 Thursday, June 26th, 2025 at 3:16 PM
Grosse Pointe Public Library Main Branch Grosse Pointe Farms, Michigan An usher gave me a gray hymnal last Sunday and the order of service. I studied the image on the cover. “That watercolor painting? The face looks familiar.” “Yes, the face is very familiar.” The usher, an art historian, has a gift for saying the right number of words. I took my seat in the back of the sanctuary, a seat with a good view of the memorial garden. I teach for a living, so I took attendance. We pulled pretty well for the first gathering of the summer church. The Summer Sunday Worship Services feel like a gathering at a church camp. A few of us dress in shorts and colorful summer wear. A few wear the lighter blazers. After, we serve lemonade from Trader Joes in the fellowship hall. Coffee drinkers bring brew from home in Stanley tumblers with leak proof lids. The coffee team takes a break. I studied the bulletin. The worship committee takes great care in producing the order of service. One can only imagine the coherence of that committee. For example, at one recent service, all four worship associates served in matching white raiment. They’re close like that. A music credits table documents the name of the composer. The program identifies the name of the composition. Hans Barbe often works in composers of merit, bringing their neglected works to light. As Anne Roberts leads the summer church, we can be sure that Roberts rehearsed the numbers for weeks in advance. We will soon learn how our summer pianist selects the works performed each Sunday. The right page tantalized with a program of services until August 31st. Reverend Aaron Stockwell-Wisman will begin speaking from the pulpit on August 17th. In the names of the speakers, one can see the hand of the leadership development committee at work. It’s not checkers. It’s chess. JUNE June 22 – Ken Meisel: “A Sermon on Trustworthiness” June 29 – Anne Roberts: “From Baptism to Revelation” JULY July 6 – Miriam Engstrom: “Unitarians and Prayer” July 13 – Neil Sroka: “Unitarians and God” July 20 – Jon Noble: “God, Salvation and Atheism: A Personal Story” July 27 – TBD AUGUST August 3 – Bryan Wolf — TBD August 10 – Eli Kranz August 17 – Rev. Aaron Stockwell-Wisman August 24 – Rev. Aaron Stockwell-Wisman August 31 – Anne Roberts: Music Sunday We found Ken Meisel with the help of Maura Kay, the first worship associate of the summer. Meisel pairs the powers of literature and psychology. A psychotherapist by education, Kresge Arts declared Meisel a literary fellow in 2012. Meisel’s “A Sermon on Trustworthiness” set off on a philosophical exploration that rivaled “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” It was both a satsang and a chautauqua. I silenced my cell phone. I fired up ChatGPT. A few of us knit while listening to the sermon. I consult oracles. First, I photographed the watercolor portrait and sent it up to the bot. The bot refused to identify the portrait. The LLM did help. “The inscription reads Lautir 2020. Lautir is ritual spelled backwards.” I scanned a page of Lautir paintings. Lautir focuses on watercolor paintings of philosophers and literary types. Nothing. I kept looking as Meisel laid out the dynamics of trust. Meisel discussed D.H. Lawrence and trust. Lautir painted Lawrence several times, but I did not have a match. Meisel raised the ideas of Arthur Schopenhauer on trust. The image on the bulletin showed a philosopher with short hair. Schopenhauer sported a lion’s mane of white hair. I had to keep listening. Meisel left no philosopher stone unturned in the sermon. I typed in name after name. Faded. Meisel turned to Marcel Merleau-Ponty and an Australian philosopher named Fiona Utley who expanded Merleau-Ponty’s thought. By now, I was pretty sure I was going to need the YouTube video from our tech team and a transcript. I consulted the oracle. Marcel Merleau-Ponty? Direct hit! I considered sneaking out of the sanctuary to pour myself a lemonade early. After giving Fiona Utley a glowing discussion, Meisel went for the big finish with Mary Oliver. We often hear Mary Oliver recited from our pulpit. Mary Oliver delivered the 2006 Ware Lecture at the Unitarian Universalist General Assembly. Sadly, no tape could be published of the lecture, but the transcript awaits perusal online. I looked up the poem. I have yet to pull the transcript. Was it “Three Egrets”? Egrets Where the path closed down and over, through the scumbled leaves, fallen branches, through the knotted catbrier, I kept going. Finally I could not save my arms from thorns; soon the mosquitoes smelled me, hot and wounded, and came wheeling and whining. And that’s how I came to the edge of the pond: black and empty except for a spindle of bleached reeds at the far shore which, as I looked, wrinkled suddenly into three egrets – – – a shower of white fire! Even half-asleep they had such faith in the world that had made them – – – tilting through the water, unruffled, sure, by the laws of their faith not logic, they opened their wings softly and stepped over every dark thing. Usually ChatGPT sounds like Dr. Spock. Not this time. “Mary Oliver? You have written a symphony.” I chatted back. “Not me. Ken Meisel.” Marcel Merleu-Ponty by #Lautir -- at Grosse Pointe Unitarian Church
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On Sunday, October 27th, I found myself reflecting at a Panera Bread in Grosse Pointe's Village. Like Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon. Panera has become a perch for Unitarian Universalists. I usually am about to leave when a few knitters from the congregation arrive to knit in a circle with friends. At the risk of sounding outré, I had just come from a moving ceremony in the Memorial Garden of Grosse Pointe Unitarian. Three years ago, one of our parishioners passed away. The family had kept their loved one's ashes at home, awaiting the right moment to inter them on the grounds of the Memorial Garden. After the worship service, many of us gathered among the trees. Mitra, our interim minister, presided with the gentle words of comfort we have all come to expect from her. In early fall, our garden looked beautiful. The leaves of the red maple had mostly fallen, carpeting the raised bed at its roots. The crabapple tree still held its yellow leaves, where birds and squirrels were busy foraging. The squirrels worked the branches rather hard, vaulting from limb to limb. I have to wonder how a bird or a squirrel can consume such a tart crabapple. The interment was announced after the sermon, and I happened to be walking toward the street when I noticed the gathering. I entered through a wrought iron gate, arriving a little late, and only heard part of Mitra’s remarks. I had to remind myself to remove my cap and set down my coffee. I looked at the faces of the people I worship with regularly, and then I noted the friends and relatives who had come to mark this final passage to the earth. The ashes rested in a decorative urn on a retaining block. Quite simply, Mitra raised the silver dish with its crystal cover and walked over to the small hollow prepared for them. With both hands, Mitra gently introduced the ashes to the earth. A few flowers were set on top. Later, it will be the sexton’s job to fill the space. Perhaps they will rake red leaves over the covering—a comforting sight for anyone who goes to look for the place. Just as Mitra completed the ceremony, a cardinal flitted through the air of the garden. I spotted another bird working the grass, though I could only tell it wasn’t a robin. An enormous peace came upon me. I knew that if I asked, I too could one day reside here, my name added to the plaque of nearly 200 parishioners who sought their final rest close to where the congregation gathers. Grosse Pointe Unitarian meets in an architectural marvel. It isn't a Frank Lloyd Wright design, but the architect created a distinctive church with a high ceiling that rises to a convergence point, where a sun window channels the light on a day like today. Through the great windows on the north side of the sanctuary, it’s possible to gaze out upon that very garden. I pondered the ceremony as I walked toward the village. I walked a little more slowly, feeling the need to savor the moment. My mind also turned to a modern thought: I had taken pictures of the memorial plaque and found that artificial intelligence could pull the names and dates into a database. I haven't shared this with the congregation yet; I'm not sure how appropriate such an act would seem. For now, the walk and the memory were enough. I’m certainly not going to upload the database to Find a Grave or Questers without express written permission of the board. The board and the Department of History are engaged with weighing how to handle the sacred data of our members who have walked on. Right now, I reach out to Jerry Herron, board president, for guidance. Deborah Connelly approached me with a fascinating request regarding the Memorial Garden database. Connelly and I talked out in the garden, studying the marker exhibited on a support post. Connelly belongs to the community that cares for the garden. To paraphrase, “Which one of our beloved community was known as a famous pianist? Couldn’t we build a musical program around the musicians who shared their musical talent with us?” The AI query wasn’t very hard to write. It helped Connelly remember the name of a music teacher of a dear friend. The result looked like this list, which leaves out the names. These names can be restored when Herron and the board give guidance. In fact, after sharing the results with Connelly, I called President Herron.
In the meantime, let us gaze out into our garden and contemplate the meaning of eternity.  |
Will Juntunen,
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