The Art of Forgetting – 07/08/22
Musical Prelude: ‘Chanson de Matin and Chanson de Nuit’ – Elgar performed by Sydney Mariano and Peter Crockford
Opening Words: ‘Welcome to this Place’ by Cathy Rion Starr (adapted)
Welcome to this place of peace;
May we find some moments of quiet contemplation.
Welcome to this place of celebration;
May our hearts soar with gratitude for the gift of life.
Welcome to this place of sacred love;
May we gently hold all that is broken here.
Welcome to this place of inquiry;
Here, may we be challenged to open our minds and hearts ever wider.
Come into this place of community;
May we, together, draw the circle of love and justice ever wider.
Welcome to this sacred space we co-create, as we gather in ways old and new; Come, let us worship, celebrate, grieve, and love together. (pause)
Words of Welcome and Introduction:
These opening words, written by Cathy Rion Starr, welcome all those who have gathered this morning for our Sunday service. Welcome to those of you who have gathered in-person here at Essex Church and also to all who are joining us via Zoom from far and wide. For those who don’t know me, my name is Jane Blackall, and I’m ministry coordinator with Kensington Unitarians.
If it’s your first time joining us this morning, we’re especially glad to have you with us, welcome. Perhaps you might like to hang around for a chat after the service, drop us an email to introduce yourself, or come to one of our small groups to get to know us better. A special welcome also to some old friends of this congregation who I know are visiting this morning. And if you’re a regular – thank you for keeping faith with our Unitarian cause – and for all you do to help keep the show on the road. Whoever you are, however you are, wherever you are, know you are welcome with us, just as you are. I hope each person gathered finds something of what you need in this morning’s service.
Today’s service is titled ‘The Art of Forgetting’. We often speak of the importance of remembering, especially in religious contexts, and rightly so. A lot of what we do here in church is about recalling our values, reminding ourselves and each other about the things that matter most in life, keeping the memory of our forebears and our tradition alive in our minds and hearts. But this morning we’re going to turn that upside-down and ask whether there is also something to be said for forgetting as part of a balanced and flourishing human life. Are there times and situations in our lives when we might in fact be wiser to forget, to not cling so fiercely to our memories, to willingly let things go?
Before we go any further take a moment now to settle ourselves – to become fully present here and now, into this precious hour of peace – wherever we may be. We consecrate this time and space with our presence and intention. So perhaps you might put down anything you don’t need to be holding – whether that’s physically or metaphorically – you might want to stop and take one conscious breath – breathing in… then breathing out anything that is stopping you from being fully present here and now.
Chalice Lighting: ‘For This One Hour’ by Paul Stephan Dodenhoff (adapted)
Let’s light our chalice flame now, as we do each week. This simple ritual connects us in solidarity with Unitarians and Unitarian Universalists the world over, and reminds us of the proud and historic progressive religious tradition of which we are a part.
(light chalice)
For this one hour,
may we lay down our anxieties,
our fears, our anger,
our self-doubts, our regrets,
our grievances, and our distractions.
If only for this hour,
let the flame of this chalice
burn them from our hearts and minds
and light our way to a place of peace and serenity.
For this one holy hour.
Candles of Joy and Concern:
Each week when we gather together, we share a simple ritual of candles of joy and concern, an opportunity to light a candle and share something that is in our heart with the community. So we’ve an opportunity now, for anyone who would like to do so, to light a candle and say a few words about what it represents. This time we’re going to go to the people in the building first, and take all of those in one go, and then I’ll call on the people on Zoom to come forward.
So I invite some of you here in person to come and light a candle and then if you wish to tell us briefly who or what you light your candle for – do use the microphone so everyone can hear you and get nice and close in so it picks you up properly – I’ll switch that on in a moment. We’re asking people to keep their masks on for this candle lighting, but please do speak up, and GET REALLY CLOSE to the microphone, so that everyone can hear what you’re saying.
(in person candles)
And if that’s everyone in the room we’ll go over to the people on Zoom next – you might like to switch to gallery view at this stage – just unmute yourselves when you are ready and speak out – and we should be able to hear you and see you up on the big screen here in the church.
(zoom candles)
And I’m going to light one more candle, as we often do, to represent all those joys and concerns that we hold in our hearts this day, but which we don’t feel able to speak out loud. (light candle)
Time of Prayer & Reflection: based on words by Bruce Southworth
And let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer now. This prayer is based on some words by the UU minister Bruce Southworth. You might first want to adjust your position for comfort, close your eyes, or soften your gaze. There might be a posture that helps you feel more prayerful. Whatever works for you.
Do whatever you need to do to get into the right state of body and mind for us to pray together – to be fully present here and now, in this sacred time and space – with ourselves, with each other, and with that which is both within us and beyond us. (pause)
Spirit of Life, God of All Love, in whom we live and move and have our being,
we turn our full attention to you, the light within and without,
as we tune in to the depths of this life, and the greater wisdom
to which – and through which – we are all intimately connected.
Be with us now as we allow ourselves to drop into the
silence and stillness at the very centre of our being. (pause)
At moments like this we gather, each alone in our solitude.
May we embrace this moment, in silence, allowing
the gentle breath to clear our minds,
and soothe our weary souls.
At moments like these we try to put aside
the daily obstacles, the headaches and irritations;
we try to forget our worries and open ourselves
to the pulse of Life, the flow of Life.
We may carry with us fears and hopes about health or illness,
about work or family, about success or failure;
for a moment we seek to set them aside too,
and take time to nurture our deepest selves…
We know that we need one another,
and we must keep faith with one another
if we are to keep faith with the world,
to play our part, to do the work of Love.
In this quiet time, when we open ourselves to the depths,
may we sense and know the Spirit of Life and Love within us –
ever at hand – surging and glowing, guiding and sustaining,
so the strength we need and the compassion the world needs
will come to us in our times of trial and transformation. (pause)
And in a good few moments of silence now,
may our hearts speak silently all the prayers of our lives—
maybe something is weighing heavy on us, or troubling our conscience –
maybe we are full of gratitude and feel moved to give thanks for our blessings – let us lift up whatever is on our heart this day, and ask for what we most need. (long pause)
Spirit of Life – God of all Love – as this time of prayer comes to a close, we offer up our joys and concerns, our hopes and fears, our beauty and brokenness, and we call on you for insight, healing, and renewal.
As we look forward now to the coming week,
help us to live well each day and be our best selves;
using our unique gifts in the service of love, justice and peace. Amen
Hymn: ‘Here We Have Gathered’
Let’s sing together now. Our first hymn today is ‘Here We Have Gathered’. For those of you present at the church in-person you’ll find the words on your hymn sheet and for those joining via Zoom they’ll be up on your screen. Please feel free to stand or sit, as you prefer, as we sing.
Here we have gathered, gathered side by side;
circle of kinship, come and step inside!
May all who seek here find a kindly word;
may all who speak here feel they have been heard.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.
Here we have gathered, called to celebrate
days of our lifetime, matters small and great:
we of all ages, women, children, men,
infants and sages, sharing what we can.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.
Life has its battles, sorrows, and regret:
but in the shadows, let us not forget:
we who now gather know each other’s pain;
kindness can heal us: as we give, we gain.
Sing now in friendship this, our hearts’ own song.
Pre-Recorded Reading: ‘On Forgetting’ by Oliver Burkeman (read by Rachel Hills)
For decades, psychologists have understood our ability to forget isn’t so much a failing as a vital complement to remembering – a mental decluttering without which we’d find it harder to assimilate new data. (Jill Price, an American “hyperthymesia” sufferer who can seemingly recall every detail of her life since the age of 14, has called her existence “agonising”.)
But deliberately trying to forget things, as a path to peace of mind, still has a bad reputation, thanks largely to Freud’s ideas about repression. To an old-school psychoanalyst, there’s never a good reason to push something from your mind: the very fact that you’re trying shows it needs to be confronted, or it will manifest more damagingly elsewhere instead. Yet there are surely countless everyday things we’d rather forget: moments of excruciating embarrassment, or stressful future events you can’t do anything about right now.
The good news, as reported in Scientific American Mind, is that you can. Attempting not to think about something can notoriously have the opposite effect – the “don’t think of a white bear!” problem – but research shows suppression gets better with practice and substituting a thought with another thought can work well, too. Intriguingly, those who are best at deliberate forgetting are those who are also best at remembering things. A sharp and healthy mind is one that can remember and forget. Distracting yourself is another technique that gets a bad rap but that can be similarly effective. “Action interferes with recollection,” as one researcher put it. Want to forget your screw-up at work today? Cook a complex dinner tonight.
As a society, we’re getting worse at forgetting, thanks to the internet: Amazon, Google and Facebook remember everything you use them for, for ever. There have been calls to change this default setting, so that unless you choose otherwise, your online activities will eventually slip into the memory hole. It’ll never happen. But it’s a welcome intervention in the polarised debate between advocates of privacy and publicness. Perhaps “living in public” in the digital era would be less unsettling if we could trust that the internet – like an optimally functioning human mind – might eventually also forget.
Words for Meditation: ‘Forgetting’ by Joy Ladin
Thank you, Rachel. We’ve come now to a time of meditation. I’m going to offer a poem by Joy Ladin, titled ‘Forgetting’, to take us into a few minutes of shared stillness. It’s a long-ish poem, a couple of minutes I suppose, and I always want to say – don’t worry too much about making sense of the poem at first hearing – I think it’s alright to just let the words wash over you and trust that any little phrase or fragment that catches your ear is the bit you were meant to hear and meditate on! If you want to read it again the whole text of the service is on our website so you can study it more closely another time.
After the poem we’ll have about three minutes of silence, which will end with the sound of a bell. And then we’ll hear some meditative music from Sydney and Peter. So let’s each do what we need to do to get comfortable – adjust your position if you need to – perhaps put your feet flat on the floor to ground and steady yourself – you might like to close your eyes. As we always say, the words and music are just an offering, feel free to use this time to meditate in your own way.
Joy Ladin’s poem is prefaced with a few words from the Book of Isaiah, chapter 49, verses 14–15: Zion says, “The LORD has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.” Can a woman forget her baby, or disown the child of her womb? Though she might forget, I never could forget you. (pause)
You never remember anything, do you?
How I formed you in your mother’s womb;
nursed you; bathed you; taught you to talk;
led you to springs of water?
I sang your name before you were born.
I’m singing your name now.
You’re clueless as an infant.
When I tell you to shout for joy,
you hear a bicycle, or a cat.
Sometimes, memories of me come back
like children you forgot you had:
a garden; a bride; an image of your mother,
your best friend, your brother, or a cop, or snow, or afternoon.
The heavens shout; mountain becomes road;
gardenias burst into song.
Whose are these? you wonder.
Then you forget, and feel forgotten,
like an infant who falls asleep
at a mother’s breast
and wakes up hungry again.
Your mother might forget you, child,
but I never forget.
I’ve engraved your name
on the palms of my hands.
I show you trees, I lay you down in the grass,
I shower you with examples of my love—
sex and birds, librarians and life skills, emotions, sunlight, compassion.
Nothing connects.
Every dawn, every generation,
I have to teach you again:
this is water; this is darkness;
this is a body
fitting your description;
that’s a crush;
these are bodily functions;
this is an allergic reaction.
This is your anger.
This is mine.
This is me
reminding you to eat.
Turn off the stove.
Take your medication.
This is the realization
that I am yours and you are mine. This is you
forgetting.
Period of Silence and Stillness (~3 minutes) – end with a bell
Musical Interlude: ‘Meditation of Thais’ – Massenet by Sydney & Peter
In-Person Reading: Forgetfulness’ by Billy Collins (read by Brian Ellis)
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbour
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
Address: ‘The Art of Forgetting’ by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall
Forgetfulness is not, generally speaking, a trait that people tend to aspire to; not something that people tend to be proud of or to actively cultivate. And, as I mentioned at the start of the service, we often speak of the importance of remembering in religious and spiritual contexts. But in the next fourteen minutes or so we’ll consider if there might be some ways in which forgetting could be somewhat beneficial (or even necessary) for a well-rounded and flourishing human life. Up to a point, forgetting can be good for you intellectually – in terms of learning and creativity; emotionally – in terms of freedom from worry; and spiritually – in terms of personal and social transformation. So I’m going to consider each of those three realms in turn, and ask whether we might hold remembering and forgetting in better balance, as we cultivate ‘The Art of Forgetting’.
There are plenty of legitimate reasons why we might be anti-forgetting… so let’s get them out into the open before we go any further. Firstly, simply, most of our everyday experiences of involuntary forgetting are connected with inconvenience, irritation, and occasionally social embarrassment: We go upstairs to get something, and when we get there we can’t remember what it was, or even why we went up there in the first place; We can’t call to mind a scintillating fact at the moment we need it in conversation (or in a pub quiz when we can’t remember the capital of Paraguay); We bump into an acquaintance and find that we’ve completely forgotten their name. These are already pretty familiar everyday occurrences for me even at the age of 47.
Beneath the surface of these everyday irritations, though, these small moments of forgetfulness might provoke discomfort at a deeper level. For starters, these lapses remind us that we humans are fallible, that we’re not always on top of things in the way we might hope. And beyond that, we might associate forgetfulness with our own personal decline – memory loss is something that many of us fear coming upon us in old age – and it might bring to mind sad and painful thoughts of people we know and love who are suffering from dementia and other progressive conditions. That Billy Collins poem we just heard from Brian evokes the sense of memories slipping away over time.
Another reason why we might feel uneasy about forgetting is in relation to certain famous proverbs and sayings that we may have internalised which encapsulate society’s attitudes towards the value of remembering. I’m thinking especially of: ‘those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it’. When we think of terrible atrocities and tragedies, we are called both to honour the memory of the victims, and to learn from the mistakes so that it doesn’t happen again. And perhaps these days we might be concerned about forgetting in the sense of denial: choosing to block out certain things we know to be true about the world and its workings but can’t bear to keep in consciousness as the implications seem to be so terrible. In this sense there is a moral dimension to forgetting and I don’t want to downplay that at all.
This may lead us on to another aspect of forgetting, deeper still – our own mortality. One day, we will be gone, and eventually all those who knew us will be gone too. Will we be remembered? The thought of being gone and forgotten is a sobering one indeed.
So forgetting has a lot of negative connotations – and, in many cases, things will, by default, be forgotten unless we as individuals and as a society make a particular effort to remember them – in general it’s remembering we need to work on… but that doesn’t mean that forgetting has no positive value. As we heard from Oliver Burkeman in the reading Rachel gave earlier, forgetting is a ‘vital complement to remembering’. Perhaps it’s about keeping the two in proper balance.
I found a very short paper called ‘The Art of Forgetting’ by Elizabeth Vincent, it’s over 100 years old, and I know absolutely nothing about the author I’m afraid, but I liked what she had to say so I’m going to share a short excerpt. She says: ‘To remember rightly and truly – one has to forget. If we actually remembered everything, we should practically remember nothing, because we would be swamped and drowned in a mass of confusing details, and our rebuilding memory would stand hopeless before the task of uniting all these bits into a clear and convincing picture. But if we know how to forget, if we do not cling to facts like a frightened swimmer clings to the pole, but drive with a fine and strong stroke forward into the deep, blue alluring waters to a new and beckoning spiritual shore, then we shall see what we have forgotten coming back to us, clearer and purer, deeper and fuller with meaning, all the incidental details gone, but the essential picture heightened and more ours now than ever before.’ Words from Elizabeth Vincent.
This sets us up very nicely to look at the intellectual benefits of forgetting. First things first: to state the obvious, you simply can’t remember everything! (or at least most people can’t – there are a few poor souls who seem to be able to remember everything and by all accounts they are tormented by their condition). In the modern world there is ever more information and data coming our way and it is difficult to know how to deal with it without becoming overwhelmed. Often the challenge is to sift this deluge of information for the bits that are worth keeping hold of… there is a lot of ‘noise’ swamping the nuggets and selective forgetting is one way in which we respond. That selection is partly conscious, partly unconscious.
Some years ago I heard a story on the excellent podcast, Radiolab, which was in fact the initial inspiration for today’s service. The item was about an avant-garde rock band who had been rehearsing a new song. They spent a whole evening practicing it over and over but the drummer just couldn’t get the hang of the rhythm and kept making mistakes here and there. Eventually she gave up, they knocked it on the head for the night, and everybody went to bed. The next day she got up, went straight to the drum kit, and got the rhythm right first time. I think a few of us here might have had similar experiences where a good night’s sleep has had a seemingly miraculous effect when we are trying to learn something new. Forgetting may be a vital part of learning.
This is a very condensed version of the story and its interpretation but in a nutshell the explanation given was that a key function of sleep is that it enables us to forget. If I’ve understood correctly, slow waves of electrical activity pass over our brain during the night, gently eroding all of our memories, including the things we want to remember, the mistakes we want to forget, and all the incidental things that happened during the day that we have no particular need to recall. When we are trying to learn something, like the drummer learning her rhythm pattern, we tend to reinforce the memory by repetition, so the memory of the thing we are trying to learn survives this process of erosion, whereas the random mistakes we make and the incidental day’s events just fade away. That’s my best attempt at explaining the theory.
Another cognitive benefit of forgetting may be in relation to creativity. Holding ideas loosely, thinking fuzzily, may allow you to combine them in new ways. Gaps in our memories may be a blessing as they give us the room to come up with something new. The neurologist Oliver Sacks has written on this. He said: ‘We, as human beings, are landed with memory systems that have fallibilities, frailties, and imperfections – but also great flexibility and creativity…’ Oliver Saks also talks about the tendency to forget where we have picked up ideas, and to assimilate them and treat them as if they are our own, and also about what he calls ‘autoplagiarism’, where our own ideas are forgotten and lie dormant for years before being picked up at a later date as if they were brand new. He continues: ‘I suspect that such forgettings occur for everyone, and they may be especially common in those who write or paint or compose, for creativity may require such forgettings, in order that one’s memories and ideas can be born again and seen in new contexts and perspectives.’ Thoughts on forgetting and creativity from Oliver Sacks.
Let’s move on to another realm where forgetting is important. Sometimes there are things we’d really like to forget but we find that we can’t stop thinking about them. Are any of you familiar with the little figures on the front of your order of service? (for those of you at home the picture is on the website along with the rest of the service text). These little figures are known as Guatemalan worry dolls. I’ve never actually been to Guatemala but they were all the rage in the New Age hippy shops I used to hang around as a teenager. If you are troubled by worries then you tell them to a worry doll and place it under your pillow before you go to sleep. The folklore says that the doll takes on your worries, so that you can sleep in peace, and in the morning your worries are gone, forgotten. I guess it’s a pretty much universal experience to have such worries, thoughts, and feelings that we would like a bit of respite from. I know from my own experience that, in times of stress, anxiety, and sadness, all I want to do is have a break from the loop of distressing thoughts in my mind. Sometimes sleep is the only respite, and the first few seconds on waking up are often the only moments of peace in the day before all the unpleasant realities flood back in. And it’s not just the day-to-day worries. I don’t know about you but I seem to keep a mental catalogue of every significantly embarrassing or foolish thing I have ever done. These cringeworthy moments seem to be seared into my memory and I wish they weren’t.
As we heard in the reading by Burkeman earlier, choosing to forget has got a bad name, as there’s a good psychological principle that such memories should generally be brought to light (with professional help if they are particularly serious) and closely examined for what we can learn from them. And in terms of our day-today-worries and stress it might well be argued that rather than trying to forget them we should face them head on and try to tackle our situation in some practical way to change it. But sometimes we just need a break, a bit of guilt-free time out, to enable us to carry on. It’s worth employing some of the tips that Burkeman suggests to forget our worries for a while – substituting the thoughts with something else – or doing some physical activity to put them from our mind. It’s OK to forget about it all, just for a while, and have a rest, as a kindness to ourselves. And after a break – if it’s enabled us to turn down the volume on those intrusive thoughts – we might find we are more able to cope and re-engage with the struggle.
Elizabeth Vincent has something to say about this too. She says: ‘To be happy one has to forget. If we were constantly facing the futility of our days, the doom awaiting us, the mistakes we have made, the wrong paths we have taken, the aims we have missed, we could not live another day. But as long as we forget, the bitterness in our heart is charmed away as David charmed away the gloom of Saul with his lute, and once more we look upon life and fate with the trust of a child and believe that what is, is good… Once more we belong to life and life belongs to us. We forget, because we find only in forgetting the possibility to be, to live on.’
And we come to a third and final realm where forgetting plays a vital role: on the path of personal, social, and spiritual transformation. Mystics of various traditions often talk of the way of forgetting or unknowing as being a necessary aspect of the journey towards God. And advanced Buddhist meditators sometimes talk of forgetting worldly experiences and concepts altogether as they ascend to higher states of consciousness. But this sort of personal spiritual transformation cannot be divorced from the real world. True spirituality influences our whole way of living and being.
To make radical personal changes we might just need to forget who we used to be. That poem Brian read for us alluded to the river Lethe from Greek mythology, the river of forgetting in the underworld, in which souls would have to bathe, and thus forget their previous lives, in order to be reborn. Forgetting can liberate us from a past which holds us back. And the same goes for radical social change. The activists who change the world are those who are forgetful of received wisdom, social convention, the preconceptions that are quite ingrained into most of us, which condition our outlook on life, and which we may not even be conscious of. Forgetting may bring about a sort of beginner’s mind that allows us to see things with fresh eyes and new hope.
Evelyn Underhill, who wrote a great deal about mysticism, had this to say: ‘The old moralists said that Hope was the virtue which purified the Memory and made it fit for God; and by Memory they meant all our funded experience, that hoarded past which we drag along with us, and which conditions our whole outlook on life. In respect of all this, Hope teaches us the art of wise forgetting; of dropping the superfluous, the outgrown, the trivial. It cleanses the mind from all those half-realities which impede the total concentration of our love and will on God; and lifts up all the rest of our experience into the eternal light… Thus the pain and disappointment, the tragedy and frustration of existence, are transfigured when Hope purifies the mind.’ Some words in praise of wise forgetting from Evelyn Underhill.
Remembering is a hugely important aspect of everyday life, in many ways it is a sacred task, and an act of love as well. Sometimes it’s absolutely necessary to remember, and work at remembering. But sometimes it’s OK, or even a blessing, to forget. We need to keep the two in proper balance.
To borrow Evelyn Underhill’s turn of phrase, we need to cultivate the art of wise forgetting, in order to learn and create, be liberated from our worries, and ultimately flourish in this life. May we all become wise in the art of forgetting, and may it be so for the greater good of all. Amen.
Hymn: ‘For the Splendour of Creation’
Time for our last hymn, ‘For the Splendour of Creation’. Once again the words are on your hymn sheets and will be up on screen. Feel free to stand or sit as you feel moved. Let us sing.
For the splendour of creation that draws us to inquire,
for the mystery of knowledge to which our hearts aspire,
for the deep and subtle beauties which delight the eye and ear,
for the discipline of logic, the struggle to be clear,
for the unexplained remainder, the puzzling and the odd:
for the joy and pain of learning, we give you thanks, O God.
For the scholars past and present whose bounty we digest,
for the teachers who inspire us to summon forth our best,
for our rivals and companions, sometimes foolish, sometimes wise,
for the human web upholding this noble enterprise,
for the common life that binds us through days that soar or plod:
for this place and for these people, we give you thanks, O God.
Sharing of News, Announcements, Introductions:
Just a few announcements: Thanks to Ramona for tech-hosting today with Jeannene in support. Thanks to Rachel for co-hosting, also for reading, along with Brian. Thanks to Liz for greeting, and Sydney and Peter for playing for us today. For those of you who are here in-person, Brian will be serving coffee, tea and biscuits in the hall after the service, if you want to stay. For those of you who are on Zoom there will be virtual coffee hosted by Rachel so please do hang around for a chat.
We have various small group activities during the week for you to meet up. Coffee morning is online at 10.30am Wednesday. There are still spaces left for our Heart and Soul contemplative spiritual gatherings (online with me Sunday/Friday at 7pm) and this week’s theme is ‘Humility’.
Our service next Sunday will be back on Zoom when the service will be led by me and Patricia Brewerton on the theme of ‘Loving Disruption?’ (intentionally intriguing question mark there).
As I mentioned last week we’re in the process of setting up a WhatsApp group to help congregation members stay in contact, share things which we might find uplifting, and get a little window into each other’s lives. We’re calling this the ‘InTouch’ group – it’s not for discussing church business – just for a little bit of friendly sharing. If you were previously part of the ‘Nature Carries On’ group or the ‘Gratitude Group’ it’ll be along these lines. Thanks to those who have already been in touch – do contact me if you’d like to be included – I’ll set it up this week and we’ll see how it develops.
The congregation very much has a life beyond Sunday mornings; we encourage you to keep in touch, look out for each other, and do what you can to nurture supportive connections. All this information is also on the back of the order of service and the details were in the Friday email too.
I think that’s everything. Just time for our closing words and closing music now.
Benediction: based on words by Kathy A. Huff
Our time in this gathering may have ended,
but our connection to each other and this community remains.
Together may we walk the path of justice,
speak words of love, live the selfless deed,
tread gently upon the earth, and fill the world with compassion.
Until we meet again, go well, and blessed be. Amen. (blow out candle)
Closing Music: ‘Salut d’Amour’ – Elgar performed by Sydney and Peter
Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall
7th August 2022
