Coming home from tough visits as a hospital chaplain—sitting with people hoping that they will be home for Christmas when they probably won’t—I passed a flower shop where my friend Ali Cantarella painted a gorgeous mural. Lights on the side of the building illuminated the mural and the shop window filled with decorations. It was a cheering sight. It was also one of our first painfully cold days in Chicago, and with the longest night approaching, it was dark early. At the bus stops nearby, several neighbors with too-thin coats waited and I couldn’t be sure if they all had shelter for the night.
This fall I have felt like everywhere I turn is endless need. Even among others who try to do what we can to show compassion and work for justice, it’s hard to feel like we can only chip away a little bit at the block of suffering before us. We humans have made such a sorry state of things.
I wish I could spend Advent, the four weeks of waiting before Christmas, in quiet contemplation, taking stock of the year, sitting with the dark as well as the light. But the dominant culture being what it is, I’m figuring out what’s possible. So I’m noticing the mix of everything at the holidays.
As much as I love the incarnation, I embrace that this season isn’t just about Jesus being born. It’s about longing for the grown-up Jesus to shake up the whole world order. The scriptures for this Sunday in the Revised Common Lectionary are a mix of that desire along with the promise that it will come to pass.
I can’t stop noticing the pain around and within me this time of year. But I can try to see and hear the joy as well, and not let it be overcome.
Book deal: 50% off until end of the day today
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Reading and listening
“God’s face shines (Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19): Can we sense the Holy Spirit’s presence as God’s face shining upon us?”
As much as I want to separate myself, my congregation, and kindred people of faith out from my list of people whose prayers make God angry—we’re not like that kind of Christian or like those religious people—I can’t do it. We’re all God’s people. We all place our hopes in the same God, however different those hopes might be. We all call on the same God to save us, however differently we might envision salvation. We all want God’s face to shine on us, that we may be restored.
I wrote this post published on the Christian Century website in 2019. It’s still relevant as I think about these verses from Psalm 80 in the lectionary again this week.
This time of year, I love listening to Steve Thorngate’s album After the Longest Night. His original songs for Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany include positive language for darkness, and beautiful traditional words such as the O Antiphons while avoiding supersessionism. It’s available as a digital album or CD.