Rev. Joseph Boyd Yesterday was an absolutely gorgeous day outside here in Youngstown, Ohio. The sun was bright, the Ohio sound was everywhere: running lawn mowers. There really is a lot of grass in Ohio – you can tell by the allergies. It was in the 80’s Fahrenheit, and it really felt like summer. I would always look forward to June because it’s when the roses bloom. Jennifer and I were married in a rose garden, and for me a rose has always been a reminder of love, some kind of love that grows up from the earth, and is alive for the sake of itself. Nobody asks a rose how much they’ve accomplished or what they can do. They are beautiful because they exist, and that is more than enough. I say more than enough because I think we as fellow humans easily forget how much anything is really worth. We easily forget that the most valuable thing is the present moment, no matter what our opinions about it are.
The present moment is more precious than any stone, any currency, anything. I know this for certain now. I’ve seen people with lots of wealth spending all of it to try to get one more year, one more month, one more day. When I’ve talked with a few people on their deathbed, it seems that the present moment is of utmost importance, not to be wasted, not to be spent worrying about things that ultimately are not real or lasting.
Love, though difficult to fully explain, seems to be a real thing. It seems to be something worth paying attention to. Love, like a rose, seems to be not too hard to point out, but for some reason difficult to adequately appreciate in the present moment – for most of us. I’ve been grateful to know people in this community who remind me to open my eyes and my heart to the present moment, grateful for those souls who literally wake me up to my life when I fall asleep and get lost in dreams and schemes, worries and preoccupations.
When I was growing up in Oregon we had a giant rose bush on the side of our house which my mother took care of. I remember wanting to get my brother a rose in the center of this bush, and reaching my hand in and getting caught by thorns. I’ve inherited my mother’s stubborn nature so I persisted in reaching further in the bush, receiving numerous cuts until my little hand was covered in blood, and finally able to pick out this large pink rose.
I think many of us have had a similar experience – not of getting our hands bloody, though probably that. But of seeing something so beautiful that we felt compelled to possess it, to have it, to give it to someone perhaps. There’s a reason why we pick flowers. It’s where nature meets human culture – our innate desire to remind ourselves or each other about the beautiful, unique and fleeting dance. I’ve shared in the past about the Buddhist transmission which was done with a simple flower. The Buddha held out a flower for all his disciples, and only one of them smiled when they saw the flower – that person became the next transmitted teacher in the Buddha’s lineage.
I love that story because I think it’s true, perhaps not factually, but still true. If only we could smile at what we are experiencing at this moment and every moment, what kind of life would that be? I don’t think the smile means things go our way all the time, and we have no pain. I think the smile is much deeper than that. It’s an appreciation of this moment, no matter what, even in heartbreak, disappointment, stress and boredom. And when we recognize beauty, in this moment, we can just smile in appreciation. We were alive to see that beautiful moment. We are alive now. What a beautiful moment. In the Buddhist tradition it was called heart to heart transmission, because no words were spoken. The disciple didn’t write a poem or give a sermon about flowers. He just smiled, and that was the deepest expression. Smiling, appreciating, and no need to possess it or codify it or make it something extra. Letting the moment be full, just the way it is, and smiling in appreciation.
This Flower Communion makes me smile, because I’ve learned a new layer of depth about Flower Communion that was not as obvious to me as in past years. In past years each of us would pick a flower and bring it into the church and put it on the chancel, and then at the end of service each of us would pick up a different flower than the one we brought in. It was a ritual created by the Prague Unitarian Minister Norbert Capek during the Nazi occupation. Not everybody in Norbert Capek’s congregation was Christian. Some were Jews and some were still discovering what it is they believed or found worthy. So he did away with the common Christian communion and introduced this new ritual using flowers which were accessible and obvious to everyone in June, this time of year.
The ritual was a reminder that there is a unique beauty at the heart of all of our lives, and when we come together as a community, we benefit by recognizing each other’s beauty. Beauty in this case is far more than an aesthetic judgement, it is deeply spiritual. What I mean by spiritual, is it’s fundamentally about how we feel about the world, how we fundamentally feel about ourselves and our world in this present moment.
Norbert Capek as some of you know was put into a concentration camp due to creating this ritual in Nazi Germany, and he died a martyr. This was about much more than about aesthetic preference. It was about life. It was about what we choose to pay attention to and value, and why. It’s about recognizing beauty even in times of fear, times of war, times of uncertainty. It’s about recognizing ourselves.
Due to having a virtual service this year, I was tempted to think of some elaborate way we could each take a picture of a flower, bring a flower, or some other variation on that theme. But my heart wasn’t really in it, and it didn’t feel quite right.
And then I read Emerson’s reading “These Roses,” and I knew what Flower Communion could mean this year, 2021. We often look back to the past with longing for what we wish we had but presently do not. We often anticipate the future with excitement looking forward to a day that might further align with what we want. It is the rare thing to look at the present moment, to look at what we do have, these roses still connected to the earth, and practice gratitude for this moment of life.
I learned recently of a study at Princeton that looked at markers of healthy longevity, and they boiled it down to three things: the ability to be grateful, good sleep, and random acts of kindness performed out of a response to gratitude. I know there are a lot of theories about what makes a good life, but I think these three make a lot of sense to me.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but life can be pretty surprising. As soon as we think something has been figured out, we realize we don’t know much.
We really never know what will happen day to day even if we try our best to predict and beat the odds. We really don’t know, and it’s a guarantee that someday for each of us, we’re going to be surprised. At least I hope so. I love being surprised – it reminds me I don’t know everything, the fact that I really don’t know much. I love being surprised, because I like evidence that the world does not operate how I think, at least not exactly. It’s too wily for that, too subtle, slippery. When I welcome surprise, I’ve found moments of peace. I think peace is when we allow ourselves to live in reality, not the reality we are convinced is real, but the world that is actually real, the world that can be studied and understood, and yet is always beyond full understanding. Accepting and welcoming that is really peaceful, the moments that we can allow ourselves to live in that truth.
Each of you on my zoom screen is a flower. Sometimes I see two of you in one box, like a pot, sometimes a cat or dog will come and share their beauty. I see what is really beautiful this year – all of you who show up on Sunday morning.
And more importantly all of you who show up for each other and for yourselves, sharing what you’ll never fully understand, your unique beauty. I see Flower Communion and its meaning much more clearly this year. Each of us literally is in our own space, our own home, car, our own errands and multitasking activities, and yet we come together and create a patchwork that is different and beautiful each and every single time.
I love when dogs or cats come into the frame unexpectedly. It’s like they know they need to be part of what’s happening, because they are a part of what’s happening. They are also unique, singular, and beautiful. And surprising. They shower us with love, and they encourage us to do the same.
As we reopen this summer I look forward to seeing what ideas you come up with to gather in person and virtually. I think it’s a fascinating time. I know many of you are craving an in person experience, and I know many of you also are so incredibly grateful to stay connected virtually. I’m excited to experiment how we might do both, and I encourage you not to be shy. Try things. It can be simple and seemingly mundane. Getting together for coffee, and welcoming people both locally and out of the area to join you in person and virtually. Later this month we are having a strawberry social, and we’ll get to enjoy each other’s company outdoors, and we’ll have a laptop set up to say hello to those that want to drop in virtually.
Flower communion is a good summer ritual, because the summertime is a time of enjoying the natural beauty that surrounds in this moment, relishing in it, and sharing in it freely. We have so much to be grateful for at this church. As far as I know we are the only faith community in this area who has not lost a member or friend to Covid-19.
Part of that is smart leadership, part of that is probably luck. We’re alive, and we get to see another summer. Let’s enjoy it. Let’s find ways to share our unique beauty – our ideas, passions, and energy in a way that is respectful and grateful for this summer season.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have a lot of characters at this church, probably myself included. We have a lot of unique individuals – I say that with affection. We do foster a respect for uniqueness at this church, a respect for being ourselves, and finding our own way. We also foster awareness that none of us is alone on our way. We are supported, more than we’ll ever know.
That awareness is Flower Communion, 2021. Be a single flower, unique, particular, and wondrous. Also seek to be a bouquet this summer – find ways to connect to one another, try things, and encourage one another in new ways integrating the old.
Flower communion this year has been a reminder of gratitude. I’m grateful I’m still here with all of you. I get to see another summer, and I know more deeply now how precious that is. Not to be taken for granted. I don’t plan to waste it. It is a beautiful time of year and the flowers are blooming. May peace also bloom. May our sense of community also bloom and broaden. May we realize more fully our uniqueness which is strengthened in our togetherness. May we encourage one another to enjoy this season – to spend time outdoors, spend nights discussing intellectually stimulating topics, let your soul be as vast as the night sky as the days grow longer. May we taste a fresh strawberry, as if for the first time, not looking to the past, not anticipating the future, but grateful to be here. May we honor the legacy of Norbert Capek and countless others who proved through their lives that beauty will always have the last word, especially after tragedy. There is beauty here if we can appreciate it, if we allow ourselves to take just a moment and see what is blooming right in front of us, naturally, from the ground up.
