You Rock
Homily for June 21, 2020
The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
It was on a beautiful, sunny, spring afternoon in 2013, that I first met the search committee that would eventually recommend me as the candidate to be your minister. Surprise followed by a sense of comfort came over me as I approached the common and realized I had been driving past the little stone church for years, long before I was even a UU (Unitarian Universalist), on my way to the Book Bear in West Brookfield.
Parking my car, I gathered my things, paused to take a few deep breaths then made my way to the front door. At this point all I really knew about BUUC (Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church) was what you chose to say in your search packet and what your interim and immediate past settled minister shared over the phone.
I knew the search committee would have lots questions for me. But I had few of my own for them too. One of the questions I asked led to a discussion of the building. It seemed years of deferred maintenance meant the state of the stone building was weighing on people’s minds, and, according to one anecdote shared about a stone falling from the tower, potentially some bodies.
It took a few years and not an insignificant amount of effort and money, but the building is well on its way to renewed strength. The problem was the mortar. 100 or so years in, it was beginning to weaken and crumble in spots.
Over the past seven years, many visitors have commented on the beauty of the church. Its windows, woodwork, architectural style and so forth. But not a single person has ever mentioned the mortar. The mortar without which our little stone church would be a big pile of rocks.
You may be surprised to hear that when people comment to me about the beauty of the church, that is, the building, I will often point out the beauty of the mortar. Not the stuff between the physical stones, but the mortar which holds the community together.
In our reading this morning, Marcus Hartlief calls Unitarian Universalism a “mosaic religion”. One created piece by piece, by “people who bring together the broken pieces of our histories and the shining pieces of our seeking. “Unitarian Universalists are”, he says, “mosaic makers.”
It’s a lovely metaphor and one that would remain only that had Hartlief forgot about the grout. That “difficult to see, but essential” stuff between “the beautiful and broken bits…imbued with memories and meaning.” The stuff that holds it all together. Without grout you won’t create a mosaic, you’ll make a mess.
Hartlief doges another pitfall which might have rendered his metaphor too saccharine, when he observes that the grout is not the people, but the product of purposeful engagement and effort by those committed to the larger design. “We help to make the grout”, he writes, “when we learn each other’s names and when we reach out across generational divides…. When we show up on Sunday morning without having checked first to see if we’re interested in the sermon topic…. When a newborn arrives to be blessed by the community.”
And, he reminds us, “it is the grout that enables us to welcome them. And it is in the grout that we rest when we gather to grieve and memorialize a beloved one who has died.”
We call BUUC “the little stone church that rocks” and so I think of mortar rather than grout, but the idea is the same. Mortar, literally and metaphorically speaking is what holds BUUC, the building and the community together. And as we learned with the building, the ravages of time and constant exposure to the elements, weakens mortar. But mortar can be renewed by a process called repointing.
We know too that the ravages of time and constant exposure to the reality of change can also weaken the mortar that holds communities, like BUUC, together. The forced cessation of in-person worship and other gatherings due to the Corona pandemic is perhaps the most significant, recent, threat to the mortar that holds BUUC together as a faith community. And yet, today, as we approach the close of another church year in our 303 year history, I am moved by the fact that when the time comes that a visitor to the church again comments to me about the beauty of the church’s windows, woodwork, or architectural style, I will be able to point out the beauty of the mortar which has held us together this church year:
Mortar you prepared rapidly shifting to alternative and online formats for worship, children’s and adult religious eduction and exploration along with other programming and ministries to maintain connection to this faith and to each other.
Mortar you produced by an unwavering commitment to attend worship and work to add meaningful elements, including music, back into it.
Mortar you mixed by your efforts to contact and check in with and help members and friends in this time of increased isolation.
Mortar you created by attending local Black Lives Matters demonstrations.
Mortar you produced through a generosity of time, talent and treasure, as we say, that has not only seen us through the church year, but has seen us thrive in the midst of unimaginable and uncertain times.
And I imagine all of you could come up with other examples.
We call BUUC “the little stone church that rocks.”
But it is not the stone building that rocks.
It is you.
BUUC is the little stone church that rocks because you rock.
Take a look at faces on your screen this morning. What do you see?
I see people who do not act as mortar, remaining fixed, set and crumbling between stones. I see people who make mortar, who purposefully and lovingly renew and reimagine community in response to challenges of the day.
You are not the mortar.
You are the mortar makers.
That much is certain in these strange and uncertain times.
That is how and why you rock.
And so in closing, I have just one last thing to say,
Rock on!
Amen and Blessed Be
Homily for June 21, 2020
The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
It was on a beautiful, sunny, spring afternoon in 2013, that I first met the search committee that would eventually recommend me as the candidate to be your minister. Surprise followed by a sense of comfort came over me as I approached the common and realized I had been driving past the little stone church for years, long before I was even a UU (Unitarian Universalist), on my way to the Book Bear in West Brookfield.
Parking my car, I gathered my things, paused to take a few deep breaths then made my way to the front door. At this point all I really knew about BUUC (Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church) was what you chose to say in your search packet and what your interim and immediate past settled minister shared over the phone.
I knew the search committee would have lots questions for me. But I had few of my own for them too. One of the questions I asked led to a discussion of the building. It seemed years of deferred maintenance meant the state of the stone building was weighing on people’s minds, and, according to one anecdote shared about a stone falling from the tower, potentially some bodies.
It took a few years and not an insignificant amount of effort and money, but the building is well on its way to renewed strength. The problem was the mortar. 100 or so years in, it was beginning to weaken and crumble in spots.
Over the past seven years, many visitors have commented on the beauty of the church. Its windows, woodwork, architectural style and so forth. But not a single person has ever mentioned the mortar. The mortar without which our little stone church would be a big pile of rocks.
You may be surprised to hear that when people comment to me about the beauty of the church, that is, the building, I will often point out the beauty of the mortar. Not the stuff between the physical stones, but the mortar which holds the community together.
In our reading this morning, Marcus Hartlief calls Unitarian Universalism a “mosaic religion”. One created piece by piece, by “people who bring together the broken pieces of our histories and the shining pieces of our seeking. “Unitarian Universalists are”, he says, “mosaic makers.”
It’s a lovely metaphor and one that would remain only that had Hartlief forgot about the grout. That “difficult to see, but essential” stuff between “the beautiful and broken bits…imbued with memories and meaning.” The stuff that holds it all together. Without grout you won’t create a mosaic, you’ll make a mess.
Hartlief doges another pitfall which might have rendered his metaphor too saccharine, when he observes that the grout is not the people, but the product of purposeful engagement and effort by those committed to the larger design. “We help to make the grout”, he writes, “when we learn each other’s names and when we reach out across generational divides…. When we show up on Sunday morning without having checked first to see if we’re interested in the sermon topic…. When a newborn arrives to be blessed by the community.”
And, he reminds us, “it is the grout that enables us to welcome them. And it is in the grout that we rest when we gather to grieve and memorialize a beloved one who has died.”
We call BUUC “the little stone church that rocks” and so I think of mortar rather than grout, but the idea is the same. Mortar, literally and metaphorically speaking is what holds BUUC, the building and the community together. And as we learned with the building, the ravages of time and constant exposure to the elements, weakens mortar. But mortar can be renewed by a process called repointing.
We know too that the ravages of time and constant exposure to the reality of change can also weaken the mortar that holds communities, like BUUC, together. The forced cessation of in-person worship and other gatherings due to the Corona pandemic is perhaps the most significant, recent, threat to the mortar that holds BUUC together as a faith community. And yet, today, as we approach the close of another church year in our 303 year history, I am moved by the fact that when the time comes that a visitor to the church again comments to me about the beauty of the church’s windows, woodwork, or architectural style, I will be able to point out the beauty of the mortar which has held us together this church year:
Mortar you prepared rapidly shifting to alternative and online formats for worship, children’s and adult religious eduction and exploration along with other programming and ministries to maintain connection to this faith and to each other.
Mortar you produced by an unwavering commitment to attend worship and work to add meaningful elements, including music, back into it.
Mortar you mixed by your efforts to contact and check in with and help members and friends in this time of increased isolation.
Mortar you created by attending local Black Lives Matters demonstrations.
Mortar you produced through a generosity of time, talent and treasure, as we say, that has not only seen us through the church year, but has seen us thrive in the midst of unimaginable and uncertain times.
And I imagine all of you could come up with other examples.
We call BUUC “the little stone church that rocks.”
But it is not the stone building that rocks.
It is you.
BUUC is the little stone church that rocks because you rock.
Take a look at faces on your screen this morning. What do you see?
I see people who do not act as mortar, remaining fixed, set and crumbling between stones. I see people who make mortar, who purposefully and lovingly renew and reimagine community in response to challenges of the day.
You are not the mortar.
You are the mortar makers.
That much is certain in these strange and uncertain times.
That is how and why you rock.
And so in closing, I have just one last thing to say,
Rock on!
Amen and Blessed Be
