Grace for Everything: A Sermon for Earth Day, Rev. Josh Pawelek, April 19, 2026
- uuseoffice
- Apr 20
- 9 min read
(With writing assistance from Janet Heller, Christine Larson, Mike Baxter, Mary Lawrence, Anne Vaughan, Janet Dauphin and special guest, Anthony Clarke)
Yes: for our food we thank the bees and the moths (who work at night) the birds and butterflies, the bats (for the bananas) – indeed, all the winged workers – not to mention “the light upon the busy leaf’ and the ‘water at the root.’[1] Lyrics from “Grace for Pollinators,” by the composer Nancy Schimmel, which appears in the new Unitarian Universalist Association online hymnal, Sing Out Love.
Wednesday is Earth Day. It is our custom here at the Unitarian Universalist Society East in Manchester, Connecticut, and in many UU congregations around the country, to offer an Earth Day service at this time of year. The members of our Sustainable Living Committee know that my initial idea for this service was to share what I am slowly learning about the dire impacts of artificial intelligence on local ecosystems, especially those where data centers are—or will be—operating. In my view, the rise of AI, despite anything else one might say about it, offers yet one more grim tale about humanity sacrificing planetary sustainability and health for the sake of corporate profits. Yes, the story of AI is not only about this earth sacrifice, but it cannot be told truthfully without naming this earth sacrifice. My thinking is that, given our spiritual commitments to earth justice, in the very least we ought to create a thoughtful policy on the use of AI in our congregational life. We’re not there yet. And frankly, I don’t have the heart this morning to preach yet another sermon on yet another demoralizing set of data points on current and looming environmental catastrophes.
This morning I am feeling much more aligned with the Potawatomi author and botanist, Robin Wall Kimmerer, who tells us in her 2013 book Braiding Sweetgrass: “Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.”[2]
Returning the gift, naming our joy, naming our wonder, giving thanks, offering grace for everything that makes our lives possible: these are our tasks as people of faith, not only on this morning, not only on Earth Day, but every day, multiple times a day, so that it becomes, if it isn’t already, an essential part of our spirituality, an essential part of our living, an essential part of who we are. And this makes sense for Unitarian Universalists. We often say this is who we are. For decades, we have grounded our faith in our seventh principle, “respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.” This grounding continues in the new statement of Unitarian Universalist values. About interdependence, the new statement says “we honor the interdependent web of all existence. With reverence for the great web of life and with humility, we acknowledge our place in it. We covenant to protect Earth and all beings from exploitation. We will create and nurture sustainable relationships of care and respect, mutuality and justice. We will work to repair harm and damaged relationships.”[3]
It is always a worthwhile spiritual exercise to reflect on what it means to have a place in the interdependent web of all existence, to think it through, to meditate on it, to contemplate it; and then to move from thinking, from knowing intellectually that we have a place, to feeling it emotionally, feeling it physically, feeling it fully in our bodies—what does having a place in the interdependent web of all existence feel like? Does it feel like belonging, being home, being embedded in a reality larger than yourself? And, then, perhaps in more rare moments, to move beyond thinking, to move beyond feeling, to apprehension, to aha!, to sensing, to experiencing, even if only briefly, all the borders and the boundaries between us and everything else melting away, ebbing, fading, disappearing, revealing in their wake an endless, crisscrossing multitude of connections, of relationships, of mutual dependencies, and then; sensing still further, still deeper, at the center, at the heart, a revelation of oneness, a revelation of the oneness of everything, a revelation of the strange but real bonds that unite everything to everything. And then, before the revelation recedes, offering grace for everything.
In my own moments of thinking, feeling, and apprehending what it means to have a place in the interdependent web of all existence, I am at times overcome, first, with gratitude. I want to find ways to offer thanks. Recall those words of the 13th century German Christian mystic, Meister Eckhart, “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” I am pretty sure the earth doesn’t know I am expressing my gratitude, but I don’t think it ultimately matters. What matters is that I am grateful and I say it out loud in some way. What matters is that we are grateful for all the ways the earth holds, nurtures and sustains us. But let’s not stop at gratitude. Let’s go further, let’s learn to revel, without apology, in joy for this holding, this nurturing, this sustaining. Let’s learn to revel, without apology, in joy at all the ways life manifests, all the strange, unbelievable, beautiful, awesome forms life takes. Robin Wall Kimmerer says “joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.”
With this in mind, I want the remainder of this sermon to be a prayer of thanksgiving and joy, a heart-felt hallelujah for the earth. I asked members of the UUSE Sustainable Living Committee to share with me what they are grateful for and what gives them joy. They are co-writers of this prayer of gratitude and joy, this “Grace for Everything!”
to begin, I invite you to breathe deeply on this mid-April morning, one month into official spring. Breathe deeply, sit comfortably, settle further in than you already are. Breathe deeply and contemplate what it means to have a place in the interdependent web of all existence. Contemplate. feel. Apprehend. Let the borders and the boundaries melt away.
Great spirit of life: animating, life-giving power within us and among us; God of our ancestors and of our children’s children’s children, Holy All:
We offer grace for everything.
For all the wild and natural places around the world, the mountains and valleys, rivers and lakes, oceans and reefs, islands and shores.[4]
For all the creatures, plants, animals, fungi and mycorrhiza that struggle but continue to survive in their natural habitats despite the ever-growing threats from human enterprise and natural disasters.[5]
For all the people, the scientists, the photographers, the documentary film makers, the environmental activists who share their studies of the natural world with us and advocate for its protection and survival,[6] with a special shout out to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, for their support for birds.[7]
Indeed, for the birds, because the world would be unimaginable without their diverse, beautiful singing. Birds, who are incredibly smart; did you know there are birds who build and maintain compost piles to incubate their eggs? Birds, who can fly![8]
And for the wonder and awe so many of us encounter in animals, particularly in dogs, particularly in one dog named Sally, who is curious, inquisitive, playful, sensitive, intuitive, affectionate and very loving.[9] And although nobody mentioned cats (or ferrets, hamsters, gerbils, mice, snakes, birds, lizards, fish or any other creature we might live with as pets) this grace for everything includes them too.
And also for the midge fly, a tiny insect that plays a crucial role in the pollination of cacao flowers. Indeed, without her, cacao trees would not be able to produce the pods that contain the cacao beans used to make chocolate. But she is not alone, this grace is for all the monkeys, birds, and rodents who enjoy eating cacao pods, and who help disperse the seeds of the cacao tree, ensuring its reproduction.[10]
And for poets who pay attention, and remind us:
Under the milkweed
hangs a chrysalis jewel a
monarch soon to come.[11]
For every morning.
And for the opportunity, while the world is still waking up, to walk, to connect with nature. For the recognition, no matter the weather or the day of the week, that there’s always something new to observe, even after walking the same route thousands of times over many years. For the reminder, on such walks, to slow down and notice everything we take for granted as we go through our busy days: the morning chorus of birdsong shifting as daylight lengthens, a titmouse and a bluejay arguing over breakfast, a male cardinal perched on a barren branch feeding seeds to his beloved, robins scratching in leaf litter and tilting their heads, listening for worms. For the deer family, interrupted while foraging acorns on the ground to break their fast. For the red fox trotting along behind me. And for the great blue heron scooping up a rat in its beak, swallowing it whole, and letting it slide slowly down its long neck. Gross, but pretty cool. For all these ordinary moments that would easily be missed, yet which fill us with awe and joy if only we stop to notice how precious this gift of nature is.[12]
For the opportunity to gaze out the window, to sit quietly and observe, to respond to the question, “What do you notice when you take the time to notice?”[13]
For that 32° morning just last week. For seeing my breath in wispy clouds in front of me. For the grass crunchy with frost and dewy wet where the sun has already shone down, casting long shadows past leafless trees. Outside my window, every day connecting with the natural world is an adventure, and for that I am grateful.[14]
For the national and state parks and forests, for all the people who continue to protect these places, for opportunities to visit these places, and for blessed memories of these places.[15]
For the people and the owners of businesses who believe in a green future and who aren’t giving up on their innovative work of decarbonization no matter what the federal government does. For the people researching and bringing to market systems for recycling batteries, expanding battery storage capacity, recapturing critical minerals, developing alternative, sustainable fuels—from bio mass and waste gasses from traditional refineries—for sinking CO2 into building materials, for developing less carbon-intensive methods for concrete and steel production, for developing production efficiencies that use less resources and emit less Co2.[16]
For Revolution Wind, which is now generating renewable energy off the coast of Rhode Island
For the woodlands and trails in and around Manchester and the people who
maintain them.[17]
For our local farmers who care for the land and grow healthy food. For the farmer’s markets.[18]
For the land under our feet, for the ground on which this UUSE meeting house is built; and for the trees, plants, turtles, owls, woodpeckers, pollinators, wild turkeys, deer and all who make their homes right here.[19]
For the gardens we plant and maintain together. For all those who tend and care for all life that lives here.[20]
For memories of our friends and loved ones whose ashes now help to nourish the plants in our memorial garden.[21]
We offer this grace for everything:
For the earth forever turning; for the skies, for every sea; for the mountains, hills, and pastures, for the stars, for all the heavens; for the sun, the rain and thunder, for the seasons’ harmony, for our lives, for all creation; for the home that gives us birth; for our inevitable return to the blue-green hills of earth, for all we cherish, [22] we say hallelujah, amen and blessed be.
We offer this grace for everything, trusting that as the borders and boundaries melt, ebb, fade and disappear, we sometimes notice that we are part of everything there is, and everything there is, is part of us. The interdependent web of all existence.
Hallelujah, amen, blessed be.
[1] Schimmel, Nancy, arr. by Joyse Gilbrick, “Grace for the Pollinators,” in Sing Out Love (https://www.singoutlove.org/).
[2][2][2] Kimmerer, Robin Wall, Braiding Sweetgrass (Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2013) p. 327.
[3] New and Final Version of Article II Purposes and Covenant, as adopted at General Assembly 2024. See:
[4] Adapted from Jent Heller.
[5] Adapted from Jent Heller.
[6] Adapted from Jent Heller.
[7] Adapted from Chris Larson.
[8] Adapted from Chris Larson.
[9] Adapted from Mike Baxter.
[10] Adapted from Anne Vaughan.
[11] Haiku by Janet Dauphin.
[12] Adapted from Mary Lawrence.
[13] Adapted from Mary Lawrence.
[14] Adapted from Mary Lawrence.
[15] Adapted from Janet Heller.
[16] Adapted from Anthony Clark.
[17] Adapted from Janet Heller.
[18] Adapted from Janet Heller.
[19] Adapted from Janet Heller.
[20] Adapted from Janet Heller.
[21] Adapted from Janet Heller.
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