Our church celebrates freedom of belief and welcomes individuals and families of all backgounds and faiths. Unitarian Universalism does not advocate a particular creed. We come together because of our shared commitment to values and to ways of living, not to religious dogma. See “What Is UU?” for more about the long history and tradition of Unitarian Universalism.
The Strafford Universalist Society is the second oldest in Vermont and fourth oldest in the nation. Though the society was dormant for several years in the 1980s and 1990s, we are now growing again, meeting in the “new” church built in 1833 in South Strafford.We hope you will join us.
April 6: Dayeinu:
It Would Have Been Enough
by Rev. Nancy J. Crumbine
Starting with a wonderful children's story by Oscar Wilde and her own poem, April, Nancy will reflect on the meaning of Passover with humor and song.
April 20: Next to the Yellow Forsythia
by Rev. Nancy J. Crumbine
Starting with The Velveteen Rabbit for the children's story, Nancy will weave images and stories of the resurrective power of nature into a fresh understanding of what redemption might mean on this Easter morning.
News from the Northern New England District
Northern New England District leaders have announced the decision to merge the staff with that of the other New England Districts for greater efficiency. Read more about the change at www.strafforduuchurch.org/NNEDBoardLetter.pdf.
Learn more about the Northern New England District of the UUA at www.nned.uua.org.
Messages from the Conference on Climate, Faith, and Our Children's Future
I was involved from early on in the planning for the "Children Faith Climate Conference." As we discussed the program it began to take on a life of its own. As we spread the word and began to ask folks to be speakers the program became more and more alive. In the end we hosted a symposium that was so very moving and inspirational that it has a heart of its own and will live on for a long time. The social justice side of climate change and the need for people of faith to step to the plate and take action is now. We must all move out of our own comfort zone and start to do and act for the good of all – particularly the generation of our kids and grandkids. The two days of the Symposium were emotionally draining for me. I have never in my 83 years fels so emotionally moved, inspired and motivated. Each speaker, each keynote wound me up even more. Two teenagers literally brought me to tears and brought the audience to their feet in a standing ovation, so powerful was their message. You and the World will be hearing more about the Symposium that was held in Strafford, Vt. in 2013. - Fred Wolfe
The Symposium was the most awe-inspiring gathering I have ever attended. The energy that was raised in our little town of Strafford was enormous, but, most importantly it is growing...it is traveling to the far reaches of our Planet. I am so glad I was there, continue to be there, and plan to be a part of the energy the rest of my life. - Lorry Wolfe
Please join us to continue the conversation and the work on this important issue by visiting www.faithclimateconference.org, and from there you can access the Facebook page from the conference. More photos, videos and other material from the conference will be posted as it becomes available.
Defacing the Enemy
A Special Service on August 4, the 68th Anniversary of the Bombing of Hiroshima
Led by Hilary Mullins, teacher, writer, and occasional UU preacher
Excerpts from “The Man I Killed” by Tim O’Brien, a short story from his well-known collection, The Things They Carried. As some of you may know, these are war stories from Vietnam, and they do get graphic. But we’re not going to get graphic this morning. It is not necessary to traumatize ourselves here in this space.
I am only going to read the story Tim O’Brien conceives of the life the man he killed might have led—that’s it.
"He lay face-up in the center of the trail, a slim, dead, almost dainty young man. He had bony legs, a narrow waist, long shapely fingers. His chest was sunken and poorly muscled—a scholar maybe. His wrists were the wrists of a child. He wore a black shirt, black pajama pants, a gray ammunition belt, a gold ring on the third finger of his right hand. His rubber sandals had been blown off. One lay beside him, the other a few meters up the trail.
(Click here to read more...)