It's been 45 years since President John Kennedy was assassinated. I am amazed at the continuing power of his legacy.

This morning, Caroline Kennedy's interest in the soon-to-be-vacant Senate seat from New York was top-of-the-front-page news in both the Richmond Times-Dispatch and The New York Times. (Lemme tell you: it's a rare day when those two newspapers think the same story is top of the page news!)

This is not just the Kennedy name. This is the direct lineage from the one some still think of as the martyred young president.

Why is this so captivating? I am guessing it's because those old enough look back at those Kennedy-"Camelot" years as years of hope and promise. There are historians who speculate that, had President Kennedy lived, his recklessness in foreign policy and in his personal life (exhibited in the Bay of Pigs debacle and his habit of taking breaks during White House working days for trysts with various sexual partners) would have done real damage to the country. As it is, though, there is nostalgia for those old enough to remember, "Ask not what your country can do for you..." There is a longing for a brightness and optimism which was lost with the assassinations and Vietnam and Watergate. People grasp at the thought: can Caroline Kennedy revive that sense of hope and promise?

Of course, hope and promise are key themes of this season of Advent. This goes far beyond any politician or political party or governmental initiative, or, indeed, any human endeavor.

We look with hope for God to fulfill God's promise of the kingdom to come -- when there will be no more tears, no more suffering, no more death, no more poverty or hunger or war.

Our yearning is our preparation for Christmas.

Ironic. This morning the temperature is in the 50s, so it's warm enough for me to get out on my bike. And the roads are dry, which often hasn't been the case recently. But the head cold that has been advancing and receding over the past few days has really settled in. So I figured I should be easy on myself this morning. (I can feel my body getting softer by the hour.)

I spent the time finishing the re-reading of Gilead, the excruciatingly beautiful novel by Marilynne Robinson. It takes the form of a journal that an elderly preacher in Kansas is composing, so that his very young son will remember him when he's dead. It's an early-morning book for me, because that's when I'm most alert. The writing is very subtle; meditations, really on themes that are Biblical -- judgement and grace; specifically, the judgementalism that arises from ignorance, and the forgiveness that often comes with a fuller understanding of a person's situation. There's also a good bit of the themes of the parable of the Prodigal. These are not pages that can be read quickly.

I first read Gilead three years ago. I've re-read it because, for my birthday, Patty gave me Robinson's newest novel, Home, which carries on the story of one of the characters in Gilead. Now that my memory is refreshed of the "story so far," I can get into the new book.

Marilynne Robinson has written three novels: Housekeeping, published in 1980, Gilead, published in 2004, and now Home. She obviously writes as the Spirit moves her. The fact that she doesn't simply churn them out every couple of years commends her to me!

Some of you met John McNamee about a year ago when he was at St. Stephen to read from some of his poetry and essays. John retired a few months after he visited with us. (He was forced to retire, actually, by the Archbishop, who considered him to be a thorn in his ecclesiastical flesh. An aging priest who ran with the Berrigan brothers and who still thought that way can only be tolerated so far, in the political atmosphere of today's Roman Catholic church.)

I digress. John's writings come out of his exerience of decades as a parish priest in north Philadelphia -- in the midst of some of the worst poverty and despair in the world. During this season of honesty about what brings us despair, and hopeful watching for God's advent, for God's entering in, I thought I would offer John's poem entitled, "Advent."

Ghetto woman
these Advent evenings
when I light wreath candles
against winter darkness
and search holy books
to feel the spirit of a season
that gathers human yearning
into hope

I remember other evenings
when the projects hovered
over Diamond Street
ghost ships at concrete anchor
and somewhere in the upper reaches
of that ruined landscape
your window wreathed in Christmas lights

taught me more of hope
than all my books and pieties

Frank Honeycutt writes this about Advent:

"We are in deep need of unhurried time to celebrate the advent of God in our lives. How shall we offer our full-bodied attention to God in response to the gift of incarnation? The ancient Advent wreath hearkens from a time when Scandinavian farmers prepared for winter in the year's waning light. They would bring one cartwheel into the house and decorate the wheel with candles and greenery. The message was clear: you can't go anywhere on three wheels. The world was slowing down, a spiritual cue for all God's people. Every Advent I've been tempted to remove a tire from my trusty Mitsubishi Mirage and adorn the wheel in a similar way. That might finally slow me down a bit."

The first reading yesterday was Isaiah 40:1-11, and I thought to bring in a CD of Handel's Messiah to play for the high school kids I meet with in-between the services. The first two tenor solos ("Comfort Ye" and "Every Valley") are Isaiah 40:1-3 put to the music. Immediately afterwards, Isaiah 40:4 provides the words for the first chorus ("And the Glory of the Lord").

What beloved pieces of music! Great idea, huh, to play those familiar selections from Messiah? A great way to help those words of prophecy from Isaiah come alive, right, to play these well-known melodies?

Problem: none of the high school kids had heard this music from Messiah. I kid you not. (It could be that they'd heard it at one time, but none of them had paid attention or remembered it.)

I quickly changed gears, to teach Handel's work and to teach the passage. And, later, I thought about why I had been so familiar with Messiah when I was in high school.

My folks had a copy of the recording, and they played it some. But it occurred to me: the reason I knew parts of Messiah by heart was because I sang the bass part to "And the Glory" and the "Hallelujah Chorus" every year, as a member of the high school choir. (We were an outstanding choir, singing at a number of locations, including on the radio each year during the weeks leading up to Christmas.) It was a public school. We sang about God, and even about Christ. And the entire student body was gathered for Christmas assemblies, to hear us singing about God and even about Christ. For better or for worse, the school culture reinforced the Christian faith. No longer.

Here's another example that this is no longer a Christian culture. A real pet peeve for me is to receive Christmas cards from people of faith that have absolutely no religious message. I have often asked, "Why do they send 'happy holiday' cards, rather than Christmas cards?"

Well, a reason might be because religious cards are so hard to find! This past Saturday I went out to Parlett's and to Barnes and Noble to buy Christmas cards. At least 90% of the cards on display were "holiday" cards, with absolutely no religious message. And those that did acknowledge Christmas were insipid (in my humble opinion). So, I went home, fired up the computer, went to www.printeryhouse.com, and ordered two boxes of cards printed by the monks at Conception Abbey. So much for supporting local merchants. I tried!

It's not all bad that Christianity has become marginalized. For instance, it's a good thing to question the linkage between a distorted Christianity that is used to prop up the values of a nation. It's a good thing to become more knowledgeable about how unsettling the gospel is to those who live in great comfort, as we do. And it provides opportunity to be counter-cultural.

I remember an exchange last year, during the celebration of "the holidays." I was at a grocery store, purchasing some items. You know how those encounters go. Usually there is no eye contact at all between customer and clerk. Sure enough, this time the harried and over-worked clerk was watching the conveyor belt and the display screen. As I gave her my money, she mumbled to me what I suspect her bosses had told her to say: "Happy holidays." I replied, "Merry Christmas." She stopped. She looked at me. "Thank you," she said.

It was actually a little bit exciting! We were like two undercover subversive agents in the wider culture, using code words -- "Merry Christmas" -- to identify ourselves to each other as people of faith!

(By the way -- if you were planning to send out a card to Patty and me with no religious significance, feel free to save the 42 cents. We know you've thinking of us and wishing us well! We don't need to read another wish for "Happy Holidays!")

My mind was racing when I woke up this morning. I had been looking at the allocations of my pension fund last night (age 55, 10 years before retirement; one of those points at which the allocations of stocks and bonds and cash need to be tweaked) -- and I wanted to check on that again. So I turned on the computer to access the account and worked on it for a few minutes. And I figured that, since the computer was on, I'd check on e-mail, and there was one from my cousin, Michael, who works for Catholic Relief Services, specializing in the work they're doing in Africa. Which got me excited to write him back about the stimulating books I've been reading by Philip Jenkins about the church and interpretation of the Bible in the global south.

And, wait a minute ---

I was about to leave behind my morning prayer time.


And it's Advent; a particularly holy time of the year. During Advent, to begin my prayer time, I light the votive candle held by an Advent angel that a dear friend gave me years ago. I just sit. I open myself in prayer.

What do you do, to carve out time for quiet during these weeks of Advent preparation? What do you do to remind yourself that it's Advent?

Today I'm 55 years old. That seems like a significant milestone. Soon, I will have been ordained for 30 years -- another significant milestone. And yet, I still feel as if I'm just beginning to learn how to live, and how to do parish ministry: to live in grace; to know that any "results" are up to the Holy Spirit. I'm only a beginner.

This past Sunday morning, Reed Nester accosted me: "I can't believe that I would ever hear such falsehood from my pastor!"

I said, "Oh boy. What's this about?"

He said, "Your patently false claim that your bike is the most beautiful one in Williamsburg. I'll give you James City and York Counties. But I claim Williamsburg!" (Reed is the City Planner for Williamsburg, and will commute to work 100 times this year.)

Yeah. Like I'm going to agree with Reed! But I do want to give him equal time. Even if it's not the most beautiful commuting bike, it sure is pretty!



You will be pleased to know that Reed and I did reach some common ground. Reed said, "At least we can agree that Karen and I have the most beautiful tandem around."



Reed and Karen have put more than 20,000 miles on this tandem!