The First Hours of a New Year

I begin writing this 2 hours before daylight--the first sunrise of a new year.  I've heard from a variety of friends about what they hope for in 2016.  I've made my own lists (see this post on my creativity blog).

I imagine God smiling at us all.  The division of time into months and years must seem rather arbitrary to one with a longer view.

I can't help but notice how many of my friends have dreams and goals that are similar to last year:  move to a different place, earn more money, lose the same amount of pounds.  Mine are similar too.  Perhaps it means that we've all reached a stable place in our adult years.  Perhaps it means that we should try a different approach to meeting our goals.  Maybe we need some fresh goals to inspire us to go further.

Part of me wonders about the wisdom of any of it.  I think of a friend decades ago who said, "I'm so tired of working on my romantic relationship.  When do we get to just be in a relationship?" 

I imagine God saying something similar:  "You were perfect when I made you--why this constant quest for improvement?"

Yet I also understand the desire to set goals.  I, too, worry that if I didn't have goals and plans that I'd spend all of my free time on the sofa, watching non-nourishing TV.

I try to set goals throughout the year, or as I think of it, making sure I'm on the trajectory I want to follow.  I know that small changes can yield huge results--so I check in on myself periodically.  I don't want to sail through life on autopilot.

There are many people who would tell us that if we approach these first weeks of the new year mindfully, we'll set the stage for the whole year.  I think of this blog post, where I talk about the idea of the first 32 days of a new year being important, an idea I got from Anne Patchett, who got it from her yoga teacher:  "She told me that her teacher, a great and wise yogi, believed that whatever a person did with thoughtful consistency for the first 32 days of the year set the course for the entire year."

Why 32 days?  I don't know--but it's similar advice to ones that scientists who study behavior give us.  It takes roughly 4-6 weeks to change a habit--to get rid of a behavior or to add a behavior.   To have it take root, it's not enough to just do something for a day or a week.

My other problem with typical goals for the new year is that they can be so self-centered.  Today I'd encourage us to take a look at the larger world.  Many of us are part of religious traditions that remind us that the work of creation is ongoing.  God has a vision for this world that hasn't been achieved yet.  Those of us who have spent the last weeks in a religious space have a sense of that vision.

How can we help make that world come into being? 

Spiritual Resolutions: Keeping the Light Lit

Ah, that time of year again, when we make resolutions.  Many of us will begin our diets tomorrow.  We'll start an exercise program in the next week.  We'll cut down on our drinking or other bad habits.

Some of us might make spiritual resolutions.  Maybe this is the year we'll pray more.  Maybe we'll go on a retreat.  Maybe we'll be in church every week.  Perhaps we'll crochet a prayer shawl or work on a quilt for refugees.  Maybe this will be the year that we give 12% or 15% of our income--or maybe we'll finally achieve our goal of tithing.

Any of these resolutions would be a perfectly fine thing--even if we only did them for a month or two.  But perhaps this is the year to think about the larger reasons for why we do the things we do.

In the past, many of my resolutions, both spiritual and secular, revolved around me, me, me.  This year, I'd like to think about the larger culture.  How can my resolutions help improve the world around me?

When I think about my past year's spiritual highlights, I remember the Godspa Women's Retreat in September.  But I don't remember it because it strengthened me spiritually, although it did.  It was a highlight because it brought me closer to the women in my church--and those relationships have strengthened our local church in a number of ways.

Similarly, I think of our Christmas day experience of taking a peace lily and a card to the Muslim mosque that's down the street from our Lutheran church.  While it was interesting to experience a Muslim service, I have hopes that we did more that day--that we helped build our South Florida community.

This year, I want to adopt a simple spiritual resolution.  As I move through the day, each and every day, I want to be aware; I want to ask myself, "Are you building community or are you tearing it apart?"

I live in a world of fraying fabric when it turns to community.  There aren't huge, gaping holes, not yet, but the unraveling is clear.  My workplace is full of anxiety about the future, as I imagine many halls of higher education are these days.  For much of the day, every day, I am surrounded by people who are upset, people who are sorrowful, people who are angry beyond reason, people who spend their hours haunted by worst case scenarios.   I turn on the TV, and it's more of the same.  Even moving through the world eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers, I hear negativity and doubt and suspicion. 

I want to keep that Christmas message in my head all year.  I want to remember that although we live in a land of deep darkness, the darkness will not overcome the light.  I want to work to let more light into the world, not to dampen out all the lights around me.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, Jan. 3, 2016:

First Reading: Jeremiah 31:7-14

First Reading (Alt.): Sirach 24:1-12

Psalm: Psalm 147:13-21 (Psalm 147:12-20 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 10:15-21

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:3-14

Gospel: John 1:[1-9] 10-18

I'm thinking about this Sunday's Gospel as the year ends.  I'm doing my end of year accounting:  what have I written, what have I published, where has my food/alcohol/caloric drink consumption gone off track, how did I do with exercise?  I also think about more important stuff:  how well did I do in staying in a state of gratitude, how present was I to others, how well did I do with sharing my money and time, how tuned in was I to God?

It's much too easy to fall into a state of deep depression, as I realize all the goals I had a year ago, and all the ways I met and didn't meet them.  My goals don't change much from year to year--thus, the next question:  why haven't I mastered all of this yet?

This year, I've decided to try to view myself and talk to myself the way that our loving God would do. No more castigating myself about the weight I've lost and regained and lost and regained again. No more disappointment about the poems that I haven't written. No more stern words to myself about the food I have and have not eaten.  I'll try to view each day as a day to become ever more connected to a sense of wonder.

The cool thing about our God, the Gospel reminds us, is that God came to live with us. And the Bible tells us that God probably sojourns with us more often than we recognize (think about all those visits by strangers in the Old Testament, strangers that turned out to be God in disguise). God understands the challenges that come with having a human body and brain. I like to think that God would not be as harsh in judging me as I have been. And if God can cut me a break, maybe I can learn to do that too.

And maybe, I'll have some success at some point. Or maybe, I'll learn to think about my successes, and give myself credit for them, rather than always focusing on the ways I haven't measured up. As I strategize throughout the year, I'm better at recognizing what I've accomplished, as I think about where I want to go. There's something about the New Year though, that brings out my harshest inner critic.

As you look at the trajectory of the Bible, you could make the case that God has had some false starts in God's project for redeeming creation. False starts, wrong turns, rough drafts--creativity specialists would tell us that these are necessary to get to success.

And what I often think of as a failure is not--it's just an unfinished project. Even with Jesus, which we might argue is one of God's success stories in the redemption of the world--that's an unfinished project. Jesus began (or continued, depending on your view) the salvation of the world, but you don't have to look far around you to realize that the world isn't exactly redeemed yet.

Our Scriptures and our spiritual ancestors remind us that we are not left abandoned. God never crumples up the rough drafts and throws them away--go back and reread the first creation story in Genesis; God declares everything "good" or "very good."  In John 14:18, Jesus promises, "I will not leave you orphaned; I will come to you." If God can take a long term view of redemption projects, so can we.

So, even if you've already broken your New Year's resolutions, don't give in to self-loathing. Remember that God finds humanity so fascinating, so worthy of attention, that God comes to be with us. And if God finds us redeemable, we should work on having a similar attitude.

New Year's Resolution: To Issue More Invitations

As the new year approaches, many of us will be making resolutions in all areas of our lives.  What spiritual resolutions are we considering? 

I wrote an essay for Living Lutheran; in it, I consider why it's so easy to invite people to my church during the Christmas season than during the other seasons of the church year:  "But the larger issue remains: Why is it hard for me to invite people to church when we’re not doing fun activities? When we’re mired in the long season after Pentecost, for example, I often don’t feel enthusiastic about church myself, so it’s hard to invite people along."

That may be unfair to those summer months after Pentecost, I know.  And I also know that there are many out there who would tell me to get out of my own head--they might remind me that souls are on the line.

I don't think that the souls on the line, people will burn in hell approach to evangelism has ever worked--at least not in the last several decades.  But my thinking during December does give me insight to a way evangelism might work:  "The world has a variety of yearnings, and our churches can answer some of them. Shaping our invitations to be an answer to a heart's desire is a much more effective form of inviting than the blanket invitations that evangelical groups of my youth used to offer."

My New Year's resolution?  To offer more invitations, to be "more alert to people’s yearnings and the way my church is already working to fill them, and issue more invitations to give the Holy Spirit room to work."

Go here to read the whole essay.

Remembering the Slaughtered Innocents

Today we remember the slaughter of the innocent boys of Bethlehem, killed by Herod as he tries to get rid of any possible competition, even if that competition is newly born and not likely to challenge him for decades.  Below is the essay that I wrote that Living Lutheran published a year ago.

I remember the first time in my churchgoing life that Dec. 28, the day we commemorate the Holy Innocents, fell on a Sunday. The brave pastor actually preached on the slaughter of the Bethlehem boys by Herod’s orders. The pastor apologized for his lack of Christmas cheer.

I was old enough to be fascinated by this juxtaposition between Christmas and martyrdom. Soon after, I discovered that the feast of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, falls on the day after Christmas.

What does it mean that the early church included these days commemorating martyrdom so close to Christmas? Why must we be plunged into messages of gloom so soon after the message of hope contained in the Christmas story?

Perhaps the early church was more aware of the darkness that’s always lurking at the edges of the cheer. But I suspect that every culture has done its best to repress the knowledge that martyrdom and other types of doom could be around the next corner.

I have Facebook friends who angrily talk about how much they loathe religion with its manmade deities manufactured to bring us false comfort – and I wonder what kind of religious tradition they’re invoking. Many a Christian feast day reminds us that we may pay an ultimate price for our beliefs.

But then again, this is the time of year when it’s tempting to spend extra time with the baby in the manger. He’s so cute, after all. We like the picture of that cozy stable, the animals who sing the baby to sleep, Mary and Joseph who find shelter.

This Christmas-card picture ignores the other facts: the lack of adequate shelter, the stink of the animals, the woman forced to give birth in unsanitary conditions, the brutal government that will soon force the family into refugee status.

We may want to forget, but Jesus never forgot. And if we’re honest, we can spend some time thinking about how many people still face these kinds of adverse conditions today. We are not so very far away from ancient Rome. In many ways, our societies have scarcely evolved at all.

Let us take some time away from our holiday festivities to remember those who have died for their faith. Let us offer prayers for those who are still persecuted. Let us take some time to remember the refugees who must flee abuse of all sorts. Let us light a candle as we remember God’s promise that the kingdom breaks through in the presence of the baby in the manger. Let us celebrate God’s vision of a kingdom where families will not have to flee the terror of tyrants, where the faithful will not be stoned for their beliefs.

Christmastide Continues

This week at our church, we will linger in the land of Christmas a bit longer.  We will have just one service, where we will hear the Christmas cantata again.  It's a more participatory cantata this year than in the past, so I don't mind.   It will likely be a smaller service, in terms of attendance.  My spouse and I will stay to count the money, which should be easier with the smaller attendance, plus we won't have to separate all the monetary gifts:  this one for the pastor, this one for the staff, this envelope for poinsettias, that one for food baskets, on and on.  Today, it all goes into the general fund.

I would encourage us not to leave Christmas behind too quickly. Many of us have had busy Decembers. We can leave our Christmas trees up for a few more days (twelve, even, until Jan. 6, Epiphany) to enjoy the vision we haven't had a chance to take in during our busy Advent. We can eat one last Christmas cookie, while we reflect on the past year, and plan for the year to come. We can pray for the patience of Simeon, for the wisdom of Anna, for the courage of Mary and Elizabeth and Joseph, who said yes to God's plan. We can pray that we have the boldness of John the Baptist, who declared the Good News.

We can pray for the strength to evolve into people of hope, people who watch and wait, confident in the knowledge that God fulfills all promises.

But let us not rest too long in the land of Christmas.  As our pastor reminded us a few years ago, if we leave Jesus as the baby in the manger, we've missed the point.

I have added to that thought as we moved through the liturgical year.  If we leave the savior on the cross, we've missed the point too.  But even the Easter story is only part of the larger point.

A thread runs through all these Good News stories.  Christmas reminds us that God breaks through into our regular lives in amazing ways.  The rest of the stories in the Gospels show us God doing just that.   God came to be with us, to experience human life in all the ways that we experience it--and that includes rejection and death.

The story of Jesus reminds us that death doesn't have the final answer.  Some Christians have decided that Jesus came to earth so that we can get a ticket to Heaven.  But that approach misses an important point too.

God wants to walk beside us not so that we'll get a ticket to Heaven.  God wants to walk with us so that we can be part of the redemption of creation.  Artists everywhere know that when we create together, we're likely to go in directions we wouldn't have anticipated.

God knows it too.

Let this be the year that we discover this great joy.  Let us be the people who have lived in a dark valley but who have seen a great light.  Let us live light-filled lives.

Celebrating Christmas by Visiting a Mosque

Yesterday was an unusual Christmas for us.  I'm beginning to think that there's no such thing as a usual Christmas, but yesterday was highly unusual.

At 1:15, we headed over to our church to be part of a group that took a peace lily and a card to the mosque that's down the street from our Lutheran church.  On the fourth Sunday in Advent, church members had an opportunity to write good wishes on the card:

Later, our pastor read the card to make sure that all would be well.  Happily, the most risky thing that anyone had written was "Merry Christmas."

Just before 2:00 on Christmas afternoon, we drove over to the mosque.  We weren't sure what to expect.  It's the kind of mosque with separate entrances for males and females, but after we took our shoes off, we were all seated in the male section on chairs.

Most of the males were seated on the floor.  Older males with mobility issues sat on chairs.  Some of the males stood up and then kneeled deeply with foreheads on the floor--some did this regularly, some only as they first came in, some not at all, and some followed a pattern I couldn't discern.

We were seated as the speaker (the imam?) delivered an address that seemed like a sermon.  The themes of the sermon weren't unfamiliar to me:  you show your love for Allah and his prophet Muhammad by being the best version of yourself.  People are judging all Muslims by our behavior, so pay attention to how you behave in the world.  It's not enough to behave properly, but you also need to act out of love.  The supremacy of love and the beating back of fear were themes woven through the 40 minute part that we heard.

People kept arriving throughout the talk.  After the talk, we got to witness the time of prayer.  I thought, I am a white, Christian woman seated on the male side of the mosque; I am not likely ever to witness this again.

The prayers were in Arabic (I think).  There was a time of standing, a time of deep kneeling, some motion similar to the crossing of oneself that some Christians do.  The leader did most of the chanting, and at one point, the men answered back.

It was a fascinating experience, all of it, from an ecumenical standpoint and from an exercise in modern Sociology/Anthropology.

I had one moment of disbelief tinged by fear, during the sermon time as more and more men filled the room.  I thought, what am I doing here, a good Lutheran girl surrounded by Muslim men--not safe, not safe, not safe!  And then I laughed at myself, a woman on a peace mission who feels that flare of fear.  I reminded myself that no one wants any trouble, that I'm in the U.S., not some remote part of the world--and even in a remote part of the world, I would likely be treated with respect.  Those horrific crimes, like the woman raped to death in India on a bus at Christmas a few years ago, those make the news because they are so bizarre and out of the ordinary.

I also know that my white skin and U.S. citizenship buys me protection that many females across the world don't have, but we weren't at the mosque to discuss that.  We were at the mosque to bring a message of peace and hope on Christmas day.  And I had noticed that there was a police officer on hand--not to protect me, but to protect the mosque.

In the South Florida area we've only had a few anti-Muslim incidents, some graffiti, and some of that just hateful or strange, not necessarily targeted at Muslims--they happened in the same week of some anti-Jewish incidents.  There's plenty of hate out there.

Luckily, the men in the mosque were very welcoming.  The leader invited us to the front to make a speech.  Our pastor gave our message of peace and good will and hope for continued co-existence.  Lots of men held up their phones and iPads and took pictures.  As we filed out, people shook our hands, thanked us for coming, wished us a Merry Christmas, and outside, offered us a fried falafel-like ball.

It was an amazing experience, one completely outside of our usual Christmas celebrations, but one that felt right at home.  As our pastor reminded us one Christmas Eve, if we leave the baby Jesus as a cute infant in the manger, we've lost the point.  Jesus came to equip us to do exactly what we did yesterday--to reach out to people who are very unlike us, to make community and neighbors out of unlikely groups.

It was a great way to celebrate the birth of Jesus, of God breaking into the world in new and unlikely ways.  It was a great way to let our light shine, so that the darkness does not overcome it.