Manger love - an invironment of peace.."

After noticing that I was reposting classic Christmas pieces, by my friends, H. asked if I would please slip this post from last December onto the list.

Little did she know that it was the perfect reminder for me this weekend, as I further considered the importance of maintaining an uncluttered spiritual invironment. Keeping my thoughts focused on the "how," rather than the who, what, where, and when questions of the season, was the best spiritual discipline I could engage in. I hope this piece finds you enjoying the simple, sweet, unpolluted manger days of Christmas.


"I am waiting in a silent prayer..."
 

"...I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened
by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone,
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now
Be with me now

Breath of heaven
Hold me together
Be forever near me
Breath of heaven..."

Like Kathy Matthea's "Mary Did You Know," Sara Groves' "Breath of Heaven" fills my heart whenever I think about a young girl, a gentle man, a babe of promise, and a quiet manger on a starry night. 

In her small volume, The Handmaid and the Carpenter, Elizabeth Berg writes of Mary's time in the manger:

"A hard pain came upon her. She rose up, clenched her teeth, and pulled on the rope. When the pain subsided, she lay back down and allowed herself one more moment of pity for her poor circumstances: She lay on the floor of a stranger's stable. Somewhere, water dripped. The air was foul with the scent of the animals and their droppings. Wind blew in through the cracks in the walls. She closed her eyes.  So be it."

"So be it"...

And we wonder where a young man learned to say, "Into thy hands I commit my spirit?" 

This story has no season.  This story cannot be assigned, or relegated to, a single holy day.  It is a story that serves us every day, and for me, its holds it greatest promise at night...in moments raw with the cold chill of despair, and rancid with fear, doubt, uncertainty, and pain. Moments when I must go deeper. Moments when the stillness of my inner life outweighs the drama of the ego's stories. Moments when I am aware of the profound importance of spiritual in-vironmentalism and my role as an invironmental advocate.  

I remember a night, one winter, when the snow blew under the doorjamb, the cold bit into my bones while I shoveled the walk, and tears froze to my bottom lashes - hard and sharp against my cheeks.  My heart was heavy with questions which were piling up like the heavy snow I coud barely lift, and the thoughts that pierced my peace were as relentless as the driving ice storm that had blown through earlier in the day.

Why....
Why....
Why....

Why God....

And there were no answers.  Are there ever?

But then something fluttered onto my heart as soft and perfect as a snowflake:

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord. 
Be it unto me according to Thy Word." 

And suddenly, there was nothing but the quiet of a starry night.  The clouds broke, the winds stilled, the snow still fell gently from somewhere high in a sky as black and clear as a bottomless quarry.

In the wake of surrender my new question became:

"How..."

How would You have me navigate this moment?  How can I love more like You?  How shall I behave towards others in service to You?  How should I speak to him, her, them? 

And the answers came as easily, and as sweetly, as a perfectly formed snowflake .  Love unconditionally, be impartially kind, sincere, honest, consistently gentle, be acceptingly open, be willing to adapt, listen deeply, serve humbly, give generously...judge no one.


It was no longer a question of why, but only how...how to be, moment-by-gently-falling-moment...and there was a great calm and the storm ceased...and within the environment, the invironment, of my deepest thought, there was nothing but a manger. Filled...

   ...with the breath of heaven.

living in the "how" of His love...

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"Mary, did you know..."

"Mary, did you know
that your baby boy,
would someday walk on water?
Mary, did you know
your baby boy would
save our sons and daughters..."
- Mark Lowry

It wouldn't really be Christmas, if Kathy Matthea's  "Mary, did you know?" didn't begin to sing itself through my heart like a lullaby of grace.    And, I think, she did know. I believe that Jesus' mom knew the promise of peace her son was.  The promise of goodwill.  The promise of healing and redemtion.

  Nothing he did to ignore her, nothing he said to deter her, nowhere he went to escape her...could hurt her.   She was his mommy.  

The young girl in the manger, was also the woman who was "last at the cross."  She was there when the angels sang of his wonder,  she was there when shepherd kneeled in holy benediction on a frozen earth, she was there when the cattle lowed a humble lullaby.  She was there when lame men lept, when the blind saw men as trees walking, the leper was cleansed, when kings wept...and she was there with spices, for anointing, at the tomb. 

I forgot this message for a while.  I forgot the power of love that his mother's story prophesies.   It all got lost in a fuzzy sort of abstraction that separated the divinity of the Christ message, from humanity of Jesus and his story. But Mary Baker Eddy encourages us to "take the Bible as our sufficient guide to eternal life," and states that "the divinity of the Christ was made manifest in the humanity of Jesus." So how did I get so lost. The Bible I love so much, and do take as my sufficient guide, is full of the Christ message as told through the stories of Jesus' humanity. Countless stories of his very human, unconditionally loving behavior. Well, where do I think he learned how to love like this...with an affection that is unreasonable to the human mind and goes beyond the boundaries of what seems deserving.  I believe it was from a woman who never forgot what she knew. 

I have seen (and felt from my own mom) this kind of relentless, persistent, unflappable love in action...and it takes my breath away.  It always has, and it always will.

I have a very good friend.  Over a decade ago, her child decided that it was no longer importan to have a close relationship with his mother.  He was a man now, and no longer needed a mom.  She had raised him -- and according to him, not as well as he would have wished.

She had bathed, fed, supported, and believed in him for over 20 years, but he felt that she'd let him down financially. After his father's passing, he'd had to pay his own way through college.  His friends hadn't.  He felt that she should have made better long-term financial decisions.  He blamed her for his college loan debt.  And, he later explained, felt that if he had to work extra long hours at work to pay it down, reclaiming that time by not spending time calling, or visiting, with her, was the price she had to pay. 

Sure, he'd show up for holidays and family gatherings, but he wasn't going to make the same mistakes she'd made and put so much attention on these family relationships at the expense of his financial security.  He was going to be a success.  Anyway, she had church friends and neighbors, couldn't they call her on weekends.

And although her friends would say that this beloved son had been the apple of her eye, in his eyes she just hadn't done it right enough.  Couldn't she have just been a bit more...well, you name it...loving, strict, kind, affectionate, alert, trusting, prudent, generous.  But even that didn't matter now, he was an adult.  No need for mom to concern herself any longer, he was his own person.

I'd remembered this loved son as young boy.  He was sweet, gentle, and adored.  But when I met him next, he was a grown man with a chip on his shoulder. 

"Imagine," he said to me when we ran into each other,  "my mom wants me to come home for the holidays.  Can you believe it?"  He explained, hoping for an ally, that he had a life to live, a purpose to fulfill, a woman to meet, lives to touch with the genuine wonder of his deep spiritual commitment to God.  "And anyway," he said to me that afternoon on a park bench, "didn't Jesus say..." and then he paraphrased this section of scripture from Luke:

"There came then his [Jesus'] brethren and his mother, and, standing without, sent unto him, calling him.  And the multitude sat about him, and they said unto him, Behold, thy mother and thy brethren without seek for thee.

And he answered them, saying, "Who is my mother, or my brethren?"

And he looked round about on them which sat about him, and said, "Behold my mother and my brethren!  For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother."

Okay.  Can I say here that if I hadn't know him as a sweet, gentle boy, I might have shaken him silly.  But I loved his mom...and she loved him...so...I prayed.

And that was when it occurred to me, that his seeming disregard for his mother's role in his life, was not going to change her love for him.  Her love for him was unconditional.  Her love for him was "without question."  He was still her little boy.  He was still the child that his mother (this same woman he was so quick to dismiss as irrelevant) had loved, cherished, cared for, believed in, and adored.  He was still the precious child she believed could do anything he set his heart to. 

So I took a deep breath, and in the space of that breath, I remembered my own earlier years of immaturity...and dismissiveness...with my mother.  It was such a clarion call to compassion and meekness.

And, I knew that this once precious little boy, was now a deeply spiritual young man.  We shared a love for God, a love for the Bible, and a genuine hunger for spiritual answers. So together, in the gentle, informal way that friends share inspiration, right there on the park bench, we explored the complete story of Jesus' relationship with his mom, Mary.  My young friend and I went to the master for answers. As contemporary disciples, we truly wanted to understand the role that parents play in the lives of their children - and vice versa. And together, we were led to that precious moment of redemption at the foot of the cross, when a boy looks down at his own mother and says:

"Woman behold thy son."

And then, I believe he says, to himself...in front of his disciple, John, and not to him:

"Behold, thy mother."

As we sat there thinking about his words, we couldn't help but remember Jesus the boy, who at 12, leaves his parents without telling them where he was going, during a family trip, to sit and chat with rabbis and lawyers in the temple.  We are a bit shocked by the young man of thirty, who rebukes his mother at the wedding they are attending together in Cana.  And then later, we watch on as this much sought after spiritual teacher, dismisses her in the story above. 

But, it is at Calvary, in the shadow of the cross, with only two companions and his mother - who has always loved and believed in him - standing by when all others have fled, that he finally acknowledges his mother's role in his life, and makes provision for her care after his passing.  And in doing so, he attends to her heart, and gives us a model for human behavior.  

Mary, did you know?  Yes, I think she knew   She knew who her son was and the promise his life held, for a waiting world.  I think all mothers know this very thing about their sons and daughters. We know the promise our children offer to a world hungry for innocence, strength, intelligence, beauty, grace, courage, integrity.  We know the truth of all that they can be...and we bear witness to that promise every day.

In Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, Mary Baker Eddy writes:

"A mother's affection cannot be weaned from her child, because the mother-love includes purity and constancy, both of which are immortal. Therefore maternal affection lives on under whatever difficulties."

What a promise!  No interruption in the eternally flowing affection of mother-love in the lives of either the parent, or the child...now, or ever.

The story of Jesus' relationship with his own mom is a gift to each of us.
 
My friend's son and I both "got it" that crisp autumn day in the park.   And when Christmas rolled around, we were both with our moms.

My friend has been so blessed by her son's willingness to be led into a deeper affection for his mother. She enjoys spending many of her holidays with a loving, kind, deeply spiritual and attentive son who never misses an opportunity to include his mom in his life.  And I am blessed by his friendship, by the lesson we learned together that day in the park, and by his willingness to let me share this story.

warmly....

Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

"...the sleeping child you're holding..."

"Mary, did you know...
That your baby boy has come to make you new?
...This child that you've delivered
Will soon deliver you..."
-Greene/Lowry

Last year, about this time, I wrote a post with this Kathy Matthea version of "Mary, Did You Know?" as the keynote... and if you do nothing more today on this blog than listen to this song, I will know your heart has been touched.  Please don't miss its blessing.  I love it so much that I am now convinced it will show up every Christmas...along with a few others that continue to bring their spiritual gifts each year. This season, I share it as the prelude to a poem. 

I am continuing to learn that when we open our hearts, manger-like...humble, simple, still, and expectant...to our Father's plan, the Christ is new-born within us.  "The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again.  The lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the Lamb..." Do you know that this sleeping child you are holding within you, is "the Great I AM"

"A Manger Within"

your quaking heart
can know a deep, unfathomable peace
even when all looks lost
and hope seems like a taunting
a haunting
a place where disappointment and doubt
lay in wait
around any
and every corner
ready to pounce and pierce
the soft places
the inner regions
the tender dreams
of the soul

but Love walks in
with all Its quiet Self-certainty
and announces
"I am that I am"
you cannot run from what "I am"
"the spiritual sense of truth that must be gained,
before Truth can be understood"

your heart is Mine
your life is Mine
your love is Mine
you cannot take it back
you cannot take control
you cannot put the shattered pieces
back into a shape that is safe
shelve it all away
in tissue paper
with the old star
the fragile Christmas ornaments
and sigh with relief
that
for another year...it is still intact

I have taken you apart for My purpose
torn away the shredded tatters
you hugged so close
I have dressed you in a bridal garment
pure as driven snow
on an empty, endless beach
along the coast of Maine
I have scattered your false convenient peace
down the abandoned church steps
like rice
raining on your hearts
rending the veil of tolerance
revealing the face of Love

within the stillness of a sanctuary heart
I have wed you to Me...to My presence in your life
I am asking you to trust Me
with your eternity
with your intuition
with your heart and soul and mind
let Me be your God
let Me prepare you a place
as I have prepared your heart
breaking it wide open
ready to receive
a babe

this will not look easy
it may not make sense
it may leave you feeling naked

but what have you learned from a girl
visited by angels
espoused to a man
great with child
giving birth in a manger

sometimes what I have planned
does not make sense
to hearts that need to know
to minds
that need to have it all in columns
and rows
and pews

but if you will let Me have your heart
like she did
I will show you a miracle
a star will lead
angels will sing
kings will bring gifts
shepherds will quake

and you
may learn
to trust
Me
...with all your heart

give it to Me
and I will fill it
with
something
Wonderful,
Mighty,
full of promise...
the Prince of Peace
...or a girl in a manger.

with an expectant heart, always...
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

I just found this version of "Mary, Did You Know?" as sung by lyricist, Mark Lowrey. And as much as I absolutely love Kathy Matthea's version, I am always interested in seeing how a songwriter interprets his/her own lyrics.


[photo credit:  Lisa Redfern and Lydia Day (daughter of Doug & Diana) by Randall Williams 2009]

"Mary, did you know..."

"...Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?
Mary, did you know
That your baby boy has come to make you new?
This child that you've delivered
Will soon deliver you..."
-Greene/Lowry

I have thought about this verse from "Mary, Did You Know?" (enjoy this Kathy Matthea version...my favorite) a good deal over the past few weeks.  Both in light of my visit to South Africa where I spent just more than two weeks with my daughter,  and most recently after reading Laura's fascinating and thought-provoking post last week, "Book Review: Do you Know Who Your Children Are?"   I am convinced that our children...who we think are put into our lives as helpless wee ones for us to care for...are really what will save us from ourselves.

As I sat with my daughter on the beach each day...or lay next to her at night before we fell asleep...it became so obvious that this daughter had been critical in giving birth to the best parts of the woman I have become.  My love for her has demanded more honesty, integrity, courage, and true love...than any other person, place, activity, purpose, or thing in my entire life.  

This child that I thought I would play a critical role in "raising"...has raised my expectations of myself.  She has made me want to live in accord with higher standards of womanhood than I could ever even have imagined before she came along.  She, and her sisters,  are the reason I have persisted in my quest for a better understanding of grace.  They are the impetus behind my struggle for a better sense of moral courage rather than a blanket acceptance of cultural paradigms that, in some ways, are as beloved...and defended... as hallowed sacraments.

My baby girl...who I love with every fiber of my being...came not just so that I would have someone to love and care for - and that she would have someone to love and care for her - but to make me new.  She came to make me want to be new and fresh and wise and innocent and good...especially good...every day since her birth.  She came to deliver me from any self-indulgent complacency with my own idiosyncrasies and peculiar way of doing things.  She came to arrest my devolution into self-righteousness and pride.  She came to remind me that I want to be better because I want to give her a better example of loving authentically and living with integrity. 

My baby girl has walked on the unstable water of my mortal insecurities, frailties, and the wishy-washiness of opinions and demanded that I know my God and stand on Truth with absolute trust in His nature as Love...because I want it for her. 

Whenever I have sought a true centering, an unwavering conviction that there is a God, it is my love for my daughters that I rest upon.  This love is so overpowering that I have no response but to yield to its demand on me to be my most God-like.  It has owned me from the day I knew that to "mother" was what I wanted more than anything else in the universe.  This love has borne me, carried me into places I would never have gone unbidden from the moment I knew I was being asked to parent my first child.  This love has strengthened my resolve when I felt like collapsing, released my rigid grasp when terror kept me holding on to something other than God, and caused me to surrender everything in fidelity to its call.  This love is the one thing I am absolutely certain I had nothing to do with creating...and can do nothing to destroy.  It is the thing that leaves me praying every moment of every day:

"Behold, the handmaid of the Lord,
be it unto me according to Thy will."

Dear Father-Mother God...thank you for these daughters, Your unspeakable gifts,
Kate