| All Souls Quarterly Review | |||
| Vol. X, No. 1 | Winter 2004-2005 | ||
| |||
Good morning and welcome to All Souls. My name is Louise Brockett. My husband, Mark, and I first came to All Souls about a decade ago. Back then, we were a typical yuppie couple—two careers, no kids. It’s a good thing we’ve held on to the two careers, because since then we’ve added four kids: William, now 8, twins John and Thomas, who are 3, and Roger, 18 months old today. The helpful sheet I received about opening this service suggested I talk a bit about my journey to All Souls. So I’ll tell you a little about my journey today, an average Sunday. I got up, prepared 10 frozen waffles, wrestled 12 protesting limbs into their sleeves and pant legs, brushed 104 teeth (counting my own), applied mittens or gloves to 40 fingers (not counting my own), packed enough snacks to stock a trans-Atlantic flight, and led the whole assemblage through the streets to All Souls. Why? Why not stay at home and sleep the peaceful sleep of a Unitarian, untroubled by fears of excommunication or eternal damnation? Well, there’s the excellent religious education program. And then there’s the unparalleled pleasure of standing up and singing out to the music of Walter Klauss. But most important is this: Coming to All Souls is like coming home to a home I never really knew I had. My father’s family in Massachusetts was Unitarian for just about as long as Unitarianism has been around. But growing up, I went to church with my Congregational maternal grandmother, if I went at all. When I discovered All Souls, just before my father’s death, all of a sudden I began to understand my family, and my father, in a way I never had before. At All Souls, I find what my father, and his family before him, found at their church. I find a place where I don’t have to willingly suspend my disbelief upon entering the sanctuary. I find a place that not only allows, but also demands, the engagement of the mind as well as the heart. Sunday after Sunday, I find that the words spoken within these walls, by Forrest, and Galen, and Alison, prompt me to reflect in a new way, and with greater nuance, on what I have been thinking about all week outside of these walls. And so, whenever I get up on a chilly morning, assemble the troops, and lead them over the Alps to All Souls, I feel as though I’m leading them home. —Louise B. Brockett |
![[books icon]](./books.gif){kind=small}
Archives