Ashes

 

First Testament Reading from the prophet Joel:  “Yet even now, says the Holy One, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.  Return to the Lord, Your God, who is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”  (Joel 2:12-13)

 

Tomorrow we enter the season of the Christian calendar known as Lent.  It is a time of turning around and returning to God.  Through centuries of practice we have fashioned and accumulated traditions, many of them rich with meaning.  On Ash Wednesday we “don the ashes of our sinfulness” … or of “our humanity.”  During my affiliation with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) I have found myself in the company of others who are as uncomfortable as I with proclaiming “our sinfulness”… certainly with trotting our confession out for the whole world to see.  I resist the notion that we humans are bad and only God is good or divine.  Many of us prefer to focus on the positive, and err on the side of recognizing the Spirit of God present in every child of God.  Whatever the reason, our spirits squirm when called to accountability for “our sinfulness.”  The practice of wearing a cross of ashes on our foreheads pushes the envelope, doesn’t it?  Yet the practice has potential for deep meaning.

The ashes we use for Ash Wednesday are created by burning some of the palm branches from the previous year’s Palm Sunday celebration, a reminder of how thin the veil is between our embrace of Jesus as Lord and our violence against the Spirit of Christ in how we live together and treat one another.

Humor me a bit and explore a deeper examination of this practice and its potential application to our lives in the spring of 2013.  We need to begin at that juxtaposition of our praise of Christ and our violence against Christ.  Where can you see that kind of inconsistency in the world around you? 

Public praise of Christ as Lord is abundant in the Midwest, the place of my upbringing to which I returned 7 months ago.  On a road trip to visit my daughter, Stacey, and family last weekend a big, imposing transport truck passed me sporting the proclamation, “Jesus is Lord.”  Along US highways are billboards proclaiming “Jesus Saves.”  Near Route 66 (Interstate 40 Highway), at Groom,Texas stands a 190-foot tall cross, the second largest in the Western Hemisphere.  Why do we display the cross as though this instrument of heinous death is something to be proud of?  It is a symbol of terror and shame. On the side of a church building in Tulsa are three murals with the words, “Jesus changed our lives.”  If (Lord) Jesus is such an all-fired big deal in our lives, why are we still crucifying him?   Why do we still allow poverty to misshape the hope and future of generations of our children… and then blame them and lock them up, separating ourselves from them, when they learn to steal in order to eat?  Why do we demonize shooters whose outrage brings death and destruction while ignoring our own responsibility as a society?  Why are we shocked that young people become bullies when bullying is the way of winning in the corporate world, in law, among political leaders, even in church?  Essentially ALL of the heroes, living or virtual, in our children’s lives demonstrate that bullying is how you win, and winning is everything.  Why do we leave so many of our children abandoned and alone, and then put guns in their hands and act surprised when they hurt themselves or someone else?  If Jesus is Lord, truly Lord, then what that congregation painted on their church building would be true of all of us:  our lives would be changed. 

 “Rend your hearts and not your clothing.”  In Joel’s day devout people practiced tearing their clothing and poured ashes on their own heads as a public sign of their remorse for doing wrong.  Such an act would earn them approval from others who would understand it to mean that since they were sorry, they intended to change.  Joel says “Forget about tearing your clothes for others to see.  Instead, tear open your heart, that secret inner part of you, so it can be healed.”  This Lenten season, make the change where it counts, in private, at the core of your being.

As you were reading you may have thought of other ways we claim that we love Jesus while living like we don’t know who he is.  Make a few notes on paper.  Find a place where it is safe to burn that paper, and when it has been reduced to ash, pick it up with the tip of your forefinger and standing before a mirror, make a cross on your forehead with the ashes.  Better yet, find a house of worship tomorrow, stop in and there, in the midst of a gathered community, a small society, don the ashes of your sinfulness and, deep in the stillness of your torn heart, articulate how it is you will begin turning around.  But don’t do it for show.  Don’t wear the ashes unless you dare to try turning and returning to God.

I hear Joel saying that God is gracious and merciful, and waiting for us to turn around and return, without threat of punishment.  There’s nothing magical about this – not even very mysterious.  It is a simple matter of cause and effect.  Your parents probably taught you about consequences when you were growing up.  The crises of our age are not that different from the crises of Joel’s age, and they are brought upon us by our own behaviors, our own choices – individually and as societies.  If we could just bring ourselves to turn around and go another way, back to God, the crises would naturally fade.  The healing we long for would come.  Grace is there already, waiting for us.  Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet.  Amen.

 

The People's Prayer

Creating God, still Center of the world you have made, we come to you in this season of turning and returning.  We confess we do not know how to seek you with our whole hearts, but we know you are our source and our destiny.  In the midst of crazy-busy life, we turn toward you.  Thank you for receiving us.  Seeking you in secret, may we then honor you among humanity, through Jesus Christ, our way homeward to you.  Amen.

The Longest Night (order of service)

“The Longest Night”

                                                      a service of worship

The “Longest Night” worship service draws its name from the Winter Solstice on December 21, the longest night of the year.  Tonight we meet in a place of sanctuary to honor the sorrows that temper our holidays.  May this be a time of peace and comfort for you.

A TIME FOR PREPARATION

 

WORDS FOR SILENT MEDITATION                                 Psalm 28:1-2

 

To you, O Lord, I call;

my rock, do not refuse to hear me,

for if you are silent to me,

I shall be like those who go down to the Pit.

Hear the voice of my supplication,

as I cry to you for help,

as I lift up my hands

toward your most holy sanctuary.

MUSIC FOR MEDITATION

 (Feel free to use any name for God that is comfortable for you.)

WE APPROACH GOD

CALL TO WORSHIP                                             

 

LEADER:   I am at an impasse, and you, O God, are the one who has brought me here.

ALL:           Here in this darkness, I cannot find you.  Will my eyes adjust to this darkness?  Has anyone ever found you there?  Did they love what they saw?  Did they see love?  And are there songs for singing when the light has gone dim?  Or in the dark, is it best to wait in silence?

 

LEADER:  Couldn’t you, O God, come and sit with me?  O God of my heart, peel back the night and let starlight pour out on my upturned face.

OPENING PRAYER

          O living God, you dwell in clouds and thick darkness.  We lift our eyes to the night sky and sense depth and fullness beyond our grasp.  In the beginning there was a dark void and from it you drew the light.  It was night when you led the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt.  When Jesus was born, a star shone in the black heavens.  A dark-skinned man carried his cross up the hill.  Christ made his pure sacrifice of love in the midday darkness.  Rain falls from black clouds.  Babies grow in uterine shadows.  Prophets speak in ebony voices.  All of these treasures of darkness – help us receive them as riches from you.  Amen.

Hymn #333 Joyful is the Dark (vs. 1, 2, 3, 5)

 

CONTEMPLATING DARKNESS AND LIGHT

 FIRST LIGHT:  Presence

Lament                                                                 from Psalm 55     

          Give ear to my prayer, O God; do not hide yourself from my supplication.  Attend to me, and answer me; I am troubled…. My heart is in anguish within me, the terrors of death have fallen upon me.  Fear and trembling come upon me, and horror overwhelms me.  And I say, “O that I had wings like a dove!  I would fly away and be at rest; truly, I would flee far away; I would lodge in the wilderness; I would hurry to find a shelter for myself from the raging wind and tempest.

          It is not enemies who taunt me – I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me - I could hide from them.  But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend, with whom I kept pleasant company; we walked in the house of God together.  (pause)

          But I call upon God, and God will save me.  Evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and God will hear my voice.                                                          

Reflection

          God saw that the light was good.  Sometimes it seems that our lives are filled with only darkness.  Our days stretch before us as a void that has no boundaries.  We can only remember our hurts and our loss, and the worst part is the loneliness and isolation we experience – especially from people we once trusted.

Assurance                                                                   Genesis 1:1-5

          In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.  Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.  And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.  God called the light Day, and the darkness God called Night.  And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Response

          And so we light this candle to represent God’s creating presence, with us since the beginning of time.  We are not alone.  When solutions are impossible to find, there is One beside us, creating still.  We are never alone in the darkness of our pain and despair, for God’s light is there waiting patiently to break into that darkness. 

( light one candle) 

Leader:        The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:   have seen a great light.

SECOND LIGHT:  Comfort         

Lament                                                                 from Psalm 42

          As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When shall I come and behold the face of God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, “Where is your God?”

          These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I went with the crowd, and led them in the procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.  Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?  Hope in God, for I shall again praise this One, my help and my God.

 

Reflection

          All around us are the sights and sounds of Christmas: the laughter of parties, the songs of carolers, the music playing in every store.  But deep within us we carry our pain; our grief walks with us every step we take; loneliness is a shawl we drape over our shoulders on empty nights.  We try to put on happiness, but it doesn’t fit.  So, in this season when every night stretches into eternity, we come bringing our gifts – not gold, frankincense and myrrh, but grief, bitterness and loss.

Assurance                                                            Matthew 11:28-30

          Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Response

          As we light the candle of comfort may we see before us the assurance of God’s love that will not leave us, no matter how dark the night.

( light one candle)

 

Leader:                  The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:             have seen a great light.

SOLO         “In the Bleak Midwinter” – Rossetti           

THIRD LIGHT:     Promise

Lament:                                                                                   Psalm 23

          The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.  He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.

          Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff – they comfort me.

          You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

 

Reflection:

          Sometimes in the midst of the preparation, joy, and celebration of this season, we find it hard to sustain our enthusiasm.  The loss, the hurt, the pain that is so very real to us in this season overwhelms us.  We may find ourselves sinking into the darkness of our past, our sorrows, our losses and our memories.  We hear the words of God’s love; we may even be aware of God’s presence in our wandering, but the darkness of the moment wipes our confidence away.

                                 

Assurance:                                                                     Isaiah 60:1-3                

 

       Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and God’s glory will appear over you.  Nations shall come to your light, and rulers to the brightness of your dawn.

 

Response:

          The candle of promise echoes the words of the prophet Isaiah that herald the light of hope and renewal.  It is a sign that within each of us is the power to banish darkness.  And so we hear, one more time, the cry of Isaiah telling us to stand up and stand tall.  The coming of the Christ into our homes and hearts will shine within us.

(light one candle)

Leader:                  The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:             have seen a great light.

HYMN                 “Comfort, Comfort You My People”         (v. 1)             #122

FOURTH LIGHT:           Fulfillment                                       

Lament                                                                           from Psalm 13

          How long Elusive One?  Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?  How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

          Consider and answer me, O my God!  Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

          But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.  I will sing to God who has dealt bountifully with me.                   

Reflection

          Mary, the mother of Jesus, knew what it was like to be afraid.  Mary knew the wonder of God’s presence.  And so Mary sang a song of praise to her God, even though the world around her was a frightening place, without assurance of enough to eat or a place to house the child that soon would be born to her.  Mary’s is a song filled with hope, a song expressing her trust in God and the knowledge that the child she was to bear would banish the darkness of this uncertain world.

Assurance                                                                   Luke 1:46-53

          Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of this servant.  Surely from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is the name of God who has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly, filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Response

          As we celebrate Christmas this year may we share Mary’s understanding that God’s promise is fulfilled in us.  The sorrow and hurts of our life will pass.  There will be healing, and like Mary we can discover and sing our own hymn of praise.  As we light Mary’s Candle, the light of fulfillment and completion, let us remember that this light can never be extinguished when we carry it in our hearts. 

( light one candle)

Voice II:      The people who walked in darkness

PEOPLE:   have seen a great light.

SOLO         “Mary Did You Know?”         -- Lowry and Greene   

Pastoral Prayer

          Holy God of Advent, you became weak so we would find strength in moments of heartbreak; you left the safety of heaven to wnder the wilderness of the world, holding our hands when we feel hopeless; you set aside your glory to hold our pain so we might be healed, even when there seems to be no hope; you became one of us, so we would never be alone in any moment.

          So come now, Child of Bethlehem, to strengthen us in these days.  May we feel your presence in a way we have never known, not just as one born in a stable long ago and far away, but as the One born in our hearts.

          You have promised to go before us into our brokenness, into hospital rooms, into empty houses, into graveyards, into our future held by God, and we sense you here, even now, to hold and comfort and heal us, to live in us, now and for ever.  Amen.

THE PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE

Voice 1:

          Sacred Presence, we have come from different backgrounds, from different families, from different faith traditions.  But we have all lived in the land of shame and wandered the far country of despair.  We have stood on the side of every room we have gone into, hoping against hope that someone would ask us to dance but finding that the wall is our only friend.

Voice 2:

          In a season when so many people don’t have enough hours in a day to get their lists checked off, their cards mailed, their presents wrapped, we have all the time in the world: to remember the loss that has stolen the joy of the season; to grieve over a job, a dream, a loved one; to sit in the shadows of our homes, too weary to turn on the lights; to wander the streets lit by lights on all the houses, but not by the Light of the world.

Voice 3:

          Our fear of the future, our remembrance of the past, our pain that is difficult to bear and harder to release, our emptiness which cannot be filled with platitudes, our hands which cannot hold the ones we wish to embrace: all make this a season of long nights.

All:

          Be with us in our loneliness, in our longing, in our loss, in our living.  Amen.

INVITATION TO LIGHT INDIVIDUAL CANDLES

          During this quiet time, you are invited to light a candle and place it in the sand, letting it represent a hurt you wish to release, or a prayer you wish to leave in silence.  If you prefer to write your prayer or a statement of your sorrow, you may use the note cards provided and take your writing with you, or leave it at the altar.  The pastor will remember you in prayer.

BENEDICTION

          In your silence, may the Word dwell in your heart. 

          In your brokenness, may the Bread of Life fill you and mend you.

          In your pain, may the One who breathed life into you at your birth, and loved you even then, ease your spirit.  Amen.

-----------------

Resources

Chalice Hymnal, Merrick, ed.  St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1995.

 “In the Bleak Midwinter,” Christina Rossetti, 1872.

“Joyful Is the Dark,” Brian Wren, 1989, Hope Publishing Co., music by Gayle Schoepf, 1994, Chalice Press.

 “Mary, Did You Know?” Mark Lowry and Buddy Greene, Hal Leonard Publishing Co.

“The Longest Night,” Candles and Conifers, Wild Goose Publications: Glasgow, 2005, p. 223.

 MORE PSALMS FOR SILENT REFLECTION

  from Psalm 13

          How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?  How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?  How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? 

          Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!  Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death, and my enemy will say, ‘I have prevailed’; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.

          But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.  I will sing to the Lord, because God has dealt bountifully with me.

 from Psalm 42

          As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When shall I come and behold the face of God?  My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘Where is your God?’

          These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.  Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?  Hope in God, for I shall again praise this One, my help and my God.

                                                                                                      
Psalm 23     

          The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.  He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. 

          Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff – they comfort me.

          You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

 

 

The Darkest Dark

 

 

Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.  For darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.  Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.                                                    ~Isaiah 60:1-3

 

 

For a kid who grows up on the farm there's a unique sense of time that evolves from everyday life--and it's different from time anywhere else in the world.  Workdays aren't defined by the clock, and hardly by the sun.  They're defined by the work that needs to be done. And the seasons roll on.

 

My favorite season is autumn.  Back in the Midwest, in late October the air changes.  It's cooler.  And usually by Halloween, you can see your breath suspended in the air as you laugh and talk with friends on the way home from school.  The maples and oaks paint the countryside with the most breathtaking crimsons and golds you ever saw.  And you can layer yourself with bright woolen plaids.  And everyone walks a little faster.

 

Life on the farm is all about minding the seasons and having patience.  It's about planting seed in the spring and waiting for the rain--and if too much or too little rain comes, sometimes planting again and waiting again.  Cultivating crops in the summer and waiting.  Standing by, knowing that the crops will tell us when it's time to harvest them.  And waiting through the fall rains till the fields are dry enough to get in.  Then sometimes having to wait till they're frozen, if the ground never dries.

 

Farming is about plowing the soil to turn it over, just before the first hard freeze.  And waiting.  All winter.  Waiting and knowing that in the deep, frozen darkness below the surface of that soil, the miracle of rest is happening. 

 

The season of our life on this planet is changing.  We no longer have the luxury of comparing our separated, segregated selves, gathering proof that we are right and true and better or best of all.  We can no longer afford to offer up the welfare of earth in exchange for quick profit.  In this season of our life, those with power must choose not to use it for dominance if we wish to survive.

 

What is the darkest dark you've ever seen?  For me the darkest dark in all the world is in the cellar.  At home when I was growing up the cellar was separate from the house.  It was igloo shaped, built of bricks, with stairs leading down from the outdoors to a cement floor.  It was covered with dirt and thick grass growing in that dirt.  On the outside the cellar made a wonderful hill for rolling down and for playing "king on the mountain".  But the really awesome part was on the inside.  IT WAS DARK.

 

I can remember Mother saying, "Take this pan, Linda, and go to the cellar and get five potatoes for dinner."  It took both hands to lift the cellar door, and I'd let it drop to the ground, on the other side of the hinges, with a bang.  It seemed to take an hour to walk down those steps.  I took them slowly so that my eyes could adjust to the dark as I went.  The goal was to be able to see in the dark by the time I got there, so I could identify where the goblins were, and get away from them.  (As I got older and more sophisticated, I convinced myself that I was just watching for crickets.)  The air in the cellar was always cold & I'd get a chill.

 

Squinting in the dark I'd find the potato crates and gasp in horror.  There in the secret dark an awful thing had happened.  Every eye of every potato had grown a ghostly tendril and they were all reaching for me like hungry fingers.  Another chill.  This time not from the cold.  Then I'd get over my fright and pick up the five biggest ones by their fingers and run up the stairs to safety.

 

Years later I was amazed to hear my daughters describe the source of their fears.  My ominous potato sprouts paled to their deep pessimism grounded in our ability to destroy ourselves with nuclear weapons.  They and their friends believed they would not live to adulthood.  Others believed then, and do now, that our suicide will not be so abrupt, but rather that we will continue to kill ourselves slowly by destroying the planet we so glibly call home.

 

I remember what a refuge the cellar was at other times.  Still creepy, but a refuge.  Mother would say, "come on, kids.  We need to go to the cellar."  And we knew not to question.  My grandparent's home had vanished in a tornado, and we grew up on stories of chickens found miles away, some still alive but without any feathers, and some of their feathers driven into fenceposts in the place where the chickens had been picked up.

 

My brother, Norman, and I would enter that deep dungeon of a cellar and sit side by side on the bench where the potato crates were, his feet dangling, only my toes resting on the floor because I was trying to touch as little of the dark, damp surface as possible.  On the shelf beside the canned goods, near the door, was an old Kerr canning jar, the kind with the galvanized metal lid with a white porcelain lining.  And inside that jar, where it was dry, were some wooden matches and the stump of a candle.

 

When the door was pulled shut it was as dark in that cellar as a tomb.  And it smelled like wet dirt and decaying potatoes.  And I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.  And I wouldn't have known Norman was there if he hadn't been chattering all the while, "Winda, what's gonna happen next?"

 

What is the darkest dark you've ever experienced?  Perhaps when you stood alone in the face of death.  Or when you struggled to breathe in a spiritual vacuum because someone you loved had died.  It may have been in that unbelievably long stretch of time when you were looking for a job.  Maybe it was a financial disaster that took you to the threshold of bankruptcy.  Or perhaps in divorce when you realized that there was no going back, and nothing to do but inch your way through the pain and the loneliness.  And no one could do it for you.  And no one could do it with you.  Remember the darkness when the question was throbbing and there seemed to be no answer and your own voice echoed back at you, "What's gonna happen next?"

 

As difficult and even frightening as the darkness may be, it's not entirely a bad thing.  In fact, the cellar was mysteriously pregnant with promise.  Something marvelous had been happening all winter long in that cellar, with the door closed and no light coming in.  Next year's potato crop was happening.  When the long, icy winter was finally over and the garden was thawed enough to work the ground, we would turn it over once again.  And everything that had been sleeping in that deep, frozen darkness began to awaken. 

 

Mid-March my parents would bring up the potato crates, now full of the most pitiful looking potatoes you ever saw... shriveled and wrinkled like old farmers.  You couldn't possibly peel one for eating.  And who would want to?  Every one of them was covered with ghostly white tendrils, now grown so long that the potatoes seemed to be holding onto each other for dear life; as if they knew what was about to happen.  Mother and Daddy would cut those potatoes up into as many pieces as there were sprouts, leaving enough of the meat of the potato to feed the new plant, and they would stick those ugly things in the ground… and cover them with newly awakened dirt… and wait.  Then, about the time the first peas were ready, the first potatoes joined them on our table.  What a feast!

 

In Dr. Stephen Kim's class, "Christian Identity and Mission in the Global Village", we've been struggling with how Christians can engage with people of all faiths in a society no longer defined by international boundaries, the languages we speak or the religions we practice, but by the planet we share.  It's a hard question.  We've been looking for a common ground where all faiths in a diverse world can meet.  I wonder if we'll ever find it.  Sometimes I think our common ground is to be found in the fact that we all teeter together on the brink of disaster.  In this season that we Christians call Advent, perhaps there is a hint of another promise. 

 

Finally respecting the power we have to destroy each other and therefore ourselves--aching from the torn places in our relationships between families, friends, nations--all of groaning humanity hovers in the deep, frozen darkness, waiting together in hope.  Perhaps this is the commonality we've been struggling to define--this hope.  Perhaps it is our hope that keeps us here, waiting in the dark, together.

 

I remember hearing the metal against the glass as the lid came off of that Kerr canning jar. So that meant Mother was there with us in the dark.  But where was Daddy?  Still out in the storm?  Then I heard the sputtering of the phosphorous on the match head as it struck the brick wall of the cellar.  I remember the unbelievable radiance of the blue-white flame that pierced our darkness as Mother lit the candle.  And how good it was to see Daddy standing there beside her in his overalls... safe.

 

It was only because of our profound and utter darkness that a simple candle was able to produce such brilliance.  And it was only because I couldn't see at all that what my eyes finally beheld by candlelight was so delicious.

 

We pray thee, God, for the coming of a light to dispel our darkness.  Amen.

 

 

© Rev. Linda Miller, December 1, 1999. 

Delivered in Claremont School of Theology Chapel