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Within our congregations, we talk a lot about the importance of showing up as “our whole real selves.” Our hymns illustrate and honor the full range of human experiences. Our bylaws are organized around humanizing values and our classes deepen our understanding of humanitarian issues. Still, somehow, we fail to operationalize whole human care within our congregational lives.

I see the church as a microcosm of society and wonder, if we cannot manage to fully live into what we promote within these walls, how can we ever expect to advance our Unitarian Universalist values in the world? When I look at the lovely infographic for the proposed Article 2 revision, I see nothing that doesn’t require knowing the whole, complicated, messy person. I can’t depend on you if you don’t know me. I can’t work toward justice if you have to sugarcoat things for my comfort. I’m not engaging in pluralism if the distance between us prevents me from seeing the ways we understand the world differently.

A few weeks ago, I saw one of my RE volunteers sitting near the back of the sanctuary, holding the “Follow me to RE!” sign used to lead the littles to their classes after the Time for All Ages.

“How are you?” I asked before the service started.

They shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

I straddled the chair in front of them and asked if they wanted to say more. They did. An immediate family member died unexpectedly only days before. I asked if they wanted to share more. They did.

Over the next few days, I learned that a handful of people in leadership had received the answer of, “I’ve been better,” and exactly zero asked why. Some asked about their volunteer schedule. They discussed the amount of their contribution to the stewardship campaign. They knew where this member fit in a spreadsheet, but no one knew what was real for them as a person.

I’ve been warned against being too personal with the congregation I serve, but I can’t think of a single place where I’ve chosen to spend large amounts of time that my preference would be to feel like a member rather than a whole human. And so I try to know my volunteers. I know, as best I can, who can’t drive at night, who meets their spiritual needs primarily outside of the sanctuary, who is estranged from family, and whose spouse is in hospice. This knowing of whole humans helps me serve our mission to build deep connections while also creating a nourishing volunteer experience.

In an effort to cultivate surrogate family, I call upon the estranged grandmothers first when a single mother needs childcare for an ongoing workshop. I ask those heavily immersed in small group ministry to serve on Sundays before I ask those for whom sanctuary time is their primary spiritual sustenance. I pair up the folx who are new to town so they can be each other’s support system, and then make our team check-in question about favorite places in town. What we do here extends beyond what we do here because we’re all whole humans with rich, complicated lives.

As a new member, I remember feeling like a commodity almost immediately. I still hadn’t figured out even the basics of Unitarian Universalism when I was asked to teach in the elementary school classroom. My co-teachers didn’t know how many children I had, or that I was right in the middle of a scary health crisis, or that I was desperately lonely because I’d lost every single friend when I exited my previous religion. When a parent complained about something in the class, I had no idea whether anyone would have my back because no one knew me, and I didn’t know them. I was just showing up for duty. It was not a humanizing experience.

As a staff member, I’m experimenting with doing things differently. One program at a time, I’m moving our volunteer training online so that when our teams gather as a group, we’re not facing the front and listening to a speaker. We’re connecting as colleagues with a shared mission. We’re meeting each other as humans, learning what makes each person excited and how we complement each other’s skills and interests.

In my experience, better teaching teams emerge from this kind of whole-human approach to volunteer management. Subs are easier to find because the members of the team understand the nuanced demands of each others’ lives and don’t see it as working more, but as supporting a friend. I get calls when someone notices a teammate needs extra support, and I’m able to reach out and offer pastoral care. People, in general, appreciate being on teams of friends who notice their needs, who ask to know why they’ve “been better,” and who show genuine care.

If I don’t take the time to know you as a whole person, I can only ever operate from my own narrow view of the world and make a boatload of ill-informed assumptions about how you need to be treated. I can only reinforce my own biases. I can only work under the golden rule, and never the platinum, because treating you the way you would like to be treated means taking the time to know you, as well, you. You with your ancestry, life experiences, pains, and triumphs that are completely different from my own.

I’ve only experimented with two of our five RE teams, and only for a year, so I’d be blowing smoke to declare any statistically significant observations at this point. What I can say is that I sleep better at night knowing that our UU values are being operationalized in our RE teams and that I’m not asking something of the world that I’m not creating at home. It feels good knowing that I’m treating my people like people and creating the space for them to do the same.

I can’t help imagining a scenario in which every person in the building is part of a team that centers relationships and connections over agendas. Where every service opportunity also nourishes our sense of support. Where someone always notices those experiencing a season of need. Where administrative care and pastoral care are one and the same.

Who will show the world that it’s possible to function as an organization while loving each person’s full humanity if not us? Let us take the time to know one another in our staff teams, in our councils, in our teaching teams, and in our social halls and sanctuaries. Only then can we even begin to live our values, and only then can we reasonably seek to promote them in the world beyond our walls.