Phillippa’s Place, where our religious education program lives, is about as far from this sanctuary as you can get and still be in the church. Two buildings over and a level and a half up. Many of you have never been up there–or haven’t for quite some time.

If I have a day of petty and not so petty problems, set-backs, and annoyances, and a chance to tell them all to my friend Emily (who preached here at our installation service in October), Emily listens with great empathy. And then she says, “I’m sorry some days are like that. Even in Australia.”

I grew up in a generation–one of several generations–that was taught to seek out a policeman (and they were almost exclusively men) if we were ever lost or separated from my parents. Oddly, I don’t remember my parents ever giving me that advice.

“You know more than you think you do.”

If I had a re-do that would be this morning’s sermon title. We will get to the sea will hold you a bit later.

In nearly 31 years of ministry I’ve participated in lots of stewardship campaigns, each with a different theme.

I remember the year the theme was peloton, and folks were encouraged to give generously enough so that those church members with fewer financial resources were able to draft along with them, while the whole church still moved forward.

A few years ago, in the height of the COVID pandemic, in the midst of the Black Lives Matter Uprising, in the wake of the murder of George Floyd, I asked my mentor in ministry if we were living in the end times.

[this sermon was prefaced by stories submitted by members of the congregation]

When someone learns that I’m pastor of a church their follow up questions fall into a couple predictable patterns. The inquirer either asks demographic and geographic questions–where is that, how many members do you have, how long has the church been there/how long have you been there?

My colleague, friend, role model, Mike Mather signs his correspondence “keep tellin’ the story.” Since he always writes “the story” not “a story” I think he must have a particular story in mind, though I’ve never known him to specify one.

Prior to this week, when Megan introduced me to Sleeping Beauty: A Midcentury Fairytale, my favorite version of the old tale came from The Barefoot Book of Princesses.

Perhaps you remember a scene in the movie Baby Boom. It’s one that often comes to my mind at Water Ceremony time. The former New Yorker, not yet adjusted to life on her rural Vermont homestead, is told that her well is dry.

At the board retreat last Saturday, one of our UUCS board members said, “In order to plan for this year and beyond, we need to know how many members we want to have. And what kind of members do we want to have? ”

Some of you here today and others who sit in our sanctuary or attend our services on YouTube, like some folks who participate in other Unitarian Universalist churches, were raised in our tradition.

Arlo Guthrie tells a story about performing with Pete Seeger at a three day folk festival in Denmark, in the early years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. 30,000 people from both sides of the former Iron Curtain showed up, many of them drawn by the novelty of being able to travel where they wanted to travel, even across national borders.

Let us sing the new world in this is how it all begins*

Really, Carrie Newcomer, composer and lyricist of this morning’s anthem, preached the only sermon necessary for a Coming of Age Sunday service with those two phrases:

Let us sing the new world in/this is how it all begins.

Once upon a time my daughter learned a catchy little song at Chalice Camp–a Unitarian Universalist day camp. The lyrics, by Laila Ibrahim, come as close to a UU catechism as anything I’ve ever encountered:

It’s blessing each of us was born.

It matters what we do with our lives.

What each of us knows about God is a piece of the truth.

We don’t have to do it alone.

In our most recent Starting Point class someone asked me how it was I came to be a Unitarian Universalist minister. I gave my usual answer–that having been raised by a schoolteacher mom and a social worker dad, the chances I would end up a helping professional were great, and that having also been raised in the Unitarian Universalist church by those same parents who brought our family to church more Sundays than not, and who were active volunteers at church in a variety of roles, the chances that that profession would be Unitarian Universalist ministry were also great.