 Good morning and welcome to First Unitarian Society. I'm Kelly Crocker, Minister of Congregational Life, and today I am joined by Reverend Roger Birchhausen, Drew Collins, Linda Warren, and Daniel Carnes. We are glad you are joining us this morning. Though not together physically in this space we love and share, we are together in spirit. Our being together is an affirmation that the bonds of connection and love that tie us together remain with us always. We hope that you will be able to join in our coffee hour immediately after the service. You will see the information for coffee hour on your screen at the end of our time together. I invite you now into a time of centering silence, a time to take a few deep breaths so we may come fully into this time and this space together. The opening words come from Kimberly Tomsek Carlson. It is not by chance that you choose to be here today. You have been looking for something larger than yourself. Inside of you there is a yearning, a calling, a hope for more, a desire for a place of belonging and caring. Through your struggles someone nurtured you into being, instilling a belief in a shared purpose, a common yet precious resource that belongs to all of us when we share. And so you began seeking a beloved community, a people that will not put fences around love, a community that holds its arms open to possibilities of love, a hard home to nourish your soul and share your gifts. Welcome home, welcome to worship. In the moment we will have our chalice lighting. I invite you to join the Preston family in lighting a chalice or candle at your home. You who feel your heart is breaking, come in. You who are confused and wondering, come in. You who are angry or in pain, come in. You who are hopeful and energized, come in. Come into this community of hearts, where you have been held in love and in comfort, where you have shared your joy and spirit, where you have asked questions because you felt they needed asking, where you found friendship and passions, where you have sometimes not agreed and sometimes not feel comforted and sometimes not felt heard. Bring your broken heart and your grief, share them. Bring your confusion and your questions, share them. Bring your anger and your pain, share them. Bring your hope and your energy, share them. For here in this place, we can be together. We can gather in all conflicting emotions, tumbling around in our heads and hearts. We bring them together and lay them on the altar of community. For community means, for community means the fragile, non-perfect human being can come together in the name of peace and seek to find peace again. Please rise and body your spirit and join me in singing our opening hymn, number 1008, when our heart is in a holy place. Blessed with love and amazing grace, when our heart is in a holy place, the wind when we share. Once heard the story of a multi-generational event at a Unitarian Universalist congregation where everyone was encouraged to create a heart. They were given some construction paper and some glue and some markers to design their heart. One participant, Emily, worked diligently to create the most perfect, beautiful heart she could. It even had glitter in the shape of diamonds all around the outside. I'm imagining it looked something like this. As Emily was helping to clean up, she noticed the heart of one woman who was around the same age as her grandmother sitting in the nearby table. It was a mishmash, mess of odd colors and had pieces which were ripped and torn, glued haphazardly upon it. Parts of it were wrinkled and crinkled and there was even a little hole in it. I'm guessing it might have looked something like this. Thinking there was something wrong, Emily offered to help the woman fix her heart, but the woman merely smiled and explained that there was nothing wrong with her heart. It merely revealed all the things which had happened to her in her life. She said there were happy times here. The beautiful colors and designs represented when she first met her husband, their wedding, the birth of each of their three children. There were other beautiful parts too which stood for watching her children taking their first steps on their own, riding a bike for the first time, graduating from college. But what about all the rips and tears and wrinkles? Emily asked, why are they there? They were for the sad times in her life, the woman explained. The time her best friend was stricken with measles, the time someone lied or did something to hurt her feelings and the hole was left when her husband died. In fact, every time a person comes into my life that I care about, she explained, they take a piece of my heart with them. This was distressing to Emily thinking of the woman having to give part of her heart away to others. Well, what happens if you give it all away? She asked, you'll be left with nothing. No, I won't, the woman responded with a smile because you see, they give me a piece of theirs as well. Emily looked down at her beautiful, perfect heart with the glitter and the design she worked so hard to make. And she looked again at the woman's mishmashed heart with the jagged colors, rips and wrinkles. Without hesitation, Emily ripped a piece off of her perfect heart and handed it to the woman. Thank you, the woman said as she placed it with her mishmash heart and tore off a piece to hand to Emily. Our offering each week honors different ways we give expression to sharing our hearts with one another and beyond these walls. Every time we support one another in challenging times and celebrate joys together, every time we support FUS with our gifts of time, love and money, every time we reach out beyond these walls to help build a better Madison and world, we share our hearts. The offering today will support the good and important work of the Urban League of Greater Madison. The Urban League is one of the frontline organizations in Madison working for justice and fairness for black Americans and for the common good, which of course are inextricably linked. You will see on the screen how to donate through our website, fusmadison.org or via text. We thank you for your generosity and your faith in this life we live together. There is so much power in a simple cup of tea. These were the words of my college advisor, Dr. Patricia Graham. Dr. Patty, as we lovingly called her, worked in the student services department and supervised all of us who were student mentors, junior and senior students who assisted freshmen and sophomores with study skills, time management, tutoring. When a student would walk into a session and clearly frazzled, upset, unable to calm down enough to just sit and breathe, Dr. Patty would magically appear, lay her hand on my shoulder and say, did you offer them a cup of tea? Her calm, soothing manner held magical properties and by the time I returned with a steaming cup of something herbal, the student would inevitably be breathing deeper and settling in. On a quiet afternoon when there were no students, I once asked Dr. Patty, so what's the story with the cup of tea? Once upon a time she said there was a young girl who believed that she needed to be happy all the time. Anything else was bad or wrong. If she was sad, she felt there was a power in ignoring it, forcing it to go away because if she was sad or mad or afraid, then something was wrong with her. She was broken, unworthy, unacceptable. Then Patty laughed her deep, joyous, rumbling laugh and said, any guesses where this is going? Of course that young girl ended up in a heap of trouble. She pushed all those emotions deep down inside where they could fester and grow and explode at the worst possible moments. Then one day my grandmother asked me to have a cup of tea. As we sat, she told me that someone came to visit. She would always offer them a cup of tea. Even if they weren't my favorite person she laughed, they still got the offer. And honey, that's how you have to treat this life. Some days you will be happy and some days you'll be sad. You'll be scared, you'll be disappointed in someone you love or maybe in yourself. But you can't ignore that. You must welcome it just like we welcome people we love and people we might not like all that much. Welcome all of it. If you're angry, be angry. Offer your anger a cup of tea because it's trying to tell you something. All your feelings, happy or sad, are telling you something. And my darling, you have to learn how to listen. Patty's eyes were misty as she thought back to her beloved grandmother. She turned back to me and said, see why we offer everyone a cup of tea? No matter what they are bringing in here with them, we try to teach them offer it a cup of tea. Sit with it, breathe with it and say, hello. You have to learn how to listen. As I was remembering this story of my beloved teacher, I was reminded of the poem from 13th century Persian poet and Sufi mystic Jalalalit din Rumi, the guest house. This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival, a joy, a depression, a meanness. Some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all. Even if they're a crowd of sorrows to violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still treat each guest honorably, he may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. The only way out is through. I learned that from a cup of tea with Dr. Patty. She taught me that I needed to believe that friendship with all my emotions is both possible and desirable. This belief paves the way for breathing into the unpleasant emotion, welcoming it, building up tolerance so you can just hold it in your hand for a while, learn from it, allow the energy it represents to transform and become something different. Shame turning into anger, anger turning into sadness and grief, sadness and grief turning into empathy for our parents and teachers and friends and eventually empathy turning into compassion for a world in pain. In recent months, many of us have been experiencing all kinds of emotions as we deal with uncertainty, a new level of fear and concern for our safety and the safety of our loved ones and a great deal of time at home. Back in March, social media was flooded with pictures of banana bread and bubbling sourdough starters, gorgeous loaves baked to a brown and crusty perfection. As communities around the globe face lockdown once again, these images of home baked goodness aren't appearing on our screens. What is appearing instead is a long forgotten emotion, one that was well known in the fourth century monastic communities, but not talked about in recent memory. That emotion is Asidia. Asidia comes from the Greek and means lack of care. It is a feeling of being totally bored and totally restless, a horrible combination. Asidia is a form of despair that encourages you to think why bother? It convinces you that nothing matters. Life appears to be nothing but meaningless repetition. Being forced to stay still is a breeding ground. The symptoms can be working endlessly or also doing nothing. It is a terrible boredom that is beyond the usual meaning of that word. It is a boredom that causes you to disconnect from others, from yourself, from life itself. It is a word that feels eerily familiar. It is a word we need now. The author, Kathleen Norris wrote a book titled Asidia and Me back in 2008. In it, she wrote more than 20 years ago, I first encountered the word Asidia in The Practicos, a book by the fourth century Christian monk of vagrius Ponticus. Across a distance of 1600 years, he spoke clearly of the inner devastation caused by Asidia when it made it seem that the sun barely moves, if at all, and that the day is 50 hours long. Boredom tempts him to look constantly out the windows, to walk outside the cell, to gaze carefully at the sun to determine the hour. But a vagrius soon discovers that this seemingly innocuous activity has an alarming and ugly effect. She wrote, for having stirred up a restlessness that he is unable to shake, the demon taunts him with the thought that all his efforts are futile. Life then looms like a prison sentence day after day of nothingness. We might notice a familiarity in a vagrius' description of a listless monk who, when he reads, yawns plenty and easily falls into sleep. He rubs his eyes and stretches his arms, his eyes wander from the book. He stares at the wall and then goes back to his reading for a little. He then wastes his time hanging on to the end of words, counts the pages, ascertains how the book is made, finds fault with the writing and the design. Finally, he just shuts it and uses it as a pillow. Then he falls into a sleep not too deep because hunger wakes his soul up and he begins to concern himself with that. In a recent interview regarding Asidia and the pandemic, Kathleen Norris said, millions of us are now being forced to be hermits and live a monastic life. Asidia is a lot like the pandemic. It spreads rapidly through confined quarters. It is opportunistic, she said, just like this virus. It will strike when we're at a low point. Our immune system is down because we're feeling anxious and tired and restless and bored and sad about how things used to be and all of those things are classic signs of Asidia. The era of a vagrius was no less complex than our own. The fourth century Mediterranean was in great social and political turmoil. So is there anything we can learn from the monastics that could help us today? Can we look toward those ancient monks for inspiration? First, reviving this language of Asidia identifies the complex of emotions brought on by enforced isolation, constant uncertainty and the barrage of bad news we see every day. We have new words like doom scrolling which refers to the tendency to continue to surf or scroll through bad news, even though that news is saddening, disheartening or depressing. Recognizing in those moments what we are doing and being able to say, this feeling is Asidia. Could legitimize those feelings of listlessness, undirected anxiety and an inability to concentrate and help us to claim them as valid emotions. Second, the feelings associated with physical isolation are exacerbated by emotional isolation. The terrible sense that this thing I feel is mine alone. When we can name our emotion, we can talk about it, claim it and realize that it is shared. Reading fourth and fifth century monks such as Vagrius, we find that as much as any modern psychologist, they knew that awareness of one's underlying problems was key, but by itself could not bring about healing. A Vagrius and his fellow desert dwelling monks called this a long, dark tea time of the soul. These monks had learned that it is at noon when the sun is unbearably hot and one's energy is drained, that all the knowledge in the world is of little use. When you are alone in the desert, when hope is a mirage, the monks would tell you it is time to reach out for help. A desert monk troubled by these feelings knew that he was not alone. He was expected to seek out an elder and ask for a word. Perhaps the abbot would listen and offer a simple cup of tea. This feels like an important teaching in a time of physical distance. These restless feelings, this inability to concentrate, this anxiety, this is not you alone. If you feel this rising within you, I encourage you to reach out, seek out a trusted friend or a lay minister here to share your stories. This is the beauty of belonging to a congregation such as ours. We would hear your stories of grief and sorrow as readily as those of joy and laughter. For you contain a multitude of emotions, a mishmash heart, and there is a time and a place and a hearing for all the stories within you. Share with another the stories of what fills your heart, what engages your mind, what resides in your soul. Share who and what you love. For the opposite of acedia, the antidote to it is love. Acedia the monks tell us is the failure to do what love requires. The failure to show up in the way the world needs you to. Because you don't wanna do these things, you're too tired, you're exhausted, you're worried that nothing makes sense, you can't see your way past it and do what love is asking you to do. Acedia reminds us of the power of love by showing us its absence. What that absence feels like deeply in our bones. In a section of the practicost that deals with fighting these thoughts of worry and exhaustion, a vagrius makes an interesting suggestion. When we meet with acedia, it is time with tears to divide our soul into. One part is to encourage the other is to be encouraged. When you find yourself in this state, you can recognize it for what it is, offer it a cup of tea and listen to what love is asking you to do. Then reach out. Find ways to reconnect with other people, offer up a listening heart, foster a deepened relationship with those you love, with the communities that uplift and uphold you. What is love asking of you today? May you go forth knowing you are never alone, knowing you contain multitudes of joys and sorrows, of emotions of all kinds, and may you welcome it all with a kindness, an open heart, and a simple cup of tea. Each week we gather with hearts that are heavy and hearts filled with joy. We share these in community knowing that we are held in love. This week we light three candles for new life, celebrating the birth of Anne Smiley's new granddaughter, Lena Smiley-Shainer, born to Ben and Mary Smiley-Shainer. The joy of Carol Ferguson to have participated in the birth and mother-son postpartum care in Houston with one of her former daughters and Henry Linden, the first great nephew of Jean Sears and Becky Burns. We also light a candle of joy for Chuck Evenson, who's happy to announce the publication of his new children's book. It's called Good Night Door County, and it was launched on September 24th. We light a candle of sorrow for Leah Sinclair, who shares the sadness of her roommate, Connie. Connie's sister, Susie Morgan, passed away unexpectedly this past Sunday. And a candle for Laura O'Flanagan as we send her prayers of strength, peace, and harmony at her new job. May we join together now in a moment of silence as we each sit with the prayers of our hearts. Blessed be and amen. Please rise and body and our spirit and sing together today's closing hymn. Number six, just as long as I have breath. Just as long as I have breath, I must answer yes to life. Though with pain I made my way, still with hope I meet each day. If they ask what I did well, tell them I said yes to love. Just as long as vision lasts, I must answer yes to truth in my dream and in my time. Is that elusive spark? If they ask what I did well, tell them I said yes to truth. Just as long as my heart beats, I must answer yes to love. Disappointment pierced me through still life. We extinguish our chalice flame, knowing we carry its light within us. Until we are together again, may this light help restore our connections to one another. Our sense of hope, beauty, and promise in this world, our deep knowing that we truly belong to ourselves, to one another, and to this blessed world. Blessed be and go in peace.