December 14, 2013
The Second Week in Advent

A year ago today the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School took place not very far from here.   The horror and pain of that event still reverberate among us.   In the numbness of shock and sadness, we lit candles and gathered to pray as a community.  And it helped a little, as it always does, to hold each other when tragedy visits us.   On Christmas Eve,  after our traditional Pageant, we went out into the field across the street from the church and released sky lanterns.  It was one way to remember all of those victims of the day--the children, the teachers, even the shooter and the mother who also died.    All of them, all of us, are victims in a world where violence prospers, where healing is essential, where each of us is vulnerable to the ravages of hate and fear.

We all need to be saved.   We cry out to the mysterious Spirit at the heart of the universe to help us make some sense of the senselessness, to do something, to fix what is horribly broken.  And then we gather around a manger to remember a dark night centuries ago when a baby was born.   Love came down at Christmas, we sing.   "The light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it," we say, to make ourselves understand, maybe to believe.

The Swing

Out on the empty playground,
a swing still moves,
back and forth,
after they have all run away.
The fading giggles and shouts
echo down the streets,
and the nearby school is quiet.
We remember the innocents,
held in love
by proud, doting mothers and dads,
shining, shining, once, with hope.
They have held us, too,
shown us sweet kindness,
laughed wide-eyed with wonder
at bubbles and butterflies,
sung silly songs with joyful abandon,
curled in our laps,
made us fierce, determined,
made us wild with worry
and with grief beyond comforting,
made us better, too.
O God beyond our understanding,
we come to you
when there is nowhere else to go,
and pray for all the children,
for all whom we would encircle
with aching, empty arms.
Let there be an inn
at the end of the journey.
When they come--
When we come--
let there be room.
And outside, in the green grass,
let there be a swing
that goes higher, higher.

--Timothy Haut, December 14, 2013