I will never forget the moment. It was the third and final Wednesday Vespers for Peace and Justice service, crafted to support the UUFM community through the election. The previous vespers service, just the day after the election, had been essential for those who came, reeling from the news. But this third service: would it be useful, I asked myself? I prepared readings, Jeff prepared music. We arranged trays of tealight candles, the joys and sorrows water bowl and bell, and a vase of red flowers in the center of a semi-circle of about 15 chairs, not sure we’d need that many. Zoom attendees would complete the circle when their images were projected onto the wall. People filtered in, Doug started the music. More people came in and found seats. And now we were all here. Every single chair occupied. I threw away the readings I’d prepared and turned to the back of the hymnal. The moment called for something simple, something ancestral. And most of all, the moment called for silence. After a long sacred pause, it was time for people to come forward and light a candle, drop a stone in the water, pick up the mic and speak. One person spoke, others simply came forward with their silent gestures of connection. And then we paused again, for a blessed eternity. I read a final reading. Doug played the final music. And then we sat some more in silence. Everyone united, everyone breathing. No one looking around for cues. We were simply here, together.

I will never forget the moment because I will return regularly to it. I will re-member it, revisiting the memory until it becomes a part of who I am. I choose it as a touchstone, a touchstone of presence. On a dark November evening, I was not alone. I didn’t have to do anything in order to know that I mattered. We were present together, and it was more than enough.

Throughout this month of shortening days and lengthening silences, I invite you to look for and re-member your own touchstones of presence. Perhaps you will be walking outdoors, crunching through leaves under the leafless trees, and you’ll realize you are completely here, right now, with what is. Perhaps you will be making a cup of tea and you suddenly smell the fragrance, feel the texture of the kettle’s handle, and know you are not alone. Or perhaps presence for you is about being alone: the stillness of your home when no one is asking for or expecting anything, and you remember that you are enough.

Here at the Fellowship, an extra opportunity for presence is our annual Labyrinth, which we will be building after the service on the 15th. The labyrinth is an ancient technology for wandering inward toward truth and insight. Unlike mazes, they have a single path; you cannot get lost — but you can be found. Around the world, they are built with stones or landscaping, both indoors or out. We build ours by velcroing strings of sparkly lights to the floor. You can visit anytime 12-7pm Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays December 16-26. I encourage you to make a plan to visit – or just drop in. Bring a story of your experience of the labyrinth to the December 29th service, or just carry it silently with you into 2025.