 And then everybody else will stand for this. And they'll just stand for where they're sitting. So they can sit where they're sitting. There you go. Yeah, there you go. Thank you. Oh. Thank you. I almost didn't know that. He's eating. I know. Thompson, I'm guessing. Come with us. Yeah. Oh. Here you go. OK. Those are for you. I'm so curious. How are you today? He's like, oh, come with us. OK. The last three boys, huh? So four kids in place of the kids. So right up to where we're going to be. Three more and we'll give it to each of you. We'll be proud of you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Please join in a moment of centering silence so we can be fully present with each other this morning. And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, a chance to become musically present by turning to the words for our in-gathering hymn, which you'll find inside your order of service. And good morning, everybody. Welcome to another Sunday here at First Unitarian Society, where independent thinkers gather in a safe, nurturing environment to explore issues of social, spiritual, and ethical significance as we try to make a difference in this world. I'm Steve Goldberg, a charming member of this congregation. And it is with special energy and enthusiasm that we welcome so many guests, visitors, and newcomers. And we have quite a few of them today because we are dedicating some children a little later on in the service. If this is your first time visiting First Unitarian Society, I know you'll find that it's a special place. And we invite you to join us for our fellowship hour right after the service. And speaking of the service, this would be a perfect time to silence all those electronic devices that might interfere with your ability to enjoy the service. And this message goes for those of you watching or listening at home as well. And while you're turning off those devices, I'd like to mention that if you are accompanied by a youngster today, and many of you are, and that youngster is worried that you might get a little fidgety during the service, we offer two great alternatives for you to enjoy the service. One is our child haven at the rear corner of the auditorium. And another is a seating area just outside the doors in our commons, from which you can hear and see the service. And I know you want to know the names of the volunteers who are helping this service run smoothly. These are people you have a chance to thank. You can give them a high five, hug them, or offer to rake their leaves this fall. So thank you to Mark Schultz for running the sound system today. Thank you to Anne Smiley for being our lay minister. And speaking of Smiley, the smiling face you saw upstairs was the face of our greeter, Joan Heitman. Thank you to Vivian Littlefield and Ron Cook for being the ushers of this large, unruly crowd. And thanks to Gene Hills and Chip Quaddy for handling the hospitality hour, the coffee and other arrangements. And Patty Evenson for making sure that our pulpit palms are vibrant, green, and moist. Just a couple announcements before the service begins. The annual celebration of the Moses Organization to which FUS belongs proudly is being held Saturday, October 10 from 4 to 7 p.m. at Zion City International, which is located off the Belt Line near Fish Hatch Re-Road. We invite you to join in the festivities next Saturday. And if you'd like to attend, tickets are $15 available today right after the service at the Moses table in the commons. And there's a slight typo in the order of service this morning. The composer of our prelude is Vincent Persichetti, and one final announcement, 179. That's the number of days until the next cabaret, 179. So please sit back or lean forward to enjoy this morning's service. I know you will find that it will touch your heart, stir your spirit, and trigger one or two new thoughts. We're glad that you're all here for this special program and service. Each of us brings a separate truth here. We bring the truth of our own own story. We don't come as empty vessels, but as full people, each with a story all our own. This room is rich with experience, with life. All manner of people are here, joyful, needy, frightened, anxious, grateful, connected. We all bring our full lives with us. May we recognize the lives that are in this room. May we hear and honor the truths that we all bring. Together we have truths. Together we have stories. Together we are community. And if you will rise now in body or spirit to join in the words of Chalice Lighting that are in your order of service, for daylight and darkness, for sunshine and rain, for the earth and all people, we offer deep thanksgiving. We kindle this light in celebration of the life that we share. And before we join our voices in song, if you will turn and greet your neighbor, the rite of dedication. This is a time when we're to our family and religious community with life this morning. It is our cherished assignment to welcome and pledge our care to Declan Richard Fleming, in Fleming, Ava June, Elizabeth Newman, Christopherson Smith, Bronson Christopherson Smith, Kellen Christopherson Smith, and Madeline Elizabeth Smithback. Today all of us gathered here are more than casual witnesses to life's gifts and nature's marvelous creations. We're all being invited to share the joy which these parents take in their child and to enter more fully into their lives. And I believe in my heart that I speak for all of us when I say that we are deeply grateful for this privilege. This ceremony is a public declaration of our love and caring for the children of our community. It is a time when all of us gathered here enter into a covenant with these children and with one another, that we will take some part in the responsibility for their care, their learning, and their development. For we recognize that every child is a symbol of the future to be received with loving arms and guided with understanding and care. And all young ones have a just claim upon their families and their larger community to be nurtured in the ways of sharing, love, hope, and peaceful living. So I would now like to invite our parents to come forward with their children. It's one of those wow moments, isn't it? Don't y'all just wanna look and go, wow! Wow! Congregation, I invite you to rise. The congregation that will help shape the lives of these children, you who are the village that will help raise them. And will you say with me in your order of service the pledge of the congregation for the gift of childhood whose innocence, laughter, and curiosity bring hope, joy, and new understanding into our lives. We lift thankful hearts. We welcome Declan, Isla, Ava, Katelyn, Aiden, Bronson, Kellen, and Madeline into this spiritual community and extend to their parents our love and support in the joys and challenges of caregiving. As these children grow, we will share with them our insights, our values, and our dreams that they may enjoy the rich benefits of our religious heritage. And then I would just ask that the children remain standing. So the children of this congregation, I will let you decide what category you fall into, child or adult, to help welcome these kids into the youth of this congregation. So will you say with me in your order of service the children's pledge? Today, we welcome these children into our first Unitarian family. As they grow, they will be studying and playing with you and learning from you too. I think I'm supposed to read this and you're not. I ask you to join us in welcoming them. Will you try to be true friends to Declan, Isla, Ava, Katelyn, Aiden, Bronson, Kellen, and Madeline? You guys just got a lot of new friends. Will you speak to them with kindness, treat them fairly, and help them to feel at home here? If so, please say really loudly, we will. We will. All right. Please seated. And now to those who stand with their child or children before us. As caregivers, it is your privilege and obligation to provide an environment both of security and challenge in which these young souls which you bring before us today will grow. Do you commit yourself to promote their physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being? Will you respect as well as protect these children and bestow your love as a free and unmerited gift? And do you also reaffirm your commitment to support and care for one another as partners in life and in parenting? If so, please say we do. There are many among us today who bear a special relationship to one or more of these children. So if you will please stand, as I say your name. With Declan, our godparents, Susie, Symbolnik, and Mitch Fleming. And with Isla, our godparents, Carly, Wurwee, and Nick Jekyll. And with both of them are their grandparents, Bill and Linda Fleming, and Helena and Dan Farakha. With Ava, our big brother Leo. Grandparents Jill, Strel, George Kunkel, Rochelle Kunkel, Uncle Ryan Kunkel, Aunt Kristie Kunkel, and Cousins Jack and Harper. Here with Caitlin are her sponsors, Tim Weitzel, and Kristen Foray. With Aidan Bronson and Kellan, this is a three-fer for you guys. Sponsors John and Jennifer Christofferson and Angie Smith. Grandparents Dennis and Karen Christofferson, Mark and Diane Smith. And with Madeline, godparents Sarah Baker and Kali Solonik, grandparent Susan and Cliff Baker who are here with us. And April and Dave Smithback who are not able to be here but are with us in spirit. Uncle Travis and Kevin, cousin Kasin and Kinley, Aunt Cheryl and Erin and great grandparents, Sally, Don and Linda. This amazing community support and to all of you I ask do you take upon yourselves the privilege and responsibility to nurture, defend, and support these children's inherent worth and dignity? Will you encourage them to grow in freedom of spirit and to always seek the truth? And finally, will you help them to grow in love for the larger human family and to love and respect the larger community of life to which we all belong? If so, please make this sacred promise by responding, we will. Please be seated. And thank you all for being here this morning. In the act of dedication, we use the symbolism of water as a sign of our common heritage. There is no suggestion here of a washing away of inherited sin. These children came into the world with the limitations natural to our species but they arrived innocent. Water here stands for vitality, the essence of life, the foundation of being. Its use here reminds us of our common bond with all embracing ever sustaining nature. It is also the water of our community. The water of the world gathered at our annual water communion service. Using it here reminds us of the ever sustaining and embracing love of community. You will name this child, Caitlyn Elizabeth Newman. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Name this child, Madeline Elizabeth Smithback. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Name this child, Ila Irene Fleming. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Name this child, Declan Richard Fleming. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Who wants to go first? Big brother, biggest brother? All right, name this child, Aiden Christofferson Smith. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Name this child, Kellan Christofferson Smith. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. And mister, name this child. Ronson Christofferson Smith. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. Ava June Conkelstrell, who I don't wanna wake up. We dedicate you in the name of truth, the promise of love and the fellowship of this society. May you be granted clarity of thought, integrity of speech and a compassionate heart. As a token of their dedication, we give to each child a rosebud, fragrant symbol of beauty, promise and love. The rose that Julie will be giving the children has no thorns, symbolizing the better world we would give our children if it were in our power. And while we know that the world is not altogether as lovely as these rosebuds, we hope these children will learn to recognize the beauty and the goodness which does exist and that they will grow in wisdom and compassion adding their own beauty to the world. Declan, Aila, Ava, Katelyn, Aiden, Bronson, Kellen and Madeline, as this flower unfolds in all its natural beauty, so may your life unfold. As a remembrance of their dedication, we give to each child a blanket and a gift from the members of our shawl ministry program. When you see this blanket, may you be reminded of the warmth and support and love of this community for your child and your family. We are grateful for these children and for these families and we will close our service here, our dedication service with these words from Sarah York. Give us the child who lives within, the child who trusts, the child who imagines, the child who sings, the child who receives without reservation and who gives without judgment. Give us a child's eye that we may receive the beauty and freshness of each day like sunrise. Give us a child's ears that we may hear the music of ancient times. Give us a child's heart that we may be filled with wonder and delight. Give us a child's faith that we may be cured of our cynicism and free to work towards a world of justice and peace. Give us the spirit of the child who is always reaching out, who is always open to love. And if you will join us now in welcoming all of these beautiful children. As our families return to their seats, we will rise in body or spirit to sing our next hymn as our children also leave for their classes to church every Sunday. Find nothing remarkable in this, but think of it. A man who came every single Sunday and it was not that he lacked other things to do. I knew him only in the last years of his life. A birthright Unitarian, a retired geologist who when he was not in church was a volunteer for Amnesty International, for the local food bank, for the American Civil Liberties Union, the family planning clinic, the AIDS Project, the Unitarian Universalist District. We were a part of the Audubon Society and for a splendid community chorus. Many of us holding full-time jobs. He was committed, effective, clear about what he could and would and by his own standards should contribute to the causes that he cared for and the world and the people that he cared for. But what set him apart from all of us was that he was there every single Sunday and because of hearing loss, I think more than any sense of his own importance, he sat in the front row. Why do you come, John, in all kinds of weather, when you're well and when you're not, when you like the guest speaker and when you know you won't? Why do you come every Sunday? I asked him this not long before he died. His answer was straightforward, just like the man himself. I come, he said, because somebody might miss me if I didn't. He said it in a way not arrogant at all, but generously and honestly. He was the kind of person who saw it as his duty and his privilege to welcome newcomers on Sunday morning, not because he needed more friends himself. The man was over 80 years old with a lifetime of friends and colleagues and acquaintances to spare. He did it not because he wanted to evangelize the visitors or grow the church. On the contrary, he loved and missed the tiny congregation he joined in 1955. He greeted people as they came and he steered them toward the minister and the coffee pot, the Sunday school, the guest book, the pledge cards, the sign-up sheets, because he felt it was the right and only thing to do. When people come into your home, he said, you welcome them as if nothing in that moment matters more. He worked hard on Sunday mornings. He got up on Sundays expecting to work hard to make others feel at home. He came with that in mind and he was right. After he died, we missed him when he didn't come. And do you know what happened? The Sunday after his memorial, someone knew who'd never met John and now would never have the chance, walked right in and sat down in his empty place in front row. A whole family just sat right down as if they owned the place, as if they had every right to be there, as if we were glad to see them. Two women knew to town their toddler and their baby. They came hoping there was room and John himself would have been delighted. And Dan chooses an anthem that is just right that you want to stand up here and go, together in the giving and receiving of the morning's offering. Amen, they did it. We'll go home now. Has been one of transition and settling into new routines in my little family of four. Learning about new kids, new teachers, new rooms. I don't know about you all, but it's been a wild and bumpy ride. At the end of each day, I check in with our older son, Sam, about his day. I call it engaged parenting. His father calls it the after-school interrogation. And when I walk in from the garage, he yells, let the interrogation begin. How was your day? What did you have for specials? Did you eat your lunch? What are you writing about? Did you get new library books? Perhaps the one that strikes terror in my heart, what did you do at recess? I say terror because recess is that most unstructured of time where social interactions are king, where you can have a wonderful time surrounded by friends or find yourself swinging alone. So the other day, Sam came home and told me that he and a group of friends invented a new game. Everybody's it tag. Well, that sounds great, I said. That sounds like chaos, I thought. How do you play? So he began to tell me a somewhat complicated set of rules that involve being frozen or unfrozen, depending on what happens to the original person who tagged you at the beginning of the game. And I did not follow this at all. But I asked him how they came up with these rules. Oh, you know, he said. We sat down in a circle and we all talked and everybody said one rule that they liked and then we listened to each other's rules and decided which ones would work best. Lots of talking, lots of listening. We figured out how we wanted to play together. You know, it was like coming up with those covenants, making it church where we decide what we need to make it safe and fun for everyone. I must admit that at that moment I excused myself to go around the corner into the kitchen and do the mom who also happens to be a UU minister happy dance. Parenting moments are few and far between and they happen, you gotta dance. Covenants, the promises we make to one another here in this community. What binds us together. The promises that call us into relationship and give us the ability to create deeper, healthier, sustaining relationship. Or in the simple language of a nine-year-old, the promises we make to ensure this place is safe and fun for everyone. When we say that Unitarian Universalism is a covenantal faith, what we are saying is that we are a religion-based not in a set of dogma or beliefs, but a religion that is based in a set of sacred promises that we make to one another. We promise to help each other in the search for what is ultimately meaningful. We're a community where you believe as you must as your conscience demands. We travel different theological paths, but our covenant leads us to support, challenge and encourage those around us to travel their path as well. We are seekers first. Always open to new learnings and new insights. The covenants we share are of mutual respect, and they are the framework that provides the freedom we long for and the best boundaries for seeking together in community. Ours is a congregation bound not by creed, but by covenant. The central question is not what do you believe, but more what do you believe in? To what people? What values? What dreams do you commit yourself? If you have seen us recognize new members, then you may recall our bond of union, which we recite during those welcoming ceremonies. It was written by the founders of this society in 1879, and it states, we whose names are hereunto subscribed, desiring a religious organization in the spirit of Jesus of Nazareth, which shall make integrity of life its first aim and leave thought free. Associate ourselves together as the first Unitarian Society of Madison and accept to its membership those of whatever theological opinion who wish to unite with us in the promotion of truth, righteousness, reverence, and charity among all. Our central question is not what theology do you believe, but rather where do you commit your heart, your hands, and your life? Is it in the search for truth? Is it in the love of each and all? Is it in the desire to work for a vision of a world made whole? If you answer yes to those questions, then welcome. Victoria Safford in an article on covenants wrote these words, seeing ourselves as bound together in covenant is not a new practice among us. It is quite old. In 1630, John Winthrop, soon to become the first governor of Massachusetts, spoke to a soggy, stalwart band of fellow Puritans who were sailing with high and pious hopes toward a new life. And he said, now the only way to avoid shipwreck and to provide for our posterity is to follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God. We must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluidities for the supply of others' necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, and patience. We must delight in each other, make others' conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes a commission and a community in the work, our community as members of one body. So shall we keep our sacred covenant, unity of the spirit in the bond of peace. It was an extraordinary declaration of interdependence. Despite their stone-cold reputation, their caricatured intolerance, these were a people who promised to bear each other's burdens as their own, to subvert their separate private interests, their superfluidities for the public good of all. Humbly, gently, patiently, they would serve a vision larger than any single eye could see. They would hold a larger hope. Those who heard John Winthrop would surely have grasped the metaphor of danger, shipwreck. They would have been afraid, not only of foundering literally on the rocky shores of New England, but of failing in their errand to establish their city on a hill. The only way to avoid shipwreck, spiritual or otherwise, was to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace to make and keep a sacred covenant together. Covenants in our tradition remain our way to walk together across disagreements, dissents, difficult decisions, cherishing the way we walk together, the way we live and breathe together, cherishing that as dearly as the outcome itself. This is far from easy. Philosopher Jacob Needleman says it this way, we obviously cannot confront this tangled world alone. It takes no great insight to realize that we have no choice but to think together, ponder together in groups and communities. The question is, how? How do we come together and think and hear each other in order to touch or be touched by the intelligence we need? There's a key component needed in order to do just this, to be touched and be touched by the intelligence we need. And that's the willingness to listen. At a recent conference that I attended, the facilitator led us in a covenanting process, and one of the participants raised their hand and said, I need to add one thing. And that is, listen enough to be transformed by what you hear. It's a crucial piece of covenant because we each must listen deeply enough to be transformed by what we hear and hold the willingness, the possibility of change within us. We tell our children that we listen with our ears. When you're a part of a sacred, beloved community, you listen not only with your ears, but also with your heart. A listening heart has the power to bring about transformation. In 1948, most congregations and houses of worship in the United States were segregated by the color of their member's skin. Some were segregated by law, others by custom, or by a lack of actively trying to welcome and include all. The First Unitarian Society of Chicago was one of these congregations, and although their church was located in a neighborhood with many African-Americans, only whites could join the congregation, according to their written bylaws, and according to their custom. Now, the day came that many members began to believe that they needed to take action against racism if they really wanted to live their values and their principles. The minister, the Reverend Leslie Pennington, was ready for this day and ready to take action, and so was James Luther Adams. James Luther Adams was a liberal theologian and a social ethicist who taught at the Meadville Lombard Theological School right across the street from the First Unitarian Society, and he was a member of the congregation's board of directors. Along with some others, Reverend Pennington and James Luther Adams proposed a change in the church's bylaws to desegregate the congregation to welcome people, whatever, the color of their skin. They wanted to include, and they saw it as a way to put their love into action. When the congregation's board of directors considered the desegregation proposal, most of them supported it. However, one member of the board objected by saying, your new program is making desegregation into a creed. You are asking everyone in our church to say they believe desegregating or inviting or even recruiting people of color to attend church here is a good way to tackle racism. What do we do if some members don't believe this? So the debate ensued. Both members felt in their hearts that their belief was right, and perhaps they were so busy talking and trying to be heard that they forgot to listen. And they kept on talking. Meeting after meeting until finally one meeting went until the early hours of the morning. Everyone was exhausted and frustrated. Finally, James Luther Adams turned to the person with the most vocal objection and said, tell me, what do you say is the purpose of this church? Why are we here? Why is this community here? Suddenly, everyone was listening. And the board member replied, okay, Jim, I'll tell you, the purpose of this church is to get a hold of people like me and change them. And the First Unitarian Society of Chicago successfully desegregated. Listen enough to be transformed by what you hear. Someone once said, covenant is a promise I keep to myself about the kind of person I want to be, the kind of life I mean to have together with other people and with all living things. When we welcome babies, when we welcome new members into this community, when we celebrate the love of beaming couples, we speak not in the binding language of contract, but in the life-sustaining fluency of covenant. From coveneer to travel together, we will walk together with you, child. We will walk together with you, friend. We will walk together with each other toward the lives we mean to live and the world we mean to have a hand in shaping, the world of compassion, equity, freedom, joy, and gratitude. We do this by sharing the stories of our lives with each other and by listening to one another so that each and all can come into the fullness of their own beings. Our stories become real when they are witnessed by others and our community becomes whole in their telling. We have many opportunities here for you to share your stories and for you to hear the stories of others, but there is one that I want to call out today, and that is our small group ministry. Many of you in this room have been members of this program for 10 years or more, and I have watched your lives change and be transformed by the relationships you develop with other members of this place. These groups are a way for you to live out our covenant in deepening relationship. They are groups of connection and support and healing, where you can keep your promises to yourself about who you want to be and the world you want to create. There will be members of these programs in the commons after the service. They love to talk to you about what these groups are all about and how you can become involved. So I'll leave you today with these words from Starhawk. We are all longing to go home to a place we have never been, a place half remembered and half envisioned. We can only catch glimpses of from time to time community. Somewhere there are people to whom we can speak with passion and having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us. Eyes will light up as we enter. Voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Some place we can be free. May we create this beloved and blessed community together. Amen. And I now invite you into the giving and the receiving of today's offering which you will see is shared with the Fair Share CSA Coalition. You can find out more about them in the Order of Service here at Fair Share CSA. We are here to find the peace and the strength and the hope that with sharing our celebrations and our sorrows with others. This week we hold in our hearts Helen Kleibainer who passed away peacefully on Friday evening and we will miss her kind smile and her warm presence here among us. And we are also holding all those at Umpqua Community College in Oregon. May we bless and hold the memories of those who were lost. May comfort come to their families and courage come to the end of our lives. And we are also holding all those at Umpqua Community College in Oregon. May we bless and hold the memories of those who were lost. May we come to the injured. May we all be given the strength we need to come together and find the courage to change. May we be together for a moment in silence to acknowledge and lift up all that lives in the sacred quiet of our hearts. For the joyful, may jubilant songs echo in our hearts well beyond fading memories. For the sorrowful, may gentle songs of solace bring lasting healing to our hearts and minds. And for all of us here and our world, may we sing to the morning sun and the evening stars as they guide our journeys. Amen. And if you will rise now in body or spirit for our closing, hymn number 323. Compassionate hearts and our will toward justice. Courage to walk on after hard losses and we have brought our joy, our hope, and our gratitude for ordinary blessings. We do not leave these here. May we gather them up, these blessings of compassion, yearning courage. And may we let them echo in our lives, in our words, our deeds, and our dreams. May we carry them with us wherever we go. So we may be a blessing to all we meet and a precious gift to our world. Blessed be, go in peace, and please be seated for the postlude.