written by me, a version of this ritual, written in 2018, is published in
The Spirit that Moves, edited by Rev. Barbara Child
Here is a vessel filled with shards of broken pottery and shattered glass. These sharp and jagged things are literal. And they are metaphorical.
Much is going on in our nation, leading many to feel things are not only broken, but are shattered and on their way to ruin. Worse things have happened in the history of humans being human.
We affirm that we will get through this, even as some of us have doubt. Some of us fear, sometimes to the point of knowing, that there is still worse on its way.
Some have always known this, having never experienced safety or protection. Others are newly awakening. Some of us live in fear for our safety or we fear for the safety of people who know and love.
There is legitimate fear for the integrity of our institutions, knowing we cannot take democracy or justice for granted.
And then there is life: on any given day, pain and loss can leave us, or those we love, feeling broken into pieces, out of touch with our sense of wholeness and holiness.
Here is an invitation to a moment of relief. In these pitchers is ordinary water [optional: seeded with homegrown holy water] mixed with salt in homage to our lamentation and tears.
As we speak, and as our musician plays, please come forward as you are so moved, and pour water onto the broken shards, an offering of healing and hope for yourself, for someone you love, for our congregation, for our community, for this nation, for the world.
Let us begin. [chime]
You, who are bone tired,
exhausted beyond possibility:
may you feel the stirrings of rest, renewal, and energy anew.
Tired as you are, you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who are despairing beyond all hope,
frightened at what freedoms have been stolen,
what rights and protections might yet be denied:
let into your broken heart
this truth:
you are inherently worthy.
You are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who are raging,
cold anger or white hot,
let it be known: you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who are numb,
let yourself know,
the whole of you
still belongs to you:
you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who have been emailing and calling,
reaching out and lending your gifts to safe democracy:
you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, whose courage
looks like shaking as you speak,
looks like trembling as you rise,
looks like affirming your beautiful fat body,
your beautiful neurodivergent mind;
your disabled body:
you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who can no longer watch the news,
who still find ways to stay informed
of the danger unfolding in our midst:
you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
You, who are targeted –
you who left your first homeland,
came seeking safety and wellbeing;
you who are trans,
you who are nonbinary,
whose wholeness should not be called into question,
yet who have been made into scapegoat;
you who live unhoused,
yet are sacred beings and worthy:
you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
And you, who, after all this,
still recognize beauty and amplify it,
sharing it with others;
who still help us to laugh;
who still help us to notice
the magic in the ordinary:
know you are blessed,
know you are blessed,
know you are blessed.
We see you.
We know you.
We need you.
We love you.
We thank you.
[chime]
Let us say this last part responsively. I will say the regular font and you will say the bolded words. Borrowing the words of Rev. Anna Blaedel:
blessed are we [all] when we stay tender.
blessed are we [all] when we stay fierce.
blessed are we [all] when we dare to imagine repair and transformation.
blessed are we [all] when we labor together to make it so.
Amen. Blessed be.
[chime]