by the Youth Program

from Stephanie Williams

I was diagnosed about a month ago with gluten sensitivity.  Gluten is in wheat, barley and rye. So basically I can’t eat anything served in a restaurant unless I order specially and get a nice waitress.  Over the past month I’ve had to learn exactly what all I can eat, how to cook what I can eat and how to manage not to eat anything I’m not supposed to when I go out with my friends.

Anyone who’s had to go into a restaurant more than once and ask what’s in this, and what’s in that has probably experienced the “eye roll” waiters like to use when you make what they consider outlandish requests.  I can kind of understand that, because it is a lot of trouble to have to ask the cook what’s in everything, and to make sure they write down the special order just so. And I can tell you, after being around a lot of people who just don’t get it, it’s a relief to be surrounded by people who do.  Like last weekend, when my mom and I went to a convention held by the lab that does the testing of gluten sensitivity and celiac disease, which is—among other things—what gluten sensitivity can become if nothing is done about it.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, but was really only about four weeks, I wasn’t asked at every turn why I brought my own food and why I wasn’t eating this or that, because everyone there knew what I was going through. In fact, instead of asking what was wrong with me, they asked when and how I found out I was sensitive to gluten.

That acceptance of someone—of their faults and limitations—is something that I’ve come to treasure, especially in the past month.

A lot of my friends took a while to get used to the idea, but eventually it clicked with them that even if they didn’t understand the reason or my situation, they could still be accepting.  They now understand that I can’t be cured, and that I’d prefer them not to offer a cookie to me at lunch.

That acceptance and tolerance is something that I would like to see a lot more of in our society.  In schools, overweight kids get teased by other kids who have no idea what it’s like to be overweight, or what their circumstances are. When kids get bad grades they’re, labeled stupid just because they don’t learn the same way that the majority of people do.

That lack of acceptance is present in politics with issues such as gay rights and medical marijuana.

Acceptance is one of the things that bring us together, but we have to show others that acceptance as well. History has seen the lack of acceptance I’m talking about many times; religious persecution and racism being only a couple of examples. But part of being Unitarian Universalists is that we do accept others. 

Many people don’t believe in gluten sensitivity, because this classification of being allergic to gluten isn’t widely known or accepted.  But even though the majority of the public doesn’t understand, they can accept that I choose not to eat gluten for my health, whether they personally think it’s a valid reason or not.  And we can extend that acceptance towards everyone, no matter what their situation or circumstances, both within this congregation, and in our community.

from Evan Pilz

Freshman year I befriended someone that many people would call sketchy. I met him on the football team. His nickname was New Mexico because he was from New Mexico. Our football team was lacking in the imagination department.

I say New Mexico was sketchy and here is why. He tagged, raced street cars, and was usually either drunk or high. Many teachers treated him like this was all he was. Right off the bat as soon as he stepped into school.  Not many people knew that he was trying to stop. He had made a promise to himself for his little brother’s sake to stop the drugs, to turn his graffiti into art, and his love for racing cars into a career as a car mechanic.

Not many knew this about him. They never took the time to listen to him, but he told me about it all the time. It started with him telling me about where he was from. His friends and family were still there. He lived in Portland with his aunt and uncle.

He talked and I would listen. I would never tell him that his plan of going to college was silly or that smoking pot was wrong. So unhindered, he told me about himself, and I learned how similar we were. We both held similar views of right and wrong for the most part. When someone was down, you helped him or her up. He sometimes would talk about music and I just listened.

Here was someone I was taught to fear. I was supposed to view him as vile. That is what the media said. It said that poor kids who do drugs and race cars are going to wind up in jail. Last time I saw New Mexico, he was going to college. Most people were shocked to see him in college. But I was not. I had taken the time to listen. I had not badgered him on legalities or responded towards him in fear. By listening to him I realized how similar we were; if I hadn’t, I never would have.

There are many people out in this world. Most of them will never know who you are. They will not share the same background and likewise will hold different opinions and values. These values are as strong as the ones you hold. When you meet someone for the first time it is best that you not give any opinions. Even if the person you meet is sharing his or her own and you do not agree with them. When you are meeting someone for the first time do not hold judgment and do not take a defensive position. Talking to someone should never be a battle.

Instead listen. Their statements are only part of them. Listen to their feelings. When you hold different views, look for common ground. Family is often a good way to start. If they prefer not to talk about family, that is okay. Eventually they will talk about something of personal worth to them. When they do, listen.

Inadequacy and Happiness by Taylor Bixby

When faced with the daunting task of writing this homily, I thought about talking about our government, the current war, gay rights, or maybe our school systems. Finally I decided on a subject that hit me a little closer to home, something I have been focusing on a lot on lately.

I titled my homily “Inadequacy and Happiness.”

Inadequacy is something that people struggle with their whole life; feeling like—at the core—you really aren’t valuable, really hurts. It’s painful.  In human nature, particularly in our society, we try to avoid pain. When people perceive pain they first thing that they want to do is “fix it” or make it go away.

For a long time I have struggled with feeling self-conscious and inadequate. Now that I am at a bit of a better place, after trying to do everything to “fix” my problems, I decided that trying to fix them maybe wasn’t the right approach.  Over the last year I have developed two personal affirmations that pretty much keep me going in the direction I want to go.

Forgive & Don’t Dwell and Just Do It…

Just do it?? Yes, I know. You don’t know how much it pains me to use a corporate jingle as a core value and a root affirmation. But it really encapsulates everything I want to say. For this I ask your forgiveness, please try to bear with me, because I have come to accept it as my own.

Just do it

Basically in the past I have struggled with feelings of isolation and covert behavior. This stemmed from feeling inadequate. Feeling inadequate caused perfectionism, and needing to be perfect caused me to be unable to forgive both myself and others for making mistakes. Just do it was the first motto I adopted, because it stopped the cycle of overanalyzing my self and my actions. Just do it forced me to take a risk; to stop trying to pretend that I was someone else and open up.

My second affirmation, forgive and don’t dwell, came to life after I got a little distance from myself and started seeing just how many personal traits and past actions I felt ashamed of.

Forgive and don’t dwell stemmed from forgive and forget, but I think the forget part is wrong. If I forget those things that I have done and others have done to me, then I run the risk of staying in those same habitual routines that have caused pain. Don’t dwell works well for me because it implies acceptance and being able to move on with life while remembering what has happened in the past.  I mention acceptance. For me this is a big part of becoming content. Through acceptance I have learned not to hold those problems in my life against myself, or blame others for them. I’ve done both.

For years I was able to pass off all the problems in my life on situations or other people, enabling me to not accept responsibility and actually get angry at those people for not allowing me to be “happy.” But I had an excuse!! It was going to get better when…  Then a day came when I realized I had everything I had asked for: toys, freedom, and independence, and yet I still wasn’t happy.

This baffled me. I had what I wanted and I still wasn’t content; my life wasn’t full. I internalized the feeling of discontentment to mean that there must be something wrong with me, because I couldn’t feel happy when everyone else was. This was the first time I really saw my feelings of inadequacy. It was scary. Probably at my lowest self-loathing point, when I felt the most worthless, my dad, who was reading PEMA CHODRON brought up the idea in Buddhist philosophy of accepting one’s situation as a possible response to my feelings. If I can’t accept who I am, where I am, I will never be happy.

At first I was incredibly resistant. “So what, you’re just supposed to give in to your situation?!” “No, you have to fight and try to fix those things that you don’t like; to make life better; and make yourself happier,” my Dad responded, “And you are always going to be fighting.”

I began to see that he was right; I had the ball in my hands, and a world of opportunities in front of me. The only thing holding me back was not feeling good about me. I took a tally of where I was, and where and who I wanted to become. From there I consciously started making changes, breaking those cycles that kept me unhappy. I started seeing trends in my past behavior, and adopted the affirmations to help me spot when I was going towards one of my all too familiar habits. Repeat Affirmations aloud: Just Do It, Forgive and Don’t Dwell

So what does this all boil down to? For me it’s those two quotes; living them helps me become the person I want to be. And accepting where I am now helps me feel okay, content, and gives me a place to start from, to grow both spiritually and emotionally, and to see others with more respect and acceptance.

from Alison Saunders

I managed to live through my first three years of high school without having to face much adversity at all. In fact, it all went by rather smoothly and appeared to be heading to the peak of my high school career. As soon as I put on the blue “senior” crown at the first pep assembly, I knew it was true: my senior year was going to be the best year of my life. All of a sudden, I stayed out with friends until midnight every weekend, I learned to look forward to tests because of the study parties that always preceded them, and I did every extra-curricular that I wanted to. In just the first few months of school, my friendships from the previous years advanced tremendously and I found that my friends were what made me truly happy. We did everything from starting the Hillsboro High Affection Club to making late night runs to Voodoo Donut in the neighboring city. I loved and accepted them for who they were and they loved and accepted me for who I was. Sure we had different thoughts on issues like religion and politics, but that didn’t seem to provide for contention between us in the least. Apparently, though, the saying “all good things come to an end” held true, for just a short time later, I was confronted by my pal, Ludwig.

It started with a text message from Ludwig on my cell phone. The text read “If you were to die now, what would happen to you?” I promptly responded with my usual fatalistic and sarcastic attitude that there would probably be a nice funeral and people would be sad for a long time, but soon everything would go back to normal and generations would pass and it really wouldn’t matter. I didn’t hear anything from him the rest of the afternoon.

The next day was Saturday and, as previously planned, we were soon sitting in his car driving to shop for skis for the upcoming season. The shop was a ways away, and he volunteered to drive. As we were sitting there talking about whatever came into our minds, he all of a sudden interjected a comment about his text message. “So, about that message Alison. What do really think would happen to you if you were to die?” I again gave him my same answer, but he kept pushing. Finally I just said that nothing else would happen to me if I were to die, expressing my disbelief in the afterlife, and concluded my response with “why.” Ludwig thought for a moment, and then stated that if he were to go to heaven, there are certain people he would want to see there. “Does that mean you don’t think I am going to heaven?” I asked him. There was no response. “Does that mean you think I am going to hell?”

With that said, an awkward silence settled into the air. It seemed as if he didn’t know exactly what to reply: I had put him in a dangerous situation. Finally came the response of “well, if you don’t believe in heaven that must mean you don’t believe in Jesus…” and his words trailed off from there. I, too, remained silent after that and instead of speaking just nodded my head. He glanced over at me and we sat in silence for the remainder of the car ride home. As I stepped out of his car the tears started to run down my cheeks. How could one of my best friends think I was Hell-bound? Hell was a place for bad people, meaning that he must think I was not a good person and yet, is it okay for friends to think that about each other? Were not friends supposed to be there for you, supposed to support you and help you when you were down? Why, then, was he the one doing the putting down?

I’m not going to lie; I was at first hurt personally by that comment. When I returned home I lay on my bed thinking over the events of the day. “Ludwig thinks I am going to hell,” I told myself over and over again. But as I lay there that night, I began to rethink the whole event and slowly came to the conclusion that I took Ludwig’s remark the wrong way. I took it personally and it hurt, while instead, I should have looked at it from his perspective. He is, as much as I am, a product of his society: he was raised as a good Baptist boy and he remains that way today. Ludwig was not trying to scare me into his religion by the fear of eternal suffering, but instead to protect me. With his comment he genuinely meant that I am one of the people he wants to see in heaven because he cares about me as a fellow human being and above all as a friend. I know now that he loves me for who I am and it is because of this that our friendship continues today. Though we may not see eye to eye on issues such as religion or politics, Ludwig taught me to see past those issues to see the real person, and I thank him for this valuable lesson. While it was a hard one to learn, it was more than worth-while, as I learned to fully accept people for who they are. If I had not gained this knowledge, I could have lost one of the most valuable things in my life: Ludwig’s friendship.

from Amy Wilson

In this time of change in my life, it’s only natural that I should look back. In that reflection is a consideration of my time at the First Unitarian Church. In 14 years of religious education, what have I learned? Well, many things: that Louisa May Alcott was a Unitarian (a fact I learned in elementary school and still enthusiastically bring up anytime Little Women is mentioned), that Jesus’ last name was “of Nazareth,” that there are five pillars of Islam and Ten Commandments and eight nights of Hanukkah. But what I think I will really take with me from this place is none of the above. It’s something I learned again and again, and often think to myself in times of distress. It can be summed up in one simple phrase: There Is No Fruit Basket Upset Police.

For the unenlightened, Fruit Basket Upset is a getting-to-know you game that I personally must have played 5.3 million times. In it, a person stands in the middle of a circle of chairs and issues forth a simple self-description—I have curly hair, for example or, I’m wearing a green shirt. Anyone who also has curly hair or a green shirt would then get up and find a different chair in a barely-controlled melee of race-walking, belligerent glances, and making sure to put your hands down first so no one loses an eye. The important thing is that everyone gets to make the choice about whether or not they stand up. Even though I, at the moment, clearly fit both descriptors, I could choose not to. Perhaps I feel my hair is not curly but wavy, or that my shirt is not green but blue. And here’s the thing that boggles my mind in retrospect: no one could tell me I was wrong, and I couldn’t say anything about anybody else. There is no Fruit Basket Upset Police.

To me, the essence of this statement comes down to this: that I have the right to make decisions about myself for myself, and that no one has the right to intimidate me into changing my mind. Conversely, it is my duty to respect the decisions of others, even when I feel they are clearly wrong. Of course, some decisions are easier than others; not everything requires a philosophical examination. But there are some questions that deserve thorough introspection: what do I believe? What do I think is right? What should I do? Our fifth principle states that we affirm and promote the right of conscience. That phrasing is, I think, significant. In many ways it seems that conscientiousness is something not that we choose but that is thrust upon us, a small cricket in the back of our minds. But my opinion is that it is a right, as necessary and wonderful as the right to free speech or petition or assembly or freedom of religion. It is a right, and as such should be—no, must be—not only protected but also used.

I say that the phrase “there is no fruit basket upset police” is what I will take with me from this church. Yes, it seems simplistic and somewhat inane. After all, I have attended this church for the vast majority of my life; shouldn’t I have taken away something a bit more, I don’t know, solid? But really, that phrase is so much more than just a silly little rule in a silly little game. It sums up a concept that I doubt I would have thought to put into words—that my conscience and my will to exercise it is not something that I can just throw away, or choose not to use. To quote from another great symbol of my childhood, Albus Dumbledore, “the time will come when I have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy.” When that time comes, I can only hope that my education has served me well.

from Claire Turpel

Thanksgiving 2005.  My parents and I were spending the holiday like we always do—with our close family friends, Viki and Gordon.  My parents and this couple have been celebrating Thanksgiving together since way before I was born.  Naturally, when I came along, I entered the traditional festivities.  These traditions include Viki and my mom, some of the best cooks you’ll ever run into, cooking everything, Gordon picking the wine (and non-alcoholic drinks for those of us under 21), and my dad making sure that the canned cranberries make it to the table on their “decorative dish.”

I’ve grown up with Viki and Gordon as another, more benevolent, set of parents.  These people make sure that I get everything I want and then some for my birthday and Christmas, and Viki has been dropping cooking tips ever since I wandered into the kitchen years ago.  But the thing that I like best about spending time with them is that they’re both very intellectual.  They always stay up with the current events and discuss them with my parents, yet they always find a way to include me in the conversation and ask me questions—I’ve always felt like a valued part of the conversation.

This past Thanksgiving, however, Viki—one of my mentors—said something that would shake the root of my morals and what makes me who I am.  She is an atheist.  Only once have I heard her talk about it, but it really opened my eyes that not everybody believes in a greater being or force, like I do.  Viki explained that she just cannot believe in another being, perhaps God.  Her brain, she said, can only accept that we are alone on earth.  With that, I stopped tossing the Thanksgiving salad.  Viki and I agree on so much, like politics, government, etc., so why did she have a problem with a god, I mean, I don’t.  Couldn’t she just feel that there was something/ someone out there besides life on earth? 

I began to think that perhaps Viki is right.  I mean, there’s no scientific proof that a god or gods exist in the universe, and evolution has been proven, so the argument for a creator or a fate seems archaic.  Maybe, I thought, atheists are the ones out there with the most truth.  Maybe, I thought, I should look into becoming an atheist.

As I was deliberating my spirituality, I thought about this church, where I’ve been raised and embraced for my whole life.  This whole congregation encourages each other, whether we are intimate in each other’s lives or not.  How could I face all of you, the people who encourage me no matter what, if I became an atheist?

Becoming an atheist, I realized, would not change a thing in our relationship.  You would still see me as a young hopeful, someone who is ready to face the world and all its challenges.  If I decided that I think there was no god, but I continued attending church, no one would shun me, because Unitarian Universalism is all about encouragement of spiritual growth.  People support each other even if their faiths differ slightly, and that’s the beauty of UUism.  In fact, if I were to go up to a stranger in Fuller Hall and tell them that I’ve become an atheist, most likely, the response would be only encouragement and support on my spiritual quest.

I’ve discarded my idea of atheism, because I’m too much of a romantic to believe that we are without a fate or god.  Yet I’ve gained a lot from my dabble in atheism.  I learned that Unitarian Universalists are about helping each other reach a spiritual place that they’re content with, and for some, that may take a lifetime.  I’m ready to begin my path to spiritual contentment, now that I know that I have the support of this whole congregation and in fact, the Unitarian Universalists of the world.  I’m also willing to be the helping hand of UUs around the world as they climb the ladder to spiritual contentment.  We’re all trying to figure out who we are and what our spirituality is, and it could only get better with universal support.

So next Thanksgiving, I will still enjoy all our traditions, though I will have the added bonus of knowing a little more about my spirituality.  I have realized that Viki believes what she does because it comforts her, while I believe what I do because it comforts me.  I want her happiness, and she wants my happiness, so we maturely agree to disagree and eat our mashed potatoes in bliss.

from Elizabeth Thompson

Contrary to popular opinion, I haven’t been going to the First Unitarian Church all my life.   I have been going for as long as I can remember, which sometimes is a very, very long time and sometimes is very little time at all.  So I look to my mother as a witness for the experience which brought us all here in the first place.  One day when I was three or four, I came home from preschool and with big eyes started talking to my mom about Jesus up on the Cross with Real Blood on his Hands.  Apparently I had been talking to my friend Anik and she had told me all about it.  Mom says that at this point she realized that even if our family didn’t get involved in religion, religion would get involved with us.  It was better, she decided, to choose how and when that happened than to let coincidence decide what we knew.  So we all started coming here, to First Church.

My own earliest memories of first church are of the sand table and snack time in pre-primary, of a time when church was that weekly occurrence to which I could wear a pretty dress I wouldn’t wear to school.  I also remember various noodle creations and have a vivid mental picture of a play-doh menorah which I made around Chanukah, brought home, and insisted on lighting for a day or two.  I also remember being a heavenly host in the Christmas Pageant, and my joy at graduating from the cedar accoutrements of a heavenly host to the far more sophisticated silk neck scarf and tinsel halo of a junior angel.  To this day I feel the almost uncontrollable urge to stand whenever anyone says “multitude” as in, “and suddenly there was with the angel a multitude”  I also feel sure I have always known the words to “Spirit of Life,” just as I have always known the words to “Here Comes the Sun” and “Hard Day’s Night.”

I suppose the most surprising, comforting, and important thing for me later in my life at the church was that when I started to reach out on my own to investigate the meaning of my own faith, the hidden riches were there.  When I participated in the Coming of Age program, I was asked the question, what do you believe?  And for the first time in my life I actually actively thought about it.  What do I believe?  And even if I hadn’t been thinking about it consciously, my busy little subconscious had been carefully constructing a set of beliefs out of the things I had learned about other religions and the things I knew about my own.  In the context of what I believed, the things I had gathered in turn gained a greater meaning.  When I actually listened to “Spirit of Life,” long after learning it years and years ago, and when I heard what it was that the words were actually saying, I cried.  I was armed with a song of tremendous beauty which I hadn’t even known I had known.  I’ve discovered a kind of conviction in my faith.  True conviction, I’ve discovered, is not an unchanging set of religious beliefs, but rather a belief which cannot be threatened, which is open to everything, including change, because it has no doubt in itself.  Now I feel ready to take on the world.

I would like to leave you with one more image.  This year, my last in the Christmas pageant, I was assigned the role of Mary.  I didn’t have to think very hard about Mary’s motivation.  Every action she takes comes from a deep, resounding love.  And holding the little baby Jesus on the night of the pageant, that is truly what I felt.  Love, for the small child who I held and love for all the small children who had been held and would ever be held.  Joy, that those children would grow up, as I am still very much in the process of doing.  And faith, that any mother has to have, unflinching, unfailing faith, that when given the right tools and as much encouragement as possible, their child will find love, joy, and conviction of their own.  Thank you, from all of us, for your love and for your faith and for your questions.

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Copyright 2006, First Unitarian Youth Program.  All rights reserved.