In commemoration of National Coming Out Day, celebrated on October 11, we explore the spaces and practices that help us feel safe and ready to share vulnerable truths about ourselves, and the quest of making the world a place worth coming out into.

What We Talk About When We Talk About UU

What do we mean when we say “we believe in Love”?

It feels like a question so basic, we barely need to think about it, let alone ask. 

But think about it for a second: do you know how to talk about it?

Do you even know why you might want to?

Now, I know we have at least one self-described “evangelical” UU here at First. Probably more. Putting aside all the implications that come from toxic frameworks about what it means to “evangelize,” I adore UU evangelists… but put a pin in that for now. We’ll come back to it. Those folks probably have ready answers to all of these questions. But they are, not surprisingly, a minority in our small tradition. If you’re someone who has a lot of confidence about how to frame and talk about issues of faith, belief, and how those beliefs call us to act, you’ve actually got a leg up on any number of dedicated Unitarian Universalists, including some of our religious professionals. 

The first person I knew who described herself as a “UU evangelist” was the Rev. Tandi Rogers, a dedicated minister and religious educator who taught at the seminary I attended. At the time, I was like a lot of Unitarian Universalists who find their way into this faith as an adult: I was drawn in by the encouragement to intellectual rigor, the self-awareness about the pitfalls of religious thinking, and the deep-seated skepticism of traditional “recruitment tactics” used by faith traditions that often prove far from affirming or safe places to be. And so when Rev. Tandi used the word “evangelist” to talk about how she moves through the world, I had a predictable bristle. I thought, if our ideas have merit, won’t people just seek them out? I did, after all. Should we not try to be the kind of faith community that rewards the virtue of curiosity? 

Rev. Tandi’s framing, though, was something that effectively changed my mind. She said that the message of Unitarian Universalism–that you are beloved just as you are–is life-saving, and so we need to get comfortable with the idea of talking about our faith. Not just on Sundays from the pulpit; not just during pastoral meetings; but out in the wider world and in the public square. 

And I believe that too–that our message, and our communities, have the capability of saving lives, of being the acceptance and compassion that people hold onto in their lowest moments. The challenge to me came from the fact that if I believe that, I wouldn’t want to withhold or gatekeep our faith away from people just because they didn’t come from an area near one of our congregations, or have the fortune to know one of us closely enough to talk about religion. As much as I like to think that I, as an unchurched kid with a solitary Pagan bent who grew into a seeker adult, sought out Unitarian Universalism when it was the right time and the right season for me, the fact is that I wish I had known this kind of support and care and nurture had existed and been available when I was much younger. It wasn’t until I was an adult, going to the UU church that was most local to my childhood home, that I learned that the parents of some of my childhood friends had been involved in that community for years. I can only guess that they would have seen it as imposing or rude to invite their kids’ friend with them to Sunday services; and yet somehow, the parents of my Christian friends certainly had no such qualms.

So let’s say, hypothetically, that we’re interested in being less of a well-kept secret. How do we talk about UU?

And more importantly, how do we do it in a way that invites but doesn’t push, that affirms but doesn’t indulge bad behavior, that draws in without trapping past the point of comfort?

The Unitarian Universalist faith is notoriously difficult to describe in an elevator pitch–the kind of quick description that makes other people curious and interested instead of putting them to sleep. We complicate things, to put it simply. At best, we inject nuance where it’s needed and long for a complex exploration of our existential questions. At worst, we can be prone to arguing and picking apart, without regard for the complex reasons that others may have come to different conclusions. 

Part of it is the fact that our individual belief systems–what we think about God, what happens after we die, what helps us determine right and wrong–-vary hugely. If we’re taking just one of those questions, God for example, you wouldn’t be likely to get the same answer to whether God exists at all, let alone agreement on what the essential nature of God is. 

Many Christian denominations root themselves and their identities in the finer points of particular theologies about God, about Christ, about salvation and the role of humanity. Because Christianity is such a dominant force, it defines how many of us who were raised in dominant culture imagine the whole concept of religion. The assumption we might make is that theology–all theology–is a thought-based or even entirely academic exercise, and one that the average person would be better off leaving to the experts, if they think about it at all.

One of the side effects of Christianity being a dominant religion in our shared overculture is the emphasis on what to believe and what to think. If anyone’s ever asked you about your religion and boiled it down to “so do you believe in God, or not?,” that’s evidence of this line of thinking. The emphasis on “right” belief is an idea we know as orthodoxy. And in fact, this is one of the ways Unitarian Universalism differs greatly from Christianity. Though Unitarianism and Universalism, which make up parts of our tradition’s heritage, both came from Christianity, both also have roots in Christian theologies that were widely considered heretical. (That’s a whole sermon for another day.) 

We don’t really have “orthodoxy” in contemporary UU, because everyone is free to come to their own conclusions about how to answer the big questions of where we come from, where we’re going, and who or what–if anything–accompanies us along the way. But there’s a whole different idea, orthopraxy, which means “right practice” or right action. It’s a lot less well-known… but it’s pretty important in understanding what theology is.

Unitarian Universalist faith is tricky to define, because you can describe it very simply, if disingenuously or reductively. Often, as we’ve heard in one of our readings, it’s tempting–especially for those who are relatively new to the tradition, or who may have come out of a more restrictive religious community, to embrace the freedom and liberation aspects of UU above all else in our theology and practice. When asked, these folks will sometimes boil our beliefs down to the pithy statement, “you can believe whatever you want.” And when it comes to your answers to existential questions, that’s not entirely untrue!

But there’s this whole other side–the practice–that isn’t touched by statements about what we think. This is where our real strength and wisdom comes from. We need the head that thinks about what’s reasonable to believe, yes; but we also need the heart that feels what’s compassionate to believe; and the hands that do the actions that make our thoughts and feelings more than just belief.

To talk about UU, we need to be able to talk about what we do and why we do it.

This is a photograph taken by Tina, who’s away camping with her family this weekend. She posted this picture to Facebook and gave me permission to use it today, because it felt perfect to this topic. There are five small magnet boards, each with magnetic poetry words arranged on them. The question prompt is “Draft a pamphlet convincing people to join your religion.” The different pamphlets they proposed read:

“Assume lovely; go slay.”

“Whole spirit; approach home; promise delight.”

“Beautiful weird life, y’all.”

“Value soul adventure; allow hope.”

“Search virtue; advance inquiry.”

Being able to talk about Unitarian Universalism isn’t just about getting butts in pews or screens on Zoom or attendees on our group outings and volunteer activities. It’s not about increasing the numbers we send to the UU Association to verify our member counts. It’s not about convincing more folks to sign our membership book, or even about inspiring folks to give more–although if we learn to do it well and skillfully, it can have all of those effects. 

Being able to talk about UU, both the beliefs and the action, gives us a way to meaningfully counter the misuse of religion and limited, unimaginative, hegemonic theology to degrade, disparage, and harm people. It’s a skill that allows us to expand our circle of care, to welcome in those who desperately need the support and compassion we can offer, who long for the challenge of examining not only what we believe, but why we believe it and how we demonstrate it.

The next time someone asks you what you believe, you don’t have to accept an invitation to debate about God, or about Jesus, or about heaven and hell. You don’t have to say something vaguely polite yet incorrect about being able to believe whatever you want. You don’t have to accept the boundaries of a playing field you’re not on. You get to define that playing field.

So what does it mean to say that we believe in Love?

It means that what we believe is less important than how we show our belief in it… but if we must:

We believe every person matters. 

We believe nobody is expendable.

We believe in being kind, just, and compassionate.

We believe in working for justice by raising up the voices from the margins.. 

We believe all things are connected.

We believe that Love unites and binds all things, that it’s there for us in our humanness and imperfection, in our moments of triumph and in our despair.

And we believe, most of all, that there is room for you here. 

May it be so.