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Monday, December 30, 2013

Pocket "Change": How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I wrote a book. Go figure.

In the second week of May, Mary Carol Kendzia contacted me and told me she had a project in mind. I was having an ongoing conversation with her about writing a book, perhaps based on ideas in this blog, and we had some off-and-on discussion about it. In her email, she said that the publisher she worked for, Franciscan Media, needed a Lent book for 2014. She described it as a page-a-day book, with reflections on the Lenten readings. Apparently, another writer was supposed to have done it, but had to back out at the last minute. By "last-minute," I mean that they needed the finished manuscript for the book by the July 1.

But I didn't find that too daunting, since all my work with the North American Forum on the Catechumenate over the years had largely been about the dynamics of Lent, both from the aspects of baptism and reconciliation. And the fact that the book was short was really more of a challenge than having it be long. As you've noticed by this blog, I can be fairly long-winded. As a matter fact, if you only know me as a songwriter, you probably know that it's hard for me to stop after three verses. So after two or three weeks of contract discussions, negotiations, questions and answers, and planning, we had a contract and I started writing.

In order to accomplish the writing of the book in such a short period of time, I used the rest of my vacation time, and spent four days a week at home writing, and three days at the church doing my usual work, during the month of June. Each day of Lent and the Triduum gets about 400- 500 words, which comes out to about 2 to 3 double spaced paragraphs, a single typewritten page. They counted the scriptural citations in the word count, which I thought was parsimonious for someone of my verbal amplitude. My first draft was well on its way to 20,000 words, so I had a little editing to do. I had started many of the days out with a brief song quotation or quotation from an artist or public figure, most of which had to go into the dustbin of history a little sooner than the rest of the book.

The whole process went much more smoothly than I had even imagined it would. I enjoyed the writing process, and Terry, an English teacher and a very fine editor herself, helped me clean up the manuscript. Unlike my music publishers, we argued about virtually nothing before the manuscript was accepted for publication. I asked some colleagues of mine around the country to read the manuscript and give some comments to the publisher for blurbs. Thanks to Diana Macalintal, Fr. Paul Turner, and Paul Ford for their work in that regard.

So what can I tell you about the content? Well, it's based on the premise that the Lenten lectionary is sort of a "crash course" in Christianity for the elect, that is, the catechumens who are preparing for baptism at Easter time. But the RCIA teaches us that the season of Lent is prepared for all of us, the baptized and the unbaptized, as we prepare to either make or renew our baptismal promises at the vigil of Easter. So what I did in the book was look at each day of Lent from Ash Wednesday through the Triduum to Easter itself and look through the lens of the baptismal promises, to see what the readings of the day might have to say to us about them. The proclamation of Jesus was "turn away from sin, and believe in the good news." The baptismal promises are to reject sin and believe in God, not just a generic god, but the God whom Jesus proclaimed. To turn to the God of Jesus, we need to turn away from what we're already following. Identifying those false gods in the twenty-first century, and coming to know the God of Jesus today as well, is the task we take up during Lent. Then we need the courage and grace to change our hearts.

Obviously, I hope a lot of people read this little book. And it is a little book—fits in your hand, pocket, purse, just over a hundred pages to read over the forty (or so) days of the Lenten season. Holding it in my hand and looking through it, I couldn't help but think that it seemed like I was writing so much, and it's such a little book! But that's good for the you, the reader, because in order to do the task I was given, I had to be disciplined to fold as much meaning as I could into a few words a day. Most of all, I hope it helps the ones who do to get in touch with our baptismal promises again, with how important they are, how they are a political statement as well as a statement of faith. I feel so privileged to have been asked even to write this book. And I'm looking forward to the reaction it will get from my friends and colleagues and strangers around the country. 

At least, I think I'm looking forward to it. I suppose that remains to be seen. It's my first book. And I suppose the reaction to it will pretty much determine whether there's a second one! 

What I think would be awesome is a podcast, possibly down the road, that would include the readings, the commentary, and maybe some music. I guess we'll have to see whether the text itself is something people are interested in reading. There's a link below to the book's page at Amazon.com. Of course, it can be ordered directly through Liguori Publications. Order a few hundred copies for your church: only 360 shopping days till Christmas! There is a price break for buying in quantity, too, so ask about that. 

Better buy just one, and see if you think it's worth sharing. Maybe some "light" is better kept under a basket? 

Friday, December 27, 2013

The Dream Family?

Right away we get a twist on the traditional Christmas story that we think we know, as Matthew introduces Egypt into the story. No mention of going into Egypt in Luke - you’d think he’d have mentioned it if he knew about it,  or if Mary was dictating it or something. No, in Matthew, the happy couple lives in Bethlehem - the Magi visit them at their house, not in a stable. It’s not until Joseph returns from Egypt, in Matthew’s narrative, that they settle in Galilee in Nazareth, because Herod’s son, one of the tetrarchs among whom Herod’s kingdom was divided upon his death, was as bad as his father and was tetrarch of Judea.

Another dream in this Sunday’s gospel, too. I like to think of dreams as the deserved fruit of resting, a kind of gentle escape where I can fly, play basketball, or impress Halle Berry with my witty banter. Joseph, on the other hand, gets hugely important news that he has to act on upon waking: your fiancèe is pregnant; take them to Egypt; go back to Israel from Egypt. If I were Joseph, I’d work until I was comatose. Sort of like those Halloween movies or whatever they are - it’s better not to fall asleep.

Well, this feast of the Holy Family of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus offers us an annual time to consider what a family is and what makes a family, or anything, holy. And we all know what that is. Not anything that we do, or think, or say, or pray, but only that God is with us. “You alone are the Holy One, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit in the glory of God the Father.” Maybe that is the liturgical definition of what a holy family is: the blessed trinity. It apparently has nothing to do with who was born to whom, since born-ness is not an attribute of God. What makes the holy family holy is its surrender to that mystery, to allowing God to run its daily operation, and, of course, having Jesus as its focus and mission. As Psalm 128 says, the responsorial for this weekend, “Blessed are those who fear the Lord and walk in his ways.”

Strange, isn’t it, that 35 years ago after Paul VI’s Comme le prévoit we had to get accustomed to hearing the word “happy” translate the Greek macarios in the beatitudes and elsewhere in Scripture. We had in our ears “blessed,” and now we were expected to hear the word “happy.” “Fortunate” is another word often used to translate macarios. The word suggests that a person’s place in life is a source of beneficence and contentment. It may be true that “happy” is too strong a word, or has migrated from the interior to the exterior, and seems to suggest an external glee rather than inner peace. Whatever the linguistic case, with the new translations engendered by John Paul II’s 2000 Liturgiam Authenticam and its insistence on formal translation rather than dynamic equivalency, we are back to “blessed.” This word does bring God-as-source back into the picture, that whether we are happy or content or fortunate or macarios, it is God’s work that makes it so. It is also macarios that “happy” and “blessed” (often) have the same number of syllables and identical accents, so that “blessed” can, when needed, be reintroduced into musical settings that have the word “happy” in them. I’m not quite that AR yet about liturgical law. It’s more like a guideline. ☺

Music for this Sunday at St. Anne:
gathering:  God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

kyrie/sprnkling: “Angels”

glory to god: Christmas Glory

resp. psalm:  Psalm 128 Psalm for Weddings (octavo, OCP)

prep rite:  What Child Is This (or Carol of the Stranger)
fraction:  Living Stones

communion:  It Came Upon the Midnight Clear
sending forth:  Hark, the Herald Angels Sing


Of course, we’re just keeping the Christmas juggernaut rolling through this week and next. Often on this feast, we have used “Faithful Family,” a song from my second collection, Do Not Fear to Hope. Later re-recorded for Change Our Hearts, its refrain is loosely based upon Eph. 5:1 and surrounding texts, with verses paraphrasing the ancient liturgical hymn Ubi Caritas. Psalm 128 is from the same collection, later re-recorded on Cries of the Spirit, Volume 2. It is a setting I wrote for use at weddings. The verses have duet parts for mixed voices, which I thought was a nice touch for a wedding psalm, and the musical riffs between refrain and verse might suggest to the ear of pop culture the music of “Sunrise, Sunset.”

"Carol of the Stranger" is a song that we recorded first on Stony Landscapes, and then Terry redid the song on On Christmas Day in the Morning. For me, writing this song was about expressing the what's behind the tradition in the Church that marriage is a "school of love." There's a lot underneath that image, isn't there? But part of it is that everyone is a stranger to us, really. Every other person is genuinely other. We know ourselves, in a sense, so poorly that we're strangers to ourselves, and other people actually reveal who we are to us whether we like it or not. A newborn baby is the ultimate surprise, even with all the planning and waiting. One day, we are two, or one, suddenly, we're three, or two (or four, or five, or...) So the child Jesus is a stranger in the Holy Family, and has to be welcomed and attended to, served, ministered to, just like every child does in every family. The song expands that metaphor to many relationships—a new love or friend whose presence gives us hope, and makes us realize that "if two might learn giving/ Then all might be one." It also reflects on the welcoming of new people into the Christian community, welcoming the "God of mystery / Disguised on our streets" in the faces and lives of the poor and really everyone we meet. In the end, the song just welcomes the child to the cold night watch of humanity waiting to "welcome the morn."

Carol of the Stranger (GIA link has an audio preview, as does the iTunes link below)
music and lyrics by Rory Cooney


Welcome, tiny stranger, O child of desire,
Your mother has made you a bed by the fire.
Your father, amazed with relief and surprise,
Sees firelight reflect like a cross in your eyes.

Welcome, lovely stranger, whose touch has released
My soul to its quest like the star in the east.
If love be a journey to death, we've begun.
If two might learn giving, then all might be one.

Welcome, God of mystery, disguised on our streets,
Dispensing your blessing through strangers we meet
As Abram and Sara your bounty reveal:
A skyful of children for shade and a meal.

Welcome to the strangers to Christ and the church,
Who hear a new call, and begin a new search,
Whose presence reminds us that God still will free
By blood on the doorpost and path through the sea.

Welcome, tiny stranger, to hunger and frost,
To armored invaders, to paradise lost.
Come join the vigil for which you were born,
Keep watch through the darkness, and welcome the morn.
Welcome, welcome, welcome. 

© 1993 GIA Publications, All rights reserved.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

SongStories 20: New Families (2005, World Library, from "Christ the Icon")

Ahead of Sunday's feast, I thought I briefly share a song about family that I've used on Holy Family for a few years. I didn't have room in our seasonal worship aid this year, so, with rehearsal time crunches anyway, I didn't add it into the mix, but I thought it was appropriate to share the text and my thoughts about it during this season.

“New Families” is a song from Christ the Icon. The text is by Rev. Ruth Duck, a professor of theology at Garrett-Evangelical Seminary in Evanston, attached to Northwestern University. What I loved about her text is that is expands our view of what “family” means, way beyond the customary view of mom and pop and 2.5 children, as lovely as that may be, to various units that embody the creative flow of divine love, people who “with courage make your way” through the world, enfolded by God’s great love. She moves
from one group to another, widening the circle, until we begin to understand, at last, that it is not human generation that makes a holy family, but divine creation. Those who live alone, single parents, foster homes, people committed to the work of reconciliation and unity among nations and peoples, all of these are identified beautifully as family in Dr. Duck’s text. We are family not so much because of who our mother and father or spouse is, but because we are brothers and sisters of Jesus, the son of God, and therefore children of one Father/Mother, brothers and sisters to one another. Here is Dr. Duck’s (copyrighted) text, which I set in “New Families.”

To you and your turtle doves, whoever they may be, merry 2nd day of Christmas!

New Families (WLP page link has audio preview, as does iTunes link)
(Text by Ruth Duck, © 1992 GIA Publications)


This is a song for all who live alone, 

Forming webs of friendship, 

A fam'ly of their own: 

May you weave creative patterns, with courage make your way, 

And may God’s strong love enfold you 

As you greet each dawning day.


his is a song for all who carry on, 

Raising sons and daughters, a partner newly gone. 

May you weave creative patterns, with courage make your way, 

And may God’s strong love enfold you 

As you greet each dawning day.


This is a song for homes of many kinds, 

Offering love's shelter with open hearts and minds. 

May you weave creative patterns, with courage make your way, 

And may God’s strong love enfold you 

As you greet each dawning day.


This is a song for all who labor long, 

Building on this planet a home where all belong. 

May you weave creative patterns, with courage make your way, 

And may God’s strong love enfold you 

As you greet each dawning day.

And may God's strong love enfold you 

As you greet each dawning day.


Tuesday, December 24, 2013

2013 - Noel!


Friends in Christ, Rejoice!

Friend in Christ, rejoice! Hope and healing bring!
Angels all around us, “Peace on earth!” they sing. 
“Noel!” sing the angels, “Noel!” be our song,
For this baby small and weak is born to stand against the strong.
Noel, noel, noel! Sing the news with awe!
Like no god we had imagined is the baby in the straw.

Friends, approach the manger, leave aside your fear.
Immigrant and exile, all are welcome here.
“Noel!” sing the shepherds cast aside no more,
For the child for whom we had no room has opened every door.
Noel, noel, noel! Sing the news with awe!
Like no god we had imagined is the baby in the straw.

Friends beyond the circle, friends from east and west,
Led by star to light, here finally take your rest.
“Noel!” sing the Magi, “Noel!” sing the wise,
For the vision’s fire, your heart’s desire, is right before your eyes!
Noel, noel, noel! Sing the news with awe!
Like no god we had imagined is the baby in the straw.

Noel, noel, noel! Noel sing alway, 
For the God we thought so distant sighs and startles in the hay.
Noel, noel, noel! Sing the news with awe!
Like no god we had imagined is the baby in the straw.

Text by Rory Cooney
© 2011 Rory Cooney
Tune: MASTERS IN THIS HALL

…from our family to yours, and the whole human family. 
May the grace and good will of the season keep us connected to one another, 
and aware of one another’s desire for peace, security, and happiness, 
while awakening us to the same desires felt by all people everywhere. 
We hope for a new year of cooperation and universal prosperity. 
Let us live “God-with-us” by our love and service of one another, especially those most in need.

A very merry Christmas and joyful New Year to all.

Rory Cooney, Terry Donohoo, and Desi Cooney
Christmas 2013

"Light and Life to All He Brings"

All things came to be through him,

and without him nothing came to be.

What came to be through him was life,

and this life was the light of the human race;

the light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.

Every year it’s a minor struggle at the parish over whether to read the familiar Christmas gospel of Luke 2, prescribed for the midnight mass on Christmas eve, or the prologue to John’s gospel, the hymn to the Logos, which is the proper gospel for Christmas masses during the day. There are actually a total of four different gospels used for the Christmas feast, the other two being the Matthew genealogy and annunciation to Joseph (used at the vigil mass on the 24th) and the continuation of Luke 2 of the Christmas gospel, the visitation of the shepherds, in the mass at dawn. Taken with the midnight and John gospels, this pretty much covers everything that the NT has to say about the birth of the Messiah. It isn’t much, but it’s more than just angels and shepherds. As The First Christmas, the little book by John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg reminds us from the outset, we assume we know a lot about the birth of Jesus, but in fact, what is in the scripture we have synthesized into a single story, while the actual texts are quite different from one another in their detail. We would do well to go back and look at the Matthew and Luke stories again, and see them with new eyes, hear them with new ears.

Some of what we think we know is just guessing: like the “we three kings” thing. Not only are they not kings (Matthew calls them magi, or court astrologers), but there’s no mention of there being three of them, just that there are three gifts. Next time someone asks you whether music or homilies are more important, tell him the “we three kings” story.
But back to the yearly struggle - some priests always want to read Luke 2, the nativity story we all think we know so well, for every mass on Christmas. I’d like a little more variety, not just because I have to be at all the different masses, but because if we hear the other stories more we’ll get a better filled-out vision of what the incarnation means. If I want to hear Luke 2 more than at the midnight mass, I can always watch A Charlie Brown Christmas on DVD, and hear Linus recite it, lights dimmed and everything.

Listening to the prologue to John, some words really strike me, and help me to hear about the meaning of the incarnation and get me ready to hear more of John during Lent and Easter this year. It was the verses that I quoted above, with that italicized line especially catching my ear: “What came to be through him was life.” John’s prologue starts with words that harken back to the creation story: “In the beginning...”, in Greek, genesis. The Word was in the beginning, and all things came to be, received life, through the word. The book of Genesis, though, describes life coming to be for the first time, springing from the breath of God hovering above roiling chaos. John is describing a new creation, and therefore, I think, a new kind of life, or wants us to think of life differently somehow. But what does he mean by life?

That, I think, is what the rest of John’s gospel is about, and he sets the stage for it in his prologue (or in Crossan’s happy word, “overture”). What John means by “life” is the life of God, made visible by the Logos in Jesus Christ, and “handed over” to the world from the cross and in the resurrection. The life of God is, for the author of the fourth gospel, agape, or what Paul had earlier called kenosis. The life of God is the complete emptying-out of the self on behalf of the other. For John, God’s way of living is to create, to pour self out so that the world might have life. The Logos, the word of God that creates what it says, is the visible manifestation of that holy mystery. The Logos “became flesh, and pitched his tent here among us.” In all the rest of John’s gospel, through the book of signs, and culminating in the passion narrative and the resurrection, Jesus through the evangelist is trying to get us to understand what life is. It is solidarity with friends, and not letting the wine run dry (Cana), it’s seeing that there is bread enough for the hungry (John 6), not letting the Sabbath interfere with an opportunity for healing (John 9), and not letting death pretend to be the result of kenosis, not letting death masquerade as God’s will for people (John 11).

The mutual self-gift or “living in love” that is the life of God is the theme of the Last Supper discourse, and Jesus is careful and explicit about that living in love and mutuality between him and Abba as being between him and the disciples as well, and among them. Agape is never exhausted, but only grows with the sharing of it. He gives yet another sign of divine life at the Supper when he washes the feet of his disciples and tells them “as I have done, so you must do.” And from the cross, finally, he bows his head, voluntarily handing over his life to the One who is life itself, and “hands over the spirit” as well to the church to continue his work and “do even greater things.” “Receive the holy spirit,” he says on the morning of the resurrection, “as the Father has sent me, so I send you.” In other words, you have the life of God in you now. Don’t be afraid of death. Don’t be afraid of anything. By giving yourselves away in love, you are becoming more and more alive.

I don’t think my mind and heart would have necessarily be drawn to these things if I only hear Luke 2 for all four Christmas masses. I do love the Luke narrative, but there is so much more, and the three gospel prologues are interdependent and mutually corrective for us when we hear them together. (Mark has no prologue aside from his first sentence: “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Another genesis, and he starts with John the Baptist roaring in the desert wilderness, with Jesus, his cousin and contemporary, fully grown and, presumably, listening in the background.)

It is at the intersection of Matthew’s Messiah, “Emmanuel, that is, God-with-us”, and this God of the fourth gospel whose very nature is self-emptying and revealed in the Logos, that this year’s Sundays will be experienced. The wisdom of the Hebrew scriptures, the reflection of Sts. Peter and Paul in the epistles, and in Acts, will bring other insight for our reflection. Who knows where it will lead us? On this winter morning, three days after solstice, I’m aware of a lot of darkness in my life and in the life of the world. We’re already tired of darkness, and its wearying, debilitating effects. I’m looking for the light of the world, light to shine in the darkness, light that the darkness cannot overcome. One of the places I really want to hear about it is in my church. I hope for me, and for you, wherever you are gathering to pray, that we find light both inside and outside of those walls.

Friday, December 20, 2013

Advent Year A on one page

Here are links to my four posts on the movements of Advent in Year A of the lectionary, as I see them
this year.

Advent 101: Waiting
Advent 102: Preparing
Advent 103: Rejoicing with a followup here
Advent 104: Solidarity

The four Sundays were treated with their music on these pages:

First Sunday
Second Sunday and 2016 "Second Thoughts" here
Third Sunday (none)
Fourth Sunday with more on St. Joseph as a just man and father here.

And here are links to some of my Advent songs in the "Songstories" series.

Apocalypse
Thy Kingdom Come
Walk in the Reign
Sing We Maranatha
The Wilderness Awaits You

That's for quick reference and archiving purposes. Thank you for reading.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Advent 104: Solidarity

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:
Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel, 
which means “God is with us.”

The four weeks of Advent, while they have clear similarities from year to year occasioned by their tradition and connection to Christmas, also have some distinct features that exhibit themselves year to year in the distinct biblical readings of the lectionary. I've tried to capture the spirit of the four weeks of Advent in year A, which is to say, suggest some of the many dynamics of this wonderful season, in four words, a word each week suggested by that Sunday: waiting, preparing, and rejoicing for the first three weeks. Hard to find a single word for what I wanted to say for Advent 4, especially because I was using a gerund (an "-ing" verb-noun) for each week, and there really isn't one for what I want to say. As close as I can think of is "being-with-you", which is sort of cheating-by-hyphenation. So I settled on "solidarity," and now you know how I would define solidarity in Advent: being-with-you. Emmanuel.

Year A of the lectionary features the first gospel, called the gospel of St. Matthew, which has a particular theology that arises out of the faith of the community it emerged from, the stories it knew from the evangelists and apostles who formed it and perhaps even knew Jesus, and the needs of that community that the compiler(s) of the gospel saw and addressed as they wrote it down, maybe sixty years after the death of Jesus. Among those many needs was certainly the growing awareness that the return of the Lord in the parousia was not as imminent as they, and possibly Jesus himself, had first believed. But from beginning to end, the author of the first gospel reassures the community that whether or not there was to be a physical return of the Lord in the lifetime of believers, he was there among them just as surely and just as really as if he had appeared on a cloud or in their rooms. The question, then, was the same question the apostles would have asked at the empty tomb: Where is he? Matthew answers that question in all kinds of ways that boil down to this: when you get together and be the community that I have taught you to be, full of the Holy Spirit, I am with you. When you are ekklesia, people called out to be together, to be church, I am with you. Emmanuel.

In Sunday's first reading, the timid king Ahaz, king of Judah, was threatened by the king of the northern kingdom of Israel and his ally in Aram. God, of course, had promised that he would preserve the line of the David kings through all dangers and enemies, but Ahaz thought that Assyria might be a more suitable ally in these dangerous political times. Isaiah reminded Ahaz of God's promise, and offered, on God's behalf, to give a sign of God's intention to keep his promises. Ahaz demurs, however, with something along the lines of, "Oh heavens, I would never ask God to prove himself. I've contacted Tiglath-Pileser. I'm good." Isaiah responds that God will give a sign anyway, that a young woman will bear a son and call him "Emmanuel," God-with-us. 

In the gospel, we encounter Joseph, troubled by the pregnancy of his betrothed, dreaming a course of action that interrupts his waking plans. An angel (i.e., a messenger, or a message, like a gospel [evangel] only the news isn't necessarily good!) appears in the dream to say, "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife. There's more to this than meets the eye, and God is involved." The appeal is to Joseph's sense of justice, his religious instinct that things should be as God wants them. As difficult as the leap may have been, he takes it because of God's presence to the event. The child's name will be Yehoshua, God is salvation. I shall be with you is God's message, and the just Joseph takes his pregnant betrothed into his home.

Paul, facing the dangerous trip to Jerusalem, writes to the Roman church and encourages them to keep the faith without succumbing either to the conviction that salvation can come through obedience to the Law (a temptation which might arise from the Jewish origins of some Roman Christians) nor to the exaggerated, irresponsible freedom that might be the backlash temptation from its Gentile contingent. Paul's instinct is to unite disparate approaches and theologies in faith in Christ, whose life and death is an image of God who sent him. Division of the body of Christ is unthinkable to Paul, and he deals with the reality of it by preaching the permanent, irretractible, divinely imbedded love of Christ that manifests itself in mutual love within the community and its care for the poor and evangelical outreach to the world. He longs to come to Rome himself and intends to do so, after bringing the alms of the Greek churches back to Jerusalem where there is so much suffering. He will, in fact, only make it back to Rome in chains, and will die there. But his desire for solidarity with the church there produced the timeless letter of which we hear the beginning this Sunday, and which has shaped the faith of Christians for two millennia with a vision that is closer to Christ than the gospels.

What does all that "Emmanuel" business mean to us? Soldiers from the late Roman Empire through the Wehrmacht in World War II have used the words "Dominus nobiscum" or "Gott mit uns" in many languages, using the name of Emmanuel to bring Caesar's "peace" to the world at the end of blade or bullet or bomb.  Is our Emmanuel simply allowing the warmth of the season to wash over us again, reminding us like an advertisement that "God so loved the world that he sent his only son"? Well, it's hard for me to believe that's all it is. This is my sixty-first Christmas. I know how the story ends. I have an inkling what it means that God is with us, and how that solidarity of God translates into real life, how it requires abandoning heaven, how it sees through the posturing of kings and priests, how it sees the essential unity of all people, even the most unlovable, even the enemy. I think I know now that "Emmanuel" isn't just to warm me up in my house while I drink cocoa and watch White Christmas. Emmanuel is the gospel, it is a way of life that gathers together with others who have also begun to see that "God-with-us" makes an "us," not a "me." Just as I've heard about shepherds, angels, Herod, and the Magi sixty-one times, I've heard about betrayal, trial, the lash, and the cross and the spear. And sixty-one times I've heard about the the empty tomb, and I've heard the words, "Receive the Holy Spirit. As the Father sent me, so I send you." Emmanuel isn't history. Emmanuel is an autobiography being written by God's hand in my own DNA. While I hear "Do not be afraid, I shall be with you," I am gently invited to speak those words to my neighbor, to let my neighbor know Emmanuel, God-with-us.

In 1989, the year I wrote "Walk in the Reign," I was reminded of Emmanuel by the story of Nelson Mandela, and we have been reminded of that story again this fall, nearly twenty-five years later. I was reminded of the resistance of Europeans to the tyranny of ideas and force in the fall of the Berlin wall and the Solidarity movement in Poland. I was reminded of Emmanuel by the pictures of the students resisting the violent regime of China in the iconic photograph of a solitary student standing in front of a tank in Tienanmen Square.

At the end of 2013, I am reminded of 1989 again recently when Rocco Palma at the whispersintheloggia.com blog posted a brief tribute to Sr. Thea Bowman, who gave an unforgettable talk to the U.S. Catholic bishops at their annual meeting that year. Sr. Thea, her body weakened by advanced cancer in her bones, sat in a wheelchair and passionately, lovingly preached the gospel to the preachers, teaching them what it means to be in solidarity from the perspective of a black Catholic woman from Mississippi. I was so grateful to be reminded of Sr. Thea, and her speech seems like a good way to end this Advent story for 2013, which is to say, it's a good way to begin a new year of grace.



Sr. Thea Bowman, Speech to US Catholic Bishops, 1989

At the end of her talk, Sr. Thea begins singing "We Shall Overcome" and encouraged the bishops to join her song. She encouraged them to "walk together in a new way toward that land of promise, and to celebrate who we are and whose we are."
If we as church walk together...Don't let nobody separate you, you know, put the lay folk over here and the clergy over here, put the bishops in one room and the clergy in the other room, put the women over here and the men over here...the family got to stay together. We know that if we do stay together, if we stand to gather in Jesus' name, we'll be who we say we are: truly Catholic, and we shall overcome.  Overcome the loneliness, the poverty, the alienation."
She told them to move together, and taught them to hold hands, crossing their arms across their chest. "You got to move together to do that,” she says.
In the old days, you had to tighten up so that when the bullets would come, so that when the tear gas would come, when the dogs would come, when the horses would come, when the tanks would come, brothers and sisters would not be separated from one another. And you remember what they did the clergy and bishops in those old days, where they put them? Right up in front. To lead the people in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in the church who suffer in South Africa, who suffer in Poland, in Ireland, in Guatemala, all over this world. We shall live in love.
In the spirit of Sr. Thea, and I hope in the spirit of the gospel, in the spirit of our baptism into Christ, in the spirit of this season of the incarnation, this "Easter in wintertime," I offer you this litany of Emmanuel to launch you into the fourth weekend of Advent. As God is with us, let us be with each other in waiting, preparing, rejoicing, and solidarity.

They shall call his name "Emmanuel," a name that means "God with us."
I shall be with you always.

Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.
I shall be with you always.

Where two or three are gathered in my name, there I am in the midst of them.
I shall be with you always.

Whenever you did it for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.
I shall be with you always.

As the Father sent me, so I send you.
I shall be with you always.

All of you who are hungry or thirsty,
The people of Emmanuel, we shall be with you always.

All of you who are homeless or in exile,
The people of Emmanuel, we shall be with you always.

All of you who are sick, or in prison, or grieving,
The people of Emmanuel, we shall be with you always.

All of you who suffer because of war and violence,
The people of Emmanuel, we shall be with you always.

All of you without a voice in the halls of government,
The people of Emmanuel, we shall be with you always.

Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.
Close as tomorrow the sun shall appear.
Freedom is coming, and healing is near,
And I shall be with you, in laughter and pain,
To stand in the wind, and walk in the reign.
Bethlehem, you think you're so small
That God doesn't notice your children at all?

The streets of Soweto, the docks at Gdansk,
Tienanmen Square, the slums of the Bronx,
When we stand together to stand against hell,
The name of this people is Emmanuel. 
The morning of madness, Manhattan in flame,
In Gaza and Kabul the cry is the same:
"Has God turned against us, his people reviled?"
The same sign is given: a woman with child,
A woman with child.

Close as tomorrow the sun shall appear.
Freedom is coming, and healing is near,
And I shall be with you, in laughter and pain,
To stand in the wind, and walk in the reign.
Walk In the Reign - Safety Harbor © 1989 GIA Publications.