December 2009 Archives

The old woman continued her weaving.  Her slender, gnarled fingers deftly moved along the loom, positioning threads and locking them in place.  She studied her handiwork for several seconds before speaking to the younger man who stood behind her.  "What's on your mind, Jeffrey?"

"You make the most beautiful tapestries, Grandmother."

"Thank you.  I've had many years to practice."

"And yet, it takes you so long to finish a single one."

The woman frowned and her hand paused in its work.  "Good craftsmanship takes time and patience, Dear."

"Perhaps.  But there are machines that would allow you to work faster, Grandmother."

"And those machines would rob me of the joy I find in my work.  Working faster would be a poor substitute for the care and love I put into each tapestry."

"But working faster would mean having more tapestries to sell."

The woman sighed and turned to face the forty year old man.  She noted that he was still in the dress pants and shirt that his job required, though he had taken off the tie and jacket.  "And that would mean more money."  She smiled as his pale face flushed at her words.  "Yes, I thought you might be coming to that.  It usually does with you."

"Grandmother-"

"No, Jeffrey," she said in a soft, firm tone.  "Listen to your old grandmother.  You are a good man.  You're smart, and your business sense has provided much for our family.  For that, I am proud of you.

"But sometimes you seem to only think in terms of money.  And for that, I feel sorry for you.  Because some things are more important than money.  And my weaving is one of those things.

"You're right.  I could buy machines that could help me produce a single tapestry in a few days, rather than the weeks it now takes me.  And if I was doing this for the money, it would make perfect sense to do exactly that.

"But I don't do this for the money.  I have money enough as it is - as hard as it may be for you to believe that.  Instead, I weave for the love of weaving.

"When I weave, I create something beautiful, as you already noted.  I create it thread by thread and row by row.  Each move I make is an act of love and creation, a chance to pour another ounce of my soul into each tapestry.  That's something I cherish.  It's something that the money from a thousand machine-produced tapestries could never buy.  And I'm not willing to give that up just to collect money I don't need.  It's too high a price to pay."

"But what of the things you could buy?  Things that would make your life easier?  More comfortable?"

"An easy life is overrated, as are excess comforts.  I have comforts enough.  Any more would make me value my life less, I imagine."

"Are you saying I have it too easy, then?"

"That's not for me to say, Dear.  I'm merely saying what's right for me.  You'll have to decide what's right for you."

"Oh."

The woman paused a moment.  "I do admit that I worry about you at times, though."

"You do?"

"Yes.  I sometimes wonder if you've lost sight of why you became a businessman."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember when you first went off to college.  Yo were so excited to learn about business management.  The first time you came home, you talked incessantly about your classes.  I didn't understand most of what you said, but I loved your passion and excitement.

"You took that passion and excitement into your first job, too.  You spoke of the challenges you faced enthusiastically.  You loved the problems and puzzles you solved.  Back then, it was about the adventure.

"But at some point, it seemed like you began focusing on the money.  And the passion changed.  Some days, I wonder if it's there at all."

"I see."  The man sat down heavily.

"Do you, Dear?  Don't misunderstand me.  Money's not bad.  And you've always made a lot of money doing what you do, which is right.  But before, you thought of the money as a side effect of doing something you loved.  And now, it seems as though the money is your main motivation - maybe even your only motivation.  And that change seems to have stolen something from you."

The pair sat in silence for a few moments.  Finally, Jeffrey spoke.  "I think I need to ponder this some more."

"I hope you do, Dear.  I'd really like to see that fire in your eyes again when you talk about your latest venture or investment.  It's a wonderful sight."

"It's a wonderful feeling, too.  I think I'd forgotten that."  He walked to the door, then paused.  "Grandmother?"

"The old woman looked up from the weaving she had returned to.  "Yes, Dear?"

"How did you ever get so wise?"

"Years of living and learning."  She paused, then added, "And weaving."

"Weaving?"

"Yes, Dear.  When you pend this much time in front of a loom, you have plenty of time to think."

He chuckled as he left the room.

My mother called me a Scrooge (mostly in jest) earlier today.  I commented that I'd soon be able to go back to listening to my favourite radio station.  I always switch stations the week of Thanksgiving because that's when this particular station starts playing Christmas music 24/7.  And while I certainly enjoy the occasional Christmas song (I like how the station I switch to tends to play three or four Christmas songs at the top of every hour before returning to their regular schedule of "playing everything"), there are just so many renditions of "Jingle Bells," "Winter Wonderland," and "O Holy Night" I can listen to before it just gets tiresome.

However, my mother's comment (and she's not the first to make this comment to me) got me thinking.  There are Christmas songs that I absolutely love and am glad to hear a few times throughout this time of year.  So without further ado, I offer you my favourite Christmas songs and why I love them.

"Christmas Shoes" is a relatively new Christmas song.  And while I know plenty of people who dislike it because it's not very musically interesting and horribly sentimental (I've heard the phrase "the emotional equivalent of a sledgehammer blow" used), I absolutely love it.  This is mainly because it deals with some topics near and dear to me.  And the fact that the song is told from a certain perspective -- one most of us don't consider -- earns it points to.  To me, this is a song that's not only about Christmas, but how a little boy chooses to face a tragedy he's powerless against during the Christmas season.  It's about mourning, coping with loss, and showing fierce love through it all.

"Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" is just a fun little piece that came out several years ago.  It's silly and it's fun, and it just makes me laugh.  Though I will note that this is one that I might get tired of in a few more years.

"I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" is another fun little piece, and it's another chance to see part of the whole Christmas experience through the eyes of a child.  I think what also endears this song to me is the fact that I've always assumed that "Santa Claus" is really the boy's father dressed up as Santa.  Which means that the "scandalous" act he caught his mother in is nothing more than his parents engaging in a little fun while Dad prepares to do the "Santa act."  In fact, I often imagine the little boy eventually "telling on Mommy" and his parents looking at each other with a puzzled look that says, "Oh dear, how are we going to navigate through this one?"

"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra is one of the most phenomenal pieces of Christmas music released in the past fifteen years, in my opinion.  The hymn is a good one, and the way TSO mixed it with "Carol of the Bells" (another fantastic piece in its own right) was just phenomenal.  That fusion makes this song stand above most remakes of most classic Christmas songs, in my opinion.

"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" is another beautiful song that tries to both show the contrast between the peaceful message of Christmas with the reality we live in and that the message is ultimately stronger.  It's a song that attempts to capture the "hope in darkness" that Christmas is supposed to be all about.  And for that, I think it's worth a thousand renditions of "Away in the Manger."

"O Holy Night" is probably one of my all time favourite Christmas songs, and yet it's one of the songs that I usually dislike hearing on the radio.  This is because to me, my cousin's annual (though I'm not sure she does it every year any more) solo of this song during church defines my expectations for this song.  Sandra has a good voice, and it's pretty well fit for this song.  And the way that she alters the volume of her voice throughout the song makes it truly beautiful.  And there's just something about hearing a soprano belting out a high-pitched, vibrant "fall on your knees" that fills you with a desire to fall on your knees.  To be frank, this is a powerful song that seems to be turned into a mere "performance" by most of the ready-for-radio renditions I've heard.

Of course, in honor of Yule, I have yet to find a song that beats "Fearless and Fine" by Castalia.

Winter solstice night is the longest night of the year.  It is the time when the darkness is at its strongest.  The world is deep in its winter slumber, and many creature have withdrawn into their dens to escape and protect themselves from the frosty grip of winter.  This slumber is important, for it allows all living things time to rejuvenate.  It is this time of rest that conserves and builds the energies that will be expended in the active pursuits of life later on.

And while solstice night marks the peak of this time of contraction and conservation, it also marks the turning point.  For this long, dark night shall end with the rising sun, adn that moment will hail the decreasing rein of darkness.  The days to come shall then grow a bit longer in turn, and the sun's warming influence, though imperceptible at first, shall likewise grow and strengthen.  In the months to come, we will see what was started with that first fragile sunrise.

For now, we wait in eager anticipation of that first morning, haling the change it represents and the new life it promises.  And we turn inward to see what may be stirring anew in our own lives.  For like the trees and animals, we also experience times of withdrawal and contraction.  Like them, we too need those times of deep rest and rejuvenation.  And as with the longest night, there comes a time when something stirs within ourselves to let us know there is new life and growth to be experienced.  Our time of rest is not eternal.

So let us anticipate an end of our own withdrawal and time of silence this solstice as well.  Let us become aware of that inner stirring that speaks of new projects, new celebrations, and new goals to come.  Let us welcome that fragile awakening and nourish it so that we too may become active and lively in the days and months to come.

I remember how frustrated Diane, our old IVCF staff worker, used to get with me my sophomore year in college.  I had decided to get involved in IVCF leadership that year and had taken a position on the chapter's executive board.  It quickly became apparent that I was not well suited or that kind of leadership.  My outlook was simply more relational.

The scene played out several times, varying only in details.  The day of a meeting would roll around, and I'd be talking to someone.  The conversation would be deep and personal, as I was never good at small talk and people tend to spill their guts around me anyway.  I'd note the time and decide that continuing the conversation was important than getting to my meeting on time.  Often, I wouldn't make it to the meeting at all.  This would frustrate Diane to no end, adn she'd try to get me to understand that while relationships were important, always breaking my other commitments for the sake of a conversation wasn't entirely right either.  I don't think she ever got very far with me on that score.  Eventualy, we agreed to muddle through the rest of the year.  We also agreed that I'd take a role the following year that would be better suited to my nature.

I've grown a lot in the fifteen years that have passed since then.  As a more mature person, I can now more readily see Diane's point more clearly.  And I'm more likely to judge a relational need more carefully these days, taking into account how immediate the need is, how serious my other commitments are, and other such factors.  Today, there's a real possibility that I'll say, "This is important.  I care and I want to be there for you.  But can we talk about it in a couple of hours?"

But I'm still mainly relationally oriented.  I'll keep my commitments to activities like meetings to a minimum.  The difference, however, is that I'm less likely to take on sucha  commitment in the first place, rather than taking it on and then breakign it later.  Because I'd rather have my time free so I can listen to people.  I understand that now.  And I allow for that preference reponsibly.

From my private journal.

I sit here in my living room next to the only lamp that's lit in the entire house.  For the half hour prior to me picking up my pen, the only light in the house was made by three tea lights and a votive candle.  I spent that time laying on the couch enjoying the dimness, letting the shifting glimmers of light cast by those small flames dance around me.

There's something magical about such a scene.  Whenever I sit in such lighting, I get a sense of peace and comfort.  It's as if the near-darkness stills the world around me itself, swallowing up ll the cares and worries of my life.  In such a setting, there is no place for the myriad distractions I normally face.

And then there's the light.  Tiny and almost fragile, it flickers and dances.  And yet, it's intensely bright in comparison to the darkness around it.  It becomes all the more beautiful and powerful for that contrast.

And that play of darkness and light allows me to turn inward.  the still silence allows me to see that same interplay within myself.  For I can see the small sparks of passion, love, courage, and compassion twinkling in my very soul.  They wait for those perfect opportunities to shine brightly into the rest of my life and the world around me.  They are ready to shine even in the darkest and most empty of times.

After all, that's when they're the easiest to see.

Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err.

--Mohandas Gandhi

I never heard of the above quote by Gandhi before.  That's a shame, as it encapsulates something I've been thinking and saying for a long time.  We have to be free to make mistakes.  We have to be free to be wrong.  Until we can grant ourselves that freedom, we cannot grant ourselves any freedom.  Because any course of action we might take will be bound up by fears.

When faced with a choice, there's always that chance we will make a bad choice.  It's a fact of reality.  We may do our best to make the most informed choices humanly possible.  But there's no such thing as total knowledge.  There's no such thing as being perfectly informed.  So sometimes, we make a bad choice on our imperfect information.  We either accept that possibility, or we rob ourselves of the ability to act at all, out of fear of doing exactly that.

And truth be told, why not allow ourselves the freedom to make a wrong choice?  Is making a wrong choice really such a bad thing?  Certainly, wrong choices can cause problems.  (But then, so can right choices.)  And wrong choices can hurt people.  (But then, so can right choices.)  But in my experience, there are few situations where the the choices and their results are so awful, so irreversible, that it would spell the end of the world, or the end of anything at all.

In most cases, a wrong choice leads to a mess that can be cleaned up.  So we clean up the mess, we repair the damage the wrong choice created, and we learn from the experience.  What's more, we're probably better equipped to make better choices in the future because of that learning experience.  That's the gift of allowing ourselves the freedom to be wrong.

I would rather make a thousand mistakes then never make any choices because I'm frozen by the fear of being wrong.

Someone I care deeply about has lost someone he cares deeply about today.  Please keep him in your thoughts as he grieves.  If you're the praying type, please pray for him.  I don't usually tell people how they should pray, but if you would indulge me, I'd like to offer these suggestions:

Pray that he has the courage to grieve and grieve fully.

Pray that he feels safe enough to grieve.

Pray that if he needs to cry, he finds a time and place where he can allow himself to cry.

Pray that if he needs to shout, he finds a time and place where he can allow himself to shout.

Pray that if he needs to ask the hard questions, he finds a time, a place, and the sense that he can safely ask the hard questions.

Pray not that his grieving will be cut short or sped up, but that he may go through the process fully and properly.

And pray that in it all, he remembers that we grieve because we have first loved.  And let the memory of that love inject some sweetness in the often painful grieving process.

While I was blogging yesterday about community, church, and worship my Zemanta plugin suggested a possibly related link with a quote from the author, Madeleine L'Engle.  I found part of that quote very interesting:

Artists have always been drawn to the wild, wide elements they cannot control or understand -- the sea, mountains, fire. To be an artist means to approach the light, and that means to let go our control, to allow our whole selves to be placed with absolute faith in that which is greater than we are. The novel we site down to write, and the one we end up writing may be very different, just as the Jesus we grasp and the Jesus who grasps us may also differ.

We live under the illusion that if we can acquire complete control, we can understand God, or we can write the great American novel. But the only way we can brush against the hem of the Lord, or hope to be part of the creative process, is to have the courage, the faith, to abandon control.

Personally, I think L'Engle is onto something profound here, and it's something that is as important in witchcraft as it is in L'Engle's faith.  That profound truth is that it's never about control, because control is an illusion.  Whether you're talking about art, faith, or magic, there is no such thing as absolute control.

But something that L'Engle points out that there is a difference between control -- especially absolute control -- and influence and the creative process.  It is possibl to not still be in control and still hold considerable influence.  It is possible to be a less-than-perfect co-creator.  In fact, it's the only thing we can be.  I'd even go so far as to say that it's the only thing we should be.

Our job is not to gain mastery over everything.  That's good, because that would be an impossible task.  (And my gods and my faith do not require me to undertake impossible tasks.)  Instead, ours is to look at the reality around us and identify what we can do and do exactly that.  No more.  No less.

Magic does not change that goal.  It is not a means by which we discover all the secrets of the universe and therefore become its master.  It's merely another tool we can use to manifest our limited and imperfect influence.  And it's a nice tool to have.

I also like how L'Engle makes that connection between faith and art.  I think it's a great one, and I think there's a similar connection between art and magic.  After all, they are both processes of creation, and I think all such processes are ultimately of the same essense.

I absolutely love the caption for this LOLCat picture!  I totally agree with it, too.

It reminds me of my days of volunteering at Lollypop Farm.  I and another volunteer would often go around the room together reading the paperwork for each cat and comment together on the reasons the cat was surrendered for the shelter.  I remember the one time we found a paper with the reason, "New boyfriend is allergic to cats."  The other volunteer and I looked at each other and said almost in unison, "So get rid of the new boyfriend!"

That's still my attitude.  While I'm sympathetic to people with allergies, I'm also sympathetic to cats and animals in general.  I've had cats all my life and I can't imagine ever not having a cat in my life.  And I'd have a hard time making things work -- or even wanting to make them work -- with a guy who had a problem with cats -- even a medical problem like being allergic.  My honest answer would be, "Look, the cats were here first.  And quite frankly, I know for a fact they'll stick around.  I doubt I can be quite as sure about you.  So guess where my loyalties are going to stay?"

If that means I end up being a crazy cat lady, I think I can live with that.  It's more appealing than the alternative at this point.

A few years ago, I participated in a discussion about Wiccan devotions on an email list that focused on British Traditional Wicca.  One of the elders (I forget which tradition) commented that just about any act can become an act of devotion simply by keeping in mind the Wiccan Mysteries.  It's something that's stuck with me, and I tend to see things the same way, understanding that an act of devotion is about perception as much as it's about carrying out any particular activity or procedure.  And in many ways, I tend to see worship (which I'm not sure I see as entirely distinct from devotion anyway) in much the same way.  After all, I'm constantly reminded of my paragraph from The Charge of the Goddess:

Let My worship be within the heart that rejoices,
for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.
Therefore let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion,
honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.

So to me, anything which brings to mind beauty, compassion, reverence, or any of the other virtues mentioned is an act of worship.  Any situation that brings about rejoicing and good cheer is an act of worship in my mind.  And if I meet another person and as a result we share these virtues and that rejoicing with each other, that is a moment where we have joined together in worship.

I've been thinking of this due to a conversation a couple of us had over on Matt's post about "going to church."  As part of the discussion, I suggested that if a small group of believers ran into each other at the grocery story, that might be considered "church happening."  Scott disagreed:

I get what Jared is saying, and I appreciate the intent, but this is not church. Three people randomly meeting at a grocery store are not gathered to communal bear witness to the risen Jesus through worship and service.

Personally, I offered my own disagreement with Scott:

Why not? Can't service and worship happen anywhere and spontaneously? Isn't the act of just meeting and showing each other Christian love an act of worship? After all, didn't Christ himself say that people would know his followers by how they loved one another? And once those people meet so "randomly," what opportunities for service might they find in that "random" moment? Perhaps they can help the elderly woman who's trying to make her way through the crowded produce aisle. Perhaps they can help the overly-tired mother with three very active children do her shopping.

And therein lies my point. I think it's important to see ANY gathering of believers -- no matter how random or unplanned -- as church simply because ANY such situation can lead to communal service and worship. And I'll be so bold as to suggest that not recognizing each such moment as such simply blinds one to the opportunities such a moment might actually offer.

Maybe my point is moot.  Maybe Christian theology simply doesn't support my basic assumptions.  (Christians will have to decide (a) if that's the case and (b) whether that's a good thing or a bad thing if it's not.)  However, from my perspective, it only makes sense.  Where more than one person meet, see the sacredness in each other and in the sharing of lives, loves, joys, and sorrows, worship can and will take place.

And I'd like to think that, as I mentioned, such a mentality does offer a chance for service.  Going through each moment of life with this attitude tends to make one more aware of opportunities to help others and touch lives.  Certainly, they might be small ways to do so.  But who says you have to do something big for it to count?

As I mentioned in the discussion in Matt's blog, anything less than this mentality suggests to me a compartmentalization of sacred experience and sacred living.  Community -- even religious community -- doesn't happen at special events.  It's heartbeat lives in every moment lived, at least to those of us who take the time to listen for it.

To do otherwise would strike me as, well, irreligious.

Matt tagged me with a new meme he's trying to start:

what religions do you find most interesting apart from your own? Would you pick one of the major world religions? Say Islam, or Buddhism, or Hinduism or Judaism? Or would you pick something more obscure, like Wicca or Taosim or Rastafarianism or Gnosticism? Would you pick irreligion, say Atheism or Agnosticism? Or if you're not Christian, would you say Christianity?

To participate, state your own religion (or irreligion) as your first preference, state the other religions that interest you most as your second and third preferences, then pass onto five others. If you're feeling brave, say why they interest you.

So here are my choices:

Orthodox Christianity (and to a lesser degree, Roman Catholocism and those Protestant denominations that still have strong "high church" elements in their worship/liturgy.  What can I say?  My friend Julio got me fascinated.  After he read my essay explaining the concept of mystery using baptism as an example, he pointed out just how close I came to the actual Orthodox teachings on Baptism.  (He also shared my essay with his priest, who purportedly commented that I'm "really Orthodox and just don't know it yet.)  My exploration of my current path has given me a great appreciation for liturgy, and something I now feel was sorely missing and undervalued while growing up Baptist and during my stint in a Pentecostal church.

Wicca.  Now this may surprise some people (it'll come as no shock to others).  Some might even think this isn't entirely a fair answer.  But remember, I don't consider myself Wiccan.  Also, bear in mind that I tend to use a rather narrow definition of the word Wicca on this blog.  The Wicca I'm talking about fascinates me because it has some strong similarities to the relatiosnship I have with Freyja.  Also, I love the interplay between traditionalism and creativity that can be found among many of its adherents, providing you take the time to actually get to know them.

Voudun, Santeria, and the other African Diasporic relgions.  I find their understanding of the Loa and Orishas to be fascinating and far more in line with my own beliefs about my gods than most other concepts of deity.  I also find the strong animistic, shamanistic, and even tribalistic elements of these faiths to be very invigorating.

In turn, I'd like to tag Yewtree, Lauren, Tina, Barbara, and Erin.