 and welcome to the First Unitarian Society of Madison. My name is Kelly Aspruth Jackson, I'm one of the ministers here. This morning I am joined by my colleague, Reverend Kelly Crocker, the worship team of Drew Collins, Linda Warren, Daniel Karnes, and Stephen Gregorius. The vision of FUS is growing souls connecting with one another and embodying our UU values in our lives, our community, and our world. We are so glad you are with us virtually this morning. We hope you will be able to join us for our virtual coffee hour immediately following today's service. The information for joining can be found on the homepage of our website, FUSMadison.org, as well as on the slide that will be seen again after the postlude. Our announcement slides will also be shown briefly after today's service, and we encourage you to take a moment and learn about upcoming programs and activities. I invite you now to join in a moment of silence to center yourselves and bring yourselves fully into this time as we join together once again in community. We inhale and exhale in regular rhythm and act so common it never occurs to us to pay attention. And when we do, we are overwhelmed with the wonder of it all. We eat our food as we have done for a thousand thousand days. Practice so frequently, hardly notice the miraculous million events that happen in our bodies. And when we do, we are taken with the singular beauty. We greet our loved ones as we have greeted them for years. A habit that we pass off casually until we realize the deep poignancy of greetings and farewells, how precious they are, how they touch deeper feeling cords each time. Perhaps this knowing comes in middle age or old age or perhaps sentiment grows in us or perhaps we are awakening to life in ways transcending our usual semi-awake states of living. The poignancy of living in these days fills us, burrows deep into psyche or soul or spirit. We know not what. We only know that feeling when the common things of life become uncommon, when the ordinary becomes extraordinary, when the habitual becomes sacred. Bitter sweet is the poignancy of living in these days. We awaken, we listen, and we bow down in deep gratitude. And we invite you now to light a candle or a chalice at your home as we join Reverend Kelly in our words of affirmation. We light our chalice as a symbol of gratitude as we celebrate the abundance of our lives together. In this sanctuary, we harvest bushels of strength for one another and offer our crop with the hands of compassion and generosity. In the authentic and gentle manner of our connections, we cultivate a simple sweetness to brighten our spirits. May we be grateful for the ways we nourish and uplift each other, for it is the sharing of this hallowed time together that sustains us. This little light of my let it shine, let it, let it. Would you please rise and body and our spirit to sing with me, hymn number 40, our opening hymn, the morning hangs a signal. The morning's a-sit in silent darkness, red two pictures, it laughs along the sky on light, on our kindled from band, dawn becomes the, when prophets lost soul as lifted, life's great meaning, a brain sunrise, a light shall release, it's black, that morning shall. Today is a new kind of wild, and it's from Zara Gonzales-Hong. Ren lived in a little white house on the edge of the great rainforest, El Yunke. His days were filled with green and dirt and rocks and mud. All the bits of nature and magic, a life lived on the edge of wild offers. Every day, Ren adventured with dragons and chased unicorns. He feasted with fairies and campaigned with kings. And every night, Ren fell asleep to the flickering of fireflies and a chorus of coquilles. It was a place of endless possibility where anything he imagined became real, at least until bedtime. This was his home, until the day it wasn't. Ren found himself in a brick and cement city. The friendly sounds of his forest were replaced by the mechanical creeks and beeps and buzzes of a place filled with people and progress. It was too loud and too fast. It made Ren's head fill up with everything and nothing. There was no room left for magic, no room left for wild. Without his wild, Ren was lonely. Ava, who lived upstairs, was never lonely. She loved her building and she loved her city. It was a place of constant change with people moving through it like an endless parade. There was always something to see or do, and best of all, there was always someone to share it with. So when Ava saw Ren, she ran down to meet him. I'm Ava, she said. She asked him who he was and how he got there. She asked about his family and who he lived with. If he liked the city or why he didn't, she asked him so many things so quickly, he thought his head would explode. When she finally stopped for a breath, Ren tried to tell her why the city wasn't for him, but all Ava heard was a challenge. Ava pulled him from the stoop and into the busy city. She led him down colorful streets and sidewalks. They peeked into alleys, splashed in hydrants, and tried to find the rhythm of the streets, but all Ren saw was gray, and all he heard was the screeching of brakes and the honking of horns. It was nothing like home. When Ava caught up to Ren, she asked him what was wrong. There's no magic here, he said. No wild. Everything is exactly what it is. You're wrong, Ava said. Hadn't he heard the song of the city? Hadn't he seen the color in the streets? She'd spent all day showing him. How could he not see? If only he would try a little harder, she thought. But Ren was tired of trying, so he went back inside. Homesickness swept over him like a wave, and he felt lonelier than ever. Outside was a whole new world, one he didn't belong to. As he stared out the window, Ren saw Ava skipping across the sidewalk. She moved through her city like he had moved through his wild with an air of possibility flickering around her. How did Ava do it, Ren wondered. Maybe she could show him how. Sorry I left, Ren said when he found her. I just miss home. I've never lived anywhere else and everything is so different here. I've only ever lived in the city, Ava said. I can't imagine living anywhere else. What is it like? So Ren told her about his wild, about the green, and the trees, and the rocks, and the mud, and about the magical creatures that played there. He spun a tale of fairies and fantasy that he just couldn't see on these drab city blocks. And finally Ava understood what was missing. She brought Ren down to the basement of their building, showed him how the shadows could shape shift and introduced him to creatures who lived in the unlikeliest of places. Then she took him up, passed Mr. Borgus in apartment 4B, passed the empty apartment with the red door, passed the stacked boxes and peeling wallpaper all the way to the very top. She told him that the city had a rhythm and the music it played could be a lullaby or a salsa. Listen, she said as she pulled him outside. The sounds that were so jarring below softened into something almost musical. With the city spread out before them, Ava showed Ren how bricks could become beautiful. It was a new kind of wild. And this time he could see it because nothing makes you feel at home. Nothing helps you find the magic quite like a friend. I invite you now into this time of giving and receiving where we give freely and generously to this offering which sustains and strengthens First Unitarian Society and its work in the world. You will see on your screen that you can donate directly from our website, fussmedicine.org. You will also see our text to give information there as well. We thank you for your generosity and your faith in this life we create together. Last week in his reflections, Reverend Kelly spoke of the promise to be found when we are willing to risk making a deep connection with another and all that it requires. In that reflection, Kelly said, these then are the necessary conditions for building a bridge from one heart to another. The deep humility that we do not yet fully understand the other person and yet wish to. The work of better understanding ourselves so that we can share more authentically and fully, the willingness to be changed by this connection. As I listened to those reflections last week and pondered them in the days after, I couldn't help but think about all the kinds of connections we have throughout our days that have the potential to change us, to perhaps help us leave behind our worst selves for our better ones. The late UU minister Jacob Trapp in a reading called The Simplest of Sacraments wrote, simply to be and to let things be as they speak wordlessly from the mystery of what they are. Simply to say a silent yes to the hillside flowers, to the trees we walk under, to pass from one person to another a morsel of bread and answering yes, this is the simplest, the quietest of sacraments. His words telling us that communion can be the simplest of sacraments. A moment with a tree or a time looking at another with possibility made me wonder about other moments, moments like brief encounters we may have with a complete stranger. Our world is full of many more strangers than friends. Our lives intersect with more strangers than with people who are known to us. There may have been times when you have felt it easier to talk with someone you just met and maybe they say just the thing you needed to hear to lift your spirits. In this quick exchange, you share a moment of connection with no judgment, no history, just an experience of being here and human together, hopefully an experience filled with kindness. You may never see that person again, yet in that spontaneous moment you felt seen, you felt joy, you remembered that here, in that moment, you belonged. A few weeks ago, a friend and I were walking on Monroe Street early on a Sunday morning. We were passing by one of our local bookstores when I noticed a poster in the window for the upcoming release of the newest book by my favorite author. We stopped and I started to explain to her about this series. The world the author creates, the depth of characters, how you feel as if you know them and that even though every book of hers that I have ever read has broken my heart, that by the time you close the book at the end, you have found redemption and hope and so much light. I didn't realize that as I was going on and on, lost in my own evangelical outpouring of love for these fictional folks, that the owner of the store was coming toward us and had overheard my excitement about the upcoming novel. Wait right here for a minute, she said and she headed back into the store. My friend and I looked at each other with puzzled eyes and then my eyes widened in astonishment as she emerged from the store with the advanced reader's copy. Here, she said, enjoy. Come back and tell me what you think. I was speechless and tears welled in my eyes. Really, I managed to stammer. Of course, she said, it's really fun to bring joy to someone's day for no reason other than a shared love of fictional characters. And there it was, a moment of spontaneous connection with a stranger that changed my entire day and the days and the weeks following as I lost myself once again in a fictional town and I love remembering with deep gratitude the lesson of spreading joy to another, whether you know them or not, an encounter which was the very simplest of sacraments. A recent article in The Atlantic shared the surprising benefits of talking to strangers. In that article, they begin with the very real premise that many, if not most of us, have been raised to see strangers as dangerous and scary. We, for very good reason, teach our children about stranger danger and many of us learn to walk through crowds or down a busy street without ever making eye contact with another soul. The past 18 months have made us even wearier of interactions with those unknown to us as the pandemic has limited our social interaction so severely. The article centered around a woman named Nick who has coined a term for these kinds of brief interactions we have with a stranger. She calls them grayhound therapy. As she uses it, the term literally refers to talking with your seatmate on a long haul bus but can apply to talking with strangers anywhere. This form of connection has changed her life. When times were hard, she says, she turned to strangers to ward off loneliness. It works, she says, because she would go home with amazing stories and even if there was no one else to share those stories with, she still held them closely and cherished the knowledge that another person would share a piece of their life with her. In psychology, the sorts of exchanges Nick is talking about are known as minimal social interactions. The psychologist, Gillian Sandstrom, had a similar epiphany about them a little over a decade ago. Now, Sandstrom was raised in Canada by extroverts who loved talking with strangers. And one day, Sandstrom who'd always considered herself an introvert realized that she always looked down when she walked down the street. She says, I thought, well, this is ridiculous. So she started holding eye contact with people and actually found that it felt pretty good. Before long, she was talking with strangers too. She was surprised at how easy and fun it was. Once on the subway, she saw a woman holding a box of elaborately decorated cupcakes and asked about them. I don't know how the conversation got there, she says, but she taught me that humans can ride ostriches. I was sold, it was delightful, and I wanted to do it again. Later, during a stressful period, she took solace in an even smaller routine interaction, waving and smiling at a woman running a hot dog cart, someone she passed by every day. She said, I realized that when I saw her and when she acknowledged me, it made me feel good. I felt like, yeah, I belong here. We know that a strong predictor of well-being is the quality of our relationships. Most of that information comes from looking at relationships with friends, family, coworkers. But over the past few years, more research has been done looking at our interactions with strangers, not as a replacement, but as a compliment to those closer, long-haul relationships. All of the studies show that connecting however briefly through talking with a stranger can make us happier, more connected in our communities, less lonely, more trustful and optimistic. As Nick shared, never underestimate the power of even the most minute positive connection. Now, early in July, I was a camp parent for a one-week summer camp that both of my kids attend. Sam is a counselor now and Owen is a camper. All week, it was my job to arrive early to help caregivers drop off their kids, help kids find their group, and then help reconnect those adults and kids at the end of the day. On the very first day, it became obvious that it was difficult for younger campers to see where their group was outside on the playground. So we decided to give the group leaders a big, bright balloon in their color so that they could hold it up high every morning. I was quickly dispatched to the dollar store to find all the balloons we needed. As I was looking at the sign and trying to figure out if the bright yellow smiley face balloon could work for the yellow group, one of the employees came up to me and said, is that a camp invention t-shirt you're wearing? Did I see you at drop-off this morning? I chuckled and said, yep, that would be me. And then explained our playground balloon predicament. Her grandson was in the camp for the very first time. And he was so excited to be there. We talked about the camp, the fact that my kids have been going there for years, how wonderful it was, and just what a relief it was that they could be at a camp in person. Then she started talking about her three-year-old grandson. Wondering if I would help her fake a birth certificate for him so that he could go too. I just have to find something for that baby to do, she said, or neither one of us is gonna make it through summer. We laughed and commiserated about young children and a pandemic and what a year it has been for all of us. As I was leaving the store, still laughing and now wrestling with a dozen brightly colored balloons, she yelled out, thank you, darling, I need it that laugh today. You keep on spreadin' the love, Lord knows we all need it. I thanked her for her kindness and laughed her and told her I would do my best and I'd keep an eye out for her at camp the next morning. Laughter, author Anne Lamont says, is carbonated holiness. Holiness, those shared moments of laughter and spontaneous connection with someone I had never met, the knowing looks of those who live with small children in a pandemic, the moments of shared human experience in a dangerous, frightening and ruptured world are not just beautiful, they are holy. Her words still ring in my head, keep on spreadin' that love. It is the love to which St. Teresa of Avila alluded when she said, a custom yourself to make many acts of love, for they in kindle and melt the soul. As Kelly alluded to last week, there are times when it is not easy to love those whom we know well. Nevermind those whom we imagine to be very different from us or are just an unknown quantity. It is hard to love angry, frightened, dangerous people or even people whom seem careless, uninterested in our concerns and yet it is the highest calling. It is what human beings are made for. We are made to be connected to one another to offer and receive a love that includes those nearest and dearest but also transcends into a greater love for all. That's the spiritual journey to include and transcend. So what does the kindness of strangers have to do with anything? So much really. To act in a kind way towards strangers to follow St. Teresa's advice and a custom yourself to many acts of love. To be the recipient of an act of kindness can change your day or your life or you can be the one to reach out and offer that kindness that may make another person feel a little less alone in this world. And Lord knows we all need it. The author Peggy Tabor Millen remembered, I was on a train on a rainy day. For some reason I became intent on watching two raindrops on the window. Two separate drops pushed by the wind merged into one for just a moment and then divided again each carrying with it a part of the other. Simply by that momentary touching neither was what it had been before. And as each one went on to touch other raindrops it shared not only itself but what it had gleaned from the other. I realized in that moment that we never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace. Our state of being matters to those around us. We need to become conscious of what we unintentionally share so we can learn to share with intention. We know we all depend on the kindness of strangers sometimes in ways we rarely consider. We rely on the faithfulness of people who grow and prepare our food on the goodwill of those who teach our children on the integrity of those who care for us when we are injured or ill. A religious community is itself a community of strangers trying to be kind and to love one another into relationship. It is a great spiritual practice to be kind to a stranger, to be a kind stranger and to offer trust in a world that focuses most of all on the reasons not to trust. And as human beings we have to choose. Will we focus on fear, hate, pain, anger at people who see the world differently? Or will we choose again and again to be kind, to be courageous, to love, to stand beside those with the least power and be willing to do what it takes to create a more just world? What kind of people do we want to be? These are not simple or uncomplicated questions. In just a few weeks, we hope we will be welcoming you here into this beloved space. Perhaps for the first time or maybe the thousandth time. Whether this will be a new space for you or whether it will be a returning home. We hope that you find here in this community of strangers an interaction that makes each one of you say, I belong here. That every single one of you that comes through our doors feels deeply in their bones. Welcome home. The poet Naomi Shihab Nye wrote, before you know kindness is the deepest thing inside. You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore. Only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread. Only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say, it is I you have been looking for. And then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend. My friends, we know the sorrow of these days. We know the sorrow that surrounds this world of ours. We know the fear, the heartbreak, the pain is deep. We know the immense size of this cloth. How do we remember that it is only kindness that makes sense anymore? That this simplest of sacraments, this communion with a stranger is our belief in the inherent worth and dignity of every person brought to life. For in this simple act is a recognition that we are all here, human together, aware of how much our lives depend on kindness from those we know and those unknown to us. So may you be the kind stranger someone needs today. May you allow life and love to move through you. And may you let the transforming power of love travel with you throughout all your days. Each week, we gather with hearts that are heavy with sorrow and hearts filled with joy. We share these here in community, knowing we are held in love. This week, we light a candle of memory and gratitude for the life of Don Shuit, FUS member for over 55 years. Don passed away on July 26th. A memorial service will be held on August 28th at 11 a.m. here in the Atrium Auditorium. We send our love to his wife, Joan, and their family. We also light a candle for the whole world. As we do so, I invite you to join me in an attitude of reverence. Specs of cosmic dust scattered on the surface of a wounded world, our hearts have been broken this week by so many things. By the pictures and reports of the fall of Kabul. By the faces of strangers to whom we are nonetheless intimately connected by the choices of our government. Desperate and determined, fleeing the beauty of their homeland, fearing rightly for their freedom and their lives. By the possibilities for the women and girls of Afghanistan, once again constrained, diminished, and stolen from them. And by the loss of all that blood and treasure and moral authority brought to mind and compounded by the collapse in days of the work of 20 years. At the same time, by the news of the latest earthquake in Haiti, the latest tragedy to befall that cradle of liberation at the same time, by the fires still burning in the West, by all the signs of the ongoing harm that human avarice inflicts upon the earth that bears us whole. It is in the nature of empires to occupy distant lands. They set the terms for others by force of arms and presumed to remake whole countries according to their will. But neighbors do not act in this way. Neighbors, by compassion moved, lend their help where it is needed and wanted and withdraw when it is not. However much they might still care. Oh, may the day soon come when all the nations of the earth shall know themselves as neighbors to each other and the folly of empire be no more. Specks of dust scattered on the surface of a wounded world, may we be reminded by our brokenheartedness that we are rightly neighbors to all the other wonderful and irreplaceable specks of dust upon the earth. May our sorrow teach us kindness and may we share it with intention. And finally, we light one last candle for all the joys and all the sorrow that live within the sanctuaries of our hearts. May they each be held gently in gratitude, in love, and in hope. I'm gonna keep on moving forward. Keep on moving forward. Let's keep on moving forward. Never turning back. Never turning back. Let us rise in body and mind spirit. To sing together on closing hymn, number 131. Love will guide us. We'll sing a couple of additional verses. If you're using a hymnal, you're gonna wanna look at the screen at the end. Please, let's try the hard night. Hear the song, hear the song. Springs new big jelly to the harvest. And love will be with you today with these words on meeting a stranger from John O'Donoghue. With respect and reverence that the unknown between us might flower into discovery and lead us beyond the familiar field blind with the weed of weariness and the old walls of habit. As we meet the week ahead, may this chalice flame be carried with us with respect, with reverence, and with hope for what is to come. Blessed be and going peace.