The Courage to Change

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Religious Education for children and youth happens during worship on Sundays. Children and youth arrive in the Sanctuary for the just a little bit and welcome in Sunday with a story and song. Then, they attend their own programs in the Education building. Learn more here!

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Children’s Story

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My colleague and seminary friend Nan Hutton recently published an article titled “Change Chronic Patterns of Thought”  She writes that patterns of thought become beliefs and habits and that when scientific pioneers create something new, they change old patterns, and are thus able to tell a new and different story. She also shares a quote attributed to Albert Einstein “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” She continues to say that during the winter solstice she did a ritual during which she spent time looking back and thinking about the past year and what worked and what didn’t. As she reflected on her own narrative, her patterns, and her desire for a better future and a new story, she realized that “nothing changes until we change.”

It is January: A New year. Everywhere there are messages about change and transformation. Many of us have new year rituals and traditions; some include making resolutions, others are more embodied: for my family it’s eating 12 grapes and a making a wish for every month, eating lentils for good luck, running around the house with suitcases to hopefully travel in

the new year, wearing yellow or red undergarments, and for my family 

living in Brazil, jumping into the ocean and offering white roses to the queen of the ocean, mother yemanja, to show their love and gratitude for her protection. To be sure, there is something magical, mysterious, and promising about a new year. It can feel like walking through a threshold being in between, hoping for another chance to experience the potentiality of time, offering us the opportunity to recalibrate, redirect our course, not just geographically, but spiritually. Being on the verge of a new year can also feel overwhelming, when we look back and might experience the resurfacing of grief, regret, and fear of time itself. 

Almost everywhere around the world, most people mark the new year by looking back and looking ahead: remembering, pouring libations to honor their loved ones who are no longer on this earth, missing the ones who are far away or estranged, reaching out to those nearby for a hug and a kiss and hoping for blessings of good health, prosperity, and joy in the coming months. And in many countries, after the Christmas celebrations, people- especially children- await the arrival of the Three Kings/Los Reyes. In Puerto Rico on January 5th, the children gather fresh grass to place under their beds along with a bowl of water so that the camels carrying the Kings (and their presents) will stop at their house and leave a present in appreciation. Celebrating the Epiphany is to celebrate childhood wonder, to marvel at their faith and joy, to think about the meaning of Epiphany, those aha! moments, those journeys illuminated by the star of wonder, when we found ourselves looking up, desperately looking for a sign, unsure about the road ahead, perhaps fearful and confused. Today we are invited to look back and reflect on our patterns and our own narratives. To think about the time before the aha! Before the eureka! Before the road was completely illuminated, when we did not know the way and felt stuck, vulnerable, afraid, unsure…perhaps we felt that there was really no other choice, no other road, just the one we were making as we walked. I remember feeling deep within myself a quickening, a truth so clear and terrifying, announcing a new way, writing a new narrative, a new story of who I was and what and who I loved. It was lonely and scary, but in the process of interrupting the chronic patterns of thinking about myself and who I was expected to be versus who I had become, I found my new story: Coming out changed me and everything around me. 

There is a song by Joan Manuel Serrat that has been with me for as long as I can remember: It s says in part: “Caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar” Wanderer/pilgrim, there is no road, you are making the road as you walk” Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar, cuando el poeta es un peregrino, cuando de nada nos sirve rezar, caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar” “When the sparrow cannot sing, when the poet is a refugee, when praying will not help, Wanderer/pilgrim, there is no road, you are making the road as you walk” 

And of course there is the beloved and well known poem The Road not Taken by Robert Frost which describe the two roads, feeling sorry at not being able to take both, doubting whether he should go back, imagining himself years later, remembering the moment he decided to take the road less traveled and realizing that the choice then continued to make all the difference in his life.

Have you ever felt this way? Do you remember a time when you physically felt being on the verge, on the threshold of a new you? Maybe it meant leaving a relationship, leaving a job, moving, adopting a new spiritual practice, acknowledging the changes that come with aging or a new health condition, deciding to have children, deciding not to have children, coming to terms with not being able to have children, losing children, stepping up to becoming adoptive parents or grandparents while going through menopause, rethinking your feelings about a person or situation and changing your mind about them, changing your name so that it reflects your true self, coming out of the closet for the first or  twentieth time, or maybe just experiencing a faint feeling of regret with a deep sigh for the road not taken…what difference can it make?

Let’s just take a moment to recall that experience of having to choose which road to take, having no choice but be led to one, or making the road yourself, cutting through weeds, fearing what’s around the corner and perhaps at the same time feeling  excited and brave and sacred all at once! (I transposed the letters of what was supposed to be sacred and instead I typed sacred and decided to keep it that way)  I’ve often marveled at Edith Piaf’s “I don’t regret anything” and been known to sing it at the top of my rebellious lungs, sometimes with such great conviction as if they were my own words and then in  later years listening to the song and wondering what to do with the regret I felt? Regret comes from the Old Norse To weep and grieve. Is regret such a bad thing if it signals that maybe I could have done better? Is regret bad because it goes against all the mindfulness practices that I am trying to learn in order to be in the present moment? Doesn’t regret invite me to look back in order to reflect, evaluate, and hopefully get another chance to do better?…Perhaps we have never looked back and try our best to stay away from feelings of regret that get in the way of enjoying the present. Are feelings of regret always bad and a waste of time or do they have some purpose?…How difficult was it to make this decision? How lonely did you feel? What difference can it make to be in community, to have companions on the journey? We are so used to seeing the Three Kings dressed in royal shiny clothes, their backs upright riding their camels, holding their gifts in firm hands, following a star that illuminates everything and promises safety. But I can imagine them dusty, sweaty, tired, hungry, sitting on the floor, trying to figure out what to do, perhaps debating whether or not to follow the star, thinking about their own families left behind in order to go find this newborn stranger…And I can imagine them wishing the gifts they were carrying were not gold or incense but clean water, warm blankets, hot soup, and food for the camels. What they had was each other to share their fears and concerns and also to offer each other encouragement. Embarking on a new journey, one that can jeopardize our friendships, our family’s love and support, our own image of ourselves, is certainly very personal and intimate, but how wonderful to have a community that will hold us in those moments, to help us rekindle the spark of hope when we most need it, that will reaffirm our commitment to bringing our whole selves wherever we go, a community that will hold us when we are weary and will defend our right to making our own path. 

And just like every individual, this community has a shared narrative about who we are collectively: Caring, generous, brave, compassionate, creative, dedicated, resilient. But East Shore’s story also includes deep grief, disappointment, betrayal, broken trust, divisiveness, demoralization, unwillingness to interrupt chronic patterns while expecting new and different results. On the threshold of this new year, do we have the courage to change?

Perhaps together, we can look back to retrieve the lessons learned, the memories of the people we met and connected with, the paths we recognized would take us into places of discord, division, blame, shame, and recalling the power of community, we changed course and chose instead to change our minds, to summon the wanderer, the pilgrim who creates their own path as they walk, while holding on to community. Maya Angelou wrote: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.” When you know better, do better. It implies looking back, reorienting yourself to a new reality, and taking action: doing better means changing, transforming the way you used to be. Changing your mind and transforming your heart so we can do something different, now that we know better.

This past year we have done a lot of learning together, we have journeyed and gotten to know each other more deeply, we have identified the scars, the open wounds, and the path towards healing. We have learned from Robin Wall Kimmerer and our friends from the Lummi Nation,  indigenous wisdom about how to transform the way we relate to nature and each other, we have learned from Rev. Mykal Slack and Alex Kapitan about The Transforming Hearts Collective which offers us a vision of a world in which queer and trans people can show up fully as ourselves in all of the places we call home. We have learned from CB Breal about preemptive radical inclusion:  An intervention, an activity, a process that requires reflection and exploration, leading us to make decisions about what our next moves will be to involve everyone within those spaces where we have leadership responsibility.  We learned that radical inclusion means that we challenge what we already believe, the systems that have worked for us and we enjoy, and lean into learning how other people experience those systems.  We partnered with our indigenous neighbors, welcomed guests participating in the Porchlight program, supported the work of Lambert House, empowering lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender youth, collaborated with PFLAG  a grassroots organization of volunteers providing support for LGBTQ people and their family and friends and advocating to change attitudes and create policies and laws that achieve full equality for people who are LGBTQ. We’ve heard powerful testimonies from our parents who consider parenting as a spiritual practice and work diligently to offer their children environments that are liberatory, authentic, and filled with affirmation for curiosity and exploration of self and the paths before them. We have learned together about Repentance & Repair and welcomed the ongoing challenge to look back and find the lessons, touch the scars, and heal the wounds in order to move forward. And we have celebrated with glorious music, joyful dance, invigorating nature hikes, amazing art, and enjoyed fellowship in wonderful community potlucks. We have welcomed new babies and held each other close at memorial services. We have also welcomed new visitors and been challenged to figure out how we can become more welcoming, how we can really transform our hearts and actually practice radical inclusion. In this new year, my prayer for us is that we have the collective courage to not be afraid to change our minds in order to  transform our hearts and heal. May we continue to learn together, to encourage each other to make new paths, to step up into leadership positions and not be afraid to change our minds when justice will not be served. We have a brand new year ahead of us with challenges and opportunities. Now that we know better, may we do better. May we have the courage to change and write a new story together. Amen!

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