Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

I went out into the cold this morning to bring in the newspaper, and got an unexpectedl treat. The sun was just coming up behind my neighbor's house, peeking around her garage in a pale blue sky crisscrossed by pink, fluffy ribbons of cloud. The landscape lay under a faint, optimistic, pinkish glow. I didn't care. I don't feel optimistic. It's hard living with a guy who lost a hundred pounds on Weight Watchers. There's nothing like a convert to make everyone uncomfortable. I have gotten tired of his lovingly pointing out to me that I'm obese. Not chubby. Not pleasingly plump. Obese. The "O" word. I come from a whole family of cheerfully obese people, thank you very much. They enjoyed life; they enjoyed food. They got diabetes in their 60s. They didn't enjoy that very much. So much for my argument. So here I am, day two of Weight Watchers, glaring balefully at my breakfast of 3 Rice Krispies and a tablespoon of fat-free milk. "I'm so

Last night the county college/community chorus started up practice again for the spring semester concerts, which will feature parts 2 and 3 of Handel's Messiah . So off my friend Carol and I went in the dark, cold drizzle, vaguely fearing that we could encounter black ice on the roadways. Now, you've never spent time with Carol and me, so you don't know how we love to talk. We can, and do, laugh about the silliest things. I have nearly driven off the road many times when convulsed by laughter at Carol's humor. Last night, however, I kept my mind firmly on the road. Until ... Carol pointed out the window, and we saw the sky had begun to clear, revealing tattered shreds of cloud backlit by the most gorgeous winter moon I have ever seen. I stared at it as long as I dared. When I got home later, it was a still and perfect night, crisp and cold, with no wind. And the moon was still up, hovering brilliantly above. I was reminded of that Huron carol, ' Twas in the Mo

"Salvation" ... is not a matter of offering sacrifice to appease God. This is a primitive, not to say barbaric, notion. God doesn't need appeasing. God's "attitude," if we may so put it, is one of eternal steadfast love. What needs "appeasing" is the craving for life of the descriptive self and the fear of destruction in the sinner. Salvation is effected by someone loving the sinner and convincing the sinner of that love. "Greater love than this no one has, that one should lay down one's life for one's friends" (John 15:13). If the convincing gesture is "dying for you," then that gesture can be used because it convinces the sinner of the love. It is the love and the conviction of being loved that is salvific. Beatrice Bruteau, Radical Optimism , p. 84

For Ken, who passed away on January 3, and for his family who will miss him.

OK, so it's a new year, and in the spirit of compromise, J. and I have reached an agreement about something that has been a source of argument for many months now. And our solution was so simple! Fuzzy bathroom rugs. I have cornered the market on fuzzy bathroom rugs, predominantly blue ones. Don't go looking for any of these at K-Mart -- they're all gone. They're all at my house. They cover the seats of all my furniture. They're rubber-backed and impervious to moisture, dirt, mud, and they're totally washable. Now the three dogs can lounge with me on the furniture. If this is all I accomplish in 2008, it's quite enough. Martha Stewart would never recover if she saw my living room.

Aside from the dogs' grumbling a little at the occasional street noise, it's dead silent here tonight. Or rather, it's a live silence, as if the earth is waiting. Outside, the sky is clear and cold, and the moon is brilliant and nearly full. Next to the moon shines Mars, so close to the earth tonight that it shines more brightly than any star I can see. J., his mother, and his sister have gone to bed. The kids are sleeping elsewhere, to free up beds for family, and will be back in the morning. I am treasuring what is left of Christmas Eve, as the world and I wait for Jesus to be born yet again. For the last week or so I've been engrossed in Matthew Fox's book, The Coming of the Cosmic Christ, a wonderful overview of Creation spirituality. I'm really loving the book, but every now and then the author says something that sends me spinning off on a tangent with memories of childhood, and then I realize that fifteen minutes have passed and I haven't read ano

What's this about? It's 5 days before Christmas, I have all my presents wrapped, and I'm feeling a stillness that I haven't felt in Advent before. A watchfulness that I'm not used to. Normally, on December 19, I'm running madly from pillar to post, trying desperately to tie up all the loose ends. Either I have no loose ends this year, or I have decided to let them all hang. The latter, I think. This is not like me; or maybe this is the real me. I have been struggling with things at church for so long that perhaps I have forgotten what a deep breath feels like. How peaceful it can feel to cut yourself adrift with another shore in your spyglass. Advent is the season of hope, after all. Even so come, Lord Jesus.