About 17 years ago when I was first pregnant, expecting our first child, even though I knew on an intellectual level that it was naive, I could not help but think of my coming child as a little ball of clay, that I would be responsible for shaping.

As any parent soon learns, it's much more complicated than that. For one thing, there are at least two balls of clay. And as I would seek to shape and mold, I would in fact, be changed and reshaped myself. Therein lies the beauty and the power of relationships.

Keep this in mind, as we consider today the shaping of a Unitarian Universalist philosophy of religious education. Keep in mind that as we teach, we learn; as we seek to make changes, we are changed; and as we strive to shape our world, we shape ourselves.

I'll start with the disclaimers. First of all, I'm no authority, I'm just a mom who's been involved in religious education for 14 years. I have often thought that good credentials for this job would have included a degree in teaching, as well as degrees in philosophy and religion, not to mention child psychology. But I have none of these; I'm just a mom, a contemplative mom.

Secondly, with regard to the term religious education -- a couple of years ago the Religious Education Committee considered changing our name. The term, religious education didn't seem to us to be an accurate description of what we strive to provide. To us, religious education seemed to imply something more akin to school than church; that we held a set body of knowledge that we are charged to gradually impart to children. That is not how we view our role. We almost changed our name to religious growth and learning. We would be the RGL committee instead of the RE committee. RGL, Religious Growth and Learning. It occurred to me that I'd heard the term before. That's what another church calls their program. I thought, "Great, we'll join them in starting a trend." So I called the DRE there to inquire about her view on the name. She hates it. It gets in the way. She has to explain what it means to everyone she meets. She agrees that religious growth and learning is more accurate, but at least everyone across all denominations and religions has a general idea of what is meant by the term religious education. So we changed our minds instead of our name and stuck with religious education.

We did, however, form a mission statement. So, wherever we put our name, religious education, we placed our mission statement, with the hope that, people would understand what we're really trying to do.

Our mission is to encourage the learning and living of our Unitarian Universalist Principles. We strive to provide a spiritual, accepting, and caring environment where we explore religious ideas together.

That's what we're all about. Now, how do we do it?

Well, we do have goals. Right now, we're in the process of revising them, doing some fine-tuning, reshaping. This brings us to another disclaimer, an important one I think, especially for parents with children in religious education.

If you, as a parent, are a Humanist, and your goal is to raise your child as a Unitarian Universalist Humanist, I am here to tell you, you're in the wrong place.

If you are a Christian, and your goal is to raise your child as a Unitarian Universalist Christian, you're in the wrong place.

If you are a Buddhist and your goal, as a parent, is to raise your child as a Unitarian Universalist Buddhist, this is not the place.

If your goal, as a parent, is to raise your child to mirror your own beliefs, this is not the place.

If your goal is to be a loving and accepting companion to your children as they journey on their own quest for religious meaning, this is the place and that is also our goal as I hope our mission accurately reflects.

Another disclaimer -- we have some control over what we teach; we have little control over what is learned. I recall somewhat torturous evenings of confirmation classes in the Lutheran church of my youth. We memorized the whole catechism and the accompanying explanations, reciting it at a nerve-wracking confirmation in front of our families and church members. I remember very little of that catechism. The thing I do remember is our minister making the point during one particular class time that our faith should be able to stand up to questioning, that we should question, that we should hold our faith in our hands, examine it closely, contemplate it, know it thoroughly. As a youth striving to be a good Christian but having difficulty making sense of the theology, that made a great deal of sense to me. That, out of all my confirmation classes and out of everything our minister told us, is the golden nugget of learning I held onto, eventually becoming a Unitarian Universalist.

Remember also that you and I and all other designated teachers are not the only teachers of your children, nor does religious education happen only on Sunday mornings. I may be teaching love and tolerance on Sunday morning. On the way home perhaps I become irate with another driver. What am I teaching then? What are my children learning? What do their peers teach? What does TV teach? What do they learn from their interaction with their world? For that is the larger classroom of religious education, the classroom of life. Sunday morning just offers a spin, a suggested perspective. If it is any comfort, keep in mind that our children may have many teachers, but we as parents have the greatest influence, although it may not always seem so. Our religious perspective begins not with our answers, but with our questions. From what I have observed, there is usually one over-riding question that takes precedence over all others.

Occasionally, I tune in to listen to the black/white moralist "Dr. Laura." Sooner or later, her primary, overriding question, from which she views all other religious questions is stated, "From whence comes moral authority?" Her answer, of course, is God. But more telling than her answer is her question. She has indicated that before rediscovering her Jewish faith and God, she was morally lost, in great need of moral guidance. The question reflects that need. Is not all religion formed from the wellspring of need?

My husband has a Mennonite friend whom he greatly admires. This friend has used his resources of time, money, intelligence, and energy to go where he sees a need, to make a very real difference in the lives of people living in Third World countries. His mission is an important part of his religious faith (and as my husband points out, he's single, with no children, which makes it easier). My husband once asked his friend how a man with his intelligence and education reconciles the discrepancies of logic in his faith? His friend replied that he didn't really know; he recognizes those discrepancies, but he takes the leap of faith because, for him, it works.

What works? Who's to say that's not a valid religious question? Especially in light of the very good works of this very dedicated, very religious man.

I think for most Unitarian Universalists, including myself, our primary, overriding religious question, from whence we view all others, is "What is true?"

We well consider all kinds of answers to all kinds of religious questions, but in the end we ask, "But is it true?" It is a question I cannot keep myself from asking. I am not capable of looking at religion from any other position. All my religious beliefs must be compatible with what I know of truth and reason.

If there is philosophical controversy in a UU church, (and I would expect there to be philosophical controversy, at times in a church of differing philosophies) I would expect the controversy to center around the issue of truth.

As I see it, there are three types of truth: objective, metaphorical, and moral. Objective truth is the most black and white, best judged by the standards of science, observation, and reason. Metaphorical is obviously more fuzzy, but nevertheless important. Moral truth starts with certain simple and well accepted axioms -- such as the golden rule, "be kind," and "share" and builds from there -- becoming less clear and more controversial the further we branch out from the basics.

Religion encompasses all three of these kinds of truth.

The ironic thing is that when we confuse these three types of truth, (which seems prone to happen in religion) they are no longer true. This is what I call the error of fundamentalism. For instance, the Bible may be good fodder for the exploration of metaphorical and moral truths. It is obviously not a reliable source for objective truth. (And by the way, I applaud those in our denomination and in this church who have taken an active stand in our schools to point out this error for the sake of our children who have a right to "truth.") We can all think of examples of Christian fundamentalism, but keep in mind, that there is also Islamic fundamentalism, New Age fundamentalism, and I'm sure, many others.

As we plan and fulfill our religious education programming, we strive, as best we can, to be true to these types of truth. Because of our open-mindedness, our willingness to consider new or different views, Unitarian Universalism will always be a religion of change. There will always be a "sorting out" of new ideas or perspectives. This "sorting," this trying to figure out what lies in the area of truth, what is not true, and what might be true should occur mainly in adult forums. The role of religious education for children should be more conserving; we should not to be in a rush to try on everything new.

What about God? No religious journey would be complete without considering the question of God or divinity. I consider the topic to be a cornerstone of our religious education programming. I would never say to a child, and I strongly urge all parents, no matter what the nature of their own beliefs, to never ever say to a child that "there is no god." Such a statement may unwittingly deny the child an important path in his/her religious journey. It has been my observation that often when a child, for whatever reason, decides that there is no God, a door closes. He/she is no longer interested in hearing any stories about God, or in uncovering any other truths that might be found in such stories. It is a puzzling phenomenon, because these same children would have no problem regarding stories with goblins or wizards or any other characters of very dubious existence.

Besides, such a statement as "There is no God" has a very fundamentalist quality. It assigns a black/white, objective answer to a question that may have much more meaning in a metaphorical context. Perhaps a better question than "Is there a god?" would be "Is there an image of god that is meaningful?"

I care very little if children grow up to believe in God or not. All I ask is that they take the journey and explore the ideals and images brought out in all kinds of stories about God. As Unitarian Universalists, we are not limited to Judeo-Christian images of God. We take on a much broader view; our text is not limited to the Bible.

Much more important to me than whether children grow up to believe in a god is whether they grow up with compassion in their hearts. Belief in God is not required for that. This I know. Many children have grown up to be very compassionate adults unaccompanied by a belief in God.

I have probably told this little story too many times, but it is so fitting. For the benefit of those of you who may not have heard it:

There were three children sitting in the grass. One, possibly a Catholic, says, "I'm going to be good, because I sure would like to go to heaven."

Another, possibly a Baptist, says, "I'm going to be good, because I sure don't want to go to hell."

The third child says, "I'm Unitarian; I guess we're just good for nothing."

I truly believe that the promise of heaven and the threat of hell are not necessary to raising moral children.

On the other hand, I grew up knowing that "God loved me."

My children are growing up not knowing that God loves them. I do not tell them that there is no God, but neither do I mention that there is. So far, it doesn't seem to be a problem. But then, they have yet to face great adversity. What have I denied them?? Faith??

I don't honestly know. I try to let them know that their parents love them to pieces, and I earnestly hope that's enough to help sustain them through life's hardships, but is it?

I do believe in the village philosophy of child raising. We specifically moved back here to Nebraska to be near our parents when we started having children. I figured the more people around to love and accept them, well, it's just got to be good for them. I see the church as a kind of "village" of love and acceptance. I've been trying to be more cognizant of that role. Even when children aren't behaving or doing what I want them to do, my role is also to love and accept, unconditionally. I've been trying to remind myself that whenever I need to reprimand them (and children do need reprimanding at times) I should also make a point later, in some small way - a pat on the back, a smile of acceptance, getting their input - to try to communicate love and acceptance.

Is the love of family, friends, church, community enough to replace God's love?? Or is that God's love??

Every year, our religious education committee states that it is our goal to instill spirituality into our program. Mind you, like this flame, the concept of spirituality is hard to grasp. We're not always sure what it looks like, what it feels like. We just know we want more of it. Trouble is, in a UU church, you always have to stop and define it, making sure the usage does not run afoul of the all important concept of TRUTH. The trouble some people have with spirituality is, that they associate it with something that is irrational. I also have no use for the irrational. There's enough irrationality in our world; we don't need to encourage the influx of anymore.

The only brand of spirituality I have use for is not the irrational kind, but rather the non-rational, the kind that is completely compatible with that which is rational. The kind that complements reason and doesn't defy it.

The concept of spirituality that is meaningful to me is that of connection - a sense of connection to each other, or to nature, to the inner self, or to what some may term as God. As time goes on, I am more and more convinced of the usefulness of this definition.

Besides a mom, off and on I've been a nurse for about 25 years. I keep going in and out of the profession, mostly on a part-time basis, usually on a surgical floor, although presently I work in a nursing home. I've cared for all kinds of people. Some I will never forget. Quite a few years ago, there was a man admitted for minor surgery. In a report, I was told he had a severe "personality disorder" of some sort. He was extremely obsessive-compulsive, a component of this "personality disorder." He refused all medications other than pain killers. I quickly gathered that he was a challenge for everyone involved in his care.

So I went into his room somewhat forewarned. After only about ten minutes with this man, I felt a very gut reaction to this person. I thought, "My god, this is not a human being." Now, please don't judge me prematurely or harshly. It was just a gut reaction without the benefit of thought; one I had never had before about anyone else, no matter what the circumstance, no matter the level of ability, or consciousness. Here before me was someone completely conscious, alert, oriented, and intelligent; but it was immensely clear within a very short time that he was completely incapable of any kind of relationship. He was so focused on every minute aspect of his physical presence that he could not relate to anyone or anything else. If you went into his room and said, "Hi! How are you doing today?" he would immediately tell you in very precise detail exactly what he needed down to the most minute detail. It might take about an hour to accomplish it all just so. And once everything was done, you would be dismissed, and you would be glad to take your leave. He had no concern for anyone else at all, nor was he religious in any way. There was no sense of connection to anything. He did not enjoy music or reading, or unnecessary conversation. There was absolutely no sense of anything that might possibly be considered spiritual, the part that makes us seem human.

It was not as though I was in the presence of evil, some sort of monster, or something unreal in any way. I have never met anyone else like that and do not know the cause of this person's particular affliction. One wonders if it is all biochemical in nature, or the result of abuse, or both. I do not mean that if a person does not feel "spiritual" or have any use for the word, that he/she is somehow less human. (By my own definition, anyone who has a caring thought for another has a spiritual side.) All I'm saying is that "connection," whether we view it as related to spirituality or not, is very important to our existence.

After my experience with this person, it occurred to me - "That was hell, wasn't it?" By one definition - a complete and total disassociation from anything that might possibly be considered "God" in any sense of the word, metaphorically or otherwise. Not a torturous, fiery existence, just a void, a great big complete emptiness.

So, if complete disassociation from any possible concept of God is hell, what's heaven? A sense of Oneness with the Universe?? Is that even feasible??

I don't know. Just a thought. I'm still working on that one.

Which brings me to the final disclaimer -- such an important one that we put it in fine print at the bottom of our list of goals and objectives: Religious Education is an ongoing, life-long process that is not limited to the confines of a church.

In other words, we're never done. We never graduate. In this classroom of life, religious education (or religious growth and learning if you will) begins when a baby takes his very first breaths, cradled in loving, caring arms. It does not end until the very last beat of the heart, until the very last breath is drawn. Our life journey is our religious journey.

And to all of you, my very fine traveling companions, I am most grateful. Like many young parents, I came to this church some 14 or so years ago looking for "something" for the kids. What, I wasn't exactly sure. What I didn't count on finding is myself. Not all at once, but slowly, just a little here and there; the process never ends. Funny, but it's hard to find yourself all by yourself. We need each other.