Tag: Advent

My Angst

I’m in a panic, it’s the season of guilt; all the “should’s” and the “ought-to’s,” even Martha must wilt!

It seems I am clueless, I admit with chagrin–what’s most important? What matters to Him?

His Answer

My child, 

I watch you scowl as you check off your list, as you hustle and hurry, get your brain in a twist, thinking more makes it better and much makes you right—this long sprint of madness toward Christmas Eve night.

I don’t really notice the height of your spruce, how cozy your candles, how tasty your goose, whether yours took the prize at the cookie exchange, the silver you’ve polished, the hors d’oeuvres you arrange, 

what traditions you follow–I won’t find it shocking to see carrots for reindeer or coal in your stocking. I won’t be counting the plays you attend, which presents you purchase or how much you spend.

Serve a roast, or just pizza, I really don’t mind! If you escape to Hawaii or stay here resigned to the hustle, the bustle, the crowds and the noise, and come through it frazzled, or with Hallmark-like poise.

Either way, it won’t matter from my, point of view. There’s something quite different that I ask of you.

Stop for a moment, just put it on pause, that letter you’re writing to dear Santa Claus.

 The Gift

What gift could you give me to fill me with joy, better than any decoration or elaborate toy? Even more than my pleasure at each generous act of kindness to grinches, or unselfish tact?

Yes, I will notice the weak you are strong for, but before everything else, one thing I long for. There’s one special package under your tree, the first you must open—the present of ME.

Will you believe me, my desire is for you? My best gift this Christmas, the one that rings true? Just the pleasure of seeing your childlike grin when it finally hits you—you’re already in!

You’re locked in my heart, my valuable prize, forgiven and treasured, delight of my eyes. That you’d accept without argument the gift of my grace means more than all riches or works you embrace.

What means more than the caroling, the cider, the snow, is a heart that responds, your love that will grow as MY preparations are given free rein—then my coming, then Christmas, will not be in vain.

My Response

Jesus, forgive me, for I see it is true I’ve got it all backwards, I’ve tried to BE you, to make Christmas happen, (in me I will trust), as the best of intentions all crumble to dust.

So, YOUR gift I will open, each day, a new start—unwrap your goodness, and gaze at your heart, delight in fresh wonders, still warm from your touch, and believe the inscription,

“Child, I love you so much.”

By Janet Hanson, 2005

It’s not great poetry. I wrote it on a sugar cookie high, in the throes of teeth-gritting, jingle bell jarring angst.

The rhyme records a moment when it finally hit me. And every year I have to let it hit me again–I’m already loved.

And so are you, much more than you can imagine. 

“And our eyes at last shall see him,
Through his own redeeming love;
For that child so dear and gentle
Is our Lord in heaven above, and he leads his children on. to the place where he is gone.”

~Cecil Frances Alexander

Photograph of Christmas lights by Melanie Hunt

Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let earth receive her king. Let every heart prepare him room, and heaven and nature sing.

God Is With Us, Emmanuel

Do not be afraid; for see–I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord.

Luke 2:10-11

“Truly wondrous is the whole chronicle of the nativity. For this day the ancient slavery is ended, the devil confounded, the demons take to flight, the power of death is broken.

For this day paradise is unlocked, the curse taken away, sin is removed, error driven out, truth has been brought back, the speech of kindliness diffused and spread on every side–a heavenly way of life has been implanted on the earth, angels communicate with men without fear, and we now hold speech with angels.

Why is this? Because God is now on earth, and man in heaven; on every side all things commingle. He has come on earth, while being fully in heaven; and while complete in heaven, he is without diminution on earth.

Though he was God, he became man, not denying himself to be God. Though being the unchanging Word, he became flesh that he might dwell among us.

To Him, then, who out of confusion has wrought a clear path; to Christ, to the Father, and to the Holy Spirit, we offer all praise, now and forever. Amen.”

~St. John Chrysostom 347-407

God is with us! Look for him in the joy and in the shadows. Take the hand of Jesus and let him lead you on a different road than the world around you travels. He is your Christmas, your every day gift. 

Photograph courtesy of Kulla Kyrka, Enköping, Sweden

This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before. ~Leonard Bernstein

Grace was the last thing on my mind as I hurried up the red-carpeted stairs. I slipped, breathless, into my first balcony seat–the Davies Symphony Hall ushers follow a precise schedule.

The instruments were warming; the choir, black-clad backs straight and formal, waited for their cue to stand. I tried to relax. Handel’s Messiah, performed by the finest of San Francisco musicians, never fails to stir me to wonder. But this was the day after Friday, December 14, and Connecticut was on my mind.

Huddled in a cloud of hurt and anger for families I have never met, I let the soaring scriptures wash over me. The melodies and lyrics follow a well-worn path in my memory– but the words refused to take root as I sang along inside.

Grace Or Condemnation

A question:

At the heart of all things do you see cold-eyed judgment or a bent toward mercy? As a sound track to life do you hear a cacophony of criticism, or a lullaby of grace? In your view, does Offended Sovereign or Passionate Savior best describe God? Which is reflected in your response to tragedy?

Listen For The Amen

The Messiah ends with a glimpse from John’s vision in Revelation 5. John weeps bitterly–there is no one worthy in heaven or earth to open the scroll–no one who has earned the right to speak into our misery, to help us understand an incomprehensible God. The scroll of understanding is sealed to our finite minds.

But John is comforted: there is one worthy to unseal it. The choir sings, “Worthy, is the lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by his blood…”

My Messiah score concludes with six pages of “Amen.” From forte to fortissimo–loud to very loud–an emphatic end to the oratorio. I’ve heard the closing section many times, but never as I heard it that night. In the middle of the amens, the conductor surprised me–he signaled piano, soft. A sweet lullaby-like amen emerged from the strings. Not bombastic, not triumphant, but tender. Was this a poignant nod to the slain children and their grieving families? The bows of the violins seemed to weep.

Then, a sudden return to loud, bold, certain. A pause, then every voice joined as one–the final, “Amen, Amen!”

I remembered, and my heart softened–the word “amen” means “Yes!” Jesus Christ is God’s emphatic “yes” to this world, his plan to redeem a beloved, broken, world. If you listen, you will hear it, a tender lullaby of grace.

How will you add your voice to God’s “yes” to the world this Christmas?

 

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. ~ T.S. Eliot

In The Middle Of The Story

The beginning and the end are the easy parts of the story–the opening scene, the longed for resolution make sense to us–but we live in the messy middle. From here, the plot seems random, the conflict serve no purpose, the characters confuse us, and it seems that evil has won the day.

Because we haven’t made it to the last page, we may be tempted to think we have.

God have pity on us, who can only see the present. Have mercy on those caught in the whirlpool of senseless pain, and the rest of us, impotent to make it right.

Mercy has been given. The author of the story has joined us in the broken middle of this world. His tears mingle with ours, our grief is enfolded in his own. He doesn’t insult us with easy answers, or pretend our pain away.

In Advent, we remember–Christmas was the chapter when everything changed. Heaven stooped down and touched earth below, Creator and creation reunited in a baby. A light has been kindled that no darkness can overcome.

This is our confidence: the one who wrote the opening lines has the breath-taking end composed. In the meantime, God walks with us through our mid-story bewilderment, faithful and true to the last page.

The Story Ends As It Begins

Of the Father’s love begotten, ere the worlds began to be,
He is alpha and omega, he the source, the ending he,
Of the things that are, that have been, and that future years shall see
Evermore and evermore.

Oh, the birth forever blessed when the virgin, full of grace,
By the Holy Ghost conceiving, bare the savior of our race,
And the babe, the world’s Redeemer, first revealed his sacred face
Evermore and evermore.

O ye heights of heaven, adore him; angel hosts, his praises sing;
Powers, dominions, bow before him and extol our God and King.
Let no tongue on earth be silent, every voice in concert ring
Evermore and evermore.

Christ, to thee with God the Father and, O Holy Ghost, to thee
Hymn and chant and high thanksgiving and unending praises be,
Honor, glory, and dominion, and eternal victory
Evermore and evermore.

Amen.

Aurelius C. Prudentius, 4th century

I wrote this post before the Newtown, CT shootings. Words are almost useless in the face of deep sorrow and anger we all feel. Jesus, do and be for all the broken what we cannot.

Photograph, Sunset in Merced, CA Melanie Hunt

 

It is not by possessing we live, but by life we possess. ~George MacDonald

The Giver asks, “What do you want?”

Check your list–what have you scribbled there? A relationship mended, a kindness extended, money to pay the bills when they come? Respect, recognition, relief from your toil? Maybe to know even one person cares.

Maybe you lost what you once had, and you grieve it, or have waited enough for what may never be.

Perhaps you want others to stop their complaining and ruining the fun you’ve worked hard to enjoy.

The Giver asks, “Why do you want?”

What hole would it fill, what’s really missing? How is the ground more wobbly from the lack? Maybe your identity would come into focus, maybe your courage would be restored. It could be the sameness–you long for a change; it could be the sadness–you long for delight.

Just at dusk, when the lights are turned on in homes and in storefronts, and you see someone baking, or laughing, or arms are loaded with presents–what is the longing that stirs within you? Why does it send you on this annual search?

The Giver asks, “What are you meant for?”

What am I meant for? I forget the answer. I’m lost in my whats, and building a case for my whys.

The Giver responds kindly, “Then I will remind you. There’s one reason for living, two things required: To love me, the Giver, and be my gift to the world.”

The Giver

To give a thing and take again
Is counted meanness among men;
To take away what once is given
Cannot then be the way of heaven!

But human hearts are crumbly stuff,
And never, never love enough,
Therefore God takes and, with a smile,
Puts our best things away a while.

Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn,
Some wish they never had been born;
Some humble grow at last and still,
And then God gives them what they will.

~George MacDonald (1824-1905)

Do you feel the tension between your wanting and  meant-for?

Photo Credit: flickr-alancleaver 

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness–on them light has shined. ~Isaiah 9:2

Christmas lights, thrown-in-the-box tangled strands, as usual.

Januarys come with their own set of tasks, and I hurry through the take-down, not thinking ahead, forgetting how quickly the seasons turn. And here we are.

A new tree (please, drink water), the aroma of Oregon landscape still lingers on its branches, white lights winking, Swedish candelabra plugged into place.

The fire is burning, outdoor decor well-displayed, but all of these Christmas lights leave a pale impression. The darkness avoided, but not gone.

We live in the land between darkness and light, and the shadow brushes us all. Sometimes the lights simply highlight our sorrow. Sometimes the cheer reminds us of gloom. But we’re afraid to say it, we feel disloyal–the season requires we be merry and bright.

Unexpected Light

It was Christmas Eve, forty years ago or so, the family gathered at the farm in Connecticut. Filled with smorgasbord fare, I walked alone “down the lots,” snow crunching under my boots, my breath white in the December air. I paused and tipped my head, entranced by the swath of star-blaze above me.

I talked to God for a moment about some now-forgotten angst, but my words sputtered and stopped. There, in the icy, bare-branched, hushed New England night, I sensed it. A light of a different sort, a voice unspoken, a greatness unseen, a trace of laughter invading the gloom. And I heard the silent song,

Be glad and be merry, all who hold hands with sorrow. Rejoice and dance with your fears in the night. The radiance of Christ comes to every dim corner. No darkness can linger where he is made welcome. No gloom can withstand the gaze of his kindness, for he knows…

Light of Lights

Light of lights! All gloom dispelling,
Thou didst come to make thy dwelling
Here within our world of sight.
Lord, in pity and in power,
Thou didst in our darkest hour
Rend the clouds and show thy light.

Praise to thee in earth and heaven
Now and evermore be given,
Christ, who art our sun and shield.
Lord, for us thy life thou gavest,
Those who trust in thee thou savest,
All thy mercy stands revealed.

St. Thomas Aquinas

I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life. John 8:12

Are you struggling to find light in the darkness? How can we pray for you today?

Photograph, "Homeless in Berkeley," Melanie Hunt

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ~Jesus

All Who Are Weary

The very first Christmas, God threw a party. The proper attire was, “come as you are.” The dress code hasn’t changed, but I don’t really believe it.  I’m the one just outside, checking to see who the bouncers let in. Am I dressed well enough? Better wait and observe. If I stay in the shadows it won’t matter as much, if my name isn’t mentioned on the VIP list.

I pray for a miracle and am shocked when it comes. I wager on freedom yet  stay in my cell. I say I am confident that grace wins the day, then judge every moment by how well I do.

It’s for people like me, and I suspect some of you, that the message of the Bible is, “Come as you are.”

Lay down the burden you weren’t meant to bear–the burden of you. You’ve carried too long the weight of your being. You’ve labored enough to find proof of your worth, a blueprint for earning the space that you take.

What better time than now, as we pause near the stable, waiting in silence for the angel’s glad cue? What better time than Advent, when every carol reminds us the coming of Jesus is a gift, not a pay-check?

There’s no better time than now to give Him your burden–there’s no list by the manger, just a hand-lettered sign that says,

Come as you are.

“Come to God, then, my brother, my sister, with all your desires and instincts, all your lofty ideals.

Come with your longing for purity and unselfishness, all your yearning to love and be true, all your aspirations after self-forgetfulness and child-life in the breath of the Father.

Come to him with all your weaknesses, all your shames, all your futilities.

Come with your helplessness over your own thoughts; with all your failures, yes, the sick sense of having missed the tide of true affairs.

Come to him with all your doubts, fears, dishonesties, meanness, paltriness, misjudgments, weariness, disappointment and staleness.

Be sure he will take you with all your miserable brood into the care of his limitless heart!”

George MacDonald (1824-1905)

What does “Come as you are” mean for you?

Photograph, Southern Oregon, Melanie Hunt

 

Unspeakably wise, he is wisely speechless. Filling the world, he lies in a manger. ~Saint Augustine of Hippo

Paradox: What seems to be contradictory or opposed to common sense and yet is possibly true.

Paradox: Too good to not be true.

We are the ones protective of Christmas–what does Jesus think of our stiff propriety and shock? His coming has always been a paradox, a scandal to those who want God to behave.

From the beginning, it wasn’t tidy, that first Christmas was more shocking than sweet. Joy and sorrow interwoven, the brush of mighty powers and powerless might.

The Real Christmas Story is paradox

Light overcoming the darkness, hatred flees before love. The losers, the left-behind, the ones who don’t count are suddenly counted as great.

The poor and the shy cross the finish line before the rich and the vain. The wise make way for the foolish, the foolish bow to the wise. The Creator of a frightened young mom becomes her helpless child.

This child, worshipped and gifted by kings, will be the king of all. Rulers will mock him, children will love him, the proud will be broken, the broken made whole. The whole world will change by his coming, a change often hidden from view.

Living The Paradox

Christ doesn’t dwell in a box in the attic, neatly kept safe in the space he’s assigned. He doesn’t hide in stained-glass settings, you can find him in line at the mall. He’s not reserved for perfect people, for Norman Rockwell scenery and Hallmark ideals,

Christ comes to the lonely, the angry, the glad.
He comes to the junkie, the pious, the sad.
He comes in answer to kindness or greed.
He won’t be what we asked for, he’ll be what we need.

Have you experienced the paradox of God?

 

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given. ~Phillips Brooks

Addicted To Noise

Silence has no place in this look-at-me world.

“Look at me,” the pickle-man dances, costumed on the street-corner in hopes of sandwich-shop success.  “Look at me,” the newspaper’s Sunday-ads clamor, flooding my kitchen table with extravagant claims.

Everywhere, in this chilly December, blinking lights beguile, merry-music beckons, promising

• prices slashed,
• dreams-come-true,
• the life you’ve always longed for, 30% off.

Noise hogs the microphone, and never stops demanding,

Taste me, try me, fear me, consume me! You will never be happy until you have your fill.

“Oh that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains could quake in your presence,” even the prophet Isaiah cries.

Yes, God, my heart answers. Shake us up, make some noise, topple pretension, upend the arrogant. Make everything right with a loud smack of your hand.

Stunned By Silence

And God’s answer? A tiny child. His entrance, subtle–easy to ignore. No trembling in the mountains, few of us quaking before the God who has, as the prophet pleaded, come down.

“Mild he lays his glory by,” leaving us to pursue our own.

Forgive us, Jesus.

We prance through the season like the pickle-man, trying to make the world go our way. We fling our prayers, our commercial-fed demands, for everything but what we truly need. We turn up the volume, we exalt our efforts, we hog the microphone and claim it is you speaking.

Yet, you entered our world in heartbreaking silence. No ads, no promotion, no stretch limousine. Only a few were told you’d arrived. Only a few seem to know, you have arrived.

“How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given.” What love is this, that it will not beguile and persuade, not shout at and shake us? It’s a love that comes in silence, and yet it comes to stay.

Stop (you will find him). Look (you will see him). Listen (you will hear him). Christ walks among us in this look-at-me world.

What do you do this time of year to receive the gift of silence?

 

I’m grateful for all who subscribed to e-mail this week–we have a winner drawn for a free book, but I hope you all enjoy my blog! Thank you, Melanie Hunt, for your photos, so beautifully complementing this Advent series. Today’s picture was taken in Yosemite.