Tag Archives: Advent2024

Intervention

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

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelites, and get twelve staffs from them, one for each ancestral house, from all the leaders of their ancestral houses. Write each man’s name on his staff, and write Aaron’s name on the staff of Levi. For there shall be one staff for the head of each ancestral house. Place them in the tent of meeting before the covenant, where I meet with you. And the staff of the man whom I choose shall sprout; thus will I put a stop to the complaints of the Israelites that they continually make against you.. (Numbers 17:1-5, NRSV)

Sibling rivalry, perceived favoritism, someone getting away with something – the basics of most of the fights I had with my siblings. Whenever possible, my parents let us resolve it without intervention – a good way to learn how to deal with conflict and get on with life. When it wasn’t possible, they stepped in. The matter was resolved for us and the outcome not up for further discussion.

This story from Numbers is sibling rivalry gone awry – complaints of injustice and favoritism, an unwillingness or inability to resolve the issue, resentment building. Judgement in the form of a sprouting staff put an end to the fighting (at least for the moment), the outcome not up for further discussion.

As individuals and as communities, we can take our fighting to the point where we cannot resolve the issue without intervention. Tempers flare, old resentments and slights are rehashed, and there’s no resolution in sight. This is understandable among children, but tragic when those of us long past our childhood days cannot or will not do the work to resolve the matter in a respectful, thoughtful way.

What better way to show our love for the Prince of Peace than to seek peace in our own time and place, among this human family, in God’s great creation.

God Loves Us

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

Heaven and Earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. Luke 21:33

The sun will burn out in about 5 billion years. As with other stars the size of the sun, our star will collapse on itself and die, emitting little to no light. Earth, of course, will die along with it. Though you and I will not be present for the death watch, it seems like an ignominious end to our beautiful blue and green orb we call home.

Our planet, as well as the rest of the universe, has been in continuous flux since the beginning. Data from the Webb telescope (which measures background radiation well beyond our solar system) confirms scientists’ suspicion that the universe exploded into existence billions of years ago. And the universe is expanding at unimaginable speed. Galaxies, including our own Milky Way, are hurtling through space and moving away from each other. The furthest galaxies are moving away from us faster than galaxies closer to us. As a friend once rhetorically asked me, “What is the universe expanding into?” It is indeed an exercise in courage to ponder such imponderables.  As scientific discovery expands our knowledge base, forcing us to rethink the way we relate to the universe and our place in it, we might feel uneasy if not a little insecure.  

Jesus, who himself lived through times admittedly much different from our own but difficult just the same, assured us there is a divine constancy that reaches out to us across time and space.  “God needs man,” said the mystic Meister Eckhart. Evelyn Underhill put it this way: “It is Love calling to love; and the journey, though in one sense a hard pilgrimage, up and out, by the terraced mount and the ten heavens to God, in another is the inevitable rush of the roving comet, caught at last, to the Central Sun.” 

This Advent may the whir of existence not drown out the singular message in Jesus’ words that “will not pass away:”  God loves us. 

Offered by Bryan Fredrickson, God’s beloved child.

Advent 2024: Hope

On the Road (again)

On the Road to Bethlehem by Margaret Hill

It’s time to set out: to put on our shoes, grab a hat and jacket, and make the journey. The road will be dark at times. We won’t arrive in what feels like a timely manner – there’s no point in rushing because picking up the pace won’t make God With Us come any faster. It’s a pilgrimage, not a race.

Our destination isn’t a lovely bed-and-breakfast. We won’t gain social status or admiration for making the trip. The road offers sore and tired feet. When the journey is done, we’ll have to turn around and come back home.

So why do it? Why take the journey at all?

Because we may never understand how very much we are loved if we don’t.

Time to get walking…