Friday, December 25, 2015

CHRISTMAS DAY



Thank you, thank you.  Our Advent together--there will never be another quite like it.  What a gift for me, and I hope for you.

 

May the Christmas story that follows bless you as it has blessed me.

 

With love at Christmas and beyond....

Alice



And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.  (John testified to him and cried out, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.'") From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.  No one has ever seen God.  It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.        (John 1: 13-18)



Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there was a famous monastery which had fallen on very hard times.  Formerly, its many buildings were filled with young monks and its big church resounded with the singing of chant, but now it was deserted.  People no longer came there to be nourished by prayer.  A handful of old monks shuffled through the cloisters and praised their God with heavy hearts.

 

On the edge of the monastery woods, an old rabbi had built a little hut.  He would come there from time to time to fast and pray.  Rarely did anyone ever have conversation with him, but whenever he appeared, the word would be passed from monk to monk:  “The rabbi walks in the woods.”  And, for as long as he was there, the monks would feel sustained by his prayerful presence.

 

One day the abbot of the monastery decided to visit the rabbi and to open his heart to him.  And so, after the morning Eucharist, he set out through the woods.  As he approached the hut, the abbot saw the rabbi standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched in welcome.  It was as though he had been waiting there for some time.  The two embraced like long-lost brothers.  Then they stepped back and just stood there, smiling at one another.

 

After a while the rabbi motioned the abbot to enter.  In the middle of the room was a wooden table with the Scriptures open upon it.  They sat there together for a moment, in the presence of the Book….Then the rabbi spoke.  “You and your brothers are serving God with heavy hearts,” he said.  “You have come to ask a teaching of me.  I will give you a teaching, but you may only repeat it once.  After that, no one must ever say it aloud again.”  Then the rabbi looked straight at the abbot and said, “The Messiah is among you.”

 

For a while, all was silent.  Then the rabbi said, “It is time.”  The abbot left without a word and without ever looking back.

 

The next morning, the abbot called his monks together.  He told them he had received a teaching from “the rabbi who walks in the woods” and that this teaching was never again to be spoken aloud.  Then he looked at each of his brothers and said, “the rabbi said that the Messiah is among us.”

 

The monks were astonished by this saying.  “How are we to understand this?” they asked themselves.  “Is Brother John the Messiah?  Or Father Matthew?  Or Brother Thomas?  Am I the Messiah?  What can this teaching mean?”  They were all deeply puzzled.  But no one ever mentioned it again.

 

As time went by, the monks began to treat one another with a very special reverence, for they knew that the Messiah was among them.  There was a gentle, wholehearted, peaceful quality about them now which was hard to describe but easily noticed.  Occasional visitors found themselves deeply moved by the life of these monks.  And before long, people were coming to be nourished by the prayer life of the monks and young men were asking, once again, to become part of the community.

 

In those days, the rabbi no longer walked in the woods, nor among the living.  His hut had fallen into ruins.  But somehow or other, the old monks who had taken his teaching to heart still felt sustained by his prayerful presence.  

 

And they all lived peacefully ever after. 


(Story adapted from New Catholic World  #222, 1979,  P. 53)



Watching and waiting:  the themes of Advent.  But with the coming of Christmas our long wait is ended, and we celebrate the arrival of the Messiah among us, once again.

The gospel lesson above is the nativity story of John, though there are no angels, no shepherds, no stars or kings.  Simply “The Word became flesh and lived among us.”  


But Jesus’ physical birth is not the end of the story; it is the beginning.  It’s what happens after Jesus arrives that matters the most.  In the same way, in the monks’ story, it is not the information which the rabbi shares which matters the most; it is the way the monks react to the information.

The Messiah comes among us in so many ways:  in the bread and the wine, through the Holy Spirit, in the lives and presence of others—and deep within each of us.   The Kingdom of God is within and all around.  


The Christ light shines within and all around.  We are the light-bearers, and we determine whether it will burn dimly and fitfully, or clear and strong.  For through this light, as John tells us, the world is enlightened. 

“The Messiah is among you,” taught the wise old rabbi.  And the Messiah is among us still.  


AM 



 

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Advent 26: 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE....



This brief journal entry is from one of my favorite books: 

Word from Wormingford, by Ronald Blythe


We are beckoned into the life of an English country clergyman.  Please join me.  We can be back in time for evening service Stateside.


Christmas Eve.

A small gift for the postmen--they have a rota--on whose endless kindnesses the logistics of this remote farmhouse turn.

My towering holly hedge is snowily tipped with old man's beard but the lower boughs are a glowing mass of orange and dark green fruit and foliage.  Blackbirds hustle out as I cut branches to hang over the pictures and fireplace.

A ten-thirty 'midnight' at Mount Bures in order that the vicar and myself can get to an actual midnight at Wormingford.  We speed through the black lanes.  Among the new arts of being multi-beneficial is that of appearing to have all the time in the world when one has another church full of communicants three miles and one hour away.  Most particularly at the midnight.  And Mount Bures, such a sacred little temple on its military height, doesn't make this easy.  It is a church to dream in.  Brian plays the organ which commemorates the passing of Queen Victoria.   A starved-looking John the Baptist, the parish's patronal saint, looks down at the Eucharist.  Night has rubbed out the window-pictures.  Joyce's new candles waver in ancient draughts.  I read the Epistle and John 'In the beginning was the Word....'  After the service we stand saying happy-Christmases at the door as though we have all the time in creation.

Then a scamper down Old Barn Hill, past cottages flickering with television, up Sandy Hill, by the Crown and down to St. Andrew's where, mercifully, the only restiveness is in the belfry.  And now, of course, the art of showing no sign that we have said and done all these great things a few minutes before.

It is nearly two in the morning when Gordon drives me home where, now wide awake, I have a whisky and a read.  Lights in the valley go out one by one as the congregation sleeps.

At Little Horkesley matins--crowds of families and famous singing--I preach on time and timelessness, the temporal and the eternal.  I ask the children:

And is it true?  And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?

They think about it.

    







Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Advent 24: STORIES



It's a season of stories.


There's the story of Rudolph and of Frosty; there's 'Twas The Night Before Christmas and The Polar Express; and of course there's White Christmas as well as A Christmas Story and inevitably there's National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  Not to mention A Christmas Carol, and The Nutcracker, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street.  Just for starters.

These stories are wonderful, offering messages that fit quite nicely under the rubric of "Love thy neighbor" and "do unto others."   They are fun and they are entertaining and they are very often inspiring.  (literally meaning "embodying the Spirit.")

The best of them offers that mystical component that transforms something from earthly common sense into heavenly bliss; what people of faith call Divine Presence.

 

The Real Deal


Even so, the "true meaning of Christmas"--which these stories often refer to as if they have it all figured out--is more than "wouldn't it be nice if everybody was nice" as Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault points out in her book The Wisdom Jesus.  (Although actually that would be nice; a starting point, anyhow.)

For most Christians, the phrase "Christmas stories" refers to what theologians rather pretentiously call "the birth narratives."

There's Matthew's version (chapters 1 and 2), told with Joseph in the foreground as the primary mover and shaker, King Herod's minions raging around the countryside, and the wise men tracking the star.  Action-packed and male-centric.

And there's Luke's version (chapters 1 and 2), probably better known than Matthew's, thanks in no small part to Linus's monologue in A Charlie Brown Christmas.  Luke's story is more of a musical featuring five songs: the opening line of The Rosary, plus the Magnificat, the Benedictus, the Gloria, and the Nunc Dimittas.  Mary is center stage, the holy family journeys to Bethlehem to pay their taxes, and the shepherds keep watch over their flocks by night.  No wise men in attendance and no star glittering above.

John's gospel offers a very different but very lovely nativity story; in some ways it is my favorite:

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
(John 1:9)

In their book, The First Christmas, Jesus scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan compare Matthew's and Luke's versions of Jesus' nativity, and reach several conclusions.  


* The stories are far more alike than they are different. 

* The stories are penned with the definite intention of demonstrating that Jesus' divine conception is more significant in every way than that of the so-called "divine Augustus" himself. 

* Most importantly, Borg and Crossan conclude that:

...claims of divine conception (mean) that 

  this child has brought or will bring extraordinary or transcendental benefits to the human race.  

 

And therefore, the proper question is not about the biology of the mother, (is she a virgin or not) but about the destiny of the child.  

 

What is that destiny and, once you know it, are you willing to commit your life to it?

  To Caesar the Augustus, for example, or to Jesus the Christ? 

                          

 

Your Story; My Story; Our Story


The true meaning of Christmas is something that will never be named in even the most moving of secular dramas, for it is 

the well-coming of God among us; 

our God who has come before--
our God who is here with us now--
our God who will come more fully and more completely--

let us make space within for the divine arrival.


The Advent mystery is
 the beginning of the end 
of all in us 
that is not yet Christ.
Thomas Merton   1915-1968






Monday, December 21, 2015

Advent 23: SHORTCUTS


Pre-stuffed stockings.  Really?  Has it come to this?


Apparently it has.

It has been an interesting and informative Advent in lots of ways.  


Because of this blog--what am I going to write about?--I've been listening more carefully and paying much closer attention to what's going on around me.  Which of course is a very good thing--mostly.

It's amazing what you can pick up from odd conversations, overheard in a coffee shop or on a TV talk show, or over lunch with friends.

Here are the Top Ten Tips I've gleaned for managing the holidays gracefully--shortcuts to a streamlined holiday season.   See what works best for you.


1.  Do all your shopping before Thanksgiving; there's more selection and fewer crowds.

2.  Take advantage of Black Friday and Cyber Monday.  The prices are amazing.  (Isn't there some new Green Thing that's recently been added?  Maybe you want to check that out, too.)

3. Alternatively, avoid Black Friday and Cyber Monday and that Green Thing like the plague:  the prices only seem low because they're over-inflated in the first place; plus, people have actually been injured just trying to walk into those stores.  At dawn.  After camping out for three days.

4.  Do all your shopping online:  it's quick and easy and they'll wrap and ship for you.

5.  Never shop online:  it's always best to see an item "in the flesh" so to speak--and it's a real pain if somebody needs to exchange something.  Plus you save the shipping costs.

6.  Wrap your gifts the minute you get them in the house if humanly possible; this saves oodles of time toward the end when every second counts.

7.  Pre-stuff each stocking as you go; only then will you know when to stop shopping to be sure you haven't overbought.

8.  NEVER pre-stuff the turkey.  Again, people have been injured.  Well, gotten really sick.

9.  As you decorate your house, go slowly, add a few things each day; stop immediately when it starts to feel "done"; then leave the rest in the attic till next year; or the year after; or forever.

10.  Be sure to pick up a few spare boxes of good chocolates because you KNOW you will get stuck without a gift for somebody who pops up with something for you.  This strategy can keep you from being embarrassed and, more importantly, from hurting someone's feelings.  Plus, if that scenario doesn't actually happen, you can still eat the chocolates.


Great stuff, right?  At least some of it.  Okay, maybe only tiny bits of it.

But nevertheless....

None of us can argue with the need for some common sense help at this season. 

 

Actually, spiritual sense is what's needed most of all, because with all the hype going on around us, Christmas can easily become more like an addiction than a celebration. 


As an antidote, here are my own favorite Two Tips for Managing the Season with GRACE--grace being used in the fullest sense of the word. 


1.  Set your cell phone's timer to go off four times each day.

Morning
Midday
Early Evening
Bedtime

And each time it goes off, stop what you're doing--just for 45 seconds, that's all the psychologists say it takes to completely reset and redirect yourself--and offer thanks for something, or say a prayer for someone, or just look around you with eyes wide open and love in your heart.

2.  If you are one of those people who doesn't carry a cell phone, there is a simple alternative.  Wherever we go, there are people saying, "Jesus!" or "Jesus Christ!" because they are surprised, annoyed, or upset in some way.  When you hear the Name, use it as a cue: say a silent blessing or prayer or thanksgiving for that person.  And for anybody else who needs it.  You'll be surprised and a little shocked at how much this increases your prayer time....

Not sure what to say?

How about God bless us every one?  That would work nicely and is quite within the Spirit of the Season!   (Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol)


For some things there simply are no shortcuts--

like having a baby, 
developing a friendship, 
or waiting for seeds to sprout.


And at the end of the day, here's what crucial to remember:


Some things, like Christ, are well worth waiting for.






Sunday, December 20, 2015

Advent 22: A SABBATH BLESSING



A SABBATH BLESSING

 

FOR THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT







May God,


who sent his angels to proclaim the glad news of the Savior’s birth,


  fill you with joy and make you heralds of the Gospel!




God bless and keep you now and always. 



Saturday, December 19, 2015

Advent 25: AND NOW WHAT?


The only problem with anticipation is, what do you do when the thing you've been anticipating comes to an end?  


What do you do when the Big Day has come and gone?  What then?  With Christmas only a couple of days away, it's worth considering.

We all know the stories about how people get depressed every year after Christmas because they suddenly feel like there's really nothing to look forward to.   

And it's actually quite easy to understand how this could happen. After all, for weeks we have all thought and talked and planned and acted with one central focus in mind: the holiday celebration.  It seems natural, even inevitable, that a sense of letdown might follow such an outpouring of energy.

(Well, unless you're one of those people who is so absolutely sick and tired of the whole holiday season by now that frankly you can't wait to pack it all in and get back to normal.  If that's you, you may want to skip the rest of this post, since obviously you need no coping mechanisms for post-Christmas blues.  And there's the silver lining you've been looking for!)

For the rest of us, though, the ones who come crashing back to earth and find the return to the mundane somewhat jarring--and maybe on top of it we have a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)--not to worry, nil desperandum....


Remember those signs that say "Today is the beginning of the rest of your life"?  Well, they're absolutely right.

After all, Advent is merely a human-made construct intended to help us focus INTENSELY, during these few weeks, on what we actually should be focusing on ALL the time:  living our lives more thoughtfully and with more awareness in the presence of God.  For Christians, this means opening our hearts to God in Christ at Christmastime--and then practicing that openness through all the days of the year. 

Advent is meant to help us start up our engines if they've been idling. Or to tune up our engines if they need it.  But it is definitely not a season that says once you've got everything up and running smoothly it's okay to shut it down. Quite the opposite. 


Here's the good news:  Life is a never ending process.

Here's the bad news:  Life is a never ending process.


Our life-long learning never ends, it just begins again in another form.  Like a circle.  Or a spiral. 

And that's a comforting and even exciting thought.


In the middle of winter I discovered in myself an invincible summer.  
~  Albert Camus


From the day we arrive on the planet 
And blinking, step into the sun 
There's more to see than can ever be seen 
More to do than can ever be done 

It's the Circle of Life....
~The Lion King






 








Advent 21: SAVOURIES

A savoury is the final course of a traditional British formal meal, following the sweet pudding or dessert course. 


I've never partaken of a formal British meal, except vicariously through Upstairs, Downstairs, Downton Abbey and the like.  Tom and I did eat at Simpson's in the Strand once, the famous carvory in London, but that's more about show than it is about following all the courses of an actual traditional meal.

The British term for dessert, which is "pudding," delights me.  I'm not sure why, but probably just because I'm such an anglophile.

Apparently, back in the day, the English upper crust ate desserts (haha, the upper crust ate desserts, get it?) that were international in scope: mousse, pastries, fancy cakes, etc.  The poor folk, though, were confined to cheaper desserts, such as rice pudding or Spotted Dick.  (Another term that delights me. I will never forget sitting in a pub in Stratford-upon-Avon with two of my sons, and looking at their crimson faces just after the waitress had offered them Spotted Dick for dessert.  Suet pudding with dried fruit, by the way.)  Anyway, eventually the word pudding became synonymous with dessert.

The thing about desserts is, sometimes the raging sweet tooth is more titillated than satisfied by the sweet course.  And thus the savoury course was born.   

Escoffier, the legendary 19th-century French chef who invented veal stock, felt sure that a savoury fifth taste was the secret of his success, but everyone was too busy gorging on his food to take much notice of his theories. 
~Amy Fleming, The Guardian

A few salty bites of something--cheese, nuts, anchovies on toast if you're a Brit--with, say, a glass of port--these are supposed to soothe the taste buds, leaving you to push back from the table and walk away satiated; assuming you can still walk.

Maybe that theory is why we Americans like the darker taste of tea or coffee with dessert?
 

This season of the year is a lot like a big feast.  


I started musing about Advent as a banquet because a good friend of mine recently commented that I was always so busy, so productive, but she wished I could just stop and savor all that I did more often.  A very insightful comment.

During this overly busy time of year, I hope each of us can find ways to add a "savoury" to our feast. 

A time to sit back, enjoy, and be at peace with all the world.

 

My brother, Jesus.
It happens every year.
I think that this will be the year that I have a reflective Advent....
All around me are the signs rushing me to Christmas
and some kind of celebration that equates spending with love.
I need your help.
I want to slow my world down....
I need Advent, these weeks of reflection....
Help me to feel it in my heart....

  ~Taken from a prayer from Creighton University's Online Ministries

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Advent 20: EXPECTATIONS--OR OTHERWISE



Expectation is one of those important Advent words.


Jesus encourages us, over and over, to live in the present thoughtfully and well; for in doing so we are preparing for the future.     

Then he told them a parable:  

"The land of a rich man produced abundantly.  
And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?'
  Then he said, 'I will do this:  I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, 
and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 
 And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; 
relax, eat, drink, be merry.'  

But God said to him, 'You fool!  This very night your life is being demanded of you.  
And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?'  

So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God."
(Luke 12: 17-21)


Isn't that a great phrase, "Rich toward God?"

During Advent we try to focus on being "rich toward God;" living more deeply in the presence of God-with-us, even as we wait in expectation of God-soon-to-come-among-us.

Of course, expectation can also be a tricky word.


Because expectations get confounded.  Real wisdom, I suppose, includes an understanding of that.

My nephew Andy, who is a man of few words, likes everything organized in a certain way.  Routine is very important to him; crucial, even, since he has autism.  And inevitably, despite the best-laid plans, sometimes things get changed.  Andy knows this, and when upheaval happens he has the perfect, succinct response:   

"Unexpected."

My sisters and I have borrowed Andy's one word response for our own lexicon, and I can't speak for them, but I find uses for it constantly.  Amazing how it takes the sting out of an unwelcome surprise when you can just pause for a minute, consider what's happened, then maybe chuckle a bit and firmly label it "Unexpected!"  

Brilliant.  Thanks, Andy.


Whether you are focusing on your expectations of Christmas and all that that includes--

or whether you are dealing with the unexpected--


ONLY 7 MORE DAYS!



   







 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Advent 19: FOOD FOR THOUGHT



You are what you eat.


That cannot be true, because if it were I would be at least 20% a walking, chocolate-dipped potato chip.

My eating habits are what I call "flexitarian."  Theoretically that means I use sensible discretion around my food, and don't feel enslaved to any one particular diet.  Well.  Sometimes.

I became a vegetarian a decade ago, during one bright and shiny Lent. That was when I decided to educate myself about the meat industry in America, and what I found ensured that, when Lent ended, my vegetarianism remained.

These days we all have our own personal food fads, and it's gotten more and more complicated as more and more "scientific" results have been reported.  Should we eat eggs?  Dare we touch butter?  Would an oatmeal breakfast definitely be best each day?  NINE daily servings of fruits and vegetables?  Wow.

And what, you wonder, has this got to do with Advent?

 

It's possible to have too many choices.  


For example, I never shop at Home Depot if I can help it (sorry, I know it's a wonderful place in many ways) but I find ALL THOSE CHOICES entirely overwhelming.  Just walking in the door starts me thinking in capital letters. 

Ironically, we are barraged with constant extra choices during this season of Supposed Simplicity. 

There's the what to eat choice.  Everybody's pushing a different diet, so that we don't pack on the pounds during the holidays.   What will it be?  Paleo?  Mediterranian? Vegetarian?  Low carb?  

And there's the what to wear choice.  Tom and I went to a Christmas party last weekend, and I tried on three different outfits before I was satisfied--and I don't even have that many clothes.  I remember thinking, If I limited myself to one little black dress things would be simpler.

Even gift giving, that lovely Symbol of the Season, can be fraught with peril.  Should you make a donation for the people on your list who need absolutely nothing?  Or do you make them something with your own fair hands?  Maybe give them a gift card so they can choose for themselves?  But gift cards are so cold, how about something warm like a sweater?  But what size?  Some people make a Christmas list.  Others prefer surprises.   

And on it goes.  

No wonder there are twelve Stress Points for "Christmas Approaching." 


SIMPLIFYING

  
I take hope from Michael Pollan, a New York Times writer, who has waded through all the conflicting data on food and come up with Three Simple Guidelines around eating.

Eat food.  (As opposed to what he hilariously refers to as “foodlike substances.”)

Not too much.  (Portion control is crucial.)

Mostly plants.  (Use meat as an occasional side dish rather than the centerpiece.)

 

Perhaps we could do the same thing for many of our seasonal choices.


That famous scripture quotation "moderation in all things" is actually not from scripture.  But St. Paul has some sage advice on the topic:


All things are lawful for me; but not all things are helpful.  
All things are lawful for me; but I will become enslaved to nothing.
(1 Corinthians 6:12)


When we are preoccupied with worrying about what we eat or what we drink or what we wear (as a famous man once said--thank you, Jesus) then that is a form of slavery.


This year can be different.  If we make it so. 




'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,


And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.


When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed,


To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right

                                                                      
                                                  ~Elder Joseph Brackett, Shaker, 1848

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Advent 18: CHANGE IS IN THE AIR

 

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

                                                                           ~Psalm 139:14


That scripture snippet is from my friend Judy's favorite psalm:  Psalm 139.  


I've been thinking a lot about Judy lately.  She recently moved to Texas, and although it's been a long time since I moved myself, I well remember how unnerving it was.  New house and new neighbors, new job in a new state, new doctors, and a whole new landscape.  

Maybe Judy and I were chatting about all the anxiety-producing changes in her life last night in my dreams, I don't really recall, but I do know that when I woke up this morning a little excerpt from her favorite psalm was running continuously through my head, but slightly adapted.   I am fearfully and wonderfully made had morphed into:

I am fearfully and wonderfully changing....

 

FEARFULLY changing.   FEARFUL change.  Honestly, is there any other kind?


All over the planet people are changing. They are born and they die, they get married and divorced, they suffer and they celebrate.  Nothing and no one stands still.  Our very cells are constantly dying off and being replaced; someone once told me that every three years our bodies are entirely new.  We are built from the ground up for movement and change.  

Yet change--even welcome change--can cause stress.  

Social scientists have compiled long lists of the most common and most stressful life events that affect us.  Nothing but a long list of changes. Things like death and birth and marriage and divorce and moving and new jobs. Each "stresser" has a number assigned to it, and when you add your numbers up, if your stress total is too high, the experts claim you can expect depression to come calling, at the very least.  (Did you realize that just the anticipation of Christmas coming is worth twelve stress points?  There's a sad view of Advent!)

But here's the good news:  our stress decreases when our attitude toward change is one of acceptance.  

 

WONDERFULLY Changing.  WONDERFUL Change.  Why not? 

 
I am the handmaiden of the Lord.  
Let it be unto me according to your word.
~(Luke 1: 38)

Has anyone ever had better reason to be fearful than the young maiden who had to explain to her fiancee and family that she was pregnant by the Holy Spirit?  What a story. 

Mary's song of praise, The Magnificat, is a hymn of empowerment sung in acknowledgement that her change in status demonstrates for all the world the power of her God.


Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me, 
and holy is his name.
~(Luke 1:48, 49)


Above all, beyond all, Mary finds the hand of God at work in all things.  Even change.

We are invited to do the same.

Advent:  Embrace the Wonder.  Accept the Fear.  

 

God is at hand.








Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Advent 17: WHAT CAN I GIVE HIM?


THE ECONOMY OF CHRIST

 

Then, opening their treasure chests, 
they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
(Luke 2:11b)


A Familiar Stranger

I saw a stranger today.

I put food for him
in the eating-place
And drink 
in the drinking-place
And music 
in the listening-place.

In the Holy name 
of the Trinity
He blessed myself
and my family.

And the lark said in her warble
Often, often, often 
Goes Christ
in the stranger's guise.
O, oft and oft and oft 
Goes Christ 
in the stranger's guise.

Please consider matching the cost 
of the most expensive Christmas gift you are giving
with a donation to your favorite cause or charity.



 

Monday, December 14, 2015

Advent 16: REMEMBERING


Whenever you do this, remember me. 

Thank you to Dede Fitch, member of St. Timothy's and of Anam Cara, for allowing us to share in her prayerful remembering of our children.  May we never forget.   Pray for peace.  AM


 

As Long As I Remember


I was sitting in church on a weekday morning late in January, trying to remember a name that started with P. I had memorized 20 names—the names of the Sandy Hook Elementary School children who had died in December—but that morning I could only think of 19. I knew the name started with P, because I knew there were four P’s, and I’d thought of three of them. I’d remembered the two B’s—Charlotte Bacon and Daniel Barden; the three H’s—Dylan Hockley, Catherine Hubbard, and Madeline Hsu; and the two M’s—James Mattiolo and Grace McDonnell. I’d thought of the two R’s—Rekos and Richman, and the two W’s—Wheeler and Wyatt. I had remembered all the singletons as well—the E for Engel, G for Gay, K for Kowalski, L for Lewis, and the hyphenated one—Marquez-Green. But I only had three of the P’s: Pinto, Pozner, and Previdi. I’d forgotten one.

No one told me I had to memorize the names. I just wanted to. After the shootings, the words “Remember the children” were everywhere, and during that first week we did remember them. We held prayer vigils, we lit candles, we rang church bells.

But when the week was over, I didn’t feel that we’d done enough. I was angry, and our expressions of sorrow did nothing to diminish the anger I felt at yet another senseless act of carnage. Had we learned nothing from Columbine, from Virginia Tech, from Tucson, and Aurora? After each mass shooting, we staggered through shock and sorrow for a week or two—and then we went on with our lives, until it happened again.

Something had to be different this time, at least for me. And during the sad days that followed the shootings, I gradually realized what it was. The idea percolated up closer to the surface each time I saw a list of the children’s names or a montage of their faces on TV, until I realized that my mission was in that simple command: Remember the children.

That’s what would be different this time; this time I would remember. I would remember the children—every one of them. I would learn their names and their faces, along with the names of their brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. I would look squarely at this tragedy and learn all there was to know of its human cost.

My friends with children couldn’t bear to pore over the details this way. It took them too close to their own worst nightmares. But I could do it. With no children of my own to protect and reassure, I could make these 20 children my children. I could get to know them, and then after the news cycle moved on and the sorrowful chatter on Facebook subsided, I would remember.

I chose an evening late in December, after the funerals were over, to review all the pictures and obituaries and news stories, and then commit the facts to memory. Dylan Hockley was autistic. Jessica Rekos loved horses. Caroline Previdi took ballet. Chase Kowalski was missing his two front teeth.

Memorizing is easy for me, so it didn’t take long, and as I studied the stories, I recognized the children I would have wanted as my friends as a first-grader. Catherine Hubbard shared my love of animals—and I would have idolized her for her red hair and freckles. Ana Marquez-Greene had a parent who was a musician, as I did, and she loved to sing. Allison Wyatt liked math.

I noticed others I had less in common with. Grace McDonnell would probably have invited me to her birthday party (because she probably would have invited everyone), but I doubt we would have been friends. We had different priorities. I was a tomboy, while Grace was all girl. Jack Pinto, the talented young athlete, already had plenty of admirers. I would have been among them for a while, but before long our paths would have diverged. He was headed toward varsity stardom; I would distinguish myself only in the classroom.

And then there were the others, whom I might have gotten to know, had I been assigned to sit next to them or pair up with them in gym class. Or they might have remained outside of my orbit, their names and faces familiar but their lives unknown. My six-year-old self wouldn’t have known what to make of Olivia Engel, who was learning her rosary, led grace at her family’s dinner table every night, and never failed to produce a thank-you note when she received a gift. I doubt that as a first-grader I would have appreciated, much less coveted, her gifts of spirituality and thankfulness. But now I wonder what, given the chance, she might have taught me.

In first grade, I wouldn’t have recognized Daniel Barden’s precocious level of empathy for what it was; I might even have been a little suspicious of how good he was, how nice he was. He sought out and befriended people who were alone. He held doors open for others almost compulsively, requiring his parents to retrace their steps to find him after they’d left a store. When I was seven, I was accustomed to receiving care and attention, not giving it. But deference and random acts of kindness seemed to come naturally to Daniel, who, on that last day of life, had gotten up early and run down the driveway in his slippers to kiss his big brother good-bye.

As I studied the details of each young life, I prayed for the family that was left behind to grieve. I prayed for Catherine’s brother, Frederick, who wondered who was going to help him get on the right school bus. I prayed for Noah Pozner’s twin sister, Ariel; for Jesse Lewis’s big brother, JT; and for Shane and Travis Rekos, who had been adored by their older sister Jessica. I wearied halfway through, but I persevered. Memorizing the names was the necessary first step, but the important work, the work of remembering, lay ahead.

I reviewed those names every day until they all came readily to mind. Then praying for the children became part of my routine. Some days I’d pray for all of them. Other days I’d focus on a few. And then one day last month I realized I’d forgotten one. Who was it?  Who was that fourth P?  I checked the list by the door as I left church that morning, and there it was—Parker. Emilie Parker.

Emilie. How could I have forgotten her? Her face was one of the first beamed out to us by the media; her father Robbie spoke eloquently just one day after the shooting. Describing his oldest daughter as an exceptional artist, he noted that Emilie carried markers and pencils with her everywhere, so that when she encountered someone who was sad or upset, she could comfort them with a picture or card. Emilie was loving and caring, he said, not because of anything her parents did, but because those were her gifts from God.

Robbie and Alissa Parker will always remember their daughter Emilie, their gift from God. And now, so will I. Emilie and her 19 classmates deserve nothing less. To some people they’re already just statistics. Just 20 more children lost to gun violence. But to me, they’re unique and irreplaceable individuals. They are Benjamin and Josephine, James and Avielle, Charlotte and Madeline—my children, all of them, as long as I remember.

Dorothy Fitch, Copyright 2013

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Advent 15: A SABBATH BLESSING for ADVENT THREE




Today, on Gaudete Sunday, Advent Three,  
may we rejoice in the many blessings of our lives.

 

 

An Old Irish Blessing



May love and laughter light your days,
and warm your heart and home.
May good and faithful friends be yours,
wherever you may roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world
with joy that long endures.
May all life's passing seasons
bring the best to you and yours.


And the blessing of God Almighty--Creator, Healer and Inspiration--
be upon us all and remain with us, now and evermore.



The joy of the gospel is not just any joy.  
It is the joy that comes from knowing you are welcomed and loved by God.
~Pope Francis





 

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Advent 14: THIRTEEN, A LUCKY NUMBER

 

Can you feel it?  It's getting closer, each and every day.  Only 13 more days till Christmas.


This is the point at which I usually give up the struggle and succumb--succumb to the mad rush to finish all my self-imposed tasks in time for Christmas--and too frequently that necessitates severely curtailing my daily Advent spiritual practice.  Not to mention abandoning all attempts to keep up with normal housework, cooking reasonably healthy meals, and sticking with any sort of exercise regimen. 

If you're like me, usually during the first couple weeks of Advent things are fairly quiet, quite even-keeled and nicely manageable, thank you very much.  I join the people who hum along with carols in the shops, and everybody smiles at each other and exchanges pleasantries, and admires all the season's most up-to-date decorations; sales clerks are friendly and cheerful and helpful and it seems good will to all has arrived on the planet early.
 
And then, what we are pleased to call "reality" sets in.  Day 13 of our Advent journey together.  And I can feel things starting to come apart.  I had to go out shopping yesterday (of course) and there was an incredible amount of traffic. At two different locations on the Post Road in Southport and Westport there was road construction, making the already crowded roads even more constricted.  I struggled not to take this situation as a personal insult.  (Don't these road maintenance people realize some of us have very important shopping to do?!)

In every store parking lot available spaces were few and far between and hotly contested.  Inside the shops people's faces looked strained and even grim; clearly we were all on the same mission:  trying to accomplish more than could easily be done in the available time--and time was running out.

What to do?  

 

How do you stop the momentum toward hassle and anxiety and stress when you feel it start to build? 


It seems like the answer should be complicated and challenging, but it is embarrassingly simple:  if we are awake enough to realize what's happening we can change it.  We are in charge of the season, not the other way round.

That good old Advent word, "awareness," is the key.

So.  I'm going to make a list.  I'm going to check it twice.  And then I'm going to cross off all the things on it that aren't really that important. 
  
This year I would like the holiday season to became an opportunity instead of a responsibility.

An opportunity to reclaim the gifts that the season is meant to offer--the gifts that don't appear on any shopping list:  family and friends; generosity; happiness; peace of mind; spiritual growth; thoughtfulness; understanding; and wisdom.

And anything else you might be inclined to add.

Right at our fingertips is the Power to shift everything.  Even traffic.









Friday, December 11, 2015

Advent 13: THE SCENTS OF THE SEASON

 

ADVENT SENSE


When our sons were small they had a “scented storybook” they especially liked:  The Sweet Smell of Christmas by Patricia M. Scarry, Richard Scarry’s wife.  The book was about Little Bear (I should say is because it’s still being published) and during Bear's holiday experience he smelled, as I recall, gingerbread, apple pie, hot chocolate, and evergreen.  Maybe a candy cane, too.  And the reader could Scratch 'n' Sniff and smell it all right along with him. 

The Advent season is teeming with good smells: the musky bite of evergreen; the earthy odors of growing things like poinsettia and Christmas cactus and amaryllis; the tang of cinnamon and clove and ginger; and the tummy-rumbling heaven of breads and cookies and turkey and stuffing and onion soup or whatever might be in the oven or on the stove.  (I'm getting hungry.)

Last week when Tom and I walked into Ganim’s Garden Center to get our tree and wreaths, the smells were so intense and so familiar I remember thinking, if you dropped me here blindfolded I bet I would know where I was by the smell.

Even the dubious odor I inhaled a few days ago when I unpacked the garland for our staircase bannister--an odor made up of the mold and mildew and dust that lurk in the corners of our Christmas boxes —even that carried with it the reminder of happy times and holidays past.  It made me sneeze, but it also filled me with good cheer.

Why is it that smells evoke such strong feelings and such powerful memories?  


Apparently our sense of smell is uniquely able to evoke memories because our brains process odors through our olfactory bulb, which is closely connected to the brain areas that handle memory and emotion.  Sight, hearing and touch aren't processed through those brain areas, which may be why those senses don't trigger memories as intensely.  (Thank you, Dr. Joseph Mercola.)

We are blessed with five senses, and blessed to be living in a time in which we are encouraged to use them.  The Cartesian view of the body, mind and spirit as separate entities has been shown to be not only wrong but extremely unhelpful. 
  
Perhaps the lush nativity stories of Matthew and Luke are so appealing because they pique our senses. We see the star sail high in the heavens, and the exotic magi following; we hear the choir of angel voices lift their spectacular Gloria;  we sniff the organic aroma of all that livestock--and possibly some of the shepherds as well, it’s not a desk job after all.  Even the kings were on the road a long time.

The ancient Celtic Christians were famous for their holistic worship.  Not only did they seek and find God's presence throughout the natural world, they worshiped that presence with their whole being.  For them there were no artificial divisions between body, mind or spirit.

They instinctively knew what we have only just begun to discover:  

 we ARE our souls in flesh.



Unseeable
I have seen you this day
in the lights of the skies,
in the green of the earth, 
in flowing waters.
 
Untouchable
I have felt you this day
in the warmth of the sun,
in the wildness of wind,
in the touch of another.
 
In and beyond my senses, 
in taste and touch and sound
your mystery has been made known.
 
At the ending of the day,
in the darkness of the night,
in and beyond my senses 
let me know your presence, O God,
let me know your everlasting presence. 
 
          ~J. Philip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal, p. 80.  

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Advent 12: ANCIENT GIFTS, ADVENT GIFTS

  The Gospel of Thomas

 

His disciples said to him, "When will God's kingdom come?"

"It will not come by watching for it.  It will not be said, 'Look, here!' or 'Look, there!'  Rather, the God's kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and people don't see it."


Anyone who is a traditional church goer may be understandably surprised when when first told about The Gospel of Thomas.  After all, the Bible includes only four gospels--Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.  I certainly recall being startled twenty-four years ago when I first learned about Thomas at seminary.    

The first fragments of The Gospel of Thomas were discovered in the late 1800's by a British team excavating the remains of an ancient trash heap in Egypt.  At that point the archeaologists simply labeled the fragments "The Sayings of Jesus," for clearly that's what they were.  It wasn't until the 1945 discoveries at Nag Hammadi (also in Egypt) were published that it was realized the Coptic Gospel of Thomas found there corresponded to those "Sayings of Jesus" fragments discovered half a century earlier. 

In terms of dating the gospel, it is widely agreed that Thomas probably assumed its present form by 100 CE, although an earlier edition may have originated as early as 50-60 CE.  This is comparable to the biblical gospels, which were written in the same time frame:  Mark, the earliest, most likely before 70 AD; Matthew and Luke in the last third of the first century; John toward the close of the first century.  

As new material has been gathered scholars have come to realize that the origins of Christianity were much more diverse than was previously supposed. The victorious "orthodox" voices drowned out their less successful competitors, but with the discoveries of so many ancient manuscripts we are recovering key pieces of our religious story.  

In 367 AD Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria and his colleagues finalized the list of books that would be accepted into the canon of the New Testament;  the Nag Hammadi text of The Gospel of Thomas was not chosen. But the monks from one of the many monasteries founded by St. Pachomius in that region--perhaps from Chenoboskion, only a couple of miles from the discovery site--apparently could not bring themselves to destroy their sacred texts.  As the Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault writes:

...the monks simply entrusted them to an urn in the desert.
There they sat for more than 1500 years, rather like a time capsule,
awaiting a more propitious season in the life of the Church
when hearts would once again be open to receiving their wisdom.


Perhaps the time has come. 


Thomas Speaks....


The text at the beginning of this post is from the Gospel of Thomas (Logion 113). 

Although you might have thought it was this very familiar passage from the Gospel of Luke :

The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed.  People are not going to be able to say, "Look, here it is!" or "Over there!"  For in fact, God's kingdom is among you.   
(17:20, 21)


Whichever variation of this well-known saying of Jesus speaks most clearly to you, his two main points remain the same:

God's presence is here and now and all around.

And mostly we don't notice it.


The contemplative season of Advent offers a corrective to our chronic not noticing.
 
Today may our eyes and ears and hearts and minds be opened wide to God's presence,
within and all around. 

And may we carry that blessed corrective into all the days beyond....




 

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Advent 11: IN THE DARK

The monastic hour of Vigils is the womb of silence.


It is the pre-dawn time of quiet--also known as Matins--which is the night watch hour of prayer.  A time for contemplation and for learning to trust the darkness.

Looking at the night sky, we are beckoned into awareness of the immense mystery in which we live and move and have our being. (Acts 17:28)   

The poet Rilke, in his Book of Hours, declares that

My God is dark.  

He sees a thousand theologians plunging like divers into the night of God's name, an image as unexpected as it is lush.

Darkness holds everything, embraces everything, including you and me, as Brother David Steindl-Rast writes in his little jewel of a book, The Music of Silence.  He goes on to say:

Vigils is an invitation to learn to 'trust in night'; 
to trust the darkness despite the immense fear it triggers.
 

I rose very early yesterday in order to drive a friend to the hospital for surgery.  My normal time of waking is usually around 7, but despite the unusually early hour (4:30) I realized I was looking forward to the experience. 

Time was I dreaded having to get up in the dark; it somehow frightened me.  I know exactly what Brother David means by "the immense fear (the darkness) triggers". 

But the gift of leading early morning church services for a number of years taught me something about those rich depths of night that Rilke evokes so well.

The daylight hours are beautiful; cleanly defined and crisp and filled with activity.  But rising before dawn ushers a whole new dimension into the day. 



When the garage door went up yesterday and that square of bright light pierced the darkness outside, I cringed.  I felt blundering and crude, an alien presence impinging on the quiet of the natural world.  I was glad to get into my quiet car and glide away, twin pools of headlight illuminating my way, while the darkness fell, untroubled, behind me.

And even now as I sit, hours later, in the stark light of the cafe at Yale New Haven Hospital--waiting for the beeper to sound the call that will pronounce all is well and all is complete--I can still feel that extra dimension that was the gift of the night.

The hour of Vigils invites us to carry the depths of the dark into the light of the day; to carry it with peace and with wonder, like a harmony we never forget.  

Fra Angelico is famous for his paintings of angels of all kinds, including angels intended to represent the monastic hours of the day.  His Angel for Vigils is garbed in darkest red, and holds his horn as if he were ready to blow, but is awaiting some celestial signal.  His eyes lift upward and in reverent silence, in the darkness of the night, he looks for the dawning of the light.

After reading about the Angel of Vigils in Brother David's book, I realized that our family owns a copy of that very painting, an inexpensive but lovely little plaque that has hung in our home for years (along with three other similar ones) as a Christmas decoration.  A Christmas decoration, an Advent gift.

This year I will smile and remember the sacred hour of Vigils whenever I see it.

And I will offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the healing of my dear friend.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Advent 10: PARADOX


I have always found the paradoxical wisdom of Advent somewhat confusing.


During this time Christians are remembering something that has already happened. (Jesus' Advent upon the Earth.)  We're also looking forward to celebrating the anniversary of that event (Christmas Day) which in addition foreshadows a future time in which Jesus will come again (The Second Coming).  And, at the same time we're recognizing that Jesus is with us right now (The Presence of Christ Within and All Around.)  We could further complicate matters by introducing the historic Jesus versus the risen Christ.

We're also called--particularly during Advent--to anticipate and await and prepare--but also to live fully in the present moment and to tend to business, spiritual and otherwise, with great dedication and concentration.

The church has dealt with this seeming contradiction in time through a deep but nonspecific formula:

Christ has died.  Christ is risen.  Christ will come again.

Now, thanks to Quantum Theory, we can let that whole conflicted struggle go.   For Quantum Theory is proving that time, as we have always understood it, does not exist. 

 

It turns out that the Church had it right all along.


Our ideas of the linear passage of time are completely wide of the mark; and in fact there isn't even any mark to be wide of in the first place.  In quantum theory all points of reference are possible, because the minute we observe anything it changes. Or they change. All at the same time.  In different locations.  And in fact, before we observed it, it (or they) most likely didn't exist anyhow, at least not in that form.

As if that's not enough, quantum theory postulates that time runs in both "directions" as we understand it.  Yes, the present influences the future; but the present also influences the past. The future can change the past.  And any other permutation we can think of, apparently.  With the emphasis on the present as the point of power, because at the end of the day that's all we've got, right?  Or maybe not.... 

This is mind bending, at the very least, but it has released me from my petty concerns about nailing down exactly how we celebrate Advent and Christmas in terms of linear time.  Actually, we could probably celebrate Christmas first and then have Advent afterward, if we just let go of our limited understanding of things.

I am chuckling as I write this, but truthfully the mysteries and magic of Advent have always been beyond knowing or telling.  Let go and let God indeed.

Science and religion, on the same page.   Who would have thought?