On Finding a Hand…

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Blue Christmas, broken, Christmas, church, grief, hand, joy, loneliness, Mary, sadness, sorrow, walk, winter solstice

Photo credit:  https://sinceileft.com/2014/06/11/118/

Tomorrow night is the longest night of the calendar year in the northern hemisphere – the winter solstice, when the earth reminds us how little light these days have.  We mark the longest night at our church with a service called Blue Christmas, acknowledging the ways in which Christmas can also be devoid of light for many of us.  For some, the reasons are obvious:  grief over the loss of a loved one, broken marriages or other relationships, illness, or loneliness.  For others, the reasons are a bit more ambiguous:  a recognition that the world around you seems filled with happiness, and yet, there is a dull sadness or pain aching inside that is oddly out of place.

What is interesting about the Blue Christmas service is that there are years when I feel like I really need the service, and there are years that I do not realize how much I needed it until I am there.  I think that is because there is a way in which our culture romanticizes Christmas, creating inevitable shortcomings.  Even when you are happy, have created the perfect meal, are enjoying a long-held tradition, there is someone who is not there, some hurt that is not addressed, some bit of life that is unresolved.  All of that is true most days – but the expectations of Christmas are unrealistic that cannot be met fully.

I think that is why I cling to Mary so much this time of year.  Mary always lived in a world of joy and sorrow, of blessings and curses.  The news of her pregnancy made her shout for joy, but also reminded her of how broken the world was to need such a savior.  The joy she experienced of new birth was matched by the promise of sacrificial death.  Mary lived in the “both-and;” the ambiguity always present in life.  I like to suppose she cherished the joys as much as she could:  the joys of a baby kicking in her womb, even as the neighbors stared and judged her unwedded state; the thrill of holding a new baby, even in the most rustic of accommodations; the miracle of new life, even if the miracle can only really happen in his death.  It is in times like this time of year I long to hold Mary’s hand and walk with her for a while.

If you need a place to put your messy feelings this year, or you need a Mary to walk with you, I invite you to join us for our Blue Christmas service.  But if you cannot make it tomorrow, know that Hickory Neck is a place that always has an open hand, ready to walk with you whatever the time of year is, and whatever you are facing.  You are not alone.

On hollowness and hallowedness…

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abundance, empty, God, good, gratitude, grief, hallow, hollow, house, memories, moving, sadness, tradition, transition

Photo credit:  https://www.nationalpropertytrade.co.uk/dealing-with-empty-property/

As I mentioned recently, I have moved a lot in my lifetime.  If my calculations are correct, I have moved about 15 times (and that’s only counting college once, despite the fact that I moved to a different dorm every year, and twice my junior year).  As you might imagine, the moves have occurred over a lifetime – from as young as one-year old to this move in my late thirties.

At some point over the years of moving I developed a tradition.  When the whole house is empty, the truck fully loaded, and the cars ready to pull out, I quietly slip back into the house and walk through every room.  There is something about the hollowness of an empty home that you have lived in:  the echo of your feet as you walk through the house, the lingering hints of artwork once hung, and even the scents of people or food.  There is an ache that the emptiness causes – a finality like none other.  But there is also the rush of memories:  the child you brought home from the hospital, the sleepless nights as the toddler transitioned to a “big girl bed,” the parties and family celebrations, and the countless visitors.  In the silence of the empty house you can hear the hint of years of laughter, remember the nights of tears shed, feel the warmth of a child rocked to sleep, and see the shadows left by the lamp as you wrote by night.  Though the house is empty, the house has been your home, steeped in love for however long you have been there.  The hollowness reveals the hallowedness of the space.

This week I continued the tradition.  Though I have given myself little time to grieve the phase of my life’s journey, tonight I realized how sad I am to close this chapter.  God has been so very good to us here – four years of marriage and children and work and play is a lot.  We have been blessed by new friends and experiences.  We have grown and changed for the better.  In the quiet of the house, I am deeply grateful for the abundance God has shown us.  God is good.  All the time.

Forever empty?

Tags

darkness, discipline, Episcopal, God, happiness, journey, Lent, light, Louis C.K., redemption, sadness, sin, technology

Photo credit: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2013/09/23/louis-ck-texting-driving_n_3974759.html

I was talking to a parent recently about the challenges of raising children.  She reminded me of an awesome interview by Louis C.K. with Conan O’Brien.  The interview itself is funny and, as fair warning, quite crass (do not watch it with impressionable ears nearby – the link can be found here).  But what struck me about the interview is what I would label as pretty powerful theology by Louis C.K.  In his interview, he argues that we use technology to fill our time so that we can avoid the reality that there are parts of life that are tremendously sad and times when we feel utterly alone.  He further argues that by filling up that dark space and not allowing ourselves to fully experience that deep sadness, we never get to true happiness.

I was struck this week about how appropriate Louis C.K.’s words are for the Lenten experience.  I have a couple of parishioners who really dislike Lent and find it horribly depressing.  In some ways I agree with them.  Lent is somewhat depressing, and for some odd reason, that is what I like about Lent.  I never could fully explain that reality until I heard this interview.  What Louis C.K. points out is that sometimes we really need to go to those dark places.  Otherwise, we can never really find the true, deeply abiding happy places too.

In the Episcopal Church, The Catechism in the back of our Book of Common Prayer says this about sin:

Q:  What is sin?
A:  Sin is the seeking of our own will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation.
Q:  How does sin have power over us?
A:  Sin has power over us because we lose our liberty when our relationship with God is distorted.
Q:  What is redemption?
A:  Redemption is the act of God which sets us free from the power of evil, sin, and death.
(BCP 848-849)

Lent gives us the opportunity to really examine our own sinfulness – the ways in which we have distorted our relationship with God, other people, and all creation.  Many of my friends have given up some form of technology for Lent – by not checking Facebook, taking Sabbaths from TV or the internet, or putting down their cell phones at certain points of the day.  My guess is that their discipline will create room for them to contemplate their sinfulness, or as Louis C.K. might say, their “forever empty.”  My prayer for them is that their practice leads to an ability to find their way back to God, who redeems us and helps us find that true happiness.  I am curious about how you are journeying into your own “forever empty” this Lent, and I look forward to hearing how that journey leads to the light.