 Good morning and welcome to the first Unitarian Society. My name is Kelly Crocker and I'm one of the ministers here. Today I'm joined by my colleague, the Reverend Kelly Asprey Jackson, the worship team of Linda Warren, Drew Collins, Daniel Karnes, and our deep, deep thanks to the Meeting House Chorus for not only being with us at services this morning, but for being with us on the Sunday of daylight savings time. They were here painfully early. The vision of First Unitarian Society is growing souls, connecting with one another, and embodying our Unitarian Universalist values in our lives, in our community, and in our world. If you're visiting us today, welcome. We're so very glad that you are with us. If you would like more information about our activities and programs, please stop by the welcome table located in the commons through these doors to your right next to the elevator. We're excited to let you know that our mission and vision task force has drafts of new mission and vision statements for First Unitarian. You'll be receiving an email today with these statements and a request for your feedback. If you would like to see the statements more immediately, because you just can't wait, they are on a board directly across from this room. There's post-it notes there. That is a place you can also leave your feedback this morning. So take some time during coffee hour and take a look at the board and look at those draft statements. Many thanks to our task force for their hours of discernment and discussion, their dedication and commitment to this whole process. And for those of you connecting virtually with us today, we're glad that you are with us as well. We hope that you'll be able to take a moment after today's service and watch the announcement slides to find out more about our upcoming programs and activities. And now I invite you to join me in a moment of silence as we center ourselves, bring ourselves fully into this time, joining together once again in community. Come, you accidental pilgrims, you who find yourself on a journey of surprise and wonder. Come, you who emerge into this place as an act of liberation. Come, you who seek a life of mindfulness and a place to rest your thoughts. Come, you who bring hearts of all kinds, heavy hearts, rusty hearts, hearts broken open in revelation, hearts full of love to share. Come, you who seek courage and you who have more courage than you realize. Come, you who stand behind the curtain, gathering up the resources to claim your truth. Come, you who have been in a bubble, you who are poised for transformation. We begin our story again, gathering courage, love, mindfulness, and a sense of purpose. We gather as a people of all ages of different abilities, different backgrounds, and different perspectives. We share a covenant, a direction for our shared journey, and a commitment to encourage and challenge one another to spiritual growth. This path will ask much from us. Let us move forward with love. Let us move forward with appreciation for one another. Let us move forward knowing we are not alone. Whoever you are, whatever gifts you bring, you are welcome to join this journey. And we invite you now to rise in all the ways we do, joining in our words of affirmation as we light our chalice. A chalice lit in our midst is a symbol of our liberal faith. A faith built on the foundation of freedom, reason, and tolerance. A faith sustained by acts of kindness and justice. A faith that visions a world flourishing with equality for all her people. A faith that demands the living out of goodness. A faith that requires thoughtfulness. A faith of wholeness. This tiny flame is the symbol of the spark of all this within each of us. And now let's sing together our opening, hymn number 1008, when our heart is in a hole. Please be seated. I'd like to come up closer for our story to come on up and join us. You've heard this before? You know this one? Oh, good. Hi, everybody. Good morning. Good. How's the baby? Good, good, good. How's your morning? Are you selling Girl Scout cookies today? I like your cookie shirt. Very good. You are? I'm really excited about this today. It's a theme. It's a good day. So we have a story for you called The Rabbit Listened. Have you all ever had something hard or something go wrong or been disappointed by something? Have you ever had that happen? Ever have a hard day? Yeah. Right, how about grown-ups? Have you ever had a hard day? No, right? This is a hard morning, huh? This is such a hard morning. Is anybody else half asleep this morning? It's not just us, right? Thank you, it is a hard morning. Your eyes are starting to close. I am with you on that one. All right, let's see what happens in our story and see sometimes maybe what we need when we're having a hard day. One day, Taylor decided to build something. Something new, something special, something amazing. Taylor was so proud. But then out of nowhere, things came crashing down. The chicken was the first to notice. Cluck, cluck, what a shame. I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry, that happened. Let's talk, talk, talk, talk, talk about it. Cluck, cluck. But Taylor did not feel like talking, so the chicken left. Next came the bear. Grrr, horrible. I bet you feel so angry. Let's shout about it. Grrr, grrr, grrr. But Taylor didn't feel like shouting. The bear is scaring some children. So no worries, the bear left. The elephant knew just what to do. I can fix this. We just need to remember exactly the way things were. But Taylor didn't feel like remembering, so the elephant also left. One by one, they came. The hyena, he he he, let's laugh about it. The ostrich, let's hide and pretend nothing happened. The kangaroo, what a mess. Let's throw it all away. And the snake, let's go knock down someone else's. But Taylor didn't feel like doing anything with anybody. So eventually they all left until Taylor was all alone. In the quiet, Taylor didn't even notice the rabbit. But it moved closer and closer until Taylor could feel its warm body. Together, they sat in silence until Taylor said, please stay with me. The rabbit listened. The rabbit listened as Taylor talked. The rabbit listened as Taylor shouted. The rabbit listened as Taylor remembered and laughed. The rabbit listened to Taylor's plan to hide, to throw everything away, to ruin things for someone else. Through it all, the rabbit never left. And when the time was right, the rabbit listened to Taylor's plan to build again. I can't wait, Taylor said. It's going to be amazing. Look at that, huh? You can't, oh, the slide's a little light, but it's gonna be amazing. What did Taylor need? The elephant wanted to fix it. The chicken wanted to talk. The bear wanted to shout. What did Taylor need? Yeah, Jen, absolutely. What he needed was someone to listen to his ideas because everyone else came in with their ideas of what he needed to do and he needed to figure that out for himself. And what he needed was someone to cuddle up close and just listen, right? And on those hard days, maybe if today's a hard day for you, we hope that you will always have somebody there that will listen. We thank you for listening to our story today. Oh, we're gonna, is that what your sister is for? Sweet. What's that, hon? That's the last page. All right, we are gonna sing you out to class. Have a great time. And I invite you now into this time of giving and receiving where we give freely and generously to this offering, which sustains the work of our community here and also the work of our outreach offering recipient. This week, our recipient is Porchlight, a service organization that provides shelter, affordable housing and support services to families and individuals experiencing homelessness in Madison. There's multiple ways to share your gifts. Basket's being passed here in the room. Thank you for making that happen. And you'll see on the screen that you can donate directly from our website, fussMadison.org, and you'll see the text to give information there as well. We thank you for your generosity and your faith in this life we create together. Captivating, confident twang in her voice. Annie DeFranco, the great queer folk poet of Western New York, once sang, and sometimes still does sing these words. Buildings and bridges were made to bend in the wind. To withstand the world, that's what it takes. All that steel and stone is no match for the air, my friend. What doesn't bend breaks. I've been thinking about her words this week as we reflect this month together on the topic of trust and vulnerability. The vulnerability with which trust is forever intertwined. Thinking about how much strength it takes to trust another person. Not a rigid, stoic strength, but a flexible, open-hearted one. And of how the connections we build through trust are ultimately the basis for all of the strength we have. Congregations such as ours are built out of trust and can only be as effective as the trust they are built from allows. But trust between people is not a heavily emphasized value in the philosophical tradition of the West, which so greatly influences the world we inhabit today. Here, I'll give just one example, but hopefully we can agree that it is a crucial one. In his Republic, that quintessential text of Western philosophy. Through the voice of Socrates, Plato offers his framework for dividing reality, or at least reality so far as it can be known, into two main categories, each themselves further divided into two. Ranked from the lowest to the highest, these are reflections and impressions of things we can perceive. And then those things themselves, all objects and beings. And then moving from the sensate world, we reach the two categories that are the realm of ideas. First, the hypothetical, including the sphere of mathematics. And then finally, the arena of ethical principle itself. Each of these four quadrants has a closely related affection or capacity to be found in human beings. Descending back down now from the highest to the lowest, these are understanding, knowledge, belief and imagination. The third highest or second lowest capacity, which I just translated as belief, is the word pistis in the original Greek text. In biblical Greek, it's most often translated as faith. But remember that the Christian Testaments were written several hundred years after Plato's death. And in the context of the Republic, this word seems to encompass both faith and belief in all of the ways that we might use those words in contemporary English and also trust. Trust in the divine, trust in other mortal beings, and trust in the dependability of all that we can see or hear or touch. That the things which we sense to be there are there. And are generally what we perceive them to be. It is a great irony of the Republic, which was written as a dialogue, its arguments playing out through conversation between Socrates and a number of other characters, that human relationship is not its leading priority. Plato's hierarchy of value considers other matters to be nobler and higher. But in passing at least, Plato does observe that trust is the affection by which all people may be connected to each other or to other things. Every relationship we have, we have two other people, and even the most basic experiences of navigating the world is defined by some degree of trust. If you've ever spent any time with an infant, you likely have some experience with this. The game of peek-a-boo, for instance, is especially entertaining and magical for someone who has not yet learned object permanence. The learned trust that I am still here, even when my face is hidden from you. When we first had our babies, their mother and I laughed about how every toy was advertised as being educational, and at the top of every list of educational benefits seemed to be the line, teaches cause and effect. The world itself teaches cause and effect, teaches us that things we touch or prod or grab will change because of our actions, even if not always predictably. In times of profound crisis, and for those of us living with certain types of trauma, just that sort of intuitive material trust that people are not gone forever, the instant they leave our sight, that the motions of life's daily rituals can be relied upon to function in much the same way each time, that the earth beneath us will continue to hold us against it firmly. Just that much trust can be a hard one accomplishment. So how much harder, and how much greater the challenge and accomplishment of trusting another person? Not simply to be, to continue to exist barring illness or accident, but to be what we need them to be, to keep their promises and to hold us to our own. In the analytics of Confucius, we find the aphorism that a person without trust, that is someone who is not trustworthy, is like a chariot without an axle, a thing which cannot achieve any purpose to which it is set. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna counsels the prince Arjuna to fulfill his spiritual obligations by completing his temporal ones. Others have trusted him to lead them into battle, and he must be true to their reliance on him just as he trusts in and relies on the divine forces which create and sustain the world. But both proving worthy of the trust of others and extending trust to them is mostly not a matter of dramatic events and grandiose displays, the sorts of things that get eternalized in myth and scripture. It is a process of mostly small components of little actions and small risks, reaching out and reaching back. Rarely is it seamless without a loose stitch or tear, we are all of us mortal after all. The threads between us cannot be expected to be more perfect than we are. Thankfully, they do not have to be perfect in order to be worthwhile and neither do we. So we show up and we show up with and for the folks we hope to trust and be trusted by. We take the risk of being known a little bit more of divulging what it is we need from one another. Nothing is so frightening in life as admitting what we need and then not getting it. To trust is an act of courage, a feat of psychological and emotional strength but it is the antithesis of the rigid and impervious ways that strength and courage are usually presented. Trust must be built but it is built by bending towards each other to find the middle point between you and I. Trust is a process of mostly small components, little actions and small risks, reaching out, reaching back. When I saw Kelly's words, I thought of these. Because the most difficult part about making something also the best is existing in the middle, sustaining an act of radical imagination. This is how the poem Thursday by James Loganbock begins. It is a poem at first glance about making risotto yet I think it is about so much more. Let me give you the rest. Because the most difficult part about making something also the best is existing in the middle, sustaining an act of radical imagination. I simmered a broth, onion, lemon, a big handful of mint. The phone rang so with my left hand I answered it, sauteing the rice and adding the broth slowly, one ladle at a time with my right. The miracle of risotto, it is easy to miss. It is the moment when the husks dissolve, each grain of rice releasing its tiny explosion of starch. If you take it off the heat just then, let it sit while you shave the Parmesan into paper thin curls. It will be perfectly creamy but will still have a bite. There will be dishes to do, the moon will rise and everyone you love will be safe. What I thought when I read these words was how very true it is, that the most difficult part but also the best is existing in the middle, in the ordinariness of a Thursday or of making dinner. Isn't this true of so much of our lives, especially our relationships? Think about the ones in your own life, about those beginning days when everything is new, the novelty of meeting this person, knowing this person, opening yourself to another. It's exhilarating, it's exciting and you feel so very alive. This is true whether that person is to be a partner or when you meet your child or a new friend with whom you find an undeniable spark or even perhaps when you meet your new colleague. Think also of those tender moments at the end of a relationship, where you look at the one who has shared your days, your life, one who knows you and whether it is ending because of death or a decision that the relationship has come to a beautiful and perhaps heartbreaking completeness. You find yourself wondering where the time has gone. These moments, the exhilarating beginning and the perhaps reluctant end, these are often the moments we remember, the ones that stand out in our hearts and our memories, but really, isn't it the long stretches in between where nothing particularly exciting happens but laundry must be done and food must be cooked, where the work of sustaining happens isn't that truly the magic. For it is in those daily moments of vulnerability where we grow, change, where transformation is possible and where trust is born. One of my favorite spoken word poets is Andrea Gibson. And recently they sent out these words that they called, want to evolve quickly, try vulnerability. These are their words. Recently I came across a video about an octopus that was titled, why are we the pinnacle of evolution and not them? The film was, from my perspective, a celebration of the power of vulnerability as it begins with this sentiment. Having a protective shell makes species evolve very slowly. For example, turtles have stayed virtually unchanged for millions of years. I loved learning that octopi have evolved at lightning speeds because of their vulnerability. The fact that they were shellless, soft and defenseless was exactly why they became one of the most evolved species on earth, overhauling their entire being to survive. In the video I learned that the octopus has three hearts and nine brains. They can taste with their skin. They can feel light. Though they don't have ears, they hear impeccably. They're also capable of making decisions quicker than any other living being on the planet. And that's not even to mention their wisdom and emotional depth, which we humans may not yet be evolved enough to comprehend. One could spend a lifetime complimenting the octopus's history of turning vulnerability into a powerful force for growth. They continue there's a myriad of ways we're not evolving as a species because of our protective shells. Many of us are guarded, closed, shut down, but it's impossible to learn while in a state of defensiveness. What might we grow into if we allowed ourselves to be softer, more open, more exposed, more transparent about the truth inside of us? How might we evolve if we let our guard down? If we, like the octopus, knew that what makes us soft is what makes us strong, how would the world be different? I think this is what we do together here. We show up week after week in all our fleshy, unguarded beauty. We say here I am, no hard shell, my exposed self for you to see, and I am trusting you to hold me in compassion and with courage push me to become who I am becoming as I will do the same for you. This requires a great deal of trust. Charles Feldman in a work called The Thin Book of Trust defines trust as choosing to risk making something you value vulnerable to another person's actions. I am choosing to believe that what is important to me is safe with you. Here we have a tool that helps us remain in this space, sustain the radical act of imagination called community, something that helps us build trust, maintain trust and rebuild when it is broken, our covenants. Covenants are one way we define how we are going to be together, how we set boundaries, how we keep generous and hopeful hearts, how we hold ourselves and one another accountable, how we choose courage over comfort, how we exist in the middle. Reverend Preston Moore puts it this way, a contract is a matter of law, a covenant is a matter of love. A contract speaks this way, if you do this and only if you do this then I will do that. It is hedged, cautious, risk averse. Its most basic principle is no surprises. Covenant speaks this way, you and I will do what is needed to achieve our shared purpose. We will come back to each other again and again whether we succeed or fail. Kelly and I find ourselves here in year two of this grand experiment of co-ministry. We still have a foot in the exhilarating newness of possibility and a foot in the sustaining and act of radical imagination. We know we are beginning that work of existing in the middle, the difficult part yet also the best. To help sustain us in this work is our covenant, which we would like to share with you today. We began writing this in our first month together, August of 2021 when we were definitely filled with and overcome by the newness of this possibility. I love how many of these promises echo the hope of those early days. I love how I know they will sustain us in the days to come. We, Reverend Kelly Aspruth Jackson and Reverend Kelly J. Crocker as the co-senior ministers of the First Unitarian Society of Madison, embrace the authority and responsibility of serving the people and mission of this congregation. We enter into this covenant recognizing that the model of co-ministry holds the potential to transform our relationships and practices to ones that are mutual, whole and healing. We will work to fulfill the inherent promise in how we engage in this shared ministry. As co-senior ministers, we covenant to celebrate one another and our respective ministries, lifting one another up in this work we share. To be radically authentic with one another, showing up as our full selves with vulnerability and integrity. To ground our work in the beauty of our individual gifts and the power of the work we share, all held in gratitude for this moment, this congregation and one another. To develop and demonstrate trust in and with one another. A trust that is deep enough and strong enough to be able to hold one another accountable and lean in when difficulties arise. To resolve disagreements between us without involving congregants or staff utilizing outside support when needed. To share, co-equally, leadership in these areas of congregational life, articulating and sharing the vision and mission of the congregation. Our reporting to and relationship with the Board of Trustees, the healthy functioning of the congregation. Worship, leadership of our staff team. Decisions in the above areas will be made through conversation and consensus. Once a decision is made, we will speak with one voice. To lead with authority the areas that are identified to fall within one of the co-senior ministers portfolios. To stay sufficiently informed on the activities of the congregation so that either minister could make decisions independently when consultation is not feasible. To seek and engage in coaching and other professional support that will make it possible for this co-ministry to flourish. In faith and in gratitude. Reverend Kelly Aspruth Jackson. Reverend Kelly J. Crocker. The work of relationships of all kinds exists in those long stretches in the middle. We are under no illusion that this work will be simple or easy. Yet here we are, ready to lean in with you and each other when the days are hard. So we'll leave you today with these words from Francis Cozer, which speak to us of the possibility that lives within covenants and how we are called to return to one another again and again. When covenant breaks, hope flickers and doubt seeps in like floodwaters through the cracks in the basement. We are left staring at the door that was slammed in our faces wondering if we should walk back in and why. Covenant is a promise that we will work together on a team we did not choose. We like the idea of it far more than the thing itself. It is the radical answer to a radical goal, at least on paper. For our faith does not give us answers for what to do when covenant breaks. But then standing in that cold with that door slammed in front of you, something shifts. Covenant is a promise between the people of this faith. But it is also a promise between our self and our faith. And sometimes nothing takes more faith than staying. Choosing to speak of your broken heart to those who are brave enough to face change, to stay in dialogue and have those hard conversations you never wanted to have. And choosing to be angry rather than walking away, all of these are holding true to your promises. When covenant breaks, we are sent back to the beginning again, like a toddler on their time out to think about what just happened or a minister on their sabbatical called to remember what we fell in love with in the first place. This ship is not sinking. It is only rocked by the violent waves of being human. May that humility keep us listening even when our own pain hasn't been heard yet. Even when our relationships are shattering like crystals falling to cold stone, even when all you need is a hug and your community won't open its arms yet. When covenant breaks, we need to come home to trust. To trust that there are others out there who would have supported you if they were only there. And to trust that our faith will always be here tomorrow bound by nothing more or less than the promises made by people willing to fight. Like a golden web glimmering with dew in the first light of morning because... When covenant breaks, it is merely a tear in a web still holding strong. And as long as we believe in ourselves and in the greatness that we could become together, then we can always come back tomorrow, roll up our sleeves and start weaving again. The worship service is trust in partnership. We're gonna ask you to partner with us as we sing our anthem. It's a Buddhist mantra. It's a very joyful one. And the score calls for time. You're gonna be the ones to do the clap. It's very simple. We're gonna work first right now. There are only three options. Three claps, two claps, or one clap. I'll hold up the number for both hands and we'll go together. I'll give you some time to digest which one we're doing. So when you see me hold up a number, you don't just start clapping. It's a warning and then we'll go together, right? So let's practice three claps. Ready? We're going to clap. We're going to clap. We're going to clap. We're going to clap. We're going to clap. Everybody's singing. Everybody's laughing. Everybody's going to clap. Everybody's going to clap. So if you do not already know, I'm about to tell you that we are in the midst of our annual stewardship campaign season, the time where we think deeply and reflect and make a decision each for ourselves or for our households about how we will support and sustain the work of this congregation for our next financial year. And so here now to offer a testimonial in support of the stewardship campaign are Dave Wailow and Amy Schultz. Hi, my name is Dave Wailow and I'm here with my wife, Amy, and we are giving a testimony as to why we contribute to FUS. Amy and I moved to Madison in December of 1987 and that was following a large blizzard, about 13 inches that dropped on the Madison area. And we were trying to move into our new little house as the last snowflakes of that blizzard were falling. And, but before we could get into our house we had to remove some of the snow. And so I went looking around and after searching through several big box stores, I did come across Farm and Fleet and found just what I needed, a shovel. Similarly, we were looking for a religious home and discovered FUS at the time Reverend Michael Schuler arrived. His melding of Western and Eastern wisdoms resonated with our evolving spiritual beliefs. And for me provided a familiar connection back to my Christian roots while opening my mind to other religious perspectives. And it was just what I needed, a thought provoking religious community. During our early years here I often had to work day shifts during the weekends. So when the Saturday service started it also was just what I wanted and needed. However, it was often very difficult especially during the beautiful fall and spring afternoons to stop outdoor activities and going doors to attend a church service. But after a year of being foul weather church goers Saturday families were alerted that if we wanted this service to continue that we needed to commit to attending. That is when I began to take to heart what it meant to make a personal commitment to a greater community and the church that we were calling our spiritual home. We dedicate ourselves to the Saturday service by becoming regular attendees and helping out by teaching in the RE program and ushering. It was at that time that we also decided to make a financial commitment to FUS by becoming sustaining stewards. So please join us today in making a commitment and financial contribution to sustain the good work offered by our own F our first Unitarian society. And that is what FUS needs from me and from you. Thank you. So my name is Amy Schultz and I've been a part of First Unitarian for over three decades. First Unitarian has been a place where my perspective is enriched. It's been important in these chaotic times that we're living in to find a place that validates who I am and yet it also challenges me to grow. The number of attendees to faith-based institutions has declined over the years and for many folks it may seem a lot easier to sit on the sidelines. But I think it's important to engage in the messier endeavor of belonging to a community where you can learn and be inspired by both the leaders and the congregation. The structure that First Unitarian offers with services, groups, music, films and classes promote the opportunity to both grow, get support and inspired and to also to give back to the congregation. An example of my own growth has occurred in the last few years. In our congregation we have been called to examine racism. Sometimes racism is exhibited when we simply remain silent in the face of injustices. I was motivated to explore the meaning of racism in a much more active way. I read books and I watched films about racism and I joined the Black History for a New Day class at First Unitarian sponsored. The facilitators for the discussion groups helped me to understand these issues much more deeply and to help me to become a better advocate for countering structural racism wherever I encounter it. Having a community to support me on this ongoing journey has been key to my own growth. There have been many ministers in the pulpit and yet there hasn't been just one minister that has kept me coming back to First Unitarian. Sure, there's differences in the delivery and the depth of the topics, but it's that they continue to stimulate and challenge my outlook that I value. I remember one of the ministers talking about the importance of financially supporting an institution that reflects our values and then how we count on these places to support us in return. My participation as a religious ed teacher and volunteering for certain events and contributing financially are all ways that I give back to FUS. I feel like I've received many things from First Unitarian for which I'm grateful. The religious ed that our kids went through and then also the classes on marriage enrichment for Dave and I were great foundations for us. The family activities of camping trips and cross-country ski trips connected us with people that have become some of our closest friends. During the COVID pandemic, the staff and volunteers at First Unitarian went to great efforts to keep the services, music and programming vibrant and we enjoyed participating in them from the comfort of our own home. It's these things that connected us to the society and have kept us engaged. We know that if we wanna keep First Unitarian as a beacon in the community, that we need to invest in it. It's with gratitude and pleasure that we continue to contribute to First Unitarian with our time, talent and treasure and I thank you for all that you add to our congregation. Thank you. Our thanks to Dave and Amy. Each week we gather, bringing here all that lives in our hearts, the joys and the losses of our recent days. We share them here knowing they're held gently in support and in love. We light a candle of grief and gratitude for the life of Sparrow Sentie who passed away on Thursday evening. We send our love to her children and family and to all who loved Sparrow. We give thanks for her 98 years, her full and loving life. Today we continue our ritual of lighting a candle for the people of Ukraine. We send them our prayers for peace, our hopes for an end to war, our desire for a world where all are free. We light a candle for all who are lonely this day. All who dwell in silent sanctuaries of pain or fear who feel alone. And we light a candle for all who rejoice this day. All who celebrate whose hearts run over with the blessings of kindness and compassion and gratitude. And we light a candle for all that lives within your hearts. The blessed and the brutal mingling of joy and pain, gladness and despair. This candle is for all of us engaged in this holy and complicated work of living. Feel join us in a moment of meditation with these words from Jess Reynolds. Light the candle. Cup your hands around the flame and listen as it whispers. What does it say to your warm and weathered palms? How closely can you listen? How quietly can you wait for the questions? Light the candle. Breathe against the flame and watch it ripple. Breathe your fears into it and let them burn into trails of empty gray. Let your air embrace the flame and do not snuff it out. Light the candle. Feel your bones melt like wax. All your hardest parts softening to the touch. All your sharp edges smoothing over. Sink into your body, your seat, the earth. Let yourself be held in the quiet. Light the candle. Fix your eyes on the center of the flame, the center of being. Look into the darkness at the heart of the light. Reach for the contemplative dark in your own heart for the place where stillness sits and do not turn away. Light the candle. Settle into the knowledge that this light is the same as all other lights burning and all other candles. Look through the flame into the places you have known and the places you have yet to see. Light the candle. Bring into being the flame that bore us all. Blessed be and amen. The people here with you are ones whose hearts are sometimes tender, whose skin is sometimes thin, whose eyes sometimes fill with tears and whose laughter is a beautiful sound. You are surrounded by ones seeking wholeness who trust you are doing the same. As you leave this place, may your hearts remain open, may your voices stay strong and may your hands always remain outstretched and reaching for each other. Blessed be, go in peace and please be seated for the postlude. The spring, last Sunday, feeling mighty low and kind of mean. Suddenly a voice said, go for neighbors, wear the picture on a wider screen. The voice said, be wide, bring the longer screen.