Worship, Sunday 31 Dec: 'At the gate of the year'

Today, we stand, at the gate of the year... 

time to take up the challenge and step through, 

daring to dream, 

daring to hope, 

daring to be God's people in the world.

Given we're still in the Christmas season until 6 Jan, we had one last opportunity for a bit of a Carol sing.
Our readings featured travelling Magi, plus Simeon and Anna at the Temple on the day of Jesus' presentation at 8 days old.

One poem, by Godfrey Rust, pondered what the story of the Wise Men might have looked like, had they slightly overshot their mark both in place, and in time...

‘The journey of the magi (cont.)’ 
Coming as they did from the first century 
they had a few problems with London traffic 
and were seriously misled by signs 
to the Angel and King's Cross. 
Inquiring diligently about the star 
they were referred to Professor Brian Cox, 
who thought it was amazing
while smiling in a constant and strangely unsettling way.
In Harrods the camels 
made a mess all over Soft Furnishings.
On the Underground
commuters glared at No Smoking signs
as incense wafted gently through the carriages,
and when the great day came 
they saw the entire voting population 
slumped on sofas by four o'clock, 
rendered senseless by too much 
dead poultry and the Queen, 
while over Liberty's and Hamley's 
the flickering angels sang
Glory to God in the High St
and they found him,
with the inns full up once more, 
in the old familiar place, 
bringing their unregarded gifts 
to the empty stable 
of the human heart 
where the infant Christ is born 
again and again.

A beautiful piece by Mary Lou Sleevi reflects upon Anna, the prophet:
‘Anna’ 
Her laugh is simply happy
The prescribed pair of turtle doves,
averse to captivity,
refrain for the moment
from their soft, plaintive moans.
From their perch
they lurch forward
to take in The Occasion.
Exuberantly,
Anna recognizes a child
at his Presentation in the temple.
She talks of him in no uncertain terms!
Her particular words are shrouded,
but Delight registers profoundly
under the veil of widow-black.
A lifetime of focus
is all in her eyes.
Thanks be to God!
The old woman is truly Beautiful
and beautifully True.

Anna comes to Her Moment laughing,
her face the free expression
of all that’s inside.
Her life of late
seems to have staged
an ongoing soliloquy.
That heavenly smile authenticates Anna.
She is the Recognized Prophet
who came and confirmed
the word of a brother who said,
“‘My eyes have witnessed your saving deed
displayed for all the peoples to see…'”

As prophets do,
Anna ensured that the message
would get beyond temple precincts.
She probably heard Simeon speak,
and may have embellished
his Inspiration
by extending her hugs to the Chosen parents,
very tenderly. 

Anna had seen it all.
Grown-ups talk anxiously about 
fulfilling the dreams of children.
Anna’s Jesus-Moment
is an elder’s consummate Belief
in a dream come true.
She speaks truth beautifully,
naturally.
The gift of prophecy is backed
by her life/prayer of eighty-four years.
Stretch marks from 
solitude and solicitude and solidarity
show in The Wrinkling,
giving her face its certain Lift.

Anna of the free Spirit
is no solemn ascetic.
She talks to the baby,
as well as about him,
She shoulders him closely,
absorbing his softness,
his heartbeat,
his breathing—
experiencing a Benediction of Years
between them.
This is Manifestation embodied.

Solace.
The prophet knows
she has looked at him
Years later,
words of Jesus would Beatify her vision:
“Blest are the single-hearted
for they shall see God.”
Those eyes have twinkled
as she wrinkled.
“Constantly in the temple,”
the temple of her heart,
she became familiar
with every inch of her living space
—including its limitations—
and the Beneficence of Sister Wisdom
dwelling therein.
Anna liked the view from her window.
And a comfortable chair.

In “worshipping day and night,”
she had spent her Vitality
on an extravagance of prayer,
and discovered she was strong.
Life with Wisdom was a trilogy
of faith, hope, and love.
In Anna’s everyday Essence,
love of God and faith in a people—
and 
faith in God and love of a people—
were insatiable and inseparable.
And her fasting produced
a Gluttony of hope.
The disciplined disciple,
never withdrawn,
stayed in touch with the world
and kept finding God.

Once
upon his time,
she welcomed The Promised One.
“She talked about the child…”
And talk Anna did.
She is more than prophet:
she is a grandmother!
Because it is the Christ-child she hugs,
Anna, as prophet,
is particularly aware
of the vulnerability of less-awaited children
and parents, who also have dreams.

Anna.
Dimming eyes,
still forward-looking,
crinkle with joy.
Anna is Anticipation.
She is an Image
of constancy and change…
the progression of peace and purpose
at any stage of life.

Hers is the Holy City.
Solitude
as Anna lived it
lessens fear of the death-moment.

For, with God, one never stops saying
“Hello!”

And so, through Scripture readings, carols, poetry, and brief reflections, we thought about journeys, and power found in unexpected places, as well as stopping to pause to leave regrets behind as we stepped into the promise of a new year.
And, in preparation to step through the gate into 2018, we said John Wesley's Covenant Prayer together:

I am no longer my own, but yours.

Put me to what you will, 

rank me with whom you will;

put me to doing, put me to suffering;

let me be employed for you, or laid aside for you,

exalted for you, or brought low for you;

let me be full,

let me be empty,

let me have all things, 

let me have nothing:

I freely and wholeheartedly yield all things

to your pleasure and disposal.

And now, glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

you are mine and I am yours. 

So be it.

And the covenant now made on earth, 

let it be ratified in heaven.

Amen.

May God bless us all, as we step through the gate of the year...

Christmas and Hogmanay Services 2017

Sermon, Sunday: 3 Advent 'Rejoice'

In our worship this morning, we welcomed Nairn Murray Drife
into God's family through the sacrament of baptism...

And we reflected on joy, seen in Mary's great song of joy, 'the Magnificat'

READINGS Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; 1 Thess 5:16-24; Luke 1:47-55

SERMON
Let’s pray:
May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts
be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our strength and our redeemer, Amen.

It is a time of danger.
Fear is growing throughout the land.
A tyrant from long ago is regaining strength and power.
The darkness... is growing.
9 friends – new and old – have set out on a perilous quest.
It is a strange company:
while there are battle-hardened warriors,
there are several small and rather unlikely companions.
It is with one of these little ones, that the great burden of the quest lies most heavily.
He is the chosen one:
on him, the quest either succeeds... or fails.
They have travelled many miles,
braved many dangers,
lost a beloved member of their group.
Finding sanctuary in an ancient wood, they meet with others –
allies who help them.

Unable to sleep one evening,
the small one who has been chosen walks through the wood,
following the queen of that land, until they find a glade.
He wonders if he is up to the task –
he’s only one small person caught up in a great series of events beyond his understanding.
He’s afraid.
The great queen bends down, and with kindness says:
‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’

And just as a matter of interest:
does anyone know what story I’m referring to, and which characters??

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
In the Lord of the Rings, the powers that be tend not to notice folk like Frodo – Hobbits.
They are a little people, who tend not to get caught up in the great affairs of the world.
They live in what some might think of as a quiet backwater, just getting on with their lives,
while all around them, the big important people get on with doing
whatever it is that big important people do.
But, in this particular story, the ability not to be particularly noticed
is the very thing that saves the day:
from a humble people comes one who will indeed change the world
and overcome the evil that threatens to destroy it.

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
Galadriel’s words to Frodo, could almost be the song of joy that Mary sings.
We don’t know much about Mary:
she’s young,
female...
already in that time and place that’s two strikes against her:
she’s also from Nazareth, in Galilee –
a backwater of no real significance.
She might as well be invisible:
a woman of no importance.
Except, she ends up being extremely important.
She is given a great task –
one that will potentially change the course of the future.
She is chosen –
not to bear a ring of power and save the world, like Frodo –
but chosen to bear the longed-for Messiah who will save her people...
and who will save the world.
The great Creator of the heavens and the earth has noticed this humble,
relatively invisible, young woman.
Her reaction:
joy.
The God who sees all has seen even Mary –
just as in the desert so many centuries before, God saw Hagar when no-one else did.
Mary rejoices,
and as she does, she calls to mind what her God has done down through the centuries,
calls to mind what kind of God she worships:
she sings a great song of joyful praise –
a song that becomes a great hymn of liberation,
a song describing the values of God’s kingdom.
This is a God who not only sees the ones nobody else does,
this is a God who raises them up
and calls them his own;
this is a God whose kingdom is built upon mercy, justice, love:
where the ones who are hungry are filled with good things,
and where the old, corrupt regimes based on
greed, division, derision, despair and darkness
are thrown down.
Mary’s song is a manifesto for serious change –
and if we really pay attention to it, and subscribe to it,
what changes might we, with God’s help,
bring about in our communities,
and in our world?

‘Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.’
Frodo did in The Lord of the Rings;
Mary did, by agreeing to God’s plan;
one small baby did, who was born in a stable 2 000 years ago...
even we can change the course of the future, in our small corner of the world.
Advent is the waiting, watching, and preparing time:
preparing to remember once more the birth of Jesus,
the son of Mary,
Mary, who wove a song of liberation around him
as she rejoiced in God’s vision for how the world could be.
Let’s join the liberation, and work towards God’s kingdom:
where even the smallest person –
even as small as wee Nairn –
is noticed, loved, and valued...
and let’s sing the songs of God’s freedom to the world, this day, and every day. Amen.

Remembering Teresa Brasier

On Tuesday the 5th of December, our Elder, friend, and sister in Christ,
Teresa Brasier died at home, after her long illness.
She spent a good part of this year thinking about others, and preparing us all for what was to come.
This came out particularly in a service held in June this year -
she wanted to give thanks for her life, wanted to gather her family and friends close,
wanted to give good memories, and demonstrate in her own way,
that she knew that death wasn't the end.
So, we gathered:
had a service or worship in the church;
had a hog roast and ceilidh in Wanlockhead;
had an afternoon and evening in which stories were shared, and more memories were created.
That afternoon, and evening, was a gift of love and care, by Teresa.

Given that Teresa's funeral on Friday won't have a eulogy, copied below is the sermon at the service
from that June afternoon - to help catch a glimpse of who Teresa was, and of the God
who was so core to her being.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to Teresa's family and all who loved her, and whose lives she touched.

Reading: Psalm 139

Address 
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts,
be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

‘Oh Lord, you have searched me, and you know me,’ says the writer of Psalm 139.
‘You know when I sit,
when I rise…
You know what I think,
what I’m going to say….
You know where I am,
and you’re right there with me…
I can’t escape….’

Fairly early on in my time here as minister,
as part of getting to know folk in the congregation a little better,
I found myself heading up to #1 Curfew Place to visit Teresa.
We fell naturally into an easy-going, free-ranging conversation
about life, the universe, God, dogs, and everything.
Good, honest chat:
a conversation that’s been ongoing since then,
conversation where laughter and prayer often mingle together,
where nothing is really off-limits,
and where, an enormous black lab often sits by my feet,
with great, hopeful eyes willing me to give him my biscuit –
Poacher’s nothing, if not an ever-hopeful optimist…

I’m not sure when it was, precisely, but one day, discussion turned to Psalm 139.
I discovered that it was one of Teresa’s favourite pieces of scripture,
and, Teresa discovered that I had a particular name for the Psalm –
a psalm expressing God’s faithfulness,
a psalm which talks of God always being with you,
of God knowing you utterly.
It’s a psalm that’s immensely comforting:
no matter what,
no matter how good, or how bad,
no matter the situation,
the psalmist assures us
that God is with us,
that God never lets us go,
that God knows us, for God formed us…
and that:
‘we are fearfully and wonderfully made.’

How amazing:
the One who created the heavens and the earth,
who shaped the mountains,
and sculpted the deep valleys under the seas…
is not just focused upon the big…
here, in the psalm,
we have the God who is also focused upon us:
who knit us together,
who, loves us and wants to spend time with us.

Comforting.
Yes.
However, there’s a little discomfort, too:
‘Oh Lord, you have searched me, and you know me…
If I try to hide myself in the darkness,
you see straight through it as if all were in daylight…
where nothing is hidden…
I can’t escape….’
This psalm also has an edgy side,
and, on those days when I would certainly rather hide myself under a rock
than feel so utterly exposed to God’s gaze,
I’ve been known to call this ‘the stalker psalm’.
‘Where can I go?’
And the answer:
'nowhere.'

But the discomfort is not because
God’s standing there with a big stick wanting to smack us down…
the discomfort is often because,
God’s standing there with arms stretched wide in welcome, saying
‘I know you, and oh, how I love you.’
It’s hard to accept such unconditional, no strings attached love…
so much so, that it’s often us
who are the ones who pick up the big stick
and end up beating ourselves up,
thinking we don’t deserve to be loved.
And that’s the point:
it’s not about us trying to measure up;
it’s about accepting that no matter what,
God loves us
and God is with us.
And this sense that God knows,
that God loves,
and that God is with her,
is very much a part of who Teresa is.

On the day I was inducted into this parish,
some pals of mine gave me a large, soft puppet - an elephant.
It sat, on the coffee table in the lounge room of the manse.
For a few moments, we sat, and looked at it,
and then, friend James said with a grin:
‘Basically, it’s the elephant in the room.’
Sometimes, we do everything within our power to ignore the elephant in the room:
we’re not going to, today.
We know why we’re here this afternoon:
because we all love and care for our friend, daughter, sister… Teresa.
We’re here, because we want to show in our own way
that we are with her in this hard time,
just as we’ve been with her in good times as well.
And, as we stand – or sit – together, in solidarity with her,
so I think, this is reciprocated,
by Teresa’s sense of wanting to meet here today with all of you…
and, in worship, to meet with God:
who is so fundamental to her way of trying
to navigate the world,
to make meaning of it.
And, through it all –
though she’s tried to escape God many a time,
she knows that she is loved -
so very much loved by God,
and that God is with her –
even in the midst of where she finds herself at this point in her life.

The psalm we’re thinking of today
celebrates the freedom of what it is to be completely known,
the freedom of being able to drop the mask and just… be real;
it celebrates the God who knows us,
and loves us.
But it also celebrates life in all its fullness and wonder;
it celebrates the great Giver of life –
who walks with us now,
and shows us there’s more,
for we are led, in hope,
in the way everlasting.
So today, even as we name the hard things,
so, also, we celebrate hope:
we celebrate, for,
as I’ve often said in this building:
we are an Easter people and ‘alleluia!’ is our song.  Amen.

Sermon, Sunday: 2 Advent -'Preparation'

In what was a busy morning, on this 2nd Sunday of Advent, we welcomed Jenson Hodge into God's family through the sacrament of baptism.
So, a shorter reflection this morning, on our readings for today.

1st READING Isaiah 40:1-11
2nd READING Mark 1:1-8

REFLECTION
Let’s pray: May the words of my mouth, and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

Christmas is coming.
Are you ready?
Are you coping?!
Are you sticking your fingers in your ears and just going ‘la la la!’?
An American friend of mine has a particular seasonal game that’s become
a bit of a tradition for her and some other pals.
It centres around a certain Christmas song:
‘The Little Drummer Boy’ or, ‘LBD’ for short.
You know the song  - ‘pa rump pa pum pum’and all that jazz?
Basically, the person who manages to get the closest to Christmas without hearing
that song, wins the game. Apparently, there’ve been a few near-misses,
but she’s still in the game so far.
I’m not sure what the winner gets, but I suspect it’s not a copy of the song.
Given the slightly different cultural thing, I’m pretty sure, however, that if the song was
‘So here it is, this is Christmas, everybody’s having fun’ –
we’d probably all have lost weeks ago.
Anyway, the game is a part of her preparations for Christmas –
a wee ritual, to get her tuned in to the time of year.
For what it’s worth, mine is watching and waiting for signs of the first
Christmas tree to go up – how early will it be?
One year, in Edinburgh, I did see a tree up in September.
I was traumatised for weeks!

In our different ways, we’re all in the process of making preparations as we look
ahead to Christmas – even if some of us may actually be in denial that it’s almost here:
in my mind, I’m still somewhere in September...
The season of Advent is a time of preparing –
and we see that picked up in our readings this morning.
As with last week, we heard from the prophet Isaiah a little earlier.
The nation of Israel has been utterly defeated by the mighty power of the Babylonian Empire.
Many of the people have been sent into exile and captivity...
and we see that, after years of being strangers living in a strange land,
the time of captivity is coming to an end:
Isaiah tells them that God has heard their cries,
‘Comfort my people’ says God...
Basically, they’re going home:
and not the long way, but the straightest way –
paths will be made in the wilderness –
all the obstacles stopping them from getting home will be removed,
God will lead them like a shepherd out of the darkness,
out of their sadness and distress.
God will put the hope of home in their hearts, and they will be at peace.
All this, because God loves them:
it’s a bit like God’s singing to them the words of that old song:
‘Ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me away from you.’
That mountain's going to be levelled if it's in the way.
‘Good news,’ says Isaiah –
‘God’s preparing a way ahead for you.’
Now, they have hope.
Soon, they may have peace after years of living with uncertainty.
And so, they prepare to make the journey of their lives –
journeying home,
and journeying to, and with, God.

Centuries later, we hear the voice of another prophet –
the voice of John the Baptist:
the voice of one crying out in the wilderness;
the voice of one preparing the way for a longed-for Messiah...
a rescuer of the people who are oppressed by another great Empire – Rome.
And we hear not only John’s voice, but echoes of Isaiah:
‘prepare, make straight paths.’
And John, as God’s messenger, finds that here, the preparation involves baptism:
he spends his time at the River Jordan baptising folk –
symbolically washing away any obstacles;
symbolically washing away all the stuff that’s gone before in someone’s life.
Baptism: starting new, starting fresh;
helping to make the path as straight as possible
to help folk toward a new beginning,
a new journey...
journeying within,
journeying with others – a community of the baptised,
and then, journeying out to share the good news
that God is involved,
that God loves,
that there is hope.

Still, more centuries later, here we are:
preparing in our different ways to celebrate that hope fulfilled,
God’s love expressed in Jesus, Prince of Peace who, when grown,
called fisherman by the seashore,
and who still calls people wherever they are,
to join him on a journey of a lifetime –
for he is the One who straightens the paths,
who welcomes everyone, no exceptions,
and who is, as our next hymn describes:
‘joy of heaven, to earth come down.’

Christmas is coming.
Are you coping?!
Are you sticking your fingers in your ears and just going ‘la la la!’?
Or, are you preparing for the journey?
Amen.

Sermon, Sun 3 Dec: Advent 1 'Hope'

READINGS/ Isaiah 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37

SERMON
Let’s pray: may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me....

Emily Dickinson’s wonderful poem on hope is a good place to start,
on this first Sunday of a new church year in the season of Advent,
for Advent is a time to remind ourselves that we are a hopeful people:
while it’s a season of waiting, Advent is also a season of hopefulness.
We wait in hope:
as we look, keep watch, for signs that God is doing, will do, a new thing
We wait in hope:
as we look out into a world filled with growing darkness,
for, in hope, we see that night will not last forever -
in hope, we see glimpses of light,
and wait and watch for God’s new morning.

What is hope?
It is a fragile, not-yet complete thing -
not the fully-formed snowdrop, nodding in delicate white and pointing to Spring:
hope is the bulb planted deep in the earth,
hidden, yet filled with promise and potential...

What is hope?
it’s the colour red.
It’s a rope, a red cord slinking down the Jericho walls, put out by Rahab to assist the spies –
remember our time thinking about the story of  Rahab several weeks’ ago?
In Joshua 2:21, the word for ‘rope’ is the same word used for ‘hope’ in Hebrew.
What is hope?
In Rahab’s story, hope is a life-line.

What is hope?
It is heard in the raw-throated, desperate cry of the prophet Isaiah,
calling on God to tear open in the heavens and come down to earth:
because things have gone horribly, dreadfully wrong.
The nation of Israel has been squashed by a stronger nation;
the people exiled...
After a time, the Persians allow the exiles to return, and those who do come home
find devastation,
and, in some cases,
that the land held by generations of their families has been claimed
by the people who’d stayed behind.
There’s tension, there’s conflict, there’s disorder:
what sort of government should be set up to help sort out the mess?
Added to the mix:
the Temple in Jerusalem has been destroyed.
The Temple: viewed as God’s dwelling place...
if the Temple’s gone,
has God disappeared too?
Has the God of Israel been defeated?
In the midst of all of this, then, what words can the prophet give to God’s people
in the face of defeat, destruction, and potential despair?

‘Oh that you would open the heavens and come down’ cries the prophet
and, after a time of remembering the kind of God Israel has,
the prophet gives the people words to help them endure:
‘Come down: make your name known...as you did before’
‘There is no God like you’
‘You seem hidden...’
but, even so:
‘yet, O Lord, you are our Father – 
we are all the work of your hand...
we are your people.’

Isaiah reminds the Israelites that hope is found in looking back –
at what God has done;
that hope is found in looking at the future –
in remembering what God has done, in remembering that God has acted in the past,
so, hope is found in the thought that God will rescue his people again;
and, ...hope is also found in looking at the present –
at who God is...
and, at who the Israelites are –
here, hope is found in the ties of relationship:
God is as a Father to them – they are his people...
God will not abandon them because God has shaped them, like a potter,
has formed them and created them to be his own:
they matter to God:
even in the present moment,
amidst chaos
and the after-effects of calamity,
they belong to God.
Hope hangs on a red cord, of past, of future, of present:
Isaiah’s words, a life-line:
an encouragement to take heart,
for this is not the end,
and they are not alone.

And in our gospel text, more destruction...
Jesus talking of signs of things to come.
Advent, where we wait for the coming of the good news of God being with us, as one of us,
doesn’t start with the most cheering of bible passages:
and yet, in both of our texts, in Isaiah, and Mark,
in the midst of seeming darkness, the message is not about the darkness itself:
it’s about what happens after...
the darkness is not the end point,
rather, the end point is that
God will indeed open the heavens, and ...come...down -
will be with his people,
will establish the kingdom of heaven on earth,
will cast out death, despair, and darkness forever.
God’s justice and compassion will be established;
God’s peace will be brought in by Jesus, Prince of Peace – and there will be an end to war.

What is hope?
A fragile yet a fearsome thing:
'hope is the thing with feathers', says Emily Dickinson...
fragile, yet it gives us the strength to get out of bed,
to put one foot in front of the other,
and to keep going even in our darkest days -
to keep going even when we feel we can’t go on;
fragile, yet, it fills the heart with courage
and has the power to move people to overthrow tyrannical powers
by the sheer force of relentless love...
or, move people to continue to do small, and great, acts of compassion
even when faced with a sea of overwhelming need.
Hope is fragile, yet strangely strong:
for it is found in the season of Advent as we look to the coming
of the all-mighty God
as a seemingly powerless, vulnerable babe in a manger –
the One who, when grown into an adult,
calls others to follow...
calls them to watch, to wait,
to look for signs of hope –
calls them to share that hope with others;
calls them in an Upper Room,
to remember,
to share,
to eat bread, and to drink wine:
bread and wine - elements that are fragile, easily broken...
like ...a body –
like Jesus,
who showed what hope looked like in his life,
and at the last, who offered his life,
so that, in his very fragility,
the hope of resurrection would be made real.

‘O, that you would open the heavens and come down’...
What we wait for,
what we watch for,
what we hope for, in Advent, is just that:
God, beyond space and time,
breaking into our space and time...
for no matter how dark it seems,
God is not defeated,
and we are not abandoned,
for we are the work of his hands.
'Hope isn't found in the absence of trouble.
It's found in the presence of God.'*

Let’s pray:
... the world is always ending somewhere.
Somewhere 
the sun has come crashing down.
Somewhere
it has gone completely dark.
Somewhere
it has ended with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.
Somewhere
it has ended with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.
Somewhere
it has ended with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.
Somewhere
it has ended with a tenderness
that will break your heart.
But, listen,
this blessing means to be anything but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.
It is simply here
because there is nothing a blessing
is better suited for than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world is falling apart.
This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.
It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light will come,
gathering itself about you
as the world begins again...**
                                Amen.

*Advent Unwrapped
**blessing by Jan Richardson