First Parish Unitarian Universalist What You Taught Me This Year:
Reflections from Your Student Minister
Ministerial Intern Megan Lynes
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
May 22, 2005
Quite often as I walk home at the end of the day I cross the Longfellow Bridge in Boston. It’s the one with the weird salt and peppershaker towers. I start off on the Cambridge side and head towards home. The bridge is high, the sky is higher, and the water far below shimmers gray blue or flat silver. Halfway across the bridge, I can make out the trees on the esplanade turning from a fuzzy green wash into more defined blobs and then into blobs with stems. At dusk the skyline is more striking than anywhere else in Boston. No matter what my day has been like, I always look forward to this stretch of my walk. I try to use this time in my day to notice the big picture of how things really are in the world. I think about things I’m grateful for, or how much hope there is out there. Except sometimes I forget. Mindfulness is a spiritual practice. You can hold sand in the palm of your hand. You just have to remember to keep your fingers together.
Not long ago on my walk home, I was enjoying the time outside, but mostly, to be honest, I was focused on getting to my destination. That’s how it is for a lot of us most of the time. We start out on one side of the river, set our sights on the opposite bank and begin the journey. Point A to point B. We’re not expecting to careen off course. So there I was, heading across the bridge, looking at the water, the trees and the sky, and taking it all in with appreciation. Or so I thought. All of a sudden, I tripped. In catching myself, I looked down and found that I was gazing between the cracks of the sidewalk and then far beyond, down between the stone pillars and for a hundred feet below that. Way below me swirled the Charles River. My head spun. How instantly fragile I felt! There I was, a tiny human being kneeling on a great bridge, gripping the edge of the crack that separated me from the gaping expanse of moving water! This is what it means to be humbled, I thought. In all the days of walking over this river, I’d never faced my fear of it. In fact, until the universe lurched and engulfed me I had nearly forgotten that I was suspended above a river at all, or that I was standing on stones blasted out of the earth by dynamite. All around me was the power of the universe and it took being forced to my knees to notice it.
When I started to reflect this past month about what my year here as your student minister has meant to me, the image of this bridge-crossing came to my mind. A year ago, while going from point A to point B I found something so amazing I had to stop and stay a while. Last February, I found First Parish UU in Canton literally by accident, while driving with my mom looking for First Parish in Norwell. We were lost, obviously, and since we couldn’t make it to that parish, we decided to seek refuge anywhere that had a service with an open door. But what an open door! Spying the rainbow flag from the road I practically knocked my mom’s glasses off, pointing it out. “Whatever that church is, we’re going in there!” she exclaimed. I know after last Sunday’s service that we weren’t the only ones who’ve come here because of the flag. Once inside the doors, I was hooked. We sang Raindrops on Roses, found one another during morning greetings by color- coded marks on our orders of service, a mother and son played a duet on string instruments, and the pulpit was decorated with a million stuffed animals. I think they were supposed to represent leaping for leap year. Or maybe it was for spring. We never were quite sure, but nevertheless the atmosphere felt just right. I had an uncanny sense that I’d arrived home.
The sermon was great, everyone sitting near us in the pews came over to say hi, and at coffee hour a man I’d never met before sang me something from Three Penny Opera. We even swapped emails in order to locate a lost score. Wow, this place is really funky I thought! Finally, I got up my courage to ask if this amazing congregation already had an intern. When I heard there hadn’t been one in fifteen years my heart sank. Why would they want one now? Why would they want me? Well, needless to say, you wanted me! The longing I had for being here was matched by the great enthusiasm you’ve shown me over and over during the last year. I thank you deeply for the support and love you’ve given me ever since I walked in the door. My hope today is to offer back to you a tiny window into what you’ve encouraged me to learn in your presence.
The first lesson you taught me is about how people in a healthy congregation care for one another. There are so many unhealthy ways of living one’s faith - like getting stuck doing good things out of guilt, or in order to get into heaven. What I learned from watching you all in action is that while we are none of us free from the burdens of guilt or the motivations of longing to be noticed, what I see you aiming for in your relationships with one another is true connection. I like how the Quakers express this: “the light in me sees the light in you.” This is good ministry not just from minister to lay person, but from lay person to lay person.
There is a Sufi story I’ve heard about a good man who is rewarded one day by God. God tells the man that he will grant him a single wish. The man thinks and thinks. Finally he says that he’d like to go about all the days of his life doing good, but not knowing it. God grants him this wish, and then decides it’s such a good idea, that he extends it to all human beings. And thus it is with each one of us, each day, the story goes.
Isn’t it wonderful to find out after the fact that something you did made a difference to someone else? You may not have even realized the many ways each of you taught me something about how to treat others in a community of faith.
One Friday night I was at Ruth’s house, about a week or so before she went into the hospital. She was lying on her couch, unable to get comfortable, unable to rest, and not talking too much, which in and of itself was a sure sign that Ruth wasn’t feeling too well. Ruth was a talker. Her silence worried me. I wanted more than anything to help but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to plague her with questions. What happened next taught me that “human being” is more a verb than a noun. Out of the blue there came a knock on the door and in came someone from First Parish. After greeting Ruth and settling at the end of the couch, the visitor pulled out a container of hand lotion. What followed was a gentle foot massage for Ruth’s sore dry feet. I would never have thought of it. But here was the gift of human touch, unspoken kindness, and empathy for what Ruth might be needing, rather than what might feel good to give. The gesture was so simple. The intent was pure, and Ruth’s face looked for the first time all night, completely peaceful. What you taught me this year has often come to me by watching your kindness. Person by person you’ve shown me how to be with one another, as opposed to how to talk about being. You showed me that I don’t need to have the answers, in actuality it’s usually better if I don’t. You taught me that I am enough, just as you are enough. I am still learning this lesson. Reverend Kendra Ford talks about the kind of presence we are each capable of when we are able to let go of how bad we feel about ourselves so much of the time. She calls on us to “bend light / be the one thing people need, even when they're fasting / eat boulders, quietly / be a universal solvent." This seeing, doing, being in the world is possible for all of us. I know. I’ve been watching all of you in action. I find you inspiring.
Secondly, what I learned this year is that in every religious community there needs to be a Mac Truck load of trust. It takes time to build this up, and it takes commitment on the part of everyone to make it possible. A year ago when I walked into the Parish Hall after my first service here, I found myself scanning the walls for an official “Welcoming Congregation” sign. The rainbow flag outside told me First Parish cares about gay folks, but I wanted to make sure the commitment was official and ongoing. To be honest, I wouldn’t have come here if First Parish hadn’t yet been through the commitment process. I knew that I needed my internship site to be a place where I could be my whole self, one in which I didn’t have to spend energy worrying if I’d feel safe and respected. I wanted to learn how to be a minister, not be the token gay person. That role is important in many situations, but being gay is only a part of who I am.
Last week I celebrated alongside all of you in the pews, listening to men and women talk about their painful and wonderful experiences of being gay. Together we savored at long last the sweetness of marriage available to all in our state. Sitting among you, listening to the stories, it was clear our congregation had reached a new level of trust. Something fabulous happened in this room last week. There was a celebration of wholeness. I want to be a part of that and of making that happen on all levels regarding diversity in our UU congregations. Perhaps in light of last week’s inspiration we’re on the same page about that. Diversity itself is beauty, power and love manifested.
When we look at a person in their wholeness, we see them as so much more than the adjectives before their name. It has truly been your gift to me that you welcome me just as I am. I don’t feel like hiding here because this environment of warmth and respect encourages all people to be their full selves with one another. A congregation with honesty and openness at its core, builds from the inside out. This is our incredible beginning. I love where we are heading together, both as people of faith, and as citizens of the earth. Being together, being fully - divinely, alive together, now that’s a theological understanding of humanity. We have that here in this community.
We have a theology of trust and a commitment to companionship. My great hope is that this theology continues to expand to encompass those who may still not feel welcome inside our sanctuary. Our journey toward wholeness is alive and well. Let’s keep on plugging.
The last piece of knowledge I wish to share with you today is something that can be summed up in the poem Diane read at Ruth’s funeral. It was titled, “trust the process.” The first time I heard it, I didn’t know why this poem spoke to me on such a deep level, but now as I look back I can see that it represents the journey we are all taking together here this year. This is nearly the half-way point of my two year internship. In all honesty, I have had trouble trying to put into words what it is specifically that I’ve learned thus far. At times it feels self centered to talk about myself. At the same time, what you teach me is a mirror held up to the places you yourselves are stretching. It is about me, it’s also about you. It’s about us. I am truly grateful you are my teaching congregation, and that I am your intern.
Theologically speaking, this year has been one in which I have asked myself hard questions about what God means to me, and how I might have a spiritual practice that sustains me. I notice how scary it feels to share these aspects of my thinking with you. Some of you have told me that you too wish you could more openly explore your questions about God and the divine here at First Parish. This is our growing edge. My thoughts and your thoughts about reverence and about religion have a place in this congregation. Just as we are now opening more and more to sharing ourselves in regards to diversity, so might we share more of our thoughts on our spiritual beliefs and practices. I know that for me, my hesitancy has been that I’ve felt so very much mid-process. In a way, I’m still gripping onto the edge of the sidewalk here, wondering what river it is that I’m gazing down into. If I haven’t figured out my theology yet, who would want to hear about it? It would be like serving a half-baked cake, no? But then I’m reminded of how good cake batter always tastes. It’s sweet. It’s fresh, it’s like a sneak preview, and it’s something we huddle around to gobble up together.
So what I’m saying is that I’m ready to take the next risk with you. In what ways are you keeping yourself hidden? In what ways might our spiritual journeys grow and flourish side by side?
It surprises me to say it, but it might even be easier for me to talk about being gay, than to share what I currently think about the divine. My oh my. What kind of a ship am I traveling in here? If I’m hiding some of my beliefs in the belly of this boat, maybe you are too. I’d like to think the trust, the companionship, the ways we are real with one another can function like oars in our rowboat. We have all the tools we need to trust the process more fully than ever before. So let’s launch our boat into that river far below. I’ll hand you an oar. You hand me an oar. And we’ll row together.
Amen, and blessed be.