Here we all were, one year ago today, blithely unaware of all that would come to pass in just one year’s time!

In some regards, most of us have been forced to be less active this past 9-10 months. It is hoped that we’ve done some exercise, some stretching, and even some bit of going outdoors. I’m not sure whether “stillness” has a near enemy, but if it did, it would be inertia or sedentariness, both seen as not very helpful. But I’d like to distinguish between “stillness” and “silence.”

Rarely, if ever, do we experience complete silence. There was a time, some years ago, when I said that I could go out to the ridge on my farm and experience silence. Yes, it came close, but in reality, there was always something, even if it was a breeze, a faint birdcall, or an insect’s buzz. Now, our neighbors have cows, the others have horses, and the ones with cows have goats. The nearest neighbors have three young children. Even now, it is very quiet out there. There are moments that feel silent. Bur I’ve also developed tinnitus, so there you have it!

Silence can be a command as well as a descriptive noun. For people who’ve been raised in constrictive atmosphere, made to keep quiet or keep secrets, to be silenced is to be told to lie, dissemble, or kill off part of oneself.

Here are some uses of silence that evoke its negative connotation.

* blue wall of silence * cone of silence * conspiracy of silence * deafening silence * moment of silence * radio silence * silence is golden * tower of silence * two-minute silence * vow of silence * wall of silence

Stillness is different.

We can be very still and discover vast worlds within. It’s terrifying though. That’s why most people have an aversion to stillness and silence. We listen, talk, move, fidget, go, travel, consume, watch.

I’m pretty sure we come to church to balance this busy-ness of mind, and this perpetual movement of body. We give ourselves one hour to be still, mostly silent, and to reflect, learn, feel safe and supported.

It matters. And even if it doesn’t matter for you, remember that your quiet presence matters a great deal to others who would otherwise be alone, and lonely.

Love, Cynthia

** We will be talking about stillness this Sunday. We shall start with some lines from TS Eliot’s poem “Burnt Norton,” which is also part of his Four Quartets. You may wish to read it, or hear Eliot read it! Here’s a link for both: CLICK HERE for recording. CLICK HERE for the text.

Greetings,

How goes it with your soul?

Wait… Soul, you say? What I mean by soul is nearly what Carl Jung meant, or seemed to me to mean, although for Jung and his intellectual progeny, something like “soul” couldn’t be exactly quantified.

This definition comes from Thomas Moore in Care of the Soul:

It is impossible to define precisely what the soul is. Definition is an intellectual enterprise anyway; the soul prefers to imagine. We know intuitively that soul has to do with genuineness and depth, as when we say certain music has soul or a remarkable person is soulful. When you look closely at the image of soulfulness, you see that it is tied to life in all its particulars—good food, satisfying conversation, genuine friends, and experiences that stay in the memory and touch the heart. Soul is revealed in attachment, love, and community, as well as in retreat on behalf of inner communing and intimacy. (Care of the Soul, xi-xii)

If the Jungian notion of soul intrigues you, click here for some further exploration.

So, when I ask, How goes it with your soul, what I mean to say is “how are you doing, not physically, not psychologically, not cognitively, not even emotionally… but something that is made up of all of these and something more, that elusive quality we may call soul or spirit?”

On Facebook, I posed the question, “On a scale of one to ten, how are you doing?”

About 2 dozen of my 1500 “friends” answered. The respondents included UU ministers, distant relatives, and high school classmates. I have no way of knowing how many saw it and didn’t reply. Their estimates ranged from a 3 to a 10, but most acknowledged that they went up and down depending upon the day. That seems perfectly understandable, given the current state of things.

What struck me was how honest and vulnerable people were.

One person even said, “thanks for asking.”

The thing is: just asking ourselves, or one another, this question is important. It may be uncomfortable at first, but it can lead to healing. If you think asking about their soul is a bit much, perhaps you could say, How are your spirits? I think you will be surprised at how much folks long to be listened to!

Ultimately, we might consider having fewer wild swings and more times on the upper end of the scale. That can be called equanimity.

In today’s meditation session, our teacher suggested we take time throughout the day to check in with ourselves. Three breaths. This, to me, is how we care for the soul. It doesn’t have to be complicated, or time consuming. Best of all, it’s free. Just breathing, knowing we are breathing, and knowing that there is wisdom available to us within, if we allow it space.

In December, our Soul Matters theme is “Stillness.” I hope you will join us in our Zoom gathering each Sunday for music and inspiration.

How is it with your soul?

Love, Cynthia

Watch this film to prepare for Sunday! (Then I can talk less!) Link here

What is the history of the UU faith when it comes to Indigenous/Native American/First Peoples history and future? I like to spend some time each year, between Indigenous People’s Day (still known as Columbus Day in many places) and Thanks “giving” Day (which is based upon a myth, partly true, but engineered to conveniently fit a White history) studying and reading about Indigenous issues.

How did you first hear about Indigenous people? Were they called “Indians” then? When did you first meet a Native American? What stereotypes did you have? Do you have different ones now? Are there both positive and negative stereotypes associated with them? Why do you think this is?

On Sunday, I’ve invited an acquaintance to join me at our service. I think you will love hearing about how she went about making change for Native Americans. Please join us!

Meanwhile, I sent you a link last week to some UUA-sponsored events for Indigenous Peoples’ Month. There are still a few left, including a service on Thanksgiving day. Even if you do not attend those, I recommend you watch this one-hour documentary, called Gathering. Click here for link (Password: Gather2020)

Looking with honesty and compassion upon the indigenous people of North America, it is very difficult to find hope. There is truly no way to describe what happened to these people other than to call it genocide. And worst of all, it continues. But finding hope, finding ways to help, and facing grim realities unflinchingly is what we UUs do. We are truth-seekers and truth-tellers. On Sunday, we will take a baby step forward together by acknowledging that there are at least a few ways we as individuals or as small groups can make a difference.

And that is something to be thankful for.

Russel Means and the American Indian Movement made strides toward sovereignty and tribal rights starting in 1968. Since then, gains have been thwarted by a variety of external and internal traumas.

George Railey (above) and Alec Thompson (below) are members of the Black community in Springfield, KY, who are direct descendants of Native Americans.

Alec Thompson holds a picture of his father, a Native American. Alex and his wife have 17 children, so the native ancestry is widespread in my community!

2020 Vision

Today I met with a group of West Nashville clergy that gathers monthly to share challenges and ideas. As we checked in, it seemed almost everyone felt discouraged, disheartened, or frustrated. It’s not surprising that anyone would feel that way, but I realized I’ve been wrong (again) in my assumption that once the election was behind us, we’d have a burst of energy and a renewed focus. The reality is that even for those (all on this Zoom meeting) who were encouraged by the results of the election, we as clergy were still facing months ahead of trying to do the impossible: to minister to human beings across a screen or over a phone.

Maybe you are feeling surprised at how less-than-joyful you are!

Here are a few of our shared observations:

The results of the election were an affirmation of hope, but also of horror. We can’t deny the reality of the numbers. Close to half our citizenry voted to keep someone in office who lies daily, has committed fraud and other serious crimes, and who has exhibited debauched and deranged behavior. Those aren’t conspiracy theories. Those are facts. They’re in the open. They can’t be disputed!

The long-predicted “second wave” of the pandemic feels like being knocked down by a wave before we’ve even stood up. We ourselves may feel protected, but we are sharply aware of how many are vulnerable and exposed to imminent death. We feel overwhelmed by our inability to change that.

Many of us who have experienced emotional abuse, gaslighting, and worse are being re-traumatized. Yes, we are glad this administration will change. But we have had the blinders removed from our sight. We see things more clearly now than ever.

Even without the election, coronavirus has done this for us. As we find ourselves isolated, removed from so many of our distractions, we may begin to recognize things about ourselves that make us uncomfortable. Our vision becomes clear, and with that clarity a sense of despair can arrive.

(I fully realize how many distractions are still at our fingertips. For me, it’s fine to “escape” sometimes, yet I try to take advantage of all the virtual events and offerings to learn more about me, my vocation, and how better to be human. Elsewhere, you’ll see links for several, including a Nashville Thanksgiving Interfaith service that I recommend.)

Do not despair! You are not alone; you are part of a loving and compassionate community. Remember the saying: the truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable? I believe that acknowledging the truth is the only thing that will lead us closer to freedom, as individuals, as community, as civilization.

One minister shared this poem by Martha Postlewaite:

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.

This is my dad’s only brother, who died when I was fourteen, on the night of Thanksgiving. He’d just earned his PhD.

I can hardly believe it’s been just a week since I wrote this column. We now know the results of the 2020 election, and we stand on the precipice of a brighter future. I feel certain that how we interpret this moment says much about our outlook: are we basically pessimistic, superstitious, hopeful, fearful, anxious, cynical, or upbeat?

None of those attitudes would be unwarranted, given the facts! Still, it turns out that the way we interpret the facts has everything to do with how we engage the world, how we live, and how we will leave it.

There are things we can do about how we look at what is happening. That has perhaps never been more clear than it is in our public life right now. Are we decent people who can find a way forward, or are we threatened by forces from without and within against whom we must secure our borders and hoard our resources? And on and on.

It is often said in jest that UUs believe in at most one God.

But even UUs who are agnostic or atheist often consider themselves Humanists. They believe then in the innate goodness and worthiness of humans. We believe that all are worthy of love and none are beyond redemption. True, some have behaved so despicably and done such widespread damage that it is beyond our ability to grant them forgiveness. The best we can do is to shift our energies toward repairing the damage.

It seems almost perfectly plotted that the holiday season is upon us. Now, along with the ever-worsening pandemic, we have to make some form of contact with our families of origin and our loved and/or tolerated relations. This Sunday, along with some help from a few other GNUUC members, we shall look at how we do that. How do we confront the stories of holidays past and make sense of them, whether joyful, painful, or a mix of both, to give us grounding and wisdom as we approach another season?

I found that every year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, some tragedy would occur: illness, accident, injury, loss. It wasn’t until after I tried to make this time “happy” by getting married on December 18th (the marriage didn’t last) that I learned about anniversary grief. My mother died on December 10th, 1960 and there was a pall over our family… nothing supernatural, just unresolved trauma… that haunted us.

Thanksgivings and the holidays have continued to be unsettled for me, but my understanding and expectations of them and the tools I have to get through them have helped me, and I hope they help you as well.

See you Sunday.

With Love,

Cynthia

As I write, the outcome of the 2020 election is still uncertain, but it does not look good for Democrats, which includes most UUs. How shall we respond if the country turns itself over to be governed for four more years by someone we consider at best reprehensible and at worst diabolical?

First, we give ourselves time to grieve. For the days ahead, there will be shock, denial, and lots of anger and rage. Accept that. Let it flow through you and don’t rationalize it. Even if Trump doesn’t win, we are seeing an endorsement of policies and cruelties we could never have imagined our fellow citizens would condone. Now, we know for sure. We know that people have seen all of this and still voted for it. It’s shocking and horrifying.

Please indulge in some self-care. Talk to loved ones. If you don’t think you need that, they may. Bathe, eat something wonderful, bake, walk outdoors, sleep, watch a movie, read a book that takes you to a distant place and time.

Remember you are loved.

And remember: you have made the wise decision to be part of a thinking, compassionate, community who have gathered, week after week, to face reality, to face life and death as they truly are, to face them together, and to do our part to preserve the world and its people.

I find that my fear this morning is most centered upon my friends, colleagues, and loved ones who will be most affected if this madness continues: Pansy, who waits for her husband, deported to Mexico, to be able to return, and whose fellow members of the local Black community have been hit hard by Covid; my Buddhist teacher Caitriona, a transwoman and all of the trans people whose very existence is at stake; my son and so many others who rely upon health care subsidized by the ACA and who would likely not be here today had they not had it; … you know the list. And I know your fears and compassion are for others as well. Here, close to home, and throughout the world, whose suffering will go unmet due to this administration’s cruelty.

And our deep sadness and grief come not just for us, but for those we know, and those we shall never meet, those yet unborn, who will suffer because of the selfishness and foolishness or the simple lack of clarity of half of this country.

We will get through this together. And, whatever happens, we will need one another more than ever.

It feels as if we are hanging by a thread, but indeed, the entire Universe has been in great peril for far longer than we’d like to acknowledge. The sooner we can come to terms with that, the sooner we can face the imminence of our own dying as well as the dying of life as we know it, the actions we can take in these moments become crystal clear. I believe my job is to companion you and challenge you that we may face these realities together. The thread can be a thread of connection, love, and humanity with which we connect our hearts and minds to serve and protect.

As they say in 12 Step programs, where people hang by a thread day by day, keep coming back. We can do this. Never never ever give up.

See you Sunday,

Cynthia

I am so grateful for this congregation, for the chance to serve you, and the wider community of Nashville. I will admit that I harbor doubts when I look toward the future. Trying to do ministry from afar is, at best, awkward. I miss seeing your faces in person, and I know you miss this too, But I am so impressed by how you show up for each other week after week, and in countless ways throughout the week. You are all ministers to one another.

I’m truly impressed by the interfaith community in Nashville, and Zoom meetings have given me a chance to be more involved. Among the groups I meet with regularly are NOAH religious leaders, West End clergy, “Rabbi and Reverend,” an interfaith discussion group, the Atlantic Institute, a group that supports Turkish Muslims in exile, and NOAHs criminal justice task force. Sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to sustain these commitments when/if COVID restrictions end, but for me, it’s best to stay centered in each day and do what I am able.

I was invited to give an invocation at NOAH’s large public meeting on Sunday! You can see my prayer in the first few minutes of this video, CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO but I hope you will watch along for a while to get the picture of NOAH’s work and learn how Gamaliel and similar organizations make change. It’s exciting.

See you in a few weeks!

Cynthia

In talking about Listening to our Body, it’s enough for a start to realize we even have one. As I quoted during the meditation, it was James Joyce who wrote, Mr. Duffy lived a little distance from his body.

That’s the common situation for most Euro-centric cultures, religions, and nations. I love this poem, and the reading as well as the interpretation:

CLICK HERE: The New Religion

 It came out on Monday, or I may have read it to you on Sunday!

Once we decide to begin a new relationship with our own bodies, to accept and love them just as they are, we begin a spiritual quest. We begin the arduous journey of self-concern. It won’t make you popular, because some people will call you selfish and indifferent, and imply that you’re not compassionate.

For me, a good way to do this is movement, dance, easy yoga, and walking. I also love poetry, and reading or listening to a good poem a day is a treat for me, something I have to do like a discipline, because it’s for me, and the things just for me are the first to go when I feel stressed.

I regret that I ever felt bad about myself or my own physical being. But I understand it, which is something like forgiveness. And I am certain that I can’t truly help a single soul unless I am working to care for me.

I put a question on facebook:

Do you love yourself? If no, why not? If yes, How much?

Only about 5 people replied, all affirmative. I must admit that I was delighted to see that all of them were members of congregations I’d served. (One was a colleague from Transylvania.) I hope it made at least five other people think. Surely, if you believe God made you, you must love yourself! If you don’t have those beliefs, you can still deeply understand that you, like everyone else, are part of the great mix of beings that walk this earth and therefore of course you are to be loved. Even if you have done wrong, you can do something about that. Remember guilt is legitimate if it tells us we did wrong, but shame tells us we are something wrong. It is never helpful and almost always an impediment to wholeness.

We can talk about politics, crises, the environment, racism, and much more, and we should, but we ought not forget that our society and much of the world is in a great spiritual crisis right now, and I’m not talking about religion. Today the ones who boast of being the most religious are often the most dangerous, the most heinous. I am talking about our relationship with truth and with humanity.

This extended break from the typical routine is a wonderful time to begin or to revive a spiritual practice. I look forward to the journey along with you.

Cynthia

Chincoteague pony grazing last week.

I loved seeing your pets and hearing the names of the pets you’ve lost.

It got me thinking how much we love the mystery and majesty of wild animals, like the ponies at Chincoteague Island, near my ancestors' homeplace, about whose origin is still unknown, but which have drawn and fascinated people for centuries.

It reminded me that we can hold two seemingly contradictory ideas at the same time, like wilderness and responsibility, and that indeed that is what UU ism is largely about.

I think this time of isolation and separation has been difficult for so many of us and yet at the same time it has allowed us to see what is really important, what really matters. I believe that we have taken a deeper look at our relationships not only to people but to animals, nature, and the world around us. One hopes that in addition to seeing clearly the beauty, the magnificence, and the importance of this world that many will also see the reality of the danger, the harm, and the threat to life and become committed to working to preserve it.

Or, at least, stop actions that destroy it.

We’ve seen how easily years of work and lifetimes of struggle for civil rights, environmental and social justice, and decades of decency and democracy can be destroyed in unilateral and dictatorial acts. Many of us are fearful and alarmed.

It’s important to do what we can: vote (Did you reply to the NOAH survey yet!? Let us stand up and announce a 100% voting rate!); urge others to vote; volunteer in various capacities; donate to important races; and perhaps most importantly, help others who are falling between the cracks created by this administration: the unemployed, the underinsured, the underserved, the undocumented workers, the disenfranchised; you know the list. It goes on.

But even as we must never close our ears or harden our hearts to the bitter realities of now, so we must also keep room for the reasons preserving this world matters: there is love, there is courage, there is beauty. 

Joining your UU community on Sundays matters. It really matters now. It’s not just for you. It’s for everyone who needs you to be there so they can feel held and heard.

Here’s one more animal poem, and some pictures of our family pets. Please join me and the Worship team (have you thanked them lately?) on Sunday when I will begin a three-part series on healing: personal, communal, and global. This week is still taking shape but it will focus on healing from trauma and listening to ourselves and others.

Love, 

Cynthia

Eric with our new granddog Gia

Son Casey with Gia

Willow with our Whiskey