To all those, everywhere, who are experiencing a “longest night” this holy-day season, hold fast to the promise that “the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it” (John 1:5). And a poem to remind each other we are not along, but together, we can share our light:
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.
we turned down the noise of Holiday Traditions closed the email accounts with all of those various sources that encourage us to do Advent right set aside the plethora of spiritual books hoping to guide us into a valley of perfect waiting and tuned out the spiritual gurus eager to reveal the promise of impeccable stillness. What if it were enough instead to sit wordless just as we are in a darkened room with a single candle, illuminated by the Light?
We don’t often (ever?) think of Hagar during Advent, yet her story (Genesis 16) epitomizes Emmanuel: God with Us. El Roi and Ishmael, God who sees and God who hears, are with her. Her story is one of despair and of salvation, of being considered a nobody by Abraham and Sarah and being shown she is a truly valued precious somebody By God, tidings of great joy this Advent Season also meant for us.
Advent blessings ~ Rosemary
Hagar
Alone. Afraid. Abused. What hope? El Roi. God sees. Me. Me. God sees. El Roi. What hope? Abused. Afraid. Alone. God sees.
When I was a child, I was mesmerized by the Advent Season. Mesmerized is a powerful word, and completely accurate. I still see that sense of rapt wonder on the faces of children watching candlelight, and I hope it still shows on my own.
Advent, which means coming, is the four-week period in the Christian Church that precedes Christmas, its purpose to grow in us a feeling of anticipation that something miraculous and longed for is about to happen, while also inviting us to learn how to wait for it. We don’t barrel headlong toward Christmas but instead search out a place to sit quietly each day, preparing our hearts to welcome The Light once again into our beautiful but broken and dark world.
My mother set the tone for Advent every year. We waited for the first Sunday of Advent as she arranged the Advent wreath with three purple candles, one pink one, and a white Christmas candle in the middle. We waited each day to see whose turn it was to light a candle on that wreath and whose turn it was to extinguish it with the brass snuffer that only came out in December. We waited to see what would appear in each tiny window of the Advent calendar, not chocolate, but a picture of an angel, a lamb, a star, or a shepherd, leaving glitter on our fingertips, and we knew we were one step closer to Christmas morning. But not yet. While neighbors strung lights and put up their trees, we waited until the week before Christmas to decorate, each of us given a box of ornaments to put where we willed on the tree. We were getting closer . . . .
In the waiting, I experienced true anticipation and longing, and the pain that sometimes comes with both. I was given space to savor the silence a single candle flame can create and I came to believe in the power of that same candle flame to completely dissolve the darkness. I learned that tree lights glowing in a darkened room are one of the most sacred sights and that longing can fill such a room it becomes tangible.
The past several years have brought the hardest difficulties to our world that I have ever experienced, living with so many but not yets. So it seems to me that reclaiming the wonder of light and the power of tradition and the awe of anticipating God breaking through time and space can lead us back to being mesmerized, mesmerized by something bigger and much more mysterious than our own little worlds, mesmerized by hope.
May this Advent mesmerize your own heart, whoever you are and whatever you believe. ~ Rosemary
Advent Waiting
It was just a candle, a taper narrow and thin, bought at a dime store and yet a beacon of mystery. The scratch of a match enhanced the silence, the palm held close to protect the light the wick sucking breath and catching flame— a miracle. It was just a candle flickering in the dark— red, orange, amber, gold—twining and elongating like praying hands within the flame. And when the candle was extinguished, silent smoke rose like so many prayers from a child’s heart to the heart of the One who was coming.
“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.
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?
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.
You are invited to join me as we listen to Psalm 42, the second to last of the Advent psalms for this season of seeking, waiting, anticipating, and searching for the light that shines in the darkness. Psalm 42 is familiar to many people because of the memorable imagery of the first verse: “As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, my God.” The entire psalm may be found here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2042&version=NRSVUE.
Have you ever longed for water? Have you ever been really, physically, thirsty? A long, hot hike on an August day in the middle of a desert in Utah taught me about thirst and the very real, human desire for water. Halfway through the hike, under a blazing sun, I had finished my water. It would take two hours to get back to the car and then to a gas station or café, and I passed no one who might share some water on the way. When I finally found water, it was with great relief, gratitude, and rejoicing.
Have you ever longed for something else, been really, spiritually, thirsty? Such is the case for the psalmist here. While he is most likely lamenting exile and the dispersion of his people, the Jews, this poem speaks to any of us in general terms of danger, loneliness, threats, grief, depression, anxiety, trust, and hope. No matter who we are or what we believe, we have all, at times, been thirsty for an answer, an assurance, a justice, a reckoning, a solution, a Love that is bigger than our situation.
Thirst is not a choice, preference, or whim. Because we are human, water is a necessity for life. For this psalmist, so is God. I go back to Psalm 1 and the image of the tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in due season. Sometimes we do, indeed, go through parched seasons, but the hope that this psalm places in God is that these times are just that, seasons, and that if we stay grounded in the Divine, in the Mystery, in Love, in Light, we will again yield fruit. This promise is one I root in my heart.
Please light a candle and spend some Sabbath time reading and reflecting on this glorious psalm of praise, Psalm 146, which we have accompanied these last three days. Feast in the richness of each word. Rest in its assurances. Join in its cacophony of praise. And be blessed.
Psalm 146 1 Praise the LORD. Praise the LORD, my soul. 2 I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live. 3 Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save. 4 When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing. 5 Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD their God. 6 He is the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them— he remains faithful forever. 7 He upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry. The LORD sets prisoners free, 8 the LORD gives sight to the blind, the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down, the LORD loves the righteous. 9 The LORD watches over the foreigner and sustains the fatherless and the widow, but he frustrates the ways of the wicked. 10 The LORD reigns forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations. Praise the LORD.
Tomorrow, Psalm 42 will welcome us in. Until then, blessings ~ Rosemary
Please light a candle and join me on this Advent journey and exploration of the Psalms of Advent. In my last blog, I wondered about the invitation to make praise both a worship and an everyday practice and experience. This poem is the response to my reflection on that. Like the psalm we have looked at the last two days, Psalm 146, this, too, is a song of praise.
Sun Poem
Shouldn’t there be a ritual for the rising of the sun each day with candles lit and dancing, hands upheld in welcome, songs lifted in praise? Watch how the sky prepares itself swathed in azure and violet how the trees await, limbs lifted naked and unashamed. The hilltop holds itself steady as the first sliver of light appears behind it and fog like the veils of a dancer cloaks the water’s face in preparation for welcome. Shouldn’t there be a ritual for the rising of the sun each day as it crests the horizon in full glory, round and fat and fiery billions of years of hot white light a miracle that blazes into our eyes so that we turn away, as if it were the face of God? Now it ignites the fog shimmering in pink, turns the dew to flickering light, droplets of water on trees into iridescent strings of pearls, calls forth the redbirds in scarlet robes to sing aubades. Shouldn’t there be a ritual, each day, for the rising of the sun, for the promise of new beginnings, for the grace granted for another chance? Shouldn’t we bow before it, weep in humble gratitude tremble at the power that grants us faithful constancy, for the fact that what could burn us instead blesses?
Spirit Reflections 