Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Archives for December 2016
Santa Lucia–The Lightbringer
We arrived at Salem Lutheran Church before 7:00 am and took our seats in the candlelit sanctuary. The pews were filled with smiling parishioners, many of whom wore colorful Nordic print sweaters to chase away the extreme cold and to proclaim their Scandinavian pride. My 100% Scandinavian genes were feeling a little envious. After the handbell prelude, we listened while the first verse of the processional song ‘Sankta Lucia’ was sung in Swedish, then joined in for the English version: Night’s heavy footprints lie / ‘Round farm and toil / Spirits shall haunt the world / Shadows on soil / In our dark house at night / Rising with candles bright / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia // Night’s full of black and gloom / Now hear her swing / Through all our darkened rooms / On her sweet wings / At our door clad in white / Wearing a crown of light / Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia
Santa Lucia (Saint Lucy) was a young Christian from Syracuse, Sicily who refused to marry her pagan husband and was martyred in 304 A.D. Many legends surround Santa Lucia—that she carried baskets of food to persecuted Christians in the catacombs with a wreath of candles on her head to light the way, and that she appeared after her death at the bow of a ship carrying food to the starving people of Varmland, Sweden. She was clothed in white with a crown of light circling her head. Her feast day is December 13th which coincided with the Winter Solstice during the Julian calendar. Santa Lucia’s Day, the 13th, marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden.
Sweden and at least parts of Finland, Norway, and Denmark celebrate Lucia as the symbol of light and hope during the darkest time of the year. In villages and households, a chosen Santa Lucia carries coffee and pastries—often lussekatter, sweet saffron buns—to villagers and family members. Denmark’s first Lucia procession was held during Nazi occupation of the mid-1940’s to show peaceful resistance and offer a reminder of hope. **
At Salem Lutheran Church, Tomtars and Star Boys, Saint Knut, and Lucia with her Tarnors or handmaidens processed down the aisle with candles and bells and sat at the front of the church during the service. As we sang and prayed, daylight gradually revealed the amazing stained glass window above the alter. After the service, all were invited to the Great Hall for Scandinavian pastries, coffee, and lingonberry glogg!
Today, on this 21st day of December, we celebrate the Winter Solstice, the first Day of Winter. We have reached the shortest day of the year, the longest night. Santa Lucia is celebrated in Sweden and other northern countries as the Lightbringer of faith, hope, and good things to come. Her light shines through the darkness as she brings food for the hungry and needy. She heralds in the Christmas season. On this longest night, I wish for all of us the Light of generosity and compassion, the Light of warm housing and abundant food, the Light of forgiveness and peace, and most of all the Light of Love. May we all be bearers of Light. God Jul!*
*Happy/Merry Christmas in Swedish
**Santa Lucia image from Google images
‘The Breath of the Buffalo in the Wintertime’
It’s been a year now since my Dad moved through his final days of life, receiving hospice care on Christmas Day and for two short days after that. I still have the notes I took each time I talked to him while he was in the hospital and rehab center. I still have his phone number under Dad in my cell phone, though no one’s there to answer. I still have the picture of him in my mind of how he looked when I saw him for the last time two months before he died. His hair and beard were white and long. The sharp pain of his passing has waned, and I find myself carrying gratitude for him, his life, and his stories.
One story he told about his childhood years was riding to the nearby town of Badger in the horse-drawn sleigh. Grandpa would harness and hitch up the horses, and then the whole family would pile into the sleigh and cover themselves with a big buffalo robe—the tanned hide of a buffalo with the hair left on it. Dad said it was the warmest blanket for traveling across the snow-covered prairie in an open sleigh.
We’ve been having a bit of a cold spell here in Minnesota over the past week or so—temperatures in the teens or single digits with wind chills up to 25 below zero, with last night’s actual temperature a frigid 25 below! January weather before the Winter Solstice. During this cold weather last Saturday, we visited a Christmas tree farm that offers horse-drawn sleigh rides (or wagon, if not enough snow) to see their buffalo. The big, black Percherons stood in front of the hitching post, patiently waiting for the next group of bundled sight-seers. We were not among the bundled, but the horses, the cold, and the buffalo reminded me of Dad’s story of winter prairie life.
One buffalo was standing his ground while the others grazed or ate hay. His moisture-laden breath wreathed his big head and froze on his muzzle like a great white beard.
“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” –Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator
What is life? Would we even know without the pain and poignancy of death? Crowfoot reminds us that life is the little things that happen in our world—the flash of a firefly, the frozen breath of a buffalo, notes from a phone call, childhood stories, a sunset, and a hug good-bye. Christmas and other holidays feel different when our loved ones are no longer in our lives—through death or by choice. There are missing pieces that dampen the joy and celebration. And while the sharp pain subsides with time, the loss chills our hearts in small but real ways. So I cover myself with the buffalo robe of memories—it’s the warmest way for traversing this new path.
The Treasure of a Diamond
I’m not much of a ‘jewelry’ person. I wear my simple gold wedding band on my left hand and a silver, lapis, and turquoise ring I bought years ago at Mount Rushmore, on my right hand. The single diamond in my engagement ring was knocked out decades ago when I was doing laundry. My ears aren’t pierced. And most days of my life, I would look pretty silly wearing a necklace with my jeans and fleece. But, I remember when I was a kid, I loved looking at the diamonds in my Mom’s jewelry box. Rows of dangly earrings and intricate brooches sparkled with what seemed like hundreds of tiny diamonds. What a treasure! It didn’t matter to me that they weren’t ‘real’ diamonds.
Melting snow during Thanksgiving weekend created a thick fog that condensed and froze on everything. The Cedar trees were encrusted with glittering ice ‘diamonds!’
The ice-covered Hydrangea reminded me the most of the earrings I admired in the jewelry box–clusters of tiny diamonds and flower-shaped dangles. What a treasure.
The berries of the Gray Dogwood, fall food for the birds, were replaced by diamonds of ice.
Those of you who know of my non-proclivity for jewelry also probably know of my love for Emmylou Harris. I was introduced to Mark Knopfler’s voice and song-writing from their album together, All the Roadrunning. You know how at certain times in your life a certain song ‘speaks’ to you? The second song on this album spoke to me—it was on repeat and played loudly in the quiet of my car or the solitude of the house for many months.
I dug up a diamond / rare and fine / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine
If only I could cling to / my beautiful find / I dug up a diamond / in a deep, dark mine
My gem is special / beyond all worth / strong as any metal / or stone in the earth
Sharp as any razor /or blade you can buy / bright as any laser / or star in the sky
I had been to the bottom of the deep, dark mine—that spiritual journey that shakes up all the beliefs that hold your life together. When you are digging and clawing for something to make sense of all the pain. When you’re covered in the dust of disappointments and heartache, and it’s so dang hard to breathe. And then I realized I had found a rare and fine diamond, and it was me. We lose what we were and become something new. Each one of us is special, beyond all worth—what a treasure! Take your place, Bright Star, and shine.
Gleanings from November—Seeing Clearly
To see clearly is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one.
John Ruskin, English art critic 1819-1900
This November was a strange month. Not only was the weather erratic and unprecedented but so was the election and the political climate. (Sigh) All of it is confusing and confounding with smokescreens of battling tweets, false news sites and hacking, entertainment-fantasy-lies versus reality, and those who say to the seers, “See not.”*
The bright-headed Pileated Woodpecker caught my attention in the gray, exposed landscape of early November. His large body of steely gray feathers could easily have been camouflaged, but the red crest of feathers and stripes of white, red and gray on his head and neck created a bull’s-eye through the circular branches of an old Oak. I’m so intrigued by this huge, shy bird. Most often I hear the distinctive, raucous call before seeing the undulating flight and clumsy landing. His strong, pickaxe bill can send chunks of wood flying as he searches for insects.
The mild weather of early November gave us glimpses of colored shrubs and perennials that usually would have lost their leaves via a killing frost by that time. Joe Pye Weed still looked beautiful in its autumn glory, surrounded by red fruit stems of Gray Dogwood and graceful branches of Oak trees.
The last of the golden-leaved trees was the Honey Locust, losing leaves from stems, then losing the yellow sprays of leaf stems from branches. A cascade of loss.
November’s super moon caught the attention of the world, something that gave me great pleasure and hope—that a celestial body could be the focus of attention for a week of time. The moon, stars, sun, and earth—all common denominators for each and every one of us on this planet. But the focus can easily be placed on other things, even when looking at our common subjects.
What is the real subject? What is the real issue? What is the truth of the situation?
Many things can obscure what we’re looking at, what we need to know. Clouds of illusion, reflections of reflections, and influences of darkness can obstruct our vision and muddy our convictions.
On the 18th, our first snow was a blizzard, closing schools and littering the highways with wrecks. Not seeing and slippery slopes have consequences.
But there was this flower blooming outside our window the day before the storm. One stem of this Hollyhock represented all the stages of our lives: a closed green bud full of potential; an unfolding bud showing rich, young, lively color; a lovely, open blossom in its prime; an older, more experienced, slightly faded bloom; a wilted, wiser, wrinkled version of its former self; and finally, a withered, spent flower that was being ‘cared for’ by the rest of the plant. All of them valuable and worthy to be seen.
“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright) Sun-Shiny day.” (Gamble & Huff) So, where do we begin? We begin right where we are. We begin by seeing and being aware. There is great value in seeing the environment around us, in being aware of the people around us, but most importantly, I believe, in seeing ourselves. What path are we on?
On our paths, we attempt to see our lives clearly. We want the sweet poetry of joy and love. We look forward to a good and meaningful life. We long to be in the presence of the Holy One. In that spirit, with that Spirit, we have the amazing ability to look at our lives, our thoughts, our feelings and have insight—what a gift! Novelist Jonathan Franzen wrote about insight: “And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight—isn’t that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you’re less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn’t it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you’ve experienced before? You see things more clearly and you know that you’re seeing more clearly. And it comes to you that this is what it means to love life, this is all anybody who talks seriously about God is ever talking about. Moments like this.” I say to the seers, “See.”
*Isaiah 30:10