Unitarian Universalist Church of Olinda

November 2022 Newsletter

November 1st, 2022 . by William Baylis

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At the Altar of our Ancestors

October 30th, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Opening #322 Thanks Be for These
~)-| Words: Richard Seward Gilbert, 1936- , and
~)-| Joyce Timmerman Gilbert, 1936 , © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Music: Hungarian Melody, 16^th cent.,
~)-| arr. by Robert L. Sanders, 1906-
Tune TRANSYLVANIA

Jess Huetteman (27 March, 2021)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQv-nPCPeCw

Homily – At the Altar of our Ancestors – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

Today, some of us have collaborated in a joint altar – a shrine – to commemorate those who have gone before us – our dearly departed, people who we can now come to see as ancestors. The particular altar we’ve set up in our sanctuary has some elements that are common in the ofrendas or altars that are set up around this time of year during the Mexican Day of the Dead (and in some other places as well). This can include items like food and candy, colourful ornaments and banners, and skull motifs.

Although this particular setup might not be common among many of your cultures of origin, I – having a background in this practice – have extended an invitation to you to participate in it, recognizing that there are also ways to do similar practices that are more in tune with your own backgrounds.

After all, setting up photos or mementos of those who we miss, is not something that’s exclusive to one culture, I suspect most of you do something of this kind already.

The Mexican style, of course, has some distinctive traits. In the season of the Days of the Dead, the custom also tends to include intentional gathering, often with music, and partaking in some of the food and treats.

But, while visiting Mexico this summer, I was reminded that these altars are actually not exclusive to this season. Sure, the days around the feasts of All Saints and All Souls do prompt people to ensure the altars are set up, updated, maintained, and intentionally admired, often with a group of family or friends, but many households actually keep these up – or some version of them – year-long.

This past August, while visiting Mexico, I noticed that many family members had a table, or maybe some furniture in a corner of the house, where these photos and items where perpetually set. As I looked at these, certain conversations came up – we’d pick up the photos and reminisce, and maybe we’d share the stories with other guests who were not familiar with the names or the anecdotes. Even though it was the summer, the practice of honouring our ancestors endured.

I noticed that, in reliving these stories – or in learning some new stories – I came to a deeper understanding of how these people who came before me have shaped who I am. Some of these ancestors did so while I was already around, but some were gone long before I was born. And still I saw that their lives influenced mine. And just as our ancestors have done, so do we become ancestors to people we might know now, as well as to those who we might never know.

During my summer visit, one of my aunts had been safeguarding my deceased grandfather’s family bible – I’ve put it in the altar this morning. She figured that I might be the grandchild in the family who might most appreciate being the keeper of this particular personal effect from my grandfather. And having this around the house offers me another point of connection with him.

This week, a different thing happened, as I got something in the mail from a – living – friend of mine. It was these Day of the Dead-themed socks, with a traditional sugar skull design. Knowing that I like socks with… cute designs, and that this Mexican holiday holds particular significance to me, he saw them, bought them, and mailed them to me.

Once again, I got to thinking that, as we are around, here with each other, each of us is also on track to becoming a cherished ancestor. Sometimes, this kind of connection may be expressed through gifts, and over the next couple months, many of us might engage in that kind of activity during the holidays.

But the greater part is reminding each other of the presence that our dear ones represent in our lives. Physical gifts do that some of the time, and spending time with each other is another way to give of ourselves, be it through remote connections, or in-person, as it has now become more practicable. Some of you have now been taking part in our church dinner series – hosting and attending – building new memories into the ancestry that we want to be for each other.

My friends, I know that many of you have some version of an altar at home – shelves, mantels, or dresser tops, with photos and other articles, which have memories of people you’ve shared your life with – casual corners that have, over time, been transformed into a shrine.

On these shrines, my friends, you may find items that represent both people who are still alive, as well as many that have transitioned to a presence that is now centred around our memories. Some of you might choose to gather these latter ones together in one space – though, whichever place is conducive to honouring their memory will be appropriate enough.

And if there are photos are of people who are still around, some of them might be visiting or connecting every once in a while, ready to reminisce, to name those ancestors alongside you, to make ongoing memories. Sometimes, my friends, new memories are made, as we coauthor a new ancestry for those who come after us.

So may it be,

In keeping memory,
And in building memories,
Amen

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

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

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Defenders of the Faith

October 23rd, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Time for All Ages – What did democracy really mean in Athens?

| Melissa Schwartzberg (TedEd)

Sermon – Defenders of the Faith – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

About four weeks ago, I attended the municipal candidates’ debate at the Roma Club in Leamington. It was a fairly full house, where we were able to meet most of our candidates face-to-face, and hear directly from them as to how they feel about issues important to the community.

I thought about how this represented one aspect of our Fifth Principle, which supports the use of the democratic process in our communities, and how participating in this aspect of the process was an enactment of faith.

It also reminded me of a similar meeting about four years ago, when our last municipal election was underway.

This year’s gathering felt like a larger crowd, but more notably, I paid attention to the kinds of questions that were put to the candidates, as well as the issues that many candidates themselves brought up. Some of these issues were perennial items you’d usually expect: property taxes, sanitation, infrastructure – important topics to be sure, but not out of the ordinary in municipal politics. But I did notice a significant shift in some issues that were not discussed nearly as widely the last time around, such as affordable housing and homelessness, addiction support and safety, and public transit.

I began to consider – what might have brought along this shift?

When I first studied political sciences in university, one of the courses that stuck with me the most was around the history of democracy. Up until then, I had somehow taken democracy as a given: a logical conclusion that simply made sense and would be the inevitable goal of any rational society.

There may be some truths to this line of thinking, in that the last several hundred years have given way to an increasing number of governments that follow democratic principles and guidelines, and the places that do so tend to do better than the places that do not. But the historical record isn’t as neat and tidy… it really did take centuries of struggle – or even millennia, depending on when you start counting – to establish the kind of institutions that we associate with democracy today.

Some of this struggle was rhetorical – debates and essays… philosophical publications by classical thinkers such as Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, or Jean Jacques Rousseau, articulating and promoting the ideals that have become part of current democratic societies (and if you’re into this subject, you might notice that I’m leaving out many other names). But some of this struggle was more literal and concrete – economic advocacy, power struggles, demonstrations, rebellions, revolutions, and yes, even wars.

And the notion of who benefitted from these democracies has also shifted over time… the idea that all are created equal has not always been applied equally to all (the fact that the phrase is still often cited as “all men are created equal” belies this limited application of the principle – and even then, this notion didn’t always apply to all men).

Even though I should have known better, I still had some romantic idea in my mind that democracy was established by some kind of… John Locke or Rousseau fan club… or something, where people sat down, took the philosophers’ ideas, and just decided that this was the best way to run their government.

But what philosophers like Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau were speaking about in laying out their democratic principles, was often more of an observation of previous developments as much as a plan for future ones. Yes, those written ideas did inspire the formation of certain institutions, such as the emerging governments in the Americas and revolutionary France, but these writings were already building on other more concrete work by others.

The idea that there is a social contract between the governed and the government might more often be seen as a kind of series of historical accidents and developments over the centuries, than one actual sit-down session when such a social contract was drawn up. Yes, there have been actual sit-down sessions when papers are signed, but these have often been as much codifications of emerging practice, as times when the original ideas and agreements were created.

To take the familiar example of our country’s heritage, which draws from the British Parliament, it took close to a thousand years for the monarchy to transition to the symbolic figurehead that we’ve come to know (and which many of us now often have the luxury of ignoring, other than occasional engagement with its pageantry or family drama).

The Magna Carta started as an agreement that King John was… “encouraged” to sign following economically powerful individuals pursuing their own interests. This was a small group of individuals, more interested in themselves than on equal rights for all. And even then, it took a few false starts for a Magna Carta, as we know it, to be truly established.

But that seed of regulation of power, did eventually inspire and lead toward expanding rights for the interests of more people – perhaps most people – leading more recently into universal suffrage for all adult citizens (which, to be sure, still leaves a lot of people out, and even those who are eligible to participate may encounter barriers to doing so, beyond the letter of the law). All of this took ongoing engagement, struggle, and vigilance.

Where does this history leave us, on days like today, on the eve of several municipal elections? And what does it mean for us as ongoing defenders of our faith and principles such as engagement in the democratic process?

To begin with, part of the vigilance involves remembering that municipal elections – while not as flashy as provincial or federal elections – still deserve as much attention. For one thing, many of the decisions made by town and city councils are liable to affect us very directly, just like any provincial of federal law.

And these are decisions in which we may have much more power than we might expect. Being that each of us, as individuals, have a larger share of the voice toward our local leaders, we may indeed have a greater effect in influencing our local community interests. And that’s without even mentioning that we may have a closer proximity to those leaders – many of us might well know our local councillors or even mayors personally… maybe even on a first-name basis.

When I attended that candidates’ meeting about four weeks ago, I saw that the shifting conversation at the meeting reflected many of the conversations I’ve seen around the community, including with colleagues from Leamington Ministerial.

You have heard me speak about the regular meetings that Leamington Ministerial has had with the mayor and other municipal leaders over the past four years. One of the main topics has been around addressing homelessness in the community and finding solutions toward more affordable housing. Other related topics also came up.

Now, I wouldn’t want to give the impression that the local clergy can claim all the credit for the movement of these conversations. Other community organizations have been involved, taking leadership, offering resources, and putting in a lot grunt work on the matter. But I will say that the changes in policy focus since our initial meetings at the Town Hall have been quite affirming and gratifying, and I can’t help but feel that the initiative offered by our association played an important part in bringing focus to these issues. And, of course, we weren’t the first to identify these kinds of community needs. Social justice has been a core value in many communities of faith for a very long time, including our own.

My friends, tomorrow, many of you will have an opportunity to participate in one aspect of the democratic process, and we are blessed to have that option. Voting is one of the more visible and immediately impactful ways for the community to voice its priorities and direct effective policy. It is one exercise in our defense of a faith that believes in a democratic process.

And, of course, my friends, election days are also but a moment in the process. In some ways, elections are affirmations or confirmations of other years-long projects, collective work, and ongoing conversations, which must happen before, during, and after elections.

After tomorrow, my friends, the work of the democratic process will continue. Democracy will happen among the diverse communities that you participate in, be they in associations or clubs, tabletop conversations with friends and with family, or casual conversations at work or in a common space. That too, is work that can shift attitudes, values, policy direction and results. That too, is a defense of our faith’s principles.

My friends, the power we have may seem modest, but it’s real. May we use it for the common weal of our communities.

So may it be,
In defense of faith,
Amen

Closing #126 Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing
Words: v. 1 Robert Robinson, 1735-1790, adapt.,
~)-| vs. 2-3, Eugene B. Navias, 1928-
Music: John Wyeth, Repository of Sacred Music, Part II, 1813
Tune NETTLETON

Unitarian Universalist Church Utica (28 February, 2021)

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Ablutions

October 16th, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Opening #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 (12 January, 2021)

Sermon – Ablutions – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available for download]

Yesterday was Global Handwashing Day, and an awareness day like this reminds us that it is worth taking stock of what this simple act means for us. Where and when does it come from? And why is it still important for us to recognize this act even as handwashing is commonplace the world over?

Most – perhaps all – spiritual traditions have rituals that revolve around water, and particularly, washing.

Of course, when it comes to things spiritual, we like to use fancier words than just “washing”. So, when describing many of the spiritual washing rituals there are, we often use the word ablution (or ablutions for the collection of these rituals).

Unitarian Universalism’s ancestry includes the Protestant tradition, which in turn means that we have some spiritual ancestry in Christian and Jewish teachings and writings. Jewish scriptures laid out many forms of ritual purification by washing after certain activities or situations. Many of these include bodily functions, though it also involves washing before special events, such as entering a worship space, initiating a ritual, or preparing for prayer. Different Jewish traditions carry out versions of these practices.

There is also carryover into Christianity, and priests in particular may carry out a number of purification practices when preparing for certain spiritual activities. The specifics vary in the many Christian traditions, but they are there. And of course, the act of baptism is a near universal part of membership in Christian faiths, signifying entrance into a new kind of spiritual life.

The related Muslim tradition also includes purification rites with water, including washing the hands and face, and sometimes the feet or other parts of the body, depending on circumstance. These are often done before prayer, as well as other everyday activities. Many devout Muslims might include purification with water before handling the text of the Quran.

Beyond these – the Abrahamic traditions – the preponderance of using water as spiritual preparation does not disappear. On the contrary, it is quite present in virtually any major religion you might encounter.

Hinduism, Buddhism, Baha’i faith, Shinto, and so many others we could name, will have some form of use of water as a spiritual element. Sometimes, these have intuitive hygienic sense, but they are more readily recognized as spiritual practice.

It is worth noting that purification rituals don’t need to include water. For instance, while many indigenous spiritual practices do involve washing rituals, many of you have observed the very common practice of smudging with smoke from a medicine plant, such as sage or sweetgrass, as a way to ready one’s mind and spirit for a sacred time and space.

In our tradition, the use of water in ritual is relatively limited, but we still do it. Often, we use it in child dedications or baby naming ceremonies. Although this isn’t a baptism in the way other churches might recognize it, it is still a rite of passage to mark an important occasion and bring us together as a community with a common goal for the formation of a child.

We also have our annual Water Ceremony, as we did in September. And although we don’t usually use this water for washing. The ritual does, in a sense, allow us to flow from the summer season, into our dawning program year.

For us, and most places around the world, washing has also increasingly taken a primarily practical significance, especially as global understanding of infection, and the role of germs in it, has become well established over the past few centuries. But just because washing may be increasingly viewed in mundane terms of hygienic or medical value, it does not mean that this everyday practice needs to lose spiritual value.

For one thing, washing for practical purposes is a practice of celebration and preservation of life. It is a way to continue being connected with those around us, while reducing the risk of harm to others.

Over the past couple of years, the value of simple handwashing has taken a renewed place in our consciousness. Pandemic season has also been a reminder that, although we may have grown up with this practice, it pays off to take the time to remember to do it properly for the best results – a quick rinse with a token amount of soap is not quite the same as a proper scrubbing for a pre-set minimal amount of time (such as 20 seconds), with a healthy dose of soap and intentionally reaching all the appropriate places.

There is a lesson there around the need to constantly re-evaluate where we are at, examining whether we are where we want to be, and pledging to do better, even when we’ve fallen by the wayside.

But even though we’ve had this reminder, it may already be falling by the wayside. Many of us took a more diligent approach to handwashing when it seemed that Covid might be readily transmitted through touch. And while it is now more likely that infection happens through airborne transmission, it still pays off to observe proper handwashing technique – not just to minimize one other vector of transmission, but also because there are other diseases that are, and have always been, prone to pose a risk through touch.

This is why taking some time to recognize relatively obscure “global holidays” such as Global Handwashing Day, is still relevant to us. Even when we think we know what we’re doing, it is worth pausing to consider whether we could be doing better.

I have previously spoken about the story of Ignaz Semmelweis, the Hungarian physician who advocated for handwashing for surgeons in maternity wards in the mid-19^th century. He is sometimes offhandedly credited with “inventing” handwashing, though this, of course, is not accurate, as witnessed by the many ancient traditions that include handwashing and other cleansing rituals with water. But he did make a methodical and intentional evidence-based case as to why it was necessary, especially in a setting where it wasn’t being done (such as the maternity ward of the Vienna General Hospital).

The magic of recognizing handwashing is that it is a simple practice, especially when the adequate infrastructure has been set in place. Yet, in its simplicity, it can bring immense rewards, including a longer life expectancy and quality of life.

The same goes for spiritual ablution. It’s a simple act that, in addition to any physical purification, it may also offer mental purification, helping to focus the mind into a more worshipful space.

My friends, in our daily lives there are many simple acts we carry out for what may seem purely practical reasons… mundane reasons. And these mundane actions can take a spiritual dimension, if we let them. Take the act of breathing, for instance… we do it all the time. But when we allow ourselves some time and space to do it intentionally, it may offer a place for peace, or mental preparation, a rite of settlement into a spiritual home. It can be an air ablution, a ritual washing with breath.

Perhaps meditation in stillness is not how your mind has come to find these sacred spaces. That’s OK, for I suspect you can find something else that may lead you in that direction – something mundane, yet sacred, that helps you wash your mind. My friends, it may be something simple, such as getting outside if it’s feasible for you (if you’re able to walk, that is one option); if sounds are accessible to you, music may be that place, perhaps singing or dancing, if that is within your ability. Reading books or listening to audio books may also be options of this kind. Perhaps cooking, or enjoying a meal might offer you this kind of opportunity. Some of these may not apply to you, and you might likely have found something else that I wouldn’t even have thought of. Yet a mundane activity may still hold holy value.

My friends, in a couple weeks, we’ll be honouring some of our ancestors in our annual Day of the Dead commemoration. It will involve a simple setting of a table, with photos and everyday items from some of those who have gone before us. These may be things that are not all that extraordinary in the grand scheme of things, but which we know to be special for the memories we intentionally hold alongside them. And with these, we may transform a casual table into a shrine. And with this ritual, we may do a spiritual ablution, as we recognize past lives into beloved ancestors.

My friends, every casual corner may be a shrine if we allow a simple, intentional ritual, to wash over us.

So may it be,
Amen

Closing #100 I’ve Got Peace Like a River
Words: vs. 1-3 Marvin V. Frey, 1918(?)-1992, © 1974 Marvin V. Frey,
vs. 4-6 Anonymous
Music: Marvin V. Frey, © 1974 Marvin V. Frey
Tune WHITNEY

Bay Area Unitarian Universalist Church (28 May, 2020)

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A Triumph – Not in Vain

October 9th, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Time for All Ages – “March 25, 1965 – The Murder of Viola Liuzzo”

Voices of the Civil Rights Movement

Sermon – A Triumph – Not in Vain – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available for download]

In our tradition, we don’t talk much about martyrs, we might rarely know their names, and we don’t really have an established practice of venerating them – no stained-glass windows featuring church ancestors in the midst of execution, or feast days in their names.

And yet, our historians have compiled lists of people who we have come to consider martyrs in our tradition.

Put very simply a martyr might be someone who is put to death as a result of practicing their religion… there are more precise and sophisticated definitions, but this gives you a general sense of who we’re talking about. This death is often the result of a martyr taking action against injustice to others, as established by the ethical guidance of one’s faith.

So, who are these people?

And what are we to make of their lives and what it means to us as their faith descendants?

The list is long enough that I won’t go through them all today – each of them could be a sermon in their own right – but I’ll go over some of the ones that are most often mentioned when we talk about martyrs in our tradition.

Last week, our guest speaker, Liz James mentioned her evolving engagement with the story of Unitarian martyr Michael Servetus, who in the 16^th century, was very vocal in criticizing Trinitarian doctrines – hence Unitarian. Although that specific distinction of doctrines may not sound particularly essential to how we currently practice our tradition today, it was a pretty big deal around the times of the Reformation in 16^th century Europe.

Of course, there are nuances in the telling of his story. We often speak of Servetus as the Unitarian who was burnt at the stake by Calvin. There is truth to this, in that this is how Servetus was executed, though Calvin’s involvement is more nuanced than that. And last week, Liz highlighted the notion that Michael Servetus put himself in harm’s way more often than we usually let on, when UUs tell his story. Nonetheless, Servetus was killed as a result of his beliefs, including a zeal for questioning established doctrine, which was instrumental in establishing our current tradition.

A contemporary of Servetus was Francis David, another founding member of what became the Unitarian side of our tradition. Francis David promoted a practice of religious tolerance in 16^th century Transylvania, during the reign of King John Sigismund. He did this under the auspices of a Unitarian theology, and this approach to religious coexistence has also become a hallmark of our tradition. However, when King Sigismund died, the support for Francis David’s approach dwindled, and he died in prison, which establishes him as a martyr.

A newer name, which you might be more familiar with, is Norbert ?apek. We usually remember him and his wife as the creators of the Flower Ceremony that we celebrate in June. He founded the Unitarian Church of Czechoslovakia and aided in raising funds for relief work during World War II. He was imprisoned by the Gestapo and died in the Dachau concentration camp.

More recently, we might remember Rev. James Reeb, an American Unitarian minister who actively supported the Selma to Montgomery Marches led by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. After eating dinner with colleagues at an integrated restaurant, following a protest, Rev. Reeb was beaten with clubs by White men, in retaliation for his support of equal rights for Black people. He died in hospital.

A name that is not spoken as often but has a related story is that of Viola Liuzzo, a member of the First UU Church of Detroit, who also joined the civil rights movement in Selma, helping with, among other things, transportation and logistics. She was murdered by Klansmen as she was transporting a Black activist (who thankfully survived).

I’ve been mentioning a lot of Unitarian martyrs, but there is also Toribio Quimada, a Unitarian Universalist, who founded the UU Church of the Philippines, holding what is more appropriately labeled a Universalist theology. It is believed he was murdered as a result of his social justice activism through the church.

There are also Unitarian Universalist martyrs in this century. In 2008 Greg McKendry and Linda Kreager, were members of the UU Church of Knoxville, who were killed by a shooter who resented the church’s support for social justice, including 2SLGBTQ+ rights. McKendry is reported to have deliberately stood in front of the shooter to protect others, while Kreager died for simply being in her spiritual home.

Something to note here, there are other names recognized with heroism that day. These include church members: John Bohstedt, Robert Birdwell, Arthur Bolds, and Terry Uselton. There was also a visitor called Jamie Parkey. All of these people were instrumental in stopping the shooting and preventing further tragedy. The shooter’s plan had been to shoot until the police came to kill him. Because of the bravery the martyrs and of survivors, his plan did not go further, and he is now serving time in prison.

This brings up questions of how we recognize those before us, who have done important and notable deeds, as part of their participation in our faith. All of them were prepared to take a risk, even when it might have ended in death, but death does not always have to be the outcome.

I have already noted that, in Unitarian Universalism, we don’t have a regular practice of… fetishizing martyrdom. We have recognized it at times, but we don’t typically celebrate the act of death in the name of faith as a primary goal – rather, we might recognize that, sometimes, we may need to accept the possibility of making some sacrifice as a result of our faith’s guidance.

When death is the outcome, we recognize the tragedy alongside the contribution, and we may be grateful to the people who were willing to take that risk, despite ultimately sacrificing their lives. We also don’t forget that others have taken a risk, and gratefully survived. My friends, for all of them we are thankful.

My friends, this congregation is no stranger to taking principled stands based on our faith’s guiding principles, which has included taking some risks, alongside an experience of sacrifice. For instance, there are those among you, who still remember our church’s struggle to stop mandatory prayer in public schools – not as a stance against prayer itself, but rather as a stand against the imposition of one religious approach in a space that purports to welcome a diverse community.

That particular quest was successful… and it came at a cost for our community, with a sense that it created distance with our neighbouring faith communities. Our relationships with other faith communities are closer these days, but that sad memory lingers. My friends, it was a costly triumph, but not in vain. And for that bold action, and the people who took part in it, we are thankful.

My friends, not all of us are called to put our lives on the line for just causes – that is OK. All contributions in the name of justice offer their own triumph, sometimes only in the long term. And for these we are also grateful.

So may it be,
In gratitude,
Amen

Closing 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 Universalist Church of Utica (27 February, 2021)

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The Inherent Mirth and Dignity

October 7th, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Reflection – “The Inherent Mirth and Dignity” – Liz James

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

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That Time I Almost Stole a Dog

September 18th, 2022 . by Rod Solano-Quesnel

Time for All Ages – Ancient Husky Melody – The Kiffness, ft. Haiku the Husky

As the feast of St. Francis of Assisi approaches on October 4, many people take an opportunity pay extra special attention to animals in their lives, St. Francis is said to have been an advocate for animal welfare.

In that spirit, here is this video from South African musician The Kiffness, who likes take short viral videos, find the music in them, and then create a full song out of them. This one is from his “Dog Jams” collection and features Haiku the Husky, who is a keen singer.

The Kiffness x Haiku the Husky – Ancient Husky Melody (3 June, 2022)

Sermon – That Time I Almost Stole a Dog – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

The story I’m about to tell you is about a volcano, but it’s actually about the volcano’s lore, although, it’s actually about a dog – and the time I almost stole this dog (or so it seemed).

Let’s start with the volcano. Last week I shared a bit about the lore surrounding the Mexica (or Aztec) god of rain and water: Tlaloc. I also briefly mentioned his consort Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of streams, rivers, and seas – another water deity. The goddess’ name can be translated as “she of the jade skirt”, and the stone or ceramic representations of her often bear a skirt, which would have been presumably painted with green-blue pigments (jade being a precious stone that represents water).

There is another, perhaps more tangible representation of her, and that is a volcano in central Mexico, whose traditional name (Matlacueye) also means “she of the blue skirt”, presumably because its foothills, which are covered with coniferous forest trees, display an array of green and bluish hues. It has, in effect a forested skirt of jade trees.

Perhaps confusingly, this volcano is now often known by another name: Malintzin, named after an Indigenous woman who became the interpreter, guide, and later partner, to the infamous Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés. Because of her role, Malintzin can be a polarizing figure in Mexican culture, sometimes seen as a traitor due to her collaboration with the conquest, and other times seen as a victim of that conquest, but she is also sometimes seen as a kind of founding national figure, almost a mother figure. Her child with Cortés is one of the first Mestizos – that is, children of mixed European and Indigenous background. Many – perhaps most – Mexicans identify as Mestizo, including me.

Back to Malintzin – the volcano that is named after her, but which is also associated with the water goddess – this volcano is part of the volcanic belt that lines central Mexico. It’s a reasonably high peak – enough to be a worthwhile and fulfilling challenge to climb – but also manageable enough that most able-bodied people in reasonable fitness can climb it with minimal training or equipment, in the space of one day. Most of the time, all you need is a good pair of hiking boots, some reasonable hiking prep, and a willingness to get up early.

I’ve hiked this volcano a few times, and have reached its summit once. This past summer, we put visiting it on our list. We brought my mom along with a small group of people, for a social hike.

The volcano is part of a National Park, and includes a publicly-funded mountainside resort, with family-sized cabins and a few amenities. There are guided hikes as well as horseback rides for hire. You could spend a good weekend there just breathing in the fresh mountain air and glimpsing awe-inspiring views. Being more adventurous might include going for a trot on a horse, trying out a hillside hike, and maybe even attempting a summit climb.

We approached this visit with a healthy dose of anticippointment. We didn’t discount reaching the summit, but thought we’d aim for something more manageable, like reaching the treeline, just where the jade skirts of the volcano end, and the mountain’s incline start to rise into a sandy dessert – a reasonable goal for even better views and a modest sense of accomplishment.

We started our hike a bit late, but still expected that reaching the treeline would be a reasonable goal. The way up follows a winding dirt trail, flanked by aromatic pine and wild plants. Despite the many twists and turns, my compass confirmed that we were generally following the right direction – even if it didn’t always look that way.

In what felt like the halfway point to the treeline, we took a break and settled down for a snack. As we rested, we saw a group of people climbing down after their own hike, followed by a handsome dog, a white and brown cocker spaniel with a blue collar. “What an adorable dog,” we said to the downward-hiking group, “what’s his name?”

The group shrugged, “He’s not ours! He just started following us on our way down.”

We noticed the dog was limping, and his fur was covered in burrs – dozens of them. My mom has a history of rescuing dogs, and she instinctively leaned down to inspect his paw. Sarah got busy removing the burrs from his fur. The other group of hikers kept on with their trek down the mountainside, and the dog stayed with us, welcoming our attention.

While he had a blue collar on, there was no ID on him, no name, address, or phone number. We stayed for a while on the trail, and as people came down, no one lay claim to him.

Then a set of tricky questions settled upon us. Should we continue up? With or without the dog? Should we split up, with some of us climbing and others staying with the dog? Should we even stay with the dog or let him go on his way?

I noticed that the dog seemed to know his way down the mountainside trail, which he had followed with confidence, and suggested that we could simply let him find his own way down toward the cabin resort – perhaps he’d have a better chance of meeting his family there, since no one was making a claim up here.

This was not a popular suggestion. Sarah’s gaze made it clear she wanted to stay with the dog and look after him until we found out more about his situation.

We fed the dog, and I gave him some water into a collapsible dish I was carrying. He thirstily lapped it up and eagerly asked for a refill, I obliged. We even gave him a provisional name – Mali, after the volcano Malintzin.

Should we not find his family, I wondered if my mom would decide to keep Mali – he might be good company for her other dog. She thought she might do that, but she also remembered that we had been thinking of adopting a dog – wouldn’t we want to bring him with us?

This possibility began to seem like a growing reality. We liked the dog, and he seemed to like us. We still had a couple of weeks to take him to the vet, get his paw looked after, see about required vaccinations, and explore what kind of paperwork we might need to bring Mali to Canada.

As we walked downhill, I started to think fondly about this possibility. Mali eagerly walked alongside us, he was affectionate and mild-mannered. He seemed to have some obedience training, didn’t bark loudly, and was even the right size for an apartment. He seemed like a dream dog.

Increasingly, I thought – with regret – about my original suggestion to let him find his own way down – remorsefully thinking about how heartless and foolish that proposal now seemed. Perhaps part of me had still been hankering for a hike at the time, but that now seemed like a strange notion when compared to the pleasant possibility of developing a relationship with Mali and caring for him.

Sarah spent the evening deburring Mali’s fur – I counted several dozen burrs, which made a small, but substantial pile. His paw seemed to get better and he was limping less. We fed him, walked him, and pet him. He peacefully slept in the makeshift bed we made for him. In the space of a few hours, he already felt like family.

I thought about the people we had asked, and how no one claimed a relationship with Mali. One hiker had shrugged with resignation, “Yep, there are a lot of abandoned dogs around here.” We knew that was true – a lot of dogs roamed the park. Who would have abandoned this dog? Had it been because of his busted paw? Or had that happened after? Maybe it was appropriate that he had found us and that we now planned to look after him.

As we got ready to leave the national park, we workshopped some ideas on how we might find his original caretakers. My mom wondered about putting up posters near the entrance to the park, or in the commercial area of the nearest town (but without giving too much information away, lest the wrong people claim him). But we didn’t have any materials for posters, and I was secretly glad… by now it felt like it was all but confirmed that Mali belonged with us.

On our way out of the park, we drove by the folks who rent out horses for guided horseback rides. Despite my personal preference, I thought we might as well ask them if they knew anything about a missing dog – due diligence. Among the stable-hands, one adult casually waved off the question: “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he answered. But the child next to him was far more attentive: “Yes, there’s a missing dog – white, with brown spots, and a blue collar. He belongs to the shopkeeper across the road. He lost him yesterday.”

Our hearts sank, the description was spot on. And just like that, it was clear to us that Mali wouldn’t be coming with us. Sarah and my mom brought Mali out of the car to meet the shopkeeper’s family. He happily wagged his tail when he saw them. His name was Bruno.

It turns out they had entrusted Bruno to a group of hikers. At some point, a gang of stray dogs attacked them. That’s how Bruno injured his paw, and the hikers fled in fear, losing track of him.

We sat with the bittersweet knowledge that Bruno/Mali wasn’t coming with us, though we also felt relief that he was where he belonged and that the family wouldn’t be missing out on their dog.

That’s when another unsettling question came up. Sarah wondered: “Rod, did we just almost steal a dog?”

It kind of felt like it… Now, from a legal perspective, actual theft would have required an active intent to separate the dog from where he belonged. As far as we knew, we had been rescuing a dog with an injured paw, and no one to claim him. So, no, strictly speaking, we had not almost stolen a dog.

But despite our intentions, the impact would have been the same – a family would have been deprived of their long-time companion.

In the end, what we did seemed like a net positive – we ended up actively reuniting Bruno with his family!

…or did we?

On the one hand, we did bring Bruno right to the shopkeeper’s place. On the other hand, he might have gotten there on his own, a whole day earlier, had we not interfered at all.

I thought about the remorse I’d felt after suggesting that we let Mali (Bruno) hike down on his own. The shopkeeper was just down the hiking trail. What had seemed to me like a foolish and heartless suggestion on my part, may have actually been the wisest and most compassionate thing to do. It might have spared the family a whole night of anguish about their missing dog, and Bruno wouldn’t have had to stay the night with a bunch of strangers – and nearly been taken to a foreign country. Maybe doing nothing would have been the safest and most effective course of action.

On the other other hand – on the other paw – Bruno had a busted paw. We didn’t know if he would have made it on his own, or been attacked by other dogs (and we did encounter other wild-roaming dogs on our way down, after all).

Even if he had made it back safely, we would never have known that… all we would have known is that we had let an injured dog out into the wild (albeit, one that seemed to know his way down the trail with confidence). Would the most compassionate act really have been compassionate, if we didn’t actually know it was compassionate?

These are tricky questions. One answer might be: (shrug)… I dunno!

This may seem like an odd takeaway. What kind of moral direction is “(shrug) I dunno!”

But the reality of right action and best practice is sometimes like that. When you don’t have the best information or the most complete information – which is… often – the best and wisest course of action might not be clear. Sometimes, several seemingly-contradictory options might well be good enough.

But not knowing for sure doesn’t mean we abdicate responsibility. Due diligence is usually a compass needle in the right direction, through winding paths, even if it’s not our immediate inclination.

I hadn’t been keen on asking the horseback-riding folks about a missing dog, potentially opening up even a remote possibility that we might not keep Mali with us. But I still understood that doing so was a responsible thing to do. If they knew the dog’s caretakers, as was indeed the case, then we’d had found the answer we were looking for (even if it wasn’t the answer we might have wanted). Had they said no, then at least we tried.

My friends, navigating the moral compass can be tricky, especially when the trail twists and turns. My friends, finding the right thing to do is a struggle amid the fog of uncertainty. And still, my friends, that responsible search is our task, our call, and our covenant.

So may it be,
In Covenant,
Amen

Hymn #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

Michael Tacy (4 September, 2021)

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