The Renovating Reverend

The world is an incredible place. It diminishes and grows minute by minute, as some people pass from this life and others arrive as newborns. But if we happen to experience the passing of many people in a short period of time, be they loved ones or acquaintances, we’re likely to feel the loss very heavily and ask what we’re going to do without their love, inspiration, or generally exemplary way of living. Oddly enough, an answer to this came to me in a memory that still makes me smile.

A few years ago, Steve and I attended a family picnic. I found it odd that no one was stepping up to get the charcoal lit so that hot dogs and hamburgers could be cooked. I’d certainly never cooked for a large group of people before. Well, as Steve and I got a couple of grills going, since nobody else was, I told him that being responsible for the grilling never entered my mind because “the old guys” always did it. Before I could say it myself, he observed with a smile, “Now you’re one of the old guys.” As humorous as this realization was, it caused me to ponder things like the different roles we can find ourselves in as we age, changing expectations, and what sort of “old guy” I wanted to be.

I guess I’m still coming to grips with the whole growing older and growing up thing. While I sometimes feel that I don’t want to grow up, the truth seems to be that we are all repeatedly called to reach different levels or different types of maturity (responsibility, leadership, nurture) throughout our lives. So if the question is, “What do I do when I lose someone who has been a support or great inspiration to me?”, one answer may be to pay it forward, to honor that person by being supportive of, or inspiring to, others—-maybe not in the same exact way that person was, but in a way that’s authentic for me and my situation in life. In other words, though it may not feel like a familiar or comfortable position to be in, perhaps it’s time to light the charcoal and cook the food. Those who have passed on would undoubtedly be proud.

Just this month, I started to get back into the task of refinishing the endless woodwork in the house.  I’m tackling an area that’s never been painted, so lacquer thinner, a respirator, and lots of elbow grease are the main tools.  The work tends to go a bit more quickly than paint removal, but without the 30 minute breaks I’d usually take while the paint remover does its work (referred to as “dwell time”), I have to pace myself or end up getting more of an upper-body workout than I bargained for! 

Written in the Fall of 2012

The house renovations are once again on hold as we tend to family and friends. This year has been a rough one for us. In the midst of loss and illness, I’ve been struck by the great value of some old traditions—one of these being the custom of providing meals as an expression of material and emotional support for someone going through a difficult time. In a lot of communities, and among a lot of younger folks, this custom seems to be falling out of fashion. I believe I understand why.

After a number of people offered to bring us food, Steve and I resisted. It was very nice that the help was offered, and we deeply appreciated the offers, but we didn’t think we were especially in need. In fact, we felt a bit sheepish about even thinking of accepting. After all, long gone are the days when preparing a meal required a lot of effort and time. It can seem silly to give someone a prepared meal or a homemade casserole when they can so easily buy a roasted chicken, fresh baked rolls, and mashed potatoes at the grocery store–or just pick up a frozen meal that can be dumped into a frying pan. My husband and I are pretty decent cooks, and we live within walking distance of a grocery store. It doesn’t seem all that difficult to throw together a somewhat nutritious meal.

You can tell that potentially being on the receiving end of the custom for the first time in our adult lives, we were, oddly enough, focusing on the very practical aspects and forgetting the more important, intangible ones (or feeling a bit overwhelmed by them). I think we caught a clue after the minister at our church pointed out for the second or third time that people were concerned and wanted to share their concern in some tangible way. Steve and I began to see that it wasn’t just about us. People care about others, and they want a chance to express their caring. It’s really that simple, and that profound.

I can now see that the custom of preparing meals, and accepting them, is about living in what I’ve referred to as the circle of profound participation. In a previous blog entry, from December of 2011, I noted that:

“The celebration of Christmas is the annual reminder for us to participate ever more fully in what Jesus modeled, a life that is fully human, with all of our seeming limitations, neediness, and shortcomings, and a life that is fully connected with God, with all of God’s provision for all that we need every day; provision in such an abundance that we are able and motivated to pass along the necessities, kindness, and love in our daily lives. In so doing we will continue to stay in the circle of profound participation. We will continue to meet, experience, and walk in the footsteps of Jesus.”

It’s generally painful to focus on our human limitations, neediness, and shortcomings, so any thought of accepting help is easily dropped, and the focus completely shifts to giving. This is supported by our culture, which often frames heroic giving as the height of goodness and love. But loving, and all of the good things that come along with it, really happens between people, whether in a simple act of kindness or in an intimate, life-long relationship. It’s a two-way street, some would say.

As I look over the past year and a half, I’ve repeatedly seen kindness and love bless the giver as well as the recipient, in a spiritual, emotional, or tangible way. I’m sure you’ve seen this in your life, too. One person who brought us dinner told me that it was especially meaningful to cook for us. In the past, this person had not been in a position to help a family member get through a long stretch of illness, and others had jumped in to assist. Now, she was in a position to help, and was glad to. People give, receive, give back, experience healing or growth, are inspired, and inspire—love moves between us, then beyond us. If, in our pride or anxiety, we are only willing to see ourselves giving to others, we won’t fully experience love. It’s only by being open and receptive to love that we live in love, and keep love flowing.

With so much going on, I haven’t had time to write, so I thought I’d dig into my sermon file. This is an edited version of sermon notes I used when invited to speak at a Unity church, some years ago. The scripture reading was the 8th chapter of the Gospel of Mark, verses 1 through 8.

Good morning. I am a minister-at-large with Universal Ministries, which is an international, interfaith ministry. Most recently, my own ministry has focused on marrying couples all around the state, so this morning it feels as though somebody is missing up here — as though two somebodies are missing! Even so, I’m very glad to have the opportunity to speak to you this morning.

I did not grow up in a Universal Ministries church or in the Unity movement. I was actually dedicated in a Conservative Baptist church. There are some very good things that took away from my experience as a Baptist. One was the teaching that everyone has at least one good sermon in them. Even at an early age I knew this must be true because my grandmother had already demonstrated she had several. And she wasn’t afraid to repeat them. Another important thing I learned from the experience was the doctrine that everything in scripture must be read and interpreted in light of what Jesus said and did. Jesus was the focus and the key to everything in life. And Jesus stayed with me as I grew up, even through a time when I wondered if he was the Lamb of God, a gutsy guy who’d followed his convictions to the bitter end, or a fictional character who never really lived at all. Somehow, nothing has ever managed to get in the way of my appreciation for, my connection with, Jesus. So it’s little wonder that when I was invited to speak in church that I would speak about a moment in the life of Jesus of Nazareth, and that I would bring my Jesus action figure with me! I’ll put him on the lectern, here. He is my hero.

Today’s reading about the feeding of the multitude was from the Gospel of Mark, but this miracle appears in all four Gospels, and it is the only miracle that does appear in all four, so there must be something special about it. I have certainly liked the story since childhood, when the Sunday school teacher moved around small figures of Jesus, loaves, fish, and baskets on a felt story board.

The traditional exposition of this story is that it demonstrates Jesus’ divine power and teaches us that we can trust God to supply for all our needs. When I was a kid, however, that just didn’t seem to cover the whole story. And, as an adult, I still thought there must be more to it, something deeper than the conventional reading and speculation about the meaning of the numbers of loaves, fish, and people. It would be many years before someone would help me see beyond convention and symbolic numbers to more of what this miracle might be saying to us.

It happened on one of those Sundays when I went to church despite not really wanting to go. In the mega-church that I attended, it was very easy to quietly slip into a row far from the pulpit, sit down, and daydream about all of the other places I could be on a beautiful southern California day. And so, despite the incredible church building, massive choir, and one of the grandest pipe organs in the country, my attention drifted until the guest speaker was introduced. He captured my attention quickly.
The guest speaker was a slender, slightly stooped, gray-haired man who wore a simple white cassock. He had an incredibly intense expression and an urgent way of speaking. Many famous people had spoken at this church, but this man’s name was not familiar to me. His name was Henri Nouwen. Nouwen, who passed away in 1996, was a Roman Catholic priest and a well respected author. He is, perhaps, best known for his book “The Wounded Healer.” What he said that morning would propel me into spiritual seeking and growth. His topic, as you might guess, was the miracle in today’s reading. I remember that he had four main points. He said that the food in the story had been:

Taken
Blessed
Broken
Given

For him, the food represented the life of Jesus. Jesus was just like the food. He was taken (or, rather, chosen), blessed by God, broken through death, and given (via resurrection) as a gift of redemption, a gift of healing to all, a gift that is more than enough to satisfy all. Nouwen further explained that we, too, are just like the food. We are chosen of God, we are blessed with God’s love and grace, we are broken as we travel through life, and, like Jesus, we can be healers. The key to all of this, for Nouwen, was at the end of the story; the food multiplied when it was blessed. He explained that the story is inviting us to “put the brokenness under the blessing,” and to see what abundance and healing follows.

Because I had come from a very conservative expression of Christianity, was feeling terribly broken, and had just begun to hope that I might experience healing, Nouwen’s words blew me away. It was amazing to hear that, not just in spite of my brokenness, but because of it, I could experience healing and also help others experience healing. I just needed to consciously and prayerfully put my brokenness under the blessing of God’s love and grace. Many years later, it still strikes me as an amazing, powerful message.

Using Nouwen’s talking points, I’d like to share how I’ve come to understand the story.

Taken (Chosen)
Jesus took the bread…

•It’s interesting that no one questioned the food’s quality. The bread may have been very hard and crusty. The fish—whether dried, smoked, or fresh—may have been out in the heat of the day for hours. Since Palestine is roughly on the same latitude as southern Arizona, you can imagine what that fish might have been like by mid-day! But in the story, the bread and fish were OK.

•Likewise, no one questioned the background of the person who provided the food. John’s gospel tells us it was a boy. No one grilled this individual about family history, socio-economic status, any past mistakes, religious affiliation, or anything else. Jesus had simply asked the disciples, “What do you have?” What was there was good, and it was good enough.

•The food was not just acceptable, but valuable. It was exactly what was needed at that time and place, late in the afternoon, a good distance away from any town or city.

•If we are like the food, all of this is a reminder to me that God accepts us just as we are, and that, wherever we are in life, we are right where we need to be at this moment.

Blessed
Jesus blessed the bread…

•Instead of saying that Jesus blessed the bread, some translations of the Gospels say that “he took the break and gave thanks.” I have learned that this is because the Hebrew blessing of food has always been a prayer of gratitude to God for God’s greatness and abundant giving. The bread blessing says, “Blessed are you, Lord, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.” It is a combination of blessing and thanksgiving.

•If you’ve read a self-help book or worked a recovery program, I’m sure you’ve heard of the importance of the “attitude of gratitude.” This is because a lot of folks have experienced that the attitude of being grateful, even for the most basic things, transforms our lives in powerful ways.

•While we are blessed by God’s love and grace, my experience has been that we fully experience the blessing only when we cultivate gratitude. Love, grace, and gratitude are all so important for us to embrace. Why? Because we are…

Broken

•The Gospels tell us that people flocked to Jesus for healing—-many felt broken.

•James Dillett Freeman, a much admired minister and poet in the Unity movement, was once asked to articulate some of the most important things he had learned in his lifetime. He answered, “I have learned that every person alive has been wounded or is hurting in some way, and needs healing.”

•In practical terms, if we have a cut on our skin, it probably won’t heal well unless, at the very least, we do something to clean it. If we ignore it or don’t know it’s there, the cut is likely to fester. In spiritual terms, we can’t heal until we acknowledge our brokenness, until we know where we are broken. Once we know that, we can put the brokenness under the blessing of God’s love and grace…the blessing of our gratitude to God for what we have and—-if we dare—-for who we are, right now, in this moment. Even if we’re feeling crusty like bread or stinky like fish, God’s love and grace permeate our existence, they are all around us, within us. If, for whatever reason, we can’t manage to be grateful for anything else, we can, perhaps, be grateful for the existence of God’s abundant, all-pervasive love and grace, because, whether or not we feel it at any given moment, we are blessed. And we are…

Given

•My experience has been that when we put our brokenness under God’s blessing and employ the attitude of gratitude (even if we do tentatively, by inches), our lives begin to change. Our outward circumstances may not begin to change, but we begin to change internally. And gratitude seems to inspire a person to generosity. When we more deeply recognize that we have so very much in God’s love, grace, and indwelling presence, the experience of abundance begins to flow into all areas of our lives, and is passed along by us to others, in the smallest of ways, in our daily lives.

•The seemingly humble loaves and fish that are our character, our time, and our talents, multiply under the blessing. The blessing and the gratitude begin to fill our lives to overflowing as we bless others. Just as in the story, there is enough for us, everyone around us, and twelve baskets, besides.

This sounds wonderful. Abundant love and grace can fill our lives and the lives of others. But what about those times in life when we’re not feeling full of love and grace? Those times when we feel as though we intellectually know of their existence and availability, but just don’t get the sense that love is “sticking,” that the kindness and love given to us are just rolling on through or bouncing right off?

This is where the paper cup in my sermon title comes in.

You’ll have to trust me on this…

Paper Cup Meditation

I don’t know what the origin of the paper cup meditation is, but the concept was passed along to me by a social worker. It’s all about visualizing your heart, your whole life, being filled with God’s love.
I invite you to take the next few minutes to let God’s love and grace sink deeply into your life, to give it a chance to fill you up to overflowing, right here and now. You might close your eyes, focus on the dancing flame of a candle, or look at one of the beautiful features of this sanctuary. However you focus your thoughts, know that God’s love is for you, just as you are at this moment. It so completely fills you, so completely indwells you, that you are the love of God.

If you have a tough time envisioning or experiencing this today, just imagine that your heart, your soul, your whole being is a paper cup. There is a constant, gentle flow of God’s love and grace into your being, into your cup. Picture God’s love however you like. You might see it as something airy, or as a soft light, or even as a metallic liquid. See the love begin to fill your cup.
If your cup has a hole in it, or even if it has no bottom, and the love flows right on through, don’t worry. Know that the love and grace are constantly flowing into your cup. Before the foundation of time, God knew us, and knowing all that we are in advance, God extended love and grace to us. God has continued to supply them, and they can never be exhausted. See the constant, limitless love of God begin to fill in the bottom of your cup.

As the bottom of your cup fills in, more and more of God’s love and grace stay with you, and your cup begins to hold more and more. Imagine also all the love of God that has come to you through others, even in the smallest of ways. Every kind smile and thoughtful remark, every good wish and deed is coming home to rest in your cup, along with the constant, direct flow of love from God. All this love keeps filling in the bottom of your cup until the amount of love in the cup rises toward the top. It continues to fill your cup, to rise slowly until it just spills over the edge. Your heart and soul, the very core of your being, are so full of love that love is not only in and around you, but has become an integral part of you.

Bringing this experience and knowledge of God’s love and grace with you, slowly return your attention to the sanctuary, to the present time and place.

God’s love and grace are truly endless, ever flowing into and through our lives. There is so much more than enough. If your experience or certainty of this ever fades, you can always meditate again on the paper cup, filling in and filling up to overflowing, for you are the love of God.

Amen.

Last week, I was asked to answer a poll question, “When do you put up your Christmas tree?” The choices were something like a.) After Thanksgiving, b.) After December 1st, c.) A week or two before Christmas, d.) Fill in the date. I gleefully filled in the date with, “November 1st!”

Well, November 1st might be stretching it a bit, since we usually spend that day taking down and putting away our Halloween decorations. But once that’s done, the Christmas decorations slowly begin to appear inside the house. Holiday and winter-themed art work replaces the art that is up for most of the year. Pillows are swapped out. Evergreen garland is hung over the front parlor doorways. Father Christmas, in many different incarnations, stands and perches on shelving. The seven foot tall tree, draped in a Santa head topper with flowing cape, goes up. While the weather is in the 40s or 50s, the outdoor house lights are put up –even though they won’t be turned on until Thanksgiving week, when there might be snow and the temperature too cold for light hanging. It takes a while to transform a house, and we figure that the sooner we begin, the longer we’ll get to enjoy the effect. Joy is the key word. We really enjoy the holiday season, from Thanksgiving ‘til New Year’s Day. It’s a time for youthful wonder and anticipation, recharging the spirit of generosity, light in the darkness, music ancient and new, the magic of snowmen and Santa Claus, and the amazing love of the Creator.

Not everyone who celebrates Christmas sees the period of the winter holidays in this light. For some Christians, Christmas doesn’t hit ‘til December 25th, and the four weeks prior to this is a time of penitential reflection and soberly making oneself ready for Christ to come again. Others feel that it’s a time just for children, and adults should be beyond such things. For those who have experienced personal illness, hardship, or loss (especially during past Christmases), it can be a time that brings sadness and pain. I, myself, have experienced more than one “Merry f-ing Christmas,” so I understand those who feel the pull of the blues through the holidays. This year, we could certainly have tended toward a blue Christmas. We barely had time to begin mourning the passing of Steve’s mother in April before he had emergency surgery and was diagnosed with cancer in June. Then a few weeks later a wonderful cousin of his passed away after a very long battle with cancer. But, for me, the way that Steve and his sister were in loving agreement to honor their mother’s wishes—enabling her to die with dignity and with her amazing sense of humor intact—was, in a way, uplifting. Steve’s positive response to his illness has been great. And his cousin’s upbeat, loving attitude through several years of cancer treatments was an inspiration, another great example of how we can respond in a positive manner to the incredible challenges that sometimes come our way. “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” Despite having many tearful moments of grief for all of the loss and pain we’ve been dealing with this year, I can also feel the joy of loving, grateful responses to life—joy born of gratitude to the Creator for his indescribable gift of love. I am moved to express this joy and gratitude whenever and however I can. While I empathize with, and support, those who just can’t feel much joy right now, I will likewise not let anyone tell me that my expressions of Christmas joy are somehow inappropriate. I hope that you will do the same.

Wherever your feelings are at this holiday season, and however you happen to celebrate, I wish you peace and a deep sense of the Creator’s all-encompassing, unfailing love.

Merry Christmas!

They began appearing a couple of weeks ago. First, there was a big one, then three small ones, and another big one. Three more small ones showed up this past weekend and were artfully arranged on the front steps next to their larger cousins. The mysterious Great Pumpkin Giver was once again on the prowl! We honestly have no idea where the pumpkins came from. Our neighbors to the north have received a couple, too, so it’s probably not them. We may never know who the generous pumpkin lover is, but their antics are a lot of fun, and express the spirit of the season.

Living in an agricultural area, as we do, harvest is as much a literal event as it is a metaphorical one. And it no doubt means different things to different people, from the family farms that are large corporate operations, to the small organic farms that serve the local community, to the back yard gardeners who plant an extra row of vegetables to share with a nearby food bank or soup kitchen. Ideally, gratitude would figure largely into all of our harvest related activities, whoever and wherever we are—gratitude for what we’ve received and “grown” this year, gratitude that results in celebration and sharing. After all, Harvest, Halloween, or Samhain, whatever you happen to call it, is the beginning of a couple of months full of holidays that focus on abundance, giving, and personal reflection.

In the midst of Halloween parties, trick-or-treating, Harvest celebrations, and Samhain activities, may we take a moment to recognize the seasonal changes taking place in nature and in our lives, and to set the intention, in the months ahead, to frequently reflect, be grateful, and celebrate with a giving spirit.

Secret pumpkin gifting is optional.

Several years ago, Steve and I were attending a small neighborhood church. One December, we were very surprised to hear that, for various reasons, neither the organist nor the ministers were going to be available on Christmas Eve. A Christmas Eve service had not been planned at all. Many felt it was unthinkable not to have a service that night, but no one knew what to do about it. Steve had just purchased a book of traditional Christmas folk tales, and was inspired to suggest that he read one of them, after the biblical account of Jesus’ birth was read, and that I offer my reflections on the readings. We could sing carols without music, or find a recording to play as accompaniment. I have to tell you that, although I grew up in the Baptist tradition, where the emphasis on extemporaneous prayer and speaking looms large, I’ve never been very good at coming up with something to say at the spur of the moment. So I was slightly panicked at coming up with something meaningful at short notice—and, after all, there can be high expectations at Christmas. However, when Steve chose the French folk tale about Old Pierre, I read the story and relaxed—I had some ideas about what I could say. I began to write my notes. We gathered candles, printed a simple bulletin, and found a karaoke CD of favorite carols. Someone else from the congregation offered to greet people at the door and handle the offering. Whether three people or thirty showed up, we would share a simple, family-like gathering.

When the Christmas Eve service began, the many voices singing Away in a Manger made the karaoke music sound warm and rich. I read the Christmas story from The Gospel of Luke. Then Steve began to read the story of Old Pierre. If you’re not familiar with this tale, it’s about a shoemaker who works and lives alone, his wife and child having died many years ago. On Christmas Eve, he falls asleep in his chair and has a dream in which Jesus promises to stop by for a visit the next day, Christmas Day. Old Pierre feels blessed and is excited that he will actually get to meet Jesus, although whether that will be as an adult or as a child, he doesn’t know. He thinks of the Wise Men and their gifts, and he goes looking for a dusty little box that holds a beautiful pair of tiny shoes for a baby. It is the finest work he ever did, and the best gift he can give to Jesus. With the shoes found, Pierre goes to bed and then wakes early to clean his small shop and living space in preparation for his holy guest. He occasionally looks out the door to see if Jesus is coming. Instead, he sees the street sweeper out working in the cold. Pierre calls him by name and invites him inside to get warm for a bit. He tells the man about his dream of meeting Jesus, and the street sweeper hopes for Pierre that his dream will come true. A while later, Pierre looks down the street and sees a very young woman with a baby. He invites her inside to get warm and to have some soup. He learns she is looking for a job and has no money. When he sees that the baby has nothing on her feet, he gives her the beautiful little shoes that he had planned to give to Jesus. As she leaves, the young woman also expresses her hope that Pierre’s dream will come true. It is getting late when he sees three beggars, whom he invites in to share what is left of his soup. They also wish Pierre well. When the last of his guests have left, the old shoemaker sits misty eyed, sad that Jesus did not visit. Then Pierre sees a bright light and hears the voice of Jesus telling him that he did stop by that day. Jesus explains that he was in each of the people whom Pierre had welcomed into his home, and that by kindly sharing with them, Pierre had met and helped Jesus. Pierre goes to bed with a joyful heart.

Reflections on the Readings

Old Pierre experienced Jesus in a new, expanded way, that Christmas Day. I would guess that your understanding of what Christmas means, and of who Jesus is, has probably changed over the years, too. No matter what the experience or expression of our faith is this Christmas, I think the story of Old Pierre provides us all with an opportunity to re-imagine our understanding of both the season and its focal point.

My own understanding of Christmas certainly has changed over the years. As a child, Christmas was presented to me as a paradox–something that may seem contradictory, but is true. Christmas, I had been taught, was the incredible day when the limitless, all-powerful Creator of all things lowered himself and miraculously entered human history as the baby Jesus. In my childhood wisdom, I responded to this teaching with the thought, “So what? God can do anything, and God loves us. No big deal, then.” I could not see where the paradox or the miracle came into play. God was just being God. I continued to enjoy singing carols and, especially, attending candlelight Christmas Eve services, however, the Christmas story didn’t hold any deep spiritual significance for me. This was more than a bit disconcerting, considering the beliefs of the people around me, but I assumed that I’d understand such things better some day.

As a teenager, I heard a sermon suggesting a different paradox of Christmas. Jesus, as the son of God, was both the giver and the gift of reconciliation with our Creator. When I had pondered this arrangement, it didn’t seem any more paradoxical than the teaching from my childhood, and for all the same reasons: “God can do anything, and God loves us.” Besides, I thought, we often hear that when any of us truly gives of ourselves, we can be said to be both giver and gift. That felt natural, not miraculous.

Like Old Pierre, it wasn’t until a bit later in life that I began to gain a more personal and meaningful perspective on the celebration of Jesus’ birth. And I’m very glad that the story of Old Pierre has been shared with us, because it helps illustrate how I’ve come to see this day. I can still appreciate the teachings from my childhood—that God is active in and among us human beings, and that we, like God, can be both giver and gift whenever we truly give of ourselves–but I can also see how Christmas is less about paradox than it is about how we participate in life. What does it mean to participate? It’s all about “partaking,” “involvement,” and “sharing.” It is these words, these concepts, that I see coming alive in the Christmas Story and in the story of Old Pierre, in the most ordinary settings, in the most meaningful of ways.

Let’s start with the story from scripture. Jesus’ mother, Mary, needed a sheltered place to give birth to Jesus, but there were no vacancies in the local hotels. She and Joseph were offered the only available shelter, a stable, so Jesus was born in a location that was part of everyday life, sharing space with the kinds of animals that help people get work done and provide food. We learn that Jesus’ family was visited by shepherds–ordinary folks who were often looked down on because of their way of life. The shepherds left their sheep, their work, to see a child whom shimmering, singing angels had personally invited them to meet.

I’d like to contrast this scene with one of the ancient religious texts that did not make it into the Bible we know today, the Gospel of the Infancy of Jesus Christ. This interesting text has baby Jesus speaking as if he were an adult, prophesying from the cradle. It also describes him as being impervious to any harm. He’s not really a human baby. But The Gospel of Luke doesn’t portray Jesus as a self-contained human shell for God, set apart from the human condition. Rather, in Luke’s account, Jesus is fully human. There is strong recognition of the divine presence, but the writer never denies the earthiness of the event. Luke rather simply paints the picture of the newly born Jesus as a fully human child with a down-home, impromptu birthplace, a heavenly choir, and a bucolic bunch of visitors, all sharing together in the happy event of his birth. God is present in everyday circumstances, with everyday people.

In the French folktale, Old Pierre hopes to meet Jesus just as the shepherds did, in person, in the flesh. While earnestly waiting for Jesus to appear, Old Pierre encounters an acquaintance and some strangers. He shares his home and his food with them. For the baby with bare feet, he provides shoes. Pierre experiences joy and warm companionship with these folks. He is focused on meeting Jesus, but he doesn’t get completely hung up on this. Pierre is connecting with the people he encounters, fully present to the life around him. He’s feeding people, he’s clothing them, and he’s visiting with them. And his visitors are engaging him right back and encouraging him as he waits for Jesus. There’s this spiritual as well as human connection that we saw in the Christmas Story. And, as in the Christmas Story, there is no sense of an austere giver and a lowly recipient. There is only participation with and among the divine and the human. We can see how Pierre experienced Jesus—all that Jesus is and means—without Jesus actually standing before him that Christmas day. Pierre was sharing what he had to give with others, partaking in a meal with them, becoming involved in their lives. It seems as though Pierre’s focus on Jesus enhanced his human connection, and his human connection deepened his experience of God. I believe this is what the mature Jesus was talking about when he said that anytime we are loving and kind to someone in need, someone overlooked or ignored, we have been loving and kind to Jesus, himself.

So I invite you to consider that the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke and the story of Old Pierre suggest not a paradox of Christmas, but a participatory Christmas, a circle of profound participation in the activities of God and of human beings. After all, Jesus was not “divinely detached,” dispensing gifts from on high. He wasn’t detached from the divine, either. Jesus’ birth and his life demonstrated that we, as humans, can be both connected with God and participate in God’s loving, giving, grace-full creation. And the celebration of Christmas is the annual reminder for us to participate ever more fully in what Jesus modeled, a life that is fully human, with all of our seeming limitations, neediness, and shortcomings, and a life that is fully connected with God, with all of God’s provision for all that we need every day; provision in such an abundance that we are able and motivated to pass along the necessities, kindness, and love in our daily lives. In so doing we will continue to stay in the circle of profound participation. We will continue to meet, experience, and walk in the footsteps of Jesus.

Merry Christmas!

The front door. It wasn’t high on the refinishing priority list, but after the house had been painted and the landscaping had wrapped around from the south to the east, its shabby state had become that much more obvious. The best guess is that the original shellac had turned nearly black somewhere around the time Herbert Hoover was in office, then someone had painted it black during the Kennedy and Nixon eras, with at least two different types of paint—the top coat of which had crackled into millions of spidery cracks a good twenty or more years ago. A sliver of veneer had peeled and broken off from the lower section of the door. There were many digs and dings, and the ornamental scrollwork below the glass was missing a small chunk at the very end. I had to admit it looked rather sad, and wasn’t so sure that refinishing would improve the appearance a whole lot. But that old door with its beveled glass was one of my favorite parts of the house when we first looked it over, so it was well worth some attention.

Doors have a lot of traditions associated with them, completely apart from what sort of building they are attached to. Red doors have long been a sign of welcome to weary travelers. We speak of opportunity metaphorically knocking at the door. Open doors signifying welcome, inclusion, and abundance. Doorways can be places from which we symbolically set out on journeys, leaving what is known in order to step out into the unknown, perhaps leaving the common or profane to travel the path of enlightenment.

Of course, doors can also have negative connotations. They can be figurative and literal obstacles, boundaries past which a certain group of people are not welcome and may not pass, symbols of rejection, hierarchy, or selfishness. Those who enter are the favored elite, while others are not worthy to enter—T here are “sides” to a door. I was surprised, as I thought about this, to have an old Sunday school song come up from the depths of memory. It speaks of one door with two sides. The singer declares “I’m on the inside,” and asks, “On which side are you?” That’s pretty much the whole song. I don’t remember what I thought of it as a kid, but as an adult it sounds less like an invitation to experience the Divine and more like a whiny taunt of “nanner, nanner, nanner!” Not very welcoming or appealing, to say the least.

I’m happy to report that our refinished front door has turned out to be warm and appealing. I stopped short of using something like oxalic acid, which could have removed all traces of the old blackened finish, and, instead, used a black stain to blend and soften its well-used appearance. The result is satiny wood, with a lot of depth, in a warm brownish-black. It says, “Welcome. Come on in.” [Please feel free to experience a contented sigh and warm, fuzzy feelings here!] Although a lot of our home is as welcoming as the beautified door, there is still some of it that is more on the order of a creepy old house, so I had to chuckle, once again, at the contrasts of the renovation-in-progress experience.

The last step in refinishing the door was new weather stripping. As I was tacking it up around the doorframe, I began to consider both the welcome/opportunity and the chosen-sides aspects of doors. Doors certainly can represent a choice, but which side is the “good” side seems to be a tougher thing to determine. C.S. Lewis, the great fantasy writer, literature scholar, and highly respected Christian apologist, did a great job of demonstrating how tricky doorways can be. If I remember correctly, Lewis did this in the seventh and final book of the Chronicles of Narnia.

***Spoiler alert! I’m about to reveal, in part, what happens at the end of the saga!***

In “The Last Battle,” Aslan welcomes many Narnians, humans, and even one Tash-worshipping Calormene warrior, to the home of his father, the Emperor Over the Sea. It is literally Paradise. However, one group of rather grumpy dwarves who have passed through the door to Paradise still believe they are in a dark, smelly stable, during a nighttime battle, which was the last thing they experienced in Narnia. No matter how anyone tries, they are unable to open the grumpy guys’ eyes to where they are. To them, all sorts of good things to eat smell like manure and feel like straw, and they huddle together in a tight group, miserable in the heavenly home of the Creator, miserable on the “right” side of the door. There are additional layers to this part of the story, which all point to the fact that the door, and even the location of Heaven itself, weren’t nearly half as important as what was in the characters’ hearts and minds.

I hope our front door will always remind me that the doorways to fulfillment, peace, and love are within each one of us.

This summer, we participated in our local Community-Supported Agriculture, or CSA, by buying fruit shares. The local farmers provided quite a lot of fantastic blueberries, fewer raspberries than we’d hoped, and, lately, what seems like a ton of apples. I’ve had to learn how to cook with apples, and found a fresh cream apple pie recipe that is incredibly delicious…and possibly addictive.

The apple is obviously plentiful this time of year, and is an old symbol of knowledge and divine wisdom, appropriate to observances of this day, the autumnal equinox. With an equal amount of light and darkness today, it’s a good time to think about the wisdom of balance in our lives. If any part of our lives is off kilter because of unfinished business, deferred decision making, or ignored priorities we can be encouraged to make changes that will get us back in balance again. If this seems like a big challenge, eat some apples…and pray for the wisdom to change what you can and accept what you can’t. Divine wisdom will guide you.

Work inside the house slowed down quite a bit earlier this year, but, with the summer weather, work outdoors picked up momentum. Two of the three visible sides of the house are now fully landscaped. Granted, some of the plants are rather small, but we know what they will look like in three to five years, so we’re keeping the faith, holding onto the vision.

Because people will stop to look at our yard, and will ask the names of the plants, Steve has labelled a number of them. I can guess that some people ask because they’re just curious and want to hear the name of the plant, while others might be gardeners who would consider adding variety to their own landscape. Some people seem rather intimidated by the names of plants, as if learning the entire lexicon of the plant world were a prerequisite to gardening. “Oh,” more than one person has said, “I could never garden because there’s no way I’d remember all the names of things.” On the other hand, I’ve known more than a few master gardeners who are very proud of their command of plant names, especially the more precise, scientific names that are in Latin. This pushes a button for someone I know–and she’s a soil scientist with a PhD. Whenever she hears anyone use the Latin name of a plant to “correct” someone who just used the common name in conversation, she will interject with great sarcastic emotion, “Ahhh, the secret name.” She figures there’s a time and place for scientific categorization of things, but most of the time the more common name for something will suffice in general conversation. There’s no need for intimidation, on either side.

I always encourage people who are thinking of planting some things in their yard not to feel intimidated by terminology or lack of knowledge. The plants don’t care if a child, a master gardener, or a PhD are planting them. There are many plants that will do well with minimal, simple care. You can learn what to plant, where to plant it, and how to take care of it from an experienced friend or someone at the nursery where you will buy the plant. And always remember that even an experienced gardener will lose a plant from time to time — it’s not necessarily a sign of catastrophic neglect and failure, it’s just part of the experience of gardening. It’s part of life.

Recently, our neighborhood association was awarded a grant to purchase oak trees to plant in the parking strips around the neighborhood. These were to replace the many, very old trees that were damaged in a wind storm last year. The homeowners who live where the trees are planted agreed to water them for the first year. One woman marvelled at how all she needed to do was water at the recommended intervals. She said it made her feel so good to know that she could contribute to the beauty and enjoyment of the area simply by watering a tree. And it appears that she’s keeping up her end of the bargain, because the little oak has leafed out nicely and looks great.

No intimidation necessary. Just a little bit of work and a lot of plant enjoyment.