Time (and time again)

The White Rabbit, of Alice in Wonderland,
always concerned about time (and his lateness!)
Photo of statue in Central Park, New York.

Happy New Year!

In our liturgical calendar, the first Sunday of Advent is the start of a new year. Woohoo!
Instead of staying up until midnight partying, we’re meant to start the year by spending some time thinking about… well, time!

Time can have many meanings, and be quite fluid. In my sci-fi geekdom, two definitions of ‘time’ are shared – it’s “a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again.” (Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek: Generations, 1994). According to the Time Lord himself, “People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff.” (The Doctor in Doctor Who: Blink, 2007)

Our faith invites us into the consideration of time as an earthly concept (chronos) and as a divine process (kairos).
It’s not difficult, then, to consider the season of Advent as a season of time – for it overlaps with Pre-Christmas.
Advent: a holy season, a time of waiting and preparing, of reflecting on both the past event of Jesus’ birth some 2024 years ago (give or take several calendar re-calculations!) and the anticipation of the second coming of the Christ.
Pre-Christmas is an earthly reality, a time of scrambling to accomplish the tasks and social activities, the lists for which necessitate coordination of otherworldly skills.

However we consider time (and it will likely fluctuate!) my aspirations are that none of us should arrive to the manger racing and exhausted by our to-do-lists. Rather, I hope that in the midst of the December mania, that Advent allows us to frame the season in a Godly time; a kairotic space: asking if we ourselves are prepared for the kingdom of God – and if not, how to deepen our spiritual hope and trust.

Whether time flies, or crawls, or passes gently: may your Advent time be fulfilling and fruitful!

Lost in Translation

I’ve had a few conversations recently about the Lord’s Prayer, and its many translations. From having updated versions alongside older ones, folks tend to have a preferred version. And that’s okay! I’ve heard people refer to the version well-known by many is sometimes referred to as “the original” even though that one has changed over the years… it doesn’t appear in the King James Bible, Jesus didn’t speak in medieval English, even the versions in our prayer books have had nuanced changes over the centuries.

The reality is: language changes. It evolves, it adapts, it shifts from generation to generation. Translating centuries-old texts can be influenced by common linguistics (for example, awful used to mean full of awe – not the present negative connotation; terrible and terrific come from the same root and used to mean the same thing – now they denote opposite meanings). Add in some idiomatic expressions (having cold feet could mean hesitation or frigid appendages), contextual references, some lost words, multiple scrolls and sources, varying grammar and syntax, political and cultural agendas… even before we allow for the different languages that are found in the scriptures.

It’s why we have so many translations today, and why new translations are being prepared in an ongoing basis.

Our opportunity in revisiting the scriptures, with experts and linguists and theologians – is to ensure that the word of God does not get lost in translation.

Some variances may be minor, like the example in the photo, which reads “Dog Toy” in English and “Cat Toy” in French. It’s a toy for a furry house pet. Yet we understand that a literal translation has not taken place; and that revision can be a good thing.

Likewise, the scriptures give us the chance to revise, review, return to the meaning. In doing so, we are allowing ourselves to be moved by the living word of God – a beautiful gift that invites us deeper into an understanding of our history and theology as people of God.

Ideally, when we revisit the word, it speaks to us anew, and inspires us to live by word and example in ways that are authentic, helpful, and meaningful. And by doing so, our own lives become a living testimony to the teachings and promises of God.

May we do so faithfully, carefully examining and learning how God continues to speak to us – so that none of the glory and grace and goodness of God is lost in translation.

Practice and Patience

This week, my gaming group was learning a new board game. None of us had played it before; it took a bit of time and patience to set up, and after reading the rules we started to play. For the first while, play involved checking the rule book at least one every turn, adjusting our moves as we started to understand the complexities and nuances, checking the rule book again, adjusted our play again when we realised we’d all misunderstood one of the rules, and tried to imagine how we were going to get to the end of the game. It was slow going!

As we continued, we were all being patient with one another, as we asked each other questions or Googled specifics and checked the rule book a large number of times. We got more comfortable with the basics, and started seeing the potential for strategy and nuance in our decisions. While it was a game that defined a ‘winner’, we played in collaborative ways, offering advice and kindness to each other as we took our turns.

As our understanding of the game increased, so did our speed; and when we did come to the end of the game (realising we had actually surpassed a normal ‘end’ point), we all decided that it was a fun game, and would likely be more fun the next time we played it – because now we had a grasp on the game as a whole. We also expected that our next play would fit within the expected time frame (the guidelines suggested it could be played in 60-90 minutes; it took us more than twice that).

Coming home, I pondered with gratitude on how much grace we had all had as we learned this new game. We had all started at the same skill level (none), we all ended with a comparable skill level (basic). Next time there might be a new player, and they’ll be joining in from a beginner position. If we had not exercised this patience with and for each other, the game likely would not have been fun, we may not have agreed that we want to play it again.

Our spiritual journey can be like this: we all start somewhere, with little experience or knowledge in how we engage and understand our religious practices. When we encounter someone new to our community’s expressions of faith, they may be overwhelmed, confused, and a little intimidated. If we can demonstrate the patience and grace for each other the same way we do in learning a new game, we have become encouragers, companions, sojourners.

None of us has all the answers – after all, the faith journey doesn’t have a simple rulebook like a boardgame does. It takes time to try, to consider, to encounter – in the pathway to understanding and discernment. Our goal could simply be to do our best to provide a positive experience, so we all wish to come back and learn more with one another.

"Was That Out Loud?"

Screengrab from the SSO Facebook page

This past week, the Symphony had another of their book and music sales. It’s a bookworm’s dream; used books at fabulous prices. (This happens a couple times a year; I am a regular attendee. New-to-me reading while supporting the SSO? Yes please!)

In the mystery section (but of course!) I came across a few books that are on my reading wish-list; and made some excited comment… and when the very nice person beside me chuckled, I realised that I was, in fact, speaking aloud. I apologised for the interruption, and we both carried on our way of scanning the shelves.

…until a moment later, when she asked if I had read one of the books. Based on my excitement from a moment earlier, she was recommending another author of a similar style and genre. This led to a series of discussions about books, with several other people joining in from time to time.

The conversations were unexpected, and delightful. It was entirely temporary, and that’s okay; we had found common interests and made a connection for that time. It was easy, enjoyable, and beneficial (I chose an extra few titles to try based on others’ suggestions). The tone was always respectful and positive; no judgement for our preferences. At one point, one suggestion came with a caveat – the person saw my collar (I had been privileged to officiate a care home service, hence the unlikely day-off attire) and they had warned me that the book did include some ‘colourful’ language – and they wanted to make sure I wasn’t offended.

These conversations remind me of how easy it is to come together. We started with no reason to connect, and yet were able to find means to relate, to share, to laugh a few times. My visit to the book sale was made better by these folks.

So often, people are put in our paths, and we can choose to make connections with them – even for just a moment – that may be uplifting and brightening to their day. We can treat others around us how we would wish to be treated – with kindness and respect. In finding connections, we are living the life of faith, that calls us to see others as beloved as God. It’s not a means to a religious conversion - Jesus and his friends had many conversations with whomever was there, without delving into dogma and practice. Instead, they exercised a ministry of community: something we can all emulate.

Preaching to the choir?

I’m part of a choir that’s full of busy people. At the start of each cycle, we take our music, and commit to spending time to learn our parts before we come together in rehearsals. It’s a fun experience when we do coalesce as a choir; there’s the social factor of meeting and connecting, as well as the musical overlay of all of our many parts. As we each know what parts we’ll be singing, we live out some healthy boundaries – staying in our own lane, as it were, and letting others stay in theirs.

The commitment to each other is delightful, for in doing our own practice and learning, we are honouring the time and efforts that the others are also contributing to the whole. It can be empowering when we discover how our individual work enhances and uplifts the equal work of the others in the choir; together we are more than the sum of our parts! More than once I have been ‘carried’ by the folks near me, as I wrap my brain around a particular piece of music.

Part of the learning curve continues as our attendance fluctuates each rehearsal; life happens and we’re not always all available every set time. Yet we celebrate the successes we have, and extend grace as we also receive it. (At one rehearsal, I was the only S1, and after we all held an extended end note I was particularly gassed… yet upheld by the supportive comments of my fellow singers).

Part of our rehearsals include the occasional time of ‘shaking things up’; for example, we might all disperse around the room, or into small groups, where we are not singing with others in our same range. It gives us a chance to appreciate the other parts from different perspectives and locations, and learn to adapt accordingly.

Singing in a choir can be a LOT of fun; it can be quite revealing about how we respond to community. We have chosen to be together, even before we know who we all are; we are trusting in the gifts and skills being offered, as we trust that ours will also be appreciated. We are learning, and growing, and evolving, as we find ways to work together in. And we delight in the output: the joy of singing.

Any community can be like this: welcoming in newcomers, extending grace when things aren’t perfect, collaborating to benefit everyone. There are many analogies that can be made between a (functional and friendly) church and a (functional and friendly) choir. My ongoing hope for the church is that it will celebrate the opportunities to come together; and that we will always commit to make a joyful noise unto the Lord.