Fog

There was a pleasant surprise awaiting me outside the other morning. I didn’t look out the windows right away because I had things that had to be taken care of first, but when I did there was some fog! Granted, it was not a thick fog, not really much fog at all, but the fact that there was any fog was a real pleasure. I was glad I didn’t have to drive anywhere. Arizonans are not always noted for their weather sense. The fog was just another reason to keep going as fast as possible to outrun it.

Fog is very uncommon in this part of Arizona. I’ve only seen it maybe half a dozen times in the 38 years or so that I’ve lived here. I remember we had fog back home, and it was nice when we didn’t have to be out fighting traffic. There’s something peaceful about fog; it seems to wrap itself around something or, as the Carl Sandburg said, “… comes on little cat feet.”* That is one of the most accurate lines of poetry I have ever heard.

I remember when I worked in San Francisco. We rode the bus from the town I was living in into the city every morning. Quite often in the morning, we would get to the top of the Waldo Grade, and there would be banks of clouds with only the tops of the tallest buildings and the and the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge rising from these billowing clouds. It was so beautiful that it was almost ethereal. It was like a floating city, even though I knew that there were quite a few floors of those buildings beneath and among the clouds.

Fog can be a menace. It prevents us from seeing things too far away. We can only see a short distance in front, and that phenomenon disturbs a lot of people. They want to see what’s ahead of them and allow time to make plans for how to adjust or react. It is impossible with fog; we take what we are given, which is anywhere from 3 to 10 feet in front of us, maybe more. It’s like pushing our way through cotton balls. Still, if we take care, we can make our way through it.

I know I’ve experienced a kind of brain fog when in shock from something like an accident or sudden death. I know that I see the world clearly because my glasses are not blurred, but my brain is. My mind also jumps frantically trying to find a clear path, but the fog won’t allow it. Some might call it a lack of faith, but I don’t think it is. It’s possibly my brain trying to protect me from something I’m not ready to handle, something that has nothing at all to do with my faith and everything to do with how my life is going. With time, however, the fog gently lifts, the brain starts functioning normally again, and I think I’ve been grateful for the cushion that the fog gave me at a time when my brain surrounded itself with cotton balls to protect it until I was ready to meet whatever the situation was.

There have also been many times when I read the Bible in kind of a fog. I want it to make crystal clear sense, but I’m not always sure where that sense can be found. The teachings of Jesus are reasonably clear, but what cultural twists are there in those teachings of which I am unaware? What contextual things am I missing when I read? A course of study in cultural and biblical anthropology was quite helpful in showing me some things that I hadn’t really considered. I’m richer for having had that exposure, but I don’t know everything, so there’s still some foggy spots.

Somehow I think about the road to Emmaus. In my mind’s eye, I see people walking on the road, including two people who had just come from Jerusalem after the crucifixion of Jesus and his resurrection. They are still stunned and fogged by the thought of losing the master, but what of the stories of him rising from the dead and being seen by the disciples and the Mary’s? Could they really, honestly trust in what they had heard? Then, when they were joined by a single gentleman also traveling that way, they could talk about it among themselves because the stranger had asked for enlightenment as to why they look so sad. The fog for them lifted when they sat down to dinner in Emmaus, and Jesus blessed the bread and wine. The fog utterly dissipated and they realized who was there with them and yes, the stories that they had heard were absolutely true.

In times of personal fog, I keep waiting for Jesus to appear and wipe away the blur. Sometimes it doesn’t take long; sometimes it might take months, depending on the depth of the trauma and the remembering to breathe before taking one small step at a time. Also, I still have to trust that I will make it through the fog. Jesus is good for that. He only asks that I trust him, even if it’s not 100% trust. Even a baby step will bring him closer and able to wipe the fog away.

I can’t say I like having my brain fogged. It’s like waking up from surgery and wondering where I am, or getting up in the morning and wondering what I’m supposed to do that day. The fog outside the window I like, fog of the brain I don’t, but both are things that can help me find God and deepen my trust because in the mist I am alone until I remember to invite God in. God is just waiting for that invitation because God’s been there the whole time just waiting for me to ask.

This week I think I will remember the feeling of being in a fog, and then practice trusting myself and the Trinity. The three bases are covered, all I have to do is hit the ball and start running.

God bless.

    *Fog by Carl Sandburg, found at www.poetryfoundation.org/poems.
     

l    Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on http://www.episcopalcafe.com, Saturday, January 26, 2019.
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Old Year, New Year

The new year has begun. I admit to wondering what this new year is going to bring. Last year was bad enough, could this year be worse? Could it be better? Could it be just a repeat of the old year?

We expect New Year’s to give us a new start. We hope that it will be a good start, but many times it isn’t. Loved ones who have celebrated Christmas with us suddenly die soon after New Year’s is over. Crises that we have experienced in life don’t stop at 11:59 PM on December 31 and at 12:00 AM everything is swept clean. Usually, it feels like it’s just more of the same, or at least that’s our perception of it.

Today we commemorate three medieval mystics and writers that aren’t the most commonly heard of or read. Richard Rolle, who lived between 1290 and 1349, was English as were the other two mystics. Rolle wrote religious texts, translated the Bible, and was a hermit. He was also a mystic, and people of his time read or heard his books and used them as guides on how to be closer to God.

The second man, Walter Hilton, was born in 1340 and died on March 24, 1396. His writings were widely read during the 15^th century and were considered guidebooks for a spiritual journey to Jerusalem.

The third is Marjorie Kempe, who was born around 1373 and died sometime after 1438. Her writings or dictations were mostly concerned with her spiritual journeys around England and the continent. She reported that she met with Julian of Norwich and Julian accepted that Marjorie’s visions and her profound spells of weeping were manifestations of the Holy Spirit.

Oddly enough, people still read the writings of these three, even though they are centuries old, and are sometimes difficult to understand. However, people still look to them for guidance in getting closer to God.

It seems that not everything old should be put by the wayside and only the new or the contemporary should be accepted. We look at the stories of Jesus which are over 2000 years old. Even though these stories are written down after Jesus’s death, we still read them for spiritual guidance on how to live a Christian life. We look at stories such as the one for today about Jesus eating with the tax collectors, and we translate it into a context that we understand. The tax collectors were considered traitors and thieves who made their money by overcharging those who owed taxes. They were a very unpopular group. Today we would see those as probably the homeless, or those living in extreme poverty, or even people who just aren’t like us. There are people we wouldn’t share a table or a bus seat with, or even a neighborhood. We build walls to keep those people out. That’s nothing new; humankind has been doing that since the dawn of time. The only thing that’s changed is which groups are being blocked and which are being allowed through.

So where my going with this? I’m asking for myself because it seems to be rolling around in my head that there are things that are old, that I feel are important, and there are many new things that I think are essential as well. When I read a translation of the book of Marjorie Kempe, most of the time I wanted to shake the woman and tell her to quit making such a ruckus in public places with her wild outbursts of crying. Her tears were a reaction to feeling the suffering of Jesus which was strongly emphasized at that time. I couldn’t take a steady diet of Marjorie Kempe as a mystical example, but I can read her as well as other mystics and learn from them just as surely as I can from modern writers like Bishop Charleston or Joan Chittester. They use old stories and make them seem new. Their use of ancient traditions as guides to forming new ones help us to understand the concepts we need to learn and practice.

I’ve been dreading this new year. So far I haven’t been disappointed. It seems to be picking up right where the old year left off, and that’s not what I was hoping would happen. But as the old saying goes Rome wasn’t built in a day, and change for the better certainly hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps it will just take time, that and work on behalf of those who were excluded it Jesus’s time and who are excluded now. It isn’t going to get done unless we do it, and that means speaking, actually working to make the world aware that old problems are not solved without everyone understanding what’s at stake. Hopefully, we will learn in this new year that we are the change that God wants us to be

So in this new year, I guess it’s time to look at the old, to take the important things that we find there and moved with them into new settings, new words, and new understandings. Still, we should treasure the old because we are people of tradition, and we should appreciate that which has gone before us as well as what is going with us now. Maybe New Year’s is a good time to consider that.

With hope, trust, and work, we can make a difference in the world.  It’s an old dream renewed.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, January 12, 2019.

Windows

I admit to being a binge watcher on television. I find a show I like, and I watch it from one end to the other and, quite often, start back over again and do the same thing. Usually, I watch something else for a while and then return to an earlier binge just because I liked the show so much. Sometimes two or three viewings is enough; sometimes it isn’t. Once I find a show that I do like, however, I want to see it again. I’m glad Netflix and Amazon both offer me the opportunity to do that.

My latest binge is The Crown. Okay, I realize it’s two seasons old already with the third season coming up. I watched the first couple of episodes some months ago and just didn’t like it, yet,  the other day I needed something new, and so I started watching the first season again. It was a little rough going for one episode or so, but then I got hooked. I just finished season two, and I’m ready to watch it again.

Royal things fascinate me; they have since I was a little kid. I remember pouring over the National Geographic that came out featuring pictures of the coronation, the crown jewels, and and the whole shebang. It fascinated me, and it hasn’t stopped. I read biographies and just about anything else I can find, and feel like I know the royal family fairly well for somebody who has never been closer to England than postcards and souvenirs from friends and folks who have. I realize that The Crown is a work of docu-fiction--part truth, part fiction--but I still think there are a few things that I can take away from this particular production.

There were several things I noticed about the actor portraying the Queen. She’s no Helen Mirren, but she is credible in the part. I also saw that she spends a lot of time looking out of windows, no matter where she is. She looks out of windows to see who’s driving up to the castle/palace/wherever she is. She looks out when she’s thinking. She looks out when she’s distressed, and sometimes perhaps she merely likes the view. The thing is that she looks out of windows just like we all do.

I have several windows that I like to look out of in my house. There are two in the bay window where I can see the mulberry tree on the one corner of the house and watch it through its various seasons. I can watch the leaves flutter in the breeze, and I can watch them burst out of their buds, grow,  and then fall. I can watch the kids riding their bicycles up and down the street; then I can watch hummingbirds coming to swill the nectar from the cape honeysuckle on the other corner. I look at them to see what’s going on, sometimes to think, and sometimes just as a focus to let my mind roam were it will or needs to go.

Windows in churches are lovely things. Growing up in churches that had plain glass, there was always something to look at when sermon sometimes got a little boring, or just because it was something that pleased my eye. When I got into churches that had stained-glass, the more intricate, the better, and the happier I was. The light coming through the windows during the day and going out the windows when the candle or electric lights were on at night were beautiful; they had so many colors and so many designs, it was like an almost never-ending feast.

The windows, especially the stained glass ones, were not always illustrating Bible stories, or stories of the saints, or events commemorated by a family who donated the money for some kind of imagery of their family crest, illustrious ancestor, commemoration, or their businesses. I keep going back to the idea that the light comes in and then goes back out as the day turns to night. I think that’s really exemplary of how we need to see the church, not necessarily in terms of ornamentation but where the light goes. We go into a church in the daytime, and we see the light coming in from one place or another, with the colors deepening and glowing as it does. It gives us something beautiful to look at, it provides us with a story or merely a shape to focus on and reflect upon, and it turns even the colorful clothing of the parishioners into richly-colored garb. At night, like on Christmas Eve, we leave the church and go back out into the world, but even though it’s dark outside, we don’t lose the light because it follows us out and shines through the darkness so that we can still see it a long way away.

That’s what we’re supposed to be. Jesus said he was the light of the world, and we take him at his word. Still, he expects us to be candles that may not be huge, but are still lights in the world.

Lights in the window indicate a welcome home and a light to shine in the darkness to guide people. We need to be windows with candles inside. As Christians we need to obey Jesus, to spread the good news, and that means to be joyful, to be eager, and to be welcoming.

Sometimes windows get grimy, but almost always they can be cleaned so that the world looks clearer through them and the candlelight and color can shine brighter. That’s a thought I think I’d better take with me this week. Windows are not just to peer out of but to invite others in.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, January 19, 2019.

Epiphany - A Day and a Season

Today we celebrate the feast of the Epiphany, the appearance of the wise men to the Holy Family, bringing them gifts from far away. It is a familiar story, and one often added to church Christmas pageants, although some churches will stretch it out and present that portion of the nativity play on the Sunday closest to January 6.

The creche is usually in its place although other trappings of Christmas ornamentation may be gone. The figures of the kings have frequently been placed some distance away from the creche,  and every day or every Sunday they are moved closer until on January 6 they appear at the manger to offer their gifts.

Some things bring questions to my mind, such as how many magi were there? The Bible story doesn’t specify, and, after all, how important is it? We are told that they brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh, three gifts but not necessarily how many presenters there were.

Another thing is that since these magi, wise men, kings, or astrologers came from far away, did they show up between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day or even a day or two later? Maybe as much as a year or so? Could it have been that they found the Holy Family somewhere else other than Bethlehem? Does that really matter either? Probably not.

Where they kings? The term often used for them is magi. There often called wise men in some Christian traditions. There also referred to as kings, which may or may not have been the proper term, but their strange and exotic appearance would undoubtedly give the locals an idea that these were royal personages. Also, we don’t know how many retainers and companions and the like that came with the magi. It could have been quite a caravan, which would further instill in the minds of the locals that these were kings. Most probably they were astrologers who read stars and who interpreted the events of the future through their readings. However it was, over the centuries we have ended up with three kings following a celestial event that was very unusual and deserved investigation.

We are told that on their journey to the Holy Family, they stopped at Herod’s palace in Jerusalem to ask where they could find the child who was born King of the Jews. Herod would hardly have liked hearing about that since he considered himself King with the approval of the Romans, and so he would have questioned them about how they had come to Jerusalem and how they had known of this birth that Herod was unaware of. The magi told of a star that they had been following and then Herod decided to be cagey. 

“Tell me where to find him,” said Herod. “I would like to come and worship him.”

The Kings resumed their journey and ended up with the Holy Family. Having accomplished their task, they were warned by an angel to go another way back home because Herod wanted to kill the boy. Being wise men, they took the word of the angel and never returned to Jerusalem.

We know what happens after the kings departed because we see the story of Herod’s command for the extermination of all Jewish boy children under the age of two years. That surely should get rid of the problem Herod had with a potential rival. Mary, Joseph, and Jesus fled to Egypt, and undoubtedly the gold, frankincense, and myrrh help them along the way. Now whether that part happened within a few days of the magi’s departure or months or maybe a year later, we don’t know. We merely recognize that there was a tragic result of the wise men asking directions.

Epiphany is also a season that leads up to Ash Wednesday and Lent. I love the word epiphany because it has a meaning over and above a specific day that is part of the Christian calendar.

An epiphany is one of those moments that make you want to go “Wow!” It is a lightbulb moment, one of those times when something suddenly shifts in the thinking, and a new understanding comes in for inspection. It’s an amazing moment and one that encourages us to see the world in new ways.

I can’t plan an epiphany, but I learned that they could happen at any time, anywhere, and about almost anything. It’s a joyful moment, and it’s a discovery that changes my perceptions.

Just as the wise men had their epiphany when they saw the star and then followed it to the baby Jesus,  It was a change in their thinking, I like to look for these little flashes during the Epiphany season, but I find they come when they come, not when they are demanded or even expected. It can be as simple as looking at a poor person pushing a grocery cart full of boxes and tatters of clothing and blankets on the city streets and realizing that could be Jesus. It’s as simple as, “Why didn’t I think of that before?” I probably didn’t think of it because the situation wasn’t ready or right for me to have that shift in the way I saw things.

At any rate, I’m looking forward to this Epiphany season, not expecting any great flashes of light, but instead being alert to some new thought or some new insight that will make me see something in a new way.

I invite you to experience small epiphanies this season. Be open, because at some time, when least expected, that little lightbulb will come on. Just be awake and aware.

God bless.

PS.  For our Orthodox brothers and sisters, Blessed Christmas to you!

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Sunday, January 6, 2019.

Twelfth Night

It’s hard to believe it’s 2019 already. Christmas came and went too fast, even though we are still in the Christmas season, at least for today. Most of the Christmas lights and decorations have been taken down around the neighborhood, but my tree stays up — at least until tomorrow.

I was interested in learning that January fifth or sixth could be considered Twelfth Night, the twelfth day of Christmas, depending on when you start the countdown. If Christmas Day is the first day of Christmas, then Twelfth Night appears on the fifth like it does tonight. If Boxing Day, or the feast of St. Stephen, occurs on 26 December, then Twelfth Night comes on the sixth. Mostly, however, it seems that if it’s celebrated, it’s usually on the night before Epiphany. The last night of Christmas becomes the last hurrah of the Christmas celebration and a bit of transition to the season of Epiphany.

Twelfth Night has been celebrated for hundreds of years. It was a celebration of food, wine, hijinks, and cake. The King cake, which is one of its names, is an old tradition. The cake is sometimes a rather dense one with fruit and molasses or treacle and honey among other things, or a lighter brioche-type that is frosted or drizzled with frosting. In either type, a bean is hidden, and sometimes a pea may be added.  The King cake is cut and served, and the man who finds the bean is considered King of the festival, or, in some traditions, the Lord of Misrule. The lady who discovers the pea is crowned Queen. The Twelfth Night royalty can suggest songs to sing, games to be played, hijinks to be performed, and the like. In a sense, it’s a little bit like Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras. The King cake on Mardi Gras however usually contains a small figure of the Christ child. Still, both are evenings of merriment before the solemn feast of the Three Kings, or, in the case of Mardi Gras, Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent.

But why would Christians celebrate Twelfth Night? There’s certainly nothing about it in the Bible, per se, except we celebrate it in commemoration of the coming of the three wise men (or however many there were) to find the baby Jesus. We don’t know precisely when the wise men came, how many there were, or even where they found the family. Still, like Christmas, somewhere between the evening before Christmas or Epiphany and the next evening, something happened that is cause for celebration.

I think that perhaps Twelfth Night is something to remind us to have fun. Just because Christmas is coming to an end, the Christmas season anyway, isn’t a reason to be gloomy, dour, or unhappy. It’s an opportunity to enjoy the company of family and friends, and to do things together, creating laughter and joy, even though it’s time for the greens and the trees to come down and to begin the new year.

Many people become somewhat depressed this time of year. There’s still a lot of darkness, and, coming home from work or basketball practice at school or evening events, it’s dark out, and quite often cold. That’s hard on people, especially people who suffer from a condition that makes life difficult because of the darkness. I know it at least two people who have this condition, and even after days and days of sunshine in Arizona, a partly cloudy morning will render them gloomy and out-of-sorts.

For some of us there is another form of depression, sometimes so deep it makes it almost impossible to do anything. For others, it requires effort to get through the day normally. Situational depression at this time of year can be caused by the loss of family members or loved ones who seem to have made it through the Christmas season but who just drifted away after the new year. It’s as if they wanted one more celebration, one more family get together, and then they could go in peace.

 Twelfth Night is the last hurrah of Christmas. That’s not to say we can’t carry Christmas with us all year. It would be lovely if we could or would. It would be lovely if we thought about those two suffer through the remains of winter and into spring from whatever cause. It would be lovely if we remembered to donate regularly to food banks and charities that often are deluged at Christmas but forgotten for most of the rest of the year. People are homeless, hungry, sick, and hopeless all year round. The Twelfth Night should remind us that there’s joy in giving, just as surely as we are reminded of the gifts of the wise men tomorrow as we celebrate.

I think tonight I may not have the King cake. I doubt if the cats would fall into playing games or getting into any organized shenanigans (they are quite capable of thinking up things on their own, it seems), or even wine drinking and feasting. But still, even though the tree with its colored lights may come down tomorrow, there’s this evening to enjoy the glitter and glow, and the knowledge that for one more night, it’s still Christmas.

Happy Twelfth Night. Enjoy!

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Caf é Saturday, January 5, 2019.

Continuing Christmas

Merry Christmas!

Since it is now after December 25, we are officially in the Christmas season. You might not know it from the stores since they're already displaying Valentine's day paraphernalia and even a bit of Saint Patrick, but we as Anglicans, Episcopalians, Roman Catholics, and others, are in the season of Christmas that lasts until 6 January, the feast of the Epiphany.

Gone are the Christmas carols from the radio although, thank God, there are still CDs and YouTubes that we can listen to. We hear the progressing Christmas story in church, and we're still watching the kids play with their new toys and enjoying the Christmas tree. It’s a nice time of year.

This year Christmas has been tinged with worry and concern and fear. The stock market went down like a rocket just last week, the government shutdown has frightened many people who have money invested, and the government shutdown, even partial, causes problems for those who depend on government services. We still have refugees on our borders begging to come in, but who are detained or turned back. Two children, separated from their parents by immigration, have died without their parents to hold them or to fight for their health and safety. It’s a lot to take in, and it makes for a very sad run-up to Christmas which supposed to be joyous and happy. It probably was joyous for most of us, but for others, it hasn’t been a happy Christmas.

In the Christmas story, it probably wasn’t a happy time for Mary and Joseph as they journeyed the miles to Bethlehem. Having been pregnant myself, I can only wonder that Mary could have borne such a journey on donkey-back or foot at a time so close to her delivery date. When they arrived, they found that there was no room for them in the inn, as the story tells us. Whether or not that is the way it happened, who knows? They could have had a space that was reserved for animals attached to that a house, or a spare room in the home of a relative, or any one of many possibilities. All we know is what the Gospels tell us, and, like news today, Bible stories can be slanted in favor of one opinion or belief over another. The Gospel stories were written by different authors for various groups of people, and so they differ even as three of them are very like in content.

We are still singing Christmas carols it at church, and still are wishing people Merry Christmas, although wishes for a happy new year are coming up quickly. The greens and the poinsettias are gradually disappearing, but for many of us, the trees remain, the vestments and paraments are still white and gold, and we’re still rejoicing. That’s a good thing. Meanwhile, we hear the Christmas story with one eye on the news, and we wonder how far have we come with our reactions to that story and how we relate to it. How our actions guided by what we believe about that story?

As we continue to celebrate Christmas, we still have the opportunity to do things that perhaps we just didn’t have time for before the holiday began. Did we intend to contribute to a worthy charity, or help in a food bank, or supply gently used clothing and shoes to places where the less fortunate could obtain them? It’s not a matter of it’s time to do the housekeeping and clean out the closets; it is an opportunity to extend Christmas and the spirit of giving a little while longer. Just because Christmas Day is over for many of us, doesn’t mean that people aren’t still hungry, still needing warmer clothes or even toys for the children. I can’t think of anything sadder than a child for whom Christmas is just another day, wondering if there will be enough to eat, a dry blanket, or something to play with. They exist, in the homeless communities, in the slums, and other places where often the most miserable people are forced to call home. Jesus certainly didn’t get new toys. Mary and Joseph didn’t get each other expensive or romantic gifts unless you count the mutual love they both had for this miracle child. Families today don’t always have that opportunity either.

I can’t give up on Christmas yet.  There’s still stuff to do, stuff that continues even after the Christmas season yields to Epiphahytide and beyond. I think I need Christmas to remind me that all year, even without beautiful colored lights and smells of evergreens, there is still a bit of Christmas inside, like the coals of a banked fire just waiting to be fanned into life again. 

I’ll hang on to that metaphor for a while.  Christmas is more than a pile of presents under a tree or huge festive meals. It’s about giving and receiving, just as we are supposed to give to those in need. After all, Jesus is a gift we receive all year long.  We’re just trying to pay that gift forward as he told us to do.

God bless.

Originally published on Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, December 29, 2018.