PeaceBang

And I Am Convicted

Thanks, Peacebangers, for all your cool comments. Nice to see some new names. By the way, I just discovered Jess’s Blog, and you might want to see her sad commentary on the state of some belligerently anti-Christian UU seminarians here: http://home.uchicago.edu/~cullinan/blogger.html
Is there anything more unintentionally comical than a worship service where the idea of Communion is discussed and dissected, but no one actually takes communion? Stop the madness.

I finished my essay this afternoon and toned down some of my inflammatory comments, trying to infuse my criticism with the genuine love I have for my co-religionists. I’d like to share with you some of what I submitted for the Skinner House anthology of writings by UU Christians. I call the essay, “And I Am Convicted” (I mean that in the evangelical way, not the criminal way):

“I remained a closeted Christian for several years, reading and thinking and teaching myself how to pray, discovering and respecting the troubled sibling relationship between Judaism and Christianity, and giving my heart and soul over to Christ as both man and spirit. I explored some Christian churches but was turned off by their literalism, their supercessionist treatment of Jewish religion, or their lack of commitment to social justice causes that were widely supported among my Unitarian Universalists. I began to have more affection for Unitarian Universalism, now that I could see it within the larger context of American religious life.

But where was Jesus in our UU worship life? I had never once questioned his absence in my childhood church, but I now began to wonder: since Jesus’ radical inclusivity, love of humanity, and passion for justice was so harmonious with all the “good news” I was hearing in our congregations, why did our ministers and congregants so assiduously avoid the gospels? I found it comical on some Sundays, depressing other Sundays, and consistently baffling. I could not understand why UUs would allow the perversions of the religious right to define the word “Christian” (or “religious,” for that matter), why they would concede religious language to the conservatives, and why they would go out of their way to construct a religion intentionally bereft of theology, rendering themselves a quasi-religion and many of their churches temples of denial and hypocrisy, where every spiritual path but the Christian path was considered valid, and where all evidence of a Christian past was removed, revised, and painted over.

It took me over ten more years of committed Unitarian Universalist life to consider that perhaps my dear UUs were the most strangely faithful Christians of all: having either intuitively or consciously embraced Jesus’ gospel of love, service and justice, they could not stand to affiliate with any so-called faithful who claimed to have received their inspiration for discrimination, exclusion, superstition, and damnation from the same source. The well, for too many UUs, had been irrevocably poisoned, and they would thereafter drink of the living waters from another source. Any other source, it seemed, but the Christian well. I felt called to abide with my religious community, to remain patient with my own sense of religious difference among them, and to pursue the ministry.”

I continue later:

“I call myself a Christian because I am a disciple of Jesus Christ; not just Jesus-that-great-guy-and-teacher-with-the-long-hair-and-sandals, but Jesus the living avatar of the great God, and Jesus the Christ of Easter morning. I have always said that I am a mystic at heart, and that if I had been born in pre-Christian times I would have been a devotee of the mystery religion of that time and place; perhaps the Eleusinian or Orphic rites. Christianity is the mystery religion of my time and place, and I am a devotee of it.

This last point, of course, distresses my rationalist Unitarian Universalist friends to no end, and I understand and accept that with affection and forbearance. But when we say that our living tradition draws from “direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life,” I think of that original community of disciples, who had a direct experience of the risen Christ which I revere and respect. It matters not at all whether I believe a dead man can be brought back to life or not, and although I used to research this question with some energy at the beginning of my Christian journey, today I have lost interest in exploring the scientific or historic “what’s, when’s and how’s” of the first Easter. Do I believe, then, in the Resurrection? I believe that the original community of disciples had a direct experience of one who was truly dead, and who soon thereafter experienced his appearance among them to send them out to love the world, to serve, to heal, and to overcome the forces of hatred and oppression.
And I am convicted.

So, Sari, we do discuss theology sometimes, although not often enough in our congregations — out of a misguided pandering to the religiously wounded among us, which causes us to avoid many of the conversations and much of the theological education that could most heal the angry, ex-Somethings who join our congregations. We discuss theology on our blogs now, I suppose, and that’s going to have to do for a start. You should know that the average UU blogger is not representative of the average Unitarian Universalist, many of whom proudly sport a “Famous UUs” T-shirt while they drink Fair Exchange coffee of a Sunday morning, and most of whom will never give a good hee-haw about what year the First Parish in Quincy officially transitioned from Calvinist Congregationalism to Unitarianism.

Inflammatory Comments R Us!

I am working on an article for our publishing house on why I am a Unitarian Universalist Christian. This thing is very overdue, and my friend and colleague K. is being very kind to accept it from me tomorrow morning as opposed to three freaking weeks ago.

Anyway, it has been very hard to write, as the whole story is really a book and who has time to write a book, and who in the world wants to read a book about me? No one. Okay, maybe my mom.

At one point in the essay I ask why Unitarian Universalists would “go out of their way to construct a religion intentionally bereft of theology, rendering themselves a quasi-religion and many of their churches temples of denial, hypocrisy and crimes against memory.”

Ouch. Them’s fighting words. I ‘ve been chewing my cud on them for some long minutes now, and I think, well that’s what I mean, so that’s what I think I’m going to say. I don’t know how else to put it. What do I mean by “bereft of theology?” Well, I mean exactly that. I mean no theological discussion allowed. Not even a lively and mutually respectful inquiry about what we might mean by “God,” why many of us reject “that” God, and why some have no God concept and all. No God allowed, period. It’s gotten better, but for much of my growin’ up years, this was the norm everywhere I went. We were the great project in non-theistic religion — which might not have been a disaster — but we did it with such arrogance, such certainty that secularism was the wave of the future and baby, we were hanging TEN! Religion was OUT!

Wasn’t THAT prophetic!

What do I mean by a “quasi-religion?” I mean, again, the “we meet on Sunday mornings, we sing hymns and hear a sermon and take an offering, and we’re tax-exempt, but we’re THE RELIGION FOR THE NON-RELIGIOUS.”
Isn’t *that* cute? That was actually — I’m not making this up — the title of a very popular brochure we actually used to provide to NEW MEMBERS.

What do I mean by “temples of denial, hypocrisy and crimes against memory?”
Just this: “We’re the non-religious religion — we don’t have a creed, we’re theologically open, we really accept everyone, and … excuse me? Did you say ‘Christian?” Did you say ‘Bible?’ Oh, well that was something some of us did a long time ago, but those who did mostly approached the Bible with a pair of scissors*, and we’ve never observed traditional Christian practices in our church.”

Pardon me, ma’am, may I show you the archives of your very own congregation’s orders of worship? Was that a lapse in knowledge, or an intentional obfuscation of a past that makes you distinctly itchy?

And I’m sure you want to revise that “welcome and affirming” spiel. I think what you mean to say is, “We welcome and affirm you if you’re willing to speak our language, conform to our politics, and share a sneering distaste for anything that could be vaguely described as traditional religion.”

Disclaimer: I haven’t seen nearly so much of this behavior lately, and this is in no way a reflection or report of conditions in my current congregation which is perfectineveryway.

*= P.S. Despite what you have heard or seen on any number of T-shirts, Thomas Jefferson was NOT a Unitarian!! He said he thought it would become a very popular religion for thoughtful lads and lasses in America someday, but he was not one himself. Practically speaking, for God’s sake, there was no such formal denominational designation in his lifetime. He was theologically unitarian. And a Deist. ‘Taint the same thing.

Little Compton Goes Home

Amy and Little Compton
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

So I went backstage to get the lamb yesterday, and then A. showed up to take her home. When she walked through the door she got tears in her eyes and we all knew it was Meant To Be. Not a dry eye in the house.

The lamb, whose name is Little Compton, is officially living happily ever after now, and I am hoping that she will come to church to be the central message for my Easter sermon, which I am right now writing in my mind. Do you think it would be too irreverent to have her walk down the center aisle while the organ plays “Let Me Entertain You?”

The Lamb Meets The Stripper

The Lamb Meets The Stripper
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

Picture the lamb leaping *straight* in the air and almost giving S. a hoof in the mouth (hoof-and-mouth disease?). I had no idea those little critters could get so VERTICAL! (That’s why S. is totally cracking up.)

Immediately after this photo was taken, S. opened the door and the lamb knocked her way past her and went bleating out into the hall while S. and I ran after her, trying not to scream and laugh too loudy and disturb the show. The trainer tackled and subdued her outside the lobby and brought her back to her little pen.

People, it was a total scene.

P.S. S.O. isn’t REALLY a stripper — she was just playing one in “Gypsy.” And I know she’s bodacious and fabulous and all, but she has a boyfriend.

Conference Bike! The Wonder Ball Of the 00’s!

This absolutely wins my first prize for “Fun Ways To Get Into a Car Accident.”

Please. See this. Make sure your volume is on.

http://www.conferencebike.com/web.mov

OR, for the longer version with the puppy,

http://www.conferencebike.com/cobiclip.mov

And please…. explain it to me.

(From new favorite web site, www.blacktable.com, referred by Peacebang’s web-savviest sis, who has patiently taken at least three phone calls this morning from a hysterical Peacebang laughing about ConferenceBike).

Lunch With Philocrites

I had some business on Beacon Hill today and had the unexpected pleasure of stealing dear Philocrites (www.Philocrites.com) away for lunch at a charming nearby bistro. Having just endured a really harrowing business meeting, I had a Bloody Mary with my soup, and he had a sandwich and Freedom fries.

He is such a gift to Unitarian Universalism and we’re really so grateful to have imported him East from Utah. Mitt Romney, you can have.

As I was walking down the Common to the “T” (if you’re not a Bostonian, that’s okay, you can figure it out), two reporters from Fox TV asked me, on camera, what I would nominate for the official Rodent of Massachusetts. I wanted to say “Mitt Romney” but I stuck with the good old field mouse, three of whom I found floating in my olive oil back in December. You remember that, don’t you?

It’s snowing again. Please, South Beach Diet Gods, give me the strength not to turn to buttered popcorn and chocolate for solace.

The Pieta of Michaelangelo

The Pieta of Michaelangelo
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

Another story from my trip to Italy: we were spending the morning at St. Peter’s, which is really, for my money, THE knock-down architectural wonder and holy-ghost-power dwelling place of the Most High. Anyway. A lady still occasionally needs to freshen up, so after some jaw-gaping appreciation of the larger cathedral I went off to find the powder room, and almost fell out when I happened upon the Pieta in the hallway, just sitting there in all its silent numinosity.

I approached it with baited breath and practically on tip-toe, and stood there plucking at my shirt buttons and trying not to sob. A minute or so later I was distracted by the sound of footsteps, and turned to see a kind of doofusy American tourist (trucker hat, big camera around the neck, windbreaker)catch sight of Michaelangelo’s Mary and Jesus. He stopped dead in his tracks, pulled his cap from his head and began to weep. I moved aside and he approached, and just stood there with his face in his hands and cried.
(damn, there goes my mascara just remembering it)

I am teaching a class at church this spring called “The Creative Spirit,” which invites all the participants to share art, literature or music that has a particularly powerful spiritual impact on them.
What would *you* bring to the first session?

And, for the record, I find a lot more miraculous in Michaelangelo’s gifts, and not so much miraclulous about the honey-mustard Rold Gold pretzel version of Mama and Jesu.

BabyJesusPretzel

BabyJesusPretzel
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

This item is on auction on e-Bay. It’s an apparition of the Virgin and Child incarnate in a mustard-flavored Rold-Gold pretzel. Do you see it? Can you see it? Isn’t it tender and luminous? I mean, for a carbohydrate?
According to the seller, they all experienced a feeling of warmth and spiritual well-being when holding the pretzel.

Last time I checked, bidding was up around $11,000. Glory.

A Lamb of the Stage

Yittle Yam
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

I went to see “Gypsy” last weekend at a local community theatre, and was just as charmed as everyone else when a real,live lamb was pushed onto the stage to appear in Louise’s birthday scene. The lamb was wearing a diaper, and pulled at its harness and baaa’d plaintively throughout most of the song that was sung to it (appropriately called “Little Lamb” — one of the dumbest, throw-away tunes of the musical theatre… clearly composed so that the leading lady could go make a costume change).

As it turns out, our little fleecy friend was obtained from a local slaughterhouse and was scheduled to be returned to it after the run of the show.

My heavens. Just because a guy makes a few mistakes on stage doesn’t mean he ought to wind up on a plate with a side of mint jelly!

Peacebang took it upon herself to find a home for the little starlet, and is happy to tell you that he (or she) will be living at a farm very nearby, courtesy of some wonderful, warm-hearted neighbors. The lamb’s new name, by the way, is “Little Compton.”
But Peacebang will always think of him as “Gypsy.”

You may make your Paschal lamb/Agnus Dei joke here.

Michael Dearest, and BTK

Michael Dearest
Originally uploaded by Peacebang.

No comment on the photo. Courtesy of PageSixSixSix.com.

I’m avoiding the Michael Jackson trial but watching the BTK situation with some interest. There is something bone-chillingly creepy about a sadistic murdering psycho giving himself a moniker that sounds like a fast-food franchise. A reliable source tells me that the pastor of the accused, days after publicly affirming that his maniacal congregant is part of the body of Christ, has had a nervous breakdown.

My Reliable Source asked me what I would do if one of my own dearly beloved congregants turned out to be a serial killer. I’ll have to think about that. We talk about the “inherent worth and dignity” of all human beings but of course “inherent” is not the same as “inviolate.”

I certainly don’t think I’d be using that “Body of Christ” line in public, that’s for sure. I’d be talking about the victims, and our compassion for them, and keeping my mouth pretty much shut about my relationship with the accused. That’s what pastoral privilege is all about.

I am well aware that, given the opportunities and plenty of time in the Big House, even the most heinous of evil-doers are capable of true repentance, spiritual growth and evolution of character. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. When that happens, it is very difficult for the loved ones of victims to appreciate the reformation of that individual. After all, they got a chance to move into another phase of life; an opportunity not granted the dead. When the families and loved ones can recognize the goodness in change, reconciliation can occur. When they can’t, the perpetrator lives with the knowledge of that permanent hatred and resentment as best he or she can.

I do not generally support the death penalty. I say generally, because when there’s a true sadist among us, my heart gets very cold and very unchristian. I want that person off the planet. They are living (or have lived) too far beyond the Pale of the basic human covenant, and they incarnate evil, which I believe is an absolute. So it’s not a question of “eye for an eye” but of the kind of spiritual harm and danger represented by the truly unrepentant sadist.

But then… I remember the Hasidic saying: We should love the wicked, too, because as long as we do not love in this way, the Messiah will not come.

Justice is the most difficult human work.