Creche: Baby Jesus

I have no idea when Baby Jesus was hidden this year.  Now the scene is finally complete

Last night I went to turn off

The Christmas tree,

The onyx lamp

Next to the crèche.

I realized Baby Jesus

Was missing.

I found Him hidden

In the table drawer.

We always used to hide Him there

When our daughter was small.

The four wise folk

The animals

The angel

Mary and Joseph

Had waited

Since Christmas Day.

The rest of us

Were clearly occupied

With different things.

Now Jesus

Is back in the manger

Again.

The crèche

Is finally

Complete

Monday as Saturday

Today I am newly grateful for regular things made larger by their regularity:  my beloved and daughter are asleep upstairs, the trappings of Christmas are still in place.  The regular Saturday after Christmas was cracked open, and now it has appeared on Monday.  I sit in my writing chair, coffee in hand.  I am thankful.

It feels like the Saturday

We didn’t have last week.

I sit in the chair

In front of the Christmas tree,

The stone crèche

Beside it.

In our crèche

The wise folk

Have already arrived,

The sun shines full

Through the window

And

Best of all

The whole rest of the family

Sleeps sound

Upstairs.

Soon

The daughter will  come downstairs,

Complain again

We did not pick up the house

After Christmas.

I will probably laugh.

It feels like Saturday

Normal Saturday

Except instead

It is the beginning

Of a potential week

Of Saturdays.

The tree and crèche will stay up

All week.

Squirrel

Of course this is not about squirrels.  I am grateful particular crises reach a settling point.  Now that one thing is pretty much settled, I can see the squirrels again, my beloved can put out food for the birds, and the daughter can go to dinner with a friend.  I am also grateful for codeine cough medicine which has finally calmed the cough... and I can see those squirrels.

I can see the squirrels again.

They leap from pillar to post

Onto a particular tree branch

In the back yard.

Now I can focus

On squirrels

Once more.

Now

With everyone finally home

On vacation

We can each focus

On our own separate version

Of squirrel.

Twelve days of Christmas

Things are settling finally.  It looks like the Christmas celebration which did not end up so Christmasy, may be extended a bit.  There are twelve days of Christmas, and it only begins on the 25th of December.

I am glad Christmas lasts

Twelve days.

This year

It means we may really get to it

Long about

New Year’s Eve,

When everything has settled down

Finally.

The new year will arrive

With a lick and a promise,

Kick this year out the door.

But still

With six days left

Of the season

Which began in crisis.

Twelve days makes it long enough

To redeem itself

In the new year.

Who says we don’t know

Christmas?

We know Christmas,

The short and long of it.

Sometimes it finally arrives

On New Year’s Eve.

Best-laid plans

This week brought forth different things than planned.  And it is o.k.  Somehow it is way more than o.k.

Sometimes well-laid plans

Do not come to fruition.

Sometimes these plans morph.

They bear different fruit

Altogether.

But still

They bear fruit.

Though we were dressed

For picking apples,

Blackberries became

The order of the week.

Blackberries require

Different clothing

Entirely.

Still

The harvest bore

A different sweetness,

But sweetness

Nonetheless.

I do what I can

I am home doing home things.  The cough is still with me. I have little voice.  So I email and text.  I pray.  And then, I pray again.

I do what I can

At home.

I pray with the laundry.

I pray with catching others up

On Christmas doings

And beyond.

A lot of beyond.

I drink hot tea,

Think about

The beyond,

Calm the cat.

The cat knows something

Is up.

Cats are like that.

I do what I can

And leave the rest

To the professionals.

And then there’s God.

Oh yeah

God.

I begin again.

The healthy one

I have been struggling with the aftermath of the cold from Hell.  Now my daughter has the flu.  The cat loves to eat Christmas ribbon.  My beloved... well... he is my beloved.  And healthy.  I pray my son is healthy, in the northern climes.  Still... it is Christmas.  I feel like we should all be singing the Whoville song, gathered around the Christmas tree.  My beloved will go to Florida tomorrow to see his parents and brother and nephews.  My daughter and I will stay home with the cat and the turtle.  This is the turtle's slow time of year. I'm thinking it may be our slow time as well.

The healthy one

Makes Christmas breakfast

After cleaning up

The cat puke

Laden with the cat’s favorite

Ribbon.

He washed his hands.

I know he washed his hands

The healthy one

I mean.

It is 2:00 PM.

Christmas day will go

As it will go.

Jesus is born again

No matter who is healthy,

Who is not.

Everyone sits in the living room

Gathered by the tree

Healthy

Not healthy

And all.

The Star

When we decorated the tree this year, we missed one particular ornament, one my mother made of needlepoint years ago when my son was small. It was a small boy dressed to play in the snow.  Since everything was in upheaval last year with renovations, we did not put up the tree.  Two years ago after Christmas, I mailed a box to Erik in Minnesota, a box with a sampling of ornaments from his trees growing up.  I must have included the snowsuit boy.  Still... we have the star he made in preschool.  It is the last thing placed on our tree every year.

On top of every tree

For over twenty years

The star

A manila office folder

Card stock

Cut and folded,

Stapled just so

By one boy child

Age 3,

Maybe 4,

Decorated with squares

Of tissue paper

Orange and purple.

The star

The very last thing placed

On every tree

For over twenty years.

No small matter.

Other ornaments were mailed off

Two years ago

To seed another tree

To the North

But the Star

Remains here.

Stone creche

Of course now the creche is without a shepherd.  Maybe the extra king can play the part.  We have a plethora of creches from all over the world.  This year we set out only one.  Simply one.  With one nativity it is easier to see the world which surrounds it, including the burning bushes covered in snow, outside the front windows.

Last night we set out

The stone crèche from Kenya

Four kings bearing gifts

Joseph

Disguised as a shepherd.

We thought for years

They forgot Joseph

Entirely.

This year we determined

He was there all along,

Disguised as a shepherd

The same size and stone

As Mary.

The crèche stands

On the straw mat from China,

Next to the round onyx lamp

From Pakistan,

Under Guided by Stars,

A print of an Inuit family

Seeking home on a sled at night,

The sky filled with stars.

Never was the tableau

So appropriate.

The windows beyond

Hold the burning bushes

in this morning's light,

No longer burning

Covered in snow.

I*m glad to find Joseph

And the rest of world

In attendance

This year.

Today the tree... really

Sometimes things don't go as planned.  Sometimes it feels as though more steps are added into what was thought to be a simpler process.  Like putting up the Christmas tree.

Yesterday

We moved the chairs.

Watched the pageant

This morning,

Including the traditional

Running of the angels.

Today we moved Christmas upstairs

From the basement:

The tree in its bag,

Three plastic boxes,

A cardboard box

Of miscellany.

Today the tree

Really

Today the tree.

Today the tree

We were going to put up the tree early this year.  Surprise. No.  Today the furniture will be rearranged, the tree put together.  We have an artificial tree we purchased years ago, when we realized I am allergic to pine, and one small child became almost apoplectic when we put the tree, dripping needles, on the curb.  Today our artificial tree (years ago purchased on discount as last year's model) will be rooted in the living room once again.  O Come, Thou Root of Jesse, Come.

Today the tree.

But first of all

Comes the rearrangement

Of the living room:

One chair moved

To the family room,

The blue writing chair moved

Across the room

To recline

In a different space,

Directly across

From where

The tree will stand.

One thing at a time.

For now we all drink coffee.

I guess coffee is really

First of all.

By bedtime

The tree will be

In its place

Across from the recliner.

It will be rooted

In the living room.

Its lights will speak

Of coming things.

Today the tree.

In its time

The tree.

O Come, Thou Key of David

I carry keys on my key ring which open doors I no longer need to open.  The master church key is really five keys, and still I cannot open every door.  Strangely, every one with any assortment of church keys can open my office door.  From whence security?

Where is the key

To this particular door?

Mary and Joseph stayed

In the stable out back

Of the inn.

No key necessary,

Only the security of those who watched:

Animals

Shepherds

Angels

A Star

Wise folk.

Where is the key

On the seeming endless key ring

We all carry

In our pockets?

Where is the key

To this particular door?

A baby born,

No key necessary

In fact

No lock whatsoever

Open to all.

O Come, Thou Dayspring

I love the word dayspring.  Since we rarely use it, it has not become tethered to particular meanings.  

Definition 1: 

Definition 2:

Definition 3:

So many images

Come to mind:

Sudden water

In the desert,

Bursting light

On the horizon,

Long awaited,

Long hoped-for.

The crows caw outside,

Fly branch to branch;

The snow melts to prepare

For new snow

Over the weekend,

A promised white blanket

For the new Baby.

Dayspring comes

In so many forms

So many images.

Some water

Some snow

Some light

Even

Some crows.

O Come

I remember the rhythm of Advent from the days my children were small, from the parish ministry days.  I remember the times I was between parishes during Advent (I managed this at least twice).  Now my children are mostly grown, I have a counseling office under the altar, and no official responsibilities for the wealth of Advent/Christmas celebration at St. Mark's.  I did still manage to get the traditional Advent head cold, somehow.  

Every Advent

Churches work to forestall Christmas

With Jesse Trees,

Advent Wreathes,

Advent Carols,

Even with chocolate candy countdowns

To December 25.

We must celebrate something

Something calls

For celebration

Children wait in the dark

Adults wait

In the dark

The tree is up

In the corner of every living room

Churches everywhere

People everywhere

Wait for the Light to arrive

No matter what we do

To forestall Christmas

It comes

And it always seems

It is never soon enough.

O Come Thou Wisdom

We have missed church the last two Sundays, despite Advent being my very favorite season, with its palpable waiting.  I have the annual Advent head cold.  It still comes, even with no pine in the house or church responsibilities.  Today Advent kicks up a notch.  Today is the right time to begin singing O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.  Today's denoted verse is Wisdom.  A good way to begin the countdown.

Today we begin

The final waiting period

For all that is

To come.

We wait for Wisdom

From on High,

Who orderest all things mightily.

O come

We wait for you,

One day at a time.

O come

We wait for you

With words mined

From Scripture.

O come

We wait for Wisdom

To arrive,

Show us the way.

We wait in this final countdown

Of the Advent calendar.

O come

Wisdom

Come.

Today we begin

Our final

Waiting.

Wisdom is a good way

To begin.

Envy

I have been struck recently by the "if onlys."  I do not usually think of myself as an envious soul, but there it is.  The clarity I have prayed for is...well... clearer.  I stand myself next to others and feel myself a pale comparison... yet I also know, thanks to this God-given clarity, that I am doing what God would have me do, that I am offering what God would have me offer.  It is still all-too-easy to be envious of the stature others have gained.  Still the Star shines, and sometimes I even see it, and know I'm slogging in the right direction.

My eyes

Hold hazel

With a hint

Of green.

In the newfound clarity

I see myself a pale comparison

And yet

And yet

I do not really want

To be like them.

Not really.

Still my eyes give me away.

I read biographies,

The letters added to names

Before and behind,

The volumes published.

Even with this hint of green

I continue subtraction

This resolute subtraction

In God-given clarity

In the darkness so deep

I slog as though

Through mud

Still

The light of the Star

The darkness does not overcome it

Even now

My eyes hold hazel

With a hint

Of green.

And still the Star

Shines.

Today is cancelled

The head cold remains.  I was awake for my appointment to get my teeth cleaned when a client called in sick.  What a good idea I thought, barely able to speak without coughing.  The yard was decorated with snow over the weekend.  Here I am with a blanket and turtleneck pulled up over my nose and mouth, like the Skeezix cartoon character.  A cup of coffee in the stegosaurus mug warms my hands.

Today has been cancelled.

One client called in sick.

This allowed me to call the dentist,

Not subject the hygienist

To my head cold

This morning;

This allowed me to reschedule

The other appointment this afternoon.

Today is cancelled.

I drink hot things

In the blue chair,

Watch consciousness

Come and go,

Pull the turtleneck up

Over my nose and mouth,

Think what a blessing this is

Really

What a blessing this is

To give my consciousness

A break

Wait for presents to arrive

In the mail.

The yard outside was decorated

By Mother Nature herself.

Today

Is cancelled.

Straw into gold

As counting goes, this is almost seven whole days of brain clarity, even with a head cold.  Seven whole days, not one in seven, I will praise thee.  Deep abiding thanks for George Herbert and his poetry.   And for the hymn his poetry inspired (King of Glory, King of Peace).

My first years of ordained life were in campus ministry.  I learned what it is to create things like altar frontals from Pier One placemats.  I still do such things even though now it's not about altar frontals.  Now it is making cardboard stuffed material signs for my office door window under the altar.  Creativity comes in many forms.  Mine is not to spin straw into gold.

Thirty years out

I watch friends spin off

Into other sections

Of the known

And unknown

Universe.

I envy their spin.

I remain here and watch.

Mine is not to spin,

Not even straw into gold.

I make altar frontals

From Pier One placemats.

I always have.

I watch the person who weeps

In the back of the church,

See the person who leaves

Before the closing prayer.

My friends spin off.

I watch them go with love

And Godspeed.

And yes

Even some envy.

Some may spin straw

Into gold.

I will stay,

Stitch together Pier One placemats

Into paraments.

What's the excuse?

Home from church.  I resorted to the blue recliner last night so my snoring would keep no one awake... not my beloved... not me.  Excuses?  We have three.  Including the fact that I dreamed about church last night.  I dreamed a church that was so large it provided every service in town... and here I'm not just talking worship services... 

Today calls for warm things, cookies, and possibly the Christmas tree.

Today we have at least three:
College essays for one
Grading for one
And me?
I dreamed about church
All night.
Then there*s this head cold.
It begs
To be coddled
With warm things,
Lots of liquid,
Slice and bake cookies
Maybe even the Christmas tree
Will come out of the bag
Today.
Maybe
After the cookies.

Weather map

Grace is important to notice.  

The weather map

Had the snow

Missing us

Just barely.

So much

For the map.

It came wet and thick.

The snow blower arrived,

Its carburetor rebuilt,

At 8:45 this morning.

The snow arrived

Overnight.

Rarely are things timed

So well.

The Light comes and goes

Day five of clarity.  Yeah!  Today is Saint Lucy (Santa Lucia).  Mary and Joseph are still on their way to Bethlehem to be counted.  I imagine the Star traveled with them.  At this time of year there is so much to pay attention to, so much light to notice, so much to watch.  

As we approach

The longest night,

The longest day approaches

To the South.

The night and day

Are both about light.

They wait for the world

To turn again.

They wait and watch

For the world to turn.

Saint Lucy wears her crown

Of light today.

Mary and Joseph continue their walk

To Bethlehem,

To be counted

In the census.

The Star travels with them,

Waits to rest.

Soon it will.

I count day five

Of a clear brain

Even as the daylight hours

Grow shorter

Here in the North.

Somewhere to the South

The Light grows brighter

This time of year.

I am a creature

Of the Light.

Sometimes I even see the Star.

Day four

I count this fourth day of clear brain as miraculous.  The frigid weather has settled in.  It is day twelve of Advent, and the day honoring the Virgin of Guadalupe.  She brought clear brain with her... a gift for now.  My friends with any kind of brain complications or mental illness know how stunning this is.  It*s not so much You don*t know what you*ve got *til it*s gone, but rather what a glorious thing it is when it returns for a visit!  

Day four

Our Lady

Has brought even more clarity

To the fore.

I wonder if the time

She carried Jesus

All those miles

Perched on a donkey

Clarified things

With every hoof fall;

Until finally someone said

Yes.

Yes.

Stay here.

Park that donkey

Here.

There’s some hay

Out back.

Climb down

With your womb full

Of clarity.

It is time to deliver

The child.

And she did.

Clarity and the Guadalupe

This week arrived and my brain arrived with it.  Clear as a bell.  This is day three.  Forgive me if I name this a miracle.  It really is stunning.  Clarity and The Guadalupe all on the same day.  I am blessed indeed.

Day three of a clear brain,

Sun shining off

More new snow.

It is clear

I am to offer calmness

Under the altar

And beyond.

Women iron ribbons

In the sacristy.

Too cold for a procession

Around the block,

The church is ready

For The Guadalupe

To arrive

Tonight.

She returns from her journey

Through the western suburbs,

Prayers pinned

To her robes.

She returns

Along with my clear calm brain.

I prayed for clarity.

In addition I found

The Guadalupe

In all her glory.

No ice on my wings

We got the walks and driveway clear yesterday, with shovels.  The squirrels had eaten the push button on the snow blower over the summer.  The snow blower repair people will pick up the snow blower tomorrow.  The winter weather has begun the changing of plans.  One of its hallmarks. Snow days are not just for children. 

Snow here

But no ice.

The workshop for today

Was cancelled last night.

Due to inclement weather,

The leader

Was not able to fly

Across the country.

Winter weather can be hard

On wings.

She will stay

In the South

For today,

Not because of weather here

But because of

Weather there.

I learn the reprieve

Of a day set free.

No ice on my wings.

The weather has finally changed

To winter.

No ice on my wings --

Only snow.

Ah Emily

I woke this morning with a clear head, bright white snow outlining the trees, and gloriously, a walk to shovel.  It may not be as exciting as the winter wears on.  Still -- today it is.  And -- a poem by Emily Dickinson greeted me in my e-mail -- #505.  When she died, I understand she left poems on scraps of paper in her bedroom.  Quite a picture.  Ah Emily.

Ah Emily

You left scraps of paper 

With so many words.

The ones who cared

The ones who knew

Collected up your poems

When you died,

Put them in order,

Named them with their first line,

Gave them each a number.

Ah Emily

I picture you in your bedroom

Surrounded

In poetry.

It poured through you,

Drifted around you

Like the snow,

It holds the ground

This morning,

Bright in the sun.

Ah Emily

They shoveled your walk

Named and numbered

Each flake

After you died.

Ah

Emily.

Corroboration

Ah. Justification for celebrating 2 Advent at home.

The new comforters arrive

On the doorstep

As I write.

The light dust of snow

Corroborates the decision

To stay home

In the warm.

Still Advent,

The family now waits

Around the dining table.

Bone-weary

It is the second Sunday in Advent.  Advent - my favorite season of the church year.  It is John the Baptist Sunday.  My New Testament professor always called him JB.  Today I stay home, thinking about John.  The rest of the house has gone back to bed.  We have each had a bone-wearing week. 

We all got up in time

For church.

Separately

We acknowledged each of us,

In particular ways,

Is bone-weary

From the week.

If any one of us

Had said to the others

I will go with you

Rather than

I will stay home

With you

We might be in the car

Right now

Driving to church.

As it is

Even the cat

Has gone back to sleep,

Bone-weary

In his older cat way.

We have yet to hear

From the turtle.

He was not even part

Of the conversation

To begin with.

Workshop leader

Yesterday counted as 6 CEUs.  The workshop title was near perfect, as was the morning presentation.  The afternoon presentation, how to implement the morning's learnings, reminded me of why I am first and foremost a priest, and why They deserve to be treated like Us, and really, how I have moved back to the liminal space between Us and Them.  I had this same experience in Domestic Violence Training last winter.  I remember driving home, all those Saturdays, with the sun in my eyes.

The workshop leader

Had me

At the word Go

Then

After lunch she advocated

Lying

Or perhaps telling

A small fib

If it would make things

Go smoother.

If I had left

After lunch

I would never have heard her speak

Of Us and Them,

Them and Us.

All would have remained right

With the world.

And perhaps

The sun would have not blinded me

All the way home.

Advent is for dreaming

It seems this is a time of preparation... for something.  My person -- body and soul and mind --working on church time, flips into Advent musings.  I am standing next to the ocean, preparing to dive, without even knowing the particulars of scuba gear, without having received any training.  My dad is there, even though I don*t recall seeing him since he died in 1996, just before Christmas.  I was not surprised to see him.  Yep.  Preparation... for something.

Dreaming

I signed up for

A scuba dive,

A race of sorts,

Underwater.

I paid my money,

Drove with the instructor

To the site.

On the way

I told him I might not

Be ready yet.

Next to the ocean

I found my father.

He stood on the edge

Of the crowd

As he did

When he was alive.

Why should it be different now?

My beloved and daughter

Arrived in a different car.

They were all there

To watch me dive

And perhaps to see me

Come out the other side.

For now... it's John

It is already day five of Advent, a short season.  Some years are a little shorter than others.  Advent does not expand or contract in real time the way the other seasons do.  Still there may be a lot more kairos time in Advent than we usually give it, even with its set four Sundays.  There*s a lot to fit in these four weeks, not just the shopping and cookies.  

With Advent

So short

Every day counts,

Not just for shopping

Or cookies.

Every word counts,

Not just poems

Like this one.

Every person counts.

Key people appear.

Like John.

John says:

Don*t look at me

Look at Him!

I tell you!

No

He’s not here yet

But keep looking

Don*t settle on me.

Look for him.

Mary has lines

Later on in the play.

For now

John*s on stage.

He speaks more loudly

Then

More loudly still.

For now

It*s John.

The Pageant

The Christmas pageant casting has begun.  It is rewritten in every church, every year.  This is a given.

It is rewritten

Every year

In every church

Around the world.

Small children

Sometimes even adults

Do their best

As Mary, Joseph,

Baby Jesus,

Shepherds, angels ,

Various animals

At the manger.

Three Kings arrive

From liturgical East.

One year I saw the Three Kings

Joined by Herod

In front of the manger.

One year my son

Played the backside

Of a camel.

It is rewritten

Every year.

The Pageant.

One interpretation included

Native American Dancers

As the several Kings.

This sent one family

Packing

To a more traditional church

In a South Boston suburb

Where pageants are

As they are supposed to be:

Just like we remember

From our childhood.

The Pageant.

There is a rumor this year

A cardinal, a blue jay,

Maybe a horse

Will sing at the manger.

Every year

It is rewritten.

The Pageant.

Seeing

Yesterday was difficult due to the weather.  Being foggy, it was hard to see outside.  With my brain challenge, it was a struggle to see... inside.  I took it slow, saw what I could, took breaks in between.  Even so, I counted many good connections between breaks in the fog.  When I opened email this morning, Kelly Flanagan's post was a meet and right start to the day.  Thank you, Kelly, for a good beginning.

http://drkellyflanagan.com/2013/12/04/what-joy-to-the-world-really-means/

Under a prayer blanket,

Warm cup of coffee in hand,

I see more clearly.

Who will I see today?

My beloved

My daughter

Certainly.

Who will I go out

To see?

My calendar holds

The prayer group,

A friend for lunch.

Who will I go

Out of my way

To see?

Switching hats

I keep forgetting I*m not that kind of therapist.  I have bombed with at least three mental health training supervisors.  I*m not sure this is a record.  Perhaps it is.  I want to say to each of them:  It*s not you... It*s me.  But then again, this line sounds like I no longer want to date them, and I*m working to find the least hurtful way out.  I stuck with two of them for a year each.  I learned a lot.  For number three... we made it two sessions.  It*s not you... it*s me. This, of course, is true.  And of course, it*s you too.  I feel like I have left three gifted people, and yet kept the original who sees that I am not that kind of therapist.  See... I am still doing it:  It*s not you... it*s me.  Of course.  Of course it*s you too.

I felt the need

To switch hats last night.

Now

I said

I am not talking to you

As a therapist.

Oh

She said

Of course you*re not.

That*s not why I see you

Anyway.

In one short evening

It*s a sort of haiku day.  This haiku doesn*t even have all the syllables.  

I read about four workshop possibilities, considered how I could make each one work.  Three were in Santa Fe, one in Michigan.  No. There seem to be different things ... on the horizon.

In one short evening

I browsed four writing workshops

Dismissed them all.

Stronger for it

Yesterday felt like convergence at the beginning the new church year, a waiting for the baby and Second Coming, just as Advent is meant to be, except in real, on-the-ground time.  I stood with three other clergy after church yesterday.  All four of us sat in the pew, by choice, yesterday.  We spoke of what has changed, what is honored now, what seems to have been forgotten.  The new church year has barely hit the ground.

With the new church year

On the ground

I find myself saying:

To myself

To others

To those in positions of power

Small and somewhat greater:

Have you ever considered?

With the new church year

Taking its very first steps

Into new and newer life,

I consider new things

Shored up

By a bulwark of things

Named old.

Have you considered

This very thing

Has been considered before

With perhaps different elements

In perhaps

Different ways?

Have you considered

Perhaps

Connection,

One thing building on another

And just perhaps

Stronger for it?

Advent 1

We almost overslept the 10:30 service this morning.  Thankfully... we didn*t.  Turns out the number of clergy in the pews outnumbered the clergy at the altar. Six of us in the pew, four up front.  Once again I realize I am not alone.  Possibilities of new beginnings (in line with season of Advent), new endings (again in line with Advent) and somewheres in between (somehow, Advent again).  Possibilities stream forth.

Church brought

The usual

Clump of clergy

Behind the altar;

More than the usual

Clergy spread out,

Standing in pews,

Incognito.

The celebrant in Advent blue,

The priests in matching stoles,

A beautiful sight.

The rest of us figuring where to stand

And sit

And kneel.

Raise our hands to the sky

Or not.

Remember new beginnings

New endings

New somewheres

In between.

Advent Eve

Advent is my favorite season.  It seems the only season of the Church year which waits for two things at once, seemingly opposite things.  This waiting time feels, well, liminal to me.  An in-between time of sorts. This year we also get to wait for the comet to appear in the sky just before dawn.  

Advent Eve

The sun has set

The day will dawn blue

Tomorrow

Unless I look

Just before the sun rises

For the promised comet;

Unless I watch the sky,

Darkness incarnate

With a growing purple tinge,

Melting into final day blue.

Hope holds her hands

Pressed

On the baby

Riding safe inside;

Hope holds her hands outstretched

To the Promised One  

Who will return

Again.

The stage is set.

Advent Eve.

I await

The comet

Out the other side

Of the sun.

The sky will change

From darkness incarnate

To purple

To a final blue.

Hope bows down.

Her hands wait

In her lap.

More church dreams

This is the priest equivalent of not arriving prepared for the exam.  Even though I am not serving behind the altar these days, but rather, under the altar, counseling people one by one, I still have these dreams from time to time.  It seems years and years of a particular path, speaking a particular language, begs such things as church dreams like this one.  I wake up wondering if I will be invited to the picnic... the one everyone will attend.

Again I did not arrive

Prepared

For the job:

No alb

No sermon

Heck I didn*t even know

The proper lessons

For the day.

The outside sign said

They were now

In Palos Park.

Still I got there

By a back entrance

In cassock and surplice.

They said they*d figure out

Some sort of stole

To make me look official.

They always were nice

Like that.

I did not arrive prepared.

It took back road after back road

To get there.

Light attendance was promised.

There was a picnic scheduled

For the afternoon.

Everyone would attend

The picnic.