...the world in pieces

Christians all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand.

Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands.

Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.

---Jim Miller, 1993

“What do you want from me?!” This question, borne of frustration, whispered in fury or shouted in rage. This question, from a student in over his head and floundering in an advanced academic class. This question, from an uncommunicative spouse during a couples counseling session crackling with tension. This question, from a sleep-deprived, wound-tight new mother, desperate to know why the tiny baby she loves refuses to be comforted.

And we, too. We who claim Christ. We who pray for a world at peace and, instead, survey a world in pieces. We who stand helpless, empty hands curling uselessly into fists as we are tempted, ourselves, to go to pieces. We stand, fists curled, feeling helpless, and clueless, and cry into the broken world, “What do you want from me?!”

And from the silence…answers. Walk in faith, don’t hesitate. Carry with you the word God gave you. Share the nativity story that still lights you up. Can you do these things? They are part of your breathe-in-breathe-out, after all, your being. The world wants you…to be fully you.

And Christ will come, and in the coming, the world in pieces will find peace.

...with my eyes closed

…still with Thee in closer, dearer company,

in work that keeps faith sweet and strong ,in trust that triumphs over wrong;

in hope that sends a shining ray far down the future’s broadening way,

in peace that only Thou canst give, with Thee, O Master, let me live.

---Washington Gladden, 1879

Meat, browned. Tomato paste and water. Beef bouillon paste, spices. Red beans. Cook in crockpot, add salt and tomatoes in juice.

In my sleep I made this recipe, stumbling through blurs of soccer seasons, choir seasons, season seasons. With my eyes closed, with one hand tied behind my back, while pretending I understood the math homework. So when middle child texted for the recipe, I sent it off from pure muscle memory. …”Mom? Is there any kind of tomato stuff in there before the ones at the end?” …”Yes. The tomato paste and water at the beginning…” “Ummm, not there. Did you leave it out?”

Well. A little lesson for me on the power of habit, and falling out of it. When I had stopped making chili by the bucketful, the habits that guided my cooking (and the mental index card that held the much-loved recipe) had fallen away too. Walking in the company of Jesus, our teacher and friend, incorporates habits—habits of work, trust, hope, peace. In the daily practice, the repeating rhythm of these habits we exercise walking in the presence of Christ, we find our way to life.

In Christ’s closer company, we become what we practice.

...believing in 'all'

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

---Thomas O. Chisholm, 1923

The blessings of a life with God are many and varied, and this familiar hymn explores lots of them. One verse speaks of the blessings of nature --- the change of the seasons (although I am about done with this ‘all four seasons in just one week’ thing), the constellations in their utterly predictable paths, all of nature witnessing the attentions of a good God with imagination and aspiration.

I will admit to the next verse being my favorite, though, and it’s all about the third line --- “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” God provides for us not only what we need to get through whatever presently troubles us --- worry, sorrow, fear --- but offers us a view of a tomorrow bright with hope. This seems to me the gift that keeps on giving.

All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided, indeed.

...call for ya

Mary got an angelic visit with a life-changing message. Shepherds got a world premiere anthem from the sky with promises of peace (and quite possibly a light show). Wise, wise science guys from the East got sky charts that lined up just right.

<sigh> Things were so much clearer, back in Bible times...

Calling. Do you have one? Have you always? How did it come to you? Has it ever changed?

...what if you're wrong? 

One thing I am certain of: I always pictured myself, at 50-something, knowing. You know, knowing what the path was. What I should be doing. How I should be getting from A to B. What A and B even ARE. 

<facepalm> Things were so much clearer, back in Bible times...

And then I hear the voice of the prophet:
     "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord,
     "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 
      plans to give you hope and a future."
               --Jeremiah 29:11
And I realize, from this side of 50, that those "plans" that God has for me, the ones that give me "hope and a future"--maybe, just maybe, those plans are less about doing specific things at specific times, and more about living with my face turned toward the light, walking in hope. Maybe, just maybe, life is the sign I've been waiting for.

...not saying I'd turn down a chat with an angel, though...

...righteous, dude

Righteous is a difficult concept in our supercool world. Being referred to as righteous might be right up there with holy, or pious...perhaps a step below goody-two-shoes, or even (*gasp*) community organizer.

When did it become so problematic to be called righteous? What IS righteous, anyway? The dictionary says that righteous is "morally right or justifiable" (which I would argue may be worlds apart), or "virtuous". Hmmm...somehow virtuous sounds a little better. As a working definition, I think Spike Lee's 1989 movie title, Do the Right Thing, will do.

Once we get past the problematic moniker, how does one go about, well, BEING righteous? Again, we'd get pretty far referring back to Spike Lee (*ahem*). Three passages of holy text always come to mind as I contemplate righteousness; I leave them here, some in paraphrase, for your consideration.

     What is it that holiness asks of me? Simply this--
     to pursue justice, 
     to act from compassion, 
     to walk the earth in humility, alongside my creator.
               --Micah 6:8/para. laca. 

     Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
     to loose the chains of injustice
     and untie the cords of the yoke,
     to set the oppressed free
     and break every yoke?
     Is it not to share your food with the hungry
     and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--
     when you see the naked, to clothe them,
     and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?
     then your light will break forth like the dawn,
     and your healing will quickly appear;
     then your righteousness will go before you,
     and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
               --Isaiah 58:6-8/NIV

     Jesus answered, "To love God with every part of your life,
     what shows and what only you know, 
     is the most vital element of a righteous life.
     Just as vital to righteousness is your love and regard
     for your neighbor and yourself,
     as dearly loved children of God's. 
     No law or prophecy contradicts these.
               --Matthew 22:37-40/para. laca.

In quietness and in confidence, let us reclaim righteousness as a virtue. This? This is a life I can get behind.

...leave no one behind

For the hanged and beaten.

For the shot, drowned, and burned.

For the tortured, tormented, and terrorized.

For those abandoned by the rule of law.

We will remember.

With hope because hopelessness is the enemy of justice.

With courage because peace requires bravery.

With persistence because justice is a constant struggle.

With faith because we shall overcome.

--The National Memorial for Peace and Justice

When I say, Life's not fair, I'm mostly kidding, at least when I'm talking about my own life. Little inconveniences, bad breaks, someone's bad choices (not always mine)--these comprise the extent of my life's unfair moments. So, were I to cry out for justice on my own behalf, it would mostly be a mockery, or misplaced, or a momentary self-pity.

But this I know, as surely as the other. If, because life is, on the whole, just for me, I should assume that justice is accomplished for all, and the time for striving after a just world is past, I am dead wrong with the sort of bull-headed wrongness driven in tight circles by ego, short-sightedness, and self-worship. If, because my life is fine, I decide that all lives are fine, I am only a mercenary and not a citizen, out to get the spoils of this life without regard for my sisters' and brothers' welfare.

Real justice leaves no one behind. Hope won't allow it. 

...all the time in the world

Is time the ultimate commodity in our too-busy, attention-starved, stretched-thin society? No? Then what would you give for another free hour per day, another free day in each week?

Okay...maybe so.

We even monetize the language we use around time.
We make time.
We take time.
We spend time, we waste it.
We save time, and invest it.
When we're in trouble, we buy time.
When we are slap out of luck, we run out of it.

When we're Cher, we wish to turn back time.
...who am I kidding?...when we're anyone, we wish to turn back time, every now and again.

Every appliance from the washing machine to the personal computer (to whatever is being dropped in its own IPO tomorrow) is marketed for the express purpose of saving time.

We are not so much slaves to the clock as we are slaves to the dream of mastering it. Is there a more hopeful thought than this--that there is enough time? There. is. enough. time.

Because there is One for whom time is measured differently. And we are embraced, for all time, by that One.
     A thousand ages in thy sight 
     are like an evening gone;
     short as the watch that ends the night
     before the rising sun.
                                      ---Isaac Watts

Go ahead, friend; take all the time you need. There's all the time in the world.

...filled full

A promise is the epitome of hope.

A promise is all potential-- freshman year, beginner's luck, pony legs, sloppy kisses. A promise, with all its good intentions, is riskily untested. Stepping out on a promise takes faith, is the stuff of faith, maybe. Trusting a promise is always a bit of a gamble, putting our eggs into a basket whose bottom we have yet to see.

What a comfort, then, to bear witness to a promise fulfilled! To tell the story, the way it happened in our own life. To breathe, and realize we'd been holding our breath for all of time, till now, till now. Heart overflows, eyes overflow with the realization that hope does not disappoint.

Promise fulfilled. Filled full of the good that is in store. Thanks be.

...a wish with feet

'Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul...' 
...opined Emily Dickinson, in her simply profound way.

Today, this day, I think, in fear and trembling, I may beg to differ. Today, this day, Advent begins, with armfuls of hope and heart swelled with song.

And after spending the day thinking about, talking about, sitting with hope, I think perhaps, that hope is a weightier thing than a flitting, flighty creature. I think, perhaps, that hope has heft, substance, mass. Hope is not the kind of thing you want to kick in the dark mid-night on the way to the bathroom; hope won't give.

The difference, this, between hope, and wish: hope is a wish with intention, with motion, with backbone. Hope is a wish with feet.

Hope is a wish with feet.

...love lives here

Love came down at Christmas, 
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
...
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
---Christina Rossetti, 1885

For what is broken in this world, love.
For what is broken in me, love.
For what is broken in you, love.
For what is broken between, among, us, love.

What gift of grace. What sign of hope.
That our hearts, our homes, can be dwelling places for the sacred.
Even after all this brokenness.

Love lives here.

...don't look for that, here

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

---Mikael Franzen, 1800's, tr. Philip M. Young, 2005

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on the social ladder. Every time we trade the divine undercurrent of joy for cheap momentary happiness. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the life that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...the harmony of rising

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty;

let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies, let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,

sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;

facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won.

---James Weldon Johnson, 1900

This hymn, penned by the incredible American poet James Weldon Johnson at the turning of the 20^th century, gives me the chills, partly for the inspiration of the text, and partly for the personal history it holds for me. As a very young teacher in downtown Atlanta, I was introduced to this song, as my students often sang it alongside the national anthem as part of their morning inspiration. These children, not just in the singing of this anthem, were often my teachers in those tender years; and these words of hope were often a lifeline for me.

Today when I sat with this text, what came rushing to mind were words from another song. In ‘I Have Made Mistakes’, the Oh Hellos sing:

We have lived in fear, we have lived in fear, and our fear has betrayed us

            And we will overcome, we will overcome the apathy that has made us

Cause we are not alone, we are not alone in the dark with our demons

We have made mistakes, we have made mistakes, but we’ve learned from them.

I see so many beautiful parallels between these two songs. The first truth, one that my own life bears out again and again, is that the past, even the dark, can be a teacher. The voice of hope, the overcoming, is strongly threaded throughout. But what stood out to me the most tonight (is it because we are working on harmony singing in Older Children’s Choir each Sunday night lately?) is the emphasis on ‘not-aloneness’. This world becomes so much less overwhelming when you are holding hands with a brother or sister. And, although you can sing a beautiful melody by yourself, you will never sing beautiful harmony until you sing it with others.

This hopeful, tough, overcoming, rising, life of ours? It is made for life together. And we belong to each other.

...lost...and home.

Words of life, words of hope,

give us strength, help us cope;

in this world where’er we roam

God’s ancient words will guide us home.

---Lynn DeShazo, 2001

Have you ever gotten lost? Turned around? So worn out you lost track of the path ahead of you and stumbled into the high grass off the side of the trail? Have you ever looked around for a sign, or down at a map, or up at the stars, and wondered, “Where in the world am I?” Have you ever sat there, where you found yourself---lost---and asked yourself, the open road, no one in particular, “How in the world did I get to here?”

Friends, I am the queen of getting lost, but not just in a literal way. I cannot count the times I’ve gotten lost behind a guitar, or in the pages of a book, or in front of a screen of some sort. I’ve been lost at the bottom of a mountain of to-do's, and in a deep well of lonesomeness; and lost in frustration with the inadequacies of this broken world, and inadequacies of my own. How about you? Where do you get lost?

What hopeful, life-giving words, then, what a promise---that ancient words, God-inspired and preserved for us in Scripture, stand as a beacon in our lostness, in our turn-aroundness, in our discouragement and weakness. I hear some speaking to me now:

            In this world you will have trouble, but fear not…I have overcome the world.

            The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.

            I have loved you with an everlasting love.

            You are mine. You are precious in my sight.

These are the words that guide me home. Every time…every time.

...just details

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.

---Edward Mote, 1834

We pin our hopes on many things --- the stock market, savings, a spouse or parent, hard work, luck, the list goes on. As Christians we may put our hope in a minister or ministry, a local church, or a denomination. We may even hope in a particular interpretation of scripture, or a certain way of reading the Bible.

This hymn reminds me that there is one rock solid enough for the construction of my hopes, and that is no human institution, religious or secular. That rock is the person of Jesus---his life, sacrifice, and triumph over the powers that were in the world.

Everything else is just details. Sinking sand. Christ is the solid Rock.

...not lose hope

Give to the winds your fears, hope, and be undismayed;

God hears your sighs and counts your tears, God shall lift up your head.

Through waves and clouds and storms he gently clears the way;

Wait for God's time, so shall the night soon end in joyous day.

---Paul Gerhardt, 1653

This hymn reminds me, once again, that being God’s child is not a magic talisman against the everyday tragedies that seem to be a part of life in this world. There will be sighs, tears, waves, clouds, storms…and we aren’t anymore immune to them than anyone else. No, a relationship with God does not give us a free pass from life’s hardships.

So what does our relationship afford us in this life? First of all, the hymnist reminds us that God is intimately concerned with our feelings---our sighs are heard, our tears are counted, and we can look forward to God lifting our heads. We are not abandoned in our feelings of despair, fear, or resignation. Second, we are reminded that through the storms of life we do not travel alone. In the Arctic Ocean, ships carrying cargo follow behind a very special vessel called an icebreaker. Its job is to clear the way through the treacherous ice-bound ocean so that the cargo ship can carry out its purpose.

In treacherous waters, God is our “icebreaker”. The sea is vast, and ice-bound; but we do not travel alone, and we need not lose hope.

...the morning after world

Where yearning hearts dream, though no joy appears,

and burning hopes gleam through crystalline tears,

O spirit, pray for us still, give wings to our fears.

And all shall be well.

And all things shall be well.

---Mary Louise Bringle, 2002

'Weeping may linger for the night,' says the psalmist, 'but joy comes in the morning.'

But what if it doesn't? What if morning dawns, and the only sound is the ragged breath of weary weeping, the only feeling the soggy pillowcase under a head that has tossed and turned through a sleepless night? Or friends, what if the sounds morning brings are the ones that greeted crime scene investigators in Orlando Sunday morning---their own shoes beginning to stick to the congealing blood on the killing floor, and the incessant ringing of cellphones in the pockets of slain loved ones as their families try in vain to make sure they are safe?

Will joy come that morning, or any morning? Is there anything left but fear? Fear of this world; fear of cheap, throwaway life; fear of those who live differently; fear of those who pray a different way; fear of guns; fear of someone taking the guns; fear of whatever is other?

As we gaze at the morning-after world through our tears, what is left us, after all? Anything at all?

Well, it may not be joy, friends; not yet, not yet. And it may not be joy for a while. Joy might come, on some morning, when our wounds are not so fresh, and just the thought of the pain no longer makes us wince and cower. Some glad morning, joy might just sneak up on us.

But hope. Burning hope. Not just a wishing kind of hope, sitting around twiddling its thumbs and sighing. No, friends. The kind of hope that gets up off its tail and does something. The kind that reaches out to welcome another to the task of rebuilding this broken world. The kind that kicks butt and takes names. The kind that sends fear fleeing into the night. Burning hope.

With that kind of hope, Julian of Norwich's words just might start to whisper truth to the fear that has shouted through the night:

    'All shall be well.

     All shall be well.

    And all manner of things shall be well.'

......sinking sand

In Christ alone my hope is found; He is my light, my strength, my song.

This cornerstone, this solid ground, firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace when fears are stilled, when strivings cease.

My Comforter, my all in all, here in the love of Christ I stand.

---Keith Getty and Stuart Townend, 2001

In about 1834, Edward Mote wrote this familiar refrain:

            My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

            I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

            On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.

A century and a half later, Stuart Townend and Keith Getty voiced these thoughts that echo those of Mote. The truth in the text shines through --- there is one rock, one foundation, one source. My hopes placed on anything else --- person, institution, tangential belief --- are misplaced.

Nothing else, no one else, can be the Rock in our lives. And, as much as we try, we cannot be the Rock in our lives. It is too much to ask or expect of any but Jesus.

In Christ alone…

...you've gotta be kidding me

Christians all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand.
Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands.
Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.
Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.
---Jim Miller, 1993

Prepare the way of the Lord. Wait...prepare the way of the Lord? It's struggle enough some days to prepare dinner tonight, or to prepare the presentation for the staff meeting tomorrow, or to prepare to hear the lab results from that medical exam you took last week. But to prepare the way of the Lord? What does that even mean, really, and how in this world are we supposed to prepare for something we haven't experienced and don't really understand?

Prepare? You've gotta be kidding me.

But wait a minute. I can hope for peace: real hope---the kind that puts feet to wishes, and real peace---the kind that surpasses the absence of discord to become wholeness and wellness lived out in whole and well community. And I can listen for the call of life on my life: what is it that calls out my gifts and passions, and who is it that needs the time and efforts I'm capable of? I can share my story with people who want to hear---a love story still in the making of brokenness and healing and pain and joy, and how the God whose best name is Love whispers keeping-on words to me, enough to share.

I can do these things; and you can, too. And in the doing, we may just find we are visited by God born in us, among us, like us. And in the doing, and in the visiting, we may be made whole.

It's a baby. And we prepared the way of the Lord.

...you say yes

No payment was promised, no promises made;
no wedding was dated, no blueprint displayed.
Yet Mary, consenting to what none could guess,
replied with conviction, "Tell God I say, Yes."
---John L. Bell, 1992

Let's make a deal! Well...not a deal, really. I need this, well, this favor. It's pretty huge. And there is no way I can put into human terms what the costs and rewards might end up being for you. I can tell you, though...amazing...and heartbreaking...and world-changing...and earthshaking. 

No person could be faulted for pushing away from the table with a deal like that on it. Too vague, too open-ended, too many possible downsides. Besides, your life is falling into place, your ducks are all in a row, you may not be Junior League just yet but it could happen.

But you say yes. Yes to...what, exactly? To uncertainty (that starts the moment you show up at your engagement party pregnant)...to heartache (there is Simeon in the temple, whispering something to you about a sword piercing your heart, too?)...to fear (now you flee under cover of night into Egypt, a bounty on the life of your baby boy).

But you also say yes...to joy...and to hope. And because you say "Yes," the rest of us get the chance to say yes.

We say yes to love.

...wage peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.

---Leigh Anne Armstrong, 2005

tune: FERNDALE

By God's tender mercies,

dawn will break on high,

bringing light to us who sit in dark,

in the very shadow of death,

to brighten the way to the path of peace.

---Luke 1:78-79 (para. laca)

During my prayers and meditations this morning it passed through my mind that, though our individual and tribal agonies and tragedies seem freshly goring with each new wound, we have been hurting for a long time now. We have been needing peace, in our climate, in our world, in our homes, in our hearts and psyches, for so long. Most of the time we move through our days, numb to the violence around us, blind to the damage inflicted on our brothers and sisters by systems and power and pure plain meanness and evil. The world is engineered for numbness, for dulling the senses to the pain of others, even our own pain. 

And then sectarian and tribal violence turns into mass slaying of school children and college students. Or the pain of mental illness spills over into unspeakable tragedy on a massive scale. Or families have to take stock and rebuild love where it grows for their children. 

And through all of this, faint, is the song of hope. Not the kind of solid thing performed by a symphony orchestra with a festival chorus. More like the caught wisp of a melody, floating out of an open window on one of those rare, fine days when open windows might be acceptable in our part of the country. You might only catch a few notes, a rise and fall of phrase. But when you do. When you  do. It may just give you the courage to wage peace in this world, where all the violence seems continually new.