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December 31, 2004
2005 UU Resolutions
Be It Resolved...
Five Ways to Live Unitarian Universalist Values in the New Year
1. Learn More about the 2004-2006 Study Action Issue on global warming.
The UUA Commission on Social Witness has provided a wealth of information, in collaboration with the UUA's Washington Center for Legislative Advocacy. Read more about this important world issue and take action in your congregation and your community!
2. Become involved in a covenant group/small group ministry in your congregation.
Covenant groups are a transformational practice through which we, with others, can discover our own underlying assumptions about reality and examine our ways of being, some of which have become so habitual that they seem to us just 'the way things are.' Visit the Small Group Ministry website and the UUA's small group ministry page to find out more!
3. Become a more active lay leader in your congregation.
Our congregtions need all of us to strengthen the voice of Unitarian Universalism in our community and the wider world. The InterConnections lay leadership site offers you QuickStart information, Frequently Asked Questions, a link to the InterConnections newsletter, and more!
4. Talk to other Unitarian Universalists and share information and learning.
The UUA hosts over 250 email lists and several bulletin boards which can help you connect to other UUs around the globe and share learning, ideas, and fellowship. Visit our communication forum page and follow the links to subscribe to uua-l, our news and information email list, or any of the others that will feed your mind and your deeper connection to our faith!
5. Nurture your spirit - read a Skinner House book!
Mary Wellemeyer's Admire the Moon has just been published, and offers a loving look at life, the spirit, and the worshipping center of our souls - perfect for reflection in this new year!
Posted by harboruu at 12:07 PM | Comments (0)
December 19, 2004
Gift of Hope
Have you ever had a bad case of the Holiday Doldrums? That's what happened to me this week. Suddenly the fact that I actually filled out and mailed all the invitations to my Open House on time did not matter. Even the fact that I pu-chased, wrapped and mailed the out of town presents early enough to get there by Christmas did not matter. The Holiday Doldrums struck with a vengeance. And then my much-loved Joshua T. Catt took a turn for the worse, just as I needed to write this sermon about hope.
As is often the case among UU ministers, I turned to our chat-line whose members share gripes and resources and love and humor. Someone shared the following story told by Bill Clarke during his baccalaureate sermon at Harvard Divinity School in 1999.
Bill was from Provincetown, and for several years before coming to Divinity School, he practiced an AIDS ministry. This involved being with many of his friends in their last illnesses; you can imagine what that does to one’s soul. At some point the stress of this ministry got to him and he was overcome with gloom and despair and other feelings which are too heavy to name. He went out to take a walk along the beach there in Provincetown, and he asked himself where he was going to get the strength to continue his work.
It was then that he became aware that he wasn’t alone. There was a woman walking on the beach, and she was shouting something. Bill was a little up wind of her, but as she moved closer, he could hear that she was shouting Joy.
Bill felt it was a call from somewhere to his soul: Joy, that’s it. I’ll just try to feel joy. The realization swept over him that even in the midst of all the sadness and loss, joy was something he could have. So he started shouting it too.
The woman was shouting Joy and Bill was shouting Joy. As he came closer, their cries echoed each other. He decided that when they came to within talking distance of each other, he would tell her how her shout of joy had changed his whole outlook on life.
Then a large Golden Retriever came out from behind a dune, and ran up to the woman, who said to the dog, Joy, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.
It is difficult to feel joy or hope when your life is a mess. It is hard to gaze upon the symbols of the season, and affirm their mythical meaning when loved ones are ill, friends are out of work, and homelessness increasing. When the news of the world only reinforces our doldrums, hope seems elusive. Here is another story that focuses on hope.
There was a woman named Mary Rose, known as M'rose. She had a difficult life. Although she was qualified on paper for several kinds of work, she had difficulty holding down a job. She would apply for and get a job, work for several months, just to the point of receiving a raise and some benefits. And then some-thing would happen. The car would break down. Or, she had an illness that incapacitated her for a length of time. Or, she had to go take care of her sick mother. Then, she would lose her job--again.
I talked to M'rose one of those times. She complained vociferously about how unfair it was that she lost her job. "My mother was really sick, and she needed my help," she said. "I traveled all the way to the U.P. to take care of her. My car broke down on the way, and it had to be towed. It cost me $50.00, and the re-pairs were another $65.00. She hadn't paid her gas bill, and the house was cold. I turned on the heat, nursed her through her pneumonia, and cleaned up her house. Then, when I returned, I got fired, just because I missed two weeks of work. It isn't fair!"
And then she added, "But then my sister called. You know, she's the one that married up, and we all thought she was too snooty to have anything to do with us. She called, and she said she wanted to help. She flew in to visit Mama, and when she heard about my car troubles, she reached in her purse and gave me $1,000. Can you believe that? $1,000. It made me really happy. It gave me hope again."
However, M'rose was not yet through. She started talking about how her mother was going to die before long--just like a lot of other people she loved.
"You know, Mama made it through this crisis, but she's not long for this world. She's going to die soon, probably in this next year. I just don't know what I'm going to do. Daddy died just three years ago, and my oldest brother in that car accident last year. It's just too much. I don't know how I'll ever be able to bear it. My dog had better get over this convulsion problem, or I'm just going to lose it! Grief is so hard to deal with."
I opened my mouth to talk to her about the support our faith, Unitarian Univer-salism, offers to people who are grieving, but she was far ahead of me. "But you know," she said. "Last year when Bud was killed in that car wreck, I got so much support! And not just from the minister… The Caring Ministry was there to help with the Memorial Service, and the church members all called and sent letters, and hugged me when they saw me. People brought food, and Sharon took me out to dinner. The people I met at that cluster meeting with other UU churches even sent cards. Unitarian Universalists really came through for me. I know they will again. That gives me hope."
I smiled and nodded, and poured another cup of coffee for both of us. I could tell M'Rose was not yet finished. She drew another breath and I braced myself. "Now she's going to talk about Maurice," I thought. I was right.
"I got a letter from Maurice yesterday," she said. "You know, he's the youngest brother that's in Iraq. They are extending his service for another six months!" She paused for effect. "Another six months! His unit served a whole year, and we were so happy when they came back, and he was okay. When they were sent back, we just couldn't believe it! And now they are extended, right when we were expecting them back after Christmas. It just isn't fair! You know, everyone doesn't agree with me about this…," and she glanced around to see who was near, "but I think we should never have gone in there in the first place. I think we were not told the truth about a lot of things. And now my baby brother is over there getting shot at and he's going to have to stay another six months."
I held out my arms and gave her a hug. She sniffled a few times, wiped her eyes and said, "But maybe that election will make a difference. Maybe the Iraqis will all come out to vote, and the policemen Maurice is training will protect them all. Maybe they'll elect people who really will bring democracy to Iraq. There's always hope, don't you think? There's always hope."
I nodded my head and said, "Yes, M'rose. There's always hope."
M'rose had a lot of valid complaints. Life had not treated her fairly.
She was jobless, she had suffered great loss and expected more, and she was distressed and discouraged with the larger world that threatened her brother and so many other people. Like a lot of us, she sometimes found it difficult to hang on to hope.
She did not say so, but I think that it is even more difficult when the hours of possible sunshine are brief, and the sky often gray with clouds that threaten rain and snow. From antiquity humans have struggled to survive during cold, dark winters. That is why our ancestors developed myths and legends that reassured them that the dark was nurturing, the dark was necessary, and the dark would not last. We are the beneficiaries of their storytelling.
The stories that provide the base of our culture provide us with symbols of light that banishes darkness, and the birth of a Babe who brings hope to the world. Candles burn for the magical eight days that symbolize eternity. Rituals honor the darkness that is necessary for rest and nourishment, and celebrate the return of the Sun that affirms that light and warmth and green will return. And the birth of a Babe who will grow to become a great prophet and teacher is celebrated in much of the Western Hemisphere. The Babe symbolizes hope--the hope that humans can learn and grow and change the unfair systems of the world.
However, when death, whether of a mother or a much-loved pet threatens, it is hard to grasp the symbols with enthusiasm. When loved ones are sent to a war zone or tallies of dead soldiers and civilians enter our consciousness, it is difficult to dance with joy around the blazing cauldron, or give the family crèche its holi-day home. When our friends and family members find it difficult to survive in a community with 7% unemployment, despite the assurances of experts that the economy is improving, carols may be sung flat and the conversation around holi-day feasts falter. Hope, despite the omnipresent seasonal symbols, is hard to find.
Let me suggest that hope, rather than a nebulous feeling that suffuses the heart when gazing upon a lighted Christmas tree, is a tough decision. Let me remind you of one of my favorite quotes from John Murray, the founder of Universalism. He charges his congregation to "Give them not hell, but hope and courage…"
It takes courage to hope when the evidence of man's inhumanity to man is un-avoidable. It takes courage to gaze upon both the joblessness prevalent in our area and the brightly decorated houses and yards that surround us, and decide to hope. It takes courage to light a candle, rather than to curse the darkness. It takes courage to bring forth that ultimate symbol of hope, a tiny baby, in the face of war that threatens to be with us for decades. I talk with parents and grand-parents who are worrying about a draft that will draw their young teens into the maelstrom of war. It takes courage to decide to hope in the face of such concerns.
Patrick Murfin, the writer of Let Us Be that Stable, charges us to make that decision, and to act upon it. He charges us to provide a home for the spiritual pilgrim, a home that includes the infant hope. He charges us to provide a home for shepherds and sages, seers and seekers. He charges us to ignore the imper-fections of our physical space, whether of thatched roof or lack of parking places. We must still be that welcoming home that features hope as well as liberal reli-gion, for there are uncounted numbers of people searching for a faith like ours.
One of the most famous poems about hope written in the English language was composed by one of our Unitarian foremothers--Emily Dickinson.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all. (Emily Dickinson)
Even in my most despairing moments I never forget the opening line of this poem--"Hope is the thing with feathers…" Feathers tickle, feathers are light in weight, feathers keep birds warm… I am not sure what Ms. Dickinson had in mind when she crafted that line, but it has sustained me through some difficult times.
Then I focus on the rest of the poem, "…that perches in the soul,/and sings the tune without the words/and never stops at all." Hope is always there, lightly tickling our soul, keeping us warm, just waiting for us to have the courage to decide to embrace it.
In this Holiday Season, I charge you to decide to hope. I charge you to feel the tickle in your soul as you light candles and decorate trees.
I charge you to recognize the warmth that emanates from awkward adolescent angels and rotund Santas. I charge you to look into the faces of your family and decide to hope for the best for them. I charge you to work at being hopeful. Practice hope as you practice other life enhancing skills.
Go forth and be joyful.
Go forth and practice hope.
Go forth and celebrate this Holiday Season.
Amen.
Blessed Be.
Shalom.
Salaat.
Posted by harboruu at 10:54 AM | Comments (0)
December 05, 2004
Light After Battle
I want to share with you a story from the book, Jewish Holidays and Festivals. I do not know if it is true. The collectors make no such claim. If not, it contains some mythic truths that speak to my heart.
When George Washington was at Valley Forge in the terrible winter of 1777, his soldiers suffered from deep cold, hunger and the despair that strikes when dark seems to envelop the world and danger is near. Among them was a young Jew from Poland. Some of the soldiers cursed Washington, but the young Jew remembered the insults and persecution his family had suffered in Poland. He thought Washington and his cause was right.
When the young man left his family to travel to the New World across the sea, his father gave him a silver Menorah. He told him to always light the candles on the Menorah at Hanukkah, for "they will light your way to freedom." The young man obeyed.
So, when Hanukkah came during that cold winter, the young man lit the candles on his Menorah and chanted the traditional blessing. Suddenly he was overcome with memories of his family back in Poland, and he began weeping.
He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to see the commander of the army, General George Washington, looking at him. "Why are you weeping, soldier? Is it because of the bitter cold?" asked the General.
"I am crying and praying for your victory, General. I am sure we will win, for we fight for freedom and justice," replied the soldier.
The General thanked him, and sat beside the young man in the snow. He asked him about the lamp, for he was unfamiliar with Menorahs. The young man explained its significance, and told the story of the Maccabees who fought for freedom. The General shook his hand and thanked him, then disappeared in the cold darkness.
The story does not end there however, for the soldier moved to New York City following the victory of Washington's rag-tag army, and his election to the presidency of the new United States. On Hanukkah, the young man again lit his Menorah and set it in the window, as is the custom. There was a knock at the door, and, much to his surprise, there stood the new president, George Washington.
Washington told the young man that the light of the Menorah had entered his heart that night at Valley Forge, and he thanked him again. The young man was so touched he gave him his father's silver Menorah, which Washington carried away to light his steps into the future.
There are two accounts in the apocrypha of the victory of the Jewish people led by Judah Maccabee and his brothers over the occupying Greeks. You heard the 1 Maccabees version this morning; there is also one in 2 Maccabees which is shorter. They both tell of the victory, the defaced temple, and the rebuilding of the altar. They both tell of lighting the lamps, filled with sacred oil, and burning them for eight days. Neither one says anything about a shortage of oil, or a subsequent miracle. That tradition developed later.
The purpose of rebuilding the altar, of rededicating the temple, of lighting the sacred lamps, was to give thanks to The Holy One of Israel for their victory. The Greeks, or Gentiles, had tried to force the Jews to comply with their forms of worship. They, as did most other societies in the known world, often conflated great men with gods. So conquerors, such as Alexander, or rulers demanded that inferior people bow down to them, as to gods.
The Jews resisted this strongly. There were always insurgents in the hills around Jerusalem. The struggle between monotheists and polytheists started early. It predates the struggle between different forms of monotheism that continues today.
Thus, after driving the Gentiles out of Jerusalem, the Jews knew the appropriate action was to give thanks to their God. However, the temple had been dese-crated and must be cleaned and rededicated before they could do so. They did this, then lit their lamps, filled them with the sacred oil, and chanted their thanks.
After battle they connected with the Holy, which they knew as Yahweh, through light and prayer. I believe this is a universal need. I believe that after great stress, humans have a need to connect with the holy. It may be after battle, but it may also be after other types of danger.
We have just completed celebrating our Thanksgiving Holiday. Most of us gath-ered with family and/or friends to share a feast. Most of us ate too much rich food. Some of us had more than one Thanksgiving feast as we traveled from one branch of the extended family to another. Some of us spent the hours fol-lowing our feasting sprawled on comfortable chairs or ensconced in soft beds digesting, just digesting, the abundant feast. A few of us may have preceded our feasting with a prayer that expressed our gratitude for our blessings, especially the groaning table.
Most of us know that Thanksgiving is based on the Pilgrim story--the group of Englishmen and women who came ashore in New England, rather than their stated goal, Virginia. They landed in December, in a cold strange land, with very little to support them in their new home. December is almost too late to harvest any food for the winter, let alone grow any. They had to live through the winter, plant in the spring, subsist on what little they could forage, and then harvest in late summer before they had any assurance they could survive.
One third of them did not. One third of the company that landed at Plymouth Rock did not live to see a harvest. Most of them died that first winter. Every family must have suffered loss. Those that lived were hungry all the time, sus-ceptible to disease, and weakened when it struck. And yet they never stopped praising God.
Let us think about that. This group of starving people gathered weekly for wor-ship, at which they praised God. They received some help from the natives, who shared some of their food, and taught them how to forage, then how to plant their crops. The legend of Squanto is factual.
However, they were isolated from other Europeans, cold and starving, and with few survival skills. What they did have was a vision--a holy vision, an over-whelming vision, of "The City on a Hill" that would be "A Light to All Nations." And they had a very strong faith in the God that inspired that vision.
They connected with the Holy, as they knew it. They connected regularly, for they were always at risk. And, when the harvest came in, and survival for the next winter seemed likely, they gave thanks in special services. Usually they fasted before and during the services, then feasted later. It is probably this feast that has evolved into our Thanksgiving.
Let us turn to another story from the Hebrew Bible to illustrate connecting to the Holy after great stress. The book of Exodus relates the story of Moses leading the Hebrews out of Egypt and into the wilderness, and to the border of Caanan, the land flowing with milk and honey, promised to his people by Yahweh.
Pharaoh pursued the people to the edge of the Reed Sea, where the threat of capture was great. You know the legend--that Yahweh, working through Moses, divided the Reed Sea so that the Hebrews could pass. However, the waters crashed over the heads of Pharaoh and his army, preventing their passage. Cecil B. deMille presented it most dramatically some years ago.
It is appropriate to give thanks following a miracle, and the Hebrews did so. There are two versions--the Moses version and the Miriam version. In the Moses version we are told that Moses and the people gave thanks and sang a song to the LORD. And a 15 verse song is presented in Exodus 15:1-15. Then, immediately following, we are told;
"When Pharaoh's horse, both chariots and cavalry, went into the sea, the LORD brought back the waters over them; but Israel had passed through the sea on dry ground. The prophetess Miriam, Aaron's sister, took up her tambourine, and all the women followed her, dancing to the sound of tam-bourines; and Miriam sang them this refrain: "Sing to the Lord, for he has risen up in triumph: horse and rider he has hurled into the sea."
Scholars name this as one of the oldest verses in Hebrew Scriptures, and it probably designates Miriam, sister of Aaron and Moses, as a leader of the exodus.
It is clear that she, rather than either of her brothers, was the one who reached out to connect to the Holy after the great risk they endured. Tambourines were women's instruments, which were picked up and played by the priestess and other women, both in worship and to celebrate victories. Biblical scholars agree that the canon as we know it was redacted (edited) many times. In the redaction process, women's roles were often reduced or eliminated. The redactors often added on another version of a story, rather than eliminating an older version. This is why we often have "doubles", the same story told in different ways.
So, the story of Miriam and her song is regarded as the older, thus more accu-rate, version. She, and the other women, knew that they needed to connect to the Holy there on the shores of the Reed Sea. The way with which they were familiar was to dance and sing, for they had no temple in which to pray or sac-rifice. Miriam led the people in giving thanks and connecting to the Holy after their safe delivery from Pharaoh's forces.
Let us move forward in time now, to a Hanukkah closer to our memories. Let us go to Holland in 1943. This is a story told by Doug Kor, and adapted by Shari Lewis.
It was 1943. It was winter. It was wartime and food was scarce. Many Dutch Jews had been hunted down and sent away by the Nazi soldiers. That's what happened to Isaac's parents, and it might have happened to him, but an old Christian couple had hidden Isaac away in their attic, though if the Nazi's found out, it might mean their own deaths.
Now this couple loved Christmas, and had saved tiny bits of candles and cans of food so they could celebrate their holiday with a small tree and a big meal.
They told Isaac about Christmas. He told them about Hanukkah, the Jew-ish celebration right before Christmastime, when Jews light candles for each of the eight days of the festival. The more Isaac remembered, the more he missed his family and the sadder he became. The old couple saw Isaac suffering and suffered with him.
"Let's do what we can," they agreed.
And on the first day of Hanukkah, to Isaac's delight, there were two candles shining brightly in his attic, and for each day thereafter, the couple lit an-other candle and opened another can of food that they had been saving for their own holiday.
There would be no gifts for Christmas for them this year, but their gift was the joy they saw reflected from the Hanukkah candles in Isaac's eyes.
This story not only demonstrates that people can reach across religious bound-aries to help others despite great danger, but it also illustrates how significant connection with the Holy is at such times. The old couple sacrificed their own celebration to help a young boy find comfort in the rituals of his own, different, faith. All were in grave danger, for if they were found, all would suffer. The old couple was able to connect with their God through the ritual the young boy practiced to connect with his God. Love triumphed over fear and the hate preached by the Nazis to make the connections possible.
The fact that we now live in the 21st Century does not change the need we have for such connections. We still need to renew our bonds to the Holy following tragedy.
Remember how this church, as well as many others, filled with people following September 11, 2001? People needed to connect with each other, and with the Holy, however they defined it. They needed to know that there was still some-thing stable in their lives. They needed to know that life still had meaning, that love still existed, that there was hope of a better future.
This nation found that it was no longer safe in its splendid isolation. It found that not everyone approved of and supported our actions in the world, and that some of them felt so strongly about it that they were willing to go to great lengths to demonstrate their disapproval. This nation learned that it, as well as the rest of the world, was vulnerable.
In many ways and many places we flooded into houses of worship. We mourned the loss of life, and the loss of our invulnerability. We, quietly, silently, gave thanks that we were still living. We connected with the Holy, as we understood it.
I speculate that one reason the scars from Vietnam have failed to heal is be-cause there was little or no connection to the Holy following that conflict. We gathered in churches to protest the war, or to argue about the war, or to support the troops. We agonized over actions of some of our soldiers that failed to live up to the ideals upon which this nation was founded. We allowed these soldiers to color the perception of all of our soldiers. We could not give thanks to God, for there was no victory, and there was no consensus that Vietnam was a just war.
We failed to connect with the Holy, and we failed to heal from the stresses of that conflict. Our veterans are still suffering from the lack of resolution. I fear we are facing another conundrum regarding the current war in Iraq. Let us resolve to support our returning veterans, whether we support the policies that brought us to this place in our history. Let us help the young men and women who return to connect with the Holy, so that they may heal from the wounds of war.
The story of the Maccabees does not end with their victory and the initiation of Hanukkah. They founded, much to the distress of many of the priests, a line of kings. They ruled the nation of Israel for several generations. Like many other ruling families, the line ran thin after its heroic founding. They ended up inviting in the Romans to protect them, thus setting up their nation's domination by that Empire. Their story, like much of ours, is ambiguous.
However, they also founded a Festival of Lights, which endures even today. The Festival illustrates the need to connect with the Holy after great stress. After great battles, light is needed.
Let us honor the light lit by the Maccabees, flawed heroes of freedom.
Shalom.
Blessed Be.
Saalat.
Amen.
Posted by harboruu at 10:53 AM | Comments (0)