Easter Everywhere – 9/4/23

Musical Prelude: ‘O Saviour of the World’ – Arthur Somervell by our Quartet and Peter Crockford

Opening Words: ‘The Old, Old Story’ by Ian W. Riddell (adapted)

We gather today in the presence of the old, old story
of death and despair defeated by emptiness,
of hope and newness triumphant over fear and separation.

We come, hearts heavy with pain and anxiety,
spirits flattened by exhaustion and neglect,
vision darkened by strife and injustice.

We come seeking connection and love in this place of community.
May the old, old Easter story of hope and rebirth, of overcoming the worst,
lighten our hearts this morning, and make us glad in the presence of each other’s love.

May our spirits be uplifted as we join in worship today. (pause)

Words of Welcome and Introduction:

These opening words, by Ian Riddell, welcome all who have gathered this morning for our Easter Sunday service. Welcome to those of you who have gathered in-person at Essex Church and also to all who are joining us via Zoom from far and wide. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Jane Blackall, and I’m ministry coordinator with Kensington Unitarians.

In this morning’s service we’ll be reflecting on the old, old story and asking what wisdom, or challenge, or comfort, we might find in the Easter story today. Some Unitarians have an uneasy relationship with the Easter story, and find themselves wrestling with it as a historical happening, and struggling to accept, or make sense of, accounts of the resurrection. This morning I’m going to invite you engage with the universal truths that can be found in the story – things that may or may not have happened once-upon-a-time as written – but which happen over and over again in the lives of people suffering and struggling down the ages, the world over. That’s why I picked the title ‘Easter Everywhere’.

Let’s take a moment to get ourselves settled before we go any further. Let’s ground ourselves in this space, and in this beloved community, which we make sacred with our presence and intention. You might like to take a conscious breath or two, and breathe out with a big sigh… maybe scrunch up your shoulders and shake out your arms… see if we can let go of any heaviness we brought in with us and mentally set aside anything we don’t need to ruminate about for the next hour or so. Be here now.

Chalice Lighting: ‘For Easter’ by Alex Holt (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 all those who celebrate the resurrection of Jesus,
may this day be another affirmation of divine love and promise;

For all those who see the eternal story
of returning spring and life beginning anew,
may you breathe deeply of a season of promise and hope.

For all who are enduring despair or hopelessness this Easter,
may you find in this time of suffering and darkness
a doorway to light and warmth that offers you freedom.

For all of us: we can do what no one person can do in isolation;
rolling the heavy stone aside reminds us we are far stronger
together in community than we ever could be on our own.

Hymn (on sheet): ‘Life’s Rebirth’

Let’s sing together now. Our first hymn is in the centre of your hymn sheet if you’re in church – you’ve got a lot of bits of paper today – for those joining via Zoom the words will be up on your screen to sing along at home. Feel free to stand or sit as you prefer as we sing: ‘Life’s Rebirth’.

A day like many other days
Has seen us gather here to sing
And offer words which reach for thoughts
That lie beyond their capturing;
Yet may those prayers our lives renew:
From rocks of thought a vision hew.

We tell from land to land our tales
Where powers of hope shape life from death,
In differing words that share a dream –
With glorying shout, or whispered breath;
To caves of cold, dark unconcern
We bring our lights of love to burn.

Such warmth can melt a winter’s cold
In human hearts, as flower and field,
And push aside the blocking stone
With which so many a heart is sealed;
May I be never shut inside
The tomb of selfishness and pride.

This day, like many other days,
May see us roll the stone to find
A kindred soul who thirsts for light
Yet to the darkness was resigned;
So may we stretch our hands to lead
To life’s rebirth all those we’ve freed.

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.

If you want to come up and share a joy or a concern we ask you to go to the free standing microphone. If you want to take your mask off to do this you now can, though you don’t have to, and I’ll take care of the actual lighting of the candle for you over here. Please do still get up close to the microphone as that will help everyone hear (including the people at home). You can take the microphone out of the stand if it’s not at a good height for you – it’s still going to be important to speak up – and have the microphone pointing right at your mouth. Thank you.

(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 Paul S Sawyer

And let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer now. These words are based on a simple Easter Prayer by Paul S. Sawyer. 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)

We gather today in humility,
Awed by the stone rolled back;
And the surprise of the empty tomb.

We gather in defiance
Of the pain and the injustice that came before;
And of the pain and injustice that will likely come again, to all of us.

We gather in hope
That life can begin anew;
That our differences can be bridged
That the beloved community can arise at last.

We gather in faith,
That the light shines in the darkness,
And the darkness does not overcome it.

We gather in wonder
Of the beauty we can see;
And of the mystery of all we can never know.

Here with our gathered companions,
in the warm glow of our spiritual home:

We pray for faith and strength
To stand for what is good;
To do what we must
To live lives of integrity and peace.

We pray in gratitude and joy
For this community;
For the beauty of this day;
For the hope and love promised
In this ancient story,
In the stone rolled away. (pause)

In a few moments of shared stillness now, 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 moment 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 (on sheet): ‘We Cannot Speculate, Or Glance’

Let’s sing together once again. This next hymn is new-to-me, and it’s on the other side of your hymn sheet, and it’ll be up on screen in a few moments, it’s got an unusual title: ‘We Cannot Speculate, Or Glance’. The hymn was shared on the UK Unitarians Facebook group in the week, and the words really spoke to me, so I thought we could give it a go. The hymn speaks of how we might relate to the Easter narrative, nowadays, and considers what insight we might take from this strange old story to help us live our lives. Once again feel free to stand or sit as you prefer to sing (though I think we’d better hear Peter play the tune right through once before we sing).

We cannot speculate, or glance
into the well of history.
Nor can we look beyond this time
with any sense of certainty.
We only have our faith and hope,
to make us stand, to help us cope.

Great God we grasp at straws of faith,
of things we hope will point to you.
We read the ancient texts and scan
those distant myths to make them new.
And all the time we live between
these metaphors and what is seen.

The past is gone, we cannot hear
more than an echo down the age.
And what is still to come we fear;
we see each other’s pent up rage.
Yet what we need is close at hand,
your present love in every land.

True resurrection brings to bear
the things that heal, create, unite.
Love launches its triumphant praise
and builds on joy and will delight.
The former things are passed away,
dead night transformed to brightest day.

Introducing Video Reading: ‘The Story of Jesus and the Story of Our Lives’ by Erik Walker Wikstrom

It seems right and proper, on Easter Sunday, that we should hear the Easter story once again. I suppose it’s a familiar story to most of us – even if we don’t remember all the details – but sometimes those old familiar stories can lose their impact through their very familiarity. So this year we’re going to hear a different rendition. The very excellent Unitarian Universalist minister Erik Walker Wikstrom has written this piece titled ‘The Story of Jesus and the Story of Our Lives’ which puts the Easter story in context – Easter in the context of Jesus’ whole life and ministry – and Easter as an archetypal, metaphorical, story that is lived over again and again in all human lives. I asked nine members of our congregation to help tell the story to underline that it’s the story of us all.

Video Reading: ‘The Story of Jesus…’ retold by Erik Walker Wikstrom

(Maria) There once was a little boy, born to poor parents from an oppressed people, in a tiny backwater village from which no one thought any good could come. Not much is known about his early years except that he was sharp of mind and large of heart and “increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.” It seems likely that he took seriously the religion of his people—so seriously that it set him apart, from his earliest days.

(John) As a young man he began to preach and teach and heal. He taught that all people are God’s children and that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do—God loves you anyway and will embrace you with joy if you’ll only turn toward that Love. It is said that this boy—known in his day as Yeshua—was so filled with this Love that when he spoke it was as if God were speaking and when you looked on him it was as if you were looking at God face-to-face.

(Carolyn) Crowds began to gather around him, crowds mostly of the poor, the disconsolate, the outcast—those whom others deemed unworthy. A community grew, a community with a welcome more wide and more deep than any anyone had known before. Even some of the scholars, and the priests, and the well-to-do found a home with the itinerant band that followed this wandering preacher and healer.

(Sara Helen) “When[ever] the crowds learned [where he was], they followed him; and he welcomed them and spoke to them of the kingdom of God, and cured those who had need of healing.” He taught that God’s kingdom was not some far off dream to be yearned for but something real within and around each of us, that it was something to be worked for. He taught that each of us, with faith, could “move mountains” and that “if you bring forth what is within you, what is within you will save you.” He taught that love of God and love of neighbour are inextricably intertwined and that pious words alone are worth nothing.

(David) None of these teachings were well received by the authorities, of course—neither the religious authorities nor the authorities of the state who heard in his description of the “kingdom of God” a decidedly negative comparison with the kingdom of Caesar. Such radical egalitarianism was a threat to the status quo, and the growing crowds were worrisome, too. And so Jesus was arrested, tried, and sentenced to die.

(Antony) On Friday evening he was taken out, publicly humiliated and brutally flogged, and brought outside the city walls to be nailed to a cross. The crowds who had so recently invoked hymns now hurled invectives. His closest companions abandoned him and hid in fear. Yet even in the face of all this he refused to return evil for evil—offering only love, as he had all his life—praying to God from the cross for forgiveness on behalf of those who did these things.

(Sonya) In time, and in agony, Jesus died. His disciples removed his body from the cross and placed it in a stone tomb, but as the Sabbath was beginning they could not properly prepare the body for burial. A stone was rolled in front of the entrance, and this man in whom so many had seen God was gone. The “light of the world” was snuffed out, and those who knew him were bereft.

(pause)

(Patricia) On the third day the women of Jesus’ community went to the tomb to wash and care for the body. To their astonishment they found the stone rolled away and the tomb empty. Beside themselves, they asked everyone they met: “Where have they taken him?” A man they supposed to be a gardener said, “The one you are looking for is not here,” but that was hardly helpful. And yet, finding no answer from others they found one in themselves—Jesus’ death on the cross was not the end of the Love-filled life they had known. Jesus of Nazareth, Yeshua ben Miriam, was still alive, and they ran to tell the others.

(Chloë) The companions, still frightened and despondent, were locked together in an upper room. They would not believe the women’s story, would not believe that all was not lost. Yet even though the doors were locked—and, perhaps, their hearts as well—the spirit of their teacher came, assuring them that death is not the end of life. And this is what we celebrate today: that life is stronger than death and that love is stronger than anything!

Reading: ‘… and the Story of Our Lives’ retold by Erik Walker Wikstrom

Thanks all. That was the story of Easter, in the context of the story of Jesus’ whole life and ministry, as re-told by Unitarian Universalist Erik Walker Wikstrom – and he goes on to link that ancient and eternal story to the story of our own lives in the here and now – this is what he has to say about that:

This story has been told in so many ways: the story of the seasonal cycle from springtime through autumn to winter: it’s the story of Persephone’s descent into the underworld; it’s the Phoenix dying in a blaze of fire; and it’s Jesus on the cross and in the tomb.

Of course, these mythological stories exist not just to explain how the world works out there, but how it works in here. So these are also the stories of you and me. You and me when our relationships falter, or fail. You and me when worries about making ends meet keep us up at night. You and me when depression clouds our souls. You and me when concern for the world leaves us immobilized. You and me when one we love dies. You and me as we face our own mortality.

These stories of the coming of winter—these stories of death and despair—are not just stories from some far away people in some far away time. They are our stories. And while we may want to rush from cross to resurrection, from the first flurry to the first crocus, it is important that we spend some time here, for each of us has a “tomb of the soul” in which “we carry secret yearnings, pains, frustrations, loneliness, fears, regrets, [and] worries.” To gloss over them, to ignore this place and this season, is not to rid ourselves of it but rather to ensure that we come back here again and again and again, like an injury left untreated that flares up each time worse than the last.

Douglas John Hall has written, “It is the propensity of religion to avoid, precisely, suffering: to have light without darkness, vision without trust and risk, hope without an ongoing dialog with despair—in short, Easter without Good Friday.” If we are to honour life—not just the wonder of it but the whole of it, not just its triumph but its truth—then we must learn to honour both winter and the tomb.

But there is a promise here. And the promise is written not just in books, but in every springtime leaf, and closer still than that. The question is not whether we believe in resurrection but whether we have known it —known it in our own lived experience, seen it in the lives of others, felt it in the world around us. Persephone returns to the world of light; the Phoenix is born anew from its own ashes; Jesus leaves behind the tomb. Snow and ice melts, giving way to new life, despite everything.

The promise of our Unitarian faith is the promise of the seasons and these stories—winter is not perpetual, the wheel will keep on turning, the tomb is not the end. We affirm the promise of rebirth, of resurrection; of life’s ultimate victory over death; of hope’s triumph over hopelessness—not just as some abstract concept but as the miraculous reality of our lives. This is what we celebrate today!

Meditation: ‘Finding Ourselves in the Story’

So let’s take those thoughts into our time of meditation now, a few minutes of shared silence, which will end with the sound of a bell. And then we’ll hear some beautiful meditative music, ‘God Be In My Head’, from our quartet. So let’s each do what we need to do to get settled and 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 of quietness to meditate in your own way.

The invitation, as we move into this time of silence, is to pay attention to any resonances that emerge between the Easter story and your own personal life story. As Wikstrom says, “these mythological stories exist not just to explain how the world works out there, but how it works in here. So these are also the stories of you and me.” Every human knows suffering. Perhaps you feel you have been unjustly persecuted; perhaps you feel have been betrayed; perhaps you feel you have gone through – or are still going through – a time of unbearable torment; perhaps you have suffered a devastating event – or witnessed one – in the past, and have somehow picked yourself up to carry on, and you’ve made a new life out of the ruins of what went before. The Easter story is ultimately one of hope – a reminder that life and love can overcome – somehow.

So in our shared silence I invite you to listen for how that hopeful Easter spirit speaks to you.

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

Musical Interlude: ‘God Be In My Head’ – Walford Davies by our Quartet and Peter Crockford

In-Person Reading: ‘Let the Alleluias Rise Up’ by Ellen Cooper (adapted) (read by Julia)

Every year, we face the same conundrum: How do we find our way into Easter when, for us, the most important part about Jesus of Nazareth is his teachings, rather than his death? Like many traditions, it must have some meaning to us beyond its commercial trappings. But what is that meaning, exactly? What are we to make of the death of one Jewish teacher two millennia ago in a world where we hear daily of violence, death and injustice?

When I first left my Christian upbringing, the first thing I wholeheartedly threw out the window was the cross. I kept the bunny, the eggs, the chocolate, of course, but the whole death and resurrection thing was right out. Many years later, I reluctantly let little bits of it back in, particularly around resurrection and rebirth. It was an easy metaphor to embrace for a holiday that ushers in Springtime. But it is only in very recent years that the whole story has again found a place in my spirituality — and Easter now takes on a deeper meaning than it ever did when I was a child.

My young daughter once told me, solemnly: “No Alleluias until Easter. Shhhh. The alleluias are sleeping.” She pointed to the small raised garden bed being warmed by the spring sun, where I could see the sprouts of trumpet lilies pushing up through the soft dirt. She summed it up: “Before Easter, no alleluias. After Easter…alleluias again.” Of course. Perhaps the simplest, most elegant explanation of Easter I have ever heard, without all of the complicated and problematic atonement theology, without the missing bodies, so hard-to-comprehend, or miraculous visitations from the dead.

This is Easter stripped down to its most central, heart-of-hearts message. We have alleluias in our lives – moments of triumph and wonder, of insight and rebirth – and these are moments of transformation, when our way of being in the world is fundamentally changed. Strengthened. Deepened. When we feel more whole; more connected. The exuberant and joyful Alleluia is a good way to think of these moments. But it’s essential to remember, as my Christian colleagues are fond of saying, you can’t get to Easter without Good Friday.

The story of the resurrection cannot go forward without a death. Sometimes, the most profound transformations are the ones that emerge out of the deaths that we face in our lives. It may be a literal death, the hole left in your life when a beloved has gone, and you feel unmade by the loss. It may be any one of a thousand lesser losses – the kind that all of us face – the loss of a job or a friendship; the death of a marriage or partnership; a change in physical or mental ability; even the death of a long-held dream. These places of grief are barren places in our lives, God-forsaken places, that teach us sorrow and suffering and lamentation.

…But feeling forsaken is not the same as being forsaken. The story of Easter tells us that death doesn’t win… Love wins. Like the saplings that sprout among the ruins of a forest fire, like the phoenix who is born from its own ashes, like the crocus that pokes through the snow each spring, like the banana tree… which dies, but lives on in its children – hope rises. Hope rises up even in the face of death. And even in our wilderness times, we are never completely lost.

Responsive Reading: ‘We Don’t Know What Happened’ by Daniel Budd (adapted)

Thanks Julia. I invite you to join in with this responsive reading. For those present in church the reading is on a little sheet in your OOS (please note that it goes on to a second side) and the words will also be up on screen for you to join in at home too. Please do join in with the words in italic.

We’re not sure what happened. But we know what it’s like,
when someone appears in our life whose message we feel offers
hope, whose way of being inspires us with new ways of living.

We know what it’s like when they fall short of our expectations,
or worse, when they are cut down and cast aside
by the forces of hate, bigotry, and closed-mindedness.

We’re not sure what happened. But, we know what it’s like
when someone has grown profoundly into our own lives,
who seems as much a part of our living as our own breathing.

We know what it’s like when they are taken from us, perhaps
prematurely, by unwanted change, or by death, and the
empty place now in our souls is much like an empty tomb.

We’re not sure what happened. But, we know what it’s like
to feel sorrow and loss, despair and grief. We know the waves
of tears and the thoughts of the past which flow through us.

We know that memories and stories begin to fill the emptiness;
we integrate their gifts to us, and our lives are shored up with
a different presence, which will live with us all our lives.

We’re not sure what happened. But, we know what it’s like to
realize, to have it dawn upon us, that what we have known and
loved lives on with us and within us, forever, a part of who we are.

We know that somehow, in our hearts and souls, resurrection is
real; not that of the body, perhaps, but of the spirit — a spirit
renewed, even reborn, in the midst of our lives and our living.

We’re not sure what happened. But, we know there is a
difficult hope, a faith, that through whatever sorrow or grief
we are feeling, there is also a growing sense of grace
and gratitude, of joy and thanksgiving, in the mysterious
and abiding astonishment of being fully human.

In this wonder, may we find strength,
within our own sense of Easter. Amen.

Hymn 44 (purple): ‘Give Thanks For Life’

Time for our last hymn, an uplifting one to end with, it’s number 44 in your hymn books, and the words will also be up on screen as usual, ‘Give Thanks for Life’. Feel free to sit our stand as you prefer.

Give thanks for life,
the measure of our days,
mortal, we pass through
beauty that decays,
yet sing to God
our hope, our love, our praise:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for those
whose lives shone with a light
caught from the Christ-flame,
gleaming through the night,
who touched the truth,
who burned for what is right:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for all,
our living and our dead,
thanks for the love
by which our life is fed,
a love not changed
by time or death or dread:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Give thanks for hope
that like a seed of grain
lying in darkness,
does its life retain
to rise in glory,
growing green again:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Sharing of News, Announcements, Introductions

Thanks to Lucy, Margaret, Benjie, Harold and Peter for lovely music. Thanks to Julia for reading and to all those who contributed to the recording of ‘The Story of Jesus and the Story of Our Lives’. Thanks to Ramona for tech-hosting and Charlotte for co-hosting at home. For those of you who are here in-person, Patricia will be serving coffee, tea and biscuits in the hall after the service (plus chocolate beer cake), if you want to stay for refreshments – thanks Patricia and thanks to Julia for greeting today. There will be virtual coffee on Zoom too with Charlotte so do hang around for a chat.

We have various small group activities for you to meet up during the week. There are still spaces left for our Heart and Soul contemplative spiritual gatherings (online Sunday/Friday at 7pm) and this week’s theme is ‘Enchantment’. Coffee morning is going to take break for a bit – none of our regular hosts are available this week – and we’re going to have an outing to Mudchute Farm the week after – that’s on 19th April. Let me know if you’d like to come along on that gentle walk-and-talk. If you might be interested in walks or cultural outings at other times of the week let me know and I’ll put you in touch with others so you can get together and organise things at a time that suit you. Sarah Tinker will be leading our hybrid service next week on the subject of Unitarians and Prison Reform.

And I also want to put in a little plug for Hucklow Summer School – there’s a flyer in the order of service – and a link in the Friday email as well. This is a residential week in the Peak District in August where you can get to know 50-60 Unitarians and delve deeply into this year’s subject of ‘Real Life: Telling the Truth of Our Lived Experience’ through engagement groups and talks. Details of all our various activities are on the back of the order of service and in the Friday email.

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 Peggy Clarke

Easter is a festival of miracles:
It is life from death,
Joy from sorrow,
Celebration from mourning.

Easter reminds us that all is never lost;
That the story continues as long as we are here to tell it.

So gather up your worries,
and sink them in the soil;
bury them beneath the ground
and watch them transform into flowers of hope,
pushing through the earth, to bloom freely once again.

And, this Easter morning, let us remember that
Love brings us back to life, calls us from sadness,
from bitterness, from anxiety, from grief,
Into a world renewed, and alive, and filled with joy
Once again.

May it be so, for the greater good of all. Amen.

Closing Music: ‘This Joyful Eastertide’ arr. by Wood by our Quartet and Peter Crockford

Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

Sunday 9th April 2023