Learning from other people's stories

At the Unitarian church my family attends, this past Sunday was the special day that the first graders receive their Bibles – illustrated versions designed especially for kids their age. 

The minister addressed in very simple terms the relevance of the Bible to the Unitarian Universalist faith, which has no written creed. She told them that the Bible contains stories about things that happened to people in the past and stories about how people lived. She explained that unlike some faiths, Unitarians don’t see the Bible as an instructional manual telling us what to do but rather a reference for us to learn about choices and actions committed to by other people.

It occurred to me as she explained it that this is really the value of almost all stories, whether fiction or nonfiction. I have often thought that biographies, memoirs and novels generally have far more impact than self-help books on readers like me. In a way, it’s a bit of a paradox. In order to make compelling literature, each character – whether actual, historical or fictional – needs to have a unique story. 

And yet in order to have meaning, stories must be universal, must have some element that resonates with any reader. So the goal of good story-telling, fictional or nonfictional, is to be able to home in on these universal elements while also telling a story we haven’t heard before in just those same words or under just those same circumstances or with just that same outcome.

My father, who taught English for 40 years, recently told me about a high school junior who marveled over a character in a novel she was reading for class, “That’s just how I feel! But I didn’t know anyone else felt that way!” My father told me that to him, she seemed a little bit old to be making this discovery for the first time; most readers discern this aspect of literature when they are still children. But in fact, most readers have this experience again and again, and for some of us it feels new each time.

When I interview article subjects or memoir clients, I look for what is unique in their story but also what will resonate most with readers. Unsympathetic characters are just less interesting than those with whom we have some small element, however small, in common. As our minister said, Bible stories tell us what happened – whether historically accurate or not – to other people and give us ideas about how to live (or how not to live) our own lives. So do novels, biographies, and memoirs. From each person’s experience, we derive common experiences. And from each character’s lessons, be they fictional or nonfictional, we all learn.

Just being at church is grace enough

It was another one of those days when I debated with myself as to whether to go to church or not.

This is easy for Unitarian Universalists to do. Unlike in many other faiths, going to church isn’t really a requirement for us. As our covenant says, “Service is our prayer,” and many UUs take that message to heart; there are several members of our church who put in hours every month assisting with construction for Habitat for Humanity, serving at a food pantry in a neighboring town or helping out at a women’s shelter in Lowell but almost never show up at a Sunday service. And this is okay: service is our prayer, and they demonstrate exemplary Unitarian Universalist values in what they do day in and day out.

So I wasn’t so sure about showing up yesterday morning. There are plenty of Sundays every year when I’m committed to teach Sunday school, serve as entrance greeter, or both, and on those days I have no choice about getting myself to church. On mornings like yesterday, when I’m obligation-free at church, it’s easy to contemplate staying home to catch up on the Sunday papers and maybe make a pot of soup.

But I went, because in general my conscience tells me it’s okay to miss church but I have to have a reason more compelling than inertia: I have to not go because there’s something more important I plan to do at home, not just because I don’t really feel like it. And as always happens in these situations, I was so glad I went. The guest speaker, a disciple of Mary Daly, was excellent: both educational and entertaining, plus the service began with an announcement about a new hire that I was glad to know about.

But more than any element of content in the service, it’s just good to be at church. The branch of forsythia in a vase below the pulpit shimmered with a golden glow cutting a bright line through the air: a simple branch of blooms rather than the more elaborate floral arrangements we have at other times of year. (Even our flower arrangements reflect our locavore priorities these days.) The candle wax smelled soothing and old-fashioned. The soft seat cushion of the pew, the sunlight slanting in through the east windows, the occasional flutter of paper as someone opened the program or flipped through the hymnal: all soothed my spirit and reminded me of the ineffable spell of a hushed room.

It’s good to be at church because often, that’s the one time of week when I spend an hour sitting quietly and listening. I could chalk this up to the busy pace of daily life or the onslaught of stimulation from the radio, the internet, the newspaper, and real live people around me; but really it’s just that spending an hour listening isn’t something many of us do regardless of the reasons. At church I sit still and I focus on what other people are saying. One hour a week isn’t really enough, but to do that at all as a regular practice should be a priority.

As we filed into coffee hour after the service, I chatted with a long-time acquaintance from another town who was attending yesterday as a guest musician. She confessed that she never goes to church if she’s not performing, but that every time she goes, she leaves feeling intellectually stimulated and spiritually soothed.

I do too, and that’s why I need to keep making it a priority as many Sundays as possible. As Woody Allen said about life, a lot of what you get out of church happens just from showing up, and I’m always glad when I do.

Doing church

Although my parents and I practice the same religion – Unitarian Universalism – and live next door to each other, we attend different churches. They are members of First Parish in Concord; I go to the First Religious Society in Carlisle.

Last month, my father invited me to attend church with them because he wanted me to hear the student minister. Due to an impending snowstorm, however, the student minister was absent and a different minister gave the sermon. Afterwards, my father apologized for encouraging me to attend, though no apology was needed and the circumstances were clearly well beyond his control.

“That’s okay,” I answered at the time. “No matter what the service is like, any time you attend church, you feel better having gone than you would if you didn’t go.”

I thought of that again yesterday morning back at FRS in Carlisle as I sat in the pew waiting for the service to begin. “I have a lot to do, but at least I’ll have the benefit of knowing I ‘did’ church,” I told myself, and then wondered just what sentiment lay beyond that somewhat senseless thought. It was as if for a moment I caught myself believing that going to church is like going to the dentist: you leave after an hour with a tangible reward – such as freshly polished teeth – that no one could dispute you are the better for having, regardless of how the hour itself went.

But church isn’t actually like that, I reminded myself. It’s not like that at all, in fact. I’m not leaving with the benefit of a good teeth cleaning. I can’t prove that there’s actually any aspect of my life at all that I’ve improved by having attended church this morning. So why do I feel like there is, and why did I say to Dad that one always feels better if one attends church than doesn’t?

After all, we’re Unitarians. Church attendance is not part of our creed. We can attend services, or we can stay home and read Ralph Waldo Emerson and Gandhi, or we can write poetry, or we can go for a walk – none of those puts us on weaker footing than any other choice as far as our standing as Unitarian Universalists.

And yet someone there’s no question in my mind that a simple one-hour visit to church on Sunday mornings makes a positive difference that staying home would not. Just being in a community of other church-goers is stimulating. We greet each other; we hear each other’s personal updates – health, visitors, travel – we push ourselves to reach out to those we feel less comfortable around. There’s music at church that I wouldn’t play at home. There are reminders about community activities, but also about problematic world events that I know I should be thinking about even if I stay home on a Sunday morning but, in reality, might not. There are words of wisdom, insight, or provocation in the sermon, words and ideas I might not have sought out if I were alone with a choice of what to read.

Sometimes as the service is starting, I indulge in a sullen mood. “I could be at home right now,” I think to myself. “I don’t know why I bothered to come in. There are all kinds of ways to learn and grow, intellectually and spiritually; I could have stayed at home and read, rather than going to the effort of getting myself here to church.”

But the feeling always passes within the first few minutes of the service, because I know intuitively that what I told my father is true for me. Regardless of the content of the sermon – and most sermons are great, including the one I heard yesterday, but every church community has the “off” day now and then – I’m a better person after an hour of worship than I was before. It may not be as quantifiable as going to the dentist, but it’s something that on some level I can’t dispute. At church, quite simply, we reach beyond ourselves. And I think it’s that stretching, that exertion of mind and spirit, that compels me to attend.

Back-to-church time

Although not all Unitarian Universalist churches observe the “summer break” plan – my parents’ large church in Concord, for example, runs a year-round program – it is typical for small- to midsized UU churches including the one I attend in Carlisle to take the months of July and August off from regular services and either offer an alternative style of services such as lay-led or simply close altogether.

Returning to church yesterday morning after three months off (official Opening Day was last Sunday, but I was driving Rick to the airport), I realized as I sat in the pew how beneficial the time away had been for me. I often end the church year with twinges of burn-out. It takes a lot of volunteer effort to run a church like ours – smallish in membership numbers and even smaller in terms of paid staff, but robust in its range of offerings and initiatives – and by June, I’m usually more than a little worn out from the effort of doing my meager part. I’ve had enough of teaching Sunday school, baking muffins for coffee hour, mixing up brownies for bake sales, attending committee meetings, writing publicity notices, weeding the church garden, and figuring out what I can afford to pledge for yet another year.

And over the summer, I never feel any regret that I’m not at church. In fact, if I’m to be honest, some summers – including this past one – I sometimes start to wonder why I go at all. As a faith, Unitarian Universalists aren’t required to attend church. Our covenant says that “service is our prayer”; you could be a good UU without ever setting foot in a church, if you instead devoted your time to community service and charitable works.

In the summer, I bask in the extra free time. I sleep late on Sundays, fit in more walks and bike rides, make better Sunday breakfasts for my family, read the Sunday paper over coffee, take weekend trips, have brunch with friends. “Why bother with church?” I ask myself at those times. “Isn’t this” – whether ‘this’ is running along the beach or talking with friends – “a worthwhile form of worship in its own right, and just as valuable? Would it make more sense to devote Sunday mornings to quality time with my family rather than rushing everyone out the door to church once fall arrives?”

Yesterday morning, though, I’d had a long break, and everything felt fresh and new, and it all reminded me of why I go to church. The music – choral, organ, harpsichord – was far more beautiful than anything I could have re-created in my own home. The sermon drew upon Bible accounts I wasn’t familiar with and made salient points about the importance of stepping to the plate when voices of dissent are needed. Our minister’s face was comforting and familiar at the pulpit. I saw friends I hadn’t seen since June, and during coffee hour heard about one parishioner’s great new job and another parishioner’s newborn twin grandchildren. Acquaintances I don’t know well inquired after my parents and expressed concern over their recent health challenges.

Besides, on top of everything else valuable about church – the music, the rituals, the covenant, the sermon, the readings – it provides an hour of quiet uninterrupted reflection. And no matter how much I might claim I observe some form of Sabbath throughout the summer, I don’t sit in a pew for an hour meditating and reflecting. I just don’t.

The church year is still new. I don’t have to teach any Sunday school classes until the middle of next month; the committees on which I’m currently serving haven’t started meeting again yet; and surprisingly, no one approached me yesterday about duties for the Harvest Fair. All of that will happen, and I might once again grow a little bit weary and wonder if it’s worthwhile to go.

But then I’ll try to remind myself of how it felt yesterday: quiet, peaceful, welcoming. Sitting in the pew of a building more than a hundred years old, which houses a congregation that has been meeting for more than two hundred and fifty years, is indeed different from observing the Sabbath in any form at home. July and August convince me that it’s effective to take the summers off, but September convinces me it’s worthwhile to come back. The music, the readings, the fellowship…that’s what makes a church. It brought me in yesterday morning, and it will bring me back again throughout another church year.