“Chattering Magpie” and “Lark in the Morning,”trad. Irish tunes. (Patrick Webb, fiddle). Public Domain.
“Step by Step the Longest March,” words: from the preamble to the Constitution of United Mine Workers of America; music: Irish folk song; adapt. & arr: Waldemar Hille. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission.
“Find a Stillness,” words: Carl G. Seaburg, music: Transylvanian hymn tune, harm: Larry Phillips. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission.
“Spirit of Life” by Carolyn McDade, harm. by Grace Lewis-McLaren. (Kathy Gursky, viola & Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission.
“Nine to Five” by Dolly Parton. (Nylea Butler-Moore, vocals & piano). Permission to podcast/stream BMI song # 1068031 obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770.
“Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór” (“Small Fairy Mound, Big Fairy Mound”) by Turlough O’Carolan and “Kesh Jig,” trad. Irish. (Patrick Webb, fiddle & Joy Charles, cello). Public Domain.
“As We Leave This Friendly Place,” words: Vincent B. Silliman, words: J.S. Bach, adapt. from Chorale 38. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Public Domain.
Permission to stream the music in this service obtained from ONE LICENSE with license #A-730948. All rights reserved. Permission to stream music in this service obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770
OTHER NOTES
Opening words by Megan Visser*
Time for All Ages: “The Stolen Smell” is a traditional folktale with variations found in Japan and South America
Reading, “We Labor in Love,” by Amanda Udis-Kessler*
*from the UUA’s WorshipWeb, used with permission
OFFERTORY
Our Share the Plate partner for September is the UUA’s Disaster Relief Fund, a rolling fund that makes individual grants to congregations and other recognized UU nonprofit entities affected by disasters. From natural disasters like wildfires that scorch everything in their path and hurricanes that bring destruction through winds and water, to human caused disasters like the collapsing infrastructure that we’ve seen in Flint, our congregations, our people, and our communities sustain the impact. Your donation to the UUA Disaster Relief Fund allows the UUA to respond flexibly on your behalf to tragedies that overtake us.
I often find the postings of Sightings to be at least useful and often enlightening. It is essential to blend history, scholarship, and modern media approaches to religion in America.
Especially insightful is this recent article about Mr. Tom Cotton and the history of opinions of slavery in America:
I’ve preached a number of times the last few years using the metaphor of “the Great Heart at the Center of Everything” (an ancient creation story that I made up c. 2018). The Great Heart, so my story goes, is the thing that sits at the intersection of all our myriad connections — and it’s the thing that our faith life calls us to try and see in its entirety, impossible as it might be to see something infinite. This is, for me at least, the purpose of a religious life — the attempt to gain an ever- expanding view of the way I am tied to everything that is.
The last several months have brought the necessity of this religious outlook home for me. The great “mask debate” (I use quotation marks here because there is no debate — masks are effective and everyone should be wearing them) appears to me as nothing more than a deep divide between those who choose to live their lives as though others matter (and indeed have worth and dignity) and those who are determined to live as though they are the only real living thing on the planet. Or, more tersely, it’s a battle of wills between the selfless and the selfish. And the selfish are noisy and obnoxious in their selfishness to the point where I’m tempted at times to chuck my own worldview out the window and label it as naive.
And that’s the point at which I’m glad we’ve arrived at the start of a new church year. Oh, how I gratefully welcome a “new year” in September of 2020. I am ready to start again (how about you?). I am ready to pause at this threshold, take a deep breath, and reset my sights on the Great Heart, because when the world wants me to give up on it sometimes the only path that makes sense is to double down on my sense of infinite connection and my quest to see those connections in all their infinity.
Welcome to a new church year. Are you ready to join me on this quest?
One of the best ways I know to get things moving when I’m facing significant change is to engage my imagination. The facts of my situation, and the logic and reason I use to arrange them, will only take me to the edge of what I know. Even using my five senses will only extend as far as the range of my sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch. But imagination has the ability to reach farther by accessing the deeper well of the unconscious and creatively rearranging what I’ve known before. The uniquely human capacity to imagine is a valuable threshold skill that can open a way into and through the unknowns of a future filled with change.
When we cling to what we know, it is easy to forget about the massive storehouse of knowledge hidden within each of us, a vast library filed away behind a door aptly labeled “the unconscious.” It is there, in the back stacks of the mind, that our experiences first get shelved. Cognitive scientists tell us less than one percent of that material gets transferred to our conscious mind. Like a “closed stack” library where patrons submit requests for materials to be retrieved by librarians, our unconscious stores an expansive collection of knowledge entirely out of sight. Some of it is also out of reach of language itself, collected and shelved as pre-verbal feelings, sensory experiences and images that constitute the knowledge we call intuition. Dream worker and author Jeremy Taylor called this knowledge “not-yet-speech-ripe,” using an old Anglo-Saxon term for the unconscious.
Fortunately, accessing the treasures of the unconscious does not require mastering the Dewey decimal system or turning to a librarian. Rather, we can be assisted by the colorful cast of characters appearing in our dreams at night, or by any piece of music, poetry or art that speaks to us. We only need to pay attention to anything flinging open the doors to the unconscious and beckoning us in to wander among the hidden stacks, often without knowing what we are looking for.
Imagination, dreams, ritual and the arts are all tools for accessing this larger pool of consciousness. In dominant culture today, these ways of knowing are often disparaged as less reliable and useful than science and historical fact. But any scientist worth their white coat knows that exploration begins with a dance between curiosity and imagination. We need to access a larger body of knowledge, especially when facing an unknown future. Our imaginations, creativity and dreams all extend our awareness to do just that.
Wang Maohua, a tai chi master in Beijing, once gave me an important lesson that changed my understanding of tai chi and now also guides me on the threshold of change. He began our time together by asking me to show him the tai chi I practiced at home. But soon after I launched through several forms, he stopped me. I was pushing myself through the moves, he observed.
“Try to focus your attention on the space above your head and below your feet,” he advised instead. “Extend your awareness to the space beyond your fingers.” He then led me in a meditative journey through my body, awakening me first to the space within my body and then beyond it. He told me to stop pushing my body. “Instead,” he said, “let your body move by a gentle intention into the space around it, where your awareness is already waiting to meet it.”
We can borrow this practice of “gentle intention” when living on the threshold, casting our awareness across the gap of the unknown. By imagining ourselves on the far side of our threshold, we are actually stretching our attention beyond the limits of our senses. Gentle intention will open our awareness, allowing us to perceive what lies beneath the surface of things. It is a way of open-ended wondering, imagining what we are moving toward. Then, having imagined ourselves on the far side of the threshold we are crossing, we look up to find our own self waiting there, encouraging us on, and welcoming us as we arrive in a place where we have never been before.
excerpted and adapted from Living in the Between: a thresholder’s guide to personal and global change, by Karen Hering, to be published by Skinner House in late 2020.
When I was in college, a professor began the term by assigning a novel set in a dystopian future, where everything was grim and hope was absent. I diligently read the book, a science fiction story by Ursula LeGuin. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person thinking that the term was already heading in the direction of being a serious downer. But the professor surprised me. When we arrived back at class the next week, he split us into small conversation groups, asking that we reflect on our ideal society. Get as far away as possible from the world the book imagines, he urged. In the utopia of our personal dreams, what would life be like?
We had some interesting conversation. One of the cool ideas I remember being tossed out was free public transportation, locally, and also globally. Can you imagine that? One fellow student in my group had recently interned with a collective that built housing using environmentally sustainable materials like cob (which is a mixture of clay, sand, straw, water and earth that’s similar to adobe). He shared a long convoluted plan about everyone getting to create their own one-room living space that would adjoin huge communal compounds he described as being like beehives. I was 19 and remember thinking it was very sophisticated.
But I have been forever haunted by the comment of a smart, thoughtful young woman. She was very quiet and listened to all the ideas presented. Then she said, “In my version of a perfect and ideal culture, anyone who abused or mistreated anyone, especially children, would be severely punished.” That’s the only contribution she made during that assignment.
I hope I will always be first in line to advocate for accountability when wrong has been committed, especially against another person, let alone a child. But in my dreamland of total bliss and complete equality, people would not be harming other people. Couldn’t we at least even fantasize about what it might mean to inhabit a place where children were not violated? Where we did not have to fear for the safety of our littlest ones?
This experience, of being confronted with an intelligent and worldly person who had so little capacity to dream big and think outside the box when the opportunity presented itself, helped teach me that imagination is complicated. It can be hard to imagine.
In Unitarian Universalism, one of the ways we have access to imagination is through Humanism. The worldview of Humanism can help us imagine. This might seem incongruent, but it’s not! Humanism often gets a bad rap because it can be mistaken for an overly rational perspective, one that is too literal and rigid for expansive beauty and joy. That is one kind of humanism, but I would characterize the flavorless and crotchety kind as secular in nature. In other words, it’s not interested in religious questions, and it can even be a fundamentalist sort of humanism.
By calling it fundamentalist, I mean that it’s an absolutely certain viewpoint, unable to allow for the mystery of the world or the possibility that another truth might be valid in another context or for another person. There’s no imagination in that.
Religious humanism is not confining in this stereotypical way; rather, it’s one of the least limiting forms of religious expression available to us. The reason it’s long been one of the most imaginative religious forces is because it says yes to so much! It asks us to accept that our physical and spiritual lives are the result of vast and diverse influences, including science, history, human thought and natural beauty. It even holds a place for those mysteries that have not yet become known to us. All these perspectives—philosophical, biological, environmental—are resources. They’re tools that we can use to fashion lives of worth and dignity for ourselves.
For the religious humanists (and in the past hundred years religious humanists have also tended to be Unitarians), imagination is the key that provides hope to alleviate suffering. Rather than imagination being rooted in privilege, it’s the opposite. When times are hard (even oppressive), that’s when it’s most important. This was a new idea to me, that suffering could be addressed by imagination.
The Rev. Lewis McGee called this “creative imagination.” Although he was born into an AME (African Methodist Episcopal) family in Pennsylvania in 1893, by 1927 Lewis McGee was connected with the burgeoning humanist movement and its many illustrious Unitarians. These included signers of the first Humanist Manifesto in 1933, which outlined humanist principles in a splashy fifteen-point platform. Here are some highlights in brief:
Religion consists of those actions, purposes, and experiences which are humanly significant…. The distinction between the sacred and the secular can no longer be maintained…. Believing that religion must work increasingly for joy in living, religious humanists aim to foster the creative in man [we might broaden that language today but I think the fact that all the signers were straight white men somewhat limited their perspective]….
The goal of humanism [it continues] is a free and universal society in which people voluntarily and intelligently cooperate for the common good. [My favorite part:] Humanists demand a shared life in a shared world.
Lewis McGee loved this. He wanted more. But when he eagerly approached a Unitarian minister of his acquaintance about entering the ministry, he was told candidly that he would have to supply his own church since it was of course out of the question for a Black man to serve a white congregation—and there were only white Unitarian congregations in existence.
He bided his time, not giving up on Unitarianism, but not able to move forward with it either. Finally, when he was in his mid-50s, he entered Meadville Lombard Theological School in Chicago to prepare for the Unitarian ministry. And then, in 1948, he did start his very own Unitarian congregation, a predominately Black but somewhat multiracial congregation called the Free Religious Fellowship, located on Chicago’s South Side.
Imagination is an idea that was central to McGee. This is how he summarized his theological beliefs: “We believe in the creative imagination as a power in promoting the good life.” For him and for other Black humanists of his time, creative imagination wasn’t an abstract, theoretical concept too vague to be pinned down. It was clearly, tangibly, irrevocably located in human capacity. Imagination helps to resist suffering.
So, according to McGee and his contemporaries, here is how the world works: We, flawed yet mighty humans, contain within our minds and bodies the capacity to solve individual and social problems. These African American theologians were understandably motivated to address, in particular, white supremacy and racism. They didn’t see the suffering that resulted from oppression as an opportunity for redemption. Since they didn’t believe in a God who called the shots (and they reasoned that only a twisted, sadistic slave master type of God would force suffering on people for their own good), they blamed white racism and other forms of unfair pain and sorrow on human folly. Instead of participating in what they termed a collective God delusion, humankind should quit shirking the task of righting the wrongs caused by evil behavior.
Human effort and moral struggle are the only ways to alleviate oppressive conditions and rebuild a kinder and more just collective existence. The task of social progress is ours and ours alone, since humans and not God possess the agency to make change happen.
Nor is this a fools’ mission; with imagination, our world can actually get better and more livable. McGee and Black humanism are clear that by dint of human effort and wisdom our world can and will improve. We’ll get there eventually if we are committed. This process itself is important. McGee wrote that inherent in existence is a “continuing search for truth” and so he called life an “adventurous quest.” Our creative imagination is a necessary travel accessory as we embark on the adventure of lifework that must always include addressing suffering. Henry David Thoreau, another Unitarian from a different time, geographical region and social location, put it this way: “The world is but a canvas to our imagination.”
In a way, the dystopian novel I was assigned years ago tells the truth. The world can feel grim, and hope can seem absent because the reality is that many people are suffering, nearby and around the planet. It can be tempting to succumb to the idea that all we could ever hope for is to contain the damage by keeping life from degenerating even more.
We might swiftly impose consequences for unacceptable behavior, but not restructure society so that our children are born into a society where they are safer. The “shared life in a shared world” demanded by religious Humanism will not be easily realized. We are going to have to work for it—and we are.
People all across the globe are striving for it, but the task is immense. It’s so huge that in the meantime, in order that we not forget what it is we’re struggling for, we must imagine it. Lewis McGee reminds us that the creative imagination is a powerful aid in promoting the good life. Our brains and sweat and a whole lot else is required. But without imagination, how will we know where we’re going?
We live in a world that seems bereft of potential, a world that seems to have lost its imagination.
I read recently in a Connecticut newspaper that: “at least 1,967 students age 6 and under were suspended last school year—almost all of them Black or Hispanic. According to a report from the Connecticut Department of Education, the number of students suspended is actually higher, but privacy issues restrict the state agency from releasing information.” That’s preschoolers we’re talking about—the article also mentions a seven-year-old being arrested.
I could never have imagined this. I would never want to imagine this.
We are in an endless war on drugs and terrorism…and no one seems willing to imagine what the end of those wars might look like. We face unprecedented levels of carbon dioxide in the air, and yet we cannot imagine a world without oil and coal.
I wonder at times if we are so cynical that we have lost the capacity to imagine a different kind of world. I wonder at times if we are so deadened that we cannot lift our head from the cold, hard concrete to look at what is around us.
When I am feeling most cynical, most hopeless, most helpless, when I am feeling most desolate and alone, when I have no vision beyond my bed at night and only the thought of doing it all over again tomorrow, I can be overtaken by hopeless boredom, and the monotony of helplessness and lost creativity.
Where has my imagination gone?
When I was a child, I remember playing for hours in the fields around my house. Imagining we were swimming with sharks, exploring the ocean, climbing the highest mountains and tracking lions and elephants. The top of the slide at the play ground was a rocket to the moon. The sand was quicksand—don’t slip and fall in! Don’t fall in….
Pay attention. Watch where you step. Stay awake. Don’t fall in…. I guess a lot of us fell in, and fell asleep.
Where are the dreamers, the lovers, the poets, the artists—the ones who cause us to see the world with our head cocked to one side, or standing on our heads, our left finger in our ear? These are the ones who awaken us. They do not wake us with dire predictions of death and destruction; that only causes us to want to drink more Koolaid, to check out—Why strain ourselves? It’s all going to crash and burn; I might as well sleep through it.
No, the dreamers are the ones who see a light. They are the ones who see the world as a giant ball of possibility. The ones who shake us gently and whisper in our ear: Wake up! Look around; it’s so beautiful here. Hey!—another gentle nudge—Hey, wake up. Look at all this endless possibility. Look at this awe and wonder!
The dreamers invite us to wake up and participate in the world. They inspire us, by their own faith, to see the invisible and to wonder about the future.
We slowly open our eyes and allow them to focus, and we are invited into the world of endless fascination. The dreamers ask us to participate in its creation, to consider its intricacies and its diversity. We are invited to wonder at the options and imagine the possible future outcomes of the choices we make. The artists, the musicians, the writers, the dancers, the poets, the actors invite us to consider together the world that we are bringing into being.
Imagine for a moment that the binary world no longer exists—because it doesn’t. There are instead shades and tones in a spectrum of life—human identity spilling over and filling many cups at once. Each cup a moment of memory, a snippet of story, a wellspring of wisdom. Each cup a new opportunity to share ourselves with others, to inspire deeper understanding and to develop deeper wisdom about this thing we call life.
Imagine for a moment that our ancestors matter, that our history matters, that our culture matters, that all cultures matter. Each culture is an aspect of us as human beings, inspiring curiosity and respect for our complex nature, as well as the complexity of all life.
Imagine for a moment that all paths to the holy are sacred, and we hold each other’s paths in the palm of our hands. Would you hold your palms open to guide others on their way, or close your fists so you can get there first?
We can imagine we all belong, because we do. We can imagine that we are all loved because we are. And we invite others to belong with us because we know the pain of being unwelcome, of feeling unloved.
Imagine for a moment a world of peace—but with an element of chaos. (I don’t mind a world of chaos, so long as the chaos isn’t violent.) Perhaps like the chaos of an English garden: lush and colorful, a surprise in every corner, a seemingly random cacophony of color and texture. Imagine a world not without conflict, but one with ingenious and inspired ways of responding to the conflict. Ways that honor and value the dignity and inherent worth in all life.
Each choice we make shapes the world, creates new possibilities, brings love or pain. Each choice is made with intention or made in deep sleep. The artists, the dancers, the puppeteers ask us to wake up, to pay attention, to consider and to think. They remind us of our interdependence, the cause and effect of life lived.
Nothing we do in the world is done in a vacuum. Our actions ripple out beyond ourselves in ever-widening circles that intersect the ever-widening circles of life all around us.
The poets and dreamers have invited us to look behind the curtain, to see beyond the veil. Tu-shun, the First Patriarch of Huayan Buddhism, offered the image of the jeweled net of Indra: a net that stretches across the universe, with a jewel at each juncture of the net. Each jewel reflects all the other jewels in the cosmic matrix. Each jewel represents a living being, intrinsically and intimately connected to all the others. A change to any one jewel is reflected in all.
We are intrinsically and intimately connected to one another, reflected in each other’s eyes, the beauty and grace of the divine spark shining in each of us. We are buoyed by each other’s dreaming, imagining together a future we have set in motion. Our children and our children’s children will live in a world so different from our own we cannot even begin to conceive of it.
Their world is shaped by our actions today. Imagine one year from now, five years from now, one hundred years from now, seven generations from now. What kind of world will our actions leave them seven generations from now? If we are awake, we teach them to walk gently on the earth. If we are awake, we teach them to care for the smallest, and recognize the sacred and profound in all life. We teach not just with our words, but also by our actions, by our example.
If we are awake, we see that we must help awaken others, because our children and children’s children live in a world that is shaped by our actions today.
The painters, the sculptors, the dreamers, the songwriters shake us and call to us in our sleep—disturbing us, stirring us, rousing us to participate thoughtfully in the creation of the future. Calling us away from the love of power and towards the power of love.
The poets remind us that our intentions, thoughts and actions carve the world into being each day. But if we are in deep sleep, we may act as though we are awake but tumble through the world stumbling and tripping, hacking away at the life around us. We hear the news of war and death, of terrorism and fear. We hear of children sold as slaves, children forced to fight wars, children with little opportunity and even less hope.
And we sleep…unable to dream except in restless dreams of no, no more, of what if? and I’m only one…. And then we feel that tugging on our elbow, that persistent ache, that nudge at the edge of our consciousness calling us awake. The artist, the singer, the poet, the song, inviting us to try something new, to take a risk and open our eyes, to experience the world again from a new and different perspective. Inviting us to imagine together a world in which we can be both awake and be in deep joy. Singing a song of love and peace, inviting us to imagine a world beyond our wildest dreams, calling us to imagine what the world would be like if we lived our lives on the side of love.
I have to say that I feel like I am writing this to you from another country. Our Quest publication schedule is such that I am writing in March for publication in September. Which is generally not too much of an issue, except that March 2020 feels like a date that will go down in history, like the War of 1812, or 9/11. At the moment I am writing this, all of California, where I live, has been told to stay home to avoid spreading COVID19. I imagine the rest of the country will follow. I imagine that we are just at the beginning of enormous loss of life. I imagine hospitals in the US will soon be overwhelmed the way they already are in Italy. We are all, right now, pretty much in shock, but I imagine grief is on its way.
I imagine, but I don’t know. This is a message in a bottle, sent out to the future. I imagine (but don’t know) that by the time you read this in September, the worst of this crisis is past. I imagine being able to dance with my friends, to sing together, to go out to dinner or to a play. When you read this, you will either think “Of course!” or “How could she be so naïve!” I don’t know what September will bring, but I can imagine.
And perhaps that need to imagine is the real blessing in this time of crisis. Usually we go about our lives assuming that one day will be very much like the next. Some lousy days, some special treats, but generally all of a piece. Then a novel virus comes along and it’s all, well, novel. New. Unpredictable. We have some models based on the experiences of other countries, and the reasonable predictions don’t look good. But maybe we will have a medical breakthrough. Maybe people will be so careful for one another’s sake that we will stop this thing in its tracks. You know the answer, although I don’t.
But what I do know is that in this time of crisis an enormous amount of imagination is being required from us. Churches are re-imagining worship in a world of enforced social isolation. Musicians are re-imagining what a concert is as they continue to try to share their music with the world. Parents whose children are home from school are re-imagining education and family time and work and leisure and what a day might look like.
At this moment I am furious at the US government for what I would consider a criminal lack of preparation. But the rest of us have no choice but to be unprepared. We couldn’t imagine the place where we are now. But we’re working on it. I have to say that I am wildly impressed with the creativity and generosity of spirit that I am witnessing. So far this week I have done Zumba with a man who was live-streaming from some unknown country, attended a couple of virtual house concerts and watched live on Facebook as a friend drew a Venn diagram for her dogs to illustrate appropriate and inappropriate barking. The dogs watched studiously.
When everything is different, we have no choice but to live imaginatively, to create things that have never existed before. Radical disruption invites radical imagination. So now I am wondering just how radical our imagination might become. I wrote this poem today:
Imagine
Imagine with me for a moment—
don’t worry, I’m not saying it’s real.
Imagine, if you can, that there has been
not a calamity, but a great awakening.
Pretend, just for a moment,
that we all so loved our threatened earth
that we stopped going on cruises,
limited international flights,
worked on cherishing the places
where we already are.
In this pretty fantasy, everyone who possibly can
stops commuting. Spends the extra time
with their kids or pets or garden.
We have the revelation that everyone
needs health care, sick leave, steady work.
It occurs to us that health care
workers
are heroes. Also teachers.
Not to mention the artists of all kinds
who teach us resilience and joy.
Imagine, if you will,
that we turned to our neighbors
in mutual aid, trading eggs for milk,
checking in on those who are elderly
or alone. Imagine each of us
felt suddenly called to wonder
In this moment, what does the world
need from me? What are my gifts?
Yes, I know it’s just a fantasy.
The world could never change
so radically overnight.
But imagine.
Whatever life looks like in the world of September, I’m sure that we will still be imagining a better world.
I've got to the stage when I'm really tired of the negativity of liberal religion, defining itself over and against conservative religion. It often feels to me like liberal religion has got nothing to say apart from saying that it is not conservative religion, and that conservative religion is wrong.For a while this is refreshing. When you move from conservative religion to liberal religion you
MUSIC CREDITS “Little Sunflower” by Freddie Hubbard. (Aaron Anderson, piano). Permission to stream BMI song #883315 obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770. “De Colores” trad. Spanish folk song, arr. Betty A. Wylder. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission of the Unitarian Universalist Association. “Life Has Loveliness to Sell” words: Sara Teasdale, music: Leo W. Collins. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission. “Spirit of Life” by Carolyn McDade, harm. by Grace Lewis-McLaren (Kathy Gursky, viola & Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Used by permission of the Unitarian Universalist Association. “Petite Fleur” by Sidney Bechet. (Aaron Anderson, piano). Permission to stream BMI song #1169027 obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770. “The Happy Farmer” by Robert Schumann. (Alanna Anderson, cello & Aaron Anderson, piano). Public Domain. “Go Now in Peace” words and music by Natalie Sleeth. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). Permission to podcast/stream song #25659 obtained from ONE LICENSE, License # A-730948. All rights reserved.
Permission to stream the music in this service obtained from ONE LICENSE with license #A-730948. All rights reserved.
Permission to stream music in this service obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770
ARTWORK Today’s flower images come from: The Begnauds, Rick Bolton & Kathy Gursky, Nylea Butler-Moore, Jamie Civitello, Jess Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, Barbara Fronzak, Susan Gisler, Erin Green, Rebecca Howard, KokHeong McNaughton, Renae Mitchell, JeeYoon Plohr, and Patricia Rathbone Opening segment videos: by Vitaliy Mitchell Transition photos: are from the Unitarian Church online photo library
OTHER NOTES Chalice Lighting Words: were written by Kimberlee Tomczak Carlson Time for All Ages: “A Plain and Simple Beauty” is adapted from the story by Janeen K. Grohsmeyer in her book A Lamp in Every Corner: Our UU Storybook (UUA, 2004) Reading: “Flower Communion,” was written by Lynn Ungar
OFFERTORY Our offering for July is dedicated Self Help Inc.
In order to make a donation to Self Help Inc.:
Make a check payable to “Self Help Inc.”
On the memo line of the check, please indicate that the donation is for “Self Help Inc.”
Please mail your check to:
Self Help Inc.
2390 North Road
Los Alamos, NM 87544
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS Rev. John Cullinan, pastor
Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education
Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music
Kathy Gursky, viola
Aaron Anderson, piano & Alanna Anderson, cello
Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
What's becoming clearer and clearer to me is that we're being led by a UK government which has a deadly ideology. Of course that was always true because of the government's criminal inaction on the climate crisis, but the corona virus pandemic has shown it to be true on a smaller scale of this particular crisis.
I think this video of an interview with government adviser John Edmunds is really
In college, I majored in Women’s Studies. My sense that I lived in a world that objectified and devalued women was strong. And, like many college students, I was passionate about social justice issues. On Saturday mornings I stood outside an abortion clinic to counter-protest the anti-choice group that met there. I went to campaign rallies and protest marches. I went to hear justice speakers and panels on campus. I was involved.
In the spring of my last year in college there was a scandal that high-school-age boys at a California school were using a point system to keep track of and compare their sexual attacks, including attacks on very young girls. This group made national news, and the boys were treated like celebrities. They were arrested at one point, but were not ultimately prosecuted.
I was deeply affected by this news. After four years of college and activism, this felt like the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. The world seemed overwhelmingly terrible to me. These high school boys treated girls like they were nothing, and nobody seemed to really care. I cried and cried.
So when I graduated college, which is already a stressful time, I welcomed the chance to unplug from social activism. I was busy looking for a job and figuring out big questions like what do I want to do with my life, and with whom, and where should we live? I did look into meeting with the League of Women Voters, but their meetings were at a time I couldn’t attend, so…that was that.
To be honest, justice work had exhausted me, and I was glad to retreat from it. I remained a responsible voter, but when it came to other kinds of involvement and activism, I wasn’t involved. There are names for this withdrawal. Activism fatigue. Activist burnout. Compassion fatigue. I certainly reached a point where I felt recovered from the exhaustion and hopelessness I had felt, but the memory of it stayed with me. I didn’t want to go through all that again. I felt like I had learned that I shouldn’t do justice work.
It was just over ten years later that I joined a UU church and began once again to be involved with something bigger than just my own life and concerns. It was a big deal for me to join in protest again, but this time was different. In religious community, our gathering began with an interfaith prayer service. And then we marched in silence through Balboa Park, carrying signs to convey our commitment to peace and our opposition to war. It didn’t just feel good to take action, it felt nourishing. I didn’t feel depleted by our protest, I felt restored.
I continued to get involved, joining a group at the church called Allies for Racial Equity, committed to doing anti-racism work together. I wasn’t a justice leader as a congregant, but I was involved when I felt called to be involved.
So what was the difference? At the time I would have said that it felt different to do justice work in community, but then, I was in community in college. I was surrounded by people I knew, doing justice work with friends. Or I might have said that I was simply more emotionally mature, that there’s some wisdom and balance that comes with age. There might be some truth to that.
But as I look back, I see more clearly now that what made the difference for me in making justice work and activism more sustainable—and making me more resilient—is that I had a regular spiritual practice. I attended church every Sunday.
Regular spiritual practice has been shown, again and again, to have many benefits. These include increased clarity, focus and equanimity; improved mood; and stronger self-awareness.
Okay, but what is spiritual practice? The idea of spiritual practice gets thrown around a lot these days, and there’s a tendency to describe almost anything as spiritual practice. I’ve heard that washing dishes can be a spiritual practice.
There are many different criteria used to define spiritual practice, but here’s mine: an activity whose primary purpose is to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Spiritual practice is intentional, can be performed daily, and—this might be the most controversial part—is nonproductive.
Let me say those again: The primary purpose is to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Spiritual practice is intentional, can be performed daily, and is nonproductive.
By nonproductive, I mean there’s no reason to do it except that it’s a spiritual practice. Your practice may produce something—a piece of art, for example—but you create the art because doing so quiets the mind and brings you into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence.
This is why something you enjoy doing—like creating art—so often stops being fun when you decide to do it for money. Once it becomes a productive task, it loses some of the benefits that spiritual practices bring. Spiritual practices are things like prayer, meditation, worship, journaling, chanting or singing, playing music, sitting in silence, dancing, walking a labyrinth.
For me, things like washing dishes are not spiritual practices, because their primary purpose is not to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Their primary purpose is practical matters like clean dishes.
I think we tell ourselves that washing dishes is a spiritual practice because we want to check off the box that we have a spiritual practice, but we don’t have much time, and we have to get the dishes washed, and if we could just make that one thing, wouldn’t that be convenient?
But spiritual practice isn’t really meant to be convenient. It’s not even necessarily meant to feel good. Sometimes it does, but ask anyone who meditates regularly. They’ll tell you: a lot of meditation is sitting, convinced that you’re doing it wrong, or not good enough, and how much longer do I have to sit here?
It is the daily aspect of spiritual practice that is ultimately so powerful and transformative. Now, you’ll recall that I said attending worship every Sunday was my spiritual practice, and I do count worship as a spiritual practice. I don’t attend worship every day because that’s not an option, but the hourly gathering, attended weekly, can also have a transformative impact on people’s lives. I know that from my own experience, and I know that because other people have told me it’s their experience.
My spiritual practice was to attend church every Sunday. Not many Sundays. Not almost every Sunday. Every Sunday. We did not wake up on Sunday to see how we felt and then decide whether or not to go. We just went. It was a discipline. That’s what made it a spiritual practice.
Church attendance is still my spiritual practice, but I’m also working on a daily prayer practice. And I want to encourage you to consider developing a regular spiritual practice if you don’t have one already.
Here’s why—because the news is terrible. Every day that you open the newspaper or turn on the news or look at your phone or computer is a struggle to stay hopeful. Because we’re so tired and busy and everything is different and it’s a challenge to go to the grocery store and it’s easy to feel completely knocked over by small things.
It’s called “spiritual practice” because what we’re doing is practicing. We’re practicing what it is to try and be calm and quiet and centered because so much of the time, we aren’t calm and quiet and centered. We practice and we feel awkward and like we’re not doing it right, but if you keep at it, like building a muscle, you’ll find that you do not feel so knocked down by what life throws at you.
Your practice doesn’t have to be long, just a few minutes a day. Whatever practice you might like to develop, start small and build up. The discipline of daily practice is more important than the length of what you’re doing. Five minutes of meditation each day is better than an hour of meditation once in a while.
We’re carrying a lot these days. Which is why spiritual practice is so important. Please don’t wait until the day you feel you cannot get out of bed. Find a daily practice to work on. Do what you can to take good care of yourself. Do the dishes, but also take care to refresh your heart and soul so that you have the strength to move forward in this difficult world.
In college, I majored in Women’s Studies. My sense that I lived in a world that objectified and devalued women was strong. And, like many college students, I was passionate about social justice issues. On Saturday mornings I stood outside an abortion clinic to counter-protest the anti-choice group that met there. I went to campaign rallies and protest marches. I went to hear justice speakers and panels on campus. I was involved.
In the spring of my last year in college there was a scandal that high-school-age boys at a California school were using a point system to keep track of and compare their sexual attacks, including attacks on very young girls. This group made national news, and the boys were treated like celebrities. They were arrested at one point, but were not ultimately prosecuted.
I was deeply affected by this news. After four years of college and activism, this felt like the proverbial straw on the camel’s back. The world seemed overwhelmingly terrible to me. These high school boys treated girls like they were nothing, and nobody seemed to really care. I cried and cried.
So when I graduated college, which is already a stressful time, I welcomed the chance to unplug from social activism. I was busy looking for a job and figuring out big questions like what do I want to do with my life, and with whom, and where should we live? I did look into meeting with the League of Women Voters, but their meetings were at a time I couldn’t attend, so…that was that.
To be honest, justice work had exhausted me, and I was glad to retreat from it. I remained a responsible voter, but when it came to other kinds of involvement and activism, I wasn’t involved. There are names for this withdrawal. Activism fatigue. Activist burnout. Compassion fatigue. I certainly reached a point where I felt recovered from the exhaustion and hopelessness I had felt, but the memory of it stayed with me. I didn’t want to go through all that again. I felt like I had learned that I shouldn’t do justice work.
It was just over ten years later that I joined a UU church and began once again to be involved with something bigger than just my own life and concerns. It was a big deal for me to join in protest again, but this time was different. In religious community, our gathering began with an interfaith prayer service. And then we marched in silence through Balboa Park, carrying signs to convey our commitment to peace and our opposition to war. It didn’t just feel good to take action, it felt nourishing. I didn’t feel depleted by our protest, I felt restored.
I continued to get involved, joining a group at the church called Allies for Racial Equity, committed to doing anti-racism work together. I wasn’t a justice leader as a congregant, but I was involved when I felt called to be involved.
So what was the difference? At the time I would have said that it felt different to do justice work in community, but then, I was in community in college. I was surrounded by people I knew, doing justice work with friends. Or I might have said that I was simply more emotionally mature, that there’s some wisdom and balance that comes with age. There might be some truth to that.
But as I look back, I see more clearly now that what made the difference for me in making justice work and activism more sustainable—and making me more resilient—is that I had a regular spiritual practice. I attended church every Sunday.
Regular spiritual practice has been shown, again and again, to have many benefits. These include increased clarity, focus and equanimity; improved mood; and stronger self-awareness.
Okay, but what is spiritual practice? The idea of spiritual practice gets thrown around a lot these days, and there’s a tendency to describe almost anything as spiritual practice. I’ve heard that washing dishes can be a spiritual practice.
There are many different criteria used to define spiritual practice, but here’s mine: an activity whose primary purpose is to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Spiritual practice is intentional, can be performed daily, and—this might be the most controversial part—is nonproductive.
Let me say those again: The primary purpose is to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Spiritual practice is intentional, can be performed daily, and is nonproductive.
By nonproductive, I mean there’s no reason to do it except that it’s a spiritual practice. Your practice may produce something—a piece of art, for example—but you create the art because doing so quiets the mind and brings you into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence.
This is why something you enjoy doing—like creating art—so often stops being fun when you decide to do it for money. Once it becomes a productive task, it loses some of the benefits that spiritual practices bring. Spiritual practices are things like prayer, meditation, worship, journaling, chanting or singing, playing music, sitting in silence, dancing, walking a labyrinth.
For me, things like washing dishes are not spiritual practices, because their primary purpose is not to quiet the mind and bring us into deeper connection with the interdependent web of all existence. Their primary purpose is practical matters like clean dishes.
I think we tell ourselves that washing dishes is a spiritual practice because we want to check off the box that we have a spiritual practice, but we don’t have much time, and we have to get the dishes washed, and if we could just make that one thing, wouldn’t that be convenient?
But spiritual practice isn’t really meant to be convenient. It’s not even necessarily meant to feel good. Sometimes it does, but ask anyone who meditates regularly. They’ll tell you: a lot of meditation is sitting, convinced that you’re doing it wrong, or not good enough, and how much longer do I have to sit here?
It is the daily aspect of spiritual practice that is ultimately so powerful and transformative. Now, you’ll recall that I said attending worship every Sunday was my spiritual practice, and I do count worship as a spiritual practice. I don’t attend worship every day because that’s not an option, but the hourly gathering, attended weekly, can also have a transformative impact on people’s lives. I know that from my own experience, and I know that because other people have told me it’s their experience.
My spiritual practice was to attend church every Sunday. Not many Sundays. Not almost every Sunday. Every Sunday. We did not wake up on Sunday to see how we felt and then decide whether or not to go. We just went. It was a discipline. That’s what made it a spiritual practice.
Church attendance is still my spiritual practice, but I’m also working on a daily prayer practice. And I want to encourage you to consider developing a regular spiritual practice if you don’t have one already.
Here’s why—because the news is terrible. Every day that you open the newspaper or turn on the news or look at your phone or computer is a struggle to stay hopeful. Because we’re so tired and busy and everything is different and it’s a challenge to go to the grocery store and it’s easy to feel completely knocked over by small things.
It’s called “spiritual practice” because what we’re doing is practicing. We’re practicing what it is to try and be calm and quiet and centered because so much of the time, we aren’t calm and quiet and centered. We practice and we feel awkward and like we’re not doing it right, but if you keep at it, like building a muscle, you’ll find that you do not feel so knocked down by what life throws at you.
Your practice doesn’t have to be long, just a few minutes a day. Whatever practice you might like to develop, start small and build up. The discipline of daily practice is more important than the length of what you’re doing. Five minutes of meditation each day is better than an hour of meditation once in a while.
We’re carrying a lot these days. Which is why spiritual practice is so important. Please don’t wait until the day you feel you cannot get out of bed. Find a daily practice to work on. Do what you can to take good care of yourself. Do the dishes, but also take care to refresh your heart and soul so that you have the strength to move forward in this difficult world.
I grew up in a music school—that is to say, our home was filled most afternoons and evenings with music teachers and students playing scales and études. A couple of times a year our living room was transformed into a recital hall for those students to show off what they had learned, and to practice performing.
Over those 16 years I studied music at the Hegvik School of Music, I would occasionally ask my mom if I could quit. We argued the various merits of learning to play an instrument, but ultimately she believed there were benefits to studying music beyond the music itself. One of those was being able to stand up in front of people confidently, and the other was learning how to practice.
As a child growing up in a house full of music students, I heard examples every day of the most common misunderstandings beginners have about practicing (one I often made myself). Folks think “If I want to learn to play this piece fast, I should practice it fast.” What we don’t realize at first is that what we are actually doing by practicing this way is training our fingers to stumble and trip. However, if you slow it down until every note is just the way you want it, your body and mind are creating neural pathways to play it just the way you want it. Another mistake beginners make is that they want to play the piece the whole way through over and over, mistakes and all. Again, by doing that we are training those mistakes into the brain and the muscles. At some point you just have to stop and do the thing in little bits and pieces until body and mind really understand. Then, and only then, do you put it back together in bigger and bigger pieces until is second nature.
Gradually it dawned on me that if you practice a piece without beauty, without tone, without feeling, that is how you perform it. If we practice joylessly, the music we make will be joyless. If you hate practicing, it’s time to make a change. It’s so much easier to sit down and practice a piece you love than one that doesn’t speak to you. Sometimes it’s more fun to collaborate with friends when our solo practice has lost its vitality. Sometimes you just have to practice goofing around, improvising spontaneously, making silly sounds. If we want joy and creativity in our music, we must practice bringing joy and creativity into our music. This is the opposite of what so many young musicians learn—they somehow learn that playing music should be difficult, joyless work, and it’s no wonder they quit.
Perhaps the most important lesson is not to get attached to your mistakes. I would so often hear moans and groans from the lesson rooms, and have myself many times slammed my fingers down on the keys of the piano in frustration. Practice is specifically time to make mistakes. We must learn compassion for ourselves, and patience while we practice; we need a safe space to make ugly sounds, to play things imperfectly as we begin to smooth and polish and shape.
Knowing how to practice is useful in unexpected parts of our lives. I remember when we got a brand new video game called “Spyro,” and all my friends took a turn playing it. Most of my friends, when it was their turn at the controller, raced forward toward their goal until they plunged accidentally off a cliff and had to start over with a new life. When my friend Akire, who had studied classical cello for many years, took the controller, she pulled over to a meaningless clearing and started running in circles and making little jumps into the air. “What are you doing!” we all cried impatiently “there’s nothing over there!” “I’m practicing” she replied. Her strategy was to learn to jump and glide in a safe area where death would not be the consequence of messing up.
In fact, the skills you learn practicing apply to just about every part of your life. This is never clearer than watching a toddler practice walking, or obsessively opening and closing doors, or putting things into a box and then dumping them out and starting it over. It takes hours of repetition to develop skills that now seem second nature to us—walking, talking, closing and opening doors, putting keys in your pocket and taking them out again later when you need them. This is why we do fire drills—so that in the moment of an actual emergency the procedure is second nature. I went to a master class many years ago with the great singer Leontine Price. When a student asked if she thought about technique while she performed, she told the packed house that the time for thinking about technique is in the practice room. When you perform you just think about the music you are making and the character you’re playing.
Spiritual practice is no different in this respect than any other kind of practice. Some days it will not seem like much is happening, but things we repeat day after day have a way of sinking down deep into our muscles and spirits. There are many stories among healers and ministers of visiting an elder who has lost much or all of her memory. She doesn’t recognize family or friends, but when the old hymns of her childhood are sung, or the rosary beads placed in her hands, something old and deep wakes up. Her fingers start to move on the rosary, she nods or even sings along with the hymns. What we practice most we know in a deep way; our bodies remember even when our minds are distracted or diminished.
There was a funny headline in the satirical paper The Onion the other day: “Man Who Downloaded $2.99 Meditation App Prepares to Enter Lotus Plane of Eternal Serenity.” This could have described me at my first meditation class. I, like many other new meditators, was constantly frustrated by my early attempts. I wanted to power through to enlightenment the same way I had, as a beginning flute student, wanted to power through to the end of the piece, without taking time in the difficult spots so they could become smooth and clear. I chose forms of meditation that were very challenging for me right off, rather than choosing forms that were enjoyable, so I dreaded my spiritual practice rather than looking forward to it. I was so miserable in my meditation practice at one point that I took a class called “Removing Obstacles to Meditation,” which was full of other people who were also having trouble meditating. The best advice the teacher gave in that class was “encourage yourself” —it turns out beating yourself up for your perceived failings in your spiritual practice is not actually helpful. It’s important to be compassionate with yourself as you practice.
Then I discovered yoga, which I looked forward to and dreamed about. No matter how much I practiced I wanted more. I took a break from meditation that lasted almost a decade. I realized that meditation was just one of many spiritual practices. Sure, the Buddha realized enlightenment sitting under the Bodhi Tree, but meditation is not temperamentally or developmentally appropriate for everyone.
Perhaps it was because of all those years practicing music that I took so readily to practicing yoga. I was reminded of the power of repetition. As I entered Down Dog pose the other day, I considered that if I have been practicing yoga for about 12 years, at least three times a week, and took Down Dog about ten times each class, I had been in the pose about 20,000 times. When you do something 20,000 times, not only do you learn it more deeply, it changes you. Not everyone is going to be able to twist themselves into all of those yoga pretzels you see in photos, but everyone will change and grow with practice.
One yoga teacher called this “slow surgery,” because the capacity it has to change muscles and joints and connective tissue is so powerful. This is why form and alignment are so important in yoga. Yes, if you practice carefully you can become more flexible and strong. But if you don’t practice mindfully you can easily blow out a shoulder or acquire an array of injuries.
Think of all the things you have done 20,000 times so far in this life. That probably includes brushing your teeth, which is why the humans alive today have better teeth than any humans who have ever lived before. It also probably includes sitting at a computer, which is why we have problems like carpal tunnel syndrome that millennia of humans have never had in this magnitude before.
Even if you don’t practice ukulele, or meditation, or yoga, you are practicing something. You already have a spiritual practice right now, whether you think of it that way or not. The question is—what are you practicing? Some people might not realize they have a spiritual practice, that they have shown kindness, or shared a warm smile 20,000 times. It now comes so easily to them they don’t even have to consciously choose to be kind; it arises naturally out of habit. Some folks notice the natural world around them on their daily run or their walk to work, or watch the slow growth of a tree through the kitchen window while they sip their coffee. They know just by looking at the fresh, green shoots whether spring is early, or what tree is fighting off parasites. One spring when birds and butterflies come back in reduced numbers, they notice the change and wonder what is wrong—they have become that in tune with their eco-system through years of practice.
Practice is the patient expression of our intentions. In the same way that devout practitioners in Hinduism, Buddhism
or Catholicism use a rosary to help them stay connected as they repeat prayers to the divine, so can our repetitions of scales, Downward Dogs or compassionate acts help us stay connected to ourselves and to our intentions to grow and bloom. Depending on our intention, the action itself becomes a prayer. In fact, many UUs understand their work helping others, or working for social justice, as their spiritual practice, as their prayer.
Every life is filled with repetition. All those thousands of repetitions of simple things when taken all together have power. Like drops of water that wear away a stone, we are shaping ourselves every moment with the simple repetition of our daily lives, whether we are conscious of it or not. Let us choose carefully what we practice, because that is what we are becoming.
I grew up in a music school—that is to say, our home was filled most afternoons and evenings with music teachers and students playing scales and études. A couple of times a year our living room was transformed into a recital hall for those students to show off what they had learned, and to practice performing.
Over those 16 years I studied music at the Hegvik School of Music, I would occasionally ask my mom if I could quit. We argued the various merits of learning to play an instrument, but ultimately she believed there were benefits to studying music beyond the music itself. One of those was being able to stand up in front of people confidently, and the other was learning how to practice.
As a child growing up in a house full of music students, I heard examples every day of the most common misunderstandings beginners have about practicing (one I often made myself). Folks think “If I want to learn to play this piece fast, I should practice it fast.” What we don’t realize at first is that what we are actually doing by practicing this way is training our fingers to stumble and trip. However, if you slow it down until every note is just the way you want it, your body and mind are creating neural pathways to play it just the way you want it. Another mistake beginners make is that they want to play the piece the whole way through over and over, mistakes and all. Again, by doing that we are training those mistakes into the brain and the muscles. At some point you just have to stop and do the thing in little bits and pieces until body and mind really understand. Then, and only then, do you put it back together in bigger and bigger pieces until is second nature.
Gradually it dawned on me that if you practice a piece without beauty, without tone, without feeling, that is how you perform it. If we practice joylessly, the music we make will be joyless. If you hate practicing, it’s time to make a change. It’s so much easier to sit down and practice a piece you love than one that doesn’t speak to you. Sometimes it’s more fun to collaborate with friends when our solo practice has lost its vitality. Sometimes you just have to practice goofing around, improvising spontaneously, making silly sounds. If we want joy and creativity in our music, we must practice bringing joy and creativity into our music. This is the opposite of what so many young musicians learn—they somehow learn that playing music should be difficult, joyless work, and it’s no wonder they quit.
Perhaps the most important lesson is not to get attached to your mistakes. I would so often hear moans and groans from the lesson rooms, and have myself many times slammed my fingers down on the keys of the piano in frustration. Practice is specifically time to make mistakes. We must learn compassion for ourselves, and patience while we practice; we need a safe space to make ugly sounds, to play things imperfectly as we begin to smooth and polish and shape.
Knowing how to practice is useful in unexpected parts of our lives. I remember when we got a brand new video game called “Spyro,” and all my friends took a turn playing it. Most of my friends, when it was their turn at the controller, raced forward toward their goal until they plunged accidentally off a cliff and had to start over with a new life. When my friend Akire, who had studied classical cello for many years, took the controller, she pulled over to a meaningless clearing and started running in circles and making little jumps into the air. “What are you doing!” we all cried impatiently “there’s nothing over there!” “I’m practicing” she replied. Her strategy was to learn to jump and glide in a safe area where death would not be the consequence of messing up.
In fact, the skills you learn practicing apply to just about every part of your life. This is never clearer than watching a toddler practice walking, or obsessively opening and closing doors, or putting things into a box and then dumping them out and starting it over. It takes hours of repetition to develop skills that now seem second nature to us—walking, talking, closing and opening doors, putting keys in your pocket and taking them out again later when you need them. This is why we do fire drills—so that in the moment of an actual emergency the procedure is second nature. I went to a master class many years ago with the great singer Leontine Price. When a student asked if she thought about technique while she performed, she told the packed house that the time for thinking about technique is in the practice room. When you perform you just think about the music you are making and the character you’re playing.
Spiritual practice is no different in this respect than any other kind of practice. Some days it will not seem like much is happening, but things we repeat day after day have a way of sinking down deep into our muscles and spirits. There are many stories among healers and ministers of visiting an elder who has lost much or all of her memory. She doesn’t recognize family or friends, but when the old hymns of her childhood are sung, or the rosary beads placed in her hands, something old and deep wakes up. Her fingers start to move on the rosary, she nods or even sings along with the hymns. What we practice most we know in a deep way; our bodies remember even when our minds are distracted or diminished.
There was a funny headline in the satirical paper The Onion the other day: “Man Who Downloaded $2.99 Meditation App Prepares to Enter Lotus Plane of Eternal Serenity.” This could have described me at my first meditation class. I, like many other new meditators, was constantly frustrated by my early attempts. I wanted to power through to enlightenment the same way I had, as a beginning flute student, wanted to power through to the end of the piece, without taking time in the difficult spots so they could become smooth and clear. I chose forms of meditation that were very challenging for me right off, rather than choosing forms that were enjoyable, so I dreaded my spiritual practice rather than looking forward to it. I was so miserable in my meditation practice at one point that I took a class called “Removing Obstacles to Meditation,” which was full of other people who were also having trouble meditating. The best advice the teacher gave in that class was “encourage yourself” —it turns out beating yourself up for your perceived failings in your spiritual practice is not actually helpful. It’s important to be compassionate with yourself as you practice.
Then I discovered yoga, which I looked forward to and dreamed about. No matter how much I practiced I wanted more. I took a break from meditation that lasted almost a decade. I realized that meditation was just one of many spiritual practices. Sure, the Buddha realized enlightenment sitting under the Bodhi Tree, but meditation is not temperamentally or developmentally appropriate for everyone.
Perhaps it was because of all those years practicing music that I took so readily to practicing yoga. I was reminded of the power of repetition. As I entered Down Dog pose the other day, I considered that if I have been practicing yoga for about 12 years, at least three times a week, and took Down Dog about ten times each class, I had been in the pose about 20,000 times. When you do something 20,000 times, not only do you learn it more deeply, it changes you. Not everyone is going to be able to twist themselves into all of those yoga pretzels you see in photos, but everyone will change and grow with practice.
One yoga teacher called this “slow surgery,” because the capacity it has to change muscles and joints and connective tissue is so powerful. This is why form and alignment are so important in yoga. Yes, if you practice carefully you can become more flexible and strong. But if you don’t practice mindfully you can easily blow out a shoulder or acquire an array of injuries.
Think of all the things you have done 20,000 times so far in this life. That probably includes brushing your teeth, which is why the humans alive today have better teeth than any humans who have ever lived before. It also probably includes sitting at a computer, which is why we have problems like carpal tunnel syndrome that millennia of humans have never had in this magnitude before.
Even if you don’t practice ukulele, or meditation, or yoga, you are practicing something. You already have a spiritual practice right now, whether you think of it that way or not. The question is—what are you practicing? Some people might not realize they have a spiritual practice, that they have shown kindness, or shared a warm smile 20,000 times. It now comes so easily to them they don’t even have to consciously choose to be kind; it arises naturally out of habit. Some folks notice the natural world around them on their daily run or their walk to work, or watch the slow growth of a tree through the kitchen window while they sip their coffee. They know just by looking at the fresh, green shoots whether spring is early, or what tree is fighting off parasites. One spring when birds and butterflies come back in reduced numbers, they notice the change and wonder what is wrong—they have become that in tune with their eco-system through years of practice.
Practice is the patient expression of our intentions. In the same way that devout practitioners in Hinduism, Buddhism
or Catholicism use a rosary to help them stay connected as they repeat prayers to the divine, so can our repetitions of scales, Downward Dogs or compassionate acts help us stay connected to ourselves and to our intentions to grow and bloom. Depending on our intention, the action itself becomes a prayer. In fact, many UUs understand their work helping others, or working for social justice, as their spiritual practice, as their prayer.
Every life is filled with repetition. All those thousands of repetitions of simple things when taken all together have power. Like drops of water that wear away a stone, we are shaping ourselves every moment with the simple repetition of our daily lives, whether we are conscious of it or not. Let us choose carefully what we practice, because that is what we are becoming.
It was sometime in the 1980s. We were at a UU Religious Educators retreat northeast of Minneapolis and I remember my roommate saying from the other twin bed in our room, “Ginger, I think I should let you know I am a lesbian.” My response was, “Oh, I just thought you were a graduate student.”
Well, that graduate student, the Meg Riley we all know today, has become a student of American 20th & 21st century culture beyond all expectations, and a religious educator extraordinaire.
At that early RE retreat Meg Riley was creating programs to help young people feel like they belonged and that they had worth. Her entire ministry has focused on that—helping people of all ages and from all circumstances of life feel like they belong and have worth.
I remember when she invited me to lead a workshop at GA on supporting youth advisors. It was my first GA and she thought I had something to offer. Today she doesn’t so much create programs as she embodies them, as she nurtures others in their innovative creativity. She pulls people into the midst of the fray and holds them up and has their back. The song “Lean on Me” comes to mind.
When she became the Director of the UUA Youth Office she identified young leaders, took a chance on them and supported their development. Many of them shine today in our congregations and in our movement. And from her role at the Washington Office, look what “Standing on the Side of Love/Side with Love” did for the voice and identity of Unitarian Universalism—of understanding who we are and the impact we can create in the world.
As an outstanding student of our culture, Meg has challenged us and sounded the alarm again and again. She was an early prophet studying and warning about the dangers of the radical religious right and alerting us to the rise of white supremacy. She was early at calling out our role in the white supremacy culture. With love and compassion, she has consistently been willing to make us uncomfortable and to call us to task when we seemed oblivious or wanting to ignore hurt, pain, injustice and evil. Meg is present in the world as it is.
This enables her to listen, comfort and share the pain and longing with many of us when we lose heart. Many have called her a “ministers’ minister.” I think it is fair to say hundreds of disillusioned ministers, religious educators, administrators, youth and congregants have called and emailed Meg to be heard and to be understood. Another song, “You’ve Got a Friend,” comes to mind.
All of the above is why Meg has been such an outstanding leader of the Church of the Larger Fellowship. It is Meg’s being and wisdom that has enabled the growth of our prison ministry, of our support for our military chaplains, of creating a home for innovative learning fellows and a sanctuary for those longing for Unitarian Universalism but not yet able to find it in their immediate environment.
It has been a gift to have Meg Riley as the senior minister of the Church of the Larger Fellowship. We will do all in our power to continue the strength, purpose and heart that Meg has given us. She has been our prophet, our teacher, our minister, and yes, our friend. Thank you, Meg. And may the world continue to be blessed by your wisdom, your strength, your empathy and your love.
As Molly Ivins famously said,"I dearly love the state of Texas, but I consider that a harmless perversion on my part and discuss it only with consenting adults."
I am a seventh-generation Texan and do love it. And as the 4th of July edges closer, I am both scared and mad for my state. I'm scad.
Today - Tuesday - it was reported that we hit a new record - almost 7000 new cases in one day.
And Saturday is July 4th.
Something I've heard, and bless my heart I have probably said myself several weeks ago, is "...and this feels safe."
No, no, my friends. There is no "feels safe." This is not something on which we can rely on our instincts. We have to rely on science.
Stay home unless you are required by your job or have another required reason. Get curbside groceries or delivery. Wear a mask. And in the name of Molly and all that is holy, please do not gather with friends and family for an Independence Day barbecue.
Think ahead. July 4th. Plan your groceries. Plan to watch the fireworks on tv. Watch Hamilton. Or 1776. Or any of those other patriotic (and probably problematic) movies.
Make giant ice cream Sundaes with fresh peaches, or hot fudge sauce and sprinkles. Eat potato salad that you don't have to worry about it, because it's been in your fridge the whole time. Drink lemonade or Redneck Margaritas if you imbibe.
Listen to the 1812 Overture and insist on narrating what's happening in the song to your bored-looking children, with great animation.
Play Stars and Stripes forever to your annoyed-looking neighbors (20 feet away). Keep the beat by banging on your trash can.
Curl up with a pitcher of something cold, some Fritos and bean dip, and read Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United Statesto learn all the things about our history we never learned in school.
There will come another time when we will return to figuring out how to make this all more sustainable, how to expand our bubbles, and take calculated risks.
But right now, for Texas, the calculations are in.
If we want to decolonise the world,
we must decolonise our nations.
If we want to decolonise the nations,
we must decolonise our cities.
If we want to decolonise the cities,
we must decolonise our neighbourhoods.
If we want to decolonise our neighbourhoods,
we must decolonise our homes.
If we want to decolonise our homes,
we must decolonise our hearts.
(With apologies to Lau Tzu's (
MUSIC Gathering: “Gaudeamus Hodie,” words: traditional, music: Natalie Sleeth (OneLicense, song # 61290) Song: “Rise Up, O Flame,” words: anonymous, music: Christoph Praetorius (public domain) Song: “Happiness Theme” by Vince Guaraldi (CCS, song # 522562) Anthem: “I’ve Got the Sun in the Morning,” words and music by Irving Berlin (CCS, song # 390167667) Offertory: “A Garden in the Rain,” words: James Dyrenforth, music: Carroll Gibbons (CCS, song # 311348735) Closing: “Go Now in Peace,” words and music by Natalie Sleeth (OneLicense, song # 25659)
ARTWORK Joy images and videos from: Danise Begnaud, Nora Cullinan, John Cullinan, Barb Fronzak, Rebecca Howard, Renae Mitchell, Patricia Rathbone
OTHER NOTES Our offering for June is dedicated to racial justice work in the US. Needs are changing continually. Please use this link for an updated list of organizations in need of donations: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS The Rev. John Cullinan, minister
Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education
Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music
Jess Cullinan & Nora Cullinan, guest musicians
Renae Mitchell, Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
Permission to stream the music in this service obtained from ONE LICENSE with license #A -730948. All rights reserved.
Permission to stream music in this service obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770.
Other music and written material used with permission.
This time is devastating.
In the last few months we've seen at least 40,000 people, and probably closer to 60,000 killed by a deadly virus in the UK. Sixty thousand grieving families. Lives torn from this earth. And those who are mourning are unable to receive a comforting hand on a shoulder, unable to have a hug in their grief.
This is awful. But what is almost as awful is the ludicrously
Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore:
MUSIC CREDITS Gathering: “Scherzo in B-flat Major,” D593 by Franz Schubert. (Yelena Mealy, piano). Public Domain. Song: “Morning Has Come” by Jason Shelton. Used by permission of the composer. Hymn: “Gather the Spirit” by Jim Scott. Used by permission of the composer. Hymn: “Spirit of Life” by Carolyn McDade, harmony by Grace Lewis-McLaren (Kathy Gursky, viola & Nylea Butler-Moore, piano) – Used by permission of the Unitarian Universalist Association. Anthem: “Seligkeit (Bliss),” No. 225, poem: Ludwig Heinrich Christoph Hölty, music: Franz Schubert. (Nora Cullinan, soprano & Yelena Mealy, piano). Public Domain. Offertory: “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” by Ludwig van Beethoven, arr. Bill Wolaver. (Nylea Butler-Moore, piano). CCS, song #400236517. Closing: “Go Now in Peace” – words and music by Natalie Sleeth. OneLicense, song #25659.
ARTWORK Transition Artwork by: Susan Gisler, Michelle Bowman, Amaya Coblentz, Melissa Bartlett, Carter Begnaud, Janice Muir, Marina Archuleta, Danise Begnaud
OTHER NOTES Opening Words: by Shari Woodbury Reading: “Reflections From the River” by Burton D. Carley
Our offering for June is dedicated to racial justice work in the US. Needs are changing continually. Please use this link for an updated list of organizations in need of donations. https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS
The Rev. John Cullinan, minister
Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education
Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music
Kathy Gursky, Nora Cullinan & Yelena Mealy, guest musicians
Renae Mitchell, Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
Permission to stream the music in this service obtained from ONE LICENSE with license #A-730948. All rights reserved.
Permission to stream music in this service obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770
Other music and written material in public domain or used with permission.
For more information on our church community, visit us on the web at www.uulosalamos.org.
Christianity started as a Jewish sect. Despite this, or in some ways because of this, there is a strongly anti-Jewish message very early on in Christian history. What started as a debate between different Jewish communities became something different as Christianity became Gentile, and then became an imperial religion with considerably power.
How Christianity shaped European antisemitism is
I don't have anything super original or profound to say about the murder of George Floyd and the eruption of Black Lives Matter protests in the States and in the UK, other than the fact that I support Black Lives Matter.
That's OK I think. This doesn't need to be a time for white liberals to show off, just a time to show up.
I'm trying to look out for resources and writings from black people to
What follows is a transcript of the sermon I preached extemporaneously for the Universalist National Memorial Church. Like a flower that’s been pressed into a book, it only gives an impression of what I said: the context and the execution of preaching being lost. But perhaps better a representation of the sermon than none at all, particularly for those who saw it live. I’ve added the occasional bracketed word where the meaning may not make sense.
Good morning and thank you to Pastor Gatton for asking me back and for welcoming me into your homes and putting up with the fact that sometimes I don’t see the microphone button. But I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about each of you over the last several weeks, and I’ve been praying for you by name. Uh, special things this week to Lee Folia-Brunt who asked me what the sermon title was going to be. Not knowing that that was such a such a loaded and important question, because when she asked I didn’t have an answer, and that’s therefore there is no title today because how can you know what’s going to come? Two days ago, four days ago, a week ago. Who would believe that we would be where we are at this moment? And where will we be a day, three days a week, a year from now. So I didn’t have an answer.
And what do you then call what you’re not going to know what to say? Now I mean. And how can you even conceptualize the life that you’re in when everything is changing so quickly? So the sermon doesn’t have a title. But I’m hoping that it does have some threads which will carry back a day back, four days back. A week back. A year back. Back centuries and likewise centuries forward.
Let’s recap. It has been up until the last couple of days absolutely terrible. I don’t think this is controversial or news to anybody. When I started writing the sermon back when I thought it had a title. There were helicopters whirling overhead through the neighborhood. We were under curfew. And the only thing that would come up on the news — online or on television — were images of people being shot with rubber bullets or tear gas, or who knows what? And everything just seemed like it was going downhill continuously fast. These are not great conditions under which to write a sermon or for to think, or really to live.
So, we could be undercut by despair. We could be undercut by fear or anger or bitterness. We can certainly feel all these things, but to the fear of being pulled down by all these things is what worried me most of all. To think: what can we pull out of our religious lives in order to overcome this? Not just for this moment, because problems have come before.
Our problems are not a week, or a year, or three years old. Some of them go back decades and centuries. And whomever is elected in November, or whatever decisions are made in the next year or two, those problems will continue unless we are able to make systematic, deep-seated, heartfelt and hard-won changes.
We have a lot of resources. They’re not fairly distributed, of course. Some people have wealth and other people don’t. Some people have comfort at home and other people don’t. Some people have large and supportive families and other people don’t. Some people have health and their right minds and other people don’t. But collectively we have a lot of strength and one of the things that we can [also] call upon is our faith, because even though that is also not evenly spread out through the population, it is a resource which keeps giving and will not be exhausted. So I’m not [going to] talk about your wealth, and I’m not going to talk about your families, and I’m not going to talk about your political opinions and not even going to — and this is really rare for Washington — I’m not even going to talk about policy. But I am going to talk about our faith, because that’s something that we can do here and trust one another with. And that will give us some direction where we need to go with everything else.
Faith is not the same thing as religion, after all. Religion is sort of what we’re doing now. It is the customs and the folkways and the language and the texts and the stuff. Now that Zoom has become part of our religion. It’s the doing of the faith. But I want to talk about the faith part. The faith is what draws us into an understanding of the universe and the nature of God. It’s sort of the meta-level over which religion is the day-to-day piece. And it boils down to one question: What do you have trust in? Because sometimes we’ll talk to one another, and will say “I have a lot of faith in you”, or you may get this at a employment review. Or you may hear this among friends or within your families. “I have faith in you.” But in the larger sense, perhaps in the more proper sense, what we have trust in shows what we’re willing to rely on when we have to make those difficult decisions. And one thing that we can have trust in, and one thing Christian should have trust in, is the nature of God to be love.
Now that is so easily brought out that’s almost as bad as “you’re in my thoughts and prayers.” It’s so easily [used], just thrown out with no particular meaning and falls to Earth without a sound. But for us, who should be taking these things very seriously, there can be no greater and deeper guarantee than God’s nature is love, because it builds connections. And we can trust those connections that whatever else happens in the world, no matter what cruelty or power or strength or principalities, to use Paul’s language, we have that connection to the creator of Heaven and Earth who cares for us. And that’s important to remember when other people are willing —whether in your family or in the neighborhood or in government or around the world — who’re willing to say that you are nothing.
And that you were not important and what you care about is not important, you know, and can trust in your heart that the maker of Heaven and Earth cares for you. And the feeling is [ought to be] returned.
Of course it’s not just us, it’s not just a private property to be a member of a church, even the Universalist Church [it] isn’t to say that I have something that you don’t have. It’s not the AAA. you don’t call them up to jump your battery or to your car away, and if you’re not a member, you don’t get those things. But rather we know that based on that relationship — sometimes we forget — but we know that based on that relationship that same thing is true for everybody else as well. Which means that we are in an elastic but very strong network. Jesus had a word for it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” So that connection that we have runs all ways.
God, we love to deny it though. We love to deny it in our casual habits and in our systems. The ones that we inherit, the ones that we built and the ones that we suffer under, whether we choose to or not. That’s sort of the one thing I think of: the first pillar of Christian faith that I was to come back to. But the other ones a little sneakier. That in a word the world is not what it seems to be. Because if everybody was decent and forthright and believed this way, or at least kind of fell along with the program, we could rely on God being love and God loving us and that we would love everyone and everything would just be OK wouldn’t it ? But it’s not that way. Never has been.
We know that there is another pillar to Christian faith that we have to rely on and that is knowing that the world has this deep strain of sadness in it. Something’s not right. I’m not going to get into whole doctrine of original sin because I think that’s been so overplayed that it kind of misses the point that we just kind of know that things aren’t right. That suffering continues and life ends. And they’re good people don’t get what they deserve. And that sometimes people, even if they’re not good, just don’t get the basics to keep going. We know that there is something sad and continuous in this world, but that the same faith that we have — the same trust we have in that God is good and loves us knows that the world is not as it seems, and that we just cannot trust everything that comes to us.
Just because someone says that the powerful rule does not mean that they have a right to that that the systems that they exist, even though they are long and inherited, does not mean that they are good. And that we can look and think that there are other ways that we can have dreams. And those dreams as they form in our consciousness can become ideas, and that idea is the basis of hope. I mean, you don’t have to take my word for it. I mean God will flip the script on you really quick. There’s a line that I come back to every once in a while. I’m just going to read it.
This is Saint Mary and her praise of God at the in the first chapter of Luke. And she cries out, sings even. Speaking of God:
He has scattered the proud in their imaginations of their hearts. He has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things. And the rich, he has sent empty away.
I mean, you don’t have to agree with me on these things because we’re not that kind of church. But one thing I hope that I can encourage you to think about, or at least engage with is there. There are two pillars of Christian faith that we can rely on. [First,] God’s nature is love, not just some sort of thing that God pulls out every once in awhile to impress us or to get us to think that maybe we should join the club, but that God’s nature is love, and that connects everything.
And that just because things seem to be set in stone doesn’t mean that they are. I can’t promise you policy changes. (I told you I wasn’t gonna talk about policy.) Can’t promise you wealth either, or a long life, or all the dreams that you’d cooked up. But I hope that that something that you can carry away and give yourself a little hope, because hope is the anchor of the soul. And without which it doesn’t matter where else we come up with.
But this is Washington after all, and you don’t think I’m going to [not] talk about something that’s happened in practical terms recently. The president came up with a really good idea on Monday. I mean, you’ve seen it. You watch the news. He was going to make a stand, I guess. I don’t know what goes through his mind. So he had some people clear out [the] people who were protesting, which it was their thorough right to do. Clear them out: horses, tear gas, pushed them away. We saw that we’ve seen that. That would be bad enough, galling enough, abusive enough. Boy, he just took it that much further, didn’t he? (And I know that the tear gas and the horses and all that, that’s the serious thing; that’s the important one. I get that.) But then he came out and used a church and a Bible as a prop piece to remind us that power is the first and most important [thing]. We know that’s not true, but it came out to remind us of this “fact.” And I’ll tell you that just sticks, sticks right here. [Points to throat.]
Um, so it’s sticking so much that I actually decided to pay for a subscription to the Washington Post so I can see some of the photos in more detail. Now when I’m gonna spend money for something you know that there’s a problem. OK. So I was able to get a photo of the president in his photo op. Holding the Bible as, like it was a dead fish. And they gotta close up of it, and I saw it, and I saw the spine. And I just about… I saw it in my heart went cold. It said the Revised Standard Version on it, which is not a new Bible. This was the sort of the mainline favorite between the late 40s. President Truman was given the first copy of it. That might be his copy for all I know. I suspect it was a presentation piece left at the White House at some point. Between the Truman administration and say, though the first, Bush administration. That was sort of the highlight of that of that version and so I decided to redeem it a little bit today, and Alex very graciously read today’s lessons from that version.
Because I think that if we take our religious life. Seriously, we need to reinterpret and understand what corrupt and powerful forces would have us believe. This thing, [gestures a bible] we will open it. And we will find strength from within it. We will look into our hearts. We will open them. And we will know what we have to do. Let’s talk about the readings for a second. These actually are the appointed readings for the day. I didn’t come up with these. I didn’t invent these for the purpose, but there’s something that’s really interesting about both of them.Both the second Corinthians and the Matthew are the last passages from their respective books. And Paul offers council to this unsuccessful little church in Corinth that needed his help remotely. If he had Zoom, he would’ve had a much easier time of it. And in Matthew, on the other hand, you have the departing narrative of Jesus, the his earthly ministry is ending and he is transferring authority to his students that he might be — that what disciple means — to his students, so that he might create new students in a world that might understand this way of God’s relationship with the world. But both of them are parting stories; both of them are endings.
Something, something in our sad world is ending right now. Maybe something better will follow. I don’t know; people have said that a lot, too, over the centuries and generations. I’m not going to make any promises. But when it comes to endings, we know that there’s grief that follows. And there’s a lot of tears that haven’t been shed yet. Not only for these people who were slain and had no.… I just can’t say it … Who should be with us here today.
Not only are there not enough tears for them, but for the ones, for them [for whom] there was no camera nearby. An artificial report was written up, which itself is deception and lies. We have not had enough tears for the dead and not enough truth to address the lies.
Something old is ending. But we cannot step to what is new, even if it’s good, even if it’s holy, and wholesome and beautiful until we properly, accountably, and in a holy way remember the hurt and the dead. We’ve been through these things long, I mean. Years and generations. Of course, we know how the story goes. There will be another disease, or there’ll be another crisis, or the economy will probably tank out from under us and will be caught up in all of that. And people who for whom this is not the first concern. (Those people are largely white people. So let’s put a little bit little flag in that.) We want to move on. We will not move on, right? Because our hearts are not yet open for that love which God has for us. And at which we must have for one another! must have! And we have not yet trusted that the world in its stream of sadness, [which] tells us lies about what is right and wrong. It’s not there yet. But I have faith and I have faith in you, each of you, that you will not let this pass away with the next new cycle in the next distraction or the next possibility of something more pleasant.
There’s this evidence of this. There are signs. Last week was horrible. Early on it got a little bit better, and once again, that’s in part due to you. And for the people who turned out on 16th Street in front of church. Who showed up in the smallest little towns across America and around the world to say no.No. “But my life matters.” And the things are not going to be the same. And that is, tt’s not the new, but it is a foretaste of the new which, like someone looking for food in a time of hunger [would] be a taste to allow us to go forward.
I’ve said too much. Let us mourn. Let us reflect. Let us be open. Do not be forgetful or distracted. But have faith, knowing that God is love. And that we must love one another, and that has responsibilities with it, and duties which we will find in order to address our sad world. To cheer it and to create that city which comes down adorned like a bride and be united with God. Amen.
MUSIC Gathering:“Lift Every Voice and Sing” by James Weldon Johnson, J. Rosamond Johnson, arr. Craig Curry (OneLicense) Song: “I Wish I Knew How” by Billy Taylor and Dick Dallas, arr. Mary Allen Walden Hymn: “This Is My Song” – words by Lloyd Stone, music by Jean Sibelius (OneLicense) Anthem: “Come Sunday” by Duke Ellington (CCS) Offertory:“Lift Your Voice/In the Nick of Time,” medley based on “Rondo in the Nick of Time” by Lawrence C. Clark and “Lift Every Voice and Sing” – words by J. Rosamund Johnson, music by James Weldon Johnson (CCS) Closing: “Go Now in Peace” – words and music by Natalie Sleeth (OneLicense)
OTHER NOTES Call to Worship – written by Rebekah Savage Prayer – written by Alex Jensen Time for All Ages – by Megan Mathieson
The timeline in our video “reading” today was adapted from the article, “A Timeline of Events That Led to the 2020 ‘Fed Up’-rising” by Michael Harriot at The Root, May 30, 2020
Our offering for June is dedicated to racial justice work in the US. Needs are changing continually. Please use this link for an updated list of organizations in need of donations. https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS The Rev. John Cullinan, minister Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music Patrick Webb & Joy Charles – guest musicians Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
Permission to stream the music in this service obtained from ONE LICENSE with license #A-730948. All rights reserved. Permission to stream music in this service obtained from CHRISTIAN COPYRIGHT SOLUTIONS with license #10770 Other music and written material used with permission.
A word to my faithful audience. Tomorrow’s service may be late, but I hope to have it up some time on Sunday. Given the situation, I didn’t want to prepare something too early, and I’m also preaching (on different texts) for Universalist National Memorial Church tomorrow. I’ll have that sermon text posted.
And there’s a good chance I’ll be out in or near the demonstrations, too. Wear your masks and stay as safe as you can be.
As we head into the summer months and our continued remote church practices, I’d like to give you all some updates on how we are planning to bolster our virtual congregational programming while simultaneously preparing for an eventual return to in-person activities.
We will remain in virtual mode through at least the end of the summer. That said, we are also fairly certain that remote worship will continue into some indeterminate part of the fall.
Our re-opening advisory team has begun to meet. We’ll be pulling staff and lay leadership into our conversations as we draft recommended guidelines for both determining what conditions must be met in order to declare certain in- person activities safe and determining what policies and practices should be put in place in order to maintain that safety. We’ll keep you updated on that progress as it develops.
Taking into consideration the UUA’s recommendation to remain virtual through Spring 2021, the staff and I are engaging in a process of creating a virtual programming plan that can be conducted virtually and easily carried over into in-person meetings as restrictions ease and our own reopening guidelines are met. Please note, we are not viewing the UUA’s recommendation as an order or the spring 2021 recommendation as a hard and fixed deadline. We are simply seeking to put a structure in place should the long haul become necessary, so that staff and volunteers aren’t left to plan out virtual church two weeks at a time.
As part of our planning process, Tina and I will be holding small group conversations over Zoom, followed by some individual phone conversations, with as many members and friends who are willing and available to participate. We need to hear from you about what is essential to your heart and soul in the life of the congregation as we look for new and innovative ways to better recreate the experience of congregational life at a distance. We are interested in your practical ideas for programming, as well, but understanding your experience of the feeling of being part of a church community is the most important information as we plan. A schedule of small group conversation times will come out early in June, along with a series of open questions we’d like you to consider. Meanwhile, I understand that Zoom is not everyone’s cup of tea (I know it’s not my favorite thing). If you’d like to have a one-on-one conversation about our questions, please don’t hesitate to set up an appointment with me for a phone call.
As always, if you have questions, concerns, compliments, or suggestions, please reach out to me. Even as experienced professionals, our current situation is not one that we trained for in seminary or elsewhere. We are learning new lessons every day as we navigate the chaos that is virtual church. We don’t know how we are doing, or how we can do what we’re doing better, if we don’t hear from you. Send me an email or give me a call. Let us know how we can better make the virtual congregation an essential part of your life.
With coronavirus, most of us have been in crisis mode since the second week of March. We burned the candle at both ends, and relit another from its flame right before it sputtered out. We figured out how to do our jobs from home, help our kids do school from home, and how to take care of ourselves and each other as best we could.
I mean, it really is sort of amazing. I know our church was up and online in 7 days. People who had never ordered groceries swiftly learned how to do curbside or delivery. People who hated computers and wanted nothing to do with them took a deep breath, downloaded Zoom, and have been getting on regularly, cheering the spirits of their friends and family members. Bravo, us!
Now, we're facing the idea that this is probably going to go on for a while, and we're going to need to find sustainable ways to live in this way. We're experimenting with expanding our protective bubbles, moving our furniture around, throwing out the sourdough starter if we don't actually want to bake bread, and figuring out how we can do things in better and/or easier ways. We're moving out of crisis mode.
And good thing, because there are other crises ready to pile on top, and we have to figure out how to do them in the time of Corona.
As for me, I'm going to hit "pause" on writing blog pieces 5 times a week and go back to my sporadic practice, which means there may be one post a week, or none, or 5 in one day if I really get riled. If you're a member of Live Oak, I'll still be writing once a week in our newsletter, and you can always follow me on Facebook.
I resisted calling this time "the new normal," which was probably 98% me still in fierce denial that this was happening and would continue to happen for the foreseeable future.
But here's the deal ... it is. This is the new normal and we can't wish it away. But from my experience, anything can become ordinary. That was one of the big surprises of childhood cancer, how quickly it became normal, the routine of going to the hospital, taking the meds, walking the floors while pushing her iv pole.
The goal now is to make it the best version of this normal it can be. To be of service to each other, to work for justice, and to find some pleasure in each day. "Ordinary Time" in the pandemic.
The fundamental belief in the value of the individual has long held a central place in liberal religion, and finds a modern expression in our faith’s first principle, an affirmation of the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Such a conviction comes with specific meaning, serving to counter another ancient religious principle, that of original sin.
Original sin teaches us that each of us is born in a state of sinfulness, fallen and unclean. Some interpret this as the simple imperfection of humanity, while others decry an inherent wickedness in us all. As both Unitarian and Universalism were forming in America, the utter iniquity of humanity was preached widely. Calvinist Jonathan Edwards’ famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” serves as a prime example. He wrote:
The God that holds you over the pit of Hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire…looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire….
In many ways, Unitarianism and Universalism gained a strong foothold in American society because of their response to this horrible theology. William Ellery Channing, considered the father of Unitarianism, delivered a powerful sermon entitled “Likeness to God” in which Channing advised:
Let the minister… hold fast… [to] a faith in the greatness of the human soul…. Let him strive to awaken in [people] a consciousness of the heavenly treasure within them.
Affirming the inherent worth of each and every person serves as our great response to one of the most damaging theologies ever spoken. As Unitarian Universalists and religious liberals, it is something we can be proud of and continue to speak loudly when the times call for it, as they sadly so often do.
Yet, sometimes, I wonder if we misunderstand the fullness of our first principle. In a very success-driven society, I think we sometimes see it as affirming not so much our unconditional worthiness as a complete goodness in ourselves, allowing us to ignore the less savory aspects of our character. Affirming our fundamental goodness has its value, but such an emphasis can also lead us to miss the most essential implication of our inherent worth—that we need not be good to be loved.
To know this truth is to be healed. It is to embrace wholeness over perfection, to honor ourselves not as we might be, but rather as we are. I think interpreting our inherent worth as our inherent goodness can lead us to be very fearful about owning up to our own mistakes, failures, and even at times, cruelty. Without a deep acknowledgement of our capacity for, to use the Christian term, sin, we lack a useful theology of accountability, forgiveness, and even love. And yes, despite our inherent worth, despite our basic goodness, we—each and every one of us—do sin. The power of our first principle is not that we do not sin, but that even in our utter failings, even in our most horrible of mistakes, we are worthy of love.
As a young man of 24, just entering seminary, I suffered deeply from an inability to embrace my failings. I resisted acknowledging all the wounds and weaknesses in myself, feeling the incredible need to be good, to be right, to be perfect in order to be loved. I went through a ministerial career assessment, a required part of the process of becoming a minister, and was very nervous. I was afraid to give the wrong answers on the psychological tests. The therapist asked me what my flaws were and I didn’t have the self awareness to answer. It was a painful three days that ended with the group facilitator telling me the therapist had placed a nickel bet with him that I wouldn’t be able to handle ministry. As hard as it was, the experience, for me, began a very painful, yet ultimately liberating, path of growing acceptance of myself not as I want to be, but as I am, even when I fail, even when I am not liked.
Life seems to test these insights. And subsequently I found myself challenged more deeply than ever before. While serving my last church in Princeton, New Jersey, I fell in love and married a woman from Bloomington, Indiana. She had two children and the three of them moved out to Princeton to live with me. Over the course of our time, I found myself consistently torn between the needs of my congregation and the needs of my family. My wife desperately wanted to return to Bloomington, but I felt a deep calling to continue to serve the Princeton congregation. My marriage suffered. My work suffered. I struggled mightily and fiercely and arrogantly to hold on to both, yet never had enough of me to do either well. After three years of struggling, at last I gave in and we moved to Bloomington to raise our family near my wife’s parents.
I learned so much about being incomplete from that experience. I was not enough. From the beginning I pressed on, hurting both my family and the church. I so badly wanted to have both, and refused to see the inevitable—that the situation was unworkable. I also had to give up something very precious to me, something that made me feel like I was a good person—not only my work as a minister but also my dream of one day being an important minister. These were humbling awakenings.
Letting go of parish ministry was perhaps the most painful experience of my life. But I surrendered to a humbler life—and I found a much deeper love inside, both for myself and for others.
In full disclosure, after four years in Bloomington, my wife and I sadly decided to divorce. Self-acceptance remains an essential aspect of this transition for me. I never thought I’d be someone whose marriage would end in divorce. Yet here I am—incomplete, imperfect… and loved.
There are a variety of things I find difficult with conservative Christianity, yet I believe the Christian story, perhaps better than any religious tradition, addresses our human capacity for failure. As the most obvious example, Jesus failed. Jesus was supposed to be the Messiah. He was supposed to take on the Romans and usher in a new kingdom of peace for the Jewish people. But instead, he died—mission not accomplished. All kinds of beliefs have evolved to turn Jesus’ death into a victory, most notably the belief that he died for our sins. But I find Jesus so much more powerful as a failure, as the man who lived and loved, struggled and hurt, succeeded and failed. Jesus, as a metaphor for God, knows us in his humanness, knows us in his weakness, knows us in his failure.
While in seminary, I had a professor, Rosemary Chinicci, who was also a Catholic nun. She told me something fascinating—she believed the resurrection came too soon, that people did not have enough time to sit in the loss, to be present to the failure. I think that’s a powerful insight.
When approaching the pain that comes with failure, we tend to find ways to pass over the experience quickly, to not allow ourselves to be present and actually feel what we’re feeling. We get busy. We criticize ourselves. We criticize others. We dive into one self-improvement project or another. We try to see “the positive side.”
When we fail, any response we make that does not invite in our simple experience of failure removes us from the wholeness of who we are. In so doing, we reject that part of ourselves that does not know success, alienating ourselves from a very real part of our humanity, damaging ourselves by withholding the love that we all deserve.
It is certainly not in our interest to use failures as a means to belittle our worth. Yet, I think it is also not in our immediate interest to take our failures and turn them into something positive—the “lemons to lemonade” approach. To attempt too soon to turn our failures into something “good” can be another way of avoiding the pain of failure, thus avoiding the healing that comes when we compassionately offer our presence to our hurt.
Twelve step programs are just one example of another way. Countless people have been transformed by openly admitting to their failures in the presence of loving community. This is why Rosemary Chinicci’s idea of more time before the resurrection makes such sense. When we fail, we need to allow ourselves the time to simply feel the pain, experience the hurt. In so doing, we allow ourselves to remain open and true to ourselves. For this is ultimately what love is all about. Compassion means to feel with. When we feel our failures, when we allow ourselves to be present to them, without trying to change them or alter them, we know compassion. We know love.
And this, I believe, is the true meaning, the greatest gift of our first principle—the inherent worth and dignity of every person. You need not be good to be loved. And I believe this extraordinary gift bequeathed to us by our ancestors compels us to continue to offer this love to each other and our larger world—beginning with ourselves. May we surrender the need to be perfect, set aside the pretense of success, and enter into the humility of our full selves. We succeed and we fail; in the midst of both, let us show love.
I used to be someone who beat myself up for every fault, even ones that no one else knew about. There was a compulsion to be the best, the brightest, the most admirable person I could be, and when I did something that interfered with that perception, I would dwell on it for years.
When I was about six, we were hiking, and we had a picnic lunch in a hut in the mountains. Part of my lunch was an apple, and after I ate the apple, I threw it away…but in a can that was labelled “recycling: cans and bottles only.” When I realized my mistake, I was horrified, and I realized that I should fish my apple core out and find a better place to put it. But the can was nearly as tall as I was, and it was filled with smelly trash and sharp edges. So I walked away. I am now forty-four years old, and I still remember that moment with perfect clarity. Most especially, I remember the feeling of shame that enveloped me. All over an apple core that I put in the wrong bin.
It was important to me, in that moment, to do the right thing—to put the apple core in the right bin. But it was somehow more important to me that no one know that I had done the wrong thing. So I kept this fault secret. If I had been able to embrace the fault, I would have been able to go to my parents, or to one of the people who worked at the hut. I’m certain that I could have explained my mistake, they would have said, ‘no big deal,’ and I would have skipped on my merry way.
Embracing our faults means admitting to them, telling people about them. To do this, we have to know in our bones that this evidence of our imperfection won’t keep people from loving and respecting us. We have to trust that we won’t be judged harshly. And when we are judged harshly, which we might be, we have to be able to keep that judgment from lodging in our deep sense of self. This is tricky stuff.
A common response to failure is to make excuses—blame the failure on other people’s actions, or circumstances beyond your control. The dog ate my homework. My idiot boss kept talking about golf and the potential client was so irritated, she didn’t really even see my fantastic proposal.
This is counter-productive, though it’s very human. When we tell ourselves, “Well, I would have succeeded, but all this other stuff got in my way,” we give away our power.
Another common response is to over-react. “I can’t do anything right. I always mess up when it really counts.” So we give up our power again, and stop trying. We give in to a sense of learned helplessness.
A healthy response to failure is to find a balance between these extremes—to accept that we’re supposed to fail. It’s a normal part of life.
In reality, we fail for a variety of reasons, some internal, some external. When there is no fear or shame associated with failure, it’s easier to figure out which mistakes we might have made, and what we might want to do differently the next time. We accept the things we have no control over, and focus on the things that we can change.
My first truly spectacular failure occurred in my first paid ministry job. I had a newborn and a two-year-old, and to be frank, I was terrified by the prospect of staying home with them. So I took a job as the assistant minister to families. The congregation hadn’t done their homework. The job wasn’t well-defined or well-thought-out; I didn’t even have an office or a desk. Meanwhile, I had no real experience in religious education ministry, and yet I was supposed to completely reimagine and redesign their program, all in twenty hours a week.
The longer I was there, the more out of my depth I felt. I did some really crappy ministry. Also some good stuff. But the best thing that I did in that job was to decide to resign. Suddenly, the growing sense of anxiety and overwhelm melted away, and I was able to be present to myself and the congregation in a much healthier way.
I learned what it felt like to fail spectacularly—which made me better able to minister to folks who had lost their jobs or who were struggling with failures of their own. I learned how important it was to look for a good fit, and not assume that smart people of good will can make anything work. I learned a lot about myself, my strengths and weaknesses. And I faced my fear of stay-at-home-mothering and went on to three and a half years of being there for my kids when they were little.
Embracing failure as a natural part of life helps us weather the inevitable ups and downs. When we reject the “success at all costs” model and embrace a more realistic, “you win some, you lose some” outlook, we don’t waste precious time and energy on situations or challenges that aren’t really ours to fix or face. When we embrace failure, it allows us to find ourselves at the end of the day, happy to be alive, secure in the knowledge that whatever our track record, we are successful human beings, worthy of love and able to love others in all their faults and failures.
This past summer my husband and I celebrated our 30th anniversary by going hiking in the mountains. Being in the mountains always reminds me of an incident on our very first backpacking trip. One morning in 1990 while my husband, Michael, was building a fire to cook breakfast, we swapped stories about childhood camping trips. I told him about my favorite camping breakfast: stick biscuits. Biscuit dough wrapped around a stick and toasted over a fire, then cut open and smothered with jam.
By the time the fire was crackling, I was mixing the dough and my mouth was watering. We hunted up a few good sticks and put on the dough. But before we’d hardly gotten our sticks over the fire, dough was starting to fall off in heavy biscuit blobs. It seemed as though I had put too much milk in the batter; the dough was too thin.
We were now out of flour, so our next idea was to add a little more milk and make the dough into pancake batter. Which we did. But then we realized that we didn’t have a frying pan in which to cook the pancakes. All we had were the metal camping pots that doubled as bowls. Our last ditch attempt, and we were getting pretty hungry by this time, was to dump the batter in a pan, add some fresh blueberries, cover it up and see what happened.
The result? The most incredible blueberry muffins I’ve ever had. Granted, we had to eat them with a spoon, but, oh, they were good. The first time these muffins were a mistake, but now I know how to make muffins over an open fire. A splendid failure.
That cooking experiment was a good spiritual lesson for me. You see, 30 years ago, I had much more absolute ideas about what constituted a success or failure. And sometimes I made the judgment call too soon. My husband, being the scientist and the experimenter, brought a different perspective. In a situation like the “stick biscuit disaster,” I could have too easily given up, thrown away the batter, gotten out the granola and milk, and started the day off a little crabby. I hadn’t really learned on a gut level that, in the words of Lewis Thomas describing DNA, “the capacity to blunder slightly is the real marvel.” I wasn’t always able to hear the unexpected music formed out of the moment.
But that morning in the Rocky Mountains I started learning the lesson of “splendid failures,” the lesson that even though situations don’t turn out as I had planned, they may be salvageable. So what is it that turns plain old mistakes into splendid failures?
First of all, it helps to stay in the present. I have a neighbor who works with at-risk youth. One of the tools she gives them is yoga. She teaches them yoga so that they can learn to stay focused on their breath. Because if they can learn to really pay attention to their breathing, it begins to affect every other part of their lives. They can manage their anger and their other impulses. They can learn to take time making decisions. If they can learn to stay present to their own life-giving breath, they can better handle the stress and complexities of life. They can see ways to repair some mistakes and learn to avoid others. And if they can learn to be with their own breath, they can learn compassion, for themselves as well as others. With compassion comes forgiveness.
A second spiritual quality that seems to turn failure into success is keeping an open and flexible mind. About 15 years ago we took possession of our current family home in Minneapolis. During the years of slow renovations I splurged on some beautiful but expensive fabric roller shades for our bedroom. The problem was, I made a mistake, and the fabric I chose was too sheer and didn’t block the light. Over the years it has become harder and harder for us to sleep in a too-bright room. While doing some other house projects these past few weeks I took down an old plastic roller shade that had some cracks in the material. I was going to throw it away, but then it occurred to me that I could sew sections of that “black out” fabric to the backs of my bedroom shades. Bingo! We finally have shades that darken our room. A splendid failure.
Finally, in the case of failure, perspective matters a great deal. How we label our experiences and ourselves can either diminish us or empower us. In the wake of a failure, we can get stuck in our despair or shame. Or we can go through the natural stages of failure, which are similar to the stages of grief, and then use our new wisdom to step more wisely into the future. A failure is really nothing other than our own judgment about an event. It’s not a deep truth about our character or worth as a person. It is not a permanent state, unless we make it so. Choose a compassionate frame for your failures.
When we can approach our failures with awareness, honesty, compassion, and a willingness to learn, then they reveal small miracles to us: greater clarity about our gifts and weaknesses, and our options for the future; paths that perhaps we didn’t see before; ideas that didn’t work in one time or place, but that may work in another.
When we are able to stay in the present; keep an open and flexible mind, and choose a compassionate frame to put around our failures, then we are able to truly enjoy the muffins we never meant to make.
A funny thing happened on the way to this Quest issue. We switched our topics from one month to another, and I neglected to notice it when I reached out to colleagues for submissions. I recruited great material for an issue on spiritual practice (which you’ll see next month), happily left for a wonderful two week-break, and thought I was prepared for our editorial meeting the day I returned.
Then, the night before I was coming back, I saw an email from Lynn Ungar, Quest’s editor, reminding the team that we’d be meeting the next day on the theme of … what!?!?!? MISTAKES!!! I had recruited nothing. I had prepared nothing. I had done…you guessed it…nothing! Except that I had lived out the theme, by making a colossal mistake!
Hastily, I reached out via social media to my colleagues to explain this ironic situation…could they please, immediately, without hesitation, send me stuff they’d written about mistakes? With love and humor and willingness, a record number of submissions were in my mailbox within a couple of hours.
My experience, and many other experiences just like it, show to me over and over that when I make mistakes, other people are ready to lean in and support me, to pick up what I dropped, to help me out. In fact, the mistake I made encouraged my colleagues to be quicker with sharing what they had written than if I had asked them far in advance to do so. My own imperfection, I suspect, invited them to send in pieces which, given time, they might judge too imperfect to share.
Of course, I recognize that part of my privilege as a white middle class person is that I am allowed to make mistakes that other people—immigrants, people of color, people who defy gender binaries, poor people—are not allowed to make without punishment. We need only look at who is incarcerated, for how long, for what charge, in order to know that not all mistakes are treated equally. And not everyone has a community ready and willing to support them in times of vulnerability.
Which is one of the main reasons I have spent my life’s work in spiritual communities. We exist, first and foremost, to provide support for one another’s essential nature, which is vulnerability. In spiritual community, mistakes aren’t graded. We aren’t ranked and valued in order of our ability to perform, to act perfect, to measure up to one another’s expectations.
Some years ago I was practicing Vipassana meditation at a retreat with the teacher Sharon Salzberg. Salzberg has brought the practice of Metta, or lovingkindness, meditation to many of us in the west. At this retreat, she said that she has come to define the act of meditation as the lovingkindness we show to ourselves when we notice that, once again, our attention has wandered. This definition brought delight to me because my attention wanders over and over and over. “Oh!” I said, “That means, the more our attention wanders, the more chances we have to be kind to ourselves about it!” She beamed at me. “Yes,” she said.
What if our communities were centered in this same way, that we understood that we were at our strongest and finest when we showed kindness to those who make mistakes? Even bad mistakes? Instead, in the United States, we have become increasingly intolerant, cruel, and judgmental about others’ mistakes, or even perceived mistakes. Too often, social media has become a platform for judgment, indictment, contempt. This is why CLF often says that we like to bring grace to the internet: we affirm people, just as the vulnerable messes of contradictions and spectacular beauty and pain and failure that we are, from birth to death and every day in between.
Can you imagine a time when everyone’s mistakes are the wake up call to lovingkindness, the type of lovingkindness that my colleagues showed to me? Can you imagine a world in which every breath is an opportunity to love again, no matter how far astray our mind has wandered again? Do you, like me, long for a world in which every one of us believes that despite all of our mistakes, we are still worthy of love? As far as I’m concerned, that’s what we’re doing here now, in our own radically imperfect way: Trying to build that world in which love is the constant through all our wandering and our wobbling.
I set up a new home office this week, setting up a more permanent space for this new time.
In my re-arranging, I came across an old journal, and some old photos – all marking my life more than twenty years ago. I was never a very good journal-keeper, so the entries were sparse, but even still, there was enough there to make me take some deep breaths.
Twenty years ago I was coming out. I was distant from my family. I was poor. I was grieving deaths, and relationships, and I was also falling in love.
Remembering all I survived from that time, I feel proud, and strong, and also I feel sad, and tired, and angry, and brave. Remembering survival often brings up all the feelings. Because survival is a different thing than “overcoming” or “thriving.”
Survival is about getting by – first, in your body; then, hopefully, in spirit. Survival is basic, primal – we are wired for it. When we’re at the point of trying to survive, it helps to keep in our center, the mantra that we’re all doing the best we can.
Remembering how we survive requires a generous compassion – for ourselves, for each other. Because how we survive sometimes doesn’t look pretty. Sometimes it looks like “the least bad choice.” Sometimes we survive, but with a cost. A personal cost. A collective cost.
And, sometimes our survival requires looking the other way when others aren’t as lucky.
And sometimes that’s just what it is – luck. And sometimes it’s privilege. Sometimes it’s injustice.
Most of the time, we don’t know how to think about it, what it is. Can’t know, until later – when we’re doing the remembering. Because until then, survival means hunkering down, trying to get by. And this is important – for the moment we’re in right now.
To explain I want to turn to words from Heather Cox Richardson, an historian who has been offering a nightly recap of the day’s news put in historical context – this is from her Friday night recap, she writes.
“The news is overwhelming. It is designed to be overwhelming. This sort of chaos and confusion destabilizes society. In that confusion, as tempers run hot, people are desperate for certainty and return to old patterns…Many are willing to accept a strong leader who promises to restore order, or simply are so distracted and discouraged they stop caring what their leaders do. They simply hunker down and try to survive.”
It’s so important that we draw a line from the personal stories we’ve heard today to the protests happening across the country. These protests that are a march for literal survival, a march that’s been going on now for African Americans for generations – marching, remembering survival of all those who came before, feeling all the feelings that come with remembering.
Feeling weary, and brave, and angry, and grief stricken – all the feelings because it’s not just remembering, it’s happening now. The struggle to survive is right now.
And the risk in this moment is that any of us – especially those of us who are white – become so focused on our own individual survival, or the survival of our most immediate circle, (Which is understandable and probably biological in the middle of a pandemic!)
But the risk is that we forget some of the most important lessons of resilience we’ve been exploring over these weeks, lessons that were so present through all of the stories we heard today.
The risk is that we forget that we survive through community. Or that we survive when we all survive. Or that we forget that collective resilience comes – to paraphrase Sean’s message from 2 weeks ago – through collective healing for our collective body.
The chaos and confusion of this moment, the profound uncertainty – it can lead us to hunkering down even more, focusing in on our own survival. It can lead to judgment about tactics or accepting any internet meme that simplifies the situation as truth.
But it doesn’t have to. We can remember that the roots of our resilience live in our reaching out, connecting, asking for and receiving help from each other, learning each other’s stories, that are anything but simple – working together – (Even when we don’t feel like it, or it seems like we don’t “need help” or when it’s awkward). Because community is awkward, and survival isn’t always pretty.
And we can remember the roots of resilience that live in our willingness to open to even greater waves of compassion, seeing our survival as fundamentally linked to OUR survival.
From this foundation, we can engage this moment of great uncertainty not (only) with trepidation, but also with creativity and faith – a sense that with courageous love, this time of uncertainty and upheaval can also be a time where together we imagine and create a world where we all can survive – and thrive.
Greetings. This is a service of worship for May 31, 2020, Pentecost Sunday.
Sentence and Votum (Psalm 124:8)
Because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’ [Galatians 4:6, NRSV] Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
Collect for the Day
Let us pray: God, who at this time did teach the hearts of your faithful people, by sending to them the light of your Holy Spirit; grant us by the same Spirit to have a right judgment in all things, and evermore to rejoice in your holy comfort. Amen.
Lord’s Prayer
Let us pray, as Jesus taught, saying:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
Psalm
Let us praise God with words from Psalm 68. [68:4-10, NRSV]
Sing to God, sing praises to his name; lift up a song to him who rides upon the clouds— his name is the Lord— be exultant before him.
Father of orphans and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation. God gives the desolate a home to live in; he leads out the prisoners to prosperity, but the rebellious live in a parched land.
O God, when you went out before your people, when you marched through the wilderness, the earth quaked, the heavens poured down rain at the presence of God, the God of Sinai, at the presence of God, the God of Israel. Rain in abundance, O God, you showered abroad; you restored your heritage when it languished; your flock found a dwelling in it; in your goodness, O God, you provided for the needy.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
Lesson
A reading from the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. [2:1-11, NRSV]
When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, ‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own [native] language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, [and] residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.’
Here ends the reading.
Address
On Pentecost, which we commemorate today, the Holy Spirit descended upon the assembly, forming the new Christian church. That alone should attract our attention. But delving into its meaning offers further rewards.
Pentecost was a pre-existing Jewish pilgrimage holiday, and so it makes sense that a global representative group would be present in Jerusalem, and others besides. The Jewish holiday, Shavuot, is still observed. Originally, it marked the wheat harvest. That’s no small thing to celebrate, particularly this year of sourdough and banana bread, and difficult grocery store runs and price increases. I can imagine the wheat harvest being an emblem of the provision of life itself. Jesus certainly made the connection, as we pray “give us this day our daily bread.” Bread is shorthand for what we need; the harvest, the means of receiving it. But Shavuot’s meaning spread to become a commemoration of bestowing of the Law to Israel, thus its religious importance. I’m sure the participants that Pentecost — the Greek alternative name — got the parallel of the descent of the law and the descent of the spirit in their own time.
But let’s not wallow in that common Christian habit of contrasting law and spirit, so often to the denigration of Jews; rather, look at both law and spirit at their best: as a way to know the will of God, and do it. And at Pentecost of all holidays, clarity of understanding is of highest importance. “‘Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?” How is the spirit of God calling you to? What it is empowering you to do?
If God’s promises do not speak to you in a way that you can understand them, then you might think that those promises aren’t made for you. Which is why we must be careful to consider our message to others: what we say and how we say it. We Christians have our own culture, folkways, custom and jargon, or rather many sets of these. And the more we want to distinguish ourselves from other Christians, or from others in the society, the more tempted we are to use distinct, even obscure, ways. A former sign of good preaching, for instance, was the “stained glass” voice which was supposed to suggest other-worldliness or piety, but now would just seem odd. Or worse, using prayer as a weapon, as in the phrase “I’ll pray for you” from someone who’s clearly angry or adversarial.
And yet we can also lose our way by surrendering to the local, dominant culture and using its ways. I want to overcome the violence, delusion and cruelty that our culture assumes is normal. We need a new and renewing language of the spirit, and to make the connections with the global church, and with the historic church to give us the perspective and moral force to not be co-opted. Doing that, and still being understood by people who have no experience or interest in either, is a difficult, but essential balancing act. Failing to do so makes the life-giving way of Christ’s church into a kind of cipher, useful only to a diminishing, self-referential few.
Let the Pentecost blessing come upon us, so that we may have a clear, empowered, holy and loving way of speaking — and the capacity to receive the same words from wherever they come.
Winchester Profession
Let us profess our faith:
We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind.
We believe that there is one God, whose nature is Love, revealed in one Lord Jesus Christ, by one Holy Spirit of Grace, who will finally restore the whole family of mankind to holiness and happiness.
We believe that holiness and true happiness are inseparably connected, and that believers ought to be careful to maintain order and practice good works; for these things are good and profitable unto men.
Prayer
Let us pray:
You who called us out into your marvelous spirit, bind us in one fellowship with the helpers of humankind that we may be children of the spirit. Take from us the love of ease and the fear of power, and show us the simple things that we can do to help our neighbors. Brighten the daily rounds of tasks that we have undertaken and are tempted to neglect; make us faithful to the trust that life has put upon us; hold us to the humblest duty. Prepare our hearts in sympathy to be partners in suffering with the weak, partners in eager service with the strong. Reveal to us the wavering ranks of those that are struggling upward, that we may cheer and support our comrades unknown. Remove from us the love of glory and the thirst for praise. Give us in weariness refreshment, and in struggle peace; but when we are idle, send chastisement, and when we are false, send fear, to bring us back to you. By your love restrain our censorious speech and teach us to commend; by your wisdom enlighten our plans and direct our endeavors for the common weal. Give us the vision of that bright city of God on earth where all shall share the best in thought and deed, and none shall harm or make afraid; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us, yea, the work of our hands, establish thou it. Amen. [Adapted from Unity Hymns and Chorales.]
God of all nations, we pray thee for all the peoples of thy earth: for those who are consumed in mutual hatred and bitterness; for those who make bloody war upon their neighbors; for those who tyrannously oppress; for those who groan under cruelty and subjection. We pray thee for all who bear rule and responsibility. We ask you to teach humanity to live together in peace, no-one exploiting the weak, no-one hating the strong, each kindred working out its own destiny, unfettered, self-respecting, fearless. Teach us to be worthy of freedom; free from social wrong, free from individual oppression and contempt, pure of heart and hand, despising none, defrauding none, giving to all, in all the dealings of life, the honor we owe to those who are your children and heirs, wherever their home on our common earth. Amen.
Concluding prayer
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen. (1979 Book of Common Prayer)
Benediction
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all forevermore. Amen.
Notices
For more information about these services, visit revscottwells.com. The portions of scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version.
When my best friend had twin toddlers, she decided that there was no way she and her partner could do this alone, they were going to need to have a baseline trust, rather than suspicion, of the people they would encounter each day.
We have to trust others. The question is, who are you going to trust? This may be the bottom line of the division that is between Americans today. Who do we decide to trust? Who do we not trust?
I trust scientists who show that they are following the appropriate research guidelines of today, e.g. peer-reviewed studies, double-blind tests, etc. I don't trust the currently government administration, but if I'm being truthful, I don't fully trust any administration on certain things. In times of crisis, part of their job is to not induce panic. So I don't always trust that I'm hearing the full story. But when verifiable facts, studies, witnesses are provided, I pay attention.
We are so terribly divided on this, aren't we? I will say, I also give credence to the idea that the best predictor of future performance is past performance. If someone has repeatedly been proven to lie, I do not trust them. Which may mean I miss out on a truth sometimes -- the wolf really did show up to the boy, after he'd lied about it several times.
What I try to fight within myself is a tendency to trust those I already agree with, and distrust those I disagree with. It's not easy. So I look closer. What are the actual facts, without commentary?
Right now, I am trusting reputable news sources. I am trusting the direct experience of those on the front lines of the covid-19 battle. I am accepting that what scientists learn about covid-19 is the best they know each day, and that they may get more information tomorrow that mitigates or changes what they know.
And I am trusting that most people really are trying to make the best decisions they can, not only for themselves, but for our world at large.
Let me preface by saying I know that not all people are comfortable with military/war metaphors, so feel free to either find a metaphor that works for you, or skip this altogether.
My dad, however, was a Korean war veteran who went to military college (that's what Texas A&M was in those days), originally stationed in artillery before being changed at the last minute to be a teacher in the corps of engineers. So some battle metaphors worked for him in explaining the world around him.
His highest compliment about a person's character was an affirmative answer to "but could you send them for the ammunition?"
The metaphor is this: you are in battle, and it's not looking good. You've got a partner with you, and y'all are running out of ammunition. If you send this person back to get more ammunition, will they return? Or will they promise to return, but then run the opposite direction, sacrificing you in the process?
He and I would talk about this, in real-life terms. He'd admit that there are some people he's really liked - but he also knew that they were not someone he could send for the ammunition. And there were people who frankly, he didn't particularly enjoy spending time with ... but by gum, he knew that if they would return with the ammunition, no matter what. And people who fell somewhere along the spectrum, like the person who wouldn't return with the ammunition, but would be truthful about it before leaving.
It is a scary world we are living in, and has been a scary world for a very long time for those with black or brown skin, or economically vulnerable.
And so I think about what is it that I am called to do, to be the kind of person whom you could send for the ammunition.
One of the chief values in being part of a community whether it be a church, a town, or a country, is a sense of responsibility as a member of that community.
But we are also individuals, not just cogs in a machine. We make our own decisions, determine for ourselves what we believe, and shape our own lives.
Like many things in life, there needs to be a dynamic tension between individuality and community. In our faith of Unitarian Universalism, this tension is seen by the "bookends" of our Seven Principles. The Seven Principles are a set of promises, a sacred "to-do list," that every UU congregation promises to the other UU congregations that they will work toward.
The First Principle is that we affirm and promote "The inherent worth and dignity of every person." The Seventh Principle is that we affirm and promote "Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part." To be a Unitarian Universalist community means to hold those in tension, honoring the divine value of each person, while understanding that our lives are blended together and we must take the overarching wellbeing of all into our decision-making.
My systems mentor, Ken Shuman, refers to these questions about individuality and community in a framework of "Responsibility For" and "Responsibility To."
I am responsible for myself. It is my responsibility to manage my own anxieties, self-regulate, and work on increasing my emotional maturity.
I am responsible to others. Because I am a member of a covenanted religious community, I am responsible to them, to share my time, talents, and treasure. As their minister, I have an additional set of responsibilities to them, chiefly, to care about their lives. To love them. I am not responsible for Live Oak, I am responsible to Live Oak.
I am responsible to the larger community I'm a part of. There are medical professionals, grocery workers, first responders, sanitation workers, and others who have taken on jobs that make them responsible to our larger community, which includes me. And so I am responsible to them, to limit the spread of coronavirus. I am responsible to them in other ways, too, to advocate for fair working conditions and wages.
I am responsible to humankind and that intersects with my responsibility for myself. Being responsible for myself means it is my responsibility to seek out the best scientific knowledge available and to keep up with what is happening in the world. Being responsible to humankind means not re-posting information that I haven't scrutinized for accuracy.
Because I am responsible to humankind, I am limiting my physical interactions with those outside my household, while increasing my social interactions online. Because I am responsible to humankind, I wear a mask if there's any chance I will be within 20 feet of someone outside my household. Because I am prioritizing decreasing the spread of coronavirus over my privacy concerns, I have downloaded the Novid App and will use it when I leave my house.
I am responsible for myself. I am responsible to you.
The graduating seniors of the College of Holy Cross had a surprise commencement speaker, Dr. Anthony Fauci, who urged them on: "I encourage you to stay strong and unflinching. The country and the world need your talent, your energy, your resolve, and your character."
It is a time for character. A time for every person to rise to the occasion, to bring their best selves forward.
I am a fan of the Character Counts! program, created by the Josephson Foundation for Ethics, which breaks down character into 6 pillars:
To be a person of character means that you have principles that guide the decisions you make about your life, even when it's inconvenient. Even when you don't want to. Even when it's hard. Even when it means sacrifice.
Around us are, sadly, many examples of people without character, people operating through selfishness, greed, and contempt for others.
But look around. There are many more operating with dignity, giving selflessly, and holding themselves to high ethical standards.
What does it mean to you to be a person of character? On social media? At the grocery store? In your home?
I don’t know where people get all this time to read; I’m lucky to scratch out ten pages a day. So that prompts me to shorter books and that reminded me of an article I wrote in 2008 about a set of eleven Universalist handbooks, written at the end of the nineteenth century. And if you can read through the breathless optimism and pre-Einstein, pre-Freud thought, you can learn a thing or two. I just finished Heaven and got some food for thought about what the kingdom of heaven means.
Back in 2008, I used Google Books; now I prefer Internet Archive, both to reduce my “Google footprint” and because Internet Archive has a better reading experience, and a wider variety of download options. So, I’m reprinting a period advertisement, with links to the Internet Archive, with two exceptions. Also, I’ve not reviewed these for bad scanning, so leave a comment if you find a book that’s a skew. The Internet Archive often has different versions of the same book so it’s worth a re-search. Enjoy.
“Manuals of Faith and Duty”
Manuals of Faith and Duty
Edited by Rev. J. S. Cantwell, D.D.
A series of short books in exposition of prominent teachings of the Universalist Church, and moral and religious obligations of believers. They are prepared by writers selected for their ability to present in brief compass an instructive and helpful Manual on the subject undertaken. The volumes are affirmative and constructive in statement, avoiding controversy, while specifically unfolding doctrines.
The Manuals of Faith and Duty are sold at 25 cents each. Uniform in size, style, and price.
I. The Fatherhood of God. By Rev. John Coleman Adams, D.D., Brooklyn, N.Y.
II. Jesus The Christ. By S. Crane. D.D., Earlville, Ill.
III. Revelation. By Isaac Morgan Atwood, D.D., President of the Theological School, Canon, N.Y.
IV. Christ in the Life. By Rev. Warren S. Woodbridge, Medford, Mass. [Google]
V. Salvation. By Orello Cone, D.D., President of Buchtel College, Akron, O.
VI. The Birth from Above. By Rev. Charles Follen Lee, Boston, Mass.
VII. The Saviour of the World. By Rev. Charles Ellwood Nash, D.D., Brooklyn, N.Y. (book notice)
VIII. The Church. By Rev. Henry W. Rugg, D.D., Providence, R.I. (1891)
IX. Heaven. By Rev. George Sumner Weaver, D.D., Canton, N.Y.
X. Atonement. by Rev. William Tucker, D.D., Camden, O.
XI. Prayer. by Rev. George H. Deere, D.D., Riverside, Cal. [Google]
I am profoundly grateful to the New York Times for their Sunday, May 24 front page. Under a headline reading, "U.S. DEATHS NEAR 100,000, AN INCALCULABLE LOSS," they listed the names of 1,000 of those individuals who have died of covid-19, with the age, where they lived, and a detail about them. Maestro of a steel-pan band. Rocket engineer. Taught her girls sheepshead and canasta.
One of my clearest memories of 9-11 was watching on tv, the family members running from camera to camera, holding up pictures of their loved ones, pleading that someone look at the picture, and tell them the person was alive. I sobbed, over and over, and finally had to turn the tv off for a while. I remember, clearly, saying, "I just can't cry anymore."
It was right that we cried then, and right that we should cry now. This is a devastating loss of life. It is unnatural and inhuman to ignore the death toll, to not be affected. We should be weeping and burning candles. We should be promising the grieving families that we will try to be of comfort to them in some way, even if it is only to give them the knowledge that they are not crying alone.
I'm grateful to our local paper here, the Hill Country News. Whenever a blurb comes through their social media feed about another death in the county, the paper always expresses condolences for the family. Why aren't we seeing that same empathy from our elected leaders?
Those numbers we see are made up of real people. And their deaths diminish us. "Each is a piece of the continent. A part of the main."
Our country is the lesser for their deaths. America has less music, less laughter, less richness because of their absence. What is worse than grief is to ignore the grief that we rightly should feel for this loss. We are about to hit 100.000 confirmed covid-19 deaths. And I will begin wearing a black armband. For I am in mourning.
The full text of the service for the Sixth Sunday after Easter, follows. low bandwidth users might want to download and unzip the lower-quality audio file.
Greetings. This is a service of worship for May 24, 2020, the Sixth Sunday after Easter.
Sentence and Votum
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! [Psalm 27:14]
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. [Psalm 124:8]
Collect for the Day
Let us pray:
O God, the King of Glory, who hast exalted your Son Jesus Christ with great triumph into your kingdom in heaven; we ask you to not leave us comfortless; but send to us your Holy Spirit to comfort us; and exalt us into the same place where he has gone: your own blessed and glorious presence, there to dwell in fullness of joy forever and ever. Amen.
Lord’s Prayer
Let us pray, as Jesus taught, saying:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
Psalm
Let us praise God with words from Psalm 77 [77:1-12, NRSV]
I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints. You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. I consider the days of old, and remember the years of long ago. I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit: “Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?” And I say, “It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.” I will call to mind the deeds of the Lord; I will remember your wonders of old. I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
Lesson
A reading from the fourth chapter of the first letter of Peter: [1 Peter 4:7-11, NRSV]
The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining. Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. To him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen.
Here ends the reading.
Address
Today’s reading from the first letter of Peter is good pastoral care in the broader sense of the term: loving-kindness, set in a theological framework.
The letter, whether or not from St. Peter, was written to menaced and derided Christians in what’s now central Turkey. But it was probably not what we think of as organized, official persecution. From the context earlier in the chapter, the blow back comes from people they knew, who did not approve of their new way of life. As Peter puts it, “They are surprised that you no longer join them in the same excesses of dissipation, and so they blaspheme.” Perhaps, the angry people wanted their old party buddies back. And perhaps — this is my imagination — these new Christians were, as we’d say today, preachy and judgy. A revised way of life sometimes does that to you, so be on alert for a spirit of superiority or condescension. But even if you’re minding your own business, living in a healthy, kind, wholesome or moral way can bring out the worst in others, especially if your new life pulls you away from old friends and their hurtful lives. And if that’s the case, the best we can do is say no, firmly but kindly.
Kindly is not optional. Christianity cannot sanctify rude, pretensious or overbearing behavior, or make it acceptable. Peter counseled them to “maintain constant love” and “be hospitable to one another without complaining.” Something had gone wrong; perhaps there was some bad behavior shown by Christians to their former friends, and, and if so that was a mistake.
Remember: we all will be judged, and “for this is the reason the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead” (that’s in verse six, just before our lesson) and which has long been a source of hope for Universalists. The plan includes everyone. Judgment follows justice, but in seeking the last and the lost, ends in divine mercy. So we starts with carefully kept humility. “Maintain constant love for one another,” to finish the thought, “for love covers a multitude of sins.” We live, not as judges, but as those who are and will be judged. Don’t make your behavior harder for yourself or anyone else.
Let us then be “good stewards” of God’s love, and from it draw courage and goodness to bear up in hard times with courage and goodness. God bless.
Winchester Profession
Let us profess our faith:
We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind.
We believe that there is one God, whose nature is Love, revealed in one Lord Jesus Christ, by one Holy Spirit of Grace, who will finally restore the whole family of mankind to holiness and happiness.
We believe that holiness and true happiness are inseparably connected, and that believers ought to be careful to maintain order and practice good works; for these things are good and profitable unto men.
Prayer
Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things we know not to desire or for which we are not worthy to ask. And this we ask for your infinite mercy’s sake. Amen. [Based on Book of Common Prayer]
Holy and eternal Spirit, source of life and light, you are our helper in every need, you fulfill all our joy. Be this day the present help of all who turn to you, here and everywhere, whether hurt or ashamed, whether sick or disheartened. And when we are strong, be a light beyond our present thoughts and pleasures, to guide us into ways of larger right and nobler blessedness. Amen. [Von Ogden Vogt, edited]
Eternal and ever-blessed God, who hast made us heirs of many ages and set us in the midst of many brothers and sisters; deepen our gratitude for your blessings as we have received them from our fathers, our benefactors, and our friends. May we never forget the kindness that surrounds us in the present, nor be careless to the treasures we inherit from the past; but in having a lively sense of debt to our brothers and sisters, and a loving remembrance of departed generations, may we reverently carry forward the work of the ages. We thank you for the fellowship of the living; for partners in duty; for comrades in the good fight; for all who feel with our joys and our sorrows; and especially for those by whom we are beloved and whom we love. We also bless your name for the laborers; for the succession of prophets, apostles, and martyrs, continued even to this day; for leaders and commanders of the people, who have made themselves great by becoming the servants of all; and for the nameless multitude of the loyal and devoted, who have fallen asleep in their generations, leaving their memorial with you. Make us of one heart with all these your worshippers; of one purpose with all these your servants; of one communion with all these your saints; and of one will with thine. Amen. [Orders of Worship for Manchester College, Oxford]
Concluding prayer
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen. [1979 Book of Common Prayer]
Benediction
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen.
Notices
For more information about these services, visit revscottwells.com. The portions of scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version.
How are you expressing yourself right now? How will you remember what this time was like, or share with others your memories?
I am a big fan of journaling in all its many forms. Blogging was, at a particularly difficult time in my life, a safe place. I kept a blog under a pseudonym, and for six years, it was where I could pour out all of my feelings without the need to be brave for those who knew me in real life. And though I wouldn't have thought it at the time, I'm glad I have all those thoughts and experiences written down where I can look back at them.
My grandparents and great-grandparents lived through so many things - the 1918 Pandemic, the Great Depression, WWII ... I would give anything to have even just a few notes they had written about what that was like. No need for poetry -- just the minutiae of everyday life. What did they eat? What were their biggest worries? What did they do for fun or distraction?
And you can just never tell what will happen once you begin expressing yourself. In my case, it led to so many real-life friendships I still have today. It led me to supportive colleagues and even the person who would later become my professional mentor.
Whether you blog, write long letters/emails to your grandchildren or friends, or keep a private journal, writing down what you're observing, experiencing, and feeling is healthy for you. There's something about seeing our words in print that helps us to make sense of the world around us. And right now, most of us need all the help we can get.
As you consider the routines that will make this time of pandemic a little more pleasant, how about cocktail hour?
I grew up with parents who always observed the ritual, whether it was a glass of cold tea or their favorite Canadian whiskey and seltzer. The drink wasn't important, it was their time to catch up with each other and share the details of their day. Weather-permitting, they'd sit outside on the deck my dad built, talk and decompress from the day before heading inside for dinner. Retired, they continued the tradition (though it often came earlier -- "Time for our 4 o'clock," they'd say.)
We've begun having this at our house. It serves as a boundary between the school/workday and home time. Kids and parents, we sit out on our patio with our drinks of choice and a little bit of a salty snack. Conversations just naturally happen when we're not in front of the tv or other screens. Being all together in one house (which makes it all too easy to interrupt each other when we're working), we've even started holding on to chat topics during the day, saving them for the evening. Even the dog joins us, as she quickly learned that it often means a stray chip will be tossed to her.
I think it's helped us stay a little more connected with our reality, too. There's the overarching reality we have to face: we are, literally, in the midst of a global pandemic that requires us to curtail much of our normal life to help protect the lives of ourselves and others.
But cocktail hour lets us get in touch with the other reality. That right now, we are not sick. We are together. We can enjoy things. Things like a cold drink, a salty snack, and chatting about our day.
Greetings. This is a service of worship for May 21, 2020, Ascension Thursday.
Sentence and Votum
Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. [Hebrews 4: 14, 16]
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. [Psalm 124:8]
Collect for the Day
Let us pray:
Grant, we ask you, Almighty God that as your best-beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, has ascended into the heavens; so we may also in heart and mind follow, and with him continually dwell in your glorious presence, world without end. Amen.
Lord’s Prayer
Let us pray, as Jesus taught, saying:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
Psalm
Let us praise God with words from Psalm 150:
Praise the Lord! Praise God in his sanctuary; praise him in his mighty firmament! Praise him for his mighty deeds; praise him according to his surpassing greatness! Praise him with trumpet sound; praise him with lute and harp! Praise him with tambourine and dance; praise him with strings and pipe! Praise him with clanging cymbals; praise him with loud clashing cymbals! Let everything that breathes praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
Lesson
A reading from the twenty-fourth chapter of the Gospel of Luke, the end of the gospel. [Luke 24:49-53 (end), NRSV]
Jesus said to his disciples:
“And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.
Here ends the reading.
Address
The Ascension of Jesus, which we observe today, is not a greeting-card holiday with its own cultural, festive trappings. But it is a natural fit with Universalism, for as we heard in the opening collect, we pray that we “may also in heart and mind follow [Christ] and with him continually dwell.”
Yet many faithful Christians give it less than it deserves. The Universalist point aside, Ascension is an important if bittersweet, moment in Jesus’ life and ministry. His time with his disciples after his Easter resurrection has come to an end. He would no longer be seen on Earth in the flesh. Jesus would return to the heavenly realm, and there prepare a place for us; in his place, the Holy Spirit would come and give life and power to the believers, which we mark in ten days on Pentecost.
I think one reason Christians neglect Ascension comes from the art that depicts it (and in a larger sense they way it gets described) which undercuts the spiritual message and seems rather silly. Here we see Jesus in white robes, blown like a kite out of reach. Or worse, painted stiff as a Saturn rocket, half out of the scene as if he’d just sprung off a trampoline. It’s hard not to smile, even laugh and that’s a problem.
If you’re likely to think that Jesus Christ is some kind of deep space probe, it’s hard to take his departure very seriously, and you’ll miss the point of what’s being communicated: a promise of continuing divine care and connection, even when it’s not standing plainly in front of you. So much of the Gospel comes with this dynamic: “you have heard it was this way, but really this is what happened.” The Gospel frees us from the cruelty of wrong, and gives us hope that God will break decisively into our live as a blessing, countering the hardness and sadness of the world.
So, you have heard that Christ was put up – risen up – on the cross and died. Yet he lives, and now rises himself to glory. You have heard that earthly power establishes what we must believe, but we have seen that might does not make right. You have heard that everyone has a price, but we have seen that some acts of love and courage have no price. You have heard that some people are important, and others aren’t, but we have seen that the Lord of heaven and earth first lived with us, and suffered as we do, and will draw each of us up. Where he goes, we shall follow, and where we live, his promise of the Spirit shall yet dwell.
My blessing at Ascension to you.
Winchester Profession
Let us profess our faith:
We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind.
We believe that there is one God, whose nature is Love, revealed in one Lord Jesus Christ, by one Holy Spirit of Grace, who will finally restore the whole family of mankind to holiness and happiness.
We believe that holiness and true happiness are inseparably connected, and that believers ought to be careful to maintain order and practice good works; for these things are good and profitable unto men.
Prayer
O God, the Protector of all who hope in you, without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy, multiply your mercy upon us, that, being our governor and guide, we may so pass through things temporal so we do not lose the things eternal. Amen. [Services of Congregational Worship]
Inspire our thoughts of a higher life, that we may feel how divine a thing it is to rise above ourselves, by out-growing selfish aims — and how we may be lifted into peace though sharpest suffering — and how the kingdom of heaven comes down to the heart, when the affections are set upon things above. [The Gospel Liturgy for Ascension-Exhaltation]
O Thou Guiding Spirit of the souls of men, whom all worship under many names and diverse forms, we pray for thy blessing upon the great company of those who fain would know thy law and do thy will. Grant unto thy Church Universal, wheresoever it may be found, an increasing knowledge of the truth, a deeper understanding of human need, a more generous spirit of sacrificial love. Where it is weak in the presence of evil, strengthen and upbuild it in the hearts of human beings; where it is in error, re-establish it in the right way; where it is corrupt, purify it, though it be by fire; where it is divided by misunderstanding, jealousy or suspicion, bring it into one spirit of good will. Draw together in one accord the spirits of all thy children until each shall labor in his or her appointed way for thy kingdom of righteousness and love; until the discords of earthly strife and clamor shall be lost in one great hymn of praise. So may thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Amen. [Composite, in Services of Religion]
Concluding prayer
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen. [1979 Book of Common Prayer]
Benediction
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen.
Notices
For more information about these services, visit revscottwells.com. The portions of scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version.
Does Quarantine have you sitting in one place for hours at a time ... Get up! Move!
One of my congregants reminded us in stark terms how important this is. Her husband was busy working from home, as so many of us are. She posted last week that he was "in the hospital overnight as he got a large clot in his leg as well as several lung clots (2 pulmonary embolisms too) from sitting 8-10 hours a day." She urged everyone -- get up every hour! Move around!
Even if you're not sitting at a desk all day, we all need movement of some sort. Most of us are avoiding going out in public, which means that our need to be active may have slipped down the priority list. And we're not moving in the ordinary ways we were accustomed to - my kids aren't walking from class to class, spouse isn't walking up and down the aisles of the store, I'm not wandering the grounds of the church, to ask the Rabbi down the hall a question or to find answers out on the labyrinth.
So, how can you bring movement back into your routine?
Good old fashioned walks are good, especially if you're avoiding other people and wearing a mask. Here in Texas, I know that the oven we call "summer" is fast approaching, so I'm looking for other ways to move.
Guess what? The internet has been invented!
Another of my congregants is a tap dancer, and reports that her tap-dancing classes have continued - via zoom! Want to support a local business while still isolating? Call up a local dance class and see if they're doing Zoom classes. Or search youtube for dance or exercise lessons.
Having kids or being willing to admit to having a fun-loving spirit means you may already have a video game system. If you don't maybe now is a good time to consider it, especially if you choose one that integrates with real physical activity. (Just google "exercise" and "game console" to get reviews and articles.) We have one that allows us to play as a family with boxing, beach volleyball, and more. Don't forget to put on some decent shoes, as my shin splints will warn you!
And if you are just tired of the internet and screens of all types ... do what people have been doing since the start of time. Dance! Close your drapes if you're self-conscious, put on your favorite music, and dance like no one is watching. Or dance like the world is watching, if that's what motivates you.
The other reason for moving? You'll feel better. There's tons of research about how even moderate movement, like arm exercises, lift your mood and sharpen your mind. But for me, I'll take the advice of renowned expert, James Brown:
How's your head these days? Are you clear, focused? Light in spirit? Centered?
Yeah, me neither.
My meditation routine had already slipped to the bottom of my priority list before quarantine began. I was trying to get everything done in preparation for going on sabbatical. And on my sabbatical, I would have plenty of time to get back in the routine.
(In retrospect, planning on go on sabbatical beginning April 1 - who does that??? I was just asking the universe to prank me. I mean, a worldwide pandemic seems a little extreme, but then, I did pull a lot of April Fools jokes in my life. Perhaps it was to be expected.)
Best time to meditate? On sabbatical.
Second best time to meditate? While in quarantine for a worldwide sabbatical, the length of which remains undetermined.
My friend M posted a graphic that sums up why all of us -- even non-meditators -- might want to give it a try these days:
I am no expert in meditating, so if you're interested in it in a serious way, join a meditation group where you'll find experienced practitioners. Our church's meditation group is now meeting online, and I bet others are, too.
But meditation is one of those things that you don't have to be great at to get something from it. It's a time to let the constant swirling of your mind settle down. One of the most helpful metaphors I've found was shared with me last summer at "The Point" (Southern UU summer camp for families) by the Rev. Aaron White.
He said to imagine that you've got a jar full of muddy water. You're walking around with that jar all the time, constantly shaking it. (Seriously, this is exactly what my brain feels like these days.) But if you set the jar down on the counter and let it just sit there, still, the mud begins sinking to the bottom. And the water on top grows clear.
Give it a try. Sit somewhere comfortable, maybe set a timer so you don't have to wonder about how long it's been. Start small. 10 minutes. Imagine the jar of water, and the dirt settling to the bottom. Breathe. Your poor brain is working so hard right now, trying to make sense of this, trying to figure out how to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If you're anything like me, you've probably been stuffing information in it, one article after another. And even when you're asleep, it's working, churning.
Perhaps one of the misused quotes of Ralph Waldo Emerson is that "consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." It's used to brush off any suggestions of routines and consistent thinking.
But that is taking it out of context. It is a quote about living authentically, and honoring, as Unitarian Universalist James Luther Adams wrote,
"...the principle that “revelation” is continuous. Meaning has not been finally captured. Nothing is complete, and thus nothing is exempt from criticism. Liberalism itself, as an actuality, is patient of this limitation. At best, our symbols of communication are only referents and do not capsule reality. Events of word, deed, and nature are not sealed. They point always beyond themselves."
On Friday, I wrote about routines, chosen and unchosen, during this time. What is a routine, a thoughtful consistency, one that will feel like a reward not a chore, than you can choose for yourself during this strange and disturbing time?
This does not necessarily mean indulgence, though that may be a welcome and life-affirming routine you can embrace. I have a daily routine of hot tea, in a small, pretty teapot, served in a teacup and saucer handed down to me from my mother-in-law, handed down to her from one of the ancestors. It is a light indulgence and one that makes my day more pleasant.
But even those routines that feel like disciplines can come to mean a reward. A long run may feel onerous a third of the way through, but fulfilling at the end. Yoga, meditation. Taking the time to read several pages from a difficult book. And the more we we do these routines, the more they become a habit, the more centered and in control of our own lives we feel.
And when we are centered and in control, we are better able to sit with all of the deep thoughts that this time of uncertainty is presenting to us, to think hard about what is being revealed to us. We may change our minds about some things, over this next year. And that is as it should be.
"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day."
MUSIC Gathering: “Valse Impromptu” by Röstäm Yahin (Yelena Mealy, pianist) Hymn: #64 “Oh, Give Us Pleasure in the Flowers Today,” words: Robert Frost, music: Cyril V. Taylor Hymn: #15 “The Lone, Wild Bird,” words: H.R. MacFayden, music: William Walker’s Southern Harmony, 1835 Anthem: “5. May” (from The Seasons) by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, (Yelena Mealy, pianist) Offertory: “Widmung (Dedication)” by Robert Schumann, arr. Franz Liszt (Yelena Mealy, pianist). Used by permission, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 License Closing: #413 “Go Now in Peace” by Natalie Sleeth
ARTWORK Transitions:Carter Begnaud, Marina Archuleta, Amaya Coblentz, and Rachel Bowman Love Your Neighbor Hat: Tyler Taylor
OTHER NOTES Call to Worship by Rev. Cynthia Landrum Time for All Ages – “Beyond Every Door” by Molly Housh Gordon Reading – “We Build Temples in the Heart” by Patrick Murfin
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS The Rev. John Cullinan, minister Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music Yelena Mealy, pianist Kyle Butler-Moore, glockenspiel Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
Greetings. This is a service of worship for May 17, 2020, the Fifth Sunday after Easter
Sentence and Votum
Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. [Matthew 7:7, NRSV]
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth. [Psalm 124:8, NRSV]
Collect for the Day
O Lord, from whom all good things come; grant to us your humble servants, good things by your holy inspiration, that by your merciful guidance we may perform the same, as true followers of your Son Jesus Christ. Amen.
Lord’s Prayer
Let us pray, as Jesus taught, saying:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
Psalm
Let us praise God with words from Psalm 20: [NRSV]
The Lord answer you in the day of trouble! The name of the God of Jacob protect you!
May he send you help from the sanctuary, and give you support from Zion.
May he remember all your offerings, and regard with favor your burnt sacrifices.
May he grant you your heart’s desire, and fulfill all your plans.
May we shout for joy over your victory, and in the name of our God set up our banners. May the Lord fulfill all your petitions.
Now I know that the Lord will help his anointed; he will answer him from his holy heaven with mighty victories by his right hand.
Some take pride in chariots, and some in horses, but our pride is in the name of the Lord our God.
They will collapse and fall, but we shall rise and stand upright.
Give victory to the king, O Lord; answer us when we call.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
Lesson
A reading from sixteenth chapter of the Gospel of John [NRSV]
Jesus said to his disciples:
Very truly, I tell you, if you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you. Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete. “I have said these things to you in figures of speech. The hour is coming when I will no longer speak to you in figures, but will tell you plainly of the Father. On that day you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf; for the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God.
I came from the Father and have come into the world; again, I am leaving the world and am going to the Father.” His disciples said, “Yes, now you are speaking plainly, not in any figure of speech! Now we know that you know all things, and do not need to have anyone question you; by this we believe that you came from God.” Jesus answered them, “Do you now believe? The hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each one to his home, and you will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone because the Father is with me. I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!”
Here ends the reading.
Address
We have inherited problematic ideas from today’s passage from the gospel of John, particularly the phrase, “if you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you.” Too many Christians have take this as a license to desire anything, claim anything, want anything, expect anything. If you have entertained a variety of television evangelists, or their hearers, you will have run across this line of thinking. But when you consider the person of Jesus Christ and the promises of the Gospel, it is a strange attitude and devastating both to the hope of the Gospel, and the spiritual health of the believer. Be on guard against it, even when it tempts you in subtle ways.
First, it runs against the commandment, repeated by Jesus in the wilderness, that you shall not tempt the Lord, your God. God is God, and not some particularly well-connected benefactor. And in the wilderness, it wasn’t God who promised Jesus all things, but the Tempter. Lord: “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil”! Second, if this was the chief benefit of Christianity, then Jesus Christ is himself a bad example. There’s little evidence he owned much, not even having a place to lay his head. He and his disciples relied on the support of their hearers. He had no tomb of his own, but was lain in one given to him. There’s nothing in Jesus’ ministry that suggests his blessing will provide you earthly riches. He could not spare himself the betrayal of friends, the jeering of the crowds or a painful, public execution. This is not the path to a big house, a luxury car or even a quiet life.
But the passage means something. I suspect it’s a call to learn what is truly valuable, and to rely on Jesus Christ to receive that call. We are, by this same passage, to call on God in his name to receive what we ask. But what then ought we to ask for, dare to ask for? And this isn’t just my bourgeois aesthetic sensibility speaking. The thinnest fraction of Christians who have ever lived have known opulence and wealth, many knew no peace, and there’s no just reason for thinking that these are false and unfaithful believers. Which makes me think that the deepest prayers and desires of the Christian faithful lie somewhere else. Again, this makes demands on God, when God makes demands on us. What then to ask of God, in Jesus’ name? That’s a lifetime’s meditation, but there are some hints.
Christian faith, well practiced and — even more — well lived, redirects our desires. We might want and not simply obey that commandment that Jesus gave his disciples: that you shall love one another, as he loved them, and he loves us. We might want the fulfillment of the Golden Rule: trusting in God’s will “on earth as it in is heaven.”
Such things last when fortunes fall, when passions cease, when wishes end, and God will be with you. Friends, think on these things.
Winchester Profession
Let us profess our faith:
We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind.
We believe that there is one God, whose nature is Love, revealed in one Lord Jesus Christ, by one Holy Spirit of Grace, who will finally restore the whole family of mankind to holiness and happiness.
We believe that holiness and true happiness are inseparably connected, and that believers ought to be careful to maintain order and practice good works; for these things are good and profitable unto men.
Prayer
Let us pray:
Almighty God, we bless and praise you: we have awakened to the light of another earthly day; and now we will think of what a day should be. Our days are yours, let them be spent for you. Our days are few, let them be spent with care. There are dark days behind us, forgive their sinfulness; there may be dark days before us, strengthen us for their trials. We pray that you shine on this day — the day which we may call our own. Lord, we go to our daily work; help us to take pleasure therein. Show us clearly what our duty is; help us to be faithful in doing it. Let all we do be well done, fit for your eye to see. Give us strength to do, patience to bear; let our courage never fail. When we cannot love our work, let us think of it as your task; and, by our true love to you, make unlovely things shine in the light of your great love. Amen. [George Dawson]
O God, who puts into our hearts such deep desires that we cannot be at peace until we rest in you: mercifully grant that the longing of our souls may not go unsatisfied because of any unrighteousness of life that may separate us from you. Open our minds to the counsels of eternal wisdom; breathe into our souls the peace which passes understanding. Let our hunger and thirst be for righteousness, that we may be filled with the bread of heaven. O Lord, give us grace to seek first your kingdom; and we know that you will add unto us all needful things. Amen. [Services for Congregational Worship]
Almighty and ever living God, who has taught us to make prayers and supplications and to give thanks for all persons, we pray that you would inspire the universal church with the spirit of truth, unity and concord; that all they who do confess the name of Christ may live in peace and in godly love. Give grace, O heavenly Father, to all ministers of the gospel, that they may, both by their life and doctrine, set forth your true and living word. And to all your people give your heavenly grace, that with meek heart and due reverence they may serve you in holiness and righteousness all the days of their life. Comfort and succor in your infinite goodness, all those who in this transitory life are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any adversity. And we also bless your holy name for all your servants departed this life in your faith and fear; praying you to give us grace so to follow their good examples, that with them we may be partakers of your heavenly kingdom. Grant this, O God, for your infinite mercy’s sake. Amen. [Book of Common Prayer]
Concluding prayer
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen. [1979 Book of Common Prayer]
Benediction
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen.
Notices
For more information about these services, visit revscottwells.com. The portions of scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version.
You probably already have a pandemic/quarantine routine. But how is it working for you?
I had one. It was, more or less:
* Wake up before the alarm with my mind churning with all the thoughts I hadn't dealt with * Get on Facebook and read articles about coronavirus * Have coffee and read more articles * Work work work * Lunch: Grab something ridiculous from the refrigerator or pantry and take it back to my computer * Work work work * Gulp down dinner * Work as if by my efforts, I could make coronavirus disappear * Watch evening news dissection * Toss and turn * Have nightmares based on the evening news dissection
This really was not working for me. Duh! But my family members were more or less working on their own version of that routine. One of my teens had flipped her schedule completely, sleeping all day, and awake all night. This wasn't good for any of us.
Not all at once, but I am beginning to establish some routines that suit me better. Cocktail/Mocktail Time outside, dinner at the table.
What are the routines you have fallen into, and what are the routines that would make you happier and, dare I say, more peaceful?
You've been shipwrecked on a deserted island. Realizing you'll be here for an indefinite amount of time, you've assessed your resources, and figured out how you can repurpose some of them to help you in this new life. Now what?
Oh yeah. Those people living with you.
Whenever one is starting a new community, whether it is in the London tubes during the Blitz or a deserted island, or a church, or a family that is now quarantined together, it is good to articulate the expectations of the group members, and come to a shared set of agreements.
In Unitarian Universalism, we often refer to this as a covenant, a set of promises the group commits to. They have a simple starting exercise that I have repeatedly found helpful:
Give each member of the community an index card and a pen. On one side, each person writes three things they are willing to promise the rest of the group. On the other side, three promises they would like from the group.
After everyone has done that, first discuss the promises everyone is willing to make. Then, the promises wanted. Then, you get down to writing your covenant. Were there items on multiple cards? Things that everyone agrees with? Write them down. They can be lofty or pragmatic. Promises about treating each other with respect ... and a promise that everyone will take turns emptying and refilling the ice cube trays, and under no circumstances is it okay to empty a tray and not refill it.
Maybe that's just my family - but hey, it's important to us. Every household has their own "ice cubes."
Once you have your list, then address the inevitable: what happens when you break the covenant. Because you will, that's just how human community works. How will you come back into covenant?
Once your covenant is agreed upon, write it up, and put it somewhere prominent. It doesn't need to be elegant. The refrigerator is fine. Someplace where everyone can see it, and where you can revisit it. Perhaps some things will be modified, while other things will need to be added. We don't know what life will be like 2 months from now. Things change.
Here's the thing: everyone has expectations. The problem is when it is assumed that everyone knows and agrees with the expectations. (They don't.) My colleague, Rev. Brian Ferguson, puts it succinctly: "Unarticulated expectations are premeditated resentment."
And you don't need resentment growing on your island.
You've been shipwrecked on a deserted island. You've assessed your resources and are now looking at them, and thinking about the life you want to live on this "island" that is your home.
The thing is, you furnished your island for a different world, one with much coming and going. A large dining room for big gatherings with friends and family. Not too much in the kitchen, because you eat out often.
Should you rearrange things now to better suit your purposes? You can do that, you know. Accepting that we may be living almost exclusively on this "deserted island" opens us up to rearranging things to suit the reality we're living in now.
For instance, in our house we are cooking far more than we used to, and trying to limit our trips to the grocery store, so we're going to empty some shelves in a closet near the kitchen for storing staples. We have a dining room, used only for special occasions with extended family. We have a loft that had been a playroom, but much of what's up there has been long outgrown by our kids. So here are our resources, now what are our needs and wants?
Our needs and wants are different now. It will be insufferably hot soon, and exercising outside holds little appeal. Repurposing the loft as an exercise room appeals to all of us. Between the five of us now living here, we've got an exercise bike, some exercise bands, weights, and a yoga mat. We can make this into a space that we will want to go to.
I'm a pastor, now turned Zoomevangelist. I need a corner where I can do my filming, so we're looking around for a good place for that. And all of us are expressing a wish for a quiet corner where we're still in a common area, for things like doing jigsaw puzzles and crafts. That unused dining room might be just the thing, both for the filming and the quiet table.
Are there any projects around the house that you've been putting off for a while, that would now make a big difference in your day to day life? Can you do them now? My partner fixed a miniblind in the room that I'm now using as an office, and it's made a world of difference, being able to raise it all the way during the day (and completely cover the window at night - I was feeling like I was on stage for my neighbors!)
How can you turn your space into a home created for living through a pandemic?
This week, I'm writing about using the metaphor of being shipwrecked on a deserted island to find ways to make our currently reality a little more livable, maybe even a little more enjoyable.
Remember what Chuck Noland (played by Tom Hanks) did as one of his first steps in Castaway? He opened up the Fed Ex boxes that had washed ashore with him. He figured out how to make a rope using videotape, used ice skates to make an axe.
So, first step for us: Assess resources. Pretty nice deserted island for many of us, with homes, food, and electricity! We can even see people on their own deserted islands, though it's not safe to go through the piranha-filled waters to get to them. Look around your apartment or house. This is now your island. What do you have that will work well here? An exercise bike? An old breadmaker? The right space between two trees for a hammock for when you get cabin fever?
Do you have an old patio set you can spruce up so that you can enjoy time outside? Maybe you can plan some picnic meals around it?
You are looking around your home and assessing resources with a picture in your mind of the life you want to live over the next year. What will you do when it gets uncomfortably hot outside? What will you do when it gets cold again?
One of the items Chuck finds in a Fed Ex box is a volleyball. It becomes his companion. I am hopeful that you can do better than a volleyball (though humans do have a tendency to argue, have their own thoughts, etc.) What are your resources? Can you have a weekly or monthly online gathering with your scattered family members? If you're not in a religious community already, now's a great time for that. Churches, synagogues, temples, etc. are doing great work offering daily options for connecting with others. (In fact, consider this to be a personal invitation to join us online Sundays at Live Oak UU Church.)
Tom Hanks left one Fed Ex box sealed up. Whatever physical items it contained, it also contained his hope that one day, he would deliver that package.
One of your resources should be hope. The "rescue plane" will come, eventually. Life will never be the way it used to be, but we will be able to be physically together again. Extended families will once again gather for family reunions and holidays. Keep hope as one of your resources, and be sure to refill it when it's getting low.
Tomorrow: Repurposing for the Needs of Your New Life
So, last March, you were shipwrecked on a deserted island.
For the first month, you were in shock. And assumed it was temporary. There were novel things - crab everywhere! You arranged stones to say SOS on the beach. You made a fire, so the search plane could find you. You waited to be rescued.
The second month, your hope for immediate rescue was ebbing. You began grieving. You thought of the ordinary things you had taken for granted. Your shock turned to denial. This couldn't really be happening. You have a golf tournament scheduled for the end of the month!
Third month, you began accepting that not only is this real, but it could be this way for quite a while. The makeshift shelter isn't ideal. There are probably better ways to store water than coconut shells. Maybe you could weave a hammock to sleep in.
As I wrote about last week, I don't believe the rescue plane is going to be coming for us anytime soon. There may be some waxing and waning over the next year, as we have lower risk phases where we can do more together, before going back to limited contact. But I don't think we're close enough to knowing what that will look like to make plans for that "mixed" reality.
I have spent so many days doing the educated equivalent of shaking a Magic 8 Ball. Did you ever have one of those as a kids? You asked it a question, gave it a shake, then read the message. And to be honest, if you didn't like the answer, you'd just keep asking the question and shaking the ball until you got the answer you wanted.
How many hours have I spent doing that? Reading articles, studying the models, trying to anticipate when this pandemic will end, and we can get back to normal? Hours and hours. And it's good to be informed, to seek out clear, science-informed knowledge. But beyond a certain point, I'm just shaking the Magic 8 Ball, hoping it will give me the answer I desire, that by this fall, everything will more or less be back to normal.
But that's not what the models are saying.
Perhaps it would be better for us to treat this more like the metaphor of the deserted island. So what do we do?
There’s a phrase I’ve heard a lot in the past few months: we are living in an unprecedented time.
And in a lot ways – it’s true. No one in our congregation was alive in 1918 for the Spanish Flu…so none of us have experienced a pandemic like this. Something requiring massive and prolonged isolation. Let alone a pandemic in a time where truth is so hard to pin down, and there isn’t a sense of trust in public leaders, or in each other…and yet with this equally unprecedented capacity to remain connected through technology – all across the globe – so we can really see just how unprecedented this is – for all of us.
And, at the same time, over the past few weeks, I have started to remember a history that is not the story of my own life, but of our collective lives. And it is a remembering. In my bones, and in my breath, I’ve started to remember that this is not all entirely new. We have been here before.
We have lived and struggled through what Margaret Wheatley has described as “enormous upheaval, dislocation, famines, and fears. We’ve had to counteract aggression, protect our loved ones, and face the end of life as we’ve known it.” We have lived and survived so many times where life itself felt at risk.
Which means that in our collective memory there resides – maybe not that tangible clarity so many of us crave – but still the wisdom and the strength, that is the resilience we need to meet this moment, to survive and to thrive.
Like many of you, I grew up Catholic. So the idea of connecting with spiritual ancestors and their help is not new. Growing up we called them “saints.”
But still, as an adult – while the lives and lessons of the women and queer folx, and the courageous actions of our Unitarian and Universalist ancestors – while all of these have been inspiring, and bolstering – for a long time, these stories have felt distinctly past tense. Disconnected in any real way from me and us, in the present, here and now.
But then the last few years…well, you know the past few years. So much change, and grief – nationally, globally, and, for many of us, personally.
Pema Chodron talks about the Tibetan word “ye tang che.” Ye, as in: “totally, completely.” And the rest: “Exhausted.” She says: “Ye tang che describes an experience of hopelessness. And this is important – as it’s the beginning of the beginning. Without giving up hope, we never relax enough with where we are or who we are…” in order to make the space to become something else.
In the past few years I’ve become pretty familiar with ye tang che. In the past few weeks, I’ve been there – a lot. And what I’ve learned about this place, is how freeing it can be, how things that previously were blocked by my rational, skeptical brain, arrive as gifts.
And one of those gifts is a new relationship with our ancestors. In the past few years I’ve discovered that the people of the past need not remain past tense, but can be present here – connected in the now. It’s like – when all that is tangible and seen fails to make sense, then you start to turn to what is unseen. When things fall apart, we can more readily lean in to mystery, its power and its possibility.
So I was fully in a place of ye tang che the fall of 2018 when I went on retreat to Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. (Some of you have heard me tell this story, but let’s hear it again – it’s so good for right now.)
I had brought with me my grandmother’s rosary and the golden cross that had sat on her bedside before she died, and when the time came, I placed them on our shared altar. As we settled into a meditation meant for connecting with our ancestors, I imagined meeting her there.
She’d been a nurse for returning soldiers from World War 2, which is where she met my grandfather. She gave birth to seven children, was the mother to seven children – and her husband struggled with mental illness. And still she was a powerful leader in her church and her community – she started her town’s food bank.
I figured she knew some things about survival, perseverance and resilience. So as I settled in for the meditation, I listened for her response: Grandma, how do I keep going?
But then as I settled into the silence, instead of my grandma, another voice and presence came to me – the Rev. Anna Jane Norris – circuit-riding minister of the 1880s who preached up and down the wilderness of northern Colorado trying to start a liberal church.
It hit me as her name came to me, how much resistance she must have faced, how much derision, how familiar she must’ve been with ye tang che – and yet somehow she kept going until a church took hold in 1898, what became Unity Church – Unitarian of Fort Collins, which changed its name to the Foothills Unitarian Church in 1968.
And so instead of asking my grandma, I asked Anna Jane: How do I keep going?
And here’s what she said to me – I wrote it down right after so I wouldn’t forget – she said:
Everything you are thinking about,
All the things you’re stuck on – all these questions that are swirling –
none of this is God.
God is bigger than you know. Bigger than what you can dream, or imagine.
I could’ve never imagined you – she said.
I could’ve never imagined this church that you serve today.
It was impossible. And still, somehow I was sure of it,
even when there was nothing.
There are dreams at work beyond your own.
So, keep going. Just keep going.
You don’t have to do everything.
Someone will come next.
What you leave unfinished will be their calling.
Just keep going.
I’ve returned to this encouragement, and her words, and the felt sense of her presence – so many times since then – I’ve felt her resilience like it’s my own.
Over the coming weeks, as we continue to make our way through this unprecedented time my invitation is for us to all lean in to the precedence that we hold within us, as we allow these histories to come alive in us. Because together we can remember a resilience rooted not in our individual lives but in our collective life, in life itself. We can remember we are not alone in this moment – we are a part of a powerful history unseen by our eyes, but still available in our bones and our blood. In our DNA.
In these days, we can allow every weary moment, every moment where we feel totally exhausted to be a place where we can open ourselves even more to the power of this mystery – God that is so much bigger than our worries, or even our dreams. The life that is far beyond what we can see.
Online Service! Watch it on our YouTube channel, starting on Sunday, May 10, 2020 at 10:00 am. You can also watch it from the Live! page on our web site, or link to it from our Facebook page.
Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore
MUSIC Gathering: “May Morning” by Alice B. Kellogg, Nylea Butler-Moore, piano Hymn: #199 “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” by Thomas A. Dorsey Song: #1002 “Comfort Me” by Mimi Bornstein-Doble Anthem: “All Blues” by Miles Davis, Aaron Anderson, piano Offertory: “Monk’s Mood” by Thelonious Monk, Aaron Anderson, piano Closing: #413 “Go Now in Peace” by Natalie Sleeth
ARTWORK Quilts: Danise Begnaud Fairy Village Ceramics: Elizabeth Portillos Fairy Village Photograph: KokHeong McNaughton Fountain With Bird Video: Rev. John Cullinan
OTHER NOTES Call to Worship: by Nancy Reid-McKee Reading: by Kristine Nessler Story: “Rainbows in the Windows” by Jenn Blosser Story Photo Credits: Gary L. Hider; Gennaro Leonardi; Amani A
Our offering recipients for May are the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund (http://www.nndoh.org/donate.html) and the Pueblo Relief Fund (https://pueblorelieffund.org/pueblo-relief-fund). Please visit their websites for more information and to make your direct donation.
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS The Rev. John Cullinan, minister Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music Aaron Anderson, piano Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
This is the first of seven audio services; as you will see, I’m still getting used to the software and the microphone, but I hope it’s a blessing for you. (Onward and upward, right?) The full text follows, and low bandwidth users might want to download and unzip the lower-quality audio file.
Greetings. This is a service of worship for May 10, 2020, the Fourth Sunday after Easter
Sentence and Votum (Psalm 124:8)
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24)
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
Collect for the Day
Let us pray:
Almighty God, who unites the minds of all the faithful: grant your people love for what you command, and desire for what you promise; that so, among the sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may surely be pointed to where true joys are to be found, the kingdom and promises of your Son Jesus Christ. Amen.
Lord’s Prayer
Let us pray, as Jesus taught, saying:
Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
Psalm
Let us praise God with words from Psalm 34 (1-7, NRSV)
I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad. O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together. I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. Look to him, and be radiant; so your faces shall never be ashamed. This poor soul cried, and was heard by the Lord, and was saved from every trouble. The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
Lesson
A reading from the first chapter of the letter of James (1:17-21, NRSV)
Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.
You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.
Here ends the reading.
Address
Our passage from the letter of James ends on a hopeful note: “welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” The same power which saves us, and all persons, in the span of creation comes to help us in the trials of our daily life. As in fact it must. We don’t profess a faith that only has benefits in an unseen future state. God implants a desire to hope, not just for a string of “perhaps tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow” but also that we might live fully today. Spiritually deep living proves the value of faith more than any turn of logic or theological dispute. From it comes the gift of God “from above” granting us power to be generous givers ourselves, to enjoy good times and to bear up with hard times.
While the virus sickens and kills many people, threatens livelihoods and inconveniences everyone, it is not correct to say that the days before the outbreak were good and today is bad. For many people, perhaps most people on Earth, life was hard before and is harder now. There was death, loss, hunger, sickness and violence then and now. But the burden is lighter on those with more resources. Typically, we speak of these resources as financial or material: money to not worry about lost work or medical bills, a bigger house to shelter in or the means to have food and resources delivered to you. There are other, intangible resources, say, taking comfort in the company of family and friends, but these too are limited, and the pandemic is a special burden for those who live alone. And we also have spiritual resources that give us a context and response to that crisis. Spiritual resources, unlike material resources, can be re-charged by their use. How often do we feel refreshed by being kind, and see that kindness returned, but weary from demanding indulgences from others. Don’t think it comes automatically, or that’s it’s a fraud to put yourselves in an attitude valuing goodness, service and care over, as James puts it, sordidness and wickedness.
This particular pandemic will some day pass, but other challenges will come instead. Prepare yourself — not just with canned food and toilet paper — but with an approach to life that values goodness, and “has the power to save your souls.”
Winchester Profession
Let us profess our faith:
We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind.
We believe that there is one God, whose nature is Love, revealed in one Lord Jesus Christ, by one Holy Spirit of Grace, who will finally restore the whole family of mankind to holiness and happiness.
We believe that holiness and true happiness are inseparably connected, and that believers ought to be careful to maintain order and practice good works; for these things are good and profitable unto men.
Collects
For peace
Let us pray for peace:
O God, who is the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom stands our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom; Grant us, your servants, we humbly ask you, that peace which the world can neither give nor take away; that we, who in all our dangers rely on your goodness, may under your parental protection be defended against all adversities, and rejoice evermore in your blessed service, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
For grace
Let us pray for grace:
O Lord, our heavenly Father, almighty and everlasting God, who has safely brought us to the beginning of this day; Defend us with your mighty power; and grant that we fall into no sin, nor run into any kind of danger; but that all our doings may be ordered by your governance, to do always that which is righteous in your sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
For healers and caretakers
Let us pray for healers and caretakers
Almighty God, who inspires the hearts of all who would serve you, we ask you to give your special blessing to all healers and caretakers who attend to the sick and afflicted. Give faithfulness and skill to their work, efficiency to the means they employ, and guide them to the understanding that in their best service, they also serve you. In the name of the Divine Physician, Christ our Lord. Amen.
For all conditions of humankind
Let us pray for all people
O God, the Creator and Preserver of all humankind, we humbly ask that you would make your ways known unto the breath and width of the human family, your saving health to all nations. More especially we pray for the good estate of the Church Universal; that it may be so guided and governed by your Spirit, that all who profess and call themselves Christians may be led into the way of truth, and hold the faith in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life. Finally, we commend to your tender goodness all those who are any ways afflicted or distressed, in mind, body, or estate (particularly sick people and those close to death); that you would comfort and relieve them according to their various needs, giving them patience under their condition, and a happy result from all their afflictions. And this we ask for your mercy’s sake in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Concluding prayer
Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time with one accord to make our common supplication to you; and you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name you will be in the midst of them: Fulfill now, O Lord, our desires and petitions as may be best for us; granting us in this world knowledge of your truth, and in the age to come life everlasting. Amen. (attributed to St. John Chrysostom)
Benediction
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Amen.
Notices
For more information about these services, visit revscottwells.com. The portions of scripture are from the New Revised Common Version.
Most likely, if you're reading this, you're someone I love. And if you're someone I don't yet know, I bet I'd love you if I met you. Most people are, I find, extremely lovable.
And I'm worried about you.
Sunday is Mothers' Day. And many of us love getting together on Mothers' Day. I know I sure do. My mom is 89 years old, have I told you that? Sharp, independent, and very funny. She moved about 10 minutes away from me four years ago, and we've gotten together every Mothers' Day either for a crawfish boil or brisket from Franklin's.
But this year: nope. I've got something special planned for her, but it doesn't involve either of us being in each other's house, and we certainly aren't going out to a restaurant. And she doesn't just support this, she's the one driving this bus, so to speak. She grew up hearing her grandmother talk about the Spanish flu epidemic when she (mom's grandmother) was so sick, she didn't know that her own mother had died of it.
I'm not saying our choices should be yours. Truth is, this is probably going to be our reality for a while, and every family is going to have to really think hard, and make some difficult choices. Time with each other is important, especially with loved ones for whom the days are dwindling down to a precious few.
And there are so many factors that are a part of this, like if both parties are already at virtually 0% contact with the outside world. There's no one simple answer that will work for everyone.
But that doesn't mean we should just throw up our hands and say, "in for a penny, in for a pound." A pound of SARS-CoV2 viral particles, yikes! If I have to be exposed, just a penny, please.
So, I encourage you to take the time and read this:
It's written in a way that non-scientists like me can understand, but with the vital contentions sourced.
In thinking about Mothers' Day, here's what jumped out at me: she outlined the "super-spreading" events, and one of the three is "weddings, funerals, birthdays." And after that, she explains with a diagram how spreading happens in restaurants.
Make your choices informed by facts, considered soberly, and limiting the risk factors. Smaller groups are better than larger. Outside is better than inside. Shorter visits are better than long. 6 ft apart. Masks. Wash hands.
Hearing that a great flood was coming, the Catholics said their rosaries and the Buddhists used their beads, the Congregationalists joined in prayer, and the Unitarian Universalists formed a class to try to learn to live underwater.
Well, friends, I believe it's time to start up those classes. For us, it's not living underwater, it's figuring out how to learn to live under quarantine.
Take time to absorb this. Take time to grieve. Remember that grief presents in many different ways, including anger. Try not to do too much damage to relationships as you grieve.
Please don't kill the messenger, however the news comes to you. If you want to protest, I'm not going to argue with you. I hope the experts are wrong. I hope I'm wrong.
And - preparing for this does not mean that we can't change it all if suddenly a vaccine occurs or a significant treatment. Wouldn't that be great?
But after you've fully grieved ... take a deep breath, and begin thinking of this as a period in which we will do things in a different way. Church, definitely. Perhaps school. Work.
Love. How will we love one another during this time?
We are not the first people whose lives have suddenly changed and will remain changed for a while. After Pearl Harbor, people in the United States did not expect the war to be over in a couple of months. They didn't know when it would end, but they knew they were in for a long haul.
It's time to learn to live underwater. Not for forever. This will end. But for a while.
What does love look like, now? During this time of global pandemic, when the models that our government is looking at project that by June, we could be experiencing 3,000 deaths per day?
There are people who do not have choices. For financial reasons or a commitment to the common welfare of others, they must go to work.
What do we owe them? How do we show that we honor the sacrifice they are making, the risks they must take? How do we show them love?
Throughout history, people have shown their love for humankind through action - marching for their rights, serving others, caring for each other in tangible ways.
Now we are in a time that asks us to do the exact opposite. We are asked, those of us who can, to stay at home. To be apart from one another. To honor barriers and boundaries, 6 foot of space at a time, with masks shielding our smiles.
In the sermon "Loving Your Enemies," Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of agape love. "Agape is something of the understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is a love that seeks nothing in return. It is an overflowing love; it’s what theologians would call the love of God working in the lives of men."
However, we understand the term "God," what might agape love look like during this time?
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
When "All in the Family" debuted, Archie Bunker was intended to be a straw man, a bigot that everyone would look at with ridicule. But instead, many people cheered him on.
In the "Avenger" movies, there is a character named Thanos who plots to make 1/2 of the universe disappear. Poof, gone.
What is heartbreaking to face is that during this time of coronavirus, we have people who would cheer Thanos on, in the hopes that they would be the lucky ones left, and there would be more wealth and resources for them. (I guess these are the same people cheer for the religious idea that only a select group of people will get salvation.)
Some of these people are government leaders. And we must face head-on that for some of these leaders, the fact that the elderly, the poor, people of color, will die is, in their minds, "a feature, not a flaw" of the virus.
But there are more of us. When Ken Turnage II, chairman of the city planning commission of Antioch, said that “the sick, the old, the injured” should be left during the pandemic to meet their “natural course in nature,” his community was aghast and he was removed from office.
We must face the fact that there are those who hold the abhorrent view that there are people who consider others to be disposable, and we must question those with power to see if this is a view they hold. If they say that no, they do not believe that, demand proof: what are they doing that proves they believe every life is valuable?
No man is an island, Entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own Or of thine friend's were. Each man's death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.
To become a Unitarian Universalist fellowshipped minister requires doing at least one unit of CPE - Clinical Pastoral Education. During that time, you're learning and working as a chaplain.
We had regular chapel services that included the communion ritual of bread and grape juice. Not being a Christian, I did not partake, but I appreciated the ritual, especially one part that is not the norm, unless you are in a hospital setting. There would be two chaplains in their priestly role. They would say the traditional words, serve each other communion, then invite those who wished to come forward.
But right before that, the two of them would pause at the communion table for the hand sanitizer. They made it part of the ritual, so that patients could see them cleaning their hands for the safety of the patients.
And I was just entranced by that. Something so ordinary, becoming a visual symbolic act of love and care. Before the words for the breaking of bread, "this is my (Jesus') body, broken for you," they silently said by their actions, "these are our hands, cleansed to keep you safe, hands that will bring the bread of life to you."
It gave a holy significance to the act that I never stopped seeing. When I witnessed doctors and nurses washing their hands before entering a patient's room, it was as if I was watching a religious ritual. During the chapel service, the chaplain-priests would murmur over and over the words of the ritual to each person, Take and eat this in remembrance... Over and over, they would say the words, each time it was a blessing anew for the participant.
Over and over, at every single room, I would watch the healers as they washed their hands before entering each room. Each time, a blessing anew for the person inside.
Right now, when I leave my house, I take a clean mask. Before getting out at the gas station, the mailbox, the street where I walk with my mother, I tie on the mask, reverently. It is a blessing for anyone whom I may encounter. This is my action, done in order to make you more safe. May you be healthy. May you be happy. May you be blessed.
Online Service! Watch it on our YouTube channel, starting on Sunday, May 2, 2020 at 10:00 am. You can also watch it from the Live! page on our web site, or link to it from our Facebook page.
Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore
As we enter a second month of this new and unplanned way of being the church, I’m sure many of you, myself included, are wondering when we’ll get back to meeting in person. Seeing faces over Zoom and YouTube is nice, but not the same as being able to shake hands or embrace on a Sunday morning. Part of my sermon preparation process for years has been outlining my words from the podium in the sanctuary as I picture your faces before I look into your actual faces as I preach on Sunday morning. Now, I’m preaching into my iPhone, using my laptop as a makeshift teleprompter. After a while, I start to feel like I’m talking to the walls. I dearly miss the in-person dynamic of worship, and the interplay of our energies in the same room. I can’t wait to get back to that.
On the other hand, I’ll keep doing church in this new way for as long as necessary. Our mutual safety depends on it. But just how long is necessary? As of this writing, our stay-at-home order has been extended through May 15. I’m fairly certain that will extend even further. The other day, the governor unveiled the outline of a phased plan for coming back out of shelter. In that plan, mass gatherings such as worship will be one of the very last things to be allowed. It’s going to be a while. And, even then, we’ll have to examine our own values and sense of ethical obligations as to whether or not we’ll begin to meet in person again once large groups are given the OK. It’s clear that even this “back to normal” plan is based in educated guesswork. There is still a chance that we could spread the virus in our gatherings after the curve flattens. We have a vulnerable population at the church. I fall into a few of the “high risk” categories myself, which gives me personal pause about jumping back into large group gatherings. Many factors will need to be taken into account before we announce our return.
All of this is to say that we could be doing church at a distance for longer than we expect. So far, we’ve been making up this new “remote church” as we go along — spawning our own ideas and learning from what other churches are doing as they navigate these strange waters alongside us. This is all well and good. Oddly energizing, to be honest, for this improvisor. But after a month of the church different, I’m left to wonder, “What’s next?” “What else can we be doing?”
And so, I want to reach out to you this month with a very serious question and I want to hear your most deeply considered answers.
When separated by necessity, what is it you need most from your church community?
What do you need from your minister? From the staff? What do you need most from each other, and how can the church help facilitate that?
Please do consider this. Email me your answers. Schedule a video chat with me if you need some conversation to help you process. However you need to, let me know what makes the church necessary for you in these times.
If every crisis is an opportunity, we are faced with perhaps our biggest opportunity since our building project — a chance to reimagine what church can be, what our church can be, for these interesting times and beyond.
Looking around the messy space in my home that is now office, study, film soundstage, editing room, meeting room, and lunch counter, I realized that it is one snapshot of ministerial life in the time of covid-19. A photographic relic.
So here's mine, (panoramic shot), messy as it is, annotated for future generations. What's yours? Not just ministers. Those who are newly working from home. Put a link in comments.
1) Bag of items from minister's study at the church, brought home once it became apparent this was going to last a while. Some additional theology books, anything edible from my cabinets. Still not cleaned out, after a month.
2) Application for Texas mail-in ballot in case the courts uphold expanded mail-in voting because of coronavirus.
3) Pile of books to put laptop computer on, so people aren't forced to look up my nose in meetings.
4) Lifeline to the church I serve - my laptop. When I bumped it last week, I suddenly realized that's it's everything. It's sanctuary, meeting rooms, all of it. Yikes.
5) Small chalice for lighting and extinguishing in online meetings, and in Sunday's worship service.
6) Photography umbrella for lighting service videos.
7) Wayne Arnason's words, taped to umbrella, that I'm ending all services with: Take courage friends. The way is often hard, the path is never clear, and the stakes are very high. Take courage. For deep down, there is another truth: you are not alone.
8) One of my stoles. Brought home in case I have to do online memorial services. Praying it will never be used.
9) Bin full of theology books brought home at the start of the pandemic, with the idea that I'd have time for some deep reading. Has not yet been touched.
10) Prayer journal, filled with the names of members and others who are on my heart.
11) Candles, put in the window every night.
12) Items for "grief kits" for when people are unable to attend memorial services. Praying there will be few needs.
13) Basket full of clean face masks for any time we leave the house.
To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight.” The poet e. e. cummings wrote these timeless words in 1958. Each of us, young and old, receives messages about who we ought to be. How we assimilate these messages with who we know ourselves to be is the spiritual discipline of living with integrity.
Have you ever felt like you weren’t being true to yourself, perhaps even that you were living a double life?
LGBTQ and other marginalized people know this reality well—it’s called passing. Others of you may know this feeling when you’re at work if you can’t be your full self—there’s a divide between work life and home life. Or maybe you feel a gap between your vision of how best to live and the reality of your life currently. Or perhaps you are a proud UU at church, but “in the closet” with more conservative family members or friends.
If you’ve ever experienced this divide, you know that it’s not a very joyful or fulfilling way to live. The truth we hold within is the core of our humanity, so when we are disconnected from the soul of who we are, we can feel lost.
The Quaker writer and activist Parker Palmer has focused much of his energy and writing on the challenge of living a whole and undivided life, aligning soul and role. Essentially, he is interested in what it means to have integrity. In his book A Hidden Wholeness, he describes this dilemma using the image of a strip of paper that is white on one side, colored on the other.
The white side is your inner life—your ideas, intuitions, feelings, values, faith, mind, heart, spirit, true self, soul. The colored side is your outer life—the image, influence, and impact you project.
As adults, at one time or another, or maybe as a way of life, we put up a wall of separation between our inner life and outer life, protecting the vulnerabilities of our inner life from the world we live in. This might include parts of our identities that are not safe to share with our communities. If the paper stays with the white, inner side invisible long enough, if we live behind the wall long enough, our inner life can disappear even from our own view, and the wall becomes all we know.
But when we recognize that the wall exists, we can take a step toward integrity by trying to reorder and reintegrate our inner and outer lives, values, and beliefs. We join the ends of our strip of paper to form a connected circle. The thing about this is that there’s still an inside and an outside, white on one side, colored on the other.
So what does true integrity look like? It looks like what happens if you put a full twist in the strip of paper before you join the two ends, creating a Mobius strip.
The Mobius strip was discovered by German mathematician August Ferdinand Mobius. In mathematics, the Mobius strip is a surface with only one side and one boundary. If you trace your finger on what seems to be the outside, you find yourself suddenly on what seems to be the inside. But if you continue, you will find yourself back on what seems to be the outside.
If life is a Mobius strip, there really is no inside or outside; there is only one reality. Integrity is the state of being whole and undivided, which is why the Mobius strip is a beautiful representation of this way of living.
As Parker Palmer says, the inside and outside—of the Mobius strip and of ourselves—are “co-creating each other.” “Whatever is inside us continually flows outward to help form, or deform, the world,” he says, “and whatever is outside us continually flows inward to help form, or deform, our lives.” We travel the Mobius strip of life making choices—about what we project and what we absorb—and these choices can be “life-giving for the world, for other people, and for me”…or not.
The poet David Whyte writes: “hold to your own truth at the center of the image you were born with.” This is what it means to live with integrity. And when we hold to this truth it shapes our friendships, our work and our life choices in ways that are life giving, because we know and are being true to who we are.
Our integrity is constructed, in large part, by the choices we make. Even by what may seem like little, everyday choices.
The other day I was at the store buying cushions for my patio furniture. They were big cushions, seat and back attached by plastic ties, piled high in the cart, shoved in there so as to keep them from spilling out all over the floor or knocking over displays in my path. When I went to pay, the checkout person said “two?” as she scanned the tag nearest her. I paused, and said, “no, there are three.”
I could have just said “yeah” and taken advantage of the situation, having to pay for only two cushions instead of three. Some people might have jumped at the opportunity, not even hesitating. But that’s not who I am, it’s not “the center of the image [I was] born with.” I’m not someone who takes advantage of others and lies to save a buck. I’m someone who is, or tries to always be, honest.
But integrity is about more than honesty, or telling the truth. It’s about being true to who you are, what you believe, and what you say. It’s the sum total of all those small, everyday choices to be honest, choices that are life-giving instead of life-diminishing.
I think we generally expect integrity of one another. I can recall multiple times that were like the patio cushion incident. I stood at the checkout, my arms full of pool noodles or bubble wands (birthday party—what can I say?), and the checkout person just asked me how many I had, without verifying or counting. There’s undoubtedly an element of privilege at play here, and I believe there’s also something deep within us that makes us wantto believe others have integrity.
We are called to live with integrity by expecting it of one another. When someone expects me to be real and true, they are calling me to hold to that inner truth at the core of who I am. There is a spiritual invitation in this exchange.
Integrity is a spiritual practice—not a characteristic or quality of an individual, but a way of being and living. The first part is to identify and listen to our core. Who am I, what is that image I was born with, my core, my soul?
Then there is the spiritual work of strengthening this core, of amplifying this voice, which we do by making choice after choice. Every time we make a choice about what we project and what we absorb it’s like we’re working our integrity muscle.
JoLillian Zwerdling, quoted in the book Emergent Strategy, writes:
From starfish I have learned that if we keep our core intact, we can regenerate. We can fall apart, lose limbs, and re-grow them as long as we don’t let anyone threaten that central disc’s integrity. We can grow so many different arms, depending on what kind of sea star we are. We have to nourish ourselves with the resources we are surrounded by…and by doing so we help keep ecosystems delicately balanced.
I love this image of us as starfish. By fortifying your core and keeping it intact you can weather whatever comes. Whatever temptations present themselves. Whatever messages you receive from this “world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else.” When you know and listen to your true self, you can be like the starfish, regenerating when needed. And this helps contribute to a balanced ecosystem.
If you’re like me, you may need some help with this spiritual practice. It helps to have a community who will remind you of who you are, and support you in holding to that core. A community that models integrity. This is one of the many reasons to belong to a church.
All institutions, including churches, struggle with integrity just as individuals do. Are we who we say we are? Do we walk our talk? Our actions must be reflective of the core identity we claim, and of the values that run deep in our tradition and our bones. In a time when integrity is not being modeled by those in charge of our government and most powerful institutions, we as individuals and as a church have an important role to play.
Just as the choices we make about what we put out into the world and what we take in co-create our individual integrity, I believe the choices we make as individuals and as a church help co-create a society with integrity. Each time we are honest, true to ourselves, humble about our shortcomings and mistakes, and practice discernment and fortification of our core, we model integrity in life-giving ways, helping transform the culture in which we live.
We are all surrounded by forces that tempt us to be other than who we are. But as the poet David Whyte writes: “There is only one life / you can call your own / and a thousand others / you can call by any name you want.” Let’s live our own, and live it with integrity.
There’s a reason why we as a religious people covenant to affirm and promote a free and responsible search for truth and meaning. It’s because we believe that our spiritual wholeness depends on confronting the real facts of our lives and the world we live in. We believe we can live free, awakened, and aware; we can be loving, compassionate, and kind; we can live into who we are and use our gifts to help save the world only in the presence of the truth. And from that truth we derive meaning.
And there is no question that we are living in a precarious time for the truth. We find ourselves in a world of “alternative facts” that amount to a torrent of lies from those in the highest offices in the land. How are we to respond in a way that is centered in integrity, in a way of living that is grounded in what is true and what is right? Several years ago I heard a presentation at a minister’s conference that stuck with me. The speaker argued that over the last century different memes embodying cultural ideas or practices have tended to prevail.
For example, she said, in the 1960s the predominant mode of thinking centered on the notion of rights—who had them and how they would be protected. It was a powerful driver of all kinds of things, she said, but in time its importance faded, to be replaced in the 1980s by a different idea, the rising notion that people shouldn’t look to others to make their way in the world, that we are responsible for our own destiny. She identified this with an acronym she gave as “YOYO” or “you’re on your own.”
She argued, however, that in this new century the old notion is beginning to fade and a new meme is rising that acknowledges more directly our interdependence on each other. It’s the recognition that while we are responsible for our individual lives, we can’t get by on our own. She described this with the acronym, “WITT” or “we’re in this together.”
I think that, Donald Trump notwithstanding, WITT is the acronym of our age. It embodies the recognition that we are fundamentally bound to each other and the Earth across races, ethnicities, gender identities, economic status and nationality. Every person matters.
Our work, then, involves building ties to know each other better, and exploring how to empower all people to live with purpose and meaning. It means widening our circles of concern to embrace all people, including those who today are marginalized. It is a powerful center of meaning, grounded in the truth of the unity of humankind.
But it is challenging, too. It requires adapting ourselves to difference, stepping outside the echo chambers of the narrow silos of our lives. We do this through the choices we make in how we conduct our lives, about how we spend our time, who we associate with. Let’s be honest, giving ourselves to this work is not easy.
Easy is living our quiet lives in our quiet circles. Hard is putting ourselves in places we’ve never been, in the company of people different from us. It isn’t comfortable, and yet it puts us in touch with something so remarkable and compelling that it can astonish us when we first experience it. Annie Dillard describes it as the substrate that underlies everything else in our lives: “our complex and inexplicable caring for each other, and for our life together here.” The simplest word for it is love: an elemental truth so basic, so vital that it eludes our conscious minds, as Rumi puts it, like the water that fish swim in. Choosing to love is speaking out when we see others demeaned, reaching out to neighbors when they are threatened, listening when another is in pain.
Let us say a blessing for the complexities of this world, all the imponderables that unhorse our prejudices and preconceptions, that force us to shake our heads and look again. Our human brains evolved to locate patterns and construct scenarios that distill complicated circumstances down to a few simple elements. It’s a great boon to us, but it also gets us into trouble time and again when the messy world with all of its inconvenient truths trips us up.
Thankfully, complexity forces us amid all our hubris to admit to a little humility. Ah, humility, that not-so-gentle reminder that to be human is to be fallible, requiring us to be open to correction, to learn tolerance and forbearance, and so to be open to grace. Through the power of humility and grace we find our way to love, which is the core of integrity.
The work that Unitarian Universalists around the country and the world are doing in the election process, the work we do in our local communities, all of this is part of the same work of creating the beloved community. And whomever we elect, this work will continue.
Friends, vote for the most intelligent, experienced, and compassionate candidates. And then go love the hell out of the world, each of us in our unique ways. The world cries out for our efforts, and no election alone will end that.
For six weeks, plus Ascension Thursday, I will be creating short audio services of worship and posting them here. I will start this Sunday (May 3) or the Sunday following, depending on how quickly I can work through the logistics.
Why? As always, I think Universalist Christianity is a word of comfort, sorely needed now. In part to share an expression of Universalist Christian worship at time when other expressions of Christian faith are being distributed through internet-published video, audio and text. Also, I want to offer something to readers, a couple of whom wished aloud that the services of my home church, Universalist National Memorial Church, Washington (UNMC) could be available. In fact, they may be in time (that’s not my decision), but for now they can only be experienced live. Six weeks is all I’m ready to commit to, and that also may see us through this wave of the shutdown. (I hope.)
Even if UNMC starts broadcasting, surely there’s room for two Universalist Christian services. But keeping that possibility in mind, I want to distinguish my efforts in several ways:
The services will be rooted in the now little-known Universalist prayer book tradition. It’s close to my heart and I want it to be better appreciated. I hope to show that it’s approachable enough to learn and adopt where there is no Universalist Christian church nearby.
The profession of faith I will use is the one I turn to the most: the Winchester Profession of 1803. UNMC uses a local declaration of faith based on the 1899 Chicago “Five Principles” Declaration.
I will use the older one-year lectionary rather than the Revised Common Lectionary that I almost always use in my preaching.
There will be no sung or choral music; it’s past my ability.
The services will be pre-produced, not live.
The services will serve more a supplement than as a principle worship service, though that may not be an important distinction for many.
The services will be audio only, probably with a text option. This should make them more available for persons with limited internet access. The digital divide is real, and even in the United States, many people live with no internet or a poor connection; streaming or recorded video is not an option for many people.
Pray for me as I take the first steps into a different mode of ministry.
This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory. -- 1933 Inaugural Address, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt
When fear prompts us to pause to check out the facts, and make measured, moral, and deliberate choices, it is a tool worth having.
But if fear growls at us from behind, prompting us to run before thinking, it is no longer a tool. It is in control. We are no longer making choices. We are reacting out of our anxiety.
As one tool among many in our toolbox, fear can move us out of arrogance and into the humility that allows us to be more open and more wise. It can sound a warning we need to hear. When we learn how to control fear, rather than allow it to control us, we can use it to make good decisions out of our best thinking.
But left in charge of our lives, fear runs amok. Left in charge, fear shies away from the whole truth. It revels in being the nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror of which FDR spoke. To ignore the best scientific advice, to refuse to create a set of conditions that must be met before resuming public gatherings does not constitute courage. Courage never means denying reality.
Conquering fear means to face the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly.
It is scary that our entire world has changed so drastically.
It is scary that we not only do not know what the future will look like, we don't know when "the future" will begin.
To walk out into the public square right now, maskless, shoulder to shoulder with others, ignoring guidelines established for the common good, is not a sign of bravery.
It is a sign that your fear of the unknown, and what is to come, is so large, you must hide from it by feigning normalcy when there is none.
Conquering fear requires humility.
The measure of the restoration lies in the extent to which we apply social values more noble than mere monetary profit...These dark days will be worth all they cost us if they teach us that our true destiny is not to be ministered unto but to minister to ourselves and to our fellow men. -- FDR March 4, 1933
To quote one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Kathryn Janeway, "I've known fear. It's a very healthy thing, most of the time. You warn us of danger, remind us of our limits, protect us from carelessness. I've learned to trust fear."
Fear keeps us from sampling the poisonous plant, it motivates us to wear thick boots when hiking in potentially snake-filled brush, makes us more attentive to our surroundings late at night in a parking lot.
It can be difficult right now, finding the appropriate level of fear. Somedays, I read a first-person account of a medical professional who was with someone who died of covid-19, and almost start gasping for air myself. I'm overwhelmed by fear that I, or someone I love, will contract the novel coronavirus.
But other days, the threat feels so far away, that all of the precautions I'm taking feel ... unhelpful. I am reminded of the game of "lava" I used to play as a kid. You could walk on sofa cushions, the coffee table (sorry, Mom), and would streeeeetch so you could step from one chair to another, just as long as you didn't touch the floor, which was hot lava, and would kill ya.
Walking in the neighborhood, 8 feet away from my mother, masks on both of us ... are we hopping on sofa cushions?
Well, that's the reality of our lives right now. There are some things we know about covid-19, but so much more that we don't.
I live in Texas, and what scares me right now are the people with no fear. Politicians, yes, who flaunt the Stay Home, Stay Safe ordinances, but even more are the people who are so at home in their own feelings of invincibility -- "It could never happen to me" -- that they aren't even willing to follow the lightest of guidelines. Don't gather with others. Wash your hands. Cover your nose and mouth.
I worry that until we personally know multiple people fighting coronavirus, know someone who has died from it, that even those of us who have had an appropriate level of fear are going to begin letting some of it go. Taking a few more chances.
I have friends in NYC, Washington state. I am a minister, as are they. They are figuring out how to do memorial services. Death has come to their congregation.
It is good to feel our feelings, including the uncomfortable, sad, and anxious ones. Ignoring them doesn't make them go away. We need to face the reality we're in, and be willing to examine the feelings that come up as we do so.
But not set a table for them to live forever with us.
Ruminate is a funny word, at least to me. It makes me think of old men out in the country, wearing overalls, whittling a stick as they sit in a rocker on their porch, ruminating about ideas.
But in psychology, rumination means something a little different. Rumination is when we keep running over the same ideas and emotions, over and over, without moving on, without trying to come up with some productive next steps.
Ever see a child do this? They can't find their favorite socks, and so they just keep repeating over and over the reality that they want, without trying to improve the situation or accept it and come up with a new plan. You suggest they look in the dirty clothes hamper. Or wear their Big Bird socks rather than the Elmo socks. But no, they don't want to hear it. They are stuck in a reality they don't want to be in.
Stuck in a reality they don't want to be in ... hey, I can relate! This isn't just for little ones!
When we find ourselves in these repeating looping thoughts, it can be helpful to talk to someone. A friend, a minister, a therapist. Someone we trust, who can listen as we process our feelings, but who will also nudge us with, "Okay, so what are you going to do next?"
(But beware co-rumination, which is an especially tricky barrier, because it feels so comforting, yet it is still trapping us, keeping us from moving forward.)
We are living in The Except. We don't know when it will end. Our feelings may be all over the place, a roller-coaster of "doing fine" and being in despair. All normal.
But we need to keep moving forward. We have people who depend on us. And we draw courage from each other. We en-courage each other, bring hope when hope is hard to find, serve as each other's cheering section. Right now, people are doing quiet feats, managing both job and family while both are happening in the same place, stretching themselves to use new technology to reach out to others who are alone, and living under some very scary circumstances. "I SEE you working hard" can be just the fuel they need to get through another day, shoulders squared, head held high.
The life we knew is, to some extent, over. But we must go on and do the next right thing.
Acknowledging our pain, our grief, is healthy. Because ignoring it doesn't mean it disappears. It just means that you lose any bit of control you had over it.
I knew a person who went through something hard. Like, really super hard. But rather than pause and ask herself, "Hey, how do I feel about this?" and sit with those sad, complicated feelings, she instead would just cheerily say, "I'm fine! Really!" She kept doing that, over and over, and it became such a pattern that she really said some ridiculous stuff in her hurry to move on away from any sad feelings.
And then one day, she was in a large group of people, and they all watched a video clip from a funny movie.
Christy Cummings: It's interesting, we have kind of a family dynamic going on here which pretty much mirrors what I grew up with: I'm the mommy slash daddy, the taskmaster, the disciplinarian. Sherri Ann Cabot: Mr. Punishment over here. Christy Cummings: Oh, but I also reward. And Sherri Ann is responsible for the unconditional love. Sherri Ann Cabot: And the decorative abilities. Christy Cummings: The heart and the soul which was what my mom did. That was her role. She was there for the unconditional love... and it worked for my family, you know... until my mom committed suicide in '81.
It's a throwaway line, funny in context, like "But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"
But it so mirrored what this person had been doing, all jolly frivolity, "Everything is great, other than this huge thing, oooh, look at that rainbow!" that tears began rolling down the person's face and she could not stop. Surrounded by a room full of people, and the tears wouldn't stop. For hours. Literally.
(Yeah, the person was me. Of course.)
When I did my chaplaincy education (CPE) that all potential UU ministers have to do, my supervisor explained about the invisible "emotional clipboard." There are times when we can't process our own feelings, like if we're visiting with a patient. Our attention needs to be on that person, but some difficult emotions may get prodded. So, you put that emotion, or memory, on your emotional clipboard, so you can come back to it later, and focus your attention on your patient.
BUT, she emphasized. You must return to the clipboard at another time and clear it off. And the only way to clear it off is to feel it, and think through it, talk to others, cry if you need to. Otherwise, your clipboard gets too full with all the things you divert to it and you wind up losing control. You can no longer control when you process it because it takes over and is processing the heck out of YOU.
(And losing control doesn't look like crying in a giant room of other people for everyone. For you, it may be becoming irrationally angry at little things, or just wanting to sleep 24/7.)
To be able to move on without the encumbrance of that clipboard loaded full, dropping scraps of paper left and right, means freedom.
As I've written about already, the music that is being produced and shared during this pandemic touches me on a deep level. And I am an easy touch. It doesn't even have to be good music, just the fact that people turn to their art, and then offer it up as a gift, makes me misty.
With the assembled creation of the Royal Choral Society's Messiah, I went far beyond misty into boohoos. It was so beautiful, and such a great example of the human spirit, and our ingenuity.
Watching it the ...oh, 18th or 19th time ... I was struck by their opening slide:
What caught my attention was "except during the Blitz."
Well, of course. The Royal Albert Hall is located in London. The Blitz was a German bombing campaign that destroyed 1/3 of London. From September 1940 until May 1941, Britain was under attack.
There are long timelines of history, punctuated by significant interruptions. The "except."
We are living in The Except.
There will come a time when we divide time into "Before Coronavirus" and "After Coronavirus." But we are living in the in-between. The life that we're living right now will later be considered an interruption.
I'm an American and have no family stories linked to the Blitz, the way I do know many family stories about the 1918 Pandemic and the Great Depression. Reading about it, I wonder what we can learn from it. The Blitz was a significant interruption, and many things were never the same again. Almost 40,000 British civilians died in the Blitz. They didn't know when it would end, they were separated from loved ones, they had to hunker down in shelters.
And, the people were resilient. Forced to shelter in the London Tube stations, they organized themselves and their spaces, setting up areas for children, for smoking. They figured out how to keep their areas clean and govern themselves. In fact, it was worrisome to some government leaders. Officials reported that "people sleeping in shelters are more and more tending to form committees among themselves, often communist in character, to look after their own interests and to arrange dances and entertainments.”
One detail I found very interesting: psychiatrists, at the start of the Blitz, worried that the psychological trauma was going to be profound, that it would "break" citizens and there would be three times the mental casualties as the physical ones. And yet ... it didn't happen. There were, of course, psychological effects from the Blitz, but people turned to each other and discovered a depth of resilience in themselves.
And the Blitz was an "except." Life returned. The Royal Choral Society returned, and sang again a chorus of Hallelujahs.
We are living in The Except. Some things will be different, but life, as we knew it, will return. The Except, ultimately, will be an interruption in the timeline. People will talk about how their family has always gathered for Easter, or goes to the beach every June.
In this spirit and our covenantal tradition, we will be deciding in the coming weeks and months how and when to resume in-person church activities and services. In the course of this pandemic, the balance of our decisions are weighted toward the common good.
Friday, the Texas governor announced that schools would not be reopening this school year. This decision is the right one. I would have been terribly upset if the decision was otherwise. We probably would have refused to allow our children to go back, not while the cases of covid-19 continue to climb in our area.
And.
I teared up. I have a high school senior. We already figured that prom wouldn't happen (and her dress hangs, beautiful and unused, in her closet), probably not graduation. The big things.
But it was knowing that she'll never walk back into that building that choked me up. She got out of school for spring break, and school never resumed. She never had the moment of looking at the familiar hallways with a blend of "at last!" and sentimentality, realizing one part of her life is complete. She won't get that last day of school, saying goodbye to favorite teachers. Signing yearbooks. Exchanging foolish promises with friends to stay in touch.
You can't logic away feelings, nor should you. We have to just live with complexity. Relief that the government is doing the right thing to protect lives. And sadness for the loss of the ordinary dumb things that before we could just take for granted.
Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore
MUSIC [gathering music]
#205 “Amazing Grace” (Columbian Harmony)
#1 “May Nothing Evil Cross This Door” (Robert N. Quaile)
#123 “Spirit of Life” (Carolyn McDade)
“What a Wonderful World” (George David Weiss & Bob Thiele) – Andy & Sophia Enriquez [offertory]
“Go Now in Peace” (Natalie Sleeth) – Nylea Butler-Moore, piano & Kyle (‘Mystery Hands’) Butler-Moore, HAPI drum
READINGS
Call to Worship adapted from words by Kathleen McTigue
Prayer Heather Rion Starr
“Now, I Love You. Now, I Witness” by Theresa I. Soto
Our offering recipient for April is the Juvenile Justice Advisory Board. Please visit https://www.losalamosjjab.com/ for more information and to make your direct donation.
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS
The Rev. John Cullinan – minister
Tina DeYoe – director of lifespan religious education
Nylea Butler-Moore – director of music
Elisa Enriquez, Andy Enriquez, Sophia Enriquez – guest musicians
Rick Bolton, Mike Begnaud – AV techs
In the 1940's, Woodie Guthrie painted on his guitar "THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS." Other artists would follow suit, such as Pete Seeger, who put on his banjo "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender."
Music has no powers to kill coronavirus, but right now, it's doing an admirable job helping us to fight fear and despair. Did you happen to see Andrea Bocelli's concert last Sunday, inside and on the steps of the Duomo cathedral of Milan? Just beautiful.
But it is the ordinary concerts, from people's living rooms or empty clubs, that has me encouraging people to get back on Facebook. I know, I know - there are ethical issues around privacy (and if that's your concern, I will not urge you to go against your conscience), there is an overabundance of anxiety-stoking articles, and some people never had any interest in the darn thing.
But this past week, I've listened to Melissa Etheridge every day, "attended" Dale Watson's Sunday concert, as well as a concert by our own assistant minister and professional musician Kiya Heartwood.
I'm so touched by all of the sharing I see happening. When people go through a crisis together, there is often a bonding that occurs. The whole world is going through this crisis together. Listening to the music, I have hope that something is permanently changing.
If we each had a metaphorical suitcase that we could pack with things that would help us during our time of Pandemic Lockdown, one of the first things I would recommend packing would be self-differentiation.
As I've mentioned before, we are now swimming in both chronic and acute anxiety. It doesn't take much for us to react out of that anxiety. When you're in a state of near-constant anxiety, any little tap on the shoulder can make you jump out of your skin. And the "taps on the shoulder" now look like news shows, social media posts, and people walking in front of your house.
We interpret many of these taps on the shoulder as threats against us. Now, some are justified. When a government leader suggests that the area you live in should ignore the recommendations of epidemiologists and get back to gathering together, that is a real threat to your safety, and the safety of everyone. If someone comes to my door and coughs in my face, that's a real threat. If someone spreads a rumor that forsythia will cure this pandemic, that is a real threat.
But outside of the real threats, because we are in this state of hyper-anxiety, our amygdalas can also begin firing simply because people are feeling or behaving in ways different than we are.
Here are some things to remind ourselves:
We are different. We think differently, We feel differently.
What makes one person feel more anxious may make another person feel relief. What is soothing to one person may get someone else frustrated.
Take coloring books. I know so many people for whom coloring pictures puts them into a calm, meditative state.
For me, coloring books are a torturous activity, filling me with perfectionism and frustration.
And that's okay. It would be ridiculous for me to say that coloring books should not be allowed in the world, and ridiculous for someone to claim that everyone should be using them.
For some people, reading as much about the science of what is going on gives them a feeling of control, and lowers their anxiety. For others, it spikes their fears.
Some people get value from debating. Others of us hate to debate.
Some people need more connection, they will show up to every Zoom gathering you have. Others can tolerate one gathering, at most.
Some people hate "battle" metaphors being used about this virus. For others, that's the metaphor that helps them make sense of this.
Some people want this time to closely match what was "normal" time. They have a structured routine to go through their day. Others find trying to fit into a strict schedule makes them feel claustrophobic.
We are each responsible for figuring out what works for us, within the guidelines of being safe.
We are each responsible for dealing with our own anxiety about people being different from us.
We are responsible for figuring out where our dance space ends, and another's begins. And then respecting the boundaries of others, while holding our own. Trying to convince me that I should like coloring books means stepping into my dance space. Pretending to like coloring books so that you won't be mad at me means not holding my boundaries.
Ultimately, the better we become at self-differentiation, the freer we will feel. It is not my job to convince you that your love of coloring books is wrong. You get to decide on that yourself. Phew ... something else I can remove from my to-do list!
We all have wounds, unhealed wounds. Hopefully, we've been working on them, trying to get the "glass out of our arm" and get healthy.
But that takes a while, often years. And even when we think we've made great progress, we might feel a twinge out of the blue, especially in stressful situations.
This is a pretty stressful situation, no? Stuck in our homes, unsure when it will all end, and what life will look like on the other side.
Have you been feeling twinges from old wounds? Me, too.
One of mine, as I've written about before, is the wound of being called lazy, which led to the unconscious vow that I would make sure no one could ever call me that, which led to being a workaholic.
I've done a lot of work around this, though, deciding on healthy guiding principles to replace the unhealthy vow, and living out of those. So the wound is healed, right?
Well, I thought so. But here it came roaring back. Despite me telling others that they must slow down, must make self-care a priority, despite being coached to do so myself ... I've been getting those twinges and reacting to them. When you combine both the feelings of powerlessness of the overall situation -- I am neither a doctor, nor a nurse, nor an epidemiologist -- with the emotional and spiritual needs everyone has -- I am a pastor, and have the fairly rare skill set of experience doing online church ... well, it means that it is easy for me to slip back into answering the call of the wound.
What are your wounds, those unhealed bits that when bumped against, cause you to react? How is being in this time of uncertainty, and being either cooped up with others, or all alone, causing them to flare up?
If you have a wound about being ignored or abandoned, you may feel anxious if you are more isolated.
If you have a wound about there not being enough food or other resources, you may be feeling panicky.
If you have a wound around people laying too many expectations on you, you may be assuming demands that are not there.
Identify the wound. Identify a vow you have made, and replace it with a guiding principle that is in alignment with your core values: I lead a life of balance, giving time and energy to my family, my work, and myself.
Talk to the people in your life who are emotionally mature themselves. I am lucky to be surrounded by strong leaders in the church I serve, who check in with me, openly sharing about the things they struggle with, and asking me things like, "Are you taking your day off? Are you getting enough sleep?"
We are all in this together. Let us extend grace to each other, and check inward with ourselves. We are not going to be at our best all the time right now. How could we be? We have demands on us, many of them unlike any others we've faced before.
Online Service! Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore
MUSIC
“Invention in C Major” (J.S. Bach) – Tate Plohr, piano
#268 “Jesus Christ Is Risen Today (Tune, EASTER HYMN, from Lyrica Davidica, 1708, with adapted excerpt of arrangement by Barbara Boertje) – Nylea Butler-Moore, piano
#8 “Mother Spirit, Father Spirit” (Norbert F. Capek)
#123 “Spirit of Life” (Carolyn McDade)
“Invention #14” (J.S. Bach) – JeeYeon Plohr, piano
“Minuet in G Major” (J.S. Bach) – JeeYeon Plohr, piano
“Go Now in Peace” (Natalie Sleeth) – Nylea Butler-Moore, piano & Kyle (‘Mystery Hands’) Butler-Moore, HAPI drum
READINGS
“The Old, Old Story” by Ian W. Riddell
“Exaltation” by Linda M. Underwood in Day of Promise (UUA, 2001)
Our offering recipient for April is the Juvenile Justice Advisory Board. Please visit https://www.losalamosjjab.com/ for more information and to make your direct donation.
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS
The Rev. John Cullinan – minister
Tina DeYoe – director of lifespan religious education
Nylea Butler-Moore – director of music
JeeYeon Plohr, Tate Plohr, and Kyle Butler-Moore – guest musicians
Rick Bolton, Mike Begnaud, and Thomas Graves – AV techs
Friends, we turn to the difficult fact of Good Friday. Here, God’s beloved dies before the jeering crowd. Betrayal, cruelty and falsehood triumph. Hope burns to ashes, and light and color drain from the world. We are left with questions, grief and silence.
Good Friday so becomes a spiritual challenge. In good times, we might have to specially direct our spirits to be receptive to this horror and grimness; so when the sun shines and the air is warm, it can seem a strange thing to try and be sad. And when times are bad, well, who needs more sadness? That’s this year, and I’m sad and anxious enough, and don’t like it. The trope, well-shared in social media, is that this Lent has been far more Lenty than anyone expected, perhaps too much to bear. Nevertheless, Good Friday prepares us for hard times, at least giving us familiar concepts to interpret them.
Perhaps we can identify the losses that come from the COVID-19 pandemic, and try to set them directly in a framework that Good Friday presents. It is a natural thing to do: tying Good Friday to the suffering we’re experiencing collectively. There’s a risk, though. It’s a collective hardship, but not an even or fair one. It is not a leveler. Those who suffered before, will suffer more — including the loss of health and life, and anxiety and depression, not to mention the economic impact. Millions of people will be pushed beyond breaking, into lasting or deeper poverty and unemployment. Its results will follow us for many years, perhaps for the rest of our life. Most hardships don’t end in redemption.
Instead of comparing the pandemic to the crucifixion directly, I think about what the disciples must have asked themselves that Friday when all their hope died: where do we go from here?
If Easter’s resurrection brightness is hard for us to conceptualize now, after centuries of meditation and interpretation, it surely must have been unthinkable for the disciples: not even an option to consider, much less weighing the up pros or cons of its likelihood. But Easter did come, and those who survive this crisis will have to decide what we will do next.
The trial of Jesus before Pontius Pilate is remarkable for any number of reasons. We know so little of individuals from that period, and what little we know of Pilate is that he crucified a lot of people. I’m not prone to read him as the antihero, swayed by the mob. (Passages which have been used for centuries to justify violence against Jews, I should add. And this scene from Matthew is less troubling that the one from John.) And another odd thing was the choice of the crowd in letting one condemned man go, a practice that has no independent confirmation. So what follows is not an original thought, but one I picked up in college (I was a religion major) about thirty years ago. Consider that there were not two criminals, one of whom might be set free, but one man with two names, Jesus the Messiah, the anointed one, and Jesus Barabbas, Jesus “son of the Father.” The first tinged with triumph and the power of the governance; the other pointing to mystical connection with God. Which seems backwards, doesn’t it? Because Barabbas is described as a bandit, but well, we know not to take one-sided charges too seriously. After all, the man who died on the cross told us, “they know not what they do.” We know he was innocent.
We might have two names, too. Which will we chose? We must seek the good impulse, and live into it, but that won’t protect us. We may not escape hardship, but might, just maybe, choose what we suffer for. For goodness and for the common good. To defend the helpless, and to overcome domination. To chose life in its fullness, rather than to concede to bitterness.
How will we be known? And will that name be a blessing to those who come after us? Challenged by the experience of the Resurrection, the disciples went out to ends of the world, to share the gospel that the world might not despair, because on the cross we saw that all is not as it seems and that God’s purpose and blessing come to those, however grieved and confused, do what is good, and right and true.
Let us pray:
Eternal God, before the cross we stand in awe and trembling. Comfort and console the mourners this day. Confirm in us that mind and spirit you put within Jesus, our comfort and our strength. And lead us from this place, to go forth with your blessing, and to live without fear, waiting in hope.
“He got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you … Continue reading Zoom into Foot Washing→
For those of us who are now doing our jobs from our homes, it can be a challenge to differentiate between our work hours and our home hours. For most of us, the work of work never ends. And if you're now effectively living in your office, you can work on your job all the time.
We know that's not healthy, right? And frankly, if we're doing that all the time, the quality is going to go down. We need space away from work for our brains to recover, to "reboot."
If it's possible (parents of young children, we'll get to you in a minute), come up with some basic parameters for each. Time itself is a significant boundary. What time does your work begin, and when is it time to close? What are the boundaries that you need to give to yourself? Maybe this means not even looking at email between certain hours of the evening.
Can you create a ritual around ending your workday and starting your home evening? Maybe, weather-permitting, a cocktail or mocktail outside at 6 pm?
And it goes the opposite way, too. Perhaps there are home things that, if cordoned off from work time, will help you to feel slightly more normal, slightly more in control of your routine. As a recent joke goes, changing from your nighttime pajamas into your work pajamas. Establishing a corner (if you don't already have a home office) that is just for work.
And now, you parents ...
Goodness, all I want to do is give you a giant hug and tell you I'll watch the kids for a few hours, you go work on that presentation that's due next week. I'm genuinely sorry that I can't.
I know that carefully boundaried time divided into neat categories of "work" and "home" won't work for you. That you're having to answer that work email while at the same time telling Jimmy to stop putting silly putty in the dog's fur. Bouncing between the zoom room for your staff meeting and the online room for your child's class.
First, take just a couple of minutes to think about your personality and what will work for you. Maybe that means using a Time Tracker that you can easily turn on and off so that at the end of the day, you can see that all those 10-minute increments of work really did add up. (Bosses...DO NOT MAKE YOUR EMPLOYEES USE THESE AT THIS TIME. THIS IS FOR THEIR USAGE, NOT YOURS. WE ARE IN THE MIDST OF A FREAKIN' WORLDWIDE PANDEMIC. DO NOT BECOME "THAT BOSS.")
For some people, doing something like tracking time will allow them to rest at the end of the day. Others, that will be the thing that drives you bonkers. If that's the case ... don't do it. And don't do it if it's going to add to your feelings of martyrdom. That ain't healthy.
If you have more than one parent in your household, maybe you can agree to exchange some "Solid Time" time for "Permeable Time."
Solid Time: all work, no interruptions. Permeable Time: working, but can also deal with kids.
And then there is the way too fleeting time ... let's call it "Mini-Vacation Time."
Mini-Vacation Time is when you give each other a whole luxurious hour ... an hour for taking a bath, reading a book, an hour blessedly alone.
Hey, maybe it can become a whole game of bargaining. "I'll give you two blocks of permeable time for one block of mini-vacation time."
Not that you have time for games ...
Hang in there, fam. This will not be forever. Someday in the future, you will be able to say, "Bye! I get to go to work!"
p.s. and for you parents - watch this video starting here, as John Oliver explains what it's like for him as a working parent. You are NOT alone.
For those in non-medical* helping professions, the needs in your community may have gone up exponentially. And I'm seeing some great examples of how we're thinking innovatively, figuring out how to tend to the needs of those we serve, in creative ways.
But each of us is only one person.
For those in religious communities, we must work to empower the members of the community to minister to those needs with their own gifts and skills. Religious professionals, your job is to equip and empower. NOT to Do All the Things.
A peek behind the curtain at our church: we've had many people suggest great ideas. And we (ministers and staff) have needed to remind each other that our job is to equip and empower. Trust that our people can take these great ideas and with a little bit of encouragement and resources, do terrific ministry. I put in an email to our team:
Our limitation is not a lack of good ideas. Our limitation is that we are each only one person. And if we try to be more than one person, we will fail or burn up trying. Please don't burn up or out.
We need to have the humility to know that our members also do ministry, religious education, leadership.
There are some things that can, or should, be done by the paid professionals. Namely, providing resources, helping people lead, giving people the tools to set them up to succeed. Listening to members, and formulating and articulating a shared vision for how we live in this time, and how we prepare for the future.
(And, as things get more serious, there will be pastoral needs, difficult pastoral needs, to attend to.)
Spreading yourself too thin will mean that you can't do the things only you can do.
True, too, is this: what ministers to each of us is to be in touch with our purpose. The more people you have doing significant ministry, the more people are filled with a sense of purpose. And, speaking at least for the church I serve ... our people are brilliant. They are creative problem-solvers. They can spot needs and build a framework to address those needs.
There will come the day when the church doors are flung open, and we are all together again. On that day, church members will celebrate how we all ministered to each other, how we took care of both the business of the church, and the business of caring for our people.
*For those in medical professions, especially those on the front lines of this pandemic: we need you to not burn up or out, too. I also acknowledge that in crisis, there is an attitude of "do what you have to do." I fervently hope you can rest. We are praying for you, we are calling our congresspeople and demanding you get the resources you need. We are staying inside. We love you. You are in our hearts.
We are in a time of grief. Grief for the "normal" that we've lost, and anticipatory grief for what we fear may come.
One of the funny things that often happens when we're in grief is that when we somehow manage to get a quick pocket of peace where we're not actively mourning, when we actually briefly forget our current reality, then when we remember what's going on, we feel guilty.
It's funny! I mean, it's not going to rival the Three Stooges or John Mulaney, but it's funny that we are so desperate to feel some modicum of control that given the choice between helplessness or guilt, we'll feel guilt. Even if it's just guilt that for a brief period of time we weren't suffering.
But let it go, please.
Our brains are trying to take care of us, you see. We now have both our normal chronic anxiety (self-consciousness, generalized worrying) AND acute anxiety (a tiger is chasing after us and may eat us), both happening at the same time. And so our brains are kicking in and saying, "Babe, you need a break. Let's chill out for a second and enjoy this tv show or dinner or jigsaw puzzle."
And so for a bit of time, we may get a break, where coronavirus is not looming so large in our life, or it so retreats into the back of our attention that we momentarily forget about it.
That's not just okay. It's GOOD. It's healthy. It's what your psyche needs.
Look, don't forget so much that you also forget to take the necessary precautions. Don't be lulled into thinking it's okay to nonchalantly walk into a store or restaurant.
But at home, with all the safeguards in place ... relax. And for a while, forget.
For those who work with communities hit by disaster -- say, a hurricane -- there is a predictable cycle of four phases that a community will go through: Heroic, Honeymoon, Disillusionment, and Reconstruction.
Our disaster is different, in that it is ongoing, we don't really know when the worst will happen, we don't know when it will end, and we don't know what it will be like on the other side.
But it is already a disaster affecting all of our lives. And though we are all unique, our wiring is such that most of us will follow this model, though it will not be as nice and neat as a graph.
We have been, I believe, mostly in the heroic and honeymoon phases. We jumped into inaction, staying at home to flatten the curve. Many others have taken extra steps, to help improve the situation for those on the front lines, and to enhance the well-being of all of us.
But disillusionment is lapping at our heels. It worries me. Not the greater disillusionment that is deserved, of government officials who turned the other way or outright lied about the disaster unfolding. Yes, that is deserved.
But I worry that weighed down with the anxiety and powerlessness we feel, that we will begin turning on one another. Nitpicking, starting fake fights, throwing our irritability at others. Complaining about things that are petty and small.
Okay, I'm worried about me. I can sense it in me. And it is not how I want to act, or react. Grumpiness at the grocery store that just last week I was lauding. The store clerk. My neighbors. My friends. The people I love most in the world, living in my house.
Our feelings follow a predictable model, but we are not required to follow our feelings. I am the captain of my soul, which means that I can create for myself guiding principles that I choose to follow.
These are principles rooted in my core values, and the person I want to be. Even in ... no, especially in ... a disaster.
Assuming Covid-19 has not hit your home, are you able to appreciate the delicious moments in your day?
Coffee still tastes like coffee. The song of the birds is still there in the morning. A warm blanket still feels cozy.
It is difficult, as the stories of danger and fear swirl around us. We do not know what is coming tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day.
And so to appreciate the good moments when they come takes some mindfulness, intention.
There is a parable, often attributed as Buddhist, that speaks to this:
A man walking across a field encounters a tiger. He runs, the tiger chasing after him. Coming to a cliff, he catches hold of a wild vine and swings himself over the edge. The tiger sniffs at him from above. Terrified, the man looks down to where, far below, another tiger paces, waiting to eat him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little begin to gnaw away at the vine. The man sees a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine in one hand, he plucks the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tastes!
Strawberry Tattoo, Jen Carroll
We have a constant reminder now of our fragile we are, and how precious every day is. Every day we are not sick. Every day we are alive. They are gifts. If we can still taste the strawberry, we should enjoy the pleasure.
We are being forced to live with tremendous uncertainty about our own lives, and about the fate of the world. What we can control is limited. Do all the things you can to keep you and your loved ones safe. If it is possible, stay at home. Wash your hands, repeatedly. Be careful with what comes into your home.
But then ... taste the strawberry. This moment will not come again. Savor every moment you can.
If you are on the lower, especially the lower Reformed-ish, end of the church; and if you are having a streamed service where the members are providing their own bread and wine (or wine-ish) this Lord’s Supper framework seems ideal.
Online Service! Presented by Rev. John Cullinan, Tina DeYoe, and Nylea Butler-Moore
MUSIC Menuetto I (from Suite No. 1 for unaccompanied cello in G Major, S 1007) – music by J.S. Bach – Kathy Gursky, viola “O Liberating Rose” – music by Larry Phillips “The Lone, Wild Bird” – Southern Harmony tune “Spirit of Life” – music by Carolyn McDade “Hold On & Wake Up!”, a medley of Two African American Spirituals: “Hold On (Keep Your Hand on the Plow”) & “Oh, I Woke Up This Morning” Menuetto II (from Suite No. 1 for unaccompanied cello in G Major, S 1007) – music by J.S. Bach – Kathy Gursky, viola “Go Now In Peace” – music by Natalie Sleeth
OTHER NOTES “Beautiful Tiger” is by the Rev. Chris Buice “Towards Wholeness & Liberation” by Marjorie Bowens-Wheatley comes from the collection Essex Conversations Our offering recipient for April is the Juvenile Justice Advisory Board. Please visit https://www.losalamosjjab.com/ for more information and to make your direct donation.
SERVICE PARTICIPANTS The Rev. John Cullinan, minister Tina DeYoe, director of lifespan religious education Nylea Butler-Moore, director of music Kathy Gursky, guest musician Rick Bolton & Mike Begnaud, AV techs
If we can make masks out of handkerchiefs, we can make palm crosses out of legal pads. That is, the strip of paper across the top of a legal pad, folded lengthwise.
That's what my mom and I would say to each other, the year after my dad died. One of us would have forgotten something that we had talked about, like plans to meet at the mall. Or we would be self-reporting on something idiotic we had just done.
And one of us would reassure the other, no, you don't have dementia. You're not going crazy. This was normal. We were experiencing the "brain fog" that comes with grief. A phrase often used about this brain fog nailed it for us: Keys in the freezer, ice cream in the pantry. You rip your house apart, trying to find your keys. Then, looking for the ice cream, you spot them. There are your keys. In the freezer. But where's the ice cream?
Oops.
We are going through a global pandemic. This is not hyperbole. I am not being overdramatic. We are in the midst of a life-changing event. The world will not be the same after this. Some day, we will refer to this period as a line between "before" and "after." And here we are, IN it.
And so we are in grief. The life that we knew has disappeared, but we don't yet know when "after" is going to come. We don't yet know the costs we will incur. And we are deeply aching for the world we used to call "normal life." We are in grief.
Acknowledge this.
Find ways to grieve.
And accept that your brain just isn't going to be working as well as normal. And cramming in more things to think about, more things to do, just makes it harder.
What helps?
Time. How much time? Ach, I don't know. With a death, the event has occurred. It may feel ever-present, but it is in the past. But I do know that even the most extraordinary things become ordinary and routine. When my daughter had cancer, I was surprised at how ordinary our routine became. Get up, pack the car, check in to the hospital for a week. Chemo, blood transfusions, yada yada.
Centering. This isn't some new-age mumbo jumbo. Centering is about stopping the noise in your head (even if the noise is all around, sorry parents of young ones), and remembering that you are still within your own body, and remembering where your body ends, and the rest of the world begins. It can be as simple as sitting on your couch, putting your laptop and phone to the side, and feeling where your feet are touching the floor, where your butt is in the cushions. And breathing. You're remembering to breathe, right?
Talk about it. Get on zoom, or on the phone, or with one of the loved ones you're living with. "I need to talk about this, and I don't want you to try and cheer me up or "give me perspective." is that okay?
Extend grace to yourself, and to others having a "pandemic moment." This, for right now, is normal. So when you do that dumb thing, or forget that zoom meeting, and wonder "What was I thinking?" ... just smile ruefully and repeat, "Keys in the freezer, ice cream in the pantry."
Part of 'Being Together: A Three Day Virtual Gathering for Spiritual Connection' (7-9 April 2020) Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/events/3903470056344901/Website: https://www.unitarian.org.uk/beingtogetherJoin Jo James in conversation with author and pioneer minister Stephen Lingwood to discuss his new book 'Seeking Paradise: A Unitarian Mission for Our Times'.What might the future of the
It’s yet another sign of interesting times that you’re looking at a rather slim edition of The Voice this month. We went back and forth for a week as to whether or not we would produce an issue that assumed we’d be returning to business as usual, but as the days wore on it became clear that we were going to continue presenting virtual church for the foreseeable future. This may change before the month is out, or it may not. For the time being, in order to stay on top of our schedule of presentations, please stay tuned to our “announcements” email list, our website (www.uulosalamos.org), and our Facebook page (www.facebook.com/uuulosalamos) for the most up-to-date information.
For the moment, we’ll be presenting a pre-recorded worship service available at our website and YouTube channel starting at 10:00 am each Sunday. We’ve decided to forego live-streaming for the moment until our internet service is more reliable (with so many churches live-streaming at the same time, the traffic on the network is incredibly high).
We’ll also continue to provide some virtual connection opportunities, and our caring network is working on a new “keep in touch” project that we’ll talk about more as the details come together.
Meanwhile, with all the talk and work that’s gone into the topic of staying connected with one another while we practice social distance, I want to take a moment to remind everyone to also stay connected to your own selves. I know that’s one of the biggest struggles for me in this new way of being. It’s far too easy for me to let the lines between home and work blur when I’m working in my home. Some days I don’t know how to get started. Some days I don’t know when to “clock out.” Some days I am completely out of touch with myself by 2:00 pm. Here are some of the things I’m trying to do to stay connected with my own self, body/mind/heart:
hydrate — I don’t drink enough water, so I’m trying to remember to have my bottle with me at my desk or next to me by the couch. I’ve even been keeping it by my bedside so I can drink 8 oz. when I first get up.
set “office hours” — It’s way too easy to let your “on the clock” time become all the time when your environment doesn’t change. I’m trying to make sure I’m “home for dinner” at a reasonable hour and stay off my work email as much as possible (emergencies happen).
get outside — healthy dog walks, good for the both of us.
remember to keep holy the Sabbath — I have a hard time with this one even when I’m not working from home. Now, it’s doubly important. For the moment, Sabbath = Friday. Friday is my “weekend” (Saturday is now recording day for worship) — it’s reserved for home, family, and my own soul feeding.
do not be ashamed of simple joys — I will re-read graphic novels I’ve read fifty times. I will enjoy that slice of frozen pizza. I will laugh at that dumb joke. And I will feel good about it.
rejoice in the creativity of others — there is so much good art of all kinds being made in this moment, and (like above) I feel blessed to be a consumer of it in this moment, perhaps even inspired to create some of my own (although I will not get down on myself if I don’t feel particularly creative in the moment).
This is just some of my attempted regimen. And I’ll stress attempted. Some days are more successful than others. Which brings me to my final self-care step, perhaps the most important:
forgive yourself — Don’t dwell on the skinned knee that comes when you fall down in your attempt. We’re built to miss every few attempts. Get up and try it again.
It’s a hard goal. It’s so easy to get down on ourselves, especially when we’re in the midst of grieving such a huge change in our lives. But, it’s in our capacity to be gentle and kind to our own selves that we’ll be able to generate the kindness necessary to others to get through these hard times.
That sounds like a prank in and of itself, like when you tell someone that "gullible" is not in the dictionary.
I understand, I do. We've all been at a serious gathering, like a funeral or an announcement of layoffs, when some person to alleviate their own anxiety, cracked a joke that fell like a lead balloon.
But I will argue in favor of light, silly pranks. Especially for those with young children. Have a moment of levity, of normalcy. A well-timed joke, that is delivered not out of one's anxiety, but as a way to gently say, Yes, you're allowed to laugh, is a gift. After 9-11, when comedians slowly ventured out, we met their appearance with relief. We were given permission to relax, to laugh, even if just for a moment.
Here are some sweet ideas. Note: if you do #9, do have some actual brownies stashed somewhere or mutiny will ensue. And right now is not a good time to walk the plank.
I’ve known the song Spirit of Life by heart for longer than I can remember.
Spirit of life, come unto me.
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea.
Move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Roots hold me close, wings set me free.
Spirit of life, come to me, come to me.
Carolyn McDade, who wrote the song, tells the story of where it came from. I had heard through the grapevine that McDade wasn’t happy with the way that we often sing it, that it isn’t about celebration, it isn’t about triumph. If you listen to the words, you can hear that: it’s a request, a need, a longing. And when she was asked to tell the story, here’s what she said.
She was coming home from a meeting about Central America—this in the early 80s, when the US government was supplying arms to oppressive regimes, when people, including nuns and priests and activists were being massacred. She was coming home from a meeting, as she had done so many times as a life-long activist. The reporter Kimberly French records it:
What McDade remembers most clearly was the feeling she had. “When I got to Pat’s house, I told her, ‘I feel like a piece of dried cardboard that has lain in the attic for years. Just open wide the door, and I’ll be dust.’ I was tired, not with my community but with the world. She just sat with me, and I loved her for sitting with me.”
McDade then drove to her own home in Newtonville. “I walked through my house in the dark, found my piano, and that was my prayer:
May I not drop out. It was not written, but prayed. I knew more than anything that I wanted to continue in faith with the movement.”
Spirit of life, come unto me.
It’s a prayer, a longing. It comes out of that place of feeling like a piece of dried cardboard, of feeling tired, empty, spent. That we cannot carry the load by ourselves for one more minute.
We yearn. We yearn for renewal because sometimes we feel like a piece of dried cardboard. We need renewal: a renewal of faith, a renewal of hope, a renewal of joy. I’ll tell you that lately I’ve been right there—dried cardboard, ready to be blown away.
Sometimes the candle is burning low. Sometimes it goes out. Parts of my life are good, and parts are really hard. There are parts of this work of ministry, this calling, that I deeply love, and there are parts that feel like slogging through a swamp. Like Carolyn McDade, sometimes I come home from the meeting on this or that, and feel like What was the point of that? The world’s problems seem so huge, and I’m just one person, and a tired one at that.
I’m yearning for renewal, and I’m feeling like dried cardboard. We’ve all had those dried cardboard moments, haven’t we? Stretched too thin, with no more tears to fall, because we’ve used them all up? Frustrated by the injustice of the world and despairing about how to fix it?
Yearning. And we reach for a language of that yearning, that longing for renewal. And, because we are Unitarian Universalists, because we know that language points to the mystery but isn’t the mystery itself, because we are suspicious of creeds and easy answers, this is complicated.
We want to be healed by some ancient ministry of stars, but language is tricky. For a long time we just avoided the subject all together. We didn’t talk about it; or, we spoke about it in psychological terms and not spiritual ones. We spoke about justice, but less about how to cultivate the spiritual resources necessary to stay at the work over the long haul, when things didn’t go according to plan. Sometimes we even dismissed this yearning as juvenile, something we had grown out of.
But that began to change a while ago. Partly, it was women like Carolyn McDade and others, who gathered to offer each other healing and comfort and solidarity, who expressed their yearning for the spirit of life, lived in community with one another. They kept their language open-ended, and focused on the heart. Others among us resurrected the old Universalist story of a God of love and mercy for all people everywhere, who loves us without needing us to be perfect.
As the culture has become more secular, the folks who come now to church don’t come for psychology—there are plenty of therapists to choose from, after all—they come for something deeper, something, dare we say, religious. Spiritual at least.
Some 15 years ago Rev. Bill Sinkford, then president of the Unitarian Universalist Association, said we needed a “language of reverence.” He talked about his own long night in the hospital with his son, and how he reached for that language of yearning, and prayed—with open-ended language, but prayer to God—without apology. He was, by the very act of speaking of the yearning in his heart, renewed.
And he encouraged us, whatever our understanding of the holy, the sacred, the ultimate, to cultivate a language of reverence—a sense of mystery, humility, wonder and hope in how we spoke about and experienced our lives. A language of poetry.
There was a huge controversy at the time; folks thought he was saying we all had to say God, but that’s not what he meant. And when things settled down, it began to happen. Naturalistic atheists spoke about the sense of wonder and awe and community they felt when they stood upon the shore, under the stars.
The theists among us spoke of the love of God, how they prayed and yearned and felt that presence in their heart. Unitarian Universalists who were following the paths of Buddhism, Paganism, Islam and other wisdom ways of being in the world began to speak about their own languages of reverence: their yearnings for wholeness and healing and hope, their feeling of being dried cardboard, sometimes, and needing the spirit of life—however understood—to come unto them.
I’ve been feeling like dried cardboard, but I know that renewal will come. In time; you can’t force it. I know some of the things I need to do to set the stage. Reaching out to friends is one of them. Singing, that’s essential. I need to take Sabbaths. It’s really important to have that quiet, Sabbath time, because in the midst of a complicated life, when time is running down and urging us on, we need to put away our phones and lie on the hammock, and let Sabbath time renew us. We need to get out into nature and let water, sky and earth renew us for the journey, And I need to pray. To express my yearning, in the language of poetry and metaphor.
In time, renewal of the spirit, renewal of faith, will come. It was this kind of thing that we Unitarian Universalists began to talk about as part of the conversation about the language of reverence: our yearning, and our experiences of renewal.
We yearn, we seek, we long to be connected and renewed and inspired—and it’s right here. The holy isn’t gone from the world, it’s everywhere. Miracles happen every moment, if we open our hearts and minds—our friends, music, Sabbath time, nature, poetry—these things are each a sacrament, a sign of the holy in the world. In the beloved words of UU musician Peter Mayer, “Everything is holy now.”
I know there are moments that don’t feel like that, and suffering, pain and injustice are real. But even in these hard places there is holiness, there is compassion and solidarity and mercy and truth.
I may feel like a dried-up piece of cardboard right now, but these practices of holiness, of sacrament, have carried me through the journey before, and I know they will again. It’s the journey Bill Sinkford made from his son’s hospital room to the pulpit. It’s the journey Carolyn McDade made from the meeting about Central America to the piano. It’s the journey I’ve seen so many people make in their own lives, from a place of trouble and sorrow to a place of hope, solace and peace.
Each spring we celebrate renewal, as life comes back, but there really isn’t any seasonal limit on renewal. Open yourself to be renewed. Open your heart to all that is holy everywhere, every-now. Open yourself to life and love, even in your sorrow and grief, your fear and pain, for this too shall pass, and life is a gift, not a project. The Holy is here, is now, however you see it and feel it and name it— right here—so trust it will come.
And when it does, rejoice and be glad, and share your good news in this world which needs more than ever to be renewed as well.
I live in the Austin area, and I love this town. As a college student, I spent many a weekend evening down on 6th street, and when someone first posted a picture of all the bars and clubs boarded up, my heart sank, even as I understood it's for all our own good.
I wasn't the only one who felt that way. And some people did something about it.
While doctors and nurses are hard at work, it is artists of all types who are tending to our hearts and spirits. Galleries have -- virtually -- thrown open their doors, musicians are having free concerts online, actors are presenting plays or short pieces. Soak up the art. Feed your soul. (And if you see a tip jar out, toss a few bucks in. This industry has ground to a halt.)
Someone asked me that this week, and I responded by saying I was mostly fine, with occasional bursts of abject terror or grief.
Part of this is having to live with such huge uncertainty about how transmission of covid-19 might swell, what it will do to the economy, and to life as we know it.
Phew! Big thoughts. Back in 2015 (you probably can't remember that far back, the world was very different in many ways), The Atlantic ran an article, How Uncertainty Fuels Anxiety. Good article. In a nutshell, humans are unique because we can think about the future. But because the future is unknown, that can make us anxiety. Especially now, amirite?
We can't entirely take things one day at a time. We've got to order our groceries (sometimes weeks in advance), think through some "what-ifs" that have a decent probability of happening.
But then, we have to let it go. We cannot prepare for every eventuality. And most significantly, we cannot assure ourselves that nothing will happen that will bring us discomfort, or pain.
When you are in the potential path of a hurricane, first you make decisions. Stay or go? If you stay, then you make preparations. You buy groceries, board up your windows, locate the flashlights and radio. And then you wait. That's all you can do. You can't make the hurricane change paths, you can't make it "hurry up and just get here already." You wait. You deal with the storm when it hits, hunkering down. When the eye goes over, you come out, assess, decide whether you need to adjust your plans - maybe you need to move to a different room, or a neighbor's home. Then you hunker down again. After it abates, you venture out. You assess damage. You deal with the immediate crises. You tally your resources. And you begin making plans for rebuilding your life.
You can do this.
You have survived everything life has thrown at you.
The last hurricane I rode out, after I and my neighbors boarded up our homes as best we could, we gathered out in the street for an impromptu party. We caught up on each other's lives, we ate, we drank, we laughed.
It's a good model for now. No matter what happens tomorrow, you have today. Make the most of it.
And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to their life?... Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. Matthew 6:27-29
Click here to read the story and reading that go with this sermon. Canoeing the mountains Tod Bolsinger writes his entire book Canoeing the Mountains as an extended metaphor comparing the Corps of Discovery’s obstacles in finding a water route to the Pacific to a modern church leader’s not having the right tools for the … Continue reading “Canoeing the Mountains,” “Moneyball,” and Washing Your Hands→
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I’ve preached a number of times the last few years using the metaphor of “the Great Heart at the Center of Everything” (an ancient creation story that I made up c. 2018). The Great Heart, so my story goes, is the thing that sits at the intersection of all our myriad connections — and it’s the thing that our faith life calls us to try and see in its entirety, impossible as it might be to see something infinite. This is, for me at least, the purpose of a religious life — the attempt to gain an ever- expanding view of the way I am tied to everything that is.
