by Laurie Klein
Symmetry
A WOMAN BOWS over her potter’s wheel. She centers the clay’s ungainly heft, digs in her thumbs to create a hollow, then coaxes the sides upward.
Her work resembles a slender throat. Those of us watching marvel, the vase birthed like a song between two hands, almost godlike.
Then like a child toppling blocks, with one lowered fist—and a wink—she mashes the delicate lip. The opening warps. The walls cave.
Why raise up a vessel only to crush it?
Now the glistening folds of clay collapse. She flattens them into a spinning disk.
Thumping down fresh clay—on what is now a plate—she repeats the process, drawing the new walls high, then higher.
The wheel slows to a stop, and the deliberate weight of her finger against the lip forms a spout.
“Pressure facilitates pouring,” she says.
Reverently touching the flattened mass upholding the pitcher, she adds: “And this is foundational. The base determines the vessel’s outcome.” She looks at each of us, in turn. No winking now.
“Only the lowly in heart become godly leaders.”
The work of a saint
Today, as on every November 17th, many Christians celebrate a godly leader named Hilda, patron saint of learning and culture.
In 657 A.D., this grand-niece of Northumbria’s king embraced a daunting vocation: managing a co-ed monastery. Under Hilda’s guidance it became the leading abbey of the Anglo-Saxon world, and she, its revered abbess.
Hilda advised kings. She hosted the pivotal synod that determined the future direction of the English church. Five of the monks she mentored later became bishops.
And Cædmon, the abbey herdsman—aging, clumsy, tongue-tied, untutored—grew into his improbable name, which means poet.
A song in the night
During those times an abbey feast meant celebrants would perform a solo when the harp came their way. Ashamed to be song-less, illiterate Cædmon always fled.
One night, huddled in his bed of straw after yet another escape, he heard a voice in a dream: “Sing to me the beginning of all things.”
Cædmon opened his mouth to argue. Instead, out poured spontaneous words and a melody, addressed to the giver of songs in the night—the One addressed in Psalm 42:6. “Every day, you are kind, and at night you give me a song as my prayer to you, the God of my life.” (Contemporary English Version)
The next day the cowherd sang for the abbess.
A Slender Throat
Did he close his eyes? Did his throat go dry?
Abbess Hilda listened, astounded. Then she pronounced his song divinely inspired. To test his gift, she asked him to render a passage of sacred history into verse. After the monks explained it to him, he fulfilled the task.
Thereafter, the abbess encouraged the harp-dodger’s mystical, God-given skill. Uplifted by her patronage, his poetry flourished.
I picture Hilda’s support like a metaphorical plate beneath his unlikely pitcher: Cædmon the cowherd, destined to become the father of English poetry.
Today only one of his praise poems survives. Those words paved the way for later poets like Gerard Manley Hopkins, William Blake. In her poem, “Cædmon,” Denise Levertov writes: “[N]othing was burning, Cædmon cried out, nothing but I, as that hand of fire / touched my lips and scorched my tongue / and pulled my voice / into the ring of the dance.”
“Now we must praise”—that’s the opening line of Cædmon’s first poem. If he could address us today, perhaps that bashful man who hid from the harp might say, Cherish this world. Bless the Source.
Exalted or humbled, be the vessel uniquely raised up or brought down—consecrated to serve, ever-graced by God.
Dear readers, amid this culture of ours spinning out of control, may we likewise support, inspire, and hearten each other.
***
Cædmon’s Hymn (a modern translation)
Now we must praise the protector of the heavenly kingdom
the might of the measurer and his mind’s purpose,
the work of the father of glory, as he for each of his wonders,
the eternal Lord, established a beginning.
He shaped first for the sons of the earth
heaven as a roof, the holy maker;
then the middle-world, mankind’s guardian,
the eternal Lord, made afterwards,
solid ground for men, the almighty Lord.
In what way will you praise God today? Who will you encourage?
*****
The monk known as the Venerable Bede retells the story of Hilda and Cædmon in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People (731 A.D.). Fortunately, before an abbey fire almost destroyed this sole poem in existence today, someone copied the text. It’s now housed in the British Library. View a full set of images of the digitized manuscript here (click to page 5).
Click here for a dramatized video starring St. Hilda and the Legend of the Snakestones. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMQsU1oYKWM
Other sources:
http://www.sthildasacc.org/about-us/who-was-st–hilda-of-whitby.html
https://imagejournal.org/article/caedmons-hymn-the-first-english-poet/
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/whitby-abbey/history-and-stories/caedmon-poetry/
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Prayer cards are available in the shop for many occasions and seasons–from everyday pauses and Lenten ruminations to breath meditations and Advent reflections, enjoy guided prayers and beautiful illustrations designed to delight and draw close. Many are available in single sets, sets of three, and to download–even bundled with other resources!
by Lynne Baab
I was raised by a hyper-optimistic mother. All problems, she believed, should be faced with an upbeat attitude. Grief was okay – as long as it was brief. And grieving was limited to deaths of loved ones and major catastrophes.
As a young adult I discovered Jeremiah’s sadness and angst. He experienced and expressed emotions I had always considered to be negative, and his honesty before God felt soothing and healing. Later the wild and passionate emotions of the Psalms gave me further permission to experience a wide variety of feelings, including sadness and anger, and to bring those emotions into God’s presence.
My journey of learning how to deal with “negative” emotions was further enhanced in 2019, when I came across a quotation by psychotherapist Francis Weller: “The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them.” Godspace’s curator Christine Sine wrote a post about the quotation from Weller last month. She mentions that she first heard the quotation in a book that she found very valuable. That book is now out – Two Hands: Grief and Gratitude in the Christian Life – and I am the author.
The book is the fruit of two years of pondering and trying to learn to live with grief in one hand and gratitude in the other, and to allow myself to be stretched large by both of them. One of my major insights is that the very nature of the Christian Gospel involves both grief and gratitude. We grieve the brokenness and pain in our world that made it necessary for Jesus to come to earth, and we rejoice and give thanks that he did. We juxtapose this grief and gratitude every time we have Holy Communion. We hold grief in one hand and gratitude in the other simultaneously.
In pondering this picture of two hands, I spent a lot of time in the psalms, where a pattern of pain/anger/grief almost always shifts to thanks/praise. I am fascinated by the pivot points in many psalms of lament. These pivot points make clear that sometimes the grief hand is quite heavy and full, and other times the thankfulness hand predominates.
Psalm 77 begins with expressions of sadness and pain, and then in verse 10 the psalm writer describes the way their perspective has changed: “And I say, ‘It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed.’” The second half of the psalm is filled with thanks and praise.
So often when we are grieving we feel that God is distant and uninvolved. Psalm 10 begins with 13 verses of anger and grief about the prosperity of the wicked. Then in verse 14 the psalm writer expresses great joy at God’s involvement in human life: “But you do see! Indeed you note trouble and grief, that you may take it into your hands; the helpless commit themselves to you.”
In this journey of grief and gratitude, I have learned that the extreme optimism I was raised with has continued to influence me. I have a strong practice of thankfulness that my husband and I began more than 25 years ago, and the consistent practice of gratitude has been transforming. This recent journey focused on two hands has revealed that deep inside, I always expected that if I could only be thankful enough, then I wouldn’t feel sad about anything. Finding so many places where grief and gratitude are juxtaposed in the Bible has helped me understand that grief will always be a significant factor in human life on earth simply because our brokenness is so profound. We can honestly grieve human pain and selfishness, as well as natural disasters and nasty viruses, while we also give thanks for God’s amazing gifts: the fresh air after a rain, the soft fur on a kitten or puppy, the sweetness of fresh fruit, a glorious sunset, the delights of a good novel, an interesting conversation with friends, the hug of a child.
I am hoping churches might recommend my book for Advent or Lent, since the themes fit those church seasons so well. Each chapter has discussion questions, so small groups can discuss it. I’ll close with Christine Sine’s endorsement for my book, a thrilling affirmation that this journey I’ve been on will be helpful for others, too.
“Two Hands: Grief and Gratitude in the Christian Life is one of the most important books I have read in the last few months. I have long been an advocate for gratitude as a way of life, but Lynne Baab helped me understand that grief is just as important and often the missing element in our practices. We all need a better understanding of how grief and gratitude intertwine in a healthy life. This is a must-read book for everyone as we emerge from the challenges of the COVID pandemic.”
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Christine Sine and Lilly Lewin are hoping you’ll join them THIS Saturday November 20th at 9:30 am PST. for a retreat to rekindle the wonder of the Advent season! This year of isolation and another Christmas in a pandemic has taken its toll–we are so excited to present what we believe is one of the most important events we have hosted! Register here to either join us live or download the retreat after the live session to view and experience at your convenience. Come with a creative heart, be inspired, have fun, and reconnect with the WONDER of the season.
poetry by Ana Lisa de Jong
Today I can hear your ‘thank you’
as a great resounding chorus on the breeze.
To bring me to my own knees
aware of everything I’m blessed by.
And I wonder if you can hear my response,
or the earth even.
I think I can hear the earth’s small intake
of breath, of release, of relief.
There being so much loss and death.
So much returning to dust, that the
earth needs our thanks for the
task of its receiving.
It hurts with us, and we,
with our gratitude,
take up our fork turning compost,
these ashes of our days,
that they might break down
to something good.
Something too, that future generations
might call themselves blessed.
For what is thank you for?
The light, the dark.
These elements to build the soil upon
which our children walk.
Thank you, thank you, thank you –
all of it grace.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
Photo by Johannes Plenio
There is still time to join us THIS Saturday November 20th at 9:30 am PST! This interactive, multi-sensory creative retreat with Christine Sine and Lilly Lewin will inspire you to rekindle the wonder this Advent season. Register here to either join us live or download the retreat after the live session to view and experience at your convenience. Come with a creative heart, be inspired, have fun, and reconnect with the WONDER of the season.
writing and photos by Elaine Breckenridge
In 2007, I ventured to climb a hill on Inis Mor, one of the Aran Islands off the coast of Ireland. The goal of the climb was to visit a tiny hermitage perched on top. Dating from the 7th century, Teampall Bheanain is considered the smallest church in Ireland.
From the bottom of the holy hill, it looked like an easy climb. I was mistaken! There were boulders to dodge or climb over. Moss-covered rocks were deceptively slippery. Loose stones made it all too easy to roll an ankle. It was a feat to make it to the top, and yet the trek was worth it. There was a lovely view of the countryside below on one side and on the other, a magnificent view of the sea. It was breathtaking. As the sun began to set, streams of light kissed the sea and land. I could understand why monks had a cell there. It is a place of solitude, not loneliness.
Inis Mor Village View
Evening was coming on and it was time to make the descent down. The descent was certainly more difficult and treacherous than the ascent! In addition to slipping on the rocks, gravity was doing its best to take me down. It took every bit of mental concentration to control the proper placement of footing in order to remain safe. Now, I understood why a monk would stay up there days at a time. It was in fact physically difficult to come down from that mountain top!
In the pre-Christian Celtic religion, hills were holy places, thin places that were climbed so that one could be near the sky gods. Climbing was already an important feature of their spirituality. When Christianity came to Ireland, the earliest missionaries found a people receptive to the notion of God coming down from heaven in the birth of a person named Jesus. Christian Celtic preachers and teachers, using their gifts of imagination, put flesh and bones on the doctrine of the Incarnation. In his book, A Holy Island Prayer Book, Anglican priest Ray Simpson describes God as “bounding down a rocky mountain with a hand reaching out in love to the people waiting below.”
Having gone up and down that rocky Irish hill, I can see how that metaphor perfectly illustrates the grace of God. The spiritual life is about receiving God, who with a sense of urgency and joy leaps over boulders and runs down a rocky hill, just in order to be with us. It is not about making an arduous trip up and down a difficult hill. Instead, it is waiting with expectant hearts for God to come to us.
The season of Advent is the great season of expectation. The scripture readings and the church invite us to watch and prepare our hearts for the annual celebration of the birth of Jesus. This year, Advent begins on Sunday, November 28th. However, the season of Celtic Advent begins on November 15th. Celtic Christians kept the season of Advent for forty days, just like the season of Lent. This longer season of Advent offers us additional space and time to repent–that is, to walk (or not!) in a new direction. We are invited to let go of our striving so that we can experience God’s love and grace without our effort.
Inis Mor Resting Spot 2016
In 2016, I returned to that same holy hill and looked forward to making the ascent again. But nine years later with an arthritic hip, I couldn’t do it. It was disappointing. Then, I remembered Ray Simpson’s lovely metaphor. I sat down, rested, and sure enough, God’s peace and joy filled my heart. Waiting with an expectant heart brought God’s love.
There is plenty to do in the fleeting days ahead of Christmas. Carving out time for receptivity, stillness, and rest may seem like a luxury we can’t afford. And yet, I have discovered that simplifying is a transformative process. As the German mystic-philosopher Meister Eckhart said, “the spiritual life has much more to do with subtraction than it does with addition.” (Quoted by Richard Rohr in Breathing Under Water)
We don’t always have to climb a hill by adding more into our lives. Doing less, and inviting God to fill our hearts, really does work. If you have not taken that path recently; try it. It will be well worth the journey.
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Thanksgiving is just around the corner. In the busyness of the season, we can sometimes lose our own centering. What does gratitude mean, even when we are grieving or busy? Explore ideas of gratitude, enjoy handouts and 4 video modules, an origami box tutorial, and more with Christine Sine and Lilly Lewin! This retreat is formatted as an online course so you have 180 days of access to work through the retreat at your own pace.
Today is the first day of Celtic Advent, and once more I am relishing this early taste of Advent. I love that Celtic Advent begins 40 days before Christmas Day. Celtic Christians always prayed and fasted for 40 days in preparation for any major life event, whether it be the planting of a new monastic center or the beginning of a new adventure, as well as for preparation for Christmas and Easter. Beginning now gives us an opportunity to focus on the real meaning of the season before the consumer culture ramps up to a pre-Christmas frenzy.
Over the weekend I completed my new Celtic-themed contemplative garden which now sits beside me as a focus for my morning meditations and a reminder to pause and pray at intervals throughout the day. I also pulled out my set of Celtic prayer cards which I will use as prayer prompts each morning. As well as that I intend to revisit Brenda Griffin Warren’s wonderful online pilgrimage Celts to the Creche that provides a Celtic saint to walk us through each of the 40 days of Advent. Tonight as part of our community meeting we will light our beautiful oil lamp and small tea lights (adapted from Lilly’s Corporate Advent Wreath idea), and share some of our Celtic prayers. We will perform a similar ritual each week throughout the Advent season, possibly adding some Celtic drawing or rock painting one week. I look forward to this fun way to celebrate our extended Advent season.
This is such a rich and beautiful way to begin Advent and set our hearts intentionally towards our celebration of the birth of Christ. But it does require a great deal of intentionality. As you can imagine my Celtic-themed garden did not just emerge. Over this last week I spent quite a few hours dreaming, imagining and then creating my garden. As usual I used mainly recycled supplies, pulling out some of my favourite Celtic crosses and painted rocks, including the beautiful Celtic cross painted by Joyce Winthrow at one of my Celtic workshops. I loved incorporating the driftwood and small plants, then at the last minute inserted the owl planter. These all reminded me of the Celtic love of creation and their belief that creation is translucent and the glory of God shines through it. Gazing at my garden and reminding myself of that brings a smile to my face every time.
The Celts approached God with awe, reverence and wonder–but also saw God as an essentially human figure intimately involved in all creation and engaged in a dynamic relationship with it. This interweaving of intimacy and mystery embraced the Trinity as a family and each family unit–be it family, clan, or tribe–was seen as an icon of the Trinity. The Trinity was a very real presence in all aspects of life and creation, and an almost tangible comforter and protector who could ward off evil forces, as we see in this simple prayer.
Three folds of the cloth yet only one napkin is there,
Three joints in the finger, but still only one finger fair,
Three leaves of the shamrock, yet no more than one shamrock to wear,
Frost, snow-flakes and ice, all in water their origin share,
Three persons in God, to one God alone we make prayer.
I love the Celtic belief that only a thin veil separates this world from the next. They took seriously Hebrews 12:1 “Seeing we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses” and had an almost physical sense of the great company of heaven which surrounded God, embracing not just saints and friends who had died but the whole host of angels and other heavenly powers. When you raised your eyes to heaven you raised them to a vast host. The Celtic Christian at prayer was consciously a member of the great company that stretched from the persons of the Trinity through the powerful angelic throngs to the risen saints. They were regarded very much as friends and companions in this world and addressed almost as one would neighbours or members of the family.
Scottish theologian Prof John Macquarrie observed that ‘the Celt was very much a God-intoxicated person whose life was embraced on all sides by the divine Being.” I long for that same intoxication and intimacy with God, which is one of the reasons I am so enarmoured of the Celtic saints who thrived in the fifth to eleventh centuries.
I pray that you too are desiring this intimate and intoxicating presence of God this Advent. I suggest you take time today to prayerfully consider how you could encourage this to happen as you walk through Advent this year.
Watch John O’Donohue read his beautiful blessing BEANNACHT and sit in silence considering how you could enter into Advent today. Is there a prayer or Celtic symbol you could use as a daily prompt? Is there something you could create to help you focus? What new commitment is God asking of you today?
Join Christine Sine and Lilly Lewin THIS Saturday, November 20th 9:30-12:30 PST (check my timezone) for an interactive, multi-sensory, creative retreat focused on the WONDER OF ADVENT! This retreat will be LIVE via zoom, but if you are unable to join live, you can sign up to watch the recording and participate later! Come with a creative heart, be inspired, have fun, and reconnect with the WONDER of the season. And did you know? If you have purchased a course from us before, we offer a discount. We also offer a group discount for groups over 5. Email us to get the code!
Today’s contemplative Taize style service from St Andrews Episcopal Church in Seattle. Enjoy!
A contemplative service with music in the spirit of Taize. Carrie Grace Littauer, prayer leader, with music by Kester Limner and Andy Myers.
Permission to podcast/stream the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-710-756 with additional notes below:
“Maker Song” Music and lyrics by Kester Limner, 2019
Shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)
“La Ténèbre” Copyright and all rights reserved by GIA/Les Presses de Taizé
Permission to podcast/stream the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-710-756.
“On Christ the Solid Rock” Public domain hymn, arrangement and additional verse by Kester Limner
Shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)
“Kyrie” Text by Kester Limner, music by Kester Limner and Andy Myers, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY)
“in Silence We Wait” Text and Music by Susan Masters
Copyright and all rights reserved by Augsburg Fortress Press
Permission to podcast/stream the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-710-756.
Thank you for praying with us! www.saintandrewsseattle.org
photos and writing by Melissa Taft
My favorite season is autumn. There is a richness of beauty amongst the gathered bouquets of jewel-hued trees; every year the leaves return in fiery embers and golden strands that keep cheer defiant against darkening skies. Before the cozy sleep of soil and sun, the streets and yards where I live become papered with a patchwork quilt of purple and orange. My Japanese maple turns from russet to electric red. It’s so bright that when the light catches, it glows. The spectacular display draws my eyes up, then reminds me to slow down and let the dead things fall away–even in the fading of the old, there is new life and loveliness.
I find much to be thankful for during this season, and over the years have enjoyed incorporating the colors and themes of autumn into gratitude practices. One of my favorite ways to do this is to create Trees of Thanksgiving. Often in November I will start a list of things to be thankful for each day, and sometimes I have recorded these things on leaves that I display. Sometimes I use this as a countdown to Thanksgiving, other times I go the whole month. And sometimes, I find ways to incorporate both ‘thanks’ and ‘giving’ into the adventure–often including others.
One year when my two children were small, we were part of a larger homeschooling program that brought bonding with a group of families. Over shared meals and talents, we parents curated community events and craft projects. My contribution that year was to create a tree of Thanks and Giving. Little hands were traced, and then cut out shapes of hands and hearts, brown construction paper pieced together into trunks and branches, and a sign to guide the community. I set up opportunities to give, such as a box to donate food. When gifts were given or received, they were recorded on the hands. When a reason for being grateful was found, it was recorded on a heart. By the end of November, our humble little tree was covered in preschooler hieroglyphs, neat cursive, and various pictures and writings expressing gratitude and gifts. Friends or a community participating in gratitude goals can accomplish mighty things!
For many years, my church participated in a thanksgiving meal program. Several years in a row, they hung up a tree of some kind and placed the food needs for the meal baskets on leaves that we were encouraged to adopt. It was very exciting to see the full tree divested of leaves and the baskets under it filled with food for hungry bellies! Corporate trees of gratitude and giving can be encouraging expressions of God’s love in us and through us.
But my personal favorite Trees of Thanksgiving have been the ones created in my home. I’ve often included my little family in my gratitude practice of naming at least one thing a day to be thankful for. Sometimes we did this in a list, but it was always a lot more fun to make a craft project to display. I so enjoy bringing the ephemeral beauty of autumn inside, and my kids enjoyed creating art. We have made posters, we’ve pressed leaves and words and crayon shavings between wax paper to display on our sliding glass door, and one particular year I came up with a plan to both express gratitude and encourage my now teenage offspring.
Lashing some fallen branches together with decorative twine, I secured my ‘tree’ in a vase filled with decorative rocks. I cut out leaves from leftover scrapbook paper, counting out the days until Thanksgiving so that each of the four of us would have one leaf per day, then writing down an initial on each leaf. The weekend before November started, I divvied up the leaves so that each of us had an equal amount and tasked them to come up with reasons to be grateful for those named. This was done in secret; no one knew what was being written about them. I gathered the leaves, then each day in November added one leaf per family member. Four little leaves suspended on a twig, representing a weekend’s worth of heart work. Each branch represented a day until Thanksgiving.
And thus, every day a new reason someone was appreciated appeared. A little love note of gratitude from father to child and child to father, or sibling to sibling, or mother. A mix of silly and sweet, surprising and deep. When the branches were full, and our Thanksgiving meal finished, we took down the leaves for each to keep, and each read out loud the 20 odd things that someone in the family appreciated about them. I still have these treasures. After all, as lovely as it is to let things go, my favorite pieces of autumn remain with me always.
‘Tis the season to celebrate the Reason–the Light of the World born in a humble manger. Explore Advent and Christmas alongside Christine Sine and others in one of our Advent devotionals, bundled with beautiful Prayer Cards! Waiting for the Light: An Advent Journal + Prayer Cards is more than a devotional; it is a complete guide to the Advent and Christmas season, providing liturgies, weekly activities, and daily reflections to equip and nourish us all through the season. Lean Towards the Light This Advent & Christmas is our newest resource, perfect for the times we are living in, and comes in several bundles, including downloadable forms and bundles that include a journal to enrich your quiet time. A Journey Toward Home: Soul Travel from Advent to Lent + Prayer Cards approaches the rich seasons of Advent to Lent playfully, yet with yearning and determination, providing daily reflections from many theological and cultural perspectives, shared family activities, and recipes that will enrich the season for all seekers. All these Advent resources and more can be found in our shop.
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