Shining Spirit

It is with deep regret, a sore throat and chest congestion that I tell you the news: I will not plunge into the Pacific Ocean tomorrow. My wife and I have invented a new method of communication. Two hacking coughs means “yes”; one hack and a wheeze means “no”. She’s got it, too. I know I made a big deal about the Polar Plunge, and I’m disappointed that I cannot line up with the other brave people and run into the ocean on January 1. But I’d like to make it to age 83 in the New Year and I feel like participating in the event, under these circumstances, does not serve that goal. That said, there must be a lesson here somewhere…I am a preacher, you know. Everything is sermon material. Ah…here it is. The lesson is about disappointments in life. You could write that one, couldn’t you. Or, it’s about unexpected changes, or it’s about caring for your body, or it’s about using common sense. Maybe my head-chest cold is a Spirit message. The angels have stopped laughing at the idea of an old man walking into the frigid ocean in the middle of winter and decided to bless me with a bad cold. (That’s really not what I think, by the way. Not my theology.) Anyway, to those of you who sent early congratulations and to those of you who were preparing condolence notes, thanks for your kind and supportive thoughts. When I am fully recovered I’ll take a cold shower just to have the feeling my neighbors will experience tomorrow. 

Disappointments are really disappointing, aren’t they. We look forward to a trip, a family event, some new adventure and just about the time to get the suitcases out, something happens and it’s all off. Sue and I had planned the first and only cruise we will take in our lives…Spain and Portugal…and along came Covid. It happens, doesn’t it. And it’s very normal to be sad about unexpected circumstances that change your life. (Here comes the lesson.) But don’t scream at your spouse or kick the dog or throw the garbage can across the back yard. Be sad, get over it, and move on. There are more important things to cry about than not being able to take the Plunge tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. This could make a sermon. Now all I need are scripture verses, a couple of hymns, and here we go! Sorry. I forgot. I’m retired. By the way, Happy New Year!

They dropped by for a visit yesterday, all thirty of them. They lounged in the yard, nibbled some green, juicy plants, then, politely but deliberately, wandered off into the forest. It was a casual visit. Nothing formal.

Elk are magnificent animals. Big, very big. Docile unless threatened. Curious. Surprisingly graceful for their size. The only negative thing one might say about them is the quality of their bellowing. It’s rather like someone drawing their fingernails across the chalkboard.

I’m told they circled the neighborhood saying hello here and there, and receiving the curious attention of local residents. The herd lives somewhere nearby and appears periodically to check on their land. Yes, their land. They roamed it long before we moved in. So, yesterday they were taking a look at how we are caring for their property. Not to worry, friends. We have developed a system of interaction with the earth. We buy it, build apartments on it, declare bankruptcy, blow it up and start over again. We’re good at it. Thanks for stopping by. 

I look into the pre-dawn darkness, God, and all I see is my own reflection in the window glass. But I will wait for the dawn, for I cannot make my way through the day without light and Light. There are times when I would like to turn on your immediate presence, like a light switch on the wall, but I realize there is meaning in the waiting, at least there can be if I allow it. In that meantime, I will sit here before the dancing flames in the fireplace, and I will enjoy their spontaneity, their reminder of the joy of faith’s dance with you. And with the coming of light, as shapes and forms appear from the diminishing darkness, I will raise my arms in welcome and I will say in my heart: Here is Light!

It is so, Christ of God. It is so. Amen.

What do you think went through this bird’s mind when he or she stood on that branch and heard Momma Bird say: Ok, it’s time to fly for the first time. Just step off the branch, flap your wings and good luck. Maybe you remember some “first times” in your life and how those moments felt.

To be a man of woman of Christ is to be ready every day to step off the limb of comfort or personal security, to try something you have never done before, to experience something for the first time, all because you are a disciple of Jesus. All because his way might be different from my way. Remember the famous 7 Last Words of The Church: “We’ve never done it that way before!” Sometimes faith in His way demands that we go beyond ourselves, beyond or self-perceived limits, over the boundaries into new territory.

The young bird stepped off the limb, flapped his wings like crazy, and, to his amazement, began to fly. We dare for Christ, do the best and most faithful things we can, knowing all along that the Spirit is the wind that lifts us. Take a dare? In the name and character of Jesus, try something new that serves God’s Kingdom, something you have never tried before. Test the theory in practical ways. I dare you.

Yes, this ocean right here. This is where it’s going to happen. Some background: While sitting at the wonderful Christmas feast with my family, laughing and enjoying the day, someone mentioned a special event to happen on New Year’s Day, January 1. It’s called the Polar Plunge, a local event in the little village of Manzanita. Last year, according to those who know, maybe 100 people came out to participate in the drama. Many more watched as it all turned into insanity. On cue, the 100 scantily clad people ran into the ocean, to a point deep enough that each participant’s body was completely under the icy water. That’s the goal: you have to go all the way under VERY briefly and then return to the beach, a bonfire, and a stack of blankets. So, at the table, right in the middle of the Christmas meal, my Portland son laughingly said: ”Dad and I are going to do this together.” Joke. Ha. Ha. It’s hard to choke on mashed potatoes, but I came close. Then, to make matters worse, he said: ”Dad, I will if you will.” I could dramatize this and say that silence fell over the room, people gasped at the idea. But everyone knew it was a joke. They kept right on eating. It got a bit quieter in the room when I replied: ”Sure. OK.”

Where did that come from! ”Are you serious, Dad?” ”Sure, I’ll do it with you.” We went back and forth in conversation a few times and the topic finally changed, but only after I had stupidly committed myself to run into the Pacific Ocean on January 1, 2024. So, the deal is done. New Year’s Day will go down in history, my personal history, as the day when a father and a son shared a common experience, something all fathers and children should do. But this? I passed a mirror in the hallway later in the day, stopped and looked at the old man looking back at me: “You’re an idiot!” I told him.

I read in the Times just the other day that Christmas is a time when people should say: “Peace on earth, good will to all,” then insure that peace freely befalls all creation, the near and the far. Look up! Have hope! Behold, the star! See how it casts its light on the child, see his expression, the innocent smile that, in the moment, touches the soul, invites kings and shepherds to sing and extol the greatness of God in the baby boy as the universe sings with sacred joy.

But tomorrow the star will be nowhere in sight, no longer to shine its perfect light, gone from the sky where the angels flew, that beacon of hope the wise men knew. What do the shepherds and common folks do? The party is over; celebrations are through. Back to the pastures, the distant towns, back to routines on familiar grounds. The mundane, the meager offer no hint of peace, just a memory of the day when humankind ceased, even for a very brief moment in time, to think beyond our selfish designs to a remarkable dream yet unfulfilled, to a day when our arrogant human will might live the song of angelic voices, decide that in our human choices we will make Bethlehem’s story true, simple folk like me and like you, but only if we choose the better way so that in these difficult, trying days, Christmas becomes a way to live, and I am the gift I choose to give.

So, let it be known both near and far that Christmas is a memory of a child and a star, each with potential to cast pure light in the midst of humanity’s common plight. Long, long ago, on a starlit night, in a place where today we abhor the sight of our need to conquer and be in control as we slowly destroy humanity’s soul, there was born a dream, a common way for caring people to join hands and say: ”May peace will the earth; may we all share goodwill.” That dream is alive and waits for us, still.

May your Christmas be merry, filled with the sights of joy-filled faces, festive lights. May the gifts you receive and the gifts you give recall to our minds what it means to live in the light of a brilliant passing star, a radiant light that defines who we are.

I have a crèche set similar to this one. Mine is on the top shelf of the linen closet. Each year I take it out, check the figures for chips or breakage, put the small wooden frame together with two screws, and then put the characters into their expected and respected places. Wise Men from the East, they all stand together, each ready to offer a valuable gift to the infant. Shepherds have their formation on the opposite side with a lamb or two for effect. Camels and cows are relegated to the back row, because they really don’t have a part in the story and because they’re too big and would take up to more space in the front row. Then, of course, there are the characters that get stage center: Mary, Joseph and the infant they named Jesus. They are placed on the wooden platform in the exact center of the assembled characters. Add a little straw or maybe some greenery in the back, some blinking lights and a long red ribbon to provide some color.  And there you have it, the manger scene we carry in our minds and imaginations as a prelude to the angels’ announcement of the child’s birth. Angels! I forgot the angels who have landed and are walking around in the group. And, finally, also lost to my aging memory, the star hovers over the manger, the well traveled star that led the Wise Men on their long journey to see the face of God.

I have a feeling, unsubstantiated by fact or reason, that the real scene was not as neat and tidy as the one on my dining room table. In the first place, these people gathered around the manger would never have found common ground in real life. Kings and shepherds. Smelly animals and stinky straw. I think there was a lot of coming and going, people arriving to take a peek, people passing through and then leaving, Wise Men who had traveled many hundreds of miles to meet a king only to find a baby in a barn. The shepherds must have been thinking: I’ve got to get back to all those sheep waiting in the pasture for my return. There might be wolves in the area and here I am watching a baby sleep. Manger scenes depicted on greeting cards are neat, tidy, well arranged, and very pleasing to the eye.  As I said, I can’t prove it, but the Bethlehem scene was not like this at all. And if that’s the case, I’m glad. It’s just too perfect, too orchestrated, a bit overdone. Show that card to one of the original Wise Men and he would not recognize it at all. Over all the centuries since that Bethlehem event, we have taken the Jesus born into danger, threat, social upheaval, poverty and oppression and made him into the Jesus of institutional loyalty. The world I inhabit still boasts of power, domination and self-centeredness and only the Jesus who was born in and lived in those circumstances, not the advertisement for perfection, can help me sort out the messes and the successes of my life. I welcome Jesus on the eve of his birth as the one who has walked the road and calls me to follow in his footsteps, threatening and challenging as they were. I welcome the child born into the chaos of his world so that he could help me deal with the chaos of my world. Move over Wise men. Give us some space shepherds. We’ve come to meet the unlikely king.

The ocean is magnificent and magical. Those waves rolling in with such authority and then retreating to form another attack. The beach sand that ripples in some places, smooth in others. So easy to walk on the water-soaked sand, so difficult to slog through loose, powdery sand that grabs your boot and holds onto it for a laugh. The ocean and its surroundings are wonderful.

But I discovered again yesterday something I had known but forgotten in the glamor of the rolling surf. Sitting on a floating dock in warm sunshine and watching the stillness of the inlet is not bad, at all. It was peaceful, much quieter than the glamorous ocean, and it offered its own visual appeal. So, I conclude this about that: A balanced life for me means enjoying the drama and excitement of the surf to the fullest…but when I’m the emptiest, I run to the floating dock and I sit for a while. Amazing what smooth, non-talkative, calm inlet water will do for a frazzled mind or a troubled soul. Sound somewhat familiar? It’s the same spiritual principle that I’ve mentioned before. We both need reminding periodically. Consider yourself reminded. One thing more: In the Book of Psalms, there is a verse that begins: ”This is the day the Lord has made; let us go and sit on a dock (a quiet place) and listen to the water…” Good advice from a very reputable source. Press on.

I love how life blends so beautifully. The elements of water, air, land, living things…compliment and caress each other as if they were made to do so. As if they were designed this way. And they were. You and I fit into this picture somewhere, among the ingredients of life’s wonders. That is especially true here in the days before Christmas because the power and purpose of this sacred celebration has much to do with God blending shepherds and wise men and stars and animals…and even God’s own Self…into one moment in time which is the eternal reality of God’s love. The Creator becoming part of the Creation. The Artist stepping into the painting. The Sculptor disappearing into the marble so that it becomes a living entity. In case I forget, I wish for you a very Merry Christmas this year. And, I wish for all of us an awakening to the divine dimensions of this eternal gift. Let your prayers be for peace, your efforts be for justice among your sisters and brothers, your heart be soften by the urgency of need in the world, and your hands be always open to bless and give. Shalom and may the grace, the mercy, and the love of Christ fill you. 

Early yesterday the fog and mist moved in very low over the water, almost hiding the mountain. I knew the fog would drift away in time, but I was disappointed that the only photo opportunity was a big, gray mass. As I watched the fog move slowly, I thought of the times when waiting was the only option. Things don’t always happen on my schedule. Unforeseen circumstances, unplanned situations can thwart the best intentions, and then all that is left is….waiting. I’ve discovered, though, that waiting provides wonderful opportunities to see from a new perspective, to discover a different reality, to simply appreciate the unexpected. Waiting is not a waste of time. It is a new time adventure for the senses and the soul. Maybe you will have a chance today to experience a period of waiting. Probably. I hope so.