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Today’s Word: Yes

Steve · December 19, 2013 · 1 Comment

The Annunciation, by Henry Ossawa Tanner (Wiki Commons)

The Annunciation

(Found in Luke 1:26-39, the Annunciation is the Christian celebration of the announcement by the angel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary that she would conceive and become the mother of Jesus.)

The announcement, the call to her in the midst of sleep,
is the very beginning of the story,
the pinhole of opportunity,
the invitation to grace
the way opening to way.

It is God saying:
“Yes, this is what we will do. We will begin here,
with this one, this girl.
This poor girl from the middle of nowhere.
This will catch them off guard.
Through her we will look like the rest of them,
work and walk among them, be with them,
point them in our direction before they realize it.

This will be, for many, the path of greatest resistance,
not an easy and gentle way,
but a birth and rebirth offered for them,
a way marked by labor and blood,
things unknown to us,
yet necessary for the work we must do in them.
Yes, this is what we will do.
Yes.”

This offer of grace and salvation now extends to us,
The sons and daughters of creation,
and it asks for an answer.
It requires from us the same yes she gave,
Sitting on a rumpled bed
In the middle of the night,
Inviting in the light,
Saying yes.

Ask yourself in silence: To what have I said yes to God? To what have I said no?

Today’s Word: Beginnings

Steve · December 10, 2013 · 2 Comments

In begins on the road to Bethlehem. SJG photo.

Just received word from our friends “The Merry Keenans” in England (we lived just west of London for about three years in the mid-1990s) that a
Christmas reading I wrote a number of years ago is going to be performed as part of this year’s carol service at our old parish, St. Joseph’s in Gerrards
Cross, Buckinghamshire, this coming Sunday. The choirs will be conducted by Mary Keenan “herself,” and I’m told there will be mulled wine and minced pies in the parish centre following the festivities. Truly, truly wish we could be there. If by chance you live in that beautiful part of the world (in the Chilterns), please drop by and clap loudly. Tell them the colonists sent you.

Here’s the reading…

The Journey Begins

The journey begins, not at Nazareth as Joseph and Mary prepare for their trip to the City of David, but at a time much earlier.

It begins with darkness…and God…and the Word.

It begins at creation, when God called forth light, life and those made in His own image.

It begins with a man and a woman, banished from the garden and crying out for a new
source of life and salvation.

It begins with a son, standing over the slain body of his brother and listening to the sound of blood crying out from the ground.

It begins with a great flood and the promise of a rainbow.

It begins on a mountain top, with a father’s hand ready to sacrifice his son.

It begins with a child, drawn like water from the river by a Pharaoh’s daughter.

It begins with a bush, burning but not consumed, on a small parcel of holy ground.

It begins with plagues and the deaths of first-born children, with years of wandering in the desert, with manna from heaven and water flowing from rocks, with towers of flame and parted seas, with covenants and commandments and temples and sacred meals.

It begins with songs of praise, psalms of thanksgiving, and words of wisdom for those wise enough to listen.

It begins with the words of prophets, warning of coming destruction and telling of the coming of a Messiah.

It begins with a voice in the wilderness crying, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord.”

It begins with the stirrings of life inside a chosen woman.

It begins on the road to Bethlehem…

Ask yourself in silence: Where did my journey begin? When did God enter it?

A Song for the Season: Soft Light From a Stable Door

Steve · December 7, 2013 · 1 Comment

A little something special for the seasons of Advent and Christmas…I’m going to periodically through December post lyrics and audio recordings of songs from our Christmas CD produced a few years ago, Nathanael’s Creed’s “Home Again with You.”

[If you’re looking for stocking stuffers, the CDs are available for $15, which includes postage and handling. Drop me an email or send a check to: Steve Givens, 51 High Valley Dr., Chesterfield, Mo. 63017.]

First up is “Soft Light from a Stable Door,” a song based on a beautiful poem by the English poet Lilian Cox.

To listen, click here: Soft Light from a Stable Door

Soft Light from a Stable Door
Words by Lilian Cox
Music by Steve Givens & Jim Russell

Soft light from a stable door
Lies on the midnight lands;
The wise men’s star burns evermore,
Over all the desert sands.

To all peoples of the earth
A little Child brought light;
And never in the darkest place
Can it be utter night.

No flick’ring torch, no wav’ring fire,
But Light the Life of men;
Whatever clouds may veil the sky,
Never is night again.

To all peoples of the earth
Never is night again.
The wise men’s star burns evermore
Never is night again.
Soft light from a stable door
Never is night again.
Never is night again.
Never is night again.
Never is night…

–

The players

Guitar: Jim Russell
Lead vocals: Steve Givens
Keyboard: Phil Cooper
Percussion: Pat Dillender
Bass: Gerry Kasper
Background vocals: Phil Cooper, Pat Dillender, Jim Russell and Gerry Kasper

Today’s Word: Restoration

Steve · November 11, 2013 · 5 Comments

coxscomb — Cockscomb Butte, Sedona. SJG photo

Centennial Trail in Sedona, Arizona is an easy, short, paved hike, only two-thirds of a mile out and back. More of a stroll than a hike, really. The view is pretty good of the nearby red rock formations, including the imposing Cockscomb Butte. The sunsets are great because it’s a flat, open area and you can see both the sunset itself and the golden light that plays on the mountains to the horizon’s east. So while it’s not much of a trail, the views can be rewarding. But the most interesting thing about Centennial Trail, for me, is the knowledge that it was built on the site of Sedona’s long-time city dump. You can still see the sun glancing off small bits of glass and metal that are the remains of decades of debris. The city restored the area for Sedona’s Centennial celebration in 2002, thus the name.

stones — On Centennial Trail, Sedona. SJG photo

The trail is a reminder that beauty — both the physical beauty of the world and our own inner beauty that flows from the presence of the Spirit of God — can very often lie under our histories of neglect and even abuse. We can walk the paths of our lives and feel like the remains of someone else’s life, not realizing that we are actually choice spots of radiant beauty, vantage points from which others might someday be able to pass en route to glimpsing the glory of God just beyond us. We await only the nurturing touch and the gentle weeding of the gardener’s hand. Restored…we can be restored.

Ask yourself in silence: What is the debris of my life? From what do I need to be restored?

Note: I wrote a similar piece a few years ago about another former city dump in Ft. Bragg, California.

Today’s Word: Night

Steve · September 12, 2013 · 2 Comments

Last night I spent the night as the only person in the Ignatius House Jesuit Retreat Center outside of Atlanta. I arrived in the evening so I would be ready to present a retreat today to a group of (what turned out to be) inspiring, incredibly open and courageous cancer patients, along with their supportive family and friends and some dedicated and equally inspiring caregivers and pastoral care workers. More on that tomorrow. But last night I found myself all alone in the big ole rambling place. “Sounds creepy,” said Sue and our daughter Jenny on the phone. But it was just the kind of silence and darkness that I needed. Night — especially a dark and quiet night out in the country — often gives focus to my prayer and pulls my thoughts to God more intensely because the dark and the silence block out the noise and light of the world. So I was not feeling creepy but, rather, deeply.

I wandered the halls a little. I sat in the small chapel for an hour and a half reading, praying and working on the next day’s talks. I sat out on a balcony and watched a spider spin a web. Midnight was approaching and I could have stayed up much later; would have if not for the knowledge that I had to get up early to begin my day. I reluctantly turned in, but not before offering a prayer to the Creator of the night — the artist of darkness and the composer of exquisite silence.

A Night Prayer

Under the veil of dark
I turn to you, Lord
To illuminate the night
To lighten my mind
To enlighten my soul
To recall my day
To find your movements
To begin to begin again
To anticipate tomorrow
To live in hope.

Ask yourself in silence: Do you find God in the darkness and quiet of the night? Do you take the time to review your day in the evening and prepare for the next day?