Laurel Massé

I met the grand array...

Some thoughts flitting about as I really should be practicing...

1. How wise were those Wise Men? According to Matthew, they came to Jerusalem, asking, 'Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we have observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage. When King Herod heard this, he was frightened...(NRSV). Other translations use troubled or perturbed. My French Bible uses ému, which means overwhelmed with emotion. How would he not be? Wasn't he king of the Jews?
So It occurs to me that the wise men were very observant of the heavens, but oblivious to human behavior. They went to the royal city to ask "where's the child who will is the real king?"; this might be like saying to your wife, "I just met the most fascinating woman", when you don't mean her. There are things one might think twice about saying.
Wise, OK. Smart? Perhaps not so very.

2. Herod wasn't quite up on his reading of prophecy - other things to do - and sent for his own chief priests and scribes to find out where the Messiah was to be born. I wonder - these priests seem to have been neglecting to remind Herod of those prophecies. He had to send for them to ask. The account doesn't say that they withdrew to research the literature. No, they apparently answered immediately, telling him "Bethlehem", and quoting the relevant writings. So they knew. And Bethlehem is not far from Jerusalem, only about five miles. An easy walk, even carrying weapons...

Must practice songs, must practice.

Expectancy

Advent. Waiting for something.

We wait for God, who is always with us. to come to be us, to be one of us, to join us in the web of senses through which we experience the world, and with which we try to capture and comprehend God. The language of the body, through the body, is the language we understand, for better and for worse.

We wait for God to come to us, take on our vision, and teach us how to use our eyes. If, in the Incarnation, God's human eyes are like our human eyes, then what is to prevent us from seeing as God sees? Only the hardness of our hearts, which we are promised can be changed. I will take away your hearts of stone and give you hearts of flesh (Ezekial 36:26).

We wait to be shown that what God asks of us can be done by us, in our bodies, in our senses, in our earthbound lives. We can love each other right here. We can hear each other right now. We can touch in comfort and blessing with the hands we have in this life. Jesus comes and shows us the way.

Christmas is an extravagant celebration of the Word made flesh. Come, Lord Jesus.

Autumn in New York

I walked across Central Park today to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's closed on Mondays, which  I had forgotten. So I didn't visit great works of art, at least not framed ones. But I did see the most beautiful Irish Wolfhound imaginable. He was big-boned, well-built, magnificent. A different kind of work of art and greatness. I asked to pet him, his owner acquiesced, the dog graciously accepted my attention.

Then, as I walked back across the park to the west side, I felt myself slip into sadness. Or rather, there was suddenly a sadness on me, a beautiful and apt Irish expression. The sadness was on me, not in me. I miss my dogs. I usually feel this as an inner glow of joy for having had them at all. Sometimes, though, I feel the weight of their absence, heavy, grey, and sad.

I don't remember what I have written about them, but here is what they were: Shekinah, a Belgian Tervuren named after the feminine aspect of God, was courage and willfulness and incandescence. Wisdom 7:22 - 25a actually describes her perfectly, and here is some of it:

For within her is a spirit intelligent, holy,
unique, manifold, subtle,
mobile, incisive, unsullied,
lucid, invulnerable, benevolent, shrewd,
irresistible, beneficent, friendly to human beings,
steadfast, dependable...
quicker to move than any motion...
She is a breath of the power of God...

Shekinah was pushy. She taught that a car ride is an adventure, a walk is pure joy, and that sometimes it is appropriate to stand your ground, growl, and show an elegant sharp tooth.

My Shadow, a Belgian Sheepdog, was a quieter soul, devotion embodied. Faithfulness. Trust.  This dog had a noble heart and attitude, friendly to all people, but adoring only one. This was not so as to be adored in return, not like we do when we say "I love you" so as to force the reply "I love you, too,"  but rather loving  because he couldn't help himself, because he could do no other, a constant outpouring of love. He made more friends in his brief time here in the city than I had ever dreamed possible, as people gravitated to him, and felt good in his presence. His verse is Acts 18:9b - 10:

I am with you. I have so many people that belong to me in this city that no one will attempt to hurt you.

These are the companions I am missing today, on a crisp autumn day, when the sunlight is golden, the air in the park smells of earth and leaves,and none of the dogs are mine. It seems to me, though, that I still have my dog-inspired tasks: Christ calls us to love - can't I be as joyous as Shekinah? and as devoted as my Shadow? It's the least a human can do.