RE Credentialing Program Testimonial by Karen Fisk

I Can Fly
by Karen Fisk

I felt grateful. Overjoyed. Competent.

They were smiling at me, radiating warmth, and I was glowing back. The committee just told me I passed; I am a credentialed religious educator.

The Sunday before that moment, the congregation I served as a director of religious education devoted worship to wishing me the best as I traveled to 25 Beacon Street to prove my skills to the Religious Educator Credentialing Committee. Our minister, Rev. Carie Johnsen, called me to the front of my faith community; she called my husband and daughter to take my hands; she called my RE committee to lay their hands on me, too; she called to all gathered children and elders to join their hands to those holding onto me. Together, all together, they gave me their love and confidence. They made manifest their commitment to religious education in a flow of energy that was remarkable, tangible. The choir sang and I cried.

Six years before, I filled out my paperwork, secured my written recommendations, and submitted my bid to become a credentialed religious educator, master level. I wanted above all to be as informed a resource for my church community as possible. I wanted to deeply understand the roots of Unitarian Universalism and the nuances of how to best convey liberal religious education. I wanted to know how to handle conflict constructively so the program could always run as smoothly as possible. I wanted to open myself—and consequently my program—to what was possible, to what was innovative, to what would help my young charges reach far toward their fullest spiritual potential in the short time they shared with me and my volunteers. I wanted it all. And you know what? I pretty much got it.

For me, the process of religious educator credentialing was transformative. Before I engaged in the course work, read the books, and interacted with my wonderfully wise mentors, I ran a solid, loving RE program. And that was good, but the credentialing program secured intentional mental time and space for me to come into my own as a professional.  Because of what I learned I became stronger, more efficient, less afraid, more willing to see things in a new way. I was better prepared to fully empower the remarkable volunteers who made the program possible. I better understood the developmental needs of the children and of the youth. My own commitment to the ideals of Unitarian Universalism redoubled and multiplied exponentially. I was filled with awe, not only for what was done right by my forebears, but also for what was done wrong. My chosen faith and its faithful were not perfect, and I respected Unitarian Universalism all the more for its humanity.

I worked hard. I studied in the margins of my days and nights in order to complete the work set out by the UUA and LREDA to achieve master level competence. And, at the same time, what I learned shook me awake, clarified my vision, and made the time I spent on my daily life and work reverberate with meaning.

And finally, it was time to try my wings, to go before the committee and show them my stuff.

I was nervous. I had not been so nervous since — since I don’t even know when. My sleep the night before was restless with dreams that confused faith development with hierarchies of need; jumbled John Murray’s Jersey Shore moment with Emerson’s edification of Unitarian ministers; and, oh my, visions of religious icons danced most alarmingly in my head.

I walked up the UUA steps, the door swung open, and a smiling woman took my hand, “Welcome, you must be Karen.” My nervousness flew away. When I sat down in front of the committee, I took a slow breath, looked at each of the people who had given their free time to help evaluate people like me, and I knew I was OK. I was among people who understood how important this was.

The first part of my meeting with the Religious Education Credentialing Committee entailed leading an element of worship.  I shared a story called, “Why Can’t I Fly,” by Ken Brown. The earnest ostrich of the tale strives hard to fly using remarkable ingenuity and resolve. He is encouraged by his sparrow friend to explore his natural talents despite repeated failures. His community of birds do not laugh at his attempts and ultimately support his flight by their cooperative powers. A profound comfort settled into me as I spoke. I knew that each of us is sometimes the ostrich striving for the seemingly impossible. Each of us is sometimes the sparrow urging a loved one to see his or her wonderfully unique strengths despite adversity. And each of us is sometimes the community of friends willing to make a dream come true by working together.

Then we entered the time of testing. One by one my committee members asked me questions and I answered. As I responded my confidence grew because I knew the answers. I shared stories of direct experience, referred to theologians and educators, remarked on what I had learned from mistakes I had made. The men and women facing me allowed small smiles to show, they nodded their heads. When they called me in again after an excruciatingly long period of deliberation—or maybe just a few minutes—their smiles were large and their energy expansive. I had passed.

I returned to my congregation the following Sunday, glowing. That glow became a beacon of radiance when they presented me with a quilt comprised of squares created by youngsters and elders and folks in between. Each block reflected back to me the elation of a community committed to making a dream real – like the avian community that encouraged the ostrich. That morning, I was lofted to the heavens supported by my beloved Unitarian Universalist community.

Karen Fisk served the Unitarian Universalist Community Church of Augusta, ME, for thirteen years as a religious educator including six years as their Director of Religious Exploration. Currently, she serves the Unitarian Universalist Society of Amherst, MA, as their 4^th-6^th grade teacher, having relocated to western Massachusetts with her family. She is a credentialed religious educator, master level.