 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. Unitarian Universalism supports the freedom of conscience of each of us as individuals as together we seek to be a force for good in the world. My name is Lori Cresswell, and on behalf of the congregation, I would like to extend a special welcome to visitors, both those of you here in the room and those joining us on the radio or via livestream. We are a welcoming congregation, so whoever you are, and wherever you are on your life's journey, we celebrate your presence among us. This would be a great time to silence your cell phones as we join together in a few moments of silence for contemplation, meditation, or prayer as we become fully present with ourselves and with one another. We'll be together in quiet for about 30 seconds, and I will keep time for us. May we join together in a time of quiet. May we together take one deep breath as we end the time of silence, breathing to the center of our being. From that place of center and grounding, we move into our opening words. We come into one another's presence, seeking some part of ourselves, knowing that we do not live alone, knowing that we cannot live fully if we are for ourselves alone. We come as ordinary people, each with strengths and each with weaknesses, aware of our shortcomings. Our lives set before us many tasks. We are not always equal to them. Too often, we fall short of our best expectations of ourselves. We do not know enough. We are not always patient. We fall into anger. We cannot find strength. We do not wait for wisdom. We lack vision. It hurts. It hurts to acknowledge our shortcomings. And yet, here we are, not always perfect, not always wise, but always human, gloriously and miraculously alive and breathing, wondrously and mysteriously human. Continuing with Calvin Dame's words, I invite us to rise in the ways that we do as we spark our chalice together. The words are printed in your order of service. As together we say, may our time together renew our hope. May the stories we share refresh our courage. May the songs we sing lift our spirits. May the words we speak invigorate us. May the touch of hands, the sound of laughter, the sight of faces new and familiar restore us in pain. I invite you now to exchange greetings with one another. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Let's remain standing. We will join in 1003. I invite us to sing it all the way through without repeats. And then we will do it twice also without the internal repeats as an entire song as around in two parts. So once together and then two times through is two parts. Part one, Heather will help lead here on this side of the congregation. Part two, I'll help you sing through it. Sing it through twice as around. Let's begin together. Today we continue our service with a precious moment in any congregation's life, the right of dedication. This is a time when we who are gathered here have the privilege to welcome one young child into our family and religious community. Today it is our cherished assignment to welcome and pledge our care to Cecilia Clara Lou Moore. Today all of us gathered here are more than casual witnesses to life's gifts and nature's marvelous creations. We are all being invited to share the joy which these parents take in their child and to enter more fully into their lives. We continue with this time honored ritual because children are our present delight. By them we are reminded of life's small joys and wisdoms and also reminded of our responsibility to all children. Here in this community we strive to be a place where all children will find ears to listen, arms to embrace a world of experience to encourage their inquiring minds. We are blessed by their presence among us and pray that our lives will be a blessing to them. And now I invite our family to come forward. And I'm going to invite the congregation to rise as you are able and willing and join in the pledge of dedication that is printed in your order of service. As together we say, for the gift of childhood whose innocence, laughter, and curiosity bring hope, joy, and new understanding into our lives, we lift thankful hearts. We welcome Cecilia Clare Lou into this spiritual community and extend to her parents our love and support in the joys and challenges of caregiving. As this child grows we will share with her our insights, our values, and our dreams that she may enjoy the rich benefits of our religious heritage. Thank you. The adults can be seated and I ask the children to stay standing because I have a special question for you. Today we welcome Cecilia Clare Lou into our first Unitarian family. I ask you to join in welcoming her. Will you try to be true friends to Clare Lou? Will you speak to her with kindness, treat her fairly, and help her to feel at home here? If so, please say we will. Thank you. You may be seated now. And now to those who bring their child before us, Rudy and Kristi Moore. As caregivers it is your privilege and obligation to provide an environment both of security and challenge in which this young soul which you bring before us today will grow. Do you commit yourselves to promote her physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being? Will you respect as well as protect this child, bestowing your love as a free and unmerited gift? Also, do you reaffirm your commitment to each other as partners in life and in parenting? If so, please say we do. And to Ella I ask you as her big sister and the other big sibling around here too. Do you take upon yourselves the privilege and responsibility to nurture, defend, and support the inherent worth and dignity of this child to whom you bear a special relationship? Will you encourage her to grow in freedom of spirit and to always seek the truth? Finally, will you help her to grow in love for the larger human family and to love and respect the larger community of life to which we all belong? If so, please make this sacred promise by responding I will. In the act of dedication we use the symbolism of water as a sign of our common heritage. There's no suggestion here of a washing away of inherited sin. Children come into this world with the limitations natural to our species, but they arrive innocent. Water here stands for vitality. It is the essence of life, the foundation of being. Its use here reminds us of our common bond with all embracing, ever-sustaining nature. This is also the waters of our community, the waters of the world, gathered at our annual water communion service. This water was brought to us in joy for the sake of memory and community. Its use here reminds us of the ever-sustaining and embracing love of community. Rudy and Christie name this child. Cecilia Clara Lou Moore. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love, and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech, and a compassionate heart. As a token of her dedication, we give to Clara Lou a rosebud, fragrant symbol of beauty, promise, and love. This rose has no thorns symbolizing the better world we would give our children if it were in our power. While we know that the world is not altogether as lovely as this rosebud, we hope that Clara Lou will learn to recognize the beauty and the goodness which does exist and that she will grow in wisdom and compassion, adding her own beauty to the world. Clara Lou, as this flower unfolds in all its natural beauty, so may your life unfold. Also as a remembrance of her dedication, we give Cecilia Clara Lou this blanket, a gift from members of our shawl ministry program. When you see this blanket, may you be reminded of the warmth, the support, and the love of this community for your child and your family. Today we have dedicated this child. May we also dedicate ourselves this day as we contemplate the miracle of new life, as we renew in our hearts a sense of wonder and joy. May we be stirred to a fresh awareness of the sacredness of life and the divine promise of childhood. May we pledge to build a community in which all of our children will grow surrounded by beauty, embraced by love, and cradled in the arms of peace. May we pass on the light of compassion and courage. May that light burn brightly within us all. If you will join me now in welcoming Cecilia Clara Lou. And as our family returns to their seats, we will hear one more piece of music from our choir. We invite the children to go to their children's religious education classes now. This morning's preliminary thoughts come as a reading from Unitarian Universalist Minister, the Reverend Teresa Soto. She has a piece entitled The Butterfly Effect. I wish the knowledge were easier to come by, that individualism is just a scam, that you are always the butterfly wings. You are always the storm. Edward Lorenz, a weather scientist from MIT, is often misquoted on this. The premise that the flap of a butterfly wing can cause a hurricane in a different part of the world. This shorthand isn't all that close to representation of the mathematician turned whether scientists work. He proposed that, should we make even a tiny alteration to nature, we will never know what would have happened if we had not disturbed it, since the subsequent changes are too complex and entangled to restore nature to its previous state. Which is to say, that you have an immeasurable effect on the system. It will change, and you will shape its DNA. You must not believe the lying lie that you do not matter. That whatever change you can organize is so insufficient as to not be worth your time, your energy, your life force. You must be willing to dream a dream that carries forward your community. This is how we rise. This day is polluted with a mistrust of trust, fertile and warm medium for unchecked cruelty and power. You must choose to scream the truth until every leaf and stone bears unrepentant witness to what happens when you try to cage and smash, to pin and frame a butterfly. And there are thousands and thousands of fabulous, flamboyant friends. May we rise in all the ways that we do. We will sing together 1,051. We are. We'll do the repeats at the beginning and the end, but the rest of it we'll sing through. When in doubt, Heather and me, we will help lead the way. Here we go. Brothers and killers of faith. Before arriving here in Madison in 2001, I served for two years as the intern minister of religious education at the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia. During those years, Dan and I lived with his parents an hour outside of the city, and each day I traveled back and forth on the R5 Doylestown Septoline. I relished those rides, catching up on reading, occasionally taking a nap. After a few months, one of the conductors approached me and asked what I was doing in the city and why, especially, was I heading in every Sunday morning? I explained that I was working at a church. Now, this is the moment I have since learned, but didn't know at the time that many ministers say, I'm an accountant. I work at a bank or I'm in retail. Anything other than I'm a minister. The conversation that started that day on the train was one that could have been expected. The conductor's follow-up question was, of course, what church? When I answered, he said, I haven't heard of that one before. I'm AME Zion, you know, African Methodist Episcopal. We believe in Jesus. How about you? What are you all about? Oh, if it was only that easy, I thought to myself, in that moment I clearly did not do a good job of explaining Unitarian Universalism. I may have said something about the complexities of being a non-cretal faith or about a community bound indeed and not creed. Whatever I said, he laughed out loud and walked away muttering something about a church that allows you to worship a chicken. Now, I know for a fact that I am not the one who brought up the chicken, yet my answer was sufficiently vague enough to allow him to easily jump to that conclusion. Over the next two years, that conductor would bellow the revs on board, everybody, every single time I walked on to his train. My glorious reading time or quick chance for a nap often dissipated among requests to talk. Why oh why had an ISET accountant? I remember discussing this with my internship supervisors, asking them how they would have answered his question. They quickly jumped in saying, we are a non-cretal, post-denominational, non-traditional congregation with roots in Transylvania, New England, where we leave thought free and we try to keep our hearts open and we gather with others of differing theological perspectives. And I quickly realized that try as they might, such a response would not have led my conversation partner to a different conclusion. Those two years taught me many things. Most importantly to this reflection, I came to realize the difficulty for many you use in answering that question, who are we? We can easily tell you what we are not or what we don't believe. We often struggle to convey who we are. I was still wrestling with this question a bit when I arrived here and I thought others might be as well. So one of the first adult education courses I led was called Articulating Your Theology. The course had a fantastic exercise in which each individual created an NPR sponsorship ad for the congregation. Today's program is brought to you by the First Unitarian Society of Madison, a community where how would you finish that sentence? You have one minute before morning radio shows to explain the whole of who we are. What would you say? What is this community to you? As we turn our attention this month to the theme of mission and vision, we begin with the question who are we? I would offer you a twist and ask who do we choose to be? Reframing the question in this way has a certain energy and life force. It is active. It recognizes that we are in process, that we hold within us great promise and possibility. It acknowledges all that we have been, the deep history we share and it calls us to think about who we want to be as we move forward. The author and teacher Margaret Wheatley asks the same question. She writes, if you were to ask me what time it is on the clock of the world, I would have to answer that it is accurate to label this time as uncertain, chaotic, spinning wildly out of control. In times such as these when communities and nations are disrupted by violence, as people retreat in self-protection and lash out in anger, as leaders stridently promise security and outcomes that we know cannot be true. We enter the age of retreat from one another, from the values that hold us together, from ideas and practices that encourage inclusion. We retreat from faith in leaders, from the belief in basic human goodness. We have huge large-scale problems before us, she writes. As a lifelong activist focused on changing leadership in large systems, as one still inside those large systems, I must tell you that large-scale solutions are not possible. Those in power ignore our efforts as they grasp for control, overreact to crises, rather than thinking systemically, they treat people as units rather than humans. Yet I have also met and worked with extraordinary leaders who were creating islands of sanity, where good work still gets done, where people enjoy healthy relationships in the midst of chaos and fierce opposition and heartbreaking defeats, lack of support, isolation and loneliness. I have been with them in circumstances that would cause most other leaders to give up and walk away, yet still they keep going. Several years ago in the face of irreversible global problems, I began to challenge every community I worked with with these questions. Who are you and who do you choose to be for this time? Are you willing to use whatever power and influence you have to create islands of sanity that evoke and rely on our best human qualities to create, produce and persevere? Now I am asking you. Over the past year, I have sat with many of you who have felt this uncertainty and dread over the future of our community. Things are changing and shifting around us and some have chosen to retreat from this place for a time. What this question is asking of us is what is at our core? What is unchanging about our community? When leadership changes, when new faces arrive and beloved ones leave? When it feels as if it is all too much? What is unchanging? What is solid? What is our everlasting melody that lives among us at the core of our community? The Reverend Jake Morrill shares this illustrative tale from his own childhood. He writes, I do believe that every elementary school across the entire south of our country has at least one self-appointed playground atheist and it bearded elementary school as the Reagan years came into full bloom. The playground atheist just happened to be me. From time to time, the Tennessee state legislature would cook up a wild idea and so it happened when I was in the fourth grade that a reporter from the local NBC affiliate came to visit with a cameraman in tow. The legislators in Nashville were considering whether to mandate prayer in school and this reporter was on a mission to find out what fourth graders thought. To start off, she had us all bow our heads, hands folded on our desks, then she opened it up for discussion. Well, what did we think? To absolutely no one's surprise, it was Matthew who spoke first. Everyone in the zip code knew Matthew loved Jesus. Just adored him, brought him up all the time. So with eyes shining, Matthew accepted the chance to lay out his convictions. All around the room, heads were nodding. The reporter said, thank you, asked if there were others, a girl in the back chimed in reinforcing Matthew's point that if ever, this was a world that needed more prayer. Reporters are trained to fish for intrigue and look for friction. So as the hands waved in the air, she wondered if anyone had a different opinion. The hands dropped, there was silence. I recall the face of my good friend Jeff in those slow motion seconds staring at me intently from across the room, shaking his head and mouthing the word, don't. But there it was. I'd raised my hand, the microphone dangled close, the camera drew near the room, emptied of all air. Later, I recalled having made mention of things I happened to know about the Constitution. I still believe it's possible I uttered the phrase separation of church and state. But none of these high-minded ideals appeared on the local news that evening or again the next morning. No, no. Instead, what the good people of East Tennessee saw was a chubby boy with thick glasses announcing to the whole world that God doesn't exist. And as soon as the reporter departed, the whisper of scandal threaded its way through the fourth grade and then the school. And by the next morning, certain classmates were able to tell me in great detail just what their parents thought about a boy who would say something like that on TV. My parents, I gather, received some feedback. What I had was not fame. It was outright infamy. Before, my atheism had been an occasional source of wonder, the kind of pride you take when a neighbor happens to own an exotic bird that you could have proximity to something so odd. But this time it seemed the playground atheist had gone too far. It was unacceptable. And the week wore on and I lived in a slow agony of exile. But then Thursday afternoon, two handwritten letters arrived, both from the Unitarian Universalist Church. One was from my Sunday school teacher, the other from the Minister of Religious Education without even opening the envelopes I knew what to expect. And sure it was, they're enough. They were proud. Not of my atheism per se, but of the character they said they saw in what I'd done. Like the ancient prophets, our Sunday school class was studying, I had stood my ground and had said what I thought. The next day the purgatory of exclusion continued, but somehow I didn't mind as much. A cold shoulder was nothing compared to what Jonah or Amos had endured. And by Monday it was all back to normal. In all the years since, he says, my theology has evolved. I have taken communion. I have stood in awe before mountains. I have prayed till the tears came, sat in meditation for hours in a dark Buddhist Zendo. But truth be told, it was as an atheist that I first came to see in a way that was real and has never failed me since. How I am part of a love wider than my own life. How that spacious embrace makes itself known to me most often through a community like that first one who told me, you are not alone. This message, you are not alone, lives at the core of this community. From birth until death, you belong. You belong here. You belong here among us. On this day when we dedicate a new life, when we celebrate that child among us, and soon when we remember those who have died in this past year, we're reaffirming this core. No matter where you are on this journey, you have a home here. You are not alone. For 18 years, I have lived among you, and I know this is who you are. I have seen you hold one another up in times of despair. I have watched you hold one another as you cry. I have seen you celebrate new births, new jobs, marriages, retirements. I've heard the words time and again. I don't know what I would do without you, all of you. I had something hard to do, and I brought you into that space with me. I knew you were there. The core of this community is that even among disagreements, even when the path ahead seems hard or murky or uncertain, at our core, we know we are in this together. We will not retreat into isolation. We will stay together, and with all of our fear and all of our hope, with all of our gifts and all of our questions, we will build this beloved community together. My friends, our world is a very hurting place. We can be agents of healing and bringers of joy. In times of despair, let us be this for ourselves, one another, everyone who walks through our doors. This is no time to stumble over our words or be silent about the good news we have to share. And so with the great gifts of hindsight and time, I would like to travel back to that train heading into Philadelphia with that wonderful conductor questioning who we are as Unitarian Universalists. This is what I would tell him today. We are a vibrant faith that calls us to love one another, to act for a just world for all, to work toward a hopeful future while freely welcoming uncertainty. Perhaps that's still too wordly for a quickly moving train. So I might just tell him we are a faith that calls us to work for a world of true solidarity, deep compassion, and a fierce, unrelenting love. That's my answer. Now I'm asking you, who do we choose to be? I'll leave you today with these words from the UU Minister, Thomas Rhodes. He says, within the space of an instant, you can make a first impression, you can show gratitude, change your mind, wipe away a tear, live and die. It only takes a minute to write a note, tell a joke, change a diaper, sing a song, or be still. Within an hour, you can share a meal, run an errand, make a cake, balance your checkbook sometimes. If you had a day, you could paint a room, feed a crowd, visit relatives, read a book, rest. If you commit a year, you can write a book, plant and harvest a crop, become a parent, change your life and with your lifetime and with your life, you can and you will change the world. May we go forth today knowing this to be true and may we work within our own lives, within our shared life together to make it so. As we move into our offering, this time is a way of honoring and living into the truth that the way that we best embody who we are, who we choose to be, is in the way that we offer the gift of our truest selves and all the resources that we have, our affection, our time, and certainly our financial resources. May we also know then that 50% of this morning's offering will be shared with the Wisconsin network for peace, justice, and sustainability. I hope you'll take a moment to read more about their important work in the red floors. May such an offering now occur that is steeped in that fierce love and deep generosity. So may it be. We appreciate the financial gifts that have been given and received today, as well as the gifts of time given by those many people who've helped make today's service possible. Greeting us this morning were Claire Box and Katie Beam and her family. Our ushers are Liza Monroe, Dick Goldberg, Brian Chanis, and Brian Lininger. On sound, I believe we have Dan Carrant. Steve? All right. Thanks, guys. Our lay minister today is Anne Smiley. The beautiful flowers were donated by Barbara Nells Low. John Powell is here to offer a tour to anyone who would like one after the service. You can meet over by the end of the ramp there. At our welcome table ready to answer any questions you might have is Pamela McMullen. And very importantly, Sandy Push and Eleni Museradvarga are making coffee for us to enjoy after the service. I wanted to draw your attention to an announcement in your red floors about the meeting at 12.45 today in the landmark auditorium. This is a town hall meeting where we'll start looking at some of the mission and vision questions. And this today, we'll be talking about who are we. So hope you can come back and join us for that. As is our custom on this weekend closest to all souls, we remember all those who have died in the past year. So if you will join me now in a spirit of prayer and meditation, holy one on this day of remembrance, we say aloud their names again. The names of the members of this beloved congregation who left us in the past year. As we hear their names, may we open our hearts to their memories and be filled with gratitude for the gifts of their lives. Lee Weiss, Charles William Shuler, Terry Millar, Gaye Eliason, Marie McCabe, Nell Campbell, Lenore Lusson, Roger Chapman. I invite you now in this time of remembrance and connection and love to name all those whom you have lost. Anyone you would like to bring into this time together. So as I scan the room, please share aloud the names of your dear departed loved ones. We'll begin over here. We have heard the words of the people, the people who have placed the names of their loved ones before this community and before the Holy. The words spoken are words of love and trust. Love for those whose names have been spoken and love for those who hear. Trust in the acceptance of this community and trust in the continuity of life. When there is birth, life goes on. And when there is death, life goes on. May we be emboldened by the memory of all these beloved souls to continue building the community in the world of their dreams. May their memory, their commitment, and their courage lead us ever on. This is our prayer. Amen and blessed be. In that spirit of honoring and deeply regarding that fire of commitment, I invite us to rise in the ways that we do and join our voices in singing number 1028. Because of those who came before us, we are. In spite of their failings, we believe. Because of and in spite of the horizons of their vision, we to dream. Let us go remembering to praise, to live in the moment, to love mightily, to bow to the mystery. We extinguish this flame but not the light of truth, the warmth of community or that fire of commitment. These we carry in our hearts until we are together again. Blessed be, go in peace, and please be seated for the postlude.