 Please join in a moment of centering silence so we can all be fully present with each other this morning. Let's get musically present by singing the words to 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. And it's not just any Sunday, it's Super Sunday. Or as we pack our fans call it, Passover. And here we are 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 proud, incredibly adorable member of this congregation. And I know a lot of you join me in saying it's nice to see Karen Gustafson back in the house. It's also nice to see visitors, guests, and newcomers. This is your first time at First Unitarian Society. I think you'll find it's a special place. And if you'd like to learn more about our special place and what makes it special, please join us for the fellowship hour right after the service. And speaking of the service, this would be a perfect time to silence those pesky electronic devices that we just won't need for the next hour. And while you're performing that simple but important task, let me remind you that if you're a company today by a youngster and you think that young person would rather experience the service from a more private space, we offer a couple options for you including a child haven in the back corner of the auditorium and some comfortable seating just outside the doorway in the commons from which you can see and hear the service. I must tell you that one of the reasons we are able to see and hear the service today is because it's brought to us by a wonderful team of volunteers whose names I'm about to read to you. And I don't know if you're aware of it, but a recent study shows that people who volunteer at FUS live 18 months longer than people who don't. So I'm about to read to you the names of people who have added 18 months to their life expectancy by volunteering. I'm talking about David Bryles on the sound system, John McEvna as our lay minister, Richard DeVita and Patty Whitty as our greeters, our ushers, Dan Bradley, Melinda Carr, Brian Chanis and Ann Ostrom. And the Coffee and Hospitality Hour is hosted by Nancy Kossoff and Bist Nitschke. Please thank them later on and congratulate them on their additional life expectancy. Just a couple of announcements before we move on with the service today. One is from Kelly, who reminds us that today our second and third grade young people are talking about radical hospitality and the importance of welcoming others, something that is very familiar to us here at FUS. So during the fellowship hour, these second and third graders will be walking among us, welcoming us, thanking us for coming today, shaking our hands and generally being conversational and hospitable during our fellowship hour. This is a great life lesson for those young people, so be ready to participate and do your part to extend as much hospitality and warmth towards them as they are extending towards us. Two more announcements. One is that our parish meeting is going to be held a week from today after the 11 o'clock Sunday service next week. Rumor has it that food is involved. So put that on your calendar after the 11 o'clock service on Sunday next. And speaking of events that are coming up, 89 days until the next cabaret, that's Friday, May 4th, 89 days, put that on your calendar. That's the end of the announcements. Please sit back or lean forward to enjoy today's service. I know it will touch your heart. Stir your spirit and trigger one or two new thoughts. We're glad you're here. We are from Richard Gilbert into being as life encounters life. As personal histories merge into communal stories, as we take on the pride and pain of our companions, as separate selves become community. How desperate is our need for one another? Our silent beckoning to our neighbors, our invitations to the chair are welcome into the lives of those we meet and they're welcome into our own. May our souls capture this treasured time. May our spirits celebrate our meeting in this time and in this space. For we meet on holy ground. Please rise in body or in spirit and share with me in the words of the chalice lighting. All that we have ever loved and all that we have ever been stands with us on the brink of all that we aspire to create. A deeper peace, a larger love, a more embracing hope, a deeper joy in this life we share. And now turn to those around you and be especially friendly. Children or anybody else who wants to come up for today's story. Well, good morning and thank you for coming up and being part of this. So today's story is called The Seasick Viking. Long ago, in a fierce and frosty land, lived a lonely little Viking and his name was Hiccup. Vikings were enormous, roaring thieves and with bushy mustaches who sailed all over the world and took whatever they wanted. Hiccup was tiny and thoughtful and polite. The other Viking children wouldn't let him join in their rough Viking games. Hiccup was frightened by spiders. He was frightened by thunder. And he was frightened by sudden big noises. But most of all, most of all, he was frightened by going to sea for the very first time next Tuesday. Hiccup wasn't sure he was a Viking at all. Hiccup's father was Stoik the Vast. Wherever Stoik walked, the grounds trembled and the flowers wilted and the buddies fainted. He hadn't brushed his beard in 30 years. Only girlies brush their beards, boom, Stoik the Vast. Girlies don't have beards. Hiccup pointed out, but no one listened to him. And when Hiccup told his father he was frightened by going to sea, Stoik laughed, his enormous Viking laughed until the salty tears ran down onto his enormous hairy feet. You can't be frightened, little Hiccup. Vikings don't get frightened. And he sang the Viking song. I've blackened a thousand eyes of a thousand angry gales. Watch me knock the cockles off the biggest bluest wails. I've given walruses nightmares who thought that they were strong. I'm a wound, a huge typhoon, oh, off the island of Hong Kong. The never-ending sea with messy, squirmy jellyfish, mess with the squirmy jellyfish, but do not mess with me. Oh, do not mess with me. Well, he patted Hiccup on the head and went off to do his 300 push-ups before breakfast. Oh, Hiccup said to himself, it all sounds very dangerous. So Hiccup went to see the oldest Viking of all, old Winkley himself whose barnacle beard fell down past his toes. Your saltiness he whispered for Hiccup was very well-mannered. Do Vikings ever get frightened? Little grandson wheezed old Winkley and his breath was like being kissed by a mackerel. I've been wondering about this myself. The sea is full of trials and terrors, but it is also full of marvels and miracles. Go to sea, and you can tell me if Vikings ever get frightened. So at a quarter to nine on a breezy Tuesday morning, Hiccup went to sea for the very first time. At half past nine, Hiccup was wishing he hadn't eaten those two smallish hanok for breakfast. At a quarter to 10, he was feeling very peculiar indeed. And at half past 10, he wished that he had stayed at home. Bill Cisak, he said to his father, Vikings don't get Cisak, said, stoic the vast. But this one was all over Stoic's feet. Hiccup got sicker and sicker as he stormed that wilder and wilder. Stoic the vast sang the Viking song to the storm, but the storm took no notice. A great wave came up and soaked him. One mighty wave picked up the whole Viking ship as if it were a matchstick and threw it 50 miles to the south. Then one mighty blast from the gale picked up the whole Viking ship as if it were a piece of seaweed and threw it 50 miles to the north. A terrible black wind howled all around the lowly ocean. It turned the Viking ship upside down and inside out and sent shivers down every single Viking's spine. We are lost, said Stoic, but not so vast after all. Then a funny thing happened. His face began to turn a greenish hue and the thought of the 39 largest headache that he had for breakfast and his stomach began to turn. And then all the Vikings turned a pretty green color and all their stomachs heaved and with a mighty rush they all ran to the side of the boat. Well, well, said Hiccup. It appears that Vikings do get seasick. And immediately he began to feel better. This direction shouted Hiccup, but the Vikings were too busy being seasick to steer the boat. So Hiccup took charge and a funny thing happened. The more he steered, the better he felt. As he headed for home, the stormy wind filled the sails and the boat skimmed over the ocean at 1,000 miles an hour. Out of the depths of the sea came shoals of flying fish with wings leaping dolphins and strange whales with horns like unicorns sound like the narwhals. There were eels that lit up like bulbs and the nameless things with enormous eyes that no one had ever seen before. All following Hiccup, the Viking, as he steered that ship home. Hey, hum, Hiccup, steering into the harbor. Tell me, said old Rinkley and his old watery eyes twinkled. Do Vikings ever get frightened? Sometimes they do, said Stork the Vast. But they get over it, said Hiccup the Viking. That's what makes them so brave. So this is really a story about someone who faces their fears and comes out of it pretty well, huh? And that's something we all need to think about doing. How do we face our fears? But you know what? It's also a story about being OK to be afraid sometimes. So now we're going to have some music. So you just stay right here and put your eyes over there. This morning comes from a small Freedman's fables. It's written by Edwin Freedman, who was a family systems guy who wrote a book about family systems in church systems. But the fables tend to seem to apply across a broad range of human experience. So this is the fable of the bridge. There was a man who had given much thought to what he wanted from life. Diligently, he searched for the right opportunity. Sometimes he came close only to be pushed away. Often he applied all of his strength and imagination only to find the path to be hopelessly blocked. And then, at last, it came the opportunity that would not wait. It would be made available only for a short time. If it was seen that he was not committed, the opportunity would not come again. Eager to arrive, he started on his journey with each step he wanted to move faster, with each vision of what lay ahead he found renewed vigor. Praying along, he came to a bridge that crossed through the middle of a town. It had been built high above the river in order to protect it from the floods of spring. He started to cross, and then he noticed someone coming from the opposite direction. See, the other were coming to greet him. He could not see clearly, however. And after a moment, he realized that he did not know this other, who was dressed similarly to him, except for something tied around his waist. When they were at hailing distance, he could see that what the other had about his waist was a rope. It was wrapped around him many times, and probably, if extended, would reach a length of maybe 30 feet. The other began to uncurl the rope, and just as they were coming close, the stranger said, pardon me, would you be so kind as to hold this for a moment? Surprised by this politely phrased, but curious request, he agreed without thought, and he reached out and took it. Thank you, said the other, who then added, to hands now, remember, hold tight, whereupon the other jumped off the bridge. The free-falling body hurtled the distance of the rope length, and from the bridge, the man abruptly felt the pole. Instinctively, he held on, and was almost dragged over the side. He managed to brace himself against the edge, however, and having caught his breath, looked down at the other, who was dangling close to oblivion. You, he yelled, just hold tight, said the other. This is ridiculous, the man thought, and began trying to haul the other in. He could not get the leverage, however, it was as though the weight of the other person, and the length of the rope, had been carefully calculated in advance so that together they created a counterweight. Why did you do this? The man called out. Remember, said the other, if you let go, I will be lost. But I cannot pull you up, the man cried. I am your responsibility, said the other. Well, I did not ask for it, the man said. If you let go, I am lost, repeated the other. He began to look around for help, but there was no one. Why did this happen to him now? Just as he was on the verge of true success. He examined the side, searching for place to tie the rope, but the railing was unusually uniform in shape, and there were no spaces between the boards. There was no way to get rid of his newfound burden, even temporarily. What do you want? He asked the other person below. Just your help, the other answered. How can I help? I cannot pull you in, and there's no place to tie the rope so that I can go and find somebody to help you. I know that, just hang on, that will be enough. Tie the rope around your waist, it will be easier. Fearing that his arms could not hold much longer, he tied the rope around his waist. Why did you do this? He asked again. Don't you see what you've done? What possible purpose could you have had in your mind? Just remember, said the other. My life is in your hands. What should he do? All of his life, if I let go, I will know all of my life that I let this person die. If I stay, I will risk losing momentum towards my own long salvation. Either way, this will haunt me forever. As time went by, still no one came. The critical moment of decision was drawing near. To show his commitment to his own goal, he would have to continue on the journey now. It was already almost too late to arrive on time. What a terrible choice this was to make. And then a new thought occurred to him. While he could not pull the other up solely by his own efforts, if the other would shorten the rope from his end by curling it around his waist again and again, together they could do it. Actually, he could do it by himself. The other could do it by himself so long as he, standing on the bridge, kept still and steady. Now listen, he shouted out, I think I know how to save you. And he explained his plan. But the other was not interested. You mean you won't help? I told you I couldn't pull you up myself, but I don't think I can hang on much longer either. You must try, the other shouted back in tears. If you fail, I will die. The point of decision arrived. What should he do? My life or this others? Then a new idea, a revelation. So new, in fact, that it seemed heretical. So alien was it to his traditional way of thinking. I want you to listen very carefully, he said, because I mean what I am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice for your life, only for my own. The position of choice for your life, I hereby give back to you. What do you mean? The other asked, afraid. I mean simply it is up to you. You decide which way this ends. I will become a counterweight. You do the pulling and bring yourself up. I will even tug a little from here. And he began unwinding the rope from around his waist and bracing himself anew against the side. You cannot mean what you say, the other shriek. You would not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me. He waited a moment, there was no change in the tension of the rope. I accept your choice, he said, but last. And freed his hands. Please join me now, seated, for the singing of My Life Flows On, which is number 108. I don't wanna say I see old faces as well, but that's also, I suppose, true. But it is wonderful to see familiar faces and to feel such welcome to be back in a little bit. I have spent, I perhaps would say the best part, but at least a good part of my time since I was minister here, exploring the power of story. In particular, the power of personal story and the ways in which the narrative we use to tell our own story both reflects the past and shapes the future. In the process, I have gained a greater appreciation for both the larger and more universal narratives. The shape our culture. We are, it seems, all a part of the big story. Within the stories of our lives are universal themes, like love and loss, grief and triumph, success and failure and attachment and abandonment. Around these themes we have, for better and for worse, developed expectations and patterns of reacting, rituals and traditions that provide pathways which we follow often unconsciously until we find ourselves wanting to claim a more individual or unique path. There are many steps in this claiming. I received an important lesson from my granddaughter. Her grandpa, my husband, John, and I were staying with her and her little brother while her parents were away for a weekend. And on the last day that we were there, we were playing a game called Dogopoly. Those of you who are parents may recognize it. It's a, you know, it's a monopoly game with dogs instead of people. Anyway, we were well into the game, maybe 45 minutes when I stopped to go attend to her little brother and Zoe became bored or something while waiting for me to come back. And so she went and started watching a video with her little earphones on. And so after, you know, 10 or 15 minutes, John went and said, are you done with the game? And she lifted her little thing and heard him and then she said, yes, and went back to watching. So of course, enough, you know, probably 10 minutes, the video was done and she came over and looked at the table and said, where's the game? And John said, well, we picked it up. And she said, but I thought we were gonna finish. Outreach, tears, I wanted to play that game, I was winning. More tears, a slammed bedroom door. After a while, I waited, I waited a little while and I went and I said, so Zoe, Raph and I are really sorry that you were disappointed about the game. We really misunderstood you and we probably didn't take enough time to be clear that we were all understanding this the same way. And I said, it sounds like this is a story with an unhappy ending. And she said, and this was the important moment for me, she said, yes, and it was a true story. Yes, it is, I said. Maybe there is more to this story that can give it a different ending. Why don't you think about that for a while and if you can figure out a way to make a different ending, Grandpa and I will be out here ready to help. So in a few minutes, she came out and she said, I wanna play the game again. And I said, great. I said, I started doing the dishes. Would you, could you just play the game with Grandpa? And she said, no, having you play with us is part of my happy ending. So of course, yes, I did play and it's a true story. For better or for worse, whatever story we tell, even a lie carries a truth. It is the truth of the felt, of the felt and often unconscious need of the teller to shape or to preserve some aspect of identity in relation to the big story that connects us all. Take the path of love and marriage, a recognizable theme in the big story. In spite of the move to gender equity and the recognition of saying same sex love and the changing understanding of the gender binary and the statistical predict probability of divorce, people of all orientations are still falling in love. Marriage as an institution, though in some ways changed, continues to happen. Lavish weddings, romantic honeymoons, mortgages and children and expensive divorces continue to be the stuff of popular media and celebrity culture. This is an example of a cultural narrative. In some ways, every marriage plays out this story until the unique identities of the actual real life people involved begin to run counter to the cultural idea, ideal and that is when the unique narrative takes over. And then everyone has our, every one of us in this room has our own particular narrative relative to the mythology. There's the why I never married narrative and the divorce narrative and the what makes love last narrative which seems to be a necessary way but each of us rests some semblance of identity out of the larger culturally reinforced and often ancient and archetypal story of romantic love. At best we tell this true story and then find a way to allow it to generate a larger truth that moves us to a different place or a deeper identity. Another theme in the big picture and another cultural narrative is the hero rescuers savior narrative. Earlier in this service, we heard the two stories relative to the hero narrative, two different hero narratives. Hiccup was in a way held captive by the myth of the fierce and fearless Viking. Clearly he knew himself to be in many ways different from other Vikings but in spite of all of his doubts and fears, he threw himself into the mythic story because well, that's what you do in the face of cultural pressure. His unique path led to heroism or Viking hood came from acknowledging his fear and moving through it. That is his story to tell. In the story of the man on the bridge, two of the hero narrative is more nuanced. Some might think that the man on the journey was not a hero at all. After all, isn't it the job of the hero to save lives? How one might well reflect could one be so heartless as to let someone fail or fall potentially to his death? Be seen even in a positive light but alone as a part of a hero story. And here's the run. The trouble with the hero narrative is that it is so often frames heroism in terms of an event or an act of courage or rescue. The damsel in distress, the city under siege, the ambushed battalion saved by the superhuman efforts of a person who by definition is a hero, admired or idealized for outstanding courage, extraordinary achievements or noble qualities. This frame is not without merit. Rescue is a noble endeavor. Any of us in real distress need help from time to time. We recognize that we are justifiably grateful for firefighters and emergency room doctors, for witnesses who intervene when needed to address the immediate injustices of all kinds. But like all cultural myths, heroism has a downside. The trouble with heroes is that we do not easily perceive heroism outside of the realm of crisis or drama. That is sometimes created by people who see themselves as entitled, like the man on the bridge to rescue at all costs, forcing the hero to inevitable self-sacrifice. I think that it is important to acknowledge that one of the central narratives of Western culture is the rescuing hero narrative of Christianity. Many of us here have long since put into perspective that salvation myth. We have not been well-served by the belief that our destiny is in the hands of one who has preemptively sacrificed himself to redeem a world that could authentically be redeemed by living the ideals of the life of the savior. And I believe that there lives in many of us the persistent idea that we can and will be saved, not just that right will prevail, but that it will prevail through the extraordinary efforts of some particularly gifted others that are not us. Leave it to the heroes, the saviors, the Gandhi's, the Martin Luther King's, the Christ's, the Catherine Graham's, the Ruth Bader Ginsburg's. Devlin Molano, under the auspices of an organization called Living Room Conversations, created a Facebook post which posed a question. Half we created a culture of victimhood and if so, what would be a healthy alternative? She was clear about there being situations where people are victims from First Nation people to slavery, to rape, and more. Everyone has been victimized by other people and by situations out of control. She was referring to those people who claim victimhood for personal or political gain. Here is what she said. A victim is one of three main characters in any good drama and we love drama. Look at Hollywood, every blockbuster has one, a victim, two, a hero, and three, a villain. So where is the power in each of these roles? In most cases, the villain has unearned power. The hero takes the power away and the victim is the beneficiary of the hero's actions. So the victim in the drama triangle wins the power, only it's temporary and long-term we all lose. And so she asks, could this be what is happening to us socially and politically? Are we claiming the victim identity so that a hero will rescue us from the villain? Look at our election last year. People who were disenfranchised were looking for their candidate to save us from Wall Street and the wealthy who are not paying their fair share, the overreaching federal government or fill in the blank. She concludes, we need a new story about ourselves and our neighbors, we need a new power dynamic where citizens know they are in charge and so do the elected officials. Can we create a new narrative about the United States, one that rejects the drama triangle as our governance system when I wish that I could say that I have an answer for that? But whatever your political persuasion, I wonder if we as Unitarian Universalists cannot spawn the uprising of a new brand of heroism. One that does not rely so much on attacking the villain as it does on dispelling the drama. Less on feeding the crises and more on the intentional exercise of our superpowers, of tears and kindness and compassion and thoughtfulness and silence and deep listening. Could we stop watching Stephen Colbert and start studying Parker Palmer and Margaret Wheatley? Could we stop reacting with self-righteous indignation to Facebook posts and Twitter and start writing and disseminating true stories about real people affected by the consequences of government action or neglect? Could we seek out the disenfranchised not to rescue, but to invite them into conversation about what might really help and then forming empowering partnerships? Could we imagine ourselves as the man on the bridge holding on to an increasingly demanding and irrational narrative that does not serve either us or the possibility for redemption and to clearly state how it might be different and then let go? Can we stop feeding the dragon of hatred and disrespect and withdraw our attention from the media feeding frenzy that is already bloated beyond all ability to function as an organ of democracy? The trouble with the traditional hero narrative is that it is a narrative of over-againstness, violation, villains, crises, drama are all somehow required to retain the identity of the hero. Can we be heroic in a different story? Can we be more like hiccup on the other side of the sea voyage knowing that fear is real and that only resourceful and courageous navigation will bring us to the other side? We will continue our service now with the receiving of our offering. It is through our gifts that we support the work of this beloved community. We bring the cares and concerns of the ones that pass to this place that we may hold them in this place of safety and love and know that they will be received with open hearts and open minds. And so we take this time each week to be together in silence as we hold sometimes the spoken and sometimes just those unspoken joys and sorrows in our hearts knowing that they are part of all of us. Let us be together for a time of silence. In the spirit of our time together may our joys be expanded and our burdens lightened. Our closing hymn is number 1014 in the teal hymnal. Some of you may know that this song got some attention at our recent general assembly about the use of the word stand as it seemed to not be respectful of differently able to people. And the conclusion I believe that was reached was that stand also means take a position. And so it is in that spirit that we sing standing on the side of love. Please rise in body or in spirit. ... We'll please be seated for our closing words and our closing. May the light around us guide our footstep and hold us fast to the best and most righteous we seek. May the darkness around us nurture our dreams and give us rest so that we may give ourselves to the work of the world. Let us seek to remember the wholeness of our lives, the weaving of light and shadow in this great and astonishing dance in which we move.