Happy Birthday to My Favorite Radical

O holy night! The starts are brightly shining, it is the night of our dear Savior's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Truly he taught us to love one another, his law is love and his gospel is peace.
Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother, 
And in his name ALL oppression shall cease.

The beloved French carol from the mid-19th century, 'Cantique de Noel', lays bare any comfortable, status quo message contained in the typical Christmas card. The Baby born today brought no message of "atta boy" and "You're doing a heckuva job, Brownie". The birth of this Baby, instead, was a clarion call for the turning of the world; and not a thing would ever be the same. With the break of a new morning, the old day passed away. With Jesus' birth, the value of each soul was upheld, and treating all people as sisters and brothers transformed relationships and communities. As easy as it is to see how popular this carol would have been with 19th century abolitionists, we give ourselves too much credit, perhaps, to think that our 21st century society values everyone equally. Who are the people we see as unclean, unworthy, or just a little too 'out there' to be included in the number of God's family today? What oppression is there yet to cease? And what is our responsibility in ending that oppression? No gospel for the weak of constitution, the message from this Baby-turned-radical. Lord, I want to be in that number!

So, happy birthday, Jesus! You will always be my favorite radical.

The Currency of Love

Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, Love divine:
Love was born at Christmas; star and angel gave the sign.
Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine;
Love to God and others, love for plea and gift and sign.

In this lovely poem by Christina Rosetti, a world where love is the currency of the realm is imagined. It got me to thinking; what would our world be like if its most valued, most precious, and most plentiful resource was love? What if, instead of money, we threw love at the problems of our world? What if we lavishly spent our love on each other, confident that more could just be 'minted'? Imagine a currency with no scarcity!

In our world, love is available freely to us, with no scarcity or shortage. The thing is, I think it is a little like the manna the people encountered in their wanderings in the wilderness. That manna fell in plentiful supply, with enough for everyone, every single day. Human nature being what it is though, there were those who tried to hoard the manna against some future scarcity, thinking to safeguard or enrich themselves. The thing about the manna, though, is that it was only good if used (eaten) the day it fell; otherwise, that manna spoiled and rotted, tucked away for greed.

Let us trust enough in the Maker of Love to lavishly spend our love on God and each other, confident in its unending supply. Yes, we can 'just print more'!

Half-spent

Lo, how a rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung.
Of Jesse's lineage coming as saints of old have sung. 
It came a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half-spent was the night.
This flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air, 
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere.
True man, yet very God, from sin and death he saves us,
And lightens every load.

Are you like me? Do you have those nights where you wake, peer futilely into the darkness, and know that you won't be going back to sleep? 'Half-spent night' seems like the perfect description of that 3 a.m. kind of waking; Ray Bradbury said in his novel 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' that nothing good ever came of a wakefulness at such an hour. When I picture the world at the time of Jesus' birth, I think of a half-spent night kind of existence. For the Jews, a prophetic voice had been absent for 400 years or so, and the Romans were firmly in control of their lives. It was time for...something; they may not have known what, but for something.

Then, into the emptiness and dark of a 3 a.m. waking, a rose; more than that, a winter rose, one out of season, and the more precious for it. I am not sure what 'glorious splendor' would look like, but it seems you would have to feel such a splendor. And, along with the darkness are chased away the fears and doubts that wait till 3 a.m. to surface. The fragrance of splendor takes up the space once filled with the acrid odor of unknowing and doubt. And that Rose, with an unimaginable tender power, lightens our load, and continues to lighten our load.

Creators of Justice and Joy

For everyone born, a place at the table, for everyone born, clean water and bread,
a shelter, a space, a safe place for growing, for everyone born, a star overhead; 
and God will delight when we are creators of justice and joy, compassion and peace!
---Shirley Erena Murray

You have probably said it, prayed it, whined it even. I know I have. 'God, where is the justice? Why must we live in such an unfair world? Why can't we all just get along?' For those times that I find myself in need of a 'Why, Lord?' intervention, this hymn hits home every time. Entitled 'For Everyone Born, a Place at the Table', this modern hymn by New Zealand hymnist Shirley Erena Murray turns all my questions upside down. For in this song, God is cheering us on, as we work for justice, as we seek to make this world a fair and safe place for all. God is delighting as we use our power as children of God as a force for good in this world --- for looking after the least, the lost, the littlest in the kingdom. When we as people of faith let loose a little more compassion in the world, a little more peace, a little more 'enough' for God's global family, that star overhead shines a little more brightly, guiding the way to the place where the Baby lies.

God will delight when we create justice in this world! Imagine a world where everyone born has enough, and God rejoices over us!

Mighty King, Gentle Friend

Child appealing, Light revealing, Jesus Christ, our Pleasure;
God, yet very Son of Mary, heaven's Gift and Treasure.
Mighty King, gentle Friend, as our Lord to us bend,
with your blessing us caressing, now descend, now descend.
---Let Our Gladness Banish Sadness

This hymn is new to me, but not new. Its tight rhyme is a contemporary translation by Jaroslav Vajda of a Slovak version of a 14th century Latin text. Whew, that's a mouthful! In its simple words are deep, joyful truths about the person of Jesus Christ. One of the great mysteries of the faith I have chosen as my title today: Jesus as both a mighty ruler and a gentle friend. Might and gentleness don't often meet in one person, and it fascinates me to think of Jesus as both. Then look at a phrase that would seem impossible, a lord bending to serve, only in a world turned on its head by our gentle friend. And a phrase to fall in love with: Jesus Christ, our Pleasure. To our world, with its sadnesses and sorrows, our gentle friend, our pleasure, comes, caressing us with the only blessing that counts --- the blessing of Christ's presence with us.

The Weary Road

All ye, beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
look now! for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing.
--- Edmund Sears

This unfamiliar verse of the very familiar carol "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" has always drawn my soul. We all read our lives into the songs we sing, I think, and I read mine into this verse. I have felt that this verse speaks to anyone dealing with a chronic condition, toiling sometimes with 'painful steps and slow'. This Advent, I feel it speaks to many, many of us, burdened with cares and sorrows beyond our comprehension. Who of us does not now feel crushed, stooped, weary of the pain of being human in a world full of humans?

But look! Ahead of us shine hours of ease and gladness, golden in their comfort. Some who know me may be saying, right about now, that it is not like me to talk about "pie in the sky, bye and bye", and you would be right. Stay with me. The genius in this verse, and in the grace offered us, is that the angels don't come like shiny aliens and whisk us away to a world where nothing matters anymore. No, the angels' song fills the skies over the weary road. Picture yourself, and me, all of us, laid out on the hoods of our cars, wrapped in fleece blankets against the December chill; and there, because we happen to be travelers on this weary road, we hear angels. Because life has led us here, where we are, how we are, dealing with what we must, we hear the angels sing.

Wouldn't miss it for the world.

In Equal Measure

God rest ye merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay.
For Jesus Christ or Savior is 
Born upon this day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we are gone astray.
O, tidings of comfort and joy!

Into this world, into this mess, into what we've made of God's world, a Savior is born. Into our lives, our troubles, our aches and pains, our sorrows, a Savior is born. The joy and comfort come so close together sometimes, like two sides of a warm blanket, a refuge and an encouragement. Saving us from the full wrath of Satan's power (and you would have to be blind not to acknowledge there is darkness in our world right now), from our own dismay, there is a Savior, himself wrapped in the weakness of a newborn babe, wrapped perhaps in the same blanket of comfort and joy offered us.

Listen hard, and you may hear tidings of comfort, and of joy.

I Will Gather You

The Lord your God is with you, mighty to save.
The Lord will take great delight in you, 
will quiet you with love, 
will rejoice over you with singing.
I will rescue the lame and gather those who have been scattered.
At that time I will gather you;
at that time I will bring you home.
---the prophet Zephaniah

On this Gaudate Sunday, this Rejoice Sunday of Advent, it is hard to summon up joy. When we close our eyes, it is the faces of slaughtered children that stare back at us, it is news reports of carnage that ring in our ears, it is nightmares that flood our dreamscapes. Where does joy come from in a time saturated with sorrow?

I thank God for the lectionary, the 3 year cycle of prescribed Bible readings for use in worship and study. The lectionary, if followed, keeps us from selecting "pet" scriptures to which we return repeatedly at the expense of other scripture. If not for the lectionary, what are the odds that many of us would have spent time today with the prophet Zephaniah, looking for joy? And here we find our source of joy, in the midst of any circumstance. The God of the universe is here with us, rejoicing over...us. We will be gathered to God, a gathering that is not just a heavenly gathering, but one that can begin here and now. Like a loving Father, God will save and rescue. Like a loving Mother, our God gathers us to God's bosom, and brings us home.

Rejoice, brothers and sisters.

Where Is God?

How could this happen? How could we let this happen? Didn't his mother know he was ill, know that a home with mental illness inside is not a place for guns? Were security procedures followed? Was he seeing a therapist or counselor who should have known he was a danger? How will shattered families be made whole? Will the world ever feel safe again? Where is peace?

In all of these questions, we really just ask this one: Where is God? Where is God when innocents are slaughtered, when madness goes unnoticed until it is too late, when the world turns upside down? Where in God's name is God?

Immortal Babe, who this dear day
Didst change thine heaven for our clay,
And didst with flesh thy godhead veil,
Eternal Son of God, all hail!

The answer, whether in verse (this one from the Bishop of Exeter in the 1600's), or in a word (Emmanuel) is...God with us. When we suffer, when we mourn, when we give in to despair --- somehow, someway, God with us. There may be unanswered questions, and asking them may rend our hearts. But the answer to THE question, the one that vanishes our loneliness and fears, is just this: God is with us, in the middle of our mess, our sorrow, our anguish.

Emmanuel --- God with us.

Passing Understanding

Today should be a day of peace, in a week of peace observed during Advent. Today should be one for viewing each other as brothers and sisters, seeking community and fellowship. Today should be a day blanketed in thanksgiving for the gift of peace continually offered to our world. Today is not that day.

Today is a mourning day, a questioning day, a rearranging day. How are we to think of our earth-mates, our community members, when one of us could gun down twenty-six others of us? How are we to live with this not-peace? How are people of peace to respond?

First, to know that families touched by unspeakable violence will need the freedom to express whatever emotions they may encounter; to know that we should be ever ready to offer a listening ear, free of judgement or platitude; to know that this deep hurt, the hurt especially of losing a child, will shape parents and other family members now and forever. Second, to know that the family of the shooter will never outlive the taint of association, or of blame; to know that we cannot be agents of healing unless we are willing for all to be healed and embraced; to know that we can't know. Third, to know that a 24-year-old young man, who should be starting out his adult life and seeking to contribute to society, has broken the peace in such a way; to know that the not-peace of an unquiet mind is a kind of confusing hell; to know that our society must explore what can be done to heal the mind, and what can be done to safeguard the  society, the suffering, and the perpetrator from massive acts of violence. If there are ways we can make this happen, we as peace-seekers must make these things happen.

And last, and first, and overarching, there is peace to be experienced. It is the peace that passes all understanding, crazy peace. Somehow, peace...

Pregnant with Peace

The peace of the earth be with you,
the peace of the heavens too;
the peace of the rivers be with you,
the peace of the oceans too.
Deep peace falling over you;
God's peace growing in you.

If you are in Auburn this night, and you happen to walk out of doors, you will fall in love with the sky, too. I just know it. Dark, dark velvet, yard upon yard of fine velvet; pinpricks of a million stars blinking down stillness; your breath creating the only not-black in the expanse. You will stand still, resisting the shaking and shivering that tempt your not-quite-dressed-for-the-weather body. You will look up. And up. And up. And not get to the top of up. And you will feel the pull of a tide of peace on your body; the earth and heavens long for peace; your own longing answers.

And as peace falls on you, you will realize: the Advent season offers a chance, maybe the only one in a frantic time, to wait with peace. And on this night, you will wait like Mary. You, too, are pregnant with peace.

Creation Will Be at Peace

In the holy mountain of the Lord, all war and strife will cease; 
In the holy mountain of the Lord, creation will be at peace.
The wolf will lie down with the lamb, the cow and the bear will feed,
Their young will lay together; a little child will lead.
The leopard and goat will graze, the lion will feed on straw.
They will war no more. A child will lead them all.
---J. Paul Williams

In this beautiful setting from the prophet Isaiah, Williams envisions a world at peace. what catches me off-guard is that a little child is the only human mentioned. In my mind, I picture creation at peace, until humans come in and screw things up. This setting reminds me that human and animal nature both tend toward violence, domination, and power-grabbing. When we speak of 'the way of the world', it is this world of which we speak. This 'mine, mine, mine', every man for himself, dog-eat-dog world, where there is a 'king of beasts', and a 'king of the mountain', and a 'top dog'. But Jesus, the little child foreshadowed in Isaiah's prophecy, was a topsy-turvy kind of savior; he of the littlest, least, lost, and lonely. In Jesus' vision of the world, even natural animal adversaries can take on a peace nature. Creation itself. and all that is in it, can live at peace.

In Paths of Peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.

...and Give You Peace

The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord's face shine upon you and graciousness cover you;
the Lord's countenance turn toward you,
and give you peace...
---priestly blessing
"and quiet."
---Armstrong kids

This blessing, recorded in the book of Numbers, was a favorite 'goodnight' for my children when they were small. There is a hush about it, a kind of settling peace. It encapsulated a sacred moment of the sometimes hectic days with three small children in tow. Without fail, one or the other of my kids would whisper their own benedictive ending to the blessing, adding 'and quiet' to the ancient prayer. Apparently the concept of 'peace and quiet' was a familiar refrain for them at that time, although I will promise you that I don't remember the words being paired in my vocabulary! Somewhere, sometime, they had heard the wistful wish for a little peace and quiet.

But this peace --- the peace of looking into the face of a loving God, of being known to the Creator and Sustainer of the universe, of being cherished, of basking in the warmth of God's grace --- this peace is not the 'peace and quiet' variety. It is the transforming variety.

"...and give you peace."

No King, But a Prince

His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor...

Prince of Peace.

When my son Sam was a child, he asked me a question during the Christmas season: "Why is Jesus called Prince of Peace? Who is the King of Peace?" I was stopped short in my tracks. Having grown up in choirs, singing 'For Unto Us a Son Is Born' from Handel's Messiah, I had never given a second thought to the moniker 'Prince of Peace.' But, Sam is right --- why not a king? I have since reflected on this (after, I'm sure, stumbling on my initial response), and feel some stirrings of what might be understanding.

In my mind's eye, a king, regal and powerful, rules (either well or poorly) over subjects. A king would use power to rule. A king speaks, and it is so. A king is indisputably the most important being in any room, sphere, or realm. A king is "the man", no ifs, and or buts.

A prince? Well now, a prince is a different sort of ruler altogether. The prince must win the hearts of the people, must take a place in the hierarchy as one without absolute power. The prince might lead with gentleness, with good humor. 

A Prince? A Prince might just wage not war, but peace. The image is of an incomprehensible reign of peace, maybe even the peace that passes understanding.

Prince of Peace.

Revealed in its season

As first time homeowners in Atlanta many years ago, Henry and I pulled up a dead bush that looked like a bundle of kindling from a front flowerbed, and threw it on a pile of dirt in the side yard. Summer came, and we noticed it had burst out with lovely pink torrents of flowers; we had pulled up a dormant crepe myrtle! Despite our lack of care and proper treatment, it had somehow survived to show its true colors, in its season.  How glad I am that, in the dormant periods of my life, when I may look as dead as a bundle of sticks, God doesn't toss me on the trash heap. In season, I believe, we can all begin to show signs of life again. If you see someone who seems dead to you, no signs of life, no visible growth, don't count them out; don't write them out of your life. Only wait, and love; in her time, in his season, there may be torrents of bloom there once again. And friend, if you are experiencing a great dryness, a great alone-ness, an other-ness, a deadness of soul...wait. Just wait. Though dormant for a season, there will be a living time for you. Wait for beauty's revealing in you, friend. Wait with expectation.

Pillar of the world

Hope is the pillar of the world.

If you are like me, there are times in life when you need a firm foundation. All around you, because of trouble you have caused, troubles others have caused, or just because of the frailty of being human, the ground gives way. Things you thought you could believe, you now question. Institutions you once trusted, you now doubt. People you thought would be there always, go away. Clouds obscure the sun in the day, and the stars at night.

But hope...hope is the pillar of the world. Hope is invested in tomorrow, and can nourish us through the famine of present disappointment and sorrow. That hope; that hope sustains, strengthens, enables.

Hope holds us up.

Dark the night...

Now, Lord Jesus, hear our calling, 
Deep the darkness where we stray;
How shall we, mid boulders falling,
Know for thine the rough-hewn way?
Lo, a light shines down to guide us,
Where thy saints and angels are! 
Now we know thy love beside us;
For our eyes have seen the star.

The words of this Welsh carol strike me today, which in east Alabama was dreary and hot, with a threatening, steely sky. One of those days when it is easy to feel lost, or at least tiny and overlooked. It is so easy to be distracted by what seems a good enough path, to follow what seems like a path but is really a rut. But, friends, as lost, or tiny, or alone as I feel, there is One whose presence I cannot deny on my path. The birth we celebrate in this season is the hope of not having to journey solitary through this life, of not having to blindly lurch through our day-to-day existences. I have felt the love of the Christ beside me, illuminated by the star.

Never alone.

Faith, hope, and love, these three...

Faith, hope, and love, these three remain;
But the greatest of these is love.

Who of us has not been at a wedding (our own or another's) and heard this famous quotation from Paul's letter to the church at Corinth? According to St. Paul, love trumps everything else. Not everyone agrees. Jim Evans, a former pastor of mine, claimed that hope reigned supreme of the three (I'm sure he meant no offense to St. Paul, or inerrantists). Without faith, he said, a life could still be meaningful with hope and love; likewise, without love, a life of faith and hope could sustain someone. Hopeless, though, all the faith and love in the world would be useless. Without hope, the soul is rendered helpless to wield the weapons of faith and love in the good fight against the shadows in the world. Hopeless, nothing else matters.

Friends, it may be shadowy or even inky dark in your life right now. But the dawn is coming. Hold on to hope.

Life, for our dead places

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness!

Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings.

Mild he lays his glory by, born that we no more may die,

Born to raise us from the earth, born to give us second birth.

Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the new-born King!”

There is a danger in the carols of Christmas, one that threatens to deaden us to the wisdom hidden within. This danger is familiarity, the same quality that makes them beloved. Anywhere you go, you are apt to hear some version of this carol, sung or played by a wide variety of ensembles. Many of us could sing this carol in our sleep --- all three verses!

Our familiarity with this carol should not, however, blind us to the message of comfort and hope contained within. Hear these words anew: “Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings….” We all know that in the midst of the great joy of the season lurk illness, injury, grief, and sorrow. These are part of life, and do not miraculously disappear during Advent and Christmastide. But there is good news, even in darkness! There is one who brings light for our darkness, life for our dead places, and healing for what hurts us. In the middle of this tumultuous existence, Christ comes to meet our deepest needs.

'Wish' is not 'hope'

Perhaps hope has wings,
and feet...

St. Disney is famous for the phrase, "A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep." And while, a week ago, I made a wish on (mercifully fewer than the actual 50) birthday candles before I blew them out, I have always felt that wishes were toothless and lacking in power. Now, hear me out; I'm not anti-dream-for-the-future. I just think there has to be a more active way to mold the future than by wishing.

Consider 'hope'. Not the "hope you feel better" hope, or even the "hope Santa is nice to you" hope. I'm thinking of that hope with some lift in it, and some feet under it. To hope for something, to place your hope in something or someone, is to commit your own efforts to bring the thing you hope for to fruition. To hope is to step across the line from interested observer to active participant.

The kind of hope the birth of Jesus brought, was this --- hope with power; the power of the hoper, the power of those who 'catch' the hope. This kind of hope, now, in a mean season, is hope with wings, and feet.

God with us!

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee,

O Israel!

Breathless from the bustle of autumn, we arrive at the first Sunday of Advent. Here in a football town, it seems we rush straight through football season ( no matter what kind of season it is) headlong into the string of holidays that stretch from Thanksgiving through New Year’s. If we observe it, the season of Advent can give us a chance to take a breath, focus on the meaning of Christ’s birth, prepare our hearts for a sea change.

Abby and Sarah have always felt that this hymn, from the 12^th century, is the only appropriate way to usher in the season. I think that its words delineate the difference between Christianity and religion. First there is the name given for this coming Savior --- Emmanuel, “God with us”. Not “God up there”, or “God on a throne”, or “God with a big naughty or nice list and a long memory”. God…with…us. Then there is the rest of the short refrain: “Emmanuel shall come to thee”. Jesus is the God who comes to us. No more beseeching the heavens, stumbling around in the dark, crying out and hearing only the echo of our prayers.

God with us, come to us. Rejoice!