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Gathering Music (Mary Bopp) Welcome and Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek) Centering Prelude "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" Mary Bopp, piano Chalice Lighting and Opening Words excerpt from "You Darkness, of Whom I am Born" By Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy Opening Hymn #89 "Come, My Way, My Truth, My Life" Words by George Herbert Music by Ralph Vaughan Williams Come, my way, my truth, my life: such a way as gives us breath, such a truth as ends all strife, such a life that killeth death. Come, my light, my feast, my strength: such a light as shows a feast, such a feast as mends in length, such a strength as makes a guest. Come, my joy, my love, my heart: such a joy as none can move, such a love as none can part, such a heart as joys in love. Welcoming New Members Introductions (Membership Committee co-chairs) The Charge (Minister) As you take up membership in the Unitarian Universalist Society East, I charge you to share with us who you are. Share your creativity, your experiences, your questions, your doubts, your beliefs, and all your discoveries of life's meaning. I charge you to shake us up with your ideas, to stir us up with your conscience, to inspire us with your actions, and to stimulate our hopes with your dreams of what life can be. Congregational Welcome (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. New Member Affirmation (New members) We join the Unitarian Universalist Society East out of a desire and willingness to participate in a liberal religious congregation. We pledge to share our time, energy and gifts; to diligently seek our spiritual truths; and to strengthen the bonds of community. Music #1059 "May Your Life Be as a Song" Words: Jim Scott Music: Yuri Zaritsky May your life be as a song, Resounding with the dawn to sing awake the light. And softly serenade the stars, Ever dancing circles in the night. Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Offering "We do not gather our gifts for ourselves, but to share with the larger community" Continuing our practice of sharing our gifts with the community beyond our walls, fifty percent of our Sunday plate collections for the month of December will go to three area shelters: McKinney Men's Shelter (Hartford), East Hartford Community Shelter and Cornerstone Shelter (Rockville). Offering Music "Largo" from Harpsichord Concerto in f minor By J.S. Bach Mary Bopp, piano Sermon Being Present in the Dark Season Rev. Josh Pawelek Closing Hymn "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" Words, Latin c. 9th century, trans. composite base on John Mason Neale Music adapt. by Thomas Helmore O come, O come Emmanuel, and with your captive children dwell. Give comfort to all exiles here, and to the aching heart bid cheer. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Love to dwell. O come, you Splendor very bright, as joy that never yields to might. O come, and turn all hearts to peace, that greed and war at last shall cease. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Truth to dwell. O come, you Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by your presence here. And dawn in every broken soul as vision that can see the whole. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanual shall come within as Light to dwell. O come, you Wisdom from on high, from depths that hide within a sigh, to temper knowledge with our care, to render every act a prayer. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Hope to dwell. 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  (Chris Crossgrove)                                      Welcome and Announcements (Anne Vogel)                                             Centering  (Stacey Musulin)                                                                                          Mini Body-Scan Meditation             By Lore Stevens   Prelude                                                                                   Introduction to the Service                                                Chalice Lighting                                                                    Look to This Day By Kalidasa   Look to this day: For it is life, the very life of life. In its brief course Lie all the verities and realities of your existence. The bliss of growth, The glory of action, The splendor of achievement Are but experiences of time.   For yesterday is but a dream And tomorrow is only a vision; And today well-lived, makes Yesterday a dream of happiness And every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well therefore to this day; Such is the salutation to the ever-new dawn!    Opening Hymn                                                                      #16 "‘Tis a Gift to Be Simple"                                         Words: Joseph Bracket Music: American Shaker tune  Chris Crossgrove, piano with Sandy Johnson, vocals (11:00 A.M.) ‘Tis a gift to be simple, ‘tis a gift to be free, ‘tis a gift to come down where we ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ‘twill be in the valley of love and delight.    When true simplicity is gained,  To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed.  To turn, turn will be our delight  ‘til by turning, turning we come ‘round right.     Time for All Ages / Reading 1                                                                                                Excerpts from All Creation Waits  (Children’s Edition) (Wood Frog, Painted Turtle, Striped Skunk) By Gayle Boss Illustrated by Sharon Spitz                                                                   Welcoming Visitors and Joys & Concerns                Musical Response                                                                              Reading 2                                                                               Excerpts from All Creation Waits   (Wood Frog, Painted Turtle, Striped Skunk) By Gayle Boss Illustrated by David G. Klein   Offering   The charitable giving offering for the month of December will be shared between three area shelters: McKinney Men's Shelter in Hartford, the East Hartford Shelter, and the Cornerstone Shelter in Rockville.                                                                                  Offering Music                                                           Sermon: "Reflections on the Present of Presence" (Anne Vogel)                                 Closing Hymn                                                                           Winds Be Still, #83                                                                  Words: Richard S. Kimball Music: Samuel Sebastian Wesley Chris Crossgrove, piano; Sandy Johnson, vocals (11:00 A.M.) Winds be still. Storm clouds pass and silence come. Peace grace this time with harmony. Fly, bird of hope, and shine, light of love, and in calm let all find tranquility.   Bird fly high. Lift our gaze toward distant view. Help us to sense life’s mystery. Fly high and far, and lead us each to see how we move through the winds of eternity.   Light shine in. Luminate our inward view. Help us to see with clarity. Shine bright and true so we may join our songs in new sounds that become full symphony.   Extinguishing the Chalice  (Quote from Pico Iyer)                                                          In an age of speed, I began to think, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing can feel more luxurious than paying attention. And in an age of constant movement, nothing is more urgent than sitting still.   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 Introduction Centering Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Music Kristen Dockendorff, flute Reading #720 "We Remember Them" In the rising of the sun and in its going down, We remember them. In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, We remember them. In the opening buds and in the rebirth of spring, We remember them. In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, We remember them. In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, We remember them. In the beginning of the year and when it ends, We remember them. When we are weary and in need of strength, We remember them. When we are lost and sick at heart, We remember them. When we have joys we yearn to share, We remember them. So long as we live, They too shall live, For they are now a part of us. As we remember them. Music Sharing Music Reading "Blue Christmas: This, Too, Belongs" by Tara Brach The sound of rain, not cheerful songs A quiet rocking chair, not traditions of the season The early sunset, not dancing lights Loss, tender heart, hollow soul, heavy days Grief is welcome, a sacred part of the mourning, of the bereft, of the weeping Amidst the celebrating, this too belongs This too is holy It binds us to our ancestors, the earth, the stars Yet still A steaming mug of tea warms the belly The dog wags its tail and the cat purrs There are laughter and tears, sometimes both, beside the joy This too belongs Sharing human suffering is connection, hearts like stones are held by all that is Grief and light, intertwined This too belongs Music Extinguish Chalice and Closing Words "You Don't Have to be Brave" by Rev. Tess Baumberger You don't have to be brave. You don't even have to be okay. You don't have to hold your chin up and force wayward tears back inward. You don't have to talk about acting as though you don't feel like a broken stained glass window, the solvent of loss having made your mortar evaporate. You can melt, you can shower, you can shatter, here. We will catch all your pieces in our hands. We will hold you as you put them back together, Perhaps forming an image of a new life, a new self. Our love, our listening, our tears, our holding will form new mortar for all those spaces. Oh, we have known that solvent, too. Music

Gathering Music (Mary Bopp)   Welcome (Emmy Galbraith)   Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek)   Centering (Emmy Galbraith)   Prelude “When I See You” By Linda J. Smith Koehler and Rissa Moore   “Open My Eyes to the Miracles Around Me” By Abigail Spinner McBride   “Gratitude” By Ina Hata   Performed by members of the Manchester Women’s Sacred Singing Circle   Chalice Lighting and Opening Words “A Harvest of People” By Max Coots Opening Hymn #349 “We Gather Together” Words by Robert E. and Dorothy Caiger Senghas Verse 3 by Rev. Josh Pawelek Music by Adrian Valerius, arr. by Edward Kremser   We gather together in joyful thanksgiving, acclaiming creation, whose bounty we share; both sorrow and gladness we find now in our living, we sing a hymn of praise to the life that we bear.   We gather together to join in the journey, confirming, committing our passage to be a true affirmation, in joy and tribulation, when bound to human care and hope — then we are free.   We gather together, as the year is fading, To share with each other our deep gratitude For all of our blessings, for love and compassion, For healing and sustenance, making us whole.    Time for All Ages Keepanumuk: Weeâchumun's Thanksgiving Story By Danielle Greendeer; Anthony Perry; Alexis Bunten  Illustrated by Garry Meeches Sr.   Musical Interlude (Mary Bopp)   Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude (Mary Bopp)   Offering The recipient of our November community outreach offering is Manchester Senior, Adult and Family Services.   Offering Music “Praying for Time” By George Michael Will Alexon, vocals and guitar    Sharing Gratitude   Song “We Give Thanks” By Wendy Luella Perkins   Oh, we give thanks for this precious day, For all gather'd here, and those far away; For this time (food) we share with love and care, Oh, we give thanks for this precious day. Homily “More Than a Cliché” Rev. Josh Pawelek   Closing Song #128 “For All That Is Our Life” Words by Bruce Findlow Music by Patrick Rickey   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   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 “Get Together” Words and music by Chet Powers   Welcome and Announcements   Centering   Prelude   “What’s Going On” Words and music by Al Cleveland, Renaldo Benson and Marvin Gaye   Chalice Lighting and Call to Worship We Meet on Holy Ground by Richard Gilbert   We meet on holy ground, For that place is holy Where lives touch, Where love moves, Where hope stirs, There is holy ground. We meet on holy ground, Brought into being as life encounters life, As personal histories merge into the communal story, As we take on the pride and pain of our companions, As separate selves become community. We meet on holy ground.   Opening Hymn    #318 “We Would Be One” By Samuel Anthony Wright & Jean Sibelius Performed by Meetinghouse We would be one as now we join in singing our hymn of love, to pledge ourselves anew to that high cause of greater understanding of who we are, and what in us is true. We would be one in living for each other to show to all a new community.   We would be one in building for tomorrow a nobler world than we have known today. We would be one in searching for that meaning which bends our hearts and points us on our way. As one, we pledge ourselves to greater service, with love and justice, strive to make us free.   Time for All Ages   Story “I Am We – A Book of Community” Written by Susan Verde Illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds Read by Lynn Dove      Song "Ju st Imagine" by Matt Falkowski Performed by Meetinghouse   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little love   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little love   I’m gonna bring a little love And you can bring a little love We’ll put our love together ‘Cause a little means a lot The world will be a better place when love is what we’ve got   Let’s all bring a little love   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little peace   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little peace   I’m gonna bring a little peace   And you can bring a little peace We’ll put our peace together ‘Cause a little means a lot The world will be a better place when peace is what we’ve got   Let’s all bring a little peace   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little hope   Just imagine Just imagine Just imagine a little hope   I’m gonna bring a little hope And you can bring a little hope We’ll put our hope together ‘Cause a little means a lot The world will be a better place when hope is what we’ve got   Let’s all bring a little hope Let’s all bring a little peace Let’s all bring a little love  Joys and Concerns   Musical Interlude   Offering Continuing our practice of sharing our gifts with the community beyond our walls, fifty percent of our Sunday plate collections for the month of November will be dedicated to Manchester Senior, Adult and Family Services. Offering Music “Imagine” by John Lennon & Yoko Ono Performed by Meetinghouse   Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us, only sky   Imagine all the people Livin' for today Ah   Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too   Imagine all the people Livin' life in peace You   You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one   Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man   Imagine all the people Sharing all the world You   You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one   Reading : Barbara Kingsolver, FB posting, 11.06.24   Truth and love have been smacked down, so many more times in history before today. Truth, because it’s often inconvenient, and love because it is vulnerable.   But truth is like gravity, and carbon, and the sun behind an eclipse: it’s still there. And love stays alive if you tend it like a flame. If you feel crushed by unkindness today, it’s a time for grieving, reaching out to loved ones, noticing one bright color somewhere in the day. Remembering what there is to love. Starting with the immediate, the place and people we can tend ourselves, and make safe. We can’t save everything all at once, but it’s still worth saving something. Because there are so many of us to do it.   And we are all still here today, exactly as we were yesterday. Like gravity, and carbon, and the sun behind an eclipse.   Reflections on Consensus   (Kevin Holian-Borgnis)   Musical Interlude   Homily : "Building a Consensus Community" (Kate Kimmerle)   Closing Hymn          #128 “For All That Is Our Life” By Bruce Findlow & Patrick L. Rickey Performed by Meetinghouse 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,f 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. Closing Words #580 “The Task of the Religious Community” by Mark Morrison-Reed The central task of the religious community is to unveil the bonds that bind each to all. There is a connectedness, a relationship discovered amid the particulars of our own lives and the lives of others. Once felt, it inspires us to act for justice. It is the church that assures us that we are not struggling for justice on our own but as members of a larger community. The religious community is essential, for alone our vision is too narrow to see all that must be seen and our strength too limited to do all that must be done. Together, our vision widens and our strength is renewed. 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   Postlude “We Are Family” by Bernard Edwards, Nile Gregory Rodgers Jr. [Chorus] We are family I got all my sisters with me We are family Get up, everybody, and sing. We are family I got all my sisters with me. We are family. Get up, everybody, and sing.

After last Sunday’s sermon, a far-greater-than-usual number of you called or wrote or texted to thank me for my words and to say you felt better, felt not so alone, felt more hopeful. I hadn’t anticipated that response, though maybe I should have. It was gratifying to hear from so many that my words had been well-received and helpful. This morning is different. The 2024 elections are over. Donald Trump won the presidency handily. Though I do hope that being here in the UUSE sanctuary or in our online space, together, will remind you that you are not alone, I confess I don’t know what to say to make anyone feel better or more hopeful about the future of the United States, or about your own future, or about the futures of your families, your loved-ones, your friends.  Like many of you, I have been struggling emotionally—cycling through fear, sadness, anger, disbelief, and all the shades of feeling in between. Like many of you I have been struggling physically—sick to my stomach, dizzy, jittery, not sleeping well and, therefore, tired. I haven’t lost my appetite, though some of you have said you don’t feel like eating. Like many of you I have been struggling spiritually—not feeling grounded, rooted, centered; not able to take the full breaths I know I need to take. Perhaps, if you leave this place this morning and remember nothing else that I say, remember the admonition to breathe. I said last Sunday that, in the very least, we could anticipate the next few weeks would be very hard, meaning that if Kamala Harris won, there would be relentless legal challenges, disinformation campaigns, and possible violence. Now we know it’s not just the next few weeks that will be difficult. Now we know it’s minimally the next four years and likely beyond that that will be difficult. Of course, the word ‘difficult’ does not begin to articulate what is likely coming. Given what the President- and Vice President-elect have promised, what the writers of Project 2025 have promised, what anti-immigrant radicals like Stephen Miller have promised, what Christian Nationalist leaders have promised, what Elon Musk has promised, referring to it simply as ‘difficult’ feels somehow to have wildly missed the mark. Furthermore, we must be mindful that what those of us with more resources, more privilege, more financial security experience as ‘difficult’ will likely be catastrophic for those on society’s margins. I want to say five things to you. Everything I have to say ought to sound familiar coming from me—there’s nothing radically new here. What is new is the shift in the American body politic that has brought Donald Trump to the presidency claiming a popular mandate. That is, he won the popular vote. What is also new is the lack of guardrails—the friendlier courts, the supportive Congress—giving him far more unbridled power this time around. Given this newness, what I have to say, though I have said it before, feels more radical, more essential, more vital to me. I hope it will feel that way to you too. First: the depth of our spiritual life and practices—our individual spiritual life and practices, our collective spiritual life and practices—matters immensely. Our capacity to move through the coming years with strength, resilience, grace, hope and an abiding love depends first and foremost on the depth of our spiritual life and practices. So make it your righteous habit to breathe deeply, in and out, in and out, in and out. Take time every day to breathe in peace, as the song says. [1]  Breathe out love, as the song says. Breath in peace, breathe out love. Then pray. I know quite a few of you do not identify as praying people. That has to change. Whether you are a committed atheist or a committed theist, say the words of your deepest longings out loud. Let yourself and those around you encounter in your words what your heart longs to say. Let your body and the bodies of those around you resonate with your voice as it speaks the words your heart longs to say. Let your spirit and the spirits of those around you soar in response to the words your heart longs to say. Then go outside. Bear witness to the natural world. Bear witness to the earth. Bear witness to the last falling leaves saying your name. Reach down in any way you can and touch the earth. Lie down on the earth. Let this earth-touch steady you. Let this earth-touch ground you. Let this earth touch center you. Then stretch, then walk, then sing, then create, journal, meditate, read scripture—whatever is scripture to you—exercise, sit quietly, sit in stillness. Then, come to worship on Sunday morning. Come to this scared space or join us online. Come so that we can be together, because that is the center of our collective spiritual life. This being together in beloved spiritual community is our central spiritual practice. Come, so that none of us has to face what is happening in our country alone. Come so that we can go through it together. Second: “just as you did it to one of the least of these, so you did it to me.” I have never been more clear in my life. We, the members and friends of this Unitarian Universalist congregation; we, Unitarian Universalists across the United States and across the world; and we, liberal people of all faiths—all religions—must root ourselves in solidarity with the least of these. We must proudly, unapologetically and faithfully align ourselves with oppressed peoples, with poor people, with, as the biblical reading says, those who are hungry and thirsty, those who are strangers in need of welcome, those who are naked, those who are sick, those in prison. We must proudly, unapologetically and faithfully orient ourselves to the needs, the vision, the organizing efforts, the strategies of those who are targeted by the incoming administration—people targeted for deportation, targeted to have rights taken away, targeted to have public goods and services taken away, targeted to have their history erased, targeted to have control of their own bodies taken away, targeted to have their healthcare taken away. We must proudly, unapologetically and faithfully align ourselves with freedom and justice movements led by women, led by Black people, Indigenous people and People of Color, led by immigrants, led by transgender, nonbinary and queer people, led by people with disabilities. We must proudly, unapologetically and faithfully pursue a vision of Earth justice, Earth stewardship, Earth survival. We know how to do this. A few years before I arrived as your minister, this congregation voted overwhelmingly to become a Unitarian Universalist Association Welcoming Congregation and to support and empower Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender people both here and in the wider community. For us this is not just a proud legacy. It is a fundamental spiritual commitment. Soon after I arrived this congregation became a certified Unitarian Universalist Association Green Sanctuary, dedicated to living in harmony with the Earth. For us this is not just a proud legacy. It is a fundamental spiritual commitment. In more recent years we overwhelmingly passed a congregational resolution in support of the Black Lives Matter Movement. And still more recently, we overwhelmingly passed a congregational resolution to become a sanctuary congregation. For us these are not merely proud legacies. They are fundamental spiritual commitments. Of course they have never been easy commitments to keep. At times we have missed the mark over the years. But these are our commitments, and in the weeks, months and years ahead, I have no doubt we will be called to fulfill them in ways we never imagined when we first made them. Third: Struggle lies ahead. I use the word ‘struggle’ often. The struggle  for social justice. The struggle  for racial justice. The struggle  for reproductive justice. The struggle  for worker justice. The struggle  for environmental justice. None of these struggles are new, but Tuesday’s election results have catapulted the stakes into the stratosphere. I’m mindful that I rarely say what I mean by struggle . I assume everyone knows more or less what I mean. Sometimes I worry that I—and we—have entered into these struggles in ways that require the least amount of disruption to our lives, the least amount of sacrifice, the least amount of risk for us. To the extent that’s true, my gut tells me that era of safe struggle is over. Although we don’t know yet what struggle looks like in the coming months and years, I am confident it will be different than what we are used to, that it will require more from us than we are accustomed to, that it will require sacrifice, that it will be disruptive. Here’s just one example I have begun contemplating: I’m trying to imagine multiple families facing deportation somehow living in our meeting house. It doesn’t seem possible, yet we may be asked to make it possible. A few years ago I preached a sermon entitled “Perhaps Struggle is All We Have.” In that sermon I shared wisdom from the writer Ta-Nehisi Coates’ 2015 book, Between the World and Me. Some of you will remember he wrote this book as a letter to his then teenage son about the way the United States treats black bodies and how to live in such a cruel society. He said justice is never guaranteed. He said “you must resist the common urge toward the comforting narrative of divine law, toward fairy tales that imply some irrepressible justice.”  [2]  This statement contradicts the Kingian saying (based on the words of the 19th-century Unitarian minister Theodore Parker) that “the moral arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice.” Coates is saying, “no it doesn’t.” Coates says “perhaps struggle is all we have because the god of the universe is an atheist, and nothing about this world is meant to be. So you must wake up every morning knowing that no promise is unbreakable, least of all the promise of waking up at all.” But—and this is critical—“This is not despair. These are the preferences of the universe itself: verbs over nouns, actions over states, struggle over hope.” [3] Last Sunday I spoke about the promise the founders of the United States made to their posterity. This week the hard lesson: no promise is unbreakable. But let us not despair. We can still act. We can commit to struggle for what is right and good. We can commit to struggle for the reassertion of the founders’ promise. We can commit to struggle for the least of these. We can commit to struggle for democracy. Let us trust that struggle is indeed the preference of the universe. Let us make ourselves ready to be in the struggle. Fourth: Despite the broken promise, I urge you also to “Keep Alive the Dream in the Heart.” Last Sunday we sang “America the Beautiful.” Many of you reported getting choked up in ways you didn’t expect. This week, at our vigils, and in private conversations, some of you reported feeling that the United States of America is done, is over, has failed; or more specifically that American democracy is now dying, if not dead. I don’t want in any way to belittle or downplay the strength and intensity of your feelings if you feel this way. But I do want to urge you to “Keep Alive the Dream in the Heart.” I borrow this language from the 20th-century American mystic and mentor to Martin Luther King, Jr., the Rev. Howard Thurman. As long as we keep the dream alive in the heart, he says, we will not lose the significance of living. He writes; “The dream in the heart is the outlet. It is one with the living water welling up from the very springs of Being, nourishing and sustaining all of life…. The dream is the quiet persistence in the heart that enables [us] to ride out the storms of [our] churning experiences…. It is the ever-recurring melody in the midst of the broken harmony and harsh discords of human conflict…. It lives in the inward parts, it is deep within, where the issues of life and death are ultimately determined. Keep alive the dream; for as long as [we have] a dream in [our] hearts, [we] cannot lose the significance of living.” [4] However you understand the promise of the United States of America; however you understand the promise of our Unitarian Universalist faith, I urge you to keep alive the dream in your heart. And on those days when you simply can’t do that, please know and trust that I or someone else in this congregation will keep your dream alive for you; just as I know and trust that on those days when I simply can’t do it, you will keep it alive for me.           Fifth, finally:  please know and trust this too: I love you. And I know and trust that you love me. And I know and trust that you love each other. And I know and trust that you love the promise of our nation, just as you love the promise of our faith. I am glad I have you, and I am glad we have each other. I am glad knowing that we will not go through this alone. I am glad knowing that we will go through this together.           Amen and blessed be. [1]  Jones, Sarah Dan, “Meditation on Breathing,” Singing the Journey  (Boston: Unitarian Universalist Association, 2005) #1009. [2]  Coates, Ta-Nehisi, Between the World and Me (New York: Spiegel & Grau, 2015) pp. 70. [3]  Ibid, p. 71. [4]  Thurman, Howard in Fluker Walter Earl and Tumber, Catherine, eds., “Keep Alive the Dream in the Heart,” A Strange Freedom: The Best of Howard Thurman on Religious Experience and Public Life (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998) pp. 304-305.

Welcome and Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek)   Centering   Prelude "Spirit of Life" by Carolyn McDade Mary Bopp, piano   Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Matthew 25: 34-40   Opening Song “For a World Made Whole” Music by Mary Bopp Words by Josh Pawelek   May we be people, people of faith. May we be people, people of faith. May we be people, people of faith. For a world made whole, may we be people of faith.   May we be people, people of hope.   May we people, people of love.   May we be people of peace.   Time for All Ages   Song #1053 “How Could Anyone” By Libby Roderick How could anyone ever tell you you were anything less than beautiful? How could anyone ever tell you you were less than whole? How could anyone fail to notice that your loving is a miracle? How deeply you're connected to my soul. Joys and Concerns   Musical Response   Offering The recipient of our November community outreach offering is Manchester Senior, Adult, and Family Services.   Offering Music "O Mio Babbino Caro" by Giacomo Puccini Eric Rosenberg, saxophone Mary Bopp, piano   Sermon “For a World Made Whole” Rev. Josh Pawelek   Closing Song #95 “There is More Love Somewhere” African American Hymn There is more love somewhere. There is more love somewhere. I'm gonna keep on 'til I find it. There is more love somewhere. There is more hope somewhere... There is more peace somewhere... There is more joy somewhere...   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.

I am going to speak about Tuesday’s election, but perhaps less about the election and more about what the United States of America means to me, and what I believe is at stake in this election. To begin, historically, the Sunday before election day features the ‘get out the vote’ sermon. Unitarian Universalist ministers really don’t need to remind their parishioners to vote. Democracy, freedom, liberty, the right of conscience—all lie at the heart of our spiritual identity. For many of us, voting is a sacred obligation. I know from experience that you take voting very seriously, and I have never felt a strong need to urge any of you to vote. Many of you have taken advantage of CT’s new option for early voting. When I went to vote I saw UUSE member Randy Kurker-Stewart in line. And it was UUSE member Paul Lorenzo who checked me in, gave me a double high five, and handed me my ballot. That was a rush. I was really happy—and really proud—to receive my ballot in this election from a member of our congregation. Some of you volunteer to drive elderly and disabled voters to the polls. Some work on campaigns. Some of you run for office. Some of you volunteer for voter turn-out operations. I will note that since 2016 members of UUSE have participated in letter-writing efforts through the auspices of the Unitarian Universalist Association’s non-partisan “UU the Vote” campaign. This year, most of you who’ve done this in the past opted to volunteer for partisan voter-turnout operations. Because they are partisan, we don’t organize or keep track of them in any way. I do want to point out that one UUSE member, Ollie Cohen, continued with UU the Vote and wrote letters to voters in swing states through the non-partisan voter turnout organization Vote Forward. Ollie wrote 800 letters to help turn out the vote in North Carolina!             Please know I take the separation of church and state very seriously. Although that language – ‘separation of church and state’ – does not appear in the United States Constitution, its spirit figures prominently in the first half of the first amendment to the Constitution: “ Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” I interpret that language to mean that the United States government is, always has been, and will continue to be a secular government. While there are some in our nation who long for a theocracy and would replace our time-honored religious freedoms with the tenets of Christian Nationalism, the United States is and always has been religiously pluralistic; respects and upholds the freedom of individuals and organizations to practice religion in accordance with their conscience, respects and supports religious minorities, and offers safe harbor to people fleeing religious persecution in other parts of the world. This is one of the reasons I love the United States of America and proudly sing “America the Beautiful.”  As the scholar of religion Diana Eck has said, “freedom of religion is part of the blueprint for America.” [1] To oppose religious freedom, to oppose the separation of church and state, is profoundly un-American.             One of the ways the United States maintains the separation of church and state is through the federal tax code, specifically through the Johnson Amendment of 1954 (that’s then Senator Lyndon Baines Johnson). This amendment to the code’s section 501(c)(3) prohibits tax-exempt organizations, including churches and other religious bodies, from engaging in political campaign activities. As a church, we cannot endorse or oppose candidates for public office, which is why any voter turnout efforts we participate in have to be non-partisan. It is my understanding that churches and other religious organizations did historically participate in electoral politics, blurring the line of separation. The Johnson Amendment ended that practice, and continues to serve as a powerful guardrail for preserving the separation of church and state. For me, upholding it rises to the level of a sacred obligation. While I have always found it relatively easy to refrain from making an explicit endorsement of a candidate for office, I confess that in every federal election going back to 2016, it has become increasingly difficult for me—and in this election I find it virtually impossible—to talk about what’s at stake in the election without implying an endorsement. That is, when we look at what is at stake; when we use our Unitarian Universalist principles or our new Unitarian Universalist values and covenants to assess what the presidential and down-ballot candidates say, one candidate—and essentially one party—clearly represents a set of policy proposals that contradict our principles and values. And not only that, one candidate—and essentially one party—explicitly promotes a set of anti-democratic measures that would erode constitutional protections, for example asking the Department of Justice to investigate political opponents, revoking broadcasting licenses for media outlets who report in ways deemed unfavorable to that candidate, or using the military to conduct domestic law enforcement operations, including operations against protestors. Any of these actions would violate the second half of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, which grants the people of the United States freedom of speech, freedom of the press, the right to peaceful assembly, and the right to petition the government for a redress of grievances. These are threats to our democracy, and I am unwilling to ignore them when I speak from this pulpit. But how do I—how do we—talk about these threats without making an implicit endorsement? I really don’t know. Yet, I’m also unwilling to take responsibility for the problem. One candidate—and essentially one party—has created this problem by refusing to uphold long-standing democratic norms and threatening to abandon others. Maybe I’ll draft a letter. “Dear Internal Revenue Service: This sermon as not an endorsement of any political candidate. It’s not my fault that one of the candidates equates virtually everything dear to me and my religion as the ‘enemy within.’ Any advice you can give on how to navigate these treacherous legal waters will be greatly appreciated.” The United States of America was founded as a promise to future generations. “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” I’ve never read these words as a declaration that the nation was perfect upon its founding. The founders didn’t regard it as perfect. They argued about it relentlessly, and continued to argue after the founding. Looking back over these past 237 years, clearly it was riddled with imperfections the founders couldn’t collectively grasp. We live with the legacies of those imperfections and are still coming to terms with them—settler colonialism, slavery, the disenfranchisement of women and anyone not wealthy enough to own property. The founders bequeathed to us an imperfect union with the promise that it could be perfected, that there could be greater justice, lasting tranquility, robust public welfare, a reliable common defense and all the blessings of liberty: freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to assemble, freedom of religion. Blessings all. They promised us—their posterity—that in using the tools or representative democracy, we the people could craft solutions to our most vexing problems. By coming together, dealing with facts, dealing with what is known to work, finding common ground, we the people could fulfill the founders’ promise slowly, over time. And that is precisely what has happened. This movement toward perfection has included the slow expansion of democratic participation, the inclusion of more and more constituencies in the rights the founders identified.  I point to the 13th amendment to the Constitution abolishing slavery—though not perfectly. I point to the 14th amendment establishing criteria for citizenship and equal protection under the law—though not perfectly. I point to the 15th amendment establishing the right of men to vote regardless of race, color, or previous condition of servitude—though not perfectly. I point to the 19th amendment giving women the right to vote—though not perfectly. All of this I regard as the slow, incremental fulfillment of the founders’ original promise. All of this I regard as America the beautiful. And, with every movement toward perfection, toward justice, toward greater inclusion and participation, toward an expanding franchise, there has been harsh, sometimes violent resistance—a painful truth of United States history. Resistance to expanding democracy for People of Color. Resistance to women voting, women in the workplace, women having access to their own property and other forms of wealth; women making choices about their reproductive healthcare. Resistance to workers organizing for a living wage, for decent benefits, for protections in the workplace. In more recent decades, resistance to GLBTQ rights and inclusion. Resistance to any effort to address climate change despite the overwhelming scientific evidence for impending climate catastrophes; resistance to any influx of immigrants in all eras of our history—Irish in one era, Italian in another, Jewish, Eastern European, Chinese, Mexican, Syrian, Afghan, Haitian—people have come to the United States from every country in the world Inevitably, there is resistance despite the evidence that immigrants contribute positively to the general welfare. (Sidebar: Puerto Ricans are United States citizens, not immigrants, which one candidate’s campaign staff doesn’t quite seem to understand.) Resistance is inevitable. Today one candidate—and essentially one party—has harnessed the longstanding American impulse to resist progress.  If it prevails in this election, it is quite possible we will see retrenchment on democracy, on who can participate, on who is entitled to certain rights, on who has control over their own body. That’s what’s at stake in this election. I’m not endorsing a candidate. I am endorsing the promise of America for all Americans. I am endorsing the long, slow expansion of democratic participation, the long, slow expansion of civil rights, the time-honored separation of church and state. I am endorsing fairness, kindness, caring, compassion and love. I am not endorsing the return to a mythical golden age of American greatness—no such age ever existed. I am endorsing the look forward, the hard work, the perennial struggle to establish a more perfect union. Finally, here we are. It’s the eve of the 2024 presidential election. We are facing an existential moment for our democracy. Though we don’t know what will happen, we do know that in the very least, the next few weeks are going to be hard, not only because of disinformation campaigns and legal challenges leading to chaos and distrust, but also because of the very real possibility of violence. So many of you have told me you’re not doing well: you’re nervous, anxious, stomach in knots, terrified, can’t sleep, can’t focus. “Despair for the world,” as the poet Wendell Berry said in our opening words, grows in us. We wake in the night at the last sound in fear of what our lives and our children’s lives may be. Berry urges us, in moments like this, to “come into the peace of wild things … into the presence of still water ….” To rest for a time in the grace of the world and be free.  [2] Some may hear these words in this moment as a form of escapism or denial.  I disagree. We need to take care of ourselves, in order to stay strong for what lies ahead. It’s good advice in the near term. Find peace now, because surely there is hard work ahead. I also urge you, during the post-election period, to rest in the grace of each other. As I said in my November newsletter column, whatever happens after Tuesday, let’s be present to each other. Let’s hold each other, because we’re going to need holding.  Let’s be kind to each other, because we’re going to need kindness. Let’s love each other, because we’re going to need the support of a loving community. Whatever happens, let’s not go through it alone. Let’s go through it together. This Tuesday evening, Janet Dauphin, who is co-chair of our Membership Committee, will host an online gathering from 7:00 to 9:00 for people who want to be together on election night. Thursday from 4:00 to 6;00, Mary and I will host an in-person gathering in this space. We’ll have readings, music, silence, candle-lighting, an opportunity for sharing thoughts and feelings. I’ll host an online gathering Friday from 3:30 to 5:30. And we’ll plan more the following week depending on what happens, how people are feeling and what people need. My prayer for you on election eve, is that this congregation, this beloved spiritual community, may be a haven for you in the coming weeks. May it hold you. May it calm you. May it sustain you. May your Unitarian Universalist community be a source of hope and resilience for you. And may it always inspire you to take the forward look, to engage in the hard work, the perennial struggle to establish a more perfect union, to build America the beautiful. Amen and blessed be. [1]  Pitney, Nico, “Her Modern Family: Four Moms, Four Refugee Kids, and Plenty More, Huffington Post, August 27, 2016. See: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/diana-eck-interview_n_57bf669de4b04193420e6e65 . [2]  Berry, Wendell, “The Peace of Wild Things,” Singing the Living Tradition (Boston: Beacon Press and the UUA, 1993) #483.

Welcome (Rev. Josh Pawelek)   Announcements   Centering   Prelude Americana I: "Fantasia on America the Beautiful" Music by Samuel A. Ward Mary Bopp, piano   Chalice Lighting and Opening Words “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry spoken by Genna Bender (11:00)      Opening 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.   Time for All Ages “Our Youth Weigh In”   Song #1009 “Meditation on Breathing” By Sara Dan Jones   When I breathe in, I’ll breathe in peace When I breathe out, I’ll breathe out love.   Joys and Concerns   Musical Meditation   Offering The recipient of our November community outreach offering is Manchester Senior, Adult, and Family Services.     Offering Music Americana II: "Fantasia on Themes from Aaron Copland” Mary Bopp, piano   Sermon “America the Beautiful” Rev. Josh Pawelek   Closing Song “America the Beautiful” adapted from Katherine Lee Bates   O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed thy grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea!   O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved And mercy more than life! America! America! May God thy soul refine, Till justice, love and mercy reign, And all hearts are divine!   O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years, Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears! America! America! God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law!   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 (Mary Bopp) Welcome (Emmy Galbraith) Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek) Centering Prelude and Calling the Quarters "To the Four Directions" Music by Mary Bopp Words adapted from Joan Goodwin's "To the Four Directions" Sandy Johnson, vocals Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Ancestors by Emily Bridget Taylor spoken by Josie Bernier (11:00 AM) Opening Hymn #103 "For All the Saints" For all the saints who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, they name most holy be forever blest. Alleluia! Alleluia! Thou wast their rock, their shelter, and their might; their strength and solace in the well-fought fight; thou, in the darkness deep their one true light. Alleluia! Alleluia! O blest communion of the saints divine! We live in struggle, they in glory shine; yet all are one in thee, for all are thine. Alleluia! Alleluia! And when the strife is fierce, the conflict long, steals on the ear the distant triumph-song and hearts are brave again, and arms are strong. Alleluia! Alleluia! Story for All Ages "Ama's Spirit" by Beth Hudson Hankins Body Prayer "My Roots Go Down" by Sarah Pirtle, et al My roots go down, down into the earth My roots go down, down into the earth My roots go down, down into the earth My roots go down. I am a willow, bending in the wind... I am a waterfall skippin' home... I am an acorn waiting to be born... I am an oak tree, tall and bold... Building the Altar of Remembrance "Comfort Me" by Mimi Bornstein-Doble Comfort me, comfort me Comfort me oh my soul Comfort me, comfort me Comfort me, oh my soul Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Offering The recipient of our October Community Outreach Offering is MARC, Inc. MARC, Inc. provides the opportunity for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities to live meaningful lives of independence, choice, inclusion and continuous personal growth. Offering Music "Faded in the Sun" by Lilly Coleman Remembering our deceased UUSE members and friends Remembrances Closing Hymn #52 "In Sweet Fields of Autumn" words by Elizabeth Madison music by William James Kirkpatrick In sweet fields of autumn the gold grain is falling, the white clouds drift lonely, the wild swan is calling. Alas for the daisies, the tall fern and grasses, when wind-sweep and rainfall fill lowlands and passes. The snows of December shall fill windy hollow; the bleak rain trails after, the March wind shall follow. The deer through the valleys leave print of their going; and diamonds of sleet mark the ridges of snowing. The stillness of death shall stoop over the water, the plover sweep low where the pale streamlets falter; but deep in the earth clod the black seed is living; when spring sounds her bugles for rousing and giving. Closing Words "When I Leave Here" by Loryn Brantz 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 "Autumnal" Written and performed by Mary Bopp Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Opening Hymn #1007 "There's a River Flowin' in My Soul" Words and Music: Rose Sanders There's a river flowin' in my soul. There's a river flowin' in my soul. And it's tellin' me that I'm somebody. There's a river flowin' in my soul. There's river flowin' in my heart... There's a river flowin' in my mind... Time for All Ages Call to Worship "Aging With Grace" (author unknown) Introduction to the Service Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Reading "A Poem About Ageism: You Used to See Me But You Don't Anymore" by Melissa Mongoven Reflections from Carol Simpson Offering Offering Music "How Could Anyone" by Libby Roderick, arr. by Mary Bopp Reflections from Walter Glomb Closing Hymn #1028 "The Fire of Commitment" Words: Mary Katherine Morn Music Jason Shelton From the light of days remembered burns a beacon bright and clear Guiding hands and hearts and spirits into faith set free from fear. Chorus: When the fire of commitment sets our mind and soul a blaze When our hunger and our passion meet to call us on our way When we live with deep assurance of the flame that burns within, Then our promise finds fulfillment and our future can begin. From the stories of our living rings a song both brave and free, Calling pilgrims still to witness to the life of liberty. Chorus From the dreams of youthful vision comes a new, prophetic voice, Which demands a deeper justice built by our courageous choice. Chorus 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.

“Well I don’t know where it all begins / And I don’t know where it all will end / We’re better off for all that we let in.” [1]  Lyrics from the American folk-rock band Indigo Girls. Once again, thanks to Jenn Richard for her gift of music this morning. I always do this to Jenn—or maybe she always does it to me. She suggests a few songs for a service, and I find the lyrics so evocative that a line or a phrase from one of the songs becomes the starting place for my sermon. This morning it’s “All That We Let In.” Our ministry theme for October is deep listening . I want to thank Carolyn Gimbrone and Martha Larson for last Sunday’s service on deep listening . This morning I am continuing with this theme, hopefully adding a further dimension to our collective exploration of what it means to listen deeply: to ourselves, to others, to the natural world, to divinity. In short, listening well is a spiritual discipline. The purpose of this discipline is to prop us open, to cultivate openness in us so that we can let in others’ perspectives, others’ experiences, others’ joy, pain, hopefulness, suffering, others’ anger, even rage. It is not easy. This letting in, as beautiful and as positively life-transforming as it can be, as much as it is the source of learning and growth for us, can also expose us to thoughts, feelings, opinions, philosophies, world-views and ideologies we’d rather not encounter. And although sometimes we simply cannot encounter them—they’re triggering or traumatic, they’re life-negating in some way, and we need to set boundaries—which is part of the spiritual discipline of deep listening—nevertheless, I agree with Emily Saliers, who wrote the lyrics to the song, “we’re better off for all that we let in.” Having worked and served as a pastor for a quarter century now, I do have significant experience when it comes to listening. I like to think it is a skill I possess. I hope those of you to whom I have listened over the years feel that I have heard you. And having said that, I’m confident my listening hasn’t been perfect. I have missed things. I am likely missing things now. I don’t pretend to be an expert listener, or to be always open to hearing thoughts, feelings and opinions I’d rather not encounter. I’m also aware that I listen better in some contexts than others, perhaps better here at the meeting house than at home. By now many of you have heard me tell the story of my visit to the audiologist a year ago, though I haven’t shared it from the pulpit. My wife was concerned that I might be developing hearing loss—a fairly common condition for people my age, especially for someone who played in rock bands for almost 30 years. I took the standard hearing test. The audiologist said he had good news and bad news. The good news was that my hearing was perfect. The bad news is that I need to listen to my wife better. Bottom line: I know something about how to listen, and that knowledge doesn’t always translate into actual listening. I know something about opening myself up to another, and I have evidence that my capacity for openness, at times, is limited.   We press on. I want to listen more deeply. I want to be propped open. I want the spiritual discipline of listening to be central to who I am, not only as a pastor, but as a husband, father and friend, indeed, as a human being. Despite my limitations and inconsistencies, I want to cultivate openness to others’ experience of the world, and openness to the world itself. I want to keep getting better at it. I want what the mid-19th century, one-time Unitarian minister, American essayist, poet, lecturer Transcendentalist leader, Ralph Waldo Emerson, called “an original relation to the universe” [2]  which, I believe, originates in deep listening. I want to let it all in, because I believe, as the song says, I am better off for it. I shared earlier the meditation, “Listen to the Leaves,” from Choctaw elder and Episcopal bishop and theologian Steven Charleston. When he was young his great-grandmother urged him to keep listening to the rustling leaves, listening to the voice of the Spirit in the trees. As an elder, recognizing that he still has much to learn, he says “I know one thing for certain: / The wind in the trees knows us by name. / If you don’t believe me, go out and listen. / Close your eyes, listen to the leaves, / And hear you name written on the wind.” [3] I did that when I was preparing this sermon. I stood beneath the trees at the edge of our yard. This was Wednesday, one of those beautiful, sunny autumn days. I heard the leaves rustling. I didn’t hear my name, but figured it would take years of listening to arrive at that kind of hearing. It definitely felt good to pause and listen. It felt like the right and necessary thing for me to be doing in that moment. I want that practice in my life. And more. I want to listen not only to the rustling leaves, but to the wind itself; both the gentle autumn breeze and the raging New England nor-easter. I want to let it all in—not only the wind, but the rain, the sleet, the snow, the hail. And more. I want to listen to the creatures, not only the rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, mice, hawks, owls, ants and a hundred other critters that scurry around our yard, and sometimes our basement, but also the more distant, more difficult to imagine creatures—creatures of the deep seas, creatures of the hot, moist jungles, creatures of the great savannahs, creatures of the arid desserts. I want to let it all in: the cycles of days: dawn into morning, dusk into night; the cycles of the seasons: autumn into winter into spring into summer; the cycles of our lives: birth, growth, decline, death and rebirth in all the ways we are—or might be—reborn. I want to let it all in and be better off for it. And maybe, to begin, what it takes is a willingness simply to pause in the midst of life’s demands, and listen with no pre-conceived notions of what I will hear. Steven Charleston has another meditation called “What the Wind Says” in which he writes “There is a word for each of us, a message sent directly / That flows through the wind each day / Offering us insight and vision, clarity and creative ideas. / If only we will stop long enough to receive it. / Be still. Be awake. Trust your spiritual senses. / Listen to the wind. The Spirit is speaking to you.” [4]  I want that in my life. I want to learn the art of deep listening. I want, in time, to hear what Spirit is saying to me. I want to let it all in and be better off for it. So I commit myself to pausing more, to being still, to being awake, to listening deeply. Reality check #1! It’s hard enough to do this with consistency in response to the natural world. It’s even harder to do it in response to our fellow humans. It’s hard not only because our lives don’t always accommodate our longing to pause, be still, and listen. It’s hard also because some of what we let in doesn’t feel good. I said it at the outset of my remarks. As much as deep listening is a source of learning and growth for us, it can also expose us to thoughts, feelings, opinions, philosophies, world-views and ideologies we’d rather not encounter. In the United States we live now in a very polarized society, polarized along political, cultural and religious lines. On Thursday, many of us watched the film “Bad Faith: Christian Nationalism’s Unholy War on Democracy.”  That film, if nothing else, gives a glimpse into just how polarized we are. I am very mindful that, because of polarization, for the most part, I live in a communication bubble on one side of the so-called culture war. I tend to communicate almost exclusively with people who think and feel the same way I do about the future of the United States. I do not spend a significant amount of time in dialogue with people who think and feel radically differently than I do about the future of the United States. More now than ever before, I don’t really know many people who think and feel radically differently than I do about the future of the United States, and I know the same is true for a lot of you. For the record, at least one person who attended the film on Thursday was a pastor from a local, conservative Christian congregation. He didn’t stay for the discussion. I don’t know why, but I also don’t blame him. He’s not in our liberal bubble. And I can’t help thinking we missed an opportunity. We continue in our bubbles, yet we also recognize that our society won’t break out of polarization without dialogue across our divisions, without listening deeply to each other, and without a willingness to compromise. So we say, “let’s listen to each other.” And maybe in some instances we can get somewhere, especially at the local level, especially if the most extreme positions aren’t part of the conversation. But there need to be boundaries. I don’t want to listen to someone explain the need to deport millions of undocumented immigrants, based, at least recently, on blatant lies about legal Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio. And the person who believes those lies likely doesn’t want to hear me talk about treating undocumented immigrants humanely. I don’t want to listen to someone explain why teachers shouldn’t be allowed to make space for children to safely explore their gender identity, or that books that celebrate GLBTQ identity shouldn’t be on library shelves in public schools. I don’t want to listen to someone explain to me that the United States was founded as a Christian nation and therefore I don’t understand the First Amendment of the Constitution. There are hundreds of examples. All this stuff is toxic, painful, traumatic—and if it doesn’t hurt me directly, it hurts people I love. I can’t take it all in. I won’t take it all in. I want to listen, but I also need to set some boundaries. The divides are stark and dangerous. The path forward, the path to healing and repair, is not clear. Reality Check #2! I want to close with a few words about our experience of division here at UUSE. Without a doubt, for those of you who’ve been in dialogue about the change to Article II of the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA) bylaws; for those of you who’ve been in dialogue about changing our congregation’s constitution in response to concerns about the UUA, the differences among us have felt unbridgeable at times. With apologies to those who aren’t in the dialogue or who don’t know what I’m talking about, I want to name that we’ve had our own communication bubbles. We’ve had our own habits of not talking to people with whom we disagree. I will tell you that as one who has always loved the UUA, as one who has always been committed to the UUA and its efforts to address the way racism and other forms of oppression operate both in the larger society and within our congregations; and as one in whom the UUA invested considerable resources to train 30 years ago, it has been very difficult for me to listen to criticisms of the UUA. I have not wanted to let them in. But I’ve learned to let them in. I’ve learned—I hope—to really listen to the criticisms, to try my best to understand them, to say when I agree, to say when I disagree. And I believe I am better off for it. I also recognize—this is the reality check—that everybody who is involved in this dialogue, no matter what their position, has the best interests of our congregation at heart. That’s not just a hopeful statement. It’s a sturdy truth. Those of you involved in this dialogue, despite disagreements that at times feel unbridgeable, have the best interests of this congregation at heart. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, and it bodes well for our future. Our UUA Discernment Task Force is about to launch its long-awaited discernment process that will enable members and friends of the congregation who are in disagreement to come together, to share concerns, and to find, together, a common vision for what our institutional relationship to the UUA ought to be, and how it ought to be reflected in our constitution. We have strong disagreements, but not unbridgeable disagreements. I say, let it all in. Listen deeply to each other. Listen to each other like you might listen for your name in the rustling of the leaves. Listen to each other like you might listen to the still small voice within. Listen to each other. Let each other in, knowing, trusting, believing we will all be better off for it. Amen and blessed be. [1]  Saliers, Emily Ann, “All That We Let In” from the 2005 Indigo Girls album, All That We Let In. See: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6sDR2bOuGE [2]  Emerson, Ralph Waldo, Nature, in Whicher, Stephen E., ed., Selections from Ralph Waldo Emerson (Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1957) pp. 23. [3]  Charleston, Steven, “Listen to the Leaves,” in Spirit Wheel: Meditations from an Indigneous Elder (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2023) p. 173. [4]  Charleston, Steven, “What the Wind Says,” in Spirit Wheel: Meditations from an Indigneous Elder (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2023) p. 149.