Quiet Upon Quiet, and Shining

I begin with a confession.

I've snitched our church's Advent Candle display to bring home to my own porch.  I did ask around -  a little - and no one else had need of it, and since we're not having services in the building right now, it seemed a shame to leave such a generous display of greens, bearing the significance of the anticipation and fulfillment of the season, all alone just sitting there.  I think of it as sort of adopting a rescue.  It can come and be glorious on my porch for a while longer into the winter.  Or so I hoped.

And then it snowed!

There's no lighting of the candles at the moment.  That glory is buried, waiting. 

I can't tell if it looks a little foolish, or if there's a new kind of beauteous to it.  I think both.  And it's sort of telling the story of how things are right now.

I love when it snows like this for Christmas.  All green, even grey leading up to Christmas Eve.  And then - a little Christmas miracle - it snows all glorious and pure and a little bit wild.  And quiet.  Snow can be all of that at the same time.  And it's like our lives right now.  

Today begins the lockdown we'd all been hoping we could avoid.  And with it an again-sort of weird quiet begins, where we all stay home, hunkered and hoping.  It's like the weather got the memo and wants to help us.  Stay put.  Be quiet.  

I'm receiving that quiet today.  A Sabbath of winter to follow the strange way Christmas was still 'busy' this year.  Not the visiting or the driving or even the shopping, but in all the new ways we had to think of how to be family and love each other and stay connected anyways.  Busy with re-tooling, re-imagining, being stubborn in our love.  Glad for all of it.  Glad for a pause of it just now.

Like being under a fresh blanket of snow, all hushed like this.

"Cease striving," we are told, "and know that I am God."  Psalm 46:10  In some translations it says, "Be still."

It's been said that there are "dark days of winter" ahead.  No doubt.  So yay and praise for the light of all the Advent Candles, and all they represent in the hope and peace and joy and light we have in Jesus Whose birth makes possible everything else.  Yay and praise for the receiving of the snow and the brushing of it back and lighting our candles anyways.  Defiantly.  

Even in this.  Even being strong and beautiful in the midst of this hushed-down space of waiting and longing that will usher in a new year in just days from now.

Even in the waiting, there can be glory and light and beauty.

And it could be argued, how much more so, the darker it gets.

All that we've just declared                                                                                                                                            in every carol chorused,                                                                                                                                              every reading rendered,                                                                                                                                          every gift given,                                                                                                                                                     every hope held,                                                                                                                                                        is still true.

Grace and Then More

 

"Out of His fullness, we have all received

grace upon grace.

John 1:16

It's a different kind of stress I bump up against this Christmas if I'm not careful.  I don't even really recognize it at first.  Maybe because I'm not in the mall.

In fact, speaking of the mall, there's a rather welcome absence of certain kinds of Christmas frenzy this year.  No big shopping push.  No big meal to prepare.  No quantum-physics level calendar co-ordinations.  No travel plans.  No rehearsals for the big Christmas Eve service.  In may ways it's unusually quiet, in fact.

Except a vague feeling of 'too much' remains.  What is that?

Too much news?  There's certainly been that, and it's hard to tune it out when every day something comes down the pike that might just change everything.  And that everything-change might require big decisions about really important things, like where your family will be all day, and whether or not you gather for church on Sundays, and what's going to happen with your paycheck.  

Too many numbers?  This is directly connected to too much news, but it's its own kind of stress.  Ominous, sobering, and by now rather numbing.  There's this scene in the Harry Potter movie "The Deathly Hallows" where Harry, Hermoine and Ron are fugitives, hiding in the woods and living in a tent.  They're hiding because a hostile entity (not a virus, but...) is out to get them and everyone they love.  They have with them a small radio on which each day a list of names, is announced, those missing and perhaps dead.  It's crushing in its dreadful monotone of recitation.  Sometimes, when listening to the numbers being given each day, I am reminded of this.

Yes, too much news and too many numbers.  But the too much factor I'm feeling is less defined than that.  It's more about just a hard to recognize and going on way to long undercurrent of fatigue and grief and frustration.

It manifests itself indirectly, in confusions and misunderstandings and distorted perspectives.  In all the extra effort required in speaking kindly.  In a strong temptation to overreact.  Talking about myself here.

Pause for a needful reflection on the need for grace.

It's a unique feature of John's gospel that it doesn't include any traditional birth narrative.  Instead, John bursts out of the gate with mystic prose and profound theology.  In introducing Jesus, he doesn't give us any other characters in the story but Jesus Himself, come from the Father, full of grace and truth.

And then he describes what I think could quite accurately be pegged as the first, pre-magi even, Christmas gift.   

Grace upon grace.

Grace to be loved anyways.  And then more of it.  Grace to be offered a way out of our own mess.  And then more of it.

I love how this grace is spilling out of the fullness of Jesus.  There's a picture underneath these words that conjures up it's own kind of 'too much'.  So much grace, it spills over onto us.  Undeserved and copious.  More and more grace.

If ever there was a Christmas where we need to just be kind and give each other slack, it's this one.  If ever the in-this-with-you sense of grace was needed, it's now.  Grace to cover a multitude of offenses, both real and imagined.  Grace to choose not to be annoyed.  Grace to patiently listen, patiently re-direct, patiently wait for the ways we can all find our way together to better understandings, more love.  

Grace given.  Grace received.

The countdown is on.  Only six days left.  

We've all be through a lot.  

I just needed to remember this.

What the Heart Sees

 

 There's a story (I wish I remembered the source so I could cite it) of the grand unveiling of one of the first computer programs that could translate from one language to another.  All the important business investors and CEOs were present for the media presentation.  Of course a demonstration of the program's capabilities was in order.  

To help convince everyone of the legitimacy of the test, the moderator asked the gathered crowd for a random phrase in English.  "Out of side out of mind", someone said from the back.  The phrase was typed into the computer.  Then the moderator asked for someone to choose a language into which this phrase would be translated.  "Japanese", someone said, wanting to give the program what they hoped was a rigorous challenge.

The person at the keyboard hit all the right buttons, and instantaneously on the demo screen there appeared some Japanese characters.  Everyone was impressed with the speed.  But they realized there were no Japanese speaking folks among them to verify.  So they typed the characters back into the program and hit all the buttons again.

What came up in English was "Invisible Idiot."

While this story is an amusing reminder of the nuances of language, translation and culture, it also speaks to me of that mystic sense of things made more true because they are unseen.

Evelyn's Candle

Just one example?

All the beloveds who aren't with us this Christmas.

I guess it's true that there are some things, maybe even people, we don't think too much about if they aren't physically present with us.  But when the heart has locked onto love, there is no un-seeing of the object of that love.  

We lost a baby granddaughter in May of 2019.  This will be our second Christmas being a family in that oxymoronic space of feeling her presence all the more acutely because of her absence.  "Out of sight, out of mind" seems not only altogether untrue, but completely impossible.  But maybe that's because she's not really 'out of sight' at all.  

Our hearts see her everywhere.

This bridges for me into how I'm experiencing almost all of my human connections this year.  Coming upon Christmas, I'm even more aware of the deep and beautiful relationships I have because of the fact I can't actually 'be with' them right now.

The blood family we won't eat with over the holidays.

The Thai family oh so far away for oh so many months now.

The faith family who isn't gathering, even on Christmas Eve.

"Out of sight, out of mind?"  Are you kidding me!!??

(pause to compose myself)

And here's another way this all comes together for me.

All the folks who are physically 'alone' this year?  You're not.

Okay, reality check here.  This blog goes out into cyberspace and in the off chance someone reading this doesn't know me or isn't connected to any community of faith or any community at all?  Yeah, I don't know about that.  I can't really speak into that.  My heart aches for you, and I'd so encourage you to look up a local small church pastor.  Or you can look me up at hcckw.ca and we can have a chat.  

But the rest of you?  Those who are part of my orbits, physically alone or not?  I see you.  I can't stop thinking about you.  And I think I can confidently speak for the collective of grace and love that exists as Highview when I say, we've got you covered.

There are many ways this grace and love is translating into something concrete in these weeks before Christmas.

Coffee runs.

Caroling with sparklers.

Meals.

Rides.

Little packets delivered.

Cards mailed.

And oh so many words written and sent and spoken and delivered.

But even in the absence of any of that... You. Are. Seen.

Just as surely as your own heart is 'seeing' anyone it's locked on in love.

And if you believe you are 'invisible' to the hearts of those who love you, 

then you are (I say this gently) an idiot.

Even so, we're all only human after all.

And therefore, I invite you to commit with me to an extravagance of connection this Christmas.

To the degree that you are able (because we need to respect our human limitations for sure), let's determine together to reach out and connect to as many other seen-and-seeing-hearts as we can between now and Christmas Day.  Or even afterwards.  No need to stop on the 25th.

It could be as simple as sending an email or Facebook message that just says, "I see you."  

If someone we know will be physically alone on Christmas Day, maybe arrange for a phone call and a quick prayer (yes, we can pray over the phone, it's fun!).

Or other ideas, like I've mentioned already.

And I'll repeat the invitation.  Anyone needing a chat or a way of connecting, contact me through hcckw.ca.  

What a strange Christmas.

But already, so many delightful surprises.

Twelve Days to Christmas.

Hey, that reminds me of a song!

(And just for fun:

I will give out a chocolate bar to anyone who can identify the reference of this last sentence.)

Staying Hydrated In The Long Dry Winter Ahead

 "Bai Teo" to the Waterfall

Jeremiah 2:13

My people have committed two sins:

They have forsaken me, the spring of living water,

and have dug their own cisterns, 

broken cisterns that cannot hold water.

Hauled out the cool mist humidifier yesterday.  

Seems a little early in the winter for me to be feeling so dry, but I am.  Then again, I remember that for the past several years, I've been in Thailand right about this time of year, at least for November, where there's, shall we say, a tad more humidity.   Not to mention the abundance of waterfalls where you can go for the day - "bia teo" - and just play with reckless abandon in white cascades of delight.

By yesterday then, my Thailand-deprived skin and hair were really getting into that whole Covid-complaining act we're all prone to these days.  All the sanitizer doesn't help, and my one knuckle was even bleeding a little.  Sorry for the TMI, but another good reason to drastically reduce any ventures outside my own home.

Hopefully some serious shea butter therapy, a coconut oil home hair treatment, and the little whirring machine beside my desk will help.  Physically at least.

The threat of being too dry this winter isn't just in the skin and hair care realm however.  There's some very intentional, essentially important nourishing we'll need to be on top of when it comes to our souls as well.  Isolation does more than just dry up our social life.  It can threaten to thwart our spiritual vibrancy in ways even more detrimental to our overall heath.

In His message through the prophet Jeremiah, God identifies two sins of His people.  The first is a forsaking of the kind of worship and connection and obedience that results in the receiving of the abundance and life He longs to pour into us.  A spring of living water, He calls Himself, bringing to mind, by the way, the words of Jesus to the woman he met at the well that day (John 4:1-13) and the wild freshness of the waterfall mentioned above.

The second sin is a corollary to the first.  A replacement.  Instead of drinking from the spring of clean, vibrant, living water, the people have turned to the stagnant, stinking water that collects in the brokenness of human effort to find satisfaction anywhere else but God.

Yuck!  

It's a vivid picture and on purpose.  God is longing to bring them back to vibrancy and life.  

Of course, when we read these words from the prophet, we can see it clearly.  Who would make such a choice?  Just think of where you'd rather wash your clothes, go swimming, rather drink from?  Broken cisterns?  No thank you.

Except I have to admit that in isolation the pull is there.  With no one watching, safe in my own home, who am I and how do I nourish myself?  Junk food?  Too much news?  Too much TV?  Or on the opposite end of the scale.  Too much work?  Too much overcompensating for feeling sidelined?  Too many words?  Too much judgement for anyone doing too much of what I don't approve of?  These can be broken cisterns as well.

And it all leads to dry, cracked and bleeding souls, desperate for something so obviously right there in front of us....God's offer of life and life abundant.

So my dear fellow pandemic peeps, let's not dry out this winter!  Let's drink Him in, in all the ways we can.  Every week, with the online service, we can 'gather' to worship 'together' around our TVs or computers, as if dancing together around a fire hydrant.  Every day we can apply the pure therapy of Scripture, massaging it into the needy places of our minds and hearts.  All the time we can sit in the mist of the prayerful presence of God, breathing life and vibrancy into the very parenchyma of our spirits. 

What I love about this text is all the longing in God's voice.  When I read it, I don't hear a loud boom of accusation.  Rather, when it gets to the part 'they have forsaken Me', I can almost hear His voice breaking.  As if He's watching us dry out before His very eyes, and yet He's right there with exactly everything we need.