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Gathering Music Welcome and Announcements Prelude Music "Rise Up, Rise Up" Words and Music/Unknown Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure Opening Hymn "Hearts Are Healing Here" Words and Music/Unknown Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure Hearts are healing here. Mother Goddess hold us dear! In your light, our path is clear. Women's hearts are healing here. Introduction to the Service Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude "We Hear Your Cry" Words/Music: Shelley Graff Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure Reading: A Beat Poem written and read by Jessey Ina-Lee Hymn "Comfort Me Oh My Soul" #1002 in Singing the Journey Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure Comfort me, comfort me. Comfort me oh my soul. Comfort me, comfort me. Comfort me oh my soul. (Additional verses as needed:) Sing with me Speak for me Dance with me Offering The recipient of our community outreach offering in October is the University of Connecticut's Native American Cultural Program or NACP. NACP provides resources, services and community for UCONN's Native and Indigenous students and faculty, helps foster relationships with local tribal nations, and works towards building good relations between UCONN and the land. Offering Music "Cradle Me" Words/Music: Deborah Dougherty Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure First Homily: "What Can You (men) Do? (Madeleine Cahill) Interlude "Courage Sister" Attributed to the anti-Apartheid Movement of South Africa Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure Second Homily (Madeleine Cahill) Reading: "Take Back the Day" - Excerpts from a speech by Andrea Dworkin Read by Jessey Ina-Lee Closing Hymn "I Will Not Leave You Comfortless" Words/Music: Jan Phillips Members of the Manchester Women's Sacred Singing Circle Led by Jeannette LeSure I will not leave you comfortless, I will not leave you alone, I'll be there when you need me, At the light of every star and every dawn. Extinguishing the Chalice Closing Circle May faith in the spirit of life And hope for the community of earth And love of the light in each other Be ours now, and in all the days to come.

Gathering Music Welcome and Announcements Centering Prelude "The Oneness of Everything" by Jim Scott, arr. by Mary Bopp Chalice Lighting and Opening Words "Drawn Together" by Jennifer Gracen Opening Hymn "Gather the Spirit" #347 in Singing the Living Tradition Gather the spirit, harvest the power. Our sep'rate fires will kindle one flame. Witness the mystery of this hour. Our trials in this light appear all the same. Gather in peace, gather in thanks. Gather in sympathy now and then. Gather in hope, compassion and strength. Gather to celebrate once again. Gather the spirit of heart and mind. Seeds for the sowing are laid in store. Nurtured in love and conscience refined, With body and spirit united once more. Gather in peace, gather in thanks. Gather in sympathy now and then. Gather in hope, compassion and strength. Gather to celebrate once again. Gather the spirit growing in all, Drawn by the moon and fed by the sun. Winter to spring, and summer to fall, The chorus of life resounding as one. Gather in peace, gather in thanks. Gather in sympathy now and then. Gather in hope, compassion and strength. Gather to celebrate once again. Reading "We Are Connected" by Leslie Takahashi Introductions, Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Offering The recipient of our community outreach offering is the University of Connecticut's Native American Cultural Program or NACP. NACP provides resources, services and community for UCONN's Native and Indigenous students and faculty, helps foster relationships with local tribal nations, and works towards building good relations between UCONN and the land. Offering Music "You Will Be Found" by Benjamin Pasek and Justin Paul Sung by Jeannine Westbrook Homily "Coming Together for Our Lives" Closing Hymn "Go Lifted Up" #1057 in Singing the Journey Go lifted up, Love bless your way Moonlight, starlight Guide your journey into peace And the brightness of day. Extinguishing the Chalice and Closing Words "Out of Our Yearning" by Susan Manker-Seale Closing Circle May faith in the spirit of life And hope for the community of earth And love of the light in each other Be ours now, and in all the days to come.

"Coming Together for Our Lives." Our closing words stress the supreme value we place on fostering connection and community. Surgeon General Murthy says this is just what the doctor ordered for an "epidemic of loneliness." How are we called to serve? Coordinator: Vivian Carlson Here's a link to the latest Order of Service #eBlast

In order to make UUSE accessible to people with multiple chemical sensitivities and environmental illness, UUSE strives to be a low scent and chemical-free congregation and facility. UUSE asks congregants, staff, and contractual visitors to limit their use of scented products as much as possible and to refrain from using perfumes and colognes. For more information on the negative aspects of fragrance, click here.

Meet Reiki Master/Teacher Priscilla Gale and experience the soothing sounds of crystal singing bowls. Float blissfully into a deep meditative state where the tumultuous stresses of everyday life are cleared, cleansed and washed away. Sound vibration is extremely effective for reducing stress and anxiety. Join us in the Meeting Room at UUSE on Sunday, October 8th from 3:00 to 5:00 P.M. to experience it for yourself and -- Feel the Chi! Suggested donation is $15. For more information about Priscilla Gale and crystal sound healing, click here.

Rev. Josh Pawelek Unitarian Universalist Society East Manchester, CT October 1, 2023 During our offering Mary played ‘Adagio Cantabile’ from the late 18th, early 19th-century German composer Ludwig van Beethoven’s Sonata, Opus 13. Nearly 200 years after his death, whether one appreciates western classical music or not, Beethoven’s compositions sound like what most people think western classical music sounds like. What the average listener won’t know, unless they’ve had the opportunity to study European music history, is that Beethoven, grounded in the musical traditions of his time, was also breaking free from them, moving European music and the wider European culture from what historians call the classical era to the romantic era. Inspired by the philosophies and literature of the European Enlightenment, inspired by humanism, inspired by the French Revolution—he sought to express in his music ideas of human freedom and human dignity. This was radical and liberating for many audiences. However, two centuries later, unless you’re familiar with this history, you won’t realize just how radical and liberating this music was when it was first performed. Today, for most listeners, it just sounds like what most people assume classical music sounds like. The same can be said of our own Unitarian Universalist history. Early American Unitarians and Universalists, in the decades after the American Revolution, grounded in the religious traditions of their time, were also breaking free from them in search of religion that would uphold and celebrate human freedom and dignity. Inspired by some of the same Enlightenment sources as their European cultural contemporaries, they offered radical and liberating theologies which today, two centuries later, don’t seem all that radical and liberating unless we know the broader historical context. And of course the broader, historical context also complicates how we view these theologies once we recognize that they were advanced in their time by white men in dialogue almost exclusively with other white men. **** Our ministry theme for October is heritage. I want to briefly circle back around some thoughts I shared in a sermon last July in which I described Unitarian Universalism as both a liberal and liberating faith able to minister with inclusive, caring and courageous love in a context of rising fascism and climate catastrophe in the United States and globally. I said liberalism and liberation are both defining aspects of our spiritual heritage. I’d like explain in a little more depth what I mean when I refer to the liberal and liberation features of our heritage. To begin, to the best of my knowledge, our post-American Revolution spiritual forebears didn’t refer to themselves either as liberals or as liberationists. Spiritual and political liberty were important to them; but the terms “liberal’ and “liberation” appear more in the later histories about them, not in the words they uttered about themselves. The early Unitarians and Universalists, first and foremost, were devout Christians, attempting to adapt their Christianity to an emerging modern world, heavily influenced by the European Enlightenment. As much as they looked forward—as liberals and liberationists tend to do—they also looked back to the Bible, the teachings of Jesus, the history of the church, and their more recent but still centuries-old Puritan roots. They were liberal and liberatory in their theology, but their institutional context—the church—was ancient. For understanding our liberal theological heritage, I take most of my cues today from a 2005 book by my former theology professor, the Rev. Paul Rasor, entitled Faith Without Certainty: Liberal Theology in the 21st Century. Rasor says liberal theology assumes one can be “deeply religious and fully modern at the same time.” “From this orientation,” he writes, “liberal theology is characterized by commitments to free and open intellectual inquiry, to the autonomous authority of individual experience and reason, to the ethical dimensions of religion, and to making religion intellectually credible and socially relevant.” Again, these were values at the heart of the European Enlightenment that were making their way into New England’s congregational churches, as well as at least some of the seminaries that trained the ministers who served those churches. A fun connection: Rasor says scholars of religion generally agree that the first book on what we now call liberal theology was the German philosopher Friedrich Schleiermacher’s On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers, published in 1799. That’s the same year Beethoven composed the “Adagio Cantabile” Mary played earlier. I don’t believe they knew each other, but Rasor names them both in the same sentence as contemporaries whose work helped spur the transition in European thought from the classical era to the romantic era. Regarding our liberation heritage, I take my cues from the 20th-century Unitarian theologian, Rev. James Luther Adams. During the mid-1930s Adams lived for extended periods in Germany where he observed the rise of fascism and the Nazi Party. This was also a time when liberalism and liberal theology were under attack academically, socially and politically. Adams felt called to articulate a strong, vibrant, relevant religious liberalism to his readers, parishioners and students, as well as to liberalism’s critics. To achieve that goal, he put liberation at the heart of liberalism. “Liberalism’s ‘general idea’” he wrote, “has been to promote liberation from tyranny, provincialism, and arbitrariness and thus to contribute to the meaningful fulfillment of human existence. This aspect of liberalism we may call its progressive element: it is always critical of the status quo and seeks new paths of fulfillment.” In these words I hear Adams channeling a tradition with ancient roots. He refers later to the Hebrew prophets who “repudiated the idea that the meaning of life is to be achieved either by exclusive devotion to ritual or by devotion to blood and soil, or by self-serving piety.” Rather, “the ‘Holy’ thing in life is the participation in those processes that give body and form to universal justice.” He refers to Jesus, who “deepened and extended that idea when he proclaimed that the kingdom of God is at hand. The reign of God,” he says, “is the reign of love, a love that fulfills and goes beyond justice, a love that cares for the fullest personal good of all.” He refers to the Protestant reformers, specifically what he calls the “Left Wing of the Reformation,” or the “Radical Reformation,” the hundreds of small Christian sects that organized in Europe during the 16th and 17th centuries, rejecting church hierarchies, claiming their own authority, calling and training their own clergy, developing their own rituals and, over time, eroding the power not only of “the church” but of royal families who, with church support, had long claimed a divine right to rule. I assume when Adams speaks of liberation he is also referring to the early American Unitarians and Universalists who rejected the older religious orthodoxies in favor of theologies that upheld and celebrated human freedom and dignity. In his own time Adams was deeply concerned about American racism as well as the dehumanizing impacts of unbridled capitalism. He saw that the liberal churches had become complacent and argued in a variety of ways that the liberal church must address these evils. In more recent times I contend it is our liberationist dimension that inspired the call for women to be allowed and encouraged to enter the professional ministry; that called for GLBTQ people be to welcomed into our congregations and also allowed and encouraged to enter the ministry; that created a space for earth-based and pagan spiritual practices and exploration; that continues to call us to the work of racial justice, disability rights, immigrants’ rights, environmental justice, religious pluralism, and radical, deeply inclusive hospitality. All of this, in my view, is the ongoing expression of the liberation dimension within our liberal religious heritage. This is not an easy heritage to inherit. There can be, and often is, tension between the liberationist dimension and the more general liberal religion in which it is embedded. Adams and Rasor both explore this tension in great detail. In short, liberal theology, and by extension, liberal congregations, engage with the wider culture, with the science of the day, with other religious world views, and with secular writers, musicians, poets and artists. We don’t draw a strict line between the sacred and the secular. Remember Rasor’s point about liberal theology’s assumption: one can be deeply religious and fully modern at the same time. However, when a liberal religious community is engaged with and influenced by the wider culture; when it welcomes that culture in and celebrates different aspects of it, it is also easy for that liberal religious community to miss, to turn away from, to forget the problems in that wider culture—economic injustice, racial injustice, homophobia, sexism, etc. It is easy to become complacent. Thus it is also easy for the problems of that wider culture to take hold within that liberal religious community. “May nothing evil cross this door” is a beautiful, necessary prayer. We sang it last Sunday. But it is no guarantee that the shadow side of the wider culture will not enter in as well. As it enters in, our liberation tradition responds, wakes us up, reminds us of our commitments, our promises, our covenants. It turns out that our prophetic challenges to the wider culture, i.e., “we need to confront racism out there,” are also always simultaneously prophetic challenges to ourselves. “We need to confront racism in the ways it manifests in here.” And there’s the tension. It’s an appropriate, healthy tension. It is actually a longstanding feature of our liberal religious heritage. It doesn’t feel good. It can be unpleasant. Yet it is one of the ways we grow as a community. As I head out on sabbatical for the next four months, I leave you with this message: Ours is a liberating, liberal faith. We need both. We need the liberal theological engagement with culture, science, the academy, the arts, and certainly with nature, because revelation is not sealed. New truths are always emerging. In order for us to stay vital and vibrant we must remain open to new sources of knowledge, wisdom, and faith. And we need the liberation dimension of our liberalism, because structures of tyranny, provincialism, and arbitrariness, to use Adams’ words, persist in society and need to be challenged with moral clarity and effective organizing. As these two aspects of our heritage interact, there will be tension. Undoubtedly we will not like the tension. But the tension is worth it. We cannot expand our vision of beloved community without it. We cannot widen the circle without it. We might even say that tension is the price we pay in exchange for the blessings of a beautiful, compelling, life-changing, and at times world-changing heritage. Amen and blessed be.

Gathering Music Welcome and Announcements Centering Prelude Moment Musicaux no. 3 in f minor by Franz Schubert written in 1828 Chalice Lighting and Opening Words excerpt from "I Call That Church Free" by James Luther Adams Opening Hymn #12 "O Life That Maketh All Things New" Verses 1, 3 and 4 Music: Thomas Williams' Psalmodia Evangelica, 1789 Words: Samuel Longfellow O Life that maketh all things new, the blooming earth, our thoughts within, our pilgrim feet, wet with thy dew, in gladness hither turn again. One in the freedom of the truth, one in the joy of paths untrod, one in the soul's perennial youth, one in the larger thought of God; The freer step, the fuller breath, the wide horizon's grader view, the sense of life that knows no death, the Life that maketh all things new. Meditation "Turn Scarlet, Leaves!" words by Raymond J. Baughan, #45 in Singing the Living Tradition music by Mary Bopp Turn scarlet, leaves! Spin earth! Tumble the shadows into dawn. Tumble the shadows into dawn. Joys and Concerns Musical Meditation Offering The recipient of our community outreach offering is the University of Connecticut's Native American Cultural Program or NACP. NACP provides resources, services and community for UCONN's Native and Indigenous students and faculty, helps foster relationships with local tribal nations, and works towards building good relations between UCONN and the land. Offering Music Adagio Cantabile from Sonata Op. 13 (Pathetique) by Ludwig van Beethoven written in 1799 Reading excerpts from "Guiding Principles for a Free Faith" by James Luther Adams Silence Sermon "A Liberating, Liberal Faith" Rev. Josh Pawelek Closing Hymn #155 "Circle 'Round for Freedom" by Linda Hirschhorn Circle 'round for freedom Circle 'round for peace For all of us imprisoned Circle for release. Circle for the planet Circle for each soul For the children of our children Keep the circle whole. Extinguishing the Chalice Closing Circle May faith in the spirit of life And hope for the community of earth And love of the light in each other Be ours now, and in all the days to come.

Sunday, October 29, 1:00 P.M. (originally planned for October 1st) The Denominational Affairs Committee will hold an informational meeting with guest Bill Young, secretary to the UUA. Bill will be here to discuss the proposed changes to Article II and answer any questions we have. He does need our questions prior to the meeting. Please send questions with a subject line of "DA Question" and any childcare needs with the subject line "Childcare" to Carrie Kocher by October 15.

Gathering Music Welcome & Announcements Centering Prelude Meditation on "Prayer for This House" by Robert N. Quaile Performed by Mary Bopp Introduction to the Service First Reading Musical Interlude Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Opening Hymn #1 "May Nothing Evil Cross This Door" (Also known as "Prayer for This House") Words: Louis Untermeyer Music: Robert N. Quaile Led by David Klotz May nothing evil cross this door, and may ill fortune never pry about these windows; may the roar and rain go by. By faith made strong, the rafters will withstand the battering of the storm. This hearth, though all the world grow chill, will keep you warm. Peace shall walk softly through these rooms, touching our lips with holy wine, till every casual corner blooms into a shrine. With laughter drown the raucous shout, and, though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in. Joys & Concerns Musical Interlude Offering For the month of September, our Community Outreach offering will be shared by two organizations: Power Up brings much needed visibility to the ongoing realities of racism in Manchester and surrounding communities. Some UUSE members and friends have participated in Power Up's pantry, after school programs, rallies, protests and other actions. Manchester Latino Affairs Council The Manchester Latino Affairs Council (M.L.A.C.) was established in January of 2007. Its current mission is to address social issues with a focus on diversity, inclusivity and equality within Manchester's Latino community. MLAC sponsors Manchester's annual Hispanic Heritage Day, and is looking forward to its first public "Three Kings Celebration" in January and a "Latina Heart Health Walk" next April. Offering Music "Longing to Belong" by Mary Bopp Second Reading Musical Interlude Homily in Three Parts Jane Penfield and David Klotz Greg Dupuis Congregation Closing Hymn #128 "For All That is Our Life" Words: Bruce Findlow Music: Patrick L. Rickey Led by David Klotz For all that is our life we sing our thanks and praise; for all life is a gift which we are called to use to build the common good and make our own days glad. For needs which others serve, for services we give, for work and its rewards, for hours of rest and love; we come with praise and thanks for all that is our life. For sorrow we must bear, for failures, pain, and loss, for each new thing we learn, for fearful hours that pass: we come with praise and thanks for all that is our life. For all that is our life we sing our thanks and praise; for all life is a gift which we are called to use to build the common good and make our own days glad. Extinguishing the Chalice and Closing Words Closing Circle May faith in the spirit of life And hope for the community of earth And love of the light in each other Be ours now, and in all the days to come.

In late September, the Aesthetics Committee will be mounting a new triptych. The current exhibit will come down to make room for autumn-themed artwork. The first exhibit was such a success, we are limiting this one to a single submission for each person. Members who are poets may wish to enter an original poem. As with artwork, poetry must be framed in order to be hung on the exhibit rails. If you would like to participate, please email Carolyn Emerson. Include the following information: Your name, title of artwork or poem, framed size, phone, email price or NFS (not for sale). Questions? 860-646-5151.

04/01/12 The Rev. Josh Pawelek Video here In his new book, A Universe From Nothing,[1] cosmologist Lawrence M. Krauss attempts to definitively answer an ancient question: “Why is there something, rather than nothing?” I’d like to play around with this question this morning—the question of creation. How did the universe, our planet, and life on our planet come to be? How did it all begin? This question lies at the heart of the religious imagination. This question lies at the heart of the scientific imagination. But perhaps it’s most accurate to say, simply, this question lies at the heart of the human imagination. I say this because most of us, at some point in our lives—or at many points in our lives—have experiences wherein we encounter some feature of our surroundings in a special or unique way—whether by seeing, smelling, hearing, tasting or touching—something takes us by surprise, something takes our breath away—as if we’re encountering it for the very first time—we become awestruck, and we wonder: how did all this all begin? These shining stars, this blazing sun, this waxing and waning moon, this solid, green earth, these rolling oceans, these towering mountains, this moist air, this newborn baby, these breathing lungs, this beating heart: how is it possible all this exists? I suspect most of you have asked this question in some way, have wondered about our origins in some way, at some point in your lives. How did it all begin? Why is there something, rather than nothing? I also assume most people wonder for a few moments, ask the question—how did this all begin?—and then realize the answer is pretty much beyond the capacity of the human mind to fathom. The wondering ends as they go back to whatever it was they were doing. Except there have always been some people who, for whatever reason, can’t let the question go. They keep wondering. They say, “no, this is not beyond our ability; we can figure this out!” They try to make their human minds fathom creation. They are usually either scientists or theologians. And I notice that, for them, the question mutates a bit. It’s not just, “Why is there something, rather than nothing?” It becomes “Did the universe arise out of nothing?” Or “Did the universe arise out of something?” Something from nothing? Or something from something else? The theologians argue amongst themselves. The scientists argue amongst themselves. And of course, as they argue amongst themselves, the theologians—at least the more conservative ones—contend that the scientists are utterly wrong. And the scientists—at least the more secular ones—contend that the theologians are utterly wrong. For a traditional theological example of the debate over creation from nothing or something, if you were to open a Bible and turn to the very first word on the very first page of the very first book—and if you were reading in ancient Hebrew—the word you would encounter is bereshit. In English the typical translation of bereshit is “In the beginning.” The whole sentence is typically rendered as “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth.” But another translation is possible. The sentence can also be rendered as “When God set out to create the heavens and the earth.” For centuries, if not millennia, in a variety of languages, theologians have debated which version is more accurate, which version might be more akin to how the ancient Israelites understood it, or which version is more in keeping with the latest church doctrine. It might not sound like an important distinction to our modern ears, especially to those with modern liberal religious ears, but it turns out there’s a lot at stake in how one translates bereshit. In short, the more common translation—“In the beginning”—suggests the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo—creation out of nothing—the doctrine that God existed first, before anything else, and that God caused all material to come into existence in order to create the heavens and the earth. The other, less common translation—“When God set out to create”—suggests the doctrine of creatio ex materia—creation out of material, out of stuff, out of things—the doctrine that something existed before God, and God used it to create the heavens and the earth.[2] Turning to science, consider Krauss’ book, A Universe From Nothing. Full disclosure: I have not read Krauss’ book, and I probably won’t read it unless Fred Sawyer purchases a sermon (which he has) and asks me to preach on it. I have read Columbia professor of philosophy David Albert’s recent review of the book. Apparently Krauss argues that the laws of quantum mechanics provide “a thoroughly scientific and adamantly secular explanation”[3] of the origins of the universe. In short, the universe emerged from a quantum vacuum state, which Krauss defines as nothing, hence the title of the book, A Universe From Nothing. It’s a scientific version of creatio ex nihilo. Albert, who is also an expert in quantum mechanics, flatly rejects Krauss’ thesis, saying it’s “just not right”[4]—though he doesn’t offer an alternative answer to the creation question in the book review. But fear not! Another book I haven’t read—and won’t read unless Fred Sawyer asks me to—is Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang by physicists Paul Steinhardt and Neil Turok.[5] They propose the “Cyclic Universe” theory which suggests “the Big Bang was not the beginning of time but the bridge to a past filled with endlessly repeating cycles of evolution.”[6] A scientific version of creatio ex materia! The universe is recycled from the material of countless prior universes. Again, I think it’s kinda funny and even provocative that the theologians and the scientists are having the same debate within their respective fields. What they talk about and how they get there are radically different, but it comes down to the same two conclusions: creation from nothing or something. Our ministry theme for April is creation. I admit we did not choose this theme so that we could spin our heads around theological and scientific arguments about the origins of the universe. We chose this theme primarily to match the season, the beginning of spring in New England, the time in the cycle of the year when Earth’s creative energy is immediate and sensual to us; the time in the cycle of the year when the smells, sights, tastes, sounds and the feel of new life are immediate and sensual to us: the fresh air, the first flowers pushing through the barren ground; the first buds on trees and bushes and shrubs; blooming forsythias, azaleas, daffodils, tulips and dogwoods dotting the land; soil turned over and ready for planting; bird-song chiming in the pre-dawn hours; earth worms digging; moles tunneling through our lawns; mice and voles rummaging through our basements, or garages or sheds; grease ants traipsing through our cupboards or across our kitchen floors; mud after the first spring rains; warmth after the long, grey winter. In the words we heard earlier from e.e. cummings, it is the time in the cycle of the year “for the leaping greenly spirits / of trees / and a blue true dream of sky; and / for everything / which is natural which is infinite / which is yes.”[7] It’s a heady season: impetuous, adolescent, lusty, exhilarating, earthy, feverish, sexy and creative. Yes, spring is Earth’s season for creation. When I started putting my thoughts together for this sermon, I imagined I was going to say something different about creation. Well, not just different—something really cool, hip, clever, maybe a little quirky, but definitely unexpected and outside the box of the usual ways of answering the question of creation. In our weekly UUS:E eblast I even suggested I would offer a new question entirely. My intuition told me there’d be a new question come Sunday morning. But it never came. I don’t have a new question. It turns out I have deeply partisan convictions when it comes to the debate over creation out of nothing or something. But late Friday afternoon I was still trying to figure it out. Do you remember Friday afternoon? It was beautiful. Having already kicked the boys outside to play in the yard before dinner, I decided to join them. Intuition told me that getting away from the sitting-at-the-computer-trying-to-make-my-brain-fathom-where-the-universe-came-from mode and spending some time outside in the dirt with children might help. The Outdoor Car Tournament Track! When I arrived outside, Mason ask if we could hold a “car tournament.” To hold a car tournament we first have to build a track for our Matchbox and Hotwheels cars. Once the track is built, we race the cars down it one after the other. If they fall off the track, they’re out. If they make it all the way down, they move onto the next round. There are fewer and fewer cars each round. When there’s one car left we have a winner. Then we start over. When we do this outside, we build the track out of pieces of wood from an old swing-set/play-scape that I store under the shed. We prop it up with bricks, buckets and other junk we have lying around. It takes a while to build because the long, flat pieces of wood need to line up just right so that the cars can drive over them seamlessly. We really get into it. We lose ourselves in it. And there we were, lost in it, building our track with the bright sun beginning to set in the western sky; dust rising around us from our busy work on the track; the azalea and forsythia bushes in full bloom all around us; spring’s fragrant, fresh air smell in our nostrils; bees buzzing; and the sounds of other kids playing in other yards echoing around the neighborhood—an utterly different experience from sitting-at-the-computer-trying-to-make-my-brain-fathom-where-the-universe-came-from. It’s hard to find words, but I’m trying to describe a full-bodied, sensual experience—as in all five senses engaged. This is the poet cummings asking “how should tasting touching / hearing seeing / breathing—lifted from the no / of all nothing—human merely / being / doubt unimaginable You?”[8] This is a physical experience, a bodily experience, a yoga experience, an embedded experience, a grounded experience where instinct matters more than thought, where the present moment outweighs the past and the future, where the need for play subdues the need for work, and where creativity abounds—not only in our play, but in the color, the fragrance, the energy, the returning life flowing through everything around us. Spring is Earth’s season for creation. And this is what I observe: we create out of the materials at hand—pieces of wood, bricks, buckets, junk. We do not create out of nothing. And the Earth around us creates out of the materials at hand—water, soil, sunlight, air; not out of nothing. In this little dell at the bottom of our hill, where the ground is soft, where the water runs to after the rains, where moss will blanket the ground by the middle of May—in this little Eden—everything is created from something. I don’t offer this observation in order to win an argument over the correct way to imagine the origins of the universe. I don’t need to win that argument and besides, the words imagination and correct don’t really belong in the same sentence anyways. I suspect some physicists and theologians alike may object to this, but to some degree all our efforts to answer the questions of creation are acts of imagination. So it strikes me that in addition to physicists and theologians, we also need to consult storytellers and poets for their insights. When we do that a picture of our origins begins to emerge—not a proof, not the findings of literary and linguistic Biblical analysis, not the results of rigorous tests of scientific models, not even something we can say is true in any objective sense—but a picture of what resides in the collective human imagination: creation arises out of something. My search this week has not been exhaustive, but I cannot find a creation story from any culture—ancient or modern—where creation arises out of nothing. So often creation arises out of some massive explosion, some obliterating flood, some destructive catastrophe that ended an earlier age. I read to you earlier a brief version of “Icanchu’s Drum” from the Wichí people of northern Argentina and Southern Bolivia. The new world arises out of the ashes of the previous world, specifically out of a charcoal stump Icanchu is using as a drum. “Playing without stopping, he chanted with the dark drum’s sounds and danced to its rhythms. At dawn on the New Day, a green shoot sprang from the coal drum and soon flowered as Firstborn tree, the Tree of Trials at the Center of the World. From its branches bloomed the forms of life that flourish in the New World.”[9] In other stories, creation arises out of a kind of disordered, ominous, dark chaos. The Boshongo people of the Congo speak of a primordial, watery darkness in which the God Bumba sleeps.[10] Some of the Chinese origin myths involving the God Pan Gu speak of a big, gooey mess surrounding a large, black egg.[11] Even the Biblical book of Genesis speaks of a wind moving across the face of the waters prior to God’s first act of creation. From our story-telling selves, our poetic selves, our intuitive selves, the picture of creation that emerges is ex materia. Creativity, to become real, to have some physical result in the world, must act upon some thing. Judging by the stories we human beings have told ourselves over the millennia, we have a collective hunch that the universe arose out of something, not nothing. Friday night one of my best friends in the world called from Boston. His wife had just gone into labor—their first child. I took the call as an affirmation, a sign, a reminder of yet another way to look at origins. None of us came into the world out of nothing. We came as muscles began to contact; we came as a jolt, a bump, a wind, a cut awakened us from our primordial slumber. We came out of the dark, still waters of our mother’s womb. We came into the world in a gooey mess of blood and amniotic fluid. In the end, the stories we tell of creation (as distinct from our scientific and theological analyses) are not meant to be factual. That’s why we call them myths and poems. They are meant to tell us something about ourselves and the universe we inhabit. But even if we’ve never heard them, our bodies seem to know: however it all began, a creative drive lives at the heart of the universe and lives in each of us; and it is, like spring, heady, impetuous, adolescent, lusty, exhilarating, earthy, feverish, sexy. When we set out to create, our bodies know even if our minds don’t, if we want our creations to be real—if we want them to manifest in ways we can see, hear, taste, smell and touch—then we must create out of the materials at hand. I’m not sure there’s any other way. We must create out of some thing. In this light, creation out of nothing is just hard to imagine. Amen and Blessed Be. [1] Krauss, Lawrence M., A Universe From Nothing: Why There is Something Rather Than Nothing (New York: Free Press, 2012). [2] I found two blogs that explain the difference between creatio ex nihilo and creatio ex materia. Check out: http://www.religioustolerance.org/crebegin.htm http://www.evolutionfairytale.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=3507 [3] Albert, David, “On the Origins of Everything,” New York Times Book Review, March 25, 2012, p. 20. [4] Ibid., p. 21. The full quote is: “But that’s just not right. Relativistic-quantum-field-theoretical vacuum states—no less than giraffes or refirgerators or solar systems—are particular arrangements of elementary physical stuff.” [5] Steinhardt, Paul J. & Turok, Neil, Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang (New York: Doubleday, 2007). [6] http://endlessuniverse.net/. [7] cummings, e.e. “I thank you god for most this amazing day” in Singing the Living Tradition (Boston: Beacon Press and the Unitarian Universalist Association, 1993) #504. [8] Ibid. [9] Sullivan, Lawrence E., Icanchu’s Drum: An Orientation to Meaning in South American Religions (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1988) frontispiece and p. 92. [10] Dawkins, Richard The Magic of Reality: How We Know What’s Really True (New York: Free Press, 2011) p. 161. [11] Ibid., p. 161.

Rev. Josh M. Pawelek Unitarian Universalist Society: East Manchester, CT September 17, 2023 Our ministry theme for September is welcome, a fitting theme for the first month of the congregational year when we welcome each other home; when we say words and sing hymns of welcome, invitation, entering and rejoicing, returning, joining together, gathering the spirit. I love the words we say to new members of our congregation: We welcome you as companions in the search for truth and meaning. We invite you to share in our mission of caring for one another, encouraging each other in spiritual growth, working for justice and peace in the wider community, and living in harmony with the earth. We join our gifts with yours, trusting in the power of community to bring freedom, healing, and love. And it feels so appropriate, every Sunday morning, to offer all of you, but especially visitors and newcomers, a warm hearty, heart-felt, enthusiastic, joy-filled, boisterous, raucous welcome. Sometimes I add “ebullient” to the mix, but I’m never sure if I’m pronouncing it correctly. And whether or not we pronounce any of the words correctly, the welcome that begins our worship and extends through Sunday morning, into the afternoon, into the coming weeks, months, years—that welcome is genuine, real and enduring. It is not contrived, not cosmetic, not simply a surface feature. It lives at the heart of our congregational life and it lives at the heart of Unitarian Universalism. So, welcome! And if you know me well, if you’ve been taking in my message over these past two decades serving as your minister, you will not be surprised to hear me say also that our welcome is far from perfect, that it has limitations, that we stumble, that changing our congregational culture so that it appeals to a greater range of people is difficult, decades-long work. Perhaps most obviously, we remain a largely White congregation. This is no secret. We know this. It begs the question: How do we increase and expand our welcome to People of Color who are looking for a non-traditional, liberal, religious community that includes atheists, humanists, agnostics, pagans and other kinds of theists, and takes the results of science seriously, as ours does, yet whose congregational life is less Euro-centric and more multicultural, as ours is not? How do we increase and expand our welcome to people whose first language is Spanish or Portuguese or American Sign Language—people for whom English isn’t an option? I might add that this year our Social Justice / Anti-Oppression Committee plans to explore how we might begin using Spanish-language resources more regularly in worship and in all the ways we present ourselves to the wider community. If you can contribute to that exploration, please connect with the committee co-chairs, Maureen Flanagan and Monica Van Beusekom. How do we increase and expand our welcome to people with disabilities? Can we imagine accessibility beyond assisted listening devices, handicap parking spaces and our low scent guidelines? How do we increase and expand our welcome to people living with or in recovery from mental illness? I should also point out that plans are afoot—or will be later this year—to reinvigorate our mental health ministry in partnership with the Greater Hartford Interfaith Action Alliance. If you have an interest in that ministry, please feel free to connect with me. How do we increase and expand our welcome to gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, nonbinary and queer people, especially in this era of legislative assaults, harassment, denial of health care and violence—even here in blue Connecticut, in Tolland where residents and the local Congregational church have been harassed all summer long by anti-gay hate groups? As a largely middle and upper middle class congregation, how do we increase and expand our welcome to poor and working class people? You likely haven’t heard me ask this question: How do we increase and expand our welcome to people who are seeking an engagement with Jesus—not necessarily the Jesus of Christianity, but the Jesus of first-century Galilee who offered that basic, enduring moral guidance from the grounding of his Hebrew tradition: “Love your neighbor as yourself?” I’m inspired in my thinking about this particular welcome by my colleague, the Rev. Carlton E. Smith, who currently serves on the Congregational Life staff at the Unitarian Universalist Association. Last year he published, Try My Jesus: Daily Reflections to Free Your Mind, Deepen Your Faith, and Invite Universal Love Into Your Life.” He writes from a Black, queer, Post-Pentecostal, UU perspective; and say “I especially hope [this book] finds its way into the hands of people who could benefit from an opportunity to see themselves inside the Jesus story—an affirmation of his authentic humanity as well as of his divinity, and of their own.” How do we increase and expand our welcome to people who value and want to hold onto their Islamic heritage, their Hindu heritage, their Jewish heritage, their Sikh heritage, yet who are also seeking a liberal, and liberating spiritual community that deeply values religious pluralism, and understands the United States not as an Evangelical Christian nation, but as a religiously diverse nation that maintains a clear separation of church and state? There are so many ways we name this work of increasing and expanding our welcome within Unitarian Universalism. In the 1990s when I began working for the Unitarian Universalist Association and studying for the ministry, we used the language of “Creating a Jubilee Word.” Later we referred to building an antiracist, anti-oppressive multicultural identity and practice (I still use that language). In recent years we’ve used the language of centering, as in centering the voices and life experiences of historically marginalized peoples in our congregations. We’ve used the language or addressing or confronting our own white supremacy culture. We’ve used the language of “decolonizing our faith.” We haven’t used the language of “diversity, equity and inclusion” so much here, but it’s certainly in the mix. We definitely use the language of “building the beloved community.” Those of you familiar with the proposal to adopt an 8th Unitarian Universalist principle know that work is also very much about increasing and expanding our welcome. Over the past two years I’ve grown attached to the language of “Widening the Circle of Concern,” which is the title of the 2020 report from the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Commission on Institutional Change. As a congregation we are still at the beginning stages of implementing recommendations from that report. That is work I hope we will continue for many years, though I imagine the words we use to describe that work will continue to change and evolve. My point here is that we offer a warm hearty, heart-felt, enthusiastic, joy-filled, boisterous, raucous, ebullient welcome to everyone; and we are simultaneously called to recognize the limitations of that welcome, and to do the slow, intentional work of increasing and expanding that welcome. I think of it as a manifestation of the Universalist side of our spiritual heritage. We genuinely mean it when we say “all are welcome,” or that we respect “the inherent worth and dignity of every person”—this is the legacy of our forebears’ Universalist theology that says “all are saved.” But we know it doesn’t happen just because we say it. So we commit to the work of making it so. **** In light of the Jewish High Holy Days, which began with Rosh Hashanna at sunset on Friday, I went searching for a Jewish voice who might inform our thinking about welcome, hospitality, generosity of spirit, openness to the other, etc. As is often the case, my search led to Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, who was ordained through the Jewish Renewal movement, serves a Reform synagogue in western Massachusetts, and writes poetry and blogs as the “Velveteen Rabbi.” I loved her poem, “2021 / 5782: Anew,” which I shared at the beginning of our service. This poem got me thinking about our mission, especially since I knew this morning we would be welcoming new members to “share in our mission of caring for one another, encouraging each other in spiritual growth, working for justice and peace in the wider community, and living in harmony with the earth.” In her poem, which she wrote two years ago in Elul—the month in the Jewish calendar in which Jews prepare for the High Holy Days—she offers her own, simple mission statement. Given, she writes, that “sometimes we’re afraid,” that “we can’t know what choice to make to keep anyone safe,” that “uncertainty’s a bear,” “All we can do / is seek out sweetness everywhere we may / and work to fix what brokenness we find.” “All we can do / is seek out sweetness everywhere we may / and work to fix what brokenness we find.” It has become cliché at this point for clergy of all sorts to tell their parishioners that we live in challenging times. But cliché or not, I am saying it: we live in challenging times. You know the litany of challenges. Everyone who enters this meeting house on Sunday morning or at any other time during the week, and truly everyone we encounter through the course of our comings and goings, feels at some level, experiences to some degree, the ripple effects of global pandemic; or stress and worry over political polarization, marked by the rise of fascist ideology and hate inexplicably directed toward society’s most vulnerable people rather than at the people who are hoarding wealth and power to serve their own selfish ends; or the now regular climate catastrophes across the planet; not to mention every possible personal struggle and uncertainty with which a person may be living. I’m mindful of that quote—also a cliché at this point—appearing in a thousand slightly different versions, attributed to a thousand different people, but most often associated with the ancient Greek philosopher Plato: “Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” An even simpler mission statement. “All we can do is seek out sweetness everywhere me may, and work to fix the brokenness we find.” Sweetness in a warm greeting as we enter the meeting house; sweetness in a caring gesture after we’ve shared a painful truth; sweetness in the art work on the walls; sweetness in the music, the singing, the improvised piano melodies, the achingly beautiful violin; sweetness in the children we so desperately want to shield from the challenges we face; sweetness in the weekly rituals, the chalice flame, the sharing of joys and concerns, the closing words, the love of the light in each other; sweetness in the hospitality, the coffee service, the occasional snack left over from the reception at a Saturday memorial service or leadership retreat; sweetness in the friendships that blossom over time; sweetness in a congregation that makes its way, imperfectly, toward beloved community; sweetness in the weekly reminder of the things that matter most in our lives; sweetness in the way those reminders go forth with us, encouraging us to care for ourselves, to rest in the calming silence and the nurturing darkness, to breath—always to breath—to stretch, to pray, to drink from our deepest wells; sweetness likewise, in the way the reminders extend out through and from us, small waves of kindness, generosity, caring, compassion, love, advocacy, democracy, justice-making, community-building. Sweetness everywhere: an ongoing yes attempting to fix the brokenness of the all-too-frequent no. An ongoing gratitude for life attempting to fix the brokenness of a larger culture that caters more and more to death. An ongoing solid ground attempting to fix the brokenness of bearish uncertainty. An ongoing appreciation of nuance and complexity attempting to fix the brokenness of that oh-so-seductive black-and-white, us-and-them narrative that succeeds only in driving people further apart. An ongoing creativity attempting to fix the brokenness of everything in our era that numbs the human spirit. **** We invite you to share in our mission of caring for one another, encouraging each other in spiritual growth, working for justice and peace in the wider community, and living in harmony with the earth. In the Rabbi’s simpler language, “seek out sweetness everywhere we may, and work to fix what brokenness we find.” I send you forth this morning, hoping as I do every Sunday that you will take this mission to heart no matter how it is expressed. I trust, I believe, that as this mission seeps into us, embeds itself in us, guides us and nurtures us, that our welcome, as imperfect and limited as it is, will continually increase and expand. Amen and blessed be.