In Plain Sight: Gathering Wisdom One Pearl at a Time

UUCDC Order of Service Summer 2024

Worship Associate - Speaker Version

Order of Service

Opening Hymn: (WA) - #361 Enter Rejoice and Come In

Welcome: (WA)

Announcements:  (WA)

Settling into Worship: (WA)

Stones of Joy and Sorrow: (WA)

Hymn: Spirit of Life (WA) 

Thank you for having me. I'm Denise McCormack. I have been discovering, pondering, and telling stories for many years now,  and I'm so very happy to be here.

Reading:

“In Plain Sight” (original)

Sometimes, clarity comes not in lightning or thunder,

but in a quiet moment—

a child’s question,

a song we’ve sung a hundred times without thinking,

the silence between two thoughts.

Epiphanies are not reserved for prophets or poets.

They appear at kitchen sinks, in parking lots,

in the voice of a friend, or a line in a grocery store.

They slip in when we’re distracted,

when we’ve let go of trying to figure everything out.

And when they come—

however small, however strange—

they leave us changed.

They offer us a pearl, if we are willing to pause,

and notice.

Wisdom, it turns out, hides in plain sight.

And grace?

Grace, ever-present, ever-abundant, has a marvelous sense of timing.

Offering

Sermon:

This morning, I’m thinking about those ‘aha’ moments we don’t see coming—the ones that change us, and I want to share with you a personal insight about the magic and mind-boggling magnificence of epiphanies. 

Sometimes they strike like lightning—sudden, electric, and clear.  

They seem to stop time—willing their message to evoke urgent and  unmitigated attention.

Of course, sometimes… In the madness of fight or flight, we don’t pause, but it’s there in our peripheral vision.  It’s left a mark. 

—When settling down is too much to ask for, not even for the sparing of a thought, we might re-experience the moment in reverie.

And sometimes, the message waits patiently— until we’re sleeping —to get the word—the inspiration— in edgewise—ushered in with a hush, a rising swell from a deeper place, even led by the hand by a spirit guide or meaningful dream.

How often do we wake up in the morning with a resolution in sight? A knowing? A knowing that we know that we know?

And honestly, that should tell us, that should show us,  just how much we are loved—

that even when we’re too busy or distracted to notice, the cosmic essence envelops us and wisdom perseveres and finds a way to reach us.  Epiphany. A gift of wisdom. A gift of Grace.

Today, I’d like to share with you a couple of those moments when wisdom found me—moments that reminded me of the wonderful power that each of us has—to reflect on and to ask, clearly and openly, for what we need.

My story begins, “Once upon a time…I was teaching English as a Second Language to a middle school special needs bilingual ESL class of about 35 students, each with varying degrees of English proficiency, but mostly on the beginner side, and you can be sure that the English language used at home—the kind that would be necessary to answer a question like: “What did you do over the weekend?” Or, even “What is your favorite food?” would be the least familiar–and the hardest to answer– for this group of boys and girls.  After all, what they did at home was discussed in their home languages and they didn’t have the English equivalent to translate their home lives into English.

It was January and January is a great month to talk about food.  The names of food, how to prepare food, and how to use items in a kitchen.  And now you are saying to yourselves, what’s so special about January.  And I’ll tell you: January is National Soup month.  And I thought to myself: Ah, Maurice Sendak’s Chicken Soup with Rice:

In January it's so nice

While slipping on the sliding ice

To sip hot chicken soup with rice

Sipping once, sipping twice

Sipping chicken soup with rice

So I thought that I would use that theme of soup to introduce my students to the vocabulary for foodstuffs, and recipes, and processes, and lots of good academic language like compare and contrast and ordinal and cardinal numbers, and the like.  This was a veritable STEAM project: Science, Technology, Engineering, Art, and Math, plus the ever-elusive English language.

But this project was not without challenges  because really there weren't enough books in the school for this group of students.  No worries, I had the Librarians in my town help me to gather more than 80 different picture books about soup and vegetables. Plus, I utilized everything that the United States Department of Agriculture could muster, too,  from paper placemates, posters, and coloring pages, to computer games and videos.

The point is that the students had all different kinds of activities to make connections to food and to improve their understanding and usage in the English language within this realm and others in listening, speaking, reading, writing, and viewing—each reinforcing the other and making connections to homelife, too.

And finally—finally!—the day I had been waiting for arrived. The day that I was going to “tell” a story that incorporated many of the things that we’d been talking about.  When I say tell them a story, I mean tell them a story— not read them a story but actually do what I love to do best, which is to tell a story! 

All of the students were sitting in their chairs and paying great attention, cued, no doubt, by my excitement; I was exuberant!.

 And I began to spin the story of Stone Soup.

Once upon a time,  I said, three Russian Soldiers gave up their service to the king and were walking home along a dusty road in a deep, dark forest.

The soldiers were tired and hungry.  They had no food.  They had no money.  All that they had between them was a big empty pot and a big empty spoon.

For a long time, they didn’t see another living soul, then a modest village came into view.

“What luck,” the soldiers thought, “Surely, the villagers will give us some food.”

They reached a door, they knocked.

“We are three poor and hungry soldiers returning from the war. Please, can you spare a little food?”

“We barely have enough food for ourselves!” said the man who answered there, and he slammed the door shut. 

“This is not the only house in the village,” the soldiers said one to another, and they knocked at the next house.

“We barely have enough for ourselves!” said the old woman who stood before them, “Go away. Go away.” and she slammed her door shut,  too. 

At the third house the same thing happened:  “Go away. Go away.” and SLAM! went the door.

By this time, all of the villagers knew about the soldiers, and not one of them

even bothered to come to  their doors.

Now, the three soldiers were rather clever and they came up with a plan: 

They filled that great, big  pot with water, put it over a fire, and began to make Stone Soup.

At this point, one of my students, Christopher, shot his hand up into the air with such urgency, I had to pause.  (You might remember Horschak from ‘Welcome Back, Kotter? Ooh. Ooh. Ooh.) 

“Christopher,” I said.

—Christopher was a cute little boy who looked like a very young Barack Obama, and, honestly, I couldn’t understand why he was in my class.  His English seemed fine. I even inquired once, and was told that they didn’t have anywhere else to put him. 

“Christopher,” I said, “please let me finish the story.  Then you can ask me your question.”  Christoper put his hand down, and I continued.

The soldiers sat by the fire, talking merrily, and every so often stirred the simmering soup.

Soon, one of the villagers came out of his house  to see what these soldiers were up to. But the soldiers kept on talking as if they hadn’t seen the man coming.

Then, one of the  soldiers scratched his chin and said, “Hmmmm. Well this soup looks pretty good. But you know it would probably be even better if we had some onions.”  Well, that villager piped up, “I have some that I could do without. I'll go get them.” 

So that villager brought the onions to the soldiers who chopped them up and put them into the water.  “Yessiree, this is going to be a fine Stone Soup,” said the soldiers. “Mm, mm, mm.”

And up goes Christopher's hand like a rocket.

“Please just let me finish this story, Christopher. It's almost done, and then you can ask me anything that you want, but let me finish the story first. Please, Christopher.”

And so Christopher’s hand  came down and I continued with the story. 

I told about how the other villagers soon came out of their houses, too, one after the other, to see what the soldiers were up to, and I shared how the soldiers said, “We could use some potatoes” — or carrots or celery, and salt and pepper, and even a little bit of pork or such and how each of the villagers in turn remembered they had a little of this or that, and they brought the items out to add to this wonderful concoction of Stone Soup that smelled soooo good.”

Then, Christopher’s hand cut through the air again, and I’m telling you that I begged him to put it down, I bartered with him to put it down, even promising to give him a few minutes on the computer if he'd just wait until I was done with the story.  And Christopher’s hand came down.

Then, I told the students how the soup gradually began to fill up that great, big pot because all of the villagers, all of them, added  just what they could, even just a very little bit, but together it was enough to make the soup grow rich and thick and satisfying for everyone to enjoy the meal together.

And in the end, everyone agreed that this was the best Stone Soup they ever had. 

And I felt so good telling that story, the highlight of all of our hard work together, like a capstone project.

Then I looked at Christopher who was still in front of me,  biting his lip, and practically sitting on both of his hands, and I said, “Okay, Christopher, what is it that you need to know?  You can ask me your question now.”

And he looked up at me with his big, brown  puppy dog eyes, and he said, “What's a stone?”

And I stood there thinking, saying aloud, “Are you kidding me?”

And the assistant in that room–the para-who spoke Spanish which I did not– looked at me and said, “No, there’s no word for that in Spanish.” And she meant it.

And I apologized to Christopher, and, in that very moment, it happened: that lightning struck, and I realized that I can't read minds—how dare I presume to think that I know what Christopher knows or what anyone else knows;  and maybe even more importantly, I realized that people can't read my mind either.

But that’s not all. 

This epiphany came with instructions, clear and cool like water.  And ever since I’ve followed those instructions: If I need something or if I want something, I don't keep it to myself; I ask for it.

I don’t expect other people to somehow magically know what I need or what I feel.

And I no longer feel slighted because someone hasn’t made my unspoken wish come true. 

Instead, if I do need something, I ask for it.  I ask for help.  I ask for money. I ask for good weather.  And I do it out loud.  And I do it with expectation.  

And what do I get for all that trouble?  An answer. A bonafide answer.

And even if the answer is “no,” it is still an answer that frees me to ask someone else, work out a solution, or even change the question.  

To be frank, more often than not, I do get what I want, or at the very least I get what I need.  And that’s something worth knowing… and worth sharing.

And maybe you recognize such a thing in your life.  I know that others do.  It’s not just me. 

• —getting that unexpected check in the mail right when you need it most; 

• getting the best parking spot when every other spot seems to be filled; 

• or finding an amazing opportunity that you’re perfectly poised to accept.

We’re the people who believe in the magic of ask and ye shall receive.  And, in my profound understanding of it, it doesn’t matter whether you believe or not.  It just is what it is—a law of the universe, a cosmic law, deeply connected to the interdependent web of life … and love. So, fake it til you make it.

And to help everyone to remember that and the wonderful and various serendipitous epiphanies that we are so often blessed with, I want to give you all something else to think about, I’m going to give you a little earworm to take home.  

Perhaps you know this song, made popular by Janice Joplin.  Listen to the words.

Singing: Mercedes Benz.

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends

Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends

So, oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a color TV?

Dialing For Dollars is trying to find me

I wait for delivery each day until three

So, oh, Lord, won't you buy me a color TV?

Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a night on the town?

I'm counting on you Lord, please don't let me down

Prove that you love me and buy the next round

Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a night on the town?

Everybody

Oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends

Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends

So, oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Let’s review this for a minute.

Verse 1: “Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz?”

On the surface, it sounds like a plea for material wealth and social mobility, not to just keep up with the Joneses but to best them, but the ask is more than that, different than that.  In my mind, it’s a metaphor. It’s a plea for means and opportunity—a metaphor for movement, direction, freedom, and self-worth.

It’s asking for equity and love.  Ability and opportunity.

It’s also saying, and this has been a more recent revelation, that we need to ask for what we need.  (... worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends, but nobody says that you have to work that hard.  Nobody says that you have to do it all alone.  It’s okay to accept charity; charity after all is love.  Ask for love. Take the love.)

Verse 2: “Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a color TV?”  Think about it, especially today with the influence of media—social media, news, movies, commercialism, rampant consumerism, all of it.  That’s what we get from tv.  It’s not merely a color TV; it’s a means of coloring how each of us sees and digests or interprets the world.

In this verse, we are asking for awareness, insight, and truth—discernment and means to search for truth and meaning. The “color TV” becomes a metaphor for seeing the world clearly, with all its complexity, and acting with compassion toward it—and toward ourselves.

We aren’t called to sit around waiting to consume, waiting to be handed someone else’s viewpoint; we are called to produce, to question, to act—to exercise a free and responsible search for truth and meaning, to explore our own beliefs and values, rather than adhering to a fixed dogma.

Verse 3: “Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town?” is literally acknowledging the importance of creating a social life supported by peers, of creating a support structure.  We are asking for a need to be fulfilled, the need for community and connection—to satisfy the longing not to be alone and to be part of something joyful and shared, for the greater good. A welcoming, accepting, and loving community.  We are a welcoming congregation.

An epiphany. (Psh with gesture like fireworks exploding).

We need to ask for: means and opportunity, truth and wisdom, community and connection.  And we will have an answer sprung from mercy, love, charity.  It’s all the same.  And it's already there.  It's there for the asking. It’s here for the taking.

“Prove that you love me, and don’t let me down.  Oh, Lord, won’t you buy me a night on the town.”

Epiphanies are a gift to us all.  Ask and Ye Shall Receive.  Seek and Ye Shall Find.

Note: Sing song with congregation again.

Remember, wisdom often hides in plain sight—waiting for us to pause, to ask, and to listen.

Blessed Be.

Amen.

Absolutely.

Closing Hymn: (WA) #118 This Little Light of Mine

Benediction and Extinguishing the Chalice: (WA)