3 Advent

Gaudete

December 13, 2015

Philippians 4.4-7; Luke 3.7-18

 + Well, it has been an interesting week here at St. Stephen’s. And it will no doubt be an interesting coming week. This past Friday, of course, we bid farewell to our own Harriet Blow with a beautiful Requiem Mass.

And today, of course, we will be having at a very important meeting, at which we will be considering making a decision about our future ministry here at St. Stephen’s. I know some people are going into the meeting with apprehension and maybe a bit of fear.

Before our meeting today, I want to stress a few things about what it is we are doing today. Yesterday afternoon, I sent an email off with these same thoughts and I am going to repeat them because they are important to repeat. First, if we do accept Bishop Smith’s offer of Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight, it does not, in any way, mean we are “breaking away” from the Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota. If we accept DEPO, life will go on pretty much as it always has, just with a different Bishop.  What we will do with DEPO is simply do what the Episcopal Church as whole will be doing in three or six years. We are saying, “Yes” to the Church to which we belong.

But more importantly than that, we are saying “yes” to the Gospel of Jesus as we understand it. We are living out and professing the promises we made in our Baptismal Covenant, to “respect the worth and dignity of all people.” We are doing what we have always done here at St. Stephen’s.

Back in the 1970s, when the issue was full inclusion of women in the church, St. Stephen’s was the first then, even when it was not a popular stance to take.  Elthea Thacker (at whose Requiem mass I assisted way in in 2002) was elected the first female Senior Warden in the Diocese of North Dakota. And she was the Senior Warden at St. Stephen’s. Around that same time, St. Stephen’s was also the first congregation in the diocese to have, of all things, female acolytes.  Although these might not seem like big issues now, back then it was a big deal. There were people then who thought, no doubt, that it would destroy this congregation.

In 1985, St. Stephen’s called the first female priest to serve as Rector, the Reverend Sandy Holmberg.  There were many who thought women serving in such a position was going to be the end of the Church as we knew it. It didn’t.  In fact, the Church has been enhanced by the ordained ministries of women for many years. I, for one, am deeply, deeply grateful for the fact that women have been able to serve in these positions at St. Stephen’s. Where would we be now without women wardens, women acolytes, women deacons and priests?  

None of these decisions were easy decisions. St. Stephen’s was seen back then as a radical place for doing so. It put us outside the norm. Which isn’t always a comfortable place to be.  But it is what we must to do sometimes.

Let me tell you, Christianity puts us outside the norms sometimes.  And if it doesn’t, it’s not true Christianity.

What we are discussing today is fully in line with what we have been doing all along here at St. Stephen’s. This is not some new thing we are doing. We are not doing it to show defiance to Bishop Smith. We not doing it do show off to the press. We are not doing it just for the sake of being different and outside the norm.  We are considering this option because it is what we have always done as congregation.

And because of that, this morning we should be rejoicing. This is what Christians do. When life gets difficult—as it does sometimes—we do not get the option of despairing. We don’t get to let fear and anger win out. We, in the face of all that, rejoice.

It is Guadete Sunday.  Or Rose Sunday. I think it’s very appropriate that we are having our congregational meeting this Sunday. (We didn’t plan it that way, trust me) It is a Sunday to rejoice. It is called Gaudete because in our reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians, we hear “Rejoice in the Lord always; I will say rejoice.”  Gaudete means Rejoice.  Rejoice is our word for the day today.

As we draw closer and closer to commemorating Jesus’ birth, we find ourselves with that strange, wonderful emotion in our hearts—joy.  It is a time to rejoice.  It is a time to be anxious (in a positive way) and excited over the fact that, in just a little over a week, we will be celebrating God’s coming among, God’s being with us. Or as Paul says today, “the Lord is near”  Or, in Latin (since we’re on kind of a Latin bent this Gaudete Sunday) Dominus propus est.

Today we need something a bit different.  We need a break from our Sarum Blue.  What many people don’t realize is that Advent, with all its hopefulness, is actually, like Lent, a penitential time.  It is a time for us to slow down, to ponder, to think.  And to wait.  It is a time to be introspective, as well—to think about who are and where we are in our lives. So, in the midst of pondering and waiting and introspection, we also find ourselves looking forward to our future as a congregation and our commitment to Christ’s command to love and love fully.

It is important, as followers of Jesus, that in doing such introspection, in looking forward, we do not despair.  We do not lose heart.  Even in the midst of a penitential time such as Advent, it is important that we also find joy. 

That is why we are decorated in rose this morning.  That is why, in our pondering, we are pondering joy—even joy in the midst of difficult decisions.  That is why, even despite all that happened and will happen, we can still rejoice.

Gaudete.

In our pondering and in our moment of rejoicing, we are also given a dose of sobering finger-shaking.  We find, in our Gospel reading, that formidable figure of John the Baptist, saying to us,

“Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

These words speak loud and clear to us even now—in this moment of joy.  Those words are speaking loud and clear to us as a congregation this morning. We are being told,

bear good fruit.

We bear good fruit when we live out in our joyful lives, the difficult tasks of loving and 

fully accepting all people equally.  This is what Gaudete Sunday is all about—rejoicing.  Living in joy.  Letting joy reign supreme in us.  Letting joy win out over fear and uncertainty. Being joyful in our love for God and for others.  We must embody joy. We must live joy in all we do and say and are.

It is not easy to be inclusive and accepting and radical in our love.  It is actually very hard. It means people are not going to like us for being “outside the norm.”

But, even then, we must still embody joy.  Today, we too must, in all honesty, proclaim:

“Gaudete!” Rejoice.

And live that Gaudete out in our very existence, in the ministries we do, in how we deal with others.

So, let Gaudete be more than just what we say or we do one Sunday a year.  Let it be our way of life as we await Jesus’ presence coming to us.  St. John and St. Paul are both right:

The Lord is near!

The Lord is near. So…let us bear good fruit.  And when we do we will find that we too have “the creative gift and strength to pass the test.”  We too, as embodied joy, will be bearing good fruits.

In anticipation of the December 13th meeting

Please join us this Sunday, December 13 following our celebration of the Holy Eucharist for a special CONGREGATIONAL MEETING to discuss Bishop Michael Smith’s offer of Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight (DEPO) for St. Stephen’s.

This is a very IMPORTANT MEETING and your feedback is important to us.

In anticipation of this meeting, it is important that we clear up some misconceptions as well as list pros and cons to consider prior to the meeting:

First of all, and very importantly, it must be clear that we are NOT “breaking away” from the Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota. We WILL remain of a full-fledged member of the Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota should we accept the offer of DEPO. This is a very important aspect of our understanding of the DEPO process. We will still be contributing members of the Diocese. We will still paying Our Fair Share to the Diocese. We will still attend Diocesan Convention and ministers’ conferences. Ministries that are headed by members of our congregation such as the Guatemala Medical Mission and the East Africa Fund will continue to be diocesan ministries. By all outward appearances, little will change on that level.

+ It is important to remember that it is Bishop Smith who is offering us this option of DEPO and that we are responding to his offer.

+ If we choose DEPO, it will sever our professional relationship with Bishop Smith. If we accept his offer, Bishop Smith will appoint Bishop Carol Gallagher to have official Episcopal oversight of our congregation. This, however, does not mean that personal relationships with Bishop Smith will be severed. We are asking all people to be respectful to Bishop Smith at all times.

+ St. Stephen’s might be the only congregation in the diocese to actually accept Bishop Smith’s offer for DEPO. This will no doubt make us feel alienated at times.

+ There are no doubt unforeseen circumstances that we have not yet considered. We trust in the Holy Spirit to guide us and lead us during this time.

 If the Vestry votes for DEPO…

+  we, as a congregation, will continue to  live out the ministry we feel we have been called to do as a congregation. We see this as an extension of a ministry based on the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Baptismal Covenant of respecting the worth and dignity of all people, as we see it and have discerned it for ourselves.

+  St. Stephen's will, at this time, be the only church in the Diocese where marriage rites for all people no matter their sexual orientation can be performed. I will be the only priest in the Diocese allowed to perform such rites, and will be allowed to do so for couples from other Episcopal congregations in the diocese (though not in their church buildings).

+ This is not the first time St. Stephen’s has been at the forefront of such stances. St. Stephen’s was the first congregation in the Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota to have a female Warden. It was the first congregation in the diocese to have female acolytes.  And it was the first congregation in the Diocese to call a female priest to head a congregation, as well as many other “firsts”  including being the first congregation to being an Open and Affirming Congregation of Integrity.  Our acceptance of this offer is very much in line with our long-lasting commitment to being a fully inclusive congregation for all people.

 + HOWEVER, this will be more than issue of being allowed to perform marriage rites equally. It will be a clear statement to the diocese and to the larger church that we are following our conscience, our conviction and our commitment to serve all God’s people in an inclusive way.

+ We are aligning ourselves squarely with the larger Episcopal Church which approved equal marriage rites for all people this past summer at General Convention.

+ Probably the most important aspect of accepting DEPO will be the fact that by doing so we will actually make a difference in our congregational life, in the life of the Church and, most importantly of all, in the lives of people who need us to be the Church for them.

Ultimately, outside of these issues, nothing really changes. We will still be the congregation we have always been. We will still practice the radical love, acceptance, and hospitality for which we are known.

As for what others may think of us: people who look at St. Stephen’s differently have already been looking at us in such a way for many years and for issues other than this.   The reality is that we are simply aligning ourselves with the larger Episcopal Church. And, in three years (or six years), the stance we are considering making tomorrow will be the norm throughout the entire Episcopal Church.  

ABOUT THE MEDIA: The media has been aggressively interested in this meeting. The Wardens and Vestry are asking that all members of St. Stephen’s refrain from speaking to the media about this meeting on Sunday December 13 pending the release of a statement from the vestry and me following the meeting. We wish to conduct this meeting prayerfully and with dignity, as well as respect for all opinions of our members. We are asking that the media respect the complexity of this situation for us at this time so our members can feel comfortable in sharing their opinions and concerns honestly and openly.  Again, a statement will be released following the meeting which should summarize the meeting and any implications of our final vote.

Most importantly, we ask for your prayers at this time. We ask for prayers for The Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota, for Bishop Smith, for Bishop Gallagher. And we ask your prayers for St. Stephen’s. We ask that the Holy Spirit may be present with us at this time, to open our hearts to love and our minds to consider that ways in which we have been called to live out the Gospel of Christ and the Baptismal Covenant to which we are bound as Christians.

Please know that I am personally grateful for each of you. It pains me deeply to know of the divisions and the personal pains these situations have long caused in our church and with each of you as individuals. My prayer is that we may proceed unified and as a congregation committed to the Gospel of Jesus and the worth and dignity of all people.  

The Requiem Mass for Harriet Blow

The Requiem Eucharist for

Harriet Blow

St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Fargo, North Dakota

December 11, 2015

+ What we are doing this morning should have happened over 82 years ago. This funeral for Harriet Blow was, many people believed, going to happen in November 1933. Or in December 1933. Or in January 1934. Certainly, some believed, it was bound to have happened by 1943. It certainly would’ve happened, they believed, by 1953. Or by 1963. And certainly it was believed that it would already have happened by 1973.

To be honest with you, I thought this Requiem mass this morning would be celebrated in May or June. But it did not.

Harriet Blow, who, it was thought, would not survive long after her birth, who would not live to see twenty, certainly wouldn’t live to see thirty, lived to see age eighty-two. She outlived every single person who thought she would not survive to this day. No one then would’ve thought that this day would be happening in December of 2015.

When she was born on November 17, 1933, she was quickly baptized within four days because it was not believed she would live. Today, on this day, we celebrate the long and amazing life of Harriet Blow. And she was amazing.

Here was a woman who, by the standards of this world, was a small woman with malformed arms, unable to walk, partially blind, essentially deaf. She was, by the world’s standards, helpless.

But for those of us who knew her and loved her, she was amazing. She was a powerhouse. She was a symbol to us that appearance were, most definitely, deceiving. Underneath that seemingly broken and fragile exterior, there was a strength and drive and purpose.

There was faith in her God and faith in those who cared for her and loved her. There was no doubt this amazing woman went though some incredibly difficult moments in her long life. We will never fully know how hard it was at times. We will never begin to fathom how hard it was for her.

But we do know that none of those setbacks destroyed. They never stopped her. She plowed ahead with life. She loved and loved strongly. And she lived and lived strongly. She was amazing.

The image I have of her again and again is one of strength and steadfastness and independence.  For some reason, in these last few days, I think about many times when Harriet would grow impatient at church or when her ride was slow in coming, how she would head off for home from here. I think of her chugging along in her wheelchair toward home.

In many ways, that image represents so much of who Harriet was. Someone who set her attention on one thing and worked hard for that goal.  Yes, she was a person blessed in many ways, with strength and determination. And certainly God surrounded her with people who, in turn, loved her and looked out for her.

But ultimately today we, who knew her, are the true fortunate ones. We are the ones who were blessed to have known her. We are the ones who should thank our God for sending this person into our lives.

Because, let tell you, no matter how hard our lives may get at times, no matter how overwhelming the odds may seem in our lives, Harriet Blow showed us that ultimately, those problems will not ever defeat us or overwhelm us.  We don’t get to legitimately complain over the little set-backs in our lives anymore after having known Harriet Blow.

On many occasions, I would spend much time with Harriet before church on Sundays.  She would often arrive early and we had many conversations in the Narthex when few other people were even at church yet. On a few of those occasions, I would often find myself complaining about some minor thing in my life.

“Geesh, Harriet,” I would say. “I’m really tired today.”

“Oh, Harriet. My back really hurts today.”

Harriet would listen and smile politely. But what I realized later was that she had every right to say to me, “Father Jamie, don’t complain. You don’t know how good you have it.” And of anyone I know, she had the full right to say such a thing to me.

Of course, she never did. But it’s very true. Harriet shows us that we do need to remember how good we truly have it. And for that alone I am grateful for having known her and claiming her as a friend.

I, like all of us here today, am going to miss her very much.  I knew Harriet for many years. And I certainly enjoyed greatly those years I knew her. I will miss her kindness, her gentleness, that smile of hers. And I will miss her strength.

Our scriptures today are all based on strength, if you notice. In our reading from Isaiah, we hear the Prophet say to us:

[God] gives power to the faint,
   and strengthens the powerless…
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
   they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
   they shall walk and not faint

And in our reading from Paul’s Letter to the Thessalonians, we hear:

“For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure…”

If we wonder where Harriet’s strength came from, it came from God. She would be the first to say that to us, this morning.  That magnet on her refrigerator that said “I find my strength is in God” is truly the best statement about Harriet’s source of strength.

I’ve thought a lot about her strength and about all she was to us in these last several months.  I hadn’t fully realized how much I will miss her until last Sunday.

The night before, I received a call from our mutual friend, Clotine Frear, saying that Harriet had passed. I rushed over to her apartment and anointed her and said the Payers at Death with her. The next morning, before Mass, as I was standing here in the church before anyone got here, I looked at where her

wheelchair always sat. I remembered all the countless mornings, when HandiWheels would arrive, when she would come up in the elevator, when she would sit there. Although she hadn’t been in church for several months, I suddenly felt her absence then. I realized that after over 50 years of regular attendance at St. Stephen’s, she suddenly was not going to be here again with us, worshipping with us. At least, not here in in our physical presence. But, she does continue to worship with us. Or should I say, we continue to worship with her?

This Eucharist that we are about to celebrate is not some quaint Communion service. This Eucharist is a glimpse of the worship that goes on for all eternity in God’s nearer Presence.  For a moment, we join with those who are in that Presence, who are in that worship, for all eternity. Harriet is there, at this moment. While she may not be here as she was before, in her wheelchair, confined by her physical life, dependent on others for her well-being, she is with us in a completely different way. She is with us without the wheelchair, without the physical limitations that controlled her life for so long. She is, in this moment, whole and complete.  She has, in the words of the prophet Isaiah,

Renewed her strength,
   she has mounted up with wings like eagles,
she runs now and will never again be weary,
   she walks and will never be faint

The strength of Harriet Blow is real even in this moment.  Not even death has defeated Harriet Blow. All that joy, all that gentleness, all that wonderful life that was contained within that little small frame of a body—all of that is not gone today. It is not lost.

This morning, all the good things that Harriet Blow was to us—that woman of life and strength and joy—all of that is not lost. It is not gone.  Death has not swallowed that up.  Rather all of that is alive and dwells now in a place of beauty and Light inaccessible. She dwells there now in a place of peace and joy. And for that, let us be thankful for this woman whom God has been gracious to let us know and to love.

Let us be thankful for her example to us. That example of strength in the face of hardship.  Let us be thankful for all that she has taught us and continues to teach us.  Let us be grateful for the love she felt for us and the love we felt for her.  And let us be grateful for all she has given us in our own lives.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Harriet.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city Jerusalem. Amen.

2 Advent

December 6, 2015

Luke 3.1-6

  

+ Today is a special day. December 6, I mean. It’s been a very important day in the history of the church. For some reason, we, as Episcopalians, have somewhat lost the importance of this day. But I think we can regain our respect of this day.

Today is the feast day of St. Nicholas. Yes, that, St. Nicholas. I know exactly what images are going through your head right now. Jolly St. Nick, all roly poly, decked out in his red, fur-lined outfit. OK. I’ll give you that.

But that’s not what St. Nicholas was at all. In fact, St. Nicholas was a very important saint in the church, a very important person in the history of the church. And he is one of the most appropriate saints to be commemorating during the Season of Advent. A lot of people don’t know this, but he was a Bishop who, the story, once slapped the heretical priest, Arius across the face at the Council of Nicaea because Arius denied Jesus’ divinity.

I’m happy I’ve never had a bishop slap me across the face.

But, despite that outburst, he was also known for his almost radical kindness. He provided grain to starving people in his diocese during a famine, he rescued women from slavery, he saved sailors from storms at sea and he saved innocent people from being executed.  He also tossed gold into poor people’s houses, which sometimes landed in their shoes. And it’s from this we get the idea of Santa Claus delivering presents to people who have been good.

But, St. Nicholas was a rebel. He stood up for what he believed was right, even when it was unpopular. He was a real example of radical Christianity.  And he’s a good model for all of us, as a good saint should be.

Today, in our Gospel reading, we also encounter another person kind of like St. Nicholas. A firebrand. Someone who said and did things that made him unpopular.  A prophet. One of the great and one of the last official prophets. In this morning’s Gospel, we are faced with the formidable figure of John the Baptist.

I used to not like John the Baptist. He always seemed kind of frightening to me. He was kind of crazy, after all. But over the years I’ve really come to like John the Baptist. He is actually an incredible saint. And someone very important to the story of Jesus.

Certainly it would be difficult for any of us to take the words of a man like this seriously.  Especially when he’s saying things like, “prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”  How could WE do any such thing?  How do we make pathways straight?  Somehow, in the way John the Baptist proclaims it, this is not so much hopeful as frightening.  It is a message that startles us and jolts us at our very core.

But this—whether we like it or not—is the true message of Advent.  Like John the Baptist and those who eagerly awaited the Messiah, this time of waiting was almost painful.  When we look at it from that perspective, we see that maybe John isn’t being quite as difficult and windy as we initially thought.  Rather his message is one of almost excruciating expectation.

For us, as followers of Jesus, we too are living with this excruciating expectation.  But our expectation is not something we do complacently.  We don’t just sit here and twiddle our thumbs in our patient waiting.  Rather, in our expectation we do what John the Baptist and other prophets did.

We prophesy.  We proclaim.  We assess the situation, and strengthened by what we know is coming to us, we make a guess at how it will all turn out. And we profess and proclaim that message. Our job as prophets is to echo the cry of the Baptist:

“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

We should find ways to prepare for the Incarnate God’s coming to us. We do it in many ways during Advent. We light the candles of the Advent wreath. We listen to the message of the prophets from the Hebrew Bible. We slow down and we ponder who it is we are longing for. And we wait…

As prophets, as fellow seers of the future, of that moment when the Messiah will come to us, the most common prayer we seem to pray during this Advent season is:

Lord Jesus, come quickly.

But it is also the perfect summation of this Advent season.

Lord Jesus, quickly come.

It is the prayer we should all be praying as we prepare the way of the Lord. It should be the prayer that is on our lips constantly in these days before Christmas. We know he is coming. We know his coming is imminent. But sometimes he seems so agonizingly slow in his coming to us. In our impatience and our expectation, we cry out:

“Lord Jesus, come quickly.”

Sort of like those Christmas stories we always see or hear or share every year—like Dickens or “The Christmas Story” or the “Charlie Brown Christmas”—your weird priest often shares another story around the feast of St. Nicholas.  It was on this day—December 6—140 years ago, in 1875, that a German passenger steamer, The Deutschland, on its way from Bremerhaven to New York, ran aground in a blizzard on a sandy shoal in the Thames estuary near Harwich, England. After

several hours of being trapped there, early on the morning of December 7 the ship began to take on water and the captain ordered the ship to be abandoned. The passengers panicked and people began falling into the freezing water. Among the several hundred who died were five Franciscan nuns who were fleeing the anti-Catholic sentiments that were sweeping Germany at the time under Otto von Bismarck. All five nuns died in those waters. That shipwreck, of course, inspired one of the greatest poems written in the English language—“The Wreck of The Deutschland” by the poet and Jesuit priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins.

This is a poem I find myself reading again and again in my life, especially at this time of the year. And the lines from that poem that I find myself reciting around this time of the year are these. On that day in 1875, as those nuns floundered in the water, they were heard crying out one prayer. As Hopkins puts it in his poem:

“And they the prey of the gales;

She the black-about air, to the breaker, the thickly

Falling flakes, to the throng that catches and quails

Was calling ‘O Christ, Christ, come quickly’:

The cross to her she calls Christ to her, christens her wild-worst Best.”

Those lines haunt me.  For me, personally, many times in my life, I have quoted those lines. When the waters of my life have risen about me, I have remembered those lines from Hopkins.

To some extent, our Advent is much like the freezing waters that rise about this poor nun in Hopkin’s poem. In this season, overwhelmed by all that is happening around us, we too might find ourselves crying out as that sister did in those freezing waters.  Both places are frightening.  Those freezing waters are frightening.  And our own lives can be frightening.  And at times, these moments of expectation are frightening.

But, still, even in these frightening moments, we are prophets.  We can assess the situation—as ugly and bitter as it is—and see that there is a positive outcome.  Always.

Jesus is coming. Yes, not at the speed we want him to come.  But he is coming.  And in that moment, prophets that we are, seeing into the dark of the future, we too can say,

“Even so, Lord, Jesus, come quickly.”

Or in the words of the drowning nun on The Deutschland,

“O Christ, Christ, come quickly”

In it, we find our hope and our longing articulated. We, the prophets, find that we can now see the goal for which we are working. We can look into the gloom, into the frightening future and see that all is not lost.

He is coming. He is coming to us. He is coming to us in this place in which we seem sometimes to flounder. He comes to us in these moments when we feel overwhelmed. He comes to us in those moments when it seems we have lost. He comes to us in our defeat. And when he does, even in those moments, we know.Truly the summation of our prophecies is upon us. And that summation?

It is the fact that, in his coming “all flesh shall see the salvation of God” in our midst. And with that realization, with that actualization, we are listed from those waters and from mire and muck of our lives, and we restored.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly!

Amen.

1 Advent

November 29, 2015

Luke 21.25-36

+ OK. So, I have already set up my 1956 aluminum Christmas tree up at the Rectory. I did it because I’m hosting a Rectory Advent/Christmas party on Friday.

Still, I feel like a hypocrite.  How many times have I stood at this pulpit and railed against the evils of secular Christmas?  I should feel guilty.

After all…it is not Christmas yet.  In fact, it won’t be the Christmas season, for us anyway, for another three weeks or so.  Christmas for us as liturgical Christians, doesn’t begin until Christmas Eve.  So, yes I feel guilty. But I’ll forgive myself…

For now, however, we are in this anticipatory season of Advent. Anticipation is a very good word to sum up what Advent is.  We are anticipating. We are anxiously expecting something. And in that way, I think Advent represents our own spiritual lives in some ways. We are, after all, a people anticipating something. Sometimes we might not know exactly what it is we are anticipating. We maybe can’t name it, or identify it, but we know—deep inside us—that something—something BIG—is about to happen. We know that something big is about to happen, involving God in some way. And we know that when it happens, we will be changed. Life will never be the same again. Our world as we know it—our very lives—will be turned around by this “God event.” It will be cataclysmic.

What I find so interesting about the apocalyptic literature we hear this morning in our scripture readings is that we find anticipation and expectation for this final apocalypse. And that anticipation and expectation is a good and glorious thing, I think. That is what this season of Advent is all about. It is about anticipation and expectation being a wonderful thing in and of itself. Because by watching and praying in holy expectation, we grow in holiness. We recognize that despite the doom and gloom some people preach when it comes to prophecies, doom and gloom doesn’t hold sway over us as Christians.

Still, despite this view, we are a people living, at times, in the dark doom and gloom of life. In Advent, we recognize that darkness we all collectively live in without Christ. But we realize that darkness doesn’t hold sway. Darkness is easily done away with by light. And so, in Advent, we are anticipating something more—we are all looking forward into the gloom and what do we see there? We see the first flickers of light. And even with those first, faint glimmers of lights, darkness already starts losing its strength. We see the first glow of what awaits us—there, just ahead of us.

That light that is about to burst into our lives is, of course, Christ’s Light. The Light that came to us—that is coming to us—is the sign that the King of God is drawing near, as Jesus says in today’s Gospel, is near. It is near.

Yes, we are, at times, stuck in the doom and gloom of this life. But, we can take comfort today in one thing: as frightening as our life may be, as terrible as life may seem some times and as uncertain as our future may be, what Advent shows us more than anything is this: we already know the end of the story. We might not know what awaits us tomorrow or next week.  We might not know what setbacks or rewards will come to us in the weeks to come, but in the long run, we know how our story as followers of Jesus ends. Jesus has told us that we might not know when it will happen, but the end will be a good ending for those of us who hope and expect it. God has promised that, in the end, there will be joy and happiness and peace. In this time of anticipation—in this time in which we are waiting and watching—we can take hope.

To watch means more than just to look around us. It means to be attentive. It means, we must pay attention. It means waiting, with held breath, for the Kingdom of God to break upon us.

So, yes, Advent is a time of waiting and it is this waiting—this expectant anticipation—that is so very important in our spiritual lives. Advent is a time of hope and longing. It is a time for us to wake up from our slumbering complacency. It is a time to wake up and to watch. The kingdom of God is near. And we should rejoice in that fact.

In preparation for Advent, I have been re-reading some of those poets and writers that inspired me many years—way back when I was a teenager. I’ve been re-reading Kierkegaard and Thomas Merton and Ernesto Cardenal.

One of the poets/theologians that I have been re-reading intensely lately is the

German Protestant theologian and poet, Dorothee Soelle.  If you do not known Solle, read her. She is incredible and important.  When I was in high school, I first read her book, Of War and Love, which blew me away.

But a poem of hers that I have loved deeply and that I have been re-worked as a poet myself is her poem, “Credo.” I was going to just quote a part of the poem here, but it’s just so wonderful, I actually have share it in full.  This is the poem as I have adapted it:  

Credo

by Dorothee Soelle

(adapted by Jamie Parsley)  

I believe in a God

who created earth

as something to be molded

and formed

and tried,

who rules not by laws

written in stone

with no real consequences

nor with distinction  between those

who have and those who have not

experts or idiots

those who dominate and those who are dominated

I believe in a God

who demands that creation

protests and questions God,

and who works to change

the failures of creation

by any means.

I believe in Jesus

who, as “someone who could do nothing”

as we all are

worked to change every injustice

against God and humanity.

In him, I can now see

how limited we are,

how ignorant we can be,

how uncreative we have been,

how everything attempted

falls short

when we do not do as he did.

There is not a day

in which I do not fear

he died for nothing.

Nothing sickens me more

than the thought

that he lies at this moment

dead and buried

in our ornate churches,

that we have failed him

and his revolution

because we feared instead

those self-absorbed authorities

who dominate and oppress.

I believe in a Christ

who is not dead

but who lives

and is resurrected in us

and in the flame of freedom

that burns away

prejudice and presumption,

crippling fear and destroying hatred.

I believe in his ongoing revolution

and the reign of peace and justice that will follow.

I believe in a Spirit

who came to us with Jesus,

and with all those

with whom we share

this place of tears

and hunger

and violence

and darkness—

this city of God—

this earth.

I believe in peace

which can only be created

with the hands of justice.

I believe in a life of meaning and purpose

for all creation.

And I believe

beyond all doubt

in God’s future world

of love and peace.

Amen.      

Yes, we do live in “this place of tears/and hunger/and violence/and darkness—/this city of God—/this earth.” But we are hoping, in this Advent season, for “God’s future world/of love and peace.” It is near.  The Kingdom of God—with its incredible revolution—is so close to breaking through to us that we can almost feel it ready to shatter into our lives.

So, in this anticipation, let us be prepared.  Let us watch.  Christ has come to us and is leading us forward.  Christ—the dazzling Light—is burning away the fog of our tears and hunger and violence and is showing us a way through the darkness that sometimes seems to encroach upon us.  We need to look anxiously for that light and, when it comes, we need to be prepared to share it with others, because is telling us that the God’s future world is breaking through to us.   This is the true message of Advent.

As hectic as this season is going to get, as you’re feeling overwhelmed by all the sensory overload we’ll all be experiencing through this season, remember, Watch.  Take time, be silent and just watch.  For this anticipation—this expectant and patient watching of ours—is merely a pathway on which the Light of Christ can come to burn away the darkness in our lives.    

Thanksgiving

With the Duchess, who made me an incredible vegan Thanksgiving meal. I'm so thankful FOR her. 

Thanksgiving Eve Mass at St. Stephen's

Look at this motley liturgical crew getting ready for the thanksgiving Eve Mass at St. Stephen's last night