults are not supposed to skip. We are supposed to be mature, dignified and collected individuals, balanced in our emotions and finances. We are supposed to have everything organised and categorised; even when we do not know, or understand, we are supposed to be grounded in some form. Public displays of emotion are viewed as something to be feared, perceived as weak, or both.



But I hope, one day, that we all will realise that rhythmically leaping towards the sky is a religious act in itself, and can become the joy of our whole lives. I hope to still be dancing towards the sky when I am white grey and very old.



So, today, place a post-it note, or send a message for someone else to find, telling them that reaching towards the sky like a child is a perfect way to spend one's time.





Please, skip.









*On a side note, I shall be away from internet until Monday, so no posting.*

19 Feb, 2009 - The Man who Danced...

Today has been a long, hard day. Not a bad day - I try to remind myself that there is no such thing as a bad day, only a day of challenges and hard moments. But it was certainly full of those, and I have shed tears.

I lied today. A lie which did little damage, but changed the shape of the universal web, and a lie which was simply that - a lie. It did no harm but was still not right. I am sorry for that. As part of a conversation on sin within UU beliefs, Franke recounted a memory of her father’s view on deceit - that it simply wasn’t useful and thus did not merit use. I feel like a coward at this point, but sometimes, I need those little white lies. I will become stronger and try not to. It is something I must work on.

However, since I have started writing here, I have become perpetually conscious of my environment, more so than before. This is the source of the title of this post - the man who danced. I was sitting in a coffee shop, attempting (and failing) to read various articles for next week’s work, when I happened to glance up at those around me. Directly in front of the table was a medium-tall young man, with medium length, blonde hair, who was jigging, miming words, and stamping his foot surreptitiously. He was smartly dressed, a suit and conservative looking tie. However, my gaydar twinged slightly at his movements, and his smiling dance was so infectious, that I soon found myself smiling too. I saw a mixture of reactions; some stepped away awkwardly, some glared, others attempted to ignore. The man simply didn’t care. He knew that beyond the music of his headphones was a world of vague and undefined condemnation of such strange practices as a grown, suited man dancing in the queue of a coffee shop, but for him, that didn’t matter. I need to learn to live despite people’s judgements, and not be controlled or suppressed by them.

I am repeatedly shocked by the views of many of the people I am surrounded by here, namely due to my living in a very conservative area. My roommate freely expresses condemnation, and despite professing adamantly to not being a homophobe, these tendencies are clear. She judges and justifies her faith via her judgements, and life for her is simply black and white. Repeatedly, she has told me that she does not have the right to judge who goes to hell, but only is certain of her place in heaven, along with all those who believe in the traditional image of Jesus Christ. To be honest, I shudder at that heaven. However, I also fear her vision of hell, and fear ending up there, despite not actually believing in such a place. Rather, it is the hell that she has created and in which I have been placed that I fear - I do not wish to be condemned to even one person’s eternal damnation, within her heart. That is not fair, just or merciful. I fear her. So I have moved to have my own space - unfortunately, pettiness has ensued. I honestly believe that I am not at fault, but long story short, I feel judged, damned and she simply wishes all elements that infer my previous presence removed, despite their cost. That hurts, more than I can say.

Tonight was also interesting - a religious book meeting I attended that is normally intensely provocative and rewarding, left me feeling cold. I am simply feeling stressed from this whole roommate issue, and some of the other battles of life. The topic of conversation turned to how we can effect change in our world and I expressed the difficulties I had had volunteering for groups based here. I was reassured of people’s generosity and open-heartedness, and welcomed to at least two voluntary groups within ten minutes.

But there was one surprise I had not expected. After the meeting, I was approached by an elderly gentleman, Doug. He asked me what I studied, and where - I answered him simply and honestly. At this point, he knew these answers, my name, a love for volunteering and an interest in trauma studies. He then asked me if I was considering ministry. Very curt, very short, very kindly spoken.

“Are you considering ministry?”

Such a simple question, and I have no idea how to reply. At the time, I said that I had not really considered it as a viable option up till now, and that I had to consider such questions further when the need arose. But here was a stranger, who knew so little about me, and yet saw something that caused him to ask that question. I didn’t think about the impact of this tiny question when I spoke, but now, I wonder what caused him to ask. Our elders often have wise words and vivacious advice to give - what did he see? There was another man in the coffee shop today who was speaking with a deaf elderly lady, who, he told me, was the wisest person he knew. If only I could see my choices with wide eyes, and see what lies ahead on the road of life.

I think at the moment, my answer to this four word question is… “Yes”. I am terrified, but overjoyed that someone might have seen enough in me, even as a stranger, to acknowledge that I might actually have a home as a minister within a church community. That I might have a gift for surrounding others with a sense of faith, in whichever form that may appear to them.

I feel blessed and valued by the strangers of this world, and judged by those closer by. How am I to understand that?

16 Feb, 2009 - Sunday Service: Evolving towards Enlightenment

Sunday morning service: Evolving towards Enlightenment:

Of course, a reference to Darwinian theory. The minister spoke of different stages of faith, and despite quite clearly disagreeing with many things that this particular theorist had to say, this was an interesting point. We are in a late stage of development, but certainly not in the last, at least not in my mind. The more I have lost my faith or questioned it, or driven myself mad with seeking, the more beautiful it is now I have found it. Perhaps that was the secret all along.

Beautiful story for the children this morning, about a sunflower seed representing the universe. The “everything seed”, which expands to grow into a wonderful universe, beyond time as everything that was and will be was contained in this little seed. So moving, I almost cried.

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This evening, I couldn’t help but repeat the research I have previously done into the ministry and various MA’s that might get me there. I am particularly struck by “Modern Theology”. Am I wise, or for that matter, brave enough to do that? Or perhaps a second undergraduate. But do I honestly want to do another undergraduate degree? I am not sure.

Living in Spirit:

A first meeting, in a small group with Gerta and several others who I am familiar with by face rather than name. To be honest, I joined for the good food that was freely available, as frankly, I was rather delighted not to have catered residence food for a lunch! We spoke of mindfulness and “living in the moment”, and how we intend to live in the moment in this day. People slowly began to open up and speak of their desires to live in the moment more successfully. I will write a meditation on this one in the next few days. It struck my heart, and not necessarily for the right reasons. But free food - what can I say!

18 Feb, 2009 - Human Doings

I heard a wonderful gentleman named Doug remark, as part of a Living in Spirit group on Sunday morning that “We are not human beings, but human doings.” I would agree. We are not human beings. We don’t know how to be. By this, I am not referring to the word human, rather, he was noting the little word “being”. We don’t stop to think about the meanings of that little word, parked onto the end of such a common phrase. “We are not human beings, but human doings”. How right he was!

I am terrible at being. A significant percentage of the world’s religious text profess to the glories of being, and yet whilst typing these deep theological musings, I profess to being wholly inadequate. I struggle to stop and think, to let go of the past and accept the chances and dangers of the future. I am sometimes unable to see the world through the eyes of a child - each glance filled with such wonder that even the slightest joys are noticed and welcomed. I am preoccupied with the laundry, the washing up, the work I have to do. That little To-Do list that is forever and inevitably expanding to encompass my whole world, my whole being. In all these doings, I lose my being.

Yet listening to the others in the group professing their need to live more in the moment, I felt rather uncomfortable. I personally, do not wish to live only in the moment. I love remembering the special moments of my past, reliving the moments, good and less so, that have shaped the person I have become, and a person I am proud to be. I cannot live without my past, nor can any of us do so. Equally, I cannot live without my dreams. My To-Do list of impossible proportions - all the places I will see, the loves I will have, the work I will do. I love imagining where I might be in five or ten years from now. Such a simple act as dreaming away my time, for me, is deeply worthwhile and keeps me following my heart. Even in the moment, I often struggle “being”. It has become easier to sit and meditate, but sometimes the clutter and noise of my daily live follows me into my solitude and sanctuary. The other day, I was plagued by reincarnations of Spice Girls hits from my younger years.

Even here, I have further problems. I am slightly ashamed to say, I love wasting my time, watching the odd piece of terrible television or listening to disastrous music hits, or reading a book designed for an eight year old. These things are part of my joys, part of my pleasures, and part of my being.

I have a new term to suggest. Instead of being in the moment, I would ask you all to consider “being in the moments”. That one little letter can encompass both our pasts and our futures, and allow us to forge a way onwards together.

I am a human doing. Yet to me, this brings to mind the whole glorious structure (or lack of it) of the UU’s. We have always been a group of social and political activists, of people who do not fear saying what needs to be said and seeking open and communal understanding of all things. We have environmental societies, coffee mornings, children’s groups, music and dance clubs and the general mayhem that springs so joyfully from our wonderful congregation. Thus, I encourage you all to wear this phrase with pride.

I am a human doing living with joy and compassion in all the moments of my life.

I remember the strengths and pains of my past, I delight in the dreams and courage that leads me into my future, I cherish the seconds I have in each second that I live them - and from the gift of all of these things, I act as a human doing, to change the world for the better, in any way I am able to try. I feel like shouting from the rooftops: I am a human doing!

So go into the world, and go from this moment with deepest happiness. Let us profess to brave and beautiful action, and become the doings of our world.

14 Feb, 2009 - Mattering

Today was quite a day. There were disputes, disgruntlements and several depressing classes. Each of these disputes and disgruntlements were so petty, stupid and insignificant, that I decided not to get involved particularly. I have apparently lost my passion, and I simply don’t have the will to stick up for myself quite so much. As yet, I am undecided whether this is a good or bad thing.

I got upset. I get upset easily when anger is involved, and I suppose I am too afraid. To me, these petty issues matter so little that I am not willing to defend them. This terrifies me. What if, when something really important comes along, I do not have the strength to say anything. The next holocaust, or someone in pain at my potential danger. Would I have the courage to step forward? I do not know…

Someone I know told me not to live in fear yesterday. And today, she was arguing with me over a vase. I walked away, bought a vase for $2 and got on with my life. Was I wrong in doing that, and simply avoiding confrontation? Somehow, I don’t feel wrong. I feel weak, but that felt right, and I am now sitting in my room, with my vase and some beautiful flowers. Tomorrow I will pin up photos from home and pictures I love, go to the gym for a while (perhaps the pool), relax a bit and read. Lots of reading. Tuesday has been set aside for myself and my wonderful, dear friend to go for paninis’ and random exploration, and generally get out of the boxes in which we live.

However, despite all these petty things, today was very deep for me. I have a double Holocaust history class, followed by a seminar, and I always leave the room thinking, for better or worse. Today, we watched sections from Shoah, one of the greatest testimony recordings ever created (and I use that word specifically). I started thinking, and didn’t really stop all day, ending up watching Paperclips.

Nothing was graphic as such - simply symbolic gestures of all levels. I cried. I cried in Shoah, very almost in Paperclips, and certainly did after the dispute with my friend. Today, I am fragile. But somehow, I am delighting in that fragility. Tomorrow, (before the gym?) I am planning on picking up the films Bent, Shoah and perhaps God on Trial. This is very hard for me, but very good. My ministry, my studies and I myself will become better from the battles I face, including those I step away from. Some things matter more.

10 Feb, 2009 - Serenity

This evening, I spoke with a group from the congregation - an eye-opening experience, in which I tried to simply listen. I’m not very good at that yet, but i’m working on it. We were discussing the significance of our community and our congregation, and whether we saw ourselves as a religious community. I am not sure how to answer this. I personally feel that I am part of a spiritual community, but not necessarily a religious one. But I suppose it depends again on a definition, but for me, I am part of a community of wonderful spiritual people, who unite together to find something that only this community and space can offer.

But amongst this discussion, one person commented that her reasons are not so much for community, but rather serenity.

Serenity. Such a little word, such a small concept - the concept of peace, whether that is with people or without them, in a building or outside in the air. Such a tiny concept, that means so much.

Serenity.

May it be for us all.

5 Feb, 2009 - Homelessness

There is a quote outside one of the many churches surrounding this area which struck me today. It stated; “Religion [focuses on] the essential homelessness of the human spirit…”

This makes me profoundly uncomfortable. It is certainly true that each one of us suffers some form of homelessness in our lives. Some are physically homeless, perhaps lacking in family comfort, without a shoulder to cry on, or even out on the street, in the doorways, sidewalks and dust of our world. Others, however, are spiritually homeless. Some are both. But I have a sincere problem with both of these.

Firstly, there should not be human creatures starving on the streets, alone and hungry. We have a tendency, as comfortably fed and housed people, to fear those who are not so lucky. We feel uneasy that the comforts we so keenly cling to will no longer be ours if we stop and talk. Not all of these people are quite as decrepit as we sometimes fear - often they are simply people who have ended up down on their luck. No-one should have to suffer in this way. I am saddened that this is the state of the world, and it is my firm belief that as Unitarian Universalists, we have a duty not necessarily towards God, but rather one of social action.

However, my discomfort is primarily with the concept of spiritual homelessness. When I was seeking a faith that would complement my views and provide me with such a wonderful community as I am around today, I indeed felt homeless. I felt as though I was uncomfortable without a religious box; without a dogma, without a creed. When I found a congregation of UU’s that completely clicked with who I was, it did feel as though I had come home. Indeed, I wrote to the minister about two months later, saying:

“I think you might understand when I say I am terrified too. I am not used to having a home, with people who bear the threat of love rather than of hate. I am afraid to give myself a name that I cannot defend, and to leave myself vulnerable to others - afraid of believing… I am so used to having to close the metaphorical door to escape, that here I have found two challenges. I live in a place where that door can never be closed; and I have found a place at UU where it doesn’t need to be.”

But for me, this was not a declaration of having arrived at home - more an expression of having found something more open than that. A place where the door that holds back my fears doesn’t need to be closed, but rather lies open, allowing my fears, but also my hope to balance in the space between. An open door, which allows in the light, but cannot hold back all the darkness. It is this notion of balance that echoes throughout religious teachings across the world. Yin and Yang, Heaven and hell, night and day. And it is this balance that makes UU so special to us all. We do not accept everything we are told blindly, nor do we dismiss it. We consider, hold in the balance, weigh in our hands and gently prod, just to see what happens.

I do not believe that we are homeless, but rather perpetually searching. It was not actual homelessness that I felt, but a fear to question the things which I did not understand. I am sure that many of us have memories of various authority figures telling us that “that’s the way it is”, be it from a disgruntled parent on a long car journey, or a minister, or a friend, or teacher.

We have all been made, at some point, to feel about two inches tall. This is homelessness. The distinction by others of our worthlessness; physical, intellectual or spiritual. The number of times I have heard the phrases ‘Because it is” or “you just have to believe”. That was never something I could accept to do, at least not without convincing. Religion is not caused by the homelessness of the human spirit, but rather the decision to settle into a home of contentment - a labelled and defined space, with an address, postbox and comfortable armchair.

If I actually was at home, I would become comfortable. I would sink into my chair of complacency and stop thinking about the effect of my actions and the tiny beauties I might otherwise miss.

Sometimes, homelessness is a great thing, and forces us to keep asking the questions that we must never stop asking. I hope never to stop asking these questions, but never to accept being completely homeless. Our communities, our families, our friends and the strangers around us form our world, just as much as the bricks and mortars of our homes.

4 Feb, 2009 - A Call to Ministry

I am not going to explain here the rudimentaries of UUism, although along the way i'm sure i'll be tying it all in. This is simply a place for ministerial-style writings, meditations, new information and concepts that need their own space and manner.

I am not really sure what I am attempting to express here - but I need to get this out of my head and writing seems a convenient way to do this.

I am considering ministry.

I never thought I could ever write that. I certainly never thought I would. Frighteningly, I have found a congregation that I fit into, with a theological background that makes complete sense. All the obscure, different beliefs I have held for so long actually have a name to unify them.

But it is this fact that scares me even further. The idea of having a label, and a "home" where I don't need to escape from some kind of prejudice or difficulty. And suddenly, the love and apparent skill (100%) I held for theology when I studied it for my university exams has suddenly returned to me. Finally, a group of people who do not glare when you don't recite the Christian creeds and bow and scrape. I have been glared at by priests, shouted away from Churches and had so many people telling me that hell is my destination. There is quite some irony in the world for me to end up with a conservative Catholic, homophobic, slightly racist roommate, in a conservative Catholic college, complete with nuns.

I am afraid of labels, and boxes. But this seems to be a box with a universe beyond it; not a Christian, Buddist, Hindu, Sikh or cultish background, but rather a traditional faith that merits all faiths as representations of a wider scheme.

Suddenly, I am considering ministry, and ministering to those around me in the sense of open-minded kindness, without implying or forcing a closed creed. And I am so scared. And so welcomed.