In response to my November article about why we use the phrase “Black Lives Matter,” Clifford, a CLF member incarcerated in Illinois, asked me to look into the work of political philosopher Hannah Arendt, who wrote extensively about power and accountability from her vantage point as a survivor of the Holocaust in Germany.

Specifically, Clifford challenged my assertion that “I do not blame individual officers” for police violence against Black people. Drawing on Arendt’s work, Clifford wrote, “by not placing blame for particular action or inaction on the individual officers we not only strip them of the personal responsibility necessary to holding them… accountable, we undermine the importance and significance of the actions of those officers brave enough to stand up against the system.”

Hannah Arendt, in the essay Clifford asked me to read, “Personal Responsibility Under Dictatorship,” writes, “where all are guilty, none is.” Making the case that “it is better to suffer than to do wrong,” Arendt says that individuals have a moral obligation not to perpetuate systems of injustice, even when their own lives or livelihoods are at stake. Clifford, and Hannah Arendt, of course, are correct. It is vital—even in an unjust system—that the individual perpetrators of acts of injustice be held accountable for their actions.

Arendt also notes that politically, “those who chose the lesser evil forget very quickly that they chose evil.” “Acceptance of lesser evils,” she continues, “is consciously used in conditioning the…population at large to the acceptance of evil as such.” This is precisely how systems as violent and unjust as modern policing in the United States have become institutions that most white Americans support and trust—those of us acculturated to whiteness have been conditioned to accept evil.

Clifford is also right when he asserts that the notions of responsibility and accountability are not limited to extreme cases. Each of us makes moral judgments every day. Each of us makes choices for good or bad every day. Each of us has the option, again and again, to choose to participate in perpetuating wrong or to oppose it. And each of us should be held accountable when our actions cause harm to others.

It is here that we find tensions inherent in the principles that Unitarian Universalist congregations covenant to affirm and promote. One example is the tension between freedom and responsibility. Our fourth principle says we affirm “a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” Freedom has limits. Elsewhere, the “right of conscience” promised in the fifth principle is not always compatible with the “justice for all” we seek in our sixth. Conscience has limits, too.

As a covenantal faith, we rely on how we agree to be together to help us decide what to do. And we rely on processes that help bring us back to covenant when we cause harm—processes of accountability in which we are asked to stop the harm that we are doing, to understand the harm we have done, to make amends for the harm, and finally, to agree not to do it again. Within our faith, just as in our society at large, these processes are imperfect. And yet, they are how we move forward towards creating better systems.

Ali speaking during the February 28th online meeting in which the CLF voted to ordain xer to Unitarian Universalist ministry.

In our UU tradition, ministers are ordained by congregations. Only the vote of a congregation can give someone the title “Reverend.” Only the vote of a congregation can place that sacred bond of trust onto the shoulders of someone seen as a minister.

It is with great joy that the membership of CLF on February 28, 2021 voted to ordain Ali K.C. Bell (who was previously known as Antonia Bell-Delgado) to the Unitarian Universalist ministry. It is with deeper joy that I report that our vote included some 92 “yes” votes from our incarcerated members, able to vote because of the tear-off sheet we printed in the January Quest.

Ali will be ordained by the CLF along with the UU Congregation at Montclair, NJ (where xe is completing a ministerial internship) and the First UU Church of Wilmington, DE (xer home congregation). The ceremony will be Saturday, May 22, and we hope to feature an excerpt from the ceremony in our summer edition of Quest.

Since the bricks-and mortar congregation I serve first affirmed that Black Lives Matter and hung a banner with those words, we have had a steady stream of push-back to that phrase.

 Most of the people who object do so in anonymous letters and phone calls, and most of them argue that we should affirm instead that “all lives matter.” This is the public response I wrote to those people. Perhaps you, too, will find this helpful.

Of course all lives matter to us. Respect for the inherent worth and dignity of every person is the very first principle of Unitarian Universalism. And yet, all lives are not equally threatened by violence in our society. To simply state that “all lives matter” ignores the very real inequities faced by many.

It is easy to issue a blanket condemnation of all violence. It is harder to realize that a good deal of that violence is tied to systems and institutions that must be changed or dismantled.

It is easy to say that all relationships should be free of violence. It is harder to understand that the victims of domestic violence are overwhelmingly women, and that the misogyny in our society contributes to every blow.

It is easy to say that all children are precious. It is harder to understand that LGBTQ+ youth are given such negative messages about their self worth that they are six times more likely than straight or cisgender youth to attempt suicide.

It is easy to say that we value a diverse society with people from all nations and ethnicities. It is harder to understand the anti-immigrant bigotry behind calls to separate and isolate poorer, browner schools filled with children of immigrants from wealthier (and mostly white) ones.

It is also easy to say that no one should be shot dead for a broken taillight. It is harder to understand that systemic racism leads us to a reality where unarmed Black men are seven times more likely than unarmed white men to be killed by police in a traffic stop.

I do not blame individual officers for this. I would imagine that there are very few police officers who signed up for their jobs with the explicit intent to perpetuate the racism built into our society. And yet, once you look at the reality of policing in this country, it’s clear that is overwhelmingly what is happening. The white supremacy baked into our society is endemic also in institutions given power and weapons by our state.

“Black Lives Matter” is a declaration that an emergency exists, not a statement that we value one race more than another. The emergency is that the lives of our Black siblings are being taken at an alarming rate in a society that systematically devalues them. The killing must stop. The dehumanization must stop.

All lives cannot matter until Black lives matter.

“Darling, the body is a guest house;
Every morning, someone new arrives.”
— jalal ad-din rumi

I do not espouse the theology that “everything happens for a reason.” I simply just don’t believe that. I don’t believe that pain and sorrow in our lives is deserved, even if it is a part of the universal human condition.

I don’t believe that suffering is redemptive or that God (or any other larger purpose) calls us to endure it. Too much damage has been done to people’s lives because of the belief that passively accepting pain and suffering purifies our souls and makes us worthy in the eyes of the divine. Way too much damage.

I do, however, believe that the hardships of our life can be opportunities for spiritual growth. To paraphrase Rumi, 13th century Persian mystic and poet, sometimes sorrow is a guest that sweeps our house clean so that joy may enter. Listening to our pain and learning from it is not the same as letting it take us over. Of course, we have to learn how to encourage the guests of sorrow, malice, and meanness to move on when they’ve overstayed their welcome.

The practice of moving through a labyrinth is very much a process of opening ourselves to feeling whatever is present for us, learning from them, and then releasing those things. You begin the process with an open mind—sometimes with a question, sometimes with an ache in your heart, sometimes with uncertainty, but always with an open mind.

As you make your way through the winding pathway towards the center, you must pay attention. To the lines. To the twists and turns. To lose that attention is to get lost in the labyrinth—it is the only way you can get lost, actually, since it’s just one pathway.

And keeping that attention with an open mind allows in the guests. Some of them—like the guests of joy and companionship and community—are ones we want. Some of them—grief, sadness, despair—are ones we didn’t invite but have to learn from anyway.

And then you get to the center.

In the center of the labyrinth is a chance to pause. A chance to sit with the guests that have come into your soul during your journey. A chance to listen to what they have to tell you. And a chance to make peace with the fact that they’re visiting you.

After whatever time you need to do this, you make your way out, following the same, solitary, serpentine path. The way out requires the same focus as the way in. And that focus signals to our guests that it is time for some of them to move on. I have found that moving through a labyrinth on a regular basis is a clearing, cleansing, and balancing ritual for my spirit.

The finger labyrinth included in this issue of Quest can be a spiritual practice you use anywhere you can have a piece of paper. Rather than walk or roll through a large labyrinth set on the ground, trace the line with your finger. The intention is the same. The practice is the same. I hope our Quest labyrinth allows you some measure of balance in your spiritual life.

How to use a Finger Labyrinth

1. If you can, try to find a quiet spot where you can sit down and put the labyrinth on a flat surface.
2. Sit still and quietly until you can focus just on the labyrinth. If you have the option, you could try ringing a chime, playing calming music, or humming a single note.
3. Start with your finger where the path opens to the outside of the labyrinth. As slowly and carefully as you can, trace your finger over the white path, until you get to the open space in the center of the labyrinth. Take your time; it can be hard to keep your place on the path.
4. If you wish, when you are tracing your finger along the path, you can try to focus your mind on thanks, regret or hope. Or, allow your mind to find its own focus for your meditation.
5. Pause when you get to the center of the labyrinth. When you’re ready, follow the same path back out. How did it feel to go on this journey?