Dear Members and Friends,
Sometimes when the wider world seems especially chaotic, I fall ill. And I’m obliged to slow down. And it’s as if it’s a spiritual test: will I fill my hours following the news or other things that cause me anxiety? Will I invite the spaciousness to explore my inner life, my imagination, my breath and allow parts of my psyche to emerge? Will I notice where Love is beckoning me?
Well, I fell ill Tuesday evening and although I am still struggling with respiratory health, I am well in spirit. I’m pleased to share that during daylight hours, I don’t even turn on the television or look at the news. In the early evening, I indulge in some Netflix (or maybe a little more than “some”) and in the late evening and morning, I engage in spiritual practices, including a gratitude practice. And one thing I am grateful for is the opportunity to serve you.
The sentiment from Krista Tippett that I shared on Sunday continues to resonate with me:
This is an age of devastating tumult. It is an age of magnificent possibility. Much is breaking. Much is being born. The two go hand in hand, and that is one of the deepest and strangest, most terrible and most redemptive truths of human reality. It is harder for us to train our eyes and imaginations on the beauty and creativity that are so alive in our world, the generative learning and stretching that are underway. These realities of our time are most visible close to home, in the worlds that we can see and touch. They are quiet. They do not trip the fear center of our brains, which inclines us to attend more seriously in every moment to what feels dangerous and destructive. And, in our time, that narrative of danger and destruction comes to us a thousand times, a thousand ways, each day.
I know there’s a lot of uncertainty in the wider world, and there’s uncertainty here at UU Westport as to what ministry path will best serve the congregation in the next years. I’m grateful that UU Westport provides space for honest sharing from everyone and has a legacy of supporting people of all genders to speak out in the wider society about the truths that are the bedrock of our values. What does it mean to rise in spirit as people of diverse faiths?
A local manifestation of this will follow the Sunday service as your Board leadership will gather members in small groups to address your ministry needs. A series of small groups will provide an opportunity for all members to express your ideas, hopes, and desires, as well as to listen to your fellow congregants. I love the thoughtful design the Board has developed in conversation with the Right Relations Team to learn what is on your minds and hearts regarding the options for meeting UU Westport’s ministry needs. I cannot imagine a better process.
Regardless whether I am extended an invitation to extend or amend my contract beyond this summer, I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to walk with you as your minister, especially during tumultuous times. I applaud the Board for developing such a thoughtful process to hear from all congregants about how best to attend to your ministry needs. Please trust them and participate in the conversatons—or email them directly at board@uuwestport.org. Whatever is decided, I am grateful for walking with you these last eighteen months and witnessing considerable internal growth around processes and relational connection.
Following last Sunday’s service, several of you asked about Audre Lorde from whom I took four quotations from her seminal work, Sister Outsider (1984). Self-described as a “Black lesbian mother warrior poet,” she challenged her contemporaries (and continues to challenge us) with the following:
“Your silence will not protect you.”
“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.”
“If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.”
“When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.”
“What are the words you do not yet have? … We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language?”
There’s a passage from Audre Lorde in her The Cancer Journals that I share below.
I began to ask each time: “What’s the worst that could happen to me if I tell this truth?” Unlike women in other countries, our breaking silence is unlikely to have us jailed, “disappeared” or run off the road at night. Our speaking out will irritate some people, get us called bitchy or hypersensitive and disrupt some dinner parties. And then our speaking out will permit other women to speak, until laws are changed and lives are saved and the world is altered forever.
Next time, ask: What’s the worst that will happen? Then push yourself a little further than you dare. Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end. And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.
During this time of devastating tumult, may we train our eyes and imaginations on the beauty and creativity that are so alive in our world, and on the generative learning and stretching that are underway.
May you all be well and in good spirit. And if you’re not in good spirit, may you find moments of spaciousness to explore your inner life and discern your own truth. Ideally this is what worship is for, is it not?
Warmly,
Alan
