And with Thy Spirit: Wild Advent

                                 “Spirit is not in the I but between I and You.” 

                                    ~~Martin Buber, I and Thou💛

I don't know about you, but to consider that we're created by something existing outside our mortal comprehension feels like something of a wilderness to me. As finite beings pondering the infinite, the right and good, and natural inclination from ancient times seems to have been to pray.

“Let us pray.”

It is a simple bidding, an invitation to turn our hearts, minds, and voices toward something greater than ourselves. 

In our Episcopal service, prior to praying together, the celebrant says to the congregation, “The Lord be with you,” to which the people respond, “And also with you.” One person at our early service generally responds, “And with thy spirit.” 

It’s from the Rite I liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. It's old.

“And with thy spirit.” God be with you and with my spirit, too. 

I and Thou. God with us. It's mind-blowing if you really think about it. 

So try not to think too hard. Just be. I and Thou. Together In Spirit.

Happy Advent. Happy wandering in this mysterious wilderness that is Emmanuel, God with us.

The Peace of Wild Things: Wild Advent

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives might be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief.  I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

This gorgeous poem by Wendell Berry is a gem. The restful imagery of water and sky evokes for me such a sense of calm and peace. For a time, he writes, he finds rest and can be free. Feelings of peace are often fleeting. But there can be a kind of afterglow that remains with us, I have found. Even after the mind has long forgotten, the body remembers and calls us back again. This, for me, is the essence of spirituality.

Spiritual Practice: Read this poem once. Read it again. Close your eyes and imagine the peaceful place Berry describes. Imagine the temperature of the air, hear sounds of nature, feel the breeze. Breathe here, for a time. 

 

Death is a Wilderness: Wild Advent

A slow-melting glacier.

The longer I live, the more I know deep in my bones that this world will not find peace, will not heal until all beings can feel safe and at home. This poem might be about my mother. Or yours. 

 

Death is a Wilderness

I dreamed of my mother last night.

In my dream, she was still beautiful. Strong.

Not the frail old woman she had become.

Caretaking and denial can wear a body down.

My father was the love of her life. 

 

In the dream, we were at a party.

My mother’s hair neatly pulled back. Was that a new dress?

Always good at a party, she smiled politely, making small talk.

Still pretending to have it all together.

Behind her hazel eyes, a terrible truth.

 

Life is terrible and beautiful. 

Fear forms a path of its own.

Stand apart from what you think you know.

Let go, dear one. 

Your beloved awaits.

Run to him.

 

Death is a wilderness.

And we cannot pack as for a camping trip:

Proper provisions, water, bug, and bear spray.

Life prepares us to gradually let go.

Only when we feel safe and at home in our skin.

 

May it be so.

Wild Geese: Wild Advent

During the pandemic, Sophie and I walked this trail almost every day. Often, we would come upon wild geese. They very likely did not appreciate Sophie's playful advances. 

The pandemic was indeed a wilderness. It was a time of testing. It shaped us in ways we are still processing. And yet, as Mary writes, the world goes on.

Wild Geese

    by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Deep Calls to Deep: Wild Advent

    As a deer longs for flowing streams,

so my soul longs for you, O God.

2 

My soul thirsts for God,

    for the living God.

When shall I come and behold

    the face of God?

3 

My tears have been my food

    day and night,

while people say to me continually,

    “Where is your God?”

4 

These things I remember,

    as I pour out my soul:

how I went with the throng

    and led them in procession to the house of God,

with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving,

    a multitude keeping festival.

5 

Why are you cast down, O my soul,

    and why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise him,

my help 

6 

and my God.

My soul is cast down within me;

    therefore I remember you

from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,

    from Mount Mizar.

7 

Deep calls to deep

    at the thunder of your torrents;

all your waves and your billows

    have gone over me.

8 

By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,

    and at night his song is with me,

    a prayer to the God of my life.

9 

I say to God, my rock,

    “Why have you forgotten me?

Why must I walk about mournfully

    because the enemy oppresses me?”

10 

As with a deadly wound in my body,

    my adversaries taunt me,

while they say to me continually,

    “Where is your God?”

11 

Why are you cast down, O my soul,

    and why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise him,

    my help and my God.

~~Psalm 42 (NRSV)

For anyone who has ever felt they have lost their connection to the divine, this poem is for us. The psalmist gets us. The world cannot fill the God-sized hole in a soul that has known the love of God. Even churches, bless their sweet hearts, can miss the mark when it comes to satisfying the longing for more substance, more depth.

Feel me? Thanks for that.

And yet there is hope. The light will return. Somewhere deep within our being, we know this to be true. And so we wait (again) in the wilderness for the advent of its first dawning.

I See the Moon: Wild Advent

 When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars that you have established; what are humans that you are mindful of them,

    mortals that you care for them?

~~Psalm 8:3-4💛

The night before our final (cold) full moon of 2025, I could not sleep. I had gone to bed early. But around midnight, found myself wide awake. This was not my first time. I have experienced this before. It's well documented that in the days leading up to the full moon, our sleep can be affected.

In yoga class yesterday, I broached the subject of the full moon. My students were familiar with this phenomenon. A full moon is a time of, well, fullness. This fullness can be experienced in myriad ways. Babies tend to be born during full moons. Medical professionals often report that mental health issues can be exacerbated during full moons. In class, we practiced balance poses to help mitigate some of these potential challenges. Tree pose and half-moon or ardha chandrasana.

And of course, savasana. 

As I gazed at the rising moon later that evening, I was on the phone with my daughter, Caroline. She was walking her dog in New York City, looking at the moon as her own busy day was drawing to a close. 

That we can connect with loved ones far away while appreciating a gorgeous full moon is something I pray I will never take for granted. What a gift! Later that evening, we Facetimed with our grandson as he opened our birthday gifts that had arrived in the mail that day. Once again, I feel such gratitude that we can stay connected through technology.

There is a wildness, a wilderness to make a biblical association, that extends beyond our immediate perception. In the vastness of the cosmos, we are connected in ways we can (sort of) comprehend and again in ways that remain mysteries. The gorgeous moon reminds me of the fullness of God’s love for all of us. It reminds me that we are not alone. No surprise that such infinite, unconditional affection could overwhelm our fragile and finite neural circuitry. 

With other wild creatures, I awaken before a full moon. I ponder the amazing goodness and provision of God, and I am grateful to the Creator of the Universe, who literally wakes us up with such glorious, brilliant light that is simply impossible to miss.

Spiritual Practice: Watch this film featuring Ilia Delio. Reflect on your experience of some of the great mysteries of the cosmos.

God in the Field: Wild Advent

The ancient Celtic people saw the Holy Spirit not as a hovering white dove but as a wild goose. With their tendency to disrupt and surprise, the Celts revered the goose as a sign of God's active presence.

Trifolium incarnatum, crimson clover or Italian clover, is a species of clover in the family Fabaceae, native to most of Europe. It has also been introduced to other areas, including the United States and Japan. The species name, incarnatum, means "blood red.” The plant is widely grown as a protein-rich forage crop for cattle and other livestock, and is made into hay. It is commonly grazed by domestic and wild ruminants. It is often used for roadside erosion control and beautification; however, it is invasive and tends to overcome and overtake other native vegetation species wherever it is planted.

 

Crimson clover is commercially cultivated for human consumption. Its flowers are edible and similar to alfalfa sprouts; they are, in fact, quite nutritious. They can be added as an ingredient in salads, sandwiches, and other dishes, made into tisanes, and dried and ground into flour. 100 grams of crimson clover sprouts contain 23 calories, 4g of protein, 2g of fiber, and provide 38 percent of the RDI of vitamin K, as well as 14 percent of the RDI of vitamin C. It has extremely small amounts of calcium, iron, phosphorus, zinc, selenium, and magnesium. Like all raw sprouts, they pose a risk of contamination with Escherichia coli, Salmonella, Listeria, and Bacillus cereus. Many reputable facilities in the United States attempt to regulate and test these crops for such bacteria.

 

Clover, blood red, incarnation, God Geese… 

God is in the field. In the pain and suffering and in the beauty. And where am I? I seem to be observing it all, appreciating it for sure, reveling in the mystery. How much we ARE loved! Contamination by God! 

Try though we may, we cannot test for or regulate God. 

Spiritual Practice: Take a walk outside. Notice what catches your eye. Look a little deeper.

 

Wicked For Good: Wild Advent

The Infinite a sudden Guest

The Infinite a sudden Guest

Has been assumed to be —

But how can that stupendous come

Which never went away?

~~Emily Dickinson💛

This week, I had the chance to see Wicked: For Good, where the final conclusion about which witch is really good and which one is really wicked is fleshed out. Well, sort of…No spoilers here. But I did discover some rather fascinating theological connections for our journey through Advent. Are you ready? Buckle up. I’m gonna bounce around a little.

In the Episcopal tradition, theology is often described as “faith seeking understanding.” It involves thoughtful reflection on the nature of God, the teachings of Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and the ways in which God is present and active in the world and in our lives.[1]

Theology is about asking the good questions. For example, “Are people born wicked or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?” That is the question posed at the very beginning of the book, turned musical, turned blockbuster film. This is the kind of question Episcopalians love to discuss, but it barely begins to scratch the surface of all the theological pearls in Wicked. 

But then it’s Advent, the beginning of a whole new church calendar year, a weird and wonderful season - a time to prepare for the Christ child, to stay alert for God to break in at any possible future moment, a time to consider the end of time. In Advent, we begin at the end, and we end at the beginning…[2]

This Advent, we start near the end of Matthew’s Gospel and move, in what might feel like a “clock tick” for some and an excruciatingly long time for others, to the birth of the baby Jesus. Wicked also begins at the end of the story and works its way back to the beginning, an effective literary device, similar to what will unfold for us as we journey from Advent One to Christmas. The ever-present clock motif in Wicked reminds us of the relentless tyranny of time. Our Advent wreath marks each of the four weeks with themes of hope, peace, joy, and love.

On this first Sunday of Advent, Matthew’s Jesus challenges us to step out of our obsession with time, out of our daily ruts and routines, into an alert, awakened state to ready ourselves for Emmanuel – God with us. The tricky part is we don’t know precisely when that will be. So, in Advent, we prepare, and we wait.

Elphaba, the green witch in Wicked, also waits. She waits for an audience with the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz, in hopes that he will agree to “degreenify” her. In the Hebrew Bible, two words were used for waiting. Yakhal, which means simply “to wait for,” is used in the story of Noah, who waited for the flood waters to recede. The other Hebrew word is Qavah, which refers to a sense of tension and hopeful expectation while waiting for something to happen.[3]

First-century Jewish Christians who had lost everything to Roman occupation were waiting for a return to normalcy. Jesus’ words offer hope for a more promising future. Timelines converge as Matthew’s Jesus speaks from Jerusalem during Holy Week. There is an urgency, as much for the disciples as for Matthew’s community around 90 CE, and likewise for us today, to stay awake and watchful for the coming of Christ.

Can you recall a time of waiting? Studies show that anxious anticipation can hijack our cognition, making time seem to move more slowly. Anxious anticipation can certainly hinder our ability to make wise decisions. Experts suggestmindfulness practices, time in nature, and the regular practice of stillness to mitigate the stressors of waiting. Easier said than done. 

In our Gospel reading, the theological drama intensifies. “One will be taken and the other left behind.” Is it better to be taken or left? I’m not sure. What do you think? Matthew’s community surely had some thoughts during their long years of exile. 

While first-century Christians awaited the imminent return of Jesus, he did not return as they had imagined he soon would. Still today, we sing, O Come, O Come Emmanuel…Lo he Comes with Clouds Descending, Soon and Very Soon…

But when? As Matthew tells us, only our God of all time and all eternity knows. And so, as people of faith, we are left to wait for God with hopeful anticipation. But how do we muster hope when days are darkest? 

In her keynote at our diocesan conference this past weekend, the Very Rev. Winnie Varghese spoke to us about developing a broader theological imagination. The new 12^th Dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City challenged us to consider new ways of thinking about our theologies of mercy and justice. She also suggested seeing our most pressing issues through different eyes – the eyes of the immigrant, the stranger, the marginalized, those from other cultures and faith traditions, and those with no faith tradition at all. 

Wicked director Jon Chu shared his ten-year journey of developing the two Wicked films. Shooting the two films concurrently required seeing the big picture, the entire arc of the story. In scripture, for better or for worse, for good and for wicked, humanity’s triumphs and struggles are all there. When we see the big picture, it can be easier to hold space for others, easier to forgive, and to question systems that threaten human dignity. It can be easier to imagine God’s love meeting us exactly where we are. 

Over the course of our long marriage, my husband has learned to wait patiently for me to get ready. I appreciate this. He knows me, and he knows it doesn’t go well when we rush the process.

That’s how I imagine God to be. God knows us and patiently waits for us. In an increasingly divided and secular world, a more imaginative theological vision of a loving God waiting for us to be ready is both hopeful and provocative. 

Don’t let the sentimental melody fool you; the lyrics in Wicked’s final number, For Good are also strikingly provocative:

“Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood 

Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea 
or a seed dropped by a skybird in a distant wood…

God is creative and is always looking for new ways to break into our everyday lives.

What if this Advent we welcome the disruption? What if we let it wake us up?

Our Episcopal theology, with its emphasis on scripture, tradition, and reason, is a faith that seeks wisdom. Deeply grounded in the Anglican liturgical tradition, we are open, aware, and even critical of the shifting culture and its impact on our discipleship. One reason I love the Episcopal church is our capacity to take on different shapes within our unique context, without compromising our values or vocation.[4]

Advent calls us into nothing less than mystical union, at the very intersection of time and eternity, where we can be and see the Christ light shining out in the world.[5] If we are awake, Advent, this yearly opportunity to check our theology, can change us for the better. If we’re really ready, it could even change us for good. Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Take a 10-minute silent walk outdoors this week. Where do you sense God’s presence in the unfamiliar or quiet places? Or try candle gazing!

 

No Extra Charge: Here’s Wicked, the book, author Jeffrey Maquire talking about Wicked: For Good.

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[1] Ellen K. Wondra, Introduction to Theology Third Edition (La Vergne: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2002), 1.

[2] Laurence Hull Stookey, Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1996), 121.

[3] “Advent Season: What Is It, and How Is It Celebrated?” accessed November 29, 2025, https://bibleproject.com/guides/advent/.

[4] Ralph McMichael, Vocation of Anglican Theology: Sources and Essays (London: Hymns Ancient & Modern Ltd, 2014), 291.

[5] Stookey, 17.

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A Spiritual Practice for Year's End

Resurrection Anxiety

 “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves…”

~~Ranier Maria Rilke💛

Are you aware that St. Mark’s has a transition team? Headed up by Tim Swygert, the transition team is responsible for all aspects of facilitating a smooth transition from our old structure to the next. This includes packing and moving, storing stuff, and lots of other details too numerous to mention. Do transitions give anyone else anxiety? Thank God for Tim and the team!

The Sadducees seem to be experiencing some transition anxiety as they interrogate Jesus in the temple. 

While I understand the human desire for certainty about life after death, it’s hard to take seriously the question the Sadducees ask Jesus. Sure, they’re referring to Levirate marriage law in Deuteronomy, but it’s disturbing to hear a woman so blatantly objectified. There must be a better question.

The Sadducees were an educated and elite sect of Judaism, active from about the second century BCE until the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. They were mostly priests responsible for pretty much everything that happened in the temple, and they seemed to take this job very seriously. Of the three prominent first-century Jewish sects —the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes — the Sadducees did not accept the concept of a general bodily resurrection of the dead, the prevailing Jewish theology of the afterlife. What did they believe? It’s hard to say, because they and their writings did not survive the destruction of the Second Temple, and anything we do know comes from those who were likely opposed to them. The Sadducees seemed comfortable in their beliefs without the need for any other teachings outside the Torah, such as from the prophets, and they certainly seemed suspicious of anything the prophet Jesus had to say. 

“Teacher, you have spoken well,” some scribes say to Jesus. And they ask him no more questions, Luke tells us.

Anxiety averted? I’m not so sure. Who still has questions about the resurrection?

At lunch the other day, my sister admitted that she will sometimes text our dad, who died three years ago this month. She showed me her phone. All her texts were received. Don’t judge.

My parents died so close together, and after 65 years of marriage, I cannot tell you how many people tried to console my siblings and me by saying, “At least they are together.” 

There’s another story of a woman in a caregiving facility, hanging on to life by a tiny thread. One day, the woman is visited by a kind chaplain. Trusting him, she confides in a small, frail voice, "People keep telling me soon I will see my husband in heaven." 

To the chaplain’s great surprise, the old woman suddenly sits straight up in bed and blurts out loudly, “I spent seventy years of my life with that man! Do I have to spend eternity with him, too? 

Let’s be real: resurrection is nearly impossible to grasp from our limited human perspective.

That said, I really appreciate Jesus’ respect for and sensitivity to the diverse theological beliefs of the Sadducees. Loving our neighbor means meeting people wherever they are in their faith journey, encouraging their curiosity, and welcoming their questions. 

You’ll have a chance to practice a little with our confirmation class during coffee hour today. Please stick around. I hope you will welcome their questions and share your own. We can all be teachers for one another. 

In these last days before his death, Jesus is teaching in the temple. Scholars note that Jesus teaches in spaces accessible to all bodies, including women and children. 

The temple is a main focus this week. We might pause here to consider the function of a temple. How does a physical structure encourage communion with God? How might it interfere with or inhibit communion? Do we need a physical structure to encounter God?

Next Saturday, all are invited to join me and others from our diocese for a pop-up Eucharist at Schooley Mill Park. We will hike a short distance and worship in creation, hoping to stimulate some new conversation about where and how we do church. 

Haggai’s book is short—only two chapters—but offers a historical perspective on the rebuilding of Solomon’s temple, which was destroyed in 587 BCE. 

Along with Zechariah and Malachi, Haggai is a post-exilic prophet, one of the 12 so-called minor prophets. After seventy years in captivity, returning Jews likely had limited memory of their homeland or their temple. Surely, they had heard stories. But they’d made new lives for themselves in Babylon. When they returned to the “land of milk and honey,” things had changed. They had changed. It was likely easier to stay in their comfortable homes than to do the demanding work rebuilding their temple. Haggai’s job was to encourage them and remind them of God’s abiding presence. Haggai was chair of the transition team, kind of like Tim.

As our own exile approaches, we might consider this to be a cautionary tale. How can we attend to our transition anxiety while doing the important work of rebuilding? 

Our new Inreach Program, spearheaded by Gail Gerdes, is designed to help us do just this. You’ll be hearing more about it in the coming weeks. Perhaps you will feel called to participate.  

As we move through our transition, we will need people to keep both our inreach and outreach ministries going. We’ll need our elders to remind us where we’ve been, and prophets like our fantastic building committee to help us stay focused on the future. 

We’ll need workers of all sorts, young and old, and in between. It will be challenging, fun, and sometimes crazy making. As we watch our new building going up, as we continue praying and caring for one another, we will be co-creating something new with God. Not every church community gets a chance to do what we are doing. I pray we will listen faithfully for where God might be calling us to participate.

At St. Mark’s, we have this excellent tagline: Built on faith, rooted in love. Very soon, it will be tested, as the proverbial rubber meets the road. If we can acknowledge our anxiety and do the good work over the months ahead, continually reminding one another of God’s presence with us throughout, I think we’ll be in good shape.

As followers of Jesus, we’re all called to be on the transition team. We’re all called to share the good news of the resurrection with one another and the world. 

I spoke with an old friend on Friday who’d not only grieved the loss of his wife to cancer but also received his own scary diagnosis. Now, ten years cancer-free, he told me the doctor had spoken the word “cure.” Thanks be to God. My friend asked for prayers that he would stay healthy and alive. He’s 72. “How long do you want to live?” I asked him. “Forever,” he said facetiously. No worries there, I thought. But I’ll still keep him in my prayers. 

Rather than focusing on an incomprehensible future, I think our better question just for now might be: How can we move most faithfully and gracefully through the next transitions? My sense, based on Jesus’ example, is that if we’re patient with ourselves and one another, we will get there together, and resurrection will be ever so much clearer to us from the other side. Amen.