Theology in Motion

As a lifelong UU, my theology has continued to deepen and evolve throughout my internship as I have reflected on the role of ministry in both personal and communal transformation. At the center of my theological framework is Unitarian Universalism, not as a container for other traditions, but as a theology in its own right. As someone raised UU, I understand our tradition as rooted in a unique set of spiritual commitments: the affirmation of inherent worth and dignity, the sacredness of interdependence, the ongoing search for truth and meaning, and the centering of love as both a value and a spiritual practice. I do not see these principles as abstract ideals but as active, living commitments that shape how we build community and care for one another. UU theology is not simply open or eclectic. It is grounded in a particular way of being in the world, where relationships, covenant, and transformation are central. My understanding of Unitarian Universalism continues to grow, but I know this tradition is my spiritual home and the lens through which I practice ministry.

For me, what this means is that Unitarian Universalism is not just about having no creed or welcoming everyone. It is about showing up with love, curiosity, and accountability. It is about knowing that every person has worth and that we are all responsible to each other. Being UU is how I organize my spiritual life and how I try to live in community with care and intention.

Pagan spirituality is another essential part of my theological identity. I have been a practicing Pagan since my teenage years; my focus centers earth-based traditions, Western occultism, folk magic, and Thelemic traditions. Through Paganism, I experience the sacred in cycles, embodiment, and nature. I find holiness in the changing of seasons, the rhythm of moon phases, and the sacred relationship between land, body, and breath. Pagan ritual practice has taught me that reverence can be expressed through movement, sound, silence, and story. The divine, for me, is not confined to temples or sanctuaries but is present in the soil, the wind, the waters, and the warmth of community. Pagan theology reminds me to center relationship, honor my ancestors, and approach the world with gratitude and humility. It is a theology of belonging and interconnection that shapes the way I create spiritual space and the way I understand presence as sacred.

I feel closest to the sacred when I am outside, in ritual or in rhythm with the seasons. Lighting candles, sitting under the moon, cooking with intention, or walking in the woods all feel like spiritual practices. Paganism helps me remember that magic is real and ordinary, and that reverence can be felt in our bodies, our stories, and the land beneath our feet.

My background in Daoist thought further informs my theology by offering a deep appreciation for flow, balance, and non-attachment. I have practiced Daoist folk magic and QiGong since my twenties and have trained under both Daoist and QiGong Masters. Daoism has taught me that wisdom often comes through stillness, through listening, and through yielding rather than pushing. In this tradition, divinity is not a distant authority but the unfolding of life itself. The Dao, or the Way, is something to be sensed and followed, not controlled or mastered. This way of thinking has helped me develop a more grounded, flexible, and gentle approach to leadership. It helps me resist the urge to fix or force outcomes and instead invites me to trust in process, relationship, and the natural rhythms of life. Daoist thought has helped me cultivate patience, presence, and reverence for the quiet and the unseen.

Daoism helps me slow down and trust that things unfold in their own time. It reminds me not everything needs to be solved right away. Sometimes the best thing I can do is breathe, listen, and wait. It teaches me to lead in a way that is steady and responsive rather than reactive.

Liberation theology has also played a significant role in shaping my ministry and deepening my sense of spiritual responsibility. Liberation theology teaches that the sacred is found in the struggles of the oppressed and that real theology must speak to the realities of suffering, resistance, and systemic injustice. This tradition calls me to locate my ministry not only in the sanctuary but also in the streets, in protest, in mutual aid networks, and in acts of collective care. Liberation theology reminds me that love without justice is incomplete and that spiritual leadership must be accountable to the communities most impacted by violence and oppression. I draw from this tradition when I speak about justice, when I preach about solidarity, and when I create worship that connects the spiritual and the political. It shapes the stories I uplift and the ways I strive to be in relationship with others. It also challenges me to be specific in my commitments and to name the ways power operates in the world and in myself.

I believe ministry should show up where people are hurting. I cannot just preach about love if I am not also showing up for justice. Liberation theology teaches me that feeding people, marching in protest, and organizing for change are just as holy as lighting candles in worship. It keeps my faith grounded in action.

Feminist theology has had a profound impact on the way I think about the divine and the way I approach ministry. It teaches me that every voice, every body, every story is sacred and that knowledge is rooted in lived experience. Feminist theology helps me understand power and care as deeply connected and reminds me to lead in ways that are collaborative, relational, and honest. It challenges hierarchies and calls me to examine who is heard, who is seen, and who is missing. This lens also invites me to claim my own authority as a spiritual leader while remaining grounded in humility, openness, and accountability. It supports my ongoing efforts to cultivate spiritual spaces that are inclusive, trauma-informed, and centered in mutual respect. Feminist theology gives me a framework to resist domination and practice care as a form of liberation.

Feminist theology helps me lead with care instead of control. It teaches me to listen deeply, share power, and make sure everyone has a voice. It reminds me that every story matters and that healing can happen when we show up for each other with honesty and compassion.

Queer theology further expands and enlivens my understanding of the sacred. It teaches that fluidity, transformation, and becoming are not only natural but divine. Queer theology affirms the holiness of gender creativity, of boundary-crossing, and of identities that do not fit into neat categories. It invites me to see ambiguity and contradiction not as theological problems but as spiritual gifts. This lens challenges purity politics, binary thinking, and theologies that rely on fixed hierarchies of value. It affirms the sacredness of chosen family, of authenticity, and of bodies that change and evolve. Queer theology encourages me to build spaces where people are invited to bring their full selves and where survival, joy, and resistance are seen as holy acts.

Queer theology helps me remember that being different is sacred. It celebrates becoming, fluidity, and self-expression. It helps me create spaces where people feel safe to be fully themselves, and where we honor the ways people live, love, and resist.

Disability theology also plays a central role in how I understand the divine, community, and the work of ministry. As a neurodivergent person, I am drawn to the idea that disability is not a flaw to be overcome but a vital way of being in the world that reveals deeper truths about access, embodiment, and interdependence. Disability theology teaches that the bodymind is sacred in all its forms and that healing is not about conformity but about connection, dignity, and justice. It asks us to design spiritual spaces that are not just technically accessible but deeply welcoming and affirming. It reminds me that ministry is about relationship and care, not about fixing or saving. This lens informs how I lead, how I plan worship, and how I accompany others in their spiritual journeys. Disability theology calls me to see access as a spiritual practice.

I believe all kinds of bodies and minds are sacred. Being disabled or neurodivergent is not something that needs to be fixed. It is a way of moving through the world that brings its own wisdom. Ministry should meet people where they are, not expect them to change who they are to belong.

Embodied theology brings all of these frameworks into the lived experience of the body. It affirms that spiritual knowledge does not come only through intellectual understanding but through sensation, movement, breath, and presence. I understand the body as a site of wisdom, memory, and divine connection. In worship, this shows up through multisensory practices, ritual movement, and space for stillness or stimulation depending on individual needs. In pastoral care, it shows up as attunement to breath, tone, posture, and unspoken emotion. Embodied theology invites me to honor grief, pleasure, joy, pain, and all the ways spirit moves through flesh. It reminds me that incarnation is not a metaphor but our daily reality, and it is holy.

Embodied theology helps me remember that our bodies matter. Spirituality is not just something that happens in your head. It lives in your breath, your feelings, your movement, and your relationships. Worship should speak to the whole body, not just the brain.

Taken together, these theological frameworks do not compete with one another but live in relationship. They shape a theology that is dynamic, relational, and ever-evolving. I do not believe in one fixed truth or in rigid dogma. Instead, I believe in theology as a process of listening, reflection, connection, and transformation. My ministry is rooted in a theology that centers love, welcomes complexity, and honors the sacred in all its forms. As I continue my formation, I carry these commitments with me, not just in what I preach, but in how I listen, how I show up, and how I help others recognize the divine in their own lives. I hope to keep growing a ministry that reflects these theologies, grounded in justice, care, and deep spiritual presence.

All these ways of thinking and believing work together to shape how I live and do ministry. My theology is not about having all the answers. It is about showing up with love, staying open to growth, and creating spaces where people can feel the sacred in real, everyday ways.