When Christmas Isn’t Tinselly

Maybe your first thought when you saw that the title of this post includes the word Christmas was “how behind is she?”  I do know that in the wider culture (and even sometimes in our churches), Christmas has come and gone.  New Years Eve and New Years Day has come and gone.  Store holiday sections are now anticipating Valentines Day.  But hear me out: I’m living into the church calendar and continuing to contemplate the miracle of the incarnation during this Christmas season (which lasts 12 days until January 6).  After the expectation and longings of Advent, we get more than one day for Christmas.  In the church calendar, the color of Christmas is white, a color of joy and celebration.  In American culture, which generally skips Advent, we get a whole month to be be happy and glowing and full of good cheer.  But the incarnation isn’t really a tinselly affair.  It is messy, gritty, painful. 


I’ve been listening to Handel’s Messiah during Advent and Christmas.  One song that stuck out to me takes its text from Isaiah 53:4-5: “Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him.”  This verse is often used during Lent, but it seemed so right to think about this verse during Christmas.  Jesus took on flesh and moved into our neighborhood (see John 1 in The Message) as a tiny, helpless baby.  And Jesus grew up; he lived a human life and faced its trials and uncertainties without sin.  Hebrews tells us that Jesus can empathize with our every weakness.  Jesus bears our griefs and carries our sorrows.

This is what Christmas is all about.  Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, took on flesh.  Through the Holy Spirit, Jesus walks with us.  He knows our pain.  He carries our sorrows.  He doesn’t take them away.  In this already-but-not-yet time we still face the troubles of this world.  But we don’t face them alone.  We face them with our merciful Savior who suffered the indignity to be born into this mess.

This has been a hard holiday season for me.  I identify with the themes of Advent—the waiting, the longing, the expectation—much more than the joy and peace of Christmas.  When I heard the chorus singing “surely he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” as I sat alone in my room, grieving this season of my life, I heard the Christmas story in a new way.  It isn’t just a “silent night, holy night.”  Christmas is pain and joy mixed together.  The joy of a child born mixed with the pain of childbirth, Mary and Joseph’s tenuous social position, and the humiliation of God taking on flesh.  The joy of Simeon seeing salvation and finding peace to depart this earth along with his prophecy that a sword would pierce Mary’s soul, too (Luke 2:25-35).  Jesus knows my pain and carries my sorrows.  I am not alone in my grief, but my grief is known by my loving God.

Perhaps this has been a hard season for you, too.  If so, I pray that you will know the presence of Emmanuel, our God-with-us, our God who took on flesh and moved into our neighborhood.  May God comfort you with the knowledge that Jesus carries your griefs and your sorrows, whether they are public or known to God alone.  May you see a glimpse of Christ’s light, shinning in the darkness. 

Photo by Jim Kenefick, used under a Creative Commons License

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: Elizabeth’s Prayer

In Luke 1, Mary (Luke 1:46-55) has a song and Zechariah has a song (Luke 1:68-79).  These are their prayers at  times in their lives when God was moving in unexpected ways.  Elizabeth's prayers aren't recorded in scripture, but based on her story in Luke 1, this is how I imagine she might have prayed.

O Lord Our God,
You have declared that "my thoughts are not your thoughts,
Neither are your ways my ways.
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are my ways higher than your ways
And my thoughts higher than your thoughts."¹

I've always known those words were true.  But I didn't like them.
Most of my life I have not understood your ways.
I am not sure I do, even now.
Actually, I am pretty sure I don't.

All those years of waiting and longing.
When I was a little girl I dreamed of a good husband and the children I would bear him.  It didn't seem like much to ask.
And my husband is a good man.
He is upright and follows you.
But the children never came to us.
Month after month after month of disappointment.
My friends had their first child, and their second, and their third...
And my womb lay empty and my stomach flat.
At every gathering, they would start to tell their birth stories and discuss the challenges of nursing.  I have never felt so out of place.  Like I was an imposter, a fake woman.

And all of those months I cried out to you.
"Please Lord, may this be the month."
"How long, O Lord, how long?"²
"Do not hide your face from me, my God"³

And you remained silent.
You did not answer me.
For all those years.

I tried to be patient while I waited.  I really did.
But the shame was unbearable.
I know others whispered behind my back:
Who sinned?  This woman or her husband?

I wondered myself.  What have we done wrong?
And still you remained silent.  I was left waiting.

As the years passed, I gave up hope.
I was too old to have my first child now.
My friends had become grandmothers.

So I tried to be faithful with the little I had.
I worshipped you.  I kept your commandments.
I kept the Sabbath.
I honored my husband and our marriage.
I tried so hard to not covet my friends' children.
But the questions still gnawed at my heart.  Your silence didn't help.

And then.  Then it all changed.
Zechariah came home from his work in the temple.
He had gotten his once in a lifetime opportunity to enter the holy of holies.
But things were strange.
He couldn't speak.  He had to communicate in writing.
And he scrawled on the board that I would become pregnant.
I didn't believe it.  Now?  After all these years?
But he told me about your messenger.
And slowly, I felt a tiny ray of hope warm my being.
Maybe it would be so.  Maybe you wouldn't be silent forever.

And it was so.  You heard my cry and you answered me.I look at this tiny babe in my arms, and I don't know what the future holds for him.
I want to keep him safe in my arms forever, but I'm sure that isn't your plan.
I know this is a special baby.  A miracle baby.
And you have plans for him.  I don't know what they are yet.
But you have proved that your ways are higher than mine.
Even during all those torturous years, you were faithful to your promises.
You heard my cry and finally answered me.

¹Isaiah 55:8-9
² Psalm 13:1
³ Psalm 27:9
Photo by Cary and Kacey Jordan, The Jordan Collective.  Used under a Creative Commons License.

Boxing Lament, Creating Playlists, and Backwards Parties: Spiritual Practices for a Busy Generation

I was talking with a clergy colleague/friend recently about an intergenerational study she is putting together for her congregation about spiritual disciplines.  We talks a bit about the different resources she is (and could) pull from.  There are a number of books about spiritual disciplines published.  I had never heard the term “spiritual discipline” until I was in college.  I was introduced to the term and the concept through Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline.  My family and church community had certainly practiced spiritual disciplines (some better than others), but I had never seen them all laid out and talked about as a whole. 
In the years since, I have read a number of such books at different points in my life.  Each has a slightly different tone and focus.  Most recently I read Who’s Got Time: Spirituality for a Busy Generation by Teri Peterson and Amy Fetterman.  It is one of the newest titles in the Young Clergy Woman Project imprint with Chalice Press.  Peterson and Fetterman are both youngish pastors and they wrote this primarily for people in their generation.  People who grew up with computers.  People who grew up moving frequently and far from extended family.  People who are marrying later and later or not marrying at all.  People who struggle to find work and if they do expect to change jobs regularly for the rest of their life.
Peterson and Fetterman do a great job of suggesting ways to practice spiritual disciplines (both classic and new) in the busy, hyper-connected life most of us live.  I really appreciated their practicality and creativity.  As much as a I respect Foster’s work, Celebration of Discipline doesn’t include a chapter on social media. 
Here’s a sampling of some of the ideas that I found interesting (they cover more traditional disciplines, like fasting, too).  Chapter two is called “In the Body,” and it explores “ways we can exercise our spirits as we live in flesh and bone.”  One of their suggestions is to incorporate a piece of scripture into a boxing (or kickboxing?) routine.  They say “Amy’s personal favorite combo includes Psalm 61:1 and goes like this: Hear *jab* my *jab* cry *right hook* O *left hook* God *backfist*.”  I may or may not actually try this one myself, but a physical lament sounds awesome!
Chapter four is all about using music in the life of faith.  One of my favorite ideas from the chapter I already shared on the blog—making playlists.  They suggest peace and righteous anger playlists.  I made a wait. hope. expect. playlist that helps me to wait with hope during this period of my life.
They also have a chapter on rituals that I found inspiring.  They wonder “How do we organize our hopes, dreams, fears, realities, loves, losses, and find a sense of the Holy in the midst of them? How do we mark these life events that don’t have rituals already attached to them the way marriage or kids do?…We believe there is a way to create ritual that makes meaning out of the lives we live now, as twenty-first–century young adults” (ch. 5).  One of the examples they give is a “backwards party” when one of their friends was moving away.  They started by saying goodbye, ate dessert, then dinner, and ended with saying hello.  It was a ritual that helped this group of friends to transition to a new phase of their friendship.  I haven’t started any new rituals yet, but I’m thinking of opportunities.
There are lots more ideas in the book, and I would encourage you to check it out for yourself if you are looking to grow in your spiritual walk.  I would add a note that I am a bit more conservative in theology than the authors, and a few ideas I’m not sure I’d be comfortable trying.  But that doesn’t mean they don’t have lots of good ideas and true thoughts.  

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: When The Timing Seems Wrong

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, a time of waiting and anticipation.  This is my prayer for these weeks (and my life).  If you are looking for devotional activities for Advent, you can print what I created.  If you are still thinking about American Thanksgiving, you can read about things I'm thankful for.

God of time,
You are outside of time.  Yet you created time. 
That time plays a big part of lives.  And sometimes, the timing just seems wrong. 
The Israelite people wanted their Messiah to come sooner to rescue them.
Zechariah and Elizabeth longed for a child to be born for years.
Mary faced a too-soon-pregnancy.
Christians have been waiting for Jesus to return.  For 2,000 years.
Some wait for a positive pregnancy test while others are overwhelmed with an unexpected pregnancy.
We wait to hear back about job interviews and scholarships, home sales and medical tests.
So often, the timing just seems wrong and our lives feel like they are crumbling.

How long, O Lord?

How long until you make “beautiful things out of dust”?

Jesus, you know time.  You too had to wait until your hour came.
Help us as we wait!  Give us strength and patience. 
Help us to trust in your timing, that you are caring for us even when it seems like our lives are dust.
Help us to see glimpses of “hope…springing up from this old ground.”
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

With thanks to Psalm 13, Luke 1-2, John 2, and “Beautiful Things” by Gungor.  
Photo by gilliu00_, used under a Creative Commons License. 

Wait. Hope. Expect. Playlist

Sometime this spring I was browsing through the stores in downtown Holland, MI.  At one, I found this little plaque.  The three words captured my season of life, so I bought it--partly as a reminder to hope and expect and not only wait.  It is currently hanging out on my dresser to keep reminding me that waiting comes to an end.

A few weeks ago, I was reading Who's Got Time: Spirituality for a Busy Generation.  I'll write more about it in the coming weeks, but it is chock full of interesting takes on spiritual disciplines--one of them is creating playlists.  I was inspired to make a playlist of songs that capture these three verbs.  I have been playing it ever since, giving words and feeling to the waiting, helping to have hope, and encouraging me to expect that God is working.  It starts with "From deep distress / and troubled thoughts / to you, O God / we raise our cries."  It journeys to "a mass grave / no one can raise.  / But you said "live" / and the ground it gives"  and to God "slipping out of underneath rocks / in alleys off the beaten path."  It ends with a benediction: "Christ be with me / Christ before me/ Christ behind me."  Wherever you are on your journey, may these songs bless you as they have blessed me.  If you have Spotify (its a free download), you can listen to most of the songs below.  The three that Spotify doesn't have I provided a link to in the list below.

1. "From Deep Distress," The Water and the Blood, Sojourn
2. "Wait," Meet Me At the Edge of the World, Over the Rhine
3. "Keep Breathing," Be Ok, Ingrid Michaelson
4.  "I'll Wait," Invisible Empires, Sara Groves
5.  "I Will Wait," Babel, Mumford and Sons
6.  "The Wait," Desire Like Dynamite, Sandra McCracken
7.  "A Far-Off Hope," Love & War & The Sea In Between, Josh Garrels
8. "All the Stars," The Blood and the Breath, Caroline Cobb
9. "Love's Redeeming Work is Done," Love Shall Be Our Token, High Street Hymns
10. "Dry Bones," The Blood and the Breath, Caroline Cobb
11. "I Hope You Dance," I Hope You Dance, LeeAnn Womack
12. "Holding On To Hope," Faint Not, Jenny & Tyler
13. "Zechariah and the Least Expected Places," The Bewildering Light, So Elated
14. "He's Always Been Faithful," The Collection, Sara Groves
15. "Refuge," Over the Grave, Sojourn
16. "Strangely Ready," The Collection, Sara Groves
17. "Abiding City," The Builder and the Architect, Sandra McCracken
18. "Christ Be With Me," The Brilliance, Brilliance

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: Psalm 42 & 43

This song has been my prayer this week.  I woke up with the chorus on my heart Monday morning, and it has continued throughout the week.  Greg Scheer, the composer, describes it: "Psalm 42 and 43 are set to a haunting, melancholic melody that mirrors the poignancy of the original Psalm text."  You can listen to Greg sing the song on his website.

I think this song is on my heart right now because it both captures the longings of my heart in a challenging time and my trust that God is faithful and will see me through.

1. As the deer pants for the water
so my soul longs for you, my Lord.
When can I come to You again
to praise You as before?

Chorus
Why should I let this sorrow fill my soul?
My life is in His Hands, my hope is in the Lord;
and He, I know, will be my Savior still.

2. Day after day He sends His love
I feel His peace come raining down.
I raise a song to Him at night
like fire from the ground.

3. Send me Your light and truth to guide me
as I travel through this land.
Lead me to Your holy dwelling
at my journey's end.

If you would like to sing this song in your congregation, music is available on Greg's website and it is included in the recently released Lift Up Your Hearts hymnal.

Photo by Paul Gorbould.  Used under a Creative Commons License.

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: How Long, O Lord?

"How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?"  (Psalm 13:1)

This is one of my favorite musical settings of Psalm 13, which is one of my favorite psalms.  I know the song from the wonderful collection Psalms for All Seasons.

How long, O Lord, will you forget
an answer to my prayer?
No tokens of your love I see,
your face is turned away from me;
I wrestle with despair.

How long, O Lord, will you forsake
and leave me in this way?
When will you come to my relief?
My heart is overwhelmed with grief,
by evil night and day.

How long, O Lord? But you forgive
with mercy from above.
I find that all your ways are just,
I learn to praise you and to trust
in your unfailing love.

Text: Barbara Wollett

Tune: Christopher Norton

More information at Hymnary.org

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: My Mother's Day Prayer

God who comforts people like a mother comforts her child (Is. 66:13),

I have such mixed feelings about this day.

I love my mom.  Thank you for her. 

Thank you for her love and dedication.

Thank you that she always believes in me and thinks I’m great.

Thank you for her prayers and that she taught me about you.

Thank you for her gift of teaching and all I’ve learned from her—how to read, how to bake, how to play softball, how to serve, and how to love.

And I'm thankful for my many friends that are moms.

Being a mom is a hard calling.  Make your presence known to them when they are awake at 3am feeding an infant or cleaning up vomit.   

Give them wisdom as they begin to instill values and habits in their young hearts.

Help them to teach their precious ones about you and model a life of faith.  May all of these little ones grow up to love and follow you.

But there is also sadness in my heart on this day.

I wish that I was a mother, too.

I know that it is a hard calling, and I wish that it was mine, too.

My heart is full of wonderings…

Where do I fit when it seems that motherhood = womanhood?

Will there be a day when motherhood is my calling?

How long might I have to wait?

How do I keep my baptismal promises to the children in my community?

And there is sadness in my heart that the church hurts women today.

Instead of a place that pours salt into already open wounds, 

may we be a place of honesty and love.

May we be a place where it is okay to shed tears for the children you wish you had,

or the children that lived only in your womb,

or the child that has wandered away from then family,

or your own desire for an good relationship with your mom. 

Today in particular, may we be a place of lament, as well as praise. 

May we be a safe and loving community and not an exclusive and hurtful one.

So God, take my thanksgiving and questions, joy and sadness. 

Help me to live with it all. 

Comfort me on the dark days.  Comfort others for whom this is an excruciating day.    

Help me to know that you haven’t forgotten me, like a mother who doesn’t forget the baby at her breast (Is 49:15).

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Personal Photo, May 2013.

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: A Prayer for Those Who are Lonely

I met a profoundly lonely woman this week.  This is my prayer for her, and for all others who feel alone.

 God of the Broken-Hearted,

There are so many people who are lonely in this world.

Left behind after the death of their husband or wife.

Wishing that they had children to care for them as they age.

Devastated after a marriage disintegrated.

Missing friends who had to move away.

Unable to sustain friendships.

Forced to leave homeland and family to flee for their lives.

Feeling alone in the midst of a crowd.

Jesus, you know this feeling.

You cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

To each person who feels you have forsaken them,

Show up in a profound way.

May they know you as Emmanuel, God-with-them.

God-with-them when they sit in their apartment alone.

God-with-them when the tears pour down their face.

God-with-them as they wonder if this will ever end.

God, work through your people, the body of Christ, the church. 

Inspire your people to go out of their way to find the lonely-hearted.

Give them time and patience to walk with them through dark valleys.

May the body of Christ become our new family,

A place of trust, where the lonely find solace,

Where they met you.

In Jesus’, our Emmanuel's name.

Amen.

Photo by Dino ahmad ali,  http://www.flickr.com/photos/dinoowww/4125584110/.  Used under a Creative Commons License

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: Kyrie Eleison

Kyrie eleison*.

It has been a long week in this world, Lord.

Full of violence to body, earth, and spirit.

Lord, have mercy.

Christe eleison.

Bombings.

Shootings.

Explosions.

Flooding.
Earthquakes.

Rejection.

Abuse.

Starvation.

Some of it unexpected,

And some of it horribly routine.

Christ, have mercy.

Kyrie eleison.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come through your Word, Spirit, and Sacraments.

Come and show us that you are Immanuel—God with us.

Immanuel at the musty funeral home.

Immanuel in the sterile hospital room.

Immanuel at the prayer service.

Immanuel in the flooded home.

Immanuel when the computer bears bad news.

Immanuel when the partner keeps manipulating.

Immanuel when there is no rice or bread.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come and bring your new heavens and new earth.

Come and turn swords into plowshares.

Come and wipe every tear from our eyes. 

Come, Lord Jesus.

Lord, have mercy on us!

*Kyrie eleison means “Lord have mercy” in Greek and is an ancient liturgical prayer.

Personal image taken on Iona, Scotland, January 2013.

Sunday Afternoon Prayer: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I have written about this song in the past, but it seems right to me again this weekend, when I don't really have words to say.

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men."

In the Least Expected Places

One thing I’ve discovered about being a pastor is that I start thinking about the next church calendar season well before it actually arrives.  Advent doesn’t start until Sunday, but I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of months now--planning a sermon series, doing initial research about Luke 1, working on our liturgy, making sure that someone got candles for Sunday. 

We will be preaching through Luke chapter 1 over the next four weeks.  This Sunday I'm preaching on the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth from Luke 1:5-25.  Along with the text, this poetic and musical retelling of the story has been in my heart over the last couple of weeks.  This song is by a band called So Elated on their Christmas album, The Bewildering Light (follow the link to get the album legally for free at noisetrade!). 

Jerusalem and the holy temple filled with smoke
Zechariah shuns the news from the angel of hope
Stuck behind an incense cloud of religion and disappointment

God keeps slipping out of underneath rocks 
in alleys off the beaten path
Open both your eyes.

Prophets and kings and poets can contribute their work
just like eggs in a nest are alive with the promise of birds
But the Lord of Creation will not be subjected to expectation

God keeps slipping out of underneath rocks 
in alleys off the beaten path
Open both your eyes.

Elizabeth, barren, her knees black and dirty like coal
her consistent prayers float to the sky and revive her soul
God we will wait though we don't understand your redemptive story

God keeps slipping out of underneath rocks
in alleys off the beaten path 
Open both our eyes.

I love the reminder that “the Lord of Creation will not be subjected to expectation.”  I have expectations, and hopes, and dreams, but God who created heavens and earth doesn’t fit neatly into those boxes.  But that doesn’t mean God is absent, because often we see glimpses of God where we least expect it, “in alleys off the beaten path.”  God came to Zechariah and Elizabeth in the middle of their dashed expectations, and he did something unexpected in and through them. 

And my prayer for myself and for you this Advent, especially while we are in those places where God isn’t doing what we expect, is that our response will be like Elizabeth: 

Elizabeth, barren, her knees black and dirty like coal
her consistent prayers float to the sky and revive her soul
God we will wait though we don't understand your redemptive story.

Image by Nick Thompson, http://www.flickr.com/photos/pelegrino/1356007875/, November 30, 2012.  Used under a Creative Commons License.

Shaking Our Fists, Or Why I'm Humbled and Grateful

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Yesterday I preached on Psalm 13, a sermon entitled “Shaking Our Fists.”  The essence of the sermon was that the psalmist was so angry at God that he was shaking his fists at God, and we too have occasions to shake our fists at God.  God gives the psalmist and us the freedom to shake our fists at him, so that we can process our pain with the context of God’s covenant relationship with us. 

As I’ve mentioned before, this church has many reasons to mourn and shake their fists at God.  I was scared to preach this sermon.  This is only my second sermon to this congregation and I wasn’t sure how far I could go.  I wasn’t sure how bold I should be with naming the hurts of the congregation.  But I felt in my spirit that this message must be brought and that I needed to name things.  So I did.  I would imagine that some people went home uncomfortable.  Some might have even thought I was totally wrong (although none of them told me to my face so far).  But several people said this was exactly the sermon the congregation needed to hear.  One of the pastoral elders, whom I have quickly come to greatly appreciate, told me after the service that there is a history of people stopping coming to church when hard things happen to them because they aren’t happy with God and there isn’t room in the worship to be angry.  His comments reminded me of Prof. Nydam (pastoral care professor) saying that every worship service must have space to be sad, because that’s life.  The elder also said the previous pastor, although much loved, didn’t/couldn’t go there.  Put all these factors together (with an immigrant culture of making do), and people don’t feel the freedom to lament.

I look back at yesterday and I am profoundly humbled and grateful.  I am humbled that God would take my words and use them to speak his words.  I am humbled that even when I feel like my words aren’t good enough, the Holy Spirit still uses them.  I am humbled that God called me to this place for a purpose that I didn’t know (and probably no humans knew)—to walk with this congregation through the darkness and to acknowledge its presence. 

And I am grateful that God is using me here, but I am also grateful for all of the work God has done (and is doing) in me to equip me for this work.  I have heard over and over that to be able to walk with people through pain and grief, you must be connected to your own heart and able to grieve your own losses.  It is a testimony to God’s grace in my life that since I was in high school I have learned to express my emotions to people instead of my dog (loyal and patient as she was).  I am thankful for friends that have encouraged me to speak my heart freely to them and God.  I am thankful for friends that have listened to my stories of loss and disappointment and helped me to grieve.  I am thankful for Professors Bosma and Nydam who taught me about lament and equipped me to share this freedom with God’s people.