“O Ruler!” are the words sung by the church today. “O Rex!”
In our most honest moments we admit that we both like leadership, and like to rebel against it…humans are fickle.
We’re all ruled by something. Even the most unique individual allows that uniqueness to guide them to a fault. The most “don’t tread on me” flag waving person has a hook in their nose and their ideology is steering the ship.
What rules in your life?
At its best this call is a plea that our basest desires will no longer rule us, and that something more holy will do it. Perhaps peace will rule. Or love. The best of the Divine attributes!
At its worst, well, we’ve turned Jesus into just another self-styled tyrant to whom we demand others give their allegiance…
As the sun turns in early this Solstice, I’m keeping vigil with my ancestors and am anxious to spy that Christmas star!
On this night they’d haul in a huge tree; often the whole town was needed to carry it with children riding on top like a sled. They’d cut it, or grab two if needed, and take to either the village gathering place, or split between homes as was necessary.
The ancient Yule Log would mimic the “unconquered sun” in the heart of the home. Winter was seen as a hulking cold beast who swallowed the fire of light, and the only way to overcome that belly was through stoking the fire more mightily.
In later years the log would be large enough to burn through Christmas Day and beyond, a melding of pre and post-Christian practices.
After the log had burned, the ashes were mixed with seed corn, thought to bring luck and good harvest. In most cases a very small portion of the log was kept and safely stored for the following Winter Solstice, a reminder that the sun could always be counted on to return and that the unbroken cycle of light and warmth was promised.
Today the church remembers a saint who you know quite well: Saint Thomas, Apostle and Patron Saint of Those Who Ask Questions.
No doubt most everyone remembers Saint Thomas for his, well, supposed doubting of the resurrection as reported in Saint John’s account of the story, but that’s an accident of historical memory more than a reality. Saint Thomas didn’t doubt so much as he asked questions and sought verification.
And more people of faith should ask more questions, IMHO.
His name means “Twin,” and there is a tradition where Thomas is the twin of Jesus (or at least his doppelganger), but that’s largely conjecture. What is more probable is that Thomas, with his inquiry and deep searching for truth in the Gospel of John, is meant to be the reader’s twin in the story.
Or, in other words, you (and I) are the twin of Thomas, seeking to touch the Divine wounds, wondering if it could all be true, honestly desiring to say, “My Lord and God” with conviction and love because our eyes have seen it in real life.
Lore has it that Thomas took to being a missionary in India, planting the Martoma church tradition there that lives in a robust witness of the faith. There is a 3rd Century piece of literature, the Acts of Thomas that says he lived as an apostle carpenter in India, performing miracles, healing the sick, and was eventually martyred near madras. Within the pages of that interesting work is a beautiful Syriac poem, the Hymn of the Soul, a much pondered allegory of humanity’s search for beauty and meaning.
Fitting for a work dedicated to this saint, no?
While most modern scholars think that Saint Thomas probably was a missionary somewhere between the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf, never actually reaching India, the presence of the Martoma church and tradition give testimony to his legend and impact all the same, and it is the case that when European missionaries arrived in India in the 16th Century they found a robust Christian faith and practice thousands of years old.
Saint Thomas is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that asking questions and continually chasing deeper and truer truth has been part of the faith from the beginning.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical bits gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
-commentary mine
-icon written by Byzantine icon writer “Krillyboy”
“O Oriens!” the church cries on the morning of the Winter Solstice. “O Dawn!” is what it literally means, both a bit ironic and exasperated on this shortest day of the year.
You know, my son Finn was born with two “true knots” in his umbilical cord. In ancient days this sign would have probably been taken as an omen of either his greatness or his mischievousness (and it would have been right on both counts!).
But living in a scientific age we have no need for these signs, right?
Well, I’d suggest the opposite. After another year with so much death, and with depression so rampant, we need reminders of our greatness, Beloved.
It’s all a reminder that, with every dawn, with every dayspring, something amazing is possible.
The dawn, the bright and morning star, is an ever-rising sign that something amazing is possible.
So stick around, Beloved. In case you didn’t know it, it’s good you exist and, well, amazing things are always possible with every dawn…
This day the church remembers with deep affection: Katharina von Bora Luther, Entrepreneur and Renewer of the Church, 1552
Born of recently impoverished nobility, Katharina von Bora, was sent in her early teens to live at a Cistercian convent near Grimma, Germany. She took her formal vows to live as a nun at the age of 16.
On Easter Day in 1523 twelve nuns managed to escape the convent (in herring barrels, if lore is to be believed!), and at the urging of Luther’s teachings, sought marriage. Though Luther attempted to match her with another colleague, Katherina protested that the 42 year old Luther would be the best fit.
Katherina, or Kadi, not only managed the bustling Luther home, but also Luther’s bustling schedule and guests. She ran the brewery of the Black Cloister and their stables. The Luther family had six children.
Katherine von Bora Luther is remembered for her courage and bravery in leaving the convent and marrying in response to God’s call, her managerial and analytical mind which Martin found to be indispensable in ministry, and her business savvy.
She is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that the one who gets all the accolades is rarely the saint who did the bulk of the work.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-information gathered from Philip Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church musters the cry, “O come, Clavis David,” or, ”Come, Key of David!”
This obscure reference to Isaiah 22 is actually a striking image as the prophet tells humanity that from David’s unlikely royal line justice would be unlocked and unleashed upon the world.
“O come O Key of David, come, Open wide our heavenly home. Make safe the way that lead on high, And close the path of misery.”
Or, in other words, enflesh the fervent prayer spoken nightly by so many and make, “on earth as it is in heaven” more than vapid “hopes and dreams.”
Today the church uses its parched tongue to cry out, “O Radix Jesse!” or “O Root of Jesse!”
The ask here is that the dead stump of a family line, scourged and ravaged by one conquering after another, eating away at the Family Tree, somehow live again.
This dead-end of a year may feel very stump-ish to you.
It’s also just true that while we may have eaten from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, we have not learned its wisdom. That ancient tree is dead in our hands as we call what is evil, good, and what is good, evil.
On December 18th in Advent the church raises its voice to cry out, “O Adonai!” or “O Lord!”
This is, perhaps, the most honest prayer there is, Beloved. In times of trial and joy, “Oh God” or “My Lord” slips from our lips.
In the ancient context of Advent, this cry is both an invocation and a statement of political priorities. The Empire of old (and now?) would have you believe that power is Lord, that grievance is Lord, that Caesar is Lord.
In fact, all the ancient steles and decrees said just that: Caesar is Lord.
But the church, at its best, says that the Divine is Lord.
It’s a political statement. We’ve forgotten that…but we can remember. There is time.
-art is by Michael Adonai, an Eritrean painter, entitled “Back to Homeland.” You can imagine crying out “O Lord” when longing to return to your mother…
Reluctant Xtian 