Roots and Wings

Rev. Millie Rochester and Friends

The greatest gifts we can offer our children, it is said, are the roots of connection and the wings of hope. We welcome all ages in celebrating the ways we accomplish this joyous task, and the people who embody this goal. The Choir will sing.

Service Coordinator: Steve Lennon

Sermon

Story Wisdom The Story of the Little Oak Tree, adapted, by Barbara Marshman
Andrea James, DRE

At the edge of the forest stood a large round toadstool. Do you know what a toadstool looks like? It’s short and round, and grows very close to the ground. Next to him there grew a spindly plant about the same height, with four green leaves.

One day the toadstool said to his companion, "Say there, Leafy, I've been watching you.

How come when anyone kicks a toadstool we go all to pieces; but when you get stepped on you can straighten up again as good as new?"

The little plant thought for a while, then he answered, "I guess it's because I have something down under the ground called roots. They go down deep and when I get stepped on I just hang on tight with my roots until I'm all right again."

"Hey, that's a neat idea," said the toadstool. "How do you go about getting these roots?"

"Well," said his friend slowly, "it takes a long time. I've been growing mine for almost a year."

"A year!" shouted the toadstool. "Who's got that kind of time!? A whole year growing something that you can't even see! They may be handy, but that's the silliest waste of time I’ve ever heard." And he laughed and laughed.

Finally he said to his forest friend, "By the way, Leafy, when you've finally got all your fancy roots grown what do you expect to be?"

The little plant seemed to grow taller as he said, "Do you see that tallest oak tree standing strong against the winds on the hill? That's my mother, and some day I'm going to be strong and tall just like her."

I know that you are all growing and learning new things every day. Learning new things helps us understand the world around us, and helps us make good decisions.

Here in our church we are concerned with how you use what you know, how you feel about yourself. We're trying to help you grow deep roots of faith so that you won't be like the toadstool that falls apart at the least little kick.

A deep religious faith is like the deep roots of the oak tree. It helps to give us strength when things get hard for us; when we feel sad, or hurt. We hope we can help you put down some strong faith roots.

That's what a church is for. The roots we are growing are invisible, but I hope they will hold us firm and strong like a great oak tree.

Roots and Wings

Rev. Millie Rochester

The mushroom and the oak tree in the story Andrea told us a little while ago make a great image. I can picture the roots of the tree reaching deep into the earth, holding the rest of the tree as it grows tall; keeping it from toppling over when there’s a strong wind, or when it’s laden with snow or ice. That tree needs the nourishment the sun and rain provide, too.

I think church feeds us in much the same way – and not just because we have good food to eat. Think about it. If each of us were asked why we come to church on Sunday, I’ll bet our answers would be a lot alike: we look forward to seeing someone special; to hearing a story, maybe even a joke; to learning something we hadn’t known before. We look forward to thinking about things we don’t usually think about; to sharing some news; and yes, having good food. Any of us who go downstairs on Sundays, can probably add to that list, “making neat stuff” – just look at the beautiful candles our children made for this year’s teachers! Maybe most important of all, we look forward to knowing we can be who we really are.

A favourite story-teller of mine is Robert Fulghum, a retired Unitarian Universalist minister. Years ago, he became famous when he wrote a piece called “All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” Among other lessons he had learned are: Play fair; don’t hit people; put things back where you found them, and say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. He named his first book after that story.

Another story in that book is about what happened when he was put in charge of about eighty kids, aged seven to ten, while their parents were off doing parent-y things. When he got them altogether, they played a game he called Giants, Wizards and Dwarfs. Here’s what he says about it:

It's a large-scale version of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and involves some intellectual decision-making. But the real purpose of the game is to make a lot of noise and run around chasing people until nobody knows which side you are on or who won.

Organizing a roomful of wired-up grade-schoolers into two teams, explaining the …game [and so forth] – [was] no mean accomplishment, but we did it with a right good will, and were ready to go.

[When] the excitement of the chase…reached a critical mass I yelled out, "You have to decide now which you are -- a GIANT, a WIZARD, or a DWARF!"

While groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. A small child stands there looking up, and asks in a small, concerned voice, "Where do the Mermaids stand?"

Where do the Mermaids stand?

A long pause. A very long pause. "Where do the Mermaids stand?" says I.

"Yes. You see, I am a Mermaid."

"There are no such things as Mermaids."

"Oh, yes, I am one!"

She did not relate to being a Giant, a Wizard, or a Dwarf. She knew her category. Mermaid…She intended to participate, wherever Mermaids fit into the scheme of things. Without giving up dignity or identity. She took it for granted there was a place for Mermaids and that I would know just where.

Well, where DO the Mermaids stand? All the "Mermaids” – all those who are different, who do not fit the norm and who do not accept the available boxes and pigeonholes?

Answer that question and you can build a school, a nation, or a world on it.

What was my answer at the moment? Every once in a while I say the right thing. "The Mermaids stand right here, by the King of the Sea!" says I…

So we stood there hand in hand, reviewing the troops of Wizards and Giants and Dwarfs as they roiled by in wild disarray.

It is not true, by the way, that mermaids do not exist. I know at least one personally. I have held her hand.

As it happens, I have also held the hand of a mermaid, and that occasion was also at church, a few years ago. Three year old Annie Rose had decided, on a Sunday morning, to wear her mermaid costume. Predictably enough, her mom said, “Absolutely not.” “Well, why not?” asked Annie Rose. Why not, indeed, asked Annie’s other mom. If there’s one place in the world where it would be all right for Annie Rose to show up dressed as a mermaid (when it’s not Halloween), it’s her church. And so she did. She was the nicest mermaid I had ever personally met.

Sometimes it’s hard to be different – to be a Unitarian Universalist, for example, at school or at work, or just among other people anywhere – when you’re the only one with your outlook. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to make of the world when life is so complicated; when bad things happen and there just don’t seem to be any “right” answers.

Church is a place where we can be ourselves, whatever age we are, and know that we will be accepted on that basis. It’s a place, whatever age we are, where we can bring a sense of wonder, along with questions about life – not necessarily to get absolute answers to our questions, but to know we can find the answers together – and we can know when we walk through the door that this is a safe place for that to happen, whether we are upstairs or downstairs. All of this happens because of a loving community; a community that instils a sense of compassion through the relationships we foster.

My colleague Tom Owen-Towle, retired from ministry now, tells how this can make a difference:

A parent in his congregation got a phone call one night. "Are you the mother of Tommy Brown, the first grader at Johnson Elementary School?" asked the caller. "Yes, I am," was the answer. "Well, may I ask what Sunday School your son attends?" Tommy’s mother was a little nervous now. She replied, "We go to First Unitarian in San Diego. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you see, we are new in town and my son is in Tommy's class at school. My son is painfully shy. He has a very bad lisp, and all the other children have been teasing him relentlessly in recess; and it has been very hard for him. Your Tommy, however, put his arm around him today and asked if he could be his friend. We don't have a church of our own here yet, but I think I would like my son to attend whatever church school Tommy is in. I figure they're doing a pretty good job."

Here, at this church, we are doing a good job. We have an extraordinary leader in Andrea James, dedicated people on the Religious Exploration Committee, and great teachers. Maybe it seems to you that we don’t need anyone else. But we share this incredible ministry; it belongs to every one of us.

At this time of the year, we invite volunteers to consider being active in the Religious Exploration program, with a special interest in lining up people to lead classes and provide helping hands. I never understand why we don’t have a surplus of volunteers for this wonderful undertaking.

I’m reminded of a conversation with someone who told me why she had decided to lead children’s classes after a long absence from the ranks. She had attended a wedding recently, and the bride introduced her to friends as “my former Sunday School teacher.” Suddenly, Diana said, she was struck by how long ago that had been – and yet, that young woman had remembered. Diana knew without a doubt that she had been important in someone’s life; and it felt good – too good to pass up the chance to do it again. Happily, it also gave her a chance to apply one of the lessons Robert Fulghum said he had learned in kindergarten: “Live a balanced life – learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.”

Parker Palmer, an American author, teacher, and activist, says teachers and learners “are partners in a great human dance…of spiralling generations…reweaving the fabric of the human community as they touch and turn.” May we share the dance, teachers, learners, all. Blessed be.