This is how I came to this church:

Five and a half years ago my mom died of cancer.  Four years ago, I was diagnosed with that fearsome and insidious disease myself.  Surgery successfully removed the stage one renal cell carcinoma, but my body was not yet finished protesting the life I’d given it.

The next year and a half was spent treating and recovering from an infection – unrelated to the surgery –that had gone undiagnosed and had become systemic.  It would be an understatement to say that it was a really bad time in my life and the life of my family.

My husband’s clinical depression worsened, rendering him almost entirely unavailable to me or to our 4 pre-adolescent sons.  He slept much of each day away and had nothing to give, not even in the deepest throes of my illness.

The boys –who had been deeply grounded, healthy and happy—lost their footing, one by one, as each rug they tried to step on was pulled out from under their rapidly growing feet.  For the time being, at least, they had lost both parents.

So had I.  My father committed suicide when I was 25 and I was still grieving my mother’s recent death.  With neither mother nor father—nor husband for that matter – I felt completely alone. Yet my heart, soul and body yearned for connection, for community, for belonging to something larger than myself.

I’d attended church on and off in my adult life, mainly as a singer, but no matter how good the music was, I never felt spiritually at home.  I’d been attracted to the little I knew of Universalist Unitarianism, but after having sung at the round meetinghouse in Hartford, knew that that was not the spiritual home for me.  I didn’t even know this church was here – until Martha.

I had gotten to know Martha Winslow a little through my work at—and her extremely regular patronage of – the Newington Library.  During our exchanges of poems and books, she continued to sing the praises of this church and its senior minister, repeating to me how very special they were.

When I started to feel well enough after my illness to venture out, I found myself drawn here.  And I loved it:  the colors of the sanctuary, the people and their warmth.  I loved how people welcomed me but also gave me space.  I loved poetry as gospel.  I loved the sermons – Jan’s sermons always spoke – and continue to speak -- directly to my heart, saying exactly what I need to hear when I need to hear it.  The simple eloquence, the heart-centeredness, the deep truths – all these touched me and drew me back.

In the early days of my attendance here, I received a call from Craig Nowak soliciting information for the Social Justice Committee.  I hadn’t known Craig at all.  This was during my health crisis and my husband’s deep depression. I explained what my life was like and how from that space, I couldn’t even contemplate the issues he was asking me about.  Craig held me in that space, made it safe there and then shared his own journey from depression during that phone call. We forged a deep and real connection that day.

The very next time I attended church, Rev. Jan took my hand, touched my arm and affirmed me for not taking on one more thing, for having the wisdom to say no.  This simple act meant more to me than I can say.  My whole life, I’d been striving to do and do perfectly, and here was someone I admired and respected affirming me for NOT doing.  Another deep and real connection was formed.
 
So far, we have poetry, sanctuary, people, sermons, affirmation, connection.  But there’s more:  there is the SILENCE.  Oh the silence.  How I love the silence.  I wasn’t crazy about the music, but I loved the silence.  The unmeasured, immeasurable opening in which we as individuals could collectively inhabit our most true selves.  Such sweet release into truth.

As a regular meditator, I’m accustomed to silence.  But my silence alone in a room is different.  There is power in collective silence.  The Buddhists call it “sangha”, or the group.  Embraced by sangha-- the group’s collective energy-- I find complete permission to let go, knowing that with the others there, I can let myself become weightless and formless, riding the energy of the sangha to my own essential truth in that moment.  In that moment, I am free of baggage, free of my “story,” the details of my life; free to tap into the true deep place – the essence of self from which all else flows.

I love knowing that as I receive the power of that collective silence, I also give it: by being present in the silence, I give others permission to let go-- and the circle of giving and receiving goes round and round.

Those beautiful unmeasured and immeasurable silences helped me so much as I allowed my life to change in very necessary ways.  Through the silence, the sermons, the affirmations and through my daily practice of yoga and a single Mary Oliver poem, I completely changed the direction of my life and found my way back to health.   

It’s been a rocky path – and you, the people of this church – have helped me more than I can say.  Your hugs, kind words and anonymous financial gifts during this very difficult transition of disentangling a 27-year marriage have meant so much to me and to my family.  Thanks to your kindness and generosity, we were able to celebrate Christmas.

After a lifetime of having assiduously avoided church membership, I a proud to be a member of and be of service to this congregation – and through this congregation to be of service to the world around it.  Through our connection to this church, my family has had the opportunity to serve in soup kitchens, make blankets for dialysis patients, and bring coats, notebooks and mittens to those who need them.

Though the summer’s activities kept me away from church for most of the season, I found myself eagerly anticipating Homecoming Sunday—definitely a first for me.  I was excited to be among you again, and to be able to bring my young friend from Spain.  Having been raised Catholic – she still attends church for the community but has trouble with the politics– Alicia loved this church.  She said it is what church should be.  I couldn’t agree more.   

This is why I come to this church.   

Cynthia Wolcott - member, The Universalist Church