Frank CarpenterChanning Memorial Church, Newport, RI
Last revised: March 6, 1997.
At this time we are asked to stop.
We are asked to stop and look, to stop and listen.
To see what, to feel what? Just to see. Just to feel.
Clement Moore stopped one night. In his "The Night before Christmas" tells us what he saw:. "The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave a luster of midday to objects below."
The moment is now. It is precious and dear; it is here. We treasure this moment, accept it without question, without doubt. If we do not, we lose all moments. There is always and only this one moment, in which we now abide.
Crowfoot, a Blackfoot Indian, once asked. "What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the Sunset."
In this brief flash we learn to exist, if ever we do.
We are asked to stop and look beyond the narrow horizons of our own life. Into that vaster space, in this timeless region, we see that we have allowed ourselves to become lost in time. We have succumbed to the struggle for existence. Thinking we have won, yet we lost it, because we gave it our all.
We lost our innocence. We need to grasp this moment as a moment of innocence. To do this we give up our daily paranoia, our daily demand to be sure others will not get ahead of us. Jesus once said of children that of such are the kingdom of heaven. Can we enter into that kingdom of innocence which alone makes life liveable?
Do we have the trust that a child brings to the early morning of Christmas? Who amongst us can gaze with wonder at a Christmas tree the way a three year old does? We look not at the tree but guess at the presents beneath it. We are not dazzled by the ornaments but count ornaments and make sure they are properly attached. We have been there and done that. Our eyes do not light up like a three year old's, rather we count unlit bulbs.
Let us stop tonight, let us look at the light of a candle. And tomorrow perhaps we will look into the eyes of a child, know again the wonder and delight of this season. Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright. May it ever be so.
Frank Carpenter