Testimony of Alezandria Coldevin, March 6, 2016 (actor in the Vagina Monologues)
Vagina. This word has been seen as sacred, as dirty, as fun and everything in between. I personally had never really talked about or considered Vaginas before joining our production of The Vagina Monologues. This is just one of the many gifts I received in being a part of that performance. Each one of us got to work one on one with Mona – our amazing director – for weeks before we ever got together as a cast. My experience with Mona was one of nurturing and exploration of the text and of myself, it was powerful, but the week rehearsing with the cast takes the cake! I felt privileged to be able to hang out with such a diverse group of incredible, smart, talented, gorgeous women! The respect and generosity felt among the cast members was tangible from the start, and grew as the week progressed.
Throughout the week I got to consider the monologues, their meaning, and their varied truths, while marvelling at the compelling and diverse performances, and enjoying the company of so many awesome women. By the end of the week of rehearsals – we were confident that we had a great show – and that is when the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. You. The audience. Both nights were sold out. Standing room only. And both nights we could feel that you were with us, cheering us and supporting us, and for two magical nights, we collectively went on a journey, and that journey lead to vaginas. When I tell friends outside of this community about my experience with this production, they are always surprised that the monologues were performed in a church. A sacred space. A place for families and contemplation and spiritual growth. Having lived that amazing week, with the cast and ultimately with you, I can’t imagine it being produced anywhere else.
Testimony of Gerta Moray, December 6, 2015
(At the service marking International Human Rights Day and the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women.)
Good morning. My name is Gerta Moray and I want to bring some reflections, from my own experience, on violence, suffering and memory.
I want to start by thanking the Raging Grannies for sharing their song this morning. The Raging Grannies - now an international movement - began in 1987 with 11 women in Victoria BC. who felt strongly about the threat of nuclear powered and armed vessels in Victoria's harbour and on the BC coast. They developed humour and a disarming send-up of the older woman stereotype, to draw attention to issues of militarism and of environmental, social and economic justice. The Montreal gunman who shot the women engineering students at the Ecole polytechnique on December 6, 1989, had declared that he "hated feminists ... women were taking employment opportunities away from men. They were not fulfilling the role women were supposed to have.” The Grannies' song was devised in 1991, when they and other womens' groups were determined that the fate of these fourteen young women not be forgotten.
Fourteen women! Nine is the number of the African American women, and men, shot by a young white supremacist in the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, in Charleston, South Carolina, just this year in June. One thousand and seventeen is the number of Indigenous women and girls that an RCMP report estimates to have been murdered in Canada between 1980-2012.
There is a Latin proverb once told me by a friend: "Sunt lacrimae rerum." It translates as "There are tears in things," or more loosely, "Shit happens."
The members of my Journey group, and of the Journey facilitators' group, will tell you that whatever the month's theme, Gerta is rather prone to remember that bad things happen.
I was born in Czechoslovakia, in 1940, the first year of World War 2. During the first 7 years of my life I only met my father, who had been drafted, on a few occasional visits. Then he was missing, presumed dead. I remember running into basements during air raids, and houses on our street not being there next day. We moved around a lot to stay with strange people. At the end of the war we were refugees, admitted to immigrate to England. My parents had been an affluent young middle class couple with a beautiful home in Prague - their world had vanished forever, save what my mother could carry in one suitcase. There was no Post traumatic shock counselling. My sister and I were sent to school - children beat our legs black and blue with hockey sticks and punished our dolls by making holes in their foreheads.
In my life, and for many others in the world, things after the war became steadily better. I ended up a professor of art history. Research on Emily Carr took me to First Nations villages in the 1980s. There I witnessed the vital leadership role of aboriginal women, and the burdens their communities bear. I taught in a Women's Studies program where I shared a long evolution - from amazement that what could not be spoken in public was now being named, to sisterhood, and empowerment, and finally to generations for whom it sometimes seems unnecessary to remember that bad things happen.
I have never forgotten my childhood world in ruins, nor the kindness of strangers. They have continually inspired my choices in life.
There are tears in things. I joined this congregation when I discovered that I cracked open and cried during services. I had found a home, a family where hearts and minds were open to all aspects of the world, where people were as committed as the Raging Grannies to try to prevent bad things from happening, and to assuage the pain. There are tears in things.
Testimony of Ted Wood, December 6, 2015
Good morning. I’m Ted Wood and I’m a member of First and a member of Amnesty International. Today is Amnesty Sunday when we celebrate Human Rights and participate in Amnesty’s annual Write for Rights.
Amnesty International is a global movement of more than 7 million people who campaign for a world where human rights are enjoyed by all. In addition to writing letters and signing petitions, we undertake research and gather information on human rights in all countries and we promote, protect and uphold those rights. Human rights do not have to be given, bought, earned or inherited. They belong to all people simply because we are human.
People sometimes ask me if writing letters really works. Of course I answer yes. And the answer is yes. There is good news as a result of Amnesty’s letter writing campaigns. People are freed and laws are implemented, changed or upheld to protect people’s rights to live in freedom and When I think about how one letter can help, I think about our city, our country and our world. It is the little things each one of us does every day which makes a difference in the lives of others and in our own lives. We are not alone; we cannot survive without the efforts of others. When it comes to Amnesty it is the effort of each one of us as part of the efforts of 7 million and as part of the efforts of countless others that makes a difference in the lives of all. It is in a world community that we live and create a better world for all.
During our service today we will have a Special Collection to support the work of Amnesty International. The white envelope in your order of service is for this purpose. Cheques should be made payable to Amnesty International Group 142 and you will receive a charitable receipt from Amnesty Canada.
For our Write for Rights during coffee hour we will have an action concerning the death of Indigenous leader Benecio Flor Belacazar and calling on the Colombian government to protect his family and other activists. There are also two Stop Torture actions: one urging the Canadian Government to ratify the Optional Protocol to the Convention against Torture and another requesting justice for Miriam Isaura Lopez Vargas who was tortured and sexually assaulted by soldiers in Mexico.
Along with our actions, Amnesty greeting cards and other merchandise are also available during coffee hour.
At 12:30 pm please join us as we will have the opening reception for the In/visible Scars Stop Torture Photo Exhibit here in Sunderland Hall with our special guests from Amnesty International.
Testimony of Shirley Grant, October 25, 2015
Good morning One and All. Not the best of mornings, but the fellowship we find within these walls makes up for the weather, don’t you agree?
My name is Shirley Grant, and I believe I am the only one in our present congregation who was actually “baptized” in the old Jarvis St. Church. Yes, that’s what my certificate calls it. I’ll let you guess how many years ago that was… quite a few.
One time my father, a good Unitarian who never lies (and none of us do, do we?) told me that I had the distinction of being mentioned in the 23rd Psalm. You don’t believe me? How about: “SHIRLEY goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
However, all that aside, I was asked to say a few words on the subject of volunteering. This must be because until someone corrects me, I affirm that I held my volunteer job for the longest time of anyone here - 22 years – not weeks, not months, but years. Yes, except in the summer, every Monday I was at my desk in the office, counting and tabulating the past week’s revenues in order to do the bank deposit. I am grateful to Sharon Mourer and Peter Brydon who have very capably taken over from me. I should add that Doug Campbell and his team still handle pledge and Sunday collection money.
My job also included counting all the coffee money collected after the services, and believe you me – it’s a lot of cash! However, some years ago Bill Belfontaine, as Monday’s telephone volunteer, took over that part of my job, for which I was most appreciative. A lot of banter went on between us, including my trying to steal his lunch when he was away from his desk.
I still have all the accounts on my computer, and while I was writing this, I added up the total no. to which money might be allocated. I found the number to be 42, and some revenue requires receipts; some doesn’t. 42 is a lot of accounts, but for me, - it was interesting and challenging. You might wonder why I kept at it for so long. There’s one simple answer – I ENJOYED IT. I think that’s the essence of volunteering. Many, many of you give untold numbers of hours to your volunteer jobs. I hope you too enjoy them. So why did I give it up? Well, some Sundays ago after I had retired, I received some words of tribute from the altar during the service. Some of you may remember that I got up and said I’d decided that I had passed my Best Before date!
If you are new to our congregation, and haven’t found your niche yet, I do urge you to talk to Susan Philips. She mans - if I dare use this gender-loaded word - the Engage and Connect desk just outside the Library. And I suggest that in First Light you will find many other ideas.
In closing, I want to tell you of a phone conversation I had just last Monday. A friend, who NEVER goes to ANY church, was thanking me for some small kindness I had done her. To my complete surprise, she said “Your Unitarian Church has brought you up very well”. Koodoes to First. However my parents would feel they’d had some hand in my upbringing!
Testimony of Adrian Iacovino, February 22, 2015
When I flip through old pictures of myself I always find it curious how much I have changed and how strangely similar I am and continue to be. I think about how the rhythms that I spoke with were crucial to the truths that I held. How these truths were passed onto me and hold a flavour from where or whom I acquired them. And that these truths were not true for who I was to become. Some of their meaning no longer carries the same weight. And now the truths that I have don’t reflect in earnest who I was then.
I think evolution is this malleability of truth, and that truth is your current dialect or the language of our thoughts. It is what defines us.Since we last spoke, I have changed. I realized that I am the only one that gives meaning to the things that I do in my life, call it self-affirmation. And I think I already knew that. But I need to share that meaning with my loves, my friends, or my community. I want to be affirmed by the people that I walk with. I want them to understand my inner dialect because I am a seeker and creator of meaningful connections.
I recently had one with myself. I carved my first wooden spoon and I have never felt more human. The experience of creating a tool as ordinary as a spoon renewed me with a sense of ancestral powers. I looked at a cedar branch and saw that it had potential to be something other than what it was. This experience changed me. It was the reply to a long standing question of mine: what it is that humans do that is of value? How we choose to direct our focus on projects that we bring into being, that then become meaningful. Redefinition.
I am learning how to track these shifts in inner truths that occur - those epiphany moments where all of my writing comes together to disclose a meaning that was obvious to everyone but me.
A major focus right now is to understand how to cultivate space for others to feel comfortable to let down their defenses so that we may connect and talk about the current truths. I want to help them affirm themselves without feeling silly or misrepresented for finding deep meaning in something ordinary.
Being a mentor for staff and youth at Unicamp enables me to set that tone and that creative space by being silly and celebrating our connectivity. What I’ve noticed after working there for so many summers is how at the end of the summer everyone kind of talks like each other incorporating their own dialect with the culture of camp. And to me this is spiritual, this is a genesis of truths, an amalgamation of passion and focus in this intergenerational micro-culture that keeps changing while staying the same. Playing a leading role in this community helps me define who I am going to be by affirming that potential to make those connections.
Even though I make my own meaning, it becomes meaningful when shared.