Service: Why We Gather

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxwP4KDeAKE

Note: This sermon was delivered remotely as I was attending OWL training. This sermon was created for an in-class assignment, where we were asked to deliver a sermon on the theme of "why we gather." 

Call to worship:

Welcome, all of you who have gathered here, whether you are present in this sanctuary or joining us from afar. My name is Ember, and I serve as our intern minister. Although I am disappointed that I am unable to be with you in person, I am also so grateful that we are able to gather in this way, as we come together across distance, across difference, and across time itself, to feel the pulse of something deeper. Today, we come not just to witness one another but to reach out and create a circle of care that is as expansive as it is sacred, held by the presence of those we can see and those who are beyond our sight.

Let us take a moment to settle into this space, wherever you may be. Feel yourself being supported, by the earth, by our planet, and by our love in this gathering. Let your breath fill you with a sense of rootedness, as if the space around you is opening up, creating room for others to join you. Take a deep inhale, breathing in the presence of this community, and exhale, offering a bit of yourself into the space between us.

Let us hold the quiet hum of this sacred connection, a heartbeat that pulses within each of us, holding us steady, reminding us that we are never alone. Today, as we worship, may we utilize this mudra to remind us that we are rooted in our connection to one another, and we make the choice to engage acts of grace, and a promise we make again and again to be present in each other’s lives. Welcome, let us worship together.

Sermon: 

Thanksgiving holds a cherished place in our collective traditions,while remaining steeped in complex histories and myths that reveal both the beauty and the complications of our national identity. The common portrayal of Thanksgiving as a peaceful gathering of Pilgrims and Native peoples often obscures the painful realities of colonialism and the violence inflicted upon Indigenous communities. 

Thanksgiving, as we know it, wasn’t established at the dawn of our nation. It was not an observed national holiday until the Civil War, when President Abraham Lincoln sought to remind a fractured nation of the importance of family and communal bonds amid division and unrest. 

Gathering, especially around a holiday as complicated as Thanksgiving, invites us to sit with the fullness of our history, learning to navigate the discomfort it brings with an openness to growth and a commitment to deeper understanding.

I actually really appreciate the season between Halloween and Christmas, a time that we push past as we focus on tinsel and twinkling lights, and while I understand that simply pausing, and breathing with our community, is not as exciting as preparing for Christmas, I think it leaves a gap in our celebration of the western year. 

One of my Thanksgiving rituals, one of my all time favorite comfort movies, is the 2003 film Pieces of April. April, our main character, is determined to host Thanksgiving dinner for her family despite a strained relationship and the limitations of her small apartment. Like many of us, she’s seeking something intangible, something larger than herself that she can’t fully articulate. The holiday gives her a reason, a ritual of gathering to hold onto, even as her struggle to host Thanksgiving becomes a metaphor for the messy, sometimes painful, yet ultimately resilient nature of human connection.

Take a deep breath and bring your awareness to your heart. Feel its steady rhythm, the warmth within it, and let each beat remind you how much love you carry, and how much love is carried for you. As you breathe, hold our gesture, connecting to the energy of compassion that flows from the tips of your fingers, through your arm, into your heart. In this space, know that your heart is enough, that it holds everything you need.

Gathering is often a balm for the soul, grounding us in the knowledge that we are not alone in the burdens we carry, each gathering becoming an opportunity to unburden, to let others shoulder part of our weight, if only for a moment.

Perhaps this is the deepest why of our gatherings, the simple, profound need to know that we belong to something greater than ourselves, something enduring. We gather to remember and to be reminded: that we are bound to one another, that we do not shoulder our stones alone, and that our lives, however small they may sometimes feel, are part of a larger, purposeful story. And perhaps, even if we cannot always articulate it, we understand this: that to gather is to affirm our place within this circle of belonging and care, to feel the gentle yet powerful assurance that we are, indeed, home.

Let’s pause, breathing deeply into our bellies. Feel the rise and fall with each breath, the center of your body grounding you in this moment. With each exhale, release any tension, letting it melt away. As you hold our mudra, connect to the gentle power of your core, knowing it holds resilience and peace.

One of the most tender scenes in Pieces of April occurs when April, in her desperate search for a working oven, encounters a Vietnamese family in her apartment complex. With no common language to rely on, they engage in a wordless exchange, an unspoken understanding passing between them that surpasses cultural and linguistic boundaries. The family quietly welcomes her into their home and offers their kitchen without hesitation.

April’s response is equally poignant. as she attempts, awkwardly but earnestly, to reciprocate the generosity shown to her by telling the story of Thanksgiving, of finding a way to hold both the imperfections of the holiday alongside the growing knowledge that no matter what stories we tell around this day, that this is a day where we gather because we are, none of us, alone in this world. 

Gathering opens the door to personal and communal repair by creating spaces where we can be vulnerable, seen, and known. Repair is rarely a single, neat event but rather a messy, imperfect process that unfolds over time. We come for the story, but if we are going to love that story, we must also own its contradictions and understand the deep complexities beneath it.

Like April, we might find ourselves drawn to the hope of gathering and belonging. But our love for her story, and for Thanksgiving, can still coexist with an honest recognition of its flaws. 

Acknowledging these flaws means recognizing that the Thanksgiving story at its core is steeped in white supremacist ideals, having extended an open invitation to former oppressors without fully honoring those harmed. In our Unitarian Universalist spaces, we covenant together to uplift each other's stories, while so often looking away from our own complicity in this narrative. 

As we remember Thanksgiving’s roots, we are reminded of a nation yearning to come together in the wake of division. Americans sought common ground, a way to reconnect across fractured lines. The Thanksgiving meal became a symbol of togetherness, embodying the hope that we could unite beyond our differences. 

Breathe into your shoulders, noticing if they carry any weight or tension from the day. With each exhale, let them soften, letting go of what no longer serves you. Bring your hands into our gesture, feeling the strength and openness in your shoulders, knowing that you are capable of holding yourself with care and compassion.

And knowing what that warmth and connection can feel like, means we also know, in our bodies, that leaving a community or a loved one is the hardest, most necessary act of self-love we can perform. Sometimes, the kindest action is stepping away from spaces that no longer align with our needs, knowing that this boundary is not a failure but a measure of self-compassion and integrity.

Navigating that choice, to leave what was once beloved, requires courage and a deep trust in the worth of our stories. In leaving, we don’t discard the memories, growth, or lessons that we experienced within those communities; instead, we carry them forward, honoring what was while releasing what no longer serves us. Moving forward can feel lonely, but it also offers the freedom to gather in ways that center our truth and invite us to fully inhabit ourselves. Being here, across time and space, with loved ones we choose, is enough, because we are enough. We are not here to fit ourselves into stories that ask us to be smaller; rather, our story is one of wonder and expansiveness, where we are called into community.

As we approach this holiday, a reminder that we will be hosting a community meal, please see the poster in back or in the office for signup. For those who have left communities of belonging, and for those who have not yet found their communities, we welcome you this holiday season. As we continue to process and engage with our circle of care following the election, please join us for a listening circle the Sunday after Thanksgiving, Dec. 1, for a discussion around our continued organizing in the face of injustice and oppression.

Take a moment to breathe and bring your awareness to your soul, to the deepest part of yourself that holds your wisdom and light. Let each breath settle into this space, offering a sense of calm and ease. As you hold our mudra, feel the connection between your soul and your body, grounding yourself in the wholeness of who you are.

Sitting together, without needing to fix or explain ourselves, we create a circle of care. This shared space strengthens us, allowing us to release our anxieties, if only for a moment, as we connect to something greater. In the simple act of being present with one another, we reclaim hope, finding a grounding that empowers us to face a new dawn.

Guided meditation:
Please join me in taking a deep breath, allowing yourself to settle into this shared moment, knowing that wherever we are, we are bound together by our intention to be here. As you settle into your body, allow a wave of compassion to roll over you, thick and golden.

Bring your right hand to your heart. Feel the warmth beneath your palm, the quiet rhythm that reminds you of your aliveness, your presence here. Gently bring your attention to your left thumb, bringing your left hand parallel with your heart, feeling that syrupy golden energy run from your heart to your hand. Bring your thumb to meet your middle finger, and rest it just below your heart. This becomes a mudra, a symbolic or ritual pose, an invitation to balance, to openness, and to the shared energy of this circle. 

As your fingers connect, feel a gentle spark, a glittering, pulsing green meeting the gold, warming you.

Imagine a circle, an ancient and powerful symbol of unity, extending from this sanctuary to every place each of us calls home. In this circle, each presence matters, each heartbeat joins in rhythm with others. 

Imagine that as we breathe together, we reach across distances, across screens, and feel a quiet warmth brushing the edges of our being, dissolving any sense of loneliness or separation.

As you hold this mudra, take a final, deep breath, letting yourself be held in this circle, knowing that we are bound together by choice, by intention, and by love. When you’re ready, release your hands, gently letting this circle remain within you. In this spirit of unity and presence, may we carry this feeling of connection with us, knowing that together, we create a world where no one stands alone.