LEFT- OVERS

     The late Reverend Doctor Peter Marshall upon facing left over holiday turkey for the umpteenth time told his wife that she would have to say the pre-meal grace because God knew that he was not grateful for turkey hash.

    Not all left-overs merit our scorn; rather, before we move on into the post-holiday period, there are a few things to remember that can offer soul nourishment.  High on my list are 'Christmas programs', especially those presented in small congregations.  My mentor, the late Reverend Doctor Harrell Beck, noted that probably every church has three bathrobes hanging in a closet somewhere for use by the 'three Wise Men'.

     In writing this, I remember one such program in which I had a bit part ...probably when I was 10 years old.  I was given a white cassock at rehearsal and I was so proud of it that I wore it on the  six block walk home that December afternoon.  The t.v. movie, The Homecoming, (if I remember the title correctly)(which was the pilot for the subsequent series, The Waltons) had a poignant scene of the 'program' at the neighboring Black church.

     This year, we attended what I consider to be among the best that I have ever experienced.
The church members whom we know well seemed remarkably unselfconscious in their various costumes and coming's and going's.  The sequencing of narrative, costumes, and music formed a unity that  powerfully conveyed the message.  Only after it had concluded did we learn that it had been written by Jeff, a gifted member of the congregation.  'Written'...well, he had considerable assistance from Luke, John and a few other Biblical authors.  But he wove it all together in a beautiful symmetry. Thanks, Jeff and members of Maple Springs for your offering.

    By contrast, on Christmas Eve, we attended a service at a church near where we have spent the week.  While there were spots for congregational participation, I left feeling that I had been at a 'performance' rather than at a worship service.  Perhaps I am more of a liturgical traditionalist than I had realized but music with a rock beat does not assist in my awareness of the Holy One.

   And, I did say left-overs.  Facebook, like many other things, has its benefits as well as its banalities. This year we have appreciated exchanging greetings in real time with several persons important to us.  I hope that the warmth of these exchanges remains through the coming Winter.

    Do memories qualify as 'left-overs' ?  Not all are 'turkey hash'; instead they maintain a zestful taste that can provide sustenance without exhaustion.  Not all the 'ghosts of Christmas past' are haunting.  While the past is not a good place to live, occasional visits can provide perspectives worth having.

    What's in your left-overs that you can give thanks for . . . with due respect for Dr. Marshall's candor ?
     Satchel

THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR

December 21, 2017. . . This was originally written three years ago.
Having  watched several sunrises and sunsets at the beach this year, I have again been reminded of how short the days are just now.  Today is the Winter Solstice . . . the shortest day of the year.  Which means that now the days will again lengthen --- a positive experience for those of us for whom 'cold' and 'dark' are not preferences :

      For the next 182 1/2 days, the 'trend' is positive  . . . at least for those of us who prefer more daylight.  A local meteorologist reminded viewers that yesterday was the shortest day of the year.  From here til June 21st, the days grow incrementally longer. Daylight lasting well past 8 p.m. (with the assistance of Daylight Savings Time) remains my preference.  Darkness at 5 p.m. can be, well, depressing, and not just in the clinical sense.

      'Dark' and 'cold' are a mean combination for many.  Often the former carries an undertone of things dangerous or evil or depressing. SAD ... Seasonal Affective Disorder . . . complicates life for many and if often treated by use of a 'light box'. 

    Along with the dark winter of the calendar, there can also be a dark winter of the spirit that begs for more light.  The American theologian, Martin Marty, wrote powerfully of such in his A Cry of Absence:Reflections for the Winter of the Heart. Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest and teacher, recently offered some different perspectives on benefits of darkness in her  book, Learning to Walk in the Dark. (No book reviews offered here.  I found substance in both.) 

    Now it is almost Christmas.  Christian theologians who note that the  actual date of Jesus's
birth is unknown maintain that a time near the Winter Solstice is a fitting symbolic dating for the advent of One considered by many to be 'the Light of the World'. That the dating was an appropriation of non-Christian cultures's traditions does not negate the symbolism.

    Yesterday, a friend posted a poem by Edward Hays, a Catholic priest.  I had never known of him or his writing. His website looks interesting and I have bookmarked it for further reading of his blogposts.
But his poem captures much that I had felt stirring within as the seasons change and evidences of 'darkness' proliferate :
  
 "The dark shadow of space leans over us . . . .
We are mindful that the darkness of greed, exploitation, and hatred
also lengthens its shadow over our small planet Earth.
As our ancestors feared death and evil and all the dark powers of winter,
We fear that the darkness of war, discrimination, and selfishness
may doom us and our planet to an eternal winter.

May we find hope in the lights we have kindled on this sacred night,
hope in one another and in all who form the web-work of peace and justice
  that spans the world.

In the heart of every person on this Earth
burns the spark of luminous goodness;
in no heart is there total darkness.
May we who have celebrated this winter solstice
by our lives and service, by our prayers and love,
Call forth from one another the light and the love
that is hidden in every heart.
   Amen.
     
   Although the writer of the Gospel of John insisted that people love the dark because their deeds are evil, what of that 'spark' that craves greater clarity of understanding and action?  Maybe all the Christmas lights are pushbacks against enveloping darkness.
To me, the dying words of American short story writer O. Henry (William Sydney Porter) "turn up the lights, I don't want to go home in the dark" and those of Goethe, "Do open the shutter of the bedroom so that more light may enter"  are human echoes of God's "Let there be Light".

     An ancient prophet promised that "the people who walk in darkness shall see a great light". Another: "Arise, shine, for your light has come !"

     May the darkness and the cold not overwhelm us!
Perhaps that comes close to what Christmas is about.
    Satchel

   

LET THEM EAT [FRUIT] CAKE . . .

         'tis the Season !  For fruitcakes, that is.  And for those who enjoy making bad jokes about the delicacy.  (On the long-shot chance that you do not know about 'fruit cake', consult Wikipedia.)

       When did the bad rap begin?  Perhaps with Johnny Carson's often repeated  'joke' that there really was but one fruitcake in the entire world and it was passed around and re-gifted from year to year.  And, in Manitou Springs, Colorado, there is an annual post-Christmas "Great Fruitcake Toss", with participants vying for the longest fling.

    Not all fruitcakes are created equal.  Some, undoubtedly, are atrocious .  I have met a few that were much too sweet, too gooey, and just 'too much' to suit my palate.  However, fruit cake per se has a long and honored place in my Christmas memories and associations.

    The late author, Truman Capote, wrote a nostalgic short story, A Christmas Memory, about how his child-like aunt, Sook, and he 
made thirty fruitcakes each year during the days of the Great Depression.  Sometime in November, Sook would raise her kitchen window and, sniffing the brisk air, exclaim "Oh, my, it's fruitcake weather."  Their adventures in gathering the ingredients are too rich  to attempt summarizing here.  It's a great read.

    A key ingredient in Buddy ( her name for young Truman) 
and Sook's fruitcakes was the liquor, obtained from a local bootlegger.  For many, that part of the tradition lives on, especially with those cooks who bake their own.

     Berta Scott's recipe does not include 'spirits' but, then, it's not the stereotypical 'fruit cake'.  At Christmas when a hairdresser, Mrs. Scott gifted her  customers with fruitcakes made from her mother's recipe.  After many rave responses, she and family members began 'mass producing' them in their garage.  In 1984, the family began what has become an internationally successful business, selling not only fruitcakes but a wide assortment of 'goodies'. (Google the website for Southern Supreme Fruitcake for an overview of the Scott family's remarkable success story.)

     (Though she and her husband and their business are nearby and we are personally acquainted, I want to stress that this is neither a solicited nor paid endorsement.  We just like their  fruitcakes.)

     However, as much I enjoy the Southern Supreme fruitcake, my all time favorite, never again to be enjoyed, was my mother's annual production.  (Does anyone in the extended family have her recipe?)  And, it was a 'production' and similar to Sook and Buddy's, it was liberally soaked with 'apple jack', or apple brandy.  Mom would wrap these precious items in a cloth, keep them in  tin containers ,  and at intervals add a touch of the brandy.  When she deemed them 'ready', it was a grand occasion.

   Like many families,   we have stories that are told and retold whenever there is a gathering. . . a favorite involved mom's fruitcake.  One Christmas season as the masterpieces were unveiled, Bob Hultman, our parents' pastor, happened by for a visit.  He accepted mom's offer for cake and coffee.  When he had finished, she asked if he would like more.  His response has become part of the family's lore: "I think I will drink another slice."

     By the way, fruitcake at its best contains lots of nuts as well.
Probably you have heard of someone's being called 'as nutty as a fruitcake'.  One person wrote that 'the fruitcakes in my family were of the human species.'

       Whether your fruitcake is on or seated around the table, 
enjoy !
                Satchel