I love the phrase “praying with our feet.” It often comes to mind for me in protests at the Texas Capitol, when I wait in line to vote, and perhaps most especially every Friday, when I lead my Zumba class, where we pray with our arms, our hips, our everything.

“What is your intention for this hour?” I ask folks Zooming in from around the world. “What are you dancing for today?”

On a recent morning, the answers included, “my 18-year wedding anniversary!” “another job interview,” and “seeing my grandkids again for the first time in COVID.” A woman in College Station, Texas, showed us her wrapped wrist and asked for healing prayers after surgery. A dancer in Canada requested the song “Best Friend” by Saweetie and shared sadness about a friend in hospice care.

We took deep breaths and held each other across the miles. Then we danced — for joy, hope, and grief. For the chance to move together as one, even in a time of isolation.

Happiness ain’t something you sit back and you wait for
Feels so good to dance again”
—Selena Gomez, “Dance Again

Since finding dance nine years ago, it has become my joy practice and a form of embodied prayer. I choose music and choreography to reflect Unitarian Universalist principles like interconnectedness, equity, and acceptance. Moving to the music of Lizzo, Kesha, and Gente de Zona, I am praying to the Spirit of Life — to summon the energy for another day of pandemic parenting, to feel in my hips and heart that I am enough. We are all enough.

Uruguayan journalist and novelist Eduardo Galeano wrote, “The church says: The body is a sin. Science says: The body is a machine. Advertising says: The body is a business. The body says: I am a fiesta.”

As UUs, I hope we can bring church and science into the body’s celebration (and do our best to ignore advertising altogether).

Lately, my own body and spirit have been telling me to slow down. I am feeling the impact of pandemic trauma, plus the natural effects of aging (and a decade of jumping up and down to Pitbull songs).

Thankfully, Zumba can be medium-impact or low, on your feet or in a chair or swimming pool. Sometimes just listening to the playlist is enough. When I forego a high-impact jump in favor of a grounded shimmy to protect my back, I am not failing my class — whose members range in age from elementary school to their 80s — but honoring the sacredness of all bodies.

PHOTO BY DYLAN NOLTE ON UNSPLASH

Similarly, when my brain is tired and I forget a move, I try not to apologize (as I have been conditioned to do for the most human of mistakes). Even though I feel embarrassed on the inside, I throw my head back and laugh, improvising through the moments Richard Simmons used to call “accidental solos.” I remember that we are called to let go of perfectionism — a piece of dismantling white supremacy culture in ourselves and our institutions. I remind myself that we need these moments, to dance through discomfort and even embrace mistakes, having faith we will learn from them.

I remember the wise words of Cynthia Winton-Henry in her book, Dance – The Sacred Art: “As much as you might want a ‘perfect’ spot in which to dance, it is really the other way around: You make the space around you holy when you dance.”

What does prayer look/feel/sound like to you?

ROBERT
CLF Member, incarcerated in MA

Little things, big things, anything; people pray for them. From the mundane, like to perhaps hit the lottery, to the serious, like for someone’s life. (Though perhaps, for some, winning the lottery isn’t mundane at all, but a serious need.)

It all cycles around to prayer. A want, a need, a desire, leading to hoping, wishing, possibly even begging, some greater power to hear you, to help you.

Do I pray? Probably not enough. I attend services, I meditate, I take part in my faith, and take it seriously. But praying? In here, it can be hard to do.

PHOTO BY PEDRO LIMA ON UNSPLASH

There’s a mentality that pervades all here: avoid weakness, lest you be preyed upon. To pray, is, in a way, a surrendering yourself to another, to ask for help to do something.

Is that weakness? No, but in here, it can be viewed as such. So that energy hangs in the air, sapping you, putting you on edge.

But when I pray, it, in its way, helps and hurts. That surrendering lifts a weight off of you, it can be an emotional release, a reset of one’s self, an acknowledgment that you can’t do it all on your own, and that everything will, in its time, be okay.

So pray. Not for me (though admittedly I wouldn’t mind), but for you. For your world, big, little, whatever size it is. May it help you.

That is my prayer.

KEVIN
CLF member, incarcerated in VA

We all should know that though the look of prayer could be one on their knees with hands held upright, fingers straight up, palms together, prayer can look many different ways. For me it is often sitting down anywhere — on the ground, in a chair, at a desk or table, with my hands held together. Of course it might be alone, or it could be with someone who needs a prayer more than me, as I say a prayer for them. I pray anywhere, anytime, needed or not, as a way to think about what the situation needs.

If I see a death happened in the news,  I say a prayer for the family for strength, a prayer for the deceased. A flood — I say a prayer for support, goods, rescue. A fire — the same and more, to have shelter along with healing. A nice day with no huge troubles — a prayer of thanks and gratitude, with a prayer for more of these days.

The sound of prayer: it could be noisy, mildly busy with the hum of every day life all around, or it could be complete silence, a prayer said or thought.

The feel: if nervous, anxious, or feeling the weight of the world on one’s shoulders, then a prayer feels like relief. A great feeling of no burdens.

I’ll end with a prayer of thanks and acknowledgment, for the gift of all that prayer is for me.

VYLET
CLF member, incarcerated in FL

Quiet as kept, be slow to speak
The tongue of death is death indeed
Let temperance and virtue be thy speech
Consider silence and still thy feet

Be thou fearless, feel not dismay
For thou art spirit to what is pain
Deep meditation shall make things clear
The weapons of war that thou should fear

Speak no lies, be not the fool
Boomerangs of deception bareth dark rile
If a word be uttered, let freedom reign
Sever the yoke and break every chain

If I be bound, may they be free
If I face danger, let them have peace
If I must die, let them live
Return I shall and with them sing

Divine decrees establish the link
Of things unseen, oh what of faith
This body clad of clay and dust
But I am greater, the creator’s touch

Infused in soil, the morning star
A living soul, the lawful heart
Ponder the path thy foot is upon
Consider the workings thy hands have wrought

Be thou calm in every endeavor
And radiant as the sun
Forever-ever, forever and ever
I and my father are one

DALE
CLF members, incarcerated in TX

PHOTO BY DENIS DEGIOANNI ON UNSPLASH

Looking at the night sky,
Staring at the galaxy,
Watching the Milky Way swirl.

Pondering things like,
“What is my purpose in life?”
While I’m watching the stars
Coalesces into a ball of fire
Brighter than the sun.

As I watch it forms
the face of God.

Burning white hot,
Igniting my world,
causing my fears and doubts
to flee, clearing my mind
and chasing away the shadows.

Enlightening.
Searing through me from the ashes
A phoenix arises,
stronger than before.

And as I look at the face of God,
I see me.

September 2021

The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. –Maya Angelou

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Last semester, in a class on global Christianity at Meadville Lombard, I was reading examples of the early Christians in the Roman Empire taking a stand and becoming martyrs. I was inspired by their resilience and sacrifice as they were being persecuted for their conversion to a new faith. Those who became martyrs could have possibly saved themselves by denying who they were and who they served but decided that it was better to die in faith and in truth than to live in denial and a lie. They were followers of Jesus Christ and followed his example of faith and commitment unto death— his Crucifixion—for they believed that the ultimate sacrifice would yield the ultimate reward—for them, it was everlasting life.

The early Christian martyrs’ sacrifice of their lives made me reflect and think: For what cause would I be willing to risk my life? For what cause would I give up my security, my comfort, my safety? For what are we called to martyrdom now, in this time, and in this place? In my practice, I call upon my ancestors for guidance.

When I do, the spiritual Wade in the Water comes to my mind almost instantly. “Wade in the Water, God’s Gonna Trouble the Water.” But then the Civil Rights Movement comes to mind, and the risks it took to bring about change that was felt globally. By the later years of the Civil Rights Movement, activists began to realize that water had already been troubled. It was no longer about, “God’s Gonna Trouble the Waters,” but that the waters were already troubled, as activists through the years had been rocking the boat of white supremacy and racism through their own successes, through boycotts, through protests, through massive voter registrations, through sit-ins, and through marches, and we saw backlash of against all of them by segregationists and racists, peoples and institutions that did not want to see them succeed.

PHOTO BY JASON LEUNG ON UNSPLASH

As a professor of African American history, I remember lecturing about the Freedom Singers leading those gathered in Black churches, mostly in Alabama and Georgia, with rousing songs to lift up their spirits and get them ready for what they were about to face. These resistance fighters staged many peaceful, nonviolent protests met with fury, violence, and incarceration—like the early Chris tian martyrs. Their songs went from “Wade in the Water” to “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize” to “This May Be the Last Time.” It was the last time for some of them, but the looming threat made them prepare for the inevitable. They may have to give up their lives like the early Christian martyrs.

What about now? In this time and in this place? What kind of lives are we living, bowing down to fear and oppression? For what cause would YOU willingly risk your life? For what cause would you give up your security, your comfort, your safety? For what are we called to martyrdom now, in this time, and in this place?

Where in your life have you felt most at home?

We posed the above question in the most recent issue of the Worthy Now newsletter (a biannual newsletter sent to all incarcerated CLF members), and received the responses on the next two pages in response. Thank you all for offering us this window into yourselves and the experiences of your lives through your reflections — we are so grateful.

ROBERT

CLF Member, incarcerated in MA

Home. A small word with big meanings.  They say that, “home is where the heart is,” and I couldn’t agree more. It’s been nine years since I’ve been home, and I feel every day that yearning to return.

Growing up, I never thought I’d have a home to call my own. I had loving parents who provided for me, so there was always a place I could call home, but the fullest meaning of home never fully resonated within me. Since I have autism, I thought that I’d never find someone to love, who could love me. I thought I’d never have kids, be a father, a teacher, a protector.

Then I found her, and it all clicked. It just made sense, felt right, all the way to my core. We had a little one, we got our own place, and another little one was on the way. All was right in the world.

Until it wasn’t. I was torn away from my home. I fought to have the opportunity to go back, but was denied. Separated from them, I was emotionally torn to shreds. The pain is still so great. Now, they are still torn apart, neither of our kids under her care, or even cared for by the same person. Our family of four now lives in four different places.

So I end with this: home is a precious thing. It’s delicate, fragile, nearly ethereal. It is perfect in its imperfections. Never take it for granted, for you never know when your world will be upended, and it will be gone.

KEVIN

CLF member, incarcerated in VA

I feel most at home where I both give and receive respect from those around me. Respect leads to a great deal of appreciation in which accountability is held. This appreciation and accountability from respect can and should lead to honor and loyalty, which combined, should lead to trust. Trust leads to love. With love comes a place that we feel comfortable and safe — an environment we can call home.

This can be anywhere as long as we hold all these things together. We must have courage to make that first step, and hope and faith that it will all lead to a place one can call home — not necessarily a house or a building, but a place of real peace, a sanctuary called home.

In my life, I find this sanctuary with my girlfriend of 37 years, along with my son, mom, sister, and those who have the qualities I’ve described above.

EDWARD

CLF Member, incarcerated in OH

PHOTO BY FLICKR USER ANTHONY VIA FLICKR

This is an easy one to tell. Every year I would make the journey down I-75 to a town called Middlesboro, Kentucky. My travel was always around the fourth of July. It is a tri-state town with neighbors called Tennessee and Virginia. There is a spot that I would go to that is located at the top of a small mountain. The spot is called “the Pinnacle.” It is located about 2,200 or 2,400 feet up the mountain. To get there you drive up a winding road with hairpin turns. Once there, you walk a path that is maybe a hundred yards to my favorite spot, the pinnacle. It is a man-made ledge that stretches about ten feet over the edge of the mountain. Up there you can see all three states. On a very clear day you can even see North Carolina from there. An airport sits off to the right. A man-made lake is in the middle. To the right is the town of Cumberland Gap, Tennessee.

While there, I feel Gaia’s strength flowing through the spot. The view is spectacular. It is a calm and peaceful place where you can talk to God or the Goddess and God, whatever your preference. There is where I feel at home.

TALON

CLF Member, incarcerated in CA

​​Home is such a strong word. For most of my life, I have never really felt at home anywhere. From living with my family, to foster housing, to juvenile hall, to prison, home has been seemingly unattainable for me.

The closest concept of home that I have is when I was 13, in a court-appointed group home for a bad decision I chose to make. It was the first time that I felt truly safe. There was no more violence, abuse, and expectations to be someone that I never really was. I was happy.

My current incarceration is due to another bad string of choices I made. I have spent the last eight years working on myself to create a new me dedicated to helping others and living a productive life. During this process of self-improvement, I have learned that happiness comes from within.

So, I realized that as long as I am happy, home is where you make it. Home is within oneself, and family is who we choose. Despite my incarceration, I am at home, and the CLF is my family.

ERIC

CLF member, incarcerated in TX

PHOTO BY DAVID GAVI ON UNSPLASH

For me, home was never really a place. It has always been more about the people I’ve surrounded myself with. I’ve never had a place to call home, but I’ve felt at home with people who loved me, and in nature, with the full cycle of life. We come from earth, are placed in the bosom of earth, to be reborn again.

I think there is no better place to call home as the place where life begins: in the wild, like our ancestors once had. Not in a building, but a place you can go to rest. One day I’ll have that again.

Some prefer a house or apartment, but for me, home is outside where the wild things roam.

Hello beloveds,

I’m Rev. Aisha Ansano, and I am thrilled to be serving as the new Chair of the Board of The Church of the Larger Fellowship!

You may recognize my name from the last few years. I just completed my first 3-year term on the Board, and I’ve served as the Board liaison to the Nominating Committee during this time. I was also a member of the search team that called our amazing lead ministry team, which was a complete joy.

When I joined the CLF Board 3 years ago, I didn’t know much about the CLF besides a general familiarity. When I got the email from the Nominating Committee, I wasn’t sure if I would say yes—but during the conversation, I got excited for the work that the CLF was doing, and the potential work that could be done. And so I said yes, decided to make a commitment to this congregation, to give my time, energy, and resources to help make it thrive. And I said yes again to serving on the Nominating Committee, because I knew firsthand just how much the conversations had by the nominating committee have a huge impact.

And when the Board was putting together a search team for the new lead ministry of the CLF, even though the task felt daunting, I said yes, again. I said yes because I was excited to be part of the visioning for the next phase of the CLF. I said yes because even though I knew it would be a lot of hard work, I wanted to be part of the conversation to help shape the next chapter of the CLF.

I have not said yes because I think I’m the perfect person for any of these jobs. I’ve said yes because the CLF is important to me, and important to Unitarian Universalism. Even when I’m nervous about taking on a new role, or not sure what to expect, I say yes to service to the CLF over and over again, because the CLF gives me hope for our faith and how it can live into our dreams of what it can be.

A little bit about me: I’m an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister living in Malden, MA, a city north of Boston. I am the affiliated community minister at First Parish in Malden, which means that, while I am not on staff, I serve and support the congregation in other ways. My dream is to plant a dinner church, to create a community where people gather together around the table for worship and a meal, where all are welcomed exactly as they are. The pandemic has put those plans on hold for the moment, but I’ve been lucky to create Nourish UU Dinner Church Consultants with my friend and colleague Rev. Emily Conger. Through Nourish, we help Unitarian Universalist communities create communal, embodied worship experiences through the model of dinner church.

I’m excited to continue to serve the CLF in my new role as Board Chair, and can’t wait to experience what comes next for the CLF,  together.

Yours in faith,
Rev. Aisha

The body is the slowest part of ourselves. Our thoughts, emotions, spirits — these can move at lightning speed, switching from one state to another in an instant. The body, though, takes time to learn. The metaphor shifts from lightning to ocean liner, changing direction in the vast sea: slow, laborious, needing time before it can complete the turn.

The other side of that, though, is that once the body gets it, it knows how to keep moving steadily in the direction of healing. It demonstrates what a loyal and powerful ally it can be.

Everything we do in our lives is mediated by the body. Ultimately, our deepest thoughts are transmitted by electrical pulses along neurons. A parent’s profound love for a child involves a massive dump of hormones into the endocrine system. Peak spiritual experiences may expand the chest or cause tears to stream down cheeks.

We are in this world, embedded in this physical reality for however long we’re alive. What’s more, we need not delay finding paradise until after death — it’s available to us in the here and now. This is known as a radically realized eschatology. (Eschatology is the theological term for how we understand final things.)

Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker notes that radically realized eschatology “begins with affirming that we are already standing on holy ground. … Instead of striving to get somewhere else, our goal can be to fully arrive here and greet each day of life with gratitude.” This applies as much to arriving fully in our bodies as in the world.

For years, due to my own trauma history, I spent most of my time away from my body. With time and practice, I started recognizing the signs that I was dissociating: the edges of my vision would grow a little hazy. I’d lose track of what I was saying. My sense of presence turned into a notable absence.

I also learned techniques to come back to myself. I’d wiggle my toes within my shoes, or I’d go around the room noticing objects and their colors: brown table, blue shirt, yellow book. By grounding myself in the here and now, my body became an anchor in my current reality rather than my traumatic past. I came alive rather than merely existing.

I know that this can get tricky when the trauma is still ongoing. But I also know — after decades of hating my body and believing that it had betrayed me — that our bodies are always on our side. They alone remain with us from birth until death. They consistently lean towards healing as best they can, even if they can’t make it to wellness.

Whether or not the spirit is willing, the flesh is not weak. It is the magical machine that makes the human experience possible. We find paradise, Dr. Parker reminds us, through “a profound embrace of this world” — including our own embodiment.

If we can feel at home in this world — truly at home, without any asterisk about our size or disability or anything else — we won’t just benefit from the steadfast gifts of the body. We’ll also have better access to the gratitude, compassion, and peace that keep us connected to all the beauty of this sacred world. May we always remember that we, too, are holy ground.

This might sound strange, but I have felt the most present, the most interconnected mentally, spiritually, and physically when I have experienced loss. It’s easy to see life and acquiring good things as blessings, but loss is a pretty powerful catalyst for change that a lot of people don’t recognize because, let’s face it, who wants to focus on things that make us suffer, give us pain, and can sometimes be traumatizing?

Everyone wants to reach for the light (carpe diem!), but few want to give themselves over to the dark night of the soul, to look at your own shadows, face them, and be thankful for the opportunity to embrace that pain and hardship and grow from your past (carpe noctem?).

Life and creation are just as sacred as death and destruction — both are needed for existence to even be possible in the first place. Some trees can’t grow without the occasional forest fire. Mothers sacrifice their life force just to bring in new life. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Loss has been a gateway to com passion. It shifted my perspective, forcefully and not too gently, but sometimes we need to be shoved out of our comfort zones to get to where exactly you need to be, whether it’s to learn something yourself or to be there to help someone else.

RACHEL
CLF member, incarcerated in MO

“I loved my grandmother every moment of my life. I still do.

I know she did not invent the racialized trauma that both white and Black people blew threw her. None of these people, or their parents, or their grandparents, or many generations of their ancestors, invented this trauma. It was passed down and passed down and passed down and passed down. It is now up to us — to you and to me and to everyone else who cares about human beings — to put a stop to this cycle of trauma. This means metabolizing trauma in our bodies.” —Resmaa Menakem

When I first came to somatics practice, I had been in talk therapy for most of my life. I could tell you, at great length, all of the things that I was working on. I knew myself very well. Changing my behaviors was still a big struggle. My trauma responses to triggers were so hard to shift. My body had absorbed so much and given me coping mechanisms for survival.

Healing is a physical act. It happens in our soma, our body. Our bodies are incredible at carrying so much pain and trauma and memory for us – until we are ready to release them by moving through them. Research shows that our bodies carry more than even what is ours, though. They carry the pains and joys of our ancestors.

In his book, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathways to Mending our Hearts and Bodies, therapist, teacher and somatics practitioner Resmaa Menakem lays out a theory of how generational trauma must be healed in order to overcome racism in the United States. He ties the brutalism of early colonizers of what would become the United States to the terror and torture of the Middle Ages, explaining how a whole people could inflict such trauma on another. Deeply hurt people hurt people. He describes the different ways in which white body supremacy impacts BIPOC bodies and white bodies today that must be healed.

Healing the trauma in our bodies is particularly fraught for those of us who have our own trauma history. If you have a history of trauma in your life, take it slow. Give yourself a lot of grace. Do not go it alone, ask a trusted friend or therapist to support you. Take breaks whenever you need to. Embodiment can be risky and scary for those of us who have stored painful memories within ourselves. It is an amazing gift that our bodies have taken this in for us. The process of feeling and releasing it needs to go at the pace that feels right for you.

Central to the practice of somatics in the practice of centering. It is how every somatics class or gathering begins. We can do this practice standing, sitting or lying down.

First, we find our core, just above the belly button. We can place a hand there if it helps us connect. We center from this place.

Next, we center in length or in our dignity. We can lift one arm up and one arm down. We allow our lower body to settle into gravity and our upper body to lift in our full height.

Then, we center in our width or in our connection. Perhaps we reach our arms wide to feel our wideness and our interdependence.

And finally, we center in our depth or in our place in history. We feel the space between our back body and our front body. We feel our ancestry behind us and our future before us.

If you take up this process of healing, it will be uncomfortable. Remember, refusing to heal is always more painful over time than the pain of healing. And remember these words from Resmaa Menakem: “When we heal our own trauma, individually and collectively, we don’t just heal our bodies. By refusing to pass on the trauma we inherited, we help heal the world.”

It is our job to do what we can while we are here. To pass on just a little less to the next generation. To heal as much as we can. We are not either traumatized or healed — it is an ongoing process of healing that we all must engage in to stop the cycle of racial violence from continuing to pass from generation to generation.

Healing is hard work. Embodiment can feel dangerous. And it can awaken within us more joy, more compassion, more resilience. It can build a stronger connection between our mind and our body. It can help us more easily access the power and wonder that lives inside of us. It can bring our actions into alignment with our values. And it heals the world.

May 2021

There is no freedom with out justice. No divine peace without holy struggle. —CLF Lead Ministry Team

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Dearest Beloveds,

We come to you once again following the state-sanctioned murder of yet another Black man, Daunte Wright. We write to you with anger, grief, rage, and hearts torn asunder. We know many of you will feel similarly. We also feel fear, afraid for the next Black person whom police will murder. Will it be our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, siblings, parents? When will it touch us even closer, as it is bound to do?

We know this to be true because the system is working as designed. The policing system of the United States is working exactly as designed. There is no reforming a system that is predicated on the belief that Black and brown lives are worth less than white ones. That Black and brown people are to be over-policed, feared, caged, and their lives are worthless. This belief has been part of the national consciousness since the arrival of colonizers. It is easy to deny Black and brown people their rights to humanity. Rights that include democratic representation via voting, housing, health care, food, and education. And also the right to simply exist — to walk down the street eating candy, to play in a park, to sleep in one’s own bed, to drive home to one’s child — without being killed by the police.

As the Church of the Larger Fellowship moves to center the lived experiences of those from historically marginalized communities, there will be disagreement over how to live out our Unitarian Universalist theology. As your Lead Ministry Team, we can make clear that there is no police reform but only abolition. There is no freedom without justice. No divine peace without holy struggle.

A Prayer for us all: Spirit of life and love, give me the will to notice and say the things that need to be said. To gain resolve and respite in the shadows and then move into the light with renewed courage to speak and fight for the truth. To remember that I am not free until we are all free.

In Unitarian Universalist Service,
Christina Rivera
Aisha Hauser, MSW, CRE-ML
Rev. Dr. Michael Tino

Dear Quest readers,

Hi, I’m Cir L’Bert, Jr., the new Prison Ministry Manager for The Church of The Larger Fellowship.

I’m 35 (which I think makes me the oldest possible millennial), a single father, and have worked as a waiter, warehouse picker, and indie theater manager.

My hobbies include combat sports, history/folklore, and podcasting about pop culture. I’m a lifelong hip hop head and lover of the blues. I’m also a lifelong native and product of Akron, Ohio, where I’m active in the local arts and organizing scene as a writer, public speaker, and racial justice advocate.

A decade ago, my place within my community was less assured. In 2009, a night out with friends resulted in my arrest, and subsequently charged with OVI, drug possession, and carrying a concealed weapon.

After lawyer fees and thanks to my demand to be treated fairly, the drug and weapons charges were dropped (the drugs were revealed by lab analysis to be postnatal multivitamins that I’d purchased for my partner at the time, and the weapon in question was a knife I’d bought at a flea market in high school).

Even so, I spent two years on probation, with six months of that under home monitoring, thirteen days in jail, and one weekend at “DUI school.” Even though I’d only dealt with a fraction of our carceral system, the experience left me frustrated, drained of energy, and depressed about the time I’d lost.

During the final phase of my probation, I’d been required to show proof of attendance at two AA meetings, though I had the option of substituting one of those with a church event.

My parents and brother had started going to a UU church so I decided to give it a try. The open dialogue on religion was refreshing to me, who’d been raised Christian. The focus on social justice was especially important, as my experience with the court system had validated so much of what my parents had taught me about systemic racism and inequality.

More than that, UU gave me a path to deepen a lifelong passion for philosophy, reconnect with my local and wider community through service and advocacy, and helped restore my own sense of worth and dignity, which had been damaged by the carceral system.

I believe that Unitarian Universalism is a liberatory religion. Our First Principle affirms “the worth and dignity of every person” (including the incarcerated), our Fourth Principle calls for a “free and responsible search for meaning,” and our Sixth Principle calls for “justice for all.”

And now, we are widely adopting the Eighth Principle in our churches, which calls us to “dismantle racism and other oppressions in ourselves and our institutions.”

Unitarian Universalism has helped me find a community where I can continue my journey of liberation and abolition. I’m glad it has led me to this moment and I look forward to serving as your Prison Ministry Manager.

AFGHANISTAN — I can never go back, but it doesn’t let me leave. It latches on to you like an addiction, mentally and physically, and tears you apart like a ravenous dog. The jewel of the orient, along a highway of silk, into the graveyard of empires.

It gnaws at you, especially when you know you can’t go back, mustn’t go back. Yet you go back, like a bad habit, finish a mission started but never completed. Always passing it along to your relief/replacement. Not knowing if they will ever be as good as you see yourself.

You want to go back to finish what was started for the ones who have fallen, not wanting all of the past 20 years to have been in vain for the sacrifice by them and their families.

Every time I left I’d say I’ll never return, I’ll find a new job; but never did. Like my addiction, “I quit, and never again,” but always going back.

A bad compulsion that eventually became exposed to the truth and justice at the barrel of a gun pointed at me, and my family as they slept. I had turned into the monster just like the ones I fought in Afghanistan. Unable to return on my next mission and finish honorably, I ended in shackles with a stain I cannot get rid of. Head hanging low unable to comprehend why I let myself fail. Why I didn’t do more to help myself instead of walking down the path of destruction I made.

Failing to do my part and seek help for a habit that was getting out of control. Not letting someone, any one, help me. All the tools, weapons, and loving support were there, but I spurred them away. Saying, “I can handle this.”

This war I have been fighting; long before Afghanistan became part of my vocabulary. Fought long before the Soviets were there.

Afghanistan is the “graveyard of Empires,” but for me it is my mind. Trying everyday to stay out, and in the light,

locked up by the Commonwealth in an institute of supposed “Corrections.” Trying to resurrect something; salvage the positive from this disaster I created.

I was headed back to “The Stan,” but ended up here! Locked away from society, thrown away, seen as a worthless cause, my honor stripped away by my behavior.

Is it possible to return with honor? Salvage something of my life left, and the family I hurt so bad? Make something good out of all this?

Working day by day, one step at a time, working the steps, seeking the counseling, having faith, and soldiering on.

DERECK
CLF Member, incarcerated in VA

Does believing that God’s grace extends to everyone prove there’s an end to suffering? The contradiction mollifies itself because a loving, wrathful God is graceful and merciful from a Christian Universalism point of view.

When I was six or seven years old my mom read to my brother and I the Bible. I lit up! I believed all of it. She read to us for a few more years, and then we grew up. After that I rarely picked up the Bible, but I remember, one time I opened it to the book of Revelation and attempted to decipher it. I soon gave up.

Then, at twenty-two years of age, I was incarcerated because I went undiagnosed and untreated for more than a year with a major mental illness. This disorder did not allow me to refrain from thinking (and acting out) a false reality, in which my crime was necessary and sufficient to help — save — humanity from suffering, as well as my well-being, and my own recovery. This was a grandiose delusion, even though I should have known I was wrong from a black and white perspective, my mind colored every perspective in support of my delusion. Thus, I was strongly compelled to act on it contrary to the law, regardless of the real consequences which compromised my promises to society due to my insanity.

I could not understand why a loving God would allow my life to turn into, what seems like, a crash course with no end in sight. Fast forward eighteen years of incarceration with another twenty-two years remaining on this course and, in short, it seems God has let me down at every turn. I expected to finish the racecourse.

Fortunately, this is still the case because in my recurring delusions, this life is still the best, most true, and most real life I will ever have, unless the reality is far greater than the delusion. The point is that much did turn out far better for me than I had expected! I can explain every circumstance and event, because I have tasted that the Lord is good (1 Peter 2:1-3).

Moreover, I have a peace that I know I have a choice. It is human nature, and the peace I feel comes from faith in my interpretation (from my experiences). It is my truth. Can I share it with you? May I? It is this Christianity — that almost has it right! That is much better than I expected, but it was that curiosity when I attempted to do something I thought no one on earth has done — justify my life with anything less than grace.

ASHER
CLF member, incarcerated in FL

In the Fall 2020 issue of the Worthy Now newsletter, we asked for responses on a simple question: How does the CLF feed your spirit?

We’re so grateful for all of your beautiful responses — hearing from you truly feeds our spirits! Here are excerpts from just  a few of the responses we received.  

GARY

CLF member, incarcerated in NC

Growing up as a Christian in the  South meant church on Sunday,  fried chicken for lunch, and  youth group that night. We never questioned the “rightness” of it  all or ventured to think there just  may be another road available.  Doctrine, ritual, dogma rules our  lives, often crushing the very  spirit it was meant to uplift.

Enter CLF. Coming to prison has  strangely been a liberating experience. Formerly having to live a  life in secret, being gay, and worries about a reputation and name, prison opened doors for my spirit.  CLF-UU has given my spirit the  wings to see that church does not have to be a stodgy, dry experience. It can be uplifting!

As my poem [on the next page]  says, stripped of my armor, incarceration has laid me bare, and  removed the trappings I once hid behind. Replacing beliefs no longer my own, CLF-UU has provided the spiritual communion every  person seeks, whether openly or without even realizing it, as we  all ponder the mysterious and  wonderful thing called life.

AUGUST

CLF member, incarcerated in WI

Focus is often directed toward growing physically and mentally. The  problem is a person can be physically  and mentally to their capacity and  still experience a sense of emptiness.  This begins to point to bread alone not being what sustains life. CLF has helped me reframe my mindset so growth is viewed in a more holistic way. No longer do I confine growth to  the physical and mental domain. The spiritual growth CLF has produced  within me not only allowed me to  recognize my worth and dignity, but  more importantly the worth and  dignity of every person. CLF so far  has highlighted the importance of  feeding the spirit. This has forced me  to wrestle with how something so  valuable (i.e. feeding the spirit) can  ever be considered invaluable.

SCOTT

CLF member, incarcerated in CA

The CLF is one of the few windows I  have into the uplifting and inspiring  parts of the world. When surrounded  by bleakness, it is easy to forget that there is plenty of good happening all over the world. In the Worthy  Now newsletter, I am reminded that  there are strangers who care about me even if they can not comfort me  on my darkest days. Reading the Quest Monthly enlightens me with  viewpoints I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. The free books and courses are essential tools I use in my own rehabilitation. I share them with those who attend self-help groups with me, and I even introduce some of the materials in workshops I design.

There are plenty of mainstream Christians around who simply want to save my soul. Yet, the CLF is helping save me from the hell that is life  in prison. Thank you for empowering me and being a welcoming community. Your compassion feeds my spirit in ways that help me stay resilient in the face of daily hardship.

1. There is a unity that makes us one.
2. All souls are sacred and worthy.
3. Courageous love transforms the world.
4. Truth continues to be revealed.
5. Salvation in this life.

The five jagged rocks were created by Rev. Nancy Bowen, Rev. Mike Morran, and others within the Mountain Desert District of the Unitarian Universalist Association. They are a specifically UU understanding and expansion of what James Luther Adams called “the five smooth stones of liberal religious tradition.” In turn, Adams created the smooth stones with inspiration from the story of David and Goliath, a Biblical tale in which King David defeats the Philistine warrior Goliath by slinging five smooth stones at him. Adams believed that liberal religion just like David with his smooth stones, could have a powerful impact on the world as long as it had the right tools at its disposal. This newest adaptation, the five jagged rocks, recognizes that Unitarian Universalism is rough around the edges. We aren’t perfect, theologically or otherwise, and that’s okay.

I talk about the five jagged rocks all the time: I’ve led workshops for youth, preached sermons, taught adult spiritual development classes, and rambled on about them to anyone what is needed to make this world
and this life the best it can be for all.

I believe that Unitarian Universalism has the potential to be life changing—and many of us know that firsthand. But too often we shy away from using the tools to share it with the world, and often that is because we just don’t know where to start.

A few months ago, I had a conversation about the five jagged rocks with my friend Rose Gallogly, who serves the Church of the Larger Fellowship as Publications Coordinator. I asked her to design a tattoo for me, a reminder of what Unitarian Universalism has the who asks me “so can UUs believe anything?” They resonate with me more than any other description of our faith, stating boldly how our never ending search for truth and our deep love and connection to each other are potential to be, and a reminder that I can be a part of that potential.

Every day I look at my tattoo and am reminded of the commitment I have made to Unitarian Universalism and the commitment Unitarian Universalism has made to me: to be a place where I share my full self, to challenge myself and others to dismantle systems of oppression, and to live deeply into Beloved Community.

We are so glad that so many people are receiving and loving Quest Monthly.

If you are not yet a member of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, please reach out to us to discuss whether church membership may be the right fit for you or your family. The CLF is a vibrant and growing congregation where over 2,400 adult members and hundreds of children and youth share the mission of building a global spiritual community. It would be an honor to formally welcome you into our faith family.

Learn more about becoming a free-world member at clfuu.org/join. You may also email us at clf@clfuu.org or call us at 617-948-6150.

If you are currently incarcerated, send a letter to CLF Worthy Now; 24 Farnsworth St. Boston MA 02210, and we will reply with more information about what’s included in membership and how to join.

In February of 2015 I went to the Unitarian Universalist Minister’s Association Institute for Excellence in Ministry, and I had the opportunity to spend a week in a workshop with activist, eco‐philosopher, writer, and spiritual elder Joanna Macy.

Joanna is well‐known in spiritual and ecological activism circles. Her work focuses on Work that Reconnects, naming ways that we have been disconnected and how that feeds despair and apathy, and working to build community and connection in response to the reality of ecological devastation and destruction.

We know that our world is facing a climate crisis. And there is much that could be said about the science, the statistics and the rising temperatures and the extreme weather events and the NASA reports and parts per million. I’m not here to talk about any of that. My own eyes start to glaze over at the numbers, and when I zoom out, I just feel my own helplessness and overwhelm welling up inside me until I want to shut it all out and push it away, pretending I never heard any of it.

So here was Joanna Macy, 84­year‐old spiritual elder, grounded in the Buddhist tradition, brilliant and effusive and leading this workshop alongside the young activists of Movement Generation, an environmental justice organization led by low income young people of color committed to a just transition away from profit and pollution and toward healthy, resilient and life affirming local economies.

Throughout the workshop, Joanna kept saying “What a wonderful time to be alive!” And I found myself thinking “Yeah, right, Joanna, have you read the news lately?”

Joanna had us begin in her four‐step process of the work that reconnects, which begins with gratitude. And let me tell you, I wasn’t feeling too much of that, so I thought it was a particularly annoying place to start. Mostly, what I was feeling was anger.

That anger was primarily directed at my parents’ and grandparents’ generations. The generations immediately preceding me had not left things in better condition than they had found it. I felt a sort of “What on earth are we supposed to do with all this mess?!”

So gratitude wasn’t quite happening for me yet.

Then Joanna asked us to honor our pain for the world—and that I could do. Pain at the ways we see violence and oppression destroy families and communities, pain at the ways that we see suffering all around us, pain for the ways we are so disconnected from one another, from our natural world, from God, from our own deepest desires.

And then, Joanna announced that we were going to time travel—we were going to talk to a descendent from seven generations into the future—which is estimated to be about 200 years. She assigned half of us to be present day beings, our own selves (I was in this group) and the other half of us would be seventh generation beings—humans from around the year 2215. She then facilitated a conversation with imaginary ancestors and descendants, talking together about this time we live in.

We present‐day ancestors began. The future beings—our imaginary descendants, asked us a series of questions about the time we, all of us, live in here and now. The questions were along the lines of “ancestor, I’ve heard stories about the critical time you live in—how much of a crisis your world was in. What was it like for you to live with that knowledge every day?” and “You must have felt confused and lonely at the beginning. How did you get started in helping our world to heal?” and “You must have felt scared and discouraged throughout it. Where did you find the strength to continue?”

Those of us embodying the role as present‐day beings each answered these questions, and then we got to hear from these pretend future beings, reflecting back what they had heard about these hard times we live in.

This was when my moment of personal transformation happened. Because in my answering of these questions, I felt defensive, like it was me, my generation, young adults who won’t be young adults forever, trying to offer an explanation for the world we might leave to the future beings. And yet all of these people in the workshop—the ones role­playing our descendants, who in reality were older than me—were part of a generation of people I had just hours before felt that flare of anger toward. And then, all of a sudden, I had this rush of compassion, a flood of transformative understanding and patience and deep knowledge of the critical questions the next generation might hurl toward mine.

My point is this: none of us alone created our climate crisis, and in part it was created by a very short view of time—a view that expects immediate profit or loss, a view that can’t fully comprehend the consequences of our choices beyond our own lifetimes. And it wasn’t until I was invited, albeit skeptically at first, to literally converse with our descendants that I had an emotional connection to the future that allowed my moral imagination to take root.

We need a moral imagination of the possibilities we hold if we are going to stop ourselves from exporting our problems to the future. We need this sense of deep time when we think about problems that span across generations, and when we are making choices that will affect future generations.

In this, there is cause for hope. Joanna Macy again: “Passive hope is about waiting for external agencies to bring about what we desire. Active hope is about becoming active participants in what we hope for. Active hope is a practice…it is something we do, rather than have.” Joanna makes very clear that active hope does not require optimism, but rather a clarity about the outcome we would like to see, letting our intentions and our values, rather than our calculations of likely success, be our guide. Active hope cannot be discovered in an armchair or without risk. In active hope, we choose our response and act on that choice. In active hope we not only envision new possibilities, we create them for ourselves and for generations to come.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110184122/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_11/04.mp3

What could a convict have to say about possibilities? At a time before prison, I would have thought Not very much. Then, there I was, no longer free, in jail, asking myself: How could this happen? How is this possible? Who takes the time to consider such a thing, especially before the fact?

On the other hand, what are the chances of simply having a negative thought—and acting on it? Well, there I was, one of many behind those walls, enclosed, confined.

Possibilities are essentially pathways, alternative spaces, but jail is, by design, restriction and stagnation. In such a place I was surrounded by others who had exercised bad thoughts followed by bad actions. This kind of environment is, on the surface, full of hostility and wickedness, trickling falls of futility and hopelessness flooding in like bad waters, pooling up bit by bit, rising.

Prison brings physical harm, but also psychological damage. Consider the favored prison wisdom phrase: “It is what it is.”

Think about that string of words. What do they convey? I have always cringed at its sentiment, considered it unhelpful at best and unwise at worst. It implies that there are no alternatives, and its essence is surrender.

No alternatives? This could not be so. I needed options, second chances. I heard that arrogant phrase of so-called wisdom, with its absolute conviction, over and over again, and watched as others lived by it. Try and understand the context of such a mindset in the prison environment: What’s done is done. My limits are what they are. My reality is what it is.

No, no, no, I thought. That is the wrong way to view our situation. The mantra stank of defeat, and defeat means that it’s over and can’t be undone. There was a feeling of being lost, with no sense of direction or even destination. I kept replaying the past in my head, wondering. Things had appeared so set in place, so inevitable. Refusing to give in to the flow of my surroundings, refusing to filter life through a layer of impossibilities, I had to admit to myself that the path taken—the one that led to prison—was not the only option I had. Wrong thought and wrong action on my part had kept me on a single course. I had been my own worst enemy. I was following poor directions, and could not afford to continue.

Okay. So in the past I had had options, but didn’t heed them and wound up here, in prison. What now? Inside, dealing with the rising swells of obstacles, what remained? At first it seemed that the answer was bleak. I struggled as waves of stress and doubt trapped me, threatening to drown me.

I was ready for anything, and without realizing it, I had found a life preserver—only it didn’t look like one, at least not at first. Help came as soon as pen met paper. When I came across an address, any place offering resources to the incarcerated, I responded. I wrote letter after letter. Using the written word, I extended my consciousness beyond the perils of prison, seeking reprieve.

Merriam-Webster’s thesaurus lists several words as related to or synonyms for possibility. These words were reflected in my actions: My thoughts were potentiality. Paper and pen, stamps and envelopes, were attainable. Writing and corresponding were practicable. Fortunately, too, I had available family and friends who supported me. Soon I had several correspondences. And momentum.

From the seclusion of my bunk I could very easily have stared at the fuzzy ceiling, raised a white flag and given up. Instead, I learned from my past, acknowledged my terrible choices, maintained right thought during tough times, and discovered that possibilities could still happen. Writing became an opportunity for me, a way of having control and exercising better principles, like empathy and sharing and being proactive. This is a new journey I look forward to, but is it an easier trek now? No. I see it this way: the journey will always have its difficulties. Had I focused my outlook on a limiting philosophy, gotten lured in, I could easily have been hooked and sunk by its impossible weight.

Possibilities are hope and hope is possibilities. Sometimes those are closer than we realize. Mine was right under my nose. In most cases it was cheap, if not free, and became easier to find and more rewarding with each new word. It is what it can be—if we are willing to believe. Don’t give up. Keep searching. Keep trying. Keep the hope alive and keep your outlook open because the possibilities are out there, even in the toughest of circumstances.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110184055/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_11/05.mp3

One of the many ways to carve meaning out of grief is to honor the memory of those we have lost. We welcome gifts to sustain the work of the CLF made in honor of those who are gone from this earth, but remain in memory. To arrange a memorial gift, please call the CLF office at (617) 948-6150.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110180907/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_10/02.mp3

A spiritual practice is something which you repeat regularly that grounds you in depth and connection. For the CLF, supporting us by making a regularly scheduled donation not only builds the depth of our connection, it gives us a vital stability and capacity to plan for the future. You can sustain the CLF by scheduling a monthly or quarterly donation online, or you can call the CLF office at 617-948-6150.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110152752/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_07/03.mp3

A spiritual practice is something which you repeat regularly that grounds you in depth and connection. For the CLF, supporting us by making a regularly scheduled donation not only builds the depth of our connection, it gives us a vital stability and capacity to plan for the future. You can sustain the CLF by scheduling a monthly or quarterly donation online, or you can call the CLF office at 617-948-6150.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110152731/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_07/03.mp3

During the ten years of Meg Riley’s leadership as senior minister for the Church of the Larger Fellowship, we have changed and grown in a wide variety of ways. Embracing the motto “Always in Beta!,” Meg’s innovative leadership has taken us in many exciting directions to serve the needs of Unitarian Universalists around the globe:

• The Quest for Meaning website, with significant resources available online;
• Weekly online worship services;
• Live online vigils in response to national crises;
• The VUU, a weekly online justice-centered talk show;
• Development of the CLF Learning Fellows program, which helps seminarians and others prepare for innovative ministry;
• Covenant Groups that meet in real time through video conference technology;
• Faith Rocket—a program that shares CLF worship and religious education materials in a format designed to support small congregations;
• Blogging;
• CLF Facebook groups, including Coffee Hour;
• Immediate pastoral care in response to world-wide crises;
• Growth of the Prison Ministry program from 400 in 2010 to over 1,100 in 2020;
• In-person contact with congregations throughout the US;
• Growth of the CLF staff to include a director of technology and a communications coordinator

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110152649/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_07/05.mp3

During the ten years of Meg Riley’s leadership as senior minister for the Church of the Larger Fellowship, we have changed and grown in a wide variety of ways. Embracing the motto “Always in Beta!,” Meg’s innovative leadership has taken us in many exciting directions to serve the needs of Unitarian Universalists around the globe:

• The Quest for Meaning website, with significant resources available online;
• Weekly online worship services;
• Live online vigils in response to national crises;
• The VUU, a weekly online justice-centered talk show;
• Development of the CLF Learning Fellows program, which helps seminarians and others prepare for innovative ministry;
• Covenant Groups that meet in real time through video conference technology;
• Faith Rocket—a program that shares CLF worship and religious education materials in a format designed to support small congregations;
• Blogging;
• CLF Facebook groups, including Coffee Hour;
• Immediate pastoral care in response to world-wide crises;
• Growth of the Prison Ministry program from 400 in 2010 to over 1,100 in 2020;
• In-person contact with congregations throughout the US;
• Growth of the CLF staff to include a director of technology and a communications coordinator

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110152627/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_07/05.mp3

The Church of the Larger Fellowship has concluded its nationwide search for new senior leadership and is thrilled to share the news with all of you before General Assembly!

Tune in here for the live announcement and to celebrate this news on Tuesday, June 23 at 5pm PT/8pm ET.

The Commission on Institutional Change sits down for their penultimate episode in the spring series reviewing the findings of their report, the results of a multi-year effort to examine what is required to change UU institutions to dismantle white supremacist structures upholding them.

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110145218/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu302.mp3

A special series on the Commission’s report: Religious Professionals, Educating for Liberation. Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110142855/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu300.mp3

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110142118/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu299.mp3

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist will talk show discussing topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

This week on the VUU the host will talk with members of the Commission On Institutional Change.

Production support for this episode is provided by Antonia Bell-Delgado and Lori Stone.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110140933/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu298.mp3

This week we are chatting with Dr. Elias Ortega from Meadville about what’s up at our UU identified seminary in Chicago.

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing today’s topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Production support for this episode is provided by Antonia Bell-Delgado.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110132736/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu286.mp3

Let’s dig into how to best honor our 5th Principle – affirming and promoting the right of conscience and the democratic process in our congregations.

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing today’s topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Production support for this episode is provided by Antonia Bell-Delgado.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://media.blubrry.com/clfvuu_latest/www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu284.mp3

This week, Becky Brooks and Erika Hewitt, authors of Sparks of Wonder: Theme-Based Ministry for the Whole Congregation.

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing today’s topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Production support for this episode is provided by Antonia Bell-Delgado.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110132553/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu283.mp3

This week, we talk to representatives from UUs for Justice in the Middle East (UUJME), Black Lives of UU (BLUU), UU Peace Ministry Network (UUPMN), and UU Refugee and Immigrant Services and Education (UU RISE) working to pass a business resolution at the 2020 General Assembly to strengthen the use of corporate investment/divestment and shareholder advocacy in support of human rights.

Rev. Meg Riley, Aisha Hauser, Christina Rivera, and Rev Michael Tino host this live Unitarian Universalist talk show discussing today’s topics from an anti-racist, anti-oppressive and multicultural perspective. The VUU streams live on Facebook (or sometimes on YouTube) every Thursday at 11 am ET.

Production support for this episode is provided by Antonia Bell-Delgado.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://media.blubrry.com/clfvuu_latest/www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu282.mp3

The CLF exists because of your generosity. Each gift we receive renews our ability to serve UUs around the world. In countless ways, from our online show The VUU to pen pal letters between incarcerated and free-world members to conversations on Facebook, CLFers renew one another’s spirits with faith and courage. Please give generously at clfuu.org/give to help continue this cycle of renewal.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110131116/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_04/05.mp3

In light of all that is happening right now with the spread of Covid-19, our team has decided to extend the CLF Leadership RFP deadline to midnight on Sunday, March 22nd. For those planning to submit a proposal, please feel free to contact us at search(at)clfuu.org if you have any concerns about meeting this new deadline.

Beyond this change, we will be moving forward as planned with our search timeline to conduct virtual first round interviews in April and finalist interviews in early June. In May, we will make a determination as to whether we can safely host finalist interviews in person, or if we need to move these interviews to zoom.

We also recognize that many ordinations planned for this spring are currently in jeopardy of being postponed. Please know that if you have been granted preliminary ministerial fellowship by the MFC but have not yet been ordained, you will still meet the requirement of having a minimum of one UU minister per proposal.

We hope you are all staying safe and connected (virtually) to loved ones and our faith community during these difficult times.

The CLF Search Team

The CLF Search Team is excited to announce the release of our Request for Proposals for the next Senior Leadership of the CLF! Both individuals and teams are invited to apply! We are excited to learn more about your vision for the future of the Church of the Larger Fellowship. Please feel free to reach out to our team with questions at search(at)clfuu.org. The RFP deadline is March 20, 2020.

Request for Proposals

Download the  PDF version.

Request for Proposals

Download the Word version.

The CLF seeks to be a courageous voice for justice, for growth, for community amongst people who would probably never meet with-out our web that connects lives around the world. In a time of growing division, simply bringing people together is a courageous act. Please support the CLF in this important work by sending a check in the enclosed envelope, or by giving online here.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110105539/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_02/02.mp3

The beloved Senior Minister of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF), Rev. Meg Riley, has announced her retirement, effective August 2020. The CLF’s approaches to worship, pastoral care, providing spiritual resources and otherwise interacting with its congregation have been a blessing to members without easy access to a brick and mortar congregation.

An important component of the CLF mission is ministry to and with people on the margins–a deep and active commitment to anti-racism, anti-oppression, and multicultural community and learning.

In addition, a robust and rapidly growing prison ministry presents both a challenge and an extraordinary opportunity to the CLF. In a world of isolation, the CLF is a place where people can know that they are not alone.

Belonging is at the heart of CLF’s ministry. 

Technical innovations and societal changes require that the CLF adapt its ministries to meet the requirements of younger generations and emerging new communities of congregants. The CLF provides a uniquely open space for entrepreneurial ministerial endeavors. Rather than conduct a traditional search process for both a senior minister and a prison ministry director, the CLF Board of Trustees is taking an open-ended, creative approach towards determining the future leadership structure for Unitarian Universalism’s “Church without Walls.” We are asking you–UU leaders–for your ideas. The CLF will be circulating a detailed request for proposals in the very near future. Applications from both individuals and teams will be welcome. The board, with assistance from appropriate experts, will then evaluate each proposal in detail and select the one most likely to ensure that the CLF and its members continue to flourish in the decades to come.

Put your thinking caps on and watch this space! Please reach out to search(at)clfuu.org with any questions. 

Yours in faith,

The CLF Search Committee

Perhaps you are familiar with the concept of The Hero’s Journey, made famous by Joseph Campbell. A Hero’s Journey is a story that is told in all mythologies and times and places, an archetype that reflects our own journey and draws humanity together. The Hero’s Journey story begins when the hero leaves the mundane world and ventures out of their comfort zone. On their way they are likely to be given supernatural aid in one form or another, given instruction from mentors, and as they travel they gather allies. But eventually it comes time to cross the threshold; it’s time for the biggest part of the journey to begin. This is when the hero leaves behind everything familiar and moves into a realm filled with mystery.

A great example of this happens early in Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo has been given the ring, instruction from Gandalf, a magical sword and chain mail, and has set off with his closest friend, Samwise Gamgee. After they have traveled a while, there comes a point where Samwise stops, and he says, “This is it. If I take one more step, this will be the farthest away from home I’ve ever been.” There’s great trepidation within Sam. He hesitates, and marks the moment when he crosses the threshold into what is truly unknown. Sam understands that it’s the point of no return, and if he takes even one step further, he will be committed to the adventure, and there will be no avoiding what’s to come.

Frodo tells him, “Remember what Bilbo used to say, ‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.’” And Bilbo was right…anything can happen, and there’s no way out but through.

Gateways have power. When we pass through from one phase of life into another, it marks a time of great change, an unfolding into something new. We know what it means to come to a gateway, face the inevitable trials, and, finally, pass through…it happens in all sorts of ways. The most common gateways are the greatest rites of passage, which happen to all of us: birth and death. This is where we pass through from the unknown and then back into the unknown. This is where most philosophies and religions are able to really spread their wings and fly around in endless speculation. These are powerful gateways and they can invoke genuine awe in those who witness them, all religion and philosophy aside.

There are other gateways we go through of our own accord—those gateways we work and plan toward, like graduations, marriages and starting a family. These are thresholds we build ourselves that are of great importance, and will stick in the mind because the results are truly life-changing. One moment you’re single, then you arrive at a church, make your vows, get a ring, and BAM! You’re married! Yesterday you were a student, tomorrow, you’re officially a teacher, or a chemist, or an economist. One minute you’ve got a giant belly and you’re screaming in pain, the next, you’re a mother, holding your new baby, and crying with joy at finally seeing that face you’ve been wondering about. The gateway is crossed in a moment, but the work to get there was probably done over years.

Then there are the all the small transitions that take place over the course of a life; thousands of tiny, great moments that change us, bit by bit. Maybe it’s realizing we have a skill, encouraging words from a teacher, a terrific new job, a special day with a parent or child, making a wonderful new friend, or finally getting to kiss that person you’ve had a crush on. These might be small events, but they go far in shaping who we are, creating a patchwork of experiences.

But every year, each of us crosses two thresholds that can be the impetus for change. One is our birthday, the way we each mark the turning of our own years. Maybe we dread it, maybe we celebrate it, maybe we do a little bit of each. One way or another, if we’re lucky, another birthday comes around. The other threshold is the turning of a New Year. Both birthdays and New Years are times when we stand at the start of something new, an opportunity to turn a page, make a resolution to improve ourselves in large or small ways.

What is it about a new year, our own or everyone’s, which makes it so ripe for change? Maybe it’s because those times of turning tend to be points when we look behind and take stock of what we’ve done over the past year, and at the same time, look ahead at what’s to come, wonder at where the journey might take us. Sort of like we’re standing on a fulcrum, caught like Samwise Gamgee with one foot in the air, knowing that the next step we take will be the start of something new. One step in any direction will be a path that opens before us and anything can happen. I think we feel the power of that potential loud and clear when we stand at the threshold of a new year, and it makes it easier to make resolutions. It’s the challenges and trials to come that will test our resolve.

And we know that’s where the gateway leads, right? No matter which direction you put your foot down on, no matter what path you take, there will be challenges and rewards ahead. There are no avoiding the pitfalls, though, and the pitfalls are what test those resolutions we make. Old habits die especially hard and comfort zones are not easily broken out of. So, maybe the key to keeping a resolution is to find a way to renew it. Find a way to make each day the beginning of something. The old chestnut to “live every day like it’s your last,” I would think, would not help us keep resolutions like eating healthier or quitting smoking. It would be more like, “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, hand me anther beer, and cut me a big slice of that cake, please!”

No, I think the power that gateways contain, the potential for growth, comes from appreciating that every day is a new beginning, a new chance to change. Perhaps if we breathe deeply and manage to stay upright as we get swept away with every awakening, we may just be able to keep to our resolutions. It’s so hard, isn’t it, though, to find a way to make every day count, the start of a new year that begins again every day? We are easily distracted and distractible people. But here’s a blessing: if we fail, we try again tomorrow. We are ever-renewed, and the journey begins over and over.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110095758/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_01/01.mp3

Threshold is an interesting word. As a maintenance clerk I immediately thought of the thing at the bottom of a doorway. Being there requires a willingness to go beyond. And then there is the literary use, which one might find in a novel: “We stand at the threshold of a momentous occasion in a brave new world….” But how do we cross the threshold?

For me it has been by accident and trial and error—mostly error. I’ve reached my error threshold because the pain of being locked up begs for relief. Prison life definitely pushes the pain number up to about a seven or so. Prison is a crucible which brings about a state of desperation which leads to actively seeking the doorway to something better.

Oftentimes in here the doorways open into fundamental beliefs which are not inviting or healing for a liberal believer. I will forever be grateful to the Divine Universe for showing me the threshold belonging to Unitarian Universalism many years ago. The kind, welcoming people who have answered my knock from inside these walls have indeed allowed me to stand at the threshold of a momentous time in a loving community.

I’ve been back on a violation for four years, and much of the initial pain, sadness and loss have subsided. I feel excitement about the day in the future when I can step foot over the thing on the door that leads to the community that supports me while I am here. I definitely have the willingness to step over into the fellowship which supports a free and responsible search for meaning.

As I stand near the threshold, waiting for the parole answer in the near future, I want to close by saying thank you for being on the other side of the threshold.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110095716/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/20_01/03.mp3

Thanks and Praise is is exactly what we have for all of our wonderful CLF members and supporters who contribute so that CLF can be there for religious liberals around the world. I hope you hear a chorus of thanks coming up from prisons and jails, from dorm rooms and rest homes, from houses and apartments and libraries or wherever people find us in print and/or online. Thank you! You’re the best! If you’d like to join in making all we do possible, we’d be ever so thankful for your contribution, either in the form of a check mailed in the enclosed envelope or a gift online at clfuu.org/give.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110074814/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_11/04.mp3

And truly, I reiterate, . .
nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of a
summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the      cherubim:
And, — glancing on my own thin, veined wrist, —
In such a little tremour of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a     vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct.
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes…

Excerpted from “Aurora Leigh” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110030719/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_08/02.mp3

What opens you to wonder?

We hope that Quest and the many other resources from the CLF help to turn toward the wondrous. If you value the wonder that the CLF brings to your life, and to many others around the world, it would be wonderful if you could support the CLF by sending a check in the enclosed envelope
or by giving online.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110030616/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_08/04.mp3

For connection? Are you looking for ways to feed your mind and heart and soul? The CLF is available 24/7 to address these hungers and nourish the spirits of all who come looking. Please do what you can to enable the CLF to continue to feed a spiritually hungry world by sending a check in the enclosed envelope or by giving online at clfuu.org/give.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211110004642/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_05/05.mp3

To all members of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, Unitarian Universalist

Per Article VII, Sections 1 and 2 of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF) Bylaws, the 46th Annual Meeting will be held via video/telephone conference call and screen sharing on Tuesday, June 11, 2019 at 8:00PM EDT. The video call link is here.

We will post all the necessary documents and contact information to the CLF website by June 4, 2019. You can download materials and print them. Or call the CLF office at 617-948-6150 and request a paper copy.

The purpose of the meeting is to, from the slate of candidates recommended by the nominating committee,

• Elect two members to 3-year terms on the board of directors,
• Elect one member to a 3-year term on the nominating committee,
• Elect a clerk and treasurer

We will elect a moderator from among members present to preside at the meeting.

Danielle Di Bona, Clerk

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109232933/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/19_04/02.mp3

This week we chatted with author and scholar Paul Ortiz about his new book “An African American and Latinx History of the U.S. Come join the conversation, streaming live on our Facebook page. http://facebook.com/clfuu

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The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109164405/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu245.mp3

This week we tackled two topics in our show. How is the government shutdown affecting government workers? Park ranger Keith Stegall came to offer us some insight. And then we chatted with Dottie Mathews and Rabbi Bruce Elder who worked to successfully shut down the Tornillo Detention Center. We are keeping it current on the VUU this week. Come join the conversation every Thursday at 11am ET, streaming live on our Facebook page. http://facebook.com/clfuu

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The VUU is CLF’s live talkshow specifically for Unitarian Universalists. Join the conversation each Thursday at 11 am Eastern (USA).

Our podcast is the best way to enjoy The VUU if you can’t make it to the live show. Subscribe on iTunes, Android, Stitcher or your favorite app and never miss an episode. Learn more and listen to previous broadcasts at https://questformeaning.org/vuu/.

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser, and Christina Rivera with production support from Jessica Star Rockers.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109162706/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu244.mp3

This week we chatted live on The VUU about the world refugee crisis with Latifa Woodhouse, President of Shared Humanity. Shared Humanity is a nonprofit founded to provide urgent and sustained humanitarian aid to refugees seeking safe haven from war, violence, and oppression.

More info can be found at www.sharedhumanityusa.org.

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109154823/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu243.mp3

This week we chatted live on The VUU about the US Border Refugee Crisis with Alex Dixon.

Links from the show:

https://annunciationhouse.org/
https://www.borderlandrainbow.org/

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The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109073703/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu242.mp3

This week we chatted live on The VUU with Alex Kapitan from TRUUsT and Kris McElroy about ways to support our trans community in these dangerous times. Guest hosting this week was Jaelynn Scott and Dawn Fortune, alongside our regulars Meg and Michael.

Here’s the link to the TRUUsT website: http://truust.wordpress.com.

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109042113/https://media.blubrry.com/clfvuu_latest/www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu235.mp3

Martin Luther King, Jr.’s last speech is now called “The  Mountaintop Speech.” In it he seems to predict his own death:

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life; longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will.

And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I’m happy,  tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Dr. King was murdered the next day.

“I may not get there with you. But …we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.” He knew he wouldn’t get there with us. We are still not there. I won’t get there either; the arc of the moral universe is long. With this knowledge, I am here to lay myself down as one more stepping stone on the road to the Promised Land.

We are all stepping stones. We don’t just stand on the shoulders of giants. Giants aren’t very common, after all. What is much more common are the people whose names and faces and lives most of us will never know. We know they existed, because we exist, but that’s it. What Tim Rice writes in the musical Aida is true, at least for most Black people: “The past is now another land, far beyond my reach / Invaded by insidious foreign bodies, foreign speech.”

I see slave women in photos, and it is painful for me because one of those women could be my kin. The woman with a nursing baby and toddler bears more than a passing resemblance to my own mother. She could be my great-great-great grandmother and I would never know it. She’s a photo on the internet. No name, no date, no place. According to history, she is no body.

Most Black women are No Body to history. They were just hands and feet and breasts and wombs. Their hands tilled the soil, planted and harvested crops, kneaded dough and made good food they weren’t allowed to eat, sewed clothing they weren’t allowed to wear. Their cracked and tired feet walked for miles in all kinds of weather to work as maids and nurses and laundresses. Their breasts fed white babies as theirs went hungry. Their milk wasn’t their own. Their breasts weren’t their own. Their wombs were not their own. The bodies of slave women were for the master’s pleasure and the master’s financial gain.

Many Black people walk around as visual reminders of the hundreds of years of bodily violations our women endured. My grandmother and my great-grandmother are both light-skinned. My grandmother’s natural pre-white hair color is red; a light-skinned, red-headed Black girl whose family migrated out of Kentucky—an “Upper South” border slave state that did not secede from the Union during the Civil War. Kentucky remained officially neutral with a population that was 25% enslaved Blacks. We know why my family looks the way it does.

Delores Williams, womanist theologian, says that for Black women our biblical heroine is Hagar. She is our ancestor. Hagar was the Black Egyptian slave of Abraham and Sarah. When Sarah could not conceive—the greatest shame a woman could endure in the ancient Near East—she “gave” her “servant” to Abraham to have a child with. You might be thinking, Wait, how did this fix the problem of her not being able to conceive? Well, by law Sarah owned every part of Hagar. The child that Abraham then fathered (Ishmael) was legally Sarah’s child. And not in a property way, as it was in the American south, but rather her child, as in her son.

Hagar was a forced surrogate. It was common practice in those days. When Sarah eventually had her own child, Isaac, she told Abraham to leave Hagar and Ishmael, who was legally her son, in the desert. Abraham, knowing this meant certain death for them both in the harsh desert, did as she asked, even though he loved Ishmael.

In the desert, Hagar walked away from Ishmael because she could not stand to see her own child die of thirst or hunger. God heard Hagar’s cries and felt her pain. God knew what Abraham and Sarah did was wrong. God provided them with water and told Hagar that they would survive. God gave her a way out of no way.

Hagar was disenfranchised, powerless, used and abused, living in a foreign land. She was disposable and subject to the whims of her oppressors. Hagar was also resilient, strong, brave, and audacious. She lived and survived to give her child a chance. Ishmael is the biblical ancestor of the Muslim people.

Now, this is a complicated, difficult to understand story. Back when Hagar was pregnant she ran away from Sarah’s mistreatment into the desert. An angel of God appeared to her and told her to go back and submit to Sarah’s rule. An angel of God told her to go back into captivity. Horrible, right? Was God supporting slavery? No. What God did was to make sure Hagar and her baby both survived.

To a slave woman, to Black women, the point here is clear. Freedom is not always attainable. Often times it’s something we fight for with hope that those who come after will get to see it. It’s always a goal, but you must survive first. For yourself, and for your children. God gives Hagar the strength to endure. He toughens her up for the long hard road ahead.

As Alice Walker puts it: “And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see—or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.”

In the book Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” in the Antebellum South, Albert J. Raboteau notes the failure of the white slave system to make Blacks docile by stripping us of our culture. “In the New World, slave control was based on the eradication of all forms of African culture because of their power to unify the slaves and thus enable them to resist or rebel. Nevertheless, African beliefs and customs persisted and were transmitted by slaves to their descendants.” One of the easiest ways to link African past and American present was religion.

The slaves brought over were from different villages and areas of their continent. They spoke different languages and had different customs, but most worshiped nature and the indigenous gods of Africa. That was a shared language. The way they worshipped was common to them and that was beyond language. For example, drumming—a staple of African worship—was incorporated into Christianity. Drumming, singing, and dancing were used to spread coded messages to slaves and keep alive the memory of who they were and where they came from. These elements can still be seen in African American culture and religion today.

Christianity colonized Black lives. Now, I could walk away from it all—Jesus, the Bible, the Christian community, God. But I don’t want to, and I think there is courage in the determination not to walk away. In Genesis, Jacob literally wrestled with God all night in the desert. At daybreak God asked Jacob to let him go. But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

The man asked him, “What is your name?”

“Jacob,” he answered.

Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”

Jacob wrestled with his faith and did not come out unscathed. He limped away with a broken hip. Still, he walked away triumphant. Faith is hard. Belief is a struggle. Religion both hurts and heals. We are all here as stepping stones for one another as we move from past to future.

Black people and Black women especially have been martyred over and over. Some, like Dr. King, are given sainthood, but most are forgotten. We must remember them. Just as we remember our present day martyrs—the Rekia Boyds, Trayvon Martins, and Sandra Blands. #SayHerName. #BlackLivesMatter. We will make it to the Promised Land one day.

All the people we have lost—but who will make it, too, because we carry them with us—got us here with their determination, strength, and hope. Black women taught us, and continue to teach us, how to survive and how to thrive. #BlackGirlMagic is real. Go live your life in such a way that it honors theirs. Do what they could not do. Be who they could not be. Fight the battles they did not win.

The life blood of the ancestors who came before us runs through our veins. Our bodies come from their bodies. We live because they lived.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109042002/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_11/01.mp3

The CLF’s Nominating Committee seeks members to run for positions beginning June 2019:

• Board of Directors—three for 3-year terms
• Nominating Committee—one for a 3-year term
• Treasurer—for a 1-year term
• Clerk—for a 1-year term

Board members set CLF policy and approve the budget. The Board meets in Boston or other US cities twice annually and periodically by conference calls. Nominating Committee members put forth nominations for the Board.

For more information about the Board and Nominating Committee, click here. You may nominate yourself or another CLF member for any of these positions.

Please contact the CLF office at nominating@clfuu.org or 617-948-6150 by January 15, 2019.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109041906/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_11/03.mp3

On the morning my grandmother died, I squeezed the juice out of citrus fruits and strained out the seeds with a fork so I wouldn’t drink them. My grandmother told me when I was three or four that if you swallowed seeds they would grow inside your stomach. But that is not why I didn’t want to drink them.

I know my digestion will obliterate the seeds into their primal molecular components if ingested—that all the great potential contained in those seeds would nourish me, become part of me. Although I swallowed dozens of seeds when I was young, not one watermelon ever grew in my stomach, somewhat to my disappointment.

My grandmother knew seeds were better in the ground than taking the long journey through my digestive system, so she let me spit watermelon seeds into her garden. When I was small she had an amazing garden, lush and verdant and full of smells, colors, and textures. Later, when she moved into a little one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of Oakland’s busy Park Street by Lake Merritt, she grew trees in pots from the seeds she saved from squeezing lemons. I have never been able to grow a lemon tree from a seed, but she knew how to coax them to grow, flourish and bear fruit.

On the way to work I was thinking about my family’s legacy in California, and how it was more than names in a logbook or dates on a document. People change the land they live in, but also the land changes them. The thin, wiry peasant stock my family came from undoubtedly changed into the robust, well-built bodies of native Californians in a few generations.

My grandmother came from that third generation of American Chinese. The land, the sea, the clean, abundant water and the bounty of food made that generation of my family strong, athletic and tireless. They had the energy to build communities, families, opportunities. They were the establishing generation. In the succession of growth in an ecosystem, the land is first settled by pioneers, is made stable by secondary growth, and becomes dominant in the third stage of succession. My grandparents were the ones who sunk deep roots into the land. They were the trees that gave the forest its name. They were Chinese-Americans.

And my grandmother sunk the deepest root of all. At 106 years old, she outlived her four sisters and three brothers. She held her great-great-granddaughter in her arms a month before she died. I was imagining the root of her sinking into the bedrock of this country, firmly anchoring her family to this place…when my mother called on the car speakerphone to say that my grandmother passed away early that morning.

I felt like a great tree had fallen, toppling like a bridge, cutting off our access to the rest of the family that came before us. We will not know who they were, or what they were like, or what happened to them, because the last one who knew them is gone, too.

But though the tree has been cut down, my grandmother’s roots were profoundly deep. She anchored us with her presence, with her still being alive and healthy and spunky as a spark plug. Keep going. Do your best. Don’t give up. All those old lady admonitions I tired of when young and impatient, but desperately needed to hear when I grew older and times grew tougher. Her favorite song was “Always.” I’ll be loving you, always. With a love that’s true, always.

I sang it as I was squeezing lemons and putting aside the seeds. I’ll remember you always, Nan.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109041756/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_11/04.mp3

Many people think of their ancestors as dead and gone, and therefore to be thought about only occasionally and with no real attachment, as if they have no claim on us who live. But how can we embrace our heritage while turning our backs on the ancestors who carried that heritage forward and gave it to us?

My African-American friends insist on the necessity of honoring our ancestors. To honor the ancestors is to embrace our heritage and carry it forward in our turn. I believe this, and it is one of the things that led me into genealogy. But understanding my genealogy has presented me with a serious problem.

It is easy to honor ancestors when those ancestors were honorable, but what does one do when one’s forbears were dishonorable?

My parents were good and gentle, kind and compassionate people. When I look back through the generations of my ancestors, though, I find an unbroken string of slaveholding, giving way to the neo-slavery of Jim Crow and on into the racism of the 20th century. My family’s dishonorable history begins at least in the mid-1600s and quite possibly earlier.

For just one example, my ancestor, Lockey Collier, was murdered in 1778 by the people he enslaved, presumably because of the harsh way he treated them. How is it possible to honor such a man and others like him? Are we just to ignore these dishonorable ancestors? Do we say, “OK. I’ll honor these ancestors but not those. I’ll honor only the ones I can approve of.”

That won’t do. These dreadful people are also part of our heritage, and we cannot embrace our heritage while ignoring the hard parts, pretending that our heritage is all fine and dandy and has no stains upon it. It is dishonest; it is a kind of lie.

So I wrestled with this problem and for years, I had no answer. Then I watched the film Amistad and found a solution that makes sense to me. In the film, as John Quincy Adams is preparing to argue the case of the captured Africans before the Supreme Court, he has a conversation with the Africans’ leader, Cinque. Cinque speaks eloquently of his ancestors. He says that the line of his ancestors will stand with him and help, because he is the culmination of their line. They act in history through him, and they are honored by his honorable actions and life.

And that is my answer. My ancestors’ crimes against humanity (and what else are slavery and racism but crimes against humanity?) cry out for redress, for atonement. Neither my ancestors nor the people they enslaved are still living. So how can these crimes be atoned for? And by whom?

By me. The ancestors act through us. We honor our dishonorable ancestors by acting honorably for them.

My ancestors call out from beyond the grave for me to atone for their crimes, and I honor them by confessing my family’s sins and working to repair the damage they inflicted on so many people. How can I forgive my grandmother for the racism she worked to plant in my heart? I forgive her by working to erase the very racism she embraced. I do not take their guilt on. I work to heal the wounds they inflicted.

I work to create the heritage that I want my life to carry forward.

From Collier’s 2018 book
The Great Wound: Confessions of a Slaveholding Family

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109041736/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_11/05.mp3

As the nation grapples with the terrorist attempts of President Trump’s political adversaries, we will reflect on how the totalitarian rhetoric and behavior in the political discourse in the United States correlates with a startling rise in social hostilities and violence.

Rev. Dr. Nathan C. Walker is the community minister for religion and public life at the Church of the Larger Fellowship and can be reached via his website www.NateWalker.com.

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109035728/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu234.mp3

We chatted live on The VUU about Collaborative Leadership with Rev. De Vandiver.

Link to Rev De’s article “Hate in the Offering Plate”:
View story at Medium.com

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109033222/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu233.mp3

We chatted live on The VUU with Revs Wendy von Courter and Katie Romano Griffin about the Stop Kavanaugh protest in DC.

The VUU streams live on Facebook every Thursday at 11 am ET. We talk social justice, Unitarian Universalism, religion, spirituality, and whatever else is topical and interesting!

Hosts: Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser, and Christina Rivera; production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers.

The VUU is brought to you by the Church of the Larger Fellowship.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109022504/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/vuu/latest/vuu231.mp3

Across the decades, through changes in technology and staff, through world crises and institutional crises, the CLF has been there, offering people around the world comfort and challenge in the form of our liberal faith. You can help the CLF continue to persist by offering your generous support, by sending a check in the enclosed envelope or by donating here.

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While I explored central Idaho’s Snake River Plain, I camped at Craters of the Moon National Monument. I had a weather satellite photo, on which the Snake River Plain forms a curving band of tan and green, fading to gray where the volcanic track of the Yellowstone Hotspot comes in. Against those muted colors, the black lava fields in Craters of the Moon stick down from the north like a sore thumb.

The eruptions that formed these fields began through a 75-mile crack in the earth’s crust, back in the days of the Columbian mammoth. Lava spewed for thousands of years, finally ceasing while the first Caesars ruled Rome. The cinders have long cooled. Now they stretch as far as the eye can see,
a thousand square miles of blasted desert.

I stood one morning on the highway pullout above Craters of the Moon, gazing at the black horizon of this volcanic sideshow. My eye strayed back from the horizon and lit on a nearby tuft of vegetation growing from a crack between volcanic boulders. At first it seemed incongruous that a wildflower could struggle up from such barrenness. A couple thousand years of dust must have settled into the bottom of that crack to support it. And a seed blew in. A sprinkle of rain now and then, and seeds have no choice but to try to grow wherever they land.

Lava fields are incredibly rugged terrain. Traveling off designated walkways is prohibited, but even if a person tried, basalt edges sharp as broken glass would quickly cut even the stoutest shoes to ribbons. Yet everywhere I wandered, grasses and wildflowers sprouted from fissures and low places. It might take thousands more years, but they are going to show the harsh stone who’s boss. There, it seems to me, is a lesson in persistence.

It struck me like a flash: T. S. Eliot was wrong, April is not the cruelest month, breeding flowers from the
dead land. Flowers breeding from the dead land is an act of heroism which merits deep human reverence. Ever and always, amid Extinction Events or these lava fields or whatever the backside of human technology may do to us, life will ever venture forth upon the blasted land.

If we want the meaning of life, as far as I’m concerned, there it is. Human greatness, I say, is a delusion. Achievement is just a spark against the relentless winds and limitless tides of time and change. But a seed drills into new soil, a hand is offered to a new stranger. As long as our species endures, that will be the meaning and achievement that matters.

Excerpted from Dennis McCarty’s book Reflections: On Time, Culture, and Spirits in America.

Attached media: https://web.archive.org/web/20211109022218/https://www.questformeaning.org/podcasts/18_10/05.mp3

The VUU is back from our summer hiatus! This week we chatted live with CLF Director of Prison Ministry Mandy Goheen about what’s new with Worthy Now and what’s next.

The VUU is hosted by Meg Riley, Michael Tino, Aisha Hauser and Christina Rivera, with production support provided by Jessica Star Rockers. The VUU streams live on Thursdays at 11 am ET.

Note: This audio has been slightly edited for a better listening experience. View the live original recording on Facebook.

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