The World Knows How to Live – 23/10/22

October 22, 2022 · by kensin · in Uncategorized

Musical Prelude: played by Peter Crockford

Opening Words: ‘Ecology of the Spirit’ by Richard S. Gilbert (adapted)

We pause, this hour, for a time of holy quiet
To reflect on matters of the spirit:
As citizens of a nation;
As inhabitants of a planet;
As participants in a cosmos.

We are, ourselves, a universe.
We are a world.
We are an eco-system,
A complex system of thoughts and feelings,
A web of loves and hates,
A matrix of anxieties and aspirations.

In this quiet time we take account of our inner ecology –
How we feel about the state of our lives;
What we think about the life we lead.
We consider well our ways and how we may mend them.
How we may restore some kind of order to our turbulent lives.

In these moments of reflection we seek balance.
We try to harmonise our lives with the earth
And those whom we meet upon it.
We seek to conserve our inner resources for what lies ahead;
To be good stewards of who and what we are;
To be sensitive to what we need to have;
To be, to do, to give.

May we find our own internal universe in tune
With stars and suns and moons in their cosmic swirl.
May we live in harmony with the inner ecology of our being.

(pause)

Words of Welcome and Introduction:

These opening words by Richard S. Gilbert, 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 (with a special welcome to our friends who are joining us from the church in Brighton today). For anyone who doesn’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 glad you found us, thank you for coming to visit. Perhaps you might like to hang around for a chat after the service, drop us an email to say hello, or come to one of our small groups to get to know us better. I hope each and every one of you finds something of what you need here, something that will help you get through the day or the week. Whoever you are, however you are, wherever you are, know you are welcome with us, as you are.

Today’s service is titled ‘The World Knows How to Live’ – a title chosen by Patricia Brewerton who will offer her reflections later on – we’ll be exploring the earth’s natural powers of resilience and recovery and hopefully gleaning a little wisdom to help us endure and bounce back from life’s many challenges.

But before we go any further take a moment now to settle ourselves – wherever we may be – and to consecrate this time and space with our presence and intention. Breathe in. And as we breathe out let us release any nagging preoccupations or distractions we are carrying in our minds – anything that is stopping us from truly being here now – let’s see if we can set all that aside for an hour or so. You might want to take a moment to scan your body too; bring softness to any tense or tender spots. Maybe even scrunch up your shoulders or your fists and then let them go. Be here now.

Chalice Lighting: ‘Our Guiding Principles’ by Jane Blackall

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)

May the light of this chalice be a reminder of the
shared values and principles around which we gather:
upholding the inherent worth and dignity of every person;
cherishing all those diverse creatures and habitats
with whom we share this Earth, our home;
seeking human liberation and flourishing;
serving the common good of all.

May this little light, and all it represents, make a home in our hearts;
where it will ever guide us back to our highest aspirations,
and help us be responsive, creative, just, and loving,
in this complex and ever-changing world.

Hymn 14 (HFL): ‘The Beauty of the Earth’

Let’s sing together now. Our first hymn is ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’. It’s number 14 in the green hymn book and for those joining via Zoom they’ll be up on your screen to sing along at home. Please feel free to stand or sit, as you prefer, as we sing: ‘For the Beauty of the Earth’.

For the beauty of the earth,
For the splendour of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies:
Source of all, to thee we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
For the heart and mind’s delight,
For the mystic harmony
Linking sense to sound and sight:
Source of all, to thee we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale and tree and flower,
Sun and moon and stars of light:
Source of all, to thee we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human care,
Sister, brother, parent, child,
For the kinship we all share,
For all gentle thoughts and mild:
Source of all, to thee we raise
this, our hymn of grateful praise.

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. We’re asking people to keep their masks on for this candle lighting – please keep your masks on – if you use the hand-held microphone, get it really close to your mask, and SPEAK UP, people should be able to 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 Laura Horton-Ludwig

And let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer now. This prayer is based on some quite traditional, comforting, words by Laura Horton-Ludwig.

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)

Spirit of Life, spirit of earth, spirit of all that breathes and all that is: we love you.
We love this planet, our one and only home, and its people, and its diverse beings.
We love this interdependent web of all existence, of which we are a part.
We love it all and we want it all to be well and blessed and healthy.

But we are human, and as a people, our hearts are still small.
So often our love and our sincere desire for the well-being of all
is not yet enough to restrain our collective desire for more for ourselves—
more money, more things, more power, more control.
So often we act in the service of that desire for more
in ways that harm our fellow humans, and the countless
beings with whom we share this earth, despite our best intentions.
And so often, even when we would do otherwise, we feel powerless
in the face of it all. The problems are so big, the scale so enormous.
We might feel despondent. At this stage in human history, what can
one person or one small group really do to change things for the better?

But, today, let our prayer be for hope,
and commitment to stay in the struggle,
to do what is right as best we can, each day,
and to love you, spirit of earth and ocean, stars and rocks,
beings of every kind, not least our human neighbours—
to love this glorious whole and love ourselves too—
for we are you and you are us. We are one. (pause)

Let us take some time now, in this beloved community, each to pray our own particular prayers. In a few moments of shared silence and stillness, let us call to mind those people and situations who are on our hearts this morning, and let us hold them gently in loving-kindness. (pause)

And let us hold ourselves in loving-kindness too. Each of us carries our own private burdens.
So let us rest in self-compassion now as we ask silently for what we need this day. (pause)

And let us take a little while to reflect on the week just gone in a spirit of gratitude; let us notice and give thanks for those blessings, large or small, that have helped to lift our spirits. (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 9 (HFL): ‘So Simple is the Human Heart’

Let’s sing together now. Our next hymn is ‘So Simple is the Human Heart’. This is one we hardly ever sing so I’m going to ask Peter to play it through once in full before we sing. It’s a lovely tune. For those of you present at the church in-person it’s number 9 in the green hymn book and for those joining via Zoom they’ll be up on your screen to sing along at home. Please feel free to stand or sit, as you prefer, as we sing: ‘So Simple is the Human Heart’.

A little sun, a little rain,
A soft wind blowing from the west –
And woods and fields are sweet again,
And warmth within the mountain’s breast.
So simple is the earth we tread,
So quick with love and life her frame,
Ten thousand years have dawned and fled,
And still her magic is the same.

A little love, a little trust,
A soft impulse, a sudden dream,
And life as dry as desert dust
Is fresher than a mountain stream.
So simple is the human heart,
So ready for new hope and joy;
Ten thousand years have played their part,
But left it young as girl or boy.

In-Person Reading: ‘The Stubborn Gifts of Breath and Life’ by Maureen Killoran (adapted)

The poet Adam Zagajewski says: “You must praise the mutilated world….”

It felt like being on the moon, walking on Mount St. Helens. Just a few years previous, that mountain had blown her top, destroying human and animal life, flattening vegetation and buildings for miles, and sharing its ash with the world. As we stepped from our car, we felt that ash drift like talcum around our ankles, rise in the air, enter with our breath. Other than occasional blackened memories of trees, all was grey, grey as far you could see.

Silence seized us for the longest time as we stood there, two irrelevant humans and this huge, mutilated world. Only gradually did our eyes slow and our hearts focus. Only gradually did we begin to see what was really before us.

How had we overlooked the fireweed, that perennial volunteer, its brilliant buds proclaiming, “Hey, world, we’re back!”

What blocked us from celebrating the eager insect conversations around us? It was right there before us, and we nearly walked away. Overwhelmed by the devastation, we almost missed the tiny pond, its surface literally dancing with more tadpoles than I had ever seen.

We do this, you see – we ensnare ourselves with the magnitude of what the poet called ‘the mutilated world’. We get busy, and troubled, and frightened, and then, incongruously, a reason to be glad and grateful breaks through.

I need to remind myself to be thankful for intermittent beauty and the stubborn gifts of breath and life. I — maybe you too? — need a practice of thanksgiving, even if just quietly to say, “praise be.”

God of hope and healing, grant us courage to recognize life’s blessings, as we struggle to heal the wounds that shape our days. May we give thanks always, believing that, even in the world’s bleakest moments, the dance of life is always underway.

Words for Meditation: ‘Hurricane’ by Mary Oliver

Thanks, Brian. We’ve come now to a time of meditation. For the second week in a row our words for meditation will be from Mary Oliver. Her poem, ‘Hurricane’, speaks to today’s theme, and perhaps as we ponder on it we might consider how we humans might find hope in the resilience of the natural world. These words will take us into a few minutes of shared silence which will end with the sound of a bell. And then we’ll hear some relaxing music, a well-loved tune, from 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 – maybe 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.

‘Hurricane’ by Mary Oliver

It didn’t behave
like anything you had
ever imagined. The wind
tore at the trees, the rain
fell for days slant and hard.
The back of the hand
to everything. I watched
the trees bow and their leaves fall
and crawl back into the earth.
As though, that was that.
This was one hurricane
I lived through, the other one
was of a different sort, and
lasted longer. Then
I felt my own leaves giving up and
falling. The back of the hand to
everything. But listen now to what happened
to the actual trees;
toward the end of that summer they
pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.
It was the wrong season, yes,
but they couldn’t stop. They
looked like telephone poles and didn’t
care. And after the leaves came
blossoms. For some things
there are no wrong seasons.
Which is what I dream of for me.

Period of Silence and Stillness (~3 minutes) – end with a bell

Musical Interlude: ‘What a Wonderful World’ played by Peter Crockford

Address: ‘The World Knows How to Live’ by Patricia Brewerton

I don’t know how many of you have read Where the Crawdads Sing? It is the first novel by wildlife scientist, Delia Owens, and a film of the novel was released this summer. I chose it as a holiday read and it is certainly engaging. I suppose you could call It a whodunnit with a bit of romance thrown but what I love about the book is its setting in the marshlands of North Carolina. It seemed to correspond beautifully with our holiday location on L’Ile de Re on the French Atlantic coast. Although the island is mocked as Paris by the Sea and is, indeed, very busy during July and August, there are still many places which remain untouched and where you can feel at one with nature – much like the marshlands where Marsh Girl, Kya, hides out in her shack.

Alongside this novel I was reading a book by Scottish journalist, Cal Flynn, called Islands of Abandonment. This acted as a rather ghastly contrast to the simple, untouched beauty I was allowing myself to revel in. Flynn writes about places which humankind has abandoned because of the damage done to them; where polluting industries once flourished, places where wars are never really over and where accidents which could have been prevented happened. One terrifying example is an area of Staten Island in New York where the remains of an industry producing dioxin pollute the soil and will probably continue to do so for ever.

My island haven supports four industries besides tourism. Each one dependent on the weather and none of them seem to me to be massively polluting. I expect the famous pommes de terre de ile de re and the rather less famous wines do require some chemical intervention, fertilisers and weed suppressants, but the oysters surely just grow where they are seeded. And my favourite, the salt industry is utterly dependent on the environment. Those who work in this industry coax the salt from the water by encouraging it to flow from one basin into a shallower basin until it evaporates leaving the salt behind. In the warm afternoon sun the shining white grains of the precious fleur de sel appear and are skimmed off into small piles all around the salt marsh. A shower of rain and the harvest is lost. Those who work in this industry use tools little changed since its inception in the twelve century. As I watch their silent working I can see nothing here that would pollute the land.

But I go back to Cal Flynn – a glutton for punishment perhaps. There I find the story of Salton Sea which was not really a sea at all but the result of a devastating flood in 1905 which created this impossible sea in the middle of a desert. The arrival of such a large amount of water in a place known as The Valley of the Dead was not entirely unwelcome and by the 1950s the area had a booming tourist industry with yacht clubs, skiing and sports fishing once the sea was suitably stocked. But all this didn’t last as the sea boiled away under the desert sun leaving behind waters more saline than the ocean and killing off all the fish and the birds that had been attracted by the quiet waters under a cloudless sky. The same process which produces the salt on my island but here doing terrible damage.

One lovely idea in my holiday novel is how the Marsh Girl, Kya, is wooed by a young man who leaves bird feathers for her to find. As the novelist is a wildlife scientist I assume it actually is possible to identify the eyebrow feather of a heron. I find it hard to even identity all the birds on my island paradise. Gulls, swans, egrets, the squabbling terns and the scampering sanderlings I can recognise but there are many others which I cannot name but enjoy nonetheless. Cal Flynn writes about birds in a more alarming way. She decided to spend the night on an island off the Scottish coast which has been abandoned since 1974. When the last people departed they made sure that the door to the barn was open so that cows could get out. Maybe they thought they would return. I can’t help but admire Flynn’s dedication as she spends a terrifying night alone on the island in order to observe how the cattle have fared without anyone to care for them. But what I found really upsetting is how she is attacked by the birds who obviously find a human presence threatening.

As my holiday drew to a close I continued to enjoy watching the vines grow heavy with grapes, admire the beautiful oyster shells each one different from its neighbour and rejoice at the sight of those glistening white piles of salt, the result of work done with respect for our earth. I was grateful also for the gifts nature herself offers – the wild flowers, the bright red berries beginning to show and the variety of birdlife everywhere. As I sat safely on a rock at the edge of the beach watching huge waves crashing on the shore, sending sprays of sparkling droplets into the air before whooshing back ready to surge again I was filled with awe and wonder and the sense of something, call it God or Gaia or whatever, but something beyond my little life. And as I sat in wonder I remembered that in 2010 people died when the sea invaded the island. Nature is powerful and has a will of its own.

This summer the heat and drought left our lawns and parks looking dry as dust but a few showers of rain and they are fresh and green again without us needing to do a thing. On her visit to Estonia, Flynn saw how nature can restore itself when left to itself. During the Soviet era farmers had been forced to give their land up for a project of collective farming aimed at boosting production and freeing the peasant class from servitude. In 1991 when the Soviet Union disintegrated the Estonian government subdivided the land once more but found it hard to persuade the original farmers to return and the land was abandoned. First the wildflowers returned, then thorn bushes and now there are the ragged saplings of a wide variety of trees and in a few years it is believed the abandoned fields will take their final form as a forest. An analysis of satellite images carried out in 2015 estimated that there has been about 10 million hectares of forest regrowth in Eastern Europe and European Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union. Flynn says that what this regrowth offers us, not a pardon, but a reprieve from our fossil-burning sins. It is not too late to change our ways. Besides all the devastation she has witnessed she has learned that the world knows how to live. In every situation which I have described she has found life being restored. By the way, the abandoned cattle have continued to live and breed without any farmer to care for them. At some point perhaps we must just let go and give the Earth a chance to respond to the damage we have done in the ways only it knows how. The world knows how to live, it has a great capacity for repair and recovery, if we can only learn to let it do so.

Hymn (on sheet): ‘Blue Boat Home’

Thanks Patricia. Time for our last hymn, and it’s an old favourite, ‘Blue Boat Home’. It’s on your hymn sheet and the words will also be up on screen. Feel free to stand or sit as you feel moved. Let us sing.

Though below me, I feel no motion
Standing on these mountains and plains,
Far away from the rolling ocean
Still my dry land heart can say:
I’ve been sailing all my life now,
Never harbour or port have I known.
The wide universe is the ocean I travel
And the earth is my blue boat home.

Sun, my sail, and moon my rudder
As I ply the starry sea,
Leaning over the edge in wonder,
Casting questions into the deep.
Drifting here with my ship’s companions,
All we kindred pilgrim souls,
Making our way by the lights of the heavens
In our beautiful blue boat home.

I give thanks to the waves upholding me,
Hail the great winds urging me on,
Greet the infinite sea before me,
Sing the sky my sailor’s song:
I was born upon the fathoms,
Never harbour or port have I known.
The wide universe is the ocean I travel,
And the earth is my blue boat home.

Sharing of News, Announcements, Introductions

A few announcements: Thanks to Patricia for suggesting today’s theme and offering her thoughtful reflections on it. Thanks Ramona for tech-hosting and Jeannene for co-hosting, to Brian for reading, Peter for playing for us. For those of you who are at church in-person, Liz will be serving coffee, tea and biscuits in the hall after the service, if you want to stay for refreshments – thanks again Liz – and thanks to Marianne for greeting. We are still looking for more people to help out with coffee and greeting so please speak to Liz or Marianne if you can volunteer for that. For those of you who are on Zoom today there will be virtual coffee time afterwards so 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 gatherings (online Sunday/Friday at 7pm) and this week’s theme is ‘Ageing’. Our service next Sunday will be hybrid once again and it’ll be our special All Souls service where we will be honouring those people we love who have died. You are invited to bring along a photo or memento to hold up (or hold on to) as you name your loved ones in our All Souls ritual. Details of these and all our other events are on the back of the order of service and in the Friday email. Save the dates for the next GreenSpirit gathering for Samhain on Tuesday 1st November and the poetry group on the 2nd November.

Our own Heidi Ferid and and Roy Clark are about to have an exhibition of their paintings and photography – on a theme that is very pertinent to today’s service – it’s called ‘Terrain: A Testimony to Nature in a Time of Change’ and it’s at the Peggy Jay Gallery in Hampstead with a private view on the 8th November from 6pm. You’re all very welcome to that. Details were in Friday’s email.

Looking further ahead – next month we’re planning to have a congregational service on the theme of ‘Simple Pleasures’ – that’ll be on the 20th November – if you might like to offer a short reflection on something that gives you enjoyment or a little uplift in daily life please do get in touch – we’ll have some slots for people to speak in person at the church, some live via zoom, and some short pre-recorded ‘show-and-tell’ videos where you can share the things that you enjoy with us all.

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.

I think that’s everything. Just time for our closing words and closing music now.

Benediction: based on words by Tim Haley

We walk this earth but a brief moment in time.

Amid our suffering and struggles, let us remember how to celebrate life.
Let us continue to grow in our capacity to love ourselves and each other.
And let us do our bit to co-create a just and peaceful world community,
and a flourishing planet, as custodians for the generations yet to come.

As we depart, may we go our separate ways with a renewed spirit of hope,
and purpose, and with the wisdom we need to greet the week ahead. Amen.

Closing Music: performed by Peter Crockford

Jane Blackall and Patricia Brewerton

23rd October 2022