On the Edge of Waiting: A Meditation for Christmas Eve, Eve.

On the Edge of Waiting: A Meditation for Christmas Eve, Eve.

Shhh.

Come away a moment,

my friend.

Come away

from the lights,

and the crowds,

and the shops,

and the noise,

and the pressure,

and the worrries,

and the old wounds that

winter us

before our time.

Come and sit with me here.

Rest.

Just for a moment.

Let me share with you once again

what we forget in our festive

frenzy:

He is coming…

Down the long ages of despair

He comes as Hope.

Down the rough road of doubt

He comes as Faith.

Down the broken byways

of the

human heart

He comes as Love.

He is coming…

Sit with me on the edge of waiting…

Sit in sacred stillness…

Breathe the deep breath of

blessing.

You do not have to do anything.

He is coming…

Whether you are ready or not

Aware or not,

Able or not,

Present or not,

Believing or not,

He is coming…

As the sun rises,

as the moon shines,

as the tides turn,

as the stars dance,

He is coming…

So do not worry.

Let the tyranny of

tension

fall from you…

You never needed to carry it.

Let the false face of

righteous readiness to defend,

dissolve.

You never needed to wear it.

How could you ever be ready

for this?

For the first proclamation of the

Kingdom to be heard in a baby’s

cry.

Nothing is asked of you

but

to be here and now

who you are.

Truly.

Fully.

Broken?

Yes.

Weak?

Yes.

Called?

Oh yes.

He is coming…

And He is calling you to come to Him.

As He always does.

As He always will.

So, how will you greet Him,

the One who is coming?

The One who calls you,

to His crib.

(Yes, you.)

Will you prepare a place for Him?

Will you open the cave of your heart to Him?

Will you place Him in the sanctuary of your soul?

Will you lay Him upon the rough straw of your life?

Will you swaddle Him with your silence?

Will you offer Him the gentle warmth of animal breath?

Will you offer Him your love?

Or not.

He is coming…

Do not miss the moment

Of Mystery’s

mangered birth

by succumbing to

Bethlehem busyness.

No.

Become as still as a shepherd watching the flock of slumbering sheep.

Become as still as a sage watching the long dance of the stars.

Become as still as Joseph hearing Angels on the edge of dreams.

Become as still as she who is the stillpoint of love’s longing, filled with light.

Be still and you will know

He is coming…

Always…

In stillness,

on the edge of waiting…

He is coming for you…

He is coming to you…

Always.

He is coming in Love.

Our Lady of the Solstice

Our Lady of the Solstice

At the moment
of
the
deepest dark
and,
at
the sharp point
of the
longest night,

at such distance from 

dawn
that we groan
beneath
the burden of
being,
and touch within
ourselves
only
the winds of winter
and the
wild longing
where
light
is only a memory
long lost
and left behind in
summer sun;
then we,
suddenly,
and just for
the merest of moments,
are hushed
into silence,
as the turning
of the 
ancient
wheels of wonder
stop,
and sun and stars
all,
still their divinely 

directed dance
and take their
yearly yearned for
deep remembering

rest,
like lovers suddenly 

still,
when struckby desire's reverie;
or dancers,

pulsing with passion,
awaiting the next 

beat
of beauty's music
to liberate life within.
They,
our elder siblings 

of the sky,
recall in
their
sacred stillness
that moment
when
once,

just once,
their fiery song,
sung since
first
divine kindling,
was 

paused,
hushed,
stilled,

stopped;
just 

once,
long ago,so as 

to
listen to
a new note
joined to
the
great hymn of gratitude
that all
offer
simply by their very being.

For in that 

moment
of their listening
was revealed
she who is 

our true solstice.

The Woman,

that moment of
perfect stillness
between 

divine in-breathing
and creation's
exhalation of excelsis.

So they watched,

as she who is the 

stillpoint 

of

the dance of story,

and the sanctuary

where 

myth becomes flesh,

then,

before angelic emissary,
dropped the pebble of her
yes,
in its utter simplicity,
longed for through the countless
ages of agony,
into the pool of our pain.

Behold the Solstice of the Lord…

Be it done unto me according to His Word…

Looking deep they
saw its
ripples now run to the
edges of existence
trembling them with
the promise
of a new
Spring.

And the Story became flesh…

And dwelt amongst us…

This young girl,

this Lady of light.
who is our solstice.
She,
the perfect place
of stillness,
so attuned
to the coming of the Light
that in her
all
creation stills,
the old cycle of sin
is broken
and,
even the deep dark
of despair
must yield
to glow of dawn.

She, 

the light that glows before 

the rising Sun,

heralded by Robin 

and Wren 

and fluting Blackbird,

She, like that blessed moment

when Sun and Moon 

both

hang in the deep blue together 

and bow as they pass

gentling our hearts 

and 

drawing us from dreams

to welcome
the advent of the One
who
IS
Love's Light
and eternal Word both,
spoken now into time’s renewed turning
by the Yes of one who
holds
within her heart
the perfect emptiness of Love.

Treasuring in 

the holy dark of
her womb the hearth
where Spring's spark is 

kindled
and brightens with beauty 

as a
first place of
promised Easter exhalation 

the cave of
rebirth;
in which
eternity and time
are married,
and infinity will wed itself
forever
to clay's embrace. 

Here, in this
sacred solstice place,
Eve's aching
is healed,
and
here, 

Adam's sin
undone,
as from the dry root
of the
sundering tree
a new shoot rises at the word of
one
whose whole being
is Yes
whose whole being
is
Love,

And so,
yearly
we sit,
rooting ourselves
once again
in Mother Earth's embrace,

and while looking ever upwards
we find the still point 

of the skies
and yet

inwardly gaze 

into
the light of story 

long-kindled 

against the cold of winter,
and so become

re-minded,
re-hearted,
re-souled,
by she who is our solstice,

whose self-forgetting 

Yes 

brought to us

the turning of the light

and blessed us

all
like barren trees 

brought to beauty
by a sudden

anointing 

of 

new snow.

    

St. Nicholas Dawn

Feast of St. Nicholas, Santa Claus himself today...
Always reminds me of that moment I met him...

St. Nicholas Dawn

On the sixth morn
of the month that's dark,
while walking in that hallowed park,
and breathing deep the icy air,
I felt the grace of Nicholas there.
I stood a moment in the frost
and felt the yearning of the lost
on land or sea who wandering go,
whose minds and hearts are often low,
as gripped within by sadness grey
they stumble through another day
and long to feel the gift of light
break in upon their inner night.
Then feeling deep their dark and pain
I vowed to ne'r come there again,
until I felt him standing there
all bright against the freezing air.
 A bishop robed in red was he,
who looked with kindness upon me,
while leaning on his gnarled staff
his beard it shook as he did laugh,
and said in tone of deepest cheer,
"Why, what on earth do we have here?"
" A little friar out in the cold,
whose failing heart is not so bold,
for overcome with grief is he
for those whose lives in darkness be,
and those who know the belly's wail,
and those who sit alone in jail,
and those whose hearts know only pain,
and those who sleep outside in rain,
and those who fear the stronger power,
and those who nearer feel death's hour!"
 And scarce he spoke, but I replied,
"Tis true you see what lies inside!"
"But what can I do next to you,
who dwell above the azure blue,
and as a saint may do so much
to bring the light and healing touch
of Heaven' s blessing earthward sent,
to those whose lives by pain are rent?"
At this, his face it darkened then,
as though despairing of all men,
like me who seek a grace to flow,
but far to often still say no
when called to be a mirror through,
the poor, the lame, the sickened too,
will see a glimpse of heaven's light
that lifts them from the pit of night.
Then as I stood before his face
he touched my heart and blessed this place,
and said, "Its right that this you know,
that saint I am and saint I go,
throughout the world both night and day,
to hear the cries of those who pray
and then I bring their yearning strong
to Him who seeks to right their wrong,
and sent am I by His right hand
to all the hearts within the land
who gentled are by Graces dear
and shed their sweet impassioned tear,
that they would know their call is this,
to enter into Heaven's bliss,
by healing, helping, lifting, raising
listening, watching, minding,saving
the weak, the poor, the little child,
as I did here before I died."
"For this they call me Santa Claus,
I who kept sweet Heaven's laws,
and now I pass them onto you
O little one, who now dares to
extend a hand that helps and heals,
and so the light of God reveals,
to let each poor one deeply know
that Christ their saviour bowed so low,
that babe he came in frost and cold
our Shepherd King, who serves the fold,
and in His mother's arms did cry
for all the sheep, for you and I;
and none He lost, and none forgot
not even those who chose the lot
of greed, and pride, and selfish gain,
for them He offered every pain."
"So come my friend and stand with me
beneath the branches of this tree,
and we shall watch the dawn arise
and light grow in the eastern skies,
and pray, and psalm, and praise again
the One who is the light of men!"
At this the old man smiled at me,
standing 'neath the ancient tree.
As in my heart again I vowed
to cry to all with voice aloud,
of Him who loves us deep and well;
to be a Christmas tolling bell
that rings and calls both one and all
to heed that ancient Yuletide call,
to light each other's gathering dark
and share within the healing spark,
which He first kindled with His breath,
the One who broke the power of death!
Then as the light grew all around
I seemed to hear a merry sound,
of bells, or chimes from out the air
and laughter deep that saints do share,
and gone he was, my Bishop bright,
there at the dawning of the light,
So I was left once more alone,
filled with a song of Heaven's tone,
that flames within my heart so bright
I fear not now no lack of light!
And forth I went to sing this lay
of the light that shone on Nicholas' Day.