On becoming

 I remember when I first went to visit a spiritual director as part of small group ministry that I was involved in two years ago, and I told her, "I have done so much growing already...it's sometimes frustrating when I get glimpses of how much more I have to do." Chaplaincy training is another place where you face that realization just about every day.

Another conversation that ended up being very true was when the student chaplain at Meadville Lombard told my triad group (my triad met weekly for course work, and met with the chaplain monthly) that seminary was in a lot of ways a way of breaking us down into small pieces so we could put them all back together again - theologically, emotionally, sometimes even physically, due to the intense need for self care.

When I was a child, I was Catholic, and I had transcendent experiences of God. I had faith in a supernatural Father, and I prayed to Him, and felt His presence in my life. At some point though, existential questions of suffering in my life, and perhaps even a biology of atheism, took away that personal relationship with a Christian God (and it was always a relationship with God, not with Jesus, or even Mary, which is perhaps why it was so natural to become a Unitarian Universalist).

I continued to have transcendental experiences in my life - moments of becoming, of growing, of mystical connection with other people, with nature, with something more - and those experiences are what keep me an agnostic, that make me a person who is aware of the unknown, and of possibility, while still subscribing to Occam's Razor.  In a recent post about prayer, I explored some of my thoughts about prayer as a person of non-traditional faith, and I refound this quote that spoke to me. As a religious humanist, I am a cosmic theist, in that I believe in  the transcendent immanence of God, which some might call panentheism. However, I have not felt that personal transcendent experience of God (and I realize that is a loaded word) very often as an adult.

I remember being about 10, during the Cold War, and thinking about how infinitely stupid adults were, as a I lay awake, fearful of bombs falling on my house or my school. And I remember an image of physically tucking that thought away into the back of my 10 year old mind, and telling myself that I would never forget to realize that adults were stupid. That we complicate things unnecessarily for ourselves, which results in all sorts of negative consequences in our lives, our social networks, our world. More on this later.

This morning, when I was meditating, I felt God (again, that loaded word, especially for me, as an agnostic) as a presence. I believe in connections, in something greater than the sum our our living, aware parts. And that not only showed up for me this morning but has been with me, as a presence, in the room, all day. It's kind of frightening actually - I mean, I actually thought, perhaps I am having a mental breakdown of some sort ;).But, I am a levelheaded kind of gal, and I am pretty sure I know how this actual feeling of presence has come back into my life.

For some time now, I have been wrestling with prayer, my love of Catholic tradition from my childhood, and with how to make my daily spiritual practice more meaningful, which I have, through ritualistic meditation each day. But it hasn't been until the last 4 weeks of chaplaincy that I have prayed, really prayed with people. And the part where being as a child (as Jesus himself would remind us) comes in, is that it doesn't have to be complicated. I don't have to get caught up in the words God, or Jesus, or Christ, or heaven, or sin. My role as a chaplain is to be present with people, to help them be, to serve with humility. It doesn't really matter what I believe in that moment - it matters that I can connect with that person, and that we create something through our relationship in that moment. If I can let go of my baggage about semantics (and as a writer and editor for many years, many that know me well will know that's a difficult task), and just be in the moment of wonder and (God) and creation, then that has the potential to become transcendent.

This prayer that I have been engaged in and wrestled with, and felt awkward in and powerful in - that has changed my spiritual practice. Again:
"When I pray, the humanist in me is patient but nonplussed, asking who I think I am talking to, and I reply that I don't know, but I do it anyway, my breath casting words into the seemingly unanswering air. Perhaps it is only my need to make the universe personal and intimate. I know myself to be a personal and intimate being, and it seems not totally impossible that the powers which cast me with these qualities, which enables me to be both rational and poetic, may be the same as I, writ large." -- Frances E. West


Humanism is a based on reason and compassion - but that religious piece of humanism does not have to exclude God (or at least I take the liberty as a UU to say so).


And the question is so what? Why do I do this ministry? Now that I can catch my breath in week four, when I can think again about congregational work, community work, and chaplaincy, it becomes very clear that my moral authority as a minister is in not only becoming more authentically myself, but in journeying with others in their own journey of becoming. It's about right relation as a position of moral authority, and about radical hospitality. As a ministry, radical hospitality is breaking down that sin of disconnection that is the root of so much human pain and suffering. Ministry is about finding a theology that makes sense of that sin - not in the sense of predestination, or bargaining with some higher power, or even understanding it - but making sense of it and figuring out how to live our lives that we have the best we can.


One day, I dropped my son off at his Waldorf program and one of the church staff (where we meet) was being (in my mind) quite rude to a new mom who had parked in the wrong place. I was pretty ticked off about his behavior, and my son's teacher, Lynne, who is just a gentle saint of a woman, put her hand on my arm and gently said, "He's doing the best he can." In the moment, that answer didn't feel like enough, but now it does. Ministry is about helping people do the best they can, without judgment and with humility. And that includes me. Sometimes the best I can do doesn't feel like very much, but that's OK sometimes.

Seething humanism

Really, after 3 days of immersion in the world of UU humanism, amongst thoughtful, passionate, and inspirational discussion about the issues of theism/non-theism, humanism, God-language and more, I wish that I had enough brain power left to write a stunning piece of cohesive brilliance on the topic, but my mind is aswirl with ideas, papers to write, challenge, and gratitude.

I will say that the opportunity to be in class with minds who are not afraid to challenge the status quo has me all fired up (again, as usual) about diversity in race, class, and belief in our denomination. I also have come to perhaps a bit more of an understanding about why people call UUism a movement rather than religion, but I still disagree. However, the word movement does imply progress over time, and humanism is an evolutionary (in more than one sense of the word) additive to our faith tradition.

One thing that did cause me to spout out some passionate verbiage today was the reminder from Rev. Jen Crow's sermon( that I will link to as soon as she reminds me which sermon it WAS, that was probably inspired somewhat by the work of Dr. Sharon Welch), on lowering our expectations. Although I can see the interconnectedness of systems of oppression, I cannot begin to fix them all. And since I am passionate about all kinds of diversity, I am interested in part of my ministry being ways of discovering challenges, solutions and sitting down at the table to problem-solve.

My lack of experience in diversity work (I have lots of theory; not so much hands-on work) is an opportunity for me to be an ally in the great work that is already being done, and I am anxious to go home and start figuring out how to begin building those bridges now. It's like everything in life, you can do it all, but you can't do it all at once.

What is religion?

I don't know why it irks me so much, but it does indeed irk me when people refer to UUism as a movement. When you look at the various ways in which religion is defined - even the Latin roots - I cannot understand the resistance to using it in our congregations or in self-definition.

William R. Murry quotes Loyal Rue as saying that "religion is not about God," and "evolution has shaped human beings in such a way that religion is about influencing the brain 'for the sake of personal wholeness and social coherence.'"

Murry himself says that "To be religious is a matter of one's attitude toward all life." To bind together. Is that not what people do, regardless of belief in science, supernatural power, or something in between, or perhaps totally different?

I am fascinated with the possibility that there is a biological imperative for religion; a connection in our brains between science and the need to believe, or to question. There is research that posits that what happens during a meditative state (or the existence of a potential "God Spot" in the brain that reacts consistently in brain scans of those who meditate or are discussing religious topics) is that during those times, we move from acquiring knowledge to spiritual or value-based learning created by neuronal connections that allow us to think about information from a new perspective.

In other words, spiritual intelligence is actually something that could organically occur in the brain as an effect of new neuronal connections. There is something transformative that happens between reflection and hypothesis (learning cycles suggested by James Zull in The Art of Changing the Brain.

To get back to my original point, we are all subject to our own physical and organic brain, and as we gain deeper understanding of the way that it works, it may become clear that religion is an inherent and necessary part of the human life cycle. Connections are important in our biology, our environment, our relationship - throughout living and dying. Is that not what religion is?

Reflection

I found that this quote resonated with me. It appeals to my own inner struggle around owning my childhood religion and my present theology.

"When I pray, the humanist in me is patient but nonplussed, asking who I think I am talking to, and I reply that I don't know, but I do it anywy, my breath casting words into the seemingly unanswering air. Perhaps it is only my need to make the universe personal and intimate. I know myself to be a personal and intimate being, and it seems not totally impossible that the powers which cast me with these qualities, which enables me to be both rational and poetic, may be the same as I, writ large." -- Frances E. West