God Helping

If the Lord had not come to my help, I should soon have dwelt in the land of silence. Psalm 94

The lights are on, but nobody’s home. That’s me at the moment. Thoughts, ideas, themes, issues, problems, solutions – they’re all running through my mind at near-light-speed – so fast I can’t grab ahold of even one of those ideas, one of those images, anything at all. I want sticky tape on my hands, but they’d been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray instead.

Many of the things I’d like to talk about – write about – lie outside the carton in which this column is  usually located. That’s as it should be. I am not a political pundit or expert on societal matters. I’ve got my opinions, of course, and I can assure you they are all well thought out, cogent, and would be most persuasive if presented (at least they convince ME that I’m right), but my role is not to debate current events or pretend seven hundred words on any topic will change the opinion of any reader.

And yet. And yet.

Should I remain silent in the face of evil? Should I remain silent in the face of mass shootings that take place daily? Should I remain silent in the pool of the commingling blood of thirty thousand gun deaths in our nation each year? Yes, mass shootings get all the publicity. If it bleeds it leads, as they say. But how about the nearly twenty thousand suicides? Should I remain silent to the cries of those whose only solution to the hell they’re in is to kill themselves?

Should I remain silent to the ongoing violence suffered by people of color – at the hands of those whose job is to protect and to serve – regardless of color? It does not matter that most cops are good people doing good work most of the time for most of their communities, including communities of color. But should I remain silent when accountability appears to be the exception rather than the rule? 

Should I remain silent when the rights of half our population are brazenly taken away by the capricious decision of six people – out of 330 million? A body of nine is supposed to take care of us against the overreaching whims of executive and legislative branches of government, but who’s got our backs against those nine? Should I remain silent, or whistle my way through the graveyard?

Elie Wiesel, the Romanian-born American writer and survivor of the Nazi death camps says, “Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy … sensitivities become irrelevant.”

“Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” 

A priest was upset by some situation a few years ago and, in addressing the matter in her sermon uttered an expletive. While I have sometimes been less than pristine in my own preaching and teaching it, none-the-less, caught me off-guard. I reflected on the preacher’s choice and asked myself, “What’s worse: a bad word or the deaths of all those children? Which is the real obscenity?”

I can assure you, I don’t have all the answers. Human beings are complex creatures quite capable of taking any solution to any problem and either making them too complex to work, or giving them enough loopholes to drive an eighteen wheeler through. “In chaos there is profit,” declared the Tony Curtis character in Operation Petticoat. 

Heck, God gave Moses Ten Commandments, expanded them to 613 laws (Mitzvot) by the time the folks got to the Promised Land. Jesus tried to simplify things, cutting them to two: Love God, Love Neighbor & Self. At the very least he knew that hate doesn’t work. Getting even doesn’t work. Getting ahead doesn’t work. Being a doormat doesn’t work. Neither does silence.

Love requires that I speak out. Love requires that I listen. Humility requires we acknowledge that we can’t do it alone, but we can, God helping, do better together.

Now, back to my original question: what have I got to say about faith and life today? That’s a real puzzler here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Intinction: To Sip or to Dip. That is the Question

I would like to offer some thoughts on the practice of Intinction in the Episcopal Church – thoughts that arise from nearly sixty years of worship in Episcopal churches from coast to coast, and from nearly forty years of practice as an ordained priest in the Episcopal Church, leading people in their worship and celebrating the Eucharist in congregations both tiny and large.

Intinction is a term we use for the process of dipping communion bread into the wine. For most of Christian history (in the Western tradition), people have taken Holy Communion (also known as the Mass, the Lord’s Supper, the Divine Liturgy, or the Eucharist – among others) by receiving the bread first (in the hand or upon the tongue), followed by wine sipped from the Common Cup (Chalice). Over the past century or so, as the public has become more aware of things like germs, bacteria, and viruses, the practice of “intinction” has crept into religious life as a (theoretically) “safer” (more hygienic) option.

Setting public health matters aside for a moment, let’s talk about Communion. When Jesus instituted the Last Supper, he identified two specific things he wanted his followers to continue: Eat this Bread, and Drink this Cup. In Paul’s epistle to the Corinthians, he reminds the church there to continue the practice that he (Paul) had received (and has passed along to them), which was to eat this bread and drink this cup. In the New Testament, it is clear that there are two substances to be received (bread and wine) and two actions to be undertaken (eat and drink). Those were Jesus’ instructions, and so that is what the Church has done for the past twenty centuries.

Over time, questions about certain details have arisen about how we “do” communion. Bread and wine are reserved and taken to the sick and shut-ins, for instance. The Church has recognized that Christ is really present in those elements as they are distributed by the laity or clergy. 

Christ is really present. That’s important to remember. “Where two or three are gathered together in my Name, I am there,” said Jesus. Communion isn’t just the bread and wine, it is the Body gathered, breaking, praying, and sharing. Communion is our being together “in Christ.” 

A person who may only receive the bread (or wine) is presumed to have benefited from having received both. For instance an alcoholic may choose to forgo the wine, and one with Crohn’s disease may forgo eating the bread, and one on a ventilator may forgo receiving either kind; each will still have received communion “in full.”

Practices have varied over the years. In some places the faithful receive only the bread, while the priest receives both. In our Episcopal (or Anglican) tradition, we receive in both kinds. The bread is most often placed in the open palm of the recipient, while the wine is distributed from a common cup we call the chalice. The person with the chalice wipes the cup after each person drinks from it, using a fair white cloth called a purificator (that which purifies). They wipe the rim both inside and out. Studies have shown that silver has some antiseptic properties, and a properly used purificator does an excellent job of cleaning the cup.

Intinction was rarely, if ever, used until the public became more aware of sanitation and hygiene. Personal intuition suggests that intinction (dipping the bread into the wine) is simply more sanitary than drinking from a common cup. Obviously a purificator can’t get “all” the germs, so dipping has just GOT to be safer. But, alas, such is not the case, primarily because of, well, people. Hands and fingertips tend to be much more dangerous (from a hygienic perspective) than the mouth. Leaving toileting habits aside, our hands are in constant contact with things other hands have touched. No matter how “clean” one may feel they are, they simply aren’t.

Secondly, while an individual may be careful in how they dip the bread ever so slightly into the wine, the same cannot be said for everyone. 

There are some who barely touch the wine with their bread, and there are those who do a deep dive as if looking for an oyster that’s promised a pearl of great price. Some are careful to avoid touching the rim of the chalice, where others use the rim as a steadying platform from which to do their dip. Scientific studies have confirmed that intinction is the least sanitary option for consuming communion wine. So while intinction has become very common, especially during the recent pandemic, it is not hygienic and is being increasingly discouraged by those responsible for guiding our liturgical life.. 

This, of course, grates against our American ethos of the individual getting to choose to do it their way like Frank Sinatra and, if challenged, threatening to let their boots do the walking like Frank’s daughter, Nancy (Sheesh, if I ain’t dating myself here)! “You can’t be the boss of me” is America’s true National Anthem.

While Episcopalians, like most Americans, try to avoid being legalistic or slavish to the letter of the law, we do have practices that serve to unite us in our worship. We are guided by the Pauline dictum that all should be done “decently and in order.” Chaos is antithetical to the love of God in Christ, so we have practices which have stood the test of time in helping us worship God in Spirit and in the beauty of holiness. 

We serve bread and wine, each in a distinct manner, not because them’s the rules, but because we are followers of Jesus who gave us this very special sacrament to unite us to him and to one another. We eat the bread and we drink the wine because those are the two actions that Jesus prescribed. 

We may dunk our donuts into our coffee and we may dunk our Oreos into our milk, and all food and drink will make its way over our tongues, down our throats and into our digestive tracts, but Jesus wasn’t interested in any of that. Jesus reminds us in other places that it’s not what goes in that defiles us, but what comes out. 

A question one may want to ask is, what is coming out of our hearts if Jesus tells his followers to eat and drink, but we decide we know better? Isn’t our goal to unite with Jesus – with one another? If my dipping poses a danger to my brethren in a way that eating and drinking don’t, how does that unite? How does that show love? If I refuse to follow Jesus’ simplest instructions regarding the way I receive (or distribute) Communion, what does that say about my relationship with him? 

Will we go to hell if we intinct? Of course not. Our task, as lovers of the Lover is to show the world our love for God and one another by dining with each in the manner that was prescribed, not childishly, but thoughtfully, prayerfully, meditatively, carefully, and lovingly. 

A person may decline the cup as he or she wishes. The Chalice bearer will never ask "Why?” The Minister will never ask those who decline the Bread “Why?” If one chooses not to receive the bread because of health or sin, the priest will offer the person a blessing. If one chooses to decline drinking from the common cup, the chalice bearer will simply pause and lift the cup as a sign of blessing (a practice from which toasting at weddings and special meals comes).

That’s the wonderful thing about God’s grace as we practice it in the Episcopal Church. We have our practices (rites and ceremonies) and people are invited to participate as fully as they are able. Most may, few must, and all will be blessed. There will be times and situations where intinction may be preferable, but for now, knowing that Covid is an airborne problem and not one of touch, it’s time to return to the ancient, historic manner of receiving Holy Communion in a manner Jesus prescribed - He who is the Great Physician.

The Rev. Keith Axberg, Retired

God and His Branch Manager

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid … (Book of Common Prayer, Collect for Purity)

It is a cool gray morning outdoors. The weather folk suggest it may rain later. There is some yard work that needs doing; there are some leaves I missed last fall (they’re easy to miss when one makes every effort not to go looking for them), and there are a couple of bushes out front that aren’t very pleasing to the eye. 

In fact, I thought one had died last year when we had a killer deep freeze that dropped us into the single digits for about a week. The bush never showed signs of life throughout Spring and early summer, so I hacked it down with plans to dig it up. I got sidetracked for a couple of weeks and when I got around to digging it up, lo and behold, it began to show signs of life. That is, it leafed out and sent out fresh shoots, but my handiwork ensured it would never be the bush it once was. Sad, but true.

Now, I want to assure the reader that I do not judge plants by their beauty or ugliness (nor even by how they smell – are you reading this, Anise?). All plants give us oxygen, without which we would become Smurfs, but not all plants grow where we want them to. Sometimes they are a safety issue (such as when they reach out to snag pedestrians who spend more time looking at their phones than their surroundings). Since trees and bushes can’t jump out of the way of careless passers-by, we property owners have to do our part in either trimming them or transplanting them.

I will confess, too, by the way, that I am not much of a gardener. I don’t care to do yard work, so when it was suggested that today would be a good day to take care of those few outdoor matters, I found myself nodding in affirmation to the one with whom I share the home, while simultaneously rapping the side of my head and offering a silent prayer for rain, finishing my prayer with, “Knock wood.”

Now, that’s not the most reverent way to end a prayer, but it goes back to my growing up in an unchurched household, watching the Three Stooges (from which influence my brother and I would regularly refer to the other as either a blockhead or knucklehead), and either crossing fingers or knocking on our heads if we didn’t have any wood nearby from which to draw luck.

Knocking on wood has a pagan history, but for me, it has always been family history. So it comes naturally. Even in conversion and baptism, we don’t always lose who we once were – or at least I haven’t. Faith is woven into the fabric of our being, but it seems our superstitions aren’t done away with. They’re there, but their role is diminished.

I knock wood out of habit, but I do so knowing full well that’s not what gets the “job” done. The rain will neither draw near nor stay away based upon my predilection for banging on timber. Knuckling my skull, in lieu of rapping my desk, signals my heart’s desire, and God knows what that is. God knows.

I find great comfort in knowing that God knows the secrets of my heart, the weakness of my flesh, the condition of my soul. God knows I mean it when I call him “Almighty” while, seemingly also inviting a wood nymph to help me avoid doing a job I, deep down, don’t want to do.

Well, God knows, and I know that God knows, and reflecting on my relationship with the One I call “the Almighty,” I believe God knows that when I tap my head, that’s an Amen arising from my mother tongue, the language of my tribe, so to speak.

The yard needs work, and I’ve got the health, tools, and intellect to handle it. Once I get past my blubbering, the spirit of this branch manager is willing, too. It is for that reality I give thanks to Almighty God here in this, our valley. Amen!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Become a World Explorer

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. Ralph Waldo Emerson

I saw in the news the other day that we are about to see a green comet that hasn’t passed our way in some 50,000 years. The fact that it is “green” caught my attention, as it reminded me of the old Stephen King movie, Maximum Overdrive, where earth passes through the tail of a green comet; death and destruction soon follow. The movie bombed (pun intended), but the premise of machines out to get us continues to resonate. 

A new year is upon us, green comets notwithstanding, and as always, it’s as good a time as any to take an inventory of our lives and see what adjustments we might want to make. I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions, as such, but it is good to stop for a moment and see where we’ve been, where we’re headed, and discern if there might be some changes that would help improve how we relate to the world around us physically, socially, and personally.

There’s a temptation to identify unhealthy habits we may want to fix, but I prefer to address that temptation and those habits during Lent. I’d hate to head into a season of penitence with nothing left to give up!

No, I prefer to start the year off identifying the good things one does and finding ways to build and improve on them. For instance, I have become quite a home-body these past few years. The pandemic severely limited my ability and desire to get out and explore the world the way I had intended to in retirement. 

Well, the pandemic is still with us, but we have tools to deal with it. We cannot eliminate the danger, but we can minimize the risks. We can stay current with vaccines, mask up when we feel it is appropriate, and practice good hygiene (which is nothing to sneeze at, but if you must, at least cover your mouth and nose).

We also need to note that being a world explorer does not require extensive travel (or money). A friend reminded me the other day that it requires little more than opening one’s eyes. “Look at the ground beneath your feet,” he said. “It’s winter, but look at that rock. It’s shimmering. People look and see a rock and move on; they look, but they don’t see. I look; look how the sun is heating the rock, and the rock is warming the air around it. I’ll bet if we lift it up we’ll find all sorts of life gathered underneath. To us, it’s a rock, but to them, it’s home, shelter, maybe even a grocery store and watering hole!”

He’s right, of course. We left the rock alone. Neither of us wanted to disturb the citizens beneath the stone or dampen the microbial rock concert that may well have been under way.

I’d forgotten how much I enjoy taking time to stop, look, and listen to the world around me. So much of my life has involved calendars, check-lists, deadlines, reports, things to do and people to see. Changing course is hard. Learning to see the world through new eyes doesn’t come easy. Listening to the world through new ears takes practice. 

The fact is that everything is interesting; we just need to look more closely than we’re used to. Everything has a story. We just have to open our minds and wonder: what is the story here? What’s going on? 

If I were to make a resolution for 2023, it would be to pay more attention to the world in which I live and less to lists and checkmarks, less time gobbling down food and more time enjoying meals, less time with fiends and more time with friends, less time wasting away in front of moving pictures and more time actually moving, less time complaining and more time appreciating, less time fixing blame and more time fixing problems.

In short, I’ll spend more time outside living and more time being alive to what’s inside (and less time worrying about a comet, no matter what color). Machines have already enslaved us. It’s time to break free and live here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

A New Year and the Jack in the Box

All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel; the monkey thought it was all in good fun; Pop! goes the weasel! (The Jack in the Box song)

The other day my son asked me to come down to Seattle to give him a hand with some projects around his place. I am always amazed at just how much the streets have shrunk over the years since I lived there. 

Driving through my old neighborhood (the corner where my buddies and I played stick-ball) now has a tiny concrete island (slightly larger than a trash can) stuck in the center so cars can’t go speeding through willy-nilly. That’s good for safety, but neighborhood kids can no longer experience the thrill of hitting home runs like their baseball heroes. Sad.

Driving down toward Ballard, many of the blocks that once held single family homes now host high rises and retirement centers. Parking spaces are hard to find, and the streets are so narrow it is virtually impossible for vehicles to pass one another. At one point we had to back up half a block to allow a garbage truck to continue collecting trash from bins that lined the street on both sides.

I find myself waxing nostalgic whenever I drop into Seattle. It is no longer the town I grew up in. My heart is still there, to some degree, but I’ll confess I’m pleased as punch the rest of me is elsewhere. The roads are too narrow, traffic has them clogged 24/7, and (to be honest), it has the look, sound, and vibe of a city that has lost its groove.

It is probably quite natural to think of the past and ponder the future, having come to the end of 2022 and the beginnings of 2023. I’ll admit that I enjoy life and have few regrets about the past. There are things I would do differently, of course, with the wisdom garnered from hindsight, but by-and-large, the past is what it is and what it was, and that is that. There is nothing to be gained from getting bogged down in it.

I take the same approach with the future, although it’s filled with unknowns. If one approaches life as if they are in a thriller or a horror movie, then it is what lies just out of sight, around the next corner, or behind that can fill one with a sense of dread and high anxiety. 

On the other hand, if one approaches life with the eyes-wide-open curiosity and wonder of a young child, then it is what lies out of sight that draws and fascinates them. A child lives to explore. A child lives to chatter endlessly with any set of ears nearby (doll, dog, cat, adult, other child) to express what they think or feel, or to enquire as to why things are the way they are.

Somewhere down the road, of course, some stop exploring. Some stop wondering. Some come to a fork in that road and freeze with indecision. I think some of this angst finds its source in their childhood jack in the box experiences. You know, some kids listen to the tune as the handle is cranked, then suddenly, up pops Jack! This startles them, of course, the first time they experience it. They may be traumatized (fearing sudden surprises), or they may experience a jolt of adrenaline and zip through life wanting more.

Over time, most learn to listen to the music, discover the patterns inherent in the mechanical contraption, and prepare themselves for Jack to make his appearance. Some flee, some give chase, but most learn to anticipate and to plan, and to accept what comes with good humor. 

That’s what I like to do as I approach a new year. I don’t bother with resolutions (most of which I’ll never get around to trying, anyway). 

Rather, I approach the flip of the calendar with eyes wide open, listening to the song of the stars (which are far more magical than the weasel-pop song), and anticipating the joy of wonders yet to be revealed. 

I pray for life not to go gray, dull, and narrow like the streets of Seattle, but to be colorful, bright, and wide like the highway to heaven, for that is truly where we’re headed here in this, our dependable, uncrowded valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

O Come Let Us Assemble

I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone.You need to know how to be alone and not defined by another person. Olivia Wilde

We don’t get a lot of snow in Western Washington in the lower elevations along the Puget Sound. When we do, it generally falls in January and February. However, a few weeks ago there were snow flurries here where I live, and heavier snow storms were wreaking havoc up in the mountain passes. While I don’t usually worry about shoveling snow by hand, last year I found the snow wetter and heavier than normal. It was what is often referred to as “widow-maker snow,” and I am at an age where that certainly feels a lot more prophetic than poetic.

Consequently, I drove around to our local hardware and big box stores and discovered, much to my dismay, that others had been quicker on the draw and scarfed up all the decently priced snow blowers that had been in stock. That meant I had to order mine online and have it delivered, which is what I did.

I knew it would have to be assembled, but I never worry about things like that. I’m not exactly a mechanical genius, but I do know how to read instructions and watch educational videos. I know the difference between a sledge hammer and a screw driver (one drives screws in a LOT faster), so I never approach the assemblage of goodies with fear or trepidation. 

I do, however, approach such tasks with caution, for it seems I have a smattering of dyslexia when it comes to reading diagrams. I simply cannot convert a two dimensional drawing into a three dimensional activity. I also have a knack for always (and I do mean “always”) putting things together backwards or reversed if that option is possible. The snow blower was no exception. I attached the handles quickly. What could be simpler than four bolts and their corresponding knobs?

Silly question! The middle handle has a “guide” for a rod which, as I discovered, I’d placed wrong-side-down. OK, it was a quick fix, but still a typical mistake. Then I attached the top handle, only to learn I’d missed a step, and then after correcting that error, discerned that I had installed that handle upside down and backwards, too. Uff da!

Oh well. I took things in stride. I know my skills and proclivities, and so things like this simply don’t cause me any grief. On the contrary, they cause me to chuckle. It isn’t an “I don’t care,” kind of laugh. I do care. But I don’t take myself so seriously that I can’t enjoy the challenge of overcoming my own shortcomings and completing a task for which I may not be well suited. 

I like the pride that accompanies an accomplishment (not to be confused with the pride of one’s ego), and the victory is even sweeter when I know I am having the last laugh over illustrators and translators whose sole goals are seemingly to thwart people like me with pictures and instructions that often make no sense! As young Kevin MacCallister says, “Take that, you filthy animals!”

There will likely be a lot of assembling taking place over the next few weeks as folks find themselves opening packages marked “Some Assembly Required.” Don’t sweat it. Slow and steady wins the race. It is, in some ways, a metaphor of the season, isn’t it?

Jesus came into the world with some assembly required. Joseph and Mary had to plan and assemble a trip to Bethlehem. Angels assembled over the hills, singing their carols to shepherds who then had to relocate, assembling around a manger. Magi bearing gifts (none of which required assembling, we should note) traveled across moors and mountains “following yonder star,” assembled in Jerusalem, then in Bethlehem, then skedaddled before Herod could have them or the Holy Family disassembled!

No matter what your holiday gatherings look like this year, know that life comes with some assembly required. It did for Jesus; it does for us. May God bless you whenever, wherever, and with whomever you assemble here in these, our most blessed valleys. Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and (soon) Happy New Year!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Oh, Go Ahead; Let Your Light Shine!

Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joys, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings. William Arthur Ward

The lights are up. We had a couple of nice days following Thanksgiving, and while I wasn’t in the mood to decorate for Christmas, the weather around here does not wait for moods. I looked at the weather app on my phone and saw a line of unpleasant weather lined up for the next week and a half (and if I don’t like putting up decorations in good weather, I assure you that I absolutely abhor doing so when the weather turns “frightful”), so I gathered up our flock of outdoor delights, untangled them, and hung them where I’ve always hung them. I’m nothing if not unoriginal.

Anyway, the lights are up. It’s not a tough job, to be honest. I have lighting nets that go over the barberry bushes that line our front yard and driveway, and the Japanese maple that anchors the entrance to our drive. The wreath was carefully hung over the garage, with swags of lighted garland stretched out like angel’s wings. It’s not much, but it’s what we can plug into the outlet without blowing circuits or requiring the local power company to fire up their nuclear plants.

The lights are up. Or at least they were (to my satisfaction) when my life partner stepped out to inspect the fruits of my labor. “The nets are upside down,” she said. 

I explained that the space between the barberry bushes is such that the cords that connect one net to another forced me to stretch them across like power lines between poles. The problem, she pointed out, is that each cord comes with an ugly sun-bright yellow caution tag. “If you hang the nets with the cord at the bottom, it will look less ugly,” she explained.

My Viking blood began to boil, but fortunately it was too cold outside to mumble anything other than, “Yes, I see what you mean” through my frozen lips. So I took the extra three minutes it required to flip the nets onto their proverbial heads (or, in this case, feet), and I am happy to report that everything does, indeed, look better.

The lights are up. There is a cranky side to my soul that objects to the hoopla and folderol surrounding the Christmas season. As a stickler for tradition, I note for the record here that what society calls the “Christmas Season” is (in my own Episcopal Church tradition) the season of Advent, but it would be easier to stop the moon or tides from rising than to convince the world around us that this time of year is about anything other than Santa, reindeer, elves, and ghosts of seasons past. So be it.

There is a cranky side to my soul, indeed, but if I ignore it, it goes back to sleep pretty quickly. Like an old watchdog, it hears a strange noise, takes a moment to sound an alarm, and as soon as the owner of the house looks out the window, the hound lays its head back in its furry paws, returning to dreams of chasing rabbits or squirrels, knowing there is nothing more to do until the Master calls.

The month of December is short, cold, dark, and miserable enough that I don’t need to add the weight of my own grumblings to the load others are under. The lights are up. They are an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. As cold and as dark as things may seem outwardly, there is a warmth and a light burning inwardly.

While Jesus does urge us to pray in secret and not wear our religion on our sleeves, in other places he encourages us to “let your light shine so that others may see the good you do, putting your spotlight on God in heaven” (Matthew 5:16, my paraphrase).

So the lights are up. They’re hung right-side up and (true story), the weather app has changed all the terrible, horrible, rainy-wet, no-good days that had been predicted to sunny days here in this, our valley. It’s a miracle and the lights are up. Amen!

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)