Grand Rapids, Michigan June 5, 2005

A few weeks ago, I slipped away for a weekend in New York City. I was a lucky spouse: He was there anyway on business so why not? The days were mine to fill, alone in this Disneyland for adults.

I’ve learned from past semi-solo visits, that it’s best to plan ahead rather than spend all your free time meandering. You don’t want to gawk too much or walk too slowly, or you’re pegged as a tourist. So I know now to wear dim colors – black is never wrong – and select destinations to occupy my days.

A couple years ago, I took my first trip to the top of the Empire State Building. The nearest thing to heaven. I saw Ground Zero from there, as close as I ever wanted to get.

This year, I got closer, on the way to Battery Park and the ferry to Ellis Island. The tour of the entry point for immigrants was thought-provoking, and more herd-like than I’d prefer. So many long lines, so much waiting. But the immigrants – including my grandparents – had it far worse, so I decided I should just shut up and deal with the crowd.

On my second day, I returned to a place I’d seen during my first Big Apple visit, just before my senior year of high school. The hallowed world at St. Patrick’s Cathedral on 5^{th Avenue. Built in 1858, it’s the largest gothic Catholic cathedral in the world.}

-- The center of Catholic life in the U.S. and of Irish politics in New York.

-- Its architect: James Renwick, also designed The Castle at the Smithsonian and the New York Public Library. And, perhaps typical of the U.S.: its version of Michelangelo’s The Pieta is three times larger than the original in Rome. So American!

After seeing so many historic churches during so many vacations, I decided to return St. Patrick’s late on a Saturday morning.

I vaguely remembered the huge pillars and elevated pulpit. I was pretty sure the TVs scattered all about were recent. As I tried to find a seat, I became aware that something sacred was going on. Pews were full of people in Sunday-best. And a cardinal was speaking. It was Cardinal Egan, of the Archdiocese of New York. He was thanking all the fathers and mothers and family and friends and mentors who were responsible for what was happening here today. Ten men were being ordained to the priesthood.

I had wandered in as a tourist to one of the seven Catholic sacraments: a once-a-year event for the diocese; a once-in-a-lifetime event for these men. An event that, if you’re a woman, can only be observed.

Incense was in the air, votives flickering all around the sanctuary. I remembered this atmosphere very well from my past. I felt at home.

How was that possible?

The crowd applauded each other. Applauded the men, who looked to be in their 30s. Some were bearded and wore grey hooded habits. They all had peaceful, smiling eyes and hugged friends and family.

Then a song began, a familiar song from my choir days in elementary school. Regina caeli. Gregorian chant, which I loved. Regina caeli, laetare, allelulia. Queen of heaven, rejoice.

My eyes filled with tears. What?

Then a blessing from the cardinal. Then the new priests. More applause, more incense, more singing, a procession around the enormous church. Man, ritual is good theater! How I miss this.

Maybe, I started thinking. Maybe I should go back. I looked around at the faces in the pews. All proud of their men of God, eager to receive their first blessing from his ordained hand. Strangely comforting, sweet.

It would be so easy, I thought. So easy to just say yes, I accept, I surrender. You win. The fight is over. I could do this. Be one of the pack of believers. Recite the creed.

Sing Gregorian chant with the choir. It would be a relief – to turn off my brain.

But then I remembered 1 Corinthians: “When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, think like a child, reason like a child. When I became an adult, I put childish ways aside.”

St. Patrick’s was awakening the child inside, the childish belief, the childish way of worshipping. Now I am an adult.

My brain’s been actively engaged these past three-plus years at All Souls. People asking questions, sharing challenges, working to create something that hasn’t been here before.

It’s been exhilarating. Moving. Frustrating. Exhausting. I’ve been happy, I’ve felt sorry for myself, I’ve met some of the best people I’ve ever known. And I know now I’ll be with them for a while. It’s the journey. We’re walking together on a journey. Not the kind I could find sitting in a pew, my fingers moving over rosary beads, taking communion, believing in the essential change of the bread and wine. This is a journey with no maps or mandates or dogma. People who are searching, people who are trying to be better people. People who want to have something inside them change. That’s why we come here: we want to feel a change.

That’s why we go on vacation. Visit the big city, stand in line, watch buskers, deal with panhandlers. But vacation can be superficial, a break from the direness of real life.

A time to read John Grisham and let our brains rest.

When you get to know people, you see past their company manners. See much you like.

But the work can be hard; people can feel vulnerable. After you chat with a fellow traveler about the trek to UU, you either peel off the armor and go deep. Or chat about the weather. Many of us at all souls have done the chit-chat. Now our challenge is this: How much deeper are we willing to go? How often will we take the risk to ask take on the harder questions?

Today’s title: Start spreading the news. That evangelism makes us back away. We’re not spreading the word. Not spreading The Truth. In fact, day to day, we’re more likely to keep silent when the subject turns to religion or church or belief. Or maybe we change the subject. Say, have you seen the new Star Wars movie yet? Because when you start to talk to someone about UU, there’s inevitably that pause, and then maybe a smirk, then the question: that’s the place where you don’t believe in God, right? No, it’s the place where you don’t have to believe in anything. You just have to agree to search.

Churches don’t have beliefs. People have beliefs. Ours is not a belief. It’s an approach. How we approach the world: open eyes, open minds, open hearts. That’s different from those who know The Truth. Knowing The Truth makes certain things much easier. No further decisions are required. Submit, surrender, experience that lift of faith. And you never have to decide anything again. Like where to be on Sunday morning. You go to church because that’s what is expected. Here, we come together for another reason: to learn something, yes. But more: to be changed.

You want to be different than you were when you pulled into this parking lot. Maybe that happens when you arrive and see someone you know who seems glad to see you. Maybe it happens during a song, or during a meditation time, or during the sermon. Something happens here that makes you better able to exit the parking lot and re-enter the world, where people are not so forgiving about those who believe differently, who think differently. Who think at all.

It’s sometimes hard to follow this path. In West Michigan, we are surrounded by people who own The Truth, who don’t understand faiths that don’t agree with theirs.

Our way can get so tiring: asking questions, searching for answers, for depth, for peace, when being barraged by a community that believes the Constitution and the Bible were written for the same reason. Sometimes, we want the isolation of an island, where there are people just like us, and only like us. Where no one will dismiss questions and observations that are unconnected to Christian scripture.

So back on the island of Manhattan, I learned something else. Somehow, in a rare moment of foresight and daring, we got tickets to the hottest show on Broadway. We ordered tickets for “Spamalot” before it even opened in New York. The word-of-mouth from its Chicago run was fabulous. And the pedigree was theater royalty: Mike Nichols directing comic actors – Tim Curry, Hank Azaria, David Hyde Pierce, performing, singing and dancing to concepts by Monty Python, as written by Python guy Eric Idle. How could it miss?

And indeed, it did not miss. From the opening scene of Finnish people dancing and swatting each other with herring, it was bawdy fun. But there is a message even in all silliness of Python.

This is a play from the movie, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” It’s about King Arthur, on a quest for the grail, the cup used at the Last Supper. Too poor to own a horse, King Arthur pretends to ride, accompanied by horsy sound effects: the clopping of coconuts by his manservant.

The show’s big ballad is “Find Your Grail”:

In other words, set a goal, aim high, and point your life in that direction.

The answers may not be easy, the road has plenty of rocks. But the search can be invigorating. Here at All Souls, we do it together. We use our brains, open our hearts.

Even Monty Python knows the message: There’s nothing you can’t do. Find your grail.

Oh, yes and: and “Always look on the bright side of life.” (whistle!)

Amen