Freeze Frame Midnight Blessings

Between the two,

old and new,

I'd like to freeze the moment.

Before the ball drop,

before the fireworks,

before the horns and bells and whistles.

Here's the countdown, 

so exciting,

but 

just before we all holler "three, two, one!"

Hold it.

No one move.

Except slowly turn to

look back first.

Thank you, Last Year.

You were abundant,

as promised

in a John 10:10 sort of way.

So let this suspension 

between the two,

old and new,

be flooded with remembering,

and gratitude,

for all the tears towards wisdom

and joys towards life-transforming hope.

Thank you.

And then,

turning again,

face forward now.

Still frozen in the moment.

Considering.

Quiet for a bit.

Breathing slowly on purpose.

And then,

saying this time,

(and meaning it)

Welcome, New Year.

We barely know each other.

But here we are.

Here we are,

frozen in this moment.

where the uneasy unknown

and the hilariously possible 

meet

head on.

So let this suspension

between the two,

be flooded with resilient confidence.

Yes!

Welcome!

And then,

let the ball drop,

light the fireworks,

shake the bells, 

blow the horns and whistles.

And also,

pray.

Like happy.

In whispers.

With singing.

In confidence.

And humbly.

Because,

"The LORD will fulfill his purpose for me;

Your steadfast love O LORD

endures forever"

Psalm 138:8

May we often pause between things, to say thank you and to say welcome.

May the memories/lessons from 2023 be the building blocks of strong things for 2024.

And may the new year be filled with the wisdom and purpose of God for you and yours.

In Need of Some Isaiah

I've lost track and I don't have the specific data for this, but I'm pretty sure most of you would confirm that the month of December, especially these last several days of it, has seen precious little sunshine.

Three remedies are in order I think.

One - Remember the summer.

I know it doesn't work this way in the science of it, but there does seem to me some 'storage' factor somewhere in my psyche when I'm out in the sunshine telling myself that I'm soaking up all the free Vitamin D. Don't worry. I'm taking actual supplements right now. But there's still seems to be residual cheering of my spirits when I bring to mind all those sunrise kayaks last spring and summer. Ahhhhh. Yessss.

Two - Light the candles!!!

Not unsupervised, of course, but if I'm lingering in any room for any period of time, I'm finding myself adding as much ambiance of flickering brightness as I can. Lucky for me, several folks know of my fondness for candles and I've been amply gifted this Christmas. This sweet little house and the tea light inside are from two different gifters. The tea light is one of a jar full, so I should be good for the rest of the winter! Little cheerleaders to chase away the dullness.

Three - Isaiah!

"Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.
See, darkness covers the earth
and thick darkness is over the peoples,
but the LORD rises upon you
and his glory appears over you.
Nations will come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn."
Isaiah 60:1-3

And while it might be tempting to think Isaiah was experiencing a dark Canadian winter, he is of course talking about spiritual darkness, and the need for light beyond ourselves, beyond even the sun, to come and bring bright hope.

It's what we just celebrated. "Light and life to all He brings" (Hark the Herald Angles Sing verse 3). And when Isaiah gets to the part where others are drawn to it ("nations will come to your light"), that's when I realize I have a similar happy task as the candles.

I'm tempted to break out into that old Sunday School chorus, "This little light of mine".... so I will. (Are you singing it in your head now?) Or at least make reference to the way we can all be this for each other. Not just in the dark days of winter, but okay, sure, yeah, right now.

Right now when the economy and the news kind of match the weather. Right now when we need each other's hopeful joy, the hope and joy we receive from a God who is light, from a Messiah to came to show the way, from a Spirit who burns brightly within us.

So happy, hopeful, Isaiah-bright Friday dear friends.
Soon we'll be welcoming a bright new year full of possibilities.

(And if the song lingers in your head a little, that's okay too.)

Full On in the Other Direction

Spending some time over these quieter days with candles lit, the fire on, snuggled into the couch with a good book, or four.

To be honest, the fall has been rather intensive, and not so inclined for reading, so my soul is welcoming these rainy afternoons like a parched lawn after a long drought.

As is usually the case, I have about four new reads going on at once. Sorry-not-sorry in advance for the onslaught of quotes that are likely to happen over the new weeks.

Today I got a start on Brian Stiller's book on leadership called "Find a Broken Wall." Not surprisingly to those familiar with Old Testament leadership examples, he's opening up Nehemiah's story to bring forward some intriguing 'ancient principles for 21st century leaders.'

I'm really liking his launching point. His first principle is about opportunity in chaos, and the counterintuitive move downward.

"Instead of searching for the good places, rewarding salaries and benefits, popular communities and nice people, look for rundown, bankrupt communities in need of someone to lift and lead."

Brian Stiller - Find a Broken Wall (2012)

Seems this could be a good approach for any of us, not just those in charge of something. Just go look for the broken walls, the less than desirable, the weak and weary, and do something good in that mess.

For more than one reason, this reminds me of those who did that for me. The leaders and mentors in my life who somehow saw the opportunity in my own chaos of growing, and invested in me in ways undeniably life-transformative.

In fact, some of the first ministry mentors I ever had were under the leadership of Brian Stiller himself, back in the 70s, as he 'lifted and led' other leaders in Toronto at Youth For Christ. I cut my ministry teeth in that environment, and I am utterly grateful.

I was not a glamourous project, believe me. Many might have overlooked the awkward, struggling young adult woman at the beginning of what would not have looked like a ministry future with a whole lot of potential. If all those around me at the time were seeking after the big salaries and other signs of success, I would not be here today, doing what I do.

It's such a temptation, really. If we're honest, we all have to admit to some form of it. The upward draw of what it looks like to have 'arrived,' to be able to impress our peers, to have all the boxes of 'accomplished' checked off.

But to turn around and look downward for that broken wall, that broken spirit, and invest there instead -- that's driven by something else - something more true, I think.

I'm being pressed into this more this coming year, I believe. Feels like a recurring theme of late, of being drawn into a space of shedding off the outward symbols of success, such as I might define it.

Not exactly sure where it might take me, and I'm hoping I'm up to the challenge. But I'm glad for the companions along the way, and the beautiful hearts God's placed in my life to guide me --- all the way from way back then, up until now.

Just a Little Longer

 

There's something uniquely hushed about the 'after Christmas' space. At least it's like that at our house.

Before Christmas there's all the anticipatory celebrations, the build up, the lovely, happy getting-ready of it all.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning is all 'yay and hooray' in the bigness and brightness of it all.

And then comes that quiet space, when we the light the candles and listen to Christmas music and eat chocolate, do a new puzzle, read that new book for a bit, and maybe even get ourselves up off the couch and go for a walk. Or not. That's the point. No expectations. No where to be but at home. Nothing to do, just be.

For sure, more family dinners are yet to happen for us this year. We've made it a practice to simplify our complicated holiday schedules by pacing it out and letting the whole week be open for the comings and goings of being together.

But more often than not, and now quite intentionally, the last part of Christmas Day, and today especially, Boxing Day, is protected as 'just one more day' to 'lie still' - like the little town of Bethlehem itself.

I linger here.

It's quiet here.

Like those first quiet hours for Mary, I expect. When the labouring was done and the Baby was joyfully welcomed. Then washed, and wrapped, and nursed until He was all sleepy. And the shepherds were gone. And there was nothing left to do but just be quiet together, this new little family.

Treasuring up. Pondering.

"But Mary treasured up all these things,
and pondered them in her heart."
Luke 2:19

I need this. It's been an amazing and/but intensive fall.

December's return/recovery has taken a bit more time than usual.

Christmas has been lovely and a little different.
The New Year holds some new things.
Things to do, places to go.

But.

Not today.

For My Highview Peeps (A message from your Missionary in Residence)

- A message from your Missionary in Residence -

[These inadequate words go out to all those who consider themselves a part of the faith community that calls themselves Highview Community Church. I include those who have moved away, or for other reasons no longer gather with us on Sundays or other times. All of you, by virtue of having travelled together in some way for any length of time, have been an essential part of my spiritual life. I wouldn't be who I am today without you.]

Us sentimental types get even more so around this time of year.

I think it's the rituals and traditions, and having repeated them with the same people in similar ways over and over again. Or maybe it's how the Advent season itself gives us opportunities to stop and reflect on all the blessings of God on our lives, and how that can't help but involve big feelings about the people important in them.

I have big feelings about you.

I sure hope you know that already. I hope you've heard it before from me. And I hope that the way I engage with all of you, as part of a worshipping congregation, and in personal conversation, and even in my role as Missionary in Residence, manifests my overwhelming respect and affection all year long.

But just in case, and in this sentimental space, I wanted to say it again, and let you know again just how incredibly grateful I am that I have the privilege of journeying together with you.

You have taught me so much; about myself, about community, about Jesus. About what it means to live out grace and not just talk about it. About what it means to forgive. About what it means to put aside self and serve God together for a bigger purpose.

I love how you continually put your own personal agendas on the backburner in order to come alongside brothers and sisters in places far away to 'be the hands and feet of Jesus' in tangible, life-changing ways. I love you for your selflessness, for your persistence, for your faithfulness.

My heart is reflected in the words of Paul to the Church at Thessalonica, in the greetings and affirmations he gives in his opening to the first letter he wrote to them.

"We always thank God for all of you and continually mention you in our prayers. We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labour prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ."

1 Thessalonians 1:2-3

Yes, all of that! Pretty much sums it up for me.

We are not a perfect church. I know this for a fact because I am part of it. In bearing one another's burdens we inevitably hear each other's confessions. May God give us the strength and grace to keep on becoming more and more like Jesus in all the ways we so badly need Him to grow us.

But for all of that, that we are so honest about what's wrong with us, I love you all the more.

And this Christmas, may you know without a doubt that you are loved, that you belong, that God is with you...

and that I count it one of my life's greatest gifts to be part of this community of faith with you.

Christmas blessings to you all.

May we see the goodness of God together in the New Year.

Christmas Eve Eve

Can I just say? I'm just claiming this as the white Christmas they said wasn't going to happen. So what if it's a few days off? This is good enough, especially since I wasn't here for the November snow fall, making this is my first real snow of the season.

And then, I really don't have any place to be until much later this afternoon when Ken and I will head down to prep a pre-show snack for the Cast and Crew of Let It Be Christmas at Highview. (Sorry folks, both shows are fully booked.)

Between now and that happy thing, I have the luxury of spending most of the day in the family room with the fire on. Okay, laundry, sweeping and bathrooms are on my weekly Saturday to do list, so I'll get to all that. But with so much going on with Saturdays all month, and because I was able to get everything nicely checked off last week's list, being able to stay home for most of today feels like a lovely gift.

In all of this, and with the space to reflect, I am mindful of other realities (some of it in news just received yesterday) that could, if I let them, make me forget that the harder things of life are why He came in the first place. Being fully present in the moment means holding all things in a sort of tension; the quiet beauty, against the noise of suffering.

Either way, gratitude is the place it takes me.

Glad for the right now of it.

This Christmas Eve Eve.

Here it Comes

 

After a week that has been "comparatively quieterish", today marks the beginning of a string of days that will be filled with everything Christmas and wonderful and somewhat busier.

I'm ready.

Tonight is the full dress rehearsal for our annual production of "Let it Be Christmas", the nativity told through the music of the Beatles. Yes, you heard that right. We've been doing this for nigh unto 15 years in a row (COVID notwithstanding) and the response has been so positive, we just keep on doing it.

I'd give you all the deets and a hearty invitation, but both shows, Saturday and Sunday night, have been fully booked for weeks already. That's a bit of news that has spurred on our cast and crew in the final days of prep, wanting to bring our best to the performance so that the story of God's "unspeakable gift" can be told with both excellence and joy.

Of course then, Saturday and Sunday are the performances, with a Christmas Eve celebration afterwards.

Then Christmas morning in all it's glory.

And then a few days of lovely mid-week quiet before things pick up again with grandchildren and sisters-in-law and various and Sunday meals and times together over the New Year's weekend.

And that's how it will roll out for us this year.
At least, that's the plan.
And it's a good one this year, I think. A good balance of all the big and happy, with all the quietly joyful. With time to stop and be still in the middle of it all.

I've been reflecting more on our Thai family, and what it would be like to celebrate Christmas in a culture where it has not also become a secular holiday. As I've mentioned previously, our children will go to school Christmas morning.

My first response is to feel a strong sense of disappointment for them. But then I wonder, would it make Christmas all that much more spiritual, more meaningful, without all the extra we've layered onto it?

These thoughts will guide me, I think, over the next few days.

Does it feel like Friday?
If you're finishing school for a little bit, I'm sure it does.
If you're off for an extra long weekend, I'm sure it does.

So happy Friday-before-Christmas everyone.
However the holidays are rolling out for you,
I wish you meaningful moments filled with all you need
to know you are safe and loved.

What if Less is Actually Less?

An unusual feature for me this Christmas is how much I'm NOT doing. No Christmas cards, far less in decorating, very pared down gifting. Other than some market visits when I was still in Thailand, I've barely been out shopping at all.

This has been driven by realism and capacity more than any new philosophy or approach to the season. I've just had far more than the usual going on since mid-September, right up to my return to Canadian soil on December 4. Missed out entirely on the 'ramp up' to the season and the practice of having a lot done well in advance to give me space to reflect and enjoy. The commitment to being a good steward of my energies, to still having some of that reflective space, and to make people the priority has 're-jigged' a lot of what I usually expect from myself over the holidays.

This is good. I think. I hope.

I hope this uneasiness I'm feeling about whether or not it's all 'enough' is good for me. I'm living in the tension between mental assent to what's actually doable in a healthy way, and the emotional need to make sure people know I love them, which is what I believe all the fuss is about at Christmas anyways.

I asked myself the questions again this morning. In these days when I've checked off 99% of the lists of what I decided was important, and the Christmas pressure is dialed right down to low, I can't seem to keep wondering.

Am I forgetting anyone? Have I done enough? Will my family and friends feel the love? Lavishly (not to be confused with fancy or expensive), is how God loved on us that first Christmas. This 'unspeakable gift' (2 Corinthians 9:15) sets the tone for gifts born of love. I feel the pull of 'one more thing.'

Then another thought, right on the heels of these questions. If my family and friends don't know that I love them except for what happens at Christmas, then something is very wrong.

Less is less only if less is what's happening all year long. More is less if it's a desperate scramble at Christmas to convey what I failed to say every month before it.

And so I will stay mindful of all the ways I can still be fear-driven instead of Spirit-led.
I will stay quiet in this space of 'enough.'
I will let love give me permission to simplify.

Wishing you all a love-simplified Christmas.

Matthew, Balaam, and Elon Musk

 

We saw it in the sky on the way to youth group last night.

I had a van full of teens, so when I first noticed a strange string of lights, sort of just hanging against the black of the night, I asked if they could see it too.

Ensued a chorus of excited confusion and speculation. It did look...weird; not like anything I've ever seen before, and I had no reasonable explanation. Tumbling out of the van at the church, we all positioned ourselves for a better look.

Nope. No idea. But it was bright and long, and it was pretty cool. And yes, alien invasion was on the list of our collective guesses. It wasn't until we were inside, and Abby did what we all do now when we need to know something. She typed in "strange string of lights in the sky" on her phone.

Sure enough, it had something to do with Elon Musk. You can check it out for yourself at
https://www.space.com/starlink-satellite-train-how-to-see-and-track-it

Later in the evening (I stayed for the dinner and the fun this time) when we acted out the Christmas story in crazy costumes, I was one of the Magi. And when it got to the part in Matthew where it says:

"Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him"...

you can bet we made reference to the crazy thing we ourselves had seen in the sky earlier in the evening. It must have been that strange back then too.

Without going into it too deeply, those who are really smart about this stuff suggest that the astral phenomenon mentioned in the Nativity narratives could have been a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. The timing of all this is aided by the pinning of events around "when Cyrenius was governor of Syria" (Luke 2:2). Even with some robust historical debate in play, the appearance of a "star" that would have the impression of travelling across the eastern sky at that time in the story has reasonable possibilities. [Can't help the need to cite my sources so; see Bock, ENCT V, Luke1:1-9:50, 1994, and Bateman, Jesus the Messiah, 2012.]

Of course, the Magi did not have any search aps on their phones to figure this out. But they did have a dude named Balaam.

Balaam was a prophet way back there near the beginning of the Jews becoming a nation. He was trying to explain what God seemed to be showing him, even though it was a tad foggy for him, hence he was appropriately humble about it.

"I see him, but not now;
I behold him, but not near.
A star will come out of Jacob;
a scepter will rise out of Israel."
Numbers 24:17

A ruler, a king, sometime in the future, someplace far away.
Like Bethlehem perhaps.
Like the Magi - not Jews by the way - also deduced.

In all of this, this morning, I guess I'm marveling again at the supernatural way God works within the natural.

A bright star drops into the sky at just the right time, with hints of this all along.

Not an alien invasion at all.

But something, Someone, not of this world comes to this world.
Unexplainable explanations of the Incarnation.

"On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary,
and they bowed down and worshipped him." (Matthew 2:11)

Yeah.
Me too.

Light for the Journey

I've spent a bit more time than usual this morning getting the lighting right.

Normally just lifting the blinds and turning on the two lamps at the far end of the room is enough to balance out the lamp on my desk and the candle behind me on the mantle. I don't actually like working in harsh, bright lights anyways, so I'm okay with things being a little subdued.

But today it all just seems rather dull.

Probably doesn't help that the sun - wherever it is - didn't even rise until 7:50 this morning. We are heading into Winter Solstice after all, just two days away from the longest night of the year.

But also, there's the cloud cover. And yes - can I just say this? - I'm missing the goodness of the sunshine over the hills at Hot Springs.

Yay for an icing-sugar scattering of snow, though! Nothing to shovel here. Just a little nod to a whitish Christmas, for now.

And yay for the way the season has begun to settle some. For me at least. What I needed from December is beginning to manifest in things like mornings with the time and space to fiddle with the lighting, and to stop and be grateful for bright souls in my life.

That's what I've been thinking about as I looked for more candles and flipped a few switches. About all the ways light happens in life, especially when we hold up lights for each other. Specifically, all the ways people held up lights for me this year.

I'm not doing Christmas cards this year (something I'll stop apologizing for soon), but it strikes me that in some ways that tradition is also an opportunity to say thank you.

So, in place of writing it out and putting it in an envelope, and either handing it to you when I see you, or putting it in the mailbox...

Right here, on this really dull morning, I just want to express all the immense gratitude I have for all the bright lights in my life.

Every generous donation to matters dear to my heart, every word of encouragement, every message of love, every reorientation towards hope, every time you directed my eyes upward, every time you listened without judgement, every moment of your undivided attention, every bit of loving feedback and correction on sermons or writings or the ways I am conducting myself in community, every prayer lifted on my behalf....

All of that shines bright to light the journey for me.

So thank you.

And because of you, a dark day doesn't have to be a dark day, if you get what I mean.

Jesus said He was the light of the world. (John 8:12)
He also called us to be lights in this world. (Matthew 5:14-16).

So given Christmas is so close to the darkest day...
And given Christmas marks the birth of the Light...
Maybe it only makes sense that we look for ways shine all the brighter in each other's lives.
Right now, for the darker days.
And all year for all the days of the journey.

Thank you.
I mean it.
I could not have done this year without you.

The Outlandish Possibilities of a Not-As-Planned Christmas

 

I'll say it right up front. A green Christmas is way easier for anyone travelling to family gatherings. So there's that.

And.

I am in that category of people who prefers a white Christmas.

Looking at the weather forecasts for this week before the 'Big Day', I can't quite tell what it's going to be. Some snow today? Overnight? But probably not enough to sustain a bit of rain predicted for later in the week? Any sleet or ice? Oh my, let's not have a repeat of last Christmas Eve!

So you see how it goes. I want snow, but kind of 'made to order.' The 'on-cue', harmless fluffy stuff sometimes referred to as 'Hollywood snow.' Yes. That would make for a 'perfect' Christmas.

And of course, when I write it all out like that, it's so obvious that the weather is completely out of my control. I can put up the sign and the antique sled on my porch, and then wait in eager anticipation. But the outcome is way beyond my pay grade.

Thing is, if I'm not careful, I can start to think about other Christmas expectations, and how I want all that to be 'perfect' too. Am I the only one? And is it just Christmas that provokes this desire for everything to be 'just so?'

Yet so much of what I am hoping for is really not my job, and not at all within my power to make happen, even as I strive to make it so. No amount of exquisite planning (something I am lacking this year, by the way) can 'make' people respond the way I am hoping, or solve the problems that might encroach on our Christmas happiness, or....whatever else it is that is going to mess with my 'Hollywood snow' vignette.

And actually, to take it to another level, that's not at all how I want to live. Not at Christmas. Not at all.

The very first Christmas has as a pivotal point in the story that is a moment of completely the opposite. If the human tendency is to attempt to control our environments in order to suit ourselves, then Mary demonstrates a complete about-face. A moment of all-out, hands-open, heart-surrendered release. This young girl, with her future basically mapped out in front of her, about to be launched into her adult life, hears God's outlandish plans for her, risks it all and says:

"I am the Lord's servant. Be it unto me as you have said."
Luke 1:30

The very first Christmas was about utter abandonment to things
not-as-planned.

These reflections bring much comfort to my not-ready-for-Christmas-according-to-my-type-A-first-born-expectations soul this year. Mary reorients me towards a green Christmas, and all the other ways I haven't been able to engage in the season as I normally love to do.

Don't get me wrong. The house is finally looking Christmassy enough (hence the decor on the porch pictured here). I've been able to simplify gift giving. And - sorry folks - I'm NOT doing Christmas cards this year.

On Sunday at Highview there was such a warm, truly joyful vibe, not just in the service but before and after too; so much part of why I love my faith community so fiercely. And there's still the Let It Be Christmas presentations coming. And our family's gathering plans have fallen into pleasant places. Lots of love there for us, and I do not take that for granted.

So, snow or no, ready or not, Christmas will be all it needs to be, as long as I keep my heart open to all the outlandish possibilities God might want to bring.

Do You See What I See?

 

In a melodic chain of increasing awareness, a message gets passed from the night wind, to a little lamb, to a shepherd boy, to a mighty king, to the people everywhere.

You probably know the song, written in 1962 by a husband and wife team of Regney and Shayne, made most famous by none other than the Christmas crooner himself, Bing Crosby.  And while the official title of the song is "Do You Hear What I Hear?", the framed piece I put up every year captures the phrase from the first verse, 'do you see what I see?'

Ironically, the answer is likely 'no.'  

Such is the nature of human perception.  Most of the time, and perhaps I could be so bold to say, all of the time, how things appear to us are not exactly how they appear to someone else.  It's a wider study for sure.  Just a quick Google search yields a variety of articles that differentiate between reality and perception, and how uniquely our understanding of things passes through a complex 'grid' of  experiences, beliefs, and culture, to name a few of the factors.

I am not entirely sure what motivated the lyrics of the song, but there does seem to be that sense of things.  What the wind sees or hears or knows is somehow communicated to the people everywhere, and each link in the perception chain is needed to get the message through.

To the point, I think perception would very much dictate how we might respond to such common "seasonal" concepts as:

The greetings "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays."

When it's proper to start decorating for the season.

What "Santa" may or may not have left under the tree.

Where you'll be when you say, "I'll be home for Christmas."

"Peace on earth."

"Emmanuel - God with us."

"Let every heart prepare Him room."

Jesus' family's refugee status as they flee to Egypt.

Or....put your own spin on things here.

And that's just the Christmas stuff.

Just like I could not keep my own reflection out of the picture above, I know that my own perspectives are reflected in all the ways I interact with my world, not just at Christmas, but all the time.

So.  

My personal meditations lead me to two things today.

I need to listen.

How essential it is to keep in mind that there are other ways to look at things.  The sheer arrogance of assuming I have all the information about anything is sickening enough to keep me humbly attuned to the hearts of my brothers and sisters all over this planet.  At least I hope it is.  I have so much to learn. So much I don't know.

And.

I need to speak.

My voice matters, and I dare not keep silent lest a piece of the story is lost.  My life's experience, both the privilege and abuse of it, means something in the bigger picture of our collective understanding.  What I believe, my deep personal convictions, my passions to see everyone actualize the potential for which they were created, my heart's desire to connect deeply with the Divine, it counts for something.  And if I refuse to use my voice, if any one of us refuses to use our voice, something essential is missing. 

The song that inspired this reflection isn't particularly Christian or religious.  It's not even all that old, as Christmas carols go.  It was introduced more as a pop song than anything churchy, if I understand the origin story right.  But I like it, for all the reasons I've just used my voice to describe.

"Said the king to the people everywhere

'Listen to what I say

Pray for peace people everywhere..

A Child, a Child, sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

He will bring us goodness and light."

 

Micah and Micro Peace

 

I can't find it online this morning without signing up for more than I want to, but last night Ken and I caught the Christmas episode of "This Hour Has 22 Minutes" (aired December 5th). We tune in from time to time, if for no other reason but to get a sense for the ridiculous side of Canadian news.

One song was a parody of (I think - open to being corrected here) "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," but the words were "Have an Existential Crisis," referring to how easily the news around the world right now could easily make us 'spiral down', and rob us of any sense of personal peace.

They nailed it. Like I said, I can't find it on line at the moment, but the whole song was filled with everything antithetical to 'peace on earth', and was not too far off several conversations I've been having leading up to the holidays. Things are grim. It's hard to think about.

Some folks choose not to watch the news at all, or at least to limit their media exposure. I respect that. It is certainly a challenge to stay mentally and spiritual healthy in the midst of the onslaught.

"Peace on earth" (Luke 2:14) is indeed the message of Christmas. And yet. Where is it?

The prophet Micah gives us a glimpse of something that is on tap for 'the last days', a phrase which is a clue for us in terms of time lines and God's end game.

In chapter 4, following a series of images directly addressing national disputes and the violence of war, there's this statement that always grips my heart with longing.

"Everyone will sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid." (v4)

That part about the vine and the fig tree refer to ancient images of abundance and real estate. Food and housing, in other words.

But it's the part of no one being afraid that gets me.

Yes, it's overwhelming to realize that vulnerable people are living in terror right now, in deplorable conditions. Yes, we should pray for peace for them. This is clearly not God's heart for anyone, not when He continually describes peace as His final plan for humanity.

But that's all so big and overwhelming. Thinking about it too much could indeed send me into an existential crisis. If I stay out there in the realm beyond my own agency.

Except I think there's an alternative. It occurs to me that there are ways that we can help bring God's final plans into clearer focus right now. Help bring "Thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven' in micro ways over which we do indeed have some control.

What if we simply made it a priority to help make people feel safe in our presence? What if we could be, in some small way - some micro version of Micah - that vine or that fig tree where people could come and sit and not be afraid?

Not afraid of judgement.
Not afraid of betrayal.
Not afraid of being put down,
or dismissed,
or ignored.
Not afraid of having a confidence broken.
Not afraid of not being "enough,"
or of being "too much."
Not afraid of being hated for an opposing opinion.
Not afraid of being ridiculed for beliefs.
Not afraid of not measuring up.

Let's face it. All those fears can be activated at gatherings over the holidays, both with colleagues and with family.

What if we could actually be part of bringing peace on earth by being people that other people were not afraid to be with?

Wars don't start out of a vacuum.
There's a lot of fear that comes first.
Usually for a long, long time.
Fear that lead to hate that leads to war.

What if we could, in some micro way, push the wave back?
Safety that leads to love that leads to peace.

Just with the people God puts in our lives.
See where it goes from there.

Call me crazy,
but I think it couldn't hurt.

Asking for Jesus

I'm looking for a creche.

When our kids were little we had a wooden set they could play with, and another ceramic Precious Moments set that was also child-like, even though it was a 'hands away' kind of thing.

We even stored those huge papier-mâché, gold-sprayed figures in our attic for a long while, bringing them out to put on the porch about this time of year.

But somehow I've lost track of the sets inside, and the winter was eventually too much for Mary and Joseph outside. All that's left is Baby Jesus, which seems appropriate somehow.

That little cradle is out on my porch right now.

That's why, last October when we were doing some thrift store shopping with Suradet and Yupa and Bell, I took a look at the selection at Thrift on Kent.

Should have made a decision that day, but I didn't. I did notice this unique sign, though.

Not sure what it's about, whether or not they feel the need to protect Baby Jesus from shoplifters, or if it's just more likely they'll sell the entire set if Baby Jesus is for sure available.

Either way, the fact that one has to "ask" for Baby Jesus is important.
Here's the remarkable thing about this whole story.
That God came down to us.
That God does not make us crawl our way to Him, through religious rigmarole, or some hard-to-find riddles, or in any other way trying to earn our forgiveness.
Redemption and intimacy with God is a free gift.
God comes to us.

Jesus, by the evidence of His most-common birth, is available to everyone.

God doesn't makes us come to Him.
That's why it's called the Incarnation.

But.
He doesn't force us either.

We are volitional beings with free will. That's why I can't buy into a universal position on this. Because it violates the nature of God not to force Himself on us. That despite the horrific actions of some of those who have claimed to act on His behalf, every person has both the opportunity to say yes, and the right to say no.

Jesus is not pushy. If He was, He wouldn't have been born in some obscure little town in an out of the way place like a cattle shed.

Humility is His deal.
He's here.
You just have to ask for Him.

It's not just a one time deal, either. I feel like this is an everyday kind of thing. A seeking out, a pursing, a moving toward the God who moves towards me.

Anyways, that's what it seems like for me this Monday morning just fourteen days before Christmas Day.

Last night was my most 'normal' night of sleep yet, so I'm hoping I've turned the corner on jet lag. Have some good things laid out before me for the week, but still trying to stay on the quieter side of things. The fall was enormous, and it's time to balance things out a bit.

Wishing you meaningful Christmas reflections as you head into the week.

Just ask.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel

 

Jet lag is still a thing and I'm up too early. But this morning I am making good use of it to prepare my spirit to engage in worship with my Highview peeps for this second Sunday in Advent.

I also have the privilege of preaching this morning, about how God came "Home for Christmas." And the wonder of it, as I meditate on these things in the early darkness of dawning, is not lost on me.

It's been important for me this week to press into and accept the sense of being 'behind' in Christmas preparations, and lean into what it means to simply be 'at home.' Home here in my abundant Canadian life where I enjoy blessings impossible to number.

Gradually the externals are coming along. Yesterday, late afternoon, I pushed back the brain-fog to just be outside and clear off the porch of November's leftovers. A few simple strands of lights, nothing spectacular at all, but, yes, now at least the front of the house looks more welcoming and hopeful.

But it's in internal things I need most right now.

"Rejoice! Rejoice!

Immanuel will come to thee, O Israel."

It's the hopeful refrain of the ancient hymn having its origins in monastic life in the 8th or 9th centuries.

It's quiet in the mornings, this early.

I don't mind.

Home for Christmas.

God came home for Christmas.

With us.

Emmanuel.

God with us.

Where He longs to be.

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