The days of Advent quickly move into the days of Christmas. The Church calendar does not pause long for nativity before moving into the real-world situation into which Christ was born.
December 26 was the day of remembrance for St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr. The reading for Monday was Matthew 10:17 - 22.
December 27 called to mind St. John the Evangelist, with the reading for the day from the Resurrection of Christ (John 20:1 - 8).
Today, December 28, remembers The Holy Innocents (Matthew 2:16 - 18), the two-year-old children who were slaughtered by Herod in his fear and paranoia over the report of the Magi about a new "king" being born.
In short, the readings for the week are sobering reminders that the birth of this King has serious consequences, and that not everyone was willing to sing "Glory!" at the birth. Life moves on. We're not frozen at a manger, but carrying the real presence into the life we live everyday. Christ inhabits all the moments of our lives.
For now, this blog will be dormant until next Advent, when we will make the journey once again.
But in a couple of months we will begin the season of Lent, and make a different kind of journey together. For that pilgrimage, I'll offer daily postings at A Daily Lent (www.dailylent.blogspot.com).
My year-round, ongoing blog is Only a Sojourner (www.onlyasojourner.blogspot.com).
I look forward to continuing the journey with you!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
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!"
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve -- December 24, 2011
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 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.”
The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, is prayed daily each morning in the Liturgy of the Hours. I have prayed it from prayer books and in monastic settings for years. Its words are ingrained in my consciousness. They have been life to me.
The Benedictus is also a wonderfully appropriate Advent prayer. The images fit perfectly with this season of watching for light and waiting in hope.
So for the last three years I've used this prayer as a centerpiece for the weekly Contemplative Worship experience of which I am a part. I personally find it to be a beautiful expression of Advent hope for myself and the world. Others have responded well to it, as well, and found life in its words.
Last weekend, a worshiper in that service noticed that we were still using the Benedictus in worship, especially the last two verses, once or twice in each service. This person noted that had used the same prayer last year in worship, also. She was simply making the observation about the Canticle's prominence in worship.
I responded to her comment by saying, "Yes, we've used it for three years now . . . and we're going to keep saying it until we get it right!"
We all laughed. Of course, I didn't mean, "Until we all say it the right way," or "Until we get the cadence right," or "Until the intonation suits me."
I meant, "We're going to say it until we really open ourselves to its truth."
That is, until we live in the truth that one has come to us to save us from enemies, both enemies in the outer world, but mostly enemies in our internal world . . .
. . . until we open ourselves to worship God without fear and intimation, but in mercy and loving-kindness . . .
. . . until we really get the mercy and compassion of God as it is extended toward us without condition, and then live in it more than talk about it . . .
. . . until we live in the light of God, no matter how dark our situations or our "shadows of death" seem.
. . . until our feet our guided onto the path of peace, so that we not only speak of peace, but actively live into the peace of God for all people.
The Church has been praying the Benedictus daily for centuries. We're still trying to "get it right." And we'll be praying it for a long time yet to come.
A Meditation
On this eve of the birth of Christ, try this for a meditation:
Read through the Canticle of Zechariah once more.
Pick out the line or phrase that seems to have your name written on it.
Pull that line out of the prayer, and then stay with it for a few moments.
Take several tries at putting it into your own words. Paraphrase it.
How is that line being lived out in your life?
Whisper the line quietly several times, until you sense the phrase sinking from your head down into your heart.
Then carry that line with you as a breath prayer through this Christmas Eve.
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 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.”
The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, is prayed daily each morning in the Liturgy of the Hours. I have prayed it from prayer books and in monastic settings for years. Its words are ingrained in my consciousness. They have been life to me.
The Benedictus is also a wonderfully appropriate Advent prayer. The images fit perfectly with this season of watching for light and waiting in hope.
So for the last three years I've used this prayer as a centerpiece for the weekly Contemplative Worship experience of which I am a part. I personally find it to be a beautiful expression of Advent hope for myself and the world. Others have responded well to it, as well, and found life in its words.
Last weekend, a worshiper in that service noticed that we were still using the Benedictus in worship, especially the last two verses, once or twice in each service. This person noted that had used the same prayer last year in worship, also. She was simply making the observation about the Canticle's prominence in worship.
I responded to her comment by saying, "Yes, we've used it for three years now . . . and we're going to keep saying it until we get it right!"
We all laughed. Of course, I didn't mean, "Until we all say it the right way," or "Until we get the cadence right," or "Until the intonation suits me."
I meant, "We're going to say it until we really open ourselves to its truth."
That is, until we live in the truth that one has come to us to save us from enemies, both enemies in the outer world, but mostly enemies in our internal world . . .
. . . until we open ourselves to worship God without fear and intimation, but in mercy and loving-kindness . . .
. . . until we really get the mercy and compassion of God as it is extended toward us without condition, and then live in it more than talk about it . . .
. . . until we live in the light of God, no matter how dark our situations or our "shadows of death" seem.
. . . until our feet our guided onto the path of peace, so that we not only speak of peace, but actively live into the peace of God for all people.
The Church has been praying the Benedictus daily for centuries. We're still trying to "get it right." And we'll be praying it for a long time yet to come.
A Meditation
On this eve of the birth of Christ, try this for a meditation:
Read through the Canticle of Zechariah once more.
Pick out the line or phrase that seems to have your name written on it.
Pull that line out of the prayer, and then stay with it for a few moments.
Take several tries at putting it into your own words. Paraphrase it.
How is that line being lived out in your life?
Whisper the line quietly several times, until you sense the phrase sinking from your head down into your heart.
Then carry that line with you as a breath prayer through this Christmas Eve.
Friday, December 23, 2011
The Fourth Friday of Advent -- December 23, 2011
Luke 1:57 - 66
When it was time for Elizabeth to have her baby, she gave birth to a son. Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown her great mercy, and they shared her joy.
On the eighth day they came to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him after his father Zechariah, but his mother spoke up and said, “No! He is to be called John.”
They said to her, “There is no one among your relatives who has that name.”
Then they made signs to his father, to find out what he would like to name the child. He asked for a writing tablet, and to everyone’s astonishment he wrote, “His name is John.” Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue was loosed, and he began to speak, praising God. The neighbors were all filled with awe, and throughout the hill country of Judea people were talking about all these things. Everyone who heard this wondered about it, asking, “What then is this child going to be?” For the Lord’s hand was with him.
I find Christmas joy rivaled by Christmas angst. The difficulties and challenges of relationships the other 364 days of the year are intensified under the spotlight of an expectation of "joy, peace and celebration."
It's hard to be in relationships in a healthy way. Each of us brings old patterns and assumptions into our interactions with others. Sometimes we lock others into old expectations and leave little room for the new or the fresh or the surprising to emerge.
Zechariah and Elizabeth birthed a son. The old pattern, adopted by friends, family members, and towns-people was that the parents would give the baby a family name, so that the family line would be passed on in that naming ritual.
God's invitation to Zechariah and Elizabeth, however, was toward another name, a name representing the new thing God would do with this boy . . . and ultimately with the one this boy would precede.
It takes courage to step out of old patterns, to walk against prevailing opinion, to swim upstream when all expectations run against you like a strong river-current. It is easier to adapt and go along, not breaking with tradition. But tradition alone is rarely the wineskin that contains the fullness and expansiveness of the Gospel.
This is one of the reasons friendships and family life are such challenges. Those closest to us are also those most likely to lock us into old patterns, old ways of naming and being named, old ways of relating. When God stirs a heart and a person begins to change inwardly, living into fresh patterns or new ways of being, all these old patterns are challenged. Other people get uncomfortable . . . threatened . . . confused . . . offended.
This story of Zechariah and Elizabeth naming John helps me to step into my own experience of Christmas with a bit more courage. More than being locked into the old patterns, it invites me to live into the fresh thing God is doing in me, in others, and in the world.
When it was time for Elizabeth to have her baby, she gave birth to a son. Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown her great mercy, and they shared her joy.
On the eighth day they came to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him after his father Zechariah, but his mother spoke up and said, “No! He is to be called John.”
They said to her, “There is no one among your relatives who has that name.”
Then they made signs to his father, to find out what he would like to name the child. He asked for a writing tablet, and to everyone’s astonishment he wrote, “His name is John.” Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue was loosed, and he began to speak, praising God. The neighbors were all filled with awe, and throughout the hill country of Judea people were talking about all these things. Everyone who heard this wondered about it, asking, “What then is this child going to be?” For the Lord’s hand was with him.
I find Christmas joy rivaled by Christmas angst. The difficulties and challenges of relationships the other 364 days of the year are intensified under the spotlight of an expectation of "joy, peace and celebration."
It's hard to be in relationships in a healthy way. Each of us brings old patterns and assumptions into our interactions with others. Sometimes we lock others into old expectations and leave little room for the new or the fresh or the surprising to emerge.
Zechariah and Elizabeth birthed a son. The old pattern, adopted by friends, family members, and towns-people was that the parents would give the baby a family name, so that the family line would be passed on in that naming ritual.
God's invitation to Zechariah and Elizabeth, however, was toward another name, a name representing the new thing God would do with this boy . . . and ultimately with the one this boy would precede.
It takes courage to step out of old patterns, to walk against prevailing opinion, to swim upstream when all expectations run against you like a strong river-current. It is easier to adapt and go along, not breaking with tradition. But tradition alone is rarely the wineskin that contains the fullness and expansiveness of the Gospel.
This is one of the reasons friendships and family life are such challenges. Those closest to us are also those most likely to lock us into old patterns, old ways of naming and being named, old ways of relating. When God stirs a heart and a person begins to change inwardly, living into fresh patterns or new ways of being, all these old patterns are challenged. Other people get uncomfortable . . . threatened . . . confused . . . offended.
This story of Zechariah and Elizabeth naming John helps me to step into my own experience of Christmas with a bit more courage. More than being locked into the old patterns, it invites me to live into the fresh thing God is doing in me, in others, and in the world.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
The Fourth Thursday of Advent -- December 22, 2011
Luke 1:46 - 56
And Mary said:
“My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”
Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.
This Song of Mary has been prayed by the Church for centuries. It is known as the Magnificat (Latin for "magnifies") and is a part of the daily prayer offered in churches, homes and monasteries in the Liturgy of the Hours (or the Divine Office, what I have described elsewhere as a kind of "touchpoint" prayer).
Two things about the prayer stand out to me today. Both speak to Mary's stance toward God.
First, with the exception of the first two lines, Mary's song was about what God does in the world. In the first two lines Mary sang, "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God." That is, grammatically she is the subject of each line: "My soul glorifies" and "My spirit rejoices."
But in the rest of the song God is the subject of each statement. She witnessed to the work of God in the world. It seems like an important piece of the prayer to meditate on . . . that Mary located God at the center of life, as the initiator and sustainer of the world. God is squarely placed as the Source and Wellspring of life.
Second, notice that when Mary placed God as the subject of the goodness that breaks out in the world, she only mentioned God's goodness towards her one time. She was not fixated on "what the Lord has done for me," though she acknowledged that "the Might One has done great things for me."
Rather, Mary was busy noticing what God was doing in the world . . . among those who were powerful and proud . . . with rulers and among the humble . . . giving goodness to those who were hungry and creating hunger for goodness in those who had much . . . helping and remembering God's people.
This seems to be a radical departure from the contemporary practice of measuring God and/or spirituality by my life, my growth, my perception. So much of faith becomes egocentric, wrapped up in I, me, my and mine.
Yes, there is an inward dimension to spirituality that is necessary, but there is also the movement outward in Christian spirituality, away from self toward what God is doing in the world. Spirituality gives us eyes to see those God-fingerprints and feet to follow those God-footprints. Mary had a sensitivity to God's work, and she prayed it.
Her sight was not limited or provincial, but was much broader, much more expansive. She saw God alive and working in the world, and doing so in a way that most people missed.
Her prayer is worth spending time with these four days before Christmas.
And Mary said:
“My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”
Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.
This Song of Mary has been prayed by the Church for centuries. It is known as the Magnificat (Latin for "magnifies") and is a part of the daily prayer offered in churches, homes and monasteries in the Liturgy of the Hours (or the Divine Office, what I have described elsewhere as a kind of "touchpoint" prayer).
Two things about the prayer stand out to me today. Both speak to Mary's stance toward God.
First, with the exception of the first two lines, Mary's song was about what God does in the world. In the first two lines Mary sang, "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God." That is, grammatically she is the subject of each line: "My soul glorifies" and "My spirit rejoices."
But in the rest of the song God is the subject of each statement. She witnessed to the work of God in the world. It seems like an important piece of the prayer to meditate on . . . that Mary located God at the center of life, as the initiator and sustainer of the world. God is squarely placed as the Source and Wellspring of life.
Second, notice that when Mary placed God as the subject of the goodness that breaks out in the world, she only mentioned God's goodness towards her one time. She was not fixated on "what the Lord has done for me," though she acknowledged that "the Might One has done great things for me."
Rather, Mary was busy noticing what God was doing in the world . . . among those who were powerful and proud . . . with rulers and among the humble . . . giving goodness to those who were hungry and creating hunger for goodness in those who had much . . . helping and remembering God's people.
This seems to be a radical departure from the contemporary practice of measuring God and/or spirituality by my life, my growth, my perception. So much of faith becomes egocentric, wrapped up in I, me, my and mine.
Yes, there is an inward dimension to spirituality that is necessary, but there is also the movement outward in Christian spirituality, away from self toward what God is doing in the world. Spirituality gives us eyes to see those God-fingerprints and feet to follow those God-footprints. Mary had a sensitivity to God's work, and she prayed it.
Her sight was not limited or provincial, but was much broader, much more expansive. She saw God alive and working in the world, and doing so in a way that most people missed.
Her prayer is worth spending time with these four days before Christmas.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Fourth Wednesday of Advent -- December 21, 2011
Luke 1:39 - 45
At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”
"Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!"
There are moments when I'll believe anything from God, when I can hear and trust even the most improbable things from God's hand.
A few years ago, before I was a part of The Center for Christian Spirituality, I had a vision for building a retreat center and out of that facility offering retreats, classes, spiritual direction, workshops, conferences . . . basically all the things I now have the opening to do through The Center for Christian Spirituality in Houston.
I met with architects and builders in order to hear about costs and projections. I wanted to know how large the mountain was that I was about to climb. Serious. I believed this thing was going to happen, and any day!
The cost? $20 million. At least, that's what I heard. So I prayed the $20 million. It started off sounding far away. To this day, I have no idea what $20 million looks like, but -- I'm serious -- it seemed like no big deal to me. I was convinced that God wanted this retreat center to happen, and I was sold out that God would provide whatever was needed to bring it to pass.
Talk about faith!?!? I believed in this!
[It's a different meditation if I have to write about the perils of claiming something is God's will, or that I've heard God's voice, or that I'm following God's calling . . . and then come in on the back side to realize that it wasn't God's voice at all, but rather Jerry's wishes. I'll save that reflection for another time.]
Then I went to another meeting with an architect, and he said something like, "This $2 million has really put this project out of reach. I don't think it's going to happen."
TWO million?? What?? Are you kidding me? I've been wrestling with this thing for TWENTY million, and you're telling me that $2 million is out of reach?
Well, the retreat center did not happen, not for $20 or even $2 million. Instead, God opened doors at Chapelwood United Methodist Church in Houston to begin The Center for Christian Spirituality.
[By the way . . . I've noticed how quick God was to get me out of the fund-raising business!!]
My point is that for a moment in time, I believed. I really believed. I trusted that "all things are possible with God." I've had other short moments of that kind of trust along the way, maybe not as grand as that one example, but a few here and there where I've really trusted that God was big enough to do what seemed impossible to me.
But I don't really live there all the time. Those moments, for me anyway, give way to the rest of my life, to all the undulations of daily life, to the ordinary tasks of each day and the mundane details of daily living. It's very easy for me to lose an "all-things-are-possible" mentality in favor of ordinariness. I don't intend that life be this way, it just is. I'm up and down, trusting and not trusting, hearing then deaf, seeing then blind.
So it's one thing for Mary to believe God's design when Gabriel shows up on her doorstep and invites her to step into this venture with God. She says, "Yes." She believes. "Here I am, your servant. Let it be done to me as you have said."
It's another thing for Mary to continue to live into this design, to continue to step into this invitation from God . . . even when life is very normal, very routine . . . like when she's visiting friends and relatives (Elizabeth). When Mary shows up in this text, she is still living into the invitation that Gabriel offered, even though he is now off the scene. Mary seems to trust, even in the mundane things of life.
I've heard Paula d'Arcy say, "God comes to us disguised as life." Trusting the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary is not always easy. In fact, rarely is it easy.
But there is another thing in this passage that strikes me. It is Elizabeth recognizing and affirming Mary's trust. Elizabeth blessed Mary for holding her faith, continuing on in trust, even though she doesn't fully understand what that means. In acknowledging Mary's bent toward God and her ongoing belief in what God had promised, Elizabeth blessed Mary.
At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”
"Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!"
There are moments when I'll believe anything from God, when I can hear and trust even the most improbable things from God's hand.
A few years ago, before I was a part of The Center for Christian Spirituality, I had a vision for building a retreat center and out of that facility offering retreats, classes, spiritual direction, workshops, conferences . . . basically all the things I now have the opening to do through The Center for Christian Spirituality in Houston.
I met with architects and builders in order to hear about costs and projections. I wanted to know how large the mountain was that I was about to climb. Serious. I believed this thing was going to happen, and any day!
The cost? $20 million. At least, that's what I heard. So I prayed the $20 million. It started off sounding far away. To this day, I have no idea what $20 million looks like, but -- I'm serious -- it seemed like no big deal to me. I was convinced that God wanted this retreat center to happen, and I was sold out that God would provide whatever was needed to bring it to pass.
Talk about faith!?!? I believed in this!
[It's a different meditation if I have to write about the perils of claiming something is God's will, or that I've heard God's voice, or that I'm following God's calling . . . and then come in on the back side to realize that it wasn't God's voice at all, but rather Jerry's wishes. I'll save that reflection for another time.]
Then I went to another meeting with an architect, and he said something like, "This $2 million has really put this project out of reach. I don't think it's going to happen."
TWO million?? What?? Are you kidding me? I've been wrestling with this thing for TWENTY million, and you're telling me that $2 million is out of reach?
Well, the retreat center did not happen, not for $20 or even $2 million. Instead, God opened doors at Chapelwood United Methodist Church in Houston to begin The Center for Christian Spirituality.
[By the way . . . I've noticed how quick God was to get me out of the fund-raising business!!]
My point is that for a moment in time, I believed. I really believed. I trusted that "all things are possible with God." I've had other short moments of that kind of trust along the way, maybe not as grand as that one example, but a few here and there where I've really trusted that God was big enough to do what seemed impossible to me.
But I don't really live there all the time. Those moments, for me anyway, give way to the rest of my life, to all the undulations of daily life, to the ordinary tasks of each day and the mundane details of daily living. It's very easy for me to lose an "all-things-are-possible" mentality in favor of ordinariness. I don't intend that life be this way, it just is. I'm up and down, trusting and not trusting, hearing then deaf, seeing then blind.
So it's one thing for Mary to believe God's design when Gabriel shows up on her doorstep and invites her to step into this venture with God. She says, "Yes." She believes. "Here I am, your servant. Let it be done to me as you have said."
It's another thing for Mary to continue to live into this design, to continue to step into this invitation from God . . . even when life is very normal, very routine . . . like when she's visiting friends and relatives (Elizabeth). When Mary shows up in this text, she is still living into the invitation that Gabriel offered, even though he is now off the scene. Mary seems to trust, even in the mundane things of life.
I've heard Paula d'Arcy say, "God comes to us disguised as life." Trusting the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary is not always easy. In fact, rarely is it easy.
But there is another thing in this passage that strikes me. It is Elizabeth recognizing and affirming Mary's trust. Elizabeth blessed Mary for holding her faith, continuing on in trust, even though she doesn't fully understand what that means. In acknowledging Mary's bent toward God and her ongoing belief in what God had promised, Elizabeth blessed Mary.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Fourth Tuesday of Advent -- December 20, 2011
Luke 1:26 - 38
In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me according to your word.” Then the angel left her.
This passage, which was the Gospel reading for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, is repeated today.
I wrote two days ago about Mary and the elaborate back-story the Church constructed centuries ago about her life, as if to justify her "favor" with God on the basis of her merits. In short, the Church formulated a "history" for Mary that was pristine enough that she stood out as the one who deserved to be the Holy Mother of God. As I said then, that historical reconfiguring of her life doesn't witness to God's grace, but rather to her goodness. I don't think that's how God works in human life. Grace and favor are always about God's choosing, not Mary's deserving or our deserving.
Further, I don't need that back-story to know that Mary is perhaps the best New Testament model for the contemplative life available to us. She modeled a life of radical trust and union with God. Let me explain.
She was simple. She realized she had not earned this "favor." She took things that happened to her and around her, and she "pondered them in her heart." She "treasured them in her heart." That is, she didn't make a huge, public show of her connection to God. She didn't parade her interior life in the public eye. She didn't make a fuss about what she notices of God's work in the world. She didn't flaunt her holiness. She didn't showcase her experience of the Divine in front of others. Rather, she drew her God-experience into her heart and let it incubate there.
Mary did what her Son would later suggest we all do when we go to prayer. In the Sermon on the Mount he taught us not to pray in a way that draws attention to ourselves (on the street corners and busy intersections of life), but to withdraw to our secret room, that is, to our inner room where we meet the Father in private.
Mary got it.
She is a esteemed as the Mother of God not because of the intricate story the Church imaginatively told about her, but because of what we know from the report of Scripture.
In fact, her words at the conclusion of this text are probably the best mantra for the contemplative life I know. They state simply and succinctly the essence of life with God, the very fundamentals of union with God.
"Here I am. Let it be with me according to your word." Or, "Let it be to me as you have said."
Here I am. I am where I am. My soul is not in the past, locked into old narratives. Neither am I living in the future. I am not in some other geographical location. I am where I am, physically and spiritually. I am who I am.
It is a real gift for any of us to say, "Here I am," to be present without distractions, to allow all the aspects of our personhood (body, mind, soul and spirit) to show up in the same place at the same time.
This is so hard for me to do, but Mary not only said it. She did it.
Let it be with me according to your word. A surrender. But more, an openness to the design of God in her life, to the action of God which was mysterious and beyond her comprehension. Yet, she did not shut out God's hand. She did not close the door to God's invitation.
This is the stance of the contemplative, who steps into the cloud or walks into the darkness not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what she will find, but trusting the One who calls and invites, believing that even if the Divine work is not fully understood, it is still good and life-giving. Even when the God-path is unrecognizable, it is still a path that leads to life, wholeness, and the essence of what it means to be fully human.
You might want to make these two simple sentences your prayer for the next week. Carry the prayer on your heart. Whisper it with your lips. Let the depth of the prayer anchor you for the week.
"Here I am. Let it be to me as you have said."
In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me according to your word.” Then the angel left her.
This passage, which was the Gospel reading for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, is repeated today.
I wrote two days ago about Mary and the elaborate back-story the Church constructed centuries ago about her life, as if to justify her "favor" with God on the basis of her merits. In short, the Church formulated a "history" for Mary that was pristine enough that she stood out as the one who deserved to be the Holy Mother of God. As I said then, that historical reconfiguring of her life doesn't witness to God's grace, but rather to her goodness. I don't think that's how God works in human life. Grace and favor are always about God's choosing, not Mary's deserving or our deserving.
Further, I don't need that back-story to know that Mary is perhaps the best New Testament model for the contemplative life available to us. She modeled a life of radical trust and union with God. Let me explain.
She was simple. She realized she had not earned this "favor." She took things that happened to her and around her, and she "pondered them in her heart." She "treasured them in her heart." That is, she didn't make a huge, public show of her connection to God. She didn't parade her interior life in the public eye. She didn't make a fuss about what she notices of God's work in the world. She didn't flaunt her holiness. She didn't showcase her experience of the Divine in front of others. Rather, she drew her God-experience into her heart and let it incubate there.
Mary did what her Son would later suggest we all do when we go to prayer. In the Sermon on the Mount he taught us not to pray in a way that draws attention to ourselves (on the street corners and busy intersections of life), but to withdraw to our secret room, that is, to our inner room where we meet the Father in private.
Mary got it.
She is a esteemed as the Mother of God not because of the intricate story the Church imaginatively told about her, but because of what we know from the report of Scripture.
In fact, her words at the conclusion of this text are probably the best mantra for the contemplative life I know. They state simply and succinctly the essence of life with God, the very fundamentals of union with God.
"Here I am. Let it be with me according to your word." Or, "Let it be to me as you have said."
Here I am. I am where I am. My soul is not in the past, locked into old narratives. Neither am I living in the future. I am not in some other geographical location. I am where I am, physically and spiritually. I am who I am.
It is a real gift for any of us to say, "Here I am," to be present without distractions, to allow all the aspects of our personhood (body, mind, soul and spirit) to show up in the same place at the same time.
This is so hard for me to do, but Mary not only said it. She did it.
Let it be with me according to your word. A surrender. But more, an openness to the design of God in her life, to the action of God which was mysterious and beyond her comprehension. Yet, she did not shut out God's hand. She did not close the door to God's invitation.
This is the stance of the contemplative, who steps into the cloud or walks into the darkness not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what she will find, but trusting the One who calls and invites, believing that even if the Divine work is not fully understood, it is still good and life-giving. Even when the God-path is unrecognizable, it is still a path that leads to life, wholeness, and the essence of what it means to be fully human.
You might want to make these two simple sentences your prayer for the next week. Carry the prayer on your heart. Whisper it with your lips. Let the depth of the prayer anchor you for the week.
"Here I am. Let it be to me as you have said."
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