In many places throughout the world at this time of year there are celebrations called All Souls Day, All Saints Day, The Day of the Dead, and Diwali. Lamps or candles are lit to honor the dead, and bring light into the darkness. When I lived in Connecticut, lights were lit each year next to the graves in a Polish cemetery on All Souls Day. It is a time of honoring those who have passed before us, affirming life, and sharing grief. In our culture, we are usually taught to avoid talking about, or even thinking about, death. And yet, in Unitarian Universalist circles, as in many religious gatherings, we tend to think of death as being intimately related to our lives. In fact, if one were to examine the causes of death, the greatest one would be found to be life. All which has life eventually dies. That is the nature of life on this earth.
I learned recently that in New Mexico, which used to be part of Mexico where the Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is celebrated, churches have been designed in such a way that one has to walk through a cemetery in order to enter the front door of the church. The Rev. Tom Chulak, our District Executive, was telling me that the church he used to attend in Chicago, like many churches in Europe, had a burial crypt beneath the entryway. In this way, upon entering the church, or sacred ground, one would be reminded of those who had passed before. Those who entered the church would also be reminded of their own mortality.... an important perspective to have as we live our lives.
In thinking about the title of this morning’s sermon- Circle of Light- I realized that the circle is an important symbol of wholeness, completeness - a whole pie, rather than just a piece.... a full moon, which is sacred in many religions, and which has the capacity to take my breath away....the earth... the universe.... the cycle of the seasons.... the cycle of life and death.
I also contemplated the meaning of light, and many things came to mind- goodness, health, learning, illumination, joy, happiness, hope, treasure, direction, sight. There are so many aspects of light. But I found myself underlining a few. One was illumination. Lighting a candle of remembrance and sharing a story about a loved one who has died is a way of illuminating that person’s life- and bringing him or her to be present in this time and place, to share with all those who are here. Another word I underlined was hope. When we light a candle of remembrance and share a story with each other, we not only celebrate and shed light on the deceased one’s life, we also take lessons of hope from that life. It has been said that if we don’t study history and learn from it, we will have to repeat it. Learning lessons from the past gives us hope for the future. Some may hope that they will see their loved ones again in the future. Some may hope that their loved ones are at peace. Many hope that they will imbibe some of the great qualities of their loved ones, and be more present in the moment with each other. Many keep alive the love they have known, and hope that love will flourish and spread.
When I was thinking about light, it occurred to me that light also means not heavy. We sometimes take death as being a heavy, dark affair. But by celebrating death, we incorporate it into life, and see the lighter side of it. I recently attended a Pastoral Care Day through the InterReligious Council of Central New York, with a focus on Healing Humor. The presentors were excellent- both of them talked about the history, philosophy, and chemistry of humor and laughter. One of them then led us in a laughter workshop, in which she engaged us in various exercises to make us laugh- and it worked! Two things I would like to share with you from the workshop- One is a homework assignment, which I would like to ask you to do. It doesn’t take any extra time, just remembrance, and it can change our outlook. The assignment is that whenever we stop at a red light in traffic, we agree to smile. We may end up laughing, but even if we “just” smile, it can change our outlook from impatience to joy. Try it! There aren’t many traffic lights in my neck of the woods, but I am trying it whenever I encounter one.
The second thing I want to share from the healing humor workshop is something one of the presentors said: “Whatever happens to you, happens for you.” This isn’t something to say to someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, or the loss of functioning, whether physical or mental. Such loss and grief can be difficult enough without being told that it’s for our own good! But if we want to truly live in a circle of light, we ourselves can try to figure out what lessons life if giving us in sometimes difficult and well-disguised forms.
I think we have two tasks in this life when it comes to the circle of light. The first is to recognize that the circle of light already exists, everywhere, and is just waiting to be discovered, uncovered, and celebrated. We’re doing that this morning. And Unitarian Universalist memorial services are great ways of celebrating the lives of people who have departed this earth. Several long-time church members have died in the past few years, and we have celebrated their lives. I’d like to bring them to mind now- Rena Gardner, Vernon Goettel, Hilda Goettel Hegarty, and Vernon House. We celebrate their lives and their many contributions to this church community.
Seeing the circle of light everywhere can be a difficult task, and requires intentionality and persistence. We have a way of judging deaths as either “good deaths” or not. We may think of good deaths as occurring when an older person dies peacefully at home of natural causes. We may be troubled by the violent, seemingly senseless death of a child or a young person. The death of a famous person is well publicized, and we may feel that “at least he died doing what he loved doing.” I think of the crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin, who died while swimming and filming wildlife; or Todd Skinner, recently reported by NPR to have fallen to his death while rock-climbing. The less famous also often die pursuing their lives- my father while driving in a snow storm to go cross-country skiing; my step-father while swimming in Lake Champlain. Who are we, though, to judge death as either “good” or not? Death, when it comes, is almost always painful to those loved ones who are left behind. Death comes, and it is our task to grieve and to accept it in whatever form it takes, and to learn from it.
So, our first task is to recognize the circle of light everywhere. Our second task is to celebrate and enhance the circle of light- to hold the torch of love high and to let it shine. We may be inclined to hide our light in grief, sadness, despair, fear, or a feeling of inadequacy. And we may need to do so, at times. When a loved one dies, we may feel incapacitated by grief for a time. Everything is different without him or her by our side. We may be overwhelmed with emotion, and with paperwork. Or, when we experience the loss of functioning in some area- maybe walking, using our hands, or our minds- it may be really difficult to cope with the losses. It’s difficult, even impossible, to do what we could automatically do in the past- things which have been tied to our livelihood and our identity. We’re not used to asking for help, or even accepting it when it is offered. We might feel angry- why is this happening to me? why now? We might just want to hole up and hide. We do need to face our losses and experience our grief.
And yet, the second task awaits us. How can we take up the torch of love and light which others carried before us? How can we shine light into the dark areas of our world? How can we help ourselves, and others, keep hope alive in the midst of a world of despair, and fear? It is our auspicious responsibility to dicover ways to uncover and share the love, the hope, and the light, which always exist within and around us. May it be so.
I’d like to close with this poem by Wendell Berry:
Within the circle of our lives
we dance the circe of the years,
the circles of the seasons
within the circles of the years,
the cycles of the moon
within the circles of the seasons,
the circles of our reasons
within the cycles of the moon.

Again, again we come and go,
changed, changing. Hands
join, unjoin in love and fear,
grief and joy. The circles turn,
each giving into each, into all.
Only music keeps us here,

each by all the others held.
In the hold of hands and eyes
we turn in pairs, that joining
joining each to all again.
And then we turn aside, alone,
out of the sunlight gone

into the darker circles of return.
”Song(4)”