 Please join me in a moment of centering silence. And now let's join our voices together in our in-gathering hymn, This Little Light of Mine, and we're going to sing this refrain three times. Welcome to the First Unitarian Society of Madison. This is a community where curious seekers gather to explore spiritual, ethical, and social issues in an accepting and nurturing environment. Mine universalism supports the freedom of conscience of each individual as together we seek to be a force for transformation in the world. My name is Beth Binhammer and on behalf of the congregation I'd like to extend a welcome to all and a special welcome to visitors. We are a welcoming congregation so whoever you are and wherever you happen to be on your life journey, we celebrate your presence among us. Newcomers are encouraged to stay for our fellowship hour after the service to visit the library which is directly across from the center doors of this auditorium. Bring your drinks and your questions. Members of our staff and lame ministry will be on hand to welcome you. You may also look for persons holding teal stoneware coffee mugs. These are FUS members knowledgeable about our faith community who would love to visit with you. Usually this is the time where I announce something about experienced guides giving tours for our building but we don't have a guide signed up for this morning. We welcome children to stay for the duration of the service but if your child needs to talk or move around there is the child haven to my right or the commons. Those are both fine places to retire. The service can still be seen or heard from those areas. And speaking of noise, this would be a lovely time for all of us to check our cell phones or other devices that might cause a disturbance during this hour. I'd like to acknowledge those people who have volunteered this morning to help our services run smoothly. Our lame minister this morning is Ann Smiley. Our greeter was March Schweitzer. Our ushers Karen Hill, Ron Cook, Carol Ferguson, Elizabeth Barrett, Hospitality or Coffee Jean Hills and Orchid Care this week was Nancy Webster. Thanks to all. Please note the announcements on the red floors insert in your orders of service which describe upcoming events at the society and provide more information about today's activities. Again welcome. We hope that today's service will stimulate your mind, touch your heart and stir your spirit. That was enchanting music. If you would please turn to number 444 for a responsive reading. This house is for the in-gathering of nature and human nature. It is a house of freedom guarding the dignity and worth of every person. It is a house of truth seeking where scientists can encourage devotion to their quest where mystics can abide in a community of searchers. It is a house of prophecy outrunning times past and times present in visions of growth and progress. Thank you. If you would please rise in body or in spirit and turn to the next page number 448 for our chalice-lighting words. We gather this hour as people of faith with joys and sorrows, gifts and needs. We light this beacon of hope, sign of our quest for truth and meaning in celebration of the life we share together. And in the life, celebration of the life we share together, I invite you to turn and greet your neighbor. If anyone would like to come forward for a story, let's do that. Anybody want to hear a story? Good morning everybody. What a lot of kids. I'll bet there's someone among you who has a grandmother. Anybody? A grandma? Do you have a special name you call your grandma? Just shout it out. Yes? Good choice. Well, some people call grandma abuela. Some people call... Yeah. And some people call grandma granny. I had a granny once. She liked being called granny. And I had a little daughter too, about your age. And this story is about a little girl and her great-grandmother and that she joins her great-grandmother as she goes to vote. Does anybody know what it means to vote? Yes. You choose who you want to be president. And fill out a ballot, yes? The majority of the people win. That's often how it goes. Yes. Yes. Your dad goes to vote a lot, and he has a certain candidate he will be voting for. Yes. All right, the story is called The Day Gogo Went to Vote. There once was a woman in South Africa named Mrs. Mokwena. She was 100 years old, older than the town she lived in. When she was born, there were no cars or airplanes. Mrs. Mokwena had a six-year-old great-granddaughter named Tembi, your five. When Tembi came home from school, her mother and father were still at work. So her granny, her go-go, took care of her. Gogo Mokwena called Tembi her little tail because the girl followed her everywhere. Tembi got to carry her granny's beautiful blue cloth bag, which held many important things. Because Gogo Mokwena was born in the olden days, she knew many things that happened long ago. She told many stories about how her ancestors lived before the white people came to South Africa. She told Tembi about how their family came from, where their family came from, and how they were related to each other. One day, Tembi's father and mother came home very excited because the people who ran and wanted to run the government had agreed on dates for a new election. One of the days would be a special voting day for old people and those who were very sick. And two more days would be holidays when all the adults didn't have to work and could go vote. I will vote with the other old people, announced Gogo Mokwena. Her family was surprised when she said this because she never went out of the yard, not even to church. We cannot take you that day because we will be at work, said Tembi's father. Then I will vote with you, said Gogo Mokwena. But we are going by bus. We cannot have you traveling on a crowded bus. The buses may even be too full and we may have to walk. Besides, said Tembi's mother, there will be long lines of people at the polling station. You will not be able to stand in line. Tembi's mother and father asked her aunts and uncles to help them try to tell Gogo Mokwena that she couldn't go vote. But Gogo Mokwena refused to listen. Do you want me to die not having voted? She asked. A neighbor woman named Mrs. Malambo asked why there was such a fuss. While Tembi's parents went to talk with her, Tembi asked her granny why she wanted to vote so much. Gogo Mokwena said, Tembi, black people in South Africa have fought for many years for the right to vote. This is the first time we have had a chance to vote for our own leaders and it might be my last. That is why I must vote. No matter how many miles I have to walk, no matter how long I have to stand in line. Well, the neighbor, Mrs. Malambo, had a rich uncle, Mr. Ramushu, who said that he would send his own car to take Gogo Mokwena and Tembi's parents to vote. Tembi asked her mother and father if she could go along and at first they said she was too little. But Gogo Mokwena told them that Tembi must be there to carry her blue bag. When the election days came, the whole family was so excited that nobody could sleep. They got up early in the morning dressed in their best clothes and were all waiting eagerly when Mr. Ramushu's big, shiny car stopped in front of their small house. There were many people lined up to vote at the polling booth. The crowd had to move to let the car go through. Mr. Ramushu had told the voting officers about Gogo. Yes, I see. Mr. Ramushu had told the voting officers about Gogo Mokwena. So they were waiting for her and said that she should not have to stand in line. Gogo Mokwena showed her identity book to prove who she was and they gave her a paper ballot to take into the voting booth. Tembi almost cried when they told her that she could not go with her granny into the voting booth. Why can't I go with Gogo? She asked because no one should know who she is voting for, the officer said. But I already know who she's voting for, she said. It's a secret ballot. That means you must not tell anyone, they said. Tembi's mother told her to stop asking so many questions. The voting officers laughed and said that she had to ask questions so that she would be prepared to vote when she was old enough. When Gogo Mokwena came out of the voting booth, she put her paper ballot into a big box with an opening on top. People with big flashing cameras took pictures of her, then a picture of her and Tembi together. All the people in the room stood up and clapped and cheered for a long time because Gogo Mokwena was the oldest voter in the town. Tembi and her parents were so happy, they cried with joy. When they got home, the yard was full of neighbors and relatives who had brought food to celebrate. While they were eating, some of Tembi's uncles argued about who would win the elections. Tembi's father told them not to worry about that. The important thing he said is that we can vote and Gogo led the way. Everyone began to sing freedom songs and danced for joy. Tembi stayed up way past her bedtime and danced with her cousins until their feet were sore. When they were too tired to go on, they all sang a new national anthem and crawled into bed. The next day, there was a picture of Gogo Mokwena and Tembi in the newspaper. Under the picture, the word said the past and the future. 100-year-old voter, Mrs. M. Mokwena, accompanied by six-year-old great-granddaughter Tembi. Tembi and her granny felt very proud and important. The whole township celebrated after the elections when Mr. Nelson Mandela became president of the country. People danced and sang in the streets all day and all night. There were many parties and people all over the country celebrated for many days. But for Tembi, the best day was when Gogo went to vote. Thank you for sharing our story this morning. Let's go to class. Our first bit of wisdom today is called prayer by W. E. B. Du Bois. Give us grace, oh God, to dare to do the deeds which we well know cries to be done. Let us not hesitate because of ease or the words of men's mouths or our own lives. Mighty causes are calling us, the freedom of women, the training of children, the putting down of hate and murder and poverty, all these and more. But they call with voices that mean work and sacrifice and death. Mercifully grant us, oh God, the spirit of Esther, that we say, I will go unto the king and if I perish, I perish. And our second reading is excerpts by Lyndon Johnson upon signing the Voting Rights Act of 1965 with the caveat that the language is not culturally sensitive by today's standards. This act flows from a clear and simple wrong. Its only purpose is to right that wrong. Millions of Americans are denied the right to vote because of their color. This law will ensure them the right to vote. The wrong is one which no American in his heart can justify. The right is one which no American true to our principles can deny. This right to vote is the basic right without which all others are meaningless. It gives people as individuals control over their own destinies. The members of the Congress and the many private citizens who work to shape and pass this bill will share a place of honor in our history for this one act alone. And I pledge you that we will not delay, we will not hesitate, or we will not turn aside until Americans of every race and color and origin in this country have the right as the same right as others to share in the process of democracy. So through this act and its enforcement an important instrument of freedom passes into the hands of millions of our citizens. But that instrument must be used. Congresses and presidents, laws and lawsuits can open the doors to the polling places and open the doors to the wondrous rewards which await the wise use of the ballot. But only the individual Negro and all others who have been denied the right to vote can really walk through those doors and can use that right and can transform the vote into an instrument of justice and fulfillment. If you do this, then you will find as others have found before you that the vote is the most powerful instrument ever devised by man for breaking down injustice and destroying the terrible walls which imprison men because they are different from other men. For it is not enough just to give men rights. They must be able to use those rights in their personal pursuit of happiness. The wounds and the weaknesses, the outward walls and the inward scars which diminish achievement are the work of American society. We all now must help to end them. The central fact of American civilization, one so hard for others to understand, is that freedom and justice and the dignity of man are not just words to us. We believe in them. Under all the growth and the tumult and abundance, we believe. And so, as long as some among us are oppressed and we are part of that oppression, it must blunt our faith and sap the strength of our high purpose. Thus, this is a victory for the freedom of the American Negro, but it is also a victory for the freedom of the American nation. And every family across this great, entire searching land will live stronger in liberty, will live more splendid in expectation, and will be prouder to be American because of the act that you have passed and that I will sign today. If you would, please turn to number 131 in Rise and Body or in Spirit for Love Will Guide Us. Some years ago, I discovered that I am distantly related to Cecil John Rhodes, the 19th century British philanthropist for whom Oxford University's Rhodes Scholarship program is named. He's the man for whom the South Central African nation of Rhodesia was named before its citizens gained independence as Zambia and Zimbabwe in the mid-20th century. Cecil John Rhodes was a politician and an international businessman. He was a diamond magnate, a founder of De Beers Consolidated Mines. He was a British imperialist and one of the architects of the system of segregation called apartheid. He was an unapologetic racist and white supremacist. A quick online search of his life reveals a fascinating, horrifying chapter in world history when European empires vied for political, geographic, and economic control of Africa at the expense of the continent's original inhabitants. So I consider today's story for all ages and the real-life experiences it represents, both instructive for all and curiously satisfying for me. At one point in my life, I had a young daughter and an aging granny. At another time, I witnessed on television the dismantling of apartheid. And I can only imagine how exciting, frightening, and powerful that experience must have been for every South African voting in 1994. Cecil John Rhodes, gladly, has become just a footnote to that history. Today, one week after our Black Lives Matter weekend, two weeks before our own national election, I thought it appropriate to consider the fundamental right of suffrage. Since this nation's birth, the right to vote has never been a given, except for the wealthy white men in power. It is a right that millions have fought and died for, and to this day, it is a right still denied to many in our country. Our nation was founded as a republic based on constitutional laws that apply to all. Democracy, in 1787, was considered a dirty word. It was understood as mob rule and the fuel for the bloody French Revolution. Here, today, we are bound by the rule of law, not public opinion. We are subject to the law until we make the effort to change it. Our republic does operate, though, using democratic principles and processes, however flawed they may be. The electoral process, in my opinion, should be empowering to all of us, but it isn't. It should reinforce, as part of our human identity, one of the first lessons we learn as toddlers, that we have choices, and that our choices can influence our world. If we choose to drop a toy on the ground and somebody picks it up, we have influenced our world with our choice. Every one of us as United States citizens pursuing life, liberty, and happiness has a stake in choosing who will represent us, who will serve us in public office. Just like Black South Africans in 1994, like Gogo Mokwena, indeed, like every adult on Earth, no matter what our political leanings each of us deserves to have our voice heard. And we'll set aside for a moment for another conversation, the theory and practice of the Electoral College. The right to vote is foundational to the democratic process, as Churchill pointed out. You and I, entering the voting booth and making our mark, declaring with our voices our choices. As you heard in 1965, President Lyndon Johnson called this right to vote the basic right without which all others are meaningless. It gives people control over their own destinies and is the most powerful instrument ever devised for breaking down injustice and destroying the walls between us. So the vote is a fundamental honor and obligation of citizenship. But why? Why is it so potent? Because, said Johnson, we as Americans believe that freedom, justice, and dignity are more than just words. They are ideals that we as citizens strive to achieve. In 1993, President Bill Clinton strove toward these ideals when he nominated the noted scholar and attorney, Lonnie Guinear, as Assistant Attorney General for Civil Rights. He withdrew her nomination, shortly thereafter, under pressure from political conservatives. Guinear considered the whole experience a civil rights setback of monumental proportions. In the introduction to her book, Lift Every Voice, she says this about our role as citizens in the political process. Participation matters, after all. A seat at the table and a voice at the podium enables each of us to become part of something larger than ourselves. Participation as citizens, she says, nourishes and supports us as individuals and as a community. Helps us reach our full potential. Reinforces our dignity and sense of purpose in something transcendent, even if we try and fail. And it helps us to understand that our voices are better heard when we speak plainly and collectively. Historic, though it was the 15th Amendment to the Constitution, granting men of color the right to vote, was just one step in extending the right to every citizen. Women gained the vote in 1920 with ratification of the 19th Amendment, and yet poll taxes, literacy tests, and other obstacles remained until passage of various Civil Rights Acts, culminating in the Voting Rights Act of 1965 and subsequent amendments to it. But voter suppression is still very real among economically disadvantaged, the incarcerated, senior citizens, and persons of color, even here in Wisconsin. A voter identification requirement signed into law in 2011 to prevent a specious voter fraud issue has been ruled in courts across the country as discriminatory and unconstitutional, and yet here it has been allowed to stand. Author Ari Berman asserted this past week in The Nation magazine that this year, voters are lacking crucial protections because this is the first presidential election in 50 years without the full provisions of the Voting Rights Act. It's incredibly unlikely there will be widespread voter fraud on Election Day, he says, but there will be eligible voters who show up to vote and are turned away at the polls. That's the real threat to election integrity that we should be focusing on. While I am a middle-aged white male, I am doing my best to learn about white privilege and combating systemic racism. Here's a popular metaphor of one thing that I've learned. It doesn't matter if you did or didn't intend to drop a brick on my foot. The impact is that my foot is broken. Regardless of the intent of any action, law, or policy, we have to start by addressing the impact on people's lives. The impact of this voter ID law is that persons of color and others in our state are actively being disenfranchised. I feel strongly that each of us has a moral obligation to ensure that every voice is heard, even those with which we disagree, and especially those that aren't normally part of the conversation. Not only is it fair and just, but hearing other people's stories, acknowledging the depth and breadth of their experiences and opinions, enriches us all and strengthens our community. Lyndon Johnson said that we all have a responsibility to help end the wounds and the weaknesses, the outward walls and the inward scars afflicting our society. W.E.B. Du Bois' prayer asks God for the courage to dare to do the deed which we well know cries to be done that mighty causes are calling us with voices that mean work and sacrifice and even death. Unitarian Universalists have long heeded that call. Throughout history, liberal, religious, social reformers have improved our society beyond measure, binding up the broken, setting captives free, bringing good tidings to the afflicted and those who mourn, challenging conventions, and holding up a greater vision. There are far too many to name from this pulpit today, so I recommend to you, FamousUUs.com. But our movement has included politicians, musicians, authors, philosophers, science, poets, scientists, poets, doctors, nurses, educators, jurists, and hundreds of other change agents. We are in good company. Since our seven principles were crafted 30 years ago, we have explicitly championed the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process. Long before that, our religious forebears called for the primacy of freedom, reason, and tolerance. And they worked to make it so. This House of Ours, as we affirmed in our opening words, is a platform for the free voice for declaring the full and undivided conflict of opinion. Locally and nationally, we've also declared ourselves people of love and justice. Our living religious tradition calls on us as our sources and our songs suggest to let love be our guide, to act on the side of love. Martin Luther King Jr. paraphrased Unitarian Minister Theodore Parker when he said that the arc of the moral universe is long. And so it is. Lifting every voice is an ideal that in the end we may not fully realize. There are those who oppose it out of ignorance, fear, greed, or other human emotion. Still, it cries out to be done. But how, Eric, how do we help lift every voice? In many aspects, we already do. We just need to see other opportunities and do more. We lift others' voices, for example, when we fly prayer flags with the names of those who have died by racial violence. We lift others' voices when we make time and space available in our auditorium for presentations by marginalized people and those who work with them. We lift others' voices when we donate time or money to organizations serving the homeless, the abused, or the neglected. We lift others' voices when we join their organizations, those who know the issues best, and let them lead. We lift others' voices when we abolish racist mascots. We lift others' voices when we interrupt racist attacks, when we stand up to bullies, and when we help others understand the difference between intent and impact. We lift others' voices when we dial into, surf to, or pick up and read news sources outside the mainstream media. We lift others' voices when we ask the business owner to color down the block what she thinks is the highest priority for our neighborhood. We lift others' voices when we elect people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender to the school board or other public office. We lift others' voices when we demand greater access to and public funding for health care, including mental health care. We lift others' voices when we teach our children that they deserve respect. We lift others' voices when we feel safe enough to question our own assumptions about gender, race, or physical ability. When we see and address our own biases. We lift others' voices when we are willing to just shut up, pay attention, and listen to other stories. Think of something you could do. Regarding this election, there's still time to get out the vote. Contact the Dane County League of Women Voters to compare candidates' answers to questions. Get details on the league's website about registration and early voting throughout Dane County, such as what credentials you'll need to bring. Help your friends, relatives, neighbors, and strangers register and get to the polls. Volunteer to drive someone or watch their kids while they vote. And if you haven't already voted, of course, I urge you to do so on or before November 8th. And before our next set of elections, let's work to eliminate the voter ID law. Mighty causes are calling us. And while we may fall short or fail in our efforts to make life, liberty, and happiness real for all, the drive to fight for these ideals is part of our identity as Unitarian Universalists and as Americans. We must dare to do the deeds we know cry out to be done. And as we in this congregation strive to live with integrity, struggle with difficult questions, try to reflect to others our best selves, as we work for greater equity in our city, state, and nation, as we continue righting wrongs and building a land of peace and justice, may we embody the curiosity and love of Tembi, the wisdom and determination of Go-Go Mokwena, and the courage and passion of all who have fought for civil rights before us. May we let our light shine. May we continue to have faith that love will guide us, that hope inside will lead the way. May we lift up our voices and sing to the power of the faith, hope, love, and joy within so that others may hear us and feel empowered to raise theirs as well. So may it be. Freely have we received of gifts that minister to our needs of body and spirit. Gladly we bring to our church and its wide concerns a portion of this bounty. We'll now take our offering. I have used the words sublime and enchanting already today and I will use them again. We gather each week a community of memory and hope. To this time and place we bring our whole and at times our broken selves. We carry with us the joys and sorrows of the recent past and seek a place where they might be received, be celebrated and be shared. We pause now to acknowledge Elizabeth Barrett's uncle, Arthur Charada, who died this month after a long and loving life. We send healing thoughts and love to Paris Gomez for recovering from brain surgery. Tom Garver recently undergoing carpal tunnel surgery and Margaret Smith who is recovering well from hip replacement surgery. Cards are welcome, she says. And in addition to those mentioned we also acknowledge all those unarticulated joys and sorrows that remain among us and that as a community we hold with equal concern in our hearts. Let us now sit silently for a few moments in the spirit of empathy and hope. By virtue of our time together may our burdens be lightened and our joys expanded. If you would please join in our closing hymn number 368, Rising in Body or in Spirit. Now let us sing. I've chosen for our closing words a reading by the Reverend Mark Bellatini called Election Promises. I hear the polls are going to be open on Tuesday all day. Good, I certainly intend to go to them. But today I say the polls are not just open on Tuesday. I say they are open every day, every hour, even here, even now. Right now I'm going to vote for the robin's egg sky, the vanilla clouds, the purple shadow spreading under the ginko tree. I'm going to vote for tulips and red buds. I'm going to vote for love that does not have to run in someone else's circles in order to be loved. I'm going to vote the homeless into homes. I'm going to vote the uneducated into classrooms that teach them in the way they learn best, not the way that would be most convenient. I'm going to vote the sick into healing. I'm going to vote the lost into belonging. I'm going to vote right now for the right to dream of a world where the word politics doesn't stop me in my tracks and where the word honor still has a few good meanings left. I'm going to vote right now for the power of free people to actually be free no matter who they are, no matter who has abandoned them, no matter who hates them. I actually am going to vote for love. I'm going to vote for truthfulness as the norm, not the exception. I'm going to vote for a world that doesn't vote for killing, control, and swagger. I'm going to vote for you. I'm going to vote for me. Right now, right here, silently, but for real. So as we leave this place and time together, let us dare to do the deed which we well know cries to be done. Let us work to fulfill the moral imperative to lift every voice, and let us commit ourselves to doing our civic duty, voting today and in the days ahead. Blessed be.