Together (Susan Werner)

I am a long-time UU (Unitarian Universalist).  Giving up the 14-year Labyrinth Cafe concert series allowed me new spiritual freedom, and I recently left the congregation I joined in March 2003 to begin attending one a little bit closer, not just for the proximity, but mainly because I've known the minister there for 20 years (even before she was a minister!).  These new members are a bit of a younger demographic, lots of kids in their RE (Religious Education) program, and everyone so very vibrant and engaged!

Obviously, with this pandemic, people are not gathering in person anymore, and this morning was our first online worship.  It was already scheduled to be the Annual Poetry Service and, given that poems have the power to soothe and heal, they kept it on the agenda with, appropriately enough, the theme of Abundance.

I went up to the church this past Monday to record my selection (don't worry, the half-dozen of us practiced social distancing!), and prefaced my reading with this introduction:

"I have been a follower of Joy Harjo's poetry for decades.  She was named U.S. Poet Laureate in June 2019, and it was a joy and an honor to see and hear her at the Miami Book Fair this past November.  Little did I know, way back on February 1 when I submitted this poem for inclusion in the River of Grass Poetry Service, how relevant it would be."

I logged on through the Zoom platform, which I have never used before, about 30 minutes early, to make sure I figured out how (I did!), and at 10:30, the service began.  It flowed so smoothly (kudos to Zena for coordinating, and Rebecca for her tech work), from one pre-recorded segment to another:  piano pieces, the lighting of the chalice, our covenant reading, Rev. Amy's heartfelt transition prayers, and then readers of the poems.  Amy ended with the Lynn Ungar (another UU minister) poem and, after the chalice extinguishing, the group was unmuted, and we were able to say hello to each other, wave, and speak.  Also, there was a live chatbox throughout, where we could type our thoughts (Joys and Concerns, etc.).  I cried through just about the whole thing.  

I do feel proud to have conquered my technoweenie self to participate, and I look forward to future Sundays, until the day we are able to gather... Together... again.

P.S.  Also, this by author John Green.  Wow!


SONG:  Together by Susan Werner

BOOK:  A Handbook for Badass Spiritual Warriors: Eleven Powerful Practices To Ignite your Spiritual Connection by Corinne Lebrun M.S.

POEM(s):  Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite. 

Pandemic by Lynn Ungar

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

QUOTE:  "Anybody can observe the Sabbath, but making it holy surely takes the rest of the week." ~ Alice Walker

I Got You Babe (Sonny and Cher)

Here's a little something light and fluffy... until I can post something of substance (which I've been working on for the last week) - I live in South Florida... so the whole groundhog thing is pretty moot!

Cheers to the groundhog - and world peace... :-)

SONG: I Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher

BOOK: The Groundhog Day Book of Facts and Fun by Wendie C. Old and Paige Billin-Frye

POEM: Groundhog Day by Lynn Ungar

Celebrate this unlikely oracle,
this ball of fat and fur,
whom we so mysteriously endow
with the power to predict spring.
Let's hear it for the improbable heroes who,
frightened at their own shadows,
nonetheless unwittingly work miracles.
Why shouldn't we believe
this peculiar rodent holds power
over sun and seasons in his stubby paw?
Who says that God is all grandeur and glory?

Unnoticed in the earth, worms
are busily, brainlessly, tilling the soil.
Field mice, all unthinking, have scattered
seeds that will take root and grow.
Grape hyacinths, against all reason,
have been holding up green shoots beneath the snow.
How do you think spring arrives?
There is nothing quieter, nothing
more secret, miraculous, mundane.
Do you want to play your part
in bringing it to birth? Nothing simpler.
Find a spot not too far from the ground
and wait.

QUOTE: "The groundhog is like most other prophets; it delivers its prediction and then disappears." ~ Bill Vaughn

Turn! Turn! Turn! (Pete Seeger)

Happy Birthday, Dar Williams!

My salvation/salvage/salve (see poem below) is the music... and Dar is a big part of that - blessings on the day she was born, 42 years ago... :-)

We used to coordinate projects/activities through the Dar-list for her birthday, which can be seen here and here - this year nothing official was organized... but here is my contribution:

In April 1998, when I was a fairly new fan, Dar appeared on the Conan O'Brien show with Pete Seeger, who I didn't know much about at all - who knew that, eleven years later, I'd be helping to coordinate a Pete Seeger 90th Birthday Celebration in South Florida, with local musicians and local nationally-touring performers... including a friend who was Pete's first captain of The Clearwater?!?

This has turned into a very big deal and today, along with three other participants, I appeared on our Folk and Acoustic Show to promote the event (and even asked the DJ to play Dar's cover, with Toshi Reagon, of Pete's Oh, Had I a Golden Thread) - our venue seats about 250, and we are now sweating the proverbial bullets that we will have enough space for everyone!

And... coming full circle, Dar is performing at the Pete Seeger celebration in Madison Square Garden - birthday wishes abound... :-)

The poem below also makes me think of Dar's song Arrival: "that's when you knew this world can't be saved, only discovered" - what an amazing lyric...

SONG: Turn! Turn! Turn! by Pete Seeger

BOOK: Turn! Turn! Turn!: The '60s Folk-Rock Revolution by Richie Unterberger

POEM: Salvation by Lynn Ungar

By what are you saved? And how?
Saved like a bit of string,
tucked away in a drawer?
Saved like a child rushed from
a burning building, already
singed and coughing smoke?
Or are you salvaged
like a car part -- the one good door
when the rest is wrecked?

Do you believe me when I say
you are neither salvaged nor saved,
but salved, anointed by gentle hands
where you are most tender?
Haven't you seen
the way snow curls down
like a fresh sheet, how it
covers everything,
makes everything
beautiful, without exception?

QUOTE: "Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again." ~ Menachem Mendel Schneerson

Thanksgiving Eve (Bob Franke)

On the fourth Thursday in November, Thanksgiving Day, Americans express gratitude for their good fortune. The American Thanksgiving tradition originated with the Pilgrims. As early as 1621, the Puritan colonists of Plymouth, Massachusetts set aside a day of thanks for a bountiful harvest. On October 3, 1789, President George Washington proclaimed the 26th of that November the first national Thanksgiving Day under the Constitution.

On October 3, 1863, in the wake of victory at Gettysburg, President Abraham Lincoln decided to issue a Thanksgiving Proclamation declaring the last Thursday in November national Thanksgiving Day. In 1941 Congress made it official.

On Thanksgiving Day in 1876, The American Intercollegiate Football Association held its first championship game. The sport resembled something of a cross between rugby and modern-day football, but the tradition of playing football on Thanksgiving Day developed with the evolution of the sport itself.

The first Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was in 1924. In the 1920's many of Macy's department store employees were first-generation immigrants. Proud of their new American heritage, they wanted to celebrate the holiday with the type of festival they loved in Europe. The employees marched from 145 Street down to 34th Street dressed as clowns, sheiks, knights and cowboys. There were floats, professional bands and 25 live animals borrowed from the Central Park Zoo. With an audience of over a quarter of a million people, the parade was a success.

Large helium balloons first appeared in 1927 with Felix the Cat. It became tradition to release the balloons after the parade. The balloons would float for days and the lucky finder could claim a reward at Macy's. In 1933, a student pilot stalled her engine over Jamaica Bay trying to snag a cat balloon, and two tugboats in the East River tore apart a dachshund balloon. After a few more close calls, the practice of releasing the balloons came to an end.

SONG: Thanksgiving Eve by Bob Franke

BOOK: The Thanksgiving Ceremony: New Traditions for America's Family Feast by Edward Bleier

POEM: Thanksgiving by Lynn Ungar

I have been trying to read
the script cut in these hills—
a language carved in the shimmer of stubble
and the solid lines of soil, spoken
in the thud of apples falling
and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare.

The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak
as they gather in the fallen grain,
the blackbirds sing it
over their shoulders in parting,
and gold leaf illuminates the manuscript
where it is written in the trees.

Transcribed onto my human tongue
I believe it might sound like a lullaby,
or the simplest grace at table.
Across the gathering stillness
simply this: "For all that we have received,
dear God, make us truly grateful."

QUOTE: "We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." ~ Thornton Wilder