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Tender Mercies
Travelers stranded at Denver International Airport and London's Heathrow Airport awoke this morning with a bit more hope in their hearts that they may make it home in time for Christmas. Two days and two feet of snowfall have paralyzed one city, while fog embraces the other in a steadfast hold not due to ease until sometime Saturday. Tens of thousands of people worldwide are affected by flight cancellations and delays that will take days to untangle.
Meanwhile, people are making the best of the circumstances in which they find themselves. There has been no mail delivery, no holiday shopping and basically no movement in Denver since the blizzard started whirling around a city used to dealing with such things. At a time of year when people credit themselves with feats of productivity that become legend, different stories emerge that respect this pause in time, unexpected and unavoidable. If home really is where our hearts are, then those living in Denver are finding that this storm brings opportunities to listen to those still, small voices residing in each of us. At the airport, a small city of makeshift cardboard shelters and blanketed cots cradle the souls of its community of several thousand. Airport workers, themselves stranded, are keeping the place clean and tidy. In London, people are being cared for with food and alternative sleeping arrangements in the terminals.
When we are faced with these kinds of brutal realities that we simply can't ignore, we relinquish control to what is, and our human agendas shift, revealing important truths of which we may not have been aware. A young woman, stranded in Denver and late to her own wedding, told a reporter, "I've given up on crying." A man expecting a seven hour layover at the bus terminal, a wait that is now at forty-eight hours and counting, said simply, " I am ready to go home." A traveler in London en route to Paris summed up the refrain in so many hearts: "We're so close, I hope we don't miss Christmas."
"In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was great with child. and while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. and she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them at the inn.
And in that region, there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, 'Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.' And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace among all with whom he is pleased (Luke 2:1-14)!"
We are so close. I hope we don't miss Christmas.
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False Labor
My friend's congregation has longed to return to worship in its own sanctuary since a fire put them out of their spiritual house and home last fall. As their pastor, she has shepherded them through this transition with grace and loving guidance, seeking out lessons of hope and faith that would otherwise have not so tangibly entered their lives. Anticipation rose high that the first Sunday in Advent would also be the first Sunday back, but it was not to be. Last Sunday passed on the honor too. Frustrated by the hold ups, my friend expressed her discontent with the situation as " false labor." Having birthed two babies herself, she knows of what she speaks. After so many false starts, be it with a construction project or a baby that can't make up its mind when to be born, it is easy to lose sight of the goal and to lose heart for the hope of ever realizing its joy.
Paul speaks to this yearning for the labor to be over, for this new life we can see on the horizon to be manifested. "For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience (Romans 8:18-25)."
The ancient world engaged a different relationship with what it means to be patient than we twenty-first century inhabitants. We can call across the world in seconds with small contraptions that effortlessly slip into our pockets for safe keeping. Emails fly back and forth between computers as fast as we can write them and click on send. We can grab our morning coffee at drive-through windows, drive to the expressway and travel as far to work in an hour as our ancestors would have taken days to walk or ride on the back of a pack animal. We are used to living with little patience because we occupy a world that demands very little of it from us.
For Paul to be writing this kind of letter to the church at Rome gives us pause to consider what it meant to these people to live with patience and a living hope in God. I suspect the rhythm of their days as city dwellers included much of what we do today: getting up every morning, caring for themselves and their children, going to work or caring for a home. Their stress level would not have been born of rush hour traffic or a long line at Dunkin' Donuts, but of Roman soldiers patrolling their neighborhoods in search of people unwilling to bend to the Emperor's will.
Understandable, then, that there may have been some mental toe tapping as they lived each day, wondering when this Jesus Christ of whom Paul spoke would be coming back. Christianity was not a legalized religion. Practicing its tenets too publicly could be contrued as a threat against Rome, and could result in violence against oneself or one's family. There were no safe places to worship and support each other through these times of confusion, despair and hopelessness, not even in the memories held by a burned out building on the mend. Our faithful ancestors met in each other's homes, privately and prayerfully, feeling the pangs of hope dissolve, but then felt them rise again, and knew their labor was not in vain as they passed this birthing of God's kingdom on to the next generation.
We are not far off now. The birth of the Christ is almost at hand. As we gather again to take our part in laboring this hope of generations into being, we also claim the promise delivered in God Who is With Us Now.
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A Christmas Story
An Iraqi baby has a chance at a new life, thanks to the efforts of a marine battalion that took on this mission, then carried it out to completion, even after losing several of its own.
It is an amazing story. Soldiers under attack hear the cries of an anguished mother seeking help for her critically ill daughter. In a split second the military troop sets aside the pursuit of its enemies and attends to the immediate needs of this mother and child living out their own crisis under fire. Offering continued care that eventually results in the child's transfer to an American hospital for successful treatment becomes their new mission, even while navigating regular combat patrols that claim the lives of three men leading the child's care team. At that point, the mission translates to include honoring the men who had lost their lives. They will be remembered for making a difference in someone's life.
What would these men be remembered for if they had not heard the woman's cry for help or if they had chosen instead to stay with pursuing the mission to capture their attackers? Perhaps they still would be considered honorable warriors, men who served their country well and sought to do justice for the Iraqi people. But in that moment they chose human need over revenge, they chose a legacy of hope, healing and new life. A child who most likely would have died has been reborn to a life of promise, a life with a future.
This story speaks to me through this mother's yearning for someone, somewhere, somehow, to help her child under the most desperate of circumstances. She must have faced her own moment of truth as this battle literally raged outside her door. Wondering whom to trust and when to make her plea, the moment came when she decided to make her move, rather then stay huddled fearfully inside her house, a lack of action that would then claim her child's life. He daughter would not be a casualty of war, but a victim of her mother's fear. In that moment, this woman reached into herself for strength and courage, and reached out to the saving grace of strangers willing to make that same leap of faith.
Whenever we face such a challenge, we must call upon more of ourselves than we ever thought we knew. We must trust that depth of ourselves, unknown and untried though it may be, and believe we have what we need to do what we must. There is no time to ponder relative outcomes, risk factors or potential consequences. When the time comes to "do or die,:" what you need is in place and grasping it with all you've got is the choice. It is the leap of faith that claims the space between what was and what will be. Because two people made that split second leap of faith and claimed strength over fear and revenge, hope and new life have been given another chance to flourish in the most unlikely of places.
God appears to specialize in welcoming we human beings to these moments of hope and triumph. Wanting us to abandon the bonds of the usual and embrace the extravagant mystery and wonder of what life can be when we embody the unexpected choice, even to ourselves, is what God most conveys to us at this time of year.
Consider this story of simple human life that labors and births our Christian faith into being as it unfolds against the dramatic background of a violent, unyielding military regime that specializes in conquering and oppressing almost every culture with which it comes in contact. We don't know how much time Mary had to decide whether or not she would participate in this outrageous plan to have a child with God. We don't know how long Joseph took to accept Mary's explanation and choose to stay with her on the adventure. We don't know how long the shepherds took to believe they had been in the company of angels and then seek out this newborn child. We don't know how long the three wise men took to decide to follow the star to Bethlehem or to make the decision not to return to Herod with their findings. We do know that all these decisions, these leaps of faith, came together, drawing the best these people had to create what we know as the birth of the Christ.
We also know, deep inside ourselves, that we are called to these moments of hope, new life, and truth by virtue of an shared ancestry of faith. No one in what we call our Christmas story, and indeed, no one in this new story of hope which has come to us from Iraq, was what would be termed an extraordinary person. But what they did do was allow their faith to lead them. When we allow our faith to lead us, we are capable of the extraordinary, even when we didn't know we had it in us.
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Because of Deep Love
Three seemingly unrelated news items caught my attention over the last few days. In one story, George Clooney, celebrated actor and director, lost his pet potbellied pig, Max, after eighteen years together. Max passed on while his owner was out of town promoting his latest film. When the subject of Max came up in the myriad of interviews associated with such things, Mr. Clooney's eyes welled up with tears as he reflected on how much animals can become a part of our lives, and how sad it is to see them leave.
In another story, former President George H.W. Bush had his own tearful moment while speaking at a leadership conference. Recalling the 1994 Florida governors race, which his son, Jeb, lost to another candidate, the elder Bush started to cry as he shared his pride in the grace and dignity his son had shown at that time. Governor Bush came to the podium, hugged his dad and the audience applauded. Mr. Bush smiled and said that he was the emotional one in the family, and while he didn't like breaking down in public, these things happened as you got older.
Finally, Academy Award winning actress, Gwyneth Paltrow made headlines as she sought to clarify a European newspaper's misquote saying she believed that the British are more intelligent and civilized than Americans. Ms. Paltrow made it clear she would not make that kind of comparison to begin with, but that she also felt lucky and proud to be an American.
Grief at a loss, love for a son or daughter and pride in our heritage and country are poignantly common experiences with which we are all familiar. Whether famous or intensely private, we are all human and united in these most simple ways. In that simplicity, these are moments that catch us off guard, and we remember what it is to care deeply and without reserve.
Although I have not welcomed a pig to share my home, I am blessed with the gift of cat love. There are those among you who are nodding knowingly as you read this, and others who are more prone to invite dogs, birds, ferrets, fish and hamsters to share your life. There is a special joy in making space for a new creature in our hearts and homes. It is so effortless, even if we are keenly aware of the maintenance an animal requires, to look into their eyes and know you belong together. There is no thought in that moment that eventually that time will come to a close. We all know this, but we open ourselves to the experience anyway. Children and parents are a lovingly volatile mix of guidance and freedom, trial and error. Those moments in which we see each other as whole people, apart from our relational history, are perhaps too rare, but they are filled with an unspeakable grace and wonder. Having the opportunity to stand in one's integrity, one's faith in the land that produced you and helped shape your character, is also rare, and quite stunning.
During this time of holiday frenzy, most of us hunker down and push our way toward the finish line, that time when the gifts are purchased and wrapped and settled under the perfectly decorated tree in the clean house with all the cookies and treats ready to pass around to family and friends. Advent has become less about preparation of our perspective on God and almost all about beating the to do list rush. But these moments of pause in our lives reveal to us how much of our hearts we have given without a second thought. These are the moments that reveal how much we are like God who created us and loves us. The gifts of God With Us opened the door to an extraordinary love that bears thoughtful consideration, appreciation and renewed faith in God and ourselves.
And so, Advent continues.
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Prince of Peacemakers
The saga of the Colorado Peace Wreath appears to have come to a close. In the most simple of terms, residents of a condominium development hung a peace sign-shaped Christmas wreath on the outside of their unit. Some of their neighbors, including several members of the condo association board, found it objectionable and divisive, the latter grounds to require its removal, or face $25 per day fines through and until its removal.
The inevitable questions about who determines what is appropriate in a housing development, whether it be parking spaces, plantings, trash disposal or holiday decorations, can seem rather petty and insignificant because that is what they are. Having lived in one such neighborhood for ten years means I won't be headed down that road for a long time, if ever again. Something about being able to enforce rules on one's immediate surroundings and fellow human beings appeals to a certain mindset of people, some of whom gravitate to what can be a very nice lifestyle in shared community. But, as we all learned in kindergarten, one or two people who don't want to play nice and share can make for a miserable time for all. Keeping the peace becomes only a stop gap measure. Eventually, making peace becomes the issue, and working for peace usually stirs up the stink a bit.
One of the problems stated for requiring the wreath be removed was that fellow condo owners have children serving in the Iraq war. These parents were said to feel insulted, as if the people displaying the wreath were not being respectful of their children's service to the country. According to several news reports, no one directly approached the wreath hangers with those feelings. That being said, I suspect these negative feelings existed in the minds of association members who were not so much concerned with the war as they were with their own need to control. In the three plus years we have been fighting this war in Iraq, I have not heard anything but support for the people actually employed to deal with it on our behalf. My guess is that almost to a person the people fighting this war would say peace is a very good thing indeed, and something we should all support. If we are not waging this war toward the goal of a lasting peace, why are we in Iraq?
Speaking of peace is hazardous business these days, just as much so as when this time we call Advent invested itself among a people aching for even the slightest hope that their God would save them from the oppression and turmoil under which they had suffered for far too long. Many prophets spoke their visions of a Messiah, a Savior who would lead them to peace in righteousness and truth. Many of those prophets had short lives because the present ruler was uncomfortable with their message.
Isaiah was one of them. "The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them has light shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppression, you have broken as on the day of Midian. For all the boots of the trampling warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forever more. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this (Isaiah 9:2-7)."
Later on, years later, Jesus would speak of his own mission to bring not peace, but a sword. Those who speak of peace openly often expose old, deep wounds that shriek their pain in many ways that don't make immediate sense. What is happening now in Iraq is looking more and more like Vietnam forty years ago, a time when our troops were not given credit for their support for their country, or support to deal with what they endured while serving. Talking about peace now, openly, means dealing with the murky waters of wars long declared over on the battle field that we have not finished fighting among ourselves here at home. Jesus would also, in his Sermon on the Mount, speak of peacemakers as the children of God. Leaders open the dialogue, and the followers must carry on the work together.
After the story of the Colorado Peace Wreath became public, so did a huge amount of support from all areas of the country, including people who saw the wreath as supportive of their children serving in the military. The condo board said the wreath could remain in place, extended their apologies and then, three board members resigned. The couple who hung the wreath were pleased that their message of peace was heard. That was what they wanted. And therein lies a great lesson as we enter the season of Advent: let the message of peace be heard.
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Between Gratitude and Expectation
Most of us are back to work after the Thanksgiving weekend. The Christmas shopping season has officially kicked off and now we are clamoring to survive all the added stress placed on us by family obligations, financial expenses and social commitments brought on by the holiday season. At least that is what I hear from television commercials, talk show hosts and the woman behind me at the grocery store. I don't believe that this is how it should be, or must be. We have choices we can make about our lives, especially during this time of year. Pause for this moment and realize that, having celebrated Thanksgiving only a few days ago, we have come to the end of the church year with gratitude to God for everything in our lives. Hold onto that thought, that feeling of strength and peace that comes with remembering how fortunate we are in all that we have. Next we will shift our gaze to Advent, a time of expectation that prepares us for the coming of the Christ. That is what this week between Thanksgiving and Advent is about. Thanksgiving is about gratitude. Advent is about expectation.
Standing between gratitude and expectation can feel a bit precarious at times, like traveling over a very narrow road between two scenic canyons: all your concentration is focused on moving forward instead of stopping to appreciate both views and how they merge into one in the distance.
There seems to be some sort of explanation for understanding this time of year right in our own refrigerators. Thanksgiving leftovers are traditional, tangible abundance that everyone is willing to share. We make jokes about how many ways to use up the white meat, the dark meat, the stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce. But it is a playful teasing, a gentle game of creativity and invention with foods that warm our tummies and our souls, no matter how may times we render them into new forms. We work with what we have, willing to see past its inherent simplicity, and appreciate it for all it is worth, and then some. But sooner or later, the bones are picked clean, the soup is stored in freezer-safe containers and we must move on. We have an empty refrigerator in front of us, ready to stock with food for upcoming meals. But meals take planning, an investment of time and energy to figure out what might taste good in the days ahead.
How do you plan for meals? Do you look through recipe files, cookbooks or newspapers for new treats or old favorites? Do you make a grocery list of ingredients you know will work with past dishes and with your fertile imagination? Do you buy prepackaged meals because they are easier? Each of us has our own way of handling meal planning and preparation that works for us. Our understanding and application of expectation may parallel our meal making strategies. Some of us do research before attaching ourselves to any expectation. Some of us make lists to see the pros and cons of a future choice, hoping to avoid a mistake of major proportions. Some of us trust what we already know and lead with this inner knowledge. Some of us buy into other people's expectations because it is easier, although not always as satisfying. In the end, expectation is about looking forward, and Advent is the expectation of a renewal of faith in God's presence among us.
Endings demand new beginnings, and beginnings come with expectations, stated out loud or tucked away deep in our hearts. If it is true that when God closes a door God also opens a window, then it is never experienced more keenly than at this time of year. God is closing the door now, and opening a new window for us, beckoning us forward to see what the Messiah will have for us next. We have enjoyed the abundance of the harvest, shared it with family and friends, but now we must close the chapter on what was and move into the unknown, the mystery that is God With Us once more. It is a time of anticipation, hope, expectation.
