Advent I: Getting Stoked

Sitting before a fire reconnects me to the whatever lies within and beyond. Flames dancing rhythmically lure my soul away from daily concerns to eternal hopes. The sounds and smells add to the domestic liturgy and help create a time as sacred as any worship.

Flickering flames and hissing wood cause me to rise and tend the fire. I reach for a tool, move logs, and soon the fire burns strong again. All it needed was attention, a bit of rearranging, and more air. In other words, all it needed was to be stoked.

That’s good advice for those of us seeking stronger spiritual lives. We're drawn to the fire within, the flame not of our making, and its flame dances and lures us from the mundane to the sacred, from details to purpose.

Keeping such a fire burning strong, however, requires attention, rearranging, and increased air. Like the fire before me, the flames within diminish, logs hiss, over time. It's then we're called to rise, grab a tool, and stoke the fire.

The tools are many: Reflection and prayer can increase our attention, reading Scripture, a spiritual book, or speaking authentically with a friend can rearrange the "logs" of our lives, and walking, listening to music, or attending worship or a support group can provide much needed air.

Sometimes our attention is piqued, our lives rearranged, through no doing of our own. A loved one becomes ill, jobs are lost, marriages crumble. Such struggles challenge us at our core, but such moments sometimes become the very things that cause our internal flames to burn stronger.

No matter the tool, this is the season to increase our attention, move logs, and find more air. In other words, this is the season to get stoked.

We Gather Together

“We gather together …

. . . as we have year after year. With gratitude for all that's been given to us -  our health, our families, friends, and food enough for all - we gather together to give you thanks.

“We gather together …

. . . With children whose feet now touch the floor, whose bibs have given way to napkins, sippy cups to glasses of wine. No longer squirming to play outside, they sit content and speak about life. For who they were, and who they are, we gather together to give you thanks.

“We gather together …

. . . With an empty chair at the table. Without that laugh, those stories, the emptiness at the table matches the emptiness in our hearts.  Still, we reach across the void to the hand that completes the circle. We gather together to give you thanks for those who were once with us, and who, by some wonderous and mysterious way, are with us still.

“We gather together …

. . . fully aware we're not a Rockwell painting. Challenges at work, struggles with money, disagreements within families, and distance from friends are not to be left from the table. Even in these, you are there and we're not alone. For that, we gather together to give you thanks.

“We gather together …

 . . . While the world spins in uncontrollable directions. Wars tire us, terrorists frighten us, and yet we feel safe holding the hands of those we love. For the gift of life, for the gift of these lives, we gather together to give you thanks.

“We gather together …

 . . .  and maybe it's that simple fact that leave us most grateful of all. To be given the gift of not walking through life alone, to have others we can love and by whom we can be loved, is perhaps the greatest gift of all. For that, we gather together to give you thanks.

What's in your Bible?

A current advertising campaign asks: “What’s in your wallet?” Recently, I thought of an interesting twist: “What’s in your Bible?”

The idea came as I visited my mother who spoke of a special note she received from a beloved nephew. “I’ll should show it to you,” she said, as she went over and picked up her Bible. Placed between the pages were countless notes and pictures. Clearly, these were the things that mattered to her most.

At first, I wondered if any of the notes I had written her were stored there, then if the placement was significant . . . What was stored beside the lilies of the field? The 23rd psalm? Book of Job? In the end, however, it was just the fact that she stored treasured things in the pages of her Bible that moved me most. I couldn’t help but wonder what I would put in the pages of mine?

The diplomas I worked so hard to receive wouldn’t be there. The few awards or citations that have come my way wouldn’t make the cut either. Job offers, or subsequent W-2’s, would be left outside as well.

For me, the hand-drawn birth announcements for each of my children would be tucked inside, probably near psalm 139.  The note my father wrote me to say how proud he was of me (after he saw how disappointed I was not to win a graduation award) would be stored near the father’s greeting of the prodigal son. And the letter I received from my Goddaughter while sitting in a 28-day rehab program would be folded beside the hope of having life, and having it more abundantly.

Bibles, while thick, have limited pages. We would have to select carefully, you and I, but my hunch is the exercise would remind us what really matters.

“What’s in your Bible?”