 The one in the room, in the back, everybody, don't want to have to go to a gym. Except for every- I actually like it when they have it on the ground. I think it's nice down here. It's not like- But it all- Maybe in the- Yeah, it was a- It was a- It was a great gym. It's a great gym. It's a great gym. It's a- It's a great gym. It's a- It's a- It's a- It's a- It's a- It's a- It's a- Good morning. 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. Unitarian Universalism supports the freedom of conscience of each individual, as together we seek to be a force for good in the world. My name is Karen Bringelson, and on behalf of the congregation, I would like to extend a special welcome to visitors. We are a welcoming congregation, so whoever you are and wherever you are on your life's journey, we celebrate your presence among us. As we gather in this place and this time, let us remember, all of us are visitors in this life. We come together to find meaning and hope with all the other visitors. Let us join our hearts and minds together as we celebrate life. In preparation for our service today, please silence your cell phones if you have not done so already. I now invite you to join me in a few moments of silence for contemplation, meditation, prayer, as we settle in and come fully into this time and place together. Good morning. We are going to sing together hymn number 188, which is around, like, row, row, row, your boat. So, we're going to do it this way. We're going to sing together two times through, so we can feel good about the melody, and then we're going to sing it as around. You can sing whatever part you want, but if you're closest to Reverend Kelly, she'll be leading part one, and Karen, part two, and Reverend Doug, part three. If you and your family like to sing in parts, you can do that. The choir is going to be singing whatever they want. Have a good time. As long as it's this song, choir, please rise and body your spirit. Let's sing together. Come, come, whoever you are, wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving, ours is no caravan of despair. Come yet again, come, one more time together, come, come, whoever you are, wanderer, lover of leaving, ours is no caravan of despair. Come yet. Temple by Steve Garnas Holmes. Tourists come to admire the temple to take pictures and buy mementos, but it's not on their maps. Pilgrims come seeking their separate peace in it, but they can't find it. The army arrives ordered to destroy the temple, but it has vanished. It isn't here or there. It isn't in a place. It isn't a thing. It is empty space. It is the love between us. It is not something that is, but something that happens, like gravity that exists only between objects in space. The dwelling place of God exists only in the love we hold between us. It is eternal when we enter that holy space among us, which God creates and we enter God and nothing can remove us. In the cool of the sanctuary, we listen to the music and we breathe. Please join to the chalice lighting words in your order of service, as we say, today we enter to the shelter of each other, to the arms that hold us in the midst of the storms, to the voices that remind us of our own, to the hearts that accept us for who we are. May we be for each other a source of safety and sending. May we offer each other both comfort and challenge. May this place of peace lead us to share peace with others. I invite you to greet your neighbors. Good morning. Good morning. I'm well. How are you? Good morning. Good morning. Glad that you're here. Good morning. Good morning, Charles. Glad you're here. Good morning, Paul. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. High five. Thank you. Good morning, John. It'll go with Karen. 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 Juniper Quinn Egan. 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 to enter more fully into their lives. We continue time and again with this ritual because children are our delight. By them we are reminded of life's small joys and wisdoms. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry writes that in a house which becomes a home, one hands down and another takes up the heritage of mind and heart, laughter and tears, musings and deeds. Love like a carefully loaded ship crosses the gulf between the generations. We come here today with our ship carefully loaded with the gifts that Juniper truly needs. Ears to listen, arms to embrace, a world of experience to encourage her inquiring mind. We are blessed by her presence among us and pray that our lives will be a blessing to her. I invite us to rise in all the ways that we do. Your response is an insert in the order of service. May we join our voices together saying 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 Juniper 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 them our insights, our values and our dreams that she may enjoy the rich benefits of our religious heritage. Thank you. Now if the adults will be seated and our children will stay standing, today we welcome Juniper into our first Unitarian family. She'll be part of our classes here, she'll be growing and playing and learning with you. So I ask you to join us in welcoming her. Will you try to be true friends to her? Will you speak with kindness? Will you treat her with fairness and help her to feel at home here? If so, please say we will. Thanks guys, please be seated. And now to those who've brought their child before us, Brendan and Kinnick Egan. As caregivers, it is your privilege and obligation to provide an environment both of security and challenge in which this young soul who 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 and bestow your love as a free and unmerited gift? Do you also reaffirm your commitment today to one another as partners in life and in parenting? If so, please say we do. Now we have a few special folks with us today. We have Big Brother Aiden and we have our grandparents, Pat and Lloyd Egan. If you will please stand. 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 and spirit and always seek the truth? Will you help her to grow in love for the larger human family, to love and respect the larger community of life to which we all belong? If so, please make this sacred promise by responding we will. Thank you. Please be seated. Now 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. This child came into the world with the limitations natural to our species, but she arrived 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. It is also the water of our community, the waters of the world gathered at our water communion service. This water was an offering of the earth 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 this community. Brendan and Kinnick name this child, Juniper Quinn Egan. 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 Juniper a rosebud, fragrant symbol of beauty, promise and love. This rose has no thorns symbolizing the better world we would like to give to our children. And while we know that the world is not all together as lovely as this rosebud, we hope that Juniper will learn to recognize the beauty and the goodness which does exist that she will grow in wisdom and compassion, adding her own beauty to the world. Juniper as this flower unfolds in all its natural beauty, so may your life unfold. We also give to her a blanket, a gift from the members of our shawl ministry program. Junie, when you see this blanket, may you be reminded of the warmth of the community and the love for you and your family. Today we have dedicated this child. May we also dedicate ourselves. 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 world in which all children grow, surrounded by beauty, embraced by love, and cradled in the arms of peace. May we pass on the light of compassion and courage, and may that light burn brightly within us all. If you'll join me in welcoming Junie. And now as we rise in body or spirit, to sing our next hymn, number 318, our children and teachers may leave for classes. This month we move into a new theme, the theme of sanctuary. And as we did last month, we are presenting a collage of reactions, thoughts, reflections on the theme of sanctuary by our worship team. I begin with a reading by the Reverend Kathleen McTeague entitled, This Place is Sanctuary. You who are broken hearted, who woke today with despair, whistling through your mind, come in. You who are brave but wounded, limping through life and hurting with every step, come in. You who are fearful, who live with shadows hovering over your shoulders, come in. This place is sanctuary, and it is for you. You who are filled with happiness, whose abundance overflows, come in. You who walk through your world with lightness and grace, who awoke this morning with strength and hope, you who have everything to give, come in. This place is your calling, a riverbank to channel the sweet waters of your life, the place where you are called by the world's need. Here we offer in love, here we receive in gratitude, here we make a circle from the great gifts of breath, attention, and purpose. Come in. A couple of weeks ago, I shared with you the special and amazing gift I received as a young person the first time I was in a congregation that welcomed me as I was. And truth be told, I didn't even know fully who I was, and neither did they, but it was a good start that they were willing to acknowledge my presence and see in me possibility. We make our way in the world in so many stages, and I was honored not only by that initial stage of walking into that place and experiencing that welcome, but also the gift of watching the elders in that congregation as they made their way day after day in that community and beyond. They taught me so much about welcome. By watching them, I realized, I saw how every day in that congregation they reinvested themselves in being open to newcomers, in taking extra time to reach out and let them know that their presence was appreciated and noticed. The gift that they gave to me, they reinvented moment by moment by their attention and by their care. But I also saw from them that there was more to welcome than just what we did within the building that was that church. I saw when I would meet them out in the community and see the way that they related to the world, that they understood that real welcome only matters when you're willing to take that hospitality out into the world that so desperately needs it. By seeing that example at such a young age, I began to understand my own responsibility and gift of being called to be a welcomeer, someone who could offer hospitality by being who I was and bringing a sense of awareness. And so it called me into new places all the time, meeting new people both in the congregation and out in the world. It called me to increase my sense of responsibility in giving back. It called me in high school to begin to work in the peace movement. It called me from a sense of deep hospitality in Texas and graduate school to begin to work with Catholic nuns in the sanctuary movement. This month, as we explore the theme of sanctuary, we move into words and concepts that take us on a worthwhile journey of what it means to be a place of deeper faith, what it means to let ourselves be open to the power of sincere welcome and recognition of our humanity, what is required to maintain that space of holy intent. In exploring and answering these questions, we engage much of the essential questions of why we exist as a congregation. Sanctuary is a word derived from the Latin sanctuary. And like all words that end in area, it means a container, something that keeps something in it. And in this case, it is all of the myriad ways that we understand the sacred and holy in people, in places, in ideas. It is an ancient idea. The area around the altar came to be called the sanctuary and that terminology transcends Christianity. In King Solomon's temple in 950, before the common era, the sanctuary there was where the Holy of Holies, the Ark of the Covenant, was kept. And in Greek temples, the place where they believed that the power of the gods most resided, that was where in their temple they would call it the sanctuary. But the concept all along understood the ramifications of deeper hospitality as a spiritual practice outside of the walls of the temple or the church. In the 12th to 16th century in medieval England, sanctuary was defined as a legal procedure in both canon law, the law of the church, and in secular common law. It was the last resort of someone accused of crimes, often underchase by a mob seeking retribution. Once the fugitive crossed the threshold of the churchyard, the community was required at that point to keep that person safe and feed them for up to 40 days. Before there was due process as part of our legal system, sanctuary delayed legal decision and enabled people to negotiate alternatives or to try to clear their name. Such sanctuary practiced saving lives, providing time for negotiation and allowing people to go into exile rather than to stand trial. Even more than that, that concept had a symbolic value. Even in providing bare bones safety as the original concept did, medieval sanctuary marked that people are vulnerable and by protecting them we participate in a sacred duty. Sanctuary asks us not to think of polarities, but of an ongoing continuum between the needs for places of inner peace, deep clarity, radical acceptance and love, and the cyclical necessity that any real change, any real justice, any real mercy requires deep undergirding and deep resolve and continuous work and exploration. It isn't an either or choice for a congregation. We need to create here a space of welcome, a place where people can really be themselves and find themselves. And that is in one continuous work within turning that sense of hospitality out to the world and especially in this week where we have yet again said to people who have been abused by power that your voices do not matter, we will not listen to you. We have to stand as a voice in opposition to that hateful power that is alive in our world right now. The way that that will happen is by the power and the practice of being loving here and then taking that into the world and letting it become justice and mercy. What we are exploring this month is powerful and important. May we engage the question of what it means to be a people of sanctuary in love and courage and in deep community. So may it be. I am Karen Bringleson. No, I'm music director Drew Collins and I ask Karen if she would be willing to switch with me because what I'm going to say relates to what the choir is going to sing. Oh black and unknown bards of long ago, how came your lips to touch the sacred fire? How in your darkness did you come to know the power and beauty of the minstrel's liar? Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes? Who first from out the still watch, lone and long, feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise within his dark-capped soul burst into song? What of what slave poured out such melody as steel away to Jesus? On its strains his spirit must have nightly floated free, though still about his hands he felt his chains. Who heard great juridan roll, whose starward eye saw chariot swing low, and who was he that breathed the comforting melodic sigh? Nobody knows the trouble I see. What merely living clod, what captive thing could up toward God through all its darkness grope and find within its deadened heart to sing these songs of sorrow, love and faith and hope? How did it catch that subtle undertone? That note in music heard not with the ears. How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown which stirs the soul, or melts the heart to tears? A poem by James Weldon Johnson, an incredibly accomplished African American scholar, professor, poet and diplomat. Spirituals, I have heard it described, heard them described, are hope floating on a sea of despair like oil on water. The slaves who sang spirituals and work songs did so in an effort to build a sanctuary around themselves from the horrors and atrocities that they experienced on a daily, hourly basis. Their hopes were rooted in the long view of justice. They felt that if they waited long enough there would be justice on earth or in heaven. We hear spirituals describing walking around heaven in golden shoes. That's hope. And we hear a lot of bravery as well and spirituals about the underground railroad. Any time a train is mentioned in a spiritual, it was referring to the underground railroad and any time a spiritual discussed departure of any kind, it was almost always a signal to slaves in neighboring plantations that the underground railroad would be coming through and this would be a good night to steal away. In the crucible of history and of justice we burn away the impurities of our society and ourselves. The process feels slow sometimes. And we need coping mechanisms and patience in order to let justice serve itself and us. That's difficult. Most of us aren't used to waiting. Most of us can't wait till November, but there are many cultures and societies that have dwelt on this earth who have had a much longer view than that. They had to. They didn't have a choice. Their hopes were rooted in justice and when hope is all you have, you may seek a sanctuary in song. A reading from Starhawk, we are all longing to go home to some place we have never been, a place half remembered and half envisioned. We can only catch glimpses of it from time to time. Community somewhere there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us. Voices will light up as we enter. Voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins with our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Some place where we can be free. Almost every August as our kid was growing up, my wife Bev and I, excuse me, my wife Bev and our daughter Brianna would pile into the car every single piece of the camping gear. Some years I would come along too. We would drive for hours usually taking a ferry across Lake Michigan but other times driving around Chicago to arrive in rural Michigan for a music festival. This is where we would experience the kind of community of which Starhawk writes. There was an intention at this festival, one of collaboration, cooperation, and co-creation. In addition to enjoying the musical concerts, the dance performances, and the comedy routines, each festi-goer was asked to work two four-hour shifts. Taking my orientation to the open-air kitchen, I was instructed on the secret to cooking good tasting food. The most important ingredient that you will put into the food today, the staff person explained, is love. Never cook with a bitter heart. I know that such a community of love is possible in Unitarian Universalist spaces too. I'm still new around here but I imagine community happens in our religious education classes when eyes light up as beloved friends enter the room. I imagine community happens in ministry team gatherings when we speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. I imagine community happens in spiritual practice groups where comfort is offered during those times when we falter. I even imagine that community will happen in the upcoming journey circles where there will be circles of friends, circles of healing. I invite us to provide sanctuary with and for one another. Come knowing that this will require an intention of love and that work will need to be done. But with our strength joined together, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. And each one of us will be free to be our whole and holy selves. In our final reading this morning from Naomi Shihabnai, when a stranger appears at your door, feed him for three days before asking who he is, where he's come from, where he's headed. That way he'll have strength enough to answer. Or by then, you'll be such good friends you don't care. Let's go back to that. Rice, pine nuts, here take the red brocade pillow. My child will serve water to your horse. No, I was not busy when you came. I was not preparing to be busy. That's the armor everyone put on to pretend they had a purpose in the world. I refuse to be claimed. Your plate is waiting. We will snip fresh mint into your tea. Naomi Shihabnai gives voice through her poems to her experience as an Arab American woman. What she reminds us of in this poem is that in the Middle East, hospitality is sacred. Offering welcome to a stranger is a sacred act. This is no wonder given that the three great faith traditions that arose from the Middle East all teach the moral obligation to care for strangers who have come into your homeland. Judaism proclaims you must treat the outsider as one of your native-born people, as a full citizen, and you are to love them in the same way you love yourself. In Christianity, Jesus of Nazareth taught you shall be rewarded, for when I was alone as a stranger, homeless and excluded, you did not turn away, but welcomed me into your home and into your life. And Islam urges its followers, give to refugees, give them asylum, and give them aid. How different these messages are from what we hear and see in the treatment of immigrants and refugees today. How different these messages of worth and love and welcome. Here we proclaim ourselves to be a sanctuary congregation. We have committed to being a safe space to someone facing deportation. I would like to call on us this month to add to our definition of sanctuary so that we can become a sanctuary for the soul. A sanctuary of healing and transformation, a home for liberation, for that radical force of hospitality and welcome. This feels particularly powerful to me on a weekend when we dedicate our children and promise to them a better world, a world of justice and peace in which to grow. What I worry about for all our children is that this current world is one with winners and losers, with those who belong and those who don't. We do the opposite of what Naomi Sheehanbni suggests in the poem. We ask questions first to find out if you are with us or against us, and then we decide whether or not to offer you tea to listen to your story, to try and understand. Now I don't know about you, but when I look at my two boys and I think and I read and reflect on the damaging and dangerous messages of what it means to be a man, I want to do this, this life, this all of it, I want to do it differently. When I awake at 3 a.m. because the fear and the worry and the despair is too much in me, I look at them and I think of you. For many years now I have lived here among you and I see in your energy and commitment a powerful force for good in this world. I see us working to change the rules, to create a community guided by faith, our unitarianism teaching that all of us are one, that we win or lose together, and our universalism teaching that love is infinite and unconditional, there is enough for everyone. The sanctuary we create here, the sanctuary of the soul honors the worth of everyone, teaches us to trust our conscience, to pursue compassion, to honor and care for this world we share. In this sanctuary we teach our children and remind ourselves it is okay to be different, it is okay to cry, to be vulnerable, to ask for help, to make mistakes, to apologize, to start again, to stay in community when it is easy and beautiful and to stay in community when it is so very hard. So may we commit ourselves to sustaining and growing our definition of sanctuary, to becoming a haven for all, to doing the work to make that vision a reality. May we remember that when a stranger appears at our door, may we feed him for three days before asking who he is and where he's come from and where he's headed. That way he'll have strength enough to answer or by then we'll be such good friends that we don't care. Let's go back to that. I now invite you in the giving and receiving of the morning's offering, our outreach offering recipient this weekend is the Illuminosi project. You can find out more about their good work in your order of service or at their brightly lit beautiful table that is directly outside the auditorium in the commons. We thank you for your generosity. The interim time seeks a particular and intentional shared and transformative ministry. This time and ministry are characterized by candor, compassion, and collaborative work to foster a healthy and dynamic future. It is important that we covenant together our intentions for this interim time. Do I invite John McEvna from our Board of Trustees to begin our covenanting words? We'll all who are members and friends of this congregation rise and body our spirit to end our intermutual covenants with the Reverend Douglas Watkins and our interim minister. In our free religious traditions, these covenants symbolize an affirmation of shared trust. Doug, we would have you dwell among us speaking truth as you discern it in freedom and love. We offer you a free pulpit and our goodwill as you take up your work among us. I welcome you as a partner in ministry in this interim time at the threshold of our journey together to walk with us in the mutual search for greater understanding of our lives. We span religious education as we affirm together the importance of our heritage, our values, and the full range of religious educational experiences. And I invite the congregation to speak the congregation's response printed in the Order of Service insert. We will use our hands and hearts, our vision and voices to help and not to harm this beloved community through this time of transition. I too will use my hand and heart, my vision and voice to help and not harm your beloved community through this time of transition. We will share our portions of truth with you and will listen deeply to what you say that we may grow in understanding. I too will share my portion of truth with you and will listen deeply to what you say that I may grow in understanding. We will dare to disagree agreeably with you to dream what we may become and to venture down some untried paths as we make ready for calling a new minister to partner with us. I will dare to speak hard truths to you as best as I can discern them to hold up a mirror so that you can see your past and present clearly and to make some empty space here for the new to enter in. We know that the work of this congregation belongs to us all. During our time together, may we be a blessing to each other and together may we be a blessing to the world. Blessed be. Thank you all. Please be seated. And before Karen shares our cares of the congregation, I just want to remind you that we do have a reception after our service today out in the commons in honor of our welcoming of Doug and Drew and Karen. So please stick around after service and spend some time welcoming them. We join together each week a community who gathers with joys and sorrows written on our hearts. In this place we love and are loved. We give and we receive in return. We come together to find strength and common purpose, turning our minds and hearts toward one another, seeking to bring into our circle of concern all who need our love and support. This week our thoughts and prayers are with the family of Norma Denner who passed away last Sunday. A memorial service was held yesterday morning. There's also a joy of a recent wedding. Lori Newman shares that her, their son Michael Sinclair was married in a beautiful location in Manitouish waters thanks to the lovely work of Reverend Kelly. And a joy from Cece Boyard. She's glad to have Susan and Terry back home after some time in the Seattle area. We also remember the joys and sorrows too tender to share that live in the fullness of our hearts. And we know that the events surrounding the recent Supreme Court hearings raise deep hurt and anger for many of us. May we seek each in our own way to respond as protectors of truth and voices of compassion and justice in this divisive and difficult time. And you will see in the red floor there is a statement from our congregation. May we remember that we are a part of the web of life that makes us one with all humanity, with all the universe. May we be grateful for the miracle of life that we share and the hope that gives us the power to care, to remember and to love. And now I invite you into our closing hymn, number 131, Love Will Guide Us. Please rise in all the ways that we do. Love will guide us, he says, try to us, open sight of the hard enough. If you care, if you care, speak before a thousand who can change the world. Let's hear it now. Here we go. Love. And now, may you find shelter in being seen for who you really are. May you find hope in this place. May you dwell always in your goodness and may goodness and hope be your eternal home. Though we extinguish this chalice, we do not extinguish the light of wisdom, the fire of our commitment, the warmth of our love and our care. These remain in your lives until you gather in this place again. Before we go to our reception, I invite you for a few moments more together to enjoy the gift of music.