Sunday Service, 23 February 2025
Led by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall
Musical Prelude: ‘In a Sentimental Mood’ (performed by Georgia Dawson and Toby Morgan)
Opening Words: ‘What Brings You Here?’ by Bob Janis (adapted)
What brings you here?
You have come, perhaps,
to be with others who care about
what it means to live on this beautiful blue-green world.
You have come to be with your innermost self,
to feel the deep wells within you
brimming with courage and vision.
You have come to rest, and to be quiet,
to be renewed by not having to be anyone
other than who you are right now.
You have come to cry out, to rattle the walls
that contain all the prisoners of injustice and
greed and isolation, and to help tear those walls down.
The world needs a few people who are honest,
even to the point of accepting their imperfection;
the world needs a few people who are brave enough to risk
individual comfort for the sake of a larger love;
the world needs a few people who honour their own pain
as well as their ability to transform pain into compassion;
the world needs a few people who step into the unknown
carrying enough love to make things interesting.
The world needs a few people who are ready to come alive.
So let us gather and make room for the infinite possibilities of the spirit.
Welcome, friends, to this precious hour. (pause)
Words of Welcome and Introduction:
These words from my old chum Bob Janis welcome all who have gathered this morning for our Sunday service. Welcome to those who have gathered in-person at Essex Church, to all who are joining us via Zoom, and anyone watching or listening at a later date via YouTube or the podcast. For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Jane Blackall, and I’m minister with Kensington Unitarians.
This morning’s service is titled ‘What Do We Do with Our Pain?’ The inspiration for this topic struck a few weeks ago – it was just one of those weeks – it seemed like trouble was kicking off all around me. People seemed to be brittle, and prone to biting each other’s heads off, lashing out at others in ways that they wouldn’t usually. And then I spotted that a few friends online had made the same observation – particularly UU friends in the US who were just starting to get to grips with the seriousness and awfulness of what’s unfolding over there right now – and one of them shared a post by a writer called Sunny Moraine which said this: ‘As things get worse, we are going to get progressively more angrily frustrated at our inability to reach and hurt the people who are making things worse, and that’s going to increase the urge to attack anyone we can reach, indiscriminately’.
On reading this I wondered if that’s what I’d been noticing: under the pressure of increasing stress, anxiety, uncertainty, fear – and the negative feedback loop that we can get into when so many of us are feeling this way at the same time – are we at risk of taking all this pain out on each other? With that in mind, this morning we’re going to reflect on what we do with our pain, and consider if there might be better ways of processing and metabolizing pain, even in the toughest of times.
Chalice Lighting: ‘We Gather Around the Chalice’ by Jay Atkinson (adapted)
Let’s light our chalice flame now, as we do each week. It’s a moment for us to stop and take a breath, settle ourselves down, put aside any preoccupations we came in carrying. This simple ritual connects us in solidarity with Unitarians and Unitarian Universalists the world over, and reminds us of the proud and historic progressive religious tradition of which this gathering is part.
(light chalice)
We gather around the chalice seeking light and warmth.
Some of us are struggling with sorrow or pain,
but are afraid to reach out and ask for help.
Some of us are distressed at all the suffering we see,
but feel helpless at the scale of human need.
Some of us are fed up with ourselves and others,
but don't know what to do about it right now.
Some of us want to make the world a better place,
but feel overwhelmed by the forces of inertia and self-interest.
Some of us aren't sure what we need – but hope we can find it here.
We gather in this community, sometimes in fear,
sometimes in trust, sometimes in pain, sometimes in joy,
but always in hope that we can support and strengthen one another
in our common quest for healing and wholeness.
Hymn 62 (purple): ‘Here We Have Gathered’
Let’s sing together. Our first hymn this morning is number 62 in your purple hymn books: ‘Here We Have Gathered’. For those joining via zoom the words will be up on screen (as they will for all our hymns). Feel free to stand or sit as you prefer and let’s sing up as best we can.
Here we have gathered, gathered side by side;
circle of kinship, come and step inside!
May all who seek here find a kindly word;
may all who speak here feel they have been heard.
Sing now together this, our hearts' own song.
Here we have gathered, called to celebrate
days of our lifetime, matters small and great:
we of all ages, women, children, men,
infants and sages, sharing what we can.
Sing now together this, our hearts' own song.
Life has its battles, sorrows, and regret:
but in the shadows, let us not forget:
we who now gather know each other's pain;
kindness can heal us: as we give, we gain.
Sing now in friendship this, our hearts' own song.
Candles of Joy and Concern:
Each week when we gather together, we share a simple ritual of candles of joy and concern, an opportunity to light a candle and share something that is in our heart with the community. So we’ve an opportunity now, for anyone who would like to do so, to light a candle and say a few words about what it represents. We’ll go to the people in the building first, then to Zoom.
So I invite some of you here in person to come and light a candle and then if you wish to tell us briefly who or what you light your candle for. I’m going to ask you to come to the lectern to speak this time as I really want people to be able to hear you and I don’t want to keep nagging you about getting close to the handheld mic. And if you can’t get to the microphone give me a wave and I’ll bring a handheld mic over to you. Thank you.
(in person candles)
And if that’s everyone in the room we’ll go over to the people on Zoom next – you might like to switch to gallery view at this stage – just unmute yourselves when you are ready and speak out – and we should be able to hear you and see you up on the big screen here in the church.
(zoom candles)
And I’m going to light one more candle, as we often do, to represent all those joys and concerns that we hold in our hearts this day, but which we don’t feel able to speak out loud. (light candle)
Time of Prayer & Reflection: based on words by Leaf Seligman
Let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer. This prayer is based on some words by Leaf Seligman. You might want to adjust your position for comfort, close your eyes, or soften your gaze. There might be a posture that helps you feel more prayerful. Whatever works for you. Do whatever you need to do to get into the right state of body and mind for us to pray together – to be fully present here and now, in this sacred time and space – with ourselves, with each other, and with that which is both within us and beyond us. (pause)
Spirit of Life, God of All Love, in whom we live and move and have our being,
we turn our full attention to you, the light within and without,
as we tune in to the depths of this life, and the greater wisdom
to which – and through which – we are all intimately connected.
Be with us now as we allow ourselves to drop into the
silence and stillness at the very centre of our being. (pause)
Let us pause in the stillness to rest for a while,
to quiet ourselves so that we can feel what stirs within.
Each breath draws us closer to the pulse of life
and with each exhalation we make room for something new.
May we find in this gathering the comfort of those who care.
May we encounter patience along our growing edges
and compassion in our most tender spots.
When life presses in and shifts us off balance,
when pain assails us, and frustration mounts,
may the rhythm of our breath steady us
and bring us back to a place of gratitude.
Here, in this community of the spirit, may we find
the inspiration and encouragement we need
to face our challenges and nurture ourselves.
And in the presence of suffering across the globe
may we redouble our efforts to practice kindness and justice
- right where we are - with the hope that the light of our actions
will travel like the light of faraway stars to reach far beyond our knowing. (pause)
So in a few quiet moments let us take some time to pray inwardly the prayers of our own hearts;
calling to mind all those souls we know to be suffering this day, whether close to home, or
on the other side of the world. Let us hold all these sacred beings in the light of love. (pause)
Let us also pray for ourselves; we too are sacred beings who face our own struggles and muddle
through life’s ups and downs. So let us take a few moments to reflect on our own lives, and
ask for what we most need this day – comfort, forgiveness, or guidance – to flourish. (pause)
And let us take just a little longer to remember the good things in life and give thanks for them.
Those moments in the past week where we’ve encountered generosity, kindness, or pleasure.
Let us cultivate a spirit of gratitude as we recall all those moments that lifted our spirits. (pause)
Spirit of Life – God of all Love – as this time of prayer comes to a close, we offer up
our joys and concerns, our hopes and fears, our beauty and brokenness,
and we call on you for insight, healing, and renewal.
As we look forward now to the coming week,
help us to live well each day and be our best selves;
using our unique gifts in the service of love, justice and peace. Amen.
Hymn 41 (purple): ‘From the Crush of Wealth and Power’
Let’s sing again now – our second hymn is number 41 in the hymn book – ‘From the Crush of Wealth and Power’. We don’t sing this one often and we haven’t got Benjie to help us this morning so let’s hear George play it through once before we sing and let’s give it our best shot. Number 41.
From the crush of wealth and power,
something broken in us all,
waits the spirit's silent hour
pleading with a poignant call,
bind all my wounds again.
Even now our hearts are wary
of the friend we need so much.
When I see the pain you carry,
shall I, with a gentle touch,
bind all your wounds again?
When our love for one another
makes our burdens light to bear,
find the sister and the brother,
hungry for the feast we share;
bind all their wounds again.
Every time our spirits languish
terrified to draw too near,
may we know each other's anguish
and, with love that casts out fear,
bind all our wounds again.
Reading: ‘What We Do with Our Pain’ by Kimberly Broerman (excerpt, adapted) (Hannah to read)
This long-ish piece by Kimberly Broerman, who’s a spiritual director based in Atlanta, was written a few years ago, in early 2021, and while a few things she mentions are related to that particular time and place her message stills feels very appropriate for this moment we are currently living through. She writes:
I’ve been thinking a lot about what we do with our pain. God knows there is so much pain in us and among us right now. So much loss, hardship and heartache. Things feel so broken, whether it’s our political systems, our relationships, our bodies or our hearts. So many people with whom I’ve sat and listened over the past month have shared feelings of weightiness and weariness. If before we had somehow managed to deny or distract ourselves from pain – others’ and our own – it feels like it is so front and centre, that there is no getting away from it or around it.
It can feel overwhelming and exhausting. Like things are so broken, they cannot possibly be repaired. Like there is so much pain piled up, we cannot possibly heal. Whether it is in one singular human life or in our collective experience, how in the world do we heal layer upon layer of untended hurt?
Richard Rohr says, “If we do not transform our pain, we will transmit it.” And it feels like on the whole, we are not so adept at feeling, much less transforming, our pain. We would much rather engage in retail therapy, numb ourselves with medication or alcohol, online games or binge watching, or stay so insanely busy, we “haven’t got time for the pain” as the old song goes.
But it feels like our pain, or rather our inability to transform it, is killing us. Poisoning us on the inside. And then we are transmitting it all over the place, wounding others right and left.
I’m curious, what do you do with your pain? Stuff it down or hide it away, try to numb or distract yourself? Try to reason it’s not that big a deal, not compared to others, not compared to the goodness in your life? Do you tell yourself you shouldn’t feel pain? Or maybe that you deserve to feel pain because of unwise choices you’ve made or because you’re somehow fatally flawed?
May I suggest you try something different? Try finding someone who sees you as you really are-- flawed yes, but also fabulous and beloved. Someone who listens to your pain and struggles without flinching, without trying to fix you. Someone who holds space for your hurt, offers you grace and love, until with time and grace, you do heal. Throughout my life, I have been blessed with friends, mentors, and communities who know how to be with pain. People who know the power of just listening without changing the subject or shifting the attention back to themselves. Kind souls who know how to offer empathy, understanding and care, without trying to advise or fix me. And I have learned that sharing my hurt and struggles within those circles of care does indeed help transform the pain. I can’t say it magically evaporates. But there is something to bringing the pain out of the inner darkness into the light of another’s love and understanding that is healing.
Over the course of this hard year, I’ve been so grateful that every few days, I get to be in that kind of space. Whether it’s one-on-one or in a small group, whether we’re in person or on Zoom, whether I’m on the receiving or giving end, I have witnessed the healing power of showing up and sharing our truth – pain, struggles and all – and listening deeply and generously as others share their truth. I’m absolutely convinced it is one way we begin to heal all the pain, layer by layer, person by person, rather than letting it fester inside or explode onto the people around us.
So may we all recognize our incredible power to be that healing presence for others. How many times do we struggle for the right words, or wish we could do more? But really, it’s our caring presence, our listening and just giving space, our empathy and understanding, our allowing our own heart to break for love of the other, that is most needed for healing.
Words for Meditation: ‘Paradox of Noise’ by Gunilla Norris
Thanks Hannah. We’re moving into a time of meditation now. To take us into stillness I’m going to share a short poem by Gunilla Norris which perhaps is slightly tangential to our theme but I think it’s a good one to take into our time of mediation. These words will take us into a few minutes of shared silence which will end with the sound of a bell. And then we’ll hear some more music from Georgia and Toby. So let’s do what we need to do to get comfortable – adjust your position if you need to – perhaps put your feet flat on the floor to ground yourself – maybe close your eyes. As we always say, the words are just an offering, feel free to use this time to meditate in your own way.
It is a paradox that we encounter so much internal noise
when we first try to sit in silence.
It is a paradox that experiencing pain releases pain.
It is a paradox that keeping still can lead us
so fully into life and being.
Our minds do not like paradoxes. We want things
To be clear, so we can maintain our illusions of safety.
Certainty breeds tremendous smugness.
We each possess a deeper level of being, however,
which loves paradox. It knows that summer is already
Growing like a seed in the depth of winter. It knows
that the moment we are born, we begin to die. It knows
that all of life shimmers, in shades of becoming--
that shadow and light are always together,
the visible mingled with the invisible.
When we sit in stillness we are profoundly active.
Keeping silent, we hear the roar of existence.
Through our willingness to be the one we are,
We become one with everything.
Period of Silence and Stillness (~3 minutes) – end with a bell
Interlude: ‘The Swan’ (Carnival of the Animals) (performed by Georgia Dawson and Toby Morgan)
Reading: ‘Transforming or Transmitting Pain’ by Erika A. Hewitt (3 ½ min) (read by David)
This piece by UU minister Erika Hewitt begins with strong words by the Franciscan Richard Rohr: ”If we don’t find a way to transform our pain, we will always transmit it to those around us or turn it against ourselves… If your religion is not teaching you how to recognize, hold, and transform suffering, it is junk religion.”
Erika Hewitt continues: People are in pain all around us, all of the time. How can we be companions to those in pain, and bear witness, so that pain can be transformed into something less harmful?
Last week, the crowd on a New York City subway herded me into a corner against someone’s seat: a man in his 20s with red eyes, his face etched with grief. When I’m around people in pain, sometimes the energy of their sadness rolls over me like an invisible ocean wave: if I remain passive, its force can knock me down. So as the subway rumbled us uptown, I tightened my grip on the bar overhead, closed my eyes, and held the stranger in loving kindness.
As I breathed in, I imagined absorbing the thick, oily smoke of his pain. I visualized the Great Glorious Tenderness as a cloud of light, above us at ground level. Each time I breathed out, I imagined myself as a conduit, drawing that Love down toward us and pooling it around the stranger. I matched his pain, breath for breath. The subway screeched to a halt at my stop and as my eyes flew open they landed on the stranger, who was using his sweater to wipe tears off his cheek. Our eyes met. Before I could look away, he offered a half-smile. I smiled back.
Buddhists will recognize what I did as a practice called tonglen, but if you were to call it prayer, I wouldn’t argue with you. One of my friends often wonders out loud whether it’s ethical to pray for someone without their consent, but I’ve weathered rough patches where I felt myself flailing, sinking, in need of all of the ways — from concrete assistance to the mystical transmission of Love — that others might hold me up. You want to share your hope with me? I'll take it.
Pain is going to visit all of us — you, me, the guy on the subway — sporadically but unrelentingly, as long as life lasts. Ultimately, I believe, there's one thing as common and as powerful as pain: our capacity to be companions to one another. Both our genetic material and our holy spark compel us to reach for one another, as partners in hope and fellow meaning-makers, to help one another transform pain into something holdable.
[Hewitt concludes with a few words of prayer:] You, Mercy Without End, are the sea of tenderness that holds us all, grieving alongside us in our moments of hurt. Hold me; gentle me; keep me afloat. When I see pain outside of myself, make me brave enough to move towards it, that I might lighten another person's burden — because the only way through is together.
Reflection: ‘What Do We Do with Our Pain?’ by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall
Thanks David. I want to start my reflection (and I should say though this is listed as a mini-reflection in the OOS it turned out to be not-so-mini after all) with an echo of those words from the Franciscan teacher Richard Rohr: ‘All great spirituality is about what we do with our pain... If we don’t find a way to transform our pain, we will always transmit it to those around us or turn it against ourselves… If your religion is not teaching you how to recognize, hold, and transform suffering, it is junk religion.’
Pain is an unavoidable part of life – physical pain of course, but also emotional and spiritual pain – it’s the more emotional and spiritual aspects of pain that are our primary focus this morning. And pain comes in many guises – sadness, grief, anger, frustration – all sorts of big, difficult feelings.
One of my favourite contemporary spiritual teachers, the Buddhist psychotherapist Rick Hanson, has got this to say: ‘Painful experiences range from subtle discomfort to extreme anguish—and there is a place for them in life. Sorrow can open the heart, anger can highlight injustices, fear can alert you to real threats, and remorse can help you take the high road next time. But there is no shortage of suffering in this world. Look at the faces of others—including mine—or your own in the mirror, and see the marks of weariness, irritation, stress, disappointment, longing, and worry.’
He goes on to speak about the Buddhist teaching of ‘first and second darts’ which describes how our brain’s negativity bias can cause us to unnecessarily amplify our experience of pain. (This is ‘darts’ in the sense of seeing painful experiences as arrows that pierce us). He says: ‘Some physical and mental pain is inevitable. To use a metaphor from the Buddha, the unavoidable pains of life are its “first darts.” But then we add insult to injury with our reactions to these darts. For example, you could react to a headache with anxiety that it might mean a brain tumour; you could greet a romantic rejection with harsh self-criticism… Most absurdly, sometimes we react negatively to positive events. Perhaps someone complimented you, and you had feelings of unworthiness; or you’ve been offered an opportunity at work, and you obsess about whether you can handle it; or someone makes a bid for a deeper friendship, and you worry about being disappointing them. All these reactions are “second darts”—the ones we throw ourselves. They include overreacting to little things, holding grudges, justifying yourself, drowning in guilt after you’ve learned the lesson, dwelling on things long past, worrying about stuff you can’t control, and mentally rehashing conversations. Second darts vastly outnumber first darts. There you are, on the dartboard of life, bleeding mainly from self- inflicted wounds. There are enough darts in life without adding your own!’ Wise words from Rick Hanson.
The question at the heart of today’s service is ‘what do we do with our pain?’ And quite a few of the things that we humans typically do with our pain are… not especially helpful. At least not in the longer term. As we just heard, when we experience the unavoidable pains in life, the ‘first darts’, we do often build them up into something even worse with a rain of ‘second darts’. But there are a few other things that we tend to do with our pain that I want to mention. We might deny it, minimise it or squash it down – pretending that the bad stuff isn’t happening (or that it isn’t really bad! Rationalising it or otherwise doing mental contortions to avoid facing reality). I think there’s a certain amount of this going on in relation to global events at present – it’s all too big and too awful to take in – and many people (understandably) are kind-of looking away.
But pain that is denied, minimised, or squashed has a tendency to come out sideways, I think. We carry it inside us as an amorphous bad feeling which builds and roils and looks for an outlet. We might find ourselves dumping our rage and frustration on people who have got nothing to do with the real root causes of our pain, and lashing out at the unlucky ones who just happen to be in the line of fire when we snap, often our nearest and dearest, as they are usually the closest to hand. At a societal level this might look like scapegoating or witch-hunts. We can see this happening all around us now: so many people who are genuinely suffering poverty, insecurity, precarity and so forth, but who are wrongly projecting those legitimate grievances onto various scapegoats: refugees, or trans people, or ‘the wokerati’ or some other group that absolutely did not cause their suffering. Partly this horrific behaviour is a result of intentional and systematic misdirection by the super-rich, their media outlets, and their bot farms. But partly it’s because the people – and, even more, the systems that are causing all this pain – seem unreachable and impenetrable. We can feel impotent and helpless in the face of it all. It's like Sunny Moraine said in the quote I shared earlier: ‘As things get worse, we are going to get progressively more angrily frustrated at our inability to reach and hurt the people who are making things worse, and that’s going to increase the urge to attack anyone we can reach, indiscriminately’.
So one of the less-than-ideal things we humans tend to do with our pain is pass it on to others. You may be familiar with the saying ‘hurt people hurt people’ – it’s a phrase which has issues, for sure – but there is a kernel of truth in it (not unlike Philip Larkin’s famous line ‘man hands on misery to man’). But sometimes our pain leads us to turn inward and engage in behaviours that are ultimately self-harming instead. Some of us self-medicate, numb ourselves, suppress the bad feelings with alcohol, drugs, food – or we compulsively engage in other distracting behaviours like endless scrolling or shopping or exercise or sex or work – activities that temporarily take our minds off the sources of our pain. Some of you might be familiar with the work of Gabor Maté in this field; his associate Stephanie Hollington-Sawyer said this: ‘addiction… originates in a human being’s desperate attempt to solve a problem: the problem of emotional pain, of overwhelming stress, of lost connection, of loss of control, of a deep discomfort with the self. In short, it is a forlorn attempt to solve the problem of human pain.’
Another response to pain is withdrawal – that’s one we might not immediately think of because, by its very nature, it tends to be invisible – when we are in pain there can be a temptation to retreat into our little individual caves and drop out of life. We might come to conceive of ‘other people’ as the primary source of pain and consequently hide ourselves away to protect ourselves from further hurt – letting go of relationships, dropping out of communities, disappearing from public life – or maybe just neglecting our connections with others, not actively maintaining them, being flaky, uncommitted, not putting our whole self in. We can fall into a state of passivity, even fatalism, that leads us to disengage.
So far I’ve mostly been diagnosing the problem, in a way; delineating all the not-so-great things we typically do with our pain. So what could we do instead? What might be more helpful or healthy? First off, I’d suggest, we need to acknowledge it, make space for it, so that we can truly feel our pain rather than pushing it away, denying it, or burying it. I think there’s some wisdom in that notion that ‘the only way out is through’ and that the process of healing and transforming our pain starts with accepting and allowing it. This is connected to a second thing we can do: we can express our pain. But let’s find places and spaces that are appropriate to allow and express our pain – or to use a more religious term, to lament – maybe we need regular and ongoing professional support from a therapist or spiritual director – maybe we have good friends who can make space for us to let it all out once in a while – or maybe we can share in carefully-held small groups like we do here at church. We all need places where we feel safe to be real. And if we can process our pain and suffering in such places maybe we’ll be less likely to find it ‘comes out sideways’, ricochets around, and hurts others. This work is not easy but we have a chance to consciously break the cycle of pain and refrain from passing it on.
It would be remiss of me not to mention that another thing we can do with our pain is to pray about it. If you’re at all familiar with the psalms, you’ll know that there’s a long tradition of crying out to God – and not making it pretty or polite either – just pouring out your unfiltered anguish to the One Who Listens. Or you might have a regular set prayer that helps you to get things in perspective – just this week I have reminded a few people about the Serenity Prayer – ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’ One reason why this prayer means so much to so many people is that it points to a middle way – it cajoles us out of despair – and focuses on what we can do to transform our painful situation. When our pain is arising from injustice it’s crucial to do what we can to take action and make change.
And one more thing that we can do with our pain is let it change us for the good. Perhaps it will leave us more compassionate for the sufferings of others; more empathetic and tender-hearted. This doesn’t happen by default. Pain can leave us contorted and bitter. But we do have some choice in the matter, I reckon, and our tough experiences can sometimes – somehow – be alchemically transformed – and transformative – breaking us open to connect with all the other suffering souls.
As we draw to a close I want to return to the wise words of Rick Hanson who offers this thought for us to take into the week ahead: ‘This week, take a stand for yourself, for feeling as good as you reasonably can. A stand for bearing painful experiences when they walk through the door—and a stand for encouraging them to keep on walking, all the way out of your mind. This is not being at war with discomfort or distress, which would just add negativity. Instead, it is being kind to yourself, wise and realistic about the toxic effects of painful experiences. In effect, you’re simply saying to yourself something you’d say to a dear friend in pain: I want you to feel better, and I’m going to help you. Try saying that to yourself in your mind... Focus on where you can make a difference, where you do have power; it may only be inside your own mind, but that’s better than nothing at all.’
And I’ll leave you with just a few final words by the great American writer, theologian, and civil rights leader Howard Thurman, words to take to heart in this moment, I reckon:
‘This is important to remember: given the fact
of pain as a normal part of the experience of life,
one may make the pain contribute to the soul, to the life meaning.
One may be embittered, ground down by it, but one need not be.
The pain of life may teach us to understand life and,
in our understanding of life, to love life.
To love life truly is to be whole in all one's parts;
and to be whole in all one's parts is to be free and unafraid.’
May it be so for the greater good of all. Amen.
Hymn 193 (purple): ‘We Laugh, We Cry’
Let’s sing again. Our final hymn is number 193 in your purple books, ‘We Laugh, We Cry’. It’s quite a long one so it requires a bit of stamina but I know a lot of us love the message. Hymn 193.
We laugh, we cry, we live, we die; we dance, we sing our song.
We need to feel there's something here to which we all belong.
We need to feel the freedom just to have some time alone.
But most of all we need close friends we can call our very own.
And we believe in life, and in the strength of love;
and we have found a need to be together.
We have our hearts to give
we have our thoughts to receive;
and we believe that sharing is an answer.
A child is born among us and we feel a special glow.
We see time's endless journey as we watch the baby grow.
We thrill to hear imagination freely running wild.
We dedicate our minds and hearts to the spirit of this child.
And we believe in life, and in the strength of love;
and we have found a time to be together.
And with the grace of age,
we share the wonder of youth,
and we believe that growing is an answer.
Our lives are full of wonder and our time is very brief.
The death of one among us fills us all with pain and grief.
But as we live, so shall we die, and when our lives are done
the memories we shared with friends, they will linger on and on.
And we believe in life, and in the strength of love;
and we have found a place to be together.
We have the right to grow, we have the gift to believe
that peace within our living is an answer.
We seek elusive answers to the questions of this life.
We seek to put an end to all the waste of human strife.
We search for truth, equality, and blessed peace of mind.
And then we come together here, to make sense of what we find.
And we believe in life, and in the strength of love;
and we have found a joy to be together.
And in our search for peace, maybe we'll finally see:
even to question truly is an answer.
Announcements:
Thanks to Jeannene for tech-hosting and Charlotte for co-hosting. Thanks to Hannah and David for reading. Thanks to Georgia and Toby for lovely music today, and George for accompanying our hymns. Thanks to Patricia for greeting and David for doing the coffee. For those of you who are here in-person – please do stay for a cuppa and cake – we’ve got (new!) rhubarb crumble cake.
Tonight we have the Better World Book Club on ‘Monsters’ by Claire Dederer, if you are planning to come to that and haven’t yet had the link please let me know. Next month’s title is ‘Every Kind of People’ by Kathryn Faulke and I have a few copies to loan out if you’d like to come next time.
On Friday at 7pm we’ve got our ‘Heart and Soul’ online contemplative spiritual gathering – this week we’re considering ‘Failure’ (nice light topic there!) – email me if you want to join us for that.
Next Sunday Hannah will be here to lead our community yoga session after the service. That’s free of charge. You can pick up a flyer with the dates of future yoga sessions. And indeed we have just updated the flyers for most of our regular events so please do take some to spread the word.
I want to draw your attention to another event that’s coming up soon – our friends at New Unity are hosting a workshop on disability on Tuesday 11th March at 6.30pm – that’s a hybrid event and I’ll be helping to look after the online zoom room – let me or Adam know if you want to come.
Next Sunday we’ll be back here at 11am when the service will be on the theme ‘Only Connect’.
Details of all our various activities are printed on the back of the order of service, for you to take away, and also in the Friday email. Or why not take home a copy of our new fancy newsletter?
The congregation very much has a life beyond Sunday mornings; we encourage you to keep in touch, look out for each other, and do what you can to nurture supportive connections.
Time for our closing words and closing music now.
Benediction: based on words by Tim Haley
We walk this earth but a brief moment in time.
Amid our suffering and pain, however great or small,
let us continue to learn how to celebrate life in all its variety.
Let us continue to grow in our capacity to love ourselves and each other.
And let us continue to move toward the goal of a better world,
a global community of peace, justice, joy and liberation for all.
Go this day in a renewed spirit of courage and hope
and with the wisdom to greet the week to come. Amen.
Closing Music: ‘Niel Gow’s Lament for the Death of his Second Wife’ (performed by Georgia Dawson and Toby Morgan)
Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall
23rd February 2025