Merry Christmas!

Christmas Day

(By now you’ve been to a Christmas Eve service (I hope!  I know some of you are sick or unable).  These are the readings for a Christmas morning Eucharist.) 

Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-4; John 1:1-14

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us”. 

The Word, God’s Wisdom, co-creator of all that is, became one of us.  Life and light, truth and glory and grace, shine out today.

All the hollowing, the emptying, the waiting of Advent, aims at being open to receive this glory today.  This glory so far exceeds our understanding and expectations that no words suffice.  Scriptures try, poets try, preachers try to our peril.  Musicians and artists try to find another language, and almost approach.  

But here, at the manger, we lay down our pens and brushes and instruments.  We offer them to the one who gave them to us, who now lies new and open and demanding.  We sit in silence.

Behold, I bring you tidings of great joy.  The Word becomes flesh.  O come, let us adore.

It has been a joy and a privilege to write for you this season.  I don’t know when I will resume, or how often; I’ll let you know.  Today, just accept my thanks for reading, for engaging, and for responding.  If this has been meaningful for you, I’d love to hear from you as I plan the future.  If it hasn’t, please accept my thanks for reading anyway.

If you'd like to see photos of our crèche, go to our facebook page: facebook.com/Companionsma.

Blessed, blessed Christmas to you all!

Christmas Eve Day

Christmas Eve Day

2 Samuel 7:1-16; Psalm 89:1-4, 19-29; Luke 1:67-79

“And you, child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.” (Luke 1:76-77)

These words are attributed to Zechariah, blessing and commissioning his son John.  After nine months of life without sounds or speech, this is what he announces: A prophet to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by forgiveness.

Isn’t this what we’re all called to be?

Here in our community we say this song every morning, as we sing Mary’s song every night.  Every day we are reminded, not only of what John would become, but of what we are to be.  Not the main event, but indispensable.  We are the ones through whom people will hear the message of salvation - or not.  We are the ones who will show the way by how we live - or not.  

But we aren’t just stand-ins for John.  Dream analysts would tell us that in any dream we dream, we are all the characters.  Just so in the Gospels.  We are John, and Elizabeth, and Zechariah.  We are Joseph and Mary and yes, we are Jesus.  We are Herod, and we are the wise ones.  We are the shepherds, and we are the angels.

We each carry the whole story of salvation within us.  In a given moment we may act out one part or another, for good or evil or simple entertainment.  But we carry the whole story.  That’s part of what it means to be human.

Today, as you prepare for the birth of Christ among and within us, welcome all these parts of you.  Comfort those that need comfort, challenge those that need a good talking-to, encourage those who doubt or fear, rejoice with those who who have found their Savior.  Gather all these parts, and come to the manger.  Gaze in, and see your heart.

O Virgin of Virgins

O Virgin of virgins, how shall this be?  For neither before you was there any seen like you, nor shall there be after.  Daughters of Jerusalem, why do you marvel at me?  The thing which you behold is a divine mystery.

Malachi 3:1-5; Psalm 25:1-14; Luke 1:57-66

Our last O differs from the others in several ways.  It began at a later date, perhaps only 500 years ago, and it does not refer to Isaiah’s promises.  It began and continues to honor Mary as her day approaches.

John, I love you and rejoice at your birth. Thank you for pointing the way, preparing the way.  I love the story of Elizabeth standing up to everyone to name you John.

But Mary has my heart today.  Her time approaches.

In the Western, Latin Church, Mary is mostly known as the Blessed Virgin.  We have emphasized her asexuality, her “purity,” even to the point of denying that she had sex with Joseph after Jesus was born (As Matthew tells us she did) or that she bore other children (implied in the fact that Jesus has brothers and sisters).  Mary’s role has been to erase the “blot,” the “curse of Eve,” by renouncing sex (and, following the story of Eden, perhaps renouncing knowledge of good and evil?).  She has been the innocent one.

In the Eastern Orthodox Church, however, she is the Theotokos, the God-bearer.  She is the Mother of God.  Icons capture her thoughtfulness, her awareness of the sadness in front of her and her son.  Some show her might and power, as if she’s singing her song.

She is the Virgin, the integral, intact self.

She is the Mother, the one who gives birth.

How can this be?  

It is a divine mystery.

Mary is not a virgin because God needs to erase a spot or deny sexuality.  Mary is a virgin because God creates in open spaces. 

It seems that new birth, new creativity, always comes from that space of emptiness.  Those of us who meditate or do centering prayer know that the emptiness is where new ideas and insights and encounters originate.  Perhaps we can only give birth by becoming virgin again, intact and centered.

I have a less-than-pure record sexually.  But after years of prayer and monastic life, a day came when I realized that I had become a virgin again - fresh, new, ready for beginnings.  That was an Advent moment for me.

Whoever you are, whatever has happened to you and whatever you have done, you can start over.  You can find your center again and claim it and let it be a place of new birth.  I will be praying for you today, for all those whose center has been wounded.  May we all, of all genders, become virgin/mothers today.

O Emmanuel

O Emmanuel, our Sovereign and lawgiver, the desire of all nations and their salvation: come and save us, O Christ our God.

1 Samuel 1:19-28; Psalm 113 or 122; Luke 1:46-56

“The LORD will give you a sign.  Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

Come and save us.  Come and save all the people I left out yesterday.

Today’s Gospel reminds me that my picture of salvation may not be God’s.  I may be thinking that salvation will look comfortable, affirming, restful.  Mary’s song says that salvation is more likely to bring overturning, chaos, reversal.  And that is indeed my experience.  Every growth period in my life is also, necessarily, a time of struggle and surprise and challenge.  It’s beautiful, but it ain’t pretty.

It can be challenging to sing this song when you are - when I am - one of the rich, the mighty, the sated.  (And don’t give me that American “I’m just getting by” stuff.  If you have access to this blog, you’re in good shape.)  But we need it, we need to sing this.  We need to hear that God is challenging us.  We can be part of the dream of God, pushing and helping, or we can get in the way and be swept away.  Either way, God is coming and dreaming - and God is bigger than I am, even with all my money and education and connections.

One of the great gifts of my life in community is that six days a week I get to sing this song with other people.  We sing it to traditional plainchant tunes, but you can sing it to anything you like.  You can make up a tune, or sing it on one note.  You can yell if you don’t like to sing.  You can bang a drum or shake a tambourine.  You can dance.  This is not a gentle lullaby.  This is a song of triumph.  My gentle liberal soul doesn’t like to want to triumph, but my Gospel heart knows there’s plenty that needs vanquishing - including my gentle liberal soul!

I want to hear feet stomping and voices chanting, people!

Send me a note telling me how you participated in Mary’s song today.  Tell me who you invited to join you and what you did.  Then tell me how it felt.

If you think this is over the top, tasteless, too embarrassing - imagine how Mary felt. 

Do it for Mary.

O Ruler of Nations

O Ruler of nations, and their desire, the Cornerstone, uniting both in one: come and save humankind, whom you formed of clay.

Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Psalm 33:1-5,20-22; Luke 1:39-45

(Note: I'm following the daily readings rather than the Sunday readings, because the Sunday Gospel is the same as yesterday's.)

"He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." Isaiah 2:4

Yes, that is my deep desire.  You are my deep desire, O Holy One.  I want to write about the meeting between Elizabeth and Mary told in today's Gospel - I want you all to read it - but today I have to write about the desire for peace.  

O, my heart!  I long for you, O God.  "My soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water" (Ps. 63).  I long for your peace.  The clay of my body is dried up from crying, from water spent over your creation.  Come, Christ Jesus!  Come, Emmanuel!  Be with us now!  Bind us together, let us see you in one another.

Plow into my heart, furrow it with the seeds of peace.  Prune the growth of ego-fear, the demand for recognition and excess and domination.  Give us all the courage to lay down our arms.

Come and save us from ourselves. 

Come and save us from racial bigotry.  

Come and save the victims of human trafficking, and save their captors.  

Come and save the prisoners in solitary confinement and death row, and save their jailers and executioners.  

Come and save the predatory lenders and sweep down Wall Street, and save their victims.

Come and save the Taliban and ISIS and those they terrorize.  

Come and save the drunks and junkies and those who profit from their disease.  

Come and save the victims of Ebola and AIDS and malaria.  

Come and save those who overcharge for access to lifesaving drugs.  

Come and save those who work long hours and still can't pay their bills.  

Come and save us.

Please take from me the spirit of judgment and fear that becomes war.  Take from me disdain and contempt.  Make me a channel of your peace.  Yes, God, I want more.  I want you to touch all of us today, now.  But start with me.  Perhaps, if I can show the power of your love, others might want it and ask you too.

Come and save us.

O Dayspring

O Dayspring, Brightness of the light everlasting, and Sun of Righteousness: come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.

Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24; Luke 1:26-38

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined." Isaiah 9:2

Today is the second Annunciation.  The first was to Zechariah, whose question caused him to be silenced.  Today Gabriel comes again, and again says, “Don’t be afraid.”  Again, he tells of the Holy Spirit doing something crazy and scandalous.  Again, the recipient asks, “What are you talking about?”  But this time is different.  Instead of being silenced, Mary will go on the road and sing the Magnificat.  So what’s different?

Zechariah asks, “How will I know this is so?”  Mary asks, “How can this be?”  What’s the difference?

Here’s my guess.  Zechariah’s question is one we call epistemological.  He has questions about how he will know something to be the case.  It’s actually a stupid question: he’ll know when Elizabeth stops having her period and starts being queasy.  But the center of his question is him.

Mary’s question is not about her and her knowledge.  It’s about God’s activity in the world.  We might call it metaphysical, or even physical: how can this be?  What is going on in the universe, in God, in my body, that this could happen?

Where is the center of your life?  Where do your questions come from, and what do they concern?  Zechariah’s question points to himself, to his need to know, rather than to what God is up to.  Mary’s question points to God and what God is capable of, and she is open to learning about it.  She looks to find her place in what God is doing: “Let it be with me according to your word.”

I’m aware every day that I am a work in progress, a pilgrim on the way.  I know that God is up to something all the time.  But sometimes I’m more like Zechariah, catching myself up in questions about how I will know that something is of God.  I have lots of companions to help me through those questions.  But the more powerful questions come from Mary’s place, where I trust that God is speaking, I trust the angels who whisper and those who shout, those who drop me a line or give me a call.  There I’m actively on the lookout for what God is up to and how I can participate.

How will I know that this is so?  On a philosophical, logical level, never.  It’s the wrong question on that level.  But I do know through experience, through the signs of life in myself and those around me.  I know when the Holy Spirit blows through, whether it’s painful or scary or joyful.  

The real question is not, how will I know?  The real question is, will I say yes?  Will I let myself be part of God’s creation, God’s dwelling in the world?

And will you?

O Key of David

O Key of David, and Scepter of the house of Israel, you open and no one can close, and you close and no one can open: come and bring the prisoners out of the prison, those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.
Judges 13:2-7, 24-25; Psalm 71:1-8; Luke 1:5-25

Today's O comes from Isaiah 22:22: "I will place on his shoulder the key of the house of David; he shall open, and no one shall shut; he shall shut, and no one shall open."
But this is the week to really be with the Gospels.  I've spent this Advent with Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist.  She is for me the hidden connector between the characters in the Nativity, being of Aaron's lineage and related to Mary, who is engaged to Joseph.  She links also to the long line of "barren women" who suffered social ostracism and economic insecurity as a result of their childlessness.  Like John, Samson was born to a woman who had no children.  Like John he was promised to God, to "begin to deliver Israel" (Judges 13:5).  Like John he was a bit of a wild man, not part of the orderly hierarchy.
But the line of promise goes further back.  Sarah and Hannah share with Elizabeth the surprise of new life when it seems impossible.  As Gabriel will tell Mary, "nothing shall be impossible with God."
Zechariah can't take in the news.  He is silenced, barren of speech.  From here on out, Elizabeth will move from the margins to the center, proclaiming God's word.  Her barrenness is ended, whether she bears a child or not.
These are your choices today.  Will you let yourself be filled with promise?  Will you speak what you hear?  Or will you be silenced by your doubts and fears?  "Do not be afraid."
In the end, I guess this does connect to the antiphon.  What God opens, no one can shut.  Wombs are filled, and give birth to new life.  What God closes, no one can open.  Mouths with no good news to share stop speaking (even if sounds come out).
Pray for opening!