‘This light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not comprehended it.’ No one receives it but the poor in spirit who have stripped themselves of self-love and self-will. There are many who have lived for forty years in material poverty without having ever beheld this light. They understand what it is, they have taken it in with their senses and grasped it with their intellect, but in the depth of their souls it is alien and repugnant to them.

“My Beloved, strive with all your might, with every effort of body and soul, to behold this true light, so that you may return to the source where it shines in all its brightness. Long for it, pray for it, do all that you can, with all the strength you can summon. Entreat those who love God to help you. Cling to those who cling to God, so that they may draw you with them into God. May our loving God help us to attain this.
~Johannes Tauler, Sermon 10 (New York and Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1985), pp. 53-54.

Much of the language of the Advent-Christmas-Epiphany cycle revolves around light and darkness. This metaphor is suggested by some of the lessons from Isaiah and St. John in particular, including John 1:5, quoted in Tauler’s sermon above.

Even now, the true light is flooding into the world, in a glorious dawn of grace and truth. This light is utterly gratuitous, i.e. unearned. It is also completely efficacious, in and of itself. Only the obstacles we present (Tauler identifies self-love and self-will) prevent us from participating more fully in this marvelous gift.

Liberation theologies focused on race have pointed out some rather fundamental problems with the root metaphor of light and darkness, closely correlated as it is with contrasts between good and evil and knowledge and ignorance. Those focused on disabilities, for their part, have asked some profound questions about the use of the notion of “blindness” in Christian spiritual texts. Likewise, feminist theologies have identified real problems with an excessive focus on the sins of self-love and self-will in a society where many oppressed people struggle to affirm their human dignity and the claims of justice.

And yet, there is a powerful natural symbol at play here as days grow short and nights grow long. And so, we continue to confess that the power of the long cold winter of death is broken by the dawning of the Great Light. We continue to confess, whatever language we may use, that we present various kinds of obstacles to the Light, whether those obstacles are classical sins of self-love and self-will or their mirror image in various forms of human bondage and internalized oppression. We seek companions who know God’s ways, who can show us the Light and help us grow in holiness.

And we long for the Desire of the Nations, Jesus Christ, and the saving light of the Gospel.

For we know that in God’s light, all are one, without becoming the same, in a community of equals in which “none is afore or after other.”

And so, we await the coming of that Light in a stable, at the edge of town, among simple people who remember their Maker and Redeemer and rejoice to see the glory of God shine forth in the face of a poor and humble child.

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here

Downtown Richmond, Virginia is gridlocked all this week. Steven Spielberg is here filming for his upcoming movie, Lincoln, due to be released in late 2012. The hub bub of this Hollywood presence even makes the evening news….

And today is the day to remember Channing Moore Williams, born in Richmond Virginia in 1829, ordained a deacon in 1855, and left Virginia as a missionary to China and Japan in the midst of the growing fever pitch that finally culminated in the American Civil War. It is an interesting thought to ponder --that while this nation was wracked in increasing political gridlock and friction and the threat to the Union regarding the boundaries of States' rights and equality-liberty-and-justice for all, Williams chose to look beyond the horizons of his nativity and set his sight on Asia.

Hollywood and missionary zeal come full circle in the first week of Advent.

Some claim that the 19th Century missionary efforts of the Episcopal Church (and other churches as well) are part and parcel of the expansionist and imperialistic policies of the secular state. Others might claim that Williams is a wonderful and godly embodiment of The Great Commission given to all Christians --carrying the Good News to the furthest ends of the earth.

How and for what reasons do we carry the Good News of God in Christ? This juxtaposition of mission impetus highlights certain elements of the readings today. The prophet, Amos, laments and admonishes, saying,

Therefore because you trample on the poor and take from them levies of grain, you have built houses of hewn stone, but you shall not live in them; you have planted pleasant vineyards, but you shall not drink their wine. For I know how many are your transgressions, and how great are your sins- you who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe, and push aside the needy in the gate. Therefore the prudent will keep silent in such a time; for it is an evil time. Seek good and not evil, that you may live. (Amos 5:11-14)

And-- Jude writes, Now I desire to remind you, though you are fully informed, that the Lord, who once for all saved a people out of the land of Egypt, afterward destroyed those who did not believe. And the angels who did not keep their own position, but left their proper dwelling, he has kept in eternal chains in deepest darkness for the judgment of the great Day. (Jude 5-6)

And-- Jesus tells us the story of the wedding feast, those invited walking away, ignoring or too busy to respond, so the king sends out the invitation to the streets of the realms, to the good and bad alike, and the wedding hall is filled --but one guy didn't wear a party suit, and the king said, "Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?" And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, "Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." For many are called, but few are chosen.' (Matthew 22:12-14)

There is an unmistakable thread of condemnation --beyond judgement, I'm hearing outright condemnation for those who don't care for the poor, who hear and know and don't respond to the call of God --to be ready, prepared for the unexpected invitation and feast. There are several possible responses a Christian might make to these calls to care, to respond, to prepare. Included among them are penance --participating in the Way of the Cross and engaging in bearing the sins of the world. Another way is to actively prepare in hope --prepare for the unexpected inbreaking and revelation of what awaits us all on the other side of judgement.

It is Advent --a time of active preparation and hope. With Channing Moore Williams in mind, it is the perfect time to lift our eyes from our local context, pressures, and conflicts --time to look beyond the horizons of our own nativity to the nativity announced in the skyline of the star --following its light, leaving our habitations and comfort zones, and do all those things necessary to prepare for the great Kingdom feast --not in fear of judgment (there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God which we have in Christ Jesus), but in hope and for the joy that is in us.

Margaret Watson is a priest in the Diocese of Virginia. She writes daily morning prayer reflections at her blog Leave It Lay Where Jesus Flang It.

Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, ‘Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’ But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, ‘Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.’ And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, ‘Whose head is this, and whose title?’ They answered, ‘The emperor’s.’ Then he said to them, ‘Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.’ When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away. -- Matthew 22:15-22 (NRSV)

It is Advent, the first season of the official church year and the time when some Christians prepare for the coming of Christ at the feast we call Christmas. It is a time of expectation, of planning and getting ready. So why is there a seemingly very mundane passage about money and taxes? Surely that passage would be better suited to another time of year, say April? There are times we have to just take the readings as they come and this seems to be one of them.

The Pharisees are up to their tricks again, trying to trap Jesus into saying or doing something they can use to get rid of this troublesome itinerant. This time they bring him a silver coin, about the size of a dime although a bit thicker, and recognized as legal tender throughout the Roman empire. The question to Jesus was, was it legal to pay taxes required by Roman law to Caesar or not? It wasn't that the denarius that they brought was so valuable; money never is unless you don't have any. It was worth about a day's wages for a worker on a large estate, the value of about 20 loaves of bread.

Jesus' question was an interesting one, "Whose image is on this coin? And whose title?" Even the Jewish coins minted in Tyre (where the "official" Jewish coins of that time were struck) had the image of a Caesar (coins last a very long time) and his title, often with the inclusion of something like "son of the divine Augustus" added, making it even more odious to the Jews who used the coins. The coins used for the temple tax had this same image, despite the commandment against graven images. In the days of Jesus, and living in even a small far-away corner of the Roman Empire, you couldn't get far from the image, likeness or rule of Caesar; Caesar's taxes not only paid for the emperor's upkeep in Rome along with the hierarchy that administered the work of the empire, but also soldiers in the provinces to provide security, upkeep of the roads that moved goods from place to place, public works and even the very bureaucracy from which at least one of Jesus' followers came (Matthew, the tax collector). Even so, the denarius was not accepted in the temple; it had to be exchanged for "Jewish" money, the shekel or the half shekel, with the cost of the exchange (added on as a sort of banking fee), going into the pockets of the moneychanger. Things haven't changed much, have they?

With the challenge of the Pharisees and Herodians (allegedly supporters of the local monarchy), Jesus faced one of the most common contests between two human beings of the time. A challenge would be offered and must be answered or there was a risk of loss of face and ultimately shame. The challenge always had to be public, and had to be answered publicly. The winner was the person who could provide a response to which the other had no reasonable answer. The Pharisees threw down the gauntlet, so to speak, and Jesus picked it up and threw it back at them. "Pay Caesar what is his." What else could the Pharisees say? Jesus clearly won that challenge and the Pharisees publicly lost face. You had to be careful of your words and positions, in those days. One ill-conceived challenge could cost you more than you could gain by a sharp retort.

Since the Pharisees were a religious sect, Jesus' "pay to God what is God's" would be a direct challenge. The temple ran on money and it too had a taxation structure. A tithe was charged to support the priests, a head tax of 1/2 shekel that each male had to pay yearly, sacrificial items of animals or agricultural goods to present to God and finally dedicated goods (or children as in Samuel's case) to fulfill vows. God wasn't interested in coins although the temple where God was worshipped certainly needed it to keep operating. What is God's, however, goes beyond sacrifices, head and temple taxes and dedicated goods; what is God's is the human being, created in the image and likeness of God, and all that that human being is. What is God's is that person's devotion and attention to God's rules which includes caring for others as well as themselves in addition to sacrificial offerings and support of God's temple. It was very clever -- Jesus is saying that the coin belongs to Caesar, but the people belong to God. How could the Pharisees make a come back after that kind of riposte?

Looking at it that way, it seems that using something material like money or possessions to establish the worth of a person isn't what Jesus (or God) had in mind. Human beings were given the ultimate gift of being made in the image of God and as such that is how they should be seen, regardless of social status or possessions.

As one bearing the image and likeness of God, I need to learn to value myself by what I am, not what I have, and look at others with the same kind of lens. I also have to give back to God the value of what has been given to me, namely the good that I as a human being can do for my fellow humans and to the world God created. It's a lot harder than simply putting in a dollar bill in an alms basin -- or sending a check to the government once a year. It's asking for everything, not just a part.

But then, I come back to the advent thought that Jesus came and gave all of himself. Maybe the reading is more apt than I first thought.

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Psalm 148, 149, 150 (Morning)
Psalm 114, 115 (Evening)
Amos 6:1-14
1 Thessalonians 5-11
Luke 1:57-68

Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. Her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown his great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. On the eighth day they came to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him Zechariah after his father. But his mother said, “No; he is to be called John.” They said to her, “None of your relatives has this name.” Then they began motioning to his father to find out what name he wanted to give him. He asked for a writing tablet and wrote, “His name is John.” And all of them were amazed. Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God. Fear came over all their neighbors, and all these things were talked about throughout the entire hill country of Judea. All who heard them pondered them and said, “What then will this child become?” For, indeed, the hand of the Lord was with him.

Then his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them." Luke 1:57-68 (NRSV)

One of the more interesting parts of running a hospital laboratory has to be the variety of names attached to the various specimens and samples. Sometimes I can roughly guess the age of the person by their name. It's a safe bet that someone named Pearl is likely to be Medicare-aged. The name Tab is a dead giveaway that the patient was probably born sometime in the late 50's or early 60's, and a person named Karma is apt to have been born around 1969. There are always exceptions to the rule, of course, but it's a fun work pastime.

Then there are those names that I can't help but think, "You named your kid THAT?" In my career, I've encountered a woman named Velveeta, a whole family where all the boys were named Otis, and enough unusual spellings of common names it sounds like a sci-fi convention.

The Bible, it seems, has an unusually high number of stories where the story revolves around something or someone being named--whether it's the initial naming, or people who get a "new" name once some dramatic thing has happened to them. Our Gospel reading is one of those stories. What strikes me in this story is that it is clear Elizabeth knows what the name of this child will be; yet well-meaning friends and relatives keep telling her otherwise.

It does seem a little odd that they want to name the child Zechariah--generally, modern Ashkenazic Jewish custom disapproves on naming children after living relatives--a long standing superstition suggests it will either invite ill health to the elder relative. At the very least, if the elder relative misbehaves, the child's name is stained by it. However, Sephardic Jews don't follow that custom, so the significance of this is uncertain. (Or is this part of the story signifying that when Zechariah could no longer speak to God in the temple, he was "dead" in some way?)

Once again, we are shown the power that exists in the act of naming. Nothing in life is more disquieting than uncertainty. But when we know the names of things, we begin to deal with them. People go in for biopsies and don't know "what's wrong with them." When I examine tissues and make a diagnosis--give it a name--even if the name is attached to a bad diagnosis, the person with the illness at least "knows what they have," and can begin to move to a place of completion with it.

Imagine Elizabeth's frustration in that she knows what this baby's name should be. She knows the "diagnosis," and everyone is telling her otherwise. How many times have we been stuck in situations where we have a name for what is going on, or we know what our feelings are about it, but everyone else tells us otherwise, or chooses to assign feelings to us, or project their own stuff on us?

The other striking thing in this story is that Zechariah is the only one who believes in what Elizabeth is saying, and even though he cannot speak, he writes "His name is John" in support of her position. One can imagine poor Zechariah, wildly gesticulating for someone to bring something for him to write with and upon, looking like he's having a seizure--even pounding the tablet with his finger for emphasis and glaring at everyone.

When Zechariah does this, a miracle occurs--his muteness is removed from him. It's a reminder that believing--and acting--on another's conviction has the power to free us from our own paralyses of speech.

As we ponder this story during Advent, in the light of our own stories, where are the places that we know the names of things but others keep telling us otherwise? Where are the places we need to believe in the convictions of those we love even if it seems we have been struck mute?

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid. During Advent Evans is facilitating a Facebook group, "Lo He Comes" exploring Advent through the hymns.

Commemoration of Clement of Alexandria

All men are Christ's, some by knowing Him, the rest not yet. He is the Savior, not of some and the rest not. For how is He Savior and Lord, if not the Savior and Lord of all? — Clement of Alexandria

One thing I never heard of until I started doing Bible studies in the Episcopal church was the idea of "universalism" -- a belief that somehow, salvation will be attained by all everywhere through God's grace and persistence. It was a totally different thing from "You have to pray the sinner's prayer and accept Jesus as your personal savior before you can be saved and be baptized," which is what I was taught as a child. Even if I said the right things and followed the right procedure, it still seemed like my salvation could be snatched away if I didn't live up to the expectations of God and the church. It made for an uncomfortable relationship with the Almighty.

The church in which I spent my childhood and adolescence sort of went from Genesis to Revelation and then, with the exception of the persecutions and the Reformation in sermons and Sunday School lessons. It wasn't until I began EfM that I began to see the curtain rising on the years my former church had kept under wraps, in a manner of speaking. One of the people I never heard of before EfM was Clement of Alexandria. Once I started delving into church history, Clement was introduced, along with a lot of other philosophers, theologians, catechists, apologists and Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all. None of them made the most lasting of impressions on me at the time. Still, the more I continue to study the more I realize Clement of Alexandria is one of my spiritual ancestors, one of those who gave me the ability and the courage to set aside the certainties I'd had in my former church beliefs and embrace new possibilities, including the idea that the entire world will be redeemed, not just the ones who prayed the sinner's prayer and were baptized in the name of the Trinity. Clement's comment gives me the vision of that possibility.

God gave the model for parenthood. Does a parent stop loving, nurturing, protecting or caring for a child simply because it is disobedient, stubborn, aggravating or even turns their back on the parent? Some may, but I don't think God is that kind of parent. There may be some people or groups who enjoy special favor, but the remaining children are not forgotten, ignored or unwanted. All are God's children, even if some do not acknowledge it. Jesus told the Canaanite woman that he had come only for the Jews, but he had already begun reaching beyond the borders of culture and tradition and gender. Paul moved beyond ministry just to the Jews and into the cities and towns of the Greek and Roman world. Christianity spread and with it new and different ways to experience God, Jesus, the Spirit, baptism, the Eucharist and all the refinements. Like the veins on a leaf, the central belief grew offshoots that grew smaller with each refinement. Could not that refinement also include what to some is heresy while to others is orthodoxy? Could we not say that the Lord of all really is the Lord of all, even those who do not recognize the relationship?

Clement also said, " We can set no limits to the agency of the Redeemer to redeem, to rescue, to discipline in his work, and so will he continue to operate after this life." It fits with a statement I heard for the first time maybe a decade or so ago, "Either Jesus died for all the sins of the world or none of them." I don't know who said that, but I think if it could be traced back, the trail would lead somewhere in the vicinity of Clement. To me, it challenges me to get the Trinity out of the little box I had shoveled them into, based on what I had been taught, and allow that they can operate in ways I don't understand and don't really need to. It also makes me see other people, those I sit with in church as well as people on the other side of the globe who have very different images of God, as children of God and worthy of redemption, whether or not they have accepted that redemption or even knew of its existence. Their qualification for redemption is based on the foundation that they belong to God, born as God's creation and the child of God's grace. Whether they in fact are "saved" is a question well above my pay grade. It seems to me that a God powerful enough to create a universe (or a billion billion of them) doesn't need me to sort sheep and goats. It's laughable that I should even dare to think of doing that-- and it's also audacious to the n-th degree.

So, for me, I will not discount universalism nor the thoughts of Clement about salvation and redemption. I will simply be thankful that Clement of Alexandria and the great cloud of other theologically/philosophically-minded folk have left me a legacy of thought to be perused, studied, poked, prodded, stretched and my borders of understanding increased. I will simply trust, and let God, Jesus and the Spirit take care of the rest.

That is a great weight off my shoulders.

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, December 6:
Psalm 145:8-13
Proverbs 19:17, 20-23
1 John 4:7-14
Mark 10:13-16

In reality, we know next to nothing about Nicholas. We know he was a bishop. We know he was tortured and imprisoned under the emperor Diocletian. We have modest evidence that he could have attended the First Ecumenical Council of Nicea in 325. That's pretty much it.

We do, however have intimate knowledge of the modern permutation of the legendary Nicholas, in the guise of St. Nick, aka Santa Claus.

Most of what we attribute to our modern Santa comes from legend involving Nicholas--things that endeared him to sailors, pawnbrokers, and most importantly, children. Many of the stories involving him are about giving money to those in need. The most spectacular legend about him (and my personal favorite) is the one where he raises from the dead three boys who had been killed and stuffed in a barrel.

We say we know who Nicholas was, but really, we know his larger-than-life, legendary shadow.

Our readings today focus on the disenfranchised--the poor and children--in both our Old Testament reading and from the Gospel.

We certainly know some legends about poor people, don't we?

Poor people are lazy and don't want to work.

Poor women are promiscuous and have lot of babies by different fathers.

Poor men are irresponsible and can't be depended upon.

Poor people by definition, do drugs, and drink a lot. They smoke a lot, too. They are poor because they spend the money they have on drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes. They go to the ER and have drug-seeking behavior.

Poor people really aren't THAT poor, because in the U.S. they are often fat. They have cell phones. Some of them have bigger TV sets than mine. Some of them drive nicer cars than mine. They're not poor.

Poor people will always be poor. They don't want to help themselves.

There are two things I know for sure about legends. One is that somewhere in the legend is a kernel of truth. The other is, legends are easier to buy into when I have never met or interacted with the people of the legend.

That's the problem with legends. Sometimes there's a lot of baloney wrapped around that kernel of truth that obscures why the kernel of truth got there in the first place. Unraveling the baloney is tiring, a lot of work, and the amount of work involved is daunting enough to discourage us from ever accepting the possibility that there are other ingredients in this roll, and that there is a possibility that by changing some of the ingredients, the lives of individuals trapped in the legend can change for the better.

Now, as it worked out, the legend of St. Nicholas worked out to be one mostly used for good. It's good to have a legend where generally, it encourages us to be kind and generous to others, and it comes at a time of the year where I always hope the generosity of the season sticks with all of us.

But there's a problem with the St. Nicholas legend. The world of St. Nick's evolved character, Santa Claus, is also a world where all we have to do is make a list of our wants, be nice for a little while, leave out some cookies and milk, and we will get what we want. After all, we were "deserving" because we could manage to be nice for a little spell, right?

Happy legends are comfortable. They make us feel better. We don't have to move much outside ourselves to exist within them.

We can get that way a little bit about Legendary Jesus, too.

Legendary Jesus--rather white and fair for a Middle Eastern kinda guy, in a clean white robe, and with more teeth than a person of that era ought to have. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Loves the little children. All the children of the world. Oddly enough, it's those truck stop gift shop prints of "Jesus and the children" that distress me the worst. Oh, these days those kids come in various colors on that print, but it's what is NOT in the picture that bugs me.

There are no mentally challenged kids. There are no kids with physical deformities. There are no kids scarred by abuse, no kids dirty from neglect, no kids fearful of Jesus because a man who looked a little like him sexually abused them. There are no kids with bruises because the other kids bullied them. There are no kids wondering about their sexual orientation. There are no visibly malnourished kids.

The obscurity of Nicholas reminds us that there was probably much, much more to his life that was real, that would ask us to go deeper to love him the way we love Jolly Old St. Nick. In that, we should be reminded there is much to following Jesus that goes deeper to feeling good as Christians about Legendary Jesus and calls us to get a little dirty searching for the truth of the message of Real Jesus.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, ‘The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practise what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. They love to have the place of honour at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have people call them rabbi. But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted. -- Matthew 23:1-12 NRSV

Somehow, when I read this story I'm reminded of the emperor's new clothes. The emperor struts around wearing what was purported to be the finest in garb although the emperor had to take the tailor's word for it since he couldn't see a stitch of it. That tailor was a real salesman. Nobody else could see a stitch of it either, but the emperor was convinced of his excellent attire and proud to be seen in it. Nobody said a word -- except a small child who brought the entire parade (and the emperor) to a screeching halt. Out of the mouths of babes, they say, come the real truths. The emperor found out the reason he couldn't see a stitch wasn't because he needed a new ophthalmologist, he just needed a dose of the reality.

Clothes have always been a status marker -- the more wealth and prestige someone has, the better the quality (and quantity) of their clothes. In Jesus' day, the Pharisees and scribes were the top dogs and their dress reflected that. They were in positions of religious power and they enjoyed it to the hilt. Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't enjoy being in a position where they were the most important person at a formal dinner, be able to get the best seats at the symphony or\the ball park simply because of their rank, or even enjoy having lots of people look to them for guidance or help? Who wouldn't want to play the leading role and be recognized as such, to be able to set policies and practices, even if it imposed harsh burdens on the people who supported the infrastructure? It's all part of being top dog, whether in Biblical times or now.

The lesson isn't just about clothes or even status. It's about saying one thing and doing another, especially those in positions of power or authority. I think of the government officials who have spoken out so forcibly about honesty and transparency but who have been found to have committed grave lapses in ethics. Ministers and televangelists who have been so vocal in their condemnation of immorality suddenly find themselves in TV news reports that shine a light on their own behaviors and compromising situations. Everybody makes mistakes, but when someone is in a position of power or authority, it behooves them to live up to what they tell others to do, especially when those people who are being told what to do are also being asked to continue to "support God's work" or "support our efforts to ..." It's enough to make a body lose their appetites if not their faith in authority, possibly even in God.

Jesus talked about being a servant, even and especially if they were in a role of leadership. It isn't about going around washing people's feet or letting them get in the elevator first or even pitching in to actually work (rather than just pushing the workers) on a project that's closer to deadline than completion; it's actually about the spirit of the thing. Doing it for the wrong reason, doing it so that people will see and admire the person rather than the act and how it is performed, creates pride in the doer that can easily lead to them believing their own press.

I'm no leader, not by any stretch, still, I have my own part to play in being a servant who practices what I preach, whether or not, according to St. Francis, I use words or not. I've found that sometimes doing something quietly and not having anyone see it can be a very joyful thing. Oh, I don't think it's terrible to be praised for something I've done or feel pride in it, so long as that pride doesn't become an addiction, something I absolutely have to have. I also have to be careful not to make being humble a form of arrogance as well. That's as dangerous and as prideful as walking around with long fringes or wearing a ball gown to help feed homeless people at a shelter. I have to match my words to my actions, the lesson I think Jesus was trying to get across.

It's all about motivation, and motivation is everything -- whether I wear long fringes or merely stand in the crowd and watch the emperor go by. Oh, and I need the courage to tell the emperor to change ophthalmologists because he can't trust what his eyes are trying to tell him.

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

"O great, holy God, I pray to You: Open my own interiority to me so that I properly know what I am. Unlock that within me which was locked shut in Adam. Let me see and discover in my interiority of mind the beautiful morning-star in the holy Name JESUS, which offers itself out of grace to us poor men, and dwells in us and wishes to work powerfully in us."

Jacob Boehme, The Way to Christ (New York and Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978), p. 93.

So often we are closed off even from ourselves. We are unaware of the obstacles that keep us from grace. We work harder only to strain ourselves against unseen limits, the very limits that are killing us.

I like Boehme's notion that something within us was locked shut in Adam. Even those of us who have traveled quite far along the Way can have parts of ourselves that are still locked out of sight for fear or shame.

In this season of Advent, for the purpose of meditation, I'd like to tie this to one of the O Antiphons.

O Key of David and scepter of the House of Israel;
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

Come, Lord Jesus!

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here

Psalm 31 (morning)
Psalm 35 (evening)
Haggai 1:1-15
Revelation 2:18-29
Matthew 23:27-39

One of the themes that jumped out for me in our set of readings today was "houses in disarray--" but I have to confess I probably have a personal reason for that. I have been undertaking a major remodeling in my home since April--so it should come as no surprise that I heard the phrase from Haggai, "Because my house lies in ruins, while all of you hurry off to your own houses," in a rather up close and personal way, not to mention the line in Matthew's Gospel, "See, your house is left to you, desolate." As I write this, I have roughly 2.5 rooms in my eight room house that I would even dare to call "liveable." The rest are either filled with boxes that I tried to label and now can no longer reach anyway, or gutted, awaiting my contractor's next move.

Now, most days I've survived this reasonably well--but there are days I've just been weary of it. I'm tired of all the dust and dog hair--there came a place where "cleaning" just became a pointless exercise. I'm tired of eating off of one set of dishes that I wash over and over in the sink, like it's the only dishes I have to my name. (Well, they ARE about the only ones I can find.) I'm tired of coming home to annoying surprises like the breakers flipping off or the furnace not working, and I'm tired of being unable to invite over anyone but my most intimate friends, who would not run screaming from the dirt and clutter and tell the entire town I'm one of those "hoarders" like they show on TV. Those wonderful plans in my head of this rather monastic, but hospitable home I envisioned last winter seem so far away at times, I can barely remember them.

This remodeling project has been a very vivid reminder that "getting my house in order" is really hard emotional work, even when I am not doing the actual physical work of it, and some days the best I can do is simply bear it and start over again tomorrow.

Today's readings also speak of a great deal of the angst involved in misfortune, grief, and loss. In Psalm 31, the Psalmist describes the angst of those times we feel abandoned and scandalized; in Psalm 35, that angst is transmitted into some heavy duty "smite my enemies" stuff that we can all identify with, but feel a little queasy that we can abandon our sense of political correctness so readily. Revelation 2 reminds us of our own codependencies and what we will sometimes tolerate to the point we have lost the navigational frames of reference in our own souls. Matthew's Gospel reminds us of the monuments we erect to self and ego, which in reality are merely whitewashed tombs, while the innermost core of ourselves goes hungry.

As much as the world focuses on the "happy" of the December holiday season, the icky truth is for many people, it is a time of despair and remembering loss--the popularity of "Blue Christmas" services attests to this. I think the hardest thing for me, when I have been in that dark place of loss and despair, has been to resist the pressure of the world for me to simply shut up and act happy, ignoring my own pain and angst. Likewise, when someone I love is in that place, I find it difficult to see them in that place and my mistaken tendency is to try to cheer them up or get them to ignore it, when in reality what they really need is to be in that place and exit it in their own time, and for me to merely sit with them quietly.

Yet, today, it's our Old Testament reading that shows the glimmer of hope, the light shining in the darkness. We seldom venture into the Book of Haggai, but it's an incredibly interesting little gem in the books of the Minor Prophets. Haggai dates from around 520 BCE, at a time the Jews had returned to their Holy Land from Babylonian exile. The temple was in shambles, and various other problems--lack of sense of identity, drought, and a poor local economy--had delayed the rebuilding of the Temple.

Haggai enjoyed an unusual position as a prophet--folks actually listened to him! As they began rebuilding the Temple, at first they only had his prophetic words by which to cling to hope. But as they began to work on the Temple, they began to see their fortunes change. The Twelve Step programs have a saying--"Fake it till you make it." With God's help, the Jewish people really did fake it till they made it. Somehow, they were able to see both their past glories and their dark days with a certain kind of clarity, as well as hope in the progress of rebuilding.

Putting our houses in order can never be an angst-free or despair-free proposition--nor will their rebuilding be perfect--but we can learn to appreciate the special clarity darkness provides as a backdrop for seeing even the tiniest glimmer of light.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven whose sin is covered.
Happy are those to whom the Lord imputes no iniquity,
and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer.
Selah
Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity;
I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord’,
and you forgave the guilt of my sin.
Selah
Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you;
at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them.
You are a hiding-place for me; you preserve me from trouble;
you surround me with glad cries of deliverance.
Selah
I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go;
I will counsel you with my eye upon you.
Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding,
whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you.
Many are the torments of the wicked,
but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the Lord.
Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, O righteous,
and shout for joy, all you upright in heart. -- Psalm 32

Some passages for contemplation have so much in them that it is hard to pick a thread to follow. Sin, repentance, forgiveness -- all not only appear here but follow the progression that I understand all too well. I mess something up or hurt someone, I'm sorry for it (later, if not sooner and if I'm wiser than when it happened), I repent and, hopefully, am forgiven for it by the whoever I hurt in whatever way or have been able to make some sort of amends to mend what was messed up. The process is messy itself, it's uncomfortable most of the time, and it's something that I'd rather just bury under the carpet and forget about. That, though, is not the recommended way to go and most of the time, guilt will eventually get me to the place where I need to acknowledge it and try to fix it, if it is fixable.

The part of the psalm that caught my attention, though, was the part about the horse and the mule. I don't have much acquaintance with mules, although a friend has been kind enough to give me some instruction in mule physiology and psychology. A mule and a horse are very different creatures but both, in order to be useful to humans, must be outfitted with bits and bridles to guide them in the direction the human wants or needs them to go. The difference is the kind of bit that each needs because the stimulus to response in each is different. A wise person would choose the right bit for the right animal in order to not just control where the animal goes, but to do it in the kindest but most affirmative way.

I remember Mama often telling me I was as "stubborn as a mule," hardly a flattering statement but quite accurate. I was pretty determined to do things my way, and nothing short of threat of dire punishment or the like would make me change my mind. I think if she could have used a bit and bridle on me, she probably would have. My friend tells me that if you push on a mule’s flank, it will usually push back initially, just to see if you really mean it. Looks like Mama used the right descriptor for me because I definitely pushed back and then just stood my ground until forced to do otherwise.

Now that I’ve grown up a bit and am a bit more aware of the importance of self-control and the greater world around me, I see a lot of mulish behavior (as well as recognizing it in myself a bit better). It's not as the psalm stated, "...whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle,/ else it will not stay near you…”, it’s more on the order of “This is not right, I must go in another direction” or “Why are we doing this when it is not what we should be doing?” Looking around, I see a country and a world where the rich are getting richer and the poor getting poorer. I see countries desperately needing aid and getting it, only to have the ruling government seize most of it and distribute it to their own friends and supporters while those for whom the aid was intended die of starvation and thirst. I see populations suffering indignities, persecution, deprivation and even death because of who they are, their tribal or cultural relationship, their gender or sexual orientation, their nationality, even their religion. I also read in scripture where God has again and again given us a direction to go with regard to these very same people, a direction that would lead to a veritable heaven on earth, yet we seem to be mulishly pushing back, looking to our own interests rather than the kingdom we could be building for God, for our neighbors and for ourselves.

God gives the opportunity to repent, to turn things around, to make amends, to work for the kingdom here and now. God, being a wise God, gives me a bridle intended just for me, a personal one built just for me, to direct me in the way I need to go and to urge me to take that way. God has other bridles built for others, all designed to guide firmly but kindly in the same way mine is supposed to do. I have to choose for myself how to respond to the bridle of God and God's leading to greener pastures for me and for the world.

The bridle God offers is not a constraint but a freedom – but can the world see it that way?

Can I see it that way?

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Psalm 63:1-8 (9-11)
Psalm 98 (morning)
Psalm 103 (evening)
Amos 9:11-15
2 Thessalonians 2:1-3, 13-17
John 5:30-47

As to the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our being gathered together to him, we beg you, brothers and sisters, not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as though from us, to the effect that the day of the Lord is already here. Let no one deceive you in any way; for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. But we must always give thanks to God for you, brothers and sisters beloved by the Lord, because God chose you as the first fruits for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit and through belief in the truth. For this purpose he called you through our proclamation of the good news, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter. Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word. -2 Thessalonians 2:1-3, 13-17 (NRSV)

The Third Sunday of Advent is sometimes colloquially called "Stir-up Sunday," because of the collect. ("Stir up your power, O Lord...")

Here's my goofy little confession: When I hear that collect, I always think of James Bond, who wanted his martinis "shaken not stirred." I suppose James Bond would have preferred this to be "Shake up Sunday." (Interesting aside: Did you know why James Bond ordered his martinis that way? At the time Ian Fleming was writing the Bond novels, most vodka was made of potatoes rather than grain, and the potato-made vodka left an oily residue on the top of the martini if stirred. Shaking broke up the oily layer. But I digress.)

Paul's letter to the Thessalonians, however, admonishes us as a body of believers to avoid shaking things up. He seems to recognize the fragility of the church in Thessalonica. One of the important aspects to remember about this body was that a significant number of its members were converts from traditions other than Judaism. Its "Gentile-centricity" meant that aspects of Christianity rooted in Judaism could not be assumed in this church, and that significant teaching had to take place. This was definitely a body of believers that needed to be stirred--not shaken. They came from a variety of traditions. Yet Paul shows a great deal of affection for the Thessalonians, addressing them as brothers or sisters fourteen times in 1 Thessalonians, and twelve times in 2 Thessalonians. He uses endearing terms such as "beloved," to them. He displays parental affection, both fatherly and motherly. He describes his relationship to them as being like a "nurse tenderly caring for her own children." It's easy to imagine Paul seeing this body as a sensitive child, one which needed a little more watchful supervision from a quietly safe distance.

Fast forward to 2011. The Episcopal Church is at a place in its own life where most of its members have either come from another faith tradition, or no faith tradition. Many times, our Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori, talks about the importance of the "non-anxious presence" in our life together as Christians. We are more like the church in Thessalonica than we are different. Too many times in the history of the institutional church, "shaking up" was the modus operandi--but it's clear that as the census numbers of mainline churches decline, people are weary of being shaken up. The various permutations of the Great Awakening traded heavily on shaking up--particularly when it came to making people feel shaky about their salvation, their eternal destination, and their sinfulness. But the more I read about the places we are seeing signs of life and growth in mainline Christianity despite the decline in numbers, it's clear to me that it comes from ministries that stir rather than shake--ones who fold in the flavor of the communities in which they exist, along with the spice provided by empowered laypeople who understand their own fundamental priesthoods outlined in our Baptismal Covenant--along with clergy who are master chefs at mixing the ingredients.

James Bond's martini aside, let's ask the hard questions of ourselves this "Stir-up Sunday:" What needs stirring up in our faith communities? What ingredient are we as brothers and sisters in Christ? How do we plan to take our turn at the handle of the spoon?

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Zechariah 1:7-17
Revelation 3:7-13
Matthew 24:15-31

It's only a bit over a year until December 21, 2012. There has been so much talk about the Mayan calendar and the end of the long-count. There's also a lot of speculation that it foretells the end of the world through disasters, meteor showers, polar shifts and whatnot. I don't take it seriously; after all, I read somewhere the statement that just because our calendar ends on December 31 doesn't mean the end of the world. We just end up with another January 1. If I'd had to chisel all those intricate symbols into hard rock with stone and copper tools, I'd probably look for a good place to quit and end of the long count would seem like an appropriate place.

I remember as a kid there was, at one time, there was a lot of talk about the end of the world coming. It was frightening, terrifying even. The day it was supposed to happen I stuck close to home and Mama, jumping at every unusual sound and growing more and more afraid as darkness came and the end still hadn't come. Suddenly there was a clap of thunder and I nearly knocked Mama over by rushing over and grabbing her around the waist, asking if we were going to die now. She comforted me and we made it through the night, waking up the next morning with the world still intact. There have been a few more pronouncements that the world was going to end on this day or that, but so far we're still here.

Zechariah spoke to Zion and the postexilic city of Jerusalem, a city entering a new epoch in its life where the temple would be rebuilt and God's blessings would once more be upon it, bringing compassion, comfort and prosperity. The people had endured a sort of world-ending event when they had been conquered, Jerusalem and the great temple were razed and most of their leadership marched off to captivity a very long way away. Matthew tells of Jesus teaching the disciples about what will happen when he, the Son of Man, returns to claim his own. John's Revelation speaks to the Philadelphian church, praising them for their faithfulness and promising reward for continuing to be so. The second coming would be coming and it behooved them to be ready to give a good account of their constancy and dedication.

Some people today are constantly searching for signs that the end times are here, citing wars and famine, earthquakes and fires, abandoning the worship of the true God for a false one and failing to live in accordance with Biblical teaching. I've been around some Christians - good, decent, hard-working, caring people - whose denomination (and they themselves) spent a lot more time talking about and teaching Revelation and Daniel than they did the words of Jesus. While I think we should be awake, aware, and prepared, I don't see all the fuss about wars and rumors of wars because I don't think there has ever been a time on this planet where somebody wasn't at war with somebody else. The talk of increasing natural disasters being a sign that the end is near? Mother Earth has to stretch her muscles sometimes, and while you're stretching your abs, you might as well stretch the calves, shoulders, arms and all. Still, it behooves us to be awake, aware and prepared --- for whatever comes.’

Jesus didn't know when he would be coming back any more than we do, according to scripture. Still, he told enough stories about being ready for the eventuality. For people who live in areas where hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis or the like happen with some regularity, or where there is a strong possibility of such, people are reminded to make up survival kits with food, water, first-aid supplies and anything else they would need to get through what could be a day or two or much longer. Some do it, some don't. Still, being prepared is a good idea.

The season of Advent encourages us to be awake, aware and prepared for the incarnation. Next Advent, the Mayan calendar will run out. Which one seems to be the one to look for?

I'm going to prepare by getting more candles for the Advent wreath at the after-Christmas sales. At least I will know where the candles are, if the lights go out.

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Monday, December 12, 2011 -- -- Week of 3 Advent , Year Two

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 939)
Psalms 41, 52 (morning) // 44 (evening)
Zechariah 1:7-17
Revelation 3:7-13
Matthew 24:15-31

Throughout Matthew's "Little Apocalypse" (ch. 24-25) there seems to be an attitude of resignation, underlined by profound hope.

Wars, famine and persecution are par for the course. Deception, sacrilege and falsehood abounds. Life is full of suffering. Indeed, the entire environment of the planet is threatened.

But underneath all of that, there seems to be no fear, no panic. Only a sense of readiness and anticipation over the renewed presence and coming of Christ. Take heart. Raise your spirits. God is in charge of history, and Christ will come, bringing justice.

The entire discourse will conclude with a great judgment scene in our Saturday reading, the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats. We are given a mission in the time before the end. We are to focus our attention upon "the least of these." We are to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the prisoner.

All hell may be breaking loose around us. Yes, the foundations may shake. But the Little Apocalypse sermon invites us not to obsess, panic or be worried. Trust and hope that Christ is coming to reconcile all, to bring justice and true peace. In the meantime, take care of "the least of these," for that is standard of his coming judgment.

There is something liberating for me about this invitation. I tend to obsess and worry about current events. I follow the news and create and inner dialogue of rant. Sometimes that rant emerges into speech. Even into newspaper columns. I am angry and frustrated at those who seem to be threatening the things I love. I am anxious and worried about the desecrations of opportunity, equality and environment that make this era seem apocalyptic. It is easy to become cynical or even despairing.

There is something about the flavor of Matthew 24-25 that is like a friend looking upon us -- erect, bright-eyed, and smiling broadly -- and saying, "Well, what did you expect?" A confident, joyous laugh fills the universe. "Raise your expectations. Christ is always just around the corner."

And from the altitude of a more divine perspective, I can let go of my anxiety; I can embrace a hopeful faith, and be renewed, especially for whatever work I can do that is responsive to the needs of "the least of these."

If I return my attention to the swirl of politics, news and economics, I can attend to it more centered, seeing it all primarily through the interpretative lens of the call to care for "the least of these," grounded in a confidence that God's arc of justice is bending mightily and hopefully.

My Advent yearning grows. Come, Lord Jesus.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011 -- Week of 3 Advent , Year Two
Lucy (Lucia), Martyr at Syracuse, 304

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 45 (morning) 47, 48 (evening)
Zechariah 2:1-13
Revelation 3:14-22
Matthew 24:32-44

It is said that the role of the prophet is to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.

Zechariah the prophet speaks to a demoralized and vulnerable people. The Babylonian exile is a recent memory. Just twenty years before, the Persian king Cyrus had given leave for the exiled people to return to their homeland to rebuild. But the restoration project had been tenuous. Yes, their homes were re-established, but the symbols of civic vitality were still as they had been following the destruction of the city of Jerusalem years ago. The walls were broken down, and the Temple lay in ruin. They are living in their ancient homeland among foreign people who seem to be tolerating them, but they are not in charge of their own land or their own destiny.

Zechariah writes at about the time when Ezra and Nehemiah with the support of Haggai will stir up the people to restore the walls of Jerusalem, to make it a city that has some security and military protection, and to rebuild the Temple. From their perspective, it would be a project of immense proportion -- just to get back to where they were before the invasion.

But Zechariah sees another possibility. In his vision, he stops the surveyor with the measuring line and halts the preparation for rebuilding the walls. An angel speaks to Zechariah, "Run, say to that young man: Jerusalem shall be inhabited like villages without walls, because of the multitude of people and animals in it. For I will be a wall of fire all around it, says the Lord, and I will be the glory within it."

This is a different way of living in the world. No walls either to keep out or to limit the freedom of the inhabitants. God is the protection for this visionary city, and God's presence is at its center. This nation will be a blessing to all of the other nations of the world, not a challenge. These other peoples will be welcome, and "many nations shall join themselves to the Lord on that day, and shall be my people; and I will dwell in your midst."

How hard must it have been for others to imagine such a possibility. To build a civilization in a new way. An open, defenseless city of welcome and hospitality. A city trusting in God rather than its own might. A city with God at its center instead of its own pride. Zechariah is saying something about the nature of community and about a vision for a new political order. How different might our nation be if it were to live by such a vision?

Zechariah is also saying something that can apply to us personally. What might we be like if we responded to ruin or catastrophe with a confident trust in God's eternal presence at our center and a willingness to re-engage without defensiveness and suspicion, trusting God as our protection. What does it mean to be a person without defensive walls?

Zechariah says that God regards the people as "the apple of my eye." God loves and cherishes us. Within that love and benevolent regard is our rebuilding and our security.

Zechariah closes this passage with an image that can touch anyone with a contemplative bone in his body. "Be silent, all people, before the Lord; for he has roused himself from his holy dwelling."

God is alive and active. God is at the center of our life. We may be silent. Defenseless. Peaceful. Peace. All is well. All will be well.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011 -- Week of 3 Advent , Year Two
Juan de la Cruz (John of the Cross), Mystic, 1591

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 119:49-72 (morning) 49, [53] (evening)
Zechariah 3:1-10
Revelation 4:1-8
Matthew 24:45-51

There is something wonderfully passive about the vision of heaven John is given at the opening of chapter 4 of his Revelation. A door opens; a voice invites: "at once I was in the spirit," he says. Moving inward, downward -- he ascends into heaven. But he is doing nothing. He's only watching. All is given.

That which is given is a universal harmony. There is the throne, the rainbow, the elders and angels -- thunder, lightning, torches and creatures -- a sea of glass like crystal. It all centers on the divine presence, and at the center is the eternal hymn, "Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God the Almighty, who was and is and is to come."

It's all about God. John just watches, in awe. There's nothing for him to do. Nothing to add. The vision is a gift. He didn't have to increase his spiritual discipline to earn it. It was just given to him. A glimpse of the deepest reality -- universal harmony centered upon God.

I recently visited with a friend who was about to go into a surgery that was so life-threatening that two clinics and every doctor but one refused to perform it. Her odds for surviving weren't good.

But she was fine. She was bullet-proof. She'd been there before. Some time back she had coded. She died on the table. She was brought back. And she returned with a memory. She was in heaven, and there she met the dearest friends she had ever had. They loved her more than anyone else had ever loved her, and they knew her better than even her beloved family did. And she knew she loved them, more than anyone, even family. But, she wondered, she didn't know their names. It was as if she couldn't remember the names of the most important, most beloved friends of her life.

They were "her angels," she said. Before going into the risky surgery she said, with peace and confidence -- "They will be with me in there. They will be with the doctor."

Nothing to do. All is given. All is ultimate harmony, peace and praise at the center of everything.

Oh, she survived. She's got a long, tough road ahead, with no guarantees. Except. She's got her angels. She's seen something that makes everything else subordinate. She didn't have to do anything for the gift of that vision. Except die. That seems to be the way it is.

We beseech you, O Lord our God, be patient with us sinners. You who know our weakness, protect the work of your hands now and in times to come, deliver us from all temptation and all danger and all the powers of darkness of this world, and bring us into the kingdom of your only Son and our God. For to your most holy Name be the glory, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, now and for ever, to the ages of ages. Amen.

An Eastern Orthodox Prayer appointed for afternoon, cited in Stefano Parenti and Paula Clifford, Praying with the Orthodox Tradition (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladamir's Seminary Press, 1996), p. 60.

As we wait expectantly through the season of Advent, it is helpful to remember that we are living between the times, that Christ has already come among us in great humility and that we await his coming again to judge the living and the dead. Moreover, Advent is at least as much about God's waiting for us as it is about our waiting for God.

And so, we pray that God would be patient with us sinners. And that God would make haste to deliver us from all temptation and danger and the powers of darkness. That the Sun of Righteousness would rise and bring us all into the fullness of God's Kingdom.

Even now, God's prophets cry out. On the horizon, they see the dawn.

Come, Lord Jesus, in your mercy, grace, and truth.

Friday, December 16, 2011 -- Week of 3 Advent , Year Two
Ralph Adam Cram, Richard Upjohn, and John LaFarge; Architects, 1942, 1879; Artist, 1910

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 40, 54 (morning) 51 (evening)
Zechariah 7:8 - 8:8
Revelation 5:6-14
Matthew 25:14-30

As I live in my 60th year, I recognize that I have rarely been as troubled by the spirit and direction of my nation as I am now. We seem mired in conflict and dominated by those who have made a pact with sectarianism and meanness. I long for a society that shares the vision of the prophets.

"The word of the Lord came to Zechariah, saying: Thus says the Lord of hosts: Render true judgments, show kindness and mercy to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another." (Zech. 7:8-10) In other words, create a just society.

Zechariah looks at his people's history and sees that when they "refused to listen, ...great wrath came from the Lord of hosts, ...and a pleasant land was made desolate." A decisive portion of our nation today seems to be determined to follow that destructive path.

But Zechariah also has a vision of restoration, when "old men and old women shall again sit in the streets..., each with staff in hand because of their great age. And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in its streets. Thus says the Lord of hosts: Even though it seems impossible to the remnant of this people in these days, should it also seem impossible to me, says the Lord of hosts?" (8:4-6)

We know our Biblical history. We know that the rulers and the people failed to listen to the prophets over and over. There are always consequences to our pride and stubbornness. But God always follows judgment with redemption. The final chapter of history is always God's act of restoration and reconciliation.

So in the meantime, the best we can do is side with the prophets. Work for a just society. Proclaim in the name of the Lord true judgments; kindness and mercy; compassion toward the vulnerable, alien and poor; and open-heartedness. If we live in a time like so many others when a nation refuses to listen, we will suffer with our neighbors, working and actively waiting for God's work of restoration.

Ps. 55; PM: Ps. 138, 139:1-17 (18-23)
Zechariah 8:9-17
Revelation 6:1-17
Matthew 25:31-46

‘When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” Then he will say to those at his left hand, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’ -- Matthew 25:31-46 NRSV

All the readings today deal in some way with God's judgment and punishment. It doesn't seem to be a particularly Advent-y kind of reading although I suppose it could be looked at as a group of readings that deal indirectly with anticipation. It just isn't the joyous anticipation we expect in Advent but rather a warning that Mama would have given as "You'd better straighten up and fly right or else."

God spoke through Zechariah about the punishments of past generations for their sins but also spoke of compassion to the two kingdoms -- Judah and Israel-- and promised them blessings for speaking truth, true judgments that promote peace and not discord, restraint from carrying grudges and not searing false oaths. Revelation opens the seven seals and looses the four horsemen and the return of chaos to the world as a result of God's wrath. Matthew shows Jesus at the end of a series of teachings on judgment, most of which, it appears, the disciples just don't get.

Jesus’ list of charitable acts, which are also the acts of kingdom builders, show him standing with the poor, the sick, the hungry, the stranger, the naked (shamed), and the imprisoned. In each instance, he gave the action which would have helped to build the kingdom but the disciples could only see the surface, the accusation that they had somehow shirked in their duties to Jesus himself.

I've often heard the interpretation that the separation of the sheep and goats as that of separating the Christ-believers from those who are not, but I have also read an interpretation* that states that the teaching (and the illustration) was aimed at those already within the "family", as it were. Followers of Christ would be judged on their reaction to need within the family, sheep being those who followed the command to care for the less fortunate, the goats being those who did not. It makes sense to me, given the time and place where the teaching occurred. While Jesus reached out past the Jewish community from which he and many of his followers came, it was primarily to those who were local and Jewish that his teachings were aimed.

I think that now, though, it isn't enough to reach out only to fellow Christians, even though we don't always do that as well as we might. I believe our mandate is to care for members of our "family" as well as those that are outside our Christian tradition. My question to myself is, "What kind of kingdom of God on earth would there be that puts an impenetrable wall around one group, giving it a paradise for them to watch over and enjoy, when beyond the walls there are those still desperately in need? I remember the old saying that, "Your actions may be the only Bible some people ever read," as well as how people in Paul's time were drawn to Christianity because of how they loved one another and worked to help one another.

The beautiful part of the gospel story is that it is simple, it is profound, it is exemplary, and it is something that would benefit everyone, not just one group. Scripture tells us we are all created in the image of God, not some of us or even a few of us, but all of us. If we truly receive this as true (and as scripture has told us is true), how can we turn our backs on the image of God present in even the poorest, sickest, most needy people on the streets of our cities and the farthest corners of our world? “… [J]ust as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”

Sheep or goat? That is what I will be judged on, not whether I say the right words or support popular causes or even profess the right beliefs. Am I a sheep or a goat? I have a choice that not even the four horsemen can take away. Now what am I going to do about that choice?

* Malina, Bruce J., and Rohrbaugh, Richard L., Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, (1992) Minneapolis: Fortress Press, (151).

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Readings for Sunday, December 18, 2011:
Psalm 63:1-8 (9-11)
Psalm 98 (Morning)
Psalm 103 (Evening)
Amos 9:11-15
2 Thessalonians 2:1-3, 13-17
John 5:30-47

On that day I will raise up the booth of David that is fallen, and repair its breaches, and raise up its ruins, and rebuild it as in the days of old; in order that they may possess the remnant of Edom and all the nations who are called by my name, says the Lord who does this. The time is surely coming, says the Lord, when the one who plows shall overtake the one who reaps, and the treader of grapes the one who sows the seed; the mountains shall drip sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it. I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel, and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and drink their wine, and they shall make gardens and eat their fruit. I will plant them upon their land, and they shall never again be plucked up out of the land that I have given them, says the Lord your God. Amos 9:11-15 (NRSV)

In our excursion into the Book of Amos today, I'm reminded of the old Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." These are, indeed, interesting times to be studying the words of the prophet Amos, as they reveal several weighty matters of social justice in his time, and ours.

At the time of Amos, roughly 750 BCE, the northern kingdom of Israel was enjoying relative prosperity, but not without a price. The prosperity was partly due to the ruling classes exploiting and oppressing the poor and needy members of society, and much of Amos' prophecy consists of the condemnation of those in power for their ill treatment of the more defenseless, while the powerful lounge in the lap of excessive luxury. Its message of social justice carries some spooky parallels with the news of today.

Today's reading, the last few sentences of the book, represent the one glimmer of hope in both Amos' "interesting times," and ours (although these last few lines, most scholars admit, were probably not authored by Amos, but rather from someone with perspective of Judah, the southern kingdom, and after the fall of Jerusalem in 587 BCE.) If anything, they at least say, "It gets better."

The striking part to me in this passage is the revealing of something we don't always like to think about--restoring the Kingdom of God, is, at times, drudgery. "Mission" is not always pretty nor is it always a feel-good proposition. Mission is often plowing brown earth with no green in sight, dropping in little brown seeds that don't even look edible, and stomping on grapes until we're purple up to the ankles, and not being around to see the finished product.

I think about some of the various forms of mission in which I've been engaged, both as an individual and as a member of my parish. They've been things like cleaning moldy insulation and lying on my back with creepy crawly bugs under a recently flooded house, or helping a man sift through his tornado-leveled house searching for his cat. The man with the cat still haunts my mind now and then. I can still hear the hope in his voice that the cat was still around somewhere ("One of my friends is sure he saw him two days ago, right here at the house") and me looking around at the devastation, thinking, "Dude, I can't even begin to believe your cat is anywhere near this place." Yet I kept looking with him simply because it was the one hopeful thing within a hundred yards worth grasping. I still wonder if he ever found that cat.

I think sometimes about what we want mission to be, and what it is. Our parish participates in a summer program that provides lunches for school-aged children during the summer. In our "happy mind's eye of mission," I think a lot of us envisioned these reasonably well-behaved, polite, grateful little kids--cute little six and seven year olds--enjoying their lunches without complaint. Well, we certainly had several of those, but I don't think all the carrot sticks we picked up at the end of the day, or all the peanut butter blobs we cleaned off the picnic tables were part of that fantasy. We didn't think about the fact some of these "kids" were 15 year old girls with babies. (Yeah, that's "babies"--with an "s"--as in plural.) What we experienced and saw was a very stark reminder that we Middle America small town types hide our poor very well.

It's so easy, when we're tired, or grouchy, or in the mood to separate "us" from "them", to wish for a big fix to these problems, and think these little things we do are for naught, and even rationalize that we are only doing these things to make ourselves feel better. We can take that line of reasoning and depress ourselves even further by saying all the good in the world we are trying to do is merely a cork in an ocean. We can adopt a "blame the victim" mentality and say, "These people will never change. Why bother?"

Amos' prophecies, however, call us to a different place--a place of restoration. A place where the Kingdom of Interesting Times inches just a little pencil mark closer to the Kingdom of Heaven with every dirty hand and every stained grape-squashing foot. We don't always recognize that the rambunctious child that flung her carrot sticks halfway across the park thirty years ago, might be the person who now delivers our mail, or fills our prescriptions, or teaches our own children. We may not always see the fruits of our own labors, but we are certainly living in the midst of the labors of those before us.

Do we choose to be unaware of that possibility, or do we choose to make the best of the little things we do for others in the hope that something might change? Perhaps when we choose the latter, "living in interesting times" becomes less of a curse and more of a fulfilled modern prophesy.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Monday, December 19, 2011 -- Week of 4 Advent , Year Two
Lillian Trasher, Missionary in Egypt, 1961

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 61, 62 (morning) 112, 115 (evening)
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Titus 2:1-10
Luke 1:1-25

I am more like Zechariah than I am like Mary. When the angel visits with an unexpected insight of peculiar wonder, I am much more likely to ask, "How will I know that this is so?" than I am to respond, "Let it be with me according to your word."

I am a natural doubter. I tend to hedge my bets and need some corroborative evidence before I commit. Even when I've tilted to a place where I mostly believe something, a large portion of me stays in abeyance, nurturing a comfortable doubt, just in case. I don't jump in with both feet, not at first.

Like Zechariah, it can take me a long time for me to find my voice. When I first encounter a new wonder -- an insight that challenges the way I used to think -- my heart quickens, and I am intrigued. But before I commit completely, I need to think about it some more, investigate and wonder. I need to live with the subject for a while. I tend to keep my mouth shut for a time, trying to figure out the implications and angles.

I'm not like Mary. I need some time to settle in before I can exclaim "Here am I the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." I might think to myself, "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior," but it will take me a whi.e before I'll say it out loud. I'll worry about the revolutionary consequences of some thought that threatens to turn things around. I'll trouble over the implications for a bit before I'm willing to sing publicly "He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones." I'd like to avoid all of that discomfort if I can. It just takes me a little while longer to get used to my world being changed.

But after I've lived with something for a while. After I've let it warm in the crockpot, after it has brewed and seeped with a few more ingredients that can flavor and enhance my overall understanding, I can find my voice. I can, like Zechariah, name the truth I have come to know. Eventually I can stand up to the questions -- "None of your relatives has this name" -- and I can make my defense. Maybe because I was an English major in college, sometimes I can even find some satisfying words to speak of the new truth: "By the tender mercy of our God the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." I've got a gift to give the church also. Sometimes the radical implications of the gospel sound better in a soft, Southern accent.

Yet, I envy the "Mary-types." I admire those who seize the wonder with such instant singleminded grace and power. I wish I could jump like the shepherds who run so quickly when the angels sing a new heavenly hymn. I'll watch silently from the shadows to see what they stir up, to test whether my intuition stays vibrant, as they proclaim what I suspect might be so. When I finally speak up, I feel a bit apologetic toward those who took the brunt of the first heat. But we are cousins. We are family -- Mary and Zechariah.

We all have our parts to play -- natural believers and natural doubters. We are who we are, and God's messengers visit us all. I thank the Mary's who wait patiently for us Zechariah's to find our voice. The Holy Family welcomes both the enthusiastic shepherds and the ponderous, slow magi with their calculations and unnecessary gifts. It's all good. We're just different. Different temperaments; different timing. But for God, a thousand years is like a day. And God will have God's way.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011 -- Week of 4 Advent , Year Two

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 66, 67 (morning) 112,115 (evening)
1 Samuel 2:1b-10
Titus 2:1-10
Luke 1:26-38

Traditionally many religions including Christianity have used feminine imagery to speak of God's Spirit and God's Wisdom in the world. The Hebrews used the word Sophia to personify the creative, active presence of God's Wisdom-Spirit within creation.

Some people will imagine the presence of that Spirit within us, at the center of our being, a few inches behind our belly button -- in a place that is deeper than thought, close to the heart yet even deeper than emotion. Spiritual directors have encouraged those on the spiritual journey to listen and to be open to God's direction within, to the prompting of Sophia, Wisdom, Spirit. That prompting is often accessed through another feminine resource, our intuition. Intuitive openness and acceptance of the Spirit's yearning for us is an ancient path for God's creative activity. God honors us by inviting us into cooperation with what God is doing, allowing us to be co-creators with God's Spirit in the new birth of God's blessing.

One of the things people will say over and over is that God is full of surprises. What God is up to is truly unpredictable. Another thing people will say is that God comes to us through our weaknesses, often using our most frightening life-events to announce a new beginning.

We look at what happened to a young peasant girl in Galilee. She found herself inconveniently pregnant. It was a pregnancy that could cause scandal and would probably ruin her plans for her future. But she experienced a message from God so powerful that it seemed personified. The messenger first told her that she was not condemned, but favored; that God loved her and blessed her, as odd as that seemed under the circumstances. And something about the messenger and the message took away her fear. Perfect love always casts out fear. She listened from deep within her. "God favors you. Do not be afraid."

From her depths she answered: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

When I imagine the Annunciation to Mary, I imagine something happening right below the belly button, in the very center of her being, in that intuitive place where we experience Sophia-Wisdom-Spirit, and where God invites us to be co-creators to cooperate in what God is doing.

Mary is not the only one pregnant with the gestating birth of God's being in the world. Each of us carries God's work within us. God's Wisdom speaks gently at the center of our own vulnerability saying, "You have favor with God. Do not be afraid. Listen."

Wednesday, December 21, 2011 -- Week of 4 Advent , Year Two
Saint Thomas the Apostle

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer)

EITHER
the readings for St. Thomas (p. 996)
Morning Prayer: Psalms 23, 121; Job 42:1-6; 1 Peter 1:3-9
Evening Prayer: Psalms 27; Isaiah 43 8-13; John 14:1-7

OR
the readings for Wednesday, of 4 Advent (p. 939)
Psalms 72 (morning) 111,113 (evening)
2 Samuel 7:1-17
Titus 2:11 - 3:8a
Luke 1:39-48a(48b-56)

I chose the readings for St. Thomas

There is something satisfying about the fact that the Church's feast of St. Thomas happens on or near the winter solstice for us in the northern hemisphere. At the end of the longest night, there is a turning point. The darkness will go no further. Light, warmth and new life renew their promise. It is still dark, but the progression has changed. Hope arises. We will continue to live and grow.

It is a holy moment. Wikipedia lists 39 various winter celebrations that have some connection with the new light, new life, or some form of reversal. The Newgrange prehistoric monument in Ireland was built around 3200 BCE oriented toward the rising sun on the winter solstice, and Stonehenge was begun not too many years afterward.

The story of Thomas is a story of darkness turning to light. Thomas did not participate in the Easter visions of his friends. While the other disciples rejoiced because they had experienced something that convinced them of Jesus' resurrection, Thomas remained traumatized by grief. His consciousness was haunted by the very real memory of the wounds of nail and spear. He could not be soothed from the stories of others. In order to be healed, he needed something as real as the tragedy he had experienced.

Jesus honored Thomas' grief and his authenticity. Jesus gave to Thomas a special visitation, offering to Thomas just the kind of experience that he needed so the meaning of those traumatic wounds would no longer be painful, but inspiring of worship.

The reading from 1 Peter assigned for Morning Prayer on Thomas' day is a glorious exultation of the hope of promise Christ gives us through resurrection. "By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials." (3b-6)

We also read Job's response to his encounter with God in the whirlwind. "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you." (42:5)

In the darkness of grief and trauma, when nights are longest and life is cold, we ask of God some hope that is as real as our pain and loss. We wait -- like Thomas; like the cold, dark earth -- for the sign of hope. Thomas is our patron when we are in that lonesome place.

And what means that, saith he, "Of his fullness have all we received"? (John 1:16) For to this we must for a while direct our discourse. He possesseth not, says he, the gift by participation, but is Himself, very Fountain and very Root of all good, very Life, and very Light, and very Truth, not retaining within Himself the riches of His good things, but overflowing with them unto all others, and after the overflowing remaining full, in nothing diminished by supplying others, but streaming ever forth, and imparting to others a share of these blessings, He remains in sameness of perfection.

~John Chrysostom, Homilies on St. John, xiv.2 in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, vol. xiv.

A thought as we approach the Nativity of Our Lord: from the point of view of the Incarnate Word, who emptied himself and took on the form of a slave, there is a great deal of risk. There is the poverty of the stable and the manger. There is Herod and the slaughter of the Holy Innocents. There is, ultimately, the Cross.

And yet, from another point of view, God's fullness is so superabundant that it can in fact risk all--even poverty, precarity, and death--without being the least bit diminished. In fact, the fullness of God is brought to perfection in resurrection--precisely on the other side of death--or in the Eucharist as paschal sacrament in which the sign, without ceasing to be a sign, is consumed by and identical to the Signified.

But what we have here is infinite risk and infinite abundance, coming together in a fully human life, which is nonetheless the humanity proper to the Word.

The nearest analogy among God's creatures, is Mary's "yes" at the Annunciation, which is itself empowered by the presence of the Spirit and the grace of her Son. It is amazing that a mere creature, however exalted and spotless, can take such risk. How great her faith must be in the abundance and goodness of God.

Here, we see the faith that risks all and gives all.

And this points us to God, the very Fountain and very Root of all good.

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here

Friday, December 23, 2011 -- Week of 4 Advent , Year Two

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p 939)
Psalms 93, 96 (morning) 148, 150 (evening)
Baruch 4:21-29 *
Galatians 3:15-22
Luke 1:67-80 or Matthew 1:1-17
*found in the Apocrypha

Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, speaks at the circumcision of his son. The words from Luke's gospel are familiar ones -- used as a canticle in worship for centuries, available in the liturgy of Episcopal Church both for the Daily Office and for the Eucharist.

I'm struck by the words, "By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."

It seems a powerful prayer for this time of life. I find it resonates with my deepest yearnings for our nation and people during dark times of fear, division and abuse of power. I am looking for the dawn from on high to break upon us and show us light and direction toward peace. Not just peace that is the absence of conflict, but the wider peace that is expressed so evocatively by the Hebrew word "shalom."

The need for God's dawning light is a daily need in each life. We all sit in some form of darkness. We all live in the shadow of death, not only the inevitable end of our earthly lives but also all of the ways life is threatened, diminished, minimized.

Part of the church's invitation to the discipline of Daily Morning Prayer is the experience of joining centuries of dawnings through the word of scripture, canticle and prayer, bringing light from on high and guiding our feet into the way of shalom.

We join Zechariah in prayer this day. "By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." May this Christmas be the dawning of that light in the darkness which guides us into the way of peace.

Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.

My point is this: heirs, as long as they are minors, are no better than slaves, though they are the owners of all the property; but they remain under guardians and trustees until the date set by the father. So with us; while we were minors, we were enslaved to the elemental spirits of the world. But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God. Galatians 3:23–4:7 (NRSV)

With Christmas Eve on the doorstep it's hard to stay in Advent until the sun goes down and we can finally say it is Christmas Eve and not just "Christmas Eve Day" or, more correctly, the last day of Advent. It's too easy to think ahead to the cute little cherub choirs singing or the bells, smells and full-out organ accompaniment to hymns and carols everybody has sung for years and which officially ring in not only the day of Christmas, Christ's nativity celebration, but the entire twelve-day season of Christmas. Stores don't recognize the season of Christmas; Christmas stuff is almost all down and Valentine's Day stuff is going up starting about 8:01PM on Christmas Eve.

I admit I think ahead as well; it's hard not to, most of the time. But when I read the section of Paul's epistle, something pops out at me and gives me pause: But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children (4:4-5). God sent Jesus to be born as a human being, subject to the rules and regulations human beings were supposed to observe and still redeem (buy back, recover ownership, pay off) the world for God. That's a big order to lay on someone who was born as naked and helpless as any other newborn baby.

The part that especially struck me was "that we might receive adoption as children." Adoption is like grafting, taking something or someone from one place and placing it somewhere else where else. Adoption in Paul's time and our own is a slightly different thing. In the Mediterranean world of Paul's time, not only children but adults could be adopted. The usual reason now for adoption is to provide for the welfare and nurturing of the child while ancient adoption was generally to provide heirs for an estate and/or care for the parents in their old age. Still and all, the result was basically the same: the person which once belonged to one family suddenly had no allegiance to the family of origin but became one who was totally and legally a part of a new family with all the rights (and responsibilities) that membership in that family might entail.

Joseph knew about adoption. He knew that Mary's boy was not his own child, yet he accepted Jesus as his own son and acted as his father in all the ways that counted. We hear some of that in readings that have this particular Joseph in them, but here is Paul speaking to the community at Galatia, assuring them that through this same baby who was born to human parents and was also the Son of God, all of them were considered not just add-ons to the family but full members with the rights and, more importantly, the responsibilities of that heritage.

Like Joseph, I know about adoption, only from the other side. Being adopted sometimes marks one as "different," like when the child has blond hair and all the others in the family have dark. Very probably Jesus didn't look much different than any other child of that time and place, which might have been a plus. Yet in the great family of God, the family Jesus brings together regardless of their families or tribes of origin, it isn't the outward appearance or cultural status that marks a person as one who belongs or the one who is grafted, it is the desire and the sincere attempt to live as one of God's true children.

It's funny -- Christmas cherubs are being replaced by Valentine cherubs, yet they are still cherubs. Both have chubby-baby bodies and fluffy wings and they both celebrate love. I wonder which are the adopted ones?

Psalm 2
Psalm 85 (Morning)
Psalm 110:1-5 (6-7)
Psalm 132 (Evening)
Micah 4:1-5, 5:2-4
1 John 4:7-16
John 3:31-36

The Father loves the Son and has placed all things in his hands.--John 3:35 (NRSV)

Our readings for Christmas Day are rich in physical imagery today, with Micah referring to "the mouth of the Lord" and physical acts of peace performed with human hands, such as beating swords into plowshares and sitting contentedly under fig trees. These acts performed by human hands are the prelude to our Gospel image that the world and everything in it truly exists in God's hands, through Christ, despite all our best human efforts. We've sung it thousands of times, right? "He's got the whole world in his hands."

The metaphor of hands is perhaps one of the most powerful ones we humans have going for us--we've all heard the insurance commercial where we are told we are in good hands (provided we purchased their insurance, of course.) We use phrases like "pass the baton" or "hand it off to you" to describe transference of authority or power. When we are in the midst of an unfolding tragedy, and don't now anything else to say, we often blurt out "Well, it's in God's hands now," in the hope that this image can be a comfort--the image of a God with hands big enough to hold all of what seems to be spilling out from between our own fingers at an alarming rate.

Isn't it interesting, though, that what we do in Advent, that culminates on Christmas, is we have been doing all this preparation with our hands in order to let go?

We make cookies and wrap presents to give away.

We prepare delicious meals to pass them around the table and enjoy others being full and satisfied.

But most importantly, we prepare once again for a wondrous birth and take all that we are and all that we hope us and the world to be--and pass it into the hands of an infant.

What kind of fool takes something that important, and hands it off to a baby?

Baby hands are fascinating little things--and what I've noticed is there are two things where one can count on for a baby to grasp like there's no tomorrow. Babies hold on for dear life to the things that feed them, and the people whom they love. I never fail to be amazed at how tightly a baby can hold onto my shirt (or, unfortunately, my glasses.)

No doubt--the transformations in our lives happen, not from our careful preparation, but from the act of letting go. Oh, the preparation is important--very important--but it's the letting go that changes us. We prepare for the birth of babies to prepare for the day somewhere around their 18th year, to watch them leave for college, the military, or a job. We spend lifetimes with those we love to prepare for them to leave us in death. We make plans for our lives to let go of them in disappointment or tragedy...and on Christmas Day, we place everything in the hands of a baby to take us on a journey to the cross, where those beautiful little hands will be pierced with nails. We will rejoice mightily to see the return of those hands in Easter, but they return with the holes still in them--in solidarity with our own humanity and the wounds life has dealt us.

Today, Christmas Day, is the day that we hand it all off to the seemingly too-tiny hands of a baby. May we feel those hands grasp our own fingers today with a grip that says, "I'll never let you go."

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food. And the twelve called together the whole community of the disciples and said, ‘It is not right that we should neglect the word of God in order to wait at tables. Therefore, friends, select from among yourselves seven men of good standing, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this task, while we, for our part, will devote ourselves to prayer and to serving the word.’ What they said pleased the whole community, and they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, together with Philip, Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolaus, a proselyte of Antioch. They had these men stand before the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them.

The word of God continued to spread; the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.
Acts 6:1-7 (NRSV)

There's an old saying that "work expands to fill the time available to do it." Any organization that is growing finds that is probably an understatement; in their world, the amount of work to be done probably far exceeds the amount of time available to do it. Jesus's twelve disciples, now leaders themselves, were facing just this problem. The Hellenists in their group were complaining that the Jewish members were more interested in making sure that their own widows received their fair share of the daily allotment of food while the Greek widows were being put aside and were neglected, creating a great hardship for the widows and a problem for the twelve.

They weren't the first to have that same problem of too much to do and not enough time. Moses was one man trying his best to satisfy the requirements of both God and a whole lotta Hebrews he was trying to herd across the desert. Fortunately, Moses had a father-in-law with some good ideas. Solution: identify righteous men in whom the people already had some confidence, set them up in a hierarchy so that everyone had access to someone who could help resolve conflicts and solve problems. The big stuff would be referred to Moses but he would have a lot more time to do what he was supposed to be doing -- interacting with God, leading the worship and shepherding the entire group on its journey.

The twelve probably saw this as the way to go. What they did was to have the whole community choose seven men --righteous, honest, faithful and hard-working-- to take care of the food distribution and whatever else was needed, leaving the twelve time to preach, teach, heal and provide guidance to the group. It worked and Christianity continued to grow but now with a hierarchical model that spread like the roots of a great tree.

There are a lot of times when I see people at the top of even a small hierarchy act as if they alone were responsible for the success or failure of the whole thing. They exercise all the control and micromanagement they can grasp, even if it is not producing observably favorable results. Moses's delegates and the twelve's seven deacons (as we now call them) knew when to solve the problems and when to kick those problems upstairs. Jesus himself practiced the art of having the heart of a servant but the wisdom to allow those who served under him to go out and do what they had learned to do, all the while keeping his ear open to the One in the heavenly corner office.

I've delegated my taxes to my tax guy, my health diagnoses and treatment to my doctors, parts of my job to either my boss or a co-worker and my spiritual well-being to God. I can't do everything myself, even if I work on a much smaller scale than Moses or the twelve. Now I just have to remember not to try to take everything back, get overwhelmed and forget to do the really important things, like taking care of myself and the cats, doing the best job I can at whatever I try to do, and remembering consult with the CEO in the corner office, the One whose door is always open and who, I feel sure, will never hand me a pink slip.

Now, will someone please point me in the direction of tables that need wiping or widows who need some attention?

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Readings for the feast day of St. John, Apostle and Evangelist:
Psalm 97
Psalm 98 (Morning)
Psalm 145 (Evening)
Proverbs 8:22-30
or Isaiah 44:1-8
John 13:20-35

But now hear, O Jacob my servant, Israel whom I have chosen! Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you in the womb and will help you: Do not fear, O Jacob my servant, Jeshurun whom I have chosen. For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour my spirit upon your descendants, and my blessing on your offspring. They shall spring up like a green tamarisk, like willows by flowing streams. This one will say, “I am the Lord’s,” another will be called by the name of Jacob, yet another will write on the hand, “The Lord’s,” and adopt the name of Israel. Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts: I am the first and I am the last; besides me there is no god. Who is like me? Let them proclaim it, let them declare and set it forth before me. Who has announced from of old the things to come? Let them tell us what is yet to be. Do not fear, or be afraid; have I not told you from of old and declared it? You are my witnesses! Is there any god besides me? There is no other rock; I know not one. ~Isaiah 44:1-8 (NRSV)

To fully hear the depth of our reading in Isaiah, it's important to know a little bit about tamarisk bushes. Tamarisks are pretty amazing, actually. They're not exactly plants that would catch your attention right away--they are rather nondescript, willowy, and shrubby-looking. But they can grow in the most inhospitable places. Tamarisks can be found in the deserts of Albania, the rocky wasteland of the southwestern United States, and along coastlines of all sorts of temperature regions. They can thrive in places too salty for most plants--in fact, they merely slurp up salty, brackish water and spit the salt out, encrusting themselves in it, gaining the nickname "salt cedar." When they are near a good water source, such as near a river, they drink like there's no tomorrow, up to 200 gallons a day, yet they are drought resistant, with aggressive tap roots that can break rock. They can even be burned to a blackened stub and within weeks, green shoots will appear at their charred bases.

In short, they grow in places and situations where nothing should dare survive. Their mention in Isaiah portends new life from the impossible.

As we swing from Advent into Christmas, tamarisks are a reminder of what we heard a few weeks ago--that "nothing is impossible with God"--but that this new birth might well be in a very inhospitable environment. Although the bulk of our readings today are in the "praise and exultation" mode, today's Gospel--the betrayal of Jesus by Judas--stands in sharp contrast. It seems an odd place for our Gospel reading--a betrayal in a season more associated with joy. Perhaps, though, it's not so odd if we think about the tamarisk and its powers of renewal. Tamarisks survive because of their incredibly deep tap root and their ability to find the deepest possible source of water. They survive and thrive because they know just how far the bottom is, and how deep it has to go to get there.

Anyone who is an alcoholic, an addict, or a family member of one knows the full depth of what "hitting bottom" is all about, and that it is only in hitting bottom that the real recovery begins. We don't seem to see that one when we are only heading to the bottom--we are too busy with the delusion we can slow our descent. It's only when we hit that place where the breath is knocked out of us and we are lying flat that we ever really seem to address our addictions and codependencies. Even then, we may find ourselves drinking salt water for a spell.

Yet, there's that crazy tamarisk--growing where it's not supposed to grow, drinking what it's not supposed to drink, and covering itself with a rind of salt, thumbing its figurative nose at the fates. Is it any different from the times we have felt the movement of God within us under the weight of our own encrusted tears? Even more important, when we hit bottom--and discover the flowing waters of our own baptism--are we ready to drink from it like there's no tomorrow?

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Feast of the Holy Innocents
Psalm 2
Psalm 26 (Morning)
Psalm 19
Psalm 126 (Evening)
Isaiah 49:13-23
or Isaiah 54:1-13
Matthew 19:1-14
or Mark 10:13-16

Sometimes, our liturgical calendar relies on myth more than we care to admit. The story of Herod ordering the slaughter of all male children age two and under is probably one of those times. The only account of this story is in Matthew 2, with no secular history to back it up--which, frankly, throws doubt into it being a factual historical event. One theory is that it is a "morphing" of Josephus' account of Herod the Great murdering his own sons. However, the lack of secular history doesn't negate the possibility it happened. It could well have been this was such a minor episode in the reign of Herod at the time--remember, no one would have had the hindsight we do, that this child is the Messiah--no secular historian worth his salt would have cared about infanticide in a little berg like Bethlehem. Infanticide was a common way to deal with one's enemies and to put down uprisings.

All the same, the people at the time the Gospel of Matthew would have been hooked on this story, because they would have been familiar with the story of the Exodus, and with prophetic statements in Hosea and Jeremiah. They had heard of "people out to get rid of the offspring of the chosen" before, many times. Regrettably, infanticide still exists in the world, so it still has the power to hook us, too. Killing innocent little ones who have yet to experience the fullness of life is one of the most reprehensible things we can think of, when we think about the evil that still exists in this tired old world.

Yet we psychologically kill "innocence" all the time, more than we care to admit. It's a rare person who has lived his or her life without someone trying to kill something holy and innocent inside of us because of envy or resentment on their part. It's also (unfortunately) a rare person who has never felt the pang of jealousy and wanted to kill it in someone else. Cain is still with us, I'm afraid.

Worse yet, we still, like the historical Herod--implode and order the killing of the innocent offspring of joy and hope within ourselves. There would be no need of therapists, self-help books, and Twelve Step programs if we didn't order all these "killings" of the innocence of self and others.

Our readings today take us on a full tour of the emotional spectrum--joy, rebirth, barrenness, wrath, vindication, and singing. But perhaps the most important message is in either choice of the Gospel when the disciples are told by Jesus to stop chasing away the little children and let them come. It's our tendency, in this busy world, to inflate everything we do into Very Serious Business and push aside innocent things like joy and wonder and the heart tug of the "gee whiz" moment. When we see those things in ourselves, we push them away--and although we may not actively kill them, there might be a place where they simply go off and die of neglect and starvation. When we see them in others, in our own underfed state, it's too painful--so in jealousy we try to kill theirs, too, and often in a more active fashion than the slow starvation of our own.

When we embrace our own holy innocence, we change the playing field from one of scarcity to abundance, and suddenly there's room enough for all the innocent children to sit at the foot of Jesus. Who's the hungry self-marginalized innocent child we should let draw near to us today?

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

O admirable heights and sublime lowliness! O sublime humility! O humble sublimity! That the Lord of the universe, God and the Son of God, so humbles Himself that for our salvation He hides Himself under the little form of bread!

Francis of Assisi, "A Letter to the Entire Order," paragraph 27, in Francis and Clare, The Complete Works (New York and Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1982), p. 58.

Like St. Francis, in his teaching on Christ and the sacraments, Martin Luther was fascinated by the way Christ appears “under a contrary.” In the manger, on the cross, and in the Lord’s Supper, the God of the universe appears where we would least expect. For Luther, hearkening back to the story of Abraham and the Letter to the Hebrews, this has to do primarily with the radical faith that clings to Christ and his promise where our eyes find little or nothing to see.

For Francis, the mystery of God hidden in poor, humble places has more to do with the social location of the privileged encounter with God. It is no accident that Francis chose to highlight this dimension of the Nativity story. This insight lay at the heart of his ministry with the lepers and new urban poor of his day.

Especially in his Christmas sermons, Luther also has a sense of the way in which the humble child calls us to renewed relationships with our neighbors:

Therefore since you have received enough and become rich, you have no other commandment to serve Christ and render obedience to him, than so to direct your works that they may be of benefit to your neighbor, just as the works of Christ are of benefit and use to you.

We find this same theme again and again in the great hymns of the Christmas season. Take, for example, the penultimate stanza of “O Come, All Ye Faithful”:

Child, for us sinners, poor and in a manger,
We would embrace thee, with love and awe;
Who would not love thee, loving us so dearly?

During the Twelve Days of Christmas, may we be renewed in our faith and in our commitment to the least of these. May we find ourselves enriched by the poverty of the Christ child, who “though he was rich, became poor for us.” (2Corinthians 8:9) And may we commit ourselves to share what we have and work, struggle, and pray for justice for all. For justice is what love looks like when it is lived out in public.

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here

The banner headline at the Daily Office site I frequent reads: Frances J. Gaudet, Educator and Prison Reformer, 1934.

Prison reformer.... The week after The Feast of the Incarnation is usually festive --folks take time off from work, school, or travel to see family and friends and all the like. We still have another week to celebrate Christmas, Emmanuel, the mind-blowing and radical notion that God is not 'out there,' but is indeed With Us.

However, the liturgical calendar has been unrelenting this week: St. Stephen, Deacon & Martyr; St John the Evangelist; Holy Innocents; Thomas Becket.... --from being stoned to death, to the strange ecstasy of eagle vision, to the murder of innocents, to the betrayal of love and loyalty... and now, today, we are being asked to enter in to prayer and remember prison, prisoners and prison reform.

Unrelenting, indeed. My personal longing and desire to remember Christmas joy and the delight of Incarnate Love and Reconciliation seems drowned in blood... imprisoned in the remembering of our violent histories.

Is there not one day of just plain ordinary Christmas?

Frances J. Gaudet, Educator and Prison Reformer, 1934. Why? I googled the name. I half expected Frances to be a man... but she's a she --a prison reform worker and educator, was born in a log cabin in Holmesville, Mississippi of African American and Native American descent.

She has my sudden attention and respect. There are too many obstacles in her way before she even begins --in a world rampant with racism and gender bias. And yet, she persists. Pushing for help for juvenile offenders who also have the world of race and poverty built against them. Building schools. Helping prisoners of all stripes....

I have served as a volunteer chaplain at the Richmond City Jail. I enter the world of concrete and iron bars and am always humbled by the fervent prayer, the longing, the pain --the knowledge that even when one is released from the jail, the patterns of life that lead to 'the big house' are not so easily left behind. Families and neighborhoods reek with violence and poverty, and resources seem to be more liberally spent on incarceration rather than food, school, housing, job training... hope.

In this bundle of remembering the martyrs and the murdered, the coin suddenly flips. There is room here for joy, for rejoicing. Frances J. Gaudet, Educator and Prison Reformer, 1934. She took her own mortal and imperfect human flesh and worked to free the prisoner, to feed their souls and spirits with hope and love. Not with words, rhetoric or advocacy, but with her own life. Against all odds.

From the lectionary for the Eucharist (John 13:34-35)

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’

May we all find the ways to respond to the call to love. There is no better way to celebrate the Feast of the Incarnation.

The Rev. Margaret Watson will soon be relocating from Richmond, Virginia to Eagle Butte, South Dakota to work on the Cheyenne River Episcopal Mission. She keeps a daily morning prayer blog at Leave It Lay Where Jesus Flang It.

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.

Now that day was a sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been cured, ‘It is the sabbath; it is not lawful for you to carry your mat.’ But he answered them, ‘The man who made me well said to me, “Take up your mat and walk.” ’ They asked him, ‘Who is the man who said to you, “Take it up and walk”?’ Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had disappeared in the crowd that was there. Later Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, ‘See, you have been made well! Do not sin any more, so that nothing worse happens to you.’ The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well. -- John 5:1-15 (NRSV)

Patience is a virtue. We're usually taught from early childhood to practice patience -- with more or less success. When I was four or five, being told to be patient and that Santa would come, in so many days or hours wasn't a really understandable thing. Five minutes at that age can seem like a year, and anything longer is interminable. At 16, waiting until Saturday night when I had a date with the cutest boy in the world (at that time, anyway), from Thursday afternoon until he showed up on the doorstep seemed to take forever. Hopefully, anyway, I learned patience by now -- at least in some areas. In others, though, I'm still five years old and waiting for Santa.

The guy at the pool must have had the patience of Job. Granted, he wanted a cure for whatever ailment he had, and he wanted that cure badly enough to keep trying to get to the spot where he could get into the waters of the pool and be healed. He didn't do it just for a few months or even a few years but for thirty-eight years! My son is thirty-nine. I look back over those years and realize it has been a long time since the day he was born. This guy at the pool didn't have a measuring stick like the life of a child to measure the time of his suffering, just a day-in, day-out struggle to try to get to a place where he could be ready to slip into the pool when the water bubbled and prayers for the alleviation of his pain.

I wonder, for what would I be willing to be that patient and that persevering? It's a hard question to answer because I've never had to walk in his sandals. He wanted to be cured, but something kept getting in the way. I've done some fancy wanting, usually stuff I couldn't afford and even if I could, getting it and scratching that itch was only good for a while. Something else took its place so I was back to wanting something else. I could say the closest I can consciously come is wanting a job, a ministry, a profession in which I could excel and feel I were making a difference somewhere to someone. Mostly, though, I plug along, wanting but not always getting. The guy at the pool would probably look at me like I were nuts; he wanted and wanted so badly he dedicated thirty-eight years of his life to that want. And it wasn't just wanting, it was needing.

I'm pretty sure I've been wanting the wrong things all these years. I should be more interested in a great relationship with God and serving my fellow human beings than iPods and Kindle Fires, but I am flawed. Still, the iPod carries the hymns, evensong services, oratorios, and masses that keep me connected to God as I go about my work. My Kindle rides in my purse, ready at an instant to open books of all kinds -- including prayer books and those of writers who inspire me spiritually. Without either one I feel incomplete, yet even then I can still personally connect to God -- wirelessly and without memory chips and a hard drive.
Maybe at the deepest level of my consciousness I have been wanting something all these years. Maybe what I have been wanting is to be able to get in the pool of God's grace and feel healed, not necessarily cured.

Maybe the man at the pool and I have more in common than I thought...

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter