First Parish Unitarian UniversalistDIA DE LOS MUERTOS 2005
A service led by the Reverend Diane Teichert and Megan Lynes, Ministerial Intern
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
October 30, 2005
OPENING WORDS By Barbara J. Pescan
May the glory of the passing away of autumn
Lie about us
Fresh gold
For a time.
And when the dark comes, and the cold
May we remember how today we stand in glory,
How we walk in bounty
Heaped upon earth’s dark carpet,
How we move knee deep in abundance
Flung against night’s winter curtain.
We are thankful for its coming and for its passing.
Let it be.
MEDIATION FOR DIA DE LOS MUERTOS Diane
We invite you now into a time of meditation and prayer. Sit with your body relaxed, legs uncrossed, feet on the floor or a stool. Close your eyes if you wish and feel your breath, the breath of life, enter and then leave your body. Listen to your breath…
At this time of year, we are conscious of the passing of time, the passing of autumn. Last night we turned back the clocks and gained time. Autumn passes before our eyes as leaves falling from the trees. We are conscious of the passing of time, the passing of autumn, and the passing away of those we love.
These days, the autumn air is hazy, mist hangs over the fields in the morning and shrouds the streetlights at night.
Autumn's hazy air reminds us of the thin veil between life and death. How the presence of a deceased loved one can sometimes be felt in an empty room or in a song on the radio or in an encounter with someone who bears a strong resemblance. We feel a moment of joy. And then the presence fades.
In the passing of time and the passing of autumn, something in the air reminds us of the ultimate passing. How death can come momentarily without notice…or come ever so slowly over many months or even years. How it can come early in life or late in life… but of course, whenever it comes, whether early or late, it will be the end of our bodily life.
Thoughts of our own mortality and that of those we love flicker in and out of our consciousness; loved ones now gone are missed. Our sorrows and losses– past, current and future– resonate deeply within us.
And, so it is fitting to pause in this dying time of year to honor our ancestors. Tomorrow is Samhain (sah-win), the pagan precedent for Halloween and also for All Saints Day on Tuesday and All Soul’s Day Wednesday, in the Anglican and Catholic traditions respectively.
But, here at First Parish, today, we honor Dia de los Muertos, a Mexican and Mexican-American observance on All Soul’s Day.
Let us dwell in shared silence together, as the Offerings—for both First Parish and for Pakistani earthquake relief— is received, to remember the dead, to call upon our memories of loved ones-- people as well as pets, family and friends, mentors, heroes and heroines. In remembering those who dwell with us no more in mortal form, let our memories call to mind those of their qualities that live on in we who loved them.
After the offertory, during which we hope you will be silent, there will be an opportunity to place a memento on the altar or light a candle in honor of a loved one and to speak their name aloud.
And now the offerings you bring to First Parish will be gratefully and graciously received. If this is your first visit with us, please consider yourself our guest and pass the offering box along the pew. Also, baskets will be circulated, for donations to the UU Service Committee’s Earthquake Relief fund, as described during the Announcements.
OFFERTORY
INVITATION TO THE OFRENDA Megan
We invite you now into our own honoring of this Mexican tradition, according to which the spirits of the departed return to earth to visit their families and friends on the Day of the Dead. To welcome back their loved ones, people construct a colorful altar, the ofrenda, in memory of those who have died, placing on it objects of importance to those being commemorated or photographs, as well as signs of the season or cultural significance. These may be in the home or at the cemetery, where families may gather for a day of revelry.
As you see with the bright colors and humorous skeletons, this need not be a sad occasion, for the presence of the departed brings joy to those gathered.
In the next moments, those who wish may come forward with a memento in honor of a loved one to place on the altar. After, if you wish, you may speak the person or pet’s name into the microphone. To signify this loved one’s ongoing presence in your life, the congregation will respond to each name spoken with the word “presente!.” Like a roll call, by calling out “presente!,” the congregation witnesses to the fact that each name spoken evokes, at the least, a complex set of memories for the one who speaks it. And perhaps, for some, the response of presente! also evokes a sense that the spirit--the essence, nature, character, or qualities--of the person or pet is present with us in the naming and the remembering.
READINGS
Megan:
The first reading, especially for those who believe that death is the ultimate end, is by Diane Ackerman in her book, A Natural History of the Senses:
When you consider something like death, after which we may well go out like a candle flame, then it probably doesn't matter if we try too hard, are awkward sometimes, care for one another too deeply, are excessively curious about nature, are too open to experience, enjoy a nonstop expense of the senses in an effort to know life intimately and lovingly. It probably doesn’t matter if we sometimes look clumsy or get dirty or ask stupid questions or say the wrong thing or light up with wonder like the children we all are. It probably doesn’t matter if a neighbor, fetching her mail, sees us standing in the cold with our own letters in one hand and a seismically red autumn leaf in the other, as we stand with a huge grin, too paralyzed by the intricately veined gaudiness of the leaf to move…
Diane:
This second reading, for those who believe we, or something, goes on after our death, is by Stephen Levine writing in his book, A Year To Live:
Many readers of this book may not have another year. You might not even have another year. Only our incessant denial and wishful thinking assure us otherwise. In my experience, a year before they died, even those with advanced cancer and AIDS (and their physicians) did not believe that they had only a year to live. Even the men I worked with on death row in San Quentin in the seventies, who had been given a date of execution and were better informed than almost anyone as to the time of their death, still displayed a denial of death as intense as that on Wall Street. One fellow, who had eaten his "last meal" three times in the holding cell next to the gas chamber before he received a stay of execution, spoke of marveling at how the mind repeatedly fantasized about what it would do and say in the days to come.
Of course, the reason that some part of us denies that it will die is because it never does. Even Freud, who believed that a sense of immortality was just a delusion of the sub-, or under-, consciousness which he noted had no concept for its own death, missed the point that perhaps the reason something within feels immortal is because it is . . . whatever denial that-in-us-which-never-dies supports, must be closely examined so that it breeds confidence instead of stagnation.
Megan:
Lastly, a poem by Mary Oliver, for us all: “When Death Comes.”
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Diane:
FINAL READING AFTER ANTHEM
From “Yes” by William Stafford
It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.
It could, you know. That’s why we wake
and look out—no guarantees
in this life.
But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.
CLOSING HYMN #311, Let It Be A Dance.
Diane:
BENEDICTION
There are no guarantees in this life, but there are lots of bonuses, in each and every moment, like right now! Amen!