Last Sunday, almost 60 congregants gathered in Eliot Chapel after the 11:15 Service for my quarterly Q&A. Given the snow on Saturday and travel difficulties for many, I was thrilled with the turnout. I always enjoy this format with its give and take and the chance for me to hear what is on the minds and in the hearts of a cross section of the congregation.

The questions ranged widely: How is our denomination moving on the issues of institutional racism? What role does forgiveness play in our search for resilience? Can we find some way to maintain silence in the sanctuary as the congregation gathers during the prelude?

One congregant raised the issue of God-language. She spoke of that word being a “trigger” for her, although she knew it had positive meaning for many.

This question comes up regularly in our religiously pluralistic faith. As a faith without a creed, the many ways we know and name what is holy can be a real challenge, and more of a challenge for those who come bruised by the way some language and ideas have been used to diminish us in our past.

I hope my response helped. I spoke of the way I (and we) try to use more than one word or description for the holy. I spoke of the hope that translation would begin to come more easily. I know that even “Spirit of Life and of Love” requires translation for some of us.

I hope I conveyed the challenge of trying to name and describe what is both true, humanly, and yet remains mystery, beyond us.

Another congregant, after the Q&A, asked me how I write sermons. I did not have nearly enough time to respond. There is mystery in my sermonizing too. But one of the blessings is that I get to renew acquaintance with “old friends,” writings that spoke me once and suddenly speak again.

I quoted an “old friend” when I preached, a writing by UU minister Barbara Pescan. Here is another of her poems that I wish I had had with me when I tried to respond to the question about god language.

Holding It All by Barbara Pescan

“Thou

I smile when I say it
Thou meaning all that is
inside me and outside me
sometimes a tree
sometimes mountains
or the running doe
or the leaping heart
of a finch held between my palms
or a child’s hand, no bigger than a tulip flower,
with no space in it yet for fear
resting in my own.

Thou
that listens
to our tentative and doubting dreams
Thou
hear us into certain song
how we are touched
by the lives of our neighbors and kin
by their sorrows, healing, and hopes

In silence we carry with us
all day long we whisper the names
of our people broken and healing,
with us and separated,
struggling and reborn

May we all be held by someone,
by something

Something like
hands
enfolding the pulse and flutter of a bird
Gently. Carefully. And slowly opening.

Thou. Let it be.”

May we all feel held, in that way, on this day, when love is celebrated and blessed.

Bill