Merry Christmas from the Funkhousers!

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“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

Like many of you, this year has been full of cancelled plans, shifting emotions, anxiety and grief. But as we look back on this year, we also want to celebrate all the moments of joy and grace that have been present right through the midst of it.

2020 was a hard year. But it was also…

  • The year we explored our own neighborhood and discovered all sorts of hidden treasures
  • The year we leveled up on our brunch making and homemade pizza baking and tried so many new recipes (we’re looking at you, eclairs!)
  • The year we bought a radio and started planning parts of our weeks around programs on the classical station
  • The year we reconnected with many friends around the world
  • The year we saw people having new and fresh conversations around community justice and flourishing
  • The year we walked and biked everywhere and turned every social event into a picnic
  • The year we made new international friends by staying put
  • The year we encountered Mother Maria of Paris
  • The year we started buying more of our groceries at the farmer’s market
  • The year Jenna had enough time to finish writing and publish a book, which she never thought she would do.
  • The year Ben learned how to carry a two-week supply of groceries home by bicycle
  • The year we picked up new craft hobbies, from calligraphy to textile design
  • The year we leaned to pray the words of Mary: “I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be to me as you have said.”

We pray that as you look back on this past year, you too can discover new seeds that were planted in the deep furrows and rocky soil. May you find yourself accompanied by a God who is as close as our very breath, who gives us these very current and ordinary circumstances as our school of life and love.

Merry Christmas!

“Of course it does no good to recognize this in a merely intellectual way. Knowing Christ loves us may not save us from fear, nor will it save us from death. And so it comes down to this: the only way to truly overcome our fear of death is to live life in such a way that its meaning cannot be taken away by death.

“This sounds grandiose, but it really is very simple. It means fighting the impulse to live for ourselves, instead of others. It means choosing generosity over greed. It also means living humbly, rather than seeking influence and power. Finally it means being ready to die again and again – to ourselves, and to every self-serving opinion and agenda.”

Johann Christoph Arnold

Samuel

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He lies on a simple mat, surrounded by the grandeur of cedar and gold. It is a chamber of whispers, silences pregnant with the sacred breath of centuries. Even the chance echoes hush their tones in reverence. 

In daytime, the temple is filled with crowds of people, priests, rabbis, singers, living and dying animals, ash and ember. Here, in the dark of night, nothing moves but the dancing flame of the Lamp of the Lord. He could not have known that one day this same Fire would descend in tongues upon his heart. 

One echo, louder than the rest, coming from such distance that it carries mountains and ravines and the cool breath of waters. 

Samuel.

Continue reading →

Annunciation, II

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In her brave surrender, body forms. Flesh and bone knit together, fearfully and wonderfully, the perfect Sum of all humanity. Within her womb the cosmos and the cell are One. 

And she becomes the mother of the Church—for just so are we, strange mixtures of star and sinew, knit together across centuries into the Body of the living Christ. 

We are joined by water and blood into his own birth, passing through death and into his own life. And now we each raise our lives, dripping and screaming from their baptism, and pronounce them pathways to glory. 

Now we undergo this act of slow and hidden creation. Invisible threads are knotting corners of our hearts to the souls of long-gone years. It seems unthinkable that from these clusters of carbon and cell, growing in fits and starts and in seemingly opposite directions, will come a revelation of the Resurrection and the Life in full. 

In this dimly-lit surrender, the Body of our Lord still forms. 

Within the womb of centuries, the Cosmos and the cell are one.

Advent Meditations

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Lately, I have begun reflecting on portions of scripture and the way they interweave with the whole. Centered around all of them is the essential question: What does it mean for humans to respond to the initiation of God?

Advent is the beginning of the Church calendar, and I think this tells us something beautiful about the Christian life. We begin not by going out to find God, but by preparing for God’s arrival. We begin by recognizing his coming; by seeking Him where he may be found.

This Advent, I’ll be sharing a short meditation each week exploring this idea. My hope is that these words become a doorway of sorts, that lead you into your own reflection. Think of them as “word icons,” if you like; a guide more than a teaching; a beginning more than an end.

Annunciation

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory.

Perhaps the wind of Gabriel carried a whiff of incense trailing behind it. Like the seraph in Isaiah’s vision, he comes to her carrying the offer of a Burning Coal: a Fire to place within her self, an offer to tabernacle the Holy of Holies.

Tug this thread, and you run all the way back through the first strands of humanity. 

Will Abraham follow? 

Will Jacob bow?

Will Moses stop to listen? 

Here I am, Lord.

An open door. A whisper on the wind. A blaze of fire, offering itself to us.

This is the story of man and God, the call and response haunting the ancient memories of humankind. It is the yearning in the very heart of man to offer itself fully to that which it adores. It reveals the tragedy not of passion but of hardened hearts. 

And it is Life, coaxing us into a love that looks like death. But like the three young men, once we give ourselves into the fire of self-offering, we find no hair of our head is truly harmed. For He is there to greet us, transfiguring what seemed like death into a fire of union and of light.

Here I am, Lord. Send me.

I am the handmaid of the Lord.

Let it be to me as you have said.

Thank You!

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Thank you all so much for your kind words of encouragement and overflowing support for Pilgrims I Have Been these past few months.

My greatest hope was that by sharing these words, they would be a spark, a point of connection in someone else’s life. I’m so grateful to hear that it has met you where you are, and connected to your own experience in some way.

I’m also excited to announce that several of the poems in Pilgrims have been selected by the Oregon Poetry Association to appear in their next anthology! I look forward to sharing several other places these poems will go in the coming months.

As we celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday here in the United States, my prayer for us are these lines from “Table in the Wilderness”:

Let us keep our distance

From the castle-building and the silent stage.

Let us be the ones to watch

The two trees swaying in a cold wind,

To never number what we have been given.

Let us be the ones to open a table in our hearts

And say, “Welcome,”

And say, “Enough.”

On Writing, Risking, and Giving It Away

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At some point last year, I found myself surrounded by piles of finished and half-finished poems, sitting at a crossroads of sorts.

It was rare for me to be squeezing in this much writing on the edges of my other paid writing work, and I felt lucky. One by one I was harvesting a windfall of autumn fruit, and it was slowly piling up into baskets.

Not all of it was beautiful; some had worm holes right through them, others had grown into odd-looking shapes. But it was all there, mostly edible, piled up around me. And I felt at that moment confronted with a choice: do I simply let it sit here, and risk the chance of it going rancid? Or do I take the risk to give it away?

There is an inherent tension in art – and I’ll speak particularly to writing since it is what I know best. Continue reading →

IT’S HERE! Now available in paperback and digital editions.

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Launch

I’m so thrilled to announce that Pilgrims I Have Been is now available in Paperback and Kindle editions! My friend Mary Gowen did an incredible job with the artwork and cover design, didn’t she?

And now for the even more exciting announcement: 

To celebrate its launch, 100% of the proceeds this month will be donated to two of my favorite organizations leveraging the transformative power of writing: Street Roots and Write Around Portland. (Even if you don’t buy a book, check them out!)

It’s been a joy to put this collection together over the past 16 months. If you do pick up a copy, I hope it is a gift to you as well. Thanks so much for being with me on this journey.

Flight to Egypt

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Here in my home state of Oregon, wildfires have become enormously destructive the past few weeks and caused many to flee their homes. I’ve been meditating this week on two related images: the burning bush (which in traditional iconography is seen as a symbol of Mary) and the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt. This poem is written on behalf of, and mostly from the perspective of, all those who must flee home – whether because of war, wildfire, or any other danger.

Continue reading →

The Invitation

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It is hard to believe that we are nearing the six-month mark of life with COVID-19. Six months of social distancing, increased isolation, ordering everything to-go, and (for many of us) a new routine of working entirely at home.

As I reflected back on the past six months recently, I thought about where I have seen God at work. Like all of you I’ve traveled the ups and downs of this season; I have struggled hard against the limitations it has presented and learned some sobering truths about myself in the process.

And it is here I have seen Him working: in the discomfort we are all being forced into, and all the questions that it raises. I have seen Him at work in both the softening and the unsettling places. I have seen Him draw out people’s hopes and dreams, move them towards self-sacrifice, give them courage. I have found Him in the beauty and light that still rises to meet us each morning and the arms of darkness that wrap around us each night. Continue reading →