Sermons in Stones

That’s a trick title, because I have gone to a grand total of two church services in my six months of sabbatical. I’m rather ashamed to admit it, but it’s true. I had a plan to go to the San Francisco services fairly regularly once we were back from our summer travels, a plan that foundered on the rocks of taiko class (10:45 Sunday mornings). But what took me so long to figure out that a good two-thirds of the UU congregations in the country have services that end by 10 a.m. my time? I just got out of the Sunday morning church habit. Which is instructive. Going to services is a habit, like any other; once in the habit, one tends to carry on, and once out of it, one also tends to continue not-going. Something for all of us who tend these wonderful communities to remember.

I did think of it earlier this fall, looked up a few services, and got up in time to go to one, but I had a flu-y thing and couldn’t keep my energy up long enough even for a Zoom hour. Two weeks ago, I finally got my act together again, and was so, so glad I did. I attended the livestreamed service of Jefferson Unitarian Church (Golden, CO) that Sunday; it was great, so I picked a service for last Sunday, but overslept; this morning, I tried to attend one livestreamed service, but the time on the website was incorrect due to a seasonal change, and had to quickly look for another one. Again: there are lots of options in the Central Time Zone! So I ended up at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Corpus Christi, charmingly nicknamed U2C3.

Both today’s service and the one on December 3rd made me regret not going every week. Both were a great fit for my sabbatical spiritual practice of letting go of judgment and letting curiosity take its place. Oh my, does my judging mind have things to say about church services! It’s only natural, since it’s my vocation, and of course I’m making many mental notes about what does and doesn’t work. But its being my vocation is also the reason that curiosity is so much more useful than judgment. Instead of evaluating what works, what doesn’t, what I like, what I don’t, etc. suspending that process (or telling that judging voice to please pipe down during the service, at least) opens me up to ways of doing things that I’m not accustomed to. It makes room for me to appreciate other ways and others’ creativity.

And creativity there was, both of these weeks. Jefferson is one of the many churches using the Soul Matters monthly themes, and the theme was Mystery: right up my street, for a few reasons. One: again, curiosity in place of judgment. I am trying to be more open to the unknown, to what I may yet discover, and judgment tends to make a person go right past Mystery unaware, because she’s comparing everything she encounters to what she already knows. This person, anyway. Two: I’ve been making a lot of art, and spending a lot of time talking with others about the relationship between art and religious leadership (my class in this semester of grad school was The Arts for Leadership), and one of the great things art does for me is take me into that space of unknowing and discovery. Three: I have been thinking a lot about how uncomfortable Unitarian Universalists, not only me, can be with the unknown, and how spiritually limiting that is. If I had to choose a dissertation topic today (which thank goodness, I do not), it would be something like “Using the Arts in a Congregational Setting to Re-Enchant Religion Without Supernaturalism.”*

The Time for All Ages was clearly one of a series in which Unitarian Universalism, a pleasant man in a t-shirt reading UNITARIAN UNIVERSALISM, gave a wrapped gift to the director of religious exploration, who opened it on behalf of the congregation. Both Sarah Billerbeck, their DRE, and the man playing UU, were clearly comfortable being off-script, so their dialogue was pleasantly conversational while also hitting their main points, nor did it matter that I hadn’t heard previous entries in the series. The box was empty, because, well, Mystery. It isn’t something that is handed to us; it’s part of our search, and we don’t know what we will find. Together, they reached the conclusion that because we have the freedom to search, our faith leaves us a lot of room for mystery. When Unitarian Universalism said, “In fact, Mystery is one of the greatest gifts I give you,” I had tears of hope in my eyes. Can it be that our faith is actually particularly suited to acquainting us with mystery? Then Rev. Wendy Williams’s sermon was beautiful, in a thoughtful and heart-felt style, and ended with a suggestion about how to open to mystery that was so like the advice I had just given someone on Ask Isabel that I had to laugh. My advice was about gratitude, something that does come easily to me–and here it was, traveling in the circuitous ways by which the universe delivers wisdom, coming to me from a colleague I deeply respect in order to help me awaken to mystery. Thank you, Wendy and universe.

Today’s service, at the congregation in Corpus Christi, was about the many festivals of lights at this time of year: Diwali, Hanukah, Advent, Kwanzaa, Solstice. These kinds of services are difficult because if they’re presented as actual celebrations of the holidays, they are almost certainly appropriating others’ religious practices, whereas if they do the respectful thing and simply tell us about the practices, they can be very report-y and dry. The folks leading the service were carefully respectful, which allowed that judging mind of mine to relax awhile, and so where it might have piped up with “Uh oh, this could be a report instead of a worship service,” I was able instead to appreciate how the leaders (most of whom weren’t ministers or worship associates, so they were probably quite nervous) crafted a sensory experience of growing light, a whole table full of candles and lamps that must have given off palpable heat as well as a beautiful sight.

And then the band, which had already done a lovely rendition of “Light One Candle” (and oh, how those lyrics resonate this Hanukah, whatever one’s political views about Israel), sang “Glorious,” a Melissa Etheridge song that I had not heard before and that I then sang in my head all the way to my taiko class. That one is going to be heard in a UUCPA service next year, you can bet. “Everyone will hold this light”–and again I was moved to tears, not only by the words but by the way the two singers and the small acoustic band brought such feeling to them. On Muni, no one notices or cares if you get a little weepy.

I’m very grateful to these two congregations and their worship teams. I’m looking forward to next Sunday, and I’m just sorry it took me this long to start going to services.

*A seminary professor of mine, the late David Ray Griffin, wrote a book with this title–Re-Enchantment Without Supernaturalism–and I was so excited to discover that that of course I got a hold of it immediately. It doesn’t take the tack I want to, but the title sums up my hopes.