Howard Pawley Lecture 2023 | “Canadian Medical Assistance Teams: Responding to Medical Disasters Around the World” by Carolyn Davies

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Showtune for All Ages – You’ll Never Walk Alone – Ferenc Molnár – interpreted by Gerry & The Pacemakers

Sermon – Encourage – Rev. Rod

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During the spring of 2020, author, vlogger, and Liverpool football fan John Green wrote a series of essays exploring how he feels about the many human things that he encounters in his life.  This became his collection The Anthropocene Reviewed: Essays on a Human-Centered Planet.  His opening chapter is about the showtune “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and how it brought him great comfort throughout the Pandemic.

Although he admits that he finds the song somewhat cheesy, he also finds a truth in it about the importance of carrying on, with an invitation to consider that, even when one feels alone, we aren’t necessarily so.  He particularly appreciates that, alongside its call to go on, it doesn’t gloss over the fact that tragedy is there.  He notes how the song is sung by fans of the Liverpool Football Club both in celebration and in lamentation.

Green cites a moment when medical professionals encourage one another by singing the song, through a glass wall, reminding each other that things are tough, and that they are not alone, as colleagues cheer on their colleagues.  And they do that with a song that brings fond memories, and which acknowledges hard times.

“You’ll Never Walk Alone” may not be your particular flavour, but you may have other songs, anthems, hymns, that bring out that bitter and sweet reminder that times can be tough, and that there are others out there, somewhere, who share in your feelings, and who can be there for you.

Or maybe it’s not a song that you find encouraging… it might be something that can be done together.

This past month, many Indigenous folks in our country began an online “challenge” to pose as mermen… men in mermaid-like poses.  Why? To bring some more fun into the Indigenous community… a bit of the humour in daily life that has fostered resilience in their shared experiences; to challenge perceptions of masculinity, and play around with the way men can look in public; to encourage each other through the reality of hard times they have lived through – and which they want to live through.

They posed a “challenge” to remind each other… that they were there for each other.  They challenged each other to remind their community that they’d never walk alone.  That, yes, they might feel alone… that the world is not always a just or a happy place, but that they’d be there.  That they can laugh together, and do something together, to show to each other that they will go on.

In interviews about their participation, some of the men expressed initially feeling a degree of embarrassment, or discomfort, in posing for the pictures… the challenge was indeed challenging for them to follow through with.  And… they also felt they wanted to engage, to participate in a showing of mutual support.  And maybe even find out that it was a worthwhile experience all along, to encourage each other, through all that the Indigenous experience can entail.  Even if that means pretending to don on the tail of merfolk.

Merfolk are back in vogue these days, perhaps in part because of the live-action remake of the animated classic The Little Mermaid, which has recently come out in theatres.  The original film has become a lot of things, since it came out in 1989.  It is was a commercial success, it was a critical success, it is an Academy Award-winning cartoon (which is rather rare), it is also considered the beginning of what is now called the Disney Renaissance.

For me, it is a reminder of my dad, and what his fatherhood looked like when I was a kid in Mexico.

I fondly remember when my dad took me to a movie theatre in Mexico City called the Disney Castle, which specialized in children’s features, to see the new animation feature that would usher in that new golden age of Disney movies – The Little Mermaid.

My dad has never been a fan of singing in movies, but he understood that taking his kid to the newest animated feature was one way to embody late 20^th-century fatherhood, and he endured the singing that came with the cartoon crab, and the mermaids prancing around with fish and stingrays, dubbed in Spanish to the Oscar-winning calypso tune of Under the Sea.

I recently watched the new live action remake, and despite whatever cynicism may come with this latest wave of Disney remakes… I gotta tell you, I was hopping when I heard the opening chords to Under the Sea.  It brought up those fond memories of that time my father took me to see The Little Mermaid, at the Disney Castle theatre in Mexico City, whatever his misgivings might have been.

A lot of things come with fatherhood and parenting, and it’s hard to get it right all the time.  That’s true of my dad, and I suspect it may be true for those of you who’ve had fathers, or who have been fathers, or who have experienced parenting in any way.

Along with that reality, my dad has done a lot of things right, teaching me how to get hydrogen out of water for science fair projects, how to write clearly and concisely, how to think critically about the news of the world and about pursuing responsible spiritual learning and practice.  And about the value of sitting through some discomfort, from time to time, for the sake of duty to self and others. 

He has encouraged my growth, and has been part of the choir that reminds me that I don’t go it alone, even when it feels that way.

He has also taken me to the sea, at the movies and in real life – partly for his sake as he has pursued his passion of exploring the ocean, as well as for my sake as I pursued my passion of… being a kid in the water, around and under the sea.

And the showtune Under the Sea will always be part of that.

Showtunes have often been seen as a staple in the Two-Spirit and LGBTQ+ experience.  They can remind folks in sexual and gender minorities that there is a community out there that has their back, that also lives their pain – the real pain of exclusion; that shares their celebration and their pride, even when they feel alone.  That there is a family for everyone, be it a family of birth, or a family of choice.

A spiritual family of choice is what Norbert ?apek had in mind when he led the Liberal Religious Fellowship in Prague, in then Czechoslovakia.  A hundred years ago, he understood that people were often left out from some communion services that excluded folks who did not subscribe to a Trinitarian understanding of the sacred, or who were not included in the bread and wine celebrations at other communities of faith.

He wanted to include anyone who would partake in a shared ritual.  Sharing in the beauty of a flower with others, no matter your religious or spiritual background, or your gender.  He understood that flowers can transcend artificial norms of masculinity or gender expectations, that they called on our common human experience and appreciation for the sacred, and to our drive to remind each other that we are not alone, even when we feel that way.

A hundred years ago, Norbert ?apek, his wife Maja, and those around them found that a ritual based on accessibility was a way to encourage each other, through difficult times.

On days like today, my friends, we are often invited to participate in this, now-centennial practice.

The flowers that we share in a Flower Celebration are brought in by others, who share our space and our time, and when we take a flower, we can bring, in a sense, those other people along with us, as a reminder that there are others out there, alongside us.

Even when we are on our own, my friends, and when we may feel alone, because we will, flowers shared can be a reminder on days like today, that we’ll never really go it alone.

Be it a shared flower, my friends, a shared song, or a shared cause, encouragement can take many forms.

My friends, may we seek such encouragement in its many forms.

So may it be,
In the spirit of diverse mutual encouragement,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #78 Color and Fragrance
~)-| Words: Norbert F. ?apek, 1870-1942
~)-| trans. by Paul and Anita Munk, © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
~)-| English version by Grace Ulp, 1926-
~)-| Music: Norbert F. ?apek, 1870-1942
Tune O BARVY VUNE

Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Charleston WV (16 May, 2021)

Time for All Ages – Stone Soup

As interpreted by the Canadian Food Grains Bank, a faith-based charity to reduce global hunger

Stone Soup: A Traditional Folk Tale | Canadian Food Grains Bank

Sermon – Stone Soup – Rev. Rod

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As we celebrated our building, and the stones that it is built upon, we considered the value of a physical place like the one in which we often gather, in offering a home for our community.  And we explored the… complexity of coexisting realities, as we saw that we had options for gathering, including virtual and online options – which offered their own set of advantages… and drawbacks.

We acknowledged a newer understanding that it is… possible for a church to survive without a building – we were witness to that for well over year (and on-and-off since then).  We also recognized that a physical gathering space goes beyond the ability to survive, rather offering tools to thrive, by inviting deeper connections, and sharing interpersonal warmth, in a way that is much more challenging through telecommunications alone.  The literal stones upon which I often speak, can add… something special.

Something special is the role of the stone in the story of Stone Soup, in which a clever character begins cooking soup with nothing more than a pot, water, and a stone, eventually inspiring a community of limited means to pool their resources, by suggesting this “magical” soup would taste better with a few vegetable “garnishes” and the odd savoury additions, begetting a hearty meal that nourishes everyone.

As it turns out, the stone is not strictly necessary for the eventual soup to exist – all the other ingredients are already there, somewhere – but sometimes, a stone is essential for all of it to incorporate into something that feeds a community.  It became a good excuse to come together.

I often speak of church, and church time, as a good excuse to get together.  This space, and the spaces that come from it in other forms, can draw on the magic that is already there, somewhere, to truly become miraculous.

And that is the other lesson in the story of Stone Soup, the integral value of the people, who come together, and make something greater than they could on their own – to serve one another.

Today, we make another space to recognize those magic ingredients that come together.  We’ve been witness to them right here, be it sitting in the pews, watching or listening from home, or reading online or on paper.

This very building, came up and stays up, because of the magic of volunteers who look after it, offering time, physical effort, sometimes money, often… enduring headaches, to maintain this a place where we have the option of gathering.  Without them, there is no pot.

The major decisions that allow our community to function, act in good faith and follow best practices, are made real by the work of volunteer directors on the Board, and by subsequent follow-ups in the Governance Documents Committee, and the Finance Committee.  These may not always sound like the most glamorous titles, but they are necessary and essential.  Without them, the pot tips and holds no water.

The music that we hear every Sunday is only a reality by the devotion of lay talents that folks share with us, who put themselves in the vulnerable and venerable position to perform for us and with us.  Without them, the fire fails to catch.

The opportunity to gather or receive a Sunday service, and receive perspectives and inspiration from professional, lay, and guest speakers only comes about through the work of the Sunday Services Committee, who make preparations and facilitate services, and the Techs who enable that connection, in real time.  That includes lay folks who participate in each service, often literally lighting the fire.

The possibility of learning about, and doing something about, the issues that affect our wider communities opens up through the spaces made and identified by the Social Responsibility Committee, where we can seek ways to work collectively and individually in the service of humanity.  To find what is in the pantry that we haven’t thought about offering to serve each other.

The opportunities to learn more about our spirituality and deepen it, outside of Sunday or pulpit time, come from leadership and participants in our Lifespan Learning Team.  A seasoning that adds that special flavour.

The food and refreshments that we enjoy after a service, sometimes modest, sometimes more substantial, and the housekeeping that goes on around that, only happens because of the members who are committed to hospitality.  Stirring the pot, and often washing it afterwards.

The stories that come from this exalted excuse to get together are often still told because we can peruse them in our records, as curated and preserved by our Archives Team.  Through them, we can hear the story of this stone soup, retold across the ages.

One of the greatest hazards in naming specific contributions is that inevitably, someone is left out in the naming.  This is not because their contribution isn’t significant (often, it’s quite the contrary), but because of the nature of the task, or through fallible memory, the contribution remains invisible, at least sometimes.  The contributions that are sometimes invisible are also part of our community.  They are the anonymous carrots and turnips, that make the soup substantial, but whose source is not always clear or immediately easy to acknowledge.

Some of you will hear, or see, or remember yourselves in fulfilling those holy tasks, if not today, perhaps in days gone before – or can imagine yourself doing so in days to come.  Some of you make those holy tasks possible by contributing financially, so that the decisions and duties may be made – with concrete outcomes.  Some of you, offer encouragement and gratitude, thanking folks for a job well done – or simply for taking on the job and doing it to the best of your abilities.

This morning, and into the afternoon, many of us were able to further benefit from – and celebrate – the contributions of our many volunteers, by sharing in a feast that was, fittingly, made possible by our volunteers – past and present.  There are many people who made decisions, preparations, purchases, set-up, and service of the food we received at our annual church picnic. 

And even now, we benefit from past volunteers from the former Women’s Association, who set up the Legacy Fund that financed this picnic.

My friends, you too are contributors, even if you were not directly involved in the planning.  Be it through donations that keep the fund afloat, or by having brought your own containers or utensils, making the workload on our volunteers lighter, you are collaborating with our volunteers.

And, my friends, by showing up, as you are able, to this and other times when we have offered an excuse to get together, you invite another opportunity to serve, be served, and offer gratitude for making this community happen.

My friends, let us be grateful, for our mutual service to each other.

So may it be,
In the spirit of gratitude,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #128 For All That Is Our Life
~)-| Words: Bruce Findlow, 1922-
Music: Patrick L. Rickey, 1964- , © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Tune SHERMAN ISLAND

Rev. Christopher Watkins Lamb and Amber Lamb
Foothills Unitarian Church (9 August, 2020)

Time for All Ages – Wait, is this a Mandela Effect?! | Julie Nolke

Sermon – I Could’ve Sworn! – Rev. Rod

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Early on in our time in Canada, my dad and stepmother needed to attend a conference in British Columbia.  My dad often took me along for those work trips, and he usually liked to tag on his vacation time to those voyages, to get to know the places we were visiting a bit better.

We did all the rides.  Victoria, Vancouver, Capilano, Butchart Gardens, Blackcomb/Whistler.  We visited as many museums as we could.  Somewhere in there, we got to the Vancouver Aquarium.

Our favourite part of the aquarium was learning about the whales, particularly belugas.  Bear in mind that none of us had grown up with the music of Raffi, so belugas were unfamiliar to us, and it was exciting to delve into the story of belugas.

Except, we didn’t call them belugas…

Somewhere along the way, as we looked at the information plaques, one of us read their name as “belungas”.  None of us picked up on the misread, and for the entire journey, we all enthusiastically learned the details about belungas.

Belungas, we learned, don’t have a dorsal fin, which allows them to swim under the ice more easily; belungas have a bump on their head, which is officially called the melon, and which helps them in echolocation, allowing them to essentially “see” with sounds, which is particularly helpful in finding breathing holes under sheet ice; belungas have a significant layer of subcutaneous fat, which allows them to stay at a healthy temperature range in arctic waters.

Belungas this; belungas that.  Belungas, belungas, belungas.

The whole way home, we talked about our fascination with belungas.  We found it hilarious that the bump on their heads really was formally called a melon, and how 747 jumbo jets also looked like they had a melon that made those airplanes resemble belungas.

Belungas this; belungas that.  Belungas, belungas, belungas.

Some time after our trip to BC, we looked at the pamphlets and brochures we had collected as keepsakes.  And we found a very silly mistake on one them… some careless copywriter or editor had misspelled belungas on a brochure, amusingly calling them belugas.

Then we found another info packet making the same mistake.  There was a lot of information about belugas, but nothing about belungas.

As we saw more of the literature making the same mistake, we slowly came to the realization that it wasn’t the entire universe that was wrong – it was our family that had collectively misspelled the name of belungas in our mind… or, if you must, belugas.

This was rather disorienting… we could’ve sworn that we’d been saying the correct name all along – after all, none of us had corrected each other, and the name belungas sounded right the whole time.  But, as far as we could tell, no one else had ever called belugas “belungas”.

Maybe the construction of the word “belunga” just sounded more natural to our Spanish-speaking ears.  Maybe it was a simple mistake from our part, quickly reading the source material during a very full aquarium expedition.  Maybe we just got caught up in the excitement of our visit and didn’t bother noticing the evidence to the contrary.  None of us thought we had come from some alternate universe, where “belunga” was the norm, though it kind of felt like that, for a moment.

That odd experience was, in a way, a small-scale illustration of the so-called Mandela effect, in which many people seem to have the same incorrect memory.  It started when many people were simultaneously surprised in 2013, upon learning that former South African president Nelson Mandela had just died, as they could’ve sworn that he had already died in prison in the 80s.

One of the first people to notice this phenomenon, speculated that a whole sector of the world population had lived in an alternate universe where Mandela had died earlier on, and that they had then somehow merged with this, the “wrong” universe, but then kept the memory of the old one…

Cognitive psychologists have a simpler explanation.  First, is recognizing that memories are not as reliable as we’d like to think – which has been repeatedly demonstrated by data from studies.  There is also a suggestion that people may be conflating other events and putting them into an easily-recalled narrative.  For instance, another notable anti-apartheid leader, Steve Biko, did die in prison in the late 70s.  Mandela also made news in the 90s, when he was released from prison and eventually made the presidency.  It’s possible that many people had a similar experience of recalling those events and somehow merging them in their minds until they could’ve sworn that a story, different from history, was fact.

Last week, I spoke about the fascination of experiencing optical illusions, along with other sensory illusions, which offer, in a sense, a magical feeling of awe, while also inviting an uncomfortable sense that we can’t always trust our senses.

The “mnemonic illusion” of the Mandela effect, in which our collective memories fail us, can also bring that sense of unease, upon our acknowledgement that our memories can also be fallible… far more often than we realize.  I often pride myself on having a decent memory, and have still been surprised upon learning that some event happened significantly different from what I remember.

There are even academics who have studied people’s recollection of where they were during 9/11 and what they were doing at the time.  They’ve found that people who were in the same place and at the same time often tell vastly different narratives.

In speaking about mythology, we have seen that not all stories need to be factual to expose other profound truths about the human condition, about our spirituality, and in helping us understand ourselves and our communities at a deeper level – there is value in mythology.  The flipside is that certain narratives that draw on faulty – or entirely fabricated – memories, can also be weaponized to dismiss historical harms and perpetuate oppression.

The stories of colonialism, slavery, and patriarchy, for instance, have often benefited from a collective erasure of experiences that have been well documented, as well as preserved in oral histories.

Every once in a while, some folks seek an easy path to power by drawing on an embellished memory of the “good old days”, and how we need to return to those simpler times, when things were better.  What is often missing from that particular mythology is the coexisting reality that things may not have been as good in those old days as the power of nostalgia would have us believe.  And for certain sectors of the population, those old days were significantly less good than current times, as different levels of systemic oppression were more acceptable.

We have some tools to manage this.  Historians are trained to rely heavily on primary resources – contemporary accounts of people who record events as they happen.  Journalists of integrity seek to keep records with minimal interference from their viewpoints (or, to at least acknowledge when their point of view is part of their reporting). 

Archivists collect the documents of time, in essence creating the foundations of future history.  And our church has that kind of archival team, seeking to preserve a memory that is both factual and can also nurture a healthy mythology that reflects who we have been, who we are, and who we want to be.

At a more personal level, many of us have learned to keep logs and journals, which allow us to keep track of what has been going on in our lives and in ourselves, to process the present, and to preserve the past.  These kinds of practices may often serve us in staying in touch with another reflection of ourselves as we may have been in another time, and by better understanding ourselves, we may have a clearer path into our futures.

Recently, I’ve had a chance to visit some of the places of my childhood, and it hasn’t been uncommon for me to find myself drawn by the lure of nostalgia’s rose-coloured glasses, and occasionally longing for what seemed like simpler times.

I’ve been learning, however, to balance my perspective with more intentional consideration for those other aspects of my past life, in which things were, in fact, not always great, and when I couldn’t wait to move on to other stages of my life – to grow up, to know more things, to be better at things, to find a more rewarding career, to bring more people into my life, and nurture closer relationships.  Upon this contemplation, I can acknowledge the gifts of the past, while also appreciating the beauty of the present.

That’s not to say that there aren’t real losses in parts of our lives that have remained in the past.  As we age, we experience perhaps inevitable deterioration in our physical abilities, mental capabilities, and relationships that are no more, due to interpersonal breakdowns, the distance of geography, or death.  These losses are real, and often permanent.  Their previous existence really was better in the past.

And as we process our memories, my friends, we may still be able to find balance in remembering the hardships gone before, and those of which we’ve been able to overcome.  To appreciate those parts of ourselves that are wiser, perhaps more compassionate, and loving.

To recognize the clarity of mind that can often come only from experience, and even the peace that can come from learning to let go of old baggage that no longer serves us – grudges, unrealistic expectations (of self or others), desire for unlimited excess.

To celebrate the stories that we can only share now that they are over, with the benefit of time, with which the wounds may be perhaps less raw, less often.  To celebrate the triumphs that were only dreams, uncertainties, or anxieties in the old days, and which may now be fulfilling achievements in this, our day.

My friends, with the humility of failing memories, be they personal or collective, we may inherit a past of coexisting, contradictory realities, that enrich this present moment, and which may yet lead us into a richer future of good new days.

My friends, may this be our day,

So may it be,
In the spirit of the moment,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn – Baby Beluga

by Raffi