Order of Service - Script
for Sunday January 16, 2022
Hope Feathers
Feathers are powerful things. They enable flight. One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson. One of my favorites among her poems is, "Hope is the Thing with Feathers".
NIUU, Jeanie Donaldson, Connie & Chris Johnson,
Pastor Fred
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Fred:
Prelude: “Upbeat '22"- composed and played
by Jeanie Donaldson
Welcome:
Chris: Come into this circle of love and compassion,
Connie: Come into this community where we can dream and Believe in those dreams—
Fred: Welcome to North Idaho Unitarian Universalists where we accept, we support, we transform:
Chris: Ourselves,
Connie: Our Community.
Fred: Our world.
Lighting the Chalice:
As Fred light’s the chalice, Connie Reads:
All Animal Chalice
By Mark Causey
We light this chalice, spark of the original fire of creation, to remind us that we all on this planet—the furred, the feathered, the finned, and the scaled, along with us featherless bipeds—we are all made of the same star-stuff and all share a common destiny. We all share the same hopes of a life free from harm and suffering and the same aspirations of happiness, love, and flourishing—being able to express our own unique natures and capacities as best we may. We are just that many diverse perspectives from which the whole is seen and experienced. We are inextricably intertwined, interconnected and interdependent. And it is good.
Opening Words: Chris and Connie
Gathering in Our Own Spaces
By Jeff May
Chris: Come.
Connie: Gather.
Chris: Not into a common space—
sharing a physical closeness we long for, precluded by wise choice.
Connie: But come, gather into this common time and a common space.
We need to be together. We yearn for connection.
Chris: We hunger for the familiar faces of friends,
the sound of shared voices proclaiming who we are; where we are going;
that which resonates with our hopes, our dreams, our values.
Connie:Come.
Chris: Gather.
Connie: We are here, in this space made of all spaces,
and we share our becoming in this moment.
Fred
Hymn:
Be A Candle of Hope - Bay Area UU Church Virtual Choir:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWTF0bSik-c
Fred:
Covenant:
Love is the spirit of this church, and service its law
This is our great covenant:
To dwell together in peace,
To seek truth in love,
And to help one another.
Fred:
Meet and Greet / Check-in / Joys and Concerns / Sharing
Chris:
Story
Two Frogs
Once, two frogs were hopping through the forest when they accidently hopped into a big churn of cream. The sides of the churn were so slick and slippery that there was no place to hold on to, so the frogs had to swim in circles to stay afloat.
After a long time one frog said, “There is no hope. We’re doomed to drown in this churn.”
The older frog said, “Don’t lose hope. Life is a circle. There are bad times and there are good times. One must endure the winter to see the spring.”
The young frog was not so sure and he said, “You’re wrong. We’re going to die, I tell you!”
And the older frog said, “We must keep hope alive! For if hope dies, we, too, will die. But if we keep hope alive, we will live to see another sunrise.”
But the younger frog was already starting to lose hope and he began to sink down into the creamy liquid.
“Keep hope alive! Keep hope alive!” cried the older one.
Then the younger one started repeating, slowly at first, “Keep hope alive. Keep hope alive.”
The more they repeated the words, the stronger they felt. And the more strength they had, the better they could swim in circles.
As they swam and swam, around and around in circles, an amazing thing happened. They realized they weren’t sinking any more. The cream had turned to butter!
The two frogs were able to hop off the butter and out of the churn. They landed on the ground just in time to see a beautiful sunrise. The older frog said to the younger one, “Remember my son, life is a circle. Despair may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” And the two frogs hopped away into the woods.
Connie:
Meditation:
How does one address a mystery?
How does one address a mystery?
Cautiously—let us go cautiously, then, to the end of our certainty, to the boundary of all we know, to the rim of uncertainty, to the perimeter of the unknown which surrounds us.
Reverently—let us go with a sense of awe, a feeling of approaching the powerful holy whose lightning slashes the sky, whose persistence splits concrete with green sprouts, whose miracles are present in every place and moment.
Hopefully—out of our need for wholeness in our own lives, the reconciliation of mind and heart, the conjunction of reason and passion, the intersection of the timeless with time.
Quietly—for no words will explain the inarticulate or summon the presence that is always present even in our absence.
But what shall we say?
Anything—any anger, any hope, any fear, any joy, any request, any word that comes from the depth of being addressed to Being itself—or, perhaps, nothing, no complaint, no request, no entreaty, no thanksgiving, no praise, no blame, no pretense of knowing or of not knowing.
Simply be in the intimate presence of mystery, unashamed—unadorned—unafraid.
And at the end say—Amen.
Fred:
Sermon
January 16, 2022:
Hope Feathers
Feathers are powerful things. They enable flight. One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson. One of my favorites among her poems is, "Hope is the Thing with Feathers".
Many dinosaurs were feathered.
Some of them could fly.
There are no more dinosaurs with us today,
but their direct descendants
are an important part of all our lives.
We call them birds.
Birds are the things with feathers in our time,
and they are an important spiritual symbol.
Their feathers allow them to fly,
and flight is not only important for their survival;
it is an inspiring and uplifting sight and sound
in the world of nature.
Think of geese in their V-formation
as they fly together.
They call out encouragement to each other
as they travel on their long migrations.
The lead bird creates a wake as they fly,
and the geese take turns as leaders,
creating a wake in the air currents,
opening an easier path for each other
along their way.
The sight and sound of the geese flying together
is a sign and an emblem of helping each other
and a reminder of the changes of season.
Looking back to a previous seasonal change
and ahead to a hope filled change that is to come,
I want to share a poem by another
of my favorite poets, Wendell Berry,
"The Wild Geese."
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer's end. In time's maze
over fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed's marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
The clear and at present the most important thought
coming through with special emphasis
from this poem and its depths is,
"What we need is here."
To remember those words as a present reality
is to find peace and comfort.
I'm looking forward to hearing and seeing the geese
as they and we prepare for Spring and Summer,
and hearing their calls to each other
can bring us the reassuring message for all,
"What we need is here."
These things with feathers carry a strong message
from the natural world to our hearts.
A great poem by the great poet I first spoke of
distills at least part of the message of the geese
and many other birds.
As mentioned in my blurb for this service / sermon
the poet and the poem are among my favorites.
You've heard me speak of it before,
and I hope you will again.
So I want to read the poem now
and then share a few thoughts about it:
"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
- Emily Dickinson
One of the best aspects of poetry
is its ability to pack a lot of meaning
into a few words.
Emily Dickinson did exactly that over and over
in her brief time in this world.
She died in 1886 at the age of 55.
I draw deep comfort in my soul
from her poem, "Hope is the thing with feathers."
Personally, I hear echoes of Christian faith
in these words, but not in any doctrinal sense.
My own poetry tends to include expressions
of my personal faith,
but, I hope, like Emily Dickinson's work,
not in a rigidly doctrinal sense.
In the poem about the thing with feathers,
we read that hope perches in the soul,
in that deep part of ourselves, heart and mind,
that makes us ourselves.
From that perch,
the Bird can be heard in all sorts of conditions,
like hope itself.
We hear the bird best
when we need to hear it most:
"Sweetest in the gale is heard..."
As I'm typing these words,
howling and whistling winds can be heard
all around me.
I need the feathers of the hope Bird
to comfort my heart and mind
and to keep me warm,
both physically and figuratively,
right at this moment
and all through my life.
Quoting one of the most ancient Christian prayers,
"now and at the hour of our death."
Echoing in these words can be heard
the same message as found
in Wendell Berry's poem:
"What we need is here."
... Now and at the hour of our death ...
Hope is what we need most.
We often hear the words,
"While there is life there is hope."
I prefer to say,
"While there is hope there is life."
Emily Dickinson wrote some powerful words
about life, death, and faith.
Her poem, "Parting," says,
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
- Emily Dickinson
There is deep wisdom in these words,
first and foremost,
a realistic understanding about life and death:
It is what it is.
We do not - and cannot - know exactly what it is,
but the transition from life to death
is what it is,
and parting is life's most difficult task,
not always "such sweet sorrow,"
as the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare,
would have it.
I have a poem that I wrote a few years back,
in which I attempt in my own way
to tackle the mystery of parting:
LAST LIGHT
Last light of evening coloring the sky
Speaks to the mortal heart of things that will not die.
We see the underside and dark the implication,
But in the whole day's light and dark we feel the light's oblation,
Each day echoing in time the Great Donation
That makes eternity the mortals' destination.
With these words
I'm trying to distill a daily experience of transition,
sunset, the transition from day to night,
as a sign of hope for the greater transition
which we all will face,
the transition from life
to whatever comes after.
Whether we regard the transition for ourselves
as a change from life to life
or as a change from life to nothingness,
we all need hope to help us move forward.
Whatever it really is
the transition we call death is real,
and it is what it is.
Emily Dickinson wrote in her poem, "Parting,"
that "It yet remains to see,"
exactly what it is
and whether the close of life
is only that or a third event,
whether death is the ultimate experience
or the ultimate non-experience.
I'm presenting both possibilities over and over
because we don't all share the same view
or understanding of what it is or what it means
to move from life to death.
At the same time,
we can all share a similar hope,
offered to us by the "thing with feathers."
I find it particularly meaningful
that the song of the Bird of hope
is the tune without the words;
the song is without words,
because hope does not
supply us with information.
Hope brings us what we need
just when we need it most
without presenting us
explanations of mysteries
that we cannot grasp or understand.
I would say we cannot understand yet.
Others might prefer to say
that we cannot ever understand.
Either way, hope is exactly what we need
because it is non-specific.
Hope will not disappoint us
precisely because it is not a promise.
It is a lifting of the heart and mind
that is not conditional
or dependent on circumstances.
It is a present reality
that says, "What we need is here,"
no matter what.
Amen.
Let it be.
Blessed be.
Fred: Congregational Response
Fred:
Offering Information
Charity of the Month:
UUSC
Guest At Your Table
The Unitarian Universalist Service Committee advances human rights through grassroots collaborations.
NIUU
P.O. Box 221
CDA ID 83816
As Fred Extinguishes the Chalice :
Chris:
Hope Continues
By Kevin Jagoe
When the candle dims,
The wax almost spent
The light turns amber like a sunset
Still it provides light
Still it provides heat
Still it can kindle new flame
And pass its glow on
And contribute to new illumination
When sunsets turn to new days
When seasons transform all
When the candle dims, all is not lost.
Hope continues, uncertain and true,
like candlelight, ready to spark again.
All is not lost.
Fred:
Welcoming Guests and Announcements
Alternate:
Closing words:
Be a Branch of the Tree of Life
Connie: Our eyes and minds turn now toward the ordinary. Leaving this virtual space made sacred by our presence, take with you at least some seed of understanding, hope and courage and drop it into the confusion of the world.
Chris; Nourish the seed that it might grow as a tree of life, giving shelter to the weary and hope to the despairing.
Fred: Be yourself a branch of the tree of life. Amen.
Bonus Song (if time)
Fred: Sunrise, Sunset:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRsciuPOWW4
posted by pastorfred at 5:23 PM
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