Reflections – Page 27 – Salt: Seasoned Theology

Snow falls. Gently. Lights twinkle in houses festive with welcoming wreathes. Santa and his eight tiny reindeer land on a snow-covered roof. Enchanted. Perfect. Bah Humbug!

Those were Robin’s words as she opened the Christmas gift to discover–the snow globe. A holiday scene trapped in a watery sphere. What does a 50 year old woman do with a snow globe? You look at it, and then what? She had no room for one more thing to look at. Her house is too full. Her life too complicated. Her time too cluttered with grown-up worries…

But don’t we sometimes long for a snow globe Christmas? Smiling people on festive streets. Enough snow to cover up imperfections—not so much to make streets unsafe. A lovely Christmas contained in a predictable scene. Oh, the extremes we go to create that idyllic Christmas, and what disappointments do befall us…

We are also perhaps too quick to see the Nativity story as snow globe scenes. Shepherds on a hillside. Joseph in an uncluttered carpentry shop working with well-maintained tools. A baby born in a barn touched by the glow of the brightest star in the heavens. But what about this scene in Luke 1? Mary. Young. Poor. Unmarried. Luke 1? This is no snow globe scene. Things get shook up, but by a message that sends Mary’s life into disarray and unsettles even more an already uncertain future. Mary says “yes” to God’s call but then flees to the mountains. To Elizabeth. And there in the safe space of friendship—can we see her? It is as if Mary holds up a snow globe and in the light of community glimpses God’s vision for the world. A vision that is being birthed in her. A song rises up within her: “My soul magnifies the Lord. God has brought down the powerful and lifted up the lowly. God has filled the hungry with good things.” In me? Through me?

To magnify. In Greek: “to enlarge.” How does a human soul magnify God? In ancient Rome, people used a bowl of water to magnify things. A bowl of water. A snow globe’s watery sphere. Mary’s soul, her life, magnifying a truth about God. And looking through her soul, we see a radical Christmas scene. God’s vision. Where justice and grace replace fear and violence.

Many have imagined a different kind of world—Hallmark, the creator of Rudolph and other Christmas stories, songwriters. But Mary? Mary’s soul magnifies not a snow globe hope for a momentary, seasonal change of hearts and minds. Mary’s soul magnifies a radical vision: God birthing hope in to human life—God breaking through the glassy domes we put around who and what we think God and humanity are—breaking through cynicism and pain—to ignite justice and hope.

Robin decides to donate the snow globe every year. But she never does. Maybe the child inside of her won’t let her give up her hope for a joyful Christmas scene where all is right with the world. We want to believe too. We pray. Protest. March. Cry out to God. We long for a world where hope replaces despair. Where children don’t fear violence or hunger. Robin takes a last look at the snow globe. She will really donate it this year. She shakes it. Watches silver snow fall on Santa and the reindeer. She loved the magic of it all when she was a child. She believed something about it was true. But then she grew up.

Ready to put the globe in its box and take it to the donation center, Robin notices on its side a key she has never seen before. Music too? Probably “Here Comes Santa Claus” or another Santa song. Notes tinkle out. “Away in a Manger.” Oh my. Then something stirs within her. An ancient hope, perhaps? Lost childhood wonder? Or the unexpected belief that what God promises in these Advent stories is real. Maybe the peculiar snow globe scene and music combination isn’t as crazy as it seems. After all, God didn’t come to visit an idyllic scene. God came to earth. God came to the mixed up mess that is human living. God comes to turn our lives upside down, to transform, redeem, heal, restore. Robin put the snow globe on her windowsill and looked through it out into her neighborhood. Out there—in the ordinariness and brokenness of human lives—God comes. The scene is not idyllic. We have much yet to do to see justice done in our world. But the promise is real. God works through you and me to bring hope. What vision does the world see through our lives?

“My soul magnifies the Lord. The lowly are lifted up. The hungry are filled with good things. From generation to generation.” Oh God, may your song live in us today.

I wrote this on August 25, one month ago. Deacon was fully his Jack Russell self for as long as he lived. We said farewell to him today. He was just too tired to go on. He was well-loved and will be missed. Later today, when darkness comes and the moon is high above the trees, I will go out to say good-bye to the night. I have no doubt Deacon’s spirit will go with me. Some things must not change…

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. . .God has made everything suitable for its time. I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live.

—from Ecclesiastes

August. A transitional month. At least for me. On Monday, August 25, 44 new ministry students had their first classes at our school. They range in ages from young to middle to older adults and come from many different places. They heard God calling them and decided to embody a new life rhythm.

August is also the time when people post on Facebook photos of their children’s first days of school. Some of them look so young. “First day of kindergarten,” one friend put as the caption on a photo of her little girl. The girl was smiling–but looked nervous too. The shiny new book bag on her back was so big and made her look so small. I think her mama might have been crying…

August. A month of transitions. I felt a chill in the air for the first time on August 27 at the last home baseball game of the season. I even had to wear a jacket. Gardens are producing fewer vegetables. Squirrels will soon begin to gather winter stores of food.

Transitions. How do you do with transitions? How do any of us do with transitions? My dog Deacon defies them. With vigor. At my house, Deacon makes sure that no one strays from the set schedule. We get up on time. We go outside on time. We eat and drink and go out again on time. Yes, Deacon resists changes in life’s rhythms. He is firm about it. Determined. Let daylight savings time end. Not his problem. His clock does not change. We get up at the same time, not an hour later to save or not to save daylight time. What is amazing about Deacon is that his determination to defy change has meant that he also defies getting older. He is determined to be Deacon, to be the best Jack Russell Terrier self he can be come what may, even after his 14 years of life. That means that for the 5,110 mornings or so that he has lived, he has arisen with enthusiasm for heading out into God’s good creation to greet the day and headed out another 5,110 times or so to say good-bye to the night at bedtime. And he has insisted that I join him in this endeavor.

Ancient wisdom writings speak about this. The Hebrew name of the writer of book of Ecclesiastes was Qoheleth. The word means “preacher.” Qoholeth was not a cheery preacher. At least 35 times in Ecclesiastes, he says that life is vanity. This preacher is a realist; he doesn’t look at life through rose-colored glasses. Qoheleth had what has been called a wintry spirituality. But in the verses above, he speaks hopeful wisdom. Life has many rhythms. Many transitions. Some that we long for. Others that we dread. Some that are joyful. Others that are painful. In all of life, Qoheleth says–all of the transitions and rhythms we encounter and embody–God is God. That is what we can count on. God continues to be God, come what may.

Qoheleth’s sermon is a good one for me. I can’t control much of what happens in life. None of us can. But we can live each day with as much joy and gratitude as we can muster. We can spend however many thousands of mornings we have to greet the day and however many thousands of evenings we have to say good-bye to the night, praising a God who continues to be God through each and every moment.

August 2014 is gone now. September is here. September 2, to be exact. Deacon and I have 27 more mornings to greet and nights that await farewells. To everything, there is a season…

And here Deacon is, ready to head out into yet another night…