A Meditation on Incarnation

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…”

I was first introduced to this piece singing alto with a children’s choir at summer camp for a “Christmas in July” concert. On break from university I would curl up, gazing at the Christmas tree, and blast it through my headphones. In Tokyo I would turn the volume on my laptop as high as it would go, feeling the harmonies swirl around me as I looked out on the river and the lights of the city. Regardless of my location, circumstances, mood… the beauty, humility, and glory of this piece draws me out of myself and to the feet of God in worship. (And yes, that link is me attempting to play this majestic piece composed for a large 8-part choir... on the organ. Unfortunately not doing the lyrics, music, or our great mysterious God justice, I know! But hopefully it gives you a general idea)

It is a song about the incarnation. The great mystery of Christmas: God taking on flesh.

“O great mystery,

and wonderful sacrament,

that animals should see the new-born Lord,

lying in a manger!

Blessed is the Virgin whose womb

was worthy to bear

Christ the Lord.

Alleluia!”

And it is a song about us. I mean really, am I that much better than an animal in comparison with our Lord? And He comes not just to let us see Him, but to move in with us! And the most mysterious of all? After He takes on flesh, lives with us, dies for us, raises victorious… He doesn’t even stop there. I think the greatest mystery of all comes next, as He gives us the magnificent title and role:  “Now you are the body of Christ…”

O great mystery! That God not only lived with and for humanity, but He purifies and calls us worthy, like Mary, to bear Christ the Lord. You and me. In our brokenness and weakness and big-hot-messiness. To be bearers of His Light, to be His Word made flesh in this world.

Incarnation. The God of the universe as a baby, born to a virgin. And most mysterious of all…in us. Alleluia!

~John 1:1, 14

~1 Corinthians 12:27

~M. Lauridsen

Chickens, Cats, and Delight

 I have never been much of an animal person, but as part of my “re-culture shock” of being in rural USA again after a few years in great big Tokyo, I am much more aware of the natural world of plants and animals surrounding me. And from the beauty of humming birds, to the horror of a dead mouse, to my current house-sitting situation with 2 cats and a coop full of chickens, this city girl is finding “normal” things pretty entertaining.

As soon as I open the back door, I hear the excited clucking. 16 scrawny legs scuttle awkwardly in a jumbled effort to be the closest to the hen-house gate. “Some one is coming! Maybe they’ll open the gate! Maybe we’ll be FREEEE!”( – at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what these chickens are going on about.) But as 8 heads turn side-ways to get a good look at who is coming, 8 beady eyes fix on the big, juicy, rotten pear in my hand. I open the gate just enough to slip my wrist through, tossing the pear to the far corner of the coop. After a split second ruckus and flurry of feathers all 8 chickens are happily pecking away for a beak-full of rotten fruit. Meanwhile I open the gate wide, close it behind me, help myself to all their eggs, and let myself out again: completely ignored.

Then we have the cats. On one side of the yard we have a stereotypical anti-social sleeping-all-day ball of fur. On the other hand…we have an outdoor cat who absolutely adores me. As I come home he runs up to the car, nearly getting himself squished to driveway-cat-paste in his eagerness to greet me. He rubs himself on my legs and finds the greatest pleasure in a simple pet on the head. But I am cruel; my ears calloused to the desperate mews as I stand up and head for the front door. Thus the battle of wits always begins. Usually I succeed: slipping into my quiet refuge and locking the door in the face of the mewing cat (usually without squishing his neck in the door – oops. Sorry), but twice the cat has had the victory: dashing through the open door as I fumble with groceries or a stack of mail. “I made it! I win! I am inside and I will never-ever-ever leave you! Now that you have reciprocated my love by allowing me in, PLEEEEEEASE keep petting me” ( - at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s going on about).

I think of my awkward relationship with these animals, and I know it is an odd comparison, but I think of my relationship with God. Am I not a bit like the chickens sometimes? I come to an hour of quiet, a day of rest, and though my Father is right there, the gate open wide, I’m happy to instead fix my eyes on a glowing screen, scrolling through social media and watching TV shows (which in all their fun and wonderfulness are pretty much a gooshy rotten pear compared to my Glorious Abba). And while I know the cat's motives aren't pure either...when was the last time I would have stopped everything and risked my neck just to be with Him? And how thankful I am that He never plays a battle of wits with me, nor shuts the door in my face, nor laughs as I delight in rotten fruit. Oh no. Praise the Lord, He is not a city-girl house-sitter or even a business-like farm manager, but our God is our Shepherd, our Father: patient, overflowing with faithfulness and love. He opens the door wide every time; welcoming us to be with Him, delighting in us delighting in His glory.

迷子。Lessons on a "lost" child.

Clenched fists. Tear-streamed face. Heart-wrenching sobbing. Her 3-year-old frame looked small and fragile as businessmen, students, couples, families, all walked right by, maybe a quick glance before they pretended not to see her. Half hurrying to catch a train, half strolling along to their shopping.

Which way had her parents gone? I glanced around the train station, hoping to spot a frazzled looking parent. I crouch down to her level a few steps away, but being approached by a stranger/foreigner is still enough to instantly transform her tearful fear to terrified silence. (Oops.)

"Are you OK?" (nods affirmative) I try to ease the terror with a small smile, "I bet your mom or dad are close by, right?" My mind is racing: 'should I tell her to come with me to the station office around the corner, or, wait, can I say that in 3-year-old Japanese? yes, but is that going to scare her more...', when her tiny hand points behind me, to a man waiting quietly maybe 30 yards away by the station entrance. "Your Dad?" (nods affirmative)

Lesson #1: looks can be deceiving.

Lesson #2: the best way to get a Japanese toddler having a melt-down in the middle of a station to run to her Dad as fast as her legs can go, is a short conversation with a strange foreigner.

Lesson #3: I continued on my way to church, partly feeling bad (for not spotting the Dad, and terrifying this little kid), partly feeling OK (after all, I did fix the problem! Even if she wasn't lost, and just having a tantrum...and what if she had been lost?), and partly wondering what everybody else in the station was thinking as they walked right by her. But the little girl quickly faded from my mind as a million other thoughts took over, from the music I was playing for the service, to did I remember to send that email, to the meeting happening after worship, to 'wait, what was that Japanese word?', to what to eat for dinner tonight, to housing for the summer interns arriving soon, to raising support in the US this fall and when can I visit ____church, and...well, you get the idea.

Tonight I think back to the girl in the station, and the attitude of my mind/heart recently. No, I'm not having a melt-down; I'm doing great! But what does it mean when the default setting of my mind/heart is planning details (ok, sometimes worrying over details) instead of worshiping?

Sure, I know my Heavenly Dad is near. But do I act like it? Maybe, like my little not-so-lost friend, it's time to spend less time thinking about how I'd like things to go, and more time running to my Heavenly Daddy.