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Oakland News
By Linda Aldy
ou may be reading this just before Christmas , or you may have set your newspaper aside for catch-up reading amid all the holiday activities, but we are in the season, for sure!
Each December , one of the members of my book club transforms our typical book discussions into deep and meaningful Advent programming. She incorporates a theme, poems, readings, music and art. She is truly amazing. This year our theme was “A Light Shines in the Darkness … Kindness, Too.” We have several gifted musicians in our group who play piano, flute and cello. Each reading reminded us how important it is to be the light. We never know when our smile or kind word will be the best part of someone’s day. Each song and each piece of art reflected light. We had several “sing-alongs” during the program and ended with “This Little Light of Mine” by Harry Dixon Loes. The closing reading was a poem by Kentucky poet Wendell Berry entitled “The Real Work.”
“It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work,
And that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.”
I was also moved by Robert St. John’s column this week as the successful restaurateur shared his thoughts on faith and Christmas. He reminds us that Christmas has always been about “something deeper than anything you can buy.” I share in his reminder to treasure the moments spent being with your family and friends during the holidays. Enjoy the time spent just sitting around the table or scattered about the house in small groups, laughing and sharing stories. To those hosting these events, don’t wear yourselves out trying to make things perfect. Your gift is providing a place that people can gather. St. John said “…Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s a way of life. It’s a call to love our neighbors as ourselves. To feed the hungry. To care for the least of these.”
He closed with this poem that he uses in his new book Robert St. John’s Mississippi Christmas, which I now must get!
One Solitary Life
He was born in an obscure village,
The child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in still another village,
Where he worked in a carpenter shop
Until he was thirty.
Then for three years
He was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a home.
He didn’t go to college.
He never visited a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles
From the place where he was born.
He did none of the things
One usually associates with greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.
He was only thirty-three
When the tide of public opinion turned
