Andy's Garden Redux

When our guest speaker couldn't make it down to Astoria because of the weather, Plan B became a recycling of an oldie but goodie:  In Andy's Garden, printed here with minor updates in language.

IN ANDY’S GARDEN
Rev. Kit Ketcham, recycled Oct. 16, 2016

Bear with me for a moment, set aside any theological reservations you might have, and sing with me, if you know this old hymn, and if you don't, just let us sing it to you.

I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses,
And he walks with me, Andy talks with me, Andy tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there none other has ever known.

My best friend in high school once told me, when we were girls sitting in the front row of the First Baptist Church of Athena, Oregon, where my dad was the minister, that she used to think God's name was Andy, because of the old hymn we just sang. I have since heard of children who thought otherwise: Our father who art in heaven, Howard be thy name.

Most of us have updated our concepts of God by now but many of us still remember our old ideas and the old songs with a nostalgic smile. If you're a Unitarian Universalist, of course, it isn't too cool to cling to old words and songs and rituals which are politically incorrect and theologically out of date. When I became a UU, I gave up that old-time religion in favor of a more pluralistic, interfaith tradition.

But I've come to realize, after several years of study and ministry experience, that you may take the girl out of the Baptists, but you can't take the Baptist out of the girl. I'm a Unitarian Universalist to the core, but my core remains Baptist. I think it's in my DNA.

I come by my UUism honestly through the time-honored route of youthful rebellion. One of my ancestors was BlackJack Ketcham, a New Mexican gunfighter in the 1800s, and my granddad was a bootlegger in Missouri during Prohibition, so of course, my dad became a Baptist minister and thereby set the stage for me and my rebellion.

I was a good girl, growing up, and in 1965, went to Denver, Colorado, as an American Baptist Home Missionary. My mission field was the Denver Christian Center in the inner city. A couple of years later, I married a UU man and began to explore the wider horizons of a noncredal religious faith.

But sometimes when I was alone, I'd sit down at the piano and plunk out the old hymns--Great is thy Faithfulness, O God My Father, Wonderful Grace of Jesus, Out of the Ivory Palaces-- the hymns which didn't appear in the UU hymnbook but occupied a prominent place in the hymnal of the First Baptist Church.

I did this surreptitiously and with many a caveat; I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't a devout UU, but those old hymns spoke to me in ways that no other songs did. I couldn't figure it out.  Was it just nostalgia for a simpler faith? Did they speak a subconscious message? I had long ago moved beyond a theology of Jesus as bloody sacrifice, God as a white male, heaven as a place with golden streets.

In any case, it was interesting to have my poor mother accusing me of having lost my childhood faith by joining a UU church, on the one hand, and, on the other, to find such power (unidentified as it was) in the old songs.

I struggled with reconciliation for many years, reconciliation between me and my horrified family members, and reconciliation between my Baptist DNA and my UU beliefs.

And now, many years later, I'm making some headway. As I explore my own theology and its foundations more deeply, I have begun to understand the contribution that being a Baptist preachers kid has made to my spiritual life.

I'd like to try an experiment here. I recognize that we all come from differing backgrounds; we may have grown up Catholic, Lutheran, Methodist, Mormon, Jewish, you name it. Some of us grew up as Unitarian Universalists. Others may have no formal religious background. But we all have a spiritual history. For many, it was specific church doctrines; for others, values imparted by family or culture. No matter what, we all bring to our present religious experience the accumulation of years of values teaching.

So I ask you to delve into that experience and consider your responses to a few questions. I'll ask some of you to share your answers, if you're willing.

Question 1: think of a favorite old hymn or song, whose words no longer fit for you but which you still enjoy hearing or singing. Is there anyone who would be willing to share the name of the song?

Question 2: think of a present-day religious value that is a holdover from your early learnings.

Question 3: think of a religious value that you have added to that early value which makes you the unique person of faith you are today.

To return for a moment to the old hymn with which we began a few minutes ago: Andy walks with me, Andy talks with me, Andy tells me I am his own. I no longer think of God as a white male on a throne, but this song still expresses for me the very close connection I feel to the Divine, to Higher Power, to the Ultimate in the Universe.

When I am in Andy's garden, whether on a high pass in the mountains or along a foggy Oregon beach, I am very aware of Divine Presence and my connection to the Universe, to God as I understand God. And the joy we share as we tarry there...is overwhelming.

The great challenge of our religious journey, I believe, may be to take what we know, our earliest values and religious instruction, and go deeper with it, beyond the literal, beyond the familiar, looking for ways to expand our understanding of what it means to be a human being in relationship with the Cosmos, with one another, with ourselves.

Most of us live and work in a community where people’s creeds and beliefs are different from our own. We are surrounded daily by people who are conservative Christian, Catholic, Jewish, or adamantly anti-religious. In our own congregations, we worship with folks whose theology is different from ours--pagans, Buddhists, humanists, theists, nontheists.

To be in religious dialogue with all, we must be able to articulate our faith in common terms, so that all feel welcome at the table of religious community.

Beneath the surface of most religious traditions, there is a depth of common human experience that transcends orthodox doctrine and dogma. When we explore those depths, both in our own religious past and in the traditions of others, we find common ground.

We learn to interpret legends as metaphors, not as literal fact, to find the deeper, more universal meanings beneath the fantastic stories and myths.

This is one of the challenges of Unitarian Universalism. As a Unitarian Universalist minister, I preach to good people, folks who are theists, nontheists, Jews, Christians, pagans, humanists, Buddhists and combinations of all of the above.

I must present my thinking in terms which go deeper than the traditional language of Christianity, which is my native tongue.

To do this, I have learned to use my intuitive understandings of life, my mystical experiences, my dreams, my relationships with others, with the spirit I call God, and with myself, to glean what is common to the human experience and express it in terms which are understandable by others whose religious thinking is widely varied.

I remember as a Preacher's kid thinking to myself that there had to be a bottom line to religion, principles of behavior toward other people and toward God that would work no matter what. I remember feeling concerned that I was expected to base my behavior and beliefs on supernatural events which I sensed were hard to prove.

So I began to look for that bottom line. I didn't want my religious faith falling apart if somebody proved that Jesus didn't rise from the dead. I wanted it based on something that I understood and knew to be true.

I looked for permanent, not transient, values: Love. Forgiveness. Service to others. Acceptance of others, no matter how different from me they might seem. In the Bible, the words of the prophet Micah particularly resonated for me: to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly. These were the values that seemed most important to me as a youngster, and they still do.

Take what you know and go deeper has become my guide to developing my theology, my personal creed, my own spirituality. It is important for three reasons:

1. When I take a familiar idea from the Bible stories I learned as a child and go deeper, I discover meaning that goes far beyond the literal story. One example of this is the idea of Jesus as my personal savior, which we hear quite a bit from more traditional Christians. I understand Jesus' death on the cross as an example of unconditional love, one man’s willingness to die for his friends and his beliefs. I do NOT see it as a sacrifice for my sins. I consider Jesus a human who was deified by history and the love of his followers. I am a heretic, a non-trinitarian. But Love is my personal savior. What Jesus represents to me is my salvation, my way of finding wholeness in a broken world.

Jesus' words in the Christian Scriptures, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life; no one comes to God but by me” say to me, Love is the way, the truth, the life; no one finds a relationship with life and living things without learning to love.

2. When I take what I know and go deeper, I find language with which I can talk with others of differing faiths. A non-theist may find the words God and Christian and salvation uncomfortable, even offensive. But most non-theists, however secular they may be, find the word and the concept of Love to be deeply meaningful. And Love does what Jesus and Gandhi and other heroes of faith came to do--it reclaims, redeems, reconciles all beings.

3. When I take what I know and go deeper, talking with those of other faiths about the inherent meanings of human experience, my understanding increases and deepens, joining me in religious community with women and men who are radically different. I am graced by this new community, and I have learned that it's not the story that is so important; its the meaning of the story.

This is, of course, not a bit easy. It's hard to listen and talk calmly about issues which are so important to us, especially when we feel we have the Truth. But we must learn to do it, both for the sake of community within our own congregations and a shared dream of peace in our larger world.

Martin Luther King Jr. did it when he, a Baptist minister himself, proclaimed love and justice with nonviolence to be the prophet Jesus' essential message from God. Mahatma Gandhi did it when he, a devout Hindu, used non-violent protest to reclaim his country's independence. Countless others have done it in the name of freedom, in the name of hope, in the name of justice.

This is the meaning of our UU principle “free and responsible search for truth and meaning”. Whenever we look for meaning beneath the surface of orthodoxy, we are following in the large footsteps of Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Jesus, LaoTse, the Buddha and other prophetic men and women. When we take what we know and go deeper, we grow.

You and I bring to our Unitarian Universalism all the meaning of our early lives. We bring our ability to be faithful. We bring our ability to love. We come wanting to know more about the Divine. We know that our children need instruction. We come trusting our own experiences and our own minds. We want to be accepted for ourselves. We believe that in community we will find spiritual sustenance.

We crave beauty and find it in many settings, in nature, in art of all kinds, in a human face, in deeds of love and kindness. We want to give nurture, to reach beyond ourselves into the larger community, to bring justice to a world in pain. And we want a safe place to experience grief and joy. All these are the roots we bring to our religious journey.

And we also have wings. As our hymn Spirit of Life says, roots hold me close, wings set me free. Wings symbolize for us our religious freedom, that search for personal truth and meaning that directs our path. Our wings enable us to put our new insights into action.

My wings have enabled me to fly from a belief in a white male God to the conviction that the interdependent web of the universe connects all beings; I have leapt from the slogan "Jesus loves me" to a recognition that unconditional Love speaks to the inherent worth and dignity of every person; I have rejected supernatural events as doctrine and have accepted a free and responsible search for meaning instead. I have taken what I know and have gone deeper.

But anything that keeps me from growing, from using my wings, is not a root, it's a tether. It is imperative that I look courageously at my faith, opening myself to new insight, eagerly joining others of differing faiths in dialogue which goes beyond doctrine, and learning the deep language which can bring us that shining goal which is another of our UU principles, that goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all.

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 whole lives have brought us to this place in time and that our earliest learnings are valuable to us, if we can use them as starting points for our searchings. May we live out our faith in our daily lives, taking what we know and going deeper. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

Sharing Holy Ground

SHARING HOLY GROUND

Rev. Kit Ketcham

Oct. 9, 2016, PUUF

            There is a story in the Hebrew Scriptures that has always given me a little shiver down my spine.   Maybe some of you remember it from your early religious upbringing.  Maybe some of you have totally discarded it as one of the Bible stories you no longer accept as factual.

            But a lot of stories are shiver-inducing without being factual---what about all those ghost stories we used to hear around campfires when we were kids?

            Anyhow, the story is about Moses, one of the early leaders of the Israelites and the one who eventually led them through the desert in search of the Promised Land.  But the story I’m going to tell you happened some time before Moses was faced with that feat of leadership.  In fact, this was his jumping off point for that challenge.

            Moses was just a guy tending  to his flock in the wilderness,  though he’d had an unusual start in life.  One day he saw, off in the distance, something peculiar.  It looked like a fire.  And, fire in the desert is not necessarily a welcome event.  So he went closer and saw something even more peculiar. 

A bush was on fire, blazing high into the sky.  There was no apparent cause for the fire, no lightning bolts from the blue seemed to have struck this bush.  And, as he watched, he saw that the bush was not burning up, not being consumed by the blaze.  There even appeared to be an angel within the flames and then a voice came out of the burning bush.

“Moses”, said the voice.  And Moses answered “Here I am.”  And the voice spoke to Moses saying “Come no closer.  Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”

This story is the beginning of Moses’s subsequent journey to Egypt to free the Israelites from the Pharaoh’s bondage and begin their long journey to the Promised Land.  The rest of the story is important for other reasons---sheer dogged persistence for one thing and for the vision that Moses followed from that time on. 

But I am struck most keenly by the phrase “the place on which you are standing is holy ground”.  What is holy ground?  What makes a location sacred? 

There are sacred sites all over this world, many of them here in this country.  The Anasazi of New Mexico created kivas, underground meeting places for their sacred rituals.  The Druids created Stonehenge and other henges for their rites.    We learn a great deal about the religious values of ancient peoples by their monoliths and burial grounds.

The battle today over Standing Rock in the Dakotas is a battle for protection of sites significant to the Sioux and other native peoples.  Sacred ground, holy ground is worth fighting for.

I don’t know how much you already know about the history of this building, but when we became a partner in this enterprise called the PAC, we began to share ground that has been made sacred by many groups over more than a few centuries. 

The original users of this little knoll were likely Native peoples, the Clatsop and Chinook. Later, a nunnery,  the Convent of the Holy Names occupied this site.  In 1930, the current building was erected and Trinity Lutheran Church conducted their services here for many years. 

Now, in its function as a facility of Clatsop Community College, it has become an educational and performing arts center.  Within these walls, many different creative types---musicians, actors, singers, dancers, writers---have continued to offer their creations to the community. 

We the Pacific UU Fellowship are joining the ranks of other creative groups, adding yet another fertile layer to this holy ground.  Sharing holy ground means that we are learning to live with other groups serving the larger community with thoughtful and inspirational works of great worth.  

But holy ground isn’t necessarily religious ground.  I remember years ago, an experience in the office of the junior high school where I was a counselor.  I was just in the office to pick up my mail, when through the door came a teenage girl in tears. 

“Gabe, what’s wrong?” I asked.  And she said to me “my boyfriend committed suicide last night”, and came into my outstretched arms.  We were embracing on holy ground.

On a Grand Canyon river trip, I stood on the shoreline of the Colorado river and watched a piece of driftwood with a leaf perched on top slide by in the current, reminding me that life is a river and we are like that leaf.  At that epiphany, I was standing on holy ground.

Thursday night I sat in the Lovell Showroom with a couple hundred other folks and listened to Chris Breitmeyer, new president of CCC, talk about how important the arts are to a scientist and I realized that science, in its rigor and its effort to discover the truth about our world, offers us holy ground to stand on and marvel at the wonders of our universe.

            This building is holy ground, sanctified and blessed by those who created and supported it in the beginning and those who now create beauty within these walls:  some of those groups and individuals are the Astoria Music Festival, KMUN radio, the Little Ballet theater, the North Coast Big Band, the North Coast Chorale, the North Coast Symphonic Band, the North Oregon Coast Symphony, the Friday Musical Club, and individual artists like Dave Drury, Kim Angelis and Josef Gault.

            We, as a progressive religious institution, add another layer to the foundation they have laid, honoring the sacredness of life, of creativity, of dedication to the values that we live by as citizens of the world.

            These days, traditionally-sacred space is losing ground; mainline churches across the nation are dwindling, as our former hosts the Congregationalists have dwindled and the former members of this Lutheran sanctuary have merged with other Lutheran congregations in town.


But perhaps other spaces are becoming recognized as sacred by way of the connections and commitments made there.  This building’s value as sacred ground is renewed each time a music group rehearses, a drama about human concerns stirs its patrons and brings a cast together , a comedy draws laughter from the seats, a concert lifts listeners to a realm of wonder and beauty. 

And now our congregation, Pacific UU Fellowship, will bring another layer of sacredness to this space, with our hymns and stories, our children’s laughter, wise words from the podium, our rituals and ceremonies.

Sacred ground, holy ground is where connection happens---connection between beings, or with new insights, or with challenges met and transformed into learning.  Sacred ground, holy ground is anywhere we meet another being or a new idea or challenge and connect in a meaningful way.

One of the challenges we faced and moved through on our journey here was making the decision to find a larger space where we could grow and flourish spiritually.  It was an endeavor that required lots of conversation, lots of visits to possible locales, lots of planning and packing and toting and unpacking, lots of thinking about what makes a space a sacred space.

One of the things I got to thinking about, as we were in the moving process was how many times I personally have pulled up stakes and moved, from one home to another. 

I think of myself as a homebody, so I was appalled, when I listed all the places I’d lived in and moved in and out of, to find that I have had -----but wait, I want to know about you.  Do a quick mental rundown of the various places you’ve lived and a rough estimate.  How many places have you lived in your life so far? How many homes have you created? Just call out the number.  (cong resp) 

I learned that I had lived in 28 different places, 28 different places I had to make into a home, either for myself alone or for my family.  No wonder I’m a homebody now!

I looked around my home on Alder Street and realized that I have pared my home-creating belongings down to a few important things:  certain paintings and photos, my mother’s old hutch and photo album, a Pendleton blanket my son gave me, a leather chair my sister gave me, my Bose radio/CD player, some well-worn cooking utensils, my dad’s gavel from an early pastorate, a few beloved books and recordings.  Just about everything else is replaceable.

Every time we move, whether as individuals, or as families, or as a congregation, we face the task of taking our most important and meaningful items to a new place, to use as we create a new home.

The Israelites carried their Ark of the Covenant, containing their sacred writings and a commitment to the covenant they had made with their god, as they moved from place to place.  Everywhere they settled during their long journey became their home because they had their precious belonging---the Ark of the Covenant, which symbolized for them the presence of their God amongst them eternally.  

Discomfort over small and large inconveniences, finding ways to manage the discomfort, changing our patterns, making new arrangements, new friends and neighbors----these are all part of the moving process and can distract us from the gifts of the move---creating a new home, settling in,  the challenge of the new, the opportunity to reshape, to recreate a sense of comfort and safety in our new home.

To get past the uncomfortable parts about our new personal homes, we looked actively for a new coffee shop or the nearest drug store, we said hello to the new neighbors, maybe even hosted a gathering to force ourselves to unpack and start living rather than camping out in the new home, all in an effort to bring ourselves a sense of belonging in the new place we’d chosen.

It’s pretty much the same for us as a congregation, as we have moved from our former home to this place.  We’re in new and unfamiliar surroundings, but the possibilities are exciting and challenging.  We’ve brought our sacred objects, few as they are---our chalice and our candles, our hymnals, our banner, our books and materials, our nametags!----and we’ve added some new things---the rug for the kids, coffee from the Scorcher, a pulpit of our own,  draperies to hang on the set panels to create a backdrop that is meaningful to us.

Little by little we’re figuring it out, making a new home for our congregation.  And most important of all, we have brought ourselves, our sense of connection, our love for each other, our good ideas, our energy, our caring for our community.

This holy ground has the power to transform us into a stronger faith community, a Fellowship that reaches out to others and adds additional vitality and human resources to the creativity that is a hallmark of the Columbia Pacific region.

But we are not the only ones who stand on this holy ground.  We share it with the spirits of the Native peoples who lived here, who performed their holy rites here, who lived and died here.  We share with the artists who have created works of beauty here and have shared that beauty with those who came to hear and to feel it. 

We share this holy ground with audiences and cast members and choirs and symphony orchestras and individuals who have stood on this stage and put their whole being into a message of insight through words and sound.  We share this holy ground with all those volunteers who donate their time, their energy, and their money to keeping this holy ground alive for our community.

In the song our choir sang as gathering music, May Nothing Evil Cross this Door”, we heard expressed our hope for safety and a sense of home.  I particularly like the last verse:  “with laughter drown the raucous shout, and though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in.”

As we welcome our new friends and neighbors through these doors, as we work to create a space in which we feel at home, as we reach out in friendship to the visitors who come to us looking for a place to belong, we sanctify this space.

As we set out our chalice and our candles, raise our banner, set out the hymnals, tell our stories, we bless this space and add to its value, for ourselves and for those who join us.

As we share our cookies and cheese, coffee, and potluck after the service, we perform one of the most ancient rites of all spiritual communities, sharing food.  When we gather in sympathy to say goodbye to a beloved person, when we gather in joy at the connection between lovers, whenever we celebrate or mourn, laugh or cry, we are creating holy ground no matter where we are.

We are creating holy ground every time we connect with one another in the human moments of every day.  It’s not a religious type of holy, much of the time, but it’s a very important and life-giving spirit of sacredness, the sacredness of all life.

One of the things we were aware of when we agreed to become a Partner of the PAC was that its existence in this community has been hard won, and has endured because of the dedication of its volunteers, its members, and those who attend events here.

I said earlier in these words that holy ground is worth fighting for.  Holy ground, sacred ground, whether sanctified by religious rites or blessed by the simple human acts of kindness and understanding, that ground is worth fighting for.

We are here today, in this room, to continue the fight for this holy ground, for this place where so much is possible, so much has transpired, so much has been won.  We join with our larger community and with our Partners here to support the arts and learning  opportunities that this place represents.    

And may it continue to be a blessed space, a place of connections, of creativity, of human worth and dignity, bringing us together here on holy ground.

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

CLOSING HYMN   #1008 in the teal hymnal  “When Our Heart is in a Holy Place”

BENEDICTION:  As Frank extinguishes our chalice, let’s pause for our 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 are creators and keepers of the holy ground that is our world.  May we care for each other and for the universe which is our home, as we go about our days.  And may we meet again soon on this holy ground.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

CLOSING CIRCLE

Sharing Holy Ground

SHARING HOLY GROUND

Rev. Kit Ketcham

Oct. 9, 2016, PUUF

            There is a story in the Hebrew Scriptures that has always given me a little shiver down my spine.   Maybe some of you remember it from your early religious upbringing.  Maybe some of you have totally discarded it as one of the Bible stories you no longer accept as factual.

            But a lot of stories are shiver-inducing without being factual---what about all those ghost stories we used to hear around campfires when we were kids?

            Anyhow, the story is about Moses, one of the early leaders of the Israelites and the one who eventually led them through the desert in search of the Promised Land.  But the story I’m going to tell you happened some time before Moses was faced with that feat of leadership.  In fact, this was his jumping off point for that challenge.

            Moses was just a guy tending  to his flock in the wilderness,  though he’d had an unusual start in life.  One day he saw, off in the distance, something peculiar.  It looked like a fire.  And, fire in the desert is not necessarily a welcome event.  So he went closer and saw something even more peculiar. 

A bush was on fire, blazing high into the sky.  There was no apparent cause for the fire, no lightning bolts from the blue seemed to have struck this bush.  And, as he watched, he saw that the bush was not burning up, not being consumed by the blaze.  There even appeared to be an angel within the flames and then a voice came out of the burning bush.

“Moses”, said the voice.  And Moses answered “Here I am.”  And the voice spoke to Moses saying “Come no closer.  Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.”

This story is the beginning of Moses’s subsequent journey to Egypt to free the Israelites from the Pharaoh’s bondage and begin their long journey to the Promised Land.  The rest of the story is important for other reasons---sheer dogged persistence for one thing and for the vision that Moses followed from that time on. 

But I am struck most keenly by the phrase “the place on which you are standing is holy ground”.  What is holy ground?  What makes a location sacred? 

There are sacred sites all over this world, many of them here in this country.  The Anasazi of New Mexico created kivas, underground meeting places for their sacred rituals.  The Druids created Stonehenge and other henges for their rites.    We learn a great deal about the religious values of ancient peoples by their monoliths and burial grounds.

The battle today over Standing Rock in the Dakotas is a battle for protection of sites significant to the Sioux and other native peoples.  Sacred ground, holy ground is worth fighting for.

I don’t know how much you already know about the history of this building, but when we became a partner in this enterprise called the PAC, we began to share ground that has been made sacred by many groups over more than a few centuries. 

The original users of this little knoll were likely Native peoples, the Clatsop and Chinook. Later, a nunnery,  the Convent of the Holy Names occupied this site.  In 1930, the current building was erected and Trinity Lutheran Church conducted their services here for many years. 

Now, in its function as a facility of Clatsop Community College, it has become an educational and performing arts center.  Within these walls, many different creative types---musicians, actors, singers, dancers, writers---have continued to offer their creations to the community. 

We the Pacific UU Fellowship are joining the ranks of other creative groups, adding yet another fertile layer to this holy ground.  Sharing holy ground means that we are learning to live with other groups serving the larger community with thoughtful and inspirational works of great worth.  

But holy ground isn’t necessarily religious ground.  I remember years ago, an experience in the office of the junior high school where I was a counselor.  I was just in the office to pick up my mail, when through the door came a teenage girl in tears. 

“Gabe, what’s wrong?” I asked.  And she said to me “my boyfriend committed suicide last night”, and came into my outstretched arms.  We were embracing on holy ground.

On a Grand Canyon river trip, I stood on the shoreline of the Colorado river and watched a piece of driftwood with a leaf perched on top slide by in the current, reminding me that life is a river and we are like that leaf.  At that epiphany, I was standing on holy ground.

Thursday night I sat in the Lovell Showroom with a couple hundred other folks and listened to Chris Breitmeyer, new president of CCC, talk about how important the arts are to a scientist and I realized that science, in its rigor and its effort to discover the truth about our world, offers us holy ground to stand on and marvel at the wonders of our universe.

            This building is holy ground, sanctified and blessed by those who created and supported it in the beginning and those who now create beauty within these walls:  some of those groups and individuals are the Astoria Music Festival, KMUN radio, the Little Ballet theater, the North Coast Big Band, the North Coast Chorale, the North Coast Symphonic Band, the North Oregon Coast Symphony, the Friday Musical Club, and individual artists like Dave Drury, Kim Angelis and Josef Gault.

            We, as a progressive religious institution, add another layer to the foundation they have laid, honoring the sacredness of life, of creativity, of dedication to the values that we live by as citizens of the world.

            These days, traditionally-sacred space is losing ground; mainline churches across the nation are dwindling, as our former hosts the Congregationalists have dwindled and the former members of this Lutheran sanctuary have merged with other Lutheran congregations in town.


But perhaps other spaces are becoming recognized as sacred by way of the connections and commitments made there.  This building’s value as sacred ground is renewed each time a music group rehearses, a drama about human concerns stirs its patrons and brings a cast together , a comedy draws laughter from the seats, a concert lifts listeners to a realm of wonder and beauty. 

And now our congregation, Pacific UU Fellowship, will bring another layer of sacredness to this space, with our hymns and stories, our children’s laughter, wise words from the podium, our rituals and ceremonies.

Sacred ground, holy ground is where connection happens---connection between beings, or with new insights, or with challenges met and transformed into learning.  Sacred ground, holy ground is anywhere we meet another being or a new idea or challenge and connect in a meaningful way.

One of the challenges we faced and moved through on our journey here was making the decision to find a larger space where we could grow and flourish spiritually.  It was an endeavor that required lots of conversation, lots of visits to possible locales, lots of planning and packing and toting and unpacking, lots of thinking about what makes a space a sacred space.

One of the things I got to thinking about, as we were in the moving process was how many times I personally have pulled up stakes and moved, from one home to another. 

I think of myself as a homebody, so I was appalled, when I listed all the places I’d lived in and moved in and out of, to find that I have had -----but wait, I want to know about you.  Do a quick mental rundown of the various places you’ve lived and a rough estimate.  How many places have you lived in your life so far? How many homes have you created? Just call out the number.  (cong resp) 

I learned that I had lived in 28 different places, 28 different places I had to make into a home, either for myself alone or for my family.  No wonder I’m a homebody now!

I looked around my home on Alder Street and realized that I have pared my home-creating belongings down to a few important things:  certain paintings and photos, my mother’s old hutch and photo album, a Pendleton blanket my son gave me, a leather chair my sister gave me, my Bose radio/CD player, some well-worn cooking utensils, my dad’s gavel from an early pastorate, a few beloved books and recordings.  Just about everything else is replaceable.

Every time we move, whether as individuals, or as families, or as a congregation, we face the task of taking our most important and meaningful items to a new place, to use as we create a new home.

The Israelites carried their Ark of the Covenant, containing their sacred writings and a commitment to the covenant they had made with their god, as they moved from place to place.  Everywhere they settled during their long journey became their home because they had their precious belonging---the Ark of the Covenant, which symbolized for them the presence of their God amongst them eternally.  

Discomfort over small and large inconveniences, finding ways to manage the discomfort, changing our patterns, making new arrangements, new friends and neighbors----these are all part of the moving process and can distract us from the gifts of the move---creating a new home, settling in,  the challenge of the new, the opportunity to reshape, to recreate a sense of comfort and safety in our new home.

To get past the uncomfortable parts about our new personal homes, we looked actively for a new coffee shop or the nearest drug store, we said hello to the new neighbors, maybe even hosted a gathering to force ourselves to unpack and start living rather than camping out in the new home, all in an effort to bring ourselves a sense of belonging in the new place we’d chosen.

It’s pretty much the same for us as a congregation, as we have moved from our former home to this place.  We’re in new and unfamiliar surroundings, but the possibilities are exciting and challenging.  We’ve brought our sacred objects, few as they are---our chalice and our candles, our hymnals, our banner, our books and materials, our nametags!----and we’ve added some new things---the rug for the kids, coffee from the Scorcher, a pulpit of our own,  draperies to hang on the set panels to create a backdrop that is meaningful to us.

Little by little we’re figuring it out, making a new home for our congregation.  And most important of all, we have brought ourselves, our sense of connection, our love for each other, our good ideas, our energy, our caring for our community.

This holy ground has the power to transform us into a stronger faith community, a Fellowship that reaches out to others and adds additional vitality and human resources to the creativity that is a hallmark of the Columbia Pacific region.

But we are not the only ones who stand on this holy ground.  We share it with the spirits of the Native peoples who lived here, who performed their holy rites here, who lived and died here.  We share with the artists who have created works of beauty here and have shared that beauty with those who came to hear and to feel it. 

We share this holy ground with audiences and cast members and choirs and symphony orchestras and individuals who have stood on this stage and put their whole being into a message of insight through words and sound.  We share this holy ground with all those volunteers who donate their time, their energy, and their money to keeping this holy ground alive for our community.

In the song our choir sang as gathering music, May Nothing Evil Cross this Door”, we heard expressed our hope for safety and a sense of home.  I particularly like the last verse:  “with laughter drown the raucous shout, and though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in.”

As we welcome our new friends and neighbors through these doors, as we work to create a space in which we feel at home, as we reach out in friendship to the visitors who come to us looking for a place to belong, we sanctify this space.

As we set out our chalice and our candles, raise our banner, set out the hymnals, tell our stories, we bless this space and add to its value, for ourselves and for those who join us.

As we share our cookies and cheese, coffee, and potluck after the service, we perform one of the most ancient rites of all spiritual communities, sharing food.  When we gather in sympathy to say goodbye to a beloved person, when we gather in joy at the connection between lovers, whenever we celebrate or mourn, laugh or cry, we are creating holy ground no matter where we are.

We are creating holy ground every time we connect with one another in the human moments of every day.  It’s not a religious type of holy, much of the time, but it’s a very important and life-giving spirit of sacredness, the sacredness of all life.

One of the things we were aware of when we agreed to become a Partner of the PAC was that its existence in this community has been hard won, and has endured because of the dedication of its volunteers, its members, and those who attend events here.

I said earlier in these words that holy ground is worth fighting for.  Holy ground, sacred ground, whether sanctified by religious rites or blessed by the simple human acts of kindness and understanding, that ground is worth fighting for.

We are here today, in this room, to continue the fight for this holy ground, for this place where so much is possible, so much has transpired, so much has been won.  We join with our larger community and with our Partners here to support the arts and learning  opportunities that this place represents.    

And may it continue to be a blessed space, a place of connections, of creativity, of human worth and dignity, bringing us together here on holy ground.

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

CLOSING HYMN   #1008 in the teal hymnal  “When Our Heart is in a Holy Place”

BENEDICTION:  As Frank extinguishes our chalice, let’s pause for our 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 are creators and keepers of the holy ground that is our world.  May we care for each other and for the universe which is our home, as we go about our days.  And may we meet again soon on this holy ground.  Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

CLOSING CIRCLE

Our Mothers' Gifts

OUR MOTHERS’ GIFTS

Rev. Kit Ketcham, May 8, 2016

Let’s pause for a time of silence, thinking of the many mothers and mother figures we know who have given of themselves to help us become the mothers and fathers, sons and daughters we are today, and opening our hearts in gratitude for their gifts.  (pause)

It’s taken me a long time since my mother’s death in 1994 to understand better my relationship with her, a relationship that often made me feel guilty that I wasn’t more patient with her, that I didn’t come to visit her more often, that I couldn’t be with her as she was dying.

And yet it was also a relationship of great joy, times spent walking down country roads in the Klickitat River valley while gazing at Mount Adams in the distance and smelling the sagebrush, times spent with her and my son on a long cross-country trip through Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons, intense Scrabble and Boggle games when she would chortle gleefully over her phenomenal scores—and my pitiful ones.

As we aged, she into health crises of major significance and I into single parenthood and career changes, our roles shifted.

Her caretaking of me morphed from the normal Mom duties of wiping noses, administering aspirin, mopping up tears, reassuring teenage angst, and comforting a newly-single, once-married daughter. Eventually her caretaking was evidenced more in her willingness to weed my Denver gardens, vacuum my dusty floors, clean my grimy kitchen, and…pray for my return to the Baptist fold.

My relationship with her moved from dependence on her mothering to impatience with her lack of understanding of my life, of my religious changes, of my parenting techniques, and of my fondness for one boyfriend or another, for she never felt they were worthy of me.

It also eventually became a relationship which required me to take care of her the best I could from my faraway home in Colorado. Impatience with her became fear of losing her, a sense of obligation that I must do what I could to be present for her---and for my family members upon whose shoulders her care eventually fell. I needed to make amends to her for many lapses in my daughterly duties: that familiar impatience, resentment of her pleas that I return to my childhood faith, my own efforts to make HER see the light of truth and reason.

My relationship with my mother probably has some of the same characteristics of your relationship with your mother, whether your mother is alive or not. I invite you, for a moment or two in silence, to consider the trajectory of your relationship with your mother or the mother figure in your life, whether a biological relationship exists or not. (silence)

Mother’s Day is one of those tough holidays during the church year that causes a preacher to dig deep for a new way of observing it, for it is a holiday that has been commercialized way beyond its original meaning, a meaning stated so eloquently in our antiphonal reading of Julia Ward Howe’s Mothers’ Day Proclamation. 

In addition, some of us have had wonderful experiences with our mothers and others of us have had very painful years because of a mother who was unable to fulfill her role well.

We depend so much on those who mother us! We depend on them for all the tasks that accompany children and youths: the feeding, clothing, cleaning up, teaching, encouraging, nurturing, training, accompanying, shaping, guarding, approving, disapproving.

Though others share these tasks---thank you to big sisters, big brothers, fathers, and other adults---mothers are often the ones who do the most. And, of course, pregnancy and birth are one-woman jobs, though usually with a lot of help.

When we move into those mothering roles ourselves, whether as birth mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, all those female roles of nurture and shaping, we tend to mother the way our mothers mothered us. Even men who take on nurturing roles often find themselves behaving like their own mothers on occasion.

I remember one time, when my son was small and being annoying in that sort-of-innocent little-boy way, my yelling at him, the very words my mother sometimes had yelled at me, “you ornery whelp! I’m going to rip off your leg and beat you over the head with the bloody stump!”

Astonished, he puddled up and began to cry a little bit, not knowing that I was joking, in the way my mother used to joke when she was fed to the gills with our rambunctiousness and needed to say something shocking but entirely impossible.

To young Mike, HIS mom, I must have seemed completely capable of ripping off his leg, at least in fantasy! Oh boy, did I ever have to backpedal! And now I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been in the same situation, of needing something emphatic to get his kids’ attention and make them laugh at the same time.

It has occurred to me to wonder where MY mother got that memorable and shocking phrase! It didn’t come out of her brain, I am pretty sure, as she was about 5 feet tall, slim, and gentle, and I knew she couldn’t possibly rip off anyone’s leg! When I heard it, I knew I was safe from her, but my own son wasn’t sure! Aaaaah!

But what happens when we approach our mothering job after having been raised by a mother who really couldn’t do the tasks of motherhood, whether from illness or a rotten upbringing herself or addictions or any number of the plagues of human living? 

We may have been lucky enough to have a different mother figure to learn from or we may have turned to our father for the nurture our mother couldn’t give. And we stumbled along as best we could, using our own negative experiences as guideposts for what NOT to do.

In the movie “Precious”, several years ago, the actress Mo’nique portrayed the abusive mother of the title character Precious Jones in such a violent and terrifying way that my stomach was absolutely in turmoil. And during that performance, we got a glimpse of the kind of neediness that creates a mother like Mary Jones, whose physical and emotional abuse toward her daughter stemmed from her own lifetime of poverty and mistreatment.

Some of us have been pretty angry with our mothers; we may have told them so or we may have kept it inside, only sharing the positive feelings we had or withdrawing so that we wouldn’t express our hurt. Some of us have used our mothers’ behavior to learn new ways of being in relationship with children, unwilling to risk making the same mistakes.

Some of us have been leery of motherhood and not sure we should take on the role. Some of us mother other people’s children, sometimes in addition to our own. Some of us would love to be mothers but have not yet had that chance.

Most of us, probably, can name the many gifts our mothers gave us, both the positive ones and the negative ones. For a gift’s meaning depends on how we use it. In the movie, the teenage girl Precious learned hard lessons from her mother’s abuse but she was determined to change the trajectory of her life and not let her mother’s behavior become her own behavior. And she was aided in this by other loving adult women she encountered.

Our mothers teach us self-sufficiency in many areas and many ways; some of those are the traditional roles of womanhood---housekeeping, nurturing children, dealing with relationships with men, with other women, with siblings. Some of her ways were helpful and others were not.

We learn from their example, both the good example and the bad. We may find ourselves living out our mother’s foibles and catch ourselves just in time to avoid the behaviors we deplored in her. Or not!

What have been the gifts our mothers gave us? I invite you again into a time of silence to think about the gifts our mothers offered, the gifts we received joyfully, the gifts we rejected because they were inappropriate, the gifts we have transformed from something negative into something positive. (silence)

As I think about the gifts my mother gave me, I am most struck by the gift of JOY, her firm belief that life was good, that there was plenty of love to go around, and that happiness was a natural state of being.

She also gave me the gift of scolding me for saying I was bored and teaching me to look inside myself and at the world outside myself to find interesting things to see and experience.

She gave me the negative gift of being deeply, continuously disappointed in my choice of religious beliefs, and I learned how important it is to respect others’ religious paths.

Just for a moment, I’d like to give you a chance to say your mother’s gift aloud. I’m going to ask you to just call out the name of the gift, whether it was an attitude, a material gift, a deed, a skill, whatever it was. If the gift was negative, see if you can find the silver lining there. Go ahead----say it! And it doesn’t matter if you say the same things or if you say them at the same time. It is a way of honoring our mothers and their gifts.  (go ahead)

Some of us are lucky enough to have mothers living, even living with us or close by and experiencing an entirely different kind of relationship than we did when we lived together as a young family. There is something appropriate about that cycle of living, in which the caretaker becomes the taken-care-of and the child becomes the caretaker. It’s often not a comfortable place to be, for either person, and yet great joy is available in that changed relationship.

When my mother was living in a retirement facility and then in assisted living in Longview WA, we had a chance to see her in a different way. My siblings and I wondered how she would survive the challenges of institutional living after being independent for so many years and we worried about her ability to communicate after several small strokes left her mostly wordless.

But despite her aphasia, her inability to utter intelligible speech, she found other ways of communicating. She immediately found friends at the assisted living facility, she expressed herself with hugs and touches, smiles, tears. She miraculously could remember and sing lustily all the words to the old hymns and carols, even adding her strong alto part at the Christmas concert the care facility put on.

We saw her then in a whole new way, this woman who had survived so many of life’s challenges and great sorrows: the loss of her mother at an early age, her father’s painful death from cancer, the loss of two stillborn babies before I came along, the chronic illness of her beloved husband, my father, my heretical religious beliefs and commitments, the failed marriages of all three of her children, loneliness and pain and ill health.

We saw her make joy out of almost nothing. We saw her continue to love---to love us and our children, to love her new companions also at the far edges of their lives, to love music and singing and visiting favorite places.

We saw her give thanks continuously---to her God, whom she saw as close by and accessible, to us for our love and care, to the nurses and staff members who cared for her, to the friends who visited and took her to church and made sure she was not lonely. What an example for us to follow!

And then she died. Not unexpectedly, not in great pain, but one day she was awake and responsive, the next day unconscious, almost the next day, gone.

The death of our mother is one of the greatest losses we humans endure. Whether she was a good or a notsogood parent, whether she gave us what we needed from her or failed us badly, whether she was joyous or depressed, thankful or ungrateful, nurturing or needy, her death creates a hole in our lives.

A familiar relationship, a long-lived pattern has ended, at least in physical form. How do we deal with that loss? How do we make it as meaningful as possible? How do we cope with the fact that so much still needs to be repaired or acknowledged between us, though time has run out?

I invite us to take another few moments of silence to consider this important moment in all of our lives. For some of us it has occurred; for others, it is yet to be. And before the silence, let me offer these ideas:

If there is pain because of unresolved issues, if there is relief at her release from illness and old age, if there is fear about the future, if there is joy about her life, if there is a desire to make things better, let these feelings and thoughts come to mind, acknowledge them, and let them go, for the present. You can come back to them later.

If there is guilt because we were not the best possible sons and daughters, if there is satisfaction because we know we did the best we could, if there is anger, if there is grief, if there is hope for reconciliation, let these feelings and thoughts come to mind, acknowledge them and let them go, for the present. You can come back to them later.

Let us be still together as we consider the loss of our mothers. (Silence)

We are who we are, in great part, because of our mothers, because of who they were and who their mothers were. We are who we are because of who our mothers chose to be our fathers; we are who we are because of the genetic makeup we inherited, the family constellation in which we grew up, the communities we inhabited.

We do with our own true natures what we have learned from our mothers and fathers. And where those lessons were negative, we have the ability to turn those dark times into silver linings.

As a friend and I were talking, as I prepared for this service, we shared what it had felt like since our mothers died, and she used the word “anchorless”. “She’s our connection to the beginning of our lives”, my friend said. And I thought of the stories my mother had told me of my birth and early childhood, things I could not remember without her help.

I no longer have my mother’s presence, but I have my mother’s spirit deeply embedded in my heart. She influences my behavior even now, as I understand how hard it is to parent an adult child without impinging upon his selfhood as a father, husband, and friend.

And I have become the anchor for myself, for my son, and for others who need me to be that anchor. I look to some of you for anchoring as well, those of you whose years or experience are greater than mine, whose lives reflect wisdom and strength received over all the years of your lives. Thank you for that contribution.

Let me speak to you as an anchor-person myself now: if there are unresolved issues between you and your living mother, do what you can to resolve them, kindly and with the understanding gained from your years of experience. For she will not always be alive but she will always be part of your life.
 

If she is already gone, consider writing her a letter, perhaps forgiving her lapses, perhaps accepting the gifts she was able to give, perhaps apologizing for your own mistakes and reassuring her and yourself of your love for each other. Then keep that letter and reread it occasionally to remind yourself of the many gifts of the life she gave you.

These actions can bring peace if your heart is troubled by your relationship with your mother; you will have done what you can do and then you can let go of some of that sorrow. It may be worth the effort.

In closing, I’d like to share with you an ode to motherhood that expresses some of the gifts our mothers bestowed. It appeared in my email, so be forewarned. We’ve been awfully serious this morning; let’s laugh.


GIFTS FROM MY MOTHER

My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE .

"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning." 

My mother taught me RELIGION. 
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

My mother taught me LOGIC. 
" Because I said so, that's why."
My mother taught me FORESIGHT. 
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."


My mother taught me about GARDENING.
“You could grow potatoes in those ears of yours!”
My mother taught me about WEATHER. 
"This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it." 

My mother taught me OPHTHALMOLOGY. 
"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to get stuck that way." 

My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT . 
"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up." 

My mother taught me WISDOM. 
"When you get to be my age, you'll understand."

And finally, my mother taught me about JUSTICE. 

"Honey," she said, "you deserve that kid."

Let’s pause for a time of silent laughter and remembrance!

CLOSING HYMN  #131 “Love will guide us”  (see insert for complete words, by permission of Sally Rogers!)

EXTINGUISHING THE CHALICE
BENEDICTION: Our worship service, our time of shaping worth together, is ended, but our service to the world begins again as we leave this place. Let us go in peace, remembering our mothers with love and forgiveness, remembering our own efforts to offer mothering to those who need it and forgiving ourselves our lapses. Let us remember as well the many women and men who want children of their own and do not yet have them. May their hearts be eased. May we find joy and growth in the lessons learned from our many, many mothers and may we give our own gifts to the children in our lives. Amen, Shalom, Salaam, and Blessed Be.

CLOSING CIRCLE