Luke 2:15-20
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Today on Christmas, I’ll share with you Thomas Merton’s words. In Seasons of Celebration, he writes about the birth of Christ. Merton is particularly moved by Christ as light, and our human need not only to receive the light within us, but more, to allow the light to shine through us. This is what Merton says:
Christ is born. He is born to us. And, he is born today. For Christmas is not merely a day like every other day. It is a day made holy and special by a sacred mystery. It is not merely another day in the weary round of time. Today, eternity enters into time and time, sanctified, is caught up into eternity. Today, Christ, the Eternal Word of the Father, who was in the beginning with the Father, in whom all things were made, by whom all things consist, enters into the world which he created in order to reclaim souls who have lost their identity. Therefore, the Church exults as the angels come down to announce not merely an old thing that happened long ago, but a new thing that happens today. For, today, God the Father makes all things new, in his Divine Son, our Redeemer, according to his words: Ecce nova facio omnia. . . .
At Christmas, more than ever, it is fitting to remember that we have no other light but Christ, who is born to us today. Let us reflect that he came down from heaven to be our light, and our life. He came, as he himself assures us, to be our way, by which we may return to the Father. Christ gives us light today to know him, in the Father and ourselves in him, so that thus knowing and possessing Christ, we may have life everlasting with him in the Father. . . .
Having realized, once again, who it is that comes to us, and having remembered that he alone is our light, let us open our eyes to the rising Sun, let us hasten to receive him and let us come together to celebrate the great mystery of charity which is the sacrament of our salvation and of our union in Christ. Let us receive Christ that we may in all truth be “light in the Lord” and that Christ may shine not only to us, but through us, and that we may all burn together in the sweet light of his presence in the world: I mean his presence in us, for we are his Body and his Holy Church. . . .
Christ, light of light, is born today, and since he is born to us, he is born in us as light and therefore we who believe are born today to new light. That is to say, our souls are born to new life and new grace by receiving him who is the Truth. For Christ, invisible in his own nature, has become visible in our nature. What else can this mean, except that first he has become visible as a man and second he has become visible in his Church? He wills to be visible in us, to live in us, and save us through his secret action in our own hearts and the hearts of our neighbors. So, we must receive the light of the newborn Savior by faith, in order to manifest it by our witness in common praise and by the works of our charity towards one another.
[Thomas Merton, Seasons of Celebration, pp. 102-105.]
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
Christmas Eve - December 24, 2019
Luke 1:67-79
His father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied:
“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a horn[a] of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David
(as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
salvation from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us—
to show mercy to our ancestors
and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
and to enable us to serve him without fear
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
to give his people the knowledge of salvation
through the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.”
• Luke introduces this prayer of Zechariah as a “prophecy.” The Church has traditionally called it the “Canticle of Zechariah,” that is, a song. Furthermore, the Church has traditionally prayed these words of Zechariah as the conclusion to the liturgy of morning prayer in the office of daily prayer, where it is called the Benedictus.
• The song is Zechariah’s prayer of praise to God and expression of gratitude for his song John. It is, however, also a fitting prompt for our own prayer.
• Today, on Christmas Eve, find a moment to slow yourself from all the things that are tugging at you for your attention . . . the food, the family, the last-minute runs to the store . . . and give a few moments of dedicated space to these words. Read the passage two or three times slowly.
• Notice the lines that stir you. You might write them in your journal. Stay with the words or phrases that seem to have the most energy for you. Work with them. Let them speak to you about your life . . . about your hopes . . . about your dashed dreams . . . about your fears . . . about what you hold closest to your heart.
His father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied:
“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a horn[a] of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David
(as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
salvation from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us—
to show mercy to our ancestors
and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
and to enable us to serve him without fear
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
to give his people the knowledge of salvation
through the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.”
• Luke introduces this prayer of Zechariah as a “prophecy.” The Church has traditionally called it the “Canticle of Zechariah,” that is, a song. Furthermore, the Church has traditionally prayed these words of Zechariah as the conclusion to the liturgy of morning prayer in the office of daily prayer, where it is called the Benedictus.
• The song is Zechariah’s prayer of praise to God and expression of gratitude for his song John. It is, however, also a fitting prompt for our own prayer.
• Today, on Christmas Eve, find a moment to slow yourself from all the things that are tugging at you for your attention . . . the food, the family, the last-minute runs to the store . . . and give a few moments of dedicated space to these words. Read the passage two or three times slowly.
• Notice the lines that stir you. You might write them in your journal. Stay with the words or phrases that seem to have the most energy for you. Work with them. Let them speak to you about your life . . . about your hopes . . . about your dashed dreams . . . about your fears . . . about what you hold closest to your heart.
Monday, December 24, 2018
Christmas Eve - December 24, 2018
The Dawn from on High Breaks upon Us
Luke 1:67-79
The Advent journey is relatively short -- less than four weeks from the First Sunday of Advent to Christmas Day. But those of us who make the journey with intention notice the different ways we have been touched by waiting and looking for signs of the awaited Birth.
On Christmas Eve, many of us are "checking our lists twice," making sure we haven't overlooked anything. For me, it most always means at least one more trip to the grocery for some needed ingredient I have overlooked. For some of us, we check the list one more time to confirm travel plans, begin prep for meals, make sure the last-minute gifts are wrapped, and confirm the times of the Christmas Eve service we will attend. All of that is important.
But there are other considerations, as well. Can I find a bit of time and solitary space in the next 48 hours to ponder this Birth? How has the season of Advent shaped me?
Can I ask God for a genuine spirit of celebration, an authentic joy that is more than mouthing the words of a carol?
If I am sharing the day with others, how might I step into the day in a way that brings life to those with whom I celebrate Christmas?
What attitude or spirit would I pray for myself and others?
The Gospel reading today is the Canticle of Zechariah, known as the Benedictus. Zechariah is the father of John and has been voiceless throughout the birth story because he could not believe that he and Elizabeth could have a child at their age. When he is given back his voice, he sings a glorious song, not about himself and his perspective on God's work, but about his son. Zechariah's song announces that the time of waiting is almost over, that God ushers in a new day. His song is full of brilliant images and poignant metaphors. For centuries, this beautiful song has found its place in the Church as the closing to the daily morning office of prayer.
Blessed be the Lord,
The God of Israel;
He has come to His people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty Saviour,
Born of the house of His servant David.
Through His holy prophets He promised of old
That He would save us from our enemies,
From the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
And to remember His holy Covenant.
This was the oath He swore to our father Abraham:
To set us free from the hands of our enemies,
Free to worship Him without fear,
Holy and righteous in His sight
All the days of our life.
You, My child shall be called
The prophet of the Most High,
For you will go before the Lord to prepare His way,
To give his people knowledge of salvation
By the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our Lord
The dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
And the shadow of death,
And to guide our feet into the way of peace.
For Reflection:
** Choose a line, an image, or a phrase from the Benedictus for your prayer. Linger with it. Let it roll around in your heart for a few minutes. Don't be too anxious to analyze what it means so you have get some insight from it. Just let it live within you for a few minutes. Then, ask God to help you hear what invitation God might be extending to you?
** Again today, notice the verbs in the Benedictus. Write them down. Pray with them. As you look at your list, you'll see what Zechariah proclaims about God's work in the world. How much of that work do you see in your own world?
Luke 1:67-79
The Advent journey is relatively short -- less than four weeks from the First Sunday of Advent to Christmas Day. But those of us who make the journey with intention notice the different ways we have been touched by waiting and looking for signs of the awaited Birth.
On Christmas Eve, many of us are "checking our lists twice," making sure we haven't overlooked anything. For me, it most always means at least one more trip to the grocery for some needed ingredient I have overlooked. For some of us, we check the list one more time to confirm travel plans, begin prep for meals, make sure the last-minute gifts are wrapped, and confirm the times of the Christmas Eve service we will attend. All of that is important.
But there are other considerations, as well. Can I find a bit of time and solitary space in the next 48 hours to ponder this Birth? How has the season of Advent shaped me?
Can I ask God for a genuine spirit of celebration, an authentic joy that is more than mouthing the words of a carol?
If I am sharing the day with others, how might I step into the day in a way that brings life to those with whom I celebrate Christmas?
What attitude or spirit would I pray for myself and others?
The Gospel reading today is the Canticle of Zechariah, known as the Benedictus. Zechariah is the father of John and has been voiceless throughout the birth story because he could not believe that he and Elizabeth could have a child at their age. When he is given back his voice, he sings a glorious song, not about himself and his perspective on God's work, but about his son. Zechariah's song announces that the time of waiting is almost over, that God ushers in a new day. His song is full of brilliant images and poignant metaphors. For centuries, this beautiful song has found its place in the Church as the closing to the daily morning office of prayer.
Blessed be the Lord,
The God of Israel;
He has come to His people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty Saviour,
Born of the house of His servant David.
Through His holy prophets He promised of old
That He would save us from our enemies,
From the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
And to remember His holy Covenant.
This was the oath He swore to our father Abraham:
To set us free from the hands of our enemies,
Free to worship Him without fear,
Holy and righteous in His sight
All the days of our life.
You, My child shall be called
The prophet of the Most High,
For you will go before the Lord to prepare His way,
To give his people knowledge of salvation
By the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our Lord
The dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
And the shadow of death,
And to guide our feet into the way of peace.
For Reflection:
** Choose a line, an image, or a phrase from the Benedictus for your prayer. Linger with it. Let it roll around in your heart for a few minutes. Don't be too anxious to analyze what it means so you have get some insight from it. Just let it live within you for a few minutes. Then, ask God to help you hear what invitation God might be extending to you?
** Again today, notice the verbs in the Benedictus. Write them down. Pray with them. As you look at your list, you'll see what Zechariah proclaims about God's work in the world. How much of that work do you see in your own world?
Saturday, December 8, 2018
First Saturday of Advent - December 8, 2018
What You Have Received as a Gift, Give as a Gift
Isaiah 30:19-25
Matthew 9:35-10:8
In the Gospel reading from Matthew 9, Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals as he moves through towns and villages. He meets crowds everywhere he goes, and is moved with compassion as he observes that the people are "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Then, Jesus says that there is much need, much to harvest in the world, but that few are laboring for that harvest. Pray for workers who will serve the harvest of God's kingdom, he says to his followers.
For those of us who would read an Advent blog like this, I imagine that Black Friday and Cyber Monday signalled the need to decorate homes, make lists, plan menus, coordinate calendars, buy and wrap gifts, and confirm travel plans for the holidays. With so much on our plates, we may feel like those who are harassed and helpless, completely besieged by the demands of the season.
In truth, though, most of what feels burdensome to us during December is surface stuff . . . the lists and plans and anxieties that we take upon ourselves.
At the same time, there may be weightier concerns both within us and in those around us . . . grieving significant passings . . . loss of meaningful work . . . newly diagnosed health concerns . . . emotional struggles, including depression.
In the Gospel text, I imagine Jesus turning to those of us who are his followers and asking that we pray for someone -- or perhaps to be the ones -- who will go out to where people are truly harassed and helpless, where persons are lost and without a way, despondent and despairing, broken and exhausted, dazed and without a noticeable pathway home.
So what if, as Jesus suggests, we seek out those who are truly harassed and helpless this Advent? What do we have to offer?
In the last line of today's Gospel, Jesus says simply, "What you have received as a gift, give as a gift." (Matt. 10:8)
That is all.
FOR REFLECTION:
Spend time reflecting on Matthew 10:8.
"What you have received as a gift, give as a gift."
As you consider the line, go beyond analysis and what you think it means. Actually do some self-reflection. What have you received as a gift?
After considering what you have been given as gift, you will have some sense of what Jesus might be inviting you to give as gift.
Isaiah 30:19-25
Matthew 9:35-10:8
In the Gospel reading from Matthew 9, Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals as he moves through towns and villages. He meets crowds everywhere he goes, and is moved with compassion as he observes that the people are "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Then, Jesus says that there is much need, much to harvest in the world, but that few are laboring for that harvest. Pray for workers who will serve the harvest of God's kingdom, he says to his followers.
For those of us who would read an Advent blog like this, I imagine that Black Friday and Cyber Monday signalled the need to decorate homes, make lists, plan menus, coordinate calendars, buy and wrap gifts, and confirm travel plans for the holidays. With so much on our plates, we may feel like those who are harassed and helpless, completely besieged by the demands of the season.
In truth, though, most of what feels burdensome to us during December is surface stuff . . . the lists and plans and anxieties that we take upon ourselves.
At the same time, there may be weightier concerns both within us and in those around us . . . grieving significant passings . . . loss of meaningful work . . . newly diagnosed health concerns . . . emotional struggles, including depression.
In the Gospel text, I imagine Jesus turning to those of us who are his followers and asking that we pray for someone -- or perhaps to be the ones -- who will go out to where people are truly harassed and helpless, where persons are lost and without a way, despondent and despairing, broken and exhausted, dazed and without a noticeable pathway home.
So what if, as Jesus suggests, we seek out those who are truly harassed and helpless this Advent? What do we have to offer?
In the last line of today's Gospel, Jesus says simply, "What you have received as a gift, give as a gift." (Matt. 10:8)
That is all.
FOR REFLECTION:
Spend time reflecting on Matthew 10:8.
"What you have received as a gift, give as a gift."
As you consider the line, go beyond analysis and what you think it means. Actually do some self-reflection. What have you received as a gift?
After considering what you have been given as gift, you will have some sense of what Jesus might be inviting you to give as gift.
Saturday, November 26, 2016
Advent's Coming
Advent is the season that anticipates the birth of Christ, the four Sundays leading up to Christmas. For centuries, the Church has paused during Advent to consider the meaning of this birth, to anticipate the birth of the Savior not only at Christmas, but in every moment of life. This year, Advent begins Sunday, November 27. Songs of longing and anticipation characterize the season, as well as the sprinkling of Christmas songs that begin to engage our hearts in the resounding joy of new life and the birth in Christ to which we are all invited.
This Advent, I'm interested in some of the characters in the traditional nativity narrative. Typically, the characters get analyzed and summarized in stereotypical ways, so that we find a handful of life-lessons in their presence at the Nativity. This year, I want to take a little different track. What if we approached the story of Jesus' birth and the characters surrounding his birth as if they were each alive somewhere within us? The approach reflects my growing understanding that we as humans are much more alike than we are different . . . that all of the foibles and glories of the worst and best among us also live within me. So what would it mean, for example, if I believed that something of the shepherds from the Christmas story lives on in me? What if the spirit of the Magi were also within me? What if there is a part of me that is like the angels, who proclaimed and sang at Jesus' birth? What if I found a corner of my life that was inhabited by the ruler Herod?
The method is akin to what one might experience in a form of Ignatian meditation and prayer. It is a way, I believe, in which we can each personalize the Birth story . . . that is, not hold it at arms length to analyze it, but to allow it close in order to personalize it. Not only, then, do I enter the story, but the story and its characters enter me!
So for the next four weeks, I'll use poetry and scripture to write about some of these characters, in hopes that we will be able to locate them within our own interior . . . and in hopes that we will recognize the Christmas story as our story. I'll post thoughts several times a week here on this A Daily Advent blog.
Tomorrow we begin. We'll consider the Magi, and using poetry and story we'll try to locate and be in touch with the Magi living within each of us. In the following weeks, we'll give attention to the shepherds, the angels, Herod and the innkeeper.
I invite you to make the journey with me.
This Advent, I'm interested in some of the characters in the traditional nativity narrative. Typically, the characters get analyzed and summarized in stereotypical ways, so that we find a handful of life-lessons in their presence at the Nativity. This year, I want to take a little different track. What if we approached the story of Jesus' birth and the characters surrounding his birth as if they were each alive somewhere within us? The approach reflects my growing understanding that we as humans are much more alike than we are different . . . that all of the foibles and glories of the worst and best among us also live within me. So what would it mean, for example, if I believed that something of the shepherds from the Christmas story lives on in me? What if the spirit of the Magi were also within me? What if there is a part of me that is like the angels, who proclaimed and sang at Jesus' birth? What if I found a corner of my life that was inhabited by the ruler Herod?
The method is akin to what one might experience in a form of Ignatian meditation and prayer. It is a way, I believe, in which we can each personalize the Birth story . . . that is, not hold it at arms length to analyze it, but to allow it close in order to personalize it. Not only, then, do I enter the story, but the story and its characters enter me!
So for the next four weeks, I'll use poetry and scripture to write about some of these characters, in hopes that we will be able to locate them within our own interior . . . and in hopes that we will recognize the Christmas story as our story. I'll post thoughts several times a week here on this A Daily Advent blog.
Tomorrow we begin. We'll consider the Magi, and using poetry and story we'll try to locate and be in touch with the Magi living within each of us. In the following weeks, we'll give attention to the shepherds, the angels, Herod and the innkeeper.
I invite you to make the journey with me.
Friday, December 18, 2015
For Those Weary of Planning for and Talking about Christmas
"I'm tired of planning for and talking about Christmas. I just want some space to sit with it, apart from the many self-imposed distractions and tugs that scatter my attention."
I said these words last week to some friends as we talked about our experience of Advent and Christmas. I've been planning Advent and Christmas services since early November. I've been talking about Christmas, both in writing and in speech for almost that long. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of talking about the concept and planning for the experience. It feels blasphemous that I should want something to be ended before it has even arrived -- especially something so "holy" as Christmas. Yet, that is the honest truth about my interior state.
And I feel this way not only about the planning that is part of my daily work. My personal planning for Christmas is nearly shot, also. Day after day I'm haunted by inner voices that whisper, "But what are you going to buy so-and-so? . . . and what about a gift for what's-her-name? . . ." Shadowy voices rumble around within me, voices of compulsion and drivenness. Some years my gift-giving is divinely inspired -- the year I gave my golfing friends Titleist golf balls inscribed with, "MEDITATE THIS, THOMAS MERTON!" -- but not so this year. It's been a grinding chore. I'm about to give in, now one week before Christmas, go to Amazon.com, and hit the "BUY!" button: "Squatty Potties for everyone!!" I'd have them in hand for distribution by December 22.
One of my friends, to whom I vented about my weariness over Christmas talk and planning, asked a helpful clarifying question: "If you were able just to sit with the season, what would you find?"
I don't know what I'd find. I believe there would be much less compulsion and drivenness crowding the soul-space. Maybe there would be simple openness, even emptiness. As it is, I sit each morning in my mauve rocker with the worn armrests, reading Advent and Christmas texts, waiting for something to come at me . . . waiting to hear . . . waiting to catch a glimpse. Little seems to move toward me. It's mostly just sitting in a space in which precious little seems to be going on . . . except the compulsiveness, the self-guilt over my sad gift-giving, and the weariness that accompanies those voices.
In fact, I feels something like a kind of "virgin" through the season, as the Virgin Mary entered her own experience in emptiness and simple openness. (I have more thoughts on the "virginity" to which the season invites us . . . I may share them in this space in a few days.)
To be sure, I look at my calendar and see services, events, gatherings, where I am compelled to have something to say about Christmas . . . and I will gladly step into those places . . . after all, I'd hate to waste all this great planning and strategizing of the last two months.
But mostly, I'm longing for no thinking, no words, no strategizing, no talking about. Instead, simply a sitting-in. A being-with.
And IF you find a Squatty Potty under your Christmas tree . . .
I said these words last week to some friends as we talked about our experience of Advent and Christmas. I've been planning Advent and Christmas services since early November. I've been talking about Christmas, both in writing and in speech for almost that long. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of talking about the concept and planning for the experience. It feels blasphemous that I should want something to be ended before it has even arrived -- especially something so "holy" as Christmas. Yet, that is the honest truth about my interior state.
And I feel this way not only about the planning that is part of my daily work. My personal planning for Christmas is nearly shot, also. Day after day I'm haunted by inner voices that whisper, "But what are you going to buy so-and-so? . . . and what about a gift for what's-her-name? . . ." Shadowy voices rumble around within me, voices of compulsion and drivenness. Some years my gift-giving is divinely inspired -- the year I gave my golfing friends Titleist golf balls inscribed with, "MEDITATE THIS, THOMAS MERTON!" -- but not so this year. It's been a grinding chore. I'm about to give in, now one week before Christmas, go to Amazon.com, and hit the "BUY!" button: "Squatty Potties for everyone!!" I'd have them in hand for distribution by December 22.
One of my friends, to whom I vented about my weariness over Christmas talk and planning, asked a helpful clarifying question: "If you were able just to sit with the season, what would you find?"
I don't know what I'd find. I believe there would be much less compulsion and drivenness crowding the soul-space. Maybe there would be simple openness, even emptiness. As it is, I sit each morning in my mauve rocker with the worn armrests, reading Advent and Christmas texts, waiting for something to come at me . . . waiting to hear . . . waiting to catch a glimpse. Little seems to move toward me. It's mostly just sitting in a space in which precious little seems to be going on . . . except the compulsiveness, the self-guilt over my sad gift-giving, and the weariness that accompanies those voices.
In fact, I feels something like a kind of "virgin" through the season, as the Virgin Mary entered her own experience in emptiness and simple openness. (I have more thoughts on the "virginity" to which the season invites us . . . I may share them in this space in a few days.)
To be sure, I look at my calendar and see services, events, gatherings, where I am compelled to have something to say about Christmas . . . and I will gladly step into those places . . . after all, I'd hate to waste all this great planning and strategizing of the last two months.
But mostly, I'm longing for no thinking, no words, no strategizing, no talking about. Instead, simply a sitting-in. A being-with.
And IF you find a Squatty Potty under your Christmas tree . . .
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Advent's Slow Crawl
This past Sunday was the First Sunday of Advent.
The season of Advent is intended for preparation, waiting, and expectancy, beginning four Sundays before Christmas. Advent themes of hope, love, peace, and joy are intended to prepare our hearts for the birth of Jesus. In Advent truly conceived, that birth is not a faraway event represented by a calendar date, but rather a birth that takes place continually within human hearts as we make room for the coming of Christ within us.
For me, though, the season of Advent begins as more of a slow crawl. I don't get a running start, or even a rolling start into Advent. In the United States, the first days of Advent fall on the heels of Thanksgiving, travel, Black Friday, and gatherings with family and friends.
Advent crawls out of the blocks. I have to make myself speak the words and sing the songs. I'm grateful for the season, the colors, the candles, the readings, just not quite ready for it.
But Advent doesn't inquire about my readiness, nor does it particularly care whether or not I'm prepared for the season. It doesn't mind that I'm road-weary from travel or overloaded with tryptophan or that Black Friday and Cyber Monday have stuffed my inbox with two email ads for every one I can delete.
Advent comes, ready or not. It comes . . . to announce a coming.
Christ has come . . . Christ is coming . . . Christ will come.
Christ comes always, continuously, in every time. Christ comes everywhere, relentlessly, in every place, welcoming or not.
This is my slow crawl into Advent. I don't feel bad about it -- though years ago I did -- but rather just accept it for what it is. I'll come around. I'll get there eventually.
Give me a bit . . . I'll catch up to you.
The season of Advent is intended for preparation, waiting, and expectancy, beginning four Sundays before Christmas. Advent themes of hope, love, peace, and joy are intended to prepare our hearts for the birth of Jesus. In Advent truly conceived, that birth is not a faraway event represented by a calendar date, but rather a birth that takes place continually within human hearts as we make room for the coming of Christ within us.
For me, though, the season of Advent begins as more of a slow crawl. I don't get a running start, or even a rolling start into Advent. In the United States, the first days of Advent fall on the heels of Thanksgiving, travel, Black Friday, and gatherings with family and friends.
Advent crawls out of the blocks. I have to make myself speak the words and sing the songs. I'm grateful for the season, the colors, the candles, the readings, just not quite ready for it.
But Advent doesn't inquire about my readiness, nor does it particularly care whether or not I'm prepared for the season. It doesn't mind that I'm road-weary from travel or overloaded with tryptophan or that Black Friday and Cyber Monday have stuffed my inbox with two email ads for every one I can delete.
Advent comes, ready or not. It comes . . . to announce a coming.
Christ has come . . . Christ is coming . . . Christ will come.
Christ comes always, continuously, in every time. Christ comes everywhere, relentlessly, in every place, welcoming or not.
This is my slow crawl into Advent. I don't feel bad about it -- though years ago I did -- but rather just accept it for what it is. I'll come around. I'll get there eventually.
Give me a bit . . . I'll catch up to you.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord -- December 25, 2011
Luke 2:15 - 20
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
You know as well as I do that simply showing up in a place does not guarantee an experience of what is happening in that place. It is possible to be there, but not really be there.
For example, I've sung hundreds of Christmas carols in my lifetime. Most of the time I get to the end of a carol without any thought whatsoever of what I've just sung. The words pop out automatically, without thought or consideration. I've sung them so often that I have to force myself to drop into them if I want to hear their message.
Or, to take another example, I've said the Lord's Prayer thousands of times. It's possible to get to the end of the prayer and not have any consciousness of a single thing I've just prayed.
I do believe there are things we should do simply because we should do them. And most of us don't have the wherewithal to give intense mental scrutiny to every parcel of life, to every word or sight or sound. We would be exhausted from such intensity.
But many of us live at the opposite extreme. We give little or no attention to things that happen in the present moment. We're living in what has already happened in the past . . . or we are planning for some anticipated moment in the future.
Here's my problem: God-orchestrated sounds are all around me, but I don't hear them. God-shaped sights appear to me constantly, but I don't see them.
The text for today comes at the end of the traditional texts about the Nativity of Jesus. It hinges, not on the proper nouns that name the people involved in the scene (angels, shepherds, Mary, Joseph, baby), but on the verbs that describe the action post-birth.
The verbs that catch my attention (and thus, draw the action) are the simple action words, "see," "hear," and "tell." You'll find several occurances of them in the text.
You can show up in a place, but not see the miracle or the revelation.
You can show up in a place, but not hear the message or the angel chorus.
And if you don't see or hear, you have nothing to tell.
"The shepherds praised and glorified God for all they had seen and heard."
So I'm taking a moment today, this Christmas Day, to ponder what I have seen and heard in recent days. I've heard lots of honking on streets and in parking lots. I've seen bright multi-colored lights on houses and lots of red-taillights on streets and highways. I've heard lots of frustrated people in stores. I've heard tired children and seen frustrated parents.
But if I filter my hearing and seeing through a God-lens, what sounds and sights am I aware of then? What people have I seen that have become gift to me? And what people have I seen who have received my gift?
What have I heard that brought me joy and life? What sounds filled me with peace?
What I have seen and heard gives me something to tell: "Jesus Christ lives within us and around us! The mystery of God is real and lives among us! Thanks and praise be to God!"
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
You know as well as I do that simply showing up in a place does not guarantee an experience of what is happening in that place. It is possible to be there, but not really be there.
For example, I've sung hundreds of Christmas carols in my lifetime. Most of the time I get to the end of a carol without any thought whatsoever of what I've just sung. The words pop out automatically, without thought or consideration. I've sung them so often that I have to force myself to drop into them if I want to hear their message.
Or, to take another example, I've said the Lord's Prayer thousands of times. It's possible to get to the end of the prayer and not have any consciousness of a single thing I've just prayed.
I do believe there are things we should do simply because we should do them. And most of us don't have the wherewithal to give intense mental scrutiny to every parcel of life, to every word or sight or sound. We would be exhausted from such intensity.
But many of us live at the opposite extreme. We give little or no attention to things that happen in the present moment. We're living in what has already happened in the past . . . or we are planning for some anticipated moment in the future.
Here's my problem: God-orchestrated sounds are all around me, but I don't hear them. God-shaped sights appear to me constantly, but I don't see them.
The text for today comes at the end of the traditional texts about the Nativity of Jesus. It hinges, not on the proper nouns that name the people involved in the scene (angels, shepherds, Mary, Joseph, baby), but on the verbs that describe the action post-birth.
The verbs that catch my attention (and thus, draw the action) are the simple action words, "see," "hear," and "tell." You'll find several occurances of them in the text.
You can show up in a place, but not see the miracle or the revelation.
You can show up in a place, but not hear the message or the angel chorus.
And if you don't see or hear, you have nothing to tell.
"The shepherds praised and glorified God for all they had seen and heard."
So I'm taking a moment today, this Christmas Day, to ponder what I have seen and heard in recent days. I've heard lots of honking on streets and in parking lots. I've seen bright multi-colored lights on houses and lots of red-taillights on streets and highways. I've heard lots of frustrated people in stores. I've heard tired children and seen frustrated parents.
But if I filter my hearing and seeing through a God-lens, what sounds and sights am I aware of then? What people have I seen that have become gift to me? And what people have I seen who have received my gift?
What have I heard that brought me joy and life? What sounds filled me with peace?
What I have seen and heard gives me something to tell: "Jesus Christ lives within us and around us! The mystery of God is real and lives among us! Thanks and praise be to God!"
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Day -- December 25, 2010
Luke 2:1 - 14
In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.
So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
It doesn't take a lot of room for Christ to be born. I suspect that his birth in the Bethlehem stable is just one example of how he continually squeezes into tight places, or shows up in out-of-the-way settings, or is found among that which is lowly and ill-esteemed rather than what seems significant and worthwhile.
Early witnesses seem to confirm that people were drawn to Christianity in the early centuries not because it was trendy to do so -- it was not -- and not because they wanted to be seen in the church -- most who were seen in the church were ostracized and belittled -- and not because they thought they could get ahead by hanging out with other Christians -- rather than get ahead, they often were beheaded! Persons were drawn to Christianity because Jesus came as a poor child of lowly means among parents of common stock.
He was not a royal king, lording over his subjects with command and self-assurance.
He was not a wealthy landowner with cattle and scores of servants at his beckoning.
He was not a successful entrepreneur who navigated the nuances of business strategies and workplace politics.
Early Christians noted that he was a person's person, a human's human. He filled out completely in his flesh what it meant to live a fully human life. He lived completely into the shape of his life as it was given to him by the Father.
I read a Henri Nouwen vignette years ago in which he wrote about presiding over a Christmas Mass in Central America. After the Mass, an old man approached Nouwen to express appreciation for the Mass. Nouwen deflected the praise and said something about the Christ who was at the center of the Mass. The old man's reply was something like, "Ah yes, the baby Jesus. He was poor and little . . . like us."
That seems to be the message I'm hearing more than any other this Christmas. The baby Jesus, he's poor and little like us. We may think that we're not poor and little. We can convince others and even ourselves that the clothes really do make the man (or the woman) . . . that we're as good as our reputation . . . that we can wear some kind of mask in order to convince others that we're really all together. . . .
But each of us in some way are little and poor. All of us have some kind of lack, some deficiency, some point of need. We cannot give ourselves the very things we most need for full and abundant life. We each live with an inner poverty, a God-sized vacuum that can be filled by nothing and no one else. It is an emptiness that is Christ-sized, a hole that waits and waits for the birthing of Christ within us.
The acknowledgment of that inner poverty is the beginning point to the filling of that emptiness. To acknowledge our real selves, to say with honesty that we are little, poor and in need leads to the richest, most florescent life.
Christ comes small. Humbly. He doesn't need much room to be born. Just a sliver. A crack. A small stable. An open heart. A willing spirit. Someone who believes beyond the nearly seen world.
If you are reading a meditation like this on Christmas Day, I suspect you might be this kind of person. You likely have the kind of heart-space into which Jesus continues to be born. You may be a kind of midwife, helping Jesus be birthed into our world in the lives of other people.
So I pray that on this most holy day, you would create just enough space within the stable of your own heart and spirit for Christ to be born. If enough of us clear a corner of the stable today . . .
In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.
So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
It doesn't take a lot of room for Christ to be born. I suspect that his birth in the Bethlehem stable is just one example of how he continually squeezes into tight places, or shows up in out-of-the-way settings, or is found among that which is lowly and ill-esteemed rather than what seems significant and worthwhile.
Early witnesses seem to confirm that people were drawn to Christianity in the early centuries not because it was trendy to do so -- it was not -- and not because they wanted to be seen in the church -- most who were seen in the church were ostracized and belittled -- and not because they thought they could get ahead by hanging out with other Christians -- rather than get ahead, they often were beheaded! Persons were drawn to Christianity because Jesus came as a poor child of lowly means among parents of common stock.
He was not a royal king, lording over his subjects with command and self-assurance.
He was not a wealthy landowner with cattle and scores of servants at his beckoning.
He was not a successful entrepreneur who navigated the nuances of business strategies and workplace politics.
Early Christians noted that he was a person's person, a human's human. He filled out completely in his flesh what it meant to live a fully human life. He lived completely into the shape of his life as it was given to him by the Father.
I read a Henri Nouwen vignette years ago in which he wrote about presiding over a Christmas Mass in Central America. After the Mass, an old man approached Nouwen to express appreciation for the Mass. Nouwen deflected the praise and said something about the Christ who was at the center of the Mass. The old man's reply was something like, "Ah yes, the baby Jesus. He was poor and little . . . like us."
That seems to be the message I'm hearing more than any other this Christmas. The baby Jesus, he's poor and little like us. We may think that we're not poor and little. We can convince others and even ourselves that the clothes really do make the man (or the woman) . . . that we're as good as our reputation . . . that we can wear some kind of mask in order to convince others that we're really all together. . . .
But each of us in some way are little and poor. All of us have some kind of lack, some deficiency, some point of need. We cannot give ourselves the very things we most need for full and abundant life. We each live with an inner poverty, a God-sized vacuum that can be filled by nothing and no one else. It is an emptiness that is Christ-sized, a hole that waits and waits for the birthing of Christ within us.
The acknowledgment of that inner poverty is the beginning point to the filling of that emptiness. To acknowledge our real selves, to say with honesty that we are little, poor and in need leads to the richest, most florescent life.
Christ comes small. Humbly. He doesn't need much room to be born. Just a sliver. A crack. A small stable. An open heart. A willing spirit. Someone who believes beyond the nearly seen world.
If you are reading a meditation like this on Christmas Day, I suspect you might be this kind of person. You likely have the kind of heart-space into which Jesus continues to be born. You may be a kind of midwife, helping Jesus be birthed into our world in the lives of other people.
So I pray that on this most holy day, you would create just enough space within the stable of your own heart and spirit for Christ to be born. If enough of us clear a corner of the stable today . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)