When my kids were little, because I am a control freak, and because they had a story of trauma and loss that required a therapeutic level of consistency, there were routines.
Routines at bedtime. Routines at bath time. Routines for quiet time in the early afternoon, even if you don’t nap and aren’t tired, because Mommy needs – NEEDS – you to be quiet and safe in your room while she has her time to herself in a different room. Routines about household chores. Attempted routines around expressed gratitude before the evening meal. Etcetera.
And there were rules.
One of the more unusual rules was permission to swear. This has nothing to do with therapeutic intention or healing presence. This has everything to do with their particular mother – me – and my presence in the world, my belief that words like “shit,” and “f*ck,” and a bevy of others add color and texture to life. Because who wants to live in a world without color and texture?
Like every rule, there are exceptions. In the case of the permission-to-swear rule, there are two restrictions:
- You may not swear at school, except with your friends outside of class.
- You may not swear AT someone. For example, it’s okay to say “I’m so pissed off,” but it’s not okay to say to someone, “piss off.”
Turns out, there is some sage advice on the persuasive power of swearing — about how to use swearing in ways that intensify, and thereby communicate more effectively, your point. Of course, it involves moderation.
In my youth and early adult years, there might be observed a mild pattern of rule breaking. Certainly, my parents found me to be a rule breaker during high school, but I think there is some disagreement about the nature of those choices.
In college, much of my rule breaking (or stretching) was motivated by social justice and political activism. Courting arrest. Actual arrest. Graffiti. Dating both boys and girls.
I am a firm believer that before breaking rules, one must first learn them. And the rationale behind them. And the rationale behind why one is breaking them. And the consequences for doing either breaking or obeying.
Recently I listened to an interview (this is the video version) with the Lutheran minister, Nadia Bolz-Weber. She founded the House for All Sinners and Saints in Denver. It started with eight people in her living room and has grown to a wildly-diverse community of hundreds.
Nadia’s presence is quite formidable. And enticing. And provocative.
As is the substance of what she says and does. Little nuggets of her wisdom continue to surface in my consciousness. I find myself passing these on or letting them resonate within me:
- “I always try to preach from my scars and not my wounds.”
That one will end up its own blog post. And…
- “I really feel strongly that you have to be deeply rooted in tradition in order to innovate with integrity.”
This is about knowing the rules – or in my case, learning them – in order to embrace them or to break them, both acts of possible integrity. In the case of House for All Sinners and Saints, this has meant that they end up with a chocolate fountain in their baptismal fount.
We don’t all have the same level of dedication or comfort with either depth of rootedness in tradition, or in innovation and change. Whereas I may be comfortable removing a cross from worship space – and in fact, feel it is necessary to be welcoming – you may feel it is of the utmost necessity to retain for the exact same reasons.
For Unitarian Universalists, where our margins hold our center, with our covenant amid myriad beliefs, I think this means that we must be deeply rooted in a spiritual practice/discipline, must commit ourselves to an intentional spiritual seeking, in order to continue on our journey of spiritual and religious innovation.
For some people, breaking rules is an ends onto itself. Just like being mistrustful of any authority or leadership – it is just how some people are and they feel justified and even noble in this resistance. In any UU congregation, you can see strains of this – either in collections of people or in particular individual personalities.
My wish for my children has always been that they choose to break rules not for selfish gain, or gratuitous hedonism, or god forbid — mindless habit — but for greater good. I would say to each of them, “If you are ever inclined to deface public property through the act of graffiti, I hope it will be to raise awareness or in protest of some great injustice. If that’s the case, I will be at your side, even as you are being arraigned at the local county courthouse. Otherwise, you just might be spending an overnight in jail.”
It is my hope that we, as covenanted people, can bring more intention and reflection to such actions – that if we are going to break rules, or innovate traditions, we do so paying attention to our roots, as we grow our new wings. Both/and.
I love this (and Nadia Bolz-Webber–GO, ELCA!!–kicks ass). What DOES it mean to be rooted in tradition in our faith, where not only do the margins hold the center, but the history on which our movement is built seems to be shifting under our feet. We don’t share a creed or dogma, and we are choosing to let go of physical representations of our past as we step boldly into a future that we hope to help define . . . but what do we need to understand of tradition? And how do we educate ourselves, and then others, about those roots? I’m not asking rhetorically . . . I really think we need to figure this out, and then teach it/speak it/carry it into the world with us.
Raising Faith, I am not sure what you mean that the history of our movement is shifting. Please tell me.
In terms of letting go of physical representations of our past, I think you are referring to selling 25 Beacon Street. That property holds history, it is true. Jews lost their temple — twice! — and found ways to move forward with a faith/religion that would last several millennia and over a much wider geography. I respect that for folks, the loss of 25 Beacon Street is symbolic and powerful, but I don’t feel it. I appreciate the work that the folks who inhabited those buildings have done for our faith movement, and am thrilled they will be able to continue doing it, and being more effective and more comfortable. Perhaps you should take the HUUMS history tour to see how many, many locations there are still, and to hear about the ones that are already gone (the school that Bronson Alcott started, I believe, is no longer there).
But you have bigger questions: What do we need to understand of tradition? And how do we educate ourselves and others about our roots? I think you are aiming at something more than the concrete vehicles such as short video clips that have motion and can speak to the attention span we are developing.
I think “this is what we are doing” should as often as possible, though not always explicitly, be paired with “this is where we come from” and possibly with a hint of “this is where we may be going.” Some flavor of the motion that is so necessary for those short video clips popular these days.
I think “this is what we are doing” should not be seen as static. Right now, surrounded by my quantum theology class and my seminary, with its committed and observant Muslim brothers and sisters, I feel more in touch with how this moment in time that we are calling our Unitarian Universalist faith movement is an experiment…of the best kind. We are not a world religion, dogged by dogma and shared creed (for good or for ill). I think we can be part of that spiritual/religious process that we see paralleled in the U.S. of more and more people’s ethnicities reflecting a multitude. I think the mystical among us might be onto something. I keep thinking to what our UU Polity professor said about UUism not existing in several decades might not only be right, but isn’t such a bad thing (as long as it’s not replaced with rigid, fundamentalist religions).
Love Nadia’s quote about preaching from her scars and not her wounds.
I agree, it’s powerful. Thanks for stopping by my blog.