Stairs, Elevators, and Empty Bowls of Ice Cream

I love a good Unitarian joke. 
My favorite is the one about how the last time "Jesus Christ" was heard in a Unitarian Universalist church was when the janitor fell down the stairs.  For some reason that one just never gets old.   


What I love most about UU jokes is that they aren't just about making each other laugh, they also tell a story about our faith in a way that our silly "elevator speeches" cannot. A good Unitarian joke tells a story about who we are and how we do things; it gives our religion character and puts our faith into context for us and for those who have no clue about who we are.  


This is probably why I shamelessly brag every time I hear a well-played Unitarian jab on TV.  Just tune into an occasional episode of "The Simpsons" to see what I mean.  For some reason equating Unitarianism to an empty bowl of ice cream makes me feel so... loved.  I mean, it is one thing for Garrison Keillor to make fun of UUs; you make a Unitarian reference on NPR and it is pretty safe to assume that a good 75% of the listening audience are members of a UU congregation, and the rest probably would be if they absolutely had to join a church.  But if the writers for "The Simpsons" believe that their viewing audience knows enough about our religion and our quirks to actually laugh at us, I'll take it.  It makes me feel famous. It pleases me to think that we are culturally significant enough for people to make fun of us.  It means we aren't totally invisible.

In a recent UU World article, Doug Muder addresses the problem of our invisibility as he talks about the difficulties of explaining our faith within the time constraints of an elevator ride.  He points out that, for the most part, our dominate culture has no frame of reference for Unitarian Universalism, and we are left with nothing left to do but to give our listeners a laundry list of religious ideas that we have rejected over time.  

The problem with the whole elevator speech idea is that, while this is a great exercise for personal theological reflection, Unitarian Universalism does not and cannot exist in the vacuum of an elevator shaft.  The beauty of who we are is lost if we do not include a glimpse into what our faith means to us and how we are everyday. Our faith has evolved over time and will continue to do so, and explaining Unitarian Universalism should never be the same at any two given moments as told from two different people.  Context is so important to who we are because we are always striving to discover the most "right" thing for us and our world at that time.  

If people want to know how to define "Unitarian Universalism," then they can look it up in a dictionary; but it probably won't tell them what they want to know.  If someone wants to know what our faith means to you and our world, I suggest taking the stairs and rambling off a few good UU jokes. 

Give yourself permission to laugh at the fact that our churches often feel called to involve about three committees and two subcommittees in the decision of how, when, and why to change a light bulb (and those of you who are involved with the Green Sanctuary Program know what I am talking about).  But be sure to take the time to lift up that it is so funny because we really do earnestly recognize the impact of one little light bulb and we do our best to honor the voice of every person that is connected to it.  This says a whole lot about our faith.  I truly believe that it is what we do that leaves a lasting impression on those who don't know us.  And to most of the world, especially to those who will converse with someone of a different faith during an elevator ride, our theology (or lack thereof) makes no difference. 

Our "essence of UU," or our "UU-ness", if you will, comes out in our jokes and in the stories of our everyday lives of how we are together at home.  Our faith shines when we share that many of our congregations do not talk about Jesus much, if at all, (even if you do), and that UUs are known to celebrate about 5 different winter holidays.  You may even let it slip that UU communion takes place at coffee hour and our potlucks are second to none, and then find yourself accompanying a guest to your church next Sunday.

Besides that, laughter is a great spiritual practice and it is good to learn to laugh at yourself a bit (and at the quirks of our faith, for that matter).   

So if you find yourself getting a little too upset when someone makes a joke about how many UUs it takes to change a light bulb or you start to become a little too overly concerned for that mythical janitor that fell down the stairs, relax and remember that our jokes play a vital role in creating our UU culture and help us share our light, if not our lightheartedness, with the rest of the world.  We have plenty of time to be serious in the name of making change in our world, and if I have to share one thing with someone during a ride on an elevator, it should be a good laugh.  

January @Home

This month’s idea:

Make a UU Resolution!

With each new year comes a tradition of deep reflection on the past year and imagining how to better your future... or perhaps you are of the camp that feels horribly nauseated by the whole idea of new year’s resolutions and the inevitable monotonous news stories about what Joe Cool said about his resolution on Twitter.

Well, stop rolling your eyes (I'm looking at you, 15 year-old version of myself) and reclaim this annual practice by personalizing it for your grown-up UU self.     

Check out the January Tab (above) for some ideas to help you make simple, attainable New Year’s resolutions (a.k.a. amazing acts of UU faith):

My New Year's resolution: make more time to write... beginning with a reflection of my 2010.
(Relax, I still have some time before 2010 is over!)

The Holiday Shuffle

I am going to miss going to my Grandparents’ Lutheran church on Christmas Eve this year.  It may be weird to hear such a thing from a Unitarian Universalist (a life-long UU, at that), but I really, truly have always enjoyed the Christmas Eve ritual of joining my grandparents in worship at their church. 

As is the case with many families, Christmastime for my family was packed full of places to go, gifts to be bought and wrapped, and cookies to be baked.  We called this, in our house, the “Holiday Shuffle.”  Truth be told, I always did an excellent job pretending to hate it all and could “Bah Humbug” with the best of all possible Scrooges, but, between you and me, I loved every bit of it.

I loved rushing to wrap presents and the butterflies I would get in my stomach as I wondered if we would make it on time (thrill issues, perhaps?).  I loved getting dressed up and smelling the Swedish Meatballs, potatoes, homemade lefse and dinner rolls that were keeping warm in the oven while we went to church.  I especially loved the sharp, cold air and the countless stars that filled the dark Wisconsin sky, wondering if we would be lucky enough to see a snowflake or two that night.  But most of all, as my family filed into the long, wooden pews in the dimly-lit sanctuary, I loved the sound of the choir and pipe organ that filled the cathedral ceilings as one and all waited in quiet anticipation for the stories to begin.  It was magic.  It was, what some people might call, “Holy.” 

As is the case with many UU kids, I often wondered why most Unitarians bothered to celebrate Christmas; after all, we, by definition, do not believe in the divinity of Jesus.  I totally stand by that; but what I have decided that I believe in is the Holy of the holiday. 

I believe in the magic of inspiration and I believe in soaking in the wonder and awe of things greater than you; no matter where you find it.  For most in my Grandparents’ Lutheran church, the “bigger” was found in prophecy and story and song about the birth of their Savior and the miracle of His life.  For me, it was just being a part of this ritual, knowing that my presence was valued and treasured, and being reminded, once more, of the miracle of family. 

These days, it is nearly impossible for us to make it to my Grandparents’ Christmas Eve celebration and to join the worship at that beautiful church in Wisconsin six hours away from our home.  But as I create new traditions and rituals for my children, I hope that they, too, will feel the Holy of this night.  Merry Christmas!

Therapy Fund

I am not a parenting expert.  In fact, I am hardly a novice.  

I have to say, I am extremely suspicious of anyone who claims to have the key to unlocking the secrets of producing the world’s perfect children (complete with perfectly styled hair, spotless clothes, and halos, of course).    

In my mere 3 years of being an actual parent, I would have to say that I actually now know less about child-rearing than I thought I did before my children happily shattered every dream I had about the ease with which I would raise them.  

It took a few healthy doses of humility to get me to the point of admitting my cluelessness; I spent my first few months as the "perfect" new parent, looking down my nose at other parenting styles (you know, the new-age or simply archaic practices from the parents who will enviably produce the trouble-making kids that my simply angelic children will have to endure at school every day.  Those parents.  You and I are not in these categories, of course). 

After enough mishaps and public tantrums that leave the entire room looking at you the exact same way you looked at all those other parents who just couldn't control their kids, it hits you: YOU DON’T KNOW SQUAT.  


Each child is unique, bringing into the world his or her own set of needs and gifts, and each caregiver is different, bringing to the table his or her own set of gifts and weaknesses.  You add in all of the variables and suddenly your simple formula for parenting success…well, let’s face it, I was never really good at math anyway.

Shortly after I figured out that “I know nothing” is the only thing I’ll ever know, I started making mental contributions to my kids’ “Therapy Fund”.  I would make imaginary deposits every time my temper was too short or my patience much too thin.  I would even make an occasional contribution on days when I was questioning whether or not our lifestyle choices would leave our children feeling too different.

Then I decided that it would be way more fun to have an actual Therapy Fund. 

(Especially as I  imagined how fun it would be to pop ten bucks in the therapy jar to diffuse a moment of teenage hormonal rage when my kids declare their hatred for me at about 500 decibels.  “Oh, tell it to your therapist!” I might say to myself.)

To be fair, the creation of this jar wasn’t JUST for kicks and giggles; I created it in part because I sincerely believe that this is one of the gifts that I can give my children, and not just because they will be actually receiving this money one day (they will probably need someone who will help them work through all of the baggage they have obtained, courtesy of the wacky parents who raised them as UU vegetarians in a fairly conservative small town). 

But I think the best gift of the Therapy Fund is that each deposit is a physical representation to me and my children that I recognize that I am, by no means, super-human.  I have real shortcomings that may leave a real void in their lives.  I don’t know all of the answers and I never will (although not for lack of trying).  This simple, silly little jar reminds me that it is okay that my kids may need to turn to someone other than me to help them over one of life’s hurdles, and that I am totally allowed to have a bad day or two (and that I might even be able to forgive myself for that one day).   

It also oddly helps me strive to be the best parent I can be (I am not made of money, ya know).  The less I have to put in that jar, the better.  


Some time, I may even just throw in a couple of bucks just… because.  Even the parents who have written the books on parenting need help too.   

  

December @Home

 Check out the "December" tab at the top of this page for ideas, resources, and to contribute to the discussion!


This month’s idea:
Create a New Family Tradition!

Celebrate the return of light (Winter Solstice) by spending a day in awe of the darkest day of the year.
Candles? Check!  Board games? Check!
Soaking in a nice, quiet evening in the midst of Holiday craziness?  You bet!