Presentation – WESUN – Supporting Ukrainian Newcomers – Andriana Pitre

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Time for All Ages – Literally No One Likes a Grammar Cop | PBS

Reading – The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Sermon – Negative Concord – Rev. Rod

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There is a famous passage from Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, in Act IV, Scene I, which invokes the notion of life’s dreamlike qualities, and particularly the illusions that are inherent in it: “We are such stuff | As dreams are made on” it reads.  And perhaps one of the greater illusions in life, is the very medium that Shakespeare uses – language.

That’s not to say that language isn’t important, or impactful… or real for that matter.  I am using language right now, and much of our church’s life, including this moment, is centred around the power of language.  But, just like life, there are inherent illusions in language, which can take on a power of their own, some of which helps us communicate more clearly, and others which… complicate matters.

The very fact that we can convey the meaning of… anything, by making sounds, or drawing lines, or moving our hands, is based on our mutual agreement on what those sounds and figures are supposed to mean.

In English, for instance, we can use the word church to refer to a spiritual community like this one (and perhaps, by extension, the building that houses it some of the time).  This is a mutually agreed-upon code, which allows us to understand each other when we’re talking about each other in a time and space such as this one.

Of course, it takes only some brief exposure to another language – perhaps during grade 4 French, or when travelling abroad – to realize that different groups of people have chosen their own not-so-secret code to communicate with each other.  Whether they have landed on the word église, or iglesia, or kirche, to describe a spiritual community, the specific word that is used can seem somewhat arbitrary, and it becomes clear that our attachment to certain words to describe certain things can have little relation to the thing itself.  After all, there’s nothing inherent about a spiritual group of people, or about our shared building, that forces us to use one collection of sounds, or lines, or signs, over another.  As long as we have some agreement as to what the code means, we are happy to accept that meaning.

Some of the other illusions of language are its rules.  Sometimes we treat them as if they were divinely ordained and unchangeable, but we need only look at works from William Shakespeare, or Jane Austen, or Edgar Allan Poe, or Gene Roddenberry (of Star Trek fame), or even more recent writings, movies, and TV shows, to see that language, its words and its rules, have shifted across the centuries, decades, and even in a matter of years.

And again, that’s not to say that these rules don’t matter – they give structure to our speech and help make mutual understanding easier and clearer.  Without some version of them, we wouldn’t be able to still understand Shakespeare.  But these rules might not always matter in the way we may think, and those very rules might not even be the rules we think they are.  As tools for communication, they are invaluable; as rigid frameworks, they can get us into trouble.

Take the case of former US President Barack Obama’s inauguration in 2008, when Chief Justice John Roberts – a notorious stickler for grammar rules – prompted Obama to recite the US Oath of Office in Justice Roberts’ preferred word order… which differs from the wording that is required in the US constitution.

While many lawyers generally considered that oath to still be valid, the White House nonetheless took the precaution of having a do-over with the original wording in the constitution, to have all bases covered.  And so, we see that when one person in power decided to enforce their own interpretation of the rules, fear of a constitutional crisis ensued.

And when it comes to English grammar, the rules really are quite often a matter of interpretation.  The elementary school lore that we can’t split infinitives (as is the case with “to boldly go”), comes from a 19^th century opinion that it was best to avoid them, because they didn’t conform with the rules of Latin (never mind that English isn’t Latin).  The same goes with the notion that we cannot end sentences with prepositions, such as with words like “with” or “on”. 

But that’s simply not the way people speak English, based both on the norms that have been passed down over centuries, as well as current usage.  Our old friend Shakespeare ends a phrase with that so-called “mistake” in today’s reading: “We are such stuff | As dreams are made on”, modern movies use the same form: “Who are you talking to?” and no one bats an eye… except for specific folks who have been trained to look for that sort of thing.  Most people don’t find it unusual, because it follows the rules that we have learned and that continue to serve us in communicating, rather than rules that someone thought we’re supposed to use.

Lately, we have been seeing more of this kind of discussion around the pronouns that people use to better reflect their identity.  Some trans and non-binary folks feel that the pronoun they allows them to express who they are in a way that she or he simply can’t.  And there has been some resistance to that usage since many of us are often accustomed to using they as a plural pronoun – or so we think.  Most people will use phrases like “someone took my coffee mug and they need to give it back”, without even noticing that they used the singular they, as do many people everyday.  Heck, even Shakespeare used it.

We even use plural-sounding words like are for individuals in standard English all the time.  Think about it, when I say to one of you that “you are an attentive listener”.  No one raises an eyebrow when you are using are for a single you.  Actually, some people do raise an eyebrow: people who had to learn English later in life (such as myself) – only then did that quirk of the language seem unusual.

And there are dialects in English that have different rules from what many of us may be used to, yet they do have rules that allow their speakers to understand each other.  A notable example is African American Vernacular English.  It has practices that are less common in standard English, such as using double negatives: “don’t go nowhere”. 

For some us, the math of that sentence may seem odd… won’t a double negative make it a positive?  But language isn’t math, and people will understand what that means.  Linguists even have a name for this kind of construction: Negative Concord.  It’s a way of emphasizing the negative meaning in a way that feels consistent throughout a phrase, and it makes perfectly good sense, when you have learned to understand that sense.  It’s also not unusual in many languages.  French and Spanish use negative concord all the time and people have no trouble understanding each other.

The rules in these languages, including African American Vernacular English, are internally consistent, and everyday speakers will recognize when you break those rules of everyday usage.  The fact that African American Vernacular English is sometimes looked down upon, is more an indication of who is often in power, than an issue with the dialect’s grammar itself.

And to be clear, this is not a call to abolish or ignore rules – it is a call to be mindful of what they are, why they are, who uses them, and how they are meant to serve us, rather than us being subservient to them.

I generally stick to the norms of standard English when I speak from the pulpit, as I know that this will allow me to communicate more clearly with most of you, though I also don’t worry too much about breaking with those opinions that are sometimes received as rules – I split infinitives, I end sentences with “on” and “with” (I’ll leave it as homework for you to see where I did that in this sermon!) – I have faith that you’ll understand me when I speak the way that many of us speak.

Linguists that pay closer attention to how language is spoken are said to take a more descriptive approach to understanding our speech and its many illusions.  Those who take a more proactive approach in maintaining certain norms might be called prescriptivist, when they seek to promote rules that aren’t necessarily followed – even though people in everyday speech do follow the rules that serve them well in communicating clearly.

The tension between descriptivism and prescriptivism is familiar to anyone who works in the art of dictionary making.  Lexicographers often find themselves in an awkward position as both observers and authorities of language.  And while many of us look at dictionaries for reference on proper usage and spelling, those who put these collections of words together usually see their work more as mirrors of how we are already using those words.  When their use changes enough, the books eventually follow suit.

My friends, our spiritual tradition can play both of these roles, and there is that inherent tension in it, though I would say it often takes more of the descriptive approach, recognizing the sources of inspiration and wisdom that offer the most insightful guidance in our current lives, and usually limiting our prescriptions to reminding us of how we have agreed to be with each other, with norms that serve us, rather than the other way around.

My friends, Unitarian Universalism has built an identity around stepping back from prescribing what individual members’ spiritual path should be.  The practice of a free and responsible search for truth and meaning, involves a recognition that simply enforcing what meaning should be upon others, seldom serves the needs of individuals or communities.  And, the practice of a responsible search still calls us to work on common understandings and guidelines on how we may carry out that search mindfully, intentionally, and with respect for each other’s needs as members of a community with common needs and goals.

Of course, my friends, there are occasional shifts, as we recognize evolving needs.  Our statements of faith have given way to what was once our six principles, eventually seven.  A year or so ago, we added an eight principle in Canada, to better reflect how we have said we wanted to be with one another, and particularly in dismantling racism and systemic barriers to inclusion in our communities, small and large.

My friends, in a couple of weeks, we are invited to join in a national service, where ministerial colleagues of diverse backgrounds will explore more deeply how we may live more fully into this 8^th Principle, that we may better understand what this norm has meant to us, and how we may better reflect it in our communities and lives.  To get a clearer sense of how we may adhere to the norms of justice that we proclaim to seek.

My friends, there are many ways to express ourselves, and when we agree that we want to understand each other – we can.

So may we be,
In the spirit of mutual understanding,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #187 It Sounds Along the Ages
~)-| Words: William Channing Gannett, 1840-1923
Music: Melody of the Bohemian Brethren, Hemlandssånger, Rock Island, Illinois, 1892, arr.
Tune FAR OFF LANDS

Unitarian Universalists San Luis Obisbo

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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Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

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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Read: [Printable PDF file available for download]

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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Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

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

Hymn #92 Mysterious Presence, Source of All
~)-| Words: Seth Curtis Beach, 1837-1932
Music: William Knapp, 1698-1768
Tune WAREHAM

Andrey Stolyarov

Sermon – Watching Paint Dry – Rev. Rod

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When filmmaker Charlie Lyne subjected the British Board of Film Classification to a 10-hour movie, featuring the riveting action of paint drying, he was protesting the Board’s practice of charging per-minute for reviewing a film for rating purposes – a requirement that he found to be a prohibitive barrier for many independent filmmakers.

In 2016, he set up a fundraising campaign on the website Kickstarter to submit his movie Paint Drying – the more money that was pledged, the longer the cut of his movie that he could submit for review.  The fundraising campaign eventually allowed for a 10-hour cut of Paint Drying, which the Board of Film Classification had to spread over two days, as they have a 9-hour shift limit.

It received a “U” rating – suitable for most audiences aged 4 and up.

As it turns out, Lyne seems to have been following what seems to be a British tradition… viewers in the United Kingdom had already been engaged in the act of collectively watching paint dry in real-time, as far back as 2004, when the channel UKTV took “reality TV” to its next logical step: showing an 8-week season of paint drying, 24 hours a day.

Viewers could engage in the deep rivalries between shades of silk and eggshell as well as debate the nuanced characteristics between glossy and matte finishes.  Then, in full “reality TV” tradition, they’d have a weekly opportunity to vote a paint off the show in an exhilarating showdown of tinting supremacy.

Now, I suppose there may be some among us who might not share an appreciation for the allure of such thrilling viewing experiences like a 10-hour feature movie or an 8-week, 24-hour television series featuring the dramatic twists and turns of paint drying.  But for those who are into this particular genre, I have spoiler alert – in the end, there is a shocking twist: the paint dries.

Now, even if you’ve never seen these particular spellbinding dramas, there may be something about them that may seem… oddly familiar.

There are many times in our personal lives, or the lives of our communities, when it feels like we’re watching paint dry, as a stage of our lives may seem to move at a glacial pace.  And still, we often find ourselves arriving to a moment when things shift, and a page in a particular chapter eventually turns.

This month marked the third anniversary since the covid lockdowns came into force.  You might remember how, a couple weeks into it, folks remarked that March of 2020 was a very long year, which – as it turns out – dragged on for even longer.  It is only last month that we removed our compulsory masking policy in our church.  Eventually, the paint dried. 

Different places moved at different paces – paint does dry unevenly in spots, after all.  And, in some ways, there are some things about the pandemic that may still feel unresolved, as we continue to live with the reality of a rather new respiratory disease in our world.  Even walls with dry paint continue to experience ongoing change – paint chips, new coats of paint eventually come, perhaps a new colour altogether, or even a mural telling a new story.

This past month was also the shifting of the seasons from winter to spring.  Enduring cold days and long nights may sometimes feel like watching paint dry, and even the fickle weather in the weeks of March and April sometimes feels like there are never-ending bouts when winter refuses to end.  But spring is arriving in earnest, and flowers eventually bloom.

The past few weeks have also been a time when other kinds of anticipation are in seasonal vogue.  If you’ve been following a Lenten practice, you may have also been counting down the days toward Easter, when you might see some relief from the additional discipline of Lent.  Whether it’s a matter of easing cravings for chocolate, or looking for respite after some intentional and otherwise fulfilling temporary sacrifice, the road to Easter may well sometimes feel like it’s dragging.  But two weeks out, we can see that Easter is indeed in the horizon, when a new life may be in sight.

Of course, there are always new walls to maintain, or new coats of paint to apply.  Even as Lent is drawing to a close, other neighbours of faith are beginning their own practice of fasting.  As Ramadan began this past week, our Muslim neighbours will spend many daylight hours contemplating the evening time when they may break their fast with a light meal and some water, and there may be times when the crescent moon of Eid may seem tantalizingly far off.

Our world community has also spent several months – over a year – wondering when the dreary chapter of the war in Ukraine may turn a new leaf.  The wait has been agonizing, and yet we remain in hope that the paint will dry.

I have another story of architecture that shifts over long periods of time.  And that is the story of Roman concrete. 

Now, if your childhood was anything like mine – or if your inner child lingers on – you might have had some interesting images in mind when you first heard that the process of concrete setting is properly called “curing”.  Perhaps, you might have visualized a wall of concrete popping back some medication, or imagined a grey concrete slab sitting on a hospital bed, with a cast around its arm or a thermometer sticking out of its mouth… while it’s “curing”.

It turns out that there’s some truth to these images when it comes to Roman concrete.  Unlike our modern concrete, the Roman kind doesn’t just cure once over a few days or weeks – it rather heals steadily over several centuries.

We have known for a long time that the concrete that the Romans used for building long-standing structures, such as the Pantheon in Rome, was different than the concrete we tend to use these days.  Our modern concrete can deteriorate in a matter of decades, but the Pantheon and ancient aqueducts (among other Roman structures) are still standing. 

We have recently learned that Romans had a couple of long-lost techniques that set their concrete apart.  Among these was the use of ingredients such as sea water mixed with mineral quicklime, which left chunks of undissolved lime into the hardened stuff.  As concrete aged and cracked, water would seep in, reactivating the lime, and allowing the concrete to heal itself, so that its lifespan has extended into millennia.

The story of Roman concrete is one of an ongoing long game.  Not a one-time cure, but a constant healing process, as wounds appear in it across time.  It is never “done-done”.  Watching the Pantheon’s structure across the centuries would seem like an uneventful endeavour, but inside its structure, it is still shifting, and enduring.

For some among us, the story of covid has gone beyond breaking out of lockdown or following mask directives, as many of you have had more personal experiences of living with the virus, with unexpectedly long bouts of the illness, or seemingly unending recovery times.  The question of when the paint might dry, or if it ever will, may loom hauntingly in our minds.  It may be hard to think of a single moment when a cure happens, though there may be ongoing times of healing over time.  Even when it doesn’t look like it, shifts are happening.

My friends, among us, we have heard other stories of those parts of our lives when we feel like we’ve been staring at the same wall for too long.  Stories about anxiously awaiting news about our health.  Stories about long journeys of living with grief.  These stories are among our community, and they rarely have a fixed instant when things have “cured”, though some wounds do find healing moments over time.

And my friends, just as Roman concrete has had long-held technical secrets for resilience and healing, we too have special techniques at our disposal, to assist us as life shifts over time.  Spiritual practices to seek out better understandings of ourselves or others, be they seasonal in Lent, or ongoing through a community of faith.  Practices of connecting, that we may offer support to each other when we face a phase in our lives that feels like it might drag on.  The people around us, friends, family, church, who may offer a space to sit with the challenges, and if we’re willing to hear it, offer guidance.

My friends, it is sometimes imperceptible, but the paint really does transform.  And with the right conditions, even hard cracks can find healing.

So may it be,
In the spirit of the ongoing journey,
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing #146 Soon the Day Will Arrive
Words: Ehud Manor, 20^th cent.
Music: Nurit Hirsh, 20^th cent.
Tune BASHANAH

Posted by This is LEA, with Cantor Jason Kaufman (29 July, 2020)

Hymn #283 The Spacious Firmament on High
Words: Joseph Addison 1672-1719, paraphrase of Psalm 19:1-6
Music: Franz Joseph Haydn, 1732-1809, adapt. Dulcimer, or New York Collection of Sacred
Music, 1850, alt.
CREATION

A Cappella Hymns

Sermon – “Feeding Our Community” – guest speaker Rev. Debbie Wilson-Safa (St. John Anglican)

Our guest speaker is Rev. Deborah Wilson-Safa is Vocational Deacon, as well as Community Meal and Outreach Coordinator at St. John the Evangelist Anglican Church in Leamington.

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Good morning and thank you for the privilege to come and share with you today.

First, I would like to share a little bit of who I am, and how I ended up here speaking to you this morning.  I was born and raised in Georgetown (which is this side of Toronto), and I am what you call a cradle Anglican.  Leamington has been my home now for over 30 years.  I have two grown children and one grandchild.  My daughter works in the agricultural industry.  My son and his wife are both doctors.  I am a bookkeeper by profession and continue to still work. I also facilitate a contemplative prayer group, and sit on the Service Teams for both our local and provincial chapters.   This is a very small part of who I am.  This past January, I celebrated my 11th year anniversary of ordained ministry as a deacon in the Anglican church.  This is a special ministry of servanthood under direct authority of our bishop.  We are to serve all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely.¹ 

My liturgical role is to proclaim the Gospel, set the table for Eucharist, clean up; and send out the congregation to go into the community and world to love and serve the Lord.  To be the hands and feet of Christ. 

There is so much more I could say about that journey, it wasn’t easy, life threw many obstacles in the way to ordination.  My ministry is outreach.  This ministry is not rewarded monetarily, it is rewarded through the grace of God by humbling yourself and serving all people. “At all times, your life and teaching are to show Christ’s people that in serving the helpless they are serving Christ himself.”¹

The prophet Micah reminds us that the Lord requires us to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.  (Micah 6:8)

 So, what does that mean for you and I?  I am going to share with you about the outreach ministry taking place in our community, and I hope that will help in shedding some light on that question.

In 2009, the Anglican Consultative Council developed The Five Marks of Mission, which were adopted by the General Convention.  The third mark is “to respond to human need by loving service”.

I was asked a few years ago to speak about the Third Mark, to my clergy colleagues in the diocese.  Intimidating or what?  What am I going to tell a bunch of priests, deacons and bishops about what they already know?  It wasn’t about telling them what to do, but reminding them of what we are called to be.  Just because we have Holy Orders, does not make us less human.  As humans we make mistakes, we say and do the wrong things, but God continues to love us and continues to give us second chances to get it right.  This is the revised version of what I shared with my colleagues …….

Third Mark of Mission:  Service

We at St. John’s Leamington respond to human need by loving service, where we humbly attempt to follow these words of Mother Teresa, “Prayer in action is love, love in action is service.”  Our weekly community meal programme grew out of a Christmas Day Dinner which began 28 years ago.  It was the idea of a parish family who had gone through some difficult times and they wanted to give back to the community which had shared their love and support for them.  I am blessed to have been a witness to that loving service from the beginning, and had that example to share and build upon.  This made me think of the tiny mustard seed and how it grows and flourishes into a tree.  The original idea, was the seed.  The tree’s trunk continues to be the Christmas Dinner, but the branches have become so much more.  Over the years there have been a number of initiatives, some have continued, and others have not, for example, the Easter and Thanksgiving Dinners.  They have been incorporated into the weekly community meal which began October 20, 2010.  Since then, the Angel Clothing Cupboard, Outside Angel Pantry, and so much more, have been implemented all with their own branches shooting forth to provide love and support to those we meet.  From these branches, further growth has sprouted forth in partnerships with North Leamington Mennonite Church, who hosts and prepares the meal on the fourth Wednesday.  We are staffed by volunteers from the parish, the community at large, and other churches.  During the last few years, a greater partnership and sharing of resources has taken place between the local churches and businesses.  For which we are extremely grateful.

That 28-year old seed, has not only impacted those on the receiving end, but more importantly how it has transformed those who are the givers.  What we do for others isn’t to fix them, but to meet them where they are in their need because we are not superior to them.  A number of years ago, at one of the Christmas dinners, a man I knew, who drove taxi, and had dropped off some of our guests, came in, stood at the kitchen door, and said, ‘Debbie, I am hungry.’  My heart and soul still ache when I think of this.  It was a transformative moment for me.  We were providing a place for people to not be alone at Christmas, to share in the joy of the season, to help extend the resources of those who were stretching every last dollar…..people I could relate to in my own life’s experience.  In all that I was doing, or thought I was doing, never prepared me for that most basic request….’I am hungry.’  Someone shared with  me  that ‘service to others, is the rent we pay for our place on earth’, my hope is that we can keep up the payments, as we continue to nurture those small seeds into trees of love.

In some ways I feel as though I have kind of glossed over what is happening in our community.  Sort of giving you the feel good part.  But, not the numbers…. Of meals, dollars, people ….

With COVID came the closing of our communities and life has we knew it.  Our meal and outreach programmes continued as they were considered essential by our Diocese and the government.  However, our way of doing things changed greatly.  No eating in, loss of fellowship (which is extremely important to those struggling), a loss of hygiene facilities for those living rough or couch surfing.  We shifted to take-out and continued with our delivery service to those who are shut-in, had mobility issues or lack of transportation.  We are currently still functioning in this way.

Last year, St. John’s prepared and served 7,063 meals, an increase of over 4% from 2021; and an increase of 109% since our first full year of 2011.  The 2022 meal number included 755 bagged lunches that were initially distributed by the WEHUC outreach workers, which have now been redirected to the Homeless Hub located at the South Essex Community Council.   The 2022 programme cost was $16,800 which was supported by financial donations and investment monies designated for outreach of $11,300, leaving us with a shortfall of $5,500.  These numbers would be much more, if it were not for the generous donations of our local businesses and community members supplying us with bread, vegetables and so much more.   I am not here asking you for donations, but to share with you the toll it takes to support those who are living on the margins, facing food and housing insecurity.  Attempting not to judge how they got there.  We see new faces and hear new stories every week. 

Over the last few years, we have come together as a faith community, along with  service providers and municipal officials to work together to find solutions.  These unfortunately do not happen overnight.  I do wish to share with you some of what has come to fruition.  There are:

2 community meals each week – Leamington United Church on Mondays and St. John’s on Wednesdays

LUC is supported by Feeding Windsor, Meadowbrook Church, St. Michael’s Knights of Columbus, Faith Mennonite Church, and LUC’s congregation. 

5 outdoor food pantries – St. John’s; the Corner of Erie S & Marlborough E; Parkdale Store; St. Paul’s Lutheran Church; St. Michael’s Church

The Bridge – youth ages 14 – 24 (provides food, clothing, laundry and shower facilities)

3 Food Banks/Cupboards – Salvation Army; St. Vincent de Paul; St. John’s

1 Clothing Cupboard – St. John’s

2 Drop-in centres both running 7 days a week  – Homeless Hub at SECC from 9am – 5pm (provides access to services, snacks, rest); Feeding Windsor/Street Angels from 6 – 10 pm (provides soup and coffee, a place to warm up) located at the Leamington Community Hope Centre (the former Knox Presbyterian Church)

The Finding Home report which can be accessed on the South Essex Community Council’s website, which was the result of the Leamington Homelessness Project which both Rev. Rod and I participate.  I encourage you check it out. 

Unfortunately, we do not have any overnight shelter for people who are living rough.  The closest shelters are in Windsor, and many do not wish to go.  There are many reasons for this. 

Returning to the question I posed earlier, what does that mean for you and I? Have you formulated an answer for yourself?  For me, Archbishop Linda Nicholls (Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada) said, ‘the heartbeat of the diaconate is actually at the edges of the community where the deacon is the link between the church and the world.  Helping the world see the love of Christ in action, and keeping a proverbial foot in the door of the church so it cannot become self-absorbed and must let some of the sights, smells, and sounds and needs of the world in and be able to go out sent into the world to be Christ to others.”²   Yes, this is what God has called me to.  But you as well have been called, to love your neighbour, strive for justice and peace, to respect the dignity of every human being.   We can do this, it won’t be easy, we will fall down and we will fail, but we will stand again and again.  Why?  Because we are not alone… God lives in us, and we live in God!!  With this we can “Transform, revive, and heal society.” ³   This line comes from a worship song called “We Seek Your Kingdom”, set to the tune of “Abide with Me” and can be found on YouTube.  It is to provide encouragement and a call to action – a declaration that each of us can join in God’s kingdom work right where we are.  We are all the hands and feet of Christ.  We will use them in different ways, at different times in our lives.  That’s okay.  God only asks us to do our best.

As the deacon, I send you forth into the world to go in peace and serve God, as we “Transform, revive and heal society”.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

Copyright © 2023 Deborah Wilson-Safa

Closing Reflection Music – We Seek Your Kingdom – Noel Robinson, Lou Fellingham, Andy Flannagan, Donna Akodu

LICC

Opening Hymn #360 Here We Have Gathered
~)-| Words: Alicia S. Carpenter, 1930- , © 1979 Alicia S. Carpenter
Music: Genevan psalter, 1543
old 124th

Unitarian Society of Santa Barbara (20 March, 2021)

Sermon – Complicated People – Rev. Rod

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Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

When the Unitarian Universalist Association’s latest supplement of readings for worship Lifting our Voices, was published in 2015, it included a short reading from Aung San Suu Kyi. 

I suspect, however, that this reading is probably not used very often in our worship services, even though the spirit of its words would likely resonate with us.  It goes: “It is not enough simply to call for freedom, democracy and human rights.  There has to be a united determination to persevere in the struggle, to make sacrifices in the name of enduring truths, to resist the corrupting influences of desire, ill will, ignorance and fear.” (Lifting our Voices #146)

This was published in 2015, the same year that her political party in Myanmar had won a supermajority in parliament, paving the way for her to become State Counsellor – effectively the civilian head of government, leading Myanmar in its transition from military dictatorship toward democratic government.

By then, Suu Kyi was already well-known in the international community, widely regarded as a champion of democracy for Myanmar, and had received several awards and recognitions worldwide, including the Nobel Peace Prize in 1991.  Suu Kyi had a prestigious pedigree, being born the daughter of Aung San, who is styled “the Father of the Nation” for his role for independence in what was then called Burma, and she further gathered worldwide sympathy when she became a political prisoner in the 1980s and 1990s.

In 2011, her life under house arrest was portrayed in the movie The Lady by none less than Michelle Yeoh (whom you would recognize from the latest blockbuster Everything Everywhere All at Once) – I remember watching the film The Lady with my grandmother in the theatre, and felt quite inspired by her struggle on behalf of her country.

It is little wonder, then, that her words of encouragement toward the cause of democratic government were chosen by the editors of Lifting our Voices in 2015.

And then… things shifted.  While she was in office, the world came to know about the plight of the Rohingya people, a Muslim minority group in Myanmar, who have been consistently reported to be persecuted and brutalized by Myanmar’s military.  Often being denied full citizenship, living in poverty, and facing constant danger, many Rohingya fled to Bangladesh or sought refuge in other countries.

Now, Aung San Suu Kyi has not been identified as the initiator of the Rohingya persecutions, but she has faced intense international criticism for her inaction in what has often been recognized as a genocide, as well as for her refusal to acknowledge the involvement of Myanmar’s military in extensive massacres, even defending it before the International Court of Justice.  Suu Kyi has also faced several other criticisms, including her treatment of journalists while she was in office.

It was not long after her words were published in Lifting our Voices that Suu Kyi fell out of favour in progressive circles and the larger international community.  Several leaders in civil society across the world called for her Nobel Peace Prize to be revoked, though there is no mechanism to do that.  She has, however been stripped of many of her accolades by civil institutions and governments that had previously supported her, including her honorary Canadian citizenship.

Because of this, I suspect that most worship leaders who know the background to this story would likely hesitate to use her words in ministry, despite their inspiring appeal for human rights.  This is not because the words aren’t important or worthwhile, but by honoring her in the context of human rights, it might bring into question the value of those very words, and perhaps the reader’s understanding of them.

It bears mentioning that her role as State Counsellor had limited power, and that Myanmar’s military still had significant sway in the running of the government.  Analysts have observed that it might have been difficult for Suu Kyi to have stayed in office as long as she did had she taken bolder action for the sake of the Rohingya people.

Because then… things shifted again.  As can be seen in a workout video that inadvertently captured military vehicles in the background, Myanmar went through a military coup in 2021, losing much of its civilian power institutions, including the offices held by Suu Kyi and her party.  She was once again arrested for charges that seem to be politically motivated and has effectively become a political prisoner once again.

As conflicted as the international community might have been about her, many advocated for her release and reinstatement, given that she represented a greater figure for democratic government than what has, once again, become a reality of military rule in Myanmar.

My knowledge and understanding of Myanmar’s politics, history, its people and its dynamics is quite limited.  And I hesitate to make a pronouncement on her character.  I have never been a political prisoner, nor held an office of comparable power.  I don’t believe that I’ve done anything that would warrant a Nobel Prize, nor anything that would warrant calls for its revocation.  I might imagine what I think I should have done had I been in her position, but I don’t actually know how I would have, in fact, acted if faced with her reality.

Though I am more certain about some other things.

I know that what I’ve heard about the Rohingya people’s recent story brings me great discomfort.  And that persecution of a vulnerable minority group is not something that I want to see in the world I live in.

And I recognize that I have the luxury of not being in the position of a Rohingya person, without a true appreciation for the hardships that many of them have gone through, including direct danger to life by the government.

I also know that I’ve done things in my lifetime that have hurt people and that I greatly regret.  I don’t think these make me a bad person, but they do offer some guidance on who I want to be now, and how I might become a better person than I was or currently am.

Among those things, is recognizing the different layers that people have, and in the case of Suu Kyi, I feel that if I ever feature her words of democratic and human rights advocacy, I also need to acknowledge parts of the story in which her public record is more complicated.

There are complicated people in the world, and we are each complicated people.

Closer to home, a similar kind of discomfort comes to mind around the author J.K. Rowling and her intellectual property, primarily media relating to her Harry Potter series.

Harry Potter captured the imagination of an entire generation, including people of all ages, starting in 1997.  I worked at a bookstore when the final book in the series was released, to great fanfare, and was asked by management if I would dress up as the lead character on the weeks leading to it, since they saw a resemblance in me – I even got a bookseller’s nametag with Harry Potter engraved in it.  J.K. Rowling had become a literary superstar.

And then… something shifted. 

In recent years, Rowling has made several statements that have been hurtful to the trans community, including dismissive remarks about trans women and declarations that disregard the nuances of sexual and gender diversity.  She has also implied that increasing access to certain services for trans women would put cis women in increased danger, without acknowledging the dangers that trans folks face on a regular basis.

Many fans have found what Rowling has said, or the way she says it, rather disappointing.  And the Potter fandom community has been struggling with how to reconcile their appreciation for the Potter lore with its creator’s refusal to acknowledge the reality faced by trans folk around the world.

In trying to understand Rowling’s perspective, one might note that she has expressed fears about her safety as a cis woman who has experienced sexual violence.  And some of her critics also invite attention to the source of those fears, so that they may be honoured and addressed – without neglecting the fear that trans folks often face in everyday life.

And, there have been notable causes for concern about the toxicity around this conversation.  The way that some critics of Rowling have further threatened her safety, or focused on attacking her character, rather than educating or engaging her, her supporters, and the general public around trans matters, have raised appeals for what might seem like more gracious approaches.

I don’t know Rowling’s experience or how I would act if I were in her position, given what has shaped her worldview.  But I do know that trans folks often find themselves among the marginalized people in our world, who need our support and solidarity.

I also know that, not being trans myself, I don’t face the same challenges and struggles that they do, and I usually have the opportunity to be more gracious with people who do not yet have some appreciation of what trans life can be like.

Trans folks often don’t have the same luxury, and may often need to prioritize their own wellbeing and self-preservation over graciousness or politeness.  Those latter approaches may be the kind of work for people like me to do.

My friends, I’m not here today to prescribe how you should feel about these figures or your relationship with the stories of any other complicated people.  But I do offer a set of invitations.

An invitation to acknowledge our own complicated lives, our actions, and our stories, and identifying how we may improve upon them (that is one of the appeals of the Lenten season).

There is an invitation, my friends, to be mindful of the people that face immediate danger to their lives or hardship due to who they are, and who may often have little space, time, or energy to walk us through their experience, especially when they’re not sure of other’s intentions.

And, my friends, there is an invitation to be gracious with others, especially when others are not in a position to offer that grace.

My friends, there is a time for grace and a time for anger, a time for forgiveness and a time for accountability, a time to look out for oneself and a time to look out for others, a time for self-reflection and a time for self-improvement.

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

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing #213 There’s a Wideness in Your Mercy
Another accompaniment, 161
Words: Frederick William Faber, 1814-1863, alt
Music: Amos Pilsbury’s United States’ Sacred Harmony, 1799
Tune CHARLESTON

Michael Tacy