Sermons
What a stellar sermon!
I am so impressed with the depth of Megan’s feeling,
the musicality of her phrasing,
the sincerity with which she speaks.
-Georgia Lloyd-Jones Snoke, Unity Chapel Inc., All Souls Tulsa, OK
I am so impressed with the depth of Megan’s feeling,
the musicality of her phrasing,
the sincerity with which she speaks.
-Georgia Lloyd-Jones Snoke, Unity Chapel Inc., All Souls Tulsa, OK
I am at home in the pulpit.
And, while I love the private process of crafting a dynamic sermon,
To me preaching is a process shared by the preacher and the congregation.
Together, we create an event that is unique to that moment in time.
Together, we open our hearts to each other and to the Spirit.
We understand our world and our lives a little better.
We reflect on who we are and who we want to be.
Together we create, discover, and become.
And, while I love the private process of crafting a dynamic sermon,
To me preaching is a process shared by the preacher and the congregation.
Together, we create an event that is unique to that moment in time.
Together, we open our hearts to each other and to the Spirit.
We understand our world and our lives a little better.
We reflect on who we are and who we want to be.
Together we create, discover, and become.
"Where There Is Vision, the People..."
The Unitarian Society of New Haven
September 23, 2018
I stand before you this morning having spent the past week at the bedside of my 98-year-old grandmother who lay close to death after a bad fall. I traveled from her bedside in Atlanta to Wisconsin for the funeral mass for my great-aunt Pat who died last Saturday at 101, also after a bad fall.
I stand before you this morning tired. And so grateful to this community for the space to make these trips this week, for your concern and care, and for your kind thoughts and loving prayers.
I stand before you this morning humbled in the face of long life and the reality of death.
My grandmother was born in 1920. She was premature, born weighing only 2.7 pounds. She lived. Her mother, however, had died in childbirth, and her father struggled to even look at my grandmother during her childhood because, he said, she reminded him too much of his late wife.
She left home at an early age. My grandmother’s childhood and young adulthood were not easy. She learned to protect herself; she learned to survive. She was, for all of her 98 years, a survivor.
And the truth is, this was not always easy for those who loved her and those whom she loved.
Survival requires sacrifices. And it also requires a vision of how things can be, perhaps a vision quite different from the way things are. It requires asking “what’s possible?”
I left my grandmother on Friday afternoon. I said goodbye and kissed her cheek. I left her not knowing if I would see her again. I will not. She died yesterday afternoon.
Having said goodbye to the last matriarchs of the Great Generation in our family this week,
I am thinking today about how vision – the act of asking “what’s possible” – and legacy – what’s left of us after we are gone – are intertwined.
“Where there is no vision,” the ancient proverb says, “the people perish.”
This got me wondering: what is the alternative?
Read the Full Sermon
September 23, 2018
I stand before you this morning having spent the past week at the bedside of my 98-year-old grandmother who lay close to death after a bad fall. I traveled from her bedside in Atlanta to Wisconsin for the funeral mass for my great-aunt Pat who died last Saturday at 101, also after a bad fall.
I stand before you this morning tired. And so grateful to this community for the space to make these trips this week, for your concern and care, and for your kind thoughts and loving prayers.
I stand before you this morning humbled in the face of long life and the reality of death.
My grandmother was born in 1920. She was premature, born weighing only 2.7 pounds. She lived. Her mother, however, had died in childbirth, and her father struggled to even look at my grandmother during her childhood because, he said, she reminded him too much of his late wife.
She left home at an early age. My grandmother’s childhood and young adulthood were not easy. She learned to protect herself; she learned to survive. She was, for all of her 98 years, a survivor.
And the truth is, this was not always easy for those who loved her and those whom she loved.
Survival requires sacrifices. And it also requires a vision of how things can be, perhaps a vision quite different from the way things are. It requires asking “what’s possible?”
I left my grandmother on Friday afternoon. I said goodbye and kissed her cheek. I left her not knowing if I would see her again. I will not. She died yesterday afternoon.
Having said goodbye to the last matriarchs of the Great Generation in our family this week,
I am thinking today about how vision – the act of asking “what’s possible” – and legacy – what’s left of us after we are gone – are intertwined.
“Where there is no vision,” the ancient proverb says, “the people perish.”
This got me wondering: what is the alternative?
Read the Full Sermon
"Go to the Polls; Remember Who We Are"
The Unitarian Society of New Haven
Hamden, Connecticut
November 4, 2018
“Look, Mama, there she is!”
We had boarded the last ferry from lower Manhattan to Governor’s Island.
The sun was just beginning to set behind the majestic woman standing in the harbor with her torch held high.
And as I held my child close and looked out over the water, I was surprised by the tears that filled my eyes and the lump that rose in my throat.
The boat shifted and soon the sun was so bright behind her, we could barely see the statue.
“Don’t look into the sun,” I told my daughter. “It could hurt your eyes.”
And there was something poetic, something powerful in the fact that we could no longer look at Liberty without being blinded.
The truth is, I could barely look at her at all, not because of the sun, but because of a feeling that arose the moment she first came into view. It wasn’t sadness; it wasn’t regret; it wasn’t longing. It was shame. I felt the way a guilty child does when they know they have done something wrong; they try to meet their parent’s eyes, but they simply can’t. They look down and away, anywhere but in your face.
The shame I felt that afternoon on the ferry was not mine alone. It was shame felt on behalf of us all, of our nation, shame felt on behalf of America, “the land that never has been yet and yet must be.”
Read the Full Sermon
Hamden, Connecticut
November 4, 2018
“Look, Mama, there she is!”
We had boarded the last ferry from lower Manhattan to Governor’s Island.
The sun was just beginning to set behind the majestic woman standing in the harbor with her torch held high.
And as I held my child close and looked out over the water, I was surprised by the tears that filled my eyes and the lump that rose in my throat.
The boat shifted and soon the sun was so bright behind her, we could barely see the statue.
“Don’t look into the sun,” I told my daughter. “It could hurt your eyes.”
And there was something poetic, something powerful in the fact that we could no longer look at Liberty without being blinded.
The truth is, I could barely look at her at all, not because of the sun, but because of a feeling that arose the moment she first came into view. It wasn’t sadness; it wasn’t regret; it wasn’t longing. It was shame. I felt the way a guilty child does when they know they have done something wrong; they try to meet their parent’s eyes, but they simply can’t. They look down and away, anywhere but in your face.
The shame I felt that afternoon on the ferry was not mine alone. It was shame felt on behalf of us all, of our nation, shame felt on behalf of America, “the land that never has been yet and yet must be.”
Read the Full Sermon
Video Selections
December 7, 2014
Selections from "In the Waiting Time" (8 minutes) |
August 25, 2013
Selections from "Tell Me About Your Church" (3 minutes) |
"Tell Me About Your Church"
August 25, 2013
Fourth Universalist Society
New York City
....A spiritual home is a place where we are accepted, loved, cared for and celebrated for who we are. It is a place – a faith – where we are called to love others, challenged to be our full and most-human selves.
Now you may know this already, but I’ll tell you that in my experience, when people hear about Unitarian Universalism and Unitarian Universalist communities, they get pretty excited.
And when people in the congregations I’ve served and the congregations I’ve visited share about their Unitarian Universalist spiritual homes, they share their joy at having found a place filled with kindred spirits who may believe differently, but share a quest for meaning, for love, for purpose and for justice.
They shared that their congregation is a place – a faith – that they are willing to dedicate themselves to, to work for, to stand by and to share....
A spiritual home is a place – a faith – where we stand on the shoulders of those who have come before us and where we are part of creating a better tomorrow for those who come after us....
Read the Full Text and Watch the Full Sermon
Fourth Universalist Society
New York City
....A spiritual home is a place where we are accepted, loved, cared for and celebrated for who we are. It is a place – a faith – where we are called to love others, challenged to be our full and most-human selves.
Now you may know this already, but I’ll tell you that in my experience, when people hear about Unitarian Universalism and Unitarian Universalist communities, they get pretty excited.
And when people in the congregations I’ve served and the congregations I’ve visited share about their Unitarian Universalist spiritual homes, they share their joy at having found a place filled with kindred spirits who may believe differently, but share a quest for meaning, for love, for purpose and for justice.
They shared that their congregation is a place – a faith – that they are willing to dedicate themselves to, to work for, to stand by and to share....
A spiritual home is a place – a faith – where we stand on the shoulders of those who have come before us and where we are part of creating a better tomorrow for those who come after us....
Read the Full Text and Watch the Full Sermon
"Finding Home"
Unity Chapel
Spring Green, WI
July 15, 2012
....I wish for each of us homecoming.
May we find, in the majesty of the world around us,
or in the quiet stillness of our own inner world,
the love we need to live.
May we create homes wherever we are,
and may all who enter find peace.
In finding home, may we know the love that connects us
to the deepest part of our selves,
to each other
and to that immortal love, that never fades--
that love that anchors each of us.
Whatever we may call it,
may we know that holy love that
moves us and calls us into the
fullness of our being.
May we find our way home.
Read the Full Sermon
Spring Green, WI
July 15, 2012
....I wish for each of us homecoming.
May we find, in the majesty of the world around us,
or in the quiet stillness of our own inner world,
the love we need to live.
May we create homes wherever we are,
and may all who enter find peace.
In finding home, may we know the love that connects us
to the deepest part of our selves,
to each other
and to that immortal love, that never fades--
that love that anchors each of us.
Whatever we may call it,
may we know that holy love that
moves us and calls us into the
fullness of our being.
May we find our way home.
Read the Full Sermon