Wherever they are, they have traveled far. Not at home, known and comfortable. Not on the road, exhausted from the journey. Arrived but unsettled. No room in the expected places, no welcome in the usual way. Whatever they expect, they can only imagine. Preparation leads to prayer's edge: picturing what might be, trusting what could come, unknowing until inhabited. They have seen the shift to parenthood from outside, but never for themselves. They cannot know until they arrive. However she feels, today is the last day like this. Feeling his kicks and squirms, marveling at the stretch of her skin, carrying the heaviest weight her body will hold. Tomorrow will bring transformation for both of them. Whatever she knows, control is not hers. Mysterious forces guide birth, and his will be the most sacred. Turns out the baby's lungs trigger labor, the pneuma within us, the Spirit wanting to breathe. However tomorrow looks, it will turn upside down. Scripture does not mention a … [Read more...] about the day before Christmas
Jesus
feed, tend, repeat.
(Meditations on today's Gospel. Typed with one hand, lamb in lap.) Do you love me? I say the same things all day long. Sit down. Use your fork. Don't hit each other. Say please. Chew with your mouth closed. Don't interrupt. Be kind. Say thank you. Hurry up. Take turns. Be gentle. Don't yell. Watch the baby. Help each other. Say I'm sorry. Let's clean up. I love you. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Feed my lambs. . . . Do you love me? I do the same things all day long. Feed the children. Wash the children. Make the meal. Clean the house. Comfort the children. Teach the children. Let the dog out. Let the dog in. Drive the car there. Drive the car here. Load the dishes. Unload the dishes. Wash the laundry. Fold the laundry. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Tend my sheep. . . . Do you love me? I think the same things all day long. I'm tired. I need caffeine. What time is it? We're late. I should do that. I should clean that. I don't know what to do. Help me. Deep … [Read more...] about feed, tend, repeat.
courage from the tomb
What took more courage: going into the tomb or coming out? On Good Friday the thought of going into the tomb overwhelms me. Too much blood and betrayal, too much violence and grief. I drag my feet, wanting to stay in Holy Thursday where we break bread and wash each other's dirt away. Yes, there's betrayal and violence that night, too, but something feels safer in the celebration of service than in the commemoration of death. When I'm thrust into Friday, it's painfully dark and the Gospel makes me squirm and can't it be Sunday already so we can get this mess behind us? So whenever I close my eyes and try to imagine how Friday felt, the mocking and the beating and the pounding of nails into flesh, I'm awash with wonder at the courage it took Christ to die. The courage it took to enter the tomb. But this Easter, sitting in a dark church flickering with small candles of hope, I thought about the courage it took to leave the tomb. Saturday must have felt so quiet and empty after … [Read more...] about courage from the tomb
a not-so-silent night
The cattle are lowing; the poor baby wakes. But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes. It wasn't my cheeriest Christmas thought. But pacing the back of church with my baby screaming in my arms, wailing and wrenching whether I put him down or picked him up, reeling back and smashing his head against my own, all I could do was roll my eyes while the congregation sang "Silent Night." Give me a break, I grumbled. A silent newborn Jesus? Perfection is annoying in the face of a tired toddler, anything but tender and mild. . . . Childhood is full of tears. Rare - if not impossible - is the hour that goes by without a cry. So every single day since my first was born, I have heard wails and dried tears. Tears for falls and fights, tears for tantrums and tiredness. Crying defines childhood more than any emotion. When else in life do we wail in public with reckless abandon? So perhaps it's because my second throws more tantrums than my first: crying in the car seat, wailing in the high chair, … [Read more...] about a not-so-silent night
