Sing a New Song

 

Sing to the Lord a new song;
sing to the Lord, all the whole earth.

Sing to the Lord and bless his Name;
proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day. – Psalm 96:1-2

 

Tonight is New Year’s Eve, a night of parties, loud booming music, dogs howling, horns blowing, and fireworks. For me and those like me, a regular bedtime may be possible, but certainly not guaranteed to sleep once midnight strikes. Noises increase, and fireworks pop, crackle, and boom for at least an hour and often several hours. It is bad enough for those with anxious pets for whom the noise is frightening. Yet I think about the strays without homes and even some who stray away from home, terrified by the noise and lack of places to escape it.

Tonight, I doubt many will do what the psalmist suggests: singing a new song and blessing God’s name. New Year’s Eve celebrates the end of a year and the beginning of a new one. It has been done for millennia, not necessarily at the end of December and the beginning of January. Ancient Romans celebrated the new year by marking the day Rome was founded in 702, but the day was in March (by our calendar). Jews traditionally celebrate the new year beginning with Rosh Hashana, which, in 2023, will start at sunset on September 15 and end at sunset on September 17. Rosh Hashana is not explicitly named in the Bible, but a reference to its observance is found in Leviticus 23:23-25. Other religions and cultures celebrate at various times, usually in spring, for the arrival of new life. 

We usually mark New Year’s by at least thinking about starting over fresh, putting away old things and habits, and starting anew. Everyone jokes about making resolutions and even more about how long a person can keep a resolution they have made. The most common are living healthier, exercising more, and losing weight. Some want to stop smoking or drinking alcohol. In contrast, others want to be kinder to others, give more time or money to charity, or even spend more time with their families. People of faith often resolve to pray more, attend church more, or try to live by Jesus’s teachings or God’s rules more than they do now. In a sense, those resolutions are the new song we sing to God as we promise to change or do something better.

The important thing is to take any promises or resolutions seriously. While losing weight or reading the Bible more may not have the intent of a monk or nun taking life-long vows of poverty, chastity, or obedience, we aren’t all called to make those changes. Most of us live in a world where temptations come constantly. We also live where to fail is to feel or experience shame and often to be considered a loser. Success means so much in our world, probably too much. According to his culture, Jesus might not have been considered a success like Caesar or the equivalent of the CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation.

For some, taking a single step is a sign of success, especially for someone who has been unable to walk for some time, if ever. Jesus helped those who were shamed or considered failures to live new, healthier, happier lives simply by speaking a few words or perhaps a single touch. Did those whose lives were changed merely shrug off the changes that had happened and return to their former lives? Probably not. They recognized the depth of change and the cost of it. They owed Jesus, and the only way they could repay him was to spread the news of his gift and teachings. They could encourage others to go and listen and, hopefully, be changed.

Those whom Jesus touched learned to sing a new song, and they continued to sing it to all who would hear it. For them, the day they heard Jesus or a messenger with his words was a new year.

This year, I need to forget frivolous resolutions and make a solemn promise to sing a new song to God whether or not I say a word. My actions need to be part of my song and my life, and I mean it.

Happy New Year. Sing a new song!

O Mystical Night

 

There is something extraordinary about Christmas Eve. The excitement has been building since Advent began four weeks ago. A lot of work has gone into shopping, decorating, cooking, and wrapping. Even though two nights ago was the shortest one of the year, tonight will be only a minute or two longer.

I remember waiting for Santa Claus after my parents and I had come home from the Candlelight Christmas Eve service at the Baptist church across the street. I loved the lit candles in the windows, but the lights over the choir loft and the baptistry were too bright to suit me. Even then, I was a bit particular about church services. Also, I developed an aversion to "O Holy Night," which seemed obligatory every year.

Flash forward to my middle-aged years. Again I lived across from the church, Episcopal this time. I remarried, and my son was nine years old. My husband was Catholic, but I had tried that, and it did not work for me. The music was too modern. After a few centuries of letting only the choir and organ provide the music, the congregation was just learning to sing. This was part of a church with a thousand years of prayerful, worshipful, beautiful music that was seldom heard. It broke my heart.

I returned to my Episcopal church on Christmas Eve. I found just what I was looking for – communal liturgy, familiar readings, and music – oh, my, such music, in multiple parts and in languages from English to Latin, French, and Italian! I sang in the choir for over a decade after that, including Christmas Eves. Leaving the house a bit before 11 o'clock and pacing through the winter air, it was a joy to be there and participating. Yes, there was the obligatory "O Holy Night," just as I had experienced in the Baptist church.

 As I left the church after midnight, the air was colder, but somehow the stars were brighter. The traffic was gone, and the quiet allowed me to process what I had just experienced. It was a slower trip to my front door across the street, but I hated rushing it. There was a feeling in the air, something the church dubbed "a thin space" between heaven and earth. Perhaps that was why the stars were brighter, but I could feel the night's holiness unlike any other night of the year.

Even though it was colder, I wanted to enjoy every minute of remembrance. We had the procession to "O Come, All Ye Faithful," incense, a predictable liturgy with familiar readings, more carols, hymns, and finally, communion at the altar rail before the benediction and the recessional of "Joy to the World." On my walk home, I relived what the choir had sung and the sound of an entire church singing familiar music. I felt a shawl of faith and joy wrapping around me, even through my coat.

It was a mystical night, slowly beginning to wear off as I got into warm pajamas and climbed into bed. I did not want it to end. The flame of mystical joy brightened again as I said my prayers. I drifted off to sleep while listening to the radio play Christmas music or perhaps a service from England or Washington, DC.

I am not a mystic, but now and again, I feel flashes of something beyond the ordinary. More and more, I rely on streaming video to bring the church to me. There are still beautiful things, like the Jewish synagogue downtown allowing the Episcopal cathedral congregation to use their facilities much larger than the cathedral can seat. There will be music and a familiar liturgy. I may not be there in person, but I can still recall the feeling of taking communion on those nights that were almost magical. I can feel the presence of angels and those who have gone through the mystical veil into the very presence of God.

May you all have a safe, happy, holy, mystical Christmas Eve and a most joyous Christmas Day. Look for the mystery. It will come if I am patient and attentive, and it will work for you too.

Stirring Up

 

It's cold. I know, people laugh at those of us who live in this part of the country because we declare it's cold when the daytime temperature is just below 60 degrees and the nights are hovering just at or slightly below the freezing level. These temperatures usually don't come to this part of Arizona until after the new year. This year they started dropping in late October. Don't get me wrong; I'd far rather add blankets and mittens than wonder what else in the clothing line I can remove when the weather is above 110 F. Somehow, it's more fun to have Christmas with cold weather than lukewarm at 70-80 degrees.

It's hard to believe that tomorrow is the third Sunday of Advent already. I keep checking the calendar to ensure I haven't skipped a Sunday or two since Thanksgiving. On Sunday, I will be sure because I will hear the familiar collect,

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come
among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins,
let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver
us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and
the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP, 211)

That collect always makes me smile because it reminds me of a tradition back home. Of course, the pre-Christmas kitchens were frequently warm from baking sessions. They smelled pleasantly of wide varieties of cookies, pies, and other treats. Hearing "Stir up…" in church was a reminder to get going on the baking had it not been started already. Of course, it was a bit late for the fruitcakes since they needed time to steep in their brandy basting, but for everything else, there was time. How lovely it was to come home from school to walk in the door and get a whiff of sugar cookies, gingerbread men, Danish cookies rich with butter, and all sorts of flavorings and spices. We still ate pumpkin pie at Christmas but added to it with apple (old fashioned or Dutch), pecan, or my particular favorite, mince. Some things (especially the cookies) may have to have additional batches to compensate for the depredations into the already-baked stock, but that was just part of the holiday tradition.

The collect isn't aimed so much at bakers and homemakers. It's directed to God to help clear up our messes far worse than a kitchen crowded with used cookie cutters, cake and pie pans, spatulas, rolling pins, big spoons, oven mitts, and colored sprinkles and sugars used to decorate. It reminds us that we cannot forgive our own sins or get past them, and we can be delivered and forgiven only through God's grace, Jesus's love, and the Spirit's power.

We can't always detect God's stirring up of power. But then, we can't always notice the particular flavor of vanilla or ginger in the cookies, but we would surely notice the absence with our first tasting. God's power is often very subtle, but it is there, working like yeast or baking powder.

Perhaps the best part is that God's power isn't a commodity we must run to the store for. It's available whenever needed and requested. It simply requires us to ask for it, trust it will be given, and be thankful for its presence. It won't be gone like store Christmas displays on Christmas Day, rained out, or otherwise ruined or canceled. It doesn't require the Energizer Bunny or Diehard battery. It is there because God put it there, and because God loves us, we can access it anytime.

It's time for me to get out the flour and other ingredients. Suddenly, I'm in the mood to bake, even though there will only be the two of us this Christmas. That's okay; God's still here with power that is still abundant, and Phoebe and I can have all the cookies and pie we want. God is not only powerful but discreet as well. Thank you, God!

Seeing Things Differently

 

Christmas may be several weeks away, but there are Christmas-y things all over. There are pictures of lighted houses in the snow, decorated trees, reindeer, and some guy dressed in a red suit and hat. There are even images of fully-staffed manger scenes, even though Mary and Joseph haven't even gotten to Bethlehem if they've even started on that journey. It's all in the spirit of getting ready for a special day in the Christian faith, although snowmen, reindeer, and the red-suited dude aren't part of the true story of Christmas.

I also see images of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem to pay the taxes required of them. Mary is riding on a donkey because she is heavily pregnant. Joseph holds the donkey's halter to ensure the animal doesn't stumble or jostle its precious cargo too severely. It's been drawn, painted, sculpted, and carved probably a hundred thousand ways, but it all brings the same message – the Savior is coming. It's a message we, along with our ancestors and our successors, need to be reminded of year after year.

One thing I notice this year is the increasing number of images showing modern-day Josephs and Marys, some pregnant, some with small children. Several years ago, one of the first I saw showed a painting of a young pair of homeless people in front of a bodega in what appeared to be a tough neighborhood. The female was pregnant, and both were dressed in shirts, tattered jeans, and thin jackets. In the background, there was a sign saying "Motel," but the boy and girl appeared too poor to take advantage of it for shelter. It was the first time I'd really seen or thought of the journey to Bethlehem in terms of immigrants, homeless people, or even people other than the Middle Eastern Jewish couple I'd been raised to identify with on the journey to Bethlehem.

Since seeing that image, I've seen other representations that show people of different races, cultures, and ethnicities. They all represented poor people, marginalized, forced to travel without the benefit of modern transportation, prepared accommodations, and anything a credit card would cover. They were people taken out of the context of their everyday life. They were put in situations they were almost unequipped to handle. Like Mary and Joseph, they needed shelter and a safe place for a baby to be born. To the homeless and the undocumented, it is a lot to ask for.

Our Education for Ministry (EfM) seminar group is reading a book called  Reading the Bible from the Margins by Miguel A. De La Torre. Its main point is that the Bible was written for cultures other than the Eurocentric, Caucasian, middle- and upper-classes. The message of Jesus was given not to just one group, the Jewish nation, but to Samaritans, Romans, and Greeks, and spread outward from Jerusalem to the Mediterranean area and beyond. We live in a much wider world with many different eyes reading the same texts. We have to learn to read the Bible through different lenses of other cultures and groups who have different experiences from our own.

It's a shock to get such a message since most of us have learned to read the Bible one way, from a patriarchal, Caucasian, Christian point of view. Like the new images of alternative holy families and journeys to Bethlehem, it is something we must learn to do even to begin to recreate the Kingdom of God on earth as Jesus told us to do. Granted, even Jesus tried to see things one way when a Syrophoenician woman approached him to help her daughter (Mark 7:25-30). Jesus told her that he had come for the Jews, and her reply was simple. "Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs (v. 28)." Jesus acknowledged the truth of the statement, and the woman's daughter was healed. A shift in viewpoint was all it took. Jesus looked at the situation through new lenses.

Granted, it takes effort to learn to do what Jesus did, namely, look at things differently. It involves things such as actually seeing the homeless on the street, not just passing by and ignoring them as if they did not exist. It is reading the Bible through the eyes of the impoverished, marginalized, and the stranger, those with little or no power or voice in a culture that ignores their existence. It requires putting oneself in a different box than the comfortable one they are used to. It is reading the hope in the message, not the self-congratulation or reading the words and ignoring their meaning.

Sometimes we must be pushed to get out of our comfort zones and try something new or learn something different. We still have nativity stories happening around us, even if the result isn't the coming of the Savior of the world. That happened once, and that should be enough. We have the plan laid out for us if we just open our eyes and recognize it. Maybe this Advent, we should look for Marys and Josephs, Marias and Josés, Mariias and Yosips, and all the others who seek shelter, safety, and a place where they can be part of a community of equals. Jesus would appreciate that. It would be a birthday gift greater than the gold, frankincense, and myrrh that came at Epiphany.

Grief, Advent and Candles

 

I always look forward to Advent, my favorite liturgical season for many reasons. I love the readings, the music, the anticipation, the twinkling of lights, the scent of candles, and the jingle of ornaments brushed by the backs and tails of cats who think the tree was put up specifically to amuse them and to provide a nice napping spot.

My family tradition was to put up the tree on Thanksgiving weekend, but I wasn’t ready to do it this year. Having lost one of my boys, Gandhi, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, and his brother, Dominic (Domi), the day after the holiday, it was hard to do even the simplest things. This week has been a bit better, but my third cat, Phoebe, and I are still struggling to find a new normal.

I know many people are walking the same path this year. There were many others in past years, and undoubtedly there will be many more in future holiday seasons. I remember losing my brother a few Decembers ago, just before Christmas. I still half expect my phone to ring on Christmas Day and the sound of my brother’s voice on the other end. I know others have the same hope and grief when there’s another empty chair at the Christmas table or a lack of contact from someone exceptional in our lives during the holidays. Even though my two boys were cats, they had been my babies and companions for over fifteen years. Their departure leaves a massive hole in our household.

 I’m really beginning to dread the holidays because I wonder who will go sometime this year or next. I don’t just dread holidays. I’m starting to dislike them, no matter how hard I try to decorate a tree, bake savory presents for friends, and feel Christmas-y even around good friends.

I miss the anticipation of the holiday season that I used to have. I loved riding around with my family, looking at the houses and trees trimmed with multicolored lights, tinsel strings, and garlands. I miss the caroling we used to do. No matter how cold or miserable the weather, we walked around town if we couldn’t drive to shut-in friends. We’d end the evening by gathering at someone’s house for hot chocolate and cider, Smithfield ham biscuits, and several kinds of holiday cookies. I miss the candlelight service at church and the midnight mass especially. I loved walking home in the wee small hours after mass and looking up at the sky where the stars seemed to twinkle so much more brightly than any other night of the year. There was a feeling of heaven being very close, only a thin veil between me and it.

There was, and is, so much to look forward to during Advent and Christmas. Advent is preparation – contemplation, getting ready, and anticipation. It’s such a holy time without a rush toward Christmas that we are exposed to in the media, shops, and stores. Despite grieving my boys, I still yearn to get the slightest bit of anticipatory joy. I want to enjoy the things I used to. I miss the Advent and Christmas seasons in Colonial Williamsburg with its hot spiced cider and gingerbread, decorated 18th-century houses, and maybe even snow. I can make cider and gingerbread, but it isn’t quite the same, much as an almost empty house is not quite as joyful and familiar.

I know how lonely the holiday season, including Advent, can be. This year, my objective is to look around me and see who could use a telephone call or a card. I don’t have much money, but perhaps I could knit a cap and mittens, even if Arizonans often scorn such things. I probably should get some plastic tubs and make shelters for my two outdoor cats, Buddy and Sandy. I should get out more and, when I do, smile more. Smiling at someone I don’t know, and getting one back, is really satisfying. And why should I resist doing that for the rest of the year? Don’t people need smiles all year round?

Ok, that is my Advent project. I still have my girl cat, my warm and dry trailer, the ability to decide what I will do and when (for the most part), and the desire to make the season a bit brighter. After all, the coming of Jesus during a dark period of life in the Middle East gave a tiny bit of light that grew and grew. Maybe I need to remind others, invite them to light a small candle and encourage them to pass the light along. The grief may still be there, but giving the ray of hope could make a big difference.

 Have a blessed Advent. There are still three weeks to go, so I better get busy.