Unitarian Universalist Church of Delaware County - Sermons

Wow. What a great reminder of the great community we’re all a part of. Thank you to Jen Goldberg and Chrissy Bushyager for putting together that tribute to our Sunday morning volunteers, and thank you to all of you who have made Sunday mornings possible this year, both in the “before” time and in this “upside down” time.

Videos like that remind us what it was like when things were “normal.” And although I just used air-quotes when I said “normal,” I’ll try not to use them every time I say “normal,” but they are implied throughout. Or maybe you can put up your own air-quotes every time you hear me use the word “normal” from now on. But as we celebrate our community today, on what has become, in the normal time, the end of our normal church year, it draws us back, doesn’t it? Back to the way things were before the pandemic struck. When we hustled into the Sanctuary on a Sunday morning, and sang together and dropped stones and prayed and gazed out the windows and gathered with our friends, and held hands for the benediction.

I think we all have a yearning to return to the way things were. That yearning is a desire to go back to what was familiar. What was comfortable and comforting. Whether it’s in church or in the other parts of our lives, we want to get back to the normal-ness of our lives. Like going to school or the supermarket, riding the train or the bus, having play dates and meals with friends without fearing for our lives, and so many other ways in which we interacted with each other without even thinking. And we’re watching others, and maybe even ourselves, emerge from our cocoons these days. The state tells us it’s okay to venture out now. That we can eat at a restaurant as long as it’s outdoors, and that our kids can play on the swings and the slides on the playground. And, of course, we’re called to show up to vigils and protests and marches in support of black lives.

And we have begun to talk about what the “new normal” looks like. Because, no matter how badly we might want to return to the way things were, we can never go back. Things will never be the same, which is good and bad, I think. It’s bad because we liked it so much. But it’s good, because maybe we won’t take simple things like hugs and hand-holding for granted ever again. Or the right of every person to breathe, regardless of the color of their skin.

So, as we close the books on this church year, I want to offer up an idea. Some people, as I said, are longing to return to normal, or the old normal – life the way it was. Others are willing to acknowledge that we can’t really go back, and they’re talking about creating a “new normal,” which, the way I understand it, is pretty much the same as the old normal, except in those ways that we can’t get the old normal back. But here’s my idea: What if, instead of going back to the way things were, or grudgingly accepting whatever a “new normal” might look like, we decided we’re going to live in a “no-normal?” (You can stop air-quoting now.)

Let me explain what I see when I envision a no-normal church. A no-normal church doesn’t limit its thinking to the way things were or the way things have to be. It’s intentional about retaining or returning to the best of what was and integrating it into the best of what might yet be. A no-normal congregation isn’t afraid to try new things, which means that it isn’t afraid of failure. It’s a hotbed of experimentation and innovation, all in pursuit of its mission. In our case, the questions we’ve got to always ask ourselves are: “Will this ignite personal growth?” “Will it help us to engage in loving community?” and “By doing this, are we serving with integrity?” If the answer is “yes,” then we forge ahead and try it out. If the answer is “no,” or even “we’re not sure,” then it’s back to the drawing board. A no-normal church takes risks and learns from both its failures and its successes.

The no-normal congregation treasures its history but isn’t limited by i

This Father’s Day  four of the fathers in our congregation discuss their personal experiences of parenting in the pandemic.  Rev. Peter Friedrichs coordinates the service and music is provided by Joy Thiessen.

There is no text for this service, so please enjoy the video!

There is no text for the Sunday Sermon, so please enjoy the video of the complete service above.

The Sunday service focuses on the spirit of the indigenous people in America and the Unitarian Universalist Association’s recent commitment to “actively name and repair the harm caused by 400 years of colonization in the United States.”

There is no text for the sermon. Please enjoy the complete service video!

There is no text for this sermon, so please enjoy the video of the complete service!

As a liberal religion, we hold steadfast to the belief that all are welcome in our places of worship and reflection and that all should feel celebrated and safe. The report “Widening the Circle of Concern” shared at this year’s General Assembly reminds us that our tradition is still growing and living into this vision. This Sunday, guest speaker Shaie Dively, explores how the call to re-engage with our theological legacies can help flower us into Beloved Community.

There is no text for this sermon, so please enjoy the video of the complete service!

Guest speaker Latifah Griffin discusses fear and ways to address it. There is no additional text for the sermon, so please watch the video of the complete service!

Well. Here we are. It’s over. Or it’s mostly, almost over. A part of me is holding my breath, but I believe, or maybe want to believe that it’s over. For most of us here today, it’s time to let our shoulders down and breathe easier. “A sigh of relief” was the term I heard over and over again yesterday. There is cause for celebratory tears and dancing in the street. I want to personally thank all those in our church who worked tirelessly to defend our democratic process. Those who worked in campaigns. Those who worked at polling places. Those who went down to Chester to help process ballots. I would name names, but I fear I’d miss someone. All your efforts were vital to preserving our democracy and making sure that every vote was counted.  And soon the hard work of governing will begin, and we place our hope in an Administration that places integrity, inclusion, equity, and compassion at its center.

This election was historic for many reasons. And once we’re done celebrating, it’s going to be time to face one of the stark, disturbing realities that this election revealed.  Most of us here today were hoping for a “Blue Wave” and that the election would affirm a complete rejection of the politics of hate. We probably conceded that there would pockets of support in places like Kentucky and the Dakotas, but the choice was so clear, right? Clearer even than in 2016. But look where we ended up. We ended up with an electorate that is nearly divided right down the middle. Yes, Joe Biden carried the popular vote by several million votes, but truth be told, it was only by a disappointing margin. And, so, this election has revealed and reinforced just how deeply divided our nation is. As I said on Wednesday, that is a reality that everyone can agree upon, whether you’re white or you’re black, whether you’re blue or you’re red. Our differences are stark and our divisions run deep.  Whether we are on the winning or the losing side of this election, this election has shown once again, in stark relief, that we are anything but the “united” States of America.

How, we wonder, can reasonable people differ on such fundamental issues of justice and equity like universal health care, preservation of the social security system, a progressive tax code, regulating the ownership of assault rifles, keeping the knees of cops off the necks of black people? After we’re done shaking with rage and outrage and disbelief, we’re left just shaking our heads. We find it truly unbelievable.  But believe it we must.

So, where does that leave us? Hopelessly despairing? That’s certainly an option. And if you remember what I said last week about wounds and healing, you’ll remember that I said that healing can’t begin while we’re in the midst of trauma. So we shouldn’t try to move too quickly to healing over the outcome of this election. It’s important that we celebrate the outcome. And it’s important that we grieve and mourn just how divided we are. I don’t know for how long, because everyone grieves and mourns differently. So, the first thing we need to do is to “feel all the feels,” as they say. To give ourselves permission, for as long as it takes, to process both the victory and what our nation has become, the divided states of America.

And then what? Once the grieving is done, what do we do? And deep down, in our heart of hearts, we all know the answer to that question, don’t we? What do you think we need to do? You can type it in the chat. I’ll wait… That’s right. We need to get back to work. We need to get back to pursuing our own agenda of peace and of justice. Of equity and compassion. Our mission to heal the sin of systemic racism and white supremacy. To promote the principles of inclusion. To do all those things that we’ve always been doing. We do these things in the face of half a nation that would have it be different because, if we don’t, it will be different. If we don’t, the scales of justice will tip even more unjustly

The prophet Elijah was scared. King Ahab and Queen Jezebel were looking for him. They didn’t like what Elijah was saying, and they wanted him dead. So Elijah fled to the mountains and hid himself away. Why put himself at risk? Did he really need to proclaim the greatness of the one true God to the idol-worshipping Israelites? Wouldn’t it be easier to just disappear? Maybe he could change his identity – grow his hair long, grow a beard, lose some weight – and return to town a different person, one who kept his head down and his mouth shut.

But that’s not how the story goes. What we’re told in this Old Testament story is that, as he hid in the mountains, Elijah is visited by an angel of God. And that angel brings him food and water. And the angel tells Elijah that God will soon be passing by the cave that the prophet is living in. So, Elijah goes to the mouth of the cave and looks out. And what does he see? He sees magnificent, breath-taking natural phenomenon. First, a tornado came ripping by, tearing up the trees and everything else in its path. And Elijah thinks to himself, “Well, that must be God passing by.” But he’s wrong. And then Elijah feels a powerful earthquake, so strong that it splits mountains in two. And he thinks that, in the earthquake, it must be God passing by. But he’s wrong again. Then massive lightning bolts crash out of the sky and set the entire valley below him ablaze. And again, Elijah thinks: “that must be God” and – you guessed it – again he is wrong. And then, after the tornado, after the earthquake, after the lightning and the fire, a silence falls across the land. A calm. A sense of peace and serenity. A silence so profound that Elijah felt wrapped up in it and held by it. And out of that silence, out of that stillness, came a whisper. It was so faint, yet so clear to the prophet. And the whisper – that still, small voice – was God. And that still, small voice whispered to the prophet: “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

It may seem to some of you odd that, two weeks before an election that is perhaps the most critical to our democracy since our founding, that I am focused on a story from nearly 3,000 years ago. Shouldn’t I be whipping you into a frenzy, or at least a lather, over what’s at stake for our future? Shouldn’t I be reminding you about how a commitment to democratic principles lies at the core of who we are as Unitarian Universalists, and that we’ve got to be doing everything we can to vanquish the evil forces that threaten our very way of life? And yes, if you think that, you may be right. But here’s what I’m thinking: I’m thinking that you already know all that. I’m thinking that you’re already doing everything you can, that you’re going to do more in the next ten days. I’m thinking that, if you haven’t already, you’re going to vote and you’re going to do what you can to get out the vote. And on top of that, I’m thinking that the last thing you need this morning is to hear me roar about the threats to the future of our democracy. Because “out there” there’s nothing but tornados. And earthquakes. And lightning. And fire. And devastation aplenty. It’s impossible to miss and nearly impossible to escape.

But today I want to remind us that God is not in the tornado. That we do not find the holy in the earthquake. That the divine doesn’t show up in lightning bolts and blazing fire. Instead, as the story of Elijah tells us, the most important messages come to us out of the silence. In the form of a whisper. In what some call “that still, small voice.” And let’s try not to get hung up on the God-talk here. We can call it the voice of God, a message from the Universe, our own intuition or simply our gut. (Do you notice how close those two words are: “God” and “gut?” And did you know that the German word “gut”, spelled like “gut,” means “good” which looks and sounds an awful lot like “God?” They’re all interchangeable as far as I’m concerned.) And so, whether you call it God or your gut

I’ve never seen the Northern Lights. Have you? I would definitely like to. These natural phenomenon, like the aurora, are awesome in the truest sense of the word. They create within us a sense of awe. There was another awesome display of nature at its finest this summer. Did you see it? Did you see the comet that went speeding by Earth last July? It was so close and so bright that you could see it without a telescope or even binoculars. It was called Comet “NEOWISE”, named after the space telescope that discovered it. One of the more amazing and, frankly shocking, things about NEOWISE is that, with all our fancy telescopes and other equipment scanning the galaxy, no one even saw it until this past March! I mean, how did it slip the notice of every astronomer on the planet until then? NEOWISE sped around the sun and then boomeranged past us at a speed of about 144,000 miles per hour, and I hope you saw it, because the next time its orbit will bring it by Earth will be when I am 6,864 years old.

Nature, of course, can also be awesome in its destructiveness. It’s not all just beauty. Look at what’s happening on the Gulf Coast during this hurricane season. Sally, which just blew through Louisiana and Mississippi last week, dumped a whopping two feet of rain on its way through, in just a couple of hours. Can you imagine? It must have been like standing under a firehose. And look at the wildfires in California. Yes, this particular blaze seems to have been man-made when it started, but the scope and breadth is natural, in all its awesome and fearful power. We witness the smoke-filled skies and the homes and habitat and the lives that have been destroyed, and we mourn with those who have lost so much.

Whether it’s the beauty of nature or its destructive power, natural phenomenon move us in ways that even the most impressive man-made structures cannot. They reach down into the deepest parts of ourselves and generate reactions of wonder, amazement and awe. One of the deepest responses they generate is a serious and sincere questioning. They raise questions about the scope of the universe and the scope of our lives. Of our role within the great cosmic dance. How insignificant we are in the face of the 14 billion year history of the Universe, yet how significant we are to each other.

Neil deGrasse Tyson, astrophysicist extraordinaire, puts it this way:

“[We must] recognize that the very molecules that make up your body, the atoms that construct the molecules, are traceable to the crucibles that were once the centers of high mass stars that exploded their chemically rich guts into the galaxy, enriching pristine gas clouds with the chemistry of life. So that we are all connected to each other biologically, to the earth chemically and to the rest of the universe atomically. That’s kinda cool! That makes me smile and I actually feel quite large at the end of that. It’s not that we are better than the universe, we are part of the universe. We are in the universe and the universe is in us.”

“We are the universe, and the universe is in us.” That’s quite a statement, and perhaps it’s a reminder that we need to hear now and again. Nature is not something apart from us, nor are we apart from it. We are a part of it. Our lives, no matter how seemingly insignificant we may feel – as that video voyage to the edge of the Universe showed us –, are integral to the unfolding story of the Universe.

There are, of course, other sources of wonder beyond the natural ones I’ve described. There’s the beauty of music and, at least I’m told, mathematics. The flow and grace of dance, the color and coherence of painting, sculpture and the visual arts. The surprise and delight of a new or different cuisine. All of these things can be sources of wonder.

But since our monthly Soul Matters theme in September is “Renewal,” we’re bound to ask, how does an experience of wonder renew us? I invite you now to think about a moment or an experience you’ve