By Rev. Janet Onnie
January 12, 2025
I want to talk with you today about transformation and the story we tell ourselves about it. Along the way we’ll touch on process theology — the notion that we are co-creators in our lives with God (however you define that) and how relates to transformation. And we’ll end with the idea that maybe what we in this religious community say what we’re about – transforming lives – maybe that story isn’t true. Maybe what we’re about is something else.
Transformation is the extreme form of change. The standard example of transformation is the process by which a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. Transformation transcends individual worldview. Change is an occurrence that happens in the context of our own worldview. Everything – animal, vegetable, mineral — changes over time. The wearing away of mountains into hills by wind and water, the decay of vegetable matter into the soil, and the human process of aging all speak to the inevitability of change. When change occurs, the identity of the thing is left pretty much intact. Slushy water changes into ice, which will then return to water. But the basic chemical structure remains the same. Whether it’s water or ice, it’s still H2O. It hasn’t changed.
So it is with us. Consider physical appearances for instance. The message that seems to permeate our society is that – whatever shape or size or color your body parts are – you’re not alright. In order to fit in socially you need to change your appearance. This gets communicated very early in life, so many many people grow up with an identity that becomes part of their worldview. In other words, a world viewed through the lens of someone whose appearance is out of sync with whatever the norm happens to be at the moment. A few cutting remarks in middle school, a few snubs in high school, a few missed jobs and/or jobs with lower pay and your self-image as less-than is fixed. You can make changes, but those external changes are competing with your internal identity. You can change your appearance with surgery, but personal identity is stubbornly fixed and it takes tremendous force of will or event to transform it.
I’m sure you have similar stories. The aging process is about nothing as much as it’s about change. The change in our bodies – from the maturation of our brain to the wearing out of our physical parts – affects our self-image. Social institutions – schools, religious communities, groups of all sorts – serve to fashion our identities from birth onwards. Retirement communities exist to help us retain and even enhance our identity as active, capable, and vibrant people. These environments don’t ask us to change our worldview. In fact, they do everything possible to avoid the discomfort of change. Of losing our identity. To avoid the fear and uncertainty of transformation.
It might be a lot easier to transform if there were some assurance of exactly what we would change into, such as changing from a caterpillar to a butterfly. There is no way the caterpillar can imagine what is on the other side of the chrysalis. It is the biological imperative that drives the caterpillar to risk everything, to go beyond its worldview. We have no such mechanism. We are the original DIY (Do It Yourself) project. If we want to grow into our full humanity, we need to decide to make that leap.
Lately I’ve been thinking about the transgender community and how they might fit into the definition of transformation and the issue of identity. A question – to which I have no answer – is Has a person transformed through surgery or other means to become a different person? Or has the surgery simply brought the identity into alignment with the person’s perceived gender. Unlike the caterpillar, an individual does have a sense of what’s on the other side of the change. So is this really transformation? I don’t know. Nor do I much care to parse words. What I do know is that those individuals who have made this profound change are as faced with the uncertainty of outcomes as is the caterpillar in the chrysalis. In many cases, they face a hostile reception when it turns out they aren’t a beautiful butterfly.
“Metamorphosis” is a section in a poem by Rachael Hadas: Why does transformation/ sneak up on us so?/ In life, not just narration,/why does transformation/ creep up—yes, in slow motion,/inexorably, though?/ Why does transformation/ sneak up on us so?
I am indebted to my colleague, Rev. Sandra Lees, for helping me think through this question. The simple answer is: because transformation is a creative process. Because it is a process of becoming more whole, more fully human, and none of us gets to be in total control of that. The creative process is not linear, and it is not predictable. It sneaks up on us, grabs us, and will not let us go. A call to a vocation – ministry comes to mind — is exactly like that. Once you give into it you no longer worry about conforming to someone else’s standard or judgment about anything. Nothing matters except answering the call to full humanity; warts and all.
Henry Nelson Wieman, one of the pioneers of process theology, called this process of transformation “creative interchange.” He wrote extensively about how the creative process transforms the heart.
One of the questions that drove Wieman’s philosophical pursuits was: what can transform us? What power or what force or what event can propel deep-seated change? He wanted to know, in his words: “What operates in human life with such character and power that it will transform [people] as [they] cannot transform [themselves], saving [them] from evil and leading [them] to the best that human life can ever reach? “ Creative interchange was Wieman’s God concept. He believed God is a natural creative process or structure. And that natural creative process increases human good. This happens when people or communities create new meaning and enrich human life. This creative process is what transforms people, said Wieman. It does not shape the world to what a person desires, so much as it transforms a person’s desire. According to Wieman: “The creative event cannot be used to shape the world closer to the heart’s desire because it transforms the heart’s desire so that one wants something very different from what one desired in the beginning.” Let’s hear that again. The creative process is what transforms people. Stated differently, transformation is the result of the creative process.
Pedro Reyes is a Mexican artist who began he career studying architecture. But he lives in a place that’s been shattered by decades of violence by drug cartels. In 2013 he called for people to trade in their guns, and more than 6,700 weapons were exchanged for vouchers which could buy household appliances. From these guns Reyes collaborated with six musicians to build from these weapons an entire orchestra of musical instruments. He created lutes and violins, clarinets and harps, marimbas, drums, trumpets. They’re beautiful and terrible, In each instrument you can still see the shape of the weapon, the barrel, the trigger, the magazine, the place to fix a bayonet – but it has been utterly transformed.
I don’t know the details of Reyes’ journey from architecture to making musical instruments from discarded and confiscated weapons. He wrote “The transformation was more than physical. It’s important to consider that many lives were taken with these weapons; as if a sort of exorcism was taking place, the music expels the demons they held, as well as being a requiem for lives lost.”
The story the religious community tells itself is that it’s in the business of transformation. Or are we? Rev. Douglas Taylor notes that the work of a faith community is to build a better world and to help each other become better people. The HUU mission statement implies this: “”Our purpose is to support each other in our various inward journeys toward truth. We endeavor to do this in an atmosphere of mutual acceptance, openness, and friendship. Committed social action on behalf of the local and global communities will be a natural expression of this purpose.” Is this a promise of transformation into a better, more patient, more generous, more involved person if you belong to the Harrisonburg Unitarian Univeralists? Probably not. It’s not just about getting involved at the Islamic Center or contributing to the food bank or hosting people like ourselves talking about issues that we care about. It is not about taking a step toward self-improvement. Transformation is the whole deal, total metamorphosis: caterpillar to butterfly, liquid to solid, guns into musical instruments. When you are transformed you are a whole new person. And that’s not something to step into lightly. The call to become something totally new is why religious institutions everywhere are struggling to be relevant in the twenty-first century.
But here’s thing. It’s a paradox: Our Unitarian Universalist theology calls us to meet each other where we are; it calls us to promote each other being who we are without the need to become something or someone else. We can’t accept each other’s inherent worth and dignity – just as you are — AND enter into the business of transforming you into something else. We can’t play both sides with integrity. The church doesn’t need to cleanse you or bless you or give you something to make you whole. It is inherent. You do not need to become something more or better to be welcomed here. Come as you are and be blessed.
You say that the Harrisonburg Unitarian Universalists is a place of acceptance. That in itself is powerful and rare and allows you to be an amazing community of grace in your own unique and authentic style. Being accepted is no small thing: As Carl Rogers said, “It wasn’t until I accepted myself just as I was in this moment, that I was free to change.” A pre-condition to true transformation, then, is to accept ourselves in the moment. Let me say that again: A pre-condition to true transformation is to accept ourselves in the moment.
One way Unitarian Universalism can find an authentic way into the idea of transformation is to start with acceptance. Acceptance. Perhaps we can hear the call for transformation NOT as a hint that we are somehow not good enough as we are, that we are flawed and unacceptable. Maybe instead we can hear it the way a Zen Buddhist master once put it: “You are perfect just the way you are…and you could use some improvement.” Mr. Rogers, God rest his soul, said the same thing. “I like you just the way you are.” You are acceptable, even perfect. You are who you are and it is beautiful. But don’t stop! Keep growing, keep improving, keep getting better.
Remember the fox in the word for all ages story? The fox was who he was and was perfect just the way he was. But it was his internal desire for change – for transformation – that led him to explore options. But having seen those options, he decided to stay as a fox. A fox who – for the first time — danced. But he wasn’t transformed. And that’s perfectly okay.
Maybe the call to transformation is a call to continue to grow, not because who you are now is not good enough, but rather because who you yet can be is still more amazing! It is not static. Nothing is. Change is a constant, and what is transformation but the most extreme form of change?
Perhaps the work of Unitarian Universalism is not to help anyone transform, but to get us through a transformation should one sneak up on us. Our call may be to help build up community support and strength of spirit to sustain us through a transformation should we find ourselves in one.
Our work here is acceptance. Acceptance is our first task. And in accepting ourselves, may we provide the resources for each of us to also be more accepting of each other, and of the unfolding of life. As we create this community of support and acceptance, may we also build the capacity for each of us to weather our storms, and, perhaps … should it sneak up on us … to be transformed. May it be so. Amen.