Author: Rev. Sean Neil-Barron (Page 5 of 9)

Dear members and friends,

I just set my alarm for slightly earlier than my usual Sunday morning 5:30. But instead of making the short journey up Drake to prepare for the holiday music service with all of you (one of my favorites!), I’ll be heading to the airport.

About 10 days ago, the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC) and the Poor People’s Campaign sent out a call to clergy across the US to see who would be willing and able to join in an action at the San Diego/Tijuana border on December 10th. An action they call Love Knows No Borders: A Moral Call for Migrant Justice.

Over 200 faith leaders have responded. And I’m grateful to be among them.

For many across the US, this season marks a time that celebrates the welcome of a family seeking shelter. Both religiously and culturally, it is a time when we are remembering how much it matters how we treat those with the least power. And yet it is also a time in our country where we are meeting those the vulnerable with tear gas, detention, and fear-mongering.

UU minister Elizabeth Nguyen talks about the moment when news becomes family. I’m going to the border because for me, I’ve always felt a deep sense of the ways that migrants are family to me.

Not just because my daughter’s birth father immigrated from Mexico. Although, that’s definitely a part.

But even more because I remember my grandmother, who I look so much like, telling me about the Vietnamese immigrants she was helping in the mobile home park she oversaw for most of my life. How integrated this was to her religious faith, and what it meant to be a person.

And because my best friend up through 8th grade was an immigrant from Panama, and I definitely could not have made it through 4th grade without her.

And because my great grandparents needed the hope of a new life, and found it here in this country.

And most of all because it is my Unitarian Universalist faith that we are all in this life together. There is no liberation for me without liberation for all. As our new slogan says it – love unites us all! And, as the Christmas story reminds us, it is our responsibility to care for the homeless, the powerless, the refugees. To share the blessings of our lives, which are always, only a gift that we are called to pass on.

I fly out tomorrow at about 8:30. Sunday will be spent in trainings with other leaders, including Rev. Laurel from our sister church in Loveland, Namaqua UU. Sunday evening will include an interfaith service offered by the Poor People’s Campaign, with preaching from the incredible Rev. Traci Blackmon. Monday is the actual witness event at the border. There is risk involved, but not nearly the sort of risk that the migrants are facing walking thousands and thousands of miles to try to reach our borders.

I will be in touch as the events unfold. Foothills, have a wonderful music service tomorrow, where the theme is joy. I believe strongly that joy is an act of resistance in these times, and so, I hope it is a powerful morning of resistance and courage.

In partnership,
Rev. Gretchen

[vc_row][vc_column width=”2/3″][vc_column_text]By Lauren Farley

Our family has never been the sort to say grace or hold hands and said “thank you” at dinner, but lately we’ve hit one something we love. Most dinner times now, we do a family version of a “Joys and Sorrows” ritual.

We got the idea from our Religious Exploration classroom group with the 1^st and 2^nd graders. There we pass a bowl of stones, everyone shares their name and a joy or sorrow on their mind or heart, then drops a stone into a bowl of water. We hear about all the “Big Important Things” in the lives of our little ones – playing with friends or going on a trip, missing a traveling parent or faraway relative, saying goodbye to pets, the anticipation and nervousness that comes with moving to a new house…

And the bowl gets snatched, and the water gets kicked over, and the stones get lobbed from waaaaay too far away.  Because…. Children! At home, there are spills from diving over dinner, bickering about who goes first, hyper-focus on which random stone is JUST the right one, strange floaties in the water from grimy 7- and 5-year old fingers. It’s beautiful.

“I’m so excited to go trick-or-treating!”

“I got to spend time with coworkers that are normally in all different parts of the country, and today we all got to be together.”

“I’m happy for the snow.”

“We get to vote and choose new leaders tomorrow, and I’m so excited for that, but also really worried and nervous that the voters might make bad choices, and well I just don’t know how I feel today!”

“I’m sad that Grandpa Dick died lots of years ago.”

“It felt so good to spend time with our friends and neighbors at the party today.”

“I’m sad for the people in Pittsburgh that man hurt.”

“I still have this awful cold and I’m frustrated and grumpy and I’ve been snapping at everyone. I’m sorry.”

“I’m so proud of your hard work at the Food Bank today.”

“My joy is mama hugs!” (I’m pretty sure the 5-year-old was just angling for extra Halloween candy with that last one.)

Then just one more stone, for all the joys and sorrows left unspoken. I asked my 7-year-old why he likes this and he said, “because we get to say how we feel.” Why is that important? “Because we don’t have zippers on our heads that you can open and see inside, so how else would you know?” My kids call it “Prayer Bowl.”

And there it is. Our feelings matter. We don’t have to know how we feel. Our feelings are safe here. I’m safe here. There is much to be grateful for in the gorgeous and startling way that children are so good at seeing straight into the heart of something their grownups think is beyond them.

May your family find just the right ritual for you to share feelings, gratitude and moments of grace.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_single_image image=”29833″ img_size=”medium”][/vc_column][/vc_row]

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]By Foothills’ member Ariana Friedlander 

Since moving to Fort Collins I’ve joked with friends that the only people here who know I’m of Jewish decent are either Jewish, anti-semitic or from New York…to most people here, I’m just another white person.

While I wasn’t raised going to Synagogue, studying the Torah or celebrating the Jewish high holidays, I’ve always been proud of my Jewish heritage. Although I’ve known about the struggles and antisemitism my family has experienced, I myself never really feared for my own safety…not until 2016.

After the 2016 election I experienced a new level of fear. Upon reading headline after headline about Anti-Semites in the White House I became severely triggered. I would lie in bed at night shaking like a leaf as images of my family being round up and hauled off by Nazi’s flooded my mind.

I honestly can’t tell if the bulk of the isms I’ve experienced in my life have been sexism, ageism or antisemitism. But generally, those moments have been subtle, not life threatening, more just that feeling of not being welcomed, accepted or respected because of one or all of the things people can hold against me. Or those off-handed comments that perpetuate stereotypes you write-off as someone meaning well and not knowing better (something I now know I need to speak up about instead of write off).

So, I myself was shocked by the intensely fearful reaction I had in 2016. My Great Grandparents had left Europe before World War II. So it’s not like I am the descendant of Holocaust survivors. And yet, this fear response to anti-semitism is ingrained in my DNA, literally through transcription genes that were awakened in 2016.

The shooting in Pittsburgh not only breaks my heart, it reawakens the fear. And I scratch my head feeling dumbfounded that there’s so much hate brewing. That other’s fears are so great they feel justified to take innocent lives, without investigating the source of their own pain. It feels absurd to me that beliefs about superiority, especially of certain races, nationalities and religions are becoming more common in the age of the global economy.

The real challenge I face is to NOT fight fear with more fear, but to be more discerning than that. After the 2016 election when my body convulsed with fear I had to keep reminding myself that my family was not in imminent danger. I had to repeat that to myself over and over again while I took deep breaths to calm my nervous system down for over an hour at a time.

And as I laid there I wondered, is this how “they” felt after Obama was elected? Were “they” too shaking with fear, seeing horrible images of their family being attacked in their minds? Did their images of fear feel as real, as visceral as mine?

As I considered that, I felt for the proverbial them. I felt an understanding for the strong, visceral reactions of people that have vehemently opposed our last president. Even though I don’t understand their logic, I can relate to feeling so afraid.
And then I felt sadder.

If only we all knew how to understand our physiological responses. If everyone possessed awareness of their triggers and that their strong fear responses aren’t typically signs of impending danger but indicators of unhealed trauma and pain. To understand that our neurochemical reactions cause each of us weave a story that only captures a sliver of our shared realities. And to allow such moments to be an invitation to step back, open up and explore a deeper understanding of different perspectives before reacting out of fear. If we would all do that (which we innately can), then we could begin to cope, heal, and ultimately co-create a better world together.

And so, I continue walking this path of discernment. Seeking justice, using my voice and living my principles. I will not give into the fear by abandoning my Jewish last name or provoking other’s by calling them names. Nor will I pretend that there isn’t a problem. Perhaps the single most common thread across our divided land is that there is a great pain and a great suffering we are all shouldering. And all I want is simple, to heal it![/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Listen

Sermon preached by Rev. Gretchen Haley on February, 5th 2017

In my life, the earliest example I remember of what I would call courageous love was from Archbishop Raymond Hunthausen. Archbishop Hunthausen was the Archbishop of Seattle from when I was born until I was 15. Since I grew up, Catholic, in a small town about 2 hours outside of Seattle, he was my Archbishop for the first 15 years of my life. I am told he was a constant advocate for the poor and for peace, which didn’t always make him the most popular.

But it’s a memory from when I was about seven that has stuck with me. My mom – a lifelong catholic was wearing this button one day, it said “I support the Archbishop.”

What’s that? I asked her.

She responded simply, “He held mass for the homosexuals, and people were very upset.”
It was 1983. “Very upset” was surely an understatement.

But in that moment, I didn’t hear the “upset” part. I only heard my mom saying the word “homosexuals,” and that my Archbishop had held mass for them. And she was good with that.

Fifteen years later when I was terrified to come out to my parents, that button flashed in my mind, and gave me hope, and courage; and surely that button had something to do with their eventual love and acceptance.

I am so grateful for that man, still, and for his sense of call, and duty.

He must have been so brave, received so much hateful criticism, it’s astounding he held his ground. The Cardinal even came in to investigate. How was he able to keep that clear about the call – the requirements of courageous love – it’s inspiring.

“Courageous Love” as an idea has been integral to my formation as a Unitarian Universalist, and as a minister.

Still, when we picked up this phrase in our mission statement last year, it was with a certain leap of faith – as in, we generally think we know what “courageous love” means,
and we even believe it’s what we are meant for in these times.

But also, in some ways, we knew we didn’t know, and it’s the unknowing that is the leap of faith– because you can’t really know – what courageous love is, until it’s asked of you,
and by then, well, we’ve already printed it on the t-shirts.

This leap of faith reminds me of that in the first book in the Lord of the Rings when our hero, Frodo, confesses that he isn’t feeling all that heroic.  So much has already happened,
and yet there’s still so much ahead,  pain, and loss he knows will come – he’d really just rather not. Why couldn’t he forget this grand adventure, this hero’s quest, and go back to the shire where he could enjoy a good second breakfast.

As he tells his teacher, Gandalf, ‘I wish it need not have happened in my time.’

Gandalf responds simply – “So do I. And so do all who live to see such times.”

I used to read the stories about Martin Luther King Jr, and Rosa Parks – or Galileo and Charles Darwin – or hear about Archbishop Hunthausen – all these heroes who worked to call forth the truth in a world invested in its opposite – and feel inspired, and eager to do what needed to be done to bring about the necessary change on behalf of justice, and righteousness, and compassion.

In the last few weeks, however, I’ve started to feel a little less eager – as I have come to understand that answering the call of courageous love requires a capacity to live with a lot of pain, a commitment that persists through great sacrifice, and a willingness not to turn away, but to move towards what in regular times we might call, danger.

Whatever romantic notions I’ve had about the call of courageous love have, in recent days, fallen away.

This past week, I started an online class on strategic non-violent resistance led by Unitarian Universalist theologian and ethicist Sharon Welch – you may recognize her name as the leading thinker on what she calls, a feminist ethic of risk. She thought she’d have 40 or so clergy sign up, but over 60 were there. “I guess you’re all ready to take in a little theory to go along with your practice,” she observed as we started.

This is what I’ll try to offer today – a little theory around this idea of Courageous Love that we’ve been practicing, and that we’ve said we will unleash.

Let me start by dispelling any worries you may have that I’m about to get too heady
by asking you to repeat after me:

Going on a bear hunt
I’m not afraid
Oh look! It’s some wavy grass
Can’t go over it
Can’t go under it
Can’t go around it
Gotta go through it

OK. This campfire chant is a great summary of courageous love.  Seriously.

We say what we’re going to do (going on a bear hunt.)

This is like I said last week – we take a stand. And then, we give ourselves a pep talk to deal with our fear – I’m not afraid – like, “keep cool.” Then, we pay attention to what is right in front of us – stay connected – and go through it.

As Gandalf also says to Frodo, We do not get to decide which times we are born into. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

To make such a decision, we must begin with the love in courageous love.

This love is not squishy, romantic love, not even a love that’s about “liking” the other.

King reminds us that the English language limits our understanding of love – we have just one word to describe what took the Greeks three. They spoke about eros – that is the squishy, romantic sort of love; and also philia, which is like the way you love your friends –
and does have to do with liking them (at least most of the time).

But courageous love is neither of these – it is instead the sort of love captured by the word agape. As King wrote, “Agape is understanding, creative, redemptive good will for all. It is the love of God working in the [human mind]. It is an overflowing love which seeks nothing in return. And when you come to love on this level you begin to love people not because they are likeable, not because they do things that attract us, but because God loves them.”

Agape is the sort of love that formed our Universalist tradition – that grace that is holding us all, and transforming us, but in courageous love this receptivity to grace meets our activity, as it calls us to become its active agents in the world.

Courageous love pursues – to use another Greek word – Eudaimonia – which is, the highest human good – that flourishing of all of life, in wholeness and health – that Sean spoke about a few weeks ago, what in the Jewish tradition we would call Shalom. Courageous love lives in the place where love of self, love of other, and love of the whole world come together into a love for all.

Sharon Welch calls this overlapping place, generative interdependence. Meaning, the creative, dynamic, energy born of all of us being in this together.  Courageous love doesn’t get stuck on just one way for us to “get through this,” but keeps discovering new ways –
like dressing up as clowns to disarm white supremacists, or resurrecting Frederick Douglass on social media to protest Presidential ignorance. Courageous love uses all the tools of art, and dance, spiritual practices, that we might keep finding that new way where there seems to be no way.

This is one of the repeated phrases in the Hebrew Bible, and one that is central to the theology of the black church – that God will make a way out of no way.

Or as the prophet Isaiah puts it, “Behold, I am doing a new thing! Do you not perceive it?”

So often the answer to this question when it comes to courageous love is – sort of.

Remember my Archbishop, he surely felt a sense that he was making a way where there was no way – but also, he couldn’t have known all the many ways that was true, the ripple effects, how a second grader in a little logging town would’ve carried his ministry in her heart for the next few decades until she herself would be telling the story of his courageous love to the congregation she serves.

 

All of that, he could not have perceived, but could only trust, and have faith.

Which brings us to the courage in courageous love.

There is a misunderstanding about courage. That it is a matter of fearlessness – that in order to act with courage you must have no fear.

But in these days, I’m pretty sure that would mean not acting at all.

Anxiety is a normal response to living in abnormal times, that is, to times such as these. Studies have shown that we act courageously – not when we have squelched all fear –
but when we are able to remain connected to some deeper sense of purpose, values, or vision – when we feel a sense of duty, in our core.

As poet-activist Audre Lorde said, “When I dare to use my strength in the service of my vision, it becomes less and less and important whether I am afraid.”

Courage looks fear in the eyes and says, so what. Courage says, something matters to me more than this fear, something motivates me to see beyond flight or fight, to persist with creativity, and humor, and life-giving generativity – to claim a life of joy, even in the midst of heartache.

At our workshop on Courageous Love last weekend, when we asked for definitions,
the first word that came up was risk. Courageous love embraces risk. Which is not something people go around advertising when they want you to join their group…
like, join us, we’ll make your life less safe…..

But…Courageous love confesses there is no moral life that guarantees safety. Courageous love knows that the only way to make everyone “safe” is through an ethic of domination and control, where one or more controls and dominates one or more others….and ultimately, if you want total safety, you’ll have to cut off life entirely.

It reminds me of the story of the Buddha – before he became the Buddha – his parents kept him all locked up in the palace when he was younger so he wouldn’t know suffering. But eventually he wanted to actually live –so he left the palace – and guess what – suffering, everywhere.  Which became the main teaching of Buddhism – life is suffering.  OK, it’s a little more nuanced than that, but you get the idea. There is no way to allow – let alone unleash – human flourishing and ensure total safety. To imagine total safety is privilege, and likely indicates that our safety is predicated on another’s risk.

Coming to understand this – our privilege, and another’s risk – takes stepping out of our bubbles – and stepping in to the grace of an intentionally diverse community – like this one, in all of its messy imperfections.

When courageous love and following the call of courageous love feels impossible –
too much to bear – community reminds us, we don’t have to do it alone.

When the weight of courageous love feels like too much to carry, Sunday comes around once again, and we remember, it’s not just on us – it’s a shared task, this repairing the world. And there’s all these partners, walking together – so much so we had to add a third service!

We hold the babies in the social hall, and we hear about the new hearing aids, or the new job, we meet each other at the latest protest line and hug, and we watch each other picking up a piece, our own parts, and then we realize, we can keep going. Together, we can do hard things – with love. Courageous love.

from Rev. Gretchen

Just about two years ago, we started talking about what we called the “third service experiment.”  Our Sunday attendance had grown exponentially, and we knew that if we didn’t make more space, people would start leaving.  Which didn’t feel aligned with our newly-voted-on mission statement of unleashing courageous love.

An expanded building was at least 3 to 5 years out in the future, so the Board charged the staff with adding a third Sunday morning service.

We were admittedly somewhat terrified, but then Christmas Eve came – where we have always had at least 3 services – and we realized it might not be so bad.  And we agreed, it was the right thing to do.  Finally, in February 2017, we launched the experiment, and immediately our service attendance grew by over 30%.

Critical to any experiment is seeking feedback, trying new things, and learning together.  Through practice and ongoing dialogue and a strong sense of partnership with the congregation, we learned so much in that first experiment – which lasted through May that year.  We learned what supports and systems we’d need (a lot), what volunteers we’d need (so many), and just how early people were willing to get up and come to service (8 am was too early, especially after daylight savings…).  We applied these lessons, and moved into a more routine pattern of three services in September 2017.

And still, as with most things in church (and life), it’s good to keep that sense of experimentation about these three services alive.  Because we know that what worked at one point may not keep working, we want to keep open to what will best serve the mission now.

One of the things we’ve been learning is that in the past few months, as we returned to the 3 services schedule, the 3rd service has been a little slower to pick up attendance to its numbers all of last year. We realized that while some of you were game to try out the later service for a while in support of making space for everyone (thank you!), the 10:00 service is just soooo convenient and filled with so many happy people!

From a worship-leaders’ perspective, we’ve struggled with what can feel like a strange shift from a full-house of 200+ in the 10:00 service, to the more intimate gathering of 60 or so at the 11:30 – and yet somehow we’re supposed to offer the exact same script.

At the same time, we’ve started to notice that the 11:30 has a certain vibe to it.  An energy seeking more space for silence, more ritual, more healing space, more calm. And there is an openness, and a really strong engagement.  Originally I was categorizing it as a “younger” demographic, but actually it’s a really diverse crowd.  Or rather, not a crowd….a diverse small-ish gathering.

So in the past few weeks, we have been experimenting again.  This time, trying to meet this smaller mid-day gathering with a worship style that fits its organic energy.

Simple things to begin, really.  We have moved ourselves closer to the floor, including sitting within the congregation – to lean into the intimacy of the experience.  We’ve added a participatory ritual to the joys and sorrows for more personalized engagement.  Looking ahead, we’re thinking about ways to reduce some of the talking in some elements to make more space for silence.  And other ways to work with – rather than resist – the different feel of this service.

We’re going to experiment in similar ways for three months.  After three months is up, we’ll hold feedback circles, and send out surveys, and see what we’ve learned, and how we want to apply this learning in the future.  Our goal remains to keep finding ways to best serve our mission, and to meet the real ministry needs of our community both as it is and as we are called to become.

If you’re curious about these experiments, and want to be a part of creating a healing worship-ful space together on Sundays, join us for our 11:30 service.  And if you do, I hope you’ll think of yourselves as partners in this shared learning.  After all, worship on Sundays is not a performance, like the theatre.  It’s our work together, our shared ministry, to create this space, and to show up with and for each other in service of a better world.

There is so much need in our world for healing spaces, and for authentic community.  In this third service – and for that matter, in all of our services, and in all that we do at Foothills – we can together try out different ways of to serve this need.  And we can (only) do this together.

See you Sunday.  Keep experimenting.