This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about our unexpected spiritual teachers—the people, places and texts outside of sacred scripture and church teachings where we find deep theological wisdom. One reason this has been on my mind is the wonderful “Thirsty Thursday Theology” discussion many of us shared last night, where we explored the ways ghost stories and horror movies help us understand our relationships with one another and our ancestors, wrestle with grief, process death, and contemplate good and evil and the vast grey areas in between.

The other reason it’s been on my mind is a recent conversation between journalist Nicole Wallace and actor, activist, and devoted Catholic Martin Sheen. The whole podcast is worth a listen. He even mentions Unitarian minister James Reeb! But I was especially moved by this statement, “If we’re lucky enough to surrender and accept the responsibility that we start as a nothing basically, except our humanity, and then we realize, oh, my God, being human is all we need. We’re broken. It’s beautiful brokenness, because if you weren’t broken, nothing could get in to change you. Whether you believe in one, the other God, it doesn’t matter. The spirit cannot get in you unless there’s an entrance point.”

Sheen was an early hero of mine. I was 13 when The West Wing premiered and I was convinced that my calling in life was to become the White House Press Secretary. I already had a bleeding heart and the idealistic depiction of a group of people working for a common purpose and a President who led from a place of deep goodness struck a chord. I did eventually move to DC and spent a fulfilling decade working in public policy, but that was not my calling as it turns out. So, I left my West Wing watching days aside as I turned towards ministry and theology. Listening to this podcast, I realized that Martin Sheen was one of my earliest theological teachers. His commitment to non-violent resistance and his deep faith, both of which he speaks about often and publicly, influenced me before church-going was a part of my own life. As surprising as it sounded, it was Martin Sheen who introduced me to faithful activists and pacifists like Dorothy Day and Dan Berrigan and helped me realize that for many people, there was a deep connection between their religious faith and their commitment to justice. It was moving to listen to the podcast and realize that my teen years hero had impacted my adult faith formation and vocation in unexpectedly deep ways.

Both of these experiences gave me quite a bit of hope and served as an important reminder about staying attuned to the wisdom all around us. We live in times that call for robust moral imagination. I don’t know the way out of the fear, isolation, and injustice we’re experiencing as a society. I don’t know how to solve the climate crisis, end systemic racism, or bring peace to the Middle East. I’m not sure if anyone does. And our beautiful little community here faces its own set of exciting but complex challenges as we discern how this church can grow and thrive in an increasingly changing religious landscape. We need all the wisdom and creativity we can get, so I want to stay as open as I can to all of the possible sources from which that wisdom and creativity might spring, whether it’s a 19th century gothic novel, a classic horror film, a fictional president, or a deeply faithful actor. This is no time to close ourselves off from sources of moral courage and spiritual insight just because those sources might not look like we expect. One way we can support each other in our collective work for justice and our individual search for meaning is by sharing that deep wisdom when we come across it, and inviting others into our own sites and practices of spiritual renewal.

So this week I have a request. I’d love for you to tell me about your “Martin Sheen.” Who are the unexpected theological teachers and surprising sources of spiritual wisdom in your own life? Where do you reach for inspiration when the “theology” shelf at the book store isn’t giving you what you need? And I mean this literally. This isn’t a question just to ponder on your heart this week. Send me your answers! E-mail me a few sentences about your favorite sources of sacred wisdom. I’ll compile them to share in a future column, so we can share in the wealth. It will help us get to know one another more deeply and it will provide new sources of inspiration when our wells are running dry. I look forward to hearing your own stories.

In faith,

Rev. Danielle