May 6, 2001

  Well, I’m back. The last time I was standing here giving a testimony was about three years ago. I was then still a relatively new member at First, and had just begun my theological studies at Emmanuel. I talked about what had brought me to Unitarian Universalism and about my experiences as a Zen practitioner. A lot has happened since then. For one thing, I left the congregation. And now – officially as of April 1 – I’m back. So what changed? In all honesty, I’m not sure. But I think that fundamentally it’s about me – finding me, letting go and then, coming back home.

            One of the major gifts of theological education, I think, is that it helps to strip away pretenses. My pastoral experience especially – which I did in both prisons and hospitals – challenged me to discover my own authenticity so that I could be truly present to others. Letting go of the masks is painful work. My first ministry experience was in prison – the perfect place to lose your ego quickly. People who have learned to survive on the streets develop intuitive skills that rivals any psychologist’s. They know when you’re being real. And they’re not afraid to call your bluff. One of the inmates I was counseling once said to me “You don’t really like me do you?”. That stopped me in my tracks. The truth was, I really didn’t like him all that much. He made me feel powerless and manipulated. I felt he lacked remorse and that that he refused to take responsibility for his actions. I realized that I   judged him in the same way I judge myself. And how can you have an authentic relationship with someone you don’t really like? I stopped working with this person for awhile, and did some work on looking at myself instead. I learned that what you can’t perceive in yourself prevents you from accepting in the other. Healthy relationships come from empathy – allowing yourself to see and be seen. This inmate, and many others, helped show me my own limitations. Faking it to make it doesn’t cut the grade for authentic ministry.

            Throughout my studies I struggled with where I belonged spiritually. I had already been a Zen practitioner for several years and I felt that Buddhist practice was the foundation of my own spiritual path. Functioning in a Christian school was a challenge. Feeling like an outsider – a familiar place for me – raised all sorts of insecurities. Often, I resorted to a familiar coping strategy – invisibility. But being a stranger in a not entirely foreign land offered some wonderful gifts. Wanting to make the most of my experience, and believing that I was where I should be, I attempted to stay open – to be willing to hear, see, and feel new understandings of what faith and spirituality could be. It was impossible for me to really engage with this experience by staying at a distance. If I merely peeked over at the other through my own existing lens, then I would be going through the motions with very little of me in the picture. Empathy means to walk in the shoes of the other. So this is where I started. I tried to walk with my Christian friends through their struggles to find the presence of God in a world gone awry. I opened myself to liberation theology, feminist theology, and the theology of a suffering God. I joined ecumenical social justice groups, worked in the out –of-the-cold program and participated in a multifaith community support group for ex-offenders. I learned to love and appreciate the common struggles I share with my Christian peers, and discovered the tremendous diversity in what I had once perceived as a monolithic movement.    I came to heal and understand my own Christian past and felt freed to move forward to discover my own truth that held a piece of this fabric.

Throughout this time, I continued with my Zen Buddhist practice. This is my path, and I feel called to walk it with some impunity. I began to train as a Zen Buddhist priest at a Korean temple. I entered into this world too, as fully as I could, trying to leave religious comparisons and my western cultural overlay at the temple door. I struggled to surrender to one path – to allow myself to be immersed and committed. I considered celibacy, renunciation, and poverty as viable alternatives for my future. There is so much I love about Buddhism – the emphasis on practice over creeds, the focus on surrender and humility, the simplicity and wisdom of the texts. Even the rigors of Zen practice appeal to my practical nature. And I especially loved my community – what we call sangha – a group of thoughtful, kindhearted people committed to living a life of sincere spiritual practice. But, again, I started to question the fit. I don’t believe that the temple or church serves us best if we see it as an escape from the world. Our spiritual practice is intended to prepare us to enter into our life - and passions - more fully. To feel whole, I can’t set aside my western cultural context, or my solidarity with marginalized people, or my role as a mother. To deny, or turn away, form any part of myself is an antithesis to what I perceive as the central tenet of Buddhism –be ye lamps unto yourself. Or as Jesus said, “Don’t hide your light behind a bushel”. Be who you are, fully. Don’t appropriate, assimilate or imitate – look for a way to discover and live your own truth.

            So, that brings me back here. To Unitarian Universalism. Two years ago I went to talk to Mark about my involvement at First. On paper, I was still a member. But I had little direct involvement in the congregation at the time. I was busy with my studies and my explorations in other communities. I was disillusioned with some of my early experiences here at the congregation.   Working in the office had been a difficult time, reminding me of how fallible we humans are regardless of the loftiness of the institution.   I struggled with issues around class and race, and found it difficult to feel at home in the middle-class ethos of the denomination. I had come here looking for nurturance and acceptance, and was unprepared for the time required to build the support I needed. But, I also felt deeply drawn to Unitarian Universalism. The philosophical openness, the willingness to take risks on controversial issues, the intelligent approach to an inclusive spirituality. And again, I loved the community. Even though I found it hard to feel that   I belonged here, there were many individuals that I had connected with and cared about – office volunteers, members of my “writing your spiritual autobiography class” and both of the ministers who seemed to be so good at holding me gently with an open hand. When I went to have that meeting with Mark, I was feeling torn. I didn’t feel that I could really be here right now, but I was feeling guilty about not meeting   my own expectations and sad about losing a community that had become an important part of my life. His advice was wise and generous. Cancel your membership. Free yourself from any sense of responsibility or expectation. Then return to us on your own terms, in your own way, by choice rather than obligation. Simple but profound advice that I have since passed on to others in similar dilemmas.

By helping me to let go of the attachment to who I thought I should be and what I saw my role as, I was freed to explore and discover authenticity.   By encouraging me to go out and find my own truth and discover the sense of belonging that comes from within, I could come home to First feeling that I was bringing my own piece of the fabric to add to the tapestry. I realize that I love this community and that I can belong here. But I also recognize that I am as unique as each of you sitting out there. What I bring here, I bring to share and learn with other individuals. I am not looking for a new identity or a collective personality. I am interested in sincere and honest relationships. Sometimes these are challenging. Occasionally disappointing. But often, satisfying and fulfilling. I am looking for a loosely-knit community of people that will try to empathize and see the self in the other. A place and mindset that encourages all of us to gently hold each other with an open hand.

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