Once upon a time, some years ago when I was serving in diaconal ministry, the pastor under whom I served at the time had given a homily in which he said something to the effect that people guided in the spiritual way of life often had periods of difficulty in managing everyday, mundane affairs. It is perhaps the one thing I remember him saying that had special meaning for me.
While my biggest role in ministry has been as a church musician, it has often been eclipsed by the role just below it, that of a minister of consolation at a time of loss. While in formation for the ministry over 20 years ago, my wife and I suffered the loss of our first child in the 19th week of my wife's pregnancy. The ensuing weeks following this sad event opened my eyes to the level of grief that can be experienced when tragedy occurs. I believe that through this process God pointed the way to a level of service I would carry out, and I desired to do so to honor my lost child's memory for as long as God would allow me.
When my active diaconal service came to an end, the door to this ministry did not close completely. It was not long before I was asked if I could be available for singing at funeral services, which I have been able to accept most of the time. On the occasions when I serve in this capacity I do my best to leave my ego far removed from my duties; to be simply present and let God work through me.
There have been four other occasions when the role took on a significance outside what I might consider normal, if there is such a thing when death occurs. These four have all involved members of my extended family. The first was when my father-in-law passed, just over seven years ago. He was never much of a church-goer, so it was no stretch of any rule to officiate at his rites of passage. That safe passage to the next life being our hope is almost universally accepted; so it becomes a matter of celebrating the good moments and experiences we shared in this life.
Having said that, it's still not simple. The target audience - the living survivors and friends of the family - know who you are, so it can be difficult to put into the best words what hope and consolation I am consigned to convey. Further, as a minister, those closest to you know the pattern of your life both during and apart from service. I have to put the situation at hand in the best possible and meaningful light on one hand; and on the other, take out the trash, wash the laundry, and do my best at my secular day job. Somehow I manage.
My grandmother passed six years ago this month. Being a devout Catholic, her funeral was set according to the formal rites of the Church. This is kept pretty well with regards to the Mass itself; but the elements apart from it vary depending on the local parish and the communication between the parish staff and the family of the deceased. My grandmother knew the Rosary and the verse about the angels meeting her and taking her to Paradise; neither of which were mentioned at either the wake or the funeral Mass. When my father and uncle finally let it be known I was a minister, I was asked if I wouldn't mind leading prayers at the cemetery where she was to be buried. I agreed to do it, and at that moment I knew what I had to do. I had to invoke those things she would have expected to hear and had not.
Three years ago, the father-in-law of my wife's sister passed away. At the time, I had already contracted to sing at another funeral Mass in my parish of service, but I agreed to meet the family at the cemetery and lead prayers there. I had the fortune to catch up with them toward the end of the Mass, so I was able to talk at length with my brother-in-law (the procession to the cemetery being another long drive). I really wanted to convey hope and consolation to him, because his life was changing in a way which could prove out harmful to his loved ones and himself if left unchecked. Something tells me he is still struggling with this loss, as well as that of his mother a couple of years earlier.
The most recent of the four happened just this last week, when my wife's uncle passed away. There was the usual wait to discover the arrangements, and another wait to determine what, if anything, anyone wanted me to do. Complicating matters was the ongoing recovery my wife was enduring from an injury she sustained late last fall. Between aches and pains and the winter weather, she had not been out of our home since just before Christmas. She was determined, however, that she was going to make it to see the family. She had been close to her uncle during childhood.
Before the time came for the wake service, I still didn't know exactly what I was supposed to be doing; only that I was going to do something. And at the appropriate time, we prepared to leave to attend the wake, only to discover that the moment my wife put any shoes on her feet, she lost her sense of stability and couldn't move without pain and uncertainty. Not knowing what to do, and having no time to explore an alternative, I had to attend the wake alone. I know my wife was heartsick, and so was I. However, she was going to explore potential solutions and if anything was possible, she would contact me.
Contact me she did. A department store chain with a store in the area carried ballet-style slippers. Just enough of a sole to protect the feet from pebbles and such, but with the give she needed to have the near-barefoot feeling she had while walking about the house. I was able to find a pair in her size which did the trick. At least now she would be able to attend the Mass and see those in the family who would be there.
At the same time, I also discovered what it was I would do for the funeral. I would serve as a deacon at Mass, something I had not done in twelve years. I weighed on this for some time. I felt this was appropriate as my wife's uncle, a devout Catholic himself, had offered his home to us on the day I was ordained to celebrate the event. I would also lead prayers at the cemetery, which I'd done before.
Even though I knew what I was to do, and did it without difficulty, I have had this strange feeling of wandering around in something of a daze; it's been around since the wake Thursday night and still hasn't quite cleared up. Part of it can be rationalized away, I suppose. It's a busy time for me; I've had to step in and do more since my wife's injury which takes away from time spent on other intellectual pursuits (not complaining at all; it simply is). But there was something about vesting again after twelve years, something I can't put into words. For some reason, time is turning faster right now. Life in general, which had been more or less quiet, has become busy. I've not been able to sleep well for some time, but I manage to do what is needed. I have much over which to pray and often find myself unable to focus on prayer itself; this disturbs me a little. At the same time, my wife and I are still very much happy and in love with each other for who we are.
I sincerely hope and pray that whatever the destiny of my life is as I grow older, that I am granted the strength, perseverance, and love to endure it.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
When You Know A Child 'Gets It'
I've got to give credit to my autistic teenage son.
He may not come across as the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, there are times when my wife and I both wonder what planet he is on. (For that matter, we've shared that same question about ourselves in comparison to other people close to us.)
But God is able to work through him. Sometimes I think that this is the blessing in such an affliction; that the mind is unaffected by focus on mundane concerns so as to be 'in the moment' compassionately when others are in need. In spite of the hindrances I have placed on my son by being who I am, he still manages - and in a positive and enthusiastic way - to contribute to the needs of others. It's happened twice now in the last six months, and has me rethinking how much I should consider doing to support people doing charitable humanitarian works.
The first opportunity came up last September. A group of volunteers were sought at Cornerstone to spend a couple of hours packing food packages for the children of Haiti and other impoverished countries. My son saw this as an 'EVENT' of great magnitude and, as there was an opportunity for learning and for performing charitable service, I got us both signed up. He was happy, enthusiastic, and diligent throughout the session. When we got home he talked Mom's ear off attempting to explain his experiences. He hoped to do this again someday - we are keeping our eyes open for whenever that opportunity surfaces.
This past weekend while attending services at Cornerstone, he learned about the church's Mission of the Month. The organization, Nothing But Nets, is a cooperative effort between the United Nations Foundation, the National Basketball Association, Sports Illustrated magazine, and the United Methodist Church. The charity raises money to buy mosquito netting to provide to families in Africa who must sleep at night among the threat of malaria mosquitoes.
I watched the promotional video twice (since, as musicians, we participated in both scheduled worship services), looking for what might possibly have attracted my son's attention. Since the NBA is involved in the project, the 'nets' could have been symbolized by those used in basketball hoops. Only they weren't. As we're not full members of the congregation, I'm often unprepared to donate on the spot - but whenever there's a website involved, my son will lock that address in his brain until he can get to his computer to check it out.
He decided he wanted to send in a donation from the allowance he has been earning. Ordinarily the 'savings' build up until he has enough to buy the next video game he wants. Understanding that this would mean holding off a potential purchase until his next 'pay day' did not seem to phase him in the least. So today he and I took his investment and paid a donation to the charity.
In all of this, my son is being motivated to do something to help someone else. He's doing this because of his sporadic attendance (due to me) at Cornerstone, a place that seems to go out of its way to welcome people and minister to them, in spite of a massive debt due to a building expansion and at a crossroads due to the change in pastors last summer.
Up to now I have seen my participation at Cornerstone part of the wandering minstrel that I am. A missionary, as it were; or quite possibly a spiritual 'mugwump' - which, if you recall American history, is someone whose 'mug' sits on one side of a fence while his 'wump' sits on the other. My son's willingness to be even a small part of things has had me apologizing - more than once - that I am not necessarily a member of the congregation.
Three weeks ago, I was tapped by a colleague at the church, asking if I would consider volunteering my time to call other families in the congregation to do no more than raise awareness in prayer over the three-year capital pledge drive campaign that is beginning to move forward. I had to think about this seriously, and I prayed over it myself before deciding accept the invitation. In all of this I've come to understand that where it matters, my son and I are considered part of the family.
I don't have to wonder if God isn't at work in my life. All I have to do is witness the generosity of someone whom 99% of people I know could probably not consider at all. This is the work of love.
He may not come across as the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, there are times when my wife and I both wonder what planet he is on. (For that matter, we've shared that same question about ourselves in comparison to other people close to us.)
But God is able to work through him. Sometimes I think that this is the blessing in such an affliction; that the mind is unaffected by focus on mundane concerns so as to be 'in the moment' compassionately when others are in need. In spite of the hindrances I have placed on my son by being who I am, he still manages - and in a positive and enthusiastic way - to contribute to the needs of others. It's happened twice now in the last six months, and has me rethinking how much I should consider doing to support people doing charitable humanitarian works.
The first opportunity came up last September. A group of volunteers were sought at Cornerstone to spend a couple of hours packing food packages for the children of Haiti and other impoverished countries. My son saw this as an 'EVENT' of great magnitude and, as there was an opportunity for learning and for performing charitable service, I got us both signed up. He was happy, enthusiastic, and diligent throughout the session. When we got home he talked Mom's ear off attempting to explain his experiences. He hoped to do this again someday - we are keeping our eyes open for whenever that opportunity surfaces.
This past weekend while attending services at Cornerstone, he learned about the church's Mission of the Month. The organization, Nothing But Nets, is a cooperative effort between the United Nations Foundation, the National Basketball Association, Sports Illustrated magazine, and the United Methodist Church. The charity raises money to buy mosquito netting to provide to families in Africa who must sleep at night among the threat of malaria mosquitoes.
I watched the promotional video twice (since, as musicians, we participated in both scheduled worship services), looking for what might possibly have attracted my son's attention. Since the NBA is involved in the project, the 'nets' could have been symbolized by those used in basketball hoops. Only they weren't. As we're not full members of the congregation, I'm often unprepared to donate on the spot - but whenever there's a website involved, my son will lock that address in his brain until he can get to his computer to check it out.
He decided he wanted to send in a donation from the allowance he has been earning. Ordinarily the 'savings' build up until he has enough to buy the next video game he wants. Understanding that this would mean holding off a potential purchase until his next 'pay day' did not seem to phase him in the least. So today he and I took his investment and paid a donation to the charity.
In all of this, my son is being motivated to do something to help someone else. He's doing this because of his sporadic attendance (due to me) at Cornerstone, a place that seems to go out of its way to welcome people and minister to them, in spite of a massive debt due to a building expansion and at a crossroads due to the change in pastors last summer.
Up to now I have seen my participation at Cornerstone part of the wandering minstrel that I am. A missionary, as it were; or quite possibly a spiritual 'mugwump' - which, if you recall American history, is someone whose 'mug' sits on one side of a fence while his 'wump' sits on the other. My son's willingness to be even a small part of things has had me apologizing - more than once - that I am not necessarily a member of the congregation.
Three weeks ago, I was tapped by a colleague at the church, asking if I would consider volunteering my time to call other families in the congregation to do no more than raise awareness in prayer over the three-year capital pledge drive campaign that is beginning to move forward. I had to think about this seriously, and I prayed over it myself before deciding accept the invitation. In all of this I've come to understand that where it matters, my son and I are considered part of the family.
I don't have to wonder if God isn't at work in my life. All I have to do is witness the generosity of someone whom 99% of people I know could probably not consider at all. This is the work of love.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
It's Not Nice to Fool (Around With) Mother Nature
February 2, 2011
(Groundhog Day)
It's been quite some time - too long - since I blogged anything. I have a few reasons for my lack of presence:
And, there's nothing better to disrupt the routine than when God invites Mother Nature to remind us Earth-dwellers just who is still in charge.
As I write, I am on the backside of what people are calling "The Great Storm", "Snowmageddon", "Snowpocalypse", and "The (Groundhog Day) Blizzard of 2011." I noted this morning on my Facebook page that I had been invited to the "Blizzard" event, and I had even RSVP'd; but I later posted a status update, apologizing that I could not attend due to the 4-1/2 foot snow drifts keeping me inside my third-floor apartment.
My wife really dislikes all the hype that occurs "every time grey clouds come within 40 miles of Lake Michigan," as she puts it. Winter storm forecasting generally sends out warnings and advisories over a much larger area because, unlike rain, snow tends to hang around for awhile; and a shift of as little as 50 miles in the storm center's path determines whether you get snow, rain, or something in between that is even less liked than the snow.
What I sense is that all the pre-storm hype is geared to remind the more sheep-like among people is that Nature - and Nature's God - are to be feared, as we can never really fully control the elements. (At least not with any immediate consequence. We're only beginning to understand how we interact as part of Nature plays a significant role in how Nature behaves, but the impact isn't generally known for long periods of time.) That we have to be brought into line through fear perpetrated by "Snowstradamus" (a moniker I overheard the other day referring to some meteorologists) is a sign of how far away we still remain from the kind of relationship God wants with us. Of course, 60 mile-an-hour winds and driving snow moving horizontally outside your window will do that without a forecast. Notwithstanding, it is respect for Nature and our part in it is what God wants.
It's enough to have awakened in me the desire to put thoughts into words once more. Right or wrong, good or ...well, not as good, I find myself longing to tackle more than the trivialities of the calendar.
And that time I went and said goodbye
Now I'm back and not ashamed to cry
Oooh, baby, here I am
Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours
If you're reading this, I hope you'll stick around.
(Groundhog Day)
It's been quite some time - too long - since I blogged anything. I have a few reasons for my lack of presence:
- I've been working on a software implementation team. The project has taken much more time than anyone thought it would. It's in the semi-final stage of testing now. I have become the functional/navigational 'go-to' guy, and people at upper levels of management are taking notice.
- When I'm not working, I've had work around the house to keep me busy. While that in itself doesn't take a lot of time, I also tend to want to be present and available to attend to my wife and son. They come first.
- When I wrote at length a couple of years back, I had a lot to say. I seem to have run out of ideas. Some of the best times unfortunately come at times when I am least able to translate to sentences and paragraphs.
- To be honest, a certain degree of laziness has also crept in over time. I have nobody to blame.
And, there's nothing better to disrupt the routine than when God invites Mother Nature to remind us Earth-dwellers just who is still in charge.
As I write, I am on the backside of what people are calling "The Great Storm", "Snowmageddon", "Snowpocalypse", and "The (Groundhog Day) Blizzard of 2011." I noted this morning on my Facebook page that I had been invited to the "Blizzard" event, and I had even RSVP'd; but I later posted a status update, apologizing that I could not attend due to the 4-1/2 foot snow drifts keeping me inside my third-floor apartment.
My wife really dislikes all the hype that occurs "every time grey clouds come within 40 miles of Lake Michigan," as she puts it. Winter storm forecasting generally sends out warnings and advisories over a much larger area because, unlike rain, snow tends to hang around for awhile; and a shift of as little as 50 miles in the storm center's path determines whether you get snow, rain, or something in between that is even less liked than the snow.
What I sense is that all the pre-storm hype is geared to remind the more sheep-like among people is that Nature - and Nature's God - are to be feared, as we can never really fully control the elements. (At least not with any immediate consequence. We're only beginning to understand how we interact as part of Nature plays a significant role in how Nature behaves, but the impact isn't generally known for long periods of time.) That we have to be brought into line through fear perpetrated by "Snowstradamus" (a moniker I overheard the other day referring to some meteorologists) is a sign of how far away we still remain from the kind of relationship God wants with us. Of course, 60 mile-an-hour winds and driving snow moving horizontally outside your window will do that without a forecast. Notwithstanding, it is respect for Nature and our part in it is what God wants.
It's enough to have awakened in me the desire to put thoughts into words once more. Right or wrong, good or ...well, not as good, I find myself longing to tackle more than the trivialities of the calendar.
And that time I went and said goodbye
Now I'm back and not ashamed to cry
Oooh, baby, here I am
Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours
If you're reading this, I hope you'll stick around.
Monday, December 6, 2010
We Need A Little Christmas Now
The Feast of Saint Nicholas,
4th Century Bishop
Today's observance is one that should not be overlooked.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
The passage of time may have obscured his life into legend, but the most important thing to remember today is that Nicholas, the archetype of our present-day iconic Santa Claus, was indeed a real person who walked the earth.
Wilson's Almanac is an online reference source I use when it comes to the lesser observed celebrations of the Season of Light. Here we find the following - and I've included just a few 'tip of the iceberg' tidbits:
Nicholas (Nikolaus) (c. 270 - 345/352) became a Bishop of Myra in Lycia, Asia Minor (modern day Turkey) when quite young. Among Christians, he is known as the 'Wonderworker'. Several acts of kindness and miracles are attributed to him. He has always been a very popular saint: in England at least 372 churches are named in his honor.
Nicholas's early activities as a priest are said to have occurred during the reign of co-ruling Roman Emperors Diocletian (reigned 284 - 305) and Maximian (reigned 286 - 305) from which comes the estimation of his age. Diocletian issued an edict in 303 authorizing the systematic persecution of Christians across the Empire. Following the abdication of the two Emperors on May 1, 305, the policies of their successors towards Christians were different. In the Western part of the Empire, Constantius Chlorus (reigned 305 - 306) put an end to the systematic persecution upon receiving the throne. In the Eastern part, Galerius (reigned 305 - 311) continued the persecution until 311 when, from his deathbed, he issued a general edict of toleration. The persecution of 303 - 311 is considered to be the longest in the history of the Empire. Nicholas survived this period, although his activities at the time are uncertain. He was present at the Council of Nicaea (325) and it is said that he punched Arius on the jaw. (Arius was the promulgator of the Arian heresy, which was condemned during that council session.)
Enemy of the old religion
The destruction of several pagan temples is also attributed to him, among them one temple of Artemis (also known as Diana). Arguing that the celebration of Diana's birth is on December 6, some authors have speculated that this date was deliberately chosen for Nicholas's feast day to overshadow or replace the pagan celebrations.
Nicholas is also known for coming to the defence of the falsely accused, often preventing them from being executed, and for his prayers on behalf of sailors and other travellers. The popular worshipping of Nicholas as a saint seems to have started relatively early considering that Justinian I, Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire (reigned 527 - 565) is reported to have built a temple in Nicholas's honour in Constantinople, the Roman capital of the time.
But early in the reign of Alexius I Comnenus (reigned 1081 - 1118), Myra was overtaken by Islamic invaders. Taking advantage of the confusion, sailors from Bari, Italy, seized the remains of the saint over the objections of the Orthodox monks then caring for them. Returning to Bari they brought the remains with them on May 9, 1087. Some observers reported seeing myrrh exude from these relics, and 30 people were cured of diseases; ever since, the tomb of Nicholas has been a favorite of pilgrims.
He compelled thieves to restore some stolen goods to their owners, so became patron of thieves. Saint Nikolaus or St Nicholas is celebrated in several Western European countries. His reputation for gift giving comes partly from a story of three young women who were too poor to afford a dowry for their marriages:
Legend of the 3 dowries
A nobleman of Patara had three daughters; he was so poor he couldn't provide their dowries and they were going to have to go into prostitution. St Nick had inherited a large fortune, and he resolved to help, but secretly. As he went to their house at night, wondering how to do this, the moon came out from behind a cloud and lit up a window through which he threw a bag of gold, which fell at the girls' father's feet. This enable him to provide a dowry for his first daughter. The next night, St Nicholas threw another in, and thus procured a dowry for the second daughter. The father wanted to see the benefactor, so on the third night he saw St Nick coming and grabbed his cloak, saying "O Nicholas! servant of God! why seek to hide thyself?" The saint made him promise not to tell any one. From this came the custom on St Nicholas's eve of putting out presents for children. (This may also be where the custom of gifts placed in stockings originated.) For his helping the poor, St Nicholas is the patron saint of pawnbrokers; the three gold balls traditionally hung outside a pawnshop are symbolic of the three sacks of gold.
Legend of the evil innkeeper (The Pickled Boys)
A gentleman of Asia sent his two sons to Athens for education, and had them stop to see the holy Archbishop of Myra, St Nick. They stayed in an inn where the keeper chopped them up and salted them down like bacon. St Nick was warned of this in a terrible vision and went and charged the landlord with the crime. He confessed with contrition and asked the forgiveness of Heaven. Nick did this and also restored the boys. In art, St Nick is often shown next to a tub with naked children in it.
The leap between sainthood and legend, between Sinterklaas (as St. Nicholas is called in The Netherlands) and Santa Claus, should be celebrated as part of our accumulated tradition. It takes nothing away from the observance of Christmas, especially when we realize that Nicholas was indeed a real person, and he embodied that which we are called to do. Sadly, it is often those who believe it is a duty to "keep Christ in Christmas" who lament that Santa Claus is part of the problem that we deal with this time of year. On the contrary - the beloved Jolly One in the Red Suit belongs here as he's based on a real-life person who did many things to be light and peace, and comfort and joy to people who really needed it. Doesn't that reflect what Jesus did? Isn't that what we who profess to be Christian are supposed to do? (Okay, maybe taking out those who spread untruths and tearing down pagan temples is a bit beyond where we are. On the other hand, how strong a stand do we take when injustice is blatantly promoted by the high and mighty?)
Just make sure you check your shoes and socks before putting them on later today or tomorrow. There could be a surprise there for you.
4th Century Bishop
Today's observance is one that should not be overlooked.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
The passage of time may have obscured his life into legend, but the most important thing to remember today is that Nicholas, the archetype of our present-day iconic Santa Claus, was indeed a real person who walked the earth.
Wilson's Almanac is an online reference source I use when it comes to the lesser observed celebrations of the Season of Light. Here we find the following - and I've included just a few 'tip of the iceberg' tidbits:
Nicholas (Nikolaus) (c. 270 - 345/352) became a Bishop of Myra in Lycia, Asia Minor (modern day Turkey) when quite young. Among Christians, he is known as the 'Wonderworker'. Several acts of kindness and miracles are attributed to him. He has always been a very popular saint: in England at least 372 churches are named in his honor.
Nicholas's early activities as a priest are said to have occurred during the reign of co-ruling Roman Emperors Diocletian (reigned 284 - 305) and Maximian (reigned 286 - 305) from which comes the estimation of his age. Diocletian issued an edict in 303 authorizing the systematic persecution of Christians across the Empire. Following the abdication of the two Emperors on May 1, 305, the policies of their successors towards Christians were different. In the Western part of the Empire, Constantius Chlorus (reigned 305 - 306) put an end to the systematic persecution upon receiving the throne. In the Eastern part, Galerius (reigned 305 - 311) continued the persecution until 311 when, from his deathbed, he issued a general edict of toleration. The persecution of 303 - 311 is considered to be the longest in the history of the Empire. Nicholas survived this period, although his activities at the time are uncertain. He was present at the Council of Nicaea (325) and it is said that he punched Arius on the jaw. (Arius was the promulgator of the Arian heresy, which was condemned during that council session.)
Enemy of the old religion
The destruction of several pagan temples is also attributed to him, among them one temple of Artemis (also known as Diana). Arguing that the celebration of Diana's birth is on December 6, some authors have speculated that this date was deliberately chosen for Nicholas's feast day to overshadow or replace the pagan celebrations.
Nicholas is also known for coming to the defence of the falsely accused, often preventing them from being executed, and for his prayers on behalf of sailors and other travellers. The popular worshipping of Nicholas as a saint seems to have started relatively early considering that Justinian I, Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire (reigned 527 - 565) is reported to have built a temple in Nicholas's honour in Constantinople, the Roman capital of the time.
But early in the reign of Alexius I Comnenus (reigned 1081 - 1118), Myra was overtaken by Islamic invaders. Taking advantage of the confusion, sailors from Bari, Italy, seized the remains of the saint over the objections of the Orthodox monks then caring for them. Returning to Bari they brought the remains with them on May 9, 1087. Some observers reported seeing myrrh exude from these relics, and 30 people were cured of diseases; ever since, the tomb of Nicholas has been a favorite of pilgrims.
He compelled thieves to restore some stolen goods to their owners, so became patron of thieves. Saint Nikolaus or St Nicholas is celebrated in several Western European countries. His reputation for gift giving comes partly from a story of three young women who were too poor to afford a dowry for their marriages:
Legend of the 3 dowries
A nobleman of Patara had three daughters; he was so poor he couldn't provide their dowries and they were going to have to go into prostitution. St Nick had inherited a large fortune, and he resolved to help, but secretly. As he went to their house at night, wondering how to do this, the moon came out from behind a cloud and lit up a window through which he threw a bag of gold, which fell at the girls' father's feet. This enable him to provide a dowry for his first daughter. The next night, St Nicholas threw another in, and thus procured a dowry for the second daughter. The father wanted to see the benefactor, so on the third night he saw St Nick coming and grabbed his cloak, saying "O Nicholas! servant of God! why seek to hide thyself?" The saint made him promise not to tell any one. From this came the custom on St Nicholas's eve of putting out presents for children. (This may also be where the custom of gifts placed in stockings originated.) For his helping the poor, St Nicholas is the patron saint of pawnbrokers; the three gold balls traditionally hung outside a pawnshop are symbolic of the three sacks of gold.
Legend of the evil innkeeper (The Pickled Boys)
A gentleman of Asia sent his two sons to Athens for education, and had them stop to see the holy Archbishop of Myra, St Nick. They stayed in an inn where the keeper chopped them up and salted them down like bacon. St Nick was warned of this in a terrible vision and went and charged the landlord with the crime. He confessed with contrition and asked the forgiveness of Heaven. Nick did this and also restored the boys. In art, St Nick is often shown next to a tub with naked children in it.
The leap between sainthood and legend, between Sinterklaas (as St. Nicholas is called in The Netherlands) and Santa Claus, should be celebrated as part of our accumulated tradition. It takes nothing away from the observance of Christmas, especially when we realize that Nicholas was indeed a real person, and he embodied that which we are called to do. Sadly, it is often those who believe it is a duty to "keep Christ in Christmas" who lament that Santa Claus is part of the problem that we deal with this time of year. On the contrary - the beloved Jolly One in the Red Suit belongs here as he's based on a real-life person who did many things to be light and peace, and comfort and joy to people who really needed it. Doesn't that reflect what Jesus did? Isn't that what we who profess to be Christian are supposed to do? (Okay, maybe taking out those who spread untruths and tearing down pagan temples is a bit beyond where we are. On the other hand, how strong a stand do we take when injustice is blatantly promoted by the high and mighty?)
Just make sure you check your shoes and socks before putting them on later today or tomorrow. There could be a surprise there for you.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
People of Zion, Art Thou Fed Up With Gurnee Mills?
The Second Sunday of Advent
The Word:
Isaiah 30:15, 19-22 (Populos Sion)
Matthew 3:1-12 (The ministry of John the Baptist)
A song, for openers:
Scavengers and sycophants and flatterers and fools
Pharisees and parasites and hypocrites and ghouls
Calculating swindlers, prevaricating frauds
Perpetrating evil as they roam the earth in hordes
Feeding on their fellow men, reaping rich rewards
Contaminating everything they see
Corrupting honest me like me
Humbug! Poppycock! Balderdash! Bah!
I hate people! I hate people!
People are despicable creatures
Loathsome inexplicable creatures
Good-for-nothing kickable creatures
I hate people! I abhor them!
When I see the indolent classes
Sitting on their indolent asses
Gulping ale from indolent glasses
I hate people! I detest them! I deplore them!
Fools who have no money spend it
Get in debt then try to end it
Beg me on their knees befriend them
Knowing I have cash to lend them
Soft-hearted me! Hard-working me!
Clean-living, thrifty and kind as can be!
Situations like this are of interest to me
I hate people! I loathe people!
I despise and abominate people!
Life is full of cretinous wretches
Earning what their sweatiness fetches
Empty minds whose pettiness stretches
Further than I can see
Little wonder I hate people
And I don't care if they hate me!
If you recognize this lament as something Ebenezer Scrooge might have proclaimed, you're right - it's a lyric written by Leslie Bricusse which appeared in the 1969 film and musical adaptation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
Now just how does this tie in with today's passage from Isaiah, and the overall theme? Plenty.
In last week's post, inspired in part by my dear, loving wife, she referred to today as "people make me sick" Sunday. The holiday shopping season, now beginning its seventh week, and its second in high gear, is enough to make you wonder about our inner nature. For example, somewhere in these United States a Wal-Mart store advertised ham for sale, touting it as being "Great for Hanukkah." (I kid you not, the photo's cropped up on some of my friends' Facebook pages.) And even though Black Friday and Cyber Monday are behind us, there are still nineteen shopping days left with deals to be found and crowds with which to be dealt.
The Church really means for us to use this time to center our focus on the significance behind all the frenetic planning, but we are easily distracted. We need little help from the influence of retail outlets and their advertising; we're very easily distracted in the first place. I know this; boy how I do know this! Isaiah well understood this point as well, as he receives his words from God to the people of Zion (who live in Jerusalem):
For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel: By waiting and by calm you shall be saved, in quiet and in trust your strength lies. But this you did not wish. "No," you said, "Upon horses we will flee." --Very well, flee! "Upon swift steeds we will ride." --Not so swift as your pursuers.
Yet the LORD is waiting to show you favor, and he rises to pity you; For the LORD is a God of justice: blessed are all who wait for him!
O people of Zion, who dwell in Jerusalem, no more will you weep; He will be gracious to you when you cry out, as soon as he hears he will answer you. The Lord will give you the bread you need and the water for which you thirst. No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, while from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: "This is the way; walk in it," when you would turn to the right or to the left. And you shall consider unclean your silver-plated idols and your gold-covered images; You shall throw them away like filthy rags to which you say, "Begone!" (Isaiah 30:15-16, 18-22)
I'm not suggesting we do away with our holiday preparations. After all, the shopkeepers invest (or is it gamble?) heavily on decking their halls, as it were. But the focus is meant to be on the end, the goal; not the mechanics of the race to get there.
John the Baptist had his hands full where that was concerned.
John was the first prophet in roughly 400 years (although the Maccabean period roughly halfway through that drought would indicate that some were indeed listening to God in that time). John was nothing if not austere; living off the land of the desert, dressing in woven camel's hair, and surviving on a diet of locusts and wild honey. Not surprisingly, his zeal (of all the prophets of the Bible, John showed no sign of reluctance to bear the message) sustained him where his diet might not - I am quite certain John didn't have a weight problem.
This also meant John did not suffer fools gladly. Perhaps his message had an even greater sense of urgency. He was not afraid to tell it like it was. And this was much more the message than the present "Keep Christ in CHRISTmas" movement:
"Produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance. And do not presume to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you, God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones" (Matthew 3:8-9).
Many have fallen into the trap of believing that, as Christians, that the Christmas event is an exclusive property. It is not, was never meant to be so, and will never be so. Perhaps that's why so many traditions have blended together over the course of human history. This time is not meant exclusively for one group or another, but for the good of all. Lest our preparations lead us into the trap that shopping is but one more task to be endured, we have missed the point. We have missed out on what the Season of Advent and the Season of Light is about; to be light and peace, comfort and joy.
Today I offered this prayer:
God our Father, in your infinite love deliver us from the distractions that plague us, and grant us the peace and security which you alone can give. Protect us from all needless worry and anxiety, as we wait in joyful hope for the coming in glory of Emmanuel, your presence among us; for even now you are indeed among us, waiting for us even as we await your coming. Remain with us always...Amen.
The Word:
Isaiah 30:15, 19-22 (Populos Sion)
Matthew 3:1-12 (The ministry of John the Baptist)
A song, for openers:
Scavengers and sycophants and flatterers and fools
Pharisees and parasites and hypocrites and ghouls
Calculating swindlers, prevaricating frauds
Perpetrating evil as they roam the earth in hordes
Feeding on their fellow men, reaping rich rewards
Contaminating everything they see
Corrupting honest me like me
Humbug! Poppycock! Balderdash! Bah!
I hate people! I hate people!
People are despicable creatures
Loathsome inexplicable creatures
Good-for-nothing kickable creatures
I hate people! I abhor them!
When I see the indolent classes
Sitting on their indolent asses
Gulping ale from indolent glasses
I hate people! I detest them! I deplore them!
Fools who have no money spend it
Get in debt then try to end it
Beg me on their knees befriend them
Knowing I have cash to lend them
Soft-hearted me! Hard-working me!
Clean-living, thrifty and kind as can be!
Situations like this are of interest to me
I hate people! I loathe people!
I despise and abominate people!
Life is full of cretinous wretches
Earning what their sweatiness fetches
Empty minds whose pettiness stretches
Further than I can see
Little wonder I hate people
And I don't care if they hate me!
If you recognize this lament as something Ebenezer Scrooge might have proclaimed, you're right - it's a lyric written by Leslie Bricusse which appeared in the 1969 film and musical adaptation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol.
Now just how does this tie in with today's passage from Isaiah, and the overall theme? Plenty.
In last week's post, inspired in part by my dear, loving wife, she referred to today as "people make me sick" Sunday. The holiday shopping season, now beginning its seventh week, and its second in high gear, is enough to make you wonder about our inner nature. For example, somewhere in these United States a Wal-Mart store advertised ham for sale, touting it as being "Great for Hanukkah." (I kid you not, the photo's cropped up on some of my friends' Facebook pages.) And even though Black Friday and Cyber Monday are behind us, there are still nineteen shopping days left with deals to be found and crowds with which to be dealt.
The Church really means for us to use this time to center our focus on the significance behind all the frenetic planning, but we are easily distracted. We need little help from the influence of retail outlets and their advertising; we're very easily distracted in the first place. I know this; boy how I do know this! Isaiah well understood this point as well, as he receives his words from God to the people of Zion (who live in Jerusalem):
For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel: By waiting and by calm you shall be saved, in quiet and in trust your strength lies. But this you did not wish. "No," you said, "Upon horses we will flee." --Very well, flee! "Upon swift steeds we will ride." --Not so swift as your pursuers.
Yet the LORD is waiting to show you favor, and he rises to pity you; For the LORD is a God of justice: blessed are all who wait for him!
O people of Zion, who dwell in Jerusalem, no more will you weep; He will be gracious to you when you cry out, as soon as he hears he will answer you. The Lord will give you the bread you need and the water for which you thirst. No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, while from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: "This is the way; walk in it," when you would turn to the right or to the left. And you shall consider unclean your silver-plated idols and your gold-covered images; You shall throw them away like filthy rags to which you say, "Begone!" (Isaiah 30:15-16, 18-22)
I'm not suggesting we do away with our holiday preparations. After all, the shopkeepers invest (or is it gamble?) heavily on decking their halls, as it were. But the focus is meant to be on the end, the goal; not the mechanics of the race to get there.
John the Baptist had his hands full where that was concerned.
John was the first prophet in roughly 400 years (although the Maccabean period roughly halfway through that drought would indicate that some were indeed listening to God in that time). John was nothing if not austere; living off the land of the desert, dressing in woven camel's hair, and surviving on a diet of locusts and wild honey. Not surprisingly, his zeal (of all the prophets of the Bible, John showed no sign of reluctance to bear the message) sustained him where his diet might not - I am quite certain John didn't have a weight problem.
This also meant John did not suffer fools gladly. Perhaps his message had an even greater sense of urgency. He was not afraid to tell it like it was. And this was much more the message than the present "Keep Christ in CHRISTmas" movement:
"Produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance. And do not presume to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our father.' For I tell you, God can raise up children to Abraham from these stones" (Matthew 3:8-9).
Many have fallen into the trap of believing that, as Christians, that the Christmas event is an exclusive property. It is not, was never meant to be so, and will never be so. Perhaps that's why so many traditions have blended together over the course of human history. This time is not meant exclusively for one group or another, but for the good of all. Lest our preparations lead us into the trap that shopping is but one more task to be endured, we have missed the point. We have missed out on what the Season of Advent and the Season of Light is about; to be light and peace, comfort and joy.
Today I offered this prayer:
God our Father, in your infinite love deliver us from the distractions that plague us, and grant us the peace and security which you alone can give. Protect us from all needless worry and anxiety, as we wait in joyful hope for the coming in glory of Emmanuel, your presence among us; for even now you are indeed among us, waiting for us even as we await your coming. Remain with us always...Amen.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
What's This I Hear About Being Another Year Older?
Not to strut my stuff like a proud peacock (I've been known to do that), but today's my birthday! Let's hear it for me!
(smattering of hand-clapping among the chirping of crickets...Hey, I'll take that considering it's December, 28 degrees and snowing outside.)
Those among the readers who like me have their birthday fall in this Season of Light have yet another reason to celebrate. The older I get, and the more open I am to God's presence in and around me, the more I like this. Yet thanks be to God that I am still here and able to share what meager thoughts are in my head!
Some thoughts as I peruse the early round of well wishes on my Facebook page:
It's good to be alive and well, and not showing that much more the worse for wear at my age.
It's a blessing to have the ability to love who you are and what you do, and to be helpful to others.
It's a blessing, so the prayer goes, to stand in the presence of God (Who is everywhere) and praise Him in thanksgiving for the blessings above.
It's a challenge to look at the future. It's challenging to look around and know that my grandparents and many people I've known no longer walk in this world, and that my parents, my mother-in-law, and many of my contemporaries are struggling with concerns that might remain with them for the rest of their earthly life. I too struggle with the consequences of decisions I've made when I was younger and more full of myself than I was with others and with God. But I know that this too is a blessing. As time draws me inevitably closer to my appointment with the hereafter, I take the position that God is directing me toward those places and people I need to be among.
I give you, the reader, a gift of hope today. It comes in the form of an 18th Century hymn; and the story behind its composition could be likened to a setting in that time and place of It's A Wonderful Life.
The British hymnist William Cowper (1731-1800) wrote a total of 67 works over the course of his life. He was a contemporary of John Newton, the writer of Amazing Grace, penned after a stunning personal conversion experience. Cowper, whose father was chaplain to King George II, went through the motions of becoming an attorney, but never practiced law. He often struggled with depression and doubt. One night he decided to commit suicide by drowning himself. He called a cab and told the driver to take him to the Thames River. However, thick fog came down and prevented them from finding the river (another version of the story has the driver getting lost deliberately). After driving around lost for a while, the cabbie finally stopped and let Cowper out. To Cowper’s surprise, he found himself on his own doorstep: God had sent the fog to keep him from killing himself. Even in our blackest moments, God watches over us. This experience is reflected in the following text, reportedly the last hymn Cowper wrote.
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
O fearful saint(s), fresh courage take;
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.
AMEN!!!
(smattering of hand-clapping among the chirping of crickets...Hey, I'll take that considering it's December, 28 degrees and snowing outside.)
Those among the readers who like me have their birthday fall in this Season of Light have yet another reason to celebrate. The older I get, and the more open I am to God's presence in and around me, the more I like this. Yet thanks be to God that I am still here and able to share what meager thoughts are in my head!
Some thoughts as I peruse the early round of well wishes on my Facebook page:
It's good to be alive and well, and not showing that much more the worse for wear at my age.
It's a blessing to have the ability to love who you are and what you do, and to be helpful to others.
It's a blessing, so the prayer goes, to stand in the presence of God (Who is everywhere) and praise Him in thanksgiving for the blessings above.
It's a challenge to look at the future. It's challenging to look around and know that my grandparents and many people I've known no longer walk in this world, and that my parents, my mother-in-law, and many of my contemporaries are struggling with concerns that might remain with them for the rest of their earthly life. I too struggle with the consequences of decisions I've made when I was younger and more full of myself than I was with others and with God. But I know that this too is a blessing. As time draws me inevitably closer to my appointment with the hereafter, I take the position that God is directing me toward those places and people I need to be among.
I give you, the reader, a gift of hope today. It comes in the form of an 18th Century hymn; and the story behind its composition could be likened to a setting in that time and place of It's A Wonderful Life.
The British hymnist William Cowper (1731-1800) wrote a total of 67 works over the course of his life. He was a contemporary of John Newton, the writer of Amazing Grace, penned after a stunning personal conversion experience. Cowper, whose father was chaplain to King George II, went through the motions of becoming an attorney, but never practiced law. He often struggled with depression and doubt. One night he decided to commit suicide by drowning himself. He called a cab and told the driver to take him to the Thames River. However, thick fog came down and prevented them from finding the river (another version of the story has the driver getting lost deliberately). After driving around lost for a while, the cabbie finally stopped and let Cowper out. To Cowper’s surprise, he found himself on his own doorstep: God had sent the fog to keep him from killing himself. Even in our blackest moments, God watches over us. This experience is reflected in the following text, reportedly the last hymn Cowper wrote.
God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
O fearful saint(s), fresh courage take;
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.
AMEN!!!
You Light Up My Life
(Hanukkah, not the Debby Boone song)
I've had quite the busy work week, so this post is a tad late. However, the Jewish Festival of Lights is eight days long, so...
To set the record straight, there is a biblical reference to this major event in my Season of Light. The two Books of Maccabees (apocryphal) introduce this festival, first observed "on the 25th day of the ninth month; that is, the month of Chislev, in the year 148" (1 Macc 4:52, which recalculates in our present calendar system to 165 BCE).
The original festival was to rededicate the (Second) Temple in Jerusalem, which had been desecrated by the forces of the King of Syria Antiochus IV Epiphanes and commemorates the "miracle of the container of oil". According to the Talmud, at the re-dedication following the victory of the Maccabees over the Seleucid Empire, there was only enough consecrated olive oil to fuel the eternal flame in the Temple for one day. Miraculously, the oil burned for eight days, which was the length of time it took to press, prepare and consecrate fresh olive oil.
Perhaps the most central figure in the Books of Maccabees is Judas Maccabeus, who is neither king nor priest (he is the son of the high priest Mattathias), but a military leader, and likely the last heroic figure of the Old Testament. Indeed, this is the last historical event we can place with any accuracy before the events surrounding the nativity of Jesus.
The observance of this festival, however, is not the only thing by which Judas Maccabeus should be remembered. As the son of a high priest, he was gifted with a keen sense of knowing how to fight for a righteous cause, and for remembering the fallen in the aftermath of war (2 Macc 12:39-46). Specifically:
Turning to supplication, they prayed that the sinful deed might be fully blotted out. The noble Judas warned the soldiers to keep themselves free from sin, for they had seen with their own eyes what had happened because of the sin of those who had fallen. He then took up a collection among all his soldiers, amounting to two thousand silver drachmas, which he sent to Jerusalem to provide for an expiatory sacrifice. In doing this he acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection of the dead in view; for if he were not expecting the fallen to rise again, it would have been useless and foolish to pray for them in death. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be freed from this sin. (2 Maccabees 12:42-46, New American Bible)
This is significant because it represents a paradigm shift in theology. The resurrection of the dead had not been mentioned so directly before now. It was hinted at in the writings of the prophets, but this indicates that those writings had gained acceptance. This has in turn been handed down to posterity, with the hope that goes with it.
The candles of the Hanukkah menorah represent those eight days when the light of the Temple sanctuary was in peril of being extinguished, and the miracle that it didn't. It also prefigures the light of Christ, the Morning Star which will never set. And they are also lights of hope; hope for a deeper sense of compassion, joy, and peace. May this light be aflame in our hearts and never be extinguished.
I've had quite the busy work week, so this post is a tad late. However, the Jewish Festival of Lights is eight days long, so...
To set the record straight, there is a biblical reference to this major event in my Season of Light. The two Books of Maccabees (apocryphal) introduce this festival, first observed "on the 25th day of the ninth month; that is, the month of Chislev, in the year 148" (1 Macc 4:52, which recalculates in our present calendar system to 165 BCE).
The original festival was to rededicate the (Second) Temple in Jerusalem, which had been desecrated by the forces of the King of Syria Antiochus IV Epiphanes and commemorates the "miracle of the container of oil". According to the Talmud, at the re-dedication following the victory of the Maccabees over the Seleucid Empire, there was only enough consecrated olive oil to fuel the eternal flame in the Temple for one day. Miraculously, the oil burned for eight days, which was the length of time it took to press, prepare and consecrate fresh olive oil.
Perhaps the most central figure in the Books of Maccabees is Judas Maccabeus, who is neither king nor priest (he is the son of the high priest Mattathias), but a military leader, and likely the last heroic figure of the Old Testament. Indeed, this is the last historical event we can place with any accuracy before the events surrounding the nativity of Jesus.
The observance of this festival, however, is not the only thing by which Judas Maccabeus should be remembered. As the son of a high priest, he was gifted with a keen sense of knowing how to fight for a righteous cause, and for remembering the fallen in the aftermath of war (2 Macc 12:39-46). Specifically:
Turning to supplication, they prayed that the sinful deed might be fully blotted out. The noble Judas warned the soldiers to keep themselves free from sin, for they had seen with their own eyes what had happened because of the sin of those who had fallen. He then took up a collection among all his soldiers, amounting to two thousand silver drachmas, which he sent to Jerusalem to provide for an expiatory sacrifice. In doing this he acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection of the dead in view; for if he were not expecting the fallen to rise again, it would have been useless and foolish to pray for them in death. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be freed from this sin. (2 Maccabees 12:42-46, New American Bible)
This is significant because it represents a paradigm shift in theology. The resurrection of the dead had not been mentioned so directly before now. It was hinted at in the writings of the prophets, but this indicates that those writings had gained acceptance. This has in turn been handed down to posterity, with the hope that goes with it.
The candles of the Hanukkah menorah represent those eight days when the light of the Temple sanctuary was in peril of being extinguished, and the miracle that it didn't. It also prefigures the light of Christ, the Morning Star which will never set. And they are also lights of hope; hope for a deeper sense of compassion, joy, and peace. May this light be aflame in our hearts and never be extinguished.
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