[Note: The following was presented as one in a series of pulpit editorials given at Arlington Street Church on May 19, 2002.

One Member’s Journey

Good Morning! My name is Kevin [last name removed for security purposes] and I have been a member of Arlington St. Church for almost four years. If I appear familiar to you, but you can’t quite place me, perhaps it would help if I were wearing more green. [Hold up choir robe.] Yes, I am a proud member of the ASC choir. I have to admit that when Miguel Felipe, the music director here at ASC, first approached me to do a One Member’s Journey, I was kind of intimidated. I have listened to many of these talks by various members over the past few months and I have been struck by the intelligent, articulate and witty stories that have been told in this pulpit. These stories have moved, touched and inspired me. My initial thought was, "So why me?" I’ve been here a relatively short time, not decades like some members, I’m not in the forefront of social action, I’ve never been on a church committee, and I’ve never been to Guatemala. I’m just a bass in the choir , why would anyone be interested in that story?

I was ready to tell Miguel and Kim, thanks but I’m not the right person. Later, I was listening to Holly Hendricks give her moving and personal One Member’s Journey of how she first encountered this church and how deeply it affected her. And then it struck me. Maybe many people in the congregation feel like I do. Perhaps more people could identify with my more modest spiritual journey. Maybe by telling my own tale, I could demonstrate that no contribution is too small, that all of our stories have relevance and are just as valid as those of even the president of the UUA. So I told Miguel. "Yes. I’ll do it."

Like many people I have spoken with in this church, I am a recovering Catholic. In the 1860s, my great-great grandfather emigrated with his family from Ireland and settled in my hometown of Webster, Massachusetts. He was a founding member of my parish, St. Louis, the same parish in which I was baptized, made my first communion and was confirmed a century later. My mother is one of 8 children from a Polish-Catholic family, my dad one of 15 from the Irish-Catholic side. I went to a Catholic grammar school for eight years, I was an altar boy and two of my aunts are nuns. Needless to say, a very Catholic background.

I was insatiably curious as a child and asked lots of questions. The nuns weren’t always so keen about this trait. Often when I asked one of them a particularly pointed question during religion class, I often received the response, "It’s a mystery." Not a very satisfying answer to a curious boy. I remember being fascinated by the sacraments as a kid and how they were able to bestow divine grace; it seemed so magical. In fact I wanted to someday experience all seven of the sacraments so I could accrue all that grace. The tricky part was figuring out how I could fit both Holy Matrimony and Holy Orders, that is, joining the priesthood, within the same lifetime.

After being immersed in a Catholic upbringing, a month after I left for my freshman year in college, I stop attending mass—a mortal sin in Catholicism—and only went when I was visiting home. It was in college that I first became acquainted with Buddhism, with which I immediately became fascinated. Here was a religion that made sense for my day-to-day life, not one that was seeped in ritual, patriarchic dogma and all those divine mysteries that the nuns loved so much. I learned to meditate and began reading books on Buddhism. However, Buddhism would be consigned to being primarily an academic pursuit of mine for the next fifteen years. The Three Jewels of Buddhism are the Buddha, the Dharma or Buddhist teachings and the Sangha, or Buddhist community. I had found two out of the three and thought that was sufficient.

I would like to mention how relationships affected my spiritual development. I have spent most of my adult life in a primary romantic relationship and have defined myself by them. I’ve often identified more with being half of a couple than as an individual. I used to see partnered life as the only way to be; singlehood was simply an uncomfortable resting place between the real experiences of life.

By my reckoning, I experienced three major comings out in my life. My first coming out was in my 20s, when I came out to myself and to my immediate family as a gay man. I was in a closeted relationship for most of my 20s with a man who wanted nothing to do with the gay community. He was content living a straight life with his same-sex "roommate." Eventually, it was a pervasive and visceral need for community that led me to end that relationship when I turned 30. I moved to Boston and became involved with a gay social group here. Now it was time for my second coming out as a member of the larger gay community.

I met my former partner Miles that year and we spent the next five living a nice domestic existence with a small body of gay friends. We had a house in the suburbs, a yard with a garden, a 2-car garage, a cat and a dog, and even a minivan. The full catastrophe, as Zorba the Greek would say. Yet there was something missing. My spiritual life was relegated to reading Buddhist books while commuting on the T. Miles, who is not outwardly spiritual, would later say that I was supporting the lifestyle that he had grown accustomed to. After five years, he ended the relationship. I didn’t see it coming. I was devastated. Yet, to quote Buddhist author Pema Chodron on the occasion of her own divorce, "By ending the relationship, he saved my life."

The break-up was just the kick in the complacency I needed and as I recovered from that heartbreaking event, I experienced my third coming out, this time coming out spiritually. I began attending gay retreats in the Berkshires, went to the Kripalu Yoga center, the Rowe UU camp, to New Mexico and even to Findhorn Village in Scotland. On one retreat I met Frank Bellistri who told me about the new member class he was taking at a place called Arlington Street Church. "Oh yeah, I know that place," I said. "I went there to see my friend Darren Carlton with the choir perform Bernstein’s "Mass." That’s the old church with the beautiful windows and the ripped upholstery, right?" This was my introduction to this place.

Our covenant extols us to speak our truths in love. Well, I must confess—recall the Catholic upbringing—I must confess that one of my initial reasons for coming here was that I thought it was a good place to meet men. My first Sunday here was Jane Ring Frank’s last week as choir director. And in the fall, my love of singing led me to join the choir under Bill Casey. I even met a boyfriend in the choir. But while it was music that facilitated my introduction to this place, it’s but a single aspect of why I remain. For it was here that I found that Third Jewel of Buddhism, my Sangha, my spiritual community. I’ve found Kim’s sermons to be a source of inspiration and to reinforce the teachings I had previously learned intellectually, but now they were much more personal and salient to my life. It was time to experience spirituality instead of just accumulating knowledge about it.

Recently I turned 40. I am 40 and I am single. But being single does not have the same edginess it once did. I find myself more content with the space I’m in. I’ve learned to relax the stranglehold I once had on life, to let go of the old Capitalist ethic of struggle and striving to get ahead. I try to listen to my heart more than to my head. I’ve discovered an incredible thing. When I slow down sufficiently, I’m able to hear the quiet pulse of life beneath the usual noise. When I manage to surrender the tight reins of control, more often that not, I find that life spontaneously supports me in my journey. It’s a fascinating paradox. I now really "get" the words of Oscar Wilde who said, "Life’s too important to be taken seriously."

With this new wisdom, when I do enter a new relationship at some point, I believe I will be much more available and present for my partner, no longer driven so much by neediness, but by a desire for an open exploration of the often absurd, sometimes terrifying, and always wonderful journey that we all share.

And that’s the story of one choir bass. Thanks for your attention. Namaste.