Member Testimonies

Hello. My name is Ariel Hunt-Brondwin – I am a member of this congregation and it is my deep joy to share a part of my story with you all this morning.

A few things about me to start:

I moved to Toronto about two and a half years ago and so still consider myself a newcomer both to this city and to this congregation.

In my short time at First I served a term on the Healthy Congregations team, I’ve gotten involved in the Twerty-Somethings group and up until a few weeks ago many of you might have known me as ‘that girl who had pink hair, who sings in the choir.’ In my work life, I serve on staff of the Canadian Unitarian Council where I work to support the 50 or so UU congregations across Canada in their youth and young adult ministries.

Before coming to Toronto, I lived most of my life on the west coast where I grew up attending the Unitarian Church of Vancouver. When I moved to Victoria and later Kingston for university studies I got involved with the Unitarian churches there too. I am a decided church nerd and – yes – I am one of those mythical people you hear about who was raised Unitarian and went to church throughout their late teens and 20s!

As a lifelong UU – as someone who works for our denomination and whose partner is studying to become a UU minister – it’s not an exaggeration to say that I think about church a lot! I spend a lot of time thinking about how we ‘do’ church but I also find myself increasingly reflecting on the ways in which ‘church’ – as in our whole, larger UU tradition – has shaped and continues to change and shape my life in myriad ways.

And so I think that’s part of why, when I found out that the Pledge Drive Team, another group I have been helping out with a bit, was lining up a few people to do Testimonies – and that the theme of this year’s Pledge Drive was going to be Changing Lives - I volunteered right away.

Because I am inspired over and over again by the messages and examples of generosity and compassion I see coming from this free faith and because being UU has left an indelible mark on my own life’s journey.

One of my most enduring friendships is with someone I met in my Coming of Age class when we were both 12. Together we attended countless youth group meetings and youth sleepovers at the church, helped out with sandwich sales to raise money for the youth group, planned multiple youth led Sunday services and of course we went to Youth Cons too. At the time we met, I lived in a small, conservative suburb of Vancouver and coming to church felt like such a breath of fresh air – being with other youth who cared about what was going on in the world and believed that helping others and our hurting planet was more important than whether we had the ‘right’ clothes or make-up. Going through high school having those friends at church and knowing there was not just a small group of teens, but a whole church and really a whole religion that cared about the inherent worth and dignity of others, that cared about each other’s search for truth and meaning, that cared about the interdependent web of existence that we are all a part of was a deep source of light and hope during my uncertain and change-laden teen years.

My life was changed again when, once settled in Victoria for University , I started going to one of the UU churches there and I began to discover that this tradition could also be an anchor for me – that I could hold onto it even as I explored and expanded my spiritual experiences, including living in an intentional Christian community for three years as a UU!

And then when I moved again and found myself in Kingston, and getting involved in a congregation much smaller than I’d been a part of before, I discovered that church could be ‘family’ when my own was far away and when my life fell apart as I decided to leave my partner – it was those friends I’d made at the fellowship that I knew I could share my pain and fear with. These profound gifts of light and hope, of an anchor and of deep love were all unexpected and mostly unrecognized in the moment. But upon reflection I know I was changed and shaped by all those experiences – and because of them I gained a deep belief in the basic goodness of all people, I learned that I could belong to something and still be free, and I learned that I could be resilient when I allow others to share my burdens.

I can tell you I was also changed when I learned that church could disappoint you. There have been times when as a young person in one of our congregations where I have felt alien and like so little was expected of me – as if showing up on a Sunday morning was all I could offer.

And part of that I think, has to do with what they say about people like me – Millennials that is. That we are bailing on organized religion, we don’t give like previous generations did and as a result churches are having a hard time raising the funds they need.

I know there is more to that over-simplified story and I think I am living proof that not all people of my generation have no use for religious community.

I can also say that in continuing to stay in community over the years – even when I was disappointed I came to grow past those feelings and gained the spiritual practices of trying to assume best intentions of all I meet.

I also came to know in sticking around church through my twenties, that just because you are young or you don’t have a lot of money doesn’t mean you don’t want to contribute. And I also came to know that no matter how small a gift may be – it is always wanted – it is always valued and gratefully received. And so as our Pledge Drive has reached the half way point (and we have received well under half of the number of pledges we are expecting (and ok shamless plug - if you would like some information about the Pledge Drive or if you would like to make a pledge, please feel free to talk to me or anyone else from the Pledg Drive team after the service)

I want to tell you why I am giving to this congregation. But first I want to tell you why I am not giving I’m not giving because we could have a deficit, because staff hours may have to be reduced or cut, or because we don’t know how we will afford to move or renovate…if these are compelling reasons for you, that’s great and I don’t mean to diminish them because they are real pieces of our collective story here at First – and while they are certainly part of my consideration – in the end these reasons are not what make me want to give.

I am giving because I believe in the power of this community to act as a force for good – in each of our lives, in our city... I believe in our ability to be family and neighbours to each other and to the stranger we have yet to meet, Because I believe this community and this living tradition we share, calls us in – into relationship, into deeper understanding and compassion, into being keepers of the field, and ultimately into changing, growing and living more and more into and as our best, most generous selves.

We first came to Toronto First after many months of wandering in the wilderness. We had stopped attending church as it had become a chore for both our children and us. For our children because there was nothing to engage them. For us because our efforts to engage them during the ritual completely negated any benefit we could receive by our attendance. This coupled with the furtive glances of disapproval cast our way by other members of that church whose children, seemingly, had never behaved this way....

Of course abstinence is always fraught with conflicting emotions and so it was with us. Forcing them into an hour of drudgery was pointless and unfair. However the absence of any spiritual exposure weighed heavily on our minds.

One afternoon I got to chatting with another parent, Rachel Morris, who told me of the marvelous RE program run by Toronto First. I was intrigued as this seemed to be the way to get them back into a weekly environment where they could explore and develop a sense of their values.

We decided to attend a service the next day. Having arrived late we entered with much trepidation. We experienced our first miracle as Gillian Burton came over with pencils and crayons for our kids and helped us to find a seat. This was all done wordlessly but she exuded a warmth and goodwill that deeply touched us.

The children’s Re program that day consisted of creating The Golden Rule song which was performed by the kids several weeks later. This exceeded my expectations and we begin to see we had made a good decision.

After church we attended coffee hour. Normally, for first timers, this would be an occasion of awkwardness and tentative interaction. The experience for both of us was the opposite. We felt as if we had returned home and were among old friends. To this day the miracle of this experience continues to amaze us as neither of us had ever experienced this before.

We marvelled at this on our way home that day and during that week prepared ourselves for a lesser experience putting our feelings down to being new visitors. Our initial experience, to our amazement, continued each week afterwards.

We were convinced that we had found the right place, however we kept waiting for this first blush to pass. Sunday after Sunday we attended, marveling at the warmth and friendliness we encountered and the fact that this remained consistent. It was due to this that we agreed to join the family retreat 6 weeks later.

Almost four years later attendance at Toronto First continues to be the highlight of our week. For our children as well as for us.

In my mind Toronto First is one of Toronto’s best kept secrets. Each week we have the privilege of experiencing the prodigious talents of Shawn Newton as he uplifts, inspires and stirs our hearts with his homily. Lisa Iwasaki, our pianist, plays music of deep beauty, delivered with virtuoso quality. The music talents of the resident musicians and the choir repeatedly moves us to joy and gratitude for their gifts to us.

The RE program directed by Angela Klassen is the feature for our Kids. It affords them experiences they would probably never otherwise have, in a safe and supportive environment. Our kids hate to miss it.

And then there are the members, yourselves. This is a community rich in goodwill providing fertile ground for one to find and express their authentic self. The variety of personalities within our community is testament to this.

This church is a model of what our world could be. Of course, it can only continue to exist with support from us. Through the continuous investment of ourselves and our resources.

As many things of beauty in this world its existence is fragile. This church depends on our commitment to it. On choosing this over the many other things that compete for our attention.

There is much good work being done here which is worthy of our investment.

In the meantime, I look forward to the years ahead as our family continues to grow in this community and stand committed to welcoming newcomers who find their way here in the same spirit which we ourselves were welcomed.

Reflection

I am usually pretty comfortable speaking publicly, but I won’t lie… I’m feeling pretty nervous about doing this… addressing what is quite possibly the MOST polarizing, MOST incendiary topic of them all; the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Please be gracious with me.

Why me? — I married an Israeli.

2002… exactly one year after 9-11. The events of 9-11 and the war on terror that followed brought me passionately into the world of geopolitics and social justice. I became increasingly interested in the Middle East and in Israel-Palestine. My daily reading routine was commondreams.org, The Guardian; Democracy Now....

I went to Thailand. I had formed my world view, but I was going out into the world to learn more; see more; be more. I was looking for love — for someone different; someone who would shake me up; teach me things; challenge me.

My third day in Thailand, I met Rinat, the petite Israeli beauty; who at 18 became a Gulf War veteran during her compulsory service in the Israeli Defense Force.

The first day took the normal path of courtship; a song, a dance, a drink, a walk on the beach, a massage… that was about it. After less than 24 hours we parted for different Thai islands, exchanged emails, and kissed each other goodbye… Soon after our encounter, she returned to her life in Israel and I started my new life in Thailand. We chatted via MSN and emailed daily.

Here’s me… progressive, left leaning, west-coast-hippie-pacifist. I wrote to her:

“First, let’s both agree that we may not see issues the same way… and let’s agree that we have two completely different perspectives on the situation; me, being an outsider with no experience, only knowledge I gather through — and you, having grown up with the conflict and having lived in terror (I almost hate using that word because of its over-use in the past year). Now let me also say that I LOVE talking about these things with you because you teach me so much — and it lets me know you better as you speak of your personal experience. If I say anything that drives you to anger… well, I hope that doesn’t happen…”

Well, it happened… quite a few times… enough to build a formidably strong foundation for our relationship; not based on common beliefs, but based on mutual respect for our differences and the effort and interest we showed in seeking to understand those differences:

So, Rinat… the IDF levelled an apartment in Nablus, home to 10 families and 150 people in it yesterday… tell me about that?
What about the massacre at Sabra & Shatilla?
Apartheid wall. Security fence. Apartheid wall. Security fence. It should be built on the Green Line! It’s land grab!
Did you hear about Rachel Corrie??

and so it went on...

And in response I received replies, often thousands of words long, explaining her view of the conflict, her interpretation of history, her personal story — and with every email, we fell more deeply in love. I listened, and learned what it was like to live in fear during the height of the Second Intifada: To always be avoiding large crowds; deciding which bus, cafe or square might be a less-likely target of a suicide bomber; the horrible anxiety of waiting in line; the trauma caused by the setting-off of benign fireworks… and what it is like to fear for the very survival and existence of your country, and your people.

… and before we were even married, I got a taste of these things first-hand; in 2005, the night of Rinat’s stagette there was a bombing at a nightclub in Tel Aviv just a few blocks of where we were partying. Years later in November 2012 I went to my in-law’s wedding in Ashdod with tensions extremely high as the numbers of rockets fired from Gaza reached unprecedented numbers. The next day Israel commenced their relentless bombardment of Gaza and the assassination of Ahmed Jabari. Our next two weeks were spent taking cover; in the apartment stairwell; during a patio brunch in Shenkin; on the highway as every car frantically pulls over and passengers run to and fro to find shelter. We witnessed rockets being intercepted overhead, and felt the frenzy of cell phones ringing as loved ones checked in on each other.

During the most recent conflict, things became pretty tense in our house. Reading the posts on Facebook can stir the strongest human emotions. I know this was particularly difficult for Rinat, as she viewed the very worst of anti-Israel rhetoric from people she has considered to be “friends”. And she suffered the numbing virtual silence and rejection of Facebook, procuring just a handful of likes — almost always by Israelis — on her posts in support of Israel. And what of me? Considering the safety of my family in Israel and my upset with Israel’s heavy-handed use of violence is hard enough… adding having to determine whether to ‘like’ my wife’s posts on the situation was almost too much. I couldn’t do it — even when much of me agreed with some of her posts. I couldn’t align myself so strongly. I won’t take sides as long as both perpetuate violence. // Rinat decided that she would attend one of the pro-Israel rallies. This seemed out of character — she had never had this desire during the previous Gaza conflict or the war in south Lebanon — but for whatever reason, perhaps partly due to her alienation on Facebook (and at home), and what she perceived to be a pro-Palestinian bias around her, she decided to attend the rally. When she told me, we made eye contact and in a split second, had a silent conversation… my look said, “you know I can’t go with you” and she replied “I know, but I hope you’ll respect me and my decision to go”... and then we continued aloud with her saying, “so, you’ll stay with Noa?” — very challenging indeed. I told her that she should expect to hear terrible things from both camps and urged her not to get sucked into the vortex of anger. I encouraged her to be an instrument of peace. She nodded knowingly.

I have not given up on my pacifist principles nor my commitment to aiding the oppressed. I have plenty of condemnation for the actions and policies of the state of Israel... but what I once thought was a cut-and-dried matter, will now only illicit the simple response of “it’s complicated”... and if anyone really wants to take the next step in the conversation, I will quickly take a centrist (or Devil’s Advocate) position and debate all comers; in my online community of football fans, many with conservative leanings, I more often speak up for the Palestinian cause. In my liberal progressive communities, I’m more often trying to invite staunch opponents of Israel to resist dehumanizing Israelis by diminishing their well-founded fears and security concerns as being an evil desire to oppress and control. Certainly their actions are not justified; but they are explainable. Without understanding, there can be no peace.

What we need is compassion. Compassion for the inherent worth and dignity of every victim of terror, every sufferer of oppression, and even every aggressor, every martyr, every zealot, every bullheaded politician, every terrorist (state sanctioned or rogue).

People directly affected by the conflict will no doubt align themselves with one camp; this is understandable and tolerable. But as outsiders, viewing the situation with our ideals and principles, opining from afar, never having donned a gas mask, seen a rocket intercepted overhead, done military service at a check-point, lost a loved one… we’d be best to do more seeking of perspective, and directing our efforts to being the bridge for peace to occur. Neither side needs any more combatants… once anger fuels our activism we are only throwing that fuel on the fire. Once we so firmly align ourselves with a side, the dehumanization begins. Counting women, children, civilians, soldiers, combatants… all of the data carefully manipulated to show ‘the truth’ — from one side.

When someone says “1000 rockets have been launched at Sderot,” the response lacking compassion jumps to comparing atrocities; to counting dead; it plays the best rebuttal in defense, saying, “those rockets have never even killed anyone!” The compassionate response reflects on what it must be like to be a family in Sderot; a parent at work, with a child in school, as the sirens go off, day after day.

To be a true peacemaker, we must force ourselves to see all sides; to empathize, to sympathize; to understand; and to be able to articulate the positions of both sides to both sides, without inciting anger, suspicion, mistrust or hatred. Aligning oneself in the center does not mean being apathetic or cowardly. It can be strongly activist and truly committed to peace — having the courage to speak up for either side, giving reasoned, well-articulated responses to those at the extremes. Where was this group during the rallies? Who was standing in the centre of the road, inviting people from either camp to join them in dialogue, peacemaking and understanding. This is where ‘the inherent worth and dignity of every person’, and ‘the interconnected web’ meet. The bridge to peace starts in the space-between, and it is where the building must begin.

A couple days after the Israel rally we were at Nathan Phillips Square, enjoying a free concert… Noa befriended a boy with her dancing (just like her parents!), and Rinat and the mom ended up in deep conversation. She was a Palestinian. They shared their common dreams for their children, and their disdain for the Israeli and Palestinian leadership. They hugged each other warmly, teared up a little, and wished each other peace and safety for their families. In that moment, their connection did a little to increase the sum total of love and justice in the world...

— and so may we all.

Aboriginal Awareness Group and the Pow Wow on June 21

When I became an advocate for Aboriginal issues, few people around me knew anything about these issues. I’m not an Aboriginal person, and I do not claim to know a lot or even anything... but I have had the privilege to learn from and work with many Aboriginal peoples during my journey discovering myself as an ally. Part of this journey has included becoming a member, and now the chair, of First’s Aboriginal Awareness Group. The goals of this group are to raise awareness and provide education of the current circumstances of First Nations peoples to members of First. Another goal is to learn more about Aboriginal cultures and spirituality through inviting Aboriginal speakers and attending Aboriginal events in the community.

One of the community events we promoted last year was the annual Pow Wow held by the Native Men’s Residence. My family and I decided to attend. I didn’t know what to expect, but when I arrived I immediately felt welcomed. The park at St. Clair and Bathurst had been transformed into a fair ground– there was a huge area for performances and tents everywhere- for food and goods, for drummers and a beautiful tee pee. There was even an MC who walked us first timers through everything: there are some activities that anyone can participate in, there would be a series of songs and dances, and photographs were permitted at all times, except during certain ceremonies, and he would let us know when these occurred.

One of the advisors of the Aboriginal Awareness Group (AAG), said to our group, that although we are raising awareness about Aboriginal issues, many of which are very serious, it is important not to forget about the beautiful parts of Aboriginal cultures. This pow wow was a chance to witness this beauty. Despite ongoing oppression faced by Aboriginal peoples, ANYONE is welcome to come and enjoy this display of spirituality and culture. It was beautiful.... the costumes, the dancing, the drumming, the singing, the art and jewellery displayed... the energy exhumed to produce the whole event. I was so happy to be a part of it.

There’s a large emphasis on building relationships in Aboriginal cultures; that’s why I find it so interesting that my own relationships felt nurtured while attending this event. One of the reasons I enjoyed the pow wow so much, was because I felt like it offered me a chance to spend time with my family, and grow closer with them. Since then I have also come to realize that my own interest in Aboriginal issues, has inspired my family to take an interest in these issues.

I now consider the pow wow a family event. Please join my family and I, and the AAG in attending this year’s pow wow on Saturday, June 21st! Bring your family and come see what it’s all about.

While Estelle and I were at the library last week, she scurried out of the children’s section and started pulling the grown-up books off the shelves; an impulse beyond her control. Estelle got into the self-help aisle and pulled out Self-help Nation: The Long Overdue, Entirely Justified, Delightfully Hostile Guide to Snake Oil Peddlers Who are Sapping our Nation’s Soul. “Heavy reading for a toddler!” an elderly man said, passing us in the aisle. Then, an Anne Lindbergh’s book fell open in my hands, and her writing reminded me of this place, surrounded by all of you:

How wonderful islands are! Islands in space, like this one I have come to, ringed about by miles of water…The past and the future are cut off; only the present remains. Existence in the present gives island living an extreme vividness and purity. One lives like a child in the immediacy of here and now. People too become like islands in such an atmosphere: self-contained, respecting other people’s solitude, not intruding on their shores, standing back in reverence before the miracle of another individual.

A couple of weeks ago there was the 10K run along Yonge Street. I didn’t know about the run and I got caught up in a mess of traffic downtown that I finally had to turn around and not arrive at First, for the service. In the car, Chloe, my daughter who is seven, had tears streaming down her cheeks; she was angry. “Who made the decision to let these people exercise in the street?” she asked. “Was it the mayor? The mayor who was caught cigaretting, eating drugs and drinking beer?!”

I tried to pull out a silver-lining to turn the morning around. I realized the anxiety and disappointment Chloe was feeling matched my own. The hour of solitude I enjoy here has become something I rely on. This is especially true, on a day we are celebrating this one and only place of ours: The Earth. The changes that will be required of us, to continue to enjoy the varied experiences of nature, species and forest, that we may hope to pass on to other generations, means changes in the way we have traditionally thought about consumption and energy. It is hard to calm that pull within me that wonders to what length we have a responsibility toward nurturing the scars of the Earth. Writer Paul Taylor asks whether environmental ethics could ever override the fulfilment of human ends, as we drive many forms of life to extinction.

Standing up here is something many people take turns doing. Public speaking has been described by Mari Ruti as a moment where our Singularity of Being can be expressed; where our body may derails us; we may start blushing, stammering and losing our thread of thought. Public speaking can become a moment when our otherwise well-controlled, organized self, intrudes on an inner-self that has bottled up feelings ready to burst through. So, although my arms are not flailing about, my singularity of being is impatient to make itself known up here. There are so many life-enriching reasons to jump head first into supporting any Earth day movement that interests you. Communities will dissolve the distance of their closeness by working together on projects that are healing, not stripping the Earth. I hope to work with many of you, towards that goal.

 

The Lives of Girls and Women

Good morning. My name is Janice Tait. I am 84 years old so I’ve seen a lot of changes in my life around the status of girls and women. Today as part of International Women’s Day, I reflect again, as I do every year on where we’re at.

With the theme of knowing for this month, I’ve been thinking of what we know and don’t know about the lives of girls and women in Toronto today. We know that women are not represented proportionally to our numbers in the halls of government, corporations, the media or academe. What we don’t know is how to change this within the next 200 years.

We know that almost half of the girls in Toronto high schools are sexually harassed (CAMH, 2008) in one form or another. What we don’t know is what this does to their sense of self-worth and self-esteem. Nor have we been able to stop it so far.

We know that the police report that their studies show that only 6% of girls and women report being raped. (Police Services.com) What we don’t know is how safety and caring for women and girls who have experienced rape can be brought about. University of Ottawa is a recent example!

We know that York University has difficulty recognizing the principle of inequality when it rears its head. Witness the decision to cater to a student who didn’t wish to work with women. What we don’t know is what it would take to make it clear to the citizens of Toronto that religious belief does not trump equality between men and women.

We know that women make only 70% of the pay of men. As Marilyn Waring argues in her book, “If Women Counted”, What we count is what we value”. Forty years ago, when I worked in the federal public service, we talked endlessly about “Equal pay for work of equal value”. What we know is that nothing has changed. Women’s work is still undervalued.

On the bright side, we watched the Sochi Olympics display for all the world to see that the girls were just as good as the boys. Equality in physical performance was obvious in spite of girls having a womb! I wondered what the girls and women in Saudi Arabia thought as they watched those performances.

What we know today is that girls and women are not safe on many of Toronto streets at night. What we don’t know is what it is like to feel unsafe in your community, to be afraid to walk home alone at night.

Knowing what we don’t know may spur us to seek answers to some of these threats to the lives of girls and women. Taking time to become informed is surely the first step. As Francis Bacon said, “Knowledge is power” When we know something in depth, it can be a springboard to action, to pick an issue and work for change.

I know that it is unacceptable that girls and women should live in fear in Toronto in 2014.

Pete Seeger: A life passionately lived

Pete Seeger was born May 3, 1919 in Patterson, New Jersey. He died Monday night, January 27, 2014 in NYC at age 94. Friend, teacher, preacher, roll model, mentor and hero to many generations.

Tuesday morning, Margaret and I were sitting at our breakfast table, enjoying our morning coffee, reading the Globe and Mail and talking about “things” when CBC radio broke in with the news that Pete Seeger had died Monday night. When we finished our regular ritual, I went upstairs to send Shawn and Dallas an e-mail, asking if we could pay tribute to Pete Seeger during today’s service through words and song. Then I cried. Why?

Because I’ve lost a best friend, albeit at a distance – one, who has always been there – one, whom I’ve known my entire life – one, whose career spans all my time on this earth. The folk ballads he sang filled our house when I was young. His songs: against the War in Viet Nam; and supporting civil and human rights and racial equality during my teens and early twenties, echoed and reinforced my parents’ values and ideas, which eventually became my own. He taught me that it’s not sufficient to have good values but that these values have to be given public voice and action.

He loved his country, my first country, in spite of its shortcomings, and worked to make it a better place.

He sang with unabashed joy and passion, and sometimes vehemence. He would just throw his head back and let ‘er go. I can see him standing on stage, banjo in hand, tapping his left foot.

I love his music. It has always been meaningful and singable – even by me – in the car, around the campfire, in the shower, where I do some of my best vocalizing, and at the inevitable sing-a-longs at his concerts. He was a master of getting the audience to let go of their inhibitions and sing with gusto.

For those of you who are not familiar with his considerable body of work, Pete Seeger was a folk singer and song writer extraordinaire – America’s balladeer – from the time he dropped out of Harvard with his banjo in 1938 right up to 2013 when he led a rousing sing-a-long of “This Land is Your Land” at the Farm Aid Concert in Sarasota, NY. An incredible 75 years.

In 1941, along with Woody Guthrie, he founded the Almanac Singers whose repertoire included sea chanteys and pioneer and pro-union songs, such as “Talking Union”.

In 1949 he formed The Weavers, the US’s preeminent folk singers, with Lee Hayes, Ronnie Gilbert and Fred Hellerman. They were prolific, singing traditional folk songs as well as social action ballads. Some of their great hits were: “Goodnight, Irene” which topped the charts for 13 weeks in 1950, “Tzena, Tzena, Tzena”, Woody Guthrie’s “So Long It's Been Good to Know You”, “Kisses Sweeter Than Wine” and “Wimoweh”.

In 1953, all four were named as Communists and blacklisted by the music industry. The group soon disbanded, although The Weavers made several comebacks and new albums in the ‘60’s.

In 1955 Pete Seeger was investigated by the McCarthy Commission – the House Un-American Activities Committee – refusing to plead the 5th amendment (the right against self-incrimination), as it would suggest he had something to hide, and refusing to name names of friends and associates. Instead he invoked the 1st amendment (the right of freedom of expression).

In 1961 he was found guilty of contempt of Congress for these actions. His conviction was overturned on appeal in 1962.

Of course, all of this just added to his cachet among his many fans.

His repertoire also included songs: promoting international understanding and environmental stewardship, especially his beloved Hudson River; and, against war, militarism, the death penalty; and most lately, the climate of terror that existed after the attacks of 9-11. Always with passion and hope in a better future.

He taught and showed us how to care.

Some of his other signature songs included: Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Guantanamera, We Shall Overcome, Last Night I had the Strangest Dream, Waist Deep in the Big Muddy, Whose Side Are You On?, Little Boxes, Turn! Turn! Turn!, and If I Had a Hammer.

He was an active Unitarian attending congregations in Manhattan and the Hudson River Valley, where, until this fall, he would often provide the music.

Now he is gone. His music lives on. His spirit and legacy remain within each of us.

He demonstrated that the song is mightier than the sword.

The words he inscribed on his banjo said it all: This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.

So long Pete…it’s been good to know you…


A Tribute to John Moseley

This is a story about two things: how belonging to this church had added meaning to my life, and how I want you to learn about an unusual Unitarian, John Moseley.

A few years ago, Allan Brand asked me to join the Pastoral Care Committee. Not quite sure what it was, I said “yes” simply because Allan told me, “Come on. You’ll like it.” Then he gave me my assignment- to visit an elderly member of our church John Moseley, who could not attend church any more due to his age. “He likes female company,” confided Allan.” Just talk to him. You can do it.”

Wondering if I would be chased around the bed, I knocked on John’s door and began a relationship that lasted several years. John’s best feature turned out to be not womanizing, but story-telling. – of his terrifying tour of duty on a British Navy boat in World War II, about his theories of world wars, of his love for movies (some of which he had actually appeared in as an extra), about his elusive daughter Jane, and finally about his predictions for the future and his abiding faith in Unitarianism to solve the problems of the world.

John knew so much that I invited several high school students to interview him about World War II. Since he yearned to go out, Allan and I took him in a wheelchair to the ROM, and several times on Yonge Street for a coffee. Because he told me nearly everyone in his residence had dementia , I invited Claude Marchand to visit him as well, knowing she would give him a good argument.

Over the years, John declined. He had more aches and pains, but he would always ask, ”How’s that new young minister of ours doing?”

This fall, in September I found him lying on his bed, sad and rumpled- whereas before he had always been sitting bolt upright in his chair primed for our visit. Now he looked disheveled and worn. Alarmed, I asked the nurse afterwards, ‘What’s happening?” She answered, “He’s aging.”

In November, John rambled for the first time. Usually, he would give me a perceptive analysis of the world’s events and his growing fascination with astronomy. Now he only said he was “achy.” He offered me a book, but then took it back.

Sadly, I left, feeling like a great light was going out. Then the phone rang. It was John. “I’m sorry that I took the book back. You can have it. I just got tired and confused.” I promised to come back for it, and to bring his favorite blue flowers.

But I did not come soon enough. This last time , when I tried to call John’s room, there was no answer. Sensing something amiss, I called the desk. They referred me to the nurse. There was a shuffling on the other end of the line, and then a long silence.” Didn’t you know?” the nurse said finally. ”He died 10 days ago of pneumonia. It was very fast.”

Then I realized how I had come to love this man- as a friend, a teacher, a Unitarian, and a model for dignified aging. How very sad I was not to be able to say good bye.

So I am saying now to you, as members of this community. It is an experience that belonging to this community has made possible . I am so grateful to both Alan and Claude for sharing it.

On Seeing my own Blind Spots

Good Morning my name is Catherine Lake and I am a member of this community.

My first ten years of life was immersed in white, southern Ontario culture. Raised Anglican, as a little girl, I thrilled to hear the steeple bell ring from our church every Sunday.

I didn’t see that place then as I do now: white, small-town quaint where in the early 1970’s, the main social differentiation was which Christian denomination your family belonged to — oh and Mrs. Clark who had a job outside the home.

When I was 9, a family from India moved in next door to us. Our summer front lawns and similar age brought me and Indira together.

I remember her saris, the strange sweets that were served at her birthday party, and giving her my beloved 8 x 10 framed picture painting of Jesus.

Indira’s home did not have a picture of Jesus, so I gave her mine. I loved that picture. It was a deeply heart-felt offering. And I can still cringe at what her parent’s must have thought... In the time we spent together, I missed the opportunity to really learn about her culture. And then my family moved away a year later when I was ten.

While I will always have plenty of white spots, life experience and intentional education on race and culture has brought me other filters. As a younger feminist and lesbian, I actively rejected organized religion and many other elements of my upbringing. After finding this faith community, it took me years to say publicly: “I am a Unitarian Universalist” and I still don’t like to hear the “c” word—church.

Last week, Shawn reminded us that, “The world needs people willing and able to see clearly...to engage other perspectives, and refine their views within a diversity of opinions.”

Recently, I was talking with my wife Karen about the mistakes of—well—of just being me, and of how difficult it is to truly see our own behavior and to understand our actions as they unfold. She interrupted my lament to say:

“Catherine, that’s humans.
We all have our blind spots — it's an epidemic!
And that’s why we need each other to see.”

I forget that the way I see the world is uniquely mine, coloured by my upbringing, my life choices, and especially by my unique internal maps.

My Living in Spirit group through Toronto First helps me to see myself. Not only through my own sharing but through hearing my faith sisters recount their lives. Each person’s telling also sheds light on my way of seeing—my point of view.

A few weeks ago I was here with you when the choir sang “Baba Yetu.” I was literally moved to tears. And it did not much matter to me when I later learned it was a Swahili version the Lord’s Prayer. Like Ava Maria or the chant Nam Myo Ho Renge Kyo, part of my growth here, with my faith community, has been learning to love the essence in all its expressions. And I know I’ve got a long way to go. In my day to day life—I am waaay too impatient with people who don’t think the right way—that is—my way. In the meantime, I keep this quote from the Qur'an near my desk that reads:

"I made you different so you would know each other." *

I love the thought of that because, even though differences can be difficult,different personalities like different cultures like different perspectives inform us about how vast and diverse human life is. And I know when I fully open my eyes, I enrich my own heart and life.


 * The quote comes from an interview with an imam that I heard some time ago. The text is translated in a variety of slightly different ways. One example reads as: "We have made you into nations and tribes so that you might come to know one another." [Qur'an 49:13]

What Do You Mean You’re Not Spiritual?

My name is Stan Yack, and I’m a member of this congregation.

A word that comes up around here more often than it used to is spirituality. It’s not something that I like to talk about. That’s in part because I’ve never really felt spiritual, but also because whenever I hear the word spirituality, I think spiritualism. You know: talking with the “departed”, recalling past lives, levitating tables — stuff that a scientific humanist like me rejects almost instinctively. But levitating tables is of course not what spirituality is about.

Spirituality is defined as “the concept of an ultimate or an alleged immaterial reality” or  “an inner path enabling a person to discover the essence of his or her being” or just “the deepest values and meanings by which people live.” The quest to discover the essence of our being, and our deepest values and meanings — that’s hardly inconsistent with our Unitarian principles.

One way that I express my religious self here at First, is by celebrating our 4th Principle, “A free and responsible search for truth and meaning.” So why do I avoid or dismiss a word like spirituality that echoes that principle? Some of you may have encountered my occasional, illiberal reaction to the word. Sorry about that.

In my later life academic excursions, I’ve learned that meaning doesn’t originate in some Platonic idea; what a word means is determined over time by how people use it. And there’s not much evidence that spirituality is becoming a synonym for spiritualism.

Have you ever tested yourself on a “What is your religion?” website? (One of them is listed on the Toronto First website’s “Cool Links” page.) My own beliefs show a 100% commonality with Secular Humanism, and 88% with Unitarian Universalism; not too surprising — but also 55% with Theravada Buddhism. I apparently have 55% in common with what most of us would consider a very spiritual believe system!

I have meditated off on for over thirty years, until recently mostly to calm myself. But I now sometimes meditate here Sunday mornings during a quiet time or musical interlude, apparently seeking some inner peace.

Most spiritual practices, including meditation, prayer and contemplation, are intended to develop an individual's inner life, but it isn’t essential that spirituality encompasses a belief in immaterial realities.

I’m most comfortable calling myself an Agnostic. I understand that there are questions that we can’t answer, and I believe that all knowledge is provisional, or as a longstanding UU aphorism puts it: “Revelation is not sealed.” But if I don’t believe in immaterial realities, why every Sunday do I “affirm life, to the end that all souls shall grow into harmony with the divine”? What’s the divine thing that I want us to grow into harmony with? Is it some theistic entity, God help me! In fact, because I’ve seen no evidence of the universe’s “life-force”, or “cosmic consciousness”, I treat our Sunday affirmation as a metaphor.

My roots are in the Jewish tradition, a religion and culture where teachers, and the most learned, have always been the most respected. As long as I can remember I’ve held learning in high esteem. In later life, it’s become my hobby, and my vocation. One of the things I've learned about is Unitarian-Universalism, a religion where reason is used to filter truth from make-believe, where there’s no privileged priesthood revealing truths about mythical divinities.

I very much value what I've learned from all the free-thinkers that I've met here … and I plan to continue to learn from you and, I hope, you from me.

Good Morning, my name is Peter Brydon, and along with Margaret Kohr and Chris Wulff, I am one of your Lay Chaplains.

Just over six years ago I performed my first service, and this fall I will lay down my stole. I have found these six years to be amongst the most rewarding in my life. For me it has been a great privilege to stand as witness to people as they share the most joyous and saddest times in their lives. It is both amazing and humbling to be taken into the heart of a family who has lost a loved one. Although they are clearly sad their joy and pride come through as they share their memories with me. I remember once, after talking about their Dad, the family wouldn’t let me go until they’d taken me all around the house to show me his artwork and his handicrafts. They even took me out into the back yard to show me a sculpture he had made there.

Weddings frequently bubble with joy. On the less formal side I remember a bride and groom skipping and hopping down the aisle to Feist’s flighty and funky song, Mushaboom. The groom dressed up for the occasion in a brand new pair of running shoes. And there was the couple who tried valiantly to hold their wedding on the same day as the G20 summit in 2010, but they just couldn’t manage it. When they finally did, on the Labour Day weekend, there was so much love and joy in the wedding hall you could almost taste it.

Certainly the most touching and proudest moment for me was last June when I stood at the front of the UU Church in North Hatley, Quebec at the wedding of my son Dale to the love of his life, Sarah Baxter. Sarah’s father, Keith, is a Lay Chaplain there and the two of us co-officiated the wedding. I can’t put into words my feelings that day.

Lay Chaplains serve for a term of six years, and mine has been extended to a seventh, but I will definitely lay down my stole for good this fall. The purpose of this term limit is to allow others in the congregation to offer their gifts in this ministry and to have the opportunity for the kind of spiritual growth I have had. I know there are many of you who would make excellent Lay Chaplains, and so I’m saying, start thinking about it now. Every two years or so, the congregation will be looking for a new Lay Chaplain, so think ahead a bit. Talk to Margaret or Chris or me, or to one of the retired Lay Chaplains such as Margaret Rao or Gillian Burton. We can tell you all about it.

I’ll leave you with a final memory. A couple of years ago I did a memorial service which was just a very small intimate family gathering. When it was time to speak, the deceased woman’s husband of over fifty years stood up and, remembering all those wonderful years with a wonderful wife, said, “I’m the luckiest man alive”. I want to say to him, “ Thank-you for letting me get to know you, your family and the spirit of your wife.” And I say to all of you, “Thank-you for letting me have this opportunity to be your Lay Chaplain. To hold small babies in my arms, to share joy with marrying couples, and to learn about the life of wonderful people, now gone, whom I wish I’d had the chance to know when they were alive. I too am a lucky man.