And Is It True?

And is it True?

The other night as my husband Tom and I were watching the “Cri de Comer” episode of The Crown season 3, we heard British Poet Laureate John Betjeman reading his “Jubilee Hymn” which was written to celebrate the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, commemorating the 25th anniversary of her ascension to the throne in June 1977.  The above attached YouTube lets you hear him read it himself.  

Listening, I immediately thought of my favorite poem of Betjeman’s:  his “Christmas.”  I love the last three stanzas, and most especially the last two lines.  

And is it true,

This most tremendous tale of all,

Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,

A Baby in an ox's stall?

The Maker of the stars and sea

Become a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,

No loving fingers tying strings

Around those tissued fripperies,

The sweet and silly Christmas things,

Bath salts and inexpensive scent

And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,

No carolling in frosty air,

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this single Truth compare -

That God was man in Palestine

And lives today in Bread and Wine.

Those questions that start the 4th and 5th stanza hit home as I saw the numerous weekend church services that included Communion .  I realized anew how appropriate it is that we consider not just the birth and the death of Christ at this season, but also the important third act of this Salvation Trilogy:  His resurrection.  Is it true that He became a Child and lived and died and lived again . . . for me?  It is.  He came for me.  And you.

Christmas in February! · 365 Project

Christmas in February! by Rondi Aastrup · 365 Project

My sister gave me this Amaryllis bulb for Christmas. It made the flight from Boston to Phoenix after Christmas and then sat in its box for a few weeks until I planted it. I didn't have a good place for it inside, so put it out on my front patio where it would get the morning sun. Only trouble is that it was still quite cool overnight and in the morning before the sun come up and over the wall. As a result, the bulb was very slow in growing and only now is blooming! The paper whites were not quite as slow, but they lasted quite awhile in the coolness.

Paper Whites · 365 Project

Paper Whites by Rondi Aastrup · 365 Project

My mother shared a picture of the Paper Whites blooming from bulbs she received at Christmas time. I received some then, too, and planted them nicely when I got back to sunny Arizona. I thought I'd give them a chance to grow in peace by putting them outside in my protected front patio. And I had been pleased with their progress...until I saw these pictures. Mine are just a couple of inches tall...nubs, really...while hers are full-blown blossoms! I might have to bring them inside to get some warmth so they can grow faster, but they haven't frozen and are growing, so maybe I should let them grow where they are. The nasturtiums I planted at the same time from seeds are a few inches high, too. So...maybe...maybe... We'll see!

At Christmas He Came . NaBloPoMo

Thinking and writing about "Beginnings" for an entire month is going to be a challenge.  And yet, I have found myself thinking about beginnings quite a bit in the past few days.  This morning, I went to my file cabinet to see if there was anything there to share.  I found several things which I will revise to share here as the days pass.  Today's offering is a Christmas poem that I wrote several years ago (1998). I happened to be taking a refresher course in French at the time, which accounts for all the French phrases.  Even though Christmas has passed, what better cause for beginnings than the plan of salvation revealed in Christ's birth?


[The photo at left is the stained glass window in the front of my former church in MA.  I took this when I visited there during the break.]

AT CHRISTMAS HE CAME; THIS CHRISTMAS HE MUST COME AGAIN

            

"Je dois aller."

People are always having to go away from me,

from each other,

from home, from work, from school, from play.

People are always having to go away from me (and I from them)

to other people and places.

"Je dois aller:  I must go [the imperative].

I have other things claiming my life, my time.

You're not all there is to my life.

Important, yes.  But not all.

Je dois aller."

There's nothing I can do to keep them from going;

They must.

And if I want them still in my life,

I, too, must—must accept, must acquiesce, must not pout or complain.

Ils doivent aller.  Et je dois accepter.

"Je dois venir encore."  There's another who must, too. 

"I must come again" He says.

There's a difference, though.

Those who must go, can go as they need.

But He who must come, must have an invitation; He cannot come just because He must.

Not only must He come, but He must wait.

Wait for you, for me—for us—to be ready. 

To be willing.  To be open. 

And to invite Him to come.

"Je dois venir. 

I need to come.  It is necessary.

There is nothing else claiming My life, My time.

You're all there is to My life.

You're important, yes.  And everything.

But I can't come without an invitation. 

I can ask, but I can't just come.

And yet, I must.  Je dois venir."

Christmas:  celebrating the coming of Christ—the first time.

But should it not be something more?

Must we not also anticipate His Second Coming?

Must we not prepare for—and invite—Him to come back?

The goings in our life, we have no control over.

But the comings, those we do.

"Je dois venir encore," He says.

This Christmas, let it be "Tu dois venir--You must come."

Christmas

And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a child on earth for me?


And is it true?  For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
the sweet ad silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent 
And hideous tie so kindly meant,


No love that in a family dwells,
No caroling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare--
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.


These are the last three stanzas of John Betjeman's poem "Christmas."  I love them.  The rhetorical question, "And is it true?" is, of course, true.  The Maker of the stars and sea did indeed become a Child on earth for your and me...and lives today...not just in Bread and Wine, but in the hearts of each and all who believe.  Nothing that we know or understand can compare with that.  

A Christmas Carol

by G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all alright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

A Christmas Hymn

A stable lamp is lighted

Whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
And straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven,
A stall become a shrine.

This child through David’s city
Shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry,
Though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway
To pave His kingdom come.

Yet He shall be forsaken,
And yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
For stony hearts of men:
God’s blood upon the spearhead,
God’s love refused again.

But now, as at the ending,
The low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices,
And every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry
In praises of the child
By whose descent among us
The worlds are reconciled.

-- Richard Wilbur

Between Darkness and Light

This is the perfect Winter Solstice poem!

From The Winter Solstice
by John Matthews

It is within the darkness and the silence
That the magic of Christmas starts;
Somewhere between the glimmer of lights
And the first breathless moment
When children come
Stumbling like new-born angels
Into morning light.

Within the darkness and the silence
We sit, watching wonder
Evolve into form; where we
Enter the ringing silence
In which the first bells of Christmas
Sound the music of the soul;
Where the morning joy begins
With a single carol
To a half-forgotten tune.

It is here, between the darkness
And the light,
That we wait, uncertain,
Seeking the moment
That challenges us to believe
In a freshly minted miracle
Born every Christmas Day.

Musical Patterns

The Wednesday evening before Christmas, I had the privilege of attending a family concert in a love old home in Sterling, MA. I've been to this home countless times over the past 35 years or so, but until this night had not heard that it was actually a historic landmark with an interesting story beyond what I already thought was interesting with its current owner (legendary musician/conductor/composer/teacher/mentor Virginia-Gene Rittenhouse of New England Youth Ensemble fame).

In the midst of the concert that various family members and friends (including myself) gave for each other, one of my oldest friends, and my sister's sister-in-law--Connie--told us the story of Virginia's house. I was fascinated! Here's the opening of its history from the Butterick website. If you like sewing and history, this story will interest you:

"The year was 1863. Snowflakes drifted silently past the windowpane covering the hamlet of Sterling, Massachusetts in a blanket of white. Ellen Butterick brought out her sewing basket and spread out the contents on the big, round dining room table. From a piece of sky blue gingham, she was fashioning a dress for her baby son Howard. Carefully, she laid out her fabric, and using wax chalk, began drawing her design.

"Later that evening, Ellen remarked to her husband, a tailor, how much easier it would be if she had a pattern to go by that was the same size as her son. There were patterns that people could use as a guide, but they came in one size. The sewer had to grade (enlarge or reduce) the pattern to the size that was needed. Ebenezer considered her idea: graded patterns. The idea of patterns coming in sizes was revolutionary. He experimented, creating heavy cardboard templates; it quickly became evident that the heavy cardboard patterns were not suitable for folding or shipping throughout the country. Ebenezer tried lighter papers and discovered that tissue paper was ideal to work with and much easier to package.

"The first graded sewing patterns were cut and folded by members of the Butterick family and sold from their home in Sterling, Massachusetts. In no time at all, they needed extra space and expanded into an adjoining house. As business continued to grow, they moved into a larger house in Fitchburg, Massachusetts and in one year, set up a business at 192 Broadway in New York City.

(from "Buttrerick History" website. To read much more, go to http://butterick.mccall.com/butterick-history-pages-1007.php)

Midnight Clear

Tuesday, for my last American Literature class of 2009,

I told the students the story of one of the oldest

American Christmas carols, It Came Upon a Midnight

Clear. Edmund Sears, the lyrics-writer, was

Unitarian minister living in a small town in south-

western Massachusetts at the time. America was gearing

up for the Civil War, so there was a great deal of unrest in

the country, and in his congregation. Unlike most Unitarians,

Sears was a staunch believer in the divinity of Christ and wrote

this carol as an encouragement to his congregation. It was

published in 1849 and was immediately popular. You can see

why, when you look at the third verse in particular. We don't

generally sing that verse, but I think it's quite appropriate for us

today. (The pictures are Christmas scenarios tucked in the nooks

and crannies of my parents' home.)

It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
to touch their harps of gold;
"Peace on the earth, good will to men
From heaven's all gracious King."
The world in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled;
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world.
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever over its Babel sounds
The blessed angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the Angel-strains have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man at war with man hears not
The love-song which they bring;
O! hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the Angels sing.

O ye, beneath life's crushing load
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now! for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold,
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendours fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

All is Calm

It's snowing! We're in the middle of a Winter Storm, New England style. I woke to unusual stillness outside. I live near a major highway and can usually hear its noise, however muffled. This morning, nothing. The snow has been falling since last night and it continues to fall, although we may be seeing the beginning of the end. (The photo here shows the depth of the snow on my bathroom window sill. You can see the snow is almost up to the edge of the window hanging.) Visibility in some places is 100 yards or less, although it's not that bad here. Looks like we'll get about a foot all told. Farther south of us (Boston), they are describing it as a "blizzard." There are many, many school children waking up this morning wishing it were Monday and not Sunday! Bad as it is today I'm sure things will be cleared up for school tomorrow.

Yesterday, we had a wonderful Lessons and Carols service at our church. Three families plus three others provided the music, the congregation served as the choir, and three readers shared the Old and New Testament lessons. It was a beautiful service. My sister, her husband, and two children were four of the dozen musicians.

Seven of the group have been playing together since they were kids (in the New England Youth Ensemble, a group I played with as well). One piece they played brought back memories that are 35 years old when the group played each year for the Christmas Eve service in a small Episcopal Church. I still remember the air pungent with incense and balsam fir, the candle-lit sanctuary, the slow procession of the priests bringing the Baby Jesus to the manger as the Ensemble accompanied Jerry (now my brother-in-law) as he played the sweet and lovely Jesu Bambino. That's one of my most sensory memory of Christmas and always brings me a sense of peace and calm.

A Few Saving Graces

"I can understand people simply fleeing the mountainous effort Christmas has become... but there are always a few saving graces and finally they make up for all the bother and distress." ~May Sarton

Finally, I am beginning to feel the Christ- mas Spirit rising in me. We had our first real snow fall last night and this morning, I woke to a beautiful vision of sun shining through snow-stacked branches outside all of my windows. It has been so down-right balmy throughout November. We had not one flake of snow the entire month and only about 5 minutes of snow back in October. So it's been a stretch to feel Christmasy at all.

Not only did the snow make me feel seasonal, but we got a huge Christmas present today in a

decision that was made at our church business meeting this morning. Our school has been growing steadily for the past two years, and this year we grew by a lot. We'd prayed the prayer of Jabez, essentially asking God to expand our enrollment. It wasn't exactly a surprise when He answered that prayer, but it has been a challenge. Today, our church came to our rescue, voting to devise a plan, basically saying whatever it takes.

I'm beyond excited about this devel- opment. And not a little scared. It's a big project, and there are a lot of complications. But knowing that the church is behind us, and that God is clearly blessing us has helped me realize the miracle of this Christmas season.

In His Steps to Tread

I've been reorganizing things in my house this past week. It's been interesting, as I'm finding all kinds of things I forgot about, or didn't even know I had. One such thing fell out of an old book I was moving around (I have several very old books, some first editions even). I have no idea how old it is (it's a small card), but it's old enough, made in Great Britain...says Mowbrays 5002 on the back.

Here are the words:



God grant you in His steps to tread,
Who came to earth today,
That through His grace you may be led
Along life's thorny way:
Oh, may He satisfy your needs,
With living water sweet,
That flows through Paradisal meads,
Straight from His Mercy Seat.
Oh, may He grant you each desire
Within your heart that springs,
Your every thought with love inspire,
For HIM, the King of Kings.
~H.M. Burnside

I guess it's a Christmas card. Sounds like it, doesn't it? It is signed Charlotte Pan (or something like that), but no date. Anyway, it was a real treat to discover this afternoon!

I just Googled "H.M. Burnside" and discovered a number of her works listed on eBay. She apparently was a songwriter, verse writer, and artist during the latter part of the 19th century. One of her works was listed for $300, "rare," so now I'm wondering if I have something valuable on my hands as well as something pretty and sweet???

The Stockings were Hung...with Care

I drove north through a light rain this afternoon, but happily arrived at my parents' on dry pavement. Fortunately, it was warm enough so the roads were not slippery. so it was a trouble free drive. There wasn't even any traffic, unlike yesterday. I love my parents' house at Christmas time. They use lights and greenery beautifully throughout their house, so everywhere you look is a feast for the eyes.

Our family has several traditions that have developed over the years, especially since my sisters got married and then had children. Christmas Eve, they go to their in-laws and I go to my parents. The three of us usually have soup and homemade bread for supper, then we listen to music, open presents, and watch Christmas programs.

In the morning, we have a light breakfast and then wait for everyone to arrive in the early afternoon. We open presents, have watercress soup and homemade rolls and breads, play games, listen to music. We all spend the night, sleep late, have brunch and open stockings on Christmas Day.

Until I Wander'd

Until I wander'd through the world
I did not know that even in Bethlehem,
Falls the white, soft snow.
Then I did imagine how
A morning long ago
Reflected light from all the land
Flooded through the door
And lit the spidery rafters
Above the sleeping child
Whose eyes were lifted up to a mother mild.
And such a radiance was around
On ass and munching cow
Some said because
A child was born,
And some because of the snow.

Herbert Read (1893-1968), From Moon's Farm

Published as set to music by Alan Ridout, 1963

Tell it over again

I’m one of those people who believe that there’s a lot to be gained by visiting something over and over. There are a number of things that benefit from such repetition. Good music, literature, movies, and historical venues all improve each time you listen to, read, watch, or explore them. And so do we. Each time we open a book, each time we hear a piece of music, each time we see a movie, each time we wander the grounds of a historic site, we are different. Between this time and last time, we have gone through experiences that have changed us, given us more breadth and depth, brought us to a new understanding of who we are and how we fit into the world we live in. We get that change from our past experiences and bring it to our current ones. And that, in turn, makes each of those experiences unique, even if they are somewhat the same. This is why it’s good to go back to things that moved us in the past. We will see more than we saw before because we are different. We will also see more in ourselves than we saw before because we are no longer the same.

There are books that I reread over and over, books I know by heart in places because I’ve read them so many times. Some are books I teach, others are books I read just for myself. There are several that I both read for myself and teach because I think it’s important for others to know them too. One such book is the Bible. In English Literature, we study it both for its meaning and its method; from a spiritual as well as literary perspective. It stands up well, either way. And students respond to it’s beautiful message of love and the language that delivers that message.

A favorite story from the Bible is the one we embrace at this time. The story of Jesus’ birth is wonderful, any way you look at it. I like it straight from the King James Version. But I also love it through the music of Haydn in his Messiah, and in the words of others, including Marjorie Holmes in her inspirational novel Two from Galilee. This is a little book I read fairly often at Christmas time. It tells the story of Jesus from His parents’ perspective, simply yet profoundly. I’ve read it so many times I’ve gone through two books, underlining lines that speak to me, lines I want to remember, ponder over later. The ones that haunt me most are those where Joseph tries to analyze the meaning of true love even while he exhibits its meaning in his own life. “To suffer that others may live, as Mary had suffered in birth. To deny oneself for those who are dearer to us than life. That is the true union of those who love. And that—that in the end was what would bring man back to be united with his God.”

In my mind, that’s what Christmas is all about: revisiting the meaning behind all the activity, year after year, finding new meaning, bringing us back to be united with our God. This Christmas, I invite you to tell the story of Jesus to your children, your friends. Tell it over again to all who will hear. Tell them what it means to you. Put it in your own words, making new its meaning to you. Put it in your own rhythm and rhyme, making unforgettable music of that song in your heart. Put it down on paper to reread another day, another year. Learn and grow from it. And tell it over again and again. It’s that good a story. It’s that important a reality. Jesus came to earth to give us Hope and a Future. He has promised that our life with Him will result only in good. He lived a life on earth, showing us that it could be done. That’s the story you can tell, over and over again.