Saturday, December 31, 2016

How Six Geese inspired Worship

How Six Geese inspired Worship

On the sixth day of Christmas my True Love gave to me "SIX GEESE A-LAYING". 

It was an obediently fertile mind that, looking upon the common goose of the Medieval world, saw a means of observing and preserving for instruction in righteousness, the six days of Creation. 

And how fitting for us in the season of the celebration of His Incarnation, by whom it was all made and by whom it all consists, to revisit and devotionally consider how He did it.

“For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”
Colossians 1:16-17 NIV

From days one through four He spoke the light, the sky, and celestial bodies into existence. Then He commenced creating living things — marine-life and birds on day five. He continued on day six, creating land animals — wild and livestock. Then finally, bending down, He lovingly formed Man with His own hands and breathed life into him.

What painstaking attention was paid by the Divine Creator to fashion, for us, the boundary of the dwelling called earth, "...in the hope that we might grope (search Him out in all the works of His hands) and find Him since He is not far from each one of us". Acts17:26-27.

My own biggest find, this reading of the Creation account, was that our Heavenly Father created the heavenly bodies for the express purpose of letting them "serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years,”
Genesis 1:14 NIV

Here's to marking the sixth of the twelve days of Christmas as a day fit for magnifying and worshipping our great Creator.


Friday, December 30, 2016

"FIVE GOLD RINGS!"— Heirlooms, Cheers & Prayers

“FIVE GOLD RINGS!”—Heirlooms, Cheers & Prayers

"On the fifth day of Christmas, my True Love sent to me FIVE GOLD RINGS!" — this portion of the well-known, though not- so-well-understood carol, is arranged musically as the climax. The notes, highest of the song, are grandly slowed and extended, connoting a rousing cheer being raised in a room full of Christmas revelers with mugs of wassail held high.

Such a picture is fitting when one considers that the 'five gold rings' represent, in this encrypted catechism, the first five books of the Bible's Old Testament, The Pentateuch. What would the Christian Faith be without Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy?

These 5 books, chronicling Man's beginning as well as the origins and unique place of the Jewish people in history, also record the process by which they received the designation, God's Chosen People. Their Holy Writ forms the firm footing of the Christian Faith and are among the Scriptures Jesus read and referred to in presenting Himself to us. He is the Messiah they pointed to, pre-figured and demonstrated our desperate need of.

Representing this treasured heirloom, gifted to us as it were, through  our Hebrew spiritual forebears, the musical capstone of  'five gold rings!', is a fitting response. Yet, ironically, thanks has not been the response over the centuries to the Jewish people. 

My own meditation on this verse this Christmas season was colored in somber shades by the even more jarring irony of current news out of the United Nations — the vote and condemnation of  the tiny modern Jewish nations' right to build new settlements in land rightfully  theirs and necessary for securing themselves against the entities which hate their existence and thirst for their annihilation. 

To our shame, this decision went un-vetoed by America, previously Israel's main supporter and defender in the UN, Israel being the only democracy in the entire Middle-East.

As I write this piece the church bells of the nearby Methodist church are chiming over our neighborhood the tune of another much-loved Christ as carol invoking Israel,

"Oh come, Oh come Emanuel,
 And ransom captive Israel
 That mourns in lonely exile here
  Until the Son of God appears.
   Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel
  Shall come to thee oh Israel"

As you enjoy the " five gold rings" of our faith this Christmas, remember those who delivered it to us. Yes, Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

When Mammon Came To Christmas

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Happy Fourth Day of Christmas!

I was robbed of at least twelve days of my Advent observations this year. Due to busyness and unavoidable demands I, too easily, fell prey to three vices common to man—fear, pride and coveting. In fighting back, I have determined to celebrate all twelve days of Christmas, which only begins on Christmas Day (as my dear mother-in-law is careful to remind us) and continues to Epiphany when the arrival of the wisemen is celebrated. 

I wrote the story WHEN MAMMON CAME TO CHRISTMAS and read it to the family ( captive audience in the car on the way to Christmas Eve service). I kept my poinsettia earrings in, rearranged displaced decorations, kept Christmas lights on and even wore a festive crochet vest over my brown turtleneck sweater to work on day three.

The concept of the twelve days of Christmas is probably best known to most through the familiar carol of the same name. The Carol and the story of its origin, which can be read here, is said  to have been composed by persecuted Catholics in England in the 1600s, forbidden to openly practice their faith. The symbols for each day,  encrypted teachings of the church,  seem like good fodder for a twelve day observance. So I am going for it! Today, on my Bible app  I will  listen to the sound of the FOUR CALLING BIRDS,  the four gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. 

Happy fourth day of Christmas! 

Sunday, December 11, 2016

My Heart, His Manger

The first nativity set I bought for our fledgling family, did not have a manger with the baby Jesus, or so it was thought. Ten dollars provided this bargain because someone did not search through all the packaging sufficiently before labeling it defective, for re-sale. Imagine my delight when, upon unpacking and trying to figure where I would find a 'manger-and-Jesus-in-porcelain' to match my new set, I found it neatly wrapped and buried at the bottom corner of the emaciated box, the fact that the characters were all cast in Euro-centric features not even vaguely being an issue.

That experience is something akin to the emotions that prompted my writing the poem, ‘Jesus, Pretty in Me’*. It was my first piece, written in verse, that sought to be faithful to the rhythm, idioms and phonology of Jamaican Creole speech. Still primarily an oral language at the time that I studied it, at the University of the West Indies in Jamaica, the Jamaican patois reflects the geo-political history of our island, using English words yet employing West African syntax (grammar), and seasoned liberally  with vocabulary and idioms reflecting our rich cultural mix. Despite the national treasure that it is, those who know the Jamaican Creole as their only language are often looked down on, as it marks one as uneducated, as standard English is Jamaica's official language.

'Jesus, Pretty in Me’ found me determined to celebrate all Christ had made me to be, stirred up as I was at that time, by the storms that accompany cross-cultural marriage and migration. Writing it afforded me a chance to explore some of the ideas with which every non-Caucasian ethnicity, introduced to Christianity in context of white Western culture, has had to grapple: Raising questions such as, Does God look like me? If He doesn’t, does He still care as much? If He does care, am I a sample of my type worthy of His regard and of significance in His Kingdom? And, an even more daunting  query, Though I might be counted among the Redeemed, can He really be reflected as well through 'me'? Me unedited by society’s or my own sharp, re-defining pen? The answer to this last, I found to my great relief, is an eternally resounding 'Yes!'.

It is the message of the place of the Nativity—Bethlehem, 'the least among the cities of Judah' , the animal shelter, the rejected, the devalued, the set aside—the manger. This is the place The Eternal delights to reveal His glory, to proclaim and parade His Redemption plan, among the least of these. But the ‘least’ also need to embrace and walk out what He has worked in, living incarnationally.

The phrase ‘incarnational living’ might be fairly new terminology on the evangelical Christian landscape, but is an idea at least  as old as the Creation itself. God's willingness  to not only dwell with mankind, but also in us, requires our participation. It is Biblically sound Christian doctrine that regeneration happens immediately,  at the point of conversion. Yet how we struggle to believe it, between the now and the not yet, as we confront ourselves daily in the Mirror of the Scriptures, the mirrors provided by society  and even in our physical mirrors. Yes, the one on the bathroom wall.

It is amazing, the meaning with which we load the shape of head and eyes, texture and length of hair,  prominence or breadth of nose, height, weight and yes,  skin tone or shade, seeking to assay each other's value by external features. The conclusions we draw or transmit can help or hinder our progress in sanctification. Wrestling in prayer through some of these issues this Advent, the words of Watermark’s  song ‘Come and make my heart Your home’, flooded in;

“Come and make my heart Your home; 
Come and be everything I am and all I’ve known; 
Search me through and through 
‘til my heart becomes a home for you...
Let everything I do open up a door for You to come through..”

Twenty years ago I had gratefully, but with some anxious doubt, taken home what I thought was an incomplete Nativity set but God was in it. Jesus was nestled down, wrapped securely in a corner of the buffeted packaging. It took just a little careful unwrapping. Just as His coming was prophesied, He wrote about us in His book, before even one of our members was formed, said the Psalmist -Ps.139. 

The intricacies of our make up were given expression and boundaries by Him. Yes, our forms also evidence the brokenness of sin, yet even those become fodder for His glory as they are yielded to Him in trust. As the light at Advent searches  through the wood, hay and stubble of our hearts this year, and as we look in all the mirrors, may we know truth—He did not purchase us by accident. When He paid the price, He knew what He was getting, and considered the manger of our heart a fitting place for His abiding. May we allow His Spirit to carefully unwrap us this season and reveal Jesus, 'Pretty in us'.

* See blog post by the same name, 'Jesus, Pretty in Me', on this site, along with audio performance and translation.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Podcast Interview on Culture and the Christian Writer

I was afforded the opportunity to be interviewed by a wonderful sister in South Africa on the subject of 'Culture and Writing' for the Christian. It aired this past Sunday and I thought I'd share it with you. Enjoy!  Denise

http://laurenjacobs.co.za/podcasts/

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Father's Coming

The massive white marble statue of Mary, with the lifeless body of Christ draped over her lap, came immediately to mind in response to Susan Forshey’s  Advent chart invitation to 

“Spend time with a favorite piece of art”.

Michelangelo Buonarotti’s famous sculpture, Pieta, (pee-ay-tah) intrigued me the moment I stumbled on it  in my college years. As a student of African-American Literature, I had found it useful as a metaphor for  the burden of  motherhood and the pain of fatherlessness. My reflections then, had inspired a triad of poems titled ‘Pieta in Black’ which captures  these themes.*

Revisiting Pieta this Advent, however, has me appreciating the promise ‘of the Father' coming 'through the Son', 'by the Spirit’ – Trinity. In considering the Incarnation, my focus had always only been on the second person of the Godhead, Jesus. But it was the Father whose power overshadowed the Virgin Mary, and it was the Holy Spirit who came upon her  in order for Jesus, our Hero, to arrive. Lk 1:35

 So rightly, Advent should also be a time to celebrate the Father’s initiative in our redemption story. He authored the whole thing, bringing and delivering His greatest Gift to us through the Virgin’s womb – let’s make room in the Nativity for the Father!

 The ‘coming of father’, in any language, can evoke diametrically opposed emotions : dread, guilt and fear, on one hand, and joy, exultation and expectation of blessings - gifts! - on the other. Many a child has been brought up short, from inappropriate behavior, by the threat “When your father comes …”. Yet I find myself wondering if the longing for Father-presence ( no disrespect to Joseph) in the Christmas story, is not what birthed and feeds the spirit of Santa – a longing to please father and be rewarded for it, motivated to be nice by the threat of the twice-checked list - a striving to earn grace.

Several years ago, FourSquare pastor and founder of The King’s College & Seminary, in Los Angeles,  Jack Hayford, cautioned  church leaders in a Christmas message, to not be exceedingly disparaging of the idea of Santa, as it speaks to the longing for pleasant associations with fatherhood at a time of year when fatherlessness can be most painful - a longing that just might lead many a wounded 'child' home. My meditations this season compel me to agree.

So palpable was the pain of fatherlessness, as I experienced it in the Literature of my college days, I was tempted to put it aside - to reject its pain for more romantic (idyllic) and beautifully themed material, but somehow the martyr in me won. I felt an odd responsibility, having seen the wound, to do something about it, even if only to make others aware. My conscience, shaped no doubt by memories of the persona in Christina Rossetti’s children’s poem ‘The Snare’,  dictates that if I can hear that ‘there is a rabbit in a  snare’ then  I must ‘search everywhere’ or else communicate the dreadful fact to as many as I can, who may be able to help search and rescue. In Pieta, Mary, by her  fixed gaze,  bids  everyone make eye contact with the pain born of sinfulness, if we would also behold the Innocent One sacrificed for us.

Her slightly upturned left hand was also a new focus for me this season of Advent meditation: was she intended to be gesturing accusingly to the world whose sins had slain him? Or was she offering Him, surrendering Him a substitute for our propitiation?- fulfillment of that same gesture when, as her younger self, freshly delivered of her Holy Burden, she had offered him to shepherds and Kings alike. Only, then, it was for their adoration of Him in His infancy. Or maybe, just maybe, the gesture is  intended as a re-presentation of Jesus back to the Omnipresent  Father, who, having  so prodigally  given, waited  in readiness, for the appointed time, to turn again, and raise Him back to life.

 In this, Pieta is the picture of Ultimate Hope! Let every faithful mother-heart, surrendered, like Mary’s, wait expectantly this Advent for the coming of the Father who alone can raise up sons, however badly wounded, to life again. 🙏🏿

* ( Pieta and other of my poems will be posted in the new year with accompanying audio - Deo Volente - as the Lord allows)

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Jesus Pretty In Me (audio and translation)


Poem
Mi neva know seh Jesus coulda pretty in me
A’ talk fi mi talk
A’ spree fi mi spree
Dis Christ in me, dis hope a' Glory!

When wi firs' did come to dis Caribbee
What a speechless place
What a misery
No language between wi captors an' we
Couldn't hear Christ in him
Him nuh si Christ in me.

Well as time guh by likkle lingo plot
Else a’ Tower a’ Babel woulda be fi wi lot
Dem establish di slave society,
Likkle lingua franca `tween Backra an' we:

Him seh, "Yours di field and di great house fi me;
My children are babies, yours a pick-a -ninnies;
Yours di labour, mine di wage."
Dat deh language neva suit nuh righteous page.

Well time an' season slowly pass'
An' di lingo of slavery was done at las'
But den come Miss Queen an' ‘ar crown colony
So wi drop curtsy an' try talk like she

We try on, we put off
We put on, we show off
Twis' an tun we tongue 'til it nearly fork.
Shet up God Image like a bokkle wid a cork.

A’ so we float on down di ribba of life
Meet independence, politricks an' labour strife
How we tired an' long fi reach t’idda  side
Long fi hangle life at the brunt a di tide

Wanti-wanti rise 'til we dis fi bus'
Language come out, but a so-so cus'
'Cause di cork still in place an' di heat a-rise
We want run di race we want win di prize

"LORD, HAN' WI DI MIRROR
GI WI COURAGE Fl LOOK
PUSH PASS DI KURRO-KURRO
PRESS INTO YUH BOOK
Mek di Cool Clean Water wash wi soul
Clean out we eye mek we see wisself whole.

Design' an' plan' mek by Yuh owna Han'."
Mi only jus' now a-start fi understan'
What a t'ing a beauty Yuh mek mi fi bi
Perfec' fi reflec' di God-kind a beauty.

A Holy Aesthetic a tek over mi min'
As mi start relate to a Divine Plumbline:
Every tribe an' tongue, every nation an' race
One day goin' flow to one gathering place

To one Holy Mountain in time an' space
Perfec' to reflec' di Father's Face
An' choppin' one talk - "Amazing Grace."


- Denise Stair-Armstrong
 @ 7 Feb 1999

Translation
I never thought it possible that Jesus could be revealed in Beauty in who I am
Speaking with my voice, in my heart language,
Released, animating me in freedom, 
This Christ in me, this hope of Glory!

When we were originally brought to the Caribbean lands
No means of heart communication was allowed
Such misery
Our captors hearts and ours were as far apart as could possibly be
I discerned nothing of Christ in his speech
He saw nothing of Christ’s image worthy of addressing in me

As time passed we had to develop some sort of speech allowing functional exchange
Otherwise chaos akin to the Tower of Babel would have been the result
This allowed the development of the slave society,
The established status quo between our slave masters  (Backra) and ourselves:

He dictated, “ The plantation fields are your place and the plantation great house is mine;
My children are fully human babies, yours, not quite, so we will call them ‘pickaninnies’;
The labor of slavery, yours, the income from it, mine.”
Surely that arrangement was not the one communicated by God in His Holy Word.

Well, time & seasons passed, too slowly,
But  the slavery status quo ended at last,
But then came Mrs.Queen (Elizabeth)and her Crown Colony 
So we payed homage, ‘dropping curtsy’ and trying to assume communication that reflected submission to her rule.

We (put on,tried on) – pretended, assumed and ( put off, postured) dispensed with all sorts of societal and cultural norms not our own
Twisted & turned our tongues ‘til they almost split. (Contorting our self-expressions almost to the point of schizophrenia)
Concealing God’s unique image through us, as in a tightly corked bottle.

This is the way we floated on down the river of life,
Acquiring national independence, employing the machinations  of politics and labor laws, to our advantage and disadvantage,
Through all this striving, never really  seeming to  get anywhere (to the other side)
We yearned to handle (experience) life at the brunt of the tide of opportunity (success always seeming just out of our reach).

Frustrated, our longing intensified  to the point of rupture (riots &, social unrest)
Some sort of expression comes out but it sounds more like curses (expletives) than anything else.
We are pressed  by limitations we cannot change, pushed to our extremity, strangled by our sense of powerlessness;
All we want is to taste the fruit of our labor!

“LORD HAND US THE MIRROR
GIVE US COURAGE TO LOOK,
TO PUSH PAST ALL THIS SINFUL BUILD-UP,
DELVING INTO YOUR BOOK.
Let Its  cool, clean water wash our souls,
Purify our sight, cause us to have a vision of ourselves, whole ( in You).

We were designed and made by Your own Hand”;
I think I am beginning to understand
What a thing of beauty You have made me to be,
Being perfected to reflect the God-kind of beauty.

A holy aesthetic is taking over my mind,
I’m beginning to relate to a Divine Plumbline:
Every tribe and tongue, every nation and race
Will one day flow to one gathering place,

To one Holy Mountain in time and space
Perfected to reflect the Father’s face
And communicating like never before in a perfect unified language, that of “Amazing Grace”.

- Denise Stair-Armstrong
              @ 10 Dec 2016


Scriptures 
References that informed this piece:-
Col.1:25b-27
Acts 17:24-28
John 4:4-6
Isaiah 2:1-5




Friday, November 25, 2016

Pilgrim's Advent. - [ A SINGLE OCCASION INTERACTIVE ADVENT SERVICE ]

 
About 5 years ago, my husband Claude and I escaped to friends' river house for a rare birthday weekend respite, after the start of the new school year, but before the holiday season. However, soon after we arrived he received a call from work to return the next morning for an emergency meeting with a general or some such VIP. Consequently I found myself all alone in a quiet beautiful place, with pen, journal and a copy of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, which I was taking my son's homeschool Literature class through; it was the perfect (creative) storm. I later added the presentation elements ( wreath, candles and songs) in order to adapt it for presentation to the ladies' ministry for our church: the only place it was ever delivered. Feel free to enjoy, with proper attribution to Denise Stair Armstrong, please. Grace to every Pilgrim on the Journey this Advent. 

(An Advent wreath is prominently displayed and four  pre-selected  persons prepared to light each candle and lead the singing of each portion of music. Sheets or overhead projection of the songs/hymn portions should be available to the attendees)

Narrator reads;


Christian, the Pilgrim, one night on his way,
Again lost the Path to that City of Day.
So great was the darkness, so black was the land, 
He fumbled and stumbled for places to stand.

Shades of death overtook him; he cowered and creeped.
Then slid, falling down, struck his head, fell in sleep.

He heard ancient prophet foretelling the time,
When Messiah would come through a virgin sublime.

“The people that walked in great darkness” he said,
“Have seen a great Light in the land  of the dead.
His name is called Wonderful, Counsellor Great,
Father Eternal, Peace Prince we await.”

(Light the First Advent Candle – representative of ‘the Light of the Hope of the Prophets’)

- Song : “Oh come, O come Immanuel…”


Arousing himself our dazed Pilgrim espied,
“First Light! Yes I see! Though I thought I, had died!
I know it is leading me back to the path,
Out of this darkness, this dread land of wrath.”

But alas! Our dear Christian was soon lost again,
This time drawn by lights seen through earth-tainted lens.
“Bright lights, there! I see them! A-sparkling on trees!
Red ones, and green ones! Declare ‘X-mas’ glee?

This place  I have come to in search of the light
Is called...'X-MAS CITY?' - the 'X' is my plight.
Its lights call out to me to stop and to stare.
To quench self’s lusts, pleasures with all fleshly fare.”

“Eat drink and be merry! From nothing refrain!”
I heard its shrill call luring men to the vain.
‘Twas Vanity Fair bidding, “Indulge your flesh!”
Its center had Herod's agenda enmeshed.

“The light is your own!” I, confused, heard him say.
“Remove Christ from Christ-mas. Mark 'X', It's your day!
Let's search, find your own divine spark; it is true.
And then help you worship the Christ that is you!”

Before I could gather my wits ‘round about me 
The ‘X’ passions clashed; ‘twas a self-striving spree!
Breaking stores’ doors down and trampling on workers!
Racking up debt – tribute for X-mas  altars.
I fled from that town with the twinkling lights:
Visions of death! Not the Glory of Christ!

Stumbling, de-lighted his hands on his head
Eyes downcast, dejected the young pilgrim pled,

“O Lord, I don’t see You; the path I can’t find;
What darkens my vision? What’s keeping me blind?
Then that’s when I noticed, beyond X-mas walls,
The suffering, forgotten, the weak and the small.
Like sheep lost and scattered their shepherds were few.
I stepped back o’erwhelmed; did not know what to do.
Then a bright stranger shining laid hand on my shoulder.
He put me to sit ‘mongst the sheep on a boulder.”

Song -
“Open the eyes of my heart Lord
  Open the eyes of my heart,
 I want to see You…”

“The Light that you seek is quite near where we stand.
Remember the words of the Scroll in your hand:
The Virgin-born child, God incarnate appointed, 
Laid in a creche by the Spirit anointed
To bring the Good News to lost sheep such as these,
To bind up torn hearts, give the bound liberty.
Avoid the vain gifts to consume on man’s lust
Guide men to the Savior, lift hearts from sin’s dust!”
  

(Light second Advent candle – representative of ‘The Light and warmth found by Mary & Joseph in a ‘stable’)

Then out from the clouds burst a light shining glorious!
Of angels proclaiming Messiah victorious!
I saw where He made His incarnate abiding -
Midst prisoners and orphans, despairing and dying!
Shepherds and carpenter, young maiden lowly
Knelt in a grotto that God had made Holy.
Light of His birthplace bathed all in his Glory.
I basked in His love; pledged to reflect His story.
The Light and the warmth we had found in that place
Was the Light of the Glory of God in Christ’s face!”




(Light third Advent candle – representative of ‘The light and joy which surrounded the shepherds & also sent them forth’)


Song – “O come all Ye faithful…”



I knew I should go with the shepherds to tell
The dark world, X-mas world, of Immanuel.
But first, Lord, before I continue my mission
I must offer to You, Blest Pearl of my vision,
My heart’s dearest treasure, its every aspiring,
Ignite in their place Your bright flame’s Holy firing.
The work of my hands, deeds that shape all my days-
The feeding of sheep, finding lambs gone astray,
Also can capture my heart it is true
Replacing this glorious vision of You.
Daily attract me to bask in Your light,
As I sojourn in ‘Babylon’, capture my sight.
Though I face lions, furnace or pow’r crazed rulers,
To You, keep me faithful, blest Sovereign & Savior.”



  Song – “We three Kings of orient are…” )


I step here aside, for new guests now I see, 
Star-guided, have also brought gifts – 1, 2, 3.
Kings bring gold for Kingship, incense for Your praise,
 Myrrh’s bitter taste for the day You are raised
Up high between earth and the dark sky where rays 
Now beam down from Your Light, O Ancient of Days.
Shine on!  Light Our paths! One source of Holy fire,
You’ve ravished our hearts, You, our one Great Desire!”


(Light fourth Advent candle – representing the Light of God’s Truth which guides Wisemen to Jesus and also keeps them on the path)


Song – “Shine Jesus, Shine…!”


Quiet, meditative closing and exit.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Moonsong - (My 40-day Advent Journey - 1)

     Did you catch it? The Supermoon of 2016. The moon will never be closer to earth, they say, for another 18 years. The cloudy sky over Virginia that morning totally blocked the view, but thanks to modern technology, I was able to view this astronomical wonder by TV, though also a bit distracted by the ordinariness of the setting. I was in the podiatrist's office with my mother waiting with a dozen or so disinterested patients eager to remove their shoes, but not because they perceived this was holy ground. 

     The massive orb hung, a surreal pinkish-grey, against the diminutive skyline of some more fortunate American city, on the morning of November 14, unsettling in its size.
     Like a banner at the closing of our ordinary days, it seemed to announce that the coming of the King is near. We were a week past the most contentiously fought general election of our nation’s history, and a week before  the Sunday on the Church’s liturgical calendar designated, the Feast of Christ The King.
     My leading to observe a 40-day Advent could not have been more appropriately placed. I needed to be caught up again in His-Story. The world was way too much with me. As all over college campuses and the dis-appointed media fear was ‘mongered’, others, who looked to man for deliverance, rejoiced, giddy with baseless glee. Basking in the residual moonlight as my first contemplative act of the 40 days, I pressed my soul to consider the real King.
     The nearness of a ruling monarch is often cast as a prospect to be feared. Heads could roll ( think Esther), irrevocable words could be uttered to your detriment (think Daniel), for choosing to appeal in person to Caesar (think Paul). History books record tales of streets being cleared of all the sick, lame and poor in preparation for the visit of French and Russian monarchs – nothing to disturb the monarch’s fragile sensibilities or present less than a picture of prosperity and successful reign.
     I recall, from the days of my own childhood,  the visit of a representative of the British Crown to my own island home of Jamaica. Oh the fixing of roads! the whitewashing of sidewalks and tree trunks! the relocating of sidewalk vendors and ‘sprucing ups’ of the things of our ordinary, everyday lives, to make them appear pleasing, presentable to the Crown.
     How different is the coming of The King of Kings whose nearness is our good. Kimberlee Conway Ireton, in her wonderful book on devotionally observing the Church’s liturgical year, The Circle of Seasons, describes the final Sunday before Advent, the Feast of Christ the King, as...

“…a time to celebrate the day when Christ’s great love will be fully realized on earth, the day when our King will return. He will right all wrongs. He will judge the living and the dead. He will bind up the brokenhearted…give sight to the blind…heal the lame…set the prisoners free…establish justice once and for all, justice tempered with mercy so that all life might flourish under His reign.”

Even so, come Lord Jesus!
     As I peered up from my bedroom window, 4:00 am the following morning, at the diminished but no less beautiful supermoon, another thought that gained entry was a hymn frequently sung in the church of my childhood, “I am Thine, O Lord’, which refrains, ‘Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord…’. 
     Written by Fanny Crosby & William Doane (1820-1915/1832-1915), after the two had spent the evening observing a glorious sunset and discussing the nearness of God in their lives, (keeping in mind Crosby’s complete blindness!!), I was intrigued by her words in the stanza which reads, 

“There are depths of love that I cannot know
Till I cross that narrow sea
There are heights of joy that I may not reach 
Till I rest in peace with Thee”

    Yet there is so much of His love and joy that is already accessible, in both Creation’s testimony and its groans of longing for the revelation of the sons and daughters of God – (Romans 1:20/8:19). By these - glorious sunsets or full moons, from the days of our first separation in Eden, and now, through His Son, Jesus - God invites, 

“Draw near to (Him) and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8a)

     The tune of supermoon’s song, against the din of mankind’s strivings, soothed my soul. Other than testifying that Earth is still “cramm’d with heaven”, its quiet yet awe-inspiring rising, terrible in its beauty and nearness, invoked the King’s own promise:

     “And I, if I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all peoples to Myself” (John 12:32, NKJV). 

     Hear the tune; hear the words and even if you don’t whitewash your tree trunks this Advent, at least take off your shoes and let's, 

     “... draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure water. (Hebrews 10:22)

This King’s nearness is our good.





Sunday, November 13, 2016

Fast-Forward to Advent

I was surprised, on Monday, to see a large decorated Christmas tree and wreaths decorating the medical facility where I took my mother last week to have her eyes checked. 
"It's not even Thanksgiving yet!" I complained. It felt somewhat like someone  had opened a gift too soon and was spoiling the surprise.

Yet I must admit that something in me wants to start preparing early this year too. I don't know if it's just that the events of this year, both nationally and internationally, have left me feeling violated somehow, shaken up and hungry for the beauty and peace of 'His Coming'. 

So Yes, I confess I went searching early for Advent, before Thanksgiving! Remembering that my dear friend, Kimberlee Conway Ireton, author of my favorite guide to the Christian church's Liturgical year, The Circle of Seasons, once had mentioned a fellow blogger who promoted a 40-day Advent observance, I googled and found the two sites linked below.

One is the site of the Northumbria Community, a monastic-like community seeking to live by a 'rule of life' similar to the Benedictine order (if I am not mistaken). They observe this Celtic 40-day Advent, and the page gives a beautiful introduction & justification for the practice. 

The other link is a chart for a 40-day Advent observance, designed by the blogger at the site, 'contemplative cottage'. Though not a scripture based activity, this chart provides meaningful & thoughtful activities to engage in as preparation for celebrating the Incarnation.

I will endeavor to post my reflections on my Blogsite (linked at jamaicadawnwings.blogspot.com) as I go through, in a very grace-filled way, 🙏🏿  this my first 40-day Advent.

 I anticipate a refreshing, refocusing of my heart, soul & mind as I worship the Lord and seek to bless my world by these activities. Join me, and share your own thoughts at 'Dawnwings' as well, as we 'Fast-Forward to Advent!'

Dancing in anticipation on that Bridge - the Cross - that spans the Great Divide between our hearts and His,

Denise


Friday, November 4, 2016

Not Safe

     At the top of a week which saw observations as varied as All-Saints Day, Reformation Day, The Day of the Dead, and Halloween, I was thankful to hear a retelling of a seminal moment in Church history, specifically of the Protestant Reformation — excerpts of the speeches and prayers of Reformer Martin Luther. His famous, oft-quoted, closing words, that "...to act against one's conscience is neither right nor safe..." struck me with even greater force than it previously had, as I was compelled to examine the profundity of Luther's grasp of what constitutes SAFETY.

     There he stood, at the mercy of  a Council and authorities determined to incinerate not only his writings but his very person, yet he directed them to consider the danger he would be in should he violate the truths he had become convinced of, by the Scriptures, regarding God, Mankind and Christian faith.

     My local fellowship's current focus on the book of Daniel was without doubt informing my own reflections here, and I cannot help but believe that that prophetic book's great testimony had also informed Luther's as he answered at the Diet of Worms. He, like the young Hebrew exiles, held firmly in his grasp the reality that burning to death while tied to a stake, being thrown into a den of hungry lions or cast into a fiery furnace was rather to be chosen than the eternally self-destructive action of denying the integrity and basis of the regenerating, transformative experiences of the soul that has tasted fellowship with the true and living God.

     And though there is a literal hell to shun, with its attendant physical tortures, heeding Luke's counsel in chapter 12:4-5,
"And I say to you My friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do.
But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear Him who, after He has killed, has power to cast into hell; yes, I say, to you, fear Him!",
their faithfulness (unto death!) was fueled by this even greater compelling motive:

     These, like Moses, of the throng chronicled in Hebrew's Hall of Faith, were fortified by, "..esteeming the reproach of Christ as greater...for (they) looked to the reward...not fearing the wrath of the king(s); for (they) endured as seeing Him who is invisible". ( chapter 11:26-27). A simple search in Strong's concordance revealed that word ''looked" to be rooted in the Greek word 'apoblepo' - to look away from everything else in order to look intently on one object. The glimpse, which once engaged, grips you (like a 'tractor beam' of sci-fi films!) and locks you forever in the Gaze of the Terribly Beautiful One.

     It makes me feel the urgency, in these threatening times of our day, to check to see what has my conscience "held captive" - does the Invisible One have my gaze? And as we remember our suffering fellow believers this Sunday, marking the International day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church, may our repentance, praise, petitions and supplications, indeed our very lives, be grounded in the SAFETY known only by captives of His Love as revealed in Jesus Christ of the Scriptures.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Dwell Retreat Reflections IV - Moving ...Forward!

     "Surgery for children whose feet are on backwards"; I was arrested by the headline. As the CBN newscaster described Operation Blessing's featured outreach that day, I rejoiced at their good work pledging to continue giving. However, the picture of an otherwise well-formed human being, but with feet turned backwards, became an imprinted metaphor. Often, at crucial points in my life, I have felt myself caught in a mindset of wanting to go forward but equally yearning to go in the opposite direction. 

     Sitting in the midst of several interactions at the Dwell Retreat was like that for me, as it began to dawn that 'publishing' in this season would need to be at first by Internet. Every skeleton in my 'techno-phobe'closet began to rattle, and I was ready to jump ship. I had just started to become comfortable with following a few blog sites by email, taking some initial steps editing by Word & employing Dropbox, and even resurrecting my own blog, (for the retreat) abandoned a year before —  but Facebook, that would be a stretch. And, as once again that boney finger of Jody's was used to launch me into a new paradigm, I understood why there had been a tiny dinosaur in my welcome packet. 

     Seasoned blogger, Amy, smiled benevolently as we shared our parting words, "It's okay! I did not start here where you see me today? Just go through the paces as we all have to and next thing you know...". That explained another cute inclusion in that infamous packet — a photo dated 1900, of a group of African-American, elementary school students on the grounds of Howard University, Washington, DC, going through a calisthenics workout ( looked like the hokie-pokie!). Fully dressed in pinafores, button boots, britches and sailor, bow tie & even ruffle collars (on boys!), they were the picture of cuteness, though all obviously under duress. As I faced the prospect of starting a blog and getting on Facebook I definitely felt like the little boy in the middle of the group, his head cocked to the side with hands on hips, left foot out, a large floppy bow at his chin, and face declaring, "This is not what I expected PE to be".

     But as sure as that left foot was out I knew the right one would follow. One of my primary prayers as I had ventured forth to Dwell was that I would cease working with a 'slack hand' with regard to my call to write. A dozen volumes or so of devotional journals, littered with song lyrics, poems, essays and letters to God, and a half-hearted blog start-up, hardly qualified as answering a call. I realized that though I relished the spontaneous aspects of creative, inspirational writing I needed to take His yoke — easy yes, but yoke nonetheless. Though a lover of order in most other aspects, I resisted any constraints on my writing once I left the halls of academia.

     I had ended my college career with a letter from the literary journal, The Caribbean Writer, agreeing to publish my poem, 'The  Bearer' in that year's issue. Thrilled that it would appear in order next to a piece by the great Langston Hughes, I knew I was on my way. Now here I was again poised on the cusp of potential, the threshold of opportunity. A tide to take at the flood, a 'chiros' in God's timeline for me. But also hearing, as I had at other times, with performance driven ears, the admonition of James, to "Show (now) my faith by my works" (Jas. 2:18), I felt an all too familiar shrinking feeling before that great mountain.

     But mercifully, that morning, I also heard the words of the Revelation to John in chapter 3:7-8.
The words that greeted me on the morning of the September 11, the second day of the retreat, 

   "These things says He who is holy, He who is true, He who has the key of David, He who opens and no one shuts, who shuts and no one opens, ...I know your works. See I have set before you AN OPEN DOOR, and no one can shut it; for you have little strength, you have kept my word, you have not denied my name".

     The phrase 'open door' jumped out at me, from the Mark Batterson devotional I was using at the time, and from my reading in Colossians, as the apostle Paul appealed for prayer that God would "Open up to (them) a door for the word...", and it echoed in my mind from the last line of the third in my Kansas Sunrise series that I had read on the plane coming in. Deep in my knower, the last morning as we fellowshipped, I told the ladies  I had a bridge to cross, literally & figuratively.

     I knew God spoke to me of the Internet, that great portal, that great front door to almost the entire earth — Facebook & a blogsite — a leash I needed to take to it, if I would ride the morning wind with Him in this season. And my soul said "yes", as I put my right foot out, though it shook more than a little, and crossed the threshold; all of me heading in the same direction.

KANSAS SUNRISE (III)
To Go Home

I tried to go back home today 
But found I did not know the way- 
The hills too green or else too brown 
Smiles too wide, too severe the frown. 
Prepare the way for going back? 
With pen and sword there was a lack

A lack within a severed soul 
Island adrift without a pole 
A sea of grass , the biggest sky 
Must learn to fish or else I'll die 
Must find home in another's sea 
'Lone on the range's no place to be

To be's to find my family's face 
Within the wider human race 
For e'en this temperamental clime 
Can't keep sunflower from her time 
Or place in the sun, if only she 
Knows facing up's the way to be

To be's to catch an island dawn 
Upon a continental morn 
Then cast it back, its scales and all 
Those rosy frames now way too small 
To be's to look with naked eyes 
And thus to catch a new sunrise

Sunrise which shows new sunny ways 
To wield new lines , new temperate rays 
Which just as well dispel the dark 
In foreign or familiar park 
Capt'ring what's been hidden there 
From hasty hands or eyes of fear

Fear's not the fare to feed the soul 
That needs an anchor or a pole 
But lines that send roots deeper still 
Beyond one's private sea or hill 
That open up the great front door 
That say here's home and so much more.


by Denise Stair-Armstrong
© Jan. 28, 1995









Sunday, October 23, 2016

Compass for Lost Islands

     Made freshly aware this week of how much more painful life is for my children's generation, I pause my Dwell retreat reflections to raise a cry on their behalf for us to reach out even more intentionally to the Millennials and any other category of youth, set adrift by our God-hating culture. We hold in our hearts the Antidote.

*************

     "Man is lonely by birth…" are words from a song I first encountered in the context of morning devotions at a Catholic High School in Kingston, Jamaica. It was my first full-time job as English teacher and Sister S ran a tight ship conducting ‘Assemblies’, for example, by two-way  telecom set up throughout the classrooms and other buildings of the school adjoining the Church of the Divine Childhood (names changed to protect identity).

     As the thought came flooding in this morning my mind cast about in search of the Truth to counter the allurement to despair that the idea engendered.

     The subsequent thought was no more encouraging, "It's the uniqueness of our individual pain that isolates us”. Here the Proverbs readily supplied Scripture's relevance, from 14.10, "Each heart knows its own sorrow, and a stranger does not share its joy".  My own previous musings supplied the next thought, that "Our own various efforts to deal or cope with our pain, in isolation, traps up even more firmly in loneliness". ‘Shared joys are made even sweeter by the sharing’ and ‘tears shed alone are bitter’, are proven maxims of past generations.

     Another chorus sung devotionally throughout the school system in the Jamaica of my youthful years flooded in…

"No man is an island,
No man stands alone,
Each man's joy is joy to me,
Each man's grief is my own.

We need one another,
So I will defend,
Each man as my brother,
Each man as my friend

Bridge:
I saw the people gather,
I heard the music start,
The song that they were singing,
Is ringing in my heart!"

     I realize, now, that the benign, ecumenical nature of the song’s non-specific bridge, worked just fine in our context because we were a Christian school in a Christian nation, in a world that still held to the one grounding, centering worldview, of Christianity ---

     The people we "saw gather" would be the Church, our ‘gathering’ would be unto the Lord of all the earth; the ‘song they were singing’ would be the music of our worship to Him, and its lyrics exalting His gloriously excellent attributes, His love for mankind and the Truths associated therewith. These were the thoughts that filled my mind and those of my peers back then. 

  But today, for youth (Christian or not) inundated as they are in the secular worldview of popular culture, it’s like being launched out to sea, having had all your navigational equipment smashed (deconstructed?) and being told to enjoy the free ride…to nowhere.

     The bearing of each other's "joy" and "grief" is a distinctly Christian value, exemplified supremely by our Lord Himself.  The Apostle Paul, elaborating, writes to the Galatians (6:1-5) to… 

     "Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ."  

     The primary 'bearing' being the conveying of the burden to the Triage Room of prayer, where the Great Physician Himself makes clear that He alone, ultimately, bears all our sorrows and griefs; as the great Prophet Isaiah foresaw and fore-wrote…

     "Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted." (Isa. 53:4)

     His suffering, His substitutionary death: the ultimate antidote for both our pain and its source - our individual and universal sinfulness.

     But like petulant children we foolishly turn our faces away from the cup bearing the healing elixir – demanding the spoonful of sugar, not 'to make the medicine go down", but ‘instead of’ the medicine itself, because it makes our taste buds happy.  Like a good parent to ailing children reluctant to take the pill, the Apostle Peter admonishes (in the wonderful spirit captured by the Message Bible) in I Pet. 5:6-11…

     "So be content with who you are, and don't put on airs. God's strong hand is on you; He'll promote you at the right time.  Live carefree before God [casting all your cares upon Him!]; He is most careful with you." Keep a cool head. Stay alert. The devil is poised to pounce, and would like nothing better than to catch you  napping [in front of a screen, perhaps?].  Keep your guard up.  You're not the only ones plunged into these hard times.  It’s the same with Christians all over the world.  So keep a firm grip on the faith.  The suffering won’t last forever.  It won't be long before this generous God who has great plans for us in Christ – eternal and glorious plans they are! – will have you put together and on your feet for good.  He gets the last word; yes He does!"
 Amen!

     My own devotional musings complete, I sat back, relieved at three certitudes: 1) Despite seasons of loneliness, God provides good friends, grace-gifts we can call on at any time; 2) Biblically-based houses of fellowship still exist (I'm a part of one; not perfect, but being polished); and, should even those fade, 3) The faithfulness God who assures that,

     “…neither death , nor life, nor Angels, nor principalities, nor powers,  nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from ( His Love)  which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:38-39)

     Reminded thusly, that pain was still securely on my Father’s leash, I rose to face my day with its challenges, including the worthy challenge of communicating, to the most informed generation ever, these unchanging  truths supplied by the One who Himself became the compass, the Way, for every pain blinded soul or island adrift. May we all sign up for this urgent task.

     

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Dwell Retreat Reflections III: Stepping Out... of Burning Ships

     Resolved, Cortez ordering the burning of the ships that had just brought them to the New World;  Resolved, Peter stepping from the boat at Jesus’ invitation to join Him...walking on water; Resolved, the writer, picking up pen or keyboard and pushing past ‘writer’s block’ on toward the ‘battle of the middle’ — that point at which you realize you’ve invested too much to turn back now, but are fully aware that  in this moment you have no idea how you will finish what you have started.

     Coming to America, has often meant being perched, on the edge of a new frontier that necessitates resolve to keep moving forward—the Dwell Writers’ Retreat presented several such steps for me. The plunking down of hard cash for registration and lodging reservation at the top of the year was the first. Another presented itself as our small rental car pulled into the parking spot at the Centrum, Grunewald’s main hub where ‘arrive and check-in’ were to occur.

     As Claude & I alighted, I nervously averted my eyes from the small group of women sitting (how poetic!) under an  apple tree, shouldered my purse, and with resolve, did the only thing I could do at that point..., took the next step.

     The moment after was God’s gift of grace, for no sooner had my eyes picked out the one person who resembled the online picture of my ‘blogger’ friend, Kimberlee, than she flew out of her chair and with the glee that only old girl-friends know, greeted me with a sweet welcome embrace. I realized then that it is possible to get to know someone via the Internet, really!

      I first encountered Kimberlee’s earnestness and devout pursuit of the Divine 4 years ago through her seminal work The Circle of Seasons, about the Church’s liturgical year. Her warm greeting was as genuine in person as she was online. Later in the retreat, as she led us through the lectio divina  (a reading of and meditating in the Scriptures that provides opportunity to open up to the Holy Spirit’s transforming work in our hearts) on Psa. 37, through Communion and  a writing session on the Psalms, my sight was lifted above the earth-bound to things heavenly. But that first morning, as we returned arm in arm to the circle of chairs under the apple tree, amidst introductions and exchange of pleasantries, I realized I was among an entire group of gracious outpouring.

     And outpouring it was, for perhaps the next best thing I found out about the group was that we were the type of writers who loved to ‘tell it’ with our mouths as well as our pens.  In less than a half hour, we had plunged in and exchanged much about our quite varied stories.

     Amy, of The Messy Middle blog fame, was probably my biggest surprise — in all the email & registration exchanges it never occurred to me that she was that Amy: a young veteran of the mission field in China. Her personality was as vibrant as her soul was resourceful— a maestra of the ‘interwebs’ and social network connectivity, who ably tells her own story in her first book, Looming Transitions.

     Then there was Jody, who like a broody hen had worked with Kimberlee to gather us to ‘Dwell’. A conductor, in more than one sense of the word, she somewhat casually steered us through the weekend’s schedule, from quirky welcome packets, to co-leading worship with spunky Laura, and facilitating a loaded session titled ‘Unpacking Psalm 37’.

     Laura’s acoustic guitar chords and the few well-chosen songs were perfect and served me well, both during and after the retreat, as I pressed in to discern God’s purpose in it all. The scope was intimate but the expectation level of this gathering was audacious. Audacious because we were taking our call seriously, some further along than others, but all, investing time and resources — taking the next step, resolved to dwell.

     Twenty-seven years or so before, resolve for me, was saying ‘yes’ to marriage and to migration away from all my familiar. To many back home, no doubt, it looked all rosy and fairy-tale-like, which it was, until the effect of sudden change set in. The new daily-ness tussled for dominance in my change-resistant soul and the stasis of mild depression set in.

     Wish I could say that I had then reached out and embraced the steadying truths of James 1: 5-6,

     “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally without reproach, and it will be given to him.  But let him ask in faith with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed about by the wind.”

     My first few months as young wife & immigrant found me “driven and tossed about” emotionally.  We were in a misty Midwest Fall & Winter, a fact which, no doubt, both caused as well as mirrored my dark mood.  Christian radio providentially offered the sage but austere advice of the timeless Elizabeth Elliott, “Just do the next thing”, resolve.

     Though I hated to admit it then, it was a a good perspective setter, but I also needed the equally providential input offered by my Jamaican pastor’s wife, Dr. Patricia Morgan who, by telephone, outlined for me the profound transitions (at least seven!) that I was having to make in my new life — unavoidable fallout of the resolve of marriage and migration. She wisely  advised, be gentle with  yourself, ( spend the day in bed if you need to, read, take walks)  but when Claude is almost home, get yourself together and fix him a nice meal; welcome him home…do the next thing.

     The second in my Kansas Sunrise Triad sought to capture that time —

KANSAS SUNRISE (II)
The Next Step

Kansas sunrise, misty grey 
Night that loathes to give way to day 
Earthbound water and heavenly fire 
Tussling to rule, cloud the new day's desire 
To break forth upon the night of man 
So crawling we go to catch-as-catch-can

Striving we go to discern the intangible 
Loathing to take the one step that is possible 
Doubting that in 'the next step' we find 
The way that is open to sighted or blind 
Focusing on the grey swirl that is seen 
We reach forth our arms and embrace the screen

But earth takes its axis so soon night and day 
Make clear to the faithful plodder the way 
With light from above he'll steward the earth 
 For the Creator's nature is shouting forth 
The Truth that draws the final line 
That determines our rise or vain decline

So Kansas sunrise, your cover is blown 
Your bushel of doubt is overthrown 
'The next step' brings the piercing ray

That scatters your shades and brings forth the day 
And now through the dark like an arrow true 
Comes word by the song-bird the day's broken 
through!

            - Denise Stair Armstrong
(c) 1993

     As with my marriage, I had embarked on a ‘no turning back’ kind of venture, with the Dwell Retreat.


     My feet were dangling over the edge as I peered furtively, through my iPad screen at stormy issues of publication, Facebook & blogging.  My inexperience with and fears of the Internet were as giant waves threatening my demise before I even launched.  But I need not have feared, for the One who moves in a mysterious way, already had His footstep planted on this storm in my teacup. And His smiling face bid me come walk with Him…on oceans.

      I did have one poem published and had written a play back home that I understood they still aired at times during Jamaica’s Independence season... But the journey to Leavenworth, Washington was for treasures that  I believed  still awaited, patiently, deep in me; words "...tried like silver in the furnace of the earth, purified seven times” (Ps. 12:6). So, with resolve, my eyes fixed on Him who gives wisdom liberally, without reproach, I stepped out and let that ship burn.