le fou ravi

My friend Mara, who lives in the Provence region of France, told me about the nativity set that she has at her home. It includes many characters typical of life in a traditional Provençal village, called "santons" - little saints. Each family's set may differ, but some of the santons include bakers carrying baguettes, a washerwoman, a spinstress, shepherds, women collecting lavender, wise men, the knife-sharpener, a blind man and his son, and the mayor. Rural and city folk, mighty and low, mingle together in the nativity display.

Three figures seem to be prominent in every Provençal creche: the drummer boy, the miller, and the fou ravi. This fou ravi is the crazy villager - the village idiot, in a fond and loving way - who has "seen the light." They remind me a bit of the humble shepherds. How were they chosen to receive the news of angels, and to visit this baby on the night of his birth? They were - and they returned, praising God for what they had experienced. They were in awe. Enraptured. Ravished fools.

I am intrigued by this character - arms raised in praise and joy of the unexpected miracle of God-with-us.

This is the character I want to be in this new year: le fou ravi. Not the village idiot, exactly, but someone who is enraptured, awe-stricken, ravished in bliss, dumbfounded and overjoyed at unexpected miracles.

I'm not one to raise my hands in joy, but maybe it's time to try something new. Because I think that our physical stance - the way we hold our bodies, the way we present to others - affects the way we think/act, and vice versa. So this will be my new stance, even if I just practice it in my bathroom at home.

More pictures of awe and enraptured joy:

at the butterfly conservatory
Photo credit: Shauna Leis

at the Mediterranean Sea, Cinque Terre, Italy

Advent week 4: LOVE

December 29th: What is your stance/approach to the coming year?

God is not dead

I'm not much of a facebook fanatic, but I've checked out my feed in the last week. And I'm sorry that I did. Because here is a summary of the messages that came through loud and clear to me: God wasn't there. Why bother praying? More guns, please, in the hands of common folk. God needs to get back in the schools. We are sin (yes, the noun!). Why doesn't God protect? Why is there suffering?

Some age-old questions that can make us wonder what, or if, we believe. Here's what I believe. There is evil in the world, even in my own mind. I am a child of God, created in God's good image. God has, and does, appear to us in surprising ways. Like as a baby born in a cave, visited by the lowest of the low, and by mighty kings. Last December, the children at our church were detectives of divinity - looking for glimpses of God's presence in the world. I need to be reminded of those glimpses again. God is with us. Immanuel.

One of my favourite Christmas carols is "I heard the bells on Christmas day." The track has been looping through my mind over the past few days, especially the 3rd and 4th verses. They speak powerfully to me every year. Henry Radsworth Longfellow wrote the lyrics on Christmas day in 1863, in response to the horrors of the American Civil War. His wife had died tragically a few years before, and his son had been severely wounded in the war.

Here are the lyrics:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
their old familiar carols play
and wild and sweet, the words repeat of
"peace on earth, goodwill to all."

I thought how, as the day had come
the belfries of all Christendom
had rolled along the unbroken song of
peace on earth, goodwill to all.

And in despair I bowed my head,
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song 
of peace on earth, goodwill to all."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, and right prevail,
with peace on earth, goodwill to all."

Til ringing, singing, on its way,
the world revolved from night to day,
a voice, a chime, a chant sublime, 
of peace on earth, goodwill to all. 

So, on this longest night of the year, I will remember this: through the darkness, there is light. God is not dead.

December 21st: What will you remember on this darkest night? 
The version below, sung by my friends "saffie":

a voice in Ramah, Connecticut, and Kabul

I haven't been able to shake the news from this past Friday's shooting in a school in Connecticut. Perhaps it's because my youngest child is 6. Maybe it's because it's supposed to be "the most wonderful time of the year." Perhaps it's because I'm human, and I know that in the deepest part of me that this is not the kind of world that God wishes for us.

There is a section of text from Matthew 2:16-18 that is not usually included in our Advent sermons or Christmas pageants. This was the first verse that came to me on Friday when I heard this news. Many years ago, when friends lost a baby, Derek preached an Advent sermon about this text. Some of what's below are ideas stolen from this sermon (thanks, Derek!). Here is the text:

"When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old and under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

'A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.'"

Derek and I saw a play in Boston many years ago based on medieval Mystery Plays. These were plays that were performed in the town squares in Europe during the middle ages to teach Bible stories. The version that we saw included several scenes of numbing violence and raw emotion. One particularly disturbing scene - I can still picture it today after seeing it 14 years ago - was a section of the Christmas story. After Joseph, Mary and Jesus exited the stage (on their way to Egypt in the story), several women entered the stage area, carrying and singing to little bundles in their arms. All of a sudden, soldiers rushed in, tearing the bundles from the mothers' arms and thrusting them with their spears, turning them inside out to reveal crimson red ribbons. The soldiers threw the bundles into heaps on the floor and walked away to leave the mothers, sobbing over the bloody mounds.

We were both in shock after the play. It was definitely NOT the "happily ever after" Christmas story that we're used to - with cute, fluffy lambs, shepherds who trip over their bath robes, and wise men wearing too-big crowns. We had many questions. Could deep agony and despair be part of the Christmas story? Could the birth of this "God-with-us" baby actually cause the suffering of other innocent children? How does God break into situations of pain?

When I talk to Shegofa about her experiences growing up under Taliban rule in Afghanistan, I am blown away. "How did you not cry every day?" I asked her. Their daily dose of violence and destruction numbed her to feeling sad, and she said that she just concentrated on her own family - hoping for safety, but sometimes fearing the worst when a bomb went off close to home. I'm sure that many voices can still be heard in Kabul and around Afghanistan, weeping for children who are no more.

Back to Jeremiah. After the section that's quoted in Matthew, Jeremiah turns hopeful in 31:13,

"Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for all your work shall be rewarded...
There is hope for your future."

So while many facebook posts that I've read lately question whether to pray, or why to pray, at times like these, or where God is, or whether God is, I choose to pray. Even if that means crying out in anger. I choose to believe that there is hope for our future.

December 19th: Not a question today, just a word: believe. 

Pollyanna Peacenik

Advent week 3: peace.

Yesterday, we had a lessons and carols service at our church. I sat in the pew with boys ages 6-9. They drew quietly during the service, waiting for their time to get up and sing. Their images were striking: Star Wars spaceships, stick figures holding guns with dotted lines leading to another stick figure, other stick figures laying on the ground with the word "dead" written below, and speech bubbles between figures, threatening to kill. All of these boys come from stable, safe, secure, peace-loving and promoting homes. So why this fascination with violence?

There are times when I feel like Pollyanna Peacenik. Like in May, when a friend and I presented at a conference in DC. Our topic was "Teaching Peace to Children." It was a fine presentation, but the next night there was a panel on violence, and one of the panelists, Melvin Bray, spoke about growing up in a violent area of DC, and always carrying a knife to defend himself. His story moved me, especially as I preached about peace.

Who was I to say anything about peace? I had lived a very safe, happy childhood, growing up with 3 siblings on a farm - loved, encouraged, secure. I'm sure there was a bit of violence at times... I remember one particularly angered departure from our school bus, my brother chasing me the whole way in the lane, ready to pummel me. But those moments of violence were few and far between, at least in my memory. I have never carried a knife; I have never needed to defend myself. I've led a Pollyanna kind of life, with peace as a theoretical construct.

I approached Melvin the next morning, unsure of what I was going to say. I just knew I had to say something. I said, "I was really moved by your story last night. And I thought: who am I to be telling stories of peace when I don't really understand violence? I've never experienced it, so I must sound really stupid to you. Maybe only people who have experienced violence can truly teach about peace." And I broke down, tears streaming down my cheeks. I told him that this is part of who I thought I was - someone who sought out and told and retold stories of peace. But maybe I had been mistaken. Maybe others need to tell these stories - not me. He listened intently, his hand gripping mine and said, "Don't stop telling your stories. I need to hear stories that help me to imagine a way of peace, just like you need to hear my story and stories of others who have had experiences of violence."

So through that experience, I've thought about how my "pollyanna peacenik-ness" needs to be nuanced by an understanding that is more realistic - that takes into account the child soldiers, the abused sons, the bullied daughters, and the grade one children shot dead in Connecticut.

There is so much need for peace in our world.

December 17th: Where are you being led to pray for peace in our world? Where are you being led to act for peace? 

my scrooge-like heart

December 13th: Take a moment to think about giving. To whom do you show generosity? How do you feel about gifting/giving? How do you receive gifts? Do you give without strings attached?

I've been thinking about this lately, and examining my Scrooge-like heart. There are definitely times that I give in order to have some kick-back. A good feeling, a spoken thank you, a note of thanks - some kind of recognition. I want my money or my time or my thoughtfulness to be appreciated, and for that person to show me that they appreciate it. Otherwise, I don't feel like being as generous to that person.

Sometimes there are people in my life who take more energy than what they give back to me. I have to prepare myself to be with them, and I feel a bit drained after being with them. (and don't worry - it's none of you who read this blog!)

So I am challenged to give. To give without expectations, but out of a full heart. To bless others because I've been blessed. And to stop there. Not hope for some kind of validation or appreciation. Because sometimes it's just not going to come. And sometimes I know I don't express appreciation when I should. So I want to make more of a point of sending thank you cards when it occurs to me - not just think "oh, I should send that person a thank you card" and then promptly forget about that idea.

It's made me think of The Christmas Carol. This story seems to speak to the problem of poverty in our world: that it's not a lack of resources, but a lack of generosity. I'm looking to expand my heart - to not keep score, to say thank you more often, and to cut those strings that are sometimes attached in my mind.

But also protect my heart. Sometimes it can be tempting to give until I'm depleted. Then I don't have that full heart anymore. I can only give out of my fullness.

In this season of giving, I want to keep this in the forefront of my mind: I have been blessed, so I will be a blessing. In the words of Tiny Tim:

"But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a giid time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, 'God bless it!'"

everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe

...help to make the season bright.

December 12th: What brightens this season for you? Do you have favourite decorations that bring back memories? What ornament would symbolize this year?

I thought about these questions after reading Shauna's comment in yesterday's post. She talked about how her tree decorations have meaning. And that she keeps a special book where she writes down the special ornament that is given or received each year. She also talked about how her mother gives an ornament to her grandchildren, along with some memories that she has of that child over the past year. She wrote, "Our tree is full of memories and stories."

I love this. I started thinking about what ornament I would give to my kids this year to symbolize this year. I decided on a little house to symbolize moving to a new home. That was a big event in our year.

I enjoy seeing other people's Christmas trees - because there are not two alike. Each one symbolizes that family in some way. I was at a friend's house on the weekend, and she told me the origins of some of her ornaments - some were from students of hers, and there was a beautiful nest with 2 birds that was a gift from her husband when they were dating. I thought this was so sweet - to remember this each year as she decorates and gazes at her tree.

Here are some ornaments over the years that bring back memories:

a wreath, made by my grandma (I love the shiny fabrics the most)

tin moon ornament Derek and I bought on a trip to Guatemala

mouse is a childhood ornament (loved those mice!),
and Pinocchio is from our family's time in Europe 2 years ago

from a visit to the Six Nations reserve

the Laotian nativity my husband and I bought 8 years ago, wondering if our children
would be messed up talking about the elephant in the manger and the baby in the hanging basket

a wallhanging my mom made - the candle is made from fabric from a wedding dress of mine
(the after-wedding party dress, not the white one)

The Christmas Orange

December 11th: An easy one. What is your favourite holiday story or or TV special or movie?

Movie: Sound of Music (not Christmas-y but shown on TV on Christmas day)

TV special: 1/2 hour How the Grinch Stole Christmas (I love the Whos and their optimism in hard times)

Story: The Christmas Orange by Don Gillmor

One of my favourite Christmas stories is the children's picture book The Christmas Orange by Canadian author Don Gillmor. Anton's birthday is on December 25th, and he has a mile-long list of things for Santa to bring him, and ends up just receiving one thing: an orange. I love this story because that's what my grandpa Horst used to get as a kid for Christmas - a big Christmas orange and a plateful of nuts and candies. Each of his 9 siblings got the same thing - set out on individual dinner plates for them on Christmas morning.

Anyway, this story reminds me of the simplicity of Christmases in days gone by, and also tells Anton the message that perhaps you don't always get what you WANT for Christmas, but what you NEED. Anton didn't need any more toys; he needed on perfect, round orange to remind him about what really matters. We've used this book in our family to talk about wants vs. needs and to dream about simple gifts that usually aren't on our lists, like a perfect Christmas orange.

Another Christmas orange story (author unknown):

Once there was a little girl who came to live in an orphanage in Denmark. As Christmas time grew near, all of the other children began telling the little girl about the beautiful Christmas tree that would appear in the huge downstairs hall on Christmas morning. After their usual, very plain breakfast, each child would be given their one and only Christmas gift; small, single orange.

Now the headmaster of the orphanage was very stern and he thought Christmas to be a bother. So on Christmas Eve, when he caught the little girl creeping down the stairs to catch a peek at the much-heard-of Christmas tree, he sharply declared that the little girl would not receive her Christmas orange because she had been so curious as to disobey the rules. The little girl ran back to her room, broken-hearted and crying at her terrible fate.

The next morning as the other children were going down to breakfast, the little girl stayed in her bed. She couldn't stand the thought of seeing the others receive their gift when there would be none for her. 

Later, as the children came back upstairs, the little girl was surprised to be handed a napkin. As she carefully opened it, there to her disbelief was an orange all peeled and sectioned. 

"How could this be?" she asked.

She discovered that each child had taken one section from their orange and given it to her so that she, too, would have a Christmas orange.

a Christmas wish come true - an orange that she could drink!

tidings of comfort and joy

Time to catch up after the weekend... questions for reflection for the last couple of days:

December 8: What brought you pain in the last year? 

December 9: Where did you find comfort during these painful times? If you could make a comfort bag for yourself, what would be in it?

In my comfort bag:

• rice bag that gets heated in the microwave and says "cherish" on it. I put it around my shoulders and feel very comforted.
• dark chocolate with sea salt
• photos of loved ones
• a letter from my grandma
• a scrapbook of encouraging cards/notes I've received over the years
• chai latte or other teas
• a journal

In Derek's comfort bag: 

• a big screen TV where he could watch professional sports
• chips and popcorn
• something written by Umberto Eco
• a Bible
• Madden football for xbox or Play Station
• coffee or ginger ale or ale of some sort
• Settlers or some other 3-hour long board game
• baked brie with crackers

[Derek's comfort bag would need to be much larger than mine.]

I'm remembering last year, when I gave my parents and siblings gifts of comfort and joy. Here are the contents if you need a last minute idea. They were a lot of fun to make and put together. Here's what they looked like:

December 10: Advent week 2 is about joy. What brings you joy? How can you continue these joyful experiences in the new year? How can you use your list to bring joy to others?

JOY: Bollywood dancing, live theatre, making crafts with my daughters, thoughtful friends, a surprise note or gift, when people share their time with me and don't make me feel like they have something better to do or that they have to rush on to something else, finding a bargain at the thrift store, collaborating, an hour to read fiction on the weekend, visiting my parent's farm where I grew up, when people cook for me (I love any meal I don't have to make myself...maybe except some hot pot meats I ate while in China like sheep brains and cow's throat)