Last year at this time in mid-January, Mary Lou and I were preparing to travel. We had an important anniversary to celebrate, and we hadn’t traveled together since before the pandemic. That was a wonderful time for us and this year we have a creative project that has been brewing for years that we want to complete. Instead of concentrating on the goal of that project, we are going to try the advice of the coach at ASU and focus on being present to the Earth and the joy of each day. On the top of our list is to be present to the sunrise and sunset of each day. One evening in January, we drove to Costco to pick up a prescription in the midst of a brilliant deep pink sunset and on the way back, we saw pale colors streaking through the sky. Did we see the aurora borealis? The whole experience of the sunset and what happened after it filled us with wonder. And, we knew that we could have easily missed it. When one of us takes our dog Louie out for his last hurrah before bedtime, we often notice a moon, stars or the sound of an owl. There is such beauty happening around us in each moment. During my month away, I plan to be more present to that beauty. To support that effort, we are both enrolled in an online course with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach that is full of mindfulness exercises.
Each morning, we will set an intention as we light our makeshift chalice of a candle in a bowl. On adventures outside, we will look for objects to put in the bowl like interesting stones or pieces of wood and leaves. What will we find? Once, years ago, we found a robin’s egg. I plan to return to that chalice during the day when I take breaks from my work. I also want to be open to the strands that connect me with family and friends and be present to them.
Will we finish our project or will something completely new emerge? I look forward to giving you the results of this experiment when we return. Will you join me in a month of intentionally being present? I wonder what stories we will have to tell.
May you be well, and may you know that you are loved.
During a December worship service, we lit lights for Hannukah. We looked at this tradition, that has spread hope among Jews through the centuries, from the perspective of the courage of those who took the leap of faith and lit the lamps. This is a story of abundance of having enough and of being enough. In Judaism, lighting the menorah on Hannukah connects Jews with the abundance and courage of this moment. The symbol of the flaming chalice of Unitarian Universalism was born in World War II, when the Unitarian Service Committee was hard at work trying to find safe routes to help people escape from the Nazis. Because the people they were helping spoke many different languages, they needed a symbol that would identify their organization. Rev. Joy, the head of the service committee, also wanted the symbol to impress governments and police who had the power to help move people to safety. Hans Deutsch, a cartoonist who was in danger because he drew cartoons showing people how evil the Nazis were, created the symbol of a chalice, or cup, that was used for giving a healing drink to others. And it showed a flame on top of the chalice because a flame was often used to represent a spirit of helpfulness and sacrifice. Isn’t that a wonderful beginning for our tradition?
Each week, we light the chalice as we gather. Our worship associates take time to think of words that will bring this tradition alive. During our Hannukah service, I suggested that we make chalices of our own and continue the tradition in our homes. Having a chalice in an important spot in our living spaces could remind us of the light and energy of Granite Peak and our connections with the interconnected web of life. We can light our chalices as a tradition to remember the light and to remind us, when our own oil levels seem low, that the flame is a shared ministry of many. Later that day, I received a photograph from the Willison family of the chalice that they had created for their family. They used the bowl from Empty Bowls, a reminder of the goodness that is spread from our community to heal food insecurity in the Quad City area. Have you made one yet? I challenge you to do so. If you are afraid that you might leave the candle burning, please use a battery candle!
Once established, this tradition can go with us when life happens and we are struggling with illness, depression, separation, and the many ways that change appears without warning. The flame could remind us that we are never alone in our sorrow and in our joy.
For our chalice lighting for the coming new year, I have written these words:
We light this flame to remind us of the community that holds our sorrows as well as our joys. As we have passed through Solstice, may the flame remind us of the growing light of the days. Seeds, bulbs and hibernating animals are nurtured in the darkness. We light this chalice for the Earth that is preparing for spring.
I wonder what words will seem right for the chalice of your own. Please feel free to share those words and photographs of the chalices you create for your living spaces.
Updated: Dec 13, 2023
In November, I read two books about migration. And this week, as I am reading The Little Prince, I remembered that the prince left his planet by tethering himself to migratory birds. This idea of migration was veiled in mystery until the last decades. In the 17th century, scientist Dr. Charles Morton, who is well known for writing a physics textbook, also published a treatise on his theory of migration. The birds were simply flying to the moon. Migration was cloaked in mystery.
In the spring of 1822, German villagers discovered a white stork with a large spear impaled in its chest. Determining that the wood of this spear came from Africa was groundbreaking evidence of the stork’s migratory journey. The bird was given the name “Pfeilstorch” or “arrow stork.”
As I sat with you, I have heard about the difficult and happy times of your lives. And from the pulpit, I have shared with you some of the stories of my life. Together, we have been making sense of who we are and where we have been. I believe that one of the blessings of being a part of a faith community is this sharing of stories.
In seminary, I was taught that one of the purposes of a worship service was to weave our stories together and to weave all of our stories into a larger narrative of the universe or the interconnected web of life. We do this together during “Joys and Sorrows” and on Christmas Eve we enact a tradition of telling the stories of when we received the kindness of strangers. It fills me with hope that we have not yet run out of stories. Please contact me if you have a story for this Christmas Eve!
In my sermon about changing my mind, I recounted a difficult time in my life when I was in Los Angeles and discovered feminism through Sisterhood Bookstore. I told you the wonderful part of finding answers to questions that had stirred within me for years. These answers opened my mind to possibilities and led me to leave a marriage and the religion of my ancestors. Only a few months later, Mary Lou
and I were on a plane to Japan.
I wonder if people noticed the spear that was piercing my side? I was told not to speak of the past and it was only after being there for a decade that I began to talk with dear friends about the hard parts of my life. That was partly due to finally feeling truly comfortable with the language and culture. This sharing deepened our friendships and wove us into the fabric of one another’s lives.
I feel that happens when people speak of 12-step programs that they attend and other challenges that they have overcome or are in the process of overcoming. We learn as the scientists learned from the arrow stork, the mystery of people’s life journeys.
What wisdom have you learned from people around you? What is the wisdom that you bring?
I look forward to more of that holy time of storytelling during our services. I hope to see you on Christmas Eve.