 Welcome to 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 Lori Cresswell, and on behalf of the entire congregation I would like to extend a special welcome to visitors, those in this auditorium with us, and those joining us on the radio or via our live stream. We are a welcoming congregation, so whoever you are and wherever you are on your journey, we celebrate your presence among us. This would be a wonderful 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 each other. We will spend about 30 seconds together in quiet, so I'll keep time and let you know when we will move forward. As we end our time of silence, may we draw a deep and sintering breath to ground us in this space and time, and from that place 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 human, gloriously and miraculously alive and breathing, wondrously and mysteriously human. May we rise in the ways that we do as we continue in Reverend Dames' words, sparking our chalice, 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 faith. And may we turn to those faces new and familiar and offer a warm greeting to one another. Let's remain standing for our opening song. Number 1003, we will sing it in unison as an entire congregation, not taking any of the repeats, so each line moving into the next. Then we'll sing it through twice as a round. Part one will be this side of the auditorium, Heather will help lead that section. Part two will be this side of the auditorium, and so we'll sing it through twice as a round. But let's begin singing together, where do we come from? 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 two young children into our family and religious community. Today it is our cherished assignment to welcome and pledge our care to Raymond Warren, Iden Carter and Cora Abigail Kiefer. 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 wonders and also reminded of our responsibility to all of our 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 if our parents will come forward with their child. I'm going to invite the congregation to turn to your insert in your order of service. Can you please rise in all the ways that we do as we join together in the pledge of dedication 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 Raymond and Korah into this spiritual community and extend to their parents our love and support in the joys and challenges of caregiving. As these children grow we will share with them our insights, our values and our dreams that they may enjoy the rich benefits of our religious heritage. Now the grownups can sit down but I'm going to ask the kids to stay right standing because I have something special to ask you. Today we welcome Raymond and Korah into our first Unitarian family. I ask you to join us in welcoming them. Will you try to be true friends to Raymond and Korah? Will you speak to them with kindness, treat them fairly and help them to feel at home here? If so, please say we will. All right you can sit down now. And now to those who bring their child before us, Vicki Eiden and Dale Carter, Oliver and Amanda Kiefer. As caregivers, it is your privilege and obligation to provide an environment both of security and challenge in which these young souls whom you bring before us today will grow. Do you commit yourselves to promote their 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? And finally, do you reaffirm your commitment to one another as partners in life and in parenting? If so, please say we do. We have many people here to support our children today and some are up on stage with us and some are in the congregational seats. So with Raymond, our big sisters, Vivian and Daphne, and Godmother Carrie Mae Eiden is here, grandmother, excuse me, if you would like to stand, and guide parents Patrick Fry and Erica White are here as well as friend Jerry Ebert. And with Cora, all the way from Boston is Anna Rose Ott, the godmother of Cora, and we also have Joni and Kurt Kiefer, and Barbara and Henry Nels Lowe, and friends Sue and Jim Versino, Mary Elizabeth and Giorgette Batham, Mary Grace Ott, and Marite Hagman. So glad to have these folks among us. I ask all of you, do you take upon yourselves the privilege and responsibility to nurture, defend and support the inherent worth and dignity of these children to whom you bear a special relationship? Will you encourage them to grow in freedom and spirit, to always seek the truth? Finally, will you help them 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 say we will. Thank you. You may be seated. In the act of dedication, we use the symbolism of water as a sign of our common heritage. There is no suggestion here of a washing away of inherited sin. Modern 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 water 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. Vicki and Dale named this child, Raymond Warren Iden Carter. 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. Oliver and Amanda named this child, Abigail Kiefer. 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 their dedication, we give to Quora and Raymond a rosebud, fragrant symbol of beauty, promise, and love. These roses have no thorns, a symbol of 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 these children will learn to recognize the beauty and goodness which does exist, and that they will grow in wisdom and compassion, adding their own beauty to the world. Raymond, as this flower unfolds in all its natural beauty, so may your life unfold. Quora, as this flower unfolds in all of its natural beauty, so may your life unfold. Also, as a remembrance of their dedication, we give Quora and Raymond a blanket, a gift from the 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. We have dedicated these children this day. 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 of 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 Quora and Raymond. Congratulations. Oh, she's clapping for herself. And as our families head back to their seats, I invite you to listen to one more piece of music from our choir. Invite the children to go to their religious education classes at this time. We are grateful for those children who remain among us as well. I bring to you some preliminary thoughts for this morning's worship. They come from the work of Unitarian Universalist minister, the Reverend Teresa Soto. It's 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 a representation of the mathematician turned weather scientist's work. He proposed that we should make, 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 their thousands and thousands of fabulous flamboyant friends. Today we rise in the ways that we do. One thousand and fifty-one we are. We invite you to join us in singing. We will sing it mostly all the way through, but we will take the repeats at the beginning and the end. When in doubt, Heather and I will help you. Each child that's calling to the universe, who, of that's warmers, who, sisters of mercy and brothers of love, please be seated. 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 into the city 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, or 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, 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 about? Oh, if only it was 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 in deed 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 was 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 that train, my glorious reading time or my quick chance for a nap often dissipated among requests to talk. Why oh why hadn't I said accountant? I remember discussing this with my internship supervisors, asking them how they would have answered the conductor's question. They quickly jumped in saying, we are a non-cretal, post-denominational, non-traditional congregation with roots in Transylvania and New England, leaving thought free, trying to keep our hearts open, gathering 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 on the train taught me many things. Most importantly to this reflection, I came to realize the difficulty for many UUs 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. I thought others might be as well. So one of the first adult education courses I led was called Articulating Your Theology. This 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 who... 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? Who or what is this community to you? As we turn our attention this month to the theme of mission and vision, and 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 this 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 and 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 and fear, 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 says. 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, treating people as units rather than as humans. Yet I have also met and worked with extraordinary leaders who were creating islands of sanity, where good work still got done and where people enjoyed healthy relationships in the midst of chaos, fierce opposition, heartbreaking defeat, 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 they kept going. Several years ago, she says, in the face of these irreversible global problems, I began to challenge every community I met with these questions. Who are you and who do you choose to be in 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'm asking you. Over the past year, I have sat with many of you who have felt this sense of 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? 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 this community? The Reverend Jake Morrill shares this illustrative tale from his own childhood. He says, I do believe every elementary school across the whole South of our country has at least one self-appointed playground atheist. And it beared in elementary school as the Reagan years came into full bloom. The playground atheists just happened to be me. From time to time, the Tennessee State Legislature cooks up a wild idea. And so it happened when I was in 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, our hands folded on our desks. Then she opened it up for discussion. 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 his eyes shining, Matthew accepted the chance to lay out his convictions. And all around the room heads were nodding. The reporter said thanks and asked for others. A girl in the back chimed in, reinforcing Matthew's point that if ever this was a world that needed more prayer. Our train to fish for intrigue and look for friction. So his hands waved in the air. She wondered if anyone had a different opinion. 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 had raised my hand. The microphone dangled close, the camera drew near, and 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 is 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 the next morning. No, instead what the good people of East Tennessee saw was a chubby boy with thick glasses announcing to the whole world that God didn't exist. As soon as that reporter departed, the whisper of scandal threaded its way through the fourth grade, then the whole school. By the next morning, certain classmates were able to tell me in great detail just what they 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. My atheism before had been this occasional source of wonder, the kind of pride you take when a neighbor happens to own an exotic bird, wonder to have proximity to something so odd. This time it seemed the playground atheists had gone too far. The week wore on as I lived in the 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 and the other from the minister of religious education. Without even opening the envelopes, I knew what to expect. And sure enough, there it was. They were proud, not of my atheism per se, but of the character they said they saw in what I had done. Like ancient prophets, our Sunday school class was studying that year. I had stood my ground, said what I thought. The next day the purgatory of exclusion continued, but somehow I didn't mind it as much. A cold shoulder was nothing compared to what Jonah or Amos had faced. And by Monday it seemed everything was back to normal. In all the years since, my theology has evolved. I've taken communion, I've stood in awe before mountains, I've prayed till tears came and I sat in meditation for long 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 never failed me. 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 the one that first 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 children celebrating the new life among us, and soon when we remember those who have died in the past year, we are affirming this core. No matter where you are on this journey, you have a home here. You are not now and never will be alone. For 18 years I've been here 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 have 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 with me into that space. 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 that 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, the world we live in is hurting. We can be agents of healing and bringers of joy. In times of despair, let us be this for ourselves, for one another, for everyone who walks through our doors. This is no time to stumble over our words or to 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 dear 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. And perhaps if that's still too wordy for a quickly moving train, I might just say we are a faith that calls us to work for a world of true solidarity, deep compassion, and a fierce, unrelenting love. That is my answer. Now I'm asking you, who do we choose to be? I'll leave you today with the words of my colleague, the UU minister, Thomas Rhodes, who says, within the space of an instant, you can make a first impression, 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 and within our shared life together to make it so. The time of the offering is an invitation for us to move more fully into that sense of who we are and who we choose to be. And at the end of the day, we are each invited in our own way to find our own connection with the gifts that we have received, the gifts of time and of talent and certainly financial resource. And so I remind you that our outreach offering recipient for this week is the Wisconsin Network for Peace, Justice, and Sustainability. I hope you will take a moment to read about their important work and the red floors. May such a sense of our authentic self and of our deeper convictions be found in the generosity we share in the offering. So may it be. Appreciate the financial gifts given and received today, as well as the gift of times given by many people who help make this service run smoothly. You were greeted today by Gail Bliss and Abigail Musselman and her daughters. Our ushers are Sue Haug and Dorot Bergen down here and some last minute volunteers, I believe, upstairs. Thank you. Staff is doing sound today, but if you would like to be trained to be a sound operator, that would be wonderful. And you can talk to Steve after the service about that. Making us some coffee to drink while we visit after the service is Mary Lee Nelson. And Karen Rose Gredler will be at the welcome table to answer your questions. And our beautiful flowers today were donated by Joan and Kurt Kiefer and Barbara and Henry Nels Low, otherwise known as Cora's grandparents. I'd like to draw your attention to one announcement in your red floors after the service today starting at 1245 in the landmark auditorium. There will be a town hall type gathering, exploring our mission and vision, and addressing the question of who are we. So hopefully you can grab some coffee, stay after the service, and join for that important discussion. As is our custom on this weekend closest to all souls, we remember all who have died in the past year. So I invite you to join me in the 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, whom we lost this 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, Terri Millar, Gaye Eliason, Marie McCabe, Nell Campbell, Lenore Lusson, Roger Chapman. And I invite you now in this time of remembrance, connection, and love to name all those whom you have lost, those 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. When there is death, life goes on. May we be emboldened by the memory of all these beloved souls to continue building the community and the world of their dreams. May their memory, their commitment, their courage lead us ever on. This is our prayer. Amen and blessed be. Continuing in that spirit of that commitment, honoring that commitment of those that we just remembered, may we rise in the ways that we do and turn to 1,028 as we sing together the fire of commitment. Because of those who came before we are, in spite of their failings, we believe. Because of and in spite of the horizons of their vision, we too dream. Let us go remembering to praise, to live in the moment, to love mightily and 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 gather together again. Blessed be, go in peace, and please be seated for the postlude.