Restoration

Christmas Day

How beautiful upon the mountains
are the feet of the messenger who announces peace
Isaiah 52:7

How beautiful upon the mountains

  are the feet of the messenger who announces peace

pure poetry, Isaiah’s words

I wish I could read and translate the Hebrew

in which the prophet’s words are recorded

words that echo across centuries

Isaiah ben Amoz lived and spoke in the 8th c BCE

yet what we know as the Book of Isaiah, which has 66 chapters,

is really the work of more than one prophet

and spans two or three hundred years of history

So, these words handed down to us

spoken in our worship today

are 2500 years old or older

words that have traveled over the rough places and the plain

words that have been reverently spoken in worship

and lifted up by individuals

seeking comfort and consolation

words prayed in so many different languages

How beautiful upon the mountains

  are the feet of the messenger who announces peace,

another translation--

how welcome on the mountain

are the footsteps of the herald

announcing happiness [The Jewish Study Bible, second edition]

it evokes images of those keeping watch at a look-out

keeping alert to warn of danger or attack approaching

and what they see

is one coming who is out in the open

a friend who brings good news in a time of war

one whose message is: it’s over

the bad times are over

Isaiah’s promise of restoration

is much needed solace for our time

God’s restoration comes again and again

and I would dare to say this morning--

this Christmas Day

when we give our all to the birth of Jesus

the prophesied messiah

our Savior

God coming into the world fully human

open to knowing suffering and pain and loss--

I would dare to say this morning

that God’s restoration is available to us even in the midst

of calamity and suffering

it is easy to hold God responsible--

although many would not claim to blame God for their troubles

it is kind of what we do when we say things like

“God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle”

it suggests that God spends every moment of every day

deciding what happens to each person

when we are honest with ourselves

we know much human suffering comes from human action

from human choices

and choices we make affect not only us but others

a more helpful understanding of God’s presence in our lives I think

would be knowing that when we encounter the evil and suffering of the world

  God does not abandon us

even when it feels like that sometimes

God being fully human in Jesus

means that our grief and despair

as well as our joys and comfort

are something God knows

How beautiful upon the mountains

  are the feet of the messenger who announces peace,

keep your eyes and your hearts open

for God’s restoration

be alert for messengers of good news

that you might otherwise overlook

Christmas has come

Christ has been born

The words of Isaiah

God’s word

the Word made flesh

lives among us

full of grace and truth

Image by Hanneke Visschers from Pixabay

Awesome

 Christmas Eve 

Come now and look upon the works of the Lord,
what awesome things he has done on earth.
Psalm 46:9

Once again, the pageant rehearsal ushers Christmas across the threshold. This year the shepherds, angels, wise guys, our seven-week-old baby Jesus, and four different Marys energetically gather on several Zoom screens. The star dances enthusiastically, a family dog adds his voice, and baby Jesus takes a break for a diaper change.

This is embodied faith. And I honestly think this is why the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Who could possibly want to miss out on this awesome joy?

Early this evening the children will share the sacred story once again. Travelers from the East and West and all over will gather in the holy space we create online with community. And once again, in the fullness of time, God will break into the world with the cry of a newborn.

Image by Ulrike W. from Pixabay

Unexpected

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

From the rising of the sun to its going down
let the name of the Lord be praised
Psalm 113:3

Today has been all sorts of unexpected. The long-awaited pandemic-delayed contractor was able to stop by, three more angels agreed to join tomorrow’s Zoom pageant, and some kind souls dropped off 70 bags of food for our church pantry. My mantra for the day has been “it’s all good.” And indeed it is.

Christmas is coming—nothing can stop it. It is time now for me to let the wave of holy expectation carry me the final miles to the manger.

The sun has set, and I continue to praise God, who is so very good.

Long road

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

I love the Lord, because he has heard the voice of my supplication,

because he has inclined his ear to me whenever I called upon him.

Psalm 116:1

It has been a long road and I am weary, yet the destination still lies ahead. The Advent road will inevitably usher me to the manger where I will gather with friendly beasts, and shepherds, and angels, and other bystanders to bask in the light of holiness.

At the same time, I know that the way of faith I travel continues on, and that the destination on this path will forever be ahead. 

But as I look back on the way traveled and travailed, I see the presence of love over and over again. So I know that love must be ever before me as well.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Aching for blessing

 Monday of the Fourth Week of Advent

May you be blessed by the Lord
the maker of heaven and earth.
Psalm 115:15

It is suddenly dark. Of course, it is the shortest day of the year, and I knew this was coming, but I forgot. The conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn also escaped my mind, but as it was overcast I’m not sure I could have seen it. I will try again tomorrow. It won’t be as close, but still…

Today my soul is caught in the in-between. Preparing joyful rituals to put out into the world, and aching for those that cannot be celebrated this year. And behind that ache is a deeper knowledge that so much has changed and will not be the same again.

I wonder what the faithful thought 800 years ago as they noticed the miraculous in the night sky. Perhaps they thought God was doing a new thing in the heavens. Perhaps they thought it signaled a change. Perhaps they saw it as a blessing.

And I wonder what blessing the Creator of all things—of heaven, of earth, of each one of us, of each squirrel and evergreen and star—is about to pour upon us.

Image copyright ©Wendy Denn

Creative presence

 Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

You trace my journeys and my resting-places
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Psalm 139:2

The day has been accompanied by mandola, piano, and voice as my household prepares for the worship to come. Other hands and voices in other homes are also readying themselves for when we will gather our community in prayer, pageant, and celebration next week for Christmas. The gathering will be different this year, as we will all be in our homes. Nevertheless, we will be present to one another in the sacred space we create together virtually. 

This is one of the gifts that our church community has discovered--while we may not be in the same building, we are in person. We see each other. Talk with each other. Share concerns and gratitudes. Laugh. Listen. Pray. We bring our whole selves. We embody our baptismal faith.

This community is of God’s making, and the Holy One is omnipresent. Our journeys, our resting-places, our rising up and sitting down are all known—traced by a steady hand and accompanied by unrelenting love.

We have placed ourselves in God’s hands, and our community has become the sacrament. 

Image by iwanna from Pixabay

Wholehearted

 Friday of the Third Week of Advent

Make me hear of joy and gladness,
that the body you have broken may rejoice.
Psalm 51:9

The naked tree limbs etched across the pale winter sky remind me of the bareness through which Advent often winds. When the way is hard, gladness seems remote—and I have been on this way much longer than the number of purple-blue days on the calendar. 

I do not seek ungrounded joy, or a happiness that glosses over despair, singing without acknowledging those who weep. I want to sing to the pain in the world, to meet it where it sits, and invite it to lessen its suffocating grip. And I bend my ears toward the songs of others that are honest, soulful, heartfelt.

To be wholehearted is to bring to any moment all that the heart contains: Old loves, fresh sorrows, long-practiced rhythms, well-worn treasures, new delights, curated wisdom, expansiveness.

May I wholeheartedly give in to this season, and remember that in the dead of winter, while spring lies frozen underground, Emmanuel is born, God with us.

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

Inevitable strength

 Thursday of the Third Week of Advent

My eyes are fixed on you, O my Strength;
for you, O God, are my stronghold.
Psalm 59:10

More often than not these days, I forget what I am doing. Brain fog is my constant companion as I drift in and out—of a room, of my email in-box, of a zoom meeting. I lose hold of the point I was going to make, what I was going to do next, what I was doing just now. It’s pretty much impossible to multitask as even singletasking can be a challenge. My priorities shift and shift again as I navigate this landscape that has become somewhat familiar in a vague and confused sort of way.

This year more than ever, the Advent journey reminds me that God’s path does not disappear but is always before me. In my waking and my sleeping, I move inevitably closer to the unveiling of God’s glorious mystery. Everywhere I look I can see the evidence of the holy: in children showing off their Christmas trees, in early morning pristine snow, in the gift of a generous stranger.

God, my strength, holds true when all else is rocky. God’s love shines clear when the way is dim. God’s light compels my gaze and keeps my footsteps sure.

Image by Jörg Vieli from Pixabay

Seek

 Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

God looks down from heaven upon us all,
to see if there is any who is wise,
if there is one who seeks after God
Psalm 53:2

After taking up residency sometime in March, uncertainty has now overstayed her welcome in my home and in my soul. There’s not much else to say, nor really anything to do. Is it safe? Is it smart? Is it wise? The questions follow me around, my own personal Greek chorus.

I know I am not in this alone. This is the world we live in now. It is the way it is. And yet, it is not all. The all is holiness. The all is taking off our shoes in the presence of the bush that burns but is not consumed because this is sacred ground. The all is about to shatter the stillness of a long night with a newborn cry. 

God searches out my uncertainty, gently encompasses it with extraordinary wholeness, and tenderly guides my feet and my gaze toward the wisdom found in seeking.

Image by Clem Cou from Pixabay

Hand full of justice

 Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent

Your praise, like your name, O God,
reaches to the world’s end;
your right hand is full of justice.
Psalm 48:8

As we pass the midway point of Advent, the sense of urgency increases. In my church context, I experience this in the kind of calls I am receiving: people wanting to donate to our food pantry, people with clothing and toys for children, people offering to pay a bill for someone in need. What they want from me is a yes. Yes, I can accept their gift and usher it along its way.

Giving is a sacred act—so is honoring the need of the giver to give. Each time I answer such a call, I feel my heart expand with the wonder of God’s reach in the world. And whether they know it or not, these strangers are also aiding justice. They know the world is not fair and reasonable, and they want to do something about that.

As we await the arrival of the Prince of Peace, this year especially I do not want to lose sight that this is our savior, who comes to establish justice and righteousness. If we fully commit to the journey toward Bethlehem, we are compelled to keep traveling the salvation road. We also are called to become bearers of justice in the world.

Sculpture, "Together for Peace and Justice" Ensemble pour la Paix et la Justice by Xavier de Fraissinette, in the Parc de la Tête-d’Or in Lyon, France

Image by Ben Kerckx from Pixabay

The home way

 Monday of the Third Week of Advent

Our heart never turned back,
nor did our footsteps stray from your path.
Psalm 44:18

Of course, the Advent journey is different this year. The path I walk during this season of expectation is always slightly off from the way of the world around me, and always inviting me to reflect on the juxtaposition of these differing trajectories. 

This time, the paths I walk, and the scope of my travel are vastly different. The Advent journey is not accompanying me to the mall, or into crowds, or along dark roads at night. Now my journeying most often takes me from one room in my house to another. 

Throughout the day, I traverse the different spaces in my home, my travels never a far distance, yet still I am journeying. My movement toward the manger, my progress on this spiritual endeavor, my trek to make straight the way in the wilderness, continue. My walk with Christ in my own home is nevertheless a walk.

Is it possible to stray from God’s path? Do not all ways belong to God? Perhaps when it comes to straying, it is my heart rather than my feet which needs attending.

Image by Klaus Hausmann from Pixabay

Majesty, warning, unseen grace

 Saturday of the Second Week of Advent

As the deer longs for the water-brooks,
so longs my soul for you, O God.
Psalm 42:1

On our late afternoon walk, we watch as a majestic hawk alights near us, and then takes flight again. A few feet further on, we hear the anxious call of a squirrel and then see her, rigid on a tree branch, sounding a warning because of the hawk. And I know that, unseen, the deer are nearby too, their graceful movements hidden within the brown upon brown winter landscape.

Advent is all these creatures: majesty, warning, unseen grace. And I wonder, are they waiting also? Do they share my sense of longing for God to break into creation? Do they yearn to be overcome with joy? Do they thirst for all to be right with the world?

These creatures and I are inextricably tied to one another. They are not only along my path, they are on the journey with me to the manger. With all of God’s creation, we await the cry of a newborn to once again shatter our world and make all things new.

Image credit: anthonysr1955 / 123RF Stock Photo

Evening prayer

 Friday of the Second Week of Advent

For they do not plan for peace,
but invent deceitful schemes
against the quiet in the land.
Psalm 35:20

As dusk gives way to nightfall, I prepare for another quiet evening at home. The darkness is comforting—the familiar attendant ushering me toward the transition to a different kind of time and space.

Lately, I have been lighting candles in the evening, just to have the company of a bravely dancing flame casting a small halo of rich color above the wick. Another miracle of oxygen.

I am also familiar with the forces that cannot abide the quiet, that constantly lure me with the clamor of false promises of security, even whispering that the night must be kept at bay. As if God had not named the darkness and woven it into creation. As if peace was absent from the blackness of midnight.

I settle in. I give thanks for the day that is past. And I remember that we can only see the stars at night.

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

Give away

 Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

The wicked borrow and do not repay,
but the righteous are generous in giving.
Psalm 37:22

The Advent road is bumpy, marred by jagged patches of deception I honestly think this is true every year as we count the “shopping days” left until Christmas, but this year it seems the not-really-at-all-subtle advertising about what we can purchase to make us happy and make all the pain go away is relentless.

It comes back to scarcity and abundance. When I believe in an economy of scarcity, I become a taker. I know myself. When I feel worried, or fearful, or left on my own, I count how much is available and try my best to hold onto enough of whatever it is so that I won’t come up short.

But God’s economy is one of abundance, where giving away is the key to being full. Give away love, give away joy, give away peace---and what happens? When we are generous, we find ourselves in right relationship with God. And then of course with everyone else.

Image by Zorro4 from Pixabay

Bewildered

 Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

Turn my eyes from watching what is worthless;
give me life in your ways.
Psalm 119:37

Today I had the word bewildered gifted to me, opened to me in a new way. Bewildered. To be in the wilderness. To be wildernessed (if I can make up my own word, and I think I will). To have the wilderness happen to you. The wilderness is happening to me and all around me. And to everyone I know. And to everyone I don’t know. After all, there is not a single human being in the entire world unaffected by the pandemic.

Advent, too, is a bewildering time, a wild time. After all, the voice of Advent is the voice crying out in the wilderness. This time, this way, can be baffling, disconcerting, incomprehensible. What orients me is the presence of the holy. Knowing it is there. Softening my gaze so that what is harsh is diminished and God’s wonders come astonishingly into focus.

There is life in the wilderness. There is life along this way. Choosing to walk the wild way of Advent is setting one’s face toward the manger, and birth, and new life, and life everlasting.

Note: Thank you to my friend Stuart Hubbard Hoke for the gift of bewildered
Image by mostafa meraji from Pixabay

Anytime

 Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent

You have given me a mere handful of days,
and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight;
truly, even those who stand erect are but a puff of wind.
Psalm 39:6

Some things take the time they take. Maybe all things.

Time has collapsed over these last months, so that many of us are not sure what day it is, or as I heard one of my favorite NPR commentators say, every day is Blursday. I have found it eases my way to give in to the slowness. In the early panic of the pandemic, I aspired to many plans, solutions, adaptations, iterations. Accomplishment finally gave way to gentleness when I remembered—and remembered—who holds us all.

I have risked letting things be, given my energy level permission to rewrite the rhythm of my day, opened myself the unhurried discernment of community. And I find that the Holy One continues to weave wonders. 

It is no illusion that the hours of the day move differently now. I think perhaps time has never been as domesticated as we thought. And as my lifetime is a mere handful of days to the author of time, why rush as if I could be anytime but now?

Image by Harald Lepisk from Pixabay

Web of generosity

 Monday of the Second Week of Advent

I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with my whole heart;
I will tell of your marvelous works.
Psalm 9:1

The day has been full. With the scheduled and the unscheduled. And then I wonder, why do I place occurrences into this binary? The words are themselves a trap, limiting the way of life and the way of faith to what can be arranged, planned, programmed, booked, listed. God’s abundance defies lists. It encompasses all and more and the in-between.

It is the fabric of the day for which I am grateful. All the connections, the inter-weavings, the way so many people and places and events are intertwined. In the same day I receive a call from someone needing to know how to access our food pantry and another from someone wanting to donate food. This is more than a simple balanced exchange. It speaks of the movement of the universe, of people connected by an entire web of generosity, of our human need and ability to reach out, across, toward, beyond in order to be community.

We yearn for one another with our whole hearts. God has given us these hearts and this yearning. And the same God fills each day with marvel and has still more to give.

Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay

Tranquility

 Saturday of the First Week of Advent 

Turn again to your rest, O my soul
for the Lord has treated you well.
Psalm 116:6

The sun sets and the quiet of the evening settles over me. In the stillness, I feel something within me that I finally identify as contentment. It has been a long time.

Contentment has been hard to come by in the past ten months. Yet it is one of God’s gifts. God who created the depths of the oceans out of a word, and flung stars and planets into the patterns of the universe, also created rest. Serenity, satisfaction, ease. All belong to the rhythm of human life.

With the end of this day comes the end of the first week of Advent. Tomorrow we will light two candles on our wreath, increasing the light which illumines our way forward. The way of waiting continues toward the promised brightness ahead. And because I can, and because I hear an invitation to bear this gift, I will pack up this evening’s tranquility and carry it with me.

Image by Evgeni Tcherkasski from Pixabay

A Better Way

 Friday of the First Week of Advent

I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel;
my heart teaches me night after night.
Psalm 16:7

Some days seem to provide gift after gift. I hunger for these this season. Even in good times, I can allow the frustrations of any day overshadow God’s obvious presence. This Advent it seems to take more intentional energy to focus on moments of delight. Yet each time I do, I am reminded that acknowledging one small goodness brings other good news to light.

Today’s uplifting encounter arrives via text message. My friend Francie and I check in with each other. How are we. Is everyone in our homes safe. She recommends a book she thinks I will like, and then the excellent news of a project she has completed. And then she shares a gift she has discovered in this COVID-season. “God can use anything to try to teach us a better way,” she tells me. I savor this invitation and it becomes my mantra for the day.

This evening, my spouse and I will light the Advent wreath on our table, and that one flame will remind us of God’s promise. And before I sleep, I will recount the blessings of this day. And with Francie’s gift, I will also look for the insight, counsel, and wisdom with which the Holy One paves our way.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

Stalwart haven

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

I love you, O Lord my strength
O Lord my stronghold,
my crag, and my haven.
Psalm 18:1

Some days my faith feels fuzzy or ephemeral; I know it is there, but I cannot grab hold of it. It does not seem solid enough to hold me, much less carry me through the challenges awaiting me and everyone else. And that is what makes this time so difficult. All of us are living with the plague. No one is immune from the stress that constantly consumes a certain amount of our physical, psychological, and emotional well-being.

We are in this together. And I realize today that “this” includes our faith. My faith is not a solitary thing; it lives in the context of my community, is fed by the faithfulness of others. My faith exists in response to the faithfulness of the One who is ever-faithful. Who never stops loving me, caring for me, forgiving me, calling me, holding me. My rock, my strength, my crag, my stronghold. My haven.

Today I am grateful that God is not ephemeral or hazy or nebulous. I grateful that God is a rock. Stalwart. A tower of strength. I am grateful that I can depend on this, that I can know that when I am shaky, God is not.

Image by Beverly Lussier from Pixabay

Wellspring of solace

 Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

How long shall I have perplexity in my mind,
and grief in my heart, day after day?
how long shall my enemy triumph over me?
Psalm 13:2

The grief of this time often catches me unawares. Sometimes it creeps up on me, slowly invading the pocket of balance I think I have discovered within this world of pain. Sometimes it hits me in the gut, and my insides physically contract. Sometimes it is like a long wail that accompanies me throughout the day, always in the background as I try to answer to the mundane.

Often it takes me COVID-length moments to identify the loss. Loss of certainty, loss of proficiency, loss of understanding, loss of a path to follow that makes any sense at all. Loss of the ability to simply keep track of days, times, dates, tasks. Did I do that? Did I send that? Did I answer that? Did I miss that?

This is enemy territory, and I am not alone. Not alone in the suffering. And not alone in the solace. Everywhere I turn, in the expected as well as unanticipated places, I discover salve for my bruised soul. The gift of balm bubbles up, perpetually replenished, recalling me to sacred ground, sustaining my next step, and the next.

Image by Florian Kurz from Pixabay

Measureless

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

Give ears to my words, O Lord;
consider my meditation.
Psalm 5:1

I step into the stillness as if it were a pool of afternoon light. It has been there, waiting for me, anticipating my captured attention. At times, I have disciplined myself into the quiet moment, used well-worn ritual to navigate my way across the threshold onto sacred ground. As if all ground were not sacred. As if all moments did not offer holy encounter.

Over the past ten months, I have stumbled across openings for meditation scattered across my path, have heard the invitation for contemplation in the gentle call of windchimes. I have encountered the fluidity of prayer that at first seemed like scattered gasps until I dismantled barriers of correctness I had constructed between me and my creator. 

I yield to the stillness as God takes my measure, hears words I utter and those I have not yet formed, and gathers me into the measureless grace tendered across ordinary time.

Image by dre2uomaha0 from Pixabay