Welcome To The Community Of Life From Scarborough Unitarians
A very special day at Scarborough Unitarians as we’ve welcomed little Dorothy to the Community of Life on Earth in our service today ❤️🥰
Unitarian Sunday Reflections
(Hull and Lincoln Unitarians)
27 March 2022
Lincoln Service ~ 11 am
Hull Service ~ 4pm
Chris Carr Leading the service
Hull Unitarians is inviting you to a scheduled Zoom meeting.
Join Zoom Meeting
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Lincoln Service Theme
“Returning”
Mothering Sunday Readings and Reflections
Fourth Sunday in Lent
We continue to Pray for the Ukraine, Yemen, and all places of war and destruction and all people, creatures and the environment effected by these wars.
May Peace come
“No more war, please”
PRELUDE
QUOTE:
“my mother sacrificed her dreams
so i could dream”
~ tupi kaur (poet)
CHALICE LIGHTING
words by John Carter
We light our chalice, this candle,
as a sign of our connectedness, our community, and of our journey on this spiritual quest called life….
GATHERING PRAYER
We take a moment to reflect on our life and living of this week… as we reflect…. explore and ask of yourself….
What was good? Healthy?
What was not good? Unhealthy?
What would you change if you could?
What moments, events, conversations, time alone
that allowed me to connect to another, to life,
to that which may be called Divine.
As we end these reflections, as we move to worship, may we continue to reflect on the things that make life whole and how we may grow ourselves into them.
May the Great Spirit of the Journey walk with us today.
Amen.
HYMN
HFL 43 (HFL CD1-TK4)
“Mother Spirit, Father Spirit”
words by Norbert F. Capek
Mother Spirit,
Father Spirit,
Where are you?
In the skysong,
In the forest,
Sounds your cry.
What to give you,
What to call you,
What am I?
Many drops are
In the ocean,
Deep and wide.
Sunlight bounces
Off the ripples
To the sky.
What to give you,
What to call you,
Who am I?
I am empty,
Time flies from me;
What is time?
Dreams eternal,
Fears infernal
Haunt my heart.
What to give you,
What to call you,
O, my God?
Mother Spirit,
Father Spirit,
Take our hearts.
Take our breath and
Let our voices
Sing our parts.
Take our hands and
Let us work to
Shape our art.
INTRODUCTION
Todays readings are from women poets, from different ages, different places, different lives. In each there is longing, remembering, and the search for belonging. In this the poets cover the promise or the ideal returning and nurture.
READING
What Kind of Times Are These
by Adrienne Rich
There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.
On Being Brought from Africa to America
Phillis Wheatley – 1753-1784
‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their colour is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.
A Prayer Band
by Suheir Hammad
every thing
you ever paid for
you ever worked on
you ever received
every thing
you ever gave away
you ever held on to
you ever forgot about
every single thing is one
of every single thing and all
things are gone
every thing i can think to do
to say i feel
is buoyant
every thing is below water
every thing is eroding
every thing is hungry
there is no thing to eat
there is water every where
and there is no thing clean to drink
the children aren’t talking
the nurses have stopped believing
anyone is coming for us
the parish fire chief will never again tell anyone that help is coming
now is the time of rags
now is the indigo of loss
now is the need for cavalry
new orleans
i fell in love with your fine ass poor boys sweating frying
catfish blackened life thick women glossy seasoning
bourbon indians beads grit history of races
and losers who still won
new orleans
i dreamt of living lush within your shuttered eyes
a closet of yellow dresses a breeze on my neck
writing poems for do right men and a daughter of refugees
i have known of displacement
and the tides pulling every thing
that could not be carried within
and some of that too
a jamaican man sings
those who can afford to run will run
what about those who can’t
they will have to stay
end of the month tropical depression turned storm
someone whose beloved has drowned
knows what water can do
what water will do to once animated things
a new orleans man pleads
we have to steal from each other to eat
another gun in hand says we will protect what we have
what belongs to us
i have known of fleeing desperate
with children on hips in arms on backs
of house keys strung on necks
of water weighed shoes
disintegrated official papers
leases certificates births deaths taxes
i have known of high ways which lead nowhere
of aches in teeth in heads in hands tied
i have known of women raped by strangers by neighbors
of a hunger in human
i have known of promises to return
to where you come from
but first any bus going any where
tonight the tigris and the mississippi moan
for each other as sisters
full of unnatural things
flooded with predators and prayers
all language bankrupt
how long before hope begins to eat itself?
how many flags must be waved?
when does a man let go of his wife’s hand in order to hold his child?
who says this is not the america they know?
what america do they know?
were the poor people so poor they could not be seen?
were the black people so many they could not be counted?
this is not a charge
this is a conviction
if death levels us all
then life plays favorites
and life it seems is constructed
of budgets contracts deployments
of wards and automobiles of superstition and tourism
and gasoline but mostly insurance
and insurance it seems is only bought
and only with what cannot be carried within
and some of that too
a city of slave bricked streets
a city of chapel rooms
a city of haints
a crescent city
where will the jazz funeral be held?
when will the children talk?
tonight it is the dead
and dying who are left
and those who would rather not
promise themselves they will return
they will be there
after everything is gone
and when the saints come
marching like spring
to save us all
I Have Been a Stranger in a Strange Land
by Rita Dove
“Life’s spell is so exquisite, everything conspires to break it.”
Emily Dickinson quote
It wasn’t bliss. What was bliss
but the ordinary life? She’d spend hours
in patter, moving through whole days
touching, sniffing, tasting . . . exquisite
housekeeping in a charmed world.
And yet there was always
more of the same, all that happiness,
the aimless Being There.
So she wandered for a while, bush to arbor,
lingered to look through a pond’s restive mirror.
He was off cataloging the universe, probably,
pretending he could organize
what was clearly someone else’s chaos.
That’s when she found the tree,
the dark, crabbed branches
bearing up such speechless bounty,
she knew without being told
this was forbidden. It wasn’t
a question of ownership—
who could lay claim to
such maddening perfection?
And there was no voice in her head,
no whispered intelligence lurking
in the leaves—just an ache that grew
until she knew she’d already lost everything
except desire, the red heft of it
warming her outstretched palm.
HYMN
HFL 132 (CD WWSfT/TK 12)
“Children of the Universe”
words by John Andrew Storey
Children of the human race,
Offspring of our Mother Earth,
Not alone in endless space
Has our planet given birth.
Far across the cosmic skies
Countless suns in glory blaze,
And from untold planets rise
Endless canticles of praise.
Should some sign of others reach
This, our lonely planet Earth,
Differences of form and speech
Must not hide our common worth.
When at length our minds are free,
And the clouds of fear disperse,
Then at last we’ll learn to be
Children of the Universe.
READING
The birthday of the world
by Marge Piercy
On the birthday of the world
I begin to contemplate
what I have done and left
undone, but this year
not so much rebuilding
of my perennially damaged
psyche, shoring up eroding
friendships, digging out
stumps of old resentments
that refuse to rot on their own.
No, this year I want to call
myself to task for what
I have done and not done
for peace. How much have
I dared in opposition?
How much have I put
on the line for freedom?
For mine and others?
As these freedoms are pared,
sliced and diced, where
have I spoken out? Who
have I tried to move? In
this holy season, I stand
self-convicted of sloth
in a time when lies choke
the mind and rhetoric
bends reason to slithering
choking pythons. Here
I stand before the gates
opening, the fire dazzling
my eyes, and as I approach
what judges me, I judge
myself. Give me weapons
of minute destruction. Let
my words turn into sparks.
The Journey
By Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
On the Pulse of Morning
Maya Angelou – 1928-2014
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today, you may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,
Clad in peace, and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers—desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought,
Sold, stolen, arriving on the nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours—your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here, on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, and into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope—
Good morning.
HYMN
HFL 192 (CD1, HFL/TK16)
“A New Community”
words by Samuel Anthony Wright
We would be one as now we join in singing
Our hymn of love, to pledge ourselves anew
To that high cause of greater understanding
Of who we are, and what in us is true.
We would be one in building for tomorrow
A greater world than we have known today;
We would be one in searching for that meaning
Which binds our hearts and points us on our way.
We would be one in living for each other,
With love and justice strive to make all free;
As one, we pledge ourselves to greater service,
To show the world a new community.
ADDRESS
I invite you to reflect upon the idea of returning. To the home and the ones that nurtured you. To a time and place that you knew you were heard, loved, and cared for. To the wider community that was a place of safety for you, assisting you in your development and mental, physical, and spiritual growth.
May we also remember that this is not true for many.
REFLECTION & PRAYER
“O God of all good life, who art not far from any one of us, deepen within us our awareness of Thy presence. In the confusion of the world we have become lost; we are strangers even to ourselves. Come to us gently, O God, like the fading of darkness at daybreak: be unto us as when a journey, long and hard, is ended, and now at last we are at home.” A Powell Davies
HYMN
HFL 226 ( CD 3 / TK 19)
“Song of Peace”
words of Lloyd Stone
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine;
This is my home, the country where my heart is,
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
But other hearts in other lands are beating
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on clover leaf and pine;
But other lands have sunlight, too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.
BLESSING
By Rev John Carter
Embracing all that life offers us,
Looking to each other
Seeing all our giftedness and beauty
Opening our arms to greet all that we meet…
We depart in peace, to live, to serve, to be that which our world needs.
Amen.
A very special day at Scarborough Unitarians as we’ve welcomed little Dorothy to the Community of Life on Earth in our service today ❤️🥰
Bradford Unitarians Raise Over £200 For Red Cross Afghanistan Crisis Appeal
Hull & Lincoln Service Theme
“Returning”
Mothering Sunday Readings and Reflections
Fourth Sunday in Lent
We continue to Pray for the Ukraine, Yemen, and all places of war and destruction and all people, creatures and the environment effected by these wars.
May Peace come
“No more war, please”