A Candle In the Dark

 “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.” (Isaiah 40: 1)

Saying “Happy Holidays” out of respect to the many religious traditions that exist in the United States makes some people’s blood boil: “How dare they cancel Christmas!” they exclaim. I wonder how these same individuals feel now that religious leaders in Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Galilee, and Jordan have “canceled” Christmas, stating that this year is not the time for festive celebrations when so many are suffering from the Israeli-Hamas war?

Real life has collided with our often saccharin and sanitized view of Christmas. We want to believe that this really is “the most wonderful time of the year.” That the angels’ song of “Peace on earth goodwill to all” is more than a wish. That children sleep sweetly in a “silent night”, uninterrupted by bombs or gunfire.

But there is no peace in Palestine this Christmas. In the fighting between Israel and Hamas, the number of women and children killed is shocking (the current death toll notes 1,200 Israelis and 17,177 Palestinians). Most of Gaza’s 2.3 million people are now homeless, trapped in the small region with little food, water, medical care, or shelter. This is a major humanitarian crisis.

There is no peace in Bethlehem this year.

Many religious organizations are encouraging those of us living around the world to join in solidarity with Palestinian Christians and forgo the usual festivities of the season. The General Board of Global Ministries of The United Methodist Church has encouraged churches to keep the second Advent candle (known as the Peace, or Bethlehem candle) to remain unlit, as a way for us to keep before us as well as in our hearts and prayers the suffering of those in the midst of war.

I admit I have struggled with this: the Advent wreath is a sign of hopeful waiting. It seems to me that at a time like this, we need to keep the light of Peace burning bright, calling us to seek peace in all actions, times, and places.

But to have the light unlit in the Advent wreath all Advent and into Christmas is a jarring reminder that there is no peace. It is a weekly reminder that millions are suffering from war and violence. Their cries echo silently around the sanctuary.

Rev. Sandy Olewine served for 10 years in the Holy Land. She shared this poem that moved me deeply:

 

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others

(do not forget the pigeon’s food).

As you conduct your wars, think of others

(do not forget those who seek peace).

As you pay your water bill, think of others

(those who are nursed by clouds).

As you return home, to your home, think of others

(do not forget the people of the camps).

As you sleep and count the stars, think of others

(those who have nowhere to sleep).

As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others

(those who have lost the right to speak).

As you think of others far away, think of yourself

(say: “If only I were a candle in the dark”).

— Mahmoud Darwish

 

May we each be a candle in the dark.

PINING AND PREPARING

 

Hallelujah! I give thanks to God with everything I've got—Wherever good people gather, and in the congregation. God's works are so great, worth a lifetime of study—endless enjoyment!
Splendor and beauty mark God's craft; whose generosity never gives out, whose miracles are God's memorial—this God of Grace, this God of Love.
(Psalm 111, from The Message)


It feels like the work of the Holy Spirit, that I am starting this 
Advent Journey, this walk to the Bethlehem manger, with this scripture reading. Because my world has gotten really small these past nine months. I used to see God’s works all the time: when I flew up to Montana, when I drove through Wyoming, and I hiked through Colorado and Utah. God’s works were so evident and so great and filled me with endless enjoyment.

But all these months of avoiding COVID has shrunk my world. And it is really hard. I miss simple things, like whenever I had trouble getting past writers block, I would head to a Starbucks and work there. Mind you, I don’t drink coffee, but there was something about the atmosphere that always helped me focus.

I miss movie dates.

I miss meeting friends at a restaurant.

I miss seeing family in person.

What are things you have missed over these past months?

I confess that I am getting a bit impatient in the face of these restrictions, and when I get impatient I get a little cranky. Maybe you are too.

And all those feelings are really messing with what I crave this time of year: the anticipation and joy of the coming of Christ at Christmas. I mean, how am I supposed to feel joy when I can’t gather with people I love? Where is celebration to be found if I can’t invite the conference staff to our home for the annual white elephant party? How can I experience that profound peace if I can’t look forward to raising my candle in a dimly lit church and sing Silent night together?

And there is that scripture that literally fell into my lap this morning:

Hallelujah! I give thanks to God with everything I've got—Wherever good people gather, and in the congregation. God's works are so great, worth a lifetime of study—endless enjoyment!
Splendor and beauty mark God's craft; whose generosity never gives out, whose miracles are God's memorial—this God of Grace, this God of Love.
(Psalm 111, from The Message)

How right it is to ponder this scripture as we begin our Advent journey this year. God didn’t wait until all was right with the world to enter it. God didn’t wait until disease was eradicated to come to us. God didn’t wait until political infighting found resolution, God didn’t wait until oppression and injustice were vanquished before making a home with us.

It was into the very mess of the world, into a country that was being held captive by Rome, to a people who had known slavery and oppression, to a family that knew scandal because of an unplanned pregnancy, into all of this, God came.

And so God will again break into our world. And at the start of Advent, we are called to make our way to the manger to experience yet again Emmanuel, which means God with us.

As you make your way to Bethlehem, as your heart prepares him room, may you open your eyes and hearts to God’s grace, God’s love, God’s miracles. A God whose generosity never runs out. In the midst of these very days we are living, may you give thanks to God with everything you've got

And may you sing:

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

Be Like The Shepherds

Today I prayed for you, dear Ones of the Mountain Sky Conference, as we journeyed through Bethlehem. You were on my mind all day as we touched the place where Jesus was born and also stood underneath an Israeli security tower next to the Separation Wall. 

But it was as we visited the Shepherds Field that my prayers for you, for us, for our church, burned in my heart. While the lectionary is pushing us towards Lent, I am in Bethlehem, where every day is Christmas.

I kept thinking of those shepherds, out in their fields (THESE fields!) when their routine night of sheep tending was interrupted: God’s glory shone around them and an angel stood before them. This unexpected disturbance frightened them, but the angel told them not to be afraid, for the angel was bringing good news: “A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2)

The angel left them and instead of simply returning to their task of shepherding, they left for Bethlehem to see if what the angel said was true. Sure enough, they found Mary, Joseph and Jesus just as they had been told, and the shepherds told everyone the angel’s message. 

Mountain Sky Pilgrims in a cave in Shepherds Field

I am thinking about what happens when God breaks into our lives, how very disruptive the encounter is: shepherds left their fields, fishermen dropped their nets, Paul was even blinded for a bit. There is a great disturbance as what we think we know is challenged by this new thing God is doing in our lives and world.

“Do not be afraid.”

God invites us to a new life, a new way of seeing the world, a new spirit, a new perspective and it is very disruptive. We cling to the known and sure. To let go of what we know is frightening. Yet, the angel speaks to us as well, “Do not be afraid.”

Being in Bethlehem, I am reminded that every day really is Christmas. God desires to break into our hearts and offer Good News. Just as the shepherds had to leave what they knew and understood their lives and world to be, God invited them to participate in the ushering in of something so longed for yet too good to be true: God-Is-With-Us. Nothing can ever be the same again.

Do we let the Good News become the stale news? Do we become too comfortable with what is and not open ourselves to what God seeks to give birth to in our lives and communities? Are we too busy becoming mired in our routines that we fail to allow God to interrupt us and lead us into new ways that bring us Life?

Do not be afraid.

May you and your congregation have hearts open to God’s Good News. May you be willing to drop what you are doing (and perhaps have always been doing) so Christ can be born into our lives and world, again and again and again. May you have a shepherd’s willing spirit, even in the face of something fearful, to trust enough to follow the angel’s invitation.

May you not be afraid.

Thoughts on Epiphany

Thoughts on Epiphany

I loved seeing the pictures my Hispanic and Latin American friends posted on Facebook today, for it is el Dia de los Tres Reyes Magos—Day of the Three Magi. Today on Epiphany, not Christmas, is the day that gifts are exchanged, as a way to celebrate the three wise men finally finding Jesus in Bethlehem and offering him their gifts.

The wise men had come from the East, looking for Jesus. They had seen the star and knew that the King of the Jews had been born. This frightened Herod terribly, for he knew this King could threaten his own power. So he asked the wise men to let him know when they found Jesus, for he wanted to pay homage as well. At least that’s what he told them. We who stand on the other side of history know that Herod wanted to destroy the One he perceived was his enemy.

The wise men followed the star and kept looking for this King. It is their commitment to this task that moves me so. They didn’t stray and they weren’t distracted from their search, even when it led them to an unlikely place and a baby.

This defenseless baby was the one who Herod feared yet the wise men worshiped. For in this baby, all heaven broke loose as God became one of us. Who could have imagined this?

God continues to come, showing up in our world, infusing it with holiness and offering us a love that will never let us go. Are you willing to have the dedication of the wise men, to keep on the lookout, pursuing God in the most unlikely people and overlooked places? For as the Gospels show us, this is where God is most likely to be found.

May we be extravagant each time we gather for worship, showering one another with joy and love, for Christ continues to dwell among us.

Stay on the lookout, for God will show up!