Ave Maria

Maybe it is the 60 degree weather; or the fact that we still don't have our tree up; more than likely it has to do with Brendan's Thanksgiving accident. In any case, "it" is my lack of traditional Christmas spirit. I cannot remember a Saturday after Thanksgiving that wasn't spent trimming the tree. For the past five Christmases, Malcolm and I have picked out our tree from a sweet old farmer who hauls trees into downtown Cullman. The first year we met him, eyes moist with tears he told us that his daughter-in-law and grandson had died in a car accident just weeks before. We wept with him...treasuring our tree all the more. Every year since then, we have loyally visited his lot, inquiring about his widowed son, grateful for God's healing in their lives.

Yesterday after church I chose to forego the beloved tree search and asked Malcolm to drop me off at the grocery store so I could shop while he picked out the tree. When he picked me up and shared tales of our old friend, I half-heartedly listened. Something is different this year. Those old traditions seem hollow, rote.

And yet, meaningful new ways to celebrate the season are taking hold. Days spent making prayer beads for friends...long, recuperative walks with Brendan...Advent chants and prayers bubbling up from a newly discovered well. I find myself singing, "Come Light of Life into my heart...Come Light of Life into my heart..." A little ditty I created for an Advent workshop...sitting around a circle with 25 wonderful people chanting, "Come Light of Life into my heart..." that was powerful.

I have been Reading and re-reading the story in Luke when Mary was visited by the Angel Gabriel. What courage it must've taken for that fourteen-year-old girl to risk her future with Joseph, her very life by saying, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord."

Soon after her encounter with Gabriel, she hauled her barely pregnant self to visit her cousin...why? To help? To hide? I wonder if we haven't sanitized Mary to be the model of motherhood and perhaps missed of the significance of her response to the role she agreed to. Upon arriving at Elizabeth's home, Mary spoke the words of the Magnificat (listed below, also known as the Song of Mary). Look at these words from her heart...Mary is the bearer of her Jewish social justice tradition! Yet so often we have focused on her purity, her virginal qualities. I wonder if that obsession with her virginity isn't reflective of the church's discomfort with women's sexuality...a distraction from the powerful role model she is meant to be.

When we consider Mary and her preparation for the birth of Jesus, courage, powerful surrender, and service come to mind. This Advent season, how can we embody her in a more personal way? Not necessarily in the way we have been taught to regard Mary...as submissive to the point of passive; but rather as an empowered woman giving birth to the Love that will save us from ourselves.

I have more questions than answers, but perhaps this lack of enthusiasm with the traditional Christmas preparation is more indicative of something new stirring than it is of a lack of love and respect for tradition. Hmmmm--maybe that is what this season is all about after all.

Advent Blessings to you and yours! May the Light of Life come into your hearts!

The Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55 NRSV)

And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord, ⁴⁷ and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, ⁴⁸for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; ⁴⁹for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name. ⁵⁰His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation. ⁵¹He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. ⁵²He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly; ⁵³he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty. ⁵⁴He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy, ⁵⁵according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

Angels Everywhere

Recently our son Brendan was in a serious car accident. Thankfully, he is home and recovering well. Often when tragedy hits, we are at the mercy of strangers. The phone call came the evening before Thanksgiving. We were thrust into a world we didn't wish to enter. Mercifully, we encountered angels everywhere.

It was dusk when I rushed out of my car, running toward the flashing lights. A chorus of voices called from a porch, "Mom, mom...he's over here. He's alright." Malcolm had arrived ahead of me. He and the family that lived in the home surrounding Brendan. A woman wrapped Brendan in a blanket, apologizing for the pink princess design. She offered to take him inside.

After arriving at the hospital in Cullman, we were told that Brendan would have to be airlifted to UAB's trauma unit--he had broken a vertebrae. Nauseous, I angsted over whether we should stay with Brendan until the helicopter arrived, or to get a head start so we could get to UAB soon after Brendan would. The ER nurse assured us she would stay with him every minute until the chopper came and call us as soon as he took off. Then she touched Malcolm's elbow, "Sir, you have one job right now and that is NOT to try and beat that helicopter, because you won't and your son needs you to get there safely." Hating to leave, we knew Brendan was in caring hands.

Angels everywhere...the chaplain waiting for Brendan to arrive and stay with him until we could get to UAB...the nurse who sat with me when I needed to leave the room and catch my breath...the friend, who is a medical professional, who stayed in the ER well past midnight, protectively overseeing Brendan's care...friends and strangers, earning wings with tenderness beyond duty...meeting our questions, our eyes, our hearts with compassionate care.

Brendan arrived at his room around 3:30 am. A team of nurses and nursing assistants converged on him, mothering, soothing, kidding with him...reassuring both of us, "He's gonna be alright. These young healthy ones, they do great!"

I asked for a washcloth to bathe him. One of the assistants came back with a pan of warm, soapy water and a pile of washcloths. She held out her hand with a white cloth and my mind flashed on kneeling at the rail, hands outstretched to receive the Eucharist. Gently she smiled at me, "Mama, you get on that side and I'll be on this one. We gonna do this together." Then she turned to Brendan, smoothed his forehead with her thumb, "We gonna take good care of you baby. Don't you worry. You are a sweet boy...Your mama and I are gonna take real good care of you. You had a hard night, but it's gonna get better. I promise you. It's gonna get better. Just relax, we'll get this stuff off of you. Just relax." I have heard it said, "Every breath you take is the breath of God." This angel whose name I do not even remember, reminded me to breathe...that there was a Loving Presence among us, sustaining us...whose hands were holding out washcloths like Communion wafers.

Ours was truly a Thanksgiving filled with blessings. For that we are grateful. Namaste