Thealogical Lady: A Blog

Advent Journeying: Protest

12/12/2014

On Sunday I will join a group of others in a peaceful protest at Faithful Word Baptist Church in Tempe. The pastor of this church recently claimed that the solution to the AIDS epidemic was to kill all gay people, as instructed in the book of Leviticus.

Yesterday, some sympathizers of this pastor found the Facebook page of the protest group. At first the comments were just personal: "You know nothing about the Bible." (Well, actually, I do--my degree is in liturgy and scripture.) Then they turned foul: "God hates faggots" and " Filthy Sodomite Reprobates are all going to hell....."

When I quoted 1 John 4:16, which is what I plan to print on my protest sign, I was ignored: "And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them."

I said at one point, "I'm wondering where your love is. I'm sad for you." And out poured more vitriol. At one point one of the commenters asked me if I was a Sodomite. No, actually, I'm a privileged, white, straight person like you--I didn't say that, but that's my answer to all this.

I'm disgusted. Perhaps this is Thea's reminder that my participation in this protest is not for nothing. As a Christian, I cannot stand by while other Christians twist the Christian message into one of hatred. It simply isn't. These so-called Christians are doing Christianity wrong, and they need to be called out on it.

I invite you, if you're local, to join me at 10:00 on Sunday. If you can't be there, I invite you to pray for the safety of the protesters and the radical change of heart of this church and its supporters. May this Advent turn their hatred to love and their ignorance to wisdom. Amen.

Advent Journeying: Power

12/6/2014

Yesterday I read about a Baptist pastor here in Tempe who's making international headlines. He claims that the solution to the AIDS epidemic is in the book of Leviticus--all we have to do is kill off all the gays.

I'm dumbfounded that such hate speech actually gets spoken by anyone in 2014. I am surrounded by dear friends who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer. And here some misguided Bible thumper is busy claiming that genocide of them is a good idea.

I am so angry that stringing words together is difficult. I realized something yesterday that helped free my anger to do something fruitful: I have no power over this Baptist preacher. It is highly unlikely that I or anyone who shares my views will ever change his mind.

What I can do, however, is speak truth to the power of this white, privileged, Christian male. It's simple: he's wrong. His interpretation of scripture is wrong. His approach to Christianity is wrong.

I'm planning to participate in a peaceful protest in front of Faithful Word Baptist Church on December 14. That's one more thing I can do.

Advent is the season that calls us to reimagine--sometimes in a radical way--what it means to be a Christian. It's a season of possibility, of discovery, of untrodden paths. It's a time to find out what we're really made of. Are we willing to speak up against voices that are supposed to be trustworthy when those voices break trust? Are we willing to say someone's wrong when doing so might bring us harm? Are we willing to be led by the innocence of a newborn infant, rather than the power of a king?

Advent Journeying: Mindfulness

12/3/2014

As I waited for a pair of waffles to heat up in my toaster, I was reminded of the saying, "Watched pot never boils." I watched those waffles and waited, and those few moments stretched into an eternity. I got bored. I wanted to turn and do something else. But I'm stubborn, and I knew they'd eventually pop up from the toaster, so I continued to watch. And for a few moments, I let myself notice the waffles in the glowing red toaster.

Taking time to notice is called mindfulness. And mindfulness is the sort of thing that Advent calls for.

The market has been ready for us to be ready for Christmas since before Halloween. The market invites us to turn away from the present moment and focus on a million details for the Big Day.

Advent invites us to turn our eyes from the glamor of the market and focus on what hasn't happened yet. We are pregnant with light, but that light won't be born before it's ready. Our world is about to change, but we are still in our cocoon.

Rather than prematurely breaking free from the cocoon, perhaps Advent calls us to be mindful of it. If we stop turning our attention in a thousand other directions and focus patiently on the here and now, perhaps what we attend to will transform right before our eyes.

Advent Journeying: A Fresh Start

11/30/2014

Advent has begun again--a new liturgical year is upon Christianity.

Lent has long been my favorite liturgical season, but I think last year was the first year I claimed Advent as my favorite. Advent is a time of anticipation, of ready-making, of way-preparing. It is a time of taking stock and of emptying hearts of their ashes so that new light may be born in them.

This Advent, I bring myself in total openness to the unknown that this season promises. I have relinquished all the plans I once laid out for myself. I have turned vulnerably toward my God, Thea, who beckons me into what is new and not very comfortable. I have committed to a fresh start, a new beginning.

Surprise me, Thea. That is my Advent prayer.

Living Lent: Shards

3/26/2014

After I wrote yesterday about Mary as the Reed of God, a dear person in my life sent me a reflection she had written about mothering and Advent. I thought I might have written an Advent reflection while I was pregnant (or just after I was pregnant), so I scoured my mommy blog and this blog to find one. Alas, I didn't find what I was looking for, but I did find something else.

The day before yesterday I posted my Sunday homily, the one I was invited to give at both of the 3rd Sunday of Lent liturgies at my parish. I shared with several people afterward that giving that homily meant breaking through the glass ceiling of my former Roman Catholic identity.

Isn't it odd, then, that I should come across an old blog post, over a year old, about breaking through that very same glass ceiling?

I invite you to read that post and ponder it with me. Some questions you might use to frame your pondering could include: What is the hermeneutical slant I bring to my religious framework? In what ways does my privilege shape my reading of my sacred texts? In what ways does my marginalization shape my reading of those texts?

The lesson I take from my old blog post is difficult: the glass ceiling is not something I have broken once and for all. As long as any woman is made to seem lesser when compared with a man, I will need to keep breaking through it, whether I'm the woman in the comparison or not. This, I realize, is part of my prophetic call.

How do I come to recognize the prophetic role I am called to play in the world? How do I develop that prophetic ability once I have recognized my responsibility?

An Open Letter to Those against Whom I Have Sinned: Advent, Week 4, Monday

12/23/2013

December 23

O Emmanuel, Rex et Legifer noster, expectatio gentium and salvator earum: veni ad salvandum nos, Domine Deus Noster!

O Emmanuel, our King and Lawgiver, expectation of the nations and their savior: come to save us, Lord our God!

To those against whom I have sinned,

There's no easy way for me to say this, so let me start with the most important part:

I am sorry.

I have done you wrong, and I am sorry.

I have hurt you, and I am sorry.

For every time I had an advantage over you and used it to your disadvantage, I'm sorry.

For every time I threw you into a crisis of self-doubt and self-hatred, I'm sorry.

For every time I shouted at you, called you names, slandered you behind your back, excluded you, ridiculed you, and broke your heart, I'm sorry.

For every time I chose my own interest at your expense and obfuscated the truth, I'm sorry.

For every time I physically, mentally, verbally, and spiritually harmed you, I'm sorry.

For every time I tried to come between you and the ones you loved, I'm sorry.

For every time I chose the lazy way at your expense, I'm sorry.

For every time my words or actions invited you to act or speak in ways you regret, I'm sorry.

For every time I spoke or acted in any unkind, uncharitable, unloving way, I'm sorry.

For these words that will probably never reach you, I'm sorry.

For these words that you probably wouldn't believe anyway, I'm sorry.

For every wrong that I have forgotten, I'm sorry.

For everything I do in the future to convince you that I'm still as stony-hearted as ever, I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

All I have left to offer you is my open hands, waiting in emptiness to receive your undeserved forgiveness.

With broken love,
Kate

O Rex Gentium: Advent, Week 4, Sunday

12/22/2013

December 22

O Rex gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.

O King of the gentiles and their desired One, the cornerstone that makes both one: come, and deliver humankind, whom you formed out of the dust of the earth.

Advent has been longer this year for me than in any other year past. After all this anticipation, I find myself grateful that this year's Christmas will be quiet for my family. My desire for light is not the desire for commercial, clanging, self-absorbed brightness. My desire for light is one for something gentler--the sparkle in the eyes of my daughters and the joy in the eyes of my husband.

O Oriens: Advent, Week 3, Saturday

12/21/2013

December 21

O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol iustitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris et umbra mortis.

O dawn of the east, brightness of light eternal, and sun of justice: come, and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.

A few years ago, I wanted to name my first child Aurora--not after the Disney princess, but after the rosy-fingered dawn.

Christ is sometimes imagined as Apollo, the bringer of bright sun-fire, but I imagine Christ as those fuchsia streaks anointing the darkness with chrismic light.

Today was also the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere, the darkest day of the year. On this day I think of John the Baptist, whose feast day is six months prior to this day, on the longest day of the year (in the northern hemisphere). It's the day when earthly light prepares to diminish, the same way John prepares: "He must increase, but I must decrease" (John 3:30).

Courtesy: http://www.facebook.com/noknotuntiesitself

O Clavis David: Advent, Week 3, Friday

12/20/2013

December 20

O clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israel: qui aperis, et nemo claudit; claudis, et nemo aperit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris.

O Key of David, and scepter of the house of Israel, who opens and no one shuts, who shuts and no one opens: come, and lead forth the captive who sits in the shadows from his prison.

Keys open and lock doors.

I remember the day the doors of Historic St. Peter Church of Cleveland were locked, by order of the bishop of the diocese. I was standing outside along with my many fellow parishioners as our pastor followed orders. It was the closing of a tomb that had once been a stable. That day haunts me.

I have never understood--and I'm sure I never will understood--the bullying of that bishop.

Last night, while singing carols with the St. Brigid's Community of St. Augustine's Episcopal Church in Tempe, I came across my very favorite Christmas hymn, written by Richard Wilbur. I asked if anyone knew it, and no one did.

It turns out that the version printed in the Hymnal 1982 is not the same version that I learned at St. Peter as a member of the choir early last decade. My usual search tricks failed in the effort to find a recording of it. The CD recorded by the choir (while I was studying in Berlin in 2002) is no longer for sale, either. Though the building is still there, and though the bishop was ordered by the Vatican to reopen its doors, the community that once worshiped there, the people who refused to be scattered, took roots elsewhere in the city, and there they remain, for the most part.

This is a beautiful recording, but it is not the one I learned in the midst of that beautiful community, and I can't help feeling tremendous loss as I listen to it.

Love burns in my heart for the community of St. Peter, that breathtaking icon of God. But even in my anger, my hope refuses to be extinguished.

A stable lamp is lighted
whose glow shall wake the sky;
the stars shall bend their voices,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
and straw like gold shall shine;
a barn shall harbour heaven,
a stall become a shrine.

This child through David's city
shall ride in triumph by;
the palm shall strew its branches,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
though heavy, dull and dumb,
and lie within the roadway
to pave his kingdom come.

Yet he shall be forsaken,
and yielded up to die;
the sky shall groan and darken,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
for gifts of love abused;
God's blood upon the spearhead,
God's blood again refused.

But now, as at the ending,
the low is lifted high;
the stars shall bend their voices,
and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
in praises of the child
by whose descent among us
the worlds are reconciled.

O Radix Jesse: Advent, Week 3, Thursday

12/19/2013

December 19

O Radix Jesse, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, iam noli tardare.

O Root of Jesse, that stands for an ensign of the people, before whom the kings keep silence and unto whom the Gentiles shall make supplication: come, to deliver us, and tarry not.

Thirty-eight years ago, my mother gave birth to my brother. This morning, my sister gave birth to my nephew. This afternoon, I purchased the cassock with which I'll be vested on Candlemas next year when I enter the Benedictine Canon community of St. Mary of the Annunciation as a novice.

All these beginnings--past, present, future--fill me with hope, love, and profound faith in the Divine Fire, the One who animates each of us with a bright, tireless flame.

The root of Jesse runs deep.

O Sapientia: Advent, Week 3, Tuesday

12/17/2013

December 17

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodidisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviter disponensque omnia: veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.

O Wisdom, who came from the mouth of the Most High, reaching from end to end and ordering all things mightily and sweetly: come, and teach us the way of prudence.

When I studied at St. John's School of Theology in Collegeville, Minnesota, one of my favorite times of year to pray with the monks was in the last days before Christmas. December 17 was the day the O Antiphons, which famously make up the verses for "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," began. The chant tones for these antiphons were haunting, especially when played on the thundering Holtkamp Organ.

Now these antiphons come up during evensong/vespers/evening prayer for me at home. My electronic keyboard and fumbling fingers don't exactly emulate the sounds of St. John's Abbey, but praying in my little corner at home transports me right back to those tall, black choir stalls.

Advent, Week 3, Monday

12/16/2013

Yesterday the command was to rejoice, but today I remember that it is still Advent, and I am still waiting for the light to dawn.

A friend of mine--not a close one, but one for whom I cared very much--died today. He had blood cancer. He was one of the honorees of my Team in Training walk team back in 2009.

He was about my age.

Death is not my favorite companion. I don't like Death's bitter wine or unmoist bread. I could do without the heaviness of Death's blanket and the chill of Death's hearth. I don't want to see who dwells in the shadows under Death's roof. When Death enters my midst, everything becomes painfully sharp, and I ache.

Where is redemption in the endless moment that is fresh grief?

Gaudete! Advent, Week 3, Sunday

12/15/2013

I made my oblation to the Benedictine Canon Community of St. Mary of the Annunciation this morning.

You know me--I like it when timing is more than a coincidence. The Prior of the OSBCn Community here in Tempe allowed me to schedule my oblation for the third Sunday of Advent, not only signifying a heart-opening beginning, which is what Advent is in relationship to the liturgical year, but also signifying a time of rejoicing. The Latin Introit for this Sunday is where Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, gets its nickname:

Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete. Modestia vestra nota sit omnibus hominibus: Dominus enim prope est. Nihil solliciti sitis: sed in omni oratione petitiones vestræ innotescant apud Deum. Benedixisti Domine terram tuam: avertisti captivitatem Jacob.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to all, for the Lord is near at hand; have no anxiety about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God. Lord, you have blessed your land; you have turned away the captivity of Jacob.

Could there be a more fitting liturgical opening on the day of my entrance into this community?

When I pray today, I find myself saying in faith, Rejoice. Rejoice. The Lord is near at hand. She is near at hand, and you need have no anxiety about anything, but in all things, by constant prayer, and with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to Her. Lady, you have blessed your creation and turned us from our deadening captivity.

It is a fitting day indeed. It is an empowering day. Today I committed to the regular work prayer, and I find in that prayer the freedom to transcend my self-concern. Each welcome from the members of my community was a tap-tap-tap on the still stony shell around my heart, bidding it to break free. To stretch out my arms, to enfold sisters and brothers and neighbors in love: these are my new tasks. What a strange gift. What a novel reminder of my baptism. What a poignant icon of the divine spark that finds fuel in my humanity.

I feel more fully myself today than I ever have in my life. Here in this place, accompanied by my family, my church community, my sister and brother Benedictines, and my holy cloud of witnesses from every part of the earth and God's heavenly banquet, I am home.

Voca-tion: Advent, Week 2, Saturday

12/14/2013

Source: homedepot.com

The Prior of St. Mary's of the Annunciation Benedictine Canon community has invited me into a conversation about how I'm hearing God's call to become a Benedictine Canon, and I find myself spilling over with words. When this happens (and it happens rather often, when I have something important on the brain), my best shot at organizing my thoughts is in writing.

First, a note about vocation: to hear your life's call is to discern your vocation. Consider the Latin root of vocation: voca-tion, voca, vox, voice. To hear a call is to hear someone's voice. But how do I hear God's voice?

What makes this a great question is that there is no straight or literal answer in my case. "God's voice" is a metaphor for the human voice. When God calls me, God isn't picking up a telephone in the heavens. When God calls me (or you, or Jesus, or anyone) God's doing something else. And since God's not doing the same kind of calling that I do, I'm listening to God in a different way than I would listen to someone else.

I shared with the Prior my confidence that the Canon life is one to which I'm hearing God's call. So if God didn't call me on the phone or text me or leave a note on my Facebook timeline or tweet me or comment on one of my blog posts, what did God do to inspire this confidence?

Fact is, it's not just about what God does--it's about what God does in relationship with me. Below I've identified four ways (though not the only ways) in which God "calls" me:

1) Through scripture. The life of a Benedictine Canon is one of prayer with scripture, especially prayer with the psalms. One of the ways I know God speaks through my prayer is that I change. My pace slows. Familiar words and phrases tingle in my skin and subconscious. The words both resonate with me and challenge me, but I am always safe in them, safe to risk opening my heart to them. This safety isn't related to the words of scripture alone, though--they're related to the way I join this community in praying them. Which leads me to the next three ways in which God "calls" me.

2) Through the rhythm of daily life. Benedictines pray a lot. When the bell sounds for prayer several times a day, Benedictines cease all else to pray together. In this regularity, it would be possible to feel trapped or shackled. When I pray during the regular prayer times of this community, however, I feel like I've entered the rhythm of a familiar household. Because all members of this community are held to the same expectation, it becomes a ritual as close to me as changing diapers, preparing formula, or playing with my daughters. It's necessary, it's beautiful, and even when it interrupts, it is a comfort.

3) Through the voice(s) of the community. This may be the biggest piece for me at this point in my life. It is clear that to be part of this community is to be equal to each member in dignity and respect. I am not regarded as lesser because I am a woman. I am not regarded as lesser because I am a lay person. I am not regarded as lesser because I am married. Each member brings her or his own gifts to the community, and those gifts are habitually lifted up, rather than quashed. The way each community member interacts with me demonstrates to me that I stand eye to eye with each one--not the same as any other, but loved and embraced in the same way as every other. God's presence manifests in these beautifully broken people.

4) Through my very body. Over thirty-one years, I have developed a keen sense of when I am safe and at home, and when I am threatened and in danger of harm. As a deeply sensitive body, when I enter a new religious situation or context, my entire self attends to whether my situation is harmful or loving. In this community my guard rests. Last night, when we were physically gathered together as a community, I prayed to the Lord instead of the Lady for the sake of unifying our voices in prayer. That unity did not threaten my devotion to God as Lady, but rather left an open door for that devotion. I trust that in this context that door will not be closed or locked, as it has been in most of my previous religious contexts. In this community, I am able to hold the diversity of the community close to my heart, without fear of it swallowing me into anonymity and dignity-destroying submission.

God doesn't call me the way others usually call me, but God makes her call known. I perceive God calling me to this community inasmuch as this community, like God, challenges me to transcend myself without losing my sense of safety or integrity. This community, also like God, accepts me as I am without first rendering me or others inferior. Finally, the rhythm of this community, like God's rhythm in my life, is familiar, persistent, and rich--like coming home. The call to enter the Canon novitiate is as audible and clear to me as the bell that sounds each prayer hour into being.

Five Ways Advent is Like Potty-Training

12/13/2013

Way #1: There’s a lot of waiting around. My kid became daytime potty-trained last week. We started potty-training her over a year ago. Advent’s like that—you only get to light one candle a week on your Advent wreath, or open one little door on your Advent calendar per day. The church hymns, if you’re in a liturgically oriented church, are subdued, like the mood of a parent thwarted by uncontrolled toddler bladders and bowels. If you’re super-observant, the Christmas tree doesn’t come home till Christmas Eve and the Christmas music makes way for the usual dose of Muse and Metallica (okay, that’s the music at my house, but you get the idea). “Fun” isn’t the first word that comes to mind in either case.

Way #2: It takes repetition—lots of it—to get the idea. Without our many-times-a-day repetition of “Do you need to go potty?” our kid just had no awareness of it, and oops! There went her diaper (or, worse, on the days we were foolish enough to dress her in it, her underwear). At my Anglo-Catholic church, we sing O Come, O Come, Emmanuel—several verses of it—every Advent Sunday to start the liturgy procession. Wait, what are we singing about? You mean Jesus isn’t here yet? You mean he’s still in the dark, nourishing womb of the one who bears him? Reminders of what hasn’t happened in the midst of everyone’s celebration of the it-already-happened do help.

Way #3: Rewards help. For a while we used potty treats in the form of little gummy fruit-flavored snacks. It didn’t really work unless our kid was hungry, though, so we shifted to a homemade chart for which she earned shining metallic stars. And you know what? Going square by square works! That’s what makes Advent calendars a raving success. My husband is especially fond of the ones from Trader Joe’s, loaded with chocolate. I’m fond of the Jacquie Lawson virtual Advent calendar, which I’ve received as a gift for the last several years. The wait for the lighting of each Advent candle on a wreath takes seven times as long—but oh, that moment when you finally get to light the next candle, multiplying the light that will eventually manifest as a bright, beckoning star!

Way #4: Taking time is kinder than a sudden total shift in reality. When I first got the idea to potty-train my toddler, it was right after I learned that I was pregnant with my second child. We wanted her to be potty-trained by the time the second one arrived, so I found a three-day fail-safe method on the internet that a friend had used. The author of this method said as long as her directions were followed to the letter, it would work for any age, period—in three days. She lied. And this mama wept and wailed before (and after) admitting defeat. The shift from Thanksgiving to Christmas (or the Fourth of July to Christmas) wrenches my heart like that. Really, I need time to prepare, and I need the experts to respect my need for time to prepare—like John the Baptist—for the birthing of the Christ in my world. If I take seriously what Isaiah writes, my lioness self just isn’t ready to lie down with a lamb. I need time to step back, shut up, and listen to the quiet, quieting voice of God, whether as the voice in my dreams or as a prophetic voice speaking out to me in waking life.

Way #5: The final reward, after all that waiting, is a little odd to talk about if you step outside the immediacy of the moment. The toilet is filled, the diaper at last remains dry. There’s nothing else you can think about, and you can’t stop squealing. If your non-parent friends could see you now! So the Christ-child is born and laid in a manger of animal hay to become food (“manger” means “to eat,” after all). Um, whose food? And did you notice that the child got swaddled swaddled like a mummy? Same way he’s going to be wrapped in the tomb thirty-three years or so down the line when he actually does die, and…becomes bread for the world? Birth and death. Death and resurrection. Birth and risen bread. Whoa.

Toilet-training is to Advent what Potty-Training Day is to Christmas--the necessary prelude to the main event. And you know what? The wait renders the main event absolutely glorious.

This post was originally featured at parentwin.com.

Advent 2, Monday

12/9/2013

This past Saturday, my family hosted an Advent housewarming, and I found the wreath and berries you see to the left from Trader Joe's. A tiny wreath and a few tea candles make the passage of Advent time more pronounced, and the faint scent of pine reminds me of home.

When I was growing up in northeast Ohio, I was surrounded by evergreens. On Earth Day each year it was customary to receive an evergreen sapling from school to plant at home, and my family planted them. One of the most beautiful places in Ohio to see evergreens is Quail Hollow State Park in Hartville; another is the Jesuit Retreat House in Parma. Evergreens like those don't grow in the desert. Instead, the thriving flora of the Sonoran desert include Mediterranean olive trees, which would have been familiar to the eyes and hands and mouth of Jesus of Nazareth.

I miss my childhood home enough to buy an evergreen wreath that isn't native to where I live. Maybe next year I'll fashion my own wreath with olive branches and olives. Olive branches have always been a sign of goodwill, and olive oil is a sign of majesty, healing, and nourishment. Appropriate for the season that awaits the arrival of the majestic, healing nourisher, yes?

Advent 1, Tuesday

12/3/2013

Tonight I began my evening prayer by lighting the candles of my family's menorah while chanting

O God,
come to my assistance.
Lady,
make haste to help me.
Glory to the Mother,
and to the Daughter,
and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning,
is now,
and will be forever.
Amen.

I read the reflection of the day from St. Augustine's Advent devotional booklet, and then I turned to the light of the Chanukah candles. The rest of my prayer took the form of awe in that gentle light.

Advent 1, Sunday

12/1/2013

Five candles alight in my family's menorah as the first day of Advent ends.

Advent tugs more insistently than usual this year. Slowing down seems necessary, but not for its own sake--not like last year when I was stressed out with worry and anxiety along with the usual ailments of pregnancy in the first trimester. This year I find myself calm, finally settling into this new life, this new place. My partner settles into his job as I settle into my new religious community. We are happy.

Our joy is spacious and green with vitality. It is because of this that Advent pulls on me as it now does. I am open to it. I am at home, ready to ritualize deeply.

I will make my oblation to the Benedictine Canon community of St. Mary of the Annunciation two weeks from now, witnessed by all who are present at the St. Augustine Gaudete Sunday liturgy.

The color for Gaudete Sunday is rose,
and by rose I mean resurrection,
and by resurrection I mean the glorified new life
of a broken, animated body.

I am a broken, animated body,
ready for glorying,
for
I am broken.
Broken, I can be shared as bread
When shared as bread, I am Christ.

As I approach my oblation, my vow of self-emptying and steady prayer, I find myself contemplating Jesus as fellow minister. Scripture says Jesus was thirty years old (Luke 3:23) when he began his ministry, and it's commonly held, though scripture is not explicit in this regard, that his ministry lasted three years. He was like me--young, but not too young to be wise. I feel such a kinship with this man, the one who lived and walked and preached, who spoke out radically from and against his tradition. My christology is low this Advent, close to the earth, gritty, deep.

In addition to my new prayer practice (which I believe may keep me away from much of my ordinary internet time), I plan to plant a garden. Here in the arid desert, in the bright mid-winter, something may actually grow.

I invite you to consider an Advent practice of your own, and to share it below, if you wish.

Thanksgivukah Advent-ures: How to Celebrate the "Season" before You Celebrate Christmas

11/21/2013

If you're like me, you're just not ready for the red and green and tinsel cropping up at Target, Starbucks, and the grocery store. I want to go, "Hey, don'tcha know there's all kinds of cool stuff that goes on for a couple of months before Christmas ever arrives?"

I invite you to try out the following this year, not to ditch your family traditions, but to expand them.

Thanksgiving/Chanukah: This year, for the first time (and the last time for 77,000 years, according to one source, Thanksgiving and the first day of Chanukah coincide. This year, as you finalize your Thanksgiving day menu, consider a few Jewish specialties, like latkes

Source: AllRecipes.com

or matzo ball soup.

Source: FoodNetwork.com

(Pro-tip: matzo ball soup can be made in minutes using a handy-dandy pre-made dry mix in the Jewish section of your grocery store.) When you and your family and friends are gathered around the Thanksgiving dinner table, share the story of the miracle of Chanukah, in which an oil lamp with only enough oil for one night lasted eight nights, providing ongoing light in darkness. Chanukah is an eight-day Jewish feast of enduring, miraculous light--telling this story is is a great time to light the first candle of eight of your menorah, if you have one, or perhaps the first of other candles you have on your table. Allow this to be your segue into a giving of thanks by each person around the table.

Then, when you awake the day after Thanksgiving, consider just staying home. Really. Eating latkes with cranberry sauce for breakfast while sipping home-brewed coffee and wearing fuzzy slippers is a far gentler holiday practice than trampling your neighbor at 3 a.m. to get through store doors. Consider continuing your candle-lighting through the eight days of Chanukah, saying a silent prayer as you light them if you aren't familiar with the Hebrew prayers.

Next, Advent, as in, advent-ure!
That's right--before you pull out your tubs of Christmas glitz, try cutting a few boughs from an evergreen (places that sell Christmas trees may give these away for free, if you don't have any evergreens of your own) and fashion an Advent wreath with your kids.

Source: HappyHomeFairy.com

Each Sunday, beginning December 1, light one of the candles. Sing a verse of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" or "People Look East" with your kids. Invite them into conversation about what the dawning of light means. Refer back to the Chanukah ritual, if you used it. You might ask:

Why do we want light when it's dark?

What are examples of darkness we experience?

What are ways that we can bring light to dark places?

Allow Advent to be the season of quiet, pregnant anticipation that it's intended to be--because if you do, the glimmer and dazzle of Christmas Eve's light and the bright clamor of Christmas morning will shine and ring out for you in a whole new way.

This post was originally featured at parentwin.com.

How to make an Advent wreath

11/25/2012

Today is the Feast of Christ the King, the last Sunday of the Christian liturgical year. That means next Sunday begins the new liturgical year, and the liturgical year always begins with the season of Advent.

Four Sundays in Advent precede Christmas, also known as the Nativity (or birth) of the Lord Jesus. The most precious custom for marking the four Sundays of Advent is to light the candles of an Advent wreath at one's home or church.

If you'd like to make an Advent wreath, here's a simple set of directions to help you along:

What you'll need:

Evergreen branches - You can cut these from an evergreen in your yard (the fresher, the better), purchase them from your local florist, or request them from your local Christmas tree seller.

Green floral wire (at least 24 gauge)

Floral or pruning shears (for cutting the floral wire)

One or two ribbons - The key is to find ribbons that will complement one another. You might get one of medium width and one of large width, one that's solid and one that's sheer, one that's satin and one that sparkles, etc. The colors are your choice. One custom is to mark three of the four "corners" of the wreath with blue or lavender while marking the fourth "corner" with pink, in order to mark the liturgical colors of each Sunday of Advent. This is not necessary, however; reds, greens, yellow, and whites are also good choices.

Berries - Small red berries are a lovely touch on a wreath of any kind, but there may be something akin to berries that would suit your wreath as well. Your florist would be able to help you. (Just be sure, if you have small children or pets who might have access to the wreath, that this addition is not toxic!)

Four tall candles - Many people use tapers (again, it is customary among some Christians to use blue/lavender candles for the first, second, and fourth Sundays of Advent while using a pink candle for the third Sunday of Advent, since these are the liturgical colors for those Sundays, but white or beeswax candles are fitting as well), while some prefer wider, stand-alone candles. My rule of thumb is this: if you plan to light the candles only on Sundays, tapers will melt at an appropriate rate. If you plan to light them several nights per week or every night per week, a wider candle will be more likely to last you through the season. One of the purposes of an Advent wreath is to mark the time by the melting of wax, so if you can find candles that will last you while still showing that they're diminishing with each progressive week, the experience of Advent will be that much more tangible.

What you do:

First, measure out a length of wire by fashioning it into a circle. Advent wreaths are often 12-15" in diameter or more. Snip the wire with your shears and twist the ends together. This will form your base. Next, begin placing the boughs around the wire--once they're arranged you can secure them by wrapping more green wire in a spiral around the branches and the base. Add your ribbon beginning with the widest, if you have more than one, weaving it loosely in and out of the branches. If you have narrower ribbon, you can weave that alongside the wider ribbon or use small pieces of it to place at each of the "four corners" where the candles will be placed. Add berries in thick clumps in 5-7 places around the wreath and secure them with floral wire to the base. Place candles (in their holders, if needed) in a square formation within the wreath, and voilà! Your Advent wreath is ready.

For Advent:

Each Sunday, you'll light a new candle. On the first Sunday of Advent, you'll light the candle opposite the pink candle (if you chose colored candles), or the candle of your choice (if your candles are one color or four different colors). Once you light it, using a slim taper or a match, let it burn during your Sunday dinner. If you're Christian, you may wish to accompany the lighting by reading the first reading of the day (from the Book of Isaiah): you can find readings for each day at http://www.usccb.org/bible in the upper-right hand corner. Or you may wish to light the candle(s) as you begin or end your day, as a private meditation, as part of your daily Advent prayer, or as part of Liturgy of the Hours.

I plan to offer Advent reflections via this blog, so feel free to visit here as you make your way through Advent. You may also enjoy Watch for the Light or Waiting in Joyful Hope.