Time for All Ages – Meditation and Song – Lea Morris and Rev. Amanda Poppei

LISTEN HERE: Hope Springs Eternal (with Amanda Poppei) (13 March, 2022)

Sermon – Half Full – Rev. Rod

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And although we’re not quite halfway through Lent, already the Easter spirit of resurrection is in the air – in starts and stops – with cold and warm weather alternating, as well as wet and sunnier days.

Starts and stops have been a hallmark of the past while… today, we were able have some folks in our sanctuary, and while it wasn’t exactly half full, it was near the fullest it’s been in two years, and what we did today gives us a sense of what it can be like to be halfway toward a fuller in-person presence, even as we keep other platforms available. 

You’ve heard me say some version of this before – we’ve had partial attendance before… and we’ve seen the need to walk it back.  Nonetheless, it is significant that we had some more people attending in-person today – it has been almost precisely two years since we last held our last fully in-person-only Sunday service: more than two full cycles of 52 weeks… in fact 105 Sundays.

Last week would have been the 2^nd anniversary since we last gathered together exclusively in-person.  Today is the 2^nd anniversary since that was no longer an option.

We mark this time.

We mark the time to honour where we are – and to contemplate how we feel about it.  To become aware of the mixed emotions that come with budding optimism, as well as accumulated sadness and grief.  To recognize the sacredness of this moment and of those past moments.

As of this month, the confirmed worldwide death toll for Covid-19 has now exceeded 6 million.  And to some of you, that figure may hold a rather chilling significance.

In our own church community, we have seen the direct effects of the pandemic, including some among us who have been infected – most of you have recovered, to various degrees… and we also acknowledge that we’ll no longer see at least one of our members, who has died from the disease.

Many others among us will have also lost loved ones, perhaps due to other reasons, and it has sometimes been difficult or impossible to be by their side during those hard times, or to honour their memory in the way we’d hope, or at the time we’d hope, or in the presence of those we’d hope could be with us.

These are real losses, and real sources of pain and sorrow.  We honour them, as we mark this time.

Without forgetting the hardships… in fact, in conscious recognition of the hardships, marking the time invites us to take stock.

Taking stock is also part of Lenten practices.  Last week I invoked a “review” of some of these, which often include some kind of fasting – sometimes literal, but perhaps more often, it’s fasting in a broader sense of rehearsing what it’s like to do without, or to be with less of something.  One way that a Lenten observance – or many other traditions that include a fasting practice – make this a tool for spiritual growth, is in that a fast invites perspective into what is beyond the self.

A very practical example might be gaining some insight into what it’s like for people who involuntarily do without food, or who cannot afford to get certain luxuries, or perhaps certain delights that we might be used to, but have temporarily decided to do without.  In this way, a practice of doing without can help us better relate to the needs of others, and in this way develop deeper compassion.

It might also be a way for us to personally explore what else we have been missing.  If a glass is half full with water, it might be an opportunity to remember that we also need air.

Perhaps giving up a certain food might open up space for other sources of nourishment we haven’t reached for in a long time, which are better for us, and which we might well enjoy.  This could mean different, healthier, tasty foods, or it could be other sources of comfort that we might now remember to cultivate, including activities, places… and people.

And perhaps the money saved by abstaining from a certain frivolous purchase may find a home in something more fulfilling in our lives – or in the lives of others.

Last week, I shared that the time saved by staying off of social media has often meant that I have more time than I realized for things that are more fulfilling than “doomscrolling” through other people’s feeds.  And sometimes these practices pay off, and become well-rehearsed habits.

A common theme in all these examples is an increased awareness of self and others.  A clearer sense of what’s important for ourselves individually and for our communities collectively, small and large.

Every once in a while, you’ll hear a clever remark from someone who proclaims that they’ve “given up giving things up” or that they “gave up Lent for Lent”.  These may be cute self-referential wisecracks, but I think that this approach may also be on to something.

It could be that sometimes we may feel worn too thin for doing without even more.  The last two years have been a kind of extended Lent in many ways, and maybe we could do a bit less with doing without.  To be sure, doing without certain ways of congregating has increased our awareness that there are other ways of doing church, not to mention that it has been a reminder that there have always been members of our community who cannot do church the way many of us are used to doing it.  And now we’ve taken a practice of enhancing how more of us can access opportunities for worship.

And in taking stock we’ve also confirmed that having opportunities for in-person gathering is also something that we cannot discard altogether.  Many of us sorely miss it, insofar as it is feasible, and there are parts of our community life that simply aren’t the same without the in-person element.

Perhaps we can also abstain from abstaining, when we already realize that we need more of something important in our lives.  Maybe we feel the need to “take up” something for Lent, or for the upcoming season.  I’ve done that myself on a few occasions, realizing I could do with a healthier habit, where rather than do less of something, I already see that there is something I’ve found to be lacking in my life, and which I could do with more of, for the sake of myself and others.

Perhaps this might be a time to remember the intentions that came around New Year’s Eve and give it another go if this year’s theme hasn’t quite taken hold – because personal growth and spiritual development takes practice, and it often takes more than one try.

If New Year’s Day has come and gone, and you missed the beginning of Lent to enhance your spiritual practice, then spring is another time that reminds us that renewal is always possible.  These opportunities are always there, as long as we remember to mark them and remark on them.

My friends, in this halfway time, we mark the time, to take stock and renew efforts for regrowth.  As the buds in the trees and the grass on the ground make tentative efforts to bloom out and sprout up, these agents of nature can also be our cloud of witnesses, accomplices with us, as we seek the brightening daylight.

And maybe, my friends, this might be the time to take the cue from nature, to simply take the time to observe it.  This can be as simple as looking out the window more often, to remember to lift the blinds (physical and metaphorical).  If we are able to, perhaps step outside more than we’re used to, and reconnect with the world that is out there.  Perhaps it’s the time to start something new.

We may be halfway there, my friends, and that half may well be plentiful.

So may it be,
In optimism, in grief, and in gratitude
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #74 On the Dusty Earth Drum
Words: Joseph S. Cotter, Jr., 1895-1919
Music: Friedrich Filitz, 1804-1860
Tune WEM IN LEIDENSTAGEN

Brian Kenny (Piano), Amanda Hemingway and Mike Menefee (Voices)
Mike Menefee (27 August, 2020)

Time for All Ages – Hymn with Reflection and Questions – Lea Morris

VIEW from the MOON – STJ #1026 If Every [Person] in the World
Lea Morris – thisisLEA (11 March, 2022)

Sermon – The Joy of Missing Out – Rev. Rod

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There’s a phrase that’s been making the rounds over the past two or three decades, which sums up the sense of anxiety that comes when we have the impression that we’re not keeping up with others – the fear of missing out.  This is often shortened with a fashionable acronym (a word made of the beginning of other words): FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out).  Although it may sound like another word that is sometimes used as a slur, FOMO is rather used to express that sense of loss, sadness, and lack of fulfillment that comes when we think that others are having it better, or getting to have fun that we’re not having.

To be sure, the basics for FOMO aren’t all that new.  The adage “keeping up with the Joneses” betrays a similar sentiment.  But FOMO is often used to illustrate a stronger and more pervasive version of that feeling, especially one that has been amplified by the easier access we have to information, and particularly social media.

Now that many people have taken up the habit of documenting many parts of their lives – and advertising them by sharing them on their social media – it has become common to feel like we’re passive observers in what seem to be the amazing lives of others.  Not only is everyone’s lawn much greener, but so are their salads… their desserts are sweeter and fancier, their coffees frothier, their pets funnier, and their vacations more exotic.

Of course, that is only our perception of others, since many of those amazing parts of their lives tend to be but mere snippets of more regular lives, which are carefully curated to project a certain image.  Not only that, the fact that so many people do this, also means that we’re liable to be getting dozens, if not hundreds, of these constructed lives in short amounts of time, maybe within the same day.

Part of the issue is, in fact, the reality that the possibility of being part of so many things has never felt so easy.  Getting to know about exciting events, and about things we could get, or be part of, is just a click or notice away.  The very fact that we can get to more stuff, and get more stuff, is a constant reminder that we’re not doing or getting that stuff.

This has been a real observed phenomenon, particularly among the younger generations, and it has often been tied to higher rates of anxiety and depression, as getting massive doses of perfectly manicured lives can give the impression that our lives simply don’t live up to those of others, and we risk fearing that we’re missing out on something that everyone else is having, or getting to do.  Somehow, this may give the impression that we are not enough.

Of course, the bulk of this is an illusion, but it is hard to fight that sense that our lives somehow don’t measure up.

There is a better way.

What if, instead of focusing on those things we think we’re missing out on, we can cultivate a practice of intentionally missing out?

As I’ve already mentioned, the basics of this sense of having gaps between our lives and those of others is not that new, even though our current technology may make that gap feel even bigger.

And there have also been spiritual practices that invite us to grow in our sense of self and community by intentionally giving up some of the very things that we think we want more of.

Many faith traditions have some kind of practice that includes fasting.  This has typically been done by giving up certain foods, or giving food up at certain times (although this practice can be tricky for folks who have eating disorders or a complicated relationship with food).  But the concept can be extended beyond food, to giving up other things, or reducing our reliance on some material things, or maybe even taking up practices that centre our needs less to focus on others – and our relationship with them.

Some of us have looked into Muslim practices, which include fasting during the month of Ramadan.  Among other things, this practice invites contemplation about what we really need, as well as compassion for those who have less, by voluntarily sharing in part of the experience of doing without.  Almsgiving is also part of the Muslim practice, by sharing one’s wealth among the community through acts of charity.

Closer to our heritage, we’re now a couple weeks into the Lenten season that comes before Easter.  And some form of fasting has been part of observing Lent for a long time.  This can be seen as a re-enactment, a communal pageant, of the fasting that Jesus is said to have taken for forty days shortly before his death.

You might know that a Lenten fast has been done in different ways through history.  In Roman Catholicism, this has included giving up meat on Fridays, which is why fish might be a bit more popular around this time of year.

Many others extend the practice to giving something up… it is sometimes fashionable for chocolate to be one of those things, but many of us might choose something else to give up, or at least reduce, like a habit we’ve identified as being an issue in our lives.

I myself have previously given up social media for Lent, on more than one occasion.  As can be the case, a habit might come back in full force after the time of fasting, and that has sometimes been true for me with me with my social media fast.  But even then, having taken up that practice, at least for some time, has taught me something about myself and my relationships with others.  The practice has, indeed, become a rehearsal, an enactment of a “what if?” that has given me some real-life experience of what my life would look like if that fast became a more regular part of my routine.

Among the lessons learned is that I am usually happier when I do less social media.  Taking up the practice, even when temporarily, has offered me a glimpse of the realities that a different way of living can bring.  And it has increased my awareness that too much social media can be hazardous to my health.

And indeed, after a few trial-runs of the sort, I’ve noticed that, while I was never a particularly heavy user of social media, I now do it much less than in other years, even during “ordinary time”, sometimes going days or weeks without feeling the need to check the latest buzz or notices.

This doesn’t mean that we need to give these things up altogether.  In my case, I make use of social media for some ministry-related work, as well as some social connection, but it’s now a more balanced part of my life.  There is lower risk of FOMO, and there is a higher quotient of JOMO – the Joy of Missing Out.  Because sometimes the act of giving up also gives more of other things.  In my case, it’s been clarity as well as time – spending less time on one thing, allows for more time on other, perhaps more fulfilling things.

The author and journalist Oliver Burkeman, has recently written the book called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals.  The number four thousand may seem big in some contexts, but in this case, it refers to how many weeks are in the average human lifespan, which suddenly doesn’t sound like all that much.  In that scarcity, Burkeman finds the affirmation that, with limited time, we may feel the freedom to give up on taking on too much, to give up on the idea that we need to do it all, which was an impossible task to begin with (for those of us who are mortal).  And when we give up some things, we may find that we end up having more of other things.

For instance, Burkeman contemplates the difference between having a to do list and a done list.  Now, a to do list is a very useful tool – I use one myself – as it helps in keeping track of tasks.  And some of those tasks may be vital to doing what is important to us and those around us: work that brings in a salary, and which we may also find fulfilling; taking care of our homes and our families; taking care of ourselves – all of these are the real important things.

And a to do list may remain useful as long as we remember to give up on doing everything that we could possibly add to that list.  Burkeman suggests a done list – things which we didn’t have to do (or were given the impression that we should do them) and rather things that we’ve taken up doing for our sake and the sake of those around us.

My friends, some of you may have already taken up a version of that practice, such as a diary or journal – that is a done list that allows us to witness to the life we have taken on.  Another way to look at it is as a practice of gratitude – celebrating the reality of our lives as they are, rather than maintaining an illusion of overly-ambitious lives that cannot be and which we fear missing out on.

Burkeman notes that this kind of practice helps remind us that we are enough, and there is no need to constantly justify our existence.

My friends, the Lenten practice of taking up more of life by giving up on the illusion of living up to other impossible lives, is a liberating spiritual tradition.  It is an opportunity to train ourselves in enhancing our awareness of what matters most, by foregoing the more superfluous trappings of things we need less of.

My friends, the joy of missing out involves celebrating the love that is more powerful than the fear of missing out.

So may it be,
In gratitude and joy
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Opening Hymn #16 ‘Tis a Gift to Be Simple
Words: Joseph Bracket, 18^th cent.
Music: American Shaker tune
Tune SIMPLE GIFTS

Saint Andrews Episcopal Church, Seattle (22 July, 2020)

#159 This Is My Song
Words: Lloyd Stone, 1912- © 1934, 1962 Lorenz Publishing Co.
Music: Jean Sibelius, 1865-1957, arr. © 1933, renewed 1961 Presbyterian Board of Christian Education
Tune FINLANDIA

Cathedral of St. John the Divine (28 September, 2020)

Sermon – Black Belt for Beginners – Rev. Rod

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One of the first activities I shared with my dad was attending a dojo – a place of learning for martial arts.  His art of choice is aikido, which can be translated as “the way of harmony”, though you may be more familiar with other arts, such as karate do “the way of the empty hand” and judo “the gentle way” or many others, like kung fu, jiujitsu, or taekwondo.

I remember that my dad had a black belt and I was quite impressed and proud about it.  I would sometimes boast to my schoolmates that my dad was a black belt, trying to make myself feel special.  This would not last, as the response would often be something like: “I guess he could kick all our butts then, huh?”

It was at that point that I’d have to awkwardly explain that aikido didn’t really have kicks, and punches weren’t really central to its techniques either.  Aikido is almost exclusively a defensive art, focusing on redirecting aggression so that it becomes harmless to yourself and to the aggressor.  I quickly learned that bragging about my dad’s “rank” wasn’t all that fulfilling.

When we moved to Canada, we continued the practice and found another dojo for aikido.  I was surprised to see my dad wear a white belt, just like me, as we started out.  “Aren’t you already a black belt?” I asked him.

He explained that this new dojo was in a different style tradition, and he therefore considered himself as much a beginner as me, and any of the other new folks.  I remember feeling somewhat let down, feeling like he had been unfairly “demoted”, though I also admired what seemed to be a wise sense of humility that he was projecting.

While I expressed my dissatisfaction at his “demotion”, he further explained that the belt’s colour wasn’t all that important… it has significance for sure, and those who wear black belts deserve a measure of respect – or at least caution – but the real purpose of attending the dojo was to learn and practice… the colour changes in the belt are nice side effects of that process.

I never quite got as far as black belt at my dojo… I took on other interests and initiatives as I started high school, and a change in management at the dojo also prompted me to pursue something else.  But I took to heart the approach my dad handed down to me.

And I also learned that a black belt isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  In movies and pop culture, a black belt is often depicted as a master with lethal expertise, but my dad let on that the black belt he held was a rather junior rank (not to mention that he wasn’t interested in lethal expertise).  It turns out that, once you’ve gone through all the colours, there are additional “secret” levels after you get the black belt.  Getting that black belt just puts you in what is called the shodan, which can be translated as the “beginner step” or “first degree”.  There can be several of these degrees or dans, and instructors might only begin teaching after getting to the third dan or higher.

Indeed, the black belt can be seen as a mere witness to basic competence in the art, its techniques, and the process of learning it.  The whole progression leading to the black belt is simply the journey toward learning how to learn the art.

Each of you will have gone through some process of learning in whatever it is you do, be it an apprenticeship with a mentor or senior family member, a certification, maybe a diploma or degree, perhaps navigating promotion opportunities at work, or learning what it means to be in church and do church with others as part of individual and communal spiritual development.  And going through each of those steps is really just a transition into a new level of expertise that requires further learning and refinement.

Last month, I mentioned that I attended a weeklong event of intensive professional development for ministers.  This event used to be called The Institute for the Learned Ministry, but the Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association has adopted a philosophy that more closely mirrors the reality of black belts in martial arts, recognizing that learning is ongoing, so the event has changed its name to the Institute for the Learning Ministry.

In fact, the ministerial formation process has a few parallels to this approach.  In our tradition, ordination is often seen as a kind of gold standard of ministerial expertise – the “black belt” of ministry (or perhaps the white collar, as is sometimes the case).  But it turns out there are additional “secret” levels of expertise that we must fulfill, even after we have the cred to start wearing clerical collars.

Some of you are aware that newer ordained ministers are often in what is called preliminary fellowship… this is the shodan of professional ministry – the beginning step that witnesses to a certain proficiency in learning how to learn the intricacies of ministry, and it requires additional work, along with evaluation by our credentialling body – some of you have been involved in that part of my credentialling process.

After three evaluations, we might be bestowed what used to be called final fellowship.  But again, our credentialing colleagues realized that this title gives the wrong impression that learning is somehow complete – that title that I was given is now called full fellowship (not final) … a kind of third dan, that acknowledges a further degree of competence, including the ability to teach and supervise student ministers.  But the work of professional development isn’t done.  There is still a lot to learn (though I now have a better idea of how I might go about doing that learning).

One of the key aspects of doing that learning includes an openness to making mistakes, and taking them as opportunities for learning.  You may have seen the latest online trend of filling out the daily word game Wordle, or other similar games, which involve guessing a word with a limited number of attempts (six tries in the case of the game Wordle).  You may have observed that even making a “wrong” guess has value – as knowing which options were “incorrect” gives a lot of information that can help in guessing the secret word.  Even the “mistakes” can lead you to your objective… if you know how to look at them… if you learn how to look at them and use them to your advantage.

Of course, there are different kind of mistakes, and some are more severe than others.  There are situations in which a mistake can be especially damaging, and not everyone can afford the luxury of making certain mistakes.  Nonetheless, recognizing the inevitability that we will trip up, and finding ways to increase the likelihood of gracefully recovering when tripping up, is a valuable tool and approach that can make life’s challenges less hazardous – maybe even fulfilling.

In fact, one of the first things you learn in aikido is the expectation that you will fall.  A fundamental technique for beginners does not even involve engaging with an opponent, but practicing falling and breaking that fall.  Breakfalls are a set of somersaults that allow you to fall gracefully, minimizing risks of harm and inviting recovery.  And you don’t need a black belt to do them well.

My friends, you’ve heard me preach some version of this sermon before.  And I’ve done this quite deliberately, because practice requires revisiting important basics several times.

We have talked about how being willing to make mistakes when learning a new language is part of the key to mastering that language.  Together, we have lived the realities of re-learning how to do church in a setting we had barely imagined, along with the tech challenges, which can sometimes be awkward, sometimes humorous, sometimes outright frustrating, and also ongoing.  And still we have become the better for it, as we have approached a black belt in doing multi-platform church… which leaves a lot of room for further degrees of development as we continue to practice it.

And practice, my friends, is part of that process.  Whether you repeat a martial arts technique several times in a class, over many years; or rehearse a musical piece on an instrument; or go over our principles or any other of our covenants and figure out how to apply them to your lives and your relationships with others; spiritual growth and development calls for ongoing practice, including the moments when we fall short, which invite us to accept new lessons and take that learning into the next level.

My friends, many communities of faith in the Christian tradition, which is part of our heritage, are currently following a practice of reflection and deeper spiritual contemplation, which may involve forms of fasting, in this Lenten season that began last Wednesday and which eventually leads into Easter.  We can delve more deeply into that particular practice next week, but today I leave you with the reminder that any spiritual practice involves ongoing work and ongoing learning; it involves failing, many times; and it involves an ongoing call into greater awareness.

My friends, may we be open to failing, learning, and deeper awareness, as we take one more step.

So may it be,
In ongoing practice
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

#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)

Click here and enjoy!

Time For All Ages – “Unknown Blessings” by Paula Shmayda, sung by Lea Morris

thisisLEA – Lea Morris (21 January, 2022)

Sermon – Where the Heart Is – Rev. Rod

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For many of us, the first thing we might think of when we hear of the composer Henry Mancini might be the Pink Panther theme.  I know that it’s one of the tunes that is part of the soundtrack of my life, and I suspect that this might be the case for many who grew up watching the animated shorts by United Artists.

And if you went to high school in Ontario, chances are you also heard another one of his iconic themes after studying Shakespeare’s iconic play Romeo and Juliet – if your class also happened to watch the film adaptation by Franco Zeffirelli.

Like the play, and its film adaptations, the epic Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet by Nino Rota, and arranged by Mancini, is at once evocative in its sense of lovelorn longing, and in its mood of melancholy heartbreak.  Romeo and Juliet is one of the quintessential love stories – you know the story.  And, it is also appropriately classified amid the tragedy section of Shakespeare’s works.

The tragedy comes from the other major theme in the play – family.  The star-crossed lovers were kept from the fairy-tale ending to live happily ever after… because their love was unacceptable in their society.

The play explores this tension – and questions it.  When Juliet asks “Wherefore art thou Romeo?” she’s not all that concerned with his first name, she’s really asking about his family name – Montague – and its implied feud with her own Capulet provenance.  And in asking “What’s in a name?” shortly before Romeo approaches her balcony, she wonders whether those family connections really warrant cancelling her own desire for a new family of her choosing, even if their families of origin seek to get in the way… which they did – with tragic consequences.

Their story rings true to many people who have needed to redefine or reconsider what family means to them.  Among the LGBTQ+ community, the ability to form – and find support among – a family of choice has often been a life-saving necessity, when their families of origin have not been supportive of their sexual or gender identities.  And this continues to be a recurring theme in stories that feature Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, and Queer, plus, characters.

Of course, even if your family of origin is supportive and continues to be a part of your life, it is always valuable to consider who your extended family of choice might be.  You might not always call them family, but they may still hold that same nurturing and trusting company, which you would expect from anyone who you might consider family.

These may be friends who you can confide in, coworkers who you might connect with, communities that bring you joy and a sense of belonging… a church that offers you a spiritual home, for inspiration, comfort, and occasional challenges and invitations for growth.  These can all encompass a larger family of choice.  People who can help you feel at home.

If home is where the heart is, then the people who feed your soul – be they families of origin or families of choice – are what elevate the places where you live into spaces for life.

As we have been reminded over the past couple of years, our church goes beyond the walls of our building, and its core lies in the people – the assembly – that form the church.

Of course, we do not forget that the places also matter.  Anyone who has ever been homeless, or precariously housed, knows that a reliable roof and a set of walls have a value of their own – with immediate, primary importance.

And we also know that beyond physical survival, our emotional well-being and spiritual survival also hinges on needs beyond protection from the weather, which is why finding effective support networks often go along with any comprehensive housing strategy.  The two form a complementary mashup of protection and support, that allow souls not only to survive, but to thrive.

There is a reason why I still broadcast our live services from our building, which is the place that often houses our spiritual home.  The physical place is one of the things that can help us tell each other the story of our faith family of choice.  And we take this opportunity to remember that we bring that faith into the ordinary places of our lives, even if that means that we sometimes watch, or read, the sermon from the places that represent your more habitual homes.

Because that’s another thing, we each can have multiple places, and multiple communities, that we can call home, and each may involve a different aspect of our family, writ large.

I have shared before that when people ask me where I’m from, I am sometimes puzzled and have trouble giving a direct answer.  Often, I presume people are wondering where I was born, and that’s a bit easier to answer, but it is clear that other times, people want to know where it is that I consider home.

And that’s trickier, because my heart has been in many places, and parts of it still are.  Having lived for extended periods of time in at least six different places (and some shorter spans in a few others) I have been fortunate that I’ve usually been able to be with family of origin, or find families of choice, or a combination thereof, wherever I live.  I sometimes joke that I’m poly-metropolitan, as I feel like coming home whenever I visit any of the places where I’ve been.  And then, when I come back to Leamington after any of these visits, I am coming home again.

All this to say that home and family will look different, depending on your story and your needs.

As we observe Family Day this weekend, we also consider how families can come in all shapes and sizes.  Our Unitarian Universalist faith has called us be intentionally inclusive of this diversity, and this includes recognizing that families may not always look the way that some of us might have come to expect.

This may mean remembering that, for some folks in our community, families of choice may be as important or even more important than families of origin.  Or it may mean keeping in mind that many households are bigger or smaller than the nuclear family that has often been considered traditional.

It may mean staying mindful of our language… it remains common, for instance, to ask couples when they might start a family by having children, and this phrasing has a risk of overlooking the fact that they may already consider themselves a family, not to mention that there may be reasons why children are not there yet, or are not there any more, or may never be there, but a family is there nonetheless.

My friends, building and finding family can sometimes be hard work, as can be maintaining a connection or rebuilding connection with existing family.  It is also heart work, as this labour of love invites us to co-create spaces we can call home, be they in our houses or dwellings, or beyond the walls where we spend most of our time.

My friends, observing and celebrating the complementary mashup of people and places is part of a shared ministry, as is the work of reimagining and being open to seeing in how many places, and in how many ways, our kindred spirits find family and make themselves at home.

My friends, may the spirit of the Family holiday offer you one of many holy days in which to find where the heart is.

So may it be,
In love, in housewarming, and in grace,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #324 Where My Free Spirit Onward Leads
~)-| Words: Alicia S. Carpenter, 1930- , © 1989 Alicia S. Carpenter
Music: English traditional melody, harmony and arr. by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958, used by perm. of Oxford University Press
Tune KINGSFOLD

Sung by the River of Grass Unitarian Universalist Congregation Virtual Choir of Davie, Florida (31 May, 2020)

Time For All Ages – Meditative Moment with Rev. Raymont Anderson

Meditation by Rev. Raymont Anderson; Song “Walk Your Faith” at 5:08 by Lea Morris. Channel thisisLEA (12 February, 2022)

Reading – Tao Te Ching 78

Explore Chapter 78 of the Tao Te Ching on this page with several English translations of the same chapter – each translation can offer a slightly different perspective!

Video Reading – “How Footpaths Help Shape Our Technology – Cheddar Explains”
Explanation of Desire Lines, by Cheddar (1 November, 2018)

Sermon – Desire Lines – Rev. Rod

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Many universities are known for their ivy-covered walls and historic-looking gothic architecture.  The place I went to for my undergraduate degree was not that kind of place.

I went to Carleton University in Ottawa.  Now Carleton started as a continuing education college for World War II veterans, only becoming a university a bit later on.  As a young university, it did not have much by way of historic buildings, and if you ever visit its campus, you’ll see a fairly ordinary-looking mix of mildly quaint red brick mixed with brutalist concrete, along with a newer batch of metal and glass buildings.

Of course, starting a campus from scratch allowed the architects to really think through some of their goals for the new learning spaces.

Now, the aesthetic quality of these buildings is a mixed bag… the Architecture Building is notorious for being perhaps the ugliest structure on campus, and even the more mild-mannered Student Centre Building was a bit of an Escheresque nightmare that made you believe its inner staircases and hallways had their own grip on the spacetime continuum… I once counted entrances into the building at five different levels – there was the underground tunnel entrance, the main street-level entrance, another two street-level entrances a few stories up, and a second tunnel entrance near the top level of the building.  This was easily explained by the fact that the building was by the side of a hill, but it was still a perplexing place to navigate when first entering it.

My particular college was housed in what is called the Loeb Building, a misleading name, since the “building” was actually four separate towers (imaginatively called A, B, C, and D), the floors of which were each connected between the towers by a thin hallway.  (And yes, the underground tunnel entrance was located a whole two stories above the street-level entrance… somehow the physics worked)

I eventually learned that, what seemed like a haphazard internal design, was oddly on purpose, and it illustrated a philosophy of space that was pervasive throughout the campus.

The architects made a very conscious decision to place faculty office spaces right next to the classrooms, so that students walking to class would inevitably bump shoulders with their professors.  This attitude was surfing on a 1960s wave of equality, and the designers wanted to literally carve this approach in stone.  And indeed, the faculty at Carleton was notably more approachable than in other institutions I’ve attended.  Calling professors by their first name was the norm, and showing up unannounced to their offices with open-door policies was a commonly accepted practice.

In the same way, the seemingly-confusing staircases of the Student Centre obligated many streams on campus to mix and mingle, including professors, undergrads and grads, student union leaders, pub-crawlers, the athletic types, and the keener crowds, all of whom had gathering spaces geared to their respective demographics placed beside and atop of each other.

Despite the aesthetic consequences of some of these design choices, and the occasional inconvenience that came from navigating the crowded hallways it created, I grew to really admire the intentionality that the architects and campus designers gave to setting up these new places for learning and community-building, making a set of plans in advance so that these spaces invited the people in them to co-create the kind of university they wanted to shape.

There is also a different approach to setting up new spaces, which requires a different kind of planning.  And to some extent it involves, perhaps counterintuitively, making fewer plans.

There is some famous lore in many campuses, where the campus designers decided to forego paving paths in green spaces for some time, and instead allowing the people using the spaces to create their own trails.  It was only once that it became clear which paths people were actually using, that the administration would formalize those paths by paving over them.

The unofficial trails are commonly known as “cow paths”, or more affirmingly as desire lines.  A notable example of this is the McCormick Tribune Campus Center at the Illinois Institute of Technology, by Rem Koolhaas, who very intentionally incorporated the desire lines created by the population of the campus into the interior design of the building.  (and there is a more in-depth description of this concept in a video linked in the description).

The desire line approach displayed by Koolhaas is clearly different from the approach taken by the designers of the Carleton campus, which relied on actively directing the flow of pedestrian traffic.  By contrast, the wisdom of desire lines is to follow the flow of pedestrian traffic that emerges organically.

Rather than grit our teeth in annoyance that people aren’t treading where they’re “supposed” to, the desire line approach embraces people’s natural inclinations and welcomes their practice, perhaps even formalizing it… eventually.

By practicing an openness to go with the flow that real people take in everyday life, rather than seeking to fix it or direct it artificially, the user experience may be richer, more intuitive, and more respectful of people’s expressed needs (or desires), not to mention that they are more convenient as they can meet these needs more effectively.

Of course, both approaches can be useful, and while they may seem contradictory, I believe that, in the Taoist spirit, they complement each other.  There are times and places in which going with the flow will yield more edifying results than overregulating.  And yet, we know that some level of direction is useful, even desirable, in fostering cultures and norms that lead to more enriching, safer, and inspiring spaces.  If used together, these two approaches can offer a complementary mashup that invites us into looking at challenges with a lot more dimension.

The story of desire and love has plenty of examples when there have been attempts to unrealistically regulate people’s natural inclinations to express their love and sexuality, rather than embracing them for who they are, celebrate how they express love, and even formalizing the unions of those who wish to do so.  If, instead of trying to “fix” the rainbow of love, we allow ourselves an openness to recognizing the desire lines that people carve out for themselves, then we intentionally welcome a richer, more intuitive society, that respects how people fulfill their needs and honour their desires.

For instance, in our Unitarian Universalist tradition, we have been supportive and affirming of same-sex partnerships and unions for several decades, recognizing that it’d be inhumane and harmful to prevent people from loving who they do, and that supporting people’s desire lines is far more respectful, enriching, and even more convenient, than attempting to “fix” something that does not need to be fixed.  We have also been part of the process that allows same-sex couples to formalize their relationship, if they wish to do so.

More recently, our Canadian denomination has taken steps to better include our members who lead a polyamorous lifestyle, and we’ll have a chance to explore more of what that means later this month, with our guest speaker on Feb. 27.

Of course, there is a place for some active direction, which involves a different kind of intentionality.  In our communities, we recognize that there is value in upholding certain essential norms to prevent harm and promote the safety and wellbeing of all.

We affirm that any romantic or sexual relationship must be based on consent, mutual safety, communication, and trust-building.  And the principle of consent goes beyond the agreement to engage in sexual activities – it also applies to agreeing on the kind of relationship each party wants to have, and how each person in it wishes to be part of it.

Many of you are, or have been, in a romantic relationship, and you’ll have likely noticed that this kind of relationship shifts over time.  There are times when proactive planning and mapmaking are necessary, to lay down a course for where each of you wants to go in the relationship, to get a better sense of your personal and shared goals, and to set mutual understandings of what is acceptable and what is not, as well as mutual understandings about how you will respect each other.  At other times, there is room for more spontaneity, to simply see where things may go and how they might go, allowing your hearts to lead your relationship into mutually enriching and loving places.

At all of these times, my friends, there is room for intentionality, as either of these approaches allows you to get a deeper understanding of who you love, how you love them, and how they love you – if you’re paying attention.

And of course, my friends, this approach applies beyond romantic relationships, since relating to friends, larger family, and our varied communities, all require a mix of careful consideration and foresight, as well as openness to allow things to unfold on their own.

My friends, the complementary mashup of intentional planning, and intentionally going with the flow, is a Taoist dance that allows us to grow together, with a sense of caution, as well as adventure.

My friends, may we proceed with prudence, and may we proceed with pride.

So may it be,
With love, with caution, and with grace,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #299 Make Channels for the Streams of Love
Words: From Richard Chenevix Trench, 1807-1886
Music: American folk melody, arr. by Annabel Morris Buchanan, 1889-1983, © 1938, renewed 1966 J. Fischer & Bros. Co., harmony by Charles H. Webb, 1933- , © 1989 J. Fischer & Bros. Co.
Tune LAND OF REST

Offered by the Unitarian Church of Montreal worship team (25 October, 2020)
Piano: Chad Linsley Fiddle: Marie-Claire Saindon Voice: Eleuthera Diconca-Lippert

Time For All Ages – Classical Music Mashup
Grant Woolard (12 January, 2016)

Sermon – Mashup – Rev. Rod

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If you’re like me, you probably like a few different types of music.  My taste spans from classical to heavy metal.  I also like a good dose of pop, as well as Mexican folk music, which itself encompasses a diverse umbrella of genres and styles.

But if you were to ask me what genre of music is my favourite, I’d probably have to say the mashup.  At its most basic level, mashups involve splicing different musical pieces together to make a new composition that incorporates its sources in a way that they complement and enhance each other.  This often results in a richer piece, and invites us to look at its sources in a new way.

It’s a similar concept to a medley, although mashup culture often goes further by overlaying different songs, playing parts of them simultaneously so that they play off of each other.  Another way to do it is to play certain songs, but in a style that might be unexpected, given the perceived incompatibility of their genres, yet yielding results with a surprising compatibility… and even a new life to a song that might have become a bit too familiar.

Last Easter, I shared that going down a musical rabbit hole may lead us into interesting places, such as mashups that incorporate modern pop music played in a medieval style – this practice that has become known as bardcore, and it has become a bit of a cottage industry and a genre in its own right.

Indeed, there are even bands that specialize in mashups, often playing certain well-known songs in a different style.  One of my favourites is the Mexican group Tropikal Forever, which plays pop classics from the 80s and 90s in a Latin cumbia style.  Another gem that I’ve come across is the band Beatallica, which plays versions of The Beatles songs in the style of the heavy metal band Metallica.

For me, one of the most gratifying aspects of this mashup genre is that – beyond offering a fun and enjoyable piece of music – they also stimulate a new appreciation for how things may synergize together, offering something that can be greater than the sum of its parts.  There’s often an element of surprise, and a fresh challenge to preconceptions about what different currents can or cannot go together, as tranquil streams that meet and merge.

Our own faith tradition is a real-life religious mashup.  The reason that our name is such a mouthful – Unitarian Universalism – is a testament to our two main sources: two traditions that saw that they could complement each other and create something new, greater and more inspiring than either one could be by themselves.

The Universalist message of radical inclusion, along with the Unitarian practice of challenging strict orthodoxy, augmented each tradition’s ability to inspire and guide a more fulsome living tradition.

Of course, we don’t have a monopoly on the spiritual mashup business, most religious traditions have done something similar at some point.  The Christmas story most of us know, and which we shared last month, as is our custom, is itself a mashup of the gospels of Matthew and Luke, to give just one notable example that we’ve inherited from our Protestant roots.

Now, the excitement that comes from hearing and living mashups, is also tempered by the sobering realization that they aren’t as easy as they look.  Sure, once you hear them, it’s obvious that the two pieces do well together.  But it takes a keen ear and serious legwork to feel out what these pieces might be, and to arrange them in a way that truly works, beyond simply playing them at the same time.  And I’ve been around the mashup block long enough to see many instances, when… the mashup doesn’t actually work out as well as it might have seemed at first glance.

In our live online service, we tried out singing certain “hymn mashups” of sorts, using the lyrics for one hymn with tunes that are usually played with other unrelated hymns.  And yet, it works… usually.  This practice is such an established tradition, that our hymnal – and those of many other religions – actually have a built-in tool in them for service leaders to do just that.  It’s the metrical index of tunes, which has a systematic cataloguing of tunes that are likely to work with other hymns, based on their poetic metre, particularly how the syllables are arranged in the hymn.  Without this tool, many pairings simply wouldn’t work.  In fact, there are some pairings that still don’t work, even when they’re compatible on paper.

And indeed, as natural as the merging of Universalists and Unitarians may seem to many of us now, it took many decades for it to realize in a feasible way.  Trust had to be built, extensive talks and negotiations were held… there were some false starts.  And it also took the visionary leadership of their respective youth groups to just go ahead and start working together, officially or not, and demonstrate that, yes, this can work!

And current Unitarian Universalism continues to follow this lead.  Many members bring elements of their own birth traditions, or elements of traditions that they have come to follow and see that they are often compatible with the culture of our faith.

And here is where it can also get tricky.  Because incorporating many traditions isn’t always as easy or appropriate as it looks.  This can be especially true when there isn’t an adequate appreciation or understanding for other source traditions that sometimes come into our community.  Aspects that may seem complementary at first glance, might not reflect what a source tradition actually proclaims or practices, and the result may be harmful or disrespectful.

As we explore other faith traditions, it is a common experience to observe just how many similarities there are among them – and this is exciting, as it may illustrate a certain unity in the spiritual experience that we might not always be aware of.  But there is also the risk that we may be tempted to ignore unique elements from a certain tradition.

Yes, there is considerable overlap in most of the world’s spiritual paths, but it would be inaccurate – even insensitive – to say they are all the same.  There are reasons why people follow different paths.  There are elements that may be important, perhaps central, to people who are observant in a particular faith tradition, and it would be a disservice to disregard or dismiss these differences, without respecting or understanding why they may be important.

And yes, we do have much to learn from other faith traditions, especially when we’re open to seeing how they challenge our own preconceptions, and how they may complement the values and practices that are important to us and bring us deeper understanding of our own spiritual perspective.

These are enriching opportunities, as long as we remember to remain respectful, tread carefully, wait to be invited into learning, and accept the invitations when they come.  It also serves us to consider that, just because we understand one aspect, it doesn’t mean we have a true handle of what is significant in another tradition.  When exploring new faiths, it is worth removing our proverbial sandals, for we are treading on holy ground.

With all these considerations in mind, we also consider that the mashup ethos is perhaps among the more powerful forces in creativity and innovation.  It is also a reminder that new knowledge and new creation rarely exists in a vacuum, it is often the result of collaboration among many individuals, and importantly, teams of people – across space… and time.  Last November, we explored the collaboration of scientists, medical professionals, and enthusiastic researchers across the centuries, whose collaboration over space and time have brought us life-saving medications and procedures, like insulin and vaccines.

My friends, we owe a lot of what is new to what is old.  Moreover, current wisdom tends to come from more than one source.  Especially when it brings in new perspectives, or when it challenges what we’ve been accustomed to.

My friends, it takes work for things to work together.  And it can be incredibly gratifying when they do.

My friends, with a lens of responsibility, we may access a lens that magnifies what is already here, and find new paths, inspiring complementary vision from streams that meet and merge.

So may we collaborate,
In optimism, caution, and grace,
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 – For a “mashup” experience, try singing it with the DANBY tune!

Offered by Hillside Community Church (18 June, 2021)

Time for All Ages – The Taste of Protons

Steve Mould – What Do Protons Taste Like?” (18 June, 2021)

Sermon – Protonic Salad – Rev. Rod

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Early in the pandemic, one of the possible symptoms of infection that was announced was the loss of the sense of smell or taste.  And while this kind of symptom may not sound as scary as shortness of breath, fever, pneumonia, or hospitalization, it’s also not trivial, especially if it happens for a prolonged time.  Of course, there are a number of conditions that can lead to a loss of these senses, and it can really be a significant loss for some people.

It also raises many interesting questions about how we interact with our surroundings, as well as specific questions about what exactly our senses are, and how many do we have?  And even if we focus specifically on one sense, like taste… what exactly is it, and how many tastes can we perceive?

When many of us were growing up, some of these answers were easy – five senses, and in the sense of taste, it was four: salty, sweet, sour, and bitter.

But by now, many of us have gotten the memo that there’s actually a fifth recognized taste: umami, often translated as “savoury”, or sometimes as “deliciousness” or even “meaty”.  Even after accepting these five, there is ongoing debate on whether there are six, seven, eight, or even more identifiable tastes.

And in terms of our senses, for some time now, it has been understood that they number more than five.  Our vestibular sense, for instance, is one such “sixth sense”, which is our ability to find equilibrium… to balance, and the ability to feel acceleration is related to that, as these are both perceived by our inner ear, even though they are not related to sound.

There’s sometimes debate about other senses, such as the ability to perceive pain, and temperature, as well as internal senses (called interoceptions), like hunger, which aren’t so much about our surroundings, but still use our nervous system to convey information to our body.

The boundaries of how we define our senses, and the specifics of what those senses let us sense, can sometimes get fuzzy, and it is worth leaning into that fuzziness, as we explore how we get to know the world outside ourselves… as well as the world within ourselves, that we may not always be conscious about, yet it guides our behaviour and actions.  The senses, interoceptions, or whatever you want to call them, are our doors of perception.

The science educator Steve Mould, makes an interesting observation about our sense of taste, and what each of the currently recognized tastes are.  In one of his videos, he describes our tastes as chemical detection systems.  And each of the chemicals that we detect with our tastes play a literally vital part in our survival.  Sweetness allows us to find sources of energy in simple carbohydrates, like sugar.  Saltiness allows us to get a certain balance of electrolytes.  Umami can help us find sources of protein… sometimes – it helps us find glutamates, which can often come with protein, which is a start.

Indeed, the role and effectiveness of our tastes can get a bit fuzzy.  It’s probable that our sense of sourness helps us determine the ripeness of fruits, by gauging their acidity.  And Steve Mould describes bitterness broadly as a poison detection system.

But wait, some of us eat or drink bitter stuff all the time – I do it most mornings with a cup of coffee – and we don’t recoil in disgust or fear that we’re poisoning ourselves.

As Steve Mould remarks, many of our tastes can be “fooled” to an extent, in the sense that they don’t actually detect what it is we’re looking for.  We can taste sweet things that give us little or no energy – in fact, we often due that on purpose.  We can taste salty things that don’t have the amount of sodium we think we’re getting, and we often due that on purpose.  Often, we get umami stuff, because we simply like it, regardless of the protein content of the food – or food-like matter – that we’re taking.

And many of us actively seek out things that one part of our body is telling us might be poisonous, though we also know that they often are not.  Mould suggests that we’ve learned that certain things, such as broccoli, are good for us, despite the bitterness they have, so another part of us rationalizes that the bitterness is inconsequential.  Sometimes, we might even come to like it, as is the case with things like chocolate, coffee, and beer.

And Mould hypothesizes that the pleasurable sensations we get from the psychoactive substances in these foods and drinks overrides the bitterness, or might even help us associate the bitterness with the pleasure of eating and drinking these things.  One of the most bitter, yet harmless, substances we can ingest, is quinine, which was used as a tonic against malaria at some point, and now some of us seek it out on purpose, in smaller doses (in tonic water).

Perhaps the most mind-blowing taste might be sourness, because the mechanism our tastebuds use to detect acidity is thanks to one of the signature features of acids – their tendency to give out positive hydrogen ions.  And as Mould explains, since hydrogen is made up of only one proton and one electron, and a positive hydrogen ion is missing one electron, we are effectively tasting protons when we eat something sour – “protons taste sour” (Steve Mould).  Every time we dress a salad, we are seasoning it with a generous helping of protons for our tongue to detect.

What I find rather powerful about this perspective is that it reminds me of just what senses really are – our ability to interact and connect with the world.  And our doors of perception affect our ability to respond to this world as it interacts with us.

Not only is it amazing that we can directly taste a subatomic particle, with no specialty equipment beyond a salad bowl and some vinegar (no particle accelerators required), but we can also make use of these flavours to affect our diets and our health, sometimes for good (in the interest of our well-being), and sometimes… for ill (quite literally).

Artificial and low-calorie sweeteners and low-sodium salt are one way in which we purposefully “hack” our sense of taste to reduce the adverse effects that too much sugar and salt can have on our bodies.  Let’s remember that both sugar and salt are essential nutrients that we regularly require to survive.  We evolved to like these things so that we could get enough of them, especially when they were hard to come by.

But in our current industrialized society, these things have become more than easy to come by – too easy – so easy in fact, that we often have them without realizing it.  And so, we’ve learned to go out of our way to avoid them, at least some of the time, sometimes getting some help in keeping our cravings in check, with substances that give us similar sensations.

And we’ve learned to tolerate or even like some bitter foods and drinks, because we’ve learned that they are not nearly as poisonous as their taste might imply, or might even be especially good for us.

And then there’s umami, which helped our ancestors detect and get protein.  But umami doesn’t always come with protein, and that can be helpful, since protein is also easier to come by nowadays, including from things other than meat.  And even though some umami foods, like tomatoes, mushrooms, and seaweed don’t have much protein, we’re still getting other good things from them.

But umami can also be industrially added to foods in substances like monosodium glutamate, or MSG.  A fuller discussion on the health effects of MSG might perhaps be a topic for another time or place, although it’s been established that it’s not nearly as dangerous as popular lore has made it out to be.  As internet cook and food commentator Adam Ragusea observes, in and of itself, the substance MSG is quite harmless to most people.

Food historian Dr. Sarah Tracey, from the University of Toronto, observes that the greater danger of MSG might be that it can taste so good, with very little nutrients, especially when added to other foods that don’t do much for us.  Things like, food-inspired products, like packaged snacks.  When added to the wrong things, MSG and other flavour enhancers can make “food” that is terrible for us be irresistible, and that’s perhaps its greatest danger.

There is one saving grace in contemplating junk foods like these.  They are a lesson in interacting with the senses.  It’s not just one ingredient that makes them so irresistible, but a very precise science that mixes many experiences.  There is saltiness, sweetness, sourness, and umami all together.  Not only that, there is sight involved, appealing shapes and colours that beckon to us.  And there is also sound.  The tastes, aromas, sights and sounds, all come together into one satisfying experience.

But junk food does not have a monopoly on these experiences, healthy and wholesome foods can have those too – it just takes a bit more forethought, more consideration, more intentionality.  Healthy foods can have all the tastes, look good, even sound good.  And when we learn, or teach ourselves, to bring that satisfying experience to our food, or anything else that we wish to do which is good for us, then our senses can continue their task of guiding us toward healthier living.

My friends, when we explore the roots and routes that the doors of perception offer, they may continue to serve us into more wholesome lives.

My friends, when we consider the ways in which the doors of perception may trick us and fool us, we may be better prepared to proceed with caution.

My friends, when we are open to our senses and seek to get deeper in touch with them, we may make of life a richer experience.

So may it be,
In optimism and grace,
Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Closing Hymn #346 Come, Sing a Song with Me
Words & music: Carolyn McDade, 1935- , © 1976 Surtsey Publishing Co.
Tune A ROSE IN WINTER

Mike Menefee KUUF Choir (1 July 2020)

Opening Hymn #290 Bring, O Past, Your Honor
~)-| Words: Charles H. Lyttle, 1884-1980
Music: John Bachus Dykes, 1823-1876
Tune NICEA

Unitarian Universalist Fellowship San Luis Obispo (26 November, 2021)

Sermon – Perpetual Beta – Rev. Rod

Watch:

Read: [Printable PDF available]

When the web browser-based e-mail platform Gmail was released in 2004, its logo came with a little tag attached to it: the word Beta.  Named after the second letter of the Greek alphabet, this is a software development concept in which the product has passed its initial alpha stage and can be considered “complete” insofar as it includes the features the developer wishes to deliver… while still expecting a number of bugs and issues to come up.

There are many ways of doing beta, but one way is to do a limited release of the product for some live testing by an initial cohort of users.  Indeed, at first, you could only get a Gmail account by invitation only, from another user.  Getting an invitation wasn’t all that difficult, as each user had 100 invites to give, so if you really wanted an account, it wasn’t long until someone you knew could give you an invite.  Fairly soon, people could simply get an account on demand.

The official beta stage lasted around five years, although even now, there is a section in each Gmail account called Labs, in which new features are constantly tested by users, and you can only access those features if you specifically sign on to take them on in a trial basis.  Some of these features might never catch on, while others eventually become part of the standard package.

In some ways, the beta mindset is a built-in feature of the product, even if it’s officially past the beta stage.

Indeed, some software developers have a looser definition of the beta stage, and have embraced an approach that could be called perpetual beta, in which the users of the product are effectively co-developers of it on an ongoing basis.

Our Unitarian Universalist faith also embraces much of the perpetual beta ethos.  Of course, we tend to use more… theological language, such as living tradition, in which we actively recognize that, just as we honour past experience and wisdom, we also welcome ongoing reform and development.

In the condensed histories of our Universalist roots, and of our church of Olinda, Louise Foulds takes care to include some of our roots in the appendices.  These include proclamations of faith that might still resonate with some among us, but which have given way to broader and more inclusive statements and covenants that we have determined are more reflective of our tradition as it is today and as we want to be.

Each of these statements has been years in the making, each building upon previous ones.  And the adoption of each new statement has not come automatically – each one included countless hours of discussion and deliberation, and did not come without moments of controversy.  Nonetheless, each one also came about because the groups that came up with them identified a need in the community for changes – or upgrades, as they might be called in the software development lingo.

The latest of these developments is the addition of an 8^th principle, as the member congregations of the Canadian Unitarian Council covenant to affirm and promote: “Individual and communal action that accountably dismantles racism and systemic barriers to full inclusion in ourselves and our institutions.” 

This was a change that came with many hours of discussion and debate in our denomination nation wide.  It did not come without controversy and resistance.  And while support for this was not unanimous – for various reasons – it was also overwhelmingly adopted by our delegates nationwide, last November.

While this was a momentous change to the original document that was adopted in 1985, it wasn’t the first change made to the original 7 principles and 5 sources, as adopted in 1985 – a 6^th source was added in 1995, recognizing earth-centred traditions as part of our heritage, practice, and community.

The 8^th principle is the latest addition.  And the wording adopted in Canada is itself modified from a similar proposal in the United States, which is still under consideration by the Unitarian Universalist Association.  The Canadian wording came with its own set of questions that included considering how it applied in our national context.

The “original” 7 principles and 5 sources – later 6 sources – were themselves the product of a wholesale revision of the previous 6 principles that were adopted in 1961.

I won’t go through all the 6 principles from 1961 here, but if you were to look at them, the similarities – and the differences – would likely jump out at you.  Obviously, 6 principles are different than 7; also, the order is different.  The wording and general sentiments, however, would look very familiar, and much of it was carried over into the newer 7 principles of 1985.  There would, however be some wording that would immediately look rather strange – the conspicuous use of the word “man”.

In the 1961 statement, its 3^rd principle speaks about “the dignity of man”, its 4^th principle speaks of “a world community founded on ideals of brotherhood”, and its 6^th principle proclaims “To encourage cooperation with men of good will in every land.”

I think we know what the intent of those words was, but the impact it will have on us now is of a gender-exclusive use of language.

It will not surprise you that it was in large part the initiative of women in our movement that prompted the revision of the principles in the 1980s.  Not only were the principles reworded and reordered, they added a 7^th principle that speaks to our interconnectedness, recognizing, among other things, a rising environmental awareness.  And, of course, the language became more inclusive.

Now that the 8^th principle has been adopted in Canada, there is no illusion that the work is done, and that this covenant is to remain static.  In a living tradition, a covenant is a living document, which warrants periodic revisiting to consider how it will serve us better in the service of humanity.  Already, there are plans to review the process by which we adopt and amend our principles in Canada (this was a point of contention during the discussions about the 8^th principle).  Once that process is determined, there may come a time in which our principles may be re-developed again, perhaps with minor edits, or perhaps with wholesale changes, like entire re-orderings and rewordings.

It has not escaped our attention, for instance, that our current 2^nd source speaks about the “Words and deeds of prophetic women and men” – more inclusive than the male-centric wording from 1961, but still reinforcing a gender-binary that does not recognize members of our community along a broader gender spectrum.

My friends, at the church of Olinda, we have started adopting some covenants among some of our ministries.  Some of these are short-lived, intended to serve us during specific settings, such as educational programming groups.  Others are longer-standing, as is the case in some committees.  These are all living documents, in perpetual beta, as their ongoing development and redevelopment help guide us in who we seek to be, and on how we want to be with each other.

My friends, in a living tradition we continue an ongoing practice, as we make our church the place where we practice being human.

My friends, may this practice be our ongoing covenant.

So may it be,
In optimism and grace,

Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #123 Spirit of Life
Words & music: Carolyn McDade, 1935 © 1981 Carolyn McDade
~)-| harmony by Grace Lewis-McLaren, 1939- , © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Tune SPIRIT OF LIFE

Sung by Leah Hokanson of First Unitarian Fellowship of Nanaimo
Posted by the Canadian Unitarian Council (8 March, 2021)

Opening Hymn #326 Let All the Beauty We Have Known
~)-| Words: Dana McLean Greeley, 1908-1986
Music: English melody, adapt. and harmony by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958, © 1931 Oxford University Press
Tune DANBY

Unitarian Universalist Church Utica (30 January, 2021)

Sermon – Ctrl+Z – Rev. Rod

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When your work involves a lot of typing, you are likely to pick up a habit of using what are called the “key shortcuts” – which is to say, little combinations on a computer keyboard that do little “tricks” or functions.  I won’t go through all of them here, but there are a couple that bear mentioning.

On many computer configurations, if I press-and-hold the shift key while tapping the arrow keys, I can highlight text, if I then press-and-hold the ctrl (“control”) key along with the letter c, the computer will copy that text – this the ctrl+c shortcut.  And I can then paste that text somewhere else by using ctrl+v.  You could also do all this with your mouse, but sometimes, using the key shortcuts allows for more precision, or… well, control.

But perhaps my favourite key shortcut is ctrl+z.  Using that combination of keys does something magical – it will undo previous actions, and this can range from the last letter you typed, to entire paragraphs (depending on how many times you tap it).  It’s essentially a typing eraser, and I use it – a lot.  In fact, I used it while typing this very paragraph!

Like many things, ctrl+z is a tool, something that helps you in your trade – just as the correction ribbon on a typewriter might have been at some point.  And for someone who writes for a living, ctrl+z can be almost as habitual as typing itself.

Sometimes, the habit becomes so engrained that it can be a bit jarring when you realize you can’t use it “in real life”.  After spending several minutes, or even hours, moving furniture around a room – or putting furniture together – and then realizing it’s not quite where you want it, or the order of assembly has been mixed up… it can be almost a reflex to move the fingers to an imaginary set of keys, typing “ctrl+z” in the air.  But the furniture will not reset itself… the key shortcuts don’t work the same way outside of the word processor.  There is no ctrl+z for real life.

Or is there?

Let’s back up a bit… or press the proverbial backspace key, if you will!

It is common to start a new year with a sense of new beginnings, of resetting – perhaps looking back at the previous year and thinking about the things we might have done differently.  To some degree, this is an arbitrary practice, based solely on shifts in the calendar… but that’s as good a time as any.  In fact, reflection and evaluation has a place at any time when we feel that new direction might be useful.

And the past two years have certainly raised a heightened sense of… needing new direction, or wanting to start over again.  This is true worldwide, and this extends to our more immediate communities.  Perhaps some of us occasionally get an overwhelming desire to altogether have a total do-over… essentially press the proverbial ctrl+z keys of life.

New year’s resolutions represent one way some of us might try to do that – and these can bring mixed results.  It may well lead to new directions in life, or at least begin exploring certain aspects of how we live our lives.

Last year, I mentioned a more novel practice of considering a general theme for the year – rather than a specific resolution.  This approach might offer more flexibility, allowing the goals of a theme to adapt to the shifting needs that real life presents to each of us, as the year evolves.  You might choose, for instance, a year of health, or a year of relationship-building, and whatever you end up doing under any of those umbrellas represents your fulfillment of those themes.

In everyday situations, there are other ways that we may find “ctrl+z moments”, like when we make a mistake (outside of the word processor) or when we find that we have hurt someone.  Apologies are one way that we sometimes seek to remedy those missteps – these usually don’t really “undo” a regrettable action, but they might bring a relationship to a more wholesome state, perhaps even improve upon how it was before.

Now, apologies aren’t always possible, or desirable.  There are times when that’s not what is being asked for, and may in fact lead to more problems if they are not welcome.  They are one tool at our disposal, offering options.

An even broader tool at our disposal is an attitude of openness to learning.  And this is extremely valuable, because even when a complete do-over isn’t possible, or when apologies either won’t cut it or aren’t really feasible, learning will still allow us to grow and develop, to enrich our lives, perhaps further beyond what they would have been without having stumbled along in the first place.

We have previously explored how making mistakes is sometimes an integral part of the learning process, and that in many tasks, such as learning a language or a new skill, getting it wrong comes with the package as an expected part of the process.  That is what practice is often about.

Embracing this approach to learning and development is much easier when we stop demanding perfection in the process.  It doesn’t mean we won’t try in earnest nor does it mean forgetting about the consequences of a blunder; it simply means recognizing that the practice involves ongoing rehearsal, and each time it might be a bit different – maybe even a bit better.

Sometimes, when we hear a word like evaluation, we might cringe at implications of being tested or criticized.  But if we consider it in its broader sense of taking stock, of reflection and consideration of what’s important to us – what is valuable to us – then we can see it as another tool toward a new and improved direction.

Last week, we heard from some among you as you looked back at the past year, as well as how you’re looking at the coming year, and this is an evaluation of sorts.

In a couple of months, we’ll be holding our Annual General Meeting, and we’ll have had a chance to consider the annual reports from our many shared ministries in our church.  These too are evaluations and reflections of where we’ve been and where we want to go.  They’re not about testing or criticizing our shared work, they’re opportunities for learning and community development.

Our Committee on Shared Ministry will also be holding a general evaluation of our shared ministries, and this too will help us get a better sense of our congregation, taking stock of where we are and where we want to be as a church.

Our weekly Sunday services are constantly being re-evaluated, and this has become an even greater necessity over the past couple years, as our format and logistical preparation shifts – sometimes week to week.

So, my friends, even though life outside the word processor doesn’t really have as magic an eraser as ctrl+z, we do have ample tools for ongoing course correction, for consideration and reflection, for learning and enrichment.

My friends, may we take these opportunities to practice deepening and development in our shared ministries.

My friends, may we so practice our ministry.

So may it be,
In optimism and grace,

Amen

Copyright © 2022 Rodrigo Emilio Solano-Quesnel

Hymn #56 Bells in the High Tower
~)-| Words: Howard Box, 1926- , © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Music: Hungarian carol, © 1992 Unitarian Universalist Association
Tune KRISZTUS URUNKNAK

Social Band (24 October, 2015)