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bronze_ribbons) wrote2006-08-27 05:55 pm
bronze_ribbons) wrote2006-08-27 05:55 pm
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"while I don't expect you to save the world..."
This morning's services at my church featured our annual Water Communion ritual, which also functions as the traditional "ingathering" of the congregation as families and students return from summer vacations and tours, and church leaders gear up for fall activities. This morning was spectacular -- funny, moving, and vibrant. The choir and staff all made a point of wearing blues and greens, and the chalice table was covered with a turquoise cloth arranged to look like a wave in mid-crest. The lay leader was one of the senior high school students, and a drummer and bassist added color to some of the songs.
Some of the highlights and joys:
Morning Songs (opening hymns): "There's a River Flowing in My Soul" (#1007 in STJ), "Wade in the Water," and Peter Mayer's "Blue Boat Home" (#1064 in STJ).
Call to Worship: from the Elders of the Hopi Nation
Musical Affirmation (opening anthem): Roger Emerson's "Riversong," a fast and fun Celtic piece.
Joys and Concerns: In This Sanctuary
Sermon, Part 1:
Rev. Gail told the classic joke about the man caught in a flood: when a neighbor offered to drive him to safety, he refused, saying "God will save me." As the waters rose, he fled to an upper floor, where a neighbor stopped by in a boat, offering to row him to safety. He again declined, proclaiming "God will save me." The waters continued to rise and he had to climb onto a roof. A helicopter soon hovered overhead, but he again rejected the trapeze they lowered down to him, insisting "God will save me."
A few minutes later, he was shocked to discover himself at the gates of Heaven. He confronted St. Peter: "Why didn't God save me?"
"We sent a car, a boat, and a helicopter -- what more could we have done?"
She then told a story about a boy in New Orleans who'd survived Hurricane Katrina, although no car or boat or helicopter had come to rescue his family until after he'd witnessed dead bodies in the street, including that of the neighbor's dog. The boy had been told by his grandparents that the flood was the End of the World, during which the sinners would drown and the good would be saved. The dog had been a good dog, and the boy could not reconcile his grandparents' beliefs with why the dog had to die.
(This story, which Rev. Gail told with a great deal more detail and color, left me in tears. Which is somewhat problematic when one has to sing right afterwards...)
This part of the sermon was followed by Jeffrey Ames's arrangement of "I've Been in the Storm So Long," which had been commissioned by another Southern choir after Katrina. The solo was sung by the baritone who sang "Kol Nidre" last year -- he has a rich, emotional voice that is perfect for such pieces; the score was four-part soprano +AATTBB.
"Binding Up the Broken" - or, as the teenager put it, "What I Did On My Summer Vacation." Specifically, she (Colleen), her mom, an exchange student (who chose to help with the cleanup, figuring he could visit Graceland some other time) and another woman from our congregation volunteered for Hands On Gulf Coast earlier this summer. They spoke about grief and grunge work and "community, continuity, and confusion." Ann Charvat (the mom) read aloud a passage by Nikki Giovanni:
Sermon, Part 2:
Rev. Gail: "Maybe there is something to the joke after all. Maybe we are the drivers, the rowers, and the pilots. Maybe we are the hands of God." She hopes somebody will someday tell a different story to the traumatized boy -- one that focuses on the drivers and the rowers and the pilots rather than the sinners vs. the saved. She then retold the story of the Flood in Genesis from the perspective of a God who loses His temper and then regrets it (at the early service, she responded to a gale of laughter from the congregation with "You can read it in the Bible -- it's in there! [more laughter] I just put in dialogue!" [even more laughter])
This was followed by the children (and some of the adults, too) coming up to the front of the sanctuary, where there were three curved frames of chicken-wire already partially stuffed with tissue-paper to form the stripes of a rainbow. They were given more scraps of tissue paper to fill in the gaps while the congregation sang a new song, "We Can't Wait 'til the Storm Is Over" (co-written by Connye Florance and Jason Shelton), which is sort of happy and ambly -- think vaudeville and soft-shoe and corny musicals.
That said, there was an exchange during yesterday's rehearsal:
Jason: "This is the James Taylor moment."
Connye: "Actually, it's the Carpenters."
Jason: ...
Jason: [aghast] "Oh, man, now I hear it--!"
The sing-along chorus:
"'Cause we're all in this together
In the good times and the pain.
We can't wait 'til the storm is over.
We've got to learn to work in the rain."
Per the program notes: "Written to honor the work of the UUA/UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund, and all those volunteers who are 'working in the rain' to rebuild lives and homes in the area. The song is being made available to all UUA congregations in exchange for a $25 donation to the fund."
At the close of the song, the minister's husband fastened the three sections of the rainbow together; fully assembled, it was at least as tall as he was, so this took some doing. It was then lifted up above the pulpit to drum rolls and cheers and applause -- one of the coolest things I've seen in my half-decade there.
Woman next to me: "Oh...." (eyes proximity of tissue paper to chalice flames with some apprehension)
Me: "You know, that high up, it looks like a horseshoe..."
For the actual water communion ritual, I poured some water from the hotel room![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catrinella, thermidor, and I had shared in Las Vegas. Rev. Gail urged people to shout the names of the places they had brought the water from (or a place that mattered to them, if they hadn't brought the water themselves) so that our voices would fill the sanctuary. The best thing about this was that the woman sitting next to me said, "North Carolina," thinking of her hometown -- and then heard someone across the sanctuary say "Greensboro." When she went over to speak to them, she found out she knew their daughter...
The service ended with the congregation walking/being wheeled to the grassy plot outside that serves as our columbarium. Some water was poured into the vase we use to hold the roses for our child dedication ceremonies; the rest of the water was poured in a circle over the plot, after the minister and the youth coordinator read aloud the names of everyone interred there. Rev. Gail concluded the service with a variation of her usual benediction: "This service is now over. Let our service now begin again."
The coffee hour between the two services was good as well -- after the first benediction, a retired UU minister (whom the youth have cast as Dumbledore in their upcoming Hogwarts' Ball -- he has the twinkliest eyes) and I lingered outside, discussing our projects and our ongoing attempts to harmonize theology, practice, and logic. I then chatted with the RE director about programming/culture/activism/education (for the two of us, all four topics are intimately interwoven) and a fellow artist about the activities of our respective guilds, purchased a banana and a Rice Krispies treat from the food table (a fundraiser for Mountain camp scholarships), listened in on a couple of moms talk about the transition from parenting high-schoolers to enjoying empty-nesting, relayed a compliment to the fundraising chair (and was encouraged to think about selling my cards at this year's harvest fair), checked in with the lay leader with whom I'm switching shifts next month, checked in with the new coordinator of grocery certificate sales, and hugged various folks.
Next time I'm feeling morose about whatever, I need to remember this.
Some of the highlights and joys:
Morning Songs (opening hymns): "There's a River Flowing in My Soul" (#1007 in STJ), "Wade in the Water," and Peter Mayer's "Blue Boat Home" (#1064 in STJ).
Call to Worship: from the Elders of the Hopi Nation
Musical Affirmation (opening anthem): Roger Emerson's "Riversong," a fast and fun Celtic piece.
Joys and Concerns: In This Sanctuary
Sermon, Part 1:
Rev. Gail told the classic joke about the man caught in a flood: when a neighbor offered to drive him to safety, he refused, saying "God will save me." As the waters rose, he fled to an upper floor, where a neighbor stopped by in a boat, offering to row him to safety. He again declined, proclaiming "God will save me." The waters continued to rise and he had to climb onto a roof. A helicopter soon hovered overhead, but he again rejected the trapeze they lowered down to him, insisting "God will save me."
A few minutes later, he was shocked to discover himself at the gates of Heaven. He confronted St. Peter: "Why didn't God save me?"
"We sent a car, a boat, and a helicopter -- what more could we have done?"
She then told a story about a boy in New Orleans who'd survived Hurricane Katrina, although no car or boat or helicopter had come to rescue his family until after he'd witnessed dead bodies in the street, including that of the neighbor's dog. The boy had been told by his grandparents that the flood was the End of the World, during which the sinners would drown and the good would be saved. The dog had been a good dog, and the boy could not reconcile his grandparents' beliefs with why the dog had to die.
(This story, which Rev. Gail told with a great deal more detail and color, left me in tears. Which is somewhat problematic when one has to sing right afterwards...)
This part of the sermon was followed by Jeffrey Ames's arrangement of "I've Been in the Storm So Long," which had been commissioned by another Southern choir after Katrina. The solo was sung by the baritone who sang "Kol Nidre" last year -- he has a rich, emotional voice that is perfect for such pieces; the score was four-part soprano +AATTBB.
"Binding Up the Broken" - or, as the teenager put it, "What I Did On My Summer Vacation." Specifically, she (Colleen), her mom, an exchange student (who chose to help with the cleanup, figuring he could visit Graceland some other time) and another woman from our congregation volunteered for Hands On Gulf Coast earlier this summer. They spoke about grief and grunge work and "community, continuity, and confusion." Ann Charvat (the mom) read aloud a passage by Nikki Giovanni:
There is always something to do.
There are hungry people to feed,
naked people to clothe,
sick people to comfort and make well.
And while I don't expect you to save the world,
I do think it's not asking too much
for you to love those with whom you sleep,
share the happiness of those whom you call friend,
engage those among you who are visionary
and remove from your life
those who offer you depression, despair and disrespect.
Sermon, Part 2:
Rev. Gail: "Maybe there is something to the joke after all. Maybe we are the drivers, the rowers, and the pilots. Maybe we are the hands of God." She hopes somebody will someday tell a different story to the traumatized boy -- one that focuses on the drivers and the rowers and the pilots rather than the sinners vs. the saved. She then retold the story of the Flood in Genesis from the perspective of a God who loses His temper and then regrets it (at the early service, she responded to a gale of laughter from the congregation with "You can read it in the Bible -- it's in there! [more laughter] I just put in dialogue!" [even more laughter])
This was followed by the children (and some of the adults, too) coming up to the front of the sanctuary, where there were three curved frames of chicken-wire already partially stuffed with tissue-paper to form the stripes of a rainbow. They were given more scraps of tissue paper to fill in the gaps while the congregation sang a new song, "We Can't Wait 'til the Storm Is Over" (co-written by Connye Florance and Jason Shelton), which is sort of happy and ambly -- think vaudeville and soft-shoe and corny musicals.
That said, there was an exchange during yesterday's rehearsal:
Jason: "This is the James Taylor moment."
Connye: "Actually, it's the Carpenters."
Jason: ...
Jason: [aghast] "Oh, man, now I hear it--!"
The sing-along chorus:
"'Cause we're all in this together
In the good times and the pain.
We can't wait 'til the storm is over.
We've got to learn to work in the rain."
Per the program notes: "Written to honor the work of the UUA/UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund, and all those volunteers who are 'working in the rain' to rebuild lives and homes in the area. The song is being made available to all UUA congregations in exchange for a $25 donation to the fund."
At the close of the song, the minister's husband fastened the three sections of the rainbow together; fully assembled, it was at least as tall as he was, so this took some doing. It was then lifted up above the pulpit to drum rolls and cheers and applause -- one of the coolest things I've seen in my half-decade there.
Woman next to me: "Oh...." (eyes proximity of tissue paper to chalice flames with some apprehension)
Me: "You know, that high up, it looks like a horseshoe..."
For the actual water communion ritual, I poured some water from the hotel room
catrinella, thermidor, and I had shared in Las Vegas. Rev. Gail urged people to shout the names of the places they had brought the water from (or a place that mattered to them, if they hadn't brought the water themselves) so that our voices would fill the sanctuary. The best thing about this was that the woman sitting next to me said, "North Carolina," thinking of her hometown -- and then heard someone across the sanctuary say "Greensboro." When she went over to speak to them, she found out she knew their daughter...The service ended with the congregation walking/being wheeled to the grassy plot outside that serves as our columbarium. Some water was poured into the vase we use to hold the roses for our child dedication ceremonies; the rest of the water was poured in a circle over the plot, after the minister and the youth coordinator read aloud the names of everyone interred there. Rev. Gail concluded the service with a variation of her usual benediction: "This service is now over. Let our service now begin again."
The coffee hour between the two services was good as well -- after the first benediction, a retired UU minister (whom the youth have cast as Dumbledore in their upcoming Hogwarts' Ball -- he has the twinkliest eyes) and I lingered outside, discussing our projects and our ongoing attempts to harmonize theology, practice, and logic. I then chatted with the RE director about programming/culture/activism/education (for the two of us, all four topics are intimately interwoven) and a fellow artist about the activities of our respective guilds, purchased a banana and a Rice Krispies treat from the food table (a fundraiser for Mountain camp scholarships), listened in on a couple of moms talk about the transition from parenting high-schoolers to enjoying empty-nesting, relayed a compliment to the fundraising chair (and was encouraged to think about selling my cards at this year's harvest fair), checked in with the lay leader with whom I'm switching shifts next month, checked in with the new coordinator of grocery certificate sales, and hugged various folks.
Next time I'm feeling morose about whatever, I need to remember this.
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