Unitarians: What's the Point?

Hello from the hallowed halls of Harvard! Harvard sure thinks they're hallowed, I'll tell you that for free. I've never seen such a self-satisfied place. I am becoming more conservative by the day just to push back against the group-think orthodoxy here. Soon you'll hear I've joined the NRA and started giving my student loan money to Focus on the Family.

But there will be plenty of time to talk about the many foibles of this joint. First, let's talk about the Unitarians.

Why? Why, Unitarians? What's the point? Why bother? By my lights about half the M.Div students are Unitarian, which is roughly 60% of the Unitarian population in America. C'mon, you know you've only ever met like 5 outside of Massachusetts. It's not really a religion that ever took off, except here. I'll hazard a couple of guesses on why that is: 1) Unitarians believe people are basically good and becoming better, while those of us who stayed awake through eighth grade history are a little more skeptical, and 2) their music sucks.

A basic primer for the uninitiated: Unitarians, who are properly called Unitarian-Universalists, or UU's, believe in one God (hence the Unitarian, as opposed to Trinitarian) and that S/He can be found everywhere and in everyone (hence the Universalist). Things Unitarians Don't Do: they don't have a creed. They don't have a sacred text. They don't believe in divine revelation. They don't believe in redemption and sanctification or anything about Jesus except he seems like a nice guy. They don't believe in hell; not sure about heaven. Things Unitarians Do: recycle. And go to antiwar rallies.

I play a little game with my classmate called Spot the Unitarian, in which when you think you've identified another Unitarian in class, you hiss "Unitarian!" and slap your hand on the desk like you're buzzing in. We can pick them out by the inane things they say. I believe my favorite was last week, when we were talking about various ways of conceptualizing sin: sin as rebellion, as sickness, as brokenness, as violation of creation, etc. Girl in the front row raises her hand. "I don't find sin to be a helpful concept," she said. "Unitarian!" my classmate and I hissed, buzzing in (I narrowly won). "Apparently she doesn't find truth to be a helpful concept either," I whispered. "Or common sense," she whispered back. Unitarian Girl, oblivious to the fact that I was now 10 points ahead in the game thanks to her, droned on, "My mom's spiritual mentor said she thinks of sin as being untrue to your authentic self, and I find that more helpful because it calls people back to their own selves," she said. Yeah, people, you can ponder that all you want and it won't make any more sense on the tenth read-through than it did on the first. I lobbied unsuccessfully for double points based on the fact that she was like Unitarian squared.

When I go back to my authentic self, I find someone who's pretty selfish and petty and argumentative and arrogant, not to mention prone to making fun of foolish people on her blog. Is this the self Unitarian Girl would have me go back to for truth and light? Because this is what I'm working with, people. It's what we're all working with.

Having established that UG didn't really have much use for sin, redemption, salvation, or God, my classmate leaned over and whispered, "So why does she want to be in ministry?" And that's really my question.

Here's the thing: I totally get that you want to make the world a better place, Unitarians. I get that, and I applaud it. You should be social workers, and Legal Aid attorneys, and inner-city teachers, even though honestly I don't think you'll last very long in any of those careers because they will all challenge your belief in the innate goodness of humanity, but you should give it a shot. And you should recycle to your heart's content, and go to protests, and put bumper stickers that say "War Is Not the Answer" (really? doesn't that depend on the question?) on your hybrid cars, and I will support and applaud you. But don't call yourself a church. That's all I'm saying: you're not a church. Churches are communities bound by common belief and a common Savior, redeemed from our common sin and called to live uncommon lives. We don't always like each other, but we're tethered to each other, so we stick it out, bearing one another's burdens, encouraging and holding each other accountable, sometimes disciplining (I know, Unitarians! Disciplining! It's CRAZY out there!), sometimes edifying, celebrating and grieving together.

A common belief in recycling and the Democratic Party does not a church make (though, church folk, we should recycle more and give the Dems another look, just so we're clear on that). So don't call yourself a church. You can be a club! Or a convening! You can get matching hats! I'm with you, Unitarians, I would totally support all of that!

But if you can't say "I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting," then church maybe isn't the best description of what you are. Give it some thought.

Back by popular demand

Sorry I've been so slack on the posting, guys, I promise to be better.

So let's play a game called "What Have the Egyptians Invented?" Here's the short answer: everything! At least according to Tariq, who is our guide on our Thursday field trips, which so far have included the pyramids at Saccara and Giza, the Sphinx, Coptic churches, some mosques, and medieval Cairo. And at every stop, Tariq informs us that Egypt was the innovator or leader in some great cultural advancement we all take for granted. Example:

"Do you see these steps leading up to the platform of the pyramid? They are the first steps in the world. Egypt invented stairs."

"These arches hold up the building. Egyptians invented arches." And so on.

My friend Steel and I got a little tired of it after a while. I mean, we get it, you were a great and magical country, although now you survive only because of American foreign aid, but you did not invent everything in the whole world. So now on field trips Steel and I riff on Tariq, like this:

Tariq: "The way they preserved the internal organs of mummies was the first..."
Steel: "Egyptians invented modern medicine."
Me: "Egyptians invented *death*, Steel. And possibly resurrection."

Tariq: "These lamps are the very finest in the world."
Steel: "Egypt invented lamps."
Me: "Egypt actually invented light. And the sun."

Tariq: "This hieroglyph is the first piece of art to depict children as they actually are, with rounded bodies and softer features."
Me: "Egyptians invented modern art."
Steel: "Egyptians invented *all* art, Shannon. Just make it easy on yourself. ALL art."

So on the last field trip, we are standing in a circle around an arched ceiling in some mosque, and Tariq is going on about the workmanship and the innovative architecture, and he says "Egypt invented the squinch," which is apparently some architectural thing but I believe also a Dr. Seuss character. And I start looking around for Steel, who is on the other side of the room, and he catches my eye, and he is smirking. "The squinch," he mouths, and points to the ceiling with mock awe. And I just lose it--at exactly the time Tariq decides to turn his full attention to me (I am standing near him) and act as if he is giving a lecture for one. So I stand trying to look properly interested and respectful, but my laughter is hovering between my face and mouth, and I am SO BAD at hiding what I am thinking, and it does not help that Steel and Michael, who have watched this whole exchange but are standing across the room far from Tariq, have turned their backs to the group and are laughing so hard I can see their shoulders shaking. I finally step back behind someone and shriek with silent laughter. Later on Steel says "That was the worst imitation of someone trying not to laugh I have ever seen. You actually have *no* ability to hide what you are thinking!" I was like, Steel, you are only one in a long line of people to have discovered and mocked this in me.

My other adventure in the mosque occurred when I noticed people sleeping there--because apparently, if it's not prayer time, it's OK to duck into your local mosque and take a nap. I point this out to Steel, and immediately his eyes gleam. "Go lie down next to one of them and I'll take your picture," he says. "It would be the best picture EVER." Absolutely not, say I, but I am already thinking that it actually would be an awesome picture. But there are other people around, including the mullahs, and I'm pretty sure this would be seen as inappropriate. But Steel and Michael are tag-teaming now. "Best. Picture. EVER," says Michael, and Steel chimes in, "I'll pay you 100 pounds. Please do it, you'll hate yourself if you don't." And I say, guys, if this guy wakes up while we're doing this, I'm pretty sure he has to either kill me or marry me.

Steel: "I feel like if he married you, *you* would kill *him.*
Michael: "One of you is definitely not coming out of this alive, but smart money is on you."
Steel: "Because you persevere."

And so on. In the end I stood firm, but then I regretted it all day. So next time we go to a mosque we're totally on for it. We're just going to make sure that as soon as the photo is taken, we make tracks out the door and back to the hotel. And it will be the picture that goes on the Christmas cards.

Why Am I 30 and Taking Quizzes?

I have three Arabic teachers, and my favorite one is Nancy. Seriously, if I could shrink her down and make a pocket Nancy, I would. She's the most exuberant, affectionate person ever, and we compare notes on kids because she asks me every day, "How is your walad (little boy)?" and so we chat. And she pats my face and strokes my hair because Middle Easterners seem to be just a little more tactile than we are. They also get right in your face when you talk, but that's another post.

Here's the thing: she's a fantastic teacher, we're learning tons, we're perking along in our class being all productive and go-team-go, and then she feels pressure from another teacher who gives her class daily quizzes, which they DREAD, because no one is 12 anymore. So yesterday Nancy announces we may have a quiz today. Except here's how she announces it:

"I think tomorrow maybe we have a quiz. Maybe I give you the Arabic and you give me the English, maybe I give you the English and you give me the Arabic. Maybe it is matching. Maybe it is finish the sentence. Maybe I divide you into teams and we keep score. Maybe you make a play or a song. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week..." At this point I'm like, maybe we fight in the caged ball at the Thunderdome! I mean seriously, what the hell?!?! How do you even prepare for that? So we said Nancy, what might be on this quiz-that-may-or-may-not-happen-tomorrow-or-at-some-point-in-the-indefinite-future? And she named off...everything we've covered in the last three weeks of being in class for four hours a day.

So today was in fact a quiz. And there was English-to-Arabic, and Arabic-to-English, and matching, and fill in the blank--it was a veritable smorgasbord of quiz options. And I only missed one! But still on the evaluation forms I filled out today, I wrote, "No quizzes, Nancy. Quizzes are not for grown-ups. Let Yvonne torture Class A if she so chooses." So we'll hope for the best.

Meanwhile you'll be glad to know I can say "My father works at the United Nations" in Arabic...because that's a phrase I'm sure to have ample use for.

Guitars and Overheads in Egypt: No Escaping the Evangelicals

Last night I went to church for the first time since I've been here. It appeared to be a nondenominational community church; my Arabic teacher, who I went with, just kept saying "It's Protestant, it's Protestant," and I couldn't get her to be any more specific than that. Maybe they don't have as many flavors of Protestant here as they do at home.

So we walked in and were immediately greeted with--wait for it--a worship team led by a guy on guitar with the words on the overhead projector! People, I was so at home. It's like the evangelical version of the Mass or Communion: wherever you are in the evangelical world, you're home, because they too will have guitars and overheads.

There was a section where we sat that was labeled "For Foreigners," which I'm going to assume sounds more inviting in the original Arabic, but it was because those pews had headphones where you could listen to an English translation. It felt like sitting at the U.N., so I chose to eschew the headphones and trust in my ability to follow the basic arc of a worship service. Since I've been to a few in my life, you know.

What I found was that not understanding most of what was going on was actually refreshing, because I felt like it bypassed my rational mind and just went straight to my spirit like a healing balm. I just wanted to be in church. I have finally made peace with the fact that no matter how far afield I am tempted to wander, Jesus has caught ahold of me and is not letting go.

When you are not absorbed in understanding every word, you can hear the brokenness and desire in people's voices when they pray. You can hear the passion when they sing. There was one song where I understood exactly three words: walidi (my father), kul boum(every day), and alleluia, which apparently translates the same way in every language. Alleluia, my Father, every day. It's pretty much all you need to know.

I looked around that church at these brown-skinned people singing in a language that is so close to the one Jesus actually spoke when the Word was made flesh, in this land where He fled to safety as a child and where so many of our spiritual forebears--Abraham and Sarah, Moses, Joseph--have sojourned, and was so struck by the reality that of all the places to go and people to be born into, He chose the poor, the dispossessed, the marginalized, those in turmoil, those who are seen as "other" by the people around them--and He chooses them still, and your best chance of seeing Jesus is to do like Zaccheus did--fight your way into the midst of those people and find a perch. I can meditate on that forever and give intellectual assent to that truth but sometimes I just need to sit and experience it happening around me, and last night I got to.

Alleluia, my Father, every day.

I went to Luxor this weekend, in southern Egypt, with several friends, because there are a ton of pharaonic ruins here, including the Valleyof the Kings. And yeah, the temples and tombs were great, but here's the best part.

We climbed up a mountain to get a better look at some ruins, and I looked out on some kids below us who were playing soccer barefoot onthis rocky field. "I want to play!" I squealed, and promptly bailed on the ruins to join the game. There were 10 of us, all the rest of them Egyptian boys between about 11 and 15.

In pickup games, you don't ask to join, you just jump in. I jumped in. An older boy took command: "One, two, three, four, five," he counted, naming off teams. "Wahid, etneen, talata, arbaah, khamza," I returned in Arabic, and earned a grin, and we were off. Now I am not a brilliant player, friends, but I know how to exploit an opponent's weakness, which is that when I walk on the field, and I am smaller than everyone but the youngest kids, and a girl, and an American, I know they have no expectations. If I can make a few strong moves before they decide I'm worth marking up on, maybe score a goal or make an assist, I've made an impact on the game.

I played for about 45 minutes, in the heat of the day. At the end, Iwas slick with sweat, my hair had fallen out of my ponytail and wassticking to my neck, my face was that dark red color that used toalarm Mom when I played as a kid; my feet were cracked and bleeding from playing barefoot on rocks and I was covered in dust and I had a scrape all the way down my elbow from getting knocked down just as I made a sweet cross to center (I tucked and rolled to my feet like Ilearned as a kid, Daddy). And I had scored twice and had one assist. When I left, they called out, "Good soccer, madam, good soccer!""Good soccer, shebab (young ones)!" I called back. "Masr kwaiis!"(Egypt is great!") They cheered in return, "Amrika kwaiis! Welcome to Masr!"

Sometimes you get a moment of pure grace. I got 45 of them today. We cheered when we did well, we cracked on each other when someone juked or got juked, and we high-fived after goals. Pure love of this game that we have all played since we were knee-high to the ball was more important than where we came from or what language we spoke. It is one of the things I love best about sport: the team, the community, is more important than the differences between its members. These kids have probably heard some things said about women and about Americans that I would find deplorable, and when I am honest, I have ideas about Middle Eastern teens that I'm not proud of. But today, we were just teammates. I laughed when I set up the youngest kid for a goal and he jumped into my arms, I almost got teary when I scored and one of the older kids on the other team nodded with respect and said "Nice soccer, madam, good soccer," and for a minute we were all better than we usually are. As the old lady said during the Montgomery bus boycott, "My feets is tired, but my soul is at rest."

Frederich Buechner, by way of my friend Linc Ashby, says the gospel should make you laugh, make you cry, and make you believe impossible things, like a fairy tale. Today I saw the gospel on a dusty soccer field in Egypt. And friends, it really is good news.

I am not a sentimentalist who believes these moments are all it takes to create global peace and affirm the humanity of all mankind. I just believe in naming things when we see them; and we spend so much time naming the bad. We must remember also to name the good and true and holy, the perfect moments, the moments of grace, to celebrate and commemorate when we catch a glimpse of the way things should be.

To those of you who are my compatriots, happy Independence Day as we celebrate 230 years of fumbling and striving for liberty. For my friend who has just celebrated a landmark in his own country's liberation movement in June, blessings as we all seek a more just and honest world. And to all of us who are citizens of the Kingdom of God, as Paul writes, and know our allegiance is not to a country but to a King and a Kingdom of peace and justice, may we all continue to live into the grace and liberty of God. Grace grows in unlikely places if we have eyes to see it.

Thoughts After A Week in Cairo

1) It is one of the great ironies of life that Africa produces some of the best coffee in the world, and then everyone drinks Nescafe instant coffee. I have drunk more Nescafe in the past six weeks than ever in life. Where is the Ethiopian blend that Starbucks sells? Oh, right--it's at STARBUCKS, in the U.S. And here there is only Nescafe. I think that could come up on Judgment Day, guys.

One of the guys in my group was complaining about it, because it gets served at every mid-morning break, and I explained that you can't think of it as coffee, it will throw you off completely; you have to think of it as a drink unto itself. "Awesome, Nescafe!" I find that it's much more palatable that way. And honestly, if you put enough cream and sugar in anything, it will taste OK. Much like you can't taste the nail-polish-remover vibe of Egyptian vodka if you mix it with enough mango juice.

2) Bakshish. Bakshish means tipping, and EVERYONE gets bakshish. The culture of bakshish is what makes Egyptian life go round. You bakshish the guy who cleans the room, the guy who picks up the laundry, the guy who brings back the laundry, the guy who gives you directions on the street, the guy who walks you to your destination because you didn't bakshish him when he just gave oral directions, ad infinitum. I think the first gesture little kids learn here is the upward-turned palm: "Bakshish?" Sometimes we are just the Ugly Americans who refuse to bakshish, like on our field trip yesterday when this woman was standing at the door of the bathroom so she could push the button on the automatic hand dryer for you. We were all like, united we stand guys, there is no bakshish for that.

3) Insh'allah. It punctuates every sentence, because an Egyptian will never tell you he is going to do something without adding "Insh'allah" at the end--"if God wills it." So my friend Michael and I throw Insh'allah into every conversation now, whether it makes sense or not, and I may not be able to break the habit when I get home. "I wonder if it's used for puntuation, like Americans use 'like,'" I speculated one day, and Michael immediately launched into a whole riff on it: "And she was, insh'allah, 'Why you can't answer your phone?' and he was, insh'allah, 'Bitch please,' and she was insh'allah 'Oh hell no.' Insh'allah." Today Michael and I are going to sneak into the Hyatt to go swimming. Insh'allah.

First Day of School!

I started Arabic classes today. It's an incredibly hard language, and I don't want to be presumptuous, but I might be good at it, people. The conversational teacher thinks so. She appreciates that I am willing to make mistakes in oral conversation, which has really always distinguished me as a language learner: my ability to make mistakes. But I have learned to say "I am not Egyptian" in Arabic. In case anyone thought I was trying to pass.

And so the second phrase I'd like to learn is "Back the f**k off" which until now I've had to use in English, and I feel it would be so much more effective to communicate with people in their native tongue. Because we are DAWs (see post below), some people were trying to get a little handsy in the bazaar yesterday. I ignored it when it was just people stroking my hair and even when someone grabbed my thigh, mostly because I couldn't see who it was, but when someone pinched me from behind, I said "F**K OFF" very loudly. (The asterisks are for my dad, folks, he likes to believe I don't use words like this and I like to humor him.) And it seemed to do the trick.

Egypt was partially redeemed, though, when we took a boat ride on the Nile and ate mangoes and apricots. I have to say I geeked out a little. Everyone thought it was cool, because it's the Nile, but they'd have thought the Amazon was just as cool, whereas I was like "This is where the baby Moses drifted! This was all blood once! Those reeds could have been where Miriam hid to watch him!" Yeah, I Bible-geeked on these poor people, who basically humor me without really knowing what I'm going on about. Except for one guy who is doing his grad work at Baylor and also grew up Southern Baptist and between the two of us we can name all the books of the Bible, the 10 plagues of Egypt (that one was all me--we were stuck until I remembered boils), the Old Testament kings, and we were both sword drill champs as kids. I don't think I need to tell you we've really established ourselves as the cool kids in this set.

Cairo is wild and chaotic and energetic, it sounds like a block party every night, with horns honking and people yelling and music playing, and it's great. I can't get over how different it is from my travel in South Africa, though--we are not encouraged to mix with locals, we have a security guard with us at all times, they won't let us out of the building where we study during our lunch break--in fact they won't even let us linger on the stoop--and we have to let someone know where we are at all times. We are the State Department's delicate desert flowers, apparently, but I'm sure my parents aren't the only ones breathing a sigh of relief.

Oh, and our Fourth of July celebration is--wait for it--at the British International School! Could it be any more perfect that Independence Day is being celebrated with the Brits?! Apparently the American Embassy is being reupholstered or something, there's some reason it's not there this year, so the Brits kindly offered their facility. We're going because we're fiercely patriotic and, you know, free booze.