What does 'being Church' mean? How does that seem to #Unitarians? - Ringwood Unitarians' gathering 11 November 2022

Our gathering in November was nearly cancelled but we are glad that it went ahead despite a very low turn out.  Because this was a very important gathering, asking big and important questions about what Church means to us.  What does ‘being Church’ mean?  What does ‘Church in action’ look like?  Why do those of us who gather find it necessary to gather?  Why don’t we simply carry on with our spiritual journeys, each a pilgrim on their own?

The gathering was really an enquiry about what 'being Church' is, or could be, for Unitarians.

The memorial board for the fallen from the
previous Unitarian congregation at the Meeting House

It being Remembrance Sunday, the candle in the chalice was lit to words adapted from For the Fallen by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943).  And then, as usual, we were invited to privately take stock of the recent days and weeks and to be honest about how we well we had been living up to what is most important to us.  Later on in the gathering, after the readings and reflection on them, we lit candles to share our joys and concerns, and heard words of hope and blessing.

Our blog habitually devotes more space to the readings we hear in a gathering, and the reflection on the readings, merely because words can easily be brought across into the blog.  It is not possible to bring across into a blog the experience we have when we use prayer words together, light candles together, sit in silence together, or the feeling of singing together.  You will only truly get the flavour and feel of our gatherings by coming along to one.  So please do, when you are able.

We heard two stories made famous through the teachings of Jesus, namely “The Good Samaritan” from the book of Luke in the Christian Bible (Chapter 10 verses 30-35), and “The Prodigal Son” also from the book of Luke (chapter 15 verses 11-32).

For those unfamiliar, “The Good Samaritan” is a story in which a traveller gets mugged on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, is ignored in his danger by upstanding members of society, yet is made safe and helped to get better by someone whom Jesus’ audience would have considered outcast.  And the story of “The Prodigal Son” tells of a younger son in a family, who is granted his share of the inheritance, then leaves to go abroad and wastes it all, and eventually goes back where he came from, with his tail between his legs.  Whilst his father makes him welcome, his elder brother is very grudging and resentful. The father attempts a reconciliation between them.

Before going any further, it is necessary to make clear there are (at least) two different inferences in the word ‘Unitarian’.  To be a Unitarian can, as well as other things, mean that (1) you experience or claim or guess that the divine nature is necessarily a “one-ness”, as contrasted with the “multiplicity” of the Hindus and Pagans, or “three-ness/Trinity” as traditional Christians maintain and/or (2) no matter what you experience or claim or guess about the divine nature, you have some form of allegiance to or participation in the movement that calls itself the Unitarian Church in the UK.  The first is a statement about belief.  The second is about involvement in a group or body of people.

(library image)

Like many other religious affiliations, labels about us are messy.  People need wriggle room.  Things are not clear, even privately to each one of us, and less so when in community.

What follows are the reflections on the readings, from the person presiding on the day.

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Unitarians in the UK have a mixed lineage. The congregations we know today have varied histories and were born out of differing Christian traditions.  While it is not hard to find Unitarian people throughout recorded history, and indeed one could argue right back into the Bible, the actual Unitarian congregations we have today are reconfigured from reformed churches (for more explanation of reformed churches, see Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calvinism). 

To some now (and, I am sure, it has always been the case), what matters is the personal journey, the search for truth and the striving to live accordingly.  It is no surprise, then, that in both our readings the journey features strongly.  The road from Jericho to Jerusalem on which the journeyman was waylaid.  The road back from foreign lands to the father’s house.  The spiritual path is one that none can tread for us and one that is rarely strewn with palm leaves. 

But while each of us has a private, personal spiritual path or journey, we in Ringwood suggest that what distinguishes a Unitarian from a solitary pilgrim is someone valuing the experience of Church, of gathering, of being part of something; part of a bigger journey that gives a context for our own journey too.  

Without a coming together there would be no congregations, Unitarian or otherwise.  And that would mean there would be no place for those on their personal journeys to rest or find impetus to go further or change direction.  We who gather, often or occasionally, clearly see something of value in our congregations and in our wider movement.

In our first reading we encounter the journeyman in a bad way.  The road has been unkind; and far from making their way onwards autonomously they are in pain and in need.  We will all be in that position at some point, now and again.  Perhaps we will have seen things we cannot accept, or will have done things we cannot undo.  Perhaps we will have led astray people whom we care about; or perhaps we will have been oppressed by questions we cannot approach.  Life is tough, and our journeys through it have their dark places and blind corners, just like that road from Jericho. 

I don’t think it is by chance that the first two people who come along are church people; first, the equivalent of the Minister or Preacher, and second, the Music Organiser or Pulpit Rota Lead. These are good people, people needed in the making and sustaining of a congregation but, in this tale, they are busy on their own personal journeys.  They are visible and essential parts of a congregation, but in this story they do not demonstrate the characteristics of Church.  The story tells us they passed by on the other side.  And so we can see: we can have roles in a congregation, but yet be isolated individuals on private journeys, without being Church. The first reading, and my own heart, suggest this is not enough.

The third person comes along, and you need to picture this person as someone in your congregation who outwardly values very different things in congregation from what you value.  If you like silence, they’ll be the one who wants to discuss everything.  If you like energetic interactive gatherings, they’ll be the one who wants to stick to a sermon and song.  Whichever hymn book you like, they’ll love the other one.  You often find yourself wondering why you and they are in the same congregation at all.

This is also the person who doesn’t pass by on the other side. 

This is the person who puts you onto their own horse or donkey, the person who is aligned with you enough, who cares enough, to share with you what has helped them along the way. 

This is the person who takes the time to pay attention to your hurt and to do what they can to help you heal.

And this is the person, whose support of the wider congregation firstly allows you the space and time you need to heal, and which secondly allows you both to continue on your personal journeys at your own pace and in your own ways.

Our first reading doesn’t denigrate the vital structural roles and responsibilities in our congregations, but it does suggest to us what Church looks like in action.

In the second reading I see a suggestion for why we come together, not just what coming together could look like. 

I was wary of this second reading.  For myself, it is one that comes with weighty layers of imposed meaning, and that might be the same for some others too.  Bear with me.

I remember discussing this reading with some young monks many years ago.  One of them heatedly, and bravely, confessed that he understood the grudging resentment of the elder brother.  That he, too, sometimes felt frustration and injustice that others could come along and enjoy all the good bits of congregational life, whilst not putting in all the hard work and sacrifice that he had. 

It would be easy here to look, once again, at those with clear roles in a congregation  — or even those who just turned up gathering after gathering — and say that doing those things alone isn’t enough to make a Church.  There is no congregation without these people and, like for that young monk, the frustration of the elder son is always a risk on their personal journeys.  But that is not what I take from this second reading.

It is not what divides the older and the younger son that interests me.  It is the words of the father who would bring them together:

‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.  But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’

What can unite us, what has the prospect of bringing us together, is celebration; celebration of rising again every time we fall; celebration of finding a new way every time we hit a dead end. 

We come together to celebrate our personal journeys, united in hope for our way ahead.

I value the personal journey.

I value the camaraderie of the road.

I value those who give their time, their labour, and their resources to provide a place to rest and heal.

And I value the celebration of all of that.  I value the gathering together to sing into the darkness, to set lights ablaze and tell our tales of hope that we might make them true.

Is this what Church is for Unitarians?  I do not know for certain, but I hope there is something in this that you can value too.

A mixed group of Unitarians, some years ago.