Member Testimonies

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.

Good morning, I am Gregory Robinson, a physician, member of our congregation and a Board member of Dying with Dignity Canada.

I am haunted to this day with the call of my Dad's desperate voice, “I’m still here?”

We had no idea why, with blood cancer, after weeks of refusing blood or plasma products, not a blood cell to his name, life still hung on to his frail body. And, now he was resenting the wait after 2 months of in-hospital palliative care.

It haunts me because of his reliance on me as his physician son, and his request to see Dr. Kevorkian. This was Windsor, October 1998 and the passionate doctor of euthanasia was reported to be just across the border. While he made no bones about mentioning it to me, he was more reserved with others in my family given their strong Christian beliefs.

I think he knew I held very liberal views on medically assisted dying after years of watching my friends and lovers suffer as they died of AIDS in the 1980s. In fact, I had my own stash of, now unavailable, secobarb for the final act until 1996 when life saving HIV medication returned life to my AIDS ravaged body. I treasure the hope and gift of life that should never be extinguished before its time. However, I still want all choices to end suffering available to me when I am dying.

After hearing my Dad’s plea that day, I reassured him I would help him go to sleep and not wake up if that was what he wished. I was able to negotiate deep valium-induced terminal sedation with his physician. He passed away in peace within 24 hours.

However, the horror of this was not necessary and it left permanent scars on our lives. Many of you may have similar stories. Our compassion needs to extend our palliative care to include medically assisted dying when needed and desired. We must end inhumane suffering at the end of life.

As Unitarians we led the way forward in 1993 when the CUC endorsed a resolution called “Choice and the Act of Dying”. This resolution called for legalization of the rights of mentally competent, terminally or irreversibly ill persons to determine the manner of their dying.

Our courts, BC in particular, and Provinces like Quebec are now headed into what appears to be a very promising phase and we once again have a lifetime opportunity to have laws changed that will allow medically assisted dying as a choice at the end of life. This is a historic opportunity and we must grab it! Parliament will ultimately be responsible for changing the laws and they must see that the court of public opinion, as well as our judicial courts - are strongly in support of this change.

Please do visit us at the Dying with Dignity table in Workman’s Hall after services today. Kate Chung and I will be glad to tell you more. Also, we encourage you to sign up for the Advance Directive and Patient Rights workshop by Margo Holland and myself on Saturday May 11, 2013.

As Martin Luther King said, in the end, we will not remember the words of our enemies – but the silence of our friends. Do not be silent.
Thank-you.

A riff on Shawn Newton’s June 12, 2011 sermon, “The State of Things.”

This is about three remarkable capitalists.

W. K. Kellogg, the Battle Creek, Michigan corn-flake man, believed that profits created by mass production should be shared with employees. In the Depression year of 1930, Kellogg put his workers, mostly women, on a six-hour day, four days a week, permitting him to hire more employees. It worked well. More families had dependable pay cheques, and employees had more time for canning, quilting, church work, and family picnics.

This changed after World War II when men, returning veterans, got more of the jobs. In their leisure time, the men went fishing, hunting, and driving snowmobiles. Note the difference in activities: boats, guns, and snowmobiles are expensive toys. The men wanted bigger pay cheques, were willing to work longer hours to get them. Mr. Kellogg died in 1951, but the short work-week persisted until 1985, at which time employees’ days increased to eight-hour shifts.

I ask: what was gained; what was lost?

Closer to home, you may remember the disastrous 2009 fire at Chapman’s Ice Cream factory in Markville, Ontario. Immediately after the fire, the owners, the Chapman family, announced that they would be keeping salaried staff on payroll until the factory was rebuilt, saving them from unemployment.

The third is Milwaukie, Oregon, U.S.A. business owner, Bob Moore, who in 2010 transferred ownership of his whole company, Bob’s Red Mill Natural Foods, to his 209 employees through an Employee Stock Ownership Plan.

However, stories like these are not common. It appears that Charles Dickens was prescient when he wrote “A Christmas Carol.” He foresaw the transition from an admittedly paternalistic, but also more personal, business culture, represented by old Fezziwig, to one of a more grasping, selfish, impersonal nature, represented by Scrooge and Marley. Fezziwigs are now less common in a world of mobile capital, mergers, and acquisitions.

Note that Kellogg’s, Chapman’s, and Bob’s Red Mill, are family-owned businesses in smaller communities, where people know one another. None is owned by a Boston-based hedge fund, for example, nor by a multi-national company headquartered thousands of kilometers away.

Kate and I try to strengthen our communities by buying, when possible, Canadian-made goods sold by local stores and co-ops, and much of our food is locally-grown. It feels good to engage and support our neighbours.

On vacation, when visiting First Nations, we lodge and eat at on-reserve facilities and donate to First Nations defenses against corporate plunder of their environments.

This is joy-filled activity because it comes from a deep place of love and gratitude for having been given so much. However, we are far from perfect: we do own a car.

My social conscience comes from my parents’ Rooseveltian New Deal beliefs, enhanced by my Baptist youth, campaigning for Adlai Stevenson in 1952, and the Kennedy and Trudeau eras. Now I can see the deprivation many First Nations suffer, and note my benefits from “white male privilege.”

I believe we must look at different models of economic activity that are more local, more human, more cooperative, and more respectful of our planet.

Thank you.

At the tip of the Gaspe Peninsula, where the St. Lawrence River meets the Gulf of St. Lawrence, there is a lighthouse. It is well situated: the currents are tricky, the fog is frequent, and the rocky cliff is 20 stories high.

This lighthouse has special meaning for me. My great-grandfather was the lighthouse keeper for many years. My grandmother was born there in 1876. As a child, I loved to listen to her stories about what it was like to live in a lighthouse. She was the oldest of three daughters. When she was ten, her mother died in childbirth. In the absence of a mother, she helped raise her younger sisters. In the absence of a son, she helped her father with the light. In foggy weather, she shot off a cannon every 20 minutes to warn sailors away from the cliff.

As a child, I thought she had a fairytale childhood. As an adult, I appreciate the hardships of her life. What resonates with me now is her strong sense of duty and responsibility, which I have inherited from my father, her son.

Let me tell you how I came to be at First Unitarian. It was a sense of duty that brought me here–a duty to myself.

When I turned 50, I did some soul-searching. I decided that I needed to pay attention to my spiritual life. I also needed a new community because the only people I knew were my colleagues at work. And I wanted to start to give back, to volunteer.

I knew instinctively that what I needed was to be a practicing Unitarian. I had discovered the Unitarian church as a university student in Ottawa. I have considered myself a Unitarian all my adult life, but it was only when I began to think about my future that I felt the need for this place. I joined this congregation a month after my 50th birthday.

A few years later, I took early retirement from my management position at Toronto Public Library, and this congregation became a mainstay in my life.

At First Unitarian, I have satisfied my need for spiritual growth, community, and volunteering in ways that have surpassed my expectations. Here, I have the time, the challenge, and the encouragement to grow spiritually. I derive strength, self-knowledge, and inspiration from Sunday services and weekday programs. I have also found role models here, who motivate me to be my best self.

Here, I have found a caring community. I have widened my circle through social gatherings, programs, and volunteering. We come together in times of crisis to demonstrate concern for each other and the wider world.

And here, I have found ways to serve that are meaningful for me: preparing meals for Out of the Cold, building a school in Guatemala, building a house for Habitat for Humanity. I am proud of all the ways people here live out their convictions through social action.

I have also found that I can use my administrative skills effectively by volunteering right here, by serving on committees and chairing important projects. I am grateful for the trust the congregation has placed in me. Volunteering at First had another huge benefit for me. That is how I met my husband, Terry. We were married by Shawn in this room three years ago. After 18 years as a member, I feel a responsibility to help provide the resources First needs, not just to carry on, but to thrive. I play my part by giving of my time and talents, and through my financial contribution. I do this as a duty to myself and as a responsibility to you, the members and friends of this congregation. It is like a family obligation, the way my grandmother looked after her family.

I also want First Unitarian to be a beacon for others out there who haven’t found us yet. I want us to be a strong, vibrant force in the community. It meant so much to me to have this place to come to when I needed it. I feel a duty to keep our light shining for future members who I may never meet, as my grandmother felt a duty to strangers in ships at sea off the coast of Gaspe. My grandmother died 50 years ago at the age of 85. The lighthouse is still there—now automatic, unstaffed, a tourist attraction in Forillon National Park—but still a beacon to ships at sea and a light in my heart.