...waiting on Light

This is it. The longest night. The turning of the year. If we are counting the daylight in minutes, we begin using + signs starting tomorrow.

And oh, what a difference a little light makes! We yearn, we long, we seek for signs of light. We turn eagerly to the horizon at the rising, we note the stretching of the setting time with upturned faces, distant gazes.

In a primitive way, light means life. But even in our modern, mostly-indoor world, with 24-hour light (more than we need, more than is healthy), our bodies still settle into the rhythms set by the rising and setting. We relax into the natural light of day.

Here, just at the turning, we ready our hearts for the coming of Light. This Light, too, shines in the darkness. And we are promised, and I hang on to the promise, that no darkness will overcome it.

I'm waiting, again, on the Light.

...when the world turns

Though the nations rage from age to age,
we remember who holds us fast:
God's mercy must deliver us 
from the conqueror's crushing grasp.
This saving word that our forebears heard
is the promise which holds us bound,
till the spear and rod can be crushed by God,
who is turning the world around.
My heart shall sing of the day you bring.
Let the fires of your justice burn.
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near,
and the world is about to turn.
---Rory Cooney, 1990

God's unearned pardon reigns down 
on those who make awe their breathe-in, breathe-out.
God's strength is exercised in a surprising way;
the proud find themselves alone with their 
hollow, shallow concerns.
God has emptied out boardrooms and 
stripped off power suits all over,
and raised up those who never grasped at greatness;
God pulls out a chair at the feast for the left-outs,
and the A-list are turned away at the door, 
shaking their heads in disgust.
God doesn't forget God's fundamental nature;
mercy, and the merciful, are at the very heart of God.
---Luke 1:50-55 (para. laca)

Power and might are not what they seem. Sometimes they are rather well-disguised. But look out. We may all be surprised by what strength looks like.

When the world turns.

...the turning

The solstice moon is like a pearl suspended in the lake
Frozen underneath a spell no human hand can break.
We turn our backs against the wind that drives the bitter cold,
And celebrate the wonders that a new year will unfold.
We turn to friends and family, and mourn the loved ones gone,
And gather them around us as we raise our voice in song.
We turn to feed the fading fire, dream deeply through the night,
And cherish songs that carry us from darkness into light.
We turn to ask forgiveness, and with gratefulness of heart
Turn once again to welcome in the new year as it starts.
And we will sing at the turning of the year,
Knowing we are a short time here.
And so we'll sing at the dancing, spinning, turning of the year.
--- Anne Hills, 2000

The cusp. The edge. A thin place. The turning. Although from living most of my life in an academic setting and a college town I will forever set my true New Year's clock by 'back to school' calendars and new backpacks, there is a certain magic about the clean slate feeling of a brand new calendar year.

One second, 2014. The next, a whole other thing. Just another second, really. But a whole new year, 2015. It stretches out before us, beckoning. What will you do with it? Who will you be? What will you carry with you? What will you leave behind? Is there forgiveness you must grant, bitterness you must let loose, shame you must release? Is there a softness, with yourself or with others, you must pick up for the journey ahead? Steadfastness? Assurance? Do you need trust to be reborn in you this year?

From shadow to sun, then. From the cold, to the rebirth of warmth. From year to year.

The turning.

...about to turn

My soul cries out with a joyful shout that the God of my heart is great,
and my spirit sings of the wondrous things that you bring to the ones who wait. 
You fixed your sight on your servant's plight, and my weakness you did not spurn,
so from east to west, shall my name be blest. 
Could the world be about to turn?
My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of your justice burn.
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near, 
and the world is about to turn.
---Rory Cooney, 1990

In anticipation of tomorrow's Gospel lectionary reading, I have been meditating on the Magnificat, what is commonly called Mary's song. Luke's Gospel relates the familiar story of the angel Gabriel's visit to the young girl, with earth-shaking news --- Mary's world is about to be turned upside-down, and whatever she had planned for, oh, the rest of her life, she'll have to seriously rethink. She is called. Chosen. Ready or not. Oh, the angel calls it "highly favored". But let's all admit, we can think of a few other descriptors for this sudden change of condition. Mary, teen down the road, becomes Mary, mother of God. In all the icons and paintings, she gains a halo. In one carol, and in many of our imaginations, she becomes "Maiden Mother, Meek and Mild".

Not so fast, though. There's something about that song she sings. This is no meek, mild acquiescence, this song, no fawning obedience. This song is about getting it, about buying in. Mary's song is a partnership anthem about saying 'Yes!' to the coming age of justice, 'Yes!' to the God Who brings it. If there is to be a changing, this teenager will take her place in the vanguard.

Mary's life was turning upside-down, but that was just the beginning. The world was turning, too. Because Mary said 'Yes!'