...breathe in, breathe out

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...that kind of breathing

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...the lips of children

All glory, laud, and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King,

To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring.

Thou didst accept their praises --- accept the praise we bring,

Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King!

---Theodulph of Orleans, ca. 821

Count on a kid to tell it like it is. Maybe this is the reason for the old adage, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Over the course of our lives we develop the ability to filter our thoughts before they become words. We also sometimes lose the child’s ability to see things as they are, without expectation or preconception. Kids? They see it like it is, and say it like it is.

In today’s text, hosannas stream from the lips of children. They were onto Jesus, and seemed attracted to him without reservation. They saw what they saw, and liked it, and joyously praised Jesus. May we today be like children…no filters, no prejudices, no reservations about praising our redeemer, Jesus Christ.

Let at least one of those hosannas be mine, Lord.

...held close in her mother's embrace

Name, my heart is not racing, 
my gaze doesn't search the stars;
my mind doesn't dwell on 
what will always elude me.
Instead, my soul is silent and still, 
content as a weaned child held close 
in her mother's embrace.
---Psalm 131:1-2 (para. laca)

When I nursed my babies, there was a closeness between us, a symbiosis, that is like nothing I have ever shared with any other person. These tiny beings grew in me for months, dependent on my body for every bit of life. Then, the sudden violence of separation. From the warmth and closeness of the womb, shadowy and quiet, to the cold and glare of real life. From that moment of birth, of separation, when somehow one being becomes two people, the search begins. The unquenchable thirst --- for nourishment, yes, but for more. When a babe snuggled into me, it was also in search of that warm, dark place that had been home for so long. Every nerve, every sinew was laser-focused on latching on and settling in, drinking urgently, as if life depended on it. Because life depended on it.

And there were times when I was weary of it. The inconvenience of entertaining a toddler while nursing a baby, all balanced on a toilet in a dirty bathroom stall at McDonald's. The messiness of nursing. The on-call-ness of it. The soreness of it. The way brushing my baby's cheek could set off the craned neck of a Pavlovian response, feeding time or no. The Pavlovian response of my body to the sound of my own baby's cries. There's a weariness about it, no doubt.

But in a little while, or a lot, you and your baby find, together, that the time has come for moving on, to a sippy cup with a whale on it, or a cow, or to a bowl of strained peaches or rice cereal. Nursing, when it happens, loses the frantic searching quality of early infancy, and it is time. Your babe is not a babe, but a child, weaned.

And your child still comes to you in the shadows, nestles into you, head tucked into the space under your chin. You still wrap your arms around your child, you breathe together, you rock back and forth. There is no more frantic striving, none of the urgent needing of infancy. In its place, there is stillness. There is silence. There is contentment.

A child should lead the way

Who would think that what was needed to transform and save the earth 
might not be a plan or army, proud in purpose, proved in worth?
Who would think, despite derision, that a child should lead the way?
God surprises earth with heaven, coming here on Christmas Day.
---John Bell and Graham Maule

Surprise! It's a baby, and it's just the thing for what ails us!
Merry merry Christmas!


...so here we stand, whoever we are,
bathed in the light of a star...

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...