Allegiance to a Flag

"The things that the flag stands for were created by the experiences of great people. Everything it stands for was written by their lives."
-- Woodrow Wilson

Musical Meditation: A poem by the Jewish writer Yip Harburg, which was set to music in 1939. Here it is performed by the Hawaiian artist Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. He was a musician/activist, who fought for the rights of Hawaiian natives, and tried to raise awareness of their second-class status on the islands today.

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

There's a land that I've heard of once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream,

Really do come true.

Someday I'll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far behind me.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops,

High above the chimney tops,

That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly

Birds fly over the rainbow

Why then, oh why can't I?

If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can't I?

Perspectives: Jerry Carden

My name is Jerry Carden - my husband Tim Temple and I have been active at the UU church here since 1996. I will share some perspective on the history of the Welcoming Congregation process and what it means to us. 

We first visited this church a few times in 1994, having been encouraged to become involved in the choir by a friend who goes here. I didn’t get a particularly warm vibe from the congregation and did not return. I did know that the Unitarian Universalist Association, at the international level, had been a strong advocate for LGBT rights, including marriage equality, for decades, but I just didn’t feel it at this church and was disappointed. 

A year and a half later I saw a News-Gazette article that this church had started the formal Welcoming Congregation process and explained what that was. Tim and I came back to hear a sermon by Helen Bishop, the Central Midwest district administrator, also an out lesbian. Things were changing- the former minister was gone. The church was also in the ministerial search process and Bruce Johnson was the interim minister. We decided to give it a few more Sundays. We are glad we did as this community has enriched our lives tremendously in many ways - evidenced by the people we now consider to be an extended family. 

We were able to help form an active Interweave chapter. The Interweave mission was ‘to promote an affirming atmosphere in our congregation for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people in our church and community.’ The group moved the church toward adopting the Welcoming Congregation resolution and a church vote in 1999. The Welcoming Congregation program is sponsored by the UUA for their affiliated churches to show evidence of having worked to develop an affirming environment. Educational workshops and forums were held, we delivered LGBT themed church services, and sponsored LGBT themed movies advertised to the community. Since LGBT persons at our church came to feel fully ‘interwoven’ in all aspects of church life, the decision was made to meld Interweave into our Social Action Committee or SAC.

The SAC has been active in the marriage equality fight for almost 10 years:  Running ads in local media in support of same-sex marriage. In 2006 we unveiled the ‘Civil Marriage Is a Civil Right,’ banner. We’ve marched with other gay-themed contingents in the 4^th of July parade. We coordinate periodic worship services relating to LGBT issues, including several relating to civil unions and marriage rights, in which members have shared their own stories. We participate with the UP Center PrideFest event with a booth every fall (held just yesterday). Rainbow flags are now unfurled at our entrances as another external and visible statement of support. 

Rachel Storm

I came to this church seeking a special kind of community. A spiritual, but not dogmatic, community that wouldn’t require of me to check my sexuality, my politics, or my passions at the door. I found that within these walls were people, who—like me—sought a home where we could freely love, question, and engage. As a queer woman, I felt at home, but only after I entered the doors. When I became chair of the Social Action Committee two years ago, I was interested in helping make our Unitarian Universalist Welcoming Congregation commitment more visible to the community and more of a strategic goal for the congregation. We can call ourselves a “welcoming congregation,” but what does that really look like? How are we ensuring that we are constantly learning and growing in our commitment to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and questioning community members? How are we connecting with local LGBTQ organizations like the Uniting Pride Center, the LGBT Resource Center, and gay, lesbian, trans*, and queer groups on campus? In the past three years, we’ve participated in the Annual CU Pride Festival hosted by the UP Center, hosted LGBTQ allyship workshops on language sensitivity and challenging homophobia, and surveyed our congregation about how to support each other in growing in our commitment to LGBTQ allyship and inclusivity, as well as, how to make that commitment more visible. Putting up these flags as symbols of that commitment came as a direct response to that survey. These colorful flags are but reminders. They are a reminder that our work isn’t done, that these efforts are part of a larger UU commitment to social justice.

Jim Hannum

I used to think it was enough to just be tolerant of our GLBT sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, and friends , but I no longer think so.  My “teachable moment” occurred when our daughter, Christy, came out to my wife and me.  

Most of my family and Sandy’s family were supportive and welcoming of her coming out, as were we.  My mother, on the other hand, was unhappy and thought of her as making a sinful lifestyle choice.  My father said very little either way, which was even more frustrating- was he supportive or antagonistic?

Sandy and I realized that we could offer our daughter a lot more than just tolerance, acceptance and love.  We could also be her advocates, or to use a bolder term, her warriors.  We decided to speak up in our family and not just hope to avoid conflict by getting by.  We chose to actively engage my parents in a discussion of gay/lesbian issues, to challenge their assumptions, and to prod them toward more active acceptance of their granddaughter.  I think we made some progress in the time before they passed away, but even more importantly, I think we helped the rest of our family talk about these issues directly and not leave them unspoken.    Keeping such conversations in the proverbial “closet” can harm everyone.

Our society and many of our religions provide so many justifications for what is normal and acceptable around sexual identity.  This results in an enormous degree of heterosexual presumption and privilege.  Those of us who are heterosexual are unlikely to directly see the harm these presumptions cause.  We have the privilege of being able to sidestep the conflicts around sexual identity and live our lives without worrying much about what others think of our sexual orientation.   

Each of you in this church has the opportunity to help promote gay rights and acceptance.  Although we call heterosexual supporters “allies”, I prefer to think of us as warriors.  As an ally you have to learn how and when to speak up, but speaking up is essential.  It is not enough to simply offer tolerance when much of society offers harm and denigration.

Allegiance to a Flag

A Sermon Delivered on September 15, 2013

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

This morning we have heard three perspectives on our efforts, as a religious community, to be welcoming to people who are gay, lesbian, transgender, or bisexual. This flag – the rainbow flag – serves as both symbol and statement of our efforts today. 

Jerry, Rachel, and Jim have shared a bit of their respective stories. But the meaning and history of the flag reaches beyond our lives and our church.

To provide a bit of background, I would like to share a fourth perspective with you. These are the words of Gilbert Baker, the man who designed the first gay pride flag. He writes: 

“My story is one of creation and conflict, courage and freedom. It is about the fabric that helped empower a community. Dramatic? Well, of course. I'm a drag queen. But every word of it is true. I created the Rainbow Flag.

…I first flew [it] in San Francisco's Castro district in 1978. Love it or hate it, it is rich in its history. This flag has no rules. It has no protocol that governs its display. It is the community's for the taking.

And the GLBT community has embraced it with pride, determination and diversity. …The Rainbow Flag has become the most visible icon for our community worldwide.

There's an old saying among flag makers: A true flag can never be designed, but is torn from the soul of a people. My journey began with isolation growing up gay in Middle America, the taunts of classmates, and being drafted into the Army during the Vietnam War the day I turned 19. Commanding officers treated me to relentless threats of violence.

Instead of being discharged, I was reassigned. Stationed in San Francisco as a nurse, I cared for the wounded. I also met my closest friend and mentor, Harvey Milk… 

Harvey was a pioneer, a trailblazer, and with the community by his side, he became a San Francisco Supervisor. One day he said to me that we needed a logo, a symbol. We needed a positive image that could unite us. I sewed my own dresses, so why not a flag? At Harvey's behest, I went about creating our Rainbow Flag. I had never felt so empowered, so free.

My liberation came at a painful cost. In the ultimate act of anti-gay violence, Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone were assassinated. The bullets were meant for Harvey, to silence him, and, by extension, every one of us. Uniting a community cost him his life.

The strides we have made since I first flew the Rainbow Flag are unprecedented. The United States' GLBT community is more visible than ever before. We face fewer hurdles and less violence than we once did. I can only hope that the events of my life, and the lives of friends I've lost, have made being gay just a bit easier.” (from an article entitled “Pride-Flyin’ Flag” in MetroWeekly, October, 18, 2007) 

* * *

Yes, some progress has been made, but our work is far from complete. 35 years have now passed since Harvey Milk was shot in San Francisco, and 15 years have passed since Matthew Shepard was attacked outside Laramie, Wyoming. 

But just last month a transgender young woman named Islan Nettles was beaten to death on the streets of New York City. New York is considered a gay-friendly city, but still walking down the street simply holding hands is dangerous for same-sex couples. The New York Police Department says, there were already 29 reported antigay hate crimes in New York City by late May this year, an increase of 70 percent compared with the same period last year.

* * *

In this country, when we pledge allegiance to a flag - more often than not - we are expressing our loyalty, not to a flag with six colors of the rainbow, but three colors: red, white and blue. It’s called “Old Glory” or “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And it is a treasured symbol of this nation’s highest ideals: one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

President Woodrow Wilson said, “The things that the flag stands for were created by the experiences of great people. Everything that it stands for was written by their lives.” 

In some ways the two flags are similar. Both reflect the soul of a people. Both express our yearning to live in freedom and to be treated fairly. But while there are several laws and regulations about Old Glory – for instance, it should be displayed “only from sunrise to sunset,” and “hoisted briskly and lowered ceremoniously” - in contrast, the rainbow flag has no rules, no protocol. It is ours for the taking. 

And while the Stars and Stripes represent the 50 particular states and 13 historical colonies of this country, the rainbow flag’s symbolism affirms more universal ideas. In Gilbert Baker’s mind, each of the flag’s colors conveys a particular meaning: Red is for life. Orange is for healing. Yellow is for sunlight. Green is for nature. Blue is for art. Violet is for spirit. Baker’s hope was to affirm life, healing, sunlight, nature, art and spirit. The flag was intended to help share these blessings with all people. 

The rainbow is a potent symbol. According to the ancient Jewish story, the rainbow is a sign from God. It is a sign of the promise God made after the flood to Noah and all of his descendants, as well as and with every living creature: the birds, the cattle, and every beast of the earth. The rainbow is a reminder of God’s covenant with all people. A reminder that we are all God’s children, we are all members of one human family.

The rainbow we see in the sky is itself a kind of miracle, a beautiful apparition that seems to be a bridge between heaven and earth. Over the rainbow there is a heavenly paradise. A land that we have always dreamed of, where our troubles melt away, and our dreams of happiness come true.

* * *

Our rainbow flag is meant to be a sign of welcome. But being welcoming is not enough. We need to be warriors, Jim Hannum says, allies and advocates, but above all we need to be active. We need to challenge our cultural status quo, which allows a climate of hate and discrimination to continue.

But what does it mean to be a warrior for justice? What does it mean to be a warrior for freedom? “Operation Just Cause” is what we called the United States’ invasion of Panama in 1989. And “Operation Enduring Freedom” is what we called our war in Afghanistan. Warriors, above all, seem to be men and women in the military. 

But this is not the only way to understand what it means to be a warrior. The Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron speaks of a warrior spirit that’s required to confront the challenges of advancing on the path toward enlightenment and truth.

A bodhisattva is generally understood to be someone who has attained enlightenment, but rather than leaving the world and entering nirvana, the bodhisattva turns around and re-enters the world, in order to help others find relief from suffering. It is an act of supreme compassion and courage.

Bodhisattvas are warriors, Chodron says, “not warriors who kill and harm but warriors of nonaggression who hear the cries of the world.” Their religious practice involves awakening a spirit of unconditional compassion. They are “compassion warriors,” and their training involves intentionally entering challenging situations in order to alleviate suffering. This is called “training in the middle of fire.”

Offering examples of master warriors, Chodron cites Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr, who realized that the greatest harm comes from our own aggressive minds, and who devoted their lives to helping others understand this truth. Mother Teresa and Dr. King served the poorest of the poor, and stood in solidarity with those treated as second-class citizens. They knew that real warrior training means awakening our own courage and love. 

Pema Chodron writes, 

“Many of us prefer practices that will not cause discomfort, yet at the same time we want to be healed. But [compassion] training doesn’t work that way. A warrior accepts that we can never know what will happen to us next. We can try to control the uncontrollable by looking for security and predictability, always hoping to be comfortable and safe. But the truth is that we can never avoid uncertainty. This not knowing is part of the adventure, and it’s also what makes us afraid.” (The Places That Scare You, p. 6)

* * *

Sometimes being a warrior means confronting even the people closest to us – our parents, family-members, and friends – and challenging them to be more understanding, more accepting and more loving. 

And being a warrior can mean leaving the comfort and safety of our homes, and making our support of the GLBT community publicly known. Some of us did just that, yesterday, at the Urbana Pride Celebration, down the street at Lincoln Square, setting up and staffing a table with pictures and posters and pamphlets that explained who we are, as a church, and what we believe.

The convictions we hold privately are important, but they gain much greater power when they are expressed in public. It isn’t easy, and can feel risky. It means daring to come out of our closets, and being willing to face the taunts of those who are unwilling to accept their gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. Standing in solidarity with them means – in some small way – exposing ourselves to the same threats visible members of the GLBT community have long faced.

For most of us, these threats will never take the shape of physical violence. But nevertheless the threats are real. 

Five years ago Unitarian Universalists across the country were shocked when one Sunday morning a crazed gunman open fire in a UU church in Knoxville, Tennessee. Two people were killed and several others wounded. The police, at the time, said the shooter was driven by a hate for liberals and gay people.  He chose the UU church as his target, because the congregation was known in the community for being progressive and welcoming.

It was in the wake of this tragedy, that the Unitarian Universalist Association launched a public advocacy campaign called “Standing on the Side of Love.” The first hymn we sang this morning, of the same title, was written by UU minister Jason Shelton, and became the guiding image of our initiative. The song is a musical expression of our efforts to respond to hate with love.

Today, our “Standing on the Side of Love” campaign is not limited to advocacy for the GLBT community and marriage equality. It supports immigrants’ rights, and challenges economic exploitation, and the many faces of racism.

* * *

This rainbow flag has been hanging inside our church lobby for years now, above the stairs at our south entrance. It has served as a sign for all who entered our doors, that we aspire to be a welcoming congregation – especially welcoming to our GLBT sisters and brothers. It was a sign for those who had already entered the privacy of our religious home.

Today we will dedicate a flag that is prominently mounted outside our doors. It is a more public expression and thus a more powerful expression of our support of the inherent worth and dignity of all people. It is an expression of our desire to be compassion warriors, warriors who have the courage to confront hatred with love. 

I invite you to join me outside, right after this service, for a brief dedication of our flag facing Green Street.

May we be warriors, who serve the poorest of the poor.

May we be warriors, who stand in solidarity with all those 

who are bullied and taunted and treated as second-class citizens. 

May we be warriors, whose words and deeds prove that all people are God’s children, that we are indivisible, that we are one, 

So that some day our troubles will melt away like lemon drops, and our dreams of liberty and justice will come true.

Amen.

Flag Dedication

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

To our ongoing efforts to promote justice. On this very day, there are still countless religious individuals and institutions who openly express intolerance, practice exclusion, and condone violence toward our gay, lesbian, bi-sexual, and transgender brothers and sisters.

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

To our ongoing task of making clear, in word and deed, that we are different.

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

To declare that we are consciously affirming and actively supportive of people of all sexual orientations and gender presentation.

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

To our congregation’s ongoing commitment to help heal centuries of religious and social oppression and prejudice.

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

As a public expression of our efforts to make our church a sanctuary of spiritual growth and welcome.

In this spirit

WE DEDICATE THIS FLAG

What We Worship

"The worship of God is not a rule of safety - it is an adventure of the spirit, a flight after the unattainable."
-- Alfred North Whitehead

Meditation: by the Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. Jacob Trapp  “To Worship”  (SLT #441)

To worship is to stand in awe under a heaven of stars,

Before a flower, a leaf in sun light, or a grain of sand

To worship is to be silent, receptive, 

before a tree astir with the wind,

Or the passing shadow of a cloud.

To worship is to work with dedication and skill;

it is to pause from work and listen to a strain of music.

To worship is to sing with the singing beauty of the earth;

It is to listen through a storm to the still small voice within.

Worship is loneliness seeking communion;

it is a thirsty land crying out for rain.

Worship is the kindred fire within our hearts;

It moves through deeds of kindness and through acts of love.

Worship is the mystery within us reaching out to the mystery beyond.

It is the inarticulate silence yearning to speak;

It is the window of the moment open to the sky of the eternal.

Reading: by the Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. Joan Kahn-Schneider from an essay entitled “Worship: The Context for Preaching”

Effective worship has integrity, a theological, artistic integrity. In many ways this integrity reflects life, all life, all human needs and desires from birth to death: the need for community and for aloneness, for understanding our world and how we fit into that world; the need for sabbath – the time in which “we care for the seed of eternity planted in the soul.”

Worship, like life, is sometimes smooth and harmonious; sometimes discordant; sometimes predictable; sometimes surprising. Effective worship engages us. Effective worship nourishes us. It feeds our hunger for transcendence; satisfies our need to reach beyond the limitations of the here and now; quenches our thirst for the holy. Effective worship leaves us feeling more whole, more connected; effective worship has organic unity and coherence. Anything less is not worship.

Reading: by Annie Dillard from Teaching a Stone to Talk (p. 27)

I have been attending Catholic Mass for only a year. Before that, the handiest church was Congregational. Week after week I climbed the long steps to that little church, entered, and took a seat with some few of my neighbors. Week after week I was moved by the pitiableness of the bare linoleum-floored sacristy which no flowers could cheer or soften, by the terrible singing I so loved, by the fatigued Bible readings, the lagging emptiness and dilution of the liturgy, the horrifying vacuity of the sermon, and by the fog of dreary senselessness pervading the whole, which existed alongside, and probably caused, the wonder of the fact that we came; we returned; we showed up; week after week…

Recently I returned to that Congregational church for an ecumenical service. A Catholic priest and the minister served grape juice communion.

Both the priest and the minister were professionals, were old hands. They bungled with dignity and aplomb. Both were at ease and awed; both were half confident and controlled and half bewildered and whispering. I could hear them: “Where is it?” “Haven’t you got it?” “I thought you had it!”

The priest, new to me, was in his sixties. He was tall; he wore his weariness loosely, standing upright and controlling his breath. When he knelt at the altar, and when he rose from kneeling, his knees cracked. It was fine church music, this sound of his cracking knees.

Reading: by Jeffrey Skinner from The 6.5 Practices of Moderately Successful Poets: a Self-Help Memoir (p. 41)

The music of poetry is always there. But just out of reach. I like that notion; it seems exactly right. We look for ways to come closer to the sound, or ways to go to where the sound is clearer and louder, and sometimes we succeed. Some of us develop complex rituals or superstitions. Some of these work some of the time; none are failsafe. Many or most poets will say that they hardly ever think about inspiration or the muse, because it gets them nowhere, and they have to write regularly, with or without inspiration.

But there is always an element of either chance or grace involved in writing poetry; I don’t believe the muse is total fantasy. It is a matter, as in much of life, of finding what we can control and what we cannot. And then concentrating our efforts on what is within our control, and letting go of the rest. There are methods that may bring us to the liminal state, methods that have been tested and proven by poets past and present. But even in the liminal state we can’t be sure what we hear is the real deal, or some form of interesting nonsense. Listen, listen: you can move yourself closer to the angel, but you can’t make her sit down and whisper in your ear.

What We Worship

A Sermon Delivered on September 8, 2013

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

“Worship” is one of those words that gets tossed around easily in religious circles, as if we all knew what it meant, as if its meaning were self-evident. “Worship.” That’s what we’re doing right now. It says so on the back of our Sunday bulletin. This is a worship service. Of course. 

As a minister, I am very comfortable with the word “worship.” It rolls easily off my tongue. And most of the time I get by, invoking the idea of worship, or the value of worship, or the beauty of worship, without ever needing to explain what the heck I mean by worship.

What is it we are trying to do, when we gather for worship?

* * *

This year, we as a congregation developed and adopted a five-year strategic plan. The top goal we set for ourselves was to create a new staff position this year, and hire a Membership Coordinator.

But the second highest goal, the close second in terms of congregational support, had to do with worship. We said, we would like to support our current worship services and explore, experiment, and evaluate new and innovative worship services.

This invariably leads to the question: What is worship? 

* * *

Worship at its best, feeds our hunger for transcendence. It quenches our thirst for the holy. It leaves us feeling more whole, and more connected. Anything less is not worship, Joan Kahn-Schneider says.

Worship is loneliness seeking communion, like thirsty land crying out for rain. It is the mystery within us reaching out to the mystery beyond, says Jacob Trapp.

These words and imagines strike a chord for me. They point toward something I can vaguely sense, but not fully grasp. They point toward a profound experience, the way a finger at night points to the moon in the sky.

Worship points to something lofty and elusive. But, of course, there is a big difference between the finger and the moon. There is a big difference between the practicalities of worship, and the experience they try to evoke. The gap between our actions and aspirations is so striking, it’s almost comical.

I think Annie Dillard captures some of the comedy of congregational worship, when she describes the bumbling air of the minister and priest, who lose track of the symbolic holy wine during their joint communion service. 

I can’t help but be reminded of our own worship services, and times we have struggled with our own liturgy –  accidently skipping worship elements, losing track of what we were saying, or solemnly lighting the chalice only to watch it immediately go out, again and again.

Some would say, our worship efforts are especially comical, because we aren’t even agreed on what it is we are worshipping. Our Christian neighbors generally have a cross or crucifix prominently placed in the front of their churches, a clear sign that they are worshipping God, as incarnated in Jesus Christ. Our Muslim neighbors gather for worship facing Mecca, a clear reminder that they worship Allah, as revealed by his prophet, who was born and had his first revelation in Mecca. Our Jewish neighbors clearly worship the God of Israel, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, studying the stories passed down in the sacred Torah.

But among us there is no agreement which God we worship, or whether we worship God at all. There is no cross front and center in our sanctuary. And as our wall-hangings make clear, we embrace a wide variety of traditions and perspectives. 

What we should worship, and how we should worship, are questions that, in our tradition, have no single correct answer. Each of us has our own answers. And for each of us, these answers will change, as we ourselves are continually changing, learning, and growing.

An insight that yesterday seemed profoundly true and relevant, today may strike us as trivial. A poem that inspired us yesterday, today may sound trite. A story that moved us to tears yesterday, may leave us shaking our heads because it seems so corny today.

Part of the reason I come to church, week after week after week, is because I need something that nourishes my spirit today. I need something that rings true today. 

And so I go through the motions of worship. Lighting candles, listening to music, pondering the words of sages and saints, singing songs, and sitting in silence, all the while hoping to become transfixed, once again, by a sense of sacred truth.

* * *

For Joan Kahn-Schneider, worship at its best, touches on the spirit of Sabbath. Last week I preached about the Sabbath. I quoted a book by Wayne Muller by the same title. In it, he describes a distinct quality of experience found across religious traditions, when we are able to create a period of worship. He writes:

When the Mass begins in a cathedral, the space is transformed the instant the first prayer is offered. The space is not different, but the time has been transformed.

When monks enter an ashram or monastery and sit in silence, only when the bell is rung does the meditation begin. The space may be the same, but the time is consecrated by the mindfulness that arises in the striking of the bell…

Just so, during Sabbath for Jews, by keeping [a day of] sacred rest, [they] could maintain their spiritual ground wherever they were. (p. 9) 

  

The anthropologist Victor Turner uses the term “liminality” to describe the quality of experience we seek, when we create sacred time through ritual act. “Liminal” means a boundary or a threshold between two places, or two modes of being. Neither here nor there. The liminal it is a place of transition or transformation. It is on the cusp of what is and what could be. It is a place of possibility and creativity.

The poet Jeffrey Skinner, speaks of his efforts to enter a liminal state, in order to engage in his creative work. Our habits might involve sitting in a particular chair, with just the right writing implements, at the same carefully chosen time every day. We each come up with our own rituals and superstitions. They work some of the time, but not always. 

Worship, at its best, evokes a sense of wholeness and holiness, and reflects the real complexity of our lives: our hopes and fears, our weaknesses and our strengths. It seeks to engage us on several different levels, speaking to both mind and heart, touching both body and soul. Thus worship involves several dimensions: there are the aesthetics of our surroundings, the beauty of our meeting space, and the decorations carefully arranged every week; there are the symbols we use – the symbols on our wall hangings and chalice, and the flaming chalice itself; there is a period of centering and silence; there are inspirational words of prayer, poetry or contemplation; there is music, that moves and touches is in ways words cannot; and there is ritual, for instance when we ring a chime to open and close our services, or when we light candles for the people who are with us in spirit today.

There is an infinite variety of ways the elements of worship can be arranged and shaped and understood

* * *

Participating in worship, is like writing poetry. It is a creative act. But rather than transforming words, our goal is to allow ourselves to be transformed. When worship happens, the events of the world and of our lives are re-arranged, and seen in a new light that yields new insight and new meaning, and our lives are given new shape. 

Like the music of poetry, the spirit of worship is always there. But often just out of reach. It blows in the wind, and rises in the sea. We try to get closer to the spirit. We invoke it by name or by ritual act. But no matter how carefully we approach it, there is always an element of chance or grace involved. The spirit of worship is like a muse, or an angel. We can move closer to the angel, but we can’t make her sit down and whisper in our ear.

* * *

In the months ahead we hope to explore and experiment with new and innovative approaches to worship. We want to find new ways to control what we can, and increase the odds that we might experience moments of grace here.

We will each be asked to reflect on our own experiences of worship – whether in this church, or at other times and places of worship we have known. We will be invited to ponder what has worked well for us in the past, and imagine what might work for us in the future. We will think about worship that is feels familiar, and worship that seems different, and how we envision worship at its best.

Along these line, I think about times I have worshipped with thousands of UUs at General Assembly, when the words of the songs we sing are projected on giant screens, and jazz musicians carry and accompany the tunes.

I think of times I have worshipped with a few dozen colleagues, sitting a circle, relaxed and with eyes closed, being led in guided meditation.

I think of times here, when our worship included interpretive dance, or music played on clay flower pots, or children performing a play. 

I think of a UU church in Syracuse I attended, where in addition to the usual hymns and readings and sermon, the worship services included a period of open conversation. Toward the end of the service, they had what was called a “Talk Back” – a chance for listeners to respond to what they had just heard, perhaps disagreeing with the point of the sermon, perhaps adding additional insights, thus completing a picture of which a few pieces still seemed to be missing.

I don’t recall ever having had a “Talk Back” here. If I were ever to try it, I wouldn’t call it a “Talk Back,” because the term itself reminds me of a debate, where we argue over who is right and who is wrong. I would call it simply “Response”: a period set aside for you to offer a few words, an idea or insight that was triggered for you this morning, which you would like to share with all of us.

And actually that is just what I would like to try now. In the spirit of worship exploration and experimentation, I invite you to think about what worship means to you. Think about services you have experienced, in which worship happened. Think about moments when a spirit of worship was palpably present. I invite any of you so moved, to share a few words about what you know about worship at its best.

(Passing a handheld mic through the pews, four responses are heard.)

Whether spoken or unspoken – we all carry within us important insights into the meaning of worship. Our worship reflects our lives, and all life, all human needs from birth to death: our need for community and for aloneness, our need for understanding the world and how we fit into it.

May our worship inspire us with a spirit of creativity and courage,

May we dare to share of our lives, and be transformed,

So that we may find ever new ways to love and do good.

Amen.

The Seventh Day

"Better is one hand full of quietness
than two hands full of toil 
and chasing after wind."
-- Ecclesiastes 4:6

Meditation: by Wendell Berry from a collection of poems he wrote over an eight-year period. Each of the poems was written on a Sabbath day.

I go among trees and sit still.

All my stirring becomes quiet

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes

and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me,

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What I fear in it leaves it,

and the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,

mute in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. As we sing,

the day turns, the trees move.

Reading:  by Austin Considine from an article entitled “And on the Sabbath, the iPhones Shall Rest” (The New York Times, March 17, 2010)

The Fourth Commandment doesn’t specifically mention TweetDeck or Facebook. Observing the Sabbath 3,000 years ago was more about rest and going easy on one’s family — servants and oxen included.

But if Moses were redelivering his theophany today — the assembled crowd furiously tweeting his every sound bite — one imagines the frustrated prophet’s taking a moment to clarify what God meant, exactly, by a “day of rest.”

For starters, how about putting down the iPhone? Easier said than done in an age when careers rise and fall on the strength of one’s Twitter prowess. But that’s exactly what a group of Jewish tastemakers is trying to promote this weekend with its first annual National Day of Unplugging.

The experiment, which lasts from sundown Friday,… to sundown Saturday, is the brainchild of Reboot (rebooters.net), a nonprofit think tank of hip, media-savvy Jewish professionals, based in New York…, with staff members in Los Angeles and San Francisco. It was founded in 2003, and its members include television executives, Web developers, writers, filmmakers and C.E.O.’s: people for whom the act of “unplugging” could well be most difficult — and most needed.

Reading: by Barbara Brown Taylor from An Altar in the World (p. 128) 

Until about fifty years ago, Southern culture made Sabbath practice easier by not offering any alternatives. Movie theaters and municipal swimming pools were closed on Sundays. If you needed a cup of flour for the baking-soda biscuits you were making for Sunday dinner, then you were flat out of luck unless your neighbor had one to spare. When you got through eating lunch you threw a big white sheet over the dining room table to keep the flies off until supper, because no restaurants were open on Sundays. You did not even hear the whistle of freight trains in Georgia on Sundays, because it was illegal to haul goods on the Sabbath.

When Alexis de Tocqueville visited the United States in 1840, he wrote of the Christian Sabbath, “Not only have all ceased to work, but they appear to have ceased to exist.”

If he had come back in the 1960s, he would not have recognized the place. More than 90 percent of homes had television sets by then, and almost 40 percent of them were tuned to Sunday football. The gross domestic product had become the foremost indicator of the nation’s health and well-being. Entertainments and shops of every kind were open on Sundays, as the culture reneged on its “no compete” clause with the church. Merchants were no longer willing to stay closed to help the churches stay open. People of faith were free to keep the Sabbath if they wanted to, but not because there was nothing else to do. They would have to make their own choices from now on.

Reading: by Wendell Berry (from the Foreword of Living the Sabbath by Norman Wirzba, p. 11)

We are living at the climax of industrialization… The industrial era at climax… has imposed on us all its ideals of ceaseless pandemonium. The industrial economy, by definition, must never rest. Rest would deprive us of light, heat, food, water, and everything else we think we need. The economic impulse of industrial life… is limitless. Whatever we have, in any quantity, is not enough. Our bellies and our wallets must become oceanic, and still they will not be full. Six workdays in a week are not enough. We need a seventh. We need an eighth. In the industrial world, at climax, one family cannot or will not support itself by one job. We need a job for the day and a job for the night. Thank God for the moon! We cannot stop to eat. Thank God for cars! We dine as we drive over another paved farm. Everybody is weary, and there is no rest.

The Seventh Day

A Sermon Delivered on September 1, 2013

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

This is my iPhone. (show phone) As some of you know, and as I have explained in past sermons on the subject, I love my iPhone. But what you may not know is that I hate my iPhone.

I love its seductive beauty, and the power it gives me, wherever I am, whenever I choose, to make phone calls, or read my email, catch up on the latest news, browse Facebook and Twitter, or check the latest weather report, again, and again, and again.

And I hate the fact that it is almost irresistibly convenient, forever tempting me to dive into a world digital trivia and distractions. The presence of an iPhone in my pocket, rather than providing calming convenience, more often than not, creates a sense of restless anxiety.

As someone once put it, a smart phone or computer “fits with anxiety like a lock [and] a key.” Whenever you have an anxious moment in your life, or in your world, and you want a little hit, just check your email again, and again, and again.

* * *

The people who came up with the idea of a National Day of Unplugging were vividly aware of how in our wired world many of us have become slaves to the very devices that were supposed to make our lives easier. And so they crafted their very own “Sabbath Manifesto,” with ten principles that serve as reminders to somehow observe the Sabbath.

And – wouldn’t you know it – there is an app for that. Which I happen have right here on my phone. With this handy Sabbath Manifesto app, I can click on “Check Out” and automatically send messages to all my friends and contacts, to tell them that I am offline for the day. If I click on “Reminders” I can set up the app to send me a text message every Friday afternoon reminding me that the Sabbath is coming up. And if I click on “My Manifesto,” I can re-read the ten principles, or add my own. As the app tells me: “We created 10 core Principles open for your interpretation. If some of these Principles don’t align with your vision of what a day of rest should be here is a chance to build your own Sabbath Manifesto to share with friends and family.”

The original ten principles of the Sabbath Manifesto are very straightforward:

1. Avoid technology – check out. 

2. Connect with loved ones. 

3. Nurture your health. 

4. Get outside. 

5. Avoid commerce. 

6. Light candles. 

7. Drink wine. 

8. Eat bread. 

9. Find silence. 

10. Give back.

Very straightforward, but not easy. Entering a time of rest is tricky. It isn’t only that we have learned to maintain a constant level of activity, and have cultivated anxious habits of distraction with computers and smartphones, shopping sprees and endless entertainment opportunities. It isn’t only that we have now reached the climax of industrialization, and seem trapped in an industrial economy that tolerates no rest. Getting rest is difficult. And has been for quite a while. 

Back in 1919 a disciple of Sigmund Freud named Sandor Ferenci identified a mental disorder he called “Sunday neurosis.” Every Sunday – or, in the case of Jewish patients, every Saturday – the Sunday neurotic developed a headache or stomachache or a bout of depression. After ruling out various physiological causes, Ferenci figured out what was bothering his patients. They were suffering from the Sabbath.

As Ferenci saw it, “the Sunday neurotic, rather than enjoying his respite, became distraught; he feared that impulses repressed only with great effort during the work week might be unleashed. He induced pain or mental anguish to pre-empt the feeling of being out of control.” (“Bring Back the Sabbath,” by Judith Shulevitz, The New York Times, March 2, 2003)

The New York author Judith Shulevitz studied Ferenci’s research and came to the conclusion that what he saw a century ago among citizen of the bustling Vienna metropolis comes very close to what today we call “workaholism”: an addiction to activity and perpetual productivity. And even if those afflicted with the compulsion are able to resist the urge to work, they are immediately overcome by withdrawal symptoms – anything from anxiety attacks to overwhelming feelings of guilt or inadequacy. 

To Shulevitz, the Sunday neurosis sounded very familiar. She writes, “About a decade ago I developed a full-blown weekend disorder of my own. Perhaps because I am Jewish, it came on Friday nights. My mood would darken until, by Saturday afternoon, I'd be unresponsive and morose.” Her struggle with this weekly depression finally led her to explore Jewish practices surrounding the Sabbath. 

In my experience the dynamic Shulevitz and Ferenci describe is not evidence of a pathological neurosis, or a psychological disorder. I think it is a very common experience.

The Christian author Barbara Brown Taylor writes: 

“Anyone who practices Sabbath for even an afternoon usually suffers a little spell of Sabbath sickness. Try it and you too may be amazed by how quickly your welcome rest begins to feel like something closer to a bad cold. Okay, that was nice. Okay, you are ready to get back to work now. Yes, you know you said you wanted this, but now… you are beginning to feel sluggish. What if your energy level drops and never comes back up again? What if you get used to this and want never to go back to work? Plus, how will you ever catch up after taking a whole day off? Just thinking about it makes you tired.” (p. 136)

One consequence of withdrawing from the demands of the world around us, and seeking a time of rest, is that we may suddenly notice demands of the world within us. Before long, things within us will flare up. 

Most of us move fast enough during the week to outrun these things, Taylor writes, 

“but if you slow down for a day, then all kind of alarming things can happen. You can start crying without having the slightest idea why. You can start remembering what you loved about people who died before you were ten, along with things you did when you were eighteen that still send involuntary shivers up your back. You can make a list of the times you almost died in your life, along with reasons you are most glad to be alive.” (p. 137)

* * *

Rest is a crucial aspect of our psychological and spiritual wellbeing. But the commandment to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy, is really about much more than simply getting some rest. 

On Friday evenings, when the first three stars become visible in the darkening sky, the Shabbat service begins with the lighting of two candles. The two candles are reminders of the two Sabbath commandments in the Torah – each of which call the faithful to be more like God.

The first, and more familiar commandment is based on a passage in the Book of Genesis. In six days God created heaven and earth, and all living things of the earth and sea. And on the seventh day God rested. God blessed the seventh day, and made it holy. (This is the first time “the holy” is mentioned in the Bible. Everything created throughout the first six days was “good.” But the Sabbath was “holy.”) When we light the first Sabbath candle, we remember that we are part of God’s creation. And in taking a day to rest, we are doing as God did. We are like God, made in God’s image, the scriptures say. We are created. And we are also creators.

The second commandment is found in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 5, verse 12. You should work for six days and rest on the seventh, it says. But this time the commandment isn’t based on the story of Genesis, but of Exodus. On the Sabbath, you shall not work, and neither shall your sons or daughters, and neither shall your beasts of burden, and neither shall any of your slaves. The Sabbath should serve as a reminder that you yourself were once a slave in the land of Egypt. And that God set you free. 

The Sabbath serves as a reminder of this ancient story, in which God liberated us from Egypt’s economy of exploitation. A story that offers hope that we need not remain enslaved in the economy of industrialization today. We can be free.

Wayne Muller writes, 

“Sabbath time can be a revolutionary challenge to the violence of overwork, mindless accumulation, and the endless multiplication of desires, responsibilities, and accomplishments. Sabbath is a way of being in time where we remember who we are, remember what we know, and taste the gifts of spirit and eternity.

Like a path through the forest, Sabbath creates a marker for ourselves so, if we are lost, we can find our way back to our center. “Remember the Sabbath” means “Remember that everything you have received is a blessing. Remember to delight in your life, in the fruits of your labor. Remember to stop and offer thanks for the wonder of it.” Remember, as if we would forget.” And we do forget. (from Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, p. 6)

As Barbara Brown Taylor puts it: 

“By interrupting our economically sanctioned social order every week, Sabbath practice suspends our subtle and not so subtle ways of dominating one another on a regular basis. Because our work is so often how we both rank and rule over one another, resting from it gives us a rest from our own pecking order as well. When the Wal-Mart cashier and the bank president are both lying on picnic blankets at the park, it is hard to tell them apart. When two sets of grandparents are at the lake with their grandchildren feeding the ducks, it is hard to tell the rich ones from the poor ones. (p. 131)

Sabbath is the great equalizer, the great reminder that everything we do on this planet affects all who are woven into this web of life with us. According to the Book of Leviticus, Sabbath is not only about getting rest, but also about freeing slaves, forgiving debts, restoring property, and even giving the land itself every seventh year off.

When we look more deeply, we realize the goal of the Sabbath is not really rest. Getting rest is simply a doorway we must pass through, in order to experience the true meaning and message of the Sabbath. Certain insights are only accessible to us, once we are willing and able to come to rest. Only when we are willing and able to resist the compulsion of perpetual action, only then will a whole new world of possibilities reveal itself.

I find this sense of the Sabbath conveyed perfectly in the words of the Tao to Ching, when the author asks us:

Do you have the patience to wait

Till your mud settles and the water is clear?

Can you remain unmoving

Till the right action arises by itself?

The Sabbath isn’t really about rest. It is about remembering that we are not the center of the universe. The world doesn’t depend on our frantic activity. The earth could turn just fine without us. 

We are not the masters of creation. We are a part of it. We are created, and we are creators. We are collaborators in creation. Like God, we have the power to transform ourselves, and, in some small way, transform the world.

The Sabbath seeks to remind us of who we truly are. We are not merely producers and consumers, employers and employees, masters and slaves. We are all simply people. We are brothers and sisters, all of us children of God – each of us a recipient of the gift of life, and countless blessings we too easily forget. And it is up to us to create a world in which every person is free, and life’s abundant blessings are equally shared by all.

The fourth commandment tells us to remember the Sabbath. It is holy. And we are called to keep it holy. Neither church nor state can force us to observe the Sabbath. We are free to keep the Sabbath – or not. We make our own choices.

Some hip professionals in New York and California are choosing to unplug. They offer us ten principles, which we can practice. And they encourage us to come up with principles of our own.  

Wendell Berry chooses to walk in the woods, to go among the trees and sit still. There he faces his fears and remains quiet. Until fear itself is transformed into song. And in the quiet, he can hear its song. And he sings along.

What will you choose?

As we choose, may we have the wisdom to remember the Sabbath

May we have the patience to let our restlessness leave us

That in the stillness we might hear a new song, 

a song that speaks of a better world – a world of love and justice – 

which we are called to create.

Amen.