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On the Myth and Magic of Advent…

10 Wednesday Dec 2025

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As a pastor, I am constantly preaching about savoring the quiet anticipation of Advent.  We even offer Advent Lessons and Carols, which has a more contemplative note than its celebratory sibling, Christmas Lessons and Carols.  But in everyday life, I am just as vulnerable as anyone else to the secular chaos in which Advent lives.  I find myself running kids around to obligations and performances, juggling calendar conflicts with all the special holiday offerings, and even add commitments myself because I want to maintain annual traditions.  Nothing about life outside of church feels quiet and centered.

I think is why I was so grateful for the gift of a minimally scheduled Saturday this past weekend.  Both professionally and personally the calendar was mostly clear – I even reserved the TV for watching a basketball game which I rarely can do.  As my daughter and I settled in, she proposed doing a puzzle together – an activity we always say we’ll do but somehow never get around to doing.  And so evolved an afternoon of sports watching, puzzle assembling, and the kind of conversation that can only happen when you make unstructured space for it.  When I got to close of the day, I realized that while a part of me felt guilty for not being particularly “productive” (no catching up on work, no doing household chores, no addressing Christmas cards), I marveled at how spiritually and emotionally productive the day felt with my daughter.

I know finding even moments of quiet anticipation in Advent can feel impossible these days.  There are so many things vying for our attention – many of them quite good and important.  But I wonder if you might be able to carve out some unscheduled time in these weeks left of Advent.  They may have to be in the car on your way to something, or while walking on the treadmill, or saying goodnight to the children.  Maybe it means making your way to church even if you have other invitations. Whenever you can find that sacred space, I promise the life and love of Christ is waiting for you in the stillness.  God is already there.  You are invited to say hello.

Sermon – Malachi 3.1-4, A2, YC, December 8, 2024

12 Wednesday Feb 2025

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The professional choir at the parish I served as a curate would perform Handel’s Messiah every Advent season in preparation for Christmas.  I remember my first Advent the Rector told me about the performance with excitement and anticipation, and all I remember thinking was, “Oh goodness!  Do I have to go??”  Do not get me wrong, I love Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus as much as anyone, but that piece is only about three-four minutes long and is only half-way into the three hours of singing that Handel’s Messiah takes. 

Music is a funny thing in Advent.  Since we hardly ever hear music at this service, you may not remember the hymns designated for singing in Advent.  But most people I know who regularly attend services with music do not really love Advent music.  Unlike familiar, comforting, endearing Christmas carols, Advent hymns are “discordant, unsung, and unpopular in many congregations.”[i]  I have known choir members whose skin crawls from Advent music, and I imagine some of you are here today because the idea of a whole service dedicated to Advent Carols which we will hear at 10:00 am sounds like torture. 

The problem might be that Advent music is not as catchy as Christmas music.  But I think there is a deeper truth to our distaste of Advent music.  The music of Advent points to the themes of Advent:  of apocalyptic demands to be alert, doing acts of righteousness to be right with God; of judgment so stringent to be compared to a refiner’s fire and fullers’ soap; of needing to bear fruit worthy of repentance so as not to be chopped down and thrown into the fire; and of bringing down the powerful from their thrones and lifting up the lowly.  None of that is quite as catchy as a holly, jolly Christmas.

Perhaps the issue is that Advent music tries to do the same thing scripture does.  In 1741, Handel wrote to a friend of his masterpiece Messiah, “‘I should be sorry if I only entertained them.  I wished to make them better.’  The composer challenges [us] to go beyond feeling good to doing good.”[ii]  The same was true for Malachi.  Malachi brings good news of a messenger coming to prepare the way of the Lord and that we will be purified enough that our offerings will be pleasing to the Lord as they once were before.  But Malachi also reveals the fearful questions of the people.  “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”  These are just two of the twenty-two questions in the fifty-five verses of Malachi.[iii]  But they are questions we all ask if we are paying attention during Advent.

I remember when I was pregnant with my first child, women poured pregnancy stories over me.  A camaraderie of sorts began to build, the state of our friendship altered because we were now going to share something we had not before.  But what I always noticed about those stories is whenever I expressed my nervousness about labor, their eyes darted away, and they made wistful promises about how anything resembling pain would be forgotten.  The more their warm countenances shifted to wary, twitchiness, the more I suspected labor would be a painful reality.

The same is true for the infant we will welcome once again on December 24th.  As much as we cry out, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” as much as we sing of “Silent Nights,” and as much as we dream of “Joy to the World,” our Christmas celebration comes with a price – the price of preparation, of messengers making the way for joy, of fire burning away all that corrupts us.  Advent is not about entertaining us.  But, much like Handel hoped, Advent is meant to make us just and better, so that we might be right with God when that infant is placed in the arms of the Church.  Advent is for Malachis, for Zechariahs, the father of that coming messenger, and for you and for me.  And although we may feel like we have been refined enough to last a lifetime after the last election season, the refining God is doing now in each of us means, as one scholar assures, we will “be re-formed in God’s image, and [that re-forming] will be good.  No matter how we feel about it now.  No matter what we may be afraid of now.  When we are refined and purified as God promises, it will be good.”[iv]  As much as we may dread that awful Advent music or loathe those heavy, foreboding stories of Advent, we do so together, knowing that we are being refined tougher, so that, together as a community, we will welcome the Christ Child with open, ready arms.  Amen.

[i] Deborah A. Block, “Pastoral Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 30.

[ii] Block, 30.

[iii] Block, 26.

[iv] Seth Moland-Kovash, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 31.

On Seeing Christ in Neighbor…

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

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This week, I realized I was internalizing some stress.  It feels a bit silly upon reflection, but I’ve been in my head about family, work, and personal obligations.  Somehow, we’ve managed to be even more busy than normal this Advent – so much so that I have had to call in favors to help with shuttling children to ensure everyone is able to meet their obligations.  It is entirely a first-world problem to have, and yet it brings with it such mental labor that I find it much harder than normal to be centered and grounded this year.

One of the challenges of being off-center in Advent is that our minds are so filled with the details of life that we fail to notice God’s presence around us.  The mental labor of life can leave little room for sacred whispers.  This Advent, I am using a book of meditations by Dietrich Bonhoeffer as my spiritual practice.  In one meditation, Bonhoeffer says this of Jesus, “He confronts you in every person that you meet.  As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbor, as the one through whom God calls you, speaks to you, makes demands on you.  That is the great seriousness and great blessedness of the Advent message.   Christ is standing at the door; he lives in the form of a human being among us.”[i]

I wonder what appearances of Jesus through others are you missing this Advent?  How might you share some of that mental labor, or what things can you leave undone, so that you can see God more clearly?  My daughter helped me with this one this past week.  We hustled around to purchase Angel Tree gifts for some families our church had adopted.  I asked her to load the donation bags as the final step.  When I put the filled bags into the hallway by the front door, I noticed an extra slip of paper in the bag.  My daughter had made a card to go with her gift.  She had not just seen the purchasing of gifts as a good thing to do.  She thought of the little girl, who needed a coat, who wanted a few toys, who wore a certain size of clothes and shoes.  Where I saw a task, she saw a person – she saw Jesus.  My prayer is that you can see Jesus this week too.

[i] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God is in the Manger:  Reflections on Advent and Christmas (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 2.

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 1, 2024

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

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Many years ago, when my husband and I were driving from our honeymoon in the Outer Banks back home to Delaware, we decided to take the scenic route.  At the time, the idea of a scenic drive sounded romantic.  We were excited to take the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.  And of course, as newlyweds, we were just excited to have more time together.  But by hour ten, I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I devolved into a whiny mess who could not keep still and who huffed and puffed in frustration.  I kept shifting around and fidgeting in my seat, and I am pretty sure I groaned at some point, “Are we there yet?!?”  Any notion of a romantic journey was lost – all I wanted was to get home immediately.

I feel similarly about Advent.  As a priest well-trained in preaching from the lectionary, I know I am supposed to be appreciative of the intentional ways in which the lectionary shapes, prepares, and teaches us.  But as soon as Advent starts, I struggle not to get overly excited.  I think about the Advent candles, the beautiful blue vestments, and the greenery.  And because I know what is waiting for us on December 24th, I turn into that car-trapped honeymooner, complaining, “Are we there yet?!?”  Since I know a baby is coming, all I want to think about is Mary’s pregnancy, her relationship with Joseph, and the long journey to Bethlehem.  I am not saying I need to celebrate baby Jesus right away, but I at least would like to throw a baby shower or see Mary’s baby bump.

But that is not how Advent is presented to us in the beginning of Advent.  Instead of talking about the first coming of the Christ child, we talk about the second coming of Christ.  Instead of giddy, romantic stories about lovers making it work with an unexpected pregnancy, we get dark, foreboding tales of earthly disorder and destruction.  Instead of happy expectation, we get sober warnings to prepare ourselves and to stand guard.  Normally, I do not mind these texts at the beginning of Advent.  Theologically, I understand the concept of framing the first coming of Christ within the second coming.[i]  I understand that in order to appreciate Christ’s birth I need to remember what his birth means many years later.  I understand the need for a warning about being on guard for the second coming – a reminder that I do not get to enjoy all the fun stuff of Christ’s birth without realizing the significance of Christ’s death and return as well.  But emotionally, I am tired of being on guard.  I am tired of earthly destruction and political tension.  I am tired of feeling like the end is upon us.

That is what is so hard about Advent this year.  We are already on guard this Advent.  With an election that left us deeply divided, wounded, angry, and some scared; with war, death, and upheaval in the holy land we hope to celebrate in four weeks; and with natural disasters wiping out whole towns and transportation systems, we know all too well the reality of living in fear, guardedness, and preparation for the darkness of this world.  And quite frankly, when we come to church, especially in this season of preparing for the Christ Child, the last thing we want to do is dwell on the darkness.  We want some light from Christ too.

Many years ago, there was a film series called the Hunger Games.  For those of you unfamiliar with the series, the movie featured a dystopian future after a failed revolution.  As punishment for revolting against the Capitol, the Capitol designs what is called The Hunger Games – a battle to the death in which two children from each of twelve districts faces one another in an arena.  Not unlike ancient practices in Rome, and yet uncannily familiar to modern times, the residents of the Capitol watch the games with a detached sense of enjoyment as they cheer for their favorites.  In the first film of the series, President Snow talks to the head of the Games about why they have the games and a winner in the first place.  “Hope:” he explains, “It is the only thing stronger than fear.”  He goes on to say, “A little hope is effective.  A lot of hope is dangerous.”  You see, the President wants to keep people oppressed.  He knows that the people need to fear him – but he balances that fear with a tiny bit of hope so that they do not revolt again:  if they can believe that there is hope for a slightly better life while keeping the status quo, then they will strive to stay in line.  But the hope must be managed so that the hope does not liberate people from submission to the Capitol. 

We could easily live lives of fear when hearing Jesus’ words today about the Second Coming.  We could worry about natural disasters, about violence, and about destruction.  We could hear Jesus’ words about being on guard, being alert at all times, and standing up to raise our heads, and be worried about the burden of constant vigilance.  But Jesus is not trying to scare us into preparation.  Jesus does not want us to live in fear.[ii]  Quite the opposite, Jesus wants to give us a big dose of hope today.  Unlike President Snow, Jesus does not manipulate us by only giving us a small amount of hope.  Though today’s text can feel full of gloom, Jesus, in his weird Jesus way, is actually trying to give a large dose of hope today.  Instead of asking us to cower in fearful anticipation, he is inviting us to stand tall, raise our heads in certainty, and be people of sober, joyful expectation.

In our collect today, we prayed these words, “…give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light…”[iii]  Many of us may question whether we can put on an armor of light in such a despairing world.  Perhaps we worry about being insensitive to the suffering of the world and our communities or maybe we are having a hard time seeing light at all.  But putting on the armor of light is not putting on the armor of denial or dismissiveness.  Putting on the armor of light is an act of seeing and experiencing the deep groaning of our time and proclaiming that God works as an agent of light despite what feels like overwhelming darkness.  By putting on our armor of light, we are acknowledging that “God in Christ is coming because God loves us – because God wants to redeem us.”[iv]  Putting on the armor of light means that despite all that is falling apart in our lives, our communities, and the world around us, we claim hope over despair. 

Now some of us may think that putting on armor is preparing us for battle – that we are going to be dressed for a fight.  But the armor of light is a bit different.  The armor of light requires us to stand tall as beacons of light in the world – much like the lighthouses that line our eastern shores.  Now, I do not mean putting on that armor is a passive act.  In fact, as N.T. Wright explains, our armor is not for an “exciting battle, with adrenalin flowing and banners flying, but the steady tread, of prayer and hope and scripture and sacrament and witness, day by day and week by week.”[v]  Knowing that we are slowly, steadily treading toward Jesus’ return, we need that armor of light more than ever:  to protect us from allowing fear to overcome us, and to remind ourselves of how we are grounded in liberating hope. 

And just in case you are not convinced that you can survive a long, steady tread, the community of faith gathers here every week to witness and wear that armor of light with you.  We are like those freedom fighters from the Civil Rights movement, who steadily marched – from Selma to Montgomery, through the streets of Washington, D.C., and anywhere else where fear was reigning.  Their power was in their numbers, their fortitude, and their hope.  They wore the same armor that we don today.  Yes, we will get to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child soon enough.  But before he comes, when he comes, and after he comes, we will still need to stand up, raise our heads, and be agents of light and hope.  The world needs our light – and so do we.  Amen.

[i] Mariam J. Kamell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 21.

[ii] David Lose, “Advent 1 C: Stand Up and Raise Your Heads!” November 23, 2015, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/11/advent-1-c-stand-up-and-raise-your-heads/ on November 29, 2024.

[iii] BCP, 211.

[iv] Kathy Beach-Verhey, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 25.

[v] N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 260.

Sermon – John 1.6-8, 19-28, A3, YB, December 17, 2023

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

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Episcopalians are a funny crew.  I can claim that description honestly because I actively chose the Episcopal Church, having been raised in another denomination.  But what continues to humor me all these many years later is the almost universal look of panic Episcopalians get in their eyes when you start talking about evangelism.  I can already feel the nervous shifting in the room, so know that you are not alone.  The problem is the concept of evangelism brings up all sorts of images:  the guy on the street corner with a megaphone talking about the end being near; people knocking on your door with tracks about Jesus; the person asking you directly if you have been saved; or maybe even some more personally deeply damaging memories from so-called evangelicals.  And so, Episcopalians either:  just don’t do evangelism (entirely faithful but absolutely unwilling to talk to people about their faith life or Jesus); or they might be willing to share something vaguely about their church, but couldn’t imagine uttering the name Jesus; or they’ll do my favorite thing, which is quote St. Francis who is quoted as saying, “Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary, use words.” – and use that as the ultimate excuse to never actually have to use words.

For all of us squeamish Episcopalians, scripture gives us John today.  Now, in Mark’s gospel, John is called “John the baptizer.”  In Matthew’s gospel, he is called “John the Baptist.”  In Luke’s gospel, he is called, “John, the son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.”  But in John’s gospel that we read today, our beloved John is “John the Witness.”[i]   In fact, John’s gospel doesn’t have any narratives about John leaping in the womb, John dressed in funny clothes, or even John baptizing Jesus.  Instead, John’s gospel is the one that starts with that flowery poetry, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  Into this beautifully convoluted prologue comes John, who comes as a witness – whose entire job is to point to Jesus. 

I am not suggesting that your whole life needs to be a self-emptying, agency-free pointing to Jesus.  I had a dear friend whose response to every compliment was, “It’s not me.  It’s all Jesus working in me.”  This is a wonderfully humble way to live, but also a completely irritatingly sanctimonious way to live.  Instead, what John’s gospel today is inviting us to do today is to be entire clear about who we are in relation to Jesus.  Four times John the Witness is asked about his identity, “Who are you?” they ask.  “Are you Elijah?  Are you the prophet?  Who are you?”  And John the Witness says over and over again, “I am not.  I am not.  No, I am not.”  Even the prologue in the gospel tells us, “[John] came as a witness to testify to the light…He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light…”[ii]  In the verses following what we read, we’ll find John the Witness shouting to crowds about Jesus, “There he is!”  John is crystal clear about who is he and his role in honoring Jesus the Messiah.  His whole purpose is to be a witness.

Now, I know I might have painted this Advent as a time of sacred silence, a time of quiet preparation.  We even spent last week letting the words of Advent lap over us like cool refreshing water.  But this week, our quiet work is not passive.  Our invitation today is to get real clear on who we are.  Those questions for John are questions for each of us as well.  Who are you?  What then?  Who are you?  We have talked countless times about the work of discernment about our call – our vocation in the world.  Our work of being faithful followers of Christ is constantly checking that we know who we are and what we are called to be doing.  This is ongoing work that does not end – even in the midst of crazy Christmas preparations, we are to ask, “Who am I?” – what is God calling me to do?

This work of discernment does not excuse us nervous Episcopalians from evangelism.  I can imagine the math you were all just doing:  If John the Witness’s answers to “Who am I?” was that he was a witness, maybe my “Who am I?” will be something else – something less evangelical.  But the entire reason we do the work of answering the barrage of questions about who we are is so that we can prepare ourselves for active encounters with others about who they are – what they long for – how the coming Jesus has blessed us, and how our Church has helped us answer “Who are you?”  John is not the only Witness today in our gospel lesson.  John is simply pointing the way for our own witness too.  Amen.

[i] Gary W. Charles, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 71.

[ii] John 1.7-8.

On Children, Questions, and Dignity…

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

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We have been having lots of “big” conversations around our house the last couple of weeks.  The first happened when my younger child and I went to shop for our Angel Tree gifts – an annual tradition from our church and the Salvation Army.  Our girls tend to prefer to choose someone their age – perhaps because they feel more equipped to imagine what someone their age wants, or because it helps them feel a sense of camaraderie.  This year, the nine-year old we selected ended up being quite different from the nine-year old in our family.  Though the toys she wanted were familiar, the size of clothing needed made it obvious that the two girls could not be more different.  So, in the middle of a store, I found myself having a deep conversation about genetics, systems of poverty, and the blessed nature of all creation.

Later, the conversation turned heavy again.  Something came across the same nine-year old’s radar about Israel and Palestine, and the barrage of questions were endless and increasingly difficult.  We started with why they were fighting, talked about what each side had done, and what the impact of this war has been.  Eventually we got into the murky waters of the religious backgrounds of the warring sides – careful to talk about the interconnectedness of the Abrahamic faiths.  But then came the gut-punch question, “So, who do we want to win?”  Talking about war and peace, death and destruction, and the biblical complicatedness of the Holy Land was not exactly the conversation I was expecting between school, dinner, and various sports practices.

One of the disadvantages of being a “grown up” is we often think we have things figured out:  capable of complicated thought, educated and experienced, we have seen enough of life to understand its complexities and make judgments based on our learnings.  It is one of the many reasons why I am so grateful for the children in our lives – both my own, but also our community’s children.  As part of their village, our work is to responsibly help them see the complicated, often sinful, nature of humanity, and help them love humanity in all its complexity.  In essence, children help us see why one of the main promises in our baptismal covenant is we will respect the dignity of every human being.

As we bustle around the Advent season, tempted to be too busy to handle anything other than our massive to-do lists, I invite you to slow down.  When we run so fast and when our minds are so occupied, we miss the invitations to respect the dignity of every human being:  from our neighbors impacted by poverty, to the frazzled parent just trying to get their children to school, to the person suffering within their body, to the innocent bystanders of war.  Scripture tells us that each person, when they are at their best or their worst, their strongest or their weakest, their most successful or their most failing, are made in the image of God.  Whether we like them or not, Jesus asks us to respect the dignity of that creation every day.  How might you better respect the dignity of the humans around you today?

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, December 3, 2023

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

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I live a very loud life these days.  Whether it’s the morning hustle to get everyone to school, or the evening jockeying for showers, rushed dinners, or one last FaceTime with friends, my house can be a constant source of shh-ing, pleading for less noise, or reminders to close doors to contain volume.  That is not to say that all the noise in our home is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, dance parties, and storytelling.  But if you are looking to set up a yoga mat or trying to meditate, my house is not the place I would necessarily recommend. 

I sometimes blame all the noise in my life on my beloved children.  But the truth is I am as much a cause of the noise as they are.  I am admittedly loud myself – whether barking instructions around the house, singing aloud, or simply talking my husband’s ear off.  But I am not just loud in the house – I am also loud inside my head.  My mind is in constant conversation:  my to-do list, searching for ideas for a blog post, worrying about a sick friend or parishioner, trying to make plans for the weekend, processing a troublesome conversation, or wallowing in guilt for missed exercise or time in prayer.  As loud as my outside world is, my inside world is probably much worse.  Add Christmastime to the mix, and the loudness of my life reaches levels that can be incapacitating.

That is why I love Advent so much.  In the lead-up to Christmas, the outside world bombards us with noise:   Christmas songs on the radio, shopping to complete, parties to attend, gifts to wrap, houses to decorate, gatherings to host, cards to send, and loud relatives or friends to entertain.  In contrast, the Church at this time asks us to do the exact opposite:  slow down, take a breath, light some candles, breathe in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing blue of anticipation.  When the outside world is telling us, “Do more, buy more, run more, fuss more, stress more,” the Church says, “Do less, worry less, run less, talk less, be busy less.”  The contrast between the two worlds is like night and day, and at a time of high stress, Advent becomes the Church’s greatest gift to us. 

Into this contrast, we hear words from Mark’s gospel today.  The text says, “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.  It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.  Therefore, keep awake– for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.  And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”  Many of us hear this text today with a sense of anxiety – of needing to keep anxious watch for the Lord.  We might imagine the many apocalyptic movies, predictions, and preachers we have witnessed over the years and wonder whether Jesus really does want us to be more alarmed.  Certainly the outside world would have us also be alert and anxious for the coming Christmas. 

But I think the Church is saying something else today.  Instead of an anxious alarm, our gospel lesson sounds like a gentle reminder to me.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the quiet beauty of Advent.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the gift of time set apart in these four weeks.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the lead in to the manger, the dramatic retelling of why the manger is so important, and the grounding for this entire season.[i]  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are not meant to be one more anxiety to pile on top of a mound of concerns.  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are meant to help us focus on what is really important. 

So, make a commitment to come to church each Sunday in Advent and spend those Sundays in quiet worship with your church community.  Grab an Advent calendar or devotional to help you more intentionally mark the days leading up to the manger.  Or set up that Advent wreath at home, so that you might bring the quiet candlelight of prayer and meditation to your home.  Whatever the discipline, choose something this Advent that will help you maintain the quiet peace you find here at Church and carry that quiet peace throughout your weeks leading up to Christmas.  My guess is that noise of life will slowly fade into a quiet hum in the background – which is right where it should be.  Amen. 

[i] Lillian Daniel, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 22.

On Being Love and Light…

29 Wednesday Nov 2023

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This week, I was out shopping for household basics and managed to get in a fairly short line.  But before I could load my items onto the conveyer belt, I noticed the customer checking out was having some sort of issue.  Eventually I surmised it was an issue with a credit card.  The staff and customer realized she was using a card the store doesn’t accept.  The customer rifled around for another card, but for some reason, during her flustered search, she became emotional.  I would not have noticed except the checkout clerk and the bagger immediately jumped into caretaking.  I heard them soothing her, assuring her everything was okay.  I then overheard the bagger explaining how his day had been pretty crummy too, with a broken-down car and a phone that fell into a rain puddle.  The mood lightened – for the three of them, certainly, but even for those of us further back in line who may have been tempted to become impatient or frustrated. 

I confess, I was in awe of the interaction.  Here were three very different people – of different genders, races, and socioeconomic statuses – and yet, in that moment, they showed anyone willing to see how to be a decent human.  That may sound simple, but with shoppers bustling around with the frenzy of the holiday season upon us, and the emotions that are often lingering right under the surface this time of year, it was a powerful reminder about our priorities this season.

I do not know about the religious affiliation of anyone in that triad, but in Church speak, those two staff members were showing the love of Christ to that woman – they were showing what our baptismal covenant calls “respecting the dignity of every human being.”  One of our core purposes at Church is to equip followers of Christ to go out into the world, sharing the love of Christ in their own particular vocation.  As Advent approaches this Sunday, I am reminded that the world needs that love now more than ever.  We certainly do that intentionally at Hickory Neck, with services like our Blue Christmas service that acknowledges how our vulnerable emotions can be bubbling right under the surface this time of year, or with our Invitation Sunday coming up that honors how much longing there is in the world for meaningful community.  But more importantly, I hope our church is empowering our parishioners to be agents of love everyday, who can, at the drop of a dime, see need right in front of them, and show compassion, mercy, and grace.  I look forward to hearing from you where you see invitations this week to show Christ’s love and light!

Sermon – Malachi 3.1-4, A2, YC, December 5, 2021

22 Wednesday Dec 2021

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The professional choir at the parish I served as a curate would perform Handel’s Messiah every Advent season in preparation for Christmas.  I remember my first Advent the Rector told me about the performance with excitement and anticipation, and all I could remember thinking was, “Oh goodness!  Do I have to go??”  Do not get me wrong, I love Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus as much as anyone, but that piece is only about three-four minutes long and is only half-way into the three hours of singing that Handel’s Messiah takes. 

Music is a funny thing in Advent.  Most people I know do not really love Advent music.  Unlike familiar, comforting, endearing Christmas carols, Advent hymns are “discordant, unsung, and unpopular in many congregations.”[i]  I have known choir members whose skin crawls from Advent music, and I imagine many of you are here today because the idea of a whole service dedicated to Advent Lessons and Carols which we will hear at 10:00 am sounds like torture. 

The problem might be that Advent music is not as catchy as Christmas music.  But I think there is a deeper truth to our distaste of Advent music – the music of Advent points to the themes of Advent:  of apocalyptic demands to be alert, doing acts of righteousness to be right with God; of judgment so stringent to be compared to a refiner’s fire and fullers’ soap; of needing to bear fruit worthy of repentance so as not to be chopped down and thrown into the fire; and of bringing down the powerful from their thrones and lifting up the lowly.  None of that is quite as catchy as a holly, jolly Christmas.

Perhaps the issue is that Advent music tries to do the same thing scripture does.  In 1741, Handel wrote to a friend of his masterpiece Messiah, “‘I should be sorry if I only entertained them.  I wished to make them better.’  The composer challenges [us] to go beyond feeling good to doing good.”[ii]  The same was true for Malachi.  Malachi brings good news of a messenger coming to prepare the way of the Lord and that we will be purified enough that our offerings will be pleasing to the Lord as they once were before.  But Malachi also reveals the fearful questions of the people.  “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”  These are just two of the twenty-two questions in the fifty-five verses of Malachi.[iii]  But they are questions we all ask if we are paying attention during Advent.

I remember when I was pregnant with my first child, women poured pregnancy stories over me.  There was a camaraderie the stories built, the state of our friendship altered because we were now going to share something we had not before.  But what I always noticed about those stories is whenever I expressed my nervousness about labor, their eyes darted away, and they made wistful promises about how anything resembling pain would be forgotten.  The more their warm countenances shifted to wary, twitchiness, the more I suspected labor would be a painful reality.

The same is true for the infant we will welcome once again on December 24th.  As much as “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” as much as we sing of “Silent Nights,” and as much as we dream of “Joy to the World,” that celebration comes with a price – the price of preparation, of messengers making the way for joy, of fire burning away all that corrupts us.  Advent is not about entertaining us, but, much like Handel hoped, is to make us just and better, so that we might be right with God when that infant is placed in the arms of the Church.  Advent is for Malachis, for Zechariahs, the father of that coming messenger, and for you and for me.  And although we may feel like we have been refined enough to last a lifetime in this last year and a half, the refining God is doing now in each of us means, as one scholar assures, we will “be re-formed in God’s image, and [that re-forming] will be good.  No matter how we feel about it now.  No matter what we may be afraid of now.  When we are refined and purified as God promises, it will be good.”[iv]  As much as we may dread that awful music or loathe those heavy, foreboding stories of Advent, we do so together, knowing that we are being refined tougher, so that, together as a community, we will welcome the Christ Child with open, ready arms.  Amen.

[i] Deborah A. Block, “Pastoral Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 30.

[ii] Block, 30.

[iii] Block, 26.

[iv] Seth Moland-Kovash, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 31.

On Solitude, Gratitude, and Advent…

01 Wednesday Dec 2021

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Photo credit: https://www.horizonviewhealth.com/favorite-autumn-walks/

This Thanksgiving was a bit different for us.  Instead of making a drive, or having family come to us, the four of us had a quiet day punctuated by a traditional meal on the family China.  When I kept referring to Thanksgiving Dinner, even my children protested, “What’s the big deal – it’s just lunch!”  As an extrovert who has spent a lot of the last almost two years with these three other people, I felt a sense of absence for all the people with whom I have enjoyed this traditional day.  But as I watched my beloved introvert revel in the quiet, I began to see a peace among these four people who have come to deepen our trust and love for one another during this pandemic (even if that love is sometimes expressed in short tempers and bickering). 

I suspect we were not alone in our “new normal” Thanksgiving.  Many people from our church community had similar arrangements – couples who stayed home, four neighbors who came together in their “aloneness,” singletons who found joy over Zoom calls.  Even those who gathered in smaller groups commented on the quietness of the day – and a kind of gratitude that can only come from scarcity – scarcity of community, of gathering, of all things normal. 

For me, it was the perfect way to segue into Advent, a similar season of hushed quietness.  As the world whirls around us, we pull back, quietly preparing our homes, knowing the uncertainty of these times, and being grateful for every moment of comfort in this season of waiting.  That’s why I enjoy the Advent practice called “AdventWord.” – a visual way to meditate on a daily word throughout Advent.  It gives me a chance to scroll back through old pictures or turn my gaze to the world around me and snap something anew.  It is a solo, quiet practice that stirs creativity, gratitude, and hope.

What are you doing this Advent to set time apart?  How are you struggling to set time apart?  Maybe you can only find literal moments of peace.  Maybe you can squeeze out a half hour a day.  Maybe you can daily confess your desire for such a practice to the God who sees you in all your commitments.  Whatever you do this Advent, know that you have the support and love of a community who sees you too, and holds on to a desire for peace and comfort for you in this season.