You know that saying about Inuit people having many different words for snow, to describe the different kinds of that frozen stuff—dry and fluffy, hard and icy, heavy and hard to shovel? Why don’t we have multiple words for love?

“Ours is no caravan of despair,” we just sang. This is something I need to be reminded of! Isn't this something we church people ought to remember, that when we are together we should celebrate every now and then? I don’t know about you, but I can tend to be earnest, and serious, and so I appreciate and I need this reminder to laugh and to loosen up a bit. This earnestness is part of who I am, but it’s not all of me. 

The hymn we just sang was Martin Luther King’s favorite. And I can imagine, given the struggles he faced, that it was also his prayer: “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.” King often asked Mahalia Jackson to sing “Precious Lord” at civil rights rallies, and she sang it at his funeral.

Do you remember the movie “The Big Chill”? It’s about a group of college friends who come back together for a funeral, and they end up staying for the weekend. The title comes from a line in the movie, when during that cozy reunion, one of the characters reminds his friends that it’s a cold world out there. He says, “Wise up, folks. We're all alone out there and tomorrow we're going out there again.”

“O come, all ye faithful.” I wonder—do you count yourself among that number? Do you see yourself as faithful? Too often faith is equated with what you think, is seen as believing the right thing, even believing in the unbelievable. But that’s not what faith is. No, faith is about how you act. 

With yesterday’s snowfall, it feels like winter is upon us. Even though it doesn’t officially arrive until the solstice on December 21. I actually like winter. I like shoveling snow, the invitation to shovel Zen-like, methodically and mindfully. I like to imagine the winter falling upon us, the way the snow does, bringing a change of pace, bringing quiet to the land. I like how winter makes one glad to come indoors, to get warm and be cozy; how this season invites a quieter, more interior way of being for a while.

We’ve just entered the season of Advent, the four Sundays leading up to Christmas. It’s meant to be a time of getting ready, of waiting and watching for the coming of hope and love, breaking into the world and into our own hearts.

It is the weekend of Black Friday: American Consumerism’s Retail High Holiday. It is that special time of year when good people are willing to beat one another senseless or trample the poor shopping mall security guard who unlocks the door at the start of the holiday gift-purchasing season to get to the sale items first.

It’s almost Thanksgiving, the day when we gather with family and friends around a table. It seems we pay more attention to the food than anything else: how are you going to cook the turkey, and when will it be done? What kind of pie are we having? Wonderful things to think about! But the reason for Thanksgiving is right in its name—to give thanks. To say, “Aren’t we fortunate? Aren’t we blessed?” And there’s something good that happens when we do this. Our hearts widen a bit, we seem more open to the present moment and the gifts it holds.