Opening Hymn #76 For Flowers That Bloom about Our Feet
Words: Anonymous, c. 1904, alt.
Music: Severus Gastorius, c. 1675, adapt.
Tune WAS GOTT THUT

Unitarian Universalist Church Utica (5 June, 2021)

Time for All Ages – Bee Game – Google Doodle (Earth Day 2020)

The Google Doodle for Earth Day three years ago featured an interactive game that offers a sense of what it’s like to be a bee. It is free to play and goes on for unlimited rounds – so be careful not to stay on it too long!

Google Doodle (Earth Day 2020)

Sermon – Sweet Things – Rev. Rod

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We’re almost halfway into spring, and we’ve now had evidence that it’s really happening!  With flowers, come bees, butterflies, and other pollinators, which we’re able to see in our church gardens.  Some of you may have personal gardens, or window-sill flower troughs, or maybe you’ve noticed the urban landscaping that is being tended to on public spaces.

April has been a time for daffodils, and those are now wilting, as a generation of flowers comes, and then goes.  On the eve of the month of May, we can begin to see the tulip blooms.  And eventually, these too will vanish like a vapour.

As the wisdom of the cliché goes, if we don’t take the time to stop and smell the roses, even when we’re busy or preoccupied, we may not get a chance to smell them at all.

And May also brings in the main birding season at our nearby national park in Point Pelee.  Sure, there’s a window of space and time to get there, but it won’t last forever, so it’s worth taking some time now to go see them soon, if that’s your thing.

It is worth keeping these kinds of opportunities in mind.  A couple weeks ago, I mentioned the “Overview Effect”, which mission specialist Christina Koch – from the planned crew of the Artemis II mission to orbit the moon – recently outlined on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert.  The Overview Effect is that sense of mixed insignificance and awe, vulnerability and magnificence, that astronauts experience when looking at the planet, and much of what’s dear to us, all contained in that blue space just outside the spacecraft’s window.

But recognizing that we can’t all go into space – in fact, most of us still don’t, and likely will never, have that opportunity – we can nonetheless find other ways to experience that kind of sense awe.  Some folks may go on long walks around the world, looking for the meaning of life, as in the story of Tom Turcich, while some of us might simply go on a ride around the neighbourhood.  Some of us, may simply manage to look outside our window.

And when we do, if we are able to look, or smell, or hear, with the right mindset, we may just find some sweet things.  Some of these are literally sweet, like the smell of the roses, or daffodils, or tulips.  And flowers in turn often produce literally sweet fruits, like apples, oranges, berries, and many of those things that our bodies have learned to seek, over time and space.

The continuum of living chemistry, that has been on our planet for 27% of the life of the universe, has led to our species’ evolving to need and crave sweet things – particularly the life-sustaining energy in sugar.

Now, sugar is a complicated thing, both in its chemistry and in its implications for human health.  For one thing, there are many kinds of it.  Some of them, like glucose and fructose, give us energy and taste good.  Together, they make sucrose – the table sugar that we may be most familiar with.  The milk-generated sugar, lactose, is fundamental for us in our early youth, though many of us can’t handle it well as we grow up.

There are other sugars with different energy outputs and sweetnesses.  Some may help us manage our energy intake, some may have… digestive consequences.

I’ll spare you the rest of the chemistry lesson, and I won’t go into the whole deal with artificial sweeteners today, but the fact is that the sweetness receptors in our bodies are no accident.  They are there as a primary lifeline.  Even folks who follow low-sugar diets, by need or by choice, will still use some level of sugar to survive.  And for that reason, we have learned that sweet equals good, especially since, for most of the life our species, it was also relatively difficult to find in abundance.

Now that we live in the future, it is abundantly easy to have too much of everything that’s good for us – which is to say, that it is easy for good things to be bad for us.  Sugar is everywhere, and so prevalent that we find it without even looking for it.  Without having to forage for it during the right season, it is easy to overdose on it at any given time.

I am no nutritionist or dietitian, and it would probably be unwise to take health advise from me, though it is not a controversial claim in the food world that a balanced diet is key to our wellbeing.  For whatever apparent contradictions there may be around increasingly-frequent claims about nutrition, seeking a balance in our food intake has prevailed as the most steadfast dietary prescription.  Precisely what that balance means is for each of you to figure out, ideally with the support of people who know what they’re talking about.

And fruit is one of those foods that often offers that balance.  It is hard to overdose on sugar if we’re getting it primarily from fruit.  For one thing, whole fruits contain a lot of other things, like water, fibre, vitamins, minerals – all things that are good for us (and which encourage us to avoid excess).

And… there’s something more.  The fruit that comes from the ground; that is facilitated by the pollen carried around by bees, birds, and butterflies; that is grown as fruits of shared labour; that is brought to us by workers in the field, on the road, and in the store; that store the energy of the sun in miraculous chemistry; that is part of the continuum of living chemistry of which we are also taking part; it is a conduit of communion with so many of the things that are greater than ourselves.

A simple act like taking a piece of fruit can be a practice of physical, mental, and spiritual wellbeing.

On Easter, I mentioned a so-called “loophole” by which folks who engage in any kind of Lenten “fast” (or other disciplined spiritual practice) may take a break from it on Sundays – a feast day.  Of course, it isn’t so much a loophole, as an intentional observation of sabbath time, by which we allow ourselves to find respite and balance in our lives.

By the same token, we talked about how we can flip this dynamic around, and observe “fasting” or other disciplined spiritual practices, even in ordinary time, so that we may continue to find balance by paying attention to our diverse needs of toil and leisure.

Balance is such a simple concept that it seems almost silly to talk about it on a Sunday morning.  Simple, though not easy – it requires practice and intentionality.  There are inherent and apparent contradictions in it – do this, but also do that, which is an entirely different thing… but not too much, because what’s good is also bad.  Live in the moment, but also plan ahead.

And so, my friends, it is not a contradiction to plan ahead to live in the moment – at least some of the time.  Paradoxical perhaps, but also a truth of our reality. 

My friends, we need not travel to space in order to appreciate our space, and our time.  Because sweet things are at hand when we know what spaces to look in.  And now is a time when flowers, bees, birds, and the fruit that they bring, are at hand.

My friends, the sun will set tonight, yet today it is risen.  Even through the clouds, we may share this day under the sun.

So may we be,
In balance with the sweet things in life,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing #77 Seek Not Afar for Beauty
~)-| Words: Minot Judson Savage, 1841-1918
Music: Cyril V. Taylor, b. 1907, © Hope Publishing Co.
Tune COOLINGE

Unitarian Universalists of San Luis Obispo

Presentation by Brian Bedard, introduced by Ray Stone

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Reading

“Nobody Talks About This” – Hank Green

Sermon – Significant – Rev. Rod

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As Earth Day approaches next week, we set ourselves up to paying extra special attention to what it means to appreciate our planet – and our place in it.

This has also been a time when the season invites us to spend more time outside the home, and perhaps socialize a bit more, especially as we’ve been expectantly awaiting more in-person events, like our church lunch and auction – times when we can foster further connection as a community.  And we have more opportunities to spend time outdoors, even at night, perhaps inviting us to look up at the evening sky more often.  And, if you do that, some strange feelings may come up…

As children, we began to learn just how unexpectedly large the world we stand on is.  And perhaps that’s when we began to get a sense of how small we might seem when compared to it.  And just as we may have gotten used to how big the world is, we would have also been confronted with the reality of how small it is in turn, as we learned that there are things that are even bigger than our planet – the solar system, and the distances between our home star and its neighbours, the immense size of our galaxy and how small it still seems when set besides to the unfathomable scope of the universe – and that’s just the parts of the universe that we know of!

This may have piqued our sense of curiosity, perhaps with some excitement for exploration, to get a taste of what else is out there.  And… it may have also magnified that sense of how tiny our selves and our existence seemed in comparison.

That is the paradox of awe, and its double outcome, which can invite severe existential angst when reflecting on our apparent insignificance, but also a greater sense of connection with – and appreciation for – all that matters.

In an interview with the newly-selected crew for the upcoming Artemis II mission to orbit the moon, late show host Stephen Colbert, asked mission specialist Christina Koch about her experience of the “overview effect” – the sense of wonder that comes from seeing the earth, and all of us in it, against the backdrop of space.  And Koch has become quite familiar with that experience, as she has spent over 300 days in space – more than any other woman.

It is often said that it is hard to replicate – or explain – that feeling if you’ve never been to space.  This is still an impossibility for most of us (even though it is becoming increasingly feasible for some people to do that over the past few years).  But I have a feeling that we’re all able to get a glimpse of that sense of insignificance and awe when we ponder upon the vastness around us, and we consider our place in it.  I suspect that most of us – perhaps all of us – have had moments when one or both of those feelings have seized upon our minds.

Sometimes, it simply takes a moment to sit down and meditate, to sit with the moment and place at hand.  Other times, it may be a matter of looking up some knowledge beyond what we already have.  For some of us, a walk into other places may bring up unexpected opportunities…

Take Tom Turcich, who took this last option to an extreme, when he decided to take a walk around the world.  The drive to do so came to him as a teenager, when a dear friend of his suddenly died.  Seeing the reality of her death gave more immediacy to Tom’s own sense of mortality, giving him the urgency to seize the day and explore the world, before it was too late.  He prepared for a few years and then took on the challenge, taking seven years to go around the world, by foot.

Along the way, he rescued and adopted a puppy, Savanah, who kept him company.  And as he was completing his trek, he met his eventual girlfriend and life partner.  And there’s something else he feels he found along the way – the meaning of life.

Finding himself alone for much of the time, he felt the immenseness of the world he was walking around in.  The loneliness of the desert or the forest, the darkness of the night and the abundance of the stars.  He tasted the insignificance of his life.

And then, he met the people of the world.  Strangers that would help him out and encourage him, talking with people who had vastly different life experiences than his, with their own challenges, and still a common sense of humanity permeating their shared lives.  The relationships he built, the challenges he shared, all gave him a sense of meaning among his insignificance.  Finding the love of his life, as well as a faithful companion, reminded him that, in the daunting vastness, there is ample possibility for beauty, inspiration, and joy.  All this was, he concluded, of the most ultimate significance.

Not all of us have the ability to embark on that particular kind of journey.  But we are all likely bound to find spots when we touch upon the absurdity of our existence among everything else, and yet we find connection with people, places, and moments that mean the world to us.

Sometimes, all it takes is a look within our home, our church building, or the sidewalk.  A look at something as mundane as concrete – grey, hard, “boring” concrete.

A couple weeks ago, I spoke about the neat self-healing properties of Roman concrete, and how its recently-rediscovered ancient recipe allows it to heal itself in a way that modern concrete isn’t able to do.

But Canadian-Australian science communicator, Dr. Derek Muller, has pointed out that our current “regular” concrete is quite remarkable in itself, not least because it represents a tangible connection – a concrete connection, as it were – with our planet’s ancient past.  The limestone that forms the basis for our concrete was formed from deposits of long-deceased marine life, whose exoskeletons now leave a legacy of calcium carbonate that we work with, to build our cities.  The physical foundations of our church building, and likely parts of your own dwellings or places that you’ve been in, literally build upon ancient life from millions of years ago.

This is the same continuum of living chemistry that has been around for 27% of the life of our known universe, as science communicator Hank Green observes.  He notes that there are different ways to measure our place in the universe – all it requires is a readjustment of how we perceive where we are in it.  Sure, he concedes, our individual lives may seem like nothing when compared to everything else… until we consider our relationship with everything else.

We may be individual humans with exasperatingly short lifespans, but we are part of a human experience much larger than ourselves.  Humanity may be but a sliver of life on earth, but life on earth has built upon itself for billions of years – a story that we are integral to – and a witness to.

The continuum of living chemistry that Hank Green describes goes far back enough as to represent 27% of the life of the universe.  And we are part of that continuum.

Now, it may seem that Green is playing a pure numbers game… is 27% all that more important than 1% or 0.1%?  How about when contrasted to the other 73%?  Does it matter then?

I think he’s on to something else.  Beyond the specific numbers is the reframing of the question – where are we on all of this?

You have often heard me speak of the wonder of our connection with long-dead stars.  It is quite remarkable, that you and I are made up of the stuff that was created billions of years ago as we formed part of a star’s life.  We may not have been aware of it then – but we are now, and that feels significant.  Our story doesn’t just go back to 27% of the life of the universe… it goes back all the way to the beginning.  Parts of us, or their foundations, were there from the start.  We aren’t just a part of the universe… we are the universe witnessing itself.

And participating in this continuum doesn’t require having offspring.  Among our community, there are those of us without children, biological nor adopted, and that doesn’t mean a lack of engagement with the generations of the universe.  As the author Antoine de Saint-Exupery points out, “We live, not by things, but by the meanings of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords from generation to generation.”  We all participate in bring up descendants of the world; we all become ancestors to the future.

My friends, as we consider our planet Earth, and its vastness, we may better appreciate our relationship with it when we remember that we are it.  When we compare the Earth to the rest of the Milky Way, we may remark that it is not an isolated part of the galaxy… even among the vast distances, our planet revolves around the life of our galaxy.  And everything in our galaxy comes from the same primordial beginning as everything else in our universe.

My friends, we are only insignificant when we consider only our individual selves and our selves only.  My friends, significance arises when we answer the call to see a shrine in every casual corner… even at a church lunch, or a fundraising event.  My friends, when we gaze upon the shared connection with the interrelated web in which we have participated for all of time, we may appreciate that it all matters.

My friends, our witness of each other today, embodies all that is significant.

So may we be,
In the search for truth and meaning,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing #203 All Creatures of the Earth and Sky
Words: Attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226, alt.
Music: From Ausserlesene Catholische Kirchengesang, 1623, adapt. and harm. by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958, music used by perm. of Oxford University Press
Tune LAST UNS ERFREUEN

Mike Menefee (1 October, 2020)

Time for All Ages – Montrealers spend Passover without Power – CityNews

Sermon – Loophole – Rev. Rod

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This is one of those years when the “Big Three” Abrahamic traditions coincide in religious observances that invite enhanced spiritual practice.  All three invite some contemplation about times of doing without: be it memorializing a legendary flight from Egypt, with little to carry on and no time to leaven the bread, as is done during the Jewish holidays of Passover; or exploring a fasting practice during Lent in the Christian tradition and heritage; or committing to a full fast from dusk to dawn for a full month during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan.  All three of these have been going on this past week.

As we hear of the ice-storm that has affected parts of Quebec and Eastern Canada this past week, we also see that such inclement weather is not necessarily a deterrent to continuing such practices.  And in the case of several Jewish families in Montreal, it was even a concrete reminder of the very occasion they were commemorating, as they sought to make-do with what they had and could offer others in their community.

During the past six weeks, the Lenten season’s invitation to enhance our spiritual practice could include us.  This can often look like some kind of “fast” – in terms of reducing, or entirely doing without, something that we might be used to, or which has simply taken way more time and space in our lives than we’d like.

I’ve also suggested looking at the flipside of this practice and exploring things that we could do with more of, particularly in terms of enhanced connection with others and our wider community, or a healthy habit that has fallen by the wayside, or which we’ve been meaning to take up for some time.  Some of you have may have been called to do some version of that over this past season.

And if you have, you might have also been anxiously expecting the arrival of Easter, and the automatic dispensation that it can represent, from the additional effort that comes with doing something hard – doing without or taking up a practice.  Because changing behaviour is hard – it requires discipline, including recognizing space to slip-up and try again… a practice.  Whether it’s been a long wait for chocolate since February, or the expectation of some newer freedom from being beholden to an additional self-imposed discipline, the feast of Easter can bring a sense of relief.

If you’ve gone the entirety of the Lenten period with your practice – first of all, that is quite impressive – but that would not have actually been necessary to fulfill the Lenten commitment.  Because… there’s a loophole!

Perhaps I could have mentioned that earlier, though some of you might remember that I talked about this some years ago.  It turns out that the 40-day fast that is associated with Lent is shorter than the span of time between Ash Wednesday and Easter, which actually works out to a whole 46 days!

Where do those extra six days come from?

The answer lies in days like today – Sunday!

For thousands of years, Sunday, or some other Sabbath day, has been observed as a feast day, and feasting is the opposite of fasting.  Each week, there is a “mini-Easter”, a day of feast, in which the Lenten practice allows for – in fact, calls for – respite from the work that comes from other enhanced spiritual practices.  A regular opportunity for life renewal.

And the day of respite is a spiritual practice in itself; a spiritual practice of biblical proportions – literally, it’s right there at the beginning of Genesis, to rest on the seventh day (as the story goes, even God did it, setting an example for the rest of us).  It’s even a freaking commandment!

Now, you might be thinking, that’s all well and good, but Lent is over – what are we supposed to do with this now?  Will you have to wait another year, before being able to take advantage of this “Lenten hack”?  Or maybe, this year simply didn’t feel like the time to take on the commitment of a Lenten practice in the first place, and any talk about it seems superfluous… at least until next year.

Well, it turns out, there’s another loophole.  Just as there are moments of feast interspersed with times of fasting, there’s nothing stopping us from continuing to build a discipline of ongoing spiritual practice during times of feasting.

Lent was, after all, a time of spiritual practice.  Even if we strayed from its discipline, or just happened to think about what we might want to do, this upcoming ordinary time has plenty of space to build upon any practices we might have picked up, or to nurture those practices which we wish we had taken up. 

There is always some aspect of our lives that we can see as areas for improvement – Lent can simply offer a good excuse to get on with it.  But the time for renewal in our life is still at hand, and we can still do with less of some things, and more of others.

Just as there is a bit of yin in the side of yang, there is a bit of yang in the side of yin.  That is a rhythm of ever-renewing life.  Even in the midst of Ramadan, those devoted to a fast will celebrate with a modest evening breakfast – iftar, which is often done as a communal fast-breaking.

When Jewish families in Montreal found themselves with less access to power this year, due to the most recent ice-storm, many of them also saw an opportunity to put their practice into action, as the Seder meal acts partly as a reminder of a time when people have done without – not even enough time to leaven the bread.

Passover also offers a time to remember people coming together in mutual support through difficult times.  And the story of the Jewish families of Montreal in 2023 illustrates a time when rehearsing this tradition matured into being prepared to face a new time of difficulty with mutual support in community.

The Seder is a celebration of a bitter time – represented by the bitter herbs that come in a traditional Seder.  It includes joy and sorrow, recognizing that these often come intertwined, and that we can give space to each of them.  Even periods of fasting can have moments of feast, and days of feasting can use times of fast.  It is not obligatory – nor advisable – to stay too long in either of these spaces or times.

In our community, we have space for joy and sorrow every week, and we see much of both throughout the year.  Many of you have found opportunities for joy, even in the midst of difficult times – sometimes, it is amid those difficult times that you have sought opportunities to bring each other closer together and even find spots of feast to carry you along – emotional Sabbaths of respite, that help in dealing with ongoing sadness, grief, or isolation.

My friends, it is not a luxury to seek comfort during difficult times – it is a duty: a commandment of biblical proportions.  It is not a “cheat” to seek balance, and opportunities for renewal, when facing challenges – be they unexpected hardships, or voluntary discipline.  What I’ve been calling a “loophole” is actually by design.  Not a bug, but a feature – a tool for ongoing life renewal.

And when times are good, it is helpful to keep a level of humility and compassion, remembering those times when things are different, to prepare for them, and to keep in mind all who may not be in the same fortunate spots.  Part of the practice of Ramadan includes not only fasting, but also almsgiving.  My friends, each of us, and our community, has opportunities of the sort throughout the year.  And throughout the year, we continue to find opportunities to nurture those areas of discipline that may offer better life for ourselves and for those around us.

And so, my friends, we embrace this time of feast with gladness.  And we allow ourselves to face the upcoming ordinary time with opportunities to embrace the apparent paradox of fast and feast, in balance.  To continuously find spots when we may find renewal in life.

So may it be,
In the spirit of feast among the fast,
as life finds renewal,
Alleluia!
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #27 I Am That Great and Fiery Force
Words: Hildegaard of Bingen, 1098-1179
Music: Music Josquin Desprez, 1445-1521, adapt. by Anthony Petti, b. 1932
Tune AVE VERA VIRGINITAS

Jennifer McMillan for Westwood Unitarian Congregation

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#318 We Would Be One
~)-| Words: Samuel Anthony Wright, 1919-
Music: Jean Sibelius, 1865-1957, arr. from The Hymnal, 1933, © 1933, renewed 1961 Presbyterian Board of Christian Education
Tune FINLANDIA

Mike Menefee