down at the pond

On this green December day, a warm wind blows a blue hole in the clouds. Down at the pond, the water runs swift and brown, rushing with yesterday’s rain. A blue jay darts across the pond and into the secrecy of the trees, winking as he goes by. A crow is practicing his solo for the Christmas choir, trying to smooth out the squawks. We sit on the dock, listening, watching. The sun spreads a golden tint on the rippling waves. It’s not the usual winter scene. The ground is fragrant with new clover, taking advantage of the warmth to poke smiling leaves out into the open. It’s all a little strange, but I can’t help but smile back.

~lg

The third candle

The third candle is lit, now twinkling merrily on the mantle. Joy is a diamond, refracting and reflecting a sparkling pink light. It spreads over the room like stardust, glittering in every corner.

How is it possible for light to have the quality of music? All the colours of dawn are dancing, drawing me up out of the chair with a lightness my feet have never felt, right into some divine kitchen party. Invisible hands whirl me around the bright flame, and I am surprised to hear my own laughter after so long.

A flash of the aurora borealis answers through the window, joy calling to joy, and I am struck by the beauty of the winter night. The heavens are telling an inexpressible and glorious joy, and I am lit from within.

~lg

birth

Be born in us today,” we sing

What is birth?
love and risk and pain
demands my body and soul
turns me inside out till there is nothing left hidden

This is birth
love made flesh
and in a miracle of creation
incarnation
I am reborn

~lg

C.S. Lewis on the Incarnation

Here is a passage from C.S. Lewis’ Miracles. The stunning imagery of this, the grand miracle, has stuck with me over the years and is fitting for our Advent consideration.

“In the Christian story God descends to re-ascend. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity; down further still, if embryologists are right, to recapitulate in the womb ancient and pre-human phases of life; down to the very roots and sea-bed of the Nature he has created. But He goes down to come up again and bring the whole ruined world up with Him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself underneath some great complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders. Or one may think of a diver, first reducing himself to nakedness, then glancing in mid-air, then gone with a splash, vanished, rushing down through green and warm water into black and cold water, down through increasing pressure into the death-like region of ooze and slime and old decay; then up again, back to colour and light, his lungs almost bursting, till suddenly he breaks surface again, holding in his hand the dripping, precious thing that he went down to recover. He and it are both coloured now that they have come up into the light: down below, where it lay colourless in the dark, he lost his colour too.”

~lg

The second candle

A second candle now bursts into flame. The winds may howl, the breakers may roar, many waters may threaten to overwhelm, but this light is unquenchable. This blazing fire, this mighty flame – love is its name.

By its light we are welcomed in, beckoned to the overstuffed chair by the hearth, and given a place by the fire. By its light the stains of midnight are banished from our souls. By its light we see that we are home.

Outside, the storm may rage and rattle the window panes, but we are safe within love’s glowing radius. Yes, we are home.

~lg