Nunc Dimittis - Please can I go now?

“Nunc Dimittis”, or ‘please dismiss us now’ is a piece of choral music that has
been used in church liturgy down through the ages at the conclusion of night prayers. It comes from Simeon’s words in Luke 2:29. Simeon strikes me as a fascinating figure in the  Christmas story, appearing as he does when the 8 day old baby Jesus is presented in the Temple for the first time.

Fascinating, that he immediately recognises the significance of the moment when Joseph hands him the baby so that he might bless the child. Cradling the Son of God in his arms, who is blessing who, I wonder? And the words that he speaks indicate how much he was aware of the future destiny of this child.

    “…destined to cause the falling and rising of many… a sign that will be spoken against …”

    And to Mary “.. and a sword will pierce your own soul too… **

Fascinating also to me, is Simeon’s own self awareness of his role in this moment. Here’s this old man, waiting all these years for God to fulfil his promises through the sending of the Messiah, and somehow knowing that it would somehow happen in his lifetime. And when the moment comes, when he recognises who this child is he bears in his arms, his immediate reaction is - “Now, can I go?..” It’s as though, knowing that there is no further service left for him to do this side of death, besides this moment of bearing witness to the Messiah, he is just longing to pass over to that other place. It is the eagerness of a child who, having done all his chores, is waiting for the word - “yes, you can go out and play in the garden now.”

I sometimes think that I have entered into that ‘waiting’ zone. My cancer has made me more aware than at any time previously of this journey that we are all on. I know that the time is not yet, but I perceive a distant shore that has come into view, yet still a long way off.  And like a sailor out at sea, I continue to work through the daily business of keeping the boat steady, my hand on the tiller, but my eyes more fixed than ever on that shore. When the time comes, I hope then to be able to say “Now, let your servant depart in peace”, but until then, I also want to know the moving of Your Spirit, daily prompting and motivating me to do all that you would have me do in the here and now.

** Luke 2:34,35

The Portuguese Carol

There is a fairly strong tradition that the carol we sing as “O Come All Ye Faithful” (written in Latin as "Adeste Fideles") came originally from the 17th Century King John of Portugal, who, not only ably led his newly independent country out of a period of subjugation to Spain, but was also a noted musician, song writer and lover of the arts. Our Portuguese friends in Lisbon used to love singing this carol with a particularly patriotic gusto!

But, in common with other carols, it suffers from some antiquated English words and quaint expressions that sound rather weird to our ears. There’s one line in this carol, or at least in the English translation of it, that is regularly held up as one of the worst carol lyrics ever.

           “Lo! he abhors not the Virgin’s womb”

It does sound strange, when you sing it amidst all the tinsel and candles and stuff, and it is a puzzle to our ears. But, it does indicate a particular reality of the incarnation that tends to pass us by. That is the whole utter strangeness of what it means for the divine to enter so intimately into the our humanness. It is one thing to consider God appearing on earth, surrounded in glory, but standing apart from us - at arm’s length, as it were, on a mountain top, or in the clouds. 

But here is Christmas, announcing that here is God made flesh - God become like one of us.

The Holy one entering into all the messy physicality of what it means to be born as a human baby. 

Messy, though gloriously messy. 

Blood and amniotic fluid and placenta. 

Divinity constrained to pass through a birth canal.

And he doesn't disdain, doesn't shrink back, doesn't abhor this horrific transition.

The Creator of the world feels all the physical pain and trauma of entering the world this way.

And therein lies the glory of the incarnation, the wonder of Christmas.

That He would lay aside his glory.

That He would so join himself with us, as to be able to save us from our sin.

Not a God afar off, but one near at hand who knows our every weakness.

And so I celebrate today that glorious birth

           “Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, 

           Born this happy morning;

     Jesus, to Thee be all glory given;

              Word of the Father, 

           Now in flesh appearing…”

The Darkest Day

Twenty first December is the darkest day of the year. Well, perhaps not 'darkest', in terms of gloom or bad news, but in terms of actual hours of daylight. So here I am, in the words of the Psalmist, like a watchman waiting for the morning, which, even by 08:30 am on the A26, shows no sign of presenting us with a glorious sunrise.

The rising of the sun is traditionally associated with Easter and the Resurrection, but there are two references to the rising sun in the Christmas story that are worth taking note of. 

When Zechariah sings out to his infant son John with his newly rediscovered voice, he says

     “..because of the tender mercy of God … the rising sun will come to us from Heaven..” **

And, in singing this, he probably has in mind, the prophecy of Malachi. 

    “..for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its rays..”.  **

The Christmas carol also picks this up, when we sing 

    “..Light and life to all he brings. Risen with healing in his wings..”

Now when Malachi writes “sun”; and not “son”, as does Zechariah, it’s not clear if it is referring both to the literal SUN that eventually rises, even on the darkest of days, or metaphorically, to God’s SON born this Christmas season. The metaphorical meaning actually makes more sense, given that the fiery ball of gases that hangs in the heavens can hardly be referred to as either "righteous" or "unrighteous"!

As I wait for the rising of the sun, I appreciate the “healing” its rays bring. Healing both in the physical sense, giving life and health to the planet, and also the healing that the coming of Jesus brings to this broken and sin sick world. And yes, also in the healing that I believe takes place in my own body, as I rise each day with renewed strength and energy to face another day. In the words of Saint Patrick

     “I arise today Through the mighty strength of the Trinity, 

               Through the belief in the threeness, 

                 Through confession of the oneness 

                     Of the Creator of Creation.”

** Luke 2:36-38

** Malachi 4:2

Bridge of Years

There’s one thing I can’t quite figure out in this well ordered world in which we live. A world where people marry and commit to live together ‘for better for worse, till death us do part’. If that coupling for life is set before us as the ideal, why, oh why then, when we approach the Bridge, only one can take it alone. The other stays behind on the other side. Stays behind, as the confusion and questions mount up. Lord, how long? How many years before I can cross? How will I cope? What shall I do with my grief?

On rare occasions, the two do cross over together.

But that is almost always due to pure accident, not the norm.

So here’s my question. Why would the God who put them together, to be one, undivided, to build a family, to endure sorrows and joy together, and to weather the storms of life, why does he then see fit to separate them?

What's the purpose in that?

You either have to conclude that God, in his overall planning, somehow, didn’t think through the end bit so well, or….    

That, for some, life includes this mysterious calling that we term widowhood, (or widow(er)hood, I suppose). If it is that - a ‘calling’ - a vocation in which to find meaning and purpose for this last season in life - this ‘bit added on’ until it’s my turn to cross that bridge, then it’s something that I, personally, have never seen adequately addressed, or written about.

Luke speaks about the prophetess Anna as having been a ‘widow’ since only seven years of marriage, and the verses indicate that she found her 'vocation' in a life of devotion and worship, that culminated in her, along with old Simeon, being able to welcome the Christ child at his coming into the world.

There is then, a purpose in being a widow/widower. But it’s a purpose mostly shrouded in mystery. And it's a mystery that only clears as you begin to walk through it. When we lived in Lisbon near the Vasco da Gama Bridge that crosses the Rio Tejo, at this time of year many mornings the bridge was shrouded in mist.

It would seem as though the vehicles were crossing into nothingness.

The reality of course was that, mist or no mist, the destination was real and defined.

The mist was no obstacle to the driver on his journey. 

Mist simply clears as you pass through it

So also in life.  The mist, mysteriously, clears.

** Luke 2:36-38

Whenever You See A Rainbow

“Whenever you see a rainbow - rainbow… whenever your see..”

It emerges from the deep recesses of my memory -  a children’s chorus learned in some long forgotten Sunday school - now emerging to see the light of day.

And to refresh my soul.

I’m so amazed at the utter profusion of rainbows in  this North Antrim autumn.

At least one or two every week.

Obviously, it has something to do with regular rainfall, the shift of the clouds, and the cheeky interruptions of sunlights, as if to say “I’m not done yet” as winter approaches.

Like last Monday, for example.

I’m driving back from Coleraine to Portstewart. 

A dull showery morning. Eight Celsius. 

Coming from my weekly blood test at the clinic. 

Nothing special about the day. 

Then there’s this. Glowing through the window. 

I have to stop. And, click!

(At least I looked already in my rearview window first)

The thing about this one, (and it seems to be a common feature with Irish rainbows) is that it doesn’t terminate at some far distant horizon. Rather the ethereal glow of  rainbow colours seem to continue almost into the ground at your feet. This one terminates in a pool of flood water by the side of a busy road. It’s as if the old proverbial ‘pot of gold' is right there for the taking. A treasure chest with a green hat and a shamrock. But, setting aside that bit of whimsy, this ancient meteorological phenomenon has always  been a symbol of hope. For the ancient greeks, the rainbow connected heaven and earth. The messenger goddess Iris was said to travel on one in order to bear messages from the gods to mortals. But, what’s most memorable, are Yahweh’s words to Noah “I have set my bow in the clouds.. .. it is the sign of the promise I have made with all flesh.”**

That is how it is for me, a message and reminder that God is and remains always faithful to his plan and purpose, and it’s a good plan. Nor does it have to be a full arch for me. This Wednesday, for example, a tiny glimmer of iridescent colour set against a darkened sky. Glowing together with the Christmas mobiles hanging in the waiting room at City Hospital, it is God’s faithfulness once again underlined for me. Thus, going in to receive some further not-so-welcome news from the doctor regarding my cancer, I hear God’s voice clearer .. above the medical prognosis. I am still with you. I have a plan. I am your God. I have not abandoned you. So…

“Whenever you see a rainbow, rainbow…

     Whenever you seeee .. a rainbow..

         Remember God is love”

** Genesis 9:12-17

Mary and Elizabeth

What does a young teenager need when she learns she is expecting a baby. A safe place. An understanding ear. A comforting embrace. In Cousin Elizabeth, Mary found exactly that. Up to this past weekend I’d never thought of Elizabeth in this regard before. She has always just been ‘mother-of-john-the-baptist’ to me .. one who quietly slipped in to the birth narratives and then out again. But this year's Advent, from the moment when I heard the text read out :

“..and Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea..” ** 

Elizabeth came into focus in a new way. Mary’s mentor, her confidant, her go-to person. The older cousin, the mother figure, for the young woman with all her questions and concerns. How well prepared is this! Mary doesn’t have to walk this path alone. She has someone who, not only is part of her own family, senior in years and the wife of the respected Priest Zechariah, but also one who shares a full understanding of that sense of holy calling that came with the visit of the Angel.

One can imagine how important it would have been to have Elizabeth at her side when she had to break the news to her parents. Worse still, to try and get Joseph to understand how this wondrous thing had happened to her. And what all did they talk over those three months together, I wonder? When she pours out that wonderful song of praise, that has come to be known as “The Magnificat” **, someone might ask, how could a young teenage girl ever have all that learning? Did the two women pore over the scriptures during those weeks together, the older guiding the younger, into what the Psalms, the histories, the prophecies spoke about in regard to the Messiah, and indeed, in regard to the other miracle births from before, of Sarah, of Hannah, of the one who was to be called “Emmanuel”?

So there’s a lesson in here for us. When God calls you to walk a certain path, to carry a certain load, He doesn’t ask you to carry it alone. He always has the right person on hand to walk with you. God's support and help come as a combination of the supernatural, the presence of the Spirit, the ministry of Angels, and also the down to earth strength of special human friendships.

** Luke 1:39, 1:46-55

The Trees in Winter

This time last year, during the winter lockdown in Athens, we spent a lot of time walking the lower slopes of Mount Ymittos on the eastern side of the city.  (Athens is surrounded on three sides by mountains, Parnetha to the west, Penteli to the north, and Ymittos to the east). It was fascinating watching the trees change as the Greek winter set in. And, a proper winter season it turned out to be. With strong winds and showers. We even had one memorable week, when a foot of snow turned our neighbourhood into a winter wonderland. It was particularly odd to see the orange trees with a covering of snow - the fruit continues to tenaciously hold on to the branches.

Again, last year in Athens, I remember talking on this, the “trees in winter”, to our small group that met in our house through lockdown in Athens on the first Sunday of advent. I talked about two “trees in winter” that Luke mentions at the beginning of his Gospel. Zechariah and Simeon, two old men, who were carrying on their traditions, going through life, and yet, at the same time carried within them the seed of a hope of the coming Messiah. And each one responding very differently to the realisation of that hope, one with shock and disbelief, the other with eager expectation and joy.

Today, I find even more hope in a word from Psalm 92, about trees.

“The righteous” it says “will flourish like a palm tree … 

.... grow like a cedar of Lebanon…

 ..they will still bear fruit in old age, 

     they will stay fresh and green.”  

Nice!

The Trees in Autumn

My friend sent me this photo for the tree in his garden a few days back. His "burning bush" he called it. And it is. 

An autumn blaze of colours.

We haven’t experienced autumn in Ireland for some time.

Both Greece and Portugal kind of skip a proper autumn season.

Summer merges into winter over a scant few weeks.

The leaves turn a kind of muddy brown and then quickly drop off when there’s the first sign of wind.

Van Morrison sings about this wondrous Irish Autumn, full of golden glory, in “Orangefield”:

On a golden autumn day 

All my dreams came true, in Orangefield.

On a thrones of Ulster day 

You came my way in Orangefield,

And the sun 

Shone so bright

And it lit up all our lives.

The thing about autumn leaves is that they don’t actually change colour. Those glorious colours are already there within the leaf from springtime. It's simply that the green chlorophyll pigment dominates during the days of spring and summer. With the ending of summer, the chlorophyll production switches off, and those orange, yellow and amazing reds, emerge in all their glory.

Makes me think how we move through the seasons of life, and a different sort of glory emerges when we get older and into the autumn of life. That's a nice way to think about this age we're in, when all the world seems consumed by the energy and excitement of youth. Hmmm, yes. I think the autumn colours suit me.

The Cloud of Unknowing

On the morning after I heard from the dermatologist (David, who is also a good friend) to confirm that the fresh spot on my thigh had been diagnosed as a new melanoma deposit, these were the verses from the Bible that appeared in the Daily Light : 

        “When I sit in darkness the Lord shall be a light unto me”     Micah 7:8       

       “I will lead the blind in ways they do not know; along unfamiliar paths I will guide them: I will make darkness light before them….”  Isa 42:16         

      “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…” Isa 43:3  

Wow, I am thinking, could that have been more closely related to my current situation, especially as I still wait for the results of two recent scans? It’s almost as if someone had selected these scriptures specifically for me, which would have been tricky, seeing that the November 20th selection had been chosen by Samuel Bagster as far back as 1875 when Daily Light was first published. It is by no means the first time, though, that God’s voice has come loud and clear through the daily selections of this wonderful little book.

So, yes, I walk in darkness, but in that darkness the Lord is my light. My path takes me along along unfamiliar ways, but he continues to lead. I feel I am in the middle of a flooded river, but it’s not gone over my head. It has made me think also of an anonymous work of Christian mysticism from the 14th Century. Called “The Cloud of Unknowing” it speaks about a way of approaching God through contemplation. 

       “For the first time when you lift your heart to God, you will find only a darkness”, he writes, 

“…and as it were a cloud of unknowing [...] this darkness and the cloud are between you and your God, and hold you back from seeing him clearly by the light of your reason and understanding…”

It appears that "not knowing" has an important part to play in this path toward knowing God and the way that he has set out for us. I feel I am only beginning to understand that. The trick for me, is to be comfortable with the “not knowing”, to rest, through trust and resignation, in the reality that I have no idea what lies ahead, but that it's in the hands of a good God.

T S Eliot in his set of four long poems called “Four Quartets” expresses it like this : 

    In order to arrive at what you do not know

You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess

You must go by the way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not.

  And here’s another quote that I like from the amazing Corrie ten Boom 

           “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God”.

Thaitanic

We pass this Asian street food cafe on our way from the train station up to the Meeting Point in the lower Lisburn Road. I like the name they’ve adopted, though I haven’t tried the food yet. It kind of captures a snapshot of where Belfast is at just now, its history of the shipyards and other stuff, now conflated with the present reality of a vibrant city welcoming tastes and cultures from many other parts of the world. 

The International Meeting Point is situated just a few doors up. We go there every Thursday now to help out with an Alpha course that is being run there. Many of the more recent arrivals to Northern Ireland show up there, from Africa, Middle East, Asia, and elsewhere in Europe. There’s always a welcome, a warm cup of tea, and all sorts of help being offered, with learning English, filling out forms, clothing and food. Hats off to Henry, Keith and Janette, and Sharon for the amazing work they have been doing, walking alongside newcomers in those early days of getting used to a new place and integrating into a different society and a new way of life. 

The Alpha Course is much more than just listening to a talk. It’s centred around a video presentation of what the Christian faith is about. But it’s also about meeting together, conversations and connections, and in my case, trying out the few words of Farsi that I have learned (this course is being offered in the Farsi language). Also listening to stories of hard journeys, and arrivals, of loved ones left behind, and of hopes and dreams for the future. Some of those hopes and aspirations have also been left behind in the harsh reality of trying to make a fresh start in Europe. In the words of author Elif Shafak ‘left behind, like wisps of wool caught on barbed wire during their fence crossings’. 

This session, the topic was prayer. What prayer is, how and when to pray, and especially that praying to God is centred around the reality of a personal relationship with God. For many, for whom prayer was mostly a religious ritual conducted in a language not their own, the idea that you could simply talk to God in your words and at any time, and that He would hear, was refreshing and new. There were lots of very stimulating conversations. 

As we considered together dark times too, when God does not seem to answer our prayers, the quote that resonated most with me, and my own situation was from something Corrie ten Boom wrote :

         "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, 

             you don't throw away the ticket and jump off. 

                  You sit still and trust the engineer.”

You trust the one who knows more about the path you are taking and who is able to bring you to the destination.

Listening Beyond

It’s the little details in those familiar stories of Jesus in the gospels that sometimes take you by surprise. You think to yourself, ‘Hmm, I’ve never quite read it like that before’. So here he is on his way to the house of this Jewish leader. He’s on the way to attend to a sick girl, the man’s daughter, who may in fact be at the point of death. The members of the man’s household have come from the house to meet him. The narrative says that Jesus ‘overheard’ them as they came with the news that the girl had already passed away and that it was hardly worth Jesus coming any further. Instead he encourages Jairus, to ‘not fear, only believe’.

Now the word ‘overhear’ we usually take in the sense of ‘eavesdropping’ or accidentally listening in to the conversation of others. Here the meaning is a bit different. The word that translates ‘overheard’ is ‘parakouo’ in the Greek, which literally means to hear alongside, but also carries with it a sense of hearing, but paying no heed, or deliberately disregarding what’s being said. In a sense, you could say it means ‘hearing beyond’, or hearing what’s said alongside you, but listening out for another voice, and I kind of like that particular idea.  

It’s something I think I need to learn more of. These days there are many voices around, some that come from rationality and science, (obviously, when it comes to discussing my medical situation), others that come from well meaning and caring friends, and some voices from within my own head, that arise more out of fear and anxiety than anything else. I need to learn to listen beyond all of these voices, for the voice of the Master. That voice which gives meaning to our current situation, that sets it against the perspective of a greater purpose and plan, and thereby a place in which to shelter and find comfort. I suppose it’s much the same as it is for the sheep, who are attuned to the shepherd’s voice, and instantly recognise and follow him, because they instinctively know that’s where their source of food is, that’s where their security lies.

* Mark 5:35-36

Proud Waves

 

On a morning like this, with a stiff north westerly wind blowing in and the sea a turbulent mess of foam and curling waves, what better than to walk down and watch the sea crash over the harbour wall. The tide is fully in. The boats have all been pulled up the slipway because of the heavy seas. 

As I watched the water’s force, it put in mind Job’s poetic utterance in Ch 38.

 “I fixed limits for it

    and set its doors and bars in place,

“This far you may come and no farther;

    here is where your proud waves halt!” *

Attaching a human attribute like ‘proud’ to the movement of the waves might sound odd, but it’s entirely appropriate. As you feel the force of water smashing against the rocks and hissing up through the blowhole, it is as if a massive surging power were seeking to assert its authority over this manmade structure. Break down the harbour wall. Wash over the slipway. Destroy the little boats.

Having lived in at least two maritime nations, you can’t escape the power and influence the sea wields over the collective imagination, especially in ports and fishing communities. Both the Greeks, and in particular, Portuguese have a rich heritage of stories, and poems and music, that arises out of their dependence on the seas. The Greeks have Poseidon with his trident and great white beard. The Portuguese explorers, as they rounded the Cape of Good Hope, imagined the sea as some great monster blocking their way - Adamastor, described here by Luis de Camões in his 16th Century epic poem "The Lusiads".

            Even as I spoke, an immense shape

                Materialised in the night air,
            Grotesque and enormous stature
           With heavy jowls, and an unkempt bear

               Scowling from shrunken, hollow eyes

But here’s the thing. There are limits to the oceans’ arrogance. There’s a protection in that “Thus far and no further…” Even with climate change and the threat of rising sea levels, there’s always a sense in which limits have been set. The power of the ocean is restrained. The One, of whom it is written “He upholds all things by the word of his power..” And “in Him all things hold together”.. holds the oceans in check.

So, I’ll keep my eye on the tides, and head down for a dip in the Herring Pond, only when the waves are well below the breakwater!!

And in the meantime, I’ll listen to my favourite piece of 'sea music' from Portugal.

"Ao Longo do Mar" by Madredeus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCQpycvSF24