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!

Reading my old journals...

has been quite an interesting look back at the person I used to be compared to the person I am now. I've kept a journal for much of my adult life, starting over 30 years ago when I was struggling to understand and deal with my crumbling marriage, a child who needed consistent parenting, and the pressures of career and friendships, to say nothing of the co-dependency which hamstrung me for many years.

I've thrown out the earliest renditions of those maunderings, except for a couple in which I was not quite as puerile as others; I didn't want my poor son to stumble on them after I was gone and wonder who this infantile whiner was, reminded of the days when I was a less-than-sterling parent and a very immature and egotistic thinker. That's not to say that I don't still have those moments, but I have improved! (IMHO)

Those early journals tended to be full of "counting coup", ways I could avenge myself after years of unhappiness, men I admired who admired me in return, that sort of thing. And they were whiny as all get out. No, the Favorite Son shouldn't have to wade through those in search of his mother's history. Sorry, kid.

But what really struck me were the years just prior to and during seminary, when I felt such a strong call to ministry, dithered for several years before getting the strong wake-up call to ministry, and began the process of preparing for ministry. I can see such stark differences between who I was early on in the process and who I have become---or am becoming.

It's embarrassing to see how callow and crass I could be in those early stages. Those days are not gone for good, I know, because I catch myself being callow and crass every day still! But these days I understand what I'm doing and am able to move beyond callow and crass to a place that is more representative of who I really am. I hope. Or maybe I just hide it better.

Seminary studies, CPE (clinical pastoral education), and internship all changed a piece of me. The educational part, the classes in which I rubbed elbows with Christians of all sorts plus fellow UUs, this was intellectually stimulating and I did better in those tough classes than I ever did in my undergrad work or even in my first master's.

The CPE experience, where I dealt with life and death, sometimes terrible deaths, every day was shocking, satisfying, life-changing, especially in the challenges presented by the group of fellow interns with whom I met daily. I was reminded of a time when I self-righteously hammered an intern colleague for her perceived manipulativeness and later realized that I was just as manipulative in some other ways. Our CPE supervisor gently set me straight and I ate crow, eventually coming to value this colleague in ways I never would have expected.

I went into my internship just about as cocky as I could be, sure that I would set my internship congregation on fire with my dazzling sermons and fabulous ideas. And I did have a good deal of success in these ways, but I got so full of myself that my dear supervisor, Rev. Catharine Harris, had to sit me down and give me some perspective. (I just wrote Catharine a note of gratitude for her courage in speaking truth with love to a very high-on-herself intern who had lots of potential but not much good sense!)

I haven't gotten to the journal in which I record my devastation when the Ministerial Fellowship Committee confronted me with my "intensity" (who, me?) and gave me a less than perfect score in my credentialing interview. That's the next humbling thing I'll have to read and reflect upon. It too was an important step in the making of this minister.

Seems to me that the universe has been hard at work bringing me down a peg or two every time I needed to be reminded of my own failings. And yet I also know that every human being has failings and our life's journey is one of identifying and dealing with our frailties, so that we can gradually become happier, more useful, and better able to pass along our experience, strength, and love to those coming along behind us. Or so I see it today.

One of the things...

ministers dread, and nearly all of us have to cope with at one time or another, is a string of deaths in the congregation within a relatively short period of time. It's hard on our psychic energy, our tear ducts, our resiliency. If we're lucky, we have bounce-back time between memorial services, but sometimes that doesn't happen.

I've been serving a lovely small congregation of mostly-retired folks for seven years now and had done very few memorial services, maybe three or four. Most were elderly folks, at the far edge of their lives, and ready to let go.

Then, bang, bang, bang, in a matter of just over a year, several deaths---from chronic illness, cancer, self-inflicted, sudden pneumonia. Not all were members of the congregation; for a couple, I was the only connection to the church. But with each person, I had walked "that lonesome valley" of anticipation of death, in some way, either vicariously through family members or directly holding a hand.

Each person was different in how they approached the inevitable; they were resigned or angry or secretive or unpredictable or indomitable. Yet each person came to that moment when the spirit left the body and only the husk remained, like a cocoon left behind when the butterfly burst forth.

I have never felt so filleted by experience as I have during this past many months----scored right down the middle of my heart, with relief, with grief, with fear, with anger. And no sooner did one experience's pain ebb, than the next one began. Eventually, I became somewhat desensitized, relieved if others had to perform ceremonies, resentful if appreciation didn't appear fast enough to suit me, maintaining professional distance just to get through.

But that protective distance was eventually breached, because right now, a beloved member of our congregation is in his last days of life, after suffering a terrible fall early in June. He sustained a head injury which could never be healed and the trauma to his brain could not be reversed. This man has been the Viking giant of our congregation for many years, offering leadership and resources that we needed badly, forcefully backing the building of our own home ("I want it built in time for my memorial service!" he'd say---and so it is), serving as our president, our canvass chair, our membership chair, as a worship leader, in the choir, always in the foyer greeting new people. Nobody who ever met Baird Bardarson would ever forget him.

We are all struggling with this impending death, even more than the others, because for awhile it looked like he would recover. And now that hope has been taken away and we are awaiting the news that he is gone.

A friend within the congregation, who knows how hard all this has been on me, asked me if there was any way she could be helpful right now. "Yes, there is," I said. "Don't die."

"I won't," she said.

A friend sent me this article which...

I think is profoundly true and says a great deal about friendship and differences between males and females.

Friendship Amongst Women” - UCLA Study

By Gale Berkowitz

A landmark UCLA study suggests friendships between women are special. They shape who we are and who we are yet to be. They soothe our tumultuous inner world, fill the emotional gaps in our marriage, and help us remember who we really are.

By the way, they may do even more. Scientists now suspect that hanging out with our friends can actually counteract the kind of stomach-quivering stress most of us experience on a daily basis. A landmark UCLA study suggests that women respond to stress with a cascade of brain chemicals that cause us to make and maintain friendships with other women. It's a stunning find that has turned five decades of stress research -- most of it on men -- upside down.

Until this study was published, scientists generally believed that when people experience stress, they trigger a hormonal cascade that revs the body to either stand and fight or flee as fast as possible, explains Laura Cousin Klein, Ph.D., now an Assistant Professor of Bio-behavioral Health at Penn State University and one of the study's authors. It's an ancient survival mechanism left over from the time we were chased across the planet by saber-toothed tigers.

Now the researchers suspect that women have a larger behavioral repertoire than just fight or flight; in fact, says Dr. Klein, it seems that when the hormone oxytocin is released as part of the stress responses in a woman, it buffers the fight or flight response and encourages her to tend children and gather with other women instead. When she actually engages in this tending or befriending, studies suggest that more oxytocin is released, which further counters stress and produces a calming effect.

This calming response does not occur in men, says Dr. Klein, because testosterone---which men produce in high levels when they're under stress---seems to reduce the effects of oxytocin. Estrogen; she adds, seems to enhance it.

The discovery that women respond to stress differently than men was made in a classic "aha" moment shared by two women scientists who were talking one day in a lab at UCLA. There was this joke that when the women who worked in the lab were stressed, they came in, cleaned the lab, had coffee, and bonded, says Dr. Klein. When the men were stressed, they holed up somewhere on their own. I commented one day to fellow researcher Shelley Taylor that nearly 90% of the stress research is on males. I showed her the data from my lab, and the two of us knew instantly that we were onto something.

The women cleared their schedules and started meeting with one scientist after another from various research specialties. Very quickly, Drs. Klein and Taylor discovered that by not including women in stress research, scientists had made a huge mistake: The fact that women respond to stress differently than men has significant implications for our health.

It may take some time for new studies to reveal all the ways that oxytocin encourages us to care for children and hang out with other women, but the "tend and befriend" notion developed by Drs. Klein and Taylor may explain why women consistently outlive men. Study after study has found that social ties reduce our risk of disease by lowering blood pressure, heart rate, and cholesterol.

There's no doubtc, says Dr. Klein, that friends are helping us live longer. In one study, for example, researchers found that people who had no friends increased their risk of death over a 6-month period. In another study, those who had the most friends over a 9-year period cut their risk of death by more than 60%. Friends are also helping us live better.

The Health Study from Harvard Medical School found that the more friends women had, the less likely they were to develop physical impairments as they aged, and the more likely they were to be leading a joyful life. In fact, the results were so significant, the researchers concluded, that not having close friends or confidantes was as detrimental to your health as smoking or carrying extra weight!

And that's not all! When the researchers looked at how well the women functioned after the death of their spouse, they found that even in the face of this biggest stressor of all, those women who had a close friend and confidante were more likely to survive the experience without any new physical impairments or permanent loss of vitality.
Those without friends were not always so fortunate.

Yet, if friends counter the stress that seems to swallow up so much of our life these days, if they keep us healthy and even add years to our life, why is it so hard to find time to be with them? That's a question that also troubles researcher Ruthellen Josselson, Ph.D., co-author of /Best// //Friends:// //The Pleasures and Perils of Girls' and Women's Friendships/ (Three Rivers Press, 1998).

Every time we get overly busy with work and family, the first thing we do is let go of friendships with other women, explains Dr. Josselson. We push them right to the back burner. That's really a mistake because women are such a source of strength to each other. We nurture one
another. And we need to have unpressured space in which we can do the special kind of talk that women do when they're with other women. It's a very healing experience.

It seemed like such a small, minor sin...

but as I turned right into the ferry line, against the expressed prohibition of such an act posted prominently at the intersection, I felt a terrific pang of guilt. There was nobody in the ferry line at that point, my only other choice was to turn left, go back up the hill to the official start of the ferry line, and enter it properly, and I was tired. My passenger seemed not to feel any compunctions and so I did it.

Naturally, immediately there appeared in my rear view mirror the sight of a string of cars way up the hill, properly coasting downhill in the ferry line AS I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING, and then it was almost too late to correct my path.

"Under these circumstances," I rationalized to myself, "it makes perfect sense to turn right into the ferry line. Everybody else would do it if they were in my seat. Nobody was coming down the hill when I did it. Surely it's okay." So I stayed in the ferry line, did not turn around and go properly back up the hill as I should have, even though the other car in our small caravan had done the right thing. And luckily, the driver of the car which had immediately appeared in the line, even as I was turning right, didn't seem to care, didn't report me to the toll booth guys, and I crept furtively into the ferry holding area, waiting for the heavy hand of fate to fall upon my shoulder, in the form of some official who would tell me to leave the area, go back up the hill and do things right. After all, my mother or father would have done that; why not the ferry guys?

But it didn't happen. Comeuppance didn't strike until I drove onto the ferry deck, cut too close to an outcropping of steel wall, and, with a terrible grinding sound, ripped off my passenger-side rear view mirror.

My friend who was the driver of the right-acting vehicle (and who got on the ferry BEFORE we did, no doubt because of his right behavior) came back to commiserate. But he couldn't help pointing out that though he had gone way back up the hill to the start of the line he had still been loaded onto the boat before I had.

So this morning, after duct-taping my dangling mirror back into place, I called the Toyota guys, asked them to order a passenger-side rear view mirror for a 2005 Corolla at a cost of a few hundred dollars, including labor, and I will be getting it fixed later this week. And I will never cut, logically or illogically, into the ferry line again. I promise.

"What must I do to be saved?"...

is one of the major theological questions of religious life, though it may be stated differently from tradition to tradition.

In UUism, of course, the quick rejoinder is often "Saved from what?", for many of us don't feel a need to be saved from anything. And we're good with the snappy comebacks, particularly when asked a question that pokes us in the anti-fundamentalist nerve.

I happened to pick up a tract at the local coffee shop, awhile back, which gave this definition of salvation: "Salvation means to be rescued from sin and its punishment and set free to know, love, and serve God...Left to ourselves, there is no rescue and the justice of God requires our eternal damnation in the terrors of hell."

Leaving aside the obvious Universalist disagreement with the second sentence, let's think about the idea in more metaphorical ways.

There is a lot to be saved from in ordinary human life, which has a way of being convoluted and soul-wrenching enough to plow some pretty deep and unproductive furrows into our behavior. Abuse or neglect or lack of love or betrayal, self-doubt, fear----all of these are common to human living; chances are all of us have been abused or neglected in hurtful ways, we have lacked love, we have been betrayed, and the outcomes of these experiences can be paralyzing self-doubt, fear, and other unproductive ways of responding to life.

I've thought about salvation and have preached about it many times, and I keep coming back to this firm idea: no matter what one's religious path might be, what we need to extricate ourselves from is the fear that comes from the self-doubt created by that abuse, neglect, lovelessness, and betrayal that all humans experience.

I don't mean normal cautiousness, the kind that keeps us driving on the right side of the road or treating our bodies properly or taking care of our children and other dependents. I'm talking about the fear that keeps us from loving others, that prevents us from thinking critically about our beliefs and actions, that hamstrings our relationships, that makes us instill that fear in others, especially our children.

For many religions, fear is a tool---fear of loss of love, fear of hell, fear of death, fear of being caught, fear of divine retribution. These are ways the faithful may be kept in line, not motivated by a desire to offer compassion or assistance or love to others, but scared straight.

Me, I want to be saved from fear. I want to be saved from the fear that keeps me from acting in loving ways at times; I want to be saved from the fear of discussing my faith openly with others who I know do not agree. I want to be saved from the fear of changing my life's patterns so that my life is healthier, whole-er. I want to be saved from the fear of being old and sick. I want to be saved from the fear of ever so many things that keep me hamstrung in small and large ways.

And "what must I do to be saved?" Hmmm, that's a good question and I think the answer is in the very word. The word salvation has a very broad meaning, indicated by how many ways it appears in other related words: salute--to wish health for someone; salvage---to save from danger; salve---a healing ointment; salver---the tray used to present safe food to a monarch. Salvation's original meaning was to save from loss at sea. The Latin base word is "salvus", which means healthy.

In non-doctrinal terms, "salvation" means to achieve health. And the interesting thing is that no one can give us health; we have to take what we have and use it properly, change habits to address our weaknesses. We ourselves are our primary saviors. Another person might rescue us from drowning, but we are the ones who must carry on. Others can only do so much.

To be saved means to seek and achieve health, of body, of mind, and of spirit. And it means that we have the opportunity to model that salvation for others. We may enlist a Higher Power to help us in this journey toward greater health; some may not feel this necessary. But it has little to do, in my mind, with life after death---and everything to do with life in this life.

A related note: as I began to think about this topic, it occurred to me that many think UUism is in need of salvation and the salvation they have in mind is growth in numbers and influence. I wonder about that; I am more inclined to think that salvation of individuals, i.e., healthy growth in individuals, will inevitably lead to salvation of a religious tradition. Growth in numbers and influence seems to me analogous to the growth in wealth and power that motivates so many in our world today. Applying the lessons of individual salvation (seeking and achieving health) to a religious body might be a better thing to do.

Liberal Values, Conservative Communities

I consider it a lucky thing, a useful thing, a benefit to have been born and raised in a Baptist preacher's family, growing up with the stories of Jesus and the Old Testament prophets, thinking how I could best fulfill my own desire to have a church-related vocation short of going to a mission field where there were snakes and big bugs.

I consider it an advantage to have grown up in small communities where small town philosophy and religion shaped politics and culture, communities which still pretty much cling to conservative values and precepts.

I feel that my upbringing and early values have given me an understanding of how geography and small town community life are connected to the commitment to conservative values and ideals. I have a great sympathy for those ideals, even though they are not necessarily my own.

I am pretty sure that if I had stayed in Washington state instead of going off to Colorado to work in the inner city my own values might be more conservative, my religion might be American Baptist, not Unitarian Universalist.

But I did go off to Colorado as a consequence of my desire to have a church-related vocation, to work as a program leader in an American Baptist community center, the Denver Christian Center. I taught preschoolers in a pre-Head Start program, met with elementary school kids after school to sing songs, play games, and give "project kids" a place to go after school, and helped with a Teen Canteen Saturday nights in the Christian Center. And I saw first-hand the devastating effects of poverty, racism, and violence. It changed me.

Every year, I go back to my small town roots, visit family members and friends who still live in those communities, and experience again the values and ideals of conservative America. It is a pleasure, on the one hand, to see all my family members again and, on the other, a struggle to listen without arguing, look for the common ground we share, and remind myself that "conservative" doesn't mean stupid, doesn't mean un-caring, doesn't mean disregard for others' needs.

I love them dearly....and it's hard. I don't know whether, if they had shared my experiences, they would understand where my liberal values come from. But my exposure to the inner city world I'd never before visited was the turning point for me. It made me hungry to find ways to help, beyond the bandaids of welfare and subsidized housing.

My life was diverted from community center work into public school teaching and counseling when I married, but my desire to help at a deeper level followed me into that profession as well. I wanted to know why kids did drugs, why teenage girls got pregnant and why they chose the solutions they did. And I still want to know. As a minister in a small congregation, I'm interested in why people behave as they do and what I can do to help.

I don't think I could go back to a small community to live. I got pretty worn out this past weekend by the need to bite my tongue, not react, and just listen. I don't have to do that very much here on South Whidbey. But I have the ability to move back and forth between more conservative folks who live in the community and the more progressive folks in my congregation. I like having that skill and I'm grateful for the oasis of liberal thought my congregation provides.

One Hell of a Woman

She looked like a waxen doll, curled up in the big, padded recliner that had been her nest for many days and weeks over the past seven years. Her hands were cold; her wavy, short-cropped hair (her seventh "new look" post-chemo) lay softly on her forehead. Her eyes were closed and she was clearly not present. There was peace on her face at last; her body was no longer a source of pain.

I sat for awhile in the bright sunlight with her husband, her son and her daughter, and talked and wept about her last days. After fighting the breast cancer for many long years, always ready to try another clinical trial, always determined to beat the beast, my friend Sue Morrow Flanagan died just after dawn this morning in her home on Whidbey Island.

We did not expect it to be now; we thought we had more time. But cancer had its own timetable and, after the effort to pick up a small dog broke her arm, the end came quickly and without more pain. Her daughter was with her when she took her last breath. Her son was also at home and her husband had been by her side constantly. I came as soon as I knew.

I remember our last visit. The oncologist had just delivered the news a day or so earlier that the most time she had was 6 months or less. She was her normal sparky self, bright-eyed as always, not really ready to go but willing to learn another interesting thing, whatever death might bring.

No more pain, Sue. No more emergency trips on the ferry to the ER. No more upsetting new symptoms. No more worries about family members and how they're dealing with it. Your concern was always for others, not yourself, though you fought the cancer with every fiber of your being. You are and have always been one hell of a woman.

I married you and Tom a few years ago, just before you had to go in for yet another chemo and wanted to be married with your own hair and in your wedding gown. I helped you say goodbye to your little dog when he died last year. I will memorialize your life in a few days. May your new journey be one of peace.

UPDATE: As it turns out, since I will be out of town for several days, the ceremonial goodbyes will be offered in my absence. I feel a little sad about that but also glad that I was able to spend part of today with the family and to say goodbye to Sue. And I'm glad that my absence will not mean that they have to wait till I return.

The Wedding Season...

can be a lot of fun, but there's angst as well to be found for a clergyperson who is charged with helping couples prepare for their marriage ceremonies, a time when the meaning of marriage, the character and maturity of the couple, the family members attending, and the officiant's theology all come into play.

I often marry couples who were attracted to a UU minister-officiant because of varying religious backgrounds. Or maybe their parents suggested a UU officiant. Or maybe they just wanted to be married by someone who wouldn't imbue their ceremony with a lot of doctrine, as many mainline clergy are required to do.

I give couples a template entitled "A Typical UU Wedding Ceremony" which gives pretty traditional wording (no "obey", however) in a pretty traditional order, an introduction and welcome, a statement of intent, pledges of commitment, a ring exchange, and a pronouncement of marriage, followed by a prayer. I invite them to insert readings, songs, or poems, to change words here and there, to change the whole thing if they want, to substitute their own wording, to omit or change the prayer. It's important to me, I tell them, that the ceremony fit their own needs and desires.

And then, of course, when they change this or that, I have to run it through my own filter to see if it fits my needs and desires! Sometimes I quibble about a point or two, but mostly I just use the ceremony they've created from my pile of sticks. It works pretty well; most couples don't do much rearranging or substituting and just stick with the basic ceremony. That makes less work for me, for sure, but I don't mind if they want something entirely different, as long as it comes from them.

In the process, I have a chance to talk at length with the couple, asking them how they met (from each person individually, rather than as a combined story), how they view marriage, that sort of thing, so that I am not marrying people I don't know but rather performing a ceremony for people I've come to care about. My final question, during our last meeting, is "what do you as a couple hope to contribute to the world?"

Most young couples have only tentative answers to this question: model a successful marriage partnership, have well-brought-up children, etc. Some have already thought it through and want their careers to offer something greater to the world. Some have very disappointing or even narcissistic answers. Older couples are more thoughtful about their answers.

I always wonder about the couples I marry, for I rarely see them later in life. A few times, I've heard back from couples who hunt me up to tell me, on their anniversary, that they are still happy. Today I'm attending the anniversary party of a female couple that I married a year ago today. I've gotten baby announcements and right now I'm helping to plan the funeral for a woman who asked me to officiate her wedding before she had to go into chemo again, three years ago; the cancer finally has gotten her and she only has days to live.

So joy and angst combined at this time of the year. I pray for the young couple starting out who is so focused on the groom's self-centeredness and I pray for the older couple who can't set a date and I pray for the well-established young couple who will go to Turkey or Albania to offer their skills to the people, for the interracial couple whose mother/m.i.l has to make most of the arrangements because they are not yet back in the US, and for all the couples I've ever married, the ones who are happy and the ones who are on the verge of divorce, the ones whose commitment to each other made them grow up.

May they have many Happy Anniversaries to come.

Wow!

Am I ever feeling better! Yesterday I felt so dragged out by the demands of the previous week! I succumbed to the lure of a vanilla latte and a peach scone over at the Lighthouse Cafe, perked up a little bit but not much, and after lunch took a long nap before the wedding I was to perform at 5 p.m.

The wedding itself, a small party of lively folks and a couple of lovely young people already on their way to making a difference in the world with their careers and character, was delightful and having dinner with them after the wedding gave me a chance to get to know other family members better.

This young couple lives in the Tacoma Park area of D.C. and will be looking for a congregation, so I hope somebody in the DC area will let me know if there's a vibrant, not too huge congregation that I can refer them to. She's working on a PHD in Applied Mathematics at U. Maryland and he works for the State Department and they are just terrific.

Anyhow, I also had the good sense to bow out of our music session that evening, just to carve out a night at home by myself. I missed my friends but I went to bed at 9 oclock, read some more of the latest Stephanie Plum, and was out like a light at 10. It bothered me not a whit to wake up naturally at 5 a.m. Ahh, sleep and solitude, there's nothing like it.

A latte and a peach scone always help...

me rebound when I'm extra tired, but the remedy hasn't kicked in yet and I'm feeling the effects of a long church year, a year which got particularly stressful in its final 6 weeks or so. Actually, it could be any kind of scone, doused with butter and gently warmed, but this morning it was peach.

"Rode hard and put away wet" is a phrase I probably picked up in my eastern Oregon days, when the Pendleton RoundUp was a major event in my life and those who did the riding hard and putting away wet were to be much maligned. This was no way to treat a horse and we were careful not to make that mistake (other mistakes, yes, just not that one).

In my last post I wrote about the five week stretch of time preparing for a marathon memorial service and how important it had been to do it right. I suggested at the time that there was a second idea embedded in that post that would be dealt with later, and here it is.

I'm writing about it now because last night, after arriving home from yet a third late gathering in a row, I got a message from a mutual friend that a woman I've known since I did her wedding three years ago, a woman who has battled lethal cancer for seven years, is in her last days and we need to meet to plan her funeral/memorial service.

There's a part of me that wants to scream at the universe "NO! This is one more tragic moment in time when I am required to put on my mask of professional distance and do what is needed for this woman and her family. Professional distance SUCKS!" And there is a grateful part of me that appreciates the professional distance mask and welcomes its ability to keep me somewhat insulated from grief.

Professional distance makes it possible, if not pleasant, to fulfill the duties of my work as pastor and priest, the one who comforts and consecrates the ceremonies of death. Professional distance makes it possible to bury/memorialize people whose lives and families I cherish. It's what our mentors hope we will cultivate, as ministers, in our relationships, so that it is easier to perform the duty of helping a community say goodbye to its beloveds.

I can grieve, but I must grieve in a way that does not frighten others or make them question my ability to lead them through the valley of sorrow. That often means that I postpone grief or I keep it inside or I sublimate it in some way. Or I get whiny, which I am doing right now, I guess.
Or, of course, there's always the latte and the scone.

That I can postpone grief or deal with it in other ways may be handy in a way, but I wonder about the longterm effects of doing this. I feel sometimes as though I have developed callouses on my heart, to keep me going in the tough times without giving in to the emotion that surrounds me. I have learned to blink back the tears, clear my throat, and keep going without missing a beat.

I'd guess most of us who work in the helping professions develop a certain facility at doing this. I know when I did my CPE (clinical pastoral education) in a Denver trauma center that there were code words that distanced us from too much emotion. We'd mention a patient's "circling the drain" instead of "about to die". I can't remember others, just that there were ways of keeping ourselves from feeling too deeply when we had work to do.

It's easy for resentment to creep in, too. I find myself battling irritation at people whose responses aren't what I think they should be----too controlling, not thankful enough, too demanding of my time, that sort of thing. Grief does funny things to people and others' grieving behaviors manage to push the buttons of my grieving behaviors, I guess.

Maybe that's all that's going on. Maybe I'll go get another latte. And maybe a blueberry scone.