 It isn't any easier to wait in a Wisconsin winter than it is anywhere else... not, at least, if you are waiting upon something of some significant importance to you... Perhaps, if we had a fireplace or a wood stove, I could imagine allowing myself the gift of feeling the heat while gazing into the flames and then, waiting, might be a thing of relative ease... as it is, with only electric heating (like in our house), the Wisconsin winter is an exercise in the brutality of endurance that issues a daily challenge to the idea of a spiritual waiting...
Celtic Advent has always been a full forty days of sacred intention (matching the forty days of Lent), as I read in Celtic Daily Prayer / The Journey Begins: so right on the dot, I re-arranged our altar to become a magical-mystical-barnyard-extravaganza so as to wait in preparation... Still, the hand that opens the blinds daily reveals the snow-shrouded evergreen tree in the yard, and opening the door for an early walk with the dogs, has my Central California face wincing in a frigid purgatory... waiting... As it happens, Celtic is, above all else, a working assumption that (as Leonard Cohen wrote) God is Alive, Magic is Afoot... So perhaps, waiting is the work of doubters who will wait and see... But, waiting for what? As I have become a significant "gatherer of time", this question illuminates the falling leaves / the falling snow / the gathering days... Waiting is the one essential work that I do: I wait for Michelle to call me on her lunch break; I wait to walk the dogs again; I wait upon the possibility of an "arriving poem"; I wait upon the insights of prayer and meditation; I wait upon spring to work in the garden; I wait upon Michelle and our three beautifuls to come home; and of course, there is more that I wait for... But again, waiting for what? I pause to gather in the image of a stable or a cave: I gather an image of brutally poor people confronting the night and their fears: I gather a further image of a very dark-skinned young woman, pregnant, writhing in pain -- right there -- while lying on the ground: I gather the likely grouping of shepherd or street women and girls fetching water and this and that as they try to be helpful: I gather a broken lot of wisdom-fools and just plain fools who always seem to show up for entertainment (and leave before clean-up): I gather also a few men who seem to understand that they are the extras in the unfolding drama... but somehow, all of us are just waiting... I catch my mind wandering again to spring and the garden: it seems to me, knee deep in snow and this Celtic Advent, that that which we are so assiduously waiting for is precisely that which is already here! I mean, seriously, is our waiting only a pretense to avoid the obviousness of what we are supposed to be doing? Can there possibly be anything clearer than "seek justice, love goodness, and walk humbly with your Beloved"? (Micah) And if that isn't sufficiently clear, we could add the insights of Jesus (Yeshua the Poet): "The poor in spirit are in luck: the kingdom of the skies is theirs. The gentle... those hungering and thirsting for justice... the merciful... the peacemakers... they will be called God's sons and daughters"... (Matthew -- Andy Gaus translation) How can we wait when the words are crazy-urgent? "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was wandering and you took me in, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in jail and you came to see me... however much you did it for any of the least important of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it for me." (Matthew -- Andy Gaus translation) Waiting is the pleasant lifestyle of the privileged who lust for power and profit: while Advent, Celtic or otherwise, is the rEvolution of this cannot wait! This cannot wait is the anguished cry of Mary -- still writhing in pain on the birthing-floor -- waiting for us to give birth to Her Son through the example of our lives: She gave birth to Jesus once: now it is our turn, many, many times over until justice flowers like the roses in our summer gardens: we must resist and overcome racism, sexism, greed-ism, nationalism, the idolatry of ecocide, and all the other sins of nations and multi-national corporations... And yes, you do have option of writing me off as a crazy old man, but here's the kick-ass line from Jesus: "When the son of humanity comes... all the nations will be assembled before him..." (Matthew -- Andy Gaus translation) And there follows all of the "I was hungry and you fed me..." stuff... Salvation, redemption, or if you prefer (as I do) liberation: it's about all of us together: that's the slick thing about Jesus... he doesn't often offer up a load of religious bullshit... This is nothing but straight up FreakNation...
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 "There is great power in the broken heart."
-- Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. In writing my book, Resplendent In Rags, I wrestled with how and why I abandoned my heart in Chinatown Salinas: but more -- although not in so many words -- how it was that I was yet living in the abandonment of the Holy One: gifted with a Beloved and three exquisite children, I nevertheless took in the dark breath of the broken heart... Truly, and truly again, as both the Tao and the Gospel increasingly make evident to me, time is not a straight line forward: time never truly passes... rather, to the degree that we wrestle open the remnants of our hearts, we will see that to live, among other things, means that we become gatherers of time... I have now gathered an abundance of time... and the dark breath of the broken heart is the simple will to keep to the path of loving... It has been said by many now, that we are all living in the post truth era: an era, a time, in which truth is not held by all in reverence and as a core value in faith, in politics, and in our culture as a whole. Entire segments of our population relish alternative facts. No longer can it be said that you are entitled to your own opinion, but not to your own facts. Any one of us, or every one of us, is now "free" to construct his or her own reality: and objective, demonstrable, truth be damned... And when millions of people of faith adopt such a terrifying belief system, what hell cannot be justified? As a gatherer of time, with the amount of time already gathered likely much more than the time yet to be gathered, I have something to say: and perhaps something in these words might be of use to you... such is my hope... Here goes: It matters not if you believe in Jesus of Nazareth (the one I refer to as Yeshua the Poet), but what really matters is whether you might consider the state of the world, and the fractured state of the United States... Is it likely that more of the same will change the course of things? Is it likely that a continued radical commitment to alternative facts will increase anyone's reverence for truth? If you are a person of faith and also a patriot: you must not only refuse to lie, but you must actively insist upon truth... 100% of the time! Next, and this is equally important to truth, you must begin to live in such a way that if you were to be arrested for loving-in-action, there would be evidence to convict you! Perhaps the one, the most essential, teaching of That Man, Jesus, would be "Love one another as I have loved you." Do you want to justify yourself: your religion and your politics? Okay: read what Jesus had to say to the justifiers of his day: read the Beatitudes, Matthew 5: 1 - 11... you know, all the "blessed are" lines... And if you can't accept the hints that the Beatitudes give, go ahead and turn to Matthew 25: 31 - 46... here we are presented with the Works of Mercy, Peace, and Justice... "I was hungry and you fed me" is all the summary that we need to courageously and truthfully critique every system or opinion or deceit or manipulation of power! Right here: right here in this exact place: is the dark breath of the broken heart. For it is in the broken heart that love is known for the harsh and dreadful thing that it is (Dostoevsky and Dorothy Day): when one's heart has been broken open, with the prideful ego dripping out, one has the option of choosing do I close down or do I grow evermore expansive!? It hurts to simply abide in loving: it hurts because absolutely everything could change in just one minute if we were all to simply love every other as Jesus would... Who among us will take responsibility for the condition of their heart and whether or not we are setting it free to always be love-in-action? It does seem to me, as a gatherer of time, that this is the one essential question, as it is the bridge for the recovery of our potential for community and human being... Oh, and if you are wondering as to why the picture of Frida Kahlo to accompany this blog-of-ponderations, I think of her as the Patron Saint of Broken Hearts (Who Keep On Loving)...  Let me tell you the story of how I became Santa Claus...
Becoming Santa was not something that I planned, in fact, I considered the myth of Santa Claus to be little more than a distraction from the meaning of Christmas and a radical pursuit of justice: didn't the poor deserve social justice instead of an offering of trinkets? My high-mindedness eventually crashed when the "real" Santa, I suppose, got a better gig. What else could I do but step into the void and try to get the job done? I did not receive the benefit of a practice run. I had neither sleigh nor reindeer: but I did have a list of names, the ages of the children, and addresses. Plus, I had our bus! Surely, I thought, this was something that I could do... I hadn't planned, though, on how long it would take me to sort the gifts, wrap, and figure out the best route to accomplish my task... It wasn't until the early evening that I was able to hit the road... I figured that I'd drop off the gifts I had for families in town first. This went well enough, except for one address I simply could not find, although I knew where it was supposed to be... Still needing to deliver gifts to families in three migrant farmworker camps down the Salinas Valley, I decided to forego any further search for that last Salinas family... Three camps later, our bus was emptied of gifts -- except for the big bag meant for the invisible family... Returning to Salinas after midnight, I thought "Surely, that family could not still be expecting Santa for it's already Christmas Day! I'm exhausted..." Nevertheless, exhausted or not, I proceeded to search once again for the address I could not find. Creeping along like a prospective thief, I noticed a dilapidated apartment set some distance back from the street. No street light shone, but I figured, who'd jump some dude dressed up like Santa at one o'clock in the morning? I had no flashlight, so I lurched into and over potholes, peering for some sign of life or the actual address... Finally, I approached the apartment. A sliver of light shone through the door and the floorboard. I knocked. The door opened just a crack, but enough for a startled face to see Santa with a huge bag slung over his back! I was joyfully ushered into the tiny living room. Off into the corner stood a little tree with nothing under or around it. The two women were giddy with excitement and telling me the kids were asleep in the next room: I couldn't believe the rush of bliss flooding my heart as I emptied the bag... My retreat from the apartment and drive home turned into a complete mystic surrender into the mystery of both grace and Santa. A paradigm shift occurred in my consciousness: I realized that justice is more than a social step into an increase of equality and dignity: for justice is deeply the ecstasy of loving in action... Certainly, the myth of Santa Claus has become an advertising icon for the endless multiplication of wants (which only serves corporate greed). But on the other hand, the reality of the Santa-Spirit, which is always available and free upon the asking, could completely re-define culture, economics, politics, and (why not?) the world... And so, I became Santa Claus. It's the best job that I've ever had, although I now find myself sort of retired and a writer... Male, female, young or old: all of you can become other Santas! Becoming Santa just means to find your core happiness in increasing the happiness of others... And, of course, the Santa-Spirit is an out-growth of the legends of St. Nicholas, as the legends of St. Nick are another flowering of the Way of the Beatitudes... It's all connected, as it's all about living in such a way that loving becomes the most reasonable thing in the world... So truly, truly, I wish you a happy Christmas! |
AuthorRobert Daniel Smith was privileged to serve the homeless and marginalized for 30 years in California. He is living now almost within shouting distance of the Twin Cities. He is a poet, artist, writer, and long-time Companion of the Way still dreaming... Archives
May 2022
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