Minister's Musings: After the Storm November 4, 2012 Service of Healing

Reading the Names of Those Who Died in The Storm Rev. Susan Karlson

We drop a pebble in this beaker for each person who died in the Storm or the aftermath of Sandy on Staten Island:

Beatrice Spagnuolo Anastasia Rispoli John Filipwicz

John Filipowicz Jr. Leonard Montalto Ella Norris

Artur Kasprzak Angela Dresch Andrew Semarco

James Rossi Jack Paterno Patricia Bevan

Anna Gesso Eugene Contrubis Connor Moore

Brandon Moore Walter Colborne Marie Colborne

George Dresch George P. O’Regan Frank Suber

Unidentified male Unidentified female

We call out the names of those unnamed, for those not yet found or those unknown

We drop a pebble in the beaker for the Names of those who volunteered here at this church and those countless volunteers and donors who are beacons of hope and renewal after the storm and all of those who will come after them:

Lily Jacqueline and Gary Matt and Ray Juliet Daphne Margie Victoria Nancy and Michele Jim Tracy

NYPD Clarissa and family Family Fruit Sandy Tina

Pooja Toby Celia and David

Sarah and Rebecca Dan and Michelle

Oindrila and Vikas Jonny and Andrea Joanne

Rigo and Adriana Lisa Simao

Nicole Ed, Dylan and Ally

Alan Sally George Judith

Maureen John and Rafael Dave Mike and Kristin

Others named out loud

The Rev. Craig Hirshberg’s meditation

“On Thursday, I saw a vibrant pileated woodpecker in my yard. He was magnificent, with a big bright red plume atop his head. He visited us quite a while, as he flitted from branch to broken branch feasting on the sumptuous treasures he found. Below him were the ravages of a hurricane. Sixteen trees broken or uprooted, pried into passable place by compassionate, generous chain saw wielding neighbors and their brute human force. The yard looked like a lumber camp. But up above flew one of nature’s magnificent beauties, feverishly head-hammering the newly broken boughs, nourished by the change.

Nature can be our inspiration, our friend, and our joy. It constantly reminds us of the rhythms of life, the beauty and mystery of the natural world, of the cycles of our existence. Nature can also teach us humility, that as hard as we try, there are things that are beyond our control, that lack predictability; elements that dwarf our efforts; forces that dominate beyond conceivable possibility; that trounces us into that humble human place as we are forced to accept the inevitability of constant and sometimes even gut wrenching change.

Nature reminds us that with the beauty can come destruction, that the rhythms are not always kind or helpful, that tragedy is part of life as well as beauty.

This week we have all experienced this other side of nature, some of us more directly than others, but none of us can escape its power. And who among us can’t be touched by the human fortitude in its response.

Let us gather collectively in prayerful intention, gather our hearts, our minds, and our compassion, for those who have, and continue to suffer as a result of this week’s storm. Let us gather in gratitude for those self-sacrificing souls who respond. Let us lend our hands to rebuild, and our hearts to heal.”

Rev. Susan Karlson: Craig is my spiritual director; she is a source of comfort for me and she reminds me of who I am, God that is the source of my strength, compassion and courage. Many of us have someone like that in our lives—someone who offers us a shoulder when times are tough; someone who reminds us who we are. Someone/someones who offer us “sushi or bubble bath or whatever I can bring for you” as one of my other colleagues offered.

During this storm and its aftermath, I heard countless stories of horror and sorrow, counterbalanced by compassion, strength and hope from folks in this church who worked at the Shelters, from people who just wanted to give and do what they could. People who drove to the South Shore and were told to go to this site and another site, who just kept going, doing whatever it took. People who came from down the street; who live in this neighborhood that I never saw before; people who crossed the Ferries (and we all know how many days the Ferries couldn’t run) in from Brooklyn, upstate New York, from Annapolis Maryland; people sending packages from Seattle, Washington and wanting to send donations or money or whatever they could from California, New Mexico, other states.

You who lived here in New York during the tragedy of 9/11, know what disaster brings out in people. Those of us who went to Katrina know about the outpouring of relief and kindness and care that people sent to New Orleans, Mississippi and the Gulf Coast. This congregation has opened its hearts for those in orphanages in Haiti and the tsunami and countless other times when there was a need. We are a small congregation but we work hard, we care a lot and we are abundantly generous with our time, talent or treasure when tragedy happens and other times in between.

And so, people spent Friday cleaning up the church yard, and then bringing in donations. This church parish hall was filled to capacity with tables, volunteers and donations—people sorting, bagging, packing and lovingly folding all the clothes, blankets, supplies that we got in. Unitarian Universalist churches here and everywhere are sending us checks and money to help those in need, including some of the people in this church who lost their homes and property.

I tell you my heart is so full with the love that is flowing here. It is people we know and strangers, neighbors and people from everywhere all pooling together, all opening their hearts, all refusing to give in to the cynicism and despair. It is people saying “Yes, count me in”. Yes, I will call this person I haven’t heard from and make sure they are ok. Yes, I will check on the president of this church whose family not only lost power but who lost her father this week. Yes, I will open up the church so that people can charge their phones, warm up their mac and cheese, take a shower, answer the phones, chip the broken limbs, rake up the debris.

This is what a church is; this is the human spirit that just cannot close. This is the beloved community I have yearned to see and funny thing is, it was here all the time. How could I be so blind? How could I fail to see what is before my eyes; my neighbors that live next door or down the block? It’s easy to miss till we come together. In just a few minutes, I will invite you to share some of your stories of hope, of sadness or concern, of recovery. I have never been prouder of this church than this week. I have never been so scared for so many people as when I couldn’t get in touch with some of you and I didn’t know if you were alive or well. It is times like this that I feel our mission—it is a mission of love, spiritual renewal, compassion, healing and sometimes just surviving. Blessed be our many ties. May we comfort one another in all the ways we can imagine as we so surely need it now.

Hymn # 1002 Comfort Me Words and Music: Mimi Bornstein-Doble

Sharing Our Stories Invitation to Share Stories

Ritual of Healing and Hope

(As we participate in the Ritual of Healing and Hope, we sing softly # 1009, Meditation on Breathing by Sarah Dan Jones)

We’ve shared stories now; we’ve shared parts of our lives after this storm. We begin singing # 1009 softly.

Now keep singing that song softly as we begin the ritual of Healing and Hope. Each of you were given a piece of yarn. Will you now tie a symbolic knot connecting your thread to that of your neighbor’s? Make sure you are holding a knot in your hands. With this ritual, we show how we are all one with our joined common threads.

Wait till everyone ties their threads and remind them to "breathe in peace" and "breathe out love".

Now we have a number of pairs of scissors and I ask you to pass the scissors along your row as you hold on to your own knot and cut in between the knots so that everyone is holding a segment of thread and a knot.

Our common threads are now separate but we still have the knot that reminds us how we are all joined together. How we are all one.

Closing Hymn # 318 We Would Be One

Words: Samuel Anthony Wright Music: Jean Sibelius

Benediction: Rev. Susan Karlson

In the midst of sorrow and loss

We bring our tiny lights

That can light up the darkness

In the midst of flooded houses, cold limbs and hungry tummies,

We help find shelter, sustenance and warmth

So that others might get back to living—again.

In the midst of our own ragged lives,

We remember our ties to one another;