REFLECTION: Building Belonging

Our congregational theme for the month of September is BUILDING BELONGING. To speak of our theme as being simply belonging would miss the point; belonging is a destination, and building is the process we must travel to reach that destination.

We humans crave true belonging, but in trying to have more of it in our lives, we can make mistakes. "Our longing for community is so powerful that it can drive us to join groups, relationships, or systems of belief that give the false impression of belonging," says spiritual writer Toko-Pa Turner. "These places of false belonging grant us conditional membership, requiring us to cut parts of ourselves off in order to fit in."

For most of us, our favorite memory of childhood belonging is the nuclear family in which we were raised. Fortunate indeed are those whose childhood belonging felt safe, secure, loved, and appreciated unconditionally, and for the most part, that is my recollection of how my childhood belonging felt. While exploring those memories, however, I recalled that my parents expected me to "be best," particularly where school performance was concerned. The requirement to consistently perform at an exceptional level was a burden that made me feel love was conditional.

Religious belonging was another challenge during my childhood. My family expected me to follow their example in belonging to Judaism. Our family regularly practiced some Jewish rituals and traditions at home, including lighting Shabbat and Hanukkah candles, engaging in Passover Seders, and observing the High Holy Days. Starting in third grade, I was sent to Hebrew School to learn to read (but not to speak or comprehend) an ancient language, and to understand how our people's history granted us a special type of belonging, that of being God's "chosen people." After "coming-of-age" at 13 with a Bat Mitzvah, the next step in tribal belonging was Hebrew High School, which I soundly rejected when the girls were required to cut bagels and plate cream cheese and lox in the synagogue's kitchen, while the boys went off to pray with the rabbi. Even as a young teen, it seemed to me there was something wrong with that kind of belonging, where one was required to fit into prescribed roles and responsibilities.

As I matured into young adulthood, religious belonging temporarily ceased to be an interest. My college years were about finding secular belonging, and then I left my east-coast family to try to find belonging 3000 miles away, in a place where I knew no one.

In 1960s and 1970s California, there were many opportunities to seek belonging, and I enthusiastically sampled lots of them, one after another. For starters, I made weekly drives to Oakland's Synanon to participate in The Game, a drug-rehabilitation attack-therapy program which outsiders were invited to play together, separated from those using the same program to kick drug habits. After that no longer seemed to fit, I attended the Humanist Institute of San Francisco, where the latest rage was "encounter groups" – intensive, face-to-face interactions intended to promote open communication and allegedly leading to personal growth.

Several additional "belonging" explorations later, I stumbled upon Werner Erhard's est, An Educational Corporation. After participating in the infamous est Training, I became deeply involved in that organization, first as a volunteer and then on staff as coordinator for the Special Guest Seminars held throughout the country. (NOW I finally belong, I kept telling myself.)

But each new belonging opportunity required me to fit in, adapting to behaviors and language that were not authentically my own. They all felt satisfying at first, but eventually they were all disappointing, because trying to fit in is the opposite of belonging. So I kept moving on, continuing to knock on doors in search of true belonging.

Reaching mid-life makes one long for something more real and sustainable than what is offered by the bright, shiny objects of young adulthood. In my forties, I found myself seeking a deeper and truer sense of belonging, both spiritually and communally.

It started with "shul-shopping," in an attempt to find a Jewish community that would bring me back to my roots. It was reassuring to discover that the rituals, traditions, prayers, and melodies I learned in childhood still offered a welcome, but the people in the communities I explored unfortunately did not.

On one Sabbath visit to a local Jewish community, the Parshah (Torah portion) was about "welcoming the stranger in a strange land" – the ethical requirement to treat every stranger with kindness, hospitality, and empathy. Feeling fortunate I had happened upon this community when the lesson was so appropriate, I filled my teacup at the Oneg Shabbat (AKA Connections Hour) and stood smiling at the congregants, certain this community would embrace this stranger. But I was wrong. No one noticed me; no one spoke to me. This was clearly not a place of belonging, so I finished my tea and left.

Exploring religious belonging outside of Judaism seemed to make sense as the next step in my search. At a friend's suggestion, I started attending worship services at a Unity congregation in Redwood City, where I enjoyed deeply satisfying spiritual experiences but not a sense of community. Then other friends told me about UU San Mateo, so I decided to give it a try.

From the moment I walked through UU San Mateo's doors in 1996, I felt like I had come home. When I picked up a "guest" cup at Coffee Hour this time, people started talking to me, wanting to know who I was, how I had arrived there, what I was looking for. They were friendly, caring, and genuine. From that very first visit, I recognized this was a place of belonging.

It did take some time, of course, before I was able to build upon that sense of belonging. First I had to get past my considerations. Stepping into a "church" was off-putting for this Jewish girl, but the democratic process through which our congregation removed "church" from our name was impressive and reassuring. And it was impossible, of course, to miss the face of Rabbi Yeshua (AKA Jesus), ensconced in a stained-glass window, but I soon learned most members and friends also disliked the infamous Jesus Window. (I am grateful we finally decided to do something about that!)

Being welcomed was the beginning of my belonging to this beloved community, but deeper belonging required some work on my part. This community was willing to embrace me, but I had to return that embrace. I joined the choir almost immediately, and before long, I became a Worship Associate. Many participation opportunities followed, each one helping me to build even deeper belonging.

What's the "secret sauce" that enables us to build belonging for ourselves and for others? I have come to understand it's not about trying to fit in; rather, it's all about putting LOVE at the center.

"The opposite of belonging is fitting in…[by] changing who you are. …

"True belonging never asks us to change who we are. It demands we be who we are. …

"We are biologically, cognitively, physically, and spiritually wired to love, to be loved, and to belong."

– Brené Brown

Seeking a deeper dive into BUILDING BELONGING?

Check out the one-page BUILDING BELONGING Overview, and the complete BUILDING BELONGING ministry packet.