According to the dictionary, x "represents an unknown quantity, factor, result, etc." Etcetera, in other words, x is a symbol we use to mark a number of things that we don't know. In mathematics, it is a placeholder in complex equations. X is also a symbol we use for things we know. On a map, it can mark the point of a significant event or destination. It is used as a signature among the illiterate. This letter which does not start many English words compared to its colleagues, is often used as a symbol of something to be found or something important we need to record.
X marks the spot of what we are looking for. Do we know what we are looking for? Many don't. I enjoy solving logic puzzles. While I don't often write out an equation, the principle applies. I am trying to figure out an unknown. When I write, I am exploring unknowns so they become known. I like to read mysteries. Every mystery is an attempt to find some satisfactory conclusion. The x should be difficult but not impossible to deduce. So many ways I use x without even thinking about it.
In Acts 17, Paul introduces the unknown God to his audience. They had a monument to an unknown god. The residents didn't want to offend anyone among the pantheon they worshipped. To ensure no one was overlooked, this monument was erected. Paul knew the one and only God. He could give them the answer they were looking for.
X marks the spot. The Greek chi (x) was used at least as far back as the 16th century to denote Christ. It was a mark to indicate your belief much like the cross is today. I find this a fun juxtaposition. X marks the spot of the greatest treasure ever, Jesus Christ, the unknown made known at Christmas. Many did not recognise the Messiah. Many still don't recognise Him. They continue to search for some unknown substance or activity to fill the empty spaces. They use created things to approximate the X in their life equation.
Today God gives us an unknown quality through the Holy Spirit that sets us apart from the world. Only when we let the Holy Spirit work in us, do we have a chance to make the unknown known. It doesn't happen by trying harder, but as a wise woman once said, it happens by trusting harder.
There is no way I could possibly come up with a favourite Christmas carol. I love most of them, as I mentioned here, in a former Christmas post.
But there is one carol that has been echoing through my mind for weeks now, especially the first line:
Let all mortal flesh keep silence.
The haunting, chant-like tune wafts ethereally through my thoughts at least once a day, and I ask my Father, what are You trying to tell me? Help me to grasp it.
It's in keeping with a theme that has been predominant in my life for several months now; a singular ribbon woven in and out of my daily-ness: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
To make a long story short: two sermon series on the Lord's prayer, and two books (I highly recommend them) have focused me in one direction: God's holiness. Yahweh. I Am.
Interestingly, the lyrics of the hymn are based on a part of the Liturgy of St. James, an ancient liturgy believed to have roots in the ministry of the Apostle James in Jerusalem.
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"The Liturgy of St. James includes a Communion rite with a vivid and memorable text, chanted by the priest before the bread and wine are presented ... The text draws in part from Habakkuk 2:20: “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him.”Find the link here.
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They were translated into English from the original Greek by Gerard Moultrie, first published in 1864 in England, and entitled "Prayer of the Cherubic Hymn."
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The text expresses awe at Christ's coming (st. 1) and the mystery of our perception of Christ in the body and blood (st. 2). With images from Isaiah 6 and Revelation 5, it portrays the glory of Christ (sung to by angels) and his victory over sin (st. 3-4). Although it has eucharistic emphasis, the text pictures the nativity of Christ in a majestic manner and in a much larger context than just his birth in Bethlehem. We are drawn into the awe and mystery with our own alleluias."Find the link here.
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"We are drawn into the awe and mystery ..."
We are also drawn into the awe and mystery by the tune, which was not paired with the lyrics until 1906 by Ralph Vaughan Williams. The melody was originally a French Traditional Carol and some scholars believe it dates back as far as the seventeenth century.
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Dr. Ralph Vaughan Williams, with his usual genius for finding a suitable tune to accompany a text, set Moultrie’s hymn to the tune PICARDY, a tune which greatly helps to enhance the hymn’s expression of the sense of awe and mystery we experience in the Eucharist where, in ways beyond our comprehension, our Lord comes “from the realms of endless day” to be present with us “with blessing in his hand.” Text and music together provide a memorable description of the Eucharist as a “window” through which, for a brief moment, we may glimpse the eternal praise and worship offered by “the host of heaven” Find the link here.
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Awe, mystery. That's often what prompts silence, isn't it? Put that together with a newborn ...
Think about it, when have you ever witnessed someone walking into a new baby's nursery with loud voices and clamouring noises? We don't. We enter the room hushed and on tiptoe. There is wonder as we look down on tiny clenched fists and soundly sleeping face. We watch the little chest rise and fall.
I think of the rough, unpolished shepherds coming into the stable. Hushed, in awe. Because they knew this wasn't any baby. This was THE baby. What a holy moment that must have been. Could they take it all in? Can I?
For many of us, this Christmas will already be quieter. Perhaps not of our own choice. But maybe this is an opportunity to gaze with awe on a Holy God in the form of a human infant. God With Us. Emmanuel.
God. With us.
Keep silence. Take it in.
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Below is a version of the song on YouTube. If you can't view/hear it from here, please take the time to find it online somewhere.
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
and with fear and trembling stand;
ponder nothing earthly-minded,
for with blessing in his hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
our full homage to demand.
King of kings, yet born of Mary,
as of old on earth he stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
in the body and the blood,
he will give to all the faithful
his own self for heav'nly food.
Rank on rank the host of heaven
spreads its vanguard on the way,
as the Light of light descendeth
from the realms of endless day,
that the pow'rs of hell may vanish
as the darkness clears away.
At his feet the six-winged seraph,
cherubim, with sleepless eye,
veil their faces to the presence,
as with ceaseless voice they cry,
"Alleluia, alleluia,
alleluia, Lord Most High!"
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Joy will be spending Christmas at home in Edmonton with The Cowboy, Babe, and a snowman named Jubal, instead of the usual crowd of kids and grandkids. It will be a quieter Christmas, but she's looking forward to it. Find more of her joy-infused take on the world at Scraps of Joy.
I glance over to the bookshelf in my writing room, to the area reserved for my own published books. A frog bookend leans against them, holding them in a neat line against the edge of the case. I admire the spines of their jackets, smiling with both pride and awe.
The first book on the shelf is a devotional. The spine shows balloons stretching out from the front cover where a clown wearing big red shoes and a flower squirting waterdrops is holding the balloons high. A circus tent is in the background of the cover, and the title is in a circus-poster font.
Next to the devotional is another book. There is a whitish cross on the spine of the satiny black cover. If I run my hand over the cross I know it will feel a little raised and rough. The cross is phosphorescent, gathering light throughout the day so it can faintly glow in the evening dark. At least, that is what it is supposed to do. Mass production does not lend itself well to such a special effect, but the idea was there. When readers open the book they soon understand the glowing cross is significant to my life story contained within the pages.
A third book has recently been placed beside these first two publications. My eyes don't focus on the title that stretches across the spine. Instead, I pull the novel from the shelf to look again at the cover. Another cross, but this one sitting in a pool of blood. Marijuana leaves grow up behind the cross. I flip the book over to see my photo on the back with the author’s blurb. Above this, endorsements praise the writing and describe the mystery enclosed within the pages.
If you have not guessed by now, these books only appear on the shelf in my mind and dreams. One day, I trust they will appear in tangible reality on my shelf. Right now, though, they are scattered here and there in various notebooks and computer files, waiting to be gathered and sorted and rewritten into something resembling manuscripts that will then be filled out in the thin parts, coloured in the obtuse parts, and pruned in the parts that don't belong.
Slowly, very slowly, these books will be written - are being written. Occasionally the content changes, but the writing does not stop. And while I walk slower than many, I am learning with each step. These are not just dreams, they are goals because writing for me is a calling by God.
My books are not on my shelf but they are further along than they were last year and the year before that. So, I thank you, my writer friends of Inscribe Fellowship, for being such a “great cloud of witnesses” who have gone before me, walk beside me, or are coming up the trail I have been sauntering along. Each of you inspires and encourages me.
Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it. Strip down, start running (or writing)— and never quit! (Heb 12:1 MSG)
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not
all sleep, but we will all be changed,” I Cor. 15:51
In these early
days of 2017 I am thankful to God my journey has not ended yet. With the approach of a New Year there is a sense of mystery. Don’t
you think? That’s how I see it. It is the mystery of the unfolding of another
chapter of my life story as I journey on. So far the sun has risen for me each
morning.
Every year is also
a mystery of God’s unfolding story in me as one of His kids. I have no idea of
what is ahead but God is there. I thank Him for the gift of mystery! I thank
Him for a faith that gives me strength to carry on in this life.
In looking back on
2016 and other past years there is sense of poignancy in my heart. I remember
loved ones and friends to whom I said fare thee well. Their journeys ended yet
their memories are sweet and enduring. They are ones who now “sleep.” The sun
has set for them yet they are with the risen Son!
I like to walk. I
like to walk with one foot after the other. Perhaps I’m too cautious at times.
I have, however, been known to take risks in life. The challenge is for me not
to get ahead of God and mess things up. From experience I know that can hurt. I
have to let God be God and realize mystery may be good for me!
A few days ago I went
for a walk on the dike a couple minutes from home with Terry (my wife) and our
dog Charlie. It was late in the afternoon but still light enough for a walk. It
was chilly and such a beautiful afternoon. We walked with Charlie and took
pictures of each other. As we were heading home Charlie and I walked a little
bit ahead of Terry. She took a photo of Charlie and me. When I saw it later it
spoke to me as walking into the setting winter sun. It was the inspiration for
this post.
Walks on the dike
often inspire me. Rain or shine the scenery surrounding the dike speaks to me.
I listen to God in the quiet majesty of His creation. I thank Him for such an
intimate relationship with the beauty around me. Such beauty helps me to be
patient as I walk into the mystery of what lies ahead.
There are things
in the shadow of God’s mystery for me to behold, look forward to and trust. For
instance, I look forward in 2017 to knowing what it feels like to have some of
my writing published. This is exciting! It is a path I walk in the company of
my friends Glynis, Ruth, Carolyn, Barb, Donna and Amanda! They have walked such
a path before. It is uncharted territory for me! It is still a mystery.
One day I will walk
into my setting sun. Slowly but surely light will give way to darkness and I still
will hope. I will be changed! I will know what the mystery means. I will look
upon the risen Son!
When I look back at the pattern of my life, I see the Hand of God writing a story on the scroll of my skin. If nothing else, when the dust settles on my desk, at least one story will have been written and finished. The book will close, and knowing the greatest Scribe, it will be a tale worth telling.
As stories go, characters are at the mercy of a pencil and eraser. However, in God's adventures, He seems to allow characters to inform the plot. It’s like he breathes life into his characters and they become three dimensional, more like actors and actresses on a stage than flat thoughts on a page.
His characters are all unique, no photocopied portraits in his parables. They all have their own dreams and needs; their own paradox of cheap chastity. The ink in his quill becomes blood, his heart begins to beat in theirs and he lets them go.
I believe God's character arc in my life-story is for me to become like Him: to be set apart, and pure, with the exclusive purpose of service. But my goals have often betrayed His. He lets me wander, developing my own plot, at times raising a wary eye to see what he thinks and at others, kneeling in surrender to the mystery of Story.
And I wonder, are the troubles in my path designed by his pen, or by my own foolishness? Like any good story teller, God surely knows that a plot without pain is irrelevant. Somehow I feel that most of my plot problems are my own doing, yet He uses crisis to advance the story from Act I to Act II.
God the story-teller has a perspective that I, as lead character, don't. His pen may follow the drama of my life, but He alone writes the ending. And He will see to it that when the last page is turned, my objectives - the desires of my heart - will have been realized and my conflicts resolved.
The mystery will be solved and I will look back and question how I missed the clues. He knew all along. I will be amazed at the plan that permeated the story. I’ll be surprised I didn’t see it sooner.
And is it really any surprise? After all, God is the original Story Teller and He wrote the Best-Seller. His objective was relationship and the conflict was our own blindness. His solution was tangible – He wrapped Himself in skin and sorrow. The characters are real and flawed, and at the last moment, God the Narrator throws a twist into the plot. When we thought God won, He died.
His body, though diseased by our sin, shattered the chains of death. The sequel is life and freedom forever.
“Thank you Lord that you are penning a story on my heart. May it be an allegory of amazing Grace, and a tale that is testimony to the triumph of its Author."
Someone posted a note to a list I read recently, quoting Luci Shaw, one of my favourite poets. Luci described the necessity of paying attention when “the muse” strikes. She said – “You have to wait for the images and the ideas to be presented and then be alert enough to catch them when they come, and record them." Most writers know what she means. There are times, and they are sometimes not the most convenient, when an idea or a line or a scene will come to mind and if you don’t stop whatever you are doing and write it down it will be lost.
I’m sure Mrs. Shaw would be the first to admit that there is a great deal to be said for discipline – the kind of discipline all writers need – that makes us stay at a computer tapping away even when we don’t feel like it, even when the ideas don’t come and inspiration seems like a word in a foreign lexicon.
But then there is that ‘muse.’
It has always been a mystery to me. I’ve written award-winning poems that flowed out like water and needed very little editing. I’ve had sudden overwhelming urges to write things down and found those bits perfect for pieces that weren’t even thought of until years later. And I’ve had those wonderful breakthrough ‘aha!’ moments after toiling out of pure obedience at the keyboard all day. Yes, the muse has struck me, but I don’t understand it, I can’t predict it and I certainly can’t control it.
Sometimes that drives me crazy. Sometimes I really want to be able to do all of the above. There was even a time when I thought it a little unfair that God has chosen to do it this way. If He has given us the gift, and I know He has, why not make it easy? Why not give us a muse that is as predictable and controllable as the tap at our kitchen sink. Yeah, why not!?
But then I think of the joy when those moments happen. You can liken it to an athlete finding “the zone,” when no matter what is happening around him, no matter what frustration or even pain he might have been feeling, his body reacts to all the training he has done, his actions become a thing of beauty and he senses a moment of complete fulfillment – the moment for which he has been born. It’s that moment that Eric Liddle described in Chariots of Fire when he said, “When I run I feel God’s pleasure.”
I admit I wish there were many more moments like that – I wish the muse were like the tap at my kitchen sink, but then I wonder if the joy would be as pure. Would I take that tap for granted? Would I respond with arrogance and claim it as something flowing from inside me? Would I spurn the gift and deny the hand from which it comes?
Sadly, I fear I would be guilty of all of the above. I am human and susceptible to all those human failings. So I’ll be content and grateful for those mysterious moments when the muse strikes. I’ll delight in them when they arrive and take joy in the mystery.
