Christmas, Locally Sourced

Locally sourced restaurants are gradually becoming my favorite places to eat.  In case you are not familiar with this term, a locally sourced restaurant feature food that is produced by local farmers.  These restaurants typically provide a list of the nearby farms who are supplying the food they are serving so you know exactly where your food is coming from.  “Farm to table” is another phrase used to describe these restaurants because the restaurants buy directly from the farmers,  getting the food from the farm  to the diner's table as quickly as possible.  “Eat local.”  Whether eating at a restaurant or shopping at a grocery or other store, this motto sums up the commitment to support the local community and to have a close relationship with those that feed us. I like at least two things about locally sourced restaurants.  I like that the food is healthy, fresh, whole, and delicious.  Although the diner may have fewer options to choose from on the menu of such a restaurant, the freshness and quality of the food more than make up for this.   The other thing I like about eating at these restaurants is that I know that I am supporting local farmers, knowing if I wanted to visit one of their farm that the farmers would most likely welcome me, and be happy and proud to show me what they do.  These reasons together serve to create a different dining experience with better taste and a different feel than if instead my food was coming from some  distant, nameless source.

Recently, I happened to eat dinner at a locally sourced restaurant in Chicago  after doing some Christmas shopping.  As I sat there enjoying my dinner with my wife, I suddenly had this “aha” moment, and I would like to share that moment with you.  It struck me during dinner at this ‘farm to table' restaurant that this whole concept of a locally sourced restaurant is a simple, yet powerful, metaphor that captures  the theological meaning of Christmas.  Stay with me now....I know this may seem like a stretch.

Christmas is God's love, locally sourced.  The birth of Christ was and is God's way of making God's love known to each of us at the local level, in our very hearts.  While theological terms such as “immanence, incarnation, and Emmanuel” are often associated with the birth of Jesus, I prefer “locally sourced,” because, for me, this phrase captures the essence of what Christmas is about.  God is not distant and nameless, but instead is close, someone we can know and who also feeds us. Christmas is God's love, locally sourced, served directly to our tables.

We at Living Compass wish all of you most holy Christmas.  We recognize that this can be a very hard and sad time of year for many people, and so we pray that those who are grieving may know the comfort of God's locally sourced love. And for those of you who are fortunate to be able to gather with friends and family, we hope that your gatherings will contain an abundant amount of locally sourced peace, joy, and love.

Light a Candle. Say a Prayer. Breathe.

The Rev. Gary Manning, rector of Trinity Episcopal Church in Wauwatosa, WI wrote many of the daily readings for this year's Living Compass Advent booklet entitled, “Living Love.”    This year we gave away thirteen thousand of these booklets to many Episcopal churches across the country and I have been delighted to hear about all the creative ways in which they are being used. What pleases me most about the feed back we are getting is that it reflects a desire by so many to find space in the midst of this hectic and often stressful time of year to reflect on what matters most in their lives. The title of this column is a quote from one of the readings that Gary Manning wrote for the Advent booklet. Light a candle.  Say a prayer.  Breathe.  I read those words last week, and then two nights ago, on a cold, blustery evening, I had a delightful chance to live into these words.  Perhaps the best part about the experience was that it was a total surprise--I had no idea it was going to happen.  Please allow me to explain.

I arrived at St. Peter's Episcopal Church on Belmont Avenue in the Lakeview neighborhood in the heart of the north side of Chicago a bit early for a program that I was going to be a part of that evening.  Our evening was to include a worship service at 6:30, a simple soup supper at 7:00 and an hour program starting at 7:20.  When I arrived early, the members of the church invited me to enter the hundred year old chapel where the worship was to take place for some time of quiet contemplation.  I received the words “take some time of quiet contemplation” as if I was being offered a cold class of water for my overly busy, parched soul.

I entered the hundred and twenty year old chapel and found it to be almost,  completely dark except for a handful of small lit candles.  I took my place in this historic chapel that seats about twenty-five people and joined the few others were already there.  During the next twenty-five minutes, one by one, another fifteen or so people arrived.  As people came in from the bitterly cold night (the wind chill was well below zero) I noticed that they would each sit down, and proceed to slowly remove their layers of coats, scarves, hats, and gloves--a powerful metaphor for the emotional and spiritual layers that each of us felt comfortable removing in the midst of this warm and welcoming space.

Light a candle.  Say a prayer.  Breathe. I encourage you to do this for yourself, even if it's just for five minutes.   It's amazing what a simple and profound experience it can be.  It can keep us centered and aware of the gift of this season.

I also learned from the good people at St. Peters in Chicago what a gift it can be when someone lights a candle for us and creates a space for us to just be.  Inspired by their example, perhaps each us can think of someone in our lives for whom we can light a candle this time of year and create a space for them to be free to pray and breathe.

It doesn't have to be a literal candle that we light, of course.  We may be able to create a space of light for them by simply reaching out with a phone call, a note, or a visit, and then being truly present to that person when we connect. Lighting a candle might look like taking the time to truly listen to a family member who you will be with during this season or setting aside a grievance and offering a heartfelt hug of forgiveness and reconciliation.  It might just make all the difference to someone who is in an especially cold or dark place this time of year--and to ourselves as well.

Light a candle.  Say a prayer.  Breathe.

What a priceless gift we can both receive and give this time of year.

And if you are ever in the Lakeview neighborhood of Chicago on a Wednesday evening, be sure to stop in and receive the gift of their gracious hospitality

The Danger of Drowsy Driving

I will never forget falling asleep while driving back to college late one Sunday afternoon.  I was returning from a weekend of visiting my family and I remember feeling drowsy and trying to do everything I could to stay awake.  It would have been best, of course, if I had pulled off to rest, but I was on the interstate highway and I mistakenly judged that I could make it home given that I was just ten miles from my apartment. Before I knew what was happening I woke up to find myself driving sixty miles per hour over the grass in the median strip, heading for cars driving in the opposite direction on the other side of the highway!  Fortunately, I was able to brake in time to stop just short of what would likely have been an horrific accident.

If you have ever experienced a frightening experience of “driving drowsy” then you, too, can empathize with the engineer involved with the tragic train derailment outside of New York City this past Sunday.  He has been admirably honest and transparent by admitting that he nodded off just before the train headed in to a sharp turn.  Because he was, in his own words “dozing,” he did not realize that the train he was controlling was going 82 mph in a 30 mph speed zone, which is what apparently caused the train to jump the rails.

Last Sunday, the date of the train derailment, coincided with the Christian celebration of the first Sunday of Advent.  The season of Advent is a time of preparation for the coming of Christ and one of its predominant themes is the reminder to “wake up.”  Whether you celebrate the season of Advent or not, the reminder to wake up is always helpful for there are many ways in which we can find ourselves falling asleep in life.

We can find ourselves emotionally exhausted and thus find ourselves “driving drowsy” in our important relationships or in our work.  We can find ourselves spiritually exhausted and thus driving through life without any clear sense of direction or purpose.  And, we can of course find ourselves physically exhausted and getting caught up in a cycle of driving our lives faster and faster.

This time of year can be an especially joyful time of yearand it can be an especially exhausting time of year, and often it can be both at the same time!  The pressure, the emotions, and the activities all seem to speed up during this holiday time of year.  It's pretty certain that we will have to negotiate some sharp, often unexpected, turns at some point.  It is important to remember that we can make a choice right now about how we will drive through these next three weeks. We can get caught up in the pressure of the season and become more and more drowsy as we drive through each day, running the risk of derailment at any point.  Then again, we can make a conscious, mindful decision, to drive wide awake through these next three weeks, making choices that allow us to be more attentive and present to ourselves, to others in need around us, and to that which matters most in life.

Together We Remember

This past week we have witnessed the power and the importance of sharing grief. The number of stories that have been written, remembered and shared in regard to the fiftieth anniversary of President John F. Kennedy's assassination is evidence of the need of all groups to work though and remember losses that they have experienced together. People fifty years ago needed each other to get through that tragic time and we, even now, benefit from remembering together this tragic event that played an important part in our nation's life together. "Where were you when you heard that JFK had been shot?" or "Tell me a story of how this affected you and your family or friends?" are still asked today, just as they were asked in November, 1963. All groups, no matter the size, benefit from remembering and honoring the hard times they have endured together. Friends, families, teams, organizations, congregations, communities, and nations work through experiences of collective grief by remembering them and talking about them with one another. This kind of remembering and sharing is not meant to be maudlin or depressing as this kind of remembering plays a significant role in healing and regaining strength. Our healing is enhanced by the shared vulnerability that then softens and opens our hearts.

Collective grief is unique and different from individual grief in that when we grieve a common loss we draw solace and comfort from the fact that we are experiencing the loss together. For example, if the tragedy that strikes is a tornado that touches down in your home town, you will most likely be remembering and talking about that tragic experience with people from your town the rest of your life. If you try to share the experience of the tornado with a friend who lives a thousand miles away, that friend may well be empathic and supportive, but that friend will not truly be able to share any sense of collective grief with you. In fact, if you would visit that friend months or years from now you may find yourself shocked that they only vaguely remember the loss that you experienced and still remember so vividly. The grief would not be etched into your friend's memory the way it was etched into yours.

The holidays will soon be here and they tend to bring out a wide array of emotions. In addition to great joy and celebration, holidays often contain some element of sadness or grief for they are markers of the significant changes and losses in our lives. When friends and families gather for the holidays, there is quite often a sense of collective grief present in the room, related to the changes and losses that this unique group of people have experienced together.

Perhaps one thing we can learn from the collective remembering and grieving that our nation is engaged in this week around the assassination of President Kennedy is how important it can be for us to do the same. If we are experiencing grief in our gatherings with friends and families, perhaps we can take the risk to remember and share a story about someone we all love who is no longer with us, even if that story makes us sad. Perhaps that story will spark another story and then perhaps others will share stories that make everyone laugh and cry. In doing so, not only will the one who has passed on be honored and remembered, but the loving bonds of those sitting around the table will be deepened and strengthened. Such is the power and importance of collective grief.

     This column will return in two weeks as I will be off next Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. May your gatherings be filled with great love and great stories of remembering.

Words of Comfort, Candles of Hope

I am often asked for advice as to what to say to someone who has experienced a tragic loss and I find I always give the same counsel.  Simply say, “I'm so sorry for your loss,” or “I want you to know how much I am thinking about you right now,” or “I love you.”  These words may seem quite weak in the face of the enormity of the loss the person is experiencing, but such words really are the most comforting, authentic support that we can offer to someone who is hurting so deeply.  Most likely you cannot significantly change their situation, but you can give support. I find myself praying for the people of the Philippines who are suffering from the the devastation of typhoon Haiyan.  This week, I also made a donation to a relief effort that is on the ground serving the victims there.   I have been doing these things, and yet I feel the same way I feel when I say “I'm thinking of you,” or “I love you” to someone who has experienced a personal, life-changing tragedy.  “Is that all I can do?”  It seems so weak in the face of the enormity of the loss that is being experienced.

A moving story came out this week about how a chapel on the second floor of the only working hospital in Tacloban, the city hit the hardest by typhoon Haiyan, has been turned into a maternity ward.  Women are giving birth to babies in the chapel and the nurses and doctors are doing the best they can to save all the babies that are being born.  Unfortunately, because they typhoon sent some women in to premature labor, some babies have not survived.  Life and death, crying mothers and crying babies, exist side by side in this chapel that has no electricity because the hospital generators were destroyed in the typhoon.

Throughout the day and night, candles are burning in this chapel.  During the day, votive candles are lit by doctors, nurses, and mothers as they offer prayers for all who are suffering.  At night, candles are lit to provide a flicker of light amidst the overwhelming darkness of a hospital and an entire city that has no electricity.

These candles, like the prayers we offer or the words of comfort we speak to someone who is experiencing great loss, seem little, or weak, in the face of the encompassing darkness.   I imagine, though, that the people in that second floor chapel experience the candles not as little or weak, but as essential and as beacons of comfort and hope for their anxiety and fears.

A lit candle in a well lit room or on a sunny day is hardly noticeable.  That same lit candle in the midst of a dark room in the middle of a dark night makes all the difference in the world.  The same is true with our words of comfort and love.  Such words are perhaps not fully heard or received when a person's life is full of love and laughter, and yet these same words make all the difference when a person is experiencing enormous loss.

So light a candle, say a prayer, and make a donation for the people of the Philippines and then closer to home, find a way to light a candle of love and hope for someone you know, either in your community, or amongst your friends or family, who has been hit by some kind of devastating storm.  In the midst of their dark time, your little light may well make all the difference in the world.