Two stories this week suggest the presence of spirit at work in the lives of people.

A few days before his older brother Paul died at home in a mid-west city, Jack called him on the telephone from his residence in Boston. Concerned that her husband was too sick to take the call, Paul’s wife, on the other end of the telephone, tried to make Jack give up the effort to reach Paul. However, with urging from his own wife Susan, Jack insisted that he had to talk to his brother.

When he did get through to his brother’s bed, Jack explained to Paul that he had called to say goodbye. He wanted to bid his brother farewell until the two of them should be reunited “wherever we are going to go.”

Then Jack told him, “I love you, Paul.” As if with his dying breath, Paul replied, “I love you too, Jack.”

This true story (only the names have been changed)  shows the power behind the urge to reconcile. In this instance, the rift between the brothers had not been deep. Rather, it had resulted from a gradual growing apart over many years. They had remained on speaking terms but their feelings for one another had grown cold and their personal contact rare.

Jack’s impulse to call his brother at a time of crisis, as Paul lay between life and death, can be seen as the spirit of reconciliation at work. As a result of one brother following this spiritual impulse, two men came closer together emotionally than they had ever been previously. By reason of this bold action, one of them became better prepared to die, the other to go on living.

Jack, the survivor, suffers from dementia in his old age. His future does not offer much expectation for anything but continued decline, painful for him, his family members, and friends. Given his mental condition, the initiative he took with his dying brother takes on even greater meaning.

By acting this way, he was doing something that will soon become impossible for him. But now this reconciliation has been sealed in his soul. Even if he gets to the point where he cannot remember having done it, this spiritual action will retain its value.

Another evidence of spirit at work came to me last week in the form of a sermon written by a friend. Charles, a Protestant minister, serves a church in the northwest part of Oregon.

Recently the parish sent Charles and several lay members to visit Los Cimientos, a remote village high in the central mountains of Guatemala. They brought with them gifts for the desperately poor people of the village, along with the desire to share spiritual goods as well.

In a sermon that serves as a report to parishioners, Charles tells about arduously climbing up the mountain where most of the people live. At a certain point, the group of visitors and the villagers accompanying them sat down for a rest which the Americans desperately needed.

They also needed water so they pulled out of their bags the water bottles they had brought with them. Each of the visitors drank from his or her own supply, oblivious of their hosts’ thirst. One young woman among the visitors, however, rose, walked over to one of the local men, and gave him her water bottle. This woman, Fiona, was neither a member of the church back home nor a Christian.

When Charles and the others saw what the young woman had done, they were crestfallen. They suddenly realized how unfeeling they had been, how closed to the needs of other human beings. They were ashamed to acknowledge that they had not acted as Christians are supposed to. It took a person who does not believe in Jesus to show them how to put the teachings of Jesus into practice.

Charles’ own words complete our story. “When she sat down, one member of our team said to her, ‘How could you do that?’ And Fiona replied, ‘How could you not?’

“‘How could you not?’ The moment I heard those words I felt as if I had been shot. Here we were, having come thousands of miles to be with these people, of offer support, to establish relationship with them, and yet I had not done the most basic, simple, human thing of all: to share my cup of water with my new brother.”

Richard Griffin

The use of incense as part of the official prayer of their church offends some people, I have discovered this Christmas season, much to my surprise. As a person accustomed to it throughout my whole life, I feel comfortable with it and had thought everyone else felt the same way.

I did know of certain members of the Church of England in the last century who objected to elaborate vestments and incense, referring dismissively to these liturgical features as “lace and smells.” To them, these uses smacked of ornamentation that they considered foreign to the spirit of the liturgy.

The objections that I have heard recently are more serious. Some people, it turns out, dislike incense because it stirs up allergies in them. When it is directed toward their face, incense makes them feel choked up, the way cigarette smoke does.

Others complain that the use of incense in church smacks of “voodoo,” a kind of pagan ritual that is at odds with Christianity. It seems closer to superstition than true religion, they feel, and should have no place in enlightened worship.

To the first objection, one can only sympathize with the discomfort of worshippers who suffer from imposition of a substance that upsets their well-being.  Perhaps their best option is to anticipate when incense may be used and to avoid such services.

Responding to the second objection is more complicated. For one thing, the word Voodoo is a popular corruption of the name Vodun, a religion of African origins that is now practiced by some 60 million people. In particular, many people in Haiti espouse Vodun, sometimes mixing it with the elements of the Catholic religion.

By contrast, Voodoo usually refers to a cult born of Hollywood films that feature bizarre practices and eerie ghosts. It should not be confused with the Vodun religion that was brought to the new world by African slaves and offers them spiritual values.  

Incense is not something that the Christian Church has come up with in recent times as its own invention. Rather, it can claim a tradition that goes as far back as the beginnings of recorded history. Pictures in ancient temples and tombs reveal its widespread use in the ancient Near East both in ordinary daily life and in religious worship.  

By no means was incense the exclusive property of pagans, however. The people of Israel made extensive use of it: it is mentioned more than 100 times in the Hebrew Bible. In Proverbs 29:9 one reads: “Perfume and incense make the heart glad.” And in Exodus 30:34 the Lord instructs Moses how to make incense as something “holy to the Lord.”

Priests in Israel used incense when they offered the prescribed sacrifices to Yahweh. It was also associated with private prayer: in Psalm 141, the worshipper says: “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you.”

Though the New Testament contains only a few references to incense, the most notable perhaps being the “frankincense” offered to the infant Jesus by the wise men from the East, its use by the Christian Church can be traced back to the fourth century. Of course, it could well have been employed in worship long before that time.

Incense, in particular, would seem to have been a welcome addition to the public worship of the church. Its main value is that it appeals to one’s sense of smell. Most worshippers, I suspect, find it thus opens another dimension to the sensual experience of liturgy.

Even now, I can remember from my youth the characteristic smell that used to fill the church at times when the golden incense holder was swung. I also associate it with funerals in which the body of the deceased person is recognized as holy by having the clouds of incense directed toward it.

Many people who do not adhere to any particular religious tradition find incense of spiritual value. Members of New Age groups often burn incense to create a certain atmosphere conducive to meditation or spiritual reflection. A room filled with pungent clouds of incense makes for an appropriate environment for moving beyond thoughts bounded by earth.

Count me among those who value incense and welcome its frequent use. To my mind, its fumes symbolize the spiritual character of prayer effectively. I have made my own the verse from the Psalms: “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you.”

Richard Griffin

For the past 23 years, our next-door neighbors, George and Emily, have hosted a Christmas party that we look forward to with much pleasure. One of this party’s features, making it different from most others, is the singing of carols before we sit down to eat.

Children and grown-ups gather around the piano as Emily, a voice teacher, plays and leads us in song. Good singers, along with those of us who can barely carry a tune, join together in festive mood, lifting our voices upwards. This shared experience of music helps form us into a buoyant community for that one evening, at least.

The carols that we sing also introduce us once more to the spirituality expressed by the coming celebration of Christmas. Behind these traditional songs lies frequent mention of the inner gifts associated with the season. The writers and composers knew how to capture the meaning of the Christmas event in ways that can surprise us with their spiritual depth.

“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” for instance, calls the news about the birth of Jesus “tidings of comfort and joy.”  So Christmas, as understood by the composers of this 18th century English carol is a time for receiving the gifts of reassurance and release from unhappiness.

This same carol urges: “Let nothing you affright.” Christmas, in this view, calls on us to cast out fear and live with confidence in the goodness of God. A few lines later, the “blessed angel” of Luke’s Gospel appears bearing the message so often repeated in the Bible: “Fear not.”

In an era when many people feel afraid, this message has new value. Among other people, it might reassure a young girl who recently told me she did not wish to fly in an airplane “for fear of the terrorists.”

“Hark the Herald Angels Sing” boasts the lyrics of Charles Wesley and the music of Felix Mendelssohn, two great 19th century figures. Here the theme of peace takes center stage. “Peace on earth and mercy mild,” we sing, echoing the song of the angels in the Nativity narrative.

This Christmas, like most others, takes place in a world torn by conflict. In addition to the armed struggles that dominate the news, dozens of wars are going on in places to which the communications media give little attention. People are at one another’s throats over large issues and small. God’s mercy and God’s peace seem far distant, but the carol assures us of their availability.

“Good King Wenceslaus” is a beloved carol made up of parts from different eras. The title refers to a 10th century Bohemian king who had a reputation for holiness. Nine centuries later, a British poet formed words to go with a song written in the 16th century.

The last two lines of the carol bring out the moral of this composition. “Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.” Wenceslaus had shown the true spirit of Christmas by providing food and shelter to a poor man on a cold winter’s night.

This note of compassion forms a proper response to the birth of Jesus. Just as God has been generous to the human family by sending his son to earth, the message says, so we must respond in kind by sharing resources with brothers and sisters in need. Without such a response, Christmas would not have its full meaning.

Finally, “Silent Night,” a sweet 19th century Austrian carol that ranks as one of the most beloved, gives expression to the holy tranquility that surrounds the scene at the child’s manger at Bethlehem.

“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright,” words sung slowly and reverently, suggest an inner and outer peace that can refresh the soul. If you want to enter into the spirit of the Christmas event, these sentiments suggest, you must allow yourself to rest in the peaceful atmosphere of the scene.

At the same time, the word “bright” suggests the enlightenment that is the goal of spiritual life. As we contemplate the child sleeping “in heavenly peace,” we can open ourselves to the inner light that illumines the mystery of love.

Many more carols carry messages similar to the ones singled out here. Though usually enjoyed simply for the splendor of their words and music, these traditional songs also speak of the spiritual life. In doing so, they suggest the gifts of the spirit that Christmas richly offers.

Richard Griffin

This column features bits and pieces from this one writer’s spiritual experiences of last week. They appear here in the hope of inspiring readers to reflect on their own recent encounters that may carry more meaning than first appears.

One encounter came through reading The Way Things Are, a series of interviews with Huston Smith, the world religions scholar who used to teach at MIT. One passage touches on Smith’s upbringing in China where his parents were Methodist missionaries.

Looking back on this experience and contrasting it with that of many other people, Professor Smith says: “What came through to me from my religious upbringing was quite different: we are in good hands, and in gratitude for that fact it would be good if we bore one another’s burdens.”

From a vantage point of some 80 years, this scholar feels thankful about learning from his parents such positive lessons about his place in the world. He still faces that world with basic confidence of being loved by the master of the universe. And he feels a corresponding impulse to reach out toward other people, showing them compassion.

He wishes every child had been endowed with a similarly affirmative religious outlook. Instead, he has often found his students to look like “wounded Christians” or “wounded Jews,” for example, people who took in religion as basically negative, full of do and don’ts without a positive view of themselves and the world.

As happens often, I also took heart from members of my small prayer group this week. Olivia, at whose house we meet, talked about her contact with a spiritual leader from whom she had drawn inspiration. “We are cut off from the holy,” said this man. “We are always taking from the world,” he went on, “but we ought to be giving back.”

Yes, our American culture is terribly secular and materialistic, making spirituality often seem unreachable, but people with vision like this man’s keep calling us back to deeper reality.  

Another source of inspiration came in a talk given at my parish church to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the renewal of the Catholic liturgy. The speaker, a professor of liturgy based in Washington, D. C., emphasized the action of the Holy Spirit in the church’s public prayer.

“The Spirit’s action permeates all of the rites,” he said. “All liturgy is Trinitarian,” he added. The presence of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in the sacred rituals should be seen as basic to the faith of the church.

The lecturer also stressed the ingredient of paschal mystery in the liturgy. By that he meant the ritual re-enactment of Christ’s death and resurrection that takes place when the church celebrates the sacraments. These latter are not simply outward gestures but contain with them the rhythm of dying and rising again that form the center of Christian faith.

Coming back to the heart of his belief, he repeated at the end his vision of the liturgy as a whole. It goes far beyond details about how it is performed. Instead, he insisted, “The goal is the living God.”

I find inspiration here because of being reminded of the deeper meaning of the worship in which I share each week with a community of my fellow Christians. It all goes deeper than appears on the surface: we take part in a sacred celebration that carries the mystery of who we believe ourselves to be.

On another front, a chronic health condition continues to draw me toward spiritual reflection. There is nothing, after all, that quite concentrates the mind like being less than well. It stirs one’s thinking about what remains most important as you continue to search for solutions.

Instead of a solution, one often finds it necessary to live with it. When the doctors have trouble discovering answes, then that seems the only alternative. It serves as fine material for prayer – putting oneself in the hands of an understanding and compassionate God, hoping for a breakthrough but not counting on it.

So these bits and pieces of an ongoing spiritual quest may suffice for this week’s consideration. Taken together, they represent at least this one person’s odyssey toward insight. Here’s hoping for sympathetic vibrations in the souls of others.

Richard Griffin