Dec. 23 Holiness in retrospect: Remember

I hope your Christmas preparations are going well, that your Advent has been a satisfying time of reflection and preparation. As Christmas approaches on Saturday, it's easy to dwell on all the prayers unsaid, all the things we might have squeezed into this time of preparation but didn't. Advent is short! Either way, though, the holiday will come, Christ will be born, and we will be joined to God.

I shared the following poem in this space a few years ago, but thought I'd sent it out again. It comes from the poet Mary Oliver (a fellow Episcopalian) from her book Thirst.

The Vast Ocean Begins Just Outside Our Church: The Eucharist
Something has happened /to the bread/ and the wine.
They have been blessed./What now? /The body leans forward
To receive the gift/ from the priest's hand,/ then the chalice.
They are something else now/from what they were/ before this began
I want/ to see Jesus,/ maybe in the clouds
or on the shore,/ just walking,/ beautiful man
and clearly/ someone else/ besides.
On the hard days/ I ask myself/ if I ever will.
Also there are times/ my body whispers to me/ that I have.

What I appreciate about the poem is that truth about the retrospective nature of so much spiritual experience. We don't always recognize the importance or power of what we are undergoing at the time; sometimes the power or profundity takes a while to filter through our consciousness. As they walked with Jesus on the way to Emmaus, the disciples just knew "a stranger;" it was only afterwards that they asked "Were not our hearts burning within us as we walked?" (Luke 24:32) We don't typically spend our days gape-mouthed at the Beauty of Creation or the Grace of Our Salvation In Christ. We don't realize our hearts are on fire. We get distracted; we are busy; we just don't see what's right in front of us. After one of my kids has had a bad night I don't even see things that are materially in front of me, much less spiritually so. Oliver points to how we still know Christ's presence even in our forgetting. As the bread and the wine become "something else" after they are blessed, we do, too-but it can take a while. Somehow our bodies know what has left the forefront of our minds.

At Christmas, as Oliver says, our bodies whisper-God has been here. God has been with us. Be silent. Remember. Remember.