Every Sunday morning, my mother, father, brother and I would pile into the family Oldsmobile, and drive across Queens, through the Mid-Town Tunnel, and into Manhattan to the Community Church of NY. That church was a touchstone of my childhood - a safe place where I learned to value humanity, to honor diversity, and to think for myself. My parent chose the Community Church for a number of reasons. As an interfaith couple, they were looking for a place where their children could learn about both religions, in fact all religions, without attaching value judgments to the learning. They also wanted me to develop my personal ethical compass - not by giving me a set of hard and fast rules but by allowing me to discover the still, small voice within that would guide me through the sticky moral thickets of my life, the places that all too often are shades of gray rather than the simplistic black and white choices of too many Sunday School lessons.
One year my Sunday School class was studying a curriculum called "The Church Across the Street" - which is similar to our 'Neighboring Faiths' curriculum today. We would learn about different religions, and then go visit them. The experiential part of these classes was the most memorable. But even New York City wasn't diverse enough in the 1950's to provide all of the experiences we needed. And that is how it came to pass that my mother and I spent a Saturday afternoon dying bed sheets different colors. The next morning, we learned how to wrap those colorful sheets into saris, which we wore to our own Divali party - complete with Indian food, taped sitar music, and a presentation for our parents about the meaning of the Hindu holiday. For years, our minister Donald Harrington sent out cards in December that said, "Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a Divine Divali!" Never underestimate the power of a change of routine!
For many parents, that is why the Unitarian Universalist church exists: to provide experiences of religious growth and learning for their children. The Religious Education program at the Community Church met my parent's expectations. I did learn about all of the religions of the world, I did develop a strong personal ethical compass. But the greatest gift of my childhood religious upbringing did not come from the Sunday School curriculum. It came from my parent's example. The drive into Manhattan from the far reaches of Queens was 45 minutes to an hour each way. We went to church, faithfully, as a family, every Sunday, in spite of the that long drive. We went on beautiful sunny days, we went on cold rainy days. For all of those years my mother and father taught Sunday School, volunteered to help with special family events, sang in the intergenerational choir, and brought snacks and supplies. A couple of years ago, I was sitting with my minister from the Community Church and reminiscing. He said, "Your family was one of the ones - the ones I knew I could always depend on. You were always there, always ready to say 'yes', always supportive." Presence matters. My parents knew that. They knew that having a free religious community was a privilege, and that privilege brings responsibility. They knew that they couldn't take the Community Church for granted; they knew that it's gifts would only be there for them if they were there for the church.
As you walk together into your future here at UUS, I ask you to remember that lesson. Presence matters. Your presence matters. It matters more than staff or curriculum or building. It is, in fact, the only thing that really matters.
OK, off my soap box and back to remembering. My high schools years were tumultuous. Some of that was due to the normal hormonal changes of adolescence. But the late 60's was a time of intense social and cultural upheaval - some of you may remember it. I found myself, through my church, taking a strong and sometimes unpopular stand for civil rights that alienated me from some of my friends. But I had learned that it is a religious obligation to act on your beliefs, no matter the cost. Our Youth Minister went to Selma; one of his companions, James Reeb, was killed on that terrible trip. As our nation's involvement in Vietnam became more and more contentious, the debate about the morality of that war took place at our dinner table (my mother and I on one side, my father on the other) as well as in the halls of the Community Church. I went off to college, but returned to NY for one of the large anti-war demonstrations. As we walked down Fifth Avenue together I said to my brand-new boyfriend, Barry Finkelstein, "I wonder if either of us will see anybody we know?" A few moments later, who should walk by but the contingent of protestors from the Community Church, including that same Youth Minister. He looked up and said calmly, "Hello Roberta. Good to see you here."
For many youth and young adults, that is why the Unitarian Universalist church exists: to be a safe and accepting place that tolerates and more importantly encourages respectful debate about the issues of the day. Young people are activists, they want their church to be the place where those who wish to act on their beliefs can gather and find strength and mutual support for their efforts. Many of my friends in college found themselves alienated from their parents over their political activism. That infamous generation gap widened into a chasm. But for me, there was no generation gap. I marched in the streets for equal rights and for peace and for justice. But I didn't have to find my own way there. I simply followed my minister, and my mother, and lots of other adults from the church, out the door.
As you walk into your future here at UUS, I ask you to remember that lesson. The church exists to be a safe haven for those in trouble, for sure. But it also exists to be a staging area for the ongoing struggle for justice. There are still people in this country who are denied equal access to basic human rights. Just ask a gay couple who want to get married in the Commonwealth of Virginia. There are still wars being fought in our name for questionable reasons. There are still children who go to sleep hungry at night and go to school hungry still in the morning. What our communities need, now as much in 1969, is people who are willing to put the principles of their faith into action. Works of charity, works of justice. Many of you have followed me out the door. Keep going! Be the leaders in doing just works. It matters what we do, and what we say.
As some of you know, I recently had a sermon published in Quest, the journal of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF for short). The CLF is the Unitarian Universalist church for those who don't live close enough to a local congregation to be able to participate. It has thousands of members world wide. A few days ago, after the publication of the sermon called "Wandering in the Wilderness: A Passover Reflection", I got this letter from a CLF member in Nigeria.
For Amoa Konerdu, freedom is not something to be taken for granted. When we talk about struggling with yokes that limit our freedom, we are talking mostly metaphorically. Amoa lives with that limitation as a very present reality. And yet he is, with us sincerely on the path. As you step into your future, I beg you to do so with the awareness that your words and actions matter deeply, in ways that you may never know. Take the care and feeding of this congregation seriously, it is life- sustaining work.
Now why, you might ask, have I spent so much time talking about the church of my childhood when I was supposed to be talking about your future? Two reasons. The first is that as I prepare to leave this congregation, I must leave the future of the church in your hands. Ministers come and go. For the time that I have spent among you, I have put my whole heart and soul into the work of this church. But it was never my church or my ministry. It was and is your church, your ministry. You will have, over the years, many professional ministerial partners. But the essence of the Unitarian Universalists of Sterling resides in your hearts and souls. And though the Community Church of New York was an old, established church with a huge piece of real-estate in mid-town Manhattan, it is really no different than this church. The ministry of that church created this minister, who has come to dwell among you for a while and now moves on. But we are all part of the same stream of living tradition that moves across the generations and across the miles. It is a stream that nourishes a free-thinker on a liberal religious path in Nigeria, just as surely as it nurtures the youth of our own congregation. Wherever I go, wherever you go, let us continue to be together in that stream of , making it possible for people all over the world to hear the message of hope and freedom. Our good news. Now and forever. Amen.
Benediction
The music of Jacques Brel opened our service, and will bring it to a rousing close. There is so much more that I want to say . . . but my time in this pulpit has come to an end. So I will simply remind you that you are the church. And as the church your tasks are few and simple: be present, be generous, and have love.