But after the events of the last six weeks, an hour is not going to accomplish all that is needed. The world has been a stunningly demanding place, as of late. I don't think I'm the only one who would greatly benefit from a whole extra day inserted into this weekend. This day would need to be completely free of ordinary or irritating chores, (i.e. paying bills, doing laundry, going grocery shopping, etc.) We need a genuine Sabbath; a day of rest and renewal. A day dedicated to:

* Sleep. At the very least naps. For all of us who have had some sleep disturbance connected to the images of war and murder and biological terrorism, it seems to me that a day ought to be set aside for the impromptu snooze, the unapologetic "No, I'm sorry, he can't come to the phone or attend that meeting; he is asleep…" How sweet to fall asleep on the sofa, while watching an old and comforting movie.

* Leaf Peeping. Especially in New England, this is the week to catch the leaves at their most brilliant. Extreme beauty has a way of restoring our vision and clearing our minds. A drive out into the countryside, or even a walk through your neighborhood, can bathe you in golden light, with enough red and pink and yellow and green to lift your spirits.

* Reading. How can you, or I or anyone else, develop a decent foreign policy and a thoughtful domestic strategy, if we can't read what's being written in the press, or absorb what is available on the Web? So much is now being debated and researched and discussed, that some Unitarian Universalists are falling behind! (I won't mention names.) Those of us who love information and analysis and who have strong opinions about how the world ought to be organized, need more time to read! And that's just for studying current events.

There is a whole other category of essential reading, which has been euphemistically called, "recreational reading." But those of us who love fiction, and mysteries, and "light-weight magazines" understand that such reading is an important part of good mental health. A mind needs somewhere to go that seems safe, and fun and wholly diversionary. The "good life" has to include a place where the imagination is engaged and nourished.

* Companionship. Who gets to spend enough time with friends? Are you able to "break bread" often enough with the family and the friends who feed your soul? An extra day would allow us to have at least one meal with some of the people who help us to laugh and to remember what counts. A good dinner with close friends can be as restorative as a small vacation.

* Meditation and Prayer. Most of us will acknowledge that we need to make more time to center, to ask God for help, to focus on the sources of our courage. We claim that our busy schedules don't allow us the luxury of a spiritual discipline. An extra day would open us some space for the first commandment, "to love God with all your heart and soul and mind."

* Volunteering. We keep saying we want to help. But when we are actually able to "love our neighbor," to "offer service to the stranger," we receive a kind of satisfaction that cannot be found anywhere else.

Of course, not even an "extra day fantasy" can hold all the Sabbath that is needed. Already, my fantasy day is overcrowded with naps, autumn strolls, reading, dinner parties, meditation, and good works. I guess I'll have to find a way to fit these life-giving activities into the ordinary days ahead. Maybe, even a little every day. Possibly, even today.

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2001

Remember that old TV commercial in which the announcer urgently asked, as though it was one of the great philosophical conundrums of the modern age: "CERTS! Is It a Breath Mint? Or a Candy Mint?" Fortunately before the family could choose sides and start throwing popcorn at each other, they would let us know that CERTS is, in fact, both. Whew! What a relief!

It is also a relief to remember both the Left and the Right bring invaluable insights to the shaping of our response to this new situation.

The Insights of the Right: The Right reminds us that it is the first duty of the government to protect us from our enemies, both foreign and domestic, to ensure the peace and safety of the people, and to maintain the rule of law and civil order. The Right questions if there is ever a justification for violations of the law, and attacks on the safety of the people. It brings a laser like focus on a single question: what must be done to prevent this from ever happening again and includes among the steps that must be done, the finding and punishing of those who did it. The Right believes that punishment is a deterrent. The Right reminds us that the government must have at hand the tools and powers it needs to do this job. The Right also understands that a sense of national solidarity and patriotism is among the strengths of the people and the nation. 

The clarity that the Right brings to this situation is its laser like focus, and its willingness to subordinate all other concerns to the resolution of this problem. 

The Insights of the Left: The wisdom of the Left lies not in its laser-like focus, but in its appreciation for the complexity of every situation. It reminds us that history is an ongoing process in which all elements are acting and reacting to each other. It wants us to understand all the events that have led up to the present moment, and all the possible consequences of each of our possible reactions. It reminds us that the world is a vast and diverse place, and that all of the actors in the present drama have their own understandings of right, wrong, justice and injustice. The Left reminds us that most of the world’s people are not actors in these political and historical dramas, but simple, ordinary, and innocent people trying to survive in a hostile world. The Left urges us to develop our sense of loyalty and solidarity with people the world over and to not indulge a childlike sense that no one anywhere could ever have a good reason to be angry at the United States.

The Left is particularly frustrated these days; I sense that it feels that its insights and understandings are not heeded, nor appreciated, by governmental leaders, or by their fellow citizens.

But the liberals, the pacifists, the peace activists, and the internationalists should take heart. Two of their biggest fears have not materialized. There has been no spasm of blind violent rage in the form of massive and indiscriminate bombing of Afghanistan, at least not to date. And while there have been far too many incidents of bias and hate crimes against Arab or Muslim people, community leaders everywhere, from the President on down, have done whatever they could to protect innocent people from misdirected rage and bigotry. Mosques and Islamic centers are also reporting receiving an unprecedented wave of gestures of solidarity and concern. Much of this is due to the good works of the Left over the years. 

While policy seems to have a mostly rightward cast right now, it is clear that the concerns of the Left are having an influence on it. And every citizen would be wise to heed the Left’s advice to seek new and more self-aware understandings of all the issues at work in the present moment. 

CERTS is both a breath mint and a candy mint. Food can both taste good and be good for you. Either/Or choices usually come down to Both/And. The Right and the Left bring "gifts of different measure." Have we hearts large enough to accept both?

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2001

Even before the Taliban, in fundamentalist Islamic culture, westerners have been understood as a profound threat. Women are kept invisible. The very idea of women with faces, women being educated, women travelling alone, women being independent is deeply disturbing to their world view. They also feel violated by the ideas of democracy, freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and an open society.

It should not have come as such a surprise that many of these radical fundamentalist extremists want us dead. They want western civilization destroyed. And the terrorists' September 11th strike on our shores was a devastating blow.
 In a recent statement, bin Laden encouraged his terrorist armies with the observation that the United States is a surprisingly "weak and vulnerable target" for their assaults.

I can only surmise that what he meant was that we are a remarkably trusting and open and unguarded society. Bin Laden's idea of a well-fortified, secure country is one with a totalitarian government, with high walls (and all women hidden behind those walls). There would be soldiers everywhere with assault rifles. No one would step out of line, because there would be a swift and brutal response. The extremists put their hopes in an environment of massive external force and rigid controls, where life and death powers would be exercised by only a few. Bin Laden and his ilk, see a democracy such as ours, as weak and chaotic, as militarily and morally vulnerable. He honestly believes he can bring down western civilization, and he has every intention of doing so.

We, the American people, have woken up to a world where we have real enemies, who not only intend to do us great harm, but who did so September 11th. They have vowed that they will do it again.

In a certain sense, you're not paying attention (you're not even lucid), if you aren't afraid of this threat. On the other hand, fear can cripple us, paralyze us, and weaken us worse than any terrorist attack.

Fear is an adaptive, biological response to threat. "Flight" is sometimes the very best instinct when it comes to real danger. Many more people would have been killed in New York, if they had not run away from the World Trade Towers.

But you can't run away from your home; your city: your country. The fact is we are vulnerable when we fly, and when we trust that our air, water, and food have not been poisoned. We do have a disciplined and wealthy enemy who has promised that they will do everything they can to hurt us. So what is the appropriate response? What is a normal response? What is a spiritually healing response?

In the last few weeks, I've been troubled by a number of distressing reactions that I believe are ultimately ineffectual or self-destructive. They have included: (1) Blaming the victim (if America had a better foreign policy, this wouldn't have happened); (2) The Political Cure: From both the far right and the far left, I hear that if we could only get on exactly the right policy track (either massive military force or pacifism), the bad guys would go away; and, (3) The Quietist/Escapist Response: Do nothing. Shut down. Hide. Be very quiet. Maybe it will all blow over and we can return to our routines.
 The one not very fruitful option that keeps distracting me is when I find myself volunteering to both keep up with terrible, dangerous rumors (on the radio, tv, and newspapers) and to think of myself as a self-appointed national policy advisor. Sometimes I think it is in my Unitarian genes, to believe that with enough information and thoughtful reflection, any problem can be solved. (If only I could find someone to take my advice…)

May I suggest a few other ways to live with the uncertainty and perceived danger in the immediate future? Of course, each of us will need to find our own way to breathe deeply. We need to inhabit the vulnerability of our lives (even before September 11th). But if you're feeling a little shaky, like most of the U.S. population, consider taking the following steps:

1. The Nature Cure: As the poet Wendell Berry wrote, "When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things…for a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."

1. The Service Cure: Do whatever you can to make the world a more hospitable and welcoming place. The opportunities for service are everywhere and all the time. Express your gratitude to others. Do what you can do to repair the relationships in your life. Use your gifts to repair a broken world.

1. The Celebration/Community Cure: Go out to dinner with friends. Come to Church. Attend weddings and go on picnics and gather at family reunions. Fear cannot coexist with laughter and meaningful engagement with others, and the joy that arises from good company.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

The first was the Oxford Dictionary of Allusions, a handy volume for decoding the meaning of a comparison to Uriah Heep (obsequiousness and false humility) or a reference to Loki (the Scandinavian God of mischief.) I thought, "What a useful book!" The thought did cross my mind that with it, I could seem much more educated, making learned allusions to classic literature, without actually having to read it. 

You see, I don’t enough time for classic literature, because I watch too much TV. So, I was also interested in the second book, "The Gospel of The Simpsons" by Mark I. Pinsky, a Conservative Jew who writes for Christianity Today. Now, if you knew who created Uriah Heep, and where Loki ruled, but draw a blank on "the Simpsons," you may want to turn the page now. I even give you permission to mutter something about the shocking decline in standards for seminary education. 

The Simpsons are, of course, the cartoon family who are the protagonists of the longest running prime time television show, shown on the Fox network on Sunday nights, and seemingly at all times on some station or another in syndication. They are not listed in the Oxford Dictionary of Allusions, but I would wager that many more people could name an essential character trait of Homer Simpson than of Uriah Heep. 

The Simpsons show satirizes everything in our culture with the freedom of an animated cartoon. Every episode is filled with dozens of visual jokes and sight gags. Marge Simpson, the mother, is shown reading a magazine entitled, "Better Homes than Yours." It is one of the few TV shows where characters themselves actually watch TV. And it is one of the few TV shows in which the characters go to church and have religious lives. 

According to Mark Pinsky, the series accurately satirizes the religious life of our culture. Unitarians have long chuckled over its many Unitarian jokes, but those are a part of a larger picture of American religion. 

Homer and Bart Simpson, every man and his son, are the main characters. To them, the goal in life is to do whatever you want while avoiding God, who is out to punish you. If you get into big trouble, it might make sense to pray for help, but it usually doesn’t work. When asked his religion by his children, Homer replies, "You know, the one with all the good ideas that don’t actually work out in practice: Christianity." 

And why should Homer and Bart have a positive view of religion? The series shows in full detail how they could believe that religion is boring, impractical and irrelevant.

The family goes to the First Church of Springfield, where Homer snoozes and Bart squirms while the unctuous Rev. Lovejoy preaches dully on one of the more blood thirsty verses of scripture. Outside the sign reads, "Where God Gets Together with His Victims." 

Another side of religion is shown by Homer’s neighbor, Ned Flanders, a cheerfully faithful evangelical Protestant. Ned is goofy and a little out of touch. For example, the only video game that Ned’s children are allowed to play is Billy Graham’s Bible Verse Blaster. The aim of the game, to convert the heathen, is converted by hitting them with bible verses; a glancing blow turns them just to Unitarians. His family goes to church camp where they "can learn to be more judgmental." But Ned is not a hypocrite, and loving your neighbor is difficult when he is Homer Simpson.

Rounding out the religious picture is daughter Lisa, not yet 10 years old, but already an environmentalist, a vegetarian, a free-thinking skeptic, a highly-principled do-gooder for whom the world is a constant disappointment, and who mostly gets on other people’s nerves. 

Are these our religious choices? Boring traditionalism, or an otherworldly but aggressive, evangelism, or grim social reformism? Satire shows us our foibles, but rarely proposes new ways of being. 

Behind all the jokes and gags, the Simpson’s show implies a deep religious hunger, a hunger for an engaged and authentic life of faith in which good ideas are practiced. Such hunger, of course, cannot be satisfied by watching TV, even though Homer calls it his "teacher, mother and secret lover." Such a hunger cannot even be satisfied by good books filled with allusions to better literature. But attention must be paid to those longings so deep that they are silently affirmed in even the most irreverent popular satire. To surface those longings, to name them, to bring them out of the silence, these are the first steps of the greater journey.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

I chose Paris, and went to fulfill my fantasy of living in a garret, and being a freelance writer. The garret was in the oldest section of Paris, the Marais, where all my friends lived. My apartment was located in a tiny hotel, the Hotel Des Celestins, on Rue Des Lions. It was a fourth floor, walk-up attic room, with a sink, a hot plate, and a bathroom down the stairs. (If my memory serves me, it cost around $200 a month.)

From the window, I could look out over the rooftops of Paris. When I got up in the wee hours of the morning to meditate, the nightclub across the street was just closing its door. I could sit in complete silence.

It was a family-owned and operated hotel. They were friendly to the "divinity student" who lived in their attic. Another young woman also lived at the hotel. One day I met her in the hallway with a man she introduced as her "uncle." Another day, she introduced another man as a "cousin." It took only a few of these encounters before I realized that some of the hotel rooms were rented by the hour, and that this particular young woman was what we called, back then, "a working girl." Even if the hotel was a bit run down (having been built in the 1400's), it fit both my budget and my Bohemian self-image.

The neighborhood itself was a wonderful mixture of blue collar, working class Parisians, and wealthy apartment dwellers. I think we had the best bakery in the city on Rue St. Paul, where the dough was never frozen, and the fresh baguettes in the morning were the happiest way to start any day. In that neighborhood, people developed a close and important relationship with each shop owner.

I returned to the Marais twenty-five years later. And the neighborhood had profoundly changed. I was broken-hearted. The bakery had closed and had been replaced by an expensive antique shop. All the run-down sections had been gentrified. Working people could no longer afford to live in the area. But the Hotel des Celestins was still there! I approached with hope that the family was still operating the twelve-room hotel. But "quelle horreur!" It had been transformed into an exclusive, and very costly, Inn. The least expensive room was $250 a night! Who knows what they were charging for the attic (now apparently…the penthouse).

It was Heraclitus, in ancient times (approximately 500 B.C.E.), who sounded the warning that "you cannot step twice into the same river…for other waters are continually flowing in."

This was true of a small hotel in the Marais. It is also true of our religious community. Each Sunday I do an intuitive, informal roll call. I am constantly amazed and delighted by who shows up. I almost always wonder about the many who are absent. Mostly, I am aware of what a unique difference each individual worshipper makes to a religious service.

It's not the way you sing the hymns, or the seat you sit in. I believe it has more to do with your laughter, your smile, your tears, your prayers, your particular longing for wholeness and peace. It is the way you greet a friend and the way you greet a stranger. Because so much of what we communicate is non-verbal, I suspect that we don't truly appreciate the power of our presence.

Members of the parish, who have returned to the church after a long absence, often remark to me how much the church has changed; how different the worship feels to them. Seeing that we are using exactly the same liturgy, and the same minister is up front preaching (pretty much, various versions of the same sermon), and the hymns haven't changed, and the choir is singing mostly the timeless classics, it's fairly obvious to me what the visitor is observing. The entire tone and feel of the service is determined by who is in attendance. As the congregation is fed by the spiritual lives of new and active members, we look and feel like a whole new place. Every week. As the attendance changes, so does the church.

It is always my hope that when you attend Sunday Services, that you come away feeling spiritually nourished and more ready to meet the challenges of your life. But please be aware; you are also a blessing to your fellow worshippers. You help the rest of us.
©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

My favorite moment in the evening was after all of the statements had been read. There was a real diversity of religious beliefs expressed. We went to the dining room for dessert. And all the kids, who had such different ways of describing the world, God, and what they found trustworthy, all sat together laughing, sharing friendship and fellowship! Unitarian Universalism works! People who disagree theologically, can be an enormous blessing to one another.

The full statements will be published, with names, by the Religious Education Committee. But I wanted the larger congregation to have a sampling. Here are a few lines I have taken from much larger statements. May they bless you on your journey.

• "We come to worship, that is true, but it is just as important to recognize that we come together because of a need for community. All human beings are united by some divine power. It is foolish for anyone to believe that they could survive without others. We all need help. We all have something powerful to share; kindness. God is the binding force between all human beings; the glue that holds us together. God is a presence in this world as a whole and a presence that is deep within us…We are all united. Not just the members of our church, nor Unitarian Universalists, but all of humankind."
• "I find comfort in that which I can observe with my senses, but at the same time would be disappointed if that was all there was. I hold out hope in the unknown, that something greater is a controlling force in my life and in the events that occur in this world in which I live. So I still consider myself an agnostic, I can not be sure that there is a God, but I have a sneaking suspicion that there is a guiding force somewhere helping me get through."
• "I have been able to receive a sense of well-being and hope from those people who have trust in me…With my family and friends supporting me, who can listen to me and have faith in me, I have come to realize that maybe the divine, or what is holy, can be found in all of us…There has to be some consequence to the way you live your life. My belief is based on the thought that when people die, they may come back into the world for a second chance to be better people—to make their journeys into legends."
• "I believe in diversity. Part of what makes for a healthy environment for spiritual growth is the absence of sameness. This way, people are able to extract bits and pieces of whole or fractured beliefs to develop their own. I believe in support. Here, you will not be ridiculed for who you are or what you believe. The entirety of this church is behind each individual. This church promotes individuality and celebrates in one another's talents, and helps everyone to find themselves. I believe in the never-ending pursuit of spirituality. The journey is never over. I believe, or at least I want to believe, that there is a God. A little tiny spark of overwhelming, unconditional love, acceptance and truth within each person. God is not only within, but also without. Surrounding as encompassing, a safety net.
• "I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Of all of the Unitarian Universalist principles… this one is the most important. To me, it doesn't matter if a person is black or white, Catholic or Muslim, gay or straight—these factors do no measure a person's worth or dignity…I have made it a personal obligation to be more understanding and sympathetic to others.
• "Church, for me, is a place where I am unconditionally accepted; no matter what it is I put my faith in, and encouraged when I find things to be not quite as faithful as I had hoped…I have grown up within the walls of this church. I was christened here, I am now being affirmed here, and I hope someday to be married within this same building. Although it is not the building that inspires my emotions, it is the building that gives me comfort, security, and strength. It is with the people that the real connection has occurred. I have made longtime friends, permanent mentors, and many acquaintances. Seeing these faces gives me confidence, reassurance, acceptance, and warmth…I come to church to enhance my mind, to heal my feelings, and to rejuvenate my soul…I have faith in the ordinary and I have hope for the truly amazing."

"I have learned that one's beliefs flow through life…The knowledge that my beliefs can and will change over my lifetime has comforted me and given me the strength to voice my beliefs, disclaimer free. At this point in my life, as a 17 year old successful, privileged student with good friends, a family which she deeply cherishes, and a bright future, I believe that I am an atheist. I feel too in control of my world and too content with it to believe that there is a force greater than myself behind my happiness…Perhaps those of an older generation will think me foolish and juvenile to say this. They will say that Life plays tricks on you, and just when you think you're getting what you want, something will happen to take it out of your reach. But those moments are precisely what I meant when I said that life experiences alter one's beliefs. I'll worry about those times when they come, and if it means believing in a stronger power, then so be it, I'm open to change." 
• "I have always been unsure of the existence of a greater power, and yet innumerable times I have directed my wishes and prayers to this very thing I am unsure of. I know that I want to believe in God, and I think that I do. When I think of the creation of the universe, and when I see so much evil in the world and how good seems to prevail in spite of it, I find it hard to believe that a greater power does not exist, and comforting to think that there is something looking out for us. I think it's worthwhile to assume that God exists. For when we pray to God, we thank the divine for our gifts, and send our sympathies to those in trouble…Maybe God is an old man with a beard; maybe it's an essence, an aura that surrounds the universe and is in each and every living thing, I don't know."
• "Even though I have grown up a Unitarian, it is not unusual that I still don't know what to tell my friends when they ask about Unitarian Universalism...I believe God has many forms. Sometimes I feel he is the spirit of all living things. Other times I see him as an old man sitting on a cloud. Therefore, to me, God is anything I need him to be at that time in my life. He is someone to pray to or a spirit all around me…I have faith in my family. I associate them to religion because they are sacred to me and I believe religion is anything sacred. My family is always there for me and I know they always will be. No matter what I do or what I look like, they will be there as a shoulder to cry on, someone to celebrate with, or someone to lend a helping hand. I also have faith that tomorrow will be better than today. The sun will rise and things will continue to grow and change.
• I believe that if you can accept who you are, and what your strengths and weaknesses are, then you can accomplish anything. I try to appreciate all that I have in my life, such as the unconditional love of my friends and family. To me, it is very important to learn to live with and love yourself…another belief that I hold close to me is that you should try to find the joy in every minute. Although at times life is very serious and stressful, I try to be positive no matter what."
• "Sometimes, I think a divine spirit exists in nature, 

and is behind all natural existences. The universe and planet Earth are inspirations of the holy thing. Things that are holy to me are elements of nature, and all existences for which mankind is not responsible. It is an inexplicable miracle how millions of species and a fertile planet arose from a single bang and an infinite amount of disorganized molecules…When I think about existence analytically, I think of a totally natural, scientific process with no overseeing creator or being….I speculate on the purpose of life. I believe it is something different for every person. I haven't figured out the purpose of my life yet. It might be to figure out as much as I can about the answer to this question. I also think that helping others to enjoy their lives is a major goal of living."

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

Hear! Hear! That sounds like a good idea, (and I have heard that under the twin suns of the planet Zoomar, there are actual employees who rest from their labors while on vacation).

Here on Earth (or at least among the leafy suburbs of New England), vacation is that time when highly educated and
technologically savvy professionals leave all their labor-saving devices and aids to personal productivity at the office, so they can work like 16th century peasants on the landed estates of the upper classes, (otherwise known as their own homes). 

I have many projects planned and already afoot. My house is surrounded by the piled up rubble of a stockade fence I have already torn down. There is a large patch of blacktop in my miniscule backyard, which I will remove and have hauled away.And then I shall transform my little plot of God's green earth into a charming cottage garden, like something one would see in the Cotswalds. I also plan to paint some of the larger rooms of the house. Now mind you, I don't know how to do any of these things, nor do I have the proper tools. In fact, I have only the vaguest notion of where the Cotswalds actually are, or why they are so named.

But I am absolutely sure that the whole experience will be refreshing to my soul and restful in ways I cannot yet imagine. Just like I am absolutely sure that I will make many new friends who wear orange vests and work at Home Depot.

I do plan to escape my labors for a few things. On Thursday, May 17th, I will be at the Worcester Interfaith meeting at Trinity Lutheran Church. Worcester Interfaith, after a process of neighborhood meetings, has put together an agenda of five items for the city to consider, including branch libraries, after-school recreation programs, and improved sidewalks. I plan to be there to rally in support of these worthwhile goals and urge our elected officials to implement them.

I also plan to make it to the final dinner event for the Affirmation program that some of our high school youth have been working on all year. I had a chance to spend time with them twice this year. One was a lunch discussion of Unitarian and Universalist history, including some of the history of this parish. The other was lunch discussion of worship and liturgy. (They were relieved to hear that not all of the adults were 100% attentive throughout the worship service either. Worship, after all, is supposed to be suggestive, to be evocative, and to make you think.) At a time in life when many young people lose interest in the religions of their families, the Affirmation class was digging deeper with interest and enthusiasm. Of course, I will come out to honor them at the end of their efforts.

The real problem is that our senior minister, the Rev. Dr. Merritt, has forbidden me to come into the office while on vacation. I had been hoping to sneak over and spend a day or two, curled up with a good book in my office, a quiet and peaceful environment far from the reproach of unfinished tasks and deferred domestic dreams. I guess I will have to go to the library instead.

©Thomas Schade, 2001

 The story of our wedding gets funnier to us as the years go by. Certainly, people have spent much more on their wedding, and been married for a much shorter time. I calculate that our wedding costs per day of marriage is around five cents. By way of contrast, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston will need to be married nearly 55,000 years before their wedding cost per day of marriage drops down to a nickel. Nobody stays that cute for that long.

 I hope that these twenty five years have been good for Sue, because they have been very affirming to me. One of the most hurtful criticisms my mother ever made of me as a child was that while I seemed to care about people and causes all around the world, I did not seem to care about the people right around me. And she warned me that such selfishness would make living with me unpleasant, and that I would be lonely as a result. Life with Sue and my daughters finally convinced me that perhaps my mother had overstated her case back then, for her own reasons. I recommend to all, by the way, that you compare the reality of your life with your parents' most dire predictions of your fate. In most cases, you will see that you have done better than they feared. That knowledge should be good for the self-esteem.

 One of the great joys of a longer-term marriage is that so many people support you with advice, congratulations, and good wishes. People are pulling for you to make it. Oh, there are always some people who remind you that some marriages end in painful divorce at 30 or 35 years, but even they are just trying to be helpful. 

 This public support is a great privilege. It is a great injustice that gays and lesbians aren’t offered this same support and good wishes for their 
long-term relationships. This came home to me powerfully the first time I went to the First Unitarian Church of Dallas, Texas. The flowers in the chancel that Sunday were in honor of the 49-year partnership of two men in the congregation, both then in their seventies. How humiliating and isolating it must be when the most important relationship in your life is rarely acknowledged, affirmed or celebrated by others! 

 Our national discussion about gay marriage is far from over, and of course, many people have many different opinions. There are important legal and policy issues at stake. Speaking for myself, I have become aware of how much joy the memory of our inexpensive and low key wedding brings me, even with the leisure suit and earth shoes and all. I have become aware of how much we have been helped in our marriage by the continuing public celebration of our union. It seems like simple justice that this joy be extended to every couple who is willing to take the pledge to love forever.

©Thomas Schade, 2001

But then we feel a soft, warm breeze, and we smell the sweetness of a lily, and we see that the world seems to be suddenly filled with light. Poetry recognizes the reality of death and rocks, but it reminds us that there is always something more.

From the poet, Wendell Berry…

          Great deathly powers have passed:
          The black and bitter cold, the wind
          That broke and felled strong trees, the rind
          Of ice that held at last
          Even the fleshly heart
          In cold that made it seem a stone.
          And now there comes again the one
          First Sabbath light, the Art
          That unruled, uninvoked,
          Unknown, makes new again and heals,
          Restores heart's flesh so that it feels
          Anew the old deadlocked
          Goodness of its true home
          That it will lose again and mourn,
          Remembering the year reborn
          In almost perfect bloom
          In almost shadeless wood,
          Sweet air that neither burned nor chilled
          In which the tenderest flowers prevailed,
          The light made flesh and blood.

From a poet, who is a member of this parish, Inger Gilbert…  (for the full text of the poem click here)

     no water here, running amongst the rocks
     cooling their heat, softening their surface,
     allowing their thirst,
     preparing the ground
     how easy it is to come to a hard place,
     remain there, believing
     of any further advance, change, forgiveness
     that it must come from the harshness, the rigidity, the darkness
     that it must come from the battle,
     the conflict of hardness with hardness,
     force against force
     in the mind, amongst the words
     in the body, amongst the bones
     forgetting the nine-month's confinement,
     the darkness, the crowdedness, the isolation,
     miraculously succeeded by light, air, spaciousness,
     eyes meeting eyes, lungs opening like inward wings,
     the breath, the rhythm, the cadence
     of rising and falling
     of taking in and letting go
     of holding and releasing,
     the tides from their appointments
     submerging, circumscribing the land,
     the place unto which you came
     your birth into accumulation, into release, into unfolding
     how easy it is to forget
     that which is closest to us
     that which is most intimate, most faithful, most enduring
     the breath, the blue gift,
     softest presence in your grief,
     silent attendance in your want,
     the cutting of the umbilical cord
     forging new passage, new gesture,
     the air carried
     deep into the blood,
     the journey begun…

                              May this Easter open your imagination to new life,
                the light made flesh and blood…that which is most intimate, most faithful, most enduring.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

Come by First Unitarian any evening. The new halogen lights directed onto the freshly painted and restored steeple have created a stunning and beautiful new illumination to our church and to the city skyline. The lights, a gift from Ivan Spear in memory of his wife Hope, were awaiting the completion of the new roof. Now that the lights are fully operational, the exterior architectural beauty of this church can be seen from miles away. We should all take some small consolation, that a part of the work of restoration is completed. "It is better to light one steeple, than to curse an empty, mold-ridden, scaffold-filled sanctuary."

The engineers and architects and mold experts are working hard at the "mold mitigation." For those of you who missed the congregational informational meeting, you might not have heard that construction in the main church came to a dead halt in mid-January, when mold was spotted behind the brackets in the ceiling. When scientific testing was done, it was clear that we had a severe mold problem. The massive amounts of water used to put out the June fire had soaked into the cellulose insulation in the attic. The wet insulation then traveled into the cavities in the walls, under the pulpit and into the balconies. Cellulose, we have come to learn, is an ideal food for mold and bacterial growth.

While the exact procedures and contract specifications for this specialized clean-up are still coming in, the most likely product to be used in the restoration is ordinary bleach. But in order to get to where the mold is growing, it is likely that the wall behind the pulpit will have to be removed, as well as some of the sub-flooring in the balconies.

If everything goes smoothly (and when do construction projects go smoothly?), if the insurance company swiftly approves the considerable expenditure to remedy the mold problem, the soonest we can return to the sanctuary is December 21, 2001. I suggest we hold this goal and this date "lightly" in our minds and hearts.

Tom Shade's April Fool's sermon suggested that instead of bleach, we try to import some mold eating lizards, who would be controlled by lizard-eating cats, whose population would be kept down by predatory birds, mainly osprey, that would keep watch from the balconies and the chandeliers. Birds can be messy, so Tom also suggested marksmen/markspeople/marxists who could shoot the large lizards that were interrupting Sunday worship. Probably we'll go with the bleach.

No one could have ever described to me how long, and how difficult, it would be to rebuild a church. Now that it looks like we'll be in exile for at least a year and a half, we are approaching new dangers. We can't attract as many new members. We'll lose impatient members, exhausted leadership, and those for whom the beauty and the elegance of our sacred space in the sanctuary was crucial to their worship experience. Two years is a long time not to hear the organ, if the pipe organ is what speak to you of the holy.

In the next few weeks, every member of the parish who has not yet contributed to the Phoenix Fund will be receiving a phone call. Please know that the very future of this parish is dependent upon your generosity.

Ten months after the fire, all fond illusions that the insurance company will cover most of our costs have disappeared. We have already reached the policy limits on rental and other business losses. The expenses of an elevator and handicapped bathroom for children are high. Our early estimates of what it would cost to build stronger and better are now actual bids by contractors. What we thought would cost of $500,000 is now $865,000…if we get the waiver for a limited access elevator. Our costs will exceed one million dollars, if we have to put in a full size elevator. Members of the parish have now pledged a little over $400,000.

As always, the church is dependent on the grace of God, and the generosity of its members. As each of us struggles with the challenges that have been put before us, it's worth stopping by in the evening to look at the steeple. "A light shines in the darkness." We're still here. We intend to be here for a long time.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

"Your children are not your children…
Their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams."

When children are small, parents can project an amazing amount of expectation and fantasy concerning a child's gifts and potential. As you introduce them to hiking in the mountains, you can imagine them growing up to be environmentalists. With their first art course, you can see their hidden undeveloped talent. As they show strength in particular areas of academia, you can't help but wonder whether they might follow in the footsteps of your own intellectual curiosity. It was no accident that when I was selecting books at the library (before my own children could read), there was a heavy emphasis on mythology, and fairy tales. When my husband made the choices, there were always lots of animal stories and adventures.

One of the ongoing underlying dynamics in our home is that one parent (the Dad) teaches physics, and loves science, math, and technology. The Mom (me) is completely liberal arts; history, literature, psychology, and philosophy, as well as world religions. I am not aware that either of us have ever pressured our children to go in one direction or another, but we have been observant. We've been watching to see what the children would choose.

So it was astonishing to both parents, when Robert, our oldest child, announced last summer that he was going to go into business for himself. Business! That is neither fish nor fowl! That is neither the Mother's nor the Father's area of expertise, knowledge, or experience. But our Senior in high school had been reading his business magazine and decided that he was going to become an entrepreneur. He would be the founder of an on-line coffee business. He would be the middleman between a wholesale coffee roaster, and the cyberspace gourmet coffee consumer. In addition, this venture would fill the requirements for his senior research project.

My instantaneous response was, "You can't do that! You're only 16! You have no idea how difficult it is to start a business! And we can't help you at all…we don't know anything about marketing a product!"

And like any normal sixteen year old, he completely ignored my counsel. He went to banks, and arranged credit. He hired classmates and friends to design a web site. (They are to be paid with a percentage of the "profits.") He obtained insurance; he bought the software and security to handle credit card purchases…he found a wholesaler and worked out prices and shipping. The photographs for the site were taken of his buddies sipping coffee in our living room.

My role, meanwhile, is to roll my eyes and to tell him "this will never work." Over the last several months, I have done everything in my power to discourage what I consider to be an impossible assignment for a high school student. I believe my resistance to the project is partly because my first born is now navigating waters that I have never visited. Ican't setup a business web site. I don't have a clue as to how you go about buying software to allow you to accept credit cards on line. I can't tell a good marketing strategy from a bad one.

In the nine months that the project has taken, there have been countless setbacks. Each time, I'm the one who has encouraged my son to give up and move on. To his great credit, he hasn't listened to me. And when I have complained to my husband about the hundreds of hours our son has poured into this dream, he has calmly reminded me that Robert is to be congratulated for his persistence; that he has learned a great deal from this Senior project, and that I should consider a few of the terrible, dangerous, alternative activities that teenagers have been known to pursue.

Two weeks ago, we got a call from a salesman, asking if Robert Merritt was the marketing supervisor for TheRightBean.com. We didn't tell him that the founder of the company was attending class. We didn't mention that Mr. Merritt was also in charge of publicity, purchasing, advertising, technical maintenance, finances, deliveries, and payroll.

And then last week, what I thought could never happen, happened. The site became fully operational. Coffee orders are starting to come in. And the founder of the company is smiling a lot.

"Not even in my dreams" would I have imaged that my child would enter e-commerce. I have no idea if this is just the beginning of a promising career path, or simply one more exploration that will help him decide where he really wants to invest himself.

Here's the surprise. I don't know. I don't know what is best for another human being. I certainly don't know what work will give the greatest satisfaction to my son. Time should prove to be a much wiser instructor.

My ignorance is not just limited to parenting. I don't know what God wants from any of us. I don't know when our congregation will actually be back in our sanctuary. I don't know how the resources and gifts of our leadership will shape the church of the future. I know there are risks and I know there will be setbacks. I know that we will be trying our best.

TheRightBean.com is a good spiritual teaching for at least one skeptical mother. All of us are called into the business of creating unimaginable futures. Lao Tzu instructs us how to get where we need to go. "Walk on."

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2001

We observed during the last few Congregational Meetings that the recommendations from the Prudential Committee were being energetically debated and there was a high degree of enthusiasm for these discussions. We heard your voices and understand that the time has come to invite all of you to join us in building upon the Mission and visions adopted by our Congregation a few years ago. To be sure that First Unitarian moves in the direction we want, we will use a process based upon the "Woods Meetings" successfully used in the private sector.

After the announcement I was deluged with questions on how this "Woods Meeting" works. I will give you a very brief description of the process, but must emphasize that there is much more to this process, than I can fit into this memo.

Friday night begins with a potluck dinner, introductions and an overview of the process. The group will then be split into smaller working groups (ideally consisting of five or six members). It is recommended that we mix the teams so that we have long-term members, new members, young and old, parents and non-parents. The first assignment of the team is to discuss what brought each of us to the First Unitarian Church and what keeps us here. These themes will be written down. After understanding each other’s journey to First Unitarian, we will then look for common threads and will try to arrange them into groupings based on commonality of the thought if it is possible. The meeting will break at 9 p.m.

At 9 a.m. on Saturday morning, the entire group begins with a breakfast. Breakfast is used to re-affirm the agenda for the rest of the day. The teams will report out to the group on their work from Friday night. After the report out, the groups will be given a new assignment. Each team will "brainstorm" on what they want from the Church. Brainstorming works by allowing each member of the team to list on the board what they feel. They can list one line and then pass the pen. No discussion is allowed during the brainstorming. The brainstorming continues until the team is finished and everyone has had the opportunity to list all of his or her feelings. After the brainstorming the points are discussed, not for value or merit, but for understanding. The teams will then organize the points into groupings. The groupings are then ranked from high to low.

At lunch the teams rejoin the main body and report out. Group discussion would ensue to find common threads within the groups. The group assembles the themes into larger groupings. Each team is assigned a grouping and given the task to build tactics to achieve the theme. The teams gather at 3 p.m. and report out their findings at the end of the day.

We conclude with a working session that then ties all of this work together into a document that outlines what our Church means to us, what we want to get and give to our Church, and the methodology we shall approach to get us there. 

Some of you are asking, After the Woods Meeting is over will you be given more work? The answer to this question lies entirely within you. Our Church is run through volunteerism. Aside from a small professional staff, volunteers serve all of the committees and provide the services to our community. How much involvement you wish to have with the church after this meeting is over is entirely up to you. Will you be required to do more, no, will you be asked, yes. The answer is yours and yours alone.

There is also a concern that you will be solicited for money at this meeting. There will be no requests for money. The Church needs something more valuable than money right now, it needs your thoughts and your voices.

Thank you for all your interest. If you are planning on attending, please contact the Church and let them know by April 15^th.

Because of all the snow, it was a very short work week. But that didn't keep it from being a few of the worst days I can recall. The particulars are unimportant. Suffice it to say that (1) a defective fire alarm (that seriously disrupted the sleep of some of our most committed volunteers at 2:00 a.m., and that continued to scream its head-splitting, nerve-shattering noise when the regular staff arrived), (2) a boiler malfunction that turned the furnace room into a steam room, and (3) no heat in the building for two days, were the least of my troubles. It was just one of those weeks at the church where nearly everything that could go wrong, did: where nearly everything that could break, broke. My computer crashed, and then so did I.

 Ministers, at least according to the fantasy, are never supposed to get seriously discouraged, or inconsolable. We're somehow supposed to have enough faith, insight, spiritual knowledge, and nerves of steel to meet all challenges and to overcome all obstacles. But every child of God has their limits. And I went past mine on Thursday, at about 4:00 p.m.

 Sympathy didn't help. My perceptions concerning all that was going wrong were fairly lucid. I wasn't depressed. I was just beaten. Circumstances were genuinely awful, and I wasn't feeling wise, or resilient, or patient, (no matter what I might have preached about patience a few days earlier.) My usual fall backs-whining, complaining and blaming-provided no comfort whatsoever. Not even Rumi's accurate description of my plight, "like a cat in a bag, thrown into the air, not knowing up from down" was any consolation. And thus, when asked to be optimistic, my answer was, "I can't."

 What is there for us, when our own strength runs out? What possible comfort is available when we are suffering? When we ourselves are not very good company, who can we turn to? When I "can't," who can?

* Good Company: This church is blessed with a remarkable staff. Since the fire, we have been taking turns with our frustration, our anger, our exhaustion. We don't actually "pick a number" or wait for our turn. But remarkably, when one of us falls, the others rally. And we laugh, and moan and offer practical support. Colleagues, and family and friends might not be able to make the pain and trouble go away. But they make it possible to endure the trials. Their belief in you can carry you when you have real doubts about your abilities.

 * Waiting: "This too shall pass"...or so they say. And there is nothing we can do. Sometimes we cannot even turn towards God. Or at least, that is what the French mystic, Simone Weil, tells us. "They do not turn toward God. How could they do so when they are in total darkness? God himself sets their faces in the right direction. God does not, however, show himself to them for a long time. It is for them to remain motionless, without averting their eyes, listening ceaselessly, and waiting, they know not for what..."

 * Resist Temptation: Again, Simone Weil. "The only temptation for a human being is to be abandoned to his or her own resources in the presence of evil". Ah ha! I always forget that no one ever asked us to have all the resources with which to face plague, flood, and pestilence. I "can't" is not a humiliating admission of failure. It is simply an acknowledgment of reality.

 On those days when you "can't", God can. Others can. The creation will continue to function. No one can be strong all the time.
 

I didn't really mind driving my kids to a downhill ski resort in Vermont last Saturday. While it is a long drive, it is also a beautiful one. And when you're in a car for several hours with your teenage sons, there is actually a better than even chance you'll get to have a conversation (something usually avoided by busy adolescents).

What I minded was being trapped in a ski lodge all day. Once you entered the vast parking lot, it was hard to imagine managing a reunion with my kids in the afternoon, if the car was moved. So I resigned myself to spending the day at the resort. I came equipped with a Dorothy Sayers mystery novel, some work, some letter writing paper, two newspapers, and the fantasy that there would be hiking trails and a charming town to explore. There was no town, and there were no trails. Now the goal was to find the fireplace with the comfortable sofas that is pictured in every advertisement that features skiing. Except, apparently, not at THIS resort. We were initially sent to the "lodge." I assumed this was a grand hotel. Instead what we found more resembled a high school gymnasium. It had plain long tables, hard plastic seats, and a noise level that was several decibels above a high school basketball game. In that room were approximately 500 people, all dressed up in their snow suits. After sending my sons up to the slopes, I fled quickly.

I managed to find a very comfortable chair that was, unfortunately, located in the lobby where they were actively selling condominiums. This was a rare opportunity for me to have a glimpse into the world of the "timeshare sales force." When I think of "resorts," I think of relaxation, vacation, and fun. When these people discuss "resorts" they are thinking of profit margins, team commissions, and how to market units that haven't even been built yet. I read, while they made money. But soon it was lunchtime, and I had agreed to rendezvous with my children at the "lodge."

There I sat; the only "non-Alpine skier" in a large hall full of loud and colorfully dressed downhill enthusiasts. I tried to read. It was impossible. So then I observed the people around me. I felt like I was in high school again. Everyone else was popular and involved and was a "player" except me. From the experience of feeling like an outsider, (like someone who didn't belong, and who had nothing in common with these people), I moved rapidly to judgement. "What an expensive and crowded and noisy sport!" I said to myself, thinking of the immense moral and esthetic superiority of cross country skiing.

And then, for some mysterious reason, another thought passed through my mind. "Every person in this packed hall, (from the youngest 3 & 4 year olds, all the way to those in their 70's), has more courage than you do, Barbara. Everyone of them, is willing to strap slippery boards to their feet and throw themselves off of steep mountains." Instantly, my judging mind switched over to admiration. I could appreciate everyone there, as being brave: worthy of admiration and respect: people with gifts and talents that allowed them to view life from a perspective that I could only imagine.

I spent the rest of my time, waiting for my boys, quite happily; actually enjoying being in the company of so many people who were capable of something I was not able to do. Instead of feeling alienated and judgmental, I was somehow given the grace to see and accept those strangers as people who had mastered one of the remarkable ways that human beings manage to play. Not everyone has to play the same. One minute I was looking at my fellow "lodge dwellers" with suspicion, fearfulness and distrust. The next minute I was able to see them as fellow travelers, with qualities I admire.

Sometimes what we see, in our first impression, is partial. March, in New England, affords us an excellent opportunity to "look again." You could easily take a cursory look at the landscape, and think, "Winter! I'm alone and alienated in a white and frozen world that will never melt into spring." Now is a particularly good time to pay attention, to look with an open heart. Emily Dickinson said it best:

"A light exists in Spring
Not present on the year
At any other period—
When March is scarcely here."

The snows of early March are falling. But look more closely at the light. It is increasing every day. And regardless of what things may look like today, spring and new life are coming. Sooner, than you can imagine.

Early in my ministry, I went to a seminar taught by a Master teacher, who was going around the country helping high school teachers refocus and re-energize themselves professionally. He stated that the only teachers he was ever able to help were those who had at least one beloved teacher in their own childhood. Once they had a model, a mentor, a memory to recall of what it meant to be "well-taught" and "cared for," they were able to go on and be that wonderful teacher for their own students. Those teachers who had no wonderful teachers to imitate, those teachers who were trying to be good teachers by simply implementing abstract theories were far less successful in their professional lives.

Thomas à Kempis recommends that his students "imitate Christ." The second sentence of Book One asks his monks, "to imitate His life, and His ways, if we truly desire to be enlightened and free of all blindness of heart."

The word imitate can be seen as a flaw or a virtue. In the negative sense, an imitation can be understood to be disingenuous; a fake, a fraud, a counterfeit, a mimic, a sham. But imitating can also mean "to follow, to mirror, to emulate, to repeat, to simulate, to model after, to reproduce."

Imitation is one of the primary ways human beings learn. Adults must ask, "Who am I most willing to imitate? Which patterns of life am I eager to replicate? Who are my teachers? Whose counsel should I be seeking?"

At first glance, Thomas à Kempis appears to be an unlikely candidate to offer religious institutions to seekers in 21st century America. He was a monk; a man who renounced the world. He lived in the 15th century, immediately after the great plagues of Europe and still in the middle of the 100 year war. His intended audience were novice monks who had devoted their lives entirely to God.

And, yet, hundreds of years later, tens of thousands of people within and outside of the Christian tradition find à Kempis to be a brilliant, tough, and insightful teacher. It could be the eloquence and elegant simplicity of his writing. It could be that we hunger to hear, straightforwardly and truthfully, what the demands of the life of the spirit will be. It could be his refreshingly unsentimental view of human nature. As in all works of literature that become "spiritual classics," the author managed to tap into what was universal and timeless. When you read this book (or any other book that points you in the direction of what is eternally true), some part of the soul sits up and pays attention. Even in a context that is foreign (like a monastery), you can discern diamonds; words that shed light on your own journey.

In preparing for the Monday Night at the Church series, I'm reading, "The Imitation of Christ" for probably the fourth time. I'm finding all sorts of new material that wakes me up. A few examples: 

"I would rather experience repentance in my soul, than know how to define it."

"What I have done up to now is nothing."

"We are all frail, but think of yourself as one who is more frail than others."

"Certainly, when Judgement Day comes we shall not be asked what books we have read, but what deeds we have done."

"It is a part of wisdom neither to believe everything we hear, nor to pour it immediately into another's ear."

"God speaks to all of us in a variety of ways and is no respecter of persons."

"Rely not too heavily on your own opinion, but listen to the ideas of others as well."

"We quickly become tainted and charmed by trivia."

"When men ridicule and belittle us, we should turn to God."

"There is no religious order so holy, no place so isolated, where trials and temptations are unknown…conflicts are not won by running away…"

"If you cannot remake yourself in the way you would like, then do you expect another to fashion himself
according to the pattern you set for him?"

"God has willed that we learn to bear one another's burdens. Each of us has some failing and some trial to bear and none of us has the strength to bear them by himself, nor the wisdom. Therefore, we must bear with one  another, comfort each other, support, instruct, and advise one another."

"Why be disturbed if things do not succeed according to your plans and desires? Who is there that gets everything according to his likes? Neither I, nor you, nor anyone else on this earth. No man in this world is  without some trial or affliction, not even a king or a pope."

In this Lenten season, may you find that which is capable of "waking you up." Pay attention to what you are imitating. Notice whose steps you are following.

The Committee developed a survey to assess those needs. Perhaps we have members dealing with this dreadful disease, loved ones who are losing their memories, and care providers in need of support and assistance. The primary goal of the survey was to determine the actual needs of the parish. Developing approaches to meet those needs was the secondary goal.

After the telephone survey was completed, we reviewed the gathered information. It was determined that the Parish Service Committee should most definitely develop a plan to provide a functional service for many of our members.

Although our timing may be less than swift, our desire to continue with bringing this idea through to fruition has remained intact. Somehow more time has elapsed than we had expected in the development of our proposal. Life can be that way.

We are now ready to roll out our plan. Through several meetings of the minds, we have developed a format for a support group that will be both information and emotionally healing. The concept is similar to that of a book club. The church will provide a lending library of books dealing with Alzheimer's disease. The Alzheimer's Association has an extensive list of publications that we will be using as a referral source. Suggestions will also be greatly appreciated.

Rather than discuss a particular book in its entirety, as a book club would do, we will be talking about segments of each book. Perhaps there is a passage that is particularly meaningful that we can relate to and share our own personal thoughts. A poem or an article may be chosen as the topic for discussion. Also, there may be a story telling session of our own creation.

"Lost Stories: A Support Group for People Caring for Loved Ones With Memory Loss," will be conducted by
co-facilitators meeting twice a month on Wednesday evenings. We thought that meeting early in the evening from 5:30 to 6:30p.m. would allow working people to stop in on their way home. The first two meetings are scheduled for March 14th and March 28th in the Bancroft Room. Our schedule will be posted in the newsletter calendar. We can adjust the meeting time as dictated by the group. Light refreshments will be provided to replenish the body as well as the spirit.

—Helen Campbell, Chair
Parish Services Committee

I suspect the world is full of transcendent scut work. I am especially fond of the summertime variety. Puttering in the garden; cleaning a closet; shucking corn; beach combing; peeling potatoes for a potato salad to take on a picnic; fixing up the boat; the backyard; the garage; the attic or the basement. It is work, to be sure…putting a little order into the chaos. And yet, when we suddenly have the time to entertain friends and family, the labor can seem almost fun, and some of the tasks leave us full of energy and hope.

The popular song, from Porgy and Bess, claims "Summertime, and the living is easy." I have always reveled in the sweet anticipation that there might come a season where life would be smooth, and easy, and care free. But, as I get older, I am more willing to entertain the possibility that fulfillment and frustration go hand in hand. I can't banish what is contradictory in myself, or in my environment, not even in July, not even on vacation. Anna Quindlen expresses it most eloquently; what seems "contradictory" is "exactly right."

So as the new copper roof goes up at First Unitarian, please understand that it is a wonderful accomplishment, even as it poses a real temporary parking challenge. It will be beautiful, and very messy. As Quindlen writes, it is a most practical, ordinary and utilitarian project, and yet there is a magnificence, a transcendence at the very heart of our ongoing effort.

In our church mission statement, we say that we are called to live in "right relationship with each other." Since the phrase "right relationship" is somewhat vague and open-ended, I am always looking for clues as to what it might actually mean. What better place to look than among the young people, where the future of the church is being formed? 

This is what I learned among the young about what it means to live in "right relationship."

1. Say "hello" well. There is an annual ritual in which newcomers are inducted into the group, not only as a group, but individually. The older members have a chance to share generous, welcoming and complimentary words to the new members. 

 
2. Say "goodbye" well, too. An annual goodbye ritual is held for the graduating seniors. Everyone shares their memories and tells some old stories. The seniors say goodbye to each other. What is especially interesting is that one motif of the ritual is a breaking of chains (made out of construction paper). The younger ones seem to know that the bonds between the youth group and the graduating seniors, while they are strong and wonderful now, need to be broken if the seniors are to get on with their lives. The ritual gives a permission to leave. 

 
3. It's OK to have rules and requirements. Their bylaws require that one is inducted at the prior retreat before one votes for officers. Elections are held at the retreat. The group is not afraid to demand signs of commitment before fully conferring all of the rights of membership. This seems to be at odds with where adult society seems to be going, which is to make churches and organizations easier to participate in.

 
4. Don't be afraid of conflict in governing the organization. YRU2 has contested elections, speeches by candidates and no nominating committee. There have been close votes and some have had to learn how to work well with former rivals. But it is expected that officers will really work hard and be responsible.

 
5. Be willing to worship. On Sunday morning, we gathered on the beach and worshipped. Worship was not that different than our adult services: readings, songs, responsive readings. There was even a brief sermon, which I have to admit I had never seen before in a worship service organized by youth for youth. But someone was called upon to speak the fullness of the truth that was needed at that moment, as he or she knew it. And if that is not preaching, then I am in the wrong business. 

 
6. Don't be afraid to be conservative. There was a proposal to change an aspect of their procedure and tradition and as they discussed of it, someone just blurted out, "Change is bad." Of course, that is an ironic overstatement, as everyone knows that not all change is bad. But they showed, at that moment, a healthy caution about quickly adopting a change that could have unintended and unforeseen consequences on the health of their group. 

I am encouraged. 

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

But a recent essay in the New York Times Magazine showed me that, once again, I have underestimated how powerfully truth makes itself known in every tradition. When Lorenzo Albacete, a priest and a professor theology at St. Joseph's seminary writes about his experience hearing confession, I find myself in complete agreement, as to the essence of the religious conversation and the purpose of the religious enterprise.

I quoted Father Albacete in my sermon Sunday, but Monday morning, I'm still pondering his point of view; both in what he claims is not central to the spiritual life, as well as what is.

Albacete writes that, "Confession is not therapy, nor is it moral accounting…the language of the inner life is not the language of experts, nor of eloquent dramatists, nor of a mature and healthy self-acceptance."

I can't begin to tell you how many visitors come to this parish hoping that being part of a church will give them a therapeutic cure and a formula for maintaining high moral standards and accomplishing good works. They come seeking a theologically sophisticated vocabulary, beautiful music, ritual and entertainment, and at the very least, God and the church are expected to make them feel better about themselves and their world.

I suppose the reason we come with such hopes is because we are human. And when the secular world doesn't satisfy our deepest needs, we can entertain a momentary optimism that religion will smooth the way, perfect our character, and improve our odds for success and satisfaction.

It shouldn't surprise us that there are, in fact, religions which promise therapeutic cures, and immediate salvation, with messages that roughly translate, "Here you will find comfort, release from suffering, and a new life, free from all the old limitations."

Thus, it is astonishing to read how Albacete describes what the interior life has to offer: "The ultimate truth of our interior life is our absolute poverty, our radical dependence, our unquenchable thirst, our desperate need to be loved…the language of the inner life is a serene silence, a deep hurt, a boundless desire and occasionally, a little laughter."

Now here is a list of spiritual qualities that gives, at least this religious liberal, pause.

* "Absolute poverty?" Am I expected to disclose that in public? Jesus taught us, "Blessed are the poor in spirit," but an awful lot of religious life is posturing about how much we know, how much knowledge we have accumulated, how much success we have achieved, how far we have traveled. But sometimes our "little faith" is no faith. Sometimes all we can bring to God is our confusion, our lostness, and our need.

* "Radical dependence?" We UU's prefer to talk about being independent, or at most, interdependent. What if we admitted to ourselves, and to others, just how utterly dependent we are on kindness and encouragement?

* "Unquenchable thirst?" St. Augustine said it best, "My heart will be restless, till it rests in Thee." But there seems to be some sort of cultural conspiracy that claims that if we're not satisfied with who we are, and what we have, there is something wrong with us.

* "Our desperate need to be loved?" UU's will rarely admit to being desperate about anything in our inner lives, let alone openly confess to this most basic of human needs for affirmation and acceptance. Maybe this is only the sort of truth that can be whispered in a confessional booth, but I can't help but wonder how we would treat one another, if we realized that everyone desperately needs to be loved…almost all of the time.

What I do know is that truth shows up in some unlikely places; sometimes in the New York Times, and sometimes in religious traditions very different from our own. The truth at the heart of the human soul, can be touched in silence. It shows up in our joy, as well as in our deepest hurt. I believe that God (and truth and reality), are hiding in the midst of our jumbled and conflicting desires. And sometimes, sometimes it is only our laughter that keeps us going.

I hope you will feel welcome in a congregation full of people who are struggling with poverty, dependence, thirst, and our need for one another. If you get to know us, you'll discover we're a lot like you.
©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

Why do people join a church? Tom and I joined the religious community called Countryside Unitarian Universalist Church in Palatine, Illinois in 1989 because we were lonely and needed religious education for our young daughters. Is your own experience so different?

At Countryside, we did find that community. There were Circle Suppers each month, and annual events such as the Talent Auction and church picnic. We were involved in the choir, social action, church governance, and the youth group. We found ourselves in a community of people where we could both give and receive.

When we headed to Dallas in 1995, it was very hard to say goodbye to Countryside Church. As Tom began his studies for the ministry, we started having a different relationship to churches. But it was hard to find my place among 500 members at First Unitarian Dallas. It was not until I joined the choir, that I began to feel connected.

When Tom became the intern minister at a church in a Dallas suburb, I was welcomed with open arms as the spouse of the new intern minister. Horizon Church was proud of their growing membership and many, many opportunities to get involved. Everyone finds their place early on at Horizon - not just the intern minister's spouse.

When we arrived here, the welcome was even greater. As the spouse of the new associate minister, I never have to wander coffee hour alone and hope someone will talk to me. I never have to find my seat in the sanctuary, and hope someone will catch my eye and smile, happy to see me again. But many others do.

David Rynick has put this need for community connection very well - "In a society where we are all increasingly busy and isolated one from another, we consciously seek to build community. A community where we can reconnect to the true sources of our life, 
to the miracle of being in relationship with each other, and to our rightful place in the larger world around us. We chose to come together in community to preserve the freedom of the individual to follow their own path. We seek to find the spiritual in the ordinary and to learn from the difficulties and the joys of community."

I've been working with other members who are passionate about church growth and making visiting, joining, and getting involved a positive experience. Working with Mike Lally and Kathleen Walker on the New Member Task Force, I've learned that it can be hard to feel connected here. They came from a small UU church here in New England and would like to see more social events like Circle Suppers and dances as a way for people to get to know one another. I had also heard that Lee Reid wanted to organize a dance but needed help.

Mike, Kathleen and Lee were introduced to one another several weeks ago - they agreed to start planning Circle Suppers. As more eager souls joined the conversation, Something's Afoot emerged and they pulled off a dance just a few weeks later. Now this group, which includes Mike, Kathleen, Lee, Kathleen Cammarata, Diane Reilly, Sue Carpenter, and Lauren Ota have reconstituted the Social Committee. There's no stopping them. In support of our mission and values, they intend to help people feel welcome, and to help people get to know new people. They seek to strengthen our friendships and build our community through social activities and fun events.

The first dance was such a success, there's another one scheduled for June 17^th. They've locked in September 16^th for a contra dance. For next year, they are trying to line up a singer/comedian for an evening of fun and planning Circle Suppers.

If it is important to you to be part of a spiritual community and to have some fun at the same time, then you've come to the right place.

I am sorry to report that last spring's excessive investment in lime, fertilizer, manure, peat moss, and grass seed has not borne much fruit. The yard is as pitiful an excuse for a lawn as it has ever been.

I was warned. In April of 1999, parishioner, gardener and veterinarian, Dr. Wayne Rocheleau, prophesized the inherent dangers in attempting to grow grass. His email read in part:

"…Let me assure you that you may succeed, but your success will be temporary...Even with all your best efforts, the soil may reject the covering you have planned for it…I am reminded of this because, while removing the detritus from my own perennial garden this afternoon, I was discouraged to see that the columbine I had planted two years ago is not doing so well. The plants just are not thriving...I carefully prepared the bed and tended to them diligently. They did fairly well the first year. They bloomed and set seed. They barely survived the next year and I gave them up for lost. Today though, just 24 feet from the prepared bed I made for them is a magnificent specimen of a columbine. This plant is thriving in a crack in the paving that separates the driveway from the brick walk and it has a neighbor growing from the crevice where the asphalt meets the concrete foundation of the house. Both of these plants are robust and I am sure they will bear beautiful flowers…We are constantly being prosecuted by a basic law of physics that says all things tend toward a lower state of energy unless we continually supply additional energy to maintain the order. But the corollary is not true. Sometimes, no matter how much energy we provide, we cannot create order from chaos. The columbine is just such a paradox. All the energy given to promoting the growth of the columbine at the location of my choice has gone for naught. Meanwhile, the genetic code contained within the tiny columbine seed, is directing this new plant to harvest energy from the sun to disintegrate the mortar that joins the brick of my sidewalk." 

So do I now admit defeat? Should I put up curtains so that no one has to look at the backyard? Do I abandon the entire concept of an esthetically pleasing recreational area behind our home? Certainly not!

This summer, it is my intention to cover another third of the yard…with wood. My summer project is to build a deck. This not only provides me with a hobby, a change-of-pace vacation activity, and a chance to learn some carpentry skills; it also covers up a great deal of muddy, unproductive, non-grass-growing space, where the lawn was supposed to be. I anticipate happy hours of sawing lumber and nailing a three dimensional structure onto the back of the house.

My husband is terrified. He thinks that, just because I have no knowledge, no skill, little strength, and no experience, that this whole project will eventually land on his shoulders. I have assured him that he needs only to be my "technical adviser." He reminded me that this is exactly how we got into Vietnam. What begins as "technical advice" can quickly escalate into an all-out war, and he's afraid that he's looking at his own personal "Gulf of Tonkin."

But I have the optimism of one who doesn't have a clue what she is signing up for. I plan, like any good UU, to get a few books, perhaps take a course at a hardware store, and I am gathering advice from friends who have built decks in the past.

What I do know is that I can't grow grass. I have come to accept that now. I am sorry that I was not given the gifts to do this simple thing (that so many of you are so good at). But it's time to move on. And I am delighted to be facing a brand new challenge. As of early May, I don't know whether or not I can build a deck. I'm going to try.

The life of the spirit has certain parallels with my backyard. Some of us start out assuming (hoping) that we can be faithful, forgiving, unselfish, devoted and disciplined. Most of us discover that these religious virtues are considerably harder to live out, than they are to read about. After years of futile attempts to be holy (or wholly good), we settle for alternative crops. We learn that the soil of our life may be especially well-suited to grow humility. We might learn to develop some patience. and in the empty places in our life, we set aside increasingly large areas for grace, mercy, and the "skillful means" of others. If we can't change the world, we can at least be of some service to one another. If we can't do everything right or perfectly, or smoothly, we can meet the particular challenges of the day with some humor, some courage, and some help from our friends. With the ground that is given, we can hope to grow some resiliency, some persistence, some gratitude.

And we learn to "punt;" to change tactics when there is little hope for success. In the case of my own backyard, one third of my "ground cover" will be asphalt, one third will be wood, and in the "green space" in between, we will put in the moss garden. I've heard moss gardens are fashionable this year. We'll haul in a few of the rocks that we hauled out last spring. We will tell people that we're growing all that furry green stuff on purpose. Perhaps it will even be beautiful. It can be a blessing. It is another chance to make something better.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

Weather is what we experience today. It is the immediately wonderful (or awful) present moment, that can seem much warmer/stormier/or extreme than last week, or last year.

Climate, on the other hand, is measured in centuries. When scientists study climate, they are looking at a very long-range forecast, a very long-range measurement. The particular weather on any particular day, or any particular season, has little significance, except when it stands next to weather patterns that extend across the millennium.
 I have always been more of a "weather" person, myself, concerned with immediate conditions and sensations, professionally, emotionally, and spiritually. "Am I happy right now?" has always seemed to me to be a more significant question than, "Am I living a worthwhile life?" "How do you feel, in this instance?" strikes me as a more relevant determination then, "Are you, generally, in good health?"

It's hard to tell whether this focus on the "present moment" is a character flaw, or a spiritual gift. The saints, of every tradition, are always talking about how important it is to live in the present moment; to notice and to take seriously the here and now of existence. St. Augustine taught us to attend to "this true day, not cramped by a yesterday or a tomorrow." The mystic Meister Eckhart puts it more poetically:

"If someone had the knowledge and the power to gather up the time and all the happenings of these six thousand years and all that is to come ere the world ends to boot, all this, summed up into one present now, would be the fullness of time. This is the now of eternity, when the soul knows all things in God, as new and fresh and lovely as I find them now at present. The narrowest of the powers of my soul is more than heaven wide. To say nothing of the intellect wherein there is measureless space, wherein I am as near a place a thousand miles away as the spot I am standing on this moment."

The problem with focusing so completely on the present moment, is that the present moment is constantly changing. This is especially problematic for those of us who have any tendency for high drama, impatience, or tunnel vision. We can get so caught up in the storms and the weather and the circumstances of today, that we can completely lose sight of the fact that tomorrow's weather might be quite surprisingly different. A 17th century English philosopher warned his readers that patience (and the ability to look beyond the present moment) was essential…"you must not yield to despondency, or attempt to hasten the process…you need the patience of a farmer, who after committing the seed to the earth, does not disturb the soil every day to see whether it is growing." (Philalethes)

I suspect that the growth of the life of the spirit is even more difficult to assess. Thus, I am grateful for the discipline of being a part of a religious community. In a church, we pay attention to both weather and climate. Sunday worship is intended to give us the practical resources to get through the day, the week, and the present circumstances of our lives. But it also tells a larger story, and puts our lives in a context that stretches back thousands of years. Especially in a parish that is 215 years old, there are constant reminders that today's challenge has probably been faced before and will be faced again. Today's limitations and trials will not last forever. We are, every one of us, a part of a mystery. And today, no matter what we see, "we only see in part."

I like good weather, rather than bad. The immediate blessings of a warm and beautiful spring day give me every reason to be hopeful. But we need to do more than take the temperature of any particular day. I believe, at least spiritually, we must learn to trust the climate, the whole of our lives. The whole includes every possible kind of weather. Someday, we may even discover that all of it had its purpose; that every season contained its own blessing.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

There were quite a few students from nearby college campuses; signs of the resurgent student movement that has sprung up this spring. A Jewish student group from Clark offered a very careful analysis of the issue of mandatory overtime from the point of view of God's instruction to keep the Sabbath and provide everyone, even animals, with sufficient rest.

But the night was cold and wet; our candles sputtered in the rain, the umbrellas were drawn more tightly down around our heads and the rally was kept short. However, there was a great sense of community solidarity behind the nurses and a hope that the negotiating sessions on the weekend would settle the strike.

According to the newspaper, the talks lasted about twenty minutes and both sides blamed each other for the breakdown. People are talking about a long strike and the suspicion is growing that Tenet's hope is to break the union. The reports on the negotiation now sound like the tales one hears from the final stages of a marriage heading into divorce. Each side paints the motives of the other in the darkest possible colors. Suspicion and bitterness rule the day.

Seen narrowly, the nurses strike is just another labor dispute which will be settled in the usual way between the parties. On the other hand, it is a sign of the current situation in health care. Full disclosure requires me to let you know that Sue Schade, my wife and partner, is a hospital executive.

The health care industry is going through the most brutal kind of reform possible. The nation believes that it is spending way too much for health care right now, and compared to other industrial countries, we seem to be. No comprehensive solution seems to be in the cards right now, so the only plan to change health care is force greater efficiency by starving health care providers for money. The government now routinely underpays health care providers, like hospitals, for services provided through Medicare and Medicaid. Employers who provide health care coverage for their employers seek out the insurance companies who can offer lower premiums by reducing what they pay to hospitals and other providers. Starving for dollars, the hospitals look for every possible way to increase revenue and cut costs. Of course, nurses' hours and scheduling is going to be a target for cost cutting. And, of course, the nurses are going to push back.

Every player in the health care industry is now in a desperate fight to force every other player to provide more in services and accept less in payment. I don't think that the fact that Tenet is a for-profit hospital chain really makes much difference in this dynamic. Non-profit hospitals face exactly the same challenges. It is claimed that the same scheduling practices that are being disputed at Worcester Medical center are used at UMass as well.

So what should we be doing as a religious people when we see a vital industry locked in a difficult internal power struggle over resources. It is not enough to lift up high minded principles and utopian visions. Of course, Health Care should be a right and not a commodity. People should come before profits. While we are at it, there shouldn't be any cold and wet rainy evenings either and Everybody Should Be Nice!

But right now, decisions in the health care business are being made on the basis of raw power. Does the hospital have the power to force the nurses to accept mandatory overtime? Or do the nurses have the power to repel these new conditions?

I personally support the nurses. I believe it is right for religious people to try to bring the power of the community to shore up and support the nurses in this situation. It doesn't seem right that nurses' schedules and patient care should be where the dollar crisis in health care gets solved. It would, also, be good if this could get settled before bitterness and resentment pump more bile into our community.

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

It is so easy, and meaningless, to ask, "What is the church doing?" The significant question is always, "What am I doing?" "Think globally, act locally" is not only a good environmental strategy, it is also good theology. "Think universally, but understand, that it is what you do in particular, that makes the difference."

I am happy to hear a visitor say that they have found our church to be a warm and welcoming place. Clearly, they are not speaking about the church building having embraced them. They are explaining that a particular person (or persons) in the congregation took the risk to say hello, to invite their unique gifts, to take them seriously. People stay in a church because they feel a certain kind of communion.

Communion, literally, does not mean the eucharist. It means "mutual participation…" "in common…" it is how we break bread together, and how we clean up the dinner dishes afterwards. The only reason we are able to offer a fellowship here after church is because someone volunteers to pour tea and coffee and serve the cookies. (As of this writing, we are still hoping that someone will volunteer to host coffee hour after Easter worship.)

Lately, I have come to believe that communion is larger than a meal we share on a particular day. The banquet includes all those who have loved us into being; the people who have blessed us, provoked us, and helped us.

Frederick Buehren claims that his communion of Saints, includes "all the company of heaven… everybody we ever loved and lost, including the ones we didn't know we loved until we lost them, or didn't love at all. It means people we never heard of." The poet Mitch Finley puts it this way: "The communion of saints is simple, really. All it says is that once you buy the farm, you still live on the farm. All it says is that those who have gone before us are still with us. All it says is that past generations still count and must be taken into account. In other words, we're all in this together. All of us."

The altar on Easter morning will offer some visual testimony that we, as a congregation, cherish the memory of those who are still with us, in our hearts and minds and souls. May the Easter lilies you see in this season remind you that "we are all in this together."

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

Massachusetts News is a combatively conservative newspaper, motivated by religious conservatism, but published by a lawyer, J. Edward Pawlick. Its great concern is that the society is operating on the presumptions of secular humanism, and that traditional morality, derived from the Judeo-Christian heritage, is being undermined and eliminated.

The paper is frankly anti-gay. For example, the headline article was about the progress of a Domestic Partnership act in Vermont and the threat of Gay marriage in Massachusetts. The headline was "Gay Marriage Might Destabilize Traditional Marriage." It seemed a little unfair to me, since most of the damage done to the battered institution of marriage has already been done by heterosexuals. If it's true that 1 out of 2 marriages ends up in divorce, it is obvious that something is going on that is much larger than those relatively few marriages that end because one partner realizes that he or she is gay.

Even more egregious, the paper told the story of a Holocaust survivor, Stephan Ross, who testified to Congress in support of the Constitutional amendment outlawing flag burning. But what interested the Massachusetts News was Ross's testimony that he had been sexually abused by concentration camp guards and his estimate that 20% of the guards were homosexual. To single out this one aspect of Ross's testimony, reaching back fifty years into history, seemed to indicate how deeply the newspaper is driven by fear and hatred of gays.

But what in the paper surprised me the most was that is specifically and repeatedly attacked Unitarian Universalism by name. Perhaps this is litigator coming out in publisher Pawlick; maybe he wants a clearly named adversary to contend with.

One brief editorial reads "We need 'separation of church and state' because the schools in Massachusetts are run by members of the Humanist Religion. The Christian and Jewish religions are excluded by the Humanists. The Unitarian Church, headquartered in Boston, is the chief proponent of this religion."

Clearly, there is a lot that is inaccurate about such a statement. First of all, Unitarians and Universalists are not uniformly Humanist; many, especially here in Massachusetts, consider themselves explicitly Christian. Their understanding of Christianity has often led them to positions, such as support for gay marriage, that are diametrically opposed to the positions of the Massachusetts News. Secondly, many UU Humanists do not consider their values to be opposed to Judeo-Christian values, but parallel to them, complementary to them or consistent with them. Thirdly, there are any number Unitarians who actually agree with much of what the Massachusetts News publishes. Fourthly, UU's are just not as powerful as he thinks. I would doubt that we are the majority of any school board in the state. Any generalization about Unitarian Universalists is likely to be over simplified.

But leaving aside the inaccuracy of the editorial, there is something else that is quite wrong about it, that must be answered. It is wrong and dangerous to blame all of a society's problems on a religion, on a church. Religions are complex affairs, more than a philosophy, more than ethics, part art, part psychology, part mystery. They are hard to penetrate, to know from the outside. It is almost impossible to know how persons from other religious traditions experience their religion, how it feels to them. It is that part of life in which we human beings can be the most strange to each other.

Consequently, to move political disagreements to the level of differences in religion, as does the Massachusetts News, inevitably leads to stereotyping, prejudice and bigotry. It makes civil discourse almost impossible and it threatens the delicate balances and unity of our communities. It converts civil political life into a struggle for power between religious communities, and down that path lies the sad experience of countries like Northern Ireland, Lebanon and Iran.

We say to the Massachusetts News, "Let's not go there."

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

I concur. The Mass, which the composer Robert Ray intends as a joining of the traditional liturgical Mass with African-American worship, was not just a spectacular piece of music, performed brilliantly. It gave to the assembled congregation a glimpse of "the kingdom." It was truly sacred music, reminding us of a common journey, a shared struggle, and the longing of the soul. Using explicitly Christian and trinitarian imagery, it nevertheless tapped into the devotional life of every seeker. Music has the capacity to make us exceptionally good translators: even when the words are not necessarily the ones we would choose. We hear the cry for comfort, the plea for mercy, and the exaltation when we realize that we are not alone. The African-American spirituals are especially accessible to us. As Howard Thurman wrote of these spirituals, "They are the voice, sometimes strident, sometimes muted, and weary, of a people for whom the cup of suffering overflowed in haunting overtones of majesty, beauty, and power…when the external circumstances of life are dramatic or unusual, causing the human spirit to make demands upon all the reaches of its resourcefulness, in order to keep from being engulfed, then the value of its finding made articulate, has more than passing significance."

The church at 90 Main Street pays attention to this music, not because someone told us to be more multi-culturally sensitive; not because someone told us it would be good for us; not because we were coerced, or bullied, or required to display some diversity. We paid rapt attention because that music spoke to our hearts and minds and souls. It blessed us, held us, invited us, and gave us more energy, joy and exuberance than we knew what to do with! (I even think I heard our 1700's ancestor, the Rev. Aaron Bancroft, clapping along in rhythm, in the back of the sanctuary.)

Jesus showed us the same miraculous expansiveness in his story of the good Samaritan. In those ancient times, it was the Samaritans who were the despised, the poor, the oppressed, and the victims of prejudice and hatred. Jesus didn't lecture and condemn his listeners for being bigots or people of privilege. He just told them a story, so powerful that when he was done, they hoped that if they ever got assaulted and robbed, they would be lucky enough to encounter that good Samaritan. The story allowed them to look past their own culturally conditioned trust of the priest and the Levite, until at last they were able to see the dignity and the respect in the true child of God that the Samaritan was, and always would be.

I don't exactly know why love and truth can never be forced, coerced, or beaten into us. Perhaps because those forces of violence would damage the very hearts and souls that need to be healed. But I do believe that love and truth and grace are so powerful that they gently and persistently invite our attention, and are always and unconditionally available.

Thus it is that I am puzzled and troubled by the most recent edition of the UU World, on the subject of Anti-Racism. While there is much material that invites us into deeper reflection, there is also an edge. It was reported that someone involved in antiracism consciousness raising said, "This stuff hurts, and it is supposed to hurt."

A curriculum that claims that it intends, "to hurt you" will be taught by those who are angry and/or sadistic. And I can imagine that those who have masochistic tendencies, or who easily identify with a need to feel shame, self-hatred and guilt, will line up swiftly to enroll.

But I must decline the invitation of any who claim they want "to hurt me." Indeed, Jesus was fairly clear, that if someone takes up residence in the temple in order to exploit you, hurt you, or use you for their own purposes, you must cast them out, reject them, send them packing.

The ones I want to invite into the church are those who will bring their truth, their devotion and their passion. Each of us has different gifts, different theological experiences and languages, different understandings of the holy. But we can literally see the world expand, and the heart grow larger and stronger, when we share what matters with one another. As I listen closely to your music, your stories, to the struggles you encounter, and the hopes that have blessed your life, paradoxically, I find myself less alone, and more able to walk with you.

We were a full gospel church last Sunday. And each Sunday that follows, we will try, in our own limited way, to let in a little more light from traditions within this parish and from around the globe. You are invited to bring your truth and your light. I believe each of us has the power to make the world more welcoming to all souls.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

There are certain authors who articulate such a profound level of truth, that the mind immediately recognizes that what is written is important and significant. But then the mind neglects to record the information in any kind of a permanent or retrievable way. I'm not sure whether the clearly worded truth is simply too threatening to the status quo (or to current world views), and therefore the mind refuses to integrate or to incorporate the new insights. Sometimes it seems that our appreciation of wisdom is more aesthetic than anything else. We admire truth from a distance. We find it pleasing to the eye and ear. But we don't actually want to take it home to use.

All I know is that the more true something is, the quicker I seem to forget it. And thus, the need to go back over and over again to those poems, essays, and scriptures that wake me up, that call me back to what is trustworthy.

The advantage to leading a Lenten course, using Thomas Merton as a spiritual guide, is that the teacher gets to go back to "the well." There, I am reminded of what I once understood. Then, I can remind the Monday night participants of what they once knew. If I were to compile a Thomas Merton primer, it would have to include the following quotes (and personal commentary).

› "Humility contains in itself the answer to all the great problems of the life of the soul…humility alone can destroy the self-centeredness that makes joy impossible."

(So why is it that when things go wrong or are challenging, I quickly assume the solution is to become more excellent and more competent?)

› "Did not Isaiah say clearly that the waters of life are given to those precisely who have no money?"

(So why do I think that I ought to be able to offer to God, discipline, devotion, focus, and contentment? What any of us have to offer to the spiritual life is our poverty, our longing, our need. What we receive from our spiritual life is a gift; unearned, undeserved. What we receive is a sign of an ultimate goodness that keeps in relationship with us, no matter what we bring to the table.)

› "God did not invite the children of Israel to leave the slavery of Egypt: He commanded them to do so."

(But I am "at ease" with my selfishness, my fearfulness, my laziness! These are qualities that enslave the heart, mind, and soul. I prefer the idea that the spiritual journey is an open-ended invitation, available when I'm feeling ready or especially energetic, rather than a compelling and urgent demand.)

› "We never see the one truth that would help us begin to solve our ethical and political problems; that we are all more or less wrong; that we are all at fault, all limited and obstructed by our mixed motives, our self-deception, our greed, our self-righteousness, and our tendency to aggressivity and hypocracy."

(This one is especially easy to forget. It's a lot more comforting to think, "I'm right and you are wrong.")

› "Prayer and love are really learned in the hour when prayer becomes impossible, and your heart turns to stone."

(Having underlined that passage in 1972, I'm still hoping to pray with great focus and attention with a heart full of love.)

I haven't quite figured out why in 28 years, these statements still amaze me. (You would think that, at the very least, after having read them a few dozen times, they would at least sound familiar.) But who knows. Maybe truth is more elusive than we think. And maybe that's why it's good that some truths are written down, right where we will find them.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

This problem with the printer had occurred a few months ago. It was technically corrected by fussing with it and jiggling it. (I don't know why this worked, but it did. Perhaps it just wanted some attention?) Anyway, for weeks now, I could relax, knowing that a command to print would be promptly obeyed.

But not Sunday. I hit a few re-set buttons, and happily, it started to hum, chirp, and print. Only, it was printing way too slowly. And I cried out, "Oh no! Not more butterflies!" Because this particular color printer has an automatic sample display; consisting of a vividly colorful monarch butterfly on one sheet, and a modern directional graphic in primary colors on the second sheet. Once the printer has decided to show me what it's capable of, there is no stopping it. And it takes forever.

I have tried to interpret the printer's message and intention. Is it reading my mind, that I consider it a worthless piece of plastic, and is it just showing off it's extraordinary capacity, if only a competent human user was at the helm? It is mocking my attempt to copy a simple email? Does it prefer doing "art," rather than mundane clerical tasks? Why does it insist on going west, when I want to go east?

I am having other problems at home. Because spring is here, and my clothes don't fit, I find myself dieting again. In three weeks, I've tried three separate diets, with ranging degrees of failure and success. The problem arises not from dieting, but out of our food storage space.

The first thing I do when I go on a diet is to drive to the grocery store and purchase a whole new supply of healthy, sustaining, and comforting foods. These items are then taken to the kitchen and put into cabinets and refrigerators. But then, because I am dieting, I find that I am hungry. So I go back to the grocery store. Daily. The hungrier I get, the more food I buy. (This makes a certain logical sense.)

Except that now we can't fit a single extra carrot into the refrigerator, it is so full; as are the drawers, the shelves, and now, the counters. I suspect there is something twisted and self-defeating about trying to eat less, and at the same time, bringing greater and greater quantities of food into the house. (One can only take the "healthy variety" argument so far.) Once again, I'm heading west when I want to go east.

Rumi described the frustration of being a contradictory human being many centuries ago. He even went so far as to question our sense of direction.
 
 

Who makes these changes?

I shoot an arrow right.

It lands left.

I ride after a deer and find myself

chased by a hog.

I plot to get what I want

and end up in prison.

I dig pits to trap others

and fall in.

I should be suspicious

of what I want.

So the way to Easter and new life is, by no means, a straightforward path. This sense of being pulled in many directions, of being unsure and bewildered is simply a normal part of the soul's journey. Rogue butterflies and all. Contradictory human hungers included. The good and the bad in us. The weak and the strong. When we go east and when we go west. Eventually, the truth will find us, no matter where we are.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

What might not be obvious to a casual observer of all this joyous, open-hearted, embrace of a warm day in early March, is that the native population is well aware that it will not last. Snow is in the forecast. The temperatures are likely to drop forty to fifty degrees overnight. Winter is not done with us yet. There is a very long time to go before the freezing winds stop blowing.

Nevertheless, we do not spurn the too-brief visit of a lovely spring day. We know that we are tasting the future. We have been sent a message from a "time that is not yet." And the glad tidings are that, once again, the miracle will occur. A gentler season is just ahead. Nothing can stop the spring flowers that have been "shipped;" but are not yet visible. The first warm day is a promissory note, and our delight is visceral. Our happiness is surprisingly unequivocal; considering that we are fully aware of how brief the respite is from the cold.

As the natural world dramatically announces to us that a new lively season is on its way, we send our own message back that we are ready. At least that's the way Frederick Buechner explains this two-way communication.

In one of Buechner's novels, a man is "called" to his ministry. But he protests, "I heard no call…I came here as a stranger, and I came by chance." But the priest he is speaking to asks him to explain his strong emotions, his tears…and says, "When a man leaves home, he leaves behind some scrap of his heart…is it not so?…It is the same with a place a man is going to. Only then he sends a scrap of his heart ahead."

Even though spring in New England is still a long way off, we send ahead a little bit of our heart and mind and soul. We will not be arriving at the glories of spring as a stranger, or by chance. It will be a homecoming, and a reunion. Right now, we are being called into new life. We become alert and keenly aware (with just the slightest perfume of thawing ground) that there is a reality, that is not yet realized, but that we can recognize from a great distance away.

Sometimes a line in a hymn can, similarly, call to us from a place we have not yet seen. We are puzzled, as our eyes fill with tears when the choir sings, "Shall we gather by the river, the beautiful, beautiful river, shall we gather by the river, that flows by the throne of God." We enthusiastically sing the triumphant songs of Easter, even through we do not currently live in a realm where love and peace and truth reign forever. But in a sense, you and I are sending a little part of our heart ahead. There is a call, and we hear it.

Our tears sometimes signify a deep unconscious awareness that there is more life and joy, goodness and beauty, in our future than our conscious, rational minds can imagine.

Maybe that's why, as we find ourselves in those rare situations in life when people treat one another with respect and dignity, (when we help one another, when we are generous and fearless and loving), we come to these moments with an odd sense of recognition. Our "ah-hah," our satisfaction, and our contentment occur at those times when our best dreams come true. Perhaps our bodies and minds have finally caught up with what our hearts and souls have always known was real.

Someone once wrote, "Oh the places I have been." I know I have left little pieces of my heart all over the world. How nice to think that in the days ahead (and possibly even in eternity), we will arrive, not as strangers, not by chance; but recognizing our true home; embraced by a love that has been calling to us from the beginning of time.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

"Quite frequently, people will ask me a variety of questions. The questions fall along the lines of, "Isn't it so sad?" "How can you stand to do that kind of work?" and "Isn't it difficult?" On occasion personal thoughts will be shared such as, "I used to believe in God. Now I don't because God would never let a disease like this exist." These are easy questions to answer. I love the work I do. Sometimes it is sad, but life can be sad, too. God's love is evident to me each and every day."

"As a new graduate nurse some years ago, I truly had not considered this particular field of nursing. Starting out, lofty aspirations were plentiful. Excitement, high tech, critical decision-making, and fast paced action were priorities on the list of prospective job descriptions. There was a very strong desire to learn something new every day; no two days should ever be the same. The ultimate goal was to be a Life Flight nurse.

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to the helicopter. I fell in love. It happened one day on a dementia unit in a nursing home where I was working. One of the residents, a beautiful white haired woman bent down and picked up a tiny scrap of paper from behind a chair. This woman's dementia was so advanced that she had entirely lost her language skills. Yet here she was concerned about the appearance of our home. This struck me as having an incredible tenacity for life. Those that knew her stated that she was always very neat. They said, "Her floors were so clean that you could eat off them." Here she was, true to form.

That's when it began, when my heart was captured. Every day, I fell in love all over again. Watching a smile come across someone's face when I caught his or her gaze and said, "Hello." Sometimes an individual would be sad and tearful, and another 
 

resident would walk by and pat their arm and coo little sounds of comfort. These delightful occurrences tugged at my heartstrings in a way I never could have imaged. It quite simply amazed me. Here was a group of individuals whose brains were ravaged by this dreadful disease and yet they continued to display the sweetest of human qualities. Similar to the tree that grows along the side of a highway, sprouting up between a crack in a rock cliff. Against all odds, there is evidence of a will to live. In the face of adversity, life goes on.

Alzheimer's is a devastating disease, heartbreaking for those experiencing it in their lives. It is a progressive degenerative disease that creates a sense of helplessness in family members as they watch this freight train plow through their loved one's brain. Several physiological changes occur in the brain of an individual with Alzheimer's Disease. There is a decrease in the production of neurotransmitters, neurofiber tangles develop, there is a build-up of protein plaques, and brain tissue atrophies. This is a brain that is severely challenged. Yet every now and then the pieces seem to fall into the right place and there are lucid moments. These are what I refer to as "golden moments," when the true individual shines through that ravaged brain. That is God's love shining through and it is joyful.

Sometimes I think that the individuals with Alzheimer's Disease are the survivors, the victims are their families. It is the families who are heart broken. It seems that part of their grief stems from a sense of being robbed. Alzheimer's Disease steals away years that they should have been able to share with their loved ones. Having a network of supportive friends can be tremendously beneficial for the families. For some, joining a support can be quite helpful. Attending the forum this Sunday will provide resources, information, answers, and support.

As for my job, it is a gift. It presents the opportunity to witness human kindness at its best, an entire spectrum of emotions, and the chance to fall in love every day. For certain, no two days are ever the same.

Submitted by Lauren Ota

And what a story! The story moves like a tornado across Oklahoma, skipping here and there, but sweeping up everything in its wake. It tells of miraculous healings, including a woman with what was once called "female troubles" who is healed just by touching Jesus' clothes in a crowd. A little girl is raised from the dead, or was she only sleeping? So many demons are called out of one poor crazed man that, when they are turned loose on some pigs, the whole herd rushes off of a cliff. Jesus walks on the water and calms the storm. Jesus feeds the five thousand and then the four thousand. Jesus appears with Moses and Elijah on the mountain top in robes of dazzling white. Mark's story crackles with vivid scenes, amazing incidents and stirring events.

Early in the book, Jesus tells the parable of the sower:

"Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold." And he said, "Let anyone with ears to hear listen!" (Mark 4:3-9)

And just to make sure that we understand the point, Mark shows us Jesus explaining his own parable.

The sower sows the word. These are the ones on the path where the word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the word that is sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: when they hear the word, they immediately receive it with joy. But they have no root, and endure only for a while; then, when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away. And others are those sown among the thorns: these are the ones who hear the word, but the cares of the world, and the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, and it yields nothing. And these are the ones sown on the good soil: they hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirty and sixty and a hundredfold." (Mark 4:14-20)

The parable works as a kind of key to the story, showing all the different kinds of responses that Jesus encounters. Mark tells us about characters who correspond to each type of soil in the parable. We see the scribes and pharisees respond to Jesus with immediate hostility. We watch the disciples who respond immediately to the call but are unreliable in the end. Mark shows us the rich young man who is unwilling to give up his wealth. And we see the great crowd of faithful people who come seeking healing and go away singing God's praises.

This story aroused our little group. It seemed to be saying that some people "get it" but that others "just don't get it." So, we wanted to know why and how? And we worried about judgments being entered against people based on how they hear a message. On the other hand, we wonder if we have the same attitude about our church: that some people "get it" and others won't, and that is okay. So that makes us wonder.

In days gone by, a group of Unitarians reading Mark, would have been more concerned about the stories of miracle healings. They would have wanted to know how they could be true. Is there a natural explanation for these events? A few decades ago, readers brought their concerns about science and truth to a reading of one of the gospels.

But now, we bring a different set of issues. Are some people in the story being left out? Are people being judged fairly? Is being close to God portrayed as believing certain things? We bring all our 21st century concerns about fairness and inclusion to the story. Somehow, when we confront this ancient book, our current point of view stands out in bolder relief.

The Bible Study class is an example of our free faith in action. We have not "outgrown" the Bible, nor rejected it as no longer relevant to us. On the other hand, we are not so in awe of it that we slavishly worship its every word. We read it; we try to understand it; we challenge it and let it challenge us. We wrestle with it. Surely, it deserves no less.

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

And what a story! The story moves like a tornado across Oklahoma, skipping here and there, but sweeping up everything in its wake. It tells of miraculous healings, including a woman with what was once called "female troubles" who is healed just by touching Jesus' clothes in a crowd. A little girl is raised from the dead, or was she only sleeping? So many demons are called out of one poor crazed man that, when they are turned loose on some pigs, the whole herd rushes off of a cliff. Jesus walks on the water and calms the storm. Jesus feeds the five thousand and then the four thousand. Jesus appears with Moses and Elijah on the mountain top in robes of dazzling white. Mark's story crackles with vivid scenes, amazing incidents and stirring events.

Early in the book, Jesus tells the parable of the sower:

"Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold." And he said, "Let anyone with ears to hear listen!" (Mark 4:3-9)

And just to make sure that we understand the point, Mark shows us Jesus explaining his own parable.

The sower sows the word. These are the ones on the path where the word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the word that is sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: when they hear the word, they immediately receive it with joy. But they have no root, and endure only for a while; then, when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away. And others are those sown among the thorns: these are the ones who hear the word, but the cares of the world, and the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, and it yields nothing. And these are the ones sown on the good soil: they hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirty and sixty and a hundredfold." (Mark 4:14-20)

The parable works as a kind of key to the story, showing all the different kinds of responses that Jesus encounters. Mark tells us about characters who correspond to each type of soil in the parable. We see the scribes and pharisees respond to Jesus with immediate hostility. We watch the disciples who respond immediately to the call but are unreliable in the end. Mark shows us the rich young man who is unwilling to give up his wealth. And we see the great crowd of faithful people who come seeking healing and go away singing God's praises.

This story aroused our little group. It seemed to be saying that some people "get it" but that others "just don't get it." So, we wanted to know why and how? And we worried about judgments being entered against people based on how they hear a message. On the other hand, we wonder if we have the same attitude about our church: that some people "get it" and others won't, and that is okay. So that makes us wonder.

In days gone by, a group of Unitarians reading Mark, would have been more concerned about the stories of miracle healings. They would have wanted to know how they could be true. Is there a natural explanation for these events? A few decades ago, readers brought their concerns about science and truth to a reading of one of the gospels.

But now, we bring a different set of issues. Are some people in the story being left out? Are people being judged fairly? Is being close to God portrayed as believing certain things? We bring all our 21st century concerns about fairness and inclusion to the story. Somehow, when we confront this ancient book, our current point of view stands out in bolder relief.

The Bible Study class is an example of our free faith in action. We have not "outgrown" the Bible, nor rejected it as no longer relevant to us. On the other hand, we are not so in awe of it that we slavishly worship its every word. We read it; we try to understand it; we challenge it and let it challenge us. We wrestle with it. Surely, it deserves no less.avy snow. When we crossed the border into New Hampshire, my husband remarked, "Here's a chance to see how this state keeps their roads plowed." Despite being on an interstate, we saw very little snow clearance. There was really only one useable lane in either direction. So we, like everyone else on the road that day, slowly moved up the highway in a single lane. Jeffrey, remarking about the lack of plowing and salt and sand, said, "I guess 'live free or die' means 'you're on your own.'"

As soon as we left the cities behind, I noted that over half the cars on the road were 4-wheel drive. (We weren't.) People were driving a respectable distance apart, despite the heavy volume of traffic. No one was going over 45 mph. Conditions were simply too bad to go faster. There was enough snow and ice, even in the well-traveled lane, to make everyone properly cautious. Only not even caution was enough. We passed any number of cars that had gone into snow banks. And one slowdown revealed at least a dozen cars that had collided, skidded, and in one way or another, made unwelcome contact on the road. When one car went out of control, there were real consequences for everyone else. It wasn't enough for you to keep a good distance between your vehicle and the one your were following. The guy in back of you also had to be exercising a prudent estimation about braking on snow and ice.

Then, still on the interstate, we came to a complete stop. For about twenty minutes, no one moved an inch. By the time traffic started up again, the cars that collided at the bridge had all been towed away. But the drama and the suffering of their predicament had affected all of us on the road that morning. Hundreds of cars, in single file, waited while the road was cleared. I think most of us were grateful that we were still on the highway and not in a ditch.

What does it mean to "Live Free" in a snowstorm? Certainly, if you're out on the road, you quickly become aware of your dependency, on the driving skill of those around you…on the contingency of 

circumstances…on the sheer luck of being in one group of cars rather than another. (If we hadn't stopped for coffee in Concord, we could have easily been involved in one of those accidents in front of us.)

It's hard to feel independent and self-defining when you are driving on ice or slick snow. It's hard not to notice how much you're depending on grace, good luck, and the responsible driving of strangers. It wasn't enough for us to drive safely. We were absolutely dependent on the good sense of those around us. And we were at the mercy of the elements. Fortunately, we were driving through snow, rather than freezing rain. And fortunately, we made it to our destination, an hour and a half behind schedule, but in one piece.

Now, I like freedom as much as anyone I know. I like the New Hampshire slogan, "Live Free or Die." I admire stubbornness and flinty, ornery, independent thinking. Life sometimes requires us to be strong, self-reliant, and firm in our resolve.

But it is not enough. We also need to acknowledge that without the good will of our neighbor, we will be more likely to suffer. None of us can live alone. We can survive for a while. But, in bad weather, and in most every other circumstance, each of us requires help; the kindness of God, the kindness of friends; the kindness of strangers.

As we approached the state line, still in New Hampshire, my husband noted the irony that this state might be putting a little bit too much emphasis on freedom and death; especially in that New Hampshire combines the Interstate Rest Stop with a huge State Liquor Store. In a classic case of poor judgement, people are encouraged to take a high speed drive, and to briefly stop to stock up on their alcoholic beverages of choice. A roadside rest stop/package store is probably not the best way to encourage people not to "Drink and Drive."

In New Hampshire, and elsewhere, death is not optional. But how we live, and how we acknowledge our neighbor, can make all the difference on the journey.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

But the more I read of Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six, the more I wonder, "What book might possibly balance this right-wing, militant world view?"

To begin with, much of the main character's heroic traits seem to be determined by neck size. While I can appreciate a boy's attraction to the muscle bound athletic ideal of the "in-shape" warrior, I am absolutely dumbfounded by the descriptions of the heros (the anti-terrorists) offered in the novel. And I quote, "They trained their men to be supermen, Olympic-perfect physical specimens, supremely trained in the use of firearms and explosives, and most of all, mentally prepared for the rapid destruction of human life," or "…Like most people in uniform, Malloy despised terrorists as cowardly sub-human animals who merited only violent and immediate death."

Not that I'm not overly fond of terrorists myself. I would have no moral qualms, whatsoever, if a group of hostages were saved by a very macho group of sharpshooters. In the line of duty, it is understandable to kill terrorists, in order to spare the lives of the innocent. But I am still unnerved when anyone calls another human being "a sub-human animal." And in this book, people who object to smoking are described as "health Nazis." 

But the real shock lies in the identity of the terrorists in this piece of fiction. Environmentalists! Admittedly, the enemy is described as only the most extreme wing of the environmentalist fringe. But these bad guys are so deranged in their "love of the planet" that in order to protect plant life and animal life, they decide to annihilate most of the earth's human population.

One thing the novel has taught me already is that I live in a very protected world, where environmentalists are always assumed to be good. I guess with all the stereotypes I have of the far right wing, (and those who support ultra orthodox and violent militias), it simply never occurred to me that they might have an equal number of stereotypes about the causes and lifestyles that I support and am committed to.

The word stereotype comes from an eighteenth century printing technique. A stereotype was a whole plate of type that was formed into a mold. Once this plate was made solid, not a single letter or jot of punctuation could be changed or altered. The metaphorical sense soon followed. You form an image; you make a decision about the nature of reality. And that image becomes fixed and constant.

When we stereotype one another, there is no room for nuance, or new information or the uniqueness of each individual. Most damaging of all, there is no room for change. We assume we already know all that needs to be known. And our mind and hearts and souls freeze and become inflexible, rigid and closed.

I'm far enough into Rainbow Six that I'm starting to develop a certain fondness for members of the muscle-bound anti-terrorist unit. And it's obviously very important that they stop these power-mad, fanatical, and horrifyingly myopic environmentalists.

But I think I'll be asking David to read about my favorite spy character, George Smiley, in John LeCarré's Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Smiley is portrayed as a reluctant hero; middle aged, quiet, out of shape, and somewhat shy and awkward. He is observant, (more than brilliant), insightful (rather than being accurate with a gun). He saw evil in himself and in his own bureaucracy, as well as in the enemy. And his determination, and his constancy, allow the good guys to win.

Smiley probably won't be as appealing to my son as the "Olympic-perfect" jocks that save the planet for Tom Clancy. But at least LaCarré will give him a dramatic alternative about what it takes to enter into combat with human evil. There are all kinds of ways to save the world. And I believe that each of us has a unique part to play.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

When I was lad, Unitarians could be symbolized by the question mark. In that time gone by, we were the ones who questioned the old beliefs, the things that everyone took for granted, the ones who wouldn't say the Nicene Creed unless we understood and approved of every word. In a world that seemed to be filled with thoughtless faith, we were the skeptics, the doubters, the questioners. It was said that Unitarian congregations could not sing well because everyone was reading ahead to make sure that they had no doubts about the verses to come. There is a Responsive Reading in our hymnal called "Cherish Your Doubts" by the Rev. Robert Weston. "Cherish your Doubts", he urges us, because your doubts and questions will lead you to new truths.

Today, the world is different. The modern religious question is the one asked by Bill Gates. An interviewer once asked him what he thought of organized religion. "Well", said the world's most celebrated gazillionaire, "it seems OK, but why would anyone want to waste all that time when there was so much else to do?" The great religious question of our time is, apparently, "Why bother?"

In a culture that seems to question everything, to doubt everything, to dismiss everything, to mock anything, what is an appropriate religious question to ask?

The center of our religious lives has moved from our questioning minds to our yearning and longing hearts. Our faith advances not by paying attention to all that we doubt, but by paying attention to what makes us sigh, what makes us groan, what makes us tear up, what makes us shudder, what makes us gasp, what startles us and surprises us. What makes us ache.

No longer is it religiously satisfying to cast a cold and quizzical look at the answers that faith traditions have given to the great religious puzzles of life. No longer is it even satisfying to say the old questions are not important anymore.

The religious questions that matter today can be barely articulated -- why am I this way? The most important questions are the ones that we are even embarrassed to ask aloud. Is there something wrong with me? Do I matter to anyone beyond myself? Does anyone really care what I do? Am I really loved by anyone? Can I really give and receive love? What am I waiting for? What can I hope for? Is this all there is?

Where once we cherished our doubts, now we need to name our longings. The truth we seek "out there" is so intimately connected to what we know "in here." I believe that Rilke says it best in this complicated poem.

Only I didn't know. And I did lean over. And what happened to my back at that particular moment was somewhat akin to an explosion of pain. Since that critical moment a week ago, I've been trussed up in a back brace, visiting the chiropractor, applying ice and heat, taking massive doses of Ibuprofin, and "resting my back."

I do not like to "rest my back." It means, to me, inactivity, being unproductive, having to have people help me, wait upon me; take care of me. Just a few days ago, I was making a hospital call to a parishioner, and I advised, "patience; allow ample time for the body to heal; accept temporary limitations."

What inane advise! At least it seems so to me, now that I'm on the receiving end. The truth is, I am not a very good patient. I lay perfectly still with ice on my back for an hour and 20 minutes, and it did no apparent good at all!

The sages tell us that illness and injury and adversity have the capacity to bring out the best in the human spirit; compassion and wisdom and humility. But in my case, a bad back appears to be bringing out the worst. I find myself resenting and envying all these people who can walk, sit, and reach, let alone those who can cross-country ski and jog! I hear myself whining and complaining (and worst of all, boring others and myself) with an endless updating of symptoms and minute details of the injury.

It has been unconscionable that I have occasionally been irritable and demanding with my care givers; so frustrated with my helplessness and dependency, that I find myself taking it out on them.

It does no apparent good to admonish myself for being a "big baby." I don't seem to have a stoic bone in my body. And I've never been able to suffer in silence.

A week after the incident, I am finally seeing some signs of improvement. I am even entertaining the hope that I will some day heal and return to "normal" activity. But when your body fails you, you do catch a glimpse that eventually, the body will break down, and there won't be any recovery. We're all betting on a losing horse, when we put our faith in the physical human form.

But I also caught a glimpse of something else this week. As bad as the pain was, and as discouraged as I became, the injury was not more powerful than the experience of human love. Indeed, even when I was not at my best, the love seemed to move closer. Family and friends were more expressive of their concern. Or maybe it was simply that when my busy schedule collapsed and I had to move so slowly, I noticed what has been there all along.

This week, I have been acutely reminded of "grace." The grace of not slipping on ice, the grace of being brought a cup of coffee, the grace of being in a community that is capable of going on with strength, when one of its members is weak.

I have bumped hard into reality. As my doctor said, "You can't fool Mother Nature, or talk her into anything." No matter how much I want to get well, no matter how much I fume or fuss, or complain; the body heals at its own pace. I can do the recommended physical (and mental) therapy. I can rest, and move cautiously and limit my activities, but it's going to take as long as its going to take--which I find maddening and irrefutable.

Being in a body is not always easy. But the saints and the poets say that there is much to be gained. I'm reading my Rumi…

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000
 

My father's family was a ministerial family in the German conference of the American Baptist convention. My father's mother's father, my father's father and one his uncles, my father, his brother, and two of his brothers-in-law were ministers. In addition, my mother's father was also a minister in the same denomination. They tended to all be theologically and politically liberal and progressive.

They were, on the other hand, culturally conservative. I was surprised to hear that my father's split from his family was as much about issues like smoking (tobacco), drinking (occasionally) and dancing (sedately) as it was about higher issues of theology and social principle. I got a clue why I so fiercely resist anyone who tells me what I should or should not do in my personal life. My parents smoked like chimneys until they died; I never realized that every time they lit up, they were enacting their own life-long rebellion against their parents.

But the curse of our tribe is not smoking, even though it is tragic that this single, unhealthy habit continues, because it has become a symbol of generational struggles. It's still the most potent rebel flag around.

At our little family reunion there were enough cousins and enough generations together to begin to see a common pattern of family life. I share it here only because I think that this pattern goes beyond my family. I see it working in other non-ministerial families as well.

My family has been filled with good families who were active in their communities. They had public lives; they had full social lives. The fathers, and later the mothers, participated in many good causes and civic institutions. They were also kind to strangers, solicitous of others and peacemakers in times of strife. They cared about people. They were the kind of people that many of us are, or try to be, and admire.

But on the other side of that boundary between public and private life, in the privacy of their own homes, they were different to their children. Their high social principles turned into often impossible expectations for their kids. The cup of human kindness that had overflowed in public, with strangers, sometimes seemed empty at home. All the anger and discourtesy that was suppressed in public could be voiced at home. Out it came in the form of sharp rebukes, insistent carping criticism and even rage.

As my extended family and I sat around a dinner table, I saw us as a family that had tried to embody a loving God in a hurting world, and yet individually, so many members of every generation had felt insufficiently loved by their own parents. I believe that my parents’ generation actually suffered more than did mine from this problem. 

My family's curse is the shadow side of the blessing that it tries to bestow upon the world. Generation after generation tries to minister to the world, and generation after generation comes up short at home. It is all so terribly sad. People just seem incapable of meeting all of demands that life places on them. Being a public citizen, performing well at a career, guiding and nurturing the children, being a good friend, welcoming the stranger, doing some good in the neighborhood: isn’t this an awful lot to ask of flawed and limited people? We do the best we can, and are somewhat surprised to find out that it is never enough. What is especially painful, though, is that we fall short where we least expect it, and where we would never want.

Well, this is my family’s story. I hope that it is not yours.

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

The bulls are many different colors but seem to come in only two sizes: large and gigantic. Either way, they inspire awe, leaping and bucking, twisting and turning, all four feet often off of the ground at the same time. One bull was particularly angry. Even after he had successfully thrown his rider, he roamed the arena looking for revenge at the indignities he had suffered. Three times, he lowered his head, pawed the ground and charged after group of handlers, who quickly clambered up the fences. A cowboy came over on a horse and tried to lasso him; it was hard to get close to him because the horse knew better and was trying to run the other way. When the rope landed on his head, the bull adroitly shrugged it off. Finally, after bringing all the proceedings to a halt, this magnificent rebel bull was enticed out of the arena. Each bull has a name and a reputation; the announcer calls them "animal athletes." They travel from show to show, just like the cowboys.

The cowboys, on the other hand, were young, very thin, and had that understated economy of grace that typifies cowboy style. They would tip their hats when applauded. Most seem to start riding in high school, and had already compiled impressive lists of broken bones, concussions and surgeries. The odds favor the bulls. A lot more cowboys get hurt at this sport than do bulls. The cowboys, I am sure, get better retirement benefits.

The event was fascinating and fun for your ministers, a visit to a different world. Jeffrey wore a cowboy hat and we all cheered the winners. The announcer kept reminding the crowd that, "if you live West of anywhere, you, too, can enjoy the Western lifestyle." I guess that even means "west of Boston."

It's impossible to tell this story without coming up eventually against that feeling that "people like us don't go to things like that." Unitarian Universalists don't go to the rodeos. We don't go to sporting events sponsored by tobacco companies. We don't listen to country music. We don't have blue collar hobbies. We don't go places about which you can write a story without ever having to say "he or she". "People like us" go to Art museums, and the symphony and plays. And I admit, that as I wandered around the Centrum, I did not see any familiar faces from First Unitarian there.

Well, we should get over it, already. People like us do go to Bull Riding Competitions; after all, there were your ministers right there in Section 104. We are more diverse in cultural interests than we imagine.

Actually, what is that "people like us" do? We unite to worship God in an atmosphere of freedom and beauty. That's what makes us "people like us." There is nothing in our covenant, our bylaws, our mission and values statements that has anything to do with cultural interests, recreational preferences, fashion or taste. None of those defining documents of our church mentions anything about education or sophistication. It is important to remember that. A church like ours could exist in any cultural setting, among people who enjoy a wide variety of music and who go to all kinds of recreational events. A church like ours could be made up of all country-music fans.

What makes us "people like us" is that we choose to worship in a particular way, one that recognizes the inner freedom of every worshipper. Even when we are most together on a Sunday morning, we know that each of us understands what we are doing in a slightly different way. The words we say together echo differently within each one of us. We are free to doubt, or question, or even reject what is said from the pulpit. Spiritual freedom, respect for differences of opinion and temperament, religious curiosity and wonder: it is "things like that" that make us "people like us."

©The Rev. Thomas Schade, 2000

The fantasy life contained in your average New Year's resolution is rich and sweet. It starts with the premise that thinking of an ideal self, imagining a new and improved schedule and personality, will increase the likelihood that you will be transformed. Resolutions are also esthetically satisfying; they give the appearance of order and control. They allow you to picture yourself without flaws, limitations, setbacks, or weaknesses. (How could the new, improved model ever feel the kind of fear, inadequacy, and need that the old self has structured its life upon?)

But my favorite delusion embedded in a list of resolutions is the illogical, but stubborn belief, that all that is required for a better life is for us to give more effort. No real change is needed; no change of heart will be asked for. All you need to do is to do what has never worked before, only do it harder. Try harder. Work harder. Push harder. This is music to the ears of all of us who continually try to defy gravity by pulling ourselves up by the boot straps; all of us who believe that we have to earn love and approval; that grace is the reward for diligence; and that the race belongs to the swift. No matter what Jesus said, we secretly are convinced that "the first will be first" and "the last will be last," and that rather than seeking forgiveness and mercy, it would be far better to live a blameless and righteous existence.

The word "resolution," in my thesaurus, reveals the shadow side of our "best laid plans." To be resolved includes being "relentless, self-willed, and obstinate." To be resolved means "to set one's jaw, to nail one's colors to the mast, to burn one's bridges, to stop at nothing." It also means "to be rigid, inflexible, hell-bent, and like a bulldog." And just to make sure that we are clear about the particular nuance of the verb "to will into existence," my thesaurus adds "to have one's way is to write one's own ticket, and to take the law into one's own hands." In a full-blown New Year's Resolution fantasy, we are not only the captains of our own destiny, we also take on God-like powers to perfect ourselves and our life circumstances.

What I admire about reality is its stubborn refusal to accommodate our foolish illusions. Certainly, if wanting to be much stronger and more perfect were all that was required, most of us would be a lot farther along than we are. If spiritually, all that were needed was a good list, with a clear set of objectives and goals, the saints and the sages would have instructed us on how to write down exactly what we think we want.

Instead, scripture, while honoring human effort and inviting our firm resolve to be the best human beings we are capable of being, insists that we will need to experience love and grace. We will need to wait patiently, trusting that what we require will come to us. Effortlessly.

I can't even imagine what this "effortlessness" would feel like or look like. Grace is experienced when we become aware of what is gracious; when we are thankful for what is freely given. Again taking counsel from the thesaurus, that words used to describe what is "effortless" sound like a phenomenal corrective to our stubborn resolutions. Under the heading of effortless, you will find "simple, clear, flexible, yielding, and freedom."

Lao Tzu wrote, "If you want to become full, let yourself be empty…if you want to be given everything, give everything up…open yourself to the Tao, then trust your natural responses, and everything will fall into place." Or contemplate words from our own Christian tradition, from St. John, "I can, of mine own self, do nothing."

For those of us with resolve and resolutions to spare, for those of us who are (and probably always will be) list writers, I can only pray that there is grace enough to gently teach us about love. Methchild of Magdeburg's words need to go right beside my New Year's Resolutions:
 
 

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 2000

The question arrives in late December, ‘How does a broken hearted city celebrate a season of merriment, and joy? I am not speaking of the Christian religious observance of Christmas, which will continue in churches through our communities. But rather, how are those of us of every religion and philosophical persuasion going to respond to the cultural expectations that we will attend festive parties, exchange carefully selected gifts, and decorate our homes or offices with bright lights and bright colors. The media is quite explicit; this is our time to be jolly and carefree! It’s hard to meet that expectation when you are crying.

But that doesn’t mean that Christmas needs to be cancelled this year in Worcester. I think it means that there are special gifts to give and to receive. I believe that the firefighters (and so many others in our community), have given us a glimpse of what is genuinely important, in this, the darkest time of the year. May I suggest you include, somewhere in your list of things to do in the next busy days, the following:

Show Up: When over 30,000 firefighters converged in Worcester they gave a powerful witness to the families, to their fellow firefighters, and to this city. At the times when their are no words: when you cannot think of anything consoling or comforting, your mere presence can be a tremendous blessing. When we "show up" we tell people that no matter how difficult the challenge, they are not alone.

Help Out: The police men and women who directed traffic when the interstate was closed down, offered their assistance to all of us. It didn’t seem like a good idea to slow traffic further, by rolling down the window and expressing our appreciation. But I hope the police noticed that a lot of us had tears in our eyes. Many of us were deeply aware and grateful that the police were able to assist us. We were trying to move through the traffic that announced all too clearly: our city is injured…alternative routes must be found by everyone.

Generosity: This is supposed to be the season. But too often we think that generosity has to do with the wrapped presents that get put under a tree. The firefighters showed us what the spirit of generosity is really about. Six brave men lost their lives in acts of heroic generosity and selflessness. The rest of us saw what is best in the human spirit. What you might not know is that these men were generous before the fire. At Youville, a shelter for homeless families , two of the fallen heroes were the men who regularly brought the fire trucks up for the homeless children to climb up in and explore. Four of the fallen heroes played Santa at a local preschool. There are firefighters and police men and women who regularly turn up to assist those in need. This work is not in their job description. They volunteer. They seek out opportunities to serve.

Peace on Earth: We saw it for a moment at the Worcester Centrum, and in the firefighters’ parade. Everyone gathered together, putting aside differences and grudges and resentments. Politicians were not trying to assemble more power. Corporations were not taking profits. Everyone wanted to give. Everyone wanted to express their awe, their gratitude, and their sorrow for the selfless courage and devotion of six men. For a moment, we didn’t take each other for granted. We saw the ordinary miracle of being a friend, a parent, a spouse; and what a complex and extraordinary privilege it is to be a citizen of Worcester.

There will be tears this Christmas in Worcester. Not just by the families and friends who have lost men who are irreplaceable, and who will always be loved. Thousands and thousands of us have been changed forever by the events of the last few weeks. Christmas will come, as it always does, to a world of life and death, light and dark, and all too brief moments of joy. This year, it is especially important to remember all that we have been given. And out of our grief and gratitude, it is possible that we will discover our own courage.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 1999

I vaguely knew that Patrick’s dad was a firefighter. Until Saturday morning, when we got the phone call that Patrick’s dad had lost his life in the warehouse fire, I didn’t have a clue as to what being a firefighter meant. I guess I had a child’s eye view of someone who wore bulky uniforms and answered mostly false alarms, occasionally subduing a fire with very specialized equipment. I knew firemen regularly came to help us at our church, but I didn’t know that the station that covered our building and our neighborhood was the Central Street station. The staff and I knew the face and the smile of one of the firemen who came regularly to assist us at the church; now we know his name…Jeremiah Lucey.

At the memorial service Thursday, I understood for the very first time, that every firefighter offers to his or her community the promise that they will give their lives in service to their fellow human beings. They will risk their lives on "the chance" that a homeless person is in a burning, abandoned building. They will, without hesitation, enter a fiery inferno to rescue a fellow firefighter who has gotten into trouble.

Religion talks a lot about the virtue of selfless giving. These men live it. And the six men who perished gave what Jesus described as the greatest gift anyone is capable of giving…"to lay down you life for a friend.". The extraordinary nature of these six men’s courage and bravery and dedication is nothing short of awe inspiring. And, at the memorial service, the Worcester Centrum was filled with (and surrounded by) 30,000 firefighters, every one of whom had made the same promise. I swear, I will never again take for granted what these people do for the rest of us.

It was Mayor Mariano's speech that I found most profoundly moving. He was able to eloquently articulate the extraordinary heroism of these men, and all firefighters, and at the same time, he perfectly captured the ordinary miracles of their lives: being a father, a son, a husband, a friend. What a unique and powerful place they held in the hearts and minds and souls of those who loved them!

No one else will ever be able to be a father to these children, in the way these fathers were able to be. The Mayor promised the children that their father’s love was still close and powerful. He even claimed that at sporting events, their fathers’ spirits would be present, cheering them on with a chorus of angels. It was a stunning image. But I also know that these children would rather have their own father present in the flesh, than a whole sky full of angels.

Why does it take a tragedy to understand how uniquely important we are to one another? I never really liked going to soccer games; I found them boring and aggressive and uncomfortable. I only went to be supportive of my kids. But if someone were to tell me I could never attend another event where my children were playing, I would feel as if one soccer game was the most precious and wonderful treasure on earth.

It is annoying when a good friend calls in the middle of your favorite TV show. But what if you suddenly found out that you would never hear her voice again? You would get down on your knees in appreciation and gratitude for the sound of her voice! Sitting across the table from someone you love, and who loves you, makes you the richest person on earth. If we could only reflect on what is extraordinary in each ordinary moment of human companionship!

As is always the case, most of us will go back
to taking our own lives for granted, and the lives of those we love. But for a moment, here in Worcester, a whole city understood what a miraculous calling
it is to be a father, a husband, a friend. Six men gave their lives, in a selfless act of heroism. But all of us, everyday, have the potential to appreciate the unique ways we bless others, and the very ordinary and miraculous ways that we are blessed.

©The Rev. Dr. Barbara Merritt, 1999

They came in to class with boots on, and tee-shirts with the names of the town and unit on them. One carried his helmet with them. They were very apologetic about coming in after the class had started and wondered if they could join us. One was younger and spoke freely; the older one was quiet.

The class was reading its way through the sixth chapter of Isaiah, which tells the story of Isaiah’s call to be a prophet. The story starts with a grand vision of Isaiah in the corner of the very throne room of God, while six-winged angels fly about, singing God's praises with such voices as to make the very walls shakes. The room was so vast that the very edge of God's robe was all that could fit into the temple on
Mt. Zion in Jerusalem.

There is a striking image in the story of an angel cleansing the lips of Isaiah by touching them with a burning coal, a purification by fire. As we read this, I watched our visitors to see how they would hear this piece of the story, they who are more familiar with fire and its destructive powers.

But what is most disturbing about the story of Isaiah's call is that God tells him to preach his heart out to the people, but that the people will not hear him. In fact, it is implied that God intends for the people to not be awakened by Isaiah's words. The story raises all kinds of questions: why do people persist in doing what is wrong? What does God ask of us in the face of adversity? Does God test our faith, as communities and as individuals?

The young firefighter shared with us both the strength of his faith and immediacy of his doubts that morning. Could he blame God for the death of these comrades? If everything in the world happens according to God's plan, did God want this to happen? In the messy middle ground, the no-man's land between the hope of faith and the bitter experience of a world that seems to be random, capricious and cruel, this young man was groping his way toward a faith stance that could sustain him in the midst of this tragedy.

And we were, too. We are a pretty typical Unitarian Bible class, hardly in over-awe of the book, and more than willing to name our doubts about and distance from the text. But the class, as a whole, seemed to rally about our new smoky friend. I had the sense that we were pulling for him, offering interpretations that would help him stay strong, words that would build up his endurance.

Just before the class ended, they let us know that they had to get back to the scene. As suddenly as they came, they were gone.

I was reminded, once again, that whenever the doors of the church are open, we must be ready to receive people from every situation in life, and in every stage of the spiritual journey. What we offer on Sunday morning is not just for us, the congregation of our familiar friends and families, but is a free offering to the whole city and the whole world. We are a place of refuge and comfort for the hurting, and a place for the shaken to regain their footing. We must never be so absorbed with what is going on amongst ourselves that we do not have room for the seeker on the road.

The loss of six Worcester firefighters has been a traumatic event for our city and community. We are reminded again how much we depend on each other and on the brave persons who are willing to risk their lives for our safety. They plunged into a burning building because they thought that homeless men were in danger. By their actions, they gave testimony to the honor and dignity that we, as a community, try to afford to every human being, no matter their circumstances. They died embodying our highest and most noble ideals.

Oh, were it so that our firefighters could know with certainty that an abandoned warehouse would never contain homeless people, because everyone would have a home!

I have been reminded of these words by Steven Spender, written in tribute to those who died in World War I. I think it stands as a tribute to our firefighters as well.