|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oct. 05 - Playing with the impossible ...
Sep. 05 - Trust
Jun. 05 - Summertime
May 05 - Signs
Apr. 05 - Authenticity
Mar. 05 - Life, Hope and Happiness
Feb. 05 - A New Look
Nov. 05.- Walk a New Way
One God - Three Ways
Mar. 07 - How to Forgive
June 06 - Down by the Riverside
Apr. 07 - Improbable Surprises |
|
|
Dear Friends,
In the middle of the 6th Century, the Irish missionary Columba, set foot on a small island among the many islands off the western coast of Scotland, from whence he set about forming a community of other, also remarkable, missionaries that he hoped, God-willing, would lead to the conversion of the then still pagan Picts who occupied a large part of geography of the country we know as the home of the Presbyterian Church. The name of the island was, and is, Iona - and Columba's efforts (along with God's, of course, and those of countless others) succeeded far beyond his dreams.  Throughout the Dark Ages, the knowledge of reading, writing, arithmetic, theology, philosophy, and some history was kept alive in communities founded by Columba's successors throughout much of present-day Europe as far south as northern Italy. A very good accounting of this whole process can be found in Thomas Cahill's book, How the Irish Saved Civilization. There is still a community that lives and worships year-round on Iona - and that welcomes visitors - one of whom I very much hope to be for a short time someday. They produce some remarkable, and fresh, material for worship and devotion. We've used some of them on occasion since I've been your pastor. And so, as I think about the approach of Christmas this year, along with Advent and followed by the start of yet another new year (2006 - yikes!) I want to share with two brief liturgical prayer/poems that they have published in the book The Pattern of Our Days, edited by Kathy Galloway.
May each of you have a blessed and a merry Christmas - and a happy, prosperous New Year. Peace,
Brett
Adoration
We cannot tell
how much the sound of silence, creation's beauty, gloriously aflame; we cannot tell how much the sight of starlit heavens moves us to prayer, to praise creation's Maker, and our own. We cannot tell how much the son of Mary, the man of Nazareth, the son of God upon a tree; we cannot tell how much the man of sorrows moves us to prayer, to praise the One who gives our lives a meaning and a goal. We cannot tell how much the Spirit's comfort, how much the wind of freedom means to us. We cannot tell - for words cannot contain the love beyond all loves, the truth that in the end there is only God.
Waiting
God, so much of faith is waiting,
like a pregnant woman waiting in hope, like a people under siege, holding out till relief comes, like the soul lost in the darkness, unable to see even a glimmer of light yet stumbling through the night because somewhere out ahead, day will surely break. God, be with us in our waiting
The history and legend of St. Columba can be read at the website of the St. Hilarian Monastery, which was the source of the icon of St. Columba on this page. The provenance of this icon is unknown.
(c) Brett P. Morgan November, 2005
 |
|
