December 24: "How the Grass and the Flowers Came to Exist, a God-Tale," Christmas Eve Services, "reindeer"

Mary Oliver's praise poem for grass and God . . .

How the Grass and the Flowers Came to Exist, a God-Tale

by:  Mary Oliver

I suppose

the Lord said:

Let there be fur upon the earth,

and let there be hair upon the earth,

and so the seed stuttered forward into ripeness

and the roots twirled in the dark

to accomplish His desire,

and so there is clover,

and the reeds of the marshes,

and the eelgrass of the sea shallows

upon which the dainty sea brant live,

and there is the green and sturdy grass,

and the goldenrod

and the spurge and the yarrow

and the ivies and the bramble

and the blue iris

covering the earth,

thanking the Lord with their blossoms.

Yes, as Oliver points out, everything is an act of praise, right down to the dirt and grass and flowers.  There is so much to be thankful for in this universe.  I often forget that as I get wound up in the busyness and, sometimes, shittiness of humankind.  

Today and tonight, especially, I am reminded of the gifts in my life.  It's Christmas Eve, and, for better or worse, the "work" of Christmas is over.  And now we all can take a deep breath, turn off the lights in the living room, and soak in the lights of the tree.  

I just got home from the third of the church services I played pipe organ or sang at.  At one of those services, I played 14 Christmas hymns, which was both challenging and lovely.  Telling the story of the nativity of Christ through music and song.  My wife and I also attended worship at the church in which she grew up (and where we were married).  We finished up at my home parish, with all the bells and incense that Catholics love.  My son came to the Mass and sang his heart out.  Well, as much as a 15-year-old, surly teenager can.

And now, the gifts are wrapped.  According to NORAD, Santa is headed to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan as I type this, and I am filled with praise for my family and friends who fill my life every day with wonder and joy.

Like Oliver's blooming irises, I am breaking into blossom.

A poem Saint Marty wrote last Christmas . . . 

reindeer

-- noun --

1. poem for everyone we love, Christmas 2022

2. also called caribou by those who don't believe in wonder

3. may have a nose that glows red in the presence of bullies or that cute doe in gym class

4. not a moose

5. something bright in the winter solstice sky, inspiring gospel writers and children

6. moss-eater, tundra dweller

7. hitched to a sleigh, it may pull an Orville-and-Wilbur, rise into the air, defy gravity, leave hoof prints in the treetops

8. mode of transport in Lapland

9. gift-bearer, magi

July 1: "How the Grass and the Flowers Came to Exist, a God-Tale," Independence Day, Pride and Shame

Mary Oliver's version of the Book of Genesis . . .

How the Grass and the Flowers Came to Exist, a God-Tale

by:  Mary Oliver

I suppose

the Lord said:

Let there be fur upon the earth,

and let there be hair upon the earth,

and so the seed stuttered forward into ripeness

and the roots twirled in the dark

to accomplish His desire,

and so there is clover,

and the reeds of the marshes,

and the eelgrass of the sea shallows

upon which the dainty sea brant live,

and there is the green and sturdy grass,

and the goldenrod

and the spurge and the yarrow

and the ivies and the bramble

and the blue iris

covering the earth,

thanking the Lord with their blossoms.

Of all the emotions Oliver writes about in her poems, the one that makes the most appearances is gratitude.  Everything, from sea brants and eelgrass to spurge and yarrow, crawl and blossom into thankfulness.  Even when she's writing about grief and loss, there is gratitude, which makes sense, when you think about it.  The reason you grieve is because you've lost something you cared about a great deal.  So, in a way, you give thanks by experiencing that profound sadness.

I am writing this as I sit on a grassy hill, waiting for my hometown's fireworks display to begin.  Yes, I know it's not Independence Day yet.  However, in the space of a week's time, four different local communities are shooting off fireworks. so, to avoid having competing fireworks, these towns/cities decided to space them out over several days.

Now, for my international disciples, I need to explain the genesis of Independence Day.  In the United States, we celebrate our declaration of freedom from British rule on July 4, which is the day in 1776 that the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence.  The signing of the Declaration didn't begin until about a month later, on August 2.  Practically speaking, however, the colonists living here became independent on July 4.  This was good news if you were white.  It really didn't mean a whole lot to Indigenous peoples or enslaved African Americans.  

The United States has been referred to as a Great Experiment.  As with any experiment, mistakes have been made.  Slavery.  The displacement and genocide of Native Americans.  The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.  The Mexican American War.  Jim Crow.  The Tulsa race massacre.  Japanese internment during World War II.  The Vietnam War.  The Stonewall Riots.  I could go on, but you get the idea.  The history of my country is riddled with blood, racism, intolerance, and atrocity.

And I sit here tonight, on the cusp of celebrating the 247th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, writing this criticism of the United States.  It has been said the one of the greatest acts of patriotism is criticism (not violent insurrection or gerrymandering or election fraud).  I believe that.  Because I want my country to do better.  Be better.  

A few years ago, one of the greatest topics of conversation in the United States was the building of a border wall between the United States and Mexico.  Then the pandemic happened, and, because of our government's terrible response to this global health crisis, other countries banned United States citizens from entering their borders.  We became the refugees that nobody wanted.  What goes around, comes around.

Am I proud to be an American?  Sometimes.  I'm also sometimes embarrassed, angry, indignant, confused, disgusted, and ashamed.  I can be all of these things because I live in a country where I have the freedom to think what I want, believe what I want, and express myself any way I want.

And I am grateful for that.

Saint Marty thinks that's worth setting off some fireworks.