My blog got a mention in the Christmas morning sermon today, a sermon that began with a discussion of social networking on the internet, inspired by Time's Person of the Year story. The pastor contrasted the self-obsession of bloggers and networkers with how Christ's presence in our lives frees us from sin and selfishness and turns us outward to serve one another.
Fortunately, the Perverse Lutheran was mentioned as a site that our not-so-cyber-savvy pastor actually looks at from time to time, not as an example of a diary-on-line by someone compelled to publish her every thought.
Clearly this is not a blog where I post everything I'm thinking. If it were, you'd have to worry, because the dates of recent posts would suggest that I'm not thinking much at all these days.
Which is not the case. I'm doing as much thinking as ever. It's what brains do. But somehow, my thoughts of late do not strike me as all that edifying for others. Grief is private. My grief about the loss of my husband is so private I barely speak it to myself.
The rest of me has turned extrovert. Peppy, perky extrovert--because that's what it takes to keep an 80-voice children's choir on task as they prepare to sing--and sing, and sing some more--on Christmas Eve. There is little room for thought, no words of my own. Just the beat, the cue, the cut-off, and the occasional glare.
The children sang very well, and looking at them brought me great joy. What will I remember from all the music and singing of last night? Children's faces shining solemnly with the joy of singing together on Christmas Eve. Some sang with serenity, some with great anticipation. Some with mischievous happiness--isn't this fun! Some with thoughtful scowls. Some with no thought at all, just enthusiasm.
Children turned inside out as they proclaimed 'the Lord God incarnate, Jesus Christ."