Service No. 1 -- MLK Jr. Sunday at Philly UU

"We shall hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope."

There could hardly be a better sentiment with which to start this spiritual search. As someone spoke those words -- Dr. King's words -- during the Universal Unitarian service yesterday, that stone got its start deep in my throat.

I feel more than a little silly. Nothing in my life is desperate. My wife is a loving and caring partner, my job is one that can be fulfilling if I let it, my iPod has plenty of space left, my family is a living miracle and relatively healthy, I'm not hungry, poor, trapped or afraid, and I don't think the government is watching me as closely as some others. To think that I can leave my suburban home, ride the train past the unspeakable poverties of Camden for which we are all responsible, cross the bridge, buy breakfast, walk into church and grow teary-eyed at the idea of my own mountain of despair... it's kind of shameful.

And yet, there I was.

I was thinking about my dad, who could look around and despair if he chose to. I was thinking about the thin ice my marriage is walking on, about the stagnation I feel every single day, about the helplessness I feel at the sight of all the ignorance and injustice around me, and about how just getting up out of bed is sometimes the biggest act of faith I have in me.

When I thought about Dr. King, the obstacles he faced, the courage he showed and the message he delivered, I realized that I am not a great man, and never could be. The mountain of my despair is not a great man's mountain, and the stone of my hope is a small, soft, porous one. But I added my mountain to the pile in that sanctuary, joined it with the ones already there, and I found that my stone grew too.

That's what I'm looking for, I know now.

That room was made for the conception of great things, I know it. The service was beautiful, touching, genuine. The children's section of the program, what they called "the Story for All Ages," was an exquisite little piece called Martin's Big Words, by Doreen Rappaport. It was a two-part script, with the worship associate -- I think her name was Elizabeth, but I could be wrong -- reading one part and the congregation responding with the other. To stand there with a diverse group of people all searching and hoping for faith and strength and speak the words, "I have a dream..."

Chills. I didn't want it to end, and it's been a long, long time since I've felt that way about a church service. Maybe never. I didn't even feel that way about my own wedding, but that was more because I had to stand for the whole thing, and the incense they used was making me light-headed... but I digress.

So this was a good start to the work I have to do. It wouldn't be fair for me to expect every experience to affect me in the way that Sunday's did, but I'm going to try and remember those feelings -- the shared despair, the strengthened hope, the exhilaration -- and get back to them when I can. It would be easy for me to simply say, "That was great, where do I sign up?" but I owe this process more care than that. The need for community is strong, but like the lonely and heartbroken, I am vulnerable.

Still, I'm planning to return this coming Sunday. We'll see.