Although the aim of Life at novelty, growth and richness of experience counters the forces of entropy, there are limits to the carrying capacity of the planet. […] However, reaching the limits of the planet’s carrying capacity does not necessarily entail an end to all growth, but is does require a change in the types of growth that occur so that the ecological sustainability rather than economic and population growth becomes our goal. — Paul Custodio Bube, Ethics in John Cobb’s Process Theology, p.97-98
One of the classes I took during my time at Claremont School of Theology was called “Seizing an Alternative: Toward an Ecological Civilization.” It was lead by Dr. Philip Clayton and Blake Horridge, and was part of the International Whitehead Conference of the same name this past summer. The premise of the class was that our current cultures of consumption and consumerism are unsustainable, and that we as religious leaders had to find ways to educate ourselves about the realities of this problem and re-think how we engage with people so as to help shift our respective communities away from self-destructive behavior and thought processes that are already wreaking havoc on a global ecological scale. The real problem, especially through the Western lens in the U.S., is the lack of comprehension that ecological disaster is inextricable from social, civil, and economic disaster.
For those of you reading this who think what I’m saying is a stretch, I would point you to this amazing comic done by Audrey Quinn and Jackie Roche, which outlines how climate change, and the subsequent prolonged drought in Syria, led directly to the downfall of what experts considered a stable government and has caused war, destruction, and the massive exodus of refugees from the area. If we do not shift away from a cultural, almost religious, obsession with consumerism and consumption without consequences, we will continue to contribute not only to the fall of other communities, but eventually our own. Our bubble of safety and prosperity is not impervious.
What I took away from the class — what I chose to be my practical manifestation of what I had learned into my work as a Unitarian Universalist minister — was the profound need for Earth-centered spiritual development in our religious lives as UUs. I am not someone who can organize community gardens, or petition the city to change laws about beehives and chickens and goats in urban homes. I struggle with how to get close to zero-waste living and how to be an effective minister to a congregation without using my car, or having to go into debt to buy one that is powered by sustainable energy.
What I do know is that I am surrounded by people who can do all those things, and much, much more. My job is to change the narrative we hear in congregations during our worship services from one of thoughtless abundance to one of cultivated sustainability. And I truly believe that narrative will come from our CUUPS members and from our relationships with indigenous cultures in our local communities.
Commencement Speech, Claremont School of Theology, May 19th, 2015
A little over three years ago, I decided, with the support of my family and friends, to pursue my call to ministry. As a Unitarian Universalist living in southern California, I had three choices for my Master of Divinity studies — two UU-identity schools that were low-residency, or Claremont School of Theology. There was well-meaning, but still intense, pressure to choose one of the UU identity schools, and I admit to leaning strongly in that direction. Then I came to a CST visit day.
What I found was a school that had taken its Methodist identity, and the Wesleyan call to put faith and love into action, and followed through all the way to its strangely heart-warming conclusion. It is easy to create a community when everyone in it believes the same things, thinks in the same ways, and comes from the same background. It would have been easy for CST to do “just enough”. Instead, this school recognized that “just enough” for right now would not even be close to enough for the future. In order to truly manifest the school’s mission statement to create agents of healing and transformation, a beloved community had to be fostered that respected the multitude of theologies, cultures, even languages that gathered here on this little campus. After just one day, I knew I could go nowhere else to truly “master” divinity.
I have not been disappointed. Yes, the school has great credentials. It’s accredited. It’s been named by the Religious Institute as one of the top thirty most sexually healthy and responsible seminaries in the country. It’s partnered with the Academy of Jewish Religion, the University of the West, the Indic Foundation, and been central to the creation of the Center for Sikh Studies, the Center for Jain Studies, and Bayan Claremont. During my three years here, I have shared classrooms with Muslims, Buddhists, Jews, Hindus, and numerous Christian denominations. But the most extraordinary thing has been how intentional this community has been creating something outside of the classrooms: helping us learn about each other, and how to thrive together, while making us better at being leaders in our own traditions. My fellow UUs and I are in the minority here, but we are encouraged to contribute, and to speak up when we have a different point of view. I am reminded of the words spoken by the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. to the Unitarian Universalist General Assembly in 1966: “There are those wonderful moments in life when you speak before a group that is so near and dear to you that you don’t feel like you have to engage in the art of persuasion. You don’t feel like you are in the midst of strangers. You know that you are with friends.”
I feel safe here. That quality is so much more than academic.
Which brings me to why I applied to be one of our commencement speakers today. I love this school, and not just because of the free massages and pizza during midterms. I have always been what pop culture calls “book smart”. I read really fast, I test well, and I write well. So the “school” part of this journey has been a lot of fun. I won’t go so far as to say easy… but fun. What set this experience apart from any other academic experience I’ve had is how much being in this community was also a learning experience of its own.
It has made me “heart smart”. I have spent so much of my life fighting against stereotypes and molds just to be seen and heard — as a woman person, as an outspoken person, as a fat person, as a parent person, as religious person — when I started here, I went through life resistance to me, always. All the time. There are no calm waters when you rock the boat simply by being in it. I felt constantly surrounded by strangers who needed persuading. Life was… exhausting. In my very first semester here, I was taken aback by how willing you all were — staff, faculty, and my classmates — to receive me. Me. And it has continued for all three years. “Tell me more,” you said. “I want to understand.” When I found myself in conflict between my schoolwork and my kids, you helped me find a way to include them. When I said, “What if we think about it this way?” you said, “Wow.” When I said, “This Systematic Theology paper has a soundtrack,” you listened to it.
One fall, my grandmother passed away the last week of the semester. All of my professors, the administration, and my advisor rallied behind me to get my incomplete filed so I could get on a plane as fast as possible — one even sending in paperwork from thousands of miles away. My classmates have often seen me better than I have seen myself, and brought me back into the fold of ministry when I doubted myself and my abilities to follow through on this long, difficult path. I am among friends. You have made me feel loved in a way that few people ever get to experience, and I will take that with me to share it with the rest of the world in all the ways that I am able.
This community has also made me “body smart,” and I’m not just talking about Feminist Ethics or Theology of the Body, although those classes were pretty epic. My time here has reminded me how integral our bodies are to our experiences of love and justice. I recognize now what I do to my own body, and how the systems in place in our cultures celebrate some bodies at the expense of others. I understand now that not only will sticks and stones will break our bones, but words most definitely hurt — they marginalize, they oppress, they erase people’s bodies completely from the narrative. And the narrative is where we find ourselves in communion with the Spirit of Life. You have taught me to be careful with my body and with the bodies of others, to be careful with my words and stories, and to use my body — including my loud mouth — to fight the good fight whenever and wherever I am able.
But that’s enough about me, and the graduates, and the faculty and staff. The biggest reason I wanted to speak up here today was to address the rest of you. All the friends and family sitting right in front of me, and watching the stream. None of us would be here, becoming Masters and Doctors, without you. You have put up with so much these last few years. You have waited until the end of a semester before suggesting that maybe we should clean our desks. You have forgiven us when we don’t return phone calls, texts, or emails. You have taken care of our children. You have worked hard at one, two, three jobs to pay our bills. You have kept us fed and clothed. You have endured countless nights alone. You have moved thousands upon thousands of miles across land and sea. You have left behind your home, your culture, even your language. You have said, time and time again, “I believe.” How blessed we are, to have been given such a precious gift. Know that you are appreciated. Know that you are loved. Know that you are just as much agents of healing and transformation as those of us about to walk across this platform.
Precious Spirit of Life, of grace, of gathering. Loving Divinity of many names, many faces, many creeds, and of none at all. We seek the strength to defend and release those who are oppressed and marginalized. We seek the wisdom to foster healing and forgiveness. We seek the knowledge of how to use our gifts in ways that we may be worthy of them. We seek these things, knowing how much we have already been given, and we do so with faith in your abundance, and faith in what you have called us to do. We pray for guidance to always live lives of service to our communities, have integrity in our hearts and minds, and create joy whenever and wherever we can. In the name of all that is holy, and precious, and beloved, we pray. Amen and blessed be.
Call to Worship
We gather today under the streams of the Maypole, signifying the arrival of spring, the bonds of friends and family, and the jubilation of harvests to come.
To our altar,
We offer cream to celebrate the richness of divine, creative love
We offer cake to celebrate the sweetness of this beloved community
We offer whiskey to celebrate the fire of our commitment
Chalice Lighting (from Singing the Living Tradition)
We gather this hour as people of faith
With joys and sorrows, gifts and needs.
We light our chalice, this beacon of hope,
sign of our quest for truth and meaning,
in celebration of the life we share together
Scripture Reading: Song of Songs 2:10-13
My beloved spoke and said to me,
“Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.”
The celebration of Beltane is about the waxing cycle of the year. It celebrates fertility, abundance, and recognition of the gifts given to us by the earth, by our loved ones, by our gods, that sustain us through the inevitable periods of waning. Today we are at a unique juxtaposition of Beltane, which asks us to focus on what can do moving forward, and the end of our community’s organizational year, wherein we are all focusing on what we have done in the past. Many of us are graduating, turning in the last of our assignments and preparing to catalog all we have learned for ordination and fellowshipping committees. We have faculty and staff retiring, closing a door on long, productive careers. Our school is getting ready to sleep as the rest of the world enters seasons of activity and creation.
As so many of our are leaving this beloved community — some for good, and some for just a season — how do we keep our fires for justice, love, and vocation alive? Beltane reminds us to look to those closest to us, our beloveds, to remind us of what is worth fighting for. Today is my anniversary. I will not be spending it with my husband, as I have class until late tonight. But my call to service, to religious leadership, is also his call. Instead of being upset at our separation on this special day, he surprised me with this cake on our altar. He baked it from scratch, with the help our two young children, to show his commitment to our life together. We kindle each other’s fires with our love, and hopefully we will pass along that example to our kids.
Again and again I have been moved by the love and abundance in this community over my three years here. I have questioned my call, and been brought back by fellow M.Div.s, who were able to see me in ways I could not on my own. I have witnessed profound hospitality, not just for each other, but for our pets as well. I read emails about grocery support for students’ families who are struggling to get enough food. For all of these things and more, I am ablaze with gratitude. Love is the source of my fire of commitment, and there is no time of year that celebrates love more than Beltane. Love is the source of growth and renewal, of healing, of grace. Love is forgiveness, and inclusion, and the one true act of creation. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, we are made real when we are loved. Our missions, our visions, our change, manifest only when we love the hell out of this world. Take that with you today, for the waning times.
So mote it be.
Please join me in the spirit of prayer, with words adapted from Jackson Browne’s “For a Dancer”:
Keep a fire for the human race
And let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know will be coming down
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
And just as easily, it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning you might have found
Don’t let the uncertainty turn you around
(The world keeps turning around and around)
Go on and make a joyful sound
Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive and the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
Will you choose to let it show?
Passing of the Chalice
For UUs, the flaming chalice symbolizes many things — service, justice, community, the search for truth and meaning — any list with an ending would be incomplete. As I and the other graduates leave this place, we pass the responsibility of its caretaking to you and the continuing students. May you all keep it safe, and strong, and vibrant. May you hold it with loving hands and hearts for those who will come after you. Blessed be.
Please stand and join hands for our benediction from Unitarian minister Theodore Parker:
Be ours a religion which, like sunshine, goes everywhere;
its temple, all space;
its shrine, the good heart;
its creed, all truth;
its ritual, works of love;
its profession of faith, divine living.