A watershed moments in Unitarian history took place in 16th century Transylvania, when Transylvania's Prince Sigismund was so persuaded by the preaching of Francis David that he converted to David's Unitarian Christianity. Sigismund, having been able to search his own heart and conscience for the truth of God, knew it would be unjust to deny others that same freedom. He passed the Edict of Torda in1568, the first decree of religious freedom in the modern history of Europe.
Authentic faith cannot possibly be dictated by government nor real conversions demanded at sword point. Confessions uttered under such coercion would be perversions, and meaningless before God. What began in Transylvania 440 years ago has evolved through Unitarian and Universalist history into a tenet of our faith: that individuals should be free to choose their faith according to the directive of their soul and conscience.
This freedom to seek openly and to choose according to one's inner dictates has been tested and threatened in every age, yet liberal religion has survived. Today's Unitarian Universalism is the living offspring of the human claim to this freedom.
We do not have a corner on following the promptings of personal conscience. However, perhaps more than our liberal cousins, such as the Quakers or Disciples of Christ, UUism has become a religion in which radical inquiry is not only a method and a spiritual practice, but is a faith stance in itself. We believe in the transformative power of a good question, perhaps more than we believe in the power of a good answer.
A good question stretches us open, makes us work, keeps us vibrantly uncomfortable, keeps us supple and humble. Like learning to write with your non-dominant hand, it coaxes new synapses to be formed in the brain. The poet Rilke advised a young seeker in 1903:
"…try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."
At the very least, a powerful answer is one that an individual, or a community, has come to honestly, by discovery and effort. It has been wrestled to the ground in the long night like Jacob's angel. An answer gives its blessing when it has been truly won, when it has been it was "lived into."
And so I don't want to give the impression that the path of UUism refuses the formation of answers, or denies the importance of clarity and conviction. The journey should ultimately bring us home to ourselves and our true commitments. But we are challenged to arrive there by the depth of our searching, the honesty of our doubting and unknowing, and by courage of our living.
Wayne Muller, in his book titled How Then Shall We Live?, poses four good, strong questions that help get to the heart of things. These are not the only questions, or the best questions, nor always the right questions.
But there are times when we realize we have been adrift, or we have set ourselves a course that's taking us somewhere we don't really want to be. Or, we come to recognize that we've been distracted and preoccupied with the wrong things. Or we are facing some very serious decisions or challenges. At such times, these are good questions for honing in on what matters:
Who am I?
What do I love?
How shall I live, knowing I will die?
What is my gift to the family of earth?
These inquiries also inform one another, in an evolving spiral, or like the interlacing threads of a cat's cradle. In other words, we may find that the question "who am I?" cannot be approached directly. Perhaps who I am begins to reveal itself as I recognize what I most love in the world, or as I discern what I have to give to others, or I realize that who I am is formed daily by my actions and choices in living.
Who am I? This is a question of essence.
What do I love? This is a question of values and commitments.
How shall I live, knowing I will die? This is a question about making choices in a context of ultimate limitation-the brevity of life.
What is my gift to the family of earth? This is a question of service.
I think if each of us were to do a meditation on these questions, they would lead us down many different paths of discovery. Each question is like a bud that can unfold into a thousand-petaled lotus. Let's take a moment to reflect on each of these briefly.
Who am I? This question, perhaps more than any other, sifts the true from the false at the most radical level. It is a question that, by asking, and asking, one can gradually uncover something essential beneath the stories one tells about oneself:
Wayne Muller tells a story about being at a long silent meditation retreat, and as he sat, and sat in silence, he became aware of, and then overwhelmed by, sadness. At first, he experienced it arising from memories of his own life, connected to his personal losses, and he tried to understand the source of this sadness.
Then, as he looked deeper, he felt he was experiencing a free-floating impersonal or transpersonal grief, the pain of the world, sensed through his body. The source became unimportant. It was the awakening of his heart to the larger reality of suffering, and he felt it as a terrible tender ache. Then, he says, as he kept observing it in silence, as he got quieter and quieter,
"I began to sense something beneath the sorrow. I could feel a place inside, below all my names, my stories, my injuries…a place that lived in my breath. I did not know what to call it, but it had a voice, a way of speaking to me about what was true, what was right. And along with this voice came a presence, an indescribable sense of well-being that reminded me that whatever pain or sorrow I would be given, there was something inside strong enough to bear the weight of it. It would rise to meet whatever I was given."
By inquiring deeply into what is the core self, one can shake off the shackles of false self-concept, get beneath the passing waves of thought and mood and attachment, disentangle from the sticky string of others' projections and judgments, and gain a margin of freedom from the limitations and demands dictated by culture and society.
It may also be that by making this inquiry, we discover that any kind of personal core self is quite intangible, even illusory-that there is no there, there. As the Buddhists would say, there is no self, only thoughts and sensations rising and passing away ceaselessly. And yet beneath that is some observing awareness, the radiant Buddha mind.
Who am I?
Seeking the essential nature of the core self is a quest that theologians and spiritual seekers, philosophers, psychologists and scientists, and average folks too, have pursued and will pursue forever. It will never be answered definitively, but the quest takes us to places of insight and self-knowledge that we would not discover if we didn't ask.
What do I love?
As Jesus of Nazareth said, "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."
Asking what we love helps us to turn toward what we love with greater commitment and passion. And yet, if we discover what we love by observing ourselves in action, we may not always be proud of what we find initially. We may see a disturbing incongruence between the things we think we value as opposed to where we actually dedicate our time and effort.
Muller writes that we gain courage from honestly naming what we love. When we know what our treasure is, where it is to be found, when we have identified what we hold to be sacred and of ultimate value, then we are filled with clarity of purpose and powerful capacity to act on what we believe.
Part of joining with others in faith community is the work of discerning, both as individuals and as a body of friends, what we love, and then, supporting each in the courage to act on that.
How shall I live, knowing I will die?
This question is, for me, the most powerful tool for sorting out priorities. Although it may seem like a morbid or grim framework, it can also be extraordinarily liberating, leading to greater joy. It leads to carpe diem-seize the day!
I have had a recurring thought experiment. In this thought experiment I have died, but am allowed to return to earth for a few minutes, and I can choose which ones they will be. To my own astonishment, I find myself choosing a few minutes waiting in a bus station. Nothing is happening, except the passing by of crowds and the sounds and scents of the place. Nothing is happening, yet everything is happening. Everyone is beautiful, and every sensation is astonishing. I am thrilled to be here, now, with all my senses scintillatingly alive.
For me this thought experiment tells me that, for me, full presence in all situations is essential to living well. If I am able to show up fully in any given moment, it will reveal its beauty and possibility. I fail at this much of the time-OK, most of the time-yet I know that, preceding any choices presented to me or acted upon, it is actually loving and appreciative presence that will make the difference between the gift of life lived and the gift of life squandered.
What is my gift to the family of earth?
We all want to give something of ourselves. We all want to make a difference, in whatever we can as individuals. Our path of self-discovery, our path to greater fulfillment, integrity, and love for the world, is found discovering what we have to offer. It may be a talent, but it may also simply be presence. Our undivided attention can sometimes be the greatest gift given to another person.
In this inquiry, we discover who are in community with others, in relationship. We realize that we are whole as human beings because of our capacity to give and receive.
Tom Owen-Towle, in his book Freethinking Mystics with Hands, writes:
"We do not choose to be born. We do not select our historical epoch, our parentage, the country of our birth, or the immediate circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, decide the time or circumstances of our death. But within these limitations, we do decide how we shall live: honorably, or dishonorably, with purpose or adrift. No matter how seemingly indifferent the universe may appear to our choices, they are ours to make. But it's scary to take one's destiny finally into one's own hands. Many folks turn down the option and all too willingly hand over their souls into another's keeping. Nonetheless, making choices remains at once the moral peril and deathless splendor of our human lot."
There is a hymn in our gray hymnal called Creative Love. We will sing it in a moment. It expresses gratitude for the path of creative inquiry and discovery, gratitude for the gift of our freedom and capacity to choose.
What we choose is what we are,
and what we love, we yet may be,
And though the goal shines yet afar,
The will to reach it makes us free.
We are always being formed. Neither the world, nor we ourselves, are complete, or ever will be. Creativity and deep inquiry, informed by love, guide us forward in the search for meaning and in the creation of a better world.
May it be so.