Christmas 2018: Light Comes to a Dark World

And Joseph saw a woman coming down from the hill-country, and she said to him: where are you going? And he said: I am seeking a Hebrew midwife. And she answered: Are you of Israel? And he said to her: Yes. And she said: And who is it that is bringing forth in the cave? And he said: A woman betrothed to me. And she said: Is she not your wife? And he said: It is Mary that was reared in the temple of the Lord, and I obtained her by lot as my wife. And yet she is not my wife, but has conceived of the Holy Spirit. And the midwife said to him: Is this true? And Joseph said to her: Come and see. And the midwife went away with him.   

And they stood in the place of the cave, and behold a luminous cloud overshadowed the cave. And the midwife said: My soul has been magnified this day, because my eyes have seen strange things, because salvation has been brought forth to Israel. And immediately the cloud disappeared out of the cave, and a great light shone in the cave, so that the eyes could not bear it. And in a little that light gradually decreased, until the infant appeared, and went and took the breast from His mother Mary. And the midwife cried out, and said: This is a great day to me, because I have seen this strange sight.

That passage comes from the Protoevangelium of James, a text that dates to around the middle of the second century. It provides us with the details, previously unrecorded, of the conception, birth, and childhood of Mary. The text shows us a young girl who was special and holy from her youngest days, taking food from angels and spending her days in prayer. Knowing there was something special about her, her parents, Anne and Joachim, decided to have her raised in the temple. But when she came of age and her parents were gone, she needed to be placed in the care of a male guardian. The man chosen was Joseph, who in this telling is an old man, a widower with children from his previous marriage. He's embarrassed at first to be taking in such a young girl, but he does his duty to the temple and proves to be a good provider, even when his faith and trust are shaken by word of Mary's pregnancy.

The difference we find in this telling of the Nativity is that Joseph goes off to find a midwife. Salome, however, does little more than witness the miraculous birth taking place in front of her, as a cloud of light surrounded the birthplace.

The light, of course, represents the light that Mary's newborn son has brought into the world.

Carl Heinrich Bloch, The Birth of Jesus

Nearby shepherds would come to see and adore that night. But there would be no wise men. Not yet. Their presence at the stable is a conflation of the two Gospel accounts of the Nativity. Luke never mentions them, but Matthew only mentions that they followed the star to a house where the family was staying. Shortly afterward, Joseph is told in a dream to flee to Egypt, as Herod now knows he has a rival king to contend with and orders the murder of all boys in Bethlehem under age 2.

And with that begins the story of the Holy Family. A miraculous pregnancy, followed by an unlikely birthplace for a king, after which they become refugees -- a story that sounds all too familiar in our world. When we see families and their children fleeing for their lives for safer havens, may we always see Christ in their faces and their struggles. May we soften our hearts and see him in all who are in need, all who are cast out, all who are forgotten.

As love is born anew into the world today, may we ourselves strive to birth the love of Christ into a world that needs it, perhaps more than ever. For Salome is not the Christ child's only midwife. We all are, as St. John of the Cross reminds us:

If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the road
pregnant with the Holy and say,
“I need shelter for the night.
Please take me inside your heart; my time is so close.”
Then, under the roof of your soul,
you will witness the sublime intimacy,
the divine, the Christ, taking birth forever,
as she grasps your hand for help,
for each of us is the midwife of God, each of us.
Yes, there, under the dome of your being,
does creation come into existence eternally,
through your womb, dear pilgrim,
the sacred womb of your soul,
as God grasps our arms for help:
for each of us is His beloved servant never far.
If you want, the Virgin will come walking down the street,
pregnant with Light, and sing!

Merry Christmas to one and all!

Advent Reflections: The Magnificat

And Mary said, 

"My soul magnifies the Lord, 
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 
for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. 

"For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 
for he who is mighty has done great things for me, 
and holy is his name. 
And his mercy is for those who fear him 
from generation to generation.

"He has shown strength with his arm; 
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts; 
he has brought down the mighty from their thrones 
and exalted those of humble estate; 
he has filled the hungry with good things, 
and the rich he has sent away empty. 

"He has helped his servant Israel, 
in remembrance of his mercy, 
as he spoke to our fathers, 
to Abraham and to his offspring forever."

~ Luke 1:46-55

Ben Wildflower.

Today's lectionary has Mary reciting the Magnificat, the longest passage spoken by a woman in the New Testament, and a manifesto of Christian values so revolutionary that its public recitation has been banned more than once over the years. Such is the case when the everyday people threaten the privilege of the powerful. And that is precisely what Christ came to do.

Yet a recent Washington Post article cited an unscientific Twitter poll showing that a vast majority of evangelical Christians -- 71%! -- either had never heard of the Magnificat, or their churches never read or discussed it. A further 21% said they'd come across it only a few times.

That's 92% who either have never heard the text or barely ever encountered it.

And that, in a nutshell, explains so very, very much about the state of evangelical American Christianity.

The Gospel of Jesus is a social gospel. He came to establish a kingdom of love that enshrined justice and equality. Being born into a world that was occupied by powerful foreign oppressors, he saw the plight of his people. And being born into the humblest of families in the humblest of circumstances, he became their voice, their advocate.

But he didn't bring the message that many expected. They expected a leader who would organize a violent revolution and take back their land for their own. Instead, he taught a gospel of loving and praying for those who persecuted them. Rather than stooping to their level and meeting violence with violence, he called on his followers to end the cycle of violence. More than that, he urged his followers to be so kind and generous to their oppressors as to bring shame upon them. If someone sues you for your coat, give him your cloak as well, and stand naked before him in court. If a solider conscripts you to carry his belongings for him for a mile, insist that you go two miles and expose the injustice of the request. As Paul put it, echoing Proverbs, by doing so you heap burning coals on their heads.

Thus can we see that Jesus did not teach a gospel of passivity in the face of the evil his people faced. It's often said that the nonviolence he preached isn't realistic for this world, in that we simply must meet violence with violence. But when Jesus said to turn the other cheek to the one who strikes you, he wasn't telling people to simply sit there and take the abuse. Just as when he told his followers to expose the injustice of their oppressors by doubling down on what they asked, so here he is exposing the hollowness of the violence that systems of power use to control the people. Rather than cower away after being struck, you stand up, brush yourself off, look your attacker square in the eye, and let him know that there's nothing he can do to take away your humanity.

In that sense, the nonresistance Jesus teaches is quite radical. It challenges systems of power both by refusing to meet their violence with your own violence and by showing them that they can't use their violence to control you.

That is what made Jesus so dangerous to those in power. He taught a gospel that, if followed, would render the common people unable to be controlled through coercion and violence, the only means that systems of power know. To meet their iron fist with love would confound them. To not passively cooperate when they demanded it of you would not compute. Gandhi understood this. Martin Luther King Jr. understood it. And before they paid with their lives, they changed the world for the better.

It's for this reason that Christian anarchist and activist Ammon Hennacy once said:

Love without courage and wisdom is sentimentality, as with the ordinary church member. Courage without love and wisdom is foolhardiness, as with the ordinary soldier. Wisdom without love and courage is cowardice, as with the ordinary intellectual. Therefore one with love, courage, and wisdom is one in a million who moves the world, as with Jesus, Buddha, and Gandhi.

Yet somehow this revolutionary message has been lost, as Christianity has been turned into a system of using select quotes to condemn and other the very outcasts Jesus embraced, a system that seeks the very kind of temporal power Jesus rejected, a hollow philosophy that eviscerates the Sermon on the Mount and reduces Jesus to a ticket to heaven.

Couple that with the fact that most Protestant Christians are allergic to Mary, and it's no wonder the Magnificat is forgotten. An evangelical once told me she didn't even know what the Beatitudes were, and if practicing Christians don't even know something that basic and essential about Christ's teachings, it's clear that the Magnificat doesn't stand a chance.

There's also the obvious fact that the Magnificat shows a woman preaching a powerful message, which to some simply gives too much agency to women. Far too many corners of the church would rather cite Paul's insistence that women remain silent than to point out that Jesus was an absolute radical for treating women as equals in a time when they were no more than the property of their fathers or husbands.

He has brought down the mighty from their thrones 
and exalted those of humble estate; 
he has filled the hungry with good things, 
and the rich he has sent away empty.

That is the essence of the upside-down kingdom of God that Jesus brought to the world. The last shall be first and the first shall be last. And it was Jesus' mother, whom all generations shall call blessed, who first proclaimed it.

It's an astoundingly powerful statement from a woman so often portrayed as silent, passive, obedient -- at times no more than a human flowerpot. For although Mary was fair and humble, she was also extraordinarily courageous and strong. To be told at age 14 or 15 that you're going to bear the human incarnation of the God of the universe? And that this pregnancy could cost you your marriage, your social standing, even your life? And then to journey for miles while ready to give birth, and to give birth surrounded by farm animals in a stable? To be told by a prophet that both you and your child will suffer? To lose your young boy in the city and you have to go back and find him? And, finally, after apparently being widowed, to have to watch your son die a horrible and gruesome death before your eyes?

This woman is as tough as nails. Beautiful and gentle, certainly, but also our bad-ass Queen of Heaven. The Magnificat, a sneak preview of what's to come in her son's life, is all the evidence you could need.

Advent Reflections: Where Pagan and Christian Meet

Georgi Chimev.

There's always talk this time of year about whether Christians appropriated pagan holidays and made them their own. Many bristle at the very idea, yet the facts are what they are. Christians did, indeed, adapt pagan traditions and celebrations over the centuries, not because they wanted to follow pagan ways, but to make Christianity attractive to the peoples in the places where Christianity spread. Easter eggs? An obvious symbol of fertility. Christmas trees? A symbol of fertility and new life in the dead of winter. Even Marian devotion rose to the level it did in part because people in places with goddess worship wanted to continue to venerate a female image of the divine.

As we dig deeper, we find even more connections between pagan and Christian. Many years ago, my wife brought me back a Celtic cross from Ireland, made from Irish peat, that included fine details of pagan symbolism and imagery. Then there's Brigid's cross, quite possibly a reworking of the pagan sunwheel.

Brigid herself is a fascinating character, almost a perfect bridge between the Christian and pagan worlds. Legend holds that Brigid was a beloved Irish abbess who could work wonders and miracles with her strong faith and great compassion. So beloved was she that she became known as "Mary of the Gael." One story holds that she was "accidentally" made a bishop, when the priest consecrating her as a nun read the wrong prayers and later said the Holy Spirit compelled him to do so. And thus does Brigid, often depicted in imagery as holding the shepherd's crook of the bishop, give us a strong argument for the ordination of women.

However, before the Christians arrived, the Irish pagans already had a goddess they knew as Brigid. The beloved pagan deity was the goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft.

It is probably not a coincidence that Ireland has both a Celtic deity named Brigid and a Catholic saint of the same name. The centuries have blurred the distinction between the two so much that it's impossible to tell where legend ends and history begins. It's likely that the Irish loved their mother goddess Brigid so much that they refused to give her up when the Christians arrived, and so the goddess, in a sense, became the miracle-working Catholic saint. Both are associated with the illumination and cleansing of fire, and with sacred Irish wells. Moreover, St. Brigid's feast day falls on Feb. 1, which also happens to be Imbolc, the pagan festival that welcomes spring and is associated with the deity Brigid.

But why speak of Brigid at Christmas? Because of a delightful story called Brigid's Cloak. In the story, a druid comes to visit Brigid's family at her birth and presents her with a beautiful blue cloak, the color symbolic of royalty -- and, of course, the Virgin Mary. Many years pass, and Brigid, while tending her sheep, suddenly finds herself in another place and time, where a traveling man and his pregnant wife knock on the door and ask for a place to stay for the night. Whether Brigid was transported to ancient Bethlehem or she was having a dream or a vision isn't entirely clear. But either way, Mary of the Gael knew what she had to do. With no room at the inn, Brigid prepared a nearby stable so the expectant mother could give birth. As her reward, Brigid finds her old cloak, tattered by the years, looking bright and brand new, and now dotted with brilliant stars.

Brigid's simple act of service prompts us to reflect this Advent season on what we can do to help prepare the way for the coming of the Christ child. Whether it's helping someone in need or merely softening our hearts to let the love of God shine in, we can all do our part to keep the spirit of Christmas alive and well in our world.

Advent Reflections: Virgin Births and Sons of God

Neatorama.

An article I read recently at Rival Nations (highly recommended, by the way) drove home an important point regarding the way Jesus is presented to us in scripture. It's something that we've forgotten, because we lack an awareness of the context the Gospels were written in.

In Jesus' time, divine conceptions and virgin births were commonplace for men of power and importance. Imbuing them with these qualities reinforced their right to rule over the people. After all, if you're the son of Apollo, as was said of "Son of God" Augustus Caesar, then who would ever have the authority to challenge your status? It's the divine right of kings taken to the next level.

Skeptics, then, might say that the Jesus story was simply a poor copy of what was common at the time, in an attempt to give him legitimacy as a moral authority. But I think that gets the intention backward. Rather, stating that Jesus was conceived by the Spirit of God and born of a virgin delegitimizes the claim that the temporal powers of the day claimed for themselves. It was a deeply radical political statement that announced to the rulers of Jesus' world that they held no true authority, that their claims to divinity were hollow, because the one who embodied those truths had arrived. And he was not a powerful man born in a palace, but rather a child of peasants, born among animals in the stink of a stable. If there's a clearer example of God's promise to exalt the lowly and bring down the powerful, I can't think of it.

We sometimes forget how political the Gospels were. We see them today only as religious texts, removed from the current events of their time. Yet they were a bold confrontation of a political system in which the poor lived under the violent occupation of a distant and powerful empire. Jesus rejected that power. His reign was one of love, and his kingdom was not of this world. He came to serve, not to be served. He turned everything upside down.

And so today, when we see self-proclaimed Christians striving for temporal political power, promoting violence and oppression, and using the power of the state to force others into compliance to live by a certain set of values, we can see that the message of Christ has been lost at best, and twisted at worst. Jesus is not about forcing people to do things his way from the top down, but by persuading them with love from the bottom up. Embracing the poor, the outcast, the forgotten. In short, when Christianity comforts rather than challenges those in power, then Christianity has lost its way.

This Advent season, may we reflect on the humility of Mary's yes, and on the humility of a God-man who was born in the humblest of conditions, embraced friend and enemy alike, washed the feet of his own followers, and gave his life for all. That is the Good News of the Kingdom.

Advent Reflections: A Mother's Courage

Last year during Advent, I attended a lecture that explored Mary and the Annunciation. During the presentation, the speaker shared a poem with us that has ever since remained with me because of the beautiful language it uses to express what it must have been like for Mary in that life-altering moment that would change the fate of the human race. The words also invite us to look within and ponder what great things are being asked of us, and whether we, like Mary, are open to the challenge. Would we trust in God and show our courage? Or would we complain, bargain, find reasons why we just can't do what's asked of us? The answer, for all of us who are honest with ourselves, will be different. But we know Mary's answer. And it is to that example that we are all called to strive.

Here, then, without further commentary, is Denise Levertov's "Annunciation."

We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book;
always the tall lily. 

Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest. 

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage.
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent.
God waited. 

She was free
to accept or to refuse, choice
integral to humanness. 

Aren’t there annunciations
of one sort or another
in most lives?
Some unwillingly
undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.
More often
those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.
God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes. 

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child–but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible. 

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked
a simple, ‘How can this be?’
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel’s reply,
the astounding ministry she was offered: 

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power–
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.
Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love–
but who was God. 

This was the moment no one speaks of,
when she could still refuse. 

A breath unbreathed,
Spirit,
suspended,
waiting. 

She did not cry, ‘I cannot. I am not worthy,’
Nor, ‘I have not the strength.’
She did not submit with gritted teeth,
raging, coerced.
Bravest of all humans,
consent illumined her.
The room filled with its light,
the lily glowed in it,
and the iridescent wings.
Consent,
courage unparalleled,
opened her utterly.

Advent Reflections: Mary, Sophia, and the Antiphons

Sophia, Wisdom of God,
from St. Sophia's Cathedral, Kiev.

A tradition dating back to the seventh or eighth century begins today, as the church honors the many aspects of Christ with the "O Antiphons." The prayers are reflected in the Christmas hymn "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." One antiphon is recited each day through December 23, and they begin with an ode to Holy Wisdom.

O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti,
attingens a fine usque ad finem,
fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia:
veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.

Translated from the Latin:

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High,
reaching from one end to the other,
mightily and sweetly ordering all things:
Come and teach us the way of prudence.

And as reflected in the Christmas hymn:

O come, thou Wisdom, from on high,
Who orders all things mightily.
To us the path of knowledge show,
And cause us in her ways to go.

Those words, in turn, reflect what Wisdom herself tells us in scripture. From Proverbs (8:12, 14-15, 17, 22-31):

I, Wisdom, dwell with prudence, and useful knowledge I have. 
Counsel and safety are mine. 
Discernment is mine, and strength is mine: 
By me kings reign, and rulers enact justice. 
I love those who love me. 
And those who seek shall find me. 

The Lord possessed me, the beginning of his works, 
The forerunner of his deeds of long ago; 
From of old I was formed, at the first, before the earth. 
When there were no deeps I was brought forth,  
When there were no fountains or springs of water; 
Before the mountains were settled into place, before the hills, 
I was brought forth; 
When the earth and the fields were not yet made, 
Nor the first clods of the world. 

When he established the heavens, there was I;  
When he marked out the vault over the face of the deep; 
When he made firm the skies above, 
When he fixed fast the springs of the deep, 
When he set for the sea its limit, 
So that waters should not transgress his command, 
When he fixed the foundations of earth, 
Then was I beside him as artisan; 
I was his delight by day, playing before him all the while, 
Playing over the whole of his earth, having my delight with human beings.

And from Sirach (24:3-6):

From the mouth of the Most High I came forth 
And covered the earth like a mist. 
In the heights of heaven I dwelt, and my throne was in a pillar of cloud. 
The vault of heaven I compassed alone, and walked through the deep abyss. 
Over waves of the sea, over all the land, over every people and nation I held sway.

And who is this Wisdom? How do we find her? Here, we turn to the book of Wisdom (7:24-29):

And she penetrates and pervades all things by reason of her purity.
For she is a breath of the might of God and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty; 
Therefore nothing defiled can enter into her. 
For she is the reflection of eternal light, the spotless mirror of the power of God, 
The image of his goodness. 
Although she is one, she can do all things, 
And she renews everything while herself perduring; 
Passing into holy souls from age to age, she produces friends of God and prophets. 
For God loves nothing so much as the one who dwells with Wisdom. 
For she is fairer than the sun and surpasses every constellation of the stars.

The official church teaching is that Wisdom revealed herself in Christ -- which is true enough in itself, but it obscures an important part of the story. The most obvious detail that begs to be addressed is that Wisdom is a woman. The mystics throughout the ages have known her as Sophia, whom they recognized not just as the immanent presence of God, but as a being herself -- the feminine aspect of God, the Holy Spirit, or an expression of what the three persons of the Trinity hold in common, thus making her a symbol of the fullness of the Trinity, its ousia.

The book of Baruch (3:15, 29-30, 36-38) speaks of Sophia's descent to Earth:

Who has found the place of wisdom? Who has entered into her treasuries?
Who has gone up to the heavens and taken her, bringing her down from the clouds?
Who has crossed the sea and found her, bearing her away rather than choice gold?

Such is our God; no other is to be compared to him:
He has uncovered the whole way of understanding, and has given her to Jacob, his servant,
To Israel, his beloved.
Thus she has appeared on earth, is at home with mortals.

"Nothing defiled can enter into her."
"She is fairer than the sun."
"By me kings reign."
"Thus she has appeared on earth."

The Song of Songs (6:10) asks: "Who is this that appears like the dawn, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the stars in procession?"

She sounds very much like God's masterpiece of creation. One who was full of grace and chosen above all others to bear the incarnation of God, and thus became the very Mother of God. As she consented to carry the Christ child, so by her kings reign.

Thus do we see Holy Sophia, the Wisdom of God, the maternal face of the Divine, the universal symbol of the Sacred Feminine, in the Blessed Virgin Mary, our perfect spiritual mother -- without whom we would have no Advent, no Christmas, no redemption, no hope.

If we follow Mary, trust in her, follow her example of faith and trust, we will find our way.

Advent Reflections: Walking With Mary

Photo by Kevin Birnbaum.

This past week, I officially broke my ties with the Catholic church. I asked both churches I was registered at to remove my name from their rolls. Administrators at both churches responded quickly, thanked me for letting them know, and wished me a blessed Advent. No questions asked -- which I found kind of odd. Not that I wanted the opportunity to air my grievances, but you'd think they would wonder why a parishioner was leaving. Maybe they're tired of being reminded of how the abuse scandal is causing people to leave. Or maybe they've been directed by their higher-ups not to ask.

A few years ago, when I was feeling called back to my Christian roots, I couldn't have imagined I'd end up rejoining and then leaving the church of my upbringing. It was a long and sometimes difficult road back. And I suppose I could sit back now and wonder what the point of it all was. But I think maybe I know.

The only profound religious experience I've ever had in my life came shortly after my return to the church. I was sitting in a side chapel at Seattle's cathedral, in front of a beautiful antique statue of the Virgin, contemplating. Mary had been the one constant in my spiritual life. No matter how far away I'd wandered from my Christian roots, she was always there, even if only remotely. So I felt comfortable coming to her with my questions, doubts, concerns, anxieties. At some point I stood and reached out to touch the statue's hand, and as I did, I felt a warmth engulfing my body. My skin broke out in goose bumps, and I was overcome with an intense rush of emotion. It felt, for lack of a better explanation, like love. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked up at the face of the Virgin. It took my daughter to ask me what I was doing to break the trance and bring me back to the present.

Now, assuming my imagination wasn't simply running away with me, I have to believe that Mary was trying to tell me something. What I think she was telling me was that I was unconditionally loved, and that if I needed her help, she would take me by the hand and lead me to the source of that love.

At the time, I thought that meant I needed to remain in the church. And so I did. Even when I had doubts, I took the teachings on faith. I prayed the rosary daily, I went to confession, I dutifully followed the church's teachings.

But I soon began to struggle with some of the teachings -- the same ones I'd always struggled with. I began visiting some Orthodox churches and found that, to me, their theology made a lot more sense on several points. But the Orthodox church had its own problems (in my opinion), and my concerns with the Catholic church began to mount.

Then news of the latest abuse scandal broke, and for me that was the final straw. It wasn't so much just the abuse, although that in itself was horrendous, as it was the corruption and cover-ups of an old boys' club that allowed it to happen. With the response to the scandal being slow, ineffective, and often tone-deaf, in which clergy and church apologists have attempted to blame everything but the abusers themselves and those who covered up for them, I realized at last that this was an organization I could no longer support. Staying, to me, would have felt like enabling. Because if people keep showing up every week anyway, what incentive would the church ever have to change?

And so I've sent myself back out into the spiritual wilderness, where I've spent most of my adult life. I know now that I'm a Christian at heart, which is to say I embrace, and do my best to follow, the ethics of love for all and care for the poor that Jesus established for us. But my other spiritual experiences, from Taoist to Buddhist, are also part of me and always will be.

As I continue to find myself drawn to the nurturing warmth and comfort of the Sacred Feminine, I think back to that moment in the chapel. And I can only assume that Mary, as the Christian face of the Sacred Feminine, was trying to tell me that if I needed to ground my spiritual walk in that feminine divinity, it would give me a solid footing no matter where life took me.

I do think it's given me a much deeper appreciation of Christian teaching, for one thing. Where, in the past, I'd decide I was fed up and walk away from Christianity altogether, now I don't feel as if I have to do that. And I think it's because I used to react to Christianity based on whether I accepted every teaching as literal truth. But when you discover the deeper meanings, when you see how the scriptures point to universal truths about the human condition, when you no longer see your faith as motivated by staying out of hell but by doing good for its own sake, then you realize you no longer have to run off to China or Japan to find your spiritual center in another tradition. You can stay right where you are, as you'll find that all the great traditions point toward the same truths about life and death and happiness and love. There's nothing wrong with embracing what's good about other spiritual and religious paths, but in the end I speak Christian. It's my spiritual dialect. So that's where I stay. I don't need a church to do it.

Granted, it would be great to find a spiritual community, but I'm not hopeful I'll find one. Most lean either too liberal or too conservative. And sadly, most outside the Catholic and Orthodox traditions ignore the Virgin. If they think about her at all, it's only during this time of year, leading up to Christmas -- the day we couldn't celebrate if not for Mary's "yes."

But wherever I go, I feel I'll have my Blessed Mother's presence guiding me, helping me to keep my focus on the things that are important. So as she makes the long trek to Bethlehem in the days leading up to Christmas, I feel almost as if I'm following in her footsteps, trusting her to lead the way, knowing that she alone will give birth to the Light of the World. I might lose my way as I journey through life, but looking back, I think the reason Mary reached out to me in that chapel was to let me know that however far off the path I might wander, she'll always be there waiting for me with gentle words, a kind smile, and welcoming arms.

I have faith that my Mother would never lead me astray.