This Sunday and Rev. Peter's June Poem

The spiritual theme for June is "Blessing"

This Sunday July 1, 2018 - "Border Issues with Mexico",  Megan Mathieson

Megan spent two weeks recently in Mexico learning about border issues and is excited to share her experiences with us. A sermon on immigration issues will accompany a Mexican-themed service.

Megan is a third-year seminarian at Lancaster Theological Seminary and member of UU Gettysburg. Megan, her wife, and their family currently live in East Berlin PA. She is currently serving as summer minister at UU Sterling VA and will complete a full-time ministerial internship at UU Frederick MD during the 2018-2019 school year.

"Sense of Blessing"  by Peter A. Friedrichs

I know what a blessing looks like,
and I’m not talking about a picture of 
the Pope placing his cupped hands 
on a child’s head.
 
It looks like the midnight delivery 
of a stunned and wide-eyed Indian orphan 
to her adoptive parents at the baggage claim
carousel in Terminal E of Logan Airport; 
and a full moon rising over Mt. Katahdin 
on an autumn night so clear and cold 
it makes your teeth ache.

I know what a blessing smells like, too:
The head of your month-old niece,
thrust into your arms by your dead-tired
sister who wants nothing more than a 
few hours of uninterrupted sleep; 
and the aroma of fresh-baked bread 
that catches you off-guard 
as you walk past a bakery,
head bowed against the cold, and grief, 
on the way to your grandmother’s funeral.
 
A blessing tastes like the cherry
popsicles you used to split with
your dad on the front stoop just 
before bedtime in summer, 
when the light was soft and 
the pavement still hot under 
the soles of your feet.
 
The deafening roar of water cascading 
into an Ithacan gorge is the sound 
a blessing makes; and, too, 
the silence of the pre-dawn forest, 
when the insects have gone to ground 
and birds have not yet begun
to bid the morning welcome.
 
And I know – thank God I know – 
how a blessing feels: Like walking 
out of the shadow of a skyscraper, 
or your own fear, and feeling the sun 
on your face for the first time in forever; 
and waking up every morning 
next to the one who saved your life.