by Carol Dixon
Do you have a favourite book? One you return to time and time again? And what about your favourite book in the Bible? For me the answer has to be the Gospel of John with its wonderful themes of light and truth. In the last verses it says: I am that disciple who witnessed these things! I recorded these events here so we know that they are accurate. I suppose that if all the events in Jesus life were written the whole world could hardly contain all the books. (John 21: 24-25, New Living Bible paraphrase).
Although I love many parts of the other gospels, John’s gospel remains a favourite of mine as it seems so permeated by love. I have recently enjoyed watching it on YouTube where it is brought to life on film with the actors using the actual words from the Bible and seeing it portrayed visually has given me a different perspective on it which set me thinking about the author who is credited with being the inspiration behind the gospel that bears his name, whether he wrote it in person or not.
As far as we can tell from church history John was one of the most influential figures in the early church. According to church tradition he was the beloved disciple mentioned in John’s gospel. Along with Andrew he was the other follower of John the Baptist who was invited by Jesus into his home at the beginning of the gospel & with his brother James he left their father Zebedee’s fishing business to answer the call of Jesus. (Jesus’ nickname for these two firebrands was ‘Sons of Thunder’.). It was John who leaned close to Jesus at the last supper and it was to him that Jesus entrusted the care of his mother, Mary as he died on the Cross.
Photo by Kerstin Riemer
Patmos, a small rocky island 10miles long & 6 miles wide
In later life, John became Bishop of Ephesus and is credited with writing the book of Revelation. Under the rule of the Emperor Domitian who persecuted the Christians, John was banished to the Greek island, Patmos where many were sent to work as slave labour in the mines. Prisoners who were too old to work were left to roam around foraging for their food or face starvation and it would have been difficult to communicate with one another in this kind of isolation, confined to a particular area and not allowed to leave.
As we come towards the end of a year that seems to have been dominated by lockdown and all kinds of diminishing restrictions I thought of John towards the end of his life living on this small island, cut off from friends & fellow Christians, wondering how he could continue his ministry in exile. The following imaginative reflection describes how he might have felt.
Revelation
I never imagined I’d stay here so long on the island – or that I’d live for such a length of time. I always thought I’d end my days like James, or Paul, or Peter, martyrs to the cause. And yet, I’m happy here. Content with my lot, you might say.
I know every stone, every blade of grass, here on Patmos, each tree and bush but I’m never bored. The ever-changing sky, the sea in all its different moods, the ethereal morning mist, and the glorious quality of evening light still captivate me as they did the first day I was sent here, so many years ago.
I’ve heard the Angel speaking, telling me what to write to the Churches, sharing my Revelations with those who have ears to hear – words of comfort to encourage them, and words of condemnation, berating them for their infidelity (not for nothing were my brother and I nicknamed ‘Sons of Thunder’ in our youth).
I’ve had plenty of time to recall my life. So many emperors and earth-shattering events: towns swallowed by mountains of erupting ash; the holy city of Jerusalem raised to the ground, the Temple sacked, just as Jesus predicted.
Above all, I’ve had the space to reflect on Him, my beloved friend, teacher and Lord; to write down some of our adventures together with God, when I learned in my teens to look at life in new ways.
It is easier now since the lad came– my namesake, scribe and companion. I ramble on; he puts it in order and writes it all down. But every story needs a good end and an even better beginning. Here, lad, sharpen your stylus and we’ll make a start:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…….
———————————-
Feature photo of St John Lindisfarne gospels: Copyright: The British Library Board 2000
by Christine Sine
It’s the 4th day of Christmas and for many of us, it is as though the season is already behind us. I love seeing Christmas as a season rather than a day, and thoroughly enjoy celebrating the 12 days of Christmas. This year I am finding particular joy in exploring the different moods of the season. And Christmas is a season of many moods – of intense joy and celebration, of despair and disbelief, of dreaming and hoping. All of these are woven together in cords of love and life poured out by a compassionate God who we remember at this season as the one who reached down and entered human history in an amazing way.
Christmas contemplative garden
During Advent, I focused on those who surround Mary and Jesus and found myself entering the story of a very human, young woman living a perilous life at the fringes of the Roman Empire. Now my focus has shifted. It all began with my rearranging of my sacred space with a Christmas theme rather than Advent, but it has been much more than that. Aided by a beautiful book of 40 full-colour images of Western art: The Art of Advent by Jane Williams, I am taking a journey towards Epiphany, with an expanding and stunningly hope-filled view of the God of the cosmos.
Nativity by He Qi
I am particularly drawn to He Qi’s Nativity, one of my favourite Christmas paintings, but to be honest, I have never taken the time to explore it in depth. I little like the way I once celebrated Christmas. Jane Williams invites me to do so. Her comment that this nativity scene “shows both the sweet simplicity and the dazzling complexity of what we celebrate at Christmas” stopped me in my tracks. I feel I have spent Advent looking at the simplicity and now God is inviting me to explore some of the complexities.
The geometric lines create a sense of turbulence as worlds collide around this birth”, she explains. “Some of the waves seem to be creating waves of joy: the sheep, for example, seem to be dancing to a music that only they can hear.” The rejoicing of the cosmos, hope for a world transformed and a creation renewed. I drink in the wonder of it and sit in awe of what the birth of this child means not just for me, not just for humankind, but for the whole of God’s creation.
“This one act of God redefines so much”, Williams says. Even Godself is redefined, “God who is, by definition, beyond human knowledge, comes to be God with us, Emmanuel.” We still have trouble getting our heads around that and often try to push God away into a distant heavenly realm disconnected from this earth. We want to hide, just as Adam and Eve hid in the Garden. But God is indeed with us in ways that it is hard for us to comprehend.
“This act of God redefines power. It takes all the might of the creator of the universe to enter into creation and become the opposite of God. It takes shocking force to absorb hatred and violence and death and turn it into love, peace and life.” Wow, wow and wow again. What a message of hope for today. God with us – almost impossible to believe as we look at all that is happening around us.
“Nothing that will happen as God lives with us will make God’s nature change. God will remain loving, creative, living, renewing through all of life and into death, so that we can be sure that God is with us, always, everywhere, bringing new life, new hope, new possibilities. God with us means that our possibilities, our hopes and fears, are not the limits of what can be. God redefines what is possible, as only God who makes all possibilities can. If God is with us then so is life and hope. Perhaps the strange lines that intersect across He Qi’s nativity scene are the signs of the movement of God, restoring the world. (The Art of Advent, Jane Williams 100,101)
Book covers
I am also reading Bruce Epperly’s The Work of Christmas: The 12 Days of Christmas with Howard Thurman, a book that invites us to be light-bearers carrying the message of Divine justice and hope, making it come alive even in the darkest corners of the world. Epperly explains that the story of Christmas emerges out of the darkness:
The darkness of Mary’s womb, the darkness of bleak midwinter, the darkness of powerlessness and poverty, and the darkness of Roman occupation. In such as situation, it is difficult to believe that anything good can be born or that a child will survive the cruelty of despotic hatred. Yet, the story of this child’s birth witnesses to light in the darkness and hope in a time of fear. The light of the world shines most brightly on the darkest night. In the moist darkness of the earth, a seed germinates, holding within itself the promise of a harvest to come. (The Work of Christmas 20, 21)
Epperly goes on to say:
Thurman is a particularly appropriate interpreter of the message of hope that emerges out of darkness. Born in the South in 1899, Thurman, like the Christ Child, experienced the trauma of prejudice throughout his life. … Emmanuel, God with us, is the message of Christmas in the darkness of our own times, when our nation is polarized and people fear the future. (The Work of Christmas 21)
Emmanuel – God with us now and through all eternity. So hard to believe even as we celebrate it, especially in a world as chaotic as ours. Take some time today to explore He Qi’s painting. If you can, set aside at least 30 minutes for a visio divina examination of its simplicity and its complexity. What places and situations make it hard for you to believe that God is with you today?
Now read through Howard Thurman’s poem
“The Work of Christmas”
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among people,
To make music in the heart.
in The Mood of Christmas & Other Celebrations (1985)
Prayerfully consider how God might ask you to respond.
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Maranatha, enough.
Come Lord Jesus, come.
I am too aware
of what it is we should feel
at this time of Christmas dawning.
But at most the plea,
‘maranatha’
comes out in a whisper drawn,
‘And the people in the darkness
will see a great light,
on those in the dark,
a great light is falling.’
Oh, how we know what it is
that we’re meant to see,
at this time of Christmas appearing.
But for some the dark is a solid pall,
a shadow bearing down,
that the light is just a figment of imagination,
a bittersweet remembrance,
and a lost taste
left on the tongue.
Maranatha, enough now,
we have had more than we can bear
of suffering.
That like the virgin on a bed of straw,
we push and push to rid ourselves of
travail.
Come Lord Jesus,
become more real to us
than the night falling.
Be like the babe hidden
in a dark passage,
impelled to enter the world.
Show us what it means to be
with us hidden,
that we can turn the light on in the dark.
We don’t believe we
cannot see you here yet,
‘I would have fainted unless I had believed’.
‘Maranatha’
Burst into our world,
with your brightening dawn.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.’
Isaiah 9:2I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.’
Psalm 27:13-14
Check out another post for this morning A Litany For the Blessing of Light by Lynn Domina
by Lynn Domina
For our sun, a warm golden globe brightening our days,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For our moon, silvery and bright, lighting our way through the night,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For every star and constellation, for the stories they help us tell,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For campfires and fireplaces, for kindling and split logs and all burning wood,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For candles that flicker on our tables, for their warmth and aroma,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For incandescence and fluorescence, for halogen and LED,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For scientists who can explain what light is,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For inventors who help us bring more light to our lives,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For storytellers who help us communicate light’s full meaning,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For those dark times when light seems absent from our lives,
We thank you, God, for your creation.
For every new day, for our faith, for its assurance that dawn is coming,
We thank you, God, for creating a world bathed in light
and calling us to be people who walk in your great light.
Amen.
For most of us Christmas Day is almost over and I think that this is a good time to take a quiet break and listen to a contemplative service. I found this particularly restful and restorative today. Enjoy!
A Contemplative Christmas is produced by St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Seattle.
Carrie Grace Littauer, prayer leader, with music by Kester Limner and Andy Myers. Video production, Richard Weyls.
Permission to podcast/stream the music in this service obtained from One License with license #A-710-756 with additional notes below.
“I Wonder as I Wander” (1933) – is an American folk hymn by John Jacob Niles. Text is shared under the Creative Commons attribution “Share Alike” license. The hymn tune is in the public domain.
“Silent Night” (1818) – hymn and text are in the public domain.
“O Star” – song written by Kester Limner, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY).
“Litany for December 25, 2020 (The Lord is My Light)” – prayer text by Kester Limner, shared under the Creative Commons License, Attribution (CC-BY). Music copyright and all rights reserved by GIA/Les Presses de Taizé.
“O Holy Night” (1847) – hymn text and tune are in the public domain.
By Lilly Lewin
One of my practices this advent was to do a photo-a-day with ADVENTWORD, a ministry of the Episcopal Church. Each day of Advent had a different word assigned to it and almost every day during Advent, I posted a photo I’d taken (from sometime in my life) and I wrote something to go with that word on my Instagram feed. One of the Advent words this week was HOLY… this is my poem/reflection on the word HOLY. May you pause and reflect on what is Holy to you this Christmas… and allow the Spirit that is Holy show you.
And remember, the season of Christmas starts today on December 25th and goes until Epiphany on January 6th. So you have 12 days to receive the gift of Christmas. Don’t rush it, don’t be discouraged by all you haven’t gotten done yet, or all you’d hoped would happen this year. Allow Jesus to be born into the mess of 2020 and show you his great love and his holy gift of friendship… take his hand and walk with him in 2021. Merry/Happy Christmas to you from Nashville!
HOLY …..
What makes something Holy?
Do you know it when you see it?
Or is it more a feeling?
A time
or a place?
That one holy moment.
Or yelling “Holy Cow!”
Or “holy sh*t”
In agony or fear.
Holy
The moment of quiet with a newborn
The softness off his skin
The gentle touch of fingertips
Or tiny toes.
Holy
Is it found in gentle
Laughter
or loud guffaw?
In a kiss…
Long or fleeting
A silent prayer
A sung song
A deep breath
Holy
At bedsides
In hospitals
In Cathedral
or Camper Vans
Or street corners
Holy
Sunsets
and sunrises
Crashing waves
Rain
Redwoods
A Star
Holy
Moments in time
Whispers
Longings
Dreams
Tears
Loss
Holy
All
Holy
by Carol Dixon, (photo above from a Christmas card by The Community of St Clare, Freeland, Whitney, UK (used with permission)
It should have been so special: the son of God
– announced by an angel heralding his greatness –
growing within her womb; recognised by an unborn child
who, at her greeting, jumped for pure, pre-natal joy.
But then came pointed looks, Joseph’s unspoken doubts,
the heavy, sluggish journey to a southern city
– bursting at the seams with teeming humanity – culminating
in doors shut in their desperate faces, frantic arguing,
and the eloquent exhaustion in her pleading eyes.
And now it had come to this: the outhouse of an inn,
blood and sweat and straw; the child, tearing
his way into the world – from darkness into light;
between her pains she watched the cross beam
up above her head, studying its rough-hewn shape.
A strange beginning for the chosen one of God,
coming to life in squalid poverty and deprivation,
in a land oppressed by power of arms; where citizens
– herded like the cattle whose stall she borrowed –
were numbered for a foreign ruler’s whim.
Such an ordinary birth: and yet she knew
as he was born, the world would never be the same again.
I still remember Christmas 1974 when my husband Donald and I discovered that we were expecting our first child. It seemed like a bit of a miracle considering I had an ectopic pregnancy previously and we had been warned by the doctor that it might be difficult for me to conceive (How wrong can you be, I had undiagnosed twins a couple of years later!). Yet here we were, about to be new parents, and I experienced a myriad of emotions – joy, anticipation, excitement, nervousness, uncertainty and worry about what it would be like to be responsible for another human being. Would I be up to the task? The circumstances weren’t ideal either as the day the pregnancy was confirmed just before Christmas, Donald came home from work with the news that he had lost his job so our plans for a lovely nursery and all new items for the baby had to go by the board. However all turned out fine as family and church friends rallied round and by the time our daughter was born we had everything we needed – from second hand Silver Cross pram ( much posher than we could have afforded!) and cosy cot, to mountains of barely-used baby clothes – designer makes that would have been beyond our pockets.
When Mary said ‘Yes’ to God, things didn’t quite pan out as she expected either. Having to make a long journey towards the end of her pregnancy, discovering that instead of a comfy room attended by her mum and the village midwife, she found herself in a strange place, miles from home, in an out building. Yet there in the poverty and squalor, Jesus was born, the embodiment of God’s love.
This Christmas promises to be very different from the celebrations we normally expect – no mingling with families and loved ones, no dashing to busy shops to choose that special present, but however it turns out we can be sure of one thing – God is with us in the baby born in Bethlehem all those centuries ago, living in our hearts and our world today.
Christmas Prayer
You came as a baby, Lord,
as a little helpless child
who relied on a human family
to care for him.
You cried because you were hungry,
because you were homeless,
because you were a stranger
far away from home.
You still cry with hunger, Lord,
in the voices of the many starving;
your tears still flow: for the homeless,
the lonely and the forgotten;
you still rely on human families
to care for you.
And so this Christmas, Lord, we pray:
help us to be the kind of people
who look for you in the world,
and joyfully discover you
as we care for one another.
© Carol Dixon (from Worship Resources for Advent & Christmas John Paul Press, reproduced with permission)
Homeless King Carol
(Tune: Brahms lullaby)
Baby Jesus, God’s own son,
Y-ou came to this ea-rth
As a humble human child
When you chose to share our birth.
Source of Hope, Prince of Peace,
Word of Truth, Grace of Go-d,
Bringing light in the dark;
Come and live in our hearts.
Homeless king, in our world,
A-n outhouse your birthplace,
As an infant refugee
Yo-u joined the human race,
Image of the Father’s love
Fo-r all of humanity,
Bringing joy to quell our fear;
Come and live in our hearts.
Loving Saviour of the world
W-e ask for your blessing
T-o live life to the full,
Helping o-thers in need.
As we learn to share your love
W-ith neighbour and stranger,
Bringing peace to all we meet;
Come and live in our hearts.
© Carol Dixon
[Please feel free to use these worship resources in your church]
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