“the chairs no one sits in”:* as soon as I saw the lines, I thought, “I was going to write that poem” — once again, I’m reminded what’s new to me is not new most of my thoughts are about as original as sin perhaps it’s not about who got there first, but getting there:…
I’ve loved the Magi since I was a kid. I don’t know if it was their exotic nature, or that they were chasing stars across the desert, or that they were a sort of odd addition to the whole manger scene, but they have continued to keep my attention. As I learned to love poetry,…
One of the books I read and reread as a youth minister was David Elkind’s The Hurried Child, which was his take on adolescence in the 1980s. My guess is it still holds up pretty well. One of the things I took away from that book (or at least I remember it coming from that…
no matter what page we turn what ball drops or what calendar we follow when tomorrow dawns on us we will still hold the sorrow that slept here last night the hopes and fears of all last year might sit silently for a few hours while we dance and remember the promises we hoped to…
Our Christmas Eve service, like many around the country, is a service of Lessons and Carols. It is also a family service, so there is the rumble of restless little ones underneath all the singing and silence. It’s awesome. This year, Ginger made a point of asking a number of our children and young people…
The story below is one I wrote several years ago. I read it this morning at church. I offer it to you tonight. A Faraway Christmas by Milton Brasher-Cunningham As we gather together on this Silent Night, To sing ‘round the tree in the soft candlelight, From a Faraway Christmas, from time…
Yesterday on my break at the computer store, I walked over to Barnes and Noble to get a cup of coffee, which might be described as my regular routine. The line was about five deep when I got there, which didn’t bode well for my fifteen minute recess, but I decided to chance it since…
come . . . sit in the dark with me and tell the truth reach deep in the pockets of our souls for scraps of hope and wonder come . . . look up at the storms of firefly stars flinging their light our way lay back on the blanket of dead leaves and sleeping…
One of the things I miss about living in Marshfield was learning to tell time by the tides. The tide came and went twice a day, but never in sync with the clock. The tides felt a rhythm rather than a ticking. They followed the moon, the earth’s turning, the breathing of the oceans. In…
Throughout Advent, I have been collecting a soundtrack to get me deeper into the season. Tonight, I was greeted by two songs at our annual “Blue Christmas” service — one I sang and one I heard — that helped move me along towards the manger, sadness and all. Tonight, I thought I would share them…