I begin with a reading by Robert Walsh. He is a Unitarian Universalist minister. Each year our Association publishes a Meditation Manual filled with spiritual reflections. This one can be found in an edition called "Noisy Stones". The piece is titled, Fault Line.

When the great plates slip
and the earth shivers and the flaw is seen
to lie in what you trusted most, look not
to more solidity, to weighty slabs
of concrete poured or strength of cantilevered
beam to save the fractured order. Trust
more the tensile strands of love that bend
and stretch to hold you in the web of life
that's often torn but always healing. There's
your strength. The shifting plates, the restive earth,
your room, your precious life, they all proceed
from love, the ground on which we walk together.

I must say that these days it's easy for me to recognize the fault line passing underneath my living room. Moving does this to you. As most of you know I moved here from Martha's Vineyard only a month ago. Packing requires that the contents of drawers be poured out and examined. Piles of paper called to be sorted through. The objects that made up my home were suddenly judged for their relative worth. Yard sale? Thrift Store? A gift to a dear friend? Or carefully wrapped in tissue to make the journey with me.

This is a time pregnant with possibility. What could be called a "liminal" period where I am crossing a threshold from interim ministry into my first settled position. This is really the continuation of a journey that I began some time ago. I have not experienced "a call to ministry" in the traditional sense. There was no voice that beckoned me to leave off from what I was doing to follow another path. I do not feel that I was selected as gifted from a crowd. There was no sudden revelation when "I knew" that I would be a minister. Instead, there was a process over the course of my life that led to my decision to become a parish minister. I applied to all of the major Unitarian Universalist seminaries and visited them one by one. By the time that I made it out to Berkeley, California, it was February of 1995. Starr King School for the Ministry has a rolling admissions policy, so I knew by then that I had been accepted. I entered the small building on the Northside of campus to check in. After watching an introductory video and asking some questions, there was time to spare before sitting in on an afternoon class.

I set out in the direction of the University of California campus to explore. I wandered over to the bell tower, known as the Campanile, that stands in the center of campus. I paid the admission for an elevator ride to the top. It was a clear day. From that vantage point, I could look out over much of Berkeley and see the Bay shimmering in the distance. Just then, the Campanile struck twelve noon. As you can imagine, when the largest bell tolls, the sound is powerful. I clasped my ears and leaning up against the stone, felt the ringing resonate through out my body. After the twelfth toll, the bells pealed into a lyrical strain of classical music. Tears welled up in my eyes. I knew then that I would go to Starr King. It meant moving far from my family, friends, job, and all that was familiar to me. I was crossing a threshold that would touch me to the very core of my being. This recognition was at once beautiful and terrifying.

Robert Fulghum, the author of the well-known book "Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten," was also a Starr King graduate and a UU minister. He has written another book that I recommend called "From Beginning to End-The Rituals of Our Lives." In it, he describes with a blend of humor and universal wisdom, the rituals both public and private that mark the passage of human life. One chapter is called simply, "Revival". He writes, "Between the first inhale at birth and the last exhale at death are all the little deaths and revivals. Some part of us is always dying." When I think of all the transitions involved in life, I know that each one has touched individuals in this community within this very year. Birth. Death. Change of job. Illness. The end of love. Miscarriage. Moving. Divorce. Graduation. Retirement.

Some of these transitions are very public events, in which we seek out the support of others to pull through. Along with each one however, there is a private element. Fulghum writes, "Likewise in the event of a miscarriage or an abortion; a possibility is dead. And there is no public or even private funeral. Sometimes only regret and nostalgia mark the passage. And the last rites are held in the solitude of one's most secret self---a service of mourning in the tabernacle of the soul."

He continues, "Nevertheless, most of us seem to be stubborn about surviving these lesser deaths, finding ways to get up off our knees and get on with it. We fight back---reach out to find new ways and new friends and new places and new reasons for scrambling on. Crossing these thresholds is a rite of passage. Revival is a lifelong ritual. Nothing about being human amazes me more than this capacity for revival. All our exits may become entrances."

And so, on this Sunday, the first day of October, we have entered into what is known as the Days of Awe. Friday at sundown marked the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Rosh Hashanah literally means the beginning or head of the year. In Judaism, this season is the most sacred. The observance of the High Holy Days is a time of spiritual reflection both in the synagogue and in the home.

It is said, "All are judged on Rosh Hashanah and the verdict is issued on Yom Kippur" (T. R. H. 1.13). Three books are open on Rosh Hashanah: one for the completely righteous, one for the completely wicked, and one for those falling somewhere in between. The first two books are sealed on Rosh Hashanah but the last is left open until Yom Kippur. In other words, the average person, like you and me, not completely wicked or completely righteous, has the possibility of repentance.

Unlike more Orthodox Jews, I do not believe in God as King and Judge. However, I do find the fundamental questions compelling. Reuven Hammer writes, "The High Holy Days teach us that what we do and what we are determine what we will make of our lives. True, much is out of our hands. We have only limited control over our health and over experiences we have that are caused by others, by accident, or by nature. But we must take responsibility for those things that we can determine: our own character, our own actions, and thus our own fate."

Today we can decide to make next year even better. According to the Jewish tradition, there are three things we can do to make next year even better than last year:

[Silence]

Now is the time to repay, to repair, to ask forgiveness. This is the time of year to reach out to those whom we may have slighted. To extend a hand of reconciliation. To apologize to anyone who may have been hurt by our words or actions. To revisit the essential factors of life through some soul searching.

The third mitzvah is TZEDAKAH, sharing. Sharing can take many forms, for example, acts of charity, working for social justice, honoring our family, sharing our time and our friendship. Remembering our fellow human beings with acts of kindness would surely make next year even better than the last.

As was enacted in this morning's story, the observance of the High Holy Days is announced by the blowing of the shofar. It sounds loud and clear calling people to the synagogue for worship. However, the shofar is also calling us to our better selves and to be in community. The sound shakes us to the core of our being like the bells tolling in the Campanile at once beautiful and terrifying.

The parable that Rachel read this morning reminds us that we can become lost wandering through the deep forest of life on our own. Others may not know the exact path either but through sharing our experiences and seeking together, the exploration becomes more rewarding. The forest was a fearful place when the man was traveling alone but "with his new companion he noticed the sun filtering through the leaves, the pleasant sound of a brook, and many wonders along the journey." This is the reason for religious community.

In that same spirit, please turn to #637, A Litany of Atonement, found in the back of your Hymnal. If you would respond with the refrain, "We forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love."