Dear friends,

I deeply regret that I cannot be with all of you this morning. I am writing this letter to all of you early this Sunday morning from my daughter’s house, where she has just given birth to my first granddaughter. Mother and baby are fine, but they need a little tending. I do hope that you all will forgive me for not leaving them today! We all expected Ruby to make her first entrance more than two weeks ago, but now that she is finally here it does seem well worth the wait.

I especially regret my absence this morning because of the tragic events of last weekend. As many of you already know, last Sunday in the UU church in Knoxville a gunman brutally attacked the congregation, leaving two people dead, six people injured, and a community forever scarred by this horrific act of violence. Our UU moderator, Gini Courter, has called on us all to come together this Sunday, wherever we are, to gather in sympathy and in strength, and to offer the blessing of solidarity with the Tennessee Valley UU Church. And now here are all of you are, gathered together in your sympathy, gathered together in your strength. May you all stand together this morning, stand together on the side of love.

I had planned to speak to you this morning about simplicity and freedom, and about a journey to Tibet. There were stories, stories about monasteries far off the beaten track, stories about the Chinese militia, and traveling with nuns. And there were photos, beautiful photos of landscapes and people, of nomads and nuns, of yaks and distant mountains. And of course there were hymns, and a responsive reading, and a quiet contemplation. That was the service that I had planned. That was the morning that I looked forward to sharing with all of you.

But life doesn’t always proceed according to plan. We plan a talk and a slideshow about a journey to Tibet, but instead there is only a letter. We plan and rehearse a children’s play, but instead a man comes with a gun. Sometimes life erupts like a volcano beneath our feet. Sometimes it explodes in unexpected ways. When our lives erupt and explode, how do we respond? What can we do?

In the first moments of last Sunday’s shooting, members of the church acted immediately to restrain the man with the gun. Witnesses later said that Greg McKendry, who lost his life to the gunman’s bullet, took the shot in order to deflect the gunman from shooting at anyone else. Such heroism is hard to imagine, here in the safety of a familiar sanctuary, and yet it is almost certainly what would happen if such a horror were to occur here. As you look around at familiar faces this morning, remember Knoxville. The friend sitting beside you could have been the one who leapt to action, the one who threw himself into danger to save everyone else. When our lives erupt and explode, ordinary people rise up and do extraordinary things. Among the seemingly ordinary people of this congregation beat the hearts and souls of unknown heroes. As you greet each other today, remember Knoxville, and recognize the spirit of Greg McKendry in the familiar faces all around you. Here too there are extraordinary heroes.

Last Monday evening, members of the Knoxville church, along with UU president Bill Sinkford and supporters from the surrounding community gathered in a service of healing at the church next door. Words of comfort and hope were spoken; simple rituals were performed. And then, at the end of the service, the children who had been beginning their performance of the play Annie when the gunman opened fire stepped forward to offer the song that they had not been able to sing the day before. They stood up in front of a grieving community to sing the song Tomorrow, a song of incredible, unbelievable, irrefutable hope:

The sun'll come out

Tomorrow

So ya gotta hang on

'Til tomorrow

Come what may

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

I love ya Tomorrow!

You're always

A day

A way!

As I write this, a tiny baby cries out in the next room. I take her into my arms, look into her tiny blue eyes, and am filled with the wonder of her miraculous existence. Seeing her I know intuitively that the hope of the children of Knoxville is not in vain, for they are our tomorrow. As you greet each other here today, on this Sunday morning, let us take the inspiration of the children of Knoxville deep into our hearts. May we too remember that beyond the grey of today awaits the sunshine of tomorrow. May we especially remember and invoke the healing power of loving community. May we celebrate the beloved community that stands together on the side of love, even in the face of hate. May we be inspired by the beloved community that gathers together to celebrate hope, even in times of sorrow. May we embody the powerful and transformative blessing of beloved community in a world that is desperate for just such a blessing.

Go in peace, beloved friends. Go in peace, but remember Knoxville, with all of its hope and heroism. May you and I meet on another path, in another tomorrow. And when we do, may we recognize each other for what we truly are, ordinary heroes in an extraordinary world.