On the Blessing of Being Wrong

Sometimes life with children is so simple.  We make things much harder than they have to be, so often, and the distilling action of teaching our values to a wide-eyed, learning child can bless us immensely, letting the static and knots of adult thinking fall away.  A real blessing.  

The world is changing around us—and that means all communities that are alive are changing too.  The discomfort of change and difference can do a real number on our minds and hearts.  We resist changes in what we love.  We fear what we do not know and we make monsters out of what we do not understand.  Yes, even us—Unitarian Universalists.  After all, we are humans first.  

      "Standing on the side of love affirms the full humanity of all people.  It honors the inherent worth and dignity, the spark of the divine in each and every person.

Yet children are often better at this than we adults are.  Perhaps this is because children swim in a sea of uncertainty and change. Lacking perspective, they soldier on, and if they have been loved sufficiently to believe that this world is a pretty good and trustworthy place, they roll with the punches.  They don’t see the big picture—they see today, they feel what works, they listen and learn regardless, and they get through.  They are surprised constantly by a reality that is still unfolding for them, and they accept change with a measure of grace I sometimes covet. The process is the product, for children.  Life is their curriculum.

A few Sundays ago, my partner and I came home, unexpectedly childless for once, since the kids had gone home with church friends.  We dove in to a grown-up conversation like hungry people at a buffet, unhampered by interruptions, arguments, or the needs of little people—a rarity.  We talked about an uncomfortable topic—about something related to an experience we had in church that day.  We leaned in deep to that discomfort.  We refused to stop at “I didn’t like it”.  We journeyed on, in our discussion, facing our own inhospitality, our own fears, and our biases.  No fun, I tell you.  We like to think of ourselves as progressive, enlightened folks, and facing our own unexamined prejudices was about as fun as digging up the septic tank in a pretty yard.  And just about as necessary.

Our conversation was decidedly adult and decidedly cerebral.  We delved into philosophy, anthropology, sociology, psychology, and politics, trying out rationalizations and narratives.   But we kept coming back to our religious and spiritual values trumping our own feelings and all those other stories about how things ought to be.  Each time we circled back to what our UU principles demand of us, and how we want the world to change, our sureness and our pride took a hit.  Finally, humbled before the deepest desire we share—to be welcoming, to honor the inherent dignity and worth of all people, to engage in a free and responsible search for truth and meaning—we talked less, then not at all.  

Then Latt, who co-teaches the 2^nd-6^th grade RE class, gave a surprised sound and a chuckle.  He said, “You know, our lesson in Sunday School today had to do with differences between people and the trouble we have with difference.  We talked with the kids about a world where everyone was the same and they thought it would be terribly boring.  Finally, we decided that people are different so that we have a chance to grow.”  

In the silence that followed, I could almost feel my roots and branches—my humanity-- expanding a little.  We could all use a little more religious education, and I want to be first in line. I’m pretty sure I need it, maybe more than these children so willing and able to grow in love and spirit.