CLF Quest Forums CLF Quest Podcast Enhanced Podcast for iTunes Podcast for Other Software
Quest Archives Quest Submission Guidelines
Simple Gifts from the CLF Looking for a special gift for those UUs in your life? The CLF sells several styles of chalice jewelry for all genders and ages. Proceeds from your gifts support the CLF’s ministry to isolated UUs all over the globe. Your purchases become a simple gift to the UU world. Make your purchases at the CLF gift shop at www.clfuu.org/catalog, or contact Beth Murray at 617-948-6150 for assistance.
iTunes Quest subscribers: Switch to our “enhanced” Quest podcasts and enjoy faster and easier downloads, images of each month's Quest contributors, and simpler navigation. Go to www.clfuu.org/podcasts and click on the “CLF Quest Enhanced” link.
Did You Know? ...the CLF sells attractive cards suitable for holiday messages and much more? Available at the CLF Shop: www.clfuu.org/catalog.
KEN SAWYER, MINISTER, FIRST PARISH IN WAYLAND, MASSACHUSETTS When I began in ministry it was customary, almost obligatory, to preach about the Pilgrims as Thanksgiving approached. Not every year, of course—you want to talk about gratitude, and about obligation, responding to our own blessings by trying to extend them more fully to others, to the oppressed and the needy. And then about the Pilgrims. After all, the congregation they gathered on board the Mayflower, one of the oldest churches in the United States of Protestant background, is now the First Parish in Plymouth, Unitarian Universalist. They were models for our congregational way of doing things, and for democracy. Still, I held off for many years. But I finally gave in, preaching on one of the several themes or lessons that can be drawn from those folks in Plymouth, the ones so popular in our national mythology as the participants in the first Thanksgiving. I recalled their adventuresome spirit, their willingness to strike out into danger and newness for the sake of their spiritual wellbeing when conditions where they were were unacceptable.
Among the readings, I included the poem by LeBaron Russell Briggs that concludes,
And when we sail as Pilgrims’ sons and daughters The spirit’s Mayflower into seas unknown, Driving across the waste of wintry waters The voyage every soul shall make alone, The Pilgrim’s faith, the Pilgrim’s courage grant us; Still shines the truth that for the Pilgrim shone. We are his seed; nor life nor death shall daunt us. The port is Freedom! Pilgrim heart, sail on!
I celebrated that spirit, in rather poetic language. To quote just one sentence, albeit one that goes on for a while: “The Pilgrim choice is to risk or forsake comfort and security for the sake of our own souls, casting forth on whatever adventures conscience and curiosity impel, in the faith that our freedom lies in bold exploration of future hopes and not in captivity to past nor present, and in the courage shared by comrade souls who support each other’s most earnest searchings after life more abundant and whole.”
Invoking the Pilgrims to celebrate anything became much more difficult in subsequent years. There was a growing consciousness that whatever noble reasons may have brought them here, the arrival of Europeans in the western hemisphere was part of a disastrous tragedy for native people. The Pilgrims became viewed by many primarily only as the start of the migration that would lead to so much death and dislocation for Indians from sea to sea—something to be mourned, not celebrated.
And I have personal reasons to tone down my support for boldly changing one’s life. For one thing, it is an odd level of enthusiasm from someone who’s lived in the same house for 27 years, had the same job for 33, will before long celebrate a 41st wedding anniversary, and hasn’t changed his theology or his hairstyle since he was a teen. No doubt it was exhilarating to say, as I did back when, “We all face times as the Pilgrims did in England and Holland when we have to choose between staying still and accommodation and safety and habit and convention on the one hand and, on the other, devotion to our own most heartfelt beliefs and the ways of our own hearts, though they lead us onto less traveled paths, even out onto seas where few have gone before.” And I like to think those words helped someone make a brave and called-for change. But as to the “on the one hand, and on the other,” I wouldn’t weight the decision so heavily on the side of moving on. I’m not sure the half of the religious community in Leiden, Holland, that didn’t sign onto the Mayflower voyage made all that bad a choice.
This relates to the other personal reason for muting my message about the Pilgrims’ bold adventure serving as a model. When I first preached on this topic, I did note that, “The oceans are sometimes large, and the winter’s toll should tutor the mind in wariness.” To say the least.
I sometimes dabble in genealogy, just a little. I got curious last year about something I’d never much thought about: my ancestors who came over on the Mayflower. Where I grew up in New Jersey, and perhaps where you grew up too, any reference to having such a connection would not have been welcome conversation on the playground or even in class. It’s considered pretentious, and probably sufficient cause for a punch in the nose, or at least ridicule.
But I’ve known both my mother and father had at least one ancestor who came over on that ship, and it wasn’t hard to find out who they were: Edward Fuller, his wife (“Mrs. Fuller”), their 12-year-old son Samuel, and 41-year-old Degory Priest, whose wife and two children stayed behind in Holland—they would arrive three years later.
You may remember that the Pilgrims, having sailed from Plymouth, England, in September, 1620, bound for Virginia, were blown to Cape Cod instead and settled in Plymouth in December. By the time the weather improved in March, of the four people I mentioned, only the 12-year-old hadn’t died. Most of the Pilgrims in Plymouth during the winter of 1621 died. Of the 17 families, 10 of the husbands died, and 14 of the wives.
So I got to thinking, why was I ever excited about this idea of theirs?
Well, there are certainly times when a Pilgrim’s brave venturesomeness is a good and positive thing in our lives. But even then, we might take some further, corrective guidance from the Pilgrim ordeal. For example, lesson one: “Timing matters.” There are some choices that may be right, but not just now, like setting out across the Atlantic in September, so you arrive just in time for winter. Of course, that wouldn’t have been such a consequential mistake if the wind had allowed them to sail further south.
Lesson two: “Expect things not to go just the way you expect.”
Actually, the third and clearest message is a positive one: “Help can make a world of difference.” If you managed to survive that terrible beginning, things got better soon, thanks to guidance from several of those native to that land. The unexpected things can sometimes be good.
To return a minute before closing to the question of whether any reference to the Pilgrims isn’t made impossible because of the terrible ways that native people were treated by European settlers, it should count for something that among all the colonists, the little Pilgrim band was initially notable for its lack of the spirit of conquest or subjugation and its relatively good relations with local tribes, thanks in good part to the tribes and their leaders.
It’s been over twenty years since I first took up this topic of the Pilgrims’ adventurous spirit. I seem to have grown more moderate in my enthusiasm for their model. I know my preaching style has meanwhile become less baroque. But I still believe these closing words:
The memory of their faith and courage remain as inspiration, for which we render Thanksgiving praise. But in every age the sails must be set again, and the course re-struck across unknown water on the journey of the faithful, that we might make a better world, and defend a nobler dream, and foster peace, and each of us live with greater purpose and devotion and joy.
Rest not in harbor; the spirit’s Mayflower put upon the seas of your brief years toward the dreams beyond the horizon’s line.
“Pilgrim heart, sail on!”?
Our corn [i.e. wheat] did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown. They came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom. Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty. —Edward Winslow, from a letter dated December 12th, 1621
BY ROBERTA FINKELSTEIN, MINISTER, SOUTH CHURCH, THE UNITARIAN UNIVERSALIST CHURCH OF PORTSMOUTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE
“I hate, I despise your festivals. I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.” The approach of Thanksgiving always brings those dramatic words from the biblical prophet Amos to my mind. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that carries so many memories, so much pressure to live up to an impossible standard, so much angst. The original intent of Thanksgiving was not to make people feel inadequate because their families or their cooking didn’t measure up to the ideal. But I’ve had enough conversations over the years with distressed parishioners at this time of year to know that is what happens. The intent was not to pressure the designated cook into pursuing that mythical perfect turkey, perfect pie-crust, and perfect table setting, though many of us have fallen victim to that invitation only to end the day feeling exhausted and resentful.
The original intent of Thanksgiving was to take the time to celebrate life—survival in the face of hardship, plenty in the face of scarcity—and to thank God for renewing, once again, that ancient covenant that promised life and plenty to God’s people. Today, Americans and Canadians continue the Thanksgiving custom as an opportunity to pause and reflect on the fact that we live in the midst of plenty, that again this year the harvest has come in and we will not starve.
Many years ago, the story goes, a covenant was made between God and Abraham and Sarah. Abraham and Sarah were nomads; they really knew what it meant to live in scarcity. They lived in a land with little water—they had to eke out an existence as best they could. But even more, they felt that their lives were impoverished by the fact that they had no children. God made them a solemn promise that they would bear children, and that they would go to live in a land of plenty. From scarcity to plenty! What a promise! In exchange, they were asked to live in right relationship with God. They became people of a covenant. That struggle, ongoing throughout human history, reminds us that right relationship with God is not just about belief, it is also about actions. Indeed, even those who don’t feel a part of that Judaic tradition, who might not even believe in God, still participate in a covenant of right relationship, human to human, as living the covenant is about creating community. It is about the very nature of the society that we live in.
Much is required of a covenanted people in the way of civic as well as religious obligations. The Hebrew Scriptures are clear that right relationship with God means practicing hospitality: “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” It means practicing commerce honestly: “You shall not cheat in measuring length, or weight or quantity. You shall have honest balances, honest weights.” It means honoring the elderly: “You shall rise before the aged, and defer to the old.” It means practicing love of neighbor and fairness: “You shall not render an unjust judgment; you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great; with justice you shall judge your neighbor.”
No wonder the effort to keep the covenant is a struggle for people. We encounter difference, we are afraid, and so we are numb to possibilities. We sense scarcity, and so we are unaware of plenty. Instead of practicing hospitality we turn on the aliens in our midst, hoarding our supplies and resenting their need. Loudoun county, where I was then a minister, was subjected to a media campaign aimed at stirring up fear and blaming local political problems on “foreigners.” The ads focused on some of the infrastructure problems that the county’s recent rapid growth had created: crowded and inadequate roads and schools, increases in crime. They went on to blame a hypothetical influx of immigrants for all these woes, and urged people to resist this invading horde. Now the truth is, a statistical analysis of the demographics of the county gave the lie to this analysis—most of the explosive growth had been young, white, middle-class, well-educated people coming to work in the dot.com companies that now line the streets of Sterling, not poor immigrants hoping to catch a small piece of the almost obscene prosperity of the high-tech corridor.
Our congregation watched with concern as these ads appeared. How would people react? We talked about a letter to the local newspapers, started an email conversation with others in the community. And then we noted with relief and gratitude that the County Board had passed a resolution condemning the unwelcome intrusion of these ads into our community. (The funding for the ads had come from an out-of-state organization that is closely allied with white supremacist causes.) These folks may not have gotten the response they wanted in Loudoun County, but I fear that they know something about human nature that they will continue to exploit until they do find someplace where they will get the reaction they were looking for.
For those who live lives of abundance, it is easier to defer to voices of doom, leaving the poor to fend for themselves. If you are well-off, it is all too simple to scapegoat groups that are perceived to be needy—they (whoever they are) are after our jobs, our homes, our way of life. (In biblical times, the scapegoat really was a goat, sent out into the wilderness to expiate the sins of the community. It is no improvement that our modern day scapegoats are groups of human beings who may look or sound or smell different from the majority.) Justice and fairness become scarce in direct relationship to our fear of scarcity.
The people of ancient Israel had to learn that the only acceptable response to the gift of freedom and plenty was to share it generously—to remember the widow and the orphan, to empower the disempowered, to conduct business fairly, and to practice justice. God did not want displays of piety as a show of gratitude. God wanted them to live their lives as an act of gratitude. The only truly grateful response to the gift of freedom is to share it generously. What does that mean? It means that all of us must be hungry for peace, whether or not we experience violence in our daily lives. The children on city streets who are armed to the teeth and killing each other are our children.
It means that all of us must be hungry for justice, not just those to whom it is denied. All of us must be offended by acts of hatred and prejudice. If we all say “No” to attempts to discriminate, to stereotype, to encourage hate of one group by another, we are honoring the covenant. It means that all of us must be willing to take courageous stands against forces in our own communities that foment fear and advocate hate and violence.
This is the abundance we seek, and the abundance we celebrate this Thanksgiving—an abundance which declares that there is room for all at the table, that the only hunger which cannot be satisfied is the hunger for justice, for peace, for living the covenant of right relationship.
BY IRIS HARDIN, MEMBERSHIP ADMINISTRATOR, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
Since my divorce and re-marriage, Thanksgiving has not been the stress-free holiday I always considered my favorite. No more simply gathering with immediate family and perhaps a few others to enjoy a day of cooking, expressing gratitude, eating, and sharing stories. When did stuffing in or out of the turkey stop being my biggest concern for the day?
My second husband and I have five children, three from his first marriage and two from mine. Unlike the Brady Bunch of ‘70s television fame, our blended family is not tied up in a neat package. Other parents are involved. Determining where our various children spend the holidays each year requires quite a lot of scheduling finesse and diplomacy. My husband and I are very lucky. We are not at war with our former spouses. In fact, we rather like them. But among people who were unable to stay married, finesse and diplomacy aren’t always overflowing. Even for us lucky ones, it’s impossible to avoid at least some trepidation at least some of the time. Why is that?
It’s hard to resist the “fear factor” when dealing with someone you’re competing with for resources. And divorced couples with children are almost certainly competing—perhaps for their children’s limited time, or for the money that is now stretched over multiple households. We no longer communicate our every intention and motivation, so it’s easy to get scared. I may worry that my husband’s ex-wife is plotting to go after his retirement nest egg, and she may be afraid that I’m trying to steal her children’s affections. My ex-husband may be afraid that I don’t respect his religion when I talk to our children. His wife may not like it that her husband and I are still so close. There are countless opportunities for misunderstanding, which easily lead to fear. What to do about all this? Our solution last year was to put the anxiety aside and celebrate Thanksgiving together—the five kids and their four parents. We gathered at my home, but everyone participated equally in the cooking, side by side. The siblings were all together, and we parents were able to enjoy their obvious camaraderie. It was rather contagious. And it was easy to loosen my grip on any unnamed fears when I looked around the table at our motley crew and saw people very much like me—grateful for the day, and a little surprised by the grace of it all.
Do you wish you could just name a subject and have UU religious education materials available at your fingertips?
It’s here! The CLF’s Index of RE Resources offers an index of all our CLF online RE materials, searchable by topic, age, author, source, and title. This Index not only includes materials found in “Between Sundays,” uu&me magazine, REsources for Living columns in Quest, and back issues of “RE Connections,” it also references two complete years worth of CLiF Notes: A Curriculum for Families and Small Groups. With nearly 1,000 entries, the Index of RE Resources is an incredible tool for everyone from religious educators in large congregations to parents wanting to answer their children’s religious questions at home.
The RE Index of REsources is available free to CLF members. Nonmembers can subscribe to “RE Express Plus” for an annual fee at the CLF gift shop at www.clfuu.org/catalog. Contact Beth Murray at 617-948-6150 or bmurray@clfuu.org for more information, to subscribe, or to receive a password.
THE COURAGE TO BE LIBERAL
When did “liberal” get to be a four-letter word? How did being liberal come to be seen as a weak position, as mere idealism? How do we face the challenge of being a liberal in an age where conservatism is considered the keeper of values, morality, and common sense? How can we effectively model and defend liberalism as the best moral and practical choice?
Dr. Peg Shaffer is a lifelong UU and Assistant Professor in both the departments of Religious Studies and Educational Studies at Ball State University in Indiana. This course runs for four weeks, from January 4th to February 8th, and has a $40 registration fee. To register, or to find out more about this and other online courses from the CLF, go to www.clfuu.org/learn.
Thanksgiving is an awkward time for religious skeptics. It is a holiday that leads many of us to ask a distinctly theological question: “Who or what do I thank?”
In a traditional American family, everyone gathers at the table and says a prayer of thanks to God. But this is not the only way of doing things. In many hunting and gathering societies the custom is to thank the animal itself for giving its life to become food for the family or the tribe. In this way, one could argue, the middle man is eliminated. In a polytheistic culture, a person has the difficulty of determining exactly which god to thank. The cultures of the world practice a wide variety of rituals and prayers of thanksgiving. So you do not have to feel overly self-conscious if you become a little confused at the next Thanksgiving dinner. “Should I thank God or the turkey?” you might ask yourself. A pantheist might try to eliminate the problem saying “God is everything!” but I personally do not feel comfortable saying “God is a turkey,” at least, not in front of Grandma.
Do I sound irreverent? I hope not. I simply find the spiritual pluralism of our planet to be delightfully bewildering.
Excerpted from “Should We Thank the Turkey?” in Roller-Skating As a Spiritual Discipline, published by Skinner House in 2002. This book, by Christopher Buice, minister of the Tennessee Valley UU Church in Knowxville, Tennesee, is available from the UUA bookstore (www.uua.org/bookstore or 800-215-9076) or through the CLF Library (www.clfuu.org/library or 617-948-6150).
BY JANE RZEPKA, SENIOR MINISTER, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
When my dad was in junior high school, he built a colorful box the size of a small footlocker. In that box he put treasures. And then he bought a padlock and locked it up, vowing not to open the box for 25 years. I remember that box from the days when I was young, stashed under the basement stairs, waiting, waiting.
The last years were the longest, but the time did arrive, and miraculously, Dad still knew where the key was. What he didn’t know anymore was what was in the box. He was as enthralled as any of us when Mom and we kids gathered around and he opened it up. Comic books, and postcards illustrated with pictures of ships. Marbles. A compass. The letters from camp required a little deciphering, and the Morse Code book and the fish hooks took a good bit of explaining, all to good effect. Several fancily-tied sailor’s knots were in the box, and a whittled stick, and metal chess pieces. Getting acquainted with Dad-the-kid was excellent. Even more stunning was the notion of my father having sent a message to himself, announcing what seemed important—his own private time capsule. That’s the point about time capsules.
According to an article I read years ago in The Atlantic Monthly magazine, the people in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania, decided that to commemorate the community’s centennial, the contents of a time capsule buried twenty-five years earlier should be dug up. The exact location didn’t seem to be documented anywhere, but 87-year-old Harold J. Ake, known as “Chick,” seemed to recall something about it being underneath the flower beds “down there in front of the railroad station.” A day of digging turned up nothing. And it is reported that Chick Ake went home and wrote the following in his diary: “Oh well.”
I think that’s OK. I think Chick Ake was on the mark when he responded by saying, “Oh well.” Because as the author of the article, sociologist Albert Bergesen, points out, the time capsule of Wilkinsburg had probably already fulfilled a purpose. It may not have been a message from one generation to the next, but the capsule was what it no doubt needed to be: a message from one generation to itself.
Growing up a Unitarian, I was always told that our religion focuses “on the here and now.” That makes Unitarian Universalism just the right kind of religion to launch a here-and-now time capsule—bearing, as Bergesen suggests, a message from one generation to itself. After all, you can buy aluminum time capsules (in matte or satin finish) ready to go—all you have to do is supply the contents.
Which is not so easy. Time capsule commentators judge harshly; they feel disappointed when they unearth a capsule only to find old railway schedules, golf balls, slide rules, newsreels, and maybe a hat. What’s the message in a collection like that? The appropriate exercise is obvious, though tough. As Unitarian Universalists, what do we value? What objects reflect those values? What would we cram into, say, 1.7 cubic feet that would make plain our work and our hopes as religious people? What do we have to say for ourselves? I seem to have posited a question that I myself can’t quite answer! Let’s make it easier. What if we were to tackle this project from the perspective of thanksgiving? What are we glad for? Myself, I’d look for a little globe to put in the time capsule, I think, and a photograph of a lot of people—all different kinds—including, of course, my family and friends. And small plant and animal replicas—common and outrageous—feathered, slithery, high jumpers, and something with scales and great big eyes. I’d get started finding the best and most profound poem that I could, or sacred writing. Perhaps something very smart, and outrageously funny as well. I would enclose a love note. For starters.
If there were any cubic feet at all left in the time capsule, it would be important to include a brief message, a summary, in case the values reflected in the conglomeration were not crystal clear. A few good, heartfelt lines about how grateful I feel for life itself and all that is dear—along the lines of what one might say when loved ones gather around a Thanksgiving table. The junior high version of my dad had the impulse, if not the maturity, to encapsulate the precious so as not to lose track of it as the unimaginable future unfolded. Great as the box was sitting there under the stairs for all that time, Dad didn’t really need it—he always knew what he valued. Had the box disappeared over the years, I think he would have said, “Oh well,” with the sure knowledge that he had received the message to himself about knowing the treasures in life. After all, that’s the point of time capsules. And Thanksgiving.
BY LYNN UNGAR, MINISTER FOR LIFESPAN LEARNING, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP
What’s your favorite Thanksgiving memory? Of course, those of you who celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving no doubt have different pictures in mind than those of us who celebrate the US version. (And those of you who have never lived in North America might not have personal images of the holiday at all.) Here’s what I remember from my childhood: in school, our class was divided into Pilgrims (who wore black construction paper hats with white construction paper buckles) and Indians (who wore construction paper headbands with construction paper feathers). We gathered outside together (something that works better at the end of November if you grow up in California than in, say, New England) and we shared a feast that, for some reason, always included instant pudding. I have no idea why. At home we made turkeys out of apples and toothpicks and raisins, and we watched the parade on TV while my parents made stuffing and pumpkin pie.
Well, even as a kid I pretty much guessed that the pilgrims didn’t eat instant pudding. But as I’ve looked into the holiday, it turns out that they also didn’t eat stuffing or pumpkin pie. We don’t even know for sure if they ate turkey, although they did eat “wild fowl,” so they might have. But they didn’t have apples or raisins, and definitely not toothpicks. There certainly weren’t any parades with floats, or TVs to watch it on if there were. But did you know that the Pilgrims didn’t actually wear those black hats with buckles on them? Someone just made that up because they thought it looked old-fashioned. They didn’t even wear black all the time – just on Sundays. The Indians at the feast didn’t wear headbands with feathers in them, although a Wampanoag man might have had a single turkey feather in his hair. And just so you know, not all of the Pilgrims came to the New World looking for religious freedom. Some came in search of riches. The Puritans, who did, in fact, all come over looking for religious freedom, came about ten years later, and settled in Boston, not Plymouth. They weren’t the same group as the Pilgrims, and wouldn’t have much liked being confused with them. Oh, and by the way, the Puritans were only looking for freedom to practice their religion. Unlike the Pilgrims, they weren’t much open to religious differences.
So which of our images of that famous first Thanksgiving are correct? Not the picture of Pilgrims and Indians sitting at a table together, passing the dishes around. Sorry, no dishes, and no forks either – they ate with their hands. (Go ahead. Try to convince your parents to let you eat with your fingers this Thanksgiving. Let me know how that one turns out.) But that central picture, of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag eating together, is real. The gratitude of the settlers for the generosity of those who were already living there was real. Their thanksgiving for having enough to eat, and their willingness to share it with neighbors of a different language and culture was real. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be accurate to say that this relationship was typical of what happened between European settlers and the tribes already living on the continent. Largely what happened was more along the lines of European invaders taking over tribal lands, and an often-violent resistance on the part of the Native Americans.
But in this particular moment, the moment we celebrate as Thanksgiving, people with vastly different cultures and religions and languages got together and shared their food and celebrated. For four days they had a harvest festival, and were grateful that they had enough to eat, and good neighbors to share it with. And that, I think, is something worth celebrating. As Unitarian Universalists, we are committed to a “free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” The truth of the American Thanksgiving story is worth knowing, as different as it might be from our assumptions. But even more important is its meaning: not only is it worthwhile to give thanks for the generous earth which provides what we need, but also it is important to be grateful for all the ways our lives are made richer by our neighbors. Those long-ago Pilgrims knew better than most that we can only “get by with a little help from our friends.” Friends and food—what better to be grateful for?
for Molly
I am stitching yellow and purple butterflies, hour after hour of deliberate, unnecessary work. I wish I could quilt in music, or the bright conversation of goldfinches, even the snare rattle of rain. But the background of my handiwork is incessant news of war. They say that they can shoot a missile from thirty miles away and hit within three inches of their target.
When we were both young your father taught me the difference between “accurate” and “precise.” “Accurate” means true, conforming to the way things really are. “Precise” is merely a pinpoint, a number followed by its contrail of digits, defining down to the narrowest of terms.
Missiles are precise. My stitching is accurate—if not to the pattern on the fabric, then to the truth of butterflies themselves, and the declaration of your new life. There is always a different world waiting. Patience and diligence are key. by Lynn Ungar, minister for lifespan learning, Church of the Larger Fellowship
Last updated October 19, 2007
Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF), 25 Beacon Street, Boston, MA 02108-2823 Phone: (617) 948-6166 · Fax: (617) 523-4123 · E-mail: clf@clfuu.org
