“The Comparative Religions Class” by Emilia Marcyk

Monday morning in our comparative religions class our teacher began her lecture as usual. We sat, our desks in a circle, some with chins resting in hands and others leaning back against the wall of the classroom. I thought I knew what to expect. It was already well over a month into the course, and we had previously learned about Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam. There were some minor disagreements about the merit of a religion among the more outspoken members of the class, but nothing that couldn’t be settled with an “everyone has the right to believe what they want” from one of the other students.

Today’s lecture was about Judaism and the Old Testament. I was listening to the teacher, mildly interested, when someone’s hand shot up across the room.  “Yes?” The teacher asked, setting down her notes on the desk in front of her. The student retracted his hand.

“Why do people actually believe this stuff?” He asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t the world be better if we didn’t have any religion? Then there wouldn’t be any wars, and people getting killed for stupid reasons.”

“Yeah,” someone else joined in to my right, “religion is dumb.”

The teacher tried to redirect the conversation and bring our focus back to her topic, but the boy’s comments had stirred the whole class. The classroom was awash with noise, each of us wanting to contribute our own thoughts.

I listened in between times when I was trying to make my own voice heard above the roar and realized that everyone had the same argument. No one was arguing in favor of religion. “But I don’t think religion is bad,” I thought to myself. “Yes it can cause people to do bad things, but it can also inspire people to help others and bring about good.”

“Wait!” I said, out loud this time. “Not all religion is bad. I go to church, but that doesn’t make me an extremist. Actually, my church is very liberal. I don’t think everyone is giving religion a chance.”

The boy who had spoken first turned to me and started asking me why I would ever want to go to church and why I might stand up for religion. I felt like I was surrounded, that I was the only one willing to say something different. I wished for a moment that we were more varied in our opinions, that we could listen calmly to other ideas without immediately criticizing them.

The teacher’s lecture continued after the room quieted, but comments on the gullibility of humans or how ridiculous religion is often interrupted her words. I left the class feeling that something was wrong, and a vague pulse of frustration sat at the back of my consciousness for the rest of the day.

Later, as I thought about the day’s events, I realized what was bothering me.

“We, as a class, have been together for so long that we have started thinking the same way,” I thought. “We always agree, and we have become so sure that we are right. That is the product of our small school, and the fact that most of us have been together since first grade. We have grown up together, and so many of our experiences have been similar. Since there is no one to disagree with us, some have become too confident that their opinions are the only ones that matter, and that all others should be discredited or even scorned.

“That’s not a good way to learn. How can we really understand anything if everyone argues on the same side? We need the other side of the story, the part that we can’t see because of our own experiences or prejudices.”

I realized that it was important to me to hear many different opinions, and that is why I value my friends who are more conservative, more religious, older or younger than I am. They are the ones who make me think, who make me reexamine my preconceived ideas, who ultimately allow me to learn the most about the world and myself.

I will not pretend that I willingly go out into the world looking for people to disagree with me, even after that class. It is hard sometimes to really listen to different opinions, even when they come from people I respect. But that class made me recognize how important diverse opinions are, and how I can use my own capacity to listen to better my understanding of the different people, religions and ideas I encounter every day.

from Tessara Dudley

I have participated in two major religious changes in my life; the first was as a child of nine, and the second as a youth of sixteen.

My mother grew up in a religious family, and embraced Catholicism in her youth. My father grew up an Army brat, a young boy who moved from town to town and from one Baptist church to another. He did not feel as though religion was his friend; and when my parents married, he and my mother agreed that any children born would be allowed to choose what they did or did not believe. As a result, my brother and I grew up relatively religion-free.

All of this changed when my father died. My mom had given up her religious life while he lives; without him, she found her only solace was religion. Catholicism, however, no longer resonated with her. Over the next two years, my mother tried desperately to find a religion that spoke to her deepest self. We were briefly Catholic and then Baptist, until my mother found her spiritual home: Judaism.

I enjoyed this new experience, and I went to the Jewish Saturday School, and Hebrew School, and I made new friends and learned of new holidays. But, life my father and his Baptist background, I did not feel like Judaism was where I belonged. So I read up on Paganism, and tried that for a while, until I discovered Unitarian Universalism.

Here, finally, was where I belonged. A religion that was really accepting of everyone of every religion, opinion, lifestyle, and sexual orientation. This was my home.

About eight months after my first visit, I joined a meditation group and experienced another feeling of coming home. I loved the simplicity, and the acceptance and calm. I looked into Buddhism, and I never turned back.

I strive to live my life by Buddhist principles, which teach humbleness and love of yourself and the whole world around you. Sometimes I fail to uphold these principles. I mentally put myself down; I say things, knowingly or not, which hurt others. I grow prideful in my accomplishments, real and imagined. But I can always return to my center and try to start over again. Buddhism is about kindness and acceptance and calm. Buddhism teaches you to search for the truth on your own. It will not be spoon fed to you; you must learn it yourself. You must look at everything in an all-new way.

A Zen saying goes: “The beginner can know everything. The expert has no room to learn.” I try to be like the beginner, like a child. Like the child, I am curious about everything. I am eager to learn, just as the beginner is. As I head out into the world, I try to see my trials as growing experiences; they are things I can learn from. Whether I get into my first choice college, or none at all, I still always have choices, and I can control only what I do, how I leave my mark on this world. That’s all I can ask for. I am pursuing my own free and my own free and responsible search for truth and meaning. And, in the end, that’s really what it’s all about.

from Julia Liedel

While sitting at my computer, musing over this homily, I found an orthodox Unitarian Universalist group on Facebook that has the following description.

We postulate the following articles of faith:

#1 – You don’t know.

#2 – I don’t know.

#3 – No one knows.

#4 – Let’s get coffee.

While slightly irreverent, this summation of our faith nonetheless has some element of truth to it. I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that you’re uncertain. While it’s okay to take comfort in traditions, in dogma, comfort should never be a substitute for critical thinking. Unitarian Universalists don’t need to all believe exactly the same thing to respect and encourage each other, and I find that the most comforting thing of all.

I do believe in a spirit of life, but I don’t feel the need to define my spirituality or my beliefs in words. Belief and faith aren’t things that can be expressed in words, only approximated. Faith is about not being self-conscious. I feel that a need to convert others to your own faith is self-conscious and unsure and, at the same time, overly sure and arrogant. I don’t pretend to know what will inspire others; I only know what comforts me, what I trust. And here, in this church, with these people, I don’t have to defend my spiritual choices.

I’m proud of my faith. I always explain it to others, who ask, and I brag about learning sex ed at church, and I defend flower communion as not being entirely hippie. What most impresses others about our church are that we don’t believe in converting others, and that we preach tolerance. It’s still a radical notion for some, even in this day and age.

When I traveled to Hungary a few years ago with the church, what struck me the most, moved me the most, was the history. I saw a Unitarian high school, and old Unitarian churches. Things I didn’t know or didn’t understand until I saw. The realization that your struggles and your questions are not alone, that you have friends on your journey, around the world and across time, is a powerful thing. I still have many memories from that trip, and I still wear a ring I bought on our last day there. It’s become my cross, my symbol, but it is a blue circle, representing the earth, water and life, and the cyclical and connected nature of the spirit of life.

So today, in a way, I can say I’m a religious Unitarian Universalist. I know my spirituality will serve me well in the future. My convictions are flexible but strong, and adapted to a modern world. My faith discourages apathy and stagnant thinking. It embraces dialogue and compromise. I don’t know that I’ll ever know I’m right, or going to heaven, but embracing that uncertainty is, for me, more honest, and therefore more comforting. A quote from Peter Henry Abrahams says it well: To live with the conscious knowledge of the shadow of uncertainty, with the knowledge that disaster or tragedy could strike at any time; to be afraid and to know and acknowledge your fear, and still to live creatively and with unstinting love: that is to live with grace. May your many beliefs, questions, and answers give you comfort and hope as well, and may you live creatively and with unstinting love in the face of fear and uncertainty. Amen.

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Copyright 2007, First Unitarian Youth Program.  All rights reserved.