Today’s post is by Kimberlee Conway Ireton, mother of four and author of The Circle of Seasons: Meeting God in the Church Year and the recently released memoir, Cracking Up: A Postpartum Faith Crisis.
outside, a crow climbs the steep angle of the neighbor’s roof
rain drips from the fig tree, branches bare and barren
inside, heat rattles the registers
boys squeal in delighted play on the blue carpet
rain drips from the fig tree, branches bare and barren
on my lap, a fleecy blanket and an open book
boys squeal in delighted play on the blue carpet
before me, a cozied teapot and a white china cup, brim-full
on my lap, a warm fleecy blanket and an open book
why are you cast down, o my soul
before me, a cozied teapot and a white china cup, brim-full
hope in God, for I shall again praise him
why are you cast down, o my soul
outside, a crow climbs the steep angle of the neighbor’s roof
hope in God, for I shall again praise him
inside, heat rattles the registers
Photo by amandabhslater, Creative Commons via Flickr.
God eternal, righteous and glorious One,
We give you thanks
For breath that fills us with your life,
For love that softens our hearts,
For beauty revealed at every turn.
Christ redeemer, faithful and forgiving One,
We give you thanks
For renewal, transforming our lives,
For peace calming the chaos of our souls,
For hope restoring our faith.
Spirit sustainer, abiding and compassionate One,
We give you thanks
For caring when our hearts are aching,
For friends supportive in times of need,
For generosity lavish and overflowing.
Eternal One, Redeeming One, Sustaining One,
We give you thanks
For You.
Today’s prayer is written with American Thanksgiving in mind. But gratitude and thankfulness is something all of us need more of. What are you grateful for today?
For more thanksgiving prayers you might like to check out
A Thanksgiving Prayer for 2011
A Thanksgiving Prayer for 2010
A Thanksgiving Prayer for 2009
Prayers and Creeds also has some wonderful thanksgiving prayers.
Including this one:
Thanksgiving starts with thanks for mere survival,
Just to have made it through another year
With everyone still breathing. But we share
So much beyond the outer roads we travel; (See complete prayer here)
For the last couple of years I have posted prayers, often with photo images, on Facebook. Now we have some of the most popular available as prayer cards. I have a set on a small easel on my desk. Each morning I change the card. It gives me a great focus for moments of prayer throughout the day. We specially chose the photos so that they draw you into the prayer and hopefully a deeper experience of God’s presence. They are also great as bookmarks or can be sent as post cards. Their purchase is also a great way to support the ministry of Mustard Seed Associates of which this blog is a part.
This last week I had someone ask me about creating an Advent prayer garden. As many of you already know I love creative ideas, and this one really stirred my imagination. I am a little sick of Advent wreaths, maybe not in church where I love to see each new candle on the wreath lit at the beginning of each Advent service, but at home I found I wanted something a little different. So I put my thinking cap on and here is the result.
This post is adapted from one I wrote a couple of years ago for Christ the King Sunday.
What Kind of king do we celebrate – Icon – jesus heals the blind man
Sunday is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday the liturgical year. I must confess it is not a celebration that is very much on my radar screen and this year with it falling the week of American Thanksgiving, I have given it even less attention. I thought that this celebration must date from the Middle Ages, but discovered recently that Pope Pius XI added it in 1925. He intended it as a day to celebrate and remember Christ’s kingship over all creation, as well as to remind us that all humankind must submit to Christ’s rule.
As you can imagine, this celebration, especially in recent years, been a somewhat controversial day among those Christians who consider the language of kingship outdated or oppressive. For many, the images of kings and kingdoms conjure up thoughts of tyrants. But the kingship of Jesus takes on a very different form than does the kingship of earthly rulers. He came as a vulnerable infant and carried that vulnerability into his kingship of servanthood as we hear in this, my favourite “kingship” song.
Jesus comes to us not as a great conquering military leader who oppresses and abuses the conquered. Rather, he comes as a servant king, the Prince of Peace, the One whose reign proclaims peace, justice, liberation, and above all, service. Jesus turned the whole concept of lordship and kingship on its head:
You know that those who are recognized as rulers over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones make their authority over them felt. But it shall not be so among you. Rather, whoever wishes to become great among you will be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you will be the slave of all. For the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. (Mark 10:42-45, NAB).
Images of God, as Lord and King seem foreign in a democratic, individualistic society. But our all-powerful God, is also all-loving, and all-merciful. God’s heart aches to once more be in a loving relationship with his creatures. This is what Christ’s kingship is all about. We must submit to Jesus as our Lord and King, but it is a submission that paradoxically brings with it liberation, freedom from sin and a life of wholeness for us, for others and for God’s world.
I love this powerful image of Jesus as King and the kingdom of God as a place of hope that Foy Vance gives us here:
Jesus knew the popular images of kings and lords and redefined them. In God’s resurrection world, in order to be a ruler of all, Jesus must become a servant of all. Jesus demonstrated this servanthood in his life and miracles. Even the Incarnation is an example of this: God the Son, King of all creation, humbled himself to become human, even sharing the ultimate fate of his captive subjects: death.
Interestingly, most references to Jesus as king occur during the Passion story. The symbol of Christ’s kingship is not a crown but a cross. The Son of God became human and died a horrible death on the cross to release his subjects from captivity. The One who is the true king of our world made this ultimate sacrifice out of his deep and abiding love for the world, a world constantly in rebellion against him. Christ’s kingship is not like a king with a jewel-encrusted crown in purple finery on a gold throne wielding an oppressive rod of iron. Rather, he is the crucified God with a crown of thorns hanging half naked on a cross of shame to set us free from our bondage.
No collection for Christ the King Sunday is complete without this inspiring description of Christ the King of Kings by SM Lockridge.
Here is a prayer that I wrote a couple of years ago for Christ the King Sunday:
Let us praise Jesus Christ our king
for the wonderful things he has done.
He sends out his word to heal us.
He satisfies the thirsty with the water of life.
He fills the hungry with the abundance of his kingdom.
Let us praise Jesus, redeemer and renewer of all things.
May we always trust in his goodness and love,
And have faith in his grace and mercy,
May we always believe he cares about justice and righteousness,
And draw our life from his eternal purposes.
Let us praise Jesus Christ our king and saviour,
May we be filled with the hope and promise of his coming,
And give our lives to follow him.
May we be gripped by his kingdom ways,
And walk with assurance and trust into his grace and peace.
Other Resources for Christ the King Sunday
The Stop the Madness: Return to Our Senses retreat is over. In preparation for the day I set up prayer stations around the house so that participants could have private spaces to reflect and focus on God. It is something you might want to consider as a way to help you focus too. Thinking about how to design these so that there were a variety of ways to connect to God and story of God inspired and encouraged my own walk towards Advent.
My favourite was the Advent prayer garden I created – but more about that tomorrow.
One of the stations included our olive wood nativity from Jerusalem. One participant commented that he normally hates to sit and reflect in silence but that having the pieces that he could touch, pick up and rearrange provided an experience that really spoke to him. It made me realize how often we limit people’s ability to enter into an experience of God because we only provide a few ways in which to interact with God. Discovering our own unique way of interacting with God is essential if we want to grow in our faith.
Olive wood nativity
The highlight of the retreat for all of us was the sharing time at the end of each session. Listening to each other stirred our imaginations and created some wonderful new ways for all of us to enter into the season. One person suggested starting Advent early at American Thanksgiving adding to the traditional themes of love, joy, hope and peace with another week focused on gratitude and thankfulness. This idea inspired all of us, and Tom and I have committed to this new practice for our lives.
Advent prayer station
Another suggestion was making Advent wreaths out of palm prints. I suggested using kids palm prints but one couple piped up and said “Why not palm prints from grandparents?” to send to our grandkids.
A third suggestion was using St Nicholas Day as a time to share Christmas goodies with your neighbours. One participant has done this for years. Now their neighbours are waiting excitedly for the visit often with gifts of their own.
The creative possibilities for celebrating this season are endless. Set up your own prayer station, take some time to reflect and stir your imagination to create new and meaningful ways to celebrate Advent and Christmas without getting caught up in the consumer frenzy.
Celtic cross and Advent cards for reflection
Today’s post comes from Michelle Ruetschle who lives and works in Manila with her husband Steve.
I confess that I am somewhat at a loss for words as I come to the blank page. I am writing from the ease of an arm chair, in a dry and spacious room, in our home in Manila. Not so very far away are the horrifying scenes being broadcast daily and hourly across newspapers and televisions around the world. We give, we pray, we organize relief efforts, but mostly, we feel guilty and helpless, drifting in and out of an awareness of suffering.
Last year around this time, we flew down to Tacloban, visiting a school and ministry there which now no longer has a roof. From there we drove several hours to Samar, to a small resort along the ocean. I fear that almost nothing of that resort, with its traditionally styled huts, remains.
As I hold the beauty of the memory alongside current events, I think on a reality that always exists, but that in recent days has landed more viscerally near to me. It is that bittersweet flavor of “already, not yet” that seasons all of our days, but is especially pungent during tragedy. These words are often used to describe the kingdom of God, a kingdom that is here and yet is not fully arrived. The words are a paradox, holding a mystery. “Already,” is the statement of faith, whose eyes can see the coming glory. We look at the present with those eyes, full of hope and trust, eagerly gathering up the abounding evidence, the shining scraps of beauty and magnificence strewn across the planet and scrawled across our human experience, traces so delicious they herald a living, loving God. We taste with our mouths the sweetness and believe that there is more. But then, there is the “not yet.” Replete with longing, the words acknowledge what we unwillingly swallow alongside the sweet, the bitter taste of senseless suffering, of selfish action, of outright evil in our world. Tasting it, we are forced to acknowledge that in our material realm all is not well.
Romans 8:22 says that all creation groans as if in the pangs of childbirth. It is not a static image but rather one of process. There is a fully developed and glorious child, but until the birthing is complete, we cannot hold it in our arms and smell the sweetness of its head or touch the softness of its skin or feel the warmth of its breath. There is movement on the inside that reassures us of its presence. We touch our bellies, and watch them expand with the certainty of the child’s arrival. And yet that beautiful outcome is brought forth with pain, a pain that is borne more easily because of the hope that what is at its end, its very purpose, is beautiful.
Just as the broader picture of the world is one of beauty and suffering mixed together – “already, not yet” – so our own lives reflect that reality as well. For Steve and I, we glory in the healing that he has, a taste of something beautiful, something more, while we also live with the daily reminders of what remains broken, of weakness and pain. You live it, too. We all do.
Faith is a hope in what we cannot see, that there is an “already” that lives alongside the “not yet”. We look at the evidence and believe that all will be made right, that one day something complete and miraculous and wonderful will come forth from our labors and the labors of the earth. When suffering challenges us, we are forced to dwell in the longing and trust that the process is not without meaning and purpose. Faith becomes especially strong here, where we cannot see, but still choose hope.
Today, we acknowledge the “not yet” for the southern Philippines, in the dead bodies and in the loss of homes and in the utter destruction. The “not yet” resounds in the images we see, but it will have deeper and darker echoes in the lives of those who truly suffered the loss. Groans are inarticulate. They acknowledge that we cannot in and of ourselves neatly explain what transpires. With gratitude, we can find and gather up the scraps of the “already” amidst the rubble, where beauty can be found, in love, in help, and in prayers answered. Where we can, we add our own sweetness to the mix. Mostly, however, as believers we can only submit ourselves to the process, trusting that as we groan alongside our brothers and sisters, we are borne together toward an ultimate outcome that is good.
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