 Welcome to the First Unitarian Society of Madison. My name is Kelly Crocker and I'm one of the ministers here and today I am joined by the worship team of Drew Collins, Linda Warren, Daniel Cards, Stephen Gregorius and our special guest musicians, Jim Scott, thank you Jim and Dave Stocker. The vision of First Unitarian Society is growing souls, connecting with one another and embodying our Unitarian Universalist values in our lives, our community and our world. For those here with us in person, it is a joy to be with you. We ask that you leave your mask on as long as you are indoors and that you not sing along with the hymns, but we do encourage you to hum. Immediately following the postlude, we hope that you will meet us outside. You may have seen the tent and the heaters for coffee hour today. We're getting creative and we hope that you will join us out there. Remember that it's dark already and our children are picked up outside on the lawn. So as you are getting in your cars and driving away tonight, please do so slowly and carefully with extreme caution as our children may be running around. And for those joining us virtually today, we're so glad to have you with us. We hope you'll be able to join us for the virtual coffee hour immediately following the 11 o'clock service on Sunday. The information for joining can be found on the home page of our website, fuathmedicine.org as well as the slide that will be seen after the postlude. Our announcement slides will also be shown briefly after today's service and we encourage you to take a moment and learn about our upcoming programs and activities. And I invite you now to join me in a moment of silence as we center ourselves and bring ourselves fully into this time and place as we join together once again in community. Filled houses for our dreams, a form wherein we see our hopes, a shelter and protection for our growth. This house shall be a dwelling place for courage, for integrity, for love nourished by a family that speaks of we and means all humankind. These doors and open welcome to all. These windows keeping the light of inquiry, illuminating from outside and within. May all the words spoken here be born of love. May dreaming never cease for those within who know the world to be a troubled place but dare to struggle imperfectly toward a brighter hope and a better day. Let memories add warmth, a heritage, a quilted patchwork stitched with history of kindness, of daring for the good of poignant and funny moments, smiles and tears. This is a precious place as is every home that shelters those who love and strive and share. Its blessing lives in those that meet within, in the living, the learning and the caring that is sheltered here. And I invite you now to join me in the words of affirmation as we light our chalice. The chalice lit among us is a beacon. A beacon of hope in a world of crisis. A beacon of possibility made manifest in community. A beacon of warmth through our interconnections. A beacon of light illuminating our shared wisdom. A beacon of connection by our being together. A beacon of the mystery. The story today is called Hattie and Hudson. Hattie McFadden loved to explore. Every morning after breakfast she would grab her life jacket, wave goodbye to her parents and paddle out in the canoe to see what she could see. Hattie discovered all kinds of things out on the lake. She watched as a beaver tugged an alder branch slowly through the water. Above two bald eagles circled round and round on wings broad and flat. And over in the cove a family of turtles with shiny black shells basked in the warm summer sun. Hattie was so happy she started singing. When the sun is up and the day is new and the birds are as singing in the sky, that's when you'll find me in my little canoe, paddle just a paddle in by. She had no idea she was being heard. Down at the bottom of the lake in a cave dark and deep there lived a mysterious creature. He was enormous but elusive. He never ventured up to the surface. He spent his days down below all alone and out of sight. The monster was used to hearing motors buzzing and propellers churning overhead. It was why he stayed hidden in his cave. But today he heard something different. A song, bouncy and bubbly, came echoing down through the water. So come with me, because there's room for two. We'll be together, you and I, out on the lake in my little canoe paddle just a paddle in by. It was so cheerful and charming that it drew the beast out of his lair and up toward the light. He broke through the water drawn by the music and there, just off to his right, was a young girl alone in a canoe singing. Hattie stopped when the thing rose right beside her. She stared at the monster and the monster stared back. But she didn't feel afraid. There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at her and the curious tilt of his head. It was almost as if he wanted to hear more. So Hattie softly continued to sing. When the sun goes down and the day is through and the moon is arising in the sky, I'll take you home in my little canoe, paddle just a paddling by. And then someone screamed. People pointed, some fainted, motors roared as boats fled in a frenzy. Amid all the commotion, the creature slid beneath the water and Hattie paddled slowly and silently back to the dock. That night, Hattie tried to sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the green friendly face looking down at her. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. She decided she had to find out. At the bottom of the lake, the girl's sweet song played over and over in the monster's head. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. He decided he had to find out. Hattie paddled the canoe quietly through the darkness. She stopped, waited, and looked down into the rippling water. Suddenly a massive black shape emerged from the depths. Two glowing eyes grew brighter and brighter as the shape grew closer and closer. Slowly the gigantic head emerged from the water. It glistened in the moonlight. For a moment or two, the monster and the girl simply stared at each other. Then Hattie broke the silence. Hi, I'm Hattie, she said. The girl you met this morning. I was really hoping I'd see you again. What's your name? The monster cocked his head. You do have a name, don't you? The monster raised his eyebrows and tilted his head even more. Hmm, maybe you don't, Hattie said. Well, you kind of remind me of my uncle's dog, Hudson. Maybe I should call you Hudson. Do you like that name, Hudson? The monster slowly smiled. Good. I like it too. It fits you. Hello, Hudson. And just like that, they became fast friends. The little girl and the huge monster splashed and played in the silvery moonlight until Hattie realized it was time to head home. As she climbed into the canoe, she turned around smiling and said, hey, Hudson, let's meet again tomorrow night, okay? Hudson nodded eagerly and smiled back. The next afternoon, there was a meeting at the town hall. Everyone was yelling, suggesting ways to get rid of what they called the deadly beast. If only they knew him, Hattie thought. She tried to say something, but she was interrupted. She tried again, but no one heard her. She tried several times to speak. Finally, she gave up. When the meeting was over, Hattie walked home with her dad. She felt a little sick. Hattie snuck out again that night to be with Hudson, but when they met, she didn't feel much like playing. The townspeople saw you yesterday. She explained, everybody thinks you're dangerous. Tomorrow they're coming to catch you and take you away. I don't know where to, but we can't let this happen. We need a plan. Hattie was deep in thought when Hudson abruptly nudged the canoe with his nose nearly knocking it over. Hey, barged Hattie, Hudson did it again. What the heck? Once again, he bumped the boat, then he looked at her and smiled brightly. Wait a second, I think I know what you're doing, said Hattie. And then she added, this could work. This could definitely work, Hudson. You are a genius. At the break of dawn, Hattie paddled her canoe over to the town landing. The men were already gathered loading their boats with radars, ropes, and netting. Hattie started to feel sick again, but she had to stay focused. She had to stick to the plan. She had to save her new friend. So she paddled her canoe away from the shore into the center of the lake. And then she waited. Now it was Hudson's turn. He swam up to Hattie. He carefully bumped the bottom of the canoe. It flipped over easily, tossing Hattie as planned into the water. Hattie flailed her arms. She splashed the water she pretended to be in serious peril. The people on the landing sprang into action. Hang on, someone hollered. We're on our way. The boats were coming quickly, but Hattie waited and waited until they were in perfect position. And then she signaled to Hudson. Hudson burst out of the water with a huge splash with Hattie riding on the top of his head. The people stared in complete stunned silence as Hudson slowly swam past. When he reached the landing, he gently lowered his head so Hattie could slide right off. Now it was Hattie's turn to hold a meeting. This is Hudson, she said bravely, and he is a friend of mine. I know you think he's scary and mean and dangerous, but he's actually very friendly. He won't hurt you. This lake is his home, and I think he deserves to stay. Once you get to know him, I am sure you will agree. Hattie paused. Everyone stood still. Then a young boy slowly walked up and padded Hudson gently on the nose. Another followed, then another. Soon a few adults cautiously stepped forward, and before long a crowd had gathered around Hudson. It took some convincing, but eventually everyone welcomed the idea of having him around. He even became something of an attraction. People traveled from far and wide to spend time with the famous friendly monster. But when the sun went down and the visitors left, for Hattie and Hudson everything was just as it had been since the beginning. And every night they met in the same place, they played the same games and splashed and frolicked under the big silver summer moon. And I invite you now into this time of giving and receiving where we give freely and generously to this offering which sustains and strengthens our community here as well as our outreach offering recipient. And this week our offering is shared with Wisconsin Faith Voices for Justice, which draws on the wisdom, courage, and strength of our faith traditions to advance the common good and uphold the dignity of all people. Through advocacy, education, and partnership, Wisconsin Faith Voices for Justice works to lift the voices of those who are underserved or oppressed. You'll see on your screen that you can donate directly from our website, fussmedicine.org, and you'll see our text to give information there as well. For those of you here in person, there are offering baskets at all the doors. We thank you for your generosity and your faith in this life we create together. Far beyond the grasp of hands, or light to meet the eye, past the reaches of the mind, where find the key to nature's arm architecture. So like the birds whose patterns, gray message of peace, fight, taking the booster before the fur, becoming the sorrow, sense of loss to ourselves, the dancing news song holds it close on the journey of a star. October, I headed to the airport for my first flight in what seemed like a very long time. I was heading to Arizona to visit a friend, and even with my two masks and a baggie full of all kinds of hand sanitizers, I was still quite anxious. I am normally a very calm flyer, so this was new for me. And I was consoling myself with thoughts like, we have all been through so much, people are going to be gentler, kinder with one another, we're all tired and happy to be traveling again, and I am sure all that has happened has brought out so much good in people. What ended up happening was a broken down train in the Dallas Fort Worth airport that led to a crush of people in a literal sardine can and text to a friend that simply read, I am now fully convinced that the milk of human kindness has dried up completely. Not long after that trip, I found this poem from Denusha La Meris entitled Small Kindnesses, and I was wishing I had it to hand out at that airport. The poem says, I've been thinking about the way when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by, or how strangers still say bless you when someone sneezes. A leftover from the bubonic plague, don't die, we are saying. And sometimes when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly we don't want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot and to say thank you to the person handing it, to smile at them and for them to smile back, for the waitress to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder and for the driver in the red pickup truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other now, so far from tribe and fire, only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say here, have my seat, go ahead, you first. I like your hat, choosing kindness. It's not always easy. It may mean inconveniencing ourselves to focus on the needs of another. It requires that we pay attention to those around us, noticing perhaps when they are struggling or need to rest and we can say here, have my seat. Sometimes it means listening. Sometimes it means acting. Always it is a moment of holy recognition, seeing the humanity and the worth of another and holding it alongside our own. In a book on kindness, the psychologist Tara Cusano describes unsettling developments that may not surprise you. In recent years, she says, political mudslinging has intensified. Immigrants are being taunted and vulnerable minorities are being bullied. There's a growing sense of fear and divisiveness. Even though historians say we are living with less violence than ever before, the world feels like a meaner place. Talking about these trends with family members, colleagues and clients, Tara found the topic of kindness coming up again and again. Similar to my own experience in that Texas airport, she wondered what happened to kindness? A spirit of kindness often seems hard to come by. The Italian philosopher Piero Ferrucci says that our planet may be seeing signs of global warming, but when it comes to our social environment, we seem to be in the midst of a global cooling. Human relations are becoming colder, more hurried and less personal. Ferrucci says, I am convinced that we are going through an ice age of the human heart, which began more or less with the industrial revolution and continues in our post-industrial age. The causes of this ice age are many. New living conditions and forms of work, the establishing of new technologies, the decline of the extended family, the great migrations in which people are uprooted from their birthplace, fragmentation and superficiality and the accelerating pace of life. When I was relating my airport woes to a colleague, she said, you know, we aren't the first ones to struggle with kindness. Think of Micah. Micah, you may recall, was an eighth century prophet whose words are written down in the book of Micah in the Hebrew scriptures. It is said that at his time, folks had become selfish and cruel. The book tells us that they had strayed from their covenant with God, their rituals had become devoid of meaning, their words only laced with hatred for one another. Micah appears on the scene to turn things around. He explains that God has let him know that they have strayed, that there is good case against them for broken promises and no amount of elaborate sacrifices or meaningless empty rituals is going to make this one better. Micah in turn questions God to uncover what would restore this broken relationship. What do you want from us? He asks, what must we do? How shall we live? And the answer comes, you already know what is required of you. What is required is what is required to do justice, to love kindly, and to walk humbly with your God. The Hebrew word for kindly is hesed, and it is rich with meaning. Like many Hebrew words, hesed does not translate precisely into English. It means more than kindness. It's often translated as loving kindness. It means giving oneself fully with love and compassion. In talking about hesed, the contemporary Jewish scholar and teacher of Viva Zornberg said, it is not just loving kindness as it is usually translated, but encompasses the ability to live with courage and imagination. We know kindness is good for us. It's good for our health. With multiple studies showing improvements in stress, insomnia, chronic pain, even a positive effect on our immune system, kind acts actually change our genetic expression and improve the functioning of our immune system. It is said that kindness reduces the risk of heart disease, reducing free radicals in our blood, and slowing the inflammation that causes human aging. Kindness has been linked to greater life satisfaction, more productive and enjoyable workplaces. It helps us build new relationships and enhance existing ones. We feel better when we are kind, increasing the production of serotonin that has a calming anti-anxiety effect. kindness is simply the best expression of who and what we are. The great English philosopher Aldous Huxley was a pioneer in the study of techniques designed to develop human potential. He explored Hindu philosophy, meditation, psychedelics, body work, hypnotic trance and zen toward the end of his career, he remarked. People often ask me what is the most effective technique for transforming their life. It is a little embarrassing that after years and years of research and experimentation, I have to say that the best answer is just be a little kinder. Just be a little kinder. It sounds so simple. And yet kindness is anything but simple. It is in fact quite complicated. One reason could be those quick snap judgments we make when encountering others. Like those in our story who saw Hudson the lake monster and instantly believed they were in danger. Our brains make snap judgments before we can even begin to process what is happening. In our story, we could say Hattie represented our logical brain, intentional and within our awareness. The logical brain allows us to pause and consider, to ask questions, come to informed conclusions. The people in town could represent our reflexive brain involuntary outside of our awareness reactionary. It's called into action because it is fast and it is effortless. The reflexive brain, whether we like it or not, creates judgments about everything and everyone we meet based on pre-programmed mindsets, scripts and most unfortunately stereotypes. Another complication we run into when we misunderstand kindness is that we often confuse it with being nice. There's a wisdom tale from the Buddhist tradition that says a young female disciple spent many hours trying to understand the spiritual concept of loving kindness and how to treat others with respect and compassion. Sitting in her small room she would fill her heart with loving kindness for all living beings. Yet each day as she went to the bazaar to buy her food, she would find her loving kindness sorely tested by a shopkeeper who subjected her to unwelcome advances. One day she could stand no more and she began to chase the shopkeeper down the road with her upraised umbrella. To her mortification she passed her teacher standing on the side of the road observing this spectacle. Shame faced she went to stand before him expecting to be rebuked for her anger. What you should do, her teacher kindly advised her, is to fill your heart with loving kindness and with as much mindfulness as you can muster, hit this unruly fellow over the head with your umbrella. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is stand up to bad behavior or deliver a hard truth with great compassion even if it doesn't seem nice to do so. Kindness acts out of a desire to do something for the well-being of another. Being nice is different. Nice is how we avoid difficult conversations afraid of hurting another's feelings. It's how we suppress our truth and tell ourselves that we're doing it for the benefit of another when really it's about our own sense of comfort. Kindness is okay with having boundaries, is willing to be uncomfortable, is open to speaking truths when needed and calling out injustices that need to be named. In the book Deep Kindness author Houston Craft writes, I have always loved words. I think they have a critical importance in how we engage with our world and how our world is shaped. I think it's important to think about our definition of kindness because it's very different from being nice. For so many the cultural definition of kindness comes in the form of what they've seen or experienced in the media or in their schools growing up. So much of it is kindness week or free hugs or pay it forward coffee lines and these are great. They make us feel good. We like ourselves when we participate in them. But they also fail to acknowledge that we can have all the coffee lines in the world that we want and we will most likely still have immigration detention facilities. We will most likely still have people who aren't willing to wear masks. We will still have people who deny that there's racism alive in our country. True kindness is uncomfortable yet so very necessary if we are going to face the difficult realities of our world. To be a people of kindness requires as we learned from Micah a great deal of courage. And it is an invitation to deeper living, to greater reflection, to facing fear, to showing up, to speaking truth. Fear is probably the biggest reason we don't extend kindness. We fear rejection, being judged ourselves looking foolish or becoming vulnerable. We fear venturing into unexplored territory and being seen as weak or clumsy. Sometimes these fears can incapacitate us. We remember times when we have reached out to another and been hurt and we decide it is better not to offer kindness at all than to risk that again. The more we tap into and exercise our courage in the face of those fears, the less power they will have over us. Our courage grows the more we use it. George Saunders wrote a small book entitled, congratulations by the way, some thoughts on kindness. It's the text of a commencement address that he gave at Syracuse University in May of 2013. And in it he talks about some regrets that he's had in his life. In this passage he recounts one particular regret from when he was in seventh grade when a classmate of his was teased by others. He remembers clearly that he felt badly for her, but he didn't intervene. He writes, sometimes I would see her hanging around alone in her front yard as if afraid to leave it. And then her family moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing. One day she was there and the next day she wasn't, end of story. Now why do I regret that? Why 42 years later am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even mildly defended her. But still, it bothers me. So here's something I know to be true, although it's a little corny and I don't quite know what to do with it. What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments when another human being was there in front of me suffering and I responded sensibly, reservedly, mildly. Or to look at it from the other end of the telescope, who in your life do you remember most fondly with the most undeniable feelings of warmth? Those who were kindest to you, I bet. It's a little glib, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I would say as a goal in life, you could do worse than try to be kinder. So after all of this, here on this weekend that honors world kindness day, it is safe to say that choosing kindness isn't always sunshine and rainbows. Kindness sometimes requires that we step out of our comfort zone. Real kindness requires courage and imagination. It means resisting wrong and standing up for what is right. It means sometimes raising up our umbrella and chasing an unruly shopkeeper down the road. It means standing in solidarity with the small and shy outsider, standing up to the bullies, paying attention to those on the margins who are so often overlooked. It means seeing them, really seeing them. And with our whole being saying, I acknowledge your presence because you matter. Deep down, what we truly long for is kindness. And we have so little of each other now, so far from tribe and fire, only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say here, have my seat, go ahead, you first, I like your hat. The choice is ours every moment of every day. May we make that choice wisely. On this just past Veterans Day Sunday, I reflect that I am a veteran. I never quite figured out what my relationship to all that is. I went from being totally opposed to war to wondering what do we need if we need a police force or something like that, unfortunately, in our fragile human condition. But for those warriors, I believe most anyone you would ask would say they are defenders of peace and they are for peace. No one is for war. A reflection on peace and on that great mystery, God, the goddess, peace, health, love. All of those words that it might be, the force, if you saw those movies, my figure of speech, harmony. There is a place to start and fight. I hear you sing to it. Wash-o is a beacon who's us inner sight. A radiant's call is the health of all. Let it wash-o and gentle rain in nature's glance. Our song speaks in old songs, our wanted wash-o. Let peace be here in community. We gather in peace. We gather in thanks. Today we gather in sympathy and in joy, holding out for one another hope, compassion, and strength. We light a candle for Jean Sears and Becky Burns, who've known each other over 20 years. And Jean writes, we were friends and then fell in love. In 2003, we had our commitment ceremony here at FUS. We were married on November 12, 2013, by Karen Gustafson in Minnesota, where it was legal. And we are celebrating our anniversary with great joy and love. Congratulations. And I light this candle of sorrow and memory and hope and gratitude for the life of Joy Wiggart. Joy passed away on Monday morning. She was a longtime member here, a part of our choir since 1993. She brought much compassion and beauty to our community. Joy always brought a warm smile, a welcoming embrace, and an open heart when she walked through these doors. And we will miss her deeply. If you'll join me now in a time of meditation. Here in the hush of this time and place away from the rush of the world, we feel the blessed calm of community. Is it not a wonder that we, people often busy beyond our energy and our stamina, take pause together? Is it not a miracle that we pause for just a moment to consider who we are and wither we go? Here we take note of the changing season. The first hint of chill in the air, the sound of geese seeking warmer climbs, the fading tinges of color in leaves and sky. Here in the hush of this time and place, we hear a quiet cry. Be gentle with one another. The cry comes out of the hurting heart of humanity. It comes from lives battered with thoughtless words and brutal deeds. It comes from the lips of those who speak them and the lives of those who do them. Who of us can look inside another and know what is there? Of hope and hurt or promise and pain? Who can know from what far places each has come or to what far places each may hope to go? Our lives are like fragile eggs. They crack and the substance escapes. Handle with care. Handle with exceeding tender care for there are human beings within, vulnerable as we are, who feel as we feel and hurt as we hurt. Life is too transient to be cruel, too short for thoughtlessness, too brief for hurting. Life is long enough for caring, lasting enough for giving and precious enough for love. And so today and in all the days that come, held up and nurtured by the blessed calm of community and the beauty of the world we share, may we remember to be gentle with ourselves and with one another. Blessed be and amen. My wish for you, as now we part, is for greater peace to fill your heart with dreams as vast as starry space. So hurt and anger, no, no place. May truth be shared and wounds be healed and joy for living be revealed. Through every fate and circumstance, may hope lead weary steps to dance and may your life be as a song. The dawn to sing awake the light and saw fears be turned with keen insight to wisdom for what's just and right. Where sorrow grows compassion strong and pains will pass before too long. May the bounds of our diversity. May certain return to the most human. Nothing less will nourish the torn spirit, the bewildered heart, the angry mind. And from the ultimate duress pierced with the breath of anguish speak of love. Return, return to the deep sources. Nothing less will teach the stiff hands a new way to serve, to carve into our lives the forms of tenderness. Return to the most human. Nothing less will teach the angry spirit, the bewildered heart, the torn mind to accept the whole of its duress and pierced with anguish at last act for love. Blessed be and go in peace.