Now the Year Is Over

 

Where I grew up, we often sang a hymn in church called "Now the Day Is Over," and it remains with me today, despite likely not having sung it since I moved away after college. I'll save my lament for the loss of older hymns for another time and simply say that I loved this hymn, always sung on Sunday evenings for obvious reasons. I loved the sense of peace it brought and the sense of order, acknowledging that God, the cosmic source of day and night, could be called upon in personal prayer.

It's a prayer for rest, for good sleep, for protection from temptation and evil, and a prayer for a holy beginning for the day to come.

It came to me when I was out walking earlier just as the sun began to set, and it strikes me as an appropriate hymn as we close out one calendar year and begin another, so I'll share the text here. Unfortunately, I cannot figure out with the new Blogger configuration how to format this as I would like to, so please bear with me.

Now the day is over, night is drawing nigh;

shadows of the evening steal across the sky.

Jesus, give the weary calm and sweet repose;

with your tend'rest blessing may my eyelids close.

Comfort ev'ry sufferer watching late in pain;

those who plan some evil, from their sin restrain.

When the morning wakens, then may I arise

pure and fresh and sinless, in your holy eyes.

New Year's is a time of big parties for lots of people. But for some of us, it's more often a time of reflection, being grateful, and choosing, maybe daring, to hope as we look forward.

This year, like last year, I'm certainly more inclined to a contemplative stance. The struggling and suffering of the past two years of pandemic combined with both pandemic "side effects" and the normal challenges of life, call for prayer more than for fireworks, it seems.

At the same time, we have a new year ahead of us, and every morning is a new day. We have the opportunity to "arise pure and fresh and sinless" in the holy eyes of a God who cares so much for this world that He keeps the sun rising and setting, keeps healing the sick, keeps providing hope, keeps forgiving our sins, and keeps sustaining life and even overcoming death.

With a prayer for those who are suffering, and hope for all of us going forward, I do pray that 2022 will be a truly happy new year.

Second Day of Christmas Snow!

I'm usually the first to wake up in our house, and this morning followed that pattern.

Part of me had a hard time refraining from waking up the other to share the news, but part of me loved being alone with time to take in the quiet beauty. Snow had been forecast, but you never know whether it will or not. This time it did, and it did so in such a lovely way.

  

This is what I saw out the north window of the attic room which is my office space.

And out the kitchen windows to the west, snow on the walkway below.

My first time to look out (?) the window in the roof over my desk in the attic room with snow falling.

 

The view from the north kitchen window.

Looking out on the street later in the day.

Every morning many little sparrows come to this tall evergreen. Or maybe they sleep there during the night. I don't know if I'll ever know about that. But they are always there in the early morning. This isn't a great picture, but it was so cute to see them there with the snow. I often wonder what all the little creatures think about the weather, especially snow!

These will have to suffice as our "two turtle doves" on this second day of Christmas.

We have a rather artistic neighbor, and when we went out in the evening to visit some cousins, we saw he had been at work bringing into being creatures of a different species.

The forecast is saying we could get another snowfall during the night. I hope so. Let it snow!

Christmas Snow

 

This is the Christmas "tree" of my in-laws, actually branches arranged in a vase. The branches come from a big evergreen out in the yard. Some of the decorations surely came from a store.

But the snowflake ornaments came from the hands of my mother-in-law. After she took early retirement in her forties, she decided to learn to crochet. I was amazed back then at how much she began to do, making various items for tabletops and just the sorts of beautiful work that are done here.

But I was really amazed when I showed her some snowflake ornaments that my aunt had given me, and my mother-in-law liked the idea and began making them herself, getting ideas from the ones I had. But she had even more ideas.

I haven't found any two to be alike, just as with the cold, outdoor version. (I'm having tech issues and may have accidentally put the same one twice, though. I'm tired, so it's possible....)

Have a look, and if you don't have snow for Christmas, maybe these will at least warm your heart.

Merry Christmas!

Why are there so many churches in this place?

Some years ago, I was reading something. That's almost all I can say for sure about it. I don't remember if it was a book, or a magazine article, or something on the Internet, or what. Given the amount of reading I did during the years of the DMin degree, I'm sometimes amazed I can remember any particular book and author! In this case, I don't remember.

(I kind of wonder if it may have been James K. A. Smith, and if so then it was probably in his book You Are What You Love. I highly recommend that book, whether or not this came from it.)

Whatever I was reading, the author was for some reason driving in an area with lots of corporate buildings. His young daughter was looking out the windows and suddenly asked, "Daddy, why are there so many churches in this place?"

He was surprised and puzzled at her question, because they hadn't passed a single church, only a bunch of office buildings.

Then he realized that his daughter was mainly familiar with church buildings that looked liked office buildings, because their architecture was based on corporate architecture rather than traditional church architecture handed down through the ages.

If I remember correctly, he went on to make the point that everything we do in material ways shapes how we see things spiritually. Architecture affects the ways we think and feel.

As we drove from the airport the other day, out of curiosity I decided to take pictures of each structure we passed that I could see was clearly a church.

I wish I could tell you where all of them were, but I can't. This one may be more accurately called a chapel, judging by the size.

I've always loved seeing churches built on the tops of hills. They remind me of Jesus' words about how a city set on a hill cannot be hidden, and neither should we hide the light of our faith. Not to show it off, but because the world needs light and hope and love.

I'm pretty sure this is in the place called Breznički Hum. I've always loved that name, knowing nothing about the place other than driving through it. Something about the name itself charmed me 30 years ago and still does.

I think this may be Novi Marof, another place I know nothing about, but have remembered the name for 30 years because we would always drive by/through on our way to and from Zagreb. Now we actually have a friend from there, so perhaps it will become more than a name.

Clearly, the architecture of each of these is pretty similar. And it's quite clear that they are not office buildings or centers of corporate activity.

Except that the very word "corporate" comes from the word for "body," and the church's early teachings use that term to refer to the church a long, long time ago. So in a way these places are in fact centers of corporate activity, just activity of a very different sort.

I realize of course that Christians can gather anywhere possible, and that the place they are in does not make them a church. But I also love architecture that makes clear the purpose of the space and turns the mind and heart toward spiritual truths. I love that steeples point (metaphorically) to heaven, that the height of the tower and steeple help us feel our smallness, encouraging humility. I love stained glass windows and other forms of art that over time have made the stories of scripture available and vivid for people who would never own a Bible. I love the big, wide doors on so many older churches, welcoming people in and also thick and strong as a protection against the world when needed.

These are pictures I took in about an hour through the car window, of the places I could "catch" before it was too late because of our speed. There were others along the way besides these. "Why are there so many churches in this place?" is a question for another time. I'm just so thankful that the decades of Communism didn't do away with them, or with the faith connected with them. It did a lot of damage, but faith is alive, and for that I am thankful.

Advent in Varaždin

Before writing about Varaždin, here's a picture from our neighborhood church. We got out after a night of less-than-ideal sleep and walked around to see familiar streets and houses, and to let the sunlight do its part in resetting our circadian rhythm, hoping we might sleep better the next night. (Alas, neither of us did. But we're doing okay despite that.)

It was the first time either of us had seen this wooden nativity scene, almost surely carved by some local talent. It is really nicely done, and I love seeing things made by hand. Such a refreshing break from the inflatable figures that have become so common in Memphis!

When the sun got closer to setting, we took off in the car to meet a friend who lives in nearby Varaždin, just on the other side of the bridge mentioned in yesterday's post. Varaždin's baroque architecture just made me wonder how the city might decorate for Christmas, and it wasn't disappointing. The castle was left alone, which I thought was a good idea, as it could have cost a lot to do anything that would really do justice to it. And anything less would cheapen it. It was so beautiful in the light of a nearly full moon.

The central part of the city held nothing back, though. Strung with lights, alive with stalls selling ornaments, warmed by coffee shops selling hot drinks and refreshments, it was full of people and full of life, even with temperatures requiring hats and gloves. A stage was set up with live music heard in the surrounding area. Church bells rang every so often, adding to the joyful bustle.

This is a part of Europe that I miss greatly in the States. Sometimes when I'm driving down the road, I try to imagine all the people in the cars around me as people walking by, the way it is in the cities of Europe. We miss a lot by not seeing people up close, hearing their voices, seeing parents and children holding hands, sometimes seeing expressions and eyes when close enough--all of that.

As we walked, I would look around and wonder, "Who here really knows the story of Christmas? Who knows why all this came to be?" And I just hoped that many did and prayed for all who didn't.

Because, just as in America, Christmas has been seized upon and put to use by the god of commercialization. These lovely cities and their celebrations have become tourist destinations, with marketing and awards given out. Zagreb, the capital, was chosen not long ago as the best place to go in Europe for Advent.

Which brings up another difference between Europe and America. Secular Europe, with its centuries-long history of being so heavily influenced by the Christian story and the Christian calendar, still calls this period leading up to Christmas, Advent. Christmas isn't here until December 25th, so they go by the church calendar and call all of this Advent celebration. Just as in America, it's an interesting mixture of earthly and heavenly influences at work.

This was one of my favorite light displays. So simple, so serene, so much a mix of the old and new.

Speaking of mixing old and new, we saw new-fangled flashing lights on a ferris wheel, constantly changing colors while playing music--probably not something Mr. Ferris imagined when he created the first one before 1900.

And one of the last sights we spent time admiring was this striking scene, with that very old moon shining bright above the happy scene below.

(And then we hurried to the car, because my hands were freezing, even with gloves and mittens!

That part of living here will take some getting used to again!)

All photos in this post courtesy of Mr. Vamplin.

 

Over the Ocean and Through the Woods

My hopes for the "same old routine" written about in the last blog post here did not go as planned. A leak discovered by the people living below us led to a major repair/rennovation project which all the chaos such projects bring.

Life continued, nonetheless. We survived the chaos and moved forward, and what I briefly mentioned in the last post (the "big ship sailing steadily toward us," that stood for moving to Croatia) kept moving forward, too.

And so this past Friday found us in the Memphis airport yet again, having successfully passed the negative covid test. (Lately I'm refusing to capitalize that, thinking that tiny virus, along with the illness it causes, has already had more than its fair share of attention.) It was pleasantly warm in Memphis, but we had our coats at the ready for the colder temperature we expected the next day.

You gotta love a plane with "Delta Spirit" on it.

That Delta plane took us to Atlanta, where we heard lovely music from a saxophone player, a pianist, and a violinist, all in different times and places. We had some of the worst stuff called coffee I think I've ever had. We also took turns walking as much as we could, knowing how much sitting lay ahead.

This was the first time I recall seeing the moon, nearly full, out the window of a plane . . . .

Not the first, and probably not the last, time to see the sun rise from such a vantage point. It's always amazing. Flying is not generally pleasant or comfortable, but having a window seat makes for some wonderful moments of gratitude and contemplation.

We reached foggy, foggy Amsterdam on one of the smoothest transatlantic flights I've experienced, and after some much-needed walking and a pleasant couple of hours waiting, plus another hour or so of delay, we finally saw this plane out the window and knew we were almost there.

I have fond memories of the earlier Zagreb airport, old and not-so-shiny as it was. It was small, built in an older style, and you walked out of it to green grass with benches, a playground for children, and just a sense of being part of the real world, not the world of speed and traffic, hustle and bustle.

The new airport is nice, though, in its modern way. Mostly I miss the green grass. But I always enjoy seeing this welcome sign, which with its nod to handmade lace, olives, and fountain pens, does feel far from hustle and bustle and closer to the parts of life that make it worth living.

A good friend met us at the airport, and soon we were in the car, the ocean behind us and the woods before us. The drive from Zagreb to Čakovec means lots and lots of wooded hills, with houses and churches and businesses dotted here and there. Lots of smaller towns but no major cities until we get to Varaždin. And then beyond Varaždin we cross this bridge, and that means we are officially in Medimurje, the land between the rivers, the land with Čakovec as its main city.

And a land with trains, who have their own lovely bridge. The sun was setting on two sleepy travelers, making the view of the bridge even lovelier.

The official city limits sign of Čakovec greeted us after we passed through a couple of smaller villages.

And then the more interesting welcome came with its happy art and the reminder that Čakovec is the city of the 13th century castle that was home to the Zrinski family and others who protected this area and made possible the settlement that became a city.

And best of all, the sign was a reminder that we were almost home.