You may have noticed something new going on in the sanctuary over by the foyer sliding doors. We now have another way to share personal information. The idea for the new Joys and Concerns Board was conceived by the Pastoral Assistants, refined and designed by PA Linda Mikell and Ed Mikell and constructed by Mike Serie. It has been in place for the last 6 or 8 weeks and people have been using it!
Many Unitarian Universalist congregations include a time during their Sunday services when people can speak out loud in community about something that is going on for them--something wonderful (an accomplishment, a milestone, a birth, a wedding, an opportunity, a new job, an encounter with beauty or joy) or something painful (a failure or loss, a distressing diagnosis, a financial blow, a death, a separation or divorce). Sometimes spoken Joys and Concerns in the context of a worship service can be very moving and very effective at strengthening the bonds of community, but there are definite downsides to the practice (as you might easily imagine) and UU experts in welcoming and growth agree that this kind of sharing can seem exclusive to newcomers. UUFSB has experimented on several occasions with spoken sharing, but it never “took,” for good or for ill.
So how do we make it easy for people to share with others what is going on in their lives, to invite others to join in celebration or sorrow, to ask for a high-5 or help? Well, we often begin meetings with a check-in. Sharing Circle gatherings and groups like the Men’s Group focus on our stories. The Unicorn brings us news of deaths and other passages. But, truth be told, we don’t really have a lot of avenues for exchanging the gifts of being real with one another.
This Joys and Concerns Board is a new vehicle for personal connecting (not for politics, social issues or jokes). Tell your community what you are carrying and, in so doing, share your joy or your burden with people who care about your success and wellbeing. The instructions say that anonymity is OK—and it is—but I encourage you to include your name. The more we risk telling the truth about our lives, the more we learn about one another, the more we reach out in concern and celebration, The more mutual trust builds and the stronger we become.
The Pastoral Assistants and I will be monitoring the Board and, when it seems like it might be helpful, responding to notes. When we gather for our monthly meeting, we will remove notes that have been up there for a while and read them out loud. Then we will lay our hands on them and say together these words by Becca Reynolds: “May love permeate your every heartbeat. May faith guide your every step. May truth and compassion be your Eternal travelling companions and may a deep, abiding Spirit rest joyously in your every waking wish and your every resting dream.” This will be the prayer we send into the web of our community.
The heart of Justice is the stories we tell and the compassion with which we meet them.            



Meg Riley, Senior Minister of the Church of the Larger Fellowship, our largest congregation (, wrote this for the April edition of Quest for Meaning, the CLF monthly for religious liberals ( I cried when I read it, because I have had this experience myself and have heard many similar stories over the years. I offer you this edited version of Meg’s story, one sweet articulation of the Easter story, the story of how we die and how, in various ways, we never really do.

That early winter morning, I needed to be at the crematorium. My brother and I touched the white hair, said I love you and Goodbye, cried. Then we slowly pushed our father’s body—lying on its cardboard bed, that body so intimately familiar and yet suddenly so strange—into the big silver oven. […] My brother pushed a black button and I a red one to start the fires burning. […] I knew that my father, the scientist, would be interested in this process, and I cloaked myself in his objectivity. It gave me peace. […] After a while my brother left quietly. I walked, prayed, laughed and cried, stared at that big silver oven door and that thermometer until my witness no longer felt needed. I went to sit outside, for a quiet moment and fresh air. I sat down on a bench and just as I sat, knew with utter clarity that what is gone forever from this earth is only the particularity of my father’s form. Personality, body, mind, sounds, smells, feel—gone. […]  Freed from all this specificity of location, his energy might be anywhere in the universe. I sat very still, grateful, looking out with unfocused eyes into the grey day. 

In the front yard of the house next door, I saw what I thought was one of those big fake grey plastic owls people nail on posts to scare rabbits. This one was in a low branch of a tree, maybe ten feet off the ground. What a funny place to put that, I thought to myself…. [But] as I looked more carefully, I saw an enormous striped wing begin to move slightly. I stared in awe and then, as if in a dream, stood and walked, mouth agape, towards the tree. Dad! The word I spoke aloud came from the depth of my being, through a throat almost closed from astonishment. I stared into a face I knew well, saw a particular glint in that bird’s eye, a glint I never thought to see again, staring back at me. […]  When I got very close to the tree, maybe ten feet away, the red-tailed hawk flew directly in front of me up into the air, soared in a giant circle, flew back to the same tree and landed in a higher branch, looked down. We stared into each other’s face for what felt like eternity. And then peace swept over me, head to foot, every cell of me.

The hawk or, in my case, the mourning dove and the fox, are messengers. They remind us that those whom we have loved well and lost do rise again in memory and that the basic elements and energy of which we are all composed are surely conserved in earth’s continuing creative process. There is much we do not understand. But there are, I believe, messengers.            
Happy Easter, friends, 


Dear Ones,

Thank you so much. Here is a big thank you to the UUFSB community for the gift of your hard work, love, risk and smiling presence in co-creating with Linda and me the perfect second marriage ceremony. On Sunday, February 12th, you stood on the side of love in a packed sanctuary to witness together the insertion of a critical missing piece into the fabric of our May 30, 2010 pre-NY-marriage-equality-law wedding. The pictures here (to the left and right), of our order of service and our wedding “colors,” are from that ceremony which was joyfully and efficiently hosted by the congregation Linda served for 18 years. That day we committed to one another for life in exactly the same way heterosexual couples do when they marry. May 30 is the anniversary of our wedding day.

But on February 12, 2012, we acquired another anniversary date that we will share with you forever. On that day we created in our sanctuary and in every participant’s heart a visible, visceral, vital symbol of justice being done. Dixie and Rich, as president and vice-president of the congregation, signed our marriage license on your behalf. The spirit of life moved in their hands “to give life the shape of justice” as they bore witness to your effort as a congregation to ensure that we too have the additional support that official legal and societal endorsement of our commitment provides. And all Long Island watched. Channel 12 News and Newsday were there. Many thanks to Catherine G. and Tom P. for their genius in drawing and managing the media’s attention.

You know, Linda and I planned all the details of our Kingston, NY wedding. Nothing was a surprise, so it didn’t matter much that we were typical brides on our wedding day, too nervous and emotional to really take it all in. Our Stony Brook wedding day was different. Many of the details were in your hands and you planned lots of surprises! And I worry that we were again too verklempt to notice all the sweet details you had painstakingly set in place. Regardless of what we missed, though, we were totally bowled over by your love and generosity. Thank you to Dan W., Tom P., Joan R. and Dixie C. for tending the idea over its months of gestation. Thank you to Deborah G. for stepping up to coordinate the team that made the final vision manifest. Thank you to Linda M., Barbara C. and Stefani S. and all who worked on the wedding aesthetics. You got it just right: a hint of wedding embedded in a justice theme. Thanks to Deborah G. for the cupcakes and Lisa S. for the fancy wedding cake that tasted as good as it looked! Thanks to the many hands that supplied a bottomless fount of champagne and sparkling juice, to Laura L. and Janet K. for their able assistance as liturgists for the service and to Dan W., Claudia J., Greg G., David K. and Bethany R. and members of the Unicorn Singers for music that opened the little door to the loving soul. Maureen S. and Gayle R., thank you for your creativity in assembling such an amazing array of gifts for Linda and me, including a week anywhere in the world and more than enough money to get us there, a handmade chalice, a wedding album, a bag of Valentine’s chocolates and more. Dan W., thank you for your just-right very Dan-ish toast that was not a song and yet was. Thanks to everyone who attended the service for putting $1116.00 in the plate for the national Standing on the Side of Love initiative. And three cheers for the Rev. Dr. Don McKinney! Thank you all for coming. Here’s to love and justice!


In the final session of the Belonging series, our orientation to Unitarian Universalism and UUFSB, I introduce a two-page accounting of the rights and responsibilities of membership called The Meaning of Membership. In it we read, "When you become a member, you covenant with the congregation and fellow members to extend a warm welcome, respect and appreciation to fellow congregants...and to respond to them with compassion and help in times of celebration and need." 

In the words of George Odell, often read in the course of UU memorial services: "We need one another when we mourn and would be comforted." The older I get the more I understand how important it is to attend memorial services when I can, even for people I may not have known well or at all. It "takes a village" to do the work of remembering and celebrating a life. Those who gather for the service bring into the sanctuary the accounts and images that survive the loss of the physical body. Together we recall the whole person, assembling, facet by facet, the story of the who, where, when, what and how of that unique life.  At the close of the service, with this whole memory cozied into our hearts, we each walk into a new phase of our relationship with the person who has died. The relationship doesn't end with the death. It changes. Sometimes, it begins there.  

Each time I prepare and lead a memorial service, or even just attend one, the little nerve of my mortality is plucked and the little muscle of my humanity grows stronger.  The experience opens my heart, knocks me out of my certainties and delusions, messes with my theology, and pushes my own "scared" button. I realize again that any of us could die at any moment. Will it be a crash, a fall, a stroke, a cancer, a heart attack? Will we suffer? Who will come into the room to remember us? What minister will hold my family in that crazy space of devastating loss? 

To those who have suffered the loss of a loved one, so much good comes out of the planning and remembering and writing, out of choosing and discussing and arranging the photographs, out of bringing in the art and artifacts of a life, out of reconnecting with family and friends, out of the sharing of stories, some well-known, some new. Every special object, every contribution to the service matters. The new order that emerges from the process, a realignment of priorities, reminders about what matters most in life, stories of mistakes and achievements alike, amount to such a sweet gift for everyone - minister, family, friends, strangers. Some of our Sunday service newcomers first encounter us in the context of a UU memorial service. What a powerful way to witness our faith touching its core theology: the deep worth of each individual and our profound interconnectedness in community.  

When someone in our Fellowship community dies, whether you know the person well or not, please do all you can to join us for the memorial service. This is one way love moves through our interdependent web, welcomes the stranger, nourishes our connections, strengthens the little muscle of our humanity, and transforms the lives we are so blessed to be still living.   

Breathe in peace, breathe out love, 


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Just in case you didn't get enough sweets or chocolate during the winter holidays this year, here's this year's favorite recipe. It is the perfect indulgence with which to foil your New Year's weight-loss resolution! This is a recipe that my mother frequently made for potlucks, holidays and dinner parties. It never failed to get kudos. I thought it was one of those "old family recipes," but I Googled it on a lark and found out that many daughters of women in my mother's generation have and love this recipe.

Turns out it was originally publishedin Family Circle around 1970 and reprinted in a Family Circle Cookbook in 1974. Looks like many women my age still have the original page clipped from the magazine with the Winston cigarette ad on the back. I don't have the page, but when I moved to Long Island, I came across several bottles of aromatic bitters. This past summer I found three more while cleaning out a cabinet at the Cape! 


5 oz. unsweetened chocolate
1 1/2 cups water
2 cups flour, sifted
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup butter
3 eggs
1 tsp aromatic bitters
1 tsp vanilla
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup sliced almonds

Chocolate Glaze

4 oz. sweet cooking chocolate
1 Tbsp butter
3 Tbsp water
1 cup confectioners sugar
dash salt
1 tsp vanilla 

Combine chocolate and water in a small saucepan.  Heat, stirring constantly, until chocolate melts. Cool to lukewarm. Sift flour, sugar and salt into large bowl of mixer. Cut in butter with a pastry blender to make a crumbly mixture. Add cooled chocolate mixture. Beat at medium speed for 5 minutes. Chill batter in bowl for at least one hour. Return bowl to mixer. Beat at medium speed for 1 minute. Add eggs, one at a time, beating one minute after each addition. Add aromatic bitters and vanilla and beat 2 minutes. Add baking powder and beat 2 minutes more. Pour batter into an 8-cup (10") Bundt pan which has been greased and lightly dusted with dry cocoa powder. Bake at 300 degrees for 1 hour and 45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and dry. (Start checking 15 minutes before time elapses.) Cool cake in pan on wire rack and cool completely before glazing. Frost with chocolate glaze and garnish.

Break chocolate into pieces. Beat with butter and water, stirring in a small pot over low heat until chocolate melts. Remove from heat. Beat in sugar and salt until smooth. Stir in vanilla. After all is smooth, return to heat briefly so the glaze is slightly runny, and then pour quickly over the cake to achieve an uneven, drizzled effect. Glaze sets quickly, so garnish with almonds immediately, if desired. Makes about ½ cup.

Feeding people good food is a wonderful way to minister to the world.  Add this to your specialties!  Yum.


Dear Ones,

I love wood. I can think of my life as an accumulation of affections. Sounds like that might be mostly about people, and of course I have loved and love and will love many human beings and animals over the course of my life. But there is another category of affections that nourish me in a different way, though no less powerfully.

My earth-centered theology and practice, the source of my own spiritual growth and renewal, teaches me that our world, in its earthy roots, is sustained by endless cycles of gracious sacrifice. This past Sunday I talked a bit about my love affair with bread. I said that one thing I loved about bread making is the feel of the dough in my hands. When it is coming out right, it is soft and responsive and smooth like a baby's skin. It feels alive. The bread has a kind of elastic body that fills up with the air the yeast breathe out. The yeast breathe the loaf into loafness and then give themselves to the loaf. The sweet beings of wheat and sugar cane and dairy cows and sun and rain come transformed into our bodies in that loaf. Their lives become ours, and ours, eventually theirs. Maybe they don't know that they are giving themselves, but we know. I know, and when I see it, I feel a fondness for the givers.

It is like that with wood.  For five years earlier in my life I owned a little woodstove-heated farmhouse and 17 acres of a wooded valley in the Virginia mountains. We cut, split, hauled, and stacked all the wood we used to heat the house, about 4 cords of wood (a cord is a tight stack 4 feet wide, 4 feet high, and 8 feet long). I learned about firewood, chainsaws, splitting mauls and wedges in those years. I learned to identify different kinds of wood from bark and leaves and grain patterns. I became intimate with wood, carried it in the cuffs of my pants, in my nostrils and in my arms. And I learned to savor gorgeous, pungent, exhausting and fulfilling fall days spent in the woodlot by the creek. 

So when the hurricane in August brought down the trees in my neighborhood, I honored the loss by accepting the gift of the downed wood. I collected wood until my family thought I was a bit crazy. And Matt and I have been working together for months now to turn logs and branches into cords: black walnut, maple, oak, dogwood, locust, cherry, apple. Beautiful lives given to the wind, to my Virginia heart, to the fires that will warm my family this winter. 

Beings fall around us every minute of every day. Human beings have brought unnecessary violence to the field of sacrifice that is the natural world. We give our children to war, our Earth to pollution, for instance. But the sacrifice of baby rabbits to the owl at midnight, the loss of trees in a terrible storm, our own bone-ashes to the welcoming ground, though hard and sad, seem fair and gracious to me. It is the way of earth. We receive much and we give much. 

Loss is autumn's scripture, the gospel of gracious sacrifice, the gifts we give in giving up.

In gratitude,


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