"Then Peeled the Bells..."

I just heard Harry Belafonte singing this - slowly, prayerfully.
It made me cry;
and then, it made me hope.

Kind of like a psalm....a soulful expression that does not minimize human tragedy, violence, pain, sorrow, injustice, but.....it doesn't leave you there. While it stirs hope, incites a redemptive stance, it doesn't white-wash reality. It lets both stand, side by side - broken reality and redemptive hope. We get to choose how to align ourselves....each and every day; with each and every action. Both are true. Like the incarnation - God and man, occupying the same space.


"I heard the bells on Christmas day
their old familiar carols play;
and wild and sweet the words repeat
of peace on earth goodwill to men.

"I thought, as now this day had come,
the belfries of all Christendom
had rung so long the unbroken song
of peace on earth goodwill to men.

"And in despair I bowed my head.
There is no peace on earth, I said.
For hate is strong and mocks the song
of peace on earth goodwill to men.

"Then peeled the bells more loud and deep.
God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.
The wrong shall fail; the right prevail
with peace on earth goodwill to men."


Hopeful Christmas to you all.
May we choose - purposefully; incarnationally.
Ring a redemptive bell.

A Jolly Holler-y Christmas

One of the definitions for schizophrenic is -
a state characterized by the coexistence of contradictory or incompatible elements.
Do you have any idea how discordant Il Divo and Rascal Flatts are?

All of my household goods are stored in a POD - including my Christmas music. We all have those standard CDs we slip into the background as we decorate, wrap, bake....emotionally enfolding ourselves into the season with each jingle bell melody. By the end of the holiday we're sick to death of the little drummer boy and the twelve days of Christmas, but until we've reached that saturation point, we hum along merrily. It's part of the way we manage a gambit of yuletide minefields.

Because my Christmas music is unavailable, I'm depending on the radio, and there's always a station somewhere that plays non-stop Christmas music. The trouble with remote areas like the coast, is that what's available is static-y and limited......and in my case, country-western. I somehow didn't associate the coast (fishing industry, fishermen) with cowboys. I wouldn't have been surprised with, oh, I don't know, Burl Ives, Gordon Lightfoot oldies, Irish ditties.....but, country-western?

So, as I'm navigating this emotionally loaded season differently, I thought, why not? Why not Dolly, Reba, Sugarland, Brad Paisley, and Keith Urban? The standards are there in mega-supply, White Christmas, Frosty, O' Little Town of Bethlehem, and O Holy Night in twangy harmonious variations. Every once in a while, a little Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole is tossed in for merry measure. And while the holly-jollyness does create a festive atmosphere to set up a teeny weeny tree in the window seat, hang a stocking just for me thank you very much by my cozy fireplace, wrap presents (well, I stuff them now into decorative bags with all that sparkly tissue paper), and arrange displays of pine cone and greenery, I noticed something. I miss my music.

It's not that I'm anti-country-western. It's just there's so much about this season of my life, this season of the year, that's requiring a foreign experience. My traditions have collapsed upon themselves. Others who have been through this kind of transition have encouraged me to create new traditions for myself; and my country-western venture is a stab. But there's only so much of a Texas-swing arrangement of Deck the Halls that I can take. New, different, diverse is great.....but now and then, I just need a dose of familiar, to feel like Christmas.

So I drove up the coast to Fred Meyer in Warrenton and bought myself the Il Divo Christmas CD to kind of balance things out. Big, bold voices.....deeply textured orchestration.....arias that bust down the ceiling.....and after several listens in a row, I felt both satisfied and, irritated? I can't explain the conflict, other than to chalk it up to this crazy time in my life. But I definitely could only take so much of Il Divo. So, I'd turn the radio back on......and believe me, the shift from Panis Angelicus to grandma got run over by a reindeer was like being jerked from one reality to another in one swift yank. Kind of schizophrenic.

And you know....that's a pretty good definition for the coexistence of contradictory or incompatible elements reflecting my state. On the one hand (now picture Teviah in the Fiddler on the Roof), I want tradition; while on the other hand (Teviah again) "tradition" is changing. I want the traditional, family stuff of Christmas, and yet, I've intentionally isolated myself from my precious, wobbly, family structure to sort things out. I feel the edgy rawness of wanting, needing, both - what's been familiar, and what I must create anew. Everything is redefined; weirdly juxtaposed. What fits? What doesn't? I'm swung from the far edges of Ave Maria to Honky Tonk Christmas. Where's the mid-range in all this ripping back and forth?

........the other day, while sitting in Sweet Basil's, a little lunch spot in Cannon Beach, enjoying a robust cup of portabella/onion soup, I noticed the background Christmas music. Well, I didn't really notice it at first. What I noticed was that I was tapping my fingers, in a really involved way, and that made me notice the music. It was bluesy.....rhythm and blues Christmas music. And I thought....hmmmm....why not?