Shining Spirit

I’ve collected lots of photos in the six weeks here in Manzanita. Opportunities are endless. And because I have so many, it’s important to go through them to eliminate duplicates and to evaluate subject matter, quality of the photos, etc. Doing that the other day, I confirmed that I am a sucker for sunsets and birds, lots of shots of both, and that in all the photos, no matter what the subject matter is, it’s the light that does it. Common things become extraordinary. Routine becomes royal. And a sunset becomes a sacred moment. All because of light. The spiritual corollary is stunning. The Christmas child, now a man, told people, “I am the light..” That life comes when we “live in the light…” That those who follow his way are “children of the light.” The light of the Bethlehem star. The healing, soothing, comforting light of Presence.

It’s the light! You’ve heard someone say, in a moment of confusion turned to understanding: “Ah, the light just came on in my mind.” Clarity, awareness, understanding, consciousness. It’s the light. And the best news of all is that when I flip that switch, when I choose to live in the light, it never goes out. Never goes away. Never disappears. Light is stronger than darkness, stronger than fear or illness or death.

Sorry, didn’t mean to start a sermon here, but this is so urgently true. By the way, while sunsets are beautiful because of light’s presence, get up early some morning and become part of a sunrise. Light overcomes darkness. May it be so for you today and in all the days ahead. 

I hummed a tune not long ago
and the sound of it took my breath away.
It came from somewhere deep inside,
perhaps from some far and distant day.
I’ve never hummed the song before,
but it seems a vital part of me,
something inherent in my bones,
a lovely song, but a mystery.

And then today, when I stood by you,
I heard you humming that melody,
the same notes that formed the beautiful song
that feeds my spirit and nourishes me.
Why are we blessed with this lovely surprise?
And why do I find it familiar, a friend?
It seems a part of my being, my soul.
When did it start? When will it end?

And then tonight, as I knelt by my bed,
I heard these words that made me weep:
You were born with the song I gave you, my child.
It is yours, my gift, for you to keep
and sing every day as a memory
of where you’ve come from, and to whom you belong,
not just to you, but to all who are mine.
This is my gift, your sacred song.

It was then it came clear what I longed to be true.
We all bear Love’s mark, given at birth.
It matters not who, nor where we may be.
We who live on this beautiful earth
bear within the same sacred song.
What if our song was shared in one voice,
in unity: “Justice and peace must thrive!”
What if we dared to make this choice?

We all share one song,
let us be of one mind
and bless the earth with singing.

Happy 2024 to you! I offer you some Random Thoughts this morning, some ideas to consider between football games (may your team win!). The thoughts are, in part, inspired by a fine book of daily readings by Mark Nepo. The title is The Book of Awakening, subtitled: “Having the life you want by being present to the life you have.” I recommend that you let each one stand on its own, even though they sound somewhat related. So, some Random Thoughts as the new year begins.

This day is absolutely unrepeatable. Say, think, do and love as if you may never have the chance again.

Love today not because of requirement or expectation but because of opportunity.

Love because you can, not because you should.

I am not a body with a spirit. I am a spirit with a body. 

I am a container full of consciousness. The container is of much less value than its contents.

I am able to love because love is inherent in who and what I am.

Wisdom is not a commodity to acquire. Wisdom is a flower to nurture until it blooms.

Knowledge is a friend of the mind. Wisdom is a companion of the heart.

Again, a happy and meaningful new year to you. Don’t waste a minute of it.

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.