To Be of Use

(Note: The Story for All Ages and the Reading are included since these are vital to the sermon.)

Discovering Happiness
Story for All Ages
An adaptation of an Islamic Hadith by Jane Page

Long, long ago, there was an old woman who lived in a country far away. And this old woman had never been happy. She was a sour old woman and could not understand the laughter and smiles of others. Behind her back, the children called her Horrible Hag.

One day she was walking and saw a dog that was lying down panting with terrible thirst. Now she normally did not like dogs at all – but for some reason, she decided that she needed to help this dog. There was a well nearby with water, but she had no rope or bucket. So she took her long scarf – and used that for a rope – and tied her shoe to it, and got some water in the shoe. Then she walked carefully over to the dog with the shoe, dripping with water – complaining as she limped along the way about the rocks on the ground hurting her bare foot.

She lowered the shoe with the water in it to the dog, and the dog lapped it up eagerly. Then as if saying thank-you, the dog licked the woman’s foot. And the woman felt a warm feeling – and she smiled and said, “This must be what it means to be happy.” And she thought, “I just need to help others and I, too, can be happy.” So she went home to get a rope and bucket so she could give the dog more water. Then she took water to the children at play – and smiled as they grinned their thanks. They invited her to play with them and she began to laugh as she played.

The boys and girls decided they could no longer call her Horrible Hag – and instead called her Happy Hag – for you see – her name was Hagatha – and Hag was her nickname.

And THAT is how Hagatha discovered Happiness!

Reading
"To Be of Use"
by Marge Piercy

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

TO BE OF USE
Rev. Jane Page
July 17, 2011

I recently had a discussion with some of my family members regarding what to do with my body after I die. I used to be pretty clear about being an organ donor – and then being cremated. But as the probability increases that I’m going to live to be even older – and perhaps my organs won’t be that good – I’m wondering if it would be better to leave my body to the Medical College, so students can use it for practice. You know, I’m just not sure what would be the best USE of my dead body – and I’d like to be of use, even when I’m dead.

I love that poem “To Be of Use” by Marge Piercy that we shared for our reading this morning. Perhaps I take it a little too far, I’ll admit that. But when the program committee decided to have folks share this summer on what “nurtures your soul – or spins your zen” – this poem and that phrase – “to be of use” immediately came to my mind.

As we common folks say: “I got it honest.” Both of my parents emphasized a strong work ethic. It never occurred to me that I would not always WORK both in and outside of the home.

My mom is 84 now – and she’s had to adjust to not being able to work in the ways she used to do. She’s had to slow down. It was hard for her at first – not to be as “productive,” but she’s adjusted pretty well now. She says she’s decided not to wait till she dies to “rest in peace.” She’s doing it now. Sometimes I call up and say – “Whatcha doing?” And she says… “I’m resting in peace.” But the other day I went by to see her and she said, “Oh, I had the most fun yesterday – and she was beaming.”

“What did you do mama?”

“Well,” she replied, “I found a needle that was big enough for me to use – with these arthritic hands, and I was able to mend some of our old spreads and quilts – and I had the best time just pulling those old quilts out and mending them – because they didn’t need to be stitched that well – and I could do it! And now we can use them again!”

My Mama was happy – because she had been “of use” in a productive way. I’m trying to convince her, though, and myself – that one can be “of use” in other ways that may not seem as productive. And we are both making progress on that! Sometimes our “work” may just be working on ourselves, working on resting so we can get better if we are sick, working on having a positive attitude and accepting things we cannot change, and working sometimes on not working.

AND, we can also “be of use” using some of our resources that we’ve achieved through our working to help others. Ah, you were not expecting a stewardship sermon today, were you? I usually share about giving our time, talents, and treasures – just once a year, when we do our annual canvass for pledges. But today I’m sharing what nurtures my soul – and giving surely does that. Like the old hag in our story, it makes me happy to help some somebody.

Of course, the opportunities are vast for sharing with others, so I have to be thoughtful about this. Thoughtful, yes – perhaps even cautious, but not too anxious. In the cover article of QUEST, the publication of UUA’s church of the Larger Fellowship, Rev. Roger Jones notes that we can actually look to the Bible for some guidance in this area. And he’s right – there is a lot in there about financial morality. So, since I’ve decided to use contemporary sacred texts as my sources of inspiration for this program year beginning in August – I’d better squeeze some goody out of this ancient text known as the Bible for you before then. Here are some goodies Rev. Jones shares in this article.

“Of the 38 parables or stories told by Jesus in the Christian Scriptures, 16 deal with the relationship between what you say you believe and how you use your money and possessions…. One out of eight (Bible) verses talks about the relationship between faith and the use of our wealth. Of the Ten Commandments, three provide instructions on how we relate to money and possessions."

Here are some other examples: "Hebrew prophets in several books condemn the oppression of the poor by the powerful, and Jewish Scripture prohibits lending money at high rates of interest, the way credit card companies and payday lenders do today. It speaks of the jubilee year – a celebration every 50 years in which land was to lie fallow, all property was returned to its original owners or their heirs, all debts were forgiven and indentured servants released. (Contrast this with debtor prisons that existed in Europe and the U.S. until the mid-19th century.) In one New Testament scene, Jesus of Nazareth praises the poor widow for her generous offering while scolding the rich donors for their pride and lack of equal sacrifice.”
(Jones, Roger. “Money, Anxiety, and Abundance.” QUEST. July/August 2011)

So, why does the Bible talk so much about money and possessions? Perhaps it’s because the number one reason for family conflict – is money!! Jones reminds us that money was a major source of family quarrels long ago and still is today. That is why we spend time in our premarital counseling sessions talking about financial priorities and habits and planning with couples about how they will handle finances in their marriages.

One of the teachings of the Hebrew Scriptures and practices of the Hebrew tribe was the giving of “first fruits.” The idea is that you don’t wait till the season is over and see what’s left – you give of the first and best. Now as most of you probably know – I don’t use the Bible as an ultimate authority source. I filter these teachings like any other guidance I might get to see if it makes sense. And sometimes my pragmatic self will just see if some teaching seems to work for me! And boy, this one sure does. Thankfully, current technology makes it easy for us to make sure our gifts are, indeed, first fruits. My gifts to our congregation, as well as to the UU Service Committee and other organizations important to me, are automatically rendered soon after my paycheck enters my account. And while these “first fruits” are automatic, I share other fruits throughout the month as well. Some of these are gifts of my treasure (meaning money) and others are gifts of time and talents.

What I’ve tried to do – and what I’ve tried to encourage – is that we all give from a spirit of abundance, gratitude, and generosity rather than a spirit of scarcity. Now I’m not measuring “abundance” in the usual manner when I talk about giving from a spirit of abundance. I’m going to use a definition by Munah Fashah, the director of the Arab Education Forum. He uses the word abundant to refer to what people, the community, and culture have; i.e., to what is available to people fairly easily, if they live that abundant kind of life that lifts up and uses what is available to make life good.
(See http://www.almoultaqa.com/news_view_en.aspx?NewsId=80 )

Fashah tells an interesting personal story as an analogy. During the year 1997/1998, Fashah was a visiting scholar at the Center for Middle Eastern Studies at Harvard. He had no income and his wife’s salary was not enough for them to live on. In order to survive, they had to change the way they lived and they way they consumed. He began to include dandelions in his daily diet. Yes, dandelions – that frustrating plant that we believe ruins our lawns. It’s a wild plant, abundant almost everywhere – and it just so happens that it is very rich in nutrients and every part of it is edible (the leaves, the flowers, and the roots).

Fashah’s American wife Carmen was not exactly understanding at first. She continued to dig it up as an undesirable weed and had a hard time just letting it grow in the yard for them to harvest as food. Then when she noticed him picking the leaves and eating them directly from the ground she said, “Don’t let the neighbors see you. They will think you are weird.” Fashah said the image that popped into his head when she said that was of the neighbors eating potato chips. And he said, “I see them opening shiny colorful little bags and eating something that looks weird. Who should be embarrassed: I who eat something which is natural, healthy, organic, and abundant, or they who eat something which is unnatural, unhealthy, artificial, manufactured, and costly?”

Fashah notes that our modern institutions are built around the scarcity perspective. He says, “scarcity is basic in the functioning of institutions and professionals, in a world governed by the values of control, winning, profit, greed, and elitism.” Now I’m not trying to get us to all go out and eat a Sunday dinner of dandelions today – although I am going to try them. But I think this dandelion / potato chip story does help us differentiate between the abundance perspective and the scarcity perspective.

This congregation knows something about the spirit of abundance and generosity. We are enjoying the service in this building today because a small group of hardy souls pushed their own limits of giving with faith in the possibilities of the future. And we are so grateful. Others took the risk of calling a minister (that would be me) when the operational budget would only support a third of my small half-time salary – with the other part borrowed from our savings – and with the goal and necessity of being able to fund the position from the operational budget within three years, by increasing our membership and our own gifts. And we did. We’ve continued to move forward in our financial gifts so that we can have a part time Director of Religious Education to help us provide wonderful experiences for our children and youth. And we’ve given generously of our time and talents in many community projects.

We don’t do these things from a spirit of scarcity and anxiety. Oh, in all honesty, we sometimes fall back into that place. And lately, it’s a little easier to catch ourselves moving in that direction. In today’s world, especially with today’s economy, we too often allow fear to control how we live and how we give.

But you know, we all have plenty and then some of SOME things – if not money, then perhaps other resources; our time, our talents, our hugs, our smiles, and our words of encouragement. And I have found that I even have more MONEY to give when I adopt a lifestyle of living a little more simply. And living more simply helps me to have more money to support the kinds of things (like the Farmer’s Market) that are important to me. It’s another way that I can be of use. And that nurtures my soul, spins my zen…it makes me happy and joyful! But as much as I like being happy, that should not be the reason for my giving. I’m reminded of these inspiring words of Kahil Gibran in his book The Prophet.

“There are those who give little of the much which they have - and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome.
And there are those who have little and give it all.
These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.
There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.
And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.
And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;
They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.”

That line is worth repeating: “They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.”

The myrtle gives it’s fragrance naturally and freely.

Oh may WE give as the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Amen and Blessed Be!

My General Assembly Testimony

Introduction: A couple of days before I was to arrived in Charlotte for some ministerial training, I received a special “late request” from Annette Marquis, our district executive. She and other district executives in the Southland Region were scheduled to do a program on Friday afternoon entitled, “Turn the World Around -- the South can Lead Us!” And she said that since they need to “liven it up some” they were asking a few others to share a song or story or something. I told her I would share my “testimony” – with a humorous bend to it. If you came to my sermon on laughter, you’ll recognize some of this.

I was born in Statesboro, Georgia in 1950. (Go ahead – do the math.) And like many of you – I was born with a questioning mind. Now that could sometimes be problematic for a girl back then in the South – but question I did. I remember when I was 5 or 6, standing in the line at the Dairy Queen with my dad, waiting to get a cone. I asked (in the language of the day),“Daddy, why are all of the white people in our line and all of the colored people in the other line?”

Daddy explained it this way, “Well, Jane – we are white – so we stand in this line to get vanilla ice cream. And the colored folks stand in the other line to get chocolate ice cream.” Of course, I immediately told him that I wanted chocolate. And he said, “No, you are white, so you get vanilla. That’s just the way it is and you have to accept it." Well, I didn’t realize that vanilla was the only flavor served at Dairy Queen. (That was even in the days before dipped cones.) But his unusual answer stuck with me. And it has served as a metaphor for what happened in my life. Indeed, I TRIED to just accept some things that didn’t make sense to me – because that was “the way it is.”

But I still couldn’t help questioning some things. When I was 11 0r 12, I became dissatisfied with the responses to my questions given by my Baptist Sunday School teachers. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and read the whole Bible for myself. (Okay – I skimmed over the “begats.”) And a lot of what I had been taught about the Bible just didn’t jive with what all I was reading. Plus – while the Bible has some really good stories – there’s some strange stuff in there! And that idea of liberal interpretation and biblical authority just didn’t fit into my heretical brain.

However, I closeted my doubts and disbeliefs enough to get along okay then -- and later—when in my 20’s and 30’s—enough so I wasn’t too far out of line as a deacon’s wife. But I kept reading (all kinds of materials) and had this alternative religious life that was going on in the “holy of holies” in our home –behind the locked bathroom door. There I kept my contraband reading materials in that most sacred of places – hidden in the drawer under the feminine sanitary supplies. I did not hear about Unitarian Universalism till I was in my 40’s – and I heard about you folks from a TV program on a cable channel and thought, “WOW – there are others out there!” So I ordered some UU materials –hoping they would come in a plain brown wrapper. In any case, I kept those with my other contraband reading materials, in the holy of holies – glad to have that study time alone, but longing to be with others.

Long story short though --- through a series of fortunate events in my late 40’s; I finally had the freedom to be me. And I became a Unitarian Universalist!! Hallelujah!

Of course, some of my relatives were worried about me – and one asked, "But are UU's saved? To which I responded, "We are not LOST - we're exploring." Of course, that’s a UU joke – and I’ve found that there can be a lot of truth found in these jokes. And in fact, they may be a good way of evangelizing .

We could put an ad in the paper to help folks find out if they are UUs…kind of like the guy – Jeff Foxworthy, who helped folks understand whether or not they were red-necks. For example,
If you are unsure about the gender of God,
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
If you begin your prayers with "To whom it may concern,"
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
If you gave up pot in the 70's because no one could guarantee it was organic,
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
If your teens rebel by becoming more conservative,
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
If you get Newt Gingrich confused with the Grinch who Stole Christmas,
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
If you've ever been in an argument
over whether or not breast milk is vegan,
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.
AND -If your children think the holy trinity is "Reduce, reuse, and recycle."
You might be a Unitarian Universalist.

Yes, our children get a different view of things than those in more conservative religions. An older neighbor, trying to be helpful, said to a little UU girl, "I know you're sad, but right now your kitty cat is with Jesus."

To which the child replied, "What would Jesus want with a dead cat?"

Well, I don’t know what Jesus might want with a dead cat – but I do know that my friend Jesus said that we should not hide our lights under a bush, we should let them shine.

And for UUs in the South – (and you Yankees too) – that means we need to come on out – and reach out to others who are perhaps hiding behind locked bathroom doors – they are there folks – and invite them into our circle of loving light – and together we will SHINE!

Father's Day / Juneteenth

Today, instead of one 15 to 20 minute sermon – I have two shorter selections for you. The first is a Father’s Day Reflection entitled, “JG Perfect.”

JG Perfect

I remember well “report card days” when I was in elementary school. My brother Johnny and I would bring our report cards home and come through the front door at our house on Woodrow Avenue – and there my daddy would be in his recliner --- and he would raise up in it and say, “Let me see them.” And my heart would beat faster – regardless of what my report card had on it. My dad, J.G. Altman, was a large man – and though I only got one whippin’ from him my entire life, I always had a kind of fear of him – perhaps a respectful fear – but a fear nonetheless.

I thought it strange that daddy would always be at HOME on the day we got our report cards…. Then eventually I realized that we always got our report cards on Wednesdays! And back then, in Statesboro – all the businesses closed at NOON on Wednesdays. And so did my dad’s car dealership. And unlike many of the other businessmen who would head to the golf course or the river fishing – my dad would usually head home for that big recliner.

We would hold out our report cards in those brown folders and he would look them over. I knew before he looked that even if I had a good report card, it would not be quite good enough. It would not be “JG Perfect.” Usually he would nod his head and tell me that I “done good” – before he would ask why I had not done even better. I was not necessarily a straight A student in those days (I didn’t develop that need for perfection till I was in graduate school). But even the few times back then that I brought home straight A’s, he would ask if I couldn’t do better and make them A +’s. Now it’s interesting that my dad would have such high expectations of us when he himself was not a good student. (I didn’t find that out till later on though.)

It wasn’t just academics – daddy expected a lot in other areas. He would show us how to do something, like polish a car – and he would show us in just one small spot and make it really shine, then say, now you should make the whole car look like that. My brother caught the brunt of those expectancies because I did most of my work in my Mama’s beauty shop.

My brother does a lot of work for my mom now – and helps me with repairs too, and when he finishes something, he usually says, “Well, it’s not “JG Perfect,” but I think it will do.

As you may know, my dad died in 2006 – the morning after this congregation ordained me and installed me as your minister. So it’s been almost five years. And I still sometimes find myself trying to please my daddy. What is that about?

I think I saw my daddy as bigger than life. And I knew that if I could please him, then I had really accomplished something. So I did try, and I still do. I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m going to accept that as a gift from my dad. I knew that he cared about me, and I wanted to please him. And isn’t that the way it is with so many of our relationships. If we care for someone and know that they care about us, then we want to please them. I realize this can be carried to extremes – and I know that sometimes I go a little overboard with my work, but I try to catch myself.

My dad had a funny saying that he used sometimes when he would do something for me – like make a home repair. He would do an excellent job – but then he would say, “Well, it’s not perfect, but it’s good enough – for who it’s for.” And we’d laugh.

I miss my dad – but not a lot, because he is everywhere around me. Reminders of him are all over the place. I look at the pond, and remember him on his bulldozer enlarging it when I was a child. And I look over at the beautiful little cabin that he built with such care and can see his work everywhere –including the dock he built. He engineered everything so that when the water level was high, it would run-off into a well on the other side of the pond just as it neared the top of that concrete dock – so that the dock would never be flooded. It is perfect – JG Perfect.

He also helped to make me. Half of my genes came from him – and he was a major influence for much of my life. I am not JG Perfect. But then I know now – neither was JG.

As I got older – and as my dad got older, I realized that he was certainly was not perfect. But that’s okay. He was good enough – for who he was for.

May we all be so!

Juneteenth
Today is not only Father’s Day – it’s Juneteenth!

I got much of this information that I’m going to share from the website nationaljuneteenth.com which encourages the recognition of this holiday.
According to that site:
“Juneteenth is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. Note that this was two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation - which had become official January 1, 1863. The Emancipation Proclamation had little impact on the Texans due to the minimal number of Union troops to enforce the new Executive Order. However, with the surrender of General Lee in April of 1865, and the arrival of General Granger’s regiment, the forces were finally strong enough to influence and overcome the resistance….
“One of General Granger’s first orders of business was to read to the people of Texas on June 19th, 1865, General Order Number 3 which began most significantly with:
‘The people of Texas are informed that in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and free laborer.’
“The reactions to this profound news ranged from pure shock to immediate jubilation….
“The celebration of June 19th was coined "Juneteenth" and grew with more participation from the descendants of these freed folks. The Juneteenth celebration was a time for reassuring each other, for praying and for gathering family members. Juneteenth continued to be highly revered in Texas decades later, with many former slaves and descendants making an annual pilgrimage back to Galveston on this date….
“Juneteenth today, celebrates African American freedom and achievement, while encouraging continuous self-development and respect for all cultures. As it takes on a more national, symbolic and even global perspective, the events of 1865 in Texas are not forgotten, for all of the roots tie back to that fertile soil from which a national day of pride is growing.”

Now there are 39 states that recognize and honor this celebration. And guess what? Georgia became the 37th state to do so this past February. As you folks may know, there have been several attempts in the past to get Georgia to apologize or express regrets for slavery, but it hasn’t happened. So this resolution may be as close to an apology as we will see.

I looked it up on the General Assembly website. It includes some of the history I’ve already shared with you and makes this declaration:

“WHEREAS, Americans of all colors, creeds, cultures, religions, and countries of origin share in a common love of and respect for freedom, as well as the determination to protect their right to freedom through the democratic institutions by which the tenets of freedom are guaranteed and protected; and

“WHEREAS, it is only fitting and proper that the State of Georgia appropriately recognize this glorious event marking the end of slavery and the beginning of freedom for so many who had wrongfully suffered in this state and nation.

“NOW, THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED BY THE SENATE that the members of this body hereby recognize “Juneteenth Celebration Day” in remembrance of those who received the exultant news of their freedom and as a memorial to all those who suffered from the cruelties of slavery, and encourage ceremonies, celebrations, and other activities to be held in their honor.”

This year – June 19th happens to fall on a Sunday, so I thought we should lift up this holiday here in our UU Fellowship. Not because Georgia has recognized it this year – (I didn’t even know this till I was writing this reflection), but because the celebration connects so deeply with our UU principles – specifically:
#1 – The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
#2 – Justice, equity, and compassion in human relations;
#5 – The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large; and
#6 – The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all.

Oh, Oh, Oh – May it be so!

A Father's Day Reading

Introduction: Some of our fathers have passed away – and some are with us still. We lift them all up today. This reading was composed from emails from UUFS members and friends in response to a request that they send words or phrases describing their fathers.

Today, we remember and we honor
Papa, Daddy, our old man,
Dad, Father, leader of the band?

Whatever the name, we remember and honor these men!
And we, the members and friends of this fellowship,
Recall them all!

The father that was the good teacher; the one that was informative;

The daddy remembered with loving gratitude for the gentle lesson he taught and lived, that no matter what sadness, trial, or even tragedy comes in life, “This too, shall pass.’

That very exacting father!
The father with high expectations for his children – who kept us safe, and loved us unconditionally!

The dad that was honest and dependable – a man of integrity!
The dad that kept dreams safe, however silly or extravagant they might have been, as if he'd made a glass box to protect a precious flower that we could examine and talk about any time we liked.

The father who was generous,
And the one who was leading,
And the one who exhibited great personal courage and persistance as his illness progressed and never lost his love for the land.

The father that never said “I love you” and who did not give a lot of hugs – but shared through his deeds.

The father who a was risk-taker, but who often and emphatically exhorted us to not take any unnecessary risks.

The man with the plan – and our biggest fan.
Papa, Dad, the old man!
His love remains with us – Come what may!
So Dearest Daddy, we honor you today!

I invite you now to lift up the names of those special men in your lives – your fathers, grandfathers, fathers of your children and grandchildren, and men who have served as father figures for you or for those whom you love.

Amen and Blessed Be

Round and Round We Go Again!

Note: This short homily is the last in the "Let it be a Dance" series based on phrases from Ric Masten's song. It was delivered at the Rock Labyrinth Gathering Place in the woods behind our home at our Annual Memorial Day Weekend Picnic!

All during this program year, I’ve used phrases from Ric Masten’s song, “Let it be a dance” as the themes for my sermons.

Because we sometimes get carried away with the music and don’t really hear the words, I’d like for us to remember those special words by using his song as a responsive reading today.

And perhaps as we hear these words, we will also bring to memory our journey this year through the sermons connected to these phrases. Your response when I signal will simply be: Let it be a dance!

Let a dancing song be heard, play the music say the words, and fill the sky with sailing birds.
Let it be a dance!
Learn to follow, learn to lead, feel the rhythm, fill the need, to reap the harvest, plant the seed.
Let it be a dance!
Everybody turn and spin, let your body learn to bend, and like a willow with the wind –
Let it be a dance!
A child is born, the old must die, a time for joy, a time to cry, take it as it passes by,
Let it be a dance!
Morning star comes out at night, without the dark, there is no light. If nothing’s wrong, then nothing’s right –
Let it be a dance!
Let the sunshine, let it rain; share the laughter, bare the pain, and round and round we go again –
Let it be a dance!

Now we come to the end of our program year – only to start round again.
And indeed, your program committee has made the commitment to have worship services all year round at UUFS – including stories for all ages and music – even during the summer. So we hope that you will not see this picnic as the end of some linear map – but a gentle turn as we continue to go round and round.

When I was younger, I climbed my life – as in climbing a ladder. I would look up – see a rung that stood for something – like getting a driver’s license or a degree or a job or a promotion, rungs representing family markers too – climb, climb, sometimes slipping and falling, but climbing once again.

That ladder metaphor doesn’t work for me anymore. Now I am happy to dance in this circular labyrinth --- with seasons that come and go and come again – perhaps with different perspective, circling round and round with life
– in all the aspects that Ric Masten cited in that glorious song.

And I still may slip and fall, but I’ve tried to learn to turn that fall into a somersault, and make it part of my dance.

I love this dance – though parts may be difficult. And I think one reason I love it so is that I’m dancing with all of you and with those UU principles that we hold dear. As we share this labyrinth of life together, may we continue to bless each other – and in turn be blessings to other circles -- to the bigger circle – that sacred hoop that Black Elk spoke of when he shared:

Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world. And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being.

And I say the sacred hoop of my people was one of the many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy...
May it be so!

I invite you now to walk or sway and dance to the center of the labyrinth – then back out on our little stone path by the fairy.
Because it is Memorial Day weekend, you may choose a rock in remembrance of someone who has given their life in service to our country – or perhaps take a rock to symbolize your hope for peace or something else and take that rock with you to the center to leave there.

While we move through these circles, Jason will play and sing “The Circle of Life” for us.

Let it be a dance for everyone!

Last week I led the Children’s RE class under our little shelter in the backyard of the church. The theme for the class was “drumming and dancing.” I shared with them about how drumming and dancing were often used in religious services and gave them a few drumming tips. We all took turns with our different percussion instruments, with the person holding my African djembe serving as the leader. Then came the time for the dancing – and I taught them a little peace dance that I had created to “This Little Light of Mine.” I invited those who wanted to dance to join me and others could sing. Alas, only the little girls joined me. I smiled and the girls and I danced. But inside, I had a nagging feeling that I had somehow failed with this group of children – that even included my own grandsons who shook their head with a definite “NO” when I held out my hand in encouragement.

What is going on here? This is 2011. And this is a Unitarian Universalist congregation. Yet, the predominant culture is still one in which dancing – especially dancing in a circle while we sing about light and peace, etc. – is for girls. I can’t help but think that at least one of those little boys may have wanted to dance with us, but it’s not cool to do – even at UU. Of course, this Sunday School class on this day – like most of our Sunday School classes – is being led by a woman. And yes, she has a bit of an androgynous air about her – but she’s still a woman. And this woman encouraging these young guys to release their fears and let their lights shine probably won’t make a difference.

SO – this is a CALL to the men in our congregation. Men of all ages! Our boys need you. We all need you! We are thankful that Sean DeVine has been leading our group in some drama activities this year. Hallelujah! As we begin our planning this summer for our RE classes next year, we hope that more of you will join our efforts.

Last night in my yoga class, our teacher Rebecca Cole opened with a reading by Marianne Wilson called, “Our Deepest Fear.” I looked it up on the internet today and have copied it below. Somehow, it seems appropriate to end this musing with this reading. I’ll let you be the judge of whether or not it fits.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

White in the South: Can I Get a Witness?

The following sermon was shared on April 30, 2011 at the Southeast Unitarian Universalist District Meeting. The theme for the worship service was "Southern Unitarian Universalism."


(Sing) “Have you seen but a white lily grow – before rude hands have touched it?”

That’s the first line of a song that my voice instructor assigned to me. This song was written in the 1600’s for an English theater group. So the words were written a long time ago and it’s known as a classic solo. The song starts off praising the whiteness of the lily and the new fallen snow – that’s not really a problem. But it ends with praise for the whiteness of the woman he loves – and that just didn’t sit right with me. SO – when my voice teacher encouraged me to work on this song, I told him that I was uncomfortable singing it. He said, “Well I know it has some challenging parts – but I think you can do it and it provides good exercise in variations for voice.” We were obviously not talking about the same kinds of challenges.

I had to do a little talking to myself. “It’s just a song Jane. And he’s the teacher – you are the student. Sing the damn song.”

(Sing) “Oh so white, oh so soft, oh so sweet is she – so sweet is she.”

Maybe I’ve gotten too sensitive! – Or maybe not. Sometimes I feel like I’m balancing on a tight rope when considering and discussing issues of race and privilege – but even that is a form of privilege; because I have the choice to get up here on this tight rope or not.

As a white person, I don’t have to think about being white. In fact, when this topic comes up some white folks say, “You know, I don’t see why we need to focus on race – I personally don’t think about it. We should move on.” Or those of us submerged in academia may say something like, “Ultimately we humans made up the concept of race as we attempted to increase both our understanding and manipulation of our world. In other words, race is socially constructed. It has no natural, biological reality. We are all a part of the human race with lots of variability within it.” Blah Blah Blah. All that may be true, but as Cornel West states, “Race Matters.”

This group is well read – you know that race still matters greatly today. You probably know that even today, job applicants with white sounding names are 50% more likely to get called back. (And not have to produce their long form birth certificate!) I could go on and on regarding how race still matters in housing opportunities, education, health and wellness, income security, etc. etc. And most of you know this. But it’s not something white folks really have to think about. Those of us who are white are like fish swimming in the water. We are in the middle of a white dominated society, swimming in white privilege and so unless we make a conscious effort, we don’t really know the water is even there.

Here’s a homework assignment for you white folks that are here today. This week – just this week – every time you look at your watch to note the time, also note that you are white. Then think about what your current situation is at that time and place, and consider the implications of your whiteness.

I’ll model this for you. (Look at watch). It’s now _____ o’clock. I’m white. And I’m speaking to you as a Unitarian Universalist minister called to serve in South Georgia. Now believe me, I could spend days considering the implications of my whiteness for that situation.

My sermon topic today is “White in the South: Can I Get a Witness?” I’ve read loads of books and articles on racial identity and privilege. Also, I’ve been studying and exploring this from a personal perspective and the perspective of my southern community for most of my life. So, while I could share data with you, I’m not sure that would be all that meaningful. Instead, I’m going to tell you two stories in the short time I have left.

The first story takes place in fall of 2008. Richard came over to look at my husband’s fender bender and give an estimate. Richard used to work in an auto body shop my family had owned back in the 90’s and now has a small shop in his backyard. Back when Richard worked at my family’s auto body shop, we used to have some heated conversations around race and sexuality issues –with him quoting scripture and sharing what he thought was just the natural and right way of living. Well, on this fall day of 2008, Richard happened to see a presidential campaign sign that I had by my driveway and commented that he saw it. And I thought, “Oh, here we go again.”

Then he said, “I’m with you all the way on that one. We can’t afford the other one.”

And I probably looked shocked and said –“Well, Richard – I’m glad to hear you say that because – you know –they say that a lot of hard working white folks like yourself are just going to vote against their pocketbooks for some reason.”

And he said, “Well, Miss Jane – (he’s from the old school) – he said –“Miss Jane, Ida been right there with’em too. But I’ve changed. You know some of my nieces got into mixed marriages –and I told them that was their decision – but that I didn’t want them comin’ round to my house. You see, I didn’t want my children exposed to that kind of thing 'cause I didn’t believe it was right. But one of them called me this summer – one of Mike’s daughters – and said,‘Uncle Richard, you know I’ve always loved you, and I think you loved me when we were growin’ up. You were like a father to us when daddy died. And I know you didn’t approve of me dating and marrying Joe. But I know you loved me. And I’m callin’ now because I need you. I need you because our little baby just died and I wanted you to come to the funeral home tonight if you could.”

Richard said he went to that funeral home and went up to that casket and saw that beautiful baby lying there and just wept. And he said, “God – you got my attention! I had a month and a half that I could have known and loved this precious little girl. But because I held on to those stupid racist attitudes, that had been ingrained in me from birth, I missed that opportunity. But I’ll never do that again.” Richard said that the next weekend he invited the whole family – with all the children of various marriages that he had not gotten to know – to come to his home – and they shared food and love.

He said, “Miss Jane – I sometimes slip up and something will come out of my mouth like it used to – but I’m really trying.”

And I said, “Richard – you’re recovering – just like me. I’m a recovering racist – and I mess up too – but I keep trying. And if you keep working on it, you will get better – but it takes work. And like any good work – it’s worth it.”

Story # 2 is more personal. It’s a bit of my own story.

I was born in Statesboro, Georgia in 1950. (Go ahead – do the math.) I grew up in the days of Jim Crow laws. But these laws did not affect me in ways that were obvious to me. My white privilege allowed me access to every store, restaurant, and entertainment spot in town. And for the most part, I was pretty naïve about the evils of racism.

Oh, I did notice things – as all children do. I remember when I was 5 or 6, standing in the “Whites Only" line at the Dairy Queen with my dad, waiting to get a cone. I asked my dad why all of the white people were in our line and all of the colored people were in the other line. My father shared this explanation with me. He told me that we were white – and that we stood in our line to get vanilla ice cream, while the colored people stood in the other line to get chocolate ice cream. Well, of course, I immediately told him that I wanted chocolate. And he said, “No, you are white, so you get vanilla. That’s just the way it is and you have to accept it." Well, I didn’t realize that vanilla was the only flavor served at Dairy Queen. (That was even in the days before dipped cones.) But his unusual answer stuck with me. And it has served as a metaphor for what happened in my life. Indeed, I just accepted the differences and did not question them much.

Yet, I still took notice –like when boxes were being filled at my elementary school with our old worn-out textbooks. I asked what was going to happen to them and was told that they were being taken to the “colored school" for the children to use there. “Separate but equal" was never the case in Statesboro, Georgia.

To be fair to my parents, they never overtly taught me to be a racist. They didn’t have to. Everything in my society, from the Dairy Queen windows on, taught me that white folks and black folks should function in separate social environments. And my society not only taught me that “separate" was right, it also taught me that I was in the superior group.

All I had to do was look at the water fountains. The “whites only" fountains were clean with cool, refrigerated water. Not so for the “colored" fountains. And of course, my Southern Baptist church reinforced these standards.


When I entered Statesboro High School in the fall of 1965, there were 12 new faces, darker faces than I was accustomed to seeing in my schools. And I was afraid of these new folks and I could not understand why they would want to leave “their” school to come to “our” school. But I made it through those years with very little interaction – except with one special girl that I connected with. She and I were both kind of cut-ups, and we’d have a few laughs in the hallway together between classes. And I began to realize that in many ways she was more like me than my white friends –so that put a little crack in my racist armor that was the beginning of a long journey and transformation.

Fast forward to the year 2008! That year I was on the planning committee for my 40th high school class reunion. We had not had one in 30 years. I had volunteered to try to find the addresses of the African American students who were in our class. And as I found some of these folks on the internet and read about the great things they were doing, I thought --- I could KNOWN them. What an opportunity I had missed because of my racism!

So I wrote them a letter, sharing with them some of the background I’ve mentioned to you, thanking the one girl anonymously who helped me to begin my journey, and offering an apology to all of them. I closed the letter with this list of sorrows.
* I’m sorry that I did not make an effort to understand why you were coming to Statesboro High School.
* I’m sorry that I did not meet you outside of the school to welcome you.
* I’m sorry that I was afraid of you and avoided being in places where several of you were gathered together.
* I’m sorry that I avoided sitting by you in class.
* I’m sorry that I was involved with negative conversations about you and did not speak up when you were put down.
* I’m sorry that I didn’t encourage you to join the clubs that I was in or join the flaggette team.
* I’m sorry that I didn’t invite you to my 16th birthday party. It would have been a lot more fun with you there.
* I’m sorry that I didn’t find ways to get to know you – really know you and understand you individually, rather than seeing you as “one of those black students."
* I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize the remarkable opportunity that I had in that place and time in history to be a part of something special with you.
* And I’m sorry – oh SO sorry, that it’s taken me 40 years to say, “I’m sorry."
I hope you can forgive me.

On March 17, 2008, I mailed that letter to those classmates, and I also sent it as an “open letter” which was published in our local paper. I have since met with five of them – who have generously forgiven me, and a couple of them have become email buddies. But you know the one that I thought was my “sort of” friend – the one that I singled out and thanked anonymously in the letter – I didn’t hear from her. Now at first I thought, “Maybe she didn’t get the letter.” And that was a little bit of white privilege too –thinking that surely if she got the letter she would forgive me. That’s what we white people do when we mess up – we just say –“Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I didn’t realize it would be a problem.” And folks that we’ve really hurt, who we’ve cut to the core with our comments or actions or non-actions – are just supposed to say, “That’s okay.”

I think she probably got that letter – because I sent it right where her Mama told me to.
But perhaps the pain I caused was too great. The other students said they remembered me as someone who was nice to them. I appreciated that memory – and realized that basically I had been polite as my Mama taught me to be with all folks – but I had not really reached out in any positive way to them.

But with this girl –my “sort of” friend, I was just friendly enough with her for her to perhaps think that I was her real friend. But then of course – that was just when it was convenient –when I wanted to have a good laugh with her and break the tension –and perhaps relieve a little of the guilt that I was already beginning to feel. I realize now I should not expect her forgiveness. I can’t go back and change my actions, but I can actively work to change what I do in the future. And my intention is to be an active antiracist and white ally, and to be a WITNESS to racism and white privilege when I see it.

The subtitle of this sermon is “Can I get a witness?” Because I’m asking you to explore your own privileges – be they the result of race, gender, sexuality, physical abilities, ethnicity, nationality, religion, or class –and I know you may have some oppression as the result of some of these things –but most of us have great privileges too. As my friend Jesus told us – we need to get the logs out of our own eyes. Then we can see more clearly and be a witness!

Of course, a witness doesn’t just SEE something. A witness attests to it. They call it out. And there ARE ways to do this that can live up to our principles of respect and dignity for all. We don’t have to lay a lot of guilt on folks or belittle their backgrounds. We can witness with love.

But I won’t lie to you. When you witness, when you work as many of us have – actively in anti-oppression work, you will sometimes hurt someone and you will sometimes get hurt. Many of you may be able to attest to that as well.

This is not an easy journey. But you know – if your heart is in the right place, if your heart is in a holy place, you will be blessed with knowing that you are trying to do the right thing.

(Sing) “When our heart is in a holy place, when our heart is in a holy place,
We are blessed with love and amazing grace, when our heart is in a holy place.”

Amen and Blessed Be.