How We Tell the End (The Softlightes)

Welcome to the end of the world. Turns out, everything looks basically the same.

The question isn't really whether the Mayan calendar got it right or wrong, it's what imagining our own endings does for us and in us. In our Christian tradition, the dramatic words of John's Revelation or the enigmatic predictions of Christ and the writers of the epistles can either fascinate us... or make us squirm, inspire us... or invite dread. 

What are the stories we tell about our endings, and our rebirths? Are they stories that affirm basic goodness, or relish in fallenness? Are they stories that believe in finality, or renewal? Often, our imaginations about the end of the world (or our acceptance of the imaginations of others) tell us more about ourselves than they do about factual future realities. 

Maybe that's why this song by the SoftLightes works for me: it balances the fear of ending ("there's a fire burning and demanding") and the desire for transformation ("but if I change, Love, who will I be, Love?") with a sense that it's worth just enjoying the moment, the present, this Christmas - whether its our last or not. 


The Last Christmas On Earth from SoftLightes on Myspace.


I love it that there's a suggestion at the end that even as we dance like it's our last Christmas this time, we'll keep doing that every year "as the times chance and my hair turns gray..." So each year we'll practice the present like our lives depend on it. We'll dwell deeply into the moments and relish the experiences of silliness and delight, tenderness and revelry, trusting that as we do, we make one of the deepest theological statements there is: that the Love that Came Down at Christmas didn't come to destroy but to create, not to punish but to bring hope. That same Love promised to come again with justice and peace, gathering all in to Godself.

"Nothing accursed will be found there anymore. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever."       - Rev. 22: 3-5

Whether it's the Mayan calendar or the tales of endings and new beginning written in our own tradition, what matters most isn't being right or wrong, accurate or mistaken: it's how the story we're telling ourselves makes our present days worthwhile, beautiful, profound, and holy... and how we are called to make it peaceful and meaningful for all people and all creation as we are able.

In these final days of Advent, may the story you tell yourself out of your traditions be one filled with grace and hope, a word of peace for all creation that imbues your present with meaning and purpose, delight and dancing.

                                                - Anna

Too Much To Believe (The New Pornographers)

Joseph really doesn't get a lot of airtime in the Christmas story, or in Christmas music in general. So I love the depiction of Joseph in today's song as a worried, harried, slightly outcast partner, trying to decide if he can "be cool" with this whole Son-of-God Born-of-a-Virgin 'Christmas' thing. 

We know from Matthew's gospel that Joseph has a change of heart about his role with Mary (and therefore Jesus) after being visited by the Angel Gabriel in a dream, but I imagine this song taking place in the time before that strange dream, as Joseph wandered the streets, brooding, wondering what would become of his life plans. The song illustrates his thoughts like this: 

I know this child was sent here

to heal our broken time

and some things are bigger than we know

You're asking me to believe too many things

You're asking me to believe too many things...

Joseph Who Understood by The New Pornographers - Lyrics HERE.

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God.

How vast is the sum of them!

I try to count them -- they outnumber the grains of sand;

I come to the end -- I am still with you.

- Psalm 139: 17-18

One of the ways we often find ourselves holding the mystery as Advent draws us toward Christmas is when our intellectual doubts and our need for control rub up against the incomprehensibility of God. We find ourselves trying to believe too many things: that God became fully human in Christ; that this Jesus has something to do with us today; that God has not abandoned the world; that God cares at all about our puny, messy lives; that Christ will come again to reconcile and make new... it's all very heady stuff.

Luckily, believing isn't just about our minds. The root of the word 'believe' means "to give one's heart to." In the end, we are faced with one simple question: can we give our heart to this story of God Incarnate, of a mewling baby who will become the messiah of an upside-down kingdom of grace?

This is no small question. To give our hearts to this story asks something of us: we are called to wrestle a blessing from it, just as Joseph struggles in this song to wrestle a blessing from his strange circumstances. In the song he symbolizes more than just the Biblical character, but many doubting partners, many doubting hearts, asking, "Mary, is he mine?"

Is this small Christ, this someday-revolutionary, mine? Ours?  Not ours to own, but to cherish and wrestle with, to question and ponder, to hold in wonder and awe.  

What does your heart say as you venture deeper into the Christmas story?

May you find your heart captivated by a story to which you can give your heart anew each day, with awe and curiosity, creativity and hope.

                                                                                                 - Anna

Mon Dec. 26 - This Time Like You Mean It (Sister Rosetta Tharpe)

The angel said to the shepherds, "Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord."
  [And] suddenly a multitude of the heavenly host appeared with the angel praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace...!"

                                       - Luke 2:10-14, adapted

Why is there so little joy in our churches around Christmas? Joy isn't the same thing as adoration and praise, although these are close sisters. It's also not the same as quiet inspiration, although this, too, is related. Joy is an attitude, not an action; it's about nearly irrepressible delight, amazement, wonder, or understanding. In a Christian context, joy is about connection with the divine story in a way that is radically moving, that literally shakes up our foundations and brings us to our feet - or to our knees.

Yes, I'm happy about pancakes on Christmas morning or opening presents, and delighted by family and calm feelings of peace. Or maybe some years I'm not - maybe Christmas is painful and awkward for me that year. But I believe that joy can break out for us all into any situation - even though it rarely does.

Trouble is, we can't just BE more joyful. The miracle of joy is that it can't be manufactured or forced - it is utterly authentic or it is nothing. All we can do is be open to it, be awake to the story of our faith and be convicted about its meaning in our lives. In the end, joy comes, unbidden, from the place where our deepest hopes and convictions meet resounding outside affirmation - like the angels appearing to frightened shepherds to put an emphatic exclamation point on God's promises of love and redemption.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe was one of the earliest rock n' roll musicians in the U.S., though she's rarely credited for it. She grew up on the preaching circuit with her mother learning to play guitar and never left the gospel spirit in which she was raised. What I appreciate so much about Sister Rosetta is her joyful, almost infectious delight when she sings and plays - she rolls back her eyes, sways, wails on the guitar and just generally invites us join her in a playful conspiracy of rejoicing:

Up above my head, 

I hear music in the air,

Up above my head,

there is music in the air

Up above my head

I really do believe (I really do believe)

There's joy somewhere

All in my home, 

there is music in the air...

What would it look like if we could catch the spirit of this kind of praise and delight -- this great joy -- more often in our lives, homes and communities? Maybe it would look like Sister Rosetta or maybe it would be quieter or more subtle, but either way it would be real, meaningful and - most important: visible.

This carries us back to the heart of Christian evangelism - which isn't some sickly, cloying Vote-For-Jesus campaign or mere self-aggradizing proselytizing, but which simply starts with the act of living of our lives as if this Christmas story mattered - as if it gave us genuine hope and real joy.  

The Advent Music Project didn't feel like a complete project unless we followed the Christmas star all the way into the manger and to Epiphany. So this week, as Christmastide begins, we're thinking about Hoping Onward into the twelve days of Christmas, into a new calendar year, and beyond. So we ask ourselves: how do we hope onward and delve deeper into the story of Jesus' birth so that we don't just abandon him in the manger when the parties and food and gifts have ended?

One possibility of hoping onward might be to re-embrace the possibility of joy in our lives and Christian communities. We might remember and experience 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' this year as if there were some strange and wonderful music about to break out overhead, announcing good news of great joy. We might sing the songs as if they meant something, we might worship wholeheartedly and try to live -at least for a moment - as if we really mean it when we said that we believe that Emmanuel was born again this Christmas Day, inviting all Creation to join with us in the angels' playful conspiracy of rejoicing, as well.

'May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in the Lord, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.'                  - Romans 15:13

                             - Anna

Sun Dec. 25 - Peace and Great Joy! Merry Christmas (St. Paul Arts and Media)

Merry Christmas to All!

To inaugurate the next twelve days of Christmastide on the A.M. Project, enjoy the Christmas story in the voice of those who might know it best of all...

(Best watched full-screen, if possible)

May our hearts and lives be full this day, may we find peace, and may we keep in mind the wonderful inspiration that 'then there was a party!'

                        -Anna and Lindsey

Thurs Dec. 15 - Carrying our Songs (Lauryn Hill and Ziggy Marley)

Give ear, O my people, to my teaching;
   incline your ears to the words of my mouth. 
I will open my mouth in a parable;
   I will utter dark sayings from of old, 
things that we have heard and known,
   that our ancestors have told us. 
We will not hide them from their children;
   we will tell to the coming generation
the glorious deeds of the Lord, and the LORD's might,
   and the wonders that God has done. 
                          - Psalm 78:1-4

Anna: I love Bob Marley's Redemption Song, but what makes it an Advent song for me is the idea of carrying our histories that I hear in the line 'they're all I ever had...redemption songs.'  It reminds me of the preciousness of redemptive stories, especially for displaced or struggling peoples.  Bob Marley speaks from the experience of the African diaspora, and the prophets (and likely the psalmist of psalm 78) spoke for a scattered Jewish population.  It is amazing to recognize that the promises of God have represented 'all some people have ever felt they had' to carry with them through their difficult journeys.  As people who can frequently fool ourselves into forgetting our need and hunger for stories, how can we name the value of stories that name and claim us, that wrestle with us and change us, that bless us and set us free?
 

Lindsey: For me, there is something striking about the part of that same verse that says ‘Won't you help me sing / these songs of freedom?’   This request for joining voices in freedom songs speaks to me of a need for the community  to sing the song together, to tell the story together. It reminds me that we are all keepers of those communal stories.  We have a responsibility to remember the story of our community and to let it live through our voice as we pass it on. There is a collective ownership as we help each other to remember the  songs and as each singer’s place in the song adds a new dimension to it.  It's my experience, that when it comes to the stories of our communities, there's a way in which we hold the story and the story holds us…

Redemption Song (Bob Marley) sung by Lauryn Hill and Ziggy Marley

Anna: As you talk about everyone's contribution to the song, it sort of reminds me of a quilt, or the act of quilting.  I actually don't have any idea how to quilt, but from what I understand, people often used pieces of their own lives - old discarded clothes worm for a special event, etc. - so the quilt became a pieced-together history of where they'd been.  At times, the quilts would be worked on in groups, or would be heirlooms handed down to the next generation, so they were also communal.  These gathered scraps of quilting cloth often became story-telling vehicles for a family, a community… How is this also true for our Bible, which is actually a beautiful patchwork of stories, histories, poems, prophecies and letters compiled over at least a thousand years of history and movement and change?

Lindsey: I think there is a way in which each of our stories inform and reform each other; shaped, combined, set apart, by the stories to which they are 'quilted.' This is true for the interplay of our own life stories and the stories of our ancestors - those handed down orally and those given in the Bible. The story gets handed down and then retold in different and creative ways.  Connecting us to the stories, a place of identity and communal belonging, and connecting the story to us, singing wisdom or comfort or challenge into our lives: these redemption songs.

May we carry with us our redemption songs into these late Advent days; our hopes stitched, sung and scribed across cultures and times, trusting that they are answered by God's promises in Christ.

                                 - Lindsey and Anna