Advent: Hope

I remember being a child and waiting, waiting, waiting for Christmas Day to arrive. I tried really hard to wait patiently. Along the way, Mom got a bunch of those small-sized candy canes and we put them on the tree -- just enough for each of us to have one candy cane from the tree each day until Christmas. That candy cane tradition was a lesson in hope, in finding joy each day of the waiting while still focused with anticipation of what was yet to come.

Advent is a time of remembering, experiencing, and cultivating hope. We remember the many years of waiting for the promised Messiah, and God's faithful fulfillment of His promises. We experience the hope of knowing God in the here and now while also anticipating Christ's eventual return. And as we cultivate hope as we respond to God's promises and character.

Hope is a transformative thing, and I am excited to see what God does as we wait with expectation.

Little By Little

When I was young, perhaps five or six years old, we adopted a dog named Bear.  Bear was a mix of Samoyed and Great Pyrenees breeds -- all white, quite large, and very strong.  I was excited to have a dog again and, of course, wanted to be the one holding the leash as we walked to the car.  Somehow I talked my way into that, promising to hold on really, really tight and not let go.  And, true to my word, that is what I did.  The dog hadn't committed to anything, though, and took off down the street in an unfamiliar town, with me determinedly holding tight and desperately trying to keep up.  It became abundantly clear to me in those moments that I could handle a dog this size only if the dog agreed, and he clearly hadn't done that.

On a related note...

God had brought the Israelites out of Egyptian slavery after they had lived in Egypt for hundreds of years.  Now they were out on their own and needed to become established in ways that would help them to live and function together as a people.  There was much instruction given, and with many associated promises.  Among those were God's promises to guide them and to give them the land.  Unlike the escape from Egypt, though, this one would be more gradual, for "Little by little I will drive [the people living in the land] out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land" (Exodus 23:30).

Like a six-year-old girl with an unwieldy eighty-pound dog, the Israelites were not fully ready for the land that would be theirs.  They would need to work their way up to it, beginning with just a portion and expanding from there.  They needed to grow into it.

It reminds me of the biblical instruction to be faithful in the "little" things, for only those who are faithful with a little can be trusted with more.  This idea is common in talking about stewardship of material goods, but is relevant to far more.  I think today of relationships and of ministries, and of conversations.  When I desire greater depth in relationships, greater impact in ministries, greater authenticity in conversations, it is worth considering how I choose to respond in those I have already.

I don't want to settle for superficial relationships rather than doing the work of pursuing depth.  I don't want to settle for mediocre ministry rather than investing both wisely and wholeheartedly for greater impact.  I don't want to settle for lame conversations rather than showing up as myself and inviting others to do the same.

God has much in store.  Let's be faithful with what we have, and become ready for the rest.

Challenging Grace

Saul was a devoted and disciplined man, thoroughly committed to the task he had taken on -- persecuting anyone he could find that followed Jesus.  Then, while traveling one day, he suddenly hit a crisis time when he encountered God, lost his sight, and was instructed to wait.

Meanwhile, a man named Ananias didn't know these details of the story.  He just knew the part about Saul coming after people like him.  God spoke to Ananias, too -- not to tell him the whole story or the outcome, but to give him just enough, which was mostly some really challenging instructions.

What happened next seems pretty miraculous to me:  "Then Ananias went to the house [where Saul was] and entered it.  Placing his hands on Saul, he said, 'Brother Saul, the Lord... has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.'"

Seriously, amazingly miraculous!  "Then Ananias went to the house [where Saul was] and entered it.  Placing his hands on Saul, he said, 'Brother Saul, the Lord... has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.'"

In faith, Ananias sought out one who had been expressing "murderous threats."

In faith, Ananias drew close to Saul and reached out to touch him.

In faith, Ananias addressed Saul as "brother."

In faith, Ananias conveyed blessings that God had planned for Saul -- of sight and of the Holy Spirit.

Ananias had strong reasons to avoid Saul, to remain distant in every way, to address him as enemy, to rain down curses.  But when God called, Ananias acted in faith and obedience.  And "immediately, something like scales fell from Saul's eyes, and he could see again.  He got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength."

Saul regaining his sight is pretty significant.  But what captures me today is how God chose to work through the person of Ananias, and how Ananias agreed to join in.  Today I am captured again by grace, and challenged again to join wholeheartedly with God in the "ministry of reconciliation."

(The story of Saul and Ananias is found in Acts 9:1-19.)

-- Debi

Good Friday

Good Friday is a somber day, remembering Jesus’ death by crucifixion.  I remember trying to explain it to a former co-worker several years ago, something like this:  “It is a time to remember and honor the death of Jesus, so Good Friday services are usually like a funeral.”  But that doesn’t seem quite right, because I haven’t been to a lot of funerals as persistently somber and dark as Good Friday.  Perhaps the mood of a typical Good Friday service isn’t like a funeral so much as it’s like a funeral would have been if Jesus had stayed in the tomb.  In Good Friday and the day following, we acknowledge the despair of the time between the certainty of Jesus’ death and the hope-giving miracle of his resurrection.

I am grateful for Good Friday because life still includes times when everything seems to be turned upside down, hopes dashed, outcome uncertain, salvation not yet apparent.  We celebrate the joy of Christ’s birth at Christmas, and his resurrection on Easter – these are absolutely foundational to Christian hope.  It is good, too, to respect the in-between times.

Advent-ure

Pastor Bob

Bob Luhn commented recently that "Advent" is the first part of "adventure," which so beautifully describes this season.  A bit skeptical, I looked it up in an online dictionary to see if there really is a linguistic connection, or if it's more of a coincidence.  I like what I found there.

As it turns out, both words do originate from forms of the Latin advenire and its French relatives.  Adventure speaks of "what must happen," and its meaning has shifted some over the years to suggest risk/danger and "a novel or exciting incident."  This whole progression makes sense to me.  The future is always unknown, which carries with it a sense of risk.  We respond to risk quite naturally with a measure of excitement.

And Advent?  Advent is about the coming of Jesus.  God had been saying for years that the Messiah would come.  It was risky in many ways, but it was how He would save us from ourselves.  During this season of Advent, we wait with intention and faith, imaginatively pondering what it was like for God's people to wait those many years without knowing when the Messiah would come, or really even how he would appear.

There is something else here, too.  Though Christ did come two thousand years ago, Advent reminds us that we still wait for his return.  As God's people waited and did not know the details of Jesus' coming ahead of time, so too we wait with longing and hopeful expectancy for his Second Coming.

Advent is a time of adventure, waiting for what must happen, recognizing risk involved, and sensing the excitement of what will be.  Like any good adventure, I want to be sure I am fully alert and ready as the future comes.

-- Debi

One Candle, for Now

It doesn't happen very often, but I occasionally have the urge to assemble a jigsaw puzzle.  I like bringing order to a Big Box o' Disordered Pieces, and find that the process sometimes helps bring order to disordered thoughts, too.  Puzzles often come together in sections -- the sky, perhaps, or an animal, or a section of red flowers.  Finishing sections builds anticipation of the moment when the last piece is put in place.

We had a Hanging of the Greens service at church this evening.  The process of decorating was mixed with explanations of symbolism and songs related to meanings.  The part that most caught my attention on this particular day was about the Advent wreath:

"Something is happening, and something more is still to come."

This morning, Parker lit the first of five candles in the Advent wreath because today is the first Sunday of Advent.  That one burning candle represents light of God coming into our world.  It is a reminder that, in the midst of what often seems so ordinary, God is at work.  He always has been.  Though we may not always see it, something is happening.

As the one candle burned brightly, the other four remained dark and cool.  Those are a reminder of what is yet to be.  We don't usually know quite what it will look like or how it will unfold, but we can be confident that God is already in it, that He is faithful to bring about good.  Whatever the future holds, we know that something more is still to come.

The season of Advent is not just the Pre-Christmas Season.  It is its own time, traditionally marked by a sense of longing expectancy, of not yet experiencing fulfillment of promise but waiting for it with faith and hope.  I choose in this time to celebrate what I see already happening, and to wait patiently for what is still to come.

-- Debi