Keeping the Season

Lead Kindly Light
by John Henry Newman

Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th'encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

Meantime, along the narrow rugged path,
Thyself hast trod,
Lead, Saviour, lead me home in childlike faith,
Home to my God.
To rest forever after earthly strife
In the calm light of everlasting life.

--

Lead Kindly Light - setting by Dan Forrest

"Advent Calendar - 24th Dec" by Paul Bommer, on Flickr

The Greek word chronos means "time" in a quantitative sense, chronological time, time that you can divide into minutes and years, time as duration. It is the sense that we mean when we say, "What time is it?" or "How much time do I have?" or "Time like an ever-flowing stream," in one of the hymns that we sing. But in Greek there is also the word kairos, which means "time" in a qualitative sense—not the kind that a clock measures but time that cannot be measured at all, time that is characterized by what happens in it. Kairos time is the kind that you mean when you say that "the time is ripe" to do something, "It's time to tell the truth," a truth-telling kind of time. Or " I had a good time"—the time had something about it that made me glad. The ancient poet who wrote the Book of Ecclesiastes was using time in a kairos sense when he wrote of a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to keep silence and a time to speak.

-Frederick Buechner, originally published in The Hungering Dark and later in Listening to Your Life.

"L'interminable/The never ending/La interminable" by Elf-8, on Flickr

In Blackwater Woods
by Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

-in New and Selected Poems, Vol. 1

"Our Lady of Spring 2015" by Stephen B Whatley, on Flickr

Too Much to Ask
by Luci Shaw

It seemed too much to ask
of one small virgin
that she should stake shame
against the will of God.
All she had to hold to
were those soft, inward
flutterings
and the remembered sting
of a brief junction--spirit
with flesh.
Who would think it
more than a dream wish?
an implausible, laughable
defense.

And it seems much
too much to ask me
to be part of the
different thing--
God's shocking, unorthodox,
unheard of Thing
to further heaven's hopes
and summon God's glory.

--in Wintersong

photo by C. Nolan Huizenga, on Flickr

In Little Bethlehem (Winds Through the Olive Trees)
traditional, 16th century

Winds through the olive trees,
Softly did blow.
'Round little Bethlehem,
Long, long ago.

Sheep on the hillsides lay
Whiter than snow,
Shepherds were watching them,
Long, long ago.

Then from the starry skies
Angels bent low,
Singing their songs of joy;
Long, long ago.

For, in a manger bed
Cradled we know,
Christ came to Bethlehem
Long, long ago.

"Fall Sun" by maxine1313, on Flickr

Hebrews 1:1-4
Long ago God spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, through whom he also created the worlds. He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.

John 1:1-14
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

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.

--
As the first birds start to sing their song over Bethlehem, Mary opens her eyes. Joseph is not yet stirring, and the newborn Jesus is still sleeping, tired from all the work of entering the world. The first ribbons of daylight creep through the cracks in the ceiling, and in the rising light of dawn, Mary feels all of the anxieties of the night lift away.

The darkness had been full of hard things: a hard journey over the hard ground; the sharp pains of labor; the rough disappointment of hearing that there was no room; the sting of fear that comes with being vulnerable, homesick, and in pain in the deep middle of the night, when the shadows are darkest and when the world seems most uncertain.

But it is morning now. The morning is still and clear. The rising of the herald star is now eclipsed by the rising of the sun; light upon light. There is a softness here, a hush, a waking moment to ponder all the wonders of the night. For the first time, Mary can see every detail of her baby boy's face; each soft curve of his cheek, each eyelash as it flutters, every wisp of downy hair.

What has come into being with him was life, and the life is the light of all people. He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Light was the first miracle of all creation - in the beginning, when the world was a formless void and the Spirit of the Lord hovered over the face of the waters, God spoke into the darkness and said, "Let there be light." And there was light. And it was good.

We repeat this miracle every morning - from darkness, light rises with each new dawn. Today, once again, the sun has risen, in hazy streaks of light that tumble over the bluffs and reawaken the sleeping earth from its nighttime dreaming.

But this morning, the light seems different, doesn't it? Somehow it is clearer, holier, filled with the shimmer of deep miracles; in the light, we get our first real look at the tiny, red, wrinkled face of the newborn Jesus. I'm not sure whether it is the gravity of this baby's divinity that makes our hearts soften, or whether it is merely the effect of being in the presence of an impossibly tiny, fragile, untried, adorable baby. But either way, don't you feel your heart soften just a little when you, like Mary, take your first deep look at the baby Jesus, our newborn savior, God in a wee bit of flesh?

We live in a world that keeps its edges sharp. We tend toward cynicism instead of good will, sarcasm instead of genuineness. We take pride in having hard noses and being hard-headed and drawing hard lines. Politicians and news media drive us toward establishing clear, fear-filled boundaries between races, religions, political ideologies, and worldviews. We are told that we will succeed if we are tough, unrelenting, and defensive instead of vulnerable, soft, and considerate.

But against all of these hard edges, the light of Christ spills over into our world with shifting edges, moving into all the dark corners, spreading over hills and valleys, uncontained, unrestricted, making fuzzy the edges of our shadows, making permeable the boundaries of our hearts and minds. That’s what light does! It flows and fills; it cannot be captured or hoarded. Light has power to banish darkness; brightness to bring clarity; gentleness to rouse us from dark nights of the soul.

The soft light of Christ’s dawn does not just rise over Decorah this morning.

The light of Christ’s dawn rises over children awakening in refugee camps and over homeless families in makeshift shelters.

It rises over Democrats and Republicans and Independents; democracies and monarchies and parliaments.

The light of Christ rises over Israel. And over Palestine.

It rises over peaceful, sleepy small towns and war zones and crime-ridden corners of giant cities.

The light of Christ rises over farmers and police officers and bankers and electricians; piano teachers and custodians and stay-at-home-parents and CEOs.

It rises over Lutherans and Catholics and Methodists and Presbyterians; over Jews and Muslims; atheists and agnostics.

The light of Christ rises over shrinking ice caps and barren forests; over flourishing farms and rolling seas.

It rises over those who have spent this dark night in fear, in grief, in anxiety, or in sleeplessness. It rises over those who slept deeply and in peace. It rises over those who have worked the night shift and over children who awoke in the wee hours of the morning, wide awake with excitement.

John tells us that Christ, the true light coming into the world, is the light that enlightens everyone. Christ is the light that opens our eyes to see a world that God loves, deeply. And Christ is the light that calls us to serve and love all people and all places that the light touches.

Just as Scrooge’s heart was enlightened by his visions, softening him to become a person of compassion and generosity; just as the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes after hearing the Whos down in Whoville singing in the morning light, so also does the birth of Christ call us toward enlightened eyes that see one another and the world with new softness, new compassion, new love and generosity and graciousness of spirit.

My prayer today, for you and for me, is that this Christmas morning might re-enliven us in our God-given calling to love one another. That we might take the risk of being vulnerable and crossing boundaries, just as God himself crossed the boundary between heaven and earth to become a fragile human baby in our world. My prayer is that we might not draw up walls and fences around the light, but instead be bearers of the light, vessels for Christ, vehicles for the ongoing illumination of the world.

I bless you and commission you for this task, in the words of poet Jan Richardson:

Blessed Are You Who Bear the Light

Blessed are you
who bear the light
in unbearable times,
who testify
to its endurance
amid the unendurable,
who bear witness
to its persistence
when everything seems
in shadow
and grief.

Blessed are you
in whom
the light lives,
in whom
the brightness blazes—
your heart
a chapel,
an altar where
in the deepest night
can be seen
the fire that
shines forth in you
in unaccountable faith
in stubborn hope
in love that illumines
every broken thing
it finds.

Amen.

The Three Kings
by Muriel Spark

Where do we go from here?
We left our country,
Bore gifts,
Followed a star.
We were questioned.
We answered.
We reached our objective.
We enjoyed the trip.
Then we came back by a different way.
And now the people are demonstrating in the streets.
They say they don't need the Kings any more.
They did very well in our absence.
Everything was all right without us.
They are out on the streets with placards:
Wise Men? What's wise about them?
There are plenty of Wise Men,
And who needs them? -and so on.

Perhaps they will be better off without us,
But where do we go from here?






photo credit: "Three Wise Men" by James, on Flickr

Amazing Peace: A Christmas Poem
by Dr. Maya Angelou

Thunder rumbles in the mountain passes
And lightning rattles the eaves of our houses.
Flood waters await us in our avenues.

Snow falls upon snow, falls upon snow to avalanche
Over unprotected villages.
The sky slips low and grey and threatening.

We question ourselves.
What have we done to so affront nature?
We worry God.
Are you there? Are you there really?
Does the covenant you made with us still hold?

Into this climate of fear and apprehension, Christmas enters,
Streaming lights of joy, ringing bells of hope
And singing carols of forgiveness high up in the bright air.
The world is encouraged to come away from rancor,
Come the way of friendship.

It is the Glad Season.
Thunder ebbs to silence and lightning sleeps quietly in the corner.
Flood waters recede into memory.
Snow becomes a yielding cushion to aid us
As we make our way to higher ground.

Hope is born again in the faces of children
It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets.
Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things,
Even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper.
At first it is too soft. Then only half heard.
We listen carefully as it gathers strength.
We hear a sweetness.
The word is Peace.
It is loud now. It is louder.
Louder than the explosion of bombs.

We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence.
It is what we have hungered for.
Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace.
A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies.
Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas.
We beckon this good season to wait a while with us.
We, Baptist and Buddhist, Methodist and Muslim, say come.
Peace.
Come and fill us and our world with your majesty.
We, the Jew and the Jainist, the Catholic and the Confucian,
Implore you, to stay a while with us.
So we may learn by your shimmering light
How to look beyond complexion and see community.

It is Christmas time, a halting of hate time.

On this platform of peace, we can create a language
To translate ourselves to ourselves and to each other.

At this Holy Instant, we celebrate the Birth of Jesus Christ
Into the great religions of the world.
We jubilate the precious advent of trust.
We shout with glorious tongues at the coming of hope.
All the earth's tribes loosen their voices
To celebrate the promise of Peace.

We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers,
Look heavenward and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud.
Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves
And we say without shyness or apology or hesitation.

Peace, My Brother.
Peace, My Sister.
Peace, My Soul.

Luke 2:1-20
In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!’

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

"Xmas" by Anders Ljungberg, on Flickr

In Mary-Darkness
by Jessica Powers

I live my Advent in the womb of Mary
And on one night when a great star swings free
From its high mooring and walks down the sky
To be the dot above the Christus i,
I shall be born of her by blessed grace.
I wait in Mary-darkness, faith’s walled place,
With hope’s expectance of nativity.
I knew for long she carried me and fed me,
Guarded and loved me, though I could not see,
But only now, with inward jubilee,
I come upon earth’s most amazing knowledge:
Someone is hidden in this dark with me.

Source: “In Mary-Darkness” from The Selected Poetry of Jessica Powers, edited by Regina Siegfried, ASC, and Robert F. Morneau. Kansas City, MO: Sheed & Ward, 1989.

Three beautiful thoughts from Dietrich Bonhoeffer about the ways that God loves us and comes to us in Advent and Christmas:

Just when everything is bearing down on us to such an extent that we can scarcely withstand it, the Christmas message comes to tell us that all our ideas are wrong, and that what we take to be evil and dark is really good and light because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, light in darkness, succor in abandonment. No evil can befall us; whatever men may do to us, they cannot but serve the God who is secretly revealed as love and rules the world and our lives...

God is so free and so marvelous that he does wonders where people despair, that he takes what is little and lowly and makes it marvelous. And that is the wonder of all wonders, that God loves the lowly… God is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings. God marches right in. He chooses people as his instruments and performs his wonders where one would least expect them. God is near to lowliness; he loves the lost, the neglected, the unseemly, the excluded, the weak and broken...

Jesus stands at the door knocking (Rev. 3:20). In total reality, he comes in the form of the beggar, of the dissolute human child in ragged clothes, asking for help. He confronts you in every person that you meet. As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbor, as the one through whom God calls you, speaks to you, makes demands on you. That is the great seriousness and great blessedness of the Advent message. Christ is standing at the door; he lives in the form of a human being among us.

-from God Is In the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas

The Work of Christmas
by Dr. Howard Thurman

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.

"Dawn, Pockstones" by LizzieShepherd on Flickr