Thy precious Cross, O Christ God, which Moses of old prefigured in his own person when he overthrew Amalek and put him to flight; which David commanded to be worshipped, calling it Thy footstool: this same Cross we sinners worship today with unworthy lips. We praise Thee Who wast pleased to be nailed upon it, and we cry to Thee:
“With the thief, make us worthy of Thy Kingdom, O Lord!”
Thy Cross, O Lord, is life and resurrection for Thy people. And we who put our trust in it praise Thee, our God crucified in the flesh. Have mercy on us!
Here is a good article by Patrick Henry Reardon about the Biblical passage referred to above, in which Moses interceded for the army of Israel as it did battle with the Amalekites: “The Best Intercessor in the Bible.”
“Moses conquered the Devil, wrote Gregory the Theologian, ‘by stretching out his hands upon the hill, in order that the Cross, thus symbolized and prefigured, might prevail.'”
Joshua Passing the River Jordan with the Ark of the Covenant – Benjamin West, 1800
Moreover, brethren, I do not want you to be unaware that all our fathers were under the cloud, all passed through the sea, all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them, and that Rock was Christ.
-Reading from I Corinthians 10 for the Great Blessing of Water, Eve of Theophany
I know that bush, Moses; there are many of them in Wales in the autumn, braziers where the imagination warms itself. I have put off pride and, knowing the ground holy, lingered to wonder how it is that I do not burn and yet am consumed.
And in this country of failure, the rain falling out of a black cloud in gold pieces there are none to gather, I have thought often of the fountain of my people that played beautifully here once in the sun’s light like a tree undressing.
-R. S. Thomas
Mosaic of Moses and the Burning Bush, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai
This morning was frosty enough to make ice in my garden fountain. I wore a thick wool sweater to church, and kept it on until I got home again five hours later and changed into my firewood clothes. Both the supply of logs near the wood stove and the nice rack I have in the garage needed replenishing from the stacks outside. I bring in a dozen or so logs at a time to dry out, and to have handy when it’s raining or just dark and I don’t want to go out.
Opposite that rack I have tubs and boxes and bags of kindling and newspapers, a place to split the kindling, and a bucket for collecting ashes. I don’t see how I’m ever going to make room for my car in the garage, which has been a minor goal for a couple of years now. That space serves as my pantry and laundry room and tool shed, and holds all the sorts of things that my daughter Pearl says you have to keep in the garage if you don’t have a basement.
The little guy below came in with a load of logs; the young house guests squealed and their mother scooped him out of the fireplace corner into a dustpan. He was trying to fall out of it, so I picked him up and tried to hold him in such a way that the children could look at him for a bit. But they would have none of it, and just wanted him out of the house, so I let him out the back door into the rain. I hope it washed him of all the woody litter.
The pewter wise men have arrived, after journeying across the table in my entry, to take up their worshipful positions in front of the Christ Child. I’ve removed a small amount of Christmas decor, mostly the fresh cotoneaster berries that weren’t fresh anymore. The redwood branches and candles remain, because they have life left in them, at least for today. And the faux tree will last as long as I want it to, which is, until I have some mental space to give to it.
For now, I have too many other projects going on. Writing thank-you letters to a few grandchildren, cooking soup for our women’s book group this week, and maybe a two hour trip to see my niece — just in this week.
At the same time, I am working on new habits. For more than a week now, I have taken a walk every day, outdoors, not on the treadmill. This was the scene on the bike path less than a week ago; can you see the leaves falling?
Since then we got a big dumping of rain, and the leaves aren’t so pretty anymore. One day I walked my old two-mile loop and it was quite delicious, because everything — the trees and earth and grass, and especially the air — was wet and refreshing and not cold. I wore my rain jacket and was prepared for a sprinkle, but when I was still ten minutes from home I got fairly drenched. Excitement like this has been adding to my general winter happiness.
Even before I read an encouraging article about the value of memorizing things, I had been planning to renew my effort in the coming year to learn some Psalms and possibly other poems by heart. “The Great Forgetting,” by Ruth Gaskovski, about “How ‘critical thinking’ and outsourcing of memory are withering culture, and how to turn the tide,” is giving me a boost.
Last year — or even before? — I had started to memorize Psalm 90 and 91 (89 and 90 in the Septuagint), and then lost my focus. This year, so far, I have noticed how my memorizing project coordinates nicely with my improved walking habits. I have the psalms written on 3×5 cards and can practice them as I stroll along — unless it’s one of those rainy days.
Here are the first few verses I am working on:
Psalm 89 — A Prayer of Moses, the man of God
Lord, Thou hast been our refuge in generation and generation.
Before the mountains came to be and the earth was formed and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting Thou art.
Turn not man away unto lowliness; yea, Thou hast said: Turn back, ye sons of men.
For a thousand years in Thine eyes, O Lord, are but as yesterday that is past, and as a watch in the night.
Things of no account shall their years be; in the morning like grass shall man pass away.
In the morning shall he bloom and pass away; in the evening shall he fall and grow withered and dry.
The poetry of these verses, the rhythm of their music and the depth of meaning, as I tell them to myself phrase by phrase, is so beautiful to my mind and heart. Glory to God!
This morning was frosty enough to make ice in my garden fountain. I wore a thick wool sweater to church, and kept it on until I got home again five hours later and changed into my firewood clothes. Both the supply of logs near the wood stove and the nice rack I have in the garage needed replenishing from the stacks outside. I bring in a dozen or so logs at a time to dry out, and to have handy when it’s raining or just dark and I don’t want to go out.
Gladsome Lights 