Whose Land?

Should a land acknowledgement be part of our worship and other gatherings? We know that the land where each of us is joining in worship this morning was home to other people before us. We know, for example, that the plots of land where the Athens and Sheshequin church buildings are now, were home to indigenous communities before Europeans arrived. We’ve done a terrible job of remembering and telling that history. Even our historian Katie hard time finding a clear history of the people whose home this was before European disease and violence displaced them. We think they may be the Andaste, the Carantouan, the Susquehannock and the Haudenosaunee. The history we do find of the Valley often vilifies the peoples from whom we took the land. In fact, there is a historical marker near the Sheshequin church commemorating Sullivan’s march - a campaign of great violence and devastation to remove great the Haudenosaunee people from that land. Any land acknowledgement of the Athens and Sheshequin congregation to acknowledge, as the essay "Land Acknowledgments Meant to Honor Indigenous People Too Often Do The Opposite  – Erasing American Indians and Sanitizing History instead"  suggests “acknowledge the violent trauma of land being stolen from Indigenous people – the death, dispossession and displacement of countless individuals and much collective suffering.”

It’s common for people in Bradford County to talk of the native peoples as if they are a story from history. Yet we know that Indigenous people are part of the communities of the valley and the endless mountains, and still practice ceremony and pass on their tradition, but they don’t do so in a public way. What would it look like to create a land acknowledgement “carefully constructed in partnership with the dispossessed”?

On the land where the Cortland Church now stands, we can easily look on a map and see that this is part of the Haudenosaunee territory. The Confederacy has a present day governance and public presence reminding us that the Haudenosaunee are not a people of the past but of the present. The Haudenosaunee confederacy includes several nations, and the land of Cortland is specifically part of the homeland of the Onondaga nation who brought a land rights case against the state of NY in federal court in 2005 offering this statement:

“The Onondaga People wish to bring about a healing between themselves and all others who live in this region that has been the homeland of the Onondaga Nation since the dawn of time. The Nation and its people have a unique spiritual, cultural, and historic relationship with the land, which is embodied in Gayanashagowa, the Great Law of Peace. This relationship goes far beyond federal and state legal concepts of ownership, possession or legal rights. The people are one with the land, and consider themselves stewards of it. It is the duty of the Nation’s leaders to work for a healing of this land, to protect it, and to pass it on to future generations. The Onondaga Nation brings this action on behalf of its people in the hope that it may hasten the process of reconciliation and bring lasting justice, peace, and respect among all who inhabit the area.”

Though the old cobblestone church is one of the oldest buildings still in existence in the county, this illustrates an erasure of that older history. A land acknowledgement given from this spot where I’m standing, would have to acknowledge that this spot is part of an active land rights case.

So today, we are not yet ready to put forward a sentence or even a paragraph of land acknowledgement. Today we acknowledge that each of us, right now, stands or sits on ambiguous territory, with a troubling history, and a complicated future. Today I invite us to rethink our responsibility to the land, our responsibility to one another, and to the indigenous communities and individuals who are our neighbors today. Today we acknowledge with humility all that we don’t know, and listen for the voices of those with more wisdom, voices we may not have heard, as we join with the Onondaga elders in hoping to “hasten the process of reconciliation and bring lasting justice, peace, and respect among all who inhabit the area.”

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Whose Tree?

The tree that shades my front porch is not on my property. Well, it’s in that weird netherworld between sidewalk and street that is planted by the city forester. It’s a little Japanese Lilac, and since I hung my bird feeder there, it is a veritable community center of squirrels and several species of birds. It’s too small for anyone to make their home there, but from my seat on the front porch I can watch the birds and squirrels make their way between that tree and mine, and the other trees and shrubs in the neighborhood where they find food and shelter and perch. 

Across the street is a big old tree that might possibly have been there since our neighborhood was built in the late 1800s. In the winter when the leaves are gone I can see at least 2 nests, and in the spring I notice families of squirrels, blue jays and cardinals that seem to nest there, in an uneasy understanding about whose territory the tree is. The debates about this seem to heat up when one or the other family has babies. My neighbor Leah owns the property where that big heritage tree grows, but of course from her home all she can see is the trunk, so I tell her sometimes about the goings on in her tree.
 

This summer I woke one morning to the sound of chain saws and saw that several large branches had been cut from my little tree. A little detective work showed that based on the piles of branches along my block, this was probably the work of the city arborist, trimming trees for the year. The animals were noticeably absent for a while but did start to return. Apparently, they took down one of the main squirrel highways, because it took the squirrels the longest to make their way back, and there was some fresh territory dispute when they did. 

The whole process made me sad an anxious for not only “my” trees, but trees everywhere. A tree that has been home to generations of small mammals and birds, not to mention moss and fungus and cicadas, a tree that grew for centuries can be cut down in a half day’s work based on a decision made by someone who spends a few moments evaluating the trees. Someone who might not know about the squirrels who make their nests there. The birds who return to that tree when it is time to have children.

Now I’ve asked some naturalist friends, and they assure me that the city forester in Ithaca is a good woman who loves trees and knows her work. The city of Ithaca has a forestry plan and an interactive map of the city, which is how I learned that big heritage tree is a Skyline Honeylocust. It’s a designated “tree city” which I appreciate every day. But no matter how much I love them, no matter how much they feel like “my” trees, there is nothing I can do to protect these trees if the city decides it is time for them to go. The squirrels and birds have no standing in such a decision. There is no one who speaks for them in city council meetings. 

In our conversation today about who owns the land, I invite us to expand our thinking beyond which humans own which plot of land, lines drawn on a map filed with the government, argued in the courts. I also want us to consider all the non-human animals, the great trees, and small beings who have lived in those places for generations. Is it not their land also? And who has the standing to protect them, when they need protecting? Like in our story today, who speaks for wolf, and squirrel, and blue Jay and Honeylocust Tree?

 

 

More Love

You are here today because you know something about love. I don’t mean you are necessarily feeling loving right this moment, you could be having a terrible grumpy morning, and if you are my condolences, and I’m so glad you are here. But even if you are not feeling loving right now, you are here because when you hear about the inherent worth and dignity of every person, when you heard about a faith tradition rooted in the idea that if there is a God, the are loving, and that love includes everyone, some part of you said “ah, yes” or at least “tell me more.” You are here because at some point in your life you felt a steady love that held you unconditionally. Maybe that was your parents, or a friend, maybe it was a community like this one, or maybe it was an ineffable sense of something larger than yourself. When you asked “even me, in all my imperfection?” and you heard the answer “yes, even you.”

Our UU foreparents came to a Universalist theology because of that “aha” sense that resonated with something they knew deep inside. The story of Hosea Ballou is apocryphal, though he did use that example of the muddy child in his sermons. For him the love we have for even a muddy child was the kind of love he believed was available to all of us. George de Benneville, another Universalist foreparent, was raised to believe in that he was sinful, that God only had a few special favorites, and the rest of us were pre-judged and damned to an eternity of torment. He had an experience when he was a young man of noticing his own arrogance and “hardheartedness toward the wellbeing of others.” He felt terrible about this, and the ministers of his faith told him this must be because he was predetermined to be damned. For 15 months he was miserable and inconsolable, until humble and heartbroken he knelt in prayer, and had a vision of the divine wiping away all his sin, all his unworthiness[i]. Remembering this experience, de Benneville wrote: “[Jesus] ] loved me before I was born. Oh, what grace! He loved me in my fallen estate when I was wholly lost. Oh, what mercy! He even loved me when I was altogether unworthy, and freely too. Oh, what love... Hallelujah! Amen."” It was after this experience that de Benneville’s heart was converted to Universalism. He knew in his heart that not only he but all people were loved by God, even in their unworthiness. It was not through logic, through work of the mind that de Benneville came to his conversation, but through direct experience of unconditional love. 

Now that's a lot of God talk, all in a row. And we UUs are Theists, Atheists and Agnostics. Love is accessible to all of us. UU Theologian Thandeka speaks of something called Love beyond belief, which she says is at the heart of our UU faith: “Love Beyond Belief is the actual experience of feeling connected to all of life at once: feeling awe, wonder, and love of life itself. The access point to this state of consciousness isn’t thinking; it’s feeling. In this interior domain of human experience, one feels enlivening compassion, care, love, and resonance with all of life.”

Love is both extremely simple, and profoundly challenging. I’m not talking here about affection, or attraction. It’s okay not to like everyone, not to want to hang out with everyone. But I’m talking here about something deeper than those things- a love that lays like a bedrock under everything else. Because I’ve been with my partner 30+ years, I know that even when we are getting on each other’s last nerve, there is something deeper, often unspoken, that is there on good days and on bad. As our lives have ebbed and flowed and changed, as we have gone through good patches and difficult patches, I began to realize that even though it was subtle, and sometimes hard to see, I could count on that layer of our relationship that did not change, that was longer lasting than the changing tides of affection and the daily challenges of having a household together. I invite you to consider -- where in your life you have seen that or felt a love that is deeper than affection, So dependable that it may sometimes be too quiet and still to draw our attention. Even when it is unnoticed it is there.

Today’s story is a simple example, that a parent could love us even if we covered ourselves in mud, or other gross and sticky things, because their love is deeper than the surface, and they could love us even if they were annoyed or disappointed in us. That is the unconditional love that is at the core of our Universalist faith tradition.

In normal times, when I ask what church is, we make a long list of all the aspects of our community. But in these challenging times, we can’t hold so many things; we need something simple to hang on to. When you really dig down to the bedrock of our tradition, we are not our programs or events, we are not our historic buildings, At the core of our Universalist tradition is unconditional love. Love is the bedrock of our faith. As it says in the Christian scriptures I Corinthians “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”

Our main job, both as a Universalist community and as individual persons is to remember love, whenever we can, whenever it is available to be remembered or experienced. And to remind one another when we have forgotten. We remind each other not by a logical argument, but by being love. By embodying and manifesting love, by grounding our actions, our choices, our words in that bedrock of love that underlays and supports everything, that is deeper than the suffering and struggle of this moment.

What does it look like to live out that love ? That means something different for each of us. In the bok “love languages” by Gary Chapman, he listed 5 ways people tend to show their love in their primary relationship: acts of service, gift-giving, physical touch, quality time, and words of affirmation. His point was to help families understand that we all show love in different ways, and to help us receive those manifestations of love that may be unfamiliar to us. How you manifest your love in the world will be as unique as you are.

I think about the chalice circle that has been running at this congregation for years; no matter how we start the meeting, by the end there is this palpable feeling of being held lovingly by the group – even over zoom. There is something powerful, something transformative about just being in connection with love. When we remember our connection to love, that feeling can be contagious.

Grounding our life in love doesn’t always feel good- being open to love opens us up to the feelings of grief for those who we have lost, or those who have broken our trust. There is an almost instinctive motion of the heart when we have been hurt to close down, to put up walls and protect that tender place. But it was from such a tender humble place that George de Beneville opened his heart, was met by that numinous experience of unconditional love. Remembering love begins with opening our hearts to feel love, to know love, wherever it is available. We know there are some folks in the world who have been so wounded that they have lost touch with love, maybe they have no memory of love at all. Part of our calling is to hold a loving space for them, so it is available when and if they are ready to receive that.

Matt Kahn offers a powerful meditation in his book "Whatever Arises Love That" which I’ve found very helpful:

When I’m sad, I deserve more love, not less.
When I’m angry I deserve more love, not less.
When I’m frustrated, I deserve more love, not less.
Whenever I’m hurt, heartbroken, ashamed, or feeling guilty, I deserve more love, not less.
Even when I’m embarrassed by my actions, I deserve more love, not less.
Equally so, when I’m proud of myself I deserve more love, not less.
No matter how I feel, I deserve more love, not less.
Despite what I think I deserve more love, not less.
No matter the past that I’ve survived I deserve more love, not less.
No matter what remains up ahead I deserve more love, not less.
On my worst day I deserve more love, not less.
Even when life seems cruel and confusing I deserve more love, not less.
When no one is here to give me what I need I deserve more love, not less.
In remembering the greatest way I can serve the world I deserve more love, not less.
No matter what I’m able to accept, whomever I cannot forgive, or whatever I’m unable to love for whatever reason, I deserve more love, not less.

What a relief to know that even when we are too brokenhearted, to angry too cloaked in our own protection to feel love, this just means we need more love, not less. The universe offers love to us even then. God loves us even then, I find it helpful to say to myself lately when I am at my most grumpy and feel the most unlovable, “when I am grumpy and unlovable, I need more love, not less”

Dear Ones, this simple and profound work is so important right now. And you are really good at it. Sundays we gather on zoom and patiently wait for each other to mute or unmute, lose their pages, lose their zoom windows, and yet we experience some meaningful connection. We understand that we’re not going to find perfection here on Sunday morning, but we can help each other remember love. The world is in transition for sure, who knows what we are becoming as a country, as a community. In this time of heightened fear and animosity, we who can remember love are called to do so, and to remind others that love is real, and that it is also something we can build our future on together. If we want a world that is loving, then love must be our foundation. This is our most important work as inheritors of the Universalist tradition- to follow love like a north star, to hold it like a child in our arms, like a life preserver, like a prayer. To know that no matter how unworthy or troubled we feel we can fall down upon that deep foundational love it and it will hold us all.

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[i] https://www.uua.org/re/tapestry/adults/movesus/workshop1/282448.shtml

Growing Spiritually

 

Every time I see my little cousins, it is easy to see that they have grown. They are not only taller, but their faces change, their movements grow in confidence and skill. They grow not only in body, but also in their understanding of the world. Think of the child who is always asking why. By the time they go through our coming-of-age program as teenagers, they have been introduced to life’s big questions- why are we here, what happens after we die, why do bad things happen, what do I value. They have hopefully internalized a circle of meaning for themselves. And while the growth of our bodies slows down considerably after childhood, the mind, heart and spirit continue to develop our whole lives. We who are adults are also growing spiritually, even though it’s not so visible.

Like the hermit crab in his shell, the circles of meaning, the words and images we used to make sense of the world and our place in it, even the spiritual practices we do may need to be replaced with something roomier to hold our ever-growing selves. Life, being life, is more complex and changeable than the theological circle we drew in adolescence can hold, and it no longer fits. Maybe this is because we were filled up with so much new experience that the circle has to get bigger to hold it all. But often, it is some heartbreak, some betrayal, that fractures our circle of meaning, The meaning that served us in good times, in simple times, now feels insufficient to meet the realities of life.

That’s what happened to me. At 13 after carefully writing my credo for “coming of Age” I thought I had graduated from theology, but the experiences I had as a young adult showed cracks in that theological circle, and huge unresolved theological questions drew me to seminary. In seminary those cracks turned into gateways into new realms of understanding. It was as if I had been swimming in the kiddie pool- the theological education I had in junior high school was not supposed to get us through the daunting challenges of adulthood. Peering out through those cracks in my circle of meaning, I could see vast oceans to explore, and because I was in a learning community, I knew I was not alone with my questions- humans had been navigating them for centuries, and our religious traditions were full of helpful charts and maps.

While I was in seminary my theological circle cracked and regrew so many times if I had been a hermit crab I would have needed a beach full of shells. But let me be clear- I wasn’t growing spiritually because I was at school- you don’t have to go to seminary to grow, it is natural and all of us are doing it all the time. I went to seminary because I urgently needed a bigger shell, and I grew spiritually because I threw myself heart and soul into that transformation.

The problem with the hermit crab metaphor is twofold. First, the hermit crab does not grow their own shell, they borrow one from another animal. Our spiritual growth is deeply our own, and we Unitarian Universalists believe we don’t have to take on someone else’s shell, we have the option of growing our own. Second, we don’t have to throw out the old shell in order to grow. Perhaps we are more like the pine tree. The bark of a tree is a protective coating, and pine trees “build up really thick outer bark and their exterior layers can be decades old. This means the outer layers originated at a time when the trees were still young and slim, and as the trees age and increase in girth, the outer layers crack way down into the youngest layer of bark that… fits the girth of the tree as it is now” [i] maybe you feel more like a pine tree than a hermit crab- all that bark built up for decades is still helpful and protective, but the cracks allow a “just right” layer of bark that fits the tree as it is now.

When our theological circle cracks, when it gets too small, which naturally happens to everyone over and over, we have a choices to make. We can’t choose to stay exactly as we are forever, because the nature of life is constant change and and growth and transformation. As long as we are alive, we are growing. But we can choose how to respond to that change. One common instinctive response is to lock things down- to get hyper-vigilant and grip our lives tightly in hopes we can stop the change. Another common response is to numb ourselves to the discomfort of change, (I suspect everyone has some ways they like to numb themselves, from binge-watching mindless shows, a pretty mild form of numbing, to more serious addictions that cause inevitable harm to our bodies and spirits.) The third way we can handle change is to bring our full self to it; to start looking for a new shell if we like the hermit crab metaphor or growing from the inside out like the pine tree. When I reach the growing edge of my spirit I tend to do a bit of all 3 things. Even when I realize what is happening, and open myself to the process of growth, I’m still going to feel resistance to the change, and sometimes I’m going to need a break to numb out for a while. The important thing to remember, is that your spirit knows how to grow. It’s as natural as a toddler learning to balance. But we have the freedom to choose how we approach it.

I wanted to give you some clear vision of spiritual growth, but it is utterly unique to each person in each moment. It’s good to have mentors and role models, just as we see children eagerly watching and imitating those slightly older, but the goal is not to become like someone else, the goal is to become more fully ourselves. We see the Dali Lama speaking with peace and equanimity and compassion, and think- “if I grow spiritually I will be peaceful and full of the bliss of my divine nature all the time”. Some part of me imagined that if I really worked hard at spiritual growth I would eventually graduate and the road would be smooth and I would never experience pain again. Bad things might happen, but I would float above them, undisturbed by the suffering of life. That’s not been my experience however, and probably even the Dali Lama has bad days.

So if Spiritual Growth doesn’t make us perfectly peaceful, how can we spot spiritual growth when it begins to emerge? It will be more subtle than signs of material growth. It will probably not make us richer, or more famous, or more successful. My spiritual director offered me this list to help guide the way: where are we noticing increasing freedom, acceptance, compassion, and engagement? Freedom was a surprise to me, I always associated feeling free with breaking the rules. And in truth we do have to break rules and expectations to grow in spiritual freedom. I can’t tell you how many ideas I had to overcome about what a good minister should be before I could realize what kind of minister I am. I keep my code of ethics very seriously, so I’m not talking about breaking those rules, but all the unspoken conditioning about what I should be, what I can be needed to break open. When I loosened my grasp on ideas about what I should be and follow the spirit where it leads, I feel more freedom. When I choose the path that increases the sense of freedom, the path thing that comes naturally to me, the path that takes me toward my own growing edge, not only do I grow my own spirit, but you often tell me later that it spoke to you more powerfully than when I do things the usual old boring minister way. I encourage each of you to notice, when have you grown in freedom to be yourself?

Acceptance is a hard one. It is hard to accept that which is unpleasant, to accept a world that doesn’t live up to our vision. It’s especially tricky for us as UUs because we believe in working for justice, we believe that we have a role to play in making the world a better place or all. Acceptance in this case doesn’t mean giving up on a more compassionate world, but it starts with that long loving look at the real --this is the reality of my life right now, and whether I will work to change it or not, here is where I am, where we are. Are there times in your life when you have grown in acceptance?

The sages from many traditions agree that one of the best signs of spiritual growth is compassion. Perhaps after that sad event in our own lives we notice that we have more compassion for others who have gone through something similar. What practices or experiences in your life have led you to grow in compassion?

Engagement is an immediate way to discern an opening for spiritual growth. When I look at my to do list in the morning, I often ask “which of these things give me energy when I consider them, which make me feel tired?” I follow that alive kind of energy as much as I can. I ask the same thing in my spiritual practices sometimes. If I feel bored or resistant to sit on my meditation cushion, which does happen for sure, I might ask, is there another practice that feels right for today, that gives me the energy to practice? The energy often feels inspired and good, but sometimes there is energy around something hard. Some piece of grief will nudge me and ask for my attention. When I remember the importance of spiritual growth, I turn and face the hard thing, and give myself the freedom to put my work down and have a cry, or sit with anger or frustration, because that’s where the energy is. Where is there energy, where is there engagement in your life right now?

My theological circle was showing some cracks as my son left for college and I turned 50, but all that has happened since 2020- the pandemic, awakening consciousness about racial injustice and the suffering of the world -- really smashed it up a bit. I was discouraged- I mean, I spent so much time in seminary building that adult circle of meaning, and now it was crumbling again. I can tell that I am not alone in this, that many folks are left wondering “why” and “I thought life was like this, but really it’s like this.” It’s enough to make you question the very foundations of what we believe about life and about ourselves. One thing I like about the garden metaphor in that lovely poem by Marge Piercy is that every gardener knows the harvest is just one point in the cycle of growth and is not discouraged when the whole thing starts over again every spring. Thankfully the cycle of growth never ends.

It can be scary to have the world crumbling around you, and your theological circle crumbling inside as well. It feels uncomfortable to be in a shell that’s too small. It feels terrible when our shell breaks, and it can be scary looking for a new shell that is the right size for us. And like we would offer a toddler who is teething, I recommend compassion for those moments. Centering prayer teacher Thomas Keating advises; when our attention strays, just gently bring it back, because any energy we give to chastising ourselves, or figuring out what went wrong, just takes us further and further from where we wanted to be.

We UUs affirm that we are always growing spiritually, and we also covenant to encourage one another in that growth. One of the simplest ways we do this is by coming together in community for worship, to remember a bigger view of the world, to know that we are not alone on the journey, to hold hope for one another when we have lost hope. Another powerful way we can encourage one another is just to listen, in small groups and one to one conversations. We listen deeply and compassionately, to truly hear each unique person on each unique path, to hold one another in love even when we are confused, to help us remember that we are always growing spiritually, and to help us discern a way forward on our growing edge. I imagine myself at a crossroads wondering which way to turn, and some kindly companion asks: Which way makes you feel more free? Which way helps you grow in compassion? Which way feels like new life?

I suspect there isn’t a person on this planet who hasn’t had some challenging times in the past year. Each of us will choose whether we will bring our loving attention to our spirits during those hard moments of change, to allow and encourage our own spiritual growth and those of our companions. The same is true when we receive something amazing, something confounding-ly wonderful.We can choose how we engage with life, good and bad. Is our goal to get back to normal as quickly as possible? Or are we open to transformation? Quickly or slowly, we are all growing all the time. Let us encourage one another in that growth, and help one another to remember that “after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes” Again and again




[i] P. 63 The Hidden life of trees by peter wohlleben