The Soul Goes for Cigarettes

The soul leaves you
more often than death—
several times more often

it leaves you alone—
leaves out of boredom,
leaves out of tedium too,

out of blaring busyness.
It says, “see ya,” and
it does—looks you in

the eye and checks out,
leaving thoughtless,
thoughtless you to ponder

why you’re asleep, why
so tedious to beauty. And
every day you’re lovers

you know there comes
the time you’ll hear, “I’m
only going for cigarettes.”

And you know
you will know
it’s not like that.

The Realm of Hungry Ghosts

(Ferguson, Missouri, August 2014)

The measured response of empire
is death—war against war;
attack against attack; violence
to violence. Murder. Revenge.
Death. The measured response of

empire is insanity. The peace of
empire is reloading the gun. It
is the realm of hungry ghosts,
shiny new helmets in the void.

In this other land, it’s borders
beaten back in endless war,
here everyone is learning to be
human. We have learned here
that hope and certitude have
never met. Never will. Hope
won’t bargain with terrorists.

Everybody here is learning how
to be human. It’s a slow go for
a rainy day. A lull in the killing.

The measured response
of being human first is anger.
Then the defeat of certitude.

In the realm of hungry empire
certitude is a press conference;
peace is reloading the gun.
Being human is the starved thing.

Pick Up the Phone

Stories start with darkness.
Then something moves.

Sometimes it’s sex,
sometimes breath.

Sometimes with clay.
Sometimes rocks.

Often it’s a god.
Voila! There’s us!

Then we are naughty
and things become as

they are, which is kind
of good with bad shot

through, all in a clump
like strands of cotton candy.

Which brings me to today
when I’ve bought the wrong

thing for a birthday. And
not bought a bus ticket.

And forgot who knows what
else. Where are the gods

like that? Stressed, muddled,
plugging away at a switch

board like in old movies? Hello?
Hello? It’s dark. There’s a noise.

But isn’t that another movie?
Some other story altogether?

No one. No story.
Nothing’s there.

The DIY Future of Religion in the US


Keeping the church doors open after the Boomers are dead is the question. I’m not trying to be a controversialist. Like many ministers, I’m betting millions of dollars of other people’s money on a way to keep the church doors open into the future.


A new book by Thomas Moore points to a possible way. In A Religion of One’s Own: A guide to Creating a Personal Spirituality in a Secular World, Moore makes a strong case for do-it-yourself (DIY) religion.

Aren’t Unitarian Universalist congregations uniquely suited to facilitate DIY? Not in the “Lord, whatever” way of anything goes. But places where serious inquiry into psychology, history, theology, and practice can be explored.

We do well to draw a sharp line between the subjectivity of religious experience and the objectivity of a congregational, corporate life together. Where I get my personal religious jolt is up to me—Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism, paganism, pantheism, atheism, all of the above . . . Up to me. DIY. Where I find my meaning is up to me.

Where I go for my religious, corporate, home is up to us.

For those who will be following Moore’s advice on DIY religion, one of the best homes is a Unitarian Universalist congregation . . . If . . . we can awaken to how big the tent must be.

This is the wisdom of the idea of covenant embedded so deeply in Unitarian tradition. “We need not think alike to live alike,” is the sentiment, even if no one famous ever actually said it.

Treating others as we would have them treat us—or, better, treating others as they would wish to be treated—isn’t so easy. The challenge is subjective: how the heck do we know how someone wishes to be treated?

Well, there is that thing called compassion.

In the Unitarian Universalist tradition we say that everyone has “inherent worth and dignity.” I would propose that this is how we treat our neighbor (and fellow congregants): as if that person has inherent worth and dignity. Then, we may go a step further and learn what that worthy and dignified person wants and needs.

But . . . What if I know better? I mean, really—what if I know darn well that I know better than my neighbor what my neighbor needs?

Party Foul! What you or me or anyone knows is always and only our subjectivity. Where you get your religious jolt. How you do your DIY religion.

You don’t know about your neighbor in the pew until you ask.

Furthermore, words matter. For example, for many people the word “family” does not have a warm and fuzzy feel to it. We do well to use care when we call a congregation a family.

And, no, “Amazing Grace” did not “save a wretch like me.” The apparatus that produced “Amazing Grace” enslaved my forebears for generations. And Jesus? His incarnation as “the body of Christ” in the church has been cruel to many of us. Not warm and fuzzy at all.

That’s two for instances. There are more . . . . More instances of oppression and exclusion.

Monarchy, Malarky

Unitarian minister John Dietrich, the founder of religious humanism, believed that a democratic society would create a democratic religion. After all, evidence suggests that religions reproduce in their structures and theologies the political and social structures in which they develop.

To see this, we only need go so far as a comparison of Judaism and Christianity. As anyone familiar with the Hebrew book of Judges or 1 Samuel knows, the ancient Hebrew tribes were highly suspicious of monarchy. Hebrew tradition reveals that mistrust, even though the Hebrews flirted with monarchy in the time of King David and the subsequent temple at Jerusalem. (Speaking of disasters!)

Christianity, the child of Judaism, early fell in thrall to the structures and attitudes of the Roman empire. The bowing and hierarchy that is so much a part of European monarchy and much of Christian worship is foreign to the Jewish tradition. And it feels less and less OK to many of us living in liberal democracies.

John Dietrich, and other humanists of the 1930s, thought that the monarchical model of the Christian tradition would disappear in the democratic age.

And it has, to a great extent. If it hadn’t, there wouldn’t be any DIY religion.

The only religion that will ever make sense to you—when you’re not going along to get along—is that one that you have arrived at by choice, in your own thoughts and your own integrity.

Religious experience is subjective. Personal. Forcing it on others is a party foul and a Golden Rule violation.

The Short Shelf Life of European Christianity

Reflect on this: of the people in the United States today, how many had Christianity forced upon their forebears?

Answer: Nearly everyone who lived outside of the Mediterranean basin in the 300-500s CE.

Reflect on this: how many of those who became Christian outside of the Mediterranean basin had a choice in the matter?

Did the British? Did the Irish or Welsh? Did the Germans or Norwegians or Poles or Swedes or Swiss or . . . ?

Nope. Most of the population in Europe had no choice. The choice was made for them by the ruling elites.

How about the Africans brought forcibly into the Western Hemisphere?


The native peoples of the Western Hemisphere?

Nope. No choice.

For millions upon millions of people, Christianity was not a choice. Should we wonder then that so many of their children abandon an imposed religion as soon as secular governments and social expectations allow?

For most of us living in the Western Hemisphere, Christianity is an overlay, not a deep tradition. A Mediterranean imposition, not a value system that matches the flora and fauna and mores that most of us were born into.

Malcolm X taught this, but his words have not been heeded.

Pagans in the UU movement have been pointing this out for some time. In my congregation, the Jews, Hindus, pagans, and Muslims and atheists and others and more cry out . . . when will we be free?

When will we build that land, that inclusive place that is actually inclusive, the includes not just Christians but others?

Despite Liberation Theology, the Social Gospel, and the Emergent Church, Christian ritual and theology is the theology and ritual of oppression for many of us.

Yes, those lively spirituals subvert the dominant paradigm and reveal the ugly truth of oppression. But isn’t it time we sing a new freedom song? Isn’t it time we subvert the most dominant of paradigms—Christianity itself?

And then there is the inclusion of Christians too.

Think hevy. Think micro-brew. And DIY.

What if Unitarian Universalist congregations were actually, truly, a big tent where all are welcome, not just the Christians? Not just the humanists?

Can I have an “ameen”?

Some of us will not worship any prophet or any god, no matter what the cost. Where might we find a home?

How about a really big tent for the future?

Reposted from

Not Me Who Moved the Rocks

What was that hurt you
carried so lightly as we
walked but so heavy in you?

The way you played those
strings, moved your fingers
into music . . . was that . . .

What music did you play
only in the terrible shadows
where so much of you lived?

It was not me who drove you
like a snake from under those
damp rocks. It was not me

with an snarl, a finger pointed.
I only listened, wondering
how much of you played

only in the terrible shadows.