Category Archives: Jean Houston

Glimpsing Sophia in Nature

These summer months grace us with moments of peace, awe, refreshment, whether we find ourselves walking in a forest, standing by a lake, gazing at an ocean, or looking deep into the night sky. Our souls respond to these glimpses of beauty, truth, and meaning. Sometimes, it is only later that we grasp the significance of what we have seen.

Reflecting with you on a Sacred Feminine presence, a memory stirs.

It is July, 2005. I am driving towards my first encounter with Jean Houston.

In the deepening dusk, the spruce and fir trees on either side of the narrow road bend towards me. I hope it is in welcome. The car struggles with the climb up into the mountains, as though it is a living thing, exhausted. I have already passed the entrance to Crater Lake National Park, but there was no one there to take the entry fee. There are no other cars on the road, nor have I seen any for the past twenty minutes.  None of these signs alert me to the risk I am taking approaching a place as wild as any untamed mountain creature.

Early on that morning when I said goodbye to my friends at the Monastery in Cottonwood, Idaho, I did not know that Crater Lake existed.  Three hours later in the small town of Waitsburg, the restaurant owner who served me a late breakfast sent my plans cartwheeling.

“Where are you headed?”  The question was friendly, interested, an offer of conversation to his only customer.

I told him I needed to reach Ashland Oregon by the following day. “For a ten-day course in Social Artistry,” I added.

But it was not the journey’s purpose that interested him.  “You taking 97 South?”

“No,” I said, showing him my multi-paged MapQuest Route. “Straight south down the Interstate 5.”

But he wouldn’t hear of it. “Take 97 South. You have to see Crater Lake.”  And he disappeared into the living space behind the restaurant, returning like a squirrel with a stored treasure, a brochure that offered routes, photos, and the amazing history of this crater, formed when a mountain blew its top in a volcanic eruption thousands of years earlier.

MapQuest had been my security blanket on a journey I’d never made before; yet the kindness of this stranger, his eagerness for me not to miss something of incomparable beauty, won me over.

Now, after a full day’s journey, most of it through the desert of Oregon in temperatures that topped one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, I have arrived. The trees to my left suddenly part to reveal a shimmering surface where Crater Lake bends and curves within the arms of its great rock bowl, glowing in the last light of day.

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Crater Lake, Oregon

I pull over to park beside the low stone wall and stand gazing out at a stillness that calms and fills me.  Already on its distant edges I can see wisps of mist rising as the cooling air caresses the water’s surface.  I stand here for a long while, knowing I am seeing something that Native American Shamans forbade their people to look upon, a lake discovered by others only in the 1850’s.  For more than seven thousand years, rain and snow have been quietly filling the bowl of a collapsed mountain to create one of the purest and deepest lakes on the planet.

I climb back into the car, the darkness deepening as I drive further into the mountains. I look to the left, to the east, to the place of new beginnings, where the lake still glows, a grey white opal in the evening.  Just beyond the edge of the narrow road, to my right, in the west, the place of endings, the sun is setting, a giant orange-red thumb print. Below it, I gaze at the tops of purple mountains.

I am glimpsing a metaphor for the spirituality I have been seeking for a long while, though I will only understand it later.

Twenty-four hours later, I walk into a room at Ashland University to find some ninety persons gathered most as well-aged as myself, and many even dressed like me in long skirts and flowing tunic tops. Like Brer Rabbit in the briar patch, I know I am at home.  As the days move on, I discover I am living with these people a spirituality that we share, though we have come from religious traditions as divergent as Catholic, Buddhist, Jewish, Protestant, and Native American.

In the Closing Ritual, Jean invites each of us to say what we feel called to do with our lives after this experience. I say to the group gathered around our ersatz altar,  covered with the UN flag of the planet earth, and vases of flowers, “I want to weave into the new spirituality all the passion and love and beauty that was Christianity.”

Crater Lake has become for me an image of how the Holy One has been quietly filling a new, wonderfully feminine container with the waters of a new spirituality for our planet, gathering over thousands of years, while just as quietly, and with equal slowness, the mountains of patriarchal religions are sinking into their purple depths under the ember eye of the setting sun.

It’s not something we are waiting for; it’s already present among us, inviting us to rejoice in a faithful One who knows the longings of our hearts.

 

 

 

 

 

Life With Sophia

Therefore I determined to take her to live with me,

Knowing that she would give me good counsel

And encouragement in cares and grief.

(Wisdom 8:9 NRSV Bible)

 

Midsummer:  a time for dreams, for magic, for the unexpected. We celebrate Solstice as the sun’s light comes earliest, stays longest in the Northern Hemisphere while coming latest, leaving soonest in the Southern Hemisphere.

A memory returns of a Summer Solstice morning eight years ago. I had wakened from a strange dream that I could not unravel. CBC Radio was playing Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet” so I began to dance, hoping the mystery might become clear through sacred movement. Words began to rise from deep within me: “Unbind her and let her go free”. If the words referred to myself, that only puzzled me further. How was I bound? How did I need to be set free? I phoned a woman whose wisdom I trusted, Jean Houston, my mentor, teacher and friend.

“You didn’t come in here alone,” Jean said. “Unbind that sacred presence within you. Let her go free.”

Thus began my relationship with a sacred feminine presence whom I am coming to know through the ordinary, sometimes extraordinary, experiences of daily life.  On that day,  I determined to take her to live with me, knowing that she would give me good counsel and encouragement in cares and grief. “

Over the years of attending Jean Houston’s Mystery School sessions, I had learned a process for engaging with a sacred, archetypal presence for whom I had no name. I began a new journal. On the first page I wrote the date, and on the next line my own name, followed by a colon. How to begin?

Here is what I wrote:

Anne Kathleen: Dear Friend, who are you? What are you?

On the next line, I wrote the word Friend with a colon and let my pen script her response.

Friend: I am the One who holds you in love.

Anne Kathleen: There are moments from my life when I sensed a presence that loved me deeply. Was that you?

Friend: Sometimes I was in the voice or body of someone – I spoke to you, touched you through a beloved other. But were there not moments when you sensed a presence of love when NO ONE was there?

Anne Kathleen: You are that love? That presence?

(Here I made reference to specific moments and experiences in my life, and the Friend added others…)

Anne Kathleen: Are you the Mother? Isis? Sacred Feminine? I do not know how to address you.

Friend: For now, just allow me to be with you. Names, titles, descriptions, come later.

 

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Meinrad Craighead: “I am Summer out of Spring’s Death”, 1985  The spiral represents the onoging cycle of the seasons, ever-changing, ever renewing.

And that is how it began. I was grateful for Jean’s teaching that at first we will think it is our own imagination. But in time, there will be responses so surprising and unexpected that we accept they come from something deeper than the self we know.

For a long while, the nudges or suggestions I received from the Friend seemed so ordinary that I was disappointed. Seeking great adventures, I would instead be reminded about a necessary email or phone call, or a task I’d forgotten.

Slowly, slowly, over these eight years, the daily writings have become a compass for my life. When faced with a tangle of tasks, I am guided as to where and how to begin. When I feel overwhelmed, I might be invited to take some time to walk to settle my thoughts and feelings. When there are important choices or decisions to be made, I am sometimes astonished to hear a writing voice very different from my own who offers another approach, one I would not have found on my own, one that proves to be life-giving and peaceful.

Yet, I have not found this Friend to be all-knowing, for sometimes a situation changes in a way she did not seem to anticipate. Her love and her wisdom have brought a profound peace to my life, one that eases anxiety, assures me in uncertainty, brings light into the darkest times. I am no longer alone.

I share this with you as a way of suggesting that if you indeed seek the awakening of Sophia in your own life, you may wish to try this journaling approach. See where it might lead you. Notice how synchronicities arise in your life, bringing you the right book/friend/opportunity to nurture your dedication to this sacred presence.

A few years ago, it was the books of Thealogian Carol P. Christ that became light for me, as she wove personal experience through her scholarship.

Here Carol writes of being with her mother as she was dying:

As my mother drew her last breaths, I felt the room flooded with what I can only describe as a great power of love. A revelation had been given to me. Until that moment, I had always felt that I had not been loved enough. I began to understand that a great matrix of love had always surrounded and sustained my life. Since then, I have come to experience love as the gift of the abundant earth. It truly is the power of all being, the power I know as a Goddess. (Rebirth of the Goddess Addison Wesley Publishers, Menlo Park, California 1997 p.4)

 These are the words from that same book that I read on the Solstice:

 When we love concretely, intelligently, in our bodies and in concern for the whole web of life, we are listening to the persuasion offered to us by the Goddess whose intelligent embodied love is the ground of all being (pp. 108-9)

 

Coming to Know Sophia

Inspired by Thomas Merton’s prayer–poem “Hagia Sophia” (High Wisdom), we have been reflecting on the presence of Sophia within all that lives, the beating heart of the planet.

In her book Praying with the Women Mystics, Mary Malone offers us a reworking of Hildegard of Bingen’s poem, “God: The Wisdom-Woman”.

For this is the Wisdom-Woman of God.

She watches over all people and all things.

She is of such radiance and brightness

That you cannot gaze on her face or on the garments she wears.

For she is awesome in terror and gentle in goodness.

She has the radiance of divinity in her face.

She is with all and in all and of beauty so great

That no one can know how sweetly she bears with people,

And with what unfathomable mercy she treats them.

 Our Lady of Guadalupe: 16th c. image

Allow a time of quiet as these words settle within you, creating an inner space of peace and beauty.

In her book Godseed (Quest Books, Wheaton, Illinois, 1992) Jean Houston offers a guided meditation inviting us into “A Visit to the Sophia”.

After a long spiraling journey upwards, you find yourself at the very top of a high mountain. You go inside the mountain to a path that travels downward in a spiral.

Moving along the path down and around within the inner mountain spiral, you pass scenes of your own life, from your earliest infancy. You see or sense yourself being born. Continuing on the path down and around, to your earliest childhood, you see yourself taking your first steps, forming words, reaching out and grasping things, learning to feed yourself. Further down you see yourself learning to tie your own shoes and attending your first days at school. Continuing down, you see yourself learning games and reaching out to other children. As you continue, you see yourself growing up fast and learning many things. You see your adolescence. Further along you observe stages of your life until today………..

Suddenly you find yourself at the very bottom of the inside of the mountain. There you discover a door of baked mud. Going through it, you find that it leads to a hallway and to a door of water. You pass through the door of water, and it leads to a door of fire. You pass through the door of fire, and it leads to a door of winds. You lean against the winds and pass through. This door leads to a door of bronze, and you pass through. This door leads to a door of silver. You pass through the door of silver and find a door of gold.

At the door of gold there is a shining figure who says to you: “Through this door is the Sophia. Through this door is the Wise One herself, the incarnation of Wisdom. When you pass through this door, you will be in the presence of the Sophia. There you must ask your question. You may see her or you may sense her. But know that she is there. She who is Wisdom itself.” When you are in her ambience, whether you see her or hear her or sense her or feel her, ask your question. Her answers may come in words or in images or even in feelings.

You now have four minutes of clock time, equal to all the time you need, to be in the presence of the Sophia and ask your question and receive her answers.

********************

Thanking the Sophia for her wisdom and kindness, and knowing that you can always return to visit her again, begin now to go back through the door of gold, the door of silver, the door of bronze, beyond the doors of winds, of fire, of water, of earth, beyond the spiral of the stages of your own life, reaching the top of the mountain. Now take the spiral path back down from the mountain. Find yourself here in this moment.

Open your eyes, sit up and stretch, and if you wish, write your experiences in a journal or make a drawing or sketch of what you found with the Sophia…
 

A Welcome for Brigid

The knocking on the wooden door is so loud it startles us, even though we are waiting for the sound. A woman’s voice, strong, certain, calls out from the other side: “I am Brigid. Do you have a welcome for me?”

We have our answer ready, “Yes, we do.” The door opens. The woman playing Brigid’s role enters. On this final morning of our weekend with Dolores Whelan at the Galilee Retreat Centre in 2014, we are enacting an ancient Celtic Ritual of Imbolc, February 1st, as we welcome Brigid in her Maiden form. Brigid, who “breathes life into the mouth of dead winter”, comes among us announcing spring.

Brighid by Jo Jayson

painting by Jo Jayson

Do we “have a welcome” for Brigid in our lives? What does it mean to answer her question with a resounding, “yes”?

This is a woman of great power, an archetype, an embodiment of energies of the sacred. Our welcome of her will open up our lives in ways we cannot foresee, cannot even imagine. But the hints are already given in the stories we have been recalling.

Two weeks ago we recalled the legend that angels carried Brigid over the seas from Ireland to Bethlehem so that she might be present for the birth of Jesus, assisting Mary as midwife. Brigid, who was born in the fifth century after the event….

Immediately we find ourselves in sacred time, in what today’s physicists, following Einstein, would call the simultaneity of time. Mystery. We suspend disbelief, allow our linear, logical brains to take a break, invite the story to offer us its teachings. Ask how this applies to our own lives. Listen.

Each one of us is asked, like Mary, to give birth to the Holy One. In Godseed, Jean Houston writes about the heart of our call, inviting us into a meditation, a visualization, of how this might be:

Lying down now and closing your eyes, imagine that you are dreaming. In your dreams, you see light, and into this light comes a Being of Light, a Bearer of Good News, a Resident from the Depths. This angel says to you, “Oh Child of God, fear not to take unto yourself the spiritual partnership, for that which is conceived in you is of the spiritual Reality. And this Reality, if nurtured, shall be born of you and shall help you to…bring the Godseed into the world.”
And now see what the angel sees—the fulfillment and the unfolding of this Child of Promise within you….
….see and feel and know the possibilities, indeed the future, of this Child in you, this Godseed that you are growing in the womb of your entire being, should you allow it to be nurtured and to grow and to be born into the world. (Jean Houston in Godseed Quest Books 1992 p.39)

This call to birth the Christ within us is as ancient as first century Paul, who wrote of being in labour until Christ is born in us. It is as modern as twentieth century eco-feminist theologian Yvonne Gebara who entreats us to give birth to the Christic Presence in the Universe.

Contemporary writer Diarmuid O’Murchu cites the words of the thirteenth century Dominican mystic Meister Eckhart: What does God do all day long? God lies on a maternity bed, giving birth all day long.

Reflecting on Meister Eckhart’s image, O’Murchu continues:

This is a metaphor we have known as a spiritual species for thousands of years, long before formal religions ever came into being….The Great Goddess of our Paleolithic ancestors was perceived as a woman of prodigious fecundity, birthing forth the stars and galaxies, the mountains and oceans and every life form populating planet earth today. God, the great life-giver in the pregnant power of creative Spirit, is probably the oldest and most enduring understanding of the Holy One known to our species.

O’Murchu concludes that: we are called to become co-birthers with our birthing God of the ongoing evolutionary re-creation of God’s world in justice, love, compassion and liberation. (Diarmuid O’Murchu Jesus in the Power of Poetry 2009 pp. 45-46)

When we say yes to our call to give birth, we are embracing a lifelong partnership with the Holy One of “prodigious birthing”, a responsibility that has the power to take over our lives, to demand of us everything, to offer us a life that is at once profoundly meaningful, and intimately engaged with the ongoing renewal of the universe. There will be suffering, there will be hard work, but there will also be times of ecstatic joy, tasting our oneness with the Love at the heart of life.

Dolores reminds us that: It is only in us, you and me, that the energy of Brigid will rise again, take form and become a force for transformation in our world. Dolores Whelan in Ever Ancient, Ever New Dublin 2010 p. 81

Brigid, midwife of this birthing, stands at the door. We hear her voice, “Do you have a welcome for me?”

What is our response?

 

Mary: Re-Enchanting Advent

The First Sunday of Advent dawns in mist, a cold damp day. No snow softens the grim greyness of earth, river, sky. Geese, ducks have flown. Birdsong no longer blesses the air.
Inside my cottage, no Advent Wreath of green boughs, planted with purple candles, stands ready to light the darkness that will descend with early evening.

Living in a Universe whose beginning is still visible in deep space, knowing that what Teilhard de Chardin calls the Christic Presence, the Love at the heart of the Universe, has been here from the first moment in time, makes Advent seem to me superfluous. Why imagine a world awaiting the birth of Love? I stay away from ritual celebrations that open the four weeks of Advent.

At mid-day, I open my computer, tune into the live streaming of a panel led by Jean Houston on “Living in Cosmic Consciousness”.
“We are the microcosm of the macrocosm of consciousness,” Jean says. “We are called to implant the new codings for an emerging spirituality. We are encoded with the Universe Herself…”

Something new, yet old and very familiar is rising in me. A sense of call, an eagerness, an excitement, a knowing that something wonderful is about to happen, and that I /we /all of us are called to bring it to birth…

The day moves on. I sit by the fire, writing in my journal, as the windows of my cottage slowly fill with darkness. Is that when it happens? A remembering, a knowing that is as old as my first memory of Christmas, and yet suddenly new. The story of a young pregnant woman making an uncomfortable journey to a strange town. She does not know where, how, when she will give birth.

This is Advent.

And you and I are being called to be Mary in our time, to give birth to “an emerging spirituality”. Not knowing the where or how or when of it. But eager as she must have been, to see the new life.

What was the moment in time when we agreed to this? Do we resonate with the way poet John O’donohue imagines Mary’s moment in time?

Cast from afar before the stones were born
And rain had rinsed the darkness for colour,
The words have waited for the hunger in her
To become the silence where they could form.

The day’s last light frames her by the window,
A young woman with distance in her gaze,
She could never imagine the surprise
That is hovering over her life now.

The sentence awakens like a raven,
Fluttering and dark, opening her heart
To nest the voice that first whispered the earth
From dream into wind, stone, sky and ocean.

She offers to mother the shadow’s child;
Her untouched life becoming wild inside.

Where does our story touch Mary’s? Where are the meeting points? What are the words waiting for the hunger in us “to become the silence where they could form”? When our hearts open, will they also become a nest for a new birthing of the Holy?

From Jean Houston, I have learned that the urgent needs of our time require a “yes” to the conception, followed by the birthing, of newness.

Reflecting upon the call of Mary, the call that is like our own, Jean writes:

Just think of the promise, the potential, the divinity in you, which you have probably disowned over and over again because it wasn’t logical, because it didn’t jibe, because it was terribly inconvenient (it always is), because it didn’t fit conventional reality, because… because… because….
What could be more embarrassing than finding yourself pregnant with the Holy Spirit? It’s a very eccentric, inconvenient thing to have happen.
(Jean Houston in Godseed p. 38)

Eccentric. Inconvenient. Perhaps. But nonetheless it is our call. Mary’s story gives us the courage to say “yes” without knowing where that “yes” may lead. It is enough to know with certainty that our own life will become, like Mary’s, “wild inside”.

 

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Mary: Companion for a Dark Journey

Egypt. November 2008. With my co-travellers on this spiritual journey, led by Jean Houston, I am on the Island of Philae in the Nile River. As we stand crowded together in the tiny sanctuary dedicated to Isis, Jean is reading aloud from the writings of Apuleius, a second century Roman, not a Christian.

Sanctuary of Isis

Sanctuary of Isis on Philae Island, Egypt

In the story, a hapless magician named Lucius has cried out to Isis for help. She responds. The way the Sacred One identifies herself to Lucius startles me: “ I, the natural mother of all life, the mistress of the elements, the first child of time, the supreme divinity…. I, whose single godhead is venerated all over the earth under manifold forms, varying rites, and changing names… “Behold, I am come to you in your calamity. I am come with solace and aid. Away then with tears. Cease to moan. Send sorrow packing. Soon through my providence shall the sun of your salvation rise. Hearken therefore with care unto what I bid. Eternal religion has dedicated to me the day which will be born from the womb of this present darkness.”

After the reading, we are invited to call out all the names by which we have known the Sacred Feminine. I hear voice after voice calling out wonderful names. Many of these names are familiar to me, titles I’d learned as a child, and they refer to Mary. I listen: Mystical Rose. Tower of Ivory. Gate of Heaven. My own voice calls out: Star of the Sea. I hear Jean’s voice, strong, certain: Mary in all her forms.

Mary, in all her forms….

For these darkest days of the year, we are companioned by Mary of Nazareth, the woman  wrapped in silence, the one who waits in the shadow for the great birthing, who  “ponders in her heart” the wonders that follow upon the coming of her child.  Mary has left us no written word. The little we know of her from the Gospels is sketchy at best, her appearances brief, her words cryptic. Yet her influence on Christian spirituality is staggering in its power. Who is this woman, and how has she risen from a quiet life in the outposts of the Roman Empire to become, as the Church proclaims her, “Queen of Heaven and Earth”?

If you grew up Catholic in the years before the Second Vatican Council, chances are Mary was at the very heart of your faith. You prayed the “Hail Mary” many times daily; you sang hymns to Mary as you walked in May processions carrying flowers to decorate her statue; in every trouble and doubt, in every dark moment of your own life, you turned to her as to a mother whose love for you was unconditional. You probably knew by heart the “Memorare”, a prayer to Mary that says, in part, “Remember…Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help or sought your intercession was left unaided…”

Mary

At the call of Pope John 23rd, 2600 Roman Catholic Bishops gathered in Rome for the Second Vatican Council in the mid-1960’s. Believing they were restoring a balance, they invited Mary to step from her throne, and guided her gently to a place among the faithful, the followers of her son, Jesus. The “excesses” of Marian devotion were curbed… and then what happened?

Over the past fifty years we have seen a burgeoning of interest in the “Sacred Feminine”; a recovery of ancient stories of the Goddess; archaeological finds that create renewed interest in the time when the Sacred One was honoured as a woman; an explosion of writing among theologians, historians, cultural storytellers, seeking to understand the power and presence of “Mary” in the Christian story. I will cite a few here: The Virgin by Geoffrey Ashe; Missing Mary by Charlene Spretnak; Untie the Strong Woman by Clarissa Pinkola Estes and Truly Our Sister by Elizabeth Johnson.

Though I am no theologian, I have a consuming interest in the many aspects of this mystery. What I glimpse is this: the human heart longs for a divine mothering presence. Ancient cultures honoured a feminine divine who over millennia was called by many names: Isis in Egypt; Inanna in Sumeria; Ishtar in Babylon; Athena, Hera and Demeter in Greece, Anu or Danu among the ancient Celts; Durga, Kali and Lakshmi in India; for the Kabbalists, Shekinah; for the gnostics, Sophia or Divine Wisdom.

Christianity had no “Mother God” to put in the place of the Goddesses whose worship it was determined to eradicate. Geoffrey Ashe’s theory is that Mary’s gradual ascension in Christianity was not an initiative of Church Leadership, but rather a response to the hunger of the early Christians for a sacred feminine presence. How it came about is less interesting to me than the reality that Mary became for us an opening to a loving feminine sacred presence. Or, put another way, a loving sacred feminine presence responded to the cries of her people when they called her “Mary”, just as that presence had responded over the millennia to other names cried out in love or sorrow or desperate need.

Over these darkening days as we descend to the longest night of the year at the Winter Solstice, Mary will be our companion. We reflect on her pregnancy, her waiting, her uncertainty, the doubts of those who love her, the trust that sustains her while she opens “Deeper into the ripple in her womb That encircles dark to become flesh and bone,” as John O’Donohue has written.

This is profound mystery. For Mary. For each one of us who carries the Holy within, seeking a place of birth. We walk the dark road, with Mary, in trust.We walk companioned by one who knows our struggles to maintain our trust in the face of inner doubts and outer calamity. We walk with one who loves us and encourages us until we are ready to welcome “the day which will be born from the womb of this present darkness.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our Journey Towards Radiance: Part Five

When we come awake to the mystery and beauty of the story of our evolving universe, it is necessary for us to pause, to breathe deeply. Then, in trust and in joy, we set about the task of reweaving the fabric of our lives to reflect this newness.

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As we approach the Feast of Christmas, how can we re-imagine its spiritual importance in the light of our new cosmic awareness?

The great spiritual teacher of our time, Jean Houston, offers guidance:

Christmas is about yearning for something to come into the world. It’s the story of the birth of love, of hope, of a Holy Child in huge danger of being destroyed, bringing a new order of possibility into the world, needing to be protected and nurtured so it may grow into a free and luminous, numinous being. What is new in our time is the birthing of a whole new order of thought through the discoveries of the new cosmology creating a new mind with interconnectedness with so many sources of ancient wisdom.

Jean invites us to touch into our own yearning. What is the new life we long for in ourselves? What is ready to be seeded in the darkness of these pre-Christmas Days so that we come to the feast pregnant with new life?

The Winter Solstice  was the inspiration for marking the Birth of Christ during the days when the sun’s light begins to strengthen. Solstice evokes YEARNING for the light, for new birth within ourselves, within all whom we love. We desire this newness for life on the planet, for the planet herself. We desire that we and all that we love be made new with “the love that moves the sun and the other stars” l’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stele as Dante writes.

The song “Born of a Star” written by Carolyn McDade to reflect on the Solstice, assists us to know the gift that is at the heart of Christmas:

Return, return to the darkness return,
this longest night of wonder
Return, return to the dream, return,
This holy night to ponder
Deep in the night, listen, listen
Turn to the light, waken, waken
Deep in the night, turn to the light
Waken to sun’s ancient summons
We who are born of star, who then are We?
We who are loved by star, who then love We?
Deep in the night, listen, listen
Turn to the light, waken, waken
Deep in the night, turn to the light
Waken to sun’s ancient summons
We who are born of star, who then are We?

In Jesus in the Power of Poetry (2009) Diarmuid O’Murchu suggests a new metaphor in our understanding of the feast of Christmas. He finds it in the writings of the thirteenth century Dominican mystic Meister Eckhart:

“What does God do all day long? God lies on a maternity bed, giving birth all day long.”

O’Murchu reflects: “The infancy narratives, therefore, need to be approached afresh….as an archetypal statement of the God of prodigious birthing.”

“(W)e are called to become co-birthers with our birthing God of the ongoing evolutionary re-creation of God’s world in justice, love, compassion and liberation. Incarnation becomes an empowering and liberating dynamic, and Christians, instead of fleeing the world, are now challenged to embrace it in its full embodied existence.” (pp 45-6)

Advent invites us into the wonder of pregnancy. We prepare ourselves for the new gifts which our birthing God wants to offer in and through us. We enter the heart’s season of longing, awakening desires we thought long tamed, desires that lead us to the birthing of the deepest dreams of our hearts.

Jan Richardson offers this prayer to the birthing God:

In the enclosure of your heart,
O God,
enfold me
and give me
the courage of Bear:
to enter the cave
in the season of slumber,
to lie down defenseless
in your gathering dark,
to know your sustaining
as my soul is made ready,
to give myself over
to dreaming of birth.

And to whom are we called to give birth? To the God who dwells within.
The fourteenth century Sufi poet Hafiz encourages us with these words:
No one can keep us from carrying God
Wherever we go.
No one can rob His Name
From our hearts as we try to relinquish our fears
And at last stand — Victorious.
We do not have to leave Him in the mosque
Or church alone at night;

We do not have to be jealous of tales of saints
Or glorious masts, those intoxicated souls
Who can make outrageous love with the Friend.
We do not have to be envious of our spirits’ ability
Which can sometimes touch God in a dream.

Our yearning eyes, our warm-needing bodies,
Can all be drenched in contentment
And Light.

No one anywhere can keep us
From carrying the Beloved wherever we go.
No one can rob His precious Name
From the rhythm of my heart —
Steps and breath.