The last time the choir gathered on ZOOM before the summer hiatus, we talked quite a bit about possible protocols for returning to the choir loft in September. Somewhere in the conversation, one of the choir members (I guess the word I’ll use here is) confidently asserted that it is my job to keep the choir members safe. I’m not saying they were necessarily wrong, but I probably would have articulated that, when working with adults, it is part of my job to try my best to make sure that harm is improbable. Most adults have enough agency to make their own choices and to protect their own safety. And, my belief (which may or may not differ from the official position of our Universalist church) is that the very best of adults will also use their own agency to protect others – and that may mean forfeiting certain liberties and opportunities for the good of the whole.
You can tell that topics around our return to the sanctuary in September are heavy on my mind. I am deep in planning mode, and frequently ask myself questions about how we will do this well.
You probably know this about me by now, but I am one of those people who gets excited about change. I try to find unique opportunities that will upgrade it from mere change to more progress. If we have to do things differently anyway, I believe we should also do them better. And, for me, that usually means with more integrity. Though, I have to constantly remind myself that there are many people who are more fearful than excited – more trepidatious than hopeful. And, it is also true that progress can’t wait for the end of fear. So, one of the questions I am coming to a lot lately is, “how can we learn again to trust each other’s breath?” For, it is true that we cannot sing unless we can breathe.
I don’t yet have any promises to offer, but I think there is maybe a place in this for humility. I think there is also maybe a place in this for faith. And maybe those are just two ways of saying the answer is somewhere within our ability to love each other.
I haven’t yet found a poem by Dakota Adan I didn’t immediately love. Please enjoy this one.
On Being Human
When people ask me who I am
I tell them I am the patience of starlight racing billions of light years to kiss the earth
I am the resilient hope of wildflowers in winter
I am marble and clay and cells in the hands of god
praying for the grace to sit still as I become a masterpiece of creation.
Built on the ashes of who I thought I needed to be
and from the pieces of who I once was.
This time when I speak
it will only [be] to give shelter to any aching hearts
This time when I sing
it will be as one of the chorus
This time when I dance
it will be as the flame, humbling itself to ash
all in gratitude for light.
I will live as one
in perfect gratitude,
in perfect gratitude
for love.