Sunrise, 17 December 2006

Faint violet on the eastern horizon
seen through a tracery of dark tree branches
slow brightening of the sky.
And the song of a wren
the feeder is empty - squirrels won out;
the wren sings
tweetle, tweetle, tweetle.
A carol of another kind
calling me awake on this sleepy Sunday morning
in a season of rushing
and buying and wanting
and missing;
in a season of remembering and giving and hope,
against a persistent gloom.
Darkness has its beauty, its gifts
lights more piercing against the blackness of deep night
but the morning’s growing light
signals another day
another chance.
The wren sings
keep looking -
it is there
before you
and
within.

Written on December 7th - but got so caught up in busyness, I never got around to posting it!

The darkness settles upon us gently each afternoon, and the night deepens early. We watch, and wait… for the returning of the light.
The candles are in the windows at home, and a few strings of cool, white LED lights adorn the entryway (they use less electricity than the old-fashioned kind). But I haven’t even begun my shopping or baking - and the Christmas countdown is well underway. Yikes! Why should such a beautiful time of year begin to feel like a competition?
Every year, people comment on how we are losing the “true meaning of Christmas” - whatever that is. Maybe it’s easier to reclaim this spirit than we think. No need to return to some idealized 19th century Dickens holiday or 1950’s “wonderful life”. Maybe it’s as simple as slowing down and in the darkness, blowing on the perhaps fading ember of love that glows in each of us. Maybe it’s as simple as living life not as if it were marathon of preparation and purchasing, but as if it were something that really mattered to those closest to us.

Thanksgiving roses…
The sky is grey. There is (at last) an autumnal chill in the air. Trees in the backyard have shed all their leaves and the lines of trunk and limb are more clearly defined in the waning light.
And I look out the windows and see a dozen delicate pink roses, in bud and full flower. What are you doing here, I want to say. The summer is long gone - the summer, when you were just one of the many flowers in bloom. Now you stand alone, flowering out of time. Has climate change confused you?
Perhaps I should be worried - these roses may be akin to the canary in the mine shaft.
Instead, though, I grab my clippers and go on a rescue mission, gathering the fragile blooms. Just in case there is a chilling frost - they will fare better in a vase in my living room, their scent intoxicating and teasing as I walk past.
There they sit as a reminder of life’s beauty, fragility and tenacity. What better remembrance at this Thanksgiving time!
May your holiday gatherings give rise to a full recounting of life’s free and complimentary blessings, even in the shadow of troubling, fearful or sorrowing times.

two days later...

I preached this past Sunday on voting and I stressed how this is a powerful personal and corporate act, a true sign of patriotism... especially when you cast your vote in a sea of uncertainty, in a culture where you feel alienated or a society where your voice has felt weaker and weaker as the years have gone by. And now that “the electorate has spoken”, we do well to reflect back and think about what it is we have said.
For “winning” is not enough. Savor the moment, yes. And then roll up your sleeves. Here’s a riff on some words of activist Dorothy Day (as printed in our UU hymnal):
“No one has a right to sit down and feel hopeless.” And no one has a right to sit down and feel smug and contented. “There’s too much work to do.”
--Zsuzsa