Gentle Hopes Sun, 8th December, 2013
There is light here and now in the darkest time of the year. The events of this past week have reminded me of this annual lesson. In this season of advent, which also saw the final days of Chanukah, the lighting of candles, the hanging of the greens at First Church and the illumination of our own front porch with sparkling lights, have all done their part to push back the cold and darkness.
And of course, one of the great joys of this season is the collection of crude and glorious ornaments that the children have made themselves. On the First Church holiday tree (right), there is a paper chain composed of hundreds of individual links, each adorned with the hopes and self-expression of people of all ages. My favorite were the reindeer pictures cut out of brown construction paper, with each child's hand and footprints guiding the shape of antlers and face.
I once heard it said that hope requires some kind of action to truly be hope. Otherwise it's mere wishing. So lighting the candles, creating and hanging those ornaments on a Christmas tree, and finally switching on the lights, becomes not only a celebration but a deliberate act of faith. It reminds us that the light will soon return and the sun will once again start climbing a little higher in the sky each day.
This weekend also saw my son's violin recital, the first with his new teacher at the Community Music School. He chose and performed a challenging piece and mastered it well, with his nerves just barely detectable in the first minute or so. I was a little nervous for him as I was struck by the thought that he was all alone up there on the stage. Even as his parent and protector there was not a thing I could do to help him through this challenge—there was no choice but to let go and watch from afar along with the rest of the world.
And this morning I realized that these two events, hanging of the greens and the violin recital, have a beautiful connection. Our children—and for those without children of their own, the next generation of humanity to follow—are the vibrant (and sometimes prickly) green branches on which we hang our hopes for the coming of new light, new growth, new possibilities.
But as with the hanging of ornaments, the best hopes must hang very gently on our children, lest the hopes of the older generations become a burden, bending the upward-reaching branches downward to the ground, or worse, breaking the branches completely. Like the reindeer ornaments that are created from the child's own hands and feet, leave them room to hang ornaments that reflect a measure of their own hearts.
No, let us resolve to hang our hopes ever gently, then stand back and watch the sparkle.
There is light here and now in the darkest time of the year. The events of this past week have reminded me of this annual lesson. In this season of advent, which also saw the final days of Chanukah, the lighting of candles, the hanging of the greens at First Church and the illumination of our own front porch with sparkling lights, have all done their part to push back the cold and darkness.
And of course, one of the great joys of this season is the collection of crude and glorious ornaments that the children have made themselves. On the First Church holiday tree (right), there is a paper chain composed of hundreds of individual links, each adorned with the hopes and self-expression of people of all ages. My favorite were the reindeer pictures cut out of brown construction paper, with each child's hand and footprints guiding the shape of antlers and face.
I once heard it said that hope requires some kind of action to truly be hope. Otherwise it's mere wishing. So lighting the candles, creating and hanging those ornaments on a Christmas tree, and finally switching on the lights, becomes not only a celebration but a deliberate act of faith. It reminds us that the light will soon return and the sun will once again start climbing a little higher in the sky each day.
This weekend also saw my son's violin recital, the first with his new teacher at the Community Music School. He chose and performed a challenging piece and mastered it well, with his nerves just barely detectable in the first minute or so. I was a little nervous for him as I was struck by the thought that he was all alone up there on the stage. Even as his parent and protector there was not a thing I could do to help him through this challenge—there was no choice but to let go and watch from afar along with the rest of the world.
And this morning I realized that these two events, hanging of the greens and the violin recital, have a beautiful connection. Our children—and for those without children of their own, the next generation of humanity to follow—are the vibrant (and sometimes prickly) green branches on which we hang our hopes for the coming of new light, new growth, new possibilities.
But as with the hanging of ornaments, the best hopes must hang very gently on our children, lest the hopes of the older generations become a burden, bending the upward-reaching branches downward to the ground, or worse, breaking the branches completely. Like the reindeer ornaments that are created from the child's own hands and feet, leave them room to hang ornaments that reflect a measure of their own hearts.
No, let us resolve to hang our hopes ever gently, then stand back and watch the sparkle.
