I confess I’m not personally the kind of dog that has much experience of re-birth. I got born, lived happily with my mama and siblings until I was about three months old, came home to my forever family of the Mom, the Running Mom and the Kid, and just kind of went on about my generally awesome dog life. Apparently there was this guy named William James a long time ago who said that there are once-born people and twice-born people. I’m a once-born kind of dog, happy with my lot in life.

But I know there are twice-born dogs as well as twice-born people. Dogs (and people) who go through such a radical shift in how they understand and experience life that they could just as well be whole new beings after the experience from who they were before. Like maybe you heard a few years back about Michael Vick’s pit bulls. For some strange reason this man thought it was a good idea to have dogs fight each other, and he did some horrible things to these dogs to get them to fight—and even worse things if he thought they weren’t fierce enough. He tried to turn them from dogs into killing machines. But then he got caught, and people put a stop to his nastiness.

But what about the dogs, those ones he’d turned into killing machines? Some people said they should all be put down, which, it turns out, does not mean that they should be insulted, but rather something much worse. But other people decided to give most of those dogs a chance at a new life as lovers, not fighters. It took some time, and a lot of effort on the part of the people who took in those pit bulls, to teach them that the world was a safe place where people and other dogs were friends, not food. But those dogs got born again. They got born again as pets and even as therapy dogs who went out into the world to spread the love. They got born again as the dogs they were to start with, loving furry beings, not killing machines.

I think that’s how it is with re-birth. You don’t actually get born again as something you weren’t before. You get born again as something that you really were all along, but maybe you didn’t know how to be who you truly were. Or maybe other people, like Michael Vick, worked so hard to turn you into a stranger to yourself that you couldn’t even remember the real you. Or maybe it was just the circumstances of your life that pushed you away from yourself, without that really ever being anyone’s intention. However it happens, a whole lot of people as well as a whole lot of dogs end up as something not really true to themselves. But it’s never too late to be born again. Sometimes people have a great rush of insight that tells them that the world and their place in it is totally different than they imagined. But mostly getting born again happens because somebody is willing to take us in and love us where we are, and show us the possibility of a different world where we can be new.  

However you got to that world where love lives, whether you were born there and just stayed or whether you wandered in and out half a dozen times, however you got there you have the same job—to keep inviting folks to get re-born there with you, to love them in such a way that they can find their way to who they really are.

Taz is an eight-year-old Belgian Tervuren, the companion of Lynn Ungar, the CLF’s minister for lifespan learning. While he has competed in a variety of dog sports, his favorite jobs are as running companion to Lynn’s wife Kelsey and manager of the household cats.

Spirit of love and justice and care,

We call you by many names or no names; we feel you in our heart of hearts;

May we deepen and focus as we hold this beloved community, these precious people, in our hearts and in our minds.  We offer them our care and our support, and pray that they might know our companionship in their journeys:

For all of those who struggle with chronic pain and illness.  For those whose illness is in blessed remission, and for those who cannot now draw one easy breath; may you know that you are not alone.

For all of those who are caregivers, caring for young children, supporting elderly parents, ailing spouses or struggling teenagers; may you know that you are not alone.

For all of those who cannot find good work, who struggle with ethical dilemmas in the workplace, whose co-workers are unsupportive or unkind, who long for economic security, who do not feel that the world receives the gifts that you want to offer; may you know that you are not alone.

For all who struggle with addiction yourself, or addiction within someone you love, may you know that you are not alone.

For all of those who love someone in prison; may you know that you are not alone.

For those who have secrets which do not allow you to settle or relax; may you know that you are not alone.

For those who are weary, who despair of change where change is needed, who are personally holding the barbs of injustice and oppression; may you know you are not alone.

For those who are in transition, who may or may not know what will befall you next, who struggle to get your bearings for a new day; may you know you are not alone.

For those who celebrate love, anniversaries, the arc of the universe bending towards justice, a beautiful day, a deep breath; may you know that you are not alone.

Amen.


Meg Riley is senior minister at CLF.  She’s been a UU minister for twenty years. As a UU kid in West Virginia, she quickly learned to enjoy being ‘different,’ which has served her well in a ‘different’ life.  Riley lives in Minneapolis, where she enjoys walking by lakes, gardening, reading and writing, and in social media, where she enjoys hanging out, keeping up with people, and playing the occasional game of Scrabble.  She is the parent of a teenager, and the companion of a number of four legged friends.

Please add your own comment here about the ones you are holding in your prayers.

When traveling away from home, one is most commonly asked “Where are you from?” This is immediately followed by “What brings you here?” These questions help us explore possible common ground. When I first came to South Africa in 2009, I would answer “New York,” to the first question, followed quickly by “but not from the City,” since it is commonly assumed that if you are from New York, you live in Manhattan. I explain that there were actually many small rural communities in New York, like Canton, the village I have lived in for 20 years. My answer to the second question was/is that I am working on inclusive educational practices and I believe I have a lot to learn about how folks in South Africa are working to create more equal and inclusive learning opportunities for their youth. I also share my journey in creating a philosophy and pedagogy of inclusive education from my US context.

So that relates to the here and now… but I have found that there is something much deeper in Africa. There is something about this continent that makes me feel grounded, like I belong here and maybe always have. This was a puzzling awareness that came early in my time in this beautiful country. Everywhere I looked, the people, the buildings, the landscapes and animals were distinctly different from my experience living in the US for over 65 years. How could I feel so comfortable, so quickly?

I quickly became aware of the reverence that is held for the elders and “the ancestors.” When talking to university students, one hears references to what the ancestors want them to do. One gets the sense that there is guidance from those who have gone before, and that there is obligation for present human beings to honour the past, honour their ancestors. The past informs the present. South Africans celebrate historic struggles and events, and they pledge to honour those contributions. Nelson Mandela asks that his birthday be honoured each year by 67 minutes of service to others in remembrance of the 67 years he devoted to the struggle.

But that still doesn’t address my sense of belonging here. Their struggles were not my personal struggle.  My ancestors came from Europe, and I know only a little about them. The answer came one morning when I was watching the SABC Morning News. This day they were visiting the Cradle of Humankind, named a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1999. Its Sterkfontein Caves shelter the oldest and most continuous paleontological dig in the world, where scientists are uncovering (and protecting) evidence of the evolution of human beings, tracing back many millions of years. From this evidence, scientists have concluded that the earliest human ancestors evolved in Africa, and specifically in southern Africa. So maybe that is part of this feeling that there is something of home in this place. In reality, it seems that my earliest ancestors came from Africa, not Europe.

Later in the broadcast that day, the news host reported on a fossil find from 2008. It seems that Prof. Lee Berger, a paleoanthropologist at Wits University, had gone out one morning with Matthew, his 9-year-old son, to visit the Malapa cave site.  Matthew happened upon a block of stone bearing a hominid collarbone and a jawbone. Further investigation revealed the virtually complete skeleton of a boy and a woman. From the fossil evidence, it appears that the pair may have been out together, fell into a sink hole and were immediately fossilized, resulting in the most complete hominid skeletal record to date. On could hypothesize that maybe they were mother and son, out exploring much as Matthew and his dad were... another tie to us here in the present.

So maybe this is part of the tie I feel to Africa. As the fossil evidence suggests, human beings originated here, and over millions of years, we have evolved into the human beings we are today. From here, our ancestors made their way northward, eastward and westward to people the earth.

As I was preparing to leave South Africa that year, one of the teachers I had been working with in the Motherwell township said to me, “When you leave South Africa, you will be part of Motherwell and Motherwell will be part of you.”  He was so correct. I am part of Africa and Africa is part of me; in a real sense, I was created here, as were we all. We are all connected to this place and to each other, and I keep being drawn back to this Cradle of Humankind today.
 

Eileen Raymond is retired from SUNY Potsdam, and now serves as a Research Associate in inclusive and special education at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in South Africa. She and her wife live in Canton NY and spend several months each year in South Africa.

You knew that people all over the world have different stories of creation—stories of how the world came to be here, and how it got to be the way it is. But did you know that us dogs have a creation story or two? Here is one:

In the beginning was the Dog. Which was fine and all, but pretty soon Dog began to get bored and lonely. “There is nothing to do in this big darkness,” said Dog. “I think I’d better make some place to run around.”

So Dog invented big grassy fields and forests full of sticks and big long sandy beaches where you could run and run. “Awesome,” said Dog. And he ran and ran. He got sandy and muddy and burr-filled, and his great tongue hung out the side of his great mouth.

Dog loved his new world to run in, but it seemed like it needed a little something to jazz it up a bit. All that running, thought Dog, would be more fun with something to chase. So Dog invented rabbits. Then Dog invented squirrels. Then, in a burst of creative energy Dog invented sheep and guinea pigs and capybaras and sea gulls and all manner of things that run or slither or fly, and can hence be chased. “Totally awesome,” said Dog. And he had a nice, long nap.

Dog was kept busy for a long time with his beautiful new world full of creatures, many of whom turned out to be delicious. But eventually it began to seem to Dog that his world was not quite complete. Dog began to imagine a creature who didn’t just run away to be chased, but could lie next to him at night in a warm and friendly way. Dog thought how nice it might be to have company when he went exploring, a creature who could be friend and partner.

And so Dog dreamed up a creature that stood up tall on its hind legs, so that it could see what Dog could not. Dog dreamed up a creature with long, wiggly toes on its front paws—agile toes that could pull burrs from Dog’s coat and scratch that tricky spot on his neck. And in a rush a brilliance Dog gave this creature a voice for talking and singing, so that Dog could have the friendly rush of sound in his ears to know that his companion longed for communication as much as Dog did.

And when his most brilliant and wonderful invention was done, Dog led it to the edge of the forest, and brought it a stick, and said, “Together, we will invent games.” And so the creature, which Dog called “People,” threw the stick, and Dog ran to fetch it back. “Rockin’ awesome,” said Dog. “Word,” said the People. It was just that good.

Taz is an eight-year-old Belgian Tervuren, the companion of Lynn Ungar, the CLF’s minister for lifespan learning. While he has competed in a variety of dog sports, his favorite jobs are as running companion to Lynn’s wife Kelsey and manager of the household cats.

O God of all things New,
We marvel these days at creation:
Watching buds unfurl,
All shades of green creep across the landscape,
Trees displaying the most majestic of blossoms,
Birds singing songs of praise.

We give thanks for the sweetness of spring rains
And the warmth of the sun on our faces once again
And for the fruit that sun and rain bring together.
We give thanks for the radical, wild growth
That is happening every moment, all around us—
So much energy; so much work.

Our world can be a challenging place, O God,
And it is a magical place.
Help us to see our world as you do –
With love.

Grant us the patience to slow ourselves down
Long enough to humbly offer gratitude,
Long enough to stand in awe,
Long enough to understand that we are connected to all that lives.

And grant us the courage to continue on our way,
To live the lives we dream of,
To hold the pain of uncertainty that is our birthright,
And to move forward into an unknown future,
Knowing that love will guide us,
And we will find our way home.

Amen

Megan Lloyd Joiner is the associate minister at The Universalist Church of West Hartford, Connecticut. Megan is a graduate of Union Theological Seminary in New York City and a life-long Unitarian Universalist.




 

After traveling for over 24 hours and three flights, I finally landed on South African soil on 15 April. Exhausted, I gratefully sunk into a deep slumber–horizontally!–in my lodgings at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in Port Elizabeth. I do believe that I could have slept through almost anything.

Everything except for the hadedas! These ungainly birds from the ibis family with their functional curved beaks, just right for getting grubs and other bugs out of the soil, arrived right on schedule in the morning. Their distinctive–and loud–“ha-ha-hadeda” call signaled me to the new day.  I was awake!

As I made my coffee and breakfast, I looked forward to the events of my day among so many good friends. This day, I would teach a class in inclusive education, and later join a faculty group involved with curriculum renewal of their teacher education programme. But I what I was really looking forward to was being back among folks I had come to love and respect over the past four years. The weariness of the travel was gone, and I was awake to the new day.

Arriving at the Education building, I experienced the warmth of African greeting once more.  For you see, here it is not enough to say “hello.” It is expected that you will check in with each other, enquiring about your night and if you had slept well.  It is also expected that the person asking really cares about the answer, and that no business will be in order until all involved had been properly greeted.

How did I happen to come here? Well, this long journey actually began over four years ago as I began a year as a Fulbright Scholar at NMMU. As an American, all I knew about South Africa then was that theirs was a long history of oppression based on race, and that their struggle for freedom finally brought down the Apartheid regime in the early 1990s, with the establishment of democracy in 1994. I wondered what I would find. How had that history impacted this beautiful country today?

Walking out of the Faculty of Education building that first week, I saw groups of students returning for the semester, greeting each other and interacting easily in a number of different languages. Then with a start, I realized that these groups were not defined by race: rather, each group displayed a mixture of skin tones–a “rainbow nation,” just as Mandela had foreseen. Clearly this was a changed South Africa. These students had been born just as their country was emerging from the terrible history of Apartheid. They had been able to attend schools of their own choosing, although many African children living in townships or rural areas today still attend schools that are under-resourced and all black. The residue of the Apartheid restrictions that had dictated where you could live and what you could learn, based on the color of your skin, unfortunately persists in townships and rural areas today. But those who persevere can find themselves studying at universities like this one, on an equal basis.

One of the other lessons I quickly learned was the African philosophy of ubuntu. This powerful philosophy holds that each person is part of a greater whole and that none of us lives in isolation. “I am because you are.” We are all connected. What each of us does extends out to all humanity and to successive generations. Our interconnectedness means that we are all diminished by the oppression and suffering of others. Ubuntu calls upon us to be generous of spirit, to be open and affirming of others. I have seen this generosity in action here. Faculty and students have reached out and welcomed me warmly as part of the NMMU family. Their appreciation of my coming to work with them in preparing the best teachers for this country inspires me to roll up my sleeves and get to work. My experiences here have awakened me to the need to base my life on the principles of ubuntu also. And they are why I have come back each year since!

Eileen Raymond is retired from SUNY Potsdam, and now serves as a Research Associate in inclusive and special education at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University in South Africa. She and her wife live in Canton NY and spend several months each year in South Africa.

I came across a blog post entitled “21 Tips to Keep Your Shit Together When You’re Depressed” The tips are real and the main reason I write this blog post is to encourage people to click the link to read that post.

When depression visits me, my normal drive and ambition shrink to a simple pride in my ability to keep it together. Not falling behind becomes a triumph—and it takes work! The hardest thing I have ever done in my life is get out of bed on some days. That, my friends, is depression.

What I would encourage people to realize who struggle with depression is that keeping it together is something to be damn proud about. And, when things apart, it’s okay. As #15 on the list says, “just let go or be dragged.” Give it time. Give it time.

Adam Gerhardstein is currently a law student at the University of St. Thomas, in Minneapolis, previously, he was the campaign manager of the Standing on the Side of Love campaign, and he is on the lifelong journey of living a full, healthy life with bi-polar disorder. 




 

It seems that not everyone feels the same way about Awakening. For instance, my Running Mom’s favorite activity on the weekend is to take a nap. She likes to stretch out on the couch, preferably with a cat on her tummy, and have a nice, long snooze. However, this couch is right in front of the window that I use to keep watch on the neighborhood, and it is very important that I keep everyone informed of suspicious circumstances, like when someone walks a dog down our street, or when there is a squirrel in the tree out front. It turns out that the Running Mom is not at all happy about the Awakening that happens when I bounce on her sleeping middle in the process of warding off a possible intruder. She is more fond of Napping than Awakening.

I realize that Awakening isn’t always fun. It can be. You can be awakened to the presence of love, awakened to personal gifts or talents, awakened to a spiritual connection with all beings, awakened to joy. But sometimes you need someone to jump on your middle and wake you up to the threats outside your window. It isn’t pleasant to be awakened to the pressing reality of climate change, of pesticides killing off bees, of laws that tear apart immigrant families, of childhood hunger and disease, of drug-resistant bacteria, and all the long list of things that are really, I admit, larger problems than squirrels in trees or people walking dogs.

Sometimes it is easier not to be Awake. There’s a place for naps and mind-numbing television (especially if you pet your dog while you’re watching). But all the time that you are napping you aren’t part of the solution. You aren’t making choices to lower your use of fossil fuels or rally for pathways to citizenship. You aren’t figuring out if there’s a way to compensate for your diminishing hearing or loss of mobility. Waking up to the rotten things in life is hard, but eventually it becomes harder to do what it takes to not notice what’s walking right past your front door.

Naps are fine, but creative solutions come from people who are willing to wake up, to see, to wonder, to act. So the next time you hear a dog barking what sounds like warning, have a look around and see if maybe there’s something you should wake up and attend to.

Taz is an eight-year-old Belgian Tervuren, the companion of Lynn Ungar, the CLF’s minister for lifespan learning. While he has competed in a variety of dog sports, his favorite jobs are as running companion to Lynn’s wife Kelsey and manager of the household cats.

You are too crowded.
Your days, your
Mind, your house, your frustrations, your good intentions...
It's just too much!
You want to throw up your hands and scream...

May you breathe deeply.
May each breath expand your space.
May breathing space
Bring you back to center...
To abundance, to gratitude, to ease...

Meg Riley is senior minister at CLF.  She’s been a UU minister for twenty years. As a UU kid in West Virginia, she quickly learned to enjoy being ‘different,’ which has served her well in a ‘different’ life.  Riley lives in Minneapolis, where she enjoys walking by lakes, gardening, reading and writing, and in social media, where she enjoys hanging out, keeping up with people, and playing the occasional game of Scrabble.  She is the parent of a teenager, and the companion of a number of four legged friends.



 

It’s clear you’re on a journey; all the signs are there.
This big suitcase you can hardly hold is hurting your hand.
Your other hand touches your heart, to calm you as you breathe.

You know it’s time to go.
Strangers in the streets said good-bye to you in friendly distant tones,
And you are glad to be walking away, glad to be moving,
But you don’t know where you are going.
You don’t know what is next.

Will you come to a train station, you wonder, or will some
Strange exotic animal stumble by for you to climb onboard?
A camel, perhaps, or an elephant, and who will help you get up?
And where will it take you; you don’t know how to steer it,
It will probably just lumber towards its own stable or grove,
Wherever that is;
And if there is a train, you don’t have a ticket,
Or know your station’s name.

But you walk, gripping your suitcase, knowing that in it is everything you need for whatever strange land you will find;
Your compassion is there, to smile at you and those you meet along the way.
Your sense of humor, you’re sure, is intact, and worth the space it takes up.
What you have learned is sure to come in handy, though you don’t know how,
And those you love, the dead and the living, walk silently at your side.

May you greet new horizons’ arrival with interest and joy.
May you fully inhabit each day’s longings.
May you remember that you get to choose where you go,
And may you know in every step that you are not alone.

Meg Riley is senior minister at CLF.  She’s been a UU minister for twenty years. As a UU kid in West Virginia, she quickly learned to enjoy being ‘different,’ which has served her well in a ‘different’ life.  Riley lives in Minneapolis, where she enjoys walking by lakes, gardening, reading and writing, and in social media, where she enjoys hanging out, keeping up with people, and playing the occasional game of Scrabble.  She is the parent of a teenager, and the companion of a number of four legged friends.