My name is Martin Dimkovski and I joined 3 months ago. Long before I walked in this congregation, as many others here, I had wished for a community of people that openly foster a caring and egalitarian life without the weight of a doubtful dogma. Of particular importance to me is the impact of such a community on the upbringing of children and social justice. So you can imagine how hearing about First built up to a feeling of awe. Social justice and caring are core components of most of our seven respected principles. But more importantly, I think, is the fact that those principles are not imposed from birth as a creed, an obligation to a divine being, nor come from fear that someone will judge us after we die; instead, in all the freedom of heart and mind they are freely chosen. And this spoke volumes to me. The fact that when you strip a human being from divine obligations, fears, and promises of reward, what's left can be a loud and clear desire for egalitarianism, justice, and compassion.

But a desire needs work, sacrifices, and dedication to be transformed into reality. So at First I engaged with the Unitarians for Social Justice, Amnesty International, and UU-UNO from the start, before becoming a member. The inspiration I got from the the leaders of such groups was crucial in my decision to join. Seeing their commitment and actions, often by themselves, made me want to stand by them and help. Otherwise I could have just kept coming every Sunday to hear Shawn's enlightening sermons, make my weekly contribution, and remain a visitor, a friend to the congregation. I often ask myself what my membership would mean without these leaders, and I know the answer lies in trying to be a leader myself, trying to serve others like they do.

Hi my name is Karen MacDuffee. I have been coming to Toronto First for about 7 years. I have taught in the RE program for the past three years and this year have begun sitting on the RE committee. And I am also part of a Living in Spirit group that meets monthly.

But I wasn't always this active at First.

I remember it was in our first year and I started spouting off some child raising theory to Diane Bosman (I didn't realize that she was the Director of Lifespan Religious Education) when she suggested that I become an RE teacher. I gasped and said that I could definitely not do that. A while later Beth Ann asked if I would like to do a testimonial. I had no idea what that was.. I said a very definite NO.

Community doesn't come naturally to me.. In fact there were times that I wondered what I was doing here.. Why did I attend First and what exactly was I getting out of the experience.

I am sure I had more of a sense of community when I was younger but working full time has shrunk my world. I really felt I only had quality time for Catherine and Nigel. Of course I have a community of friends and I consider these relationships chosen.

My community at Toronto First is not chosen. The only thing that we have all chosen is our faith. But there are people that maybe I don't like, or maybe I've had some negative interactions with...Of course I like everyone here.

Through my committee work, living in spirit group and other gatherings, I have learned that although we share a faith, we do not always share the same perspectives or way of doing things. Yes, sometimes we butt heads. Believe it or not! It's easy to do.

In considering the topic of community, I realize that our community does have room for the occasional discord or irritation. And I decided a while ago that I would have to give to the community in order to have one. Toronto First has, in turn, offered me a new perspective on acceptance of others.

So you can see I have even found my way to doing a testimonial. And what I want to tell you is that through these seven years, I have learned much about community from being immersed with all of you collectively.

Here, I have learned that I want to strive to be inclusive and listen to other's points of view and to give of myself. We will gather Sunday after Sunday continuing to share a common faith as we strive towards acceptance of others while remembering the inherent worth and dignity of every person.

I can see that the strength of a community lies in prevailing over the fragility of relationships and forming bonds that nurture us all.

My name is Robbie Brydon and I started coming to Religious Education classes here in 1993, at the ripe old age of 9. While that may seem on the young side to you, I'm definitely a late starter for the group of folks who are currently meeting upstairs. Still, my journey to here has only come this far because of bridges built by others.

When I was 13, the junior youth group was slow getting started and waking up on Sunday morning was getting more difficult, so I stopped coming. It's hard to think now that my journey in religious community could well have ended right there. (Many thanks to the volunteers on our RE committee who ensure we have programming ready to go in September every year now, providing space for our younger members.) Three years later, my mom came home from church with an invitation: “Jacob says you should come back.” Following a leadership conference that spring, I was at a point in my life where I was looking for connection. So I did come back. I went to two youth conferences that fall in Upstate New York and I realized that the youth community was a natural fit for me.

Three years and a dozen youth conferences later (two national, three continental and one that I organized, along with the group here), I packed my bags and headed off to university. Okay, so I only went to Scarborough, but it turns out Sunday morning is less appealing when there's an hour and a half transit trip between you and the congregation and, anyway, I was no longer part of the youth group. I might have made it to one service during my first semester. It's strange to think that I could have easily wandered away and been one of the 12,000 or so Canadians who marks 'Unitarian' on their census forms but doesn't belong to a congregation (and heck, we've only got 5,000 members in this country).

Once again, I was offered a bridge back. Actually, I was offered a bridge even before I left; the previous year, the nominating committee had asked me to sit on the Board of Trustees, but I turned it down. That spring, however, Clare Whitman called me up and asked me to be a worship leader at the congregation, a role that I was happy to take on, given my experience planning worship as a youth. Suddenly, I had to come at least once a month, I worked closely with the ministers and the worship leaders – and pretty much everyone knew who I was, since I was front and centre for two years, as Catherine is today. Eventually I was coming every Sunday because I had a community I felt a part of, I enjoyed what we shared on Sunday morning...and my sleeping patterns had started to change. I'm now finishing up three years on the Board of Trustees, two as Vice-President, I've led the Coming of Age class twice and I'm getting involved in the Member Engagement and Social Justice movements here.

Why do I tell you this story? For three reasons:

One, it was through contributing to the community in various ways that I felt a part of it, be that attending youth conferences, planning events for the youth group or leading worship services. I struggled with Sunday morning services for a long time because I missed the level of participation and interaction we had in youth worship and I am only slowly realizing that I can create those elements through being involved in other ways.

Two: Of my RE and youth cohorts, there is only one other person who attends First regularly. As a religion, we lose more youth every year than we gain total members of any age. Unless we build far stronger connections between adults and youth, we will continue to do so.

Three: I was lucky. I got three vital offers to do something interesting that arrived at just the right time and have brought me into the heart of this congregation. To those of you who need to be connected, if you wait to be asked, as I did, you may not have my luck. Building connection is much easier if you reach out when you need to be reached. And to those in a position to ask, your offer may be the most important thing.

Peter Brydon “The Cosmic Connection”

Good morning. My name is Peter Brydon, and I am one of your three Lay Chaplains. Along with my colleagues, Margaret Rao, and Margaret Kohr, I am privileged to participate in the worship service this morning. Our theme for this service is the circle of life. At this time of year we draw a line in the circle of the seasons and call it the end of one year and the beginning of another. So today we will take a look at circles and cycles, at beginnings and endings and at continuing connections.

Last week our minister the Rev. Shawn Newton quoted Albert Einstein saying, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

Until retirement, I spent my career as a high school science teacher, and I think for most of that time, I lived my life according to Einstein’s first sentence – that nothing is a miracle. But let me tell you how I began to see some of my science lessons as miracles. I don’t remember when it was I first heard the reading from our hymnal # 530. It is by Robert T. Weston, and it starts, “Out of the stars in their flight, out of the dust of eternity, here have we come, stardust and sunlight, mingling through time and through space.” My first response was to its lovely poetic expression. But later on it reads, “Out of the stars, rising from rocks and the sea, kindled by sunlight on earth, arose life….. Out of the sea to the land, out of the shallows came ferns. Out of the sea to the land, up from darkness to light, rising to walk and to fly, out of the sea trembled life.”

And then I thought, “That’s exactly what I teach in my classroom! I go to a church that celebrates these very science concepts!” I certainly was excited by that idea – and it helped me to feel even more at home in this congregation.

But I left out a line – I think my eye skipped over it back then, but later I started to pay attention to it. Let me reread that quote properly: “Out of the stars, rising from rocks and the sea, kindled by sunlight on earth, arose life.

Ponder this thing in your heart; ponder with awe:
Out of the sea to the land, out of the shallows came ferns.
Out of the sea to the land, up from darkness to light,
Rising to walk and to fly, out of the sea trembled life.”

“Ponder this thing in your heart; ponder with awe.”

Only when I began to think of the reading as a whole – the formation of the universe in the big bang, the formation of the solar system and the earth, and 4 billion years of the evolution of life on this planet, an evolution which started with the tiniest bacteria, some of whose descendants persist to this day, an evolution which produced gigantic dinosaurs, now long since gone, an evolution which has produced beautiful green hummingbirds and the colourful flowers which depend on them for pollination – only then did I realize that I had missed the miracle. Maybe as a Science teacher I was pretty good at taking miracles and turning them into chalk dust. Here’s another miracle – in some ways it really is the circle of life. First the chalk-dust version: The chloroplast in a green plant can take in six molecules of CO2 and six molecules of H2O and with the aid of sunlight turn them into a molecule of glucose and 6 molecules of oxygen. An animal can eat that plant to get the glucose, breathe in the six molecules of oxygen, release the stored energy and return six molecules of CO2 and six molecules of H2O to the environment for the plant to use again. Did you get all that – there’ll be a test during coffee hour.

But this is how it happened in this congregation. Some time ago, Larry Wulff announced that in his next life he is coming back as a sunflower. I wanted to tell him two somewhat contradictory things: first of all, don’t hurry, Larry, you’re doing really well in this life. The second thing is why wait for your next life? You can be a sunflower right now. Just go and stand in front of one and breathe! In fact, because we are continually passing molecules back and forth with the plant world, we are all sunflowers right now, and the sunflowers are us. That for me is another miracle. So:

“Ponder this thing in your heart, life up from sea:
Eyes to behold, throats to sing, mates to love.
Life from the sea, warmed by sun, washed by rain,
life from within, giving birth, rose to love.
This is the wonder of time; this is the marvel of space; out of the
stars swung the earth; life upon earth rose to love. This is the marvel of life, rising
to see and to know; Out of your heart, cry wonder:
sing that we live.”

Margaret Rao “New Beginnings: The Meaning and Purpose of A Child Dedication”

Peter spoke to us of the circle of life in terms of our intimate and intricate connection to the cosmos.

My story this morning speaks to the human family connection in the great circle of life; specifically, a most joyous and relatively rare occasion, at least for us lay chaplains, the Child Dedication. A Child Naming or Dedication always brings to mind for me the words of a poem by Sophia Lyon Fahs, beloved Unitarian Universalist, children’s religious educator; “Each night a child is born, is a holy night – a time for singing, a time for wondering, a time for worshipping”.

Except on this particular occasion it was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning and our normally nondescript library/chapel was miraculously transformed into a beautiful worship space for a sacred moment in time. The sun sparkled through the stained glass windows and onto a side table where a shimmering bowl of water, a shiny glass vase holding a single red rose and a slim white candle sat. The proud parents and godparents stood just to the right of this resplendent scene while the four grandparents, plus stepgrandmother sat to the left.

In between, and bouncing from knee to knee and side to side of the room, were the boisterous young grandchildren, nieces and nephews.

Younger and older voices intermingled in a rapidfire exchange of English, French and Portuguese, as both sides of the family hailed all the way from Montreal to mark this important milestone.

This extended family was both thrilled and thankful to have found a welcoming and suitably solemn environment for such an occasion.

A hush settled over the room as the candle was lit. Five month old Mathias Almeida-Doelle smiled and cooed, as if on cue, as all eyes fell on his bright face. From the candlelight to the baby’s lit smile, we became witnesses to the birth of the light and the miracle of new life.

“Each night a child is born is a holy night. Fathers and mothers feel glory in the wondrous sight of life beginning”.

The ceremony commenced with the welcoming of the newborn child into our midst and into the larger community. Continuing in a more serious vein, our words spoke of the responsibility adults bear for the caring and nurturing of all children. The inherent worth and dignity of every person, our first principle, is the foundation upon which we build our commitment to one another. Finally, we dedicated this child to the highest ideals of truth and love. Weighty words for a lightweight bundle of energy but fitting for the historic gathering of the clans.

Thinking back to our own childhood, perhaps we were not all privileged to receive a formal and public child dedication, baptism, bis, christening, or initial rite by any other name. Not that we would have any clear memories of our own significant early life passage. But this is not the main point of a child dedication. The dedication ‘per se’ refers to the grown-ups’ dedication, to the spiritual nourishment and growth of the child.

As individuals, as a community and as a society, it is good to know that it’s never too late to dedicate and to re-dedicate ourselves to the all-important task of nurturing the next generation of responsible and caring members of society.

Each and every Sunday that we meet here together is, in fact, an opportunity to do so. What memories are we creating right here and right now for our children and our youth, within and without the walls of our congregation?

In this intergenerational religious community we are all seekers and teachers together. As a past participant in Children’s Chapel in Shaw Hall, I was taught both in word and gesture that, “This is the church of the open mind, the caring heart and the helping hands”.

In the presence of a child, we are offered the gift of our own childhood again, a chance to become reacquainted with our own “inner child” and to the children in our midst. Together, we make meaning of our lives as we live our questions and answers into being.

“And so the children come. They ask: When or how will this new life end? Or will it ever end? Each night a child is born is a holy night”.

Let us continue to open ourselves to the child within and the children amongst us.

Margaret Kohr “Reflecting on the End of Things”

Funerals, and in particular memorial services, are not just to remember the dead but to comfort the living. My mother’s funeral did neither.

When my mother died in June 1970, we knew that because she was well known and well loved by so many, her funeral needed to be somewhere that would hold a lot of people. Although we did not go to church – my parents choosing to live a life based on principles rather than dogma -- my mother had been raised Anglican and my grandmother and aunt still attended a large church in our neighbourhood. It seemed logical to hold the service there. The minister who conducted the funeral didn’t know my mother nor did he attempt to meet with us – her husband and daughters, to find out who she really was or to talk to us about our loss. The funeral was a standard liturgy and could have been for anyone. There was nothing that reflected my mother – her warmth and wit -- and there was certainly nothing to comfort us.

In fact the only part of the service that was truly representative of her was the coffin. My father and I had gone to buy it shortly before she died. It was important that we honour her as best we could. So we chose the cheapest casket: plywood covered with grey felt. While the funeral director tried desperately to steer us towards the elaborate brass trimmed oak and mahogany caskets we knew that my mother would really roll over in her grave if we spent that kind of money for a box to bury her in. She was a founding member of the Canadian Association of Consumers and had campaigned strongly against the high cost of funerals – the least we could do was make sure we didn’t fall into that particular consumer trap. So there at the front of the packed church was the casket in all its humble glory – a grey box – the only thing that kept me centered as the words drifted around me. In hindsight, I realize that others at the funeral were probably shocked at what must have seemed like disrespect, without realizing it was the only authentic aspect of the service.

In last month’s Chaplain’s Chat, I confessed that I was relieved that I had not yet had to conduct a memorial service – that in spite of the courses I had taken and the excellent mentorship of fellow chaplains I was still feeling doubtful about my ability to do a good job. After all, a memorial or funeral is the most intimate service Lay Chaplains perform for the community. It is our gift of compassionate outreach to people who are looking for some meaningful service to help them through this dark time. We are meeting with families and friends as they are most vulnerable in their grief. There may be anger or confusion or unmanageable sorrow. There may be conflict between family members, each of whom has had their own relationship with the deceased as to the way the service should be done. In a very short period we are given a glimpse of the deceased from which we hope to create a service that provides a full and honest picture of their life. And of course a service that comforts those left behind. Could I do that? I just wasn’t sure. And then, inevitably, I got that phone call … a woman dying of cancer wanted a female Unitarian Lay Chaplain to perform her memorial service. Her husband was spending all his time at her bedside but her two sons could meet with me…. The details were like déjà vu. Not only was this woman the same age as my mother when she died but she had the same kind of cancer. She had two young adult sons who were losing her too soon and a husband who needed to be with her to the end. My heart went out to them. My doubts vanished. I knew I wanted to give them what I didn’t get – a service that honoured all that this woman had been in her life; a service that acknowledged the pain of those left behind; a service that reminded them of the joys they had shared that would be with them forever; a service that gave them comfort. It was as if by doing this I could complete something unfinished in my own life – how unexpected are the gifts of Lay Chaplaincy! My meeting with her sons was very moving for me – they were caught between sorrow of losing their mother and relief that her suffering would soon be over. How well I understood this place of conflicting emotions. We talked about that and then moved into their memories and stories of her unique and quirky qualities. When they left I had a good idea of their mother and her no nonsense personality. I met the rest of the family – her husband, mother and siblings, at the funeral parlour. They had lined the walls with picture collages of her life and each took me from one to another explaining their significance. The pictures and stories guided my choices for the components of the service: the words of welcome, candle lighting, benedictions and closings.

In an ironic parallel, because so many people were expected at the service, arrangements were made to hold it in a United church that none of the family attended. The church minister who was required by church policy to participate in some way, read the words that I had selected for the call to worship and to extinguish the candle. It was a good experience for both of us. The service went well – the emotions were palpable. People laughed and cried and held each other. This is what I would have wanted when my mother died. This is what I want when I die. This is what we all want: to be remembered well and to know that those we leave behind will have some solace.

My mother’s death was marked by a church ritual that could have been about anyone. As Unitarian Universalists we have a different approach— one that does not focus on the uncertain comfort of the hereafter but the certain comfort of the here and now. Our funerals and memorial services recognise the individual and acknowledge the pain of those left behind. And as UUs we have the opportunity to influence the way we are remembered. We can do more than just think about what we would like in a service but we can influence its creation by writing out what we want. In fact Shawn has a form that can be filled out and left with him in confidence – an insurance policy, as it were, for a good service. In fact you could even write your own eulogy – after all who knows you better. Believe me it would be a welcome gift for anyone charged with that awesome task. And when your favourite hymns are sung people will feel your hand on their shoulder – they will remember you.

As for me and my mother — well, as I was writing this I realised it was not too late to have a meaningful memorial service for her . This summer when my sister is up at our cottage we’ll gather round a bonfire – just the two of us with our husbands and children. We’ll share memories and we’ll cry a little. I have almost finished her eulogy.

20 years ago today, our nation was confronted with the reality of violence and hate targeted at women.

20 years ago today, we all learned of the massacre of 14 engineering students—all women— by a man armed with a simple rifle and an arsenal of misogyny.

Between November 25 and December 10 each year, communities around the world mark 16-days of activism to end gender-based violence. Within those designated days fall a number of tragic anniversaries pertaining to violence against women including December 6: Canada’s National Day of Remembrance and Action.

The events conclude on the anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights which begins by stating: We are all born free and equal.

This United Nations statement was enshrined into global consciousness on December 10, 1948. History remembers that women were once the legal property of men in this country. Today, we know that women continue to be the property of men in many communities. Clearly the world has a great distance to go before “free and equal” becomes a reality for half the human race.

We all know this. We all know the kind of lives that girls and women must bear simply for being born female. But we often dismiss this reality, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain as how to parse the multiple issues and affect real change. How do we act in the face of this reality?

In thinking about today, I have recalled my earlier years of activism and weighed them against change. It is difficult to see that those years have had little effect. Indeed, I often believe that misogyny is becoming even more entrenched. Everyday we are reminded of violence against women: the advertising, the news items, the crime shows, the video games, the movies, and the music in our lives. Too much of our cultural expression bears the smear of sexism and the brand of violence in all its forms.

Yet, how often do we call it sexism, misogyny? Have we become afraid to name it for what it is? Perhaps we are socially ashamed to admit that women and girls continue to be treated as lesser peoples in even our society.

And yet we still give the same tired gender lessons: boys are naturally aggressive and girls passive. Violence and sexism still holds us all hostage—women and men, girls and boys. Like domestic violence, are we afraid to speak up for fear of making it worse? Or do we think it will go away on its own?

In revisiting the trauma of that day, I have been questioning change.

For many, the actions of that gunman at l'École Polytechnique de Montréal were the actions of a madman. But can any of us discern where that line is? When sociallyembedded hate morphs into madness into murder?

Today is Canada’s National Day of Remembrance and Action.

Anne-Marie Edward was killed in the Montreal Massacre. Her mother, along with survivors of the shootings, passionately campaigned for the creation of the gun registry. Recently, Suzanne Laplante-Edward implored all of us to remember the kind of devastation a single rifle can inflict in just 22 minutes: 14 dead, 27 wounded.

Just a few weeks ago, Bill C-391 was passed in parliament and, if passed in the senate, the gun registry will be abolished.

How do we call ourselves to remember and to act? Where do we find awareness, language, and action.

In remembering this terrible anniversary, I look to the action of young women heading up the Miss G Project who are fighting to get women’s studies courses into high school. They understand that we all need more than the occasional text book sidebar to reflect the lives of girls and women.

In remembering this terrible anniversary, I look to the men of the white ribbon campaign who are working to educate boys and men. Who are working to breakdown hate against women.

In remembering this anniversary, I look to the December 6 Fund which provides loans for women escaping violence.

In remembering this anniversary I look to myself to find the hope and the courage to continue to fight for equality of all persons, for the realization of all human potential, for change.

Please join me now in a minute of silence to collectively mark this National Day of Remembrance and Action.

My name is Rona Goldensher and today is a big day for me. A few moments ago, in Shawn’s office, I officially became a member of the congregation, as I was not able to be here last week for the joining ceremony. And I am quite excited to have the opportunity of speaking with you about my experience volunteering with Amnesty International.

When I thought about why I am drawn to human rights work, I realized an aspect of my motivation that hadn’t been as clear to me before. The fact that people have collectively channelled outrage over past ills and atrocities into developing codes for the rights of individuals is something that I find deeply reassuring. I also realized that having this feeling about human rights ideals is helpful in a fight that can be pretty daunting. Article One of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, written as a reaction to World War II atrocities, reads “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood”. I think my blood pressure goes down a couple of notches just from reading that statement. It might be a long way from the way reality often looks, but what a relief to have a shared belief about what is right and to do be able to do some small amount of work toward it.

I had a similar reaction when I first read the shared principles of Unitarian Universalists and the list started out with, “the inherent worth and dignity of every person” and “justice, equity and compassion in human relations”. A big part of what drew me to this congregation is that UU members are constantly working to make these principles a reality in a number of ways. To welcome new members into the congregation without requiring that they are born into a particular group, fit a given lifestyle or believe a given creed. To grant ourselves and each other the freedom to exercise our individual conscience and our reasoning faculty in our own spiritual search. To participate in the democratic system of our institutions. To continue the long tradition of UU involvement in human rights work in the world at large. And the very fact that we have an Amnesty Sunday here pretty much blows my mind.

 Those people who do the hardest work, amid the most horrifying conditions, in order to advance human rights are people who risk imprisonment, torture, and even death for the sake of these rights. Prisoners of conscience – the phrase used by Amnesty -a poetic phrase if I ever heard one. These are the people that we Amnesty members write letters to support, to try to free from prison, or to try to protect their life. I am in awe of their courage. They are my heroes. To be able to do the smallest thing to try to support them and their work is a tremendous honour and satisfaction.

I can’t possibly begin to imagine what a prisoner of conscience goes through or to really relate to the conditions in the often faraway places where they live. But I believe that many of us, to some degree or other, have experienced the sting of our rights being violated, and conversely, the peace and vitality that results from being in an atmosphere in which people are treated with respect and dignity. Maybe we’ve experienced a rights violation in the workplace, even in the family setting, or some type of discriminatory violation. And maybe we have experienced firsthand how silence, isolation and denial of harsh truths are the breeding ground for abuses, while openness, commitment to speaking the truth, and solidarity against them are the only way to fight them.   Sometimes, the pain of a betrayal experienced by oneself or someone we care about can powerfully bring home for us how vulnerable one can be at times, as well as the sanctity of these rights and the universal need for these rights to be protected.

It is very gratifying to be involved with an organization that is striving day after day to advance these rights around the world in the gravest situations. I continue to benefit from the work I do with Amnesty. I learn so much about human rights issues in very different parts of the world as well as in my own backyard here in Canada. Writing letters to appeal for human rights in urgent action campaigns is a very satisfying process. For one thing, it’s easy and I never complain about things that are easy. The urgent action tells you how to frame your letter so off you go. It’s a satisfying exercise in polite assertiveness, as you are coached to use phrases like “I call on you to’ or, “I urge you to”, etc. It is also refreshingly apolitical; politics does not enter into it, it is simply a matter of supporting the agreed-upon rights of individuals. I am deeply moved and inspired by the work being done by courageous individuals against great odds all around the world to perpetuate human rights. I never know if my voice expressed in my little letter will help. But I know that, along with all the other voices of ordinary people politely and firmly asserting themselves over and over again, my voice has a chance.

Honouring our Allies

I have been coming to Toronto First Unitarian for about six years and I want to share a confession with you all. And that is, that one of the reasons I come to First,
is for the men.

Now, as a lesbian, this may seem slightly incongruent.

But on this Father’s Day and at the start of Pride week, I’d like to explain.

When getting to know one another, gay and lesbian people at some point will reference THE coming out. When did you know? How did you come out? We ask one another.

Whether it’s spoken when resting in one another’s arms, around a campfire, or over coffee, each coming out story is expressed as the individual’s unique event that sets them immediately at odds with the dominant culture, with family, with friends. Speaking our coming out stories is a rite that connects us to one another and to the larger queer community.  

In 1985, my coming out to my father was met with shock and “Well, at least you’re not a terrorist.” At that time and with my age, the word didn’t have as much social currency as it does today. Nevertheless, it did cause me to wonder what other subversive membership I’d signed on for through my sexuality.

After many years of rejection, distance, and anger, my father and I have built a loving relationship. Our reconnection was initiated shortly after my son Nigel’s birth, and a few years ago he commented to Karen and I, with love and respect in his voice, that he thinks we have a wonderful relationship.

While queer people have those critical moments, ultimately, we never stop coming out— from those people on the phone who asks for my husband’s name to coworkers, sales staff, hospitals, neighbours, social gatherings, the school system, and on and on.

When Karen and I arrived to check this place out, just as important to the spiritual values of Unitarian Universalism was the level of acceptance our family would find here. We were relieved to hear the welcome of inclusive language and felt the sincere embrace of both straight and gay congregants who’d worked together to educate against homophobia and make this a welcoming congregation.

The impetus and drive for that education came from queer members of First and our straight allies. The work was done before my family arrived here and I must tell you:
It made all the difference in the world.

And while I know that both genders of varying ages and sexual identities worked to accomplish this and that many of us continue to work at fostering inclusivity and breaking down barriers; on this Father’s Day, I honour the men of our congregation.

Now that’s not to say that I don’t love the women of this community...don’t get me wrong. But Karen and I have often had conversations about the men of First—straight and gay—and how they connect with women, youth, one another, and children of our community in a way that demonstrates our shared values: with honest interdependence, spiritual encouragement, and respect.

Unlike the public school system, I’ve not felt any concern with Nigel’s teachers in the R.E. program and I am particularly grateful for the men of this community who provide for Nigel such strong role models of gentleness, care, creativity, playfulness...
men who sincerely love women, and who embrace their mentoring roles to the youth of our community.

These qualities are not often evident or promoted in the dominant culture of hockey fights, white political elitism, and misogynistic violence.

The men of First provide for me an active reminder that we have many (and sometimes unlikely) allies in the call for social justice. There is a good amount of work that goes into acceptance, educating oneself educating others, asking questions and being open to hearing the personalized answers.

Now that this has become my community, I am quite at ease in coming out to people new to our congregation. Because this is my place and I am here with my visible family. And the men of this community have been instrumental in making me feel comfortable as a lesbian and as a woman in so many ways.

The mutuality of true connection arises even from just feeling listened to and in engaging in mutual laughter and sharing our experiences. In the larger world of gender segregation, this can be a challenge.

But you’ve made space for me, (and my road hockey antics at the Family Retreat). You’ve comforted Nigel through his nervousness before talent shows and recalled Karen’s finishing school advice with laughter.

So let me say that I am proud to honour my allies:
You’re not the typical great guys — thankfully
You truly are beautiful men.

Three questions provide “guidelines” for personal testimonies: What brought me here? What keeps me here? What religious or spiritual issue am I wrestling with now? I realized I’ve been on a journey, starting with little awareness of Unitarianism to a degree of understanding, a journey with no insight regarding its future course. Shawn provided a quotation from Kierkegaard: “We live our lives forward, but we understand them backwards.” That seems to sum it up.

I grew up in a non-practising Jewish home where my father who held and voiced the family opinions insisted that all religions were “bunk.” Yet we were constantly reminded of being Jewish although observing no Jewish holidays or practices. We celebrated Christmas with presents and a huge dinner, avoiding anything that people would see, like a Christmas tree or other seasonal decorations, and we stayed home from school on Jewish holidays because of what people would think. I found the hypocrisy distasteful.

So how did I get here? It started in Madison, Wisconsin, while attending university. I lived in an interracial residence which, I learned, had been largely sponsored by local Unitarians, a daring undertaking with the Civil Rights movement over a decade away and in many communities two YMCAs, one for whites and one for blacks, as was true of some local churches. All this was new to me, coming from London, Ontario which was almost totally homogeneously white.

I attended Madison’s Unitarian congregation at a very exciting time. Ken Patton’s previous dynamic ministry had left a lingering glow. And the congregation was building a new church, designed by famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright whose grandfather was a founder. He believed in using local materials. This meant limestone, available north of Madison. The church organized two work parties: one loaded limestone on trucks at the quarry, the other unloaded at the church site. I chose the quarry and during a glorious autumn season spent Saturdays there. Frank Lloyd Wright’s autobiography became almost a text book for the congregation, used in RE and other programs. Heady days!

Meanwhile increased interest in religion led to exploring Protestant student centres. I even looked at the Quakers, but abandoned them because they seemed very pure-hearted; I felt I wasn’t “good enough.”

In Toronto in the early ‘50’s, I at first felt isolated and decided to “try” being Jewish. While scouting Jewish circles, I was told by a prominent rabbi that “we have nothing here for single women at all.” That closed that door. By chance I encountered a former Madison Unitarian who suggested I come here. I did, I immediately felt at home, I stayed.

My reasons: feeling accepted, and free to explore and think for myself. It was difficult explaining Unitarianism to others. Part of that was the times. Unitarians here tended to define themselves negatively, unlike traditional religionists. Avoiding the “trappings of traditional religion” seemed almost a mantra. Back then, I didn’t understand Unitarianism. I tended to describe myself as Unitarian by temperament rather than conviction.

The big gift I received here involved personal change, from being extremely shy, finding it difficult to express any opinion (many here now would never believe that!) to becoming more outgoing. Developing organizational skills led to founding Carrousel Club, actually joining the church in 1962 in order to be president, hardly a noble motive. But temperament trumped conviction then. Over time I’ve filled various roles here and my sense of this as my community and my “social lab” grew and strengthened.

But a strange thing happened on the way from then until now.

It took time to understand Unitarianism as a liberal religion. Recently, I have reflected on major influences that culminated in a set of liberal values. They included my early introduction to racism and civil rights issues, and employment in human rights; ongoing participation in the adult education world where “liberal” attitudes and projects abounded; graduate study in sociology; opportunities to learn about aboriginal peoples. Dominant throughout has been continuing influence of the Unitarian environment which nurtured me, especially with its emphasis on respect for others and their views. I am deeply grateful. And somewhere on this journey I accepted humanism as my “brand” of Unitarianism. Finally, I felt Unitarian by conviction.

The three questions? I came seeking an accepting home. I stayed because I found it here. Any doubts absolutely vanished when I was hospitalized last summer. I was totally overwhelmed by the constant flow of visitors, cards, gifts, phone calls and tangible help that poured forth from members of this congregation both then and afterwards. The church as my community became incredibly vivid.

The third question, “What religious or spiritual issue am I wrestling with now” is still evasive, overtaken by increasing comfort with my humanist outlook and less need to wrestle.

There is a lovely poem which a former minister used to quote, translated from Greek, and called Ithaca or Journey to Ithaca, as the destination of a long journey through life, enjoying delights and ignoring threats, recognizing that in the end, Ithaca might disappoint. The message: the journey trumps the destination; travelling outweighs arriving. Another quotation, from lyrics by Sondheim: “If you know where you’re going, you’ve (already) gone.”

Good morning.

The guiding questions for writing a testimony are: What brought me here? What keeps me here? & What is my growing edge?

Well, parenthood brought me here. When I arrived at First 15 years ago, I was a new mother and a former Catholic. I had recently participated in the “family pleasing charade” of having my daughter baptized in the Catholic Church. The hypocrisy of it, was embarrassing, so Jack & I looked for a church where we could be honest with our children about our beliefs. A desire for “religious community” also brought me here, though at the time, I really didn’t know what that meant.

Today, I now know that a “religious community” is a safe, supportive place, where members strive to encourage one another, towards personal and spiritual growth. My need for a Religious Community is what keeps me here.

When I joined first:

1. I cried at almost every service – which is ok here.

2. I was afraid to speak up; I didn’t think I knew enough.

3. and email & computers were a mystery to me

Despite all that, I was breathing….. so naturally, I was recruited as a volunteer.

Volunteering here is an opportunity for meaningful growth. Every time I’ve taken on a new role, I’ve been filled with self doubt. And every time, there has been one moment, (and I can recall dozens of these moments) when I realized, that the eyes that were looking into mine, were filled with encouragement and support.

This happened every year I taught RE, when I organized Family Retreats or Halloween parties, when I taught OWL, when I became a Worship Leader, and again when I became the Worship Convenor. Even as challenges & disagreements have arisen, there have always, been wise & encouraging eyes, to steady me, & to remind me, that we all have something to teach.

Part of my sales pitch for recruiting people to give testimonies, is to tell them that this is a “spiritually healthy exercise”. Today I can officially report, that I have been telling the truth!

It’s taken me two weeks, to figure out what the devil my “growing edge” is.

During my first decade here, I focused on building community for my children. After that I pursued my interest in “worship”. But my term as Worship Convenor will end next spring. Then what?

I’m realizing that it’s time to make some changes. I need to broaden my experience, to let my children test their wings, and to be a better partner. My growing edge is to anticipate & embrace the next stage of my life.

I am grateful for this healing community. You make me stronger, and more mindful, of the things that matter. Thank you.

Good Morning, my name is Paul Bognar, and I am humbled and honoured to be a member of your Ministerial Search Committee. Many people have asked me lately ‘how is the search going?” and I will answer that question for you in just a minute. But first let me tell you a little about my own search.
Raised a Roman Catholic, I was for many years “unchurched.” I began attending the First Unitarian Church of Hamilton some 11 years ago, as that congregation was in the final stages of a ministerial search. Compared to my Catholic background, the Unitarian approach to calling a minister was nothing less than revolutionary: I was captivated by the idea of a faith that would, first, grant the authority to the people of a congregation, and then expend such an effort to find just the right minister for each congregation. Hamilton called a bright, talented minister who many of you know as a former member of this Congregation: Allison Barrett. I remember the anticipation in Hamilton, as we began a new ministry together, the excitement was almost palpable, and the first couple of years were dynamic, culminating in a new building. I was, you could say, from that point, hooked on UUism.
In 1998 I came to this congregation as you began the relationship with your first Director of Lifespan Religious Education, Diane Bosman. As her partner, I found things to do here, apart from being the “DLRE’s wife”: I led Coming of Age classes several times, I led and coached Living in Spirit groups, attended and then organized annual Men’s Retreats, and a number of other things. Living with a paid staff member gave me insight into some of the more intimate and intricate workings of this congregation.
And now, now that our past ministers fade from the “current events” to the “history” of this congregation, and Diane no longer brings home talk of happenings and issues of First, what role would I play here, what would I do? Initially I thought I’d like to take a year or so, and just be ‘a guy who comes to church.’ No committees, no teaching, just Sunday services.
But when the Nominating Committee put out a call for applicants for the Search Committee, I began to think about it. I have some experience: I worked in human resources, including interviewing and recruitment. Because of my unique position in this Congregation, (that is, as the partner of a staff member) I very often have had a close, personal, (and frequently behind the scenes) look at the lives, joys, hopes and struggles of church ministers and staff. But mostly, I thought that the search for a new settled minister would be the most important work that one could do for this congregation. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that if my insights and experience could be of use, then I would be willing to dedicate myself to this work.
At First Unitarian, there are three things that a testimony should address:
1) What brought you here?
2) What keeps you coming back?
3) What is your growing edge?
Now you know what brought me here (Diane), and you know what’s keeping me here (ministerial search), so what’s my growing edge?
It’s three things, all of which I can attribute to my participation in this search:

1) a growing sense of who we are, and what this religious community is. With all our warts and flaws, our loving hearts and dedication to this place, the diversity, and our all too human relationships, some good, some difficult, but a richness that’s impossible to ignore.
2) It’s an increasing awareness of our place in the UU movement. One of the Search Committee members, Helen Iacovino, talks about the “thousand other UU congregations out there” where people volunteer to pour coffee on Sunday, sit on boards and committees, attend small group meetings, and struggle with church finances. From references we have phoned, newsletters we have seen, we know we are not alone, in our day to day struggles, whether theological or in matters of social justice, and we are not alone in our successes in the larger world. And this leads me to my third growing edge:
3) My sense of anticipation, excitement, and yes, even hope for this congregation is growing, daily. This place is going to look very different in a couple of years, and I for one, am very excited. I think it’s safe to say that the other six members of the committee are also keyed up.
So, how is the search going? I think it’s going very well. We have been hard at work, putting in many hours creating and tabulating surveys, attending meetings, creating packets, reading and listening to sermons and rites of passage, more meetings, phone interviews, reference checks, …still more meetings, and much planning.
And now, we are about to embark on a series of in-person interviews with our short list of candidates. Any of these ministers would be wonderful ministers for this congregation. As our chair, Catherine Schuler puts it: our task now is to discern the truly excellent from the merely excellent. We anticipate presenting a candidate to you sometime in mid to late April.
This task is far from complete, there is much work for this committee yet to do. And I want you to know, this is a labour of love, to which all members of the committee are deeply dedicated.
It is, for me, a significant part of my own spiritual growth, and I am grateful for it.