WHOSE ARE WE? 6 Mar 11

“Whose are we?”

Independent-minded Unitarians can easily

think this a very strange question, perhaps even be

taken aback by it. – Whose? What do you mean,

whose? We are our own people, individuals, free-

thinkers – each of us is unique, (just like everybody

else…).

Yet, there is a “whose” in each of our lives, a

whose we belong to, whether we want to know it or

not.

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Ralph Waldo Emerson knew this to be true. “A

person will worship something,” he wrote, “have no

doubt about that.

We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the

dark recesses of our hearts – but it will out. That

which dominates our imaginations and our

thoughts will determine our lives, and character.

Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we

worship, for what we are worshipping we are

becoming.

What we worship – that which we find most

worthy in Life – is what dominates our imaginations

and our thoughts. It is a core of belief, of faith, of

trust, that forms (as Thomas Moore points out) “the

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fundamental imagination by which we live.” Our

lives not only depend upon them, they are

reflections of them; we are the incarnations of

what we hold most dear, most important, most

worthy.

Whose are we?

This question first arose in our little Unitarian

Universalist circle at a conference held in Seattle

convened by the UU Association to discuss the

future of ministerial formation, the results of which

would help direct our future theological training

and continuing education.

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It began with worship, which itself began with a

story told by the senior minister of University

Unitarian Church of Seattle, Jon Luopo.

…in Seattle the interfaith clergy organization

has a tradition of asking senior colleagues to share

their life odysseys. On this particular occasion, a

Roman Catholic Priest was telling his story, and he

said that his life had been in large measure a

failure. He remembered the heady days of Vatican

II and how hopeful he and his generation of liberal

priests had been that real change was coming to

the church he loved so dearly. And yet, these

many years later he felt that the church had if

anything become hardened and deeply

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conservative, and his dreams had not been

realized.

Now, this priest was someone who was valued

among his interfaith colleagues, and they were

somewhat hurt and stunned by his revelation. And

yet, one colleague noted, despite the severity of

his words, his demeanor seemed quite peaceful

and content. “How can you claim that your life was

a failure, and yet appear so calm and serene?” “I

know whose I am,” replied the priest. “I know

whose I am.” (story as retold by the Rev. Sarah Lammert)

Whose are we?

This question gained some traction with those

gathered for the conference and out of it came the

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idea to develop a curriculum around the query,

what came to be called a theological conversation.

The plan was to train two ministers in each of our

UUA districts to facilitate this conversation among

the colleagues in their chapter. A general call went

out for those interested in applying.

I thought, I’ll really kick myself if I don’t go for

this, even though I honestly did not expect to get

chosen. So I filled out the form, told them why it

was important to me and why I wanted to do it and

low and behold one day I got the call. Kathleen

Rolenz of West Shore UU and I had been chosen to

be the facilitators for our Ohio Meadville ministerial

chapter. We would attend the training – which

would take place just before General Assembly in

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Minneapolis last June – and facilitate it ourselves

for our chapter colleagues in the Fall, which we did

at our retreat in late September.

It was a wonderful and deepening experience

all around, and one I would be happy to offer here

if there is enough interest (let me know after the

service, or send me an email sometime this coming

week).

So, whose are we? Whose am I?

I have always had a difficult time naming that.

For years I have described myself as a “vague

theist,” trying to express how I know there is

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Something at the heart of it all and to which I

belong, but I am not ever certain I can adequately

describe it or give it a name. It is all rather vague

to me, but nonetheless very real.

Not so helpful, huh?

Whose am I?

I belong to That which, like a dim star in the

night sky, disappears when I look too hard for it,

when I try to stare straight at it as if nailing it down

once and for all; that just will not happen. It is

ever-elusive to being pinned down. As Rumi once

asked of what he called the Friend, the Beloved,

“How is it with this love, I see your world and not

you?”

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But then, as Mary Oliver observes in her poem,

this Spirit – this Friend, this Beloved, this Great

Whatever – likes to dress up as us – ten fingers, ten

toes, shoulders and all the rest. It likes to “plumb

rough matter,” enter the world, enter us. So I see

That to which I belong in the vibrant Life that daily

surrounds me, and all the ways in which this Spirit

moves through it all, even as this rough matter

slows and decays, dies and is transformed into

other matter, this Spirit is constant, always there. I

never see It in and of itself, whatever that might

be, but Its manifestations are all around me.

As much as I see the evidence of this Spirit

everywhere around me, I also feel it at times, at

times more rare than I would really like, for

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instance when I am suddenly and vitally aware of

the Earth beneath my feet, of the strength of each

step, holding me in each and every footfall,

supporting me. Or like when I am captured by the

beauty and intricacy of a flower, or by a large,

stately (and sometimes gnarled) tree, holding out

its branches to whatever comes its way, holding

forth, almost, like a god come to claim a spot on

Earth. Wonder and awe claim me in such cases; I

am theirs, and gladly.

Then, there are those moments of realizing and

encountering the Spirit as it is dressed up in ten

fingers and ten toes and all the rest. Moments

when the Spark of the Divine can be seen sparkling

in another’s eyes, or a radiance comes over

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someone’s face, or a gentle touch, a sympathy, a

kindness is offered and gratefully received. Joy

and love claim me in such cases; I am theirs, and

gladly.

Whose am I?

I belong to a Love that will not let me go, a

Love that casts out fear, a Love greater than any

we can create. A Love with which I have frequent

quarrels.

I have always appreciated the fact that

Abraham and Moses, the two great patriarchs of

the Hebrew scripture, both argued with God. For

them, it was a give and take, a conversation – not

a one way dictatorial directive. If they did not

understand what God was asking of them, they let

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Him know. And if they did not particularly agree,

they let Him know that, too, and pressed God on

their point as well. They are among my heroes; I

belong to them and that heritage. What could be

more Unitarian than to question? I argue with God

all the time in my imagination and sometimes, like

Jonah, I want to run in the opposite direction, hop a

boat and sail away. But sticking around is usually

more helpful, even if a bit dangerous.

The story of Jacob wrestling with the angel is

the archetypal example of this for me. It is the

metaphorical rendering of what happens when we

have some idea Whose we are and try to discern

just what the heck that means, what it requires of

us, what it calls us to do.

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Knowing Whose we are is just a beginning. In

fact, we may only partially know Whose we are, or

have some vague idea enough to get us going. I

do not believe it is ever fully settled. Such is the

relationship with the Holy, it seems to be an

ongoing wrestling, a striving, in which we seek to

be blessed along our way, even by That which

cannot be named.

I hope that just because I admit to some vague

theistic tendencies – all of which I frequently lump

into that pesky and troublesome word, God – I

hope that just because I speak of these you do not

think I believe I have it all figured out, or know who

this God is, or expect you to agree with me. What

fun would that be? All I am saying is, go to that

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place where your angel waits to wrestle with you,

where Whose you are wants to engage in a bit of

struggle with you, some give and take. You might

come away limping – in fact, you probably will – but

you will be blessed by the effort.

Whose are we? Whose are we?

The answer to this one is no simpler than its

singular version. In fact, like its singular version,

its answer is one that is also very much in

progress.

Whose are we?

We belong to a history and a heritage. We

belong to the liberal Christians, the

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Transcendentalists, the Free Religionists, the

Humanists and all who have gone before us and

made our being here today possible. We here

today belong to those who gathered in Case Hall,

and then on Boliver Road, and then at 82nd Street

and Euclid and, since 1955, here on Belvoir Oval.

We belong to this community, this congregation,

covenanted together in the ongoing search for that

which inspires and encourages what is true and

meaningful in and for our lives, and out of this to

serve our larger community in whatever ways we

most effectively are able.

We belong to our fellow congregations in the

Ohio Meadville District, and the over one thousand

congregations that make up the Unitarian

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Universalist Association. We belong to our co-

religionists in Transylvania, Europe, the Philippines,

India, Uganda and wherever else two or more

gather in the freedom of truth and the spirit of

Love.

Whose are we?

We are of a Spirit that seeks justice in love,

freedom of conscience, and compassion in all of

our relations with one another. We belong to the

Spirit that we share with one another, that Spirit

which lives within and among us, which

encourages us and wrestles with us, which is a part

of each of us and so much greater than we can

ever imagine.

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In the end, there is no one answer to this

question, “Whose are we?” There is nothing we

can stop and say we have found, once and for all.

As the Tao Te Ching says, The Way that can be

named is not the real Way. Rather, this question is

a prodding question, one that urges us to wrestle

with the answers we live every day. It is a living

question that calls us ever deeper into our lives

and ever outward into greater service to others.

Whose are we? Whose am I? are questions we

can ask daily, every morning as we arise to meet a

new day, every evening as we reflect on our work

and our relationships. They are questions that can

keep us focused on what is important, on that

which is most important to us. They are questions

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that can help us grow a soul, deepen our sense of

who we are and what inspires us in our lives.

They are questions that, as the poet Rilke said,

we can live, for in doing so we will live one day into

the answers.