Sola Christus

the smell of ashes

Lent is a call to renew a commitment grown dull, perhaps, by a life more marked by routine than by reflection.  After a lifetime of mundane regularity or unconsidered adherence to the trappings of faith, Lent requires me, as a Christian, to stop for a while, to reflect again on what is going on in me. I am challenged again to decided whether I, myself, do truly believe that Jesus is the Christ -- and if I believe, whether I will live accordingly when I can no longer hear the song of angels in my life and the star of Bethlehem has grown dim for me.

 

Joan Chittister
The Liturgical Year

 

(HT to cino for this quote)

 

 

prayer for a day of ashes

Marked by Ashes

by: Walter Brueggemann

 

Ruler of the Night, Guarantor of the day . . .
This day — a gift from you.
This day — like none other you have ever given, or we have ever received.
This Wednesday dazzles us with gift and newness and possibility.
This Wednesday burdens us with the tasks of the day, for we are already halfway home
     halfway back to committees and memos,
     halfway back to calls and appointments,
     halfway on to next Sunday,
     halfway back, half frazzled, half expectant,
     half turned toward you, half rather not.

 

This Wednesday is a long way from Ash Wednesday,
   but all our Wednesdays are marked by ashes —
     we begin this day with that taste of ash in our mouth:
       of failed hope and broken promises,
       of forgotten children and frightened women,
     we ourselves are ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
     we can taste our mortality as we roll the ash around on our tongues.

 

We are able to ponder our ashness with
   some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes
   anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

 

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —
   you Easter parade of newness.
   Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,
     Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;
     Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.
   Come here and Easter our Wednesday with
     mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

 

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

the best valentine ever

 

Thanks NPR!

black and yellow

Most single women I talk to struggle with particular holidays. One friend finds Christmas depressing, another struggles with the perpetual loneliness that comes with Turkey day in Novemeber.

New Year's and Valentine's are the hardest for me--I think because they are events centered not on family or faith but on a significant other. The ball drops, the calender flips, and eyes seek the Other. This week I went to five different shops before I could find a card suitable for my friend that didn't declare "I can't wait to get in your trousers."

And so today is Valentine's Day again. I have written a couple of times in the past about being single on this holiday.

I've argued for choosing a better path and recorded small words that float like the tips of icebergs. And every year I meditate on love--what it is and what it should look like as I live my life as a single woman.

Last year at Valentine's, I had hope that this year would see me in a different situation, with "in a relationship" listed on my Facebook profile. Unlike the years before, when Hope usually meant a faceless form to appear sometime in the far future, this Hope had a name. And for various reasons, some mundane and some heart-breakingly sad, that name and face didn't turn out to be the hope I had looked for, but instead it has dissapeared into the mist that now makes up my past days. 

So I have found this year's mid-Febuary marker harder, sorer, like a bruise that a child keeps probing---something is missing. 

But, just like a bruise, I have found the sore spot is healing, instead of angry black and blues, it is starting to yellow. But certain things still poke at it, holding up my singleness like a sign--a friend's new-found love, another's long discussion about wedding cakes and receptions. And I am reminded of the soreness of being single on yet another Valentine's Day.

So instead of focusing on my bruise, yesterday I focused on making others' bruises lighter. I cooked and laughed. Then, after a walk by a rough and misty sea with people I love, I was reminded that there is One who heals and is my source of life.

So, reader, I hope that in spite of of your marital status (or lack thereof), whether you are wandering through the desert or by the sea, you will remember, that cards and candies do not measure your worth. May you find the One who will always be your Hope.

Advent: Love is messy

Sometimes loving someone is messy. He dissapoints you. She says something that cuts. He doesn't make time to see you. She is late. Again. He goes away. She declares she can't be your friend anymore.

But you love him or her anyway, even though it may be hard. Sometimes loving someone can be messy.

Jesus chose to love us inspite of our messiness, and came to BE one of us. His love, shown in the messiness of being born on a stable floor was a mark of that love. And, because he loved, I know I can to.

 

A Labor of Love

by: Andrew Peterson

It was not a silent night
There was blood on the ground
You could hear a woman cry
In the alleyways that night
On the streets of David's town

And the stable was not clean
And the cobblestones were cold
And little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
Had no mother's hand to hold

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love

Noble Joseph at her side
Callused hands and weary eyes
There were no midwives to be found
In the streets of David's town
In the middle of the night

So he held her and he prayed
Shafts of moonlight on his face
But the baby in her womb
He was the maker of the moon
He was the Author of the faith
That could make the mountains move

It was a labor of pain
It was a cold sky above
But for the girl on the ground in the dark
With every beat of her beautiful heart
It was a labor of love
For little Mary full of grace
With the tears upon her face
It was a labor of love

 

 

Advent: Comfort

One of my favorite Christmas carols, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" is also the one that I have the earliest memory of. It was featured in the BBC production of The Little Princess made in 1987. I must have been about 9 or 10 when I first saw it on PBS. Even then, I loved the words and the minor key that fit it so well. It focuses on the amazing truth and comfort that comes from the incarnation of Christ. Now, as an adult, one of my favorite versions, is Loreena McKennitt's. She retains the minor key through most of it and yet adds her signature "world" style. Her style is perfect as a reminder that Christ came for all peoples. It is actually quite a long hymn, but here are my favorite verses:

God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

"Fear not then," said the Angel,
"Let nothing you affright,
This day is born a Saviour
Of a pure Virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in Him
From Satan's power and might."
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind:
And went to Bethlehem straightway
The Son of God to find.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All other doth deface.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

 

Advent: Stillness

It has been snowing off and on in Scotland for over a week now. Just when I thought it was all melting yesterday, I woke up this morning to about two inches more on the ground. I don't own a car here, so I walk or get public transport where ever I go. So, the snow doesn't inconvenience me besides getting a little wet on the way to my office. I am sorry for those who are inconvenienced, but I love it! Being a Southern girl, I have never seen so much of it in my life.

The view from my bedroom this morning:

 

And, as I settle down to write, the falling snowflakes outside my office window certainly are distracting:

 

 

 I think one of the things I like the best about snow is clean stillness it brings to the world, if only for a little while.

So, to avoid writing and contemplate the snow, I thought I would post another favorite Christmas hymn by one of my favorite poets, Christina Rossetti. And, here in Scotland, we have had snow on snow on snow.

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

 

Advent: Freedom

One of my favorite Christmas albums is Behold the Lamb of God by Andrew Peterson. It takes in the sweep of centuries that culminated in a dirty manger in Bethlehem.

I was listening to the album last night, and remembered just how much truth the song "Deliver Us" holds.

Sung by Derek Webb, the song is poigant and truthful. How many times do we fasten shackles made with our hands to our wrists? And then wonder, just how do we free ourselves? I know I have done that. So the question is, why be content to sit in prison? We must seek freedom from the One who gives it and ask him to deliver us.

Deliver Us

Our enemy, our captor is no pharaoh on the Nile
Our toil is neither mud nor brick nor sand
Our ankles bear no calluses from chains, yet Lord, we're bound
Imprisoned here, we dwell in our own land

Deliver us, deliver us
Oh Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight

Our sins they are more numerous than all the lambs we slay
These shackles they were made with our own hands
Our toil is our atonement and our freedom yours to give
So Yahweh, break your silence if you can

Chorus

'Jerusalem, Jerusalem
How often I have longed
To gather you beneath my gentle wings'

You can listen to the album here

For all those departed

Somewhere between the star-studded sky and the quietly sleeping sea, I stood in a stone church tonight and remembered.

I remember those who had a part in making me who I am today, and who are gone. And I am thankful.

 

For Linda who taught me how to laugh.

For Dr. Gladin who taught me that real men cry over evil.

For Mrs. Mulfinger who taught me the beauty of music.

For my grandmother who taught me how to give.

For my grandfather who taught me how to hammer a nail.

For my uncle who taught me to keep going in spite of it.

For my great-grandmother who taught me who to love.

 

And I am thankful for a hope.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,  to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you,  who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.  In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials,  so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls. I Peter 1:3-9

 

 

"one five one seven . . . that's when it first went down"

Every year I try to watch Luther on Halloween, because today is the day he nailed his 95 theses against the abuse of indulgences up on the University "bulletin board."

Today, I had plans to make a lovely soup, have a fellow early modern PhD student over, and we were gong to have our own little nerd fest.

Instead, I am home sick, with no voice and feeling miserable. (Perhaps watching the Buffy episode "Hush"  really wasn't such a great idea.) Since my copy of the movie is in storage in the States, I watched this fabulously fun rap instead. I think Martin would dig it.