Advent - Small Signs of God "Morning Stillness"

 

Small Signs  #2 - Morning Stillness

 Why are the moments between darkness and dawn so very still? 

The night voices quiet themselves and the morning birds wait for the first rays of light. 

Stillness. 

I open my eyes and I, too, wait. As the first rays of light peek through the trees, the morning noises, one by one, increase their volume. Another day. Another new morning reminds me of the words from Isaiah, "Morning by morning He wakens - wakens my ear to listen as those who are taught."(Isaiah 50:4)

I am discovering the quiet before dawn is what rescues me from the perils of the day. Stillness and quiet waiting help me to hear the voice of God, assuring me that the One who brings His first rays of light to creation is also bringing me a ray of light, a ray of hope, a ray of guidance. 

Do not miss the quiet before dawn. Admittedly, sometimes I do, but choosing to miss the lonely, quiet place of silence is dangerous. Henri Nouwen, in his book Out of Solitude says: "Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our lives are in danger. Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, without distance closeness cannot cure. Somewhere we know that without a lonely place our actions quickly become empty gestures."

Where is that place of "somewhere?

The answer lies in the words of the Advent reading:

"God wants to open the heart before it opens itself to the world; before the ear hears the innumerable voices of the day, the early hours are the time to hear the voice of the Creator and Redeemer. God made the stillness of the early morning for himself." (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God Is In the Manger)

Open my heart, God, to your day and let me always show up as you wait for me in the stillness of the early morning.

Outrageous Love

Outrageous Love

And here we are again, starting the Advent season in 2025. I ask myself every year what is it about this season I love.  I love Advent because it is a faithful reminder in our Christian year that a perfect world is coming. We can look to our faith to find the certainty and hope that Advent offers.

And so I begin my own Advent by turning to Isaiah 65:17-25.

"See here, I am creating new heavens and a new earth - so wonderful that no one will even think about the old ones any more. Be glad; rejoice forever in my creation. Look! I will recreate Jerusalem as a place of happiness, and her people shall be a joy! And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and in my people; and the voice of weeping and crying shall not be heard there any more."

It goes on to say a baby will never die, people will live out their years, every person will dwell in a home, and there will be no hunger, disease, famine or strife. 

Heaven and earth will rejoice!

You will rejoice.

 I will rejoice. 

Walter Brueggeman in his Advent book, Celebrating Abundance, says the poem in Isaiah is outrageous. Outrageous in a good way.  He says "This new world of God is beyond our capacity and even beyond our imagination.  It just does not seem possible. In our fatigue, our self-sufficiency, and our cynicism, we deeply believe that such promises could not happen here...merely poetic fantasy."

But Advent begins and we discover the hope as we read again the passages from Isaiah. Hope for a perfect future. We won't even remember the pandemic or a frustrating election year - I know, that really is outrageous.

 We will never cry again.

 Outrageous.  

No more sorrow. 

Outrageous. 

I can hardly take it in.

 O Wondrous and Outrageous Love,

You came as a small child, helpless, defenseless, homeless... and yet your small hands flung the stars into space and cast planets into their orbits. You are outrageously wonderful.  You are making all things new and one day we will see you face to face. You whisper my name and invite me into your presence so that I might live forever with you. 

Thank you does not seem quite adequate. Amen

(Walter Brueggeman, Celebrating Abundance, Devotions for Advent; 2017. Westminster John Knox Press)

Happy Birthday Mother!

Today is my mother's birthday. She would be 106 years old. I am always amused and fascinated when I look at this photograph of her because while I think it is pretty, it's not the mom who raised me. I don't ever remember her with dark hair, eye lashes,and red fingernails.  By the time I came along she was gray and farm work kept those nails to a short minimum. She wore glasses. The one memory consistent with the photo was her lipstick. I remember her wearing red lipstick every day - and I loved it.

This morning when I woke  my mind revisited all the things my mother could do. My mother could reupholster a sofa or chair. My mother could make draperies. She could kill and pluck a chicken - and then fry it. She could sing. She knew how to piece quilts - by hand. When babies were born, my mother would knit a hat or a pair of booties for a gift. She could make a meringue pie six inches high - well maybe four.

My mother (along with help from my dad) could plant a garden that supplied our food for an entire year. From asparagus to broccoli to zucchini - corn, tomatoes and potatoes - green beans and lima beans (my personal favorite - creamed please) all went into canning jars or freezer bags with enough left over to eat through the summer and give away too. She grew strawberries and rhubarb, not to mention blueberries later in her gardening career. I call her the first Martha Stewart.

My mother knew her Bible. Not only did she personally study on a daily basis, she taught Bible classes. She loved the missionary journeys of the apostle Paul and dreamed of one day going to the Holy Land. When we were there several years ago I often thought about her and wished that dream had come true for her. While she never traveled far, her love of studying mission work at church took her to faraway lands. 

 

Oh, Mom - I miss you.  

I wish you were here to make sense of all that is going on in the world today. You could teach me. You would have a perspective that I could fully trust. I wish you were here to see my children and grandchildren. You would make over them, spoil them, and love them like only a grandmother can do. I wish you were here to talk about the hard issues in life and how to find our way. You would hug me and have an answer. You would point me toward truth and hope. And while I will never pluck a chicken or reupholster a sofa, I pray I can be steadfast like you in my love of the Lord and those I hold close.

Happy Birthday!

Giving In To Our Grief

When the moment of death comes for someone we love, we should give in to the moment. By that I mean we should take off our watch, put down our phone, gather round those closest and just simply "be" in the sorrow of our grief. Cry. Comfort each other. Pray, trusting God will give you His peace that comforts like nothing else.

Coming to terms with death takes time to process. Even when we know it is imminent and we wait through the night and into the morning, the final breath of a loved one jolts our heart, makes it stop beating - or so it feels.  We need time to process this reality of death. We need time to tend to our jolted and broken heart.

It is a time when no words are needed. It is a time when the strident sound of words crush our spirit and seem  insignificant. It is a time to "be still and know that I am God." There just are no words to describe the depth of emotion felt in the moment a loved one dies.

Maybe it is a sacred longing that God infuses into our spirits. A longing that recognizes the truth that this life is short and only a prelude to the concert that awaits us in Heaven. A longing for things to be made right. God, according to Ezekiel 18:32, says, "I take no pleasure in the death of anyone." God hates the isolated incidents of disease, crime, or violence - anything leading to death. God hates death.  God knows more than we do and is working "according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of His will." ((Ephesians 1:11)

As we give into our grief, we can enter a time of quiet mourning:
-we can know that God is working all things -  even the death of a loved one- for his ultimate glory.
-we can listen for God's still, small voice to guide us through the valley
-we can trust that joy will come, maybe not tomorrow morning, but joy will return
-we can be gentle to those around us who have little or no faith in God
-we can pray knowing God is close to us, the broken-hearted and crushed in spirit
-we can grow in our knowledge and understanding of God's grace and his mercy

We are still broken-hearted , but we have God with us, and that is when healing comes.

 

Small Signs of God - #1 Prayer

The devotional words from the first day of Advent replay in my mind:

"I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power....Our temptation is to be distracted by them....When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence.... I will always remain tempted to despair." (Henri J.M. Nouwen, Gracias! A Latin American Journal)

Loud and impressive events call our name - especially from the Thanksgiving holidays until we greet the New Year. This year of 2020 will certainly be different - and maybe in a good way. A quieter way. If we weren't in the midst of a pandemic just think of all the things we'd be doing -  concerts, home tours, light displays and parties. Celebrating at church with extra events, musicals, and services. Outings and shopping sprees before dawn ( I only did that once.) And we look around to see if we could just add one more "touch" to our already decorated homes.

We don't mean to be attracted to the "loud and impressive" but sadly we are. Several years ago, I returned from a visit to the largest private home in North America - the beautiful Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. Wowed by the decorations and number of Christmas trees, I came home convinced that I, too, should have something festive in every room. Maybe, I thought, I could just add a small touch to each room—a vase of evergreens in my own, the Christmas "Joy" pillow in one daughter's chair, the outgrown Nutcrackers guarding my son's dresser and a stuffed Frosty The Snowman snuggling on another child's bed. All small signs of the season I love. All small signs of this season of joy— anticipating and waiting for the celebration of Christ's arrival again this year.

But where, I ask, do we catch a whisper of God's presence? Where can we see a "small sign" of God each and every day?

Today it was a friend who asked me to pray with her. We sat by her fire and thanked and requested and praised—and wondered about the small  Christ child who grew up and changed eternity - and then changed us. Quiet and unimpressive to the world, he went quietly about the business of his life and we are the recipients of His wondrous love, having been given this gift of prayer for  daily conversations with the Holy One.

These small signs come to all of us. Do we have the eyes to see? The ears to hear?

 O Wondrous Love,

You come as a small child, helpless, defenseless, homeless... and yet your small hands flung the stars into space and cast planets into their orbits. You whisper my name and invite me to your presence.                 You came so that I might live. I want to stay close to where you are this Advent. Amen

Paper Lantern

 

Somewhere in the past, I wrote about celebration and sorrow - that they are never very far apart. As I look out my window at a perfectly ordered fall day it seems all is well. The birds relax at the feeder with no fear of the pesky squirrels.  A few gently floating leaves whisper of a coming seasonal change, but today the sky is blue and it feels like Indian Summer. Go look outside. Creation helps us  remember that every ordered day is a new cause for celebration - we have never seen this day before so we (should) open our eyes and celebrate the order and beauty of another 24-hour gift.

As we open this gift of one day, we hope for good things - safety, wellness, good news.

But we know full well we will  be asked to face difficult  and dark challenges.

Somewhere between celebration and sorrow, we find ourselves. 

And we must decide who we will be with both.  How are you doing with that?

In my last 24 hours, I received news of an uncle's death, waited for news from a medical procedure, learned of the death of a talented young man, and responded to a request for support for a person facing critical health issues.  Maybe your day has been similar.

Just a few days ago, I witnessed celebration and sorrow in a matter of hours. Participating with a group of church volunteers, we helped host a visitation day for men and their families. These men, called returning citizens, have almost completed their prison sentences and are soon to be released. They were allowed a few hours with their families to visit, play games, enjoy music and a meal together. The joy and celebration among these families was palpable. And then, time flew and the visit was over. Celebration quickly turned to sorrow as families clung to each other, knowing it would be a while longer before they could be a family again.

And so we  must decide who we will be in the midst of our sorrows as well as our joys. 

In the beautifully painful book, Prayer in the Night, Tish Harrison Warren writes about suffering. 

 "The people who I most respect are those who have suffered but did not numb their pain - who faced the darkness. In the process they have become beautifully weak, not tough as nails, not bitter or rigid, but men and women who bear vulnerability with joy and trust. They are almost luminescent, like a paper lantern, weak enough that light shines through."

Endless Generosity

 

Do you believe in miracles?

When we read the story of Jesus feeding the 5000, we wonder how that miracle could happen. We shake our heads and try to find the meaning of the story. We read all four gospel versions to gain understanding. We learn Jesus and the disciples had been busy and they tried to remove themselves to rest, but the crowds pursued this new world Jesus was demonstrating in his love and compassion and care. They just couldn't get enough of him.

I find it interesting that in all four gospels, Jesus asks the disciples how the people should be fed. In all four gospels, he even says pointedly "You feed them."  He already knows he will perform the miracle, but he tests the disciples to see if they trust him.

And then, Jesus blesses the food and feeds the crowd and there is an abundance of leftovers to share.

"And all ate and were filled; and they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. 

Mark 6:42-43

For me, this is symbolic of why the church offers the sacrament of Holy Communion and why it is important to participate.

Granted, because of the pandemic, we now receive it in what resembles a pill packet. The foil is peeled back to uncover a tiny bit of "bread of life, broken for you"  Turn the packet over and peel back to receive "the cup of salvation poured out for you". It takes more introspection to receive the elements this way.  It's not about a minister, or the beautiful chalice, or coming to the altar to receive it. It's just about our own heart tuned to the Giver and the gift we have all been given. A miracle.

Walter Brueggeman says Communion is the reminder: "Jesus has turned the world into abundance. God is the gift who keeps on giving and the people around Jesus are empowered to receive abundance and in turn, to act generously." 

Are you astonished at the surplus in your life? 

Maybe that's one miracle of Advent!

God of Endless Generosity,

In your love you welcomed when you were tired, you healed when you saw the needs of the helpless, you fed when you saw the hungry. And you showed us by your example what we should do for a hurting world. Help us to have the eyes to see, the ears to hear, and a heart to know your will. 

Astound us, God, with your miraculous love. 

(Celebrating Abundance by Walter Brueggeman. Westminster John Know Press. 2017)

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