Earlier this month I attended a retreat for ministers in my area.  Our program was all about our evolving sense of calling to ministry.  We were asked to consider and to share (in pairs and/or small groups) the early context in which we heard that call, and our relationship to its source. We talked about the difficult aspects of our work, the tensions that are a part of ministry.  We discussed our covenants - our vows with Source, with the people we serve, and with one another.  We pondered how the Spirit is moving in our lives now.

Clearly these are deep topics. Each one could be the focus of a whole retreat.  The context of my calling (and that of other women at the retreat) was "no."  My calling came as a young girl, drawn to the ministry in a faith where women still can not become clergy.  The other "no" was the message, "Don't let other kids know how smart you are because they won't like you."  That was probably true in that isolated rural setting, but how sad that any child should hear that message.  I am sure the person who said it to me heard it as well.

The week before, in my lectio divina group we used Matthew 5: 13-16 which includes "You are the light of the world."  Jesus points out that no one lights a lamp and then puts it under a bushel basket - you set it on a stand so all may see it.  The phrase from that passage that struck me was "a city built on a hill cannot be hidden."

Thinking about those words, I realized there is vulnerability to being on the hill.  I do feel vulnerable in my ministry right now, as I take the risk of sharing more deeply from my personal and spiritual lives.  Then again, on a hill you can also see further. It struck me that cities built on hills were meant to be there.  The others in the lectio group told me that I am a city on a hill, and encouraged me to let my light shine.

As a child I heard that I should hide my light under a bushel basket  - not just one but several, like those nesting dolls.  Responding fully to my calling has meant removing basket after basket to uncover that glow, and then lifting it up.  This has been a painful process, at times, but ultimately rewarding.   That must be true of anyone who has had to overcome negative messages in order to become who they most fully can be

My sense of calling to ministry has been changing.  I have come to believe that my work is first to provide a place for people to share sorrows as well as their joys, both to resist the evil of the world and to celebrate its beauty.  This happens through good and nourishing worship.  The rest of the week, ministry is helping people discern their gifts, especially the ones the world tells them are worthless. This gift discernment is like mining for precious gems - you may have to dig for them.  The next step is to help people polish and hone those gifts.  Finally, help them find settings that will display those gifts to their best advantage - in service to the church, their families, and/or the wider world.

The retreat helped me find the link between this new sense of calling and my own earlier experience.  I feel so passionate about this idea of ministry because this same process has been such a blessing.  It is my calling to share my story and that passion with others so that they too can let their lights shine.  A city built on a hill cannot be hidden, and was never meant to be.  What are your hidden treasures?

Recently we have heard stories of people standing up to institutions that misuse and abuse power.  We have seen those institutions put down such protests.  The news is both heartening and disheartening. We wonder how it will all turn out. Nearly two thousand years ago, Paul wrote to assure church leaders that the sufferings of their time were labor pains of something coming to birth.  This may be true in our day, as well.

Like many religious liberals, I tend to distrust institutions, partly because of the power they hold.  My uneasy relationship with power is rooted in childhood experiences of authority figures who misused and abused it.  As an adult, at times my conflicted feelings about power manifest as trying to control others, and at others as giving power over my life to someone else.  At times my unease with power leads me not to speak up when I should, and at others it leads me to push my agenda when I shouldn’t.  Finding the right balance between those extremes has been a difficult and often painful process of making mistakes, making amends, and trying again.

Mae West once said, “Marriage is a fine institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet!”  Many of us may feel the same way about the institutions of organized religion.  There’s good reason for that.  Institutions are made of human beings and subject to the weaknesses of the human character. Deep down I don’t think religion per se is to blame for this. I think the core problem is a human tendency to “draw power to ourselves in the name of things that cannot be questioned,” as children’s author Phillip Pullman puts it.  Humans have used different excuses to misuse power, including nationalism, racial pride, and religion.

The best human institutions, and I rank the Unitarian Universalist Association among them, build in ways to point out, correct and balance power.  This is exactly what is happening in demonstrations around the world.  Protesters are speaking the truth that some of the world’s leaders are abusing power. Protesters are demanding institutions that are humble and responsive, that serve rather than rule, that exercise power with others rather than power over others.

Every Unitarian Universalist shares power with others.  We each have the power to rectify our religious institutions, from our congregations to our national organization.  As religious liberals with issues about power, we must be careful not to distrust institutions and authority figures simply because they are institutions and authority figures, without reference to their actions or intentions. We need to balance individuality with community, and trust with skepticism, in order not to become mired into cynical isolation. We are not and should not each be in this for ourselves.  We are deeply connected to one another in power-full ways.

A few years ago my son did a report on String Theory.  This theory holds that everything in the universe, including solid objects, is made up of tiny strands of energy.  It’s all energy, all around.  Everything is energy, and another word for energy is power.  So perhaps everything in the universe is power - us, our institutions, the way we interact.  It’s all power, all connected, woven into the fabric of our existence.

If in fact we channel and express power in everything we do, it is really important to make our hearts, spirits, and institutions as free as possible of internal obstacles that misdirect and distort power.  That way, when power flows through us and through our institutions, it can move in positive ways.  One way we unite spirituality to ethics (an important function of religious institutions) is to strive to become better channels of power in a deeply interconnected global community.

There is so much amiss in our world.  It can feel overwhelming.  We gather in faithful institutions to watch the events of our day unfold and to seek ways to respond. When we come together, knowing we are deeply connected, and strive together to become better, clearer channels of power, we give birth to something new.  We give birth to faithful institutions through which power moves in ways that affirm, include, heal, and create justice.  May it be that the struggles of our times are the labor pains of the births of institutions of justice, the serve the common good.