Rev. Chris Jimmerson & Laine Young
May 28, 2017
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
austinuu.org
For flower communion each person brings some flowers to church, and we enjoy them collected all together, recalling the beauty in our own diversity.
Reading
An Eye for Miracles Diego Valeri
You who have an eye for miracles
regard the bud
now appearing on the bare branch
of the fragile young tree.
It’s a mere dot,
a nothing.
But already
it’s a flower,
already a fruit,
already its own death and resurrection.
Chris Jimmerson’s Homily
Each year around this time, many of our Unitarian Universalist churches engage in a ritual ceremony we call the “Flower Communion”. In just a few minutes, Laine will tell us about the history of our Flower Communion and lead us through our trading of flowers ritual itself.
But why has this ceremony become such a well-loved annual tradition? What larger truths does this enduring ritual allow us to embody together?
As I look out over the flowers we have arranged up front here, as well as those you still hold, I find striking the diverse beauty of the individual blooms. Somehow, the individual radiance of each one of them is magnified by both its unity and contrast with the other flowers.
Also though, gathered together, they form a bouquet that is its own new form of beauty, different than that of any of the separate, individual flowers.
That’s quite a metaphor for what happens when we gather in community, each of us bringing our individual talents, abilities, challenges and blessings for our world and one another – each of us bringing our own perspectives and desires.
And at our best, just like we do when we exchange flowers in the flower communion, we trade at least something of these magnificent expressions of our individual selves. At our best, each of us goes home with something new and beautiful, some broadened perspective because of our encounters with one another.
At our very best, we form a radiant bouquet that is greater than the sum of its individual elements. Together, our individual flowerings are amplified so that we are far better able to nourish souls, transform lives and do justice.
I think that within this metaphor dwells what has been a historical, theological challenge for Unitarian Universalists.
On the one hand, we arise from an ancestry with a strong inclination toward individualism – the heretics who have again and again questioned dogma and called for the freedom and right of conscious of the individual.
We are the products of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Self-Reliance”, Henry David Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience”.
Yet, our history also includes the legacy of the Universalists, who valued a religious community of all souls and believed in the universal salvation of all people.
Likewise, our Unitarian ancestry has given us our covenantal way of being together. We make a promise as a religious community to walk together in the ways of love.
And we have tended to view this instinct toward individualism (and sometimes radical individualism) and our inclination for forming deep religious community as standing in linear opposition to one another.
From this perspective, we have had to try to balance the rights and inherent worth of each individual with our desire to create strong and institutionally sustainable communities. We have seen it as either/or rather than both/and.
That is understandable given a long human history in which in which community norms and biases have so often stifled and oppressed individual expression and flourishing.
I think what the Flower Communion helps us to better understand though, is that this linear duality between individuality and community does not necessarily exist. The interplay between each of us as individuals and the larger community we wish create can be far more complex and multidimensional.
Like when we gather our flowers together, we can create communities that value our differences and see them as what fuels the richness and fullness of the community as a whole.
We can create communities wherein each of us can radiate our own beauty by locating ourselves in both solidarity and loving contrast with one another.
Our flower ritual reminds us and helps us to more deeply grasp that rather than having to be in opposition to one another, individuality and communalism can exist together in harmony.
And that truly is communion.
Laine Young’s Homily
In the city of Prague, in the land of Czechoslovakia, in the year nineteen twenty three, there was a church. But the building did not look much like a church. It had no bells, no spires, no stained glass windows. It had no piano to make beautiful music. It had no candles or chalices. It had no flowers.
The church did have some things. It had four walls and a ceiling and a floor. It had a door and a few windows. It had some wooden chairs. But that was all, plain and simple.
Except… the church also had people who came to it every Sunday. It had a minister, and his name was Norbert Capek. He had been the minister at the plain and simple church for two years. Every Sunday, Minister Capek went to church, and he spoke to the people while they listened, sitting quietly and still in those hard wooden chairs. When he was done speaking, the people talked a little bit among themselves, and then they went home. And that was all-no music, no candles, no food. There was no coffee, bagels, not even breakfast tacos.
Springtime came to the city of Prague and Norbert Capek went out for a stroll. The rains had come, the birds were singing, and flowers were blooming all over the land. The world was beautiful. Then an idea came to him, simple and clear, plain as day. The next Sunday, he asked all the people in the church to bring a flower, or a budding branch, or even a twig. Each person was to bring one.
“What kind?” they asked. “What color? What size?”
“You choose,” he said. “Each of you choose what you like.”
And so, on the next Sunday, which was also the first day of summer, the people came with flowers of all different colors and sizes and kinds. There were yellow daisies and red roses. There were white lilies and blue asters, dark-eyed pansies and light green leaves. Pink and purple, orange and gold-there were all those colors and more. Flowers filled all the vases, and the church wasn’t so plain and simple anymore.
Minister Capek spoke to the people while they listened, sitting quiet and still in those hard wooden chairs. “These flowers are like ourselves,” he said. “Different colors and different shapes, and different sizes, each needing different kinds of care-but each beautiful, each important and special, in its own way.”
When he was done speaking, the people talked a little bit among themselves, and then they each chose a different flower from the vases before they went home. And that was all-and it was beautiful, plain and simple as the day.
It is now time for us to share in our own Flower Communion. I ask that as you each approach the communion vases, do so quietly – reverently – with a sense of how important it is for each of us to address our world and one another with gentleness, justice, and love.
Once you bring your flower up, select a different flower to take with you. One that particularly speaks to you. As you take your chosen flower, noting its particular shape and beauty, please remember to handle it carefully. It is a gift that someone else has brought to you. It represents that person’s unique humanity, and therefore deserves your kindest touch.
Norbert Capek started this ritual to celebrate the beauty of our faith and the people in it. Remembering that the sounds of children are a part of the quiet, let us now share quietly in this Unitarian Universalist ritual of oneness, community, and love.
Benediction
And so go forth into our world, holding tangible representations of the beauty we have shared with one another.
And so go forth, knowing we carry the richness and fullness of this religious community with us.
May the congregation say, “Amen” and, “blessed be”.
Go with love. Go in peace.
Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.
Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 16 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.
Rev. Chris Jimmerson
May 21, 2017
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
austinuu.org
Sometimes what helps the most is simply being a calm, compassionate presence in the lives of those we care about.
Several years ago, I was volunteering with a non-profit organization that assists the elderly and the disabled. Part of what I did was to visit with an elderly African American woman who was confined to Austin State hospital because she had end stage kidney failure and progressive dementia, and she didn’t have the resources for private care. She had survived incredible challenges and outright racial oppression during a long life in New Orleans, ending up in Austin because of hurricane Katrina.
When I would go to see her, I knew that the brokenness wasn’t going to get fixed. She wasn’t going to get better. Her present and her future were defined by uncertainty.
And so often, when I would visit her, all that could be done for her had already been done and everything that we needed to say to each other, we’d already said, and the only comfort I could provide was just to sit with her, just to be together, in the silence.
And every once in a while, she would suddenly look at me with this fire in her eyes and a slight grin on her face, and the quite strength and loving character that were her essence would shine through the dementia.
And I feel so fortunate to have gotten to hold at least some small part of her story.
It was also a challenging and very uncertain time for me for a number of reasons. I only later realized that those visits had become a time of calmness, love and a paradoxical sense of stability for me.
What I came to realize, is that the really transformative presence in those visits was her. I was blessed so much more than I could ever give to her.
My heart broke a little each time, yet with each break it seemed to expand a little, and the capacity for love grew – my ability to embrace uncertainty and yet get into the present moment expanded.
This morning we are missing a calm and compassionate presence among us. Our senior minister, Rev. Meg Barnhouse, as I mentioned earlier, has had to go on sabbatical so that she can heal from an infection that developed after surgery on her hip implant.
If you are visiting with us for the first time or started visiting only recently and have not yet gotten to experience what Meg is like – I can tell you that she exudes this presence that is filled with calmness and kindness.
So, understandably, knowing what Meg is going through and being without our spiritual leader’ s presence for a while can be worrisome and upsetting for folks. I want you to know that it is absolutely normal if, as an active participant in this religious community, you are experiencing feelings of worry or stress or even a sense of loss.
When something like this happens, it destroys our illusion of certainty. We are reminded that despite our best-laid plans and our comforting routines, we do not have complete control over the events of our lives.
Now, I don’t mean that we shouldn’t plan or that there is no value in our routines, just that we have to stop sometimes and realize that our future, indeed even the next moment, is uncertain for each of us. Our agency lies, not in having complete control over the events of our lives but in how we respond to those events.
By embracing that uncertainty, we can be better able to adapt our plans and adjust our routines when the “inevitable unexpected” erupts in our lives.
In fact a religious worldview known as process theology sees in uncertainty a divine process that contains all of the creative complexity that drives the continuous unfolding of our universe. Through this very uncertainty, this divine process also offers up to each of us the creative possibilities from which we may choose in each moment of our own, continuously unfolding lives.
From this point of view, getting intentional about embracing uncertainty and fully living each present moment becomes a spiritual practice. I think that, though no one would wish to have to go through such an extended recovery, by choosing to take the time she needs to fully heal, by accepting the choices before her and making the best choice she could from among them, Meg has modeled this very spiritual practice for us.
Now, when I first started making those visits to my friend in the state hospital that I told you about earlier, one of the first challenges I encountered is that I wanted to be able do something to help her. That’s also a natural human response to such a situation. It is natural to want to do something for people we care about when they are in need. I suspect also though, that getting busy doing something can be another way we try to establish a veneer of control when faced with uncertainty. I know it is for me personally.
And yet, as I mentioned, really all that could be done for her was already being done, so all that I could really do was to be with her – to be present in a calm and cOlnpassionate way. And to do that, I had to love her. I had to open my heart and allow it to risk being broken.
Though Meg’s situation is quite different and much brighter in the long run, still, I am feeling that tug – that need to get busy doing something. I am hearing that from some folks here in the church too, and again, that’s natural. At some point, Meg and Kiya may even let us know if there are things folks can do that are helpful. I know they have both already expressed that your words of support and encouragement in cards, email messages and on Facebook have lifted their spirits and given them fortitude.
It might not surprise you to ~ear that I think Meg holds the welfare of this church and its people in her thoughts and concerns more than anything else. Knowing that, one thing we can do is make it such that Meg knows that this church and its people will be all right during the time she has to be away – that we will take care of each other – that we will continue to support this church and live out its mission.
What if, starting today and throughout the weeks to come, we vowed to offer to each other that calm and compassionate presence with which Meg has continually blessed us? What if do our very best to offer that kindness and loving presence to each and every person who comes through our doors? What if we break our hearts wide open and do our very best to make being present for others like this a way of life?
Now, you might well be thinking, “Sounds great, Chris. How exactly do you propose we go about doing that?”
Great question.
And the answer is, “I don’t entirely know.”
I don’t entirely know because even though I spent a lot of time in seminary spent a lot of time discerning how to show up as that calm, loving presence I hope to be, sometimes I do, but sometimes I fail. I make mistakes. My own anxieties and emotions distract me sometimes. I am imperfect at it. I’m not as good at it as Meg is.
Sometimes I remember to be aware of what kind of presence I am embodying in the check out line at the grocery store, but sometimes I am in a hurry, and I’m distracted and I’m thinking about all of the rest of the things I need to get done that day. And so sometimes even though I may exchange pleasantries with the cashier, I never really make any human connection at all. I just rush through, absorbed by own preoccupations, failing to acknowledge their humanity.
I wonder how often we do the very same thing even with our families and loved ones.
Here is some of what I do know.
I know that we start by simply trying. We start by getting intentional about it. We think back on what happened in that check out line and vow to be lTIOre present the next time. We count to ten or take several deep breaths or do whatever works for us and helps us take a step back when we find ourselves feeling something less than calm and kind in reaction to what our friend at church just said. By that way, that taking a step back works a whole lot better if we do it BEFORE we respond to our friend.
Likewise, we re-read that email message or Facebook post that we have filled with the opposite of loving-kindness before we hit “send” or “post”. Maybe we even delete it and instead just send a message that says, “Hey, could I get together with you soon and talk about this?” I fear that internet communications can turn us into relational cowards, because we can send them from afar and thereby avoid the difficult conversations we need to be having with each other. We don’t have to present with each other and so it is far easier to not be calm or compassionate.
Here is another thing I know. I know that we have to start with ourselves, which can sometimes be the hardest. We start by directing that sense of calmness and compassion to ourselves – our whole selves, warts and imperfections and all. We forgive ourselves when we make mistakes and are not as kind as we aspire to be. We start over again and again, knowing that we can never be present for others in the way that we want to be until we are present first for ourselves in that same loving and kind way.
Part of how we do that is to take care of ourselves physically, emotionally and spiritually. And these take practices and discipline. For me, learning to take better care of myself physically has made a huge difference. When I feel good physically, my emotions and my spirit are lifted also.
Now, here’s the really challenging part. To truly be that calm and compassionate presence in our world, we have to take risks. We have to be vulnerable. We have to love, and when we know love we will also inevitably know loss.
We have to embrace that uncertainty that I was talking about earlier and know that we must love others even when they may not always respond in kind. We must forgive, knowing that perhaps they are just having a terrible time of things and it may well be us having the really bad day and falling short the next time.
We have to know that we will mistakes. We will fail, and so we must learn to forgive ourselves and each other and pick ourselves back up and dust ourselves off and re-center our hearts in that place of compassion and start over again and again, learning what we can each time.
We have to risk our hearts being broken so that they can break wide open and love with a great fierceness.
This is how we offer each other calm and loving presence. Imperfectly, forgivingly, determinedly.
This is how we help each other live the most richly and most fully.
This is how we can feel as if we get to live many lives in the one precious life we have been given.
And the good news is, we have this church, this beloved community, where can practice all of this with each other . We can follow Meg’s example and show up for each other in the ways of kindness, calmness and compassion. We can practice forgiving ourselves and one another when we fall short and practice bringing ourselves back into right relationship if it happens.
And having practiced this loving-kindness, this calm, compassionate presence together, we can become better able to take it out into our daily lives and our world – a world that needs it pretty badly about now.
Our lives are filled with uncertainty, so let us practice living and loving fully in the moment, beginning now, in this time and in this place.
I invite you to rise in body or spirit and, as you are comfortable with it to take the hand of those on each side of you. You can stretch across aisle ways if you wish.
And feeling one another’s touch, feeling the loving presence of those in this hallowed space today, I invite you to repeat after me.
On this day and in this place, we vow to walk in the ways of love together.
We make a promise to be present for one another.
To practice together the ways of calm and compassionate presence. To forgive and to be forgiven.
To begin again and again in the days and weeks to come.
For in so doing, we create this the beloved religious community together.
In so doing, we bring healing and transformation to ourselves and to our world.
And that’s a good thing.
Amen and blessed be.
Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.
Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 16 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.
Susan Yarbrough
May 14, 2017
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
austinuu.org
As I say goodbye on Mother’s Day, I’ll describe how you nourished my soul, thank you for teaching me how to do it for others, and reflect how we all can be nourishers of souls, regardless of whether we are parents.
Call to Worship
Our call to worship this morning is written by American poet John Fox, an amputee whose early suffering has led him to a lifetime of developing the field of poetic medicine, which he teaches in medical schools around the world. Here are his words:
When Someone Deeply Listens to You John Fox
When someone deeply listens to you,
it is like holding out a dented cup
you’ve had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.
When it balances on the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved.
When someone deeply listen to you,
the room where you stay
starts a new life,
and the place where you wrote your first poem
begins to glow in your mind’s eye.
It is as if gold had been discovered!
When someone deeply listens to you,
your bare feet are on the earth,
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you.
Reading
From an Australian woman who goes by the name Brooke and writes a blog called “Slow Your Home”.
You know that your soul has been nourished when you have a feeling of contentment and fullness because someone has handed you something that will sustain you for days.
Text of the sermon is not available. Click the play button to listen.
Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.
Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 16 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.
Senior High School Youth Group
May 7, 2017
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
austinuu.org
The Senior High Youth Group provide their reflections on growth and what it means to grow up.
Welcome:Julia Heilrayne
Chalice Lighting:Marah Moers, Ava Gorecki
Call to Worship: “Glory Days” (Olivia), read by Rae Milstead
Affirming our Mission;Paige Neemidge
Story of all ages: “Four little seeds” Shanti Cornell
The Kinds of People by Kate Hirschfeld
Let’s go back. To when the days were counted not in numbers but by discoveries. Small fingers outstretched to the sky, trying to get a grasp on this world, one experience at a time. Asking questions without answers Your favorite word was always “why.” “Why” Punctuated with intensely curious eyes, Your head cocked slightly to the side, Expecting a response even when there wasn’t one to give. Minds full of fairy dust Wide eyes of wanderlust Never knowing what life had in store for us.
Back to when you had perpetually paint-stained hands, Dirt under fingernails, Hair tangled by the wind, Mud stains on your new dress.
Don’t tell mom but you always liked it better like that anyway. Said it reminded you of chocolate milk. And everyone knows, there’s nothing on this earth better than chocolate milk.
Back to when we gazed at the stars so long our eyes themselves began to twinkle. We took to staring contests during the day to share our galaxies. We woke up early to watch the sun paint the sky like a canvas. Pink stained clouds never ceased to take our breath away.
Call us crazy, but thought it beat Cartoon Network any day. We stayed up past our bedtimes to wave the moon goodnight. We searched the sky for the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. They were the only constellations we knew, But the way our eyes lit up when we saw them, Made them the only ones we needed.
Back to when wonder was our only motive. We dived in head first not because we had courage, But because we didn’t know to be scared yet.
Back to when we rolled the windows down just to taste the wind without fear of ruining our hair. And daydreaming was a common pastime not a waste of it. When we were more than just people, We were heroes and pirates and wizards and royalty. We soared through stormclouds and danced with dandelions. Our heartbeat was the only music we ever needed. And every raindrop was proof that magic really did exist. Bedtime stories didn’t seem so far off.
What happened between then and now? How did magic become merely a device for Disney to make a profit. And four-leaf clovers became so rare we stopped even bothering to look. We stay up late but keep the curtains closed from the cosmos. They say money can’t buy happiness but it’s starting to replace it. We shy away from opportunity because we finally learned what fear was. Our dresses remain clean and we don’t drink chocolate milk We close our fists and turn our eyes from the skies. We don’t have time for staring contests so our galaxies flicker and dim. Your favorite word became “Because.”
Except, for a few. Some people never stopped daydreaming They still wish on dandelions though some may call them childish. And wander forests in their free time because their curiosity surpasses their fears. They love for the sake of loving, their joy does not need justification. Most of all, they still ask questions.
Change is the Only Constant by Julia Heilrayne
Change is all around us, all the time. It is what we live and breathe. As a science nerd, I love the saying “change is the only constant” because well, that’s the truth. Change is scary. I’ll admit that, but without it, progress and growth would be impossible. Change and growth are the driving forces in life — pushing us forward to the next discovery, the crucial part of history, the next step in our own lives. Without change, people would never grow, plants would never blossom, and none of us would be where we are today.
In my 15 years, change has been one of the best and worst things to happen to me. It has saved my life, and made it infinitely harder. Change has let me breathe again, while at the same time, it has taken my breath away and refused to give it back. But most of all, I have learned to love and appreciate the constant state of change in the world because without it, I have no idea where or who I would be today.
When I was in sixth grade, change took over my life. Just after the second semester had started, my parents told me I was switching schools. This news was wel- comed with tears, excitement, and relief but most of all, fear. I had been having problems at school for a little while, fighting back against a system that no longer worked for me, and fighting back against a teacher who no longer taught me. Even though I was glad to get away from that school and get another go at this whole learn- ing thing, I had never known any different than my little tiny private school and that scared me more than I can explain. So in February of sixth grade, I was abruptly pulled from the school that I had at- tended for eight and a half years, ripping me apart from my friends and much of my identity at the time.
To me, switching schools mid-year felt like being thrown into the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of a storm. I was alone, scared, and more vulnerable than I have ever been. As I was tossed around in the stormy waters of public school, otherwise known as STAAR tests and cafeterias, I struggled to swim, or even keep my head above the water. For those of you who don’t know me, I like to win. I like to be the best at everything I do. So as I watched the other kids, most of whom had been in public school for their entire lives, navigate this world with ease, I felt like a failure. I saw the other students around me, excelling at school and at sports, swimming through life gracefully, as I struggled to find my next class.
Eventually though, I memorized my schedule and I stopped getting lost on my way to classes. I found my group of friends, and I stopped feeling lonely all the time. But best of all, my mind moved on from my old school. Although I will never forget the experi- ences I had there, both good and bad, I don’t think about it as often as I used to. In sixth grade, I realized that my new school, friends, and teachers, had been my saving grace and exactly what I needed. It wasn’t until seventh grade when I accepted the change that had turned my life upside down and shaken it around a few times, and at that point, I started to really love what had become of all the shaking.
My new school gave me confidence I never knew I had. My friends taught me how to laugh like I hadn’t laughed in a long time. And my teachers taught me how to breathe, and how to live again.
If you ask anyone who knew me when I was a student at my old school and who knows me now, they will undoubtedly agree when I say that I am a completely different person. Although switching schools was one of the most painful things I’ve ever been through, if I was in the same situation now, I wouldn’t do anything differently. Public school gave me my life back, and led me to my best friends, my mentors and my teachers. My experiences forced me to fall back to the amazing support system I have in the UU world. My closest friends, some of who sit behind me and some of who live 4 or 5 hours away, exist in my life only because of this church and my other UU communities.
Today, I am a freshman at Austin High School. Today I am part of the Academy for Global Studies, and today I am one of the top students in the Biomedical Science program. Today I am 100% positive that I want to go into the medical field and today, I am 100% positive that I want to work with chil- dren as part of my job. But I would not be any or know any of this today, had it not been for the immense change that swept through my life yesterday.
Change has been and will continue to be the only constant in my life, and in yours. It is the force that keeps us going, and refuses to forget anyone. Change is the reason we grow, adapt, and adjust to our world in the best pos- sible way. Drastic, painful change is the reason that most of my closest friends are my closest friends. Change has forced me to grow into the person I am today, and I could not be happier.
Although it can be scary, change is necessary. It causes growth, and allows us to live. So I ask you, embrace change, and learn to love it for all it has to offer.
Growing Up a Human is a Lot Like a Tomato Plant I Once Had by Everly Rae Milstead
A few years ago, my family decided to have our very own garden in our backyard. We grew things like squash and tomatoes and peppers. We would harvest them and I would proudly bring my harvested tomatoes to school and give them to my teachers. I would go on long speeches about how much we had to do to get this one handful of toma- toes. It was my own take on trying to be the teacher’s pet. Now we fast forward a few years and our little home garden is pretty much a heap of dirt that has grass growing on it. I plan to eventually get myself out there again and get my garden back up and running, keyword being eventually. Now the real reason for why I am telling you a story about a little home garden, besides that it goes so comedically well with the theme of this service, is that I hadn’t realized how much my life related to this tiny garden. Just like this garden falling apart, my life fell apart. Along with dealing with the normal hormonal roller coaster that is teenage-hood, I also had my family life completely turned over in front of me. There were so many nights that I cried myself to sleep wondering what I had done or what my family members had done to deserve any of what was going on. I watched a sibling who was the strongest person I knew fall defeated to none other than themselves. I watched my mom have to handle things that no mother deserves to go through. I watched my happy, sunflowery self become wilted and sad. My seventeen-year-old self was an abandoned garden.
But the thing is, throughout the years this garden was left unattended, a toma- to plant was able to persevere through it. This tomato plant made it through the Austin droughts and the floods and the freezes and heat waves that sometimes happened in the same week, because we live in Austin and that’s what Austin does. This little tomato plant once pro- duced juicy tomatoes during the early summers and now it produces a meta- phor for my life. Like this tomato plant, I dealt with my own winter freeze. My winter freeze took shape as depression and feeling lonely and cold. This tomato and I went through our roots, what kept us stable, getting frozen and our happy bright leaves falling off. Like this tomato plant, I went through a drought. My drought was the feeling like I just may not make it to the finish line or the next cycle of seasons. The little tomato plant wasn’t able to see whether or not it would make it just like I did. Life is rough, but like this little tomato plant, I have shown the grit to get through it no matter the circumstance.
I feel as if everyone is a plant in their own way. My mother has been a giant tree with roots that go so deep into the Earth that I know I am safe to lean on her. My siblings and I grew apart as we grew up, just as plants need space in order to live. We all made it, just as that tomato plant did.
While my life is still going on, I have realized that I don’t have to grow on my own. Just like plants have bees, ladybugs, and spiders, and many other critters to help them grow, I have friends, mentors, and this church to help me on my pathway of life. I have skills like making sure I get myself in a safe place before my life enters a hard freeze, just like we put hooped covers over plants to protect them from the cold. Life is going to keep going, whether I like it or not, and plants are still going to need to be tended to, just as my life will need assistance at times. As I plant more tomato plants, I will always think of that tiny tomato plant that seemingly made it through everything I could imagine. I will think of it the next time my life hits another drought or flood.
Change: Never Wanted, Always Needed by Abby Poirer
Life is all about change-it’s commonplace and a vital part of the way we live. Change is scary, many people dislike it, but the thing is, if none of us ever changed, if none of us ever grew, we wouldn’t be where we are today. I wouldn’t be where I am today. You wouldn’t be where you are today.
Without change, without growth, I would be stuck. Stuck in a mind- set that rendered me incapable of learning. Stuck between a rock and a hard place simply because I refused to find another way. I don’t want to be stuck — I want to do things, discover things, change things. Even though it’s scary.
When I was between the ages of 11 and 14 I stared down the barrel of many a change. In the fifth grade my parents told me they were going to take me out of public school and enroll me in online school with some others for my sixth grade year. Part of me was excited, part of me was sad, and the other part of me, the biggest part of me, was terrified of everything that was about to change.
I was only 11, I didn’t have a say, and I didn’t really try to argue too much about it. I bought my uniform, I learned how to use the program, and I walked into my new “school” with a bunch of other kids my age that were even more scared than I was. I quickly became close to all of them and we remain friends to this day (one of them is even on the verge of graduating now), but still, it was terrifying to lose everything I was accustomed to in the public school system.
After two years of using on- line school, after I’d mastered the software and the format, after I’d made lifelong friends, after I loved where I was at this point in time, we disbanded. I had to start over again. I had to change everything. Again. I bought the new uniform I needed for this new school, went to my ori- entation, then walked in and became friends with the first girl I noticed smile at me. She welcomed me to her group, and the amount of relief that I felt when they later called me their friend made everything okay. It made all the changes I’d endured okay. Sadly, she and I stopped be- ing friends after about six months, which still hurts me to this day, but without that horrible, awful change, I wouldn’t have gotten even closer with another girl, who became my best friend, to whom I also remain very close.
As scary as it was, as much as it hurt, it was definitely worth it. I’d never had a friendship abruptly end before, and then all of a sud- den I had. She and I slowly became friendly again but we never got back to being actual friends, never got back to being close. On the last day of school, an enormous group of us wanted to take what we called our “family photo” and the girl I was no longer friends with was a part of it. We all huddled together, snapped the picture, and then, going our separate ways, we all started heading to our cars to go home for the summer.
But then I heard my name called in a voice that hadn’t been spoken to me in months. I turned around and there she was: hopeful. Welcoming. Changed. She opened her arms for a hug and we both pulled each other in oh-so-tightly as if to make up for all the lost time. But what has stuck with me ever since is what she whis- pered in my ear between each of our sobs: “thank you.” I couldn’t believe what I’d heard, I said “for what?” Her response? “For everything.” Even though we weren’t friends anymore, even though we still aren’t, even though it took every bit of courage she could muster to say those two words “thank you,” even though neither of us could ever ad- mit, until now, that our experience allowed us to grow. Not only apart, but within ourselves. The old her never would have been able to utter those words, but she wasn’t “the old her” anymore, she was the bigger person. She allowed the experience to change her, as did I.
In the beginning, this whole issue kind of drowned me. It hurt so bad and I was gasping for air but there was nothing. So badly I wanted to make up, but I wanted to maintain my pride and keep saying I was right even more. I kept gasping, hoping to rescue this friendship, this person, but eventually, as you do, I ran out of air. A part of me died, I was devastated that we had both given up on each other, on ourselves. But this allowed me to approach my new school, yes another one, with no guilt, nothing holding me back, and nothing to weigh me down.
There’s a stigma around growing up, around aging, becoming an adolescent, then later an adult, even just matur- ing, because it means you’re not a kid, it means you are about to enter the world with all your rights and all your freedoms and the world is now yours to experience and no one can control you and it’s scary. But the thing I’ve learned as I’ve grown up, all these 16 years: growing up is freeing. Sure it’s scary, change is scary, new is scary, different is scary, the unknown is scary, every- thing in the world is scary. But growth as people is the only thing that can save us from a numbingly monotonous life where the only real growth is your height. I’m not scared. I’m not scared to be a better person. I’m not scared to become more understanding. I’m not scared to grow. I’m only scared to stay the same forever. I want to grow. I want to change. Every day is a learning oppor- tunity, how could I fear that? Growth is what the world is made of. We can all grow, because we are the world. The young, the old, the everywhere-in-betweens, we can all grow. It’s what makes the world go round.
Bridging Ceremony
Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.
Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 16 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.
The voting list will be posted by Sunday, May 7, 2017in the copy room and on the welcome center board at the church. Please check the list and let Chris Jimmerson know if you have any questions or believe you have incorrectly been omitted from the list. Chris may be reached by email and at (512) 452-6168.
The church bylaws specify the following regarding voting eligibility: “Individuals who have been members of the church for 30 days or more and who have (as an individual or part of a family unit) made a recorded financial contribution during the last 12 months and at least 30 days prior to the meeting, have the right to vote at all official church meetings.”
We will be providing childcare during the meeting. Please RSVP to childcare@austinuu.org.
