A Season of Contrasts

Happy holidays to everyone! I’m delighted to announce that, for this year’s Moravian Love Feast, we are featuring the Peachtree Brass Ensemble, along with our own Phoenix Choir and UUCA Quartet, as well as the beloved “O Holy Night.” We are also selling tickets for the event. Thanks so much for the leadership of Melora Furman and so many others, for making this year’s Moravian possible.

What a season of contrasts we are in! “We have come through a historic election,” says the Rev. Ruth Garwood and the Rev. Mike Schuenemeyer of the National Religious Leadership Roundtable,
“Many of us were involved in important ways, working for the issues that we care about. Regardless of how one feels about the presidential results, the votes on ballot measures addressing lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) concerns were disappointing. While these ballot measures were only in a handful of states, the results affect us all.”

For myself, I agree with the Revs. Garwood and Schuenemeyer. The recent election was historic and a clear mandate for hopeful change; and yet, at the same time, we saw voters approve anti-gay ballots in California (??), Florida, Arizona, and Arkansas. The results do affect us all. I encourage you to connect with our Interweave group here at UUCA—they are doing a spectacular job on behalf of our LGBT community and, by extension, on behalf of all of us. Find out how you might get involved. It’s just as Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

We are in a season of contrasts. Autumn itself is a paradox. Even as the boughs shake against the cold, even as the natural world is busy with decay, seeds are scattered that will bring new growth in the spring. Nature plots for its own resurrection. Living is enfolded within dying. And from this we can take hope, when in our own lives we experience the pull of autumn in some form or fashion—a relationship breaking apart, an increase in loneliness, an economy in recession, the approach of the death of a loved one, or our own death. In this hidden wholeness of nature—and in the hidden wholeness of the human condition—we can have faith.