Imponderabilia

It was late and I was tired after a twelve and a half hour shift at the factory and I knew I shouldn’t have done it – but I turned on the radio to listen to the news as I drove home in the freezing rain and the dark. It was a poor choice, tired and worn as I was. The highway was dark and the lane markers covered with snow and ice. Reports came through of the war in Ukraine and more bombings in Gaza with unnumbered civilian deaths. Reports of earthquakes in South America, of wildfires in the south-west, of another school shooting in the heartland.

Everything hurt.

It seems like I feel that way all the time these days. I am exhausted and weary from work and still grieving old wounds. Everything hurt in the cold and dark as I drove through the night, crying alone in my car. Alone and cold in the dark on a lonely road between here and nowhere.

“The world is dying,” I said aloud as I clicked off the radio with its ceaseless bad news broadcasts. “The world is dying,” I said again, “and there is nothing to replace it.” Someone once described this as a time of monsters and I will not disagree. The world is dying and full monsters. The human ones are the worst.

I arrived at home and made dinner for myself but in the process I broke a glass pitcher given to me as a wedding gift. Then I spilt a beverage on the couch which will probably stain the fabric. I tried to put it all out of my mind by watching police dramas on TV until bed, but when I finally slept I struggled with dreams of my ex-wife.

 “I don’t want the world to see me, ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand,” the song says, but I say, “I don’t want to see the world ‘cause I don’t understand it either.”  I am lonely even in my dreams. Separated and alone and I think that maybe I should go ahead and separate myself from it all. I can’t fix it. I can’t change it. Why not go live out in the desert?

I remembered the stories of those devout men of faith who lived as hermits beyond the fringes of civilized society, or in caves, or alone atop high pillars, relying on ravens to bring them food day after day for forty years. I know it sounds fantastic, but ravens have been known to bring gifts to people they consider friendly, so why couldn’t these avian benefactors bring bread to hermits in the desert? It may be a pious legend, but it could still be true.

I woke the next day, still weary. Still worn, still pondering all the imponderabilia of this strange life. But with a stretch and a cup of coffee I was ready to step out into another new day. As I drove to work there was a carpet of fire across the eastern sky. Maybe the world is on fire but the sun is rising in the east and I think that I can try again.

 

 

 

 

From the Winter Walks

 

I’m a postal carrier these days. I walk every day- in the wind, in the snow, in the fog, in the sleet and freezing rain. Every day, five to ten miles. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. It gives me time to think, time to write, to compose. 

It Should Have Been Delightful - A Nativity Story

Lars and Marge Antisdel built a huge nativity display in their yard every year for Christmas – and not one of those cheap plastic sets with Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus either. They went all out. Their nativity scene included the Holy Family, of course, but they also had sheep and a shaggy donkey, and scruffy shepherds, and singing angels, all crafted out of durable resin in Italy. And Lars had them displayed in a crèche he’d built from distressed lumber and dressed with hay. The whole scene was especially beautiful at night, illuminated as it was with carefully arranged spotlights that gave Jesus, Mary, and Joseph nimbuses of light around their heads like soft haloes of glory. They even hid small speakers in the manger so that folks who drove by could listen to string arrangements of “O Holy Night,” “Angels We Have Heard on High,” and other Christmas hymns.

The Antisdel display had been featured on the front page of the local paper. The Herald Examiner sent out a photographer and a reporter for an interview with Lars and Marge. “Come to Bethlehem and See” was the headline of the article.

But this year their display left me disappointed, as beautiful as it was. And this year they’d even added a trio of Wise Men on camels far to the side of the manger scene. It should have been delightful. But it all left me sad because also in their yard was one of those yard signs with the flag of the United States in blue, black, and white and the words: SUPPORT OUR POLICE.

I can’t look at the Antisdel’s display without thinking of Herod’s troops, dispatched to slaughter the children of Bethlehem. I can’t look at the Antisdel’s display without hearing Rachel weeping for her children; she would not be comforted because they are not.

 

Sing a Song of Advent

 I shared this song  yesterday with the united method church that I attend. They liked it well enough that they want to sing it as a congregational song this coming Sunday. 

Sing a song of winter - now the chill has come we’re trying to remember the warmth of the sun 

And even though the ice is freezing 

In the streets along our way 

We find our hearts are warmer 

A little every day. 

Sing a song of Advent, a new year’s just begun 

We’re waiting and we’re watching for the rising of the sun

So let us all rejoice, amen

The Prince of Peace is here 

The King of Glory at the gates

His kingdom drawing near 

So sing - sing a song of joy 

Sing a song 

Sing 

Song his song forever; his glory will not end 

He pulls the mighty from their thrones and scatters the proud 

He fills the hungry with good things

And sends the rich away 

Raising up the poor and weak, he is mighty to save. 

The Communion of Saints