"Yoga as Union: Beyond Pretzel Twisting and Aerobics"

National Gallery Sculpture, Delhi, India

© Rev. Susan Karlson
April 3, 2011

When I first studied Yoga back in the 1970’s, the practice was just gaining popularity. My mother, who learned yoga when it wasn’t very fashionable, should receive the blame or the credit for my rather unorthodox spiritual journey. She gave me roots in Christianity and wings to explore other paths. And she always encouraged me to think for myself and respond to the mysteries and the call of my heart and spirit. She taught me how to balance what seemed incongruent to most people.

I first learned yoga at the Aquarian Age Yoga Center in Virginia Beach. I was immediately drawn to that form of yoga—the poses or postures gently maintained for longer and longer periods of time, the pranayama or breathing practices that soothed this young woman’s nerves since I was just embarking on study for a Masters in Social Work. I clearly remember my first silent yoga retreat. I found deep peace and contentment. My world changed overnight. I felt more awake and vibrant than ever before.

I became a vegetarian as a result of my yogic practice. My decision to be a vegetarian was based on ethical and moral reasons as well as health considerations. I am generally a quiet vegetarian but the convictions underneath my decision run deep and strong as an integral part of my spiritual path. I balanced my ethical principles with the yearnings of my heart through this decision.

Some of my friends tell me about the yoga that they practice. They aim to sweat, to rapidly move from one posture to the next, to get the heart rate up. I understand those modes of yoga are in vogue but they don’t suit me. To me, yoga is union—it’s about being in harmony with your body, mind and spirit; about a connection with the Spirit of Life, the inner guide, the Source of all. Yoga is more than contortion exercises or a competition to see who can bend the farthest backwards, forwards or vertically. I am a little surprised sometimes when I go to classes and there is an emphasis on challenging yourself or pushing. Exercise and yoga are two different things—both positive for the body and for well being, but two different things.

Yoga, a science that grew within Hinduism, includes a number of branches or disciplines—Hatha Yoga, the physical postures, breathing practices, deep relaxation and concentration, that we sampled this morning; Karma yoga, the path of selfless service; Bhakti Yoga, cultivating love and Devotion for the Divine or as Twelve Step groups express it—a higher power greater than the individual personality. Chanting as we sang this morning is one way to connect with the Divine or with the Source of wisdom and love within; Raja Yoga, the path of meditation and working with the thoughts in the mind to attain stillness and ultimate liberation; Jnana Yoga, the “path of wisdom”, “self analysis and awareness”. A“… synthesis of all Yogas” feels holistic and balanced to me (from Integral Yoga Hatha, preface xv and xvi).

Unitarian Universalists draw from many sources of wisdom—personal experiences with nature, perceptions we gather through our relationships or that we take in through our senses. The religions of the world dish up wisdom to sustain people through the rigors of life and on their spiritual journey. Some of us follow those paths wholeheartedly and with a good appetite. Others create new cuisines—a synthesis of this religion or that. This perplexes people who disdain our ‘a-la-cart’, ‘all-you-can-eat’ menu of hyphenated UU-isms, where we prefer to be seeking rather than certain. “Isn’t one religion good enough?” they ask. To be truthful, it frustrates some Unitarian Universalists as well.

And so Unitarian Universalism is not always an easy path to follow. It can seem amorphous and murky—weak in a depth of understanding. It was easier when I considered myself a Methodist growing up or a yogi as a young adult. With my ex-husband I went to a very liberal Reform Jewish Temple in Los Angeles at the same time that we practiced yoga. Then I immersed myself in Unitarian Universalism, so happy to find a religion that encouraged people to be lifelong learners. Then came taiji and qigong and now, Buddhism and mindfulness meditation. Layer upon layer upon layer. So it’s confusing--who are we anyway if we draw from different sources, if the road keeps getting wider and the smorgasbord more full, if we are always on the first step of a new way.

James Fowler, retired as a developmental psychologist, theology professor and minister, wrote about six stages of faith development (Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development and the Quest for Meaning, 1981) that may help identify where we are faith-wise and how we can move from one stage to another with more fluidity and grace.

Many liberal religious folk reside in Stage 4, moving beyond seeing God as the old man in the sky and heaven and hell as literal places “…where you’re gonna go when you die” as the song goes. Reason and analysis help people examine their faith and issues of who is in authority and control. Yet it is possible to get stuck in Stage 4, to abnegate the first source of Unitarian Universalism—all the inexplicable mysteries and wonders that our wonderful brains want to interpret but can’t.

A person who moves to Stage 5 can be in dialogue with people from other religions, even though they differ. There is less a “reaction against”. There is something that is mutually beneficial from this cross pollination that feeds people on all sides. Stage 6, Universalizing Faith, is the province of those like Gandhi, King and Mother Teresa; people steeped in their own religion, willing to give everything and take great risks to serve the greater good.

Even a rudimentary understanding of these stages of faith formation may help us get unstuck when we easily identify what we don’t believe but we can’t articulate what we do believe.

Where are you in your faith development? And don’t fall back on the frequent reply, “I don’t have any faith.” Sure, you do. You question, you reflect, you care about others. You have certain moral principles you espouse. These are the building blocks of faith. How do we develop if we cut ourselves off from encounters with others who stand on separate but equally valid holy ground?

I believe we are a composite of all that we hold dear; all the stages, all the heartbreaks, all the life changes that stretch, bend or “grow” us. My Methodist Christian roots are foundational to the part of me that feels most healthy, whole and at one with the universe in every way when I practice the various aspects of yoga. And it is Unitarian Universalism with its deep roots in activist social justice and its encouragement of questioning that sends me back into the mystery, not knowing where the path ultimately will lead. At its very best this church leaves room for each person, in their own way, to fathom the mysteries, embrace a new stage in faith development, to find union with that inner light called by many different names.

We seek union through the balance of all the elements of a life; the physical, the mental, emotional and spiritual. There are few places where we can go to develop this balance, where we can bring all the parts of ourselves to be forged in the fire (the chalice, if you will) of thoughtful and conscious living and respect for our unity in diversity. This church is one of those safe places.

Here, we don’t simply explore the elements of head, heart, and spirit; we sincerely try to bring them into a balanced union; here, we cultivate a living, breathing experiment—how can people come together from varied backgrounds, theologies, perspectives and create a balanced community, build a new way? Building a new way requires each of us to contribute our energy and creative, resourceful sparks. When you contribute a portion of your treasure to this church you become part of the symmetry and vision that shapes it and determines what we can do for one another, our neighbors and, especially, the next generation that needs us, needs this church—that needs you.

May we be united in bringing what we have and what we can give so that the beauty, love and joy that is abundant here continues for many more generations.

“Light One Candle”

*This sermon incorporates materialI learned from a conversation with my dear colleagues, Rabbis Judah Newberger and Rabbi Gerald Sussman. I waited to post it till I had their permission to do so.

© Rev. Susan Karlson
December 5, 2010

At an interfaith clergy meeting last week, we talked about the holidays approaching and wished the rabbis among us a “Happy Chanukah” though we understood that Chanukah was really a relatively minor holiday. One of the rabbis responded, “Well, it’s really a minor major holiday.”

I reflected on his response and got very curious—particularly as I had just told my daughter, whose father is Jewish, that Chanukah was not such a big deal in Judaism. Her response was that Chanukah was always the most meaningful celebration to her.

So Rabbis Newberger and Sussman made time this week to talk to me about Chanukah and what it means to them and their congregations and what it might mean to non-Jews. This is part of a growing understanding and deepening I have found among a number of clergy that get together here. In this relatively conservative borough I have found that the clergy active in interfaith dialogue and community action are very responsive.

This is some of what they told me. Chanukah has largely become a children’s holiday. It is not biblically based—there is no mention of Chanukah or its celebration in the Torah. For those reasons, it is a minor celebration. Deciphering what Chanukah means to contemporary Jews must be set in context. To both Rabbis Sussman and Newberger, there would be no Jewish religion or no Jewish people without Chanukah—so this minor holiday is a true “turning point” holiday.
What do they mean by that? Though there are no references in the Torah to the Chanukah stories, there are references in the apochryphal books, Macabees I and II, to the Maccabee family and the radical notion of resistance to assimilation.

Alexander and his successors were Greco-Syrians who ruled over what is now most of the Middle East. Religious persecution was rare in the ancient world. Different religions co-existed—each worshiped as they saw fit as long as they were politically obedient. There was a tacit tolerance of religious pluralism. When Antiochus IV came on the scene, however, that changed. He wanted regions to become Greek city-states and along with that came a vision to conflate religious worship and politics. Many of the Jewish city priests went along with this Hellenization but the country priests, the Maccabees among them, resisted.

This small band of country folk took on the Greek empire and somehow, they won. Theirs is an awesome story of a huge victory won by oppressed people but the story doesn’t end there and as in the wider Thanksgiving story I shared several weeks ago, we need to know the whole story. Ironically, the Maccabees’ descendants forced others to convert to Judaism, the only time in 3000 years of Jewish history according to my colleagues. They ruled by the sword, becoming corrupt and despotic, cruel and arrogant. Most of what is written about the Maccabees is negative and is a cautionary tale for Jews. Partly because of the corruption of this family, the legend was recast to emphasize God’s providing the miracle of the light burning for eight days when there was only enough oil for one day.

Reflecting on Chanukah as a “minor, major holiday” raises other thoughts about Chanukah’s significance for those who aren’t practicing Jews. There are many battles in this country today—which ones are worth fighting?

Here in Staten Island and across much of the nation, Muslims are defending their freedom to practice their religion amidst grave generalizations and misunderstandings about what it means to be a Muslim. In a climate of fear and vulnerability, it is difficult to practice religious tolerance and freedom. Stereotyping and innuendo often accompany anxiety—they are our default position when we don’t engage in dialogue and interaction with one another. Lighting one candle of connection and building relationships between us is a start. Passing the light from candle to candle in a community changes everything.

The story of Chanukah brings up a “thin line” dilemma. There is a kind of tightrope we walk between feeling comfortable within our own community and moving outside of it. We need to feel close to one another, to feel that here are a people that make us feel at home, that care what happens to us and that share certain common bonds. We need to care for one another—that’s what congregations do, that’s part of being in a religious community. Yet we also need to move beyond our close-knit circle—to step out into relationship with others from different faiths and dialogue with them and work together on issues central to us all. That’s part of building community with the Building Bridges Coalition and I Am Staten Island. That is imperative for a deeper spiritual understanding and being a truth seeker.

The other day, the president of this congregation and I had a conversation with the co-chairs of the Social Justice Committee about the direction of that newly reinvigorated committee. We talked about the importance of communicating what people are doing as individuals as well as acting together collectively. This congregation has always been a leader in providing educational forums and articulating issues to be addressed. As Unitarian Universalists, we excel at discussion and talk. Collectively, by and large, we are also generous and we give of our time, talent and our treasure.

My observation is that it is a little harder for us to build ongoing relationships or partnerships with other faiths or organizations—to ask how we might work together, whether it’s the problem with the environmental racism connected to the sanitation garage, with addressing and eradicating homelessness and hunger or with immigrant, gay or Muslim bashing, to name just a few.

The rabbis said that Chanukah brings up questions revolving around the customs and traditions of their ancestors and whether contemporary Judaism is selling them out. All religions grapple with honoring the practices and traditions of their predecessors while responding in new ways to new conditions.

You see, the conversation with my Jewish colleagues was helpful in understanding that these are choices we all face. How much do we value those who founded this church, those who supported it through gifts they left so that we can still meet here today; and do we praise or curse those who started the Jolly Holly Fair that we just held yesterday for 150+ consecutive years (since it involves so much work and preparation but is so successful)? How much do we determine our spiritual path and religious exploration based on the tendencies and beliefs of former and long time members? And what of those who join us now—are we still evolving as a dynamic, living organism? Do we adhere to customs and traditions without being aware of their deeper significance or do we throw them out without thinking about the implications? How do we speak about the deepest yearnings in our hearts when each of us has different needs embedded in our souls?

I don’t have an answer to these questions but in good Jewish fashion, I do have a story that speaks to these ponderings told to me by Rabbi Sussman. In mid-nineteenth century Russia, there was a law mandating recruits for the military serve twenty years. Some children were taken as cadets at the tender age of seven or eight. Often, kidnappers stole children to meet the quotas. Parents and families lost their children—many never seeing one another again.
The story goes that one young lad was kidnapped. Years went by. His parents had no word about him or from him. They still hoped one day that their son would return but this was really only a tiny ember—nothing in their existence kindled that small but steady flame.

You know that the Russian winters can be so very cold. One night a soldier was lost in the forest, freezing from the bitter cold. The light of a flickering candle in the window caught his eye. He went to the door and begged to come in and warm himself. Eventually, he realized that these people who welcomed him in were his parents and they were reunited. The glow of one small candle in the darkness led to their reunion and to his rediscovery of his Jewish roots.

Each of us only has to light one candle, to nurture that flame, to keep it going. We never know what results that light will have. We never know who might be attracted to that light, who might find their way home, who might be stirred by the example of our small, steady flame. And yet if we light one candle and join our candle to another and to another, then soon the darkness turns to light, the cold dissipates and our separate and mutual paths are illumined. May we light one candle and nurse that light with our entire being, with all that we have and all that we are. May your light grow stronger, brighter, and more true in this season.

This Hot Summer in Staten Island

This morning we held a Clergy Roundtable at the Unitarian Church of Staten Island with NYC council speaker Christine Quinn, NYC council woman, Debi Rose and Assemblyman Matthew Titone about what clergy can do to respond to the summer's sweltering heat on Staten Island that has come less from the 90+ temperatures than the explosion of violence, fear and alleged hate crimes.

During the meeting, I had a deja vu experience paralleling my first week on the Gulf Coast three years ago. I had particular images of Mississippi and the rest of those "deep south" states and the bigotry and racism that I was sure went along with them. My first week in Mississippi, I attended community meetings of a rainbow coalition coming together around the enduring aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Here I found people working together from various organizations, religions and racial and ethnic groups in a way that I hadn't experienced in much larger cities or urban areas. That same week, this organization hosted men from Iraq who visited to find out how local Gulf Coast communities handled disasters and fostered reconciliation and healing. It opened a floodgate for me--one of being present to what was happening in the moment, dismantling preconceived notions and generalized geographical prejudices.

Before I arrived in Staten Island, I heard about the racism and the North/South Shore divide. You can't live here long without observing some of this hateful behavior but to say that this is the norm for Staten Island is to shut one's eyes to the people in every neighborhood who go out of their way to help their neighbors and would do anything for another person--the young Latino man who helps a young White child with a cart full of water bottles get on and off the bus with his heavy load, the young Black man whose groceries are leaking and the older White woman who hands him an extra bag and the men and women from countries all over the world who share their stories with you if you just listen to them and smile in their direction.

Yes, Staten Island is suffering right now from a rash of violence and alleged hate crimes. Headline after headline includes violence and racial and ethnic slurs against Latinos, denigration of Muslims seeking a new location for a much needed mosque and community center, attacks on a gay couple eating an early morning meal at a local restaurant, the beating of a Russian woman, an attack on several young Black men and the brutal murders of her four children by an unemployed mother who then killed herself, leaving a neighborhood to grieve and wonder "what can we do in such desperate times as this?" There is no denying that we need to address the pain that is saturating our borough like a blanket of humid air settling over us.

But it would be wrong to think that violence defines Staten Island, that we are monocultural, one race or one religion. Staten Island is extremely diverse. We have a wealth of cultural, ethnic and religious diversity and I'm proud to call myself a Staten Islander. Through this long painful summer, we have come together as one community to say that each and every one of us is Staten Island. We have formed Anti Violence Task Forces and Clergy groups and I have witnessed some of the victims of these alleged hate crimes attend rallies and task forces and share their stories- asking for unity, asking for peace, asking for us to all work together as one. We are acknowledging the impact of joblessness and poverty. We recognize we have a lot of work to do.

The "I am Staten Island" campaign, initiated by city councilwoman, Debi Rose, with widespread community support has proposed a 10 point plan. Speaker Quinn asked for our input this morning, that this plan may end up being 100 or 1000 or more points to it. The clergy involved are dedicated to reach out to youth, to gangs, to open our doors so that there are safe places for people to go; so that there are activities for our youth and so that there is education, dialogue and outreach regarding diversity and respect for all. There are business leaders meeting together to come up with plans for jobs and mentoring for youth and those who can't find employment, and education programs planned, bringing back the successful "Respect for All" curriculum. Check out iamsi.info for a listing of activities, programs and new plans as they emerge. You will see that the Staten Island depicted in movies and bantered about by people who have not updated their impressions in decades, is archaic.

We are half a million people with cultures including Latinos,Sri Lankans, Liberians, and people from many different Asian and African countries. We are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Sikh,Unitarian Universalist, and people with no religious affiliation. Our skin colors range from deepest mahogany and cocoa to vivid earth tones, peach and ivory hues.Despite this "heated" summer, many of us here on Staten Island have chosen to be proactive and to do something about the "heat wave". We have our share of problems and racism and hate crimes are a part of what we need to address, but that is a very limited understanding of who we are and how we stand together. We are Staten Island and we will make it through this hot summer--TOGETHER!

Sermon--Truth and Reconciliation in Mississippi

The Rev. Susan Karlson

July 6, 2008

As a child, I remember watching television court dramas like Perry Mason. Witnesses swore to “tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.” As an adult juror, I heard a similar oath taken when people took the witness stand.

I doubt we Americans are so devoted to telling the whole truth. Children are taught glamorous versions of our history. A student of James Loewen’s, the author of Lies My Teacher Told Me, even claimed “[Abraham Lincoln] was born in a log cabin which he built with his own hands” (p. 184). Think about that for a minute--why can’t our heroes and heroines be ordinary people who do some extra-ordinary things that we hope to emulate?

I confess to some big misconceptions about Mississippi. Last month I rounded out my view of Mississippi history with a trip I made to Natchez that totally blew me away. I saw the Native American Indian Mounds. I felt a sense of awe, climbing the thirty foot Emerald Mounds, piled high by the Natchez people long before white settlers arrived. I saw these incredible historical murals in Vicksburg with children from different races playing together in the fountains downtown in the sweltering Mississippi heat.

But the most transformative time for me was stopping at the Natchez Museum for the Preservation of African American Culture. The interpreter told me stories about the African American heritage in Natchez and the state of Mississippi for over an hour—some parts were radiant, others tragic.

Mississippi elected two African American United States Senators in its history. When you consider that there have been only five African American U.S. senators in all of American history, you see Mississippi anew. He told me about a law prohibiting the importation of anymore slaves from Africa. Creative Northern businessmen found a way around it—ships sailed to Caribbean ports and then transported their human cargo to the South. Plantation owners didn’t live in the South however—they lived in the North and only came down here when it was time to sell the king cotton crop. Racism and slavery is a blight-filled legacy that mars all parts of this country.

African American and Native American museums, heritage tours and itineraries are so popular now that they are overcoming many local citizens’ fears that people will be shocked and scared away by the truth. I believe in
another reality—that we are able to deal with the truth when we hear it, that the human spirit is eager to hear about real people who made all-too human mistakes, just like we do. Telling real life stories about historical people and events can embolden us to work to counter the sting of racism in and around us.

As I left Natchez, I stopped at the Forks of the Road auction block. This is the site of the second largest auction block in the United States, second only to the one in New Orleans. It felt eerie to walk on land where our African sisters and brothers were bought and sold. And though I felt a kind of grief that left me breathless, I wanted to be a fearless witness to that historic agony because it affirms the importance of investing my energy in racial justice work.

Unitarian Universalist history is full of abolitionists, martyrs and those who worked for racial justice. But that’s not the complete story. At antiracism Jubilee World workshops, we often start by creating a Wall of History. We tape newsprint paper on every wall and write the people and events we can remember that sought to eliminate racism and strove for racial justice. But we also dedicate portions of the wall to the names and events that reinforced racism. In this way, we begin our work by telling the whole truth about Unitarian Universalism, not merely some myth about who we are.

In my experience, this work of truth and reconciliation is powerful and transformational. Some years ago, my mother researched our family history and she found that our family owned two slaves. My mother quite confidently felt that she had nothing to do with that, she didn’t condone it and it was way before her time. She was right, of course. None of us need be ashamed of actions taken by family members long before we were born.

But I have another perspective. I figure if your family is dependent on the servitude of others to make ends meet, no matter how poor a farmer you are or how well you treat those you enslave, there is something inbred in your attitudes about relationships with other people. And unless you are aware, you will likely pass those unconscious attitudes on to your children and your children’s children and on beyond that, forever. I realize it is up to me to rectify my attitude and my relationships, knowing that part of my family history.

We all live in a country that justified slavery for centuries and fostered unwritten laws to deny the worth and dignity of all people. That history is embedded in our national DNA. My message this morning is about asking
ourselves what messages we received that are life giving and which ones to discard because they enslave us to fear and constrict our hearts.

If you examine most Unitarian Universalist congregations in Mississippi and the nation, you’ll see we have few people of color. Particularly in Mississippi, our congregations don’t adequately reflect the racial mix of Mississippians in general. It might behoove this congregation to hold a Jubilee workshop or some other such event even if more people of color never come here. It might give you a clearer sense of your history, values and priorities as you imagine the future of this Fellowship.

This congregation is blessed to be part of a rainbow coalition, the Steps Coalition, where Vietnamese Boat people work alongside Latinos and Latinas brought here to do recovery work. People from the Turkey Creek project brought the FEMA trailer they’ve driven across the country to the
Unitarian Universalist General Assembly held last month in Florida to let people know the situation here in Mississippi. This is the beautiful side of Mississippi life — uniting to address common needs.

In this country, people from European American backgrounds have a certain amount of inherent power and privilege because of the perception of being white. It is possible to create a different future if we use that power and privilege to tell the truth about our history and work on reconciliation.

I stopped by a park near the beach in my Gulfport neighborhood. Family members celebrated a young teen’s birthday. I was the only white person in that park. I approached an empty swing and a young man began talking to me, telling me about his relatives and identifying each child’s relationship to him. And later, some girls in the family asked me to give them a push on the swing. One girl asked if this was my park or if I built it.

I like to think that our interactions opened up something inside of each of us—that to them, I became at least one white woman who could be trusted to swing them or a person interested in their family celebrations and how much they mean to one another. That experience reminded me once again how I carry my white skin privilege and power wherever I go and how my whole experience here in Mississippi has transformed and opened my heart. This is not just the amorphous deep South to me now but you have shown me that Mississippi calls diverse people to learn and work together. May each of us listen for the whole truth and swear by it, day by day.