...un-scorned

From Olivet they followed among the joyful crowd,

the victor palm branch waving, with singing clear and loud.

The Lord of earth and heaven rode on in lowly state,

nor scorned that little children should on his bidding wait.

---Jennette Threlfall, 1873

It is always a heartwarming picture when Jesus and children get together. My little Bible, given to me June 26, 1968 by “Mother and Daddy”, is covered in a suh-weet colored depiction of Jesus blessing the little children. Everyone from tots to tweens is gathered 'round Jesus, shepherded by two lovely, young-looking mom-type ladies. Just looking at it now makes me warm inside. Jesus valued children.

And why not? Our society claims to value its children, perhaps more than almost anyone else. We spend hundreds of millions of dollars feeding, clothing, entertaining, educating, doctoring, bracing, and equipping our children. There are exceptions, and there are glaring holes in our protection of children as a society, and we bear the open wounds of our failures with each new disaster. But with our words, and in our best moments, “the children are our future” (with thanks to Whitney Houston).

But this attitude toward children is a modern development. In Jesus’ time, children were disregarded, valued only for the worth of their labor or future labor to their families. They were insignificant, and having a religious leader elevate them by his attention was actually embarrassing for Jesus’ disciples. I wonder, if this story were to take place in modern times, who would the children be? What group or groups of people are disregarded and marginalized in today’s society? Who is left out of the caring circle by us, Jesus’ disciples? Whose presence would Jesus scorn not? Whose presence should we, Jesus’ disciples, scorn not?

...whom heavens cannot contain

Surely in temples made with hands, God the Most High is not dwelling;

high above earth his temple stands, all earthly temples excelling.

Yet he whom heavens cannot contain chose in his people’s hearts to reign,

built in our bodies his temple.

---Nicolai F.S. Grundtvig, 1837

When my kiddos were small, I was astounded at how awful their jokes were. Anybody else? Show of hands? I mean, I was hilarious. I just kind of assumed they would at least be able to string together a few one-liners. But, yeah. Nothing. In the years since, two things have happened. One, thank heaven, they’ve gotten a lot funnier. And two, I’ve realized that successful joke-telling is a higher order thinking skill—babies aren’t just born with the perfect punch line (not just my babies, either—nobody’s kids are any good at jokes for at least a couple of years!).

One of the simplest-sounding jokes, and the hardest to catch the mechanics of, is the knock-knock joke. One of my kids’ favorite ‘knock-knock jokes’ went something like this: “Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Hahahaha, got you! It’s nobody!” See? It was hard to be me for a while there.

Just like in my kids’ non-joke, the ‘temple made with hands’ of this week’s hymn text would have its knock go unanswered. As majestic, as monumental, as awe-inspiring as some of these temples are, God has not chosen to take any of them for a dwelling-place. So expansive the heavens cannot contain God, the Creator of the cosmos has chosen instead the hearts of God’s people for a place of abiding.

So, truly, God is in the world, in the hearts of the beloved. God is in our busy-ness and in our leisure, in our serving and in our growing. And, when two or three are met together, in temples made of hands, God is in the temple, in the midst of the people as they worship.

Knock knock…

...held like sea water

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me is the current of his love,

leading onward, leading homeward to that glorious rest above.

---Samuel Trevor Francis, 1898

Many of us are familiar with President John Kennedy’s quote concerning his deep passion for the sea – “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.” Kennedy was famously at home in the frigid waters of his beloved Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, where in times of health and illness the water seemed life-giving and restorative.

The man I saw most in love with the sea was my father. Each summer we would camp (you read that right --- camping at the beach in the summer!) for a week or so, in the heat and humidity. And I would watch my professor father with the perpetual farmer tan float for hours on his back in the briny Gulf water, not paddling, not kicking, not moving at all. He’d tell my brother and me, “This salty water will hold you up. You just have to relax and lie back.” It was a matter of trust, and giving up the need to control the water that supported you.

You know, I never got as good at it as my dad; I never could float for hours, relaxed and committed to the water’s ability to hold me. But for a minute or two, here and there, it sometimes worked. I sometimes let go. And when I trusted that the sea was more capable than I, more powerful than I, more boundless than I’d ever be to meet my need to be held up --- for that moment, I was free.

Oh, to trust that I would be held up like that.

...complex and simple

Jesus calls us o’er the tumult of our life’s wild restless sea:

day by day his sweet voice soundeth, saying “Christian, follow me!”

---Cecil F. Alexander, 1852

It had been one of those weeks. In one of those months. In one of those seasons. In one of those years. Never quite getting well. Never quite getting the ‘to do’ list ‘to done’. Never quite getting caught up. Never quite feeling ready for…whatever comes next. Never quite feeling worthy of the trust placed in me, or the tasks required of me.

And then I stop. I breathe out, and in. And I notice how myopic my vision has grown, how inward-focused my hearing. With my focus drawn to my inner chaos, my shortcomings, my insufficiency--my attention must by definition be focused on…me.

And so I stop. I breathe out, and in. And I lift my gaze. And I focus my hearing. Out, in. There it is. The gentle leading, the focusing guidance. Follow me. Just that. Out, in. Complex and simple. Follow me. Lift the gaze. Focus the hearing. Out, in.

Follow me.

...pass-through gifts

I then shall live as one who’s learned compassion;

I’ve been so loved that I’ll risk loving too.

I know how fear builds walls instead of bridges;

I dare to see another’s point of view.

And when relationships demand commitment,

then I’ll be there to care and follow through.

---Gloria Gaither, 1981

Pat Benatar sang it, and there are times I almost believe it.

            Love is a battlefield.

There are so many ways to get burned. To get let down. To fall short. To do the hurting. To walk away. To run.

Thank God. No, really…thank God, for being our teacher in love, as in all things. Because we learn compassion from the creator of compassion. Because we pattern commitment from our model of steadfast love. Because we have watched our brother-Savior tear down the walls of fear that divide, we’ve heard stories of bridges of understanding spanning deep chasms. We have read the stories, too, of God’s love offered to an indifferent world, and of the patience and kindness offered even in the face of that indifference.

Fear whispers, “There are so many ways for love to go wrong.”

Thank God for the pass-through gifts of such compassion and understanding

...out of our huts

Strengthened by this glimpse of glory, fearful lest our faith decline,

We, like Peter, find it tempting to remain and build a shrine.

But true worship gives us courage to proclaim what we profess,

That our daily lives may prove us people of the God we bless.

---Carl P. Daw, 1988

We look, in these days, for worship that ‘wows’ us, worship that impresses, that astounds. We want to be fed, enraptured, thunderstruck. We want to wish to stay forever, to keep coming back for more, to never ‘let this feeling end’. We want ‘this’, always.

We want, in some strange way, to build a hut, to pull God in through the doorway, to hide away this glittering holiness, this shimmering lightness, all for us, for all time.

But see here. Worship is no glittering destination, no rapturous ‘fix’ for the faithful. Worship, rather, is challenging, inspiring, transformative. And, once transformed, a worshiping people are a working people, compelled by our transformation to lift up what is fallen, to bind up what is broken, to lighten what is burdensome, to reconcile what is torn. 

Out of the huts with us. It is time to let transformation do its work. To live as people of God.

...to risk life

O Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee;

I give Thee back the life I owe, that in Thine ocean depths

its flow may richer, fuller be.

---George Matheson, 1882

It’s hard to believe. Someone comes to you and says “Give up your riches to me. Blindly trust that I will take them and increase them.” And if this were an email solicitation, or a risky stock market offering, or a trench-coated fellow on a busy street corner, we know we’d be foolish to go along. No one wants to be scammed like that.

However, this is what God calls us to do. Here the hymnist imagines God as the personification of Love, a love that seeks us and pursues us, wraps us up and embraces us. This love calls to us, “Trust me. Turn over your life, which you may consider rich, full, and precious. In the depths of my life, your life becomes rich indeed. Entrust your life to me to achieve depth and meaning. You can rest here from your striving; here you are loved.”

This is a risk we can take, must take, if we are to live lives of meaning. Oh, to be found in the ocean of God’s love!

...of mercy and might

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!

God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

---Reginald Heber, 1826

I will admit it. I have always been a bit put off by descriptions of God as powerful. It seems in this world that being powerful is an invitation to mistreat or take advantage of the weak and poor. For every “good King Wenceslas”, there are hundreds of “Ivan the Terribles”. Power seems so intoxicating, and so easy to abuse. So my vision of a powerful, almighty God is colored by the lens of the world in which I live, and the one I read about in history books. Reginald Heber, in the mid-1800’s, caught the essence of God’s power with one short phrase: “merciful and mighty.”

In a world where might is often used to man-handle and menace, and strength to strong-arm and subdue, we the faithful shine a light on a God who stands in contrast to those faulty human ideals. We worship a God who is strong and tender, who is limitless and approachable, who is Law and Love.

Merciful and mighty, God, we worship you.

...losing our grip on the good news

You call us, Christ, to gather the people of the earth.

We cannot fish for only those lives we think have worth.

We spread your net of gospel across the water’s face,

our boat a common shelter for all found by your grace.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1991

Tell a good enough story, you never know who might show up!

Picture this. You’ve got this great product, and you want to get the word out. But. You want to practice a little targeted-demographic marketing. You only want to attract a certain kind of clientele. So you shape your message, subliminally almost, choose your media carefully, vet your messengers---all in the hope of building the kind of customer base you have in mind. Great plan.

But something goes awry. Maybe there are leaks in your marketing. Maybe your media shifts at the last minute. But the story gets out---wide. And people have been waiting for this. The---crowd---goes---wild! Everybody wants in on what you are offering. That exclusive demographic? Fugeddaboudit. You have just lost your grip on your brand.

Sometimes good news is like that. It goes where it wants, not where we plan. Thank God. Because, friends, our plans are never as grand as God’s. Our vision is never as long as God’s. And our reach is never as broad as God’s. So, although letting go of the marketing plan can be a little scary (‘The Spirit is on the loose!’ says a friend of mine gleefully, only half-joking), trusting God’s story to do its work in the world and welcoming all who come is a pretty good plan all on its own!

Let’s see who shows up!

...tearing down our fences

*this writing was tapped into being in the year 2008, but seemed timely when I stumbled across it.
-laca.

So brothers, sisters, praise his name who died to set us free

From sin, division, hate and shame, from spite and enmity!

In Christ there is no east or west --- he breaks all barriers down;

By Christ redeemed, by Christ possessed, in Christ we live as one.

“Good fences make good neighbors,” says the New England neighbor in Robert Frost’s Mending Wall. And probably at some time in all of our lives, we may have been tempted to quote him; when the neighbor’s grass reaches knee-high, when the next-door yard is full of tiny plastic ride-on toys and lots of screaming toddlers falling off them, maybe when your neighbor gardens in a bikini that would have been close-fitting several years and pounds) back. We even like the idea of fences and walls to keep certain groups of folks separated from others; them, and us.

In this text we sing that Christ came to break barriers, to minimize what separates us, to set us free from the things that hold us back from unity. And there is something a little scary about tearing down fences, something a little out-of-control about ending our human-constructed divisions. Jesus says we’ll just have to trust him for that. “Something there is,” Robert Frost said, “that doesn’t love a wall.”

Here’s to a tear-down, coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

...us and them

In Christ there is no east or west --- he breaks all barriers down;

By Christ redeemed, by Christ possessed, in Christ we live as one.

---Michael Perry, c.1979

US and THEM.

 In all the conflicts in the history of the world, there have only been two sides. Sharks and Jets, cats and dogs, Auburn and Alabama, Protestants and Catholics, Democrats and Republicans --- us…and them.

If we believe, really believe in Christ’s power to break down barriers, us and them is no more. It has no place in our world, or in our vocabularies. The same Christ that redeems us, that buys us back from the world; the same Christ that possesses us, directing our thoughts and actions; that same Christ destroys the walls we build between us and them.

In Christ we live as one.

...remade, for good

We are called to be God’s people, showing by our lives his grace,

one in heart and one in spirit, sign of hope for all the race.

Let us show how he has changed us and remade us as his own;

let us share our lives together as we shall around his throne.

---Thomas A. Jackson, 1973

In a new year’s effort to loosen the grip of the 24-hour news cycle on my attention (and life), I have been watching (less contentious) house-flipping and home renovation shows on HGTV and DIY networks. These are the shows where homeowners or professional renovators take tired, dated houses and turn them into places anyone would be proud to call home. The renovators have one goal in mind—to ‘flip’ the home for a hefty profit if they are professionals, to create a cozy family gathering place if they are handy homeowners.

In this hymn, Thomas Jackson imagines God as our re-modeler, creating something ‘one’ out of something scattered, disparate. In this wordplay, God is recreating us as a home, as a family, as a reflection and a sign.

In his work 1939 ‘Life Together’, Dietrich Bonhoeffer writes:

The more genuine and the deeper our community becomes, the more will everything else between us recede, the more clearly and purely will Jesus Christ and his work become the one and only thing that is vital between us. We have one another only through Christ, but through Christ we do have one another, wholly, and for all eternity.

God has remade us, for this life together, forever, for good.

...pass-along gifts...mighty good tidings

Arise, your light is come! The Spirit’s call obey;

show forth the glory of your God, which shines on you today.

Arise, your light is come! Fling wide the prison door;

proclaim the captive’s liberty, good tidings to the poor.

---Ruth Duck, 1974

We are so used to hearing the themes of Advent and Christmastide that they ring almost common in our ears, feel a bit bland rolling off our tongues…Light! Glory! Good tidings! When I stop and think about these things, they make me glad --- I need some good tidings, and some light, and a little glory to shine down on me! Yay, me!

Then hymnist Ruth Duck uses the prophet’s message from Isaiah to call my attention back to intention. Yes, some of that God-glory falls on me...but not to soak up and store. That glory, that light, those are pass-along gifts from a God who has called us as co-laborers in the life-work of lifting, reviving, nurturing, and restoring. These gifts? They were never meant for me, for us, to get and keep. This glory, this light, has always been destined for community.

And those, my friends, are mighty good tidings.

...awake to hear...to answer

It strikes me, at odd moments--mostly when I am confronted with uncertainty and fear over entering some new phase or stage of life-- how much of the Nativity story happened because people were awake.

Maiden Mary, hearing the rustle of messenger wings, the whisper of promise, challenge, provision, prophecy. Fiance Joseph, awakened by a dream visitor, with future-rocking words. Shepherds, sleepless and watchful, exposed to the night elements, catching the sky split open with the stunning news that earth and heaven were one.

Awake. Awake to hear. Awake to answer.

So many 'ifs'. One 'yes'. 

And the Gloria? The Gloria was the ringing of the spheres, the sound of heaven come to earth. The sounding, and resounding, of 'yes'.

~~~

Merry Christmas, friends. The video here is my brand new song for Christmas, If Not for What the Angels Sang, performed by some good friends on Christmas Eve morning (lyrics below). I hope you'll give it a listen, and pass it on.

If not for what the angels sang
Above the wild and windy plains
Echoes in the spangled sky
A boundless song, a Baby's cry
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

If not for what the shepherds heard
The stunning song, the summoning words
To stay within the sheltering fold?
Or seek the Child out in the cold?
Come, my friends, let us up and go!

If not for how the Baby came
Among the little, lost, and lame
Walking the same paths we trod
Showing us the heart of God
Love of Heaven come to earth below.

If not for what the angels sang
If not for what the shepherds heard
If not for how the Baby came--
Jesus Christ, God on earth.

If not for what the angels sang
Above the wild and windy plains
Echoes in the spangled sky
A boundless song, a Baby's cry
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

--LACA, 10/20/17

...longing for light

Longing for light, we wait in darkness. 
Longing for truth, we turn to you. 
Make us your own, your holy people,
light for the world to see.
---Bernadette Farrell, 1993

There is something in us, in all creation, that longs for light, seeks it out like air, like water. We reach for it, grow toward it. In some very real way, become it. The corner office, the room with a view, sunroof, convertible top down. We are sun-seekers. Trees and grasses stretch themselves toward the sky in search of their share of sun, soak it up, turn it to green, to growth.

In these long nights, short days, clouded skies, how we yearn for the light. How we exult in the sun, when it comes.

...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!

...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.

...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.