Our Fathers

“Our Fathers”

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
June 21, 2009

Father’s Day, a day to honor the men who sired us, raised us, nurtured us, mentored us, taught us. A day also to wince at the pain and frustration known by some among us who do not feel so inclined to honor the men who sired, raised, and taught us. It’s a tough cookie, this matter of Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, whether we consider our mothers and fathers—and some of us may well have two of each—or whether we consider the mothering or fathering that we have done and continue to practice. Parenting is such a daunting process, I’m convinced sometimes that it’s all practice. This is why I always say to any among you who announce that you’re expecting a child, whether you’re expecting a birth child or an adoptive child, “Congratulations! Your life will never be the same.”

Parenting is not for the faint of heart. For good reason the fifth commandment of those legendary commandments of Moses does not say: “Love your father and mother,” but “Honor your father and mother,” and not for their sake but, as one translation goes, “that your days may be long in the land which the Lord your God gives you.” (Exodus 20:12)

A demeanor of honor, of respectful civility for our parents, is counseled across faith traditions. In the story I related earlier of the young man and his elderly father sharing a backyard bench, this is conveyed through the brief interchange between them and the background chirping of a sparrow, which held the rapt gaze of the father. Attuned to his surroundings, most especially, the delicate bird, the elderly father asked his young adult son again and again, “What is that?” pointing to the sparrow. The son, with his nose in a newspaper, replied to the first few rounds with a matter-of-fact, “A sparrow.” When the father repeated the question, the son grew increasingly irritated, until the elderly father rose to go into the house. In a moment, he returned with a book, which he handed to his son, indicating to him to read “loud” a certain passage. The son read of how a one-time three-year-old asked repeatedly the same question his father had been asking repeating, also in reference to a delicate sparrow: “What is that?” Again and again, the young father had replied patiently, “A sparrow.” The young man’s face softened and saddened. With remorse over how miserably he had failed to show his father the love and patience his father had shown him, the son reached over and embraced the man who was now as innocent as he had been as a three-year-old child.

The scenario concludes with a passage from the Quran:

“The Lord hath decreed that ye worship none but Him, and that ye be kind to parents. Whether one or both of them attain old age in thy life, say not to them a word of contempt, or repel them, but address them in terms of honor. And out of kindness, lower to them the wing of humility, and say: ‘My Lord! Bestow on them thy Mercy even as they cherished me in childhood.” (Sura isra’a 23-24)

It could as easily have been the passage from the 20th chapter of the Book of Exodus.

The elderly father reminds me of my grandfathers. My Grandfather Edwards sat me as a young child on his lap and taught me songs and prayers with the same ease that he took me by the hand and brought me along to the Halfa Store, a spot-in-the-road general store, where I hopped on his lap and listened to my Grandad and his farmer friends talk away an hour or so as they shared a beer and kept me well supplied with ice cream. As a teenager, I witnessed this same Granddad losing his hold on the precious stuff of his life—his prayers, his songs, his conversations with friends then gone, his capacity to take the hand of a child as a kindly and confident guide. This was not always a patient man, but had he retained the faculty to remind any of us amid any later impatience with him of our shared history, he could have done so with the same nobility that this Muslim father extended to his son.

As some of us gather in circles of family and friends to honor today the fathers among us, I wonder at the gifts that will be given. I wonder how many resemble the gifts given by Roscoe Sr.’s sons to their father on the occasion of his 40th birthday in the story I shared from John McCluskey, Jr.’s much longer story. Cigars we will likely not give, given what we know of their effects; but the boldly patterned shirts and ties will flow in abundance. And I wonder how many fathers, many as rough and tumble as Roscoe, Sr., will proudly wear those precious gifts with no regard for friends who might look askance at their taste.

Yes, there are fathers whom some of us never knew and don’t know. Yes, there are fathers whom we would rather not know. And yes, there are fathers, grandfathers, stepfathers, and father figures who have nurtured us with time, patience, stories, and examples of how to live honorable lives, that we too might be fathers or mothers or simply nurturing adults who pass on the stories and lessons, that we too might be carriers of the love.

Our fathers are many and variable, honorable and dishonorable, lovable and otherwise. How might we receive those gifts worthy of passing on to the next generation and know that the cycles we choose to continue or break and re-form ensure that what we pass on is worthy of the next generation? Fathering comes in so many flavors and is received with so many hopes and assumptions. Fathering comes in so many textures. Its gifts are varied and linger. The ties that bind are arrayed with the same hopes and hurts that we bring to our childhoods, childhoods lived and remembered, childhoods that we continue to live out.

What might we say on this Father’s Day to those male figures who have nurtured us and otherwise? Perhaps another rendition of a familiar prayer would suffice:

Our fathers, who are of this earth, who have struggled and achieved and failed and succeeded and laughed and cried as we have, your reality is dear;

Your kingdom is of this earth, our homes, our communities, our nations peaceful and war-torn. Your kingdom is here and now, and you know there is only kingdom, no king.

You have done what you could to put food on the table. For those of you who couldn’t, we forgive you. You have done what you could to ensure our safety. For those of you who couldn’t, we forgive you. You have done what you could to ensure that we grew into loving and honorable men and women, sons and daughters of whom you could be proud. For those of you who didn’t, we forgive you. Would you forgive us when we have failed to honor your attempts? Would you forgive us when we fail to forgive you?

May we not lean into that mindset that closes our hearts to you. May we resist the temptation to know more, feel more, be more than you possibly could and then take credit for the whole harvest. May we stray not into the illusion of asserting that we are better, fairer, and finer than you. Recall us to our humanhood. Remind us that none of us are ever loved as we think we need to be loved. Teach us once again to keep our eye on the sparrow. Teach us through the stories, the images, the songs, and the silence, that we are in this life as members of the great family of all who have ever lived and all who are now alive. Teach us that kingdoms and power and glory are to be shared, because we are all in this amazing life together. Amen.



Sources:

The Second Book of Moses Commonly Called Exodus, The Bible (Revised Standard Version)

John McCluskey, Jr., “Forty in the Shade,” in Memory of Kin: Stories About Family by Black Writers, Edited by Mary Helen Washington, Anchor Books, Doubleday, New York, 1991, 199-201 (from Mr. America’s Last Season Blues by John McCluskey, Jr., Copyright 1983 by John McCluskey, Jr. Reprinted by permission of Louisiana State University Press. This selection originally appeared as a short story in Obsidian, IV, Number 1, under the title “Forty in the Shade.”

Video and script of the story of the Muslim father and son, http://www.youtube. com/watch? v=7rMzbgu30yY.

Chalice Reflection & Sing to Your Heart's Content

Chalice Reflection
of
Jim FitzGerald
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
June 14, 2009

During my years of study at seminary, one of my favorite topics included the Hebrew Bible prophets.

A prophet is someone who speaks on behalf of someone else. In religious scripture, the prophet has been understood as one who speaks on behalf of God.

Since the prophet Jeremiah often had a contentious relationship with God, he quickly became one of my favorites. It is in the first chapter of the book of the prophet Jeremiah that famously begins “before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.”

While the context of this saying relates to Jeremiah’s call to being God’s prophet, it is often remembered when celebrating parenthood. I’ve been reflecting on that phrase for this chalice reflection for two reasons.

First, today is the Sunday before Father’s Day and it is appropriate to begin thinking in anticipation of such a celebration day that honors our fathers.

Secondly, I’ve been thinking about this phrase because my partner Jaimy and I are expecting a child – due in mid October, making it appropriate that as a father-to-be, I offer such a reflection a week before Father’s Day.

“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.” I have reflected on this saying in a number of ways, carefully reconstructing the phrase to gain deeper insight:
As you were taking form in the womb, I began to know you
I knew your spirit before you were formed in the womb.

I wondered what meaning the phrase would have if the direction were reversed. Instead of hearing the parent’s voice in the phrase, what if we heard a child’s voice?

Before I was formed in the womb, I knew you.
As I was taking form in the womb, I began to know you.
I feel your spirits with me, Mom and Dad, as I take form in the womb.

Whether read from a parents’ perspective or a child’s, the wisdom from the Hebrew tradition is loud and clear - the bond of love exists long before flesh takes form.

Since learning that we’re expecting a child, feelings range from intense excitement – like when Jaimy and I see the profound joy between parents and child as they play. Jaimy and I look at one another as if to say – “we can’t wait.”

At other times, Jaimy and I witness parents in utter frustration and exhaustion while their toddler throws a temper tantrum at the Stop and Shop check-out line. Jaimy and I look at one another with uncontrollable fear as if to say – “Oh my God, what have we gotten ourselves into!”
However, feelings of excitement always win out, and the wisdom from Jeremiah comforts the soul knowing this profound relationship has already begun.

I don’t know whether Jaimy and I will have a son or a daughter. Honestly, we only reflect on that aspect when someone asks. The rest of the time, we just observe in awe and are overwhelmed at the miracle unfolding.

I often place my hand on Jaimy’s growing belly and whisper “I’m here… waiting to welcome you, to hold you, to love you. I can’t wait to see you.” In my spirit, I hear a little voice on the other side of that wall of flesh saying with hope and anticipation – “I can’t wait either, Dad.”

As we journey to next Sunday’s celebration of our fathers, let’s spend this morning singing to our heart’s content as we hold in our thoughts and prayers those parents-to-be. Because when we see the temper tantrums in the middle of Stop and Shop – we parents-to-be realize we need all the prayers we can get.

“Sing to Your Heart’s Content”

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
June 14, 2009

“O sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord all the earth.” So sounds the first verse of the 96th Psalm. We who are Unitarian Universalists may have a hard time hearing these words, loathe as we are 1) to accept biblical verse as commandment and 2) to sing new songs. On that first point—accepting Biblical verse as commandment—we have a choice. We can hear those words not as a commandment, but as an invitation. And we can substitute whatever or whomever for “the Lord.” We can simply sing a new song, which raises the matter of our reluctance to do so.

How many times have I heard, “Please, can’t we just sing the familiar ones?” I tend to respond with: “Remember, there was once a time when you had never tasted chocolate,” hoping of course that I’m diffusing the resistance of an all-out chocolate lover.

So too there was once a time when we had never heard “Silent Night” or “Spirit of Life.” And there may be folks here this morning, newcomers to this church and this faith, who have never heard “Spirit of Life.”

In the spirit of Pete Seeger and the story I adapted from the story he adapted, the story of Abiyoyo, we’re reminded that a new song can still a giant after he exhausts himself dancing to a new song that is completely irresistible. In the story, the young boy and his father conspired to disarm the giant Abiyoyo by music and magic. Imagine a song whose only lyrics are your name. It’s enough to make a scary giant smile and dance like he’s never danced.

The stuff of stories you might say. Ah yes, but there are those giants that lurk in the hearts and minds not only of young children, but of ripe and otherwise sage adults. Each of us holds fears that sometimes loom like terrifying giants. Sometimes we call them phobias. Sometimes we call them nightmares. Sometimes we call them memories. I wonder how a song, a brand new song, might pacify the giants that lurk and linger in spirit and psyche.

New songs with an arresting lilt and fresh lyrics have a way of taking us by surprise and bringing us to a place we never thought we could go. Old songs comfort; new songs awaken. Sometimes there’s a bridge joining old and new.

So it is with “Spirit of Life” and “Rising Green,” the song we’re about to sing. The bridge is Carolyn McDade, who wrote them both. While “Spirit of Life” may be our “familiar song,” it was actually written after “Rising Green.” Carolyn is a longtime songwriter and a neighbor, living on the Cape. She has also been described as a “feminist activist.” In her own words, she says “I write love songs to social movements.”

Return to the words of “Spirit of Life.” They’re laced with a spirituality of compassion and justice. The song was written as a prayer, and so we sing it as an extension of our communal prayer. I wonder if “Spirit of Life” could have calmed the spirit of Abiyoyo. My guess is: How could it not?

The song we’re about to sing holds its own disarming lyrics. In the spirit of life renewed and abiding love that we celebrate this morning, “Rising Green” sings like a psalm of new life and abiding love. You’ll find the words in your orders of service. Allegra [Music Director] will lead us. I invite you all to sing out and please, sing to your heart’s content.


Sources:
Between the Lines: Sources for Singing the Living Tradition, Edited by Jacqui James, Second Edition, Skinner House Books, Boston, 1998.

Kimberly French, “Carolyn McDade’s spirit of life: Unitarian Universalism's most beloved song, the woman who wrote it, and the communities that sustain her spirit, UU World, Fall 2007,
http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/35893.shtml.

Carolyn McDade, “Rising Green,” in Singing the Journey: A Supplement to Singing the Living Tradition, Unitarian Universalist Association, 2005, 1068.

Carolyn McDade, “Spirit of Life,” in Singing the Living Tradition, The Unitarian Universalist Association, Beacon Press, Boston, 1993, 123.

Pete Seeger and Paul DuBois Jacobs, “Abiyoyo” in Pete Seeger’s Storytelling Book, A Harvest Book, Harcourt, Inc., New York, 2000.

Graduating Seniors' Chalice Reflection and Remarks & Opening Words & In Praise and Gratitude

Chalice Reflection
of
Abbott Cowen, Graduating Senior
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
Recognition Sunday – June 7, 2009

Good morning everyone! I think it has been quite some time since I’ve been up here speaking in front of you all. It’s nice to be back. Before I begin, I must say that this chalice reflection was actually supposed to be a joint piece between Nathan and me. However, I guess Nathan had too many graduation parties to go to this week and thus didn’t have any time to come up with anything good. Apparently he is just way more popular than I am. It is true though that these last few weeks have been busy ones.

I guess Nathan and I have reached one of those big transition milestones. You know, one of those times where the older people look back fondly, or maybe not so fondly, on old memories and the younger people look up at you and think: damn, you’re old! So yes, graduating from high school is a big deal, at least for us.

Nathan graduated last Saturday and I graduated just two days ago on Friday. Friday night as I was thinking about how much I was going to miss Milton Academy, I realized that I really wasn’t going to miss it at all. There is nothing all that special about the big glass student center or Forbes dining hall or the science trailers. What I am really going to miss are all the friendships I have made with students and teachers over the last four years. It has been very interesting to see how our class has dealt with the inevitable separation. Some pull their friends closer and others push them away. I think I have been in more fights and exchanged more loving words with friends in these last two weeks than I have in the last two years. These kids have helped shape who I am today and I have become very close with some of them. It’s hard to think that after Friday most of these friends I will only see at the occasional class reunion.

As I stand up here in front of you all today, I realize that the same thing is probably true for this church. I leave in just over a week to go out west for the summer and then jump right into college life when I get back. While I will hopefully be back on my vacations, I will be more or less MIA for the next four years.

Many of you in this community have affected me as I have grown up in this church, and I hold many fond memories. I remember building a cardboard fruit stand in the old meeting house with my dad and Jacqui Clark and selling apples to the rest of the congregation. I remember Shirley Wallace taking all of us in the Coming of Age program to different churches on the South Shore and into Boston for a great sleepover. I remember my mentor, Miraculous Mark. There is a really good story that goes along with that name; you’ll have to ask him about it. He’s a pretty miraculous guy. I remember the youth group and John and Leeanne and all the great fun that we had together. While I have not been present so much this year, Jim has certainly stepped up to fill their place. I remember Jan keeping a watchful eye over all us kids in the RE programs or just being there for a conversation about really anything. And of course, I remember my best buddy Nathan. It has been a fantastic 15 years or so in this community, and while this isn’t really goodbye I would just like to thank you all so much for making this such a great community to grow up in. It has really been fantastic and I will never forget it. Thank you!

Remarks
of
Nathan Wallace, Graduating Senior
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
Recognition Sunday – June 7, 2009

Good Morning -

I’ve been coming to First Parish for over 10 years now, and throughout my life many people have influenced me, allowing me to become a better, more spiritual person. I’d like to thank Jacqui Clark, John and Leeann, and Jim for being truly the greatest RE teachers and directors one could hope to work under. I’d also like to thank Jan for showing me that living each day to the fullest is the most fulfilling way to live. Finally, I’d like to thank the entire congregation. Without your support, my violin playing wouldn’t have taken off like it has, and I would not be the person I am today. Thank you all.

Opening Words
of
Jim FitzGerald
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
Recognition Sunday – June 7, 2009

As we journey together toward the conclusion of another extraordinary church year, we take time during this special service to reflect and celebrate.

This year we've welcomed new members and mourned the passing of friends. We've cared for one another when illness trumped our daily routines with worry, injury and or sickness.

We've struggled together, laughed together, argued and created together. We've provoked one another and supported one another.

All of which, from time to time caused some tears of sadness and tears of joy.

Today we pause - a sacred pause, to recognize the wonderful ministries in which so many congregation members offer their time and talent.

We also honor the rite of passage of our graduating seniors - Nathan Wallace, Abbott Cowen, and Rachel McMorris. Two of our graduates, Nathan and Abbott are here with us this morning to participate and celebrate. Nathan will offer his spirit in his music and Abbott will offer his wisdom in his chalice reflection.

At this time, I'd like to invite Nathan and Abbott to come forward and light our chalice as we begin our service of praise and gratitude.

Recognizing our graduates
I don't know what it is like to have a son. But, if I am ever blessed with a son, I hope he grows to be honorable and virtuous as Nathan and Abbott.

Shirley and Ron; Annie and Will - you must be so proud.

I think everyone here will agree that adolescence is not easy. Even with the most loving parents and supportive community, life is tested, expectations are real, and pressure to succeed only seems to become more intense.

Rarely have I witnessed two young men handle those pressures with more grace and integrity than Nathan and Abbott.

Abbott personifies the phrase "mature beyond their years." Abbott reflects the Unitarian Universalist virtue of wisdom and confidence that we all witnessed in his wonderful chalice reflection this morning.

Nathan's gentle spirit conveys the Unitarian Universalist trait of unconditional welcome. Regardless of how old someone is, what they look like, or where they've come from, they find unconditional welcome when meeting Nathan. That same gentle spirit will sing from violin strings later this morning.

Nathan and Abbott, this morning we honor you with fond memories of the past and with excitement and anticipation for the future. But most importantly, we celebrate you both today for exactly who you are in this every moment.

Abbott and Nathan, you have a congregation that loves you and a faith community that will always be here to support you, unconditionally, today and forever.

I offer you both a blessing, the same blessing I offered you on my first day here at First Parish Unitarian Universalist in Cohasset - a blessing I borrow from the Buddhist tradition.

Abbott and Nathan
May you both be filled with loving kindness.
May you both be well.
May you both be peaceful and at ease.
And most of all, may you both be happy.
Amen.

“In Praise and Gratitude”

A Homily by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
on Recognition Sunday
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
June 7, 2009

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Let the bells ring and the “Jubilates” sound. Praise and gratitude are the order of the day. Praise and gratitude for all of you who have given abundantly by heart, hand, and funds to sustain and grow the ministries of this congregation over this past year. You have planned, imagined, and strategized. You have organized and orchestrated. You have cooperated and collaborated. You have taught, mentored, and chaperoned. You have reached out and reached in. You have advocated; you have decided. You have cared for each other and for our larger community. You have shared your stories and listened to the stories of others. You have sung and danced. You have baked and served. You have fixed up and cleaned up. You have worshipped together, hoped together, hurt together, laughed together, and celebrated together.

You are what faithful community looks like. You are what faithful community is. You are what seals and solidifies the prospects of this congregation into the next century.

We celebrate you today, and we celebrate our graduating seniors, Abbot and Nathan. We hold you in our hearts, guys; and will dare to ask: “Are you sure you want to go off to college so soon? Didn’t you just start high school this year? Wasn’t it last year that you started kindergarten?” Okay, one of the toughest tasks of parenting is letting go; one of the toughest tasks of your church family is letting go. Jim has shared so eloquently the thoughts that we all hold. Our choir has sung so poetically the choices that are yours. You have spoken so poignantly of what it means to stand on the threshold that is this time of your life. Your words and music linger. The doors of this church and our hearts are ever open to you.

In praise and gratitude, we worship together this morning. Praise and gratitude remind us that none of us can solo dance our faith. We’re in it together. Independent, opinionated, distinctive as we fancy ourselves to be, we are called again and again to affirm our interdependence, our growing edges, our religious community. We do so across opinions, across conventional boundaries of race and class and sexual and gender identity, across generations, and across the years.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! In praise and thanksgiving, I am so grateful for all you do and all are you are; and I love you, each and every one.

Amen.