HOPE HAS HUMAN HANDS

Rev. Kit Ketcham, Feb. 20, 2022

         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 sentimental song and its words could even be said to be a bit schmaltzy.  And when you heard it just now, you might have even hummed along with it!

         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  us as 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 INEXTINGUISHABLE 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 seedlings pop up in my garden.  It may be triggered by the purring of the cat 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, whatever you call the power beyond human power. 

        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:  tsunamis and 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.

        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 multiply-pierced and tattooed 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, or 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 charity or the homeless guy on the corner, 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 became 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 didn’t think so; she knew 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, many 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 LOVE.

        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 lovingkindness 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.

 

THE COURAGE TO BE HUMAN

January 9, 2022

Rev. Kit Ketcham

In 1944, American soldier Master Sgt. Roddie Edmonds found himself the senior officer at a Nazi prisoner of war camp.  He was ordered by the Nazi camp commander to identify all the Jewish soldiers in the camp.  

Edmonds told his men “We’re not going to do that”. And 1275 American soldiers stood with him, refusing to identify the Jews among them.  

The Nazi commander was furious.  “All of you can’t be Jewish!”  he screamed.  

“We are all Jews here” Edmonds responded.

“I’m commanding you to have your Jewish men step forward.  You will have your Jewish men step forward or I will shoot you on the spot.”

Edmonds replied, “If you shoot, you’ll have to kill all of us”.

The Nazi holstered his gun and stormed away.

As many as 200 Jewish American soldiers were saved by their fellow captives that day.

Our topic today is “The Courage to be Human”.  The short vignette I’ve just read you is one kind of courage, but there are several others.  Master Sgt. Edmonds, the officer faced with this dilemma must have been terrified that his ploy would not work and that he and possibly his cadre of prisoners would be shot dead, massacred without recourse.  

And yet he took that chance.  We would all agree, probably, that he exhibited great courage, as did his men.

Humans are unusual animals by any stretch of the imagination.  We have some special abilities, from big brains to opposable thumbs.  We have changed the world dramatically since our time on earth and we have even left the planet.  There are also some weird things about humans, or at least “special” in relationship to the rest of the animal kingdom. 

Speech, for example.  Though a parrot or macaw might copy human voices and make sounds like words, we are the only ones who have the capacity to create actual speech.

We walk fully upright, rather than bowed over like many other humanoid primates.

We are naked, compared to our hairier ape cousins.  And we wear clothing.

We have extraordinary brains relative to our body size and can reason and have provided the works of geniuses like Mozart, Einstein, and others.

We have highly flexible opposable thumbs and can flex our other fingers into a powerful grip with dexterity for holding and using tools, more so than other primates.

We can control fire, which has given us the ability to cook our food, to warm our dwellings, to keep predators at bay, and to light our way in the dark.

We blush, but we’re not sure why this feature of humanness occurs in us, just that we are the only species known to do so.  Or, as someone has jibed, needs to do so.

We have long childhoods and are in the care of our parents much longer than other living primates, possibly so that our large brains have time to grow and to learn what we need for survival.

We have a life after we have produced and raised children.  Females can survive long after ceasing to be capable of reproduction.  Grandparents, therefore, can help ensure the success of their families long after their own reproductive years are behind them.

Courage is something that everybody wants, says Dr. Dragana Djukic, a British psychotherapist, but she explains that courage is not just physical bravery.  Generally speaking, there are several types of courage that we need, to face life’s challenges.

Physical courage, when we feel fear but choose to act, even in the face of bodily harm even death.

Emotional courage, when we follow our heart, allowing ourselves to feel the full spectrum of emotions, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Intellectual courage, when we let go of the familiar and allow our horizons to expand, being willing to learn, unlearn, and relearn with an open and flexible mind.

Social courage, when we are ourselves in the face of adversity, involving the risk of social embarrassment or exclusion, unpopularity or rejection.  It also includes leadership.

Moral courage,  standing up for what is right, doing the right thing even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular.

Spiritual courage,  facing pain and loss with dignity, living with purpose and meaning through a heart-centered approach to life and to oneself.

How old were you when you first got the message “just be yourself, honey, and you’ll be fine”?  It might have been on the first day of 7th grade or before a job interview or a date but it was a scary prescription, offered at a time of our lives when we weren’t too sure who our real selves were and whether we had much to offer.

“Just be yourself, honey" was my Dad's advice. He also added those sage words from Shakespeare, "this above all, to thine own self be true, and it will follow as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." So I thought about it---a lot.

Some things about myself I knew without question: my Scandinavian heritage, for example. I was a girl, whatever that meant. I was smart. I was a preacher's kid. I was big, not particularly athletic, and an oldest child.

Then there were things others told me about myself: my parents were proud of my wanting to be baptized at age 6, so I must be religious. People laughed at my cute remarks, so I must be funny. People sneered at my not-so-cute remarks, so I must be weird. I was bigger than most of my friends, so I must be fat. I didn't have a boyfriend in high school, so I must be ugly.

I didn't trust some of what others told me; their beliefs didn't always tally with my experience. Sometimes I was so confused that I gave up and gave in. Okay, they think I'm clumsy, I'll quit trying to do cartwheels.

Of course, everyone is confused about their identity as an adolescent, and I was no exception. In despair, one day in college, I resorted to a technique that has served me well ever since. I made a list!

I listed the things I knew for sure about myself. I listed the things I loved to do and the things I hated to do. I listed the things people seemed to assume about me. I listed the things that I thought nobody knew about me. I looked at this list for a long time. And then I crossed out the things that people assumed which were erroneous. I put question marks by those I thought might be the result of others' thinking, not my own. When I was done, I thought I had a pretty good picture of who I was, at least as a college freshman.

Little did I know it was only the beginning of a lifetime of asking and answering this question! My understandings of myself continue to evolve. I'll bet yours do too. 

So what does it mean to have the courage to be human?  We are born into this body, we carry a number of unique abilities that no other animal has, we have brains so well developed that they can get us to the moon and beyond, but each of these attributes carries danger, carries responsibility, carries questions of ethics and morality, leads us into situations where prior knowledge is useless or even untrue.

We are called upon to protect and defend or to wreak violence upon those other humans who threaten our family, our friends, ourselves.

We are called upon to decide whether or not we can show our full range of emotion and purpose.  Is it safe?  What if others are repelled or laugh at us?

We are called upon to invent and to carry out new technologies, to lead others into new and untried areas of knowledge.  And we have to consider the possible outcomes of these new ways.  Will they hurt or help other humans?

Our intellectual abilities may lead us into nontraditional ways of thinking, of morality, of ethical principles we had never thought to challenge.  Those of us who have left conservative and fundamentalist Christianity behind may know too well the consequences that faced us.

How shall we reconcile our new understandings with the old interpretations of sacred texts?  And how will we maintain our family ties if we can’t?

When we use our powers of speech, what will we say?  Will we speak wisdom or nonsense? Will we harm or help those we speak to, those we speak for?

When we use our flexible hands and our opposable thumbs, will we build beauty and usefulness or will we use them to oppress other humans?

When we create children and teach them what we know, will we lead them into acts of mercy or acts of violence?

And when we come to die, we are faced with the greatest conundrum of humanity---have we been fully human? Have we made decisions that exhibited our courage and not our cowardice?  Have we been honest---with ourselves and with our communities?

Life as a human is joyful---and scary.  We have huge choices to make and, if we are committed to being fully human, we must be mindful of the needs of other humans and nonhuman living things.

Let me repeat the six types of courage that I mentioned earlier and think about your own life so far.  What have been your experiences as you have made your way through the past years and look ahead to the future?  

Physical courage, when you felt fear but chose to act, even in the face of bodily harm and even death.

Emotional courage, when you followed your heart, allowing yourself to feel the full spectrum of emotions, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Intellectual courage, when you let go of the familiar and allowed your horizons to expand, being willing to learn, unlearn, and relearn with an open and flexible mind.

Social courage, when you were yourself in the face of adversity, involving the risk of social embarrassment or exclusion, unpopularity or rejection.  Social courage also includes leadership, which takes a great deal of courage.

Moral courage,  standing up for what is right, doing the right thing even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular.

Spiritual courage,  facing pain and loss with dignity, living with purpose and meaning through a heart-centered approach to life and to yourself.

What do you think?

Have you been fearful, scared to death---and moved forward anyhow?

Have you made decisions with your heart, not just your brain, and felt all the range of emotion as you proceeded down those paths?

Have you opened your mind to new ideas, new learnings, new attachments, even knowing the dangers they may present, and let your horizons expand?

Have you risked embarrassment or exclusion, unpopularity or rejection as you took a stand in a time of adversity or in a leadership role?

Have you been challenged to stand up for what is right, to do what is ethical and moral even when it is uncomfortable or unpopular?

And have you faced pain and loss with dignity, grieving those losses while continuing to live with purpose and integrity?

It takes a good deal of courage to be fully human.  We see fellow humans take a more cowardly path, dishonest and unethical, stuck in the mire of greed and selfishness.  At the end of their lives, what do they have to show for their cowardice and lack of integrity?  

At the end of our lives, what will we have to show for our courage?  We are human and will not live perfect lives of perfect courage, but if our goal is to live with intent and to uphold the deep values we have come to love, we will be able to say to ourselves, this has been a good way to live.

The poet Dawna Markova wrote these lines, with which I will close:

I will not die an unlived life

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance;

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit.

Poet: Dawna Markova

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

How the Unitarians Saved Christmas

Rev. Kit Ketcham, with Nancy Logan

Dec. 12, 2021

            This is the time of year when that tired old War on Christmas rhetoric gets dragged out of the tattered decorations box and hung on the tree—or the cross, if you wish.  I don’t get into the fray any more but I do like to pass on the real story, because it is so deeply embedded into our culture and yet virtually unexamined by most folks.

            You may already know this, but the Unitarians actually SAVED Christmas, long ago, building on the foundation set in place by pagan worshippers over thousands of years of honoring the earth, sun, moon, and stars as divine.

            This month marks the Winter Solstice, a holy day which has been in existence since the earth began orbiting around the sun and has been observed for millennia, ever since the first human realized that, after this solar occasion, the disappearing light in the sky began to come back.

            Many familiar winter customs and symbols come straight out of earth-based, pagan rituals and practices.  The solstice was a huge occasion for celebration, as early peoples watched the slow return of longer days and shorter nights, even as the cold winter winds and snow made life still uncomfortable and risky.

            Suffice it to say that in their jubilation at what they considered the Birthday of the Sun, they celebrated joyfully in their relief at the sun’s gradual return.

            Many of their festive symbols are important to us too and the change of seasons during the year were significant as the air warmed and cooled and rain came and went. 

            But other changes were also in the wind,  because institutional religion began to take an interest in solstice festivals, and in about the 4^th century CE, Christian church authorities managed to refashion the ancient pagan revelry into a Christian celebration of Jesus’ birth.  They had tried in vain to halt these winter festivals because they honored pagan nature gods.

            But it wasn’t that easy.  Thousands of years of custom do not die gently.  So compromises were made, with nature deities being discreetly transformed into Christian saints and the whole shebang gradually became part of the Christian calendar.

            Since nobody really knew when Jesus was born, the day long associated with the rebirth of the Sun, December 25^th, became the date of Jesus’ birthday.

            Christmas became a mélange of world religious practices---with Celtic, Teutonic, Slav, Asian, Greek, and Roman influences.  It has never been a strictly Christian holiday.  

So take THAT, you War on Christmas folks.  We know the real story.    And in case anyone was wondering about that worrisome X in Xmas, that X is the Greek letter CHI which has been used since antiquity to indicate the word Christ.

            Let’s make merry now ourselves, with a hymn that celebrates some of what ancient peoples celebrated:  Deck the Halls, #235.  

PART 2:  THE DARK AND THE LIGHT SIDES OF CHRISTMAS

            In Merry Olde England, under Oliver Cromwell in the 17^th century, the godly Puritan Party passed legislation outlawing Christmas.  However, people rebelled and Christmas went underground with its revelry, which included heavy drinking, sexual misbehavior, and general debauchery.  The outrage at this infringement on popular custom resulted in the ousting of the ruling Puritan party.  So much for legislating godliness, sobriety, and chastity!

            But the Puritans were also settling in the New World and their disapproval of Christmas revelry meant that Christmas was banned for many years in early American communities.

         Christmas in the earliest years of colonial America was forbidden.  The Puritans found it offensive to their pious minds.  They had come to the New World with religious freedom on their agenda, but that freedom didn’t include the revelry of drunkenness, lasciviousness, and general chaos that erupted every Christmas season among the so-called “lower classes”.

            There were laws against Christmas celebrations and people could be punished severely for indulging in them.  Talk about a War on Christmas!

            The Puritans did have a point---Christmas had become a season of lawlessness, in which bands of hoodlums in masks, bent on forbidden activity, roamed the streets, and it drove the Puritans crazy!

            Records from 18^th century New England indicate a rise in unwed mothers and in babies born in September and October.  Something had to be done! 

So progressive religious leaders in New England decided that, rather than trying to squash Christmas, they should instead tame it.  Many churches began to schedule worship on Christmas Day and urged banks, shops, and schools to close so that families could spend the day together.  And our religious ancestors got into the act.

Well, you ask, what did the Unitarians do?  Well, they literally SAVED Christmas.  I’m not kidding!  Many of our favorite traditions today came straight out of Unitarian creative minds.

Here are a few of those Christmassy traditions:

In the mid 1800’s, the Christmas tree with its lights and festive hangings was introduced by Charles Follen, a Unitarian minister.

“Jingle Bells” was written by James Pierpont, organist and choir director at the Savannah Georgia Unitarian Church.

“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” was written by the Rev. Edmund H. Sears, Unitarian minister in Wayland, MA.

“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” was written by Unitarian Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as a commentary on the horrors of the Civil War.

Unitarian artist, Nathaniel Currier, of Currier and Ives fame, painted an array of delicate Christmas scenes which decorate many a holiday card.

Episcopalian-turned-Unitarian Clement C. Moore penned the beloved story poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas”, also known as “The Night Before Christmas”, from whence comes our popular portrayal of that jolly old elf Santa Claus.

But the Unitarian author who brought perhaps one of the greatest Christmas stories ever told was Charles Dickens, who, in his immortal tale “A Christmas Carol” penned a story of compassion, generosity, and transformation as the miserly Scrooge is brought to an awareness of the neediness of the poor and the joy of generosity.

It is interesting and ironic that we Unitarian Universalists, heretics to the core in the eyes of the orthodox, have long been champions and even generators of the Christmas we know today.

Let’s join now in singing #244, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” in remembrance and celebration of the gifts our spiritual ancestors have given the world for Christmas.

#244 “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”

PART III   Nancy:  King Wenceslas was not always Good.

INSERT Lyrics:   Good King Wenceslas

PART IV:

            Every year, it seems, I have to rethink my relationship with Christmas.  At one time in my life, when I felt lonely and bereft from the losses I had accumulated, Christmas was something to be endured until the new year.

           But every year since that symbolic “hitting bottom”, it has gotten better and, in my so-called retirement years, I have found a great deal of joy in this season, as we celebrate the rebirth of the sun’s light and the birth of countless babies, who may bring joy and peace into our world.

           Unitarian Religious educator Sophia Lyon Fahs wrote about this season:  

For so the children come 
And so they have been coming. 
Always in the same way they come 
Born of the seed of man and woman 
No angels herald their beginnings, 
no prophets predict their future courses. 
No wise men see a star to show 
where to find the babe 
that will save humankind. 
Yet each night a child is born is a holy night, 
Fathers and mothers- 
Sitting beside their children’s cribs 
Feel glory in the sight of a new life beginning. 
They ask, “Where and how will this new life end? 
Or will it ever end?” 
Each night a child is born is a holy night- 
A time for singing, 
A time for wondering, 
A time for worshipping. 

            As I think about the children I know today, the young ones who come to our RE sessions with Adriana,  at the park, the littlest ones with their parents chasing after them, the in-between ones looking up to the bigger kids and watching out for the little ones, the older ones growing taller and maturing into big kids, their active minds, their loving hearts—as I look at them and smile, I feel the holiness of this season, reflected in our children’s eyes.

            Sure, they love the gifts and goodies and songs and the stories.  But what I loved most, as a child, and I hope it is part of every child’s Christmas, was the warmth of my family’s love, the tender care that I received and that I learned to give to my own child, to his children, and the love and care that he has learned to give, from me and from his dad and other family members.

      It’s not the gifts we give and receive at this time of year, it’s not the decorations, it’s not the cards and letters, or even the music, though these all have their value.  It’s really the miracle of human life, from birth through death, and all the stages in between.

            We are so blessed by Life.  Even when it’s at its toughest, even when we are in pain, even when grief overtakes us, we have Life and its spirit gives us hope.

            As we look back over the past pandemic years, with their joys and sorrows, let us be reminded, in this holy season, that it is truly the rebirth of the sun and in that rebirth we can find renewal and strength to last us as long as we need.

            Let us act with that strength to bring joy and peace to one another and to all humankind, starting with our neighbors and reaching out into our communities, giving tender love and care to all we meet.  Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

BENEDICTION:

Our worship service is ended but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place.  Let us go in peace, remembering that the season of Solstice, Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa is a season of Light.  May we seek to bring the light of kindness, strength, and peace into the lives of all we meet, for in this way we will receive the Light ourselves and will be blessed by it.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.