Dealing with troubled people

Over the course of my life, I have dealt professionally with a number of troubled souls, some of them my students, struggling with issues of domestic violence, with sexual orientation, addiction, and more. Some were adults whom I knew through our professional relationship, either in a school setting (parents, for example) or as others who sought me out for counseling or other help. Some were friends or acquaintances who saw me as somebody who had helpful professional skills but were not clients in any sense. With all of these folks, I interacted from my professional self.

In every profession, however, there is a strictly professional aspect and then there is a somewhat personal aspect. Sometimes they get intermingled, despite our best efforts to maintain the professional relationship, and a professional decision means an injury to the personal aspect.

In ministry, this is particularly true. When I was a seminary student, preparing for UU ministry, I was also a person who was seen in my home congregation as an active and energetic lay leader. Most of my close friends were members of that congregation and I saw them often, both in worship, in church activities, and in groups outside the congregation. But as I got farther along in my education and ministry experience, I began to separate somewhat from my life as a lay leader and to become more aware of my ministerial identity.

This had the effect of distancing me from my friends in the congregation, as they didn't see me as a minister. They just saw me as Kit----until the moment when they wanted to dish about something the current minister was up to, and I couldn't do it because of my collegial responsibility to him/her.

"You've changed! You're not the same Kit any more", I heard often. Sometimes this was a good thing and underscored an improvement in my skills, but more often it marked a shift, away from my lay leader identity and toward a very different identity, that of minister.

It was hard for many of my friends to accept my new identity. Because I was less present at the activities of my home church and had less time for my outside activities, I lost contact with many friends, was not invited to gatherings, and I spent much more time with my new seminary friends, friends who were also budding colleagues and with whom I had much more in common.

I tell you this to begin a series of observations on the ways that the professional and the personal can overlap and often pinch, particularly in ministry.

Without revealing confidential data, I hope to describe in generic terms some of the most difficult kinds of situations I've encountered and the resources I used to work through these difficulties toward a more positive outcome.

Stay tuned. Surprisingly, my previous post about my sense of inertia around blogging produced a lot of new ideas, because of the many encouraging comments received. Thanks for re-enlivening my blogging life, friends!

I am trying to decide...

what to do about this blog. I have enjoyed writing and posting my thoughts on it, I've enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) the friends I've made here, and don't want to close it down entirely. But...

I rarely post more than once a week these days and even then, it's usually the sermon or some other related bit of writing. I have fewer flashes of inspiration that just have to be expressed in writing. And these days, in my 8th year of ministry with one congregation, I have a lot of situations and challenges on my plate that should not be aired publicly.

Election season is always a time of political angst and upwelling of opinion and fear-based political ads. I dislike it intensely and have already pretty well picked out my candidates and issues. But I'm not going to post them. I don't want to argue about them with readers who might be making the same decisions but with different candidates and different opinions about issues. I'm sick of all that.

I've felt I've served as a long distance mentor for a few seminary students and that's been very rewarding. But several of those folks are beyond the beginner stage and, in fact, I have noticed that I'm learning from them! (Though I haven't yet shaved my head.) A few folks from my congregation read the blog, but they don't need to do that to know what's going on in my life or what I'm thinking!

I hate to complain about my physical health (which is actually quite good, so don't worry, FS), even when it takes a chunk of my time to care for it or fix it or worry about this pain or that. It's not a fit topic for a blog post, IMHO.

And Facebook gives me a place to post little day to day stuff, repost great stuff I've seen on others' FB updates, and generally keep track of others and let them keep track of me. I spend as much time on FB now as I used to spend on blog posts. I spend about 5 minutes on FB every hour---what's that, an hour every 12 hours? Not too bad and I get to see what all my cronies are doing out there in UU land. But not everyone I know is on Facebook---some are only reachable through blog posts.

So it's a dilemma. I'm definitely not going to shut down Ms. Kitty's but for now you're probably mostly going to get sermons and that sort of thing. Well, except for that one situation recently that might be helpful to seminarians about dealing with difficult congregants.... we'll see if that one can be made helpful (yet kept confidential) for those who have yet to confront such a difficulty.

The Bones of Leadership

THE BONES OF LEADERSHIP:
Backbone, Funnybone, Wishbone
By Rev. Kit Ketcham
Oct. 3, 2010

Okay, I know what song is on your minds right now, so let’s give into the temptation and go ahead and sing it. But after we’ve sung it, I’d like to tell you a little bit about where the song comes from and why it is meaningful in the context of our service today. And I know we’ve all learned slightly different versions, but don’t worry about that!

Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
"Oh, hear the word of the Lord."

The toe bone connected to the heel bone,
The heel bone connected to the foot bone, 
The foot bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the head bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

Dem bones, dem bones gonna walk aroun'
Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun'
Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun'
Oh, hear the word of the Lord.

The head bone connected to the neck bone,
The neck bone connected to the back bone,
The back bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the knee bone,
The knee bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the foot bone, 
The foot bone connected to the heel bone,
The heel bone connected to the toe bone,
Oh, hear the word of the Lord!

When we sing a song from another culture, I think it’s valuable to know something about where the song comes from, and African American spirituals, most of which came out of the misery of slavery, are songs with powerful, often hidden, meanings. They were communications, they were maps, they were sources of hope or despair. And this song is no exception.

In the ancient story of the prophet Ezekiel and his mystical encounter with the Valley of Dry Bones, I hear more than its message to the Israelites in exile; I hear a message of freedom and vision that can be and has been used by many peoples to breathe life back into a hope that has died.

I like to think that African slaves in the Americas centuries ago, as they were forced to learn the religious stories of their masters, heard that message and leapt from the literal story about Israelites to a prophecy of release and power for their own people.

I like to think that out of that story emerged a secret song of renewed power and hope for an oppressed people, a song which gave them strength to endure, a song that expressed their faith that their people, their lives, their culture could and would rise again even in a new land.

I wanted to know more than what my imagination told me, though, so I turned to St. Google and, in my search, uncovered a little bit about the origins of “Dem Bones”. But this old song is not merely an anatomy lesson for children, as Wikipedia seems to think. And African American author Zora Neal Hurston confirms my suspicion that this song means more than just a linkage of one bone to another.

To her and to other African American thinkers and writers, it did mean hope and vision and freedom, renewed life, vindication after terrible oppression and death. For them, it wasn’t just about the Israelites returning home; it was about African slaves receiving new life, new hope, new promise, new freedom. And it was emphasized by that most powerful of religious statements: Now hear the word of the Lord. That meant it was going to happen and naysayers be damned.

African Americans identified with this story, for, like the Israelites of Ezekiel’s time, they too had been carried off into exile and captivity. This story and the resulting spiritual celebrated the much-anticipated return of strength and power and freedom to a human community that had been imprisoned. Those dry bones would rise again!

Today we are considering the living, breathing bones of leadership, specifically moral leadership, the leadership that will keep progressive religious faith alive and thriving. These are not dry bones and we hope they never will be!

We have as our guests today the members of the board of directors of the Pacific Northwest District of the Unitarian Universalist Association. We are honored and proud to be your hosts for your fall board meeting. And I am honored to have the opportunity to speak to you---to us all---about effective moral leadership.

The bones of moral leadership, the theme of our service this morning, are, as country star Reba McIntire and bank president Elaine Agather have dubbed them, Backbone, Funnybone, and Wishbone.

Whether you are a formally selected leader, like a treasurer or president or minister, or an informally selected leader, like the person who volunteers to make sure the kitchen is cleaned up after church or the one everyone looks to for the next bright idea, you need a backbone----that is, you need courage. You need a funnybone---that is, a sense of humor; and you need a wishbone---that is, a dream, a vision.

Backbone, Funnybone, Wishbone---how do these bones support moral leadership, the moral leadership that springs from our human sense of justice, freedom, and responsible stewardship?

When I think of moral leaders with Backbone, I think of our religious ancestor Michael Servetus, who confronted churchman John Calvin in the 16th century, insisting he consider the errors of the doctrine of the Trinity, which had become official Christian dogma. He was burned at the stake for his boldness. I think of Martin Luther, whose 95 Theses of disagreement with the Catholic church sparked the Protestant Reformation. I think of Harriet Tubman, who rescued slaves using a network of abolitionists and safe houses, known as the Underground Railroad. I think of Martin Luther King Jr., whose leadership of the Civil Rights movement of the 50’s and 60’s resulted in so much progress for citizens in this nation.

I think of countless others who have gone to bat for moral causes---the freedom of women to control their own reproductive lives, the opportunity for marriage for same sex couples, the preservation of wilderness, the attention to the issues of climate change and human responsibility, advocacy for women’s rights in theocracies and non-democratic nations of the world, civil rights for immigrants, whether documented or not.

To have a backbone means to stick one’s neck out, to confront wrongdoing, to be a presence in the fight against oppression, injustice, and hate. It can mean ridicule, separation from loved ones, loss of earning power, prison, sometimes even death.

And Funnybone? What would a Funnybone do for a moral leader? Well, anyone who has gotten involved in nonprofit causes knows that most of the work is done by volunteers. Churches are largely operating on volunteer help, whether it’s the board of directors, the choir director, the religious education teachers, the potluck organizers, the folks who create the newsletter and the website, who put out the hymnals and play the piano. Even the paid staff often put in far more hours than they can be paid for.

And volunteers, as committed as they may be, can’t do everything we ask of them. They have emergencies, they have vacation plans, they have families and lives that require much of them. Volunteers, unlike paid staff, can say no; they say yes to the jobs that appeal to them and sometimes have to cancel at the last minute.

A Funnybone comes in handy in these situations. The leader has been left in the lurch but doesn’t want to lose the precious volunteer, so he or she laughs instead of crying, knowing that this is one of the inevitable challenges of moral leadership.

Speaking of moral leaders with a Funnybone, I’ve been struck by the ingenuity of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert’s scheduled rallies in Washington DC on Oct. 30: the Rally to Restore Sanity and the Rally to Keep Fear Alive.

You know Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert as two of the funniest so-called “newscasters” of our time. Many of our younger folks today get their news from these two comics. Stewart and Colbert, with the freedom they have to say anything they like on cable television, have a perspective on the news that dares to parody and satirize the newsmakers of mainstream television, particularly those they disagree with. The Fox channel comes in for most of their ridicule but no stodgy newscaster with his or her limited viewpoint is immune from the needle of the Stewart and Colbert Funnybones.

And they don’t shy away from controversy, inviting public figures to join them on the show and then asking them the hard questions that reveal their guests’ biases. Rachel Maddow, on MSNBC, is not a comedienne, but she finds humor in the blunders of public figures and invites them to explain themselves on the air; her courteous but pointed prodding puts them on the spot.

In our own tradition, we have the Rev. Meg Barnhouse, whose tongue in cheek reflections often skewer her own and our religious foibles. Rev. Barnhouse regularly appears in our UU World magazine, copies of which are available in the leaflet rack in the foyer here. And though we’re sometimes a little nervous about including him, the entrepreneur, parttime politician, and circus founder, P.T. Barnum is one of our Unitarian moral ancestors. He stood against slavery and for women’s rights, as well as humor, in the 19th century.

Those of us attempting change through moral leadership need a sense of humor, a strong Funnybone in order to survive the disappointments and challenges that history and everyday life throw at us.

And then there’s the Wishbone. How does anything get done without a wishbone? The wishbone I’m thinking of, of course, is Vision, a Dream, a Sense of what could be, beyond what is.

The poet Langston Hughes once wrote: “Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, life is a barren field, frozen with snow.”

There’s been a lot of talk in recent months about the American Dream and how it has been denied to many of the people in this country. Many of those speaking are talking about the dream of home ownership, of a white-collar job, of kids doing well in school and going on to college with generous scholarships---the whole dream of “let me and mine prosper financially”. And, of course, there’s nothing wrong with that, as a dream.

It’s just that it’s not the dream of dreams, the vision of visions, of a world that is generous, that is just, that is merciful, that is encouraging, that is spiritually solid, that is peaceful, that is not beset by the consequences of human greed and destruction. That’s the real dream, the dream that enables all other dreams. That’s the dream, the vision, of moral leaders.

Whose dream, whose vision, are we heir to, in this progressive religious tradition? Well, there was John Murray, our Universalist ancestor, who said “Go out into the highways and byways, give the people something of your new vision…give them not hell, but hope and courage; preach the kindness and everlasting love of God”.

There was Julia Ward Howe, Unitarian poet and abolitionist who authored the Mother’s Day Proclamation in which she stated: “Arise, all women who have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or of fears! …Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy, and patience.”

There’s Mark Morrison Reed, a contemporary Unitarian Universalist minister, who wrote, “It is the church that assures us that we are not struggling for justice on our own, but as members of a larger community. The religious community is essential, for alone our vision is too narrow to see all that must be seen, and our strength too limited to do all that must be done. Together, our vision widens and our strength is renewed.”

There is the vision, here in our island community, of those who organize for preservation of wild lands and wildlife, for energy conservation, for human rights, for kindness and mercy for unwanted animals, for financial help to those who can’t afford their medical bills, for building homes for Habitat, helping disabled children learn to ride a horse, reaching out to veterans, to the mentally ill.

There is the vision that created this congregation and this sacred space, dreaming first of a liberal religious community here on Whidbey Island and then dreaming of a sacred space that would be beautiful, would be open to the larger community, and would provide a home base from which we could reach out to gather in those who are looking for a religious home.

And there is the vision of all of you here today who are holding the Wishbone, ready to take part in building upon that vision, of making this congregation a beacon of love and justice in this community, standing faithfully together with Backbone straight and Funnybone sharpened, finding meaning and a sense of belonging here.

As Dave and I were preparing for this service, he gave me a copy of something he’d written several years ago, his personal philosophy of leadership. A few of his points relate directly to our message today, but I’m going to share them all. And I note that Dave is not only our worship leader today but also a leader in our larger sphere, as treasurer of our UU Pacific Northwest District. He has lived his philosophy as a moral leader in this congregation from the first days of his presence here.

My Personal Philosophy of Leadership
October 20, 1997
1. Trust is the foundation of all of civilization
2. Laugh easily, and at yourself.
3. Maintain both a healthy optimism and a healthy skepticism
4. Your strengths create your opportunities; your weaknesses cause your failures. Neglect neither.
5. Enthusiasm is contagious.
6. Gladly give the client more than is expected.
7. Set worthwhile goals.
8. Plan work to make success inevitable, but stay flexible to seize opportunities.
9. Be fanatical about closure.
10. Learn to lead people who are smarter than you are.
11. Require that jobs provide continuous personal development.

Dave went on to say that he sees being a leader as a personal ministry, that leadership calls for humility, for the courage to step forward, not waiting to be asked, and that it opens up the self for inspiration and greater commitment.

And I would like to add that each person here has that same opportunity to serve----as an usher, as a social hour host, as a greeter, as a teacher of children or adults, as a musician, as a contributor of time, talent, and money. In fact, if you haven’t signed up yet to serve in one of these capacities during this program year, I urge you to do so today. Whether you are a member or a friend of this congregation, we welcome your participation and promise that it will help you feel at home here.

There are countless opportunities for us as a congregation and as individuals to use our Backbone, our Funnybone, and our Wishbone, for all of us are ina position to offer moral leadership. All we have to do is look around our community and see the places where moral leadership is needed, from supporting our local schools as they struggle with the handicaps of a limited budget, to advocating for marriage rights for all citizens, and educating ourselves about issues such as immigration, climate change and peacemaking. As Mark Morrison Reed has said, we are stronger together as a community than we can be alone.

Our Bones of Leadership are not dead and dry, they are strong and vibrant; let’s exercise them in ways which will benefit our whole community. These Bones are gonna walk around and bring joy and new life to others. “Now hear the word of the lord!”

Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION: Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place. Let us go in peace, remembering that we have strength, courage, vision, and the sense of humor to support our moral leadership in this community. May we exercise that moral leadership both in our own sacred space and also in the world beyond these walls. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Creating Peace

CREATING PEACE
By Rev. Kit Ketcham, Sept. 26, 2010

My heart fell into my shoes as I listened to that voice mail nine years ago; it was the president of the board of my former congregation in Portland informing me that he had received a letter from a small group of anonymous dissident congregants, accusing me of not being a good minister and citing complaints about sermons not being intellectual enough, my being too Christian in my beliefs, missing chances for pastoral care, and forcing my opinions about social action priorities onto the congregation.

The letter had come out of the blue, for me; we had had our ups and downs but we had doubled our size in the three years I’d been there, we’d nearly completed the work to become a Welcoming Congregation, we’d instituted an all-congregation social action project serving transitional families, we had a thriving religious education program, and I’d thought the only fly in the ointment was our need to meet at 4 p.m., rather than have a morning service. Instead I learned this little group wanted to fire me.

Boy, I wish I’d known then what I know now about congregational life and how easy it can be for small conflicts to grow into conflagrations that split congregations and cause ministers to pack their bags.

Because I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to talk to, or how to talk to them appropriately; I didn’t even know who the dissidents were. I just stewed over it, my hurt feelings growing by the day. I’d been an enthusiastic gardener, enjoying my tomato plants and native flowers, and now I found that, instead of getting my frustrations out with the dirt and weeds, I was brooding over my mistakes while gardening, feeling betrayed by congregants whom I had thought supported me and my leadership.

And the congregation didn’t know what to do either. They’d formed out of dissatisfaction with a larger church in Portland, feeling that they’d be better served by a new start in their own neighborhood, and I’d come to be their first fulltime minister. Yet here they were, struggling to express their discontent and just making things worse in the process, as was I.

In fairness to them, I will say that their complaints about me were understandable; I was a rookie, fresh out of seminary and extremely wet behind the ears, despite thinking I knew everything! I do prefer personal reflections to highly intellectual lectures, I’ve never denied my Christian roots and my Baptist DNA, I hadn’t been able to keep up with pastoral care in every case, and I had pretty much pushed the creation of an all-congregation social action project.

As we struggled to resolve our conflicts, which seemed insurmountable at the time and did result in my deciding to leave that congregation the next year, we all discovered some important things about how to treat each other in conflict, how to forgive and be forgiven, how to move on after a big jolt in our congregational life. There’s more to this story and I’ll tell that part later.

But for now, let’s look at the clumsy process that resulted in a great deal of hurt, people leaving the congregation in anger and frustration, and important changes being delayed until new ways of being together could be established.

The folks who were unhappy with my leadership had some legitimate concerns but didn’t have the tools or the courage to bring them to me directly. And on the few occasions that one or two mentioned something, I tended to get defensive and explain at great length just why I was doing something they didn’t like.

So they’d gripe to each other in the parking lot after church and I’d gripe to my friends outside the congregation or to sympathetic family members. And our unshared grievances grew until they couldn’t be contained and spilled over into congregational life, becoming a conflict that needed outside intervention.

What might have spared this young and inexperienced congregation and minister the pain of such a difficult situation? What might have re-routed the conversation so that it could be used productively rather than destructively? What could we have done differently in the beginning?

Today we are spending time considering a document called a Covenant of Right Relations, which a board-appointed task force has been working on for several months, looking at what the Unitarian Universalist Association suggests for congregations, looking at the work others have done, considering our history as a congregation and what has worked for us here, as well as what we wished we’d done better.

Our first consideration, though, was to understand the term “Covenant” in a religious setting like ours. The word Covenant has several wellknown uses and definitions. In some settings, it’s an agreement that homeowners will not do certain kinds of things on their property, in order to stay in good standing as members of a housing development and it can be somewhat punitive.

In other settings, it can mean contracts, bargains, certain legal documents--- or agreements about religious doctrine. In Christianity and Judaism, for example, God is in covenant with God’s people to provide for them if they keep God’s commandments. In specific Christian denominations, members of that faith covenant to uphold the doctrine of that denomination.

However, our faith tradition does not define “Covenant” in those ways. Our faith tradition is not about believing certain things but rather about our behavior toward each other, toward the larger community, and toward the earth on which we live.

“Covenant” means to us to come together in a solemn agreement, making a promise from the heart about how we will be together in this religious community. It is based on our Unitarian Universalist principles and on the Affirmation that we repeat every Sunday.

The task force which created the Covenant words for your consideration today used our Affirmation as its starting point, fleshing it out in two ways: first, to amplify the meaning of the statement we speak every week: “Love is the spirit of this congregation and service is its practice. This is our great covenant, to dwell together in peace, to speak truth in love, and to help one another” .

Such simple words. So much meaning. And so the second task was to create a set of promises that we might make to one another in this community, in accordance with our Principles and our Affirmation.

Because, how do we exemplify the Love that is the spirit of this congregation? How do we practice service? What does it mean that we wish to dwell together in peace? To speak truth in love? To help one another? This is what we mean by the term “Right Relations”.

How do we keep these simple words active in our lives, both here in this sacred space and outside in the larger community? It is so easy for simple words to become merely mindless ritual, and, in fact, that’s one reason why some of us are here---when thoughtless repetition of doctrine became uncomfortable and we were looking for a religious faith that came from the heart and the mind.

We want to live our Principles and our Affirmation in all areas of our congregational life and in the larger community. This way of living our beliefs is our quiet witness to the world that Unitarian Universalism is a faith tradition that walks its talk, not only in our social justice actions but also in our relationships with each other.

As Unitarian Universalists, we believe in the transforming power of love and because of this, we seek to create relationships of compassion, respect and forgiveness, to love our neighbor and to recognize that every person is our neighbor.

As Unitarian Universalists, we believe in cooperative power, not in coercive power, power with, rather than power over.

As Unitarian Universalists, we believe in humility and open-mindedness, knowing we ourselves can make mistakes and that others’ opinions are valid; we are willing to change our minds when we see that we are wrong.

As you have read through the first draft of the Covenant of Right Relations, I hope you have noticed one thing in particular: that these promises are positive in nature, affirming our desire to be our best selves with each other. They are not punitive, but encouraging; they recognize that we may goof up and when we do, we forgive ourselves and others and begin again in love.

These promises are active, not passive. When we say we warmly welcome all, that means that when a visitor walks through the door, we greet them in a friendly way and do what we can to make them comfortable in our midst.

When we promise to speak with honesty, respect, and kindness, that means we curb our tempers and strive to speak our minds with courtesy, not rancor.

When we promise to listen compassionately, that means we don’t interrupt, we pay attention to what the other is saying, so that we have a better understanding of their point of view.

When we promise to express our gratitude for others’ work, that means we say thank you often and express our appreciation, avoiding petty criticism.

When we promise to honor and support one another in life, that means we reach out to those who are hurting, we volunteer our services to make another’s life easier during a tough siege, we are thrilled for each others’ joys and mourn each others’ sorrows.

When we promise to embrace our diversity and the opportunity for different perspectives, we strive to learn more about those who are different from us so that we can learn from their perspectives.

When we address our disagreements directly and openly and move toward resolution, that means we talk directly to the person we are in conflict with, not behind his or her back, and we work toward real resolution and understanding.

When we promise to serve our spiritual community, that means we regularly sign up to be an usher or to serve refreshments or to help with the religious education program or pull weeds in the yard, and we are faithful with our financial support.

And when we goof up, as we all will, on occasion, we apologize, we forgive ourselves, we forgive those who have let us down, and we move forward with renewed commitment to keep our promises.

All healthy relationships and groups have conflict; it’s how we handle the inevitable differences of opinion that will make or break those relationships and so it is, too, with a congregation.

So how did the situation at my former congregation work out? Well, it was bad enough at the beginning that we called upon the services of our local UU district, asking them to help us sort out what had gone wrong and how we might approach it.

And in a set of interviews with congregation members and friends, a team listened carefully to all points of view, interviewed me deeply, and came up with a pretty concise and pointed analysis of what our difficulties were and how we had made missteps in addressing our differences.

To the congregation they pointed out that talking behind the back of those they disagreed with was not a fair way of enacting change, that direct and respectful conversation with the other person was the best way of addressing problems. They mentioned instances in which a dissident member had been publicly disrespectful to me and to other leaders. They mentioned secret meetings and email conversations in which people planned how they could fire me.

To me, they were also pretty clear. I had made some unwise moves myself and needed to change my own behavior. They informed me that my energy and enthusiasm can feel disempowering and controlling to those I work with. They reminded me of the times someone had tried to talk with me about a difference of opinion and how I’d responded defensively, not compassionately. And they reminded me that I need to remember that my casual words and occasional flip remarks can easily be misinterpreted.

They made these pronouncements at a congregational meeting in early November of that year and in a private conference with me. There was an initial flurry of disagreement from all sides but once we settled down, most of us could see how the conflict had grown to the proportions it had. The team then suggested that after some period of reflection the congregation might begin work on a Covenant of Right Relations to help them work through any future conflicts more productively.

I went about my work from that point on acutely aware of my own errors, feeling embarrassed by my mistakes, and yet hopeful that I might be able to bring more resolution to my hurting congregation and myself in the next few months before my resignation took effect. But I wasn’t sure how to do it. I was still in a lot of pain.

The week before Thanksgiving, I was preparing my annual sermon of gratitude for blessings and feeling pretty sad about the situation we’d just come through. I still felt hurt, our dissidents had not been happy about the recommendations the visiting team had made, and I was having a hard time being joyful as the holiday season began.

I came home from a meeting one afternoon to find a voicemail on my answering machine. I recognized the number on the caller ID; it was the phone number of the one person I’d felt most betrayed by, a woman I thought was a strong supporter. I was almost afraid to listen to her message, feeling beaten down by all the criticism I’d endured for the past months and fearing she was going to give me some more.

But I was in for a surprise. Her familiar voice just said, “Kit, this is Betty. I feel terrible about how I’ve treated you during these past few months. Can we talk?” And talk we did, for a long time, and we came to a new understanding of how our relationship had been damaged by our poor communication.

Over coffee, we sorted out the ways we had hurt each other, we apologized to each other, and we made a commitment to share our reconciliation and our new relationship with the congregation.

And on Thanksgiving Sunday, after re-thinking my Thanksgiving sermon, I apologized to the congregation for my mistakes and told them what I hoped we could accomplish together during the last few months of my time with them. We lit candles of hope at the end of the service and acknowledged the journey of reconciliation that lay ahead for us as a congregation.

During the next months, several others in the dissident group came to me to apologize and to receive my direct apology for ways I had hurt them.

I wouldn’t say that all was sunshine and roses from then on, but we had received a powerful lesson in what NOT to do and how to mend our broken ties. We had lost several strong members because they couldn’t stomach the conflict; our Sunday attendance dropped dramatically, I found it hard to look out at the gathering while preaching and note who wasn’t there.

But we made it through the year with some regained self-respect, knowing we had done the best we could with a tough situation.

And, once peace was restored, in the next few years, as I understand it, that congregation began work on a Covenant of Right Relations, so that they would always be reminded of their own role in maintaining the Spirit of Love in the congregation.

As we move ahead to develop a Covenant of Right Relations that works for us, expresses our hopes and commitments in the ways we feel most valuable, I am grateful that we already have a foundation of many peaceful years together and that creating this document is mostly a matter of confirming the respectful ways we already treat each other.

The plan is to discuss the proposed draft today, with facilitators at each table making notes about suggestions and concerns. The task force will take all those notes into consideration, will create a second draft for your approval, and we will repeat this process as often as necessary. It will culminate in a vote at a congregation meeting in the future, when the final draft is completed.

In our work this afternoon, I hope we’ll share the many ways we already show our care and concern for each other, consider other ways we might add, and get started on the work of Covenanting together.

Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION: Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place. Let us go in peace, remembering that we have a precious connection to one another in this faith community. May we seek to strengthen and protect that connection by making our love for one another visible through our actions and may we extend our love beyond these walls into the larger community. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Thinking about God...

is something I do a lot, particularly when I read or hear the words of others whose God-concept is pretty traditional, more of the personal, God-is-a-capitalized-He, creator of the universe who will suspend natural law for my benefit.

I used to be there. Now I'm not. But when it comes to putting my own words on my God-concept, I'm almost incoherent. I'm getting better, but I'm pretty feeble.

See, I don't believe that there is some anthropomorphic figure in the sky or in the air around us that cares about me personally, except in the fortunate accident of giving me life. I don't believe that any force in the universe is going to be interested in letting me or helping me circumvent natural law. I don't believe that I am on earth to do anything but act out the moral principles I was born with and learned from loving parents; if there is a "God's Will", that's it for me.

I do believe that there is power beyond human power, that it created the universe and continues to create the universe and its creatures through evolution. I believe it resides in me and in every being, that I can use that power as a means of learning life's lessons, as a means of improving my own health, sanity, outreach, and connection to all things. I believe that all of us can use that power.

I believe that the universe is both creation and source of creation, that it can be measured mathematically (Richard Feynman has said that "calculus is the language God speaks") and that science is right to continue to measure the universe, whether or not it will ever be possible to take every measurement, whether or not in the end we concede that it is a Mystery.

I believe that natural law is the manifestation and activator of this power beyond human power. In natural law, we see how things work, what we can count on, how our bodies and minds may work and how we can work with natural law to survive and flourish.

Natural law can be a threat if we don't pay attention to it, whether we neglect to consider the consequences of weather or geography or topography or the impulse to put our tribe's (or our own personal) survival ahead of our impulse to be compassionate. Natural law deals death for accidents or disregard for the universe's power. It also deals death for those who disregard compassion as necessary to human life; those who suffer the lack of compassion from others are the victims, but the non-compassionate ones have the misery and poverty of the victims on their spiritual "permanent record". They are not accountable to some God figure but to their own conscience, in the long run.

This is what I've got so far. It's probably going to be slow work, but it's eternally interesting, to sort out what I see as the power beyond human power, why prayer works for me even with this evolving definition of my God-concept, why I continue to pray for the health and wellbeing of my loved ones, sending my love and concern into the universe in behalf of humankind generally and my beloveds in particular, and why I have faith that when I pray "please help me deal well with this situation" I will deal well with this situation. It rarely fails me.

A Water Ceremony

Our Water Ceremony today was a wonderful experience. It's always a chaotic day, with joy and sorrow and confusion intertwined, and today was the best of everything. We broke our attendance record for a worship service, with 108 souls, and celebrated afterwards with our traditional salmon bake. Here is the text of the introduction to the ceremony and the homily I didn't need. You'll see why if you read it.

INTRODUCTION TO THE WATER CEREMONY
Sept. 12, 2010

Good morning! I’m delighted to see you all here today. I’d like to explain how we are going to do our water ceremony this year, for the benefit of those to whom it is a new experience and to help others remember how this works. For those of you who are visiting, we are delighted to see you and welcome you into this experience. You are invited to take full part in this ceremony.

When you found your seat, you also found a 3x5 card on that seat. During the early part of the service, I ask you to think about what the water means which you will pour into our receptacle. Does it represent an important insight or experience? Does it commemorate a beloved person who may have died? Does it express a joy that has come to you?

Whatever that meaning might be, I ask you to write it down on the card and later, during the procession of the waters, to bring your water and your card to the altar table where the pooled waters will be gathered. Please pour a small amount of your water into the amber vase and place the card with your words on it in one of the baskets by the vase; then return to your seat. We’ll process in rows, as tidily as possible, but as it may get kind of busy up here, I just ask that you watch out for little feet and hands and take turns as best you can! And if you forgot to bring water, there is a carafe of water here on the altar that you can use to represent your watery experience.

Just before the homily, two readers will read the cards aloud without names attached, so that we all can hear the insights and experiences that your water represents. In this way, we symbolically pool the life experiences of all of us gathered here today and enrich our community with those experiences.

In this container, I have the pooled waters from last year’s water ceremony and I am going to add some of them to the amber vase to begin our ceremony. After this service, the waters will be purified and will be used in our annual child dedication ceremony as well as on other occasions such as house blessings or memorial services.

“THE WATERS OF OUR LIVES”
Rev. Kit Ketcham, Sept. 12, 2010

I invite you to sit in silence for a few moments while Sara and Frank read the cards which describe the experiences that are represented by these waters we’ve joined together. Let’s reflect during that silence upon the commonalities of our human lives and also the richness that all these experiences bring to our life together as a faith community.

[Note: About 80 cards were read aloud and at the end of this recitation of the many important experiences that the water represented, there was nothing more for me to say. I wish I could publish the messages on the cards, for they were so poignant and meaningful. So I delivered only the last two paragraphs of this homily, but you're getting the whole thing!)

This past summer has been many things to us: times of joy and recreation in beautiful places, times of sorrow and worry over beloved friends and family members who are struggling, personal determination to change our lives in some way, realization of our mortality and that of our loved ones, and especially, love flowing between us and our fellow humans, love of all kinds----giddy romantic love, the deep love of committed partners, love for children and animals, love of this beautiful place, love for sacred ideals and causes, love for faithful friends and companions on the road, and the love that blooms when people are united in a mission to serve others.

These are the waters of our lives; they are bubbling with joy and play and ecstasy and fulfillment. They run serene with contentment and the sense of life well lived. And yet an inevitable undercurrent of sorrow and loss may flow beneath even the calmest or most exuberant of waters.

Water is everywhere in our lives. New human life is born in a gush of waters; new rivers spring from tiny clefts in the rock; glaciers release water stored for centuries to trickle down couloirs and into creeks, then rivers, then the sea. Underground aquifers receive thirstily the water which percolates down from rainstorms and snow melt to bring new water to wells and springs.

Water seems always to be going somewhere, active, whether bouncing through rapids or ocean swells and tides or serenely flowing through meadowy meanders and welling up behind beaver dams. Its undercurrents require of us a certain caution, a recognition of danger, a possibility of pain and loss. And then water moves from lakes and streams and oceans and even puddles back up through the air to become clouds again and start its cycle all over.

One of the things I’ve experienced lately is the importance of water in the act of cleansing. Many of you know I recently had a cataract removed---just last Wed., as a matter of fact---and I had to wash and wash and wash in preparation for the surgery: wash my hands before putting drops in my eye; wash again and again and again at every step of the process. After the surgery, keeping my face clean was essential, lest infection take hold.

Every person who worked with me during the hours I was at Whidbey General washed their hands before any contact with me. And during the surgery itself, my eye was flooded with sterile water as the doctor carefully extracted the old lens and implanted the new one.

The reminder we give our children about washing their hands is one we have heard from our own parents and other adults. Washing, cleansing, purifying---these are all roles water has in our daily lives.

We bathe, both for cleanliness sake and to relax. We launder our clothing, our bedding, our table linens, all in the act of cleanliness but also in the act of refreshing limp and tired items. We scrub our floors and our kitchen and bathroom surfaces till they shine.

There’s a lot of hype about anti-bacterial substances that supposedly will eliminate evil germs and protect us from disease, but the truth is that just plain clean water with a little soap will do the same thing.

Water has been used for religious purposes for centuries and we use it that way too. We gather these waters every fall to commemorate the ways our lives have changed during the past year and to share those changes with our religious community. Water is the basic stuff of life, and, like community, we have to have it, we need it for our very survival.

We use these gathered waters then to dedicate ourselves to our newest children every year, welcoming them into the community with a touch of the water on their skin, to symbolically share our lives with theirs.

All over the United States and even abroad today Unitarian Universalists are bringing the waters of their lives to pool in a common vessel, signifying our unity as a congregation and beginning the new year together in this ceremony of communion.

In some congregations I’ve known, the water ceremony can become just a travelogue of people bragging about the cool places they’ve been. Our practice is to share the important experiences of the past months, the times that have been spiritually important to us, the times of learning something valuable, the times spent with dear ones, the times spent remembering and cherishing the love in our lives.

We bring all these experiences today, to pool in this container, and to begin our new year together with the recognition that we are somewhat different, as individuals and as a congregation, than we were a few months ago.

Some of us have had deep hurts, some of us have lost members of our family. Some of us have had incredible joy, joy that continues and enriches our lives. Some of us have had important insights about our own selves, about others, about the nature of life.

So we bring our water and ourselves to this place today, depending on each other for support and love as we begin this year together.

Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

Benediction: Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place. Let us go in peace, remembering that our lives affect one another, for our experiences shape us and thereby shape our relationships. May we remember this and share ourselves and our lives in ways that enhance our time together, for this is how we heal ourselves and each other and knit up the rips and tears in the interdependent web of existence, of which we are a part. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Cataract "canyon"

I had known for over a year that I was eventually going to need to have a cataract removed in my left eye. The retinal detachment that occurred in April of 2009 made it likely that a cataract would form within a few months and that it would impair my vision more and more until I couldn't stand it any longer and had it removed and replaced with a plastic lens.

For the last several months, the feeling of cloudedness, of a kind of weightiness in my left eye had been growing, impairing my night vision particularly with its refracting of headlights into starbursts and halos. My right eye was doing so much more of the work that it was often tired and grouchy. I was ready for whatever the surgery might bring.

But I was also wary. A few folks in my congregation had had complications----infection, double vision, even a lens "misplant"---though most reported wonderful results. Which side of the line would I end up on? I couldn't tell for sure, though I knew that the retinal detachment made my surgery somewhat more delicate.

Now, two days later, I am amazed at the clarity of the vision in my left eye. It's so dramatically better---not only in focus but in colors revealed now that the cloudy lens is clear again---that my right eye is a bit confused and trying to get used to the fact that it's no longer doing more work than the left eye. Also, the left eye does not have a multifocal replacement lens, only a regular one; the right eye uses a multifocal contact lens or a bifocal spectacle lens.

Until I get the right lens removed, which should happen within a month or so because there's a bit of a cataract on that one too, I will be using a combination of vision aids, because only my left eye will need a reading lens for now; after the second surgery, the right eye will need it too, but until then, I've got a multifocal contact lens.

I've taken my regular specs over to the optometrist to get a plain glass lens inserted on the left side; that will make it easier to cope during the month-long period before the second surgery when I can't wear my contact lens in my right eye. (The reason for this is that the cornea's shape is affected by a gas-perm lens and needs time to revert to its natural shape---about two weeks before the measurements of the eye and then two more weeks until the surgery.)

Of course, this is all happening during the busiest part of my year but somehow all the events---the meetings, the sermons, the Bayview Sound performances---are dovetailing pretty well and I haven't had to miss anything just yet. We'll see how the rest of it progresses!

Admitting to God, to ourselves...

and to another person the exact nature of our wrongs is something a lot of folks think is unwise, probably unnecessary, and too guilt-ridden to be an effective way of dealing with errors we've made. The thing is, it works.

Years ago, I regularly attended an AlAnon meeting every week, sometimes twice a week, trying to deal with the effects of my years in relationships that were affected by drinking, drugging, food, spending, and other addictive behaviors. And I decided that I wasn't going to do it halfway, that I was going to actually get a sponsor and do the work of "doing the steps", the 12 steps that have been the foundation of Alcoholics Anonymous and other such groups.

I spent about four or five years attending regular meetings and the steps became part of my life, to the benefit of my relationships. The steps were hard. They meant I had to overcome my resistance to letting people know about my secrets, telling people I was sorry and asking forgiveness, and making pridefulness take a back seat to humility. One of the hardest ones was number 5: "admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs".

But once I had done this with the entity I called God, with myself, and with my sponsor, owning up to the list of people I had harmed with my behavior and committing myself to making amends to all those I could, I found my sense of guilt greatly diminished and a sense of freedom from self-absorption and self-flagellation. I still carried the sense of responsibility for my actions; I hadn't given that up, but it now served as a reminder not to commit the same act again.

I've used this step over and over again since those AlAnon days, even though I no longer attend meetings. And it has the same cleansing effect now as it did then. I have learned a lot about my actions and their effects over the years and I rarely commit the same offense twice.

However, I find new ones to commit, as I did recently, hurting people unnecessarily and for no good reason. And as I mopped up as best I could, feeling remorseful for my stupid mistake and praying for guidance to make amends, I had a chance to sit down with my close friend S and tell her what I had done to hurt people, what I had done to make amends, and what I hoped I still could do. She was understanding and supportive, did not diminish the seriousness of the deed, but offered encouragement and questions to help me sort out why I might have taken the action I did, to get a handle on any pattern it might reveal.

And though my sorrow about the event has not gone away, my understanding has increased. I am hopeful that I might learn what I need to learn so that in the future, I will not carelessly hurt another person this way. I hope that I might find greater compassion for those who happen to push my buttons in certain ways and that I might learn more caring ways to respond.

Please, God.

We saw it along the roadside...

as we rounded the bend, going toward my driveway. At first I wasn't sure how big it was, its splayed legs leaning against the raised curb, its eyes silvery in the headlights, and I was afraid it might be Maxie.

But as we drew closer, we could tell that it was a fawn, about 6 months or so old, possibly the baby of the mama deer who has been roaming my land this spring and summer. She had two fawns with her the last time I saw her. Maybe next time she'd only have one.

We all sighed with regret as we turned into my driveway and I said goodbye to the folks I'd gone with to a meeting. I went inside and couldn't get the fawn out of my mind. I didn't know if it was dead--or injured and still alive. I wasn't completely sure it wasn't Max, as we had driven by rather quickly, though the image in my mind's eye was that of a small deer.

So after a few minutes, I took a flashlight and went back down the driveway to check on the small body alongside the road. I had no idea what I'd do if it was still alive, as I had no way to put it out of its pain, and it seemed heartless to just leave it there in misery to die alone.

But when I got there and shone my light on the body, about the size of a small Lab, there was no movement, no sound, only bright blood on the pavement and a slight warmth to the touch. I put my hand on the rough coat, still lightly freckled with fawn spots, and said I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry. And walked back up the driveway toward the phone to call the sheriff's dispatcher.

"There's a dead fawn on Bush Point Road."

In a slump....

when it comes to blogging. I just can't get inspired by much of anything right now. I'm in the throes of planning for the new church year, which means meetings (covenant of right relations, science/ethics/meaning, board, committee on ministry, worship, staff); the band has had several gigs in the recent past and continuing today through mid-September; I've been concerned about several parishioners who are ill or struggling; and the things I'm thinking about seriously are not blog fodder.

But here are a few of the other ideas that have floated through my mind:

1. Reading "Sex at Dawn", which purports to be a study (somewhat racy in language and style, but very readable) of how humankind is really supposed to be polygamous rather than monogamous, so that the temptations of men (and presumably women) need not be squelched, avoided, quelled, but respected and sanctioned, because it's so important to have a sex life. I see the authors' point, but, having been hurt by infidelity of a few kinds (sex, alcohol, for starters), I am inclined to think that human beings need to tie a string around "it" and keep it in the pants IF they are in committed relationships. If the relationship is committedly open, that's the participants' prerogative; if it's not, then monogamy is the safest option, even though it may be tough for the randy individual. ( Though I have never personally witnessed a successful "out" open relationship. Somebody seems to always get the short end of the stick.) Also, the authors do not consider the aging process nor give a set of options for those of us who are no longer prowling for sex but rather for companionship.

2. For some reason, I am missing Colorado and have spent a good deal of time recently checking the Denver Post online to see if there's news of anybody I know in the Jefferson County school district, where I used to teach/counsel. I was significantly jealous upon viewing a photo in the Jeffco retirees newsletter of some of my former colleagues singing a few old union songs with Peter Yarrow---yes, that Peter Yarrow! I've been warbling "Union Maid" ever since.

3. It frosts my cookies that Washington State does not have a public beach law, like Oregon does. Of course, the shoreline of Puget Sound would make that very complicated, so I understand, but it's frustrating on Whidbey (paradise that it is) not to be able to walk the beach for miles at a time.

4. I'm looking forward to our gig tonight, which is on the Virginia V ship in Lake Union; it's a fundraiser for the M Bar C ranch in Freeland, which hosts the Forgotten Children Fund activities. It's a $100 a plate feast and festivities and we are getting paid! Plus we're getting dinner out of the deal, though I don't know if it's the same cuisine as the paid guests.

5. I'm sick of my hair being long. I'm going to get Amy to cut it off, I think. The straggliness of my limp locks and the persistent tickle of stray strands down my neck are getting to me. I want cute hair that doesn't need to be tended so much!

6. I will be so glad to get rid of this cataract! The vision in my left eye is cloudy and fuzzy and the prospect of getting rid of that fuzzy cloud outweighs any hesitation that the few risks of cataract surgery present.

Okay. I may add more as I think of other things.

A comment on the Animal Blessing service...

from the owner of one of the blessees.

We want to thank you for your blessing our Charlie. She is one changed dog-well, she is trying to be. She still struggles with the principle of respect and dignity for others-occasional scuffles with the other dogs usually ending up with Charlie getting bit in the snout (I have the same battle, as you know, except for the snout part).

My only suggestion for the next animal ceremony would be to make it a little more detailed (at least for Charlie). Possible areas of concern might be: improved bowel control when at the Coupeville Farmers' Market, while chatting with the mayor and we have just used our last plastic bag, use of an indoor voice in the vet's waiting room, and everyone's favorite-crotch sniffing etiquette at social gatherings except, with Republicans, of course (there's that pesky respect and dignity principle again!!)

We are perfectly willing to come early for all the extras!!!

Thanks again, Kit, and we look forward to seeing you at church, and the Sat. get togethers-

Linda, Elaine, and Charlie
(Printed with permission from the owner)

The Blessing of the Animals: an intergenerational service

ALL GOD’S CRITTERS…
By Rev. Kit Ketcham, Aug. 22, 2010

We’re gonna sing this song at the end of the service, but let’s practice the chorus of it right now, okay?

“All God’s critters got a place in the choir,
Some sing low, some sing higher,
Some sing out loud on the telephone wire,
Some just clap their hands or paws or anything they got now.”

Who are God’s critters? That is, who are the critters who live on the earth? Let’s just call out the species names of some of our favorite critters!

And why are they our favorites? What do these critters we’ve named do? What do they do for us? For the earth? Why are critters so important?

I remember when I was a kid growing up; we had lots of animals in our lives. We had a dog named Snicker (after the candy bar) who adopted our family when we moved to a town where he was a stray. We had cats occasionally but not often, because Snicker wasn’t that great with cats.

I had horses to ride and pet and feed and brush and hug and love because of a generous man in my Dad’s little church, who lent me a horse and all the things a horse needed, every summer. We had birds—both parakeets indoors and native birds outdoors.

On the ranches and farms around our little town, there were sheep and goats and cattle and pigs and chickens. In the fields and woodlands, there were deer and mice and squirrels and chipmunks and even an occasional bear. And there were skunks too, and raccoons.

I was surrounded by animals as I grew up and I learned to be gentle with them, to feed and water them properly, to use them or play with them carefully---not to hurt them by rough treatment or to hit them in anger if they didn’t behave the way I wanted them to. This wasn’t always easy, as I had a bit of a quick temper at times, but the look on Snicker’s face if I struck him in anger told me that I would lose his trust if I treated him badly.

When I’d go riding my horse, I had to remember that Prince or Dan or Coaly or Paleface was bigger and stronger than I was and I had to be careful about safety. I had to make sure my saddle was tightly cinched and that the bridle and bit were comfortably settled in the horse’s mouth. I had to be sensitive to the weather and know that thunder and lightning could scare my horse, and that it wasn’t a good idea to run my horse hard in really hot weather. Yes, I learned a lot about life from my animal friends.

There’s a funny story in my family about what I learned from horses. I was about ten years old and I was so crazy about horses, as lots of young girls are, that one day as our family was all together in the car, my mom and my dad and my sister and brother, I was gushing over how much I loved my horse Prince. Oh, I loved him so much! In fact, I loved him so much that someday I was going to marry him. My parents were wisely silent, until I said in a burst of enthusiasm, “yes, Daddy (my dad was a minister) will say to us at the wedding, I now pronounce you gelding and wife.” Yes, I got a little sex education too from my experiences with animals!

But how about you? What have you learned from the animals in your life? Have you learned something special from the animal you brought today to be blessed?

St. Francis of Assisi lived over 800 years ago in Italy and he loved animals too. Stories are told about St. Francis taming a wolf who had been terrorizing a small village, preaching to birds, and protecting the creatures of the woods and fields. Our blessing today of the animals we care for is to show our understanding and our agreement with the idea that animals are so important in our lives that we must always protect them and take care of them.

We have come to understand that we must not use animals carelessly, that if they work for us, as horses and cows and donkeys and dogs and other working animals do, we have a responsibility to see that they do not work too hard or too long or under bad conditions and that they receive good care, good food, good shelter.

Many of us have come to understand that using animals for food is something that must be done carefully and respectfully. Some of us don’t eat meat any more. Some of us eat only plants and their products for food. Some of us eat meat and fish but look for meat and fish that is humanely produced. And we don’t eat too much of it or eat it just because it’s the fashionable thing to do.

Our relationships with animals, whether they are our pets or our source of food or work or the wildlife we see in the fields and forest and oceans, must be in balance. We must not overfish the oceans; we must not overwork our work animals; we must not use up animals or animal habitat unnecessarily.

When our earth and its creatures are in balance, our lives are more in balance too. We are happier when our animals are happy and well-cared for. We receive so much love from our pets when they are happy and we feel bad when they are sick or injured or afraid.

What does it feel like to be out of balance? When you are dizzy, what does that feel like? Being dizzy is a kind of being out of balance. We can’t walk straight, we feel a little sick, we might even fall down. It’s not very much fun to be dizzy, even if we sometimes do it to be funny.

So we bless our animals today to tell them in our own way that they are important to us, that they help keep our lives in balance, and that we appreciate all that they do for us.

A blessing is a very strong wish for good things for someone or, in this case, our animals. When we bless them, we are wishing that they will have good health, good things to happen to them, good people to take care of them. And we are also promising them that we will help them have good health, good things, good people in their lives.

Our behavior toward our animals tells them even better than words that we care for them. So we are promising them the blessing of our good care.

As we get ready to do our animal blessing, I’m going to ask that we spread out a little bit, if necessary. We’ll do the smaller animals first and work our way up through the dogs and larger animals. I’m going to ask the owner what the animal’s name is and then I’m going to say, “Bless you ___ and may you live a long and happy and healthy life.” And we’ll give each animal a treat.

At the end of the blessing, we’ll have a time of silence in memory of all the dear animals that have blessed our lives and have given us so much love before they died. During that time of silence, I’ll invite you to speak out the names of those animals who have died and whose memory still gives you joy, even though you miss them very much.

Before we sing our final song, I will lead us in a commitment promise to our animals, saying out loud a pledge, a vow to treat animals with care and respect, in our homes, in our lands, and in meeting our food needs.

BLESSING: what is this animal’s name? _________ Bless you, ____, and may you live a long, happy, and healthy life.

SILENCE: (speak names of pets who have died into the silence)

COMMITMENT PLEDGE: (repeat after me)
I promise to treat the animals in my life
With respect and care.
I promise to care for my pets
by giving them good food, shelter, and love.
I promise to care for wildlife
By caring for the forests and fields and oceans where they live.
I promise to care for working animals
By treating them kindly and gently.
I promise to care for food animals
By respecting the gift they give with their bodies.
I make these promises
Knowing that my life is connected to theirs.
May it be so.

SONG: All God’s Critters

Stopping the itch of bug bites

Okay, this is not exactly Ladies Home Journal or Martha Stewart's Whole Living, but I have recently been dealing with a small matter of fleas on Max. I had been wondering why I would occasionally have a few inexplicable bites that itched madly but were apparently inflicted by invisible bugs.

I have googled itchy bites, invisible bugs, mites, whatever word or combination of words I thought might explain these occasional fleets of itchy bites. Some of them I could tell were mosquito bites, which have (at least on me) a distinctive whitish bump that itches. Others, however, were tiny, in very odd places, and only distinguished by a small raised red bumpito that itched madly.

Until Max's recent trip to the vet for his leukemia booster, I had not thought they could possibly be fleas, as I have never seen a flea on him or any of the other cats, nor in the bedding or favorite spots where he lies. The other two cats had been declared free of fleas earlier this month, but Max turned up with a few fleas.

Aha! Googling flea bites produced images that were clearly the same as my bites, so we are taking steps to eradicate the critters. Which brings me to something useful I discovered long ago when I was trying to deal with itchy bites.

The People's Pharmacy is a newspaper column that is a kind of clearing house for both natural and allopathic health remedies. People will write in about a bar of soap curing their night time leg cramps or the evils of various drugs, Vicks for fungus-y toenails, that sort of thing. And one day, somebody mentioned heat as a temporary cure for itchy bites.

I jumped on this one, because no over the counter product, even antihistamines, had done anything to make the itch go away, and I did some experimenting. There were some fairly inconvenient ways of applying heat, like with a hair dryer, and it would be easy to get burned if it got too hot. But it needed to be pretty high heat in order to quell the itch, not just make it itchier.

Here's what I do. I keep an old stainless steel teaspoon in the bathroom and when I need to stop an itch, I turn the hot water on, let it run till it's so hot I can barely stand it, then stick the spoon into the running water for a few seconds. Then I apply the back side of the spoon directly to the itchy bite and hold it there while the itch flares up briefly and then dies away. This works like a charm and eradicates the itch for me for several hours. If the bite is on my back, I use a few seconds of very hot shower water. But the effect is the same.

So I may have fleas temporarily, but I can deal with the itch. I hope this public service announcement has been helpful.

Donate in Mama Jo's name

Mama Jo's a friend of mine, a seminarian, a longtime UU, and a fellow blogger. She's shaving her head in sympathy with the many children in her life who have cancer and have lost their hair. Her own little daughter has had cancer twice and is now healthy again. Can you donate to St. Baldrick's in her name? She's trying to raise $1000.

Why do I live?

It's taken me awhile to get motivated to answer this question for the Salon, but reading Earthbound Spirit's take on it has done just that. Thank you, my cyberfriend!

Right now my congregation and I are engaged in thinking and praying life back into an elderly parishioner who was about to die. And now, miraculously, he's not, at least not right now.

In an earlier post, I bemoaned the fact that being strong and fit can slow down and make difficult an impending death, that our bodies can be too tough to die easily. As they said about my little Baptist mother years ago, "They're going to have to shoot Mona on Judgment Day." Of course, they didn't; she died peacefully in her hospice bed.

It isn't just Baird's body that is too tough to die; it's his will, his character, his desire to experience everything life has to offer----that's what's keeping him going, making use of the OT, the PT, the speech therapy, learning to make his body again do what he wants, his tongue say the words, his mind do the remembering.

He wants more time; he wants to live a while longer, not strapped down to a bed or chair, but seeing friends and family, making conversation, doing things, seeing things, being aware, touching and being touched. And because he knows we want him to live.

This is a powerful lesson to me about living. Why is Baird still living? Because life is all he has for sure, in all its pain and joy. It makes me rethink the fleeting idea I had about eating bonbons to weaken my body so that I wouldn't have a hard time dying someday. The reason Baird has made this turnaround is largely because of his Viking strength----of body and of mind and of heart.

This morning I was reflecting on last night's contemplative worship service (we call it EvenSong, but it's not like Anglican Evensong or the UU Evensong program), seeing the beloved faces and hearing the beloved voices of the dear folks who were present and who were presenting the service. How much I love them!

And it occurs to me that this is why I live. I live to love people. I live to be useful to them. I live to be a safe harbor for them. And in return, I receive love, I receive their care, I receive the safe harbor they offer.

Yeah, it can go wrong. My love for others and theirs for me can go wrong sometimes; it can be painful, it can have unintended consequences. But that's really why I am here---to love, to be useful, to be a safe place. And my life is an exercise in learning to do that better---to love better, to serve better, to be a safe place to more people, animals, the earth.

GRRRRRRR ATTITUDE

Argggh! And that's not a pirate you're listening to, it's me, peeved. (and then grateful)

Here's the deal. I have had cataract surgery scheduled for August 25 for months, with a pre-op appointment for today at noonish.

Sunday night my only up to date pair of specs fell apart, with the temple piece falling off the main body of the glasses. No big deal, I thought, I'll just get them put back together at the local optical place. I'm wearing my contacts all day long now, it's no biggie.

But the optical place said no, they couldn't do it. Not their kind of repair, try the local jewelers. It was going to require something besides a new screw---it needed welding.

So I took it off to the local jewelers, left it overnight, not knowing whether they'd be able to fix it or not but happy that I had a very old spare pair of specs to wear while reading in bed at night.

Today at noon, I met with the doc for the cataract pre-op and asked if it would be problematic that I was wearing my contact lenses. She looked like I'd kicked her in the patootie and said YES, IT WOULD BE A VERY BIG PROBLEM! DIDN'T THEY TELL YOU NOT TO WEAR YOUR CONTACTS FOR TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE PRE-OP?

Well, no, they hadn't. Nowhere in the literature is it mentioned that a contact lens wearer (at least a gas-perm lens wearer) was not supposed to wear her/his contacts for two weeks preceding the pre-op appointment. Apparently, the eye needs to regain its natural shape so that the measurement for the implantable lens is accurate and it takes two weeks of not being shaped by a hard lens to resume its natural shape.

So we're rescheduling and the doc is bawling out (very politely) the clerks who should have told me this and it strikes me that I don't know if I even have glasses I can wear. My only decent pair of specs is at the jewelers where they are not sure they will be able to fix them.

Talk about mixed emotions, almost none of them good: anger about the failure to tell me something important, embarrassment for the clerks who probably thought I knew this or didn't know I was wearing contacts, irritation at the doc for her annoyance at me (even though she said it wasn't at me---it felt like I was included), relief at being able to postpone the surgery for two weeks (I wasn't exactly looking forward to it), and fear that I would not have a wearable, see-throughable pair of specs to get me through the next two weeks. Oh, and the fact that I had to drive 40 miles to Coupeville and back to find this out!

All the way home I was going over in my mind how I would cope if the only pair of specs I had to count on were the red-framed horrors that are now at least 20 years old. I called the jewelers as soon as I got home, the repair lady said she'd call me back, and within an hour I was able to go pick them up. In fact, I left this post hanging at about paragraph two to rush over to the store and pick them up.

So GRRRRRR has turned into GRRattitude. Thanks to Kari at Lind's for working a miracle and to my friend Carol who can take me up there for the surgery on the new date. And you'll see me in specs for the next two weeks, but they won't be the red ones from the 80's!

A picture of the congregation to which the following sermon was preached this morning!

After the service this morning, we took a picture of the congregation to send to our friends Baird and Peggy, as Baird is not well enough to come to church.

Nature: Spirit Made Visible

NATURE: SPIRIT MADE VISIBLE
By Rev. Kit Ketcham, August 8, 2010

I’ve been reading through my old journals recently, dating back to the years before I began to study for the ministry. I’ve been keeping journals for decades, ever since I scribbled notes on my Outward Bound experience in a scruffy little notebook in the summer of 1968, a time of my life which cemented my sense of connection with the natural world and got me thinking about my place in it.

Some of those old journal entries are embarrassing, to say the least, and years ago I threw out the worst ones, the journals I never wanted my son to see, whenever I should shuffle off this mortal coil. But even once I got past the place of complaining about family members I was irritated with or the struggles I was having in my work or the latest guy I was dating, I wrote down some remarkably childish things.

It got a lot better once I got into a 12 step program and started being more aware of my feelings, my not-so-sterling qualities, and the steps I needed to take to make my life happier and more honest. I began to take note of the moments in my life when I felt most whole, most open to transformative change, most fulfilled and satisfied.

As I began to write about my deeper experiences, I noticed a pattern. At the time, I owned an old Dodge camping van and used it to travel the Colorado Rockies, to go back and forth between the PNW and Colorado, and to generally find solitude and beauty and lovely freedom and independence in evenings spent alone in a camp chair, in front of a fire I had built myself---with one match!, with my trusty journal on my lap, writing about my day’s activities and thoughts.

I had a few favorite spots I particularly liked to visit: Guanella Pass in the Front Range of the Rockies and only a short distance from Denver in miles but light years away from the clamor of the city; primitive Taylor Park, over two major Rocky Mountain passes near Gunnison CO, but largely undiscovered by anyone but fishermen and cowboys---and me; and the Oregon Coast, particularly Cape Lookout near Tillamook, whose tidepools enticed me in the early mornings.

These were places that felt right to me in ways I couldn’t express clearly. The wide expanse of open space, the mountain peaks nearby, the limitless sense of air, of freedom, of both a great mystery and a great peace. The wildlife---deer, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, coyotes, fish, starfish, sand dollars---all these belonged so perfectly to their surroundings. And, astonishingly, so did I,

I too felt part of these places. The animals were my companions in the woods or on the beach; we lived together as I camped among them. I talked to them, told them how beautiful they were, that they were safe with me, that I appreciated their being with me in the moment.

I think I got some of this sense of connection, as well, from my mother. I’ve told you the story of how my sister and I, as teenagers, would walk the long stretch of Cannon Beach, in Oregon, with our mom in the misty mornings before breakfast, as she declaimed to the gray sky---and to anyone nearby who might hear, including, unfortunately, cute boys---Edna St Vincent Millay’s memorable poem, God’s World”:

O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!

Thy mists that roll and rise!

Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag

And all but cry with colour!
That gaunt crag

To crush!
To lift the lean of that black bluff!

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,

But never knew I this;

Here such a passion is

As stretcheth me apart.
Lord, I do fear

Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year.

My soul is all but out of me,—let fall

No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

Millay, of course, was one of the descendants of a remarkable moment in American history in the mid 19th century, when a group of poets and thinkers like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller and others set the religious and literary world on edge with their vision of Nature as a pathway to the Divine. They were dubbed the Transcendentalists and brought to American culture much more than a connection between God and Nature, but this particular concept was a profound contribution to Unitarian theology .

The Transcendentalists felt that something was missing in classic Unitarianism with its insistence on cool rationality and reason. Solemnity, calmness and emotionless rhetoric failed to satisfy that side of the Transcendentalists which yearned for a more intense spiritual experience. This led Emerson to denounce what he saw as the “corpse-cold” Unitarianism of that time, which was itself a rebellion against the extreme emotionalism of more evangelical Protestant sects.

Emerson, in an essay entitled "Nature," tried to capture the feeling of spiritual conversion as experienced during a sojourn in the woods. In a famous passage that has become a classic…description of the "transcendent moment," he writes:

In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life,—no disgrace, no calamity…, which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground,—my head bathed by the blithe air and uplifted into infinite space,—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God.

Emerson’s eloquence was parodied on the one hand and yet deeply understood by his peers. In a letter written in January 1849 to his friend Randolph Ryer, Thomas Starr King, another of our Unitarian ancestors, said this about Emerson:

“Emerson gave us last Monday evening the most brilliant lecture I ever listened to from any mortal. It was on the identity of the laws of the mind with the laws of nature. He proved conclusively that man is only a higher kind of corn, that he is a squirrel gone up into the first class, that he is a liberated oyster fully educated, that he is a spiritualized pumpkin, a thinking squash, a graduated sunflower, and inspired turnip.
Such imagery, such wit, such quaint things said in a tone solemn and sublime! I have the most profound respect henceforth for every melon vine as my ancestor... I look upon every turtle as of kin. Tonight he lectures again. I fear I may lose it.”

All this took place a century before the merging of the Unitarian and the Universalist strands of religious thought, in 1961. But Transcendentalist appreciation for Nature as Spirit made Visible has influenced Unitarian Universalist theology and experience for all of us who revere Nature and its spiritual influences.

American Transcendentalism was primarily a reassertion of the mystical basis of all religion, a reaction against the rationalism of Unitarianism and the pessimism of Calvinism. It emphasized heart over mind.

Transcendentalism might have been the fore-runner of the many folks who now think of themselves as “spiritual, not religious” and also those who are religious in ancient earth-centered ways, such as neo-paganism.

But this sense of spiritual connection to nature is within each of us---we just need to nurture it. My friend David Vergin, pastor at Langley United Methodist, recently wrote in his monthly newsletter column:

“The sense of the spiritual dimension of life is so powerful in the forest at dusk that it can almost make me jump out of my skin. After a winter indoors I am stunned each year by the infinite and mysterious expanse of a starlit sky, the enormity and power of the ocean, the endless flow and ever-changing surface of a river, the awesome majesty and mystery of a forest, especially at dawn or dusk…What strikes me when I take time with the natural world is the strength of our tendency to spiritual thoughts and feelings. Gazing at an expanse of water or a starlit sky, some dormant facility in me awakens.”

How does Nature inspire OUR spiritual life and growth? Let’s take a moment and consider this thought. What are your experiences with Nature and Spirit? How does Nature inspire you in a spiritual way? Take a moment to think and then I’ll ask some of you to share. (cong.resp)

Unitarian Universalists have been on a journey over the past century of leaving doctrine and dogma behind and, instead, looking to the lessons of personal experience and reason, as we discover our spiritual and religious paths. We have come to see our religious and spiritual duties more as a matter of relationship to ourselves, each other, and to the natural world.

Our seven principles outline this journey, beginning with our founding principle of “the inherent worth and dignity of every person” and concluding with our seventh principle, which states that we affirm and promote “respect for the interdependent web of all existence, of which we are a part.” If you would like to review our Principles, you will find them on the back of your order of service.

And in moving away from doctrines and supernatural beliefs, many, if not most of us, find comfort and heartsease in our natural surroundings. It’s why many of us live here, why we built our home here in this spot, why we garden, why we have pets and domestic animals. We see ourselves as part of this universe, not just users of it.

But even here on Whidbey, it is easy to get shut up in our cars and houses and lose contact with the natural world we love.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, in her longer work “Renascence” notes this:

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,—
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat—the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

We as human beings are born into an intimate relationship with Nature. It is our first level of experience, to feel the cool air on our face and the warmth of fire, the smell of our surroundings, the rough texture of tree bark and stones, the sound of birds and insects, the sight of flowers and animals.

But as we grow, we often lose that sense of wonder at the natural world. Acquisitiveness may subdue our inquisitiveness and encourage us to disregard the needs and gifts of the natural world in favor of our own desires.

We need always to attend to our inner self, the self that can so easily forget our connection with the natural world and can be the root cause of pollution. Our ancestors developed traditional practices of honoring and conserving nature, practices which respected and sanctified the natural world rather than simply using it.

Our natural world is balanced: the elements of water, fire, air, and earth work together even though they both enhance and destroy one another, as water drowns fire and fire eats air. The millions of life species are in balance as well, with predators and prey opposing each other, yet serving the larger good.

We need to learn from nature how to balance the elements of human life, tempering all with the human attributes of compassion and altruism which flow from human consciousness.

As Frank and I were talking about this service last week, he shared with me some of his experiences with Nature, particularly moments spent at places like Ebey’s Landing, where cloud and fog and rain and sun shed special shadows and shape the light in wondrous ways. His feeling part of it all, experiencing its wonder at every level, from microscopic to cosmic, has shaped his own life. And he remarked to me that artists say that our eyes are never on vacation, that there is beauty in some part of everything.

That’s how I see it too. And I was reminded of my mother’s admonition, when we kids would complain that we were bored: “Go out in the yard and see what you find in the grass.” There was infinite life in that grass, we discovered, and no reason to be bored.

And the last line of one of the stanzas of “Renascence” seems apt here:

God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!

Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION: Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place. Let us go in peace, remembering our beginnings in the natural world, honoring and revering the elements of nature that inspire and comfort us, and taking care of those elements. May we give our children, our grandchildren, and all the children of the world the gift of a planet made sacred by our actions. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Rethinking the future

We are bombarded with messages about living long, strong lives, protecting our health and vitality, our reproductive abilities, extending our lives beyond our 80th year, and finding cures for lethal illnesses. And these all sound great and most of us buy into them to some extent.

I certainly have. Over the years, I've changed my diet, upped my exercise, invested in the proper insurances, worn my seat belt obsessively (if only to keep that damned beeper from going off as I descend the driveway), and taken seriously my doc's recommendations about medications to prevent bone loss and cholesterol overdrive, even as I remain wary about side effects.

I'm rethinking all that. I don't know if I want to be so physically strong that I have a hard time physically letting death take me, when the time comes. And I don't know if I want to take life-prolonging measures if they only buy me a longer but less-pleasant lifespan.

Last Sunday I was invited to preach in a neighboring church and the worship coordinator asked me to bring my sermon entitled "Sex and the Single Planet", in which I discuss the clash between our human drive to procreate, nurture life, and prolong life as long as possible AND the effects of this innate drive on the ability of the earth to sustain this kind of proliferation of human life.

Several people came up afterwards to express agreement and to point out that our human compassion for the weak and helpless clashes with the rational position that we must limit births and allow people to die sooner. One man said "the Gates Foundation is providing millions of dollars to stamp out malaria in countries where it is prevalent and in the process save the lives of millions of babies who would otherwise die." This humanitarian effort is compassionate and meets a deep human need, but it also increases the survival rate of millions of lives.

I have been with a few people in the past year or so who have made decisions about end of life issues and have voluntarily let go of life, rather than take one last treatment or intervention. I have also known those who wanted to try everything, until they were so weak and in so much pain that their bodies simply gave up.

Right now, one beloved man who has stayed fit and capable and full of vitality right up until a terrible fall is too strong to let go. And his misery is palpable. Of course, his physical strength and health have been the reason he has lived so well for so long, but now, when it would be a blessing to be able to succumb to pneumonia or some other way of easing out of life, it's not likely to happen.

I don't plan to drop my gym membership or start eating nothing but bonbons in hopes of dying more easily in my 80's, but it's tempting, believe me. Favorite Son, you're gonna be in charge of my life some day. You're gonna need to be healthy yourself to handle me!