The Word became flesh and lived among us,
                  full of grace, full of truth,
         from whom we have all received,
                  grace upon grace.
                           —John 1.14, 16

Imagine how wrong it would seem
if Jesus would come,
but not believe he was sent
to embody God’s love.
So wrong would it be
for you to not believe
that you are created to embody God’s love.
The mystery of God’s Word
is that it is made flesh.
It is the Word’s nature to be spoken,
not unspoken, to be made manifest,
to be embodied—
in Christ, in all Creation,
and in you.
This day let every moment,
every choice, every action
be an embodiment of God’s love.
And trust this: even when you fail
God’s love is made flesh in you.
 

 

         In the beginning was the Word
                  and the Word was with God,
                  and the Word was God.
         Everything that exists came into being through the Word.
                  Nothing exists apart from the Word.
                           —John 1.1-2

Everything that exists
was created by God’s love.

Everything is from one Source.
Everything is made from the same stuff.

There is One Thing
and we are all part of it.

God’s love does not come to us from afar.
It is the sea and we are the fish.

To love is not to reach across a great abyss
but to return to the rest of ourselves.

May the light of love
shine in me this day.
 

 

May the intimate presence of God draw near to you this holy night.

May the light of God’s love made flesh brighten this night with hope and joy.

May your heart be lifted in thanksgiving for the birth of this radiant child.
 

Awaiting birth
Jesus I am with you
in this warm darkness
in the womb
of Mary Mother of God.
I am held.
I am protected.
I am being nourished.
I am not the captain of my being.
All that I am I receive.
I am your Word becoming flesh.
I am waiting.
I am ready.
Light is coming.
I am coming.
You are waiting for me.
I will be pressed, pushed,
set free,
born in you, God—
light, the life of all beings.
But now,
now, in this warm darkness,
I am held.

 

 

Mary, can I sit with you?
Let me come close to your stillness,
sit in the warmth of your Spirit,
listen with you.
Teach me how to do this,
to be so receptive
to the favor of God,
to the voice of delight.
To admit such life.
To let something in me grow
without my control,
to let God in me swell my being,
change my balance.
To let something in me dilate so greatly,
to be so open to what I receive
and what I release.

Breathe with me,
through the change, through the pain,
through the world shifting within me.
Breathe with me,
with the life birthing itself in me,
the world issuing from me.

Can I sit with you and learn
how to bring forth love
in the midst of chaos and darkness,
how to be so fiercely tender
in a rough place?

Show me how to push forth this love,
how to nurse this light,
how to let this issue of my heart
go out into the world
and smile back at me.

Can I sit with you,
as the love of my love
walks out of my arms,
into this world
toward its cross
and beyond?
Can I sit with you
and learn to say yes?

 

Darkness isn’t a thing.
It doesn’t have power or substance.
It’s not evil, or bad in any way.
But our fear of it is a thing.
It has solid weight in our hearts.
Wearing darkness’ mask,
our fear drives us in ways that are evil.

On this solstice darkness reaches its limit;
the world turns back toward the light.
There is winter yet to come,
but the light has already spoken.

The light shines not to vanquish the darkness,
for the darkness is holy, too,
but to heal our fear,
and to heal the wounds it causes,
and to undo the power of evil.

The world was created in light,
as were you.
From the deep center
you shine with original light,
the light of your very being,
the light of God.
In this world where fear darkens many hearts,
you shine with the light of healing and courage.

God is already turning the world around.
Don’t be afraid of the dark. Shine in it.

 

        
God said, I love my creatures,
so much that I wish to be with them.
I wish to give myself to them.
I wish to be one of them.

Which one will you be?
the angels asked.
You could be a tree, they said,
for they are long-living and steadfast.
Or will you be a lion,
for they are powerful and without fear?
Might you be a porpoise,
for their playfulness?
Or a bird, for their freedom of flight?
Perhaps you will be an elephant,
for they are gracious and gentle.
Ah, you will be a fungus,
humble and unnoticed but essential.
No, you will be a whale,
great and unseen and full of song.

No, God said, this is not for me
and my delight, nor for my glory.
This is for my creatures.

I will be a human being,
for it is they who need the most help.
I will be one of them,
and together
we will mend ourselves.

 

Today out of sight some where
Electors are making a choice
that will rock the world, one way or anther,
and make possible a certain future.
It’s a powerful moment; much hangs in the balance.
They are empowered by a Constitution,
some are bound by state laws;
who knows what other values and commitments
will sway them?

This moment, beyond your sight,
God is choosing,
bound or swayed by nothing,
but acting in pure love,
choosing for us—
not for a party or a position or a belief
but for all of us,
choosing us as a spouse chooses,
forever, with all of God’s self,
with the power that says “Let there be light,”
power that dwarfs electors
and their decision and their nation
and its history and its future,
power that dwarfs every emperor’s,
love that dwarfs everything else.
This moment and forever
God is choosing us, saying, “I am coming,”
and making possible an unimagined future.
Let this choosing bind your own,
and live in this light.
 

 

Simple star,
shine through my tangled darkness.
Healing glory,
pierce my earth, my stone.
Secret angel,
whisper in my dreams, my nightmares,
my forgetting,
your impossible promise.
Heavenly choir,
do not wait for me to listen.
Sing your verses till I waken,
even if my whole life
is nothing but the final amen.

 

         
Come, Christ,
come here, not far away,
come here to our little suburban town.
                  
No, wait.
Come to Aleppo,
where they need you,
where the children are being slaughtered.

No, wait.
You are already there
among the oppressed.
From the beginning
this is how you come to us:
as the assaulted and discarded,
the crucified.

No, come here
to our white suburban town,
come to us with power and privilege
not to comfort but to awaken us
to care, to act,
for the sake of our little Christ child,
before we have to,
to know
we have to.