Stories and metaphor are essential to any religious language, but perhaps even more so to Unitarian Universalists who are not bound by creed. Stories give us an opportunity to speak about larger things, using a broader vocabulary than we might in our every day conversations.

Religious educator Rev. Sophia Lyon Fahs (1876-1978) understood this importance, particularly in the realm of teaching children about religion. In this introduction to her Beginnings of Earth and Sky: Stories Old and New, she talks about the very evolution of stories of creation, and the human desire to explain the world around us.

Around Campfires

by Sophia Lyon Fahs

Long, long ago around a campfire in the evening twilight, a tribe of shepherds sat talking. They looked out across the valley — and over the hills — at the changing colors of the sky — rose and orange beams spreading overhead — pink, fleecy clouds floating among them — golden light coming from beyond out of the nowhere — or was it out of the everywhere?

There was too much greatness all around for anyone to speak. These shepherds of old felt themselves a part of something very large and high and wonderful.

At last someone asked, “From where has this great beauty come?”

Then another asked, “And how did it all begin at the very beginning?”

(Read on … )

Part of the depth of a Unitarian Universalist faith is our reliance on covenant, rather than creed. As Rev. Melissa Ziemer-Carvill points out in this sermon delivered at the First Unitarian Church of Rochester, New York on August 14, 2003 when she served as their summer minister, a covenant is more than a promise, but a relationship between ourselves and each other, and the holy, that not only calls us to our higher purpose but also offers forgiveness when we fall short.

Rev. Ziemer-Carvill now serves the Unitarian Universalist Church in Kent, Ohio.

On Not Throwing Anything Away

by Rev. Melissa Ziemer-Carvill

Here’s a little quiz. The words to our opening hymn, Come, Come Whoever You Are, are from a poem by the 13th century Sufi mystic Jelalludin Rumi. There are many adaptations of the poem, but most of them include a line omitted from our hymnal. See if you can pick it out.

“Come, come, whoever you are Wanderer, Worshiper, Lover of Leaving, Ours is no caravan of despair Though you have broken your vows a thousand times… Come, yet again, Come.”

Did you catch it? Though you have broken your vows a thousand times . . . We leave that one out, but I think it is such an important line. We need to know that we are not the only ones who break our vows. We need to know that imperfection is part of the human condition, that we can fail again and again and still, we are welcome.

(Read on … )

For many Unitarian Universalist congregations, the time of “In-Gathering,” or the first Sunday of the regular church year, is fast approaching. For many, this is a time of re-commitment to their faith community, of “getting back into the swing of things” and reconnections. Many congregations will begin their year with new faces in their pulpits, an added service, or other changes to the way they do things.

Rev. A. Powell Davies (1902-1957) preached the sermon from which this excerpt is taken on September 10, 1944. Even ninety-four years later, his message rings true. Why do we go to church? Because we can be more together than we are by ourselves.

from “On Going to Church”

by Rev. A. Powell Davies (1902-1957)

Let me tell you why I come to church.

I come to church—and would whether I was a preacher or not—because I fall below my own standards and need to be constantly brought back to them. It is not enough that I should think about the world and its problems at the level of a newspaper report or a magazine discussion. It could too soon become too low a level. I must have my conscience sharpened—sharpened until it goads me to the most thorough and responsible thinking of which I am capable. I must feel again the love I owe my fellow men (and women). I must not only hear about it but feel it. In church, I do.

I need to be reminded that there are things I must do in the world—unselfish things, things undertaken at the level of idealism. Workaday enthusiasms are not enough. They wear out too soon. I want to experience human nature at its best—and be reminded of its highest possibilities, and this happens to me in church. It may seem as though the same things could be found in solitude, but it does not easily happen so.

In a congregation we share each other’s spiritual needs and reinforce each other. In some ways, the soul is never lonelier than in a church service. That is certainly true of a pulpit, for a pulpit is the most intimately lonely place in the world—yet it is a loneliness that has strength in it. Perhaps this is because the innermost solitude of the human heart is in some paradoxical way a thing that can be shared—that must be shared—if the spirit of God is to find a full entrance into it.

We meet each other as friends and neighbors anywhere and everywhere, but we seldom do so in the consciousness of our souls’ deepest yearnings. But in church we do—in a way that protects us from all that is intrusive, yet leaves us knowing that we all have the same yearning, the same spiritual loneliness, the same need of assurance and faith and hope. We are brought together at the highest level possible. We are not merely an audience, we are a congregation.

I doubt whether I could stand the thought of the cruelty and misery of the present world unless I could know, through an experience that renewed itself over and over again, that at the heart of life there is assurance, that I can hold an ultimate belief that all is well. And this happens in church.

Life must have its sacred moments and its holy places. The soul will always seek its nurture. For religious experience—which is life at its most intense, life at its best—is something we cannot do without.

Source: from “On Going to Church” by Rev. A. Powell Davies, as reprinted in Without Apology: Collected Meditations on Liberal Religion by A. Powell Davies edited by Rev. Dr. Forrest Church.

Music can be one of the most healing balms in the face of tragedy and despair. Today, I bring you two hymn texts from Singing the Living Tradition, the Unitarian Universalist hymnal, both of which were sung at this past Sunday’s rededication service at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee.

May Nothing Evil Pass This Door

words by Louis Untermeyer (1885-1977)

May nothing evil cross this door,
and may ill fortune never pry
about these windows; may the roar
and rain go by.

By faith made strong, the rafters will
withstand the battering of the storm.
This hearth, though all the world grow chill,
will keep you warm.

Peace shall walk softly through these rooms,
touching our lips with holy wine,
till every casual corner blooms
into a shrine.

With laughter drown the raucous shout,
and, though these sheltering walls are thin,
may they be strong to keep hate out
and hold love in.

Spirit of Life

words by Carolyn McDade

Spirit of Life, come unto me.
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea;
Move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Roots hold me close; wings set me free;
Spirit of Life, come to me,
Come to me.

Source: Singing the Living Tradition, hymn #1, “May Nothing Evil Cross This Door,” words by Louis Untermeyer (1885-1977); and hymn #123, “Spirit of Life,” words by Carolyn McDade.

Please forgive me for my seeming indulgence today, but this is something I wrote this past Sunday that seemed to come through me rather than from me, and I want more people to read it.

Living What We Profess

by Jess Cullinan

This very morning, a week after terrible tragedy took two of their number and terrorized the rest, the congregation of the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church has once again gathered for worship. They have rededicated their sanctuary, seeking to reclaim its peace and serenity and joy. They are holding their heads high, and their beacons of hope, and thousands upon thousands of us across the land are with them in spirit as well.

The message going around and around my head from all of this is that this world has never needed our liberal religion more than it does right now.

We are living in a time when the language of the Bible and that peace-loving carpenter’s son are being used as weapons, as bludgeons, calling for fear and shame and separation, and in a time when we need nothing more than to come together, to love one another more deeply, and to heal our world.

There are things we know as Unitarian Universalists, but we are all too quiet about them:

(Read on … )

This piece was written by Sara Robinson, a journalist and Unitarian Universalist, in response to the events in Knoxville, Tennessee this week.

You can still donate here, and attend a vigil in your area if you feel so moved.

Of Madmen and Martyrs

by Sara Robinson

We are an odd group, we Unitarians.

Conventional wisdom says that we’re soft in all the places our society values toughness. Our refusal to adhere to any dogma must mean that we’re soft in our convictions. Our reflexive open-mindedness is often derided as evidence that we’re soft in the head. Our persistent and gentle insistence on liberal values is evidence of hearts too soft to set boundaries. And all of this together leads to a public image of a mushy gathering of feckless intellectuals that somehow lacks cohesion, backbone, focus, or purpose.

You can only believe this if you don’t know either the history or the modern reality of Unitarian Universalism. The faith’s early founders, Michael Servitus and Francis David, were executed for the radical notion that belief in the Trinity — which excluded Muslims and Jews — should not be a requirement for participation in 16th century public life. Four hundred years later, in the same part of the world, other Unitarians died in concentration camps for having the courage of their humanist convictions. Viola Liuzzo, a 39-year-old mother from Michigan who was killed by the Klan in the days following the Selma march in 1965, was one of ours, too.

(Read on … )

By now, all are aware of the terrible tragedy that befell the people of the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville, Tennessee. Here is a list of resources for ways in which you can help:

• Pray.
• Donate to the Relief Fund
• Leave a message at the Supporting Our Friends in Knoxville blog
• Attend a vigil, many will be held across the country
• Send a paper crane to the children of the church:

  c/o Brian Griffin, Director of Life Span Religious Education
  TVUUC
  2931 Kingston Pike
  Knoxville, TN 37919

• Join the Facebook group, Thoughts&Prayers–Knoxville UU
• Pray.

Please comment if you have other items to add to this list.

Sometimes it is important, spiritually, to let go of our individual control. Unitarian Universalism places a great value on the individual search for truth and meaning, but also on the value of conducting that search in community. We realize that sometimes, we are weary and just need to rest.

This hymn for an Evening Service, from the 1917 Hymns of the Church: With Services and Chants, published by the Universalist Publishing House, recognizes this need. The tune, Lux Benigna, was written by the Rev. J.B. Dykes and the words by Rev. Dr. John Henry Newman.

Lux Benigna, for Evening Service

words by Rev. Dr. John Henry Newman

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene: one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path: but now,
Lead thou me on.
I loved the garish day; and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long thy power has blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone;
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

Source: Lux Benigna, tune by Rev. J.B. Dykes with words by Rev. Dr. John Henry Newman, from the 1917 Hymns of the Church: With Services and Chants, published by the Universalist Publishing House, page 7, via Google Books.

A bonus post for you today — there is a fascinating interview with author and theologian James Carse over on Salon.com, regarding his book The Religious Case Against Belief.

Here’s a brief excerpt:

From Salon.com’s interview with James Carse

I think the vast majority of people would say belief is at the very core of religion. How can you say religion does not involve belief?

It’s an odd thing. Scholars of religion are perfectly aware that belief and religion don’t perfectly overlap. It’s not that they’re completely indifferent to each other, but you can be religious without being a believer. And you can be a believer who’s not religious. Let’s say you want to know what it means to be Jewish. So you draw up a list of beliefs that you think Jews hold. You go down that list and say, “I think I believe all of these.” But does that make you a Jew? Obviously not. Being Jewish is far more and far richer than agreeing to a certain list of beliefs. Now, it is the case that Christians in particular are interested in proper belief and what they call orthodoxy. However, there’s a very uneven track of orthodoxy when you look at the history of Christianity. It’s not at all clear what exactly one should believe.

. . .

Are you religious yourself?

I would say yes, but in the sense that I am endlessly fascinated with the unknowability of what it means to be human, to exist at all. Or as Martin Heidegger asked, why is there something rather than nothing? There’s no answer to that. And yet it hovers behind all of our other answers as an enduring question. For me, it puts a kind of miraculous glow on the world and my experience of the world. So in that sense, I am religious.

What about God? If God is defined as some sort of transcendent reality, do you think God exists?

[Laughs] Frankly, no. But there are so many different conceptions of God. Take, for example, the medieval Christian, Jewish and Islamic mystics. It’s a very rich period from the 12th to the 15th centuries. They began to realize that in each of their traditions, it was impossible to say exactly who God was and what he wants and what he’s doing. In fact, human intelligence has a certain limitation that keeps it from being able to embrace the infinite or the whole. Therefore, every one of our statements about God and the universe is tinged with a degree of ignorance. I would say that I am deeply moved by the thought of an unnameable mystery. If you then ask me, exactly which mystery are you then referring to? I can’t answer. That’s as far as I can go. But it’s got its grip on me, for sure.

Source: Salon.com’s interview with James Carse, author of The Religious Case Against Belief.

Unitarian Universalism has a rich history, and many great thinkers to draw upon, both from within our tradition and outside it. In this sermon from April 6, 2008, the Rev. Dr. Jim Nelson explores several of these voices from the early parts of the 20th century and what they can tell us in today’s world, from Reinhold Niehbuhr to William Ellery Channing to Martin Luther King, Jr.

Dr. Nelson serves the Neighborhood Unitarian Universalist Church of Pasadena, California as senior minister.

The Likeness to God

by Rev. Dr. Jim Nelson

Reinhold Niehbuhr was a Methodist minister, theologian, historian and social commentator in the middle part of the 20th Century, and, in his time, one of the more influential religious thinkers in America. He wrote a number of books, and as I mentioned some weeks ago about sermon titles, Niehbuhr was good at titles.

Here are a few:

Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic [about his time as a parish minister in Detroit]
Moral Man and Immoral Society
The Nature and Destiny of Man
The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness
The Irony of American History

He was a realist and warned about the use of power and how too often power combines with arrogance and becomes dangerous. He would have much to say about our times.

(Read on … )