Today we celebrate the ideal
of service—exemplified in the lives of Phil and Margaret Carspecken, as seen
through the eyes of their children: Kathleen, Chris, Randy, and Flip (Phil
III).
Fire of the Spirit,
life of the lives of creatures,
spiral of sanctity,
bond of all natures,
glow of charity,
lights of clarity,
taste of sweetness to the fallen,
Be with us and hear us.
Composer of all things,
joy in the glory,
strong honor,
be with us and hear us.
Hildegarde of Bingen (14th
century)
It’s
hard to separate growing up U-U (or Universalist, as we were called in those
days, in the 50s and 60s) from growing up in this very church. In a small town
with a large number of Catholics and Lutherans, I was subjected to taunts by
classmates in grade school and even in junior high, from friends who were sure
I was going to “go to hell” for my beliefs.
I must admit that in a rebellious sort of way, I was proud of this
dangerous path I was treading; after all, didn’t our father always urge us to
be “non-conformist?” He respected the
more thoughtful quest, rather than acceptance of irrefutable rules and
regulations. He and mom had chosen Universalism over mom’s Methodist and dad’s
rather eclectic Danish/agnostic background.
So, here we were, in a Sunday School that taught us about
other religions, and even gave us a
moment, in the 8th grade I think, when we could choose one to
practice ourselves, including UU. Some of the other teachings I remember from
Sunday school were the ‘Miracle of Life’—when we discussed snowflakes and how
there is not a single snowflake that bears the same pattern as another and the
reverence for life that Albert Schweitzer taught and practiced. (When my
adopted daughter, Daniela, who was brought up in the Jewish tradition by my
former partner, announced one day from the back seat of my car, “I don’t
believe in God,” I was astonished at how upset I was, given my liberal
religious upbringing! The first words out of my mouth were, “What about the
miracles?!” (also astonishing to me) “What
miracles!” she retorted, obviously enjoying my reaction. “Well, like snowflakes!” I answered, “the fact that
not one of them resembles another. And spring!
How miraculously every year buds appear, flowers return, the earth awakens.” I
was remembering my early UU training, as I often did, on camping trips with my
girls. Looking back now, I can see I was passing on my love of the outdoors—my
appreciation and love of the beauty of this earth.
Easter was big here, not as a day to celebrate
Christ rising from the dead, but as a celebration of spring: the church
overflowed with flowers and music, and we were all invited to take home our
first spring plant. I remember Brainerd Gibbons, Carleton Fisher, and Joe
Nerad, who cycled through as ministers while we were growing up. Carleton’s
family hosted a Kenyan student, Richard Ingilla, who was the only African
student or student of ANY color, for that matter, in my high school. Richard
and I became friends, feeling like relative outcasts in our peer group (and
having the bond of our church). We listened to classical music in my parents’
living room on Plato Street in the South End, and he and I once went to a
school dance together, apparently an outrageous act, though we were simply good
friends.
But what I remember the most about growing up in this
church was the church choir. Juliana and Maurice Nord brought new music and
pieces that Juliana had written, and the senior choir, which was always good,
became phenomenal under their direction. I was transfixed, looking up into the
choir loft, listening to the small group produce amazing sounds and remember
especially Joanna and Earl Kent. They filed into the loft in their blue robes
just after everyone was seated. Juliana, a rather shy, stately person, spoke
mightily when her fingers hit the organ keys. The blue-robed gods and goddesses
under Maurice’s graceful, swaying, full-bodied direction delivered joyful,
transporting moments to the assembled below.
So when we were asked to join the Universingers, the
children’s choir, I was daunted, having the senior choir as our role models,
but eager to try. Christine and I faithfully attended weekly rehearsals and
practiced difficult alto parts with music propped up on the kitchen windowsill
while doing the supper dishes. We had robes, too, only ours were a beautiful
red. And we did our best to come close to the intended outcome of the fairly
complex music that Maurice and Juliana introduced us to.
It was not all wonderful growing up UU. It was hard to
describe what we believed, as there seemed to be so much that we did NOT
believe: “We don’t believe in the Trinity; we don’t believe Christ was the son
of God—he was a very important teacher and historical leader, like Gandhi and
Buddha, but no more divine than you or I.” “We feel that man created God, not
the other way around.” I had one
amazingly intelligent and gentle friend in high school, a devout Catholic, who
argued with me for hours about my religion. I think he was worried about my
after-life. We sat next to each other at band or orchestra rehearsals every
morning. Finally, in exasperation, I said to him, “Stu, you are so intelligent!
How can you believe all this magical/mystical fol-de-rol that you always tell me about?!” He replied, very
seriously, “Kathy, I have to separate my religion from my life!”
I was dumbfounded. To me, our religion WAS our life, and
we lived it every day. From Margaret and Phil we learned kindness,
thoughtfulness, service, respect, love. We learned from dad to be awed and
humbled by the universe, the land and sky, creatures under our care. From mom
we learned to be considerate and fair and to think of others less fortunate
than us whom we could help out. She has a strong sense of duty towards her
fellow humans which she practiced more than she preached, in and outside of the
church. For years we picked up the elderly and quite depressed mother of one of
mom’s friends who had moved to the East coast. We brought Mrs. Deering out to
the house on Scout Road for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with our family.
Even though she rarely uttered a word and never
smiled, and even though Margaret was visibly discouraged sometimes, murmuring,
“I don’t know if she even wants to
come here…”, she didn’t give up on her.
Christmases
when our family was assembled out at the Ranch in Mosinee, there was always a
day for Meals on Wheels, and the grandchildren loved donning the Santa Claus
hats and trooping up the stairways of assisted living facilities. From both
parents we learned the value of life-long friendships, like ours with the
Reavils whose children also grew up in this church and who will always be a
second family to me.
There
are so many memories here, so many faces, now no longer with us: our parents
good friends Lois and George Johnson, Jo and
Bill Uber, Acton Reavil—all founders of the original Biking
Vikings—Barbie and Bob Geisel, Al Langlois.
---And
many others who are still active and involved in discussion groups, book group,
Sunday afternoon plays and movies—the potluck group. Eloise Reavil, Geri
Gunderson, the Petersons, Stevenses, Glenda Walker, Barb Seegert—Eberlines,
Buechlers, Williamses, McEachrons--many whose names I am forgetting, I’m sorry!
Dad
gave many sermons along the way; there were gaps in our ministerial leadership,
and members of the congregation bravely stepped in to conduct services while
searches for the next minister proceeded slowly. I thought dad made a great UU
minister: his gifts for storytelling, his deep reverence for life and nature,
and his phenomenal memory and ability to choose the perfect quotes to
illustrate his point make him an ideal candidate! Mom was on various committees,
and I remember the special mother-daughter and father-daughter banquets we had
upstairs in the big hall. The kitchen was bustling with preparations, and the
fragrance of Clara’s rolls was a special part of these suppers.
My
spouse Pam and I are UU’s out in Boston, and right now we are between churches.
The Boston area and its UU churches is kind of like Milwaukee and its bars:
there’s practically one on every corner! But we have moved relatively recently
to an area that has taken us too far from our beloved church in Arlington,
Massachusetts and it’s time to hunt for another. We miss the community, the
thoughtful sermons, and the music, and we intend this fall to discover a closer
church that suits us.
What
if Margaret and Phil had chosen differently? Who would I have become? Would I
have loved the earth as much? My adult life is a complex dance between
existential angst and pure joy, both of whose roots can be traced to my early
upbringing in this church. I am a rarity: a born and bred UU!
I
will always treasure being able to sing—as Pam and I often do—“For the Beauty
of the Earth” as we ascend a mountain trail together.
Christine Carspecken Le Page
Rebelling
against a Unitarian-Universalist upbringing is hard to do. In comparison,
children of Fundamentalists have it easy! But somehow the Carspecken
children, coming of age as they did in the 60’s, managed. Now that we are
ageing baby boomers, we can look back to see just how many of the principles
that have shaped our lives did indeed come from our roots in this church.
We
had wonderful Sunday School teachers. Bobby Geisel (who stands out in the
memory of this elementary art teacher) let us make volcanoes out of
papier-mâché, probably during a study of the now-controversial topic of
dinosaurs! Studying dinosaurs in Sunday School??? Why? Here is what
we were being taught: Nature IS miraculous. The more we learn about
it, the more miraculous it becomes.
Barney
and Jerry Viste led discussions of the Sophia Fahs text: The Church
across the Street. We visited several other churches in town, and I
still remember sitting next to Elaine Etzkin during a service at the Synagogue,
and sensing her delight that we were learning at least a tiny bit about her
religious tradition. As a result of this experience, this solid
conviction was instilled in me: “There are many paths to the same
goal.” The importance of developing a deep respect for other religious
traditions has possibly never been as crucial as it is today. When my daughter
was in 3rd grade, one of her friends said to us, “Every
religion thinks that they have the only right answer.” I was
thinking, “Wow, are there some Unitarians in Belleville?” Then, she said,
“But ours really does.” Well, I guess that’s human. We are
all tempted to feel that way…even Liberals.
During
my grade school years at Sunday School, we sang a song with the refrain, “God
is Love.” I remember thinking, “Is that all? “ No bearded figure
peering down through the holes in the dome of the sky covering the earth?
That’s what all my friends at school got to believe in, and all we had was
Love? So nebulous.
The
Universalist statement of purpose has changed many times over the years, as
noted by Julie Stoneberg during her Easter service on the history of the Unitarian-Universalist
Church in Wausau. (http://www.uuwausau.org/Easter.htm)
As we recited these evolving “non-creeds”, two phrases I remembered so clearly
from the late 50’s and 60’s jumped out at me: “The supreme worth of every
human personality…” “The authority of truth—known or to be known.”
I see these phrases as representing each of our parents, and describing the
importance of this liberal religion in their lives.
The
first phrase, “The supreme worth of every human personality,” I have chosen to
represent our mom, Margaret Carspecken. Margaret is a “people person” if
there ever was one. She has shown time after time that if you are in any
kind of need, she will NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU. I was delighted to see that
my sister Kathleen used these exact words when describing Mom. She has
always thought about the feelings and the situation of others, and has
consistently remembered, assisted, cheered up, visited, and otherwise supported
family, friends, and fellow church members. She could be listed in the
Guinness Book of World Records for the sheer number of birthday cards, get well
cards, holiday, and friendship cards sent to relatives, friends, and home-bound
church members. She was a natural-born chairman of the Care Committee for
many years, and still calls the hospital daily to find out if any UU members
are hospitalized and need support. Her pans of spinach lasagna and famous
“O Henry Bars” have been right there when needed by families in crisis, as well
as all kinds of church functions. I still remember the hundreds of carrot
sticks, crisped up in ice water, which Mom sent along to the meetings of the
Uniteens, to make sure we all got our Vitamin A. Margaret
Carspecken has a generous heart, and a sincere belief that all people really do
have supreme worth.
The second phrase, “The
authority of truth, known or to be known,” I have chosen to represent our Dad,
Phil Carspecken. Dad is a lover of learning. In fact, he has often
quoted his father, Phil Francis Carspecken senior, who did a little research on
the name they shared. He learned that “Phillip” means “Lover of
Horses.” So he concluded that “Phil” must mean just plain “Lover.”
I guess you could say that Dad is a lover of life in general.
Specifically: of his wife, his family, all of nature, music, sports, humor.
literature and writing, this UU Church. His sermons, which we proudly listened
to whenever he was called upon to fill an empty pulpit, were inspired by this
love of life and learning. He was SO delighted to find a church which
represented these dictionary definitions of the word liberal: “Having,
expressing, or following views or policies that favor the freedom of
individuals to act or express themselves in a manner of their own choosing;
tolerant of the ideas or behavior of others; tending to give freely;
generous.” He has given generously of his time as editor, and now
contributor to the Circuit Writer, using his love of ideas and writing in
service to this church.
The UU Church has been
extremely important for Mom and Dad and our whole family. The network of
caring and service-minded individuals who were and are a part of this
congregation is an integral part of our lives. The solid, life-long
friendship of the Carspecken and Reavill families began in this church.
The Biking Vikings also began here. This congregation promotes an active
life: physically, intellectually. Years ago, Dad was beginning to get
alarmed about Mom’s level of activity in the church when she announced that she
was going to join the Wolf Pack. His fears of her howling on full moon
nights never materialized. Instead, she became a member of a very
stimulating book club, many of whose selections make the rounds of the whole
family.
In this church, as in
so many other churches today, the spirit of service is translated into
action. In the 60’s this meant our minister marching in civil
rights demonstrations in the South. In the 70’s, I remember Gerry
Gunderson, Eloise and Acton Reavill, Rose Marie and Warren Stevens, and many
other church members wearing work gloves and sorting through gooey plastic and
glass bottles, crushing aluminum cans, and stacking up newspapers at one of the
first recycling centers before recycling was firmly established.
Supporting the local UN chapter, Habitat for Humanity fundraisers, supporting
the local food shelf, tutoring for Hmong adults and children represent just
some of the service work promoted in this congregation.
In the spring of 2004,
members of this church demonstrated such a spirit of service and caring when
they supported our family in so many ways during Dad’s open-heart
surgery. At the same time, Dolly Scott had also been hospitalized with a
hip fracture. Barb Seegert, Glenda, and Paul and other church members
were running between medical facilities! To be receiving such support
through phone calls, cards, hospital visits, food, and flowers was such a
firsthand experience of the strength of the caring network that is this
congregation. The service promoted and demonstrated by this church fills
out and begins to explain what a child might see as a nebulous, ungraspable
belief: “God is Love.”
As a boy my Sunday mornings
included the metallic creak of the oven door in our kitchen on Plato Street;
the hiss of gas as Mom dialed 375 degrees; the wumpphff of the burners firing up as she slid a pan of seasoned
chicken across the cold middle rack. Moments after the oven door slammed the
car doors banged closed and the six of us headed down Grand Avenue towards the
Universalist Unitarian Church with Dad ad the wheel.
There I would sit small in
one of the pews of the HUGE nave and study the mysterious figures and events of
the distant past depicted in the timeless stained glass windows and crane my
neck to look up up, way up at that distant single light at the very top of the
nave guessing how someone might change the bulb and when we stood to sing a
hymn I would wonder at those massive sets of organ pipes as the music boomed. I
have memories of exploring the parts of this church that perhaps some of you
have never visited. Beyond that forbidding fire door in the basement are a
series of rooms that go back and back, at least they do in memory, and of
course there are no lights and we delighted in frightening ourselves in that
darkness where our imaginations ran unfettered.
We made the mistake of
returning one day to those basement catacombs with a flashlight and finding a
concrete wall at the end of that last room which put an end to the mystery but
looking back now I see the sense of sacredness and wonderment that was nurtured
in this church and at home under the ceaseless care of my wonderful parents has
found no end. While that wonderment sparkles with mystery and paradox there are
certain lessons Phil and Margaret have imparted that are as concrete as that
basement wall and the respect of all life
stands as one of the greatest gifts I have received from my folks and this
church.
Many times growing up I would
accompany my parents to visit a person in need: a lonely shut-in or a sick
acquaintance. It was never convenient while raising four children and holding
down jobs to find time to do these kinds of things but my folks did them and
I’ll never forget their compassion. My parents, of course, are humble and quick
to point out the generosity of the members of this church and the everyday
compassion of people all over the globe. There are so many others, they will say, who have volunteered
like they have to make meals-on-wheels work; who make so many financial
contributions like they have to charitable organizations. There are so many
others, they will say, that have done
so much more than they have. And so their example continues.
Like all of us my parents
have no idea how far their acts of compassion spread, how their drops in this
global ocean of need radiate outward across the universe. In my own way I carry
their example passing on that sense of sacredness and compassion to students
and friends and acquaintances.
After church those childhood
Sunday’s we would return to a house filled with the smell of dinner and all was
right with the world and then in the afternoon we would again pile back into
the car, this time with one of our dogs and off we would go to hike the trails
on Rib Mountain or Camp Sturtevant where we would find more of the sacredness
of the this world.
To end these brief notes on
growing up in this church that has seen so many living examples of generous
spirits and growing up with two great people I am so lucky to be able to call
my parents, I offer my services as a guide to the lesser-known reaches beyond
that basement fire door. There will be no flashlights allowed however. You will
have to count on your imaginations to illumine the dark regions. But if you
have good guides that carry a faith in the fundamental goodness out there that
can be teased out of almost any situation using patience and empathy, you are
likely to have the adventure of a lifetime.
Being here today, to honor
Margaret and Phil and reflect on life in the Unitarian Church, unavoidably
brings up issues of time. Of all life’s
mysteries, time ranks among the greatest.
The last time I gave a little
talk in this church was during the late 1960s, when I joined a small group of
Unitarian teens to present a forum on biological technologies. “Cloning, and then designing human beings
will one day be within humanity’s technical reach” – we argued – “and the
moral, social and political implications of this should be given some thought
now.” Well, we were right on the mark
weren’t we? And what other church in
Wausau, particularly during the 1960s, would have welcomed a mixture of
scientific and secular-moral reasoning from a group of teenagers during one of
its Sunday services?
I still remember some aspects
of that Sunday morning vividly; the discomfort I felt with wearing a tie, the
counter-arguments that came to my mind when another teen on the panel took
issue with things I had just said, certainly the general nervousness I had over
the whole occasion of giving a talk in front of the Unitarian congregation, and
most definitely vivid in my memories is the presence of my two wonderful
parents in the audience – Phil and Margaret who were then in their late 40s and
early 50s, their kind and supportive eyes beaming encouragement as I stumbled
along in my presentation.
Now I am talking here again,
probably several years older than they were when I last spoke to members of
Wausau’s Unitarian Church.
What is the same and what is
different between this current moment and that moment of many decades ago? Time does indeed seem to be the most
intriguing of all mysteries. For me one
of the few things that could be said to be much the same is the presence of my
parents in this audience and in the very structures of my self. That encouraging, appreciative gaze they have
always had for me, and all that it stands for.
Time is marked in studies of the physical world by clocks – in our
life-stories time is marked by relationships, key events and love.
Finding myself a child of
Margaret and Phil has been one of these key events repeating with the
dependability of a clock’s hand or digital counter. It has served me as one structure of my
consciousness that brings me back to what remains the same in my being—a
reflection that brings strength unfailingly.
For we understand our selves only by taking the positions that others
provide for us. We internalize key
positions in our youngest years and make use of them in understanding ourselves
from then until the day we depart this existence. In the case of Margaret and
Phil this position is a refined one, an open and thoughtful and sensitive
one. It presents a view of life that has
wonder and heart to it. Margaret and
Phil raised all four of us in the very best of the Unitarian-Universalist
spirit. They each taught all four of us
humility, acceptance and appreciation of all diversity in our human family;, a
love of music, an orientation to serving others, and that difficult combination
of heart-felt compassion and intellectual freedom that seems to be a theme in
Unitarianism as well. I remember many
occasions in my youth in which my STUPENDOUS father gave an inspiring talk in
this church, and my INCREDIBLE mother skillfully organized one church activity
after another with meticulous attention to every detail.
Time! What is the same, and what is different? Time is both mysterious and fundamental. All languages have ways to indicate the Here,
the Now, and the Self. We cannot even
think a thought without presupposing these inter-related categories. So they are basic, simple, everywhere; and
yet we cannot reflective upon them without invoking wonder and awe. Alongside time we must include those illusive
interpersonal standards by which it is measured within the lifestory of a
person or a group. Love, respect,
admiration: the inter-being of human life that radiates with family as its
core. Phil and Margaret; we love you, we
admire you and today we honor you. You
have been pillars of this church and foundations to the lives of your children
in ways that are SO deeply good; in ways that are forever; in ways that will
never vanish in the flux of time but only ripen to bear more and more
fruit.
***
In closing, we sang a couple
of songs written in honor of Margaret and Phil:
“Circuit Writer writer” – sung to the tune Paperback Writer
[as if spoken by Phil]
Dear
Sir or Madam read my amblings please
It’s
been 40 years I’ve been writing these
I
pen as I ponder on the everyday
And
I’m grateful for a chance to be the UU Circuit Writer writer
I
wrote all these stories ‘bout the great outdoors
Where
my mind’s awakened and my spirit soars...
And
I write about words cuz they’re wondrous things
I
hope I’ve made a diff’rence with my musings as the Circuit Writer writer.
[as if written to Phil]
Hey
old man will ya read my bit
Its
just information it ain’t classic lit
But
I’d like to say it with some wit and style, you’ve been my inspiration,
now
I wanna be a Circuit Writer writer, Circuit Writer writer
From
your pen and paper flow such honest words
full
of subtle humor, daily joys and mirth.
And
I always read it, gotta get my Phil and his observations
Now
I wanna be a Circuit Writer writer, Circuit Writer writer
Nearly
forty years you’ve ambled ‘round with puns
Seeking
readers: elderly and little ones
Never
pointing to yourself, but to other stars
Tho
you’ll say we shouldn’t, it is time to thank our Circuit Writer writer, Circuit
Writer writer
Looking
back and forward with your keen insight
You’ve
gone from quill to email seems like overnight
It’s
been your steady job; we need your guidance still; teach us communication
So
we can all now be the Circuit Writer writers, Circuit Writer writers!
Margaret’s Song – sung
to the tune “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat Ivy”
Marg is smart/she does her part
She helps hold things together—
A no-nonsense, fun-loving friend
You can depend.
Marg is there to take good care—
If no one wants to do it,
She’ll help to see you through it
Yes, you depend
On Margaret
You can bet
With a smile she will
urge you onward.
She’s always there
And always fair
She’ll help any
project go forward.
We honor her/for all her care
And all the time she’s given
To move us along the way, every day.
Her energy, her sense of Right
Thoughtfulness and compassion
She’s with you all of the way,
So we say:
Your loyalty
Is a gift to see
Your persistence and
can-do spirit.
Will give us hope and
cheer to cope
And help us not to
fear it!
Oh, Marg is smart/she does her part
She helps hold things together—
A no-nonsense, fun-loving friend
On
this you can depend!