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by Richard Wolf March 2, 2014 I’m here this morning to invite our consideration of an apophatic mystery we call “Time . I like Time, it’s one of the only things I’m been able to really count on. So far, anyway, Time seems to have been on my side. Maybe for you, too. Particularly, what about Time here at Sunday Service? How does our experience of Time here connect with yet remain distinct from our routine and home lives? How do experiences of Sunday Services pertain to each da

This talk was given as a segment of HUU’s Jan. 26, 2014 Sunday service about teachers. It followed reflections by educators David Lane on his work with JMU student teachers, and Mary Hahn on her years teaching in Rockingham County schools. I’m not a teacher. I have huge admiration for teachers, including my husband Robin, my son Eddie, and, as an education reporter, all those I met who keep helping young people learn while weathering SOL’s and all trends thrust upon them. I

By Noel Levan November 17, 2013. Many years ago I wrote with some regularity, in journals, poetically, and with a questioning that I now sometimes miss. I wrote, “Standing upon the threshold of knowing, the cosmos, has no floor. I thought at that time that I had a glimmer of understanding regarding how the world worked and what part I played in ˜the grand scheme of things’. I thought too that fathoming the cosmos was very like standing upon a threshold to a room that had n

by Rev. Emma Chattin October 10, 2013 Lighting the Chalice Reading The candle wick and the flame stand apart, each one from the other. And yet together, they become something more, burning together without burning up, a thing of lasting illumination, and a cradle of warmth in the chalice. May we, like the wick and flame, learn to unite our differences into something much more than we could ever be apart. First Reading Genesis 11: 1-9 Throughout the earth, people spoke th

by Elizabeth Ihle October 27, 2013 Readings: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his