If I were given the power to excise two items from our modern technology tool kit, I would do away with security lights and half of the lights in our parking lots and our cities. Light pollution has arrived at Sabbath Rest Farm and I am not happy. The new Wal-Mart and Lowe’s in Weaverville are lit up like Christmas trees all night long. Added to the other lights in our small town, a golden glow now shines over our far hill blocking out the Milky Way and other stars.I know this seems like a small petty concern especially when balanced against war and famine but in this season of Epiphany, star light has a special meaning for me.
Most of us live our lives never looking up in the night sky much. Occasionally we might notice a full moon or a spectacular sunset. Star gazing is an extinct past time in the cities where most of the little jewels are hidden by the reflected light. When we first moved to Sabbath Rest, I remember Tim showing us the Milky Way overhead. He and Michael named all the stars they knew and there were thousands more, each a perfect point of light in the velvet blackness overhead. North Star, a guide for sailors and travelers... the Big Dipper, Orion... each constellation has its own story. I have two star stories that linger in my soul as reminders of my finitude.
My religious education as a Southern Baptist was grounded mostly in the here and now. Mystery was not on our church menu Sunday mornings. Much of what I learned about God, Jesus, faith and theology was presented as an absolute fact without any wiggle room. One of my encounters with the mysteries of the universe came at a Baptist Student Union retreat at a lake near our college. One night several of us lay on a pier stretching out into the water watching the stars. There was not much light pollution in rural South Georgia so the star gazing was spectacular. Everyone began seeing shooting stars. You could not see the same star someone else saw unless you were looking at the same place at the same time. The light was fleeting and fast. Each of us took a part of the night sky for our own and as we rested in the firmament, the traveling light show reminded us how small we were.
After we moved to Sabbath Rest Farm, we woke early one morning (or late one night) and went out to our sunset deck. It was midwinter and freezing cold. Bundled up, we laid down on the deck floor to watch a meteor shower, shooting stars. There were thousands of them and I loosed the tethers that held my feet to terra firma. Lost in the dance of the stars, I marveled at the mystery of creation and the God that set this all in motion. I felt like I floated up into the night sky, balanced between heaven and earth, dancing with the stars.
“What is man that Thou art mindful of him?” asked the Psalmist. That ancient question rattles around in my soul at moments like these. Creation seems so vast and unapproachable, full of mystery upon mystery. And yet...The unknowable God who set the morning stars singing, the loving God who created life, the God who waits for us to be still and know, is both beyond our knowledge and in our hearts. It’s a wonder... a mystery... a Christmas gift.
Star light, star bright, guide my soul to God who waits for me clothed in the body of a baby boy this season. Help me remember to dance with the stars in celebration of your presence among us. Thank you for the night sky and its star jewelry, reminders of my limits and your unlimited love. Amen.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Grief, grumps, gratitude and grace... Advent and Christmas 2009
It has been a forced march through unfamiliar terrain this Advent and Christmas. None of the signposts I was accustomed to seeing were on this twisty turning swichback bumpy road to Bethlehem. Only one Sunday worship and no special music program, two long road trips to Alabama, a funeral and a burial, no Christmas Eve service in the barn chapel, and to top it all off, a blizzard... I needed a wailing wall for all my grief and grumps. There was not much time for wailing, however. Christmas was coming with or without me.
Michael and I settled in Friday a week ago watching the pretty snow, thankful for a day of rest. That lasted until the power went out in the afternoon. Days of hard work followed. Snowed in without power, we needed wood and kerosene to keep warm. Our gas stove allowed me to cook and melt snow for water to flush the toilets. Without power, our pump does not work so drinking water came from a bottle. Nights without light were difficult since darkness comes early now. Going to bed at six seemed a little early even if we were cold. One night Michael entertained himself reading in bed but he needed to wear gloves to keep his hands warm.
Tuesday morning, the day Alison and the boys were coming in, a friend loaned us his generator. It was enough to run the furnace, lights and television. When we needed water, we turned everything off and ran the pump. Hot water came from the top of the stove. It takes a LOT of hot water to fill a bathtub for four little boys. Our gas stove worked the old fashioned way... you had to light it. The grandchildren didn’t notice that the decorating was only half done. They celebrated being together at the farm, loved all the snow, fed cows, gathered eggs, and went on Christmas mercy missions with Pop.
The grown-ups were on their last nerve Tuesday night when our church group was to go caroling and deliver Christmas to Bobby and Jack. Bobby, Jack’s nephew, is his care giver. Jack is 79 and what we used to call retarded. Everyone in our small group of singers was grumpy, wondering how long this would last. Walking into their small living room, receiving a big hug from Jack, feeling his delight in our presence, his joy and Christmas celebration kicked everyone there into a new space. Christmas came that night for everyone present. When Pat went back the next day to take them their gift certificate, Jack hugged her again and was still celebrating. We are going to keep in touch with them. Pat will be our minister of outreach to Jack and Bobby. Hard times are coming. Bobby is dying of lung cancer and Jack’s world is going to change.
Wednesday, Alison, Michael and the four boys went to the Farmer’s Market and bought boxes and boxes of oranges. Then they delivered them to homeless shelters all over town. A Hope, a day shelter for homeless people, was full of folks when they showed up. Michael wished he had bought more.
I know charity like this has gone out of style and I understand some of the reasoning. Helping a person find a job, providing the services needed by Jack, giving a gift that will change a life have long term benefits for the individuals in need. But there is something pure and innocent in helping your neighbor however they need help. A fleece jacket, a box of oranges, clearing trees off the driveway, a meal or a generator, we need one another’s help to make it and all of us need help sooner or later. If gifts can be given with loving hearts and a wish to be a Good Samaritan, both the giver and the one who receives the gift are enriched and made whole.
Thursday, Christmas Eve afternoon and we prepared to live through another day without hot water. All the other children came and pitched in to clean up and make ready for the coming of Christmas. As we gathered around the table that night, I gave thanks for the steaks David and Diane gave us (they thawed and needed to be cooked). I gave thanks for safe travel and the gathering in. I gave thanks for all the rough edges that keep us from getting too comfortable where we are, that remind us we are living surrounded by mercy and grace. I gave thanks for power repairmen working through their holidays for those of us in need. And I gave thanks for this bumpy road to Bethlehem, the star that shines even when my eyes are blurred with fatigue and grief.
The power came on that evening. Hot baths for small boys and a tired Nana helped end the evening. Christmas came without the usual preparation and it had all that I needed. Grieving, grumpy, grateful and grace filled... I celebrated the birth of the One who never leaves me to stand alone when nothing goes as planned. On a ride in the Kawasaki mule, I told the story of Jesus being born in Bethlehem to Aidan, Matthew, Mason and Mead. Mason pointed down the hill to the chapel and asked, “Is that Bethlehem, Nana?” Mason knew what I had forgotten. Bethlehem is as close to us as our heart and the Christ Child comes to us wherever we are.
Merry Christmas to all of you. May the Bethlehem blessing be with you this next year as you travel a road full of bumps and switchbacks. Ya’ll come by if your journey brings you this way. I’ll keep clean sheets on the guest bed and a pot of soup on the stove. And may grief, grumps, gratitude and grace abound.
Michael and I settled in Friday a week ago watching the pretty snow, thankful for a day of rest. That lasted until the power went out in the afternoon. Days of hard work followed. Snowed in without power, we needed wood and kerosene to keep warm. Our gas stove allowed me to cook and melt snow for water to flush the toilets. Without power, our pump does not work so drinking water came from a bottle. Nights without light were difficult since darkness comes early now. Going to bed at six seemed a little early even if we were cold. One night Michael entertained himself reading in bed but he needed to wear gloves to keep his hands warm.
Tuesday morning, the day Alison and the boys were coming in, a friend loaned us his generator. It was enough to run the furnace, lights and television. When we needed water, we turned everything off and ran the pump. Hot water came from the top of the stove. It takes a LOT of hot water to fill a bathtub for four little boys. Our gas stove worked the old fashioned way... you had to light it. The grandchildren didn’t notice that the decorating was only half done. They celebrated being together at the farm, loved all the snow, fed cows, gathered eggs, and went on Christmas mercy missions with Pop.
The grown-ups were on their last nerve Tuesday night when our church group was to go caroling and deliver Christmas to Bobby and Jack. Bobby, Jack’s nephew, is his care giver. Jack is 79 and what we used to call retarded. Everyone in our small group of singers was grumpy, wondering how long this would last. Walking into their small living room, receiving a big hug from Jack, feeling his delight in our presence, his joy and Christmas celebration kicked everyone there into a new space. Christmas came that night for everyone present. When Pat went back the next day to take them their gift certificate, Jack hugged her again and was still celebrating. We are going to keep in touch with them. Pat will be our minister of outreach to Jack and Bobby. Hard times are coming. Bobby is dying of lung cancer and Jack’s world is going to change.
Wednesday, Alison, Michael and the four boys went to the Farmer’s Market and bought boxes and boxes of oranges. Then they delivered them to homeless shelters all over town. A Hope, a day shelter for homeless people, was full of folks when they showed up. Michael wished he had bought more.
I know charity like this has gone out of style and I understand some of the reasoning. Helping a person find a job, providing the services needed by Jack, giving a gift that will change a life have long term benefits for the individuals in need. But there is something pure and innocent in helping your neighbor however they need help. A fleece jacket, a box of oranges, clearing trees off the driveway, a meal or a generator, we need one another’s help to make it and all of us need help sooner or later. If gifts can be given with loving hearts and a wish to be a Good Samaritan, both the giver and the one who receives the gift are enriched and made whole.
Thursday, Christmas Eve afternoon and we prepared to live through another day without hot water. All the other children came and pitched in to clean up and make ready for the coming of Christmas. As we gathered around the table that night, I gave thanks for the steaks David and Diane gave us (they thawed and needed to be cooked). I gave thanks for safe travel and the gathering in. I gave thanks for all the rough edges that keep us from getting too comfortable where we are, that remind us we are living surrounded by mercy and grace. I gave thanks for power repairmen working through their holidays for those of us in need. And I gave thanks for this bumpy road to Bethlehem, the star that shines even when my eyes are blurred with fatigue and grief.
The power came on that evening. Hot baths for small boys and a tired Nana helped end the evening. Christmas came without the usual preparation and it had all that I needed. Grieving, grumpy, grateful and grace filled... I celebrated the birth of the One who never leaves me to stand alone when nothing goes as planned. On a ride in the Kawasaki mule, I told the story of Jesus being born in Bethlehem to Aidan, Matthew, Mason and Mead. Mason pointed down the hill to the chapel and asked, “Is that Bethlehem, Nana?” Mason knew what I had forgotten. Bethlehem is as close to us as our heart and the Christ Child comes to us wherever we are.
Merry Christmas to all of you. May the Bethlehem blessing be with you this next year as you travel a road full of bumps and switchbacks. Ya’ll come by if your journey brings you this way. I’ll keep clean sheets on the guest bed and a pot of soup on the stove. And may grief, grumps, gratitude and grace abound.
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