Column by Jim Bishop
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It was definitive music to my ears…
I was sitting in the front row at the first Sunday of the month EvenSong service at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Harrisonburg, reveling in the inspiring program of seasonal music, readings and prayers.
The Eastern Mennonite University Chamber Singers, under the masterful direction of Dr. Kenneth Nafziger, led the assembly in worship. Their exceptional vocal artistry was enhanced by the church’s simple yet elegant sanctuary and marvelous acoustics.
During the “Anthem” segment of the liturgical program, the choir sang a selection by contemporary composer Libby Larsen set to text by Mary Ann Jindra that spoke volumes one week into the frenzied pace of Advent:
“Lord, bless my heart with love and with quiet.
Give my heart a learning to learn carols . . .”
The words couldn’t have been more well-timed for this hearer. I was anxious, fretful and too busy for my own physical and emotional well-being, and I knew it. This gentle, yet watchful piece was meant for me, if I would only sit back long enough in my pew and allow the message to encase my being.
“Lord, before this fleeting season is upon us,
let me remember to walk slowly . . .”
The “waiting” motif of Advent is taking on special meaning this year as our family is slowly letting go of our 88-year-old mother, Ann Dayton Bishop, in hospice care at Rockhill Mennonite Community in Sellersville, Pa., where she is straddling the gap between here and eternity.
The phone call will come any time, and even if I’m not fully prepared to receive it, I will do so with a sense of calmness, grateful for my last good visit with Mom just before Thanksgiving and for the gift she was in my life for some 64 years. After all, she gave her firstborn son the gift of life in the first place.
“Grace our family with contentment,
and the peace that comes only from You. . .”
Certain aspects of the period leading up to Christmas Day can contribute to anxious feelings of things spinning out of control, if I let them – decorating the house inside and out, sending out annual family Christmas greetings, racing off to holiday programs, and, most of all, creeping off to the mall as a night visitor.
I have little problem with gift giving (or receiving, for that matter) at Christmas, as long as it’s done with restraint and we also remember people and needs beyond our immediate loved ones.
Along with our regular giving, Anna and I donate to several additional causes and programs annually in December, wishing we could do more.
“Lord help us to do less this busy season;
go less; stay closer to home; kneel more. . .”
As James Russell Lowell reminds us, it’s “Not what we give, but what we share – For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three – Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.”
Think of the gifts that one can give others regularly that don’t cost anything but a small portion of time and energy – verbal and written words of encouragement to others, volunteering for service programs that are making a difference locally, visiting shut-ins, donating blood if physically able – the possibilities are only limited by one’s own incentive.
These are tangible ways to ignite the flickering candle of hope and celebration all year long, not just on one specially-designated day.
“May our hearts be Your heart.
May we simply, peacefully, celebrate You.”
This is my hope, this is my song at Christmas and on into the new year.
Shalom, my friends, shalom.
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