Single-Handed Theology - Where Are the Children?

Single-Handed Theology: one hand in motherhood, one hand in theology, each inspiring the other.

Tonight, while nursing Arden before bed, all the while humming old hymns and drinking hot lemon tea, I was considering the relationship between Christ and the church. In a sacred mystery I am not sure I understand, the apostle Paul identifies Christ as the husband and the church as the wife. That got me thinking – where are the children?

We’ve got all sorts of relationships pictured in the Bible, relationships that exist among God and between God and humanity. There’s God the Father, and His Son, with the Spirit as the bond of love between them (to use Augustine's analogy). There’s Christ the bridegroom, winning a bride for Himself, the Church. The Spirit may also be seen as the chemistry, or divine electricity that draws and binds each to the other. (Of course the Spirit is also a person, not simply a force, with whom we have a relationship with as well, though He is always handing us off to Christ.)

Surely the greatest romance of all time would find fulfillment in the natural outcome of marriage, that is, offspring. We are God’s children, but the Church as she is now has borne no children.

But of course. The marriage has yet to happen. The Great Wedding is an eschatological event, and we are still the betrothed, not yet a wife, not yet a mother.

When I thought of this, a little tingle of excitement ran through me, and it wasn't the lemon tea. Sometimes when we think about the end of this world, or life after death, or eternity in heaven, we struggle to imagine what on earth we’ll be doing. (And yes, there will be a new earth too, as well as a new heaven.) Getting to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb seems like a pretty ultimate arrival in and of itself. But just think, we will be marrying Jesus, the One by whom and through whom all things were created! With such a creative husband, I wouldn’t be surprised if our union brings about some kind of new life. I’m not thinking of more human children, or a race of demi-gods, but something alive nonetheless, something that will recreate the church anew as baby recreates a woman from the inside out.

Perhaps we will experience a glorious motherhood, perhaps there will be things that need our nourishment and our love, love which has been made perfect through the fires of tribulation and resurrection. Perhaps we will be the co-creators we were meant to be. Perhaps the Spirit will birth new life in us as a surprise wedding gift. Who knows?

There is a reason a veil hangs over our faces as we look past the future into eternity. But you know what they say. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes . . .


~lg

Empty Me

A song for Lent.

Hunger

In fasting
I am stripped down to hunger,
to desire, raw need.
What are these cravings that gnaw at the pit of my stomach,
directing my heart and mind and hands,
eating into my dreams,
demanding to be fed?

In fasting
I must face hunger,
look into its greedy eyes,
and deny it,
deny myself.

In fasting
my soul growls at God,
honest in doubt, honest in need,
empty
with no bread or wine in sight,
only an invitation to "Follow Me."

~lg

Secrets of the woods

Do you wish to hear a secret?

Put on your boots and go into the woods

Go as a child would

Running and skipping with eyes full of wonder

There you will find a certain grove of trees

And a little patch of moss in the centre

Plant your feet into the earth and

Stretch your arms up to the patch of blue

Now close your eyes and breathe

If you stand very still, very patiently

Your eight year old ears will open

And you will hear once again the murmurs of the forest

The trees are speaking

Telling the story of the deepest mystery

The rising of sap in the spring

And the origin of the colour green

~lg

eyes of faith

I met a man in the grocery store with the face of a wanderer
And a cart full of hot dogs
He stopped me to tell me he saw faith in my daughter’s eyes
The faith he needed to keep going
I almost brushed him off
Too busy to talk to an old drunk
Too busy to talk to Jesus


~lg

Aurora

Aurora
I close my eyes and create your contours
Relive our last slow dance beneath the stars
That night we said farewell

I saw your true colours
The reward for my insomnia
But you are a shape-shifter
And my feet too clumsy to follow

You are too easy to love
But too quick to leave me

You left a magnet in my chest
An image burned in my mind
I can still feel your movement
Though you dance a thousand miles from me

One day your music will draw me back
I will succumb to your cold breath
Your fingers of fire
If only for one night

Oh Aurora!
You are too easy to love
But too quick to leave me


~lg

*photo by Karl Johnston, Fort Smith, NWT

Ode to Winter Camp

This is a poem I wrote years ago in honour of our winter camp at PWK High School in Fort Smith, NWT. Every February, my thoughts inevitably turn back to the happy days spent in the bush. And so for a little fun, here is my Ode to Winter Camp.


It's winter at PWK
And every student knows
The boldest campers will set forth
To brave the ice and snow

In the light of February's dawn
Their silhouettes appear
Framed with furry parkas
And ski-doos piled high with gear

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will brave the northern bush
At twenty-two below!

Doucette and Ransom, fearless leaders
Forge the trail ahead
We follow in their snowshoe prints
To Louie's trapper shed

We make our beds on boughs of spruce
We shiver through the night
We chop down trees at midnight's stroke
To keep the fire bright

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We survive the northern bush
At thirty-two below!

We set our nets beneath the ice
To catch our fill of fish
We trap and snare for furry beasts
To fill our supper dish

We skin the bloated caribou
On Piers Lake's floor of ice
We revel in the blood and guts
And my those steaks taste nice!

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will thrive in northern bush
At forty-two below!

We cut a path through barren lands
Our topo maps to guide
We sweat and toil to find our way
With compass at our side

We do not fear the howling wolves
Nor trees lit from a spark
We do not shrink from frozen toes
Nor outhouse in the dark

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We have conquered northern bush
At fifty-two below!

We have danced with northern lights
Around the campfire's glow
We know the secrets of the bush
And how to pee in snow

We are a strong but stinky crew
Adventurers at heart
We love to tell our stories
And embellish every part

We are the winter campers
Winter campers ho!
We will camp in northern bush
When none else dare to go!


~lg

Drunk

If I were strong enough, I could bear this pleasure. But I am a mere mortal, and my vanities incline me to drink too deeply. The sweet drop, fitting in its place, swells to drown me. I fumble the gift, stumble overboard and promptly sink to the bottom of the sea. The great fish saves me, and I am left three days to sober up and consider my shame. When I am spit out, I lay this pleasure in the hot sand, and turn my back till it dries out like a stranded starfish.

~lg

one morning

One morning I woke up to discover the Trinity had a pillow fight the night before. Giant feathery flakes were floating from the heavens, the overflow of some secret joy. I wonder who won. Did the Father strong arm Jesus and the Holy Spirit? Did Jesus fake an injury only to jump up and whack the other two in the face? Did the Spirit distract his opponents by blowing down into their eyes? Did they declare a truce after realizing they were equally matched? It is a quiet morning, so they must be resting now, but close your eyes and you can hear the echoes of midnight laughter.

Are you surprised by this undignified display? Perhaps a game of chess seems a more appropriate activity for such important persons, if such a thing were possible with three players. Or perhaps a stirring rendition of the Hallelujah chorus, accompanied by winged harps, of course. Maybe they are debating the merits of one creed’s wording over another. Or perhaps all their time is consumed by gravely counting out souls into one pile or another.

But this descending beauty erases all notions of a gloomy gathering of Greek terms. This beauty did not appear out of thin air. Everything wonderful about this morning was laughed into existence by the God of all joy, joy that is meant to be shared, joy that bursts out of the seams and explodes over creation. It is not a secret after all. This delight is over you and over me, and we are invited to the next pillow fight.


~lg

Letters to Arden – January 10, 2011

Arden,

There is a beautiful moment when your eyes close and you fall asleep in my arms. These days you are usually too busy and aware to shut the rest of the world out, unless you are curled up in your own crib. But this morning you gave me the gift of your sleep, your weight, your warmth.

By this gift you tell me all is right in your world. You tell me you have received the love I strive to show you in so many ways. I feel your heart send its morse code signals to my own, little words beat out in a gentle rhythm – love, peace, safety.

Who teaches us how to love in this mother-daughter way? I did not have to read a book, or follow four parental laws. You did not need lessons from the nurses or other experts. Somehow in birth we are both given the language, a special revelation. We are taught by God Himself.

It’s no surprise, really, although it is a thing of holy wonder and grace. God, who is Love, is the One who gives us breath, makes and sustains our beating hearts. He cannot give of Himself without giving love. This reality is in our lungs and veins. It is all around us, sighing in the trees, falling with the snow, murmuring in the sea.

We are His children first. We have been made so by Christ, and we are both His sisters. When He leads us to the Father, He throws open the door and pours His very Spirit, Love Itself, into our hearts. By this Spirit we cry “Abba,” settling into His arms. This is how we know what love is. This is the Embrace that surrounds us as we sit here now the Embrace that strengthens my arms and lulls you to sleep. Sleep sweetly, little one. You are loved.

Mama

January Experiment: Follow-Up

Mornings are longer and lighter when I look out the windows instead of staring into a screen.

The urge for quick access to information strikes a surprising number of times throughout the day. My brain has been trained to digest many small meals instead of ruminating on a five course meal. Both approaches have their benefits and drawbacks.

It is usually worth the time and effort to create my own approach to something, instead of looking for a stranger’s quick fix or opinion.

The Joy of Cooking not only has thousands of recipes, it teaches the hows and whys of cookery. I discovered how to make delicious stock from scratch, reduce stock into a gel for long-term preservation, master a stew, and create my own mushroom sauce base.

The amount of time spent surfing the internet is inversely proportionate to the cleanliness of the house.

It is quicker to look up information on the internet compared to finding it in the Yellowpages and then making a phone call . . . but only if I don’t get distracted with other things online!

The mechanics of friendship have changed with social networking. I really do make meaningful connections with friends on Facebook, and I missed them!

Fifty-nine cents is worth the smile on the other end of the mailbox.

I have learned to create through computer keys, and I found it more difficult to write with pen and paper.

It is more satisfying to spend half an hour reading one book than browsing through half a dozen websites. I read 5 books in January.

Thoughts are better preserved in a journal than in a status update. Not all thoughts are suitable for public consumption.

The internet screams NEWER! FASTER! UPDATED! It has no secrets, no mystery. It conditions for discontent. Nature invites reflection, investigation, appreciation. It ties you to its seasons and rhythms and rewards patience.

Computer time is best approached with intention, purpose and discipline. Just because it is available doesn’t mean it is beneficial. Anything I allow into my home should be subject to the rules and rhythms of the life we are creating.

The computer is a useful servant, but a brutal master. I am responsible to teach it its place.

winter grace

grace
tiptoeing through the snow
peering through the back window
breathing on the glass

you trace a heart in the fog
drawing us into your signature

grace
you leave your secret notes for us to find

so when the night falls,
and we look into darkness,
pressing our faces to the cold glass with a prayer
and a sigh,

..... our breath reveals your invisible ink
..... and we see our initials enclosed with yours

suddenly you are falling all around us
filling up the night
filling up our hearts
with a quiet flurry
grace


~lg

January Experiment

I used to boast that I could easily live without a computer. Now, I’m not so sure.

In fact, there are some days I find myself almost enslaved to my laptop. The glowing invitation for more information, more communication, more entertainment is a steady presence throughout my days. It’s all there, right at my fingertips, anytime the thought strikes me. It’s not an issue of whether this technology is good or bad. It can be pretty fun, and for my life, it’s downright necessary at times. But it’s become an issue of the master-slave relationship, and I think my computer has started to master me. When I can’t walk by it without just checking something out, I think I have a problem!

So I’ve decided to embark on an experiment this January. I’m going computer-less. Well, not completely. But in as many ways as I can, I’m going to intentionally shut down my screen. Recipes? I have cookbooks. Weather? The radio. You tube? My husband and daughter are far more amusing than double rainbow guy. Blogs I like reading? I have lots of books on my shelves. Facebook? That’s a tough one. It seems so normal to check facebook several times a day, but it’s not really necessary. How did I ever live 5 years ago without knowing what my friends were eating for lunch??

What about communicating with friends and family? I don’t want to turn into a hermit. But I will try to use the phone instead of email. Or write a real letter, you know, the kind you write on paper and send in the mail. Instant communication isn’t always the best.

There are some things I will need to stay connected to. Email, for instance. That’s the only way I have of communicating with some people, and some emails are necessary for work or other social functions. And that will also include some facebook messages, because that has become basically like email. And online banking. The bills must be paid!

The other big thing is word processing. I’ll still need to do some of that for work. But for my own personal writing – including blogging, poetry and journaling – I’m going to go old fashioned. Paper and pen. It will be fun to see how my thoughts flow at a slower pace, when I have to commit to each word I write or risk an ugly scribble-out.

Once I had decided to do this, my first thought was, I should blog about it as I go! Um… nope. Before this experiment is shared with anyone else, it needs to be my experiment. Maybe I’ll keep a paper record as I go and let you know later how it went.

And so all of that means – no blogging in January! I am a little bit sad about this. But I’m going to keep writing. And when January is over, I’ll see what I have that’s worthwhile posting. In the meantime, you can check out the archives if you like.

See you in February!

new year

The world is a white slate, ready for our footprints. Where will we dance? What will we explore first? The sun opens its heart to us once more, greeting us a little earlier every day. We awake to life, and this is the simple gift that demands our whole being.

Happy new year!

~lg

Book List 2010

Completed books:

What to Expect When You’re Expecting (Heidi Murkoff)
The Blythes are Quoted (L.M. Montgomery)
Anne of Avonlea (L.M. Montgomery)
Anne of the Island (L.M. Montgomery)
Impossible (Nancy Werlin)
Committed (Elizabeth Gilbert)
The Giver (Lois Lowry)
The Meaning of Tradition (Yves Congar)
Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart (Beth Pattillo)
Churched (Matthew Paul Turner)
The Wednesday Letters (Jason F. Wright)
Fever Crumb (Phillip Pullman)
Selected Columns from Canadian Living (Peter Gzowski)
When We Were Very Young (A. A. Milne)
Mockingjay (Suzanne Collins)
Beyond Belfast (Will Ferguson)
What French Women Know (Debra Ollivier)
The Church, World and the Christian Life (Nicholas M. Healy)
The Bishop’s Man (Linden MacIntyre)


Books in progress:

Hospitality and the Other (Amos Yong)
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (Barbara Kingsolver)
Miracles (C. S. Lewis)
The Sunny Side (A.A. Milne)