As leaves begin to turn on New England trees, may we likewise begin to turn toward the things which matter most in our lives, toward the holy and sacred places in ourselves and in the world. May we be reconciled to those things and those places.

As autumn rain falls upon the land, may we likewise begin to fall away from the commotion, away from anxiety, away from denial, away from fear, toward the solid, reliable ground of our being, toward all that is real and worthy of our confidence. May we be reconciled to that ground. May we be reconciled to what is real.

As the great wheel of the year bends inexorably toward winter, as the sun grows ever more distant, as cold and wet and wind and snow loom ever more present, may we embrace and welcome those seasons in our lives that cannot be avoided, cannot be delayed, cannot be controlled. May we be reconciled to the cycles of life, the cycles of birthing and growing and aging and dying. May we be reconciled to the ways life changes. May our hearts be reconciled to the natural order of things, to the peace which resides at the heart of creation.

And once the reconciliation has come, once we sit transformed, may we too thus have the strength to say and hear those simple, mighty, blessed words, "I'm sorry," and "you're forgiven." May we be reconciled.

Amen and Blessed Be.

We have telescopes that enable us to see into the far reaches of our universe. We have theories that enable us to imagine even farther. But what may lie beyond what we can see and what we can imagine to be true about the edge of the universe?

The human body possesses a highly sophisticated sensory capacity, enabling us to experience our world and know our world in amazing detail. And we have created machines that can sense and witness and measure phenomena too small or too large, too high or too low, too bright or too dark for our bodies to sense and witness and measure. But what may lie beyond all we can sense with our bodies and our machines?

We have consciousness, a waking self, a capacity to think, feel and act; a capacity to make meaning out of our experiences and sensations; a capacity to make connections between all we observe; a capacity to monitor and develop our inner lives. We even have the ability to monitor some aspects of our unconscious lives. But the question remains, what may lie beyond consciousness? Is it not possible we are just like the wasp on the windshield, going about our business unaware of some other presence?

It may be possible. It may not be possible. There may be something beyond. There may be nothing beyond. Of course, both possibilities may be true, and there may be some beyond beyond the beyond in which those two seemingly irreconcilable truths become one. These questions draw us to theology. These questions have always drawn human beings to theology: the desire to name what may lie beyond.

This morning I want to talk about theological literacy. As most of you have heard me say by now, the current report from the Unitarian Universalist Association's Commission on Appraisal challenges Unitarian Universalists to become more theologically literate. And you've heard me say I accept this challenge as a focus for my parish ministry. If hearing me say this has made you at all nervous, I don't blame you. Theology, if done poorly, can kill spirit; and it's easy to do theology poorly. For some, theology is just plain scary. It can trigger the liberal-sometimes-kneejerk-this-is-why-organized-religion-creeps-me-out reaction of which we are all capable to some degree or another. Theology can be off-putting. Theology can be highly abstract and academic; it can keep us in our heads. Theology is what one studies in seminary. Theology is what ministers must demonstrate to be ordained. As Rilke's Book of Hours suggests, theology piously creates walls around God.¹ Thus, contemplating a direction towards greater theological literacy makes me a little nervous too.

Let me share with you a traditional and still common definition of theology. "Theology comes from the Greek words theos (divinity) and logos (discourse). Narrowly considered, theology has to do only with the existence and nature of the divine. Broadly considered, it covers the entire range of issues concerning [humanity's] relationship to God. Neither consideration necessarily limits theology to Christian theology, although the terms are often used synonymously in the Western world."² To put it in more basic terms, theology is the act of describing God.

I share this definition with you because it is precisely the definition most people, including Unitarian Universalists, carry around with them. However, this traditional definition is also in tension with Unitarian Universalism. If we assume this particular definition of theology is the only such definition, then as Unitarian Universalists we will likely reject theology as a subject worthy of our engagement. We will reject it for a variety of reasons, primarily because many Unitarian Universalists don't believe in God, or don't find belief in God to be the most pressing concern in their religious lives. If theology has only to do with the existence and nature of God or with humanity's relationship to God, well, that leaves many UUs out of the conversation. In fact, it has left many UUs out of the conversation. So much for theological literacy.

We also will tend to reject this definition because of the implication in its last sentence: theology, in our culture, generally refers to Christian theology. Don't get me wrong: I think Unitarian Universalists ought to be literate in Christian theology, especially because our movement's roots lie in the earliest Christian traditions of North America; our form of congregational governance is a Protestant Christian form; our form of worship is a Protestant Christian form; and our earliest Unitarian and Universalist forebears set the tone and direction for liberal Christianity in the United States. But to focus exclusively on Christian theology in our efforts to develop theological literacy would, again, leave many, if not most of us, out of the conversation. By the way, when you consider how much theology there is in the world, I think it is true to say that when anyone limits their theological literacy to one exclusive path, they are leaving themselves out of a much wider conversation. Yes, at some point we must focus on a specific path. And yes, we must never forget the existence of a great multitude of paths.

Over the past 200 years, since the emergence of Unitarianism and Universalism in New England, the scope of theology has been changing and broadening. When I refer to theology, I refer to a discourse that spans well beyond Christianity. I refer to a discourse that includes atheists on equal footing with theists; Pagans on equal footing with Christians, Jews, and Muslims; female and transgender images of the divine on equal footing with male images of the divine; eastern religious and philosophical traditions on equal footing with western religious and philosophical traditions; indigenous, local theologies on equal footing with the theologies of imperialist world religions; third world theologies on equal footing with first-world theologies; and mystical theologies on equal footing with theologies prescribed within doctrines. The question is not which one do I think is right, but rather, which one resonates most with me given my life experiences, my family of origin, my culture; given the ways I've suffered, the things I've achieved, the challenges I face.

I like the definition of theology put forth by one of the great Unitarian theologians of the twentieth century, James Luther Adams. There are few Unitarian Universalist ministers who do not claim Adams as an inspiration. "Theology," he says, "is an attempt at a rational understanding of faith; it asks: what does one place one's confidence in?... There is no one who does not have some kind of faith. Everyone must have something to place some kind of confidence in. In this sense there is no such thing as an irreligious person….The central task of theology is to articulate that which is ultimately reliable."³

If we Unitarian Universalists are going to become theologically literate, this definition of theology will work for us: the attempt to articulate that which is ultimately reliable. Theists, obviously, can speak about the reliability of the theos, however they understand it-and there are truly a multitude of ways to understand God. But unlike the traditional definition of theology, atheists are included in this conversation. For atheists, the absence of God is reliable, and it becomes part of the ground upon which the atheist stands or sits as he or she engages the world. Of course atheists rarely find reliability only in the absence of God. They find reliability in the gifts and the goodness of humanity, in science properly used, in nature, in relationships, in community, in struggles for justice, in family, in love. There is so much to rely on, so much in which to place our confidence, so much to hold sacred, so much that matters. It strikes me that when we approach theology this way we will find much common ground while maintaining the integrity of our differences in belief. There is always unity in our diversity.

Don't let me forget agnostics. Agnostics are included in this conversation as well. One can find reliability in the universe without being sure of the existence of God. One can find reliability in the human capacity to search. One may even find reliability in the knowledge that they may never know the answers to their deepest questions, that they may never know what lies beyond the other side of the windshield, but the question itself is reliable, a guide, a plumb-line. No matter where we fall on the spectrum from atheist to agnostic to theist, we will become Unitarian Universalist theologians as we begin to ask ourselves and each other: in what do we place our highest confidence? What, for us, is ultimately reliable? Answering these questions will bring a new quality to coffee hour!

The poet, Rilke, in his Book of Hours is critical of approaching God through theological language. To God he says: "We must not portray you in king's robes, you drifting mist that brought forth the morning. Once again from the old paintboxes we take the same gold for scepter and crown that has disguised you through the ages. Piously we produce our images of you till they stand around you like a thousand walls."⁴ Later he writes: "But now I see you: winds, woods, and water, roaring at the rim of Christendom…. I want to portray you not with lapis or gold, but with colors made of apple bark. There is no image I could invent that your presence would not eclipse."⁵ And then later he writes: "Those who find you bind you to image and gesture. I would rather sense you as the earth senses you."⁶ He gives priority to sensing the divine as opposed to speaking about it.

My dad's insight about the wasp on the windshield needs expansion. It was summer. He wasn't driving. He was sitting in the car listening to a baseball game. It was hot. Wasn't the window open? Doesn't the wasp have wings? Couldn't the wasp have decided to fly off the windshield, around the side of the car, through the window into my dad's open palm, where it would then suddenly perceive him, either as a new surface upon which to explore, or as some vast life entity with which it was now undeniably in relationship. The wasp can get beyond the windshield. And there are moments when we do to; moments when the window is open; moments when our consciousness is heightened; moments of insight; moments when that which is reliable shines through; moments of transcending mystery, wonder, and awe; moments without speech; moments when, to use Rilke's words, we "sense you as the earth senses you."

I can't say for sure what the Commission on Appraisal of the Unitarian Universalist Association meant by the term "theological literacy." When I talk about increasing our theological literacy as Unitarian Universalists, I don't just mean our ability to talk about theology. I mean our ability to experience beyond the windshield. I'm not just talking about linguistic literacy. I'm talking about experiential literacy. Though we need words for our theologies and we need to respect language and take it seriously, it is ultimately not as important to me what words any of us uses to articulate our theologies. What is important to me is that our lives are open to the sacred and we therefore live our theologies before we speak of them. We live them in what we build with our hands, what gifts we give, what love we express, what deeds we perform, what songs we sing, what suffering we endure, what passion we explore, what deaths we die, and what kind of world we leave to our children. We live our theologies first. We speak them second. To speak them first is to miss the apple bark and build walls around God. To speak our theologies before living them is to remain forever the wasp on the windshield. Therefore, may we live our theologies and come to know intimately that which is ultimately reliable.

Amen. Blessed Be.