I recently came across one of my favorite Christmas poems, a poem by May Sarton, that speaks of our journey, yet again, to Bethlehem.
Indeed, we have made this journey before – last year - every year. Whether we are fully aware of it or not, we come with our hopes and our fears, our joys and our sorrows, our expectations for the future and our anxieties about our present.
Dear Old South Church in Boston,
On the eve of Christmas, my heart is full. Full of poignant, sweet memories of our beautiful and elegant maker of music: Harry Huff. My heart is full with missing him.
My heart is full with wrenching images: Berlin, Aleppo, the Oakland Ghost Ship. Terror. Grief. Mayhem.
My heart is full with the memory of 2600 Jews, Christians, and Muslims gathered together at the largest mosque in New England in a show of solidarity and support in a time of rising hate-crimes, othering, and fear-mongering. My heart is full.
“Out of Many, One”
An Interfaith Call for Dignity and Diligence
Written by interfaith leaders of The Greater Boston Interfaith Organization and
signed by Sen. Elizabeth Warren and Mayor Marty Walsh
Dear Old South Church,
Imagine your extended family is gathered together for Thanksgiving Day: cousins and in-laws, parents and children, siblings and significant others. The elephant in the living room is this election season and you have reason to worry that impassioned and incompatible opinions could fray the family, strain the gathering or worse: explode into hurtful words that cannot be taken back.
As we enter autumn, we may find the challenges of the days ahead daunting. We may even dread some of the changes being asked of us as we move back into our “regular” life responsibilities after what may have been a less demanding summer schedule. How might God be inviting us to release our fear, apprehension, or anxiety, and see the days ahead as exciting, invigorating, and life giving?
God of Ephesus and Antioch, of Tarsus and Istanbul,
God of the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque,
Our hearts break as we hear news from the holy land of Turkey.
How long, O Lord? How long will violence hold the field at day's end? How long will tears well up?
Shall we be the ones to see the dawning of Your promised peace?
Or will our children have to take our places keeping vigil?
God of music and light, of strobe and disco ball,
God of the pipe organ and the 303 bass machine,
God of Latin chant and Latin rhythm,
God who smiles over night club dance floors, we remember how You were hated for the wide stretch of Your love.
We remember how the hate of the small minded cost You Your life.
God, since You know how it feels to be hated simply for being Your own fabulous self, please draw close to the people of Orlando.
Please be sheltering, shimmering wings upon every blessed person touched by this tragedy.
Delivered by Senior Minister Rev. Nancy Taylor at an interfaith service mourning the victims of the Orlando mass shooting, held at Emmanuel Church in Boston on June 15, 2016.
It was 45 years ago this week that the intoxicating folk-rock musical Godspell opened in New York City. So much more than a production, Godspell was an experience and a revelation. Godspell swept into the dust of the past the staid, institutional church with its severe creeds and yawn-inducing hymns. It invited the followers of Jesus to dance together into a youthful, brightly clad, sundrenched, ethnically assorted future.
Dear Old South Church in Boston,
On Sunday, Mother's Day, we will celebrate one of our mothers: Phillis Wheatley. Though she lived only to her 31st year, she changed the course of history, earning the title the Mother of African American literature.
Some facts: