pondering

“what if Christmas is a dual opening, a sudden exchange? What if our human heels mark that eternal life, mix with its mud? Then Incarnation goes both ways: God not only enters into us, we enter into God. Neither of us will ever be the same.” – Things Seen and Unseen, Nora Gallagher

awake, o north wind

……..Comfort, O comfort my people,
….says your God.
……..Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,

I am black and comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,

……..Behold, I will do a new thing;
……..now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?
……..I will even make a way in the wilderness,
……..and rivers in the desert.

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city
in the streets, and in the broad ways
I will seek him whom my soul loveth

And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favoured one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.

Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness,
leaning upon her beloved?

The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.

I slept, but my heart was awake.
Listen! my beloved is knocking

Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you;

Awake, O north wind;
and come, thou south;
blow upon my garden,
that the spices thereof may flow out.

And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.’

……..a bruised reed he will not break,
……..and a dimly burning wick he will not quench

the voice of the turtle-dove
is heard in our land

Then Mary said, ‘let it be.’

I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

‘Your life is hidden with Christ in God.’ Col. 3:3

With prophets crying out in the wilderness, there is much of revelation in Advent.

And yet I also sense a different movement. This is a time for pondering how God is both revealed and concealed. Hidden.

God hidden within mundane materialities. Within language. Within relationships.

And what of us? Are we not also hidden within God?

Alleluia-verse for the Virgin

Alleluia! lightburst from your untouched

womb like a flower

on the farther side

of death. The world-tree

is blossoming. Two

realms become one.

- Hildegard of Bingen, translated by Barbara Newman

Overshadowed by the Spirit

This is a meditation I read at the reflective service for Advent we had in St Mary’s on Tuesday. It was a good night. Darkness and candles. Prayers and Singing. And the lovely bellringers pealing out good news into the night at just the right moment. Complete serendipity.

Advent is a time of waiting. Of darkness and light.

Historically, Advent has been understood as a time to contemplate the last things – eschatology and our own mortality. But tonight I want to attend to another movement. Rather than mortality, let us consider our natality. Our birth.

The philosopher Hannah Arendt asks us to consider our role in creation. Our role is natality – we are all born. We are all someone’s child. And this attention to birth brings us to our creativity – our ability to begin anew. To begin again.

A Blessing

Just off the Highway to Rochester, Minnesota
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

– James Wright

This poem may not be standard Advent fare, but I believe it holds much for us to ponder in this season of preparation. It speaks to me of vulnerability to love, the particularity of love, of transcience and eternity, of transformation.