You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. ~ Dr. Seuss
You give the appearance of listening To my thoughts, O trees, Bent over the road I am walking On a late summer evening When every one of you is a steep staircase The night is slowly descending.
The high leaves like my mother’s lips Forever trembling, unable to decide, For there’s a bit of wind, And it’s like hearing voices, Or a mouth full of muffled laughter, A huge dark mouth we can all fit in Suddenly covered by a hand.
Everything quiet.
The sky at the road’s end cloudless and blue. The night birds like children Who won’t come to dinner. Lost children in the darkening woods. ~Charles Simic from “Evening Walk” in The Voice at 3 A.M.”
I wonder about the trees.
My feet tug at the floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on. I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone. ~Robert Frost from “The Sound of Trees”
The voice of the trees urges me to move my feet while they stay rooted in place.
I am propelled forward by winds that strip away leaves, bend branches.
Tempted to simply stand and watch their motion, instead I walk among the rooted ones, grateful for my legs.
They clap their hands and wave as I pass by.
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Divinity is not playful. The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest. By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet. There is nothing to be done about it, but ignore it, or see. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities— his eternal power and divine nature— have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20
All creatures are doing their best to help God in His birth of Himself.
You and I weren’t conceived by random happenstance, nor are those unwelcome souls who are wished or washed away before ever taking a breath.
We are here because we are earnestly needed and wanted, by a Power and Divinity beyond our comprehension, Who has capacity for love and compassion unmatched by anything in our earthly experience.
We aren’t a cosmic joke or mistake. We aren’t pawns in the universe’s chess game.
Though we may loll about in the smelly stuff of this life, thinking what we say or do doesn’t matter a hill of beans, we are created by God as a witness to who He is, in whose image we are made.
He won’t be ignored; we have no excuses.
We were blind but now we see…
God looks down from heaven on all mankind to see if there are any who understand, any who seek God. Psalm 53:2
Schizomeno—meaning in Greek “ripped open.” It occurs twice in the Gospels: once when the temple veil is torn the day of Christ’s crucifixion. The other is when “the heavens opened” upon Christ’s baptism.
But they didn’t just “open.” They were ripped open. God broke into history with a voice and an act of salvation unlike any other.
To study the Bible with people of faith is to see it not only as an object of academic or antiquarian interest but also as a living word, a source of intellectual challenge, inspiration, comfort, uncomfortable ambiguities, and endless insights for people who gather in willingness to accept what seems to be God’s invitation: Wrestle with this.
Healthy churches wrestle, working out their salvation over coffee and concordances, knowing there is nothing pat or simple about the living Word, but that it invites us into subtle, supple, resilient relationship with the Word made flesh who dwells, still, among us. ~Marilyn McEntyre from“Choosing Church”
Passing down this story of Christ’s life, death, resurrection and ascension is not merely, or mainly, an exercise in cognition. Nor is it a divinely inspired game of telephone, where we simply whisper a message to the next generation through the ages.
Inevitably the story comes to us through ordinary people over dinner tables, at work, in songs, through worship, conflict, failure, repentance, ritual, liturgy, art, work and family.
Christianity is something we believe, but it is also a practice. Central to our practice is what Christians call sacraments, where the mysteries of faith are manifest through the ordinary stuff of earth—water and skin, bread and teeth. ~Tish Harrison Warren from “True Story”
photo by Barb Hoelle
Mom, You raised your hands while we sang this morning like I’ve never known you to, but I guess until recently I’ve never really known you in a church that let you feel alive.
I’m sure the last one did before it faded, but I was too young to distinguish church from habitual gathering and they wouldn’t have taught me grace if they’d wanted to,
and that was before I cracked our lives apart.
But it was then, wasn’t it, in the aftermath, that I saw more of your layers and saw that they were tapestries, punctured a thousand times and intricate, majestic, though they’ve been torn.
Ripped open to allow access – that is what God has done to enter into this ordinary stuff of earth, and giving us access to Him.
I enter the church sanctuary twice every Sunday to be reminded of this struggle: a wrestling match with ourselves, with each other, with everyday ordinary and ornery stuff, with the living Word of God.
None of this is easy and it isn’t meant to be. We must work for understanding and struggle for contentment and commitment.
I keep going back – gladly, knowing my guilt, eager to be transformed, not only because I choose to be in church, but because He chose to invite me there.
photo by Joel DeWaardAI image created for this post
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Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine, with the feeling that the voice she liked best in the world had been calling her name. ― C.S. Lewis from Prince Caspian
He determines the number of the stars; He gives to all of them their names. ~Psalm 147:4
The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. ~John 10:3-4
The Lord has called Me from the womb; He has made mention of My name… ~Isaiah 49:1
The new residents of Eden were given the task of naming the things of creation right from the beginning: plants, animals, rocks and even the heavens.
In our modern world, it is a lost art for us to learn the scientific names of things in nature, often no longer caring about the taxonomy and species, the Latin name or even common name.
We have lost the intimacy of knowing the name of what and who we walk among every day.
Not so with God. Not only the stars reflect His naming but He calls us by name – Abraham, Moses, Samuel, Mary, Peter, Paul among others– all heard their name uttered by the voice of God. He knows each of us in His intimate relationship with us.
Let His love be heard when He says our name.
It is up to us to listen closely enough to recognize His voice. It is up to us to be ready to respond: I’m here, Lord!
photo by Nate Gibson
This year’s Advent theme is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s sermon on the First Sunday in Advent, December 2, 1928:
The celebration of Advent is possible only to those who are troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come. For these, it is enough to wait in humble fear until the Holy One himself comes down to us, God in the child in the manager.
God comes.
He is, and always will be now, with us in our sin, in our suffering, and at our death. We are no longer alone. God is with us and we are no longer homeless. ~Dietrich Bonhoeffer – from Christmas Sermons
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Obscurely yet most surely called to praise, As sometimes summer calls us all, I said The hills are heavens full of branching ways Where star-nosed moles fly overhead the dead; I said the trees are mines in air, I said See how the sparrow burrows in the sky! And then I wondered why this mad instead Perverts our praise to uncreation, why Such savour’s in this wrenching things awry. Does sense so stale that it must needs derange The world to know it? To a praiseful eye Should it not be enough of fresh and strange That trees grow green, and moles can course in clay, And sparrows sweep the ceiling of our day? ~Richard Wilbur “Praise in Summer”
It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. ~G.K.Chesterton from Orthodoxy
I need no help to imagine this world feels upside down much of the time. When I read the headlines, I have difficulty understanding how anything makes any sense anymore.
Creation inversed: the birds somehow soar through the earth beneath us and the moles and mushrooms are populating the clouds. Instead of stars in the sky, there are innumerable molehills gracing the hillside. We are all mixed up in our perspective, turning creation on its head.
Thank goodness and thank God that everything is put back where it belongs when we are in sore need of reorientation. When we forget our purpose in creation, He reminds us by restoring predictable order and rhythms. When we destroy, He heals and protects. When we get bored with how things are – desperate for innovation and excitement in our attempt to turn the world upside down – He demonstrates contentment with how things were created, and turns it back to right again.
There is enough to keep us busy in this world: crazy weather, global pandemics, volcanic eruptions and quaking ground. We don’t need to complicate an already complicated creation with our designed messes.
We’re meant to admire the birds’ soaring in the skies and appreciate that grubs and gophers course through the soil beneath us. We can praise the sun as it rises each morning and the moon’s varied journey at night – so predictable and reliable and meant to be that way from the very beginning.
Keep it going, God. Do it again.
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Divinity is not playful. The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest. By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet. There is nothing to be done about it, but ignore it, or see. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities— his eternal power and divine nature— have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse. Romans 1:20
We weren’t conceived by random happenstance – not even the unwelcomed millions wished or washed away before ever taking a breath.
We are here because we were earnestly needed and wanted, by a power and divinity with a capacity for love and compassion beyond anything we are capable of.
We aren’t a cosmic joke, or random couplings of DNA. We aren’t pawns in the universe’s chess game.
We have the capacity to see the image of God in one another, and in the mirror, yet we ignore it.
God won’t be ignored nor does He accept feeble excuses.
We are invited by Christ Himself to “come and see.” (John 1:39)
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Rain. An excuse to stand at the window And listen, watch, wait. Listen: to the hush Of the house as still as a dark burrow Where an animal hides. Listen: the rush Of occasional gusts, then the stillness.
Watch: the wrens hopping from stem to wet stem Their happy bearing in contrast to titmice Who always seem afraid. Watch: the mayhem That strikes when the grumpy bluejay, twice As big as the rest, frumps onto a branch.
Wait: for what? For the steady rain to cease. Wait: for the fair sunlight to avalanche Down from space and remake the world again. Then let my steps be fearless, like the wren. ~Andrew Peterson “Lenten Sonnet”
I’m the child of rainy Sundays. I watched time crawl Like an injured fly Over the wet windowpane. Or waited for a branch On a tree to stop shaking, While Grandmother knitted Making a ball of yarn Roll over like a kitten at her feet. I knew every clock in the house Had stopped ticking And that this day will last forever. ~Charles Simic “To Boredom”
I’m never bored on a quiet rainy Sunday.
My list of to-do’s and want-to-do’s and hope-to-do’s and someday-maybe-if-I’m-lucky-to-do’s is longer than the days still left to me.
I cherish these Sabbaths when the clock stops, and “to-do’s” will wait. Time suspends itself above me, ~dangling~ and the day lasts forever.
Sunday evening scaries in anticipation of Monday are prayed away.
On a drizzly day of rest and gratitude, the world is remade, eternity moves a little closer, my steps become more fearless and the new week is yet another part of the journey.
Does the rain have a father? Who fathers the drops of dew? Job 38:28
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
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Suddenly I knew, when we stood in a circle holding hands; suddenly I knew, that because of the circle, because of friendship, because of love— yes, and because of the brokenness, and the need— I have been in heaven all my life. ~Carol Bialock “I Used to Think Heaven was Future” from Coral Castles
The church, I think, is God’s way of saying, “What I have in the pot is yours, and what I have is a group of misfits whom you need more than you know and who need you more than they know.”
“Take, and eat,” he says, “and take, and eat, until the day, and it is coming, that you knock on my door. I will open it, and you will see me face to face.”
He is preparing a table. He will welcome us in. Jesus will be there, smiling and holy, holding out a green bean casserole. And at that moment, what we say, what we think, and what we believe will be the same: “I didn’t know how badly I needed this.” ~Jeremy Clive Huggins from “The Church Potluck”
…when I experienced the warm, unpretentious reception of those who have nothing to boast about, and experienced a loving embrace from people who didn’t ask any questions, I began to discover that a true spiritual homecoming means a return to the poor in spirit to whom the kingdom of heaven belongs. ~Henri Nouwen from The Return of the Prodigal Son
The journey begins when Christians leave their homes and beds. They leave, indeed, their life in this present and concrete world, and whether they have to drive 15 miles or walk a few blocks, a sacramental act is already taking place…
For they are now on their way to constitute the Church, or to be more exact, to be transformed into the Church of God. They have been individuals, some white, some black, some poor, some rich, they have been the ‘natural’ world and a natural community. And now they have been called to “come together in one place,” to bring their lives, their very world with them and to be more than what they were: a new community with a new life.
We are already far beyond the categories of common worship and prayer. The purpose of this ‘coming together’ is not simply to add a religious dimension to the natural community, to make it ‘better’ – more responsible, more Christian. The purpose is to fulfill the Church, and that means to make present the One in whom all things are at their end, and all things are at their beginning. ~ Father Alexander Schmemann from For the Life of the World
We’ve been through fire, we’ve been through pain We’ve been refined by the power of Your name We’ve fallen deeper in love with You You’ve burned the truth on our lips
Rise up church with broken wings Fill this place with songs again Of our God who reigns on high By his grace again we’ll fly ~Robin Mark from “Shout to the North and the South”
photo by Barb Hoelle
There is so much wrong with the modern church, comprised as it is of fallen people with broken wings determined to find flaws in each other in doctrine, tradition, beliefs.
What is right with the church today, is when it offers a taste of heaven for hopeful people who come together in sanctuary, barn and field, eucharist table and potluck, to hold each other up in prayer and to sing in worship to the Three in One, who is why we sing, whose body we are part of and who, in our need, loves and forgives us despite our motley messiness: Our Lord of Heaven and Earth.
I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought. 1 Corinthians 1:9-10
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
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When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic, Time takes on the strain until it breaks; Then all the unattended stress falls in On the mind like an endless, increasing weight.
The light in the mind becomes dim. Things you could take in your stride before Now become laborsome events of will.
Weariness invades your spirit. Gravity begins falling inside you, Dragging down every bone.
The tide you never valued has gone out. And you are marooned on unsure ground. Something within you has closed down; And you cannot push yourself back to life.
You have been forced to enter empty time. The desire that drove you has relinquished. There is nothing else to do now but rest And patiently learn to receive the self You have forsaken in the race of days.
At first your thinking will darken And sadness take over like listless weather. The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.
You have traveled too fast over false ground; Now your soul has come to take you back.
Take refuge in your senses, open up To all the small miracles you rushed through.
Become inclined to watch the way of rain When it falls slow and free.
Imitate the habit of twilight, Taking time to open the well of color That fostered the brightness of day.
Draw alongside the silence of stone Until its calmness can claim you. Be excessively gentle with yourself.
Stay clear of those vexed in spirit. Learn to linger around someone of ease Who feels they have all the time in the world.
Gradually, you will return to yourself, Having learned a new respect for your heart And the joy that dwells far within slow time. ~John O’Donahue “For One Who Is Exhausted, a Blessing”
I know from experience that when I allow busy little doings to fill the precious time of early morning, when contemplation might flourish, I open the doors to the demon of acedia. Noon becomes a blur – no time, no time – the wolfing down of a sandwich as I listen to the morning’s phone messages and plan the afternoon’s errands.
When evening comes, I am so exhausted that vespers has become impossible. It is as if I have taken the world’s weight on my shoulders and am too greedy, and too foolish, to surrender it to God. ~Kathleen Norris from The Quotidian Mysteries
These are days with no breathing room, no time to stop and appreciate that each moment is a swelling bud about to burst into bloom.
And it is my fault that I’m not breathing deeply enough~ simply skimming the surface in my race to the end of the day.
Time’s petals, so open, so brilliant, so eternal, are closing up, unseen and unknown, just emptied, without my even noticing.
Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:28-29
This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”
Sing, Be, Live, See. This dark stormy hour, The wind, it stirs. The scorched earth cries out in vain: O war and power, You blind and blur, The torn heart cries out in pain. But music and singing Have been my refuge, And music and singing Shall be my light. A light of song, Shining Strong: Alleluia! Through darkness, pain, and strife, I’ll Sing, Be, Live, See… Peace.
Oh, good shepherd, would you teach me how to rest I’m rushing on, will you make me to lie down Will you build a fold by the waters that refresh Will you call my name and lead me safely out
From my anxious drive to labor on and on From the restless grind that has put my mind to sleep Will you call me back and gently slow me down Will you show me now what to lose and what to keep
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
When my table’s bent with only greed and gold And my grasping hands are afraid you won’t provide Will you pour the wine that loosens up my hold Set your table here with what truly satisfies
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
On the busy streets trying to make myself a name If the work is yours, there is nothing I can claim Will you lead me home to the pastures of your peace And the house is yours, I’m sitting at your feet
Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down Oh, good shepherd, oh, good friend Slow me down, slow me down
Slow me down, slow me down
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We were familiar with the night. We knew its favourite colours, its sullen silence and its small, disturbing sounds, its unprovoked rages, its savage dreams.
We slept by turns, attentive to the flock. We said little. Night after night, there was little to say. But sometimes one of us, skilled in that way, would pipe a tune of how things were for us.
They say that once, almost before time, the stars with shining voices serenaded the new born world. The night could not contain their boundless praise.
We thought that just a poem — until the night a song of solar glory, unutterable, unearthly, eclipsed the luminaries of the night, as though the world were exorcised of dark and, coming to itself, began again.
Later we returned to the flock. The night was ominously black. The stars were silent as the sheep. Nights pass, year on year. We clutch our meagre cloaks against the cold. Our aging piper’s fumbling fingers play, night after night, an earthly echo of the song that banished dark. It has stayed with us. ~Richard Bauckham “Song of the Shepherds”
There is no specific “song of the shepherds” recorded in scripture. They were unlikely people inspired to use flowery words and memorable turns of phrase. Scripture says simply they looked at each other and agreed to get to Bethlehem as fast as possible and see for themselves what they had been told by God. There was no time to waste singing out praises and thanksgiving; they “went with haste” to a dark and primitive place that served the purpose of housing animals.
It most assuredly was plain and humble, smelling of manure and urine, and animal fur. Yet it also would have smelled of the sweetness of stored forage, and there would have been the reassuring sounds of animals chewing and breathing deeply. It was truly the only place a group of scruffy shepherds could have felt welcomed without being tossed out as unsuitable visitors– they undoubtedly arrived at the threshold in bad need of a bath, smelly, dirty and terrified and yet left transformed, returning to their fields full of praise and wonder, telling all they met what they had seen.
There could not have been a more suitable place for this birth that was to change the world: the promise of cleansing hope and peace in the midst of filth. Despite our sorry state, we are welcomed into the sanctuary of the stable, sown, grown, pruned and harvested to become seed and food for others.
Witnessing an appearance of the heavenly host followed by seeing for themselves the incarnation of the living God in a manger must have been overwhelming to those who otherwise spent much time alone. They must have been simply bubbling over with everything they had heard and been shown, shocking anyone they met. At least scripture does tell us the effect the shepherds’ witnessing words had on others: “and all who heard it wondered…”
I don’t think people wondered if the shepherds were embroidering the story, or had a group hallucination, or were flat out fabricating for reasons of their own. I suspect Mary and Joseph and the townspeople who heard what the shepherds had to say were flabbergasted at the passion and excitement being shared about what had just taken place. Seeing became believing and all could see how completely the shepherds believed by how enthusiastically they shared everything they knew. If the shepherds had become a harvest of hope, then surely so can we.
We know what the shepherds had to say, minimalist conversationalists that they are. So we too should respond with similar wonder at what they have told us all.
And simply believe it was (and is) as wonderful as they say.
Advent 2023 theme …because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Luke 1: 78-79 from Zechariah’s Song
We stood on the hills, Lady, Our day’s work done, Watching the frosted meadows That winter had won.
The evening was calm, Lady, The air so still, Silence more lovely than music Folded the hill.
There was a star, Lady, Shone in the night, Larger than Venus it was And bright, so bright.
Oh, a voice from the sky, Lady, It seemed to us then Telling of God being born In the world of men.
And so we have come, Lady, Our day’s work done, Our love, our hopes, ourselves, We give to your son. ~Bob Chillcott “The Shepherd’s Carol”
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