...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.

...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.

...carry me

"Momma...carry me." Parents the world over know that the time you are most likely to hear this refrain is when your arms are already full, home or the car is still blocks away...and you yourself are weary and staggering just to stay upright. It is the time you are probably wishing for someone to carry you. 

One of the remarkable aspects about life on this round earth seems to be that things were not created for isolation. Creatures flourish in herds, prides, flocks, litters, and packs. And people seem to flourish in community, too. In one of the creation stories from Genesis (this one from the second chapter), after assigning place and occupation to the human, isolation begins to seem pretty overwhelming. Matter of fact, it is the first pronouncement of "not good" amongst all the "goods" of creation. Company, and community, is created as the remedy for the "not good" of isolation.

In community, we hold each other up. We celebrate, and we mourn, in solidarity. We lean, and we prop up. We are strong, and we are weak, and we are not ashamed. We bear each other's burdens, and let others close enough to bear ours.

We trust each other to be the hands of God, to bear us up, when we just. can't. even. 

When we whisper, "carry me."

...the shepherd's gentle might

In an age where proving toughness and strength sometimes seems more important than proving almost anything else, I am weary of the posing, sick to death of the posturing.

The stockpiling of arms has overshadowed the work of helping hands. The threat behind clenched fists has outpaced the goodwill symbolized by linking arms.

It is overwhelming.

But there has always been a voice, crying in the wilderness. It has called us to a higher way. It has called us to drop our defenses, and throw down our weapons, and stop using our power to oppress the powerless.

It has called us to the might that is revealed in gentleness, to the shepherd's way.

He will nurture his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in arm, close to his heart, and gently lead those with young.-Isaiah 40:11/para.laca. 

...what they have left

11. 12. I know kids this age. They think so creatively it's hard to keep up. Their bodies are beginning to outgrow their capacity to control their movements. They are wicked smart, and you think twice before you ask, "What's on your mind?" because they will still tell you.

They delight me almost always. 

20 mothers and dads, twenty families, in Newtown tonight are wondering what their 11 and 12 year olds would be like--look like, sound like, love like. They wonder, because when these children were 6 and 7, they were murdered by gunfire while they went to school on a day not far from Christmas. They wonder, because wonder is what they have left.

Sandy Hook Elementary became a first grade killing field that day; and after 5 years, the mass slaughter is remarkable, aside from the tender age of most of its victims, mostly for its unremarkable-ness.

When will the voice of reason, the voice of standing up for the fallen, become louder than the voice of impersonal, obscenely deep-pocketed lobbying efforts? How long till lone voices become a chorus for change?

A voice is heard in Ramah, lament and bitter weeping, Rachel weeping for her children; she finds no comfort, for they are no more.-Jeremiah.31:15/para.laca.

...the darkness reveals the stars

I've heard people say the things. You have, too. Maybe I've even said the things. "Life's been hard on him." "She learned the hard way." "Never had to work for a thing. Now they're soft." "I used to be a nice person, but I got lied to/used/cheated one too many times. Those days are over." The thoughts are, I think, that our life's experiences create us, or at least complete us.

But.

Do those experiences make us? Or do they reveal us? When (when, not if) shadows, struggles, heartaches, defeats, setbacks come, do they batter us, do they better us?

Or, like darkness reveals the stars, do circumstances allow for the truest view of our realest selves?

In darkness, what will be revealed in us?

...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.

...the undecorated heart

...make your house fair as you are able
trim the hearth and set the table
people, look east and sing today:
love, the guest, is on the way.
---eleanor farjeon, 1928

I'm trying. My boxes are scattered across the floor, tops raggedly open, in multiple rooms, guts spilling out in a Tim Burton-esque holiday dreamscape that is equal parts mess and obstacle course. Trees are up and lit (no, I mean, you know, lighted...), and because I stayed up too late last night, they all have ornaments. Magi follow stars, shepherds wander here and there in search of...something they heard whispered on the wind. The angels stand and look, but you can tell they know more than they are saying.

And I am tired. In truth, November and December present some stumbling blocks for me, and I have to navigate the days with care. The holidays are difficult for the teens I work with; regardless of their history or the tough front they may present to the world, at Christmas they are kids who can't be home with mom. And I know that friends who have suffered loss of loved ones, broken relationships, or life changes during the year feel it most keenly during "the most wonderful time of the year". 

And so my heart sometimes remains quite plain. No twinkling lights, no manger scenes or angels, no aromas of baking or wintry drinks simmering on the stove. No guiding star up above leads the way for me, or to me.

Come, Jesus. I welcome you, in this quiet, to my undecorated heart.