Category: spirit

An Advent Threshold: A Power from on High

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The worst isn’t the last thing about the world.
It’s the next to the last thing.
The last thing is the best.
It’s the power from on high that comes down into the world,
that wells up from the rock-bottom worst of the world
like a hidden spring.
Can you believe it?
Yes.
You are terribly loved and forgiven.
Yes.
You are healed.
All is well.
~Frederick Buechner from The Final Beast

…the point is that God is with us, not beyond us, in suffering. Christ’s suffering shatters the iron walls
around individual human suffering,
that Christ’s compassion
makes extreme human compassion
—to the point of death even—possible.
Human love can reach right into death,
then, but not if it is merely human love.
~Christian Wiman from My Bright Abyss

Ah, good Lord, how could all things be well, because of the great
harm which has come through sin to your creatures?
And so our good Lord answered
all the questions and doubts which I could raise,
saying most comfortingly:

I make all things well,
and I can make all things well,
and I shall make all things well,
and I will make all things well;

and you will see for yourself
that every kind of thing will be well.

…And in these words God wishes us
to be enclosed in rest and peace
~Julian of Norwich from Revelations of Divine Love (1393)

To be terribly loved and forgiven heals.
To know the suffering and sadness in this world
is not the last thing, only the next to last thing.
To understand that human compassion and love
is made possible because Christ’s power from on high
is not merely human.
To believe all will be made well as the last thing.
If all is not well, we’re not yet at the end of our story…

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My 2025 Advent theme:
On the threshold between day and night

On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. 
It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord—
with no distinction between day and night. 
When evening comes, there will be light.
Zechariah 14:6-7

So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.
~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk

An Advent Threshold: Taking You Where You Did Not Think To Go

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First let us say

a blessing
upon all who have
entered here before
us.

You can see the sign
of their passage
by the worn place
on the doorframe
as they walked through,
the smooth sill
of the threshold
where they crossed.

On the other side
these ones who wait –
for you,
if you do not
know by now –
understand what
a blessing can do

how it appears like
nothing you expected

how it arrives as
visitor,
outrageous invitation,
child;

how it takes the form
of angel
or dream;

how it comes
in words like
How can this be?
and
lifted up the lowly:

how it sounds like
in the wilderness
prepare the way.

Those who wait
for you know
how the mark of
a true blessing
is that it will take you
where you did not
think to go.

Once through this door
there will be more:
more doors
more blessings
more who watch and
wait for you

but here
at this door of
beginning
the blessings cannot
be said without you

Say the thing that
you most need
and the door will
open wide.

And by this word
the door is blessed
and by this word
the blessing is begun
from which
door by door
all the rest
will come.
~Jan Richardson, from “Blessing the Door” from  Through the Advent Door: Entering a Contemplative Christmas.

And as you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged on the shingly beach of a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens.
~Stephen Graham from The Gentle Art of Tramping

That great door opens on the present, illuminates it as with a multitude of flashing torches.
~Annie Dillard (in response to the Graham’s quote) from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

There is a second or two each day
(and some days I must watch hard for it)
when there is a moment of illumination
like a multitude of flashing torches,
when I can see just beyond what is here and now
to heaven’s open door.

It is a liminal promise pointing me to where I didn’t think to go.

If I miss it,
this opened door that is not a door~
too busy to notice-
too blinded to see-
having turned my face away,
nevertheless it still happens –
just without my witness.

It gladdens my heart to know that
God always offers up the open door again and again,
until I see.

My 2025 Advent theme:
On the threshold between day and night

On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. 
It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord—
with no distinction between day and night. 
When evening comes, there will be light.
Zechariah 14:6-7

So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.
~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk

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The Advent Threshold: Lifting of a Latch

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Even in the darkness where I sit
And huddle in the midst of misery
I can remember freedom, but forget
That every lock must answer to a key,
That each dark clasp, sharp and intimate,
Must find a counter-clasp to meet its guard.
Particular, exact and intricate,
The clutch and catch that meshes with its ward.
I cry out for the key I threw away
That turned and over turned with certain touch
And with the lovely lifting of a latch
Opened my darkness to the light of day.
O come again, come quickly, set me free,
Cut to the quick to fit, the master key.
~Malcolm Guite “O Clavis” from Sounding the Seasons

And I will place on his shoulder the key of the house of David.
He shall open, and none shall shut;
and he shall shut, and none shall open…
to open the eyes that are blind,
to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,
from the prison those who sit in darkness.
Isaiah 22:22 and 42:7

Some doors in our lives appear forever closed and locked. 
No key, no admittance, no way in, no way out. 
A locked door leaves few choices until the key is offered to us.

We now must make a choice, even if the choice is to do nothing.

Do we drop the key and stay put where things are at least familiar?
Do we knock and politely wait for the door to be answered?
Do we simply wait for the moment it happens to open, take a peek and decide whether or not to enter?
Or do we boldly put the key in and walk through?

Our choice is as plain as the key resting in our trembling hand.
Once we approach, drawn to the mystery,
we find the door is already standing open with an invitation.

Fear not.
For unto us a child is born, a son is given.

He is the threshold between two worlds, between the darkness and the light, a liminal love allowing us to hold the key.

From the fourth stanza of O Come, O Come Emmanuel:

O come, thou Key of David, come and open wide our heav’nly home; make safe the way that leads on high, and close the path to misery.

AI image created for this post

My 2025 Advent theme:
On the threshold between day and night

On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. 
It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord—
with no distinction between day and night. 
When evening comes, there will be light.
Zechariah 14:6-7

So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.
~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk

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Come and See: Make Straight the Way

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And this is the testimony of John, when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?”  He confessed, and did not deny, but confessed, “I am not the Christ.” 

And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?”
He said, “I am not.” “Are you the Prophet?”
And he answered, “No.” 
 So they said to him, “Who are you? We need to give an answer to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” 
 He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’ as the prophet Isaiah said.”

(Now they had been sent from the Pharisees.) They asked him, “Then why are you baptizing, if you are neither the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?” 

John answered them, “I baptize with water, but among you stands one you do not know, even he who comes after me, the strap of whose sandal I am not worthy to untie.” These things took place in Bethany across the Jordan, where John was baptizing.
John 1:19-28

We grow accustomed to the Dark —
When Light is put away —
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Good bye —

A Moment — We Uncertain step
For newness of the night —
Then — fit our Vision to the Dark —
And meet the Road — erect —

And so of larger — Darknesses —
Those Evenings of the Brain —
When not a Moon disclose a sign —
Or Star — come out — within —

The Bravest — grope a little —
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead —
But as they learn to see —

Either the Darkness alters —
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight —
And Life steps almost straight.
~Emily Dickinson

I admit that I’ve been stumbling about in the dark,
bearing the bruises and scrapes of
random collisions with objects hidden in the night.

My eyes must slowly adjust to such bare illumination,
as the Lamp sometimes is carried away.
I must feel my way along the road of life.

I know there are fellow darkness travelers
who also have lost their way and their Light,
giving what they can and sometimes more.

And so, blinded as we each are,
we run forehead-first into the Tree
which has always been there and always will be.

Because of who we are and Who loves us,
we, now free and forgiven,
follow a darkened road guaranteed straight, all the way Home.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year. Each week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

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We Know in Our Bones…

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We all know that something is eternal.
And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names,
and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars
. . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal,
and that something has to do with human beings.
All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that
for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised
how people are always losing hold of it.
There’s something way down deep
that’s eternal about every human being.
We can only be said to be alive in those moments
when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it –
every, every minute?
~Thornton Wilder, quotes from “Our Town”

The words from the stage play “Our Town”,
written nearly 90 years ago still ring true:
at that time our country was crushed under the Great Depression.
Though now most people are more economically secure than the 1930’s, many of us are emotionally bankrupt.

Our country staggers under a Great Depression of the spirit~
despite greater connection electronically (often too much…),
many of us are more isolated from community, family, and faith.

We need reminding to be conscious of our many treasures and abundance, never forgetting to care of others in greater need.

God, in His everlasting recognition of our eternal need of Him,
cares for us, even as we turn our faces away from Him.

We all feel His Love, deep in our bones.

So I search the soil of this life, this farm, this faith
to find what yearns to grow, to bloom, to fruit,
to be harvested to share with others.

My deep gratitude goes to you who visit here
and to those who let me know
the small and the good I share with you
makes a difference in your day.
I am beyond thankful you are here, listening.

Many blessings in your own thanksgiving this week,
Emily

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You See, I Am Alive

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I am a feather on the bright sky

I am the blue horse that runs in the plain

I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water

I am the shadow that follows a child

I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows

I am an eagle playing with the wind

I am a cluster of bright beads

I am the farthest star

I am the cold of dawn

I am the roaring of the rain

I am the glitter on the crust of the snow

I am the long track of the moon in a lake

I am a flame of four colors

I am a deer standing away in the dusk

I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche

I am an angle of geese in the winter sky

I am the hunger of a young wolf

I am the whole dream of these things
You see, I am alive, I am alive
~N. Scott Momaday from “The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee” from In the Presence of the Sun: Stories and Poems

I wonder if, in the dark night of the sea, the octopus dreams of me.
~N. Scott Momaday

photo by Nate Gibson

If I am brutally honest with myself after my recent cardiac brush with my mortality, one of my worst fears is to have lived on this earth for a handful of decades and then pass away forgotten, inconsequential, having left behind no legacy of significance whatsoever. 

I’m well aware it is self-absorbed to feel the need to leave a mark, but a search for purpose and meaning lasting beyond my time here provides new momentum for each day. The forgetting can happen so fast. 

Most people know little about their great-great-grandparents, if they even know their names. A mere four generations, a century, renders us dust, not just in flesh, but in memory as well. There may be a yellowed photograph in a box somewhere, perhaps a tattered postcard or letter written in elegant script, but the essence of this person is long lost and forgotten.

We owe it to our descendants to write down the stories about who we were while we lived on this earth. We need to share why we lived, for whom we lived, for what we lived.

I suspect, although I try every day to record some part of who I am, it will be no different with me and those who come after me.  Whether or not we are remembered by great-great grandchildren or become part of the dreams of creatures in the depths of the seas:

we are just dust here and there is no changing that.

Good thing this is not our only home.  
Good thing we are more than mere memory and dreams. 
Good thing the river of life flows into
an eternity that transcends good works
or long memories or legacies left behind. 
Good thing we are loved that much and always will be.
You see, we are alive, we are alive,
forever and ever, Amen.

I remember your lectures, Professor Scott Momaday, now nearly two years after you passed from this earth at age 89 – your voice, your stories and your poetry live on.

You are alive. You are alive…

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Come and See: To Be Known

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Knowing God is more important than knowing about God.
~Karl Rahner

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, 
and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.  

(John bore witness about him, and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks before me, because he was before me.’”) 

 For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 

No one has ever seen God; God the only Son, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known.
John 1:14-18

There is no peace
like the peace of those whose minds
are possessed with full assurance
that they have known God,
and God has known them…
~J.I. Packer from Knowing God

When our pastor preached recently on this passage from the Book of John, he explained that the Greek word ἀνακειμένον used for “at the Father’s side” is the same word John used later in his book as he ate supper with Jesus, reclining at the table with the other disciples.

John describes resting on Jesus’ chest or bosom, or on his heart.

This is how John helps us understand Jesus’ relationship with God the Father – Jesus rests on the Father’s heart – and that closeness is what brings us nearer to a knowledge of God.

To know God – indeed, resting on the Father’s chest – is why Jesus was sent, in the flesh, to our world.

We can rest there too as the Light overcomes the darkness.
We can listen for the living heartbeat of the Word.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year. At the beginning of each week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

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Strung on the Necklace of Days

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It is a dark fall day.
The earth is slightly damp with rain.
I hear a jay.
The cry is blue.
I have found you in the story again.
Is there another word for “divine”?
I need a song that will keep sky open in my mind.
If I think behind me, I might break.
If I think forward, I lose now. 
Forever will be a day like this
Strung perfectly on the necklace of days.
Slightly overcast
Yellow leaves
Your jacket hanging in the hallway
Next to mine.
~Joy Harjo “Fall Song”

bluejay photo by Josh Scholten

November 22 always has a sadness about it for those of us who listened to the tragic news reports and experienced the aftermath of that day…

In the seemingly endless,
sometimes bleak string of fall days,
each one differing little from the one before
and the one that comes after,
there is linkage to winter on its way,
inescapable and unrelenting.

If I were to try to stop time now,
hold tight to a particular moment,
this necklace of days would break and scatter,
as a sustaining connection depends
on preserving what was before,
breathing deeply of what is now,
and praying for what is to come.

Each moment
never in isolation from those surrounding it.

(this article about JFK’s granddaughter’s terminal diagnosis was particularly poignant for me this morning)

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The Whole Shadowed Earth Reaching Up

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  the season quicker now
the darkening—

no longer the leaves
fluttering down

but the whole shadowed earth
reaching up, taking hold
~David Baker “Quicker”

Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what’s a heaven for?
~Robert Browning from Andrea del Sarto

My branches are bared during this season of letting go.

As starkly revealed as I am, perhaps darkening days are a blessing: less spotlight on my complexity in silhouette – all knobby joints, awkward angles and curves.

One thing I know: in this season when I prefer the shadowland, I still reach up, trying to hold on to the promise beyond me. In fact, so many of us keep grasping at what we know is there but cannot see.

God has come down to grab on to each one of us — and is still hanging on.

We are not too plain or complex or awkward to be lifted, welcomed, cherished as we are, into heaven’s arms.

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Come and See: Bearing Witness to the Light

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There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.

The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh
nor of the will of man, but of God.
John 1:6-13

God, Who made the sun, also made the moon.
The moon does not take away from the brilliance of the sun.
The moon would be only a burnt-out cinder floating in the immensity of space were it not for the sun. All its light is reflected from the sun. On dark nights we are grateful for the moon; when we see it shining, we know there must be a sun. So in this dark night of the world when men turn their backs on Him Who is the Light of the World, we … await the sunrise.
~Archbishop Fulton Sheen from The World’s First Love

John the Baptist was clear: he was a witness to the True Light Jesus, not the light himself.

He reflected the origin of light, like the moon reflects the sun.

We are naturally wary of prophets, not knowing who to believe and who leads us astray. God warns us about false prophets, yet we have difficulty discerning truth, so turn our backs to it, missing the Light.

Instead, when I see moonlight, I try to remember the message of John the Baptist: seeing the moon glow reminds me the Sun is the true origin of Light. And so as God’s children, we are to reflect the Light as well, bearing witness in the darkness.

I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year. At the beginning of each week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.

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