#KeepingAdvent: "Presents and Presence"

Image courtesy of Idea go / freedigitalphotos

We all know what today is. It’s Christmas Eve, the day before we celebrate the coming of Jesus Christ as God Incarnate, and tonight is when Santa Claus comes. In some households, the festivities begin today with Christmas pageants, dinners, the opening of a single gift or other traditions as many families split the holiday among more than one location. For others it is the last mad dash of preparation spent shopping, wrapping, cooking, traveling, or some hectic combination thereof.

Today is also my birthday. Yes, in the midst of all the other hubbub of Christmas Eve, I had the nerve to come wailing into the world some x-number of decades ago. In fact, I grew up with the story of that inconvenience told again and again each year -- as the youngest of four, it threw a real kink into the rest of the family’s plans – and combined it with other experiences growing up to come to the conclusion that I was not wanted.

Yet, despite all of that (or more likely, with God’s unfathomable help), I have always believed that He and I have something special going on, as if being born the day before Christmas put me just a little bit closer to Him. Now, that’s not to say someone having a birthday any other day of the year can’t be just as close to God. I never thought about it that way. It’s just that from before I can remember I pulled from the experience of my birthday a sense of connection to God or specialness that I now believe is the very definition of grace. It can be yours too.

Each of us has the potential to pull something out of our experiences or circumstances and point to it as evidence of God’s grace uniquely and unconditionally given to each of us. It may be a special talent or simply the miracle that we are here. As I reflect on my life I see a pretty direct correlation, regardless whether the actual circumstances were positive or negative, between how dark or bright certain periods were and my degree of closeness to God. The brightest times have been when I “walked with God,” looking for His love in other people and gratefully noticing more of His blessings, even if the circumstances were quite challenging. The darkest times have been when I tried to go it alone, working harder and faster to fix whatever needed fixing until I finally burned myself out, surrendered and turned back to Him. His presence is constant; mine is what waxes and wanes.

"Adoration of the Shepherds" by Gerard van Honthorst, 1622

Image taken from

This year I received an early birthday present, in the form of Bishop Gregg’s December 2nd sermon, when he said, “Every day, always and no matter what, you and I, my brothers and sisters, are the beloved sons and daughters of God where God is love. And everything comes from that truth.” He made it clear: it matters less whether the right people love us or if certain people love us in the right way. God does.

Isn’t that what each of us really wants for Christmas, and isn’t that why God sent Jesus in the first place?

Merry Christmas,

Elizabeth Witherspoon

www.stlukesdurham.org

Will our Marys have Elizabeths?

Mother of God Icon - Photo by: Klášter Pražského Jezulátka

image taken from

Who better to think about in the season of Advent—when the church waits and prepares for Christmas—who better to look at as an example then Mary? Mary, bless her heart, seems to have been just minding her own business when the angel Gabriel shows up to tell her she’ll be carrying and bearing the incarnation of God. Mary being pregnant when she isn’t married in that time and that place is no laughing matter; it was a HUGE deal. Joseph, her fiance, had the legal—and biblical—right to have Mary killed, stoned, in fact—not something that’s very Christmas cheery, but something’s that true nonetheless. Despite the picture of the grown woman that I know pops into my head when I say Mary, the fact of the matter is, at this point, Mary was young, really young--maybe even twelve. Though we may think of Mary as being meek, accepting, and/or obedient, I think Mary must have been so incredibly brave. She deals with what was indisputably the biggest challenge in her life incredibly graciously.

Our own lives can be dramatic on occasion, like Mary's. Obstacles and speed bumps pop up, because that’s just life. Maybe we don’t make a certain grade, make a certain team, or get into the certain college in the way we originally envisioned. Relationships evolve—we make new friends, our families might change or move, friends and family get sick and sometimes they don't get better. The only thing we can expect is the unexpected. I don’t know much about what Mary’s plan was, but I can almost guarantee you it did not involve getting pregnant when she was twelve or thirteen before she was married.

The reading from Luke for today picks up right after Mary’s found out this incredible, life-changing news. What does Mary do when life throws her the ultimate curveball? What would anybody do, but particular a teenage girl?  She went to go talk to someone about it.  Notice who Mary goes to see. Mary didn’t go and see any of her friends. Mary didn’t go talk to Joseph. Mary doesn’t go talk to her mom or her dad. No, Mary goes and sees another adult in her life, an adult with whom she already has a relationship. Mary goes to talk to her aunt Elizabeth.

I see our generations as being increasingly isolated. Families live further apart; kids have less free time to get to know the people they're not with all day long (their school peers). That can be one of the gifts of a church family--one of the last intergenerational spaces. Every Tyra needs a Ms. Taylor, Helen Keller an Anne Sullivan, DJ, Stephanie, and Michelle an Uncle Jesse or Uncle Joey, Harry Potter a Dumbledore. We all get sent down some twisty, kinda weird paths sometimes. Mary’s journey must have been waaaayyy different than she expected.

Will our Marys have Elizabeths?

Written by Ann Bonner-Stewart

www.stlukesdurham.org

#KeepingAdvent: "Waiting"

Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting……

I have been waiting for so many things this year.  Some good.  Some awful.

Waiting for my new home to be complete enough to move into.  Waiting for the punch list completion (still!).  Waiting to spend the night there (finally did that on a 22 hour visit to Durham).  Waiting for the rest of my belongings to be delivered from storage.

Waiting for airplanes and rental cars.  Waiting for doctors, nurses and aides.  Waiting for my mom who was moving more and more slowly.  Waiting for my dad who is looking harder for his words these days.

Waiting for the next Advent candles to be lit—this year in three different churches in three different states!  I also enjoyed the Advent wreath in my Maryland godchildren’s home and a lovely godfamily* reunion there.

Waiting for Mom to get better while praying, “God’s will be done,” and knowing Mom’s prayers were for her trip to heaven to come soon.

Waiting for the endless line of people to file past, hugging us and telling us how much they’ll miss my mom.  They were stopped only by my dad insisting Mom would want her funeral to begin on time!  He was right, of course.  And we had followed her instructions to close the casket so there was no danger of her sticking her tongue out at us!

I knew her prayer book was marked and we had talked about her earthly death for years so I knew how to plan the service and the day.  All our talking made the time so much easier as I stepped into the manager role Mom always played in the past.  Talk about this!  I promise it doesn’t make death come sooner.  We’ve been talking about it for at least 35 years.  I’m so thankful this time didn’t come until I was old enough to really understand what Mom meant.  I also saw clear evidence that my brother had been unwilling to discuss it.  My answers to some of his questions were, “Mom would haunt us if we did that!”

Amidst all the other waiting, I am waiting, as we do every year for our glorious celebration of the birth of Christ.  I especially look forward to celebrating with my St. Luke’s family this year.

Although we wait to celebrate His birth, He’s among us now, each and every moment of each and every day.  In this time when I’ve needed Him most, Jesus has made his presence known and felt.  It’s been so strong I couldn’t possibly have missed it.  So many prayers ascending on our behalf by friends all over the place!  I pray the same for you, my friends.  Amen.  Alleluia!

*If ‘godchildren” is one word, my logic says “godfamily” is, too.  In my book, a gathering of one godchild (her brother’s in college!), two parents and four godparents is a “godfamily reunion”.

Written by Nancy Usher Williams

www.stlukesdurham.org

"Apocalypse Now"

Episcopalians are pleased, on the whole, not to be a religiously-demonstrative lot; we can, as well, be a mite smug about our denomination’s relative lack of credulity. Still, our Lord is gracious. Occasionally, Jesus will bonk one of us on the head with a two-by-four, make jazz-hands, and say, “Yo! I’m over here!”  St. Thomas the Apostle is a perfect icon for such apocalyptic moments, and we celebrate his feast today.

If you are reading this on 12/21, as planned, we can all breathe easier knowing we’ve avoided the Mayan Apocalypse. Some folks (more credulous than we) were sure it would all wind up today with a burning bang, but have we dodged the apocalyptic bullet? As Inigo Montoya once famously said, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” 

‘Apocalypse’ is from the Greek words meaning ‘the veil away’ (απο + καλυμμα). Our sight, our hearts, our minds… are unable to see Truth clearly. We are unable to perceive ourselves and each other as God knows us and loves us. The perfect Beauty of all creation and perfect Goodness of God’s movement in and through that creation are veiled to our sight unless God removes the veil. The veil is not our sin (if it were, all we’d need to do is perfect ourselves, et voila!). Sin is a wound that God is healing day by day. Rather, the veil is our human finitude, and there’s no cure for that but grace bonking us on the head. The Good News is: that can happen anytime.

Today, we celebrate the Feast of the Apostle Thomas: the Doubter and perfect Episcopalian, who was confident enough in God’s grace and power to express his doubts honestly, but who was nevertheless completely unprepared for that grace and power to reveal itself quite so personally. Jesus ripped the veil away, just for a moment, and Thomas fell to his knees and worshipped. His life would never be the same. Apocalypse will do that to a person.

My Lord and My God!

God’s kingdom is one of peace and plenty. Our own is full of violence, destruction, and horror. We use the word ‘apocalypse’ to describe such things as 9/11/01, Katrina, and Sandy Hook – and rightly so, for in those events, the veneers of virtue, dominion, and invulnerability protecting our tiny proud selves are ripped away. Our faultiness, finitude, and need for grace pull us into a praying jumble where we wail together for help. When the veil is lifted, we see ourselves more accurately, and respond appropriately – as children who are grievously hurt, and in need of healing…. lost in the darkness, and in need of guidance and Light… 

The apocalypse is always NOW. THIS MOMENT is the moment of revelation and judgment that can turn us toward Light and transform us. Today is also the Solstice: one of the oldest holy days of humankind. The Solstice is the ancient celebration of Hope – of proclaiming Returning Light even on the longest night. And in our darkened world, with our veiled but hopeful hearts, we gather to proclaim that the veil is being lifted, even now.

How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.

No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

Written by Peach McDouall

www.stlukesdurham.org

#KeepingAdvent: "The Art of Being Unprepared"

"Yeah. I'm about to pop. Pop you in the mouth for saying that."!! (It never ceased to amaze me that being pregnant seemed to give everyone permission to comment freely on my size. Nothing like hearing, "You're so big!" every day for months).

I delivered two of my children in early January.  This means that twice, I spent Advent extremely pregnant.  I outgrew that cute little basketball belly the women who model maternity clothes have around 5 months, so by 8 months I was huge.  My pants wouldn’t stay up, I was bloated and uncomfortable, not to mention grumpy.  People pointed and stared at me on the street.  Strangers asked if I was expecting twins.  I endured these things along with the baby’s pokes to my ribs and kicks to my bladder. I sat in church, shifting back and forth in the uncomfortable pew distracted by indigestion, sore feet and the occasional sciatic nerve pain.  I listened to readings about John the Baptist urging us to “be prepared” like some kind of feral boy scout.  “Easy for you to say.” I mutter to myself.  “I am too tired to prepare lunch, much less ‘the Way of the Lord’.”

 These were not Advents that I was particularly organized about getting all my gifts wrapped or Christmas cards mailed.  They were not Advents that I gazed peacefully at the candles in the Advent wreath.  It felt like I went to church more out of habit and obligation than desire. Despite this lack of planning and preparation and general bad attitude, these were the Advents that I really got IT-- that feeling of awe and expectation, that deep knowing that whatever was coming was bigger and better than I could predict, bolder than I could imagine and more life altering than I wanted to think about. These were my second and third pregnancies and I knew that while I needed to prepare for these children, the neatly folded onesies and tiny footed jammies weren’t going to get me any farther than decorating the Christmas tree would prepare me for the coming of Jesus.  I knew that no matter how much diaper creme I bought or how many times I read the car seat manual, the real preparation was being willing to be knocked down and run over, to have everything familiar stripped away, to stumble through the dark and end up basking in the light of a new life.  To get there, I knew that I would have to cry and groan and push and struggle like generations of mothers had done before me.  But eventually, I would hold out my shaking, sweaty arms and take hold of a baby that would instantly change me, that would shake my center and crack my heart open like a walnut with the gentle stroke of a tiny finger. I knew that despite my insufficiencies and imperfections and unpreparedness that I already had a fierce and abiding love for this baby and that somehow and someway that would be enough.

It is Advent again and I am still not very organized.  I haven’t figured out what presents to buy for who or ordered the photo Christmas cards.  We are several days behind on the Advent calendar and the house is a mess. This Advent, the world seems darker than ever.  I read the papers and listen to the news late at night and it feels like bad is trumping good. But sometimes, when my youngest is napping, I creep into his room, lean over the crib, listen to the gentle murmur of his breath and remember.  I remember those Advents that I was full and round with awe and expectation, simultaneously petrified and giddy with excitement. I remember what it was like to wait for what I knew would be the best Christmas gifts I had ever received.  It is Advent again and I remember that the most profound and amazing experiences are the ones that you cannot fully prepare for.  I remember that part of getting ready is realizing that our preparations barely scratch the surface. So I wait and hope and try to see the Light flickering in the night and I brace myself to be knocked over once again and to have my heart shattered by Love.

Written by Sarah White
www.stlukesdurham.org

#KeepingAdvent: "The Good Word."

During Advent, I sometimes feel like I’m . . . well, cheating. Advent is the lengthy novel that I’ve chosen to forgo in favor of SparkNotes. It’s the waiting, the lifetimes of waiting, that I don’t have to experience because I was born after the coming of Christ. I’ve never doubted the outcome of the Christmas story, because I knew the end even before I was told the beginning.

Maybe you remember your own childhood Christmases, or have young family members reminding you that they just can’t wait for Christmas to arrive. Maybe one of those children still tells you that he/she is “five and a half” years old, because that’s a very significant amount older than just five years old. Here is a sense of immediacy, a sense of existing right now and Christmas only six days away -- Ah! Unbearable. I see children in the mall on Santa’s lap who can’t sit still from excitement, wishing that Christmas would come a few days early. On the other end of the spectrum, I see harried shoppers who can’t walk slowly for fear that Christmas will catch up before they’re ready. I am reminded that Advent is about preparing, and reflecting, and waiting.

Waiting is the word of Advent, if I could pare it down to one. A better one might be “word” itself. We have the words of Scripture and centuries of oral tradition which speak of the Messiah: words of comfort and reproach, words of summons, of promises, of proclamations. Our Advent lessons are littered with words of promise, and it’s these words which culminate in the living, breathing Word of God: Jesus Christ.

So whether Christmas is coming too fast for you, or lagging behind, remember that we can’t change the time it comes in.  We don’t just have the waiting here, we have the words before Christ and Christ, the Word itself. And though the meme above pokes fun at the relative obscurity of Advent, we are reminded that our few weeks of waiting represent the centuries of waiting on Christ’s coming.  Advent reinforces the significance of the Word. It draws the community of faith together over time. Christ came before us, but Advent (literally, coming to) reminds us that he came for us, died for us, saved us.  Advent marks the beginning of Christ’s actions for us. Let it remind us also of His most precious gift.

Written by Audrey Cook

www.stlukesdurham.org

Where is God in Tragedy?

It’s Tuesday morning, December 18.  Four days ago, a young soul, lost in mental illness committed a crime that I, and our whole nation, cannot fathom.

I am a school teacher who has already thought about how I would push my piano in front of the classroom door and shove my students into my closet.

I am a mother who, this morning, saw a father get out of his car to kiss his high-school-aged son goodbye (right out in the open!)  when I dropped my own child off.  I shuddered as she walked by the police car parked boldly on the sidewalk in front of the school.  

I am also a mother who, 16 years ago, held her two month old daughter as she died … two months before Christmas.  

My Caroline never left the hospital.  Diagnosed with a birth defect when I was 5 months pregnant, she fought an incredible fight from the moment she made her first howl at the world.  Sometimes I think it was purely my will pouring into her.  But stubborn hope is something that has kept me going in life, so perhaps it was just who she was through DNA.  I chose “Faith” as her middle name and it fit her and me perfectly.  This was a time when her name was sometimes the only faith I had.  Medications had swollen her face, and I had not looked into her eyes in weeks.  She would try hard to open them when she heard my voice, her tiny eyebrows moving up and down to no avail.  I would stroke her in reassurance and she would relax the effort in her little face.  I spent two months driving back and forth to the hospital in conversation with God.  Half the time I was praying fervently for God’s healing; the other half I spent shouting to God how I hated him for doing this to her.  That’s right.  I told God I hated him.  I was not afraid of him striking me down.  I welcomed it.  What worse could he do to me than take my child? I offered myself in Caroline’s place.  I would be slapped back into reality (probably God’s form of striking me down) when I arrived at the baby-sitter’s and my beautiful, smiling, 2 year-old daughter came running to me with arms outstretched.  She was my “earthly savior” (my saving grace), a reminder that there is ALWAYS someone that needs and loves me.  

You are an “earthly savior” to someone, or will be one day.  Just praying for someone can be enough.  Trust me.  God has interesting ways of way of reminding us that He is everywhere.

There came a day when I had to change my prayers from “please bring her home to us by Christmas” to “please let me look in her eyes again and be there when she dies.”  By God’s amazing and often hard to comprehend grace, Caroline opened her eyes again and looked at me in those last days. I was holding her in my arms as she passed into His.

People said, “God does not give you more than you can handle.”  I would say “I wish God thought I was a wimp.”  Some offered comfort by saying, “I cannot imagine what you are going through.”  Yes, I have lost a child, but even I cannot wrap my head around this recent tragedy. How do we understand?

I found God working through the people that prayed for me when I had no prayers left to utter out of my empty and nearly faithless heart.  I found great solace in the words, “God lost His child too.” But the most meaningful thing said to me was by the mother of a friend at church who, just 10 months prior, had lost her young son to cancer.  She said, “Peggy, God does not make our children sick and take them from us, He is there when these things happen.”  She was right and those words have comforted me many times since. Just fill in the blank before “he is there when it happens” and you have an idea of God’s all encompassing love. Today, like sixteen years ago, I am so thankful for the Heavenly Savior whose birth we await, for a God that loves us when we do not love him back, for the continued signs of God’s presence in the “earthly saviors” who appear in so many forms to bind us together in faith, and for the joyful and perhaps even comforting anticipation that Advent brings to my broken heart and to our broken world.  

Peggy Young
www.stlukesdurham.org