Heartbreak

Dear ones, and I mean every reader, every American, every other human. Again today our hearts break as we read the news of the little children killed in Connecticut. Again we ask ourselves what we can do to prevent this violence, to change our laws and our culture and ourselves so that children are not in danger when they go to school. Again we weep. Friends and colleagues have been posting about the need for tighter gun control, and about the very human need to hug our children, any children, hard today. Both of those needs are true for me. And true, too, is the need to weep, to keen, to lament loudly. Sometimes at a memorial service a family member will warn me they might cry, or apologize later for crying too much. I usually say the same thing in response: this is the right time to cry. This is a moment that deserves the respect of our tears. And so if you are crying today, I say thank you. Thank you for having a heart that still breaks, for recognizing in these children your own children, for seeing that we are one human family and that when tragedy hits one of us it hits each of us. I will be crying too. Don't forget--after the crying, we organize, we protest, we legislate. But first, we weep. Again, we weep.

Swimming, Piano, and Lessons of Life

As readers of this blog may remember, my older daughter recently started taking piano lessons. I wrote a few months ago about my excitement for her, and how I was trying to rein it in and allow her to have her own experience. Turns out, she loves them. She has a fabulous teacher, but she also clearly has at least some natural interest in and aptitude for music. She's doing well in the lessons (whatever "well" means for a 4 year old...she's no prodigy!) and most importantly she's having a great time. The last lessons she took were swimming lessons at our local Y. She also had great teachers, but she didn't have much interest or aptitude for swimming. And although I think it's important to learn to swim for safety reasons, we're giving her a break from that...trusting that somewhere along the line a camp counselor will get her the rest of the way from the doggie paddle to proficient. What's interesting to me as I look at her two experiences is how much differently she behaves--and, I think, feels--when she's learning about something that is the right fit for who she is. It has me thinking about all the kinds of things we try to convince ourselves to be: to be a certain kind of parent, or a particular profession, or a kind of exerciser. All the boxes we try to fit into, and then the freedom and joy we feel when we move from that box into another box, an us-sized box, one that really fits our true selves. We can become completely convinced that we're an inept exerciser, only to discover that it's just that we didn't like running, but we really rock at kick-boxing. Or think that we can't study worth a darn, until we discover a subject that we're passionate about, and suddenly we're making flashcards and absorbing material like the A student we never thought we could be. Who knows if piano will stick, or if my daughter will eventually come to love swimming. I just hope that all of us find the freedom to explore until the right box comes along.

Ally Yourself

I've been thinking a lot recently about what it means to be an ally. As a white person, a person with economic privilege, a straight person, I've often seen myself as an ally to people who experience less privilege in our culture's system. But recently an anti-racist educator challenged that idea of being an ally, suggesting that the whole concept is embedded in a system of oppression...where some have privilege and some don't, and those with privilege can be an ally. She encouraged me to think about the idea of being an anti-racist white person instead, of choosing to put forth an identity that actively works against the system of oppression. If this is all getting a little heady, let me suggest a more tangible example--a time recently when I might have been an ally, but when I felt like I was just part of a new culture. The recent election included the passage of marriage equality in Maryland, something I had worked a little on and hoped a lot for. In the days that followed, I had an interesting experience. As I spoke with friends who identified as lesbian, gay, bisexual--the people who would be potentially affected by the new law because they were now able to marry their partners, at least in one more state--I struggled with what to say. Part of me wanted to say "congratulations!" as though this was their victory. And I recognize that on some level, as a woman married to a man whose marriage has never been called into question, my friends and colleagues who are LGB or queer have a personal relationship with this law that I will never experience. But at the same time, I felt as though I wanted to say congratulations to myself, to all of Maryland, to everyone else who had worked on and hoped for this. I felt not like an ally to a group that had finally won its rights, but like a part of a new thing, a full participant in a society that was doing something right, something loving and inclusive. I think that this was a taste of what it's like to move beyond ally-dom and into anti-ism-dom, whether it's racism or heterosexism or any other kind of ism. Or maybe it's not even anti-ism-dom but inclusion-dom, or equality-dom, or whatever kind of world isn't just about fighting systems of oppression but actually imagining itself without systems of oppression. We have a long way to go, on all those isms. But I'm beginning to think that on that journey, I don't want to be just an ally...I want to be a full traveler. I would love to hear thoughts and responses to all of this, from those who resonate with the word ally, who don't think it's quite right, and everything in between!

Thank Everyone for Everything

I've been thinking about gratitude recently, about how--to paraphrase my colleague Mary Herman on Stone Soup Sunday--Thanksgiving is one of the few holidays that commercialism hasn't been able to ruin. There's something just essentially human about the impulse to be thankful, to thank each other and thank the universe and thank the spirit of love or life or God, or whatever works for us. Anne Lamott, the writer, has a new book out about prayer called "Help, Thanks, Wow" because she thinks a prayer is always one of those things, and the 13th century German theologian Meister Eckhart said, "If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is 'thank you,' that would suffice." In a humanist community, we can be a little itchy about prayer, but we're rarely itchy about saying thank you--or anyway, we certainly shouldn't be. But sometimes it's hard to think whom we are thanking, if it's not another person. There are things out there that no person gave us, but that we love and marvel at and appreciate all the same. Are we thankful to the world? To science? To evolution? Actually, I feel thankful to all of those things, or at least about them. I'm also thankful for what I call grace: for the sort of accidental, or at least serendipitous, beauty in the world. For the care and love that people show each other, and the wonder of the world, and just the way life is so nice sometimes. There was a poem by Marilyn Nelson that I came across a while back which says this better than I can. It seems a little morbid at first, and it's titled "Psalm," which you might think is another of those itchy words. But please do click on this link and read it (I don't want to paste it here for copyright reasons). And then tell me if you see the connection, too, the connection to...I'm not sure, just the luck sometimes of being alive in this world. Happy Thanksgiving.

New York: Everyone's City

My family and immediate area was lucky to escape most of Hurricane Sandy's wrath, but I've been reading about and looking at pictures from New York and New Jersey with a sense of such pain and loss. And that has me thinking about why I feel this heartache so deeply--why the images in the paper and on TV feel like the images of my town, not some place hundreds of miles away. Of course there are people I love in New York City and its surrounding suburbs, and I've visited the city enough in childhood and adulthood to know many of the streets I now see flooded and overrun with debris. But there's something more there--something that I think the country experience on 9/11, too. New York feels like our city, all of our city...or anyway it feels like my city in some way that I can't quite define but surely experience. I spoke last Sunday at our Remembrance Day platform service about places, and how they can remind us of the people we've lost. Now I'm thinking about places we've lost, and the way that we can lose places we've never even been: places that we meant to visit, or that hold a place in our own or in our culture's imagination. How many songs are about New York City, how many plays or movies are set there? Somehow we've all been to New York, whether our feet have ever touched ground or not. And then there's a piece too, I think, about the humanity there...the sheer numbers of people in New York City and its environs, the humanness in all its messy, diverse glory. We can all find ourselves in the faces of New York, if only because there are so many faces to look at. And that, too, tugs on our heartstrings. I don't have any questions today, just the musings of someone who is thinking of my human family north of here. And I bet that, whoever you are and wherever you live, you are too.

Music, Mystery, and Magic

Twice in the last couple of months I've had the experience of hearing a musician create a sound that seems...impossible. Once was at a platform service at WES, when the percussionist Tom Teasley created the most amazing melodies by--as far as I could tell--banging in random places on an overturned bowl. The other time was this past weekend at a colleague's installation ceremony, where an electric violinist used what turned out to be a looper to layer his own sounds on themselves, creating a virtual symphony all by himself. Those experiences, which at the time I just enjoyed for their beauty, got me thinking about mystery and magic more broadly. I liked learning about the looper and how the electric violinist produced those layered sounds, but in some ways it was even cooler when I didn't know how he was doing it. I feel the same way about magicians...I don't really want to learn how the trick works. I enjoy the suspension of disbelief. And how about in the world at large? Rooted in a humanistic faith, many of us value the scientific method, our ability to explore and experiment and learn about our world. Is there a place in all of that for mystery and magic? Are there some things that we don't need to, or don't want to, learn about--things that we just want to wonder at? I imagine the answer is different for each of us. I know plenty of scientists who would say understanding exactly how the universe works makes them find it even more awe-inspiring. And others who say we'll never answer every question anyway, so we can be assured that some things will be mysteries, at least during our lifetimes. For me, a little mystery and magic is a good thing. How about you?

Being...Quiet.

This past Tuesday, I finally did something I've been meaning to do for about seven years. Something I thought would really add to my spiritual journey. Something I've just got to tell you about (obviously, since it's now become a blog post). Something I might talk to you about, too, if I see you...because I really do like to talk. I went on silent retreat. Before you feel impressed with me, I should say it was only four hours of silence. Less, if you count the centering circle in the beginning and the sharing circle at the end. But it was still the longest period of time I have been intentionally, thoughtfully silent. And guess what? It was great! Part of that was the beautiful scenery, a retreat center near Gaithersburg, MD. And part of it was being intentionally quiet along with 20 or so other people, all of us with our own books or journals, our own walks or front-porch sitting, our own thoughts. Similar to meditating with a group of people, I found the energy around me palpable, and so interesting to experience. I was aware of other things, too. I'm someone who's usually on the lookout for metaphorical meaning in the world (a hazard of both my profession and my personality), but that became even more true when I was silent. Suddenly everything I saw or did took on a meaning, reminded me of whatever I was thinking about or wondering about, every question I came to ask. It's not that I thought those were messages sent from on high, but that I found a way to create meaning, to see meaning, in the everyday occurrences that life provided. Of course I was also more aware of my other senses and abilities when my mouth wasn't busy talking. I appreciated the wind more, the flowers. I was able to notice more deeply than usual. Have you tried being intentionally silent for a while? Perhaps much, much longer than I have! What was your experience like? Or--what else brings you that kind of experience in life?

Whose City Is This? Wait...Which City Is This?

I've been thinking even more than usual about DC recently, since the last week has had a lot of Washington Interfaith Network events for me. I've been to a meeting with the chancellor of DC schools, a clergy breakfast to talk about education in Ward 4, a strategy team meeting for city-wide action, and this morning a neighborhood canvassing walk to sign up "WIN voters"--basically, people who agree with WIN's platform of affordable housing, jobs, and education and who are willing to learn more. Anyway, all those conversations with clergy in the city and neighbors and lay members of congregations, combined with all the driving around DC for these various meetings (which were in NE, SE, and NW) has me wondering which city DC really is. Is it the seat of national power, the marble and guards and power deals? Is it the Petworth row houses where I was this morning, the mix of longtime residents and new folks? Is it Ward 2, where they want more trash clean-up on the streets, or Ward 8, where they just want jobs, jobs, jobs? DC is even more complicated than most cities, I think, because it's the nation's capital as well as being a city made up of pretty distinct neighborhoods, even villages. What I've been struck with is how much I've learned just from the conversations I've had in the last few days, through a cracked-open door or across a boardroom table. And how these seemingly different cities can come together around some core issues. DC politics can be disheartening and frustrating--maybe because it's all tied up in national politics (and that dependence is a whole other post about autonomy and voting representation). But today, after two hours walking the neighborhoods and asking people what they care about, I'm feeling more hopeful than usual about our ability to create a new political will, a will of the people. If you want to sign up as a WIN voter, go to their website. And let me know if you did, so WES can get credit! We've committed to signing up 500 voters, and my great experience this morning has me thinking we might just be able to do it.

Let Us Text Together

Here's another article from that same alert reader who sent me the generations piece--about what one synagogue did to reach out to a younger generation. Basically, this "experience" (specifically not called a service) invited participants to live text throughout the time, and those texts were shared anonymously on a big screen at the front of the sanctuary. People shared prayers, hopes, regrets, wishes, and the occasional joke. Is this what the future holds? Do we want it to? Reading this article, I felt pulled in two directions--directions that often pull at me, actually. One is to be a religious community that engages with people in whatever way they want to and are equipped to engage. In this case, that means social media and texting and the culture of immediate and constant public disclosure. For the people in this experience, the chance to engage that way seems to have been meaningful. They were able to connect, and they hadn't been able to connect in more traditional ways. On the other hand, I'm drawn to the idea that this immediate media culture isn't necessarily the healthiest way to live a life--and that part of the role of a religious community is to offer an alternative. Can texting really be meditative? Isn't part of why you come to a platform service, or a church service, or a synagogue service that you get to take a break from all of that? I don't have answers here. Most religious congregations, I think, choose a middle ground: they have a Facebook page but they tell you to turn off your cell phone when service starts. What do you think? Is the most important thing to reach people wherever they are? Or do we need to invite people in and offer them a different way to be?

Generationally Challenged

This blog post won’t make sense without this op-ed, so read it first! First, don’t blame me—this article was sent to me by a WES member who is (I believe) an official baby boomer. I’m either a young Gen X or an old Gen Y, I never can tell. I’ve never been that tied into generational differences, partly because I usually feel a bit like a generational misfit, and partly because my vocation is one that calls me to be in, and build, relationships that cross generations. But still, I find the author’s thoughts interesting, particularly as they relate to religious communities. Congregations can get stuck in all kinds of ways, and can find different dividing lines: the kind of music they like, when they want to meet, which social justice cause they should take on. It makes sense that they might get divided generationally, too, and as a younger person I can resonate with the author’s charge that mainline Protestant denominations not only skew older, they seem older. Many of the forms, styles, and culture come from an earlier generation. What about in a community like the Washington Ethical Society, though? We’re a non-traditional religious community…does that mean we also avoid traditional generational divisions? We do have lots of members from the baby boomer generation, many of whom joined as a cohort when their kids were young. What would it look like if, as the author suggests, the baby boomer group specifically stepped aside? Do they need to? A different way of looking at the question might be to try a thought experiment: what would WES look like if we had a younger generation in mind? What do Gen Xers and Gen Yers and Millenials look for in a community? Would Sunday morning change? The music, or the platform address, or the meditation—or all of the above? Would our communication style change—would we text our members or use Facebook more? I don’t know the answers to these questions, even though I fit in that generation myself. And that may be part of the answer…we aren’t defined by any one aspect of our identity, and that includes our generational placement. But I’m curious about your thoughts on the article and the questions they raise.

Doesn't Everyone Love Piano?

My older daughter is starting piano lessons this Sunday, and I'm so excited. She's always loved music, and I think she'll have a wonderful time expanding her piano knowledge from Hot Cross Buns. Part of the reason I'm so excited, though, is that I'm acutely aware of how important piano has been in my life. Music and theater shaped my childhood in a way nothing else (save my parents, of course) did, and I still can't imagine living in a home without a piano. When I first moved to DC after college, my fingers got itchy and I rented a piano to have in my little basement apartment. So it's with all of that history that I look forward to my daughter's lessons. You can imagine, then, that even as I hold this excitement I am also trying very hard to hold non-attachment to outcome, to hold the willingness to see how my daughter's interaction with piano unfolds...and to remember that her experience may be different than mine. She might hate the piano! She might be terrible at it! She might turn into a fabulous lacross player instead! My job, as a parent, is to allow that to happen and to keep my own self out if it as much as possible. And really, isn't that our job as people? It's so easy to fall into the trap of thinking that what's right for you is right for someone you love, or for the person down the street, or for anyone else you might come across. When what we should be doing is opening our hearts to whatever is right for that person, whether or not it feels right to us. I don't mean moral relativism here--I'm not talking about right ethical choices--I mean good life relativism, or something like that. I mean respecting the uniqueness of an individual, even when it challenges our own notions of what a life or a love "ought" to look like. I can't lie. I still really, really hope my daughter loves the piano. But part of my own spiritual practice will be listening to her more than to me.

Book Review: "Death With Interruptions" by Jose Saramago

This is one of my favorite kinds of books--a novel with deep philosophical ideas within it. It's written, though, in a style I haven't encountered before: almost stream of consciousness, but like a report, telling the reader what has happened. And what has happened is that death stopped coming to one particular country. No one dies, but no one really gets well either; they just teeter on the brink of death, unable to make that final passage. The results of life without death are funny, sad, practically challenging, and ultimately tied up in how society handles almost anything. There's plenty of commentary about governmental control, organized crime, and the Church (there's just one, monolithic church in the book's world). But for me the most interesting thing to consider in this novel is the idea of immortality. Actually, the book was recommended to me by a WES member after I gave a platform about (im)mortality almost a year ago. "Death With Interruptions" certainly confirmed my belief that immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be. Toward the end of the novel, too, there is a beautiful look at love and how death and loss interact with love. I recommend it, both for the themes it explores and for the artistry found in the unique voice the author uses.

Book Review: "Religion for Atheists" Alain de Botton

This book is one that's gotten a fair amount of buzz in humanist circles, and I enjoyed Alain de Botton's TED talk on the same subject...so I gave the book a go. For the most part, I like it. It's an easy read, very accessible, and de Botton approaches the topic with some humor. As usual with books written from an atheist viewpoint, there were some references to traditional religion that I found derogatory (mostly about services being boring)--I just think there's no place for that. And again as usual, I thought de Botton's formulation of God was very narrow: if I defined God as he does, I'd consider myself an atheist too, but I don't define God that way, and atheist isn't a label that's ever fit for me. But the "new thing" about de Botton's book is refreshing among atheist books, which is the idea that even when we don't believe in God we might not want to throw out religion all together--that there's something powerful, positive, and necessary about religious experience. Of course this is a bit of a duh for me. I've spent my whole life as part of and serving religious communities that welcome people with all kinds of belief, including what they might call no belief (I always think we believe in something, but that's another topic). So I do get a little frustrated when authors say, essentially, "Gosh! Someone should invent a religion for people who don't believe what traditional religions believe!" Um, right. Someone did. A few, actually. Author, meet Unitarian Universalism, Ethical Culture, Humanistic Judaism, and many sects of Buddhism. What I thought was more interesting about de Botton's book was exactly what he thought atheists might be missing from religion. The usual suspects of celebration, care during times of grief, mindfulness were all there. But de Botton also highlighted the need for a human understanding of our own failure, acknowledging the sense of desperation we sometimes feel, finding a place where we can really admit our deep sorrows and our darkness. These are aspects of the religious life that I think progressive religious traditions--or at least Unitarian Universalism and Ethical Culture, the two with which I'm most familiar--have sometimes neglected in our eagerness to honor the worth and potential goodness in each person. Our bent toward optimism about the human spirit can blind us to the very real experiences of sorrow, sin, and despair. That's my takeaway. Have you read the book? I'd love to hear how it resonated, or didn't, for you!

Read, Read, Read...Think

I'm back from the first of two weeks of study leave I'll take this summer, and my mind is swirling with everything I've read. It's always amazing to me that when I am able to take a break from the pace of email and the space of the office I really do think differently. Each year, I'm surprised how many of my platform topic ideas come from that week or two of study leave...even when the topics themselves seem to be totally unrelated to the books I've read! I did read some books this time, though, and I'll be posting reviews of each of them here over the next couple days. And I welcome recommendations for other books! I do get to them eventually (one of the books I'll review, "Death With Interruptions" was loaned to me almost a year ago by a WES member). Right now, I'm just aware of the different kinds of thinking that we're all capable of, and what a luxury it is to expand my mind into the less-usual kind of thinking when I'm able.

Taking Off My Make-up

I'm preparing to leave on a week's vacation tomorrow--a yearly camping trip with extended family. I'm looking forward to exploring part of the country I haven't seen before, and of course to reconnecting with far-flung cousins and with my own husband and children! But you know what I'm looking forward to most? Not wearing make-up. I don't wear a lot of make-up. And what I do wear is almost indistinguishable from my natural coloring; it makes one wonder why I spend money on it anyway. The answer is the same reason that I'm glad to have a break from it: make-up makes me feel put-together, professional, ready for my role in the world. It makes me think a bit about my colleague Mary Herman's reflection on the masks we wear at last Sunday's platform service, although in this case I think the mask can be a positive one. Or maybe it's less a mask than a marker, to ourselves most importantly, that we are engaged in the world in a particular way. But any engagement needs breaks, and so taking off my make-up signals to me that I'm engaging with the world in a different way, that I don't need to look "presentable" or prepared. (This isn't a comment, by the way, on whether or not any of us really need to wear make-up to look anything...just a reflection on my own practice). So I'm looking forward to my week without make-up, my week of different engagement in the world. And whatever your "make-up" is, I hope you get a break from it now and then, if only so you can return refreshed, pores clean and open, ready to take on the world once again.

Busy, Busy, Busy

In case you haven't been following our daily updates on our homepage, the Washington Ethical Society finally has internet back. We were out for more than a week, and we'll probably never get most of the emails that were sent during that time. All those emails, lost. All that busyness, gone for ever. I may discover that I am wrong, but right now I am thinking that missing a week of email might be kind of great. I may be influenced by the recent New York Times article that praises, basically, the virtue of idleness. Or rather, bemoans the American obsession with always being busy, with creating busyness in our lives as though it's some kind of badge of honor. I feel this most acutely as a minister, as a religious leader. On the one hand I have a role as a kind of executive, running an organization with a staff, a budget, a Board, and all the expectations that go with it. On the other hand, my deeper calling is to teach and preach and model a life that goes against those expectations, to convince people that a well-lived life is about listening deeply, connecting in real time, creating space to notice the amazing world around us. Which of those two functions wins on any given day? What do I do to allow each function to flourish? I'm not suggesting that I'm going to ditch the budget and stare at the clouds all day. But if the server goes down every now and then...well, maybe that's not the worst thing in the world.

Ripping Out Perfectly Good Flowers

I spent some of today gardening, and for the first time I ripped out a perfectly nice flowering bush, one which I chose and purchased and planted just a few years ago. And it felt great. It made me think of ripping out knitting--not just a few stitches or rows because you've made a mistake, but ripping out entire garments, well on their way to completion. I've done that a few times, and it felt great. And I've wondered why it feels so good, much better than correcting a little mistake and even better than pulling out weeds, which never belonged there in the first place. Today, I think I had a realization: it feels good because it's hard won, because getting to the decision to pull out something we planted, or knitted, or chose in life takes a lot of thought and care. I'm not one for ripping things out willy nilly: I place a very high value on fidelity and staying the course. But sometimes we realize that the plant that looked so pretty in the pot at Home Depot really is three feet tall and the leaves are sticky and it smells weird and the flowers only appear briefly and we don't even like that color blue. And at those times, realizing that we made a mistake in Home Depot--and that we have the power to correct that mistake now--can be pretty liberating. I do *not* wish you fun times pulling and ripping things out, whether in gardening, knitting , or life. A beautifully completed sweater or a plant that flowers in a blue we do like is still the better prize. But when you do have to rip things out, I hope you know that realizing a mistake is a kind of wisdom, too.

The Week of One Thing

I've been meaning to do this for a while--but I just keep avoiding it. Which (sigh) means I really probably ought to. This is the week of one thing. Or actually, it's going to be the four days of one thing, because I'm too chicken to try a week. What do I mean? Well, I'm an excellent multi-tasker. Give me a minute, and I'll check my email, look at my texts, flip through a magazine, and have a meaningful and caring conversation with my four year old. Except, of course, for that last one, which isn't really possible if you're doing the first three. So for the next four days I'm trying to leave all the multi-tasking behind. That means no flipping back and forth between two things, no scanning the web while I'm on the phone, and no glancing at my phone while I'm stopped at a red light. (That last one is really dangerous, by the way--another good reason to stop). I'm going to try for mindfulness, at least for four days. Will I get everything on my to-do list finally done? Will I get nothing done? I'll keep you updated.

It Takes a Village to Raise a Marriage

Today is my sixth anniversary, and I've been reflecting on what had made it work for us so far. When I officiate at weddings, I often invite the gathered community to offer a congregational blessing or affirmation--to make their own vow, essentially, to support and care for the couple and this new thing, a marriage, that they are creating together. That blessing isn't just a set of pretty words. It's my way of telling the family and friends that they really do have a role to play, and one that doesn't end when the rice is thrown (or in these days of wisdom about hurting birds' tummies, when the bubbles are blown). A couple's community can be so important to the success of their marriage. That's certainly been true in my own life. Our marriage has been strengthened by the date nights we get because people care for our children; by the anniversary cards our parents send us each year reminding us that a year of marriage is worth noting and celebrating; by the talks with friends who listen to our gripes but don't let us sink into them; by the example of relationships we admire and try to emulate. We have felt surrounded by a community rooting for our marriage. I wish we had congregational blessings for everything in life--that we always felt a community around us, saying, "Yes, you are doing a great job working, keep at it!" or "Wow! I see that you are keeping your house up well, and I want to celebrate that you have been doing that for years now." I wish that everyone got anniversary cards, married or not, to honor the years that any human being spends trying to live well and love well. But today I am especially grateful for the community that has supported our marriage. If you have ever been at someone's wedding, remember this: you were part of the creation of something special, something that was chosen and that takes care to maintain. Your witness to that makes you part of the ongoing story of that love, no matter what journey it takes. Care for each other.

Living in the Moment Which Will Pass

In parenting, I often find that I get myself all wrapped up in a problem--trouble sleeping, or behavior challenges, or a refusal to eat anything that isn't beige--only to find that, while I was busy researching solutions and consulting advice manuals and polling my friends, the problem went away. Actually, lots of life is like that for me. I have to constantly remind myself that "this too shall pass," that the challenge or worry that seems so present right now will eventually be a memory. It helps me to keep things in perspective, and really that's a key part of any spiritual life: knowing that the problem of today is not the sum of our existence. But I've been thinking recently about how to reconcile that with another key aspect of a spiritual life: living in the moment. Are they contradictory? Can we be fully present in the moment and, at the same time, hold in our awareness that the moment will pass? I often think life is about tensions and balance, about noticing the reality that almost everything is held in tension, in some kind of gray space between the black and white that we like to pretend make up the world. And this is no different, I guess. All we have is our current awareness, and that awareness will change in an instant. Somehow it's related for me to a breathing exercise I learned recently, that's intended for people experiencing pain. Breathing in, you say "I feel my pain." Breathing out, you say "I am not my pain." It's an acknowledgement of the very real experience of the present moment, not trying to pretend it away or ignore it...and then an acknowledgement that the present moment is not the totality of existence. I wonder how that breathing exercise would work with other things. "I experience my child's aversion to vegetables. My child is not her aversion to vegetables." What has worked for you, to be present and to acknowledge the very transitory nature of life?

What's In a Name?

Have you ever had the experience of being part of a community and not knowing anyone's name? This doesn't happen to me much at WES, where it's part of my job to know people's names, but it's the worst at my older daughter's preschool. I know the names of the children in her class, but I just can't seem to retain the names of their parents. It can make for an awkward interaction at the drop-off time. Luckily I have my daughter. She knows everyone's name, and she makes a point of using their names every time. She's been that way since she was little, wanting to know everyone's name--including both parents. And when she draws a picture for us, she never writes "mommy" or "daddy" on it, but instead "Amanda" or "Peter." There's something she recognizes about the importance of your own name. It has me thinking about our names more broadly: how we are called and the importance of being called by our names. And also about how our names change over our lives, the nicknames we choose for ourselves (or have chosen for us), the ones we hang onto and the ones we discard, the names we are called only by certain people and the names we offer to anyone. In science fiction and fantasy books, being called by your "true name" sometimes unlocks special powers...and in many cultures, your name indicates your relationships, your status, your profession. What's in a name? What does your name mean to you?

Soul-ful and Spirit-filled

Last night at the Humanist Spirituality class I'm teaching we talked, at the very end, about the difference between spirit and soul--and which word tended to be more appealing to humanists. We wondered together if soul implied immortality, and thought that maybe for that reason humanists tended toward spirit instead. Of course this got me curious about the whole thing. I know Felix Adler, the founder of Ethical Culture, used the word "soul" because there's a phrase of his that I love: that our movement exists to "save our souls alive." It's a humanist understanding of salvation, really, that it's how our souls fare in this moment and this world that matters right now. Wikipedia doesn't clear things up much--it says soul is synonymous with spirit. And while it's true that we may be splitting hairs, it's exactly the semantic difference that we were interested in. So then I happened upon an excerpt from the magazine Poetry, handed along to me from a member of WES (thanks, Marty!). It was perfect, because the class last night focused on text as a pathway to spirituality, and specifically talked about the deep resonance we often find in poetry. I like what the author of this piece, Sven Birkerts, said so much that I'll just quote it here. Food for thought! "What is clear to me right off is that there is no going forward if the word 'soul' cannot be used. I see no point in talking about poetry in any deeper way without that access. At the same time, I know that there is no faster way to get cashiered out as the worst sort of throwback than by saying 'soul' with a straight face...I should define the word, make clear how I mean it. To speak of soul is not, for me, to speak about religion...Soul, for me, is prior to religion...I think of it as the active inner part of the self, the part that is not shaped by contingencies, that stands free; the part of the 'I' that recognizes the absurd fact of its being; that is not in any sense immortal, but that recognizes the concept of immortality and understands the desire it expresses; that is the desire. Soul, considered in this way, is a quality that can be recognized in expressions of language, even though it cannot be explained or accounted for. That it can be recognized confirms that language can express it. Does rarely, but can. And the expressions most kindred most likely--thought still very rare--are poems. This is because poems are written out of a double intent: to give voice to the most urgent and elusive inner states, and to use language with the greatest compression ad intensity. The most lasting poetry--speaking historically--is the poetry that has given some expression to the poet's soul, that part of him- or herself that connects most deeply and exactly with the souls of others." Yes! And if you like thinking about this stuff, please do join us for the second class, Tuesday May 8 at 7:30pm. Next time, we're talking about--and experiencing--silence.

Religion for Dummies (Or Rather, for Children)

I actually love the "...for Dummies" titles. I used "The Bible for Dummies" all through seminary, when I was worried by UU Sunday School education had me missing things that my Methodist colleagues got right away. These days, I feel as though I'm the one writing, or rather saying, religion for dummies, as I try to explain somewhat complicated religious concepts to my four year old. I hasten to add, my four year old is no dummy...but she does require a simplified version of what I would say on Sunday morning. And actually, I'm loving it. Today we had a conversation about whether people were inherently bad or just did bad things. Having to get the concept of the inherent worth of every person down to a preschool level made me realize how deeply I do believe it. Sometimes, the explanations I launch into make me realize how difficult a concept is. With adults, we sometimes use shorthand when referring to challenging or metaphorical ideas. Or we just ignore hard concepts, because we've already decided they aren't relevant to our religious lives. But that doesn't work with a four year old! I could write fifteen blogposts about my explanation of Easter, which needed to include eggs, bunnies, and Jesus. Try explaining a metaphorical, essentially humanist understanding of the resurrection to a four year old. Heck, try explaining it to yourself! And that's my point, I think: that engaging in these ideas with my daughter has been so instructive for myself, as I've grappled with what I really believe, what I want to believe, and especially how I want to describe my beliefs. The next time you're wondering what you think about something complicated, put it into a "...for Dummies" book. I guarantee it'll make you smarter.

Success and Fruitfulness

I've spent the last few days at a young clergy leadership conference, connecting with colleagues, visiting growing congregations, and learning about best practices in congregational life.

We talked a lot about fruitfulness--kind of the softer, gentler version of success. It's a wonderful image because we all know that in congregational life you don't always put a program in slot A and get success out of slot B; real people with real lives move in different ways, and sometimes you see the fruits of your efforts many years later, or in transformed individual lives, or in plenty of ways that are hard to measure but still powerful.

But the concept of fruitfulness still holds within it the idea that we do want to be fruitful, that all the wonderful work in the world doesn't really get us anywhere if it doesn't ultimately produce something: more people hearing our congregation's message, changed people, communities that are tangibly better in some way.

It has me thinking about fruitfulness in our own lives, too, not just in a congregation's life. What are the things that bear fruit in your life? Practices, exercises, time you spend in special ways--from which of those things can you see immediate changes? And when have you had an experience that makes you realize a planting from long, long ago was finally bearing fruit for you?

The Usefulness of Pain

I've been thinking a lot recently about the sorrow, pain and limitations we experience in our lives. I don't mean really tragic events, but more thhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gife day to day limitations we might have from illness or just from aging, or maybe from our life's circumstances or family situation. For me, it's dealing with some chronic pain that flares up and goes away--mostly leaving me in peace but occasionally reminding me that I can't do everything.

And when I think about the usefulness of limits, it's usually in accepting the sentence I just wrote: that I can't do everything. As a relatively type-A person, I sometimes forget that and instead convince myself that I'm the lynchpin for the entire world's working. My limitations, especially when they really lay me low, remind me that I'm not.

But you know, I'd still sometimes rather learn that important spiritual truth in other ways. This past Sunday we talked about experiencing moments of grace which sometimes come out of difficult or messy circumstances. Couldn't we skip the difficulty and get right to the grace? Can't I learn important spiritual truths without having to deal with early arthritis?

This may fall under the category of: we don't have any choice, so there's not much point wondering. We do experience difficulty, pain, mess, and sorrow, and we might as well find some life lessons (and if we're lucky, some grace) amidst it all. But I think it's important that we don't skip over the sorrow, that we give ourselves time to grieve the mess that eventually led to our more enlightened selves.

As usual, a bluegrass song says it best. I heard it on my way in this morning, and since I can't find the lyrics I'll summarize: I don't like sorrow, but it makes my heart open wide. I've had my fill of trouble, but it makes me a better friend.

I hope you give yourself time for both grieving the mess and noticing the lesson. And that the whole thing plays in your head like the very best country heartbreak song.

Speeding Up and Slowing Down

I saw two things this morning, on my drive in, that made me think about the funny ways that people deal with time. First was a new level of multitasking: a man out jogging, all dressed in running clothes and camelbak water bottle, and eating a banana at the same time. Then, I saw the line of cars, which had been speeding along in the rush hour traffic, stopped to let two Canada geese hesitantly start across the road.

Of course there's never enough time. Of course we're busy and rushed and have to pack every single thing together that we can. But we also have time, somehow, to stop for the things that really matter to us.

Today, I hope that I can tell the difference.

Staying In Tune

I want to a concert last night, billed as Shawn Colvin (most familiarly of the hit "Sunny Came Home"). She came out for the first few pieces, which were really great...and then started talking about how she was nostalgic for the days when she played with Mary Chapin Carpenter, and all of a sudden Chapin was on stage with her! They finished the set together, alternating back-ups and solos and each playing a few signature pieces.

The concert was great, and I was especially taken with the way the energy changed when Mary Chapin Carpenter came on. Of course partly that's because she's a big star, and people were really excited, and surprised, to see her.

But partly it was because all of a sudden a solo act became a duo, and frequently a duet. The prep times were longer--both women spent a fair amount of time getting their guitars in tune, and joking about how long it took them--and sometimes they had to remind each other of the lyrics. So it one way, it could seem that the solo act was more polished, more together. I was so struck, though, by the special experience of seeing two musicians perform together, and especially two musicians who had known and played with each other for so many years. They had great stories to tell of acts in Colorado and Paris and everywhere in between, and they listened for each other's note and knew just when to come in.

It made me think about the people we go through life with: partners, friends, members of our congregations, family, colleagues. And the special joy of experiencing a whole lifetime of work and play with someone, the way that makes the time we spend tuning worth it.

It was a really neat evening. And it prompts me to say thank you to the people in my life who have been singing with me for a while.

Why I'll Wear a Hoodie

Like many faith communities, the Washington Ethical Society is inviting folks to wear a hoodie this Sunday to our regular 11am service. I've been following other communities making this call on Facebook, and have seen people having some of the same wonderings I had when I first thought about a show of solidarity like this. I thought I'd share my thinking a bit here.

When I first saw news anchors and public figures and little kids showing up in hoodies, I worried that we were reducing a human being--Trayvon Martin--to his article of clothing. And frankly, I thought that I, as a white woman, might look a little silly in a hoodie, as though I were pretending that I knew just what it might be like to be a young black man in America, when obviously I don't have a clue.

Then I saw the clip from Geraldo Rivera. Suddenly I got it. The hoodie wasn't about Trayvon's death so much as about the idea that America's young men of color were supposed to dress a certain way for fear of intimidating white folks. That if they didn't dress that way, then they were partially to blame for violence perpetrated against them. Just the way women are to blame for rape if their skirts are too short.

On Sunday morning, we'll talk about why we're wearing hoodies to our children, who join us for the first part of the service--and of course because some of the children are very young, we'll be cautious about our words. But in some ways, what I'll say to them feels as important as the more adult conversation we'll have later. That we're wearing hoodies because we believe that everyone deserves to be safe and protected, no matter the color of their skin and no matter what clothes they are wearing.

That's why I'll wear a hoodie on Sunday morning. I hope you join me.

For the Beauty of the Messed-Up Earth

I was talking with someone about our early spring the other day and she used a phrase that hit me squarely between the eyes: essentially, that she was really enjoying the flowers and beautiful weather in the few moments when she could let go of her fear for the planet and anxiety about the climate crisis.

That's me, too. I am torn, daily, between celebrating the beauty around me and lamenting the reason we have it in mid-March. And this seems, to me, to be part of a larger tension that we hold in our lives, the tension between enjoying the bounty we have and remaining aware of the problems in the world. As a parent, I am so happy to have relatively healthy children, and to have the resources to be able to provide all they need and more. But how do I reconcile that true feeling of joy with the knowledge that so many children don't have all they need? Does it make the joy less real? What responsibility does it mean I hold?

I'm thinking about a platform address on this topic in early May. What do you all think? Is this something you struggle with, too?

Religion: Combine at Your Own Risk (and Reward)

Like many folks, my imagination has been captured by the story of the woman who was denied communion at her mother's funeral, reportedly because she is a lesbian. Now there's a new twist to the story, saying that she is also a Buddhist--or at any rate that she is interested in Buddhist philosophy and practice--and that her religious leaning may also be a reason she was denied communion.

I actually don't much care why she was denied communion; every pastoral bone in my body says that a funeral is not the place for a theological conversation and is the place to offer grace and love as freely as humanly possible. I'm not Catholic, though, and I do understand that different traditions carry different rules about communion.

What I'm really interested in, though, is the conversation that emerges from this new piece of information, the idea that this woman is a Buddhist-Catholic or a Catholic-Buddhist or just someone who resonates with both traditions. There's enough for a whole platform address in there, but I'm curious about how and when religious traditions have encouraged syncretism (the blending of different beliefs) as well as how and when they draw a line. And how about us individually? In the multi-religious marketplace are we free to combine at will? Must we do within a community in order to do so responsibly? What are the risks, and the rewards, of finding our own religious paths?

Beauty Around Every Median Strip

This has been the week, in Washington, DC, when springs has popped into bloom.

Now, there may be an important conversation about why this is happening the first week of March, and what this says about the state of the planet--actually, I think there's definitely an important conversation about that. But flowers are flowers, and this week I have just been enjoying them.

And they are everywhere! Trees budding--red buds, early cherries, especially the magnificent magnolias--and every kind of bulb pushing up from the ground. I'm enjoying them in people's yards, including my own, grateful for the way we adorn our houses so that they bring us and others joy.

This morning I was grateful for them in the median strip on Georgia Avenue, too. The strip was just packed with daffodils, the very light yellow ones that seem almost white. Sometime, someone planted those bulbs. And I am strangely warmed by the fact that someone in the road maintenance world knew that seeing beautiful flowers--or the red buds planted along the middle of 16th Street--or the azaleas planted in other parts of the city--that seeing beauty in the middle of asphalt would make people happy. Would make me happy.

Thank you. It's so nice to know there's beauty everywhere.

Resilience and Tulips

This morning my vase of red tulips looked ruined--flowers drooping sadly, leaves limp. To my horror, there was absolutely no water in the vase. Somehow, I had managed to so neglect the tulips that they were clearly dead.

But something in me thought...well, why not? Add a little water and see what happens.

This evening, the tulips have perked up, standing up straight, their bright red slightly darkened with age but their leaves once again firm.

I see metaphor everywhere, of course. The tulips, like the human heart, surprising us over and over again with the power of resilience. The power, even after woeful neglect, to drink in the water provided to us and stand tall again. Someone does have to notice the drooping, of course, and fill the vase. But still. What a sight, the tulips proud and beautiful once more.

Who Am I?

Whenever I get frustrated with something one of my children is doing, my mother gives me great advice: wait a minute. Children change all the time, and just as you think you've figured them out they're doing something entirely different.

But of course adults change too, both in minor ways and very dramatically. I often warn couples I am marrying that they should expect their partner to change multiple times over their marriage--that part of marriage is recognizing the change, looking for the kernel that has stayed the same, and navigating the difference.

I read an article recently about a man who suffered brain trauma after a car accident. It was one of those medical mystery pieces, which I always find intriguing, but the real zinger this time was the wife talking about how after the trauma her husband was a different person. She stated it just as a fact--he was a different person than he had been before. It made me wonder about how we manage the much smaller changes that our partners, and our friends, and our organizations undergo. The changes that WE undergo!

How do we navigate the many different people that we are over a lifetime? And how do we look for, and hang onto, the kernel that is only and always us?

Kenneth Patton's Words - Who We Are!

Several people asked me about the closing words I shared at platform service this morning, and at least one person asked that I post them here. So...

Here is the beautiful reading from Kenneth Patton, a Unitarian Universalist minister who is sometimes referred to as the Humanist mystic! I just love what he says about what a religious community is. And a huge thank you to the three amazing WES members who shared their thoughts this morning. Their moving and thoughtful remarks will be posted online in the next few days.



This house is for the ingathering of nature and human nature.

It is a house of friendships, a haven in trouble, an open room for the encouragement of our struggle.

It is a house of freedom, guarding the dignity and worth of every person.

It offers a platform for the free voice, for declaring, both in times of security and danger, the full and undivided conflict of opinion.

It is a house of truth-seeking, where scientists can encourage devotion to their quest, where mystics can abide in a community of searchers.

It is a house of art, adorning its celebrations with melodies and handiworks.

It is a house of prophecy, outrunning times past and times present in visions of growth and progress.

This house is a cradle for our dreams, the workshop of our common endeavor.

You Don't Have to Change At All

I heard a commercial on the radio this morning for a diet pill--the typical promises about weight loss and speed and all that--and then an additional promise: you don't have to exercise or change your life in any way!

Now, this is not a post about weight loss. Weight loss is hard, and as studies are showing there are very complicated biological factors that make it so. This is a post about the general idea that our society promotes that we can have any kind of change...without changing at all. Without giving something up, or adding something in, or having to have our nice little lifestyle altered at all.

And that's just not true. It might be true for this diet pill, I don't know, but it's not true for environmental sustainability, and it's not true for ending racism and addressing white privilege, and it's not true for evening out income inequality. Those of us in privilege will have to give something up, and all of us will have to change.

Part of a religious community's task, I think, is to help people see that there are choices to be made, and to support their own wisdom and strength in making the right choices. How can we hold each other accountable for what we'll have to change, or give up, to create the world we're hoping for? What do you think you need to give up or change or add on to see that world emerge?

Marriage Equality: Not Long

What a week for marriage equality! Washington state has signed it into law, Maryland is getting close (again), New Jersey is in an interesting legislative-executive dance.

And then there's Virginia. Today I was honored to speak at an interfaith rally that supported my friends Rev. Karen Rasmussen and Barb Brehm as they applied for a marriage license at the Fairfax County Courthouse. Their application was rejected, and it was my task to share that news with the 300 people gathered together.

Of course the rejection wasn't a surprise to anyone--but I was taken by surprise at how much I felt it nonetheless. As Karen and Barb walked back to the group, we sang "There Is More Love Somewhere," and I felt tears running down my cheeks. A rejection, even when expected, is still a rejection, and in that moment I felt so keenly that it was a rejection of the love, respect, and care my friends have shared for 26 years.

But I could also feel that those tears were anticipatory, and that what they were anticipating was joy. Because the truth is that things are changing in this country. Virginia may not be next on the list of states to get marriage equality--I'd be surprised if it was--but it will be on that list, one day.

A Baptist minister who spoke at the rally echoed the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. speaking in Montgomery, Alabama in 1965. How long, the minister asked us, would Karen and Barb have to wait for their union to be recognized? How long?

Not long! we shouted. And I believe it.

Eating Mindfully, Eating Socially - The Tensions of Life!

I loved this article in the NYTimes about mindful eating, specifically focusing on a Buddhist community that invites people from the surrounding area to eat mindfully (and silently) with them twice a week. The article advocates for mindful, silent eating as a way to increase awareness and presence, and to reduce bingeing or eating when we're not really hungry.

I love the idea, and the practical tips at the bottom of the page, but I'm also thinking about all the articles and studies I've read that advocate family dinner time and the important conversations that go with it. In my family, we share the "best part of our day" with each other. It does connect us to each other and it asks us to be present to the moment...but it's not mindful in the way this article means, and it doesn't do anything to connect us with the food we're eating.

So I'm just feeling aware of the tensions we navigate every day as we--who are not Buddhist monks--try to be mindful and present to ourselves and to each other, and the awareness that at times those feel like competing needs.

I'll let you know when I figure out how to clone myself, so that I can both mindfully talk with my pre-schooler and mindfully concentrate on the bite of pasta I'm chewing.

Am I Talking to Myself?

One of the things I love about speaking on Sunday morning is the instant feedback. People stand up during Community Sharing and say what they think, which is REALLY instant, or they come up to me after the platform service and offer a response.

Blogs aren't quite like that, I find. I don't get many comments on this blog, and I miss your voices! I have just changed a setting which should make commenting easier (you no longer need an account to leave a comment)...so please consider yourself very welcomed.

This makes me think about the value of talking to ourselves. A blog is meant to get your message or your ideas out to some unspecified audience, but it also provides a way to clarify your ideas for yourself. At least it does for me. I'm not a journaler, but I do find that I frequently discover what I think in the process of writing it down.

Actually, I think that's what prayer and meditation do for many people, too: offer a way to listen to yourself, to listen to what you are feeling really deeply, rather than what you're running around saying out loud or what is filling up your mind.

Can a blog be a spiritual practice? Leave a comment and let me know.

Women, Work, and What Really Matters

An article by Donna Britt about women and housework has been making the rounds today on Facebook. Basically, Britt writes about the rage that women feel because they continue to do more of the housework while also now engaging in significant careers. Britt's article (really an excerpt from her new book) ends with a realization that the person she has to change is herself--that she's the one making these demands on herself.

I don't necessarily resonate with the rage part, perhaps because I have a partner who does more than his half of the house and child work in our family, but I do resonate with the idea of placing demands on myself that my husband doesn't. Even though we both do housework, it seems to matter to me more; my husband doesn't think much about it if the laundry piles up, knowing that he'll get to it, while I tend to fret and grumble and see the mounting pile of clean, unfolded clothing as some kind of indictment of me as a wife and mother.

Why is that? And more importantly, what can I do about it?

The why has a lot, I think, to do with society and expectations, and probably some to do with my own personality, too. But the solution is what interests me more. Because this is where I think getting religious about things helps.

Religion--or any philosophical system--can offer an alternative to what society says we ought to care about. If I remind myself that my deepest values center around love and dignity for all people, is the laundry really that important? Sure, eventually you want folded clothes...but it doesn't really seem worth beating yourself up if you remember that your goal in life is to live compassionately, not neatly.

Of course thinking of this is the easy part. Remembering it is another story. Good thing my job is reminding people; all I need now is to listen to myself.

That's a Bad Word!

True confession time: if you hear my four year old use a curse word sometime in the next few weeks, it's my fault. It was a hectic morning, the baby was fussy, something dropped all over the kitchen floor and...it just slipped out.

And it was definitely noticed. "Why did you just say s---, Mama?" my daughter asked, charmingly mispronouncing the word. "That was a bad word I said," I responded. "I shouldn't have used it and I'm sorry I did. It was a bad word."

The topic dropped easily enough, and I haven't heard it again (and I'm hopeful that the mispronunciation will make it indistinguishable!). But the whole thing has me thinking about the concept of "bad" words...the way what's bad changes generation to generation, how bad words are arresting when we hear them but sometimes so satisfying to say, and what the heck it means to have a word be bad, anyway.

Of course, one reason is cultural mores, and those are strong: check out Carolyn Hax on this topic today and the campaign to pull Modern Family from ABC because of an episode featuring a swearing toddler (which was hysterical, by the way).

I am someone who tends to be relatively bound by societal expectations for behavior--unless, and this is a big unless, I think a justice issue is at play. I don't swear a lot, and I don't want to see my four year old swearing. But I'm intrigued by the idea of what makes a word bad one decade and okay the next, and by the idea that our "bad" words are almost always connected to our bodies or to hell. There's something there about religion and embodiment that's worth exploring!

Just not by my preschooler.

Guest Blogger: Response to "Act As If"

From Barbara Searle, WES Member and Alert Reader!

I am far from qualified to argue with neuroscientists, but nevertheless I think there's a fatal flaw in the kind of argument you reported. The underlying assumption seems to me to be that if we can't find a scientific explanation for a phenomenon now (or can't even imagine a conceptual framework within which an appropriate explanation might be developed) then the only possible recourses are either to adopt a non-scientific explanation (God, or god or whatever) or to deny that the phenomenon exists. There are many serious scientists who are strictly deterministic -- they believe that since such experiences as free will and consciousness must arise in the brain, and they can't imagine how something that arises in the brain could produce such experiences, they don't exist. (Another camp accepts that they exist, but holds that such things are beyond human understanding, an equally useless position, in my view, since if true there's no point in even looking.)

This is very reminiscent of the way many biological observations have been treated in the past. To take just one example, many reputable scientists in the early 20th century denied the reality of genes because they couldn't imagine either how they were constructed or how they could carry out the functions attributed to them. It took both new tools (to allow appropriate experiments to be carried out) and new conceptual frameworks, for it to become obvious that genes are real. (Sort of -- but that's another story altogether!)

In my view, not only is behaving 'as if' a reasonable way to go, but it is betting on the right side!

Acting As If

I just came across an interesting Slate article on evil and neuroscience. Contrary to how I just wrote that sentence, it's not suggesting that neuroscience is evil!

Actually, the article talks about how neuroscientists suggest thttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifhat evil may not really exist--that evil acts can all be blamed on faulty wiring. Extending this idea, some neuroscientists would posit that all that wiring means that we don't really have free will; in other words, "my brain made me do it."

I've been interested in the problem of evil for a while, and wrote two platforms on it: one about evil specifically, one connecting evil to fear. And now I'm really interested in the interaction of evil and free will.

For me, though, the best part of the Slate article is an ethicist's suggestion, toward the end, that we act "as if" we had free will to choose between good and evil. I love the concept of acting "as if" and I use it in my life. I've written here about acting "as if" the world bends toward justice, whether it does or not, and I also act "as if" people are all connected in a deep and spiritual way. And frankly, I don't care much if they are. I like the effects on my life of acting as if.

How about you? Does it work to act "as if?" Or does it feel more important to know the truth? Can we know the truth? What is most effective as you seek to live the life you hope to live?

Everyday Awareness: Sorting Socks

I do a lot of laundry. Actually, my husband really does the laundry; my job is folding and sorting. The scenario is usually the same: me on the bed, at the very end of the evening, surrounded by a huge pile of clothes--some inside out, some stuck together with that ferocious static cling, some balled up and still damp.

Since I have to fold the laundry one way or another, I figure I might as well do it with some attention to the moment, some mindfulness. Spiritual sorting, if you like.

Here's what I was aware of last night:

I sort socks last, after everything else has been folded. When I first approach the pile of socks, which belong to four different people and range from very tiny and mostly pink to large and mostly black, I have a moment of despair. It's too much, I'll never find the matches, I've reached the limit of my tolerance for laundry. But as I begin to sort, the matches make themselves clear. What once looked like a huge mass of black socks, all the same, start to distinguish themselves--these have a slight herringbone pattern, those have a little pinstripe. As each match is found and set aside, the remaining socks and their matches become clearer. Order emerges from the chaos, and I can see which socks really don't have matches; I scoop them up and put them to the side, where they await the next load of laundry and the hope of finding their mates once again.

How many things in life, I wonder, are we unable to see because of all the balled up socks lying around them? What matches would emerge if we began to clear the clutter, if we matched first the easy ones--the bright pink, the rainbow stripes--and then allowed our eyes to adjust to the subtler shades, to see with clarity the variations presented to us?

A little mindfulness while sorting socks.

Santa Claus and Inherent Worth

Christmas with a four-year-old, I have found, is very Santa-centric. I think my daughter could have skipped the rest of her presents as long as she new the big guy with the white beard had come, eaten the cookie she left for him, and filled her stocking.

The whole thing had me wondering about why the gifts from Santa are always the most exciting, even if they're not the biggest or the most expensive. Of course there's an element of magic and fun which Santa brings. But I wonder if there's not something deeper...something about our worth in the universe.

Our parents (when we're four) have to get us presents, of course...just the way they have to love us. But to receive presents from, and to be seen and noticed and cared for by, this magical and unrelated individual seems somehow more wonderful. My daughter picked up a little from some books about the naughty-nice list, and she was very clear that she was on Santa's good side, and that he'd be sure to bring her presents. Somewhere in there, I think, is an affirmation of her place in the world, her worth as an individual, and the love that the world returns to her.

So how do we tap into that affirmation in a religious community? For some, it's found in a call to connection with God, or with the divine understood broadly as love. For others, it's found in each other--that is, we can be Santa, and affirm someone's worthiness, when we give them our love just for being who they are. Another human being.

I'm thinking about all of this as I prepare for my address on Sunday, focusing on inherent worth and dignity, a key value in both Unitarian Universalism and Ethical Culture. Will Santa make an appearance in my remarks? Maybe so. You never can tell where that jolly guy will show up next.