"What Are We?"

The limits of interfaith understanding made the headlines recently

        when the Vatican issued a "bluntly worded declaration"

                that the Catholic Church is the "sole path" to salvation.

Although more moderate Catholic voices  

attempted to temper the message,

                the essential stance remains unchanged,

                        as it does for any faith that requires radical loyalty.

"We knew all along this is the Catholic position,"

        responded the president of the Islamic Society of North America.

"Our position is the same thing..."

 

Such unwavering convictions give followers a sense of certainty.

They define the faith

        and they define the person.

An orthodox tradition such as Catholicism or Islam

        provides a religious identity,

                the assurance that what you are 

                        is fundamental, 

                                and cannot be compromised in any way.

 

The Vatican may enter into interfaith dialogue,

        but it does not acknowledge the validity of other traditions.

That may not make sense to us,

        but according to Catholic thinking, 

                religious pluralism  – 

                        the idea that there are multiple approaches to ultimate meaning –

undermines the truth and the authority of the faith.

And it does.

Once you open the possibility 

        that other faiths lead to salvation,            

                or enlightenment, 

                        or a better world, 

                                you see your own differently.

And you begin to compare other faiths to your own,

        perhaps finding another just as good,

                or even more appealing.

 

For those of us who have comfortably settled 

        into Unitarian Universalist ways,

                religious pluralism is not a threat to our faith,

                        but rather an invitation to encounter all faiths

                                with an open mind 

                                        and a tolerant attitude.

In our midst are members who have made serious study

        of goddess worship,

                Buddhism,

                        and paganism.

Or those who describe themselves

        as Christian or Jewish or Hindu,

                and find that a pluralistic environment

                        strengthens their experience,

                                rather than threatens it.

 

Newcomers find this array confusing,

        and sometimes we do too.

What does it mean to be a Unitarian Universalist

        if you can also be Jewish?

How fully can you pursue practices from various traditions,

        such as Buddhist meditation,

                or Christian contemplative prayer,

                        in a community that is not fully committed to it too?

What is distinctive about the Unitarian Universalist religious identity

        that sees this exploration not as a threat,

                but as a way to grow?

What are we Unitarian Universalists

        if our faith is so open and free?

Can we really be anything at all?

 

The questions we raise about religious identity 

        are central to what we are as a people of faith.

For our questions define us in terms of our search,

        not our stance.

And our conclusions speak a powerful and even healing message

        not only to ourselves,

                but to all who struggle with what they are.

 

Questions about my religious identity 

        have accompanied me throughout life.

I am, as some of you are, 

        the offspring of an interfaith Jewish-Christian marriage.

Although my parents joined the Unitarian Universalist movement

        and we children were warmly accepted

                into our church community,

                        I remained curious and unsettled about my own background.

Somehow the Unitarian Universalist identity did not put to rest

        questions about the Jewish or Christian one, 

                and I have asked myself – at every stage of my life,

                        what am I really?

I have not been alone with this question.

Journalist Susan Jacoby has recently written about her search

        for her religious roots,

                in a memoir titled Half-Jew.

Appropriating that identity was in itself

        a life-changing leap for her.

Susan Jacoby grew up as a Catholic,

        which enabled her to fit easily into her small midwestern town.

She attended parochial schools

        and made it all the way to the sixth grade

                before she had any reason to suspect

                        that her background was not the same as everyone else’s.

A careless comment by a nun about her father's conversion

        led to Jacoby's discovery

                that her father had concealed his Jewish identity

                        and taken care not to pass it on to his children.

 

As journalist Jacoby uncovered the secret history of her family,

        she was forced to conclude

                that silence and distance about their roots

                        had generated dissonance and discord among them.

What they were

        was what they concealed.

Silence and distance bred silence and distance,

        until one inquisitive journalist daughter

                searched for the truth.

Then the family narrative was told,

        eventually published for the whole world to read. 

 

My own family was open about our dual heritage,

        most likely because both of my parents were eager 

to move beyond the confines of either faith,

        and readily embraced the Unitarian humanism 

                of their time.

They always regarded my interest in religious identity

        as a throwback to attitudes for which they had little use.

Those of you who are my parents' age

        may be amused

                that I now realize they were right.

The ceaseless vacillating between one identity and another,

        so neatly and ambiguous tied up 

                in Susan Jacoby’s self-description "Half-Jew,"

                        is something I am now prepared to give up forever.

 

Theology professor Linda Mercadante recently wrote an essay

        about her parents’ mixed marriage.

"I think they lived their whole 55 years together,"

        she wrote,

                "feeling rejected by their respective religions.

They met at a free concert in Central Park during World War II.

He was a handsome young Catholic Italian-American in uniform,

        she a shy Jewish girl out with her friends for the evening.

They were immediately attracted.

She would always light up when telling that part of the story.

 

"But the rest was not easy.

They married in spite of strong parental objections,

        and she always felt the outsider.

Today this would hardly qualify as a cross-cultural relationship.

But half a century ago it was nearly akin

        to an interracial marriage.

 

"To keep marital peace and harmony,

        neither practiced his or her faith.

Indeed, the marriage ceremony itself was a secular one,

        setting the tone for the next five decades.

This was not a matter of ethnic cleansing, however.

She learned to make tomato sauce and he learned to eat bagels.

They opened up an Italian-American pastry shop,

        and vacationed with Jews in Miami.

They got the two families together for parties

        and everyone got along.

Religion itself was bracketed, held below the surface 

        in the tense half-light of the unspoken.

 

"Yet they never stopped thinking of themselves as Catholic and Jewish.

It seemed to me that they saw each other across a chasm,

        notwithstanding their deep love,

                extreme closeness and cooperative spirit.

This tension was a strong but quiet undercurrent 

        that broke through the surface in odd ways,

                in such things as family menu choices,

                        the schools my brother and I could attend,

                                the languages we could study,

                                        the friendships we made,

                                                the people we should date.

 

"A few times they talked briefly about the formation of Israel,

        and my mother made sure I understood the horror of the Holocaust.

But religious beliefs were not discussed.

When I asked questions,

        tentatively trying to probe beneath the surface,

                they would stiffen,

and evade or rebuff my compelling need to understand.

My questions seemed to upset them."

 

Years passed, and Linda Mercadante’s father died.

The family was in turmoil about what to do –

        and many decisions had to be made by strained and grieving people,

                hampered by the constraint against talking about religion.

Locating burial plots, 

        a funeral home, 

                and even a retired Monsignor willing to say a blessing at the service,

        caused confusion and uncertainty.       

Linda Mercadante struggled to come up with something to say 

        that everyone in the family could find acceptable,

                settling on a passage from Corinthians about love 

                        and some personal remembrances of her father.

"I didn’t know how anyone in the family felt about God,

        eternal life or religion,

                but I did know that in my father

                        we had all witnessed 

                                a loving, gentle, generous, trustworthy person."

 

After she spoke, the Monsignor offered his words.

And his words took Linda Mercadante by surprise.

It seems "he had served in the archdiocese 

        in which our pastry shop was located,

                and he had known and visited it.

He commented on the integrity, honesty and goodness of its product,

        reputation, and people.

He also said that when he himself died,

        he hoped such loving words could be said about him

                and that we should all live our lives with this in mind.

Then he assured everyone 

        that no matter how far we were from God,

                God is always there waiting for us."

 

The Monsignor wisely understood

        that differences about what we are 

                ultimately do not matter at all.

In his words, they do not matter to God.

Just as in the children’s story I read earlier,

        God does not care what different names we use,

                and God does not listen to those who say        

                        that their name is the only one God hears.

In the story, God listens when the people understand

        that all the different names for God are one.

 

We Unitarian Universalists might say it even more simply.

It's not what you are,

        it’s who you are,

                that matters.           

The religious differences that drive deep convictions underground

        even within loving families;

the failure to envision a humankind, let alone a God,

        that can embrace all paths and all people

                as we live and struggle and search

                        for what is real and good and true;

the posturing and positioning of any one tradition

        to maintain authority and power,

                are the painful outcome of placing too much emphasis 

                        on what people are

                                instead of caring who they are.

Unitarian Universalists place ourselves solidly on the side of caring

who you are.

Whatever your tradition,

        whatever your identity,

                whatever name you call on God to listen,

                        it is who you are that calls you to us

                                and who we are together 

                                        that is our primary care and consideration.     

 

You can be a Unitarian Universalist and a Buddhist,

        or a Christian,

                or a pagan,

                        or  a Jew –

                                for whatever name you call yourself,

                                        it cannot tell us everything about who you are.

You are more than what any identity can define or contain.

You are more than what any creed can say about you.

Our faith stands with you

        for what lies beyond identity,

                for what creeds cannot express,

                        and for what brings people together,

                                as one,

                                        whatever we may be.

Sources:
"Half-Jew: A Daughter'sSearch for Her Family?s Buried Past," by Susan Jacoby (New York:Scribner, 2000)
"Religious Truce," by Linda Mercadante, in ChristianCentury, November 3, 1999
"Vatican Declares Catholicism Sole Path toSalvation," Los Angeles Times, September 8, 2000