April 2002

• Introduction: "A Special Issue," by Jane Rzepka
• Sermon: "Anti-Anti-M," by Peter Morales
• Sermon: "Let Freedom Ring," by Alison Hyder
• REsources for Living, by Betsy Hill Williams
• Sermon: "Where Race and Class Unite," by William G. Sinkford
• Tell This Story and Remember, by Rosemary Bray McNatt
• Sign Up To Be A Pen Pal, by Editor

A Special Issue:

Quest April 2002 Contents

Anti-Anti-M:

Anti-Racism, Anti-Oppression, Multiculturalism

It has become something of a cliché to call Sunday morning worship the most segregated hour in American life. Though the work is unfinished, we have done much to integrate our schools, our military, our government bureaucracies, even much of our workplace. Yet on Sunday morning, all across America, many of us seek the comfort of people who look and speak as we do.
So, here we are, Unitarian Universalists, overwhelmingly white and Anglo. Why is a group that is so genuinely dedicated to anti-racism, anti-oppression, and multi-culturalism (a mouthful I have dubbed "Anti-Anti-M") so homogeneous? Why do so many of our people react with indifference to anti-racism workshops in our churches?
And what, if anything, does all this Anti-Anti-M stuff have to do with religion? What, if any, is the spiritual significance? And, if Latinos and African Americans and Koreans want to worship with people who look like them, isn't that fine? What more are we to do? I mean, if an African American or Latino or Asian American comes to church, we welcome them. Indeed, at many of our churches, we fall all over ourselves to show how welcome they are.
This is, as you can imagine, a deeply personal issue for me. Let me tell you a little of my experience. Shortly after entering seminary, I was invited to a gathering of ministers and seminarians of color from all across the country. Then, I was invited to attend the Extension Ministry training, a training designed for established ministers. Soon after, the department of ministry offered to help pay my expenses to General Assembly.
I was invited to participate in a panel at GA while a first year seminarian and have been a presenter every year since. I was asked to serve on the Latino UU Networking Association steering committee. Last summer I was asked to serve on the executive committee of the UU Ministers Association. And I have just begun a term as our district's trustee on the UUA Board. And I haven't even reached final fellowship. Now, as much as I would like to think that I am being asked to serve because everyone thinks I am wonderful and capable and witty and charming, I know that the real reason is that I am named Morales.
The reason I am being offered all these denominational opportunities is that we are caught in an awkward bind. On the one hand, we want our boards and committees to look the way we hope our association will come to look some day. We want diversity. But when it comes to having members who are "minorities" or "people of color" (neither term is perfect), we have so few that we have to ask the same people to serve over and over. The sad truth, which we must face honestly, is that our efforts in Anti-Anti-M have been tragically disappointing. We have about as many "minority" ministers now as we did a generation ago. During that same period, women have gone from a small fraction of our ministry to occupying more than half our pulpits. In the last 20 years, gay and lesbian people have made enormous strides in our ministry. Why is this? Why are we stymied? Why can we make radical changes in our openness to leaders who are women or gay or lesbian or transgendered, and yet we get almost nowhere with racial and ethnic minorities? What are we doing wrong? What do we need to change?
First, I believe we are coming face to face with the reality that racism is deep, pervasive, and toxic in our culture; it traps us all. To be white is to be in a position of power and privilege, whether white people seek that or not. This inequality poisons relationships. Racism, especially as directed against African Americans, is a fundamental injustice we need to confront wherever we see it.
And yet I have come to believe that to focus on skin-color racism is too limiting. As terrible as it is, the real problem is even more difficult. The problem includes issues of social class and culture that may be more difficult to face than issues of race.
For example, let's think about the amazing strides we have made in including women and gender minorities in our ministry. Why was that so much easier? I believe it is because these people were already part of our culture and our social class. They are our partners, children, coworkers, friends. We have been able to transcend race and ethnicity only when the minister is comfortable in white, middle-class, educated, professional culture.
Part of our journey is to broaden our vision beyond race relations between whites and blacks. As important as that issue is, it is too limiting. We need to look at issues of class and culture as well. For example, the language of race utterly fails to capture the experience of Latinos. Our issues have more to do with culture and language than with race. When I grew up in San Antonio, Latinos did not call Euro-Americans "whites." We called them "Anglos." For us, the differences were cultural and economic, not racial. Similarly, I believe we need to think of Anti-Anti-M as much more than an issue of justice. Again, I do not mean to diminish the horrible injustices that are all around us. As a religious community, as religious people, we must combat injustice.
And yet, we must have a vision that is more than "anti." We have to stand together for something. We need to go beyond justice to create a community where we view our differences as gifts, as opportunities for personal and spiritual growth. There is a critical spiritual issue at stake here. Our differences are ways of exploring what it means to be human. Diversity, whether theological, ethnic, cultural, or racial-is an opportunity to learn and grow.
The tragedy-and it really is a tragedy-is that there are tens of thousands of Latinos, African-Americans, Asians, and, increasingly, people who come from mixed ethnic and racial backgrounds, who are UUs but do not yet know it. They are isolated, religiously homeless people. These are people who are living in two cultures, often feeling as if they belong to neither. They need the kind of community we provide; and we need them. They are the natural cultural and religious bridges to our more diverse future. But we do not reach these people. Why don't we? Because we don't get to know them. Because, like me, they become invisible. And, especially, we never invite them to church. I am a recent UU, but I would have been a UU 20 or 25 years ago if someone had invited me and welcomed my family.
My dream for Unitarian Universalism is that we confess that we do not have all the answers. We need to admit that this is hard work, that Anti-Anti-M is as rigorous a spiritual discipline as we will encounter. I dream that we will begin a conversation, a deep spiritual dialogue, about how we can learn to be open to each other and, especially, to work together to create a community and a culture that celebrates all that it means to be human.
We not only have gifts to give each other, we are gifts to each other. We must not forget that.
Our journey toward wholeness has just begun. We are not sure of the way. We have often lost our way in the past, believing our destination was in sight and easily reached. We were a bit arrogant and a bit naive. We are wiser now. We know we will not get there soon. And we know we need to walk together and walk humbly.
Come. Let's us make that journey together. One step at a time; paso por paso. Hand in hand; mano en mano. Come. Leave no one behind. Together, we can make this journey. Come.


Quest April 2002 Contents

REsources for Living: Common Questions That Parents Ask

edited by Betsy Hill Williams, Director of Religious Education, CLF

From Teaching Young Children to Resist Bias: What Parents Can Do, by Louise Derman-Sparks, Maria Gutierrez, and Carol Brunson Phillips: National Association for the Education of Young Children as published in the UUA curriculum We Are Many, We Are One.
Q: My child never asks questions about race, disabilities, or gender. If I raise it myself, will I introduce her to ideas she wouldn't have thought of on her own?
A: Yes, you may, thereby expanding your child's awareness and knowledge. Your child may also have had questions for which she didn't have words or didn't feel comfortable raising until you brought up the subject. Remember that children do not learn prejudice from open, honest discussion of differences and the unfairness of bias. Rather, it is through these methods that children develop anti-bias sensitivity and behavior.
Q: I don't feel competent to deal with these issues; I don't know enough. What if I say the wrong thing?
A: Silence "speaks" louder than we realize, sending messages that are counter to the development of anti-bias attitudes. It is far better to respond, even if, upon hindsight, you wish you had handled the incident differently. You can always go back to your child and say, "Yesterday, when you asked me why Susan uses a wheelchair, I didn't give you enough of an answer. I've thought about your question some more, and today I want to tell you…" If you really do not have the information to answer a question, you can say, "That's a good question, but I don't know the answer right now. Let me think about it a little and I will tell you later." Or, "Let's go find some books to help us answer your question." Then be sure to follow through.
Examine your feelings about the subject raised by your child's questions and behaviors. Feelings of incompetence often come from discomfort rather than a lack of knowledge. Talk over your feelings with a sympathetic family member or friend in order to be better
prepared the next time.
Q: I don't want my children to know about prejudice and discrimination until they have to. Won't it upset them to know about injustices?
A: It is natural to want to protect our children from painful subjects and situations. Moreover, adults may mask their own pain by choosing not to address issues of bias with their children. Avoiding issues that may be painful doesn't help children. Being unprepared to deal effectively with life's realities only leaves them more vulnerable and
exposed to hurt. Silence about children's misconceptions and discriminatory behavior gives them permission to inflict pain on others. It is all right for children to sometimes feel sad or upset as long as they know that you are there to comfort and support them.

Anti-Racism Resources:
Books, Adult
Black Pioneers in a White Denomination, Mark D. Morrison-Reed. Boston, MA, Skinner House, 1994.
Call to Selma: Eighteen Days of Witness, Richard D. Leonard. Boston, MA, Skinner House, 2001.
In Their Own Words, A Conversation with Participants in the Black Empowerment Movement Within the UUA, Alicia McNary Forsey. Berkeley, CA, Starr King School for the Ministry, 2001.
Uprooting Racism, Paul Kivel. Gabriola Island, BC, New Society Publishers, 1996.
Dismantling Racism: The Continuing Challenge to White America, Joseph Barndt. Minneapolis, MN, Augsburg Fortress, 1991.
A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America, Ronald Takaki. New York, Little, Brown and Company, 1993.

Curricula and Study Guides, Adult
Books for the Journey Toward Wholeness, An Anti-oppression Discussion Guide to Popular Literature, Faith in Action Department, UUA, updated May, 2001.
Films for the Journey Toward Wholeness, An Anti-oppression Discussion Guide to Popular Films, Faith in Action Department, UUA, updated May, 2001.
Weaving the Fabric of Diversity, Jacqui James and Judith Frediani. Boston, MA, UUA, 1996.

Curricula and Study Guides, Children & Youth
Anti-Bias Curriculum, Louise Derman-Sparks and the A.B.C. Task Force, National Association for the Education of Young Children, Washington, DC, 1989.
Race to Justice, Robin Gray and Jose A. Ballester y Marquez. Boston, MA, UUA, 1995.
Rainbow Children, Norma Poinsett & Vivian Burns. Boston, MA, UUA, 1995.
Open Minds to Equality, Nancy Schniedewind. Needham, MA, Allyn and Bacon, 1998.
Celebrating Racial Diversity, Kathleen McGinnis. St. Louis, MO, Institute for Peace and Justice, 1994.

Websites:
www.uua.org/re/reach/index.html: Books for the Journey Toward Wholeness
www.magenta.nl/crosspoint/us.html: links to numerous sites containing information relevant to all stages of the Journey Toward Wholeness.
www.uua.org/re/antibias.html: Anti-bias Programs for Children and Youth from UUA and non-UUA Sources.
www.barnesandnoble.com/boutiques/children/adl/index.asp?userid=1P13P14DZN
www.adl.org/ctboh/campaign.html

Quest April 2002 Contents

Let Freedom Ring

by Alison Hyder, minister, Universalist Meeting House, Provincetown, Mass.

I remember when Martin Luther King was shot. I remember it because I did not know who he was. I was a white kid in 6th grade, standing outside my elementary school for a fire drill, and I asked one of my black classmates-not a friend, my friends were the few kids who lived on my street whom I played with, not the children a few blocks away in the colored neighborhood, but still someone I knew, someone I observed and talked to and wondered about-I asked her why all the black children seemed so silent and sad. Some of them were crying. And she said that Dr. Martin Luther King had been shot. I was jolted that someone so obviously important, who inspired such grief, was totally unknown to me. Suddenly a whole different reality dawned.
I lived in a segregated town that had a black neighborhood with run-down houses and narrow streets. Like most kids, I was conscious of differences. I thought about prejudice and injustice and privilege. I did my best to be nice, and fair, as I was taught. But though my parents were fairly cosmopolitan, they were not political. The early civil rights movement passed me right by.
But all of a sudden, I realized-I don't know why, some leap in my conceptual thinking, some culmination of insights-that I didn't know about Dr. King because I didn't have to know. I had the option to know nothing about the lives of black people, what was important to them, or how they lived.
In school we had all learned about "America." Maybe it was an effort to homogenize us, to tell us all the same stories, the national myths about how we were founded, and by whom. We learned that the English puritans and pilgrims settled here with the ideals of "religious freedom." Years later a handful of English colonists fought for their independence, for their ideals of "democracy and equality." Later white people from the north and south fought the civil war over the issue of slavery and freedom. They did other important things, too-invented things, settled the West. That's the stuff we all had to know. That's what made us Americans.
But the lives and history, the struggle and pain and triumphs of people of color were not taught. They were not considered important to our functioning as citizens. And all of a sudden that day in 1968, I understood my privilege as a white person in a new way. Society was organized to serve its white members. It wasn't just about where I as a white person could live and others couldn't. I benefited even when I wasn't aware of it, in all sorts of unknown ways. The deck was stacked.
Now, needless to say, most of this insight was subconscious at the time. I was no genius, and the subtle dynamics of racism were barely understood, even by scholars. Back then, we thought you only had to be nice, and everything would change. Even now, years after the Civil Rights Movement, after the Black Power struggle, when affirmative action is considered unnecessary and passé by some, most people who consider themselves white are unaware of their own continuing privileges.
Of course, not having to classify themselves is one of them. When asked to describe themselves, or others, white people hardly ever list "white." It's normative, so it goes without saying. So they rarely think about it.
It's not that they want to be black, mind you. In one of his routines, Chris Rock, a black comic, talks about how angry white people are these days, complaining that they're losing everything. "'We're losing everything! We're losing everything!' Like what?" he asks. He goes on, "Not even the usher in this theatre would change places with me-and I'm rich! That's how good it is to be white."
Everybody laughs, because he's right. White people can go for most of their lives and not have to consider their race as any kind of factor in their lives. They can think of themselves as individuals, not as characteristic of a group. As white author Peggy McIntosh writes in White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack, "I can swear, or dress in second-hand clothes, or not answer letters, without having people attribute these choices to the bad morals, the poverty, or the illiteracy of my race. . . I can do well in a challenging situation without being called a credit to my race [and]. . . I am never asked to speak for all the people of my racial group."
In the United States the dominant culture emphasizes an ideology of rugged individualism and the American myth of meritocracy. White people are encouraged to think of themselves as getting ahead on their merits, on hard work or innate intelligence, or even charm or luck. Something specific and personal. But the idea that some success is accorded white people because they aren't black-or Latina/o, or Indian-is hard to hear. It's hardly a credit. White people have an inborn advantage accorded them because of race. For many people this truth may seem like a personal condemnation-as if they didn't deserve their positions, or their possessions, or their lives. It throws the whole notion of individual accomplishment on its ear. They like to believe that their good fortune is justified-because they're good people, nice, talented, intelligent, spiritual, hard-working. And very likely they are. But then, so are most of the poor people of the world, and so are most African Americans and Native Americans and Cambodians and Jamaicans-all the people this country wasn't designed for. But if they're white, they don't have to think about it. Who wasn't rented that apartment before it was given to the white couple? How come the store clerk sees the white person before the black person? In what ways do whites gain?
As a white person, I can turn on my TV at any moment and see people who look like me. The majority of novels and histories in a bookshop are written for my culture in my language. I can stroll through a store or walk through the woods without arousing suspicion and without being watched. I can go into any drugstore and find appropriate make-up, or hair-care products that will suit me. If I need to complain to a store manager he or she will probably be white. No one will deny me a bank loan or refuse to rent to me because of my race. I didn't ask for this system, I don't want it, but I still
benefit from it.
Now, see, I know some of you are thinking. . . " yes, but I'm gay, I'm a woman, I'm disabled . . . what about that? I've been discriminated against, ostracized, beaten up." And I am denying neither your oppression nor your pain. No one should be the target of hatred or harassment. As Audre Lorde says, there is no hierarchy of oppression-no one's suffering is any more important than anyone else's. But I do say that if you're white, in most cases you've still got the wild card to play. And you know it. Viscerally, at least.
Racism is more than prejudice, more than bigotry. One of the definitions of racism is, "a system of advantage based on race." People of color can certainly be bigoted, and many are. But white people don't live under the systems or institutions of people of color. Non-whites haven't been allowed the power to create racist systems that affect the ability of whites to function.
So the white beneficiaries of this legacy didn't create the problem-they've never owned slaves, they weren't alive during reconstruction, they've never thrown rocks at anyone, their parents are immigrants. They've never told a racist joke, and they've never laughed when someone else did, or remained silent when others made a disparaging comment. They encourage the hiring and promotion of people of color, and support civil rights, and they inquire about fair banking and loan practices before they choose their banks. They live in a mixed neighborhood and support
minority-owned businesses.
Uh huh. And what else? Of course they have a diversity of friends of color. And they're in and out of each other's homes all the time, trading books and music and food. Even with all that-racism is still a white issue, a white problem.
Whites benefit from the structures of racism even when they don't want to. They do all the time, no matter how "color blind" they are, or how powerless they think they are. My mother came to this country with her family when she was 11. Even though they were Jewish, and had poor English skills, they immediately became white when they passed through immigration and were accorded levels of access and privilege that generations of African Americans have not yet been granted. Most people of European ancestry did as well. They left Italy, or the Azores, or Ireland, or Poland. Most of these immigrants didn't see themselves in the struggles of African Americans, or build labor unions and coalitions with them. They quickly learned what "nigger" meant, the stereotypes and bigotry. No matter where they were from, they identified as Caucasian. And benefited from it. They may have lost some sense of ethnicity and heritage along the way, but they
became "Americans."
Most Americans have been given a distorted and sanitized picture of history and politics, because the role of racism and violence has been minimized, and the contributions of people of color, like Benjamin Banneker, Matthew Hansen, and Fannie Lou Hamer, excluded, or their race, like Augustine's-or Jesus'-white- washed. The role of white people is modified, often ennobled, and the voices of dissenters ignored. For instance, Helen Keller became a great social radical, an early supporter of the NAACP and labor reform. But all we hear is how wonderful and brave she was, that she was both blind and deaf-not that she criticized the government and worked to end injustice. And we learn almost nothing about the lives and struggles of the disenfranchised, of sharecroppers and labor agitators. American history is a glorious tale of material progress and purpose.
So changing the system-even changing oneself-is not easy. Working through one's own racism, really understanding what it means to have been raised in this culture of inequality and systematic discrimination is painful work. But in the end it is a liberating process for whites to free themselves from the fear and the paranoia and ignorance of participating in racism.
Anyone can begin just by reading. There are books explaining how and why we develop our racial identities, about understanding and eliminating racism, and what adults and kids can do. There are books about the effects of racism on white people and on people of color. And there are novelists and poets of color with whom you might be unfamiliar. Sometimes just getting into someone else's world really expands your mind. The boundaries of your nation lie within yourself.
If you are a white person who is serious about uprooting your own racism, I urge you to find white allies and mentors, people who are going through the same confusion and guilt and fear that you are, and the same exultation and pride in your progress. Of course, you need friends of other races, too, but these are issues that white people must address as individuals and groups, and there may be times when black mentors have had too many stressors to be patient and supportive. There are seminars and workshops to help. Good work is being done. The journey will be hard, but if we persist we will be rewarded with a new sense of worth and freedom and integrity, with amazing friends and a renewed vision.
Dr. King said, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." We are all connected in a circle of life, an interdependent web of caring and need. Whatever he or she pretends, no one can base his or her own real happiness or success, on someone else's misery. It is a spiritual impossibility. Race has been the defining American issue since the first European set foot on these shores. We cannot fully celebrate the republic, claim independence as a people, until we are ready to escape the cage of fear and guilt and restriction that racism demands. We cannot breathe deeply while holding someone else down. Stand up, then. Take heart. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

Quest April 2002 Contents

Where Race and Class Unite

by the Rev. William G. Sinkford, president, the Unitarian Universalist Association

(This sermon was delivered at the First Unitarian Church in Portland, Oregon as part of "Changing Congregations, Changing Cultures"-The fifth Continental Conference for Large Churches Within the Unitarian Universalist Association.)
First, let me bring you greetings from the larger family of faith of which you are a part. The Unitarian Universalist Association is the coming together of, now, 1,055 free, liberal religious congregations in North America. We come together for common purpose, to support one another and to proclaim the Good News of our liberal faith in this hurting world. And our faith community is growing, not only in numbers, but also in our willingness to witness outside our walls.
I want to talk with you about our faith community and race and class. But this is a sermon I don't want to preach. I'll have to tell too much truth, not just to you but to myself as well. The pastor in me would rather comfort you and applaud your ministry. I would rather tell you that it will be easy for us to be a force for good. I'd rather tell you that we live our theology enough to see us through, that there is reason for hope.
But the only sermon I have for you this morning will ask you to know who you are, and who we are. Because unless we are willing to do the hardest work, that of knowing ourselves; unless we are willing to hold in check our natural inclination to jump to solutions, we are at great spiritual risk as we approach the reality of race and class, and the making of justice in our world.
Both of my parents were light-skinned African Americans. That means that through both love and violence, my lineage is at least as much from European Americans as from African. You don't get to be this color without intimacy across the divide of race.
My father was born into a family of relative comfort, clearly middle class in income. Father Sinkford, as he was known, owned a successful funeral home in Bluefield, West Virginia. He provided well for his children. Dad, my father, was beautifully educated, another Harvard man, who spoke seven languages with some fluency. Words were his passion. But when he met my mother, in his early forties, he was driving a cab on the streets of Detroit. The jobs for which his training prepared him were simply not available to him. For persons of color, class always needs to be seen in the context of race.
My father died when I was young and I spent my youth in Cincinnati Ohio. My mother had little formal education. What money there was in her family had gone into educating the only son, her brother. We lived very modestly. Mother took the work she could find, as a clerk in shops. . . she sold encyclopedias door to door for a while. We were working class at best. But she gave me a love of learning and I excelled at school. We joined the Unitarian Church, and our minister badgered a judge he knew until finally my mother was given a professional job in the juvenile court system. We
became middle class.
I went on to Harvard, and some success in business. I remember the personnel director of the first company for which I worked sitting me down and showing me the affirmative action chart. There was my name, proving that a person of color could be in management. I had become a token.
In my life, though I have many scars from the operation of racism in this culture, it can be argued that I have benefited at least as much as a result of my race as I have been punished because of it. My education, my income, my acceptability to the white community isolated me from the racism of others. Race always needs to be viewed through the lens of class.
Unitarian Universalism, through several actions of the General Assembly, has committed itself to becoming an anti-oppressive, multi-cultural faith. Our work here, as with all human work, has been imperfect, but a good part of that work has made it acceptable to talk about race in this company and to begin the development of a common language that makes that possible.
And we are about to embark on a concerted effort to address issues of justice, of class. To be honest, I expect that this will be our most difficult work, the work we want to avoid. We are mostly privileged, and we know how fragile our privilege is. We have tales of triumph, but we must also tell the story of injustice.
I know that this faith community I love has Good News-our religious pluralism in a world in which religious difference leads to war-we live it every week. We know about empowering the marginalized, at least some of them. Our work on gender justice is far ahead of that of most institutions, and we affirm gay and lesbian and bisexual and transgender persons in an environment where these people are sometimes killed for who they love. We know that distance need not divide, and it is powerful good news.
We hold a vision of a world where every child is fed and clothed and has decent medical care-a world where differences are not curses but blessings. Our calling is to make the prophet Isaiah's vision real: "To loose the bonds of injustice, To let the oppressed go free."
Who are we and what spiritual disciplines do we need to cultivate to allow the oppressed to go free? A web magazine called The Long Point National, thinks it knows who we are, and, following my election in Cleveland, published this satire: "God is in the details," was the headline. "The Unitarian Universalist Association, a fuzzy sorta Christian consortium of PBS donors, nonprofit staffers, and other people smarter and nobler than you, elected (its first black) president on Saturday with all of the spirited resolution of drafting a pledge to condemn global hunger.
"Following his victory, Sinkford (that would be me) was given a biodegradable ticker tape parade down the main streets of Cleveland, leading a procession of Volvos, Toyotas and the occasional Subaru."
Now, I've edited out the really biting parts, but you see what I mean? It skewers us. It's just a little too true. And it goes right to the soft spot, "People smarter and nobler than you." Perhaps our greatest spiritual danger is our smugness and our unwillingness to know who we are. Most of us are middle and upper middle class white folks with degrees from really good schools (the average education in our pews is at the Master's level), children well above average, and not a shred of political incorrectness among us. But to engage in the work of justice, we need to cultivate an attitude of humility, not arrogance. To claim this, we need to know that what comfort we have is claimed at the disempowerment and oppression of so many. Pogo said, "We have met the enemy and it is us." We are not evil people. Our intentions are good. We are participants in a system that we did not create, but that binds us together.
So let us cultivate gratitude together. Let us strive for humility as we work for justice. As a religious community, we are called to restore our relationships. As we struggle, I pray we will not invest all our energy in argument. We can argue about our work on race, on economic justice. Our work is not to debate, although debate we need to do, nor is it about passing resolutions, although that, too, we will need to do. Our work is to help the universe bend toward justice, and there is more than one way to do that.
Do we need to change ourselves? Do we have to become something different to make a difference? Do we need to attract more persons of color or more of the truly poor into our pews?
My answer is no. Who we are is not the question; the question is what we are called to do. How will we show up? As allies. If we work for justice, some other people will join us. But that is not the objective.
Our task is to know a religious life, a spiritual life, which always combines our personal search for God and our rich life within this community, with a commitment to make the Kingdom of God real in our world. Either one without the other is incomplete.
The Poet, Annie Dillard, paraphrasing the prophet, asks:
Who shall ascend unto the hill of the Lord?
Who shall walk on that holy ground?
We are the only ones. There is no one but us.

Quest April 2002 Contents

Tell This Story and Remember

by Rosemary Bray McNatt, minister, the Fourth Universalist Society in the City of New York

Why are we still talking about inclusivity and diversity when we have done so little to make them real?
Why are we still looking pained about the lack of diversity in the denomination? Because diversity,inclusivity, is terribly hard, terribly uncomfortable, definitely unsettling, and often quite frustrating.
What I know about being inclusive-crossing from culture to culture, learning the language of diversity-is that it's the work of a lifetime. It's hard to accept people who are not like you, who don't talk the way you do, or believe the things you believe, or dress or vote as you do. It's even harder to appreciate them for the things about them that are not like you, to find them interesting and fun, to enjoy the learning that's part of the experience, and to acknowledge, finally, that you may have to agree to disagree.
The truth is this: If there is no justice, there will be no peace. We can read Thoreau and Emerson to one another, quote Rilke and Alice Walker and Howard Thurman, and think good and noble thoughts about ourselves. But if we cannot bring justice into the small circle of our own individual lives, we cannot hope to bring justice to the world. And if we do not bring justice to the world, none of us is safe and none of us will survive. Nothing that Unitarian Universalists need to do is more important than making justice real-here, where we are. Hard as diversity is, it is our most important task.
"It's Hard Work" is from Been in the Storm So Long, a UUA meditation manual edited by Mark Morrison-Reed and Jacqui James, published by Skinner House, and available from the CLF Library.

Quest April 2002 Contents

Sign Up To Be A Pen Pal

The Rev. Anne Felton Hines, CLF prison chaplain
CLF has almost 60 members who are incarcerated in prisons across the U.S. and Canada. As one of them wrote: "We don't have UU ministers here..., so the only information I get about UUism is through the mail." I would suggest it's also often the only way they gain a sense of "inherent worth and dignity."
Thanks to Revs. Jane Rzepka and Kathy Reis, we now have a Pen Pal program, linking incarcerated CLF members with members in the "free world." As of this writing, 25 inmates have requested CLF Pen Pals, and the number grows every time I go to the Post Office; unfortunately, only 11 non-incarcerated members have signed up to become a Pen Pal with an inmate.
Please consider participating in this very worthy program. I can attest to the profound gifts you will receive from your correspondence with an inmate, as well as to the gift you will become to them. If interested, you can either write to me c/o CLF, or directly at P.O. Box 312, Lake Forest, CA 92609.
In the words of Lao Tzu (sent to me by one of our incarcerated members): "We must care for those who are deserving...but also, and equally, care for those who are not."

Quest April 2002 Contents

Last updated June 12, 2005