 Unitarian
Universalist explores her shifting beliefs
By the Rev. Meg Barnhouse
“Some folks are alarmed about Unitarian Universalism. Sometimes
it's because they don't understand it. Sometimes it's because they
DO understand it.”
This summer I'm starting a book on the religion I grew up in. I'm
trying to make sense of the things I was taught, and I'm trying
to figure out why I feel so mad about it sometimes.
No one in the church hit me. No one yelled. They were all earnest
and concerned, educated and caring. I know some people have wonderful
experiences with their churches in childhood, and some have awful
ones. Neither one of those is my story.
I'm trying to remember what it was like for me. I want to ask people
in my family what it was like for them. I didn't think it would
be easy or fun, necessarily, but I did think it might be interesting
to reminisce about what our childhoods were like, what we were taught,
what was valued, what the rules were, what happened when we broke
the rules, how it felt when we kept them.
I still think it will be interesting and fun for some of us, but
what happened a couple of years ago has stopped me in my tracks.
At a family reunion, I was standing in the yard catching up with
one of my closest cousins. She asked about my writing, and I told
her a publisher had asked me to think about writing a book on how
I got from being raised and trained in conservative Protestant Christianity
to being a Unitarian Universalist minister.
"I'm going to have to interview you and your sister,"
I told her, chuckling. Her mother is the family matriarch, Dorothea,
the one we all look to to tell us the rules. So we can rebel. "In
fact," I joked carelessly, "the book will really be mostly
about your mother."
Not 10 minutes later, my 70-something uncle, Dorothea's younger
brother, came up beside me and said, "Margaret Annie, (that's
what they call me) I would like to talk to you about something.
Come on out here behind the house."
We walked away from the small groups of aunts and cousins under
the trees, watching the chaps (that's what we call little children)
have a water fight with big shooters an uncle brought.
We stood by a butterfly bush in the back with only one curious
horse as an audience. She leaned over the fence to listen, flicking
her ears.
My uncle started with his finger in my face. There aren't too many
people in this world that will still shake a finger in my face,
but I let him do it without any instruction or injury. I was raised
to respect my elders. Plus, I love him.
"You will not write anything that will embarrass this family,"
he started. "I know I can't tell you what to write, but this
family has stood by you. When everyone else wanted to turn his or
her backs on you (this was news to me) my sister stood up for you.
I have researched every religion, including this -- this -- Unitarian
Universalism, and I can tell you that there is nothing better than
Reformed Presbyterian Christianity."
"I'm glad, Uncle Norman," I said. "That's a good
way to feel about your church."
I spent the next 20 minutes while he lectured trying to figure
out how he had found out so fast about this book project, and asking
myself what he was so worried about.
Some folks are alarmed about Unitarian Universalism. Sometimes
it's because they don't understand it. Sometimes it's because they
DO understand it.
It's a movement that started in the 1500s in Central Europe and
traveled to the United States through England and Scotland. It began
to flourish in New England in the 1800s and traveled to the Southeast
in the 1950s. The Spartanburg UU Church will have its 50th anniversary
this winter.
We don't have a creed; in that way we are similar to the Quakers.
Historically, Unitarians believe in the oneness of God rather than
in the Trinity; in that way we are similar to the Jews. The "Universalist"
part of our name refers to our belief that a loving God would not
send anyone to hell for eternity, that there is universal salvation
for everyone.
Maybe if Uncle Norman really understood my religion, he would feel
better about me. Maybe not. There is something in his response that
holds part of the key to why I left. I'm not sure how to name it
yet, but I'm getting there. I'm not going to let fear stop me.
The Rev. Meg Barnhouse is minister at the Unitarian Universalist
Church of Spartanburg. She can be reached at DearMegB@aol.com.
This column appeared in the Spartanburg Herald-Journal, July 26,
2003, and is reprinted with the permission of Meg Barnhouse.
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