Seeking Wisdom

O Epic Epistoler!

You write letters by the thousands on our hearts:

Salutations of peace be with you

Fear not

REJOICE, REJOICE!

I am EMMANUEL, GOD WITH YOU in every moment

I am WISDOM from on high who guides your path

I am the ROOT OF JESSE’S TREE

who rescues you from death

I am DAVID’S KEY

who opens wide the door of heaven’s home

I am your bright and MORNING STAR

who turns darkness into light

I am your PRINCE OF PEACE who ceases all sad divisions

O come, O come EMMANUEL!

Our lonely exile is over!

Bid us to open our full mailboxes

Re-read your daily invitations

shared in the postscripts of history

signed with the ink of eternity

and RSVP by our witness of service

to a world still in need

O Divine Dramatist!

All the world’s your stage and we your supporting players

written in the timeless comedy and tragedy called life.

With entrances and exits that perplex and mystify,

your scripts have endless chances for crucial parts

and there are no small actors in your productions.

From garden settings

Eden, Gethsemane, and New Jerusalem,

to humble abodes and big city temples,

your plot twists of paradise and peace,

suffering and surrender,

vulnerability and protection abound.

Sometimes in comedy, sometimes in tragedy,

sometimes with protagonists, other times with antagonists,

we find you in every act and every scene:

weeping at our tombs like at Bethany,

drinking at our weddings like at Cana,

healing our Bartimaeus blindness,

challenging our Thomas-like doubts,

stopping our stony judgments and

calming our turbulent seas.

No conflict ever without climactic resolve,

the show (your Passion Play) must go on.

O Playwright of Perfection, come!

Shine your spotlight on the dark stages of our lives;

prompt us to embrace our true and precious roles.

O Gospel Ghostwriter!

In the beginning was the Word,

(another name for YOU)

written on the hearts of all your children

but sidelined by abstract thinking and grown-up conflicts.

Then the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,

a light to the human race shining in the darkness

that will never be overcome.

From this fullness all received, grace in place of grace.

Such good news could not be contained!

Synoptic mysteries scribbled on parchment by many

centuries later according to

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John

an angel, a lion, a bull, an eagle (all winged);

Your Word proclaimed from pulpits and sidewalks

beguiling ordinary minds and

enticing scholars to exegete jots and tittles

in search of what they already possess.

O Hidden Autobiographer Come!

Reveal your ever-evolving Word

made manifest in the simple moments of our lives;

immerse us in your testament of love.

O Lyricist of Nature!

The music of creation sparkles with your love language:

dove’s coo, sparrow’s trill, meadowlark’s call;

cicada’s hiss, cricket’s chirp, frog’s croak;

the cat meowing for her breakfast,

the cow lowing in the field.

You comfort our melancholy with your lilting

rain-on-the-roof lullabies;

make our heavy hearts soar with

wind-in-the-trees arias;

thrill our empty souls us with

waves-crashing-on the beach percussion solos.

Better than Rodgers and Hammerstein,

Stephen Sondheim, and Andrew Lloyd Weber

all rolled into one!

(Although your greatness shines through them, too.)

Come O Lyricist for insects, animals, plants and elements!

Melt our disconsolate spirits with your libretto of nature.

O Hidden Journalist!

Your unbiassed 24/7 news cycle crawls invisibly across the screen of every enlightened, asleep, or unaware soul.

Underneath angry, stalwart voices 

  who pontificate from social media platforms,

  post stories with artificial intelligence by-lines,

  and in godlike manner peddle truth as fake news,

Your constant reports remain the same:

Blessed are the poor,

as city tents of the unhoused go down.

Blessed are those who mourn,

as civilians and children die by bombs.

Blessed are the meek,

as millionaire athletes and superstars sit on thrones.

Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness,

as protesters collapse under arrest.

Blessed are the merciful,

as refugees remain in border camps.

Blessed are the clean of heart,

as the single-minded suffer mockery.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

as nations polarize.

Blessed are the persecuted,

as innocents die on death row.

Come O Chronicler of Justice!

Break into the cacophony of our big screens

and tiny mobile devices.

Heal our deafness.

Teach us to see.

Attune our hearts to recognize your disguises

and heed your endless pleas.

O Prophetic Poet of the Universe,

in each sunrise and sunset

You streak the sky with dazzling metaphors of justice,

the strength of your arm gleaming from goldleaf stanzas.

You scatter the proud in their conceit

with your fuchsia-streaked hair,

Lift up the lowly in glittering ruby slippers,

and nourish the hungry from an Orange Crush fountain.

“Trust me” shines like a simmering silver pendant

around the neck of messenger-bearing clouds.

Your faithful help remains constant

from the pink pulchritude of dawn

to the verdant gloaming of dusk.

Come O Creator of form and beauty,

help us remember your promise of mercy:

every generation that blesses will be blessed!

O Ancient Storyteller,

author of pithy parables about lost sheep,

hidden coins, and mustard seeds,

the account of your birth still captivates

our twenty-first century technology-driven culture.

By your life, death, and resurrection,

you inscribe deep meaning into suffering,

and transform mortality with happily forever after.

Your story is our story.

Come, O Teller of Tales,

help us find the chapters of our lives

hidden inside yours.

During the past three weeks, on Tuesday mornings, I have been guiding a creative journal writing workshop called WRITE THAT DOWN at the beautiful Community House in Dana Point. For two hours, twenty-something people come together to write down memories and details of their lives based on my “something significant” prompts. Oh! I am in heaven! I get to combine the two activities I most love–writing and teaching–with the added bonus of being in person with other writers. An extrovert’s dream come true! 

Coincidentally, the last session on December 19 happens midst the Christian tradition of praying the O Antiphons. Beginning on December 17, these are prayers based on Old Testament images imploring “Emmanuel,” (translated as “God With Us”) to break into our everyday lives. My friends Fr. Dave Denny and Tessa Bielecki at the Desert Foundation have taught extensively on this topic for many years. They suggest each of us write down our own original antiphons using images meaningful to us. (Here’s the link to their wonderful podcast on this topic https://tessabielecki.com/reflect/animal-guides/)

Oh what a splendid idea!

I often wake up during the wee hours right before dawn and lately have laid in bed pondering what images I would choose. There are many possibilities but it occurred to me that I could write about WRITING! As Creator of the human mind that formed language and the capacity for writing words, maybe this is divine inspiration. Oh what fun to create A WRITER’S O ANTIPHONS!

So for the next week, beginning tomorrow, I will write and share a stanza with you. If so inclined, I encourage you to do the same. Scribble away and then share what has emerged with a good listener. Do not worry about editing, punctuation, spelling, or grammar. Lock the inner critic in the cellar. Think of this practice as a little gift to yourself. Together, as Advent ebbs, let us enter the Christmas Season with an ecstatic Oh! on our lips.

To be continued. . .

I awoke from sleep this morning thinking about the miracle of the solar system. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it was the golden full moon I saw on Wednesday night as I drove to a friend’s house for a birthday party. Maybe because Venus brightly illuminates the sky when I walk my dog in the darkness. Whatever the case, I was delighted because I usually wake up worrying about relationships.

December, my favorite month of the whole year, has arrived, and with it, the first Sunday of Advent. I have written a lot about this liturgical season over the years but mysteriously, something new forever emerges. Waking with thoughts of the solar system is, to me, a signal of transcendence, an invitation to contemplate Advent in a more cosmic way. What a wonder to begin this cherished time daydreaming about the phenomenon of the earth rotating on its axis as the seasons change, our planet orbiting dutifully around the sun, and the days getting shorter and darker until Winter Solstice (December 21), and the glorious coming of the light.

From early in December, I can intentionally ponder, once again, the great arrival story of the Incarnation, “God with us,” which has echoed through the origins of the universe, back to the Big Bang. Advent arrives silently and quietly allowing me to slip into the deep whenever the cultural hype gets too overwhelming. Advent beckons me to return to the ancient story of the Light of the World which has captivated millions for centuries. What a relief!  And yet, in some ways, the Season of Advent can be more difficult to practice than Lent because it is so counter-cultural.

People “need a little Christmas” and it seems as though they need it earlier and earlier every year. Granted, we are highly influenced by a consumer society but I think our rush into the Christmas season is driven more by a deep longing for celebration, a lost art in my humble opinion. Alas, considering the implications of the story of the “Cosmic Christ,” we should presumably celebrate the Incarnation every day, not just in December. Unfortunately, we do not know how to do that very well.

Last week, some friends and I got together to prepare ourselves for Advent. We gazed at the painting “Ancient Days” by William Blake (see above) and other depictions of the the Old Testament prophets, the Annunciation, Visitation, and the Nativity. We listened to some soulful music and read inspiring poems and Scripture readings. Immediately, a palpable sense of the real presence of Christ stirred among us. Caught up in the artistic imagination left behind in these beautiful works, we felt cosmically connected in a timeless way. We realized once again that the ancient story of Jesus is our story, found easily with the heightened awareness and attentiveness that Advent provides.

As we enter into a very short Advent season this year (the fourth week is only one day), I invite you to take a few leisurely walks and gaze at the sky. Listen to some music, read some edifying poems and novels, look at works of art. Consider that despite our tininess in a vast universe, we share specks of stardust with all creation, including the Holy One, who, because of the Incarnation, holds the core of existence together in love. May you awaken each day with a constellation of new insights on your mind and heart this Advent and Christmas season!

One of my all-time favorite songs is “I Will Remember You,” by Sarah MacLachlan. The music and lyrics fill me with powerful emotions and give me carte blanche permission to celebrate my friends and ancestors who have died. I listen to the song frequently but especially on November 1 and 2 when the holy days of All Saints and All Souls are celebrated in the liturgical calendar. Mexican culture, very prominent in Southern California, also celebrates “Dia de los Muertos,” which seems like a combination of the two. All three hold significance because these yearly observances bring us face-to-face with death, a reality most people struggle to understand and accept.

I remember when I was a little girl in Catholic school religion class, the sister/teacher asked us to make a list of our top ten questions for God. Without hesitation, I wrote, “Why does everything have to die?” While I was given the usual perfunctory, theological answers by well-meaning adults, my curious mind and restless soul were never satisfied and that question became the heart of my life-long spiritual quest.

Even though we were taught that heaven was the reward for faithfulness, I felt frightened (and yes, a little spooked) at the thought of death when I was young. Paradoxically, I was steeped in the Midwestern dramatic seasonal weather changes, where life and death surrounded us like a mantle of normalcy. We ate, drank, and even laughed with community during numerous “wakes” at funeral homes and then knelt in the church in solemn reverence during the funerals. Later, when I accompanied my mom to daily mass and heard her sing the haunting refrains of the requiem for the souls of the dead, tears of deep lament would fall. (I can still hear her beautiful voice in my head.)

Comfort came to me when these special holy days arrived at the beginning of November. Encouraged to look beyond the superficial, I felt connected to what we call the “communion of saints.” I read the biographies of those canonized with a big “St.” and felt buoyed up by that river of grace, I was also drawn to stories my mother and her sisters told about their parents and ancestors who seemed so alive and vibrant in their memories. I loved looking at their old photographs and wondering what their hopes and dreams had been. Remembrance kept them alive, I realized, and in that way, death was conquered. The Paschal Mystery (the story of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus) materialized before my eyes as I gazed at the photos and has remained the most fascinating, mysterious, and compelling meditation of my life.

When we settled in our first home in California, far away from where I was born and raised, I asked my parents for extra copies of the old photos of family members, many I had never even met. Pleased that I wanted the faded and dusty snapshots, they were generous in sharing them. I enjoyed restoring and framing these precious possessions and for many years, displayed them on a small table in my living room. After my parents died, I acquired even more photos for my collection. Eventually, I constructed an ancestor wall of remembrance, still in place today. Some days I sing “I Will Remember You,” when I focus on them, the song like a prayer.

Now in the final chapters of life, I hope to be remembered too. I know I am not alone. Even Jesus feared the apostles would not remember him when he asked them to eat bread and drink wine in his memory. What do I want to be remembered for? That is an interesting question, one I have filled many journals pondering. Bottom line, I simply hope to be remembered as someone who embraced life creatively and whole-heartedly; as someone truly present in relationships and who squandered everything for love. I also hope I am remembered for dying well, the flip side of the coin (working on that). Whether I am remembered in digital snapshots on mobile phones or “old school” photographs on the wall, in the end, it is enough simply to be remembered.

“Where once there was a darkness, a deep and endless night, you gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light. I will remember you, will you remember me? Don’t let your life pass you by. Weep not for the memories.” –Sarah MacLachlan