Last evening at about 6:15 p.m. we heard a big BANG, followed by police sirens, and every blinking light there could at the railroad track that runs just behind our house.
We are quite used to the trains rushing through back and forth from Fitchburg, and to the clanging of the warning bells to stop traffic as the gates go down. The train never honks, because the gates are usually faithful. But last night we heard two honk— at the lone car on the tracks facing into this speeding ball of steel, called a train.
The train always wins. Although the driver had put on the emergency brake it wasn’t in enough time to stop the train, and the car went flying off the tracks.
Oh my God, is always the first prayer.
Dick and others went outside to see what happened. They saw a demolished car, a train full of commuters stopped in mid-journey, firemen and police directing traffic and creating order, and one woman talking to police.
The dazed woman told police and others she was okay. She said her GPS told her to turn left. She turned left and found herself on the RR tracks facing into an oncoming train headlight. Second prayer: thank God, she got out of the car and was safe before her car was hit.
No one was hurt physically, but I prayed for the woman: thanks for her life, that shame and horror would not overwhelm her and would in time be healed, that her family would be forgiving and not scorning, and that everyone who relies on a GPS device would NOT trust it over their own senses.
I also renewed my own resolve not to get a GPS. Knowing myself, I would become dependent on it and never know at all where I was going—a dangerous state of affairs for someone who is already directionally challenged. I’d rather stop and ask a human being.
After all, God dwells in human flesh, not computer mechanics. Or so we Christians say.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
2013.01.16 Epiphany Stories
Epiphany means revelation or insight. Or in words of James Joyce, the "revelation of the whatness of a thing . . .the moment when the soul of the commonest object...seems to be radiant."
Twelfth Night, Epiphany Eve, is an English celebration, a time to try everything new you can think of—pranks, scandals, and role reversals. This is my favorite season of the church year, because I just LOVE new ideas and insights that shed light on something in a different way. And I love the God of reversals. I watch for such surprises and usually applaud.
Epiphany takes us from Christmas to Lent and is based on the biblical story of the Magi arriving for a baby-viewing. They’ve heard that this kid may be special, sent from Godde—also dangerous, according to King Herod who feared a challenge to his own almighty rule/dictatorship. He sent the wisest men in his kingdom to check out the truth of the theological rumor.
Imagine the scene: three august foreigners, Gentiles, astrologers from the east no less, arrived at the stable entrance bringing lavish gifts to the little Jewish baby cooing in a filthy crib around which huddled two exhausted parents, wondering if they would survive. Just imagine what Mary and Joseph felt at this appalling visitation.
It's only a story (but never say only a story), for this kind of thing happens all the time to mess up what we all agree is true and real, and even what we are sure God’s plans are! The story is biblical, therefore a bit grandiose on purpose, and rich in symbols and imagery of light and star, things these Magi know something about, and trust to guide them.
The story’s meaning is not just to emphasize God’s action in history to enlighten the people, but also to show that Jesus Christ is intended as Messiah, a liberator for ALL people.
Stories have power to transform and inspire no matter how fantastical they seem. Even if they don’t turn out the way they predict we keep on telling them, because we need to hear them, over and over.
I remember when a man who lived in the local shelter in Gloucester started to come to church at our parish of St. John’s. His name was David. He sat quietly in the back for weeks, and in time came up to join others for the Holy Communion meal. He said, “something's going on here.” He revealed nothing personal, except that he had a drinking problem. No one asked for more.
One day the office staff heard someone talking out loud in the sanctuary (open for prayer when the parish office was open, or people were in the building), and peeked in to investigate. They saw David standing at the lectern reading aloud to an empty church the biblical readings for the Sunday just past. I don’t think the church was really empty.
In time David vanished, as quickly as he had appeared. He left the place richer for his presence, and perhaps he received something himself.
I have a story I’m trying to write. You have a story. Theology has a story. Even Science has a story.
What might be the inside story the Wise Men would tell? I wonder if those ancient astrologers and sages faced some of the same problems and insights modern astronomers and astro physicists encounter? They could read the stars, and they knew the sky pretty well, but they couldn’t quite come up with a really good insight about the origins of the universe. For that they needed theology’s story. Their astronomical GPS wasn’t enough.
Even today, scientific calculations come up against a brick wall in the search for truth. Sometimes, they need theology, or let’s say insights from the mystical/spiritual/religious faith traditions. They need the Mystery some call God to fill in the blanks about the cosmos and its quantum beginnings.
Like the ancients who followed a star that the prophets advertised as leading to Divinity, scientists today are in respectful conversation with theologians they once dismissed as too non-scientific to be useful. A result a new discipline called astro-theology is evolving. (The Journal of Cosmology, based on the science of astronomy and mathematics, has a theology issue.)
When two or three gather together to share their gifts, there is Epiphany and epiphanies.
Twelfth Night, Epiphany Eve, is an English celebration, a time to try everything new you can think of—pranks, scandals, and role reversals. This is my favorite season of the church year, because I just LOVE new ideas and insights that shed light on something in a different way. And I love the God of reversals. I watch for such surprises and usually applaud.
Epiphany takes us from Christmas to Lent and is based on the biblical story of the Magi arriving for a baby-viewing. They’ve heard that this kid may be special, sent from Godde—also dangerous, according to King Herod who feared a challenge to his own almighty rule/dictatorship. He sent the wisest men in his kingdom to check out the truth of the theological rumor.
Imagine the scene: three august foreigners, Gentiles, astrologers from the east no less, arrived at the stable entrance bringing lavish gifts to the little Jewish baby cooing in a filthy crib around which huddled two exhausted parents, wondering if they would survive. Just imagine what Mary and Joseph felt at this appalling visitation.
It's only a story (but never say only a story), for this kind of thing happens all the time to mess up what we all agree is true and real, and even what we are sure God’s plans are! The story is biblical, therefore a bit grandiose on purpose, and rich in symbols and imagery of light and star, things these Magi know something about, and trust to guide them.
The story’s meaning is not just to emphasize God’s action in history to enlighten the people, but also to show that Jesus Christ is intended as Messiah, a liberator for ALL people.
Stories have power to transform and inspire no matter how fantastical they seem. Even if they don’t turn out the way they predict we keep on telling them, because we need to hear them, over and over.
I remember when a man who lived in the local shelter in Gloucester started to come to church at our parish of St. John’s. His name was David. He sat quietly in the back for weeks, and in time came up to join others for the Holy Communion meal. He said, “something's going on here.” He revealed nothing personal, except that he had a drinking problem. No one asked for more.
One day the office staff heard someone talking out loud in the sanctuary (open for prayer when the parish office was open, or people were in the building), and peeked in to investigate. They saw David standing at the lectern reading aloud to an empty church the biblical readings for the Sunday just past. I don’t think the church was really empty.
In time David vanished, as quickly as he had appeared. He left the place richer for his presence, and perhaps he received something himself.
I have a story I’m trying to write. You have a story. Theology has a story. Even Science has a story.
What might be the inside story the Wise Men would tell? I wonder if those ancient astrologers and sages faced some of the same problems and insights modern astronomers and astro physicists encounter? They could read the stars, and they knew the sky pretty well, but they couldn’t quite come up with a really good insight about the origins of the universe. For that they needed theology’s story. Their astronomical GPS wasn’t enough.
Even today, scientific calculations come up against a brick wall in the search for truth. Sometimes, they need theology, or let’s say insights from the mystical/spiritual/religious faith traditions. They need the Mystery some call God to fill in the blanks about the cosmos and its quantum beginnings.
Like the ancients who followed a star that the prophets advertised as leading to Divinity, scientists today are in respectful conversation with theologians they once dismissed as too non-scientific to be useful. A result a new discipline called astro-theology is evolving. (The Journal of Cosmology, based on the science of astronomy and mathematics, has a theology issue.)
When two or three gather together to share their gifts, there is Epiphany and epiphanies.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
2013.01.02 What is God Like, Really Anyway?
How can we possibly imagine that anyone who constantly hears, pray, sings, and reads “Oh praise HIM, Oh praise HIM, Alelluia Alleluia” and the like, will think of God as anything but male?
Godde needs a wardrobe change. It’s not fair to women who feel excluded from Divinity, and it’s not fair to men who may feel proud and powerful as demi-gods at first, but then suddenly realize what a set up it is. As Dad used to say, “we’re riding for a fall.”
And, most decidedly, it's not fair to God!
No, this vocabulary must change. We can do it. It’s not hard. In this new year I hope to write, and make it the case in my memoir, that God is not exclusively male.
Let’s hope it won’t take another century to revise our language and images of Divinity. Jesus of course was a man, a good and great one, divinized to a high degree. The Christ, however, is not a man. If Christ were a man, how could we seek and serve Christ in all persons, when half of these christ-bearing persons are female! !??
A friend recently wondered if God were really perfect and immutable and all the things she’d learned in church. It didn’t make sense to her, and, in an article she’d read and shared, the author had written that the God of the Bible was none of these things. In fact the biblical deity was quite moody and changed HIS divine mind regularly. HE had also made a very far from perfect creation program.
Sounds right to me. So..... language is not immutable.
God isn't perfect, because Godde chooses to mix it up with all of us. Divinity is about love not perfection, and we all know how blooming imperfect love is. We are free to give and receive love; so is Godde, although I happen to believe that God, more spacious of heart, is able to love a bit better and more gracefully than most of us are. And Godde consistently chooses connection over distance.
The Bible is a patriarchal document out of a patriarchal age. It’s language for God is all masculinized, though translations over time have made the language for humankind inclusive, so we address humankind as brothers AND sisters now. We can do more. So what if the word for God in Hebrew or Greek is gendered? English nouns have no gender. What are we afraid of?
This grand memoir of faith has a thrumming spiritual truth that vibrates through it and keeps us all wondering— which is the point. Let’s help the truth along.
Our religion consistently proclaims the glory of God, while our pronouns, with equal consistency, proclaim God’s maleness. Enough already.
Godde needs a wardrobe change. It’s not fair to women who feel excluded from Divinity, and it’s not fair to men who may feel proud and powerful as demi-gods at first, but then suddenly realize what a set up it is. As Dad used to say, “we’re riding for a fall.”
And, most decidedly, it's not fair to God!
No, this vocabulary must change. We can do it. It’s not hard. In this new year I hope to write, and make it the case in my memoir, that God is not exclusively male.
Let’s hope it won’t take another century to revise our language and images of Divinity. Jesus of course was a man, a good and great one, divinized to a high degree. The Christ, however, is not a man. If Christ were a man, how could we seek and serve Christ in all persons, when half of these christ-bearing persons are female! !??
A friend recently wondered if God were really perfect and immutable and all the things she’d learned in church. It didn’t make sense to her, and, in an article she’d read and shared, the author had written that the God of the Bible was none of these things. In fact the biblical deity was quite moody and changed HIS divine mind regularly. HE had also made a very far from perfect creation program.
Sounds right to me. So..... language is not immutable.
God isn't perfect, because Godde chooses to mix it up with all of us. Divinity is about love not perfection, and we all know how blooming imperfect love is. We are free to give and receive love; so is Godde, although I happen to believe that God, more spacious of heart, is able to love a bit better and more gracefully than most of us are. And Godde consistently chooses connection over distance.
The Bible is a patriarchal document out of a patriarchal age. It’s language for God is all masculinized, though translations over time have made the language for humankind inclusive, so we address humankind as brothers AND sisters now. We can do more. So what if the word for God in Hebrew or Greek is gendered? English nouns have no gender. What are we afraid of?
This grand memoir of faith has a thrumming spiritual truth that vibrates through it and keeps us all wondering— which is the point. Let’s help the truth along.
Our religion consistently proclaims the glory of God, while our pronouns, with equal consistency, proclaim God’s maleness. Enough already.
Monday, December 31, 2012
2012.31.12 Holy Innocence
Isn’t it true that we often remember, best and most lastingly, the small pieces of advice from wise teachers in elementary school when we are most vulnerably wide open to awe and wonder— before worldly sophistication sets in.
Here’s one from a third grade teacher shared by our parish priest ,who never forgot it. The children became tense at the sound of a loud approaching siren. The teacher asked what the siren meant. “Someone has been hurt,” they said, and called out their own fearful speculations: fire, an accident, an bad emergency.
The teacher listened to the children’s apprehensive associations. She affirmed them all with the compassion that only good listening can offer. Then she said: “All this is true, children, but remember too, that whenever you hear the sound of a siren, it also means that someone is on the way fast to bring help.”
The time between Nativity and Epiphany, when the Magi finally make it to Bethlehem, thanks to a good star + wise astro-physics and astro-theology, is a time for breathing after the rush and panic of conspicuous consumption.
It's a time for hope, enormous hope, unknowing hope.
Something brand new has happened, and we have no idea what it means yet. It’s also very dark time, full of many “sirens.” A time of mixed fear AND wonder.
When I was pregnant with each of my children and in their early infancy I felt the same—excited wondering, and also exhaustion from the weight of it, and the worry about whether this child would be all right, and would I be a good enough mother?
You know that any “child” will face all of life’s challenges, some more intense than others. Being born whole is a blessing, but only the first step. In church, therefore, we keep on singing hymns that include cradle and cross, because we know we need to keep hope alive amidst the sirens that signal both hurt and help.
For who knows? Three weird desert types, from the east or the streets, may just ride in, on camels or in hot green sneakers, with wisdom and gifts that may get us through the night, help us understand that there is more than hurt and fear in store—always.
The third graders and their teacher had it right. Help is on the way, and some of it is up to us.
Here’s one from a third grade teacher shared by our parish priest ,who never forgot it. The children became tense at the sound of a loud approaching siren. The teacher asked what the siren meant. “Someone has been hurt,” they said, and called out their own fearful speculations: fire, an accident, an bad emergency.
The teacher listened to the children’s apprehensive associations. She affirmed them all with the compassion that only good listening can offer. Then she said: “All this is true, children, but remember too, that whenever you hear the sound of a siren, it also means that someone is on the way fast to bring help.”
The time between Nativity and Epiphany, when the Magi finally make it to Bethlehem, thanks to a good star + wise astro-physics and astro-theology, is a time for breathing after the rush and panic of conspicuous consumption.
It's a time for hope, enormous hope, unknowing hope.
Something brand new has happened, and we have no idea what it means yet. It’s also very dark time, full of many “sirens.” A time of mixed fear AND wonder.
When I was pregnant with each of my children and in their early infancy I felt the same—excited wondering, and also exhaustion from the weight of it, and the worry about whether this child would be all right, and would I be a good enough mother?
You know that any “child” will face all of life’s challenges, some more intense than others. Being born whole is a blessing, but only the first step. In church, therefore, we keep on singing hymns that include cradle and cross, because we know we need to keep hope alive amidst the sirens that signal both hurt and help.
For who knows? Three weird desert types, from the east or the streets, may just ride in, on camels or in hot green sneakers, with wisdom and gifts that may get us through the night, help us understand that there is more than hurt and fear in store—always.
The third graders and their teacher had it right. Help is on the way, and some of it is up to us.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
2012.30.12 Mary, Joseph, and Santa Claus
In a neighboring town in a Boston suburb we saw a creche set-up, effulgent with strings of lights, strung about on hapless trees. Creche figures stood tall, gathered in a threesome: Mary, Joseph and Santa.
The sight amused and teased me. The first temptation was to scoff and scorn such cheap excess. The second was to lament the way the religious meaning of Christmas has been all but lost. And the third was to wonder if Santa was an image of Divinity, of Christ.
In important ways Santa is a christ figure. In equally important ways, Santa falls short, because the old elf's generosity and love has conditions (naughty and nice lists.) But.....Godde's love in Christ offers unconditional love.
Christmas is surrounded by other holy day traditions with similar meanings. Hannukah is a celebration of liberation for the Jewish people, ancient and modern. The day after Christmas, Kwanzaa is celebrated. It’s a pan-African celebration of “first fruits”—all the best offerings and gifts coming together in a celebration of shared life. Kwanzaa started during the Black Freedom Movement in the United States in1966, but has ancient roots in Egypt.
All these days honor the mystery of the human spirit. Religious interpretations attribute a portion of that mysterious expansive spirit to God working within human strength, empowering us to go beyond our limits for love, liberation, and generosity.
Kwanzaa’s founder, Dr. Maulana Karenga, chose to make the holiday cultural rather than religious, so that people of all faiths could gather to celebrate.
American culture right now has more Santa-awareness than Christ-awareness. Christmas has become more holly day than holy day, a day more cultural than religious.
Some Christians rue this as religious loss, but I wonder if it’s gain?
The sight amused and teased me. The first temptation was to scoff and scorn such cheap excess. The second was to lament the way the religious meaning of Christmas has been all but lost. And the third was to wonder if Santa was an image of Divinity, of Christ.
In important ways Santa is a christ figure. In equally important ways, Santa falls short, because the old elf's generosity and love has conditions (naughty and nice lists.) But.....Godde's love in Christ offers unconditional love.
Christmas is surrounded by other holy day traditions with similar meanings. Hannukah is a celebration of liberation for the Jewish people, ancient and modern. The day after Christmas, Kwanzaa is celebrated. It’s a pan-African celebration of “first fruits”—all the best offerings and gifts coming together in a celebration of shared life. Kwanzaa started during the Black Freedom Movement in the United States in1966, but has ancient roots in Egypt.
All these days honor the mystery of the human spirit. Religious interpretations attribute a portion of that mysterious expansive spirit to God working within human strength, empowering us to go beyond our limits for love, liberation, and generosity.
Kwanzaa’s founder, Dr. Maulana Karenga, chose to make the holiday cultural rather than religious, so that people of all faiths could gather to celebrate.
American culture right now has more Santa-awareness than Christ-awareness. Christmas has become more holly day than holy day, a day more cultural than religious.
Some Christians rue this as religious loss, but I wonder if it’s gain?
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
2012.12.25 Merry Christmas For Ever
Many of the words people have used to speak of the Dec. 14th Newtown CT. tragedy are negative. They are un- words: unbelievable, unreal, unimaginable, unspeakable, unheard of, unbearable, unmanageable, unholy, ungodly.
I’ve noticed that many of these same words—unbelievable, unimaginable, unheard of, unreal, even ungodly—are also used to describe Christmas, a time when Christians believe by faith that God was born into human flesh as an infant, a God who gives UNconditional love. How ungodly! Not our almighty, divine, alleluia Lord! Unbelievable!
The only way to catch the grace of such an unbearably unreal story is to tell another unbelievable story.......then wait and see.
Once upon a time there lived a king of great power, wealth, and majesty. He ruled over a small kingdom and lived in a palace, full of riches, jewels and treasures. The king’s castle sat atop the hill overlooking his kingdom, which he ruled with justice and equity.
The king loved to ride about among his citizens in his royal or on horseback. All the people cheered and bowed as he rode by.
One day the king caught sight of a beautiful maiden carrying a basket of bread home to her cottage. He watched. He took in her pleasant face and form, unable to avert his gaze. In short, the king became smitten with the young woman, and every day he would ride along the route she took. His heart’s desire was to marry the young woman, love her, and bring her to the castle to live with him—happily ever after.
How would he make this happen? He devised many schemes to make his will done.
First, an edict announcing that he would have her in marriage. No one would disobey a king’s orders. But no, the king knew better: love never happens by commandment or control.
He thought then to send his most eloquent messenger in person to deliver the king’s proposal, begging her assent. But no, true love is never indirect, no matter how elegantly it’s presented.
Then the king decided to shower the maiden with gifts and jewels that would please anyone. But no, she would be grateful, but so what? Love and gratitude aren’t the same, and true love can not be bought or sold.
Ah, the king finally thought.....I’ll go to her house myself. I will appear at her door in all my royal finery and splendor and dazzle her. Then surely she will fall in love with me. The king was sure of this plan, but his Spiritual Director cautioned him: “You will blind her with your glory and make her afraid. Even the most holy awe isn’t love. Think and pray some more, my Lord King. Love is never from a distance, any distance at all.
Quickly, the king thought of a disguise, and just as quickly he unthought it. She might fall in love, but when he revealed his true identity as king she might get angry at the trick. True love doesn’t wear a mask and doesn’t work by deceit.
Months passed and the king grew weary and was ready to give up. But no, his love for the woman was growing stronger, so strong it made him weep. What could he do? Immediately, from deep within his longing soul he knew what he must do: He must stop being king.
This path made the king very sad and very scared. To give up all his wealth and privilege and position was terrifying. To be himself, not an almighty king, was even more terrifying.
But the most awful part of this plan was its risk. What if the woman didn’t fall in love with him? What if he, after he met her, didn’t like her?
Still, this is what the king did. He went and lived among her people, worked and played, laughed and cried, came to know her and her people and they all came to know him—up close and personal.
The king’s plan took time and sacrifice but it worked. He and the woman married and lived happily ever after.
Their love grew ever nearer and ever greater, ever nearer and ever greater.
The End For Ever.
(The above legend is not entirely original to me. Parts of it came from19th century Danish Christian existential philosopher/theologian, Soren Kierkegaard.)
I’ve noticed that many of these same words—unbelievable, unimaginable, unheard of, unreal, even ungodly—are also used to describe Christmas, a time when Christians believe by faith that God was born into human flesh as an infant, a God who gives UNconditional love. How ungodly! Not our almighty, divine, alleluia Lord! Unbelievable!
The only way to catch the grace of such an unbearably unreal story is to tell another unbelievable story.......then wait and see.
Once upon a time there lived a king of great power, wealth, and majesty. He ruled over a small kingdom and lived in a palace, full of riches, jewels and treasures. The king’s castle sat atop the hill overlooking his kingdom, which he ruled with justice and equity.
The king loved to ride about among his citizens in his royal or on horseback. All the people cheered and bowed as he rode by.
One day the king caught sight of a beautiful maiden carrying a basket of bread home to her cottage. He watched. He took in her pleasant face and form, unable to avert his gaze. In short, the king became smitten with the young woman, and every day he would ride along the route she took. His heart’s desire was to marry the young woman, love her, and bring her to the castle to live with him—happily ever after.
How would he make this happen? He devised many schemes to make his will done.
First, an edict announcing that he would have her in marriage. No one would disobey a king’s orders. But no, the king knew better: love never happens by commandment or control.
He thought then to send his most eloquent messenger in person to deliver the king’s proposal, begging her assent. But no, true love is never indirect, no matter how elegantly it’s presented.
Then the king decided to shower the maiden with gifts and jewels that would please anyone. But no, she would be grateful, but so what? Love and gratitude aren’t the same, and true love can not be bought or sold.
Ah, the king finally thought.....I’ll go to her house myself. I will appear at her door in all my royal finery and splendor and dazzle her. Then surely she will fall in love with me. The king was sure of this plan, but his Spiritual Director cautioned him: “You will blind her with your glory and make her afraid. Even the most holy awe isn’t love. Think and pray some more, my Lord King. Love is never from a distance, any distance at all.
Quickly, the king thought of a disguise, and just as quickly he unthought it. She might fall in love, but when he revealed his true identity as king she might get angry at the trick. True love doesn’t wear a mask and doesn’t work by deceit.
Months passed and the king grew weary and was ready to give up. But no, his love for the woman was growing stronger, so strong it made him weep. What could he do? Immediately, from deep within his longing soul he knew what he must do: He must stop being king.
This path made the king very sad and very scared. To give up all his wealth and privilege and position was terrifying. To be himself, not an almighty king, was even more terrifying.
But the most awful part of this plan was its risk. What if the woman didn’t fall in love with him? What if he, after he met her, didn’t like her?
Still, this is what the king did. He went and lived among her people, worked and played, laughed and cried, came to know her and her people and they all came to know him—up close and personal.
The king’s plan took time and sacrifice but it worked. He and the woman married and lived happily ever after.
Their love grew ever nearer and ever greater, ever nearer and ever greater.
The End For Ever.
(The above legend is not entirely original to me. Parts of it came from19th century Danish Christian existential philosopher/theologian, Soren Kierkegaard.)
Sunday, December 23, 2012
2012.12.23 Mary, Mary, Mary
MAGDALENE POEM
by John Taggart
Love enters the body
enters
almost
almost completely breaks and enters into the body
already beaten and broken
peaceful if breaking if breaking
and entering the already broken is peaceful
untouchable fortunately
untouchable.
This poem almost broke and entered my heart. Some Christians will say it’s the “wrong” Mary. We should be honoring the Blessed Mary Mother Virgin Divine on the fourth Sunday of Advent, just before Christmas. But no. There are multiple generic Marys—all sacred, all blessed, few virginal, all bursting with love to give and to receive.
Who this Christmas will break and enter your battered and yearning heart—peacefully?
by John Taggart
Love enters the body
enters
almost
almost completely breaks and enters into the body
already beaten and broken
peaceful if breaking if breaking
and entering the already broken is peaceful
untouchable fortunately
untouchable.
This poem almost broke and entered my heart. Some Christians will say it’s the “wrong” Mary. We should be honoring the Blessed Mary Mother Virgin Divine on the fourth Sunday of Advent, just before Christmas. But no. There are multiple generic Marys—all sacred, all blessed, few virginal, all bursting with love to give and to receive.
Who this Christmas will break and enter your battered and yearning heart—peacefully?
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