I Attend a Unitarian Universalist Service

by D. J. McAdam

 I am not a Unitarian Universalist.  Until reaching my current age of 52, I had never attended a Unitarian Universalist service, nor had I met - at least, to my knowledge - anyone who practiced that faith.

Why, then, did I attend a Unitarian Universalist service today, and what was I hoping to find?  I was raised a Roman Catholic.  My ancestry includes persons who were Anglicans, Episcopalians, Reformed Dutch, Quakers, early Baptists, and pagans.  I am, without dwelling on the matter, not particularly enamored of Catholicism, and no longer consider myself a member of that church.  Quakerism strikes me as appealing, but it is rather a difficult religion to attempt to enter from the outside.  Quakers, in their many writings, say that they welcome potential new members, but the reality is that the Society of Friends appears to be a closed society.

Unitarian Universalists, on the other hand, are very welcoming.  Their websites beckon.  They have committees that deal with new members.  They have, as I found out this morning, greeters waiting at the door.  But let me not get ahead of myself, and instead take things step by step. 

It is Sunday morning, and my companion and I have chosen to attend the 9 a.m. service, rather than the 11 a.m. service.  The church is located in a nice area, nestled amongst a small forest of trees, the leaves of which are showing signs of gold and russet on this crisp autumn day.  We park our vehicle, and enter at approximately 8:45.

There are two "greeters," a male and a female.  They ask if we have name tags, and we tell them this is our first visit.  This revelation is taken as good news.  We write our names on temporary name tags of the Hi-my-name-is variety, and fill out a short form which will cause us to be put on the church's monthly mailing list. 

The greeters sound us out.  We are asked how we learned of the church, and I mention the internet.  We are asked about our reasons for attending, in a light, non-interrogatory sort of way.  I mention my connections with Catholicism, and Quakerism, which do not really answer the question, but which seem to satisfy the need for a response.  My companion mentions an interest in earth-based beliefs.  The male greeter appears to misinterpret this as an interest in environmentalism, and tells us about the church's walking path.  The female greeter comes closer to the mark by mentioning Wicca.  They are nice, friendly people, these greeters, and they invite us to enter the church.

We enter, and I look around, attempting to assess the environment.  The dress code is casual.  A few men, like myself, wear sport jackets.  A few individuals wear jeans.  Most are somewhere in between; it is primarily a sweaters-and-chinos crowd.  Everyone looks relatively pleasant.  Everyone wears a name tag.  Two women sit together.  They could be a gay couple - the church welcomes gays - or they could just be two women sitting together.  There are, I guess, about fifty people present, filling one half to one third of the available seating. 

The church is pretty, with nice windows through which one can observe birds flitting through the fall foliage.  There is no crucifix, no overt religious symbolism of any kind, other than some white, shell-shaped thing which will at some point in the service be called a "chalice," and will be lit with a candle.  There is nothing to kneel upon, as Unitarian Universalists do not kneel during service.  A young woman plays a piano.  Some announcements are made from a speaker at a lectern. 

A bell is rung, and service officially begins.  We stand, and sing a hymn from the book.  It is, as are all the hymns that will be sung that morning, a bad hymn.  The lyrics are trite.  The musical composition is poor.  The copyright date is 1979.  My mind begins to wander, and I begin to feel sorry for Unitarian Universalists who have to sing such hymns.  Catholics have some beautiful songs, like "Ave Maria," and Protestants have hymns I greatly admire, like "Amazing Grace" and "Rock of Ages."  Quakers, at least initially, were opposed to all music.  I begin to wonder if Quakers adopted the policy after hearing Unitarian hymns.

The hymn ends, and a bearded, burly man in a fairly bright green sport jacket and tie invites the children to come to the front and to sit on the floor while he speaks to them.  He tells them a story about the late actor Ossie Davis, and how Mr. Davis participated in a civil rights march in Birmingham when he was thirteen years old.  The children, mostly white and from affluent families, don't know who Ossie Davis is, or was.  I am unsure as to whether they understand what a civil rights march is, or whether they know where Birmingham, Alabama is located, but they are polite, and cute, as children of any denomination are, and when the talk is over they are told they can go downstairs.  This news seems to delight them, and they all skip away, leaving the adults to soldier on through another bad hymn.

A sermon follows, by a female minister who reads her speech from the lectern.  We are told that the topic is "spiritual justice," a term which appears to be interchangeable with "social justice."  Current events, such as the crisis in Darfur and the war in Iraq, are mentioned, though not expounded upon.  A knowing eyebrow is occasionally arched.  The "religious right" is criticized.  Michael Lerner, author of The Left Hand of God, is liberally quoted.  God, or other subjects one generally associates with religious or spiritual thought, is not mentioned, except for one aside, when we are told that the speaker, following Universalist thought, does not believe in Hell.  I begin to feel less like I am at church and more like I am in a PBS studio.  The sermon, like most sermons, lasts too long. 

A "choir" of five individuals approaches the front of the church, along with a man with a guitar.  We are treated to what we have been warned will be a "rousing" rendition of, "If I Had a Hammer."  It is, at least, a good song, though this particular rendition fails to rouse.  I look around.  Two members in two different areas of the church are drinking coffee out of Starbucks containers.  This annoys me.  I cannot say that they are being disrespectful, since no Divine Presence has been invoked, but it bothers me nonetheless.  I begin to wonder if this is the beginning of a disturbing trend, and if churches, like bookstores, will one day serve only as mere excuses for a Starbucks.  Will there be splinter groups?  Will Lutherans go with Caribou Coffee in a show of nonconformity? 

There is some sort of ceremony where members are invited to light a candle on the table up front and share momentous news with us.  People actively participate.  Some are joyous issues, such as the birth of a nephew or the recovery of an ill family member.  Some are issues of concern, which also mainly have to do with illness.  More than one person lights two candles, to share two bits of news, and my companion and I feel that this is a bit on the selfish side, since there are only so many candles on the table.  But it is not our church, and we are unfamiliar with the ways of its members.   

There is one last hymn.  It is, if possible, worse than the others.  It is called "We Are a Gentle Angry People," written by Holly Near.  We are enthusiastically told, before we start, that we will sing all six verses, which includes the fifth verse, "We are gay and straight together."  I begin to wonder whether the song is actually that tuneless, or whether the piano is simply out of tune. 

A collection plate is passed, most people putting in a five-dollar bill.  I do the same.  We are told that there will be coffee and cookies at the end of the service, and that we are all welcome to have some.  Finally, we all hold hands to form one large circle around the interior of the church, and recite something.

After the service, two more people introduce themselves to us.  They seem genuinely nice, pleasant people, and very welcoming.  Still, we decide to forego the coffee and cookies. 

On the way home, as my companion drives, I sing, "We are gay, we are straight, and we still can't get a date . . ."  We do not go to Starbucks.

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