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Aug 30, 2019

Blessing of the Backpacks

Several people asked me for the text of last Sunday’s “Blessing of the Backpacks.” Here it is:

Tomorrow thousands of children from across Houston will return to school. Today, we bless the children and youth from our community as they start the school year. And so, at this time, I would like to invite all of the children who are starting, or have started, their school year to come forward. Whether you are entering kindergarten or starting your senior year, whether you go to public school, private school, or are homeschooled, I hope you will come up at this time. I would like to especially invite forward our middle school and high school youth. If you brought your backpack or bag, please bring it with you. And if you did not bring it, come up anyway.

Please have a seat. Carol is giving you each a card that you can place in your backpack, tie to its outside, or use as a bookmark. It is a thing to remind you of this church and the love that people here have for you while you are in school.

You will see three symbols on your card. There is a peace sign, a love sign, and a chalice. Each of these symbols represents a wish that we have for your school year. We want you to have a safe and peaceful year. School should be a place where you can learn and grow without having to worry about harm. And so, there is a peace sign.

The heart represents love. Throughout the year, we want you to know that you are loved by this community. One of the wonderful things about belonging to a church is that adults other than your parents, family, and teachers care about you and want you to succeed. And so, this year, if you are struggling with school, and want someone to help you, know that there is an adult in this church who you can go to and ask for help.

The chalice represents two things. It represents our Unitarian Universalist church and it represents the light of truth. In school we want you to learn and grow so that you can be thoughtful, wise, and knowledgeable adults. We want this because seeking truth is at the core of our Unitarian Universalist faith.

And now,
I invite you to join me in a brief prayer,
please close your eyes,
and,
if you are comfortable,
reach out to grab the hand of someone near you.

Oh, spirit of life,
that some of us call God,
and others of know by a diversity of names,
be with the children of this church,
and all of the children of our city,
as they start their new school year.

Bless them with safety,
bless them with love,
bless them with knowledge,
and bless them with curiosity.

And let them leave this chancel,
knowing that they are held by the love
of this religious community
now,
during the school year,
and throughout the days of their lives.

Let the congregation say Amen.

CommentsCategories Ministry Tags Prayer

Apr 15, 2019

Sermon: I've Been This Way Before

as preached at the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Houston, Museum District campus, April 14, 2019

This morning’s sermon is about drawing spiritual lessons from the music of Neil Diamond. I will get to that in the moment. But first I want to tell you about one of my favorite artists, the French surrealist Marcel Duchamp. Do you know his work? He is perhaps most famous for his piece the “Fountain.” He entered it into an art show in New York City in 1917. The show had a simple selection criterion: anyone who paid the entry fee had their piece accepted. Duchamp, cheeky surrealist that he was, submitted a commercially manufactured porcelain urinal under the pseudonym “R. Mutt.” This enraged the selection committee. They complained that R. Mutt had not created the piece. It had obviously been produced in a factory. More troubling, the urinal was not art. It was an ordinary object that was used for, shall we say, basic human functions. Its presence in the show debased art. It placed one of the highest expressions of human culture alongside the ordinary, banal, and mundane.

Duchamp responded by publishing an anonymous editorial in an art magazine that he ran with a couple of friends. The relevant section from the editorial reads: “Whether Mr Mutt with his own hands made the fountain or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an ordinary article of life, and placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view--created a new thought for that object.”

The editorial gets at why I like the piece. I think it offers an essential religious lesson: all things contain beauty. It is a religious discipline to open ourselves to that beauty. An “ordinary article of life” viewed through the eye of the artist becomes art, becomes something beautiful. The artist has “a new thought for that object,” they see something new, something that challenges them, when they look at the familiar--perhaps the most familiar.

I invite you to try it. Pick an object in the sanctuary. A brick. A floor tile. A wooden pew. A section of the ceiling. Your shoes. It does not matter. Just pick something. The more ordinary the better. Look at it for a moment. Really look at it. Can see something of the beauty in it?

When I was preparing this sermon, I came down from my office, stood in this pulpit, and tried the exercise myself. I picked that brick. It is ordinary in its brown redness. There are a scattering of dark spots. These attest to the presence of the iron sulphate in the clay used to make the brick. A few of the spots are pock marked--evidence of where air bubbles burst when the brick baked. Some of the spots lack clear edges--they fade into the mass of red brown when the eye inquires for their ends.

As I stood in the pulpit, I watched light play off the brick. The beauty of the brick shifted as the sun’s rays filtered through the sanctuary window that sits above the choir. It had one set of tones when a cloud passed in front of the sun and another when the day star shone uninhibited. Looking at the brick, I thought of the canvases in Houston’s Rothko Chapel. Have you seen them? The chapel is under renovation until the end of the year. If you have not been, I hope you will go when it opens again.

Light in the chapel comes through the top skylight. As the earth spins on its access, as water vapor moves through the sky, the amount of light that hits each canvas changes. And with it the richness of the canvas--purple tones fade to black or move against pecan or hickory framing.

The roughness of the brick’s clay contains the same effect--it shifts as the light hits it. Looking at the brick, there is beauty in an “ordinary article of life.” There is “a new thought for that object.” Shall I name it? Perhaps, Seven Stars of Revelation--seven being the number of spots and a mystical number found over and over again in the biblical book of Revelation. That book attests, “These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand,” and unfolds one of the grandest mystical visions in the Christian New Testament.

The Unitarian minister and transcendentalist writer, Ralph Waldo Emerson taught us “revelation is not sealed.” These words are to remind us that we can learn something new, something beautiful, from each experience, from each ordinary object, in our lives. When I look carefully at the brick with the seven spots I am reminded of Emerson’s lesson--seven stars which help me open to constant possibility of revelation--of the feeling the sacred--that is around each of us in each moment of our lives.

Another exercise, listen. Not to me. Listen in this pause to the sound that surrounds the silence. When I stop speaking what do you hear? The musician John Cage composed a piece named 4’33”. It consists of a pianist sitting on a piano bench for four minutes and thirty-three seconds. The pianist just sits there. They do not play a single note. Cage’s intention with the piece is to prompt the audience to listen to the sounds that are around us at all times--your breath, and mine, the heart’s beat, the passing street car, the rustle of your shirtsleeve. What is music? What is beauty?

A musician friend of mine made a similar point in a piece they composed called “Up Train, Down Train.” For the piece, they rode the commuter rail up and down the San Francisco peninsula. Along the way recorded the sounds of their journey: the ticket collector, the jostling of the passengers, the clatter of rail, doors sliding open, and the rain on window glass. In their recording studio they mixed in a variety of other sounds--fragments from classical music, bits of Beethoven or Brahms, snatches of jazz, spoken threads of poetry. Incidental noise and carefully crafted songs were combined to create a haunting composition that pushed me to open my ears to the ordinary music of life.

The heart can turn any object, any sound, any song, into a prayer. Prayer, in my understanding, is the act of reaching out for connection with that which is greater than any of us, surrounds each of us, and infuses all of us. Prayer need not be theistic--God centered--in its orientation. It only need be the opening of the individual self--the I, the you--to the infinity without and the infinity within. This is an understanding I carry with me as I move through the ordinary world, encountering the ordinary objects of life. And it is a lesson I take with me when I have preaching assignments that are not quite of my choosing.

This year at the church auction, I auctioned off the right to give Mark and me a prompt for a Sunday service. This a well-worn practice in a number of Unitarian Universalist congregations. It is one that comes with warning from experienced clergy. One minister I know tells the story about the time they were assigned the Apollo moon landings as a service topic. Well, actually, the person who won the auction item was a conspiracy theorist. They wanted to a have service on why and how NASA’s moon landings had been faked.

My ministerial colleague managed to craft a service that somehow served their congregations from that assignment. Nonetheless, I was a bit worried when this year I decided to auction one of our services. So, I was relieved when I found out our topic was to be the singer songwriter Neil Diamond. I admit that I did not that much about Diamond or his music--or at least I thought I did not. But music is a well-worn path to the spiritual. I knew that if I listened to his music and read something of his life I could find a lesson in it.

When I found out the service topic the first thing, before I even turned to Google, was call my brother Jorin. Jorin, you might know, is a painter who lives in Los Angeles. He is also a fount of information when it comes to popular music.

So, I got him on the phone and asked him, “Jorin, what should I know about Neil Diamond?”

He paused for a moment and then began, “Well, some people call him the Jewish Elvis. You definitely know his music. He wrote, ‘Sweet Caroline,’ and ‘America.’ He also wrote the Monkees’ song ‘I’m a Believer.’”

As I listened to my brother I realized that Diamond is one of those musicians who music infuses much of contemporary life. In this country, you are likely to hear a song like “Sweet Caroline” almost anywhere. It has been featured in movies, sung by a contestant on American Idol, and used in television commercials. It is one of those pop songs that it seems like almost everyone knows. The tune might be familiar, Mark. You might recognize the chorus as well:

Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
Sweet Caroline
I believe they never could
Sweet Caroline

Mark already played the other Diamond song that my brother mentioned, “America.” Diamond’s parents were themselves the children of Jewish immigrants to New York. He grew up in Brooklyn listening to family stories about his grandparents journeys from Poland and Russia to the United States. Diamond’s immigrant heritage inspired him to write “America.” Its lyrics suggest two things. First, the United States has represented a land of freedom and opportunity for many people around the world for generations. Second, most people in the United States are the descendants of immigrants. As the song begins:

Far
We've been traveling far
Without a home
But not without a star
Free
Only want to be free
We huddle close
Hang on to a dream

The intertwined messages of this song are important today when we have a President who praises dictators like North Korean ruler Kim Jong Un and maligns liberal democratic political systems such as the European Union. The song is a reminder that the authoritarian values of the current White House occupant are not consistent with liberal democratic values--the values that Diamond celebrates in his tune. The song is also a reminder that immigrants have contributed enormously to the economic prosperity and cultural vibrancy of the United States. The current President should know this. His mother was an immigrant from Scotland. His grandparents were immigrants from Germany. Two of his three wives have been immigrants as well. I could pause now to make the observation that the President’s comfort with his European immigrant family and his antipathy or even hatred for immigrants from Latin America highlights his ties to white supremacist movements. That, however, is not the subject of this sermon.

Returning to Diamond, I note that like a lot of Jewish America singer songwriters of his generation he got his start writing songs for other people. He wrote four songs for the manufactured British band the Monkees, one of the boy bands of the seventies. They used have a television show that my brother and I watched as reruns in the early nineties. The lyrics of “Believer” suggest of the way that love, that profound and intimate connection with another soul, can spring up unbidden and unexpected:

Then I saw her face, now I'm a believer
Not a trace, of doubt in my mind
I'm in love, and I'm a believer

As I researched Diamond I began to see something of myself in him. As I suggested at the opening of the sermon, any object can be seen to contain beauty. Anything around us can open the marvels of the universe. The same might be said of human biography. Each of us has a great deal in common with the rest of us. On some level, all humans need the same things: clean air to breath, clean water to drink, good food to eat, shelter, love, and some work to call honest. This observation is one of the core conceits of our Unitarian Universalist faith.

And so, I was not surprised when I came across words by Diamond describing his own experience as a songwriter and his approach to his music that resonated with me. They are from an interview he did in 1975 with Rolling Stone magazine. There he says that his work is an artist stems from an attempt, “to gain an inner sense of acceptance of the self.” My own approach to the craft of preaching is linked to a similar attempt to both find self-knowledge and stir it in others. At the same time, I find myself agreeing with Diamond that music and art are not bound by tightly dictated rules. According to the interviewer, he believes that his songs do not “need to be explained. Or even understood.” He just wants people to open to the music and be stirred by it. About the composition of music he says, “There are no rules, you see. That’s the beautiful thing about it. And the best things I’ve done are the things that people don’t really understand.”

The interviewer describes Diamond as “the consummate searcher,” a sentiment that is familiar to many Unitarian Universalists. A sense of that appears in his song “I’ve Been This Way Before” which the choir performed earlier:

I've seen the light
And I've seen the flame
And I've been this way before

The search for meaning that I find in this song resonates with the Unitarian Universalist tradition of a search for truth and meaning. And if there is any message that I have been trying to communicate in this sermon it is this: we can find religious truth, beauty, meaning, in almost anything. It is more about the perspective we bring than it is necessarily the content, the object, that is already there. For Marcel Duchamp, beauty or art could be found in the ordinary objects of life. For my musician friend, it was found in the rocking movement of the train as it travelled up and down the San Francisco peninsula. And for lovers of Neil Diamond’s music, it is found in his songs.

And now, before I close, two brief pointers to our readings and two spiritual suggestions for you. The poems I chose are each about finding the sacred, the beautiful, in ordinary life. Allen Ginsberg’s poem “A Supermarket in California” is a personal favorite. It connects to the way I tend wander through the world: a head full of poetry and a rather ordinary life of grocery shopping, children’s basketball, and laundry. Like Ginsberg, I often find myself opening to the sacredness of the ordinary in the most banal of places: the Trader Joe’s on Shepherd Street or the HEB on West Alabama. And like Whitman in Ginsberg’s poem, I discover myself going from the most basic questions to the most profound: “Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?” What about you? Do you have similar experiences in your life?

Naomi Shihab Nye is a Texas poet and the child of a Palestinian immigrant. Her poem “My Grandmother in the Stars” recounts a similar experience:

Where we live in the world
is never one place. Our hearts,
those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us
moons before we are ready for them.

Looking at the night sky, she finds that she carries memory, beauty, art, a sense of the sacred ever within her. It is everywhere. In the stars. In the universe which connects all to all. And in her unnamed companion.

Any object can open us to the divine. Any sound can be music. I conclude with my two spiritual suggestions. This, afternoon, or tomorrow, or anytime, take a few minutes to do two things. First, find an ordinary object from life. It could be a urinal, a brick, a piece of asphalt, a cigarette butt, or the beam on a suspension bridge. It does not matter. Spend five minutes really looking at it. What do you see? Do you find yourself opening a little more to the beauty of the universe when you engage the object.

Second, listen to an familiar sound. Pick a pop song that you do not know or choose the ambient collision of wind upon leaf. What sense of connection to the universe do you find within it? Do you discover that revelation is not sealed? That each of us has an original relationship with the universe?

Again, Diamond:

For I've been released
And I've been regained
And I've sung my song before
And I'm sure to sing my song again

Again, Nye:

...there is only the sky
tying the universe together.

Again, Ginsberg:

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked
down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking
at the full moon.

Let the congregation say Amen.

CommentsCategories Ministry Sermon Tags First Unitarian Universalist Church, Houston Neil Diamond Marchel Duchamp R. Mutt Rothko Chapel Houston Mark Rothko Revelation Ralph Waldo Emerson John Cage Up Train, Down Train 4'33" Prayer Mark Vogel Jorin Bossen Monkees Kim Jong Un Donald Trump Immigration Allen Ginsberg Naomi Shihab Nye Walt Whitman

Feb 12, 2019

February 12, 2019 Prayer Before the Harris County Commissioners Court

as prepared February 12, 2019 for the Harris County Commissioners Court

Commissioners, public servants, and members of the public, I bring you greetings from the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Greater Houston. Unitarian Universalism is a religious tradition that celebrates the possibility of goodness within each human heart, the transformative power of love, and the clarifying force of reason. We believe that we need not think alike to love alike. Our communities include atheists and believers in the divine. Our religious communion contains some of the oldest congregations in the United States. The First Parish of Plymouth, Massachusetts, the congregation founded by the Pilgrims, in 1606, and the First Church in Boston are both members. Here in Houston, First Unitarian Universalist is proud to have been the first congregation to desegregate. We continue to be a religious home for all wish to join us: welcoming the GLBT community, declaring that love has no borders, proclaiming that black lives matter, toiling to address climate change, and struggling for democracy.

I invite you into the spirit of prayer.

Close your eyes,
open your ears,
open your minds,
open your hearts.

Oh, spirit of love,
and of justice,
that sometimes lies
latent,
and sometimes stirs,
within the human heart,
be with us this morning,
and all the days of our lives.

Help the elected leaders of Harris County,
And all of the political leaders of this country,
and each of us,
remember that we are called to serve the least of these:
refugees fleeing violence,
migrant children,
undocumented immigrants,
homeless, gay, lesbian, and transgender youth,
drug addicts,
prostitutes,
and all those who have no voice in the courts of power.

Help us to remember
that we live in the richest country in the history of the world,
that love calls us to be generous,
that tyranny thrives on inequality,
and that democracy requires equality.

Stir in our hearts,
stir our imaginations,
and open within us the power
to make the dream that Martin Luther King, Jr.
called beloved community
a reality.

That we may do so
within this generation
I say Amen.

CommentsCategories Ministry Tags First Unitarian Universalist Church, Houston Harris County Commissioners Court First Parish of Plymouth First Church in Boston Prayer

Nov 12, 2018

A Pastoral Prayer on the Sunday Before Veterans Day

Tomorrow is Veterans Day,
today marks the hundredth anniversary
of the end of World War I.

Today we offer a prayer
for all of the veterans
and soldiers of the world,
for all of the wounded warriors,
for all who fought for a cause they believed in,
and did not come home,
for all those who did not come home whole,
for all those who felt that after their service,
their country abandoned them.

Today we offer a prayer
for all of those who have been wounded by war
or killed in it,
combatant,
civilian,
aggressor
or victim,
each was a member of the great family of all souls,
the loss of each was a loss to the human community,
an infinite universe
of imagination,
a capacity for joy
or sorrow,
a human creature
who could love or hope or cry or mourn
snuffed out.

Today we offer a prayer
in the hopes
that someday
human violence will cease,
that peace will come,
that wars will be fought no more,
that swords will be beaten into plough shares.

And today,
even as we remember veterans,
we also remember all of those who have been
brave enough to say no to war,
to hold a larger vision of peace,
however foolish,
the peace activists,
the doctors without borders,
the draft dodgers,
the pacifists,
the lovers of universal humanity,
they deserve honor
as much as soldiers.

Until we learn to honor
veterans and peace makers
alike
there will never be peace
for as we have often been told
there is no way to peace
peace is the way.

As we hear these words,
let also hold in our hearts
the victims of the fires
in California and this week’s victims of gun violence
in Thousand Oaks, California,
their names include: Cody Coffman, Ian David Long, Justin Meek, Sean Adler, Blake Dingman, Noel Sparks, Daniel Manrique, Jake Dunham, Telemachus Orfanos, Kristina Morisette, and Mark Meza.

May someday we live in a world where the reading of the names of the victims of gun violence become unnecessary.

May someday we live in a world where the destructive fires of climate change no longer rage.

May someday we live in world where peace, love, and justice reign
and there is no more war, or hatred, or violence.

Amen and Blessed Be.

CommentsCategories Ministry Tags Veterans Day Conscientious Objectors World War I Thousand Oaks Prayer Climate Change

Sep 8, 2016

Prison Prayer (Guest Blog Post)

Note: I recently began working with the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee of the Industrial Workers of the World. I am serving as their contact person for faith-based organizing. One of the things I'm doing in that capacity is compiling worship resources for congregations or religious communities committed to solidarity with prisoners. A couple of Sundays ago I preached a sermon on prison abolition at the First Parish in Needham. Tonight I offer this prayer written on the eve of the September 9th prison strike by my longtime collaborator the Rev. Ian White Maher. If you have a worship resource—prayer, hymn, sermon, liturgy or the like—that you'd like to share please get in touch.

Prison Prayer

Source of life, God, my darling,

Where does the violence come from?

The violence we do to one another.

Where does the cry for vengeance come from?

Some say it comes from you,

But I don’t believe that.

Why is it so hard for us to want to be in love with one another?

My darling, I think sometimes that we are addicted to this violence.

That we wouldn’t know who we’d be without it.

From the tough talk on TV, to the swagger of the gun toters, to the meanness of our politics, to the cages and cages of human beings we have created.

O, God, the cages.

They make me weep.

What have we done? What are we doing?

How can we look at those cages and then look at ourselves in the mirror and think we are a moral people?

I know what goes on in those cages.

I know their purpose is pain.

I know we damage those people, call them predators.

But sometimes I wonder who is the prey.

My darling, how much of my money have I willingly given to this sadism?

To this spectacle of violence?

Sometimes I feel so lost, like a small droplet in a raging ocean.

What can I possibly do?

Please help me, please help us, find our way out of this addiction, out of the cages, and into the Love I believe is possible.

My darling, give me the vision of a cageless future, give me the strength to weather the accusations of treason, give me endurance to work for freedom even if the journey stretches on beyond the length of my life.

But most of all give me Love so I might be the message I hope to see.

CommentsCategories IWW Ministry Tags Ian White Maher IWOC Prison Strike Abolitionism Prayer Prisoners

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