it was 60 years ago today (well, almost...)

A FB meme recently proclaimed that it was 60 years ago that Meet the Beatles was released in the USA: January 20, 1964. 

Two weeks later, February 9th, they were on the Ed Sullivan Show - and my world changed forever for the better! Not only did the Beatles open my heart as if it were Pentecost, but they gave me an aesthetic that would ripen right along with them from the sassy young rock'n'rollers from tough Liverpool to the mystical musical mentors  who kept going deeper into culture, politics, spirituality, and creativity. Two weeks after the first Sullivan show, they returned - and when I heard John Lennon scream during "Twist and Shout" the skies opened, the Spirit fell upon me, and my life finally had meaning.

And I'm not speaking just metaphorically - although that was true, too. In the fullness of time, as the Scriptures often say, my soul was lifted by the Beatles beyond the drudgery of teen age angst in a way that impelled me to learn to play the guitar, find common ground with four other guys my age, create our own music, and publicly share the sounds that fed our hearts. Those who have not been awakened like this will think I'm exaggerating. But those who speak in tongues know what I'm talking about. Those who have experimented with psychedelics know, too along with Beat poets, jazz players, and gospel choirs. The music can literally raise you from the ordinary so that every pour feels fully alive.

We lived in Sudbury, MA when all of this broke. I had a small red Japanese transistor radio that I took to bed with me every night first to listen to WINS in NYC - 1010WINS with Murray the K @ 7 pm - and after his count down to switch over to WBZ in Boston for a comparable Beatles extravaganza. (check it out @ https://www.murraythek.com) Right after Christmas '63, I was at my friend, Frank Sisson's home, when his father brought home that first American Beatles album. Earlier, I'd bought a cheap Beatles' rip off album for $1.98 that I didn't know was a knock off. I played it relentlessly until my naive self discovered the scam.

Sitting in Frank's living room with the REAL deal, however, kept the fire burning. This was 6-7 grade. We begged and pleaded with Grandma Deanne and Poppa Fred to take us to the Oxford Drive In Theatre when "A Hard Day's Night" premiered. And before I got my first guitar in 8th grade, my brother Phil and I made fake wooden guitars in the shape of Lennon's Rickenbacker and Harrison's Country Gentleman which we took down to the basement with our record player and mimed our way through Meet the Beatles and The Beatles Second Album with a Dionysian passion: cranked up high, this was ecstatic and life-affirming embodied prayer for two adolescent guys who were almost pathologically shy. We could be cocky and cute, we could shake our booties innocently, and begin to sense what sensuality was all about.

And what was true 60 years ago today continues to be true for me now: I STILL go wild with the Beatles. Dave and I, in The Two of Us, play a LOT of Beatles' tunes from "I've Got a Feeling" and "You Can't Do That" to "It Won't Be Long" and a lot of the acoustic songs from 1965. And my grandson, Lou, at 10 years old is getting down to "She Loves You" and "I've Just Seen a Face." Right now "Day Tripper" and "While My Guitar Gentle Weeps" are our favorites. 

Not everyone grasps our passion. That goes with the territory. But for those whose eyes have been opened, the Beatles create common ground with beauty and style. As I was out in San Francisco working on my Doctor of Ministry degree, my brother and sister-in-law joined me in North Beach for a weekend festival. It was cold and foggy as we sat on the ground in Washington Square Park in North Beach. There were street people still sleeping off last night's buzz along with yuppies and young families. Then the "Sun Kings" - a Beatles' cover band - took the stage, played the opening chord to "A Hard Day's Night" and that crowd of 600 strangers became community instantaneously. Little ones from Dot.Com families were dancing with wizened denizens of North Beach, old hippies were chatting up cops, and every imagined sexuality was singing along together in a unified chorus of pure joy for two hours. It was holy ground - and continues to be holy ground as we keep the magic alive.

Today I give thanks to the One who is holy for opening my heart and soul to the Beatles - and for that first mind-blowing album.

the snow has arrived...

The snow has arrived - and for at least a moment all feels right with the world. We walked through the wetlands this afternoon as the dry powder poured down upon us. Lucie romped like a puppy. Our new neighbors introduced their six-month old son to the pleasures of snowboarding. It is quiet, cold, and dark here just as January should be in these parts.

Today's snow struck me as a sacramental gift as we walked in quiet solitude. Less than 24 hours after the close of the Iowa caucus it whispered that there is still more awe, beauty, serenity, and joy to be revealed. Debacle and despair are real, but never the whole story. So let's savor the winsome wonder of this day however it surfaces because, at some point, just below this frosty blanket of elegance lies a new mess waiting to be revealed. The frozen powder currently covering our barren landscape and muffling the noise of the road, will eventually give way to the comingling of mud, muck and the detritus of autumn. They, too, move us towards new life as winter slowly morphs into spring. But for a time what was once pure will become soiled. What once felt reassuring will seem unhinged. And what once strengthened our souls will give way to the practice of patience and careful discernment.

This election cycle, like Mud Season in New England, will expose all that is ugly, dangerous, and challenging within our body politic. I studiously refuse to pretend that I know how this shakes out. I just trust that humility and love are the necessary virtues of this hour. Those who choose otherwise are either ignorant or arrogant or both. All we know for certain is that there is more volatility in play in 2024 than 2020 or 2016 - more guns, propaganda, fear, loathing, and suffering, too. I can't recall who said it but it rings true that the reason fascists hate love is because love is unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Healing and transformative. With a prophetic prescience, MLK said: "I have decided to stick with love; hate is a burden too great to bear." St. Paul got it right when he told us:

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love. Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have. Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head, doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,” doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others, doesn’t revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, Trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, and keeps going to the end. Love never dies. Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled.

Love connects us - it is how solidarity transforms individuals, cultures, and even nations. Hatred corrals us into siloes. It celebrates segregation. So let's be clear right now that we are called by the sacred to see beyond the mean-spirited demagogues who manipulate the all too real wounds of rural America and the white working class and remember they are family. Let us choose to trust love and mystery whenever they preach division and violence. And let us listen ever so carefully to the cries of the poor, the silence of those denied a voice, and the unspoken fear of so many sisters and brothers of every race, gender, class, and nationality. 

Walking in the snow is not only therapeutic and refreshing, it is soul food for compassion. It offers us the gift of silent beauty at the same time it invites us to know that there is so much more going on just below the surface. It is a both/and prayer not a binary judgement.

why the inward journey is essential for social justice...

Last night I began reading James Finley's insights in

Christian Meditation: Experiencing the Presence of God. He makes three wise, counter-intuitive, and helpful observations.

+ First, to practice meditation is to recognize both our ego consciousness and our mystical consciousness. "By ego consciousness, I am referring to the consciousness that manifests itself in saying: I want, I think, I need, I feel, I remember, I like, I don't like, etc... it is a precious gift from God" but it is incomplete because it separates us from the totality of creation. "Ego consciousness, in and of itself, is not expansive enough to fulfill our hearts... it is not generous enough to bring us all the way home (and) too one-dimensional to be the subjective ground of infinite union with eternity." To recognize and honor our ego consciousness is vital as a first step in awakening "to the eternal unity with God that IS the deeper reality of ourselves and everyone and everything around us." 

+ Second, meditation can only play a part in healing some of the suffering humans experience. "Even if we could manage to become a perfectly healthy ego, there would still remain the suffering that arises from experiencing ourselves as nothing more than our ego." This distinguishes authentic meditation from self-help practices that focus on an individual's personal inner transformation. The inward journey is vital, but too often remains segregated from the rest of reality. Ego consciousness is too small: "it perceives being as a separate self that must search for God (who is also perceived as a being other than one's self.) As ego consciousness yields and gives way to meditative awareness, we beging to recognize the surprising nearness of God, already perfectly present in the intimate recesses of our very being."

+ And third, the point and practice of authentic meditation is to "awaken us to the already present oneness with God we seek." Finley is so on target here writing "to practice meditation as an act of faith is to open oneself to the endlessly reassuring realization that our very being and the very being of everyone and everything else around us IS the generosity of God... we meditate that we might awaken to this unitive mystery, not just in meditation, but in every moment of our lives."

This is how Jesus lived. Whether he was seeing a child crawling up into his lap or a leper wanting to be healed; whether he was seeing a prostitute or his own mother; whether he was seeing the joy of a wedding feast or the sorrow of loved ones weeping at the burial of a loved one; whether he was seeing his own disciples or his executioners: he saw God. We meditate that we might learn to see through Christ's eyes the divine mystery of all that surrounds us.

Small wonder Fr. Richard Rohr recruited Finley to be a part of his core master teachers: learning to see and live beyond the limitations of our binary ego is essential in releasing a liberating compassion. I read somewhere that the reason fascists strive to replace love with fear is that love cannot be controlled. And living in a loving unity with reality is journeying with the holy. That's where so many activists get into a mess: they rely on their feelings, intellect, and analysis - their egos - without realizing that what separates us eventually gives up the ghost. It is not big enough to embrace the suffering. How did Joni Mitchell put it back on "The Last Time I Saw Richard" on her masterwork Blue? "All romantics (and I would add activists) meet the same fate some day: drunk and cynical and boring someone in some dark cafe." Left to ourselves, we all run out of gas. Joined mystically with love from the inside out, however, we are a part of creation itself.

Now let me add that I am a wayward monk when it comes to disciplined meditation. For the past 30 years I have dabbled  in, vigorously practiced, and then incrementally abandoned centering prayer. I keep returning, like Siddhartha to the Ganges River, and find it refreshing and restorative. And still I wander. When I was wacked with RSV earlier this month, however, two realities hit home. One had to do with my mortality: this was the first time I truly felt old. Recognizing at a heart level that there is much less precious time in front of me than behind is a hard master - and it broke through some of my ego illusions that have encouraged procrastination. The other came from something Cynthia Bourgeault wrote: those truly empty and silent moments of absolute serenity that happen during Centering Prayer are a taste of eternity. The dark, tender abyss we experience in silence is prelude to what we shall know forever on the other side of this life. Being sick, at least for me this time, was a threshold - and I've learned a lot about thresholds from the late John O'Donohue:

At any time you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it? A threshold is not a simple boundary; it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms, and atmospheres. Indeed, it is a lovely testimony to the fullness and integrity of an experience or a stage of life that it intensifies toward the end into a real frontier that cannot be crossed without the heart being passionately engaged and woken up. At this threshold a great complexity of emotion comes alive: confusion, fear, excitement, sadness, hope. This is one of the reasons such vital crossings were always clothed in ritual. It is wise in your own life to be able to recognize and acknowledge the key thresholds: to take your time; to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue there; to listen inward with complete attention until you hear the inner voice calling you forward. The time has come to cross.

I am taking my time with this one but it is clear it's time to cross back towards a deeper practice of silence. 

a humble look at a new way of serving God's church...

In three weeks I start serving a new congregation as their Interim Minister: it will be a journey of discovery for us all. Like many old-timers entering this new type of ministry, I come with a set of skills that are not always valued by those who "do" interim work over the long haul. Indeed, I have witnessed healthy congregations disoriented and wounded as "professional" interim pastors apply a one-size-fits-all approach to their calling. Not so for me: as I learned over 40 years of full-time service in four different congregations, my first job is to listen carefully to the people and the Spirit as we pursue incarnating the love of Jesus for our context.

Starting in the 1980's, an extended "family systems" type of interim ministry became normative throughout the once mainstream - but now side-lined - Protestant churches of the United States. The intent was both noble and well-intended; this type of interim ministry was predicated upon solving problems. For a few centuries, pastoral accountability had become non-existent. Clergy abuse was sky-rocketing, pastoral alienation and loneliness was epidemic, and a host of bad habits had evolved that often left congregations caught in a cycle of "doing the same old thing over and over while expecting different results." The "new" model was designed to interrupt old patterns of thinking and acting, help lay leaders explore new and healthier models of ministry, and offer the necessary training to turn our words into deeds. 

The former interim ministry model involved tapping retired and experienced pastors to serve for a few months while new settled leadership was brought into place. (For an insightful take on this, read my colleague's reflection @ https: //richardlfloyd.com/2010/08/09/ten-theses-about-interim-ministry/) For many churches the old model worked, but for just as many, it did not. And the new reform clearly worked in identifying entrenched bad habits that could be named and addressed. What did not work, it seems to me, was treating the reform in a linear or sequential manner. This created a mechanical approach to nourishing the life of the Spirit. Remember how sequentially many treated the "stages of grief?" It also reinforced the "pastor as fixer" model rather than the pastor as partner in ministry. Pastoral accountability continued to be minimal, congregations continued to be sold a bill of goods about what their "fixer" could truly accomplish, and a wooden application of the interim work wounded and diminished existing strong, faithful, and creative lay leadership.

Nearly 50 years later, another corrective has come into play intended to bring greater sensitivity to the interim work, address the clergy shortage crisis, tenderly discern what the Spirit may be saying to each congregation, and do so using skills that are analytically objective AND spiritually humble. What's more, the potential exists for this new model to practice what I call "small is holy" or please do not rush the movement of the Holy Spirit. Pastoral skill is valued, as is a slow pace of interaction, so that trust and respect is nourished. Further, in the five identified tasks of interim ministry, it is now normative that not ALL tasks are equal in value in every congregation. Some faith communities are NOT broken. We are all risk averse to one degree or another, but that does not make them dysfunctional. And while not all existing churches are called by the Spirit to close, or merge, the new working hypothesis is: it takes time to discern this so move with careful deliberation. As one wise soul put it: The rule of an interim should be like a doctor: “Do no harm.” A good interim will leave a small footprint.

One of the realities I find most refreshing five years after walking away from the church, is the pastoral and programmatic expertise of our new crop of denominational leaders. These servants are stretched and challenged by a 21st culture of disdain for organized religion. But instead of despair and exhaustion, many of the new leaders see possibilities. As one wise soul has said to me on multiple occasions: remember, we serve a God of resurrection. I am humbled to be a part of this era's transitional ministry. I start in February - and I'll keep you posted. I'll also keep you up-to-date on the music work we're doing because that is just as important in culture care as anything more formal.

postponing small is holy until epiphany 2024...

As disappointed as I was yesterday about having to postpone the start of a New Year of contemplative reflections on "Small is Holy," I am even more bummed today as I realize it's best to simply chill this week as I recover from whatever muck has taken control. Talk about invasion of the body snatchers! Thankfully, it’s not COVID again (that unwanted guest came, left, and returned in October.) No, this stranger is more of a raw throat, respiratory congestion with periodic bursts of hacking. I’m old enough to know that this too shall pass but this means another week of practicus interruptus where my music plans have been moved to hold. The upside is that I can stay warm while enjoying the entirety of Christmastide. Not everyone in our culture has such a luxury and I don’t want to waste this unintended down time.

Two poems by Madelene L’Engle have been close to my heart this season: The Risk of Birth, Christmas 1973 and First Coming. Both gently insist that sentimentalizing the Christmas story is both historically and spiritually wrong. If we’re to find eyes to truly see, we must practice a sacramental metaphysics, one that knows how to wait and search the most unlikely places for presence of the Christ-child. That’s why this year we’ve seen so many nativity icons set in the rubble of the war between Israel and Gaza: NOT because Jesus was a Palestinian (that’s an ideological simplicity of the most damaging type; yes, modern day Bethlehem does lay within the confines of West Bank, but to call Jesus (or the Holy Family) Palestinians is anachronistic and dishonest). Rather, this war – and all the others – reminds us that the holy continues to break into history whether we choose to see it or not.

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war & hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor & truth were trampled by scorn–
Yet here did the Savior make his home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn–
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

Her second poem, First Coming, challenges us to go beyond ideology, simplicity, sentimentality, and all the consumerism of a contemporary Christmas and trust that the holy is already being incarnated even in our own broken realities. It is, if you will, a holiday restatement of MLK’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail, written during his i1962 incarceration, Dr. King tell us:

“I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

Carrie Newcomer channels MLK and Rabbi Hillel when she sings, “If not now, tell me when.: Ms. L’Engle does likewise as she reframes the Christmas story in it’s authentic context.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace
He came when the Heavens were unsteady
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came
to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
He came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

So, no music for me this week – except personal practice – and we’ll pause “Small is Holy” until NEXT Sunday and the Feast of Epiphany. Be well, beloved. Be grounded. Be safe. And rejoice in the Lord always.

learning to embrace the darkness and the light...

Like so many others learning to live beyond our culture's destructive dualism and obsession with binary yes/no thinking, it's always a work in progress. St. Paul grasped this when he told us: Now we see as through a glass darkly; later we shall see face to face... When I was a child I spoke like a child, thought like a child, and acted like a child. But ripening into God's grace I see that it is time to put childish things away and trust that faith, hope, and love endure. (I Corinthians 13 paraphrase) 

Jesus taught this, too taking his cue from what Cynthia Bourgeault and others call the perennial wisdom tradition. The closing words of chapter five in St. Matthew's rendering of the Sermon on the Mount are illustrative. After teaching his disciples that God's call is to love our neighbors, our friends, AND our enemies, Jesus says: The time has come, therefore, to be mature, complete, and fully developed for this is what God intends for you. 

English Bibles translate the Greek of Matthew 5:48, telios, as perfect - meaning to be fulfilled, grown up, or complete - but perfect in our culture connotes the absence of fault, living without sin, or being ethically and morally consistent. And if you've been around the block or two you know that this is humanly impossible. By design God created us incomplete so that we might grow into a humble albeit ripening holiness incrementally. Learning from our mistakes and failures is part of the sacred maturation God intended. That's why I say that incarnating the non-binary heart of Jesus is always a work in progress. It takes time, practice, failure, forgiveness, and perseverance. How did St. Paul put it in Romans 5: 

We embrace our afflictions knowing that affliction produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit.

One of the ways I practice this shift is by noticing and honoring the small strands of synchronicity that pop up every day. Yesterday, for example, I was watching the PBS Newshour (something that wasn't happening while we were with our family for Christmas in Brooklyn) and saw the graveyards of Gaza: they were full. I saw thousands of refugees clinging to a UN Relief vehicle in Southern Gaza hoping to secure a morsel of food during the deluge of bombs. And I read the NY Times report on the revolting violent desecration Hamas unleashed against the bodies of Israeli women during their terrorist attack on October 7th. To be sure, the vicious violation of women has long been part of warfare. Our Bible records Jews committing genocide during the conquest of Canaan: they, too castrated their male opponents while enslaving and violating women as the booty of war. In our era, the Russians were notorious for raping and mutilating the women of the Third Reich. The Japanese did so to Korean Women. And some American GIs followed suit during Vietnam and Iraq. (For those with the strength, here's the link:https://www. 

nytimes.com/2023/12/28/world/middleeast/oct-7-attacks-hamas-israel-sexual-violence.html?smid=url-share) 

Part of forsaking the simplicity of binary thinking is taking in the totality of reality - not just the parts that bring us joy, security, or self-affirmation nor only the truths that evoke despair, grief, and uncertainty - but the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Terry Tempest Williams put it like this: 

“I want to feel both the beauty and the pain of the age we are living in. I want to survive my life without becoming numb. I want to speak and comprehend words of wounding without having these words become the landscape where I dwell. I want to possess a light touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars.”

The late Madeliene L'Engle said much the same poetically in "First Coming." 

God did not wait till the world was ready,

till nations were at peace.

He came when the Heavens were unsteady,

and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.

He came when the need was deep and great.

He dined with sinners in all their grime,

turned water into wine. He did not wait

till hearts were pure. In joy he came

to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.

To a world like ours, of anguished shame

he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,

to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.

In the mystery of the Word made Flesh

the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane

to raise our songs with joyful voice,

for to share our grief, to touch our pain,

He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

So, starting THIS Sunday, December 31, there will be a slightly different way of doing our modest weekly contemplative online gathering: Small is Holy. For 2024 we'll follow a simple Vespers liturgy and conclude with an inclusive Eucharist. You may know that I'll be starting to serve a new congregation in February and need to streamline my preparation time for these contemplative reflections. Making this commitment is another part of learning to live into a nonbinary heart: for me it is once again time to reconnect beyond my solitude. We'll see how this unfolds knowing that we may need to shift away from Sunday to a midweek time. I'll keep you posted. Using a new/old liturgy that will change according to the liturgical seasons, the renewal of old texts, and the rhythms of Mother Earth: Small is Holy will take another step into the unitive grace of Jesus. (Here's the liturgical template that you may want to print out if you join us over the next seven weeks leading up to Lent.)

+

SMALL IS HOLY VESPERS/EUCHARIST

We begin by offering a sacred body prayer or sign of the Cross before praying:

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.

Glory be to the Creator, the Christ, and the Holy Spirit: as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Hymn: Psalm 134

Come and bless the Lord all you who love God

Who stands night after night in the house of the Lord

Lift up your hands in the Sanctuary and bless the Lord

The Lord, the maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion (2x)

Evening Psalm and Alleluia

Quiet Prayer

Gospel Canticle of Mary: Lue 1: 46-55

RESPONSE: My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of the Almighty’s servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is God’s name. R

God’s mercy is for those who fear God from generation to generation. God has shown strength with God’s arm; God has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted-up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. R

God has helped servant Israel, in remembrance of God’s mercy,

according to the promise God made to our ancestors,

to Abraham and Sarah and to their descendants forever. R

Quiet Reflection

Hymn

Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all its righteousness;

And all these things shall be added unto you: allelu, alleluia.

Ask and it shall be given unto you, seek and ye shall find,

Knock and the door will be opened unto you: allelu, alleluia.

Great Thanksgiving/Eucharistic Prayer

The Lord is with you – And also with you.

Lift up your hearts – We lift them up to God.

Let us give thanks to the Lord our God – 

It is right to give God thanks and praise.

It is right…

Holy, holy, holy God Ruler All-Loving: heaven and earth are full of your glory. Glory be to you, O God. Blessed is the One who comes, who comes in the name of God. Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna in the highest.

The Prayer continue closes with the Lord’s Prayer. 

Please pray this in whatever form resonates with your heart…

Our Father in heaven, hallowed by your name: your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread; and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Save us from the time of trial and deliver us from evil; for the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever. Amen.

The bread and wine are blessed and prepared for sharing.

The bread which we bless and share + 

is our participation in the brokenness of the world. 

And the cup which we bless and share + 

is our participation in the celebration of joy. 

These are the gifts of God for the whole people of God: 

come for all things are ready.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world:

have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world:

have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world:

grant us peace.

We share the cup of blessing and the bread of life.

Sing amen: Amen we praise your name, O God.

Sing amen: Amen, we praise your name, O God.

Sing amen: amen, amen, amen, amen.

Amen we praise your name, O God.

honoring the darkness AND the light of this season...

As Advent inched towards Christmas this year I found myself keenly aware of the loss all around and within me: dear friends whose parents passed in 2023, the on-going war between Israel and Hamas and the incomprehensible innocent deaths that Israel has caused in Gaza, the as yet unstoppable pain my sweetheart still endures, the seemingly never ending slaughter in Ukraine, financial challenges, political polarization, Mother Earth on fire, the ugly realization that my once prosperous and modestly egalitarian country looks more and more like a failed nation that stuffs the wealthy while punishing everyone else, the epidemic of anti-Semitism and anti-Muslim violence, my own aging aches and pains, the avalanche of death that consumed musicians I've long cherished (including Denny Laine, Jimmy Buffett, Robbie Robertson, Sinead O'Connor, Randy Meisner, Tony Bennett, Astrud Gilberto, George Winston, Cynthia Weil, Bill Lee, Tina Turner, Gordon Lightfoot, Tim Bachman, Harry Belafonte, Ahmad Jamal, Jim Gordon, Gary Rosington, David Lynley, Wayne Shorter, Huey "Piano" Smith, Burt Bacharach, Tom Verlaine, Barrett Strong, David Crosby, Robbie Bachman, and Jeff Beck), and the overwhelming sense that what's broken politically/economically/and spiritually can't be fixed until it's fully broken. That's a TON of loss born of time, reality, dysfunction, fear, greed, and inevitability.

Simultaneously, beauty and compassion saturates our lives, too. We can't always see or feel this given our own wounds and/or grief, but that doesn't stop the light from shinning in the darkness. Artist, Nick Cave, put it like this:

I am awed at the audacity of the world to continue to be beautiful and good even in times of deep suffering and grief. Some are furious with me for celebrating the systematically gorgeous aspects of life given all the brokenness and wounds – how dare you some ask – but look: life goes on. The sun still rises, the birds still sit in the trees and all the rest of it. Yes, people are suffering deeply – and the temptation is to either ignore this or cling to the absence of beauty that becomes like a hardening of the soul - so I rejoice in searching out the beauty even in the destruction.

This paradox kept creeping into my consciousness this season - the joy and the sorrow - both at once. When our Brooklyn family arrived at worship on Christmas Eve, the Sanctuary was packed. It was the children's pageant with over 50 little ones sharing a tableaux of the birth of Jesus so five hundred of us were on hand to sing our favorite carols accompanied by organ, choir, and brass. The descants were ecstatic and I found myself weeping during verse three of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" as the descants and brass just ripped away my defenses:

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness!

Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings.

Mild he lays his glory by, born that we no more may die,

born to raise us from the earth, born to give us second birth.

Hark, the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King.

I had the same sense of being overwhelmed by grace as we feasted in Brooklyn over Christmas: we laughed and savored incredible food prepared by our son-in-law. And after the first course of paper thin fried eggplant and freshly baked focaccia, our 10 year old grandson proclaimed with surprising delight: "Let's all give a cheer for my dad the incredible chef!" The stunned and graciously humble look on his poppa's face was an unexpected blessing. The adult conversations after our morning gift-giving was centered on our concerns about aging and death, the state of our politics, and everything in-between. And just when despair was about to creep into the conversation... it was time for "Mary Poppins" and the joy returned. There were aching backs and full stomachs, tons of laughter mixed with a few tears, sweet and sensitive gifts next to Big Mouth Billy Bass singing "Take Me to the River" (the surprise hit of the feast day.)

Driving home, we listened to NPR's "All Songs Considered" and the paradox continued. It was an episode devoted to the songs that touched our hearts - and it was a tear jerker combing profound loss with gentle solace. The mood in the Sideline Saloon was a bit subdued last night, too before we got things hopping and then the joy was overwhelming. And while going to pick up Lucie from the kennel this morning, what did I see but our once glorious pumpkins caving in on themselves. They had performed their job of bringing bounty and beauty to us since the beginning of October; and now they were done and tossed upon the garden to nourish the squirrels and chipmunks. The circle of life in action, yes?

Carrie Newcomer captured this both/and wisdom last week in her substack column - a message the Christmas Eve preacher echoed - in a call to keep searching for the light in the darkness. Newcomer wrote:

I remember a conversation with two pastors serving two different congregations in Denver. Christmas is a very busy season for pastors, usually non-stop from Advent all the way through to the new year. They described how every year, when they both finished their respective Christmas Eve midnight services, they went to a favorite local restaurant/bar located near their home. When the bar closed at 2am they would hold Christmas Eve service for anyone still in the bar. The owner and these two wonderful women would put a cloth on the pool table and light candles. They would hold hands around the table, tell a story of weary travelers on a weary night far from home, they would sing a few songs and say a prayer of blessing. I asked them both why they decided to do this each year, when they were probably totally exhausted from all the responsibilities of the season. Instead of giving me an answer, they asked me a question, “Who needs a little hope and care more than the folks who are alone and closing down a bar on Christmas eve?” They went on to tell me of how last Christmas Eve there had been a somewhat intimidating looking young man seated at the end of the counter covered in tattoos and piercings. He ended up staying after hours and stood in the circle with the other Christmas Eve refugees. After the gathering ended with a quiet Silent Night, the young man turned to one of the pastors and with soft eyes said, “you know, my mom would have loved this.” Most nativity crèches feature an immaculate barn, with a doting father with a well trimmed hipster beard, a beautiful woman dressed impeccably in blue. Outside, happy shepherds are looking up at the North Star and a gossamer angel oversees the arrival of three very wealthy travelers on camels. The baby is never cold or shivering in the open barn or shed, but laying quietly on the softest looking blanket. But the story actually takes place in a country under the control of a Roman military superpower. The “perfect” parents were most likely quite young and newly married, but the new bride was already nine months pregnant. You can do the math - as the gossips in their little rural town probably did. So close to her due date, there’s no way they wanted to go on this trip. But the powers that be decided taxes are taxes, people had to be counted, and so they were forced to travel to a place where they had no friends or family. People just had to take time off, which was especially hard for those living pay check to pay check. The roads would have been full of migrants, refugees and travelers, all the hotels were full and expensive. When they reached the little town where they would be counted, they had to have been tired and dusty, the young woman was probably very uncomfortable, her bones must have ached, her feet swollen and balance off. Just when things seemed pretty darn hard, it would turn out that all hotels, hostels, motels and air b&bs were booked up. There was not a single room available in town and they only had a donkey, and so no car to sleep in. They were homeless for the night and that would have been then the labor pains started. Then the first miracle arrived in an act of kindness. Simple acts of kindness ARE miracles. So is holding reality tenderly in all its paradoxical pain and beauty. May the unfolding 12 days of Christmas afford you the chance to hold it all together with humble tenderness.

returning to the church in a new way...

                

Over this past month I have been a part of a fascinating new process - at least it's new for me: interviewing for a transitional ministry position in this general area. Previously in four separate searches, my goal was to discern where my heart, soul, gut, and research might meet God's Holy Spirit in pursuit of a full time position. That took our small family all over the country from Saginaw, MI and Tucson, AZ to two Cleveland, OH and Pittsfield, MA. Exploring a church assignment in that incarnation was all about logistical considerations including schools for our daughters, demographics, local/denominational politics, collegiality, affordability, finances, and so much more.

This time around, however, most of those externals are irrelevant: we already have a sweet home, we're rooted within a constellation of friends, we're close to our children and grandchildren, have a satisfying relationship with both our doctors and many of the local movers and shakers, and know the artistic community reasonably well. The four variables to this quest are: 

1) what relatively short-term tasks need to be accomplished in each congregation?

2) what financial package is on the table?

3) how far away am I willing to drive on a regular basis?

4) how much conflict needs to be addressed in each of these very different faith communities?

That's a whole other kettle of fish, yes? As many know, I never anticipated finding myself in a situation where my retired self still has marketable skills in the ever changing landscape of churches in transition. After an intensive, ecumenical training course in ways to collaborate and support these congregations, however, I am learning that this old dog still has a few years to share creativity and compassionate. Given the fact that fewer and fewer young people are entering ministry, more and more people have abandoned religion, and a batch of churches have lost their long term pastor to retirement it feels like a good time to reconnect. This is the season for a casually contemplative focus alongside skill in managing conflict, and a tender sense of humor.

This return seems an organic way of participating in culture change and political resistance to the cruel and divisive agenda of the MAGA era as well. Since before the Covid lockdown, we've been making music as part of our small scale cultural revolution: playing for free in a variety of settings not only nourishes good vibes but gets different folk singing with one another. Physicians have learned that when a crowd of people starts to sing together, it doesn't take long before their hearts are beating together as one in a shared rhythm. A recent article in The Atlantic put it like this: in this era of anger and anxiety, are we ripe for small alternatives grounded in solidarity and tenderness? I think so - and I'm going back into the fray to see what solace I might share. I'll keep you posted as the New Year unfolds.

advent soup as prayer...

One of the Advent commitments we have been practicing this year involves soup: simple, earthy, and savory soups born of a batch of recipes from The Twelve Months of Monastery Soups cookbook. It has been a wonderful Advent spiritual practice for a few reasons. First, making fresh soup has put me back in touch with root vegetables - a connection to the season I have long avoided. This year, however, I am discovering something very satisfying about physically slicing leeks and onions, chopping potatoes, carrots and rutabagas, reconnecting with the mystical magic of herbs, and all the rest. It's way more fun than shoveling snow (which has its own unique charism, but gets old very fast.) 

Second, unlike so much of the work I've done in my life, cooking offers an almost immediate pay off: we get to eat it as well as smell and savor it. So much of what I have done in ministry and organizing is about delayed gratification: seeds are planted that someone else will harvest. And while that is a faith commitment for the long haul that I celebrate, there's NOTHING like slicing freshly baked bread, slathering it with real butter, and taking that first ecstatic taste! Same goes for my encounter with winter vegetables. Once again, the kitchen and our cutting counters have become portable prayer altars overflowing with the bounty of Mother Earth. What a treat!

Third, making monastic soups has helped me stay in touch with sister faith communities all over the world. Tonight I'll prepare a pot of St. Nicholas Soup that claims a Turkish origin; last week I worked on soups from France and Italy. It's a small thing, to be sure, but even in these semi post-Covid days we still spend most of our time in solitude. To eat with monastic sisters and brothers across the globe is a gentle way of staying connected to the international community of Christ.

And fourth, my kitchen prayers have made me curious about poems about soup. I don't know many but enjoyed this one from Daniel Nyikos. I am just beginning to look for others and will keep you posted.

I set up my computer and webcam in the kitchen
so I can ask my mother’s and aunt’s advice
as I cook soup for the first time alone.

My mother is in Utah. My aunt is in Hungary.
I show the onions to my mother with the webcam.
“Cut them smaller,” she advises.
“You only need a taste.”
I chop potatoes as the onions fry in my pan.

When I say I have no paprika to add to the broth,
they argue whether it can be called potato soup.
My mother says it will be white potato soup,
my aunt says potato soup must be red.

When I add sliced peppers, I ask many times
if I should put the water in now,
but they both say to wait until I add the potatoes.
I add Polish sausage because I can’t find Hungarian,
and I cook it so long the potatoes fall apart.

“You’ve made stew,” my mother says
when I hold up the whole pot to the camera.
They laugh and say I must get married soon.
I turn off the computer and eat alone.

nick cave, mary's magnificat, and the wisdom of our wounds: advent III

Advent III arrives this coming Sunday, December 17: to date our Small is Holy contemplative reflections have considered Advent as a "second coming" where our yearnings are recognized as communion with the holy (Advent !); and, where the practice of inner quiet is a prerequisite for authentic peace-making (Advent II). This season we're linking the insights of musician Nick Cave with the appointed texts from the Advent gospels. Two quotes from Cave are guiding these reflections:

• Our search for spiritual intimacy and assurance – our yearning – IS the heart of the religious experience… the desire to believe and the longing for meaning, the moving towards the ineffable – THIS is what is essential, important, and authentic despite the outward absurdity of it – or even because of the absurdity of it. When it comes right down to it, maybe faith is just a decision and God is the search. (Faith, Hope and Carnage)

• For me, vulnerability is essential to spiritual and creative growth whereas being invulnerable means being shut down and rigid. (On Being interview with Krista Tippett.)

This week there's a few gospel possibilities: many will go with St. John's insights re: John the Baptist in John 1: 6-8/19-28. My heart, however, calls me to St. Luke's words and Mary's Magnificat in Luke 1: 39-56. And here's the Nick Cave quote that will serve as our guide:

We've talked about this a lot: the idea that suffering is, by its nature, the primary mechanism of change, and that it somehow presents us with the opportunity to transform into something else - something different - hopefully something better. That God bestows upon us these terrible, devasting opportunities that bring amelioration and transformation. This change is not something we necessarily seek out; rather, change is often brought be bear upon us through a shattering or annihilation of our former selves. (Faith, Hope, and Carnage)

In starting Advent III with these texts, let me offer two preliminary qualifications:

+ First, I do not believe the Sacred causes or demands our wounds. Not only would that be cruel, but it bears no resemblance to Jesus who, in our tradition, incarnates and reveals the deepest nature of the holy we can grasp this side of the grave. Rather, as the Magnificat and countless other poems and songs make clear, as those created in the image of the Creator, we have been imbued with the ability to creatively respond to life's challenges rather than passively endure them. For most of us, we can learn the wisdom of our wounds so that our mistakes become yet one more source of mystical insight. Instead of repeating them ad nauseum, like the Magi, we can "return home by another way." Or as my AA buddies put it: If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got. 

+ Second, discovering the wisdom of our challenges and suffering is an honored spiritual practice in the East. Divination in the Eastern Orthodox tradition stands in opposition to the doctrine of original sin that dominates Western Christianity. As celebrated by St. Irenaeus and others, this practice recognizes that human being are born incomplete; that is, we are physically, emotionally, and spiritually infants who must learn to grow and mature. One way this happens is by owning our failures instead of denying or ignoring them. The more we patiently discern what the sacred is asking of us in our suffering - and change direction or alter our thinking (the true meaning of repent) - the more we will start to resemble Jesus. I believe this is part of what Jesus teaches in chapter five of St. Matthew's version of the Sermon on the Mountain: "In a word, what I’m saying is: Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”

Cave suggests that because we are unschooled - and too often unwilling - to listen to the wisdom of our wounds we "blew" the charisms of the pandemic. "I think the pandemic" he said, "offered us an opportunity to improve the world and we blew it. We squandered it."

Early on, many of us felt that a chance was presented to us, as a civilization, to put aside our vanities, grievances, and divisions, our hubris, our callous disregard for each other and come together around a common enemy. Our shared predicament was a gift that could potentially have transformed the world into something extraordinary. To our shame this didn't happen. The Right got scarier, the Left got crazier, and our already fractured civilization atomized into something that resembled a collected lunacy. For many, this has been followed by a weariness, an ebbing of our strength and resolve and a dwindling belief in the common good. (Faith, Hope, and Carnage)

We will also draw sustenance from Maya Angelou's poem: Why the Caged Bird Sings.

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

I hope you will join us this Sunday, December 17th @ 4 pm for Small is Holy on Advent III. We close with a simple, inclusive Eucharist for those who celebrate. @ https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100039658634068