“Do unto others as you would have done unto you.” Throughout my thirty plus years searching for a spiritual practice that felt comfortable, this was the one phrase that consistently revealed itself to me. In my non-academic study of world creeds, I discovered that every major religion embraced and promoted this “golden rule.” Whether phrased as the pagan “Harm none” or as the Islamic “That which you would not want done to you, do not do to others,” this golden thread weaved through the tapestry of all faiths. Even many atheists and agnostics agreed with this simple phrase of respect for others. So I remained content to live by this one rule without the confines and dogma of an organized religion telling me the specifics of how to best live out this truth.

Then, I had children.

As any parent will attest, giving birth and becoming responsible for the physical, emotional, and spiritual growth of another human being can be a daunting task. Priorities shift, values are re-evaluated, and beliefs which were once certainties come into question. Even the Golden Rule seems too simplistic a faith system in a world where we try to protect our off-spring from kidnappers, pedophiles, and murderers.

Yet this common golden thread has survived the centuries for a reason. And that reason became clear to me on a cold, November day in 2002 as I dropped my oldest son off at pre-school.

“Let me guess,” said an unfamiliar voice behind me, “you’re a cross-stitcher.”

I turned to face the stranger. “Yes. How could you tell?”

“Takes one to know one,” she said, pulling a six inch strand of gold embroidery floss off the back of my purple fleece jacket. “I’m Deb, Taylor’s mom.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m J.P.’s mom, Judy.”

For the next few months my daily drop off “hellos” with Deb turned into chats about our respective sons and current cross-stitching projects. Four months later our common interests led to a play date for our boys. As we sipped coffee in my living room, our friendly “getting-to-know-you” conversation took a sharp detour onto a bumpy road when Deb asked, “What church do you go to?”

Despite her polite tone, Deb’s breech of “proper” play date etiquette caught me off guard. Didn’t she know that questions of religious preference should be addressed after at least three play dates? Hadn’t anyone every told her that the first theological inquiry should be disguised as a non-threatening comment like “Little Timmy’s Godmother gave him that new outfit, isn’t it adorable?” Even the boldest of new acquaintances I’d met during the weekly mom’s group I used to attend phrased their question as “What religion are you?” To which I would simply reply “none,” then quickly change the topic. But for Deb to ask which church I attended not only assumed that I belonged to a religious organization, but that I affiliated myself with a Christian one.

Of course, what I didn’t understand at the time was that my sense of unease came from my own spiritual insecurity and not from any faux pas on Deb’s part. Deb, I learned later, simply wanted to share the enthusiasm she felt for her church with a new friend who seemed to be on the same wave length as she. I, however, came from a place of suspicion. I had visited Green Acre (a Baha’i center in Maine) once. I had attended a couple Episcopal services with my maternal grandmother as a child, a synagogue for a friend’s Bat Mitzvah in middle school, and even a Catholic mass on Palm Sunday with a friend in high school. But I’d never experienced the warmth and joy an organized religious community can evoke. I assumed all religious groups and their members intended only to brainwash me into believing their views.

So after Deb asked “What church do you attend?” my knee jerk reaction was to retort, “I don’t attend church,” to which I quickly heard myself add, “I was raised Baha’i.”

The statement itself was true: I was raised Baha’i. A picture of Abdul Baha hung on the wall of my childhood bedroom. I recited a Baha’i prayer nightly. My great grandmother, Dorothy Baker, was a “Hand of the Cause of God,” a great honor in the Baha’i community. Yet my knowledge of the Baha’i religion was limited, and I had never officially joined the Faith. Immediately I wished I hadn’t exposed my deep, dark secret to Deb. I knew it would be mere moments before she would look at me with suspicion and ask me to explain the origins of this religion.

But much to my shock, Deb casually responded, “Oh, I know about the Baha’i Faith.”

Again, Deb’s lack of “protocol” threw me for a loop. “Really?” I challenged.

“I have good friends who are Baha’is. And we had a Baha’i speak at my church.”

“What church do you attend?” I heard myself ask.

“Westminster Unitarian Church. If you ever want to come to a service, you can come with my family. I think you’ll find that it fits in nicely with your Baha’i beliefs.”

Later that evening I went online to investigate Unitarian Universalism in general and Westminster Unitarian Church in particular. The history of the church and its impressive list of famous members—both male and female—struck a cord with my analytical side. The seasonal pictures of the round, airy sanctuary touched my aesthetic side. The positively phrased seven principles of the Unitarian Universalist belief system blended with the Baha’i ideals I had learned as a child. The information about the church’s Religious Education classes spoke to the mother in me. Most of all, the reading several sermons by Westminster’s Reverend Gillis touched my heart. I knew I needed to visit this spiritual home.

But how would my Catholic raised, atheist today husband feel? I knew he would have no problem with me attending—I’m an adult who is free to go to any meetings she chose. But when it came to our kids, we were partners with equal say in matters concerning them. How would he react?

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to check out a church in East Greenwich in the thoughts of maybe bringing our kids there each Sunday for religious education?”

He didn’t respond.

“Honey?”

Nothing.

“At least tell me what you’re thinking.”

Slowly, he smiled. “I’m thinking of all the peaceful Sunday mornings I’m going to have alone at home.”

Two months later, I finally built up the courage to take Deb up on her offer to attend a service with her family. “But I’ll drive my own car and meet you there,” I told her—I wanted to be able to escape this “cult” if things got freaky.

The following Sunday Deb showed me around the Fellowship Hall prior to the service. As we dropped her son at his religious “exploration” class, she introduced me to the two teachers as, “my friend Judy who is church shopping.”

“Did you tell her we’re having a thirty percent off sale this week?” replied one of the teachers.

Friendly congregants with a sense of humor—this was good.

As Deb continued to show me around and introduced me to countless other members, my nervousness calmed. I enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere of the sanctuary. Unlike the silence of a Catholic church prior to a mass, the congregants here physically and vocally greeted each other with warmth and joy like in a Jewish synagogue. Even tripping through the opening hymn didn’t skew my enjoyment. All felt right with the world, until…

“How can we as Unitarian Univeralists worship Jesus Christ?” asked a man at the podium. Wait a minute! Who was that man? He certainly didn’t look like the picture of Reverend Gillis from the website. Why was he focusing his talk solely around Jesus Christ? When would he mention other great spiritual leaders or teachings? What had I gotten myself into?

Suddenly I felt as trapped as I did the day I attended a Catholic service with a friend in high school and learned the hard way that Palm Sunday’s service would be much longer than I could remain comfortable in a dark, dank church. Here again, I found myself sitting in the middle of a pew, locked between “religious zealots,” unable to make a graceful exit, and certain that I would either be forced to convert, sacrificed to a vengeful deity, or forced to drink “special Kool-Aid.”

As though she could read my mind, Deb leaned over and whispered, “This was the wrong service to bring you to for your first time at Westminster.”

I later learned that the day’s lay led service was not typical, and that being part of a community of people from a variety of religious backgrounds means addressing Christian questions as well as Buddhist, Islamic, and Wiccan. Deb asked that I give Westminster one more chance by returning the following Sunday for a Reverend Gillis led Earth Day sermon.

I agreed, and as he spoke of Earth based religions that once cared for our planet and the Unitarian Universalist’s seventh principle—value the interdependence of all living things—the feelings of peace, calm, and community I had caught a glimpse of the last week came flooding back.

I returned to Westminster Unitarian Church with my children the following week, and we returned week after week. My husband even attended a service just to meet the group of caring people who would help guide our children through their spiritual journeys. Soon after, I became an active member of the congregation—teaching Sunday school, working on the Religious Education Committee, and being on two Interim Minister Search Committees. The most amazing moment, however, came when I gladly signed the membership book and did what I thought I would never do—I officially joined an organized religious community.

Even the Unitarian Unversalist symbol of a lighted chalice seems an appropriate representation of the religion that became my spiritual home. The flame of Spirit starts with a spark. That spark can be something as simple as doing to another what you would have done to you. That spark can be something as simple as taking a golden thread off a stranger’s jacket. A golden thread. A golden friendship. A golden Faith. The Golden Rule.

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Please visit this author’s website at www.Writeyes.com - especially if you are a writer or would like to be one!

Bio: Judy Adourian teaches, critiques, and supports writers as a writing coach through her company Writeyes. Her essays have been published in four editions of the Cup of Comfort series, the book Grab Your Tiger, and in Apollo’s Lyre, The Providence Journal, and LitWit. Judy is the Executive Editor for NEWN magazine and the Rhode Island Regional Representative for the International Women’s Writing Guild. 

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Comment from MPJ:  This is a lovely story from someone who early on saw the commonality in all faiths and was content to live without the rules religion provides. (Stage three type)  You can see though her deep sense of responsibility in terms of guiding her childrens’ spiritual lives. For that reason she took her very open mind shopping for a Sunday school program for them. She does not directly share with us any changes in her belief system that may have resulted from her encounter with the Unitarian Church, but look closely at the last paragraph.  The talk about Spirit, the communal appreciation of a friendship and even the type of language she uses does make her sound like a Stage Four.  Also, I think it would be unusual for a Stage Three to go out and deliberately join any church.