Creative ArtsMusic and the arts can play a vibrant role throughout congregational life. They can express our joys, our sorrows, and our wonder. The arts can be used to explore the complexities of the human experience, and to tell our own stories. They are powerful tools for truth-telling about the way things are and for envisioning how they might be.
I delight in working with the talents present in the congregation and community to enhance worship. I also like to create opportunities for all people - regardless of perceived talent - to use the arts for spiritual exploration and growth. Creativity is a force of healing, beauty, insight and empowerment that can benefit us all. |
Collaborating with a flutist and a harpist, in a prayer vigil for the water protectors at Standing Rock (Dec. 2016)
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Music
I have a strong affinity for both music and poetry. I have always been a singer and also dabble in song-writing. For the curious, here are scores of a few simple pieces I have written for use in church life (click the hotlinked blue text to open up a pdf):
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Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist. ~ Rene-Francois-Ghislain Magritte |
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During seminary I wrote a piece that was more of a ballad. The song, "Do You See the Worth In Me?" was my way of processing and sharing what I had witnessed, when I offered a pastoral presence in a day shelter for homeless people. Click the "play" button on the image to hear the song and watch the music video. |
Writing
My most frequent writing as a minister is in sermons or reflections to be shared on Sunday mornings. I also write occasional online pieces, on the church blog or for wider audiences.
Prior to ministry, I was an intermittent poet. These days, my poetic inclinations are channeled into worship: openings and closings, poetic readings, rituals, guided meditations and inclusive prayers from the heart. You can find some of them on Worship Web. Following are some other pieces of liturgy, and a poem that continues to speak to my ministry.
Prior to ministry, I was an intermittent poet. These days, my poetic inclinations are channeled into worship: openings and closings, poetic readings, rituals, guided meditations and inclusive prayers from the heart. You can find some of them on Worship Web. Following are some other pieces of liturgy, and a poem that continues to speak to my ministry.
Image: Christian Wiediger / Unsplash
Photo: PhotoEnduro / Pixabay
Written as a reading for an inaugural Brunch Church service, June 2024.
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“You Are What You Eat”
The soil of South Dakota feeds me through this bowl of oatmeal. The kids’ waffles come from Kansas wheat, while minerally maple syrup, the blood of trees, harkens back half a millenia, when it was first harvested by humans. Raisins grown in the San Joaquin Valley of California enrich my blood with iron. Iron: the lego of life on earth, spewed from its core through volcanoes… sped through space to earth’s skin in meteorites sent by bright supernova. I marvel at eggs that make my break- fast rich and yellow – thank you, hens – and savor the sweet flavors of the fleshy ovaries of fruit trees and vines. Most of all, I take in the faces that surround me, the squirming bodies of children who are not mine – who are ours… the voices of friendly strangers and familiar companions. For as much as my belly is filled with oatmeal or fruit, my being is nourished in community. Like the foods, these connections trace back in time – is not eating together the oldest of rituals? – and travel the globe to hold me in reverence on this warm June morning, here on the prairie. May I dine on delight and spoon up amazement for every meal to come. Until I myself am made not only of Dakota oats or Kansas wheat, San Joaquin raisins or maple from Maine – until I feel myself not only a member of the family of humanity – but until, in each cell, I am made of awe and wonder. |
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A call to worship written for an autumn-themed service in 2024:
Summer-time has turned the starwheel, autumn is upon us. The crunch of leaves underfoot has just begun. Gourds are on the porch, Pumpkin everything in the stores. Soup’s on, and cider too. UU the Vote is on the move, and here at church, small groups have resumed. . But what about you? Have you come seeking the solace of Love-centered community in this election season? Or do you yearn for music to lift and soothe the spirit? Maybe this tradition holds you through your own seasons of change. Or perhaps you are someone new, trying to find your way. |
Photo: Mike B. / Unsplash
From every corner of the city,
with every hope and need in our hearts, we come together again here, as the wheel of the year turns. May we each benefit by what we receive, by what we give, and by what we learn. And as this community yearns for peace and wisdom, and discerns its way forward, may the thinning time of fall bring blessings to us all. . Come, let us worship together. |
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A chalice lighting / call to worship for Christmas Eve. The service theme that year was A Very Unitarian/Universalist Christmas, and the prelude was Do You Hear What I Hear?
Do you hear what I hear? Carols of Christmas calling us back to the care of the shepherd in the field, the love that grips the parent of a newborn, the kindness of every creature and wise one. Do you see what I see? Images of Christmas reminding us of the strength and beauty of an evergreen, the warmth of community that can claim even Scrooge, the generosity of Santa for children everywhere. Do you know what I know? That love is the reason for the season. That peace takes the effort of us all. That compassion calls us each into action. Let us, together, bring goodness and light. |
Image: Anita Austvika / Unsplash
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(my photo, Bloomington IN)
A prayer after a particularly hard week. This was in a service on paths to becoming, with a reading on The Way of Love, and Voice Still and Small as the centering song just before this prayer.
Oh one who sings through all,
We lift up our faces in gratitude for rain that greens the spring earth.
We breathe in with gratitude the fresh breath of life.
We give thanks for those we love and those who love us,
for food that nourishes our bodies, for moments of peace and joy.
We remember that we are never alone, for even in our loneliest
moments we are part of the great sparkling web of life.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
let us hear you call inside us.
In dark and rain, sorrow and pain,
hear also our lament.
Amidst our own private losses and struggles, we join in the collective shock
and fear, rage and grief, of a society riddled with violence.
This week, police bullets killing more young brown boys: a fleeing 20 year old
Daunte Wright in greater Minneapolis, a surrendering 13 year old Adam Toledo
in Chicago. We say their names.
And late Thursday in Indianapolis, another mass shooting carried out
by a young white man, in his former workplace, half the victims
members of the Sikh community.
All of these most recent instances here in the Midwest, reminding us
that we are all caught up in the problems of violence, racism, and alienation.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
give us the strength to move through the world not in the way
of separation and control and aggression,
but in the way of love.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
give us the courage and clarity
to look at our own communities, and to understand
how they – how we – are caught up in these same dynamics.
Voice of gentlest love and fiercest unity,
stir in us the direct experience of our interconnectedness with all –
and kindle in us the vision and determination to act from that kinship.
Calm our fears, and quench our tears.
Sing through us, so that as trauma continues to cycle
down generations and ripple through communities,
we find ways to be part of the healing, right here.
Let our voices join in the great chorus
of those seeking a way of love.
So may it be. Amen.
Oh one who sings through all,
We lift up our faces in gratitude for rain that greens the spring earth.
We breathe in with gratitude the fresh breath of life.
We give thanks for those we love and those who love us,
for food that nourishes our bodies, for moments of peace and joy.
We remember that we are never alone, for even in our loneliest
moments we are part of the great sparkling web of life.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
let us hear you call inside us.
In dark and rain, sorrow and pain,
hear also our lament.
Amidst our own private losses and struggles, we join in the collective shock
and fear, rage and grief, of a society riddled with violence.
This week, police bullets killing more young brown boys: a fleeing 20 year old
Daunte Wright in greater Minneapolis, a surrendering 13 year old Adam Toledo
in Chicago. We say their names.
And late Thursday in Indianapolis, another mass shooting carried out
by a young white man, in his former workplace, half the victims
members of the Sikh community.
All of these most recent instances here in the Midwest, reminding us
that we are all caught up in the problems of violence, racism, and alienation.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
give us the strength to move through the world not in the way
of separation and control and aggression,
but in the way of love.
Voice still and small, deep inside all,
give us the courage and clarity
to look at our own communities, and to understand
how they – how we – are caught up in these same dynamics.
Voice of gentlest love and fiercest unity,
stir in us the direct experience of our interconnectedness with all –
and kindle in us the vision and determination to act from that kinship.
Calm our fears, and quench our tears.
Sing through us, so that as trauma continues to cycle
down generations and ripple through communities,
we find ways to be part of the healing, right here.
Let our voices join in the great chorus
of those seeking a way of love.
So may it be. Amen.
(my photo, Martin County, IN)
An old poem. The pull of that "primordial Love" remains strong for me. It is central to my ministry.
On the mall in Washington, D.C.
I was terribly troubled by not only 9-11, but by our nation’s knee-jerk response to those events. During this period I had several spiritual experiences which left a lasting influence on me. One such incident occurred in the summer, when I was out walking with a heavy heart. I described that experience in this poem.
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Oneness Walk
I am walking, seeking solace in the twilight from the smallness of my life and the big brokenness of the world. Dark woods soothe the ache and as the path opens to meadow, countless fireflies signal life mysterious, winking among the wild nodding brown-eyed susans, wandering through swaths of Queen Anne’s lace, seeking in the tall rustling grasses. Amidst the cricket song and cool breeze, Oneness alights in me and I feel the holy infinity that is my true being, that is all Being. Only in my skin and skull am I small. The primordial Love blossoming through me is all powerful and healing - the quiet force of peace in the world, of joy in me. June 27, 2002 |
