Advent gift

I read my devotion this morning, not at my usual spot at the table, but on the couch in the glow of the Christmas tree.  (Partly because that was where I left my book last night.)  It has been especially hard this morning to turn off my brain, with the thoughts, joys, and frustrations of this incredibly busy week and month.  Like most people, especially this time of year, it is very difficult for me to shut my mind off the ever-flowing stream of life events and to-do's that seem to pour over and flood any attempt to quiet myself in prayer.

Yet, for some reason that I cannot explain, the words of the hymn "Spirit of the Living God" suddenly appeared randomly and unexpectedly this morning into that stream of busy and worried thought.  Who knows the last time I heard or sung that song in church.  And it's certainly not a Christmas hymn!  I'll take it though, not as an act of my scattered brain, but rather as a small Advent gift from the mystery of God.  Even when I try to create space for quiet and prayer, life creeps in and takes over.  And I let it.  Nine times out of ten.

But perhaps this morning I was freely given the tune and words to a favorite hymn as a gentle (or adamant?) reminder to pause...turn inward....and let the Spirit of the Living God fall afresh on me.

If only for a minute.

Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me. 
Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me.
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Spirit of the Living God, fall afresh on me.  

Guest Post: You Are My Witnesses

A guest post from Jeff.  Grateful for his words and his call to compassion, thoughtfulness and peace.
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In 2006, I was given the opportunity to go to Poland as part of a Holocaust remembrance trip for college and seminary students.  As a part of the trip, each group was placed together with a Jewish tour guide as well as a Holocaust survivor.  The survivor’s name was Pinchas, and throughout the week he shared his story with us.  We listened to him talk about the prejudice against Jews, and his experience of being forced into a Warsaw Jewish ghetto that was made smaller and smaller, until finally they packed everyone onto cattle cars and shipped them off to the concentration camps.  We stood in the concentration camp of Majdanek where his entire family was murdered and listened to him talk about his experiences in that place.

That trip shaped my life, and it also made me painfully aware of what is possible when a group of human beings are deemed as “other” because of their race, nationality, religion, physical or mental abilities, and even sexuality.  I say this because Jewish people were not the only ones murdered in the Holocaust, although the majority of those killed were Jewish. Close to six million Jewish people were killed.  But Gypsies, Poles, political dissidents and dissenting clergy, people with physical and mental disabilities, Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, and other groups were exterminated simply because of who they were or what they believed.

Why do I say this now?  I am not one to speak politically.  I believe in the separation of church and state.  However, when I hear or read something from the state that strikes to the core of my experience in Poland, I have to stop, and I have to speak.  It is my Christian duty to speak. 

The conversation has shifted, and now we are talking about turning away all Muslims from the United States.  Perhaps this is just campaign rhetoric. However, people strongly agree with this sentiment.  It has gone from turning away refugees (yikes) to turning away a group of people because of their religion.  This is the platform of one of the frontrunners for the presidency:  Turn all Muslims away because we do not know which ones are good and which ones are bad. 

I recognize that this is a complicated situation because the evil we face comes from a radicalized group that is rooted in Islam, yet is greatly distorting the Islamic faith.  But distorting the faith is not something that ISIS has a monopoly on.  With Jerry Falwell Jr saying:  "I've always thought if more good people had concealed carry permits, then we could end those Muslims before they walked in," it should remind us that a violent branch of Christianity is only a trigger-finger away.

Perhaps we need to step back, America, and take a look at ourselves.  Perhaps we need to step back and take a look at history.  If the language we are using or the values we are espousing reflect in any way the language and values of 1930’s Germany, we may have a problem.  Because once we label a group of people as “other,” we begin slowly to remove their humanity.  And when you remove someone’s humanity, anything is possible.  Just ask Pinchas.   

Pinchas, standing in Majdanek, telling the story of what it was like the last time he stood there.

Playing "We Shall Overcome" at Auschwitz-Birkenau

Crematory ovens at Majdanek

One of many crematory ovens 

Monument/Mausoleum  of ashes at Majdanek

Wonder: For Milly

Wonder:  For Milly

Do I have to light a candle?
The lights are on but the world feels dark.
And I am afraid - that if I light a candle
No one will see it.
Those who need it most will never know it is burning for them.

Do I have to light a candle?
These days I wonder - what for?
What good does it do to talk about hope;
To pray for peace;
To desperately ask for healing and answers in a world so broken
And cracked with pain?

Do I have to light a candle
And pretend I have the hope necessary
To muddle through another rainy day?

No.

I do not have to light a candle today.

But then I think of you.
A Wonder I never met.
You caused us all to wonder - what for?
For joy, for life, for love.
Your giant spirit outshining the darkest days,
And brightening lives for good.

You will always shine.
And I -
I have to light a candle.
I have to.
Today.  And tomorrow.
For you.
And for the world you blessed.

Bartimaeus

I'm preaching on the blind beggar Bartimaeus in Mark 10 this week.  Needless to say, I'm struggling a bit with my direction.  Isn't it true that Bartimaeus, even blind, could see better than the rest, and Jesus helped breathed new life into him when nobody else would give him the time of day. So what does it mean to be healed...and what does it mean to see?  I realize this is a story, not to be taken so literally and to be viewed in the greater context of the entire Gospel of Mark.  But still!!  The greatest and most frustrating part about scripture - there are so many treasures within and endless ways to look at just a few short verses.  This morning I tried a little poetry....just needing to get it off my chest.

"Bartimaeus"

Without my eyes
would I recognize the glorious colors of sun rising
tell apart the blaze of orange from the sizzle of yellow
or the crystal dew sparkling on a blade of grass

Without my vision
would I be able to reach out and touch
grasping and holding
life that is living and breathing and wondering and calling

Without my eyes
how could I know, how would I trust
that the one walking by me cares enough
to see me
to beckon me
in a crowd bursting with status and esteem

Without my eyes to study and examine and analyze and critique
would I ever understand all that there is
to be realized in this great big world

I am finding it to be true,
though I am hushed,
that this great Life finds me
And, without my eyes,
I see life anew

So I walk along

September Prayer

I turned the page of my daily devotion - "Glimpses of Grace" (Madeleine L'Engle) and saw the word written in all caps across the page:

SEPTEMBER

I cannot believe it has arrived.  Yet, I say that every year.  Fall is always welcome in my life.  It is my favorite.  I adore the breeze and can stare at the changing wardrobe of the trees for hours.  Pumpkin spice anything is one of the best flavors to hit my tongue since last season.  There is a crispness to everything, from crackling leaves under shoes to the air that brings tears to my eyes when I look up to the sky at dusk.

I love it.  But I'm never quite ready for it.

John Mayer says it best in one of his songs:  "When autumn comes, it doesn't ask.  It just walks in where it left you last.  And you never know when it starts, until there's fog inside the glass around your summer heart."

The other seasons seem to happen more gradually.  And I'm not just talking about the weather because I know that it will still feel like summer well into September!  I'm talking about the weight of the words themselves - Fall; autumn; September.

We attach so many images, thoughts, memories and ideas to very basic words.  We plan our days around the changes each season brings and decorate our homes accordingly.

Fall means that part of creation and the blossoming of summer months is dying, turning in for the season, inhaling its last breaths for hibernation, stillness, barrenness.  And once we're in the thick of Fall, Winter's arrival feels more ordinary and natural (although not always as welcome).

Fall changes the psyche in exciting ways.  Sometimes I have no trouble saying "bye" to summer...the same way Abbey enthusiastically waves "bye" to me as I lay her down at night.  Other years I do struggle with letting summer go.  Fall, despite the thinness of the trees by November's end is a heavier time of year.  It brings physical challenges with the dropping of the temperature and fewer hours of daylight.  The cold and dark can be overwhelming to many of us.   In a few short weeks, the talk of holidays and family gatherings will pop up and settle on us - whether we anticipate these times or dread them like the flu.

We never know what to expect or how our season will unfold.  But one thing is for sure, Autumn comes without asking.  Before the leaves begin to fall and die, I pray the soil of our summer hearts is tilled and ready to keep warm in the cold of night.

Ladybug

Stop living your days...weeks...months
every single tiny breath
trapped inside someone else's assumed assumptions
(or are they our own?)
Isn't life more than the "I wonder what he is thinking?"
and the
"I should have done it this way"?

Listen more deeply to the way the sun sets
after a sticky summer day.
Feel the weight of black dots on a ladybug's back
as it carefully crawls up the arm.
Watch the way a child gleefully discovers one leaf among many
stuck across the driveway.
As if last rainfall placed them there on purpose
to see how long it would take them to dry.

The laughter of life unfolds every day
Every sunrise.  Each sunset.
Even on the darkest of nights when the stars cannot be seen.
And the air is so thick you could drown in it.

When the brim of your cup overflows with gushes of goodness,
When your well is so dry you can taste the salt seeping from your skin,
or falling from your eyes....

Don't live your days as if each and every day does not matter.
Or isn't right.
Or holy.
Or meant to be good.

Enough with the voice that screams and kicks and hates.

It only takes a glimpse of sunlight to remind the rose or shimmer the sparkle in the eye.
Even in the rain.
And sometimes...especially.

Longing

She wakes up slowly.  The alarm on her phone buzzing louder the longer she takes to tap its screen.

She rubs her eyes and notices the time.  Yawning all the way out of bed to the bathroom...the living room...turning open the blinds to see it is still summer.

The first cup of coffee is a steamy, slow, comfortable ritual.  Another look out the window.  She wishes for the dewy haze of morning to last until noon.  But by then it's much too hot and the morning is already thought of as a long lost friend.

Wondering where the time has gone, she closes her email and exits out of Facebook.  What did we do before computers?  She taps a pen on the desk and twirls a strand of hair around her left pointer finger.

There is a Longing there.  It is close enough to tap her on the shoulder but quick enough to skirt away when she turns to look.  There is something deep within, closer than her breath, but hard to make out.  Like the direction of wind on a still summer day.

What is it that keeps us from doing what we were created to do?  Who tells us when and how to live our lives?

Well certainly that depends on who you ask and the circumstances of life, she is reminded.

And still.  It feels important...it feels like something bigger than herself... But the finger cannot confidently place its source.  And then the head turns on 70 mph, and the heart tires with guilt and should's and ought to's.  She listens too obediently.

 So why can't she shake it off?  Why can't she go on with the daily routine, happy and carefree?

The Longing.  It is like walking through a spiderweb.  You cannot see it so you walk right through it and it sticks to you like glue.  And you carry it with you because it is too sticky to shake off.  It becomes your second skin.