remcmahan

When You Choose War: Again

February 24, 2023

Last year, the day after Putin invaded Ukraine, I wrote the poem, When You Choose War, below. Since that day, according to 1440 Daily Digest, a nonbiased digital news source, “Western intelligence suggests military casualties—those either dead or wounded—are nearing 200,000 for Russia and have reached 100,000 for Ukraine. International groups have confirmed the deaths of more than 8,000 Ukrainian civilians but believe the true toll to be higher.

“Estimates suggest at least 8 million Ukrainians have been internally displaced, while 8 million others have fled the country. Ukraine’s population was above 41 million before the invasion.

“Total Western aid—including military, economic, and humanitarian support—has topped $135B. Of that total, more than $75B has been provided by the US.

“Putin, in recent days, has cast the war in a historical context, referring to countries adjacent to the country as originally Russian land. Analysts have warned Russia is ramping up for a renewed offensive while also questioning its remaining military capacity.”

365 days later, much of Ukraine lies in destruction. Millions—millions—of people have experienced death and/or trauma, all because of the actions and power of one narcissistic egomaniac, Vladimir Putin. The Ukrainian people have persevered in unbelievable and inconceivable ways despite the fact that so many of us who long to help do not know how to do so. I believed last year, and continue to believe this year, that the creative arts hold Truth in the midst of non-truth and raise courage and hope in the midst of barrenness and injustice. There is little that tyrants can do to defeat the power and message of art, so for those of us who create, whatever medium we use, we must create.

And so today, one year later, I share again the poem I wrote in solidarity with the people of Ukraine, against Putin, and for all fanatics to hear. Fanatical power is limited and cannot, ever, achieve real victory. May each word offer courage and hope and light and resilience. (This poem was featured on the Facebook page, Poetry for Ukraine, were many more poems and artwork shout out the messages of Truth and Hope: https://www.facebook.com/Heartsblueandyellow.)

Prayers continue for the people of Ukraine and for the grieving Russians, and for those Russians who are imprisoned for speaking Truth. ~ Rosemary

When You Choose War

. . . you cannot stop
the Lenten rose’s pale white blossoms
from unfurling
nor can you command
the pink-tinged buds of tulip trees
to fold inward.
When you choose war, know that
the grass still greens in spring,
the titmouse seeks its “peter-peter,”
the black and white cat curls herself
in the dust-moted spill of sunlight.
When war is your choice, prepare yourself
for deep-souled words that fall from pens
in rivers of black, for multi-colored
hues to unveil themselves like dreams
across acres of blank canvas
for prophetic music to lift and scatter
like so many blackbirds
across a sky so bright you will
shield your eyes.
When you choose war, no matter
your imagined power, you cannot
enshroud the human spirit
you cannot even destroy love
and loyalty
and while you may—indeed—conceive
tears, never can you thwart
whispered prayers
from ascending in legions
toward all that is more eternal
than you.

Sifting Ashes

February 22, 2023

For Christians, today marks Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the 40 day Lenten Journey when Jesus Christ’s walk to the cross is remembered and held in the heart. Ash Wednesday, with its invitation to fasting, repentance, and commitment to taking the journey, along with its emphasis on mortality, is something, quite honestly, I have resisted these last three years. For me, pandemic and politics became ongoing Lents that I was living. Not much has changed in this year of 2023 with earthquakes and wars, gun violence, climate catastrophes, and rising tensions among and between countries. Yes, this current time can feel like perpetual Lent, like trees that will never leaf out. But this year, I am entering Lent a bit differently, seeking the Light that promises to continue shining, considering Lent an opportunity to know myself better and in knowing myself better, perhaps to know the God of Love and Light better, especially in the darkness.

Christians are not alone on this pilgrimage to deeper self-reflection and thus deeper relationship with the Divine. The Jewish people observe Rosh Hashana, and their holiest day, Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, with fasting and introspection while the Muslims participate in Ramadan, the holiest month of the Islamic calendar, as an opportunity for heightened spirituality. Whether we believe in “something higher,” or not, we are all, the world over, in this earthly boat at this present time together, seeking some kind of understanding, hoping for some kind of shimmering, longing for peace and wholeness. This season invites us to ask ourselves how we might contribute to and be part of the peace and wholeness our world so desperately needs.

I’ve got my ticket for the journey, and I hope to see you along the way.

With Lenten blessings ~ Rosemary

Sifting Ashes
A Lenten poem

What would you do
if you were invited
to enter your heart
in this season
of self-honesty?
If you were encouraged
to leave reason and judgment
behind and instead
ask grace to be your
companion?
Would you say yes?
Would you accept the flashlight
offered when you crossed
the threshold, the decoder ring
needed to decipher
each message that begs
revelation?
Could you look?
Once inside, would you willingly
sift through the ashes
that have accumulated
over your life
like the layers
of cinder in your
own unswept fireplace?
Finger the silt-soft remains
of grief, remorse, regret,
guilt, even shame,
letting them fall
through your fingers
like the fair hair
of a child?
For here you will hear
the stories that make you
you, filled with ashes
and hope, shadows and light, death
and life.

And after you have sat
among the ashes,
know that it is your choice
to decide which to wash away,
which to bury, and which
to hold to your heart
like a locket,
as you emerge
to breathe the bright air
of Spring.

Photo credit: Rosemary McMahan

A Poem for Turkey and Syria

February 8, 2023

Another Day

What will I make of this new day
while bodies (some with breath) lie entombed
beneath mortar, brick, wood, and stone
where the earth
shook and life collapsed?
What will I do on this bright sunny day,
all my limbs intact,
my loved ones well,
when the dirge of mourning snakes its way
through plumes of dust and smoke—its very notes
dust and smoke—when my heart hears it
across the continents?
How will I be on this, another
day of precious life, as I turn
away from images, headlines,
numbers ascending,
weary of the drumbeat in my head:
“But what can I do? But
what can I do?”
I lay down my yoga mat
then stand
in Warrior pose, brace my feet
against familiar ground, and breathe
long breaths, slow and deep,
in and out
and into the world,
this world.
I lift my face skyward
raise my arms overhead
gathering all the hurting
all the wounded
the hungry
the war-ridden
the dying
the fearful
the widowed and orphaned
to the Sun
offering the tears
that roll down my face
that drench my heart
as supplication
as communion
before bowing before It All,
rolling up my mat
to exit into the fiercely bright
day.

A Blessing for Candles

February 2, 2023

While most of us in the States may be disappointed because our favorite groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil, saw his shadow today, which tradition says means six more weeks of winter, we might be consoled by remembering that, in the Roman Catholic Church, today is also Candlemas, the feast day of the Presentation of our Lord. Candlemas commemorates the presentation of the infant Christ in the temple forty days after his birth, following Mosaic Law. His parents, Mary and Joseph, traveled to the temple to offer two turtledoves, the sacrifice prescribed for the poor. In addition, they presented and dedicated Jesus to God, another Mosaic requirement for firstborn sons. This poignant story can be found in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 2.

In the Church, Candlemas is the day that all the candles that will be used for worship in the coming year are blessed (candles+Mass). People are invited to bring their own candles from home to be blessed, candles that will be used for all sorts of purposes in the coming year, candles whose light reminds us of old Simeon’s prophecy of Jesus on that long ago day:

Lord, now you let your servant go in peace;
your word has been fulfilled:
my own eyes have seen the salvation
which you have prepared in the sight of every people:
a light to reveal you to the nations
and the glory of your people Israel. (Luke 2:29–32)

I am not Catholic, but I am drawn to light and to its mysteries in all its many forms, from the tiny glow of a burning candlewick to the jumping, dancing flames in a fireplace, to the brilliant stars speckling a black night. Candlelight grounds me and also helps me become receptive to what is being whispered. The idea of blessing, honoring, and acknowledging candles resonates with me, perhaps because in no other time in my life have I witnessed so many shadows: shadows of political divisiveness, of falsehoods, of prejudice, of superiority, of poverty, of brokenness, of destruction, of war. If I could, I’d hand candles to every single person in the world as power against the dark.

The one verse of the New Testament that has been, and continues to be, an anchor in my life is “The light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5). I also believe in the truth that the “Light came for all people,” (John 1:4), not just a select few, and that we all have within us a spirit that will not allow our light to be extinguished.

So today, with the gray face of Winter pressed to my window for the fifth day in a row, its tears trekking down the cold panes, I honor candles and extend my candle to light yours. Happy Candlemas! ~ Rosemary

A Blessing for Candles

Let our candles be blessed with special intention
with appreciation for all that they are—
slender and tall like regal queens
squat and round like serving maids
short burning votives and tea candles,
brief sighs in the dark,
long glowing pillars set in lanterns
on porches that beckon
welcome.
Let our candles be blessed—scented or no—
poured into tins of metal and glass jars of color
or plain molds of plastic sold at the dollar store,
settled in candelabras as witnesses to marriage
as symbols of new life at births
as signs of love shimmering on a dinner table
as faithful companions to light the way across
the River Styx.
Let our candles be blessed, those flickers
of light that glow across window panes
on dreary winter days, whispering silence,
reminding passersby that they are not alone,
candles that blaze on birthdays and anniversaries
as harbingers of joy,
candles that we hover near during times of vigil
and moments of prayer reminding us
of holy Presence and the face Divine.
Let our candles be blessed with intention
with affirmation for the light that shines on
in the darkness, the light that comes into
this world, the light that blazes
for all people.

Photo credit: Rosemary McMahan

Epiphany: The Rest of the Rest of the Christmas Story

January 6, 2023

For many Christians, the Feast of Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas Season and is the culminating celebration of the Twelve Days of Christmas. The story of the Epiphany is found only in the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter Two, and it involves the non-Jewish wise men/kings/magi/astronomers (supposedly three, but no number is given in the text) who make their treacherous journey across the Middle East in search of the child prophesied to be the Messiah. They bring their symbolic gifts of gold (kingship/royalty), frankincense (worship), and myrrh (embalming/death) and present them to Mary before departing “by another route” to avoid alerting King Herod to the whereabouts of his kingly competition. This story (factual or symbolic) is the last snippet we have of Jesus’ entrance into our world.

An “epiphany” is any kind of manifestation, insight, inspiration, realization, vision, or understanding. For these scientific men (assumed to be astrologers) from the East, seeing Jesus (who was probably a toddler by the time, not a baby in a manger or an indulged child in a palace) broke something open in them. Their minds gave way to an unfolding of their hearts as they received the epiphany that this child was, indeed, the Messiah prophesied in the Hebrew scriptures. They became the recipients of an indwelling, the possession of a spiritual insight, that changed them, as understood by the metaphor of traveling home “by another route.” Just as the lowliest of the low, the shepherds, were the first people invited to come see the newborn babe, these intellectual, rational foreigners were the ones called to experience an indwelling. The birth of Christ was/is an invitation for all people to the Divine Light.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years how man would marvel and stare.” So much of the world takes the stars for granted, just as the news of Christmas, of Epiphany, becomes old hat. Maybe if we only heard this story once every thousand years it would shatter our world as it did the wise men’s, as it did the shepherds, as it did the Evangelist’s John’s when he realized (epiphany) that his beloved friend Jesus was truly God: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). God Itself—the creator of everything—put on our flesh; God, like the wise men, embarked on a dangerous journey to bring a gift, a light to the world, an understanding of who God is through Jesus, God’s own expression of God’s self: “In him (Jesus) was life, and that life was the light of all people” (John 1:4).

In Jesus, through Jesus, the Divine Creator invites us to see, hear, and know It in ways never before possible. Epiphany. Our own relationship to that cosmic, distant, impersonal God is changed because God gifts us access, not only by being with us, but by being one of us, living with with us, in our own real, torn, corrupt, and broken world, in the middle of our own experiences, our own weaknesses, our own confusion, our own pain, our own death. No matter how we may feel, who we are, or where we find ourselves, we are never alone.

“The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5.) That epiphany, the promise of light and presence and hope, is the rest of the rest of the Christmas story when we have the eyes to see, the hearts to receive, and the desire to go “by another route.”

May we all be graced with epiphanies! ~ Rosemary

Indwelling

It can happen anytime, anywhere,
if we have the eyes to see
the hearts to unfold.
It happened to Anna and Simeon,
the old, hunched-over prophets
who understood
and rejoiced.
It happened to the teenage
girl, startled, confused,
perhaps too naïve to really understand
the truth
of the moment.
It happened to the lowliest
of the low, shepherds
smelling of dung and wet wool
and also
to kings threatened by the very
nerve of it.
It happened to rational scientists,
astrologers curious about a star-sighting
that flickered light across
a desert.
It happens when a yellow rose unfurling
beckons us to bend and savor its aroma,
when we wake up to humanity
gathered around us on the subway,
when our newborn baby
sounds its first cry.
It happens in cancer wards
as two people embrace,
in the quiet morning when a candle
first comes to life,
at the lunch counter
where the salt is passed,
driving past the beggar
who will work for food.
Our eyes open, sometimes
with tears. Our hearts clench
or even expand, our breath,
our spirit, catches,
and we know
we have been gifted an
indwelling,
a seed planted in us
an understanding granted us
a hope winding its way
through us,
a light illuminating
our darkness as we let forth
a sacred sigh
and bow our heads
in wonder.

Photo credit: Rosemary McMahan

Reverie ~ A Christmas Poem

The tree stands bare in the spill
of white candlelight
that beckons remembrance,
the still air laden with pungent pine.
I unwrap memories
lifted from silk-worn boxes,
and passing years emerge,
reflecting faces mirrored
in each round and shiny ball.

A piece of crumpled tissue drops
and here is the rocking horse
suspended on a crimson string
that marked my son’s first outing,
creamed soup with his aunties,
when he was three. And here,
the fading Polaroid photo
of my daughter’s smiling face
pasted in the middle of a holiday bell,
the sparkling glitter reminiscent
of her five-year old’s laughter.

An angel carved from sea shell
reminds me of my once best-
friend, now divorced
and distanced. We birthed our
daughters the same month.
A cross-stitched cherubim
handmade by a companion
along the way who died
too young takes center place
near the top of the tree.
A widowed neighbor designed
the snowman decked in felt,
with his black pipe,
for each of my mother’s
daughters some forty years ago,
and the sweetgum ball covered
in tin foil by the hands of
my husband’s father, gone
ten years, is a mirror
of his own Christmases past.

Like rainbow-hued lights,
heart-rooted presence is wound
about fragrant branches
that fill the room
reaching to the ceiling
evidence of the many incarnations
I have lived–
precious as the first brush
of silent snow.

Photo: Rosemary McMahan

The Psalms of Advent: Amen

December 16, 2022

“The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms . . . .” George Santayana

Twenty-one days ago, I began this series on The Psalms of Advent with the above quotation by philosopher Santayana because his words reminded me of the depth and width of the Hebrew psalms that contain all the joy and pathos, the wide kaleidoscope, of human emotions and give them safe space to be heard and received. Over these past three weeks of Advent, we have been invited to listen to four different psalms, each one selected for worship on one of the four Sundays of the Advent Season. This series has been a pilgrimage of sorts, seeking guidance, wisdom, hope, illumination, and inspiration from ancient voices singing ancient songs in Psalms 122, 124, 42, and 80. Yesterday, I reflected on Psalm 80, which will be read in many Christian worship services this Sunday, December 18. The entire psalm may be found here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2080&version=NIV.

While the psalms were, in fact, written by Hebrew poets for Hebrew people in historic, personal, and often specific Hebrew circumstances, they still speak to anyone in search of the Holy and who longs for an honest relationship with the Divine. Often what Christians claim to be prophesies of Jesus Christ in these psalms are in reality prayers for earthly kings and human messiahs. Yet, as a Christian, I do see the promises of Christ in these songs of and prayers for peace, humility, righteousness, service, sacrifice, salvation, light, and personal and corporate relationship with Yahweh, the great “I AM.” The shepherd in Psalm 80 resembles the Good Shepherd of the New Testament, the One born of blue-collar parents in a rural town under occupation by Romans, the One who taught that to love is to serve and to serve is to love, the Daystar that never quits shining no matter how dark and bleak the times might be.

So in these final days before Christmas or whatever celebration we await together, we wait and watch and remember and hope and sing and shine and say, “Amen,” which means both “So be it” and “Yes,” yes to all of life because the psalms have taught us that we are not alone in this vast and often lonely cosmos. Perhaps that assurance is the greatest miracle of all.

Thank you so very much, whoever you are and whatever you profess, for sharing this Advent pilgrimage with me, whether you followed daily or dropped in from time to time. Thank you to those who let me know you were present; your encouragement and presence blessed me. I wish each of you and all of us the wonder of the shepherds, the serenity of silent snow, and the glorious joy of the choirs of angels.

Amen and amen~ Rosemary

Photo credit: Pixabay

Thursday, Advent Week 3: Shine

The Psalms of Advent, December 15, 2022

You are invited to light a candle and join me as we reflect upon the final psalm selected for Advent, as designated in the Revised Common Lectionary. I hope you will sit with this psalm and listen for the word that Spirit is whispering to you. Today’s poem, Psalm 80: 1-7; 17-19, will be used in worship in many Christian churches the fourth Sunday of Advent, the last Sunday before the celebration of Christmas Day, so it is appropriate that the word that draws me in is light:

Psalm 80: 1-7; 17-19

Give ear, O Shepherd of Israel,
you who lead Joseph like a flock!
You who are enthroned upon the cherubim, shine forth
before Ephraim and Benjamin and Manasseh.
Stir up your might,
and come to save us!
Restore us, O God;
let your face shine, that we may be saved.
O LORD God of hosts,
how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?
You have fed them with the bread of tears
and given them tears to drink in full measure.
You make us the scorn of our neighbors;
our enemies laugh among themselves.
Restore us, O God of hosts;
let your face shine, that we may be saved.
But let your hand be upon the one at your right hand,
the one whom you made strong for yourself.
Then we will never turn back from you;
give us life, and we will call on your name.
Restore us, O LORD God of hosts;
let your face shine, that we may be saved.
(New Revised Standard Version)

The entire psalm is divided into four parts that by now may seem familiar to us:
Verses 1-2 call to God for assistance, with the psalm’s refrain, used three times, found in verse 3.
Verses 4-6 compose an urgent plea as well as a complaint about God’s treatment of the psalmist’s people.
Verses 8-13 (not included here) describe God’s past compassionate care and the present uncomfortable situation.
Verses 14-17 renew the petition and plea with the final verses repeating the refrain: “Restore us, Lord God of hosts; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”

Shine. Light. Illuminate. Beam. Radiate. Glow. Enlighten. Gleam. We could string these words together and wind them around a Christmas tree, then bask in their healing power as shadows, fear, confusion, and uncertainty creep away. The entire Scripture begins with a shining at Creation: “Let there be light.” A column of fire leads the Hebrews through the dark wilderness to the Promised Land. Yahweh’s presence shines so brilliantly upon Moses that Moses must wear a veil to protect the people from being blinded by his glowing face. The psalms themselves call on, seek, and celebrate light while hundreds of years after the last psalm was written, the evangelist John writes of Jesus Christ: “What had come into the world was the light of ALL people. The light shines in the darkness . . . “ (1: 4). A quick Internet check reveals that the word light is used anywhere from 272 times to 433 in the Old and New Testaments.

God, by whatever name we use to entreat, implore, praise, worship, scream at, dance with, weep with, keep vigil with, is Light. Hannukah, Diwali, Advent, and other light-filled traditions shine with that truth. We are recipients of Light, called to shine in whatever way, small or great, we can. My prayer this Advent Season is that we all remember that the “light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5) and that we choose to shine with Love.

Shining with you ~ Rosemary

Candle-Prayer

“Light your candles quietly, such candles as you possess, wherever you are.” ~ Fr. Alfred Delp, martyred in Nazi Germany, age 38

In the small still shadow of a darkened morning
before the screeching of this broken world repeats,
I strike a match and set it to a stub of wick:
an offering of light being birthed yet again.

Before the screeching of this broken world repeats,
I breathe sacred flame-glow into heart, psyche, soul
an offering of light being birthed yet again,
a single, slender candle singing prayer.

I breathe sacred flame-glow into heart, psyche, soul,
imagine the brilliance of a hundred million candles
burning quietly on the edges of every dawn
before the screeching of this broken world repeats.

I strike a match and set it to a stub of wick,
my hope for this wounded world one fluttering flame,
a single, slender candle singing prayer
in the small still shadows of a darkened morning.

Wednesday, Advent Week 3: Deep

The Psalms of Advent, December 14, 2022

You are invited to light a candle and join me as we finish sitting with Psalm 42 this morning. You may find this psalm at https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2042&version=NRSVUE. My favorite verse in all of the psalms is found in this one, where “deep calls to deep” (verse 7). Within each one of us, at the core of our very being, is a Source that birthed us all, that unites us all, that loves us all. That core goes by many names including heart, soul, spirit, being. It is our private sanctuary, our Holy of Holies, where our greatest griefs, our most powerful fears, our most joyful experiences commune with the Holy. Anything and everything is contained and deemed sacred and worthy here.

In this single psalm, #42, the psalmist experiences the myriad of emotions found throughout the Book of Psalms where deep communes with deep:

Deep desire: “My soul longs for you, O God” (vs.1);
Deep questioning: “When shall I come and behold the face of God?” (vs. 2);
Deep grief: “My tears have been my food night and day” (vs. 3);
Deep tension: “Where is your God?” (vs. 3):
Deep memories: “I remember as I pour out my soul” (vs. 4);
Deep joy: “with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving” (vs. 4);
Deep despair: “Why are you cast down, O my soul?” (vs. 5);
Deep faithful resolve: “Hope in God” (vs.5).

Yes, Psalm 42 underscores the barebone honesty where “deep calls to deep” with the conviction that in doing so, the relational connection between human and Divine never wavers. There simply is no situation too deep for God’s presence, too barren of hope, which is why this psalmist, in the midst of depression and loss, can proclaim:

“By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life” (vs. 8).

As we leave this psalm of Advent, I wonder what is deep within you? What is it that you thirst for? Have you found satisfaction for that thirst? In what or whom do you place hope when all seems buried in shadows? How might these ancient words of an ancient psalmist touch you in the place where your deep calls to deep?

Blessings ~ Rosemary

Photo credit: Rosemary McMahan

Tuesday, Advent Week 3: Where?

The Psalms of Advent, December 13, 2022

You are invited to light a candle and join me as we continue our journey with Advent Psalm 42, found here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2042&version=NRSVUE.

As mentioned in the previous blog, the author of this poignant psalm-song-poem was most likely in Babylonian exile or had just returned to Israel, perhaps Jerusalem, and was mourning the ruin and displacement of his Jewish people. The word that speaks to me this Advent day is where, found in verses 3 and 10: “Where is your God”? In these verses, where is both question and demand.

As a minister for twenty years, as a spiritual companion, and as a Christian (along with any spiritual person) living in a secular society, I am quite familiar with the aching and/or cynical question, “Where is your God?” I’ve heard it asked at the death of an infant. I’ve heard it demanded after fervent, faithful prayers for a healing that didn’t happen. I’ve heard it asked in times of natural disasters and horrifying wars. I’ve heard it asked from good people when bad things happen. In the dark shadows of a three-year depression and also when I watched helplessly while my mother succumbed to Parkinson’s disease and dementia, I asked it myself. At times, I still do. Where are you, God?

I admit that I do not have the theologically definitive answer to the question, “Where is your God when . . . ?” I can only share my own personal ponderings and convictions. First, I suspect that many of us imagine God, by whatever name we use, as our personal genie or lucky magic charm. If we are good, if we are faithful, if we are obedient, if we do the right things and say the right words, then God “owes” us when trouble comes. When God doesn’t “pay up,” we throw away the lamp, dismiss the genie, toss the charm and look elsewhere.

Secondly, we like to place blame on anyone but ourselves, and God is an easy target. The problem, though, is that God isn’t the source of sorrow and disappointment. Often what gets dealt us is a result of our own choices (the gift and challenge of free will) about what we eat, drink, breathe, where we live, who we choose to love, how well we take care of our bodily temples, etc. And, often our lives are changed by others’ choices and actions, as well as those things over which we have no control. Wars are a product of human greed, injustice, and evil, not of God. Many natural disasters affect or kill hundreds of thousands of people because we continue to build where Mother Nature has said we should not. Those who have lived before us have left a legacy of environmental abuse, along with the careless ways we live now, even though God trusted us to be good stewards of creation. But it’s much easier to just blame God than to admit our own failings.

Finally, I believe God most waits and makes God’s Self known in the dark places. The Franciscan contemplative theologian Fr. Richard Rohr has written that Christ didn’t die to “take away our sins” (whatever that actually means) but to take on all human suffering in order to demonstrate the God of love who is ever-present, ever-compassionate, ever caring. Through my own personal experiences, I believe that the Holy One, the one Who Is, the “living God” (verse 2) will always be present in the darkest shadows where “deep calls to deep” (verse 7) in its rawest, most honest voice. For myself as a Christian, this hope is the promise and meaning of Christmas.

Blessings ~ Rosemary

Photo credit: Pixabay