What a weekend of celebration at Cedar Park!  The Service of Lessons and Carols on Saturday Night, under Douglas Knight’s direction – and inspiration –  was an evening of wonder, joy and hope.   My thanks to EVERYONE who made that evening such a celebration of the “Message of Christmas” – choristers, lighting, sound, welcomers, printers, coffee and tea makers, bakers, bow-tie makers, music sorters, and all who brought family, neighbours and friends to share the vitality of this amazing commuity! (For those who want to read the “Christmas Message” from this Service, click this link: The Christmas Message Dec 17 )

And Sunday’s KidZone pageant “It wasn’t the Hilton You Know!”  was SUCH a delight to behold! The energy, enthusiasm, care, preparation, and performances were exceptional. Baby angels running up the aisle on cue! Kids of all ages, sharing song, drama, and joy as they shared the true message of Christmas.  They were right, weren’t they?  It’s not about how ‘spectacular’ we can make this message, it’s about realizing that God’s child is born, and born again and again, in the simplicity of ordinary lives, because it’s from such tiny beginnings that worlds can change.  Our children enlarged our vision and hope of God’s Dream yesterday, and I am truly grateful!

Our CedarPark Youth in Action group took the same message to the neighbourhood last night as they went carolling, and collecting food for St. Columba House, and money for their school project in Haiti. God comes to us, making hope and light take on flesh and heart in us,  if we give God a chance!

Please, anyone who was at these events, feel free to add your own Hallelujahs, below!

Instead of ‘writing about’ the texts concerning John the Baptizer, I’m offering this as a meditation/poem/reflection. I hope you ‘enjoy’ – if that’s the right verb.   Elisabeth

 

His name is John.

 

 

A tough life he’s led,

        partly by choice,

        to be sure.

His daily companions, honey bees,

and a rude belching camel,

who, when she finally breathed her foul-mouthed last,

gave up her pelt to cover his back

through the icy chill of  desert nights.

 

        Oh yes, the desert freezes.

The sun beats down, baking to a crisp all day,

chapping lips and drying tears, and salting cheeks

so that the night frost can then bite to the marrow,

and chill the mind.

 

John is his name,

wildman his calling.

It’s no wonder,

      given his birth to a silenced prophet and a wise crone

      both convinced by an angel that he was

formed awefully,  fearfully in his mother’s womb

expressly to overthrow

the comfortable numbness of quietism,

to uproot hypocrisy with scorching speech as searing as the desert sun

and to foretell divine judgment with the icy candour of a desert moon.

 

Wild eyed John,

matted- haired,  stick-ribbed John,

searching the desert sands for that

narrowest of  highways

upon which the sandalled feet of God’s Anointed

would trample

all injustice in his Advent.

 

John is his name

“Repent!” is his logo.

Change! Begin Again!

 

John is his name.

Baptizer is his trade.

Waist deep in the rocky Jordon,

thrusting  heads under brackish water,

clutching slick, newborn hands

grasping for air,  for life.

 

Until  the sandal-footed Anointed One

comes.

 

 

                                                                 ©Elisabeth  R. Jones, 2008. 2011