A Single Layer

I've been called upon several times in last few weeks to defend my love for Advent. It seems people fall into two camps: those who relish the festivities (the warm fires, the Christmas music, the trees and lights), and those who are overwhelmed by the busyness—or worse, the memories of loss—that the season makes unavoidable. We're called to rejoice though we are sad, rest though we're busy, and step into the celebration of something very old with all the eagerness of children, for whom it is still very new. It's a hard season of contradictions. And those are the very reasons for which I love it. I love it the way I love inclement weather. Because it forces you to look up from what you're doing and take steps to meet it. I live most of my life in a contented little fog, almost absurdly present in this particular moment and no other. It's hard for me to step into the past or the future without some kind of catalyst. That's why I love stories—novels and ...

This morning I was trying to remember Thanksgivings past. It's a big day, and it only happens once a year, so you'd assume they'd stick in one's mind. But I remember very few of them. I remember last year and the year before, because we had special guests. And I remember the Thanksgiving I celebrated in Scotland, because it was the first time I ever cooked something for the holiday myself, and because we were expats in an island of selective American tradition, desperately trying to find cornmeal in a Tesco (FYI: can't be done). I remember the first Thanksgiving I spent at my sister's house—the other guest was vegan, and the pumpkin pie boiled when it should have baked, and I liked stuffing for the first time and drank a Blue Moon. But the Thanksgivings of my childhood, the ones I think of when I think about Thanksgiving, those I don't remember. They would have been at my Grandmother's house, and the extension would be in the table, and there would...

" The good news of Christmas is that the atmosphere of fear and hostility isn’t the natural climate for human beings, and it can be changed." - Rowan Williams ,  courtesy of Ayjay

Featured this morning in our church bulletin, a recent Advent poem of mine. Though the version for the service had one line adjustment for the sake of its context; this is the original. More often than not they arrived on foot,  like travelers come a long distance. Think of the three at which Sarah laughed. Think of the one standing in Balaam’s path. The shepherds, aghast at the one, then suddenly surrounded face to face with a host,  looked angels in the eyes. Scattered among the sheep— not suspended—stalking toward them purposefully  with peace to those on whom . The shepherds were not the first. All of Israel followed the angel to Canaan, and it was the angels who brought fire to Sodom. An angel alone led the ram to Abraham. And we haven’t yet mentioned the cherubim, divine dragons, guardians of the throne, strange beasts. This is the company the angels keep. The messengers say do not be afraid , and often lift men from ...

Both—one at the oven in the square, one at the sawhorse— build from the warm earth, shaping with calloused hands. Joseph in the woodshop,  always a quiet man, now grave in upturned admiration, guides the hands of the boy  (the one who caused such a stir and set the town fathers talking and the unwise wives clucking) bearing the sharp blade over the wood. The boy says, ‘teach me,’ and the quiet father steps back in fear. The man has lost a finger in his day— and almost lost a hand. There was a Sabbath when the boy returned from the Rabbi (the unleavened bread sat cold in the corner). The father thought to ask the son for healing— it had been a helpful finger. But by the time the sun had set, the father had forgot the need— and though his faith  (hidden as it was on the edge of Nazareth) was firm and sure, he was a man of simple plans and could better bear the weight of a cedar branch than aspire to miracle. ...

I will definitely be visiting this every day.

God With Us:  Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas , edited by Gregory Wolfe God is in the Manger , by Dietrich Bonhoeffer Advent and Christmas Wisdom from Henri J.M. Nouwen Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas Advent Conspiracy: Can Christmas Still Change the World?  by Rick McKinley, Chris Seay, and Greg Holder Preparing for Jesus , by Walter Wangerin Jr. Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent , by Enuma Okoro

This coming Sunday marks the beginning of Advent. Every year I try to take Advent as seriously as possible, and every year that seems to look a little different. I'm posting a few resources here for the similarly serious. Please let me know if any of them are particularly helpful to you. Creighton University's Praying Advent 2012  (This has almost everything you could want in terms of understanding the schedule of the season and praying through it.) The Advent Conspiracy  (Please check this one out - and share it!) Grace Brethren Church of Long Beach sermons from 2011 (Advent series at the top) Catholic Scripture readings for each day of Advent If you know of any others that have been helpful to you, please send them my way. I'm also "curating" a list of some good music for Advent, so let me know if there's anything you appreciate out of the cacophony of the season. To finish us off, here's every other Advent post I've shared in the p...

So Christmas comes and Christmas goes, and the world the holy child is born to rests, as ever, full of dark so deep that all the Norman bishops in the land with all their candles aren't enough to drive it back an inch. - from Frederick Buechner's Godric

Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord's Christ. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: 'Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.' The child's father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: 'This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of ma...

thank you

Come, if you will, on a Friday night, whether or not I am paying attention. Break me from my reverie, rend earth from sea and sea from salt. Separate the self and shame showing them two not one, then name me - the better half - after yourself, the Son. Come, if you will, in any form. Preferably not that of a woman, lest in my pride I pretend to understand you. Lion or lamb you have been. And as man I have loved you both less and more than I ought - for love is not an easy word. Child and criminal the same, your Spirit a dove and a flame, water and light and the breath of life, barefoot, berobed, bejeweled, begot. Come if you will, appear as you ought - only stop me in my tracks. Still the cycle. Break the back of the beast. Release the wolf from my mind. Temper the time. And whether or not it kill me, show me your face - swallow me like a seed into your breast or your belly. Bury and carry me, embryonic, with or without rebirth - only Come.

you gave your body to the lonely

An Advent Monologue by Walter Wangerin Jr. (I think I posted a segment of this a year or so ago. Here's the whole. If Rev. Wangerin take issue with this posting, I will gladly recall it. If you would like the book it comes from, go here .) I love a child. But she is afraid of me. I want to help this child, so terribly in need of help. For she is hungry; her cheeks are sunken to the bone; but she knows little of food, less of nutrition. I know both these things. She is cold, and she is dirty; she lives at the end of a tattered hallway, three flights up in a tenement whose landlord long forgot the human bodies huddled in that place. But I know how to build a fire; and I know how to wash a face. She is retarded, if the truth be told, thick in her tongue, slow in her mind, yet aware of her infirmity and embarrassed by it. But here am I, well-traveled throughout the universe, and wise, and willing to share my wisdom. She is lonely all the day long. She sits in a chair with her bac...

in case you missed your liturgy

let us revisit my favorite christmas song , shall we? this time, i actually own the album(s).

F. B. Meyer, from The Way Into the Holiest 'He shakes all things, that the material, the sensuous, and the temporal may pass away; leaving the essential and eternal to stand out in more than former beauty. But not a grain of pure metal shall be lost in the fires; not a fragment of heaven's masonry shall crumble beneath the shock...'

I rode the devil's back - or perhaps he rode on mine. The trees were hung with arms around While I held on with vines. The leaves they fell in fingers, The grass grew up like teeth, The shiver from my horror didn't stop the imp beneath. And as we ran I felt his hand Dig furrows in my motley skin - Fishing for worms between the bones, Fondling my organs till they were all exposed And sprouting - toadstools, lichen and moss Making much of my body a great, twisted fungus. 'The horror!' I cried, but it came like a croak - Something was crawling up from my throat! A black millipede with uncountable feet - My eyes rolled like rocks - I choked, hacked, Spewed, sneezed, puked it out. Please , I whispered, wake me up from this dream. I will learn how to live. I will do anything. The devil turned to smile - he was wearing my lips - He leaned to my face for a kiss, a caress. Do you bargain with me ? he seethed in my ear. My market's of souls. I barter with shame and fear. Do y...

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