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Rev. Gary Kowalski, who serves the Unitarian Universalist congregation of Burlington, Vermont, wrote in one of his sermons that if we come to a church with the mindset of consumers, seeking spiritual goods, we are likely to grow disappointed or disillusioned. By becoming shareholders, investors, and co-owners, we find depth and meaning in our experience of being a part of the community.

And yet, we also know that focusing only on productivity does not bring fulfillment either, but can lead us to feeling overworked, dried out, and bewildered as to where the spiritual juice is. We are not merely consumers, nor are we running a small business or a typical non-profit, although this endeavor may share some similarities with any of these things.

The church community is a different animal altogether, a peculiar one in that the vast majority of its work is undertaken by its members without financial compensation. It requires incalculable hours of work to sustain, and yet most of its labor is done for something other than money. It has a very different bottom line: the spiritual wholeness of human individuals and human society—what in the Judaic tradition is called Shalom, embodied peace and harmony.

The church is unique because of the many creative tensions that it holds, paradoxes that cannot really be resolved, and because of that, these paradoxes provide us with endless opportunities to learn about being in relationship, keeping the community alive and vital.

Spiritual work is often filled with paradox. One of the deep, perennial paradoxes we find in abundance in church is what John O'Donohue calls "the communion of the ordinary," the everyday stuff of sustaining the community that can, with a shift in breath and attention and intention, open a door to blessedness and sacredness, to tenderness and joy, to play and friendship, and to justice and peace.

If it were not for the possibility of finding communion, finding Shalom, in the midst of our nitty-gritty labors, I don't believe any church would survive through the centuries, and I feel sure this one would not have. It has survived many hard times by the power of duct tape, chewing gum (or their 18th and 19th century equivalents), and love.

I want to take us into a reverie of sorts, in which we recall our devoted ancestors in this congregation, and rediscover our communion with them, the breath that breathes through all the ages and generations of this church.

In his historical sketch,* the Rev. John Applebee writes that there was a church-raising in the west end of Roxbury in the spring of 1773. It's worth taking a moment to conjure, in our imaginations, the scene:

First, we might picture representatives of the congregation meeting for months in committee—perhaps by candle and firelight, envisioning, drafting, and undoubtedly debating the benefits and disadvantages of one plan or another, scratching on parchment with quill and ink a record of the discussion, raising the funds and acquiring the materials.

And then building the church—themselves—that is, the men and boys out there with tools that had been forged by the local smith, digging out the ground, laying the granite stones for the foundation, raising the frame of the building and slowly putting flesh on it, hammering timber harvested from the surrounding woodlands. Undoubtedly the women and girls assembled from their own kitchens and pantries a good, simple feast to sustain them in their work.

Now fast forward a hundred years or so…. One of my favorite books in our library is "Personal Recollections of the Second Church, Roxbury" by Charles Mackintosh. Published in 1901, it is a wonderful account of this parish's life amidst our 19th-century ancestors. A full half of the book is dedicated to describing the various members of the parish, their characters and idiosyncrasies, trades and livelihoods, their involvement with the church and their presence in the larger community, including at times humorous observations and anecdotes.

Here are a few such portraits:

Benjamin Billings: "A plain, honest man, industrious, prudent, public spirited, he and his worthy wife, Susanna Weld, were interested in all good things in their day, and always had words of encouragement for the young. Generous whenever want appeared, active in town and parish matters, they raised a family of splendid children who they taught to go and do likewise…. His business was tanning sheep and goat skins, making them into breeches, mittens and gloves, and dealing in wool."

John Dexter Colburn: "A walking encyclopedia, remembering people, places and things that happened in his boyhood and all through his long life…."

Ephraim M. Dudley: "A stickler for all the interests of the parish, Treasurer of it for 45 years, town treasurer for 18 years, and collector for 20 years."

Judson Chapin: "An old fashioned gentleman of the strictest integrity. It used to be said of him by his associates in town affairs that he could put more figures onto a sheet of paper than any man they ever knew. Although ever a busy man, he could spare time to go with a few of neighbors and have real jolly time, for Joe Billings would often hitch up his buck-skin tandem, and, with Mr. Chapin, Mr. Cowing and Theodore Parker, would drive to the Squantum, have a clam chowder, a nice ride, and return home in great cheer."

Abijah Draper: "A kind, sympathetic friend in sickness, a true friend in need. He did not have much of his own to give, but his purpose was always carried out by prompting those that did. He was a happy medium between those that had and those that had not, and in all charitable things was a faithful worker…."

Deacon Benjamin Farrington: "Seldom spoke, never smiled. At the same time the writer once heard Theo Parker say, 'The deacon is slow, but it will always pay to wait until he speaks.' He could be seen day after day, year in and year out, plodding along, his horse as moderate as himself, going to and from market. He was a good farmer…. Constant at church on Sundays, a good listener, and good citizen. In all his long life, he kept the old fashioned cue. It used to be said of him that he was so slow that a pair of Deacon Arnold's custom boots would last him seven years."

Aaron Weld: "A retired merchant, succeeded his father on the famous Weld Farm, exceedingly fond of his fine grasslands, horses, oxen, and cows. One of the most genial, sunny men when matters were to his liking, but woe unto those who encountered his wrath."

The cast of characters goes on and on, and one gains a sense of the interconnectedness of the community, its economics, its social bonds, its heart and spirit.

Unfortunately, Mr. Mackintosh ran out of steam when it came to describing the women of the parish, begging out by saying that he "would like to mention the many worthy ladies" and that they were "of the highest order of character" but that "space forbids giving any adequate account of them and their many virtues," and besides, he says, "the writer feels hardly equal to the task."

Whatever chauvinism we might read between those lines, we will have to use our imaginations to picture the female parallels of the men-their hard work and generosity, their various temperaments, strengths, and reputations, their unique areas of expertise. And while their influence and contributions to parish life may have been more behind the scenes and unrecorded, they were without a doubt its lifeblood.

These people are just a few of our forebears, the folks who thought the church worthy of their dedication. Through their daily living they unified the dimensions of home life, business and trade, church volunteerism, and community citizenship to give shape to the overall character of America and its democracy.

I hope that we can feel the threads that lace us together with our counterparts in the near and distant past, and recognize that we are a part of a great continuity, a beautiful unbroken tapestry woven of devotion and service.

When we sit in committee, raise and manage money, donate materials, when we bake a loaf of apple bread for coffee hour or bring a pot of homemade soup to a potluck, when we welcome visitors on a Sunday morning, clean the kitchen, paint the wainscoting in the Parish Hall, work with the children in Sunday School, read from the podium in worship, tend the gardens, spread wood chips in the playground, or design a policy that clarifies roles or expectations, when we bring a meal to a friend who is not well, give of our resources to those in need, take a stand on a civil issue, or provide a forum for a larger community event or discussion, when an energetic meeting spills out into the parking lot and we are still sharing ideas as we stand by our vehicles, when we share the news of one of our own who is struggling or celebrating, and consider how to walk helpfully beside them … in all these things and in so many more such endeavors, large and small, we share in a "communion of the ordinary" with our faithful and generous ancestors going back decade upon decade for 300 years, a visible and invisible host of faithful servants dedicated to the spirit and mission of this church.

Let's return for a moment to our opening words this morning by John O'Donohue, who was ever a seeker of the sacred within the earthiness of life. He writes:

For the sake of full disclosure, he actually wrote, "the eucharist of the ordinary," which I have for the sake of simplicity translated to "the communion of the ordinary." But in this phrase, he marries the sacred to the commonplace and creates a higher order of thought and a more integrated vision.

Communion, as symbolized ritually in the sharing of bread and wine, is a deeply sacred invitation to soulful meeting, connecting, sharing, and remembering. For those who partake in it, communion joins them not only to each other, but to all those not present, living and dead, who have ever enacted this ritual in the spirit of remembrance. It joins them as one great body and joins them all with their Sacred Ideal. It collapses all time and all similar moments and gestures into a timeless now where the holy becomes present in the simple, concrete gesture of passing bread and wine.

To enter into "a communion of the ordinary" is to discover that any common, everyday thing can become a window of remembrance, a doorway to sacred presence, opening us to the holiness in life. To enact "a communion of the ordinary" in the midst of our works of service to the church also links us to all those, living and dead, who have ever undertaken ordinary labors in a spirit of devotion and sacred service to this religious community. This remembrance of our ancestors transforms the apparently broken fragments of our life and work into an "eternal continuity that keeps us."

It is also perhaps startling to realize that we are the ancestors of future generations. Although it can feel as if the impact and import of our work is short-lived, and we may not see the fruits as fully as we might like, what we do now matters. We are sustaining something so that it can continue to exist and thrive for all who come later. Any disciplines we keep, any improvements we make, whether to the facility or in our practices as an organization, are not only for our benefit but contribute to the long-term vitality of this endeavor. And so, our "communion of the ordinary" includes all the devoted souls of the past, the present, and the future.

To close, I want to commend to you a history of this congregation that was written by our member Julie McVay. It is a beautiful synopsis of our 300-year arc, both simple and rich in its portrayal of the spirit of the church and its people.

Julie closes her portrait by quoting Katherine H. Andrews, who in 1926 quoted Mrs. B. M. Sparhawk's 1891 annual report. Katherine Andrews acknowledged that the words Mrs. Sparhawk wrote in 1891 remained just as true in 1926, and Julie writes that they remain true today. Here is the quote:

We have worked long and hard … and can but feel gratified with the result, but let us not feel that our work is finished. It has, in reality, just begun. During the year to come let each and all of us join in forwarding that true social sprit which is the essence of all Church life, and make these rooms, which are entrusted to us, truly a Church home."

May it be so.

Closing Words: by Alla Renée Bozarth (adapted)

* The reading is abridged from an article titled "The First Parish West Roxbury, An Historical Sketch," published in the West Roxbury Magazine in 1900, written by Rev. John H. Applebee, who was the minister of this congregation at that time. He traces the life of the parish from its earliest origins and sets its story within the larger local history that was unfolding during the 18th and 19th centuries. We pick up his sketch in the mid-1760's.…

For sixty-one years the people had gathered in the little meeting house on Walter Street. It had been [newly clapboarded], repaired and enlarged. But the time had come when it must be given up. It was not an easy thing to do, rude and comfortless as it was…. To the old folks whose thoughts went back to the early days of the parish, it must have been very dear. They knew with what cost of toil and sacrifice its walls had been reared. For many of them it had been the first church home in the bleak new world….

The project of a new meeting-house had probably been smoldering in a few enterprising brains for some time. It first finds expression in a vote of March l0th, 1766, "By the precinct, that when they shall think best to build a new meeting house they shall build it where the old one now stands, or on land adjoining it…." The matter thus broached was considered and reconsidered, voted and revoted upon…. So pass seven years. The people move slowly; but it matters little, just so that it be the people that move.

At last, on March 10th, 1773, it was voted "to pull the old meeting-house down and use as much of the same as will answer toward building a new meeting-house." A committee of fifteen was appointed to do the work. They did it with their own hands; and [so] in the early Spring there was [a] church raising at the west end of Roxbury….

This second meeting-house of the parish "was a square structure, which stood broadside to the road, and had no steeple. In 1821 it was … largely rebuilt." The pews were sold outright, to be transmitted by will from generation to generation, as was the custom of the time…. Some were set aside as "Poor pews;" and some, so says tradition, for slaves.

The people were not wealthy. The new meeting house was the production of their own labor for the most part. Whatever was to be done must be done by the hands of those who wished it.... On November 8th, 1773, it was voted "that those persons who have a mind to build stables on the backside of the meeting house have liberty to build." A committee of twenty-five [was appointed] to level the land about the meeting-house. No doubt the earth flew swiftly before the onslaught of their shovels. Again the precinct committee [was] instructed "to whitewash the meeting house, and partition part of the front gallery for the women to sit in."

Such was the building of the second meeting house of the old First Parish…. The life of the parish and the life of the nation went hand in hand together. The life of the nation was the life of the parish writ large….

Applebee writes at length about the participation of the parish members in the events of the Revolutionary War. Eventually he turns to the comings and goings of various ministers who served the parish in the decades following, including Theodore Parker beginning in 1837, and the significant events that stemmed from his ministry. Toward the end of the article, he turns to the building of our current home.)

Such are some of the memories that cluster around the old meeting-house. Small wonder that when, in 1890, it was so sadly scarred by fire, the people were loath to build a new house of worship elsewhere. Changed conditions, however, made it necessary, and within the year the third church of the First Parish was built on Corey Street, off Centre. On October 23, 1891, the Rev. Frank Wright Pratt was installed as minister.... He came at the crucial time of transfer from the old meeting house to the new. By his efforts the society grew in numbers and in strength….

The society so increased … that in the Spring of 1899 it was decided to build a fourth church on the corner of Centre and Corey streets. This church was dedicated on October 5, 1900, the present pastor having been installed on June 6, 1899.

Such is a brief sketch of the history of the First Parish, West Roxbury. Its past has been honorable; may its future be no less so.

Rev. John H. Applebee