Halloween story/sermon – audio & text

I love preaching about Halloween, this time of transformation, wonder, and possibility. This is a version of a sermon I recently preached at the Unitarian Society of Ridgewood. All the characters are fictional and any resemblance to people living or dead…well you know the rest. I’ll be preaching an entirely different Halloween sermon (also fiction) this Sunday. and will post it next week.

The recording the sermon is here:

And here’s the text:

“A Spirit in the Night”
Sermon by Rev. Bob Janis-Dillon
Delivered at Unitarian Society of Ridgewood
10/19/2013

Cassandra Leahy wants to be a witch this Halloween. No, scratch that: Cassandra Leahy wants to be a witch all year long.

She puts on her dark, dark lipstick in the mirror. Her eyes, beneath her eye shadow, are deep caves of mystery. She is no eight-year-old girl wearing a hat fashioned by her mother from cardboard and a strip of black felt. Nor is she one of the gangs of sorority girls roaming the streets tonight in their identical sexy-fill-in-the-blank “costumes.” No, Cassandra is a woman and a witch of a woman. She has thighs, hips, secrets and regrets. And is ashamed of none of it. And is ready to chant incantations into the night.

Continue reading

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“The Red Leaf” (video)

This is a video of yesterday’s poem, “The Red Leaf”, starring the very leaf that inspired it.

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The Red Leaf

A boy cradles a leaf in the palm of his hand.
It’s a red leaf, found on a hillside
among its colleagues,
the already fading output of growing life,
now brought to wondrous reverence
as the beauty upon which the day is hinged.

The two orbs of this mere sprout
cannot give the leaf its life again,
but they shine upon the frayed markings
with a fierce recognition
of the soul’s thirst for the lingering light.

With a fingertip, the boy traces legends
across the veins, brushing meaning
into the ordinary corners of the chapel.
Everything leans toward its dissolution,
the worship itself brings a slight crinkle
to the fabric.
But it’s all good, all good as we
carry each other home in the dusk:
holy is the struggle; holy,
the surrender.

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Your Monday blessing: ‘Tis the Season

‘Tis the Season

Autumn’s ancient days are freshly here –
The fall of man’s ambition, bringing grace.
Angelic ghosts and costumed babes endear
The infant twinklings ‘neath the moon’s new face.
Delicious dark, your mystery unbound
Brings freedom to the sinner and the witch;
The chalice cup is filled, and bells resound,
For all who come with open hands are rich.
Night’s calm ceremony breaks the mourning fast,
Gives memory place of honor, next to joy:
A simple table set on a bloody past,
The generations kneel to play with toys.
The dreaming time has come – was always here –
The heavens tilt their lids, and she appears.

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Chalice Lighting: Dry Kindling

Before your heart catches fire,
it can feel like dry kindling.
Brittle and prone to breaking,
the green long gone,
dying or dead,
and far removed from the tree of life.

But all it takes is a spark

A little inspiration,
A little air to breathe,
And our hearts catch fire,
and all the world is alive.

May we all try to be that spark for each other.
May we all remind each other,
That life is a beautiful thing,
To be cherished,
That life is hard,
And everybody is struggling with something.
That love is real, and lives among us.

So may we call one another to fullest living,
This hour, and all the days we share this beautiful blue-green earth.

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In Unitarian Universalist congregations we light a “flaming chalice” to begin the worship service, often with accompanying words. In this reading – which you’re welcome to use – I suggest lighting the chalice after the word “spark”. The pictured “Tree of Life” chalice is designed by my wife, Abbey, and available at https://www.etsy.com/shop/RadiantUU

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Your Monday Blessing: for Indigenous Peoples Day

The difference between
redeemed
and forgotten
is justice.

Tombstones crumble,
but the pain that is etched in the blood of our family
sings, and sings, until the final hearing.

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The shock results are in

The shock results are in
and it is now clear
that laziness is ecologically preferable to industry.
All this doing
is now a misdemeanor under the moral law.

For those prone to hard work,
try to take this news not as an indictment
so much as an invitation to reform.
You will be found
quaint and endearing,
and we promise to remember the days
when running around won you laurels.

The rest of us
should be wary of a false (and overly energetic) pride.
The ambitious conservationist will always find room
for new serenities.
Suppose, just suppose, you look at Facebook.
It seems impressively close to doing nothing.
But it’s not, sad to say, nothing doing.
Being waited on by servers
is only a dry run for real indolence.
Imagine not looking at Facebook.
Then don’t imagine it.

Imagine taking your time towards death,
practicing it artfully,
aware that your dance on the edge of nothing,
when stripped of its desperate lunges,
becomes as natural as breathing.

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Your Monday Blessing: to all those I’ve wronged

To all those who I’ve wronged in the past year (in honor of Yom Kippur)

To all those who I’ve wronged in the past year,
I would like to offer a surrender, and a truce.

First and foremost, the surrender: I give up
Trying to guard against your pain with my justifications.
One is flesh, the other iron; only one set of arms
Will ever truly grow, or heal.
I accept your reality, and mine, as sovereign
Over my concepts and ideals.

After a surrender, a truce is not mine to ask,
But the logic of mercy is not the rules of war.
Therefore, I would like to invite you and I to join forces
And take sides against my arrogance, ignorance,
Cowardice and sin. I’ll lead the charge,
If you’ll lend your fire to the forge.

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Rattle the tin cans

Shake the drum, rattle the tin cans.
Strike metal on brass,
Make the loudest pots sing for dear life.
Turn a field of cows into commotion.

Lean on your horn,
Sound trumpets in the midst of the city.
Scream like you’re drowning, or saved.
Shatter the glass and raise a holy hell.
Chase away quiet thoughts
Like flies on the King’s breakfast.

Then stop,

wait,

and let the silence

share its unspeakable joys

OM SHANTI SHANTI SHANTI

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Your Monday Blessing (9/29/14)

May your sorrows,
your regrets,
your mistakes,
your lost loves,
your false hopes,
the emotions that still cling to you,
the sadnesses of this world,
all change color into something beautiful
before they fall off the tree.

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