The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.
Saint Denis of Paris was said to have walked and preached two miles, all the while holding his head in his hand. Reflecting on this tale at seminary, an observer said “It’s really the first step that’s impressive.”
I took my first step toward Dukinfield nine days ago when my Mom and I drove to the airport in Detroit, Michigan, my plane ticket in my hand. I guess it could be argued that perhaps my first step toward Dukinfield was taken when I met the Reverend Doctor Ann Peart, Principal of the Unitarian College of Manchester, while she visited my seminary.
Or maybe my journey began when I entered seminary, or even further back than that. Perhaps my entire life has been in preparation for this very moment.
Earlier this week, I had the distinct pleasure of attending some events at the Unitarian College of Manchester. I’d like to share a moment of one of those events with you. There is a tradition when the Past and Present Students of the College toast and respond with each other. I was honored to be asked to take part in the event.
I was most impressed by the eloquence of the ministers gathered there. So much so that upon completion of the ceremony, I asked several members for a copy of their remarks.
Here are some of the words of the Reverend David Shaw, delivered under the topic of Civil and Religious Liberty:
“How easy it is to raise a glass to Civil and Religious Liberty in a comfortable setting such as this, and how uncomfortable it is to spare a thought to those of the past who struggled and suffered and to those of the present who are struggling today.
"There are people today—upon our doorstep—locked into a system of uncompromising religion that holds them fast in fear…
"It is a hard world in which Civil and Religious liberties are hard won. In a moment I shall ask you to rise with me and give a toast to Civil and Religious Freedom the world over, and as you do I ask you to bear in mind that we not only raise our glasses to aspirations embedded in history, but to so much of the very real world around us today.
"It is more—more much than raising of a glass—it is a thank you, for what has been achieved, a recognition of the much that still needs to be achieved, and a commitment that we will—however we can—in whatever way we can—however small—be part of striving for the achievements yet to be.”
Here the Reverend Shaw speaks of a journey, too. It is the journey of a people of faith. A journey, if we are truthful with ourselves, that is far from complete.
And it is a journey that includes others of us. In America there are close to a million Unitarian Universalists who are walking this journey, too.
And there is me, just one man who flew across the Atlantic Ocean because of your generous offer of a summer placement.
I stand here before you, a man on a journey.
A few words from the well-known author and philosopher, Unknown.
“A person’s journey through life is somewhat like a long walk through a forest on a dark night. Part of the way a companion carries a lantern, but then the path divides and one must go alone. If one carries his own lantern—an inner light of faith—he need not fear the darkness.”
My Unitarian Universalist faith, my faith in God, and my faith in the core of goodness in humanity is my lantern.
Possibly never before have I been more confused by my surroundings. People I meet tell me that they live in Bolton or Stalybridge or just up the road in some town. I have no idea what they’re talking about. I’ve just arrived this week. It took me until Friday to venture by train to Manchester!
Oh, and the words we use that have different meanings! I was taught in school that we all spoke English, but clearly hundreds of years of separation have taken their toll on our shared mother tongue!
On a bit more of a serious note, my time in the UK has brought an even deeper sympathy for the immigrants in our world. Until yesterday, I didn’t know how to ring the police. But sadly yesterday, I had to learn. While having breakfast in a café down the hill there, someone stole my rucksack. I lost a pair of books in it and nothing more, thankfully. But still I lost a book lent to me and the personal journal I’ve been keeping for this journey.
And yet I have never been more sure that I am on my correct journey. My lantern, though sometimes it feels a fragile light, is helping guide my way.
My theology professor at Meadville Lombard Theological School is Dr. Michael S. Hogue. Last year, he was named a Templeton scholar, an honor focusing on young, rising academic theologians. Mike holds a theology lab each week at the school for no credit for us and no pay for him. It’s just his way of giving the students a chance to work out ideas. My first class with Mike Hogue was Liberal Theology, and I wasn’t sure I was going to live through it! In a ten week quarter we read 14 full books and dozens of articles about liberal theology. In my second year of seminary, I asked Mike in theology lab, what did theology really mean? We’d studied Schlieirmacher and Kant and Derrida and Heidegger, but really, beyond tracing the back and forth arguments of these academics, what does it mean?
Dr. Hogue told me that the meaning of theology could be better answered through the question, “How does your belief system influence the way in which you engage with the world?”
And I’ll ask you a similar question: “How do your values and belief system influence the way in which you engage with the world?”
On the journey that is your life, what does your theology do for you and for others? For Reverend Shaw, clearly it means taking into account the privileges he enjoys and using them as a strength as he challenges the systems of oppression he sees in the world around him; “a recognition of the much that still needs to be achieved, and a commitment that we will—however we can—in whatever way we can—however small—be part of striving for the achievements yet to be.”
My theology, my relationship with what is ultimate and divine, calls me to be my best self. This, in part, means that I must strive to grow as a human being, and as a minister. Even if this means that I wind up in a town called Dukinfield, in the United Kingdom, for a good part of a summer, far from home, far from my loved ones and my family.
These weeks are a big challenge to me. I enjoy knowing where I’m going. I enjoy being able to speak the version of English where I know what all the words mean, and I enjoy walking along next to the street on a sidewalk--sorry, "pavement"--knowing that the cars are going along on the correct side of the road.
Naturally, I’m teasing a little here. But all kidding aside, for me it was a daunting idea to come here, to meet a whole new group of people. To practice a version of Unitarianism that is related to, but not wholly, my own.
But I took a leap of faith, because that is what my best self wanted to do. It is what my theology called me to do.
And look what’s happened! I have met dozens of lovely people! I have seen the world’s oldest railroad station.
I have eaten fish and chips.
I got my rucksack stolen.
You take the bad with the good, right? From the reading that Claire shared earlier “Today, this hour, this minute is the day, the hour the minute for each of us to sense the fact that life is good, with all of its trials and troubles, and perhaps more interesting because of them.”
I took what felt to me like a big chance in accepting your most gracious invitation. Change is difficult for me. Perhaps it is also difficult for you. But change we must, or we’ve stopped our journey.
My theology called me to risk just about everything, and fly to the Old World from the New to practice ministry. Each of us is on our own individual journey. But happily we walk with comrades.
What does your theology call you to do?
I know so few things for certain, but this I believe to be true: A life lived on the growing edge of being the best one can be is a life well lived.
I invite you to live such a life.
Blessed be.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Flying Across "The Pond"
My flight from Detroit to New York’s JFK airport was uneventful, though a bit crowded. But that’s what you get when you fly coach, I guess.
By the time I arrived at JFK I was not quite hungry, but knew the food places would be closing at 8Pm, so I grabbed some Burger King. I’d read that the State of New York had passed a law requiring all restaurants to publish, on their menu, the number of calories a given item had. Well, I can now say, having seen it in action, that it was a horrifying experience. I had no idea that a Double Whopper with cheese was over a thousand calories.
I think of eating as sort of a budget, a loose budget it’s true, but a budget nonetheless. I allow myself about 1,500 to 1,700 calories each day. I do this in a very unscientific way. I know the value of some foods (an apple, a piece of bread, about 100 calories) etc. This is part of why I cut down dramatically on my soda intake. But to see even the single Whopper (no cheese) clock in near 750 calories was almost enough to make me not eat dinner. Except that I knew I’d be flying for the next 9 hours, and I needed something in my stomach. And the Sam Adams restaurant around the bend started at about $19 for the cheapest item. So I opted for the Whopper and promised myself at least a week of extra-healthy eating to make up for it. (So far, I’ve done pretty well!)
Once we boarded the plane--only about 30 minutes behind schedule, which I didn’t think was very bad--the seat next to me was empty and the seat next to it was occupied by a young twenty-something woman named Courtney who was on her way to England to play Playstation 3 with an online friend she’d never met before. She had just come from some major gaming convention. She freely admitted that she was traveling from Los Angeles to Manchester “just to play video games on someone else’s couch.” I hoped, silently, that she’d get more out of the experience than that.
The flight was largely uneventful until we started our descent into Manchester. At this point we hit some major turbulence, more than I’d ever experienced in a plane before. I can’t estimate drops and jolts, but it was very similar to riding a roller coaster--except, of course, with no rails beneath us.
And then it happened. Again.
In the middle of my day, someone asks me to help them. A young-ish mother and her two children were in the row in front of the row I shared with Courtney. She put her right hand on the seat in front of hers, to stabilize herself (I thought) and then she put her left hand behind her, into our row, also I thought as for stability. And then she looked me in the eye, and said the in the most polite British accent flavored with panic, “Would you mind holding my hand?” I could feel a warm smile come to my face and I took her hand. “Of course I’d be glad to.”
So here I was, holding the hand of this stranger, during a very turbulent descent, and I felt wonderful.
Connectivity is a major theme in my spiritual path. We are each looking for ways to feel connected to each other in our increasingly busy lives. I lead as busy a life as almost anybody, I’m sure, and there are plenty of times when I feel utterly alone, even in the middle of a city of six million people, like Chicago.
Why do we wait until crisis comes to reach out? Is it because at that moment our twin fears of vulnerability and rejection are finally outweighed by our need to know we are not alone?
We are not alone. We are tied, for better or worse, to our families, our neighborhoods, our places of work and study. We need only to find the connections that are healthy, joyful, and growth inspiring, to make our lives wealthy with living.
Find those people, forge those connections with them, and be filthy-rich beyond your wildest dreams.
By the time I arrived at JFK I was not quite hungry, but knew the food places would be closing at 8Pm, so I grabbed some Burger King. I’d read that the State of New York had passed a law requiring all restaurants to publish, on their menu, the number of calories a given item had. Well, I can now say, having seen it in action, that it was a horrifying experience. I had no idea that a Double Whopper with cheese was over a thousand calories.
I think of eating as sort of a budget, a loose budget it’s true, but a budget nonetheless. I allow myself about 1,500 to 1,700 calories each day. I do this in a very unscientific way. I know the value of some foods (an apple, a piece of bread, about 100 calories) etc. This is part of why I cut down dramatically on my soda intake. But to see even the single Whopper (no cheese) clock in near 750 calories was almost enough to make me not eat dinner. Except that I knew I’d be flying for the next 9 hours, and I needed something in my stomach. And the Sam Adams restaurant around the bend started at about $19 for the cheapest item. So I opted for the Whopper and promised myself at least a week of extra-healthy eating to make up for it. (So far, I’ve done pretty well!)
Once we boarded the plane--only about 30 minutes behind schedule, which I didn’t think was very bad--the seat next to me was empty and the seat next to it was occupied by a young twenty-something woman named Courtney who was on her way to England to play Playstation 3 with an online friend she’d never met before. She had just come from some major gaming convention. She freely admitted that she was traveling from Los Angeles to Manchester “just to play video games on someone else’s couch.” I hoped, silently, that she’d get more out of the experience than that.
The flight was largely uneventful until we started our descent into Manchester. At this point we hit some major turbulence, more than I’d ever experienced in a plane before. I can’t estimate drops and jolts, but it was very similar to riding a roller coaster--except, of course, with no rails beneath us.
And then it happened. Again.
In the middle of my day, someone asks me to help them. A young-ish mother and her two children were in the row in front of the row I shared with Courtney. She put her right hand on the seat in front of hers, to stabilize herself (I thought) and then she put her left hand behind her, into our row, also I thought as for stability. And then she looked me in the eye, and said the in the most polite British accent flavored with panic, “Would you mind holding my hand?” I could feel a warm smile come to my face and I took her hand. “Of course I’d be glad to.”
So here I was, holding the hand of this stranger, during a very turbulent descent, and I felt wonderful.
Connectivity is a major theme in my spiritual path. We are each looking for ways to feel connected to each other in our increasingly busy lives. I lead as busy a life as almost anybody, I’m sure, and there are plenty of times when I feel utterly alone, even in the middle of a city of six million people, like Chicago.
Why do we wait until crisis comes to reach out? Is it because at that moment our twin fears of vulnerability and rejection are finally outweighed by our need to know we are not alone?
We are not alone. We are tied, for better or worse, to our families, our neighborhoods, our places of work and study. We need only to find the connections that are healthy, joyful, and growth inspiring, to make our lives wealthy with living.
Find those people, forge those connections with them, and be filthy-rich beyond your wildest dreams.
Just One Key
When I started working in high school, the manager of the restaurant I worked in had a set of keys to the store. Each manager did. The key not only gave them access to the “store” but allowed them to control the cash registers.
Those keys became the symbol of power and authority for me. I saw that set of keys as some sort of affirmation of earned responsibility. Perhaps in the way many people who take up smoking see it as a “grown up” activity, I saw those keys as a trapping of adulthood. And I really wanted a set.
There are a lot of keys I’ve wanted over the years: the key to my first car, my first apartment, the key to a certain man’s heart. And yes, even work keys.
I’ve developed quite a key-ring over the years.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday I gave back the keys to my house; my congregation; my friends’ keys for when I would cat-sit (three sets); the keys to my seminary, too. I have one key left--to a seven-year old Honda Civic with 118,563 miles on it.
My life is in transition right now. I believe that everyone’s life is in transition at this very moment, but sometimes it’s more obvious than others. Like when all of your possessions fit into a car because you’ve given up everything else.
There was another time in my life when everything I owned fit into my car, and I had only one key left. It was a far less happy time. For a period of a couple of months, after my brother and I lost our apartment, we were homeless. My car became my shelter, my storage locker, my way of moving from place to place. It was a very scary time for me. With help I was able to recover from it, but it took years and years to repair my credit and has left me scarred for life.
This time, though, is much different.
For the next 24 months I will be in transition. Moving from Chicago to Dukinfield UK and then to Amarillo, Texas and then back to Chicago, with a potential summer 2010 in Germany.
Whereas before I looked at my single key as a symbol of powerlessness, this time my single key is empowering.
I have chosen to have only one key this time. I have leapt full-force into the future, with few guarantees. It’s different this time because I have faith and a goal, and faith in my goal.
Those keys became the symbol of power and authority for me. I saw that set of keys as some sort of affirmation of earned responsibility. Perhaps in the way many people who take up smoking see it as a “grown up” activity, I saw those keys as a trapping of adulthood. And I really wanted a set.
There are a lot of keys I’ve wanted over the years: the key to my first car, my first apartment, the key to a certain man’s heart. And yes, even work keys.
I’ve developed quite a key-ring over the years.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday I gave back the keys to my house; my congregation; my friends’ keys for when I would cat-sit (three sets); the keys to my seminary, too. I have one key left--to a seven-year old Honda Civic with 118,563 miles on it.
My life is in transition right now. I believe that everyone’s life is in transition at this very moment, but sometimes it’s more obvious than others. Like when all of your possessions fit into a car because you’ve given up everything else.
There was another time in my life when everything I owned fit into my car, and I had only one key left. It was a far less happy time. For a period of a couple of months, after my brother and I lost our apartment, we were homeless. My car became my shelter, my storage locker, my way of moving from place to place. It was a very scary time for me. With help I was able to recover from it, but it took years and years to repair my credit and has left me scarred for life.
This time, though, is much different.
For the next 24 months I will be in transition. Moving from Chicago to Dukinfield UK and then to Amarillo, Texas and then back to Chicago, with a potential summer 2010 in Germany.
Whereas before I looked at my single key as a symbol of powerlessness, this time my single key is empowering.
I have chosen to have only one key this time. I have leapt full-force into the future, with few guarantees. It’s different this time because I have faith and a goal, and faith in my goal.
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