Friday of the First Week of Advent

I give no offense with my mouth as others do;
   I have heeded the words of your lips.   Psalm 17:4

A fine sheen of mist gilds the full moon and gentles the early winter night. It gets dark so early this time of year, I think, as I walk across the parking lot on my way home from work. I pass the men gathered by the church door, waiting for a meal and a place to sleep on this cold night. I nod at them as I move on.

Earlier in the day, in the same parking lot, I had greeted a couple who were bringing in food to prepare for those men. They didn’t know how many guests to plan for. It’s only by word of mouth that the men in need know the church will welcome and shelter them this night. They cannot be reached by text messages or email blasts, nor send in a reservation.

By word of mouth. Isn’t that how any of us know of God’s goodness, of love, of compassion, of hope? And isn’t it also how any of us know of judgment, humiliation, condemnation?

How often do I give offense with my mouth, I think, as I get in my car and drive toward home. Even by not speaking. By not welcoming. By not offering a word of compassion or care.

By word of mouth. God’s hope entrusted to our lips.



Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

I love you, O Lord my strength,

   O Lord my stronghold, my crag and my haven.

My God, my rock in whom I put my trust,

   my shield, the horn of my salvation, any my refuge;

   you are worthy of praise.   Psalm 18:1-2

My shoes are nowhere to be found. This throws off my tightly planned morning, as time to hunt down missing items was not on the agenda. Bedroom, bathroom, by my desk, in the front hallway, under the couch, the closet. Nothing. This is most exasperating because I am the queen of finding things in our house. I have been known locate my daughters’ or husband’s misplaced books, keys, or cell phones without leaving the comfort of my favorite chair. I make the rounds again, and one more time. It becomes a mantra: bedroom, bathroom, desk, hallway, couch, closet. Nothing. 

I consciously clamp down my exasperation before it rises to fury. I make myself choose another pair of shoes. I move on. Missing shoes seems scant reason for upsetting my entire equilibrium, but I am forever tempted to see disaster where there is only disruption.

But today will not be one of those days. Because while I search, another mantra runs through my head: strength, stronghold, crag, haven, rock, shield, refuge. Words from my morning prayer. How can I not rejoice when God offers me so much?

Strength. Stronghold. Crag. Haven. Rock. Shield. Refuge. Love. I choose Strength. I choose Love. I choose God.

Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

Happy are those whose way is blameless

  who walk in the law of the Lord!  Psalm 119:1

Despite my resolution, I express my irritation at the driver in front of me who cannot seem to make up his mind. Is he stopping, turning, parking? “Turn signals are always welcome,” I say out loud although I am the only one in the car. And then I sigh at myself. I am always promising myself that I will resist ranting at other drivers. And I am always failing at this promise. And I know, all too well, that my outbursts do not result in better driving on the part of others, but rather increased exasperation for myself. Nor am I a faultless driver.

My way is hardly blameless. Ever. It would be nice. And I bet they are happy, those people who are virtuous and guiltless. But who are they? Who is it that can walk in the law of the Lord, perfectly, without straying off the path of righteousness?

And then I remember that the law of the Lord is love and faithfulness. It is not hardship. And I have experienced this love and care. I have run into it in all sorts of unexpected places. Including busy streets on a December afternoon.

The Advent invitation is clear: to step onto the path, to wend our way toward Bethlehem, to look for the highway in the wilderness that is straight and true and even. And to trust in the goodness of God, who prepares for us once and for all, and again and again, the gift of salvation.

Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice;
   early in the morning I make my appeal and watch for you.  Psalm 5:3

We have spent the last several days in a different time zone, and the morning, with its demands of work and school and wakefulness, arrives like an underserved blow.

“It’s like four in the morning,” my sleepy teenager protests as she heads out the door. 

“No, don’t say that,” I advise. I know the power of perception. It will feel less tiring, less of an affront, less ridiculously early if I align myself with the present time zone, with the current reality.

Shifting realities takes energy. Holding onto time that is no longer current can be more exhausting than the lack of sleep such switches bring.

Time. And on this Advent morning, I wonder how to align myself with God’s time. How often have I tired myself by contorting my deeds and expectations into a false sense of urgency? Today, I pray for synchronicity, that I may walk to the gentle rhythm of God’s desires. I pray for the gift of humble watchfulness.



copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2014

Monday of the First Week of Advent

Feast of St. Andrew, transferred

Sing to the Lord and bless his Name;

  proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day.  Psalm 96:2

It remains dark in this desert valley until the mountains tip just enough toward the sun that its light begins to soak into the rugged landscape. With the light comes definition, swathes of grey giving way to crags and gloriously uneven peaks, and I notice it is the shadows that provide contour and explanation. Without their shade, there would be no shape. Nothing to see, nothing to know or understand. This morning, and every morning, the shadows are both revealed and revealing.

I am preparing to leave this western clime to head home. And I am preparing to step on the Advent path, turning my expectations simultaneously to Bethlehem and to the second coming. The immediate anticipation is more easily lived into; do I really know how to hope for Christ coming in glory, for the eschaton, the end of the world?

The revelation of the mountains, the play of the shadows, remind me that day to day the glories of God are unveiled anew. Day to day salvation is at hand. And day to day I am invited to sing and bless and proclaim the advent of this miracle.

copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2014

Expectant

Advent is upon us, and once again I prepare to walk the path that is familiar and new. This year, I am cognizant of the light and shadow of the landscape. I contemplate vistas and visions. Throughways and byways. Ways around and ways in.

And always the Word, the Way, the One.

God be in my eyes

I miss the old glass. This was the summer we installed replacement windows in our hundred-year-old house. They look quite handsome from the street, and the beautiful wood sills and trim remain intact on the inside. I am already grateful that we will not be heating the surrounding sidewalk and alley this winter. I will not miss the loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead rattle when the wind is fierce, or the need to prop sashes open with books. But as I sit in prayer in the early morning and gaze out onto the street, most of the view comprised by the late summer fullness of the red maple, everything looks different.

Gone is the barely perceptible bend and twist caused by the varying thickness of the antique glass, what might be termed distortion, but what I prefer to think of as flow. And beauty. Like looking through still water. Like seeing the current of time. Like gazing through the same window that another woman gazed through generations ago, and while the street and tree are different the glass is not. But now it is. And I feel the loss.

Many lenses are available to us through which to look out onto God’s creation, and into our own souls. Love. Gentleness. Longing. Doubt. Mistrust. Hurt. Patience. Humility. Gratitude. Some change with time. Others with circumstance. Still others, with purpose. Perception is not only about clarity of vision, but also intention of the heart. What narrative we prefer to tell. Upon what we choose to set our gaze. To which lenses we cling. How open we are to God’s grace working within us, upon us, around us.

Myriad viewpoints. Abundant grace. May God be in my eyes, and in my looking.


God be in my head, and in my understanding;
God be in mine eyes, and in my looking;
God be in my mouth, and in my speaking;
God be in my heart, and in my thinking;
God be at mine end, and at my departing.
                                  Sarum Primer 1514


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