Now I Begin

I thought I would sleep in on January 1st. Rudy, our dog had other ideas. He, of course, had not stayed up to midnight, and apparently he felt like 5:00 was a good time to get up the next morning. Since his getting up sometimes means "knocking" on the door to the hallway to be sure someone is aware it's breakfast time (at least by his reckoning), my morning didn't go as I had planned.

And I'm so glad. After tending to Rudy, I decided to make the most of it, lit a candle, and waited. The window in our bedroom faces east, so I turned the chair so I could face east also.

Early morning has always been my friend, but because of the trees all around and the closeness of the houses where we live, I rarely think of trying to see the sun rise, because it's just so hard to see it until it's higher in the sky and all the pretty colors have faded. And many mornings when I am up around that time, if I do look out, all I see is gray turning to blue.

But New Year's Day, as I sat there and looked, I could actually see, between the roofline of our house and the neighbors' trees, the rosy presence of the sun coming up, like a flower blossoming beyond the trees. The night's condensation on the window blurred the view, but it was perhaps more lovely for the gentle blurring.

I have been reading Fr. Timothy Gallagher's latest book, Overcoming Spiritual Discouragement, which is based on excerpts from the writing of a priest, Fr. Bruno Lanteri, who lived through the death of his mother at an early age, significant health issues that affected the choices available to him in vocation, significant setbacks in his ministry, and even arrest and exile because of Napoleon's attacks on the church during the time of the French Revolution.

We talk about making New Year's resolutions, but I think we often forget the word "resolve" that they depend on. Determination. Firm commitment. Fixedness of purpose. In the life of Fr. Lanteri, his plans and his work were interrupted in ways completely beyond his control. But rather than giving up, he began anew. And clearly the ability to come back from political exile and start over at the age he did, came from a lifetime of developing the virtue of perseverance. From the book:

Say then with boldness, "Now I begin," and go forward constantly in God's service.

Do not look back so often, because one who looks back cannot run.

And do not be content to begin only for this year.

Begin every day, because it is for every day, even for every hour of the day,

that the Lord taught us to say in the Our Father, "Forgive us our trespasses," and,

"Give us this day our daily bread."

And recognizing that sometimes we falter because of our own choices, he wrote:

If I should fall a thousand times a day, a thousand times a day I will begin again,

with new awareness of my weakness, promising God with a peaceful heart, to amend my life.

I will never think of God as if he were of our condition

and grows weary of our wavering, weakness, and negligence.

Rather, I will think of what is truly characteristic of him and what he prizes most highly,

that is, his goodness and mercy, knowing that he is a loving Father who understands our weakness, 

is patient with us, and forgives us.

The book has been such a blessing, and reading it right around the turning of the year has made it even more so.

I have several unfinished projects, unrealized ideas. New Year's has given me time to reflect on the things out of my control over the past decade (a job ending, turmoil of moving into private practice, my mom's serious health problems and death, neck pain, a nerve block, and two major surgeries, extended family crises), things within my realm of influence but still unexpected (the opportunity to do a Doctor of Ministry degree, time-consuming commitments at church), and the things that are very much my own responsibility (procrastination, sometimes plain old laziness, struggling with the addictive pull of the Internet.)

For all of these, I have found it so helpful to say, "Now I begin," no matter when I originally had the idea or started the project, and no matter how often I fall into bad old habits. It has been so helpful in moving forward and letting go of the past.

I'm so thankful I was unexpectedly awakened and had that sunrise moment. I'm thankful for Epiphany tomorrow and a continued meditation on the theme of light. And the Light.

And I'm thankful for the words of Fr. Lanteri:

Above all, I have asked the Lord to give you great courage and firm hope in God,

so that by this virtue, overcoming all discouragement 

and striving not to lose that precious time the Lord gives us,

you may attain greater good for yourself and for others,

especially since the Lord has given you so many means for this and the desire to accomplish it.

Now I begin.

Epiphany Crowns and Haloes

"Adoration of the Magi," tapestry by Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris

It's fascinating how various parts of daily life can manifest themselves in ways that intersect and surprise.

With Epiphany on the horizon, my mind had been returning to my blurry memory of the image above, which I used a couple of years ago in a presentation as part of my DMin degree, comparing this image to the image woven in words by the prophet Amos in chapter 6, where wealth and complacency accompany pride and are condemned.

I put a lot of work into that and was sad because I thought I had lost it forever, since I did it on the laptop that was stolen this summer;I had looked for it a couple of times in other places without success. But this evening one more search led me to find it in my emails.

I was reminded that the final sentence of what I wrote alluded to the choice between wearing crowns or being given haloes, because one thing that struck me in the tapestry is that all three kings have removed their crowns, and the one approaching Jesus has laid his on the ground, no doubt with an eye to Revelation 4:10 scene where the 24 elders cast their crowns before Jesus.

Whether kings or not (go here for a helpful article on the identity of these men), the wise men must have been wealthy to have traveled so far, and to spend their lives studying the stars. But they used their wealth to find and worship the Light of the world rather than as a means of gaining pleasure and status like the wealthy Amos addressed.

So, feeling happy that I'd discovered a copy of my work, and also being able to look again at the beautiful tapestry after finding the name and artist, I opened the book that we've been reading from throughout Advent and Christmas, to see what the reading for today is.

Here is what I found:

The child we seek

doesn't need our gold.

On love, on love alone

he will build his kingdom.

His piercéd hand will hold no scepter,

his haloed head will wear no crown;

his might will not be built

on your toil.

Swifter than lightning

he will soon walk among us.

He will bring us new life

and receive our death,

and the keys to his city

belong to the poor.

~Gian Carlo Menotti,

from "Amahl and the Night Visitors"

And there it is--"his haloed head will wear no crown." I may have read this poem before, but I had never noticed that line until tonight. It has felt like an evening among old friends, somehow, even though I'm sick with the flu and home alone. A sweet reunion of sorts.

If we all desired the holiness of the halo over the power and prestige of the crown, what a different world it would be. Literal crowns are rare, but the desire for wealth and power certainly isn't. We can at least put down our own crowns and hope and pray for this crown-crazed world. And like the wise men, look for the light and follow it to its Source.

Postscript: I believe the way I originally discovered this tapestry was via the blog of my friend Janet a couple of years ago. Her poem based on it, which I've linked to, is worth reading, also.

Manifestation Moment

All right. I can't upload photos yet, so here's another one from the archives. Getting close to five years since this photo was taken. My sister and I were on a train, leaving Paris.

It's not everyday I go to Paris. In fact, this was my first time there. (I say it that way not because I've had a second time, but because I fervently hope to....)

And it's not everyday I see a double rainbow.

And to see a double rainbow and visit Paris all in one week--wow!

I've been reading a book lately while recovering from the flu. I may say more about it later, but for now only that it has reminded me of how important it is to look at life with openness and gratitude, and to really see the many blessings all around.

If I had been doing anything other than looking out the window at this point..... this beautiful moment, so real and so meaningful, would be for me as if it had never happened. I would never have seen it, never felt the awe, never had the picture, never enjoyed the memory.

I wonder how many such manifestations of beauty and grace I have missed in my life, just because I wasn't looking? Because I was so focused on either something I was doing or something I was thinking (probably worrying about) that I didn't see what was in front of me?

The "wise men" were looking, apparently. Looking for a long time, most likely, being observers of the stars and having come from far away. They looked, they searched, they found, and they followed.

But first, they looked. They had their eyes open. They weren't too busy to miss it. They had eyes to see.

I want to, too.

Take Two

All right, I'm back with the hope of sharing the photos I wanted to share last night.

It's the evening of Epiphany, a word I knew only as a word for something like "a comprehension or perception of reality by means of a sudden intuitive realization" (thank you, thefreedictionary) until about a decade ago, when I began learning how the word with a capital "E" fit into Christian history and the liturgical calendar.

Interestingly, I had actually learned about longer ago than that, when I was living in Italy. Except that there I heard mainly of "la Befana," a sort of female cross between Santa Claus and a witch, who leaves lumps of coal and/or goodies for children on this evening. "Befana" is thought to be a sort of corrupted pronunciation of "Epifania," which was surely explained to me back then. But as I had no context for meaning of that term, it didn't stick.

 

 

It's very interesing to me that according to information from the book pictured above, Epiphany was celebrated by the Eastern church circa a century earlier than Christmas was added to the Roman church's calendar.

I'm not the one to go into a in-depth explanation of what Epiphany is, but I think it's a beautiful idea to celebrate the events from the gospels in which it was revealed that Jesus had come to make salvation possible, to Gentiles as well as Jews, events worth pondering and studying, enjoying and being thankful for.

When I have been to Epiphany services, candles and light played a role, with the idea being that just as Jesus came to bring light into the world, so we are do go out and do the same.

And light is what originally caused me to take these pictures, not knowing at the time that I would link them to my life in Italy twenty-something years ago. Now, crossing my fingers that Blogger is going to let me post them.....

Okay, this is hilarious. We live in such a funny world, with our technology dependence. It is still not working. So, what did I do but go to Google, hoping for an epiphany....or at least an answer. A shot in the dark, I thought--but wouldn't you know it? I typed in "why is Blogger...." and it filled in for me "not uploading photos." Obviously I'm not the first!

Well, I found several suggestions but am not competent to carry out any of them. So until I am able to consult with my more techno-savvy husband, I guess I'm stuck.

So.....here's another picture from an earlier post on my blog. It's the moon over our former home. Maybe, just maybe, something like the star that led the magi to Bethlehem. How I would like to know more about that story....

And how I imagine the magi would have liked to know more about what it was they were following, and what it was they found. How I wonder what became of them and how this journey affected their lives. Much to ponder, much to wonder.

And I hope soon to be back with new photos.