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To hell with it, I'm writing this.
So chances are, you weren't born a Unitarian. Sure, maybe if your parents were nerdy misfits who read a lot, some copies of A Chosen Faith fell into your hands, but for the most part, you wander into a Unitarian church when you're fifteen or thirty. And for the a while, there's a honeymoon phase: You've found your home. Finally, you're free to be yourself! Plus, it's so queer-friendly! You're intimidated by the people who are on every committee and plan every sermon, sure, but you're Going to Get Involved and you're happy as a clam. You mourn all the years you didn't know that Unitarianism existed.
But one day - as you hold your copy of Singing the Living Tradition and reflect on how Unitarian singing sounds like a herd of tiny dying cows - you hear the rumblings of drama on the horizon.
The chair of the ministry committee is annoyed at the co-chair of the outreach committee. The church listserv gets passive-aggressive. There's a bit of a chill at coffee hour. It passes, but somewhere in your brain a tiny voice is going I thought we were all supposed to get along!. And if you are older, and have done this before, the SMALL GROUP POLITICS alarm is going off.
So sure, you proceed with more caution, try not to complain about grounds and facilities in the grounds and facilities committee's hearing, and notice that you've started gritting your teeth when the same guy keeps turning every discussion into MY THOUGHTS ON HIERARCHICAL DECISION-MAKING: LET ME SHOW YOU THEM. Someone is always upset about everything - the social justice committee decides to start a food pantry project, and they didn't invite the woman who used to sort the cans for the Thanksgiving can drive in 1994, and she is HURT even though invitations were open for months. And the outreach committee is overreaching! And that man won't shut up about how he needs a completely diety-free worship experience and will storm out if anyone says anything rhyming with "jebus" at church, and the Chair of the Covenant of U.U. Pagans is pissed off because no one came to Lughnasadh because someone scheduled an airing of Sicko in the Sunday School room for the same night. Eventually some key member of the ministry committee gets fed up and removes herself from the list of Friends of the Fellowship.
And when you give your This I Believe address, two people compliment you, while some other woman's gets a crowd of hangers-on and a bouquet, which, not fair at all.
And then there are mornings when the sunlight is coming in the high skylights, and the guest speaker is actually good, and you've hit on one of the three songs Unitarians can actually sing. And you look around at your little band of religious misfits - the friends you've made, the work you've done, the way this place changes your view of the world a little every time - and you think, okay. It's okay. This is what community means. And the drama passes, and the meditation garden gets built even though half the grounds committee resigned in a huff, and it's good to be a Unitarian. The wank-storms pass by, but you've learned to stay out of them, like the ninety percent of the congregation that just wants to drink some coffee and talk about Emerson. And man, do you ever like talking about Emerson. So you stay, and the next time there's a drama explosion and people are shocked, SHOCKED, you totally find the humor in it.
/crazed ramblings, there's only one person on my flist who will think this is funny, but it's been rattling around in my brain for months.
--
No, I do not belong to a cult. I belong to this herd of cats, and I love them dearly, and this is meant as good-natured poking of fun. It's just, the degree to which Unitarians are just like the internet never fails to amaze me. If I ever become part of an academic department, I'm pretty sure that will look awfully familiar too.
So chances are, you weren't born a Unitarian. Sure, maybe if your parents were nerdy misfits who read a lot, some copies of A Chosen Faith fell into your hands, but for the most part, you wander into a Unitarian church when you're fifteen or thirty. And for the a while, there's a honeymoon phase: You've found your home. Finally, you're free to be yourself! Plus, it's so queer-friendly! You're intimidated by the people who are on every committee and plan every sermon, sure, but you're Going to Get Involved and you're happy as a clam. You mourn all the years you didn't know that Unitarianism existed.
But one day - as you hold your copy of Singing the Living Tradition and reflect on how Unitarian singing sounds like a herd of tiny dying cows - you hear the rumblings of drama on the horizon.
The chair of the ministry committee is annoyed at the co-chair of the outreach committee. The church listserv gets passive-aggressive. There's a bit of a chill at coffee hour. It passes, but somewhere in your brain a tiny voice is going I thought we were all supposed to get along!. And if you are older, and have done this before, the SMALL GROUP POLITICS alarm is going off.
So sure, you proceed with more caution, try not to complain about grounds and facilities in the grounds and facilities committee's hearing, and notice that you've started gritting your teeth when the same guy keeps turning every discussion into MY THOUGHTS ON HIERARCHICAL DECISION-MAKING: LET ME SHOW YOU THEM. Someone is always upset about everything - the social justice committee decides to start a food pantry project, and they didn't invite the woman who used to sort the cans for the Thanksgiving can drive in 1994, and she is HURT even though invitations were open for months. And the outreach committee is overreaching! And that man won't shut up about how he needs a completely diety-free worship experience and will storm out if anyone says anything rhyming with "jebus" at church, and the Chair of the Covenant of U.U. Pagans is pissed off because no one came to Lughnasadh because someone scheduled an airing of Sicko in the Sunday School room for the same night. Eventually some key member of the ministry committee gets fed up and removes herself from the list of Friends of the Fellowship.
And when you give your This I Believe address, two people compliment you, while some other woman's gets a crowd of hangers-on and a bouquet, which, not fair at all.
And then there are mornings when the sunlight is coming in the high skylights, and the guest speaker is actually good, and you've hit on one of the three songs Unitarians can actually sing. And you look around at your little band of religious misfits - the friends you've made, the work you've done, the way this place changes your view of the world a little every time - and you think, okay. It's okay. This is what community means. And the drama passes, and the meditation garden gets built even though half the grounds committee resigned in a huff, and it's good to be a Unitarian. The wank-storms pass by, but you've learned to stay out of them, like the ninety percent of the congregation that just wants to drink some coffee and talk about Emerson. And man, do you ever like talking about Emerson. So you stay, and the next time there's a drama explosion and people are shocked, SHOCKED, you totally find the humor in it.
/crazed ramblings, there's only one person on my flist who will think this is funny, but it's been rattling around in my brain for months.
--
No, I do not belong to a cult. I belong to this herd of cats, and I love them dearly, and this is meant as good-natured poking of fun. It's just, the degree to which Unitarians are just like the internet never fails to amaze me. If I ever become part of an academic department, I'm pretty sure that will look awfully familiar too.
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