...wrong every time, Palm Sunday edition

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

--Mikael Franzen, trans. Philip M. Young

What do you mean?

--Justin Bieber

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military and political), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on society’s ladder. Every time we trade the deep divine undercurrent of joy for the cheap fleeting thrill of victory. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the source that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...we never knew

All the way my Savior leads me; cheers each winding path I tread,

gives me grace for every trial, feeds me with the living bread;

though my weary steps may falter, and my soul athirst may be,

gushing from the Rock before me, lo! a spring of joy I see.

---Fanny J. Crosby, 1875

There are times the path seems winding, and the end unseen. At those times, when each step grows heavy, and the way seems never-ending, a hint of breeze refreshes, cheers. A rest along the way, to refuel and rest, can cast the day in a different light.

And when that path is life, and goals are elusive, and progress seems awfully rare, grace is that refreshing—gift, given with no thought of return, or of its having been earned in the first place. The words of our brother Jesus, urging us on toward greater compassion, more tenderness, consistent understanding—these words are food, fuel.

And the very presence of Christ, in the midst of our mess, feet on our path, God with us—this presence is pure joy, springing up like cool spring water, unexpected, thrilling, a little shocking. The very thing we never knew we were thirsty for.

All. the. way.

...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!

...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.

...here in the chaos

I have a bad habit. It is the sort that has been an annoyance to me, here and there, in my life. It is also the sort that has caused hurt and harm in my life, in ways that wounded me and sometimes those who entered into relationship with me. You might call it 'somewhere out there' syndrome.

In 'somewhere out there' syndrome, you envision a better time to act, to work, to decide, to be--and it is coming. It is somewhere, out there. Sometime, in a hazily-conjured future, things will fall into place, life will make sense, and that will be the time, the time, to start really experiencing life.

Call it a strange kind of misguided optimism. But watch out. Because if you're not careful, a lot of life slips by while you are waiting for that perfect day, that just-right set of circumstances, that 'somewhere out there' future.

Hear this good news, my friends. This present messiness, this current chaos, this day, this day--this is what we're given. This is the day to be joyful--not 'somewhere out there', but now, now. Don't wait.

Your joy is calling.

...where is the tender spot?

"Where is the tender spot?" The doctor poked and prodded for the location of the discomfort. The discomfort, the tenderness, would, of course, be an indicator of injury. Healers probe for tenderness to help guide them to the source of the hurt.

There is at least one more sort of tenderness. This would be the care and gentleness with which we treat something, or someone, we value or love very much. We may treat priceless artwork, or newborn babies, tenderly.

I have been pondering, as I've talked to friends, and scrolled through my media, and reflected on my own life, that the Advent and Christmas seasons evoke tenderness, of both sorts, in an awful lot of us.

With the wonder of children, we unwrap ornaments and remember the stories that go with them. We bake---from scratch!--sweets and savories to share (and a few to keep for ourselves, maybe...). We envision the perfect gift for each loved one, the glow of happiness on each face when boxes are opened on the just-right Christmas morning. We pose our families for the everybody-smile pic for which (almost) everyone took your suggestion about wearing white tops, and it looks great. We tuck our own little ones into bed, or get misty-eyed smiling at someone else's little shepherds in the Christmas Eve pageant. There is so much tenderness here.

But if we're honest, for a lot of us, that's not the whole story. There is tenderness in this season that emanates from the source of hurt. Something about the season causes the backward gaze, and it is a time when those who have lost dear family and friends feel those losses in a deep and tender way, whether the loss is new or decades old. Circumstances change, and what is lost is noticed and mourned at the holidays. Health and wellness, always taken for granted, can slip away, and we note the holiday traditions that will be different. Strained relationships that are ignored during the rest of the year become painfully obvious during a season when the ideal holiday mood is one of togetherness and conviviality. Brokenness and alienation leave tender spots with no visible wounds.

In the midst of the lovely, tender times this holy season, there is also the tenderness that indicates pain. How can we celebrate the wonder of tenderness, and honor the tenderness of the shadows that is also part of the sacred everyday?

Where is the tender spot? I have mine...do you? 

...don't look for that, here

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

---Mikael Franzen, 1800's, tr. Philip M. Young, 2005

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on the social ladder. Every time we trade the divine undercurrent of joy for cheap momentary happiness. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the life that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...the morning after world

Where yearning hearts dream, though no joy appears,

and burning hopes gleam through crystalline tears,

O spirit, pray for us still, give wings to our fears.

And all shall be well.

And all things shall be well.

---Mary Louise Bringle, 2002

'Weeping may linger for the night,' says the psalmist, 'but joy comes in the morning.'

But what if it doesn't? What if morning dawns, and the only sound is the ragged breath of weary weeping, the only feeling the soggy pillowcase under a head that has tossed and turned through a sleepless night? Or friends, what if the sounds morning brings are the ones that greeted crime scene investigators in Orlando Sunday morning---their own shoes beginning to stick to the congealing blood on the killing floor, and the incessant ringing of cellphones in the pockets of slain loved ones as their families try in vain to make sure they are safe?

Will joy come that morning, or any morning? Is there anything left but fear? Fear of this world; fear of cheap, throwaway life; fear of those who live differently; fear of those who pray a different way; fear of guns; fear of someone taking the guns; fear of whatever is other?

As we gaze at the morning-after world through our tears, what is left us, after all? Anything at all?

Well, it may not be joy, friends; not yet, not yet. And it may not be joy for a while. Joy might come, on some morning, when our wounds are not so fresh, and just the thought of the pain no longer makes us wince and cower. Some glad morning, joy might just sneak up on us.

But hope. Burning hope. Not just a wishing kind of hope, sitting around twiddling its thumbs and sighing. No, friends. The kind of hope that gets up off its tail and does something. The kind that reaches out to welcome another to the task of rebuilding this broken world. The kind that kicks butt and takes names. The kind that sends fear fleeing into the night. Burning hope.

With that kind of hope, Julian of Norwich's words just might start to whisper truth to the fear that has shouted through the night:

    'All shall be well.

     All shall be well.

    And all manner of things shall be well.'

...that kind of dawn

Light dawns on a weary world when eyes 
begin to see all people's dignity.
Light dawns on a weary world: 
the promised day of justice comes.
The trees shall clap their hands; the dry lands, gush with springs;
the hills and mountains shall break forth with singing!
We shall go out in joy, and be led forth in peace,
as all the world in wonder echoes 'shalom'.
---Mary Louise Bringle, 2001

What would true justice look like? Would it be absolute fairness? A chance for everyone, then everyone for himself? Mel Bringle envisions justice as a condition by which we truly see each other, and thus see the intrinsic value in the other; we view each other with dignity.

Our world's response to the dawning of the day of justice in our world, weary for it, thirsty for it? Isaiah suggests we might witness the natural world break the bounds of possible and become animated with joy---forests and mountains clapping and singing out of their own accord, lending voice to God's own joy over humankind gone mad with value and esteem.

And we ourselves? The prophet says joy will overcome us, too---that our steps will lead us out in joy and peace. I don't know about you, but I imagine I'd walk a little differently on this earth each day if my steps were ordered by joy and peace. Can you feel the rhythm of that gait in your body, in your soul, right now?

Are you smiling? I know I am; I just can't help it. It is no surprise to me that the world shares the wonder at the 'shalom' (literally, the wholeness found in community) that we find together.

That's the kind of dawn I'd get up early for...

...you say yes

No payment was promised, no promises made;
no wedding was dated, no blueprint displayed.
Yet Mary, consenting to what none could guess,
replied with conviction, "Tell God I say, Yes."
---John L. Bell, 1992

Let's make a deal! Well...not a deal, really. I need this, well, this favor. It's pretty huge. And there is no way I can put into human terms what the costs and rewards might end up being for you. I can tell you, though...amazing...and heartbreaking...and world-changing...and earthshaking. 

No person could be faulted for pushing away from the table with a deal like that on it. Too vague, too open-ended, too many possible downsides. Besides, your life is falling into place, your ducks are all in a row, you may not be Junior League just yet but it could happen.

But you say yes. Yes to...what, exactly? To uncertainty (that starts the moment you show up at your engagement party pregnant)...to heartache (there is Simeon in the temple, whispering something to you about a sword piercing your heart, too?)...to fear (now you flee under cover of night into Egypt, a bounty on the life of your baby boy).

But you also say yes...to joy...and to hope. And because you say "Yes," the rest of us get the chance to say yes.

We say yes to love.

...open-eyed awe

My song rises from a thankful place;
a song accompanied on strings.
You cover the sky with clouds,
they grow heavy with rain 
you intend for the thirsty earth,
for the new grass reaching skyward 
on the hill.
This is the cycle you spun out of 
creative vitality
to provide the animals with their food, 
the young birds with what they need.
You take delight,
but not in the strength of power,
like a mighty stallion;
you take pleasure, 
but not in the feat of speed,
like a lithe runner;
your deep joy is in those 
who approach you with 
the open-eyed awe of children,
who put their hope in the 
steadfastness of 
your love.
---Psalm 147:7-11 (para. laca)

...thanks be, blessing be.

The earth hums with frequencies
of deep joy before you!
I join the eternal procession of all
echoing the gladness of abiding 
in your presence.
I have known on my very soul 
that you are God.
You have made me for you,
and you shepherd me.
I draw near to you garbed in gratitude,
close to you perfumed with praise.
Thanks be,
blessing be.
For you are the heart of goodness;
the steadfastness of your love 
began before, and lasts into forever;
the steadiness of your faithful attention
is for generations long gone and yet to come.
Thanks be,
blessing be.
---Psalm 100 (para. laca)

...joy in the coming

A clarion call from the heart of earth,

"The Unsearchable is the most high!

The world you have imagined for us

is set in its course; there it shall spin.

You rule among your people 

with an even and discerning hand."

The stars sing,

the very earth thrums with joy;

the seas churn and and foam their praise,

creatures of the deep take note;

the waving fields bend, 

ready for the offering, 

beasts of the field yield up praise. 

Now the trees,

even the trees of the forest --

where the shadows lie 

long and cool and silent --

even the trees begin their humming.

I hear it, even now, a sound of pure joy

before you, Mystery; 

for you are coming,

you are coming to be judge

on this blue and green planet.

And there is joy in the coming, 

because in the judging, most high,

there is truthful rightness.

---Psalm 96:10-13 (para. laca)

...just in time

You satisfy both my hunger and my thirst,
I've cast my lot with you.
Looking back, I see my path
gently leading me just so.
Bless you, who inspire me 
from the soul of my knowing.
With you clear in my view,
no one will move me.
Deep gladness fills me, 
joy seeps from my pores;
even my body finds peace, sure peace.
---Psalm 16:5-9 (para. laca)

People are so disillusioned with...everything today. Is there anything that does not disappoint? Products, 'miracle' or otherwise, don't work as advertised. Movies, games, books, TV series are boring, formulaic, derivative. Food is fattening, or tasteless, tainted, genetically-modified (or not), or produced without benefit of fair-trade scrutiny. Modern medicine doesn't cure all of our aches and pains, and hasn't found answers for some of the killing questions of our human race; vaccines save countless lives, yet are blamed for gaps in prediction from year to year. Relationships fail to anticipate every need, for closeness, space, bonding, independence, validation. Is it any wonder we are disappointed people?

There is always the chance, though, that we are looking for the wrong things, in the wrong places. When I come to this clearing in the pathway, I can't help but see that I've been led to this place, shepherded away from danger and guided toward treasure to discover. There have been tears, there have. But here in this clearing there is gladness, for this moment. And now, face upturned, there is joy starting somewhere deep. Here in this clearing on my path, for now, there is relief and peace for my body, the house of my spirit.

I have been gently led here, just in time for this moment. And I can't help but believe there is more to come. Thank You.

...the whole wide world

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.

Joy to the world…the whole wide world!

...tidings of comfort and joy

God rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
for Jesus Christ our Saviour was born upon this day,
to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray:
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy.
---18th cent. English trad.

It was Christmas afternoon, and I had just bundled my teen and college kids off to spend it elsewhere for the first time ever. A remote chill emanated from every corner of every room as I wandered through in the early-gathering dusk. I hadn't bothered turning on the overhead lights. Usually, this would have added to the twinkle of the lights from the trees in several rooms, but this afternoon it only added to the gloom. I listened to analog clocks ticking the seconds away, the cardinal couple pecking on the window bird feeder outside the sunroom. I sat very still.

I had not overestimated my strength on this day; and, thanks to preplanning, providence, and the kind permission/invitation of a certain hospital chaplain, I didn't stay wrapped in that silent, shadowy place for long. I packed my guitar case and carol book, and made the drive on the mist-slick highway to the hospital, where I guarantee no one wants to be on Christmas Day. Well, except me; I needed to see if music could lighten any loads that day. I set up in the lobby, and began singing subdued carols --- In the Bleak Midwinter, The First Nowell, Still, Still, Still, Away in a Manger, What Child Is This. Folks, alone or in clusters, passed by, or stopped to listen; some stopped to sing along or request a song. "You know Silver Bells?" I had taken a basket of candy treats that were quite popular among young and old carolers alike that day.

I was preparing to pack up for the night when a family group of six or eight walked up. They were holding hands; some had been weeping. They asked if I was finished; I said of course not. They shared that they had just lost their loved one within the hour; could they request a Christmas carol to sing together? That would be wonderful, I replied. They huddled up to confer, wanting to choose just the right song. "I guess Jingle Bells would be just about perfect," said the eldest male in the family group.  "Jingle Bells? Jingle Bells?" I thought to myself. I quickly flipped away from Silent Night, my odds-on favorite for a comforting carol, and we started.

And there, in the sparsely-populated lobby of a Christmas night hospital, while the mist turned to a rare, magical December snow outside, a group of hurting people mourned. And healed. With Jingle Bells.

O tidings of comfort. And joy.

Risen with healing in his wings

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

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.

...so here we stand, whoever we are,

bathed in the light of a star...

That was joy you heard

Repeat the sounding joy!
---Isaac Watts

I just hosted a Christmas party, and pure joy broke out. One minute we were eating chicken salad and chips and cookies, and drinking ginger ale, and playing Dirty Santa (I stole Meagan's totally cool mug set!), and Matt was dancing in an elf hat --- just your average party.
But then. Joy. And the best kind. The unexpected, sneak-up-on-you, pull-the-rug-out-from-under-you joy that takes your breath away. Someone turned around on the piano bench and pounded out a few chords, paged through one of the carol books. Someone got the guitar, Spenser tootled on the recorder (just like she learned in 5th grade). The bass got added, uke, bells, drum, kazoo, Tibetan prayer cymbals. And the joy broke out all over. The kind that makes this generation grab their iPhones and press REC. We sang, and played, and laughed. We made up our own song, made plans to take the show on the road.
It was a little bit of Christmas magic.
A moment of pure, sounding joy.


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

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.