The #Unitarian movement - unlike other churches when it comes to the “why”

I have been reflecting on the podcast here, https://theministryofchange.org/podcast/2019/11/9/liz-slade-spirituality-community-and-collective-wellbeing    which is an interview with the Chief Officer of the UK Unitarian movement, Liz Slade.  There is a transcript of the interview available at the same link, if you prefer.

Liz speaks about some of the things that have been traditionally found within religions and Churches, things that remain essential with respect to human wellbeing but which need to be transferred out of religious formats that people are now not very interested in, and transferred into formats that  are more accessible and more meaningful today.

Yet Liz suggests that despite its limitations, the language of religion can still convey nuances that are more connective and more profound than purely civic language, or evidence-based language.  That, therefore, we should not throw the baby out with the bathwater.  Personally I would extrapolate this comment of hers from referring to the language of religion to also include some of the forms of religion.  That is because I consider that religious conversation and dialogue cannot be purely word-based; actions and silences contribute so much to human wellbeing.

But Liz’s words speak for themselves; it was a follow-on thought I had, which I wanted to write about.

Today’s Unitarian movement would, if you let it, be reasonably directive of the “what” of religion, much like other religions and Churches; but it then shifts back a gear to making suggestions, only, about the “how” of religion; and as for the “why” of religion, once one gets beyond the blindingly trite answer that it seems to people to help them in some way, the Unitarian movement begins to look distinctly evasive.  

Certainly, if you participate in dialogue in Unitarian settings you will be exposed to core or key teachings of many world religions. And thoughts from other spheres of human thought, such as the arts, philosophy, and science, are also given prominence.  But in no sense are any of these brought forward as anything other than food for thought, and vehicles for dialogue. 

I think there is much crossover between the Unitarian movement and other traditions about the “what” of religion.  I suggest that the “what” of religion that Unitarians would recognise is about ‘making change within yourself through relatedness to what lies external to yourself.’ The “what” of religion is, perhaps, swinging as a pendulum between the pole of self-examination combined with revision of intent and practice, and the pole of co-acting in the world for the betterment of the whole.  About taking responsibility not only for yourself but for what lies beyond yourself, and about being receptive to feedback of all sorts as you co-act in the world out there.  The Unitarian movement lays a heavy emphasis on co-creation, on action as well as conversation, on - as Liz Slade puts it - getting rid in oneself of any consumerist attitude one might be tempted to adopt in taking part in church activities.  Unitarians would be pretty firm that religion is not something one can do on one’s own.  Admittedly, the language around such solitary activity is not well developed; but unless something which is going on interiorly has some exterior connection, it probably isn’t of much relevance, anyway.

The “how” of religion is more nebulously dealt with.  Unitarians and their churches have evolved slowly rather than being part of disruptive change and so many of the forms that are suggested or adopted show their heritage as a continuation of practice in place for hundreds of years.  So the “how” of religion gatherings tend to adopt features such as hearing readings; singing songs; holding periods of silence; listening to an individual person’s perspective on their own researches, reflections or experiences.  There is, increasingly, recognition for the need to co-create during gatherings and for all contributions, in all manners, to be respected as essential components if a  gathering is to be worthwhile.  Nationally, there are opportunities designed to support group and individual exploration, and at the congregational level there is much encouragement to proceed with personal exploration in between gatherings, so there can be news to be shared about those explorations, when next a gathering takes place.  

But whilst regular, reflective gatherings of Unitarians are necessary if there is to be an expression of the wholeness of our humanity, such gatherings are not sufficient. There is also the need for connective co-creation over a broader front.  As in any traditional religion, there is a great emphasis towards acting together for causes that are external to the movement.  There are groupings and associations within the movement that explicitly aim at wider social justice action.  Congregations are self-governing so any social action that is agreed by that congregation can be undertaken. And the breadth of individual actions that aim beyond personal advantage are always celebrated.  The need to balance reflection and action is probably the most directive Unitarian guidance on the “how” of religion.

But the “why” is much less clear.  Ask for the nuts-and-bolts “why” of traditional religions and you may get quite concrete answers: “Because only by doing this will you break out of the unending wheel of lifetimes and find the clarity and awareness that is at the heart of the universe.”  “Because taking these actions will appease the goddesses, gods and spirits that wield control over all that happens to us.”  “Because these instructions for life have been handed down directly from God to his prophets and from them to us so it is meet for us, right for us and even incumbent upon us to follow these instructions, for the sake of God’s love, justice and mercy.”  “Because God showed his love for us by bringing into the world his son Jesus, who then has paid the price for all time of all our misdoings, and it is our duty and our joy to exercise our free will in line with God’s will.”

But there is no one, clear, articulated, root, at bottom reason that is ever given by the Unitarian movement.  That doesn’t mean that there is no “why” for Unitarians personally.  It means there is one “why” each.  And the movement as a body witnesses to the fact that there are as many motivations and root reasons for the “why” of religion as there are people to experience them.  Although other, traditional religions also recognise the multiplicity of standpoints held by their adherents, they nonetheless attempt to find a broadly acceptable formula to anchor their membership, with varying degrees of success.  But if you ask the Unitarian movement for the “why” of religion, you will probably receive a response in the form of another question: ‘well, what is the “why” for you?’

The curious consideration this may lead us to is this: would a “why” of religion be more powerful if - in a compromised and slightly diluted fashion - it were approximately held by a large number of people, sometimes feeling uncomfortable with elements of it; or if, in a 100%, unadulterated way, it cut through to the quick, to the very heart, of one single private person, driving their entire being? 

Ringwood acknowledges difficulties in the glitter of Christmas - Blue Christmas service led by #Unitarians

The idea of the Blue Christmas service is to acknowledge the darkness, and let it be dark.  We do not pretend that we can suddenly, magically, make it light. So we just let it be dark.  And see if we can sit with that, for a while.

We started by acknowledging some of the reasons for Christmas not necessarily being a fun and jolly time.  It might bring painful memories.  It might force us into situations we wouldn’t have chosen for ourselves.  Events elsewhere in our lives, to do with health, work, or relationships, might mean we are struggling.  And it’s always worse if everyone around us seems to be having a wonderfully time.

So there was a space for people to recognise what is troubling them, and to begin to let it go, before we moved onto the Christmas story.

We heard the traditional story again, but stripped of all its glitz, and re-humanised.  We started with a stripped down version of John, Chapter 1, in a translation not from traditional Church authorities, but by an independent translator, Andy Gaus, in The Unvarnished Gospels.  The story continued via two poems: Bethlehem, by Frances Thompson, and The Journey of the Magi by T.S. Eliot.  The first tells the story of the birth of Jesus from the point of view of the innkeeper’s wife.  The second tells the story of the travels of the Wise Men, in a retrospective by one of them, many years later.

We considered what Christmas might signify to people for whom Jesus is not the traditional Messiah or Saviour worshipped by other Churches.  We heard it suggested, through some words by Rowan Williams, that "perhaps it’s not guidance about how to greet everything with spiritual joy and excitement that we need.  Perhaps it’s more like guidance on how to preserve our motivation when the going gets tough and all we feel like doing is lying down and sleeping."

There were thoughts on hope, and renewal, and the divine as appearing in the innocence of every child.  In particular, in the words of Rev Cliff Reed:

“I believe that we must seek the heart of Christmas - 

its joyous love, its star-lit mystery, its peaceful

pleasures.  Find these and we find its power.

I believe this power can redeem us - open the

heart’s doors to divine innocence.”

Echoing Frances Thompson, we remembered that, whether we are feeling strong and at peace at the moment or not, it is within our power to give a blessing, in our own fashion.  And so there were prayers, including Psalm 30, and prayer poems, that made space for us to do that, as we sat together.

The readings, poems and prayers were interspersed with Christmas music not heard quite so often, and certainly not in the supermarkets: Vigilate by Byrd; God With Us Proclamation by John Tavener; Coventry Carol (a traditional carol about the slaughter of the innocents); and we also sang a very Unitarian hymn: It Came Upon the Midnight Clear https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It_Came_Upon_the_Midnight_Clear.  And not a Christmas song, but a song of hope: we finished with a Paul McCartney track, One of These Days.

Waiting through events you hadn't planned and didn't want - truth in the material - Ringwood #Unitarians in December 2019

We gathered last on 8 December.  As part of our usual practice, we enjoyed one of the Chalice Meditations by David Kent - “Do What Most Kindles Love in You”

https://www.misterdavidkent.com/the-chalice-meditations

And we sang a couple of hymns from the green hymn book, one of which is very traditional this time of year: “Joy to the World”

We shared flame, bread and water together as we made the gathered circle of those present.  And as usual, we spent seven minutes in silent meditation.

When we gather, the practice together seems the most important bit to me, though other participants may not feel that as much as I do.  But even to me, when reporting afterwards, the wordy bits assume a greater weight, because they are so much more easily transmitted.  So for your interest, here is a report of the wordy bits of the gathering.

The theme brought together some thoughts about the period of waiting that many faiths are in, during this part of the year.

And the idea that God is come to earth, is in Earth, which is the absolute hallmark of Christianity, as well as being a known idea in Earth Spirit faiths.

How do people who are not traditional Christians tune in to the idea that materiality is a source of truth, when we have set aside the doctrines taught about Jesus being God the Son?

The first reading was from The Picts and the Martyrs by Arthur Ransome, and the second from Sailing the Worldly Winds by Vajragupta.  From that book there was an anecdote about a Zen Buddhist master caught in the sort of travel delay we have all become accustomed to, and how she did not let that daily nuisance define her, or even affect her practice in any way, whereas her student who was also caught up in it, was - like most of us would be - quite bothered by it.

The Picts and the Martyrs were waiting.  They were waiting for the adventures they had planned, and had wanted.  But the whole book is about the unwanted adventures that they had to pass through: about some worrying times, before they got to do the things they wanted to.  This is a book about waiting, and dealing with mess, and learning; all while you are waiting.

Similarly the Zen Buddhist student was waiting, and worrying.  And he, too, was learning while he waited - he was learning by watching his master.

This time of year is a time of waiting.  People are waiting for a variety of events and sensations. 

Waiting for the longest night, the turning of the year, the returning of the sun.  

Waiting for the commemoration of the unluxurious birth of perhaps the most important Jewish teacher of all time; and, by extension, the commemoration of the wonder of the births of all human babies. 

Waiting to gather together with family and friends.  

Waiting for the giving and receiving of gifts.  

Waiting for a sense that we are accepted and wanted, within the web of the universe.  

Waiting for a heartfelt recollection of a sense of purpose in our lives - what we should do, in order to feel worthwhile in ourselves.  

Waiting for merriment and the jollity of - for once - acceptable excess.

It seems to be a time of waiting for something material, something in the flesh.  Something that, like the Picts and Martyrs and the Buddhist student, we did really want, while in fact other stuff we don’t want is going on all around us.

It also seems to be about a different category of stuff: stuff that we don’t do all the time, throughout the year.  These aren’t just lights on our houses - these are CHRISTMAS lights.  These aren’t just parties - these are CHRISTMAS parties.

As such, these things that we do this time of year are set apart, considered special; or to use churchy jargon, they are sacred, hallowed.

Some people are uncomfortable with the word “sacred”, but it seems to me that it is humans, and not God, that decide whether things are sacred or not.  Things that are sacred to humans can be called sacraments.  That word, “sacrament”, has different meanings depending on the church, but sacraments are generally, in some way, visible symbols of the reality of God.

I find I’m in tune with Eastern Orthodox Christianity on this point.  According to Orthodox thinking, God touches humankind through material means such as water, wine, bread, oil, incense, candles, altars, icons, etc. “Etcetera” means AND THE REST, in other words, everything.

How God does this is a mystery. On a broad level, the sacraments, aka mysteries, are an affirmation of the goodness of created matter, and are an emphatic declaration of what that matter was originally created to be. The unsullied God-given goodness of all new born children, and the hope of their continued innocence, and the slaughter of an entire generation of innocents by the corrupted fear and greed of the oh-so-human King Herod, is seen by some Unitarians as the most relevant element of the Christmas story.

The mysteries are an affirmation of the goodness of created matter.

But then, if God touches humankind through all material means, then it is not just the CHRISTMAS things and CHRISTMAS events that affirm the goodness of created matter.  ALL things and ALL events carry the same message and the same weight.  So the adventures that the Picts and Martyrs had before the start of the holidays that they really wanted, were actually just as important as the holidays they were waiting for.  The simple sitting in the sunshine on a suitcase waiting for a bus was just as important as the bus arriving and getting to the airport (late).

So, while it is entirely right and appropriate to enjoy the traditional winter festivities, once they are over we could remember that actually they are no more important than the ordinary other things we do, and we could aim to keep the same inner enjoyment going all year long.  

The purpose we seek is to live better within our own skins, by being connected with others in constructive ways.  It’s not the winter festivities which we are waiting for that will do this for us.  To live better within our own skins, we need to not be looking forward all the time.  We need to see what we are learning in every situation, as we go along.  Dorothea by necessity learned how to cook.  The Buddhist student learned to worry less, and to not even wait.

We need to be content sitting in this and other dark times of the year.  We need to look at it differently.  We need to look at where we are, differently.

We might perhaps choose to look differently at the ordinary, daily activities we get involved with.  Perhaps we could choose to see “flowers”, where once we saw “weeds”; we might see “another chance to express connectedness with someone”, where once we saw “yet another phone call to be made”; and we might be more like the Buddhist teacher sitting on her suitcase: remember - where her student was agitated, impatient, irritated and worried, the teacher was not even waiting.  She was touching the truth of the universe in the materiality of the enjoyable sunshine.