 My name is Doug Watkins and I am one of the ministers here at the First Unitarian Society of Madison. I'm grateful to be joined by the worship team of the Reverend Kelly Crocker, Drew Collins, Linda Warren, Karen Bringelson and Dan Carnes. As Unitarian Universalists, we are called by love to cultivate relationships, to nurture mind and spirit, to grow justice in the world. We are doing this together in this time of live stream worship as we remember love, compassion and resilience that live within and among us. We may be isolated, but we are never alone. In this time of physical distancing, we are creating space together for the community and we would like to invite you to keep the community building going after our service by joining us for our virtual coffee hour. In a moment we will be lighting our chalice and I hope you will find some way to participate in your home, whether it be a candle, your own chalice or even an app on your phone. Whatever you choose as your chalice may the fires of the chalice flames burn brightly throughout our wider community. I invite you now into a time of sintering silence as we come fully present into this moment together. Make yourself comfortable where you are and take a couple of deep breaths, a deep breath in and release and another breath in, let it go and maybe spend a few moments in quiet together. Thomas Star King from an 1863 sermon brings us these words for our opening words today. I believe that if, on every Sunday morning before going to church, we could be lifted to a mountain peak and see a horizon line of 600 miles and folding the copious splendor of the light on which a varied expanse or if we could look upon a square mile of flowers representing all the species with which the creative spirit emboldens a zone or if we could be made to realize the distance of the earth from the sun, the light of which travels every morning 12 millions of miles a minute to feed and bless us, in which the force of gravitation pervades without intermission to hold our globe calmly in its orbit and on its poise. If we could only fairly perceive through our outward senses one or two features of the constant order and glory of nature, our materialistic dullness would be broken. I invite you now to light your home chalice after we say these words in unison together again from the Reverend Thomas Starkeam, surprise and joy would be awakened. We should feel that we live amid the play of infinite thought and the devout spirit would be stimulated so potently that our hearts would naturally mount in praise and prayer. Please join in singing him number 1000, morning has come. His message for all ages is entitled A Playful Mystery. It's a play for four voices so Reverend Kelly, Reverend Doug and Drew, our music director are going to be doing the play along with my friend Ida. Once upon a time, a long time ago, a very, very long time ago, like before your parents were even born, there was a mystery. She was a great mystery and nobody understood or appreciated her, mainly because there is no one else around to appreciate or understand much of anything. For a long, long time, nothing happened. The great mystery waited and waited and waited some more. Until at last she said, and so the mystery set the stars and the heavens, and planets to circle the stars, and comets to wander to and fro, and it was all very beautiful. But after a couple of billion years of watching, the mystery decided it was still boring. The mystery was lonely. She wanted someone to play with. So she looked among all the stars and planets, but some of the stars were too hot, and others were too cool, and some of the planets were too big, and others were too little. But finally she found one that was just right. The planet was covered with water, but there were huge chunks of land sticking out, and even mountains and plains and rivers. Best of all, there were tiny, tiny creatures called protozoa that lived and squirmed in the water. Some play with me. The mystery said, but the protozoa just kept on squirming like they had not even heard her. Which isn't surprising. Why wasn't it surprising? Because they didn't have any ears. After another couple of billion years of watching the stars and planets and comets, and the squirming protozoa, the mystery was bored again. Then the mystery got an idea. What idea was it? She decided to glue some of the protozoa together with stuff called protoplasm. When they were stuck together, the protozoa began working together. They formed eyes and feet and mouths and stomachs. And ears. So they could see, and move around, and eat, and digest. And hear me. But even if the new creatures could hear the mystery, they didn't pay much attention to her. Instead, they watched each other. And they moved around, and ate, and digested each other, too. At least it was more interesting than watching the stars and planets and comets. It was more interesting, because as the new creatures watched, and moved around, and ate, and digested, they changed, they grew, they evolved, and soon there were all kinds of different animals in the seas and on the land, and mountains and rivers. There were cows that said, ooh. And sheep that said, bah. And three singing pigs said, la, la, la. No, no, that isn't right. Pigs say oink all day and night. Oh, oink. But the idea of singing pigs got the mystery thinking. Maybe some of the animals could use their mouths for singing or talking as well as eating. They would make great playmates. So she waited and watched as the animals continued to evolve. And sure enough, after another bazillion years, she saw them. They were really funny looking. All of their fur was stuck on top of their heads. And a few other places on their bodies. And they walked on just two feet. Instead of all four, like most of the other creatures. But best of all, they could talk. And sing. They would be so much fun to play with. The new creatures had problems, though. The new creatures didn't have any fur, so they were cold much of the time. They did not have big teeth or sharp claws, so they had trouble getting food to eat. So the mystery gave them some ideas for making fires and growing crops. And for a while, everything went just great. The new creatures called themselves humans, which means from the earth. And for a long time, the humans lived in balance with the other creatures. The mystery enjoyed watching the humans and giving them new ideas. But she was always careful to make sure that the humans never saw her or heard her directly. Because then, she wouldn't be a mystery anymore. The humans were curious, though. They wanted to know more about the mystery. Was the mystery at all human, like they were? Was the mystery male or female or something else entirely? Did the mystery care about them? Of course I do. If they prayed hard enough, would the mystery make their crops grow? Perhaps, but only if you take care of the earth. Or punish their enemies? I don't think so. Your enemies want me to punish you, but I won't do that, either. The humans had lots of other questions, too, like. Where do we come from? What are we supposed to do with our lives? Why do people get sick, suffer, and die? But the mystery was silent about these things. She knew that if she spoke to them, the humans would think that she was a god. A god like they wrote about in their ancient books. But the mystery was greater than any god, and far beyond anything the humans could imagine. She did not want to terrify the humans. And besides, it was more interesting this way. More time passed, and the humans kept evolving. They gathered themselves together in cities and built roads to connect the cities. They planted huge fields of crops and built machines to harvest the crops. And they built other machines for traveling on the roads. And they took the cows and the sheep and pigs and penned them up to use for food. And they argued a lot about what they were supposed to be doing with their lives. But the mystery kept quiet, hoping they would figure it out for themselves. The humans kept building more cities and roads, more fields, and more machines. Soon the world was filled with humans. There was no room for the wild owls. The cows and sheep and pigs got more and more crowded in their pens. The humans were running out of room, too. Some thought there was no more room for mystery, either. When the mystery realized that the humans thought they had figured out everything for themselves, she became very sad. Some of the humans claimed that the mystery was angry. And if everybody didn't do what they said, she would destroy them. Others said that they did not need the mystery anymore. They could do fine on their own. It seemed that the humans were too busy building and arguing to play anymore. The mystery wanted to say something, but she knew her voice would terrify the humans. She also believed that they would argue about the meaning of her words. They couldn't even agree on what thou shalt not kill or love your enemies meant. And besides, she knew that simply making the humans do what she wanted would take the fun out of playing. But maybe there was another way. Maybe the humans wouldn't listen to her no matter how loudly or clearly she spoke. Maybe instead of telling the humans what to do in a loud voice like thunder, she could use a softer voice like a whisper. Maybe instead of speaking to their ears, she should speak to their hearts. Maybe instead of using words, she should use feelings. And that is exactly what she did. If you listen very closely, you will hear what mystery is saying to you. Don't listen with your ears. Listen with your heart. Think about what you feel when you consider this beautiful planet our home and those who share it with us. Do you feel joy? Do you feel a sense of wonder? Do you feel thankful? Do you feel love? Each of these feelings is part of the mystery. Because each of us is part of the mystery. When we recognize and act on our feelings of joy, wonder, thanksgiving, and love, then the mystery will play with us and through us for a long, long time to come. Amen. Shalom. And blessed be. Thanks for listening. She is adapted from the Reverend Marisol Caballeros among my circle of friends, she writes. There's an ongoing inside joke. To quote song lyrics that give terrible among them are Don't try to hold it inside. Learn how to hide your feelings. In our Eurocentric American culture, outward displays of emotion other than happiness are taboo. Women are taught that anger is unacceptable or un-ladylike. Men are pressured to be manly about how they express sadness, anger, frustration, or any other emotion that is deemed unpleasant. There does exist, however, a growing body of scientific and anecdotal evidence that it's possible to fake it till we make it on our way to happiness. That such faking doesn't necessarily deny the full range of our human emotional experiences. Studies tell us that there's a connection between the upward movement of the corners of the mouth, i.e. smiling, and the production of serotonin in our brains. Maybe this is why, nowadays, my therapist ends most sessions by telling me the same thing that my mom used to shout at us, whiny board kids on long summer days. Go play! Play is to pretend she continues. And honestly, sometimes the world seems too heavy to leave the house, let alone inspire moments of joy. But the more I watch the news these days, the more I'm coming to view playing, intentionally seeking joy as a means of radical resistance. And I will continue to laugh with my friends at songs that deliver terrible emotional advice. Here ends the reading. I love this invitation to interpret intentionally seeking joy as a means of radical resistance. Lately, it has seemed nearly blasphemous to feel joy, to want to play, to tap into happiness. I don't have to tell you. The news has been filled with the killings of black people. The news has been filled with expressions of emotions that are generally deemed unpleasant. The news has been filled with injustice and terror and heartbreak. How are we to engage in holy play at a moment like this? Is holy celebration even possible? On Friday night, I attended a birthday party in honor of Breonna Taylor. She would have been 27 years old had she not been shot and killed on March 13th in her Louisville, Kentucky home by police officers. You likely have heard the story already. What struck me about that Friday evening event here in Madison was the ability to recognize and name this grave and deadly injustice one among many. While simultaneously celebrating the vibrant life of Ms. Taylor, this was a celebration of life. There were food trucks and sidewalk chalks and picnic blankets and a DJ. There was art and even a magic show. This was a holy celebration. This was a place to play, to join in community, to intentionally seek joy as a means of radical resistance. Yet holy celebration is best embodied when we also engage in holy lamentation. To lament is to passionately express grief or sorrow. Friday night also included an altar. A place to pay our respects filled with flowers and candles and photographs. It was a place to lay down our sorrows. A place worthy of holy lamentation. Friends, I urge you not to rush too quickly to the play and joy. Be willing to sit with the rage and the pain. The inexplicable and inexcusable violence and loss of life. Be intentional about holy lamentation. When we take time to lament, we can make room in our hearts and in our lives for play. If we want to engage in radical resistance, if we want to get to that holy celebration, we must also engage in holy lamentation. One of the ways my family has been spending our days during this time of self-isolation is by playing games of all kinds. Board games, card games, video games. It feels like some days it is games that are getting us through. The other night we were playing a game called Mind the Gap where players travel around the famous London Underground trying to get from one destination to another. While others try to get in your way or stop you or send you back to another station. I love the way games engage our imaginations and facilitate conversations that might not otherwise happen. As you might expect, the question of what does Mind the Gap mean came up during our game. I explained how there is always a gap between the platform and the train and you must mind the gap to avoid getting injured. We looked at some pictures online so the kids could see the gap for themselves and this guy is talking about the word gap and how you could use that image to think of any time you are trying to get from one place to another. There is always that gap from where you are now to where you want to be and that gap can sometimes be extremely difficult, perhaps dangerous, filled with the unknown. After our conversation I found myself humming in the kitchen. There was a tune running through my mind that I couldn't quite bring it into consciousness. Hours later as I continued to hum and my mind started pulling up snippets of phrases I realized the song that came into my head was one called Living in the Gap which was written by Kerry Newcomer and a group of over 100 attendees at a courage and renewal retreat three years ago. The focus of that retreat was the tension between the world we have now and the world we in faith communities talk about, dream about, sermonize about. Our focus was on how we live in that gap, in the tension that lives there and what the work is that we need to do in that space. The chorus is living in the gap, learning how to breathe there, seeing who I meet there, living in the gap. And these are the verses. I am not the first, I am not the last, envisioning the future being honest with the past, facing all the questions I'm afraid to ask, wondering where I'm going, but I'm still on the path. There are days when I feel I can't go on. I get weary and tired and the road is long. There is so much right, but there is so much wrong. The new hasn't happened, but the past is gone. I am not alone as I look around, I hear singing and it's a beautiful sound. My heart is open and I have found this is true, this is love, this is holy ground. Living in the gap, learning how to breathe here. These past two weeks we have seen the gap, perhaps for many of us more than ever before. The gap between the experience of being white in our country and the experience of living in this country while black. These are two very different realities. The gap is wide and we are living in it. My friends, we can no longer mind the gap, because to mind the gap is to know that it is there and to step over it. To know that we can choose to turn away. We can walk right past and we cannot do this for one more minute. We are living and learning how to breathe in the gap and for many in this gap they can't breathe. If we listen to them, we hear them saying we can't breathe and we need help. Now most of you know I am a knitter. It is a place of solace, a therapy of sorts. This week it has become a call to action. One of my favorite knitters is a woman named Gaye Gillespie. Everyone calls her Gigi and Gigi is a knitter who loves orange. For the longest time that's all I knew of her. Gigi creates amazing knits always in the color orange. And she's black. This past week Gigi has been honest about her experiences as a black woman. And she has made a call to action to all of us whether you're a knitter or not. All of us. She has asked us to stand in the gap. This is what she said. There's a gap in this world as it exists for a black person and the world as it exists for a white person. So when I say stand in that gap, I am essentially saying help me. We have tried everything that has been suggested to create an equal playing ground and it's not working. We need you to stand in that gap. For every person that is ignored, mistreated, abused and killed. When I say stand in the gap, I am asking you to use your power in the way that you can to stop people from hurting others because of the color of their skin. You hear your cousin or coworker make a joke that you know is wrong. Stand in the gap. You hear another parent make a comment about those kids that are ruining our schools. Stand in the gap. You see what is happening to communities of color right here in our community. Stand in the gap. Stand in this gap with me my friends. We will need great humility and immense courage and we can do this. We need to do this together because this is a long haul. This is a marathon and we cannot stop now. What can you do? If you can march please do. Please do it safely. Join with others from a socially responsible distance and wear a mask. Join the African American Council of Churches tonight to march for black lives. You can donate to organizations doing this work. You can write letters and sign petitions. The Boys and Girls Club of Dane County is looking to hire peacekeepers. People who will be trained to deescalate situations and build relationships. The first step is to listen and learn. Learn the history of our nation and how racism is baked into who we are as a country. Join our anti-racism book group that is beginning this summer. Together we can learn and unlearn and change. St. Augustine said what does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and the needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and the sorrows. This is what love looks like. Our faith is rooted in this love. This is a difficult and painful time. When we are seeing this gap, this is holy ground. May we do everything we can, everything in our power to not turn back, not step over, not turn away. May we be the love our world needs now. May this love be with us always, calling us forward and calling us on to create a world where all are wanted and all are welcome, where all are respected and all are free. Blessed be and Amen. My reflections, I am aware how the topic of play might seem to be very much out of sync with what is happening in our world. How, in this time of pandemic and the ways of anxiety and difficulty that are around us and in the last many days, when violence and division and the protests call us to be accountable for our racist systems and for the continued destruction and death that white supremacy has and is causing in our world. How play might seem to be a little underwhelming in this time. But I think that it is actually very important for a variety of reasons. I believe that it's core that this time is asking us to create a new understanding of each other and to create a new world in which we may live in together, all of us. And so that creative force asks some essential things from us. So my reading is taken from the writing of the Soul Matters materials and begins with a quote from Peggy Taylor. Creativity is our ability to bring things up and make them happen. It goes on to say, we are all familiar with that part in the quote about dreaming. Foundering up new ideas and images is what creativity is all about. Using the building blocks of what is, we almost magically make the not yet appear in our minds. But what about the other part, the part about making them happen? When we talk about the creativity, that half of the equation often gets short-shipped. We celebrate the fun piece about dreaming and leave off the hard piece of making our imaginings real. And it's not just the hard part, it's the scary part too. You have to be brave to try new things and fail. And being creative and unique can cause the crowd to cheer and swoon, but it can also lead to being laughed at and excluded. And yet, there is so much more. Yes, there is joy and beauty in playing creativity, but there is also insecurity, loneliness, and self-doubt. Which means that this time is not just about imagination, artistry, and self-expression, but also courage. Once in that view, it is clear that we also need to talk about co-creativity as well. Something as daring as creativity is dangerous if we try to do it alone. Indeed, where did we get the idea that artists and inventors are isolated independent geniuses? We should take a page from the Bible when it talks about that the Holy is present when two are more gathered. Well, the same applies to the creative spirit. For instance, new ideas come from the clash of debate. New art emerges only after inspiration from those who have gone before. Better forms of community are built on the back of those who have toiled and sacrificed long before we put ourselves on the line. Simply put, the reading ends. There is no creator without companions. And so, if we are in this creative process together, we need play. We need play to help us access something larger than the very justified sense of anger and justice about this time. We need something that reminds us of hope and of possibility and calls to mind in the best sense of this idea the childlike yearning for possibility and connection and for love. We need play because it connects us with each other. It asks us to think about how we are with each other and how we treat one another. And that spirit of play again and again will remind us about bringing our best to the table, even when sometimes we may lose our temper with each other and may do things that are unacceptable. We need play because it steeps us in something very sacred and holy and ancient. That call to us that lets imagination offer its largest sense of possibility. Play is important to us now more than ever. As a place of healing, as a place of renewal, as a place of seeing the world in each other differently. Carl Jung wrote that the creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct. May we, even and especially in this difficult time, not forget that part of us that calls us to the creative, to the playful, to the ancient voice that reminds us that something else is possible. And we must build that, create that together. Offering this weekend will be shared with the Black Visions Collective, an organization committed to dismantling systems of oppression and violence and creating a transformational long-term vision in which all Black lives not only matter but are able to thrive. Working with people across Minnesota, they center their work in healing and transformative justice principles, building movements from the ground up, and creating the conditions for a world of dignity and equity for all. If you go to our homepage at fussmedicine.org, you will see a link that goes to our offering page and you can make your donation there. We invite you now into this opportunity to give gratefully with hope for a greater good. Appreciation. We give thanks for your time, your talent, and your treasures, which you give so generously. We turn now to a time during which we name, we take note, we honor the fullness of our lives. I invite you now to bring to mind your joys and your triumphs, your sorrows, and your broken places. This week in our world, it has not been easy. The Reverend Lauren Smith, director of stewardship and development at the Unitarian Universalist Association, penned a pastoral letter to Black you use this week, which I will share at this time. For those of us who are not Black, it gives us a chance to simply listen. Reverend Smith begins. I write to you today as a Black Unitarian Universalist, a Black woman, a Black mother, and a Black minister. How is it with your spirit today? Today my spirit is struck by grief. I trust in the possibility of change and I know that there is a place for me in bringing about that change, but grief is deep. Underneath grief and anger, there is a fierce love that is a saving grace. I don't know how it is for you, but I love being Black, she writes. I love Black skin, all the varieties of it, and Black hair and Black voices. It's a pleasure to be part of communities so beautiful and diverse. Communities that have encountered a world of sorrow and have countered with creativity and intellect and embodied resilience. It is an honor to be part of a lineage that includes Ella Baker and James Baldwin, Michelle Obama, Audrey Lorde, and Jimmy Cliff. The well of my grief and anger is deep, but the well of my love and gratitude is deeper still. Blackness is a healing balm. What does it mean to survive when so many of us have died recently, unable to breathe? George Floyd and Eric Garner before him killed by a broken system of policing. Tens of thousands of Black people killed by COVID-19. Then there's the economic devastation due to the pandemic, which is ravaging our communities. And the pervasive violence visited on Black trans folks. Tony McDade, I say your name. The roots of these traumas extend down through the centuries. I have to remind myself often to breathe. A practice I learned years ago from healers who understood deep truths about recovery from trauma. Not long ago, she continues, my colleagues at the UUA posted five senses meditation. It's helpful for people experiencing anxiety. I share it as a gift, adaptable to whatever senses are available to you. It begins with the breath. Find a quiet place and take a few deep breaths. Then notice five things you can hear. Four things you can see. Three things you can feel. Two things you can smell. And one thing you can taste. Take a few more deep breaths. As you navigate these days, as you discover how to take care of yourself and those you love, how to participate in movements of liberation, may you carry with you the gift of your breath, the beauty of your being, the miracle of your living body, and the vibrant legacy of our elders, ancestors, and communities. And for all of us gathered today, I say, Blessed Be. Please join in singing hymn number 1024. It is our closing hymn entitled, When the Spirit Says Do. May whatever gatherings or activities we engage with in the coming days, help restore us. Restore our connections to one another, our sense of beauty, hope, and fun in this world. Our deep knowing that we have to take care of ourselves and one another with love and with joy if we are to soulfully survive the world's mayhem. We extinguish our chalice but not the light of love, the hope and joy that live within us. These we carry into the world until we gather again.