Tag Archives: Advent

Advent: We Wait in Community

This year for Advent, I’ve been drawn to the concept of waiting. I know that’s a normal Advent theme; in many ways, it is the point of Advent. We remember the centuries that the people waited for the birth of Christ. Now, we wait for His return.

We wait.

Advent teaches us to wait.

In an age of convenience, where waiting is one of the worst “first world” problems we can face, it’s good to be reminded how to wait.

But this year, that waiting seems a little more personal to me; a little more poignant. Maybe it is because of a health crisis last year – kidney cancer, and the removal of a kidney. I’m more in tune now to my body and soul in a way I haven’t been before. I have my yearly check up soon; I know it will be fine. But – still, I wait.

Maybe it’s also the chaos happening within United Methodism. We wait for General Conference. We wait for discernments. We wait for conversations. There’s not a day that goes by where I do not have this conversation multiple times.

We wait.

Right now, you are waiting for something.

I am waiting.

We are all waiting.

When I have to wait on substantive matters, I feel the stress of being in-between. When I feel that stress, my impulse is to pull back.

To pull back from community.

To pull back from family and friends.

To pull back from everyone.

I know isolation is not good for me, for anyone. But in the stress and strain of waiting, that’s where my impulse takes me.

But what did God tell Adam in the garden? “It is not good for a man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). What is the first word of The Lord’s Prayer? Our Father. Not my Father, your Father, but our Father.

The prayer the Lord taught us to pray was a prayer of community. Our souls crave community, while often, our flesh pushes us away from community. After the Fall, what did Adam and Eve do in the Garden when God was looking for them? They hid (Genesis 3:8).

As you wait for whatever it is you are waiting for, that same impulse of our first parents will whisper to you Pull back. Hide. Keep to yourself. I know that impulse, it flows from deep within me. But it is not God’s design or will.

Remember: it was a community of shepherds who greeted the Lord.

It was a community of Magi who brought Him gifts.

It was a community of disciples who followed Him.

And it is a community of believers who serve Him now. We need community. We need family.We need our people.

Especially as we wait.

Whatever it is you are waiting for, know that you are loved, you have value, and you are not alone -even if you feel like it. You are part of His community.

Even as we wait.

Featured image courtesy Levi Meir Clancy via Unsplash.

Quietly Anchored by Advent

Some things you only discover over the long course of years. This frustrates an economy of optimization, hyper-fixated on immediate improvement and benefit. Wisdom can’t be reduced to “insights” gleaned by data, metrics, or analytics though, even if they’re useful from a strategic point of view. The season of Advent stubbornly persists in forcing the door open for the hard-to-quantify long-haul. It even escapes the individual desire to find in it a quick shot of spiritual inspiration, like a swallow of Gatorade to get us back in the game. Advent will quietly hold you in place, arresting your plans, anxieties, and even priorities. Wait, it whispers. Wait. Wait. Don’t pull out your phone, though, to dull the irritation at waiting. No, Advent asks us to sit through the discomfort of waiting until we find ourselves watching.

If you didn’t grow up in an especially liturgical tradition, it may have seemed odd to you as a child – the anticipation of Christmas, the frenzied build up all to one day – the odd, slow deflation afterward. The twelve days of Christmas bridging manger to Magi somehow makes more intuitive sense even to an informal child-calendar. It makes sense that this good news – Jesus born, Word Made Flesh! – is due more a little season of celebration than a single day.

Though I can’t speak to the value of liturgical rhythms in the same way that someone in their eighties or nineties could, I’m now at a point in life where I can meet Advent as a friend. It wasn’t always so, though I always enjoyed popping open the little paper doors of the Advent calendar. There were years I was impatient for Christmas itself – or impatient for the arrival of my own December child. There were other years I wanted to set a match to the whole thing and watch it burn into ash I could smear on my forehead; some years, by mid-December, I wanted only the lament of Lent and could barely stomach the thin, brittle glass of the ornaments on the tree, my soul in curving shards.

Over time, Advent has become an anchor. Whatever the state of the world, whatever the state of me, I run or crawl into the immovable wall of Revelation in the Flesh. It is the fact of it that breaks me. This tender joy tears the mighty from their seats of power. This blast of Light is inescapable and I must sit with it even if it infuriates me or illumines me. How dare this Beauty exist in the realness of time and space; it is unbearable. It’s not fair: not in a world of cancer wards and barefoot refugees and one person bashing the skull of another. Six pounds, nineteen inches of the Infinite. The Word Made Vulnerable – as vulnerable and defenseless as a newborn. “Into the violence,” whispers the Trinity, “defenseless Love will be born.” If God had asked my advice, I would have tried to find a polite way to suggest how irresponsible this move was. Thankfully, God did not.

Joy and grief are such fragile states; such vulnerable places to be. No one wants joyful times to end; and grief carves us hollow and brings us to the manger empty-handed, distracted, exhausted. In all seasons of human experience – whether December arrives to find you cheerfully lighthearted or hollow or more tired than you’ve ever been – in all seasons of experience, Advent will anchor you to God Who Gets Down on the Floor with Us and Learns to Roll Over, to Joseph and Mary’s cheers. It isn’t ever more sophisticated than this. It is always as safe as this. In joyful years and hard years, the belly-laugh or tightened throat, Advent gives your hand something to grip as you wait. And the path always ever only leads to a defenseless newborn. “Here,” Mary says; “would you like to hold Jesus for a moment? I need to get something to drink.” You hesitate and sit in the rocker and uncertainly accept his snug form into the crook of your elbow. “There,” God says; “I didn’t approach Elijah in the wind or fire or earthquake, but in the still small whisper; and I come to humankind now, small enough to wrap my hand around your pinkie finger.”

In the waiting, slowly, watching can begin. In the watching, you will find over the years that the Light shines in the darkness, and the grim boil of darkness cannot overcome a helpless, sleeping newborn, watched over by the animals he sang into existence. Come, all you who are tired and heavyhearted, and he will give you rest.

Featured image courtesy Evelyn Semenyuk via Unsplash.

Waiting and Working for Peace

My wife and I currently live in Switzerland, very close to the French border, so we regularly travel between the two countries. Despite French being spoken in our Swiss canton, there are lots of differences between France and Switzerland. (The Swiss – rather sniffily – would claim the standard of driving and condition of the roads are among the most obvious.) But the difference I personally notice the most is in the war memorials. In France, just about every village has a memorial to those killed in the two world wars. In contrast, in Swiss towns and villages, they are conspicuous only by their absence. Switzerland has guarded its peace; it hasn’t been involved in a major war for hundreds of years, and the people here have no memory of family members lost in war.

The prophet Isaiah wrote what to us is one of the most familiar Advent scriptures. The people to whom his words were addressed were more like the French than the Swiss, in the sense that they knew war deeply, and death; tyrants, and their violence. Like Switzerland in WWII, the people of Judah in Isaiah’s day were surrounded by more powerful warring nations; but unlike the Swiss, Judah had been involved in conflict for centuries. That’s the background to this passage Handel made so familiar through his Messiah.

“Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress. In the past, he humbled the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future, he will honour Galilee of the nations, by the Way of the Sea, beyond the Jordan—The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness, a light has dawned. You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as warriors rejoice when dividing the plunder. For as in the day of Midian’s defeat, you have shattered the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor. Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:1-6, NIV)

It’s easy to jump to verse 6 – “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace,” and skim over or ignore the earlier verses. Somehow, talk of yokes of oppression and blood-stained uniforms doesn’t seem to fit with the jolly atmosphere people expect at Christmas. But I wonder if those verses are crucial to appreciating Advent?

In a sermon on this passage, scholar N.T. Wright points out that these often-ignored earlier verses contain two promises that resolve two of the great problems that have plagued humanity: violence and tyranny. The promised child who will be the Prince of Peace will shatter the tyrant’s oppressive power and consign the results of violence – the wounded soldier’s blood-stained clothing – to history.

Wright goes on to say, “What is promised through the Prince of Peace is justice attained without violence; peace attained without accompanying tyranny. My friends, the world today is still wondering how to get to that result. And Isaiah says: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; for to us a Son is given, the Prince of Peace.’ And we who live between the death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth and the final establishment of the kingdom he came to bring, the kingdom in which justice and peace shall be knit together at last and forever – we are entrusted with a mission. Not simply to save a few souls from the wreck of this world since God so loved the world and has promised to redeem it. Nor simply to tinker with the world’s own systems, merely to do things a bit differently here or there. No: rather, by prayer and courage, and holiness and hard work – and it will be hard work – we are called to discover the practical ways in today’s and tomorrow’s world of seeking justice without violence, of making and maintaining peace without tyranny.”

Often, talk about Advent focuses on a time of waiting; and this great prophecy of Isaiah’s should encourage us to wait – but to wait with a certain impatience and longing for the Prince of Peace to return and fully establish his Kingdom of Peace. We’re to long for the time when the Prince of Peace will reign over the world in a Kingdom characterized by justice without violence, peace without tyranny. A kingdom where, as in my little Swiss village, there will be no more need for memorials to war.

I say this tentatively, but recently I’ve been wondering if we as evangelical Christians in the West remember war too nostalgically and long for its consignment to history too little? Acts of remembrance so easily tip over the edge into celebrating a nation’s victories in war rather than reminding of the horrors of war.

Maybe Wright pointed us to the answer when he said that we who claim to live in the Kingdom of the Prince of Peace have been given a mission. We are to do more than remember the tragedy of war until peace is established. Our mission as the people of the Prince of Peace is more than simply passively longing for peace. Our mission, Tom Wright reminds us, is to work for peace, “by prayer and courage, and holiness and hard work – and it will be hard work… we are called to discover the practical ways in today’s and tomorrow’s world of seeking justice without violence, of making and maintaining peace without tyranny.”

I dare to suggest that Advent will have a great significance for our lives and our world if it motivates us to a commitment to do everything we can to seek justice without violence and make and maintain peace without tyranny.

Featured image courtesy Nicolas Hoizey via Unsplash.

Make a Path for God’s Comfort to Arrive

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ A voice says, ‘Cry out.’ And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’ ‘All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.’ You who bring good news to Zion, go up on a high mountain. You who bring good news to Jerusalem, lift up your voice with a shout, lift it up, do not be afraid; say to the towns of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’ See, the Sovereign Lord comes with power, and he rules with a mighty arm. See, his reward is with him, and his recompense accompanies him.” – Isaiah 40:1-10

Comfort. It is such a simple word. Yet, when spoken in certain contexts, it becomes profound. The year 2020 has been one such context. Whether it has been the violence and racial injustice in American towns and streets, the divisions over the national election, or the murder hornets, there hasn’t been much comfort this year. This is to say nothing of the disruptive pandemic we are in. Some people have lost their jobs, others their businesses, still others, their lives. Some readers probably have had Covid, the experience of which, I am told, makes comfort a distance memory. Others have had to care for a loved one with Covid or watched a loved one die from it. During such tragedies, we normally find comfort in the presence of friends and family, but Covid has robbed us even of this. After the year we have had, what would we give to hear that simple word spoken to us: comfort.

The uncertainty and sense of hopelessness of the current moment approaches the context in which these words from the prophet Isaiah were first spoken. The people of Israel, to whom he addressed his message, were in exile in Babylon. They had been forcibly removed from their native land years before. Their homes and crops had been destroyed, their temple burned to the ground, and their king killed along with the rest of the royal line descended from David. Having been rescued from slavery by their God over 1,000 years before, they found themselves back as slaves in a foreign land. “By the rivers of Babylon,” laments the Psalmist, “we sat and wept when we remembered Zion . . . How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?” (Psalm 137:1, 4). The lament of the people of Israel must have had an additional layer of bitterness; they knew their own unfaithfulness caused their exile. The writer of Lamentations writes, “After affliction and harsh labor, Judah has gone into exile. She dwells among the nations; she finds no resting place…The Lord has brought her grief because of her many sins” (Lamentations 1:3, 5). The people of Israel were experiencing the covenant curses for their centuries of unfaithfulness and idolatry: namely, the loss of God’s presence, for which humans were created. Exile. Death.

And then, spoken in the midst of their darkest days, comes that profound word, comfort. “Comfort, comfort my people,” says the Lord through the prophet. Yes, even in exile, even in their unfaithfulness, they were still his people. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,” he continues, “and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” If we could put this message more simply, it would be, “It’s over!” Or maybe even, “It is finished.”

What amazing words of hope and comfort! Those of us living through 2020 may understand a bit the unspeakable joy these words would have brought the exiles. How many internet memes and discussions are devoted to what we all will do, when this pandemic is over? How wonderful will it be, to be among friends and family again without fear, without masks? How lovely will a simple hug or handshake seem then? To eat at a restaurant, to go to a movie, to go back to work. We long after ten months of a pandemic simply to be able to leave our homes; the Israelites were in exile for 70 years; more than anything, they wanted to just go home.

But the completely unexpected truth about this prophecy is its proclamation that the end of exile would not consist in the Jews going back to their homeland, back to the place where they assumed God was. Rather, exile ends by God coming to them. The prophet says, “A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’” The highway was not for them to leave; the highway was for God to come.

The Jews didn’t grasp these words when they were first spoken. And so sometime later when they were released from Babylon and a remnant returned to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple, they thought that their exile was over. It wasn’t. Roman soldiers marched in the streets, David’s throne was still empty, and no one saw the glory of God. Most significantly, though they had returned, comfort remained far from them. Their disappointment must have been like ours will inevitably be, when 2020 turns to 2021, and we realize the pandemic has not ended. A random year change or a lighted ball dropping from a building or a presidential election can’t fix anything. The only thing that can fix a broken and hurting world, an exiled and a quarantined people, is God showing up in our midst. And for that, they would have to wait.

Like the exiles, we are in a period of waiting right now, the season of Advent. In the cultural mind with all its cherished traditions, Advent always gets mixed up with Christmas. But the celebration and feasting that is Christmas doesn’t actually start until December 25^th. The season of Advent is less about celebration and more about exile, and the Church’s song in this season is less the joyous herald angels singing and more the lamenting cry, “Oh come, oh come Immanuel!” The words of this cherished Advent hymn are not far from the song of the exiles, “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.” Thus, Advent focuses us not only on Christ’s first coming 2,000 years ago but also on the hope of his second coming. We are reminded in this season that though Christ has already come, all is not well. Our world is still broken and hurting and we still long for Christ’s full presence. And so we wait.

Thanks be to God that unlike the exiles, we are waiting in this season with the confidence of the children of God, and the comfort of those who know that although not all is well, exile has indeed ended. It didn’t end because the Jews went back to Canaan or because they rebuilt the Temple. Its end is not found in the ceasing of pain or death or in the absence of rulers opposed to the purposes of God. These things are still very much a reality, as 2020 has made all too apparent. Rather, as Isaiah prophesied, exile ended when God came to us, in the very midst of our darkness, in Jesus Christ, the light of the world. It is for this reason that all the Gospels launch readers into John and Jesus’ ministries with the quotation from Isaiah 40 about the God who comes on a highway in the wilderness. About the God who speaks comfort. We know, then, that God is with us in the waiting.

No matter how dark these days are, take comfort in the Gospel’s promise that “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

Featured image courtesy Alexandre Dinaut on Unsplash.

In Peace: An Advent Benediction

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who was King and is King and will forever be King
Was born not to a family of nobles and princes,
But to a family who couldn’t even place their child in a proper crib;
a manger would have to do.

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who would be both the high priest and the perfect sacrifice for sins
Was born to parents who couldn’t even afford to give the full sacrifice, but only the offering of the poor:
a pair of doves.

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who will reign over all the kingdoms of the world
As a baby was hunted by the despotic ruler of an oppressive government.

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who perfectly embodied the fullness of God in human form
Experienced the human temptations of hunger, power, celebrity, and self-determination.

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who healed the blind and made the lame to walk and raised the dead
Bore our scars, experienced our woundedness, and tasted death.

Go in peace,
Remembering that the Christ who triumphed over the spiritual powers of darkness
Knows the darkness of a cold tomb.

Go in peace,
Knowing that the child born into poverty, uncertainty, oppression, temptation, woundedness and mortality
Is Jesus, the Son of God, the Light of the World, the Bread of Life, the True Vine, the Good Shepherd, the Lamb of God, Our Redeemer, Christ the Resurrected One, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the Great I AM, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, Emmanuel—
God with us.

Go in peace.
Amen.

Subversion: Christ the King Sunday

While today is Christ the King Sunday, next Sunday is the start of Advent. It always seems to me like a starting pistol signalling the frantic dash towards Christmas. No doubt it will be a very different Christmas this year, which perhaps will allow us as God’s people to reflect more deeply on what Christmas is about. To do just that, I reread the Christmas story; one very familiar passage sticks out.

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’” (Luke 2:8-12)

I once went for some tests to become an officer in the Intelligence Corps in the British army. (Who said military intelligence was an oxymoron?) During that weekend, we were given a lecture on subversion. One of the roles of the Intelligence Corps, we were told, was to keep an eye on foreign governments and domestic groups who were trying to subvert, or undermine, British democracy and values. They posed a threat, we were told. I don’t think the Roman Army had an Intelligence Corps, but if they had, those verses from Luke would have definitely interested and worried them. For us, the angels’ words to these poor shepherds seem familiar and safe. The whole scene appears Christmas card cosy and innocuous, but to the Romans, those words were the language of dangerous subversion. To the Romans, those words that described Jesus to the shepherds would have seemed more appropriate on an indictment for treason than on a greeting card.

Here is the significant thing: three things ascribed to Jesus by the angels were already used to describe the Roman Emperor. Written in letters and inscribed on monuments throughout the Roman Empire was that it was good news (“gospel”) that Caesar was Lord and Saviour and that he brought peace to the world (incidentally it was also often said that Caesar was a divine son of the gods).

Now do you see how subversive what Luke is telling us really is?

He is presenting Jesus, not Caesar Augustus, as the true divine King, who had come to bring peace and true salvation to the whole world. What we think of as a quaint nativity scene is in fact a gauntlet laid down to Rome and its claim to absolute power. It is a direct challenge to the so-called “gospel” of Rome and its peace which was enforced through brutality, and which did not provide any actual salvation.

This understanding of Jesus and self-understanding of Jesus which it expresses set the first generations of Christ followers on a collision course with Rome. This is the political reason for Jesus’ execution. Pilate had Jesus crucified because he believed Jesus was usurping the power that alone belonged to Caesar. Pilate rightly realised that there couldn’t be two people in the Roman Empire claiming to be Lord of all.

The early Christians faced death for saying the fundamental creed of Christianity that flowed from the birth, life, death, resurrection and ascension of Christ, that “Jesus is Lord.” Whenever they said Jesus is Lord, they were saying simultaneously that Caesar was not Lord, a statement treasonously subversive to Rome.

I wonder if perhaps we have forgotten that to say Jesus is Lord and mean it, is to dethrone every other claim to ultimate authority over our lives? That other royal figure in the nativity story, King Herod, was many things: cruel, despotic, vain; but he was not a fool. Herod understood the implications of what the angels said to the shepherds. He realised Jesus had come to depose and dethrone him; that’s why he tried to kill him and didn’t mind how many innocent lives were lost in the process.

This Sunday, the last Sunday before Advent, has come to be known in the Church as Christ The King Sunday. It was designed to be a reminder that Jesus alone is Lord. Maybe more than ever as his disciples we need the reminder that Jesus and Jesus alone has the rightful claim to reign over our lives and world. Christ the King Sunday is a much-needed reminder that ultimate authority in our lives lies not with Caesar, not with politicians or governments, not allegiance to a nation, flag or philosophy, not to another human being or even with ourselves, but with our Lord Jesus Christ.

And in case you are looking for some small print – a get-out clause when it comes to Jesus claim to lordship over your life – I want to remind you of that well-worn but nevertheless true Christian cliché: “If he is not Lord of all, he is not Lord at all.”There is no area of our lives that Jesus does not claim the right to reign over, which of course means that many of us need to do some dethroning of usurpers.

Perhaps this is the real significance of Christ the King Sunday. It is an opportunity to look at what has been ruling over us in every aspect of our lives. It is an opportunity to dethrone the Caesars of today, allowing Christ the King to reign in their stead.

Dr. Ellsworth Kalas was my Dean when I spent a year at Asbury Theological Seminary. He was a master with words. I want to leave you with some of his words as we approach the celebration of the birth of our rightful ruler, from Preaching the Calendar.

“We’re all people who want to be king or queen. Some of us don’t get a very large throne, but we make the most of it. We start in our crib, from which we scream out our orders, and we generally keep at it, as much as society and good taste will allow, until we’re on our deathbed. We like being king or queen….Here, then, is a Christmas word for you and for me. If your name is Herod or Caesar (and everyone’s name is) then be afraid. Because the King has come, and He is going to win. This little babe, in swaddling clothes, is going to win. Brothers and sister, boys and girls, it’s time to get off the throne, and to give the throne to the only one who is eternally qualified to reign.” (p.144)

The Work and the Rest that is Worship

By Rev. Dr. Robert Haynes

In the midst of the Advent season, many church leaders are busy preparing for some extra special: Extra and Special worship services. These services generally draw people to church who have not been before or who have not been in a long time. These can be wonderful times of evangelistic energy. Newcomers to the church can be invited into the Christian community when church leaders work to prepare themselves and their congregations for authentic worship.

Though it may seem paradoxical, Christmas services maybe a time to demonstrate that the work of worship can lead to a divine rest. It is work that does not exhaust, but refreshes.

Church leaders will spend a great deal of time preparing for worship services. Every word to be spoken has been carefully prayed over. Music has been rehearsed. The worship space has been prepared. Leaders should also teach the congregation that worship takes some work on their part. It takes a holy work, and therefore, it is work worth doing. Whether we participate in a uniform, regular order of worship or not, we all participate in a “liturgy.” Liturgy literally means “the work of the people.” Liturgy does not have to be confined to something we read through in traditional worship.

It is indeed powerful to remember, participate, and celebrate the traditions of the centuries of worship that came before us. But all worship: traditional, contemporary, emerging, etc. can be a “liturgy” or a work of the people. Worship is not a spectator’s sport. True worship occurs when we bring ourselves to the worship of God. This requires more than our mere physical presence. This requires our entire being, our time, and our full attention. This can be real work sometimes, but it is always worth it.

Because the Holy Spirit is working in authentic, work-filled worship it is powerful! The power is already there in the Person and Presence of the Holy Spirit. We do not have to force it or make it happen. The Spirit is already there. When we open ourselves to the work of the Holy Spirit by reverent and careful preparation for worship God is glorified, and we transformed in the process.

Worship is also about rest. Let’s face it, many of us have trouble resting. Sometimes we even look down upon those who rest as lazy or unproductive. To be the child of God that we are called to be, we need to rest. We must take a deep breath: spiritually, emotionally, physically.

True worship is a time of rest. We rest in the arms of the God who loves us and desires that we too love Him. He wants us to cast our cares upon Him and take rest from the burdens that the world, others, or even ourselves have placed upon us.

In our worship we can sometimes get so caught up in singing about God or reading about God or hearing about God that we forget that worship is an experience of God. We experience God’s love so that we too might be changed more into the likeness of Him. Have you ever considered how you might move from all those things about God and move into a restful experience of God?

Our worship truly takes on a whole new meaning when we live out that which we say and do in worship. We affirm that God is all powerful, that He forgives sins, that the saints are to commune together, and that there is more to our being than just this earthly life.

If done carefully, prayerfully, and intentionally every worship service can be filled with holy work and holy rest. As new people come to our churches, may Christian leaders model this work and this rest some that others would come to know God’s work and rest for themselves as disciples of Jesus Christ.

Dr. Haynes is the Director of Education and Leadership for World Methodist Evangelism and the author of Consuming Mission: Towards a Theology of Short-Term Mission and Pilgrimage. He is an ordained member of The United Methodist Church. He can be reached at rob@worldmethodist.org. To learn more about, or to order, Consuming Mission, visit www.ConsumingMission.com.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_facebook][vc_tweetmeme][/vc_column][/vc_row] [/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

Aaron Perry ~ What a Baby Uncovers: The Judgment of Advent

“I’m pregnant!”

The announcement demands a response. At times the response is easy: There are hugs and cheers, whoops, whirls, and texts—the group kind. At times the response is complicated: There are glances and glares, winces, wails, and tears—not the good kind.

When a baby is a dream come true, the announcers set to painting a room, taking vitamins, writing letters, scheduling appointments, arranging photos, and purchasing a range of clothes…and bins—lots of bins—to house the clothes. The list feels endless. A baby is the natural tangible expression of marital love. Pregnancy is welcome news.

Tragically, a baby may be the opposite of a dream come true. For some, a baby may be a nightmare. Far from an expression of marital love, a baby may be evidence of secret infidelity, sexual abuse, rape, and impulsive action. Pregnancy may not feel like a delight, but a verdict.

Whether welcome or wished-it-wasn’t-so, a baby is revealing. The baby brings revealing light to the emotional strength, financial capacity, planning ability, and relational health of a life. A baby reveals the order (or chaos) of a house. A baby reveals a home’s priorities and values. Trying to welcome a baby into life and home without making adjustments is impossible. You can’t ignore the baby. There is new work, new responsibilities, and new demands.

While the Annunciation, Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she will conceive a child by the Holy Spirit, reminds Christians that a baby is on his way, Advent provides a time of preparation for his arrival. No longer can important tasks be put off. He’s on his way. Like expectant parents, churches and church members focus on making announcements, building floats, practicing and performing dramas, purchasing and distributing gifts. But we ought not ignore everything that Jesus’ birth revealed. It was not taken as easy celebration but as serious news. His birth could not be treated neutrally. Just as a baby reveals the state of the home, so did Jesus’ birth reveal the state of his world.

Just as a baby reveals the home’s priorities, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to our priorities. His birth exposes idolatry—the sin of placing anything before God. Do the priorities in our lives reflect God’s primacy in our love and devotion? Just as a baby must be loved in proper order, so must God order everything else in our lives.
Just as a baby cannot be ignored in its home, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to the rhythm of our lives. His birth exposes our folly—the sin of crafting a life without God. Have we ignored God? How have we constructed lives without God?
Just as a baby brings new responsibilities and work, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to our willingness to do the work given us by God. His birth exposes our penchant to sloth—the sin of refusing our God-given work. Are we giving our best to the work done by the will of God? Are we taking up our divinely ordered tasks?

Just as baby reveals my life’s priorities, constructions, and discipline, so does the birth of Jesus offer a judgment on my idolatry, folly, and sloth. Advent gives me time to prepare for that judgment.

Judgment on idolatry, folly, and sloth? No wonder people might not consider the birth of this baby Good News! But it actually is. If you have ever lived in a home, worked in an organization, invested in a community, or had a meaningful partnership that was marked with disorder, intentional ignorance, and laziness, then you know that judgment is, possibly, Good News. Proper judgment establishes order, wisdom, and meaningful work.

But the news of order, wisdom, and work is only good news if the one bringing judgment is of a certain character. The form taken in the manger reveals to us the heart of the judge. He would grow to be the one who would weep these prophetic words of warning, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate” (Matt. 23:37-38a). He weeps because Jesus’ words have a finality. His warnings have not been heeded and the ultimate symbol of his judgment will be the destruction of the temple as predicted in the very next chapter, Matthew 24.

But while the temple will be brought down, the personal houses of the disciples may still be guarded. “Keep watch!” “Stay awake!” or even “Wake up!” commands Jesus (Matt. 24:42). May your house be found in order! Advent is not simply an invitation to set our houses in order for his birth. Advent is an urgent opportunity to set our houses in order for Jesus’ return. By taking the opportunity to rightly order our lives, we may anticipate the glorious return of Jesus joyfully. His coming judgment will not be feared if we accept his present judgment against idolatry, folly, and sloth—even our own.

The liturgical calendar, in its wisdom, has given us Advent, complete with its call to prepare for judgment. Advent is like an alarm clock. The alarm clock’s obnoxious noise is not bad news! If properly set and attended, the alarm clock wakes us up to keep our lives well ordered, to keep us on time. The alarm clock is not bad news; it is the opportunity to prepare. Advent’s warning of judgment is not bad news; it is the opportunity to prepare for Christ’s return. Advent is an annual alarm clock, set to go off and remind us that a baby is coming and so we must be prepared. The baby will reveal the state of our house.

And if we prepare, then just as many heard the news of his birth as gospel, so will we anticipate his return with similar hope. Advent’s alarm clock is ringing. Are you awake? Are you alert?

Michelle Bauer ~ Leaving their Sheep to Find Jesus: When Shepherds and Angels Meet

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. – Luke 2:8-20

In order for shepherds to do their jobs well, they had to live in the fields and stay up all night watching their flocks in order to keep the sheep safe from predators; shepherds leaving their sheep would mean leaving them vulnerable. What do you think their lives were like? Would we consider this a “good job” today?

If the weather allows, sit outside for a few moments tonight, look at the sky, and imagine what it would have been like to see the sky suddenly filled with light and angels. What did the shepherds see that night? What did they hear?

The angels told the shepherds, “a Savior has been born to you…” Put yourself in the shepherd’s shoes and hear that angelic message for yourself. Christ the Lord has come to save you. What do you need to be rescued from?

The angels filled the sky saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men.” How does “Emmanuel,” God with us, bring peace into our lives? In what area of your life would you like for God’s peace to come?

For shepherds leaving their sheep, what do you think could make them willing to hurry away from their flocks and head into town to witness these events? In what ways did Jesus’ birth interrupt their lives?

The Shepherds couldn’t keep this amazing experience to themselves. It sounds like they told everyone they met! Is God doing something in your life that you would like to share with someone today? Do you know someone who needs to hear about God’s peace?

Eventually, the shepherds returned to the fields and their work, supervising livestock. We can only imagine that their lives have been dramatically changed. How has your life been changed by God’s presence? Take a moment now to glorify and praise God for those things.

Justus Hunter ~ Noise Without Word: Worship in a World of Static

“Shape without form, shade without color,

Paralyzed force; gesture without motion.” – T.S. Eliot

Noise without Word.

After Solomon died, his Kingdom was split in two – the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and the Southern Kingdom of Judah.

Solomon’s son, Rehoboam, reigned over Judah. He lived in Jerusalem, where Solomon built the temple of the Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

In the North, Jeroboam reigned over Israel. The Kings of Israel were masters of noise.

Noise-making, then and now, has benefits. You see, Jeroboam was worried. As long as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was the God of Israel, then Jeroboam’s people would travel to Jerusalem, Rehoboam’s home. Year after year they would trek to the Temple to offer sacrifices. Year after year they would trek to Rehoboam’s home. So Jeroboam was worried.

Now the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob was not like other gods. You couldn’t just build a temple anywhere for the God of Israel. This God spoke. And this God told the Israelites to build one temple, in one city. This God required one worship.

Other gods were just the opposite; the more the merrier! A King could build temple after temple, holy site after holy site, install priest after priest for these other gods. And though these other gods did not speak, they made a lot of noise.

So Jeroboam gave them noise. Lots of noise. Like the Israelites before him, he fashioned his own god rather than wait for the God of Moses. Like the Israelites at Sinai, Jeroboam cast a golden calf. But not just one. He cast two, and placed them on the Northern and Southern edges of his kingdom, in Dan and Bethel. He built them Temples. He gave them priests.

And he said to the people, “you have gone up to Jerusalem long enough. Here are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.”

Just like that, Jeroboam changed their history. He exchanged the God of Exodus for cheap imitations. And unsurprisingly, the people forgot their history. They forgot the story of true Exodus; they lost the God who sets free. They exchanged truth for imitation, form for shape, color for shade, Word for noise.

In changing their history, Jeroboam changed their worship. The gods who stole their history gave them spectacles. And so the people exchanged true worship for spectacle. They went about with spectacle in their eyes, and noise in their ears.

So they silenced the God of David. Jeroboam built sacred sites in all the high places across Israel. He installed priests to offer sacrifices to his gods. And so, all across Israel, from Dan to Bethel, noise filled the air. No one could hear the Word of the Lord, the God of David. All was imitation, mimicry, spectacle, and noise.

This was the way of Jeroboam.

After Jeroboam, all the Kings of Israel followed his way. Nadab, Baasha, Elah, Zimri, Omri, all of them “walked in the way of Jeroboam and in the sins that he caused Israel to commit, provoking the Lord, the God of Israel, to anger by their idols.” More Kings made more gods. More priests made more spectacles. More prophets made more noise. And the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was drowned out. No one could hear the Word of the Lord.

Of all the Kings of Israel, Ahab was the noisiest. Like the others, he “walked in the sins of Jeroboam.” Ahab and his wife Jezebel built a temple to Baal in the heart of the land, in Samaria. They raised poles to Asherah throughout Israel. And so they filled the land with noise.

Ahab did more to provoke the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than had all the Kings of Israel before him.

The gods of Ahab and Jezebel were happy. The God of Israel was drowned out. Noise. But no one could hear the Word of the Lord. Noise without Word.

And then, the Word of the Lord came to Elijah. The Word of the Lord declares a drought. On Mount Carmel, the Word of the Lord silences the prophets of Baal. Baal’s worship is a spectacle; but like all spectacles, it can deliver no fire. And so the Word of the Lord comes and rains fire, and then fires rain.

On Mount Carmel, Elijah mocks Baal’s spectacle. Elijah’s words called down signs and wonders from the sky. Consuming fire rains down. Elijah’s words condemn Baal’s noisemakers. The Word is proclaimed. And the Wordless noise is silenced by the Lord’s Word.

Or so it seemed.

(The next day) Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not (silence you) by this time tomorrow.”

The noise returns. The noisy gods declare vengeance. They are not satisfied with silencing the Word through noise, or stealing Israel’s history through mimicry. Now they must parody the Law of the Lord. And so, Jezebel vows to execute the law of noise. Noise without Word enacts law without Justice.

Elijah despairs. The day after the consuming fire on Carmel, he flees for his life. He wanders out into the wilderness, out of the kingdom of the gods of noise, and collapses under a bush. He begs the Lord to take his life. He flees the land of noise, mimicry, and parody. He flees the law without Justice, and begs for mercy from the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Better to die at the Word of the Lord than at the decree of the gods of noise. So he cries out:

Enough! Now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.

But the Lord withholds mercy. The Lord will not take his life away. The Lord will not let Elijah abandon his gifts, though they afflict him; though he is no better off with these gifts than his ancestors were with theirs. The Lord will not take back Elijah’s gift of life. He is harassed by the gift of life. And he is afflicted with the gift of prophecy.

God will not take his life. Instead, God restores it. Angels bring him food.

And Elijah got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Sinai, the mount of God.

Elijah feasts on food from heaven, like the manna in the wilderness. And like the manna, which sustained Israel forty years, Elijah’s food sustains him forty days.

Forty days, fasting. Forty days, trudging through wilderness. Forty days, back through the years to the site where God created Israel. Forty days, back to Mount Sinai, where God afflicted Elijah’s ancestors with gifts of Word, Worship, and Law.

Elijah retraces the journey of his ancestors. He remembers the Exodus, Moses, the encounter in the wilderness. Elijah returns. He finds a cave and collapses with exhaustion.

Then the Word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

For forty days, he has staggered to the edge of his life. For forty days, he has fasted to his innermost thoughts. For forty days, he has remembered his story. And there, where the Word of the Lord meets him, he pleads his case.

I was zealous, and yet…

And yet, your people have forsaken your covenant. They exchanged your Law for parody – a law without justice.

And yet, your people have thrown down your altars. They exchanged your Worship for spectacle – a worship without fire.

And yet, your people have killed your prophets. They exchanged your Word for noise.

“Shape without form, shade without color,

Paralyzed force; gesture without motion.”

Noise without Word.

Ours is an age of noise. We exchange our history for comforting lies of other gods. We exchange our worship for spectacles. We exchange true justice for parodies, imitations, mimicry. We fill our lives with noise. We silence the Word of the Lord.

Sometimes we expect God to cut through the noise. We look for the consuming fire of Mt. Carmel. If only God would upset our slumber with force – the rushing wind, the unsteady earth, the raining fire.

The Word said to Elijah, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard the silence, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.”

Much later in this story, the Word of the Lord came again.

The Word became flesh, and made His dwelling among us.

The Word ascended another mountain. And the Word gave another sign, feeding five thousand with five loaves and two fish. The Word descended the mountain heights, and worked another wonder, walking on water and calming the depths.

And then, he delivered a teaching. And that teaching mystified the people. People living among parody and imitation and mimicry. People with eyes full of spectacle and ears full of noise.

I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.

Eat my flesh. It is an odd teaching. It is an unsuspected teaching. It is a difficult teaching. And so, many left the Word who came down from heaven and returned to the noise.

So The Word, the bread that came down from heaven, turned to his disciples, and asked them a question:

“Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

“Shape without form, shade without color,

Paralyzed force; gesture without motion.”

Noise without Word.

Ours is an age of noise. We exchange our history for comforting lies of other gods. We exchange our worship for spectacles. We exchange true justice for parodies, imitations, mimicry. We fill our lives with noise. We silence the Word of the Lord.

But the Word comes nevertheless, not in an earthquake or fire or rushing wind, but in this man, Jesus the Christ. And he offers himself to us; eat from me, drink from me.

How odd. No spectacle of noisy gods. Just this peculiar sign, this unexpected wonder.

“Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

And he turns to his disciples, and he asks: “Do you also wish to go away?”

And we, with eyes full of spectacle and ears full of noise, despairing for our lives, afflicted with our gifts and our calls, like Elijah in the wilderness, respond:

“Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Note from the Editor: We appreciate the opportunity to revisit this reflection, which originally appeared on Wesleyan Accent in 2017.