Long ago, time stood still. An indelible image. There were shepherds watching sheep. This is how the story the goes. And man surprised by where the road had taken him. Never in a million lives could he dreamed of Bethlehem. At least that is how the story goes. An ordinary girl pregnant with a child. An inn with no room. At least that is how the story goes. Angels singing peace in a night sky illuminated with the brightest star seen in centuries. And I don't know what the wise men saw in the sky. And it was all enough to drive a king mad and slaughter children. And the heartbeat sent straight from heaven was God's great plan for history. Emmanuel. God with us.
And I don't know if Mary knew her baby boy would save us. Did she know that her baby boy had come to make us new? Did Mary know what the incarnation meant? I don't know. We aren't told.
But how to allow the power of the Incarnation to penetrate our lives is the central question of Christmas. It really doesn't matter if shepherds were watching their flocks that night or not, or if angels really sang Glory to God in Highest, or if Jesus was born in a manger with hay or a cave. It really doesn't matter if wise men followed a star across the desert on the backs of camels. It matters not what we believe about the story. What matters is what are we doing with the story.
In a world torn apart by violence, poverty, greed and oppression, we wonder like the prophets, when will God come? And that is the miracle of the incarnation. It is when our lives are most barren, when possibilities are cruelly limited, and despair takes hold, when we most keenly feel the emptiness of life, and when we have used the last scrap of our resources, it is then that God is closest to us.
And so tonight, the longest night of the year, I know that tears are falling and hearts are breaking. I know that in the aftermath of last week, it is hard to believe in Bethlehem. It is hard to believe that God is with us.
And how we need to remember that God wore our fragile skin. And it was the shepherds and the wise men and Mary who believed in miracles before they made sense. And whatever happened in Bethlehem that night long ago is the answer to every tear we cry. That baby whom she called Emmanuel, is with us in our waking and in our sleeping. He is with us in our birthing and our dying. So tonight, I pray for peace to shine on a world that is torn apart. I pray for hope to restore our spirits when the hopers lose their way. I pray for faith to comfort and heal our wounded hearts. And I pray that we remember that in every act of kindness, every prayer whispered, every tear shed in solidarity, every hug given, every kind word spoken and every time you really listen and every time you slow down and see the holiness of the other in front of you, it is then that Christ is born.
May the peace of Advent find a place in your heart this Christmas.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
What a strange way to save the world
Full disclosure. I really go for that cup of coffee. And to eat that bun. And I always imagine how much better it would taste with a big slab of country ham on it. I also love the smell of beeswax. But for me, it really is all about the coffee.
I am talking about the Moravian Love feast. Unless, you are Moravian, or grew up in Winston-Salem or Bethlehem, (PA, not the West Bank), you probably are not familiar. And you may or may not know the history or significance of a Love feast.
The Moravian love feast is a service of song at which a simple meal is severed to the congregation. This meal, usually a bun and coffee, is an act of fellowship. It is not a sacrament, nor a substitute for Communion.
The Love feast, begun by the Moravians in 1727, is a revival of the Agape of the early Christian Church. The service spread with the church throughout the world, and remains an important part of Moravian religious ritual. A love feast is a service dedicated to agape, or Christian love, considered the greatest of virtues. A love feast seeks to remove social barriers and encourage reverence and respect for the legitimate rights of all people.
The largest love feast in the world is held every year in Wait Chapel on the campus of Wake Forest. If you have never been, put it on your bucket list.
The Christmas Love feast traditionally ends with a candlelight service. Beeswax candles trimmed in red tissue paper are passed out to represent Christ, the Light of The World.
To be honest, the professor who taught me the Moravian History would be quite disappointed that I have so simplistically described a love feast and my brother in law who is Moravian would have expected more as well. The service is rich with symbolism and laden with meaning. I suspect I have attended no less than 100 in my lifetime. Traditionally, my husband, son and I always attend the Christmas Eve Love feast at Kernersville Moravian Church.
I love the coffee. Moravian coffee is special and different. And to be even more honest, I would convert right now if they could promise me a cup of that coffee every Sunday morning. My brother in law is one of the coffee makers at his congregation. There is an art to it. And it really can't be replicated in your kitchen at home. Trust me, I have tried. I even own a set of Moravian coffee mugs. The music at a Christmas Love feast usually involves Moravian hymns as well as traditional Protestant carols. And at the end, Morning Star is always sung. A traditional Moravian Hymn that is only sung at the Christmas Love feast. And always, everyone in the congregation holds up a lighted candle trimmed in red to represent Christ the Light of the World. And always, I have taken the candle with me, until today.
So today I had to return the Light of the World. Today I only got to hold the Light of Christ in my hand for about five minutes or as long as it takes a Moravian ensemble to sing Morning Star and the pastor to bless us and send us forth in peace. And there she was taking up the Light of Christ in a basket. And it made me wonder had I known I was going to have to return the Light of the World, would I have held onto more tightly? And as I walked away stunned and wondering exactly what would I trim my scrapbook page representing 12.12.12 with now?
The hospital where I work celebrates three Love Feasts during Advent. There are a couple of reasons why I find that miraculous. First, given the age and times in which we live, and how polarizing religion can be, it amazes me that such a "Christian" celebration is allowed in such a "public" place. It certainly would be forbidden in our schools. And in such lean economic times, (yes I will be honest, I can think of better uses for the money), I am surprised it has survived budget cuts. But given my love for that coffee, I am glad it did. So, every year, for the past twenty years or so, I have attended and I have kept my candle. Until today. Today I had to give it back.
And so did he. I suspect if you have ever had your heart broken, ever felt grief, ever watched your world fall apart or ever had to say goodbye to the very thing or the very one who you thought meant the most, or ever felt the pain of abandonment, or ever suffered through the end of an important relationship, then I suspect you know a thing or two about returning light.
Joseph must have thought more than once that never in a million years would he have dreamed this was to be the way. Brown Bannister put those very thoughts to music.
It can be hard to walk in the dark. It can be difficult at best realize that you have to give the light up. And even if we could see the future and even if we knew when we might be called upon to give the light up, would it make us more present to the times when the Light is so bright? Would it cause us to hold onto the Light more tightly? No, I suspect not and that is how it should be.
And today, with a lump in my throat, and my eyes stinging with tears, (desperately trying not to ruin my makeup - I was at work after all), it occurred me that giving the Light back was the plan all along. It is a strange way to save the world. Only by being willing to lay the Light down, does the dawn ever come. Only by being willing to step into the dark of the night, will you ever see the next morning. And if we never, ever saw the dark...could we really ever know what the light could look like? If we never saw dark, would we ever know how to hope. I suspect not. Joseph was willing to give the Light back. He gave it back so the world could be saved. Strange isn't it? So holding tightly to the Light won't really save anyone (not even ourselves), holding on tightly to the Light won't make the room any brighter, holding on tightly to the Light won't cause the night not to fall, the only thing we gain by holding on tightly to the Light is that we are the only ones who can see.
So, never be afraid to give the Light back. It is the plan after all.
What a strange way to save the world.
All is grace,
moravian coffee
love feast buns
ham
beeswax candles
saying goodbye
endings
beginnings
light
dark
Moravian Stars
our traditions
carols
"What a strange way to save the world"
Christmas Cards
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bL6JfNjTHpg (skip the add, turn off the light and give the light back)
I am talking about the Moravian Love feast. Unless, you are Moravian, or grew up in Winston-Salem or Bethlehem, (PA, not the West Bank), you probably are not familiar. And you may or may not know the history or significance of a Love feast.
The Moravian love feast is a service of song at which a simple meal is severed to the congregation. This meal, usually a bun and coffee, is an act of fellowship. It is not a sacrament, nor a substitute for Communion.
The Love feast, begun by the Moravians in 1727, is a revival of the Agape of the early Christian Church. The service spread with the church throughout the world, and remains an important part of Moravian religious ritual. A love feast is a service dedicated to agape, or Christian love, considered the greatest of virtues. A love feast seeks to remove social barriers and encourage reverence and respect for the legitimate rights of all people.
The largest love feast in the world is held every year in Wait Chapel on the campus of Wake Forest. If you have never been, put it on your bucket list.
The Christmas Love feast traditionally ends with a candlelight service. Beeswax candles trimmed in red tissue paper are passed out to represent Christ, the Light of The World.
To be honest, the professor who taught me the Moravian History would be quite disappointed that I have so simplistically described a love feast and my brother in law who is Moravian would have expected more as well. The service is rich with symbolism and laden with meaning. I suspect I have attended no less than 100 in my lifetime. Traditionally, my husband, son and I always attend the Christmas Eve Love feast at Kernersville Moravian Church.
I love the coffee. Moravian coffee is special and different. And to be even more honest, I would convert right now if they could promise me a cup of that coffee every Sunday morning. My brother in law is one of the coffee makers at his congregation. There is an art to it. And it really can't be replicated in your kitchen at home. Trust me, I have tried. I even own a set of Moravian coffee mugs. The music at a Christmas Love feast usually involves Moravian hymns as well as traditional Protestant carols. And at the end, Morning Star is always sung. A traditional Moravian Hymn that is only sung at the Christmas Love feast. And always, everyone in the congregation holds up a lighted candle trimmed in red to represent Christ the Light of the World. And always, I have taken the candle with me, until today.
So today I had to return the Light of the World. Today I only got to hold the Light of Christ in my hand for about five minutes or as long as it takes a Moravian ensemble to sing Morning Star and the pastor to bless us and send us forth in peace. And there she was taking up the Light of Christ in a basket. And it made me wonder had I known I was going to have to return the Light of the World, would I have held onto more tightly? And as I walked away stunned and wondering exactly what would I trim my scrapbook page representing 12.12.12 with now?
The hospital where I work celebrates three Love Feasts during Advent. There are a couple of reasons why I find that miraculous. First, given the age and times in which we live, and how polarizing religion can be, it amazes me that such a "Christian" celebration is allowed in such a "public" place. It certainly would be forbidden in our schools. And in such lean economic times, (yes I will be honest, I can think of better uses for the money), I am surprised it has survived budget cuts. But given my love for that coffee, I am glad it did. So, every year, for the past twenty years or so, I have attended and I have kept my candle. Until today. Today I had to give it back.
And so did he. I suspect if you have ever had your heart broken, ever felt grief, ever watched your world fall apart or ever had to say goodbye to the very thing or the very one who you thought meant the most, or ever felt the pain of abandonment, or ever suffered through the end of an important relationship, then I suspect you know a thing or two about returning light.
Joseph must have thought more than once that never in a million years would he have dreamed this was to be the way. Brown Bannister put those very thoughts to music.
It can be hard to walk in the dark. It can be difficult at best realize that you have to give the light up. And even if we could see the future and even if we knew when we might be called upon to give the light up, would it make us more present to the times when the Light is so bright? Would it cause us to hold onto the Light more tightly? No, I suspect not and that is how it should be.
And today, with a lump in my throat, and my eyes stinging with tears, (desperately trying not to ruin my makeup - I was at work after all), it occurred me that giving the Light back was the plan all along. It is a strange way to save the world. Only by being willing to lay the Light down, does the dawn ever come. Only by being willing to step into the dark of the night, will you ever see the next morning. And if we never, ever saw the dark...could we really ever know what the light could look like? If we never saw dark, would we ever know how to hope. I suspect not. Joseph was willing to give the Light back. He gave it back so the world could be saved. Strange isn't it? So holding tightly to the Light won't really save anyone (not even ourselves), holding on tightly to the Light won't make the room any brighter, holding on tightly to the Light won't cause the night not to fall, the only thing we gain by holding on tightly to the Light is that we are the only ones who can see.
So, never be afraid to give the Light back. It is the plan after all.
What a strange way to save the world.
All is grace,
moravian coffee
love feast buns
ham
beeswax candles
saying goodbye
endings
beginnings
light
dark
Moravian Stars
our traditions
carols
"What a strange way to save the world"
Christmas Cards
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bL6JfNjTHpg (skip the add, turn off the light and give the light back)
Friday, December 7, 2012
What hope really looks like
Sometimes waiting is the only hope you can muster. Advent always makes me think of what could be and what is, more than any other season. Advent shows me more than any other time of the year just how cold, how lost, how barren, how broken, how hopeless our world can seem. I sometimes think that spiritually we are living in times parallel to those written about by the prophet Malachi. Malachi was the last the last prophet to speak before we ever hear John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness. Malachi ends by telling God's people to remember and believe. Malachi put down his pen and for the next 400 years God is silent. Not one word from God. No miracles. No prophets. Nothing but darkness. God did not utter as much as syllable. Those were some of the darkest days in Israel's history. Israel had never known such poverty, such powerlessness, such persecution. God quite simply ceased to speak. Malachi told them that despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation, despite the feeling of absolute powerlessness, despite the feeling of abandonment, they were never to forget God. They were to remember what God had done for them and to believe that God would not abandon and God would rescue them.
She said as much to me today and I didn't have a good answer. She said, "I don't know, I just think God doesn't hear me anymore. I just don't believe God listens or cares." I knew where she had been the last three months and I had I pretty good idea of what lay ahead of her. I knew where she had come from and she nor I knew where she might be going. But both of us could imagine. It appeared pretty hopeless. It appeared pretty dark. I don't have a good answer for suffering. Except that it exists. I have heard all the theological answers and to be honest they just don't hold much comfort for me. I suspect not for her either. And for whatever reason, Advent makes the darkness seem all the more real to me.
Many would tell me that is the point. And to some extent I agree, but I am fairly confident I would not have made a good Elizabeth, a good Mary and I am fairly confident that I would have ignored the prophet Malachi and chosen not to remember. Not to hope.
The harsh realities of the world that run parallel to twinkling lights, Christmas tree lots, packages tied up with bows, children laughing, the smell of cookies, the dancing reindeer and a jolly old elf dancing in a red suit can leave me in despair at times. Part of that is an occupational hazard, part of that is due to my introverted nature, part of that is due to my over exercised sensitivities and part is reality based. Poverty has always existed alongside wealth. Health and sickness have always walked side by side. Sorrow precedes joy. I just have never been able to ignore the truths that live alongside side wreaths and decked out halls.
It can be important to remember that the theological definition for hope is the willingness to live without closure, without resolution, and still be content and maybe even happy because we know that our source for life is beyond ourselves. The expectancy of Advent comes from knowing that Christ has come into our past. Christ has come into our own private dramas and struggles. Christ is present in the midst of our lives now. And Christ will come in our futures. Advent hope is not some perfect, selfish fantasy. Advent hope is seen in a baby born in a manager who grew up to suffer and die. Advent hope is not a pretty package. Advent hope reminds us that before angels sang songs of joy there was much sorrow. Before peace on earth there will be much conflict. Before you heal, you will hurt. Before the Light of the world there was great darkness. And before the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...remember God was silent.
She said as much to me today and I didn't have a good answer. She said, "I don't know, I just think God doesn't hear me anymore. I just don't believe God listens or cares." I knew where she had been the last three months and I had I pretty good idea of what lay ahead of her. I knew where she had come from and she nor I knew where she might be going. But both of us could imagine. It appeared pretty hopeless. It appeared pretty dark. I don't have a good answer for suffering. Except that it exists. I have heard all the theological answers and to be honest they just don't hold much comfort for me. I suspect not for her either. And for whatever reason, Advent makes the darkness seem all the more real to me.
Many would tell me that is the point. And to some extent I agree, but I am fairly confident I would not have made a good Elizabeth, a good Mary and I am fairly confident that I would have ignored the prophet Malachi and chosen not to remember. Not to hope.
The harsh realities of the world that run parallel to twinkling lights, Christmas tree lots, packages tied up with bows, children laughing, the smell of cookies, the dancing reindeer and a jolly old elf dancing in a red suit can leave me in despair at times. Part of that is an occupational hazard, part of that is due to my introverted nature, part of that is due to my over exercised sensitivities and part is reality based. Poverty has always existed alongside wealth. Health and sickness have always walked side by side. Sorrow precedes joy. I just have never been able to ignore the truths that live alongside side wreaths and decked out halls.
It can be important to remember that the theological definition for hope is the willingness to live without closure, without resolution, and still be content and maybe even happy because we know that our source for life is beyond ourselves. The expectancy of Advent comes from knowing that Christ has come into our past. Christ has come into our own private dramas and struggles. Christ is present in the midst of our lives now. And Christ will come in our futures. Advent hope is not some perfect, selfish fantasy. Advent hope is seen in a baby born in a manager who grew up to suffer and die. Advent hope is not a pretty package. Advent hope reminds us that before angels sang songs of joy there was much sorrow. Before peace on earth there will be much conflict. Before you heal, you will hurt. Before the Light of the world there was great darkness. And before the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...remember God was silent.
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