Advent 5.1 - Have You Seen a Child?

I couldn't bear to listen to Amahl and the Night Visitors during the past two Christmases but now, it seems, I can. Amahl is the chldren's operetta about the impoverished and lame shepherd boy and his mother, and their surprising encounter with the magi. I had memorized most of the score as a child, and watched it with my own children year after year as Christmas approached.

In this scene (start at 1.00), Amahl's mother wonders about the child to whom the three kings are bringing such lavish gifts, thinking, as the kings describe the child they seek, that her own beloved boy meets the description.

Amahl script found here:

Melchior:

Have you seen a child the color of wheat... the color of dawn?
His eyes are mild; his hands are those of a king - as king he was born.
Incense, myrrh, and gold we bring to his side; and the eastern star is our guide.

the Mother:

Yes, I know a child the color of wheat.... the color of dawn.
His eyes are mild; his hands are those of a king as king he was born.
But no one will bring him incense or gold... though sick and poor and hungry and cold.
He is my child my son, my darling my own.

Two Kings:

Have you seen a child the color of earth... the color of thorn?
His eyes are sad; his hands are those of the poor as poor he was born.
Incense, myrrh, and gold we bring to his side, and the eastern star is our guide.

the Mother:

Yes, I know a child the color of earth... the color of thorn.
His eyes are sad; his hands are those of the poor, as poor he was born.
But no one will bring him incense or gold... though sick and poor and and hungry and cold.
He is my child, my son, my darling... my own.

Three Kings:

The child we seek holds the seas and the winds on his palm.
The child we seek has the moon and the stars at his feed.
Before him, the eagle is gentle the lion is meek.

All the kings join in a chorus:

Choirs of angels hover over his roof and sing him to sleep.
He's warmed by breath.
He's fed by mother who is both virgin and queen.
Incense, myrrh, and gold we bring to his side, and the eastern star is our guide.

And at the same time, the mother sings about her own son:

The child I know on his palm holds my heart.
The child I know at his feet has my life.
He is my child, my son, my darling, my own...
And his name is Amahl.

Advent 4.3 - Who Are You Out There?

As a friend and I put the final touches on the Christmas in a Minor Key service we are leading Monday night, I've been thinking about something someone mentioned in the RevGals blog discussion of Blue Christmas services: how important the preparatory conversations have turned out to be. As we put up signs in coffee shops or make announcements, people tell us about their losses and about why they want to come to such a service.

As far as I can tell, the majority of folks visiting here this year are coming via a search for the Iona Community's Cloth for the Cradle prayer.

But regardless of your reason, I wish you'd leave a brief explanatory comment here. It seems that there are enough folks here to call it a community, but it's a very silent one.

Click "anonymous" if you want. But please do speak up, just this once.

Advent 3.7 - Mary, Star of the Sea

Josh spent his 11th grade year in Rennes, France. When we visited him over Christmas, we spent several days in Paris, and one evening we went to a Christmas concert of Gregorian chant at Le Cathedrale de Notre Dame. (Apparently this year's is on December 28, should you be in the vicinity!)

Michelle's post here brings back memories of that evening, with the musical composition having a connection to Notre Dame and with her own memories of first hearing it on a frozen night on this side of the Atlantic.

Two years, or even one year, ago, I could not have imagined that the memory of that frigid evening in Paris, all of us bundled up in an unheated 13th century cathedral, would bring me some measure of peace. But, painful as it is, I am grateful that Josh's short life included such a night of ancient music in a space whose heights were designed to soar to heaven.

Advent 3.4 - Magnificat

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And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

Luke 1:46-55

Last week our pastor reminded us that this is "one of the most politically subversive and dangerous songs in the Scriptures." If your own life has taken you far from department store Christmases, it's good to be reminded that Advent portends something 0f extravagant wildness.

I am at a loss as to why none of the art selected for the incredible musical piece below , sung by the St. Paul's Cathedral Choir, reflects the Magnificat's setting in the Gospel of Luke, in which Mary's words burst forth as she visits her cousin Elizabeth. A great deal of the power of the words comes from their being spoken in the unexpected context of the conversation between these two women, Elizabeth pregnant with John the Baptist and Mary with Jesus. So at the top of this post I've added an image of the Visitation Window from the church where I did my field education last year.

Advent 3.2 - Patience and Fearlessness

"Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord."

James 5:7

When I read this text, I thought, Patience? Seriously, Patience?

We have no choice, not if we are in a time of loss.

And then I thought about how, in the first months after a death, we are impatient because we are afraid. Because everything is affected and most of it falls apart. Finances. Legal concerns. Property. Not to mention your concerns for all the other members of your family ~ especially if the death has been from suicide, which you fear others will now see as an option.

You name it; there's a problem.

A couple of nights ago I went to a Survivors of Suicide meeting, primarily to hand out flyers for our Blue Christmas service. But there were two sets of family members there, representing an elderly woman and a young man, each lost to suicide in October. "And you just can't believe it," offered one person. "It isn't enough that you're grieving such a terrible death. Within a matter of days you're hit with all of these other difficulties!"

And so I've been thinking about this text, and about how real patience requires fearlessness.

I'm not sure where I first encountered this song, but we heard it this past January at a funeral mass for another young person, a high school freshman who had died very suddenly. My husband had coached her soccer team for five years, so he had watched her grow from an eight-year-old girl into a lovely young woman.

And now, I have several friends who are mothers of children who have died in the past two or three years. We are all working on patience and courage. Not because we want to, but because we have no choice.

And I play this one very frequently for myself, and send it to my friends.

Advent 2.5 - Handel Version

Advent 2.3 - Hope and Music

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."

Romans 15:13

On a dark (in more ways than one) winter day, I received a card from a friend. He had placed one word on the card. I suppose he thought that with my vast knowledge of Hebrew I would get it immediately, but I had to ask for help.

I put the card on the door to the room where I stayed a few nights a week at seminary. At that time, hope was not in my vocabulary in either language. But it was in my friend's, and it must have been in others', for I stayed put.

There are times when we need others to do the hoping for us. If you are reading this, then I am hoping for you. My own capacity for hope is erratic, but perhaps we all fill in the gaps for one another. If your gap is huge, that's ok. There are people who know that, and it seems that the Holy Spirit works through them to lift that heavy word up for you.

Advent 1.7 - Music

Advent 1.2 - The House of the Lord

"I was glad when they said to me, "Let us go to the house of the Lord."

~Psalm 122:1

It can be challenging at best, impossible at worst, to return to one's house of worship when times are dark.

The Psalmist is referring to Jerusalem, God's holy city, God's mountaintop city crowned by God's temple. We Christians tend to read ~ and sing ~ the same line in reference to our churches. Those for whom church is not a part of their lives ~ perhaps the same music and words apply to the Redwood Forest, or the Matterhorn? I can think of a place in Glacier National Park in which I have backpacked and camped that seems to me to be the house of the Lord:


In any case, for some of us these are precisely where we want to go in times of darkness, and for others, the memories associated with previous experience, or the cheerful presence glowing throughout, moves them out of reach, at least for a season of life.

Some of us, sometimes, need to find fresh alternatives.

From my present vantage point, I would say that we should not give up. I found, in the darkest times two Advent seasons ago, that there were churches other than my own, and places in this wide and beautiful world other than those well known to me, to which I could repair for something resembling sustenance. Churches more hushed than mine, congregations where no one knew me. Beaches and hilltops which I had never before approached.

And now I find that I can return to my own church, and to places in nature that have been important to our family. I find that, not having rushed or pushed myself, I am glad to do so.

How are you doing, with the places in which God was once most present to you?


Image: Josh Gerritsen photo here.

Palestrina

Dome - Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore

In spite of myself, I am finding small new gifts this season. Steering clear of the usual traditions which as the source of much joy in the past have become intolerable reminders of what we have lost, I bump into other things.

One of the benefits of my immersion into Ignatian spirituality has been the discovery of the music of Palestrina. I didn't know why it kept popping up in various Jesuit contexts, but I finally did a quick search today and learned that his life spanned much of the 16th century (Ignatius lived during the first half of that century) and that he was a major figure in the development of Catholic church music. During the 1560s he held an appointment at Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the five major basilicas of Rome; during the following decade, he lost his brother, two sons, and wife to the plague.

When we visited Rome in 2000, we stayed in the Maria Maggiore neighborhood and spent our evenings eating gelato in the piazza outside the church. These days, my shaky and tentative journey back to life includes connections to the prayer and music of the 16th century. I don't know why I'm so surprised.

From Palestrina's Missa Brevis:

Here.

Eyes As Flame

Among the many losses associated with this season has been the music that has so moved me for decades. I can't bear to hear it. I cannot bear much of anything associated with Christmas or its traditions ~ and music, of course, heightens all emotional response.

This carol, though ~ I can listen to it sparingly, and primarily for the second phrase in the second line. I cannot countenance the thought that Mary had an ounce of meekness in her, at least not as we know the word. But ~ if this event took place in any way remotely related to the narrative as it comes to us via Luke, then: yes, the angel Gabriel's eyes could have only been wild with fire. If this event and those that followed offer any hope at all to a people completely undone, a group in who I count myself this year, then the invitation could have been offered only by an angel whose eyes were ablaze with light.

Here.

And if you need them to listen along, the lyrics:

The angel Gabriel from Heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
“All hail,” said he, “thou lowly maiden Mary,
Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!“

For know a blessèd mother thou shalt be,
All generations laud and honor thee,
Thy Son shall be Emmanuel, by seers foretold,
Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!

Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head,
“To me be as it pleaseth God,” she said,
“My soul shall laud and magnify His holy Name.”
Most highly favored lady, Gloria!

Of her, Emmanuel, the Christ, was born
In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn,
And Christian folk throughout the world will ever say—
“Most highly favored lady,” Gloria!

Come Be With Me

Here.

Miserere Mei, Deus (Psalm 51)

Here.

These days, it's all about the music.

Give it the full ten minutes -- you are unlikely to regret the time.

(And I can't get this one to embed.)