Advent 2012 (Christmas Day)
Merry Christmas, my friends.
Advent 2012 (Christmas Eve)
He who testifies to these things says: “Yes, I am coming soon.”
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.
– Revelation 22:20-21
Advent 2012 (Fourth Sunday)
O sacred Lord of ancient Israel,
who showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush,
who gave him the holy law on Sinai mountain:
Come, stretch out your mighty hand to set us free.
– Kathleen Norris, God With Us: Rediscovering the Meaning of Christmas
Advent 2012 (Third Saturday)
Christmas Bells
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.
I 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.
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.”
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!
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Advent 2012 (Third Friday)
Brown leaves are everywhere like an ugly, soggy blanket, and I want snow so badly I ache.
I want to be tucked in beneath that still, beautiful whiteness. I want to sleep on and on and forget how ugly this world is. How broken.
I pray for snow, and I tell God I don’t want to live in this world anymore. I don’t want to wake up day after day in a world where children die such violent deaths (whether it’s one young man with a gun or a government with a bomb). Enough.
I tell God how screwed up everything is, and I’m not praying to an infant in a manger, I’m praying to one whose “… eyes were like blazing fire … [whose] feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and [whose] voice was like the sound of rushing waters” (Revelation 1:14-15).
Snow refuses to fall, the world stays stubbornly brown, and I begin to wonder what that voice like rushing water is saying.
I can speak so quickly, so effortlessly of hope and heaven. Of no more tears and all made right.
I am quick to talk but oh, so slow to listen.
What message blazes in the eyes of the one who kicked over those tables at the temple?
I want to sing of snow and silent nights, but I’ve been walking this Advent road, and I can’t easily forget that Mary sang of justice not silence.
Could it be that I am not grieved enough? Could it be that I am not angry enough?
Because, looking at him, I know what love looks like: giving small children the welcome of my arms and kicking those tables with fire in my eyes.
But this is no Jesus with guns blazing, like a video-game hero out for revenge. That’s the world’s way. The old way. What I see in his fiery eyes is a peacemaker’s fire. A turn-the-other-cheek fire. A fire that brings food to the hungry. A fire that will not let the world forget what children suffer.
This is a radically upside down kind of love. It lays down its rights (to safety, to comfort, to not be inconvenienced) in order to care for the weakest, the smallest, the most despised.
I no longer want the oblivion of snow.
I want a torch. I want a bonfire. I want to shine the light of The Ancient of Days into every despicable, dark corner until, yes, I’ll say it, until all is made right.
