“………Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle.
Accept, too, each spoken word,
spoken with love.”
~from Mary Oliver’s ‘Logos’

This past Sunday we celebrated the sacrament of communion at worship. The entire service was a unique, combining the different and distinct worship styles that are available every Sunday morning. The service was welcome for some, and I’m sure, challenging for others. Given the way in which both Christmas and New Year’s fell on Saturday, it seemed the best use of  everyone’s energy and time and provided for a larger number of people in one service rather than a small number in each. All in all, I felt both Sundays reflected the snapshot of a faith community that is diverse and yet flexible enough to be open to having things not follow the eternal mantra of the church: ” But we’ve always done it this way.”

During the service we shared music from the various styles beloved by each community. We were careful to balance the service with what seems to be the most important parts of liturgy for each. Prayers were said, the peace of Christ was passed, an offering was received. And finally it was time for communion.

I have to admit that I had been centered on some other details of the service and had forgotten to look carefully as to where I was to stand as I served the communion bread. After the Eucharistic prayer and the Lord’s Prayer was spoken, all those who were to serve the gathered community came forward and we took the bread and cup from the table. I took the bread and headed to the nearest place only to realize I was not where I should be. But then I saw one of our young ones looking at me with knowing eyes. I followed his lead to the other side of the sanctuary and we took up our places as people walked forward to receive the elements. The moment we began, I knew I was in for a holier than usual moment.

This young boy, standing tall and confident with the communion cup in his hands followed my quiet offer of bread to the first person with the words: “The cup of hope. For you.” His spoke these words as he looked the receiver straight in the eyes. He did not mumbles these words or wait for my lead in any way. He just stood there offering both word and cup boldly over and over. I found myself rising to the occasion. I spoke my words: ” The bread of new life offered for you.” with greater presence and intensity than I normally do. Slowly,as people came toward us, I had the sense that they were anticipating what they were about to receive. There was nothing rote or ‘I’ve done this a hundred times’ feel to it. What was happening was real, for this moment in time, for each person.

Later I thought about all the clergy I know and have experienced who offer this meal with that same old, same old sound in their voices. I have, no doubt, at times been one of them. We might be able to talk endlessly about the theology of sacraments, about what communion is or isn’t, what it means and doesn’t.  There are plenty of clergy and other adults who don’t give it much thought because they are unsure what they really believe about this central act of our worship. Still others would say that someone so young as my co-server has no understanding of the depth of this important act.

All I know is that on Sunday I had the privilege…..and the blessing…..to stand by a young one who spoke with the voice of a prophet. Clearly, boldly, loudly, he proclaimed what he knew and what he had to offer: ” This is the cup of hope. For you.”  For those who were nourished by his presence and his words, I would bet they will not soon forget what it was like to celebrate this sacrament…….this outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

I am certain that I will remember it for a very, very long time.

Today has been a gift of a day. I have taken a day apart to write, read, pray and spend some quiet time with myself as I stare out the window of a friend’s lovely home. As I sit in a comfortable chair looking out at a frozen, snow covered pond, the fact that this is pure blessing is not lost on me. This is what is called a retreat day and it is a good thing to have at the beginning of a new year. I have had the luxury of watching the sunlight move and play on the trees and across the surface of the frozen pond. Outside the window, chickadees and other small birds flit from bare branch to the feeder that is nestled at the edge of the pond. A moment ago a blue jay swooped in like he owned the place, which for that window of time he did. But earlier, when the downy woodpecker was having breakfast, he would not have been the Alpha.

Earlier this week, I sat with my co-workers at a meeting where we discussed what it  means to feel you are standing at a threshold. Of course, each new year is a threshold, a beginning of sorts. We talked about how difficult it is to photograph a threshold, how it it nearly impossible to see through the lens and capture what you intuitively know or what you desperately hope. So much of this difficulty is about light. The way light spills through an open door, or across a gate that is slightly ajar can be challenging to capture in a photograph. It can also be challenging to understand what the open door can mean. To what are we being called? Is there enough light to see where we are going? Or is the real goal to be able to move with confidence, or at least patience, into a darkened place, through a darkened door?

In one of many books I have stacked around me right now, the short, simple four line poem reads:
at every turn,
wherever you are,
unexpected,
God says BE STILL.

Standing at a threshold requires us to take a few moments to get our bearings before we step forward. Having the courage to become attuned to the call of an opening……or a closing……door, demands a deep breath and a moment of silence before proceeding. Taking the time and patience that is needed before stepping toward the light that seeps through the crack of an open door or the new year, challenges us to remember that the Holy is the companion who accompanies us at every turn, even when we are least aware. Thresholds may bring many things we assume will be on the other side but also unexpected experiences.

Today I have watched the winter birds flit and flurry. But I have also observed them sitting still atop towering trees. In the silence they are waiting for the threshold of spring that is yet far off. But the ever increasing light that is offered each day speaks of what is to come.

In silence and in expectation, we wait.

“May there always be two thousand acres of sky above us.
May there always be the story of the earth beneath us.
May there always be the song of the air between us.
And may the love that shook creation from God’s hand,
shake us alive,
that we may walk God’s way,
now and always.”
~Roddy Hamilton

The grayness of winter is starting to settle in. We took all the decorations off our Christmas tree last night and packed them away for another year. While clearing away these yearly additions to a house brings a certain feeling of cleansing, of a return to order, there is also a sadness and loss of color that seems to add to the starkness of the view outside our windows. Like a child who loves the glitter and glow of Christmas, I could be one of those people who could be convinced to leave the tree up until Easter or till the snow melts…whichever comes first. In Minnesota this can be risky business.

This year Easter comes nearly as late as it can be. Given that our snow came early and with a vengeance, we have said more than once that ‘this could get old fast’. Yesterday as I was reading a book of worship resources I came across the poem/prayer above. It seemed the perfect words for these long, gray, often monotonous days that rest between the sparkle and flash of Christmas and the greening and promise of Easter. During these winter days we often need to be ‘shaken alive’, to remember to stay awake to how God is shining into the world.

I particularly love the image that it was love that shook creation out of God’s hand. The poet seems to imply that the Holy One was holding onto creation, saving it for another time. But love swept in and shook the foundations of the Source of All and Creation was born. It is a profound image for all the creations of our smaller yet important lives. How often it is that it takes love to shake us up, to cause us to let go of what it is we want to hoard……guilt, shame, resentment, greed, insecurity, anger…..until we find ourselves giving birth to something that lay hidden just beneath the surface of all that is good within us. In these moments when nothing will do but love, we are shaken alive. Shaken alive to the possibilities, shaken alive to a newness we never imagined, shaken alive to what it means to be a beloved creation of God.

In those moments when the shaking subsides and we find ourselves standing on the firm earth, breathing in the precious air, being held in the arms of the expansive sky, we glimpse what it means to walk in God’s way. It may only be one moment or a thousand. But when it happens it is a good thing to give thanks for being shaken. Shaken alive.

“Ask advice of every wise person and blessing of every holy one.”
~John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

On Christmas Eve morning, my husband and I were having coffee in one of our favorite neighborhood haunts. It was the ‘calm before the storm’ so to speak. At noon I would begin the several worship services of which I was privileged to be a part. Each service has a distinct flavor and spirit and it takes a certain energy of presence to make my way through the afternoon and evening. So we sat quietly drinking our morning coffee watching the people and cars maneuver through yet another bout of snow. It felt good to not have any responsibilities for the moment. To simply be.

We watched as people came in to pick up their Christmas Eve orders. Boxes of colorfully decorated cookies.  Frosted Christmas breads and rolls for the evening’s sandwiches. One man was picking up an order to deliver to a Czech neighborhood. I didn’t even know there was such a neighborhood in St.Paul!  We listened to the banter between this particularly jolly man and the bakery workers as they  told him they had thrown in an extra loaf for him. Clearly the Christmas spirit was alive and well in this cozy little establishment.

Finally an older gentleman who had been talking with the employees began making his way out the door. He stopped just short of actually opening the door and turned toward us. His smile was bright and welcoming. First, in typical Minnesota fashion, he talked with us about the weather. Then before we knew what was happening, we were engaged in conversation. He revealed that he had been a butcher, still was on a part time basis. That he had left his wife of many years at home this morning while he was out running errands and she was preparing food for Christmas. He asked us how long we had been married and told us he had been married for, I believe, sixty or more years. He told us about his children and asked about ours. Before we knew it we were sharing so much more than a random dialogue with a stranger.

Now this may on first blush sound like just a lonely older person who liked to talk. But the important part of the story is that over and over he spoke of how blessed he was. When we would tell him the facts of our lives which he searched out, he would say ” You  are blessed.” And finally as he turned to leave, he looked back and said: “God bless you.” And smiling to the point that his cheeks had now turned rosy and his eyes twinkled, he left.

Sitting there on Christmas Eve morning, we were dumbfounded. Had we just encountered an angel? In fact, he did look a little like George Bailey’s Clarence! The only thing missing from his angel-speak was the common ‘fear not!’ but this life-long butcher was doing the work of an angel. Spreading good news with words of kindness and a deep presence to the world around him. Speaking words of blessings as he moved blissfully through the world. There was certainly do doubt in our minds that we were blessed, had been blessed my this chance encounter.

In this lovely book by John O’Donohue mentioned above, he writes that  blessings are ‘seen as a communication of life from God. Once the blessing is spoken, it cannot be annulled or recalled.’ Someplace in this city I love walks a man who knows the intricate work of butchering animals to feed the hungry. This same man knows the sacred art of offering blessing, of feeding that deeper part of each of us that needs a reminder: We are blessed.

I know it is true because I carried the holiness of his words, his communication of life, into my celebration of Christmas, God-with-Us.