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Bis Thorton
December 31, 2023
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org
For New Year’s Day, we will hold our annual burning bowl service. We contemplate what we would like to let go so that we may more easily find our center. Then we whisper that which we would like to let go into pieces of flash paper, toss them into a fire and watch them burn away.
Chalice Lighting
This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.
Call to Worship
BURNING THE OLD YEAR
Naomi Shihab NyeLetters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.
Affirming Our Mission
Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.
Reading
LOVE LETTER Nathalie Handel
I’d like to be a shrine, so I can learn from peoples’ prayers the story of hearts. I’d like to be a scarf so I can place it over my hair and understand other worlds. I’d like to be the voice of a soprano singer so I can move through all borders and see them vanish with every spell-binding note. I’d like to be light so I illuminate the dark. I’d like to be water to fill bodies so we can gently float together indefinitely. I’d like to be a lemon, to be zest all the time, or an olive tree to shimmer silver on the earth. Most of all, I’d like to be a poem, to reach your heart and stay.
Sermon
Before we really get going, I want to address our friends who are in church online today. Today is our Burning Bowl ceremony, which involves taking pieces of flash paper and putting them into a fire. I would like to invite all those in church this morning who are not in the physical building to participate and be both CREATIVE…and SAFE. You might toss an imaginary piece of paper into a candle. You might use your powers of visualization and imagination to put a piece of flash paper into a bonfire in your mind. I would love to know what you decide to do, so feel free to let the church know about it in a Facebook comment or an email or a carrier pigeon or whatever. Whatever you decide to do, I will be carrying one piece of flash paper to the fire to represent what you are letting go of today.
Alright, let’s get going. I want to ask you a strange question this morning. Who is fire? I know what fire is. But who is fire? How do you know it in your life? When I think of fire, I see a series of images and scenes. The knight of wands from the Rider- Waite-Smith Tarot, a young adult in silver armor and yellow clothing astride a red horse galloping across a desert. The gas heater in my first apartment and the way I had to lie down on the floor and then perilously light its pilot light with a match every single time I wanted to use it…and then, the accompanying smell of burning dust, as I didn’t use the heater very often.
Prometheus chained to a rock in the sea, punished for giving fire to humanity. Standing with my friends in a backyard at night, the black sky above us, the darkness holding us, shovels in our hands, laughing and chanting as we dig into the earth to make a fire pit. Christ resurrected, roasting fish on the shore as Peter swims frantically towards his beloved teacher with all his clothes on. Holding a single candle in my hands and lifting it up towards the ceiling of a chapel as we read the name of a beloved soul for another Trans Day of Remembrance.
And, of course, the chalice. We light it at least once a weekÐsometimes more often. The chalice holds more meanings than I can count, which is its power and beautyÐit is the spark of the divine within each of us; it is the light of truth; it is the fire of commitment; it is the warmth of community; it is a torch to the light the way; it is the fire we tend that was lit long before each of us; it is the gift we give to all those who seek it; it is an image from the 1940s; it is timeless; it is an object in our sanctuary; it is passion; it is reason; it is the flaming chalice, symbol of our faith.
Today, I want to do two things. I want to explore fire as a recurring symbol in our faith and our lives, and I want to guide us through our ritual of the Burning Bowl.
So: fire.
Fires must be fed. Like us, they eat. When I think of this, I see myself on my back porch, standing over a little black grill. I accidentally drop a ring of onion between the bars of a grill and into the coals, and I say what I always say when this happens, “That one is a sacrifice to the little god of the fire.” Fire must be fed. The fire in our church’s chalice eats oil; there’s an oil lamp inside of it. And the fire of our burning bowl eats…something more complicated than that.
In a literal sense, it eats accelerant and flash paper. But it also eats gifts from all of us.
The Burning Bowl or Fire Communion is a New Year’s service held by many Unitarian Universalists. This service is our chance as a community to consider our year, and consider our attitudes and behaviors, and then keep what was good, and let go of what was not.
What shall we each give the bowl this year? What is it that we are ready to leave behind? There is always a lot of advice flying around, especially this time of year, regarding exactly where we’ve all fallen short. Some of it may even be good advice. But I worry.
Because I want us to find our joy and our truth by what resonates as true within each of us, not by listening to shame. I want to speak from the heart about this. I think we all have something to let go of today. We all do things that hurt people. We all do things that hurt ourselves. And we all do things that do both, and we hurt others WHILE we hurt ourselves.
And many of us cling to these behaviors for reasons that are sometimes simple and sometimes complicated and hard to understand. In their misguided way, these behaviors protect or serve us. We lash out to push people away before they hurt us. We isolate ourselves to protect ourselves from the possibility of rejection. We say hurtful things to feel strong instead of weak. We judge because we are afraid of the danger others may be putting themselves in. We replicate cycles of abuse and oppression to maintain our power. … And we know we have to stop. But we get stuck. When someone else points it out, we start to panic. We feel ashamed. We spiral. And my friends, I don’t want you to let anything go today just because you are ashamed. You deserve to live a beautiful life free of whatever it is that has hurt you or those around you. We all deserve this, and we can build this life together. As Unitarian Universalists, we affirm that all people have inherent worth and dignity, and that includes you.
We can let go with a spirit of love, a spirit of care, a spirit of joy. And we can grieve whatever must be grieved with open hearts, unburdened by shame. Shame demands we shove whatever repulses us into a box and fight to keep it hidden. But with compassion, we can see that even our worst behaviors were trying to serve us, protect us, and show us love in a misguided and harmful way. And we can hold this part of ourselves close to our hearts, thank it for all it has tried to do and all that it has taught us, and then, finally, we can say goodbye, knowing that the sacred fire will transform it.
So let the fire shine its light upon you. Listen for the still small voice insideÐthe divine spark, which guides you towards a life of love and joy. And together we will feed this fire. For indeed, whatever you give the fire is a gift.
For the fire of the burning bowl will live by eating what you feed it, and will transform what it is fed, and it will feed you, too. And…I believe that by feeding the burning bowl, you also feed the chalice. What might you feed the fire today that will give fuel to the light that shines upon systems of oppression until they are no more? What might you feed the fire today that will cause the light of truth, the warmth of community, and the fire of commitment to burn even more brightly than before? What might you feed the fire today that will tend to your own divine spark and the divine spark of others? What might you feed the fire today that will honor and care for the flaming chalice, symbol of our faith, rich with infinite meaning?
So, with all of that in our minds and hearts, let us light the burning bowl and begin this ritual. We will consider the year together before bringing our gifts to the fire.
In a moment, I will invite Carolyn to carry a flame from the chalice into the bowl. As she does so, let us sit in prayer and contemplation of our own special relationships with the chalice. What values does it hold for you today? Which flames dance most beautifully within you this morning? If you are joining this ritual online, I invite you to light a candle, imagine the bowl vividly in your mind, or do whatever it is you would like to do to participate. I will hold this piece of flash paper for all of you and carry it into the fire last.
Carolyn, please light the fire. [Carolyn lights the bowl]
The fire of the chalice, which is now the fire of the burning bowl, welcomes you. Love, beauty, joy, and compassion live within it. The fire accepts all of who you are, and all of what you will give it. As you consider this past year, you may feel a sting of shame. You may recoil from something you wish you had not done. Please know that you are safe here. No one desires for you to feel any shame. You need not hide anything from this sacred fire. You are already held by what is sacred and counted among the beloved of the world. You are a creature of inherent worth and dignity, and nothing can change that fact. This truth lives within you, and you can return to it at any time.
Now, as the fire burns, let us take a moment to take stock of the past year: 2023. I invite you now to close your eyes if it will be helpful to you. Let the memories of this year flow through you, as much as you can. Say hello to your joys. Say hello to your sorrows. What did you do this year that brought you joy? And what did you do this year that did not? Let’s take a moment to hold each memory of our thoughts and actions, to see which brings joy and which does not. If shame comes, you need not fear it. You are safe here.
Now, let us hold our flash papers (or simply our thoughts) near to ourselves. You can hold this paper in any number of ways. Hold it against your heart so that it can feel what most longs to be free. Hold it against your head so that it can hear the thoughts which wheel within you. Hold it against the part of your body which feels most tense so that it can meet your body’s pain with compassion. Or hold it in a way that your heart, mind, body, or other guide asks you to. If you feel a mysterious communication, follow its guidance. You are safe here. Let us take a holy quiet moment to listen to whatever still small voice might speak to us now.
What shall you let go of today? There are many ways to know. You may know it by a word or phrase: fear, anger, bigotry, reliance on the opinion of others, self-doubt. You may know it by an image in your mind: a closed fist, a dying plant, a dusty stack of papers, an old book, an empty glass. You may know it by a feeling in your body: a tightness, a hot face, a sore throat, a restless urge to run. You may know it by a color, a face, a voice, a sound, or even a disorganized thought. These things go by many names. You may not be entirely sure what your gift to the fire will be today, and that is alright, too. You are safe here, and no one here desires that you feel any shame.
Whatever you will be letting go of today, hold its identity, its name, its image or thought or sound as you hold your paper. If you wish, you may whisper its name into your paper now.
Now, as you hold this thing in your hands, you might see that it is not what you first thought. Perhaps it is much larger than you realized; perhaps it is much smaller. It has done something for you, perhaps in a misguided way. It has tried to protect you, or tried to teach you. It may have harmed you, or it may have harmed others, or maybe both. But in its imperfect way, it has tried. Now comes its time for it to transform in the fire and find a new life, supporting the values you hold in the flame of the chalice.
If you are ready, or if you feel able, outloud or in your mind, I invite us now to thank these parts of ourselves for all they have taught us, by saying: “Thank you; I wish you well.” Thank you, I wish you well.
Now let’s cast them into the fire so they can begin their new existence! Friends in the sanctuary, please line up.
Friends who are online, please take this time to perform the remainder of this ritual however you have chosen to do so.
Most sermons during the past 23 years are available online through this website. Click on the index link above to find tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on a topic to go to that sermon.
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