by Carol Taylor | Dec 3, 2014 | DRE Blog
Click for December’s theme, Light and Dark
I wonder what the ancients would think of our need to shine light in all corners. I am not speaking metaphorically here. Most of us in this country can flip a switch and light their house, turn an ignition key and light the road with their car headlights, use the flashlight app on their phone when they forget to bring a flashlight. How far we have come since the only way to banish darkness was with fire. When you view pictures of the earth from near space, the lights in all the developed areas are visible, that’s how much artificial light has crept into the darkness, and I wonder how that interferes with our need for the dark.
There is a certain loss of adherence with the natural rhythms of our earth when we have so much control over light. Yet we cannot control the sun and our orbit around it–these patterns exist beyond human influence. The warmth of the sun that helps grow the food we consume prods harvesters into high gear in late summer and early autumn. The warming of the earth that occurs in springtime encourages farmers and gardeners to return to their fields to till the soil and plant their new crops or flowers. The heat of the summer finds us basking in the sunlight and escaping the heat in cool water, or if we farm, tending our plots to encourage a bountiful crop. But what about this time of year – the bleak midwinter – when, for Northerners, the ground is frozen, many trees are bare and the days are short. Do we light up our homes and streets and yards, craving more light than nature provides, or do we relish in the shift of season when the balance between light and dark shifts?
The light takes on a softness in the northwest during December. It makes trees and mountains glow and casts long shadows. I appreciate that in my neighborhood there are few street lamps to obscure the beauty of this shifting light. I relish walking the trail in the late afternoon as the sun is low in the sky and the moon might be rising. I will also admit that sometimes I wish I could hibernate like other animals. How wonderful it might feel to snuggle in for a long nap and follow the ancient body’s need during the darkest time of the year. Much of nature remains dormant, resting and storing up energy for the rebirth and growth that come as the sunlight increases.
The winter is begging me to rest, to slumber, to enjoy family and food and warm fires. What happens when we follow these ancient rhythms and truly rest? For me, the rare times that it happens, I may find time to explore the dark corners that exist in my own self. I am able to shine a light on areas that are neglected. When I can rest I am able to face challenges with renewed spirit, I can forge new habits, I can nurture creativity within myself. I can rekindle an inner light that allows me to be an effective and positive influence in my world.
What waits for you in the darkness of this season if you make time for it? Is there something deep inside waiting to be born as the light returns? If there is, may it be nurtured in the dark, ready to emerge when the balance of light and dark shifts.
by Carol Taylor | Nov 18, 2014 | DRE Blog
Meeting, dining area outside chapel
I recently was in Boston for the first time and took the time to walk the Freedom Trail through the city, making sure to visit the locations that are so important to our Unitarian heritage. I walked across Boston Commons to 25 Beacon Street–our old UUA headquarters–through winding streets past statues and plaques and buildings that held bits of our history. It was inspiring to stand in the same place that some of our forebears, like Theodore Parker and William Ellery Channing spoke and to imagine the lively debates and the downright arguments that took place over theology. Here was where our Unitarian roots took hold in America and blossomed. I walked 8 miles that day and imagined the people who traveled by foot or on horseback or by carriage to see the preachers of the time speak about religious liberalism. There is rich history in the old structures in Boston, and part of me understands the sorrow some UUs expressed at leaving that building on Beacon Hill.
The meetings I attended were all held in the brand new UUA headquarters, housed in the Innovation District of Boston. From the outside it is an old red brick building, worn and weathered by time. Even when you enter there are large beams holding up ceilings and walls and many antique items were moved from the old headquarters and incorporated into the decor. But there is also newness there–steel to reinforce the old beams, an elevator and a wheelchair lift for accessibility, tables with microphones and outlets in the top for technology so that people can meet virtually across long distances. It is a beautiful example of old and modern and of collaborative space, with large open areas for meeting and smaller rooms for privacy. It felt every bit like a representation of our modern day Unitarian Universalism, both honoring our history and looking forward.
Today we spend a lot of time talking about the future of our faith movement, perhaps rightly so. With statistics telling us year after year that people are not choosing to attend church or commit to a religious community, those of us who are committed to Unitarian Universalism are concerned for the longevity of our liberal faith. I want to believe that our living tradition equips us most elegantly to face the challenges ahead. After all, we haven’t stayed primarily a Unitarian or Universalist Christian tradition, we have embraced other sources of wisdom, welcoming pagans, humanists and atheists into our midst. We are an evolutionary faith, not content to rest in history, but determined to respond to the challenge of the modern day. I think our current challenge is to continue to honor the incredible men and women who have come before us and shaped our faith, and at the same to time to not be afraid to be bold and try something new. If people aren’t coming to church anymore, how can we get our message of inherent worth and dignity to them. Where do we draw the circle that takes them in? How do we work across faith borders to create lasting change in our society? Yes, there are many of us who will always go into a building that says “church”, but our movement can be so much more if we can stop thinking of ourselves as only brick-and-mortar congregations. After all, religion isn’t a building, rather it is a chosen community that transforms our lives.
We need open minds, loving hearts and helping hands to do the good work of Unitarian Universalism. Those can be found and nurtured any place.
by Carol Taylor | Nov 3, 2014 | DRE Blog
Wanderer, Worshipper
You know that bumper sticker that says “Unitarian Universalism: Where all your answers are questioned.” I don’t like it! On the surface it smacks of elitism and intellectualism – two things that Unitarian Universalists are already accused of by many. Why add more fuel to the fire?
Oh, I think I know why we say it. It makes us feel good to think that we don’t provide answers like those mainline churches–that we respect the individual’s search for their own truth. And of course our heritage is one of questioning authority and sources of power. But the human brain seeks answers and sometimes it would be easier if there was one answer that fit everyone. We may even succumb to the allure of group think, assuming we all believe the same thing about politics or justice because we are UUs. It just isn’t true. All our lives we are each seeking answers to questions we have, both big and small. That is the crux of our fourth principle – “A free and responsible search for truth and meaning.”
So, why would a Unitarian Universalist say that my answers, freely and responsibly sought, are questioned. If you question my answers enough or with the implication that I just don’t know or haven’t been “properly” informed, I feel diminished. And diminishing my search doesn’t aid my spiritual growth. We all walk different paths, seek information in different places, and bring our myriad of cultures to our learning. I won’t pretend that I know everything or that all my answers are right, but, then, neither should you. Doesn’t the bumper sticker itself imply that UU’s know it all, that there is some right answer to any given question about life or spirituality or religion? That if my answer doesn’t fit yours, you will question its validity?
I seek a religious community where my search is honored and each truth I arrive at in the process is valid, a community where I learn alongside others and am inspired to continue learning because of the relationships I build. That’s why I choose Unitarian Universalism–because I know this is the potential our faith holds. What do I need from you? I want you to seek to understand me, to know where I come from and why I am on this journey with you. I want the freedom and safety to explore my own beliefs and understanding of the world, life and death, the big questions. I don’t always want to be questioned, I want to be heard. And I want to hear your story, your beliefs, your struggles. This sharing moves me and sometimes, upon reflection, I question my own answers and move to a deeper understanding of how to be alive and engaged in building a more just world.
Won’t you join me in this search?
by Carol Taylor | Oct 15, 2014 | DRE Blog
spider web
I noticed with interest the myriad of spider webs glistening in the morning dew as I drove to work the other morning. Fall is my favorite time of year and I love the spider webs and spiders that are abundant right now. The intricate, near invisible designs that they weave appear so delicate, yet are strong enough to resist wind and catch the various insects that provide the spider sustenance. Sometimes the web appears damaged or is missing strands, yet it stands strong to be rebuilt or repaired. What seems to threaten these beautiful webs the most is a human touch or sweep of the broom, and yet the indomitable spider reweaves, reworks and perseveres.
I thought about our seventh principle of Unitarian Universalism as I stared at that dewy web and contemplated my place in the world. What does it mean to have respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part. For me it means remembering that what I do vibrates along an invisible thread that connects me to everything. If I throw myself into the world, my actions make an impact, for good or bad. Somewhere within the web of all existence I have the power to help heal the world or to inflict further damage.
Our church community is a place where healthy, strong connections are encouraged and nourished – not only with each other, but with the wider world. The good that we do together amplifies each of our individual vibrations along the web of existence. As UU’s we strive to live in a way that honors our independence and our interdependence . While it may be easy to see ourselves as a part of the web and even sometimes the fly that gets caught, I believe it is our responsibility as Unitarian Universalists to collectively be the spider, helping to weave the beautiful web that vibrates and glistens in the sun, a web that moves with the wind but doesn’t break, a web with the potential to provide sustenance for a world that is longing for hope and justice .
by Carol Taylor | Sep 30, 2014 | DRE Blog
What relationship do you have with your family? Fractured, strong, tenuous, loving, complicated…. Family, however you choose to define it presents us with challenges everyday–a microcosm of relationships that gives us opportunities to learn how to share, lead, follow, parent, love unconditionally, teach and compromise. At WUUC we choose to define family broadly to encompass anyone living in a loving relationship. We recognize above all that what makes a family is LOVE, even when there is dislike.
I come from an average size family, but grew up with strong relationships with cousins, aunts and uncles. This made it feel like I had a huge family at times and created lots of opportunities to learn how to live in a large system where tension exists, people are rigid, feelings get hurt and needs aren’t always met. Kinda reminds me of church sometimes, but I don’t like calling ourselves a church “family”, and here is why. A family is a place where you can be your full self, do things that outsiders might never forgive you for, try out new ways of being, all the while expecting unconditional love. There are things that I have done in my family that would never be tolerated in a community setting. And while I hope you bring your full self to church, everyone is expected to learn the ways of being in the community that keep it whole. What makes a Unitarian Universalist church is COVENANT. Our covenant with each other allows us live into our first, second and third principles fully, remembering to honor inherent worth, practice compassion in our relations and accept each other as we are.
The hymn “Let it be a Dance” reminds me of both family and community. It reminds us that we are all in this together, good and bad. That we share the laughter and the pain. That life continues as we are in relationship together. While we can’t choose our birth family, we can make choices about who we share our lives with in covenanted community. No matter the size of your family, you are part of a larger community and the love and compassion that you learn and practice at home, can be brought to our church and expanded to encompass the entire world. Let us remember to lead and follow, to bend and sway. Let it be a dance we do. May I have this dance with you?
by Carol Taylor | Sep 17, 2014 | DRE Blog
As I prepare to talk about peace and hospitality with the children this week, I am taking time to reflect on our relationship with peace in this country. It is a puzzle with difficult pieces to sort. Our sense of justice calls us to act on behalf of oppressed people or nations and sometimes that leads our country to war, where we inevitably create more suffering amid the violence that ensues. Some wars are merely waged for political gain or for self-interest, some are ages long tribal conflicts that have more layers than we understand. Often times the “battle cry” is for creating a stable, peaceful regime. No matter the reason, both sides suffer loss and experience pain.
We have a culture that glorifies violence in so many ways–in entertainment, sports, playtime pursuits. As adults we often shelter our children from the images and words that are plastered across our TVs and computers – images of suffering, rage and devastation. Many people think they should not be exposed to this reality. Yet, so many children are already aware of hostility and hatred and see how it presents itself in their own lives — physical bullying, hurtful words, shunning. I’m not saying we want them to be inundated with images of war, but wouldn’t it be better to engage our children in honest conversations about what a culture of violence does to our hearts as we grow up? To explain to them that we can inflict violence on ourselves through destructive thoughts just as easily as we can lash out at others. That when we use violence to solve problems, nobody wins in the long run.
Our children have such full and loving hearts. Hearts that are easily bruised and need exercising in compassion to grow resilient. If we want our children to inherit a world at peace where they can live open and authentic lives, we need to teach them and model for them the peaceful way to exist. Children perceive injustice in the world and want to make things right. They are watching how we approach issues of injustice and taking notes. They take note of how we treat others, both those we know and those we have just met. We can teach a loving child to speak from the heart when they are angry or hurt. We can model how to welcome the “stranger” in our midst. We can practice compassionate communication with everyone we encounter, even when we are angry or we are the target of someone else’s anger, even when we are afraid or the target of someone else’s fear. Is it easy? I struggle with it every day, but it is a spiritual practice we need if we want to have peace.
