Showing posts with label Advent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advent. Show all posts
Friday, December 23, 2022
Pastor Jerrell Williams: We will know when God shows up
One of the nagging thoughts in so many people's minds who can take a minute to breathe and think during this time of year is how we can know when God is present, or if God is ever present. We are so doped by movies and other media that many of us think that if the sea isn't parting and if there isn't a loud authoritative voice speaking directly to us from above the sky then we're left to pray alone or in church on Sundays or that there is no God, or no God that cares for creation any longer. In searching for belief and faith and something to hold on to we can easily become despairing and give up.
Doubt and atheism are not "wrong" or invalid under modern conditions. These are understandable given the pressures of modern-day capitalism. And if you're not struggling with despair, whether you're a believer in God or an agnostic or an atheist, then you're not paying attention. If we're going to ask where the search for faith leads us under these circumstances, and if one valid answer is despair, than we also have to ask where agnosticism and atheism lead us, and for some people the answer will be belief and faith. Leonard Cohen's "You Want It Darker" and his "Hallelujah" answer one another because faith and belief and whatever their opposites are are not really so far apart from one another.
Pastor Jerrell Williams, the pastor of the Salem, Oregon Mennonite Church, has written a brief article that is fundamental to a discussion of these themes in the contexts of Advent and Christmas. He knows what he's talking about. He graduated from Bethel College in Kansas and from the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary with his Master of Divinity. He thinks a lot about these questions and you can trust his wisdom. Besides all of that, he's a parent, he's young, and he's Black and so he has a different stake in how these questions get answered than I do.
Pastor Williams' article opens with the following:
Christmas time is here! This is a day in which we gather with our families, friends and church communities to celebrate and remember when God entered our world to be with creation. While this is the central focus for Christians, here in the U.S, this time of year is not always the hope- and awe-inspiring season that we anticipate. Often, the Christmas season is riddled with capitalism and consumerism. There is the stress of constant gift buying. There is the mourning that takes place, because the Christmas dinner table may be missing a few members due to sickness or death. I myself am guilty of not being in the “Christmas spirit” this year. Maybe it is the cold, dark and rainy season that has me down. Maybe it is the constant busyness of work and personal life. Either way, I have noticed God’s absence more than I ever have recently.
As I have gone through the Advent texts from the lectionary with my congregation, I have been reminded that my feelings are not foreign to God’s people. They were carrying God’s promise with them for years, waiting for God to finally do something. Imagine the stories of this promise being passed down from generation to generation. It’s not often that I feel that I can identify with the Biblical narrative, but I do know what anticipation feels like. I also know what absence feels like: the constant asking of God to do something, trusting in the promise that God will not abandon you for good.
One question that I have been sitting with this Advent season is: “How will we know when God is here?”
How will we know that we are on the right track towards restoration? Recently, I was reminded that Jesus answered a similar question in Matthew’s Gospel. When John the Baptist was in prison, he had a message sent to Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (11:3 NRSVUE). This is not only a question an uncertainty, but it is a question of hopeful anticipation. John knew his role in this story. He knew that he was the forerunner, and that the Messiah was coming soon. What he did not anticipate was that the Messiah would look like Jesus. Jesus sent word back to John by pointing towards the evidence. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (11:4-6 NRSVUE).
Really, you do want to finish the article by going here. A good sermon only ends after you think about it, integrate what you can take from it into your life, and move on and keep growing.
Doubt and atheism are not "wrong" or invalid under modern conditions. These are understandable given the pressures of modern-day capitalism. And if you're not struggling with despair, whether you're a believer in God or an agnostic or an atheist, then you're not paying attention. If we're going to ask where the search for faith leads us under these circumstances, and if one valid answer is despair, than we also have to ask where agnosticism and atheism lead us, and for some people the answer will be belief and faith. Leonard Cohen's "You Want It Darker" and his "Hallelujah" answer one another because faith and belief and whatever their opposites are are not really so far apart from one another.
Pastor Jerrell Williams, the pastor of the Salem, Oregon Mennonite Church, has written a brief article that is fundamental to a discussion of these themes in the contexts of Advent and Christmas. He knows what he's talking about. He graduated from Bethel College in Kansas and from the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary with his Master of Divinity. He thinks a lot about these questions and you can trust his wisdom. Besides all of that, he's a parent, he's young, and he's Black and so he has a different stake in how these questions get answered than I do.
Pastor Williams' article opens with the following:
Christmas time is here! This is a day in which we gather with our families, friends and church communities to celebrate and remember when God entered our world to be with creation. While this is the central focus for Christians, here in the U.S, this time of year is not always the hope- and awe-inspiring season that we anticipate. Often, the Christmas season is riddled with capitalism and consumerism. There is the stress of constant gift buying. There is the mourning that takes place, because the Christmas dinner table may be missing a few members due to sickness or death. I myself am guilty of not being in the “Christmas spirit” this year. Maybe it is the cold, dark and rainy season that has me down. Maybe it is the constant busyness of work and personal life. Either way, I have noticed God’s absence more than I ever have recently.
As I have gone through the Advent texts from the lectionary with my congregation, I have been reminded that my feelings are not foreign to God’s people. They were carrying God’s promise with them for years, waiting for God to finally do something. Imagine the stories of this promise being passed down from generation to generation. It’s not often that I feel that I can identify with the Biblical narrative, but I do know what anticipation feels like. I also know what absence feels like: the constant asking of God to do something, trusting in the promise that God will not abandon you for good.
One question that I have been sitting with this Advent season is: “How will we know when God is here?”
How will we know that we are on the right track towards restoration? Recently, I was reminded that Jesus answered a similar question in Matthew’s Gospel. When John the Baptist was in prison, he had a message sent to Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (11:3 NRSVUE). This is not only a question an uncertainty, but it is a question of hopeful anticipation. John knew his role in this story. He knew that he was the forerunner, and that the Messiah was coming soon. What he did not anticipate was that the Messiah would look like Jesus. Jesus sent word back to John by pointing towards the evidence. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (11:4-6 NRSVUE). Really, you do want to finish the article by going here. A good sermon only ends after you think about it, integrate what you can take from it into your life, and move on and keep growing.
Thursday, December 22, 2022
Class struggle and the revolutionary hope of Christmas by Tim Yeager
This post offers a view of the Christmas story that will surprise many readers and, I hope, provoke some study and discussion. The author of this piece is Tim Yeager, who is described at the end of the article as " Long-time labor organizer, civil rights and peace activist in the U.S., Rev. Tim Yeager is now Associate Priest at St Albans Cathedral and Volunteer priest at Waltham Abbey Church, U.K." This article first appeared in the December 20, 2017 edition of the People's World. Please go here in order to read the entire article.
A mural imitating the religious painting "The Last Supper" covers a wall of a popular housing complex in Caracas, showing from left to right: Fidel Castro, Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, Mao Zedong, V.I. Lenin, Karl Marx, Jesus Christ, Simon Bolivar, Venezuelan rebel fighters Alexis Gonzalez and Fabricio Ojeda, and Venezuela's late President Hugo Chavez. | Fernando Llano / AP
Christmas time can be so depressing. It brings out some of the worst features of capitalism and rubs them in our faces. You can’t escape, whatever your philosophical or religious belief.
Advertisements spur on feelings of guilt if you don’t buy enough of the right kinds of consumer products for people you love. Creative financing is offered so that lenders can make even more profit. And it is an environmental disaster … more plastic, cardboard, and packaging is produced, carted about, and dumped into landfills, vacant lots, and incinerators at Christmas time than at any other time of the year.
And yet… Nearly smothered beneath piles of gift catalogs and sale circulars, nearly drowned in a sea of synthesized elevator-music Christmas carols, in a locked theological vault guarded down through the centuries by legions of preachers, priests and pontiffs, there burns a persistent secret flame. It is the flame of a revolutionary hope—hope for a better world, a more just society, where the social order is turned upside down so that the poor are fed and the rich are relieved of their ill-gotten gains. And it is something that working people of any culture, any religious or philosophical background can relate to.
What does Christmas have to do with the class struggle? In a word—everything. The story goes like this:
Once upon a time, in a land far away on the edge of a great empire, there was a people with an ancient culture, a storied past, and a great literature, who had been conquered by a technologically advanced imperial power. They were occupied by foreign soldiers and ruled by corrupt local despots who collaborated with the foreign oppressors. There were periodic revolts of local peasants and slaves that were put down mercilessly.
In the midst of all that, a young unmarried girl becomes pregnant out of wedlock. You might think she would regret this development, but on the contrary, she finds in the anticipated birth of a child a reason to rejoice and to hope for a better world. In her joy and determination, she sings an ancient song of liberation:
My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me: He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:46-53)
She and her fiancé are then forced to make a difficult journey while she is in the last weeks of her pregnancy, ostensibly to comply with the demands of their imperial rulers to register for a census. They are denied lodging in local inns. Homeless, the young family takes shelter in a stable, where the mother goes into labor and gives birth to a baby boy among barnyard animals.
Hardly an auspicious beginning for a child in whom his mother had placed such hope. And then things get worse. The local ruler, a collaborator who is kept in power through an occupation army, decides on an act of terror. Convinced that a revolt is brewing in the village where the young couple has just had their baby, he sends in death squads to kill all the male children under a certain age.
Christmas time can be so depressing. It brings out some of the worst features of capitalism and rubs them in our faces. You can’t escape, whatever your philosophical or religious belief.
Advertisements spur on feelings of guilt if you don’t buy enough of the right kinds of consumer products for people you love. Creative financing is offered so that lenders can make even more profit. And it is an environmental disaster … more plastic, cardboard, and packaging is produced, carted about, and dumped into landfills, vacant lots, and incinerators at Christmas time than at any other time of the year.
And yet… Nearly smothered beneath piles of gift catalogs and sale circulars, nearly drowned in a sea of synthesized elevator-music Christmas carols, in a locked theological vault guarded down through the centuries by legions of preachers, priests and pontiffs, there burns a persistent secret flame. It is the flame of a revolutionary hope—hope for a better world, a more just society, where the social order is turned upside down so that the poor are fed and the rich are relieved of their ill-gotten gains. And it is something that working people of any culture, any religious or philosophical background can relate to.
What does Christmas have to do with the class struggle? In a word—everything. The story goes like this:
Once upon a time, in a land far away on the edge of a great empire, there was a people with an ancient culture, a storied past, and a great literature, who had been conquered by a technologically advanced imperial power. They were occupied by foreign soldiers and ruled by corrupt local despots who collaborated with the foreign oppressors. There were periodic revolts of local peasants and slaves that were put down mercilessly.
In the midst of all that, a young unmarried girl becomes pregnant out of wedlock. You might think she would regret this development, but on the contrary, she finds in the anticipated birth of a child a reason to rejoice and to hope for a better world. In her joy and determination, she sings an ancient song of liberation:
My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has regarded the low estate of his handmaiden. For behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me: He has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts, he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. (Luke 1:46-53)
She and her fiancé are then forced to make a difficult journey while she is in the last weeks of her pregnancy, ostensibly to comply with the demands of their imperial rulers to register for a census. They are denied lodging in local inns. Homeless, the young family takes shelter in a stable, where the mother goes into labor and gives birth to a baby boy among barnyard animals.
Hardly an auspicious beginning for a child in whom his mother had placed such hope. And then things get worse. The local ruler, a collaborator who is kept in power through an occupation army, decides on an act of terror. Convinced that a revolt is brewing in the village where the young couple has just had their baby, he sends in death squads to kill all the male children under a certain age.
An Advent Devotion from Rev. Dr. Lenore Hosier, member of United Methodists for Kairos Response (UMKR)
The following was written by Rev. Dr. Lenore Hosier and is taken from a Methodist Federation for Social Action Advent Devotion series. Please support MFSA with a contribution.
While I had passed through Beit Sahour on my earlier trips to Palestine, it was on my trip in 2009 when I went with Global Ministries as one of our conference Mission Ambassadors where I was first introduced to the reality “on the ground” in that little town bordering up against Bethlehem. As part of our immersion experience, I was dropped off at the home of a local Palestinian Christian family to enjoy true Middle Eastern hospitality as I stayed in their home for the night. I confess, it was intimidating to go alone into a home in a strange town with people who seemed so different than those back home. I was not even sure if I would be able to communicate since I did not speak Arabic. There we sat, me with the husband, wife and five children from infant to teen, not quite sure where to begin. What began with food around their kitchen table, though, turned into laughter and stories that lasted well into the night.
Fast forward thirteen years, and I can share that I am still in contact with my family in Beit Sahour. I have spent many a wonderful meal at their table and have even enjoyed a few family weddings. I still do not speak Arabic, but I know a lot more than I used to know, mostly from the kids as we sat in their home playing cards and talking about life. Their eldest daughter has come to spend time with my family here in Pennsylvania, and I have had the privilege of seeing the “baby” of the family grow into a handsome, teenage boy. None of this would have been possible, though, if I (and this family) had not been open to God showing up in a new and unexpected manner.
Reading this very familiar passage from the Gospel of Matthew as we prepare to enter into the Celebration of the Birth of Christ, my mind immediately goes to those sloping, rocky hills of Beit Sahour where tradition locates those watching shepherds not far from Bethlehem, very close to my friends’ home. The shepherds sat there that night watching their sheep in the dark of the night, no streetlights to break through the darkness, probably only a glowing fire to warn away predators that might come looking to steal a sheep or two.
The name Beit Sahour translates into something like “house of the watchers.” The shepherds might have thought they were just watching over their flocks, but the Scripture reminds us that they saw so much more there on the hillside that night. Luke tells us that what they saw made them fearful, but they did not turn tail and run away. Instead, they heeded the “good news” of the angels. Despite the fact they were intimidated, nervous and even afraid, they were curious enough to see how God was going to show up in a new way, so they went to check it out for themselves.
And God did. God showed up in an unexpected manner as a little baby in swaddling clothes, born to a virgin, teenage mother and her carpenter husband. The Lord came to Earth in human form, and it was the unexpected shepherds that were the first to come to worship the newborn king. They were open to God doing something new and amazing while so many others missed it!
So, as we go through Advent, may we set aside our preconceived ideas, our fears, and our assumptions, as well. May we be open to sitting at the table together with those unlike us, maybe to share a meal, stories, laughter and even tears with our Palestinian and Israeli brothers and sisters. May we be watching to see what God might do in our midst, even through us, in unexpected ways.
I hope that we can be like those shepherds, too, in our willingness to glorify and praise God in what we have seen and heard. Despite the struggles that are experienced daily in the Occupied West Bank and Gaza, God is still at work. Throughout this season, keep your eyes open and watch to see how God is moving amongst us so that we might proclaim God’s goodness wherever we go!
Prayer: Gracious God, open our eyes during this season of preparation to see what you would have us to see. May our eyes not grow weary from watching, our heads not start to droop with fatigue or complacency, our spirits not become distracted and discouraged despite all the heartaches in our world today. Keep our eyes looking towards Jesus, our Prince of Peace, that we might experience your Peace today and every day. Amen.
Rev. Dr. Hosier is an ordained elder in the Susquehanna Conference of the United Methodist Church. She earned a D.Min. from Colgate Rochester Crozer in Peacebuilding and Interfaith Dialogue and completed her thesis work on the African American experience in the Methodist Tradition. Hosier has served local churches in her conference, spent almost three years serving cross-culturally/cross-racially as a Mission Volunteer with GBGM and now serves as an interfaith prison chaplain. She has travelled to Israel and Palestine on 16 trips since 2006 and continues to stay engaged with the people and the land by educating others in the Church and beyond through her work with UMKR.
Advent Devotion 5: December 21, 2022
The House of the Watchers:
Reflections from Beit Sahour, Palestine
Luke 2:8-20
Fast forward thirteen years, and I can share that I am still in contact with my family in Beit Sahour. I have spent many a wonderful meal at their table and have even enjoyed a few family weddings. I still do not speak Arabic, but I know a lot more than I used to know, mostly from the kids as we sat in their home playing cards and talking about life. Their eldest daughter has come to spend time with my family here in Pennsylvania, and I have had the privilege of seeing the “baby” of the family grow into a handsome, teenage boy. None of this would have been possible, though, if I (and this family) had not been open to God showing up in a new and unexpected manner.
Reading this very familiar passage from the Gospel of Matthew as we prepare to enter into the Celebration of the Birth of Christ, my mind immediately goes to those sloping, rocky hills of Beit Sahour where tradition locates those watching shepherds not far from Bethlehem, very close to my friends’ home. The shepherds sat there that night watching their sheep in the dark of the night, no streetlights to break through the darkness, probably only a glowing fire to warn away predators that might come looking to steal a sheep or two.
The name Beit Sahour translates into something like “house of the watchers.” The shepherds might have thought they were just watching over their flocks, but the Scripture reminds us that they saw so much more there on the hillside that night. Luke tells us that what they saw made them fearful, but they did not turn tail and run away. Instead, they heeded the “good news” of the angels. Despite the fact they were intimidated, nervous and even afraid, they were curious enough to see how God was going to show up in a new way, so they went to check it out for themselves.
And God did. God showed up in an unexpected manner as a little baby in swaddling clothes, born to a virgin, teenage mother and her carpenter husband. The Lord came to Earth in human form, and it was the unexpected shepherds that were the first to come to worship the newborn king. They were open to God doing something new and amazing while so many others missed it!
So, as we go through Advent, may we set aside our preconceived ideas, our fears, and our assumptions, as well. May we be open to sitting at the table together with those unlike us, maybe to share a meal, stories, laughter and even tears with our Palestinian and Israeli brothers and sisters. May we be watching to see what God might do in our midst, even through us, in unexpected ways.
I hope that we can be like those shepherds, too, in our willingness to glorify and praise God in what we have seen and heard. Despite the struggles that are experienced daily in the Occupied West Bank and Gaza, God is still at work. Throughout this season, keep your eyes open and watch to see how God is moving amongst us so that we might proclaim God’s goodness wherever we go!
Prayer: Gracious God, open our eyes during this season of preparation to see what you would have us to see. May our eyes not grow weary from watching, our heads not start to droop with fatigue or complacency, our spirits not become distracted and discouraged despite all the heartaches in our world today. Keep our eyes looking towards Jesus, our Prince of Peace, that we might experience your Peace today and every day. Amen.
Friday, December 16, 2022
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Advent Devotion 4: December 14, 2022 Zechariah 9:9 By Rev. Brandee Jasmine Mimitzraiem
The following thoughtful devotion is taken from the most recent Methodist Federation for Social Action bulletin.
May this devotion move us and disturb us into taking action.
Zechariah 9:9 “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jersualem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.”
The crimson of Christmas-to-come can carry a different meaning for the infertile. Hidden in the shadows of city sidewalks, behind the anticipation of the birth of the Child so easily conceived, Advent for infertile and low-fertility women can come with the silent dread of seeing a crimson ribbon where none should be.
I went home for Christmas, after a compassionless ob/gyn giddily announced that I would not be burdened with the ability to conceive children, on crutches. I was moving too fast, carrying too much, and had rolled down a flight of marble stairs. I couldn’t navigate the shopping malls or the piles of snow. I stayed behind while my family members went out. The babysitter. The aunty who could not have her own. Resigned to her fate.
Somehow, we all managed to get to church on the third Sunday of Advent. My mom’s pastor preached the first reading, Zechariah 9:9. “Rejoice,” he said, “for everything you desire is coming soon. Be joyful in the expectation of your wildest dreams coming true.” I hobbled back to my mom’s house, with two sprained ankles and a torn meniscus, feeling the pain of ovaries wrapped in cysts and a uterus that the doctor said would remain empty, and I wondered where the joy was for me, who deeply desired children, but whose physician rejoicingly declared that I would not be one of the scores of Black women who would “suffer through that.” I felt defeated, invisible, and no matter how many times I heard the words “rejoice, O Daughter” ring from my mom’s recording of Handle’s Messiah (or its Joyful Celebration), I could find no cause for rejoicing.
I wonder if the daughters of Jerusalem and daughters of Zion who heard Zechariah’s prophecy felt the same way. Known by their relationships, Zechariah calls out to the women as daughters. Not the mothers. Not the wives. He calls out to the women who were the accidental casualties of a war they did not wage. Rejoice. From the sidelines where they watched the warriors fall. Rejoice. From the margins where they witnessed the mighty be pulled into exile. Rejoice. From the shadows where they heard decisions being made for the nation around them, decisions that did not include them. Rejoice. Unmarried. Cut off from having children. Invisible to the narrative. Rejoice.
We’ve been in a war for abortion rights, this season. Across the United States, we’re battling for access, for the rights of impregnable women to make their own decisions. And in the fringes, on the margins, the infertile and low-fertility shudder in invisibility. The infertile and those of low fertility are the accidental casualties of the battle for abortion rights. Political arguments about the beginning of life – whether at conception or at the first signs of electrical activity – leave fertility clinics, doctors, impregnable people and their families shuddering in the shadows, invisible and unheard. What do these emerging laws mean for the embryos waiting for implantation? What do they mean for the embryos that cannot be implanted? What do they mean for the patient that can conceive but suffers miscarriage after miscarriage, crimson ribbons appearing where they are not welcomed to be? In this battle over the rights of the easily pregnant to choose their own narrative, even those voices crying out in the wilderness, “keep your hands off my uterus” tend to not see the pain of those for whom pregnancy is not simply a choice but is, itself, a battle.
Rejoice.
Perhaps Zechariah’s call to rejoice is not a demand for easy joy, a demand to forget the pain and suffering of exilic life. Perhaps Zechariah’s phrasing of Jerusalem and Zion as daughters – and not mothers or wives – awaiting good news and good tidings is a call for the nations, the community to witness the pain of those marginalized by the battle. Rather than a call for the expectant hope of deliverance at the hands of a king that never came or never existed, perhaps Zechariah calls the daughters to see, simply, that God is present in the midst of their pain. Rather than an easy supercessionist slip into a messianic hope for salvation, perhaps Zechariah calls the community to see that God sees the pain of those at the margins and choose to alleviate the fear therein. Perhaps the rejoicing is not a promise for what is to come but a recognition that the torment and trauma was real and so is the permission to grieve, to heal, and to simply no longer fear. Rejoice.
The Christmas after the Christmas on crutches, I came home in defiant opposition of that doctor. Whatever level of infertility I had, I decided, I would make my body cooperate and bear a child. I came home reeling from multiple failed medicated attempts, never ever wanting to see another red dot or crimson streak. Since I was in charge of decorating the tree, we had a pastel Christmas. And, somewhere deep behind the jingles of joy, I found a trove of sad holiday music. It was a community of tears and, there, I found the possibility of rejoicing. I rejoiced – not in spite of what I lost, not because of the possible fulfillment of all I dreamed, not because of a new hope found – because my pain was shared and vocalized. I was no longer alone. God saw me. I recognized God with me. I rejoiced.
O daughter, whose pregnancy story never makes it to front page news: we see you. Rejoice. O daughter, who hides your tears in the rosiness of frozen cheeks, behind the twinkling of silver bells: God is with you. Rejoice. O daughter, for whom the story of an easy impregnation of a young woman serves as a reminder of your own difficulties: God sees you. Rejoice. O daughter, the trauma of your story has not been swept aside in this battle for sovereignty. Every year, every Christmas, we join our tears in communion with your own. That is rejoicing. O daughter, O aunty, O sister: we remember you, we recognize your pain, we reimagine a future where you are not pressed at the edges of our community. That is rejoicing.
We stand together, rehearsing the words of Zechariah to the daughters left behind after war, exile, and devastation: rejoice, O daughter. Rejoice. Behold – look and see! – God holds and sees you, in your pain. Behold – look and see! – God is with you. Don’t fear disaster. We, too, are with you.
Rejoice.
May this devotion move us and disturb us into taking action.
Zechariah 9:9 “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jersualem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: he is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.”
The crimson of Christmas-to-come can carry a different meaning for the infertile. Hidden in the shadows of city sidewalks, behind the anticipation of the birth of the Child so easily conceived, Advent for infertile and low-fertility women can come with the silent dread of seeing a crimson ribbon where none should be.
I went home for Christmas, after a compassionless ob/gyn giddily announced that I would not be burdened with the ability to conceive children, on crutches. I was moving too fast, carrying too much, and had rolled down a flight of marble stairs. I couldn’t navigate the shopping malls or the piles of snow. I stayed behind while my family members went out. The babysitter. The aunty who could not have her own. Resigned to her fate.
Somehow, we all managed to get to church on the third Sunday of Advent. My mom’s pastor preached the first reading, Zechariah 9:9. “Rejoice,” he said, “for everything you desire is coming soon. Be joyful in the expectation of your wildest dreams coming true.” I hobbled back to my mom’s house, with two sprained ankles and a torn meniscus, feeling the pain of ovaries wrapped in cysts and a uterus that the doctor said would remain empty, and I wondered where the joy was for me, who deeply desired children, but whose physician rejoicingly declared that I would not be one of the scores of Black women who would “suffer through that.” I felt defeated, invisible, and no matter how many times I heard the words “rejoice, O Daughter” ring from my mom’s recording of Handle’s Messiah (or its Joyful Celebration), I could find no cause for rejoicing.
I wonder if the daughters of Jerusalem and daughters of Zion who heard Zechariah’s prophecy felt the same way. Known by their relationships, Zechariah calls out to the women as daughters. Not the mothers. Not the wives. He calls out to the women who were the accidental casualties of a war they did not wage. Rejoice. From the sidelines where they watched the warriors fall. Rejoice. From the margins where they witnessed the mighty be pulled into exile. Rejoice. From the shadows where they heard decisions being made for the nation around them, decisions that did not include them. Rejoice. Unmarried. Cut off from having children. Invisible to the narrative. Rejoice.
We’ve been in a war for abortion rights, this season. Across the United States, we’re battling for access, for the rights of impregnable women to make their own decisions. And in the fringes, on the margins, the infertile and low-fertility shudder in invisibility. The infertile and those of low fertility are the accidental casualties of the battle for abortion rights. Political arguments about the beginning of life – whether at conception or at the first signs of electrical activity – leave fertility clinics, doctors, impregnable people and their families shuddering in the shadows, invisible and unheard. What do these emerging laws mean for the embryos waiting for implantation? What do they mean for the embryos that cannot be implanted? What do they mean for the patient that can conceive but suffers miscarriage after miscarriage, crimson ribbons appearing where they are not welcomed to be? In this battle over the rights of the easily pregnant to choose their own narrative, even those voices crying out in the wilderness, “keep your hands off my uterus” tend to not see the pain of those for whom pregnancy is not simply a choice but is, itself, a battle.
Rejoice.
Perhaps Zechariah’s call to rejoice is not a demand for easy joy, a demand to forget the pain and suffering of exilic life. Perhaps Zechariah’s phrasing of Jerusalem and Zion as daughters – and not mothers or wives – awaiting good news and good tidings is a call for the nations, the community to witness the pain of those marginalized by the battle. Rather than a call for the expectant hope of deliverance at the hands of a king that never came or never existed, perhaps Zechariah calls the daughters to see, simply, that God is present in the midst of their pain. Rather than an easy supercessionist slip into a messianic hope for salvation, perhaps Zechariah calls the community to see that God sees the pain of those at the margins and choose to alleviate the fear therein. Perhaps the rejoicing is not a promise for what is to come but a recognition that the torment and trauma was real and so is the permission to grieve, to heal, and to simply no longer fear. Rejoice.
The Christmas after the Christmas on crutches, I came home in defiant opposition of that doctor. Whatever level of infertility I had, I decided, I would make my body cooperate and bear a child. I came home reeling from multiple failed medicated attempts, never ever wanting to see another red dot or crimson streak. Since I was in charge of decorating the tree, we had a pastel Christmas. And, somewhere deep behind the jingles of joy, I found a trove of sad holiday music. It was a community of tears and, there, I found the possibility of rejoicing. I rejoiced – not in spite of what I lost, not because of the possible fulfillment of all I dreamed, not because of a new hope found – because my pain was shared and vocalized. I was no longer alone. God saw me. I recognized God with me. I rejoiced.
O daughter, whose pregnancy story never makes it to front page news: we see you. Rejoice. O daughter, who hides your tears in the rosiness of frozen cheeks, behind the twinkling of silver bells: God is with you. Rejoice. O daughter, for whom the story of an easy impregnation of a young woman serves as a reminder of your own difficulties: God sees you. Rejoice. O daughter, the trauma of your story has not been swept aside in this battle for sovereignty. Every year, every Christmas, we join our tears in communion with your own. That is rejoicing. O daughter, O aunty, O sister: we remember you, we recognize your pain, we reimagine a future where you are not pressed at the edges of our community. That is rejoicing.
We stand together, rehearsing the words of Zechariah to the daughters left behind after war, exile, and devastation: rejoice, O daughter. Rejoice. Behold – look and see! – God holds and sees you, in your pain. Behold – look and see! – God is with you. Don’t fear disaster. We, too, are with you.
Rejoice.
Monday, December 12, 2022
Two Brief Advent Sermons
The following two short sermons were delivered in 2011 by a Roman Catholic priest who probably wishes to remain anonymous. I believe that they contain much wisdom and are worth holding on to.
As we go through the season of Advent different personalities make their appearance. The first ones are the prophets who tell us to prepare the way of the Lord.
The prophet Isaiah tells of a ‘voice crying in the wilderness’ to prepare our hearts for the coming of the Messiah. The prophet Micah tells us the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem. Zephaniah speaks of the Day of the Lord, and tells us, ‘do not be discouraged.’
For the first time today Mary, the Blessed Mother, makes her appearance. For eleven months of the year we are told to follow Christ. For one month out of the year we are told to follow Mary. For the one month of Advent we are told to follow Mary. Mary will lead us to Bethlehem. Mary, different from the prophets who told us to prepare, Mary tells us how to prepare. Mary pondered these things. Mary treasured these things, and pondered them in her heart.
We are not told to pray harder. We are not told to spend more time in church. WE are told to look into our hearts, to look into our hearts and be full of hope and promise, to prepare for love beyond all telling.
Mary was expecting. Mary was expecting a child. But a lot happened to her and Joseph that was not expected.
Full of hope and promise, full of grace. We say that, ‘Mary, full of grace.” We can be thankful Mary was full of grace and not full of reason. The innkeeper was full of reason. When we are full of reason there is no room in the inn.
The innkeeper had some good reasons why there was not room in the inn. This is not the right time. You should wait until things improve in the economy before you try to have a child. You should wait until the world becomes a better place. Wait until the time is right. Wait until we are all ready. Things are just too unpredictable.
Third Advent 2011
John the Baptist in the Gospel today has lot of explaining to say who he is not. Priests and Levites were sent to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ I am not the Christ. Who are you then. Are you Elijah? ‘I am not.’ Are you the Prophet? ‘No’ Are you Elvis?
John the Baptist was a prophet in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets. All the prophets in the Old Testament had something in common. All the prophets had to have a sense of the woundedness of Israel. They all had to have a sense of the brokenness of Israel. All the prophets had to feel this in an intense way.
There were a lot more prophets in the Old Testament than are recorded in the Scriptures. Their words never got into the the Scriptures, or if they are in the Scriptures their words are included in other books, anonymously.
The prophets of the Old Testament who lived in times of crisis, their writings have survived. The reason their writings have survived is that our faith has its origin in times of crisis. The hopes and dreams, the promises, the holy darkness has to come from the darkness of evil, not somewhere else. So there has to be a transformation of the evil darkness, to become the holy darkness.
So it is that our faith has its origin in Advent. The faith of Israel had its origin in times of crisis. Advent is the time of this transformation of darkness. Advent is a time of the holy darkness. The struggle is not so much between darkness and light. The struggle is between darkness and darkness, one kind of darkness and another kind of darkness. And it is that one kind of darkness has to be transformed into another kind of darkness. And that is to say we cannot get to the holy darkness without being in the human condition. We cannot try to be holy without being in the human condition. This darkness is the silent sister of Advent.
John the Baptist had a curious message. People were attracted to John the Baptist. His message was direct and blunt. He was not into Diet Coke, or God Lite. John himself was this curious mixture of light and darkness. John had a message of hope. This attracted those to John, his message of hope.
John was living in days unfulfilled. John was not going to live to see the desert bloom. At first he thought the Messiah would come to separate the sheep from the goats, but then that was not the vision he was to have. From the time of his birth John had this burden, this burden of the woundedness of Israel. There was a mystery beyond understanding. And to say to those who came out to see him, ‘You should just cheer up. You need to cheer up.’ That is not what they needed to hear; that is not what John said.
‘There is one who comes after me, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.”
In our Christian faith there is something we prepare for when we prepare for Christmas that is generally not part of the preparation for Christmas in the secular world. It is the coming of Christ at death. Generally this is not part of the Christmas decorations, the preparations we would see in the stores, the coming of Christ at death.
No one is quite sure why, but at Christmas time we think of those who have died. Maybe it is that Christmas is a family time, and these who have died are still part of our family and loved ones. Maybe it is that Christmas is a time of warmth and beauty, and there is a warmth and beauty in our relationships, and in life after death, our relationships will be more personal. There is something in our instincts that lead us to think of the dead at Christmas. It is another way we experience the coming of Christ.
So as we say in the new translation of the Mass, ‘It is right and just’ that we do this, to think of the dead at Christmas. It is another way we prepare for the coming of Christ.
On this Gaudete Sunday we hear the words of St. Paul to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lard always; again I say rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.’ (Phil 4:4).
As we go through the season of Advent different personalities make their appearance. The first ones are the prophets who tell us to prepare the way of the Lord.
The prophet Isaiah tells of a ‘voice crying in the wilderness’ to prepare our hearts for the coming of the Messiah. The prophet Micah tells us the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem. Zephaniah speaks of the Day of the Lord, and tells us, ‘do not be discouraged.’
For the first time today Mary, the Blessed Mother, makes her appearance. For eleven months of the year we are told to follow Christ. For one month out of the year we are told to follow Mary. For the one month of Advent we are told to follow Mary. Mary will lead us to Bethlehem. Mary, different from the prophets who told us to prepare, Mary tells us how to prepare. Mary pondered these things. Mary treasured these things, and pondered them in her heart.
We are not told to pray harder. We are not told to spend more time in church. WE are told to look into our hearts, to look into our hearts and be full of hope and promise, to prepare for love beyond all telling.
Mary was expecting. Mary was expecting a child. But a lot happened to her and Joseph that was not expected.
Full of hope and promise, full of grace. We say that, ‘Mary, full of grace.” We can be thankful Mary was full of grace and not full of reason. The innkeeper was full of reason. When we are full of reason there is no room in the inn.
The innkeeper had some good reasons why there was not room in the inn. This is not the right time. You should wait until things improve in the economy before you try to have a child. You should wait until the world becomes a better place. Wait until the time is right. Wait until we are all ready. Things are just too unpredictable.
* * *
Third Advent 2011
John the Baptist in the Gospel today has lot of explaining to say who he is not. Priests and Levites were sent to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ I am not the Christ. Who are you then. Are you Elijah? ‘I am not.’ Are you the Prophet? ‘No’ Are you Elvis?
John the Baptist was a prophet in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets. All the prophets in the Old Testament had something in common. All the prophets had to have a sense of the woundedness of Israel. They all had to have a sense of the brokenness of Israel. All the prophets had to feel this in an intense way.
There were a lot more prophets in the Old Testament than are recorded in the Scriptures. Their words never got into the the Scriptures, or if they are in the Scriptures their words are included in other books, anonymously.
The prophets of the Old Testament who lived in times of crisis, their writings have survived. The reason their writings have survived is that our faith has its origin in times of crisis. The hopes and dreams, the promises, the holy darkness has to come from the darkness of evil, not somewhere else. So there has to be a transformation of the evil darkness, to become the holy darkness.
So it is that our faith has its origin in Advent. The faith of Israel had its origin in times of crisis. Advent is the time of this transformation of darkness. Advent is a time of the holy darkness. The struggle is not so much between darkness and light. The struggle is between darkness and darkness, one kind of darkness and another kind of darkness. And it is that one kind of darkness has to be transformed into another kind of darkness. And that is to say we cannot get to the holy darkness without being in the human condition. We cannot try to be holy without being in the human condition. This darkness is the silent sister of Advent.
John the Baptist had a curious message. People were attracted to John the Baptist. His message was direct and blunt. He was not into Diet Coke, or God Lite. John himself was this curious mixture of light and darkness. John had a message of hope. This attracted those to John, his message of hope.
John was living in days unfulfilled. John was not going to live to see the desert bloom. At first he thought the Messiah would come to separate the sheep from the goats, but then that was not the vision he was to have. From the time of his birth John had this burden, this burden of the woundedness of Israel. There was a mystery beyond understanding. And to say to those who came out to see him, ‘You should just cheer up. You need to cheer up.’ That is not what they needed to hear; that is not what John said.
‘There is one who comes after me, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie.”
In our Christian faith there is something we prepare for when we prepare for Christmas that is generally not part of the preparation for Christmas in the secular world. It is the coming of Christ at death. Generally this is not part of the Christmas decorations, the preparations we would see in the stores, the coming of Christ at death.
No one is quite sure why, but at Christmas time we think of those who have died. Maybe it is that Christmas is a family time, and these who have died are still part of our family and loved ones. Maybe it is that Christmas is a time of warmth and beauty, and there is a warmth and beauty in our relationships, and in life after death, our relationships will be more personal. There is something in our instincts that lead us to think of the dead at Christmas. It is another way we experience the coming of Christ.
So as we say in the new translation of the Mass, ‘It is right and just’ that we do this, to think of the dead at Christmas. It is another way we prepare for the coming of Christ.
On this Gaudete Sunday we hear the words of St. Paul to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lard always; again I say rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.’ (Phil 4:4).
Sunday, December 4, 2022
A remarkable Advent sermon from 2011
The following sermon was given 11 years go by a Roman Catholic priest who would probably prefer to remain anonymous. I found most of his sermons to be moving and engaging and reassuring, and almost mystical.
Second Sunday of Advent 2011
This year for the season of Advent our assignment, our homework, is to get used to the new translation of the Mass prayers. Your parts, the parts the people say, is rather minimal. The parts the priest says from the altar have more changes. For while we will be using Eucharistic Prayer number three.
Eventually we will use all four of the Eucharistic Prayers, but for now just number three.
We will notice as we get used to the new translation that there is an emphasis on the holy. God is holy. God is the Holy One. What does that mean that God is the Holy One. Many of us would associate the word holy with religious, or godly. Most of us do not like the word godly, or even the word religious. And it des not mean we are going to be using more incense.
The holy, in fact, has nothing to do with being godly, or religious, or incense. To say God is holy means there is a heaviness to where God walks. There is a heaviness to the presence of God. To say something is holy means it is genuine and authentic. We like to think things are genuine and authentic.
So many things come from the holiness of God. It is from the holiness God that we can have the forgiveness of sins. Pagan gods could never forgive sins because they are not holy. Sinners are included in the communion of saints, the communion of saints and sinners, because God is holy. So in the new translation of the Mass prayers we will notice an emphasis on the holy. God is holy.
Today is the second Sunday of Advent. If we are waiting for part two, there is no part two. Nor is there a part three, or a part four. Christmas when it gets here, the Church celebrates Christmas rather quietly. It is not a boisterous, big party. We enter the church by the side aisle, and stop by the crib.
Advent too is rather quiet. Advent is a reflective time. The darkness of this time of year. The Church does not give us a lot of business to do. To keep watch, to keep vigil, to wait patiently. It is this time of year we make peace with the past year, calm down our emotions, put things in perspective. At least when we come into the church during the season of Advent it looks like Advent.
What is true in our lives is that God does not always come in the front door with a lot of fanfare. Maybe God could come in through the back door, or God could come in through the side door into our lives. God could come in through the cracks. If we have any cracks in our walls, God could come in through the cracks. If there are any cracks in our lives God could come in through those cracks.
So Advent is a reflective time. We can think about these things, whatever the Lord gives us to think about, put them in perspective, make peace with the events, the people, the relationships in our lives, the things in our lives, our death.
Advent is a kind of catechism for us. Advent is a season of hope. When we have the virtue of hope we live differently. When we are in touch with hope we are able to see things of the heart. John the Baptist who makes his appearance today was crying out a message of hope. John the Baptist did not say ‘I hope things get better.’
Even with the virtue of hope things may get worse, or get more intense. But the God we have is a God of hope. John the Baptist has the message that God is the origin of hope, God is the origin of the hopes and dreams of a people. The God we have is a God of Advent.
The Christmas season began some time ago, at least in the stores. The Christmas season begins some time after Halloween. So the season of Advent is something of an insertion into the Christmas season. So we have to as Christians balance these things. We have to balance the sometimes business of the Christmas season with the reflective and quiet time of the season of Advent.
And we can do both. We are used to that. We can have Advent within the busyness of this time. John the Baptist today is not asking us to believe in the holidays. John the Baptist is not asking us to get into the holiday spirit. The surprise is that God could surprise us. God can come in through the side door. God can come in through the cracks. We need to see that we are involved in a profound mystery. We need to be aware of the wonder. We need to expect that God can come into the circumstances of our lives, into our own human experiences.
Second Sunday of Advent 2011
This year for the season of Advent our assignment, our homework, is to get used to the new translation of the Mass prayers. Your parts, the parts the people say, is rather minimal. The parts the priest says from the altar have more changes. For while we will be using Eucharistic Prayer number three.
Eventually we will use all four of the Eucharistic Prayers, but for now just number three.
We will notice as we get used to the new translation that there is an emphasis on the holy. God is holy. God is the Holy One. What does that mean that God is the Holy One. Many of us would associate the word holy with religious, or godly. Most of us do not like the word godly, or even the word religious. And it des not mean we are going to be using more incense.
The holy, in fact, has nothing to do with being godly, or religious, or incense. To say God is holy means there is a heaviness to where God walks. There is a heaviness to the presence of God. To say something is holy means it is genuine and authentic. We like to think things are genuine and authentic.
So many things come from the holiness of God. It is from the holiness God that we can have the forgiveness of sins. Pagan gods could never forgive sins because they are not holy. Sinners are included in the communion of saints, the communion of saints and sinners, because God is holy. So in the new translation of the Mass prayers we will notice an emphasis on the holy. God is holy.
Today is the second Sunday of Advent. If we are waiting for part two, there is no part two. Nor is there a part three, or a part four. Christmas when it gets here, the Church celebrates Christmas rather quietly. It is not a boisterous, big party. We enter the church by the side aisle, and stop by the crib.
Advent too is rather quiet. Advent is a reflective time. The darkness of this time of year. The Church does not give us a lot of business to do. To keep watch, to keep vigil, to wait patiently. It is this time of year we make peace with the past year, calm down our emotions, put things in perspective. At least when we come into the church during the season of Advent it looks like Advent.
What is true in our lives is that God does not always come in the front door with a lot of fanfare. Maybe God could come in through the back door, or God could come in through the side door into our lives. God could come in through the cracks. If we have any cracks in our walls, God could come in through the cracks. If there are any cracks in our lives God could come in through those cracks.
So Advent is a reflective time. We can think about these things, whatever the Lord gives us to think about, put them in perspective, make peace with the events, the people, the relationships in our lives, the things in our lives, our death.
Advent is a kind of catechism for us. Advent is a season of hope. When we have the virtue of hope we live differently. When we are in touch with hope we are able to see things of the heart. John the Baptist who makes his appearance today was crying out a message of hope. John the Baptist did not say ‘I hope things get better.’
Even with the virtue of hope things may get worse, or get more intense. But the God we have is a God of hope. John the Baptist has the message that God is the origin of hope, God is the origin of the hopes and dreams of a people. The God we have is a God of Advent.
The Christmas season began some time ago, at least in the stores. The Christmas season begins some time after Halloween. So the season of Advent is something of an insertion into the Christmas season. So we have to as Christians balance these things. We have to balance the sometimes business of the Christmas season with the reflective and quiet time of the season of Advent.
And we can do both. We are used to that. We can have Advent within the busyness of this time. John the Baptist today is not asking us to believe in the holidays. John the Baptist is not asking us to get into the holiday spirit. The surprise is that God could surprise us. God can come in through the side door. God can come in through the cracks. We need to see that we are involved in a profound mystery. We need to be aware of the wonder. We need to expect that God can come into the circumstances of our lives, into our own human experiences.
Wednesday, November 30, 2022
Pastor Jerrell Williams: Advent gives me hope that God has not abandoned us
The following lines come from an article by Pastor Jerrell Williams of Salem, Oregon's Mennonite Church. There is a link to the full article below the excerpt.
Let’s be honest: This has been a depressing few years for many of us. Through all of the sickness, financial struggles, climate disasters and political tension, I have gotten more pessimistic. I do not know how we can make things better anymore.
It seems that for every happy -moment there has been a terrible -moment. The circumstances I have gone through over the past three years have changed me.
And yet: Joy is still possible. I think of God’s people 2,000 years ago carrying God’s promise with them as they walked through the hardships of their lives. They were waiting for God to do something. God finally responded by entering their world — our world — to walk with us.
Advent gives me hope that God has not abandoned us. It gives me hope that God is moving, sometimes in mysterious ways.
Let’s be honest: This has been a depressing few years for many of us. Through all of the sickness, financial struggles, climate disasters and political tension, I have gotten more pessimistic. I do not know how we can make things better anymore.
It seems that for every happy -moment there has been a terrible -moment. The circumstances I have gone through over the past three years have changed me.
And yet: Joy is still possible. I think of God’s people 2,000 years ago carrying God’s promise with them as they walked through the hardships of their lives. They were waiting for God to do something. God finally responded by entering their world — our world — to walk with us.
Advent gives me hope that God has not abandoned us. It gives me hope that God is moving, sometimes in mysterious ways.
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