Search Results

Gathering Music (Mary Bopp) Welcome and Announcements (Gina Campellone) Centering Prelude "A Story With No Words" Written and performed by Mary Bopp Chalice Lighting and Opening Words "A Shared Story" by Rev. Sandra Fees For the stories that long to be told and retold, for the stories that long to be imagined and reimagined, for the stories that long to be envisioned and celebrated, we kindle this chalice. May its flame bring the light of different truths, different paths and different voices, all needed to cultivate a transformative story of justice, love and beauty. Introducing the Service Opening Hymn #1008 "When Our Heart Is In a Holy Place" Music & words by Joyce Poley Mary Bopp, piano & Jenn Richard, vocals Chorus: When our heart is in a holy place, When our heart is in a holy place, We are bless'd with love and amazing grace, When our heart is in a holy place. When we trust the wisdom in each of us, Ev'ry color ev'ry creed and kind, And we see our faces in each other's eyes, Then our heart is in a holy place. Chorus When we tell our story from deep inside, And we listen with a loving mind, And we hear our voices in each other's words, Then our heart is in a holy place. Chorus When we share the silence of sacred space, And the God of our Heart stirs within, And we feel the power of each other's faith, Then our heart is in a holy place. Time for All Ages "You Are a Story" by Bob Raczka Welcoming Visitors and Joys & Concerns Musical Interlude Offering Each Sunday, we dedicate half of the unallocated collections from our offertory to organizations that are working to improve peoples' lives in the Manchester area. The recipients of our January community outreach offering are Moral Monday CT and Power UP CT. Moral Monday gathers voices in the struggle for freedom and justice for black and brown people. Their areas of focus, activism and social change work include police accountability, voting rights, and workers' rights. Moral Monday CT was founded by Bishop John Selders and Lady Pamela Selders. Power UP CT brings much needed visibility to the ongoing realities of racism in Manchester and surrounding communities. They currently run Empower U, an after-school program at Squire Village in Manchester. UUSE currently serves as Power Up's fiscal sponsor. Offering Music "The Story" written by Phil Hanscroth and performed by Jenn Richard First Reflection (Gina Campellone) Music "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" written by Pearl Jam and performed by Jenn Richard Second Reflection (Paula Baker) Closing Hymn #128 "For All That is Our Life" Music by Patrick L. Rickey Words by Bruce Findlow Mary Bopp, piano and Jenn Richard, vocals 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. Closing Words by Rev. Rod Richards May the stories we create Honor our ancestors Prove worthy of our children and our children's children And tell of connection and compassion In this present moment. 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.

One Sunday morning in the early 1990s I sat in a pew at the (Unitarian Universalist) Arlington Street Church in Boston. I can still hear the Rev. Kim Crawford Harvie asking the question, “Why do we do what we do when we know what we know?” I don’t remember how she answered the question, or even if  she answered it. But I still hear it. “Why do we do what we do when we know what we know?           It’s a powerful question that invites us to explore those confounding thoughts, emotions, behaviors, relationships dynamics, anxieties, fears, etc. that persist in our lives, though we’d really like to move beyond them. I suspect at that time 30 years ago the question made me wonder about why I had stayed in a relationship for so long when I knew it wasn’t good for me. I also might have wondered about my father’s struggle with alcoholism over the previous quarter century: why had it been so difficult for him to get sober when that was all he wanted to do? To this day I notice my almost automatic use of coping strategies which I know originated in my childhood growing up with an alcoholic parent. They served me well as a child, but they’re no longer helpful; and though I like to think I’ve left them in the past, they remain remarkably durable and still tend to show up from time to time, especially in moments of high stress.           Why do we do what we do when we know what we know?           Why might we continue to consume foods and beverages we know aren’t healthy for us?           Why might we not fully heed the sound advice of our doctors?           Why might we continue to be angry at some person or situation about something that happened years ago, when we know the anger serves no purpose and mostly just harms us?           Why might we continue thinking negative thought about ourselves— you’re not good enough, not smart enough, not artistic or creative enough, not talented enough, not worthy —when we know none of it is true?           Why might we make the same New Year’s resolutions—or various species of them—year after year, but never achieve them?           I’m not suggesting that each of you is sitting here quietly wrestling with some unresolved childhood trauma, or living with some private piece of yourself that you’re desperately struggling to change. In my experience, most of you are relatively content with your lives. Many of you have worked really hard to attain that contentment. But at the same time, it’s rare to encounter a person who doesn’t want to change something about themselves, but can’t quite make it happen. Somehow it’s easier to maintain the psychological status quo , rather than make the change we know we ought to—or need to—make. Why do we do what we do when we know what we know? This morning I have a very specific answer to the question, as well as some thoughts about how to make those changes which so often remain elusive despite us knowing they would enhance our living. But first, credit where credit is due: Skip Gatting purchased this sermon at last year’s goods and services auction. While I’ve timed it to hint at why so many New Year’s resolutions are abandoned before the end of January, I’ve also timed it to plug this year’s goods and services auction—featuring our first-ever sauce competition—Saturday evening, January 25th. As always, I will be auctioning off a sermon. If this morning’s topic is not to your liking—or I suppose if any sermon topic is not to your liking—join us on the 25th and bid high! For decades, Skip has been conducting a self-guided study of techniques for improving one’s life—for reducing negative thinking, anger, anxiety and some forms of depression; for attaining greater happiness, inner peace, contentment, stronger relationships and greater meaning. He has his own website, Happiness-Success.com , at which, in addition to sharing his own musings, he has curated many resources—articles and videos—from medical doctors, neurologists, psychotherapists, life coaches, leadership trainers, new-age self-help gurus, religious scholars and practitioners, yoga instructors, Reiki masters, Oprah Winfrey and more. He’ll also be leading a workshop here on January 15th called “Program Your Mind to Achieve Your Goals” if you want to dig deeper into this material after this morning. His own story, which he shares on his website, explains why he is so passionate about this topic. For a variety of reasons, including traumatic childhood experiences, he grew into adulthood with significant anger, hostility and unhappiness. Although he had an excellent education, including earning an MBA degree, he was unsuccessful in the corporate world due to what he calls his negative attitude. That attitude, he says, also ruined his first marriage. His rock-bottom moment came when he was arrested and spent a night in jail. He promised himself he would seek professional help. He began with cognitive behavioral therapy, o f  which he speaks very highly; and from there expanded his journey of personal transformation through research, study and practice. Negative thinking, anger and unhappiness no longer haunt him today. In fact, people tell him he’s too positive! If there’s one idea Skip wanted me to bring to you this morning, it is neuroplasticity , the brain’s capacity (and really the capacity of the entire central nervous system) to adapt and change—to literally rewire itself—in response to internal and external stimuli. [1]  From infancy to adolescence—the time of peak brain development—we are constantly receiving and adapting to new information. We are learning. As we learn, our brain develops neural pathways to hold the learning. Much of that learning sinks into our unconscious mind. It becomes embedded, rote, second nature. We know 5 times 5 equals 25 without having to count it out on our fingers. We don’t forget how to ride a bike. We aren’t aware of electrical impulses moving constantly across our trillions of neural pathways, yet without all that unconscious knowledge, we’d have to think through every little bit of our functioning. This becomes problematic when the learning we internalize as children no longer serves us well in adulthood. In response to childhood trauma, Skip’s young brain built resilient neural pathways to help him cope and survive. He describes his negative thinking as a protective mechanism in adolescence. But as an adult it hampered his ability to succeed at work or to form lasting relationships. Growing up in a home with an alcoholic parent, I learned conflict avoidance. It was a great coping strategy as a child. Not so great in adulthood. I’ve worked hard to leave that part of me behind, but it is remarkable how it continues to show up when I least expect it. Unless we find some way to intervene in these unconscious processes, the older, well-established neural pathways continue to operate. That’s one answer to question, why do we do what we do when we know what we know. The good news is we aren’t hopelessly mired in the patterns of our childhood. Neuroplasticity enables the brain to form new neural pathways. This is not a new insight. Neuroplasticity is widely documented in the literature on psychology and neurology. If I understand correctly, as new neural pathways form, the old ones fall into disuse and slowly disappear. But it doesn’t just happen. The old pathways are durable, especially if they were formed in response to dysfunctional family systems, abuse, trauma, addiction, housing or food insecurity—anything that makes life feel precarious, unstable, etc. The building of new, more useful and healthy neural pathways requires sustained, disciplined work, whether within a therapeutic setting or on one’s own. I am no expert. I certainly have no clinical training. But in wading through the articles and videos on Skip’s website—as he asked me to do—I’ve pulled out some basic notions that resonate with me given what I’ve learned over the years as a pastor in supporting adults who want to change how they think, feel or behave. If we want to change, we need some way of altering or disrupting the patterns our established neural pathways sustain. We can prepare our brains for neurological change by actively slowing down or quieting the constant operation of those established pathways. How do we do this? One of the most reliable and widely cited techniques is meditation. Sit still, quiet the mind, watch your thoughts and feelings arise, but don’t let them hook you, don’t follow them. This is synonymous with basic Buddhist practice. Quieting the old patterns makes the brain more receptive to change. I actually think most spiritual practices will have a similar impact—prayer, singing, writing poetry, journaling, yoga—Skip uses the term ‘mindful thinking.’ Whatever quiets the mind. Whatever pauses or rests the endless flow of impulses up and down your established neural pathways. Others recommend play. So much of children’s learning and the forging of their neural pathways happens in the context of play. The same is true with adults. Play takes us out of our regular routines and thus, like spiritual practice, provides respite from the constant flow of information across our established neural pathways. Any activities that create such respite will help make the brain more receptive to the creation of new neural pathways. How does one actually do it? How does one intentionally create new neural pathways so that the old ones recede? I see four practices that, when used together over time, provide a reliable avenue for successfully changing longstanding thoughts, feelings and behaviors. Again, none of this is new information. It is widely accessible in the literature on psychology and neurology. First, observe the thoughts, feelings, behaviors, anxieties, compulsions, impulses, fears you want to change in real time. Learn to notice them as they arise. Bring them into your conscious awareness. Once they are there, you have more power over them, more capacity to choose whether or not to entertain them, more ability to interrupt and redirect them toward the change you seek. Ah, there’s that negative thought again. I am going to replace it with a positive thought. Second, visualize the change you seek. Whether you want to think, feel or behave differently, whether you want to be at some different place in your life a year from now having achieved a goal that is important to you, spend time every day visualizing the change. Imagine it. Attach images to it in your mind’s eye. You will know what you’re visualizing is a product of your imagination, but your neurons apparently won’t. In response to visualization, your neurons will work just as hard at building new pathways to support the change. Third, whatever change you visualize, attach as much positive emotion to it as you can. Combine your visualizations with activities that make you feel good. One technique that resonates with me is to combine visualizations with a practice of contemplating the blessings in your life, the things for which you are grateful. There is considerable evidence that emotion facilitates the development of new neural pathways more than thinking. Fourth, repeat, repeat, repeat. New neural pathways form most reliably when the desired thought, feeling or behavior is repeated at regular intervals over months and even years. Skip tells the story of setting the alarm on his watch to beep every hour, reminding him to observe his thoughts. Was he ruminating on some negative idea or feeling, which was his norm? If so, he would replace it with a positive idea or feeling. The bottom line is, when attempting to build new neural pathways, repetition matters. Discipline matters. A willingness to practice matters. Now, some cautions. I know the way I am talking about this material makes it sound simple, and in some ways it is. Skip will tell you it’s a very simple concept. But he will also agree that the old neural pathways, because they are so familiar and deeply ingrained, because they provide the path of least resistance, are very hard to alter. These techniques I’ve described will not work for everyone, especially in situations where people are working through the impacts of severe trauma or brain injury. People can work extremely hard at this and never get the results they seek. And sometimes the things we want to change require corresponding changes in the larger environment over which we have much less control. Nevertheless, the evidence is clear: our brains can rewire themselves, can build new neural pathways in support of healthier living, a more positive, confident outlook on life, the achievement of goals, and the attainment of greater happiness and contentment. With that said, I go back to the words of the Rev. Robby Walsh which I shared at the beginning of this service: “I wish for you in this new year as many new beginnings as you need.” I share this wish with the knowledge that we have the tools to change our lives for the better. Knowing what we know, we can change what we do. Thanks Skip! Amen and blessed be.  [1]  Here’s a nice overview of neuroplasticity in Psychology Today : https://www.psychologytoday.com/intl/basics/neuroplasticity#:~:text=Engaging%20in%20positive%20social%20interactions,sense%20of%20purpose%20in%20life .

Gathering Music Rob Laurens, vocals and guitar Welcome and Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek) Centering Prelude "You Are Welcome Here" written and performed by Rob Laurens, vocals and guitar Chalice Lighting and Opening Words Excerpt from "A New Year" by the Rev. Robert Walsh Opening Hymn #1009 "Meditation on Breathing" by Sarah Dan Jones Martha Larson, piano When I breathe in, I'll breathe in peace When I breathe out, I'll breathe out love. Time for All Ages Musical Interlude Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Offering The recipients of our January community outreach offering are Moral Monday CT and Power UP CT. Moral Monday gathers voices in the struggle for freedom and justice for black and brown people. Their areas of focus, activism and social change work include police accountability, voting rights, and workers' rights. Moral Monday CT was founded by Bishop John Selders and Lady Pamela Selders. Power Up CT brings much needed visibility to the ongoing realities of racism in Manchester and surrounding communities. They currently run Empower U, an after-school program at Squire Village in Manchester. UUSE currently serves as Power Up's fiscal sponsor. Offering Music "From the Light of Dawn" written and performed by Rob Laurens, vocals and guitar Sermon "On the Road to Positivity" Rev. Josh Pawelek Closing Hymn #212 "We Are Dancing Sarah's Circle" Words by Carole A. Etzler Music: African American spiritual, c. 1750-1875 Martha Larson, piano We are dancing Sarah's Circle, We are dancing Sarah's Circle, We are dancing Sarah's Circle, Sister, brothers, all. Here we seek and find our history... We will all do our own naming... Every round a generation... On and on the circle's moving... 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 (9:55 - Dorothy Bognar) Welcome (Martha Larson) Announcements (Ellen Williams) Centering Prelude “Brazilian Sleigh Ride” by Percy Faith Performed by Dorothy Bognar Chalice Lighting #544 "New Year's Day" by Kathleen McTigue The first of January is another day dawning, the sun rising as the sun always rises, the earth moving in its rhythms. With or without our calendars to name a certain day as the day of new beginning, separating the old from the new So it is: everything is the same, bound into its history as we ourselves are bound. Yet also we stand at a threshold, the new year something truly new, still unformed, leaving a stunning power in our hands. What shall we do with this great gift of Time, this year? Let us begin by remembering that whatever justice, whatever peace and wholeness might bloom in our world this year, We are the hearts and minds, the hands and feet, the embodiment of all the best visions of our people. The new year can be a new ground for the seeds of our dreams. Let us take the step forward together, onto new ground. Planting our dreams well, faithfully, and in joy. Introducing the Service Opening Hymn   #346 “Come Sing a Song with Me” words and music by Carolyn Mcdade Come sing a song with me Come sing a song with me Come sing a song with me That I might know your mind. Chorus And I'll bring you hope When hope is hard to find And I'll bring a song of love and a rose in the wintertime. Come dream a dream with me ... Come walk in rain with me... Come share a rose with me ... Visitors, Joys and Concerns Musical Response Song “Years May Come, Years May Go” Words and music by Andre Pope and Jack Fishman Performed by Pat Eaton-Robb, ukele and vocals; and Jenn Richard, guitar and vocals Let's take a look behind And see what we can find Last year has gone for everyone Passed with time What happened to us then Can't happen once again And what's now all to me? History Years may come (Many years are still ahead) Years may go (Many years have passed) Some go fast (They belong to yesterday) Some go slow (Still the memories last) Some are good (Couldn't stop the laughter flowing) Some are bad (Couldn't stop the tears) For each one (Thank the Lord that we have been) Just be glad (Together through the years) Whenever I review The lovin' times with you I wouldn't change a single page We've lived through It wasn't always smooth Sometimes we'd jump the groove We've shed some tears and then Loved again. Years may come (Many years are still ahead) Years may go (Many years have passed) Some go fast (They belong to yesterday) Some go slow (Still the memories last) Some are good (Couldn't stop the laughter flowing) Some are bad (Couldn't stop the tears) For each one (Thank the Lord that we have been) Just be glad (Together through the years) Heartaches I don't doubt Life's sure to dish us out We'll beat the lot and that is what Life's all about Whatever may come true Ahead for me and you Someday it all will be Memories. Offertory Words Offertory Music “Footprints in the Snow” by Claude Debussy Introducing the Speakers Homilies:           Micah Baxter Musical Interlude           Maureen Flanagan Musical Interlude           Pat Eaton-Robb Closing Hymn  #6 “Just As Long As I Have Breath” words by Alicia S. Carpenter; music by Johann G. Ebeling Just as long as I have breath, I must answer "yes" to life, though with pain I made my way, Still with hope I meet each day If they ask what I did well, Tell them I said "yes" to life. Just as long as vision lasts, I must answer "yes" to truth, In my dream and in my dark, Always that elusive spark If they ask what I did well, tell them I said "yes" to truth. Just as long as my heart beats, I must answer "yes" to love Disappointment pierced me through, Still I kept on loving you. If they ask what I did best, Tell them I said "yes" to love. Extinguishing the Chalice and Closing Words   #694 by Frederick E. Gillis May the Love which overcomes all differences, which heals all wounds, which puts to flight all fears, which reconciles all who are separated, be in us and among us now and always 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.

This past Tuesday our Policy Board held its regular monthly meeting. As we began, Peggy Webbe, our president, invited us into a guided check-in. “Share a fond holiday memory.” When it was my turn I talk about my late father who was a person of great integrity, but also quite willing to lie to his children if it would add to their experience of holiday magic.             For years, every Christmas morning, before my brothers and I began opening our presents, my father would hand us each a small, white candle, the kind we used to light at the Christmas Eve service when the congregation sang “Silent Night.” He taught us that Unitarian Universalist children all over the world lit these special candles before opening their presents. Every Christmas morning we dutifully lit our candles and placed them on the mantel above the fire. There they would burn down to nubs as we gleefully opened our presents. The ritual added a spiritual dimension to the morning. We engaged with reverence. I remember a palpable feeling of connection to my UU peers around the planet. Every Christmas I looked forward to lighting that candle.             I must have been in junior high school when I mentioned the ritual to friend at church, as if they knew exactly what I was talking about. “You know, the Christmas candles.”             They didn’t know.             There was no such ritual practiced in Unitarian Universalist homes beyond ours.             I can’t remember how I felt when I finally understood the deception. I don’t think I was angry. I don’t think it was embarrassing. My father was a beloved youth group advisor. All the kids knew him and likely would have understood: “Yep, sounds like a John Pawelek thing.” I probably felt something akin to that. Of course dad would design a ritual and then make up a story to be sure we took it seriously.             My dad was a positive, optimistic, hopeful person, and he needed ways to express it. This time of year in particular—the darkest time of year when the northern hemisphere tilts infinitesimally back toward the sun and the days begin their slow lengthening—this time of year spoke to him. This time of year when so many traditions use lights to point toward some coming blessing, some better world, some new day—traditions often built atop the long-forgotten midwinter celebrations of ancient agricultural communities—this time of year spoke to him. This time of year when Christians celebrate the birth of the messiah, the king, the savior, the prophet, the great moral teacher, the light of the world, the Jewish peasant radical messenger of peace on earth and good will to all—this time of year spoke to him. There he was in his Christmas glory, playing the role of Kaspar in our congregation’s production of Gian Carlo Menotti’s “Amahl and the Night visitors”—Kaspar the king who carried a mysterious box filled with rare gems and licorice. The more I think about it, how could he not make up a story about kindling a flame on Christmas morning to increase his children’s sense of magic, wonder, awe and connection?             He was teaching us to be present to the light and all it might symbolize—peace, hope, love, joy.  Don’t just dive into your presents. Be present to the light. Don’t let the solstice moment pass without noticing. Be present to the light. Don’t get caught up in the commercialization of the season. Be present to the light. Let it in. Let it move you. Let it fill you.             view of a Hanover farm from Uncle Donald and Aunt Edna's window             For most of my childhood, it was our family’s custom to celebrate Christmas day at our home in Hamden, Connecticut. We would usually share a Christmas dinner with family friends. Then, on December 26th, the five of us would pack into our red and white Volkswagen van and drive south to visit our extended families. We would visit my father’s family—the Paweleks—in Baltimore for a few days. Then we’d visit my mother’s family—the Sterners and Gobrechts—in Hanover, Pennsylvania for a few days, a forty-five minute drive from Baltimore. (That’s the same Hanover famous for Snyders hard pretzels and Utz potato chips.)             I have a lot of fond memories from those trips. I’ve spoken about Hanover before from the pulpit, but it’s been a while. At the time, visiting Hanover felt like going back in time. It was still a farming community then, whereas today so many of the farms have been sold to developers to build middle class homes for people who commute to Baltimore for work. My grandparents owned W.L. Sterners, a hardware and farm implements store on Frederick Street a few over from downtown. Driving into Hanover at midwinter I was always struck by the vast, rolling, snow-covered fields, the not so subtle manure smells, the typical beige-yellow barns common to the region, the lonely silos dotting the horizon, and the clear night sky filled with stars, so much more vivid than where we lived in Connecticut. Downtown Hanover always reminded me of the fictional Bedford Falls in the classic Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life:” There were lights everywhere. People were out and about and generally friendly. Canned seasonal music played over loudspeakers. Plastic snowmen positioned around a big, gaudy Christmas tree. Sometimes snow fell gently on the scene.             Aunts, uncles and cousins gathered at my grandparents’ house a few doors down from the store on the evening of our arrival. All the children opened presents in the living room. Then came the desserts. Then someone would play a piece on the piano. We would sing carols. My grandfather might pick up his violin and play along. Some years they turned off all the lights in the room except the plug-in plastic candles on the window sills. Eventually my uncle Donald and two of my cousins, Brad and Brian, would break out their trombones and start playing along with the carols. “Joy to the World.” “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” They blended so beautifully, perfectly in tune—that rich, mellow trombone tambre. When he was old enough, my younger brother Nate joined in with his French horn. “In the Bleak Midwinter.” “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” They always ended with “Silent Night.” I learned the first verses to most of the carols, but never learned the others, so either just repeated the first verse, or made up words as best I could. But it didn’t really matter. We were together at the holidays, celebrating, joining our voices, blending, harmonizing, there in the dim, electric candle light, evoking the light of the distant sun now returning, evoking feelings for the baby whose birth was a hopeful sign.             It’s been more than a quarter century since we Paweleks gathered together with the Sterners and Gobrechts in late December. Donald’s son Brad, the first of our generation of cousins, is deceased. Uncle Donald is in his 90s and lives with many health challenges. That gathering won’t happen again, not in that way. But I’ll also never forget it. I’ll never forget the sound which seemed to come so naturally, emerging from some deep well in our family’s spirituality. I’ll never forget the blending and the harmonizing. I’ll never forget those plug-in candles. We were being faithfully present to the light.     Again did the earth shift Again did the nights grow short, And the days long. And the people of the earth, [and all its creatures] were glad and celebrated each in their own ways. [1]               These words appear in our hymnal. They are by the writer and artist Diane Lee Moomey who lives in Half Moon Bay, California. (I added the line about the creatures.)             The earth did indeed shift yesterday—at 4:21 am to be precise—tilting its northern hemisphere back toward the sun. It shifted as it does every year, year after year, travelling its endless elliptical orbit around the sun. Of course, it orbits around the sun with the other planets in our solar system, which endlessly spirals around the center of the Milky Way galaxy which, if I understand correctly, also spirals around the center of mass of all our neighboring galaxies. That collection of galaxies is probably moving in some specific way at some great speed as well, but I haven’t looked into it. Point is, there’s a lot of movement, a lot of motion, a lot of circling and spiraling at speeds we can’t perceive. Unless we have the proper tools for measuring, we don’t notice the moment of the solstice. December 21st doesn’t feel any different than the surrounding days. The changes come slowly. As far as our perception goes, the changes are infinitesimal. We’ll notice the difference in a few weeks.             Even so, the shift matters. In its honor, I want to name three wishes—you could call them prayers—that I have for each of you individually, and all of us collectively.             As the earth shifts, as the days begin to grow longer, as the light returns, I wish for you joy. Even if you are struggling in some way, even if you are suffering in some way, even if events in the wider world are filling you with anxiety and fear, keeping you up through these long, dark nights, I wish for you joy in this season: the joy that comes from connecting with family and friends; the joy that comes from giving and receiving gifts; the joy that comes from serving, supporting, helping others in need; the joy that comes with taking a break from an otherwise busy life; the joy that comes from being present to the returning light.             As the earth shifts, as the days begin to grow longer, as the light returns, I wish for you festivity. Midwinter, after all, is a festival. And though a yearning for festivity as the light returns may not exist in our genetic code, it certainly exists in our cultural genome. For millennia people and cultures across the planet have paused at the time of the solstice to celebrate, to light fires, to give gifts, to reverse class distinctions, to dress up, to dress in costume, to eat and drink in the company of others, to sing and dance and frolic long into the night. I wish for you festivity—in whatever dose you can handle. In your festivity, may you be present to the light.             Finally, as the earth shifts, as the days begin to grow longer, as the light returns, I wish for you hope. Those of you who are feeling down for any reason, trudging through your blue Christmas, I wish for you hope. Those of you who are missing a loved one whether they are newly deceased or gone for many long years, I wish for you hope. Those of you who are living with illness, I wish for you hope. Those of you who are worried about the state of the nation, the state of the world—failing institutions, wars, environmental crises, authoritarianism, or even just the basic cost of goods and services—I wish for you hope.             I do not wish for you false hope, pie-in-the-sky hope, hope that has no basis in reality, or hope that will surely be dashed. I wish for you a tempered hope, a reasonable, realistic hope, an honest hope. But really what I wish for you is hope that sustains you as you confront whatever challenges you face—hope that holds you when life is hard. I wish for you, above all else, hope that gives you insight into what you can do with your body, with your own hands, with your heart, your will, your courage, your spirit, your soul to address life’s hardness. I wish for you a hope that enables you to do what is in your power to live, love, serve and create as best you can.             As the earth shifts, as the days begin to grow longer, as the light returns, I wish for you joy. I wish for you festivity. I wish for you hope.             As these wishes come to fruition, may we each be present to the light.             Amen and blessed be. [1]  Moomey, Diane Lee, “Solstice” in Singing the Living Tradition  (Boston: Beacon Press and the UUA, 1993) #542.

Gathering Music  (Mary Bopp) (begins at 6:55)   Welcome    Centering     Prelude "Christmas Time is Here" by Vince Guaraldi   Chalice Lighting and Opening Words  “A Christmas Prayer” by Rev. Josh Pawelek Inspired by and expanded from “A Christmas Prayer” by the Rev. Maureen Killoran   Opening Carol “Angels We Have Heard on High” French Carol, words by Earl Marlatt #231 in  Singing the Living Tradition David Klotz, hymn leader   Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing o’er the plains and the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains.   (Chorus) Gloria, in excelsis Deo. Gloria, in excelsis Deo.   Shepherds, why this jubilee? Why these songs of happy cheer? What great brightness did you see? What glad tidings did you hear? (Chorus)   See him in a manger laid whom the angels praise above; Mary, Joseph, lend your aid, while we raise our hearts in love. (Chorus)   Reading Luke 2:1-14 Musical Interlude   Story "Lullaby for the King" by Nicki Grimes illustrations by Michelle Carlos shared by Emmy Galbraith             Carol #246 “O Little Town of Bethlehem” Words: Phillip Brooks Music: Lewis H. Redner   O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by; yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above, while mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love. O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth. Let praises ring: from God they bring goodwill to all on earth. How silently, how silently the wonder is made known, when God imparts to human hearts the gift that is our own. No ear may hear that coming, but in this worldly din, when souls are truly humble, then the dear babe rests within.   Offering   As is our custom, our Christmas Eve Offering is dedicated to UUSE’s Ministers Discretionary Fund. The fund’s primary purpose is to support UUSE members and friends, as well as friends in the wider community, who encounter economic hard times.   Offering Music “O Holy Night” based on a poem by Placide Cappeau music by Adolphe Adam   Homily  (Rev. Josh Pawelek)      Carols   “The First Noel” English carol Music: William Sandys’s  Christmas Carols Ancient and Modern   The First Noel, the angels did say Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay In fields where they lay keeping their sheep On a cold winter's night that was so deep Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel!   They looked up and saw a star Shining in the East beyond them far And to the earth it gave great light And so it continued both day and night Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel!   And by the light of that same star Three wise men came from country far; To seek a king was their intent, And to follow the star wherever it went. Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel!   "In the Bleak Midwinter" Words ad. by John Andrew Storey from Georgina Rosetti Music by Gustav Theodore Holst In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago. Christ a homeless stranger, So the gospels say, Cradle in a manger And a bed of hay In the bleak midwinter Stable-place sufficed, Mary and her baby, Jesus Christ. Once more mother and child Weave their magic spell, Touching hearts with wonder Words can never tell. In the bleak midwinter, In this world of pain, Where our hearts are open Love is born again.   “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” Words by Edmund Hamilton Sears Music by Richard Storrs Willis    It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold! Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven's all gracious King! The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world; Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing. And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing. Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world hath suffered long; Beneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And man, at war with man, hears not The love song which they bring: O hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing. For lo! the days are hastening on, By prophet bards foretold, When, with the ever-circling years, Shall come the Age of Gold; When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And all the world give back the song Which now the angels sing.    "Silent Night, Holy Night" Words by Joseph Mohr Music by Franz Xaver Gruber   Silent night, holy night! All is calm, all is bright. Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child. Holy infant so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace. Silent night, holy night! Shepherds quake at the sight. Glories stream from heaven afar Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia, Christ the Savior is born! Christ the Savior is born. Silent night, holy night! Son of God love's pure light. Radiant beams from Thy holy face With dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus Lord, at Thy birth Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.   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 and Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek) Calling the Elements A Pantheistic Winter Solstice Ritual to Honor the Sun by roseladenmagdalene ad. by Rev. Josh Pawelek Prelude "Darkness Into Light" by Mary Bopp Chalice Lighting and Unison Opening Words #542 "Solstice" by Diane Lee Moomey ad. by Rev. Josh Pawelek Again did the earth shift Again did the nights grow short, And the days long. And the people of the earth, and all its creatures were glad and celebrated each in their own ways. Opening Hymn #1063 "Winter Solstice Chant" words and music by Phillip Palmer led by Rev. Josh (9:00) and Sandy Johnson (11:00) Children of the Earth, we have come to sing to each other, Sister to Brother, songs of our Mother Earth. Children of the Earth, Autumn soon will breathe her last breath and quick will her death bear witness to Winter's Birth. Children of the Earth, can you feel the air getting cold as darkness takes hold and sleep covers Mother Earth? Children of the Earth, we have come to sit in the darkness, breathe in the silence, think of our Mother Earth. Time for All Ages Musical Interlude Joys and Concerns Musical Interlude Offering "We do not gather our gifts only 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, Cornerstone Shelter (Rockville). Offering Music "Fantasia on Greensleeves" Ralph Vaughan Williams Anhared Stowe, violin Mary Bopp, piano Sermon "On Being Present as the Sun Returns" Rev. Josh Pawelek Closing Hymn #226 "People Look East" Words by Eleanor Farjeon Music: traditional French carol led by Sandy Johnson People, look east. The time is near of the crowning of the year. Make your house fair as you are able, trim the hearth and set the table. People, look east and sing today: Love the Guest, is on the way. Furrows be glad. Though earth is bare, one more seed is planted there. Give up your strength the seed to nourish, that in course and flower may flourish. People, look east and sing today: Love, the Rose, is on the way. Stars, keep the watch. When night is dim, one more light the bowl shall brim, shining beyond the frosty weather, bright as sun and moon together. People, look east and sing today: Love, the Star, is on the way. Extinguishing the Chalice and Dismissing the Elements 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.

The 2024-25 season CYM classes are starting. Be sure to register here . Programs are listed here

Over the past three weeks the Discernment Task Force has been meeting with members of the congregation to discuss what, in their view, a good discernment process would look like. Members of the Task Force have met with members of the Policy Board, the minister, and the director of Children and Youth Ministries (CYM). We also reached out to folks who were active in raising concerns about the new Article 2 and the UUA. In addition, we met with folks who reached out to us, following our E-Blast (August 29) seeking input on what a good process would be. In addition, we identified additional folks to ensure different demographics were represented, for example a range of generations, people with children, people without children. We engaged with 35 people, of whom 33 agreed to share their views. NEXT STEPS Sept 23 The Task Force will meet to identify themes that emerged from our conversations with stakeholders. The congregation can expect a brief report – via a dedicated eblast, via the CYM weekly email, on UUSE’s Facebook page, and as an insert in the Sunday order of service -- regarding the main themes that emerged. Oct 6 The Task Force will have a four-hour meeting to design a process of congregational engagement based on the input received. The congregation can expect an overall description and timeline of opportunities for congregational engagement soon after this meeting -- via a dedicated eblast, via the CYM weekly email, on UUSE’s Facebook page, and as an insert in the Sunday order of service. Second half of Oct and November: likely time frame for congregational engagement events. Late December/Early January: Report to the Policy Board Discernment Task Force Members: Trisha Corey-Lisle, chair; Desiree Holian-Borgnis; David Lacoss; Sage Nitzan; Sylvia Ounpuu; Sid Soderholm; Monica van Beusekom; Lynn Dove, Policy Board Liaison Summary of mission of UUA Discernment Task Force: The UUA Discernment Task Force will design and implement a process by which UUSE members and friends can: 1) listen to each other’s concerns about the UUA and Unitarian Universalism; 2) determine together the institutional relationship we wish to have with the UUA; and 3) determine what changes to the UUSE constitution, if any, will enable us to formalize that relationship. #specialEBlast-9-20-24

For decades we’ve been singing “Dona Nobis Pacem” at the end of this annual midwinter holiday music service. I suspect we will continue this tradition for years to come. Dona nobis pacem  is Latin for ‘grant us peace.’ It’s a very simple prayer set to very simple, very beautiful music.             I note that in 1936 the British composer Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote a cantata entitled “Dona Nobis Pacem” for orchestra, chorus and soprano and baritone soloists. He wrote it as a plea for peace in response to rising fascism in Europe. [1]  It’s not the piece we sing here, but the sentiment—a plea for peace in response to fascism—I believe resonates with our own yearnings today in response to new authoritarian leaders and governments with fascist impulses, language and policies emerging in various places around the world and certainly within the United States. This prayer, dona nobis pacem, grant us peace, feels as necessary and resonant today as ever.             Spirit of Life, precious and loving God, ancient Goddess, great mystery, source of our coming into and going out from our lives, grant us peace. Bring us peace. Bestow upon us peace. Let us live in peace. Most importantly: help us, guide us, support us in using our bodies, our spirits, our time, our energy, our love, our compassion in the service of peace. May we create peace. May we live in peace. May there be peace in our hearts. In the darkness of this late autumn, in the darkness of the coming winter, as we take rest, as we take time for contemplation, as we turn inward for nurture and sustenance, as we sit comfortably in a favorite spot, perhaps beneath the light of a favorite lamp, with a book, or cup of tea or hot chocolate, maybe a beloved pet nearby or in our lap, may we find peace within. May we drink from our deepest wells and find peace within. May we pull back from all the worries and concerns we carry through our days; may we pull back even from the good things, the joys, the future plans about which we are excited, and find peace within. May we sit quietly with the peace within. May we center and ground ourselves in the peace within. And may that peace be a blessing in our lives. May there be peace in the lives of our loved-ones, our family and friends, our neighbors, those closest to us, including those members and friends of our UUSE community—those present, those far away. In the darkness of this late autumn, in the darkness of the coming winter, may they have moments of rest and time for contemplation. May they have time for the inward turn, the inward gaze in search of nurture and sustenance. May they have opportunities to drink from their deepest wells and find peace within. May they have moments in which to pull back from all their worries and concerns, and from the good things too, to find peace within, to sit quietly with the peace within, to center ground themselves in the peace within. And may that peace be a blessing in their lives, and in our lives too. May there be peace in the lives of those in our wider community whom we don’t know—the mail carrier, the fire fighter, the Emergency Medical Technician, the grocery store bagger, the bank teller, the receptionist at the doctor’s office, not to mention the nurse, the doctor, the home health aide and the CNA, the call-center person on the phone who is trying to help, the police officer, the social worker, the teachers, the snow plow driver, the landscaper, the homeless person on the corner, the addict seeking treatment or still lost in the throes of addiction, all those suffering in some quiet, private way, all those who are vulnerable in their lives in some way, and those who aren’t—may there be peace in their lives. In the darkness of this late autumn, in the darkness of the coming winter, may they have moments of rest and time for contemplation. May they have time for the inward turn, the inward search for nurture and sustenance. May they have opportunities to drink from their deepest wells and find peace within. May they have moments in which to pull back from all their worries and concerns, and even from the good things too, to find peace within, to sit quietly with the peace within, to center and ground themselves in the peace within. And may that peace be a blessing in their lives and our larger collective life too. And, with the coming of the light in this dark season, may that peace within ripple out, radiate out, emanate out, extend out beyond us, beyond our loved-ones beyond our communities to our whole nation. Yes, Spirit of Life, precious and loving God, ancient Goddess, great mystery, source of our coming into and going out from our lives: may there be peace in our nation. Where there is discord, disagreement and polarization, may we strive to find common ground; may we strive to remember together all the founding promises of life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of tranquility. Where there are the stirrings of political or ideological violence, or actual political or ideological violence, may our instincts for dialogue, listening and understanding prevail and bring peace. Where there is hatred, anger and fear of the unknown, of difference, of the ‘other’ whoever that may be in our collective life, may our instincts toward fairness, toward compassion, toward justice, toward healing, toward atonement, toward love prevail and bring peace. Despite our differences, despite seemingly intractable problems, may we live in peace in our nation. And may that peace ripple out, radiate out, emanate out, extend out beyond our borders, carrying on the wind our unceasing prayer: May there be peace in the world. Where there is war, may there be peace. In Sudan, may there be peace. In Myanmar, may there be peace. In Ukraine, may there be peace. In Syria, may there be peace. In Israel, may there be peace. In Gaza, may there be peace. In Lebanon, may there be peace. Wherever there is armed conflict, wherever there are civilian casualties, wherever people are forced to flee their homes and communities to escape violence and war, to leave behind everything they’ve ever known, to become refugees, may there be peace. In the darkness of this late autumn, in the darkness of the coming winter, we know the earth will continue to turn. We know the light will return. We know the days will begin to grow longer. With the coming light, balancing the beautiful darkness, may there be peace. May we live in peace. May we create peace. Amen and blessed be. [1]  You can experience a recent performance of Vaughan Williams’ “Dona Nobis Pacem” at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxfwmrV_D5s .

Gathering Music Holiday Favorites Margeaux, Simone and Ryan Ford, musicians Welcome (Emmy Galbraith) Announcements (Rev. Josh Pawelek) Centering Prelude "Sun Arise" by Helen Yeomans UUSE Choir Chalice Lighting and Opening Words "A Joyful Noise" by Rev. Josh Pawelek Opening Hymn #235 "Deck the Hall With Boughs of Holly" words: traditional Welsh music: old Welsh carol Deck the hall with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la "Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la la la la, la la la Troll the ancient Yuletide carol, fa la la la la, la la la la. See the blazing Yule before us, fa la la la la, la la la la. Strike the harp and join the chorus, fa la la la la, la la la la. Follow me in merry measure, fa la la la la la, la la la While I tell of Yuletide treasure, fa la la la la, la la la la. Fast away the old year passes, fa la la la la, la la la la. Hail the new, ye lads and lasses, fa la la la la, la la la la. Sing we joyous all together, fa la la la la la, la la la. Heedless of the wind and weather, fa la la la la, la la la la. Time for All Ages "Winter Candle" by Jeron Ashford Music "The Christmas Wish" by Danny Akken Wheetman Performed by Pat Eaton-Robb and Jenn Richard (9:00 a.m.) UUSE Children's Choir (11:00 a.m.) "Jingle Bells" UUSE Children's Choir (11:00 a.m. only) 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 "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" by Pyotr Tchaikovsky Dorothy Bognar and Mary Bopp, pianos Music "Carol of the Bells" by Mykola Leontovich Arr. by Peter Wilhousky and Dan Thompson "Rise Up, Shepherd and Follow" Trad. Spiritual, arr. by Greg Gilpin UUSE Choir with Dorothy Bognar, piano Homily "Live in Peace" Rev. Josh Pawelek Closing Hymn #388 "Dona Nobis Pacem" words: traditional Latin music: traditional canon Dona nobis pacem, pacem; dona nobis pacem. Postlude "Live in Peace" by Helen Yeomans UUSE Choir 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.

First Reflection Finding a Balance: Dark and Light                         At our Thanksgiving Sunday service two weeks ago, Emmy Galbraith (our Director of Children and Youth Ministry) spoke beautifully about holding in our hearts two strongly divergent feelings. We were sharing a newly published version of the story of the first Thanksgiving . Keepunumk: Weeȃchumun’s Thanksgiving Story [1]  tells the story from a Wampanoag perspective, incorporating Wampanoag spirituality and values. As beautiful as the book is, as compelling and meaningful as the Wampanoag spirituality and values are, it doesn’t erase the catastrophic impact of British colonization on the lives of indigenous people. It’s important for all of us to fully feel the heaviness, the sadness, the pain of that impact and its ongoing legacies. At the same time, it’s also essential to our ongoing spiritual health, individually and collectively, to contemplate and name outwardly the blessings in our lives for which we are grateful, to take time with family and friends to practice rituals of thanksgiving and to gather strength and resilience from such rituals. We can feel both feelings. We can hold both realities. One doesn’t have to erase the other.             For me, this holiday season, this Advent time, this midwinter time, this darkness awaiting the solstice light time, this feasting and frivolity time, causes us to feel divergent—sometimes strongly divergent—feelings; causes us to move in spiritual directions that seem—and are—contradictory.             Here in the upper-middle latitudes of the northern hemisphere, it’s a dark season. There’s so much spiritual sustenance we can encounter in the nurturing, blanketing darkness, the mysterious, magical darkness, the still, quiet darkness. In darkness we have the opportunity to settle, to center down, to turn inward, to face squarely our contradictions, our growing edges, to heal and strengthen ourselves, to nurse those parts of ourselves that feel raw and tender. In darkness, if we’re patient, we can come back to our sources of resilience and courage. We need this dark time in the cycles of our living. And, at the same time, we instinctually yearn for the light in the midst of the darkness. The return of the sun at the solstice, the guiding star illuminating the Bethlehem manger, the menorah, the kinara—all symbols of reliability in a strange and impersonal universe; symbols of hope in moments of despair; symbols of love to counter hatred, greed and violence; symbols that invite people into community, into celebration, into joy.             We need both. We need spirituality and spiritual practices that draw us into the darkness so we can receive its blessings. We need spirituality and spiritual practices that draw us toward the light so we can receive its blessings. And, always, my concern in this  season is that culturally and religiously we put too much emphasis on light, and we miss the spiritual opportunities the darkness holds or us. Let’s face it, lights are everywhere. Beautiful, yes, but so omnipresent, so pervasive they banish all shadow, draw our attention outward, orient us to the myths and narratives of light overcoming darkness. We don’t need to overcome darkness. We need balance. Our ministry theme for December is presence. My claim this morning is that in this season we tend to be present to the light. We’re insufficiently present to darkness. We need to learn how to be present to darkness.             I’ll close this first reflection with a poem by the late Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. Francis Anderson, that attempts to rectify this imbalance. He says:             Christmas has no right / to burst upon us / Suddenly / And loudly / From afar / Lighting up / Right where we are / With nylon trees / And a long-life / Plastic / Star…. / It is a lonely / Road / To Bethlehem / That must be walked / Slowly / And untalked .... / Where no bright  / Light / Or angel song / Intrudes / Ahead of cue / to wrongly claim / Arrival of the dawn / Before the night / Is walked / By each of us / On through.   Second Reflection Blue Christmas               With the light comes joy, celebration, singing, feasting, good tidings, good cheer. Some of you—more of you than you might imagine—confess privately that you can’t always get there, not every year. Try as you might, you don’t feel joy. Try as you might, you can’t muster the energy and enthusiasm to celebrate. The good tidings don’t resonate with you. Yes, you spend time with others, you genuinely enjoy the company, you seem cheerful enough, but you know (even if we don’t) that you’re just going through the holiday motions. You add your voice to the caroling chorus, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Glory to the Newborn King,” but the words catch in your throat, and even if nobody else notices, you know your voice isn’t as strong as it has been in other years. And you don’t even have the inner resolve to remind yourself that even though you love singing the song, you don’t agree with the theology. It just doesn’t seem to matter this year.             There could be any number of reasons for your malaise. Perhaps this is the year your spouse died. We’ve had six deaths in our congregational family since July. Maybe you lost a sibling or a close friend. This is your first holiday season without them. You are sad. And people are tip-toeing around you, not sure what to say when all you really want is for them to be themselves. Or maybe it’s your tenth holiday season without your loved-one, and you really miss them this year, more than you have in recent years. Perhaps the holidays were never pleasant for you as a child. Challenges in your family of origin made the holidays more of an ordeal than a celebration. You thought you’d put it all behind you, but those long ago days are poking through this year. Perhaps this year you, or someone close to you, is living with a debilitating illness. The treatment is overwhelming—and not just the treatment, but the trips to the doctor’s office, the poking and prodding, long hold-times on the phone with the insurance company, and having to explain over and over again what you’re going through to well-meaning people who ask how you’re doing.             Or perhaps you’re down because every day your wide-open heart reaches out to the world and bears witness to some new problem, some hard news, some ominous rumbling on the horizon, some new violence, some frightening new climate data. The emotional energy it takes to process it just so you can get through your days leaves you with little to no capacity for joy and good cheer. Sometimes we call this Blue Christmas.             It’s OK. It’s OK to be blue at this time of year. There’s no rule that you have to feel joy when the larger culture says it’s time to feel joy. And so much of the joy is contrived anyways. But it’s also true that we typically don’t make sufficient room for these harder, more difficult feelings during the holiday season. We’re conditioned to be present to joy, but not present to this particular species of darkness. Again, we’re out of balance. I’m not urging you to impose your blues on someone else’s holiday party. That’s not the path to balance. I am suggesting it is healthy to make room in which to experience and name what is hard for us in this season. Not as a “bah humbug” to other peoples’ joy, but as a full statement of who we are right now. I say we owe it to ourselves and to our loved-ones to make room for our blue feelings, precisely because they’re real, precisely because it’s unhealthy to silence them. And I’ve noticed over the years, when we intentionally make that room, when we have the opportunity to name what is hard for us, when we can be present to it, and when those around us can be present to it, that presence creates balance. And, sometimes, not always but sometimes, in the midst of our outwardly-stated blueness, joy and good cheer come upon us unexpectedly. So I say, bring your whole self to this holiday season. Bring every blessed piece of you. Strive or balance. There is room or all of you. There is room for the whole you.   Third Reflection I Will Be Present Tomorrow               In planning this service, Mary (Bopp) and I talked a lot about music that evokes multiple, often contradictory feelings at the same time. She kept referencing a scene from the early 2000s remake of science fiction television holiday classic, Battlestar Galactica (I know, not a holiday show). The scene features the fighter pilot, Starbuck, reminiscing about her childhood when her father would play music that made her feel happy and sad at the same time. Mary said she’s always looking for music that has the effect on her. The music she’s offering today is such music. Human beings are capable of experiencing the light and the dark, the joy and the sadness at the same time. Music can do that too.             Every year when we come to these first Sundays in December, when we come to Advent, when we begin that period of waiting and anticipation for Christmas, for the solstice, for the beautiful lights; and when it is also dark, also time to turn inward, we sing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” It’s a Christian Advent hymn, one of the most famous. For me, the words are important, but the music is what really resonates. The music orients me toward mystery, toward silence and stillness, toward darkness. Yet it’s also a hymn of rejoicing, full of anticipatory joy. “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Love to dwell.” For me joy is finely woven into the hymn’s darkness. There’s a wonderful balance. Multiple feelings simultaneously.             I’ve been making the claim that it’s important for the quality and health of our spiritual lives to be present in this holiday season to the full range of our emotions, to the full spectrum of light and dark. Given that, I can’t resist showing you a message hidden in the original Latin version of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Apologies if this is a tad nerdy.             I’m basing this sharing on a 2013 article by C. Michael Hawn , a former professor of Church Music at Southern Methodist University’s Perkins School of Theology. “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” in the form we sing it today, was composed in Latin likely between the 9th and 12th centuries, though it is made up of more ancient components known as antiphons. If I understand correctly, an antiphon is a sung response to a Bible reading in a worship service. In this hymn, those more ancient antiphons are various references to Jesus, preceded by “O.” O Emmanuel. O Splendor. O Dayspring. O Wisdom. Historically there are eight antiphons: wisdom, Adonai, root of Jesse (who is the father of King David), key of David, Dayspring, King of the Gentiles, and Emmanuel. Take the first letter of each name (in Latin) and you get the word SARCORE. As far as I know, this is gibberish. However, read it backwards ! You get Ero Cras, which in Latin means, “I will be present tomorrow.” [2] (My wife, the Latin scholar, says that’s one way to translate it. It could just be “I will be tomorrow” or “I will exist tomorrow.”)             Regardless of what it means or what the original composers had in mind, I like that there’s a hidden message that can be interpreted as “I will be present tomorrow.” I like it as a call to us to be present in this season, present to the dark as well as the light, present to the sorrow as well as the joy, present to the full range of who we are and all we can hold. Rejoice, indeed.             Amen and blessed be. [1]  Learn more about this book at: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/669852/keepunumuk-by-danielle-greendeer-author-anthony-perry-author-alexis-bunten-author-gar-ry-meeches-sr-illustrator/ . [2] Hawn, C. Michael, “History of Hymns: ‘O Come, O Come Emmanuel’” Discipleship Ministries: United Methodist Church (May 20, 2013). See: https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/history-of-hymns-o-come-o-come-emmanuel