Archive for category: Minister Message

What Are We Doing?

A week now since the killing of George Floyd, a week now since direct actions and uprisings in communities far and wide, a week now since the militarization of cities and the policing of bodies, we are all asking, “What are we doing?” Blessedly, this question in our faith community is more a question that means, “Let’s get out there and make a change.” I fear many groups are starting from a meaning of this question that fails to comprehend what those exercising their rights to protest are actually protesting: state sanctioned killings of black people with malice and impunity.

But still others are really asking this question with the meaning, “What is our actual faith community going to do about this?” And that’s a great question. The answers are multidimensional, as are all human hearts and minds. Some of us will feel a personal call to take to the streets in support of movements. Others may wonder what from their home they can do, bracing as many still are from the potential health implications of joining large groups. And others might still be feeling like the impact of what is taking place has not even landed yet.

The Unitarian Universalist Association has sent out a multi-pronged kit with helpful links for congregations to help conversations about responses of solidarity and support. You can read it here: “Stop Calling the Police and Start Eradicating Anti-Blackness.” Please read this whole document and make time to review some of the important links. This will take roughy a half hour and will provide a mindset for actions that will follow, and I assure you action will follow. I know what some of you are thinking: this is not a problem in Hawai’i. It is a problem in Hawai’i. Yes, there are other problems, too. But discounting this grievous wrong because of other problems…is part of the problem.

Please understand this most of all: many movements for black liberation and to eradicate anti-blackness have been led by black persons for a very long time, and the discovery of those movements by white people should inspire nothing but humility for not joining or supporting sooner. Saying things like “I had no idea you were even here.” or “This came along just at the right time.” discounts the sometimes decades of sacrifice these leaders have given. Consider entering this time and any actions we take with with the questions, “How can I be helpful here?” and “Will I do what is asked of me as an accomplice in this work?”

And now, please watch last night’s #wecantbreathe Prayer Vigil. A link is below (it starts around 9:30). This is a powerful testament to the needs of those we love. We should each watch the whole vigil with the open mind we strive to achieve together as a community. After you are done, please review Susan Leslie’s presentation at 1:16:30 and the challenges to congregations and to individuals she poses for what must transform in us and in our communities, so that hope for transformation might one day be realized.

And in the coming days, we will all speak together about what we are doing.

In love and transformation,
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Happy Birthday IZ

Sixty one years ago today Israel Kamakawiwo’ole was born in the territory of Hawai’i. He was raised in Kaimuki until moving to Makaha with his family as a young man. Raised with musicians in his family and all around him, he grew up exposed to the influences of some of the finest Hawaiian musicians. He formed a band that began performing at house parties and graduations, but it wasn’t long before people noticed his unparalleled and singular voice. The years of praise for his vocal instrument and steady powerful presence are not news to anyone who’s lived long in Hawai’i.

My first introduction to IZ was in senior year of high school. This was when people still listened to compact discs and made mix tapes (cassette tapes) for each other around graduation times or just to try to impress someone you liked. My friend Rich played me the famous “Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World” arrangement by IZ. At the time in 1996, this song was hardly known well. Facing Future, one of the finest albums anyone can own, was released in 1993 and the tune didn’t yet have the exposure of play on national advertising campaigns or in Disney/Pixar films it would one day have.

But I remember the couches and how they were arranged in Rich’s sunroom. I remember what I was drinking (sorry, Mom and Dad). And I remember stopping what I was doing when Rich said something like, “Hey, listen to this.” It was like the focus of the entire room tightened to the speakers of his stereo. I was motionless for the short duration of the song. I tried to pronounce the name of the artist, I recall. And Rich shared that he mostly goes by IZ.

It was only a year later that IZ died. Anybody who was living anywhere on Oahu in July of 1997 probably remembers the 10,000 people at the funeral. They probably remember the car horns that honked along Hawaiian highways that day. They probably remember the paddle out and the scattering of IZ’s remains in the Pacific Ocean. But most of the world only met IZ after he died. His most famous song only approached the fame—and now the ubiquity—it did years after IZ was remembered so passionately and so beautifully in the nation of his birth.

This morning the Google/YouTube animation on the Google homepage is a very beautiful and touching animated movie about IZ. So many of the scenes themselves focus on place, on land: Diamond Head sunrise, Makaha beach, the black sands of Kalapana, the Wai’anae coast, and more are all there in the short video. I encourage you to watch it below. The final scene in which we see IZ takes place on the island of Hawai’i, where we see new land created where lava meets the ocean as he gazes to the stars. And a quarter century later, a child of a land thousands of miles away, comes to the land that made that voice, if only to say, “Happy Birthday, IZ. And mahalo.”

Many blessings of love today, my friends.
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Beautiful Building

“It really is a beautiful building.” I said this as I looked up at a ceiling adorned with interlocking, colored tiles inlaid against decorative concrete frames. Examples of the art deco design of the building flowed from the centerpiece ceiling down the cream colored walls and over the ironwork. The clay tile roofs of the building followed the elegant proportions of the era as well. And even the brown tile floors were cool as we took of our slippers and made ourselves comfortable. Roof to floor, it really was a beautiful building—such a shame.

Yesterday I gathered with two partners in justice at the Department of Homeland Security building on Ala Moana Boulevard. The striking and warm understated design of the building clashed with all of the modifications meant to tell all who enter that place that they are not welcome. The gray front gates don’t belong in the design. Surely no one meant for the waiting area to be half filled with a security checkpoint replete with an x-ray conveyor belt and metal detector. And if the sign that says “No Admittance” doesn’t get the message across, the second set of metal barriers will.

My partners and I were there to do a most unnatural act in these times and in a place with so many barriers built into its structure—we were there to get someone out. We were there to post bond for a person who committed a low-level non-violent offense, but who was detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement without a bond hearing or any way out of detention for almost a year and a half. The bond demanded of this person was far beyond any means they had. But together with the incredible work of The Legal Clinic and The Hawaii Community Bail Fund, they should now be freed.

It took more than five hours of waiting, form filling, and bond posting. It took hackneyed admonitions and warnings from representatives of a system that thrives and profits of restricting movement of persons. It took a lawyer, a seasoned social justice operative, and a minister. But at around 2:30 pm yesterday, the person who had given almost a year and a half of life to simply waiting to be heard at all, walked past the “No Admittance” sign, the first metal gate, under the beeping metal detector, past the second metal gate, and out into the sun and the arms of family.

As I walked with one of my partners in this work, both of us quite moved by bearing witness to this experience, we spoke through our masks about the honor it was to be present. And my friend said, “Someday virtual reality might get to the point where we can get any experience—skydiving from the Grand Canyon or whatever—wired right into our brains. People will choose all kinds of crazy things to experience. But I would choose this experience and this feeling every single time.” And as we walked on I looked ahead and thought to myself, “It really was a beautiful building.”

Many blessings of safety and freedom to you all.

Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Humble Me

Last night we had a pretty good time at Pau Hana Tuesday. For those who weren’t there, we had a little mini concert (really a light cabaret presentation if we’re being honest) from yours truly. We traced the history of some of the songs that mean the most to me in my development as a person. I explained that one of the songs that got me through a challenging time was the song “Humble Me” by Kevin Breit and interpreted by Norah Jones on one of her albums.

In the song, the character of the singer shares some hard truths. She shares that she’s made mistakes. She shares that she’s happy for her partner getting his life together again. And she shares that she’s made mistakes, too. To do this takes a quality that not a lot of people like to talk about. It’s one I’ve written about before in weekly messages: humility. This attribute shares its root with many good words, but the most important are likely humane and simply human. Humility is the sense that we are but us. We are not all-powerful and cannot control many of the circumstances of our lives, least of which other humans or really any kind of nature at all.

I was listening to one of my favorite books yesterday, Awareness by Anthony DeMello. And DeMello compares the idea that we might control others to the idea that we might control nature itself. He suggests that expecting another to change right away in the way we want is no different than deciding that we want to grow a beautiful garden of flowers and then expecting this to happen right now so we can have bouquets around our home. Nature doesn’t work like that. Neither does the hope that we can control much of what is around us.

On this 50th Anniversary today of Earth Day, we consider how much around us we can’t control. We consider how much of a gift this Earth that shelters us is in our lives. I tell you, it’s a gift beyond any full comprehension by any human. And responses to this Earth in faiths of all kinds through all times show this in the reverence and humility all religious stories have for nature, no matter how that faith chooses to express it. Between midnight and 4 am tonight (I know, it is technically tomorrow), I am told one of the most vibrant meteor showers we have seen in a while will be visible. And we all can watch in confidence as the peculiar, rare, and wonderful invisible structures of this Earth are deployed to protect and defend us…and put on a pretty great show. And that is humbling to me.

Make no mistake about it friends, emotions are forces of nature. In this song, the writer makes us feel that through words. But we all know it’s true. And like so much of nature, those emotions might be there to comfort and defend us. But sometimes they cause us trouble. And this is not unlike an Earth that has so much to comfort and defend us, yet has troubles in store for all of us in different ways. But in both cases, within and without, in the presence of such sacred force there is always something to say: you humble me.

May it ever be so.
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

 

In Memory
Bill Withers and John Prine

 

Lean on me when you’re not strong, and I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you carry on.

In the past days, a nation of musicians and music lovers entered mourning. Last week, the unparalleled talent and extraordinary inspiration that resided in the body of Bill Withers passed forever into the memory and recordings of his great genius. A musician friend of mine explained that there simply is no comparison in music to someone whose first song ever released is a song like “Ain’t No Sunshine.” Still popular to this day, Withers’ first song ever released sold more than a million copies, won a Grammy, and went gold (when that meant a lot more than it does now).

And then his second song to hit was “Lean on Me.” This song took Withers to heights few others achieve. The cultural consciousness around this song, it’s meaning, it’s use, and it’s power lends it to the religious celebration of deeply human understanding and interdependence so many seek so often. And as many of us know, this is reflected by the Unitarian Universalist Association’s decision to include “Lean on Me” in its hymnal Singing the Journey. His career and his achievements exceeded even these I mention here, of course, so I do encourage us all to take some time to learn about Bill Withers and the way he lived his life.

 

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.

The first time I was introduced to the poetry of John Prine was by Bonnie Raitt who made “Angel from Montgomery” one of her signature songs. The words of longing and of living were part of the magic John Prine brought to the songs he offered the world. The intimacy of his language almost makes a listener feel they are hearing something that perhaps they shouldn’t, that perhaps is private between a person and themselves, that perhaps is sacred.

Prine’s career in some ways did not reflect his influence. His songs did not have the meteoric public success, really, of any of Bill Withers’ hits (few did, of course). But when people like Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, Roger Waters, and Bonnie Raitt are asked who they admire, who inspires them, they all answer the same: John Prine. No matter how you slice it, if Johnny Cash puts on your music for inspiration, you’ve arrived.

 

In the coming weeks and months, indeed, already for some of us, we will be remembering and celebrating lives in a concentration and frequency, I dare say, none of us has ever done before. As much as some of us might be looking at numbers, I fear that spending too much time (maybe, any time) with datasets, curves, and charts will distract us from the stories, the contours, and the plots of the lives completing their journeys in these times.

For there are times, my friends, when the lives that reached their end after intersecting with mine are the lives that help me carry on the most. There are times, my friends, when this living is just a hard way to go, and those lives that went before me give me one thing that I can hold on to. And there are times, my friends, like right now, when all that we see makes us that more grateful for every one of the lives that intersects with our own.

And may it ever be so.
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

 

 

Our Seconds

I have written before about the piano I had growing up. At a Thanksgiving dinner in my early childhood at the home of my great grandparents, my great grandfather taught me to play one note at a time. And in this way, he stopped me from mashing my tiny palms against the keyboard while also teaching me my first song, “Do Re Mi” from The Sound of Music. It was many years later, upon the occasion of his death that our family received the amazing gift of that same piano where I learned, “Let’s start at the very beginning….”

Some years ago, when my parents moved to be closer to their own grandkids, there wasn’t room for the piano to make the journey. But the purchaser of my parents’ home was the daughter of a local pastor and she promised the piano would get plenty of use at church gatherings in their home. This brought me joy, though parting with that piano was one of the hardest afternoons of my adult life. I called a friend in tears, and he said, “What a blessing you have something you care so much for in your life. I don’t think I have anything like that in my own life.”

And his words ring louder than a note on that old Wheelock baby grand today. So much of what we are losing, what we are missing, is becoming more and more dear to us in many ways. I think many of us noticed at first the new ways we were connecting, but in reflection, many of us are now feeling what might be missing in our lives as well. It’s totally natural. I still miss my piano, even though I know it has found a loving home.

Yesterday I got a call from my great aunt who found her vocation and calling as a Sister of St. Joseph, a Catholic order of women religious, at a young age. We were checking in on each other and she remembered how I played the piano at the 50^th anniversary of her called vocation as a nun. She shared how she practiced the piano so much growing up but never got to the level she hoped. She told me the story of expressing this regret to her dad, who said, “Admitting you’re wrong is admirable, but don’t waste a second regretting your mistake.”

There is so much we are letting go of, friends. And I wonder about the regrets we have about how things might have gone differently, and whether we might also let go of these in these times. As we spoke, my great aunt and I, it dawned on us: we are talking about learning the piano…on the same piano. The piano I received as a gift was the one in her living room growing up. We laughed at the connection and I thought of the advice the same man offered us both: “One note at a time” and “Don’t waste a second on regret.” So, my friends, I offer a thought, a prayer, if you will, from my family to yours: take it easy and feel what it might be like to let some more things go.

And may it ever be so.

With love and aloha,
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org
mobile: 917-886-6429

Tuning In

I know, I know, I know…I’m on leave presently. And as essential as this time is to the renewal and growth of my spiritual life, it’s also important to me that I share how you can watch your newest episode of Now That You Asked Me, the television show about faith experiences in these islands produced by the church.

Episode 53, entitled “Brother of Exiles” will feature the experience, motivations, and call of one of the individuals on the forefront of the fight for justice on behalf of the migrant community in this islands, Kevin Block. You will not want to miss this hour of deep understanding, compassion, and work for justice.

The episode will air on ‘olelo Channel 53 at 6:30 pm on Tuesday, March 9.

Now, as antiquated as this may sound, the only way to watch the episode at this time is either by tuning your television or cable box to channel 53 or going here and selecting channel 53: https://olelo.org/tune-in/. As a reminder, the link is to a live television feed, so the show will begin right at 6:30. However if you are not able to view the episode then, it will go live on our church’s YouTube channel after it airs. And we will have a link in next week’s e-bulletin. So fear not, my friends.

All is going very well on leave. I miss you all, but if you miss me, all you have to do is tune in Tuesday!

And many blessings until then – Rev. T. J.

Guide My Feet

Cannon fire is not the first thing I thought of that morning. Through a night of tossing and turning, wondering what might happen the next day, I thought of a lot, but never once of cannon fire. The preparations were all in place: get up at 4 am, get the car to the stadium by 5 am, get to downtown by 6 am, and start the race at 7 am. Making plans and having a schedule calms me down, but try and try as I did, I could not sleep.

Sleep did arrive, but it only lasted four hours before I rose to follow my schedule for the day. I got exactly where I needed to be when I planned to be there. 10,000 others crowded the road in front of Aloha tower. The pule before the race warmed our spirits. And the earth moved with the blessing to reveal the first rays of sun that warmed our bodies. Twin anthems of two nations rang in our ears and echoed in our hearts. I chatted a little with the folks around me, wishing them a great race.

BOOM!!!

The tones ringing in my ears, the dulcet echo in my heart, each fled in haste at the concussion of the air around us and in our very lungs. A crowd of thousands squealed with delight at the shattering air and the first group of runners took off.

BOOM!!!

Another null volley from the unarmed cannons shook us more as we moved forward toward the start.

BOOM!!!

The final volley bolted us across the start and the journey I’d tossed and turned about for more than twice as long as the journey would take began.

And in the middle distance of my journey, when the adrenaline of the first few miles waned and the only concussions spurring me on were those that my feet pounded out on the road, and when silence somehow settled amid rock bands, water stations, and shouts of encouragement, I remembered hours before. When I couldn’t sleep I sent a message to the friend with whom I’d be running the race saying I was scared I couldn’t sleep. It was almost midnight, but instead of saying, “go to bed” or “you’ll be fine” he said, “I’ll be right over.”

We talked on the lanai about the plans for the morning. He laughed a little at my planning but was grateful for it. And after ten minutes of talking, we decided we both needed to sleep. We got up and as he headed home, he gave me a quick good-luck hug. And the pat of his hand on my back shook something: the memory of a friend blessing my ministry, of overcoming an illness we thought would take him, of showing up in the dead of the night when a friend was scared. And BOOM, like a cannon it hit me: no matter the tiny plans we make and the little races we run, the race that matters, to love one another as we would be loved, that race is over, and we won.

May it ever be so
Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Entwined

Yesterday started out like a lot of days: time catching up with friends in the morning, some coffee, and then a little trip to get a new remote control for my car. I arrived at the scheduled time, 7:30 am. And I figured there would be some work that needed to be done. But then at 10 am, two and a half hours later, I started to wonder what on earth could be taking so long for something so small. I inquired as gently as possible. And unsurprisingly, the service manager was way overworked. One tech called in sick, another went to Vegas…it was not his morning either.

We laughed together at this, and I eventually got my car, new remote and all. But then all the time I thought I had in the day had shrunk. So when I got the church to start preparing for taping the next episode of our community’s new show, I was already rushing. But I was able to swoop around the church, gathering all I needed and packing it into my newly-working car with enough time to spare. I found a great parking spot, went inside, and I started to prepare physically and spiritually for the experience.

And then feeling so spiritual, I walked to my car to get my dinosaur water bottle for the filming. And there I met someone standing right in front of the car I’d spent the morning dealing with. She was dealing with my car in a different way: with a ticket. I confess that I did mention that I was there to interview a priest of the diocese where the parking lot is located. And rightfully so, the super-friendly (I say this truly) attendant suggested I take it up with the diocese. But I received the ticket with a smile and fetched my water for the taping.

I settled in at last, with the morning and the start of the afternoon behind me. I took the microphone in hand…and…to learn what happened next, I strongly urge you to set a reminder for 6 pm on Tuesday, February 11 on Chanel 53, ‘olelo. Maybe gather some friends over to watch live, or else tape it on DVR and gather at another time. Or you can tune in by clicking right here at that time: click here.

After finishing the taping of this episode, I felt like something shifted in my day, and maybe in my life. Waiting two and a half hours for a car and then getting a ticket I felt I didn’t really deserve, on almost any other day, would have been the main thing about that day I would have shared with my friends that evening. But in the hour of speaking with one of the most singularly wise and inspiring people I know in a truly unique and powerful place shifted my day. And the unimaginable, unforeseeable ways our two lives shifted to entwine and arrive right where we were in that hour, became the only story worth telling my friends, worth telling you. And you don’t even need a ticket to witness it…I got one for both of us.

And may it ever be so.

Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org

Love and Spreadsheets

If I’ve said it once, people have heard me say it 100 times, “Sometimes love looks like a well managed spreadsheet.” Well, friends, on Sunday I did my best to make that so. As some of you know, I keep track of the way I spend my time ministering to this community. By doing this I feel I can present a clear picture of the ways our shared ministry together in the world works in harmony. I started this practice on my very first day as an intern minister right after divinity school. It’s stayed with me ever since. It’s a habit now.

The world’s faiths are full of wisdom about the power of habits. “Actions become habits. Habits become values. Values become destiny.” The great justice maker and teacher Gandhi is credited with this version. The original saying might date back as far as the Dao Te Ching by Lao Tsu. And though I have no idea what destiny may be in store from this habit, I agree that habit reflects values. I don’t necessarily mean the dollar value of the funds we are seeing in the basket. And I don’t mean the growing number values of attendees. I don’t even mean the values of the percentages of how I spend my time. It’s more than that.

One of the most important qualities of any institution or group is the dedication it has to its own stated values. New people and visitors will always compare what they see in a group’s actions or habits with the values stated in anything it holds out as a guiding document, like the 8 Principles. And in a sense, by sharing the results of our actions of record keeping, number crunching, and time management, we see habits of this organism we are co-creating together every day, every week, every year: our church. You can take a look at the report I compiled here if you’re curious or would like a review: 2019 Minister’s Report.

Personally, I was struck most by the growth in the shared-plate offerings. The sharp increase in funding this faithful decision tells us all a lot about this church. We want to help groups around us continue the work they are doing to improve the lives of our neighbors, our loved ones. The relationships the church is making through this habit is also strengthening the connective fabric between our community and those who are doing work in so many corners of this island. And the evident enthusiasm this habit has evoked tells us clearly how much we value these connections.

None of us can say with certainty what destiny holds for our community. But what is certain is that we are seeing more and more people coming to be with us on an island whose population is in decline. And what is certain is that in the span of two years we are now receiving more than we were from plate collections while also sharing an equal amount with a local group. And I know if we can keep the practice of these habits and deepen further the values they hold, our destiny together will certainly be to grow compassion, justice, and joy.

And may it ever be so.

Rev. T. J.
minister@unitariansofhi.org