Anthem Of Resurrections
< Once
upon a time,
when the universe
was newly hatched,
the cosmos was empty of living things.
Here and there,
in
the dark reaches of space,
gasses and particles had collected
into
stars--
not little stars--
twinkle, twinkle little stars,
shining in
the night sky--
but gigantic
stars,
hotter than any furnace,
burning with a fierce intensity
beyond
anything we can imagine.
In the heart of such stars,
in the heat
of their burning,
the basic stuff of existence was altered and transformed.
In
those stars,
the very particles
which comprise existence
were changed,
and
there were born from light and featureless energy
heavy elements,
like
iron
and carbon
and all the various substances
which comprise
the world we know.
As
those ancient stars aged,
their fires began to cool,
and changes occurred
in their make-up.
Eventually,
they used up their energy,
and began
to die,
as all things must.
Some stars, however,
do not die peacefully,
do
not "go gentle into that good night."
Some stars do not just blink
off one night
as if someone had turned a switch.
Some stars die
in a
massive explosion,
sending the energy
and matter of their beings
hurtling
outward in all directions.
And
so it was that some stars died
and in their dying
sent iron and carbon
and oxygen and all the other elements,
cooked in the white-heat at the
heart of the star,
speeding outward into empty space.
For unnumbered
eons
this star-stuff
hurtled through space,
until some of it was captured
in
the gravitational pull of other stars.
It circled those stars
in
great clouds of dust and debris
until, after more unnumbered eons,
some
of that dust and debris
began
to coalesce
into planets,
small spheres
circling the star
at regular
intervals.
In this way
was our solar system born--
Mercury,
Venus, Earth, Mars
and all the rest.
Dead stars,
dead long eons,
were
resurrected
into planets and asteroids and moons.
Our home,
this earth,
is
star-stuff,
resurrected into new form and new shape.
You and I
and everything we see and touch
began in the heart of a star,
a star which
died,
and lives again
in
this planet,
in us.
The warmth of your body
is the heat of that ancient
star,
tamed to the uses of life.
You and I and all those we love
are
star-stuff,
are dead stars,
resurrected to shine
in this small corner
of the universe.
UNISON READING:
Out of the stars in
their flight,
out of the dust of eternity,
here
have we come,
Star dust and sunlight, mingling
through
time and
through space.
Out of the stars have we come, up from time;
Out
of the stars have we come.
Time
out of time before time
in the vastness
of space,
earth spun to orbit the sun,
Earth,
with the thunder of mountains newborn,
the boiling
seas.
Earth warmed by sun,
lit
by sunlight:
this
is our home;
Out of the stars have we
come
READING:
There came a time,
on
one little planet,
circling one little star
when a miraculous event occurred.
On
that little planet,
third out from the star named sun,
the star-stuff
began to cool,
and clouds began to form,
and rain fell,
and oceans
gathered.
In those oceans,
lit by the light of a warm sun,
or
perhaps in the clay which lined
the shoreline,
large molecules of matter
coalesced and mingled
and
one unnamed day
an invisible line was crossed--
the molecules became living
things--
cells which could respond to stimuli,
cells which could seek
out nourishment,
cells which could process energy,
cells which could reproduce
themselves.
From the stuff of dead stars,
life came into being
on
the third planet out
from an insignificant star.
From those first
cells
all living things arose:
Trees
and birds and rabbits,
snakes and spiders and elephants,
grass
and flowers and rutabagas
and you and me,
all are descended from those
original cells.
In our bodies,
at every moment,
the life stuff of those
ancient cells
is being recreated, reborn, resurrected.
The fluid of our
blood and our tears
is salty with the salt of that ancient ocean.
The
basic building blocks of our bodies
are the genetic material of those ancient
cells
reborn in us, renewing
us, from moment to moment.
We are related to every living thing on this planet.
We
and all that lives and moves and partakes of being
are those ancient
cells
born in some ancient sea
and resurrected,
generation upon
generation,
in one form or another,
time out of mind.
Look at your hand,
look
at your neighbor,
think of your friends,
your family,
and realize
that once upon a time
star-stuff learned to live,
and has been resurrecting
itself ever since
in
living beings
like you and me.
UNISON READING:
Mystery
hidden in mystery, back through all time,
Mystery rising
from rocks in the storm and the sea.
Out of the stars, rising
from rocks and the sea,
Kindled by sunlight on earth,
Arose
life.
Ponder
this thing in your heart;
Ponder with awe:
Out
of the sea to the land,
Out
of the shallows came ferns.
Out
of the sea to the land,
Up from darkness
to light,
Rising to walk and to fly,
Out
of the sea trembled life.
READING:
Have
you ever looked into a baby's face?
Seen the moods float across it
like
a leaf on a pond?
Have you ever looked into a baby's face
and seen there
some familiar, yet strange
feature?
All of us have looked at a baby and said,
"He has his father's eyes."
"She
has her mother's nose."
"He is the very image of great aunt Gertrude."
"There
can be no question about her parentage,
she looks just like
her great grandmother!"
Sometimes, of course,
we are looking for similarities
and
we find them easily
in the plastic features of an infant.
At
other times
the similarities are simply there,
nagging at us to remember,
like
three notes of
a nearly forgotten tune.
Sometimes,
looking into a mirror,
we see in our
own faces
the images of women and men
from whom we received our beings
as
a gift,
and we are stunned
to see our parents
or our grandparents
staring
back at us
from that mirror.
The truth is, of course,
we
are all of us
the reincarnation of the generations who have preceded us.
The
family genes
are passed from parent to child,
features appearing
now,
then disappearing,
only
to reappear in a later generation.
Unnumbered generations of men and women,
most of them long dead
and no longer remembered
are resurrected
in our bodies.
The shape of their noses,
the color of their eyes,
the
texture of their hair,
the shape of their faces,
the structure of their
bodies,
the facility of their minds
are our inheritance.
Shuffled together,
playing
hide-and-seek,
they combine and recombine
and are resurrected
in every generation.
Some
scientists say
the entire human race
can be traced genetically
to
one female who lived in ancient Africa.
If that be so,
we are all kin,
and
we are all resurrected versions
of that ancient mother.
We are
more than this, however.
We are also inheritors of the meanings
human beings
have discovered in this world.
We learn the great accomplishments and
dismal failures of the past;
they sink into our minds,
they color our expectations,
and
they are reborn
in our actions
and in our dreams.
The stories are told
of men and women
who lived lives
of power and promise and passion,
who invested themselves
in dreams
they would not abandon
who poured themselves into
visions
of truth and love and hope.
Some stories cluster around familiar names,
names
of mythic power;
other stories are more private,
honoring the
quiet heroes of our own lives,
women and men who believed in us
who helped
us be stronger, wiser, healthier.
We
hear the stories,
and their deeds, their values, their dreams
are
built into our own expectations;
the lives they lived
are resurrected
in our own.
And in some wonderful way
our own lives are without
visible limit.
Some of us are, or will be parents,
passing the genetic
heritage
to a new generation,
to a future we cannot see
except through
the eyes of our children
and our grandchildren
and our great grandchildren.
All
of us
pass the
cultural heritage of humanity
to the next generation
and on to a future
beyond our imagining.
In this sense,
all children are our children.
From
us they learn
the vast ancestry of the human race,
traced through ancient
seas
and ancient clay-beds
on to the burning heart
of primordial
stars.
From us they learn
of love and hope and trust,
the tools we have
developed
to lend meaning and purpose and abundance
to this incredible
journey,
begun in the heart
of stars
and moving toward an unimaginable destiny.
Our values,
our dreams,
our
hopes,
our meanings
all will be passed on to a future
through
the children of the human race.
By way of them,
we shall be resurrected
again
and yet again.
Is it not marvelous to discover
that resurrection
is not a once-upon-a-time thing?
Is it not marvelous to discover
that
resurrection
is the mode of being
in this universe,
our home?
UNISON
READING:
Ponder
this thing in your heart,
Life up from the
sea;
Eyes to behold, throats to sing, mates to love.
Life
from the sea,
Warmed by sun,
Washed
by rain,
Life from within, giving birth,
Rose
to love.
This
is the wonder of time;
This is the marvel of space;
Out
of the stars swung
the earth;
Life on earth rose to love.
This
is the marvel of humanity,
Rising
to see and to know;
Out of your heart, cry wonder;
Sing
that we live.
--Unison readings adapted from
Robert Terry Weston)
A SPRINGTIME COMMUNION
The earth has gone
the round of the seasons:
from the vibrant green of the spring's new
life
to the lush richness
of warm summer,
to the brilliant fulfillment of riotous autumn
to
the white winter, demanding endurance.
Now we stand again
ensorcelled
by the promise
of new life in spring.
Here,
at this moment,
when
spring is more than a hope
less than a reality,
at this moment,
when
it is an act of faith
to find spring in
the rosy
corona of the maple
the yellow-green whisper of the willow,
the dawn songs
of unseen birds,
at this moment,
we gather as the human clan has gathered,
time out of mind,
to celebrate life
to celebrate the resurrection of life
from the hand of
death.
It is fitting we should celebrate
the renewal of life and hope
using
those elements which have reminded
unnumbered generations of
our
rootedness in,
our reliance upon the nurturing earth
from which we spring,
to
which we return.
From
the beginning of time the human tribe
has stood
in reverence
before the fecundity of the good earth.
From
Gaia, the Great Mother Earth,
comes
all that sustains us.
From her come the fruits and grains,
the
waters and grasses
without which we
die.
Time out of mind we have watched
grain
buried in the dark soil,
the
seed of life returned to the Great Mother.
Time
out of mind we have watched
sprouting
seeds breaking through the soil,
reaching
upward to the sun
growing,
ripening,
returning
new seed for our nurturance.
Time
out of mind we have watched
grain
crushed and broken,
ground
into dust-like flour,
seemingly
destroyed.
Mixed with water and leavening,
it
stirs,
rises,
becomes
bread, the sustainer of our lives.
Small
wonder that in the cycle of the grain,
in the making
of bread,
we find a metaphor for our own existence.
Like
the grain,
we
spring from the earth,
produce
seed--
living children,
worthy
deeds--
and in season return
to
the Great Mother of all.
Like the grain,
sometimes
we are broken,
we are ground
down.
We dare trust that like the grain
we
may return,
in
new form,
in the memories of those
who loved us,
to nourish a new generation.
We
break this bread,
and in the breaking,
evoke images from the ancient history
of the human race.
In this sacrament, more ancient than we can know,
we
express our wordless adoration
of this Holy Earth,
our
Mother,
our Home.
In this ancient sacrament, older than any written record,
we
express our wordless
awe
before the miracle of life
strong enough to overcome death,
to
rise from the grave
in a new generation.
In this ancient
sacrament, older than human memory,
we embrace the profound wonder
that
out of seeming death
come the sources of nourishment and renewal.
We
break this bread
in celebration of the great truth
that
on this tiny planet,
hurtling through the blackness of space,
death
is made the servant of life
and
out of death
life forever renews itself.
BREAK THE
BREAD
None of us knows how many
human generations
have tended the vine,
harvested
its clustered fruit,
crushed its rich
globes
'til juice flowed red as blood
into
skins and pots and vats,
to be stored and
fermented,
saved
for festive occasions.
For longer than we can
remember,
the fruit of the vine has been our companion.
In
caves
and reed
huts,
and wattled cottages
in
temples,
and castles,
and shining
palaces,
we have shared the fruit of the vine
in
moments of
joy and sorrow,
in times of high celebration,
to
mark momentous turnings.
We have savored
its taste,
rich with the hint of by-gone summer afternoons
and
autumn evenings,
musky with the
suggestion of freshly turned soil.
We have felt it warm us
when
the world has grown strangely chill,
offering
us hints of other
worlds,
other possibilities.
The
grape seemed a special blessing given the human
tribe
by Gaia, the Great Mother Earth.
For
longer than any human memory,
we have tended
the vine,
gathered the heavy grapes,
crushed
them until the juice flows,
and thus is
the blessing received,
the
gift bestowed.
Small wonder
that in the vine
we read a hidden message about ;our own lives:
that
our own suffering and sorrow,
the crushing blows inflicted upon us
by
mindless time and human folly
need not be pointless,
may
be transformed
by faithfulness and steadfastness
and shaped into
a gift for others.
This wine which we now pour out,
this
fruit of the vine
evokes
wordless images
from the ancient
history of the race.
In this sacrament we offer thanks
to
the Great Mother of All
for the
unearned gifts which enrich life,
lending it unexpected
moments of peace and joy.
In this sacrament we celebrate
the
fact of grace,
which decrees
that things are not always as
they seem,
that out of faithfulness and steadfastness
out
of suffering and sorrow and fate's crushing blows
may
come unsought blessings
for
us and our children and our children's children.
POUR THE
WINE
In this early spring,
when the season of new life
is both faith and reality,
we share the gifts of the earth,
the fruit of
grain and vine,
and rejoice
together
that out of death and pain
life is ever resurrected and
renewed.
With loaf and cup we give thanks
for all that which dies
and
is resurrected in our own lives.
Here, in the early spring, we covenant
with each other
to be mindful
of the gifts which come to us,
of
the lives which are expressed in us,
of the hopes and dreams
which have shaped us,
and to make of our lives
a source of renewal
and hope
a springtime
of promise
and resurrection
for generations yet to come.