Chalice Reflection

Chalice Reflection
of
Mark Alves
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
October 4, 2009

At sunset this evening our Jewish friends will begin celebrating Yom Kippur. Jan asked me if I would light the chalice this morning and offer a reflection on my experience as a co-facilitator of the “Our Whole Lives” program. I would like to ask a question. How as a toddler, pre teen, teen, young adult, and adult did you come to experience your full human sexuality? I am sure some of us are still trying to figure it out. Fortunately for our children, we have the OWL program that offers them an opportunity to explore human sexuality in a safe and age appropriate manner.

What is OWL you might be asking? Our Whole Lives is a series of sexuality education curricula for six age groups: grades K-1, grades 4-6, grades 7-9, grades 10-12, young adults (ages 18-35), and adults.

Our Whole Lives helps participants make informed and responsible decisions about their sexual health and behavior. It equips participants with accurate, age-appropriate information in six subject areas: human development, relationships, personal skills, sexual behavior, sexual health, and society and culture. Grounded in a holistic view of sexuality, Our Whole Lives provides not only facts about anatomy and human development, but helps participants to clarify their values, build interpersonal skills, and understand the spiritual, emotional, and social aspects of sexuality. Our Whole lives embraces the values of self worth, sexual health, responsibility, and justice and inclusivity.

Five years ago I was asked if I would be interested in co-facilitating the OWL program for First Parish. I was intrigued and decided to accept the position as long as I was trained. There were two reasons for my agreement to help. One, I wanted to learn about the program that was part of the UU community that I had become a part of. And secondly, a more selfish reason, I wanted a deeper understanding of the program my children would someday take part in. I must admit that when I found out that the other facilitator was going to be Diana Karcher it made the decision easier.

I was fortunate to co-facilitate the OWL program with Diana Karcher, who has an abundant amount of energy and a true love for people and especially our children. Diana and I learned as much, if not more than the children. Diana and I observed the children gain a confidence from new found knowledge and understanding. We watched each of them walk away with a clearer understanding of his/her values, newly equipped with the knowledge we hoped would help them to make good decisions. I hope that they each found the experience to be helpful and look back on the program as a worthwhile experience.

As circumstances would have it, my oldest daughter Melissa will be starting the OWL program in a few weeks. For obvious reasons, I cannot teach the program. Jim FitzGerald is looking for someone from First Parish to be a co-facilitator. Scituate has graciously offered to host the program; however we only have one facilitator at this time. What a wonderful opportunity someone from First Parish could have. If you are interested, please speak with me or Jim. I am willing to assist in any way I can.

Thank you.

A Chalice Reflection & "At-onement: A Circle Ministry Sunday"

Chalice Reflection
of
Jack Martin
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
September 27, 2009

At sunset this evening our Jewish friends will begin celebrating Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement - the holiest of all Jewish holidays. Yom Kippur is designed to provide an opportunity for self-reflection for what has occurred over the past year - a time to own personal responsibility for any shortcomings, mistakes, and misdeeds made during the year and to make amends for wrongs and injuries committed.

Our UU faith tradition does not have a day intentionally designated to process our atonements for misdeeds or shortcomings. However, the past four years, at First Parish we have founded and cultivated a ministry that in many ways mimics many of the intentions of the Jewish day of atonement— self-reflection, holding ourselves accountable, being the best we can be for one another. It is Circle Ministry. Circle Ministry is not a one time a year event, but occurs twice each month. It is not an individual, solitary process, but involves engagement, feedback, and support from others. In Circle Ministry carefully chosen topics and evocative questions prompt the discussion and self-reflection for each two-hour session. In every group, as our stories are told, insights into self and others are gained, and bonding of group members occurs.

The joy of Circle Ministry comes in sharing our personal stories. Because our stories generally make us feel vulnerable to being fixed, exploited, dismissed, or ignored, most of the time we tell them only gradually or not at all. Neighbors, coworkers, church friends, and even family members can live side by side for years without learning much about each other’s lives. Circle Ministry is a corrective to this fear of making ourselves vulnerable. Members of the group speak from their own experiences; they tell their own stories from their heart and soul; criticism, fixing, and advice giving are avoided; and deep, generous and respectful listening is the central principle that makes the process work.

Sharing time matters. Sharing time provides rare moments in our lives when we get below the surface. The more we know about another person’s story, the harder it is to dismiss, marginalize, distance or harm that person. Sharing time works because we come to understand ourselves, others, and our world in more complete ways. Sharing time has been rippling through our church community for the past three years. Calls have been heard; needs have been acted upon; and support, care, and hard work have been given to our church and to our community by Circle Ministry groups. Our faith community here at First Parish has been greatly strengthened and enormously enriched because of Circle Ministry. It is my hope that more of you who have not yet experienced Circle Ministry will take advantage of this shared ministry program and join with us this fall.

“At-onement: A Circle Ministry Sunday"

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
September 27, 2009

Just a few days ago, a good friend died. He was also a mentor, a colleague, a scholar, a preacher, a public figure, a husband and father, and a prophetic teacher for all of us. At the age of 61 and a day, shortly before sundown, we lost Forrest Church.

It is a time of turning. The leaves are turning. The birds are turning south. Creatures of field and forest are scampering about to store food for the cold months ahead that they might tuck into the earth for warmth and shelter. We humans turn reflective as the remains of a day swell into a burnished montage that mirrors the horizon of treetops, as a harvest moon shines like a pumpkin lit from within. I ponder what it means, this letting go, this turn of direction, these celestial orbs that all but tease with the arresting magnificence of their settings and risings, and this loss of life and presence to which we’ve grown accustomed.

When I did my first memorial service, it was a graveside rite, and I turned to Forrest to ask his counsel. I was then Assistant Minister at All Souls in New York City, where Forrest was Senior Minister. It was just over a decade ago. My learning curve for ministry felt frustratingly slow. But I had a master teacher. He offered these words:

As we stand now together under the rounding dome of the sky, with the resilient Earth beneath our feet, washed by air and sunlight, we recount things timeless and reassuring.

We know, deep in our flesh, the sure cycles of nature, the fit of a human life span into the seasons of the generations, the Earth, and the Universe: a sublime and elegant design.

From dust to dust; from spirit to spirit; from eternity to eternity: Between these spans, a human life fits.

Many of you know that Forrest had a lot more to say—about love and life and death and the universe and what it means to be Unitarian and Universalist. As for Unitarian, he used to quip that ours “is the religion to have when you’re having more than one.” Forrest was a consummate Universalist. He recognized the inclusiveness of it all. He understood that we are woven. His gospel was love. He understood the God he described as “greater than all but present in each” as a loving God. And he didn’t hesitate to use God language. After all, he was a preacher whose last name is Church!

This morning these words that he offered during my early years of ministry invoke reverie on the cyclical nature of each of us and the cyclical ways of earth and sun, moon and stars.

“As we stand now together … we recount things timeless and reassuring.
We know, deep in our flesh, the sure cycles of nature, the fit of a human life span into the seasons….”

His words sound amid the holiest time in the Jewish calendar, the Days of Awe, ushered in with Rosh Hashanah, literally the beginning of the year, and observed by Jews worldwide. Today’s sunset marks the beginning of the day that concludes these Days of Awe, Yom Kippur, Day of Atonement.

Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the Jewish year. “This moment of most intense spiritual experience,” observes Arthur Waskow, “is the moment of atonement—the moment when all misdeeds are covered over.” Waskow compares Yom Kippur to the prayer shawl known as a tallis, describing this day as “a kind of tallis in time—a prayer shawl to cover the confusions of the year. As worshippers…pick up the tallis, they cover their heads for a moment so as to wipe away the pointless, pathless wanderings of the world,” making it possible “for a moment to look toward God, ….to stand face to face with God.”

There are elaborate rituals for worship on Yom Kippur, and they vary from synagogue to synagogue. Some are ancient and some, innovative. One ancient rite that finds its way into contemporary practice reinforces the belief that on this day it is possible “to stand face to face with God.” The priest speaks aloud the name for God not spoken at any other time, the name that may be rendered YHVH/Yahweh, an apparent acronym for the identity of God revealed to Moses through the burning bush as told in the third chapter of the Book of Exodus. While some render Yahweh as “I am who I am,” Waskow explains it as “a kind of distillation of ‘I Am Becoming Who I Am Becoming.’” It’s a name “that was not a name in the sense of a label by which God could be called and controlled, and therefore the Name which could not be said aloud…. Only on Yom Kippur was the Name said, aloud, in all its original awesomeness.”

Central to Yom Kippur rituals ancient and modern is a turning, tshuvah, “repentant return,” and “for all human beings.” According to Waskow, the centrality of tshuvah survived the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE with added strength. The rabbis held that the very arrival of the day invoked God’s forgiveness, but with a critical qualification:

“If someone said, ‘I will sin and repent, and sin again and repent,’ he will be given no chance to repent. If he said, ‘I will sin and Yom Kippur will effect atonement,’ then the Day of Atonement effects no atonement. For transgression between human beings and God, Yom Kippur effects atonement; but for transgressions between a person and his fellow, Yom Kippur effects atonement only if he has made peace with his fellow.”

This Day of Atonement is thus a day of “at-onement.” There is a paradox here. One stands as an individual before God and all that is holy and turns, repents, of all that is unseemly across thought, word, and deed in the year that is past. One also stands as a member of religious community before God and all that is holy and can do so credibly only if one “has made peace with his fellow.” There is no allowance for hypocrisy here, no crack in the ritual that allows a person to be at-onement with God while hiding unreconciled discord with fellow humans. At-onement with what is holy, with what is ultimate, with “that which is greater than all but present in each,” happens only from a well of right relationships with one’s family, with one’s friends, and yes, with one’s presumed enemies.

It is a time of reflection, of turning, of reconciliation, of at-onement. It is apt that our first Circle Ministry session of this church year will take place a week from today, so close to this time of at-onement.

Also known as small group ministry, the premise is that we gather in a circle—that most inclusive shape—and listen deeply. Yes, participants speak, but out of a covenant that underscores deep and respectful listening. “Silence” is the first topic of the season, for it is in a circle of silence that we quiet ourselves, that we diffuse our inner noise that cuts us off from our fellow humans sitting around us. Each person checks in. What is happening in your life? What is happening in my life? No commentary, no expressed sympathy or advice or murmurs. It’s all part of the behavioral covenant of this ministry of circles. And when the topic is introduced—in this case, “Silence”—silence is held for a moment before anyone speaks. I suppose it’s a tad ironic that we do deign to speak about silence, but as stories are heard and told, we enter a sphere outside of our own egos. The very sequence of holding silence, listening deeply, hearing, and being heard is a form of reconciliation that permits us to know an at-onement that is rare in the rhythms of our daily lives.

Within each of us there is a silence-
a silence as vast as a universe.
We are afraid of it- and we long for it.

When we experience that silence, we remember
who we are….

Silence reveals. Silence heals.
Silence is where God dwells.

writes the poet, Gunilla Norris.

You may or may not use the term God to describe your experience of amazing silence, of attunement to the day, of reflection in this season of letting go. You may or may not find the term God meaningful in this season of imminent death all around us though you would never know it to look out the window or walk on the beach or stroll through a park or lie back into a pile of leaves vividly costumed and newly arrived from their downward dance. You’d never know that in this glorious silence, this all-out beauty fest, gardens and friends were so close to deep slumber. “God” might not work for you, but try “awe,” days and days of it.

Turning, tshuvah, reflection, reconciliation, is so naturally the holiest time of year. For Jews, yes, but for all of us who are creatures of the phenomenon we call nature. Summer’s boldness is becoming autumn’s brilliance is becoming winter’s bones is becoming spring’s buds. We are creatures of cycles.

“So goes the year,” writes Waskow, “the circle-dance of life in tune with the music of the sun.” And yes, in harmony with the moon, as we’re reminded by these Days of Awe, these holy days that take their calendar cues from the moon as it circles the earth even as the earth swings elliptically about the sun.

We gather in the solo reflections of our hearts in this house of meeting to reflect, to meditate, to wonder, to sing, and to hold silence. We gather in the community of this congregation to affirm and be affirmed that we are not solo acts, but gossamer strands of a cosmic web. We gather in circles to listen and discover that we are heard. We move through our days and become story after story after story. And on a holy day some among us pause and dare to see “face to face” an essence whose name is spoken aloud only on that day. Some of us pause and don that prayer-shawl that “the confusions of a year” might be diffused through a holy glance at what matters most, a holy act of turning and transformation that mirrors this season of turning and transformation.

History merges with timelessness. A life merges with eternity.

From the eternal to the specific, from the arcs of celestial bodies to the circles in which we sit together to the circle of hearts present here and now, we discover the holy.

“When our heart is in a holy place,” we sang moments ago,
“We are bless’d with love and amazing grace.

…. [When] we hear our voices in each other’s words,

….When we share the silence of sacred space,
[When] the God of our Heart stirs within,
[When] we feed the power of each other’s faith,
Then our heart is in a holy place.”

So it is as we consider this imminent Day of Atonement, as we experience a ministry of circles, as we worship together, and as we seek to live out our lives in “inclusive spiritual community.” We stretch our souls. We discern our roots in the traditions that are Christian and Jewish. We revere by participation or consideration a holiday, a holy day, that moves in its own arc across the sunset and sunrise of consciousness that we are all turning, willfully, willingly, but as surely as summer turns to autumn; and in turning, we find ourselves amid “the seasons of the generations.”

“The very interweaving of the themes of history and nature, the human life cycle and moments of spiritual experience—remind us that in some sense all the realms of life are dancing with each other. The circles of the sun, and of the moon; of a single human life between the generations, and an entire people’s history of renewal; of every quiet act of newness, birth, creation—all are echoes of One Circle.”

So writes Arthur Waskow, affirming Judaism’s celebration of festivals as reverence for “the Unity that underlies all life.”

I lost a friend this week. We all lost a friend this week. Some would say his death was untimely, that 61 is too young, far too young, to die. We speak out of our own yearning for life. We take again and again that first deep breath and cry out in our longing for life. What is enough? What will ever be enough as we consider our own life span? Forrest died surrounded by family and friends, surrounded by a congregation called All Souls, embraced by an even greater family of all souls.

Into “the seasons of generations, the Earth, and the Universe….from dust to dust, from spirit to spirit, from eternity to eternity,” his life fit magnificently and will echo throughout eternity the One Circle that embraces us all, the great silence from which each of us have emerged and into which each of us turns with all possible grace and gratitude.

Let us hold together a moment of silence.
………………………………

Amen

Sources:

Forrest Church, quotes from sermons and books and conversations, www.allsoulsnyc.org

Gunilla Norris, Inviting Silence: Universal Principles of Meditation, Bluebridge, 2004.

Joyce Poley, “When Our Heart Is in a Holy Place,” in Singing the Journey: A Supplement to Singing the Living Tradition, Unitarian Universalist Association, 2005.

Arthur Waskow, Seasons of Our Joy: A Celebration of Modern Jewish Renewal: A Creative guide to the Jewish Holidays, Beacon Press, Boston, 1982.

A Parable & "Open Doors, Many Entrances"

A Parable
by Jan Carlsson-Bull
as part of the worship service of
September 20, 2009
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts

There is a tale told by ancient voices of a special room at the very center of the village. No one had ever seen it. It was a room with no walls, not even mud walls, and no roof, not even one cobbled together by the village craftsmen, and of course how could they build a roof with no walls… Yet every so often villagers would gather for a common meal and there would be talk of smoke rising from the center of the village. Where did it come from?

There must be a room, a secret room where a fire was burning. Who had lit it? Who kept it going? Who tended the coals that it would safely go out? No one—not even the ripest apples of the village—could say for sure how the story began; and no one would fess up to ever having been in this mysterious room. Yet there were rumors that the village elders knew differently, that the village elders had access to a key which they held secretly; and only they knew where the door was; only they knew how to enter.

Villagers went on about their lives. They gave birth to new villagers. They tilled the soil as best they could; they reaped whatever harvest fate seemed to provide. In their social circles, they told the story of the secret room, and with each telling the room took on more specifics—an incense burner at its center, an age-old sage stoking the fire, the aroma of a feast in preparation. And with every embellishment, the frustration grew—that only a select few knew the secrets of this room. They shook their heads and then nodded knowingly. “This is the way it’s always been. Only ‘they’ are privy to the sacred space. Only ‘they” have the key to the door that opens onto this sacred space.”

You can imagine that one day things changed. One day the youngest of the villagers were out on the village green, running about like wild things, toppling one another and careening across the grass. It seemed that they would never tire. As the sun began to set, there were calls from the many huts that circled the green: “Time to come in. Time to come home. Time for dinner!” Reluctantly, they withdrew from their common playground. Each began to drift onto the paths that marked the way to their own home. As the sun set further, one little girl looked back; she looked again. There in the center of the village common was a spiral of smoke rising as if from someone’s hearth. She looked hard and harder. And she noticed that every plume of smoke that rose from every village chimney leaned inward toward a center, and at that center, a common plume spiraled skyward.

She noticed and she thought, and she went to bed that night and dreamt. Her dream revealed a small house in the center of the village square, a house rather like her own and those of her friends, but this house had doors on every side. In fact, there seemed to be many sides; she couldn’t even count how many. Each door was open, and through each door curled a plume of smoke, wafting in from the very hearth of her own house, leaning in from the hearth of every house in the village. She stood and stared outside this simple house on the village square, and as she stared trance-like at what seemed to be arms of smoke leaning into a center, the arms began to motion her in, into the small house in the center of the village. She paused; she pondered. “So many arms inviting me in, so many open doors, so many entrances.” She took a step forward and with a start, woke up, with a story to tell.

“Open Doors, Many Entrances”

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
September 20, 2009

In deep space
There is no air
To walk in space
You have to open the door

There are so many doors
There are so many ways
How many doors have you opened?
How many ways have you found?

Some doors are small
Some doors are big
Some doors are hidden
Some doors are visible

Some doors are open
Some doors are closed
Some doors are broken
Some doors are perfect

Some doors are firm
Some doors are fragile
Some doors are sophisticated
Some doors are simple

If you plan to get in through doors
Why waste time on windows?
If your favorite is an orange
Why waste time on an apple?

If you source is open
Why make your destination closed?
If your reality is virtual
Why make your dream real?

If you cannot open the front door
Why not try the back door?
If you cannot open the door once
Why not try it twice?

There is a door
There is a way
There is a way
There is a light

Do not be timid
Just go ahead

As this verse of unknown origin reveals, there is no mystery about it. We enter a space through an open door. We enter a community through an open space. There’s no secret lock, no secret door, no secret entrance. But there are folks already bustling about inside inviting us in.

Every person here showed up at one of the doors of this Meeting House or Parish House for the very first time. Maybe it wasn’t literally a door. Maybe it was in the aisle at Shaw’s or Stop & Shop over a conversation with a parishioner about why this church was doing such and such or what is it that we believe anyway? Maybe something was said or gazes met in a way that said to the asker, “This is worth checking out.”

Maybe it was a virtual meeting in cyberspace. You cruised the Internet. You landed on http://www.firstparishcohasset.org/. You discovered our mission statement and found yourself in agreement; you previewed our activities and found yourself intrigued; you decided to try us out.

Maybe it was your kids. Perhaps as a parent with young children you decided it was time to offer them some form of religious education. You didn’t want them to be told what to believe. You wanted them to be affirmed for who they were. You wanted their questions to be honored. You wanted them to have a religious identity but with beliefs that were fluid and classes and outings that reinforced caring behavior and tuned into early questions and young energy.

Maybe it was your voice. You love to sing. You had a friend in the choir, and he told you how much fun, how satisfying, it was for him to sing in our First Parish choir.

Maybe it was your neighbor carrying on about something called Circle Ministry. “I never thought I could feel so close to a group of people I thought I already knew,” she said. So you prodded her and she said more. “You talk about stuff like Fathers and Mothers, like Race and Class, like Daydreams?” you asked, intrigued. So you joined her group. And you decided you’d try the rest of church too.

You came to a worship service. Perhaps the music inspired you. Perhaps a minister past or the one standing before you this morning spoke to your heart. Maybe you took your children to our RE classes. Then someone invited you to host coffee hour or join our Outreach Committee or help out with the Lobster Roll Sale. You were invited to serve. And you said to yourself—“Well, I’ve been thinking that I wanted to do something to make a positive difference; maybe this is it!” You got to know people. You rolled up your sleeves. You felt good about what you were doing. You stretched your soul.

This is how it works when you find your niche of ministry at First Parish Unitarian Universalist.

Now some of you might be thinking—especially if you’re fairly new—that there’s some magic about getting involved, about feeling that you really belong. Some of you might think the way the villagers did in the story I told. There’s some mystical plume of smoke emerging from an inner room, and only a favored few know about it. None of us likes to feel like an outsider, but the notion that there are a few insiders with special knowledge about how it all works is as mythical as a single plume of smoke rising from an inner sanctum.

So you take the chance. You end up on a committee. You end up in a Circle Ministry group. You end up teaching an RE class. You end up agreeing to co-lead a leaderless Senior High Youth Group. Then you think: Omigosh, what have I done? All I want to do, all these other folks want to do, is simply impossible. We’ll never be able to make it all happen. If nothing else, the logistics are overwhelming.

Now I could say, that “God works in mysterious ways her wonders to perform,” paraphrasing that 17th century poet William Cowper, but most of you would shake your heads, with an “I don’t think so!” on your face. Or I could say a nonchalant, “Oh, miracles happen!” And you would shudder given the maze of tasks before you. OR you could have listened to Jim’s account of the wedding envisioned by this couple so in love. Beyond expectations, it happened as they dreamed it could. How? Through so many hands doing the work, through so many hearts filled with a vision.

That’s exactly the way this church works. Sometimes the wheels lock; sometimes the boiler goes caput; sometimes the budget crunches; sometimes we sing off-key; sometimes we flatter ourselves by considering this congregation “organized” in 1721. Yet there must be an explanation for our survival across 19 professional ministries and countless lay ministries over these 288 years.

You who are here this morning and the grand you who have been members and friends of this congregation over the centuries, have found an open door, an entrance that worked for you, and you passed through and found fellowship and meaning and a life of spirit and deed and responses if not firm answers to your deepest questions.

Through what door have you entered? What path are you considering?

We who are Unitarian Universalists have historically been branded as heretics. Some of the ancestors of our faith paid with their lives. Yet a heretic means simply one who chooses. We know we don’t like to be told what to do; we like choices. Throughout this congregation, throughout our faith, there are choices in abundance. One of the core choices each of us faces is what our ministry will be here.

You’ve heard me speak of shared ministry. This is a notion that each of us performs a ministry, a service, to make possible our congregational life. It can’t happen any other way. I know I’m the professional, but each of you has gifts of ministry, of service; and your lay ministries, your gifts given and received, constitute the very flame in the chalice that is this parish. Your gifts are the dynamic core of who we are and who we can be.

What is your ministry? I believe there are four simple questions to consider when you ask this question—and I invite each of you to ask it:

1) What am I good at?
2) What do I like to do?
3) What needs to be done?
4) What door will I walk through to make my ministry live?

What am I good at? Sometimes what we’re good at is what we least like to do. I’m really good at weeding a garden. I’m really good at turning a messy document into a fairly coherent text. Do I like to do these things? No. So what am I good at that I like to do? Or even that I kind of like to do? Well, I kind of like to chair committees, but that’s your job, and I’m not about to stand in the way of your opportunities.

Let’s move to the next question. What needs to be done? I daresay most committees could give you a list. Or you could check our newsletter or our weekly e-mail update or reconsider that recent phone call from a committee chair. But what needs to be done aren’t simply tasks. Listening needs to be done. Fellowship needs to be experienced. Songs need to be sung. And soon a brunch needs to be savored! While you’re at that brunch, you’ll receive a yellow booklet [hold it up] prepared by our Leadership Development Committee. It contains a comprehensive set of descriptions of all current committees at First Parish and what each does. It’s a booklet ripe for your reflection of what needs to be done and how that might link with what you’re good at and what you like to do.

Then there’s that final question: What door will I walk through to make my ministry live?

There is a door for you. There is an entrance that works for each person here and each person who shows up. Who you are and what you yearn for and what you offer from the rich experiences of your life are a perfect fit. There are as many doors, as many entrances, as there are those of you ready to walk through.

There is a door
There is a way
There is a way
There is a light

Do not be timid
Just go ahead

Besides, you’re invited.

With open arms and love to each and all of you. Amen.


Sources:

Chalice Reflection of Jim FitzGerald, September 20, 2009.

William Cowper, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way,” in Reformation Theology, at http://www.reformationtheology.com/2006/04/god_moves_in_a_mysterious_way.php.
(“God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform…”)

Door (September 30, 2008) – 56, from Frontier Poetry at http://www.hwswworld.com/poetry_all.php Copyright 2002-2008 Hometown Innovation Automation Inc. All Rights Reserved.

“A Parable,” Jan Carlsson-Bull, September 20, 2009.

Chalice Reflection & Gospel--That Is, Good News!

Chalice Reflection
of
Sarah Shannon
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, Massachusetts
September 13, 2009

Good morning. As I understand it, this morning is about becoming and growing a community in which each person, no matter how big or how small, feels valued and respected and that he/she is a contributing member of the group.

One of the things that I was most looking forward to when I joined First Parish was sitting here as I am today – with my husband, Ken, and my children: a small, family unit that was part of a much larger community of individuals. When we joined the church, we didn’t actually have the two children that we have today. Now, when I go to sit, I will join them and begin teaching my two boys what church is, why it’s important, what I believe, how to formulate their own beliefs, and, of course, how to sit still, listen, and be quiet!

Looking back, I can remember going to church with my parents and sitting in the pews – they were uncomfortable, hard, and stiff. I hated having to sit still and be quiet and I was a sit still, be quiet kind of child, not like my boys. I loved to read. It would have been easy for my parents to let me bring a book with me. I would have been a perfect angel, but that would have defeated the purpose of bringing me to church. I can imagine that for some of the children here today, they are feeling the same way that I did as a child. And, I’m sure that some of the parents of young children are feeling the same way that I do today.

As a member of your RE committee, I believe that days such as these, our intergenerational services, are just as, if not more, important than the RE classes that go on across the street. These services teach our children that what they are learning in their RE classes is part of a much bigger entity and that Sunday isn’t just about another “class” they have to attend after a long week of learning; it’s about a religion; it’s about faith. The opportunity to attend the services shows our children that the two, class and church, aren’t mutually exclusive of each other.

I look forward to working as a part of the First Parish community to grow the Religious Education program and to teaching my children how to be contributing members of this community as well. It is my hope that even though they are small, John and Michael can start contributing now – whether that be by answering questions in their RE class or by listening to Reverend Jan on a Sunday morning and asking Ken and me questions about what she said on the ride home. I love that each person in this worship house has a voice. And I love that the tiny, high-pitched voices are just as exciting to listen to as those that are loud and deep!

If there are any parents who would like to register their children to be a part of our Religious Education Community, I will be across the street after church and would be happy to help you.

“Gospel—that is, Good News!”

A Sermon by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
for the Sunday of our Annual Meeting
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
September 13, 2009

YOU are for celebrating. You who are little kids and big kids, you who are young adults and young parents, you who are on that 50-yard-line of life, and you who are further down the field, you whom I call our ripest apples. You are all cause for celebration. Why? Because you’re alive and you’re here, and we’re here together on this first full September Sunday morning of our new church year. For me, that’s Gospel, which means…good news!

But there’s more.

We’re a growing congregation. Like the child and the townspeople in the story I shared earlier, we’re planting a garden together. We’re sowing seeds even in this season of almost-autumn. We’re sowing seeds and we’re tending the garden that is First Parish Unitarian Universalist in Cohasset. How?

You got up this morning and you had a choice. What will I do? Where will I be? You came here. You came and some of you brought your children. I see faces that are familiar and faces that are new, kids and grown-ups whom I know and kids and grown-ups whom I hope all of us will come to know. You took a chance that here you would find fellowship and song and questions that matched yours and maybe even some welcome silence—though we’re not as good at silence as we are with the other stuff.

Then there’s our choir. They’re already singing their hearts out with a rousing “Jazz Alleluia” and a traditional spiritual about “Good News.” And there’s the choir that is our whole congregation, as we lift our voices to the strains of “Enter, Rejoice, and Come In.” How can you help but smile when you sing “Enter, Rejoice, and Come In?” Its upbeat melody and steady rhythms remind me of the sounds of a carousel.

How else do we tend our garden? Right after this service, we’ll gather in fellowship across the street. We’ll have a more social chance to greet friends and newcomers, and we’ll make sure that everyone—please let’s make sure that everyone—is included as we gather in clusters and share the news of our summer and our hopes and plans for the year ahead.

Some of you will register your children for our religious education classes. They begin next week. I can’t imagine a better way for our children and youth to grow into caring adults than to participate in a program that builds an identity of caring and sharing and learning about other faiths as well as our own, and for our younger teens to begin a program called Our Whole Lives—OWL for short—that teaches healthy and caring relationships, and for our older teens to come together across congregations for a Senior High Youth Group. This is all good news for how our children grow!

By now, most of you have had a chance to read our September newsletter. In just a few short weeks, nine members of this congregation will leave for Guatemala through a project called Common Hope that this congregation has participated in for close to a decade. You’ll bring shoes that we gathered and purchased last spring, shoes that will find their way onto the feet of village schoolchildren. In fact, it’s not too late for the rest of us to gather even more shoes. Most importantly, you, our Common Hope Vision Team, will bring yourselves, your good will, and your readiness to roll up your sleeves and work on behalf of our neighbors to the south, neighbors who struggle mightily to makes ends meet. And you’ll reunite with Salomon, the young boy turned young man who has been the recipient of this congregation’s generosity for many years. You’ll meet Salomon’s wife and new baby. And you’ll work hard and remember well so you can come back and tell us the good news of your time there.

I could go on. Gospel is alive here. Who we are and how we seek to be for each other and this community and our world is all about the Gospel—that is, the good news of this faith whose core is love.

As background, I grew up as a Presbyterian, which is not a bad thing by the way! As a Presbyterian Christian, I grew up learning what I thought was “the Gospel.” I didn’t know there was more than one! Gospel for the younger me meant the good news of the coming of Jesus and that he was my Lord and Savior. I know there are some Unitarian Universalists who also identify as Christian. If anyone asks me if I’m Christian as a “UU,” I say, “inclusively but not exclusively,”—that is, yes, I am, but I’m not just Christian. I find truth in other religions and in literature and poetry and movies and the drama of the ocean. I know, some of YOU would say the drama of the Red Sox! In this part of the country, the Red Sox is Gospel!

But it’s one thing to be a fan, another thing to be committed to an ongoing community whose driving force is walking together in a covenant—a community promise—of love. As Unitarian Universalists, what is our Gospel? What is our core force? “…the glowing coal at our center is radically inclusive love” are the words Elizabeth Stevens chooses to describe it. Rev. Elizabeth Stevens is minister of the Kitsap Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Bremerton, Washington, and with her permission I share her words with you this morning. Inspired by exciting worship and stirring lectures and the energy of over 3,000 Unitarian Universalists gathered in Salt Lake City, Utah at our General Assembly this past June, Liz wrote of her “strong feeling that the 'glowing coal' at our center is radically inclusive love and that we are called from that center to the work of building THE (global) beloved community.”

Beloved community is a phrase often used by the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. King scholars Kenneth Smith and Ira Zepp describe King’s vision of beloved community as “a vision of a completely integrated society, a community of love and justice wherein brotherhood would be an actuality in all of social life.”

Love, community, and passion for both are at the heart of our deepest and widest hopes for this faith community. As for that “glowing coal” at our center, I remember when my daughter Sarah, now 30-something, was about seven years old. On the ride home from church one Sunday, I mentioned something about our flaming chalice. Without a second’s pause, Sarah chimed in, “Oh yeah, that ‘steaming pot of fire.’”

What glows and steams for you? What is your faith gospel, your good news? I’ll be asking you to share your stories over the year ahead. I know you have them, or you wouldn’t be here.

For now, let’s catch some of what Liz and I caught in the presence of our larger UU world this summer in Salt Lake City, some of the “Gospel fire,” we might call it.

Love is at the heart of a campaign launched at that same General Assembly that stirred Liz and me. You’ll hear more about it as the year unfolds. “Standing on the side of love,” it’s called. Like any campaign, this one has a manager. His name is Adam Gerhardstein. Adam is a young adult who manages this campaign out of our Unitarian Universalist Association’s Office of Advocacy in Washington, DC. Right after General Assembly ended, he wrote of his experiences with its launching, which included a number of volunteers who filmed folks telling their own “love stories.”

Each morning [wrote Adam]… the Standing on the Side of Love volunteers gathered in my hotel room/campaign headquarters at 7:30 am. We started each meeting by checking-in about our experiences the previous day. …Here is one story:

‘I filmed a straight woman who said that she stood on the side of love with her daughter and her daughter's female partner, who are unable to marry. As a queer person, I was deeply moved by her words, and my face must have shown a strange mixture of pain and gratitude. Later that day, a Spanish language news program was searching for a Spanish-speaker to interview at the interfaith rally. I'm neither Latina nor an immigrant, but I speak Spanish, so I volunteered. I told the reporter that we were supporting immigrants because it is wrong to persecute families who only want to work hard and build better lives. Afterwards, the cameraperson, a middle-aged Latino man, said a soft and heartfelt, 'Thank you.' I recognized the emotions on his face--they were the same emotions I had felt listening to that mother.’

Adam ends his message with the simple words, “Love is powerful.”

I could tell so many more good news love stories, and so could you, but I have a clock right in front of this pulpit. And it’s telling me that even “good news” has a period at the end of a sermon about it.

This morning’s gospel for me is the good news that we are, that we are here, that we are here together, and that we are here together in the promise of standing on the side of love all year long and into all the years of our life together. May it be so. I love you each and all. Amen.


Sources:

“Enter, Rejoice, and Come In,” Words and music: Louise Ruspini, Arr. by Better A. Wylder (1923 - ), in Singing the Living Tradition, The Unitarian Universalist Association, Beacon Press, Boston, 1993, 361.

Adam Gerhardstein, “Standing on the Side of Love at GA,” July 7, 2009 e-mail from love@uua.org. A one-time email to everyone who experienced the General Assembly launch of the Standing on the Side of Love campaign.

http://www.standingonthesideoflove.org/

Rev. Elizabeth Stevens, “…the ‘glowing coal” at our center…” quoted from July 2, 2009. Permission to quote received by Rev. Stevens July 7, 2009.

Kenneth L. Smith and Ira G. Zepp, Jr., “Martin Luther King’s Vision of the Beloved Community,” Christian Century, April 3, 1974, pp. 361-363. Material prepared for Religion Online by Ted and Winnie Brock: http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=1603

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.