Lent seems to be moving so slowly. Easter is late this year. I have to look diligently when outside for signs of spring – just the tiniest sprigs of green against the house – hoping that the still freezing temperatures will not overcome them. The view from my window is so monochromatic (whew! Where did that word come from this early?!) I’m not sure I can trust the sun this morning to effect a change. I feel as if the silence is so big everything would break if I moved more than my fingers on the keyboard. Traffic is silent. The birds seem to be hiding from the neighborhood hawk. Everything seems like that line from Paul’s letter to the Romans: “All creation waits on tiptoe to see the children of God coming into their own.”
How difficult it is to remain still and just BE. There is always so much to do. I’m sensing that the impulse of being is more important now than ever. Can you feel it? Can you allow your body and mind to acquiesce to it in hopes of learning some new truth? Let us breathe…and hope.
On this dreary Saturday morning it is clear that the earth has shifted into the season of Autumn. As the rain taps out a wake-up call on the roof, I wonder if we will see the usual splendor that accompanies October. Some say because of the hot, wet summer we had, the trees will not provide us with that gift this year. I always hold out hope though, and it will last in me for a few more days. For now, I am relaxed into morning by a prayer of John Philip Newell that expands the rhythms of time and the seasons into a God-like view.
Everything is so still this morning. It reminds me of the line in Paul’s Letter to the Romans where he says that “all creation is on tiptoe, waiting for the children of God to come into their own.” That image is my favorite translation because it is so visual but also because it implies for me an intense use of both ears and eyes. We won’t see it if we have our eyes closed and we won’t hear it if we’re not really listening. Even if all of our five outer senses are engaged, there needs to be an interior readiness for the in-breaking of God’s presence. I’ve come to the conclusion that it is an incremental thing, sparked either by our own silence or by a communal encounter of recognition. Deeper than silence, the stillness becomes palpable and we know something that we didn’t know before – indescribable but deeply true. Again it is John Philip Newell whose prayer suffices for this morning.
Today we have a strange confluence of Church events. This morning we celebrate the Fourth Sunday of Advent when we normally prepare to wait a little longer for the celebration of the Incarnation. We have, however, by liturgical rules and the calendar, run out of days before December 24th – Christmas Eve – which ushers in what is never a moveable feast: Christmas Day! So perhaps we are brought up short in our spiritual preparation and need to step back to assess our readiness.
I’m sitting in the dark quiet of the Sophia House, our satellite “office” of the Sophia Center, where I am the only one up and moving. (Somebody has to make the coffee and start the water for tea!) We are here – 5 of us – for 24 hours of consideration of Advent. The questions we will consider today constellate around the idea of the Christ coming into the earthly realm for the benefit of the world. We have all been convinced of this since we were very young, as most Christians are. The lens through which we will look, however, is one of our responsibility to participate in the mission of Jesus as he is present and active in our lives today. Two questions will guide us:
When I was leaving the kitchen with my coffee this morning, one of my housemates asked, “What today’s blog topic?” My answer was as simple as it was true: “I won’t know till I get back upstairs.” So up I came. I sipped my coffee. I looked out the window. I wondered about a lighthearted line or two from the Sufi poet Hafiz. I read Alan Cohen’s entry for this date…Nothing felt right.
“Even though I walk in the dark valley, I fear no evil, for you are at my side. With your rod and your staff you give me courage.”
Over the last eleven years I have become part of an ever- expanding community of seekers under the tutelage of Cynthia Bourgeault, author of groundbreaking books and leader of retreats and “schools” offering insights into the deep stream of wisdom that exists as the bedrock of Christianity and, one could add, of all the world’s major faith traditions. This past week there has been a steady stream of e-mail messages among us – mostly brief but meaningful – as a result of the outcome of our national elections. This morning, I re-visited the 29 of those received that I have saved for further pondering. It seems to me that they echo the last line of this morning’s gospel reading which says, By perseverance you will secure your lives. (LK 21:19). Here are just a few of their “wisdom words” for your consideration:
Reading today’s assigned Scripture texts for liturgy made me wish everyone – from the famous to the infamous – would pay attention to the messages. First we have Paul pleading with the Philippians to be united and then in what we actually call the psalm response the psalmist takes a humble tone that might actually turn things around if all were to act out of it. I imagine it as a conversation between God and us today. See if that makes sense and what might be the result if everyone took it to heart.