Giving Life the Shape of Justice

This sermon was delivered on May 12, 2013 at the Unitarian Society of Germantown.

In 1870, the Unitarian peace and suffrage activist Julia Ward Howe called on us to listen to the voice coming from “the bosom of the devasted earth.” That voice still calls to us today beckoning us to bring forth justice and peace in the world. Mothers, fathers, children, friends, aunts, uncles, cousins — We all have the power to give life the shape of justice. How can we embrace our role as creators of justice and peace? This will be Joan’s final sermon of her 2012-13 internship at USG.

Listen to a podcast of this sermon.

Readings

from Life Prayers, Henry Horton

Our Mother, 
whose body is the Earth, 
Sacred is they being. 
Thy gardens grow. 
Thy will be done in our cities, as it is in nature. 
Thanks be this day for food, and air, and water. 
Forgive us our sins against Earth, 
as we are learning to forgive one another. 
And surrender us not unto extinction, but deliver us from our folly. 
For thine is the beauty, and the power, and all life, from birth to death, from beginning to end. 
Amen. 
So be it. 
Forever. 
Blessed be. 

from Breathing Space: A Spiritual Journey in the South Bronx by Heidi Neumark

“These ancient prayers are cries for understanding, strength, liberation, justice, clarity, truth, community…These moans are why I feel so blessed to work here. Of course, God is everywhere, but Jesus was clear about his unique presence among the poor, the hungry and thirsty, the naked and sick, the stranger and the prisoner. Perhaps that’s why I feel so close to life in this place, so blessedly alive. It is life in the face of death here, where the distances are most acute, between lions and lambs, Tiffany’s and Illusions 99¢--all the divisions like class, race and gender that rend the tissue of our humanity—and here, where the valleys cry to rise up and meet the hills. Here love comes to level out uneven ground and make rough places plain, and pleads for our collaboration. When will the work be finished? The wait is nearly unbearable, but here I can bear it because here is where anhelo’s song has seized my soul.”

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One of the things I’ve learned about my sermon writing process during my internship is that it never comes easily. Writing a sermon can be an agonizing process of sitting at my computer, ready for words of wisdom to come flowing forth, and instead staring blankly at my screen, or worse, allowing myself to get pulled away into some other task. And this week my procrastination and avoidance was at an all time high.

As I reflected on this, I came to realize that it was not a coincidence that my worst bout of procrastination occurred with the preparation of the final sermon of my internship here at USG. Putting words on paper made it all too real that what has been such a meaningful experience for me is actually coming to a close. Avoiding the writing of this sermon was also avoiding the feelings of loss and grief that come with any transition. And especially at the close of an experience that has made me feel, in the words of Heidi Neumark, blessedly alive. 

So it has been with a heart full of joy and also bit of sadness that this sermon and I have come to arrive here this morning.

That phrase, blessedly alive, is an incredibly powerful and meaningful phrase to me.

Last week, Rev. Kent spoke about creating and re-creating our own lives. And of living into the creativity that is all around us. For me, another way to talk about this is continuing to connect with that which makes us feel so close to life. 

So blessedly alive.

It seems appropriate to me that Mother’s Day falls within the month that our spiritual theme is creation. Traditionally, this is a day dedicated to celebrating women with children and the role they play as caretakers, and we definitely want to honor all those women, but as a spiritual community, I think we can also expand our notion of what is celebrated on this day.

Whether we have children or not, each of us in our own way creates, births, nurtures and cares for life –  for the people in our lives – children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, students, friends – and for other living beings – beloved pets, flourishing and maybe fledgling gardens.

The Social Justice Sunday project that the children in the congregation have been engaged in as part of their religious education program is a shining example of this capacity in each of us to embody the creative spirit of mothering.

It is this spirit that seeks to nurture the abundance and fullness of life.

It is also this spirit that helps each of us to see creativity at work in the world and our role in it.

The theologian Henry Nelson Wieman believed that creativity connects us all and that where we experience the holy or sacred, creative interchange is taking place.

Listening to or singing a stirring piece of music,

Taking in the vibrant colors of a spring sunrise,

Laughing that full belly kind of laugh with a good friend.

Creative interchange is in those holy moments when we are in touch with the abundant goodness of life.

It is in the creative process that personal transformation is possible, and it also in the creative process that societal and environmental transformation is possible as well.

In the hymn, "Spirit of Life" by Carolyn McDade, we sing of a spirit that moves through the world, blowing in the wind, rising in the sea, stirring compassion, and giving life the shape of justice.

The spirit of life is a spirit of creation and we are its co-creators.

Most of us here are interested in the endeavor of leading spiritually engaged and rich lives. That is why we show up here on a Sunday morning. Or participate in any number of church activities. 

A six week adult spiritual development program called “Spirit in Practice” just concluded this week. Participants in this program explored a variety of spiritual practices including justice practices. Some in the program shared how they had never really thought of social justice as a spiritual practice.

Yet, just like singing a beautiful piece of music, our engagement in practices of social justice are encounters of creative interchange in which the holy can be experienced.

So, how do we act as co-creators of life shaped by justice?

How do we go about bringing forth the fullness and abundance of life?

I believe that we must first ground ourselves in where we are. We must pay attention to and appreciate the beauty of the world as well as the pain.

Each of these tasks can present its own challenges.

It can be difficult to appreciate the good and the beautiful when our hearts have become hardened by all the injustice and violence we witness and hear about.

It can also be challenging to allow in the reality of the pain of the world because it is just too overwhelming or because we’d really rather not see it or feel it.

For me, it has been difficult to hear updates of the mounting death toll in the wake of the collapse of the Rana Plaza building in Bangladesh which housed five garment factories. There are now over eleven hundred counted among the dead and a part of me doesn’t want to face the devastating pain of each of those lost lives and the implications for my own consumer habits.

When it comes to living into our role as creators of justice it is really this second task – paying attention to the pain in the world -- that is the hardest and yet the most crucial.

Joanna Macy, the Buddhist scholar and ecological activist, says that, “We have to not be afraid of feeling pain for our world. The anguish we feel for what is happening is inevitable and normal. If we’re afraid to feel our anguish, we won't feel where it comes from, and where it comes from is love—our love for this world.”

This is what I appreicate about Heidi Neumark’s use of the term blessedly alive. The blessing she talks about comes from a fierce love for the world and the full awareness of both life and death. She writes, 

“Perhaps that’s why I feel so close to life in this place, so blessedly alive. It is life in the face of death here, where the distances are most acute, between lions and lambs, Tiffany’s and Illusions 99¢ -- all the divisions like class, race and gender that rend the tissue of our humanity—and here, where the valleys cry to rise up and meet the hills. Here love comes to level out uneven ground and make rough places plain, and pleads for our collaboration.”

Love causes us to feel anguish and also to notice goodness.

And it pleads for our collaboration.

Neumark witnessed the pain of poverty and urban environmental degradation in her community due to decades of neglect by the city. And she also experienced the beauty of a religious community that was there for each other in these times of hardship. Who made meals for each other. And walked children home from school. And sang songs of praise in a building badly in need of repair.

With that community she worked to give life the shape of justice.

Wangari Maathai, the Kenyan environmental and political activist and 2004 Nobel Peace Prize winner, was also a creator of justice and peace. The Green Belt Movement which she founded in 1977 reclaimed the landscape of Kenya over the last three decades of her life and transformed the lives of women and their families.

Even though she had moved away from home, it was her childhood memories of the richness and abundance of the land that shaped her approach to helping the women of rural Kenya. For Maathai, justice for women was directly connected to caring for the beautiful land she had grown to love as a child. The pain and suffering that people faced could be addressed by bringing back that beautiful resource.

Both Heidi Neumark and Wangari Maathai created justice by resisting those forces that destroy the beauty and joy of the world.

And, we can do this, too.

As creators of justice, we ground ourselves in where we are now. We recognize the beauty of the world. And we feel the pain of the world as well.

From this place, our creative action emerges.

Where is it that you see beauty and that you experience pain in your community?

We are lucky that here at USG we need not look farther than our own backyard to witness the beauty and abundance of life’s creation. We get to experience it each time we gather on this nearly six acres of precious land – our own little piece of creation.

And, there is more to our community than just the beautiful land and its inhabitants of chipmunks, squirrels, robins, maple trees and oak trees.

There is also the community of people we touch.

We know that beauty and pain intermingle within the walls of our church and in the lives of those who are a part of this religious community.

And not too far from here, beauty and pain intermingle on the streets where young people are victims of gun violence, where the city’s public schools face continued budget cuts, but also where community gardens flourish, and where survivors of human trafficking are beginning to rebuild their lives.

This beauty and this pain call for our creative action.

Many of you are engaged in one or multiple issues through our social action initiatives here at USG.

Tutoring at Lingelbach Elementary School and advocating on behalf of the cities’ public schools.

Working towards climate change policy and reducing your own carbon footprint.

Supporting just wages and benefits for restaurant workers.

Advocating for an end to prison construction.

Raising awareness of women’s reproductive rights.

There is no shortage of ways to engage in justice practices here at USG.

Today you might consider, what is a next step for you?

What is the next creative action you can take in your journey as a creator of justice?

Here, where the valleys cry to rise up and meet the hills, and love comes to level out uneven ground and make rough places plain – how is love pleading for your collaboration?

As I mentioned, this is the final sermon of my internship which officially ends on May 31. And I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for helping me to feel blessedly alive these past almost nine months.

As a religious community, you are creating and nurturing a loving and caring spiritual home where all are welcomed. You are creating opportunities for experiencing the wonder and awe of life. You are creating meaningful interactions with organizations and individuals in our broader Mt. Airy and Philadelphia community. And you are creating a place that sustains souls full of longing for connection and love.

USG, you are blessedly alive.

May you continue to lift up the fullness of life with hearts full of love for this world.

Amen.

Benediction

Let us go from here with the spirit of Love in our hearts

Let us care for one another and the earth which is our home

Let us be creators of justice and peace for all of our days.

Amen. Blessed be.

Beyond the Empty Tomb

This Easter homily was delivered on March 31, 2013 at the Unitarian Society of Germantown.

This Sunday is Easter Sunday and we invite you to join us for an intergenerational Easter Worship Service! Each Easter Sunday we celebrate the universal message that new life can spring forth even from our darkest moments. We all have “empty tombs” of loss, pain, and uncertainty. Yet, with hope and courage we emerge to find new life and meaning. Hallelujah!
 
Listen to a podcast of this homily.

Readings

"Rolling Away the Stone," No. 628 in Singing the Living Tradition
"Easter Morning," No. 623 in Singing the Living Tradition

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The gospel of Mark, which our reading is based on, is the most intriguing of the gospel accounts to me because of the closing lines we just read.

“So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

The gospel writer, Mark, leaves out the most celebrated aspect of the Easter story – the appearance of the resurrected Jesus.

No, grand hallelujah ending here.

The story does not have a nice, neat happy conclusion.

For this reason, perhaps, it seems to me an exceedingly fitting version of the Easter story for Unitarian Universalists.

We who doubt any story with an easy resolution.

We who invite questions without easy answers.

In the version of the gospel account that we just engaged in, we are invited to put ourselves in the place of the women who first go to the tomb of Jesus:

Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, a follower of Jesus.

These women had witnessed their teacher, their dear friend brutally murdered and humiliated. The ministry of Jesus had involved prophesying against the political and religious establishment. He was seen as enough of a threat that he was arrested, brought before the court, and sentenced to death by one of the most brutal means possible – crucifixion.

The women had just witnessed all this happen to someone they loved so dearly and then watched as he was buried.

And, they wished to honor him and follow proper burial procedures. So once the Sabbath had ended, they gathered together bringing their spices and oils to anoint his body. One final outpouring of love.

They first worry over who will roll the stone away from the entrance to the tomb. And they arrive to discover the stone already moved and the body of their beloved one gone. A man dressed in a white robe is there and tells them to tell the others what they have seen and to go to Galilee and they will find Jesus there.

Instead, as Mark’s gospel account tells it, they fled seized by terror and amazement and did not say a word to anyone.

No, not a neat and tidy ending to this story.

You may be wondering, as I sometimes have, Is this really an Easter story?

I mean, where’s the rejoicing? Where is the miraculous resurrection?

Instead, the story leaves us on the edge of our seats yearning for that glimmer of hope in this dark moment of despair.

In our own dark moments of despair, we yearn for this same glimmer of hope. We do not want fear and terror to be the last word.

But, I would propose that the gospel of Mark’s cliff-hanger ending is not an ending at all but a beginning.

We know that, historically speaking, the story did not in fact end there. It did not end with the women, out of fear, speaking to no one. In fact, news spread of the empty tomb and Jesus’ resurrection from the dead and of his appearance to his disciples. And the community of people that followed and proclaimed his teachings lived on bringing forward the message that love conquers all.

When the women found the tomb empty, there was anguish and questioning and desolation. But, there was also possibility and hope.

Whether we believe in the literal resurrection of Jesus or not, the Easter story communicates the possibility - the promise - that death does not have the last word.

We can look to our own lives and the world around us here and now for the assurance that this is true.

Together this morning we participated in a powerful ritual of bringing forth life and beauty from stark barrenness. Already the buds of flowers have begun pushing their way up and out of the cold, wet ground. Birds have begun returning with their morning greetings.

Just a week ago, I was beginning to wonder whether we were destined to live in an eternal winter. It seemed like we would never emerge from that cold and gray empty tomb.

And, we face many of these kinds of empty tombs, don’t we?

Mourning the loss of a dear friend, wife, grandfather, child.

Losing your job and wondering what comes next.

Waiting for the day you can be reunited with family living thousands of miles away because they can’t get the right papers to be in this country.

Like the women at the tomb, we have faced those moments when it seemed that fear and amazement at what is happening in our lives is all there is.

But, these experiences of our life do not have the last word.  They are just a beginning.

Kate Braestrup is a Unitarian Universalist chaplain for the Maine Warden Service. In 1996, she was living in a small coastal town with her husband and their four young children. Her husband, Drew, was a law enforcement officer and had talked about going into seminary. One morning Drew left for work in his squad car while Kate was at home getting herself and the children ready to head out for the day. And, Kate heard a siren go by and stopped to wonder who the ambulance might be for. They lived in a small enough community that she would probably know who it was for and she stopped to stay a little prayer for them. And she says, “And then as I was putting my shoes on right after that, I was thinking about how much I loved Drew and how nice it was to still be in love with him after 11 years of marriage. That was actually when he died. The ambulance was for him.” She continues, “When he died, two things happened. One was that I was in the same moment confronted by an unbearable loss and also by the realization that there were people and a community all around me that were there to help me bear it.” Within a year of his death, Kate, who had been a writer, entered seminary and began preparations to become a chaplain. “What Drew did,” she says, “was to begin a process or to start hacking out the road that one of us was going to travel.” [from her interview with Krista Tippett]

Life begins again even from our moments of darkest despair.

Mary Oliver’s poem, “I Will Try,” describes her personal encounter with grief and her emergence from it. She writes,

I will try.

I will step from the house to see what I see

and hear and I will praise it...

[from the collection Red Bird]

Our rising up and stepping forth again can be this subtle. Like an almost unrecognizable song coming from deep within.

Rising up from devastation.

Rising up from grief.

Rising up from uncertainty.

It happens again and again and again.

Like the faith we have in the earth’s renewal, we can believe in the miraculous resurrection of our own spirits.

This Easter, may we believe again that new life is possible in every moment.

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Benediction

"Gardeners of the spirit," May Sarton

May we be the always hopeful gardeners of the spirit

who know that without darkness nothing comes to birth

as without light nothing flowers.

Living with Your Whole Heart

This sermon was delivered on March 10, 2013 at the Unitarian Society of Germantown.

We learn from the painful experiences in life to avoid emotional hurt and shame. We learn to protect ourselves by remaining closed to sharing the whole of our selves with others. But, what if vulnerability is a key to unlocking the fullness of life? How do we find the courage to live with our whole heart?

Listen to a podcast of this sermon.

Readings

from "The Man in the Arena," Theodore Roosevelt 

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly…"

a selection from "Courage," Anne Sexton

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It may surprise some of you that I was an extremely shy child.

When we were younger, my brothers and I would visit my mother’s office in downtown Chicago. And, as we walked around saying hello to her co-workers, I would hide shyly behind her legs. Afraid to be seen or to speak to anyone. When I was a bit older, friends would call me up on the phone, and I was so shy, I’d refuse to answer.

Well, I’ve changed quite a bit since then. But the same fundamental fear still presents itself at times. The fear of being totally and completely seen. Totally and completely known by others.

Brené Brown is a researcher and professor of social work who has become a leading expert on vulnerability, courage, and shame.

In 2010, she appeared before an audience of 500 people in Houston, Texas and delivered a 20 minute talk entitled “the power of vulnerability.” The talk was video recorded and put on the web. That online video has now been viewed close to 7 million times.

Who would have thought vulnerability would be such a popular topic?

Brown’s years of research led her to this overarching claim: vulnerability is at the core of whole hearted living.

The “whole hearted” as Brown describes them are those who live with a sense of worthiness and who know love and belonging.

Although Brown’s research is done within an entirely secular context, I believe that it is precisely this - this “Whole hearted living” – that is our primary religious and spiritual endeavor.

Actually, I wasn’t all too surprised to learn that Brown herself is a religious person. And her description for these people she found in her research who live from a place of love and belonging, this phrase “whole hearted,” comes from a line in a prayer said every Sunday in the Episcopal church service she attends.

Whole hearted living is a spiritual endeavor that leads us to connection.

And vulnerability is at the core.

As an academic researcher, Brown has a particular definition of vulnerability. One that I believe is helpful for us as spiritual seekers.

Brown describes vulnerability as uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.

In her research, when she asked people to finish the sentence: Vulnerability is___. These were some of the responses:

Asking for help

Falling in love

Admitting I’m afraid

Helping my 37-yr-old wife with Stage 4 breast cancer make decisions about her will

Reaching out to my son who is going through a difficult divorce

Getting fired

Laying off employees

Trying something new

In her poem, Anne Sexton provides these examples of vulnerability:

the child’s first step, as awesome as an earthquake.

the first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.

enduring a great despair,

facing old age and its natural conclusion.

What these examples show us is that to live is to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability is right there in the ordinariness of life.

Often, vulnerability is equated with weakness. But, it is far from it.

In fact, we often admire vulnerability in others. The way we see others being courageously honest and authentic. We name it as courage in others but a sign of inadequacy or weakness in ourselves.

Yes, it is uncomfortable. And it can lead us into difficult conversations we may rather not have.

Some of you here may end up taking a course being offered here at USG called Having Your Voice to the End of Your Life. Most of the class focuses on having discussions about one’s end of life decisions – decisions about the medical treatment you may or may not want at your time of death. I can hardly imagine conversations that require more vulnerability than these. Uncomfortable, yes. Weakness, no.

For many, many years, people of this congregation have engaged with each other in discussions about racism, oppression, and multi-culturalism. Just last we week we had a town hall gathering to focus in on these issues. And, I will dare say that if there isn’t discomfort in these conversations, then we’re probably not being vulnerable enough. When issues of privilege and marginalization are being talked about, shame inevitably surfaces. And we want to run from that as fast as we can.

Vulnerability is uncomfortable and risky for sure. And because of this it also necessitates being in relationships of trust and respect. We try to cultivate those here at USG and I hope that you all feel that you have those people in your lives with whom you feel safe being seen and know.

And, if vulnerability is not weakness, it is also not being unsafe. I want to be clear that in no way am I advocating for any of us to make ourselves vulnerable to unsafe situations. To physical or emotional harm or abuse. Protecting ourselves from those who might harm us in those ways is absolutely necessary.

I am, however, suggesting that we see the entirety of our lives as a precious journey of vulnerability. No matter our age, our race, our economic situation, we are all on this journey. And we can practice the art of living vulnerably and courageously with greater intention and thoughtfulness.

One of the reasons I think Brené Brown’s video and now follow-up book have become so popular is that embracing vulnerability is a provocative counter-cultural message.

It is a far more common practice to push away vulnerability than it is to allow it into our lives.

The broader culture in which we live tells us that vulnerability is not something to strive for. In fact, we should avoid it at all costs.

In the movie, Up in the Air, George Clooney plays the role of Ryan Bingham, a successful business executive whose primary role can be described as “hire-to-fire.” He criss-crosses the country by plane, living out of hotel rooms, shows up at various companies, and orchestrates massive lay-offs. He meets one by one with dozens of people at any given company to inform them they’ve been “let go.” In the movie, his boss hires a young woman, Natalie Keener, a recent college graduate, who comes up with a way to cut costs and revolutionize their line of work using technology.

In one poignant scene, Ryan and Natalie arrive in Detroit. They enter the conference room of the company which will serve as their home base for the day. Sitting on the table is a computer screen. Their boss is on the screen, sitting at his desk in Omaha. He informs Natalie that she will take the reins to test out her revolutionary new system. And suddenly before her is an image of a middle-aged man sitting at a table peering at the computer screen with a bewildered look. She calls his name to get his attention and mechanically begins her script. She informs him his position is no longer available. He raises his voice in anger and they realize he is but 10 feet away sitting in a room on the other side of the wall directly in front of them. He begins to sob and looks away completely distraught. Natalie has to say his name several times before he finally gets up to leave. And, looking a bit shaken themselves, Natalie and Ryan watch through a glass wall as the man walks past the room they’ve been sitting in.

Sadly, this movie scene is all too realistic.

It depicts our cultural aversion to opening ourselves up emotionally. It depicts our desire to control and predict.

As the movie, Up in the Air shows, this particular tactic is especially common with large companies.

But, we are not immune to this kind of vulnerability avoidance ourselves.

Have you ever made an off-handed and hurtful remark to someone and then simply pretended it made no impact on them?

Or, have you ever focused on performing so well at your job or on an exam that you minimize the risk of failure?

Or, do you plan your day, your week, your month, your year to eliminate uncertainty about the future?

Or, have you ever gone shopping as a balm for receiving some bit of disappointing news?

I confess I have done all of these things.

Pretending.

Perfecting.

Making the uncertain certain.

Numbing.

All of these strategies are meant to push away uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.

Another reason I think Brown’s talk has become so popular is that we’re waking up to an unwillingness to live from a place of fear. Many of us are drawn to communities like this one here at the Unitarian Society of Germantown because we know a fuller life is possible. A life not based in notions of scarcity, unworthiness, or fear but in gratitude, wholeness, and courage.

It is right here in our religious community that we can practice this way of being together.

One of the most powerful points I think Brown makes in her work is that we cannot selectively numb our emotions.

If we are trying to shield ourselves from fear, shame, grief, sadness, and disappointment, we also cut ourselves off from possibilities to experience love, belonging, and joy.

Because while vulnerability can expose us to the negativity of fear and disappointment, it is also the birthplace of connection and joy.

One of the greatest examples of this in my own life has been my search for religious community. Many of you know that I was raised Roman Catholic. And, I stopped identifying with that tradition in college. 

Well, I knew I had a longing to be in some kind of religious community and I spent a number of years searching, going to various church services. And each time that I showed up on the steps of a new and different church was a moment of vulnerability. Of uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.

Not knowing whether I would feel like I belonged, or whether I’d find the kind of spiritual wholeness I was looking for.

And my journey as a Unitarian Universalist still feels fraught with this uncertainty. With the question – can I be all of who I am here? can I be fully seen and known here?

One of my most vulnerable moments as a Unitarian Universalist happened this past summer at our denominational Justice General Assembly in Phoenix. The weeklong General Assembly closed with an action of witness at Tent City, an outdoor prison known for its inhumane conditions. I had to catch a flight that evening and was extremely disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to participate. But they had set up a room at the convention center for those of us who couldn’t go to Tent City to gather and hold a space of witness of our own. And the week had been one of those rare occasions when I felt like I had actually found my way in this spiritual seeking. In this room, we mostly sang together. And as we sang I felt as if each person present was somehow peering right into me. Right into my soul. And with tears streaming down my face, I joined my voice with others:

Oh, we give thanks, for this precious day, for all gathered here, and those far away, for this time we share, with love and care, oh, we give thanks for this precious day.

Gratitude.

Joy.

Hope.

This is vulnerability.

Attending to it takes courage.

The courage to tell the story of who we are with our whole hearts.

To admit what we dream for and what we need.

To risk failure.

To sit with discomfort.

The courage to just show up and to be fully engaged in the living of our lives.

Brené Brown says that when she realized vulnerability was at the core of whole hearted living, she was in for a fight. Vulnerability pushed, she says, I pushed back. I lost the fight but probably won my life back.

May we with courage grab a hold of life and never let it go.

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Benediction

For all who embrace life

May life return your affection

May you shine your light out into the world with courage

The whole of life awaits us.

Blessed be.