I once heard someone say, “Everyone is quarantined with the wrong amount of people.”
I laughed at that. If you’re alone and can’t get any time with other people, that is difficult. And, if you’re like this hilarious, precious kiddo (or many parents) who are quarantined as a family, it seems as though you can’t get “even one time” alone.
Enjoy this amazing song from the son of one of my friends from high school. He sings it from the heart for himself, but this is a ballad for all quarantining families everywhere.
Sharing with permission of parent and kiddo. In fact, kiddo hopes it goes viral. 🙂
Image Description: A crack in concrete. Public domain image.
I’m a care worker. During the pandemic, in various care roles, I spend a lot of time with people on the phone. And it’s beautiful to add care and connection.
But do you know what many people need most? Money. Simply put, money. That’s what would change their difficult situations.
We live with such inequities in this country. This is also why I believe in communities coming together and caring for each other.
Image Description: A pile of magnets with various words on them. Public domain image.
During this season, I’ve been listening to the daily Advent podcasts of Blue Ocean Faith, a congregation in Ann Arbor. They are really lovely. Each one ends with the same benediction:
“Go in peace. Wash your hands. Love your neighbor. You are not alone.”
Those are four helpful phrases for this season.
When we come to expect a particular benediction, it can take on greater meaning. It serves as a reminder that we belong to a relationship or a community. We might also find ourselves repeating it as a reminder or as comfort.
Before he died, my chosen Dad and I had a benediction we’d say at the end of our phone calls. He’d start with..
“Now remember, you’re loved as strange as you are.”
And I’d say,
“And you’re loved as strange as you are.”
This was said playfully with affection. I smile even as I type that.
Lately, when I’ve ended worship services or reflection groups on Zoom — religious or not, just a sense of depth in community — I’ve found myself saying this:
“There’s a love you can’t lose. So you might as well live it.”
That sounds so matter of fact when I type it on a blog. Or it reads like a phrase resignation. But if you can imagine an inflection of a joyful discovery that sounds warm instead of cheesy, that gets close to it.
Image Description: Vials of vaccines. Public domain image. Source: FDA.
We’re living such a dichotomous time: Vaccines are becoming available, and we’ve started distribution. This will take some time, no doubt, but since these are no longer merely hypothetical, but actually being administered, we can begin to do some dreaming… What will our post-pandemic lives look like? Scientists have developed a highly effective set of vaccines for a disease we didn’t even know about one year ago. This is astonishing. What might be possible for us after this pandemic is over? How might we connect? What might we reengage?
And… on the very same day that the Pfizer vaccine received emergency authorization, we crossed the threshold of 300,000 deaths from COVID in the U.S. We may see light at the end of the tunnel, but we’re still thoroughly in the tunnel. Many people are suffering, and many are vulnerable.
We enter the holidays with this sense of grief and hope mingling together.
We may need to nurture both and care for ourselves in both.
A painting by Tim Okamura. A Black woman with an afro, halo, and crown holds a swaddled baby while sitting in a chair. Graffiti is behind her and on either side of her. Butterflies fly around them.
I love this poem by Kaitlin Hardy Shetler, and I’d like to share it with you today.
A Real Scandal of the Birth of God (A Christmas Poem) by Kaitlin Hardy Shetler
sometimes I wonder if Mary breastfed Jesus. if she cried out when he bit her or if she sobbed when he would not latch.
and sometimes I wonder if this is all too vulgar to ask in a church full of men without milk stains on their shirts or coconut oil on their breasts preaching from pulpits off limits to the Mother of God.
but then i think of feeding Jesus, birthing Jesus, the expulsion of blood and smell of sweat, the salt of a mother’s tears onto the soft head of the Salt of the Earth, feeling lonely and tired hungry annoyed overwhelmed loving
and i think, if the vulgarity of birth is not honestly preached by men who carry power but not burden, who carry privilege but not labor, who carry authority but not submission, then it should not be preached at all.
because the real scandal of the Birth of God lies in the cracked nipples of a 14 year old and not in the sermons of ministers who say women are too delicate to lead.
Image Description: Four very real reindeer are eating grass. Public domain image.
This is one of my favorite questions to ask people:
What is something you learned incorrectly as a child but only realized well into your adulthood?
This is a fantastic question! It leads to stories that are very dear and often, quite hilarious. Some people talk about words they mispronounced for decades, only revealed, of course, when they blurted them aloud in a group setting. Others talk about illogical beliefs they internalized as kids which emerged unexpectedly in their minds years later (or were also voiced aloud!) These come as a total surprise because people hadn’t even thought about the topic, let alone questioned their young belief, until that very moment.
This American Life has an entire episode of stories like these. My favorite involves a moment when a college student approached other college students at a campus party and asked the question, “So… are unicorns just really rare, or did they go extinct?”
Hysterical. Totally embarrassing. But also so dear. I love it!
With all of this in mind, I will now admit that I have an embarrassment of riches of stories like these from my own life. And I will share one of them today.
My favorite personal story of this kind involves the nine year window when I didn’t believe in reindeer.
Yes, you heard that correctly.
Now I hope this doesn’t come as a total surprise or crush anyone’s dreams, but when I was eight years old, I learned the sad truth that Santa wasn’t real. (Are you okay? I hope so). In the moment of this revelation, I was pretty of devastated. I was also deeply concerned that I wouldn’t get presents anymore.
So in the midst of my sadness, I resigned myself to reality. So much so, in fact, that I just kind of… over-steered. I just assumed… that… reindeer weren’t real either.
I mean, come on… They fly! Flying reindeer? No way.
At least there was some sort of evidence of Santa’s existence. Gifts showed up annually, so there was something tangible to associate with him. Plus, I saw him in all the malls!
But once I knew the sad truth, how could I possibly believe in flying, antlered caribou? Reindeer quickly went the way of the unicorn. (Ahem… not extinct. Non-existent).
That is, until… I was 17 years old. That is, until… I was flipping through the channels and saw a nature documentary on my television set.
A British accented, David Attenbourough wannabe voiced commentary as creatures walked around in the snow, plunging their faces into the frigid stuff, attempting to nibble on frozen grasses. “The reindeer are in the tundra,” the David Attenbourough wannabe said in all his formal tones.
And I started laughing. Laughing! “The reindeer! In the tundra! Yeah…”
But then, my laughing stopped abruptly, and my mouth gaped open. As I sat alone in the living room of my childhood home, in my last year before legal adulthood, a recognition completely washed over me. It dawned on me — at age 17 — that reindeer are REAL.
I had indeed over-steered. The reindeer had been in the tundra this whole time.
the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. Small, tiny, and yet, expansive. Growing and making space for many others…
There’s a document from the Middle Ages called Trinity Carol Roll. It’s a 15th century manuscript that contains thirteen English carols. One of these is called, “There is No Rose of Such Virtue,” and this text has been set by many, perhaps most famously by Benjamin Britten in his piece Ceremony of Carols. In that ancient document, and in many, various choral settings over 600 years, there is a particular line about Mary, which I find to be quite beautiful:
“For in this rose contained was heaven and earth in little space. Res miranda.”
Res miranda – That means a wondrous occurrence.
For in this rose, Mary, contained was heaven and earth in little space — a whole universe of possibility and belonging, a whole universe of transformation.
The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. Small, tiny, yet expansive, “for when it has grown, it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”
The Kingdom of God is like this mustard seed, aways expansive, making space for others — many others.
Mary, the Mother of Jesus, Mary, the Mother of Christian community, was not the type of person who was highly regarded in her day and age. She was young. She was a woman. She was unmarried. She was poor. She did not have high status. In fact, she may have been seen as small and insignificant.
And yet, a great calling comes to her.
Gabriel comes as a Messenger from God and immediately says, “Greetings, Favored One.” In the eyes of God, this very young, unmarried, poor woman is highly favored. She is favored in herself, and she is favored toward a calling that is res miranda, a wondrous occurrence.
Of course, she wasn’t expecting any of this, and the Messenger says, “Do not be afraid, Mary,” again reminding her, “for you have found favor with God. And now you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great. He will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the House of David forever, and of his kingdom, there will be no end.”
She’s confused. Perhaps she feels wonder. She has many questions, But in the end, Mary says, “Here am I, the servant of God. Let it be with me according to your word.” Yes. Mary says Yes. And so, in all of this — the confusion, the wonder, the questions, and the great Yes — Mary quickly gathers herself to meet in kinship with Elizabeth, one of her relatives.
Elizabeth is a Messenger too, reminding Mary of this great favor — favor in herself and favor in this calling — reminding her of possibility, expansive belonging, and great transformation.
And in the presence of Elizabeth’s joy, Mary breaks into song.
We call this song the Magnificat. It’s a song that marvels at the recognition of favor, particularly among the marginalized, those made to be small by others. And this is a song of liberation, understanding that God has chosen the people and is acting now in great justice, building the kinship community in deliverance and peace.
Today, we have this song translated before us into English. But in Greek, its original written text, there are nuances we cannot easily see. Many of the verbs — the words of action in this song — are in the perfect tense. This is a unique way to talk about the past.
It is to say,
This action has already happened and has continual significance in the future, and right now, in this present moment.
This is a way to bring time together, past, present, and future, to talk about what is at its center.
And so hear these words of Mary again this morning, recognizing how God has acted with continual significance — how God will act, and how God is acting now — through this birth of Jesus, through humanity, through the most marginalized. In this song, may you hear something you need for this day:
Mary sings, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, For God has looked with favor on the lowliness of God’s servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call be blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is God’s name.
God’s mercy is for those who fear God, from generation to generation.
God has shown strength with his arm; God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
God has brought down the powerful form their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;
God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. God has helped her servant Israel, in remembrance of her mercy, according to the promise made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”
This is who God has been with continual significance, for who God will be and how is acting right now.
Can we allow ourselves to dream of this?
Jesus says, The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. Small, tiny, and yet, expansive. Growing and making space for many others…
“For in this rose contained was heaven and earth in little space. Res miranda.”
It is a wondrous occurrence.
And what if… we allowed ourselves to believe just a little more… if we allowed ourselves to trust just a little more that this wondrous occurrence is still occurring, still active, still being created in our world now, among the marginalized now, among us and the whole kinship community of God now….
Mary uniquely gave birth to Jesus, the one who would go forward to speak, enact, and create the Kingdom of God, this realm of new possibility, rooted in who God has been all along. And this is not ultimately a Kingdom in the same kind of framework we often think about Kingdoms. This is the opposite of imperial power.
It is about God at work in humanity, in community, so some have begun to translate this phrase as the Kindom of God.
The Kindom of God… What if we allowed ourselves to believe just a little more… if we allowed ourselves to trust just a little more… that this wondrous occurrence is still occurring? Perhaps even in us…
Ancient theologians called Mary theotokos, a title of tremendous honor. They called Mary “the Mother of God” seeing in her that she was a God Bearer, one bringing forth God into the world.
And so Jesus was blessed in and through her, and the Kinship Community was blessed in and through her, for she was favored as the one she was, marginalized and made to be small, and yet expansive for Jesus and for all of us.
God is still partnering in the world with those who marginalized.
God is still partnering with the Kinship Community of God, all of humanity, calling us to these forms of liberation, calling us to these forms of transformation. Mary is an archetype for all of us.
She expands what belonging means, She expands a vision for liberation, and she lives into that transformation with her very life.
We are invited to do the same.
We too are God Bearers, with all that we are and all that we have — who we are, the gifts we have, the image of God we carry, the connections we have among each other, and this vision that is placed before us, expecting that God will show up among the marginalized and those who being made small.
Of course, no human being is small. No human community is small. Every human life and every human community is expansive with worth and possibility.
And so today, we pray for all those who are marginalized, daring to expand what belonging means.
We pray and advocate for immigrants who are scapegoated, those who struggle to know where their next meal will come from, people who are longing to have their bodies cared for and yet do not have access or are ostracized, those who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer, those who are struggling in their personal lives, in their families with grief, or infertility, or departure, or estrangement, or diagnosis, or addiction.
Might we allow ourselves to believe just a little more…. and trust just a little more …that God is active and will be active, even there, and that God is calling us to liberation, transformation, and deep connectional care in all of these places…
We are God Bearers, each one of us and all of us, with heaven and earth contained in little space, sacred possibility.
The Kindom of God is like a mustard seed. Small, tiny, and yet, expansive. Growing and making space for many others…
Advent exclaims that Time
is an ever-expanding universe of arrival.
Christ has come,
Christ is coming,
Christ will come again.
Above and among,
Beyond and beside,
God stuns with sacred presence.
Abstract and adnate,
Boundless and bodied,
God surprises with sudden reverence.
In this universe of Advent,
Time accelerates with increasing, expansive speed, and
Time slows with easing, pensive stillness.
Advent jumbles all eras of time together,
Collapsing them into one another —
colliding galaxies,
continually merging.
Sacred past and sacred future converge,
revealing a sacred present,
A Holy, Sacred Now
for
The One
Who Was,
Who Is,
and
Who Is to Come.
[2]
Mary was a universe of possibilities,
God’s Mother, a cosmos of potentiality, “For in this rose contained was heaven and earth in little space, Res miranda. . .” [3]
Res miranda! — A Wondrous Occurrence. . .
The Holy Spirit appears
to reveal the sacred prospect,
And Mary adds her YES,
ushering in Emmanuel,
God With Us.
Mary,
Theotokos, bears God into the world. Res Miranda.
Mary,
Theotokos, bears God’s child, Res Miranda!
a galaxy of unending grace.
[4]
And. . . if Advent is a swirling collision of Holy Time,
making all things present,
making all things new. . .
Perhaps the Holy, Sacred Now
is upon us,
Perhaps the Holy Spirit
is appearing among us,
Right now,
Right here,
This very hour,
summoning us to add our YES,
so that we too
might bear God into the world.
[1] This is an image of Spiral Galaxy ESO-137-001 as captured by the Hubble Space Telescope.
[2] This image was created by Deborah Koff Chapin and is part of her Soul Cards collection.
[3] This text is a portion of “There Is No Rose of Such Virtue,” a 15th century English Carol. Feel free to listen to the version that the King’s Singers perform:
[4] This is a NASA image of colliding galaxies.
[5] This image comes from wallpaper created by Fanpop.com. You can access the image here.
Candles and a plate on the table at Canterbury House. Photo, Renee Roederer.
Last night via Zoom, I attended Compline, a beautiful service to mark the transition into evening. This service is held by Canterbury House community on Wednesday nights. Over the last few years, I’ve spent many Wednesdays actually in the house for this weekly time together.
Last evening, I was present on Zoom for the first time this entire semester. So I heard an Episcopalian prayer that I typically voice weekly for the first time in many months. Given the collective grief in the United States, this really hit me:
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all your love’s sake.
Such a tender prayer, always relevant, and yet now, deeply resonant. I’ve heard these words many times, but they took on form in a new way. Yesterday, for the first time, our country lost more than 3,000 people from the coronavirus in one day — a new, terrible marker of grief.
Even if we knew none of these people personally, it makes sense to pause to feel our feelings around losses like these, recognizing that more people are dying daily.
I saw an image this week that brought home the sobering size of these losses. It said,
Deadliest Days in American History:
1) Galveston Hurricane — 8,000 2) Antietam — 3,600 3) September 11, 2001 — 2,977 4) Last Thursday — 2,861 5) Last Wednesday — 2,762 6) Last Tuesday — 2,461 7) Last Friday — 2,439 8) Pearl Harbor — 2,403
When I heard yesterday’s numbers, I knew we had lost more people from this virus on a single day than 9/11.
Today, I’d like share an article so we can hear from some ICU Nurses about the virus. Their perspectives are so important. Health care workers need our support.
There’s so much need and so much grief, and they are present to experience it all.
[1]
[4]
[5]
Smuggling Grace 