dry and crisp. there is bright light everywhere. it's hot and the sky is wide open. it feels like early summer- that perfect awakening feeling after a long season of inside. nothing about this day has the closure of december. nothing about it has the feeling of Christmas. i think i need to get used to it. the difference. mabye i need to need it less. rely less on the external things to move me into a place of reflection and preparation.
in some ways this makes sense. i mean with out the planning and the pomp and circumstance. because 2011 years ago the divine crashed into creation with minimal warning. the entrance of a king in an unsuspecting stable. that first Christmas wasn't about acute preparation. there had been promises, there had been long lengths of waiting, there had been expectations. and i love the surprise of it. i love that God ruffles feathers. that He does it his own way. everyone expected a king- and all that went with that but when the sacred entered- He entered into the ordinary, that's the way our God rolls. it's real, real. He came only announced to a few- a few people who didn't matter much to the world- he came to poor people- he came to the ordinary.
one of my favorite parts in the old testament is about God appearing to Elijah.
'Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountain apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.' God was in the whisper. so why are we so surprised that Jesus showed up in a barn? and why are we so surprised that we don't 'feel' God more dramatically? He's in the whispers, He's in the barn. He's in the ordinary.
if you haven't read anything by anne lamott then you need too. i love her blunt honesty and find her path to God real, real (read 'traveling mercies'). today i was re-reading a part of her book "grace (eventually)".
"This was the day I pecked a hole out of the cocoon and saw the sky of ingredients that would constitute my spiritual path. This was the day I knew the ingredients of the spiritual that would serve me- love, poetry, prayer, meditation, community. I knew that sex could be as sacred as taking care of the poor. I knew that no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than anywhere else. I knew that the resurrection of the mind was possible. I knew that no matter how absurd and ironic it was, acknowledging death and the finite was what gave you life and presence. You might as well make it good. Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles- in these you would find holiness."
because Jesus entered in. he came from his perfect culture into ours. he wore our 'traditional clothes' and spoke our language and embraced more than our ways, He embraced us- all of us- more importantly, each of us. He was foreign born too. He didn't just observe, he engaged fully. He didn't just live next to it, He lived it. sometimes i think of his hands and how splintered they must have been as a carpenter. i imagine them tough and calloused and strong and having slivers of wood just under the skin. i imagine that after he finished building something with his dad, he must have carved other things. i imagine that perhaps he carved a bird on the inside of a chair or the underside of a table-even if no one would notice, because he couldn't help himself, because He is a creator- the ultimate artist. and i wonder what it felt like for him to be so contained by skin? so limited by his hands when inside was the spirit of the universe- when before He just spoke it, thought it, and it was.
and i wonder what He thinks now as he looks at our remembering.
if he sees all our preparations and ritual and attempts at creating the atmosphere of Christmas time, and shakes his head and sighs and thinks- they just don't get it. to me, i know he's saying these things: you don't need any of it to be ready for me- you don't need to feel something special at Christmas time. i'm not just here in december, and then reappear at easter. i'm not in the earthquake i'm in the whisper. i'm in the relief sculpture under the table in the corner where people stick their gum. i'm in the sunset you were too busy to see. i'm in the guy who looks drunk on the street corner asking for money who you walked past. i'm in that hot hot sun and the crisp sky, not just the snow and fir trees. i entered all of it. for you. so i could sit with you- when you're so very happy, and when you're so very sick. so i could sit with you when you are full of me and even when you've forgotten me. that's what you're celebrating.
i'm thinking of these things today and feeling so thankful, in a hot and foreign land at Christmas time.
in some ways this makes sense. i mean with out the planning and the pomp and circumstance. because 2011 years ago the divine crashed into creation with minimal warning. the entrance of a king in an unsuspecting stable. that first Christmas wasn't about acute preparation. there had been promises, there had been long lengths of waiting, there had been expectations. and i love the surprise of it. i love that God ruffles feathers. that He does it his own way. everyone expected a king- and all that went with that but when the sacred entered- He entered into the ordinary, that's the way our God rolls. it's real, real. He came only announced to a few- a few people who didn't matter much to the world- he came to poor people- he came to the ordinary.
one of my favorite parts in the old testament is about God appearing to Elijah.
'Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountain apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.' God was in the whisper. so why are we so surprised that Jesus showed up in a barn? and why are we so surprised that we don't 'feel' God more dramatically? He's in the whispers, He's in the barn. He's in the ordinary.
if you haven't read anything by anne lamott then you need too. i love her blunt honesty and find her path to God real, real (read 'traveling mercies'). today i was re-reading a part of her book "grace (eventually)".
"This was the day I pecked a hole out of the cocoon and saw the sky of ingredients that would constitute my spiritual path. This was the day I knew the ingredients of the spiritual that would serve me- love, poetry, prayer, meditation, community. I knew that sex could be as sacred as taking care of the poor. I knew that no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than anywhere else. I knew that the resurrection of the mind was possible. I knew that no matter how absurd and ironic it was, acknowledging death and the finite was what gave you life and presence. You might as well make it good. Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles- in these you would find holiness."
because Jesus entered in. he came from his perfect culture into ours. he wore our 'traditional clothes' and spoke our language and embraced more than our ways, He embraced us- all of us- more importantly, each of us. He was foreign born too. He didn't just observe, he engaged fully. He didn't just live next to it, He lived it. sometimes i think of his hands and how splintered they must have been as a carpenter. i imagine them tough and calloused and strong and having slivers of wood just under the skin. i imagine that after he finished building something with his dad, he must have carved other things. i imagine that perhaps he carved a bird on the inside of a chair or the underside of a table-even if no one would notice, because he couldn't help himself, because He is a creator- the ultimate artist. and i wonder what it felt like for him to be so contained by skin? so limited by his hands when inside was the spirit of the universe- when before He just spoke it, thought it, and it was.
and i wonder what He thinks now as he looks at our remembering.
if he sees all our preparations and ritual and attempts at creating the atmosphere of Christmas time, and shakes his head and sighs and thinks- they just don't get it. to me, i know he's saying these things: you don't need any of it to be ready for me- you don't need to feel something special at Christmas time. i'm not just here in december, and then reappear at easter. i'm not in the earthquake i'm in the whisper. i'm in the relief sculpture under the table in the corner where people stick their gum. i'm in the sunset you were too busy to see. i'm in the guy who looks drunk on the street corner asking for money who you walked past. i'm in that hot hot sun and the crisp sky, not just the snow and fir trees. i entered all of it. for you. so i could sit with you- when you're so very happy, and when you're so very sick. so i could sit with you when you are full of me and even when you've forgotten me. that's what you're celebrating.
i'm thinking of these things today and feeling so thankful, in a hot and foreign land at Christmas time.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.