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

Sermon – I Could’ve Sworn! – Rev. Rod

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

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

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

Except, we didn’t call them belugas…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My friends, may this be our day,

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

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn – Baby Beluga

by Raffi

Time for All Ages – Vsauce – Simultaneous Brightness Contrast

We Still Can’t Explain This Illusion | Vsauce | Michael Stevens

Sermon – Simultaneous Brightness – Rev. Rod

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Growing up, I remember being fascinated by magic tricks – or, properly called, illusions.  Seeing that people could do seemingly-impossible things was awe-inspiring and exciting.  Eventually, my mom got me a few magic kits, and I started peeking behind the curtain.  This, of course, brought me to the paradox of losing the magic of the illusion – literal disillusionment – while gaining the excitement of possibility for creating that sense of wonder in others.

But the thrill of these kits can be surpassed by what I found in optical illusions.  Optical illusions were like magic – but real!  Whenever I found them, they were usually presented without pretense – it was literally advertised that they were illusions, and they still worked!  Even after you learned “the secret” behind them, they would often still successfully fool they eyes… or, more precisely, the parts of the brain that processed the visual inputs.

I eventually found that there are also such things as auditory illusions, tactile illusions, olfactory illusions, and gustatory (taste) illusions.

There’s something both amazing and… unsettling about optical illusions, as well as the other sensory illusions there are out there.  The optical kind are like portable magic on paper – set down plainly to prove that we can’t always believe our eyes, or our senses… or ourselves.  They open up the doors of our perception to the wonder that there may be more to what we think we know… and also a reminder that we really don’t always know what is out there!

MIT Professor Edward H. Adelson offers an illustration of what is known as the checker shadow illusion, also known as simultaneous brightness contrast.  It shows how two identical grey spots can seem to have different brightnesses, depending on how they contrast with their surroundings.

Exploring this particular illusion, we can go a bit further, as it exposes how these distortions of reality may well serve a vital purpose – literally.  Michael Stevens, from the channel Vsauce, remarks that, as our brain artificially amplifies the contrast of the same shade of grey (in essence, lying to us), it is also making us more acutely aware of a different kind of truth: the differences in our environment that can bring life-changing stories – including potential threats.

The story of our collective brains’ evolution, through natural selection is often like that, distorting some of our perception – on purpose – so that we may be better aware of things that our survival might depend on.  Quite exciting, if unsettling, when you think about it.

The story of mythology is also often like that.  Sometimes, the word myth is used as a synonym for “lie” or “untruth”.  But the truth is more complicated that that.  Storytellers, elders, theologians, sociologists, psychologists, politicians, and other groups that use mythology on a regular basis, understand that myths are an integral part of our life as a species and as a society.  They may not be factual records of past events, but that’s not the point, in their ostensibly fictional accounts, they expose deeper truths about ourselves, of where we come from, who we are, who we want to be, and where we want to go.

To be able to receive these mythologies can be a matter of survival, by guiding us in a way that we may understand ourselves, our histories, our personal goals, our common goals, and our search for meaning, in a way that plain facts never could.

For instance, the novel The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel is what might be called a mythology about mythology.  It was released in 2001, so I apologise if you haven’t gotten around to reading it yet – minor spoilers here.  All I’ll say, is that it includes the story of a boy who survived by the grace of a mythology that he constructed in the midst of intense hardship.

Let’s take a look at some of our own stories, such as our own Unitarian Universalist tradition.  That mouthful of a name tells a whole set of stories, which are… not always entirely true in how we live those names these days, but which also expose who we have been, and how we have become who we are now – and where we want to go from there.

The original Unitarian heresy, as a reaction to the trinitarian conception of the divine, is not something we spend a lot of time on in many of our congregations today (certainly not in our particular church).  Whether your conception of the sacred involves a triune deity or a unitary God, or no specific divinity at all, is not usually our most pressing concern.  Some of you may even espouse a trinitarian theology – and we have space for that here (as it happens, the Unitarian Church of Montreal made a conscious decision to allow trinitarians in their midst over a hundred years ago).

But the freethinking approach to embrace a notion that revelation is not sealed and that the search for truth requires continuous work and struggle, has remained a true living foundation of our tradition.

Likewise, our Universalist roots, which our church of Olinda was founded upon, have shifted in a way that its truth holds multiple simultaneous values.  The joyful heresy of universal salvation, as a rejection to a story of eternal damnation, holds some truth in our community – even if many among us may not be particularly invested in the concept of an afterlife.  And the heritage of radical inclusion continues to be a true foundation and aspiration of our spiritual community.

And that brings us to the wider conception of faith.  There are many ways to define it, but there’s one definition that I find particularly inspiring – and challenging.  Faith is sometimes described as hope despite evidence to the contrary.  And this can be a tricky approach, as it can seem like a call toward blind faith in unfounded leadership or practices.  If, however, we look back at our collective history, we see the amazing deeds that have been achieved by people collaborating on making seemingly-impossible feats become reality.

When prophetic people fought against slavery in Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United States, abolition might have at times seemed like a hopeless dream – but despite the immediate evidence against it, they kept faith that it was a sacred task worth taking on.

So has been the fight for gender equality and equity, as prophetic women, men, and people of all genders took on difficult and risky work to make an impossible reality real – with some of their goals unachieved within their lifetimes – or ours.

The dream of marriage equality, in which our tradition was an integral participant, had seemed impossible at times, and yet we have lived that reality now… going on decades.

The gradual shifts in government policies that go from policing drug use toward treating addictions – and prioritizing people – have seemed like slow, agonizing battles, and yet we see evidence that it is happening.

My friends, all of these are ongoing enterprises, the struggle continues, and a faith that holds despite what we might immediately see, is vital to the survival of these holy tasks.

My friends, there is plenty of reason for despair – we know the reasons, I don’t need to list them here – but with a faith that struggles through the factual present, toward a transforming, emerging reality, we may well continue to fulfill a prophetic future.

My friends, may we be in that faith,

So may we be,
In the spirit of simultaneous wonder, despair, and hope
Amen

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #83 Winds Be Still
~)-| Words: Richard S Kimball, 1934- , © 1986 Tirik Productions
Music: Samuel Sebastian Wesley, 1819-1876
Tune LEAD ME LORD

UU Society of Grafton and Upton, Grafton MA (30 June, 2021)

National Sunday Service, Hosted by the Canadian Unitarian Council

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

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

Unitarian Universalists of San Luis Obispo

Presentation by Brian Bedard, introduced by Ray Stone

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Reading

“Nobody Talks About This” – Hank Green

Sermon – Significant – Rev. Rod

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

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

Mike Menefee (1 October, 2020)

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

Sermon – Loophole – Rev. Rod

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where do those extra six days come from?

The answer lies in days like today – Sunday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2023 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

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

Jennifer McMillan for Westwood Unitarian Congregation

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

Mike Menefee