Never Turning Back

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NEVER TURNING BACK PREFACE BY

FOREWORD BY

UUCCI MINISTER REV. NIC CABLE

UUCCI PRESIDENT CATE HYATT



Copyright Š 2020

The material herein is the property of its respective author. This book is not intended for sale, financial gain, or distribution beyond its intended audience, the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbus, IN.

All images used in this book are freely available at unsplash.com

Book design by Rev. Nic Cable.

UUCCI

7850 W. Goeller Blvd.

Columbus, IN 47201

www.uucci.org  


For their steadfast hope and courage during this time of uncertainty, this book is dedicated to the members and friends of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbus, IN.

“If we get this right, we will never go back to normal.”1

-Kate Deciccio

1 Kate Deciccio is a cultural organizer and educator based in Oakland who uses “portraiture as a tool for counternarrative.” Follow her on Instagram @k8deciccio.



// // //

There are numerous people that need to be acknowledged for making this project possible. First, the Board of Trustees for trusting in our shared ministry being capable of shifting to the virtual space in midMarch. Without the constant, non-anxious support from the leadership of this congregation, the journey would have been much more harrowing. Second, I have immeasurable gratitude for the entire Sunday Services Team, which includes our two lead musicians, pianists, and music coordinators, Louise Hillery and Chris Kevitt. They add that musical xfactor that elevates our services with beauty and meaning. Of course, without the 2020-2021 Worship Associates—Pam Lee, Nicole Wiltrout, Marion Dobbs, Lori Swanson, Jan Lucas, and Peggy Sabau—this project would have lost a level of wisdom and depth that they each bring to the pulpit, week in and week out. They are spiritual leaders in this congregation and I have been lucky to work with them. Third, I want to thank Nicole Wiltrout who served as a gracious proof reader! Finally, I must express my appreciation for my best friend and wife, Hattie. Thank you for your endless love and humor. I am inspired every day by your compassion for others and service in this world. // // //



Table of Contents Prologue: “If we get this right...” UUCCI Values, Mission, and Ends

xiii

Preface

xv

Foreword

xix

Part 1: Anticipation Chapter 1: Something’s Coming

1

“And I Pray” by Pam Lee

2

“A Letter in Return” by Rev. Lynn Ungar

3

“Something’s Coming” by Rev. Nic Cable

4

Chapter 2: Never Turning Back

9

“Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting*” by Julio Vincent Gambuto

10

“If We Get This Right…” by Rev. Nic Cable

11

“The New Normal” by Nicole Wiltrout

13

“Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting” by Julio Vincent Gambuto

14

“The Guest at Our Door” by Nicole Wiltrout

15

“...We Will Never Go Back to Normal” by Rev. Nic Cable

16

Chapter 3: I Hear the Music Ringing!

21

“Nature’s Rhythm and Melody” by Marion Dobbs

22

“Communion Circle” by Rev. Mark Belletini

23

“We Are the Music” by Rev. Renee Ruchotzke

24

“I Hear the Music Ringing!” by Rev. Nic Cable

25


Part 2: Hope Chapter 4: No Good Thing Ever Dies

33

“I Hope” by Lori Swanson

34

“A Simple Hope” by Rev. Theresa Soto

35

“Hope Rises” by Revs. Rebecca Parker and John Buehrens

36

“No Good Thing Ever Dies” by Rev. Nic Cable

37

Chapter 5: Poetry + Hope

43

“Lemon Drops” by Jan Lucas

44

“Sun Worship” by Nancy Pulley

46

“A Thousand Years of Healing” by Susan Silvermarie

47

“Fearless” by Tim Seibles

48

“The Grace of a Poem in a Time of Fear” by Jan Lucas

50

“Refrigerator, 1957” by Thomas Lux

51

“Vanishing Point” by Nancy Pulley

52

“Where the Sidewalk Ends” by Shel Silverstein

53

“Turn to the Poets” by Rev. Nic Cable

54

Chapter 6: When Hope is Hard to Find

59

“Call to Worship” by Peggy Sabau

60

“Last Hope” by Rev. Paul Verlaine

61

“I Will Lift Up My Voice” by Rev. Robert Weston

62

“When Hope is Hard to Find” by Rev. Nic Cable

63

Part 3: Celebration Chapter 7: Dandelion Breath

71

“Flower Ceremony” by Marion Dobbs

72

“Dandelion” by Vasko Popa

73

“Losing My Breath” by Ana Maria de la Rosa

74

“Dandelion Breath” by Rev. Nic Cable

75


Epilogue: “...we will never go back to normal.” Benediction

81

Reflection Questions

85

Bibliography

89

About the 2020 UUCCI Worship Associates

93

About the Editor

97



PROLOGUE:

“IF WE GET THIS RIGHT...”



Never Turning Back // xiii

UUCCI VALUES, MISSION, AND ENDS Values

• • • •

Nurturing Community with Love and Compassion

Freedom of Spiritual and Intellectual Growth

Openness to the Mystery of Life

Courageous Thoughtful Action

Mission The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbus, Indiana, is a community of hope and courage, where we celebrate love and work for justice.

Ends (2019-2024) As individuals, as a congregation, and in the wider world, we:

• • • • • • • •

Open ourselves to deeper human connection;

Support each other, as Unitarian Universalists, in our lifelong journey for truth and meaning;

Create dynamic congregational gatherings that open hearts and minds;

Build a culture that engages and supports all levels of involvement;

Align our resources to ensure that we are most effectively fulfilling our Mission and Ends;

Cultivate intentional partnerships through mutual respect and collaboration;

Nurture a vibrant interfaith community that positively transforms the Greater Columbus Area;

Side with love by working to overcome injustice in all its forms.2

UUCCI’s Values, Mission, and Ends were developed over an 18-month period with over 75 people participating in the process. Our values are a response to the question: “What transcendent qualities will hold us in all that we do together?” Our mission is a response to the question: “What is our overarching purpose in the world?” Our ends are a response to the question: “What are the more specific measurable differences we seek to make and for whom?” These collectively guide the ministry and governance of UUCCI. 2



Never Turning Back // xv

PREFACE On March 12, I met with the Executive Committee of the UUCCI Board of Trustees. The President (Cate Hyatt), Vice President (Sondra Bolte), Past President (Bud Herron), and I had been hearing growing concerns about the novel coronavirus and that many congregations were considering cancelling their Sunday services that week. Wise and non-anxious, the three-member executive committee asked me, “What do you think we should do and how can we support you?” We made the tough decision to quickly move that Sunday’s service online, acquiring a Zoom license, and communicating accordingly to the UUCCI community. Little did we know, the spiritual journey we set off on that day nearly five months ago would change us forever.

As a congregation amid the shock of sheltering in place, eLearning, and a very uncertain future, Sunday morning continued to be the vibrant heartbeat of our congregational life. The first three services we held in March felt a bit like vacationing in a hotel—it didn’t feel like our spiritual home, but it had some nice, familiar comforts for rest and renewal. By the time we arrived in April, however, it became increasingly clear: COVID-19 wasn’t going away anytime soon. And so, with no time to plan for an extended online-only ministry, we dove headfirst into the waters of new learning and virtual community building.

The leadership of UUCCI knew well that each Sunday service and subsequent “coffee hour” would serve as a way to check in as a community as we found our way through this new world. But something else also emerged during the past several months of Sunday services: Each service seemed to be in conversation with its predecessors and collectively they became a reflection on the shared experience of facing COVID-19 as a community. More specifically, these services seemed to offer a unique Unitarian Universalist response to the moral, ethical, and spiritual challenges we faced and continue to face.

During the month of July, I finally found a break from preaching, creating space instead for the much anticipated annual Spiritual Journeys from members of our congregation. As a result of this break


xvi // Never Turning Back

from the virtual pulpit, I was able to look back on the blur of months that we had been crafting online Sunday gatherings, week after week, without much possibility for planning ahead. In re-reading the Calls to Worship, poems, and sermons from this time, I felt that collecting this body of work into a book would be beneficial for the congregation for two reasons. The first is that returning to the wisdom we told our younger selves can often be a meaningful experience, which offers opportunities for growth. Returning and actually reading sermons and reflections from lay leaders, which can often pass us the first time like a flash of lightening, can allow them to take on new meaning for the present stage of this journey.

Secondly, this book project serves as a testament to the many spiritual leaders who shared their voice and their wisdom during this difficult time as a congregation. In fact, as you read the following pages, you may witness a metamorphosis that was slowly but surely unfolding within the congregation throughout the spring and early summer. In Part 1, which takes place in April, we explore the theme of Anticipation, including our fears and uncertainties for what lies ahead. Part 2 is a (re)turn to Hope. The month of May offered us space to explore a central theme in our congregation’s identity and what it means to embody hope, even and especially, when it is hard to find. And we end in Celebration. Even now. Part 3 concludes with a reminder of our commitment as a congregation to celebrate love and to fight for it in all we do. I have also added reflections that start each chapter and footnotes to help offer some context for each service and additional resources on these themes.

I hope that this book gives you insight on the resilience of our UUCCI community, the wisdom and strength of its leaders, and a reminder that we do not have to face this alone. I am not sure what is beyond the horizon of this crisis, but I am hopeful that whatever it is, we can and will face it together.

-Rev. Nic Cable

July 23, 2020




Never Turning Back // xix

FOREWORD Never Turning Back reminds me why I am so proud to serve as President of your Board of Trustees.

Never Turning Back also reminds me that Rev. Nic Cable has been the absolutely right minister to be leading UUCCI at this time in our history.

When Rev. Nic first mentioned the idea of writing a book, he suggested that it might serve as a Love Letter to our congregation. He wanted to show appreciation for our willingness to come together during these past few difficult months when every part of our world was changed.

Many times during the pandemic, many members of the congregation and I have reflected that UUCCI is “not a building,” that we cannot be defined just by our openness to diversity, and that we are more than just a voice for social justice in our community. In the past, we always talked about how flexible we were, how open to change we were, and what a strong community we were. And I’ve realized during this time that we were, that I was, pretty comfortable with the way things were.

Since the COVID -19 virus hit, we have been tested. Members and friends have patiently stretched to learn new technology and find new ways to keep our community connections intact. Our spiritual leaders, staff, and especially Rev. Nic have responded quickly to this unprecedented situation by adjusting every aspect of how we serve our community, including redesigning Sunday services with creativity, hope, courage, resilience, and grace.

Indeed, I agree a Love Letter is in order. I hope you will agree that Never Turning Back, written by Rev. Nic and our spiritual leaders, is a proper way to thank you for your patience and willingness to never turn back, as we continue to find new and better ways to celebrate love and work for justice.

-Cate Hyatt

July 31, 2020



PART 1: 
 ANTICIPATION



CHAPTER 1: 
 SOMETHING’S COMING Sunday, April 12, 2020 This Easter service marked the beginning of our formal reflections on community resilience within and beyond UUCCI. While meeting online since March 15, this was the first service that more deeply and directly dove into the spiritual themes necessary to cultivate resiliency in our lives. During the month of April 2020, our theme was Anticipation. On Easter of all Sundays, Pam Lee and I explored the topics of fear and anticipatory grief, as Indiana naively approached its “peak” of the crisis. Little did we know, the practice of being in tune with our fear and grief would be essential for the uncertain journey ahead.

-Rev. Nic Cable


2 // Never Turning Back

“And I Pray”
 by Pam Lee

I feel a sense of loss for the everyday activities that used to fill my days. I miss my friends and family in the flesh. I grieve the absence of hugs. Along with these thoughts is a tremendous gratitude for my personal situation. I’m safe; I’m warm and fed; and I’m in touch with lots of people. But I do struggle with the fear of the loss that might come. And I do grieve for the people out there who are not safe, not warm and fed.

I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist. I work to overcome the feeling that “the other shoe is going to drop” at any moment. I try to plan responsibly while pushing the dark thoughts of the worst case scenario to the back of my mind.

It’s possible that I may lose someone dear. That just because I try to take all precautions and encourage people in my life to do the same, it doesn’t guarantee that I will be safe from loss. We have a daughter that’s an ER nurse and a grandson that is an EMT and they are caring for COVID patients.

What really helps me is to talk this all out with a trusted spiritual partner. If these fears stay inside, they just grow. I seem to have a magic magnifying mind when I’m on my own. Having a loving witness and then being one for someone else seems to diminish the anticipatory grief and reminds me that - right here, right now, I am ok and my loved ones are too. Plus I try to stay busy in positive ways and have a structure to my days. If I can think about others and how I might be a help to them, then of course, I feel better.

This is something none of us have ever experienced. Everyone I know is struggling with the same things. I take comfort in community, not being alone. And I pray. To whatever is out there for strength and good humor and a positive attitude. And I pray for all of you.


Something’s Coming // 3

“A Letter in Return”
 by Rev. Lynn Ungar

And how do you live and what are your fears

During this crisis?

What questions to surface

after midnight from across the world!

In your country is it the time of day

to wrestle all the existential and daily dreads

until, like Jacob and the vicious angel,

they conceded to bless us?

I am afraid that people I love will die.

I am afraid that my child is inheriting a world

so much harsher than what she deserves.

I am afraid that desperate times call

for desperate measures and I

am not quite desperate enough.

Should I go on? I am afraid

that people have wandered away

from the very idea of truth.

I am afraid we have unlearned

how to speak, and how to listen.

I am afraid the fabric that holds us together

is woven more loosely than I thought

and people keep slipping through.

And how do you live?

With grief. With fear. With laughter.

With boredom. With glee. With contentment.

With fury. With hope.

With the firm conviction that no thing

cancels any other thing out.

Death does not cancel life.

Grief does not cancel joy.

Fear does not cancel conviction.

Nor any of those statements in reverse.

Make your heart a bowl

that is large enough to hold it all.

Imagine that you are the potter.

Stretch the clay. Cherish the turning wheel.

Accept that the bowl

is never going to be done.3

Rev. Lynn Ungar is a Unitarian Universalist minister who serves the Church of the Larger Fellowship, the largest UU congregation in the world. She has written several books of poetry and wrote, “A Letter in Return” in the wake of the emerging COVID-19 pandemic. 3


4 // Never Turning Back

“Something’s Coming”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

Today is Easter. A holiday that over a billion Christians celebrate across the world every year. It is a holiday symbolized by the idea of good defeating evil, of life triumphing over death. It is a sacred time for Christians and a common theme and aspiration of the human experience that dates back millennia, appearing now and then in religious and cultural traditions that span the globe. I was not raised Christian, nor do I identify as a Christian. Yet, I know many people, including non-Christians, many of you, who find this holiday to be a special time. For it comes each year as the flowers begin to bloom, as the earth begins to warm from the sun, and as the world becomes a bit greener, more verdant, and filled with life. What a beautiful thing to be alive and a beautiful time to celebrate life itself.

But this year, this Easter, whether you are Christian or not, it sure feels like a bit of a stretch, for me at least, to preach about hope and life this morning. This year, for me at least, it feels like uncertainty and fear, fear of what is to come of this global pandemic, that this is what hangs over us this morning. Anticipation is our theme for April and I just have to be honest that I’m struggling with the anticipation of loss, of grief, of personal and collective grief, as a religious community and as Hoosiers, as Americans, and as global citizens of this world. Indiana is projected to reach its peak of this crisis later this week, and many states will be reaching its peak in the coming weeks as the slow yet still tragic loss of life will continue into the summer.4 This weighs on me and I know it weighs on you. You wouldn’t join a virtual gathering like this one unless you felt it was important to come together, especially in these times.

So I’m struggling with what to bring to you on this Easter Sunday. I do believe that love will win in the end, that hope and courage and community are stronger than fear and loneliness and death. And yet, I am so very aware as my colleague the Rev. Lynn Ungar suggests that this doesn’t make it easier or less painful. She reflects beautifully and honestly in her poem that I shared this morning, asking us:

And how do you live?

With grief. With fear. With laughter.

With boredom. With glee. With contentment.

With fury. With hope.

With the firm conviction that no thing

cancels any other thing out.

Death does not cancel life.

Grief does not cancel joy.

Fear does not cancel conviction.

Nor any of those statements in reverse.

The grief in submitting these now very inaccurate words for this project is palpable. I recall the sense of dread throughout the congregation as we approached April 16 or 17 (the projected peak in Indiana). Now, more than three months later, the anti-action of grief takes on new meaning altogether. 4


Something’s Coming // 5

These feelings, these ways of being in the world, swirl within us and around us in our homes and in our lives. They exist in paradox, in tension, they are wrestling like Jacob and the angel,5 and many of us are getting hurt from this struggle.6 So just as this congregation and our religious tradition believe that the long arc of the moral universe bends towards justice, towards peace, towards love and wholeness, that doesn’t mean that at the same night we are also not in the face of hell, in the face of our worst fears, that we may lose someone we love, that from this crisis our children will inherit a world much different than the one we hoped they would be given. Our progressive liberal faith tradition does not erase the very real anticipation of grief and loss that may be sitting with us on, of all Sundays, this Easter morning.

So I say it is a virtue, a spiritual practice, something worthy of practice, that we acknowledge our fears, that we give ourselves permission to preemptively grieve, to feel our own loss, loss that comes from both small and large things—for truly what is large and what is small in this time defies our laws of physics and reason. I’ve spoken to many of you about your children and you grieving for their loss of closure with this school year, with their teachers and friends, the grief you have for a lack of proper goodbyes, and for space for a better transition.7 I’ve spoken to many of you about your grief of being separated from loved ones who are either much younger than you or much older, and feeling so aware of the preciousness of time that is passing with every breath. And of course, there is loss that comes from the death of our loved ones. Those who we know very well and those who we feel like we have known forever, but have never met. John Prine,8 for example, or Jim Pruett,9 and their deaths come to mind as having a major impact on some of you in just the past couple weeks. And then there are the deaths or the declining health of people for natural reasons whom we cannot be with during this time. And that too weighs so heavily on me and many of you, I know.

It matters that we acknowledge our grief and this forced, constant state of vigilance as we prepare, anticipate, and ready our hearts for what is to come. For we do not know what is to come. We do not know what’s coming. Personally, I have been living in a state of exhaustion this past month, and I’m not burning the midnight oil or getting a lack of sleep. I’m doing okay, I’m even cooking more and working on my garden, and playing with Holly. But yet at the same time, I’m so tired. I feel weary. My partner, Hattie, brilliant as always, suggested it might be all the stress and grief going on right now in the world. Well of course duh, but also, like personally I haven’t had many huge, close disappointments. I’m pretty lucky so far. Besides the basketball hoops at Donner Park being taken down…10 But what’s true is that the anticipation of grief and loss, or the anticipation of trauma and the elongated, continuous state 5

Gen. 32, NRSV

As will be explored later in this book, the concept of struggle and oppression, and the disparities therein are dramatically different due to one’s social location (personal identity and context). 6

Bartholomew County School Corporation moved to E-Learning for the remainder of the school year (about two months) on April 2, ten days prior to this Sunday service. 7

John Prine was a beloved Midwest folk singer and one of the first high profile deaths in the United States from COVID-19 on April 7. 8

Jim Pruett ran for Congress in 2018 and was a strong leader in the Columbus community. Jim died on April 1safter complications from COVID-19. 9

When I first preached about this loss of the Donner Park basketball hoops, it was taken more facetiously than I intended. In fact, this was a very profound small loss that felt really big to me at the time. 10


6 // Never Turning Back

of affairs we are now facing can be really hard even if it is not happening to an individual personally. It can be like second-hand trauma—like smoking—or second-hand grief. It can still have an effect on us and I expect it may be having an effect on us as individuals, as families, and as a community more than we’d like to admit.

So by acknowledging our grief, our sense of loss, or our anticipation of these things to come, we release some of that energy back into the universe. Through acknowledgement of our pain, we release energy into the universe. It’s no longer stored, trapped, within our bodies, within our hearts; it’s shared instead by a community, a city, a state, a nation, a world, and because of this, our loneliness may decrease, our hopelessness may lighten, and our dread for what is to come may weigh less on us.

And another thing happens when we acknowledge the grief we face or fear facing. We are given a better view of our journey in life, of our work in the world, of the preciousness of life and the blessing of community, and of the importance of choosing to be in community. We are given an opportunity, as we become more in touch with our grief and our sense of loss, to hold ourselves and one another, and to be held by one another and something beyond our imagination—call it love, or call it mystery, or the spirit of life, or god, or goddess—call it what you will. Call it our virtual UUCCI community, our hope for the future, our courage to get there together. Call it what you must. And feel held in that love.

“There is a love holding us. There is a love holding all that we love. There is a love holding all. We rest in that love.”11 That love. This love. This love that holds us in not only our hope that this too shall pass, but also in our fear that perhaps it will never pass. This love that holds us in our strength and offers us permission to weep, to crumple, to ask for help. This love that holds us, holds all of us, all of our fears and our worries, all of our excitements and our hopes for the future: we rest in this love.

That love is what is with us this Easter Sunday, even as our grief is with us too. They do not cancel each other out. They are both holding us, they are both with us. And we, potters at the wheel of life are learning, perhaps quickly, the delicate art of shaping the life we are given in this unbelievably trying time in human history. Rev. Ungar invites us to:

“Make your heart a bowl

that is large enough to hold it all.

Imagine that you are the potter.

Stretch the clay. Cherish the turning wheel.

Accept that the bowl

is never going to be done.”

But that’s okay. It’s okay that the bowl is never done, never perfect. It can still hold water, it can hold love; it can still hold us, even as we are filled with both hope and grief. This world, this spring, this Easter, is filled with both beauty and brokenness. And we are a community that seeks to lift it all up, to celebrate the beauty of the earth. It is who we are, it is in our DNA,12 and in each of our bowls from The song, There is a Love, was played earlier in this service. The words were written by former Starr King School for the Ministry President, Rev. Rebecca Ann Parker. The music was composed by Elizabeth Norton. 11

12

See UUCCI Values, Mission and Ends.


Something’s Coming // 7

which we drink and find our way in life. And we are also aware, especially in these times, how fragile our world is, how vulnerable humans and animals and all of life can become in just the blink of an eye, in a matter of weeks.13

Perhaps another world is indeed possible. Perhaps we will emerge from this pandemic in new and miraculous ways. Perhaps when we return together in person, we will bring with us only what we need, only the things that will serve our collective need, our collective longings in this new world. We will explore what that world might look like next Sunday, but today we rest for a moment near the apex of a mountain of emotions; we rest for a moment along this marathon that feels like it has been going on forever and yet has just begun.

May this Easter bring us to a reflective space where we recognize the totality of emotions that reside within us, within this common bowl—our chalice—which gives us light and meaning. I give thanks. Even though I am anxious at times and anticipating what is to come, I still give thanks. For we are in this together. All of us. And with that knowledge, I promise to face whatever is before us with love and courage. That is my promise to you. May we be so bold to promise that to one another.

Since this Sunday service, additional information regarding the warning signs of this pandemic have emerged leading to an understanding that there were months, not weeks, in which courageous action was not taken in haste. 13



CHAPTER 2: 
 NEVER TURNING BACK Sunday, April 19, 2020 The Sunday Service on April 19 inspired this book project. Thanks to the clarion call to wake up by Julio Vincent Gambuto and the honest reflection of Nicole Wiltrout, this service took on a life of its own. With two excerpts from Gambuto and four reflections —two each from Nicole and myself—this service was a reminder of the importance of collaborative Sunday Service creation, lay wisdom, the powerful invitation to face what must be faced, and to walk through the thresholds when they open. Kate Deciccio’s mystic, alluring promise sums up what’s at stake: “If we get this right, we will never go back to normal.”

-Rev. Nic Cable


10 // Never Turning Back

“Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting*”
 by Julio Vincent Gambuto14

*Gaslighting, if you don’t know the word, is defined as manipulation into doubting your own sanity; as in, Carl made Mary think she was crazy, even though she clearly caught him cheating. He gaslit her.15

Pretty soon, as the country begins to figure out how we “open back up” and move forward, very powerful forces will try to convince us all to get back to normal. (That never happened. What are you talking about?) Billions of dollars will be spent on advertising, messaging, and television and media content to make you feel comfortable again. It will come in the traditional forms — a billboard here, a hundred commercials there — and in new-media forms: a 2020–2021 generation of memes to remind you that what you want again is normalcy. In truth, you want the feeling of normalcy, and we all want it. We want desperately to feel good again, to get back to the routines of life, to not lie in bed at night wondering how we’re going to afford our rent and bills, to not wake to an endless scroll of human tragedy on our phones, to have a cup of perfectly brewed coffee and simply leave the house for work. The need for comfort will be real, and it will be strong. And every brand in America will come to your rescue, dear consumer, to help take away that darkness and get life back to the way it was before the crisis. I urge you to be well aware of what is coming.

What is about to be unleashed on American society will be the greatest campaign ever created to get you to feel normal again. It will come from brands, it will come from government, it will even come from each other, and it will come from the left and from the right. We will do anything, spend anything, believe anything, just so we can take away how horribly uncomfortable all of this feels. And on top of that, just to turn the screw that much more, will be the one effort that’s even greater: the all-out blitz to make you believe you never saw what you saw...You didn’t see inequality. You didn’t see indifference. You didn’t see utter failure of leadership and systems.

From one citizen to another, I beg of you: take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud.

This article was published on the website Medium on April 10. As of May 1, it had over 20 million views from around the world. A second article was written a couple weeks after this Sunday service by the same author, titled “The Gaslighting of America Has Begun.” Because of its length, two excerpts were chosen to guide the reflections during this service. https://forge.medium.com/prepare-for-the-ultimate-gaslighting-6a8ce3f0a0e0 14

The term gaslight was first introduced in Patrick Hamilton’s 1938 play, Gas Light, in which there is a “systematic psychological manipulation of a victim” viz. a husband continues to dim gas lights, causing the wife to feel she is going insane. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslighting 15


Never Turning Back // 11

“If We Get This Right…”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

I am very thankful that Nicole agreed to approach with me such a loaded service theme this Sunday. Perhaps every week this year will feel loaded in a way. Today’s service topic though was birthed from a proposition that went viral on social media this past month. Created by cultural organizer and educator, Kate Deciccio (deh-cheek-oh), the proposition referring to this current pandemic we are facing as a world goes like this. She wrote:

“If we get this right, we will never go back to normal.”

Our Board President, Cate Hyatt, lifted those words up in service nearly a month ago now,16 and they have been swirling in my mind and heart, and perhaps yours too, ever since. This is an extremely provocative proposition, an alluring invitation: “If we get this right, we will never go back to normal.” If we get this right... if we face this pandemic in a particular way, if we realize what is truly being revealed, because there is so much that is being revealed these days. It is in fact an apocalyptic time, which from its etymological root, means to uncover.17 To uncover that which is happening around us which we can see and to uncover so much more that we cannot see.

The reading that will guide our four reflections today is worth your time and attention. It is worth taking in deeply and then taking in again. It centers around a counter-proposition which we run the risk of accepting, if we are not careful. This has to do with what happens as our cities and states, as our nation and the world begins to open up again and get back to this idea of normal. So normalcy is related to both propositions. And the author of our reading, Julio Vincent Gambuto, didn’t create a summative viral proposition, and so humbly and in the same vein as Kate Deciccio, I submit this one:

“If those with power have their way, we will awake from this nightmare with gratitude to just return to the way things used to be.”

But here’s the thing, “the way things used to be” and in fact still are on the whole are rooted in extreme forms of oppression, in an addicted relationship to capitalism, and militarism, not to mention, white supremacy and patriarchy. Those with power want us all to want nothing more than to get back to

The service referred to here was Sunday, March 15. This was our first online service which was moved online just a couple days prior. The wisdom and support of Cate Hyatt and the rest of the Board of Trustees has been a blessing to this congregation through this crisis. 16

Over the past few years, I have grown more comfortable talking about apocalypse. One conversation that pops up now and then among UU religious leaders, and this is especially true during the COVID-19 pandemic is: are we living in a pre-apocalyptic, apocalyptic, or post-apocalyptic era? While there wasn’t time to discuss these themes in this service, I will add that the writings of Octavia Butler, namely The Earthseed Chronicles, have been very influential to me in this regard. 17


12 // Never Turning Back

normal.18 Gaslighting is the operative word that is functioning in this second proposition. And the author, Julio Vincent Gambuto, wants nothing more than to warn us to not be allured by the saturation of comfort and spending,19 and the familiarity that will rain down on us for months and years to come as this pandemic begins to subside.

I like to believe that we are a thoughtful and reflective congregation. UUCCI is a community of hope and courage, and during this time of COVID-19, we each in our own ways may be thinking about our lives, our families, our relationships to others, perhaps to our jobs or our communities of engagement, and to this world. I know you have been thinking about this time and what it means in not just U.S. history or world history, but in your personal history, and what it means for your future, and our future, as well.

Nicole has been a wonderful thought partner in this regard, as have many of you, as we begin to imagine what it would like to “get this right.” What would it mean to explore what Gambuto calls this sacred opportunity to cut through the BS and “to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud?” What will help us as a congregation to embody our mission more boldly and feel more assured that we are fulfilling our aspirational Ends? I expect that we can get this right and it will take all of us to look into our own lives and consider what that will look like for each of us as individuals and as a community. Here is Nicole’s reflection and I hope it stimulates your own.

I hesitated in writing this sentence back in April knowing that it required some unpacking. Power dynamics are nuanced and contextual. For example, I have a tremendous amount of power as a white, heterosexual, male minister. Gambuto’s use of power here refers more broadly to “those with power,” most likely referring to those with political and economic interests that are held above human or public health interests. Nevertheless, it is important to be mindful of all the ways power plays into this desire to go back to normal and the ways we all, at different levels, wield it. 18

Amazon saw its sales and profit grow exponentially during the second quarter (April-June), while tens of thousands of small business saw record losses including many closing their doors for good. https:// www.businessinsider.com/amazon-earnings-report-q2-jeff-bezos-2020-7 19


Never Turning Back // 13

“The New Normal”
 by Nicole Wiltrout

I think, like many of you, I haven’t quite figured out the ultimate lesson that this pandemic is teaching me about my own life. It’s a little bit like using Google Maps… it’s hard to zoom out really far and see the big picture when I’m just trying to figure out how to get down the street, or in this case, just to keep myself and loved ones safe and healthy. Some days I want to bake bread from scratch and exercise, other days I want to eat cookies and watch mindless television. And I realize I’m privileged to be able to have those options. So to me, that makes it even more of a waste to ignore any life lessons that are presenting themselves, even if the path ahead isn’t entirely clear.

I think my biggest takeaway has been the importance of reflection, and I mean that both looking inwardly, and also asking it of others in my life. If you’ve ever edited photos digitally, you might know one of the things you can adjust is the saturation, which is basically how vivid the colors are. For me, life is fully saturated right now. Everything is felt more deeply, more extremely. The joy and the sorrow, the blessings and the frustrations, the perks and the disappointments. I cry more easily, but I also laugh readily. I realize now how often I gloss over my emotions when life is busier and more distracting and when I’m prioritizing steadiness and calm.

I’ve suddenly given myself permission to not be ok all the time. After all, there is no GPS for navigating a pandemic. To instead ask what my own mind, body, and spirit require to get through the day or even the next hour. And I’m trying to be more conscious of what my family and those I’m connected with need, even if it is just virtually, right now, too. It’s often different from what I need, and I’m learning to be more accepting and grace giving to others, too. And sometimes, I fall short.

It reminds me of our check-ins that we often do when meeting with committees or teams within our congregation. It’s usually the only time in the course of that day or maybe even that week or month when I pause to ask myself before sharing with the group, “how AM I doing?” And we learn so much about each other from these moments, don’t we?

So if I take one skill that I’m using for survival into this next phase of life post quarantine, I hope it’s that instead of always absentmindedly answering, “I’m fine,” to the casual “how ya doing” questions, I can instead pause to be more thoughtful about my answer. And when I ask it of others, can I do it in such a way as to suggest that it’s ok to be vulnerable with me and answer that more honestly?

I don’t know what my new normal will look like, but I hope it includes more of that.


14 // Never Turning Back

“Prepare for the Ultimate Gaslighting”
 by Julio Vincent Gambuto

What the trauma has shown us, though, cannot be unseen. A carless Los Angeles has clear blue skies as pollution has simply stopped. In a quiet New York, you can hear the birds chirp in the middle of Madison Avenue. Coyotes have been spotted on the Golden Gate Bridge. These are the postcard images of what the world might be like if we could find a way to have a less deadly daily effect on the planet. What’s not fit for a postcard are the other scenes we have witnessed: a health care system that cannot provide basic protective equipment for its frontline; small businesses — and very large ones — that do not have enough cash to pay their rent or workers, sending over 16 million people to seek unemployment benefits; a government that has so severely damaged the credibility of our media that 300 million people don’t know who to listen to for basic facts that can save their lives.

The cat is out of the bag. We, as a nation, have deeply disturbing problems. You’re right. That’s not news. They are problems we ignore every day, not because we’re terrible people or because we don’t care about fixing them, but because we don’t have time. It is very easy to close your eyes to a problem when you barely have enough time to close them to sleep. The greatest misconception among us, which causes deep and painful social and political tension every day in this country, is that we somehow don’t care about each other. This couldn’t be further from the truth. We do care. We just don’t have the time to do anything about it. Maybe that’s just me. But maybe it’s you, too.

What happened is inexplicably incredible. It’s the greatest gift ever unwrapped. Not the deaths, not the virus, but The Great Pause. It is, in a word, profound. Please don’t recoil from the bright light beaming through the window. I know it hurts your eyes. It hurts mine, too. But the curtain is wide open. What the crisis has given us is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ourselves and our country in the plainest of views. At no other time, ever in our lives, have we gotten the opportunity to see what would happen if the world simply stopped. Here it is. We’re in it. If we want to create a better country and a better world for our kids, and if we want to make sure we are even sustainable as a nation and as a democracy, we have to pay attention to how we feel right now. I cannot speak for you, but I imagine you feel like I do: devastated, depressed, and heartbroken.


Never Turning Back // 15

“The Guest at Our Door”
 by Nicole Wiltrout

No question, this pandemic is putting all that ails our society squarely under the microscope. From the long-term effects of systemic racism to far too many people working without a living wage to a healthcare system that was always cracked and fractured and now seems to be crumbling, despite the truly heroic and super human efforts of its staff and frankly, so many of our essential workers.

Will this be the moment when we finally decide to throw on our lab coats and get to work, looking into that microscope studying what’s being magnified right now, and then ultimately, hopefully, discovering some cures and antidotes and doing something about it?

I think Gambuto raises a really interesting point in this piece. I think he lets America off the hook here by suggesting we’ve always cared about our troubles, we just lack the time. I struggle to accept that. I think to some extent, we’ve always had the time. I think we just don’t make the time. And shame on us if we don’t adjust course now that the error of our ways has more fully presented itself to us.20

Yes, it’s true, the average American lifestyle is just too busy. There’s more that’s making us sick than just this virus. From professions that require more than an actual full-time workload could realistically manage, to lack of access to quality childcare, to herculean expectations we place on ourselves. And so I recognize Gambuto’s point.

But I also ask myself, am I just choosing to be this busy, because in part it makes it easier to look away from the many things destroying the fabric that hold our communities together? Are my priorities just not where they should be? There’s a Mary Oliver poem called The Uses of Sorrow that I keep thinking about, and I find it particularly applicable in this moment:

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

I wish, more than anything, that this pandemic wasn’t dropped on our porches like an unwelcome guest. But it’s here, and we’re either going to invite it in and better understand what it’s trying to teach us and then roll up our sleeves and get to work in the time we have left, or we’re going to ignore it and let it and all it has shown us keep infecting us. I hope that as a congregation, we can hold each other accountable and choose to work.

This paragraph takes on even more meaning considering the contextual power dynamics I wrote of in the previous footnote. Considering Nicole is addressing the UUCCI community, in general, the concepts of “having time” and choosing to “adjust course” are relevant and insightful to this framework of power. 20


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“...We Will Never Go Back to Normal”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

I share Nicole’s hope that as a congregation “we can hold each other accountable and choose to work.” To what work will we hold ourselves accountable? That is the most important question that faces us as we move forward as a congregation. We have a remarkable and nuanced set of guiding principles of Unitarian Universalism, a set of Core Values that we developed together, and a Mission and Ends Statements that are actionable, that are achievable, that call us forward through this difficult time.

But, if we get this right, if we really get this right, then we will have to recognize that we cannot go back, we cannot turn back, nor return to one another in the ways of yesterday, in the ways of preCOVID-19. And here is why, the world has undeniably changed. You and I, we have changed. We cannot see all the ways we’ve changed or name them, but when we are able to return to one another in person, we will not be the same people. And so while our principles, values, mission, and ends are powerful markers of our identity, purpose, and direction as a congregation, the premiere question we must ask, the guiding question for us is not about what we do to embody our mission and fulfill our ends. It’s not about what we do together. But first and foremost and always, it is about how we are. Not what we do, but how we are. How we are as a congregation, how we live our lives, how we engage with our partners, how we move forward together... these are the questions we will ask again and again. And do you know why? Because our values of one another of human life and of life itself have changed. During this time of social isolation, of uncertainty and fear, our first question is some variation of how are you? How is your mother? How is your child? How are you holding up? How can I help?

And what did our question or questions used to be of one another? What did you do to today? What are you doing this weekend? Or when you meet someone new, our first question is “what do you do for a living?” Now go with me on this for a second. What’s the difference between the two, between the old questions of what and the new questions of how?

What did you to today? What do you do for a living? These are questions about production, about our productivity, and about what we’ve produced. What you do for a living is a question asking us to consider what we do to live, to be alive, to stay alive? In other words, it wraps up our existence with our production. And what we produce and the volume of our production as such, is proportional in that moment to our first impression of the one before us. From this viewpoint, consciously or unconsciously, one’s level of production is one’s level of worth in society. And that makes complete sense in a capitalist society, in a society built on the backs of enslaved and indigenous peoples, and a nation that refers to “opening up its economy” and ending the shelter-in-place of its people interchangeably. We are the modes of production, of trading goods, of reinforcing the understanding that what you do and what you have is of ultimate concern in life.

But as I said earlier, this pandemic has changed us. From our second reading, Gambuto suggests that even as gaslighting will clearly gear up in the weeks and months ahead, “what the trauma has shown us, though, cannot be unseen.” And we cannot unsee the trauma in three respects. We can not unsee the oppressions and disparities of how this pandemic has hit marginalized communities. We


Never Turning Back // 17

cannot unsee the heartless and draconian governmental leadership, if you can call it that, which has been on display. And finally, we can also not unsee the new ways we have actually grown closer to one another in righteous resistance to our Darwinian instincts. For many segments of society, it is not about survival of the fittest, but embracing a new model of shared existence that is becoming popularized to the masses during this crisis.21 Thus our questions during this crisis are switching from what (or questions of production as worth) to how (or questions of quality of life as worth). “How are you?” is a direct question of another’s life itself. There are no prerequisite questions of value based on production. It is simple and direct: how are you? How are you surviving? How are you holding up today?

Now I won’t beat a dead horse because what did that horse ever do to warrant that treatment.... But I will say this: if we want to get this right, if we want to choose to not go back to normal, but to move forward instead in new anti-oppressive ways, then we must strengthen a non-capitalist understanding of the human being and of all existence. Or in other words, we must develop and prioritize new economies that are liberative rather than exploitative, that are rooted in mutual survival rather than Darwinian social ethics, and that above all else values the how over the what.

I’ll end by giving you a brief example of what such an alternative economy model looks like. Some of you may be familiar with an organizational theory called Mutual Aid. For those who are not familiar, Mutual Aid has been studied in cultures for millennia. In Mutual Aid networks, “communities take on the responsibility for caring for one another, rather than forcing individuals to fend for themselves.”22 In 1902, Peter Kropotkin who defined the term as a principle for organizational theory, defined it this way:

“[M]an is appealed to be guided in his acts, not merely by love [...] but by the perception of his oneness with each human being. In the practice of mutual aid, which we can retrace to the earliest beginnings of evolution, we thus find the positive and undoubted origin of our ethical conceptions; and we can affirm that in the ethical progress of man, mutual support not mutual struggle — has had the leading part.”23

During the COVID-19 crisis, Mutual Aid networks have exploded across the world, including one in our community that has a Facebook group of over 5000 members last time I checked.24 An excellent article about the recent growth in Mutual Aid networks speaks to the necessity of alternative economies and ways of structuring society, not just in a crisis. The article by Eleanor Goldfield highlights the effectiveness of volunteer-led, non-hierarchical structures of community building. She writes,

“Mutual aid is the medicine that bodies respond well to, the antidote to capitalism, and the salve for those basic elements of humanity so ruthlessly shanked by our system: solidarity, community,

Of course, there have been alternative models for human flourishing for millennia. It is perhaps newer to those from more privileged identities and/or in Western nations that idolize capitalism and profits above human well-being. 21

There are many resources focused on Mutual Aid network, but this article from Vice was extremely helpful in giving an introductory understanding to the central concepts of it. https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/y3mkjv/whatis-mutual-aid-and-how-can-it-help-with-coronavirus. 22

23

Ibid.

As of mid-July, “South Central Indiana Coronavirus Help” has about 5,500 members in its Facebook Group. https://www.facebook.com/groups/SouthCentralIndianaCoronavirusHelp/ 24


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sharing, and supporting. It’s not about charity. Charity pities. Mutual aid understands. Charity distances. Mutual aid connects.�25

Mutual Aid may be one of many ways forward as we think about how we will be with one another and in this world. I pray that we really reflect on whether we want to go back to normal, whether that life and that way of being was meaningful and life giving. Or could this invitation, this guest at our door, be a welcome pause to step back and find a new way forward as a community.

Take this week, take as much time as you need to think honestly about what values, what things, what ways of being you want to carry forward as an individual and as a part of this community. Next week, we will explore these values and these secret ingredients to staying together on the journey, staying committed to the work, and staying laser focused on what matters most. Friends, we are never turning back. And there may be some real grief in that statement. But perhaps there is also some hope. Hope that we are going to keep on moving forward together; hope that we will not settle for what is normal, the old normal or the new normal, but instead stay true to ourselves and to one another until we reach that golden morning. May it be so. Amen.

This article was published on April 15 and is worth reading in its entirety. https://mronline.org/2020/04/15/ disunited-states-government-failure-to-address-coronavirus-is-sparking-a-mutual-aid-revolution/ 25




CHAPTER 3: 
 I HEAR THE MUSIC RINGING! Sunday, April 26, 2020 Concluding our month focused on Anticipation, we leaned into the possibilities of hope emerging in May. Even in our naïveté of what was still to come regarding COVID-19, there was an audible, almost tangible feeling that not only were we successfully flattening the curve, but we were also seeing widespread global solidarity and transformation through our collective response. “I Hear the Music Ringing!” refers to Hymn #108 in Singing the Living Tradition, titled “My Heart Flows On.” Along with a gentle reflection from Marion Dobbs, this service considered what music may be heard when we open our ears to hear it.

-Rev. Nic Cable


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“Nature’s Rhythm and Melody”
 by Marion Dobbs

I’m an incredibly lucky guy. I live out in western Bartholomew County. An area my dad once said was Lap Land. “It’s where Brown County laps Bartholomew County.” My dad had a great sense of humor and intellect.

I was transplanted from a small house in what was still called “East Columbus” to an old farmhouse on a gravel road just thirty feet from the house. There was a big red barn to explore. The old house had been remodeled but still had some quirks.

Being the oldest of three boys, it was my job to help my dad with some of the farm chores. I begrudgingly complied, although that took time away from listening to the record player—usually as loud as my parents would allow... no, tolerate.

It was a great experience, growing up on a small family farm. Watching the seasons change. Learning, with some vocal reinforcement, to be dependable. Being there to help plant corn. Watch it sprout and grow, knowing that I’ll help with the fall harvest. Making that seemingly long trip to the Farmers Market to sell that crop.

I’ve noticed more red bud trees blooming now than when I was a kid. There are more wild birds, squirrels, opossums, and raccoons raiding the leftover cat food on the back deck. Even the Deer aren’t too shy. I see them grazing, in areas I no longer mow in the summer, beyond the backyard. I even let the dandelions grow in the yard. I’m sure it doesn’t please my neighbors.

Nature has its own rhythm and melody. Although the birds chirp everywhere in the predawn, occasionally, when Dallas and I would wait for the bus in the early cold winter mornings, I would hear an Owl, up on the wooded hill. That rhythm reminds me of the opening chords to a song by Carly Simon, Anticipation: “We can never know about the days to come, but, we think about them anyway.” Don’t we all anticipate a return to something like normal? I’ll probably kick and scream a little before I embrace the “new normal.”

I heard the peepers in the field this early spring. Marveled at what I call my Neon Spider Bush, a flowering quince, blazed with neon red-pink blossoms. Even mowed some of the monster yard with the help of Dallas and Tristan lately.

These are normal things that do give me some comfort in these times. It will be a different world when this is over. But nothing is permanent, except change.

Let us help each other to embrace that change.

22


I Hear the Music Ringing! // 23

“Communion Circle”
 by Rev. Mark Belletini The earth.

One planet.

Round, global,

so that when you trace its shape

with your finger,

you end up where you started. It's one. It's whole.

All the dotted lines we draw on our maps

of this globe are just that, dotted lines.

They smear easily.

Oceans can be crossed.

Even the desert can be crossed.

The grain that grows on one side of the border

tastes just as good as the grain on the other side.

Moreover, bread made from rice is just as nourishing

to body and spirit as bread made from corn,

or spelt or teff or wheat or barley.

There is no superior land, no chosen site,

no divine destiny falling on any one nation

who draws those dotted lines just so.

There is only one earth we all share,

we, the living, with all else that lives

and does not live.

Everything,

everything, for good or ill,

is part of the shared whole:

sky, earth, song, words and now, this silence.26

“Communion Circle,” among several of the readings in this book, can be viewed on the UUA Worship Web. Find more resources on a wide variety of themes at https://www.uua.org/worship/. 26


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“We Are the Music”
 by Rev. Renee Ruchotzke

Our first breath is followed by our first song

Lusty, loud and primal

A solo that announces to the world, “I have arrived!”

We are the music.

As toddlers hearing our first reggae beat

We let our spines and hips bend and sway in response

As natural as the beat of our hearts

We are the music.

The drone of the bass notes of the church organ

A vibration in our chests

Tense muscles relax, the breath deepens.

We are the music.

As we push the air from our bellies

Out through the chest and throat

Our changing expressions shape the sound.

We are the music.

As we sing together

Voices blend to create a harmony

Each voice enriched by its connection to the next.

We are the music.

24


I Hear the Music Ringing! // 25

“I Hear the Music Ringing!”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

I believe I have shared with you before how valuable I find our Unitarian Universalist hymnals to be to our religious tradition. Our grey hymnal, from which we just heard “My Life Flows On in Endless Song,” is entitled Singing the Living Tradition. By its very existence, this among our other hymnals throughout history are some of our shared, sacred texts that speak through music to our diverse theological beliefs and our undying passion for justice and peacemaking.27

This particular song, “My Life Flows On,” is perhaps one of my favorites. Now, I say that about a lot of them, but this one feels different to me lately. Perhaps it is just taking on new meaning in this current state of affairs that we face. Regardless, I was reminded of its prophetic potency, when I heard a rendition of it this week by my friend and colleague, Dr. Glen Thomas Rideout, who serves as the Director of Worship and Music at the First Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Ann Arbor, MI. For those unfamiliar with Dr. Rideout, he embodies the way music can be transgressive, restorative, connective, and deeply animating for our lives. And he brought these lyrics to life.28 Here are a few that sit with me as we honor the 50th anniversary of Earth Day this morning:

“My life flows on in endless song above earth’s lamentation.

I hear the real though far-off hymn that hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing.

It sounds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing!”

As spring takes even greater hold of the earth and sky, I am left with this question: how can I keep from singing? As we mark 50 years of advocacy for our planet, I am left with this same question: how can I keep from singing? And as we are separated and physically distant, as we are perhaps frightened and lonely, depressed and anxious, angry and maybe at our wits end, I am still left with this question: how can I keep from singing?

The strength required to choose to go on comes from a deeper understanding of what music really is, of what singing is, and what it does to us as human beings and to the world as it flows out and penetrates the heart of all existence. The truth of the matter is that music is energy and energy is life; it is that which animates our lives, energy that can transform chaos into meaning, dissonance into harmony, hopelessness into courage to carry on.

Now I better pause here to clarify something. When I say music, when I refer to singing and creating music as individuals and as a community, I am not referring to one particular tradition of music One way to familiarize yourself with our hymnals, besides purchasing one at https://www.uuabookstore.org, is through the website Far Fringe: https://farfringe.com/hymns-in-numerical-order-1-200/. My colleague, the Rev. Kimberly Debus has gone through each hymn and written some useful insights about them. She is currently working on a more thorough project over the next couple years, which will be a wonderful gift to our congregation. 27

Dr. Rideout is an amazing musician and leader in Unitarian Universalism. You can watch some of his YouTube videos at https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqiwpccAVPfTE0OI7szHZAQ or by searching for the congregation on YouTube. 28


26 // Never Turning Back

that, like in all cultural traditions, defines the value or standards of what music is. So for example, western classical music is one tradition of music and classical Indian music is another, or jazz, or bluegrass, or you name it.29 These are all traditions of music and they all bring with them standards of what music is at an existential level, and what it is not. But in fact, here, when I talk about music and its relationship to our precious earth and to our collective survival in the 21st century, I am not really talking about any of these traditions, in particular. I am referring instead to music at a much more universal and eternal level.

UU minister, the Rev. Renee Ruchotzke, speaks to this phenomenon, when she suggests,

“Our first breath is followed by our first song

Lusty, loud and primal

A solo that announces to the world, “I have arrived!”

We are the music.”

We are the music is the refrain that courses through this poem and our lives and of life itself. We make music whether we intend to or not, whether it is deemed music or not; we are the music, this sacred energy, and it is in us and around us, and beyond us. And because of this, it is essential to ask not whether music exists in this ravaged world in which we live, but whether we can hear the music ringing? We must ask, can we hear the music ringing, over the greed and violence of humanity? Can we hear the music ringing, over our sadistic dependence on fossil fuels or plastic or just stuff in general? We must ask of ourselves and all of life, can we hear the music ringing, over the heartache, over the soulache of this world? Because it is often hard to say yes; It is hard to hear it when so many other noises are bombarding us, when so much busyness and sprinting from one thing to the next is on our schedule today and tomorrow and the next day. Personally, I move so quickly from one meeting to the next sometimes, that it can be hard to just stop and take a breath. So I take a breath. And perhaps you take a breath. Let’s take a breath.

And thankfully, a lot of this pace is potentially changing during what Julio Vincent Gambuto calls The Great Pause. This Great Pause that we have all been forced into. I almost think it’s more like a timeout. A “go to your room” sort of punishment. I mean that someone facetiously, but wow did I need a reminder to slow down, to reorient, and to remember what matters most, who matters most, and how I want to be in this world. And who is sending us to our rooms? Who is putting us in timeout? Mother Nature, of course.

Not to over personify this situation, but in the last six weeks, while we have been in timeout, Mother Nature has been living her best life. And climate scientists have been noting a positive impact that’s happening because of our slowed down pace of life. We are doing less harm to this world, to our home. In the United States alone, air pollution was down 30% in March and most of the lockdowns

29

There are, of course, also numerous sub genres of music within these traditions. 26


I Hear the Music Ringing! // 27

began midway through the month in March.30 31 There are photographers and biologists who have captured pictures and data showing the flora and fauna of our world springing forth with abandon and reclaiming their sacred spaces in this web of life.32 And as Mother Nature rebounds, as we become more reflective on what is to come from this incredible time, the earth, the plants and animals of the sky, land, and sea are opening up a new chorus of voices, a chorus of music, a symphony of every tone and timbre imaginable. And before we act, we must first ask ourselves, can we hear the music ringing?

Last week, we pondered Kate Deciccio’s proposition that “if we get this right, we will never go back to normal.” And one the of ways we might get this right is by listening a little more deeply to the songs of earth and sky, and by recognizing our place in this grand chorus. Because if we can quiet our hearts and minds enough to hear the music ringing, not just when the radio is on or when we’re listening to iTunes, but also to the sacred sounds of this planet, we will be able to shift our lives from one of global degradation to one of global regeneration and of global reunification; when we hear the music ringing, we can pivot our focus and our work toward a world of wholeness, or at least to a world where we dream that bridges and harmony are more valuable than walls and discord.33

And before you say it or even think it, I don’t believe this is wishful thinking or that I am being overly simplistic. Think about it. As we’ve been in quarantine, in physical isolation from one another, what have been some of the most moving and transformative experiences you have had? Well, based on what I’m experiencing personally and from listening to you and the experiences you are having in your lives over this past month, a major common thread has been the musical nature of these experiences. Many of our moving experiences have had a musical nature. For example, you have shared that it has been particularly moving to listen to pieces of music we have played here on Sunday mornings. Or you have found greater meaning in revisiting some of your favorite music. You have shared that you have discovered music or videos on social media or YouTube that used music as a way to help you feel connected and hopeful.34 And some of your life-giving, musical experiences have been non-traditional, such as through a phone call or a FaceTime chat where you hear a familiar voice or a new life cooing back to you—singing to you.

These experiences have offered us strength and reminders of all that is still good and beautiful in this fragile world. These kinds of experiences have been bountiful over the past month. Music is NASA published an article on April 9 outlining some of the climate affects due to COVID-19. https:// www.nasa.gov/feature/goddard/2020/drop-in-air-pollution-over-northeast/ 30

Another article that shows before and after pictures of cities throughout the world regarding pollution levels. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/coronavirus-photos-decline-air-pollution-lockdown/ 31

32

https://abc7.com/earth-day-2020-when-is-shopdisney-activities-for-kids/6121760/.

During the past several months, along with staff, ministry team leaders, and the Board of Trustees, we have been focusing on this concept of pivoting. There is understanding that how we do things need to change to lead to greater health and wholeness within and beyond the congregation. This is the heart of Peter Steinke’s adaptive leadership and more recently adrienne maree brown’s emergent strategy philosophies and organizational practices. See Bibliography for more information. 33

During the early stage of the pandemic, all eyes were on Italy. Viral videos were posted on the internet and articles were written in response to the global outpouring of solidarity. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/14/ solidarity-balcony-singing-spreads-across-italy-during-lockdown. 34


28 // Never Turning Back

reminding us of our connection to the earth, to other people, and to all of life that is being affected by this Great Pause.35 In fact, we are the music. Or put another way, we have a musical nature. Or better yet, put another way, our nature, and nature itself is musical. Nature is music and we are music. From the percussive big bang to the resonate vibrations far below the earth’s crust; from the bells of churches ringing in the 4th century to instruments discovered thousands of years prior; from the frog or the cricket or the cicada who never sing alone to the rustling of leaves in fall, the pulling of weeds in spring, the sound of a warm summer rain and of a nearly silent, yet audible snowfall in winter; from our first song after our first breath on this earth to our last song just before our last breath on this earth: we are the music. We create music and experience music, and if we are determined and sometimes a bit lucky, what we create and experience will be in tune with our nature. That is, our nature of oneness with all existence, our nature of hope and courage, our nature of non-violence and compassion, and of radical love.

My friends, we are in a critical moment of human history. Our actions, our work and ministry moving forward, will be extremely consequential to how the next 50 years unfold. I mentioned last week that one way we can pivot and not go back to normal is to value the how over the what.36 We can focus on how we are together, rather than what we do together. And this duet we have at hand between the earth and the music we each make is an invitation into practicing this adaptive pivot in our lives together. Now, how will we do this more practically, besides listening more deeply to the music all around us? Well, we can remember that each of us at our essence is a musician and that this, here, is a community where music abounds. So many of you have shared with me your love of music, your love of creating music or listening to music, and that doing so are some of the most meaningful parts of your lives.

We have had an eclectic music program at UUCCI throughout the years and this eclectic nature is due in part to the diversity of talent and interests of our members.37 What has held us back in the past has been our inability to grow the music budget and sustain a vision for music ministry at UUCCI. Some of you may have already heard the good news, but all of this might be changing in the coming months. We have received a generous grant from the MidAmerica Region of the Unitarian Universalist Association.38 This Chalice Lighter Grant will help us to grow our music program both in attracting more guest musicians, but also expanding our staff team to include music professionals. This is a big deal. Not just because it will help us to grow and sustain our music program, but because it will keep us grounded to the truth of the musical nature of each of us and of our shared world.

The 7th Unitarian Universalist principle is that we promote and affirm, “Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are all a part.” Learn more at https://www.uua.org/beliefs/what-we-believe/principles. 35

Pivot, shift, and adapt have been the BINGO words among UUCCI leaders, and in every person’s life, during the pandemic. A generation of TV and pop culture fanatics cannot help but remembering this iconic and humorous clip which illustrates the difficulty in this Herculean task: https://youtu.be/n67RYI_0sc0. 36

For many years, even decades, UUCCI has been lucky to have a gracious and talented triumvirate of pianists. While some additional pianists, musicians, singers, and conductors have and continue to support the music program, Edrie Martin, Chris Kevitt, and Louise Hillery have been the stalwart advocates for this congregation’s music ministry. 37

The Unitarian Universalist Association is divided into five-regions, of which UUCCI is located in the Mid-America Region. https://www.uua.org/midamerica. 38

28


I Hear the Music Ringing! // 29

The music ministry of UUCCI will be a defining part of our path forward out of this time of isolation and fear.39 I cannot wait to see the music that we will create together, the music that will fill our sanctuary, surround our fire pit, be heard echoing through our Memory Walk, rippling out from city hall steps, and emerging from each of us—from that musical nature within us, around us, and beyond us. I cannot wait for how we can use this grant to propel us forward as a congregation and to find there before us a song of hope, and the courage to sing out together. May it be so. Amen.  

In the past several months since this service, the music program has blossomed even amidst the virtual limitations of ministry. Under the musical/tech leadership of Louise Hillery, the Sunday services have debuted some lovely pieces of music for our shared experience. Of course, with the uncertainty of the coming year of ministry, this grant will be thoughtfully timed and leveraged to expand and sustain the music ministry at UUCCI. 39



PART 2: 
 HOPE



CHAPTER 4: 
 NO GOOD THING EVER DIES Sunday, May 3, 2020 In most years, May renews a natural sense of hope for life and what is to come through the rest of spring. But this year was no ordinary year. In fact, during May it felt difficult at times to embody hope, something that is right in our mission statement, calling us to be “a community of hope and courage.” May did arrive and so did an invitation to explore hope. During the first Sunday Service, Lori Swanson inspired the titular hypothesis that No Good Thing Ever Dies. Perhaps it is true. Regardless, we knew that we would need to bring resilience and courage if we were to make it through together.

-Rev. Nic Cable


34 // Never Turning Back

“I Hope”
 by Lori Swanson

I love the movie Shawshank Redemption mostly because when I watch it (and re-watch it), I can’t help but to feel hope. The main character, Andy Dufree, who has been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, says in a letter to his friend Red, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of the things, and no good thing ever dies.” Throughout the film, Andy finds joy and hope in small ways, like a cold bottle of beer shared with friends, a funded prison library come to fruition, and in a pivotal scene, Andy plays a recorded piece of a Mozart opera to share with the whole prison population and if only for a minute—he lifts the minds and hearts of all those who have ears to hear. It is through these moments that Andy is able to have more hope for a future outside of prison. He speaks of hope to his friend Red and gives Red a reason to hope too.

Through this pandemic, I feel I’ve been restricted with my freedoms—although in no way do I feel I am a prisoner. Yes, I have moments of disappointment, but I also have moments of joy and hope. There’s the anticipation of what my Kroger click-list order may include, and even if I can’t get everything, I realize it is still an abundance compared to what others may live on. There’s my frustration with Indiana Department of Labor, the reality that I may never get any monetary compensation for two months of work I’ve lost, but also the gratitude that I have Jason as my partner who is still able to work and provide financially for our household. There’s a sadness from being away from family, especially my 21-year old daughter. However, we both know we are fortunate to be healthy and living with people who are healthy as well. Plus, we have the freedom and ability to connect through phone calls, texts, and FaceTime anytime we want.

With the arrival of spring, I hear boisterous birdsongs and see farmers plowing fields around our home. Sunny daffodils show their faces on greening hillsides and I am filled with hope for the earth and for us.

For myself, I hope I can get back to work soon. I hope my clients are healthy and able to come back to me.

For the world, I hope we are kinder to our earth and to others. I hope we take the time to nurture what is important and let the rest go. I hope we speak out against injustices and remember even when restrictions are lifted, not everyone will be able to “get back to normal.” I hope our healthcare workers and first responders get a well-deserved break and we continue to show them our appreciation. I hope we are able to comfort those who grieve.

I hope.


No Good Thing Ever Dies // 35

“A Simple Hope”
 by Rev. Theresa Soto

Last year the it toy was

Some kind of beeping computerized

Egg. The frenzy and desperation reaching

For the perfect gift. Sold out everywhere, this

egg.

Hope can be kind of like that. People

Strain and struggle for the perfect definition.

Is it now? Or future perfect, as in,

We will have survived. They argue

Over whether we even need a hope

More present than a maybe

Even when you don’t feel it.

A healthy hope is

The power, and beyond that the choosing to stay.

Stay with the doubt and fear.

Stay with the work that it takes to resist.

Leave giving up for another day. You

Could wrestle the words or sensation of hope

To the mat. Or you could let this moment be

enough, belonging here together be sufficient.

Feast on our irrepressible power to stay.


36 // Never Turning Back

“Hope Rises”
 by Revs. Rebecca Parker and John Buehrens

Hope rises.

It rises from the heart of life, here and now, beating with joy and sorrow.

Hope longs.

It longs for good to be affirmed, for justice and love to prevail, for suffering to be alleviated, and for life to flourish in peace.

Hope remembers.

It remembers the dreams of those who have gone before and reaches for connection with them across the boundary of death.

Hope acts.

It acts to bless, to protest, and to repair.


No Good Thing Ever Dies // 37

“No Good Thing Ever Dies”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

When I was a freshman in college, I took an intro to philosophy class. The PHL 100 classes at DePaul University in Chicago focused on various subjects and so as a new and aspiring college student, I wanted to sink my teeth into something good. And so I took my intro to philosophy class on the subject of prisons.

I remember the first time I walked into the classroom on the ground floor of Clifton-Fullerton Hall and sat, of course, in the second row—come on... what do you expect, no one likes sitting in the front row whether in class or on Sunday mornings. Anyways, in walks this young man, adjunct affiliate professor, probably still working on his PhD or maybe just recently finished. James Manos was a cool professor. He was edgy and smart and became the epitome of the Generation X academic that I would come across a lot over the next 7 years.40

I remember my rad professor passed out the syllabus on paper—how retro—and he walked us through how the ten-week quarter would unfold. We focused primarily on four writers throughout the course and about how each thought of the physical and philosophical aspects of prisons. I realized that the class was going to be good, really good, when I saw that one of our required texts, written by Angela Davis, was entitled, provocatively, Are Prisons Obsolete?

Are prisons obsolete?! Well, I was in for a ride exploring everything from Plato41 to Foucault42 with a blend of deeply heady writing and profoundly personal and socially relevant testimony about the world in which we live.

This memory of Dr. Manos’ philosophy class on prisons returned to me this past week. I probably haven’t thought much about this class for over a decade. But I think it popped up for a few reasons and one is that Lori reminded me of just how good and impactful the movie The Shawshank Redemption has been on both of our lives, and because we are spending this month of May on the topic of Hope. And what better conversation partner for hope is there than the various manifestations of physical and spiritual bondage that have existed throughout history and continue to exist today?

On top of this, many of you have been aware of the compounded injustice that is befalling people who are imprisoned within correctional facilities across the country amidst the COVID-19 crisis. Prisons were already some of the most unsafe places in America, which has now become amplified by

While not a universal indicator of professional style and scholarship, generational differences among professors I had in undergraduate and graduate studies is notable. Like all humans professors, and ministers for that matter, are shaped by the circumstance and context of their lives. 40

The text that made me fall in love with philosophy was Platos’ Five Dialogues, which follow the trial and death of Socrates. https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30292.Five_Dialogues. 41

We read Foucault’s Discipline and Punish which was a sobering history on the invention of the prison. https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Discipline_and_Punish. 42


38 // Never Turning Back

major virus outbreaks in these spaces.43 There is a movement to preemptively decarcerate many or all of these prisoners, which makes Angela Davis’ potent little book questioning of the purpose and necessity of prisons all the more relevant today.44

On top of this movement to mitigate harm, these campaigns across the United States, including right here in Indiana, are intended to push back against what has become known as the Prison Industrial Complex. You might be more accustomed to President Eisenhower’s mention of a Military Industrial Crisis,45 and they are in a way related, in that they each have produced a strong argument for and an over reliance on the use of force as a means of social control. Foucault wrote beautifully although starkly on this topic, although it is often hard to get through even a few pages of his book Discipline and Punish —grab a dictionary. In my opinion, my former professor, Dr. Sharon Welch, frames it more digestibly as our human tendency to long for an “Ethic of Control,” even if it comes at the cost of losing an “ethic of care.”46

So in light of these memories returning to me this week, in light of the current state of our state, our nation, and world, and in light of this month of May being about Hope, I thought I would speak a bit this morning at the intersection between Hope and freedom, or a lack of it.

Now before I go on, I want to say a few things that I feel need to be said about Hope. I am influenced and inspired by the power and potency that words can hold. And I am dismayed and frustrated when they are wielded like floppy slices of lunch meat. Dr. King, whose “Letter from Birmingham Jail” was also studied in Dr. Manos’ course, spoke eloquently and directly about our human tendency to be careless with words. In one speech he delivered he uses a word that is as ubiquitous as hope to illustrate his point: Love. God, do we love to use that word! Love. And hope and courage. And justice. But let’s take Dr. King’s reflection on Love to help illustrate this point. He believed that “Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic.” He went on to say, “Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”

So for King he was mindful that love alone, love without an awareness of power and the power dynamics that are always at play wherever two or more are gathered, was a very dangerous thing. And so he constructed a deeper analysis of this word that could capture its universal import and eternal relevance.

I think the same analysis is warranted for hope. Because hope, like love, is thrown around a lot, especially by liberal religious communities such as ours. So I want to dispel the warranted worries of The Marshall Project has created a very sobering depiction of the health crisis within state and federal prisons. https://www.themarshallproject.org/2020/05/01/a-state-by-state-look-at-coronavirus-in-prisons. 43

https://www.statnews.com/2020/04/14/decarceration-can-reduce-covid-19-infection-surgeon-general-shouldmake-that-call/. 44

45

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eisenhower%27s_farewell_address.

Dr. Sharon Welch is Provost of Meadville Lombard Theological School, one of two Unitarian Universalist seminaries in the United States. I took a couple of courses with her, including Public Ethics and Comparative Religious Ethics. This particular concept appears in her lauded book, A Feminist Ethic of Risk. 46


No Good Thing Ever Dies // 39

encouraging a simplistic sense of hope, especially right now, as a remedy to the world’s problems. I hope to dispel these fears by offering an equation in the same spirit as Dr. King provided on the subject of love. What if we talk about hope and life like this:

“Living without hope is painful and unbearable, and to have hope without a commitment to life is selfish and hollow. Life at its best is selfless and liberating, and hope at its best is our steadfast correcting of everything that stands against life.”

During April we imagined what it would be like to “get this right,” to not go back to normal, or to life as it once was. And what is true and must be said is that certain parts of society will more easily and quickly return to the status quo than others. For me, the prison industrial complex is one of these philosophical commitments and social structures that won’t easily crumble from a few weeks of social isolation.

Our collective reliance on methods of control will continue post-pandemic and those people who are the casualties of our fears and anxieties will suffer the most. But thankfully other conversations, as I mentioned, have been growing during this time of COVID-19. Many people are rethinking the entire structure of how we are together in this world. Again, not questions of what, but how—how are we together or for that matter apart from one another in this life.

I find the prison system and the concept of human bondage in general to be a sobering and horrifying part of human existence. As such, it is an appropriate subject to reflect on these questions about our shared future. Prior to COVID-19, we, members and friends of UUCCI, we who are predominantly non-poor and white, we made a deal that suggested that we need to protect society by keeping dangerous people apart from the rest of us. This isn’t a new social compact, of course, but a very old one. In essence, we said for utilitarian reasons, social distancing is an appropriate tool for public health and safety. And, well, we’ve gotten really good at this logic, that it can be easy at times to forget how staggering our percentage of the global population of imprisoned people is. Moreover, it is easy to avoid the fact that those within prisons are becoming infected and dying from COVID-19 at an unbelievable rate, just as people are in nursing homes, and in medical facilities, including those front line workers who are working to save lives, to save our lives. These groups of people collectively along with people who are homeless and those experiencing extreme poverty or drug addiction, are becoming forgotten by much of society as we look hopefully toward a time when we can get back to normal. They are becoming “the forgotten.”

Perhaps, yes, there will be some portions of this group that will be heralded for awhile, celebrated for their bravery, or perhaps for a long time, like first responders in the aftermath of 9/11— although how long has it taken to ensure lifetime health benefits are intact? But many will not be remembered, many will continue to be isolated, they will feel socially and emotionally distant from the rest of us and the abyss of separation will only grow wider in the months to come. Put simply, we run the risk of returning to normal and to that utilitarian argument that prisons are indeed necessary, as are other forms of selective social isolation—think of the children, after all.

Now I’m not here to preach a prison abolition sermon, but I am worried about our selective memory and potential commitment to those who were suffering before, during, and after this chapter of


40 // Never Turning Back

the health crisis. I am also not here to preach solely about the Forgotten, although they deserve more time than what I have for today, and specifically those who are currently imprisoned.

No, this is a sermon also about hope. And this is a sermon about life, as well. Because this is a congregation, here at UUCCI, we are a community of both hope and life. We are a people of hope and life. And I think because of this, we have some things to think about and some actions to consider. And one of the big ones is, “how can we live with hope in these days?”

Well let’s return to the Dr. King-inspired equation regarding hope and life that I offered earlier. Let me offer it again:

“Living without hope is painful and unbearable, and to have hope without a commitment to life is selfish and hollow. Life at its best is selfless and liberating, and hope at its best is our steadfast correcting of everything that stands against life.”

I think this is worthy of exploration especially in light of many of us who will soon not be forced to shelter in place or to be on lockdown any longer; perhaps to say we were ever truly on lockdown would be an overstatement. I believe as Phase 2 approaches this coming week in most of Indiana,47 we are under a bit of a time crunch to consider how we might commit ourselves to hope and to one another and to all of life in these days. But maybe Hope can provide us with some ways of being in moving forward.

In our second reading this morning, the Revs. Rebecca Ann Parker and John Buehrens suggest that hope is active and alive if we know where to look for it. To summarize the words Lori shared with us, they suggest:

Hope rises.

Hope longs.

Hope remembers.

Hope acts.

Hope rises. Hope rises from any and all people who are sick and tired of being sick and tired, sick of the discrimination, of the violence and oppression, faced by themselves or others on a daily basis. Hope also rises when people of privilege recognize that life is being compromised in some way and that something must be corrected.

But hope does not merely rise and then fall again like the sun and moon each day and night. It rises and then it longs. Hope longs for something new, something new like a world where we don’t believe that physical force can really accomplish anything, or that a social ethic with the motto “out of sight, out of mind” has any wisdom or merit or place in society. No, hope rises and it longs for something more. Something more compassionate and just, something gentle and restorative, something that imagines our collective liberation, our collective wholeness, as dependent on each of us finding ultimate freedom and fulfillment in life.

The Governor of Indiana developed the Back on Track program that outlines the process for Hoosiers. It is the state’s roadmap, albeit on rocky roads with suspect conditions. https://backontrack.in.gov. 47


No Good Thing Ever Dies // 41

And from where does our longing emerge? I believe hope rises and longs for a better world out of its own memory. Hope remembers. It remembers from a space of wisdom and mystery, named and unnamed, experienced and not-experienced. Hope remembers out of a deep well of pain and sorrow, but also of joy and boundless love. It remembers and invites us to remember along with it, to remember what once was, and what could yet still be once more.

But neither we nor hope will remain in the well of tears of both ecstasy and tragedy. Hope rises and it longs for something new by tapping into a personal and collective memory and then it acts. Hope acts, it pulls itself from the waters of despair into the light of what might be. Hope acts and it calls on us all to act from that place of awareness of how much life can be unbearable at times. But it calls us to act, because we know life can be something so much more liberating and beautiful that the prisons and hells we create for one another in this life.

This path can be our way of living and our way of harnessing hope in the days to come. We can rise, we can long for something new, we can remember what was and from that place where we all once emerged, and then we can act and make life real, make life truly be alive, fully alive, right here, right now. ...Because we need to be alive for what lies before us.

Perhaps it is true what Andy writes to his friend Red at the end of Shawshank Redemption. Perhaps it is true that “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” I do believe that hope can never die. But life can die. Life dies. We know it, we’ve experienced it through family members and friends, and we are becoming deeply aware of it during this time of COVID-19. Hope may very well be the thing that pulls us through this time of sickness and death into a chapter of life and renewed joy.

May we not lose sight of the power and necessity of hope. May we never take hope for granted nor life for granted. May we remember those who are easily forgotten, and strive to leave no one behind on this journey. May we return to hope and to life in these days ahead, and let go of the things that do not serve us any longer.

And as my colleague the Rev. Theresa Soto reminds us, may we give thanks for holding gently to our simple hopes, and recognizing the power and beauty that rests simply in our choosing to stay together on this journey.

May it be so. Amen.



CHAPTER 5: 
 POETRY + HOPE Sunday, May 17, 2020 Poetry is one of the wisdom languages for Unitarian Universalists. At UUCCI, we hold an annual Poetry Sunday. This year’s service came during a time when the wisdom of poetry was needed more than ever. As we dove more deeply into the theme of Hope, this service offered an opportunity to let the words speak for themselves and offer guidance for making a way out of no way. With Jan Lucas and several guest poets in person or in spirit, we witnessed the wisdom and beauty of poetry coming to life.

-Rev. Nic Cable


44 // Never Turning Back

“Lemon Drops”
 by Jan Lucas

The magnificent writer Toni Morrison said, “We die. That may be the meaning of our lives. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.”48

I am a lover of language. I love words. I love what they mean, I love how the meaning shifts depending on all the layers of context, I love how they sound. I love the way words can be distilled down and down to their essence and how they can be moved around on a page and how they can become a Poem.

Of course, not all poems are on a page. Some might be written on a rock or painted on a brick wall. Some may never be written down only spoken, some may be sung...but the connecting tissue is that the words were chosen with extreme care, they were selected and put one next to the other with great intention.

The French poet Paul Valery once said,” Poetry is to prose like dancing is to walking.” Or as I once said to a group of fourth graders I was teaching, “Poetry is to prose like lemon drops are to lemonade.” They are stronger, more intense, more efficient, more concise. You can drink a big glass of lemonade and not get the punch of one small lemon drop melting in your mouth.

Don’t you just love the way a poem can say what you’ve been thinking, or what you’ve been expounding on, in just the right way, with just the right words? Mary Oliver saying “the soft animal of your body”49 or Wendell Berry’s “I come to the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.”50 Or the description of a horse in James Wright’s “Blessing:”

“Her mane falls wild on her forehead/ And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear/ That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.”51

I was trying to remember what was the first poem that really impacted me. I was read to a lot as a child and poems for children were part of that, probably a lot of Ogden Nash and Robert Louis Stevenson. The value and meaning were sinking into me even if I didn't know it at the time. Then when I turned 11 or 12, or maybe 13, I remember becoming aware that words could have a deep effect on me. The turn of a phrase, the description of a thing. I remember the description of dandelion wine as “summer on the tongue.” I remember the revelatory shapes of the words on the page and NO capital Toni Morrison died in 2019 after an influential, world-shaping career as a writer. Her novels and writings influenced generations of artists and activists. 48

Much has been written by the late, beloved poet, Mary Oliver. This poem is perhaps one of her most iconic in her life. https://medium.com/@raekess/the-soft-animal-of-your-body-59b43bbb77a7. 49

This interview of Wendell Berry on the podcast “On Being” is exceptional and worthy of listening to in its entirety. https://onbeing.org/poetry/the-peace-of-wild-things/. 50

Poetry Foundation is an excellent resource to explore. Wright’s poem is featured there, along with thousands of others. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46481/a-blessing. 51


Poetry + Hope // 45

letters of e.e.cummings! I remember a poem about watermelon that I heard at an early age and can still recite:

gush, mush, yum, rich, red fruit

dribble down your bathing suit,

then you go back to the pond.52

How great is that? A whole summer’s day comes flooding into my memory; the hot sun, the juicy melon, the cold water of the pond...

Academia almost knocked the love of poetry right out of me; the overly intellectual dissection of poems in college taught me how to find signs and meaning where there probably weren’t any, but I got an A on the final exam. It was in my late 20’s and all through my 30’s that poetry made a comeback for me and its place of importance still remains. Finding language for the emotional intensity of my 20’s was a gift, and then I became a mother and started to live through other intense, life-changing things: losing friends, divorce, dying relatives, and the deep sometimes cataclysmic changes of life moving all around me. Poetry was the place I could go to listen to myself better, to understand the world better.

As we continue to shelter in place which, by the way, is a much more poetic way to say “quarantine,” many of us may find comfort in poetry, we may see and hear ourselves in the words, we may be moved to write down some of our own. I hope that this service may remind you of the power of poems, the glory of language, and the community we feel when we speak them and listen to them together.

This poem was written by 5th grader Alanna Hein. It was published in LIFE magazine on December 17th, 1971, in a n a r t i c l e t i t l e d , “ Wo r d s O n l y C h i l d r e n C a n C r e a t e . ” h t t p s : / / b o o k s . g o o g l e . c o m / b o o k s ? id=8D8EAAAAMBAJ&pg=PA54-IA4&lpg=PA54-IA4&dq=yum+yum+mush+rich+red+fruit&source=bl&ots=MIPfnhJwr&sig=ACfU3U0mJ9hBWnym9_JePnasv4n1voGu8A&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjF4ueNtdzqAhUBYawKHf9yADIQ 6AEwEHoECAoQAQ#v=onepage&q=yum%20yum%20mush%20rich%20red%20fruit&f=false. 52


46 // Never Turning Back

“Sun Worship”
 by Nancy Pulley

After days of cloud and fog,

sun rises from the horizon as if from the cave

of the earth, rises as a poem rises from the body,

illuminating stark trees, intensifying

the poinsettia, the piano, touching all things

inside and out. The sun connects my skin

with a radiant world. Light is within me

that my life walks away from.

How much longer will I stand in my own shadow?

The sun breathes light, excites the morning wind,

sees everything like a God.

The sun touches a curtain and flowers

bloom out from the cloth. A dead weed dances

orange-hued, and pines turn rich, luminous

as everything together in the yard, the house

eases up from winter, turns to the east.


Poetry + Hope // 47

“A Thousand Years of Healing”
 by Susan Silvermarie

From whence my hope, I cannot say,

except it grows in the cells of my skin,

in my envelope of mysteries it hums.

In this sheath so akin to the surface of the earth

it whispers. Beneath

the wail and dissonance in the world,

hope’s song grows. Until I know

that with this turning

we put a broken age to rest.

We who are alive at such a cusp

now usher in

one thousand years of healing!

Winged ones and four-leggeds,

grasses and mountains and each tree,

all the swimming creatures,

even we, wary two-leggeds

hum, and call, and create

the Changing Song. We remake

all our relations. We convert

our minds to the earth. In this turning time

we finally learn to chime and blend,

attune our voices; sing the vision

of the Great Magic we move within.

We begin

the new habit, getting up glad

for a thousand years of healing.


48 // Never Turning Back

“Fearless”
 by Tim Seibles for Moombi

Good to see the green world

undiscouraged, the green fire

bounding back every spring, and beyond

the tyranny of thumbs, the weeks

and other co-conspiring green genes

ganging up, breaking in, despite

small shears and kill-mowers,

ground gougers, seed-eaters.

Here they come, sudden as graffiti

not there and then there--

naked, unhumble, unrequitedly green--

growing as if they would be trees

on any unmanned patch of earth,

any sidewalk cracked, crooning

between ties on lonesome railroad tracks.

And moss, the shyest green citizen

anywhere, dreaming between bricks

on the damp side of a shack.

Clear a quick swatch of dirt

and come back sooner than later

to find the green friends moved in:

their pitched tents, the first bright

leaves hitched to the new sun, new roots

tuning the subterranean flavors,

chlorophyll setting a feast of light.

Is it possible to be so glad?

The shoots rising in spite of every plot

against them. Every chemical stupidity,

every burned field, every better

home & garden finally overrun

by the green will, the green greenness

of green things growing greener.


Poetry + Hope // 49

The mad Earth publishing

Her many million murmuring

unsaids. Look

how the shade pours

from the big branches -- the ground,

the good ground, pubic

and sweet. The trees -- who

are they? Their stillness, that

long silence, the never

running away.

Note: Moombi, Creator of the Earth, She who blesses the seeds, (Kenya). 


50 // Never Turning Back

“The Grace of a Poem in a Time of Fear”
 by Jan Lucas

As always, I’m so glad to hear a poem from Nancy Pulley, and her imagery is so vivid that I feel as if I’ve just been in her living room with the sun coming in and touching the things she sees. “After days of cloud and fog, sun rises from the horizon as if from the cave of the earth, rises as a poem from the body.”

The poem “A Thousand Years of Healing” is typed on a piece of paper that I have scribbled on it; it’s been floating around my desk, my art room, pinned onto bulletin boards, removed... it’s been traveling in my world for some time. It’s one I keep turning to because when the poet says “we who are alive at such a cusp,” I think she means all of us, all the time.

And the last one is about one of the things I love the most: the improbable force of plant life, especially the weeds, they just grow and grow, “the green greenness of green things growing greener.” That poet is not worried about overusing a word!!

These stories/feelings/images lift me up, they lift my spirits, they flood my psyche with Hope. They give language to things I’ve been thinking about in this time of COVID-19. When waves of uncertainty wash over me with the fears and what-ifs of the future, I welcome the grounding of these poets’ vision and I’m nourished by their words.

As I was thinking about what I would say today, I sat in my living room with books of poems all around me, some opened to a favorite, many tagged with scraps of paper, so many poems, so little time. I read so many that were just so good, so well-made and so evocative, I think: “that poet knows me!” I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I had an image of being at the water’s edge and the poet pulls up in a beautiful hand-made wooden canoe and says “Get in” and I do, and we push through the water and they take me out.

When this service is over, or maybe tomorrow or in a couple of days, get out your poetry books. If you don’t have any, call me. I’m serious. I do home delivery.


Poetry + Hope // 51

“Refrigerator, 1957”
 by Thomas Lux

More like a vault -- you pull the handle out

and on the shelves: not a lot,

and what there is (a boiled potato

in a bag, a chicken carcass

under foil) looking dispirited,

drained, mugged. This is not

a place to go in hope or hunger.

But, just to the right of the middle

of the middle door shelf, on fire, a lit-from-within red,

heart red, sexual red, wet neon red,

shining red in their liquid, exotic,

aloof, slumming

in such company: a jar

of maraschino cherries. Three-quarters

full, fiery globes, like strippers

at a church social. Maraschino cherries, maraschino,

the only foreign word I knew. Not once

did I see these cherries employed: not

in a drink, nor on top

of a glob of ice cream,

or just pop one in your mouth. Not once.

The same jar there through an entire

childhood of dull dinners -- bald meat,

pocked peas and, see above,

boiled potatoes. Maybe

they came over from the old country,

family heirlooms, or were status symbols

bought with a piece of the first paycheck

from a sweatshop,

which beat the pig farm in Bohemia,

handed down from my grandparents

to my parents

to be someday mine,

then my child's?

They were beautiful

and, if I never ate one,

it was because I knew it might be missed

or because I knew it would not be replaced

and because you do not eat

that which rips your heart with joy.


52 // Never Turning Back

“Vanishing Point”
 by Nancy Pulley

Two days, the wind has hurried last year’s leaves

down our road, past the point of seeing.

I am safe here from forward motion,

from the power that tosses a light, wild bird

on branches of sweet gum outside my window.

To be safe is not enough.

To be still is the beginning,

wind moving across our landscape,

fluting hollow rocks

and sounding like the first day of the world.

There is, after stillness, the way we turn towards the wind,

how we may go out today among the leaves and wild birds

humming our own windy tune.

There is the way we choose to breathe deeply,

our lungs making us light as the goldfinch.

Something bright and musical keeps us here, fluttering,

making brave movements in defiance of the wind.


Poetry + Hope // 53

“Where the Sidewalk Ends”
 by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.


54 // Never Turning Back

“Turn to the Poets”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

Just over two and a half years ago, many of you were participating in a very different type of Sunday service. We weren’t on Zoom, it was in the afternoon, and it was a big to-do. If you don’t remember, on November 12, 2017, I was ordained and installed as the settled minister of this congregation. And during that special ritual and right of passage, during that ceremony where we became bonded together as minister and congregation, we both received charges about the journey we were embarking on together. Perhaps in a sermon soon, I will reflect on the charge that was given to this congregation from your first minister, the Rev. Roger Bertschausen53 and your first settled minister, the Rev. Dennis McCarty.54 But today I’d like to reflect on something that was shared in the charge given to me by my mentor, the Rev. Kathryn Bert.

I asked Kathryn to give the charge to me as your new minister, because I knew that of all my mentors she knew me the best. And she said exactly what I needed to hear. The last thing she shared in her list of things to remember was to “turn to the poets.” I didn’t realize how profound and important it was to “turn to the poets” at the time, and really I haven’t considered it much until more recently, until during this pandemic, when there’s been so much uncertainty and uncharted waters to traverse. I went back this week to read her charge in full and I would like to share this section of it with you. She concluded her remarks by saying this:

“And as my mentor told me at my ordination, read poetry. Turn to the poets when you get stuck. The poets will help you with a different perspective and get you out of that logical mind which wants to control outcomes and see into the future. You are not in control, and your ministry will thrive, if you can remember that always. So, when you forget, turn to the poets.”

Well if there was ever a truer statement than this, about ministry and about the predicament we are in, I haven’t heard it. I know at times over the past few months I have felt stuck, many of you have felt stuck—stuck in your homes, stuck with the uncertainty and fear of how this pandemic will unfold. I’ve also come to understand that I truly am not in control and that I cannot see the future.55 Maybe this reality has dawned on you as well or has taken on new meaning in the past few months. And so I am grateful to my mentor for this reminder and to this congregation for choosing to turn to the poets on this Sunday. I’m grateful for the poets of our congregation, for those self-described poets and those who are

Rev. Bertschausen served as the first part-time contracted minister for what was then the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship from 1988-1989. A side note: this was the year that I was born and 25 years later, I would serendipitously marry Rev. Bertschausen’s daughter. Small world. 53

Rev. McCarty served UUCCI from 2003-2015. He was the congregation’s first full-time minister. Rev. McCarty was named Minister Emeritus upon his retirement and occasionally returns to guest preach. 54

As a minister with the privileged identity markers that I have, this is something I have to constantly push back against. The lies of patriarchy and white supremacy infect many with the belief that they have more power than they actually do. However, the truth remains that I do relatively have a lot of power, albeit not at the omnipotent/ omniscient level. 55


Poetry + Hope // 55

poets without even knowing it.56 In the poetry that has been lifted up today, I can see and more so I can feel why in times of strife, in times of uncertainty, poetry can help us find our way.

For me, poetry speaks another language, not English or Spanish or Chinese or Hindi, poetry speaks a language of its own. It can be translated into English or Spanish or Chinese or Hindi or any other language, but poetry at its essence is a language of a whole different sort. And this is as close as I can get describing its meaning and power in my life:

Poetry is the animation of words, of memories, of images and symbols, and of life itself. Poetry animates life, it adds rhythm and melody and sometimes dissonance to this mysterious life that we all share.57 It seeks to name the unnameable, to point us towards that horizon of our longing, where our sense of connection and wholeness is beyond reproach. And poetry is something that is not so much learned, like from a book of poetry nor truly from anything beyond ourselves, but rather poetry comes from within us. In this case, it is less learned, as it is remembered. It is our first language, the truest language of Love that is given greater shape and voice and meaning throughout the course of our lives.

I believe that poetry takes up residence with wonder and imagination, along with the other art forms and with nature, as well. What a household and dinner party that would be! I believe that poetry is sometimes best understood by children and by those of all ages who are willing to wonder and wander with imagination through this life. Shel Silverstein‘s poetry reminds me of this gift of wonder found in poetry. I remember reading his poetry a lot as a child and returning to it and to his drawings when I was sad or I felt alone.

“Where the Sidewalk Ends” is one of my favorites and I have shared it here before with our children and youth. But like all poetry it is hard to let go of the things that speaks to us of the soul, from the soul, or through the soul. So even as my path has twisted and turned through life, this poem has stayed true and meaningful through it all. Perhaps I’m just a romantic, or perhaps one needs to be a romantic to experience the language and gift of poetry. I do not know. Regardless, it is interesting to imagine what struck me at such a young age from the poem, “Where the Sidewalk Ends.” I think its lasting message and defining impact is found in its first few lines, which is, above all else, a message of hope. Imagine that:

“There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins.”

And imagine that in this place:

“the grass grows soft and white,

[And] the sun burns crimson bright,”

...And imagine, as the sun sets and the dark of night takes hold, imagine if you could look up at a tree, just there, and see where:

“the moon-bird rests from his flight

Just as outlined in Chapter 3 regarding our musical nature as humans, I believe we are also, from and by our birth, poets. 56

57

see Chapter 3.


56 // Never Turning Back

To cool in the peppermint wind.”

Imagine. You don’t have to be a child to taste the peppermint, you may have to be a romantic, but you can be at any stage of your journey and experience hope rise up in you as sure as the warm morning sun. I know it’s hard during these times of uncertainty, even as the days are getting warmer and brighter, to find hope, but through poetry there is a path for all, for everyone, for all of us to take. There’s so much we don’t know about how the next few months or year ahead will unfold, but I know this, this I know, because of listening to Shel’s poetry as a child and as an adult. However it unfolds, “we’ll walk with a walker that is measured and slow” and we will get there together, wherever that is, whenever it is, whatever it takes, we will listen and we will move with one another and with imagination to that unimaginable place, poetically framed as the place where the sidewalk ends.

In the days to come, we will be driven to rushed planning and quick answers about our way forward as a congregation. But perhaps the poets really are here for us, here with us. And if we turn to them, we may soften our grip on the need for certainty and for urgency, and find resting in our palms a flower of beauty and truth... There I go again, being a romantic. But truly, imagine what we can hold in our hands when they are not clenched, when they are instead outstretched, when we move not with logic alone, but with love and compassion and with patience for one another in this difficult time in human history. Imagine.

I am hopeful about our future, even now. Even when I know so little and control so little, I am hopeful still because I am not alone. I don’t have to know it all or control it all. We are all in this together, all of us, along with the poets, along with our ancestors, along with those who will follow after us. May we rest with confidence in this wisdom and presence of the poets, and never lose sight of that long foretold place, that special place, all those places, where the sidewalk ends and just before the street begins. Hold close, my friends.




CHAPTER 6: 
 WHEN HOPE IS HARD TO FIND Sunday, May 24, 2020 We ended our month focused on Hope with a reengagement with our fears. What do we do when “Hope is Hard to Find?” The tender reflection of Peggy Sabau guided us into a service rich with meaning and contemplation for how we might move forward into this increasingly lengthy state of physical isolation. Whether one is an optimist, pessimist, realist, or something else altogether, this service got to the heart of what it means to be a resilient community during and hopefully beyond the COVID-19 pandemic.

-Rev. Nic Cable


60 // Never Turning Back

“Call to Worship”
 by Peggy Sabau

The Optimist hopes for the best.

The Pessimist plans for the worst.

The Realist deals with whatever happens.

At one time or another I have been solidly placed in each of these boxes. With age and experience, I am still learning to balance the three of them in equal measure. They are rambunctious characters to wrangle.

In 1992, a dear friend of mine was walking her dog on a country road when a young teenage driver came speeding along, misjudged the turn, and plowed right into her killing the dog instantly and putting Barbara into a coma. Our small group of close friends met daily to help each other wrap our heads around the shock. One person confessed,

“I don’t know what to hope for! If she lives she will only have 1/3 of her mind and capabilities. If she dies she will be at peace, but her young children will grow up without her.”

For three days we sat in limbo on a knife’s edge of not knowing what to hope for. When she died, we still weren’t sure we had each prayed in the right direction. But we moved forward with a new hope that her kids would be alright, that we would help make sure of that.

I think that hope is the slender thread offered when I am dangling from an abyss. It is there to keep me from total despair, to keep me hanging on with strength to deal with whatever happens next. It is there to remind me that there is always something I can do while the waiting drains my energy and the “what ifs” worry my heart. My strategy continues to be:

1. Hope for the best, whatever that may be;

2. Plan for the worst, whatever helps make me ready;

3. Then deal with whatever happens, even if my plans aren’t enough and my hope was invested in the wrong outcome.

Come let us turn our hearts and minds toward the notion of hope and it’s power to help us anticipate, prepare, and learn to accept the mystery of life with as much humble grace as we can humanly muster.


When Hope is Hard to Find // 61

“Last Hope”
 by Rev. Paul Verlaine

Beside a humble stone, a tree

Floats in the cemetery’s air,

Not planted in memoriam there,

But growing wild, uncultured, free.

A bird comes perching there to sing,

Winter and summer, proffering

Its faithful song—sad, bittersweet.

That tree, that bird are you and I:

You, memory; absence, me, that tide

And time record. Ah, by your side

To live again, undying! Aye,

To live again! But ma petite,

Now nothingness, cold, owns my flesh. . .

Will your love keep my memory fresh?


62 // Never Turning Back

“I Will Lift Up My Voice”
 by Rev. Robert Weston

I will lift up my voice and sing;

Whatever may befall me,

I will still follow the light which kindles song.

I will listen to the music

Arising out of grief and joy alike,

I will not deny my voice to the song.

For in the depth of winter, song,

Like a bud peeping through the dry crust of earth,

Brings back memory,

And creates anew the hope and anticipation of spring;

Out of a world that seems barren of hope,

Sing decries beauty in the shapes of leafless trees,

Lifts our eyes to distant mountain peaks which,

Even if we see them not,

Remind us that they are there, waiting,

And still calling to us to come up higher.

Out of the destruction of dear hopes,

Out of the agony of heartbreak,

Song rises once more to whisper to us

That even this is but the stage setting for a new beginning,

And that we shall yet take the pieces of our hearts

And put them together in a pattern

Of deeper, truer lights and shades.

I will lift up my voice in song,

For in singing I myself am renewed,

And the darkness of night is touched

By the promise of a new dawn,

For light shall come again.


When Hope is Hard to Find // 63

“When Hope is Hard to Find”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

Do you believe this? Do you really believe this? That there is something beyond what our eyes can see and our ears can hear? That there is something beyond our perception? Do you believe as the choir just sang that in the bulb there is a flower or that in the seed, there is an apple tree?58 I mean I guess it’s true, after all, I have seen the flower bloom and the tree yield fruit, and perhaps you have, too. These natural phenomena are beautiful and exquisite examples of life’s unfolding and ever changing fragile existence. And yet even with flowers and fruit, even with things that we can take for granted, and say things like, “it’s just natural. They grow, they change... It’s what they do,” even so, it can be hard at times to believe, to truly believe, whether this wonderful and awesome thing will really unfold, will bloom, that it will really happen, and that something new will actually emerge. But, just hold a seed in your palm or a newborn baby in your arms and you cannot help but be filled with hope and with wonder, and with perhaps a little terror of how this life before you may grow and change.

I believe, collectively, this community, all of us, we try to live on the side of hope and what we hope for is that whether it be a seed or a child or life itself, that its wonderful unfolding is toward the direction of health, wholeness, and love. But, hope can be a dangerous thing. And I believe that it can be dangerous because it is a precious resource, and one that is so necessary for human survival and thriving. It is precious. Hope can be like water or food for some people which can bring nourishment and energy to help them push forward and carry on. Hope can do this. Hope can stand between life and death. And yet because it’s a precious resource, more precious and scarce at times than water on this planet, we can sometimes run low on hope. Our cup may not always runneth over, in fact we may at times run out of hope, and find ourselves or one another hopeless, rather than hopeful.

The question I have been wrestling with this week is not about how we minister to one another in times of abundance, during times when hope is plentiful and flowing, but instead, I am wondering how we support one another in times when hope runs dry, or in the words from Carolyn McDade’s hymn, “Come Sing a Song a Song with Me,” “when hope is hard to find?” I have been grappling with this question recently because of the very tough situation all religious communities and leaders are facing right now about how to safely do ministry in these uncertain times of this stage of the COVID-19 pandemic. I hope you received and had a chance to read the thoughtful letter that your Board of Trustees sent out this week that explains just how logistically and emotionally complicated this decision making process is and will be for our congregation.59 I am grateful for the tremendous leadership and work that has already gone into this discernment about our way forward together. But it isn’t easy, it’s not fun, it’s painful really to imagine more virtual gatherings through the summer and into the fall as our main source of intellectual, spiritual, and social nourishment. Why? Because we like each other. We enjoy one another’s company. And we like being together in person. The concept of the community for The musical meditation on this Sunday was a piece arranged and created by Louise Hillery and members of the UUCCI virtual choir. Hymn of Promise was composed by the late Natalie Sleeth. 58

The correspondence mentioned is the email from the Board of Trustees on May 19. The Board had not yet finalized its Phase 1 and Phase 2 Criteria, which would be presented on June 24. 59


64 // Never Turning Back

thousands of years was exclusively physical in nature. And only in the last 30 years or so has the technology needed for online community come into existence. But I have to admit, as much as online community can be life-giving and life-sustaining for people, as much as it can connect us, I would much rather see my parents and Holly’s grandparents in person than over FaceTime or Zoom. And for that matter, I would much rather we were all together right now in person. But it’s just not that easy. I wish it was.

Instead, we are faced with lots of questions, one of which as I mentioned above is, “how do we share our love and ministry with one another when hope is hard to find?” This question takes on deeper meaning when we recall our mission statement as a congregation. We have proclaimed that “UUCCI is a community of hope and courage, where we celebrate love and work for justice.”60 What keeps me up at night is this question: What is at stake for us as a community of hope and courage, and for our wider community, when we are unable to fully be together in a time when hope is already hard to find? Hope is already hard to find. In other words, in today’s world, in the United States, in Indiana, in our regional community, hope is already diminishing with the thought of a second wave of coronavirus infections possibly coming this fall, already diminishing with the ongoing uncertainty of the economy and job market, and already diminishing with the fear, the real fear and grief that we might have not seen the last of e-learning and the accompanying stressors this puts on our families.61 So, while all of this is happening, one of our most reliable spaces in our lives for finding hope and courage, this community, our community, is unclear about our way forward.

But I want to tell you a secret because I don’t think it should be a secret: when hope is hard to find, when it is scarce and we feel like we are running on fumes, hope is likely to be right before us, or as the saying goes, “it might be right under our very noses.” Go with me on this for a second. I believe that when hope is hard to find, it can sometimes feel this way because we may be looking for it not necessarily in the wrong places, but we may just be looking too hard for it. Let me try to explain what I am thinking about. Have you ever stared at something so intently that your eyes sort of just get confused and go out of focus and all of a sudden you’re not really processing anything, not really seeing anything? It’s sort of like that saying, “paralysis by analysis,” but it can be not just physical, but emotional and spiritual, as well.

This happens to me sometimes and it is a weird feeling; no, it’s actually a painful feeling when I think of it. I feel like I’m out of control and that I can’t even move. I have to sort of shake myself out of that state. Well, I believe it can be like that to a certain extent with hope or specifically the lack of it. And I think this has been especially true during this unprecedented public health crisis that has turned our whole world on its head. So what if, what if, when hope is hard to find, we consider that it might not really be lost, but that it may be right here before us? What if hope is sitting right beside us, or just behind us, or even more amazingly, just within us? Hope may still be with us, even now, in ways we

60

See Values, Mission, and Ends above for more information.

The BCSC Board met on Monday, July 20 to make its decision for the fall. A letter from the Columbus Educators Association was published in The Republic on Sunday, July 19, “urging school board members to begin the year with online [only] instruction.” http://www.therepublic.com/2020/07/19/teachers-ask-bcsc-to-begin-school-yearwith-online-learning/. 61


When Hope is Hard to Find // 65

maybe just cannot see or hear, no matter how intently we stare or how quiet we set our minds and hearts?

Perhaps when we step back and soften our gaze on this world, we will see that hope is with us in forms we forgot it embodied on a daily basis. Our children, the fearless bounding nature, the good news that comes from random acts of kindness that have skyrocketed in the past few months.62 If we soften our gaze, we may see what is really happening.

It’s like holding an apple tree seed in your palm and staring at it, staring so intently, staring at it and wanting to see it unfold right now, wanting to witness and experience the delicious taste of its fruit. But just because that small seed is not yet a tree that bears nourishment for our lives, it still can bring us hope and it can remind us of the power and beauty found throughout our lives, in places we have forgotten to look to, and in every small fragile seed in this world, which is made to grow. But it’s still hard to believe, hard to have hope or faith or confidence, when what is emerging is beyond our sight or even our imaginations. COVID-19 has stolen that confidence from us, it has taken in a way our innocence, like Pandora learning of all the ills of the world.63 And just like Pandora, we cannot close the box once it has been open. It’s too late. What’s done is done. And yet the future is not yet done.

So what do we do? What are we going to do? We do what we have always done in our shared ministry together: we turn to one another and to our values for grounding; we look to our mission statement for encouragement and to remember who we are; and finally, we look before us to our Ends statements, to those markings on the horizon for guidance and for hope that there will not only be a tomorrow, but there is this moment, this day, right now, before us.64 Hope calls us forward and to realize paradoxically—it doesn’t make sense, and yet it does—that both everything has changed about our lives, everything has changed, and yet at the same time nothing has changed about our lives. So for example, when it comes to this community, it is true that our ministry looks radically different than it did three months ago, but it is also exactly the same. Why? Because our values, our mission, and our ends have prepared us to be a community of hope and courage that we aspire to be.

The what may have changed, the where of our ministry may be different in this moment, but our true north, our how, we are together has not wavered. And so for some in the congregation they choose to sing, they choose to make joyful noise, and in their hearts and in all of our hearts we may be filled with the understanding that we are indeed in this together. That we may not be together in person right now, but that we are without question still in this together.

Peggy chose and shared profound words this morning—a prayer really—from the late Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. Robert Weston. And I need to share some of these words again in light of our reflection on hope. Weston wrote and proclaimed,

Among the many wonderful things to pop-up on social media during the pandemic is Jon Krasinski’s weekly show, “Some Good News,” in which he highlights random acts of kindness from around the world. All eight episodes are available on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/c/SomeGoodNews. 62

The Wonder Box time for all ages portion of this service was a retelling of the ancient story of Pandora’s Box. Learn more at https://youtu.be/rNk-zV2T7bI. 63

64

See Values, Mission, and Ends.


66 // Never Turning Back

“I will lift up my voice and sing;

Whatever may befall me,

I will still follow the light which kindles song.

I will listen to the music

Arising out of grief and joy alike,

I will not deny my voice to the song.

For in the depth of winter, song,

Like a bud peeping through the dry crust of earth,

Brings back memory,

And creates anew the hope and anticipation of spring;”

And then he says this:

“Out of a world that seems barren of hope,

Singing decries beauty in the shapes of leafless trees,

Lifts our eyes to distant mountain peaks which,

Even if we see them not,

Remind us that they are there, waiting,

And still calling to us to come up higher.”

My gosh, Rev. Weston gets it right! Gone over thirty years now and his words ring as true as ever: in times when hope is hard to find or when the world seems barren of hope, we are called to something higher. To higher ground. To the angels of our better nature. To the high road or the road less taken. We are called to look to one another in this time that feels like the cold of winter and remember what is right before us, what is right beneath our noses: this community of hope and courage is alive and well; it is open, and it is essential. And we aren’t going anywhere.

This world needs communities of hope and courage. It’s not just each of us that needs such a community. We all need it in this world. This precious fragile world. We need to experience hope and find ways to share it with others who are running on fumes. The logistics, the protocols, the phases, the procedures, the cost/benefits, the risks, the rewards, the timings, and all the accompanying emotions, these things will be thoughtfully considered and resolved in good time. I believe it as surely as the sun rose this morning. But let us be very clear with ourselves and one another, hope is not gone, it may feel hard to find, but it is not gone. It may just be nestled in the corner of our hearts afraid perhaps to emerge when so many other dangers and uncertainties try to overpower it and us.

So, in the meantime, we will sing, and we will celebrate our children and their accomplishments,65 we will honor those who have died serving our country, and we will give thanks for this world that gives us life and countless invitations to remember. This community will continue to be here for you; I will continue to be here for you, even when I don’t have all the answers and I wish I did. And together we will find our way through this challenging time. As the poet Paul Verlaine describes it, memory will guide us. He writes,

“You, memory; absence, me, that tide

And time record. Ah, by your side

This was particularly difficult for parents with children graduating or transitioning schools or classrooms. The school year ended the following week after this service. 65


When Hope is Hard to Find // 67

To live again, undying! Aye,

To live again! But ma petite,

Now nothingness, cold, owns my flesh. . .

Will your love keep my memory fresh?”

There is so much love in this community, in our community. I can feel it even now through this computer. I can see it in each of your smiling faces. Your memory remains fresh in me. May we each hold true to our memories of one another, as we create new ones, and find our way surely back together again. May it be so, dear ones. Amen.



PART 3: 
 CELEBRATION



CHAPTER 7: 
 DANDELION BREATH Sunday, June 14, 2020 Beyond our Anticipation and our Hope, there is a field. As a congregation, amidst our anxiety and fear, anger and righteousness, we are called to celebrate life and love. “We are a community of hope and courage, where we celebrate love and work for justice.” We celebrate love. And in the face of anything that disregards love and life, our celebration is fierce and steadfast. On this Flower Communion Sunday, in the wake of the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, we considered the tender beauty of our existence and the need to side with love in all things.

-Rev. Nic Cable


72 // Never Turning Back

“Flower Ceremony”
 by Marion Dobbs

From the UUA.org website:

“The Flower Ceremony, sometimes referred to as Flower Communion or Flower Festival, is an annual ritual that celebrates beauty, human uniqueness, diversity, and community.

“Originally created in 1923 by Unitarian minister Norbert Capek of Prague, Czechoslovakia, the Flower Ceremony was introduced to the United States by Rev. Maya Capek, Norbert's widow.

“In this ceremony, everyone in the congregation brings a flower. Each person places a flower on the altar or in a shared vase. The congregation and minister bless the flowers, and they're redistributed. Each person brings home a different flower than the one they brought.”66

The Flower Ceremony is a special, delightful, and unique UU ritual for me. I remember my first Flower Ceremony here at UUCCI with our interim minister, the Reverend Mary Moore.67

Being a newbie UUCCI member and still very shy, I felt as though that ceremony was a big communal “Welcome.” I don’t see flowers the same way as I used to see them.

Every time I view someone's manicured lawn with many flowers blooming in the spring, summer, or early fall, I’m reminded of that first Flower Ceremony. I appreciate their hard work and mentally thank them for sharing it with the world.

Seeing wildflowers and yes, even weeds, bloom out here in my area of Bartholomew County, I’m amazed by the timeless beauty of nature. They thrive without human intervention. It is there all through the year to see, if only I take the time to look.

So let us lighten our hearts with our own unique Flower Ceremony.

During this year’s Flower Ceremony, we held a drive-thru ritual where a few dozen vehicles (and a couple bicycles) came through and participated. The beauty persisted as it has since its founding. Learn more at https:// www.uua.org/worship/holidays/flower-ceremony. 66

Rev. Moore served UUCCI from 2015-2017 after Rev. McCarty retired. She is an Accredited Interim Minister and has served in nearly a dozen settings, mainly through the Midwest. 67


Dandelion Breath // 73

“Dandelion”
 by Vasko Popa

On the edge of the pavement

At the end of the world

The yellow eye of loneliness

Blind steps

Beat down his neck

Into the stone belly

Underground elbows

Drive his roots

Into the black earth of the sky

A dog’s lifted leg

Mocks him

With an overheated shower

His joy is only

A stroller’s homeless glance

Which spends the night

In his corolla

And so

The stub burns out

On the lower lip of impotence

At the end of the world


74 // Never Turning Back

“Losing My Breath”
 by Ana Maria de la Rosa

There is a prayer in the gasp.

I have lost my breath a million times in this lifetime,

The car accident, the water drank too fast,

Chasing people,

And love,

And dreams.

Under water in the pool with my cousins, we held our breath and counted to

See who can stay under the longest.

It is one thing to manipulate breath yourself, it is another to have it taken.

There is a prayer in the sigh.

I have sighed a million times in this lifetime,

At being disappointed,

Being fired,

At losing something important

And someone important

And myself.

I could not breathe, when my grandmother traded in gasping for rest.

I have held the smallest of hands, that belonged to the smallest of lungs and sang a lullaby as breath betrayed dreams of motherhood.

How could something as important as breathing be so fragile?

I hold my breath as I consume the news, the virus, the virus

Takes over your lungs and i cannot imagine what it must be like to drown

Within yourself,

Even I.

Seems there is prayer in the breath.68

Ana Maria de la Rosa is a senior organizer with the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. Learn more about the work of the UUSC at https://www.uusc.org. 68


Dandelion Breath // 75

“Dandelion Breath”
 by Rev. Nic Cable

As Unitarian Universalists, it is often said that we are all a part of a living tradition. Our religious tradition, which spans hundreds of years in both the United States and Europe, as well as in other places around the world, is a living, breathing, evolving, and ever-transforming history that you and I are now a part of in the year 2020. This matters because we are now not only a part of this history, we are also responsible for it and for its unfolding future.

As Unitarian Universalists, it is often said that we revere the past, but we trust the dawning future 69 more. Our reverence and trust hold us—our reverence for life and nature and humanity, and our trust, our commitment to one another and to liberation, and justice, and peace for all. These are the tools that we are given as we face this harrowing time in American history.

2020 has not been an easy year to trust, to assume that goodness will prevail, that all will be well, or that the moral arc of the universe truly bends toward justice. No, 2020 has been a year where viruses have emerged in great force to snuff out life and leave fear and discord in their wake. We have talked for months about the novel Coronavirus and how this pandemic has undeniably changed our lives and forced us to consider how we are to live with one another and for one another in ways that do the least amount of harm. We have explored our fears together and discovered language and ways of being that can uplift life and provide comfort and joy amidst the uncertainty and chaos.

But there is another virus that has re-emerged in 2020, a pandemic that has reared its head once more. Perhaps it was always present, but for those of us with some levels of privilege, we may have simply felt asymptomatic to its ravages. In a recent article in our local newspaper, The Republic, activist and writer Brittany Talissa King writes of another pandemic in the United States, which she refers to as RACISM-19.70 Of course, this pandemic refers not to 2019, but four hundred years prior when the first enslaved Africans were savagely brought to this stolen land in 1619. King makes remarkable comparisons between our collective response to the two pandemics as a nation and how strikingly different they have been. She reflects on the drastic precautions we took as a nation as the true dangers of COVID-19 came into view. King writes,

“We literally closed our cities, our schools, and workplaces. We shut-down millions of our freedoms: dining out, going to the movies, exercising at the gym, hanging out at local bars, and worshiping in our churches. Let’s not forget that we canceled the NBA, our NFL Sundays, and the 2020 Olympic Games. Heck, we even got New York City to sleep. We nearly collapsed our economy for our well-being, for our health, so that we could stay alive.”

One of my favorite hymns is #145: As Tranquil Streams, which uses this phrase in its third verse: “A freedom that reveres the past, but trusts the dawning future more; and bids the soul, in search of truth, adventure boldly and explore.” 69

Brittany Talissa King is a lifelong resident of Columbus and founded the Black Lives Matter chapter in the area. Read the entire article at http://www.therepublic.com/2020/06/05/racism19_our_other_pandemic/. 70


76 // Never Turning Back

She then pivots to a provocative question: “what if America took white supremacy as seriously as COVID-19?” Could you imagine? What would it be like for us, for Columbus, Bartholomew County, Indiana, or the U.S. to grind to a halt knowing that lives are at risk, that people will continue to die, if we do not change our ways, if we don’t stop and reckon with this pandemic of white supremacy culture and hundreds of years of structural, systemic racism in America?

As mentioned earlier, we are responsible for our living tradition as Unitarian Universalists. And here in 2020, we look to our past for guidance, for how we might move forward with steadfast resilience and commitment to our religious values. Each year, we honor a ritual of resistance through the Flower Ceremony. It has been handed down to us through the ministry of Rev. Capek, or rather through his wife or should I say widow, since he was murdered by the Nazis for his values and ministry of love, inclusion, and justice in the first few decades of the 20th century. Nazis armed with white supremacist ideologies murdered Capek and millions of other people. But of the remnants from this horrifying time in world history, one of the seeds that made its way to us has not died. Instead, it has taken the form of this simple ritual of bringing and exchanging a flower with one another, a symbol of our collective humanity, our sacred worth, and our interdependence in this world.

The flower ceremony re-emerges once a year to remind Unitarian Universalists of the importance of resistance and the need to fight oppression in all its forms. And this year, now in 2020, if there ever was a clear enemy of the people, it is visible now: white supremacy culture and ideology is killing black and brown human beings and furthering the chasm between where this world is and to where we know we must go. And so just as with the resistance to Nazis in the 1930s and 40s, we must recognize what is before us now and commit ourselves anew to black liberation, to dismantling supremacy culture of all kinds, and to ridding this world of systemic oppression.

I chose two poems to guide us this morning. They are written with chilling and painful beauty. “Losing My Breath” was written by Ana Maria de la Rosa, who serves as a senior grassroots organizer with the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. She vividly reminds us of the necessity for breath and the utter fear and deathliness that can consume one who feels their breath is being taken from them. “I can’t breathe” is a rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement because so many people have been killed with that horrific realization coming over them as they struggle to stay alive. I can’t breathe. Ana Maria de la Rosa reflects that there may very well be a “prayer in the breath,” a prayer in the breath of life of those seeking to rise up against white supremacy, rise up for liberation, rise up for fresh air and human rights. There may be a prayer in the breath and it may move us all to breathe and act, breathe and act, and fight like hell against all the hells wherever they may come to manifest in this world.

The other reading I chose this morning is from the late Serbian poet, Vasko Popa. In this poem, he writes of dandelions—my father’s favorite of flowers by the way—remarking of their particularly difficult existence “on the edge of the pavement at the edge of the world,” where they can be stepped on, mocked, and disregarded by passersby. I have been wrestling with these two poems this week and reflecting on the state of our country, the destructive and insidious nature of white supremacy culture, and ultimately, of course, on this perennial flower ceremony for which we celebrate and honor today. And what brought all these reflections together for me is the wisdom of adrienne maree brown. Now if you don’t know who adrienne maree brown is please please please, check out her work in the Detroit


Dandelion Breath // 77

area and purchase her book, Emergent Strategy from a local or black-owned bookstore today.71 This book was made for times such as these. I won’t give the whole book review, but one of my favorite parts of it that has fundamentally shifted how I understand community organizing and how social change happens is this. In her book, she writes about various natural phenomena and how they offer principles for life and liberation. I want to share one quote that speaks to the resilient nature of dandelions, perhaps something Popa knew deep down. In this quote, she also refers to mushrooms as well, so a little bonus for you. adrienne maree brown writes,

“My favorite life forms right now are dandelions and mushrooms—the resilience in these structures, which we think of as weeds and fungi, the incomprehensible scale, the clarity of identity, excites me. I love to see the way mushrooms can take substances we think of as toxic, and process them as food, or that dandelions spread not only themselves but their community structure, manifesting their essential qualities (which include healing and detoxifying the human body) to proliferate and thrive in a new environment. The resilience of these life forms is that they evolve while maintaining core practices that ensure their survival.

A mushroom is a toxin-transformer, a dandelion is a community of healers waiting to spread… What are we as humans, what is our function in the universe?”

This is a powerful reframing of a particular flower that is often considered a weed, something that is in the way, something to be removed. However, dandelions in fact are regenerative, resilient, and beautiful! And I am starting to realize why my dad has loved them all these years. This is of particular importance on this Flower Sunday. And here’s why: for those of us with power and privilege, especially those of us who are white, we must shift our consciousness and our actions so that we put an end to the destructive harm inflicted upon our black and brown siblings and to our complicit silence and inaction regarding white supremacy and racism in this country. The Flower Ceremony is a ritual of celebrating human diversity and our universal family, but it is also without question a ritual where we say enough. Enough! Enough death, enough division, enough with this foolhardy quest to justify the use of force and an ethic of control in the name of democracy, in the name of social cohesion, in the name of peace. For it is not peace when we both draw guns and neither of us shoot. It is not peace when our world is segregated and the resources disproportionately allocated. It is not peace when we look at a beautiful flower garden and disregard the flowers beneath our feet, which we have deemed merely weeds.

My friends, our country is opening its heart, as painful as it may be, to address our original pandemic of racism in this country. There is an opening, a window, a momentary possibility, dare, I say a hope, to recognize this disease and address it with courage and faith, entrusting that this garden, the whole garden of our world is worthy of collective liberation and celebration.

Let us do our work in responsibly carrying forward our living tradition. Let us do our work within our own hearts and in the heart of our community, city, state, and nation. Healing is possible. Transformation is possible. Our living tradition reminds us of this. It is with reverence and trust that we now make it so once more. May it be so. Amen.

Local Columbus bookstore, Viewpoint Books, would be an excellent place to shop if you don’t already: https:// www.viewpointbooks.com. Additionally, Kokomo-based, Black-owned, Beyond Barcodes bookstore is another great option: https://beyondbarcodesbookstore.square.site. 71



EPILOGUE:
 “...WE WILL NEVER GO BACK TO NORMAL.”



Never Turning Back // 81

BENEDICTION Every Sunday morning, a benediction is offered at the end of the service. It marks the end of our time together with the offering of a “good word,” “a well wish,” or a “blessing” for going forth. In thinking about just how different the Benedictions have become during this pandemic and series of online services, I wonder what is to be said now at the end of this book. What word, wish, or blessing is needed now, as we are far from out of the woods of this public health crisis.72

What can be said of a community that strives to be one of hope and courage as we look to an unknown future in these months and perhaps years to come. I preached that whenever and however we return to one another in physical spaces, we will be an undeniably changed people. The damage has been done. The fear and anxiety has risen from an acute struggle to a chronic one. We will have to learn new ways of nurturing trust, being open to the mystery, and defining risk as something that is sacred and holy. The damage is done. The pandemic got us and our community will be undeniably altered as a result. It’s hard to admit that, but it is true.

But thankfully, there is another truth. The damage is not the only thing done. The death and division that have plagued our country and world is not the only thing we have faced these past several months. Indeed, a blessing has emerged as well. And there is no going back. The blessing is done. The pandemic may have got us, but our community got us too, and for that we have become not only burdened or damaged, but our bonds have been strengthened and blessed during this time.

In truth, the good word has been offered from the mouths of our worship associates, the hands of our pianists, the leadership of our board, and the laughter and tears of our community. Good words, music, blessings have surrounded us and wished us well along this harrowing journey in 2020. We have been blessed with wisdom and a lot of questions that have guided us and will continue to lead us

72

Beginning Monday July 27th, Indiana will adhere to a state-wide mask mandate.


82 // Never Turning Back

forward. Want a benediction? Look around: they abound in this broken world of ours. Do not forget to look within yourself as well.

For most ministers, when writing sermons or crafting services, we return often to the questions, “what sermon do I need to hear?” and “what do I need to be reminded of on this Sunday morning?” While so much of what I needed to be reminded of is outlined on these previous pages of our communal life together as a congregation, I suppose this is the benediction that I most need to be offered right now:

“My friends, we are never turning back. We have witnessed through this pandemic that the normal state of this world is broken and not big enough for the Values, Mission, and Ends we espouse. It is just too small. And so along with being irrevocably changed from this pandemic, we are charged, renewed, and committed to moving forward with a flowing love and a fierce resilience big enough to hold it all. We want to get this right and while we do not know exactly what that looks like, we know that it will take all of us for what lies ahead. May we remember we are blessed to not be on this journey alone, but fortified by a community of hope and courage, where we celebrate love and work for justice. It is who we are. It is what we do. It is our path forward. Together.”

-Rev. Nic Cable




Never Turning Back // 85

REFLECTION QUESTIONS

This book may prompt personal reflection or group discussion. Below are some possible questions that might spark some continued conversation, whether through journaling, among family members, or within the congregation itself. May these questions bring you to a deeper sense of understanding and compassion for yourself, your neighbor, and this fragile world we share.

Chapter 1 — Something’s Coming 1. Pam Lee reflects on her sense of loss of the everyday activities in life. Think back to the early days of sheltering in place. What everyday activities were particularly painful to lose and why? What activities replaced those throughout these past few months?

2. The sermon explores the idea of anticipatory grief and the importance of acknowledging our grief personally and communally. How have you expressed your grief during this pandemic? What has been the hardest part of this state of existence for you? Looking forward, what worries or fears are you anticipating the most in the coming months?

3. Rev. Lynn Ungar invites us to “make your heart a bowl that is large enough to hold it all.” How has your heart changed along this journey? With all the emotions that may fill our individual and collective bowl, how do you respond to the possibility that we should “accept that the bowl is never going to be done?”


86 // Never Turning Back

Chapter 2 — Never Turning Back 1. Julio Vincent Gambuto uses the concept of gaslighting to discuss the dangers of “getting back to normal.” What experiences of gaslighting or pressure have you faced or continue to face in this regard?

2. Both Gambuto and Kate Deciccio refer to the idea of normalcy. Deciccio takes it a step further by suggesting, “if we get this right, we will never go back to normal.” What does this statement mean to you? What have you learned about yourself, family, world, during this time?

3. Rev. Nic talks about focusing more on the how rather than the what. Is there an experience throughout this pandemic that illustrates this distinction for you?

Chapter 3 — I Hear the Music Ringing! 1. What connection do you see between music and nature? How have nature and music influenced your time during the pandemic?

2. Rev. Nic suggests that we each have a music nature and that we are all musicians at our core. How do these suggestions resonate or challenge your sense of self and the notion of music?

3. Recall a time that music was particularly moving. Describe that experience. Why do you think it was particularly meaningful for you?

Chapter 4 — No Good Thing Ever Dies 1. Lori refers to a scene in The Shawshank Redemption where Andy writes, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of the things, and no good thing ever dies.” What does hope mean to you in this time? Do you feel like you have had moments when hope felt dead? Explain.

2. The sermon explores the Prison Industrial Complex. How does the concept of prisons take on different meaning for you during this time of quarantine? Do you see a difference between your sense of isolation and people who are imprisoned? What is the difference? What are the emotional and spiritual restrictions you have felt beyond the physical restrictions during this time?

3. Rev. Nic suggests that “Living without hope is painful and unbearable, and to have hope without a commitment to life is selfish and hollow. Life at its best is selfless and liberating, and hope at its best is our steadfast correcting of everything that stands against life.” Do you agree with this statement? What sticks out to you when reflecting on your own sense of hope?


Never Turning Back // 87

Chapter 5 — Poetry + Hope 1. This service explored the connection between poetry and hope. Which poem is most meaningful to you when you read it again? Why do you think it is particularly meaningful?

2. Both Rev. Nic and Jan write about the impact poetry had on their early lives. Do you have memories of poetry from your childhood? How has poetry changed for you as you have gotten older?

3. In the sermon, Rev. Nic recalls his mentor’s reminder to “turn to the poets when you get stuck.” Are there any poets that you turn to when you are stuck? Is there a particular poem that you return to in times of difficulty? What is it about that poem that is helpful, especially during this pandemic?

Chapter 6 — When Hope is Hard to Find 1. Peggy describes three ways she has looked at the world throughout her life. Do you describe yourself today as an Optimist, Pessimist, or Realist? Why? Has this worldview changed throughout your life or during this pandemic?

2. Describe a time during the past few months where you have felt hopeless. Have you found a way to find hope once more? How do you find hope, when hope is hard to find?

3. Rev. Robert Weston writes amid despair, “I will lift up my voice.” In defiance and commitment to a larger love, what sorts of things have you chosen to do during this time that rebukes hopelessness? Who has been helpful in bringing you back to hope? Who have you helped find hope in this difficult time?

Chapter 7 — Dandelion Breath 1. The Flower Ceremony is a uniquely Unitarian Universalist ritual that celebrates diversity and resilience. How do the themes from this ritual resonate with your experience of life? Do you have flowers that hold special meaning or that bring you joy, strength, even sadness?

2. Rev. Nic writes that the dandelion is considered by many as a weed rather than a flower Considering the racial injustice and white supremacy the United States is struggling to overcome, what connections, if any, do you draw between the Flower Ceremony and our justice work in the world?

3. The twin pandemics of COVID-19 and RACISM-19 offer many challenges to our Unitarian Universalist living tradition. What wisdom and insight have you gleaned from this year that may help to address these issues? What gives you the most hope and courage to move forward in this time?



Never Turning Back // 89

BIBLIOGRAPHY Some of the writings used in this book are listed below for further reading and reflection. The list of additional resources related to these them could and would be endless. The following are some places to start.

Belletini, Mark. Sonata for Voice and Silence: Meditations. Skinner House Books, 2008.

brown, adrienne maree. Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds. AK Press, 2017.

Brown, Brené. Dare to Lead: Brave Work, Tough Conversations, Whole Hearts. Random House Large Print Publishing, 2019.

Brown, Brené. Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Avery, an Imprint of Penguin Random House, 2015.

Buehrens, John A., and Rebecca A. Parker. A House for Hope: the Promise of Progressive Religion for the Twenty-First Century. Beacon, 2011.

Butler, Octavia E. Parable of the Sower. Grand Central Publishing, 2019.

Davis, Angela Y. Are Prisons Obsolete? Seven Stories Press, 2010.

Dennison, Sean Parker. Breaking and Blessing: Meditations. Skinner House Books, 2020.

Dennison, Sean. “Mission Impossible: Why Failure Is Not an Option.” 2015 Berry Street Essay - UU Ministers Association, 2015, www.uuma.org/page/BSE2015Video.


Never Turning Back // 90

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: the Birth of the Prison. Penguin Books, 2020.

Frederick-Gray, Susan. The Unitarian Universalist Pocket Guide. Skinner House Books, 2019.

Jones, Kenneth, and Tema Okun. “White Supremacy Culture.” Dismantling Racism: A Workbook for Social Change Groups, ChangeWork, 2001, www.cwsworkshop.org/PARC_site_B/dr-culture.html.

Kendi, Ibram X. How to Be an Antiracist. One World, 2019.

Kendi, Ibram X. Stamped from the Beginning: the Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America. Bold Type Books, 2017.

King, Martin Luther. Letter from Birmingham Jail. Penguin, 2018.

Kolk, Bessel Van Der. Body Keeps the Score. Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books, 2015.

Muir, Fredric John. “From iChurch to Beloved Community: Ecclesiology and Justice.” 2012 Berry Street Essay - UU Ministers Association, 2012, www.uuma.org/page/BSE2012Video.

Muir, Fredric John. Turning Point: Essays on a New Unitarian Universalism. Skinner House Books, 2016.

Plato. Plato - Five Dialogues: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Meno, Phaedo. LG Classics, 2016.

Pulley, Nancy. Tremolo of Light. Ind., 1992.

Saad, Layla F. Me and White Supremacy: Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor. Sourcebooks, 2020.

Silverstein, Shel. Where the Sidewalk Ends: the Poems and Drawings of Shel Silverstein. HarperCollins Publishers, 2017.

Soto, Theresa I. Spilling the Light: Meditations on Hope and Resilience. Skinner House Books, 2019.

Steinke, Peter L. Congregational Leadership in Anxious Times: Being Calm and Courageous No Matter What. Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.

Steinke, Peter L. How Your Church Family Works: Understanding Congregations as Emotional Systems. Alban Institute, 2006.

Ungar, Lynn. Blessing the Bread: Meditations. Skinner House Books, 1996.

Welch, Sharon D. A Feminist Ethic of Risk. Fortress Press, 2000.

For more great Unitarian Universalist resources visit www.uuabookstore.org




Never Turning Back // 93

ABOUT THE 2020 UUCCI WORSHIP ASSOCIATES Marion Dobbs (2018-2021) Marion is a life-long resident of Bartholomew County and became a member of UUCCI in March of 2015. He has volunteered in the kitchen on many Sunday mornings and as part of the Hot Meals program. Marion feels blessed to have found this space at UUCCI where he can learn and practice being a better human being.

Pam Lee (2019-2022) Pam has been a member of UUCCI for the past two years. She lives with her husband Tom just south of Indianapolis and they share 4 children, 5 grandchildren and a new puppy. Pam is a grateful retiree, an avid traveler and a voracious reader. She loves nothing more than to visit other places and times in a good novel.

Jan Lucas (2018-2021) A long-time member of UUCCI, Jan Lucas Grimm lives out in the countryside west of Columbus with her husband Tim Grimm and their amazing dog Sammy. Jan is an actor, musician, gardener and avid reader.


94 // Never Turning Back

Peggy Sabau (2015-2020) Peggy Sabau discovered UUCCI after retiring from 24 years of public school teaching. She and husband Denny have enjoyed the church community for 12 years and appreciate how it complements their lifestyle of life-long learning and family focus. Her days are filled with outdoor walks, journaling, scrapbooking our family history, voracious reading, duplicate bridge, and classic movies.

Lori Swanson (2019-2022) In 2014, Lori Swanson and her husband Jason moved from Michigan to Indiana and were happy to find a spiritual home at UUCCI. Swanson is a self-employed massage therapist who also enjoys writing, painting, hiking, Taiko drumming, and yoga. She currently volunteers with Sunday Services, Hot Meals, and Adult Lifespan teams at UUCCI.

Nicole Wiltrout (2017-2020) Nicole Wiltrout has been attending UUCCI since 2010, when she and her family moved to Columbus. She works part-time as a freelance writer and editor. She's married to Jeff and mom/reluctant homeschool teacher to Ben and Jonathan. They have spent the pandemic doing laps around Donner Park.




Never Turning Back // 97

ABOUT THE EDITOR Rev. Nic Cable serves as Minister of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbus, IN. He received his B.A. summa cum laude in 2011 from DePaul University in both Religious Studies and Peace, Justice, and Conflict Studies. He went on to receive his Master of Divinity summa cum laude in 2014 from Chicago Theological Seminary. Rev. Cable has received several Fellowships for interfaith and religious leadership from DePaul University, the Forum for Theological Exploration, and the Interfaith Youth Core. Most recently, he was named a 2018 Germanacos Fellow for social entrepreneurship.

Rev. Cable has traveled nationally and internationally to build bridges among diverse communities, including in Nicaragua, Japan, and Israel and Palestine. Locally, Nic serves on the board of the State Street Area Association, on the Guiding Team for Imagine Columbus, which is a city-wide inclusion initiative, and as the Executive Director of the newly founded organization, Columbus Interfaith. He is married to his best friend, Hattie Cable, who is a child welfare attorney in the area. They have a precocious toddler, Holiday Clementine Cable, who keeps them busy, humble, and amused. 


Never Turning Back is the story of one religious community finding its voice and direction in the first stages of the COVID-19 pandemic. Through the lens of seven Sunday services, Rev. Nic Cable and the 2020-2021 Worship Associates offer a homiletic message of resilience and the importance of community in these days, discovering in the end that the tools needed to face this crisis were within the community all along.

With a Preface from UUCCI Minister, Rev. Nic Cable and a Foreword by Board of Trustees President, Cate Hyatt, this snapshot of a congregation that seeks to be a community of hope and courage may offer just that: a little hope and courage and wisdom for finding a way forward together. The overarching invitation that will shape the reader’s journey through this book is tantalizingly offered by Cultural Organizer and Educator, Kate Deciccio: “If we get this right, we’ll never go back to normal.” As many progressive religious and non-religious organizations prepare for whatever is on the horizon, may this book be a helpful guide along the way.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________ “In times when hope is hard to find or when the world seems barren of hope, we are called to something higher. To higher ground. To the angels of our better nature. To the high road or the road less taken. We are called to look to one another in this time that feels like the cold of winter and remember what is right before us, what is right beneath our noses: this community of hope and courage is alive and well; it is open, and it is essential. And we aren’t going anywhere.” Excerpt from Chapter 3 _____________________________________________________________________________________________


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