“What does your dad do?” This is the first of a couple of standard questions kids ask each other on the playground in elementary school to begin the life-long process of classifying people into neat, easily-identifiable groups.
”He’s an osteopath. My mom, too.”
“A what?”
I couldn’t have defined what an osteopath was at that age if my life depended on it. I just knew that’s what my parents were, but I could have just said “doctor” and be done with it. But that would have negated some intangible importance that I perceived that my father, especially, attached to the practice of osteopathy. My father always told me that he had the same comprehensive medical education as any M.D., but then had additional training in osteopathic manual medicine.
“What religion are you?” This is the other question.
“Unitarian.”
“Is that Christian?”
“I don’t think so.”
They so wanted to plunk me ever so readily into the Catholic box or the Jewish box, or the all-encompassing Protestant one, but I--and my religion--didn’t fit neatly into any of those conventional containers. These were questions I couldn’t duck with an easy answer, and I didn’t want to, either.
Now, of course, I’m quite well versed in what an osteopath is and does. I frequently find myself having to define that medical specialty and am able to do so with some assurance.
I guess I’m still having trouble defining what a Unitarian is (now Unitarian Universalist or simply UU, since those two bodies joined forces in 1961). I sometimes find myself at a loss for words when people inevitably ask me to define my beliefs. I’m not alone in this befuddlement, since Unitarian Universalism doesn’t fit neatly into any creedal box. Indeed, we’ve been encouraged in my denomination to formulate our own “elevator speeches,” neat, concise personal definitions of Unitarian Universalism to spin out in the length of time it would take to ride several floors in an elevator for someone who poses the question.
Mine might go something like this: UUs affirm the worth and dignity of all persons. We trust in their ability to think for themselves, to seek out the truth and to follow it wherever it leads, and thus to build their own faith. We know that this will lead to differing opinions and lifestyles, but believe that these should be honored, as each person is the final source of authority on his or her own life. There is no required assent to any creed or statement of belief before one can become a Unitarian Univeralist. What really concerns us is the here and now and the actions that we take that will have an effect on future generations. We are passionate justice seekers, trying to act as a moral force in the world, believing that ethical living is the best witness of religion. We have a strong faith in the democratic process. And we have respect for the interdependent web of existence of which we are but one part. A belief in God—certainly not required; I don’t think I can buy that one, though some other UUs do.
But being a Unitarian with osteopathic parents was just the beginning of my outside-the-box life. My first marriage was to a man from India, whose name, when I first wrote it out for my parents, suggested to my mother an unsolved Jumble puzzle, which she enjoyed in the daily newspaper, where the letters to a familiar word are scrambled. I’m sure that it was due to the openness of my religious upbringing, not to mention the cultural curiosity of my family, that I was attracted to a man from a vastly different culture and religion. I was actually encouraged to be open to the “stranger,” to those who are different, to sample their foods, to try to learn something of their languages, to listen to their stories.
My longest and most rewarding employment was with The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. To their credit, although their mission was to train pastors primarily for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, they welcomed students and employees from other faith traditions. The president’s secretary was a messianic Jew, and then there was the Unitarian Universalist--me. As director of publications for the Seminary, I learned much about Lutheranism (incidentally the religion of my father’s side of the family), and also had the opportunity to debate points of religion with caring, open folks. If anything, this exposure only strengthened my dedication to the principles of Unitarian Universalism.
My son has carried on the tradition of being open to other cultures and ways of life. He quit Berklee College of Music to join a Peace Corps-like organization run by the Danes and spent a year each in Mozambique and Angola. He met his future wife--a Finn--in that program, and they and their two children now live in Helsinki. My son has embraced Finnish socialism, language, and culture.
In retirement I taught ESL--English as a Second Language--as a volunteer. I was forced to re-examine dearly-held positions and my world-view as I encountered people from every corner of the world, speaking dozens of languages, all with one goal: to speak English, but for a huge variety of reasons.
Am I an outsider? I don’t feel like one at this age. Sixty some odd years ago when I was in elementary school and the variety of people around me was so much more limited than it is now, perhaps I was. But as I have matured, so has the country. With such diversity as we now have in America, it is nearly impossible to put people into boxes, though many still try, and it’s also futile. Now I somehow feel that all of my experiences are a summation of what life in America can be at its best--living among diverse peoples from all over the world, of different religions, languages, cultures, beliefs. If I am an outsider, I am one in a country full of them.