The Summer Day

Sunday Service, 22 June 2025

Led by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

Musical Prelude: The Lark in the morning and The Rose in the Heather (jigs) (performed by Jess Collins, Tara McCarthy and Phoebe Harty)  

Opening Words: ‘The Seasons of Life’ by Mary Frances Comer (adapted)

We are grateful to mark time with seasons,

to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries,

or to gather for festivals and special occasions.

In all these seasons, may we give thanks for the breath of life,

ever mindful of the fragile nature of existence.

May we live fully in each moment.

From summer to autumn and winter to spring,

we gather in mystery and in the bonds of beloved community,

welcoming each other just as we are, and wondering what we might yet become.

May we radiate love both within and beyond these walls,

caring for those we love and for those we have yet to meet,

as we strive to live in harmony with all that is good and beautiful and true.

And as we join in worship this morning, to mark the summer solstice,

may we be strengthened and encouraged to shine our own light

as we make our way through the world, living wisely and well. (pause)

Words of Welcome and Introduction: 

These words from Mary Frances Comer welcome all who have gathered this morning for our Sunday service. Welcome to those who have gathered in-person at Essex Church on this sweltering weekend, to all who are joining us via Zoom, and anyone tuning in at a later date via YouTube or the podcast.  For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Jane Blackall, and I’m minister with Kensington Unitarians.

Our service today marks the summer solstice – and perhaps more generally we’ll be reflecting on the value of marking the cycle of the seasons on these special days – they help us to notice the passing of time, the turning of the earth, the rhythms of the natural world. I’ve titled the service ‘The Summer Day’ as at the heart of our ponderings will be Mary Oliver’s famous poem of the same name.  It’s perhaps better known for its closing lines but today I’m going to redirect your attention to a different bit instead. She writes: ‘I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed…’

Taking our cue from Mary Oliver I want to suggest that summer is a time to pay attention –  to set aside all the business and distractions that so often fill our days – and instead to notice what’s going on right under our noses – to appreciate and cherish the good things in life – and to know ourselves as belonging to the earth, connected to all beings with whom we share this planet, our home.

Chalice Lighting: ‘There is Light’ by Eric Williams

Let’s light our chalice flame now, as we do each week. It’s a moment for us to stop and take a breath, settle ourselves down, put aside any preoccupations we came in carrying. 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) 

In the beginning

There was light

Infinite and expansive

Flowing out from an unseen centre.

Throughout Creation

There is light

From the steady Sun

The glowing Moon

The flashing Meteor

The twinkling Stars

And the auroras dancing in the northern skies.

Within each part of Creation

There is light

Slowed down and held close

By every cell and molecule

By each atom and element.

Within you

There is light

The same light as the Source

The same radiance that is in all creatures.

May this small flame

Be a constant reminder to you

Of your true nature

And your kinship with all beings.

Hymn 43 (purple): ‘Gather the Spirit’

Our first hymn this morning is number 43 in your purple books, ‘Gather the Spirit’. For those on zoom the words will be up on screen for all our hymns. Feel free to stand or sit as you prefer.

Gather the spirit, harvest the power.

Our separate fires will kindle one flame.

Witness the mystery of this hour.

Our trials in this light appear all the same.

Gather in peace, gather in thanks.

Gather in sympathy now and then.

Gather in hope, compassion and strength.

Gather to celebrate once again.

Gather the spirit of heart and mind.

Seeds for the sowing are laid in store.

Nurtured in love and conscience refined,

with body and spirit united once more. 

Gather in peace, gather in thanks.

Gather in sympathy now and then.

Gather in hope, compassion and strength.

Gather to celebrate once again.

Gather the spirit growing in all,

drawn by the moon and fed by the sun.

Winter to spring, and summer to fall,

the chorus of life resounding as one.

Gather in peace, gather in thanks.

Gather in sympathy now and then.

Gather in hope, compassion and strength.

Candles of Joy and Concern: (8 minutes)

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. We’ll go to the people in the building first, then to Zoom.

So I invite some of you here in person to come and light a candle and then if you wish to tell us who or what you light your candle for – please keep it brief – be considerate of others. I’m going to ask you to come to the lectern to speak, as we want people to be able to hear 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 Kate Steinberg

Let’s take those joys and concerns into an extended time of prayer. This prayer is based on some words by Kate Steinberg, she calls it a ‘Witnessing Prayer’, I think it speaks to this reminder to ‘pay attention’ that is running through our whole service today. You might 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)

Love that calls us to love, Care that calls us to care, Presence that calls us into presence:

We give thanks that we have been brought together in this beloved place,

this holy sanctuary, this sacred harbour where we bring ourselves as we are,

in times of sorrow, in times of joy, in times of confusion,

in times of fear, in times of clarity, in times of quiet acceptance.

In our efforts to pay closer attention to our inner lives,

to each other and the world around us,

may we notice the divine essence today,

however this essence expresses itself,

whatever name we choose to give it.

May we cultivate presence and awe while we attune

to murmurs and shimmers within us and around us,

whether it be the spark of a new idea,

vulnerable sharing from someone we love,

or unexpected connection with someone we don't know.

May we continue to attune to the ‘sound of the genuine’ within ourselves.

May we become quiet enough and still enough to notice

the call deep within us that lures us towards what matters most,

this call that lures us towards freedom and purpose.

We ask for guidance and space and time to do just that

so we can lead the lives we feel most called to live.

Today we remember the people who have paid close attention to us in our lives.

These people have loved us into being through the way they witnessed us.

The way they attuned to us both strengthened us and transformed us.

There may be several people or perhaps only one person who comes to mind.

Let us give thanks to them today. Let us say inwardly “Thank you for witnessing me.

Thank you for paying close attention to my journey and the stirrings in my heart.”

Let us also consider someone who may want to be witnessed by us.

Perhaps this is someone we haven’t been able to make much time for.

Someone we care about who dearly wants our attention. May we find a way to say

“I’m here with you. I’m paying close attention to the stirrings in your heart.”

May we continue to cultivate the practice of paying close attention

so that more people feel lovingly held in our hurting world.

And let us also remember to pay close attention to the world around us.

Not only the news of unfolding catastrophes around the world

– important as it is for us to witness the reality of all that suffering –

but let us also pay attention to all the goodness that is present in our days.

May we take the time to notice the small kindnesses and moments of beauty

in our communities, and in the natural world, this summer’s day. (pause)    

And in a good few moments of shared silence and stillness now,

may we speak inwardly some of those deepest prayers of our hearts —

the joys and sorrows we came in carrying –

in our own lives and the lives of the wider world.

Let us each 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.

In-Person Reading: ‘Summer Solstice’ by Lynn Ungar (read by John)

It’s always felt a little strange to me that summer officially begins at the solstice, the longest day of the year. Shouldn’t the longest day mark the middle of summer, the high point from which we begin the long slide toward winter? And yet, from here the days get warmer, if not longer, the grass drier, the trees dustier. Our children have not yet begun to get bored (with any luck), and (with any luck) we are moving toward times of vacation and respite, not looking back on them.

Somehow the summer solstice manages to be both a beginning and a mid-point, the start of the line and the apex of the curve. But isn’t that just the way of things? Don’t beginnings, middles and ends turn out to be far more muddled than we ever imagined? The loss of a job feels like the world is crashing to an end, but turns out to be the seed of a new career. The beginning of high school turns out to be the end of childhood. The middle part of our lives is already arriving when we feel like we’re just starting to catch on to what it means to be married or a parent or a person with a career.

And, of course, the endings, middles and beginnings all overlap. We become passionate about a new hobby at the same time that we are comfortably in the middle of a career path, or we welcome a new baby as a parent is coming to the end of their own life. Only in the calendar to we have the chance to neatly mark the seasons, to declare when exactly one thing starts and the other leaves off.

In fact, what the calendar does is merely to assign names and numbers to the fact that change is part of the natural order. The seasons will move along in their predictable courses, but on any given day the weather will probably be hotter or colder, calmer or stormier than you might have expected. Making patterns is what we do in hindsight. Living is what we do in the moment, dealing with the elements of each day as it comes along. But the choices we make in each moment are what build the patterns, what allow us to look back and say “That was the summer of my life.”

The poet Marge Piercy writes:

We start where we find

ourselves, at this time and place.

Which is always the crossing of roads

that began beyond the earth's curve

but whose destination we can now alter.

May this summer solstice find you on a road toward your heart’s desire.

Hymn (on sheet): ‘Moods of Summer’

Thanks John. Let’s sing again – our second hymn is on your hymn sheets – ‘Moods of Summer’ – and it celebrates the beauty of the season. This is quite a long one so gather your stamina!

When the summer sun is shining

Over land and over sea,

And the flowers in the hedgerow

Welcome butterfly and bee;

Then my open heart is glowing,

Full of warmth for everyone,

And I feel an inner beauty

Which reflects the summer sun.

When the lights of summer sunshine

Steams in through the open door,

Casting shadows of tree-branches,

Living patterns on the floor;

Then my heart is full of gladness,

And my soul is light and gay,

And my life is overflowing

Like the happy summer day.

When the summer clouds of thunder

Bring the long awaited rain,

And the thirsty soil is moistened,

And the grass is green again;

Then I long for summer sunshine,

But I know that clouds and tears

Are a part of life’s refreshment,

Like the rainbow’s hopes and fears.

When, beneath the trees of summer,

Under leafy shade I lie,

Breathing in the scent of flowers,

Sheltered from the sun-hot sky;

Then my heart is all contentment,

And my soul is quiet and still,

Soothed by whispering, lazy breezes,

Like the grasses on the hill.

In the cool of summer evening,

When the dancing insects play,

And in garden, street and meadow

Linger echoes of the day;

Then my heart is full of yearning,

Hopes and memories flood the whole

Of my being, reaching inwards

To the corners of my soul.

In-Person Reading: ‘Summer Sabbath’ by Kathleen McTigue (adapted) (read by Brian)

Go somewhere you haven’t been before,

where no one knows you, where you don’t think twice

about what to wear, how you look, or who might be watching

as you let your body ease out into the sun and bask, lazy as a cat.

Untether yourself from the engines of busyness, one by one –

laptop, desktop, wristwatch, scribbled lists, even the telephone,

especially the one you carry everywhere, the little tyrant.

This will all feel unnatural, but it’s not.

Sit by water – a place where the sea comes in, warm as a breath,

where the crest of each night-time wave catches the moon

and spreads it out again, lavish, on the sand;

or by a little stream where a hundred tumbling voices burble and blend

in your quieting mind until behind them

you almost hear a choir of wood angels, humming;

or by a still lake, water lapping so lightly,

shores ringed by willow, alder, birch, 

and beyond them hills and mountains in their silence.

Go and don’t think about time:

how much you’ve got left,

how to pass, fill, use, or spend it,

whether you might accidentally lose or waste it,

and certainly never entertain the thought that time

is money. It’s not.

Instead, consider your life –

who you love, and why,

how blessed you are to be here, resting

under a shower of birdsong,

or what strange bright luck it is to be the owner,

for a few years, of this beating heart,

these wondering eyes, the ears

into which the kingfisher spills her small chuckle

as she dips across the water.

You might ponder these things, but also you could let

the whole creaking apparatus of thought come to a halt.

You might surrender, and let the world spill in through the five gates,

no sentry standing surly watch,

no one left to resist or defend.

The innermost courtyard stands empty then,

a clear fountain singing at the centre.

Words for Meditation: ‘The Summer Day’ by Mary Oliver

We’re moving into a time of meditation now. To take us into stillness I’m going to share that famous poem by Mary Oliver, ‘The Summer Day’, which I’m sure will be very familiar to some of us. But I wonder if you might be able to hear it with fresh ears today? Perhaps you could listen for what it says to us of ‘paying attention’ in this season of our lives. But far be it from me to interfere with how a poem speaks to your heart! The poem will take us into a few minutes of shared silence which will end with the sound of a bell. Then we’ll hear music for meditation. So let’s 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 yourself – maybe close your eyes. As we always say, the words are just an offering, so feel free to use this time to meditate in your own way.

‘The Summer Day’ by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

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

Interlude: Wild Mountain Thyme (performed by Jess Collins, Tara McCarthy and Phoebe Harty) 

Mini-Reflection: by Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

Last Sunday, after the service, a few of us were sitting in the back garden, and we got to talking about butterflies. I love wildlife of all varieties, and am always on the lookout for anything at all unusual, so I mentioned that I’d seen a tortoiseshell butterfly that week, not one I see very often. This was met with slightly blank and bemused faces and even a little shrug. I was reminded that not everybody is into the same stuff as I am; we can’t all tell our tortoiseshells from our painted ladies. And that’s OK! It’s not to puff myself up about my butterfly identification skills (which, in truth, are not that advanced) or to do anyone else down for not being interested in insect spotting. But as we move through the world we’re not all attuned to the same things – I’ve been looking out for butterflies (and birds) for years so I notice them – they take up more space in my mind and my life. And so every time I leave the house there’s a happy chance I will meet a creature that I ‘know’.

The conversation made me think of Mary Oliver’s poem, ‘The Summer Day’, in which she has a close encounter with a grasshopper rather than a butterfly. She pays attention – close attention – to this fellow living creature as it leaps into her life, stops for a moment to eat and to wash, then bounds away again. And she reflects: ‘I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed…’

This really speaks to me of the invitation that high summer makes to us – to give up on being busy for a while, to notice and appreciate what’s good, take time to connect with the natural world, its rhythms and cycles – to pay attention, using all our senses, and fully enter the flow of life.  Often the last line of the poem is quoted out of context (I fear I’ve done it myself): ‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’ Sometimes this can be presented as if it’s a telling off – encouraging us to pull our socks up, get on with being productive, make something of our life – when in context the message seems to be the polar opposite, encouraging us to be ‘idle and blessed’, to sink deeply into the present moment, rather than fretting and fussing about the past or the future. 

I came across another piece of writing by Mary Oliver – this comes from the commentary in a book of photographs taken by her long-term partner, Molly Malone Cook, who she refers to simply as ‘M’ – these words add another dimension to this practice of ‘paying attention’ – it begins in her usual realm of the natural world but then expands beyond that. She writes:

‘It has frequently been remarked, about my own writings,

that I emphasize the notion of attention.

This began simply enough: to see that the way

the flicker flies is greatly different from the way

the swallow plays in the golden air of summer.

It was my pleasure to notice such things,

it was a good first step. But later, watching M.

when she was taking photographs,

and watching her in the darkroom,

and no less watching the intensity and openness with which

she dealt with friends, and strangers too,

taught me what real attention is about.

Attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report.

An openness — an empathy — was necessary

if the attention was to matter.

I was in my late twenties and early thirties, and well filled

with a sense of my own thoughts, my own presence.

I was eager to address the world of words —

to address the world with words.

Then M. instilled in me this deeper level

of looking and working, of seeing through

the heavenly visibles to the heavenly invisibles.’

Words by Mary Oliver. I love that notion – a mystical way of thinking – that ‘paying attention’ is a ‘deeper level of looking… of seeing through the heavenly visibles to the heavenly invisibles’. When she pays attention to that grasshopper, attention with feeling, she encounters it at a soul level. We might even conceive of it as recognising the grasshopper as a fragment of God.

This week – forgive me for returning to butterflies again – I had a little magic moment of my own.  I have been keeping up with my daily walks round the Mudchute, my local city farm, which is like a lovely little pocket of countryside dropped into East London, in the shadow of Canary Wharf and all its skyscrapers.  Providing that the weather, the to-do list, and my fitness levels allow, I like to do more-or-less the same walk each day, get my 7000 steps in, and look in on the llamas, goats, sheep, and pigs. My route takes me through different micro-habitats and I have come to know what butterflies are likely to show up where – so many Speckled Wood and Small Whites along the shady woodland trails – earlier in the season the sulphur-yellow Brimstones – or my favourite, the Comma, with its bold orange colour, and the raggedy edges to its wings. And plenty more besides (I’ve seen eleven different species there so far this year which is not bad for London). It feels good to be familiar with the different species – their colour, size, shape, and habits – and to be able to recognise them at a glance and greet them like old friends. Some people seem to think this desire to recognise and name creatures is just a bit nerdy, but to me it’s a very particular form of paying attention, of noticing, one that brings me into deeper relationship with the natural world, even with the particular individual creatures (the ‘heavenly visibles’) that I encounter.

So one day this week I was on my usual route, which at one point opens out onto a bit of grassland, and I had to wiggle round a group of schoolchildren on a field trip, when I noticed a tiny, skittish, orange butterfly. And I knew it was of a sort I’d never seen there before. Then, once I’d got my eye in, I saw another. And another. There were dozens! The grass was absolutely alive with them. I couldn’t get a photograph as they didn’t stop moving but I knew what they were: ‘Small Skippers’. Now, though I say I’ve never seen them there before, I’m sure they’ve been there for a while. There were loads of them and the habitat was just right. But this was the first time when I was there, during their flying season, at the right time of day, in the perfect weather conditions, knowing just enough about butterflies to recognise I was seeing something unusual. And I was paying attention.

I went back the next day, excited to see them again. The weather was just the same, as far as I could tell, and I went back to the very same spot. And there was not a single one to be seen. It was like one of those fairytales – I’d visited an enchanted land that only existed for a fleeting time – so when I tried to return to it I couldn’t find my way back. It was utterly of-the-moment.   I don’t think I hallucinated them! I don’t think it was all just a dream either. I think they were really there. And if my attention had been elsewhere that day I would have missed them entirely. 

So, this summer, I simply want to encourage us all to pay attention – using all our senses – whatever sensory apparatus is available to us – sight and sound – touch, taste and smell. And perhaps we can make some more active and conscious choices about what we’re going to pay attention to.  It’s hard to maintain broad-spectrum attention across everything – and we know we’re in an attention economy – algorithms everywhere are trying to grab our focus and keep us hooked. Maybe we are too caught up in news cycles, or in doomscrolling, transfixed by all the unfolding catastrophes. Or perhaps we are trapped in obsessive rumination about our personal life and inner struggles. There is another way.  This summer, let’s make different choices, put our attention elsewhere, and strike a better balance. Maybe pick one thing that you’re going to be especially attentive to in the weeks to come – it doesn’t have to be butterflies! (but they’re not a bad place to start) – we can be more present and alive to ourselves, to others, to the wider community, and the natural world. In that spirit I’m going to close with a reading: ‘We Are Called to Pay Attention’ by Amanda Udis-Kessler.

In-Person Reading: ‘We Are Called to Pay Attention’ by Amanda Udis-Kessler

This morning and all mornings, we are called to pay attention.

We are called to pay attention to our individual lives, to our delights and pains.

We are called to understand and cherish ourselves,

to take good care of ourselves,

to know ourselves as loving and worthy of love.

In paying attention to our lives, we give thanks for all that is good in them

and work to make the best decisions we can to help us live fully and joyfully.

Today and all days, we are called to pay attention.

We are called to pay attention to the people in our lives,

to celebrate their joys with them and to tend to them in their struggles.

We are called to bring our compassion, kindness, and patience to our relationships

even as we are grateful for the compassion, kindness and patience others show to us.

In paying attention to the people in our lives, we give thanks for their presence

and work to support them to the best of our abilities.

Throughout our lives, we are called to pay attention.

We are called to pay attention to the society in which we live.

We are called to understand the ways in which the lives of people we don’t know,

and never will know, are made harder by political and economic policies

that value some kinds of people over other kinds of people.

In paying attention to our society, we give thanks for the many people

who are working for justice for everyone, and we join in working with them

so that all people are treated with the dignity and worth they possess.

In all that we do, we are called to pay attention.

We are called to pay attention to the natural world around us.

We are called to understand how our decisions help the natural world to flourish or cause it harm.

In paying attention to the natural world, we give thanks for the ways

it sustains and enriches our lives, and we commit to living sustainably

so that all beings have the chance to live and so that

many generations after our own can celebrate the planet and its gifts.

Love, compassion, gratitude, and the demands of justice call us to pay attention.

As we pay attention, we bless ourselves, each other, our society, and the world.

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

Hymn 216 (purple): ‘Wide Green World’

Let’s sing one last time. Our final hymn is number 216 in your purple books: ‘Wide Green World’. We don’t sing it often so I’ll ask Andrew to play it through first. Hymn 216

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 and Jeannene for co-hosting. Thanks to Jess, Tara and Pheobe for lovely music, to Andrew for accompanying our hymns, and Edwin for supporting our hymn singing. Thanks to John and Brian for reading. Thanks to John for greeting and Pat for making coffee. If you are here in-person – we’ve got apple and sultana cake today.  

This month’s Better World Book Club is on ‘They’ by Sarfraz Manzoor. If you’re expecting to come to that and you haven’t already had the link please do drop me an email. Next month we’re reading ‘The Amen Effect’ by Rabbi Sharon Brous – I’ve discovered that this is surprisingly expensive to buy in print – but we should soon have some copies to loan out. All the titles for the rest of the year have now been announced so take a flyer if you want all the information.

In case you haven’t already got the message, community singing is having a summer break, so that’s not happening this Wednesday.  I’ll let you know when we know what the plans are for it to resume. However – you can still sing with Margaret next week – she’ll be back here on Sunday 29th June.

On Friday at 7pm we’ve got our ‘Heart and Soul’ online contemplative spiritual gathering – this week we’re considering ‘Habit and Routine’ – email me if you want to join us and I’ll share the link.

Next Sunday we’ve got a congregational service titled ‘What a Picture!’ to mark World Camera Day. I’m going to invite people to share a photograph that is meaningful or significant to them and say a few words – just a few words like we do in joys and concerns – about how the photo speaks to you. You don’t need to write what you’re going to say in advance, we’ll do it kind-of off-the cuff, but if you are going to join in I would ask you to send me the photo ahead of time so we can put it on screen for people to see at home and for everyone in the room to get a good look at it too. The photo might be a personal one of a moment in your life, a beautiful sight you’ve seen, or it might be an artistic or journalistic photo, which has opened your eyes to seeing the world in a new way, or the sort of thing you’d see in National Geographic, that inspires a sense of wonder or amazement. If you want to run anything past me, please do get in touch, but I’ll need your photos by Friday please.

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.  Or if you haven’t already got one why not take home a copy of our summer newsletter? Or you could take a copy for a friend – please help us spread the word.

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.

Time for our closing words and closing music now.  

Benediction: based on words by Laura Dobson

As the light of the summer sun shines upon our faces,

May the light of Love shine from our hearts.

As the summer rains bring cool refreshment,

May the deep waters of the Spirit refresh our souls.

As the earth exudes life and beauty and song,

May we respond with gratitude and joy.

As the warm summer air brings us together in one Breath of Life,

May the Spirit of Life bless our communities

With warmth and compassion. Go well, Blessed Be. Amen.

Closing Music: The Rolling Wave and Out on the Ocean (performed by Jess Collins, Tara McCarthy and Phoebe Harty) 

Rev. Dr. Jane Blackall

22nd June 2025