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A Wish Stays Lit Rev. Mark Stringer Christmas Eve First Unitarian Church of Des Moines 12/24/03
Reading Salvation’s
angel in a tree A cherub’s face above a sheet: But winged and wired against the Fall, And a paper halo over all— A nineteen-hundred-year-old doll In a dying tree. What does it see? The house is sleeping; there’s only me In the cellophane snow by the lethal toys That wait all night for the eager boys: Metal soldiers, an Indian suit, Raider’s tools, and gunner’s loot. I mash my cigarette, and good night, Turn off the angel and the light On a single switch. The children toss In excited sleep. Alone in the house, I feel the old, confusing wind Shake the dark tree and shake my mind, Hearing tomorrow rattle and bang Louder than all the angels sang. By feel, I lower the thermostat And pick my way through a creaking flat. The demon children, the angel doll, Sleep in two darks off one dark hall. I move through darkness memorized, Feeling for doors. One half-surprised Wish stays lit inside my head. I leave it on and go to bed.
Sermon “A wish stays lit”
Earlier this month, I had a phone conversation with one of my mentors in UU ministry, a wise woman named Barbara who served as my internship supervisor a few years back. You should know, I have a great deal of respect for Barbara, as she has played a significant role in my understanding of ministry. She has always been a real straight shooter with me and for that I am grateful. During our recent chat, we traded stories of what’s been happening in our lives, then stories of what has been happening at the churches we serve. Near the end of the conversation, I described a special “Blue Christmas” service I was planning to lead in Des Moines this year. I told her that it would be an evening service held in mid-December to honor those who may not be feeling very merry this holiday season. I explained that the service would be meditative in spirit, with music, silence, and candlelight and would feature a ritual where the people attending would be given a paper ornament, upon which they could write a burden or concern that they are shouldering this season, or maybe a wish or prayer for the future. Participants would then place their ornaments on the tree at the front of the sanctuary where they would hang throughout December to acknowledge that there are sorrows and hopes this year that may go unspoken but that are real all the same.
Now you should know that I shared this information with Barbara with the unspoken desire that she would offer some encouragement. As with most experiments in these still early days of my ministry, I was having some doubts about my “Blue Christmas” plan. Would anyone come? Would the paper ornament ritual be helpful? Why was I adding another service to my already full month? I should also admit that I told my mentor about my plan to maybe get a pat on the back…a few words of affirmation from an experienced and trusted colleague.
After I finished carefully sketching the service and my hopes for it, Barbara, who had been silent throughout my description, didn’t miss a beat. Her response was simple and to the point. She said, “You’re going to end on an up note, aren’t you?”
I told her that was my plan, even while I wondered to myself how I would do it. After all, to acknowledge the pain we feel…the confusion, the uncertainty or the loss …and still end on an up note seemed like a difficult assignment. I asked Barbara what she would do and she mentioned including a funny reading or two…”Robert Fulghum has some good ones,” she said. Somehow, I didn’t think that reading a Robert Fulghum essay would be the best way to tend to people’s needs that night.
Nevertheless, I thought a lot about Barbara’s question leading up to the Blue Christmas service. I knew that “ending on an up note” was my mission…indeed, the mission of every minister…professional or otherwise…especially this time of year. This “ending on an up note” is, after all, the message of the Christmas story…the story of a young couple looking for shelter in a time of need and having to settle for a stable. We can assume that Joseph and Mary would have preferred better accommodations, and yet, they did the best with what they had. Isn’t this what each of us does? Doing the best with what we have?
We face challenges in our lives…addictions, health problems, financial difficulties, broken marriages, abusive relationships, the death of loved ones…and we somehow deal with what we are dealt. We unexpectedly find ourselves being caregivers to parents and partners, we miss our family and friends who are serving their country at home and abroad, we try to live lives of meaning and purpose even when everything seems meaningless. We are creatures, you see, not only with inherent worth and dignity, but with inherent resiliency. We overcome adversity we may have thought at one time we couldn’t possibly overcome…taking one step at a time toward acceptance, forgiveness and peace, for it is all we can do. We look for the silver lining in the dark clouds that gather over us from time to time and we learn from our struggles…we learn that each day offers us countless opportunities to help others overcome their own struggles. We are all, in our own ways, seeking to “end on an up note.”
By the day of the service, I had decided that I would not worry about finding the right reading that would send people out the door laughing. Laughter wasn’t what the evening was about anyway. I decided that the “Blue Christmas” service itself would be the “up note,” for when we are reminded that we are not alone in our sorrow or loss…that this life we share does not discriminate in the way pain is handed out…we have another opportunity to recognize the duty each of us has to count our blessings and to do our best to bring comfort to our companions.
The service turned out lovely, I thought. While I enjoyed the music, the silence and the candlelight, my favorite part was the hanging of the ornaments, which you can still see on the tree. As each person walked on to the stage to hang an ornament, I could feel the sense of community in the room growing. I was struck by how innocent and child-like everyone seemed…each person an embodiment of his or her own holy birth many years ago. I was also surprised at how meaningful it was to take part in the ritual myself, to write down my hopes and prayers on my ornament. I wrote of my love and concern for my father-in-law as his body continues to fight the onslaught of Lou Gerhig’s disease. I wrote of this troubled world, the countries torn apart by disagreement, terrorism and war, and the young men and women who are serving in the military, separated from families at a time of year when families should be together. I wrote of all those feeling the blows of this wretched and magnificent life we share and hoped that they might find some comfort.
Call them wishes, hopes or prayers, each of the ornaments created that night were expressions of our attempts to make sense of this mysterious life…this life that is not ours to keep nor to control…and served as reminders that none of us is really alone in our sorrow.
At the conclusion of the service, we lit candles and sang a hymn, much like we will do tonight. Did we end on an up note? I certainly thought so, but in the end, only the participants could determine that for themselves…just like each of us must do every day of our lives.
This choice, to end on an up note or not, is the choice that makes us human. We cannot always control what happens to us, but we can control how we make sense of our lives and what we do to make things better for ourselves and those who share our planet.
After all, isn’t that why since the earliest days of recorded history and no doubt long before that, our ancestors gathered with family and friends at one of the darkest times of the year to celebrate the return of the sun? Isn’t that why today we set up trees in our living rooms and decorate our homes with lights? Isn’t that why we continue to tell ourselves the stories of a jolly old generous elf named Santa and an infant whose mere presence was enough to draw kings and wise men to his manger. Aren’t these all reminders that as the year draws to its close, we should do all we can to end on an up note?
I have grown quite fond of the John Ciardi reading I shared earlier in the service. I can picture him in his New York City flat on Christmas Eve more than fifty years ago, the only one still awake, listening to the confusing wind shaking the dark tree and his mind. I can see him recognizing the absurdity that the angel atop his tree, stands guard over his living room even as he turns off the lights and feels his way down the hall. And I recognize the “half-surprised wish “ that stays lit inside his head, despite the darkness, despite the melancholy he is feeling. I think his half-surprised wish might be the same wish we all share, despite the injustices in the world--the violence, the poverty to name a few…despite the challenges we face in our personal lives, the mistakes, the losses, the defeats…despite the reasons we may have to believe that life is more wretched than magnificent.
It is the wish at the heart of the Christmas season. The wish that stays lit even on the darkest night. The wish that may be our best hope and guide in times of doubt and uncertainty. The wish that each of us may find the strength, the courage, the resiliency…and the sense of humor and absurdity to embrace this life, to do all we can to end on an up note despite all the reasons not to.
So as you leave this hall tonight, returning to the light of your singular rooms and the joys and sorrows of your uniquely complicated and confusing lives, I have one question for you to ponder. “You’re going to end on an up note, aren’t you?”
Benediction“25.XII.1993” by Joseph Brodsky (trans. From the Russian by Richard Wilbur)For a miracle, take one shepherd’s sheepskin, throw In pinch of now, a grain of long ago, And a handful of tomorrow. Add by eye A little bit of ground, a piece of sky, And it will happen. For miracles, gravitating To earth, know just where people will be waiting, And eagerly will find the right address And tenant, even in a wilderness.
Or, if you’re leaving home, switch on a new Four-pointed star in Heaven as you do, To light a vacant world with steady blaze And follow you forever with its gaze.
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