Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

 A pastor said it was "odd" to celebrate communion during Advent. Christmas is a birthday party, he said, and communion is a funeral. Then I wished I were brave enough to speak up and disagree. Christmas is a celebration of birth, not a birthday party - the baby doesn't grow one year older every year. But that birth only matters, two thousand years on, because of the person who is born; because of heaven come down to earth; because of the promise embodied in the Christ. And communion? In communion we commit ourselves to be part of Christmas's promise; we "do this in memory" of him. We say yes, this matters. This changes everything. Without communion, Christmas doesn't touch us, doesn't have any effect. And without Christmas, communion becomes a commitment that's meaningless. Just social and fun (and still not a funeral). So no, it's not "odd" at all. Communion makes us part of the meaning of Christmas. We might call the season Jesus...

I went to a meeting with friends from church. They were so pleased to have heard someone say "thank God" on television, so thrilled that "they can't censor that." I refrained from asking what made them think anyone was out to censor it. And I refrained from looking too deeply into why their words made me feel so uncomfortable. After all, wouldn't I also thank God if I were spared from the ravages of a tornado? I went to another meeting with friends who aren't from church. They were so upset to have heard someone say "thank God" on television. What should others say, they asked, who had lost loved ones? Should they blame God? Or maybe "thank God" means "I'm good enough to get my prayer answered, and the rest of you aren't good enough." How cruel, how evil, to pile that accusation on top of pain. They said, "No offense intended, Sheila," and I took no offense. Their comments opened my eyes to why I'd felt...

Padding paws patter ears hear a clatter chimney pot rattles Santa is near. Padding paws pitter robins a-twitter Christmas-wrap littering fun

Pretty the picture on paper beribboned with bows. Pretty the infant who tears it asunder, to know what secret is hidden. What secret is hid?

Beneath wind-whispered trees while winter-snowfall fills the sky, below wind-sheltered bowers sacred flowers of winter sigh; angels cry Holy

Did you dance for Santa in your dreams? Did you chance to see a reindeer smile? Did you fancy decorate the tree & see the holy manger child?

Close your eyes and sleep my child, while angels weep and seek the child we’ve hidden in the stable’s mild refrain. May wide eyes see again.

Winter starlight crystal bright & clouds like angel wings while white & singing winds take flight across a Christmas sky on Christmas night.