Prayer

Lord as we ponder your words open our hearts that we may understand and know you. Amen 

Sermon    

  As most of you know I have been feeling a bit poorly the last little while.  I have come to the conclusion that being sick and single is like being a Mom and being sick.  You still have to cook, shop, do the dishes and laundry.   

There is an ancient Scandinavian tradition that at Christmas that you set out a bowl of porridge with butter for the benevolent house elves that live in your house.   I should have put out porridge and a pound of butter

No one likes being sick.  It is a true hiccup with a bit of spit up in ones plans.  However, it has forced me to embrace the slow time. 

One of the side effects of working at Westfield is that it reminds one of what simpler times may have been like. 

As was mentioned last week the Christmas we know was basically the invention of the Victorians. 

As I found myself resting I tried to imagine that time before all that we know as Christmas might have been like.  When it was a time when The feast of the Nativity, was still a time when the twelve days of Christmas were honoured. A time of Twelfth night gathering and wassail and Wassailing. Wassail drink Ale, a word that means be of good health. Wassail, a weird combination of beer, milk bread and spice.

The slow time has reminded me that this as the simplistic beauty of an un commercialized Christmas. That Christmas was about connecting being with family and friends. To own what is all about. 

I was reminded again of the absolute beauty of faces lit with candles singing a beloved carol wrapped in the serene presence of our sanctuary on Christmas eve. Light playing off the Nativity figures faces.  A night that gives way to  the slow time. 

 I have been reminded of the simplicity of the Christmas season. No high Catholic robes this year, but a simple cowl.  For we all are the simple servants of God. 

For the story we are called to hold to in this moment is one of simple love. The love of a mother holding her first child. A love that cannot be explained in any human term. A love that is truly divine. A love that transcends visiting angels, and heavenly hosts, of shepherds crowding in for a look. A love that will move beyond what is yet to come. This is a love that given by God for this moment.  This is Christmas. 

In the slow time I have sat in the living room,  knowing and seeing that the wheel has come full circle.  The house lights play across ceiling the Spirit of my Father sits in the chair happy to hear his clocks ticking admiring the lights and commented that there is no glitter in plaster work.   The Spirit of my Gramma sits in her chair (which is now my chair) she holds my beloved Scottie talking to her about the beaded bells that  her brother had made for her.  This is Christmas 

It is true The Time will come when you are dragging all the boxes up from the basement to box up Christmas .  For some this has happened some of us will hold out for the twelfth night. 

It is that time to Reflect once more. Ornaments cherished once more stir a memory, and then laid lovingly away. Nativities boxed once more, lights turned out. Still, still still is the room once more somewhat barren with it’s festiveness stored away. Still, in the cold days of winter the yule tide love remains as we move to new beginning. Life beyond the resolution, which will fail. A new beginning striving for change in our lives a thought that has a better chance then giving up collecting rocks and antiques.