Amen, Let There Be Light
January 6, 2010 
Winter Solstice, Newgrange Ireland
Trinity’s Rector, the Rev. Mel Schlachter shared the following poem-prayer from Edward Hay’s Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim. With a minor amendment or two, it seems a fitting way to bring this Advent and Christmas season to a close.
The dark shadow of space leans over us
as we conclude this festival.
We are mindful that the darkness of greed,
of exploitation and hate
also lengthens its shadow
over our small planet Earth.
As our ancestors feared death and evil
and all the dark powers of winter,
we fear that the darkness of war,
of discrimination and selfishness
may doom us and our planet to an eternal winter.
May we find hope
in the lights we have kindled on these sacred nights,
Hope in one another and in all who form the web-work
of peace and justice that spans the world.
In the heart of every person on this earth
burns the spark of luminous goodness;
in no heart is there total darkness.
May we who have celebrated this Advent, this winter solstice, this Christmas, and this Epiphany,
by our lives and service, by our prayers and love,
call forth from one another the light and the love
that is hidden in every heart.
Amen, let there be light!!
Pausing at the Empty Barn
The paths of refugees worldwide.
From Matthew 2.13-15:
Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son.’
From Walter Brueggemann’s Prayers for a Privileged People:
Had we the chance, we would have rushed to Bethlehem to see this thing that had come to pass.
Had we been a day later, we would have found the manger empty and the family departed.
We would have learned that they fled to Egypt, warned that the baby was endangered, sought by the establishment of the day that understood how his very life threatened the way things are.
We would have paused at the empty stall and pondered how this baby from the very beginning was under threat.
The powers understood that his grace threatened all our coercions; they understood that his truth challenged all our lies; they understood that his power to heal nullified our many pathologies; they understood that his power to forgive vetoed the power of guilt and the drama of debt among us
From day one they pursued him, and schemed and conspired until finally..on a grey Friday…they got him!
No wonder the family fled, in order to give him time for his life.
We could still pause at the empty barn—and ponder that ll our babies are under threat, all the vulnerable who stand at risk before predators, our babies who face the slow erosion of consumerism, our babies who face the reach of sexual exploitation, our babies who face the call to war, placed as we say, “in harm’s way,” our babies, elsewhere in the world, who know of cold steel against soft arms and distended bellies from lack of food; our babies everywhere who are caught in the fearful display of ruthless adult power.
We ponder how peculiar this baby at Bethlehem is, summoned to save the world, and yet we know, how like every child, this one also was at risk. The manger is empty a day later…the father warned in a dream. Our world is so at risk, and yet we seek after and wait for this child named “Emmanuel.” Come be with us, you who are called “God with us.”
Give us the imagination…to go home by another route
We are approaching the Feast of the Epiphany, which will be observed in two days on January 6th, bringing the Christmas season to a close.
From Matthew 2.1-12:
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2asking, ‘Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.’ 3When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5They told him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6“And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.” ’
7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, ‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.’ 9When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
From Walter Brueggemann’s Prayers for a Privileged People:
Epiphany
The wise ones hurried from the East.
They are the wise of the world.
They are the ones wise in science,
for they read the “intelligent design” of the stars.
They are the wise ones of the economy,
for they come with gold.
They are the wise ones of politics,
for they sought a king.
They are our delegates, as we stand
carrying all the learning of the academy,
of the market,
of the laboratory,
of the halls of power.
They came, tenaciously and eagerly and regally.
They came and bowed down before your foolishness.
They sensed the contradiction
between his vulnerability and their sagacity.
between his innocence and their calculation,
between his exposure and their many concealing
robes of power.
They worshiped him!
They recognized that he called into question
all that they treasured,
so they yielded their best to him,
their preciousness,
their secret potions,
their rich perfumes.
And we stand alongside them with
our wealth,
our control
our smarts,
our sophistication,
our affluence.
Give us freedom like theirs
to yield,
to worship,
to adore,
to have our lives contradicted.
Give us grace like theirs
to embrace the foolishness of the child,
that the first will be last and the last first,
that the humble will be exalted and the exalted humbled,
that we may lose the world and gain our lives.
Give us the imagination like theirs
to go home by another route
on the path where foolishness is wisdom
and weakness is strength
and poverty is wealth.
Make our new foolishness specific
that the world might become—
through us—new.
The evening and the morning of the same day
Luke 2.29-30: Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: for my eyes have seen thy salvation.
From Anglican priest and poet, John Donne (1572-1631):
The whole life of Christ was a continual Passion; other die martyrs but Christ was born a martyr. He found a Golgotha, were he was crucified, even in Bethlehem, where he was born; for to his tenderness then the straws were almost as sharp as the thorns after, and the manger as uneasy at first as the cross at last. His birth and his death were but one continual act, and his Christmas day and his Good Friday are but the evening and the morning of the same day. And as even his birth is his death, so every action and passage that manifests Christ to us is his birth, for Epiphany is manifestation. Every manifestation of Christ to the world, to the Church, to a particular soul is an Epiphany, a Christmas day.
Yet what I can I give Him
Today a favorite carol, which is fitting not only for the weather outside, but also for this blog’s theme: Let every heart.
In the bleak mid-winter
frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron,
water like a stone;
snow had fallen, snow on snow,
snow on snow,
in the bleak mid-winter
long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
nor earth sustain;
heaven and earth shall flee away
when He comes to reign:
in the bleak mid-winter
a stable-place sufficed
the Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
and a mangerful of hay;
enough for Him, whom angels
fall down before,
the ox and ass and camel
which adore.
Angels and archangels
may have gathered there,
cherubim and seraphim
thronged the air,
but His mother only
in her maiden bliss,
worshipped the Beloved
with a kiss.
What can I give Him,
poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
if I were a wise man,
I would do my part,
yet what I can I give Him,
give my heart.
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
Once in a Blue Moon
Blue Moonset Over Hickory Hill: January 1, 2009
Luke 2.21: After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.
Today is January 1st 2010. A new year, a new decade, marked by a rare Blue Moon in the sky. It is the eighth day of Christmas and the day upon which we observe the Feast of the Holy Name. Prior to the 1979 revision of the Book of Common Prayer, this day was called the Feast of the Circumcision. In either case, Mary’s infant is now eight days old and his family observes the law given to Moses as recorded in Leviticus 12.2-3: “If a woman conceives and bears a male child…on the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.” This ceremony (now known as the brit milah or bris) was—and remains—an occasion for celebration, with all the joy and tension incumbent in any family gathering.
My husband, Jerry, tells a story stemming from his own bris…out of the blue one day when he was around 10-years old, an unfamiliar fellow appeared in his parents’ sandwich shop. The stranger was warmly welcomed and Jerry was introduced to his long-lost Uncle Benny. Turns out that when Jerry was 8-days old, an argument broke out during his bris. While the moyle was at work, Jerry’s father Abe and Uncle Benny bickered over a rowdy cousin’s behavior. The two brothers didn’t speak—even though they lived but a few miles apart—for the next 10-years.
Luke’s gospel makes no mention of a festive gathering of family and friends surrounding and supporting the new parents, Mary and Joseph. Perhaps we are to assume that they were there—as any family would have been. And if the in-laws were there…imagine the undercurrents of tension and the whispered conversations. Not only was this infant’s paternity suspect, but now he was to be named “Jesus,” meaning “Savior” or “Deliverer” in Hebrew because that crazy girl Mary claimed an angel had given her the name!
Or perhaps the author of Luke’s gospel means for us to notice the surprising absence of family and friends at Jesus’ circumcision and to realize the isolation and burden resting upon the new parents of this most unusual boy child. In either case, the gospel reminds us that Jesus—Immanuel—God-With-Us—was born into a very human family.
I couldn’t help but notice a wave of forgiveness sweeping through Facebook yesterday. Friends marked the new secular year by making a point of forgiving a lingering grudge. Just as Abe and Benny did, so many years after Jerry’s bris. Just as Jesus calls us to do. Whether it’s a bris, Christmas or New Year’s festivities, or some other gathering of family and friends, let’s make forgiveness and reconciliation part of the celebration—rather than something we do once in a blue moon!
How can we celebrate Christmas in such a world?
From Kathleen Norris: Today we are asked to sing the new song that we will hear again at the end of time. Although our celebration of Christmas is festive indeed, we know that it is not the perfect feast to come. As Judea suffered under the yoke of empire, so millions suffer today under the yoke of unjust economics. The poor labor for pennies a day and die in misery when they are no longer of use; the rich consume compulsively, imprisoned by the notion that their worth as human beings comes from social status and possessions.
On Christmas, of all days, we are not to forget that too many families are homeless, too many children die of starvation and treatable disease, or that too many people are victimized by a profitable weapons trade that fuels genocidal conflict and terrorist acts around the world. How can we celebrate Christmas in such a world? The answer is that the joyful feast of Christmas exists because, and in spite of, the pitiful human condition.
From Book of the Prophet Isaiah 52.7-10
How beautiful upon the mountains
are the feet of the messenger who announces peace,
who brings good news,
who announces salvation,
who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns.’
Listen! Your sentinels lift up their voices,
together they sing for joy;
for in plain sight they see
the return of the Lord to Zion.
Break forth together into singing,
you ruins of Jerusalem;
for the Lord has comforted his people,
he has redeemed Jerusalem.
The Lord has bared his holy arm
before the eyes of all the nations;
and all the ends of the earth shall see
the salvation of our God.
We’ll dress the house…
We are still in the midst of the Christmas season. Every morning my husband and I greet each other with a “Merry Christmas!” and the lights of our Christmas tree still burn bright.
Yet, the neighborhood curbside already is littered with abandoned Christmas trees. Stray bits of tinsel blow about in the icy wind. It seems that, at least for some, the holiday was over almost before it had begun.
As I linger, savoring the counter-cultural Christmas season, I’m reminded of a carol shared by Bob Lehman. Bob is a vestryman at Trinity and he was kind enough to email me these lyrics:
We’ll dress the house with holly bright and sprigs of mistletoe.
We’ll trim the Christmas tree tonight and set the lights aglow.
We’ll wrap our gifts with ribbons gay and give them out on Christmas day.
By everything we do and say, our gladness we will show.
We’ll dress the table daintily, our finest treasures use.
That all a-sparkle it may be and bright with lovely hues.
Then for the feasting, we’ll prepare a kitchen full of wondrous fare.
That each from all the dishes rare, his favorite one may choose.
And yet, who would the Christ Child greet?
Your heart also adorn, that it may be a dwelling meet for him who now is born.
Let all unlovely things give place to souls bedecked with heavenly grace.
That ye may view his holy face with joy on Christmas morn.
The Holy Innocents
One must not be overly hasty to judge the church Calendar. There was a time when I resented the immediate intrusion of St. Stephen, St. John, and the Innocents. Can’t we enjoy Christmas just a little bit longer? Well, no. The very next day, December 26, Stephen is stoned. We get a respite of sorts with St. John, and then, we remember the massacre of the children of Bethlehem, and the other innocent victims of all times and places; the list is long. The “designs of evil tyrants” (as the Collect for the Day expresses it) continue unabated.
I have come to understand that the Calendar is right.
“Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them. . . .”
The stoning of Stephen, the murder of children. . . . The Son of God did not come here just to be adored by cute little angels and shepherd boys, oxen and asses and sheep and wise men. He had his “father’s business” to be about. God saw such deeds as the massacre of children, and chose to do something about it, at his own great cost.
War continues in Afghanistan and Iraq. Iran wants to build nuclear weapons. North Korea remains crushed under totalitarian repression. Strife continues in the Holy Land, and many other places. It is for such as this, and such as us, that he “was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” O magnum mysterium.
But it is also proper that the feast of St. John is in with all of this dark, messy, painful human condition. The “beloved disciple” is the one who, more than any of the other authors of Scripture, taught us that God is love. It is for love that God sent his son into the world. That love is comprehensible only through the Incarnation, and all that followed – all that still follows, as we continue to live out the Story. The passage from Revelation continues:
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” (21:4)
It is for Love that this is so.
“From that time that it was shewed I desired oftentimes to learn what was our Lord’s meaning. And fifteen years after, and more, I was answered in ghostly understanding, saying thus: Wouldst thou learn thy Lord’s meaning in this thing? Learn it well: Love was His meaning. Who shewed it thee? Love. What shewed He thee? Love. Wherefore shewed it He? For Love. Hold thee therein and thou shalt learn and know more in the same. But thou shalt never know nor learn therein other thing without end. Thus was I learned that Love was our Lord’s meaning.” (from St. Julian of Norwich)
Today’s meditation was shared by Guest Blogger Andrew Hicks.
St. John the Evangelist
Since today is his feast day, here is my uneducated layman’s theory about the origins of the Gospel according to St. John. I touched on this the other day in connection with the Prologue. I presume that the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine epistles (and, perhaps but far less certainly, the Apocalypse) are indeed by John, son of Zebedee, the “beloved disciple,” and that the Gospel faithfully recounts the historical deeds, “signs,” and teachings of Jesus. The many and drastic differences in detail between John and the Synoptic Gospels do not strike me as problematic; rather, I think the differences are the point of the whole enterprise.
St. John was, by tradition, young during the ministry of Jesus. Again by tradition, he lived to a very old age, perhaps in Ephesus. By his last years, the synoptic Gospels were in circulation. I can imagine him reading or hearing them and thinking “Yes. This is all well and good. But what about. . . .” What about the miracle at Cana? The discussion with Nicodemus? That day by the well in Samaria? The business with Lazarus? Or the Last Supper – the others recorded the bare facts, but what about all the things that Jesus said that night after supper? How could they leave that out? And Mary Magdalene at the tomb on Easter morning? And that morning when Jesus stood on the shore, fish baking on the coals, and said to Peter “Feed my sheep?”
I can imagine all of this nagging at John, year after year. “Maybe I ought to write some of this down.” And so, finally, he does. He sees little need to cover the ground that the Synoptics covered, and when he does, he goes out of his way to give it the way he remembers it, especially when it differs from the way they wrote it; he assumes that readers of his account will have one or more of the Synoptics at hand, and will gain a fuller understanding of what happened, and what it meant, from the differences in the story as he remembers it. He is presenting only enough to help people believe (20:30-31). He is not attempting to tell the complete story; it cannot be done. For, as he says, “there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written.” (21:25)
It is sheer fancy on my account, but I like to imagine that St. John wrote the prologue last, which many of us heard at the Eucharist on Sunday. I can imagine him struggling to catch in words what the Spirit has shown him as the proper way to begin his account: words about the Word, the Logos, the “brightness of (God’s) glory, and the express image of his person” as the writer of Hebrews says. “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. . . . full of grace and truth.” It is how Christmas appears after long reflection – not the surprise of hearing the song of Angels, or running to the manger, or the darker tales to be heard tomorrow from St. Matthew, but an attempt long after the fact to put into words what it all means.
As to how all of this results in divinely inspired Holy Scripture, I do not know, understand, or dare to conjecture. But there it is: Deo gracias. I cannot imagine life without the Gospel according to St. John. I can easier imagine life without sun or moon.
Today’s meditation was shared by Guest Blogger Andrew Hicks
