The Second Week of Advent

Sunday, December 9, 2007

I’ll bet you’ve heard someone say, “We’re not going to decorate for Christmas this year.” Or “I’m not going to put up a tree this year, it’s so much trouble.” Sometimes the comment comes from someone who lives alone, or has been battling illness, or has been so stressed that they just can’t imagine finding the energy to set up ornaments and candles and wreaths and holly. “Why bother?” they say, “the family won’t be coming to visit this year. Why bother?”

I’ve been shocked to find similar notions creeping into my own thoughts this past week. Our grandchildren live on the opposite coast, our son works on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and my Very Reverend Husband will be overwhelmed with worship services, the children’s pageant, visiting shut-ins and all the details of the holy days. The time when I could haul boxes of decorations from storage by myself are long gone; why should I put extra work on my husband? Our doctor has eliminated caffeine, sugar and cholesterol from our lives, so it doesn’t make much sense to bake fruitcakes or brew wassail. Why bother? After all, we've grown a little fatter, grown a little colder, grown a little sadder, and grown a little older. . .

Did you catch that? That last line, doesn’t that remind you of anything? What comes next, do you remember?

“And I need a little angel sitting on my shoulder, Need a little Christmas now!”

That’s a song from the musical Auntie Mame. She’s the irrepressible gal who declared, “Life is a banquet, and most poor SOBs are starving to death!”

Or, as the Preacher of Ecclesiastes says, “I commend enjoyment, for there is nothing better for people under the sun than to eat, and drink, and enjoy themselves, for this will go with them in their toil through the days of life that God gives them under the sun.” (8:15)

“Why bother?” Here is the answer:

Festivals mark the turning of the great wheel of the seasons, measuring out our lives from childhood to grandchildren. Christmas is our festival celebrating Christ’s birth. The angels will sing, whether we listen or not. So what if the session is feuding with the deacons? So what if the music director has put out a contract on the church secretary? Why let the old humbugs steal your joy?

When you catch yourself drooping, tired, sad, SNAP OUT OF IT! Life is for living, every moment, every raindrop, every silver moon behind misted rocky hills, every frosted twig on the mesquite bush, every tumbleweed rolling across the highway as though it had someplace important to go.

Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.” Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For the waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water. . . Isaiah 35: 3-7a

Blessed God, Our Savior, sometimes it is hard to keep up. Sometimes we feel as though all our efforts take us nowhere, and no one really cares about what we do. Renew our spirit, dear Lord. Fill our sagging selves with your Spirit, and restore to us the joy of your salvation! You tell us to rejoice in all things, and we truly want that joy. When simply getting up seems more than we can bear, only you can provide the courage not only to do what must be done, but to also feel joy in the doing. For in you, our loving God, is life in all its abundance. We praise and thank you for your joy, in the powerful name of Jesus, Amen.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Tradition dictates that during the 2^nd week of Advent, we should meditate on Bethlehem, the little town where circumstances brought Jesus’ mother just as she gave birth. According to tradition, Bethlehem is also the hometown of David, the shepherd boy of 1 Samuel 16 who became the great King David, from whose lineage King Jesus was born.

So, what’s particularly special about the town of Bethlehem, other than the two kings who were born there? In truth, until sometime in the 4^th Century, not much at all. A mere 6 miles from Jerusalem, by our standards it would be a suburb of that capital city. Rachel’s tomb lies near the city (Genesis 48:7) and it is the site of the story of Ruth and Boaz found in the Book of Ruth.

In the 2^nd Century, according to the on-line source, Wikipedia, the city was destroyed by an ill-fated Jewish rebellion against the Romans, who retaliated by erecting a shrine to Adonis there. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlehem History records no church in Bethlehem until 326 C.E., when Helena, mother of the Emperor Constantine, identified the birthplace of Jesus and urged her son build the Church of the Nativity there in 330 C.E. Bethlehem’s economic future as a focal point of the tourism/pilgrimage industry thereby was born.

But history provided no peace on earth for Bethlehem. The city was repeatedly overrun by warring empires and the Church of the Nativity rebuilt several times. Taken with the West Bank by the modern state of Israel during the Six-Day War in 1967, it came under the Palestinian National Authority in 1995. Christian Palestinians make up only about 12% of Bethlehem’s population today, and that percentage is shrinking because of restrictions imposed by Israel and its construction of the West Bank Barrier. In April, 2002, Bethlehem was invaded by Israeli forces in a effort to root out Palestinian militants, resulting in the “Siege of the Church of the Nativity.” According to some news reports, the siege on the church lasted over a month.

So as our Advent meditations consider Bethlehem this week, we should raise earnest prayers for the peace of our sorrowful world, and especially for the ancient town where the angels once proclaimed, “Peace on Earth.”

But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days. Therefore he shall give them up until the time when she who is in labor has brought forth; then the rest of his kindred shall return to the people of Israel. And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace.

Micah 5:2-5

So as our Advent meditati

O Lord God of Jacob and Rachel, Abraham and Sarah, the parents and children of this world cry out to you for peace. In small towns and large cities, in suburbs and farmlands we look for the coming of the Prince of Peace. Yet there is no peace in our world, because we ask for blessings while living as we please. Turn our hearts to yourself, O patient Creator! Open our ears to your Word, and teach us to share our wealth with the poor, to share our hospitality with the alien and to share justice and righteousness with all those in need. Break our hard hearts, O God, and make us truly your people of peace. Amen.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Did you notice that in yesterday’s verse, Bethlehem was called “Bethlehem of Ephrathah”? We hear it every time that passage is read. Why “Bethlehem of Ephrathah”?

According to a bit of searching on the Internet, it seems that there were two Bethlehems in ancient Palestine. One was the familiar Bethlehem in Judea, in the hill country about six miles south of Jerusalem. This was where Naomi and Ruth lived, where Ruth married Boaz and raised the family from which King David was born. In fact, at the end of the book of Ruth, where neighbors are wishing the bride and groom well, they say, “May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem.”

The other town was a Bethlehem in the north, about 5 miles outside Nazareth; sometimes called “Bethlehem of Nazareth!”

That’s only the beginning of the confusion. Tucked away in those bothersome biblical lists of “begats and begottens” is the name of a man – or possibly a woman—whose firstborn son was named . . . you guessed it . . . Bethlehem! Check it out in 1 Chronicles 4:4.

Bethlehem – town or person? Father and son, north or south? Puzzles like this are meat and drink to seminary scholars. The rest of us just want angels and shepherds, and a pretty baby tucked in a warm manger. Of all the obscure facts and pseudo-facts surrounding the place of Christ’s birth, one useful tidbit is the translation, “House of Bread.”

It’s a beautiful connection with Jesus, the Bread of Life, broken on the cross for our salvation. But I like to think that Bethlehem might have been named for a generous woman who lived there.

Maybe when that baker woman put her loaves into the big brick oven, and a breeze carried the fragrance through the dusty streets of her little village, children ran to see what Aunt Beth was baking. Men trudging home from the fields found an excuse to come by Beth’s door. Women with water jars stopped to share gossip. And everyone was welcomed with a hunk of hot, warm bread, dripping with melting butter.

Aunt Beth’s house. The Baker Woman’s place. The House of Bread. Bethlehem. Give us this day our daily bread, and thanks be to God.

So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.” The Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became his nurse. The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, “A son has been born to Naomi.” They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David. Ruth 4: 13-17.

Loving God of our Mothers and of our Fathers, we are all your people and your children. We look to you for every need, and we trust our lives into your care. Through this beautiful planet you provide every good thing, our food, our drink, our homes, our countless gifts. You are our Bread of Life, our Daily Bread. As we freely receive, even so we freely give. And may we honor you in all we do, in though, word and deed, in every step we take, and every person we encounter. Thanks be to God through our Lord Jesus, Amen.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Do you have a secret identity, an inner self who is the real you? Is the place where you park your car your real home? Or do you know in your heart that you really belong some place else? Sometimes as adults we forget the truth we knew when we were too young to know better.

My name was not “Star” when I was four years old. It was “Dale Ebbans.” When Mom called, she’d get no answer until she called for the “Queen of the West.” Of course the television cowgirl was Dale Evans, beautiful, brave, ready for action, and sure to turn an ankle in every other episode.

That Christmas, the Queen of the West was gifted with the full outfit: skirt, vest and boots, all trimmed with fringe and silver stars. My holster rode low on my hips, holding a pearl-handled revolver that fired wonderfully stinky caps. If anyone called my beautiful sombrero a cowboy hat, they were instantly corrected. How could they mistake that cowGIRL hat for a boy’s hat?

The Kodak Brownie camera caught Dale Ebbans in front of the Christmas tree that year, and memorialized her blinking toward Daddy’s whirring movie camera, the one with the rack of blinding bulbs that filled our living room with bizarre lights and shadows. My brother George’s black chaps, vest and hat did not qualify as proper Roy Rogers attire. But then, Roy would never shoot Dale dead as George joyfully did several times a day.

Shortly after Christmas that year, George and I left the grey snow of eastern Ohio for our Uncle Charlie’s home in Arizona. What did I care about our doctor’s warnings about asthma and bronchitis? I was going out West, the proper home for Dale Ebbans, Queen of the West. We stayed in Phoenix from January through May. I learned to pronounce Saguaro, to identify the ‘dobie huts of the desert Indians, and to beware of scorpions and Gila monsters. We squeezed oranges from the backyard tree and played with cotton bolls from the field beyond Uncle Charlie’s sandy driveway.

Now, many decades later, as I decorate my own Arizona home for yet another Christmas, the saguaro and orange trees wear their twinkling lights and scarlet ribbons with pride. There is no longing in this cowgirl’s heart for grit-laden snow or bone-chilling rain. After all, the Queen of the West has always known where she belongs.

How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God. Even the sparrow finds a home and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God. Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise. . . . For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness. For the Lord God is a sun and shield; he bestows favor and honor. No good thing does the Lord withhold from those who walk uprightly. O Lord of hosts, happy is everyone who trusts in you. Psalm 84

Loving God, no matter where we find ourselves, you are our Eternal Home. If we wander in a foreign land, you are with us. If we languish in prison, you do not abandon us. Even in our loneliest hours, you are our constant friend. Open our understanding, dear Lord, that we might be able to more fully experience your Presence. In you we live and move and have our being, through Jesus our Lord, Amen.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Christmas Memories, by Mary Lynn Walters

I don’t ever remember not going to church. In spite of this upbringing, I believed that “Advent” was the time for getting ready for Santa Claus to come and, oh yes, preparing for Jesus’ birthday.

That went on until the tender age of seven. It was Christmas Eve and our whole family, including my two-year-old brother and numerous cousins, all younger than I, was gathered in our living room. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, the jingle of sleigh bells, and a loud, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” that sent us all rushing to the door to find Santa Claus. What a delight! My joy was short-lived, however, when I looked into his eyes and really listened to his voice. I knew him! It was a friend of my parents.

Fortunately, I was “cool” and took my grandmother, whom I adored, out to the kitchen for an explanation. She listened and asked me not to spoil the evening for the “kids.” She said that, if I could be patient, in a couple of days I would receive a letter that would explain everything.

Three days later, I received the most wonderful letter from Santa Claus explaining the real meaning of Christmas and letting me know that I, too, could be an “Assistant Santa Claus” by spreading Jesus’ love to everyone I met not only at Christmas but all year long.

That was over fifty years ago, but I still think about that night and that letter every year during Advent; particularly when I find myself focusing too much on the secular rather than on the sacred.

In days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Isaiah 2: 1-4

Dear God, it’s so easy for us to get distracted by all the wrong things. Not that most of our distractions are really bad; they just distract us from what is really good and what is important: you. We start out to celebrate your birthday and before we know it we’re buying useless gadgets and eating unhealthy food and quarreling over how much money to spend on this year’s holiday. And we’re completely forgetting about peace and good will. We forget about you. Dear God, forgive us. Remind us that we need to beat our swords into plowshares once again. Remind us about coming to your house to learn your ways. Bring us back again to the real meaning of Christmas. Amen.

Friday, December 14, 2007

An Advent Memory, by David Hicks

Like many children of the Baby Boomer generation, Advent for me was a time of staring at the television and making lists of all the things I wanted for Christmas. Growing up with four grandparents often secured just about every dream I had for Christmas
morning. December was filled with thoughts of Santa Claus, Christmas trees, and great family meals with tons of relatives. Somewhere during the month there were a couple of extra church-going experiences, including the dreaded Christmas pageant where I had to dress up as a wise man, shepherd, or even worse—Joseph. Joseph was the worst because he had to just stand in one place and never got to do anything but smile at everyone. I suspect these feelings and memories continued into my adult life, as I hope for Christmases of indulgence and dreams fulfilled.

And perhaps that is the ironic thing about Christmas for me. Christmas Day did not generate religious memories. My beliefs about God, Jesus Christ, and the church and my love for my church family did not come from Christmas memories. And yet . . .

Looking back on childhood, I see an amazing truth. The greatest lessons I learned about life, my God, my faith and my humanity came through the same family that gifted me lavishly every Christmas morning. They were the ones who influenced my life and taught me the lessons about truth, honesty, dignity and what it means to be a child of God.

When I give a gift or share a blessing with another person, it is because of the people who shaped my early years. While I can no longer say thanks to many of the persons in my early Christmas memories, I can do something even better: I can live out the love of Jesus Christ that they taught me and share the reality of what it means to be a child of Christmas morning.

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child, whom he put among them, and said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. . . . Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven. Matthew 18: 1-10.

Our loving heavenly Father, you declare that we are your children. Help us, teach us, discipline and train us so that we will be worth to be called your children. Most importantly, teach us to really see and hear the actual children whom we encounter each day. Teach us to listen to their voices and understand that they say things we need to hear. Show us the reflection of your Self in their faces so we can comprehend how precious they are. Open our hearts with compassion so that we realize that all children are not only your children, but they are our children, too. Through Jesus our Lord who entered our world as a child, Amen.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

I’ve never embraced the school of thought that requires Christmas lights in place the weekend after Thanksgiving. That’s a lot of work for one weekend, especially for people whose major professional functions fall on Sunday morning.

When I do get around to decorating the house, I don’t do it all at once On the first Sunday of Advent, if we’re lucky, we might manage to pack away the fall pumpkins and Thanksgiving Pilgrims. If we locate the wreath for the front door sometime during the week, that’s enough for me. If we get the front room furniture rearranged and set up the Christmas tree before mid-December, I’m thrilled! The tree might wear nothing but lights for a few days. Then the red balls and strings of beads go on. Then a few ornaments, and finally, the angel right on the top. In our house, decorating is not an event, it’s a process.

Advent is not the time of celebration. It’s the time for preparation, and it’s 4 weeks long. That’s plenty of time to set up a tree, string lights around the house, and whip up a batch of gingerbread, although none of that is actually necessary. Never mind if the people across the street had Santa on the roof with fourteen animated elves and computer-programmed light shows and music up and running on November 30. That stuff has very little to do with Christmas and absolutely no relation to Advent.

Remember that odd symbol of Advent, the broom? Advent is the season when we should prepare our hearts and homes for the celebration of Christ’s birth. So all we really need to do is sweep out the dust and tidy up a bit. Nothing has to be perfect, either, since that might indicate an undue amount of pride. Just look around and make things look nice, in case Jesus, Mary and Joseph should need a place to rest. Decorate the house? Sure, if it’s not too much trouble and doesn’t detract your attention from the important stuff. But if the “to-do” list gets out of hand it’s time to call a halt.

Advent is the season to prepare for Christ. Get it? Christ. Not Santa Claus or Martha Stewart or the stereotypical Mother-In-Law coming to critique your housekeeping. Let’s not get so busy getting ready for Christmas that we have no time for Jesus.

He said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens; they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? . . . And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to your as well. Luke 12:22 - 31

Lord of time and space, help us to be good keepers of our own time and our own space. When our time is rushed, help us to focus on the things that are important. When our space is distracting, help us to give our attention to its function more than to its appearance. Help us to prepare our hearts more carefully than we prepare our homes, so that we can be ready and waiting when you come unexpectedly into our lives. Because you, dear Lord, are the most important feature of this and every Christmas. Amen.

Please check in again on Sunday, December 16, for the Third Week of Advent.

(To the best of my knowledge, all the animations and graphics used in these Advent meditations are free graphics in public domain. A special "thank you" is due to the United Methodist Committee on Relief, General Board of Global Ministries for the excellent free Advent/Christmas graphics available through their site. )