First, let me state clearly that I believe we are a religion, or at least a way of religion within the Judeo-Christian tradition. At the district meeting this past week, one of our ministers even called us a world religion, meaning that we strive to be a religion that includes and respects all searches for human meaning within all the various religious expressions – we don't make you choose a path, but ask you to consider wisdom from all sources. We do not choose Christianity over Islam, nor Islam over Hinduism – so we might be described as a world religion, one that encompasses or includes the world.

I would like us to think about who we are this morning from two perspectives: the fist is theological and the second, which I will get to later, is basically a look at how we do religion from a psychological viewpoint.
I was at a meeting of the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice earlier this month. This is a coalition of liberal and mainstream Christians and Jews who are pro-choice. Despite the media perceptions, most mainline Protestants are pro-choice, at least officially, – Presbyterians, Methodists, the United Church of Christ, Lutherans, Episcopalians, American Baptists, and, of course, us. An Episcopalian leader had offered us a challenge, saying that he believed our theology in favor of the pro-choice position was more relational than scriptural, and he wants a more scriptural – Biblically based – theology for choice. I personally paused for a long time over this challenge, not only because one might ask which scripture is he talking about, the Jewish or the Christian, but because he is probably right – the position for pro-choice is more relational than scriptural. And then, I realized, that as a Unitarian Universalist, that, of course, our religion is simply more relational than scriptural, especially the way we think today. We do not, by and large, recognize the Bible, in any of its scriptural versions, as authoritative for what we believe. It is only one source.

We believe instead, by and large, whether humanist or liberal Christian or Jewish or Buddhist, that what matters is how we live upon this earth – how we treat one another, what we do for one another, how we live in our world – this is a relational theology and we are a relational religion. Our only real community sacrament, I often say, is our covenant of relationship and association with each other, the act of simply joining one of our congregations and declaring your individual desire to walk with us together down this particular religious road in this particular religious community – this is a sacrament or covenant of relationship – and this covenant is what keeps us a religious community, instead of simply a good group of friends of like minds.

We might think that we are quite clever for having this kind of theology, a theology removed from The Book and scriptural authority, but I think, then, that we don't understand from whence we came, our own history and from where the idea for a covenant of relationship began. Our roots are in the Minor Church of Poland of the 16th Century, as described in the reading this morning, a pacifist community so focused upon living out the Sermon on the Mount that they were seen as malcontents and dangerous by the king, who expected allegiance from his subjects. And these Polish brethren were eventually banished in 1658. And our roots are with Michael Servetus, who died in Calvin's Geneva, burned at the stake, also for arguing against the orthodox faith of God as three – Jesus, the son; god, the father; and the Holy Ghost – instead of god as one. (Calvin caught a lot of flack from his fellow new Protestants who didn't want to be like the Catholics, burning people at the stake for their beliefs in Inquisitions.)

Jesus, to these, our religious forebears, was a human prophet whose message was how to live life upon this earth, how to be relational, how to treat one another, love one another, even our enemies, and how to be in relationship with god. They heatedly disagreed that Jesus ever meant to establish a religion that required everyone to believe upon him to achieve salvation, or risk the fires of damnation. These people, who were condemned by the orthodox Christians of their time, just as many of them would be still today, fervently believed in a deep ethic of relationship, that what matters is how we treat one another, that we love one another and that we are responsible for our failings.

In more modern times, the Transcendentalists in this country, by and large Unitarians, also argued for a relational theology, one in which god was in nature, and we could be in relationship to god through nature, which includes us human beings, the idea that god resides within each of us. Ralph Waldo Emerson, in particular, rejected the idea of communion, something he saw as unnatural, celebrating the divinity and sacrifice of Christ, through the eating of wine and bread, symbolically blood and body. Emerson believed the custom barbaric and dis-consonant with Jesus' teachings. Our roots are with people who would die to say that Jesus' message was relational, that we were to live the life of the Sermon on the Mount, with blessings and benedictions and work for the poor and the downtrodden, for those who thirsted for righteousness, for those who thirsted for peace.

This is, I believe, the discussion of our history, a part of the great human search for truth. Unitarian Universalists are about the search for religious truth, deep truth that would be a universal truth for all humanity. Within our foundational texts, which are the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, are many, many stories, like the one of Daniel in the Lion's Den, a son of peace, able to lie down with the lion and keep the truth of peace within himself. I would argue that the stories of the Bible, the stories of the prophets and kings; the stories of Jesus, his parables and teachings, are all relational – and that this form of relational theology runs throughout Judaism and Christianity and Islam, with its Koran, which echoes so much of the Bible. A relational theology, in other words, is not a bad theology, and there is, in fact, a historical basis for relational theology in the Bible.

2,000 years of history and religious practice has given us orthodox religion, and during the last fourth of that time, the last 500 years, we have had our liberal, open-minded forefathers and foremothers arguing for a life based upon what is really meant by the stories and teachings, not a life based upon institutional orthodox interpretations. To really live such a life would be harder than simply following the outward coverings and precepts – this has been the argument. Our religion, at its best, respects its religious roots and offers its adherents an opportunity to explore truth, to ask questions, to find their own unique spiritual path, to live a moral and ethical life. Our way of religion, how we look at religion, is beyond the bounds of what is normally circumscribed by Christian Protestant or Catholic, or Jewish religion. We are on our own, although we are within our own communities, we are outside the orthodox rules from which many of us came. Out here, I would say that our religion is relational, rather than scriptural, although our relational way of looking at life, spirit, god and each other, has a foundation in scripture.

This gets me to the second area of this sermon in which I'm trying to describe what kind of religion we are. We are outside the box, and those with whom we have affinity, the Polish Minor Church, Servetus, Emerson, all were outside the box in their times. You might think that being outside the box of orthodox religion is – and maybe it is on some level – simply a rebellion. But I believe our faith is real – it requires deep faith to search for truth and meaning and to stand up for oppressed people in all times, whether our abolitionist ministers and parishioners of the 19th century or our movement today to recognize the human rights of gay, lesbian, transgendered and bi-sexual people.

My thinking for a faith outside the box comes largely from a book called Stages of Faith, written by James W. Fowler, a developmental psychologist and religionist. Fowler bases his ideas about the development of faith upon the theories of psychologists Jean Piaget, Lawrence Kohlberg and Erik Erikson. I'm certainly not asking you to buy this completely, but I think it gives us food for thought, especially about why we seem to do our religion differently. For Fowler there are six stages of faith, and, sense this is developmental psychology, one cannot will oneself to another level, nor can anyone skip a level, nor should one assume that any one level is better than another – it is not a game, or a competition, but a genuine discussion of faith and what we each must learn along our journeys.

Fowler believes that Unitarian Universalism is basically a stage four religion, whereas many religions, as religions, are stage three. I say it this way because within every religion, people are people and they are wherever they are. So that within a so-called level three religion, there are still people like Martin Luther King Jr., Thomas Merton, mystics such as Hildegarde of Bingen, or Mother Teresa all of whom were probably at the highest level, stage six.

A few Sundays ago, when I asked us to consider what god is and to draw pictures, I mentioned that our children, need an imaginative vision of god and need concrete images, things that tell them the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. Little Max Ermisch, who religiously carries a Spider Man glove, drew a picture of god as a "superman" figure, someone scooping up people and
rescuing them. In stage one of faith development, usually between the ages of 4 and 7, children rely upon their parents for authority. They watch, they sense mood changes, they are highly imaginative and they are filled with wonder for their world (when all is right, of course).

In stage two, usually the elementary school ages of 8 to 12, teachers are the authorities. Children at these ages are concrete thinkers – they have trouble imagining the perspectives of those who are different – they have a high level of understanding of what is right and wrong and are very literal. They take what their outside authority figures, their teachers, say as literally true. In stage three, from adolescent-hood through the lives of many adults, there are outside authorities, those who are admired for bringing a consistent vision of the world. Stage three faith seekers long for the approval of this outside authority, be it religion, family or country. They are idealistic, visionary, romantic, vulnerable. This is the box, an umbrella of rules to live by, ways to live, answers to every dilemma, even if it is inconsistent, or hypocritical – do as I say, not as I do, or love everyone, even your enemies, even though racism and prejudice against certain groups may be the norm.

When one mentally or literally leaves home, often young adults off to college, one may enter into stage four, although as Fowler says, faith development is rarely neat, and some people are blends
and remain blends of both stage three and four for all their lives. At stage four, the self is seen as authority, not parents, teachers, religion, god or country. There's a lot of questioning, searching,
doubting, debating, defining, theologizing, boundary building, exploring – if that doesn't describe Unitarian Universalism, I don't know what does.

We are a young adult style religion, in other words, representative of a stage of faith that many people reach in their 20s. And we know from our own experience, that many of us remain in stage four forever, disdainful of our stage three boxes, rebellious, certain of our own convictions, satisfied to understand life on our own terms. That, of course, is what's wrong with Unitarian Universalism, too – this is my take on our some times paralyzing individualism. How can we do anything or accomplish anything or change anything, if every single voice must be heard and every single voice is its own authority? We cannot create another box, as Fowler might say, but must continue along the path of adulthood to the next stage, if we can.
And there are a few signs that we, as a religious movement, may be close to that changing tension now. Stage five is basically mid-life crises and is rarely reached before mid-life. Your self-defined world, in which you knew all the answers or at least where to go, comes tumbling down, and you are confronted with the bitterness of not knowing the answer, of not being self-sufficient, self-controlled; you are confronted by the complexity of life and ethics, the impossibility of sometimes being able to make a right choice. Here, you realize that you must seriously engage the world around you, including those you might of thought of as inferior before, to search for better ways. You are filled with paradox and ambiguity. You suddenly realize that your childhood faith had some good symbols and that these symbols weren't so simple, that they are filled with meaning, depth, paradox, and mystery. Mystery, the unexplainable becomes real. You are not so sure of yourself. You are only part of a creative interchange that might lead to a higher truth, or perhaps more ambiguity.

I think of our Unitarian Universalism work on racism as an entre to this particular level of faith.  Here, for those of us who have begun the journey, we learn that racism is so much deeper than a definition – that even if we are not racist and do not tolerate racist remarks and actions around us, we are still stuck in a racist institution and culture that benefits those of us who are nominally white, educated and, from a class perspective, superior or ahead. Do we sink into ennui or tackle the world, is the question of this level. Do we give up, give in and quit, or do we re-engage from a more nuanced understanding of the failings and shortcomings of our previous faith in ourselves and the universe?

Stage six can be a true martyr phase, where a person is driven by their faith, sees the beauty and perspectives of all peoples in all faiths and stages and promotes a unifying vision that may cause them to be seen as truly revolutionary and scary, such as, for example, Martin Luther King Jr. taking on the Vietnam War, classism and poverty in the midst of the Civil Rights Movement, causing many of his followers to question his dedication to ending racism and his wits. Or perhaps the actions of the recent Catholic nuns who painted the missiles with their blood and were given prison sentences.

So, what kind of religion is this, anyway? We are a religion of relationship. We are concerned with how we treat one another, the covenant of our community, the spoken and unspoken covenants to our families and friends. We want to create a better world – one that respects the inherent dignity and worth of every person, one that gives every person a voice, the democratic process, one that recognizes that we are part of an interdependent web, a relational web, of all existence – all human beings, all living beings, the earth, the cosmos, perhaps spirit or god. We are individual searchers that respect the individual journey, the religious journey outside the confounds of the religious box. We attempt to respect the wisdom of the gathered religions and cultures from all over the world. I am really proud to be a Unitarian Universalist, even if we do get mired in our own individualism and our own searches for truths. We will always be challenged by the concept of genuine tolerance for difference and deeper respect for believers from all faiths, wherever they might be on life's journey.
In this community you should know that your voice will be given a hearing, and that you ultimately will be challenged to hear others and to learn to practice the genuinely open mind, one that can be changed. AMEN