...what feet are for

Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way, leaning on the everlasting arms;

oh, how bright the path grows from day to day, leaning on the everlasting arms.

---Elisha A. Hoffman, 1887

Path. Way. Journey. Through the years, these expressions of spiritual life have come to ring truest in my ear, and resonate most soundly in my soul. While I am not always positive about my destination, and my goals change, and sometimes finish lines seem frustratingly movable, feeling called to the journey is a constant. If day breaks, there is a path, and even when I may not be totally sold on the reason, my feet will be on it, because that is what feet, and paths, are for.

In this little bit of late-19^th cent. poetry, the hymnist speaks of the path growing bright from day to day. My mind travels to the memory verse from Bible Drill---“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105) And the thing is, I’ve walked on some dark paths in my life (yep, literal and metaphorical), and I know how lights work. That flashlight? Even a good one, with the batteries you remembered to replace before you packed it up for the campout? It illuminates the path a few steps ahead.

God’s presence? Right there with us on the path, every step of the way. But that light it throws? It’s a flashlight, not a floodlight. We were always meant to walk leaning on God, steps at a time, waiting for the light to shine up ahead.

Wow. Light for the journey, and an arm to lean on. On the path with Jesus.

...practice makes permanent

In the bread of life here given, we become what we receive.

In the cup of love here offered, affirm what we believe.

In the word of God proclaimed here, the good news of truth is heard.

In the telling of the stories, be open to God’s word.

---James Chepponis, 2002

Been there. Done that. I admit it. I am the first to make the jaded comment, or, on choking it back, to think it. This again? Or maybe, like Yogi Berra, It’s like deja-vu, all over again. And it’s kind of true.

Each time we gather and take communion, there is a familiarity to the elements, a sense of ritual in the setting. If I’m not careful, I can coast through the serving of the elements, the doing this in remembrance, on autopilot. If I am not present in the moment and attending to the story of my friend Jesus’ sacrificial love for me, a high holy moment can be, instead, just another holy snack pack and some pretty mumbling.

And those Bible stories? For heaven’s sake, I’ve been coming to church now for, well, for a long time. I have heard them all. Twice. What good does it do me, really, to be here with you, listening to the stories again? To sit and listen to the same old words and phrases over and over, till they are so burned into my soul that I could tell them myself? To know them so well that the words spring, unbidden, to my mind at unlikely times during the week? What good are a bunch of stories?

I have to be careful. I wouldn’t want to mix up being transformed with being done. Because being transformed? That could take a lifetime.

...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.

...lost...and home.

Words of life, words of hope,

give us strength, help us cope;

in this world where’er we roam

God’s ancient words will guide us home.

---Lynn DeShazo, 2001

Have you ever gotten lost? Turned around? So worn out you lost track of the path ahead of you and stumbled into the high grass off the side of the trail? Have you ever looked around for a sign, or down at a map, or up at the stars, and wondered, “Where in the world am I?” Have you ever sat there, where you found yourself---lost---and asked yourself, the open road, no one in particular, “How in the world did I get to here?”

Friends, I am the queen of getting lost, but not just in a literal way. I cannot count the times I’ve gotten lost behind a guitar, or in the pages of a book, or in front of a screen of some sort. I’ve been lost at the bottom of a mountain of to-do's, and in a deep well of lonesomeness; and lost in frustration with the inadequacies of this broken world, and inadequacies of my own. How about you? Where do you get lost?

What hopeful, life-giving words, then, what a promise---that ancient words, God-inspired and preserved for us in Scripture, stand as a beacon in our lostness, in our turn-aroundness, in our discouragement and weakness. I hear some speaking to me now:

            In this world you will have trouble, but fear not…I have overcome the world.

            The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.

            I have loved you with an everlasting love.

            You are mine. You are precious in my sight.

These are the words that guide me home. Every time…every time.

...never stop changing

In the tongues of all the peoples may the message bless and heal,

As devout and patient scholars more and more its depths reveal.

Bless, O God, to wise and simple, all the truth of ageless worth,

Till all lands receive the witness and your knowledge fills the earth.

---Ferdinand Q. Blanchard, 1953

God’s word never changes. But, by God’s grace, God’s people continually do. In the brightness of new light, we see more and more truth. In the warmth of seasons’ turnings, we fathom new depths of wisdom. In the shared scholarship of community, we open ourselves to the prismatic understanding of our brothers and sisters.

So although God’s word is a constant, our approach to the word of God must never be still. We must seek always to find more justice, more compassion, more service, more healing and blessing for our hurting world in its pages. We owe it to our world. We owe it to the Word.

Never stop changing.

...Light as gift

Light on the path, a lamp about our way,

Wisdom to lead us through the longest day,

Guiding our steps as once the Savior trod:

Here in the Scriptures is the Word of God.

---Timothy Dudley-Smith, 2008

Light. Lamp. Wisdom. Truth for the seeker. Bread for the hungry. Sword of the Spirit. Word of life. Treasure. Promise of mercy and love.

These are some of the gifts to be found in Holy Scripture, according to hymnist Timothy Dudley-Smith. And can you imagine the richness of life, were one to avail oneself of all of these gifts? The richness, even more, of life lived out in community, sharing these gifts together?

How amazing, to have the chance to gain glimpses into the life of the one we call Lord, just by picking up our Bible. To know Jesus better, to know God’s love story with humankind more intimately, because real people quieted themselves, and waited, and shared the moving of the Spirit for us, for the generations.

May we eagerly seek out opportunities to learn from this amazing record of the deep love between God and God’s people. And, rather than ever seeking to use Holy Writ as a weapon against another pilgrim on the path, or a lance against some windmill that needs tilting against, may we seek always to see Scripture used to build up and draw people to the God of Love.

Thanks be to God for Light on the path.

...in the face of this cold

Praise to you from the beloved community,

rising to you from your own!

For you do what is needed 

for us to dwell secure,

for our community to continue 

after our own time is done.

You grant freedom from anxiety

and freedom from need, 

filling the fields with lovely wheat.

You let your word be known,

like swift-flowing water.

The snow you send is like a 

fine wool blanket,

the frost like ash,

the hail like crumbs---

how are we to stand 

in the face of this cold?

But your word, that swift word,

is sent from you,

and melts them away in an instant;

you breathe the gentle wind into being,

and the frozen waters flow again.

You make your word known to your people,

in a relationship shared by none other.

Praise to you from your own!

---Psalm 147:12-20 (para. laca)

Thin places

Now the heavens start to whisper, 
as the veil is growing thin. 
Earth from slumber wakes to listen
to the stirring, faint within...
---Mary Louise Bringle

In Celtic spirituality, there are spaces where the division between the physical world and the spirit world grow 'thin', allowing for a sort of supernatural transfer between realms. In these thin places, all kinds of magic might happen.
Christianity surely has at least two 'thin places' in its story. One, the moment of Jesus' death on the cross, is marked by a literal thinning of the veil --- the heavy curtain in the Temple at Jerusalem, separating the presence of God from the presence of God's people, is ripped open from top to bottom, ending forever constructed separation between God and us. The other thin place is surely the moment of God's 'crossing over' --- the Creator of the universe taking on the skin of a creature, Word becoming the frailest of flesh. It is this thinning that we await during the Advent season.
God presents us with this thin place --- do you hear the whispered invitation? Dare we step in?


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