April 7, 2024: John Balano: Music Is for All Ages

 Message for All Ages

          JOHN:  I went to the library, and it was closed.  And I was so disappointed.  There was a sign on there saying, "We're moving.  We're going to move everything, all the books, from this library to a new building down the road."  And so the magic of the internet is that we can go online and check out library books on your phone.

          So also, you can sit up front, if you want.  There is a picture here.  So here we go.  This one's called Music is for Everyone.  Okay?  So there's a picture of all kinds of people, young people mostly, playing.  "We can clap our hands or stomp our feet.  We can sing out loud or move to the beat.  We can play classical in a symphony, with a big trombone or timpani."  Cymbals.  "We can sing along live, soft as a petal, or shout out loud like heavy metal.  We can bring up sun on a rainy day with some mellow beats and a little reggae.  We can plunk on the piano or strum the guitar.  We can pretend we're on stage, like a big pop star."  Ever do that?  I've done that.

          "We can sing old standards, like a real jazz cat.  We can make up silly words.  They call that scat.  We can play drums.  We can make a racket.  But if you're on the marching band, don't forget your jacket.  We can speak in rhyme and sing hip-hop, or have a mighty fine time playing old bebop.  We can chant special prayers around a big campfire, or sing sweet harmonies as part of a choir."  Harmony is when you hear these slightly different sounds and they make you happy, and you go, wow, how do they do that?

          "We can pick up the banjo in an old country twang, or move to the groove aboard the soul train."  You know, the music, soul train.  "We can tell a good story in a sweet folk song, teach everyone the chorus of a nice singalong."  And that's what they're doing there.  "We can sing an operetta with a big booming voice."  [Sings a high operatic note.]  "Or hum a quiet tune.  It's your choice.  It's fun to explore every kind of way to make music together.  So let's sing and play.  The end."

          And if there's something going on for children's RE, we can sing then out now, but it's all music today, and there's no heavy themes, other than music.  So children are welcome to stay.

 

MESSAGE

          JOHN:  One year, they had two music services.  In the fall of 2003, UU President William Sinkford appointed a task force of six UU musicians to create a new hymn resource.  It offered fresh hymns, chants or songs that enliven worship, music for marking the seasons in the lives of our congregation, and music in several different styles, including folk, pop, spirituals, gospel, praise songs, call-and-response, chants, rounds and traditional hymns.

          Topics sought for the material to be included needed to be UU-appropriate and representative of one of the many areas of our devotional life, including materials highlighting spirituality, LGBT community, earth-centered and nonwestern theologies, both male and female spirituality, and the music of cultures traditionally underrepresented in our communities.

          Singing the Journey debuted two years later, in Fort Worth, Texas, to enthusiastic reviews.  The first printing sold out within three weeks.  The teal hymnal was introduced to UUs at the 2007 General Assembly in Portland.

          One of the currently political correct concerns is cultural appropriation, which means that we shouldn't pretend to be something we aren't.  And I don't think singing someone's song in a different language counts as cultural appropriation, so -- it's as innocent as quoting Confucius if you're not Chinese.

          And it's hard sometimes to sing in foreign languages.  We've got one in Swahili that's coming up, so -- and it's not too difficult.  The words are there in your hymnal.  You can turn to Page -- or to Hymn 1030, "Siyahamba".  But the teal hymnal -- and that'll get you kind of looking at it for now.

          Earlier, we sang "Come and Go with Me to This Land" and that was written in 1930 by Blind Willie Johnson.  And it was made popular later in the 1960s by Peter, Paul and Mary.  Bernice Johnson Reagon, one of the founders of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.  So that started out kind of as, like, a -- it became a protest song.  And later, Bernice Johnson Reagon was one of the Freedom Singers, and also in Sweet Honey in the Rock, and later, held an appointment as Distinguished Professor of History at the American University.  That's what we sang earlier, "Come and Go with Me."

          So now that you've had a chance to look at some of the words for "Siyahamba", you'll notice that on the bottom there, it starts out in Swahili, and then there's some English verses.  The first English verse is -- we're going to skip that.  That's the marching verse.  We're going to go -- after the "Siyahamba", we'll go straight into the singing and then the dancing verses.  So with that, should we do one really short thing just to kind of get everyone familiar with it?  Stand if you'd like to.  But it kind of goes like this.  [Sings "Siyahamba" introduction.]

          ALICE:  Yeah.  Nice.

          JOHN:  Right?  All right.  And we're going to move to this one.  This is a moving song.  Ready?  So 1030.

          ALL:  [Sing]

          JOHN:  Nice.  I heard some nice harmonies there.

          ALICE:  John, fun fact: I learned that song in the first or second grade.

          JOHN:  Oh, yeah.  Yes.

          ALICE:  Now, all of a sudden, I'm (inaudible) at my elementary school.

          JOHN:  Yeah.  And had you sung it between then?

          ALICE:  No.

          [Laughter, indistinct talking]

          HALI:  It's one of those songs, you just absorb it.

          JOHN:  It makes you so happy.  Yeah.

          HALI:  Yeah.  That was a lot of fun.  Thanks for sharing.  Great.

          JOHN:  Yeah.  Our next hymn out of the teal hymnal is 1026, "If Every Woman in the World".  And this is from Karen Mackay's deep connection to the living traditions of West Virginia women's music, a tradition that Karen Mackay's hands and voice continues to be the means for perpetuating -- the simple ancient wisdom of mountain women.

          In 1982, suffering from harassment at work and unsure of her life's direction, Karen spent a weekend with Aunt Jenny, and received the wisdom that has guided her life and music ever since.  "Just get out and play your banjer."  That was the advice.  "Get out and play your music and give it all you got."  Two weeks later, Karen quit her job.  And a year later, she'd written and recorded songs on her first album, Annie Oakley Rides Again.  The final song on that album was "If Every Woman in the World."  Makes me happy it made it into the teal hymnal.

          Karen's strong belief in the power of women to influence global culture and bring peace to the world found a deep expression in the song, and women all over the world that responded by passing it on from woman to woman, country to country.  It has been sung in the 1985 International Women's Conference in Nairobi, as well as retreats and gatherings throughout Canada and the United States.  It was included on the CD, O Beautiful Gaia, recorded by Carolyn McDade and the women of three different bioregions in Canada and the United States.  The song's current form incorporates three new verses, written especially for inclusion in this UU hymnal.

          "If Every Woman in the World" portrays a powerful dream of planetary peace that begins inside the heart of each person who sings it.  The most important thing to remember in singing this music is to heed the simple wisdom of Aunt Jenny.  Just get out there and give them what you got.  1026.  Stand if you want.

          ALL:  [Sing]

          JOHN:  Singing is hard work.  [Laughter.] Our next hymn out of the teal hymnal is one of my favorites.  I've heard it here a lot also, and other UU churches when I've been a member.  1064, "Blue Boat Home".  Peter Mayer wrote this as a new setting to a Welsh hymn.  "Hyfrydol", I think, is how you pronounce it.

          Peter Mayer, from Minnesota, has been singing and songwriting fulltime for over 20 years, performing in venues across the U.S. and beyond.  He writes songs for a small planet.  small planet.  Think about that.  The interconnectedness, how interconnected we are.  He writes songs for a human journey, songs about life on earth and mysterious, wonderous facts of our existence.  He also writes songs about dress hats, pumpkins in pajamas, and other important stuff.  The song's lyrics encourage us to visualize our planet as we travel together on this planet through the celestial pathway.

          It's even inspired one UU congregation out in the Pacific Northwest to start a summer camp called Camp Blue Boat, which I think is really awesome.  You know, like, maybe one day when we have 300 people and a large group of kids, we'll have a summer camp, too.  That's my vision.  So "Blue Boat Home".  Thanks.

          ALICE:  Hey, John.

          JOHN:  Yeah?

          ALICE:  Can I get (inaudible) to Fred Ruark?

          JOHN:  Oh, absolutely.

          ALICE:  Yeah.

          JOHN:  Fred was a longtime member here, Fred Ruark.  And also, if you're new to us, relatively, and you -- so members get subscription called UU World.  Fred's magazines are over there.  So before you leave here, if you didn't know Fred, go over, pick up one of his magazines and take that.  This song is dedicated to Fred Ruark.  1064.

          ALL:  [Sing]

          JOHN:  So we'll call this one our closing hymn.  1021, which -- we're going to be doing it slightly differently, so pay attention to Dee.  Bill Withers's childhood in the coalmining town of Slab Fork, West Virginia, was the inspiration for "Lean on Me", which he wrote after he moved out to Los Angeles -- found him missing the strong community ethic of his hometown.

          He had lived in a decrepit house in the poor section of his town.  Bill Withers said, "I bought a little piano.  And I was just sitting there, running my fingers up and down the piano.  While doing the music, the phrase crossed my mind.  So then you go on back and say, okay, I like the way that phrase, 'lean on me', sounds with the song."  And --

          DEE:  I think we'll sing the version that's in the hymnal.

          JOHN:  Okay.

          DEE:  If you want to follow along.  It's 1021.

          JOHN:  Yeah.  Yeah.

          ALL:  [Sing]

          JOHN:  All right.  Your closing words today.  "Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear the music ringing.  It sounds an echo in my soul.  How can I keep from singing?"

March 24, 2024: Spirit, Grant Healing: The Art of Pastoral Care and Chaplaincy -- Phoenix Bell-Shelton Briggs

 Introduction

           Phoenix Bell-Shelton Biggs (they/them) is a Queer, BIPOC, non-binary seminarian and aspiring Public Theologian.  They claim a progressive Christian faith grounded in the Unitarian Universalist faith.  Phoenix serves as an intern minister for the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Fredericksburg, VA.  In May, they graduated from Meadville Lombard Theological School.

           Phoenix is called to lead Radical Love, Care, and Sanctuary Movements, simultaneously disrupting patriarchy and all systems of oppression plaguing our world.  They are healing, growing, and learning to love themselves, trying to find their place on this topsy-turvy journey that we call life.  Before answering the call to ministry, Phoenix earned Media Production and Religious Studies degrees from Pellissippi State Community College and Middle Tennessee State University.  When Phoenix is not working or studying, they love being out in nature, traveling, eating good vegan food, all things theater, and coffee.

 

Message for All Ages (Presented by Holly Bednar)

          HOLLY:  This is the message for all ages.  I'll be reading the children's book, My Heart, by Corinna Luyken.

          "My heart is a window.  My heart is a slide.  My heart can be closed or opened up wide.  Some days, it's a puddle.  Some days, it's a stain.  Some days, it is cloudy and heavy with rain.  Some days it is tiny.  But tiny can grow, and grow, and grow.  There are days it's a fence between me and the world, days it's a whisper that can barely be heard.  There are days it's broken.  But broken can mend.  And a heart that is closed can still open again.  My heart is a shadow, a light and a guide.  Closed or open, I get to decide."

 

MESSAGE

          MX. BIGGS:  I was amazed this morning -- the drive from Fredericksburg, Virginia actually took the hour and ten minutes it was supposed to take.  As we know, that's not always the case, heading anywhere towards 95.  So there's a joy for that.

          Join me in the spirit of prayer.  Great and loving Spirit, grant us healing.  Great and loving Spirit of the universe, source of all that is sacred, and keeper of our earthly pain, and giver of our strength and inspiration, be present in this room, and in our lives, this hour, and all of the hours to come.  Great Spirit, our lives have been known and filled with moments of unrest, joy and sorrow.  These moments have left some feeling a deep sadness in their hearts, and have been the raging fire known to consume one's memory in the dark and looming night.

          Great and loving Spirit, forget not your children who seek solace in the forest, amidst the breeze nestled among the mighty oak trees.  Great and loving Spirit, bring us the gift of peace we long for.  Remind us of our way and remove the pain we know all too well.  May it be ever so, and blessings be upon.  And thank you, great Spirit.

          So I crafted this prayer in the moment, not written out, in a hospital room, in the emergency department, for somebody I had met only 45 minutes prior.  As the words poured out of my mouth, into that room, and meshed with his spirit, transformation and healing happened.

          If nothing else, chaplaincy is a heart-wrenchingly holy and painful spiritual journey that leads one to explore and make meaning of human suffering, while believing in, praying to, and questioning everything that you believe and pray to, questioning everything about the very essence of what is named and perceived as holy, while being asked to provide pastoral care for those who are questioning the very same things.

          "Would you mind praying for me?" he said.  "But I'm not sure how I feel about God," he said.  "Can we pray without God?  Never mind.  That sounds so dumb.  I'm sorry for asking."

          In that moment, my heart broke for Tony.  Of course, Tony's not his real name, to protect him.  But my heart broke for Tony.  In that moment, I assured him that of course we could pray without God, that of course his question was not dumb, and that he had nothing to apologize for.  And that prayer that started it all poured out in the moment.

          At that moment, in a hospital room, what I was doing was pastoral and spiritual care, as his chaplain that afternoon.  I had only met him moments ago, and would quite possibly never see him again.  And yet that did not mean that for those moments his soul and mine were not entwined, and that pastoral care could not take place.

          So what is pastoral care?  According to Carrie Doehring, in her book, The Practice of Pastoral Care: A Postmodern Approach, she writes, "Pastoral care can take on many forms, depending upon the historical and global context in which it is offered.  Within healthcare, military and occupational and educational settings, as well as correctional environments, the term spiritual care is often used to describe the level of respect that actively engages each person, while continuing to center respectful relationships as you work through differences and challenges, values and beliefs, practices of religion, and sociopolitical identity."

          So it goes without naming, though I'll name it anyway, that there are some boundaries and some limitations of chaplaincy, when it comes to providing care for those who find themselves at the margin of care, and when it comes for the chaplain who also finds themself at the margin.  Nonetheless, spiritual care can be provided, and when it is, when those two souls meet, the accompanying journey is one of transformation, no matter how brief or prolonged that journey may be.  It becomes a journey of life, and a journey of healing.  It becomes true, what Connie Burk writes in her book, Trauma Stewardship, that "people who bear witness to a range of human experiences may become increasingly inoculated in someone else's pain."

          And it is also true, what is written in a book titled, Injustice and the Care of Souls: Taking Oppression Seriously in Pastoral Care, because it matters.  They write, "When we attend to the soul in the praxis of care, we listen to the stories that indicate the point of connection, the life of the individual, the social web and the wider web of life, in which we are entangled, listening to the soul, as archaic as it sounds," they write, "is a language that may reveal meaning-making, capacity and joy, when we make sense of ourselves and each other within a larger narrative source that we and they hold sacred."

          So bearing witness to a wide range of experiences that people face, and tending to the soul and the praxis of care, as a chaplain listens to the stories, as a person listens to the stories of another, without becoming inoculated in the story itself, is the art of chaplaincy, and is the point of spiritual, pastoral care and humanity.

          During my summer chaplaincy unit, which was known as clinical pastoral education or CPE, which is a requirement for any UU minister who is wishing to go before the credentialing office of the UUA to be ordained, they require that we take at least one unit of CPE.  These are often done in very intense environments.  I did mine at a Level 1 trauma center in the hills of east Tennessee.  The sacred work that I was tasked with, without being provided a lot of resources or support in doing so immediately, as a part of chaplaincy, is also picking up the tools and resources along the way, so they kind of push you into the room, and say, "And how did that go?"  Of course, you have 300 hours to figure it all out.

          But in those moments, the task was to hold space, to explore the sacred, to explore the narrative of one's life, as a sacred text, and to work to make meaning when all of life seemed meaningless.  There were countless moments during this time, during those 300 hours roaming hospital halls, visiting every room in the building, where the narrative of one's life as sacred text came into being, from caring for a grieving mother who had just lost her child; to playing a game of hide-and-seek in the children's wing with a little girl to distract her from her brother's operation; to the moment that I found myself praying and providing care for a dear friend and colleague's mother, the Reverend Tiffany Sapp, who serves our congregation in Johnson City, Tennessee, as I provided care for her mother, after the loss of her father, who did not come out of surgery.

          Yet none of those moments were the profound moment that left me speechless, that left me to wonder why this individual had so much pain, why they had had to face so much pain, that they would ask, "Can we pray without God?" and then take it back, to feel that they were not even worthy of praying.  None of the moments could have prepared me for the moment that changed everything.  None of the moments were like this one, where I was called to surrender and bear witness to a broken hallelujah, to a soul in need of care and love on a hot summer afternoon in the hills of east Tennessee.  (Indistinct) 22nd, 2022, that broken hallelujah became real.

          I had just finished lunch when I received a call to the chaplain's office.  A nurse was saying that a patient in the emergency department, in the psych holding rooms, was requesting a chaplain.  They let me know that this could be a very difficult visit.  And they were wondering if a chaplain may be available.  So I let the nurse know that I would be down, to give me five minutes.  So I finished my lunch, packed everything up, and took the five-minute walk from the top floor of the hospital to the basement, to the emergency department.  And everything changed.

          As a part of chaplaincy, we're asked to create an account, word for word, as best our memory serves us, of the dialogue both that they share, the patient, and that we share, as chaplains.  So what I share with you is a brief part of that.  And if you need to get up, if you need to walk around, if you need to leave this room for the next two minutes and 55 seconds, please do.  I'm not going to share a lot of deep details, but they're still heavy.  And I need you to take care of yourself.

          "So how are you feeling today?" I asked Tony.

          "Not good, I'm afraid.  I'm uncomfortable.  I'm unsure.  And I don't know if I want to do this anymore.  I swallowed a pin, and I'm feeling alone and suicidal.  I think I want to die.  Is it a sin to take one's own life?  I've been told all my life that it is.  But I don't know."

          In that moment, I took a deep breath and asked myself, how do you respond to such a question?

          "Tony, I hear you saying that you're feeling alone and suicidal, that you'd like to die, and that you're unsure if taking your own life is a sin or not."  Tony nods.  And just to be sure, I ask, "Is that correct?"  He nods again.  "Well, Tony, do you believe it is a sin?  You say you don't know.  Would you mind telling me more about why you're unsure if taking one's own life is a sin or not?  What might sin look like for you?"

          "Well, as I mentioned before," Tony begins, "I've been told all my life that it was.  But I'm unsure.  I'm unsure because I don't even know if I believe in sin, at least not like that.  If I believe in sin -- and I'm not sure I do -- then the sin would be the suffering that has been inflicted onto me.  The hurt, the abuse, the pain, you know.  Not the point that I'm hurting to the point of not wanting to live anymore, that I might kill myself to escape the suffering.  Does that make sense?  I don't think that makes sense."  Tony stopped talking.  His eyes filled with tears.  And I can tell he's holding them back.

          "Yes.  Yes, Tony, that makes sense.  And I am so sorry that you have known such suffering.  Would you mind just sharing what suffering has looked like for you?  Please know that I do not wish to cause you more harm, that you do not have to share, but that I'm here, if you would like to."

          And with that, Tony wipes his eyes, stops rocking, and says, "Where do I start?"  And for the next 30 minutes, Tony shared everything.

          Truly, I believe we are all worthy of love, worth and dignity.  And I say this as a nonbinary person entering ministry, knowing that I have not always felt worthy, that I have not always felt that I had worth and dignity, just like Tony, a trans 21-year-old who found himself in the emergency department, asking the chaplain if it was a sin to take his life.

          This calling to provide care at the margins is essential.  It is in those margins that we learn how to love ourselves and one another.  It is how we continue to grow.  It is what allowed me to be a better caregiver, and shows me just how important the role of caring is.  Whether you're a chaplain, a nurse, a teacher, a lawyer, or a Unitarian Universalist, caring matters.

          When we can provide a non-anxious, compassionate presence for someone, and when we are willing to inquire about their values, is the moment that growth and transformation take place.  As a chaplain, a spiritual leader, a minister, a human, on this earth, each day can present itself with moments where we are called to support and steward people in their trauma.

          Trauma stewardship is a process, a process in which one who actively engages trauma and suffering and crisis in another is able to move that trauma, to hold the joy, the pain, the complex realities of living, moving everything towards transformation, making meaning out of the universe, while not minimizing the trauma itself.

          In providing care for Tony that afternoon, the process of trauma stewardship played its course.  I sat with Tony, who was in crisis, who was suffering, who was asking complex questions.  I was fully present, holding his experiences; trying to find moments of joy, which I found was music, nature, and writing; and bearing witness to the pain that his young body knew.  Such profound moments of holding space for a young person.  In those moments, our selves became that nexus point of connection.  The stories, the laughs, the tears, the words, the silences.

          And so if nothing else, chaplaincy, ministry, life, can be heart-wrenching.  It can be painful.  And it is always holy and spiritual work.  It leads us to explore and make meaning of suffering, while believing in, praying to, and questioning everything that we know about the very essence of what is named and perceived as holy.

          Yet it is so much more than that.  It's about holding questions.  It's about conversations.  It's about love.  It's about reminding each other, and sometimes reminding ourselves, about inherent worth and dignity.  You don't have to be a chaplain.  You don't have to be a minister.  You don't have to spend $100,000 on a seminary education.  You have to be human.  And in being human, we begin to heal the world, to mend the broken hallelujah.

          As for my short time with Tony in that hospital room in the hills of east Tennessee, I'll never know what happened to him.  For those 45 minutes, our souls were connected.  His pain was my pain.  His stories, my stories.  And suppose my presence made an impact, that he got the help he needed.  Or maybe he went home and didn't wake up.  I'll never know.  And yet part of trauma stewardship is maintaining one's own healthy boundaries, one's own ethics, in providing care for someone, being able to recognize and name what is yours in the moment and what will always be theirs but not yours.

          So for those 40 minutes, Tony's story was mine.  His pain, his journey, his joy.  And I provided care as best as I could.  Maybe it wasn't much.  Maybe I didn't do my best.  But I did what I could in those moments.  And I acknowledge that for a while, for perhaps too long, Tony's stories, Tony's experiences, kept me up at night, because his pain had become inoculated with pains that I held.  And the work of trauma stewardship invited me to let go, to let go of his pain, but to keep his stories, to continue to find compassion and transformation in the stories, and to not hold the pain.

          Life is complicated.  But love is.  There is pain.  There is joy.  There is hope.  And there is love.  And it all happens in the blink of an eye.  So, Beloved, may you be human.  May you provide care for someone.  Maybe it's a stranger that you'll meet on the street corner today.  Maybe it'll be in a hospital room, providing care for your loved one.  And maybe it'll be the phone call that comes at night, that you answer when you'd rather be in bed, and somebody says, "Hey, can we chat?  Everything's not all right."  And you say, "Of course.  How are you?  What's going on?  I'm here."  May it be so.  And may you make it so.  Ashe, and blessed be.

March 10, 2024: Searching for Community -- Rev. Ann Held

 

Introduction

Rev. Held grew up outside of Chicago, Ill.  She graduated from Rhodes College, Memphis TN. and later from Louisville Presbyterian Seminary with a MDIV and a DMIn.  She served churches in Memphis Tn and was the solo Pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church in Harrisonburg Va. for 24 years.  While pastoring in Harrisonburg she was on the founding boards of the Free Clinic, Open Doors Homeless Shelter and Chair of the Board or Directors of Massanetta Camp and Conference Center.  Ann has two daughters: Rebecca and Eleanor, and 3 grandchildren: Hannah, Ben and Leah.

Message for All Ages

          REV. HELD:  My name is Ann.  Ms. Hannah gave me a name tag.  Right here.  And I'm a Presbyterian minister.  I was ordained in 1978.  Lot of y'all weren't born by then.  At least, she wasn't.

          CHILD:  (Indistinct)

          REV. HELD:  Yes.  And I'm Hannah's grandmother.  And Leah's grandma.  And Rebecca's mom.  And this stole -- this is a stole that was given to me.  I was the pastor of Trinity for 24 years.  And it lists all the members of the church at that time.  I've been there 15 years.  I had a lot of creative people in the church.  A lot of quilters and artists.  And they made me this beautiful stole.  And I wear that reminding me of my faith community.  And we're going to be talking about community today.

          So I want to tell you a story.  It's from the Old Testament in the Bible.  Now, the Old Testament is the Hebrew scripture.  And it's what the Jewish people use to understand their faith.  And Christians do, too.  So there was Abraham, who actually is the father of three religions: Jewish, Christian and the Islam faith.  And he had -- Abraham had a son, Isaac.  And Isaac had two sons, Jacob and Esau.  And they were twins.  So they came out pretty much together.  But Esau was the first.

          And back in those days -- that was a long time ago, that if you were the firstborn son -- you had to be the son -- firstborn son, you got to inherit everything when your father died.  The cattle, the sheep, the goats, the pigs, the land, the crops.  Everything.  That meant Jacob wasn't going to get anything.  He had to obey his brother.  Well, he didn't like that.  It'd be like Benji, because he's the first son, would have everything.  Yeah.  You wouldn't be too excited about that.

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          REV. HELD:  Obeying Benji.  That would be a trip.

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          REV. HELD:  So anyway, Jacob and Esau were brothers.  But Isaac loved Esau better.  Parents are supposed to love their children all the same.  But in this case, Isaac loved Esau better.  And Rebekah, which was the mother, loved Jacob better.  Ahh.  Okay.  You get the idea?  So Isaac -- here's Isaac, right here.  Kind of looks old, doesn't he?

          CHILD:  Yeah.

          REV. HELD:  Yeah.

          CHILD:  Is he a kid?

          REV. HELD:  No.  He's not a kid.  He's an old man now.  He couldn't see very well.  And so he's about to die.  And so he's going to give his son --

          CHILD:  Is he still alive right now?

          REV. HELD:  He's not alive now, no.  This happened a long time ago.  He's even older than I am.

          CHILDREN:  (Laughter)

          CHILD:  Whoa.

          REV. HELD:  Whoa.  Yeah.  I know.

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          CHILD:  How old is he here?

          REV. HELD:  How old am I?  We won't get into that.  I'm old.  I'm old enough to have a granddaughter.  Okay?  Okay, so it turns out that Rebekah overheard -- I mean, Isaac says to Esau, "Make me a stew.  Go hunt" -- he's a hunter -- "bring me back some meat, make a soup, and I will give you my blessing."  So Esau's off doing that.  He comes back.  But before he comes back, Rebekah hears what's going on.

          CHILD:  (Indistinct) there's a church on the outside and the inside.  I think that's more --

          REV. HELD:  Okay.  So Rebekah knows what's going on.  And so she gets Jacob to make a stew.  And he brings it.  And look what Jacob looks like.  He dresses up -- see, right here?  This is Jacob.  And he --

          CHILD:  I got to look out, and there's big windows to (indistinct).

          REV. HELD:  Oh, that sounds good.  This is Jacob.  And Jacob decides to dress up like Esau.  So the bottom line is, Isaac, who can't see, thinks this is Esau.  And it's really Jacob.  And so he gives Jacob the blessing.  So he's going to be the one that gets all the crops and the goats and everything.  All right.  Well, what do you think Esau thinks when he finds out what Jacob has done?

          CHILD:  Is there a -- is there a upper floor?

          REV. HELD:  It's okay.  It's okay.

          CHILD:  Well, why is there windows up there?

          REV. HELD:  Hey.  I'm used to Benji.

          CHILD:  Why is there windows up there, then?

          REV. HELD:  There are some windows.

          CHILD:  Why?

          REV. HELD:  There weren't any -- well, see, there's a window in their little house.  So anyway, Jacob leaves, because he thinks Esau's going to kill him.  So he leaves.  And his mother says, "Go to a different community, Haran, and that's where you're going to find a new community."

          Well, he goes, and he has -- he's tired.  So he takes some rest.  And there's a song called "Climbing Jacob's Ladder".  It's an African-American spiritual.  Jacob gets some stones, and he lays down on the stones, and he falls asleep.  He has a dream.  He dreams that he sees angels -- this is a dream, now -- going up and down this ladder.

          And then he hears a voice.  And he feels like it's the voice of God.  And the voice says, "I'm Abraham's God.  I'm Isaac's God.  And now I want to be your God.  And I'm going to be with you, even though you sort of messed up.  I'm still going to be with you."

          So Jacob wakes up, and he goes, "Wow, God still cares about me.  That's really neat.  I was in this place, God was in this place, and I did not know it."  So Jacob, even though he messed up and had to go away from home, and he was away for a long time, he knew God was with him, and eventually, he came back, and he got back with his brother, his brother forgave him, and he was back with his family.  So just remember, even though we mess up sometimes, God is with us.  Love is with us.  Okay?

 

READING

          REV. HELD:  Okay, somebody else wants to help grandmother -- well, I'm delighted to be with you all.  The church that I served for 24 years -- I was in two churches in Memphis before that -- the sanctuary was a multipurpose room.  And so we didn't have a raised pulpit.  And so I'm very comfortable with this.

          In fact, when I go preaching, since I've been retired, in other churches, and the pulpit's way up there, I don't like that, because, at least, my understanding is that whenever someone shares, just like -- we're coming from the congregation.  I'm part of the congregation.  And so I'm not above the congregation.  I'm with the congregation, on the same level plane.

          We already talked about Esau and Jacob, but I want to just go over those words again, about the dream.  "Jacob left Bathsheba and went toward Haran.  And he came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set.  Taking one of the stones of that place, he put it under his head and laid down in that place.  And he dreamed."  Now, if I had slept all night with a stone, I think I would have had a headache, not a dream.

          "He dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to Heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.  And the Lord stood beside him and said, 'I am the Lord, the God of Abraham, your father, and the God of Isaac.  The land on which you lie, I will give to you and to your offspring, and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south, and all your families of the earth shall be blessed.  Now, I am with you and will keep you forever, as you go, and will bring you back to this land, for I will not leave you until I have done what I've promised.'

          "Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.'  And he was afraid, and said, 'How awesome is this place!  This is none other than the house of God.  This is the gate of Heaven.'"

          I looked at the back of your hymnal, and found, as one of the call to worships, or opening words, this word that comes from Genesis 28.  "Surely, the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."  So I want you to just meditate for a minute on that verse.  "Surely, the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."  Amen.

 

MESSAGE

          REV. HELD:  As mentioned by Alice, I grew up in a suburb, actually, of Chicago.  My father grew up in downtown Chicago.  And he was a member, for his growing-up years, of the People's Liberal Church in Chicago, Illinois.  Anybody ever heard of that?

          It was a Unitarian church.  The pastor was Preston Bradley.  He was quite the orator.  And he started when he was only 25, and built it into a fairly large community, over 4,000 members, in the '40s, and several million listeners to his radio broadcast.  It was kind of a big deal.  And he was Unitarian.  Bradley stated that he wanted to church to be a prophetic voice and have a civic conscience.  The People's Liberal Church was known for their community outreach.  So I think that a lot of who I am, my father passed on to me.

          Now, my mother was Methodist.  When they got married in the late '40s, they moved out into the suburbs.  And each suburb -- kind of the way it was in the '50s -- the Methodists would take this suburb, the Presbyterians this one, the UUCC -- you know, they kind of divvied out, so there weren't too many churches.

          So they moved to Palos Park Presbyterian Church, because it was the church in their community.  The Presbyterians seemed to accept my father, even though every Sunday, he would, after church, be in the face of the preacher, and tell him what was right or wrong.  It was too far to move every -- to go back every Sunday to downtown Chicago, to go to his church he grew up in.  They wanted to find community.  They wanted to find a faith community for their children.  So they joined the Presbyterians.

          We all need community.  In fact, I would assert that we all need some kind of faith community that challenges us, supports us, stands by us, journeys with us, in this adventure called life.  I find that you value community, as stated in your Seven UU Principles, especially Number 3, "Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregation", or community; and Number 6, "The goal of world community with peace, justice, liberty, for all."  We all need community.

          Now, I'm sure you're familiar with John Donne, an English poet who wrote in the 1600s.  "No man is an island."  And being the feminist that I am, I have to kind of change the wording now, a little bit.  No one is an island unto itself.  Everyone

     "is a piece of the continent,

     a part of the main.

     If a clod be washed away by the sea,

     Europe is the less,

     as well as if a promontory were:

     as well as if a manor of your friends

     or of your own were.

     Anyone's death diminishes me,

     because I am involved in humankind.

     And therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

     it tolls for thee."

          Well, Jacob thought he could be an island unto himself.  Didn't he?  He didn't need anybody.  Well, maybe his mother, who helped connive things with him.  He thought, though, that he could do it alone.  He was obviously jealous of his brother.  A little sibling rivalry there.  He realized, after he had tricked his father into giving him the blessing, that Esau was going to be out to kill him.  That's what it says in the Old Testament.  "So I'd better flee God."  Right?  Or else he's going to lose his life.

          His mother says, well, guess what?  Where she was from was in Haran, where Isaac had found her.  Rebekah's well.  "And you could go there, and my kinfolk will take care of you.  You will find a new community."  So he starts to flee.  He's messed up his covenant community, the one from Abraham and Isaac.  He's left his family in shambles.  And he pretty much, I think, thinks he's left God behind, as well.  But God hasn't left him behind.

          So he beds down for the night, with these stones, and he has a dream.  Jacob's ladder.  If I was a singer, like my daughter and my husband were, I would sing "Jacob's Ladder."  But I'm not.  In the dream, he senses the presence of the Divine, that the Divine is not going to leave him, even though he's messed up big time, that God's always going to be with him.

          And so he wakes up, and he says, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."  Now, what do those words mean to you?  And actually, I'm more of a teacher than a preacher, I think.  Anybody have any thoughts?  "Surely, the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it"?  Have you ever sensed that?  All of a sudden, feeling divine love or presence, in a way?

           JOHN:  Sure.  When, when things seem bleak, when things seem despairing, I tend to find moments that -- I can feel a way out, that (indistinct).

          ALICE:  This is kind of strange, but I remember one time when I was waiting for a biopsy result, and I was, you know, I was nervous, and I was anxious about it.  And I just saw all of the animals and all the people that had left, you know, just standing there, surrounding me.  And it gave me such a feeling of comfort, that I wasn't alone.  And I just felt better.

          REV. HELD:  Mm-hm.  Yeah.

          CONGREGANT:  I actually make a practice of thinking of my pets and my ancestors, parents, who have left, around me.  I don't know if it's just kind of come to me, but I just kind of sit down and picture it, and I -- it makes me feel better.

          REV. HELD:  My husband died 13 years ago, of prostate cancer, way too young.  He was very involved in the PATC, the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club.  He was an environmentalist and a hiker.  I wonder where Rebecca got that.

          He was president of the chapter there in Harrisonburg.  And we're about an hour from the Shenandoah National Park, and the AT, the Appalachian Trail, goes through there.  And so part of that chapter's responsibility is to take care of a certain amount of land, to do trail work.  Well, the headquarters of the PATC is either in Arlington or Vienna --

          CONGREGANT:  Vienna.

          REV. HELD:  Well, I was going to say, it was either Arlington or Vienna.  I couldn't remember.  And John would go up there for meetings.  He got to know the national group.  A lot of those folks did not have a faith community that they were involved in, let alone have a member of their family as a pastor.  In fact, John, every once in a while, when he became president, said, "Can I miss one Sunday a month?"  I said, "Yes, you can.  You hear me all the time."  Because they went hiking on one Saturday and one Sunday a month.

          Anyway, when he died, the service was at our church.  And many of those people that knew him from Vienna, and his work and trail work and stuff, came to the service.  The head of the -- at the time, the national head of the PATC, came up to me after the service, offered his condolences, but then said, "I felt a spirit here today.  And I'm grateful."

          So what is community?  Well, it can be defined in various ways.  I have three points.  Presbyterian ministers were raised saying we have three points.  And if you could talk in a Scottish accent, you could maybe get an extra thousand dollars, because, you know, Presbyterians have a lot with Scotland.

          First, community is a group of people who identify with each other.  You have a set of goals, a set of principles.  You have these seven.  And then you have another statement under this.  That is how you identify yourself.  How does the community around here identify you?  How would you say they identify you?

          CONGREGANT:  You mean, how do they, like -- how does the surrounding community --

          REV. HELD:  Yeah, they go, oh, those Unitarians, they meet in whatever this place is, twice a month.

          CONGREGANT:  Oh, okay.

          REV. HELD:  I mean, what does the community say about the Unitarians?

          DEE:  I don't think we ask.

          REV. HELD:  Huh?

          DEE:  I don't think we ask.

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          REV. HELD:  Oh.  Well, okay.  Yeah.

          CONGREGANT:  I mean, I think the neighborhood knows that some people come here.  I don't know if they know much about us.

          REV. HELD:  I know, when I've told some of my friends I was coming to preach at the Unitarian church, they went, huh?

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          REV. HELD:  And I said, well -- and I've known this, you know, because of my father -- I said, Unitarians are open to all people, in all faith.  Jewish, Catholic, Presbyterians, atheists, agnostic.  You know, it's an openness.

          CHILD:  (Indistinct)

          REV. HELD:  And even little children running in and out.

          CONGREGATION:  (Laughter)

          REV. HELD:  My church, Trinity Presbyterian, was founded in the '60s.  It was based on Church of the Savior in D.C.  I don't know if you've ever heard of that.  But it's a very ecumenical church that did a lot of social outreach, starting in the '40s.

          Anyway, I would say the surrounding community, when I got there in 1990, saw Trinity as a liberal church, even though it was Presbyterian.  There was a Unitarian presence there.  Fairly small.  But we had an interfaith association.  Unitarians attended that.  So did Mormons.  So did Muslims and Jews and Christians, together.  Fairly unique, I would say.

          Well, I got there in 1990, and right after that was -- the first Gulf War started.  And the interfaith said, hey, we need to have a prayer service together.  And I thought to myself, well, Trinity would be open to that.  But you know, I was the new kid on the block, and I didn't want to take control right away.  And several people said, I know where we should have this.  We should have it at Trinity.

          Now, so part of that is the identity of that church in that community.  A place that is open.  And you all are like that.  And maybe the word needs to get out.  Another thing community is is, not only do you identify, but you gather.  How do you gather?  You come together for worship.  How do people know about that?  Facebook?  Other places?  And I think you just told me you were recording things, so that the word can get out.  People need to know Unitarians are involved people, open people, loving people.

          You ever heard of Anne Lamott?  And yes, she is Presbyterian, but don't hold that against her.  She grew up in San Francisco, was kind of a flower child, as she said.  Her grandmother would take her to church every once in a while, but her parents wanted nothing to do with it.  They had addiction issues, as well.  She was a writer.  She had, in her late 20s, early 30s, had submitted several transcripts; nothing had succeeded yet.  She was an alcoholic, had drug issues.

          But every Sunday, she would go to a flea market in Marin County.  "It happened that if I was there between 11:00 and 1:00 on Sundays, I could hear gospel music coming from a church across the street.  It was called St. Andrew's Presbyterian.  It looked homely and impoverished, a ramshackle building with a cross on top, sitting on the small parcel of land.  But the music coming out of it was something special."

          She goes on to say, "I went back to St. Andrew's about once a month.  No one tried to con me into sitting down or staying.  I always left before the sermon.  I loved singing.  But what I did know about the church was that the radical old women of the congregation were famous in these parts for having convinced the very conservative National Presbyterian Church to donate $10,000 to the Angela Davis Defense Fund, during her trial at the Civic Center.  Every week, they brought huge tubs of great food -- of good food for the homeless families living at the shelter.  I loved this.

          "But it was the singing that pulled me in and split me open.  I could sing better here than I ever had before.  As part of these people, even though I stayed in the doorway, I didn't recognize my own voice.  Eventually, a few months after I started coming, I took a seat in the folding chairs, off by myself, and the singing enveloped me.  Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender.  Somehow, the singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated."  I think when she heard the singing, she realized, "The Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."

          Well, you gather for worship, fellowship.  I was at one of your picnics one time, and you had the flower service, which was quite lovely.  And you had fun today.  Potlucks at people's -- I hear about you, you know, all the time.  I think a third aspect, though, of a community of faith, is also serving.  There's the inward journey, your spiritual life, but then there's the outward journey.

          How do you share that love, that caring, that commitment to others?  You share it among yourselves, bringing food and helping with childcare when people are sick.  And I know Rebecca and I were so grateful for your support during her cancer treatment.  You help your own.  I believe there was a group of people at a courthouse recently, supporting.  All that is important.  How do you support, though, your community?  The greater community.  Well, it was mentioned -- being involved in legislation.  Writing letters.  Showing up.  And you think that's not making a difference.

          One of my dear friends, and she was a very dear friend of my husband, was the librarian at JMU, James Madison University.  That's in Harrisonburg.  She grew up in a small farm in West Virginia.  And she has been trying to save the Shenandoah Mountain, which is between Virginia and West Virginia, from fracking, from timber cutting, you know, preserving it for wildlife, because there's a lot of unique species in the Shenandoah area.  She has spent 15 years of her life working on legislation.

          About two years ago, finally, Tim Kaine, our senator in Virginia, went on a hike with her, to see the land.  We had been giving money and praying, and working, having rallies, to help this legislation get passed.  It's finally made it to the Senate.  Hasn't passed yet.  But that's one person who has a dream, and is making a difference.

          You might think, well, we're too small to do anything.  No.  You could do wonderful things.  I read on your Facebook, the Week of Kindness, simple acts of kindness, going to iHop, giving your server a wonderful tip.  A simple act of kindness.  But remember, your sixth statement says, "The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all."

          We also are connected in the world.  And I know all of us have been so concerned with what's happening in Palestine and Israel.  What can we do about that?  Two of my seminary friends have been very active in relationships in Palestine and Israel, through the years.  They recently went to Bethlehem and Israel.  I don't know how they got in.

          A delegation of over 30 Christians, mostly Presbyterian, along with a few ecumenical brothers and sisters, traveled to Palestine in Israel in February.  The delegation was organized by Israel Palestine Mission Network, in a response to an invitation from the Sabeel Ecumenical Liberation Theological Center in Kairos, Palestine, to show solidarity with physical presence in the hopes of leveraging Presbyterian networks to mobilize Christians all over the United States, and to continue to push for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza, and a just peace for the Holy Land.

          Well, my friend Rick Nutt -- and he was kind of a nut in seminary -- he was a professor for Muskegon University.  He reported that approximately 300,000 Palestinians lived in East Jerusalem.  Since 1947, about 50,000 homes of Palestinians have been demolished.  We were told that there has been a 70 percent increase in demolitions since October 7th of last year, when there was the invasion.

          And another person said, "This morning we watched in horror as a Caterpillar bulldozer -- yes, made in America -- demolished the dreams of two Palestinian families in the district of Bethlehem.  We stood with the families, prayed, sang, and two vehicles of Israeli government riot police arrived to keep the order.  But there was no stopping the bulldozers.

          "In the lengthy meetings with Christian Palestinian leaders, from Bethlehem and Gaza, they wanted to know why the U.S. churches were so oblivious to their suffering.  Their request:  You can help us most by praying for us and telling our story to your people."  One of your goals is "The goal of world community with peace, liberty and justice for all."  So I lift up to you the situation in Palestine and in Gaza.  May this community be a blessing.  Amen.