Category Archives: Advent2015

Comfort, O Comfort

Readings: Psalm 126; Isaiah 40:1-11; Romans 8:22-25

“Comfort, O comfort my people”, says your God. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term…” Isaiah 40:1-2

Comfort who? Cry out about what and to whom? The basic concept for comfort in both the Old and New Testaments is encouragement, whether by word or presence in time of need. Synonymous words for comfort are console, help, give relief, cheer up, exhort, and fear not. Of course, I am called to comfort my neighbor who has placed his wife in a nursing home and the friend who needs support after surgery. But does this passage call me to more?

How can I bring comfort to the exiles of today – those fleeing oppression in Syria, Libya, Iraq, and Afghanistan, or those who feel separated from their church? Is prayer or a financial contribution enough or do I need to cry out? How do I cry out to prepare a way for God’s coming in 2015? Can I challenge people to resist the extreme commercialism of Christmas that makes a mockery of the true meaning of Jesus’ coming among us? Can I stop procrastinating in replacing my worn bumper sticker “Live simply that others might simply live?” Can I sign petitions that call for an end to unjust war or to the death penalty? Can I encourage people to learn the positions of presidential candidates and encourage them to make their choice based on a deeper understanding of Jesus’ exhortation in the Judgment of the Nations (Matthew 26:31-46).

I am reminded of the quote that has been attributed to many people – “Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” Can my small voice bring comfort and hope? Should my small voice challenge? How can my small voice say “here is your God?” Advent invites me to look at these questions anew and to be not afraid of what I see.

Come, Shepherd Jesus. Comfort and guide us.

Offered by Ann Fowler, spiritual director, hearer and speaker of the Good News.

Street, River, Wild

Readings: Malachi 3:1-4 or Baruch 5:1-9, Philippians 1:3-11, Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
“The voice of the one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” Luke 3:1-6

Main street in Wareham village looks good. New sidewalks and lights, gardens and trees make it a welcoming place – a federally funded facelift that encourages tourists and residents alike to spend time here. Riverside Cafe serves a tasty breakfast at a low price, Twigs & Tides offers the wares of local artists, Minerva’s has great pizza, and the post office staff is friendly and efficient. Bait and tackle, dog grooming, legal advice, haircuts, chiropractic adjustment, and gas for the car are all here in this half mile space.

The odd thing about Main Street: the businesses closest to the Agawam river face away from the water. Changing tides and graceful wildlife are blocked from view by walls, storage rooms, and dumpsters. Riverside Cafe’s customers see the insurance office, but not the river. The exception is Cafe Soleil; when it was Merchant’s Way Cafe years back, the owners built the dining room on the water side.

The Agawam has its own life, not limited to the needs and preferences of the people who currently live near it. It flows with fresh water and salty tides, swaddles fish and oysters and the diving birds that eat them; it hosts fisher cats and coyotes, and destroys homes and streets when it floods. I wonder if these buildings turn away from the river to avoid facing this fearfully and wonderfully made wilderness right in the middle of Wareham – and if they are aware that the road they crouch around leads to the wilderness at their backs.

The word of God didn’t come to Main street, with its town leaders and clergy. It didn’t come to those who stick to the paved streets and never give the wilderness in their sight (much less the wilderness beyond them) a second glance. It came to the radical son of a priest who left the safety of sidewalks and streetlights for the danger and beauty of a wilderness unmarked and unexplored by the tame and fearful. John brought this word of God to the Jordan, coming to the edge of civilization to preach and baptize. He traded the wilderness outside, made holy by the voice of God, for the wilderness of desperate human hearts and spirits. Those who heard God’s word repented, turning around to face the unknown and plunge into the river at its edge, preparing and waiting for the Lord.

It’s not easy to turn around and face the wilderness, and it offers little to gain in way of fame or fortune. I hope I have the courage and good sense to turn anyway: it’s the only way I’ll see the salvation of God in my broken, small, holy life.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Leaving It All Behind

Readings: Luke 1:68-79, Malachi 4:1-6, Luke 9:1-6

Then Jesus called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. He said to them, “Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money – not even an extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.” They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere. Luke 9:1-6

We come into the world naked and without possessions; when we die, we take nothing with us. In between, we collect clothes and forks and skills. We settle into houses or apartments, learn to read and cook, and join our families and friends in this shared adventure called life. How easy would it be for us to leave it all behind, trusting the journey and the people we’ll meet on it, taking only companions by our sides and prayers in our hearts?

We don’t choose where we begin life. We enter and stay in whatever family we happen to be born into, and we leave childhood behind from there. If we’ve been blessed with adequate food, clothing, shelter, and a family who loves us well, we don’t carry much emotional baggage. If we’ve been without adequate food, clothing, shelter, or have a family who loves us in damaging ways, we carry the burden of pain with us wherever we go.

Jesus knew what burdens his twelve disciples carried, both small and large: insecurity, mistrust, grief, hatred, and fear. Before sending them out into the great big world, he gave them the best travel advice: don’t take anything that weighs you down. Travel lightly so your attention is on who and where you are, not on your luggage. Stay wherever you are welcome. When you aren’t welcome, leave that awful feeling behind you. 

I don’t think shaking the dust off our feet is so much a testimony against those who rejected us as much as it is a symbol of our firm belief that rejection is never the last word. Welcome awaits in other homes in this life, and in the Kingdom of God in the next. This is true, no matter where we start out, and such good news has the power to heal.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Open and Shut

Readings: Luke 1:68-79, Malachi 3:13-18, Philippians 1:18b-26

By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us,

to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Luke 1:78-79

In my teens, I lived in a house on a pond, surrounded by trees, five miles away from the town’s small center. There were few streetlights on my road, and none within eyesight of my house. Late one summer night, I set out on foot for home from my friend’s house. Turning a corner, I lost sight of her porch light. There was no moon or other light. I was walking in a darkness so deep that even my body disappeared into it. Since it was only a short distance, I decided to walk it blind. I could tell if I went off the pavement by the change in sound and feel – the sandy roadside felt soft under my shoes and made a raspy sound when I wandered into it. Frogs croaked, crickets fiddled, and the sound of wings seemed everywhere in the trees. With eyes closed, I made my way down the road. I kept them closed until I stepped on my own driveway. When I opened them, the light by the door was a dazzling welcome home.

I’ve wondered many times why I didn’t keep my eyes open that night. I’d have seen the light many steps before reaching my driveway. I think I was trying to pretend that the darkness wasn’t really out there, that the simple act of closing my eyes could reduce it to something within my power to change. In the end, I held onto the dark longer than it held onto me.

Zechariah’s son John knew about darkness, and he didn’t close his eyes. When the light appeared, he welcomed it with eyes and heart open. Perhaps that’s why he spent his life telling anyone who would listen, “Open your eyes!”

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

My #1 Son Plays Second Fiddle

Readings: Luke 1:68-79, Malachi 3:5-12, Philippians 1:12-18a

“Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,

because he has come to his people and redeemed them.

He has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David

(as he said through his holy prophets long ago)

salvation from our enemies and from the had of all who hate us –

to show mercy to our ancestors

and to remember his holy covenant,

the oath he swore to our father Abraham:

to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,

and to enable us to serve him without fear

in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

And you, my child, will be called to be a prophet of the Most High:

for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,

to give his people the knowledge of salvation

through the forgiveness of their sins,

because of the tender mercy of our God,

by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven

to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death,

to guide our feet into the path of peace.” Luke 1:68-79, NIV

 

My four children are the brightest, best behaved, hardest working, most wonderful children ever born.  And I’m sure that if you were to meet them you’d agree. Well, maybe you wouldn’t, especially if you have children yourself. If you do, I’m sure you would nominate them for top honors, right? After all, fathers are supposed to feel this way about their children. Imagine a normal father not thinking that his son was the greatest, most important child ever born. I don’t think there’s ever been a dad that didn’t feel this way about his #1 son. Oops, maybe I’m wrong.  Zechariah may be the one exception. The is passage from Luke’s gospel is called “Zechariah’s Song”. In this rhapsody, Zechariah reflects on what God is going to do in the world through the soon-to-be-born Messiah (verses 68-75). Then he rejoices in the supportive role that his own son, known to us as John the Baptist, will have in preparing the way for Jesus (verses 76-79).  In other words, old Zechariah’s #1 son is going to play second fiddle to Mary’s little boy. Playing second fiddle isn’t something that many of us relish. By nature we crave attention and the limelight. We want our efforts and accomplishments to be noticed and rewarded. Humility and servanthood aren’t things that come naturally to us. Zechariah’s boy, John, would grow up to show us another way, though—the way of self-denial. He would be quick to recognize that God always deserves first place. Remember his famous admission that “[Jesus] must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:30) Or, as the Apostle Paul, writing from his persecution jail cell, would say—

I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel.  As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ.  And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear.  (Philippians 1:12-14 NIV)

There’s nothing wrong with second fiddle. Especially when we realize that this is the role for which we were created: “…prophets of the Most High… prepare the way for the Lord… give his people the knowledge of salvation…”  We are Christ’s ambassadors; not representing our own interests, nor satisfying our own desires, but representing Christ and doing his will. To God be the Glory!

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Offered by David Shaw, Pastor, Emmanuel Church of the Nazarene, Wareham, MA, and child of God.

 

Dwelling Place

Readings: Psalm 90, Isaiah 1:24-31, Luke 11:29-32

Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth,

or ever you had formed the earth and the world,

from everlasting to everlasting you are God. Psalm 90:1-2

The world didn’t begin at my birth, and it won’t end when I take my last breath. All generations find their home in God, not just the ones right before and right after mine. Wherever and whenever this human family lives, there and then is God.

God didn’t begin at the birth of my planet, and God will be present when the earth breathes its last. God was present at the birth of space/time. If this universe is unmade in some distant millennium, if all possible worlds come to an end, God will hold even that fast. All wherevers and whenevers dwell in God.

But this is the time for me to dwell in God and on this earth. Finding myself in God and finding my place in the world aren’t two separate adventures, just two perspectives on a single journey. I know it’s a sacred journey because God walked it from beginning to end, birth through death to resurrection.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Joy and Affliction

Readings: Psalm 90, 2 Samuel 7:18-29, Revelation 22:12-16

“Make us glad according to the days Thou hast afflicted us. . .”  — Psalm 90:15

In January this year, I decided to take a different tack from the usual making of resolutions ritual.  Instead, I chose to adopt a one word action plan as presented at www.GetOneWord.com. My word for 2015 has been Joy.

Holding Joy in my consciousness has produced interesting manifestations and awarenesses.  I included it in an oft-used computer password, a practice that helped me experience it multiple times a day as a gentle reminding mantra.  I created a Joy board on Pinterest and was surprised by the images that came to me in response to that concept.  For example, who knew the color orange connotes joy for me or that viewing images of a lone canoe beached on a shore or running water out of a spigot would make me feel joyful?

Mostly, however, I found Joy this year as an offshoot out of misery.  Far from that being paradoxical, it has seemed organic.  Referencing the above Scripture, I wonder how glad I have been in my afflictions.

My son became seriously ill and was, after a few weeks of experiencing progressively more concerning symptoms, diagnosed with Addison’s Disease, a life threatening condition if untreated.  This challenge came right as he was finishing up his senior year in high school preparatory to graduating.  For a couple months, we were deeply worried that he might not make it to that most tremendous rite of passage.  Graduation, a time of Joy for families, became a secondary goal to surviving.

After the surviving component (the affliction) was ultimately successfully medically addressed, then it was possible to focus on the Joy of our son’s graduation.  This Joy was enhanced by the emotional relief of having just come out the other side of dark times.

All of which leaves me wondering . . . have I been glad for the opportunity to experience Joy augmented by tribulation?  Would my son’s graduation have been as emotionally sweet for me it it hadn’t been threatened just as he and we were coming down the finish line of his educational race?  Did it feel like a greater accomplishment — an event worthy of eliciting true Joy — because of the weeks of emotional pain and suffering that preceded it?

Please accept my contribution to today’s blog as a reminder that pain often is a precursor to Joy.  Babies arrive after labors that involve pain, blood, and the physical violence of hard pushing.  They don’t just float in on a cloud.  Soldiers returning from war zones find enhanced pleasure in simple day-to-day activities such as sitting quietly drinking a cup of coffee, not under imminent attack from anything or anyone.

Joy can, and often does, arise out of distress.  Rather than throwing so much energy into trying to head misery off at the pass which, in my experience, never works anyway since it just charges its way on in, I’m trying to learn how to embrace it.  It had many lessons to teach me this year and, truthfully, because I went through it (not around, up, down, under, or over it) I came out the other side and was able to feel heightened Joy.  I was, if not glad, at least accepting that I had been afflicted.

No doubt future hardships await my experience.  I will try to receive them with wisdom, recognizing them as opportunities for learning and eventual Joy.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Offered by Jill Fredrickson, teacher, mother, child of God.

 

What is important

Readings: Psalm 90; Numbers 17:1-11; 2 Peter 3:1-8a

So teach us to number our days that we get a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

...with the Lord one day is like a thousand years… 2 Peter 3:8a

I often enjoyed Andy Rooney’s closing moments on 60 Minutes. There is wisdom in his few words. He wrote a piece entitled You are the Best in which he listed the things he had learned: “I’ve learned…that the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.”

What is important for me to get done this Advent season? Some will recall how slowly time went by as a child in anticipation of Christmas day. How many shopping days until Christmas, being numbered daily in our local newspapers, simply crawled along as if each day were indeed a thousand years. Then we grow up and time starts marching, then galloping. There is never enough time, it seems; but unlike what Andy Rooney learned, we don’t seem to be getting more things done. We blink and it’s Christmas Eve – each day a thousand seconds. What’s going on here?

So I ponder again: what is important for me to get done this Advent? Not what is urgent, but what is important. It may be to hit the pause button on my chattering mind, with its unending to-do list, just long enough to breathe deeply and utter a prayer for guidance about what is really important. Maybe it is to pray personally with the psalmist: Teach me to number my days THAT I MAY GET A HEART OF WISDOM. After all, we don’t have much time – we only have all the time there is.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Offered by Bill Albritton, writer, teacher, child of God.

Prayers for the Beginning of Advent

Readings: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:1-10; I Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21: 25-36

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days, and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” Jeremiah 33:14-16

Lord, you are the flame coming into the world to usher in God’s

kingdom on earth. Please make us your sparks to bring your light

and love and peace and healing into the world,inflaming the entire

world with your Kingdom. Sparks that become a raging

conflagration of your goodness.

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To you, O Lord, I life up my soul. O my God, in you I trust…make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths…Psalm 25:1-10

Lord, let us become one with You by growing and learning with You.

May we accept your forgiveness so we can feel at one with

you. May we forgive ourselves so guilt doesn’t hinder us from

knowing that we are your eyes, ears and mouth in the world. May

we proclaim your goodness with every breath we take and every word

we utter. Let our hands and mouth be instruments of your healing,

and bring Your kingdom to this battered and broken world.

Prayers and art offered by Margaret Hill, child and seeker of God.