UUSLO

“This is my home,” I say, along with the words in our hymnal: “The country where my heart is.” How can I not love it? How can I not feel patriotic when I look at what it has offered me? And yet, what do I do with the recognition that what has been offered me is not available to everyone. That “liberty and justice for all” is not a reality, no matter how many times we say the words. How do I use what privilege I have to make that a reality, and how much am I willing to challenge my own comfort in the process?

Memory is a powerful tool, one that can lend itself to healing or harming. How do we choose to use it? And what are those things we forget to remember?

...but words matter. On the road to being an ever-more inclusive community, we need to also embrace a new vocabulary.

Storytelling is wonderful, right? And, yet, "telling stories" can be a euphemism for...well...lying.

We welcome you here, saying that you are accepted just as you are...and then we encourage your (and our own) "transformation." So which is it?

It began as a misspoken phrase by a lawyer for then-President Donald Trump, but the phrase (quite apart from its original context) has stayed with me. How would we go about inciting resurrection?

What should we bring on the journey? Reflections on the story of liberation contained in Exodus as the Jewish celebration of Passover begins.

If we are truly committed to a more inclusive society, then we need to also be committed to making room.

It's an interesting word, right? Is it different than "loved"? Is it just more formal? And how does it connect with "Community"?

I've always been intrigued by this provocative title of a song by Joy Division. Lately, I've been wondering how this shows up in our world. Does love, in being a threat to current systems, appear threatening to some? Is love, in being a challenge to fear, also disruptive to perceived security?