Lamentation, Celebration, and Gratitude can often come together. These are strong – sometimes contradictory – emotional realities that can coexist. When we remember and honour our ancestors, as many of us did this morning, we are bound the feel the sadness, maybe the pain of loss that came with their death.
Somewhere along the line, it can also be difficult to escape the joy that loved ones have brought us, recalling the delight of their company, the laughter that came with times together. And along all this, we can build a practice of gratitude, being thankful for the opportunity we had to share our lives, even if briefly.
These don’t necessarily happen all at once, but somewhere along the journey, it is common for these to blend in a bittersweet brew – these realities can coexist.
My friends, this has been a difficult year, as we have been witnesses to death at a larger scale than usual. Even for those among us whose life may have been less impacted by death in your immediate life, we have all been reminded of its presence with more frequency, just about every day. This was a reality we faced late last year, and so we do again late in this year.
Also, toward the end of last year, we began to see many glimmers of hope toward ending the crisis of the pandemic, and this year has allowed us to witness parts of that hope bearing fruit. Most of us here are walking participants in the efforts to contain the pandemic and effectively reducing the risks that come with it.
These realities co-exist.
In addition to the losses that we have named today, we are also paying our respects to the many deaths we know about around the world. As of this morning, the death count from Covid-19 is about to cross the threshold into 5 million deaths. That’s 5 million confirmed deaths… it is estimated that the true total is already much higher than that. With similar grimness, it is likely that, this coming month, the total confirmed number of cases will surpass a quarter of a billion.
Alongside these realities, we can also express gratitude to the many souls who have given of their lives, and sometimes their very lives, in the work of taking care of us and those we love. The healthcare workers, the care staff, the scientists, the retail and grocery workers, the first responders, and too many people and professions to name. Some of them died doing what they love, others continue, sometimes wondering if they still love what they do. All of them offering and having had offered essential service. And for that we are grateful.
Just as the tally of deaths and infections are nearing grim thresholds, there are other inspiring thresholds we are facing. Within the next few days, total doses of vaccines are on track to surpass 7 billion. Of course, due to the multiple required doses of many vaccines, the total vaccination rate is lower – still, this coming week, we are likely to see that half of the world’s population has received at least one dose, and already, significantly more than a third of the world population has been fully vaccinated.
These are both encouraging and disappointing numbers. It is incredible that we have reached those levels of immunization over the past year – many authorities doubted it would be possible to even begin that process by this time of this year. And still, the numbers are not quite where they need to be to really offer the protection needed for everyone to be safe, particularly many who remain among the most vulnerable populations to begin with.
My friends all these realities can coexist, and we can acknowledge them together.
My friends, today we sit with lamentation, we are open to celebration, and we offer our gratitude.
My friends, today we live with these realities, and we honour them together.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in love, in faith, Amen
Opening Hymn #126 Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing Words: v. 1 Robert Robinson, 1735-1790, adapt., ~)-| vs. 2-3, Eugene B. Navias, 1928- Music: John Wyeth, Repository of Sacred Music, Part II, 1813 Tune NETTLETON
Unitarian Universalist Church Utica (28 February, 2021)
A couple years ago, I mentioned that disclosing to a new acquaintance that I am a minister of religion can lead to… interesting conversations. And a common outcome of this kind of conversation can be a kind of litany of questions about what I am “allowed” to do. These are often questions about what kind of family I can have (or if I can have any kind of family), or about what lifestyle I can lead, including what I can eat or drink, or about what I am allowed to say – sometimes people wonder if can swear.
I’m often amused by this kind of conversation. It’s not that it’s entirely unexpected – there is baggage that comes with religion and the people involved in it – but it strikes me that the question of what is allowed, and of what rules we’re expected to follow, often seems to take a disproportionate amount of attention in comparison to what actually occupies my mind in ministry, or what drew me to this community of faith in the first place.
And it turns out that we do have a set of rules, or at least a code of conduct that we pledge to observe. This happens to include some firm directives, though it is largely a set of guidelines that outline a set of best practices toward a more responsible ministry.
And if you’re still wondering, swearing is not specifically prohibited, though there are some guidelines around appropriate speech, which might often be interpreted as a call to be… judicious when using hard language.
This question of how we use speech has been particularly trendy over the last several years, both in society at large, as well as in the Unitarian Universalist community.
There are times when someone’s speech has been harmful to others, and the people who are harmed can often include folks who have been already marginalized by varied systems of oppression. I have seen that when this kind of harmful speech is named, the conversation is often framed as a matter of what people are “allowed” to say, and harmful speech is defended as exercise in free speech.
And it can be true that most kinds of harmful speech are protected by our legal and cultural norms of free speech. It can also be true that naming it for the harms that it does is also an exercise in free speech itself. I find that, when framing it as a matter of whether it’s allowed or not, it kind of misses the larger point around the value that speech, and how it is used, has on our society, our communities, and our relationships. I also find that, in many cases when people claim that their speech is being disallowed, the people making that claim already have an extensive platform, which they are usually free to continue using.
As a minister of religion, I have been entrusted with a somewhat high-profile platform… sometimes literally, as I do when I stand on the chancel that holds up the pulpit in our building. By definition, my job is largely to say things for people to hear them. I not only have the freedom of speech that most of us enjoy in this country, but I also have, contractually and by tradition, the freedom of the pulpit. From a certain perspective, this could be interpreted as me being able to say pretty much whatever I want.
But I don’t.
It may perhaps surprise some of you that, in my work, a good deal of the thought and time that I put in it, is in fact spent deciding on things that I won’t say… that I realize I don’t want to say, or that perhaps I don’t’ need to say. In other words, I filter my speech.
Now some folks might consider this practice of filtering as censoring myself… and depending on how you define or view censorship, that might be true. But most of the time, I don’t really see it that way – rather, I see it as being disciplined so that my free speech may also be – as Buddhist teachings call it – right speech… useful speech, helpful speech, responsible speech.
And while this might make the work more challenging, and I may well at times feel hindered by this practice, I actually feel – in the balance – quite liberated. Because even within the constraints that I am held by – often, by which I choose to hold myself – I have a great deal of freedom… in fact, the constraints that I accept allow me to have an enduring freedom to say what I feel is necessary.
This works at different levels.
At a merely practical – perhaps even cynical – level, we could say that it’s simply a matter of self-interest. It is in my self-interest to watch my speech.
Just as our tradition recognizes and affirms our religious professionals’ freedom of the pulpit, it also proclaims a congregation’s freedom of the purse. It is, ultimately the congregation which calls a minister, and it is the congregation which… makes decisions on ministerial transitions. And you’ll be aware that this isn’t just theoretical either, our tradition has ample examples of congregations exercising this prerogative. So, at a basic level, it may make sense that I watch what I say, lest my speech lead to some harder conversations.
But this particular scenario is not usually what I have in mind when I filter my speech. The kind of consequences that I tend to worry about are much broader, and include considerations that are as much for others’ sake as they are for my sake.
Because if I don’t watch my speech, and speak irresponsibly, I’m aware that I may hurt someone, or break trust and perhaps lead to the breakdown of relationships, not to mention hinder my ability to lead in this community. There is still an element of self-interest, in that these are not things that I want for myself – and they come with a consideration that it is also against the community’s interest.
So, the real reason for a practice of considered speech – “filtering” my speech – is a more essential philosophical and theological concern with how it will impact where I am and who I am with. It is neither entirely selfish nor selfless… it’s something I like to think about as “self-full” – a practice that will help me cultivate a more wholesome relationship with all whom I interact with.
And this doesn’t mean that I only look to say things that will please… it is my job, contractually and by tradition, to say things that may be challenging or uncomfortable, even if these might seem unpopular in the moment. My covenant is to choose speech that will direct this church toward greater spiritual growth.
And this is where the question shifts from a matter of what I am allowed to say, to a question of what makes sense for me to say that will serve us better. And when ministry is based on service, being thoughtful about what is said and how it’s said – considering how it will serve – then speech can be ministry.
Now I’ve spent a lot of time speaking about how this applies to my ministry, and that’s partly because these are pretty central parts of my profession and my vocation. It’s literally my job, as I stand on this platform.
Here’s the kicker – this is also part of your ministry… it is part of our shared ministry.
My friends, in our free and responsible search for truth and meaning, we covenant to enjoy and exercise our access to options, to experiment, and be ready to fail so that we may learn from mistakes or occasionally, as Bob Ross might say, “happy accidents”. We also covenant to practice and perform actions that are considered and considerate, to follow a discipline and a discipleship that invites us to think before acting – while being bold enough not to overthink, lest our actions lose impact. This covenant invites us to employ a measure of self-regulation, of self-evaluation, of self-reflection. That is another practice of accountability.
My friends, this accountability does not mean that every single word has to be correct – accountability does not demand perfection. It is impossible to imagine every single outcome from what we say and how it will impact others. It does mean that when our understanding of our speech is invited to expand in considering others more thoughtfully, we may be open to listen and grow into deeper relationship.
My friends, our covenantal tradition offers space for grace, and it calls us to spiritual growth.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in covenant, in faith, Amen
In the past, I have undergone periods of deep depression. These are times that are prominently marked by the fact that I am unable to have any hope. During these times, my future seems utterly bleak and empty. Months pass in meaninglessness until suddenly a subtle undercurrent of hope returns to my outlook on life.
About 7 years ago, I had been living for many months in a profound state of depression, during which I was sure that nothing good could come out of my life, just by virtue of who I was as a person. But one day I found myself online, searching the Bath Bed and Beyond website for items to newly furnish the home I shared with Rod.
Rod would tell me later that he knew my depression was on the wane when he noticed me searching for cushions and rugs that would make our living space cozier to live in – in the future. I was once again able to feel that life could be worth living, that life was worth planning for, that life could be meaningful. Hope was returning to me, even if I hadn’t been able to realize it myself at first. And something striking was that it was returning without much effort on my part. Also, once hope had been re-established in my psyche, it was as if it had never left.
I suppose I’d never really thought very much about what hope actually is. Perhaps I’d taken it for granted that, as American poet Emily Dickenson wrote,
“Hope†is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –
But, As I’ve already illustrated, there have been times when hope has stopped for me. This fact got me thinking: If hope is such a crucial part of life, how, then, was I able to continue? The conclusion I came to is this: the people who love me – Rod, my family, my friends – held onto hope in my stead when I could not. They nurtured a sense of hope in the world – as well as maintaining hope in me myself, believing that life was abundantly worthwhile, and believing that I was a worthwhile person – and that I had the capacity to recover.
But it took hard work and dedication for my loved ones to keep hope within their grasp. It took being very intentional and it took pushing forward, even when I made that difficult for them, even if unintentionally, because of my hopeless outlook.
Upon reflecting on this, I realized two things: 1) that my understanding of hope is that it is fostered and maintained through connections and community, and 2) that hope requires hard work. Mariame Kaba, an American activist and educator whose work focuses on transformative justice, among other things, conceives of hope as a discipline. This resonates with me. If I am to truly embody hope, I need to make my goals clear and to dedicate myself to achieving them.
But I think it’s important to make a distinction between hope and optimism. As described by Arthur Brooks in his column for the Atlantic,
optimism is the belief that things will turn out all right; hope makes no such assumption but is a conviction that one can act to make things better in some way
Dr. Jane Goodall, who was featured in the video clip I played earlier, is someone who has very much made the world a better place. She is also a profoundly hopeful person. She is acutely aware of the trauma and turmoil that envelops our world, and she is not entirely optimistic about the future of our planet but she has, throughout her long and illustrious career, worked exceedingly hard to bring about change.
Dr. Goodall is perhaps best known for her ground-breaking work demonstrating that chimpanzees use tools, but her legacy goes so far beyond that, including conservation work and seemingly tireless activism that has inspired people around the world to themselves take action.
One thing she has done is to found an educational program called Roots and Shoots that inspires young people to realize their capacity for bringing about environmental change in the world, and although Roots and Shoots began in 1991 with 12 students in Tanzania, there are now Roots and Shoots groups running in over 100 countries.
Goodall has stated that her reasons for hope are human intellect, the resiliency of nature, when given a chance, the enthusiasm and determination of young people when they know the problems and are empowered to take action, and the indomitable human spirit. As someone who works with children on a daily basis, I very much agree with her assessment of the enthusiasm and determination of young people! There is so much zeal and strength and character, and indomitable spirit in each infant I have the privilege of interacting with.
An older demographic than infants, but still quite young, is Generation Z, people born between roughly 1997 and 2012. This is painting them with a broad brush, I know, but a couple key characteristics of this generation include that, more than previous generations, they embrace diversity, and that they are politically progressive. I find this to be profoundly hopeful.
Members of Generation Z who are making real change in the world include indigenous water-defender Autumn Peltier, climate activist Greta Thunberg, and Malala Yousafzai, who won the Nobel Peace Prize for her work on children’s rights to education. Each of these remarkable individuals has been instrumental in inspiring entire movements full of people supporting each other in doing the work of hope – and holding hope for each other when they veer toward hopelessness.
My hope is that we may all hold hope for one another, as a community of generosity, dedication and love.
Last week I mentioned that, leading up to seminary, I started reading a certain book. Today, I won’t get into the specifics of the book, other than to say that I re-read it again into my first year of seminary and brought it out wherever I might have a bite to eat or wherever I might have some time to sit around.
And one of those places was a greasy-spoon around the corner from the university. They had all-day breakfast, including a “student specialâ€, and I found it convenient that it was less than a five-minute walk to most of my classes.
Suffice it to say that I came around there a few times per week. It didn’t take long before the server began to ask me if I’d have “the usualâ€. And I found it unexpectedly comforting that I had someone who would ask me that question.
It didn’t take much longer until I could simply walk into the diner, plunk myself down on a seat, open my book, and – when I looked up a few minutes later – there would be a warm cup of coffee, right next to a plate, with the right number eggs, done the way I liked them, with my favourite sides, and my preferred bread done how I needed it to be done.
Now, I haven’t gone into any of the specifics of my breakfast preferences… but you know who knew all those details? My regular server. She knew the specs without flaw. I came to count on it.
There are times when a pattern like this might seem, or feel, like a rut… a stubborn monotony that could use livening up. But during those school years, juggling a heavy course load, and a shifting work schedule, that breakfast student special was a welcome anchor to my week. I knew that, whether it was early in the morning, or late in the afternoon, I could walk in and find a meal. I knew what it would cost, how much it would feed me, how much I’d enjoy it, and who would serve it to me, without even having to ask – we’d save our words for chitchat instead. I could count on it.
There were other unexpected details that I started counting on… as much as I fancied myself a regular, I learned that there were higher calibre regulars. Even though this diner categorically did not take reservations, there was always one booth with a “reserved†sign on it between 11am and 1pm, for the lady that lived upstairs and who always ate lunch there. The diner could count on her being there, and they reserved her place. I once made the mistake of sitting on the “forbidden booth†during lunchtime, and my server politely explained the situation, as she offered me another seat, before going to get me “the usualâ€.
Of course, in life, there are very few absolutes. Some things did change. Occasionally, my regular server might have been off duty and I’d have to spell out my usual order. A couple times, I did have to give the server a heads-up that I was in the mood for something different that particular day. At least once, inflation crept in, and the student special had a slightly different price tag – still a good deal, but the dollar amount was higher than when I first started going there.
One day, I noticed that the “reserved†sign was nowhere to be seen during lunchtime, and my regular server assured me that, yes, I could go sit on the “forbidden booth†– turns out the regular lady had moved out to a different condo.
Eventually, I moved out, as I followed my calling and took a ministerial internship in another city. What we count on will change along with our circumstances and our needs.
Noticing these things that we count on – even if only for stretches at a time – is part of the practice of gratitude that can enrich our lives by replenishing our “wellness accountsâ€. And if we do our housekeeping, at least every so often, we might find that we are richer than we thought. And in Canada, this weekend is just one of those times when we intentionally set ourselves out to do just that.
We spoke last week about the housekeeping that comes with taking account of our stories and our histories. This includes taking a sincere look at our lives as they are, affirmations and painful moments alike, so that we may have a better sense of who we are, how we might be more of who we think we are, who we want to be, and how we want to be.
An honest account – or at least, as honest as we can make it – is key to making real progress for ourselves, our communities, and all our relations. And failing to do this can land us in trouble.
It so happens that Canadian Thanksgiving tends to land around the same time as the somewhat newly-established Indigenous Peoples Day in the United States, on October 11 this year. This is around the date that was originally observed as the anniversary of the Christopher Columbus landing in the Caribbean in 1492… a date which symbolizes the beginning of colonialism in the Americas, and which, until recently, was widely called “Columbus Day†in the United States.
Of course, U.S. Thanksgiving falls later in the year, and its story has also been mythologized in a way that depicts a rather incomplete and inaccurate account of colonialism in North America.
Here, we just had a newly-established National Day for Truth and Reconciliation last month. So, this is a time in both countries, when we can also make and renew intentions toward a more wholesome understanding and awareness of our history, in the journey toward truth, toward healing, toward reconciliation. That’s part of remaining accountable to each other and all our relations.
We have also talked about how giving thanks – acts of gratitude – can be a kind of accountability. As it, too, is an exercise in deepening awareness.
In much the same way that some of the more difficult parts of our stories can sometimes be glossed over when we record our stories in a certain way – hindering us from really taking stock of our reality – it can also be true that we sometimes forget to keep track of those things that sustain us, that can keep us going, that can bring joy into our lives. And losing track of these can also get us into trouble.
Now, when exercising gratitude, it can be tempting to proceed as if blessings and curses were “assets†and “liabilities†in a regular “ledger†account, where one of each would cancel the other out… making it some kind of game in which the left and right columns fight each other out to see if we can stay in the black, lest we find ourselves in the red.
But a more helpful practice of gratitude might be in taking a slightly different logic. Rather than tallying up our problems, and see if counting our blessings can “cancel†out our “deficitsâ€, a more radical thanksgiving might look, not at ignoring or forgetting our issues, and rather seek clarity and awareness in what can sustain us through them.
As we’ve discussed, ignoring or forgetting our issues – our “liabilities†– can land us in trouble, and stall real improvements. Naming these, in fact, can be quite liberating… sometimes, that’s all we need when we seek out a listening ear, or a shoulder to cry on.
A radical gratitude, in turn, does not call us to skip over these “liabilitiesâ€, and rather look at what else we have with us, alongside everything else that is in our lives. This is to say, taking stock of our “wellness account†– the “assets†that can keep us company, maybe even get us through the tough times.
What these are, the things that we count on, can be very personal. Very often, people will name… people as their assets – friends, family, communities. What we count on can also be places – home, the places you live in, the neighbourhood, the local place where you might be a regular. What we count on can be activities, sports or exercise, comfort watching favourite shows or movies… relaxing, when possible, can be one of those anchors that we count on. What we count on can even be things – a dear keepsake, an heirloom, a photo, a memento.
My friends, in this community, we count on each other. Sometimes, things might look a bit different, as circumstances and needs change. The people that have served our church change from time to time, lay and ordained. The way we gather, the way we stay connected, the way we do worship, the way we do church – these have shifted and will continue to shift.
My friends, we may count on one another, even as each of us and our community continues to face challenges and struggles. My friends, we may exercise the practice of radical gratitude, not by overlooking or ignoring whatever painful or unpleasant experiences we have, but by counting on all that which carries us through all of it, and by celebrating that which we care to honour. Radical gratitude offers us not a way to “outcount our deficits†but a practice toward being more deeply aware of what is with us.
My friends, so may we be graced. In Solidarity, in Love, in Gratitude Amen
In the insurance industry, it has happened that, when an actuary mentioned their profession, they were asked if they were some sort of accountant… with a self-deprecating sense of humour, their reply was that actuaries are the people who “don’t have the personality to be accountantsâ€. And still, actuaries and accountants alike can have a deeper range of dimension than they might get credit for – I once saw an actuary play a theremin.
And the practice of accounting itself can have a number of dimensions. First, a personal story…
Leading up to seminary, I took it upon myself to read the Bible cover-to-cover. Now, this was not actually required for any of my classes or by any of my supervisors – I simply wanted to get a fuller sense of how the collection of texts is laid out, and what kind of narrative emerges when one reads it from Genesis to Revelation.
Sometimes, when I told them I was reading the whole Bible, I’d learn that a number of them have tried this, and a surprising amount of them would succeed. But the most common outcome would be that they only got a few chapters in… usually tapping out at “the begatsâ€. And if you’ve ever tried this, you might know what I’m talking about – those long passages of genealogy, when the only narrative is an account of people meeting, giving birth to someone, and then that person growing up, meeting someone, and begetting someone else, in a long chain of parental lineage.
I got through “the begats†just fine – and they came up every so often. And I also noticed that this practice went beyond genealogy… there were other portions of the biblical text that were quite keen to focus on more of the “housekeeping†aspects of the story.
Beyond family trees, there were catalogues of property, cattle, bronze houseware, even the odd census of a population – perhaps the most notable one of which is in the aptly named book of Numbers, which really does live up to its name, having several accounts of the population of the tribes of Israel, accounts which are interspersed with more… dynamic narratives throughout the book.
When folks read these portions of scripture nowadays, it may not seem all that enticing, or clear, why those are even there. But when the people who took it upon themselves to bring these accounts together were making decisions about what would go in, they saw these “housekeeping†items as important. If nothing else, it showed that keeping track of whatever history and story you have, was worth doing – that the account of a people’s shared story would be missing something, if they didn’t include the more practically-oriented records – as these had been handed down to them.
We do this sort of thing in our community, as do our neighbours of faith, and our sister congregations across the country. It’s not always the most… glamorous of tasks, or the most visible one, but it is an important ministry – one which our communities could simply not do without.
Our Treasurer, our Finance Committee, our bookkeeper, are all among the most obvious examples of the folks who take part in this kind of ministry, though they aren’t the only ones. Alongside accounting, we also have accounts, parts of our shared story and the narratives that help shape our community’s sense of heritage, identity, and direction. Our Archives Team, is one of the more visible examples of that, complementing the work of the authors of our church histories.
And they’re not the only ones, if you’ve served in any of our committees, or in any committee – or any formal organization, for that matter – you will have received minutes, detailing the more noteworthy items from meetings, including decisions and plans for the future. You may well have been tasked with taking down and distributing those minutes. And this task – this ministry – as tedious and dry as it may sometimes seem, is vital in keeping our sense of what we have done, what we are doing, and what we want to do, and moreover, getting a sense of who we are and who we want to be.
There are many ways of accounting for this. In our community’s culture, written records are often what we might most often think about when we talk about financial and historical accounts. This is what is most prominent in the book of Numbers. Though it is also common for cultures to have a high regard for oral accounts. And in fact, the book of Numbers, alongside the accounts in its neighbouring books, are largely considered to be written records of previous oral accounts.
And even if we perceive ourselves to give priority to written records in our community, our oral accounts have more power than we might realize. The stories we share informally, or the memories that we value most, are not always the ones that are formally recorded somewhere.
In our Unitarian Universalist tradition, our covenants are part of housekeeping, our way of accounting for one another. And even though our most obvious covenants – such as our principles – are written down, how we implement them, how we live them out, is largely carried out informally in our everyday interactions. Our covenants are an account of who we want to be with each other, and how we want to be with each other, and they guide us in keeping ourselves accountable to each other, which we do by witnessing to our words and actions, naming these, and – when we fall short – reflecting on how we can live out our covenant more fully.
Sometimes, the notion of accountability can be daunting concept… even scary. That can be understandable – for some of you, words like accountability or responsibility might come tied up with a sense of… consequences, which is often a way of saying retribution or punishment. And indeed, that is one way in which accountability is sometimes manifested. The biblical literature also has many examples of this kind of accountability, as do many other sacred scriptures.
Beyond retribution, the biblical account also records some narratives in which the stories of its people are laid out, including causes for celebration and affirmation, as well as the more unpleasant stories – and the book of Numbers includes some of these accounts as well… part of the reason behind a census, was to quantify how many warriors there were… along with the kind of things that happen in war. Preserving these kinds of stories is part of accountability.
These texts also have many examples of covenant, where people make promises to each other and give witness to these whenever they invoke these covenants. The accounts of scripture also keep track of the blessings that they receive, and giving thanks for them – this is another expression of accountability. Around a time of thanksgiving, we can keep count of the blessings we are graced with, as well as the stories – celebratory and painful – that come with living alongside each other.
I find it especially helpful to think of accountability as a tool for a more wholesome personal and community life. At its core, accountability can be about that basic aspect of counting – which is to say, keeping track.
Going with the housekeeping image of financial accounting, we might see how a practice of accountability can be a gift.
When making a personal budget for the purposes of creating savings, for instance, many financial advisors will recommend taking an initial inventory of current spending habits. This can be done simply by going about your daily business as you typically would – making the purchases you’re used to doing, and not immediately worrying about whether you should buy those things or not, or judging yourself for these, simply witnessing to the truth as it is. At the beginning, the only difference in action is keeping track – be it by keeping the receipts in some organized container, or writing them down… or whichever method works best for you.
Then after a useful period of time – it could be a week for some, but more likely a month, or perhaps a season – you would take stock of what your financial life has been. This can involve observing – witnessing – those things that we have given our treasure to, as they have been named on your receipts or records. With this perspective, it is easier to reflect on whether that aligns with our values, or whether those resources could be better used on things, places, and people that enrich us more fully.
In this way, my friends, this kind of accounting can help us transform our lives in a way that better reflects who we want be, and how we want to be.
At least, that’s one way to do it. Each of you will have found ways in which you can witness to your actions and the actions of those around you, to name them as they come along, reflect on how that enriches ourselves and our relationships, and become more of who we think we are, or would like to be.
My friends, witnessing, naming, reflecting… transforming – that is the opportunity that mindful accountability can bring to a community of faith. And keeping an account of our stories as they are, and as they have been, with affirmations and unpleasant parts alike, allow us to better know the truth of our communities, that we may seek the changes we wish for ourselves and all our relations.
My friends, may we bear witness to our lives as they are, that we may recognize them for all the work and ministry that they call us to do, that we may intentionally and reflectively be more of who we seek to be.
My friends, may we so hold each other accountably.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in Love, and in Peace Amen
For our cornerstone’s anniversary last week, the Membership Committee put together this Seeds for the Future Card, along with a special-edition printed order of service, as part of a… church care package – bringing some of the more tangible parts of the church closer to your home.
And just like our church, this package, in turn, is both tangible… as well as representative of an idea. It is both here, and in the future.
Because, right now, it’s not quite the right season to plant these seeds, which means they need to be set aside for later, and you’ll be invited to do that come spring. Just as our cornerstone was only the beginning of a physical home for a community that had already been around for some time, these seeds are only the beginning of what can become a future project for growth.
When they are planted – in the future – they will become the beginnings of future growing marigolds… themselves their own beginnings.
The whole process of germination is in itself a continuum of beginnings, from seed, to sowing, to seedling, flowering, pollinating, fruiting, and seeding again. In a way, it’s not entirely clear where the seed ends and the plant begins…
Today, we mark another stage – another beginning – in the lives of… participants in our community, who are now being formally acknowledged as members.
And I say formally, because in many ways – including official ways – all of these participants are in fact already members of our church. As of this morning, they have all signed the right papers (including our membership book), they have made a contribution of record to sustaining our community, and they have been actively involved in the life of the congregation. This morning, we have gathered together, in our physical home, and in your homes, as one church, so that we may all say welcome, we see you, just as you have seen us, and we are glad to have you with us, in good company.
Unitarian Universalist minister and author, the Rev. Robert Fulghum, has suggested that weddings don’t really happen at the wedding ceremony, but rather, a wedding often happens over several days – perhaps weeks, or months – of candid conversation, as partners form a covenant regarding their dreams, their aspirations, their values… their problems – and how they might approach them. That is the real wedding, he says.
And that’s not to say that the wedding ceremony doesn’t matter – on the contrary, it is an important opportunity to celebrate, and for others to witness and partake in the promises and vows that a set of partners builds over time.
Just like a partnership into a marriage, the moment of transformation between participant and member is about as blurry as it might be the case for the seeds in our care package as they transform into a “plantâ€. The growth and development are ongoing processes without necessarily having a clear practical demarcation – yet we mark it nonetheless.
Some of you will have considered yourselves members long before you signed the papers, or came to a ceremony like this one. And so, we take some time to ensure that you know, and that we know, that you know, that yes, you are here in good company, and in the company that you want to be in.
We also do this as a reminder of the covenant that many of you have already taken on, to share in this ministry, in good company. Today, we make this public witness of the vows and promises – the covenant – that you have been building with this community, and that you will likely continue to build into the future. A covenant of shared ministry.
Because a lot of the ministry that happens here is carried out beyond what I do as your settled minister. This afternoon our church voted on a decision about the maintenance of our building – that was your job to do. And, leading up to that decision, a fair bit of legwork was carried out by the Property Committee – assessing what our needs (and our building’s needs) might be, seeking out contractors, obtaining quotes, negotiating accessible rates.
I’ve been present for these kinds of discussions, and from time to time may be asked for my perspective, or I may see the need to offer my take on the matter, but for the most part, it was you and your peers, as members of this church, who have done – and are commissioned to do – this work.
We can say the same for just about all the other work that happens around here. Even for our Sunday worship services, in which I tend to take the lead, there are roles for our lay members to be active in, be it assisting during the services themselves, looking after some of the services, or supporting the journey of worship. I share this ministry with you.
Sometimes, that ministry is more visible – I often name the folks who are taking an active role during the Sunday morning service. Other ministries get named and recognized at other times and other places, and some are carried out with more discretion. And we share these ministries, in good company.
The Unitarian and Universalist traditions have shared in a heritage that recognizes what is sometimes called “the priesthood of all believers†– in our communities these days, we might use language such as “the ministry of all the faithfulâ€.
People in my line of work sometimes carry fancy titles like Reverend or pastor, because we have made a career and life commitment of devotion to our tradition, our values, and the service that this entails, but that doesn’t stop any of you from participating on those same goals, as these tasks fit into your lives.
These may be through a named position, such as chair or member of a committee, or by your involvement in the life of the congregation, or by your financial support, or simply, by the gift of your presence in this company. My friends, your shared ministry in this community of faith puts you in good company.
And our new member ceremony this morning, my friends, allows us to consider and contemplate the meaning and significance of being here, among each other, with each other, for each other, in good company.
Your presence this morning, your presence this afternoon, your ongoing participation in the life of this congregation and your willingness to connect more deeply with each other, and with the world, is part of your ministry in our community of faith.
My friends, without your company, our ministry could not be possible.
My friends you are in good company.
My friends you are good company.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in Love, and in Peace Amen
I’d like to talk a bit about one of the more popular building block options, which many of us may have gotten know as children, or while learning alongside children, or simply being adults finding a passion for building things up at home. It is the LEGO block (and no, this is not a sponsored bit), and I will say that there are sets that are in fact made specifically for adults, as that company has realized that imagination doesn’t need to stop with age.
The standard LEGO building block has two functional ends. There’s the bottom part, which can attach to a base plate, OR to a previous piece. And there’s the top part which is covered with pips that always leave room for the next piece. From then on, almost every piece fulfills the same set of functions. Even the topmost pieces, which often have a smooth surface, for things like roofs, offer some flexibility, as they can always be removed… sometimes with more effort – but it can be done. In this way, whatever your imagination brings up, the toy allows you to adapt in order to meet the needs of your vision.
Now, our cornerstone is built a little different, but it serves a similar function. It is attached to the basement structure of the church, grounding it to the land where it sits. And, with the help of some kind of mortar, it can support different parts of the structure above it, and in the case of our church building, a lot of it is indeed bricks – not that much different than the LEGO bricks (which kind of have their own built-in mortar).
And as the last 140 years have passed, some of these building blocks in our church building have had to be re-arranged to some degree, as the needs of the church have changed, the building has been adapted to meet its vision.
Even our roof pieces can be removed, some of them with more difficulty than others… and in fact, in the coming months, we may need to do just that, so that the building can continue to serve us safely and comfortably. And we, as a church will be discussing this aspect of our building at a congregational meeting next week (Sept. 26).
And whatever we decide, it will come from a place of imagination, from a place of vision, from a desire to allow our church building to serve us as a church, in the service of humanity.
In religious communities, it is a common practice to use pageantry as a way to re-create the stories that are central to a community’s identity and core values, and in that way, to renew these foundations as a common experience among the community in the present.
In our cultural setting, one of the most obvious examples is the Christmas pageant, when the story of a humble family seeking shelter and safety – and eventually revealing hidden divinity – is retold and re-enacted, so that this message of hidden holiness is brought to life once again in a more immediate, experiential way.
Other examples might be the many seasons of fasting that many traditions have, by which a group takes a collective activity that recalls ancestral struggle and scarcity – as well as promise and resilience! Many of you may be familiar with the rituals that come with Lent and Easter, and our Jewish neighbours will now the pageantry and momentary sense of scarcity that come with Passover and Yom Kippur.
Over the past year (and beyond), our church has unexpectedly collaborated in… a pageant of sorts, being that we have somewhat inadvertently participated – as a community – in re-enacting part of the experience that our founders had as they were forming our church 140 years ago.
Last November, we celebrated the founding of our church… without any of us being present in a church building – just as our church’s ancestors had done when they founded our church… without even one stone set down for a building. In that way, we have recreated the experience of our ancestors.
Of course, the founding of our church in 1880 came after a couple decades in which the Universalist message was already coming to life in our area. It was a culmination of many collective efforts to form a community, and live a life that embraced a more radical inclusivity.
This culmination was, in turn, just the beginning of a formal church body. And about a year later, this church body’s work culminated in the beginnings of a church building, by laying down its cornerstone just about 140 years ago. This is because our church founders recognized that, while it may be possible for a community of faith to exist without a building, having a physical home can help it thrive, offering a stable space for the many activities that bring the community closer, as well as being able to become a more visible and active presence in the larger community.
The culminating moment of laying down that cornerstone, was in itself only the beginning of this building, which also took time to reach… one state of completion, a stage that led to later shifts, as the needs of the community have shifted. Our building does not look the way it did in 1881, or 1885, or for that matter, in 1999.
Today, we begin one step into having our building once again become a major part of our church life – that process is still ongoing, and will still take some time for it to reach… another stage of completion. And upon this step we build that next stage into our community’s life.
Now, there is a set of stories in the book that is known as the good news according to Matthew, chapter 16. And… one interpretation of the stories in this chapter is that the prophet Jesus is exploring with his friends and followers the meaning of their ministry and the future of their community. As they are discussing this, one of the leading friends and followers of Jesus has a moment of clarity. My New Testament professor would sometimes translate this follower’s name as “Rockyâ€, though it is more often translated as Peter, which comes from the Greek for rock or stone. Jesus points to his friend and follower, declaring:
“And I tell you, you are Rocky, and on this rock I will build my fellowship, and the gates of the underworld will not prevail against it.†[Matthew 16:18]
The fellowship or assembly that has been commissioned to Rocky, is more often translated as church. And in one of the many puns that show up in the biblical text, we see the coexisting reality of a church being founded on the people, and to a great extent on the places that are built for people in which to gather to continue building their assemblies – their communities.
One of the things we have learned over the past year (or so), is a somewhat contradictory lesson that physical meeting places are both: not as necessary as we might have thought, as well as more important than we ever realized. These are our current coexisting realities.
Yes, life can go on in other spaces, including online. No, it isn’t the same. Yes, we have found new and exciting options. And… the option that this house offers, remains dear and irreplaceable.
The fact that we have not met in person over the last year and a half has not spelled the end of our community of faith (in fact, in some ways it has thrived beyond our expectations). At the same time, we have also felt the absence of our building in our lives, and we share a deep sense of loss at some aspects of our church’s life that simply can’t be fully replicated with our online options.
And the fact that our church was founded nearly a year before our cornerstone was laid, bears witness to the reality that our existence isn’t contingent on having a physical space. Yet, the additional reality that – soon after our founding – our community saw the need to literally lay down the groundwork for a meeting space, is also witness to the intense need for it.
The foundations of a community of faith that were laid down by 23 women and men, and by “Big†Mike Fox, in the years leading to 1880, are the rock-strong leadership upon which this assembly of faith is formed. And upon the cornerstone that was laid down in 1881, this community has found shelter, stability, and longevity – not exclusively, as our work has always gone beyond our walls – but as a base upon which we may find an anchor amid the tempests. Even now, this building is the oldest one in Canada in which a Universalist or Unitarian congregation has continuously gathered (even with the occasional pauses).
The additional options for reaching our community, which we have nourished over the past year or so, aren’t going away. We are easing back into our building… in a tentative manner, and the additional tools that we have to connect will remain.
This goes beyond the practical benefits that they give us in staying connected and offering further connection among the wider community, it is also a theological witness to our Universalist practice of radical inclusion. More options mean that we can include our community in ways that may better serve humanity.
My friends, this building is important, worthy of celebration and ongoing expectation to our reclaiming it, and it is only important insofar as it serves us, in the service of humanity. In it, we will increasingly find another space for us to grow closer together, and welcome all who seek truth in the spirit of inclusion.
My friends, alongside this sacred space, each of us offers a building block in this community, upon which its spirit rests and shines. And I tell you, my friends, you are the building blocks, and upon these stones, we shall build our community, where fear will not prevail and love will be a more powerful force for good.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in Love, and in Peace Amen
Opening Hymn #145 As Tranquil Streams ~)-| Words: Marion Franklin Ham, 1867-1956 Music: Musicalisches Hand-buch, Hamburg, 1690, adapt. Tune: WINCHESTER NEW
If you’ve ever followed the history of medicine, you might have been intrigued by an ancient Greek view about human health, which attributed different ailments, emotions, and healing methods to the balance of four fluids in the body. These fluids, or humours, were labeled as: blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, and while those labels may sound familiar, those words were used to describe different things than what we would now associate with those names.
I won’t go into the details of what these humours were, because our medical understanding nowadays is much different. But I bring them to mind today because each of those humours were associated with different moods or personality types.
Someone who was thought to have more “blood†than usual was labelled sanguine, and was seen as lively, and perhaps more joyful than others. If the imbalance was in “yellow bileâ€, then they were seen as choleric and prone to anger and rage. If it was a matter of “black bile†– or literally in Greek, melancholy – then they were seen as prone to sadness. And the folks labeled as phlegmatic tended to be seen, among other things, as more mellow or reserved.
This is a gross oversimplification. And I’m offering this overview because, to me, the most useful part of this… classification method, was that it named real moods – emotional experiences that real people go through.
And today, I invite us to do that – to recognize our multitude of overlapping moods and emotions – with a different kind of humour… (a humour, is essentially a liquid or fluid – it’s where we get the word humid). And our humour today is water.
A ritual that many of our congregations do around this time of year, is a water ceremony that honours these emotional experiences. One way to do that is to lay out four vessels for us to give witness to some of our emotional experiences as we transition from the summer days and into our new church year.
This was an eventful summer around the world, and chances are that there were some events in your personal lives as well. A range of overlapping, and perhaps conflicting, emotions may have resulted from this, and it’s OK to recognize more than one at the same time.
So, we can lay out vessels for: recognizing joy, happiness, amusement, or other kinds of enjoyable experiences; another one for acknowledging anger, rage, fear, or other bold and sometimes unpleasant experiences; another vessel to honour sadness, grief, or otherwise a sense of loss that we might have encountered around this time; and a vessel to hold our sense of hope, for peace, for a sense of renewing faith, as we come together at this time.
I have short reflections for each of these moods, and pouring some water in a vessel for each of them may be a way for each of us to recognize these states of mind. You’re welcome to set vessels of your own at home and follow your own ritual, or you can simply bear witness to the reflections included here.
Joy, Amusement, Pleasantness
The 2021 Ig Nobel prizes were awarded this past week. (More accurately, it was called “the 31st First Annual Ig Nobel Prize Ceremonyâ€). This awards ceremony is usually hosted from Harvard University, but was done online for the second time this year. The Ig Nobel prizes are awarded to real scientific research that “first makes you laugh, and then makes you thinkâ€.
Among this year’s winners, was research seeking to demonstrate that transporting rhinoceroses upside down is better for them than transporting them on their side – this is surprisingly important knowledge for wildlife veterinarians, who occasionally need to transport ailing rhinos while minimizing harm to them; there was also a study that supports the hypothesis that humans evolved beards as protection from being punched in the face… which can lead to further lines of inquiry; and there was a study that catalogued the array of microorganisms on sidewalk chewing gum, which may offer unexpected insights in the realm of microbiology. There were a total of ten awards, spanning six continents, and I invite you to look them up if you enjoy the combo of laughing and thinking.
These may not sound like ground-breaking research, but as laughable as they may initially sound, each of these endeavours adds to the sum of human knowledge in more profound ways than meet the eye at first glance – they first make you laugh, and then make you think.
Laughter, and by extension any kind of enjoyment, is a basic element in our human existence, and this past summer may have offered many of you with opportunities to find some kind of enjoyment, be it time to rest, or to get to do something you don’t regularly get to do, or perhaps laugh a bit more often… and maybe to think for a bit longer.
Around the Windsor-Essex area, with the Detroit River, and Lakes Erie and St. Clair, water can be a part of summer, even if it’s just a quick view from the street while walking downtown… sometimes, it can be something more engaging, like a day at the beach or a walk on the riverside.
And sometimes, it’s as simple as a cold drink on a hot day.
Pouring this water may help us recognize the moments of joy that we have coming into our reconvening this year, or that we look forward to as we engage in this community again.
Suggested meditation music – Ode to Joy by Ludwig van Beethoven
—
Anger, Rage, and Fear
Among the news this summer and into the fall, we’ve witnessed the frightening developments in Afghanistan, where many people have been desperate to leave, fearing for their lives. And fear often begets anger. Many people around the world have strong feelings about the near-twenty-year war that has just ended.
Along with that comes the memory of the attacks that happened on a clear Tuesday morning 20 years ago. Many of us remember the fear that came with that day, along with the anger that led to many decisions and world events over these past 20 years.
I remember being invited to a Thanksgiving dinner on October 8, 2001, and learning over the dinner that the bombing of Afghanistan had started the previous day. It sobering to consider that it’s only less than a couple weeks ago that that war ended.
The decisions leading to that war have become divisive and we also see that divisiveness around many other issues today: around social and racial justice, around health policy, and around environmental action.
Among our environmental fears, we have witnessed the stormy seas and rainy gales that have come with multiple hurricanes this season, many of them hitting both far away and closer to home.
These stormy fears and this anger are part of our world and our own personal lives, and we can acknowledge it here.
Suggested meditation music – Storm Warning by Frank Mills
—
Sadness, Grief, Loss
Many of us have experienced loss around this time, or may wonder if we may be facing some kind of loss in the coming days.
In the world, we are witnessing the loss of women’s rights in Afghanistan. And over the past year or so, we have seen the loss of health and life due to the pandemic… and other reasons.
With yesterday’s anniversary, many remember the sacrifice given by First Responders in the performance of their duties – simply doing their daily job during a disaster. And this echoes with the experience of many First Responders over the past couple of years, who have given so much of themselves, including their lives, in the performance of their duties during crisis.
With water, we recognize the tears of sadness, literal and proverbial, that may be part of our lives and of our world.
Suggested meditation music – Nocturne by Martha Mier
—
Hope, Peace, Faith
When we talk about the time 20 years ago, the narrative usually mentions both Twin Towers in New York City… it often also includes the Pentagon in Washington D.C., and… sometimes there’s a mention of a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
Of course, the symbolism of Wall Street and the US Department of Defence amid the smoke, along with the numerous casualties involved, bring easily-recognizable images. But sometimes I wonder if an oft-missing headline from 20 years ago, was that field near Shanksville…
Of the four flights that were crashed just over twenty years ago, flight 93 was the only one that didn’t reach its target.
And that wasn’t an accident – it is believed that deliberate action by passengers in that flight prevented it from reaching Washington D.C. and causing even greater harm.
After the closing of Kabul’s international airport at the end of August, it has just been announced, a couple of days ago, that a new civilian flight left Kabul’s international airport – the first in a couple of weeks – bringing people to a safer place, over a week after it was doubtful that this would be possible.
Even amid extreme adversity, there is hope. And faith, in its many manifestations, can help us find a glimpse of peace.
This month there were elections in Morocco and Sao Tome – these are complicated things, and… they always leave space for change… maybe for the better. Here in Canada, we are heading into our own election, and wherever you stand in it, it offers some opportunity for a better life in our country and in the planet.
Water may offer witness to floods of hope, and tranquil streams of peace, that feed growth and change.
Suggested Meditation Music – How Can I Keep from Singing? Traditional
And so, my friends, with the fluid form of these waters, we witness to our moods – to our shared and personal emotional experience that comes with this transitional time, as we face our past, and look to our future.
My friends, may the witness of these humours offer more balance in our lives.
So may it be, In Solidarity, in Love, and in Peace Amen
