“Whether they are raised in Indigenous or modern culture, there are two things that people crave: the full realization of their innate gifts, and to have these gifts approved, acknowledged, and confirmed….”

~ Malidoma Somé (Author, Teacher from the Dagara people of Burkina Faso)

The choir took to the chancel, lining up three rows deep, the bell sleeves of their crimson choir robes swishing to a stop when the Music Director sounded the pitch key on the piano. The harmonies lift up to the rafters — and lift up hearts and spirits all around. Every singer stands tall and proud, every face is smiling as they sing, from the young teen in the front row through every generation on up represented here. In the days that follow, I won’t remember the song they were singing; but the Spirit they sang down is with me still.

~ ~ ~

In September, our handful of summer-only UU communities pack away their chalices for another year, while most of our 230-ish New England congregations re-gather after a summer hiatus. Most of us celebrate our return to the worship year with a Water Communion. It’s a special day, seeing congregational friends again, catching up on vacation adventures, the health of aging parents, and the summer’s zucchini crops. Children carefully shepherd baby food jars of water from swimming pools and lakes to a shared bowl, while stories of the water’s sources spill through the shared microphone detailing the loves, the losses, the inches grown, the miles traveled while we were apart.

This year, I spent Opening Sunday at one of our churches that would be called ‘small,’ but it seemed to me that between the people attending virtually and the many full pews, surely the whole entire membership was together that morning. In the space allotted in the service for joys and sorrows, members lined the aisle from the chancel to the church door, each waiting their turn to share joyous news or ask for prayers, and many of them shared some version of, Wow! You all look beautiful; I have missed you. It’s so good to see you all!

Maybe — hopefully — your Opening Sunday was just as heartwarming and soul-soothing as this. Clearly, I found this Sunday service impactful, as it is still with me on Thursday.

I think the choir lingers for me especially, because it reminds me of a story once shared by an old friend. They had two children, and as often happens, children reach an age where they start to ask, Do I have to go to church?? Ugh. Fiiiiiine…. The services were too long and wordy for their musically-inclined child. So they approached the music director to see if their teen could join the choir.

But the answer was no.

No, this choir is adult only. No, we don’t have a children’s choir. Just, no.

There is a deep human need, a human instinct, for community. Even the television show Cheers knew that “(we) want to go where everybody knows (our) name.”

We crave to be known for who we are. To have people in our community stand up and say — You are beautiful. It is so good to see your face, to hear your voice, to be here, with you, now.

This deep knowing is at the heart of religious community. The word religion comes from Latin roots that mean, to bind together. We are bound together by covenant; by our shared values; by our love for one another, and our willingness to disagree without disconnecting — hard though that work can be. We are bound together in struggle, and in celebration.

Our congregations exist to build and sustain community. Our world today cries out with this need. When we are practicing our Spiritual Leadership, we are navigating between our power and our powerlessness. All around us there are people in pain, people in fear, people feeling alone and frightened — but we are not powerless. Each of our congregations has this gift of community. This gift of centuries of practice in deep knowing, in recognizing the gifts each person who crosses our threshold might bring to our community.

Sometimes we fail to receive those gifts. Sometimes we say, No, we don’t have a way to welcome your singing here. We will — we do — make mistakes.

But when we are intentionally practicing the ministry of community, so much becomes possible.

Imagine if we organized ourselves, our committees, our choirs, and our pledge drives around deeply knowing one another. What gifts do you see in me that might serve our community? How can I help you to have that hard conversation?  ‘Tell me of your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine,’ in the words of Mary Oliver. 

Welcome back, beloveds. May we continue as we have started. On behalf of your New England Region of our UUA — Wow! You are beautiful. We have missed you. It is so good to be on this path together!