BY JANE RZEPKA, SENIOR MINISTER, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
Here’s how it
looks to me:
something in
our hearts says,
“Help me, I
need somebody
to lean on, to
depend on, or
to guide me, or
rescue me,” or
“Please, it’s the beginning of May, let
spring come to New England.” Or “Let
my fortunes turn, I’ve suffered
enough,” or “I’ll do anything, just
make my baby get well.” The root
word for prayer is from the Latin, precarius,
“obtained by begging.” Don’t
you know that feeling? That’s just how
it seems to work with human beings.
All of which puts a lot of Unitarian
Universalists in something of an awkward
situation. And the situation is
this: many of us, not all of us of course,
but a lot of us, don’t find traditional
forms of prayer of particular use. According
to an extensive article in Newsweek
some time back, “Prayer presupposes
a God who can be addressed.”
And that presupposition can be a problem
for those Unitarian Universalists
who don’t posit a god at all, or who
don’t posit a god who has ears, either
literally or metaphorically.
The Rev. Max Coots once explained:
Until recently, as history goes, almost
everyone assumed that God, by
whatever name and in whatever
form, was the omnipotent puppeteer
pulling the strings that controlled
everything from amoebae to empires,
from ants to conquering armies,
from the movement of the stars
to the state of your digestion.
But, after 50,000 years of such unquestioned
divine attention, people
began to realize that the earth was
not the center of the universe; that
stars were not tiny, friendly night lights lovingly hung for us; that
space stretched out beyond imagination;
that spring and summer came
whether or not we praised the sun;
that it was microscopic organisms,
unaware of our personal piety, that
brought disease; and that death
came to believer and unbeliever
alike here on the earth, spinning in
its tiny orbit around its little star in
one corner of one galaxy in a sea of
galaxies in space.
While we may feel the basic urge to
petition for our greatest personal needs,
we can’t quite believe in that puppeteer
in the sky who would pull just the
strings we need. While we experience
the universal tendency to praise what
seems wondrous around us, while we want to say with ee cummings, “i thank
you god for most this amazing day,” it
is the rare Unitarian Universalist who
can imagine an anthropomorphic addressee
to whom our appreciation
should be sent. While we know we
would appreciate some guidance now
and then, we have trouble postulating a
divine twenty-four-hour instantmessaging
service. And while we may
ache for soothing, healing powers, we
don’t want to think that a god is up
there granting some prayers, and
denying others just as worthy.
Unitarian Universalists have a few
strategies about prayer that deal with
this theological quandary. Let’s call it
two strategies, to simplify. They both
work great, they both have roots within
our Unitarian Universalist history, and
they both invite spiritual maturity.
Here’s the first: Some UUs use the
word “prayer” as an expression of their
personal spiritual life. Typically, they
broaden the definition of prayer to encompassa wide variety of spiritual
practices and centering activities. And
so if they are focused on the first snowdrops
of the season, they may be praying;
or if they are soaking in the tub,
they may be praying; or if they are participating
in the walk for hunger, they
may be praying; or if they are tucking
the two-year-old in at night, they may be praying. To pray they look deep
inside, they talk to a friend, they walk,
they drive, they sing, they blog, they
meditate or contemplate, they prune the
trees, they touch their toes, they sit
together in church.
The Rev. Mark Belletini writes:
So prayer can be words, silence,
song, or as Paul of Tarsus says, ‘a
sigh.’ Prayer can be one prophet
breaking the bread of affliction with
tears in his eyes and another breaking
a clay pot with eyes ablaze. Whatever
cuts through our defensiveness,
whether it’s disguised as a sense of
worthlessness or a sense of hubris, is
a great prayer. Crafted or spontaneous,
elegant or halted with sobs, sung
to God, danced to Love Most Deep or
simply uttered into the thin air,
prayer...is the life-breath
of...worship.
Yes. We may broaden the definition of
prayer, until, in the extreme form, we
may even say, along with the Unitarian
Susan B. Anthony, “I pray every single
second of my life; not on my knees but with my work.”
But for many Unitarian Universalists,
broadening the definition of prayer, or
using the word at all, makes no sense.
And so the second strategy is this:
these UUs don’t pray—they strive to
feel awake to life, embrace the grandeur
of living on this planet, explore
those aspects of life that ground them,
connect to people and places and the
cosmos in general, contribute to the
healthy future of neighbors the world
over, note beauty in a variety of forms,
and value the trajectory toward health
and well-being. That kind of thing.
They don’t pray.
Just like the group that does pray, this
group focuses on the same first snowdrops
of the season, soaks in tubs, participates
in the walk for hunger, tucks
the two year old in at night, looks deep
inside, talks to friends, walks, drives,
sings, blogs, meditates or contemplates,
prunes the trees, touches their
toes, sits together in church. But let me
be clear: these UUs are not praying,
and there is no reason in the world to
impose the language of prayer on them.
You ask a conventional Roman Catholic,
or a Lutheran, or a Southern Baptist,
not to mention a Muslim or a
Jew—you ask any of them if Unitarian
Universalists pray, and most of them
will tell you that this “Spirit of Life”
business, this meditation and spiritual
practice business, absolutely does not
cut it as prayer.
The truth is, our history with respect to
prayer is different. In the mid-eighteen
hundreds, Samuel Longfellow and
Henry Longfellow, raised in the First
Parish in Portland, Maine, and a generation
later, the Rev. Frederick Hosmer,
began to write hymns that spoke
of nature and social concern instead of
the traditional God and prayer. Unitarian
Universalists still sing those
hymns: “O Life that Maketh All
Things New,” “God of the Earth, the
Sky, the Sea,” and “Lo, the Earth is
Ris’n Again,” often sung on Easter. All
of those are by Samuel Longfellow, a Unitarian minister. Henry, his brother,
wrote “All are Architects of Fate,”
number 288 in our hymn book. Hosmer
wrote “Forward Through the Ages,”
and he wrote “Lo, the Day of Days Is
Here” and “O Day of Light and Gladness,”
two more often sung on Easter.
Thomas Starr King, our notable minister
in San Francisco during that time,
said, “We find God in nature. We find
God in Mt. Shasta as in Mt. Hermon,
and do not fear to say so on Sunday.”
Already, even then, we began to
sound like contemporary Unitarian
Universalists.
Personally, I come out of the Midwestern
tradition of Unitarianism, and my
great-grandparents’ minister said in a
sermon about prayer, “I have frankly
and completely given it up.... I believe
we must give it up....” Even in 2009,
my own theological language reflects
my Midwestern Unitarian heritage,
and I do not pray.
But what language you use is not so
important, really. What is important is
this: we are people. And people sometimes
feel lonely or afraid or overwhelmed
or a little uncertain. We are
people. And people sometimes feel
consumed by the wonder of it all, the
majesty of creation, the joy and good
fortune of living in this world. We are
people. And people sometimes feel
they need a healing touch, a sturdy
companion, a safe harbor, an accepting,
loving friend, always there. That’s
what’s important. Go ahead. Call it
prayer if you want to. Or call it your
religion. You are a Unitarian Universalist.
You have a choice.
