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Some Advent Reflections (3)

Dec 16, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Sunday, December 16 – Scripture Readings:
Psalm 63, 98; Amos 9:11-15; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-3, 13-17; John 5:30-47

It’s Sunday – the beginning of the third week of Advent. For those of you counting shopping days, you’re down to only nine! In a season designed, in its truest sense, to invite us to anticipation and longing and hope, we more often know increased levels of anxiety and stress and exhaustion these final days. Not good. We need Advent. We need comfort and joy.

And, as though it somehow knows this (which I think it does), Scripture offers us words that call us back to what matters, what endures, what we most need:

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word. (2 Thess. 2:16-16)

‘Reminds me of a Christmas carol. It’s long, but worth reading (and maybe humming along):

God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Saviour
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan’s power
When we were gone astray
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

In Bethlehem, in Israel,
This blessed Babe was born
And laid within a manger
Upon this blessed morn
The which His Mother Mary
Did nothing take in scorn
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

“Fear not then,” said the Angel,
“Let nothing you aright,
This day is born a Saviour
Of a pure Virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in Him
From Satan’s power and might.
“O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

The shepherds at those tidings
Rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding
In tempest, storm and wind:
And went to Bethlehem straightway
The Son of God to find.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

And when they came to Bethlehem
Where our dear Saviour lay,
They found Him in a manger,
Where oxen feed on hay;
His Mother Mary kneeling down,
Unto the Lord did pray.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All other doth deface.
O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

I don’t think I need to extrapolate out application from this hymn other than to say that, at least for me, it reminds me of what matters. It tells me the story through which my own story makes sense (even if only in fits and starts). It offers me comfort and joy.

That is the message that all of Scripture offers, really. It’s the message, invitation, and reality of the Divine – throughout time, now, and forever.

Here’s a smattering of even today’s readings:

My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips when I think of you on my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy. (from Psalm 63)

Comfort and joy.

Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it. Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the Lord, for he is coming… (from Psalm 98)

Comfort and joy.

I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel, and they shall rebuild the ruined cities and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and drink their wine, and they shall make gardens and eat their fruit. I will plant them upon heir and, and they shall never again be plucked up out of the land that I have given them, says the Lord your God. (from Amos 9)

Comfort and joy.

And again:

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word. (2 Thess. 2:16-16)

Advent. God-with-us. Emmanuel. Comfort and joy.

May it be so.

Some Advent Reflections (2)

Dec 9, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Sacred Stories, Spirituality

Sunday, December 9 – Scripture Readings:
Psalm 114, 115; Amos 6:1-14; 2 Thessalonians 1:5-12; Luke 1:57-68

I’m struck today by the contrast between the words of the psalmist, Amos, Paul, and then Zechariah at the birth of his son, John.

The Psalmist says:
Tremble, O earth, at the presence of the Lord,
at the presence of the God of Jacob,
who turns the rock into a pool of water,
and flint into a spring of water. (114:7-8)

Amos says:
But you have turned justice into poison and the fruit of righteousness into wormwood – you who rejoice…who say, “Have we not by our own strength taken Karnaim for ourselves?” Indeed, I am raising up against you a nation, O house of Israel, says the Lord, the God of hosts, and they shall oppress you… (12b-14)

Paul says:
[Those who do not know God] will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, separated from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might… (9)

And Zechariah, as a brand new father, says:
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. (68)

Words that speak of a trembling fear of God. Words that speak of God’s oppression of God’s people. And words that speak of God’s blessing, favor, and redemption. All words of God-with-us, Emmanuel. I certainly prefer the latter, don’t you?

But what if it’s not either/or; rather both/and?

During Advent (and frankly all year long), Scripture requires that we interact with a voice of God that is clearly about judgment, a God in whom we should fear, a God who articulates significant disappointment and plans for oppression, a God who, at least from Paul’s perspective, intends to punish those who do not obey Jesus’ gospel. We read of a God who, through the birth of John, is fulfilling prophecy (even like that above) and looking favorably on God’s people and redeeming them. One could be, understandably, confused or at least be tempted to just stick with the gospel passage.

How are we to make sense of these seemingly mixed messages? How are we to let these words coexist and remain in a both/and reality?

Maybe I’m an exception, but I don’t find this all that hard. It feels far more like my reality. Of course, my preference is to stick with the favor and redemption stuff, but that belies what I experience and know to be true.

Nearly every day I face experiences that provoke fear on some level, feel like oppression, and have me longing for punishment (for others, of course). I don’t have the luxury of a life that stays only in places of God’s kindness and blessing. Further, I don’t really think that’s God’s expectation or plan.

It’s appropriate that Zechariah’s words come out of the context of labor and birth. It’s appropriate that the larger context of this passage has us hearing more of Elizabeth than her husband; that it’s her labor, her rejoicing, her naming that tells us this story. That’s the reality of life: out of labor – its pain, its anguish, its seeming-endlessness – that life bursts forth, life that offers favor and redemption.

This is our both/and reality: labor – its pain, its anguish, its seeming-endlessness and life that bursts forth with a God offering us favor and redemption.

This is our both/and reality: fear, oppression, punishment (whether or own or our desire for others’) and God’s blessing.

This is our both/and Advent: a God-with-us, Emmanuel who speaks through psalmists, a prophet, an apostle like Paul, and a father’s words about the God who gave him a son via the labor of his wife.

Both/and not either/or. This is reality. And into such, we are told of a real, flesh-and-blood god who comes, again and again, not to take away the harder, even harsh aspects of our day-to-day life, but to inhabit them, to dwell in their/our midst, to live himself in places of fear, oppression, punishment and favor and redemption.

I choose both/and. You?

Some Advent Reflections (1)

Dec 2, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, My sort-of Sermons, Spirituality

In the spirit of Advent – the beginning of the church year – I decided to begin something (again): I went to church.

Not having been on a Sunday morning for nearly a year, it was an odd yet very familiar and comfortable experience. I saw many faces I recognized, most of which I haven’t seen for a long time. I sang songs I recognized, most of which I haven’t heard for a long time. I felt home…even though this particular community of faith is new for me.

This morning felt like an appropriate start for Advent – the season of beginnings, of anticipation, of expectation of God’s coming, of God’s longed-for presence. Though my theology tells me that God is with me whether I ever darken the door of a church or not, there was something right and good about knowing Emmanuel (God with us) in a sanctuary with candles, bread and wine, music, and others. I’m grateful.

But wait, there’s more…

I’ve been thinking about the acknowledgement and celebration of Advent as a discipline for myself this year. Perhaps going to church this morning sparked that reality; nevertheless, it’s my desire and intent to be able to post some reflections using the daily texts (though I’ll extend myself enough grace here at the outset to acknowledge that I may not get to this every day…).

So, I begin.

Sunday, December 2 Scripture Readings:
Psalm 111, Amos 1:1-5, 13-2:8, 1 Thess. 5:1-11, Luke 21:5-19

With the exception of the Psalm, these are some scary verses – all doom and gloom, warnings of God’s wrath, and projections of what life will be like at the end of all things. In the Old Testament reading we hear words of anger, war, judgment, fire, exile, battle cries, much harm to pregnant women. In 1 Thessalonians, Paul speaks of the Lord coming like a thief in the night and…again with the pregnant woman
language…with destruction coming on people suddenly as labor pains on a pregnant woman. And in Luke, Jesus speaks of nations rising against nations, of being betrayed by family and friends, of being hated.

Not really the messages we like to read – especially in a season filled with happy Christmas carols, jolly Santa’s, twinkling lights, and present purchasing.

What are these passages about? Why the first readings of Advent? What are they trying to say?

These verses, in many ways, articulated the reality that people already knew. The Israelites had been waiting for deliverance, for their Messiah, for a very long time. They knew much about God’s anger, judgment, and the experience of exile. In such a state wouldn’t one anticipate and long for God-with-us, Emmanuel even more passionately? Wouldn’t advent be a beginning deeply hungered for? And in Paul’s day, a church in early beginnings, fits and starts, and much persecution, wouldn’t the be hungry for a message that reminded them that the Divine was yet to come; to be alert and on the watch for God-with-us, Emmanuel? As Jesus prepared his disciples for his imminent departure, would they not hunger for the signs that would let them know that he was going to return; that God-with-us, Emmanuel would come and reign?

Advent: a season of anticipation.

Advent: a season of acknowledging what is – in our fear, in our disappointment, in our dashed expectations, in our tired-of-waiting state.

Advent: a season of hungering for more – for God-with-us, Emmanuel.

In the midst of what is we can take heart. We can encourage one another. We need not worry. We will be cared for. We need not fear. We can stand firm. That is good news. That is, indeed, God-with-us, Emmanuel.

Playing Poker with God

Aug 24, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, Spirituality

So often we frantically seek for an explanation to our suffering, to the things in our own life and in the world that make no sense to us. We often seek that explanation, or should I say, “demand” that explanation from God.

I don’t know about you, but no matter my endless beseeching of God for answers, they are rare in coming and often less than comforting when they are heard and/or understood.

I continue to believe there is something profound and unique to which we are called as women in suffering. It’s not that we are to be martyrs – just suffering because we must, or worse, because we choose to allow such. Rather, there is something beautiful and intimate that occurs in the midst of suffering – in relationship with God.

What if, rather than seeking an escape from suffering, we came to anticipate God’s whisper; God’s desire to offer intimacy, kindness, and care?

Offand on I’ve been reading a book called Women and the Value of Suffering by Kristine M. Rankka. She ends the book with a stunning poem by Anne Sexton saying that in it suffering is acknowledged, but with no attempt to justify or explain it.

The Rowing Endeth
I’m mooring my rowboat
at the dock of the island called God.
This dock is made in the shape of a fish
and there are many boats moored
at many different docks.
“It’s okay,” I say to myself,
with blisters that broke and healed
and broke and healed –
saving themselves over and over.
And salt sticking to my face and arms like
a glue-skin pocked with grains of tapioca.
I empty myself from my wooden boat
and onto the flesh of The Island.
“On with it!” He says and thus
we squat on the rocks by the sea
and play- can it be true –
a game of poker.
He calls me.
I win because I hold a royal straight flush.
He wins because He holds five aces.
A wild card had been announced
but I had not heard it
being in such a state of awe
when He took out the cards and dealt.
As He plunks down His five aces
and I sit grinning at my royal flush,
He starts to laugh,
the laughter rolling like a hoop out of His mouth
and into mine,
and such laughter that He doubles right over me
laughing a Rejoice-Chorus at our two triumphs.
The I laugh, the fishy dock laughs
the sea laughs. The Island laughs.
The Absurd laughs.
Dearest dealer,
I with my royal straight flush,
love you so for your wild card,
that untamable, eternal, gut-driven ha-ha
and lucky love.

If this is even remotely possible: the experience of playing poker with God, of hearing God’s laughter, of coming to love the wild card, of being loved like this, count me in! ‘Not that I can do anything about the suffering that has or will yet come; but I can hope for the grace and winsomeness to hear God’s invitation to play cards in the midst.

Ready to deal?

My Proclivity for Lists

Jul 31, 2007 | Hope & Encouragement, Spirituality

I’m a list-maker, I admit it. I not only make them, I complete them. I can have multiple lists running at the same time: work, home,
parenting, the grocery store, yard work, future vacation itineraries – both fantasized and real. Whether fortunate or not, my brain has the capacity to hold all of these at once, determine which one(s) to work on at a particular time, and still recall the others.

My parents would say I should enjoy this while I can because that now-taken-for-granted-capacity will begin to fail as my age increases. I know what they mean but at least right now I’m not sure it’s a gift that’s all that great.

Lists somehow regiment life. They add order. And though both of these may be good things, I only want lists informing my life, not defining my reality.

Lists have a strange and mysterious power to become the determiner of what was, is, and should be – in many realms, but perhaps most profoundly for a religious person who lives within a text that is filled with more lists than we know what to do with.

I was looking at some passages in 1st and 2nd Timothy last week that had to do with Elders: their role, the qualities of such, etc. And I found myself incredibly frustrated. Too many to-do’s. True, the order thing is there – in spades, but for me, they felt like they’d lost their goodness and moved to something dangerous, something life-draining vs. life-giving. I struggled to think of a way to breathe life into these texts; to offer a larger perspective on how I/we might understand them. I wanted to find and invite something, anything different. I didn’t have much luck.

As I’ve spent some more time reflecting on the palpable tension I experienced in this context I wondered how it might speak to a larger reality in my life these days:

My list-making, or at least my previous understanding of what would provide me order, security, boundaries, safety, and even answers, stopped working the way it used to.

Surely, I used to think, the Biblical text – the mandates, the commandments, the lists (and those who’ve interpreted it) could offer me a rubric through which to understand my life and how to live it: a simple step-by-step process that would make sense of the increasing complexity I found myself in. I went back to the books that lined my shelves, most written by reputable Christians, hoping to find that framework.

They let me down – through no fault of their own. Somehow, between the time I bought the books and read them the first, second, or even third time and now my life no longer fit. The rules and how-to’s don’t make sense at all. I need something that offers freedom, something that gives me life.

Not surprisingly really, I found it in the Biblical text when I went to the stories – especially the women, who didn’t live by the rules and were (still) deeply loved by God. I found story after story that literally drips in freedom, that offers life. I’m incredibly grateful.

Still, what to do with the lists – my own and those in Scripture? At least for now, I choose to understand them in the larger context of the Biblical narrative, in the larger context of a God who desires and promises life above all else. For now, I wonder how the lists themselves, the do’s and don’ts, the thou shalts and thou shalt nots might limit both freedom and life.

For now, I’m fine to just wonder – not worry, about making the lists, completing the lists, crossing off every item.

If nothing else (though I believe there’s more) I’m glad I can remember what I need at the grocery store while simultaneously typing on my cellphone a list of to-do’s for work the next day as I’m waiting in the checkout line, looking at my watch, and thinking about how many things I need to get done before the next alarm sounds on my calendar/phone indicating what’s next on my list…

Enough typing. I’ve got to get on to the next thing on my list! 

About Connection and Stamps (and God)

Jul 24, 2007 | Spirituality

about reconnecting:
Just a few minutes ago I finished writing a note to a person I haven’t been in touch with for over 15 years. I have no idea
what has taken place in that amount of time, no idea what has occurred, who has been loved, who has died, what tears
have been shed, what laughter has sprung forth. What I do know is that all of the same realities have been true for me:
love, death, tears, laughter. What would it be like to re-connect now? Would we have similar stories to tell or vastly divergent ones? Would we know what to say? Would we even recognize one another?

and a stamp:
As I placed the stamp on the envelope and put it in the slot in my door to be picked up by my mail carrier, I realized that really, regardless of whether we connect face-to-face, we have reconnected. My thoughts and curiosity have enabled that and aren’t dependent on reciprocation.

My musings above lead me to wonder about God.

How often do we understand God as the one who receives our note? As one who needs to respond in order for connection to have occurred? I wonder what would happen if I/we began to understand God more as the (re)connection itself, the
curiosity and the desire and the virtual (but no less real) connection that occurs just in thinking of another…and caring? Of course, it doesn’t have to be one or the other; God is undoubtedly both – responder and respondent, connection and re-connector. And even more, I’m guessing God is the one writing and stamping the notes, thinking the thoughts, caring – far more than me.

The mail will be picked up soon and I’ll wait to see what happens. Either way, connection has occurred. I’d love to experience God this way – not waiting for a response, but experienced as re-connecting, present in everything – every thought, every memory, every love, every death, every tear, every laugh…even in a stamp.