Sanctuary: A Place of Shelter

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czium_dozskabh7kasn21ndm7o8edvhd284hczzaxq3ezlbztzjhjl7vpc8fgfeabrm17as128I experienced sanctuary this past week, and what I found there was shelter: shelter from the torrential rains we were having, shelter from the hot desert sun in between storms, but primarily I found shelter in safety to be and to say whatever I was feeling and thinking. Friends created for us a safe space, where we could listen or speak, sleep or eat when the time was right for us, and be silent or enter a fascinating conversation in which we tried to resolve our wrestling, with curiosity and respect.

Sanctuary that sheltered occurred again later in the week when over a long nourishing supper, one guest poured out a heart of despair over the state of the universe, global and personal, and the listeners heard, received and offered themselves in response. No fixes, no remedies, just shelter from the stormy assaults of irresponsible, manipulative and abusive rhetoric that is characteristic of so much common parlance these days.

In the 1960’s a feature of the upheaval we lived through was given voice in rock music. Mick Jagger sang, “Gimme Shelter,” and Bob Dylan begged for “shelter from the storm.” In the church tradition in which i was raised, we used to sing “Jesus is a rock in a weary land, a shelter in the time of storm.” However, none of the singers–rock or congregation–ever imagined that the shelter of sanctuary was a permanent abiding place. The sanctuary that sheltered was a a way station, an oasis, a place of protective replenishment, on the way to plunge back into the madding crowd.

There is a way that the Lenten season is a shelter because it focuses me and contains me on an inward journey to be walked with Jesus. My attention each morning, beginning today when I wear the cross, asks me to pay attention and to act from a place of deep trust in my belonging to God; how does that identity both ground and shelter me and propel me to action in the world? Both the inward and the outward movements, claiming my spiritual identity and from that center, shining the Light on the darkness around us gives me sanctuary, comfort and energy.

So I will shelter in sanctuary in very small and undramatic ways. I will read from sacred texts, walk the labyrinth and sing songs that remind me that I am both “frail and glorious,” as Sister Macrina tells me. I will clear a space in my dwelling which has become cluttered, making room for Spirit. And I will pray with Bread for the World for the hungry ones, gather clothes for those who need them, and wear a pin designed by my friend Kris Haig that tells those I meet, “You are safe with me!” It does not seem like much, but in the practiced ritual of Lent, I am given shelter–respite, identity, protection–that empowers me for whatever lies beyond.

My prayer is that in that claiming of myself and my call in ministry during Lent, I will become a better and better sanctuary for those who need a listening ear, a place to rest, an infusion of beauty, a reassurance that the Light is  and will be still shining.
In our new hymnal there is a song introduced to me a few years ago by a group of young people, committed to working for peace and justice in our world. It is my prayer today: Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you. (John Thompson and Randy Scruggs)

The photo is of a cottage at Findhorn Foundation in Moray, Scotland.

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Sanctuary: A Place With Beauty

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firstrose17Looking for and wanting to be sanctuary this year, I wonder why beauty keeps popping up in my awareness. There is nothing inherent in beauty that keeps anyone safe! Yet it so many forms it signals shelter, respite, comfort, shelter.

The roses are all cut back for the winter, the rains have come steadily, insistently, watering the very dry land intermittently for two weeks, and we hope and pray that the aquifers are filling up, and that things will bloom, not just today but in the months to come. I walk out to the bare stems of the rose bushes, and there is the first Sutter’s Gold rose of this year, my beloved and cherished favorite, given to me by a soul sister over 20 years ago. It struggles in contrast to the younger, showier plants who will bloom sometime soon. But it was a heart gift–completely unexpected–that reminds me of Spirit, of loving friendship, and of hope.

Beauty gives hope…that there is more than bleakness, crassness, despair.

Matthew Fox says: Beauty saves.Beauty heals. Beauty motivates. Beauty unites. Beauty returns us to our origins, and here lies the ultimate act of saving, of healing, of overcoming dualism. Beauty allows us to forget the pain and dwell in the joy. (cited in Spiritual RX, Brussat,, 37)

There is a sanctuary in beauty that shelters, even if it is just for a fleeting moment, for one brief shining moment. My heart leaps up as I look at the bud of my Sutter’s Gold rose, even though I know that it will bloom, blossom and fade in an arc of precious few days. I take hope in knowing that as the rose demonstrates, there are no final defeats, there are wonderful surprises, and that the Holy One never lets us go.

So as I seek to be sanctuary, I seek, gather and create beauty where I am. It glows in my front garden. It shines in the faces in photos of my beloved ones, hanging on the wall. It shimmers in pieces of art gathered from travels thither and yon. It illumines the faces of those who enter our house for conversation or nourishment, and leaves an after glow when they depart. I find myself moved in gratitude that beauty amplifies the scent of comfort and joy. I listen to the prophet Isaiah who challenges the faithful to “give to them (the marginal and hopeless) beauty for ashes, and oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit,” (Isa.61:3) it is an act of resistance to provide Beauty in this world that God has created.

Marge Piercy’s poem concludes:

I picked the Sutter’s Gold to remind me/ I may love myself a little/ even when my work is done/ that many things are beautiful besides art,/ that if a rosebush can sit in the frozen/ earth enduring a dormant season,/ maybe I can learn to work without/ anxiety running its ripsaw in my throat/ to bear those peculiar flowers/ which carry in their centers/ both birth and death, let go/ and live on.   (The Twelve-Spoked Wheel Flashing)

For me there is sanctuary in beauty…hope. I savor it, and intend to share it.

 

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Sanctuary: A Place to Be Heard With Kindness

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images-1After the marches around the country and world last Saturday, I heard a common theme from those who participated: they had found a safe place to tell their stories and were heard with kindness, even amid packed subways, crowded plazas, and inconvenient travel. Those who marched felt as if their voices mattered in a way that will make a difference. They felt safe, and even in the teeming crowds there as sanctuary.

This past week I retreated with my beloved soul friends who study and pray together the rest of the year. We felt safe enough in the historic and beautiful retreat center to wrestle with Jesus’ instruction to pray for friends and enemies. As we sank into the comfort and safety of that familiar place, as we allowed the wearying and harsh realities of our personal journeys and of the chaotic world to surface, we told stories–of childhood, of early years of mothering, of Grace given and of grief of rejection.

As I contemplate my Word for this year, SANCTUARY, I am recognizing that the sanctuary that I seek and that I provide needs to be a place in which truth can be told and listened to. Year ago my friend Ken Medema wrote these words to a song about the Church: If this is not a place where tears are understood, where can I go to cry? So I seek sanctuary in Holy Presence, in silence, in prayer, and then in words too deep for sighs. But I need it also in friendship–one who will listen without interrupting, one who hears without judging, one can sit in silence while I struggle for words. I hope for someone who can hold my reaction of the day in confidence without needing to analyze, diagnose and prescribe. I long for someone who can welcome my story, even if they come from another perspective completely.

I am called to practice being that safe and compassionate listener, especially this year. Every tragic event is made up of personal stories; every piece of draconian legislation threatens particular persons with livelihoods and loving to maintain. Every wave of change or upheaval affects the arc of someone–in person. I have a small amount of agency by which I can make a political or social difference, and I must exercise that. But I have more power by which I can lend and ear, savor a tale, cherish a memory of someone who needs to tell it and hold it as sacred.

These days I am wearing an ornamental safety pin designed by my friend Kris Haig to signify to someone, “You are safe with me!” I begin with being a safe and sheltered place to listen to stories–simple or convoluted, sweet or horrific, fantastic or dreary. The story of the Holy One who comes in love and compassion to humanity, never to let go, grounds me and gives me ballast when the whirlwind sagas of those needing shelter come my way. We can be safe. sanctuary for each other.

 

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Living a Word: Sanctuary

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Many bloggers and columnists advocate people of the journey to choose a word for the year ahead, and this year, in the wake of so much upheaval all round, my word has become SANCTUARY–to find my sanctuary in the Holy One, to be sanctuary from the storm and to offer sanctuary to the vulnerable and unprotected. The word and the intention feel big, daunting, yet absolutely necessary, since so many in the world are so fragile, so at risk and have so few resources for unknown roads of 2017.

So it was with joy when yesterday morning I got a phone call from my daughter in between appointments, asking if she could come to hang out at my house for awhile; “I need shelter,” she said. I agreed to her coming with alacrity, and for a few moments between tasks, we gave each other sanctuary–from traffic, weather, anxious cares and heavy sorrow. As the day unfolded, I kept remembering that mini-moment of sanctuary. What does sanctuary offer? what does it bring?

I am musing on those questions this week, as all over the universe things quiver and shake. The conversations into which I am invited nearly always have a shade of anxiety about how the world is turning–an earthquake, a bombing, a rupture, a parade of resistance. I do not believe that being and acting as sanctuary stops any of those disruptions, but I see that having some sanctuary–a place where it is safe to be who one is, a place without agendas to be accomplished, a place where all is well for the moment–can be an agent of healing and restoration. It is no wonder that Jesus invited his beloved ones to “Come apart and rest for awhile,” in the midst of a challenging and hostile environment.

So this year I will be reflecting on how I live in sanctuary and provide sanctuary for others. I know some elements: warmth–physical and spiritual; shelter–from noise and from harassment;  genuine welcome; and, I have come to believe, beauty. It is January, yet in my front yard white and purple irises continue to bloom. Other flowers pop up here and there. The gifts from the Advent and Christmas season bring illumination to new corners on the wall. New pictures of loved ones smile out at whomever is gathered. Familiar quilts and blankets, scented candles and delicious aromas make everyone feel at ease as they take respite here for the moment.

So I am living into claiming and being sanctuary while at the same time, I gather my resources that energize me to do justice in and for the places to which I am called; to love kindness and let it be the dominant tone of my words and actions; and to walk humbly with Holy One, learning what true sanctuary can mean for me and for the world. I have much to learn, but I am energized for the living of it!

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3 Gifts of Epiphany for the New Year

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In these 12 days of Christmas, I have felt very much like the Little Drummer Boy, singing, “I have no gifts to bring…” or Christina Rossetti in the carol, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” “What can I bring him, poor as I am…?” We are heading toward Epiphany where the Wise Ones bring gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, gifts both mystical and practical, elegant and marvelous. And I feel as if my cupboard is bare after this season of healing and world trauma. However, in the way that the Spirit seems to work with me, I keep encountering at every turn this finale of the Love Hymn in I Corinthians, King James Version: “And now abideth these three–faith, hope and love…” And I am delighted–in spite of my recovering health, in spite of the losses in the past year, in spite of the predictions and prognostications about the state of the world and what will happen next, I do have those three things; they abide–in me and in the world.

I continue to have Faith. I experienced Holy Presence all through my surgical process and the aftermath, in each step of recovery and setback, even or especially in faith-filled folk who come by me, in person or on-line. I can wear with integrity my ring that holds Lady Julian close to my heart, saying, All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.

I have Hope, on which I mused in during Advent, not in particular outcomes or even in absence of chaos and terror, but in that Holy Presence who never leaves us or forsakes us, and whom the author of Hebrews tells us, often has a better idea for our future than we can imagine, ask or think.

And I have Love. I have been given so much love in my life–some of it well-intentioned but poorly executed, some of it unable to show up all the time, some of it intuitive and caring from afar–but I am loved, not the least of all by the One who calls me by name, and to Whom I belong. And Love begets Love; out of the love I have been given, I am free to love those I am given–longtime friends falling on hard times, new friends who need some ballast, those who are nearly ever noticed by those they serve, those who seem to be difficult by character–learning how to pray that they will be blessed and have their deepest needs satisfied.

So on this Epiphany I come to the Holy One bringing my gifts, maybe more truly giving back what I have been given–Faith, Hope and Love–with the prayer that they will deployed in the places most useful, healing the places most sore, and giving Life and Love to a world which seems to have a short supply of any of them. I pray that these gifts will enrich us all in the world that God loves!

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Christmas Joy!

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Anne Sexton proclaims that there is Joy in all! What more evidence can there be than the blossoming of five irises, with at least five to come amid the long-desired rainfall that appeared in these last days of Advent! Christmas comes replete with tidings of comfort and Joy in the arrival of the Baby Jesus, who at this celebrated moment is only a hope, a possibility and a dream! And I have done all that I can, both to make my beloved ones comfortable and Joyful, and to enter into the Joy myself, sometimes with mixed success. Yet the signs of Hope throughout Advent have kept pushing me to stay awake to the places and ways which, in the words of C, S. Lewis, “…cheerfulness keeps breaking in!”

The signs and the blooms of Joy on this day are everywhere–children singing loudly, even on key, the old Christmas carols with open hearts and wide eyes; thoughtful and prophetic pastors who don’t settle for the same old/same old messages and routine; caring friends who acknowledge my limitations this year, and come round in message or person anyway; posts from those who are feeding the hungry, expanding their giving on behalf of the vulnerable, writing and marching for both justice and mercy for the little ones.

Yet, many among my acquaintances want to make sure that I know that there are many for whom Joy is not readily accessible, and I am deeply aware of that. Hospitalizations, freak accidents, sudden losses, fractures of personal connections that can’t seem to heal, all make Joy a slippery commodity. And the “weary world!” Good grief! what can we say to the callousness, the arrogance, the brutality and the self-absorption that makes up the Slough of Despond through which we are muddling these days!

I submit once again the Joy–the Joy that is heralded by the angels–is not connected to the era in which we live, the location we inhabit, our status within or without families, even our body’s frailty. It is a gift from the Holy One, reflecting that above, around and through all we are created by God. The write of the Psalms remind us that in Holy Presence is fullness of Joy (Psalm 16:11). Two themes go throughout sacred testament–1) Joy is gift of God, even as it was when Christ was born, and 2) humans have the capacity to choose it, even when they are in dire straits and unhappy. I cannot choose for anyone else, but  I can make it my aim in my quest to keep the Light shining to choose joy. Karl Barth says, ” Joy is the simplest form of gratitude.”

And so on this Christmas Day I again commit myself to choosing and practicing Joy–in the healing process my body is in, in the disappointment in what people do and don’t do, among the miasma of doomsday prognosticators–Joy because in Holy Presence is fullness of joy, and Christmas comes to tell me that the Christ will never leave or forsake. That belief and ground in Joy is what keeps me centered when I am called to lobby for mercy for the poor, to protest injustice for the displaced, to advocate for those who do not have the privilege I have as a white, heterosexual person with education. .

Joy to the world…God has come and given me power to share and spread that Joy!

 

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Advent IV: Signs of Hope-Little Ones

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My days of hands-on childcare have come and gone, yet this Advent season, I am surrounded by babies and little ones, in the main virtually, but also in person. Next door baby Benjamin was born, a child with a black father and a white mother, adored and adorable. My peers are almost all grandparents, each year adding more to their tribes–Juliet, Asher, Joshua, Henry, Rosie and Alexander, among others. My hearts leaps up with Hope when I see or hear these little ones. I see Hope that something new and unrepeatable has been created, full of promise, untarnished as yet by the cares and pressures to which we as humans are heir.

Little ones give Hope with their eyes. Their watching everything that is shiny and new, without cynicism or boredom, lights up my own eyes.  If I can continue to look at each day, each person, each flower, bird and tree with the Hope that somethings precious is to be found there, I can replenish the Hope that so often threatens to die with the doom-saying media and the prognosticators of cloudiness.

Little ones give Hope with their vulnerability. They are willing to take love and nurture wherever it comes. There will be a time when they need to learn how to defend themselves, and to put their startle reflexes to good use. However, in the beginning they can trust that when food is offered, it is good food; that when warmth is offered, it can be nestled into, and that when smiles are shining, they mean good intentions and love. I would love to nurture a spirit of appropriate openness, one that radiates Hope.

Little ones are always learning, ever Hopeful that there is something new to be discovered–through their mouths, their hands, their skin–their own bodies. When they are moving as they should, they pave their way into becoming all they are meant to be. I want to keep Hopeful by continuing to learn about the world and those in it. I have had to learn much about my body this past six months, through surgery and accident, but on the other side of those challenges, I have deeper knowledge of how I am fearfully and wonderfully made, how the health of the earth contributes to my own health and how I need to participate in its on-going healing. I have also learned, incarnated in my own body, an intimation of what the senses and feelings are of so many who live with constant pain, suffering and challenge, and it has made me more compassionate and prayerful. And it has made me Hopeful that I can be an agent of healing or solace to the pain of others.

It is not accidental that in this Advent season our Hope begins with a little one, a Child, born wide-eyed, vulnerable and growing in favor with humanity and divinity. I see that it is not sentimentality that calls us to celebrate the birth of the Child, but that it is a statement of Hope. What and Who is born comes to give sight to our blindness, openness to our hyper-vigilance, and learned hearts for our own usefulness and capacity to heal in the broken world.

This week as we move into Christmas, I will be seeing and hearing little ones–my own grandchildren, those in the neighborhood, real and virtual, and those around the world. My own little Sadie who looks at me so intently in the photo above is now eight and a half years old, with personality, vision, intelligence and, most of all, love. And her growth gives me Hope–for her own contribution to the world, for her own future.  She and her brother and cousins, my grands, are Hope for me. As are Benjamin, Juliet, Asher, Joshua, Henry, Rosie and Alexander. What God began with the birth of a Child continues to bring Hope, Healing and Things that make for Peace.

May the signs of hope brighten these last days of Advent in you!

 

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Advent III: Signs of Hope-Harmony

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So much of the Great Grayness that we are living through is covered with noise and disconnection. We read of or hear people screaming, horns blasting, helicopters hovering, sirens klaxoning all through our roads and towns. I long for peaceful silence, and yet there is a hopeful lilt in the atmosphere when I hear beautiful harmony. It is in the old carol’s words, “heavenly music (that) floats o’er all the weary world.”

It grounds me in the promise of Hebrew Scripture that there will come a day with a new heaven and a new earth, where the wolf and the lamb shall feed together and the lion shall eat straw like the ox (Isaiah 65: 17, 25). Things will fit together and make beautiful music together. Most Sunday mornings as soon as I wake, I tune into our local classical music station to the offering called “Soul Music.” For three hours I drink in choral music, primarily sacred, sung to ancient texts of Hebrew and Christian Scripture. Some of it is sung in languages other than my own; some of it offers plangent chords and melodies which cover the words. But the bringing together of the voices themselves–four part, madrigal, chant, echoes–all remind me of the promised dream: Peace on earth and good will to all people.

I practice feeding that dream all during Advent and Christmas. This year so far I have heard Eric Whitacre conduct a holiday concert in the downtown Disney Hall, blending old Christmas songs with his modern compositions. I have heard our church choir sing one of Bach’s less known cantatas, “For Unto Us a Child in Born,” expressing words of hope and trust. In our small group of friends who have gathered for 20 years, as we reflected on this past year and anticipated turning into the new year , we sang in the half-light, “O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer  our spirits by thine advent here…” Then we sang, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel,” words from the 9th C. Latin, hoping, looking, trusting, as we are trying to do. And the harmonies reassure me that it is all true!

In my conversations in these days, which can so readily turn to despair and bleakness, I listen for the harmonies can keep me hopeful. There is a family widely divergent in their politics whose members treat each other with love and respect. There is a man who has given himself to caring for an aging family member, as he volunteers at his church for the jobs that no one else does. There is a church who provides a community dinner every Sunday night all year long for the seasonal workers who come through the town. There is a community of educators who unanimously vote to safeguard its students who are at risk of deportation. There is a church who goes out on a limb to bring justice and mercy for those who are at risk in the neighborhood.

My call as the music in me and around me brings harmony to the world is to be one of the voices that fills in the chords, that supports the ostinato beneath the solo, that helps the chorus swell with joy as the Light appears, or even as the Hope of it soothes my heart. I  sense I want to be one of the angels that the carol sings about and let the Hope  in harmony fill me:

And you beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,/ who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,/ look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing:/ O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing. (It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, Sears.)

 

The illustration is taken from “A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

 

 

 

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Advent II: Signs of Hope–Lights

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My Hope continues to need prompts. The scent and blossom of the rose give me cues, and this week the Light in the semi-dark expands my repertoire of signs. I love our Advent Candles, plopped down in the midst of closed blinds, rumpled couch covers, and uncertain plans. The world hovers with great grayness, disheveled-ness and despair. But in Advent someone keeps lighting a Light!

The Gospeller records: What has come into being in him was Life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:3b-5)

How much I am looking for points of Light, as a former president phrases it! And I have noticed and felt them. As I am being treated in physical therapy, my healer tells me a story of Thanksgiving largesse, spontaneous, imaginative and far ranging, with compassion, kindness and long-lasting effect. In hearing about the death of  long-time saint of God, I also hear an outpouring of times and places where her milk of human kindness was served to so many with energy, intelligence, imagination and love. A community observes the anniversary of a horrendous act or terror, and despite the deep wounds that will leave scars forever, as individuals and clusters, they pray, they witness, they improve methods of protection and they support one another.

I am grateful for each voice and pen that shows a way to light the Light in Hope in this Advent season: for each prophetic pastor who speaks the Truth in Love, for each blogger who does not sink into hand-wringing or indulge in diatribes or leap to ad hominem assaults of shame and blame, for each commentator whose voice is that of the turtle-dove rather than the hawk. I receive Hope in each conversation in which the darkness is not denied, but pragmatic steps to turn the Light on are offered–writing letters to people in power; bringing in the trash cans of an elderly neighbor; giving to food programs, blood banks and toy drives. Not any of them alone bring the Light of Hope to full blaze, but each little Light reflects the Light of Life, and gives Hope.

I will keep my eyes open for points of Light this week: in the concert hall, in the shopping center, in the general stores and specialty stores, in the coffee shops, in my living room, in my inbox, on the phone, on Facebook, in the mail. And then I will ask myself where I can bring the Light of Hope–next door? down the block? across the street? to the food bank? to the start-up in service of the frail? to this particular conversation in which I find myself? If the Light is shining, it needs to shine in me, through me, with all my limitations, opportunities, and affections. And I am humming in Hope from the Iona Community, “Kindle a flame to lighten the dark, and take all fear away, ” flexing my Hope muscles in belief that the Light cannot be extinguished

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Advent 1: Signs of Hope-A Rose

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I am not very adept at Hope. It has always been ephemeral in my repertoire of spiritual practices, and has seemed to lead to disappointment, were it to be too firmly attached to a particular outcome. So for a long time I gave up Hope as an active spiritual practice in favor of wishing and/or being realistic. Yet in this year of all years I need Hope. An Advent is a season of Hope…Hope that there are no final defeats, Hope that all will be well and all manner of things will be well, Hope that Christ has come and will come again.

However, the elusive nature of Hope still lurks, and I am thrown back to the Psalms where we are advised not to put our trust in human beings and outcomes, but in the Presence of the Holy One. So in this season of Advent I am looking for concrete images that remind  me to Hope. Today it is the rose. Living in Southern California, which has been without rain for many months, we have as a community been replacing most of our greenery with drought resistant plants. Yet I have kept my several roses, a cherished gift to me from a contemplative sister, for all these years, and even though I am not an adept gardener, and leave the care and feeding of the rose to others, I am continually delighted when I see to my surprise– “Lo, how a rose ere blooming…” as it did this week. It’s the end of November, the temperature fluctuates between the 60s and 80s, and suddenly there is a rose in bloom. And it makes me glad, makes me hopeful, that in what seems like unlikely circumstances, beauty and life can blossom forth.

In the Advent season poets and songwriters have used the Rose as a symbol of Hope. From Hebrew Scripture there is the image of the Rose of Sharon. Eleanor Farjeon sings that “Love the Rose is on its way.” Old Friend Ken Medema invites us to “Bring me a rose in the wintertime when its hard to find…”  It is possible to see an icon of hope even in the bleak midwinter of our own discontent, fragility, frustration and temptation to despair, and the rose in my garden reminds me of that. Despite the drought, despite the bleakness, despite the anxiety, a Rose blooms, and will bloom again. In our living room, a sacred space, we have placed this week three rosebuds opening, bringing beauty, perfume, peace to our gatherings and conversations. When the course of the narratives become dismal and hopeless, I look at the Rose, longer lasting than the course of human events, more beautiful than any scenarios being sketched by pundits, evocative of the One who has come and will come again. I am reminded to Hope!

And I will be continue to be reminded if I pay attention to the garden  where the roses grow. Mary Oliver writes, Attention is the beginning of devotion. (Upstream, p. 8)  This season I want to devotedly rejoice in Hope!

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