from Rev. Aaron Payson

One day, your church was born.

     Maybe it was a gathering of saints, called together for the common worship of a wrathful god, ceaselessly praying between bought of decrying the evil of Christmas or dancing.

     Or maybe a few brave souls answered a notice in the newspaper, curiosity piqued by the announcement of a religion where free-thinking and tolerance were bedrocks.

     No matter how it happened, your church was born. A gathering of people—humble, caring, anxious and quirky all at the same time—who covenanted, to be with one another on the journey of life, death and everything in-between—and so it began. A faithful few. Beautifully imperfect, called to that central task— that human task—of connecting, loving, and serving.

     It was just a baby, and yet it was thrust deep into the human condition. Tasked to hold minds and souls, bodies and hearts along the roller derby of disease and birth, infighting and joy, and christmas pageants. Sometimes all of those at the same time.

     They gathered to hear the world broken open, for insightful sermons, rejuvenating music, and a community whose fierce devotion to each other’s wellbeing rivaled a mama bear for her cubs.

      But it wasn’t always like that of course. There were the trying times—and I don’t just mean Phylis or Jack, those stubborn but loveably souls who inhabit the netherworld of committee meetings—no, I mean the trying times: when the church almost spit in half over the war or integration, or when the mill left the town vacant, or when the minister crossed that line, and the people couldn’t speak about it for decades.

     But somehow you were still here.

still on the town common,

still the church that everyone recognizes,

still the ones that shows up every time you were called on,

still using the communion silver (until you voted to sell it).

     New people came, and they changed things. Small things, big things. Things that nobody noticed as it happened, until suddenly it was hard to even recognize anything anymore. That was a hard moment, a tearful moment.

     And other things changed too.

The proclamations about God, once heard loud from the pulpit softened:

Wrathful became loving.

Distant became intimate.

Mandatory became optional.

     After the war, the nursery and RE classrooms were overflowing. Each baby dedicated reminded the church of the incredible beauty of life and the gift this community, all huddled around baby, would bestow upon this child.

     The history of your church is more a story of the determination of love to break forth than it is about of tie-dye, or chalices, sermon discussions or social justice committee meetings.

     The history of the church is the history of human enterprise, evolving in its sights and sounds, yet revolving always around its core.

     The history of your church is the gift of potential and momentum, of baggage and personality. The history of your church is the launch pad from which you spring—into action or disarray.

     Each day your church is born.

(A History of Church, Including Yours by Sean Neil-Barron / Source: https://www.uua.org/worship/words/reading/history-church-including-yours)

This month’s Touchstone Ministry Theme is “Care for the Soul” and we also mark the 180 Anniversary of the founding of UUCW as the First Universalist Society & Church of Worcester.  As we gather again next Sunday to take up the business of our congregation at the Annual Meeting, I would have us pause to consider what it means to belong to this faith community?  What it is to be claimed as a co-journeyer on the path to becoming evermore the person and the place you want to be and inhabit while you spent your precious years on earth?  Sean Neil-Barron’s reflection above gives us a glimpse into the ebb and flow of community and the reality of change as we mark the time of our togetherness, wedding ourselves to our past, present and future. 

This is a congregation that has known many triumphs and tragedies.  Souls commune with us from generations of those who have come before; those who courageously proclaimed and served a vision of the world made more whole by the witness and presence of love, both human and divine.  We are the legacy of a movement that challenged theologies and ideologies of hellfire and judgement, sin and scapegoating sacrifice, and the “us vs. them” mentality which has permeated so many of the world’s endeavors to divide and concur.  We too have grown in our awareness and practice, to become more theologically and socially inclusive, a journey that continues in earnest as we awaken to more challenges that call us to witness to that love which is possible if we would only open ourselves to its call and embrace. 

This is a mission that is even more important given the challenges of serving and living in a post-pandemic world.  The rising tide of anger and resentment is both a testament to the work we continue to awaken to in the world and to the realities of trauma that are only now coming to fruition after more than a year of social isolation, job loss, the loss of loved-ones, political turmoil and economic hardship.  It would be easy to get caught in the maelstrom of such a vortex of rage and grief.  Let us, however, meet the challenge of this moment by witnessing to the deeper realities that this moment illumines.  Let us testify with our words and efforts to the reality of pain and the potential of healing when people are able to witness to justice and our common liberation when we are willing to  manifest our best selves in service to the continuing to challenge ideologies of hatred, the politics of fear, and movements of division. Ours is a steadfast witness that the love we have and share is far more powerful and far more worthy of our allegiance as a people of faith.

To do this is to focus first and foremost on the care for souls, which is to create community where people can find the space to heal and grow, find joy and witness to the larger reality of our capacity as a common humanity to be a more just, loving and peaceful people.  I hope that you will continue to join us on this journey. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday, if not before.

Much, much love to you all.

Rev. Aaron Payson