It's not quite a week since Epiphany. Christmas has come and gone. The Magi's gifts have been given. Our homes have been stripped of any holiday glitter and the sanctuary is once again emptied of the decorations. There are no more wreathes, no poinsettias, no candles in the windows. Had we not been present in this Sacred Space during the Advent and Christmas seasons, we would have no idea what we missed.
But I was here. I did see the Meeting House decked with boughs of greenery and symbols of the season. I did find myself surrounded by the warm, welcoming candles. I did feel the power that this time of year presents. And now it is all gone.
The morning after Epiphany (the first day that the Sanctuary was emptied of its decorations), I sat in one of the pews and looked around.
It doesn't seem possible that Christmas is over.
It doesn't seem possible that Lent will soon be beginning.
I've just celebrated the adoration of the Christ Child and now I must prepare for what comes next...his death.
It's too soon!
I want to savor the experience of hearing the story of his birth once again.
I want to capture the brilliance of the moment when the congregation sings Silent Night.
I want to hold on to the light present in the faces of our children.
I want to stay here...safe, warm, comfortable.
As my eyes pan across the front of our worship space, it's as if a voice were calling to me. My focus lands on the cross, the symbol of our faith, high above the choir pews. It calls out to me in such a way that the blurriness of this new seasons seems to come into sharp focus.
It's time...
It's time to move beyond the wreathes and the candles.
It's time to move beyond the Advent and Christmas hymns.
It's time to move beyond that which is safe, warm and comfortable.
It's time to turn the focus from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.
Jesus will age very quickly in these next few weeks. No longer will he be the Holy Infant. No longer will he be the toddler receiving the gifts of the Magi. He will be grown and steeped in his ministry, focused on the future and working diligently to bring us all along.
It's time...
It's time to leave the manger behind.
It's time to move beyond Herod, the shepherds, the angels and the Magi.
It's time to focus on a new task.
It's time to spread the word, to share the Good News.
It's time to speak the truth to power.
It's time to overturn the tables in the temple.
It's time to teach our faith to the younger generations.
It's time to challenge the status quo.
It's time to feed the hungry clothe the naked.
It's time to release the prisoners and bring sight to the blind.
It's time to be an active part of Jesus' ministry in the world.
And then it is as if the voice calls to me once again... All that we have experienced along our Advent and Christmas journeys has prepared us for what is to come. We could not be about the work and ministry that Jesus shares had we not understood that which he represents, that to which we were witness in the experiences surrounding his birth.
And now I understand. And now I am ready.
It's time...
Monday, January 12, 2015
Thursday, January 1, 2015
And then, there was silence...
When we ask our son Jacob to tell us the names of our pets he does very well to name the dogs, Vinnie and Troy, and the parrot, Gwen. But when we ask him the cat's name, a blank look comes across his face. His brain is processing the question but for some reason, he's unable to answer. Well, the reason is that our cat, Baby Girl (because I'm sure you were wondering her name) is rarely seen.
When we lived in Illinois, Baby Girl spent the majority of her time in our semi-finished basement. It was a place of safety for her, out of the reach of the ever-active dogs. She would make her bed on an old blanket or tablecloth and sleep the days away.
Upon moving to Rhode Island, we were determined to have the animals existing in the same spaces. We blocked the entrance to the basement to keep them out (and to eliminate the possibility of pet hair coming in close contact with the numerous yards of fabric in our sewing/crafting area). And the animals began to find a way of existing within the same space. Of course, if Baby Girl would come running through the house, the dogs were sure to follow. But if she took her time, quietly moving from one room to the other, she was quite often sure to pass through unnoticed.
Lately, Baby Girl has been spending a lot of time either on our bed or a bed in one of the spare rooms. She sleeps a lot! Well, she is up there in years and I believe that when I get up there in years I will be sleeping a lot as well. But something else has changed.
Baby Girl no longer is found venturing into the same rooms occupied by the dogs. She is no longer exhibiting that brave behavior of jumping up onto the living room furniture, even though the dogs are within a few feet from her. She is rarely seen simply passing through. Instead, she maneuvers primarily at night, when the dogs are in their kennels or at times when they are outdoors.
Why the change? What has occurred that has shifted the new-found, Rhode Island, kin-dom of Heaven experience?
Things seemed to be heading in a great direction, going so well. And then, there was silence...
Baby Girl has lost her hearing.
It seems as if it has come on suddenly. One day she would hear our calls to her. One day she was able to hear the scampering feet of her canine housemates. One day she was able to hear... and the next day she was not.
I know that some folks experience this in their own lives, drastic changes in mere moments... life-altering changes. The loss of hearing is a fairly common one, however most that I know have lost (or are losing) their hearing gradually. But we suffer other loss as well... loss of employment, loss of relationship, loss of friends and loved-ones. Sometimes there is a gradual movment toward the loss... but many times it comes suddenly... too suddenly.
In a way, I have grieved for Baby Girl in her loss. I've felt sympathy for her. Her whole world has changed.
She has needed to adapt. And that she has.
She now relies on her other senses to feel instead of hear. She feels the subtle (and at-times, not-so-subtle-seven-year-old-feet-stomping-and-running) vibrations in the house. She feels our footsteps, doors closing, objects being moved. And most times, she simply sleeps, oblivious to the world around her, but safe in her new routine, her new bed.
Baby Girl's transition is one to which I feel I need to pay attention. How she has adapted to this major change in her life draws a complete parallel to change that I (we) experience. I need to see that when things change, in small or major ways, I have the ability to adapt. Though change may be followed closely by that overwhelming sense of loss and grief, I must trust that "this too shall pass..."
A little extra sleep. New routines. A shift in surrounds. Doing what I need to do to take care of myself. These may make all the difference, and allow me (us) to move through the change in as amazingly healthy way.
Baby Girl is asleep on the spare bed as I write this...and I find myself filled with a new sense of joy, replacing the sympathy, as Baby Girl has shown me how its done. And she's done it well!
When we lived in Illinois, Baby Girl spent the majority of her time in our semi-finished basement. It was a place of safety for her, out of the reach of the ever-active dogs. She would make her bed on an old blanket or tablecloth and sleep the days away.
Upon moving to Rhode Island, we were determined to have the animals existing in the same spaces. We blocked the entrance to the basement to keep them out (and to eliminate the possibility of pet hair coming in close contact with the numerous yards of fabric in our sewing/crafting area). And the animals began to find a way of existing within the same space. Of course, if Baby Girl would come running through the house, the dogs were sure to follow. But if she took her time, quietly moving from one room to the other, she was quite often sure to pass through unnoticed.
Lately, Baby Girl has been spending a lot of time either on our bed or a bed in one of the spare rooms. She sleeps a lot! Well, she is up there in years and I believe that when I get up there in years I will be sleeping a lot as well. But something else has changed.
Baby Girl no longer is found venturing into the same rooms occupied by the dogs. She is no longer exhibiting that brave behavior of jumping up onto the living room furniture, even though the dogs are within a few feet from her. She is rarely seen simply passing through. Instead, she maneuvers primarily at night, when the dogs are in their kennels or at times when they are outdoors.
Why the change? What has occurred that has shifted the new-found, Rhode Island, kin-dom of Heaven experience?
Things seemed to be heading in a great direction, going so well. And then, there was silence...
Baby Girl has lost her hearing.
It seems as if it has come on suddenly. One day she would hear our calls to her. One day she was able to hear the scampering feet of her canine housemates. One day she was able to hear... and the next day she was not.
I know that some folks experience this in their own lives, drastic changes in mere moments... life-altering changes. The loss of hearing is a fairly common one, however most that I know have lost (or are losing) their hearing gradually. But we suffer other loss as well... loss of employment, loss of relationship, loss of friends and loved-ones. Sometimes there is a gradual movment toward the loss... but many times it comes suddenly... too suddenly.
In a way, I have grieved for Baby Girl in her loss. I've felt sympathy for her. Her whole world has changed.
She has needed to adapt. And that she has.
She now relies on her other senses to feel instead of hear. She feels the subtle (and at-times, not-so-subtle-seven-year-old-feet-stomping-and-running) vibrations in the house. She feels our footsteps, doors closing, objects being moved. And most times, she simply sleeps, oblivious to the world around her, but safe in her new routine, her new bed.
Baby Girl's transition is one to which I feel I need to pay attention. How she has adapted to this major change in her life draws a complete parallel to change that I (we) experience. I need to see that when things change, in small or major ways, I have the ability to adapt. Though change may be followed closely by that overwhelming sense of loss and grief, I must trust that "this too shall pass..."
A little extra sleep. New routines. A shift in surrounds. Doing what I need to do to take care of myself. These may make all the difference, and allow me (us) to move through the change in as amazingly healthy way.
Baby Girl is asleep on the spare bed as I write this...and I find myself filled with a new sense of joy, replacing the sympathy, as Baby Girl has shown me how its done. And she's done it well!
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