Wild Things – 3/3/24

Musical Prelude: Icy steh mit einem Fuß im Grabe – J.S Bach (played by Holly Redshaw and George Ireland)

Opening Words: ‘It is Good to be Together’ by Rev. Linda Hart (adapted)

We enter into this time and this space
to join our hearts and minds together.

What is it that we come here seeking?
Many things, too many to mention them all.

Yet, it is likely that some common longings draw us to be with one another:
To remember what is most important in life.
To be challenged to live more truly, more deeply,
to live with integrity and kindness and with hope and love,
To feel the company of those who seek a common path,
To be renewed in our faith in the promise of this life,
To be strengthened and to find the courage to continue to do
what we must do, day after day, world without end.

Even if your longings are different than these, you are welcome here.
You are welcome in your grief and your joy
to be within this circle of companions.

We gather here. It is good to be together. (pause)

Words of Welcome and Introduction:

These opening words by my old chum Linda Hart welcome all who have gathered this morning, for our 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 Minister with Kensington Unitarians.

This morning’s service has the theme ‘Wild Things’ – chosen to coincide with World Wildlife Day – the mention of ‘World Wildlife’ might have you thinking about lions, tigers, pandas and giraffes, but I’m going to steer us towards thinking about those wild creatures we’re more likely to encounter a bit closer to home. Even here in London we live alongside other species – some of you may have met the fox that frequents our little back garden – and we’re famously never that far from a rat (or a bat or a robin or a moth or a weevil… or any of our other furry, feathery, creepy crawly neighbours). In this hour – through poetry, prayer, and song – we’ll reflect on our encounters with wild creatures. And we’ll focus on the spiritual – even mystical – dimension of these rare moments of connection with other species, which can help us to realise more deeply our place in the interdependent web of life, maybe even to get in touch with our own wildness, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the mystery.

But before we go any further let’s take a moment to get settled and centred and ready to worship. This is an hour in which we can catch up with ourselves. Be grounded and present. So just breathe. Be here now, just as you are, in this community of the spirit, as we attend to what matters most in life.

Chalice Lighting: ‘For the Web of Life’ by Paul Sprecher (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 this gathering is part.

(light chalice)

We light this chalice for the web of life which sustains us,
For the sacred circle of life in which we have our being,
For the Earth, the Sky, Above and Below,
For this precious planet we share, and for the Mystery.

Hymn 147 (purple): ‘Spirit of Earth, Root, Stone and Tree’

Let’s sing together now. Our first hymn is number 147 in your purple hymn books, ‘Spirit of Earth, Root, Stone and Tree’. It’s a lovely earth-centred hymn and it seems far too long since we last sang it. For those joining via Zoom the words will be up on screen. Feel free to stand or sit as you prefer.

Spirit of earth, root, stone and tree,
water of life, flowing in me,
keeping me stable, nourishing me,
O fill me with living energy!
Spirit of nature, healing and free,
spirit of love, expanding in me,
spirit of life, breathe deeply in me,
inspire me with living energy!

Spirit of love, softly draw near,
open my heart, lessen my fear,
sing of compassion, help me to hear,
O fill me with loving energy!
Spirit of nature, healing and free,
spirit of love, expanding in me,
spirit of life, breathe deeply in me,
inspire me with living energy!

Spirit of life, you are my song,
sing in my soul, all my life long,
gladden and guide me, keep me from wrong,
O fill me with sacred energy!
Spirit of nature, healing and free,
spirit of love, expanding in me,
spirit of life, breathe deeply in me,
inspire me with living energy!

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. Please do 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 and have it microphone pointing right at your mouth. And if you can’t get to the microphone give me a wave and I’ll bring it over to you. 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 Laura Horton-Ludwig

Let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer. This prayer is based on some 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)

And in a quiet moment now, let us look back over the week just gone, to take stock of it all –
the many everyday cares and concerns of our own lives – and concentric circles of concern
rippling outwards – ‘til they enfold the entire world and all those lives which touch our own.
Let’s take a while to sit quietly in prayer with that which weighs heavy on our hearts this day.
(longer pause)

And let us also take a moment to notice all the good that has happened in the past week –
moments of uplift and delight; beauty and pleasure; all those acts of generosity and kindness.
The hopes and dreams and possibilities that are bubbling up and reminding us that we’re alive.
There’s lots to be grateful for. So let’s take a little while to sit quietly in prayer and give thanks. (longer 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 212 (purple): ‘Where My Free Spirit Onward Leads’

Let’s sing again. It’s number 212 in the purple book, ‘Where My Free Spirit Onward Leads’, which contains the very on-topic line: ‘my family is not confined to mother, mate, and child; but it includes all creatures, be they tame or be they wild.’ The words will be on screen as usual. 212.

Where my free spirit onward leads,
well, there shall be my way;
by my own light illumined
I’ve journeyed night and day;
my age a time-worn cloak I wear
as once I wore my youth;
I celebrate life’s mystery;
I celebrate death’s truth.

My family is not confined
to mother, mate and child;
but it includes all creatures
be they tame or be they wild;
my family upon this earth
includes all living things
on land, or in the ocean deep,
or borne aloft on wings.

The ever spinning universe,
well, there shall be my home;
I sing and spin within it
as through this life I roam;
eternity is hard to ken
and harder still is this:
a human life when truly seen
is briefer than a kiss.

In-Person Reading: ‘Hares’ by A. E. Stallings (read by Brian)

In thirteen years
of walking the mountain path
hares have been scarce—
I’ve done the math.
In all this time, I’ve
seen maybe four or five.

Droppings I’ve seen
that prove they’re here—
at the crossroads, at the turn.
I picture one dished ear
swivelling left then right
as for a satellite

while the buck sits
and lifts his stone axe head,
one of his sparring mitts
tentatively folded
toward his angular chest,
alert, at rest.

Partridges (or chukars)
I often run across;
they take off in a ruckus
Greeks likened to flatulence—
like rapidly deflating
balloons. If ambulating,

a matron and her brood
bustle down the hill;
ignoring the rude
interloper, they will
pretend to putter
till spluttering aflutter.

I’m not left agog
by them—but for the hare
almost as big as a dog—
there’s no way to prepare
for the huge unlikelihood.
By the time I’ve understood

something drastic
has happened, it bounds
into the bushy mastic
pursued by ghost hounds.
The light’s about to fail
when it turns tail

and the two black tips
of its ears bob away.
To see one’s to eclipse
the rest of the day.
Hares are not born blind.
They are a watchful kind:

I am seen, I bet,
more often than I see.
Right now a leveret
might be eyeing me,
wound up with alarm
to start forth from its grassy form

and add to the slim count
of hares I’ve seen
on the mountain. The amount
might double in thirteen
more years—who can say.
This one leaps away.

In-Person Reading: ‘The Deer’ by Kenneth Collier (read by Hannah)

You must stand perfectly still
and look like a very peculiar tree.
And if you move, it must look like
it was the wind that blew your hand
to your face. And the deer will look
right back at you without moving their tails.
They will look, and you will think that maybe
they are not really there. But then, they will
move their ears, and you will know they are real.

And that is what it is like.
It is like the sweet, almost immovable deer.
It sounds green, like rain falling through leaves.
It sounds blue, like wind across the bay and the sea.
It sounds silver and black, like the sky
when there is nothing left of the day
but sleep and soft sounds
of breathing and dreams that drift upward
like smoke and disappear.

It moves as slowly and carefully
as a heron stepping deliberately
through the still water of the pond.
And it is almost silent. Almost.
Not quite. Silent like the falling snow
is silent. It whispers against the window,
or sings, or even hisses like a fire
made of apple wood hisses.

Or maybe you won’t know it is there
until it stops. Until the whispering is hushed.
Maybe you won’t know it is there until
it is not there. And then you will long for it
to return. Oh, you will long for it
like the dry grass longs for the rain.
And all you can do is be still and wait.

But do not worry. And do not hurry.
For the clouds will gather eventually
and the rain will fall with a rattle into the grass.
The whisper will return like the deer that moved
its ear and you will sigh a long, sweet sigh.
And know that it is there.

The throaty sound of knowledge,
the sudden splash of understanding,
washes over you like a waterfall, like starlight,
like a dream that makes the day come alive.
And you will know it in the little daily things:
the smell of coffee, the touch of hands,
the sound of light falling on grass,
the taste of air after rain.
You will know it and never forget.

But maybe you ask, “What is this thing?
What is it that moves silently as snow?”

And what shall I answer? It is nothing but the deer.

Meditation: ‘Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight’ by Jane Hirshfield

Thanks Brian and Hannah. We’re moving into a time of meditation now. I’m going to share another short poem, this one by Jane Hirshfield, to take us into the time of shared stillness. The poem is titled ‘Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight’ and it’s another one which, perhaps, hints at the mystical aspect of an encounter with wildness. This will take us into 3 minutes of silence – and maybe during this time of silence you might call to mind your own encounters with wild creatures. The silence will end with a bell. Then we’ll hear music from Holly and George. So let’s do what we need to do to get comfortable – adjust your position if you need to – put your feet flat on the floor to ground yourself – close your eyes. As we always say, the words are an offering, you can use this time to meditate in your own way. ‘Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight’ by Jane Hirshfield.

One ran,
her nose to the ground,
a rusty shadow
neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.

One never moved,
except to turn her head a little as we walked.

Finally we drew too close,
and they vanished.
The woods took them back as if they had never been.

I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass.

But we kept walking,
speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.

There is more and more I tell no one,
strangers nor loves.
This slips into the heart
without hurry, as if it had never been.

And yet, among the trees, something has changed.

Something looks back from the trees,
and knows me for who I am.

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

Interlude: Ecstasy – Amy Beach (played by Holly Redshaw and George Ireland)

In-Person Reading: ‘On Stalking a Muskrat’ by Annie Dillard (excerpt, abridged)

I don’t know how many of you have read Annie Dillard’s wonderful book, ‘Pilgrim at Tinker Creek’, which tells of Dillard’s explorations close to home near the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia. It’s a few years since I last read it. It’s a much-lauded piece of nature writing – though to describe it that way doesn’t really do it justice – it’s a deeply religious, theological, and philosophical text, in its own way. The excerpt I want to share with you today – an abridged selection but still a long-ish reading – is her reflection on stalking a muskrat (not for the purpose of doing it any harm! but to get close to this wild creature, which is a bit like a small beaver, and commune with it). This is what she writes:

I have seen many muskrats since I learned to look for them in that part of the creek. But still I seek them out in the cool of the evening, and still I hold my breath when rising ripples surge from under the creek’s bank. The great hurrah about wild animals is that they exist at all, and the greater hurrah is the actual moment of seeing them. Because they have a nice dignity, and prefer to have nothing to do with me, even as the simple objects of my vision. They show me by their very wariness what a prize it is simply to open my eyes and behold…

The wonderful thing about muskrats in my book is that they cannot see very well, and are rather dim, to boot. They are extremely wary if they know I am there, and will outwait me every time. But with a modicum of skill and a minimum loss of human dignity, such as it is, I can be right “there,” and the breathing fact of my presence will never penetrate their narrow skulls.

In the forty minutes I watched him, he never saw me, smelled me, or heard me at all. When he was in full view of course I never moved except to breathe. My eyes would move, too, following his, but he never noticed…. Only once, when he was feeding from the opposite bank about eight feet away from me, did he suddenly rise upright, all alert – and then he immediately resumed foraging. But he never knew I was there.

I never knew I was there, either. For that forty minutes last night I was as purely sensitive and mute as a photographic plate; I received impressions, but I did not print out captions. My own self-awareness had disappeared; it seems now almost as though, had I been wired with electrodes, my EEG would have been flat. I have done this sort of thing so often that I have lost self-consciousness about moving slowly and halting suddenly; it is second nature to me now. And I have often noticed that even a few minutes of this self-forgetfulness is tremendously invigorating. I wonder if we do not just waste most of our energy just by spending every waking minute saying hello to ourselves. Martin Buber quotes an old Hasid master who said, “When you walk across the fields with your mind pure and holy, then from all the stones, and all growing things, and all animals, the sparks of their soul come out and cling to you, and then they are purified and become a holy fire in you.” This is one way of describing the energy that comes…

I have tried to show muskrats to other people, but it rarely works. No matter how quiet we are, the muskrats stay hidden. Maybe they sense the tense hum of consciousness, the buzz from two human beings who in the silence cannot help but be aware of each other, and so of themselves. Then too, the other people invariably suffer from a self-consciousness that prevents their stalking well. It used to bother me, too: I just could not bear to lose so much dignity that I would completely alter my whole way of being for a muskrat. So I would move or look around or scratch my nose, and no muskrats would show, leaving me along with my dignity for days on end, until I decided that it was worth my while to learn – from the muskrats themselves – how to stalk…

Stalking is a pure form of skill… rarely is luck involved. I do it right or I do it wrong; the muskrat will tell me, and that right early… At every second, the muskrat comes, or stays, or goes, depending on my skill. Can I stay still? How still? It is astonishing how many people cannot, or will not, hold still. I could not, or would not, hold still for thirty minutes inside, but at the creek I slow down, centre down, empty. I am not excited; my breathing is slow and regular. In my brain I am not saying, Muskrat! Muskrat! There! I am saying nothing. If I must hold a position, I do not “freeze”. If I freeze, locking my muscles, I will tire and break. Instead of going rigid, I go calm. I centre down wherever I am; I find a balance and repose. I retreat – not inside myself, but outside myself, so that I am a tissue of senses. Whatever I see is plenty, abundance. I am the skin of water the wind plays over; I am petal, feather, stone.

Words from Annie Dillard’s wonderful ‘Pilgrim at Tinker Creek’.

Mini-Reflection: ‘Wild Encounters’ by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

I wonder – as you’ve heard all of today’s readings – of encounters with the hare, the deer, the foxes, and the muskrat – I wonder if any wild encounters of your own have come to mind? I’ve been lucky enough to experience many magic moments with wild creatures over the years. I recall, quite some years ago now, the excitement of discovering a hedgehog in my back garden (in fact, I remember hearing it before seeing it, as it was getting dark and the snuffling sound caught my attention first). And I remember feeding the birds in Kensington Gardens, and having robins and tits land on my outstretched hand – even a coal tit once, and they’re notoriously shy – I still have a sense memory of the feeling of the feet on my fingertips. I think of the time when, on a nature reserve in Walberswick, I found myself making eye contact with a weasel! I guess it only lasted for a fraction of a second but that sense of making a connection with a truly wild creature is something I’ve never forgotten.

Just this week I had an encounter with a wild(ish) creature… and there’s photographic evidence. I was minding my own business, having a chat with my chum, when a squirrel climbed up my leg and sat on my knee – he put his little hand on mine and adopted this pleading pose – but I’d already eaten my sandwich and I didn’t have anything to give him. Now, this is not the first time I’ve been accosted by one of the squirrels of Mudchute Farm – this city farm is near to where I live so I walk there often and it’s almost comical the way that squirrel after squirrel will appear from behind every tree and come bounding up in expectation of food – sometimes they come from behind and sit on the back of the bench to tap you on the shoulder. It’s easy to be blasé about squirrels, to treat them as a nuisance, and certainly I’m getting a bit fed up of them digging up my bulbs in the back garden at home. But I had a little moment with this squirrel. After putting his tiny hand on mine, and looking pleadingly into my eyes, he stretched out to my other knee (presumably to see if I was hiding food in my other hand) and as he did so I felt his soft belly fur brush the back of my hand. Another magic moment. I think if I’d gone up to a squirrel and attempted to give it a belly rub of my own initiative I wouldn’t have got very far! But I enjoyed the gift of this brief moment of unexpected intimacy with a wild(ish) creature.

Wild encounters don’t usually just fall in our lap like this. We usually have to go to a lot of trouble to be where the wild things are, and we have to go gently, and be extraordinarily careful not to scare them off, as – in the main – they are rightly wary of us human beings. The poems we’ve heard remind us: ‘in thirteen years of walking the mountain path hares have been scarce’; ‘we drew too close, and they vanished’; ‘you must stand perfectly still and look like a very peculiar tree’; and ‘I am seen, I bet, more often than I see’. As Annie Dillard says, you’re better off going solo, and becoming very still and calm. This is part of what makes it so astonishing and enthralling on those rare occasions when we do, at last, get to have a close encounter with the hare, or the deer, or the fox, or the muskrat.

And it probably won’t have escaped your notice that there are many parallels between this practice and the spiritual life. Indeed, the photographer and animal tracker, Paul Rezendes, has written: ‘I teach stalking wildlife in nature as a form of meditation. At its core, stalking has more to do with stillness than with movement. It is about slowing down and blending in. It is the ability to melt into the forest. Stalking allows people to drop their everyday personae, until the forest no longer realizes that they’re there. When you become the forest, when you’re silent inwardly and outwardly, the forest starts to wake up, to move. It’s amazing what can happen.’ Words from Paul Rezendes.

I feel there’s some deeper mystical truth wrapped up in this – the talk of ‘becoming the forest’ from Rezendes – the ‘self-forgetting’ of Dillard – the ‘mind pure and holy’ from Buber. Maybe it’s about more than having an encounter with a particular wild creature – more about having an experience of oneness – a sense that we are ultimately not separate from the wild creature, or nature itself, or the landscape, or anything in the whole universe. A kind of non-dual awareness.

And I reckon there’s something similar going on in wild encounters as in prayer and meditation. We show up, we practice, we do our best to be still and calm and self-forgetting… and maybe a lot of the time there doesn’t seem to be a lot to show for it. But once in a while – if we’re diligent in our practice, or lucky, or both – we might just catch a glimpse of the mystery. So as we draw to a close I want to offer you one more poem which speaks of exactly this – some of you will have heard me share this before, it’s an old favourite – it’s by Ann Lewin: ‘Watching for the Kingfisher’.

‘Watching for the Kingfisher’ by Ann Lewin

Prayer is like watching for
The kingfisher. All you can do is
Be there where he is like to appear, and
Wait.
Often nothing much happens;
There is space, silence and
Expectancy.
No visible signs, only the
Knowledge that he’s been there
And may come again.
Seeing or not seeing cease to matter,
You have been prepared.
But when you’ve almost stopped
Expecting it, a flash of brightness
Gives encouragement.

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

Hymn 216 (purple): ‘Wide Green World’

Time for our last hymn, it’s number 216 in your purple books, ‘Wide Green World’, which speaks of our place in the interdependent web of all life. Please sing up and let’s enjoy our closing hymn.

Wide green world, we know and love you:
clear blue skies that arch above you,
moon-tugged oceans rising, falling,
summer rain and cuckoo calling.
Some wild ancient ferment bore us,
us and all that went before us:
life in desert, forest, mountain,
life in stream and springing fountain.

We know how to mould and tame you,
we have power to mar and maim you.
Show us by your silent growing
that which we should all be knowing:
we are of you, not your master,
we who plan supreme disaster.
If with careless greed we use you
inch by extinct inch we lose you.

May our births and deaths remind us
others still will come behind us.
That they also may enjoy you
we with wisdom will employ you.
That our care may always bless you
teach us we do not possess you.
We are part and parcel of you.
Wide green world, we share and love you.

Announcements:

Thanks to Ramona for tech-hosting. Thanks to Jeannene for co-hosting and welcoming everyone online. Thanks to Brian and Hannah for reading. Thanks to Holly and George for playing for us today and Benjie for supporting our singing. Thanks to Liz and Juliet for doing coffee and greeting (can anyone help?). For those of you who are in-person – please do stay for a cuppa and cake after the service – it’s coffee and walnut this week – served in the hall next door. If you’re joining on Zoom please do hang on after for a chat with Jeannene.

This afternoon we have our in-person mini-retreat on ‘The Stories of Our Lives’, that’s from 1-4pm, it’s not too late to sign up for that if you’d like to stay on, I’ve got enough materials for a few more people to join us. Perhaps pop out to get some lunch and be back by 1pm. We will take a few hours to consider what we would like to be remembered by others after we’ve gone.

We also have our regular online ‘Heart & Soul’ Contemplative Spiritual Gathering, tonight and Friday at 7pm, this week’s theme is ‘Changes’. We gather for sharing and prayer and it is a great way to get to know others on a deeper level. Email me to book your place for that.

On Wednesday night the in-person poetry group takes place, have a word with Brian if you’d like to join in with that, let him know your poetry choices so he can print copies for everyone. And Sonya will be here as usual for her Nia dance classes at lunchtime on Friday.

If you want to join in with our ‘Better World Book Club’, which takes place online, the next gathering will be on Sunday 24th March at 7.30pm when we’ll be talking about ‘Laziness Does Not Exist’ by Devon Price. We have a few church library copies if you’d like to borrow one.

And a date for your diaries: We’re going to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the founding of this congregation on Sunday 14th April – me and Sarah will be co-leading a special service – and there’ll be a congregational bring-and-share lunch after. Save the date and look out for Liz with a sign-up sheet so you can let her know what food you’re planning to bring for that.

Next Sunday at 11am our good friend Michael Allured, minister with Golders Green Unitarians, will be leading the service titled ‘Let Justice Roll Down Like Waters’ so please do come and support him. And that will be followed by an in-person Sunday Conversation exploring the theme of the service. We have got the message that a reasonable number of our online regulars are interested in joining in with these once-a-month Sunday Conversations so we’re going to work on that but realistically it’ll probably be a few months before we get that up and running due to other events in the pipeline (including the 250th anniversary I just mentioned which means there won’t be one next month).

Details of all our various activities are printed on the back of the order of service, for you to take away, and also in the Friday email. Please do sign up for the mailing list if you haven’t already. 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 Mark Mosher deWolfe

In our lives, may we know the holy meaning –
the mystery – that breaks in at every moment.
May we live at peace with our world and all its wild creatures, including ourselves –
as we seek justice, liberation, and the common good of all with whom we share this earth –
and may love and truth guide us through all the days of our lives. Amen.

Closing Music: Caprice – Gabriel Pierné (played by Holly Redshaw and George Ireland)

Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

3rd March 2024