I woke up around 2:30 a.m. and couldn't stop dwelling on my allergic reactions to mysticism. Given that some of my work is arguably mystic in both style and content, given that I am highly sympathetic to people who get more out of conversing with trees than other humans (one of my all-time favorite stories is from a Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast's account of a nature retreat), and given that a number of my friends and colleagues readily identify as mystics or as having had mystical experiences, one might think I'd be comfortable with the label or the theme or the topic or folks who introduce themselves as such.

But, oh my goodness, I am not. While I ended up being okay with much of yesterday's mysticism-themed service, I confess to feeling some major dread before it took place and to some of my buttons being (inadvertently) pushed during its course. While I try to keep it out of the way and generally out of sight, I do travel with a lot of the proverbial emotional baggage, and mystics seem to have an unfortunate knack for whapping the locks open.

Which would be okay if they were equally adept at helping me pick up and repack the underwear that then sproings all over the damn train aisle -- which would require me being okay with whomever happens to be nearby handling said underwear in the first place, which I am not... so that's exhibit A in the allergy I've developed to mysticism: presumptions of intimacy and knowledge. Someone being an expert in their own spiritual experiences and interactions does not automatically grant them access to mine, never mind permission to advise or judge said experiences and interactions. (There are many mystics who mind their own business, of course, so I need to emphasize here that I am not condemning mystics across the board -- just dissecting why encounters with certain manifestations of the species have instilled in me a major flight instinct.)

Exhibit B: mysticism used as an excuse for sloppy thinking or dismissal of details. Yes, leaps of faith are sometimes the right approach to conundrums and impasses, but budgets still have to be balanced and someone has to come up with the mops to dry the floors after the dancing is done, and that someone has often been me. That someone is often me, and mystics (or, in the corporate world, "big picture" people) have a bad habit of taking people like me for granted, and that's a big bad button in my own wiring -- and I hate being informed I'm enabling them by doing said cleanup, because yes, I know that, but the repercussions for leaving things un-mopped sadly don't affect just the mystics -- the fallout sprays everyone involved, and then I end up having to manage the cleanup anyway. (This sounds way too martyr-y, and I don't like me like that at all, so now I actively avoid commitments "organized" or chaired by people who give off the "oh, the details will sort themselves out" vibe, and I went ballistic just two days ago on someone who had been taking my mad cleanup skillz for granted.)

Exhibit C: mysticism being promoted as superior to rationalism. To be fair, it's been pointed out to me that mystics often feel silenced and/or closeted because the world at large mocks or dismisses their experiences. That's unfortunate, and I can see how that can push someone into over-justifying the validity of how they experience spirituality. But just as Unitarian Universalism is not for everyone (more on that in a minute), nor Judaism, nor Christianity, neither is mysticism the right fit for everyone's religious or emotional needs, and it makes me crazy when someone insists that I am missing out because I would rather spend six hours analyzing scales than dancing around a campfire. Put another way, I have had too many encounters where someone's mysticism has struck me as a prettily-veiled variant of anti-intellectualism, and frankly, I've had enough of that to last a lifetime. Rationalism is not an antonym for joy or ecstasy, and it ticks me off when that binary is implied. (Remember me saying how cool I found the "11" line in yesterday's opening hymn? Understanding how things work makes me happy.)

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So, about Unitarian Universalism: if there's an overarching theme to my sermons, it's that one size doesn't fit all and shouldn't be expected to. That includes whether one goes to church, which church, and the extent of one's involvement in congregational life.

My own experience colors this perspective, of course. I've been engaged with issues of faith all my life (I protested school prayer and skipped my high school baccalaureate because I do take religion seriously), but I didn't join a congregation until I moved to Nashville -- and I wouldn't automatically seek one out should we someday move elsewhere. I didn't feel the need to attend a church when I lived in Michigan, partly because I was working+commuting 50-70 hours a week for most of that decade, partly because we were surrounded by political and social liberals in both Ann Arbor and Detroit, and partly because "religiously devout" was too often synonymous with "obnoxious and inflexible" in the circles I moved in.

Michigan was never "home" for me in the way I consider Chicago and Nashville "home," but I can pinpoint a specific moment where I did indeed feel "homesick": I was in Denver for a business trip in the fall of 2000, and decided to attend First Unitarian there that Sunday. I didn't know anyone there, but there were several older women there who instantly reminded me of friends and colleagues back in the mitten, partly because they were wearing sandals and thick Guatemalan sweaters and the like, and because -- I no longer remember what-all was going on there in terms of activism that Sunday, but the ultimate effect was to remind me of how it'd felt to be among folks passionate about liberal causes. Add in some family pressure to "network" (aka the eternal inability of extroverts to believe introverts are truly happy), with some actual discontent about not having met kindred spirits right away (Chicago and Ann Arbor and Detroit had all spoiled me in that regard, since university life automatically came with plenty of social options and our landlord in Indian Village plugged us us into that neighborhood's party circuit right away), and that's essentially what propelled me into seeing if First UU might be a good fit for me.

It sometimes surprises people that I've been involved with the church for less than a decade; it's certainly surprised me at how much I've personally and professionally benefited from it, since I wasn't really looking for more than a place in Nashville where I could sing some hymns and be known as myself rather than the BYM's wife. My involvement from 2003-2006 was at the level of a part-time job; I've deliberatedly scaled back since then, partly to recover from burnout and partly because other priorities (monster contract, dying parent, killer plotbunnies) became far more pressing.

What I'm trying to say here is that while being a member of a congregation has been extraordinarily good for me in recent years, it wasn't something I truly felt a need for before my 30s (I'd sung in church and gospel choirs and dropped in on services here and there during my teens and twenties, but the social dynamic was never compelling enough for me to stick around, no matter how welcoming the congregation), and it's something that may not be the right fit for me later on -- I mean, right now it is, but I've walked out on a poorly coordinated UU service before, and I suspect I might not personally feel at home in a congregation smaller than say, 100 people, just as I don't see myself willingly living anywhere smaller than Nashville (I could do it if circumstances decreed it, of course -- I can wring flavor out of a thrice-used teabag, too, and eat the leaves with butter and salt like Puritan housewives used to do. The point is, while cities make some people wilt and dry up, they make me feel more alive, and I'm far more at ease both visiting and belonging to larger congregations).

And why I've been feeling the need to say this: I know I post a lot about my church involvement here, and that not everyone visiting this blog knows me well (even the ones who have known me since grade school), so you may not be aware of how wary I am of the term "evangelist." I am pleased when my pleasure in religion-related activities inspires others to visit a UU congregation or ponder a text they might not have encountered otherwise, but it is up to those individuals to assess what kind of involvement they want with a spiritual community and to what degree. If they'd rather sleep in Sunday morning and tutor kids on a weeknight, that's no less meaningful. As I was telling someone else yesterday in a private discussion, there are a finite number of hours in one's week, and one does have to make choices among the infinite number of worthy claims on one's time and resources, so sometimes it is an either-or choice between, say, participating in a forum on anti-racism vs. baking a cake, or going to a potluck vs. brushing the dog, and there is no pleasing everyone all the time. Someone is going to disagree with your priorities no matter what, and part of the challenge of being an adult is knowing when and how to let second-guessing roll off one's back. (It's second nature to me in some areas, such as protecting the "alone time" I need to do my work, but not so much in others. Sometimes opinions that don't matter nevertheless get under my skin.)

There's much more I could say, of course, but this is way long and I've got a Talking Library shift to hurry toward. Onwards!

P.S. One other thing that prompted this: I was looking up UU congregations in the state where I was raised, and there are fewer than I'd hoped but more than I thought: Bowling Green, Frankfort, Hopkinsville, Lexington, Owensboro, and three in Louisville. And the one in Richmond became certified just a few months ago as a Welcoming Congregation (i.e., meeting UUA recommendations on efforts towards GLBT+ inclusivity). (To which... I know times change and that Madison County is way more diverse and inclusive than it was when I was a kid, but still: Wow.)