Hope Has Human Hands

HOPE HAS HUMAN HANDS
by Rev. Kit Ketcham, Nov. 7, 2010

In the late 40’s, early 50’s, there was a song which, when it came on the radio, would make my dad groan and move as if to turn it off, muttering “that darn song, it’s so sticky!”, and my mother and I would cry out, “no, we want to hear it!” It was a terrifically sentimental song and its words could even be said to be sappy, schmaltzy, syrupy. And I’ll bet you haven’t heard it for years, but if you remember it and feel like joining in, sing with me.

“Soft as the voice of an angel, breathing a lesson unheard, HOPE with a gentle persuasion whispers her comforting word: Wait till the darkness is over, Wait till the tempest is done, Hope for the sunshine tomorrow, after the shower is gone. Whispering Hope, oh how welcome thy voice, making my heart, in its sorrow, rejoice.”

In those days, hope--to me--meant miracles; it meant a sort of Pollyanna-ish optimism that “everything will be fine in the morning”. It meant that no matter how desperate the financial situation of our family, we would have food on the table; someone from my dad’s little Baptist congregation would deposit a freshly killed Canada goose or venison roast or string of fish on our doorstep.

Hope, in my young mind, was a kind of insurance policy, a belief that God would not desert us if we were faithful. Hope provided for miraculous recoveries, last-minute rescues. It meant that the sun would always rise, that spring would follow winter, that seeds would grow, that birth would produce new life, that the Lone Ranger WOULD arrive on time!

I’m not sure how I reconciled my beliefs with my experience in those days. Though I knew at some level that Hope as a technique didn’t always work, I continued to profess my belief that it would and did produce miracles.

But I guess I figured that even Hope had to take a few days off occasionally; that was probably why my friend Lynn did not recover completely from an unusually serious bout with mononucleosis, why my dad, who was a Baptist minister, sometimes couldn’t make it all the way through his sermon and had to sit down to catch his breath, scaring us all to death. Hope was on break those days. And, of course, it wasn’t Hope’s fault that I didn’t make straight A’s in school; I hoped I would, but obviously Hope wasn’t enough.

What does Hope mean to Unitarian Universalists? We are kind of past the miracle stage. If we are ill, we may hope for a rapid recovery; if a loved one is dying, we may hope for an unexpected sudden cure or a peaceful death. We may hope, as I often do, that the rattle in the car will turn out to be harmless, that the problem ahead of us is not really as bad as it looks, that the grocery line will not be too long, that we can pay the bills, that the kids will be home soon. Our daily hopes are usually simple and focused on our immediate needs and desires.

Over the years, as I’ve examined my religious faith in light of my own experience, I have gradually revamped my thoughts about Hope as a religious concept.

It seems to me that the Hope that is innate in the human spirit is more than simply a wish for good outcomes, for peace on earth, a politically correct holiday greeting. Hope is far more than cliches or a wish for miracles. It is not trivial or sentimental.

The definition I’ve come up with after many years of observing my own need for hope and the moments which seem to create hope, for me and for others, is this: HOPE IS MY AWARENESS, MY DEEP UNDERSTANDING, THAT I AM CONNECTED TO THE INEXTIN-GUISHABLE STREAM OF LIFE, THAT I AM PART OF THE WHOLE.

Let me repeat that definition and ask you to compare your own experiences to it. For me, HOPE is the clear sense that I am a part of the inextinguishable, inexhaustible stream of life. For me, it is a tangible sense of my place in the universe. It is the fiber of the interdependent web of all existence, the connection I have to all else in life.

When I have lost HOPE, I have lost my sense that I belong to the universe, to the web, to life itself. But HOPE is strengthened in me with every reminder I receive of that connection. It may start when I first see the tomato seedling pop up in the seed tray on my windowsill. It may be triggered by the purring of the fuzzy kitten on my lap as I read. Even a stranger’s greeting on the sidewalk or beach may evoke a warmth that reminds me that I do belong here, I am a part of life.

Hope is found in relationship, whether it is in my relationship with my pets, with my friends and family, with strangers, with all of nature or God, if you are comfortable with that word.

If religion is defined as the expression of human relationships with self, with others, and with the universe, then Hope is a manifestation of that relationship and a valuable piece of our active faith. Unitarian Universalists mostly do not hope for a heavenly home; we hope for an earthly home that is heavenly and we know that is our job.

A friend talked with me about her second biopsy for breast cancer. “I was scared to death,” she said. “I’d already had one surgery and was terrified that this was the beginning of the end. I felt loose from my moorings, adrift, disconnected, hopeless. And I knew I couldn’t bear it without help. The nurse started to move away from me after the test, and I said to her, ‘I need you to hold on to me’. She took my hand and I felt myself re-connect with life. She gave me more hope than a negative biopsy.”

Hope does not rely on Divine Intervention, but on human hands. Hope is our job, not God’s, despite nature’s constant and faithful supply of hopefulness. The sun always rises, spring always comes, the snow always melts, the cycles of creation go on and on. We derive great hope from that faithful repetition of nature’s patterns. But nature also socks us in the teeth: hurricanes demolish whole coastlines, avalanches wipe out homes and travelers, the wind whips fire through dry underbrush, the sun burns our skin, disease wipes out millions, rains bring flooding and mud slides.

We can’t control it but we can respond to it.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast”, according to the poet Alexander Pope because human beings have an innate gift for hope. When disaster strikes, other human beings immediately reach out to victims. It seems inherent in human nature to give aid in times of trouble. An old Judy Collins song says “Friends are like diamonds, and trouble is a diamond mine.”

That doesn’t mean all human beings give aid, just that we’re all capable of it. Some of us have so squelched our natural inclination to help that we will walk right by, ignoring trouble or fearing the consequences to ourselves. Sometimes it is truly dangerous to offer help; it’s not always easy to know right help from wrong. But sometimes we withhold our help because we see no benefit to ourselves from it, we see no reason to help because our goal in giving help is so we’ll get something back later on .

Like love, hope is active. We can give hope to ourselves and one another. In fact, I believe, we have a responsibility to do so. And our new president is counting on us to offer hope to one another, isn’t he?

I believe that it is in everyday human acts of kindness and respect that we find our own hope rekindled and that others’ hope is also reborn when we reach out to them.

I believe that hope is not passive, something we wait around for, but that it is created and recreated daily in ourselves and others.

I believe that hope comes in many forms--hugs, smiles, acceptance, kindness, respect, patience, thoughtfulness, listening, generosity, appreciation, forgiveness, working for justice.

I believe that we need to recognize our own capacity for giving hope and increase our efforts to do so. And I believe that we must recognize our own need for hope and actively seek it out.

I believe that hope is at the heart of liberal religion, of Unitarian Universalism. We give it to ourselves and to others as we live out our UU principles and purposes. It is the sinew that links us with the interdependent web of existence, the fiber that binds us to one another. Without it, we cannot resist evil. It is our daily work, to give and receive hope.

Hope is our human response to tragedy, whether it is evil brought by perverted human nature or the damage of natural disaster. When another human being is injured, it is up to fellow humans to mend the damage. We might wish that a vengeful God would strike down evildoers or quell natural forces, but it is up to human hands to offer hope.

What does it mean that we are responsible for giving hope? It means that we have a job to do. We don’t know, always, in our daily lives, just who needs hope at any given moment. We have to assume that everyone does. We have to be ready to offer hope to everyone we meet, whether that’s the crabby clerk at the store, the multi-colored, multiply-pierced teens in the park, the stray cat or dog, the frustrated parent with a toddler, the nursing home patient who can no longer remember our name, the homeless man camping in the woods, the beleaguered teacher, our gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender neighbors, the victim of domestic violence.

We ourselves also need hope and we can seek it out for ourselves, whether we do it by taking a walk, talking to a friend, giving money to UUSC or the Red Cross for disaster relief, listening to music, pulling weeds, reading poetry, asking for a hug or a listening ear, starting seedlings, feeding the birds, cleaning out a drawer, greeting a stranger, or spending time in prayer or meditation. We give ourselves and others hope every time we reach out to those who need justice and love.

Several years ago in Denver, a young woman named Jeannie Van Velkinburgh ran to help Oumar Dia, a West African man who was shot at a downtown bus stop just because he was black. She got a bullet in the back for her efforts and is now a paraplegic. A cynic might say she should have left well enough alone, that she shouldn’t have gotten involved, because look what it got her.

Jeannie VanVelkinburgh doesn’t think so; she knows that not only did she offer hope to Oumar Dia, she has also given hope to us AND to the murderer, who--though he may never understand it--has received a powerful lesson in human nature. Human beings are supposed to care for one another.

Let’s revisit the definition of Hope I am using this morning: Hope is the conviction, the reassurance that I am connected to, am part of, the inexhaustible, unquenchable stream of life. It is my knowledge that I am supported and nurtured by my place in the interdependent web of existence and it is my job to give it to others.

I’d like to close with a story from my own life.

It was June, a few years ago when I was still living in Colorado. I’d been driving Interstate 80 since dawn, from Farewell Bend on the Snake River in eastern Oregon where I’d camped in my van the night before. I was returning to Colorado after burying my mother, crossing the hot dry deserts of southern Idaho and over the border into Utah, pondering the lessons of her life and death and crying as I drove, my tears drying almost as soon as they appeared, in the hot blast coming through the open window. And now I was beyond tiredness, in that late afternoon state of mind where rational thought and fantasy merge, and reality has a fuzzy edge.

I’d been seeing a lot of hawks poised on telephone poles or circling overhead, their broad wings barely flickering to stay afloat. My mother had loved birds, and hawks and eagles were interesting to both of us. Each bird felt like a message, but in my emotional state, I couldn’t quite figure it out.

Every redtail or northern harrier caused me a fresh pang, and by the time I reached the outskirts of Salt Lake City, I had exhausted my tear ducts and my brain.

I wanted to be back in Colorado as soon as I could. I wanted to drive a favorite route through the mountains, but I had no idea how to find it in the maze of interstates, beltways, and smaller roads that interlace the Salt Lake valley.

I drove south into SLC, peering through my foggy contact lenses at unintelligible signs, looking for landmarks. Nothing. I realized I was in the far left lane of a 6-lane interstate and, in my weariness, nearly sideswiped another car as I tried to pull the huge van over so I could read my map.

At last came a break in traffic, and I eased over to the shoulder, cringing for fear I had missed seeing some hapless little car in my mirror, and half-expecting to feel a sickening crunch. But I made it, stopped the van, and, once again, the tears came. I was safe, I hadn’t hit anyone, but I was exhausted and bereft.

Suddenly, in my rearview mirror, I saw the ominous blink--blue and red, blue and red. “Oh no,” I thought, and hastily mopped my eyes as I fumbled for my car registration.

There appeared at the driverside window a short stocky cop, his hat pushed back on his head, his face serious and concerned. I braced myself for the worst, assuming he’d seen my near-accident, but in a voice of infinite kindness, he just asked, “Lady, are you lost?”

That man could not have known just how lost I was. I couldn’t find myself on any map--neither the map of Utah nor the map of my life. I didn’t know where I was after my mother’s death; I only knew I needed to go home.

I don’t know what I said to him, besides asking how to find route 40, but he neither remarked on my tears nor ticketed me, and within a few minutes I was on my way again.

As I topped the last long hill up out of Salt Lake City, my eye fell upon the broad winged silhouette of another redtailed hawk, soaring just above the horizon.

And all the confused, jumbled thinking that I’d been doing all day--the memories of my mother, my grief at losing her, my anger at myself for all the years I’d felt motherless because of my own rejection of her religious beliefs and because of her illness, the link to birds and mountains and all of nature, the incandescent flame of her unconditional love for me---all these coalesced into one single thought.

I AM NOT ALONE. I AM NOT ALONE. I AM IN THE ARMS OF THE UNIVERSE, I AM IN THE ARMS OF GOD.

Emily Dickinson wrote: “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.”

When we offer hope to ourselves and to one another, with each smile, each touch, each act of kindness and understanding, we knit up the rips and tears in the interdependent web of existence and bring each other closer to spiritual wholeness.

Let’s pause for a moment 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 no act of kindness is in vain, that our efforts to bring hope to each other and to the larger community will bring us hope as well. May we find ways to minister to the community in which we live, ways which will foster Unitarian Universalism in the world, ways which will address some of the systemic problems that plague society, and ways which will bring us the peace of mind of knowing that together we have offered hope to a hurting world. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Running Lava Falls...

in the Grand Canyon is one of those lifetime events that you look forward to with mixed anticipation and dread, knowing that you're probably not going to drown but that the possibility is there. And even if you don't get thrown out of the boat, it's going to be a big challenging experience, especially if you're in small boats with a private trip. Which is the only way I've ever run any river.

I woke up in the night recently thinking about the upcoming weekend (the one that started last night, actually) with the same kind of anticipatory dread that two runs through Lava many years ago inspired in me: will I make it through? will anything go wrong? have I considered all the logistics, the people involved, the needs of others in the boat? is the equipment solid? what if we lose an oar? or the food goes overboard? or, heaven forfend, if the boat flips?

When we put in at Lee's Ferry for both those trips, Lava loomed big. It was way down the river, days and days away from the starting point of the trip, but it was The Rapid, the one that---successfully run---marked an outstanding trip. You wanted to hit it just right, good water level even though that meant that the holes were big and the waves bigger, riding the tongue down into the first drop, keeping the boat pointed downstream, not sideways, and being spit out on the other side of the maelstrom upright, with all passengers aboard, and no loss of cargo.

This weekend has loomed like that for me ever since circumstances dictated that we have Baird's memorial service tomorrow right after church. Family needs came first in planning the service, not anything else, and that's as it should be. It just meant that the weekend was jammed with both professional and personal events for me, none of which I could easily jettison.

All my usual mechanisms came into play, the good ones and the not-so-good ones. First of all, it was clear that since I would be preaching at 10 a.m. and officiating the memorial at 1 p.m., I would have to set priorities about which was more important. I'd planned to preach on DADT, since it was pre-Veterans Day, but the thought of writing a sermon on that gloomy topic while grieving the loss of one of our dearest members-----I didn't think I could do it. So the topic was the first to go and I pulled out one of my favorite oldies, "Hope Has Human Hands". (It will go up here on Sunday.)

That decision made, it was clear I could let go of anxiety about the worship service, at least once I had checked the church website listing of sermons preached during the past years. I don't think I've offered this one for years. But it's a good one to precede the farewells to be said during the memorial service.

I use a flexible template for both the memorial service and for my own reflections about life and death. Though I adapt each one to the circumstances, I know what I want to cover and don't try to reinvent the wheel each time; I know what my own grief requires and I'm not a very creative thinker when I'm writing a memorial service. But I always want to include my own thoughts about the life of the deceased and that requires thought and writing time.

With extra planning and help from my wonderful worship leader T, I was able to be ready for the worship service by Tuesday. Tuesday evening I started to get the first pangs of muscle spasms in my back, signaling the tension build-up that often accompanies stress in my life. An acupuncture treatment took up some extra time but diminished the symptoms a bit. Time spent with the heating pad ate into my work schedule but I managed to get everything done by Friday morning, so that I could squeeze in a lectionary meeting and a rehearsal.

A rehearsal? Yes, because Sunday afternoon at 5 p.m. the band has a gig. We're doing a private party for friends. Fortunately, I haven't lost my voice during this run-up to The Metaphorical Rapid.

Sunday morning at 10, we head into the turbulent waters of The Big One and by 3 p.m. (since we have to be out of the building before the Quakers arrive for their service) we'll be floating into the tail of the whitewater. And then it will be jubilation time----we made it! And singing we will go into the eddy below Lava to celebrate a successful run.

I have no doubts about whether this will go well. There might be some glitches, but the planning has been adequate, I have lots of help for every hole and wave, and if the boat flips, it will be an accident that couldn't be avoided.

And, I suspect, by Monday morning my muscle spasms will be gone. I've at least learned that fighting them (just like fighting water) just makes them worse. Learning to relax consciously when they strike is the best thing I've come across for pain reduction. Sort of like letting the life jacket take over when you get thrown out of the boat. Yeah, like that.

Here's an epilogue to the "GNIP" controversy...

Or at least Epilogue I. I got the idea to write to Randy Cohen, who writes "The Ethicist" column for the NYT and is published elsewhere around the land. I figured he could give me a sense of the ethics of adapting words to a song and he did. Here is the exchange between us. (I asked for and received his permission to print our exchange.) Start at the bottom, with my letter to him, if you wish. Or not.

Mr. Cohen (after I had asked his permission to reprint):

Sure. But if you do, I'd appreciate your including the Q&A I link to so my reply doesn't seem so cursory. And I hope it's clear that what I regard as ethical may flout the law (and that I am not a lawyer and do not purport to give legal advice). RC

His answer to my original question:

Coincidentally, I was just listening to the Soul Stirrers sing "Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone," suspiciously like a revised version of "Amazing Grace," and neither the Stirrers nor I committed any transgression in doing so. How would copyright law forbid illicit singing? No government agents cruise the neighborhood and arrest a guy strolling along singing his own version, Send in the Clones. Copyright can erect a legal barrier to your altering and reproducing a work. But I see no ethical objection to anyone changing any work any way they want to when they sing a hymn or read a story aloud to their kids or perform a play for their pals. Who's hurt? What if I skip the boring bits when I read a book, thus flouting the author's design. Am I guilty of something? Remember, the central purpose of copyright law is to promote creativity not to ensure that no idea is ever transformed, the objections of an author notwithstanding. What I do think worthwhile is making it clear to the singers and listeners that the work has been altered, a matter of honesty, so nobody misattributes something to the original author. I took up these issues in the column in a related question, about a Neil Simon play. Here's the link: Stage Mother-New York Times

All best, RC

Here's my original question:

On Oct 29, 2010, at 5:49 PM, kitketcham@comcast.net wrote:

Dear Ethicist Cohen,
As a Unitarian Universalist minister, I have encountered an ethical situation I'm not sure I know how to handle (actually, there's more than one, but this one I need your thoughts on; the others will have to wait).

A lovely little song in our hymnal is printed with its original words, which contain a phrase which is routinely changed when people in our congregations sing it. When our hymnal was in production, the editors asked for permission to change the words to the adapted and commonly sung phrase, but the composer refused to allow that change. It's such a lovely hymn that they printed it as she requested, which was fitting.

The original phrase is "may the love of God surround you" and the adapted phrase is "may the spirit of love surround you". Since we have many atheists and agnostics in our congregations, you may understand why many prefer the adapted phrase.

However, it has come to be assumed that because she requested that the original words be published, nobody should ever sing the adapted words again and there has been a certain amount of pressure exerted across the denomination either to sing only the published words or substitute another song.

Copyright laws forbid publishing adapted words without written permission of the author. They do not forbid singing adapted words, as long as they are not published. There is no evidence that I have found so far that the composer expressed any requirement that nobody ever sing the adapted words, but it has been assumed that this would be her wish.

My question would be "is it unethical to sing these adapted words, which are more theologically in line with our beliefs, if there is no documentation of any request of this kind?" If I were to hear from her heirs that this was indeed her expressed request, I would be willing to honor it. Otherwise, I am inclined to continue to use this song as adapted.

Sincerely,
Rev. Elizabeth "Kit" Ketcham
Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Whidbey Island

Blogging at: http://mskittyssaloonandroadshow.blogspot.com/

"Religion is not about accepting twenty impossible propositions before breakfast, but about doing things that change you. It is a moral aesthetic, an ethical alchemy. If you behave in a certain way, you will be transformed." --Karen Armstrong, The Spiral Staircase (270)

Making Amends to a Colleague

Over ten years ago, when I was a very junior minister in another state, I made an egregious collegial error by accepting a request to perform a memorial service for a member of another congregation without making sure it was all right with the minister of that congregation. It was sort of an accident, but one that should not have happened, no matter how ignorant I was of the existing UUMA guidelines.

Subsequently, I had a lot of explaining to do, much of which was inadequate, and managed to avoid being hauled up in front of a national good offices person, mostly out of the kindness of the colleague and district UUMA folks. The reasoning was that I was a rookie, that the copy of the guidelines I had been given was out of date, and it was not a malicious act. I apologized as deeply as I was able at the time and tucked away my much improved and clarified knowledge of our UUMA guidelines.

But tension remained between me and the colleague. Every time I would see the person, I was embarrassed and self-conscious, interpreting every glance as hostile or at least mistrustful. We'd be cordial, but there was pain between us.

That person didn't come to a lot of district functions for a time and this helped me avoid thinking much more about it. But then, there s/he was, at our recent UUMA retreat, and we ended up in the same small covenant group. Gulp.

The first two sessions were unremarkable, just sharing about various ministry roles and situations. But the final one was about end of life issues, memorial services, and grieving.

You may remember from an earlier post that I have been grieving the loss of one of our most esteemed congregants, a man who took a terrible fall in June and has been declining ever since. During our retreat, I was aware that he had only a day or so more to live and I had made plans to say my last goodbyes when I could stop by and visit him in hospice, on my way home.

During the conversation in our covenant group, my sense of remorse and regret began to intensify, as I made the connections about how I would feel if someone had pre-empted my chance to say goodbye to this precious congregant, and I realized just how hurtful my action had been toward my colleague, even though it had not been deliberately inflicted. I knew I had to say something to my colleague, something that would let him/her know that I finally understood the meaning of this guideline.

I had an opportunity at lunch to sit down with him/her and express my deep remorse and sorrow over having hurt him/her at that time, saying that I now understood what I had done from an entirely different perspective and that I wanted to tell him/her of my new awareness. S/he accepted my apology and, I like to think, the mistrustful expression changed a little bit. S/he said thank you and we went on with lunch.

We often think of our UUMA guidelines as "turf" issues, but I know personally that they are not. I know that now; I didn't always know it. A few times over the years, congregants have had someone other than me perform a rite of passage for them---a marriage, a blessing, a memorial---and it has hurt a little bit. I wish those other celebrants had had the courtesy to check with me first; I wish those congregants had understood that a minister's relationship with his/her parish is deep and bypassing it when celebrating a life's passage can be painful to the minister. But I've discovered that professional guidelines in other denominations are not as well-thought-out as ours in UUism.

For me, making mistakes is a surefire way of learning. I often have to be hit smack between the eyes with some revelation before I really understand what the mistake was and what it means. It took me ten years to realize the depth of the hurt I had inflicted and make amends for that in some way. I am grateful for the patience of my colleague. I hope nobody else will ever have to wait that long for me again.

Rockstar Hero or Everyday Hero?

HEROISM AND INTEGRITY
Rev. Kit Ketcham, Oct. 24, 2010

Sitting in a small booth at China City last Sunday night, awaiting my meal, I took out the little notebook I always carry and a pen, thinking I’d make a quick list of the various people I’d considered my heroes and heroines over the course of my life so far.

Let’s see, there were my parents and Ethlyn Whitney, the woman who was my Camp Fire Girl leader when I was a kid, a few professors in college. Oh, and fictional heroines counted---so there was Jo March, the literary creation of Louisa May Alcott, and, of course, Nancy Drew.

And then my list came to an abrupt halt. The next figure on my adult list was my boss at the Denver Christian Center, in 1965, the Rev. George Turner, and his presence on the list marked a huge shift in my hero standards.

George Turner, director of the Christian Center, was a whole different kind of character than anyone I’d known before. He shared some traits with my earlier hero figures, but he was different because his life stood for something greater than I had experienced in a hero before.

Before I go on to explain his presence on my list, I’d like to ask you to tell me some of the men and women who are on your personal hero list. Just call out those names; I’ll repeat as many as I can catch. (cong. response)

Thank you! And now, take a moment to reflect and then call out the chief characteristic that makes this person a heroic figure in your eyes. I’ll repeat as many as I can. (cong. response)
Again, thank you!

As I listened to your responses, I notice quite a bit of overlap in our choices. I hear in many of yours the same traits that I have come to acknowledge as heroic: moral courage, physical bravery, ethical integrity, intellect used compassionately and productively, appreciation for others’ efforts to behave with integrity. And these are only some of those traits.

George Turner’s leadership of the Christian Center wasn’t ideal. He sometimes overlooked important details, he expected our staff to work nights and Sundays and weekends on occasion when we didn’t want to, he was only a so-so preacher. He was quiet and unassuming, not fiery and aggressive. His wife Rae griped about his domestic habits occasionally and his son Georgie Jr. just saw him as Dad.

But he was the first person I knew who had had the moral courage to leave his comfortable life and to participate in the March to Selma, Alabama, when the temperature of the antagonism of the Southern states was in triple digits. He didn’t stay safely in Denver with his family. He went to Alabama to help his friend Martin Luther King Jr. His wife and son were scared for him but they too had moral courage and told him to go.

As Gladys and I were preparing this service, we talked about our own hero figures. Many of her heroes were people whom she knew through her family. As a born and raised Unitarian Universalist, she was personally acquainted with some of our denominational heroes---Charles Follen, for example. But her family background exposed her to men and women who had real moral courage and stood up to the likes of Joseph McCarthy during that era of our history and helped to integrate their local communities, at a time when this was a very risky thing to do.

Moral courage is one of my top requirements in a hero figure. It often looks like irresponsible foolishness to those who don’t recognize it. Jesus had it. Martin Luther King Jr. had it as have many historical figures. A person who is willing to risk the ultimate for an ideal or for another’s wellbeing has moral courage.

It’s as though the person looks into the immediate future and thinks “will I feel better about my life if I take this path of offering help in this crisis or if I take this path of avoiding danger?” It’s less a matter of safety and self-preservation than a matter of doing the right thing and knowing that it is the moral choice, not the choice of fear or apathy.

Our reading today comes from the Memoir in Progress of our UUCWI member Don Wollett. I have had the privilege, for the past seven years, of visiting Don every few weeks and spending time with him and his big old dog Major, listening to his stories about WWII and baseball and union negotiations and family. I’ve spent many a pleasant hour discussing current events and politics and justice issues with Don and I always come away feeling enriched by our time together.

As I have listened to Don’s thoughts and the stories that exemplify his values, I have come to see him as a hero figure for me. Our reading today gives you a glimpse of his values, but I’d like to tell you a bit more.

Don captained a ship for the U.S. Navy during World War II and considered stopping Hitler’s march across Europe to be a moral challenge which required his full commitment and participation. Though he came to hate wars of choice, like Iraq and Afghanistan, he saw Hitler as a threat to the safety and preservation of a democratic way of life, a threat to the lives of millions of innocent human beings, and a threat to the concept of freedom for all humanity.

Don served as a negotiator for a number of labor groups during his civilian career as an attorney, including baseball teams, teachers, and transit workers. And at one time, he was the contract negotiator for transit unions in the San Francisco Bay area. Because he worked successfully with the union and management to solve the problem of absenteeism and tardiness among drivers, the result was an improvement in the big picture: service for riders, improved morale among bus drivers, and consumer support.

This accomplishment caused an improvement in public funding, meaning wage increases. He got the union to cooperate with the boss, and vice versa, instead of the traditional adversarial role that unions and management often assume.

Consumers got better service, bus drivers got more money. Don has called this his finest hour. He calls it an example of enlightened self-interest in which adversaries realize the value of cooperation for the greater good.

Helping two adversarial bodies come to terms can be a risky business. There can be dangers from both sides, loss of reputation, loss of career, efforts to buy favoritism, even physical danger at times.

Now, Don’s many acts of heroism are not the kind you’ll see written up in the newspaper; they didn’t earn him a Pulitzer or Nobel Prize. He was rewarded for his service by the US Navy, in the same ways that most veterans are rewarded---an honorable discharge at the end of service and a medal or two.

But a hero he is nevertheless. To me, at least, and perhaps to those of you who also know him well.

Because Don is one of those unassuming, quiet, steadfast kind of guys whose heroism is unremarked but not unremarkable. He stepped up to the plate, both literally and figuratively, and did the right thing, at a time when the right thing might not have been the popular thing, the first choice for those who were only looking out for Number One.

I’ve mentioned from time to time, I think, how sometimes sermons come to write themselves, how occasionally they pay no attention to what I’ve described in the newsletter blurb and take off in a different direction.

To some extent, that has happened here, as I had intended to focus on heroes of our faith---the rock stars of Unitarian Universalism like Francis David and Michael Servetus and all those Transcendentalists, plus the heroes of social justice, like Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr.

But as I’ve spent time lately with people like Don---and you here today---I’ve found my hero thinking focusing on ordinary people who have heroic traits and behavior. Maybe not rock star traits like those I’ve mentioned, maybe with warts and feet of clay like our own, but with everyday moral courage and integrity.

A conversation with a friend later this past week helped me see it even more clearly. We realized together that our greatest heroes, it turned out, were people we knew personally: those who could really hear us, who could really see who we were; those who were not ruled by fear; those who were not plowed under by adversity; those who were open-minded and open-hearted; those who acted from their depths and inspired us to act from our depths---and even to help others in the same way.

These were our heroes’ traits and these people are all around us. One need not be a rock star hero, one only needs to be an every day hero, listening carefully to our friends and family members to be sure we understand who they are and what they need; not letting our fears hold us back; rising up from adversity to face it with courage, not despair; staying open to new learnings and welcoming new companions into our lives; going deep within to find strength for every day and helping us to find that strength deep within our own selves.

The Hebrew prophet Micah once wrote: “What does God require of you, but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” We might paraphrase this in more universal terms, but the message is the same----what is a human life and what does it ask of us?

We’ve recently been thinking about the wording of our Covenant of Right Relations and the Best Practices suggestions that came out of our September potluck conversations. And it occurred to me that what we are asking of each other is everyday moral courage and ethical integrity.

We are asking each other to really listen, to really hear what someone is saying, to be compassionate and respectful with one another. We are asking each other to be honest and kind, to be generous and faithful, to be forgiving and open to reconciliation.

Sometimes we don’t realize that these qualities, which I think we might agree are basic human niceties, are actually rare enough in human life that when we see them, we acknowledge how precious they are, we call them heroic.

I think most of us are fairly modest about our own heroic actions and qualities. We think of heroes as being those rock stars of history or of current events: the courage of Chilean miners trapped for months half a mile beneath the surface and the persistence of all those who worked to rescue them; the elected officials who accomplish some spectacular bit of legislation; the discoverer of cures for deadly diseases.

Of course these are heroic figures, there’s no doubt about that. They are the rock stars. But for every big name hero, there are hundreds, thousands, of little name heroes, and I don’t want that to be lost in the shuffle.

Being a rock star hero is often just a matter of timing, of being in the right place at the right time. Rosa Parks already believed she was good enough to sit in the front of the bus; Martin Luther King Jr. was pressed into service in the civil rights movement because nobody else was available.

Louisa May Alcott’s family was about to be evicted. Michael Servetus had just written a book. Ralph Waldo Emerson was sick of being a minister who couldn’t speak his own truth. Spiderman got bitten by a bug.

Most rock star heroes didn’t plan to be rock stars. They just wanted to live decent lives, have a few friends, speak the truth as they saw it. But when the moment arose, they fearlessly stepped into the new role and Mrs. Parks touched off the bus boycott in Montgomery, Dr. King led thousands of people in non-violent protest, Alcott wrote a series of classic books whose characters still live today. Servetus challenged the most notable clergyman of his age, John Calvin, Emerson quit the ministry and became part of a world-shaking literary movement based on natural theology. And Spiderman was just an unassuming student at a high school science fair who used his powers for good.

Some of us are tapped for greatness. Most of us just want to live decent lives, have a few friends, speak the truth as we see it. Sometimes a moment appears when we are thrust into the spotlight for some deed---we stop the bleeding of an injured person, we perform CPR on a person who has stopped breathing, we find a lost child, we contribute bunches of money to charity, we organize something that has far-reaching positive outcomes, we save the lives of a busload of people on a treacherous road when the bus driver has a heart attack, we donate a kidney or make the difficult decision to donate the organs of a dying loved one.

These things could happen; most of us are aware that the unexpected moment could fall into our laps. We hope we would respond in the right way.

But there are analogous heroic actions we can take every day: we can tend to the bleeding hearts of those who are grieving deep loss; we can wrap our arms around a person whose breath has been taken away by some great blow; we can reach out to the many lost children in our schools, those who are struggling to learn, those who are defenseless against bullying and harassment, those who are the victims of addiction and abuse.

We can contribute our time and talent to charitable causes; we can invite people over for a holiday meal or just an ordinary supper; we can provide transportation for a shut-in or visit the heart attack victim in the hospital; we can check that little box on our driver’s license that marks us as an organ donor and let our families know that this is what we want.

Every day we have opportunities to be heroes, people with moral courage, people with ethical integrity, people who are not ruled by fear, people who don’t let adversity stop them for long, people who are open-minded and open-hearted, acting out of a depth of character.

What might be the outcome of investing ourselves in everyday acts of moral courage, ethical integrity, fearlessness, respect and kindness? I believe that these acts of everyday courage and compassion are foundational to a life lived fully and satisfyingly, a life of deep meaning, a life which contributes something valuable to both the local and the larger community.

I mentioned during Joys and Sorrows that our dear Baird Bardarson will be receiving hospice care, as he has contracted pneumonia and, as he would wish, this disease, long called “the old man’s friend”, will be allowed to end his life, probably within the next days.

Baird has been a hero for many of us in this congregation, a man with moral courage, passion, vision, and commitment. And his name should be mentioned today as a hero among us. There will be time another day to tell the story of his life, but Baird has contributed so much to us as a congregation that his name must always be included, along with Don Wollett’s and many of your names, in our list of heroes, men and women whose lives are a testament to the best in human character.

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 too have heroic qualities, we too can save lives---if not by stopping a runaway bus, then by easing a grieving heart or standing up for someone who is in need. May we have the moral courage to do these simple, everyday acts of heroism, for it is in this way that we make the world a better place. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Okay, here's what I've found out...

about "Go Now in Peace".

I have written to and received answers from two people I consider authoritative about the origins of the song and the preferences of its composer, the late Natalie Sleeth, as well as commentary from others who have heard stories or made surmises about her wishes.

There is definite evidence, from Mark Belletini of the Hymnal Commission, that she refused to allow the song to be published with adapted words. Without her permission, to publish different words to the song would be a copyright violation. That means that we can't legally or ethically put the adapted words in any Order of Service or temporary songbook until the song is in the public domain, many many years from now.

There is no conclusive evidence that I have found which indicates that Ms. Sleeth publicly requested that nobody ever change the words of her song when they are singing it. There are legends, there are heartfelt suggestions that she would not want her song adapted. But there is, at least as far as I can discover, no evidence other than hearsay that she made this request. I am certainly willing to listen to firsthand testimony from someone who knows this for sure, but at present there is none that I have found.

I checked with my friend Keith Arnold, president of the UU Musicians Network, and he does not have any firsthand information about her preferences. He too has heard the stories but has seen no evidence. The UUMN policy is to respect the work of composers and musicians but does not specifically recommend anything around this song.

So.....we are going to continue to sing Go Now In Peace until the music committee/worship committee decide to change it. If I can remember (which I haven't so far) I will sing the original words. However, I'm not going to make a big deal about it in church, despite what I said earlier.

I respect those who have given the stories so much credence that they substituted another song to sing the kids off to their classes. They were acting in good faith and some lovely new songs have been written to substitute. But this beautiful little melody and words are getting short shrift because of legends, not because of an actual human request---as far as I can discover.

It is perfectly acceptable---and legal--- to sing whatever words we like to any song we want to change; this is the human creative spirit in action. It is NOT acceptable and legal to publish adapted words to a copyrighted song without the express permission of the composer.

Now, if a Sleeth heir contacts me with firsthand information that changes the situation, I will let you all know. In the meantime, go now in peace.

This seem to me to be an authoritative answer to the question of...

how do we deal with the ethics of singing the adapted words to "Go Now in Peace.

I wrote to Mark Belletini, chair of the Hymnal Commission which published our grey hymnal, and asked him for the backstory about "Go Now in Peace" and the concerns I expressed in the previous blog post. Mark was kind enough to give me his take on the topic and also his permission to reprint his reply here.

I feel comfortable now with the way I plan to approach the topic with my congregation, which is also explained in the previous blog post. I believe, after hearing from Mark, that it is not an ethical lapse to keep singing this song as adapted. I will stay open to being convinced otherwise if evidence emerges that she really did say she didn't want anybody changing her words when they sing it. However, I will sing the original words and invite my congregation to do the same, if they wish. And I may not say my piece just before we sing it but later in the service, to avoid worrying the kids.

From Mark:

Dear Kit, as far as I remember....(i did not keep the written records of course, they are tucked away somewhere at the UUA...
so if you want actual written authentication I cannot, sadly, help you there)
Natalie Sleeth simply did not give us permission to change her lyrics. She did not say why. Unless people who are surmising
the reason for a change i.e. "she was a conservative Christian" actually talked with her, they are being embarrassingly presumptive
since she was a member of a rather progressive and inclusive Methodist Church in Dallas (where Methodists are the liberals, most often.)
The use of the word God, I hope, has not now become a test for conservatism, but I suppose among some UU's, it probably is.

As I remember it, she told us she wrote of God in her song as she understood that word, and she did, quite understandably I think,
have a difficult time understanding why a word she felt to be so inclusive and welcoming was perceived to be so limiting by others,
especially because, she told us, she thought everyone brought their own meaning to that word. I know we did not argue with her.
I suppose some would have. We felt that what she said was sensible enough to feel good about putting the piece in for those
who wanted to sing it her way.

She was not alone of course in refusing to give us permission to change words.... We were told NO by many authors...
including decidedly progressive thinkers...including the estate of John Lennon, who forbid us to change Imagine's brotherhood of man. Pete Seeger said no to us about
changing a song of his to brother and sister where it would have made no scansion problem at all. He wanted the word brother repeated twice.
We said no to both songs, but said yes to Natalie Sleeth's because its a lovely little piece to send children forth,
and we understood that many UU's won't sing it as she wrote it. My suggestion always has been from the beginning: Sing something else. Its OK.
There are other great little songs in the book. There are often good composers in even the smallest congregations who can write simple departure chants.

We don't sing it here in Columbus because God language is not the usual idiom here, and I have no intention of changing the words,
but we do indeed use other music for that part of our celebration. It sounds as if you did that
(I just read your blog) and it didn't work. I think you way of dealing with it is respectful and intriguing and very UU in spirit.
I personally have no problem with people singing different words to the same melody, as in Amazing Grace, where some folks
just hated the sonics...NOT the theology mind you....of the ugly to sing word "wretch." So sing soul already.

Your sermon should be pretty amazing. Your action is worth reflecting on, I think.

I hope you will be able to find something suitable to use there in Whidbey. Hope your fall days are nurturing you. Mark B.

Going in Peace

Like many UU congregations, for years we have been singing our children off to RE classes with the Natalie Sleeth song "Go Now In Peace", a tradition that has recently been questioned because, like many UU congregations, we substitute the words "spirit of Love" for the phrase "Love of God" in one line of the ditty. It seems like an innocent substitution and one that seems completely in line with the generally accepted tendency of human beings to modify or redefine words that don't fit one's theological or social views.

However, once we learned that Ms. Sleeth and her heirs have requested that the song be sung in its original version ("Go now in peace, go now in peace, may the love of God surround you, everywhere, everywhere you may go"), we had a dilemma on our hands. Should we honor the request of the composer and her heirs or should we rely on the so-called "folk process" to justify the change we'd made?

A couple of years ago, we tried substituting a beautiful short song by a UU composer but it just didn't catch on. There was something about that old "Go now in peace" melody and words that just wouldn't be set aside, so we went back to singing it again and shoving our nagging sense of artistic disrespect underground.

Well, it's surfaced again and on the 24th of October, the next time I am in the pulpit, I have a plan. I've warned the worship leader and checked it out with our administrator, who is feeling as uneasy about the situation as I am, and that day, before we start singing it, I am going to say something like this, perhaps after asking folks to open their hymnals to page 413:

"Because the composer of this beloved little song, Natalie Sleeth and her family, has asked congregations to sing the original words, not substituting the word "love" for the word "God" in the song, I am going to sing those original words from now on. I invite you to sing the correct words with me, if you are willing and able, out of respect for the artist's original composition. If you can't, well, nobody's going to be taking names. But if most of us can't do that, we'll find another song, out of respect for the composer. Now let's sing our children off to their classes."

I don't know if this will be well-received or not. Chances are most folks in the congregation will sing the original words; I certainly don't find them offensive, just a little limiting. There will definitely be those who continue to sing the words they're used to and I have no objection to that. There will be no police action! And I think that will satisfy my own sense of obligation to Ms. Sleeth and her family. It certainly will be easier than finding a new song! I'll keep you posted.

This ministry life is so interesting! And they pay me to do this....will wonders never cease?

Plan B...what to do when

you forget your sermon manuscript at home.

I'm reminded of this because I woke up in a sweat this morning from another dream in which I discover, just as the opening hymn begins, that I do not have my sermon manuscript with me. It is at home, resting in the printer tray where I had left it before coming to church.

I used to have different recurring dreams, most notably the one where I am driving up a steep hill which gets steeper and steeper until I am not sure my little car will make it to the top but will tumble over backwards. That one I used to get when I was a school counselor and had way too many horrible issues to help students with, plus do lunch duty and lead a committee meeting, all in the same day.

The ministry dream visits me every once in awhile because I am one of those ministers who is pretty tied to a manuscript. I don't want to take the chance of babbling, oversharing, or making inappropriate joking remarks which offend; I do these things without my manuscript. I envy those who can speak off the cuff without error, but I know myself too well. Even on a topic I know thoroughly, I tangentize, I get off track, let's face it---I babble.

So the manuscript is my friend. I treat it like the stone tablets of Moses---wait, they had a bad first edition, didn't they? I forget. Anyhow, I protect my manuscript carefully because I never want this dream to come true.

But if it did? I have a Plan B.

My school teaching experiences have helped me develop this Plan, because a classroom setting is one place where I don't babble. Because I have a Lesson Plan. I have an outline that is full of cogent questions THAT I CAN ASK MY STUDENTS.

That's right, if I were to lose or forget my manuscript at home in the printer tray, I would quickly jot down the main points of the sermon in question form and turn the sermon into a time of congregational give and take. Sort of a Socratic method sermon, in which I don't have to provide the answers, I can just steer the discussion.

It wouldn't make everyone happy and it wouldn't work in huge venues. I would be stuck then and I haven't yet developed a Plan C or D. But so far I haven't even had to use Plan B.

It's worth thinking about, for seminarians and established clergy as well. What is your Plan B?

Dealing with troubled people

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am trying to decide...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bones of Leadership

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creating Peace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking about God...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Water Ceremony

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

INTRODUCTION TO THE WATER CEREMONY
Sept. 12, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cataract "canyon"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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