Monday Music Appreciation #65: A beloved opera melody

I haven't been posting moodlings very frequently over the last while, though I'm always composing them in my head as I move through life. I guess I've gotten out of the habit of sitting at my laptop where moodling happens most easily. Also, I am more than a bit perturbed by the way AI bots are mining my blog for ideas (for example, the image I made to accompany my moodling from April 8, 2021 is now a t-shirt in 10 different colours if I am to believe the internet, ugh -- and without my permission, or Louise Penny's!). It's enough to make me want to pull the plug, period, on Simple Moodlings. I'm realistic enough to know that no one would really miss it! (Except maybe me.)

But old habits die hard, and I love sharing music (and other ideas) so here I am with another Monday Music Appreciation moodling. A few weeks ago, I was blessed to sit in the Winspear Centre audience for a gorgeous evening of Opera's Greatest Hits. So much fantastic classical music, and to top it all off, the second last piece was Giuseppi Verdi's Va Pensiero, the chorus of the Hebrew slaves from Nabucco. It's a wonderful example of lament, longing, and hope, and gorgeous Italian that I can sing to this day because my brain holds onto strange things, and my Up With People cast performed it for a solid month when we travelled through Italy. It was a real crowd-pleaser. On that evening two weeks ago, I sang along quietly with tears of joy and delight rolling down my cheeks.

But today, the video I'm posting below is a part of my own lament:

-- for homeless people who are dying on our streets because government refuses to invest in appropriate forms of harm reduction.

-- for decisions being made that take us further into climate change rather than away from it.

-- for teachers forced back to work without having their concerns addressed, and for all people caught up in the so-called "affordability crisis."

-- for migrants and others who face prejudice and oppression just because their English is accented and their skin is not white.

And though I could go on and on about the things I am lamenting today, I'll end on a lighter note:

-- for the Toronto Blue Jays, a truly cohesive team who won the hearts of Canadians, sports fans or not, even though they lost the World Series this past Saturday. Next year, boys!

Va pensiero sull' ali dorate -- fly, my thoughts on gilded wings, toward hopeful solutions to the world's ills, toward trust that somehow, all shall be well.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vA0wLGb92fs&t=1s

Sunday Reflection: "If you choose, you can make me well"

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Mark 1:40-42.

A Prayer for Brett

The man 

came to you

with his heart in his eyes,

saying,

"If you choose, you can make me clean."

"I do choose," 

you reply --

over and 

over and 

over.

You choose us

no matter how

messed up 

and complicated

our lives get.

You reach out to us

in the love of those 

around us,

in the beauty of the world

with which you surround us,

in the moments 

that fill us with joy and delight

-- and even

in the painful times when we

reach the bottom

and have nowhere to go

but up.

You choose us.

You are with us.

And you wait for us

to choose you, 

too.

Our messed up, 

complicated,

beautiful,

painful lives

need your help.

Help us to choose

you,

to choose

the good road

starting now.

+Amen

* * * * * * *

Pastor Quinn invited Brett to come in off the street for church this morning at the Community of Emmanuel, our ecumenical community in the inner-city. Brett came in and sat by the door, and we ended up chatting as we waited for the service to start. He told me he wasn't sure why he accepted Quinn's invitation because he hadn't been to church in years, so I assured him that ours was a low-key and no-pressure kind of service, and he told me a bit about his life on the streets. 

Once the service began, I spent most of it helping a fellow with very cold hands, and passing coffee out the door to people waiting outside because it was a full-house kind of day. As the service ended, I checked in with Brett. He was very emotional and talked about how much he wants to get off of drugs, and how afraid he is that they've already damaged him beyond healing. 

Today's reading about Jesus choosing to make the leper well aligns with Brett's story. Just as leprosy divided families in Jesus' day, addiction and anger issues have been a wedge between Brett and his family for the past five years, and he's homesick. Quinn's invitation to pray with our community -- and Brett's acceptance of it -- might be a turning point for him, or it might not. 

That puts this young man whom I barely know near the top of my prayer list for the week ahead. I hope and pray that today's service at Inner City Pastoral Ministry can be the moment that Brett realizes that Christ does want to restore him to his community, as he did the leper. I hope that Brett will call Quinn for a meeting in the days ahead that will bring him healing, reconciliation, and reconnection with his family sooner than he expects. 

If you have any spare prayers for healing and hope, Brett can use them.

Sunday Reflection/Christmas Prayer 2023

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Luke 1:37.

"There is nothing too hard for the Great Spirit."

--First Nations Version: 

An Indigenous Translation of the New Testament 

(Downer's Grove IL: InterVarsity Press 2021, ISBN 978-0-8308-1350-6).

In this time of the year, the darkness weighs on us... It's too easy to see the war and division and trouble and danger we are facing in so many places and ways. 

But but we hold on to the fact that the light is beginning to increase a tiny amount every day -- and if we look, we can see that Love Incarnate exists in our poor, broken world in all the people who try to make it a better place. And there are many of those people!

Creator's chief spirit-messenger, also known as Gabriel, is right when he tells Mary and all of us that nothing is too hard for the Great Spirit, especially when we let Love be born in us, too.

I take inspiration from these words of Howard Thurman, a great black theologian who let the Spirit live in him as a civil rights leader during a challenging time -- as challenging times continue wherever people are oppressed. 

There are so many symbols of Christmas. May you find them all around you this week! 

The symbol of Christmas—what is it? It is the rainbow arched over the roof of the sky when the clouds are heavy with foreboding. It is the cry of life in the newborn babe when, forced from its mother’s nest, it claims its right to live. It is the brooding Presence of the Eternal Spirit making crooked paths straight, rough places smooth, tired hearts refreshed, dead hopes stir with newness of life. It is the promise of tomorrow at the close of every day, the movement of life in defiance of death, and the assurance that love is sturdier than hate, that right is more confident than wrong, that good is more permanent than evil. 

-- Howard Thurman, The Mood of Christmas and Other Celebrations (Friends United Press: 1973, 1985), 3.

Come, 
Great Spirit of Love.

Be born in our hearts

and in the hearts of people

in all the places

where 

you are most needed 

today.

Inspire us 

to spread 

your great spirit of Love

to everyone we meet

everywhere we go.

There is nothing too hard for you,

but we can do nothing

without you.

Please,

come to live in us, 

always.

+Amen

Another song worth hearing (and seeing)

It's easy to get discouraged these days, especially if you follow the news. Sometimes, life's struggles make it hard to sleep at night. So it's always good to find something uplifting and upbeat to counter the things that make us feel hopeless.

I like this one. I hope you do, too.

My January garden

It's been tough lately. Lots of grey skies, and if the wind isn't so cold and blustery that Shadow and I don't feel like walking, it's sunny and icy. I've been leaving him behind a lot just to get my exercise. He turns 9 next week, and is less and less interested in walks and more and more interested in cozy naps. Some days, I feel the same.

What makes everything even tougher is this darn constant low-grade covid depression, all the folks I know who are down with the virus, and the incessant news about how it's messing up everybody's lives. We know, media, we know! Plus, my dear L'Arche friend, Debbie, a sweet, sometimes stubborn, and "empowered woman," as another friend put it, died too soon last week and broke my heart in places I didn't expect. It's been two years now since I saw her, and covid means attending a funeral is impossible...

So when the Vesey's spring bulb catalog arrived last week, you'd think it would make me happy, but it only added to my depression. Most of what's in it only grows in Zones 4-8, and Edmonton is barely a Zone 3, so all those bright flowers won't make it in my perennial beds, which, to be fair, are pretty full already anyway. So the catalog went straight into our recycling bag... until I decided this morning that I need a January garden.

Nope, not this one.

This one!

I got to work with my scissors and tape, and it took me about a half hour to make a long ribbon of flowers cut straight out of Vesey's. These flowers won't grow in my yard very well, but they have definitely brightened my office. And if you don't look too closely, the woman standing in the heather with the wineglass could be me! 

My January garden is something of a reminder that these grey days, covid, and all my other sorrows will ease into something better, I hope.

11,550 days -- A tribute to Vivien

That's how long I knew her. 11,550 days. I know the date that I met my mother-in-law because it was the same day that I met my life partner. I remember Vivien meeting me at the door of her home with a big smile and a hug, even though she had never seen me before. I didn't expect her to be so tiny, barely reaching my chin, but soon realized that her small frame held vast amounts of energy.

We met because my best friend was marrying Vivien's third son, and Vivien was holding a wedding shower for Sue. As Sue's maid of honour, I was expected to be there to note down the gifts given and to help with hostessing. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and I don't remember very much about it, other than meeting Vivien, her husband, Louis, and their second son, Lee, who is now the most important person in my life.

Mothers-in-law have some sort of reputation for causing trouble, but somehow she and I connected like magnets on fridges (she had lots of those, to hold up grandkids' art). Mom, as I was soon to call Vivien, had a deep, deep faith in God. She watched morning mass on TV every day that she couldn't attend in person, and surrounded herself with handwritten prayers jotted on small pieces of paper. She cooked up storms of food, shared dozens (if not hundreds) of recipes, usually with copious notes in the margins, and dispensed equal amounts of prayers, hugs, and cookies whenever she and Dad came to visit their kids in Edmonton. 

Vivien's 65th birthday

Vivien was a wonderful grandma who loved to read to her grandkids, play with playdough and Legos, or help little fingers to decorate cookies and cakes. She organized Easter Egg hunts in her back yard, baked many birthday treats, and never failed to ask, "how are the kids?" when we phoned her. She kept Canada Post in business, never forgetting to send a birthday or anniversary card, enclosing generous monetary gifts. She camped with us and sang with us and loved us well. She was a force of nature, and I'm pretty sure she's already prayed us all into heaven.

Somewhere around her 80th birthday, she tripped off a curb in a grocery store parking lot and fractured her pelvis. (We teased her that the wind had finally managed to blow her over!) After four days in hospital, she checked herself out because her food allergies were causing more problems than the fracture. 

Unfortunately, that was the beginning of a long slow decline -- during which, she still found the capacity to do good. She sponsored a younger sister of one of her home caregivers to come to Canada and assist her full time, with a two year contract leading toward permanent residency. Mom rarely did things for herself unless they helped others, too. Many of our Christmas gifts were purchased from organizations that supported the less fortunate, or came in the form of donations to charities on our behalf. 

Five-year-old Vivien

I probably didn't properly appreciate my mother-in-law until my children grew up and we had more time to chat without their small hands pulling her away to some activity or other. That's when I learned more about Vivien's life -- how she had grown up singing daily Mass in a small Cape Breton town, gone to college to learn "proper" French, and been a Home Economics circuit teacher -- moving every few days to teach at two different rural Cape Breton schools.

In 1959, Vivien's friend, Mary, found a newspaper ad inviting young people to work at the Banff Springs Hotel for the summer, and the two decided to apply for a Western Canada adventure that, for Vivien, lasted the rest of her life. She was thrilled to be working in Banff for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip's visit that year, proven by a blurry motorcade photograph of the couple, and her lifelong love for the Royals. She never missed the Queen's Christmas message, and if Elizabeth II showed up on TV, Mom always commented on her elegance. 

As a young woman, Vivien herself was very stylish, and people often commented on the sharp outfits she sewed for herself. She loved to tell the story of how she first saw her future husband at a dance, wearing bright orange pants, and how she immediately told Mary that he was the man she was going to marry. Mary replied, "You'd better do something to fix his sense of style!"

Stylish lady

After the couple's first child arrived, Vivien's teaching career ended, and she immersed herself in being a mother (of five, eventually) and a farm wife, teaching herself to keep the books for the family's farm operation. She also designed and oversaw the construction of one of the family's homes. 

One by one, her kids headed to Edmonton for university, and she supported them with her prayers from afar. She was so proud of all her children and grandchildren (and one wee great-grandchild) and always looked forward to having visitors. Living on the prairies, she often commented on how much she missed being around water, and I will always remember how happy she was when we camped together near the shore in Waterton Lakes National Park.

She loved music, especially anything Celtic, and I have fond memories of Mom dancing in the living room with my kids. After receiving a palliative diagnosis in January, she was delighted when two of those grandchildren made a special trip, ukuleles in tow, to sing for Grandma, masks on. At a previous concert, before covid restrictions prevented indoor visits, she had them give their entire performance twice!

Vivien had her share of sorrows and struggles, carrying many of them in silence, turning them over to God daily. During our last visit with her the weekend before she died, she shared them in a whisper, and then fell into a deep sleep, from which it seemed no one could wake her. Not knowing what to do, we played her favourite hymns sung by fellow Nova Scotian, Anne Murray, spoke to her quietly, and shed many tears, thinking she was leaving us. However, after several hours, during my husband's vigil shift, she woke up, looked at him and whispered, "Lee, go to bed! It's late!"

Watching Mom's energy dwindle over the last few years has been a source of sadness for her whole family. With Dad being a man of few words, she was usually the one to carry our long-distance phone conversations, but over the last six months, her voice became weaker and weaker, though she usually managed to at least sign off with her trademark, "Love to you all." 

But at the end of a call the night before she died, she barely managed to whisper, "Love you." We told her we loved her too, as always. The next afternoon, we received the news that she had peacefully slipped away to be with the God in whom she entrusted all her cares. We miss her very much, but we know that she's pulling on God's apron strings for us, the family members and friends she left behind. That, or cooking with God in heaven's big, beautiful kitchen!

Vivien, Mom, you were a good woman, generous and strong, a friend, confidante, and support to many, including me, and a brilliant example of faith, hope and love. I am so blessed that you were my mother-in-law. I have no doubt that you are being celebrated in heaven with all the holy souls, and I look forward to meeting you again. Maybe then we'll finally have time to bake your famous apple turnovers together...

Sunday Reflection: A pandemic's gifts

Today's reflection is brought to you by 

Job 7:1-4,6-7.

These days

it's easy to feel like Job,

that biblical character 

who lost everything.

We complain 

about how hard life is,

the long labours we face

until things are better.

We see the months of emptiness,

the blandness of our days

behind and ahead,

the nights of worry,

the misery all around us

(and especially,

in the news).

Honestly,

though we are body- and soul-weary,

more often than not

it's a relief 

when our nights

give way to morning.

It's like we are 

wishing our lives away

in feeling hopeless,

though we know life is short.

We forget

that

God surrounds us 

with good,

visible 

if only we lift our eyes.

Remind us,

You 

who made all that is,

that Creation

and our puny selves

are held 

in hands 

much gentler

than our own.

Help us 

to let go of our misery

and see you...

and to gentle our own hands

and hearts

to care

where care is needed most.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

I don't know about you, but lately it feels like there's so much complaining going on that I want to stick my head under a pillow and stay there. 

Yes, all that we have lost because of this pandemic -- our connections, our freedom, our sense of security, our old ways of doing things, our very equilibrium -- is weighing us down, depressing us, shortening our tempers, and trying our patience, if we have any left.

So we might be able to relate to Job, who lost everything dear to him. Have we really lost everything dear to us? Really? I hope we can see that there is always something good that comes, even out of loss. I've been dealing with a rather serious loss for the past couple of years, and though it hurts, it holds gifts in its hands, too. In the end, Job came to understand just Who was in charge, and once he did, when he put his faith and trust in the right place, things dramatically improved for him. As they have for me. Life is about learning to let go.

We don't know when the pandemic will end, but we have to believe that we also will see things improve if we have the patience of Job, and put our faith and trust in the right place. Freaking out about the things we can't control (vaccine shortages, for example) only makes life more miserable. Focusing on "months of emptiness and nights of misery" (Job 7: 4) only dims the light of goodness around us.

Last night, I participated in an online gathering with a dozen girlfriends from High School who hadn't met since a party at my house in 2015. We shared about the things that have changed in our lives and how we are coping with this strange time we are in. With educators, moms, health care professionals, caregivers, an engineer, a librarian and a chef in our group, it was an interesting evening... one that filled me with hope. Though we all face different challenging circumstances, we celebrated our long term friendships and the recent marriage of one of our group, and we listened to and cared for each other even though we were scattered around five cities in two provinces. As one friend laughed through her tears, "Thanks for the therapy," I suspect we all felt the value of our connection. It was better than therapy in my books (and I know therapy)!

It reminded me that when we reach out to each other and find common ground, hope rises from our brokenness and brings us light to move us forward. Even though this pandemic causes a lot of pain, it has the power to remind us of the goodness in you and me.

In the week ahead, I invite you to connect with a friend you've lost touch with. Perhaps that reconnection can be one of the pandemic's gifts for you.

Sunday Reflection: The glory to come

Today's reflection is brought to you by
Romans 8:18-23 and Matthew 13:16.

We are going through a challenging time,
O God,
but you tell us,
through the words of your servant,
Paul,
to be people of hope.

These days' struggles
are nothing
in comparison
to what you have planned for your world.

And so we are to trust in your timing
and to work
with all of your creation
to bring your will to fulfillment.

We may find ourselves
feeling helpless along the way,
but this is also part of your plan.

In facing our helplessness
we come to know
that everything depends on you,
and that we are free
to do what we can
and to entrust everything to your care.

We are not to carry
the weight of the world
because that's not our job!

You are God and we are not.

All of creation
(including us)
groans in labour,
but you are the faithful midwife.

Bless our eyes so that we may see the world as you do,
our ears to hear your requests in the voices
of those around us who are in need.

Help us to trust in you,
and to do our share
in the labour
to make our world
what you want it to be.

+Amen.

* * * * * * *

Lately, it never fails that these Sunday reflections are a pep talk to myself. Canadian and Alberta politics, news headlines and our present pandemic are real downers these days, but then along comes this piece of Paul's letter to the Romans, reminding me who is really in charge -- not our politicians, world injustices, or divisions caused by the virus that's affecting our entire planet. Somehow, I have to believe all of this is part of God's plan to bring about the glory of something so much better.

How about you?

Praying through the reflection above for a second time, I make it personal...

* * * * * * *

I am going through a challenging time,
O God,
but you tell me,
through the words of your servant,
Paul,
to be a person of hope.

These days' struggles
are nothing
in comparison
to what you have planned for your world.

And so I am to trust in your timing
and to work
with all of your creation
to bring your will to fulfillment.

I may find myself
feeling helpless along the way,
but this is also part of your plan.

In facing my helplessness
I come to know
that everything depends on you,
and that I am free
to do what I can
and to entrust everything to your care.

I am not to carry
the weight of the world
because that's not my job!

You are God and I am not.

All of creation
(including me)
groans in labour,
but you are the faithful midwife.

Bless my eyes so that I may see the world as you do,
my ears to hear your requests in the voices
of those around me who are in need.

Help me to trust in you,
and to do my share
in the labour
to make our world
what you want it to be.

+Amen.

Sunday reflection: A prayer for the common good

Today's reflection is brought to you by
Romans 5:1-8.

You are our peace,
O God.

Your grace is our hope.

Even in our sufferings,
hope in you will
teach us to endure,
to become who we are meant to be,
to live toward your glory
for the sake of all your creation.

Our weakness has been strengthened in you,
because you have poured your abundant love
over us and all your creation.

That is the reason for our hope!

Remind us
in this time of crisis
that we are to act in the best interests
of our world community,
in the best interests of all that you have made.

Protect us from anxiety
and lead us to generosity.

Bless those
whose health and energies are most severely affected
by this pandemic,
and especially,
those who care for them.

May our prayer and care
fill them with your hope and strength!

Make us mindful of the good of all beings
as we move ahead,
aware that we are deeply connected
to all that you have made.

Help us to share your abundance,
your hope,
and to love one another
in all that we do.

+Amen

* * * * * * *

This has been a challenging week as we've gone from life as we always knew it to "a new normal," in the words of our local Chief Medical Officer of Health. It's a new normal that fits with a lot of our voluntary Lenten practices --  except now we are involuntarily giving up many sources of entertainment -- sports, theatre, dining out, community recreation, etc.

The list of closures and cancellations for local events and venues is growing daily, and we find ourselves using words like "social distancing" and "self-isolation." Our lives are being pared down more severely than we would choose. But rather than take these things as deprivation, why not translate them into personal "retreat"?

These changes are necessary in order to "flatten the curve" that is this pandemic known as COVID-19 so that we can cope with an illness that threatens us all in the weeks and months ahead. We don't want to overwhelm our healthcare systems by all getting sick at the same time.

I won't deny the fact that changes like these produce anxiety -- change at any time is a challenge. But I'm trying to see what's happening as a wake-up call for our human race, an opportunity to step back from the hectic, high-stress societies we have created, and to recognize that it's not our jobs or our possessions that give us value, but who we are and how we care for one another. I'm thinking especially of the people in Sicily, singing together from their balconies. I think they have the right idea.

If there is a silver lining to all this, it might be that in stepping back, we will find better ways to care for the common good of all creation. We can learn to be more generous, to seek out those in need and offer assistance in many different ways. Mainly, being a source of calm and care.

So I'm not writing about Laudato Si: On Care for Our Common Home this weekend. Instead, I'm thinking and praying about this pandemic, and recalling the last few lines of St. Francis' Canticle of Creation, from which Pope Francis took his encyclical's title. These lines remind us of our mortality and call us to patience and peace, just as this pandemic does. These are Francis' words:

Praised be You,

my Lord,

through those who give pardon for your love

and bear infirmity and tribulation.

Blessed are those who endure in peace

for by you,

Most High,

they shall be crowned.

Praised be You, 

my Lord,

through our Sister Bodily Death

from whom no one can escape....

Blessed are those 

whom death will find 
in your most holy will,

for the second death 
will do them no harm.

I praise and bless my Lord

and give you thanks

and serve you with great humility.

For all those who will not make it through this pandemic, for all leaders and caregivers, and for all of us, that we remain in God's peace and grace and hope!

+Amen.

The Ridge Key Phoenix

One year ago today, my friend, Allie, lost her home and business to the Camp Fire at Paradise, California. Allie is a force for positivity and good in the world, a warm, loving person who draws people into her gentle and fun-loving presence like a magnet draws iron. Today, November 8th, is an emotional day for her and everyone involved with the healing and rebuilding of Paradise, as there will be different events marking a very difficult anniversary.

I spoke with Allie this morning, and she reminded me of the video she shared to her Facebook page earlier this week. I decided to share it here because Jesse Mercer's idea is inspired, brilliant, and life-giving. It's a sign of the resilience of the people of Paradise, and a reminder that art inspires healing, community, and hope. I wish I could be there this morning to see it unveiled because though the pictures are amazing, they can't really give a sense of the sculpture's size, scope and meaning. If you have the time, please watch to the end -- you'll get a better sense of what an artwork like this means.

My prayers today are for the many people of California who are climate change refugees because of so many terrible fires, and especially for those from Paradise, that they may find strength and goodness as they rebuild their lives in many different ways.

https://youtu.be/mi-M1g4fAJU

Sunday Reflection: an Advent Classic

Today's reflection is brought to you by
Isaiah 12.

Shout aloud and sing for joy:
great in our midst are you,
O Holy One.

That's pretty much it in a nutshell, my God.

We just need to learn to see you in all of life,
to know that you are with us
no matter what.

Then even our sorrows can become joy!

+Amen.


Advent's deep longing and subdued joy has created some really beautiful art and music, and you'll find both in the video below. Veni, veni Emmanuel is a 13th century Latin hymn that we in Canada often sing in English this time of year. This is New Zealander Hayley Westenra's version, and you can bet I'll be looking for more music by her in the near future. Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tId6ePj7Zpo

A revolution of hope and tenderness

Tenderness is the word my best friend and I chose as our focus for 2017, and I'm delighted to see Pope Francis choosing it as a theme for his TED talk, too. He also uses a lot of other words I love, like hope, solidarity and inclusion, and reminds us of the story of the Good Samaritan as a model for each one of us to care for the suffering among us.

"...a tiny flicker of light that feeds on hope is enough to shatter the shield of darkness. 

A single individual is enough for hope to exist, and that individual can be you."

"...tenderness is the path of the strongest, most courageous men and women."

There are so many good lines in this TED talk that you might want to listen to the whole thing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36zrJfAFcuc

If you do nothing else for yourself today, have a listen to this man,
and join the revolution of tenderness!

Advent Hope

There's something about the little clip below that brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it. The music, the colours, the joy of the people, the beauty of creation all around them, and the hope in their eyes... it all adds up to an incredible celebration of life. I don't generally promote movies in my moodlings, but I just have to share this joyful piece.

Yesterday our family went to see Moana, the latest animated Disney movie, a gorgeous story of a young woman with a special connection to the ocean who reaches beyond her limits for the sake of her people. It's a perfect story for our time, because if there's anything our world needs now, it's people who look past our world's present difficulties to imagine and create better conditions for all living beings on Mother Earth. Pope Francis would agree, I'm sure!

Unfortunately, over the last several weeks, as our part of the world has been moving into winter darkness, it seems our news cycles have, too. There hasn't been much positivity anywhere, and I know that all the negative news and our sunless days have been dragging me and many others down. Sometimes it seems we forget that our human race has the power to flip things around.

Thank heavens for Advent! As it begins this weekend, let's put on a mantle of hope, a more positive outlook, and recall that about 2000 years ago, the people of Israel were living in the darkness of Roman occupation when a poor young refugee family found room in a stable to birth hope, love, joy and peace for the world. And let's look for every opportunity to bring those same gifts to our lives and the lives of those around us. Let's reach beyond our limits and follow The Way that God showed us through a wondrous child.

Happy Advent! We know The Way!

It is well with my soul

As I've mentioned before, I have the privilege of accompanying three of the able-bodied young adults who are assistants to our L'Arche core members with disabilities. Basically, that just means that I listen to the assistants, appreciate them, and encourage them on what is sometimes a very difficult journey. And as I've mentioned before, often I find that in the listening and sharing, I inadvertently receive really beautiful gifts.

Last week during an accompaniment session, I heard about Mariette*, a core member who is struggling with pain that the doctors are unable to identify at present. The team of assistants who are trying to help her are baffled, and things at the house are a bit chaotic as she is unable to communicate the problem, her schedule has become unpredictable, she doesn't sleep well at night and just isn't like her usual self.

L'Arche assistants consistently amaze me with their patience and love as they live with their core member friends, and the mutuality of their relationships flow both ways -- assistants often share anecdotes about how the ones they care for care deeply for them in return. My concern as an accompanier is always with the wellness of the assistants in their roles as caregivers. Though it had been a particularly taxing week for the young woman who shared with me about Mariette, when I asked her how her spirits were doing in the midst of the struggle, she played me the song below on her phone and told me, "I listen to this song every night before I sleep, and it really is well with my soul."

The video below isn't the exact version that she played for me. Providence led me to this version, which just came out just this week, with an album to be released Friday by young mom and singer-songwriter Andrea Assad. It gives me goosebumps with its simplicity and beauty. Her voice is a treasure, don't you think? And I really wish her well! (You can find her website here.)

The hymn's lyrics were written by a man named Horatio Spafford, a well-to-do Presbyterian businessman who suffered several serious calamities in his life, the worst being the loss of 4 daughters in the collision of two ships at sea. As he travelled near the place where the disaster occurred while on his way to catch up with his grieving wife, who was the only one to survive the original journey, these words came to him. In the following years, the Spaffords' losses were seen as divine punishment by their church, but that didn't fit with their understanding of God, so they sold everything and went to Jerusalem to help found a Christian group who provided soup kitchens, hospitals and orphanages for poor Muslim, Jewish and Christian people there.

Coming from a Catholic background, I had never heard Horatio Spafford's hymn before (every Christian denomination seems to have developed its own hymns and ignored all others, somehow, which is another good reason for ecumenism!) The melody is gorgeous, and while I struggle a little with some of the lyrics, I find it deeply moving, especially knowing about the Spaffords' struggles, the struggles in Mariette's situation, and the strength and solace the song has given in both cases. My young assistant friend had no way of knowing what a gift this song was to me in the week that I missed my godfather's funeral. We all come up against "sorrows like sea billows" on occasion, but worship music's potency can bring us healing and hope.

Whatever struggles and challenges you may be facing, may it also, somehow, be well with your soul -- simply because God loves you and never leaves you, no matter what. Have a good Lent.

*I use pseudonyms for all my L'Arche friends.

Yearning, longing, nostalgia, and HOPE on a Sunday

I'm in the mood for some great music this Sunday afternoon, and I've always loved this piece. I learned it when I was travelling with a performing group in Europe -- we sang it in Italy and always received a very warm response from our audiences. At the time, I thought it beautiful, but didn't really think about why it was so well-loved by the Italian people.

25 years later, I understand the essence of the "Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves" (as it's called in English) much better. It was written by Giuseppi Verdi for an opera called Nabucco, and it's based on Psalm 137, a psalm of yearning for a lost country, longing to return from exile, and remembering the beauty of home.

Lately, I've been feeling those kinds of nostalgic feelings about the Church that has been home to me for my whole life, a life which has been lived against the backdrop of the Church's struggle to implement the changes recommended by the Second Vatican Council. Having grown up working in my parents' church supplies store, I was exposed to all the new thoughts and hopes and dreams that came from the Council, ideas like inclusive language, ecumenism, more contemporary liturgical music, a new understanding of original blessing rather than original sin, and the empowerment of the laity in the life of the Church. Since then, it seems, the Church has had a change of heart -- or perhaps it's afraid of further change because it can be so unpredictable -- and now its leadership seems to be taking the Church back to 'safe' old ways, retreating to what it once knew, even though that old knowledge is far out of step with our present times.

As the Church retreats away from the world and into itself, though, it leaves me feeling like the Hebrew slaves in exile, longingly singing for what has recently been lost. O membranza, si cara e fatal -- my heart breaks when I remember some of the positive changes that were made because of Vatican II -- that have now been unmade -- and the many improvements the Council suggested, that have died on the books. Arpa d'ora dei fatidici vati, perche muta dal salice pendi? The harp of the prophets hangs mute upon the willows... and why?? Even as I mourn, I know that if the Church doesn't change soon, it will collapse in upon itself -- and something new will have to rise up from the grassroots.

As part of those grassroots, today I sing along with the Hebrew slaves, but not with their desolate spirit. The melody of their sadness is being transformed into a melody of hope in my heart. Over the weeks since Pope Benedict announced his retirement, hope has risen and many voices have begun to converge, calling once again for positive change -- for deeper inclusivity, openness, transparency, and faithfulness to the Gospels rather than a blind clinging to the tired old doctrines, dogmas, and ways that no longer work -- and I join those voices to sing a melody of hope. Va pensiero sull'ali dorate, fly, golden thoughts, on the wings of the Holy Spirit, and help change to happen...