Progressive Christian Reflections by Chris Glaser: Mary

Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Go Toward the Dark

Ladybug season again at our place.

This one crawled along the book, the pen and then my glasses.

Spiritual gurus admonish us to “go toward the light,” and especially in this winter season of a pandemic, that seems preferable to wallowing in darkness. But a line in a poem entitled “Lux et Veritas” in J. Barrie Shepherd’s latest chapbook, A Poetic Pandemic Christmas Pudding, reminds me of the vitality of darkness.

Contrasting our light displays during this season with the humble lighting of Jesus’ stable cave that allowed “the clear radiance that streamed above, around, beyond that battered-blessed manger,” poet and pastor Shepherd recalls introducing his first granddaughter to “the black-velvet-spread celestial of The Milky Way” “one sparkling island night in Maine”:

Her sheer astonishment made clear that we must
claim our darkness too, if we would glimpse
the glory of the elemental light.

Sunday over Zoom, Ormewood Church had a glimpse of the glory that may come when we “claim our darkness too.” Preaching on Mary’s Magnificat, Rev. Jenelle Holmes shared a recent dark moment in her life and offered her own “Magnificat,” and she has graciously allowed me to share it with you:

My soul deepens and broadens the Lord’s presence and my spirit rejoices with God who saves me each and every day. God has looked with eyes of mercy on me, when some in the world have looked on me with disdain. God has seen the ways I am held back by others and has handed me support. People call me blessed because God has walked with me on hard roads of rejection, depression and anxiety and anger, and God has carried me through. God’s name is holy and God is a holy space for me. When I could have turned around and cursed God, I took God’s presence seriously and God has honored that with a strong arm of confidence and love.

Those who wish me harm through rejection or fear or ignorance, God has dealt with in the privacy of their hearts. Those who have sought to harm me by using their voices of privilege, even in the church and in my family, God has shouted over them that I am loved and that I am who I was created to be.

And as I look to my neighbors who are without homes, I have seen God’s people provide shelter. As I look to my neighbors who have lost their jobs, I have seen God’s people write checks. As I look to my neighbors who are lonely and isolated, I have seen God’s presence ignite ideas and rhythms of faith. As I look to my neighbors who have experienced one setback after another, I have seen God provide one day after another.

And the rich, the powerful, the ignorant: God will show them the emptiness of their greed. They will be hungry for the good work of God.

And as I think of how God helped ancient Israel escape Pharaoh, how God has helped the barren experience new life and the dead come back to life, and the marginalized be handed a voice, I remember God’s mercy forever, in every generation, even my own, even in 2020. My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices with God who saves me each and every day. –Rev. Jenelle Holmes

Having lived in a metaphoric dark closet during my childhood and youth as a gay kid, I knew where the light was—it was outside my protective, defensive, even necessary shell. The glory of God and my own glory lay beyond my captive, seductive defenses and others’ captive, destructive offenses. Remember Jung’s suggestion that religion is a kind of defense against God? My closet—my and others’ rigid conceptions of God—kept me from God’s glory.

My most recent “aha” about who God is, is that God is the glory at the climax of the prayer Jesus taught us: “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory.” That glory is unknowable but visible in the infinite wonders of the universe, in myriad forms of life, and in human compassion and imagination. This is the prophet Isaiah’s “light that shines in darkness.” It is the “shekinah” of Yahweh’s divine presence. It is the glory that brightened Moses’ face and lifted Mary’s soul, as well as our own souls through Immanuel, God-with-us.

I pray this glory for you as you approach this Christmas:

God bless you and keep you;

God make God’s face to shine upon you,

and be gracious to you;

God lift up God’s countenance upon you,

and give you peace. Numbers 6:24-26

Then we may attend to this summons in another of Barrie’s poems, “The Coming of the Light”: “Look deep into this gentle fire, and then go forth to bear it, far and tender, to wherever infants, cold and frightened, tremble in the dark with no bright star, no kings to greet.”

For your own copy of poet and pastor J. Barrie Shepherd’s holiday chapbook: A Poetic Pandemic Christmas Pudding, please send a check to J. Barrie Shepherd at 15 Piper Road – K325, Scarborough ME 04074. Copies will be signed and can be inscribed by request. Or order though his email: barrieshep@aol.com. $10 per copy plus $2 postage. Proceeds go to food pantries in his area of Maine.

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Wednesday, December 11, 2019

"Somebody's Gotta Be Mary!"

India, January 1983

Once upon a time, respectable members of a respectable church decided to perform a Christmas pageant, and congregants were vying for parts. The big competition was around the roles of the Magi, the Eastern religious scholars bearing gold and frankincense and myrrh. Many were taken with their absolutely fa-bu-lous costumes, reeking of wealth and privilege and prestige.

But there were also many who wanted to demonstrate their own humility by playing the poor shepherds watching their flocks by night, knowing that they’d get to see a sky full of angels singing of peace on earth, goodwill toward all, as well as visit the baby Jesus lying in a manger with a halo for a hanging playtoy.

Others wanted to be those high and mighty angels, who, in our contemporary, secular times seem to represent only themselves, cutely and cherubically and all-too-benignly making guest appearances on wrapping paper, greeting cards, and Christmas films, instead of being the fierce and frightful presence of God they are in the Bible—so terrible, they often had to say “fear not!”—awesomely calling individuals to radical action rather than offering sentimental appeasement.

For the manger scene itself, as you may have guessed, it was easy among the staid and high-end church members to cast the roles of the ox and of the ass and of the many docile sheep. Easy also to cast the unwelcoming innkeeper and King Herod frightened of losing power and the indifferent Caesar Augustus only interested in the bottom line, the church budget.

A few were at least willing to play one of the pageant’s two leading characters, Joseph, who at first wanted to put his pregnant betrothed away in a closet somewhere to avoid public disgrace. You will recall that Joseph had a change of heart after having his own vision of an angel, then choosing to serve as a kind of behind-the-scenes partner to the inevitably unfolding will of God, a ferocious will contrary to decency and order, a decency and order Joseph wanted to at least appear to uphold by his outward compliance.

But nobody wanted to play the role of Mary in the Christmas pageant. “Somebody’s gotta play Mary!” the stage manager Gabriel shouted out, sounding very much like the gravelly voice of Harvey Fierstein. “No Mary, no Jesus!” he cried bluntly.

You see, nobody respectable wanted to play Mary because of the shame of her unwed pregnancy. And absolutely no one wanted to go through the bloody and painful job of giving birth to a new thing.

Mary’s fidelity to God, her willingness to say, “Here I am the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word”—all of this counted for naught in the eyes of these good people. The Holy Spirit was knitting together in her womb the new thing for which the prophets hoped, yet, like all nativities of the Spirit, “the powers that be” trembled, including these dignified religious types. Mary’s birthing this child would be an unsettling and unclean act, embarrassing rather than admirable.

“Mary is not a good role model for our children,” someone said.

Stage manager Gabriel again implored the crowd, “C’mon! As Mary, you get to magnify and rejoice in the Lord and be called blessed by generations to come, though admittedly not this generation. You get to serve as God’s instrument to scatter the proud in their presumptuous imaginations, lifting the downtrodden even as the powerful are taken off their high horse. Your mission is to fill the hungry with good things, and to remind the privileged of their own poverty. This is a good thing. Really.”

Visiting the church for the first time, a timid and small young girl came forward, a recent immigrant with olive skin and dark brown eyes and thick black hair, and simply said, “Here am I.” Gabriel, exasperated by everyone else’s resistance, asked, “So—ya wanna be Mary?” And because his language was new to her, she simply quoted Mary’s line, “Let it be with me according to your word.”

And so the respectable church filled with respectable members was able to put on its pageant, reliving the Christmas story, but they did not live happily ever after. For the nature of all nativities of the Spirit humbles those with privilege and uplifts the underprivileged, shaming the proud and bringing mercy and justice to the oppressed.

But that can’t happen unless someone is willing to be Mary.

I posted this on December 7, 2016 and thought new blog followers might like to read it. Have a meaningful Advent and Christmas!

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Wednesday, December 4, 2019

Put Yourself in the Nativity Story

Hobbes, Calvin and Chris join the

Ormewood Park Presbyterian Church nativity scene, early 2000's.

Photo by Wade Jones.

In his autobiography, Confessions of a Parish Priest, novelist and sociologist Andrew Greeley writes that most Roman Catholics in the U.S. are not “propositional” Catholics who assent to a number of “propositions” or doctrines. For example, a majority of American Catholics do not agree with the Vatican’s teaching on sexual ethics, dismissing its teaching on contraception altogether and questioning its positions on other reproductive choices, premarital sex, and homosexuality.

Greeley concludes from his research that they are not drawn to their church by dogma, but by the story—the biblical narrative, particularly the narrative about Jesus. I think that’s true of Protestants as well. We wonder why many Christians only come to church around this time of Advent and Christmas, but I believe it’s because we love the story of the baby Jesus born to Mary and Joseph, cradled in a manger, endangered by Herod, visited by shepherds and kings.

In the words of Kathleen Norris, “Human beings, it seems to me, require myth as one of the basic necessities of life. Once we have our air and water and a bit of food, we turn to metaphor and myth-making.” To me, myth is not a story that is untrue, but a story that carries a deeper truth that draws us in. As a 5-year-old once said, a myth is a story that is true on the inside. (Gertrud Mueller Nelson tells this in Here All Dwell Free.) Within the words is a Word.

In Care of the Soul, Thomas Moore suggests that imagination is one of the most underutilized and undervalued spiritual gifts. So I invite you to put yourself in the story of Jesus’ nativity. Jesus is not simply born to Mary. He is born to us, if only we use our imagination!

Are you King Herod, fearful of losing power or privilege as God is doing a “new thing”? Or an Eastern sage enduring academic malaise, seeking a star of inspiration? A shepherd routinely going about your business when the skies seem to open up? A prophet crying in the wilderness?

Are you a religious leader holding on to tradition at all costs? An empire’s bureaucrat missing the unfolding human drama? Or one whose life is too full to welcome a homeless, unwed mother-to-be? Joseph, serving quietly on the periphery of sacred drama? Mary, with an unsought calling to do the dirty and painful and lonely work of birthing a new movement? Or a vulnerable child born into a vicious and violent world?

Truth is, over a lifetime, we may play all of these roles in this story. Good to remember, at this time of year, that we hinder or help, blink or behold this nativity of God’s Word to us.

I posted this on December 11, 2011, and thought new blog followers might like to read it. Have a meaningful Advent and Christmas!

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Wednesday, June 19, 2019

A Prayer Quartet for Pride

In celebration of the 50^th anniversary of the Stonewall uprising

Mary,

you conceived more than a child.

You conceived a vision of God’s intentions:

scattering the proud,

putting down the mighty,

exalting those of low degree,

feeding the hungry.

Your vision led you through

the pain of giving it birth,

the anguish and joy of assisting its growth.

It led you to the cross,

and, finally, to an empty tomb.

Your vision has conceived more births,

more anguish and joy in growth,

more crosses,

and yet more empty tombs.

Your vision has

scattered the self-righteous,

brought down those who would judge,

exalted the marginalized,

and nourished us with hope.

As we conceive your vision in our own communities,

may we remember those who have gone before us in the dream,

and may we also be blessed with kin who greet us with joy,

and prophetic voices who offer thanks to God.

Our soul magnifies our God,

our spirit rejoices in God our deliverer,

for God has regarded our oppression.

Generations to come will call us blessed,

for God has done great things for us,

and holy is God’s name.

Holy Trinity,

divine and blessed relationship,

bless the ecstasy of these lovers

as their faces kiss,

as their bodies touch,

as in their lovemaking

they overcome the fear and the hatred

and the garbage heaped upon them

by the church and the culture.

Bless their adoration of each other

as they worship the holy imprint

of your divine beauty

and enjoy the communion

of a loving covenant.

May such sacrament

bring them ever closer to you,

Lover of us all.

As you called the paralytic to walk,

lift us from the paralysis of low self-esteem

so we may walk into your commonwealth

with the power you have given us:

a power we do not need to prove

by lording it over others,

a power we do not have to sacrifice

to love you or others.

Resurrect us, God; call us to rise and carry our pallets,

and let religious and political leaders and friends alike

stand amazed at our healing,

and with those of long ago who witnessed the paralytic walk,

may they witness in us your power and glory:

a power which seeks not to dominate but to serve,

a glory which seeks not itself but others.

Then may they also glorify you, saying,

“We never saw anything like this.”

From lack of trust and faith

in ourselves as individuals

and ourselves as community,

O God, deliver us.

From lack of commitment

to lover, to friends,

to our faith, to our community,

deliver us.

From denial of our integrity

as spiritual-sexual creations,

deliver us.

From rejection of others

because of their body-state,

whether gender, race, age,

sexual orientation,

appearance, or disability,

O God, deliver us.

Free us to live your commonwealth, O God.

Clarify our vision,

purify our motives,

renew our hope.

In the name of you who create us,

of the Christ who calls us,

of the Spirit who empowers us,

we pray, O God. Amen.

The foregoing prayers are excerpted from prayers for days 17, 24, 47, and 59 in my 1991 book, Coming Out to God: Prayers for Lesbians and Gay Men, Their Families and Friends. The graphic combining the Celtic cross with the rainbow flag was devised at my suggestion by cover designer Kathy York for my 2001 book, Reformation of the Heart: Seasonal Meditations by a Gay Christian.

See also: Three Meditations for Pride

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Wednesday, June 27, 2018

The Lost Gospel of the Woman at the Well

This is the lost Gospel of Marah, the woman at the well to whom Jesus spoke while travelling through Samaria, as described in the Gospel of John, chapter four. It was recently discovered wedged behind a stone of a well in Samaria. This is the Contemporary American Version translation. Text allusion references provided in brackets.

Have you ever met a stranger who seemed to know you inside and out, but without judgment or romance? One who looked straight into your eyes and saw every wound and hope and fear and love? One who valued you, your questions, your opinions, your relationship with all things spiritual?

That was how I first encountered Jesus, the Jewish prophet avoiding the judgmental Pharisees of Judea en route to his home province of Galilee, who essentially was “slumming” it by crossing Samaria. Prophets are rare in this place. Most Jews do not hold Samaritans in high regard and will have nothing to do with us. They view us as foreigners, mongrels, half-breeds, not fully Jewish, and they believe we worship in the wrong way and in the wrong place.

Too, I am a woman, and holy men such as rabbis do not speak to women lest they be defiled by our perceived impurity, which would prevent them from going into the Temple of Jerusalem, for the same reasons the priest and Levite, on their way to the temple, passed by the man who had been mugged along the road, who was then helped by the Good Samaritan who had no such qualms. Yes, that parable of Jesus spread far and wide among us Samaritans. Here finally was a prophet who recognized our worth, and I too had heard this story.

Jesus also had a reputation of including women in his ministry, which scandalized both Jewish and Samaritan men. In fact, Jesus’ disciples were quite flustered when they found us talking. “What is he doing?” “What will people think?” “Does he even know this woman?”

Jesus knew without me telling him that I had had five husbands—two abandoned me for younger women, three were very old and died, and the man who now supported me refused to marry me. Tough times for women economically dependent on men, but Jesus was primarily concerned with the poor anyway. Somehow he knew my situation and I believe that’s why he had compassion on me, engaging me in a very real conversation about the very nature of things, and eventually revealing his calling from God.

The well where we met was already a holy place for me. I used to go there with my grandmother, who would tell me how our revered ancestor Jacob dug this well not only for his family, but for his descendants—all of us. My grandmother taught me that drawing from this well was drawing from our past, our heritage, our ancient story. She taught me that the purest water was to be found in wells dug over underground streams—she said such water was called “living water” because it flowed freely beneath the ground.

It was also at that well that my grandmother told me why she named me Marah, after the bitter water the Hebrews complained about shortly after crossing the Red Sea. Our ancestors were always kvetching with Moses in the wilderness, despite his having led them out of slavery in Egypt. Marah, you see, means “bitter.” Legend says that Moses tossed a piece of wood into the water, and miraculously, the water turned sweet [Exodus 15:22-25]. My grandmother named me Marah to remind herself, she said, that though her daughter died in childbirth, common among women of the time, her bitter grief was made sweet by my birth.

My grandmother’s name, incidentally, was Rachel, named after the love of Jacob’s life, and she told me many, many stories at our village well about those who go before us, those who precede us in life’s caravan, including one other story about the Israelites’ thirst being assuaged when God told Moses to go pound a rock, and up rose a spring in the desert [Exodus 17:1-7].

To me, her stories were my springs in our desert, pounded from the rock of our experience as a people, and after her passing, I passed them on to my only child to survive infancy and childhood, a girl named Mary, who was taken from me when she was only thirteen, by whom or for what purpose I may never know. The choice of my name, Marah, was perhaps prophetic.

This is why I liked to go to the well alone, in the middle of the day, not in the morning with the other women. I liked being alone at the well, thinking of my grandmother and her stories about our ancestors, thinking of my lost daughter and wondering if I would ever see her again. And that’s when Jesus spoke to me, asking me for a drink of water.

I was surprised, but happy to comply, and in return he told me about spiritual things, how people would worship God in spirit and in truth, rather than in the Temple of Jerusalem or upon our holy Mount Gerizim, where we Samaritans once had a temple. I gave him a drink of water, and he gave me living water, a Spirit that flowed out of him, into me, and on to all those I gathered from my town, asking them to verify that he might be our long awaited Messiah. They came to meet him at the well, and, our priest handed him a scroll from Isaiah, and Jesus read [from Chapter 55]:

Ho, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and you that have no money,

come, buy and eat!

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Why do you spend your money

for that which is not bread,

and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

Incline your ear, and come to me;

Listen so that you may live.

Says the Lord:

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,

and do not return there until they have watered the earth,

making it bring forth and sprout,

giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

so shall my Word be that goes out from my mouth;

it shall not return to me empty,

but will accomplish that which I purpose.

And Jesus rolled up the scroll, and gave it back to our priest, saying, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth [Luke 4:20-22].

Then he began to teach us, saying:

Blessed are those who thirst, for they shall be satisfied. [Luke 6:21]

Blessed are those who thirst for righteousness, for their thirst shall be quenched. [Matthew 5:6]

Blessed are those led beside still waters, restoring their souls, for they shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. [Psalm 23]

Blessed are those who cast their bread on the waters, for it shall be returned a hundredfold. [Ecclesiastes 11:1 and Luke 18:30]

Blessed are those baptized with water and Spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. [John 3:5] Let no one forbid the waters of baptism to those baptized with the Spirit. [Acts 10:47]

Blessed are those who give one of my little ones a cup of water, they shall not be without their reward. [Matthew 10:42]

Blessed are those who will drink of the water that I shall give them, for they shall never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life [John 4:14]. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life [Revelation 21:6]. Let everyone who hears say, ‘Come.’ Let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift” [Revelation 22:17].

Then, passing my jar of well water around for all to drink from it, Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” [Luke 22:19] And after all had partaken, Jesus said, “Set me as a seal upon your heart, for my love is strong as death, my passion fierce as the grave—many waters cannot quench my love, neither can floods drown it.” [Song of Solomon 8:6-7]

After two days in the presence of Jesus, my fellow Samaritans told me, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

I begged to follow Jesus anywhere, but he refused, saying, “Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what grace you have witnessed.” [Mark 5:19] And so I remained, and on the first day of each week, the day he came to us, we gather around the well of our spiritual ancestors and remind ourselves and others of all that he said and did among us, passing the jar of water around, drinking all from it, remembering his promise of living water.

Then we go out from the well, each with a jar of water, and look for those who are thirsty, and give them to drink in his name. Among those who have received this sacrament at our hands have been Philip, who used the water to baptize us when he came here to preach, and Peter and John, when they came to lay hands on us to receive the Holy Spirit. [Acts 8]

My daughter Mary was never returned to me; but I take comfort that Jesus’ mother was also named Mary, a name which is said to mean “child we wished for” and “visionary.”

May all who read this gospel be refreshed in Jesus’ name. Amen.

I gave this as a sermon for Ormewood Park Presbyterian Church on the Third Sunday of Lent, March 23, 2014, using these texts: Exodus 15:22-25, 17:1-7 and John 4:1-30, 39-42. Copies of this Gospel were distributed. Afterward I passed through the congregation with cups of water that had been blessed.

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Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Mary Doesn't Do It Alone--Neither Do We!

Light shines in darkness...

In these uncertain times, we may feel overwhelmed by the needs of the world and the deficits of our leaders. The biblical story of Mary metaphorically tells us what to look for from God, “however we understand” our Higher Power.

For additional posts for the Christmas season, click on this link or copy and paste in your browser and scroll down: http://chrisglaser.blogspot.com/search?q=Christmas

How did God help Mary—the Mary we seek to emulate in her willingness to bring something new into the world?

God first sent an angel, a messenger from God who told her not to be afraid, explaining what was happening, how God was working out a purpose in her life, giving her vision of her sacred worth, as well as calling her out as an instrument of God’s in-breaking kingdom, or commonwealth.

God sent her a kinswoman, Elizabeth, visited by the same angel and experiencing the same miracle of giving birth to a new order, pregnant with the forerunner John the Baptist. She affirmed Mary, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”

God gave Mary a religious tradition in which nativities of the Spirit were recognized and valued: Sarah with Isaac, Hannah with Samuel. Mary knows her tradition well because she is able to sing a song of praise to God that parallels Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel.

God gave Mary a theology that included the feminine: Sophia, Wisdom, without whom creation wasn’t possible.

God provided Mary Joseph. In a culture that did not permit women to earn income, his resources would be needed to sustain and protect the young family. Joseph could also serve as cover for an unwed pregnant girl for whom tradition might have required stoning.

God gave Mary shepherds, common folk, as well as Magi, foreign religious leaders, to assure her that what was being born was of great significance to people at every level of society, in every part of the world, in every faith tradition.

God gave Mary an indifferent leader, Caesar Augustus, as well as a threatened, insecure leader, Herod, to soberly realize that what she was doing might not be recognized or welcomed as God’s inevitable work. Such opposition would give her an inkling of the revolutionary nature of God’s working.

God gave Mary the prophet Simeon and the prophet Anna who, in the temple, bore witness to her child’s sacred worth and divine calling.

And God gave Mary the Holy Spirit, empowering her to conceive, carry, birth, and rear a child of God who would remind us that we are all children of God.

“Somebody’s gotta be Mary!” last week’s post proclaimed. But no one has to be Mary alone, because that first Mary was not alone.

As we give birth to a new order, a fresh understanding of the Gospel and of scripture, a reformed understanding of the church, a revolutionary critique of all “powers that be,” we are not alone. God has given us what God gave Mary:

Angels who tell us to “fear not” and help us understand our individual callings.

Kinswomen and kinsmen of like spirit who bless us, affirming the fruit of our movement.

A spiritual tradition whose expansive nature has overcome walls that unnecessarily divide us, reconciling us as one people in the midst of great diversity, standing on the side of the oppressed and underprivileged, yet understanding that such a stand also redeems the oppressor and privileged, proclaiming an in-breaking commonwealth of redeeming mercy and grace, saving justice and righteousness.

A theology whose wisdom understands a greater and larger and more compassionate God than ever before.

We have Josephs, without whose defenses and resources we would have no buffer between us and the Caesars and Herods of our time.

We have every day folk as well as leaders and scholars who have assured us that we are doing the right thing; those who have seen angels singing of peace and goodwill among all or witnessed and followed the star of God’s hope for the world.

We have indifferent leaders and we have hostile leaders to remind us that anything worth devoting our lives to requires more than our lifetimes to achieve, to amplify a quote from Reinhold Niebuhr. They remind us that movements transcend not only geographical, cultural, and religious boundaries, but generational boundaries as well.

And we have prophets—a great cloud of witnesses, living and dead—who, like Anna and Simeon, sing of God’s salvation in every nativity of the Spirit.

And God has given us the Holy Spirit, who has conceived in us a more inclusive spiritual community that would remind the whole earth we are all children and creatures of God.

We are not alone. God is with us in so many ways. The story of Jesus’ nativity reminds us of that.

An astute follower of my writings noticed something familiar in last week’s post. Indeed, last week’s and this week’s posts are adapted from a sermon I delivered to Mount Auburn Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio, on December 15, 2002.

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Wednesday, December 7, 2016

"Somebody's Gotta Be Mary!"

India, January 1983.

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You see, nobody respectable wanted to play Mary because of the shame of her unwed pregnancy. And absolutely no one wanted to go through the bloody and painful job of giving birth to a new thing.

“Mary is not a good role model for our children,” someone said.

But that can’t happen unless someone is willing to be Mary.

Related Post: Put Yourself in the Nativity Story

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Put Yourself in the Nativity Story

Hobbes, Calvin, & Chris in the Nativity Scene
of Ormewood Park Presbyterian Church, Atlanta.
Photo by Wade Jones.

In the words of Kathleen Norris, “Human beings, it seems to me, require myth as one of the basic necessities of life. Once we have our air and water and a bit of food, we turn to metaphor and myth-making.” To me, myth is not a story that is untrue, but a story that carries a deeper truth that draws us in. As a 5-year-old once said, a myth is a story that is true on the inside. (Gertrud Mueller Nelson tells this in Here All Dwell Free.) Within the words is a Word.

Truth is, over a lifetime, we may play all of these roles in this story. Good to remember, at this time of year, that we hinder or help, blink or behold this nativity of God’s Word to us.