Archive for category: Minister Message

Talk About The Weather

I never spent a lot of time worrying about the weather. And being here in Honolulu has effectively cured me of any lingering habit I might have had to worry much about checking the weather or fearing for what it will bring—surely some rain here and there, but nothing to get very worried about. And then I saw the news yesterday and this morning.

“Light Snow Falls in Florida and Georgia as ‘Bomb Cyclone’ Hits the South.” The article goes on to explain that parts of North Carolina are recording the coldest temperatures in 130 years. And more shocking than any of these might be the reports I’ve received telling me that drivers in New York City are…wait for it…stopping at intersections for long periods to allow any pedestrians to cross so that the walkers don’t have to wait any longer in the snow. Folks, when New York City drivers are being courteous to pedestrians…we need to talk about the weather.

Of course, talking about the weather has a long and storied tradition in the realm of small talk. If you’re not sure what to talk about, when in doubt, talk about the weather. And conversely, when conversations drift to talk of the weather, it might be a sign that the two people speaking have run out of things to talk about (or things they’re willing to talk about). And if you’ll pardon the theological geek-out, weather events throughout many cultures and faiths are closely tied to human understandings of how gods and humans interact. Whether a ceremony to ask for rain, a story of a god speaking through a cloud (called a theophany), or a rainbow creating a staircase from the heavens, weather is how humans often feel they are in touch with something greater than themselves, and maybe something divine.

Much of the fear and awe our human ancestors held for weather has waned. In most of our pockets rests a device that provides comprehensive predictions of all kinds of weather all over the world. We even know when meteor showers, comets, and asteroid fly-bys will occur in all their celestial wonder. In a sense, weather has become something we all see coming but we have to deal with anyway. And that is why talking about the weather might still hold such appeal.

As busy little humans, taking control of so much in our environment, when we are reminded that forces beyond our power to control can alter our very existence overnight, we are forced into a kind of unity under the banner of something very difficult for many of us: humility. And just as powerful are the storms that rage, the ices that freeze, and the deserts in drought in our very souls. That is why I do not subscribe to the concept of human vs. nature. Humans are nature. And at times the forces of nature at work in our bodies and our souls, also known as feelings, can just as quickly as a “bomb cyclone,” alter our very existence. And that, to me, is deeply, deeply humbling.

So maybe as often as we choose to speak of the weather to one another, we might also choose to share our deepest humanity, our most reverent humility, with one another…and to let one another cross the street.

Blessings to you,

T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Reason for the Season

This time of year it’s common to hear people saying, “Remember the reason for the season.” And the implication is to remember that this is this time of year that we remember the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem to his parents Mary and Joseph. In orthodox theological circles, this is called the inbreaking of God, meaning that the barrier between humanity and the divine was overcome or broken on this day. I always loved that word, inbreaking, because it seems like someone worked hard to avoid saying breaking in. And rightfully so. It would be strange (though entertaining) to celebrate a divine crime, or a break-in, year after year.

But more and more, when remembering the reason for this season is suggested to me, I find my mind focusing on today’s phenomenon, the winter solstice—this day that is shared by every single life on the entire planet. The balance of hours of day and hours of night will turn a corner in the morning and start to march back to the rhythm of the tilt of the Earth once more toward the balance we know at the equinox, and on and on and on.

The members of our human family who identify as Wiccan, Druid, and Pagan, along with a stunningly beautiful constellation of faiths and beliefs that are too numerous to list, celebrate this day and night in ways that many of our own ancestors did for centuries before most of the world’s most prominent religions ever existed. And seemingly inescapable remains the fact that Christmas, the season when new hope and new light entered the world for so many Christians, falls during the time of the year when daylight begins once more to grow in our passing days.

And this is where we each face an important question: how free are my beliefs? This is the perfect time of year, indeed, the perfect day, to consider whether the meaning I find in what I believe to be true depends on someone else’s beliefs being untrue. Do I deploy “reason” as a weapon to damage or criticize another’s belief as often as others try to convince me of what they believe is the “reason for the season?” And if I do, or even if I get any form of delight or satisfaction in imagining someone else to be mistaken, how free are my own beliefs? In a way, thinking this way sells my own faith short, and that’s the real divine crime.

So today I join in the song of the circling planet, whose gentle tilting rhythm is the reason for every season, whose elegant harmony with the sun brings a new light into the world every day, and whose melody is all of creation we are blessed to behold in every passing moment. Joy to this world and its heavenly dance today, and may the longest, silent night hold us each in its tender embrace.

Happy Solstice to all, and to all a long night!

Blessings,

T. J.

minister@unitariansofhi.org

Leftover

So, who’s still eating leftovers? That’s OK, there’s nothing wrong with leftovers. I know some people who appear to be constitutionally opposed to eating leftover food, but more and more, the big meals of the holiday season seem to lend themselves to the pleasure of picking at sweet and savory dishes for days, maybe weeks. And for many of us, food isn’t the only thing left over from holidays.

We enter now one of the hardest times of year for many people. Yes, it’s busy with all kinds of parties, concerts, and get-togethers. But this time of year is also crammed for many with feelings that aren’t cleared away with the dishes at the end of the night. Spending time with family, spending time without family, or spending time with our memories of these weeks from years’ pasts, it is very easy to start to feel some of those core fears so many of us carry in common: Will I be alone? Will I be enough? Will I be loved?

I know that in a time of merry making and celebration to consider these questions might feel scary or like a little bit of a bummer. But it is around these questions that we all build so many of the structures in our lives: we cultivate relationships, we search for a life of meaning, we try to give and receive love. And it’s not an accident these questions come to us at this time of year. We journey now through the time a when throughout human history, perhaps left over from the deep time of our communal life together, so many stories, rituals, even religious experiences center on renewed life and the surprise of the sacred coming in contact with the mundane. And so much of that history, so many of those stories, and even some of the core beliefs of religions start to pick once again at those same questions: Will I be alone? Will I be enough? Will I be loved?

It is one of my deepest convictions that these are also the very questions that faith communities should be committed to answering with a resounding YES, repeating the sounding joy of community, welcome, and love into the rest of the year. We all carry something left over from our pasts, something that makes us ask these questions. But the finest gifts we bring one another in a shared community are a place to ask these questions safely and a place that meets these questions with understanding and compassion.

We all work through our leftovers in different times. We can’t tell can tell others when they’re supposed to be done with them. So as sure as we each take care of our own, we can also be aware of what those around us might still be working on, what they might be picking at, and offer support and understanding to them. For truly we know that this time of year, it is better to give than to receive.

Blessings,

T. J.

minister@unitariansofhi.org

Gentle Mercies

I once led a children’s chapel service on the subject of “generosity.” This was during the annual fund drive at a previous church. As the grownups were asked to give money to support the important work of the church, the children and I talked a little about what generosity really means.

When it came time to do the message portion, I began by asking all of the children to come up with words that began with “gen-” just like the word generosity does. I had a lot of words I expected to hear: genesis, generation, genuine. And I was floored when out of the mouth of one of the youngest children came a word I had not thought of: “gentle?” And it was indeed asked, not told. This tiny brilliant human wasn’t quite sure if her word counted. But I stopped when I heard it and said to her, “Aw, Yes!” and I put a hand over my heart as I melted a little.

This past weekend, many in our community took part in Jubilee. This was a weekend-long training for individuals to begin to adopt truly anti-racist identities. Many of the discussions and activities throughout the weekend called on those of us participating to look deeply and intentionally at parts of our lives we try not to think about, including white supremacy and how its manifestations enrich and empower some people at the painful and unjust price of damaging other people. And many of us were called on to begin the work of approaching our church’s ongoing program for A Dialog on Race and Ethnicity (ADORE) more with our hearts than with our heads.

Whenever we take to the roads that intersect in our heart, it is hard. And when faced with seemingly hard spiritual work, some good teachers and traditions encourage us to adopt the ways we might have acted or responded as children more than how we might act or respond today. It is good to engage our hearts the way we did as young children, a heart that is teachable, that is creative, a heart that feels. A heart that when prompted with a question, responds with gentleness.

I would never suggest that an external response of our community to systemic race-based oppression should be gentleness. But in our internal work together to dismantle forms of oppression, remembering that we all have a childlike inclination toward a gentle heart and we all can offer a gentle word might take us farther than we imagine. In a way, this genuine approach is the most generous way we might behave to one another and could be the genesis of a new spirit that will enrich the generations to come. And who knows, you might just melt someone’s heart…a little.

In a Holy Place

I missed you all this Sunday. I took a trip to nearby Moloka’i with some friends to do some camping. We were able to make use of some property a church owned. There was even a rickety old church piano in the corner of one of the rooms we could use. The sad, banished instrument needed a tuning, and some of the keys didn’t work at all, but you could get some chords out of it if you chose the right key for them.

One afternoon during some downtime I sat at the piano and started to play a familiar tune I thought people might know. As the opening strands of “Stand By Me” started to make their way from the instrument, some of my friends joined in right away to start singing. And in the second verse, the wife of one of my friends came into the room where we were. My friend’s face lit up when he saw his wife and he reached his hand out to her while still singing…If the sky that we look upon…. She smiled and took his hand just as he spun her around and then in toward his body…should tumble and fall…. And as he wrapped her up in his arms and smiled, all the while singing…or the mountains should crumble to the sea…I realized at that moment that we were together in a holy place.

No one thing makes a place holy. It is always a bundle, a combination of experiences that come together in ways we can’t always predict or in ways that are somehow meant to be. An out of tune, aging piano certainly isn’t going to do the trick on its own. And some bopping around the room with a partner in silence might not either. But when all the elements—music, singing along, a surprising entrance, an honest response, and just the right amount of trust and love—come together, the ways we are moved in those moments can stay with us for a lifetime.

When we do anything together as a community my greatest hope as your minister is that you are in a place that allows and welcomes a spirit of openness to the great mystery at the heart of what connects us to one another. That might look like worship to you. It might look like your chalice circle. It might look like helping to get the cars parked just right on a Sunday. But whatever it is we do together in this community we share…I won’t cry, no I won’t shed a tear, just as long as you stand, stand by me. And by doing this important work together, we might well know the beauty of reaching out to others, being wrapped up tightly in the loving embrace of our spiritual home, and uniting our voices together in this holy place we share.

And may it ever be so.

Blessings,

T. J.

minister@unitariansofhi.org