Advent thoughts – Wednesday of Advent 3

Image of Christ by El Greco

Perspective is something we always need more of. It is so easy to become focused on one concern, one hope, one anxiety, that everything seems narrowly channeled into that one thing. Everything else fades in our consciousness and we become consumed with passions around our one tiny concern. We forget what role it plays in the larger picture and it expands to fill our universe.

Later on we may well look back and wonder how something so small, so passing could loom so large.

Unless we are particularly blessed in temperament or have acquired some spiritual discipline, we are not prone to step back and take a larger view. So often it is some other event, misfortune, rebuke, two-by-four upside the head that restores perspective.

One of the greatest reminders of what matters and what does not is death.

The Rev. Elizabeth Kaeton has posted a very thoughtful and beautiful reflection at Telling Secrets. Compassion, dignity, and a sense of what matters permeate her words. It is about death, pastoral care, the season, and simple rituals. I commend it to your attention.

Do not be envious when some become rich, *

or when the grandeur of their house increases;

For they will carry nothing away at their death, *

nor will their grandeur follow them. (Psalm 49:16-17)

Now then, what was I fretting about? The injustice of worldly success coming so blatantly to the wicked, the corrupt, the oppressor, the scoundrel, the incompetent, and the undeserving? And this, in the end, gets them what? Ah, the same end as is common to all mortals. Some with more trappings than others; all equally dead.

So, letting go of concern about others, what am I to do with my life?

“Blessed is that slave whom his master will find at work when he arrives.” (Matthew 24:46)

I might prefer glory: some grand mission that changes the course of the world, a life that makes an obvious (and well-recognized, thanks) difference in the world, or even a saintly martyrdom that makes me an example of fidelity for the ages. But this? Just doing my job? C’mon, Jesus, can’t you give me some more options to work with here?

No, it is the ordinary faithfulness; the everyday round of justice, mercy, and humility; the uncomplicated acts of faith, hope, and love—“to keep,” as Elizabeth writes, “the simple ceremonies of dignity and worth, especially to those who think themselves less than and unworthy….”

It is this simple faithfulness that leads to the master’s “Well done” and the final glorious vision. At the graveside, at the bedside, at the table, at the Altar we can glimpse what matters, be reminded to do what matters, and be formed in holiness.

After this I looked, and there in heaven a door stood open! And the first voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, ‘Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.’ At once I was in the spirit,* and there in heaven stood a throne, with one seated on the throne! And the one seated there looks like jasper and cornelian, and around the throne is a rainbow that looks like an emerald. Around the throne are twenty-four thrones, and seated on the thrones are twenty-four elders, dressed in white robes, with golden crowns on their heads. Coming from the throne are flashes of lightning, and rumblings and peals of thunder, and in front of the throne burn seven flaming torches, which are the seven spirits of God; and in front of the throne there is something like a sea of glass, like crystal.

Around the throne, and on each side of the throne, are four living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind: the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with a face like a human face, and the fourth living creature like a flying eagle. And the four living creatures, each of them with six wings, are full of eyes all around and inside. Day and night without ceasing they sing,
‘Holy, holy, holy,
the Lord God the Almighty,
who was and is and is to come.’ (Apocalypse 4:1-8)

Lamb of God, the heavens adore you;

let saints and angels sing before you,

as harps and cymbals swell the sound.

Twelve great pearls, the city's portals:

through them we stream to join the immortals

as we with joy your throne surround.

No eye has known the sight,

no ear heard such delight:

Alleluia!

Therefore we sing

to greet our king;

forever let our praises ring.

--Philipp Nicolai (1556-1608); tr. Carl P. Daw, Jr. (b. 1944)

Verse 3 of Hymn # 61 in The Hymnal 1982

Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme

—the BB

Sunday reflections – Advent 3

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. V. Lord, you have blessed your land: you have put an end to Jacob’s captivity. (Philippians 4:4-6; Psalm 85:1)

These are the opening words of the Roman Mass on the Third Sunday of Advent, which takes its name from the incipit (opening words) of this Introit: Gaudete! Rejoice!

So we are come to Gaudete Sunday, one of the two days a year when we can trot out our rose vestments and altar hangings, should we be so opulently blessed as to have them (which most of us are not).

[I do have several yards of rose moiré fabric but have yet to turn them into a chasuble and stole. Christ may come for me before that happens.]

We are one week closer to the Feast of the Nativity than we were last Sunday, one week closer to the consummation of the ages, one week closer to our death.

Oh yes, our Advent tradition has not forgotten The Last Things. Advent is nothing if not all about being ready to meet our Lord. At every level. In every sense. On every occasion. Everywhere. Every day. Every moment.

God doesn't just come for us once and there's the end of it.

God comes to us and for us repeatedly. God walked with Adam and Eve. God came to Abram to call him and Sarai into an unknown place and unknown future. God came to Moses on Mount Horeb/Sinai. God came to the prophets, placing a message in their mouths and igniting a fire in their hearts. Christians see the culmination of God's continuing drawing near to us in the Incarnation, in the eternal Word taking on flesh and joining to us intimately and forever. This is why Christmas is such a high feast and why it takes us Twelve Days to celebrate it.

Immanuel: God with us. This is one of the key messages of the entire Bible.

Advent reminds us to prepare for God's presence, to be ready for God's coming, to cleanse our hearts and purify our minds and mostly to WAKE UP! We cannot go about our lives in a stupor, half-awake at best, our minds and hearts clouded with torpor, unaware and shrouded in illusion.


Christ has promised to be with us always, which means he abides with us. He is always present, at home in our hearts and in our midst. Given the quality of our readiness and our hospitality, this is an amazing miracle bespeaking incomprehensible grace on God's part.

Not only is Christ perpetually present with us, he also visits us afresh each day. We know that what we do to the least among us is done to Christ, and this means he comes to us in many guises.

Our Baptismal Covenant reminds us to seek and serve Christ in each person. Each. Person.

The homeless vet and the AWOL assshole in the White House who sent him to a pointless war and didn't support benefits when he got home. Well, there you go. I didn't do a good job of seeking and serving Christ in W, did I? It's an ongoing challenge. Much easier to lobby for veteran's health care or give a buck or two to the homeless vet on the street. (If I stop and do it, but most often I don't.) I've struck out big time already.

The immigrant and the elderly, the officious and the obnoxious, the frightened and the frightening. Each. Person.

The person I (accidentally?) cut off on the freeway and the person who nearly got us all killed passing at 95 mph. The person whose review I have to write this week and the boss who din't give me a raise this year. The friend who worked the precincts to defeat Heather Wilson (NM-01) last year and the relative who donated big bucks to her. The CEO of the big oil company and the widow who cannot afford oil (or coal) to heat her house this winter. Each. Person. Because Jesus loves every last one of them. And comes to us in each of them.

He may not have much patience for the ones who oppress and abuse others, but they too are made in God's image and Jesus died for them as much as for anyone else.

Once when at the Oakland International Airport waiting for my beloved to debark and emerge from the jetway I made a practice of silently saying to myself as each person came through the door, "The Body of Christ." Wow. I saw them all in a new light that evening.

If only I were that enlightened more often.

So, when is Christ coming to me? For me? The Second Coming in my lifetime? (And here I heed the admonitions of Mystical Seeker who is frustrated with our talk in worship about things as though they were absolutely literal and we knew what they meant when they are mysteries wrapped in layers of symbolism and ultimately we don't really know what they are or will be like....--so, I don't really know what the Second Coming will be like, all the biblical imagery notwithstanding. I think it is a profound symbol for God bringing things to fulfillment and the full flowering of God's life and love in and through all things, but that is pretty vague. I hold that hope and belief, but I cannot make it literal for you, nor do I believe anyone can.)

Will that Second Coming for me be death? Is that when I get ushered into the fulness? Is that tonight? Next week? Five, ten, twenty years from now? Before I finish typing this sentence? (Well, obviously not that last one, but I really don't know that either.)

So the Advent message comes with a pointed force when I ask questions like this. Wake up! Be ready! Be found doing what you are supposed to be doing.

Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. (James 5:7-10)

The farmer cannot make the crops grow or the rain fall. But the farmer must do her part, furrowing, planting, weeding, irrigating, tending, harvesting. What is not planted does not grow. What is not harvested rots in the field. Patience is a mixture of waiting and doing. We cannot sit back, neither can we control what takes place. Such, indeed, is the art of living--engagement without attachment. We do our part. And we trust. Both go together. It is wrong to separate them.

What sort of planting are we to do? What will our harvest look like? What are the fruits of the reign of God? How can we know we are about God's business?

Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’ (Matthew 11:4-6)

Our lives, if they are to follow in Christ's pattern, are to be spent in serving others, setting free, making whole, bringing Good News. It is not a work we can do on our own or control. Neither is it one that will happen if we do nothing. As has often been said: We cannot do it without God and God will not do it without us.

If it were up to us alone, I should clearly despair, given our track record. And yet...

And yet grace happens amid the bleakest circumstances. Courage arises amid danger and uncertainty. Compassion flows without a thought of oneself. Love blossoms in the unlikeliest places. And the light shines in the darkness and the darkness neither understands nor overcomes it.

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,

the desert shall rejoice and blossom;

like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,

and rejoice with joy and singing.

The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,

the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.

They shall see the glory of the Lord,

the majesty of our God.
Strengthen the weak hands,

and make firm the feeble knees. 

Say to those who are of a fearful heart,

‘Be strong, do not fear!
 Here is your God.’
(Isaiah 35:1-4a)

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

--the BB

Advent thoughts – Saturday of Advent 2

The Gospel will be proclaimed.

When the Holy is manifest, when humans encounter that mysterium tremendum et fascinans, to use Otto’s phrase, we are overwhelmed, attracted yet terrified. This is why the opening words of God, or of angels, are “Fear not.” Jesus speaks the same phrase to his disciples when God breaks through in him and they do not know what to think.

We are always in the presence of God and God is always present to us, yet we are mostly unaware or inattentive. When God breaks through the barriers of our inattention, strips away our illusions and defenses, then we realize that we are in danger, for “our God is a living fire.”

Danger of what? Danger of being changed—of being shaken out of our stupor and awakened to reality, being robbed of our habits and thrust into conscious choice, being turned around and set on a new and unknown path, being taken from the familiar and forced to live into the unfamiliar, into God’s newness. We are in danger of being forced out of the womb we know and in which we feel safe and out into a world we cannot even imagine.

All the old comforts? Gone.

No wonder we fear.

Yet God speaks comfort and encouragement.

My spirit abides among you; do not fear. (Haggai 2:5b)

The Anglican blogosphere has been abuzz with developments in San Joaquin, among the sundry breakaway groups, and now the Archbishop of Canterbury’s Christmas Letter to the Communion and his Advent Letter to the Primates. So many thundering pronouncements, nuanced subtleties, contrary interpretations; so much anxiety, hope, distrust, encouragement, confusion, anger, frustration, despair. And then I read the Gospel lesson for today and these words:

“Then many will fall away, and they will betray one another and hate one another. And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. And because of the increase of lawlessness, the love of many will grow cold. But anyone who endures to the end will be saved. And this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations; and then the end will come.” (Matthew 24:10-14)

In the first two sentences of this excerpt Jesus is anything but encouraging but then he holds out the promise of salvation to those who endure.

And “endure” is one of the themes of the Apocalypse that we are also reading in the Daily Office this Advent. We are called to hang in there. Not to walk away. Not to throw in the towel. Not to despair. To remain engaged. Sometimes all we can do is stand by, to witness and not to run or walk away, and sometimes that is enough. Sometimes we must share in the toil, hold one another up, tell our story, sing praise, do justice—and always we must pray. Sometimes all we can do is wait and that is the important and right thing to do. Sometimes we must be impatient and act, and that is the important and right thing to do. Always we must listen for the Spirit and remember the promise that God’s Spirit is with us.

I find great hope in this: Jesus says, amid all the dire statements about how life in this world is and will be, “this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations.” The Gospel will be proclaimed.

This is where I put my faith. This is why I am willing to hang loose with denominational identity, no matter how much I love the Anglican way of being Christian (and I do, deeply and with gratitude). This is where I have my hope and confidence and where I place my commitment. The Gospel will be proclaimed.

We may be—oh hell, we are in dark days. But the light will dawn.

You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy. (Psalm 30:12)

—the BB

2 Thessalonians 3:13

There are times when it all seems overwhelming.

Your pilgrimage seems more like a rat race (that the rats are winning).

Caesar seems secure upon a throne of might.

Corruption is evidently the only way things get done. It's a game you don't want to play yet you feel that if you don't play it you will get chewed up, spit out, and trampled upon. Or simply ignored, left to some isolated fate, unremarked and unnoted, your life a forgotten waste.

Things have come to such a pass that you feel it is too late to set them aright again. It seems all we can do is wring our hands, bemoan our fate, despair.

Sooner or later we all have these moments. Some unfortunates feel this way all the time--and if I could send them a cyberhug and it would help... here it is: (((((( )))))).

No one of us can set the world right.

But there is something we can do.

In our small slice of the totality.

υμεις δε αδελφοι μη εγκακησητε καλοποιουντες

Ngunit mga kapatid, huwag kayong panghinaan ng loob sa paggawa ng mabuti.

Ndugu wapendwa, ninyi msi choke kutenda mema.

Ma voi fratelli, non stancatevi mai di fare il bene.

Et vous, frères, ne vous lassez pas de faire ce qui est bien.

Euch aber, liebe Brüder und Schwestern, bitten wir: Werdet nicht müde, Gutes zu tun!

Pero vosotros, hermanos, no os canséis de hacer el bien.

Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.

We can carry on. We can bear witness to what we know. We can speak the truth. We can act justly, kindly, compassionately. We can do what little we know how in order to ease a neighbor's pain or anxiety. And when we can do no more, we can just be with them, caring. We can look at one another in love instead of frustration or disgust. We can look deeply to behold the divine presence within them. And in ourselves. We can manage that little gesture. We can encourage. We can embolden. We can empower. We can change a little here, a little there. We can join with others of like mind. We can be patient. We can be pushy. We can seek to know when to do which. We can march, and write, and call, and insist. We can sit still, meditate, and seek wisdom. We can disseminate truth in world of lies and we can encourage healing, liberating, empowering laughter. We can choose to be ourselves and not some phony image that others wish us to assume. We can pray. We can toil. We can approach each day with open hands and hearts, with gratitude, with humility.

The minutest changes, accumulating, make for immense differences, just as many droplets of water become rushing floods.

I've had the "world is going to hell in a handbasket" blues lately, as my posts have reflected. I have, I confess, come to a point of near-despair over our constitutional government which, at the moment, ain't working. Mind you, I am nowhere near the litany with which this post begins, in case you're getting concerned.

I have no idea what the future holds. It is not uncommon for me to break down and weep for our troops that we send on pointless errands, without adequate equipment or protection, without a clear mission, without an achievable goal, without an exit strategy; tossing their lives into harm's way for the sake of a combination of ideologies, profit, and the pursuit of power. And I weep for those we bomb, disrupt, displace, and destroy. And I weep for the soul of our nation.

I also weep with tender joy for the beauties of creation, for acts of courage and compassion, for love, and for the goodness of God. I see people banding together to do good. I witness random acts of kindness and very purposeful ones as well. I have not given up on the world or humanity.

It is far better to be tenderhearted than to have one's heart petrify. In my fiction, it is the tears of the people that water a waste land and heal it. Perhaps my efforts are part of the River of Life and my words are past of the world's healing. I trust they are.

I can seek to do good and not evil. I can hold fast to truth. This one verse from tomorrow's lessons speaks to me, encourages me

As I write this, I am not down. I am simply sharing where I have been of late and the brink on which I teeter yet. And I recall the words to the church in Saloniki.

Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.

Yours in the struggle! Remember, grace abides.
--the BB