The Best Religious Ritual Ever Invented: The Flower Ceremony

Traditionally, I’ve not been one to subscribe to any religion. Being indoctrinated into a Christian brimstone and fire church at a young age left me with a sour taste in my mouth by the time I was fourteen. Luckily, I wasn’t exactly raised in the church. Less luckily, most of my family members liked to preach the Bible - even when they didn’t understand the nuances of what they were preaching. Needless to say, it took me a while to come around to the idea of communal spirituality.

Buddhism first intrigued me around the age of twenty-four. By twenty-five I was exploring both Buddhism and Judaism. Though I liked both and had qualms with both, Buddhism ultimately aligned best to my core values. Starting at twenty-six I began to identify as Buddhist adjacent, and still somewhat do. Ultimately, I have decided that my beliefs are a hodgepodge of spiritual tenets I’ve absorbed in this journey of opening myself up to the universe.

For years I thought I’d never be able to voluntarily enter a church of any kind for the rest of my existence. I found the thought nauseating, traumatizing. Painful. Then, we moved to New England. For the first time I saw churches flying pride flags. Black Lives Matter signs lined the parking areas proudly. I saw their lawns littered with love instead of hate. Observing these churches actually practicing what they preach, even in a small way, sparked hope within my desperate heart.

Years after moving, I found myself walking into a church for the first time in a while - for a social justice activism craft event, nonetheless! I felt tense. Walking through the old, white door frame caused my heart to race. As I passed the threshold, I saw a sweet familiar face - my friend, Anna. Anna was hosting the event and was the one who invited me and my family. Joining in at the table of women crafting, I started to soften. I met a really bold and just cool woman named Aimee. She also happened to be a member of the church hosting the event. We all chatted, laughed, and crafted. It was a cozy, amazing experience. Interestingly, I also met the church’s reverend half-way through - a woman I had been chatting with sitting next to me! A female reverend? The small flitter of hope I’d felt just a few years prior grew into a full-on beaming star.

After that day at the craftivism event, I decided that I would give this church a chance. Any church that had pride flags, Black Lives Matter signs, and hosted a craft night based in activism was a place that could very well be for me. The only thing was that I’d never been to a service of this religion: a group called the Unitarian Universalists.

Unitarian Universalists (UU’s) have been around for quite a long time. In fact, much longer than I imagined. However, in the midwest, UU churches are few and far between, and many are also a cross between Christian and Universalist - IE, many of them believe in a messiah, with that messiah being Jesus. This is actually not what most UU’s believe, but in the small midwest and southern areas, Jesus is heavily included. For most UU’s, bits of Christianity, as well as several other religions, are used in the teachings supporting their fourth principle: the free and responsible search for truth and meaning. UU’s source wisdom from other religions at times to celebrate all people and our collective humanity, but they have their own guiding set of principles separate from all other spiritualities as well. But, I digress.

The first time I decided to go to the church was on a cold winter’s morning. I snuck in, sitting in the back row - coincidentally just behind the amazing person I’d met a few weeks before. Settling in to the charming wooden, rickety church pew, I found myself praying.

“Please let this be a positive experience,” I thought as I quipped a quick, “Amen.”

White-splashed walls normally feel sterile, or at the very least numbingly dull. Yet, as the light streamed through the elongated, sparkling windows, I couldn’t help but feel warmed inside. As my gaze trailed away from the side-lawn outside, I looked over to notice a giant, antique chandelier. Low, glimmering light shimmered through the several ornamental vials of glass. Finally mustering the courage to look ahead toward the altar, a gigantic organ served as a beautiful backsplash to the pulpit. A shining smile met my gaze. The reverend began her welcome.

Nothing else really left a physical impression on me. What I do remember are the feelings. By the end of the sermon, I had tears in my eyes and joy in my heart. The room brimmed with an energy, pulsing with a generous light and dare I say, love. Could Unitarian Universalism be my soul’s new home?

Fast-forward six months. It’s June; Pride month. Something on the UU schedule called “The Flower Ceremony” is listed on my calendar. After reading about the event, I knew I just HAD to attend.

Essentially, the ceremony is a celebration of our shared humanity in love and being. Each attendee brings a flower, and those flowers are combined into a large vase. The flowers represent our own individual uniqueness, but collectively the love and beauty we emanate as a peoples. The minister blesses the vase of flowers and each attendee leaves with a different flower than they brought. Of course, this is a very oversimplified explanation of the process. Here’s what really happened:

At 10:17am, I took my seat in the last wooden pew to the right, 17 minutes late. The morning had not gone at all to plan. Upon waking, I realized we were out of breakfast foods for me to consume (I can’t have gluten and can only have limited dairy). Thus, leftover tofu and coconut rice with a teriyaki sauce started off my day. Half way through yesterday’s dinner-turned-breakfast, I shifted to look at my child and noticed their face was red and splotchy. Upon further inspection, the splotches were all over - arms, chest, back, neck... I dropped my half-eaten bowls on the counter and FaceTimed my cousin, who is a nurse.

“Looks like hives or some kind of allergic reaction,” she said calmly. “Give them Benadryl, Zyrtec, or whatever you’ve got. Preferably liquid.” It didn’t look great.

I called my husband who had gone to the store shortly before I’d gotten up - he dropped everything and rushed home. As the rash continued to spread, our child seemed fine aside from some mild itching. The Urgent Care didn’t open until 9am, and it was only 8:30am. After giving them some liquid Zyrtec, it was decided they would go with their dad to Urgent Care while I got ready for the Flower Ceremony. Long story short, the two doctors agreed it was either allergic or viral, prescribing prednisone. Either way, they said, the prednisone should do the trick - and three hours later, it did. Waiting for them to return, I ended up being late to the communion. Needless to say, it wasn’t the way any of us wanted to start our morning. In fact, I almost didn’t go, but my husband insisted, knowing that I’d been looking forward to this event for months.

10:20am rolls around, and I’m in my pew brushing off the rain droplets which had collected on my sweater, listening to the opening to the ceremony. The same familiar joy began to creep up into my heart, melting away my lingering anxieties about my baby. The telling of the origin of the flower ceremony began, and I was left spellbound. My favorite line from the recounting reads, “This flower ceremony, lovely though it is, isn’t a diversion from ugly reality, but a gentle fierceness which proclaims that in the midst of sinister days there is always the light of beauty.” A gentle fierceness that persists in the human spirit within each one of us, boundless, for all time through love.

Feeling moved, I began to smile and the corners of my eyes dampened. The flower ceremony was already so much more than just some pretty remembrance or superficial ritual; it was a commitment to our everlasting condition as individual souls and a simultaneous ocean of love.

The Reverend started to explain over the microphone how our particular ceremony would progress. In front of her and the youth minister stood three or four gorgeous vases packed full of colorful flowers. Each of us would walk up, take a flower different from the one we had brought, and walk back around to our seats, admiring the beauty of our new flower as a representation of the beauty within us as individuals.

“Oh no,” I thought. “I forgot my flower!”

In the rush of the chaos, I had left my small bouquet of wildflowers on the kitchen table. Instead of chastising myself as I normally would, I extended myself some grace.

“The congregants of this church would extend me grace, so I shall do so in their stead,” I thought as relief came quickly.

Through the parade of flowers, I ended up with a rainbow rose. It wasn’t important to me which flower I would receive, as I love the uniqueness of all flowers, which also happens to be the very message of the flower ceremony. Holding the rose, I indulged in brushing its soft, sweet petals. I used my nose to take a long, slow whiff. Another smile graced my face. What could be better than the simplicity of the love of this flower in this moment? The love surrounding me as each person admired a flower of their own. In that space, we all loved not only ourselves, but other individuals, while simultaneously loving the collective. That love reverberated throughout the worship hall, and maybe even out for miles and miles across the world.

Yet, we were not done! Whether this is an official part of the ceremony I do not know, but it was just as important - the Pride Celebration. As an ode to the uniqueness we each hold, the Pride Celebration honored the spirit of the Flower Ceremony. Once again, the minister and the youth minister came together to explain the second half. We would form a line to receive a blessing after sharing a little bit about ourselves. There were three offerings: the first was to speak out loud to the congregation. You were encouraged to share your name, gender identity, sexual orientation, allyship, and/or any other tidbit pertaining to your individuality in this arena. The second offering was to come up and offer these things silently to the reverend or the youth minister. The third was to remain seated and privately hold your identity in your heart as they held a silent prayer for the silent ones.

The best part, aside from the fact that they anointed you with glitter, (a special vegan, cruelty free, biodegradable glitter called Unicorn Snot), was the prayer spoken over each person by both leadership and the entire congregation.

You are holy and you are loved.You are made of stardust; may you sparkle and shine. May you be blessed as you go forth to bless the world.

What a blessing! I’d never heard a prayer like that in all my years of attending religious services. There was also something powerful about delivering this prayer about 60 times, as well as hearing it about 60 times from 150 voices.

Debating on which option to choose, I finally settled on walking up to the altar to privately share with the youth minister. This person has been a very supportive person on my journey into UU, and for the kids as well. I also find this person very lovely and intriguing, and to carry the true spirit of a soulful philanthropist, while maintaining the integrity of the human experience. Basically, a kindred spirit. As I approached, they said quietly their greeting and I shared one simple thing after our pleasantries were exchanged:

“I am a soul out here just winging it,” I said, matter-of-factly. No identity to share, because I really don’t identify in general. Just the simple truth. The youth minister burst into laughter, doubling over in a smile. It wasn’t meant to be funny - well, maybe a little - but I also found it the most authentic expression of spirit in the moment. I left smiling because they were smiling.

Instead of being anointed with Unicorn Snot glitter, (sensitive skin and allergies ruining my good time, as always) I opted for a painted-rainbow rubbing stone. I find that small, special items meant for carrying in your pocket highly align with the way I worship life. Additionally, the stone will last longer than the glitter and can remind me over and over about why I’m even exploring the UU faith in the first place. Mainly, because of days like these. Because of a community that loves, and lives in the ethos of love.

We sang songs of unity. We smiled. We laughed. We touched. We loved.

This aura of overwhelming love left me, once again, feeling like there just might be a place for me amongst the flowers. Though I don’t know for certain that a lifestyle of weekly Sunday worship will ever be something that I can fully embrace, I know there will be a community there for me, waiting.