Every time we see the spider’s web, we are reminded of the ways we are connected: with each other and with all of life. Spider's web are symbols of the promises we make to acknowledge these connections. Unitarian Universalists make their seventh vow in honor of this interdependent web of life, without which we would not exist. The trees rustle in the wind to remind us of our promises, this promise we make simply by being born: that we belong to this web of life, and simply by belonging we have responsibilities.
Did you know that the shape of the web that a spider weaves is determined by their genetic code? A little bit amiss and you end up with a dramatically different web, one that has missing pieces, big holes in them. For us, we’re more likely to learn how to hold to our promises – to spin our webs of connection – through our family systems. And for most of us, we struggle to spin the perfect web. For many of us, we’re aware there’s a hole in the web, a hole in the centre of our beings, that is yawning open with yearning and a hope that maybe this and maybe this and maybe this and maybe this and reaching out for that and demanding those and spinning, spinning, spinning frantically to cover that hole and patch it repair it and make it better. And we teach these practices to our children. And we learn these practices from our parents, and our friends, and our televisions and computers and workplaces and bulk mail and radio. Because today, many people are constructing these kinds of frantic webs with big holes that seem nearly impossible to fix.
Except we do have hope, hope through our whole beings responding to the calling of this web of life.
There is work to be done: dramatically reducing carbon emissions, harvesting the plastic from our oceans, developing simpler lifestyles, shifting to renewable sustainable energy sources, shifting every aspect of our ways of life to support the greater life and health of the planet. So much earnestness required. So much labor: my inner critic almost cracks a smile at all the labor required. To make any long work possible, I find it necessary to make sure I'm connecting as much as possible with wonder and joy. Some of this comes in sharing the work, in sharing laughter and delighted discoveries, in the good effort and the work well down, in the community restoration that occurs as part of nurturing this interdependence. Even more of that spiritual renewal comes through truly reveling in the wonders of the day: sunlight or cloud formation, dragonflies and native bees, fragrant blossoms and pure water. Contemplating the marvelous interconnectedness of this life, how can we not pause in awe and, hearts overflowing with gratitude, rebuild this web in health and beauty?
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