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 leads 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.”
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 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…
The 21st is the solstice, and my hope us that we’ll be able to make a new fire (depending on travel) on the new Yule log.
The Yule log is the ancient tradition of hauling a huge log, usually oak (though birch was thought to bring insight and wisdom), into the hearth on Christmas Eve. Sometimes the log was so large (it had to last through the whole twelve days!) that children would sit astride it as it was carried from the forest through town, cheering the whole way. Into this log would be carved prayers, symbols, and depictions of “Mother Winter,” bringing peace and good fortune for the next year. They’d light this fire as a way to embolden the fire in the sky, the sun, and remind themselves that night does not last forever.
A lesson we’d do well to remember in this time of year when seasonal affective disorder is so prevalent.
Another similar tradition which you know of, but may not know why it happens, is the lighting of a Christmas candle in these days. This candle stands in place of the yule log…kind of a mini yule.
Our ancestors (as late as the 1940’s for those of us with Celtic blood) would have a special Christmas candle, usually red (to symbolize the ancient idiom “the red blood reigns in the winter’s cold”), and light it on Christmas Eve. It was usually placed in a hollowed out turnip, a shallow wooden bowl, or in later years a very select and decorated fancy holder, and would find a place on the front room window sill.
They’d place this candle in the window to do a few things.
First, it would remind them that there were those in the world without a supper or bed, and that they were to provide that for them. The candle would show a weary traveler where to find rest.
It was also lit to show Mary, Joseph, and the Christ child that a home could be found in their inn of a home. The wandering Holy Family still wanders today, wondering where to lodge.
Finally, especially in the countryside where it was difficult to spy a dwelling in the shadows of the night, these Christmas candles in the windows would show you where your neighbors were…and remind you that you’re not alone, by God. Help is just a flicker away should you need it. A true Christmas miracle-made-real.
So these Christmas lights adorning all the suburban homes in these days, and those stately Colonial-style homes with their window candles, aren’t just to be pretty and compete with the neighbors for accolades. If we remember history, these decorations bring more than “oohs” and “aaahs.”
They’re meant to bring hope, be a reminder to care for the “least of these,” and offer a welcome hand to the neighbor.
If you’re so inclined, put a new log in that hearth or fire-pit this year, and maybe write a prayer or two on it for the upcoming season of life.
And maybe stick a candle in that front window with intention this year, reminding everyone (including yourself!) that you’re called to help others in these wintery days.
The poet Nayyirah Waheed has broken me many times. Her work has, over the course of a few years, served as a meditation many mornings.
Like, this one:
stay soft. it looks beautiful on you. (from her book, Salt.)
One of the things I love about the rhythm of the church year is that it keeps me soft. Nimble. Pliable.
When we get too stuck in our ways, too embedded in our walled-off routines, we become rigid. So much of religion has become rigid in the hands of hard people who have obeyed dogmas not like one takes opportunities, but like one might follow a written recipe that is so complex no chef has mastered it.
Rigidity is brittle. A rigid faith breaks in time.
Advent is, like I say above, an opportunity to practice plasticity in the faith. With so much mystery sewn into the fabric of these short-sunned days, we are encouraged to dream a bit, to wonder and let our hearts wander (perhaps that’s where the old carol got its title?) and become soft again.
To melt, if you will, like you do when you pick up a newborn.
I remember one time taking my newborn son to visit our oldest parishioner. My son, only a few months old, was strapped to my chest in our carrier. The old woman, in her 90’s, asked if she could touch him. I bent myself over as she reached out her hand, and I guided her fingers to his little head (as her eyesight was failing).
I marveled at how both the oldest person I knew, and the youngest, felt the same in my hands: tender skin, soft skin, pliable skin.
It was a moment; eternity reaching out to touch at both ends.
She died not long after that visit…
That encounter made my heart pliable. Soft. It was beautiful.
Like the aged Elizabeth holding her son, perhaps, a story told in these middle days.
What is keeping you soft in these middle days, Beloved?
In learning about my Celtic heritage, I stumbled upon a fun tradition of something called “The Yule Lads,” 13 trolls that come from December 12-24 to play pranks. Especially popular in Icelandic lore, these trolls are fun tricksters who, when little children leave their shoes on the window sill, leave candies for good children and rotten potatoes for naughty kids.
December 12th: Sheep Cote Clod visits to harass sheep (but his peg leg prevents him from catching many, and he mostly makes noise).
December 13th: Gully Gawk comes from the mountains to hide in gullies, sneaking into barns to steal milk.
December 14th: Stubby comes to scrape out all the food left in your pans.
December 15th: Spoon Licker licks your spoons.
December 16th: Pot-Scraper scrapes out your pots.
December 17th: Bowl-Licker licks out your dirty bowls.
December 18th: Door Slammer comes late at night to slam your doors while you’re sleeping.
December 19th: Skyr Gobbler arrives. Skyr is a special kind of Icelandic yogurt, but he’ll eat any yogurt…he’s not picky.
December 20th: Sausage Snatcher comes to, well, self-explanatory.
December 21st: Window Peeper comes. A terrible name, this is the kindest of the trolls who is just looking for little snacks to steal by peering through your windows.
December 22nd: Doorway Sniffer comes. He has a strange name, but he’s just sniffing out your cakes and muffins to eat with his strong nose.
December 23rd: Meat Hook comes to eat the Christmas roasts you’re prepping for your holiday feast!
December 24th: Candle Stealer. This harkens back to a day when candles were made from fat and were edible. He waits to take children’s candles to eat!
Today the church celebrates one of the great mystics of history, St. Juan de Yepes y Alvarez, but you know him better as St. John of the Cross, Renewer of the Church and Visionary.
St. Juan was born in Fontiveros Spain, the third son of a Jewish silk merchant. His father died shortly after he was born, and his family placed little Juan in an institution for the poor.
St. Juan was extremely short of stature, even for his day, but showed great skill in craftsmanship from early on, and apprenticed at many places. He enrolled in college and worked his way through school striving to become an exemplary monk.
He was entranced in the Order of the Blessed Virgin (Carmelites), and was ordained. Soon after met St. Teresa of Avila, his spiritual cousin. She had begun to implement her reforms of the Carmelite order, and St. John promised himself to these reforms, adopting the name St. John of the Cross to embody his minimalist and mystic piety.
St. Teresa eventually helped get St. John appointed as Confessor to the Convent of the Incarnation, where she was a sister.
St. Teresa’s reforms were causing division within the Carmelite Order, and some monastics came and seized St. John, imprisoned him in a six foot by ten foot cell, beat him, and attempted to force him to renounce the austere reforms.
St. John refused and after nine months was able to escape, fleeing to a safe monastery in southern Spain.
This is where he began writing down his mystical visions and dreams, having had them in the confinement of his prison cell. His deeply spiritual writings often took the form of poetry. Most notable are The Ascent of Mt. Carmel-the Dark Night, and Living Flame of Love (which is more song than pure poetry).
In 1591 the controversy over the austere reforms rose again, and St. John was banished further south in Spain. It was there that he caught a fever and, though he sought medical care, was poorly treated because the prior of the monastery didn’t want the burden of another monk.
He died uttering the Psalms, saying, “Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my Spirit.” He was deeply beloved by the people, though he was rejected by much of the Church at the time, and was immediately heralded as a Saint.
You may not be too familiar with St. John of the Cross, but you’re certainly familiar with art that is based off of his mystical visions. Salvador Dali’s unique painting of the crucifixion was based on one of St. John’s poems.
St. John of the Cross is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes the most despised in our midst are the wisest.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical notes from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Reluctant Xtian 