Today’s post is the first part of an original folktale that I wrote for last year’s Family Christmas eve service at Metropolitan United Church.
As I originally offered it in the church building, there is one point that I refer to a stained glass window we have in the Narthex. A picture of it is displayed in the text below.
A long, long, long time ago, there was a forest, and in that forest was a Raven Queen.
And the Raven Queen with her keen eyes, and cunning mind, and long life in the high places of the world, could see things that the other creatures of the forest could not see.
She could see the big change coming - the change of metal and machine - the change within man to forget the forest, and to stop listening to the wind, and to make war with the wild places, and with each other.
She could see the big change that happens when flesh separates from spirit.
And so, in her wisdom, the Raven Queen called a great council of creatures - all the creatures that flew and swam and waddled and walked and wriggled and called them all together to tell them all that she could see of all that was to be.
"How can this this happen?!?" cried the coyote.
"What will we do?!?" wheezed the weasel.
"We must warn them" saged the salmon from the stream.
"Yes, we must warn them!" chorused all the creatures of the council.
And that is what they determined to do - to send messengers - Spirit messengers, out into the world - bright beacons - shining symbols for any and all with eyes to see and hearts to hear - to warn, but also to inspire.
The old lore now records that gathering of the Raven Queen as the council of the white animals.
And you will soon hear why.
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A long, long, long time ago, there was a forest, and in that forest was a rabbit - a pregnant rabbit ready to give birth to her babies.
It was very late in the year and the snow was already falling on the forest floor, and so when the time had come, the mother rabbit went deep, deep, deep into her burrow.
And when she next emerged, out into the snowy sunshine, she did not come out alone. A baby rabbit hopped out behind her, and then another, and another, and another. 12 bunnies in total - rather a lot it, it must be noted - even for rabbits.
And as expected at that time of year, all the babies were brilliant white, almost unseen against the snow, except for their brown eyes blinking against the sun - all with brown eyes, that is, except one, the last and the smallest had bright grey eyes - like starlight in the eastern sky.
Now, to keep all the bunnies straight in her mind, the mother rabbit set to naming them - there was Bruce and Bob, and Deloris and Denise, Florence and Frances - they were identical twins - Mark and Madison, Hazel, Harley and Holly and the last and the smallest of them all - the one with the bright grey eyes - she named Hope.
And Hope seemed different somehow, quieter certainly, definitely more observant and sensitive than her sisters and brothers.
While her litter-mates were off frolicking and feeding and snow-ball fighting, Hope was prone to sitting by the stream, and wandering in the woods, and she would often ask her mother to tell her the old stories of the forest.
And she treasured all these tales and pondered their meaning in her heart.
One day as Hope was alone in the forest, she hopped up a hill, and on the hill there was a tree, and on the tree sat an old Raven - a Raven utterly regal in her countenance.
And as Hope approached, the Raven spoke. "I have been waiting for you”.
And with those words, the Raven flapped her proud wings, lifted skyward and flew Eastward.
Feeling beckoned by an unspoken summons, the white rabbit followed - she followed and followed and followed until the forest thinned and signs of people emerged - roads and fields and factories - and still the rabbit followed until finally the Raven landed on the chimney of a small cottage. And there, as black eyes met bright grey,
Hope felt that the Spirit was on the move and something long-promised was now taking shape.
And with that understanding between them the Raven bowed her head purposefully, flapped her wings powerfully and flew up up and away into another story, leaving Hope waiting here in this story.
And for a long time she just waited - waited and watched the cottage and the people that lived there.
There was Suzy - as she was known to her friends - the mother of the family, and Jonathan and Charlie her boys.
A regular family it would seem - bustling to and fro - here and there - busy as beavers after a flood.
But the longer Hope watched them, the more she saw in them - not just with her bright grey eyes, but with her heart.
Her heart strangely warmed as she watched them.
She found that could see beyond the barriers between things, past the masks of expectation, and trepidation; she could see inside things, into their essence, into their beauty, into their belovedness.
She could see how the people could either be a channel of the Spirit, or they could be its obstacle, cutting the Spirit off and wounding the soul of the world.
There, hidden by the snow of winter, Hope watched and waited - and waited and watched - until finally she heard the faintest echo of flapping wings in the wind and felt beckoned forward.
Very thoughtfully - very carefully - she approached the people to tell them what she could see - what she could see in them.
The white rabbit would be a messenger.
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You see a long, long long time ago, before the big change fully took hold, people and animals could understand each other.
And so to Jonathan, Hope said: “I have looked into your heart, and I have see the gift of words - words that can touch the soul of the world. Go and share the Spirit's gift."
To Charlie she said "I have looked into your heart, and I have see the gift of music - music that can heal the soul of the world. Go and share the Spirit's gift".
To Suzy she said "I have looked into your heart, and I have see the gift of teaching - teaching that can inspire the soul of the world. Go and share the Spirit's gift".
And the old lore tells us, that is exactly what happened.
Suzy taught and inspired her sons to share their gifts of words and music into the world.
Jonathan became a great speaker and leader, Charlie wrote hymns and songs, and each in their own way, inspired others to share their gifts, and together they came together in communities of people that would try to inspire others to share their gifts, and to live with the Spirit and in service.
Jonathan was known to tell people:
“Do all the good you can, By all the means you can, In all the ways you can, In all the places you can, At all the times you can, To all the people you can, As long as EVER you can.”
And they were not perfect and they made mistakes, but they did their best to put beauty and goodness and a spirit of service into the world. And they inspired more people who inspired more people and eventually those people built this church, this church where you are sitting right now.
And they were not perfect and they made mistakes, but they built this church to be a bright beacon of hope in this city for any with eyes to see and ears to hear and souls in need healing - they built this church to inspire those who would come after them - us here today - us here today, to share our gifts and live with Spirit and in service.
And so here today in this special place, in this season of giving, I wonder what gifts you have to give?
With those sparkling grey eyes, like starlight in the eastern sky I wonder what Hope would see in you?
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Now I know we are in the times of big change, and it's hard to believe in anything anymore.
Maybe you don't believe that my story is true.
Maybe you think that I'm just making up folktales.
Well friends... when you leave the church today, go and look at the stained glass window to the right in the Narthex.
In it you will see Suzy and Jonathan and Charlie - the old lore and the history books record them as the founders of Methodism, which was one of the founding churches of our church, the United Church of Canada.
And in that stained glass window in the Narthex, the one of Susanna, John and Charles Wesley, if you look very closely you will see a white rabbit looking very thoughtfully and very carefully up at them.
And maybe, just maybe, if you stay there long enough, and open your heart wide enough, maybe just maybe, you too will hear the beckoning sound of regal wings on the wind.
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In a winter a long, long, long time ago there was a white rabbit named Hope.
And as the months went on, the snow on the forest floor where she lived began to melt, and the coats of all of her brothers and sisters began to turn brown.
But not Hope's - it stayed white - because she was one of the messengers called forth by the council of the White Animals.
And to hear the rest of the story, come back next week.
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