"When Blood is Nipped": Wisdom in Winter

[Artwork in this post by American painter Walter Launt Palmer, 1854 - 1932]

"The Christ that is to Be"

​​One of my favorite lines of poetry comes at the end of Alfred Lord Tennyson's New Year's poem, In Memoriam A.H.H. (Canto 106) (more commonly known as 'Ring Out, Wild Bells'):

  Ring out the darkness of the land,
  Ring in the Christ that is to be.

I find the last line to be deliciously provocative: who is this "Christ that is to be?"

We usually think of Christ in a historical setting, walking around Palestine ― a creature of physical spacetime (especially during this season, when we want to reach out and pinch the chubby baby cheeks of the little Child lying in a manger).

But for a moment, contemplate the Christ that SHALL BE (for context, see the post on "I AM").

We know the Lamb of Passover; but who is this Hanukkah Lamb?  What about this Witness who comes in wintertime (see John 10:22)?

Will we recognize the "Christ that is to be" ― or will we cling to our preconceived notions of what His coming will be like, as they did 2000 years ago in the springtime?

Wisdom is finding God in every season ― but especially "in times of winter, or of cold, or famine" (D&C 89:13).

Have you seen the world?  The world today is struggling through a terrible winter, a time of numbness where the hearts of men have "waxed cold" (Matt. 24:12).

Speak to me of the Shepherd of snow and ice, whose countenance burns like a winter's sun.

   He giveth snow like wool:
   he scattereth the hoarfrost
   
   Like ashes   
   he casteth forth his ice
   like morsels:
​
   Who can stand
   before his cold?

   He sendeth out his word
   and melteth them.

(Psalm 147:16-18)

Winter is the season for holly berries and rubies and blood. 

A Personal Note

Before we continue, I want to pause and share some personal reflections as we approach 5 years of Owl of the Desert.

I'm amazed at the patience of you who are with me on this journey.  My uncommonly long posts and style serve to filter out all but the most sincere seekers.

We are lepers serving at the Lord's table; we are the malnourished, the maimed and marred, the meek.  Yet Christ has made us whole (Luke 17:19).

The world prefers to be served by the buxom blond waitresses of modern religion, who serve a steady fare of chicken wings and whited sepulchers in cut-off tank tops.

You and I are not striving for sainthood but salthood (with a splash of pepper for good measure).  We are seasoning the earth with the savor of hope when the leaves have fallen and birds have flown south for winter.

The world needs the hope of Christ more than ever.

I call you Owls because owls are associated with wisdom, and that is what we're after: the wisdom of God (James 1:5).  Summer is a season for knowledge, but in winter comes wisdom.

Sadly, the world is not after wisdom.  But we are not of this world ― we spend our nights on the heavenly rooftops gazing over the horizon, pondering the deep things of God.  We are given to contemplation and compassion, as is our Father.
 
God is mindful of our growing parliament of Owls (that's what a group of owls is called).  I feel like God has gathered us ― and given His angels charge over us ― for a purpose.  I think it is to seek His lost lambs out of the byways and caves, out from the hidden places and poorest climes.  
 
Yes, winter can be a time of weariness.  There is a lot of weariness in the world right now.  Spiritual fatigue is spreading.  At times it is hard, even for me, to "not be weary." (Gal. 6:9).  But we've got this!

Paul said:

   I have a desire to depart,
   and to be with Christ,
   which is far better:
   Nevertheless to abide
   in the flesh is more needful.

(Phil. 1:23-24)

We are needed.  The world needs salinity, and we are as an ocean of God's love.  The ocean never freezes.

The Lord has work for us to do.  So while we yet "abide in the flesh," let's enjoy it!

We've got a body, let's use it.  Let's rub these calloused hands together and use our brains to bless and heal, lift and hug ― and most importantly, to dream better.

Winter is a season for bear rugs and dreaming.

The problems before us require more creativity ― more 'outside-the-box' thinking on our part ―  as the Lord bursts open the windows of heaven, thereby granting us increased access to the probability field of divine possibilities (which is what faith is for, i.e., generating vortices from which new options spiral to the surface).

Let us shake the dust out of our voices and sing the song of redeeming love; let us stretch our creaky spiritual limbs and dance!

If you were thinking of hanging up your tap shoes, forget it: God's got plans for you.

And don't think we'll be dancing alone, like no one is watching: for the angels' eyes are riveted on what we do next (Ezek. 10:12).

"What desirest thou?"
 
No one ever thanks God for being cast out of Eden, but I do.

Losing paradise was one of the best things to ever happen to us.  Why?  Because it created space for "desire" (and desire is a divine gift).

Have you ever thought, if we were 'perfected' beings who had all things, what would there be to desire?  If we possessed a fullness, what then would we lack?

Desire is a creature of want.  I am grateful to experience winter here, broken and bruised beyond Eden's borders, where we can long for what we do not have; search for what is forgotten; and reach towards what has been lost.

Leaving Eden was a godsend.
 
Like ice passing through a pillar of fire, transforming it into steam that reshapes as it rises, the movement of man and woman toward their desires generates enormous spiritual potential.

Usually we're very literal about our desires ("I want a new car" or "I want to be healed from cancer").

But what we're really "desiring" is not the object of our desire, but the nature of our existence.  Our desires are merely a reflection of our spiritual orientation.

The spiritual spectrum is a wave stretched between two polar opposites: love and fear.

Lehi called this "choosing" a choice between "liberty and eternal life through the great Mediator of all men" (what I am calling 'love') ― versus "captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil" (what I am calling 'fear') (2 Ne. 2:27).

Love is positively-polarized (charged) and fear is negatively-polarized.  Why does this matter?  Because people who say they "desire" God, but who seek Him through fear-based thought-forms and behaviors and beliefs, are actually "choosing" spiritual captivity.

Isn't it ironic that a person who loves is desiring God (even if they don't realize it) ― while a person who fears is hardening their heart against God (even if they don't realize it)?

   I fear not . . . 
   for perfect love
   casteth out all fear.

(Moroni 8:16)

Fear-based religion prevents us from knowing the true and living God because, well, "God is love" (1 John 4:8).

So I ask you, as the angel did Nephi: "What desirest thou" (1 Ne. 11:10)?

Take your time; there is no rush.  We have all eternity.

   And I looked and beheld
   the virgin again,
   bearing a child
   in her arms.

(1 Nephi 11:20)

Our return to Eden is marked only by a mother's love.

The Wave of God

There is an eternal wave proceeding forth from the bosom of God (D&C 88:12-13).

But what most people don't realize is that this wave is actually part of a divine tide: and the tide always flows back, and returns again, to God.

This is the hidden heartbeat of the universe.  You can sense it between the inhalation and exhalation of the Creator's breath.

Hearing the heartbeat of God is the beginning of wisdom.  His heartbeat resounds in the stillness of winter.

This tide is guided by the Lady of Light (symbolized by the moon), who oversees the ebb and flow of our growth and spiritual development.

Mortality is a form of swaddling clothes, but at some point we must put on Christ and become men. 

Too often we remain in the makeshift manger atop the tide, where the winds toss us to-and-fro, until we capsize.  This is called being "overcome" by the world.

I commonly observe people paddling furiously against the tide, thinking their futile efforts and spent strength will save them.

Christ's work is to "draw all men" unto the Father (John 12:32).  Trust the tide.  Flow with the water, whose current "will bring you up again out of the depths of the sea" (Ether 2:24).

Contrast the wave of God to the stagnation of waters upon a lake, even "a lake of fire and brimstone" (2 Ne. 9:19).

Why a lake?  Why not a river of fire?  A lake is like a reservoir; water channels into it, and there it stays.

Without the movement of living waters, a lake can become filled with toxic algae, turning into a cesspool filled with dead carp.  Don't be afraid to move with the water; the anchor of Christ (Ether 12:4) is in constant motion.

The problem with the state of modern religion is that, as Mormon said, it makes a "mockery" of God (yikes!) because, instead of trusting the hidden tide, we "put trust in dead works" (Moroni 8:23).

These "dead works" that we think are anchoring us are actually millstones.

Whereas the anchor of Christ is a living, breathing Stone.

Wisdom
a poem

​​I wished.
     Not on a falling star
     (when a blink
     shapes doubt
     of what was
     or might have been)―
Will you
     promise
not to tell?     
     Wishes are secrets
     we cannot
forsake―
     perjuries of disbelief
     never giving
     more than they take.
     Neither was it a happy-birthday-to-  
you wish, spent absently
     on clapping smiles.  Remember,
a wish stretched
     beyond two
     becomes something
new.  Fragile, maybe―
     but stronger, too. 
     Not a throw-a-ruby-in-a-well wish, either 
     ―No, this was a full-blooded
Earth Wish: with lips like fountains
     flowing toward mountain gates
     through hidden paths and pillars―
     understanding―
     heartsome―
     waterful―
     rising, flooding . . . . It  
awaits an answer (can makers
     become grantors?)―
My mother said
     wishes make little
children of us all.
     
       God, I wish
       I knew
       how to Wish
       like you.

Mother

The following words are found in Psalm 91, but I am going to change the pronouns to highlight a deeper reality, inspired by the Lord's words in Matt. 23:37 (who thought it no disrespect).

As you read these words, allow your mind to roam free; what comes to mind?  Who comes to mind?  What does your eye of faith see?

Then, I invite you to do something with the inspiration that comes.  Follow the wave; ride the tide.

Fear not the winter, neither the season we find ourselves in: for God is found in every snowflake and frozen tear.

   She shall cover you
   with her feathers,
   and under her wings
   you shall take refuge;
   her truth shall be
   your shield and buckler.

   You shall not be afraid
   of the terror by night . . . 
   for she shall give her angels
   charge over you.

   [And] in her hands
   she shall bear you up . . . 
   [and say], I will set him
   on high because he
   has known my name.

(Psalm 91:4-5, 11-12, 14)

If but for Eve, Eden would have become hell.

Sacrifice was the womb-price paid that joy might override paradise.

   O be wise,
   what can I say more?

(Jacob 6:12)