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

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

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)

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

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

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)

Opening Hymn #1 May Nothing Evil Cross This Door
Words: Louis Untermeyer, 1885-1977, © 1923 Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, renewed 1951 by Louis Untermeyer, reprinted by perm. of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
Music: Robert N. Quaile, b. 1867
Tune OLDBRIDGE

Steph and Les Tacy (23 March, 2021)

Sermon – Just Add Water – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

In the 1960s, a great basalt monolith was excavated in Coatlinchan, a small town near Mexico City.  In the popular imagination, it is considered to be a representation of Tlaloc, the Mesoamerican god of rain, and by extension, of water – although some authorities propose that it is actually a representation of Tlaloc’s consort Chalchiutlicue, the goddess of lakes and water currents.  In either case, it looks like it was an object of worship relating to water for many Mesoamerican indigenous peoples, perhaps most notably by the Mexica (pronounced “meh-SHEE-ka”) people, whom you might better know as the Aztecs.

That monolith is now easily accessible to the public, as it is propped up in the open air, near the entrance to the Nacional Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City.  But it didn’t get there easily…

Firstly, the people of the town weren’t about ready to let the monolith go – it had been part of the town’s lore and identity for centuries, and they weren’t pleased that it was being taken away… the army was called in.

Also, the sheer logistics of hauling such a large and heavy object required a tailor-made platform with strong steel beams, as well as a small fleet of flatbed trucks slowly rolling down broad boulevards.

It didn’t escape those with knowledge of Mexica theology, that as the monolith was being transported, a torrential downpour unexpectedly flooded the streets in parts of the city, including the historic downtown section, where it passed – it was not the rainy season, and folks quickly considered what the implications of this might be.

Visiting the Anthropology Museum this past summer was at the top of our to-do list.  We spent a whole two days there, and still have a good chunk of the museum left to view in some future visit (I strongly recommend it, if you’re ever in Mexico City).

While there, I remembered that Tlaloc was my favourite god when I was a kid.  As the children were taught about the Mexica pantheon, I quickly took an affinity to the Tlaloc story and attributes.

Part of this may have been simply practical.  Tlaloc has one of the easiest names to remember (most of the other ones had longer names that can be tricky to learn and pronounce if you’re unfamiliar with the Mexica’s Nahuatl language).  Also, he was often represented with distinctive features that were easy to spot, such as large round eyes, that look a bit like goggles, as well as a twisting spiral nose which resembles a conch shell, and fangs.

With this knowledge I could easily fancy myself an expert archeologist, being able to take a quick glance at a figure and easily declare with casual confidence: “Oh yeah, that one right there – that’s Tlaloc.”

But I also had a primal understanding that water was special, and an image that recognized its importance just seemed to make sense.  A character that said “just add water!”

Of course, I wasn’t alone in favouring Tlaloc.  Indigenous people before the Mexica had given top ranking to him (or preliminary conceptualizations of him) for centuries.  The ancient civilizations of Teotihuacan, as well as the Toltecs were big fans of Tlaloc or his lineage.

From an anthropological perspective, this makes sense, of course.  For a long time, people have understood that, in order for the ground to offer sustenance, and therefore survival, you need that one special ingredient – just add water.

Now, the Mexica themselves actually gave a slight edge to the god of war, whom they credited with the great political and economic power that they had accrued as they built their great empire in central Mexico… before the Spaniards arrived.

But even they knew that the god of war, whom they favoured, would have to share the spotlight with Tlaloc, and when they built their Great Temple in their capital, which is nowadays Mexico City, they had twin shrines at the top, honouring both gods.

(The remains of that Temple, by the way, are right downtown, next door to the great Metropolitan Cathedral.  That’s another place worth setting aside a day for, if you’re ever in that neighbourhood.)

Of course, in our community, many of you will be all too familiar with the value of water in supporting your way of life.  Those of you who live just down the street from our church building can appreciate the delicate balance that hangs upon the rhythms of the water cycle.

You know that it is not a frill – it is essential.

Not only have our ancestors known this, and therefore respected the power of water for a long time, but newer knowledge and understanding about what water can do, and where it comes from, reinforces the primordial status of water in our lives – indeed, as the source of life.

Most of the water that we find in an ordinary glass like this has been around for billions of years.  The slow formation of earth was nothing short of miraculous, but even then, there was something missing before this earth could even possibly conceive life.  Eventually, time and space, through the power of gravity, offered that next primary step – to just add water, from the depths of space and time.

It was only then, that so much possibility became imaginable in our world.

Today, we are resuming our practice of gathering together as a spiritual community.  For the next several months, we will be striving to keep this a regular practice – usually weekly, sometimes more, and sometimes less.

One of the main reasons we make this a generally-regular practice is our drive to foster a stronger connection between one another, as well as to remember the sacred connections we already have with our surroundings, our environment, our past and our futures.  Whether or not we are aware of these connections at different moments, we set these times and these spaces, to intentionally nurture our greater relationship with the greater scope of deep time and deep space.

We can do this with deep thought and deep speech.  And sometimes, we can also do this with simpler, basic, elemental, practices.

Every once in a while, we remember to keep a bit of space to simply breathe in stillness – that is one way to connect with the spirit of life that surrounds all of us.

And other times, we remember that we can also just add water, to commune with the ancient and powerful substance that has been around for so long, and which represents our very beginnings.

My friends, sometimes, to transform a casual corner into a sacred shrine, all we need to do is just add water.  And, my friends, having a mystical experience with our genesis, and with our ongoing sustenance can really be that simple, if we make an intentional and mindful act to just add water.

My friends,
So may it be,
In the spirit of life, that sprouts from water
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #145 As Tranquil Streams
~)-| Words: Marion Franklin Ham, 1867-1956
Music: Musicalisches Hand-buch, Hamburg, 1690, adapt.
Tune WINCHESTER NEW

Steph and Les Tacy (8 April, 2021)

Text (pdf) version of the talk

Opening Hymn #65 The Sweet June Days
~)-| Words: Samuel Longfellow, 1819-1892
Music: English melody, arr. by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958,
used by perm. of Oxford University Press
Tune FOREST GREEN

First Unitarian Church of Baltimore – 20 June, 2022

Flower Celebration

Our Church members shared flowers in-person, as well as photo flower offerings on a shared slideshow.

You can view a PDF version of the Flower Photo Slide Show here!

(Photos shared with permission)

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

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

Sermon – A Reading from the Minutes – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF document available for download]

Every once in a while, a friendly rivalry makes the rounds between the Unitarian Church of Montreal and the Universalist Unitarian Church of Halifax, particularly around the times of their respective anniversaries, with each of them staking a claim for the oldest Canadian congregation in our denomination.

The Unitarian Church of Montreal celebrates its anniversary in June, and that is when it sometimes makes its claim of maximal longevity, as it was founded in 1842.

Not so fast – says the Universalist Unitarian Church of Halifax – yes, Montreal may be the oldest Unitarian congregation in Canada, but the Halifax church was founded as a Universalist congregation in 1837 – this is a heritage that is still reflected in its name, as it places the Universalist “u” before the other one.

It is usually at this point when I point out that Olinda claims the oldest building in continuous use by either a Universalist, a Unitarian, or a Unitarian Universalist church (in Canada) – and we have the historical plaque to prove it.

But technical quibbles aside, there is one aspect in these founding stories that reminds me that the churches in these two traditions have quite a bit in common… aside from the fact that they’re now part of the same amalgamated tradition.

When the Church of Montreal was founded in late June of 1842, the assembly drafting its emerging constitution debated something that would have been considered a thorny issue (at the time) – whether they would allow membership for folks who accepted the doctrine of the Trinity.

This specific theological point might not seem particularly troubling to current UUs these days, but the emerging Unitarians in 19^th-century Montreal had endured sidelining by the mainline trinitarian churches, and there was a question around how graceful they were prepared to be in their membership requirements around questions of religious doctrine.

This debate was documented in the minutes of the constitutional drafting meeting.  And when the Montreal church celebrated its 170^th anniversary, ten years ago in 2012, it actually did a ritual reading of these minutes as one of the morning readings.

I won’t go into the line-by-line reading of those minutes here, but I can offer a bit of a play-by-play, to give you an idea of how this shaped up.  Essentially, in that 1842 meeting, a motion was made to forbid membership to anyone who did not formally denounce the doctrine of the Trinity.  If adopted, the Montreal church would be – from then on – intentionally excluding individuals based on a matter of faith…

The resounding majority response was that a test of faith would be antithetical to the founding character of the Unitarian church, which had been forged by a tradition of espousing freedom of religious thought.

The motion was defeated.

A test of faith would not be implemented at the new Unitarian Church of Montreal – perhaps this Unitarian church was more Universalist than it might have given itself credit for, having taken such a step toward radical inclusion.

That doesn’t mean that, in our shared histories, we don’t continue to seek a balance between promoting freedom of thought, while also establishing norms of respectful behaviour toward each other, but personal religious and spiritual beliefs are not in themselves a barrier to membership and participation in our congregations.

It was this very mindset that inspired the origin of one of our tradition’s homegrown holidays – the Flower Celebration – created by Norbert ?apek at the Liberal Religious Fellowship, a Unitarian congregation in Prague, in what was then Czechoslovakia.

?apek created this Flower Celebration quite intentionally to ensure that everyone could take part in it, including anyone who had been, or felt, excluded by some other churches from their bread and wine communions.  This was another Unitarian creation that gave witness to a Universalist approach for radical inclusion.

If you’ve heard this story before – and we like to reprise it from time to time – you might remember that ?apek’s life ended tragically during World War II in the Dachau concentration camp.  The official crime that he was charged with was listening to foreign broadcasts – a capital offence.  He is on record as having died for the sake of listening to the voices against tyranny.

Today, we remember his commitment to a broadminded approach toward inclusivity.  And we have honoured his legacy by re-enacting the ritual he created as a practice of inclusion.  Not only is everyone invited to participate, but everyone is invited to partake in the enjoyment of the flower gifts offered by others, whether or not you were able to make an offering today.  In fact, over the past two years, we have expanded this option to participate, whether or not you were able to be here in person.

And in the same way, my friends, we honour the minutes of a founding meeting of the Unitarian Church of Montreal, in which a practice of radical inclusion – a universalism of sorts – was enacted.

Because, my friends, even when it doesn’t use that label, the Universalist spirit is alive in our tradition.  The spirit of intentional inclusion, the spirit of active inclusion, the spirit of radical inclusion, is alive in our tradition.

My friends, may we continue the Universalist imperative.

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

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #66 When the Summer Sun Is Shining
~)-| Words: Sydney Henry Knight, 1923-
Music: From The Southern Harmony, 1855, arr. by Margaret W. Mealy, b. 1922, © 1984 Margaret W. Mealy
Tune HOLY MANNA

Unitarian Universalist Church Utica (1 August, 2021)

Main #21 For the Beauty of the Earth
Words: Folliott Sandford Pierpont, 1835-1917, adapt.
Music: Conrad Kocher, 1786-1872, abridged
Tune DIX

Michael Tacy (11 November, 2020)

Howard Pawley Memorial Lecture, with Suzanne Grouette

Watch:

Closing Hymn #112 Do You Hear?
~)-| Words: Emily L. Thorn, 1915-, © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Music: William Caldwell’s Union Harmony, 1837,
harmony by Eugene Wilson Hancock, 1929- , © 1984 Eugene Hancock
Tune FOUNDATION

Michael Tacy (24 July, 2020)

Opening Hymn #1 Prayer for this House
Words: Louis Untermeyer, 1885-1977, © 1923 Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, renewed 1951 by Louis Untermeyer, reprinted by perm. of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
Music: Robert N. Quaile, b. 1867
Tune OLDBRIDGE

Nick Sienkiewicz for
UU Community Church of SW Michigan (22 October, 2021)

Sermon – Ordinary Time – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available for download]

When I began seminary as a Unitarian Universalist guest at a college from the United Church of Canada, I was quite welcome to bring along my own theology and spiritual outlook – we had much overlap in our approaches after all.  There were, however, some house rules. 

Whenever it was my turn to lead the Wednesday worship for my peers, I was required to use the common lectionary, following the liturgical year that the United Church shares with many mainline churches.  I was free to include as much Unitarian Universalist material or interpretation as made sense to me, but at least one of the readings needed to come from that week’s lectionary.

This seemed to me like a reasonable request by my host, as they were also offering generous accommodation for me as a spiritual guest, and I saw it as an exciting challenge that would invite me to get better acquainted with my peers’ scripture, tradition, and practice.

So, I became quite acquainted with the United Church’s hymnal, Voices United, where you would find a very specific calendar with a three-year cycle, and each year being labeled A, B, and C (we’re on year C, if you’re wondering).  And each of these years has specific biblical readings for a given week, along with designated weeks for times of anticipation and fasting, such as Advent and Lent, as well as holidays like Christmas and Easter, which are more familiar to us.  There are also additional feasts and observances, like an entire season for Epiphany, following Christmas (the Epiphany season actually spans several weeks, beyond the single day that I mention from time to time), as well as Pentecost, following Easter.

In some churches, the rest of the year has the rather inspiring label of “Ordinary Time” (though the United Church uses the label of “Proper” time).  And, as it happens, this past week marks our return to this Ordinary Time.

The “Ordinary Time” tag might give the impression that this is the boring time when nothing interesting happens or is worth observing.  And while there may be less pageantry involved, with fewer observances, or holidays with lesser brand recognition than those in early winter and spring, this isn’t really any kind of “throwaway” time, as if church somehow stoped mattering or spiritual growth took a backseat.  On the contrary, it’s a time when space can be given toward deeper contemplation about what the other special times have raised up.

The story of incarnation that comes with Christmas, or the message of resurrection that comes with Easter, can resonate throughout the year.  In this way, the people of the church might be invited to explore how these transcendent themes may be present in their lives and the lives of their communities.

Sunday itself can be considered an echo of sorts for the story of Easter.  This may come by invoking the story itself, as happens weekly in many churches, as well as in inviting a renewal of inspiration in each congregant’s life and opportunities to reveal hidden holiness in the apparent ordinariness of everyday living.

In the same way that the “ordinary” weekdays offer a time to live the spirituality that comes from the weekend renewal of Sunday, so does Ordinary Time offer a kind of “weekdays” of the year, in which to live out the pageantry evoked by the year’s “weekend” of the major winter and spring holidays.

One feature of our Unitarian Universalist tradition is that our liturgical calendar tends to be quite flexible.  We tend to have rather few “prescribed” holidays, and even these might vary between congregations, or even in the same community from time to time.

At Olinda, we happen to celebrate, in some way or another, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with regularity.  And we often observe elements of the preparatory seasons for some of these, such as Advent, as well as Lent.  We’ve also taken on the practice of commemorating our dead toward the beginning of November, and certain months invite us to pay special attention to certain matters of social justice, such as February and Black History; or June, which often includes awareness about Indigenous peoples as well as LGBTQ+ Pride.  And other designated days come up from time to time.

We also have some of our tradition’s own homegrown holiday observances, such as the Water Ceremony at the beginning of September, and our Flower Celebration in a couple of weeks.

So, we do indeed follow a liturgical calendar of sorts, though it may be a bit more fluid than what many mainline churches have established.

However it is that our liturgical calendar may be, or the specific seasons and holidays we may choose to observe, we still find ourselves with weeks and Sundays that may not seem to immediately call for a particular theme or focus… we have our own sense of “ordinary time”.

And it is during these times that we may explore and strengthen the deeper awareness that may have come from the designated “special” times.  That is why we don’t stop talking about Pride or about Indigenous matters at the end of June – we carry that prophetic imperative through other days and months, and we revisit that awareness on other “ordinary” Sundays.  We may have guests that speak to Reconciliation in June, but we also have those conversations or guests in other months.  We may participate in Pride advocacy in June, or August, or any other time we are called to do so.

We might make special time in February to get better acquainted with Black history, and we then continue to consider how we might be part of anti-racism work during the year.  We make a regular practice of commemorating our dead at the beginning of November, but that does not mean that we don’t also honour our ancestors and our loved ones gone before at other times of the year, sometimes in other special ceremonies, and sometimes during quiet times in our hearts.

We don’t just talk about Naloxone and harm-reduction on that one time when we invited Overdose Prevention Windsor to offer a workshop; we bring up the different dimensions of drugs, benign and dangerous ones, legal and illicit, in different discussions at different times.  We consider our own use of socially-accepted drugs, such as coffee.  And we may check out the free Naloxone trainings and kits that we can get at most local pharmacies on just about any ordinary day.

Week to week, many of us gather as a church on Sunday, to make some intentional time for contemplation and open up space for inspiration.  But, of course, the ordinary time of our lives, which happens during the rest of the week is not any less important – in fact, it is the time when we get to apply the renewed sense of call that we might find on a given Sunday.  Sometimes this might be something in the weekly message that has resonated, or it might be a hymn or song that has become part of the soundtrack of your life, or it might be a connection that you’ve made among the community, and now have opportunities to follow up on, and fulfill them in a deeper way.

Church may be where we remember the practice of being human, and we cultivate this practice during the ordinary time of our ordinary days, that every casual corner may bloom into a shrine.

My friends, in a couple of weeks, we’ll be winding down our church’s program year.  For many of us, summer might offer some additional opportunities for rest and renewal, and perhaps have a few more “lower-key” days.  There will be some holidays along the way, maybe even a couple of church services, but the ordinary days of summer may give some time to reconnect with the extraordinary times, places, and people of our lives.

My friends, the times that come outside of church are precisely the times to be church, beyond our walls.

My friends, may ordinary time be the time to live what is special.

So may it be,
In this ordinary, and blessed, time,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #354 We Laugh, We Cry
~)-| Words & Music: Shelley Jackson Denham, 1950- , © 1980 Shelley Jackson Denham,
~)-| harmony by Betsy Jo Angebrandt, 1931- , © 1992 UUA
Tune CREDO

Voices of Reason (6 May, 2021)

Opening Hymn #1 Prayer for this House
Words: Louis Untermeyer, 1885-1977, © 1923 Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, renewed 1951 by Louis Untermeyer, reprinted by perm. of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
Music: Robert N. Quaile, b. 1867
Tune OLDBRIDGE

Steph and Les Tacy (23 March, 2021)

Time for All Ages – “Is there a good reason for NOT voting?” (Politics Unboringed)
by Jay Foreman

An exploration of the importance of voting. This one is from a United Kingdom perspective, though most of the observations still apply in Canada.

“Is there a good reason for NOT voting?” (Politics Unboringed) by Jay Foreman

Sermon – Between Elections – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available for download]

One of the first courses I took in my ministerial formation happened to include a class on the same day as an election date.  And while my schedule was certainly busy with part-time work and studies, it was also flexible enough that day, so that I managed to drop by the voting place on my way to class (it helped that the place was literally on my way to the school).  This was fortunate, as the class that evening would have gone for about three hours and would have ended just as the polls were closing.

When I got to the class, I saw that the professor had arranged a lighter program than usual – it was mostly a question-and-answer period relating to some of our readings or upcoming assignments.  About a half-hour-to-an-hour in, he asked if there were any more questions, and when no one else raised their hand, he told us that, instead of the regular mid-class break, the class was dismissed, as there was nothing else that couldn’t wait until after the election, and he wanted to ensure that those two extra hours were available for folks to vote.

I respected the principle of the professor’s decision, though I admit I was somewhat let down that I’d gone to the class for such a short session, being that I had already voted and didn’t really get much benefit from the special dispensation he had given to the class.  I also wondered how many of my fellow students would actually take advantage of this newfound opportunity.

One of my classmates shared part of the bus route home with me.  I asked her if she had any plans for the newly-found free time.  It so happened that she’d been at school all day, and her home was too far to make a trip to her polling place in between classes.  “I think I might actually get back in time to vote!” she said.

And there was one answer to what I’d been wondering on my way out of the class that had been dismissed early.  And I realized that, just because things had already worked out nicely for me, other folks really could benefit from proactive action to ensure there’d be space for them to vote.

Even with some reduced class time, that professor taught me something.  And last week, I took that lesson to heart, by moving my Café Drop-in’s time one hour later, so that its timing wouldn’t conflict with the polling hours and no one would be in a position where they’d have to choose between one or the other.

I really don’t know if anyone ended up needing that time, or if they took advantage of it.  But what I’ve learned, is that sometimes, it is important to cultivate the practice of consideration for others’ needs, even if it isn’t always obvious when someone has benefitted from it.

Over the past few elections there have been a number of options added to the electoral system to enhance the possibility that people who are eligible to vote, and wish to do so, can do so.  This includes expanding the number of advance polling dates, making voting by mail an option for everyone, and allowing for same-day registration to the voters’ list (I myself benefitted from this later option on at least one occasion).

These are good practices to observe and support… and plenty of options remain to be explored.  Some are as simple as making voter ID procedures clearer and simpler to understand, as well as making sure most people who would ordinarily be able to vote can access those ID requirements with minimal hassle – particularly marginalized folks.

Another method that has been proposed – and in some countries, implemented – is making election days statutory holidays, to minimize the possibility that folks might need to choose between the right to vote and the competing demands of work, family, sustenance, and health.

This past week, for instance, even though there were a whole 12 hours allotted for the polls, someone who works regular business hours, commutes from work, and makes time for a wholesome dinner (or needs time to prepare it), might only have a 1-hour window to vote… even with a “free evening”.  That may be just enough time, but even one added responsibility, such as family or healthcare duties, might reduce that window so that voting might no longer be a practical option.

Following a provincial election that has a record-low turnout, accessibility to voting is one part of the conversation that we are called to keep in mind and keep pursuing.

Of course, we know that it’s more complicated than that.  There are plenty of other reasons why people don’t vote.  These range from dissatisfaction with the electoral system, such as the first-past-the-post dynamic, to general dissatisfaction with the candidates.  And these are but aspects of a certain sense that the act of voting may have little bearing on the outcome of who is elected to govern and what decisions these officials might make.

Indeed, a sense of disaffection with the process and lack of agency in the decision-making process is often cited as a major reason why voter turnouts have consistently dwindled over the past several decades.

And yet, even if you feel your one vote won’t change the outcome of an election, no matter how it is that you voted still gives information about where the public will is – even spoiled ballots offer a measure of voter disaffection.

I’ve been spending quite a bit of space here on voting and voting accessibility, and that’s because voting really is an important part of the democratic process.  The risk lies on focusing on voting as the only, or the most important part of the process (as important as it is).

The adage that democracy is what happens between elections holds truths about where else people may engage in the decisions that affect all of us.

Democracy also happens in the community engagement with individuals and organizations that advocate for the diverse needs of the people.  It happens in direct engagement with the elected officials that represent us – whether or not we voted for them.  It happens when we stay informed about the news that affect our communities and when we hold these matters in conversation with those around us, our families, our friends, and our wider communities.  It even happens in the mundane tasks of looking after our communities – the paperwork, the maintenance, the connections with the people that leaders serve.

In our church, our governance happens in many places.  Votes are involved, but these are often confirmations of other important work, discussions, and potential decisions that have already been prepared with substantial legwork in the background.  The votes are part of the mechanism of accountability, ensuring that we give active endorsement of the work of governance, but they are, in reality, a small portion of the work of the people, by our people, for our people.

Much of our democratic process involves looking after each other and our spaces; connecting in visits, phone calls and e-mails; even filing paperwork from time to time.  This year, our Governance Documents Committee has been spending much time in formalizing the roles and tasks of different church bodies.  Some votes are involved, but the bulk of the democratic work goes into thinking about how we want to handle our church business.

Even simply showing up, when possible, for community gatherings and events, is part of how we build the community, and become part of the decisions that affect it.

Last year, the Canadian Unitarian Council – which includes all of you who are members of this church, spent a lot of time and attention toward the adoption of our 8^th Principle.  Many of you might recall that it was, at times, a messy process.  And after several months of discussion and deliberation, a vote last November confirmed its adoption, with a very high – though not unanimous – degree of approval, at 95% of the delegate vote.

That vote did not happen in isolation and it was not the only important part of the process.  For many people, the discussions, workshops, and learning that happened along the way may have been even more significant, whether or not they ended up supporting the final vote.

As is often the case, not everyone was happy with the outcome, but it was an outcome that followed, as diligently as possible, the process we had in place.

Part of that process included a discussion on the very processes we use to make decisions like these, as well as many other decisions that we need to make as a denomination at the national level.

For this reason, one of the additional outcomes that came in the wake of adopting the 8^th Principle – and in fact an example of its practice – was the creation of a Decision-making Exploration Team.  Its name reflects its goal to explore options in decision-making processes that may serve us better in including a variety of voices and creating more spaces for participation, so that the outcomes of our collective decisions may better reflect the needs of our communities.

It doesn’t mean that everyone will always be happy with every aspect of every decision – that’s likely to be an unattainable goal – but the team will look for ways of providing better spaces so that most folks may be satisfied with the process and may feel comfortable with the decisions that come out of it, even when they’re not always everyone’s preferred outcome.

Many models are on the table and being explored, including ideas of sociocracy and varieties of consensus-building mechanisms.  Even the status quo, which relies heavily on established systems such as Robert’s Rules of Order, continue to be on the table.  (It is entirely possible that our current system could remain as is, and if we collectively decide to do that, it would be an intentional decision, rather than simply a matter of inertia because it’s what we’ve been doing all along.)

Part of the process of exploring these processes included centring the presence and voices of youth and young adults, and people of colour, who are often not well represented in our communities.  This doesn’t mean that others don’t have a voice in this process, it simply means that we’re intentionally making space for voices that might not have had as much space before.

My friends, you can be part of this process.  This week, you are invited to respond to a survey on decision-making processes, and you have until the end of the month, June 30, to complete it.  This is not the only place where you can be part of the conversation, but it is an important place that has been intentionally set out for you.  There will be other discussions coming up, and they will be made richer by the information that comes from this survey.  And there will be votes involved at different times.  Those votes will also be important, but they will not be the only parts of the process that matter.

My friends, the democratic process is part of our collective soul, and being part of it can be far more involved and enriching when we make space for it, when we seek out the opportunities to be part of it, and when we intentionally make space for as many of us to be part of it as possible.

My friends, our principles become alive when we practice them in every casual corner of our community.

So may it be,
Working together in between elections,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #300 With Heart and Mind
~)-| Words: Alicia S. Carpenter, 1930- , © 1990 Alicia S. Carpenter
Music: Johann Hermann Schein, 1586-1630, harmony by J. S. Bach, 1685-1750
Tune MACH’S MIT MIR, GOTT

First Unitarian Church of Baltimore (24 January, 2021)

Click here and enjoy!

Opening Hymn #57 All Beautiful the March of Days
~)-| Words: Frances Whitmarsh Wile, 1878-1939
Music: English melody, arr. by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958
used by perm. of Oxford University Press
Tune FOREST GREEN

Community Unitarian Universalist Church of White Plains

Time for All Ages

Red is the Colour – Menstrual Hygiene Day 2022

Sermon – Period Piece – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available for download]

Last November, I spoke about one of the lesser-known international observances: World Toilet Day.  And we explored how, even though that day of observance may seem to have a somewhat comical undertone, it deals with serious issues of access to sanitation as a matter of public health, a factor in public safety, an exercise in social equity, and a recognition of personal dignity.

I shared at the time how, as a kid, I had been too embarrassed to ask my dad about how toilets worked or how they were invented… even though he had always been willing to explain to me the stories of invention – and the mechanics behind – things like Velcro, dynamite, and the telegraph.  And one could argue that sanitation and plumbing technologies have been just as – or even more – impactful advances for society as those other inventions.

Yesterday, May 28 was a similar lesser-known international observance: Menstrual Hygiene Day.

Now, waste sanitation and menstrual hygiene are not quite the same thing, which is why international health organisations feature these matters separately.  These two topics do, however, share some important overlaps.  Both deal with matters that are often taboo and are therefore not spoken about as often as other important subjects of social concern.  And… speaking about them is precisely the kind of life-saving practice that we could do with doing more of.

And matters of menstrual hygiene also impact public health and safety, as well as social equity and personal dignity.

Now, in many ways, I’m not the best person to be talking about this subject.  As a person who doesn’t menstruate – never have and don’t ever expect to – I have very limited capacity to speak about this experience with any authority.  Many of you will already have a much deeper understanding about that experience than I ever will, so I’ll do my best to avoid saying things that might already be painfully obvious to what is likely a majority of you.  And to be clear, I’m not looking to give specific health lessons or a how-to guide on hygiene – I’m rather looking to invite deeper exploration on the meaning of some of the conversations we’d do well to have more of.

Because, in some other ways, I may be precisely the kind of person who needs to speak about this subject more, insofar as I can be a collaborator and an ally in raising greater awareness about the importance of this conversation – especially for other folks who do not share in the experience of menstruation, and who might, therefore, not immediately share the same level of investment in that matter, as the people who have more direct experience with it.

Now, you might have noticed that I’ve been using the phrase “people – or persons – who menstruate”, rather than saying “women”.  And that is because we recognize that not all people who menstruate identify as women.  There are people with other gender identities who are in this category, so we honour that.  Conversely, there are women who do not, have not, or no longer menstruate, including trans women.

That’s not to say that there isn’t a largely gendered dimension to menstrual hygiene – it’s simply worth being mindful of who we are including in this conversation.

Also, my use of the word “menstruation” so often from the pulpit today, might have some of you on edge, and I admit that I feel some awkwardness about doing so myself.  It’s OK to notice this discomfort, as that is a step toward confronting that discomfort.

As it happens, it was through interactions with toilets that I was first exposed to some of the realities of menstruation.  As a child, I remember visiting a household bathroom and finding that… something hadn’t quite fully flushed.  Seeing red, I burst out of the bathroom wondering if something was seriously the matter with one of the family members that had previously used the bathroom.  And that is how I was first offered some calm explanations of what I had seen, and that it was entirely normal.  This happened more than once during my childhood, and I remember that it was useful for me to hear the explanation a few times to truly get the sense that this really was normal.  I should note that it was often the adult women in my childhood that took on this educational task. 

As an adult, and as a non-menstruating person, I continue to be grateful when I’m invited into this kind of conversation by the people who do.  It can sometimes feel awkward – I get a sense that I need to take off my shoes, as I tread on holy ground – I remind myself that I need to use caution in what I say, and more importantly, how I listen to these experiences, and offer support when I can and am asked to do so.

I have found it quite affirming that, where I live, many people who menstruate are indeed comfortable – or at least, comfortable enough – with speaking openly about that experience.  I am also mindful, that we are less likely to hear from the people who continue to feel uncomfortable about the matter due to shame or embarrassment, which is why I look be among the people who model bringing this up from time to time – when appropriate – because I see the importance for everyone in the general population to develop some sense of comfort in discussing menstrual hygiene and awareness about its related issues.

Failing to do so can lead to our larger society making uninformed decisions that affect a specific set of people… decisions that may be made by people who might not feel affected by those decisions.

Lately, there has been a resurgence of debate around reproductive choice.  And some of this debate sometimes reveals a lack of understanding about the lived experience of menstruation, and about what its related timelines can mean in matters of pregnancy.  I won’t go too much into that discussion today, as this can be quite an involved conversation in itself – only to say that public policy about sexual and reproductive health requires accurate understandings about biological processes that some of us may be less familiar with, including menstrual hygiene.

Beyond the health and social implications, there are the economic and environmental dimensions.  Over the past few days, I’ve run into a few news articles about the economics of menstruation in Canada, perhaps precisely because Menstrual Hygiene Day is in the calendar.

A major theme that I’ve seen in this reporting is that a number of government entities have been paying more attention to the issue that has been labeled period poverty, stemming from the additional costs of menstrual hygiene products, that some people find difficult to afford.  Public measures have been in different stages of implementation, from reducing or removing sales taxes on menstrual hygiene products, to subsidizing their cost, or even offering these for free, in some instances.

Awareness drives change.  Awareness demolishes barriers to inclusion.

There is also a growing industry around new menstrual hygiene products that aim to reduce economic and environmental impacts, by being reusable, from menstrual cups, to reusable pads, to washable period underwear, and even period swimsuits.  I can’t speak directly to the efficacy of these products, but I have heard and read reviews that many of these can be surprisingly effective and often preferable to the more traditional products.  The main aim for these has been to expand comfort and choice, as well as sustainability and affordability in the long run.

Awareness drives change.  Awareness demolishes barriers to inclusion.

There has also been a movement around expanding paid leave to cover days when the experience of menstruation may make attending work difficult.  There is some controversy around this, which I don’t feel qualified to comment about responsibly, but the fact that this discussion is happening tells me that a drive to reduce stigma and economic barriers is taking a greater foothold.

Awareness drives change.  Awareness demolishes barriers to inclusion.

Indeed, removing systemic barriers to inclusion is a major reason why this conversation, uncomfortable as it may sometimes be, is important for us to be part in, including by those of us who do not menstruate.

One roommate of mine had a practice of laying out a basket of disposable menstrual hygiene products on the tank of the toilet in our shared bathroom.  She didn’t use these particular products, but wanted to ensure that any guests who might need them would have minimal barriers to access them.  And even if our guests ended up not needing them at all, her practice also bore witness to intentional inclusion – effectively telling our guests: “you are welcome here, no matter your experience”.

I must have internalized part of this lesson from that roommate, because every once in a while, when I’m looking through my backpack or satchel, I still run into spare menstrual hygiene products that I packed at some point, just in case someone around me was in need of them.  I don’t know that I’ll ever be asked, but it looks like I might just be prepared to respond if I am.

My friends, awareness drives change, and awareness demolishes barriers to inclusion.

My friends, awkwardness and discomfort in difficult conversations is normal.  Identifying and confronting this discomfort, is a step in reducing it.

My friends, in this community, these conversations have a place.

So may it be,
Taking of our shoes, in the spirit of inclusion,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #108 My Life Flows On in Endless Song
Words: Traditional, Verse 3 by Doris Plenn
Music: Robert Lowry, 1826-1899
Tune SINGNG

First Unitarian Church of Chicago (17 May, 2020)