(Sermon only) The Good News Unitarian Universalist Church of Berkeley March 1, 2026

I was up late Friday night and I saw the

news.

American and Israeli bombs falling on

Iran.

All day on Saturday, this morning, the

details intensify.

Despite no immediate threat from Iran,

our government hasn't decided

that might makes right.

At the cost of who knows how many lives

and how far the war will spread,

our government's actions are reckless

and destructive.

And my sermon is called the good news.

It can be so hard to proclaim good news

when the world's news is so bad.

Poet Frederick Joseph writes that most

days hope feels like a match trying to

teach the rain about fire.

But I believe that love remains the only

force sturdy enough to last,

the only way forward through our fears.

So let's talk about that good news.

Now last Sunday, Reverend Marcus stood

in the middle of the chancel and made an

investment pitch.

Give to this church and receive the

friction you need to be transformed.

You won't get financial returns, no

monetary dividends,

but you will be giving to an institution

that will help your spirit grow.

Make a commitment to this place, this

face, these people, and find yourself

transformed in love.

Reverend Marcus made an investment

pitch.

Today, I want to encourage you to figure

out your elevator pitch.

To be able to say succinctly and with

gusto what it is you believe, what you

hold most dear, why Unitarian

Universalism and this church matter.

Reverend Marcus asked you to give to the

power of church, however irrational that

might seem. Let your money light up your

values.

I urge you to testify

to the power of this church, however

irrational that might seem.

Figuring out how to describe the beauty

and the power of Unitarian Universalism

is stewardship, too.

Now, we rarely testify about how our

church can transform lives.

We don't tell people about the salvation

our faith can offer.

Maybe it's because we fumble with what

to say.

There's a somewhat pointed yuyu joke

that our bumper sticker should say honk

if you're not sure.

Right.

We aren't sure. There's so many stories

amid the diversity of our beliefs.

We celebrate the lack of a creed. We

draw on many sources and on any given

Sunday practicing Buddhists, Junarians,

spiritual seekers, recovering Catholics,

eco- feminists, humanists, and so many

others sit in our pews.

Everyone has their own story, their own

spiritual practices. We're a gloriously

messy group.

Just consider all the diversity we've

heard this morning already in a single

service. We, you are hard to pin down.

Though we may call the sacred many names

or refuse to acknowledge the divine at

all, we make space for all those

interpretations.

Being theologically uncertain means

there's room to discuss, to learn from

each other, to create shared meaning.

In our pluralism, we covenant together.

We create community.

We practice radical welcome.

Not always easily. Sometimes it's a

struggle and we get a little bit of that

transformative f friction that Reverend

Marcus talked about. We fail

and then we try again.

Can you see the beauty in that? Our

openness, our pluralism, our

uncertainty,

our willingness to keep trying is a

strength, not a flaw.

We don't all need the same elevator

pitch, but committing to creating your

own will make us a more robust

community.

A story.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I

spent a semester in an exchange program.

Instead of London or Paris, I spent six

months on Cape Cod, which felt plenty

foreign to me. and it was much more

affordable.

I lived with a Catholic family on the

Cape, but somehow ended up at Easter

services at the Unitarian Church of

Barnstable.

People were dressed in their Sunday

best, pink bow ties, plaid blazers,

chinos with ducks or whales printed on

them, fancy Easter hats and frills for

the women. The church was packed.

Everything Everything about the service

signaled that the day mattered.

The minister talked about tender buds

emerging on the trees, the rich promise

of spring, the endless renewal of life.

He never mentioned anything about

resurrection.

I don't think he ever said Jesus.

I had grown up in an evangelical home

and I kept looking around the pews. Who

were these people?

Was this a Christian church? It looked

like one,

but how could it be Easter without

Jesus?

I was very shy, but I was also really

curious. So, I went up to someone in a

plaid blazer and a bow tie and I asked

as politely as possible, "What about

Jesus?"

The man told me that Unitarians didn't

believe in that myth.

He might have used the phrase mumbo

jumbo,

and that was all he said.

friends. I walked away thinking I had

worn a dress and panty hose for no

reason.

This was not real church.

If you want a textbook example of how

not to share our good news, there it is.

When people ask about our religion, use

a mocking tone and tell them what we

don't believe.

You won't need to worry about seeing

them again.

They won't come back on another Sunday.

I didn't give Unarians another thought

for 25 years.

But we have good news to share,

testimonies that deserve to be heard,

the kind of faith that can light up a

soul. So what could that Cape Cod

Unitarian have said? First, he could

have acknowledged that many people do

believe in Jesus. the promise of

salvation through the resurrection of

Christ. There's really never any reason

to be rude.

Then the man in the plaid blazer could

have explained that Unitarians believe

that salvation rest in our own hands

in the people who surround us. Salvation

does not happen in some uncertain way

after we die. Salvation is aspirational

and right now something that we reach

for in our words and our actions.

We believe love is salvation.

Working for salv for social justice is

our salvation. Struggling for peace,

yes, even in the midst of old wars and

new wars, is our salvation.

Salvation happens every day.

The preppy guy on the cape could have

given me a quick history lesson. Told me

about the cloud of witnesses, mighty

ancestors who've worshiped at UYU

churches.

like Massachusetts Unitarian Theodore

Parker, who found himself called by a

loving God to oppose slavery when few

people did.

Or universalist Olympia Brown, the first

woman ordained by a major denomination.

Brown believed her faith has comforted

us in sorrow,

strengthened us for noble duty,

and made the world beautiful.

That would have been an appealing

message to hear.

Maybe the man in the whale pants could

have shared a moment of his own story.

What brought him to the Barnstable

Unitarian Church? How the church

sustained and nourished his soul.

Maybe the promise of spring after a long

winter renewed his spirit.

Personal stories are revelation for

Unitarian Universalists.

I'm making fun of Mr. Pink and Green,

but I've been that guy.

All of us have been that guy. We aren't

used to explaining what we believe. We

get tongue-tied. We shy away from

declarations of faith, from explaining

why our church keeps us coming back.

So many of us are tempted to describe

our religion by what we aren't.

We aren't dogmatic. We don't depend on a

single book. We don't believe in eternal

damnation.

A litany of we don't we don't we don't

leaves people empty.

And that litany needs to end because we

you use have enough good news to fill

people up.

Maybe the idea of sharing the good news

seems possible to me because I grew up

steeped in evangelical culture.

Where I'm from, can I give you my

testimony

was something people said

a lot.

People shared their personal conversion

stories and testified to the power of

Jesus.

I chafed against those stories when I

got older. when my experience no longer

fit that standard narrative and

eventually I rejected them all together.

But as a kid, I moved in a world of

testimony, a world of invitation.

For example, when I was about 11, I was

spending the night with my friend Tracy.

We played on the same softball team. We

laughed at the same jokes.

But because I was a lukewarm methodist

who only went to church on Sundays,

Tracy was worried about my soul. Tracy

asked me, "Can I give you my testimony?"

And then Tracy told me how Jesus had

saved her and offered to take me to her

church.

I said I would ask my mom. And when I

got home the next day, my mom said being

a Methodist was just fine. I didn't need

any more saving, so I never got to go to

Tracy's church. But I liked that she

invited me. It felt friendly, like she

cared.

Now, the Bay Area is not smalltown

Texas, and thank goodness for that.

But we owe our friends and our neighbors

a similar opportunity.

Could we offer our Yuyu testimony?

give people our elevator pitch,

invite people into our community,

maybe even

prolatize a little bit.

I can see people wiggling in discomfort

already,

but can't you think of a neighbor who

might like to be asked?

In the 19th century, a few rogue uni

universalists used to kidnap

unsuspecting Protestants, tie them up,

and then argue with them until they

converted.

I am not saying we need to go that far,

but we can do more to spread our faith.

We need to figure out what we believe

and state it plainly. We need to offer

our testimony because our faith has the

power to change people's lives and help

repair the world. And why wouldn't we

want to share that, especially now?

So, what would happen if you wrote a

line that starts with we believe

maybe when you get home after love,

songs, and chocolates. Another line that

starts our faith.

Maybe a final line that starts Unitarian

Universalism changed me because

words from the Chalice Camp song could

be a great place to start if you're not

sure. We believe it's a blessing we were

born and it matters what we do.

Our faith accepts that what we know

about God is a piece of the truth.

Unitarian universalism changed me

because it showed me I don't have to do

it alone.

How's that feel?

That last hymn we sang, especially the

ending, that works, too. A musical

elevator pitch, as it were. So, test

this one out. We believe inward love

guides every deed. By this we worship

and are freed.

Could you share that good news with

someone?

Or imagine an elevator pitch that said

you use believe all people have inherent

worth and dignity and deserve respect.

My face condemns wanting acts of

violence, whether on the streets of the

Twin Cities or against the people of

Iran.

We believe acting for peace is part of

our spiritual responsibility,

even if that peace does not come in our

lifetimes.

If the thought of an elevator pitch

leaves you cold,

maybe you could tell people a story

instead.

Tell them about a time when your faith

reawakened your spirit or pulled you

into action. Tell them about how being

you you reminded you of the divine spark

in all creation. How it called you

toward connection even on your worst

days.

Reminded you to pay attention to beauty

amidst the despair.

We all have different stories about the

power of being yuyu, of belonging to

this congregation.

Our diversity means we have so many ways

to share our faith, so many ways to

access the sacred,

so many ways for our love to radiate

outward.

I know you all have your own story to

tell.

I urge you to tell your story. Tell your

story with conviction.

Give people your elevator pitch about

the power of Unitarian Universalism.

People will listen.

Offer your testimony.

People will hear you.

Because when we testify about our faith,

we help to create beloved community.

When we testify about our faith, we

bring people into love. When we testify

about our faith, we help people tell

their own stories.

The world needs all our stories. Now

more than ever, the world needs our good

news. May it be so. Blessed be and amen.