 When this little red light is glowing, that means it's on, it's live, but he doesn't have the volume up right now. Turn it off, although he seems to control it from over there. So just push this, the little light goes off, and this turns purple. And then I just... Maybe I should. You know, just to be sure of that little... And then just pull it... I just need to light it right over there. Last night, I noticed in the other auditorium, they never took the mic out, so she's working with her wireless, and then there's the mic in front of her, and I would find that distracting. Yeah. But... Yeah. And then the chalice lighting, what was this thing called? Actually... Test, test. Let us now take a moment of centering silence to enter fully into worship together. Please join me now in our in-gathering hymn, the words for which are printed in your order of service. Good morning, and 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 Charles Stinger, 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 happen to be on your life journey, we celebrate your presence among us. Newcomers are encouraged to stay for our fellowship hour after the service and to visit the library which is directly across from the center doors of this auditorium. Bring your drinks and your questions. Members of our staff and lay ministry will be on hand to welcome you. You may also look for persons holding teal, stoneware, coffee mugs. These are FUS members, knowledgeable about our faith community, and who would love to visit with you. Experienced guides are generally available to give a building tour after each service, and there is one today. So if you would like to learn more about this sustainably designed addition, or our national landmark meeting house, the Frank Lloyd Wright meeting house across the parking lot, please meet near the large glass window on the left side of the auditorium. We welcome children to stay for the duration of the service, however, because it is difficult for some in attendance to hear in this lively, acoustical environment. Our child haven and commons are excellent places to retire if a child needs to talk or move around. The child haven is in that corner of the atrium and the commons behind the double doors. The service can still be seen and heard from those areas. And speaking of noise, this would be a good time to turn off all electronic devices that might cause a disturbance during the hour. I now like to acknowledge those individuals who help our services to run smoothly. Our sound operator is David Briles. Our lay minister is Tom Boykoff. Roz Woodward greeted you at the door. Usher's are Liza Monroe, Dick Goldberg, Marty Hollis, and Dara Degnan. Hospitality is provided by Andrew and Carly Glarner, and the tour guide is Pamela McMullen. Please note the announcements on the red floor's insert and your order of service which describe upcoming events at the society and provide more information about today's and the coming weeks activities. Note that next weekend is the time to sign up for Select to Connect events. So be sure to note that on your calendars and anticipate the arrival of that choice time. Again, welcome. We hope that today's service will stimulate your mind, touch your heart, and stir your spirit. We gather together as a community of seekers to honor the interdependence of life, to respect the dignity of all, and to honor the land we walk humbly upon. Friends, as we gather the weekend before Columbus Day, reimagined here in Dane County as Indigenous Peoples' Day, let us acknowledge that we walk upon the traditional territories of the Ho-Chunk, Mamacheta, Ojibwe, and Obe Wadmi, the original nations of Wisconsin who continue to cry out for justice and self-determination. We are blessed with a space and opportunity to strive to live our common principles, to bring justice, equity, and compassion into our daily lives, to resist all that threatens the earth and her people, and to live out our dream of a world community of peace, liberty, and justice for all. Let these thoughts carry us forward as we journey and worship together. Blessed be. And now I invite you to rise in body or in spirit and join me in today's chalice lighting, the words for which are printed in your order of service. Divine spark from sacred dark, symbol of our holy intent, illuminate this hour. And now let us turn to our neighbors and exchange a few words of friendly greetings. Different than what we hear sometimes here at church. I heard that heaven is a nearly perfect place that's far away, maybe a place that we can't even get into in this life. But maybe here at church you've heard something a little bit different about heaven being something that you can have here in this world and in this life. So this story is kind of about that, so I want you to pay really close attention, all right? This story is called I Wish Tonight and was written by Lois Rock and illustrated by Anna Wilson. The evening sky darkens, the stars will shine bright, but which is the first star that I'll see tonight? I wish that I may or I wish that I might have everything that I wish for tonight. I wish for a silver moon sailing on high through the shape-shifting oceans of clouds in the sky and a warm gentle breeze that will sing and will sigh in the tall swaying tree tops as it passes by. I wish for a bed with a sail and an ore that will float on the shadows so dark on the floor as the wind fills the sails to the sky it will soar and take me up high to a faraway shore. In the land of beyond all my dreams will come true. I'll do all the things that I so want to do. I'll have great adventures all the whole long day through. So I'll wish for my friends to be there with me too. All the things we need will be ours just for free with enough for my friends, oh and their friends and me. We'll pick what we want just like fruit from a tree. Everyone in the world will come nearer to see. We'll tell them that nothing can be bought or sold. In the land that I wish for no one will need gold. We'll pick lovely presents for young and for old so no one goes hungry and no one is cold. Then we'll say to one another let's be friends and let's make a great plan that together we'll mend anything that's broken and carefully tend. Everything in the world keep it safe to the end. Soon no one will know where the wastelands have been. The trees will grow tall and the deserts turn green. The air will blow clear and the rain will fall clean. And in shimmering streams the silver fish will be seen. I'll go down to the shore in the gold evening light and climb back on my boat sail off in the night while the skies turn too dark and the stars shine so bright I'll wish for a world where what's wrong is put right and then in the morning I'll wake with the sun. My dreams won't be over my dreams just begun a dream full of goodness and laughter and fun for me for the world and for everyone. So why don't you just think about that a little bit about how maybe the things that we dream about and imagine that can happen in the world are things that we can create right here if we work together. So now we're going to sing you out to your classes, alright? Thank you for listening to my story. The University of Wisconsin, Mattestuce, Dane County to just a bastion of liberals in Dane County replaced Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples Day but so has South Dakota which honors Native American Day. Also California Cities and my employer, the Unitarian Universalist Association honor Indigenous Peoples Day as well. Many people think that this is political correctness gone too far or oversensitivity. I'm not even curious to think what Fox News might have to say about it. To all the naysayers I say as lovingly as possible I couldn't disagree more. Honoring Christopher Columbus is just another symptom of our country's fundamental denial. It means lifting up a man who sent the first slaves across the Atlantic. More slaves, about 5,000 than any other individual according to historian after historian. It means honoring a man who kidnapped Indigenous Americans to take back with him to Spain with several dying along the way. It means holding up as an example a man who demanded food, gold and spun cotton from Indigenous Americans and used punishments like cutting off their ears and noses and hands to make sure those goods were received. It means celebrating someone who instituted policies of rewarding his lieutenants with Indigenous women to rape. The educator and historian James W. Lowen writes in his book Lies My Teacher Told Me. All of these gruesome facts are available in any primary source material, letters by Christopher Columbus and other members of his expeditions and the work of Las Casas, the first great historian of the Americas who relied on primary materials and helped preserve them. I'm not saying that we can't be glad that we live in the United States of America. I know that I often am, especially after time in a state or national park or while reading about curbed freedoms of speech or assembly in other countries or while realizing that I have access to hot, clean water every day. But honoring Christopher Columbus, though he was skilled as an explorer, as some kind of national hero just makes me sad. Each time we hallow Christopher Columbus over Indigenous people or Rick Santorum over a gay soldier in Afghanistan or Sheriff Joe Arpaio over a migrant, I believe our moral amnesia is flaring up. For many of us, commemorating Indigenous People's Day over Columbus Day is one way to show that we understand the symptoms of the lies that have been embedded in our country's collective consciousness. Let's face it, we live in a country where children grew up playing cowboys and Indians. Saying our country is in denial about our own story, our roots, our history doesn't make us unpatriotic, ungrateful, or unaware of the staggering beauty of our land, our freedoms, and of so many people in our nation, including people who may not agree with us all of the time. But we can't authentically move forward if we don't truly know the ground we are on and where we have been. Honoring Indigenous People's Day is one important way to do that. The United States is full of countless children who go to bed hungry every night, overwhelming environmental degradation costing us our health, and a colossal disparity between the very few uber-wealthy and the millions of everyone else. Our deeply ailing nation is full of people who think that constitutional rights should be abrogated in favor of their God beliefs over others God beliefs or non-God beliefs. It is full of individuals who have convinced themselves that undocumented people, the poorest, most hard-working in our country, are somehow taking something away from them and that if immigrants end up being abused in border detention, it's their own fault. Wherever we are on this long Indigenous People's Day weekend, let us think, let us pray, however we may choose, let us speak, commit, act, and above all, let us love scripture into the language of his time. He discovers a treasure, all of a sudden he hits something and thinks it's a rock or a stump, yet he sees it glitter like metal. He quickly throws his plow aside, scratches around and finds a treasure box. What does he do? Well, he might say, you know, this is a wonderful discovery I've got. I think I'll go to school and write a PhD dissertation on treasure hunting. But that's not what he does. In his great excitement, this guy has the ability to decide on a clear-cut, decisive course of action. He says, I'm going to sell all I got and buy that field. I first read Jordan's words in January of 2013, but I'd seen them live for real back in 2011. If you're willing, I'd like to take you back to that time with me just briefly. It's late October at the Occupy Encampment in Phoenix, Arizona. I'm sure you've heard of the Occupy Wall Street movement. Maybe you were even an occupier yourself once and spent some time camping in tents in the shadow of big city skyscrapers. What happened to me that day could easily have happened to you in any Occupy Encampment in the United States or even in the world. Imagine that you're sitting next to a bunch of other protesters outside your tents one day making signs. Off to your right, the food tent is serving bowls of vegan chili made by the local Food Not Bombs group. Off to your left, the medic tent is filled with people trying to sneak in a nap while the cops aren't looking. All around you, you and your fellow protesters, are boxes of tote bags and backpacks. Our bags filled with spared clothing and shoes for the camp's homeless. Our flyers for the upcoming March, sign making materials and first aid supplies. The camp is messy, yes, but it's alive. Yes, you've been roughing it since you and your other fellow protesters first pitched your tents and took up the call to Occupy everywhere. But gradually, the camp has come to be a sort of home for you. And these other protesters, even the ones you disagree with, are your family. Life in the camp has become almost normal, quiet, comfortable, unchallenging. Then a lone voice starts chanting from across the camp. We are unstoppable, another world is possible. It's a familiar chant in an unfamiliar voice. You and your friends stand up to see who's making all the noise. There between a green tent and a yellow tent, you spot a man making his way toward you. He has a wild look to him, eyes bloodshot, his hair sticking up every which way. He's come from a long way away, traveled very far, you can tell. He walks right up to you and your friends and starts telling you a story you can barely believe. He tells you he's sold his house, just up and sold it and donated most of his wealth to the movement. He tells you he's going to live in camp with you now, going to help bring that possible world he was chanting about to life. Now you may have been roughing it in camp for months and facing police batons every couple of days, but this man you decide has clearly lost his marbles. You may not be doing all that well in life, at least not as well as you would like, but there's a good chance that you've got a home or a car, a cell phone or a laptop, a job or a bank account, a credit card or some cash or various other forms of security. You need these things to get by in life and you're not about to give them up for the movement or anything else. And then there's the man standing before you. This man gave up everything over the mere possibility of a better world and that's just nuts you think. But what if another world is possible? When you truly know that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand, maybe you'll give anything, risk anything to take it in hand. Take the Kingdom of Heaven in hand. I always get a little nervous when talking to Unitarian Universalists about the Kingdom of Heaven. We have, I think, many legitimate concerns with that term. The Kingdom part can make us think of something very hierarchical, very authoritarian, very patriarchal. There's not much room in that kind of Kingdom for democracy, self-determination and egalitarianism. That's why I sometimes like it better when people talk about the Kingdom instead of the Kingdom. The Kingdom of Heaven is a loving family of equals. But then there's the Heaven part of the Kingdom of Heaven. The word Heaven can make us think of something very exclusive, something far too perfect to ever be obtainable, something very otherworldly. That's why I like Clarence Jordan's take on Matthew 1344 so much. The Kingdom of God is like a man plowing in a field. He discovers a treasure, a box. Heaven is not distant treasure buried on some pirate's island. Heaven is not mythical treasure locked up in some dragon's cave. Heaven is not otherworldly treasure tucked away in some afterlife. Instead, Heaven is people like the plowman, is work like farming, is discovery like digging, is life like life in this world. Heaven is precious treasure, but treasure buried in the fresh turned soil of a familiar field. Heaven is right here with us in this good earth within reach. Yet if Heaven is so close that we can touch it, why don't we live in it? Why if Heaven is close enough for us to take it in hand, have we not just plucked it up like a flower without any effort at all? Clarence Jordan had some wisdom to share on that matter as well. We have not taken Heaven in hand, he suggested, because our hands are already too full of other things. He said, we want to hold on to our little trinkets. We've got to hold on to our status. Oh yeah, we've got to keep our status. We can't be fools for Christ. We can't give up our house. But the person in Jesus' parable, the plowman in Jordan's paraphrasing of that parable, and the occupier I met back in Phoenix all gave up that house. They had a vision of a world that offered a better life than they were living, and they gave up the things that they believed prevented them from entering into that life. They saw perhaps the bonds of beloved community. They saw perhaps the ultimate reality of our oneness, our interdependence with one another and our planet. They saw perhaps one world community that we can choose on this planet in this life. They knew what stood between them and that life. They knew what they needed to give up in their own lives in order to help bring that better world into being. And then they made great personal sacrifices to enter into that life. Only I wonder how personal those sacrifices really were. I wonder how individualistic and how enormous our sacrifices really need to be to make a better future for everyone. Do we really need to become renunciates, literally giving up our homes and taking to the streets? Or is there an alternative to great personal sacrifice? I think we here too in this congregation have seen a glimpse of heaven. And I do not think that we see that vision alone as isolated individuals. We are a community that births, cradles and nurtures a shared vision. We are a community that tries to realize that vision in the wider world. Every time we show up for justice making, whether at Pride, at Moses events, or at any other social justice activity, we strive together to live the truth that we have seen. That we are all one community, people and planet on a common journey. Justice Clarence Jordan's interracial Coyonia Farm was a demonstration plot for the Kingdom of Heaven. And so too is this congregation every time we strive to live our values and community. And that is more powerful and effective than trying to do it all alone, for every community is more than the sum of its individual parts. But, but, but, but, have we as a community fully taken the Kingdom of Heaven in hand? Have we fully beheld the treasure? Have we even dug up the field yet? Or are our hands still too full to even take up the shovel? We've got to move some dirt and some rocks out of the way, together and as individual people. And let me tell you, there are a lot of rocks and a lot of hard-packed soil between us and that treasure. Rocks and dirt that get in the way when we try to get a peek at the promised land. Some rocks look like fear, the thousand fears that keep us complacent and in our place so that we never glimpse uncomfortable truths. Fear of the kind of changes we will have to make in our lives and in our congregation if we really want to live the truth of our oneness with one another and our interdependence with our blue and green planet. Fear of losing our friends, our livelihoods and maybe our very lives if we even begin to question the way of life that we live and the systems of oppression, exploitation and unsustainable growth that uphold it. There's the fear of pain, of embarrassment, of the unknown we encounter when we even begin to experiment with alternatives to the status quo. And there's the fear that we won't survive if we put the roofs over our heads and the food on our tables on the line to pursue our highest values until we can trust in one another and in life to be kind to us and provide us with the basic things we need to survive. Our fear of abandoning safety and security will prevent us from fully seeing heaven. Digging deeper, there are the heavy stones we use to erect walls between ourselves and each other not walls of stacked limestone like the stone haulers used to build our meeting house as a welcoming haven for all people, but walls that we human beings build to keep one another out of the kingdom of heaven because we have different educational levels, different skin colors, different politics or music preferences because we do not fit neatly in a gender binary because we are not rich enough, not able-bodied enough, not American enough, not born with the right papers. Walls we build to keep others out of heaven, walls we build that instead keep us out of heaven because heaven is a beloved community, not a gated community. Until we break through the soil, break through the fear, shatter the walls between us, we will never see more than tiny glimmers of the life-giving world that awaits us within reach but just out of sight. There's a whole lot to muck through as we dig down deep to find the kingdom, but as we dig, we start to see glimmers and glimpses of heaven, glimmers and sparkles of some rare gem. Perhaps we see a hint of shining emerald in the mud now and then during times of healing or forgiveness, peace or justice. In those moments, even if only very briefly, beloved community manifests among us, the promise of heaven shines. We've probably all had those moments, but it never seems to last, does it? Soon the stones of hurting, anger and injustice tumble down once again, bruising us and burying heaven anew. We get swept away by the chaos of our daily lives, by the havoc of attending to the complex tasks of simple survival. Yet as we take up our shovels and dig through the dirt when cover heaven, we come to realize that our very way of life and our determination to cling to that way of life actually become between us and the treasure that is heaven on earth. To a limited degree, we all get this. That's why we recycle and compost even when it's not always convenient. That's why we educate ourselves about justice and sustainability even when we're busy with other things, other concerns. That's why we rewrite old hymns and address the divine by a variety of names. We know even the language we use as we move through life matters. Like many communities, we're pursuing even building heaven on earth. We really, really are. But like many religious communities, and certainly like our wider community, we're not completely there yet. We've done a lot, both within and outside our walls, and our congregation and the world are better for it. But despite all that we have accomplished, there is still suffering in our brutal and bruised world. There's more that's required of us, all of us, not just those of us here in this room, but all over the world to manifest heaven on earth. First, we've got to dig up the field. We've got to take inventory of our lives and culture, not only the parts that are life-denying, but also the parts that are life-giving. Second, we've got to behold the treasure. We've got to open our hearts and minds to a vision of a better world and let that vision drive the way we live our lives. And finally, we've got to sell everything we own and buy the field. We've got to make concrete changes in our lives. We've got to reinvest our personal and material resources in this good earth and in our human family. Now, many of us are probably thinking, but Sasha, I like my life. Sure, my life's not perfect, but it's mine and it's working for me. I don't want to give up my job, my home, my relationships, my wealth, my safety for beloved community. And yikes, you know what? I don't want to either, especially not all alone. And we don't have to. It's a lot to ask and we don't have to. We can continue living the lives we always have and still find joy and meaning in our personal lives and can still help make the world a better place in small and in large ways. But if we do find ourselves being seized, truly seized in body, mind, and heart by a vision of heaven on earth, then I think that we are capable of more, far more than we ever imagined possible. In many ways I think Jesus had more faith in his fellow human beings than we have in his vision and teachings. He believed that he and other human beings coming together in community could really manifest heaven on earth. He told us frankly what joining in that work would mean, believing we would be willing to do what we must. Jesus didn't sugarcoat anything. He said that joining him in the work of making heaven on earth meant doing hard things like losing our old lives in order to find new life. He said that joining him in that work meant selling all we own and reinvesting in our highest aspirations. Sure we don't have to live in heaven if we don't want to, but if we do want the whole world to live as one beloved community where we are not alienated from one another, the earth or the divine resources that sustain and transform life, then we can't go on living our lives the way we've always lived them and inherit the kingdom too. In places like Ferguson, people are beaten, tasered and shot to death so that others can enjoy the safety that comes with police departments. People whose ancestors are slaughtered as some of our ancestors could steal their lands are still being oppressed and disrespected today as sports teams and Halloween costumes are named after them and their water is stolen and their lands destroyed. Coastal cities are seeing unprecedented rates of flooding and species are going extinct at accelerating rates because our addiction to fossil fuels is heating our planet. The earth is plundered of its rare minerals and people overseas are horribly exploited and abused by their employers so that we can have cell phones and cars. And I do not speak to you today as someone who is somehow uninvolved in all of this. I may have volunteered as a legal observer and marched against police brutality but I have called the police on people. I may speak out for the rights of Indigenous people but I also live for most of my life in a city that survived primarily by depriving Indigenous people of their water and polluting their land. I may not drive a Hummer but I still drive a fuel-guzzling car instead of using public transportation or driving a Prius. I may have cell phone coverage through Grado Wireless, a company that supports many of my values but I still have a cell phone. Like many of us here, I make small changes to my life to try to minimize the harm that I've helped cause yet my lifestyle is still subsidized by oppression and I know I'm not alone because we're all caught in this web together. This is not the kingdom. This is not the kingdom. We cannot live these lives and live in the kingdom too. We have to give up lives that depend upon oppression, exploitation, environmental devastation to take the kingdom in hand. That's hard but it's worth it. We've seen glimmers of the kingdom of heaven, gratitude, community, reciprocity, hospitality, care of the earth. We've seen them. We've seen them even through the dirt and the rocks that stand between us and the fullness of that kingdom. Those glimmers of the beloved community that is the kingdom of heaven are seeds hidden all around us, between us, in the earth, in our minds and hearts. Now imagine what can spring forth from those shining seeds. When we clear the rocks of fear and alienation out of the way, heaven will spread forth from those seeds like wildfire or like weeds. After all, Jesus did give us another metaphor to describe the kingdom of heaven. If we imagine the kingdom as a mustard seed, as a weedy plant instead of treasure, then we'll see that the raw potential for a better world is already here among us. But it needs to be cultivated, which as Michael reminded us last week is what going to church is all about, self-culture in a community. We don't have to do it alone and we shouldn't do it alone. We've got to come together to water that seed, put a little sunshine on it and let it grow. Then it'll expand to fill the world. Love will rush into every corner and justice will roll down like waters. Racism and classism and heterosexism and every hatred and fear will fall away. We'll care for the earth for its own sake because we recognize its worth and its beauty. We'll know what a sunset in a pollution-free world looks like and warfare will be unimaginable. Everyone will know what it feels like to be cared for and safe. We'll be whole because we'll be together. We'll be together with one another, the earth and the divine. That world of ever-expanding love and justice can be our home. The shining seeds of radical love and justice are already scattered all around us, blessing us every day. When we're not too busy juggling our other lives, we notice those little treasures. When we're not too busy clinging to our other lives, we can use our hands to care for those seeds. When we're not too busy with our other lives, when we let go of everything that stands between us and heaven, those seeds will take root. Our real lives will begin. Those seeds will explode into a garden, a garden big enough to feed and shelter everyone. But if we are to enter into that garden, we have to enter into it together. We have to give up lives that tell us we're separate. We have to take up lives that affirm that we are one community with fates that are intertwined, sharing the burdens that no one need give up everything in order to have new life. And that means we have some work to do, some digging, soul work, community work, justice work. The work will not be easy, but when the walls we have built between us come crumbling down, making room for the kingdom to come pouring in, the reward will be worth it. Jesus died thousands of years ago, his mission unfulfilled. But his invitation to create heaven on earth lives on. The invitation to let go of our old lives and accept a new life and a new world remains open. Let us accept that invitation with commitment, courage and joy. Let us occupy the kingdom together. And now I invite you to share in this morning's offering. Today's collection is to support Moving Out, Inc., which develops community integrated housing and owns, manages and operates scattered site homes for people with disabilities. Please give generously. Thank you for your generosity. We come together not as strangers, but as a congregation of family and friends to share our joys and concerns with those who love and care for us. Some of us are hurting, pained by sorrows and burdens of our own or the trials faced by loved ones. Some of us are filled with joy for the blessings that come into our lives through our own hard work or random, delightful chance. These concerns and these joys should not be born alone. Today we have one joy to share. Bill Bronen has received the Robert Marshall Award for his good work of preservation of the American wilderness to send our congratulations to him and our gratitude for his hard work. We will now have a moment of silence for prayer, meditation, rest or reflection as we lift up the joys and concerns of our community, spoken and unspoken. May all these joys and concerns be enfolded in the warmth of this community and may that warmth extend in sympathy and compassion to all who are hurting in our wider world. Blessed be. Before we move into our closing hymn, I would like to make a brief announcement. That moment you have all been waiting for has arrived. Your ministers have finally chosen our Select to Connect event. We will be hosting a family campfire storytelling and sing-along, hopefully outside if it's still nice enough but inside if the weather is too cold. Either way, there will be a fire, campfire cooked food, some of our favorite stories and Michael will lead a sing-along on his guitar. Remember that sign-up weekend for all Select to Connect events is next weekend, so be sure to bring your calendars along then. And if you'd like to host an event, there's still time you have until Monday at noon to get your event into Sally and Becky. Now please turn to number 126 in your hymnal for our closing hymn.