...ancient splendors fling

For lo, the days are hastening on, by prophet bards foretold,

when with the ever-circling years comes round the age of gold;

when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling,

and the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.

---Edmund H. Sears, 1849

I won’t lie. The complete text of this hymn, written in 1849 by Massachusetts minister Edmund Sears, is one of the most incisive studies of peace, and how we destroy it, that I have ever read. Almost no hymnal includes all the verses, but you can find them complete on several internet sites, and I encourage you to do so (along with the entire text of ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’, from Longfellow’s poem  ). Their power will affect you deeply; and in our world of commonplace, numbing un-peace, we need the angels’ song to shock us out of our complacency.

This verse looks forward to a time when the world will be set right, in tune with the song of the angels, at peace. Imagine, a time when peace, personified, flings its splendors over the whole world; a time when warring and internal turmoil cease around the globe; a time when we mortals can forget our war-cries and shouts of hate and fear, and fill our mouths and hearts to echo back the peace song the angels have sung all along.

Lo, the days are hastening on…and I can’t wait.

...the world in pieces

Christians all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand.

Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands.

Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.

---Jim Miller, 1993

“What do you want from me?!” This question, borne of frustration, whispered in fury or shouted in rage. This question, from a student in over his head and floundering in an advanced academic class. This question, from an uncommunicative spouse during a couples counseling session crackling with tension. This question, from a sleep-deprived, wound-tight new mother, desperate to know why the tiny baby she loves refuses to be comforted.

And we, too. We who claim Christ. We who pray for a world at peace and, instead, survey a world in pieces. We who stand helpless, empty hands curling uselessly into fists as we are tempted, ourselves, to go to pieces. We stand, fists curled, feeling helpless, and clueless, and cry into the broken world, “What do you want from me?!”

And from the silence…answers. Walk in faith, don’t hesitate. Carry with you the word God gave you. Share the nativity story that still lights you up. Can you do these things? They are part of your breathe-in-breathe-out, after all, your being. The world wants you…to be fully you.

And Christ will come, and in the coming, the world in pieces will find peace.

...throwing open heaven's door

Good Christian friends, rejoice with heart and soul and voice!

Now ye hear of endless bliss: Jesus Christ was born for this.

He has opened heaven’s door, and we are blest forevermore.

Christ was born for this, Christ was born for this!

---Medieval Latin caril, 14th cent.

In their masterful score for the movie Frozen, the writing team of Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez penned a line that sticks in my head, and in my heart. The context was a blossoming romance, but the line applied to all kinds of interactions before the movie was finished. It is, simply, genius:

            Love is an open door.

If I ever talked with the Lopez duo, I believe I might ask them if they are fans of medieval Latin carols. I’d ask, because this carol, from as early as the 14^th century, really contains the message on the lips of so many little ones (and bigger ones) after Frozen became a world-wide sensation. In this carol, we hear the good news—Jesus was born to fling open heaven’s door. Jesus did it then, over two thousand years ago, and Jesus continues to do it today—throwing open heaven’s door, leaving it wide open (Jesus…were you born in a barn???)…almost as if just anyone could go walking in.

Like he was born for this, this kind of endless bliss. Like, like love is an open door.

...being enough

A confession? This time of year gives me an inferiority complex. I continually seem to come up short, run late, disappoint myself.

Advent beckons to me, to come away, to quiet myself, to slow my breathing, to wait in stillness for the world to turn upside down. And year after year, my already tumped-over world gets in the way of my good intentions. And year after year, my 'meant to's turn into 'should have's, and anticipation becomes regret.

Christmas beckons, with its glitter and sparkle, its jingle and laughter. And year after year, I run out of calendar on the way to making magic. Just-right gifts don't get bought, wrapping paper stays wrapped around the cardboard tube, carols remain unsung. What good is being a visionary, with these feet of clay?

I want to believe, though, that what I bring is enough. That this broke-down season, this cobbled together holiday, this Charlie Brown tree of a practice that is my attempt, despite my best intentions--that this offering is enough. Leonard Cohen wrote:
     Ring the bells that still can ring
     Forget your perfect offering
     There is a crack in everything
     That's how the light gets in.

Still trying. But I will be the one, bringing up the rear, toting my imperfect offering.
It's enough. Thanks be to God.

...fit our feet

     From the abundance of mercies of a tender God,
     the dawn we have yearned for will break at the horizon,
     to shed light on us who are turned around in darkness,
     weak with the fear that darkness brings,
     to fit our feet for the paths of peace.
               --Luke 1:78-79/para.laca.

When the world has you turned around. When your eyes strain to see for the shadows. When you need saving--from this life, from the hands of those who seek your harm, from the fear that keeps you bound to the same old ways that didn't work even when they were new, from the image that stares back at you in the mirror, from your own self in the silence. When you're out of ideas, and energy, and hope.

Then. Then, it might be time to fit your feet for paths of peace. Then, it might be time to walk in the ways of peace beside your Guide. Then, if might be time to doggedly pursue the peace that so often eludes you. Then, it might be time to rise up, and be a maker.

Peacemaker. Blessed are you...

...call for ya

Mary got an angelic visit with a life-changing message. Shepherds got a world premiere anthem from the sky with promises of peace (and quite possibly a light show). Wise, wise science guys from the East got sky charts that lined up just right.

<sigh> Things were so much clearer, back in Bible times...

Calling. Do you have one? Have you always? How did it come to you? Has it ever changed?

...what if you're wrong? 

One thing I am certain of: I always pictured myself, at 50-something, knowing. You know, knowing what the path was. What I should be doing. How I should be getting from A to B. What A and B even ARE. 

<facepalm> Things were so much clearer, back in Bible times...

And then I hear the voice of the prophet:
     "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord,
     "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 
      plans to give you hope and a future."
               --Jeremiah 29:11
And I realize, from this side of 50, that those "plans" that God has for me, the ones that give me "hope and a future"--maybe, just maybe, those plans are less about doing specific things at specific times, and more about living with my face turned toward the light, walking in hope. Maybe, just maybe, life is the sign I've been waiting for.

...not saying I'd turn down a chat with an angel, though...

...born of wisdom

A common topic of tweets, taunts, and challenges of late has been who is 'smarter', who is the 'wise guy', who knows what is really going on, how the world really works. Lots of talk about wisdom--is there any way to separate the talk from the truth?

Yesterday's blog post was on the concept of righteousness, and how (sometimes) misunderstood it is. In thinking about wisdom, I believe it is difficult to come to a meeting of the minds on what wisdom is, how it is noticed, and in what ways it manifests in the lives of those who are wise.

For some help, I turned initially to the wisdom literature of Hebrew scripture. The Proverbs speak a lot to the subject, and in a way that appeals to the cerebral aspects of my personality. "Self," I say, "what do you think about wisdom?" I could have found plenty to fuel my thoughts in the sometimes pithy, occasionally intellectual statements gathered in these sayings.

In the end, I found guidance on wisdom, how to know it when we experience it, from the little, practical epistle of James. It left me saying, "Well, obviously. Wisdom could not make its way in this world in any other way." See what you think:

     Who is wise and understanding among you?
     Show by your good life
     that your works are done 
     with gentleness born of wisdom.
               --James 3:13/NRSV

So. Are you counted among the wise in this world? If you are, you won't need to tell anyone. Your gentle life will speak with clarity about your wisdom and understanding. The way you live will leave no doubt. 

...righteous, dude

Righteous is a difficult concept in our supercool world. Being referred to as righteous might be right up there with holy, or pious...perhaps a step below goody-two-shoes, or even (*gasp*) community organizer.

When did it become so problematic to be called righteous? What IS righteous, anyway? The dictionary says that righteous is "morally right or justifiable" (which I would argue may be worlds apart), or "virtuous". Hmmm...somehow virtuous sounds a little better. As a working definition, I think Spike Lee's 1989 movie title, Do the Right Thing, will do.

Once we get past the problematic moniker, how does one go about, well, BEING righteous? Again, we'd get pretty far referring back to Spike Lee (*ahem*). Three passages of holy text always come to mind as I contemplate righteousness; I leave them here, some in paraphrase, for your consideration.

     What is it that holiness asks of me? Simply this--
     to pursue justice, 
     to act from compassion, 
     to walk the earth in humility, alongside my creator.
               --Micah 6:8/para. laca. 

     Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
     to loose the chains of injustice
     and untie the cords of the yoke,
     to set the oppressed free
     and break every yoke?
     Is it not to share your food with the hungry
     and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--
     when you see the naked, to clothe them,
     and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
     then your light will break forth like the dawn,
     and your healing will quickly appear;
     then your righteousness will go before you,
     and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
               --Isaiah 58:6-8/NIV

     Jesus answered, "To love God with every part of your life,
     what shows and what only you know, 
     is the most vital element of a righteous life.
     Just as vital to righteousness is your love and regard
     for your neighbor and yourself,
     as dearly loved children of God's. 
     No law or prophecy contradicts these.
               --Matthew 22:37-40/para. laca.

In quietness and in confidence, let us reclaim righteousness as a virtue. This? This is a life I can get behind.

...leave no one behind

For the hanged and beaten.

For the shot, drowned, and burned.

For the tortured, tormented, and terrorized.

For those abandoned by the rule of law.

We will remember.

With hope because hopelessness is the enemy of justice.

With courage because peace requires bravery.

With persistence because justice is a constant struggle.

With faith because we shall overcome.

--The National Memorial for Peace and Justice

When I say, Life's not fair, I'm mostly kidding, at least when I'm talking about my own life. Little inconveniences, bad breaks, someone's bad choices (not always mine)--these comprise the extent of my life's unfair moments. So, were I to cry out for justice on my own behalf, it would mostly be a mockery, or misplaced, or a momentary self-pity.

But this I know, as surely as the other. If, because life is, on the whole, just for me, I should assume that justice is accomplished for all, and the time for striving after a just world is past, I am dead wrong with the sort of bull-headed wrongness driven in tight circles by ego, short-sightedness, and self-worship. If, because my life is fine, I decide that all lives are fine, I am only a mercenary and not a citizen, out to get the spoils of this life without regard for my sisters' and brothers' welfare.

Real justice leaves no one behind. Hope won't allow it. 

...all the time in the world

Is time the ultimate commodity in our too-busy, attention-starved, stretched-thin society? No? Then what would you give for another free hour per day, another free day in each week?

Okay...maybe so.

We even monetize the language we use around time.
We make time.
We take time.
We spend time, we waste it.
We save time, and invest it.
When we're in trouble, we buy time.
When we are slap out of luck, we run out of it.

When we're Cher, we wish to turn back time.
...who am I kidding?...when we're anyone, we wish to turn back time, every now and again.

Every appliance from the washing machine to the personal computer (to whatever is being dropped in its own IPO tomorrow) is marketed for the express purpose of saving time.

We are not so much slaves to the clock as we are slaves to the dream of mastering it. Is there a more hopeful thought than this--that there is enough time? There. is. enough. time.

Because there is One for whom time is measured differently. And we are embraced, for all time, by that One.
     A thousand ages in thy sight 
     are like an evening gone;
     short as the watch that ends the night
     before the rising sun.
                                      ---Isaac Watts

Go ahead, friend; take all the time you need. There's all the time in the world.

...filled full

A promise is the epitome of hope.

A promise is all potential-- freshman year, beginner's luck, pony legs, sloppy kisses. A promise, with all its good intentions, is riskily untested. Stepping out on a promise takes faith, is the stuff of faith, maybe. Trusting a promise is always a bit of a gamble, putting our eggs into a basket whose bottom we have yet to see.

What a comfort, then, to bear witness to a promise fulfilled! To tell the story, the way it happened in our own life. To breathe, and realize we'd been holding our breath for all of time, till now, till now. Heart overflows, eyes overflow with the realization that hope does not disappoint.

Promise fulfilled. Filled full of the good that is in store. Thanks be.

...a wish with feet

'Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul...' 
...opined Emily Dickinson, in her simply profound way.

Today, this day, I think, in fear and trembling, I may beg to differ. Today, this day, Advent begins, with armfuls of hope and heart swelled with song.

And after spending the day thinking about, talking about, sitting with hope, I think perhaps, that hope is a weightier thing than a flitting, flighty creature. I think, perhaps, that hope has heft, substance, mass. Hope is not the kind of thing you want to kick in the dark mid-night on the way to the bathroom; hope won't give.

The difference, this, between hope, and wish: hope is a wish with intention, with motion, with backbone. Hope is a wish with feet.

Hope is a wish with feet.

...love lives here

Love came down at Christmas, 
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
...
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
---Christina Rossetti, 1885

For what is broken in this world, love.
For what is broken in me, love.
For what is broken in you, love.
For what is broken between, among, us, love.

What gift of grace. What sign of hope.
That our hearts, our homes, can be dwelling places for the sacred.
Even after all this brokenness.

Love lives here.

...song of earth

Joy to the earth! The Savior reigns; let all their songs employ;

while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains repeat the sounding joy.

---Isaac Watts, 1719

How very interesting that this beloved carol emphasizes nature’s share in the joy surrounding Christ’s birth! Perhaps the message of joy and hope for the world is just too big to entrust entirely to angels, or to shepherds. The wonders of nature cannot help but bear witness with us to a liberating love big enough to encompass every part of our world. In a world where the Savior reigns, all of us --- rocks, floods, plains, plainsdwellers --- are freed from the curse that binds us to smallness and failure. The echoes of God’s love “re-sound”…and nothing will ever sound the same.

Joy to the world…the whole wide world!

...healing at Christmas

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!”

---Charles Wesley, 1739

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.

Glory to the newborn King.

...releasing my grip

I have always described myself (mostly to myself), as fairly laid-back and easy-going. I go with the flow, roll with the punches, go along to get along. If you're all right, I'm all right. Well. As time goes on, I have noticed something; and I don't know if it is the wisdom of age, or improved insight, or if I am morphing. But. In more and more small ways, more and more often, I find that I hold, at least loosely, to control. Eek. I said it. I think I'm one of those people. I like some things the way I like them. I feel like things would run smoothly if they were done my way. Some days, I find my tongue sore from biting it.

My hands are sometimes clenched tightly around my ideas of 'should', and 'correct', and 'best'.

And boy, are they tired.

Because this, fundamentally, is not the way the world works (and knowing some of the ideas I have sometimes, this is probably a very good thing...). Many things, most things, are out of my hands. I need only seek my place in the puzzle of this life--find the spot I fit in, find a busy-ness that lights my fire, help in the ways I can, attune my heart to the undercurrent of joy in the song of everyday.

The rest, I release.

I wonder at how Mary, so long ago, must have wondered at all the loose ends that made up the tapestry of her life. How hard was it to relax her grip, to release her hold, to find a place, and to attune her heart to joy?

I want to loosen my grip on control...so that my hands are free for real things.

...footprints in snow

Show me you've been here.

It's what we all want, really, when we get down to it. Isn't it? We want to know who we can count on, to back us up, to stand with us when our knees tremble, to be present in our emptiness. We yearn for a sign, a signal, a whisper of with-ness.

Don't leave me to make my way through this confusing world on my own. Don't leave me to make sense of all the ways the pieces of my life don't fit together. Don't leave me to find my way to you. Don't leave me. Don't leave.

That feeling, that bit of proof that we're not alone? That is glory. That is revealing. That is the essence of presence. Like footprints in snow, glory shows me you've been here.

And the Word put on skin, and pitched a tent among us mortals, and we caught a glimpse of glory, the revealing of God's own son, radiating grace and truth.-John 1:14/para.laca.

...the undecorated heart

...make your house fair as you are able
trim the hearth and set the table
people, look east and sing today:
love, the guest, is on the way.
---eleanor farjeon, 1928

I'm trying. My boxes are scattered across the floor, tops raggedly open, in multiple rooms, guts spilling out in a Tim Burton-esque holiday dreamscape that is equal parts mess and obstacle course. Trees are up and lit (no, I mean, you know, lighted...), and because I stayed up too late last night, they all have ornaments. Magi follow stars, shepherds wander here and there in search of...something they heard whispered on the wind. The angels stand and look, but you can tell they know more than they are saying.

And I am tired. In truth, November and December present some stumbling blocks for me, and I have to navigate the days with care. The holidays are difficult for the teens I work with; regardless of their history or the tough front they may present to the world, at Christmas they are kids who can't be home with mom. And I know that friends who have suffered loss of loved ones, broken relationships, or life changes during the year feel it most keenly during "the most wonderful time of the year". 

And so my heart sometimes remains quite plain. No twinkling lights, no manger scenes or angels, no aromas of baking or wintry drinks simmering on the stove. No guiding star up above leads the way for me, or to me.

Come, Jesus. I welcome you, in this quiet, to my undecorated heart.

...wondering and weary

In Lenten practice we, with Jesus, 'turn our faces toward Jerusalem', facing along with him the steps that led to betrayal, accusation, abandonment, and death. We spend ourselves in meditative practices that guide us deeper into Jesus' experience--so that, having suffered with him, the Easter of rising might be infused with a celebration infused with depth of meaning and debt of love.

In Advent practice the breathless steps we take toward the oddly-filled manger imbue our days with a sense of wonder. The gentle, expectant searching for hope, peace, joy, love in unexpected places--in a stable? among the ragged people? sought by faraway star-scientists?--can create the feeling that things, things, are possible.

Wonder is in this world at Advent.

But so is weariness.

Even in candleglow, we see the dust in the corners of our lives, and the ugly cobwebs high in the eaves of others. We notice the good intentions and horrid execution of strangers, and of friends. We have big plans, and we blow them. The very people, and institutions, that we count on to make the world kinder, and lovelier, let us down. We mean to be better, and we aren't.

And we are so weary.

I have to think that, somehow, all of the wonder, and all of the weariness, is gathered into this Advent journey. I will keep walking. I will find out.

...stretched, and squeezed

I don't know if it is the time of life in which I find myself, or the vocation into which I seem to have fallen, or maybe it is just me. But whether as an adult with experience, a parent of young adult children, or a case manager facilitating teens with troubled histories, I seem to spend a lot of time thinking about, and listening for, and offering thoughts on love.

What does love do in a life? Can we pick it up and lay it down, like a tool or an activity? Does it light up our lives, always? Is it sweet? Does love always look the same in every circumstance? What does love ask, demand, require of us? What are we allowed to ask of love? 

I have found that from time to time love squeezes. Sometimes this feels reassuringly close, sometimes uncomfortably constricting. Is it while I am growing into love? Is it support until I am confident enough to live full in love? I have been wrapped snug in love, and I've been bruised by it.

For me, the knowledge that has become bedrock truth to me over years is that love stretches. It abides in a heart that contains it; but through the very exercise of it, love expands. And the heart stretches. And that enlarged space contains more and more compassion, and more and more passion for goodness in the lives of others. And I know this to be a wholly good transformation of the heart. But there are times that the stretching will ache, too.

The Advent heart, home to Love, continually shaped by love. Stretched, and squeezed.