Wednesday, December 2, 2020


 

Tuesday, December 1, 2020

For the Darkness of Waiting: Advent 2 resource for Emmanuel Church and friends

 Here is the full litany whose first two verses were quoted in This Week at Emmanuel Church's "Advent at Home." 
 
Read it slowly. Read it aloud. If you are observing Advent at home with one or more companions, read it responsively.


FOR THE DARKNESS OF WAITING

For the darkness of waiting
of not knowing what is to come
of staying ready and quiet and attentive,
we praise you O God:
 
for the darkness and the light
are both alike to you.

For the darkness of staying silent
for the terror of having nothing to say
and for the greater terror
of needing to say nothing,
we praise you O God:

for the darkness and the light
are both alike to you.

For the darkness of loving
in which it is safe to surrender
to let go of our self-protection
and to stop holding back our desire,
we praise you O God:

for the darkness and the light
are both alike to you.

For the darkness of choosing
when you give us the moment
to speak, and act, and change,
and we cannot know what we have set in motion,
but we still have to take the risk,
we praise you O God:

for the darkness and the light 
are both alike to you.

For the darkness of hoping
 in a world which longs for you,
for the wrestling and the labouring of all creation
for wholeness and justice and freedom
we praise you O God:

for the darkness and the light
are both alike to you.

                     Janet Morley
                    All Desires Known, expanded edition
                    (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 1992)
                    pp. 58-59
         

Sunday, November 29, 2020

First Sunday of Advent (Year B): meditations on the scriptures / sermon excerpts

 The Collect and Revised Common Lectionary readings for this First Sunday of Advent, Year B, are here.

These are two excerpts (beginning and end) from a sermon I preached on the first Sunday of Advent exactly six years ago (i.e. in the same cycle of readings, Year B) at Trinity Episcopal Church in Canton, Massachusetts, a racially mixed (African American and White, with a few West African members) parish, in the wake of the events in Ferguson, Missouri: the killing of Michael Brown, an unarmed, young Black man by a police officer and the announcement this week that the Grand Jury did not indict the officer, followed by outcries and demonstrations of protest in Ferguson and around the U.S.

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down
so that the mountains would quake at your presence
--as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil—
to make your name known to your adversaries,
so that the nations might tremble at your presence!   
[Isaiah 64:1-2]
                                                                                                     
Chaos and anguish.
Lament and longing.
Social unrest.
Scary weather.

This is what we hear in our readings
for the first Sunday of Advent.

Today is the beginning of the season of preparing
for Christmas,
the Nativity of Jesus,
who came to us as a child born in poverty,
and who at a very young age
became a migrant child,
carried by his parents to Egypt
so that he might be safe from the long reach
of violent tyranny.

And speaking of migration:
the part of the book of Isaiah we heard
is a book of exiles
returning home
bewildered, traumatized.
In the middle of finding their bearings.
In a harsh, disoriented time.
                                                                                                                    
In the image given to us by the Psalm,
we drink bowls of our own tears --
bowls of tears! ...

... Jan Richardson,
an artist, Methodist minister, and poet
says of today’s Gospel passage that it
“doesn’t so much beckon us across the threshold” of Advent
“as it throws open a door,
tosses a cup of cold water in our face to wake us,
and shoves us through.”

Not very cheery.

... There’s no getting around it.
This is a difficult and painful season for many of us.

Difficult for those of us who suffer from depression
or who are living with addiction.

Painful for those whose relationship with their families
is challenging
or conflicted
or non existent.

Difficult, even disastrous, for refugees from our own
Long Island Shelter in Boston,
hundreds of people
who now are doubly homeless
because of lack of timely repairs on the bridge to the island.

It is wrenchingly painful for the parents of Black and brown children,
especially Black and brown boys and young men,
who are full of fear every time their child leaves the house.

Is is discouraging and angering in the face of the lack of indictment in Ferguson
for an officer shooting and killing an unarmed young man.

It is discouraging for those law enforcement professionals
who do their jobs with care and honor
and a sense of responsibility.

It is frightening in a season of rising oceans and climate change.

It is enough to make us raise our voices in anguish and say to God,

GOD?

WHERE ARE YOU?

GET OVER HERE!

or

COME ON, JESUS!

SHOW UP!

So it was
for the people
from whom
and for whom 
the Gospel of Mark was written...



 [There followed several paragraphs about staying awake, reading the signs of the times,
mindfulness, vigilance, and faithfulness.]



... We cry, with the Psalmist,

Restore us, O God of hosts;
show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.


[Ps. 80:3,7]

This is not the ordinary light,
not that of electricity,
not even that of the moon and stars,
not that of the sun.

It is
a different light:
the radiant darkness of God
the Word that comes to us when the ordinary perceptions have gone.

This may well be why
we have this earth- and heavens-shaking
entry into Advent:
to return us to a different light.


Our opening collect calls us to “cast away the works of darkness.”
I want to offer us an alternative, which is to cease equating darkness with what is evil
and rather, to embrace the dark. To see the dark as the place where God is with us.

A radiant darkness.

So let us pray, in words given to us by Janet Morley,

God our deliverer,
whose approaching birth
still shakes the foundations of our world:
ay we so wait for your coming
with eagerness and hope
that we embrace without terror
the labour pangs of the new age,
through Jesus Christ, Amen
.[1]



[1]  Janet Morley, Collect for Advent Sunday, in All Desires Known: Inclusive Prayers for Worship and Meditation, expanded edition (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 1992), 4.

Tuesday, November 24, 2020

Creator of the stars of night: Advent 1 resource for Emmanuel Church and friends

A little more about the chant linked in "This Week at Emmanuel Church." (Note: underlined words or phrases are hyperlinks: click and the linked web page will open in a separate window.)

First, an invitation to spiritual practice:

Listen to the chant this evening or even every evening this week. Repetition is good and can steady you after a less than steady day.
 
Some history:
 
Many of you may already be familiar with this chant.  Some churches sing it as a hymn in English as "Creator of the Stars of Night," with words by 19th century lyricist John Mason Neale. It is also known by its original Latin titles, "Conditor Alme Siderum" and "Creator Alme Siderum."
An anonymous text traditionally used at Vespers (evening prayer) during Advent, "Conditor Alme Siderum" was revised in the 17th century under Pope Urban and became "Creator Alme Siderum" with a different set of lyrics. In recent years churches and choirs --those who use the Latin, anyway-- have returned to the original "Conditor" version. Many English translations exist.
Here is a Gregorian chant version in Latin sung by alternating men's and women's voices.  (For some reason, the "Creator" version is used.)
Meanings:
 
This Advent hymn of chanted praise spans all of salvation history, from creation to the end of time.
Conditor alme siderum,
aeterna lux credentium,
Christe, redemptor omnium,
exaudi preces supplicum.

Nourishing author* of the stars,
eternal light of those who believe,
Christ, redeemer of all
answer the prayers of those who beseech you.
The latin word conditor has many meanings: it means author, composer, creater, builder, founder, and preserver. So all those connotations are there when we sing "conditor alme siderum." Alme is the same word as alma in "alma mater."

The above translation from the Latin is mine and is obviously not in verse. It is a more             literal translation than the formal poetic translations like John Mason Neale's (from the Episcopal Hymnal 1982):

Creator of the stars of night,
Thy people’s everlasting light;
Jesu, Redeemer, save us all,
And hear thy servants when they call.
 
Here's a picture for you to contemplate. More words and translation follow below.

Sagittarius Dwarf Galaxy, NASA photo via HubbleSite.org

 

Later, the hymn expresses fear, even dread, but also the hope and assurance of protection.

Te, Sancte, fide quaesumus,
venture iudex saeculi,
conserva nos in tempore
hostis a telo perfidi.

Holy One, in faith we beg You,
You the judge of the world about to come,
guard us in this present era
from the weapon of the treacherous enemy.

                    (My translation again, with a little help from an existing one.)

 
More spiritual practice:
 
But you can just listen to the Latin. Hum along, or let the music carry you.

 

Monday, March 2, 2015

Forty Days of Tenderness

The short essay below was published online yesterday (Sunday, March 1) as part of the Intent series of daily Lenten meditations. (Copyright © 2015 LEM).

Intent is a joint project of the Lutheran Episcopal Ministry (LEM) at MIT, Episcopal BU (the Episcopal Chaplaincy at Boston University), the Lutheran Episcopal Campus Ministry at Northeastern University and the Episcopal Chaplaincy at Boston College, The Crossing, St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church in Cambridge, and Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Boston.
Note: these congregations exploring together the possibility of becoming a mission hub or mission cluster with a focus on creating affordable housing opportunities in the form of intentional communities --hence the reference in the essay below.
You can sign up for Intent (it's free) here. Note that the daily meditations, which you can receive via e-mail, include not only written ones but visual and musical ones as well.

Dawn, Second Sunday in Lent
(c) Jane Redmont 2015

Forty Days of Tenderness

Two or three decades ago, my beloved mentor, Krister Stendahl, preached an Ash Wednesday sermon I will never forget. The cry of Ash Wednesday and Lent, he reminded us, is “Return to the Lord your God!” Return, he added, to God who is tender and merciful. Lent, he continued, is a time to remember the tenderness of God and therefore (here’s where he got me) to learn anew to be tender with ourselves.

Lent is the church’s annual retreat. It is a time of truth-seeking and truth-telling, of re-attuning our lives to live in justice and mercy, of renewal in prayer and practice. For many of us, this may involve additional time in solitude. But the self-examination of Lent is not for reflection on our self alone. It is not simply about “Jesus and me.” We are on this 40-day retreat together.

So we return to the unending tenderness of the Holy One of Blessing. We let this tenderness touch us and cradle us. We let it live with and within us. And we learn—again or for the first time—to live together, with our households and congregations, with the stranger on the street, with this new mission cluster, with our sisters and brothers who need housing, with those we love and those who are hard to love.


This takes time and care. It may feel slow and require some inner untangling and delicate steps in our community life. Lent is difficult. But it need not be harsh. How will we live these forty days of tenderness?


Jane Redmont is a theologian, spiritual director, and pastoral worker and is the author of two books including When in Doubt, Sing: Prayer in Daily Life.