Let Me Try to Explain...

When my dad was nominated to join the board at our family Unitarian Universalist church he wrote to following in the church newsletter:

"I believe that my employment…[has] developed the two assets I can bring to the Board of Trustees: perspective and positive outlook on life. Corrections, when approached as a helping profession, teaches much about good and evil inherent in all individuals and institutions, and about their ability to grow."

At the time he wrote those words, Dad was about to retire from a 37 year career with the Minnesota Department of Corrections. His career spanning focus was community corrections–sentence-to-serve, work release, and other alternative programs. Chosen by my siblings to speak for the family at his retirement party, I elaborated on the connection between Dad’s faith and his career. I quoted a passage from T. H. White’s The Book of Merlyn, in which Merlyn speaks to an aged, battle-weary, and discouraged King Arthur.

"You have been taking my advice too literally, dear king. To disbelieve in original sin does not mean that you must believe in original virtue. It only means that you must not believe that people are utterly wicked. Wicked they may be, and even very wicked, but not utterly. Otherwise, I agree, it would be no use trying."

I went on to say Merlyn’s words reminded me of what Dad said he’d learned from his career in corrections–that people and institutions may be flawed but are not fatally flawed, and so there is the possibility of change, and thus cause for hope. I said Dad’s belief in the possibility of change, in the presence of hope, learned from his work in the department and deepened by the faith he found affirmed in our church defined him not only as a corrections officer but also as a father.

Fast forward twenty-five years or so, and my brother has his own career in a corrections-adjacent field–working for a nonprofit organization managing programs that facilitate ex-offenders' reentry into society both prior to and following their release from prison. Earlier this summer Chris interviewed a woman for a position in one of his programs. During the course of the interview she said, “let me try to explain my church.”

My brother chuckled as he told me that the church she went on to explain was the church he grew up in, our family church, Unity Church Unitarian. Chris didn’t tell me why she thought it was important to explain her faith to him. What’s significant, from my perspective, is simply that for some reason she connected her faith with her desire to work for an organization that deals in second chances, that refuses to believe people are utterly wicked.

Several days ago KERA, an NPR affiliate in north Texas ran a story saying in part:

"More than 100 Texas chaplains have signed onto a letter protesting a new state law that allows them to serve as counselors in public schools.

"The letter released Tuesday urges school board members to reject the public school chaplain program, calling it “... harmful to our public schools and the students and families they serve.”

Under Senate Bill 763, school boards have to vote whether to bring in hired or volunteer chaplains to “provide support, services, and programs for students.”

Several groups organized the letter, including the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty, Interfaith Alliance and Texas Impact.

"'We are troubled by SB 763 because religious instruction should be left to our houses of worship and religious institutions, not to our government,' said Reverend Jennifer Hawks, ordained Baptist minister and Associate General Counsel with the BJC.

Texas school counselors are troubled too.

"Jill Adams, a 16-year school counselor, is president of the Texas School Counselor Association. She said with training in child development, counseling skills, and mental health support, “school counselors are equipped, trained and certified to do just that for students.

“'Texas chaplains do not have any credential or certification that would give them the ability to say they’re qualified to support student mental health needs.'

"Sheri Allen is a chaplain and Jewish Cantor at Makom Shelanu Congregation in Fort Worth and one of the signatories of the letter.

“'As a chaplain myself,' Allen said, 'I oppose school districts employing chaplains in place of licensed school counselors. We are not qualified to do that kind of work. Under this new law, school districts could allow chaplains to serve as a student’s first point of contact for mental health, suicide prevention and other behavioral health services.

“'Chaplains aren’t trained to do that at all.'

Allen added chaplains lack training in other academic areas as well, including graduation, college and continuing education advice and information.

“'As chaplains, we are trained to provide spiritual and emotional support to people that ask for it,' she said."

Meanwhile, this morning, Rachel Martin of NPR News ran the second part of her interview with Vanessa Zoltan who brings her self-proclaimed Jewish atheism as a gift to her work as a chaplain. Last week’s part of the interview concluded with this statement:

"I'm not saying that religious people have only cheap grace. I want to just confront the realities of the suffering. And I don't think enough people take that position. And I was raised to take that position. I don't think everybody should. So I feel like this is a muscle that I have and I don't know why, but I think it's a gift that I have to offer, my atheism."

The intersection of faith and employment can be a fascinating and fraught arena. Witness also the recent US Supreme Court decision regarding the web designer, same sex weddings and the First Amendment.

Like Ms. Zoltan, my work is inextricably and explicitly tied to and informed by my faith (Unitarian Universalist theism). Like the chaplains in the first story, I think chaplaincy and school counseling are two distinct fields and believe that the practitioner of one cannot substitute for a practitioner of the other–unless they are specifically cross-trained and dually accredited. I do believe, however, that many school counselors may have found their way into that field because of the values taught in their faith community. Finally, I think the case of the web site designer who doesn’t want to work with same sex couples should not have been heard by the Supreme Court at all, though I strongly support the freedoms of the First Amendment, including the disestablishment clause. If these statements sound contradictory or somehow not quite right coming out of the mouth of a minister–well, as I said, this is a fraught area of public discourse and a fascinating (to me at least) aspect of the ways people of faith navigate society.

Mitch Albom’s rabbi put words in God’s mouth, “That’s what you were supposed to do,” referring to a lifetime of trying to follow and pass on God’s teachings, loving one's family, being a part of a community, and having been fairly good to people. “That’s what you were supposed to do.”

The father of the narrator of William Stafford’s poem says "Your job is to find what the world is trying to be."

Herman Hesse, in this morning’s opening words wrote: "You are to live and learn to laugh. You are to learn to listen to the cursed radio music of life and to reverence the spirit behind it and to laugh at its distortions."

These are all theological understandings of our lives’ purpose. Sometimes our lives’ purpose finds fulfillment in work at which we make our living, and sometimes it finds fulfillment in a passion to which we devote our leisure or volunteer hours; sometimes both. Nearly always our lives’ purpose grows from or is informed by our deepest values–the ones we define and deepen and refine in the context of our faith and our faith communities.

My dad sought to explain to his congregation how his career would inform his work on the board. My brother’s news Americorp/Vista volunteer sought to explain to her prospective employer how her faith would inform her work. I wonder, where in your lives do you find yourself saying, “let me try to explain…”

Do you tell people that this is the church you attend because of an experience you had working on the front lines of social justice work? Or do you explain that you volunteer where you do because our faith calls us to protect the interdependent web of all existence? Have you explained to a prospective employer that you want to work for their organization because they have a reputation for hiring and/or serving people living on the margins of society? When someone calls you asking you to vote for their candidate, have you explained that you will or will not support that candidate because their record matches or does not match with the values of you hold most dear? When you write a letter to the editor, do you say, as a Unitarian Universalist I believe equitable pay is a justice issue?

If you don’t explicitly explain these things out loud to others, maybe they go through your head at moments when you need to make a decision. Or maybe you’ve never really reflected on it deliberately. You make the decisions that feel right about employment and volunteer opportunities and voting and how and where to spend your money as the decisions arise but it is only now that I’ve asked the question, that the relationship between your decisions, your actions, and your faith becomes clear.

There is a criticism often lobbed at church-goers by people who do not participate in organized faith communities–something along the lines of the hypocrisy of leaving one’s beliefs and values behind at the church when one returns to everyday life and business, profit-making, bigotry, greed, exploitative labor practices. None of us is as good as our aspirations, but I think such a blanket criticism is a bit harsh. Most Unitarian Universalists I’ve known, and most Christians and Jews I’ve known, too, strive to live according to the values of their faith everyday of the week.

Still, if there does turn out to be a God, and we do retain our consciousness and our agency after death, and we are given five minutes in the presence of a thoroughly benevolent, infinitely non-judgemental, and insatiably curious Divine, what would you, what would I, say after the words, “let me try to explain my faith…”? Can’t hurt to reflect a little every now and then, and practice our explanation in our hearts or in our job interviews or with our children or any other time we’re invited to talk about why we do the things we do with the precious hours of our lives. How much better might we come to know ourselves and what stories we would have to tell to anyone to whom we choose to reveal our deepest, most authentic selves!

Amen