Advent, Day 27 (12/24)

We look forward to celebrating Christmas Eve together!

You’re invited to join the community on the sanctuary floor or in the Zoom balcony. Contact office@spiritofgracepdx.org for the Zoom link.

We’ve been engaged this Advent season in the countercultural practices of slowing down, paying attention, and sharing stories – opening ourselves to sacred rest and sacred listening. Now the time is ripe to remember and retell the Christmas story, a living story passed on to us by our spiritual ancestors. May we be awake to its power and meaning in this time and place. 

Advent, Day 26 (12/23)

Let us pray: 

Guardian of the seasons, 

keeper of every time, 

tune us so to your rhythms 

that we may know the occasion for stillness 

and the moment for action. 

May we be so prepared 

so aware 

so awakened 

in our waiting 

that when you prompt us 

into motion, 

our hands may be your hands 

and our purposes 

your own. 

(Jan Richardson, Night Visions) 

Advent, Day 25 (12/22)

As we anticipate Christmas after a season of paying attention to God’s presence in deep darkness, our bodies may sense the couple additional minutes of sunlight today. A new season is upon us – a winter season, a Christmas season, a season of lengthening days. In honor of this turning, enjoy Tara Sheperesky’s adaptation of Psalm 100 and its nod to our God who loves us “as the sunshine loves all the growing beings.” 

Psalm 100, Adapted Beside the River 

(by Tara Shepersky, a friend from West Linn Lutheran Church -- https://pdxpersky.com/) 

Little waves in the river clatter with joy, 

and alders wrap their green and yellow leaves 

around the wind. Every people of this good earth 

walks and rustles and swims with our Creator, 

and recalls how to sing. 

They know, and we know: the Divine cherishes us. 

She guards us as merganser guards her ducklings. 

Ki plays and instructs, as otter with kir kits. 

He loves us as the sunshine loves all the growing beings, 

and they love the light. 

We humans splash in the river. 

We sway with the wind and the leaves. 

We forget our fancy words, and we sing 

a song that means: Holy One, thank You. 

We sing to our Creatrix, who loves us always. 

Who has always loved us, and will love us until always. 

And we know how good we have it, we know 

how sweet is our belonging to our God. 

Advent, Day 24 (12/21)

Welcome to the winter solstice, the first day of astronomical winter in the Northern Hemisphere, the shortest day of the year. We are tilted as far away from the sun as possible. If you’re able and the weather cooperates, go outside at noon and notice your shadow. It’s the longest one you’ll cast all year. 

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Snowy Night 

by Mary Oliver 

Last night, an owl in the blue dark tossed an indeterminate number of carefully shaped sounds into the world, in which, a quarter of a mile away, I happened to be standing. I couldn’t tell which one it was – the barred or the great-horned ship of the air – it was that distant. But, anyway, aren’t there moments that are better than knowing something, and sweeter? Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness. I suppose if this were someone else’s story they would have insisted on knowing whatever is knowable – would have hurried over the fields to name it – the owl, I mean. But it’s mine, this poem of the night, and I just stood there, listening and holding out my hands to the soft glitter falling through the air. I love this world, but not for its answers. And I wish good luck to the owl, whatever its name – and I wish great welcome to the snow, whatever its severe and comfortless and beautiful meaning. 

Advent, Day 23 (12/20)

A reflection from Don Manghelli:

Have the sweet gums and all the other trees in my neighborhood notched up their beauty this year? Or have they pulled me a notch higher into their beauty? Either way, the splendor of the divine has especially surrounded me this year. 

“Look at me,” the fall leaves seem to shout. “I’m putting on my prettiest colors. I’m going to a big celebration.” They seem to try to outdo each other for my attention. 

They know that by winter’s solstice, their colors will be gone – fallen onto Mother Earth. And they also know that, at that darkest hour of winter, the Christ Child will sneak into our world, hidden among the farm animals. Autumn chides me, “Can you wake up, watch with me for an hour? I don’t want you to miss the big event – Emmanuel, ‘God with us.’” 

I’m reminded of a folk song I sang years ago at baptisms: 

The wailing of a newborn babe: It’s a blessing every way. 

Each time a baby’s born, it’s a bit of Christmas Day. 

A baby’s crying is a hint, of the way the Christ did sound. 

Another baby’s born, humankind, now take it one more round. 

Inspired by the autumn leaves, can we notch up our welcome to the Christ Child, God with us? The song asks us… 

One more chance, humankind, will you take it? 

Take the chance the way a child takes love? 

Advent, Day 21 (12/18)

It’s a full month this evening.  Are the skies clear enough to step outside or look out the window to see it?  To appreciate the dance between light and dark?

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In his book My Grandmother’s Hands, Resmaa Menakem writes about the vagus nerve – what he calls the soul nerve – and practices for helping settle your body, stay present, and remain connected. He describes the soul nerve as “a highly complex and extraordinarily sensitive organ that communicates through vibes and sensations. This communication occurs not only between different parts of the body, but also from one person to another…The largest part of your soul nerve goes through your gut, which has about 100 million neurons, more than your spinal cord. This is why we sense so many things in our belly – and why some biologists call the gut our ‘second brain.’ This second brain is where our body senses flow, coherence, and the rightness or wrongness of things” (p. 138). 

Among the practices Menakem offers for settling your body, staying present, and remaining connected are humming, belly breathing, slow rocking, joint rotations, and chanting (pp. 141-147). He writes, “Most of these practices are ancient; some are thousands of years old. While our ancestors were largely unaware of the biomechanics of the soul nerve, they understood their own bodies. They learned – and taught their families and neighbors – what worked to help their bodies settle. They often did many of these practices together, and these communal practices helped to heal not just individual bodies, but families and other groups, as well. You’ll recognize some of these practices as things I’ve described my grandmother doing; as things many small children do intuitively; as things parents often do with their babies; as things enslaved people did as they worked together on plantations; and as practices from many religions. Almost all of them have also been proven to work in controlled lab experiments.” (pp. 140-141). 

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Practice: 

You’re invited to engage the intentional practice of humming. Find a quiet, comfortable space and position. Focus your attention on the center of your belly, behind your navel. Breathe in and out a few times. Feel your belly help push the air all the way out and then relax as your lungs automatically refill. Pick a song with a simple melody that feels comforting to your body. Hum it all the way through from beginning to end from your belly. 

Then pause and notice what your body experiences afterward. What has changed, if anything, from before you started humming? What has stayed the same? What sensations, thoughts, and images are arising? What does your body want to do now? Just notice whatever you’re experiencing. 

Advent, Day 20 (12/17)

A reflection from Christie Bernklau Halvor: 

This past summer, I practiced paying attention in a very small way. Most days I paused somewhere in the garden. Paused and watched. Paused and listened. Paused and felt. No weed pulling. No list making. Sometimes it was only for five minutes. It was humbling to realize how hard it could be to follow through on that small commitment.

Yet those daily moments of pausing and paying attention shifted things inside of me as I came to know more intimately this little ecosystem of which I am a part. I learned that of all the nectar options in the garden, nothing tempts the bees like oregano. I’d never noticed before just how many tiny flowers bloom on a single oregano plant.

I learned that if I sit still and keep my hands tucked close to my body, the youngest chickens will jump up and take a nap on my lap. I’d never tried that with their older sisters. I learned that the praying mantis can turn its head 180 degrees and stare you down like nobody’s business. 

I met the praying mantis one morning as I overzealously watered a bed of purple salvia and was startled to realize I’d been looking right past it impressively camouflaged on one of the stems. As I leaned in closer, I realized it was turning its head and looking over its shoulder at me. (Turns out the praying mantis is the only insect known to be able to do this.) Those eyes! I don’t know how long we both held still, staring at one another. It was a simple, profound, timeless moment. 

This may have been the first time I’d seen a praying mantis in the garden, but it felt like the praying mantis already knew me – after all, I had apparently been drowning its habitat without awareness most mornings. We watched one another for a long time. My breathing slowed. My back relaxed as I became aware of the sun’s gentle morning heat. A smile grew across my face.

Eventually, I grew restless. My mind started to remember the tasks before me, and I decided to move on. I’m confident the praying mantis would have held still with me much longer. 

I got up and began watering more gently, closer to the roots, as I did each morning after – hoping the praying mantis would emerge again. And most mornings, it did. It emerged in a way I couldn’t track. A blessing for the day. An expansion of my understanding of neighbor and community. 

Advent, Day 17 (12/14)

A reflection from Kathleen $: 

My pager went off: ”Urgent consult OBC.” The first in two years, since the advent of the In-patient Palliative Care Consultation Service. As I drove across the Fremont Bridge toward the Oregon Burn Center, I found myself feeling anxious and overwhelmed. This was a huge opportunity to break down a solid barrier by providing (proving to be) a valuable service to this patient and her family, as well as the burn center staff providing their care. 

The situation: A 23-year-old mother of 2 (aged 3 and 1-1/2) and 6 months pregnant. Fiancée, 1.5-year-old son, and unborn child died due to trailer fire. Reason for consult: Assist parents with how to talk to their severely burned daughter regarding the death of her son. 

I had severed ties with the Catholic Church several decades earlier, yet maintained a devoted relationship with Our Lady of Guadeloupe. Now I found myself praying to her in earnest. 

My hand was moist against the doorknob as I entered the small conference room, expecting to meet parents, not a room packed with 30 family members. In that precise moment, the strong odor of too many anxious grieving people confined in too small a space hit me like a hot smelly blast. In the same moment, the cacophony of voices muted to a sudden hush of silence as I entered their space. 

I went from feeling utterly inadequate to feeling a deep sense of calm. And Spirit entered the room. 

What ensued over the next hour and a half was nothing short of grace at its purest, its brightest. Everyone was heard. This beloved family engaged fully in finding the guidance and path forward that dwelled within each of them – and their family. The burn center staff found the support they needed from the Palliative Care team, and breath was breathed into a partnership between the two. 

I knew I had been in the presence of Spirit, that I had been enlisted into service that was beyond my humble scope. I felt my faith stir deep within my soul. I believed in the mystery that had unfolded in my presence. From that day forward I referred to my work as “good and holy work.” 

Advent, Day 16 (12/13)

Next week, we anticipate the Winter Solstice, the gradual emergence of longer days, and, of course, Christmas. But Richard Rohr reminds us, “The Divine Presence occupies the here and now.”

And so, we’re invited to slow down enough to pay attention to this day. To this night. To the “possibilities for intimacy, for rest, for healing” in this moment. Doing so may be the preparation we need to receive the spirit of the Christ child when Christmas arrives. 

Practice and Reflection: 

Pause and pay attention to this moment, this particular and holy moment in creation’s story. What do you hear? What do you see? What do you smell? What do you taste? What is your body touching? What do you feel within and around you? 

Have you ever experienced a moment of profound presence, awareness, or flow? A moment that transcended time and space as you typically know it? What did that look, smell, taste, sound, feel like? 

Advent, Day 15 (12/12)

You’re invited to gather with our community for worship and communion at 10 am this morning, whether on the sanctuary floor or in the Zoom balcony. This is the Third Sunday of Advent; remember to start lighting three of your Advent candles each day. 

Activities for This Third Week of Advent 

(1) Worship with Eucharist this morning from 10-11am.  Contact the office at info@spiritofgracepdx.org for the Zoom link if you don’t have it.

(2) Daily Devotions – You’re invited to read, reflect, and participate in activities, guided by these shared devotions. Perhaps combine this with lighting three Advent candles. 

(3) Holden Evening Prayer – Join us on Wednesday at 7 pm, in the sanctuary or on Zoom, for an Advent vespers service. 

Advent, Day 14 (12/11)

A reflection from E.C.:

In my teens, a dear atheist friend helped me make a quantum leap in my relationship with God. He and I were among the top students in our class, and he couldn’t understand how a brainy person like me could believe in God. 

Our talks ranged over many days, as we walked among the trees on campus, or sat in the library to study, or found a spot at the wooden tables in the dining hall. “Why do you believe? There’s no logic in…” and he’d insert his images of religion one by one. 

As I pondered his questions, non-essentials peeled away. I saw that I didn’t believe because I was supposed to. Nor because I thought it would get me to Heaven. Nor because I thought Jesus was still alive somehow. In fact, it wasn’t “belief” at all. 

I knew there was God, just as I knew the warmth of the sun or my mother’s love. 

I told my friend, “I believe in God because when I pray, something happens, something opens in my heart.” 

Something vast, beyond words, is there when I get quiet. Settling into that loving Presence, as fluttering thoughts calm, I understand why God is described in so many ways. I experience comfort, counsel, wisdom, peace. Even humor! Sometimes what arises is guidance; sometimes it is peace in not-knowing. 

The words of some Biblical writers evoke that Presence. And some Biblical writers (sometimes the same ones) wrote words that are not life-giving, at least not in that moment for me, so I let those words go. I pick and choose as I read. I do the same with scriptures from other faiths, too – after all, even the caring questions of an atheist can lead us towards the Divine. 

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Practice and Reflection: 

Were you able to set aside a quiet moment this week to notice your breathing? To pay gentle attention to your muscles and joints, nerves and blood flow? If not, maybe you can do this today. Where is there tension? Where is there freedom? Where is there pain or tenderness or tiredness? Where is there energy? 

And have you found yourself “wrestling with the Divine”? Do you bring a particular question, lament, demand, or commitment to the struggle? Can you feel it in your body? In the wholeness of your being? Can you relate with McCaulley’s posture of refusing to let go until there is a blessing? Or do you wonder whether there is even a blessing to be had? 

Advent, Day 13 (12/10)

A reflection from Mike Gettel-Gilmartin:

PRAYER OF ST. BRENDAN
"Help me to journey beyond the familiar and into the unknown.
Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You.

Christ of the mysteries, I trust You
to be stronger than each storm within me.
I will trust in the darkness and know
that my times, even now, are in Your hand.
Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,
and somehow, make my obedience count for You." AMEN.

The other day I came across this prayer on a Facebook page called The Celtic Christian Tradition. It epitomizes what is going on in my own life right now, as I “journey into the unknown.”

The past few years have been tough, as society deals with the merciless Covid-19 pandemic, authoritarian impulses in government, and the ever-threatening consequences of the climate crisis. I’m sure I’m not the only one who fears for the future of my children and grandchildren.

Like Jacob, I wrestle with where God is in all of this. As Christians, we are told that God is with the poor – but, as Christians, do we really act that way when we see scores of our fellow humans living in tents on our streets? We are told that, when we visit those in prison and do acts of mercy, we are doing this to God – but I would wager most of us turn a blind eye to the conditions in our prison system and want nothing to do with prisoners.

This is why St. Brendan’s prayer was so meaningful. It asks me to have faith to leave old ways (of thinking, of behaving, of believing), and to break fresh ground with the Christ of the mysteries. This Advent, I pray that Christ will be stronger than each storm within me, and that I will know, even now, that my times are in God’shands.

Please take a moment to reread the prayer at the beginning of this devotion. Sit with it and see what insights it brings.

Advent, Day 12 (12/9)

A reflection from Val Cannard:

Why would, or rather, how could anyone fight with God? That's the question that was in my mind the first time I heard the story of Jacob's wrestling match. Yet, over the years there have been many times that I have argued/wrestled with the divine.

It would start with a simple prayer: “Please God, help me obtain this particular item or goal,” or “Please God, help me with this relationship,” or “Please God, help me solve this problem,” or “God, what is it you want me to do?”

I wait and wait and there is no reply, or rather the reply is“No” or “Not yet” and I just don't want to hear it. The prayers continue more fervently with perhaps a bit of bargaining or questioning. I recall one time asking a friend, “Why would God put such a strong desire in myheart and then make it impossible to accomplish?” As I cried, my friend just held me close and quietly said, “God's time is not our time.”

As we walked the 500 miles of the Camino de Santiago, I prayed and listened, wanting clarification on what direction my life was supposed to go. At the end of that trip, I was still uncertain and I felt like Elijah who also wrestled with God. I hadn't found or heard the answer I was waiting for in the storms, in the many churches, on the mountaintops, in the miles of silence, or the many conversations with people we met on the way.

In the past few years, I have had many opportunities to participate in a spiritual practice called “lectio divina,” in which you listen quietly to a Bible passage and after the second reading of it you share or reflect on a word or phrase from that passage. For me, the word from the story of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32 is “daybreak” and I am wondering if it refers to more than just the rising of the sun.

Jacob and Elijah both struggled with God in the darkness, but when they finally let go of the struggle they were no longer in the dark. They could see the light. There was clarity, strength for the journey that lay ahead, and the blessings.

Advent, Day 11 (12/8)

You’re invited to join the community for live piano music this evening from 7-8pm, either in the sanctuary or on Zoom. Email office@spiritofgracepdx.org if you need a link. This is a gift to the community from one of our talented pianists, Jasnam Daya Singh.

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A Prayer of Shelter and Shadow

by Pádraig Ó Tuama

We know that sometimes we are alone, and sometimes we are in community.

Sometimes we are in shadow,
and sometimes we are surrounded by shelter.

Sometimes we feel like exiles –
in our land, in our languages and in our bodies. And sometimes we feel surrounded by welcome.

As we seek to be human together,
may we share the things that do not fade: generosity, truth-telling, silence, respect and love.

And may the power we share be for the good of all.

We honour God, the source of this rich life.
And we honour each other, story-full and lovely.

Whether in our shadow or in our shelter, may we live well
and fully
with each other.

Amen.

Advent, Day 10 (12/7)

A reflection from April B.L.:

God.
I’m busy, very busy.
I’m winning at checking items off my to-do list. I’m fishing for something new to watch.
I’m perseverating on the latest outrage.

Is your angel trying to catch my attention?
Is she hoping I will notice when she knocks me down? Is she waiting for me to wake up?
(Can you wrestle if you’re asleep?)

Perhaps.
Or perhaps I’m terrified to wrestle.
Perhaps I’m avoiding riverbanks in the dark.
What if she knocks down the two pillars of my comfort? “We’re good, and they’re bad.”
And:
“If I work hard enough, I’ll be safe.”

God.
Please take me to the riverbank.
Please open my eyes to see your angel. Please give me courage to wrestle.