...do you believe something?

O come to us; abide with us,
our Lord Emmanuel.
---Phillips Brooks, 1868

"I don't believe in anything. Do you believe something, Ms. Armstrong?" The teenage question was casual, almost throw-away; but there was already a life's worth of pain and betrayal in the carefully-controlled voice, the meaning of life bound up in the few words. I knew my answer had to be truth. And it had to be clear. Oh, and it had to be right then. Because life happens, well, at the speed of life. And I knew she'd already heard plenty of sermons. And lectures. And object lessons.

And she did not believe. Not one thing. 

And while I gathered up the pieces of my heart from where they'd fallen as it shattered, once again, at a broken world that does this to its kids, I slowed my breathing, and gathered my racing thoughts, and stilled my heart, and breathed a prayer. Wisdom, I prayed. Courage, I pleaded. Hope, I begged. Love, love, love, past pain, past failure, past bleak unbelief. And in I plunged.

"I do believe. Not in a God who micromanages the world and every little thing that goes on in it. I have seen too much hurt and pain in this world to believe that way about God. I can't be down with God pulling all the strings behind a world like this. But I do believe. I believe so much in a God that walks this life beside us, hurting with us when we hurt, and celebrating with us when we celebrate. This is the life with God I have experienced, and I can tell you I believe it."

"Well, I know you're right about the world, Ms. Armstrong."

God help us, I'm right about the world. God willing, I'm right about walking together. Here in this holy season, we anticipate the arrival of a God whose name is Emmanuel, 'God with us'. Not some God-up-there, or God-that-was, or God-with-a-carrot-and-a-stick. But God-here laughing at an inside joke,  God-here weeping at the pain of a hurting world, God-here when the path is the most difficult to discern. God-here God-now. Close as breath. Abiding. Emmanuel.

I believe.

...and now we wait

Match the present to the promise, Christ will come again.

Make this hope your guiding premise, Christ will come again.

Pattern all your calculating and the world you are creating

to the advent you are waiting: Christ will come again.

---Thomas H. Troeger, 1985

Wait. WAIT! Wait. There are so many different ways to say one simple word, so many colors and nuances to it. We wait --- in line. on hold. for that check in the mail. till hell freezes over. for that second chance, and the break that will make it ok. to be older. to be old enough. for time to heal all wounds (or wound all heels). till your father gets home.

And even Tom Petty knows, the waiting is the hardest part. All that standing still, and not doing anything, all the stasis and buzz of inactivity. All of the un-. So this Advent –time of waiting can seem pretty…well, pretty un-. Sitting around waiting for…for…God knows what, really. A baby born in a manger? A king, arriving all stealthy and incognito and un-kinglike? A household of God’s own making, realized in Heaven but reachable on earth? The Kingdom come?

But what if there is another way to wait? What if waiting on God’s household to come is the most active thing we can do? What if this waiting is full of dreaming, and planning, and co-creating along with the God who never really stopped in the first place? What if we play a part in ushering in that kingdom characterized by hope, peace, joy, love? What if this Advent waiting is anything but un-?

Come, Lord Jesus. We wait on you.

...time will tell

We ourselves are God’s own field, fruit unto His praise to yield;

wheat and tares together sown unto joy or sorrows grown;

first the blade, and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear;

Lord of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.

---Henry Alford, 1844

It doesn’t look like corn. It looks like wide blade grass; St. Augustine, or maybe Johnson grass. Not like corn. Not at first. But wait. Just wait. Keep caring for the plant, watering, weeding, tending. And wait. It doesn’t look like corn at first. But time will tell.

Our own efforts at cultivating the Good News about God’s gift of abundant life may be like tending that corn. It may not seem like our efforts are yielding any results, in ourselves or in the world around us. Funny thing is, though, our task is to water, weed, tend, care. And wait. It may not look like a harvest at first. But time will tell.

...be still, my soul

Be still, my soul: The Lord is on your side.

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

leave to your God to order and provide;

in every change God faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul: Your best, your heavenly friend

through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

---Katharina von Schlegel, 1752

There seem to be truths about life, truths that anyone who lives long enough will experience. Life is not always fair. Bad things happen to good (and bad) people. And the only constant in this life…is change. And while I have made my peace with life’s essential unfairness, and the fact that good and bad things happen to good and bad folks, change kicks me in the teeth like a schoolyard bully every time. Weird thing is, I resist change even when the situation I find myself in isn’t particularly ideal. Because, you know, change, OUCH. You may have a problem with one of the other of these great life truths.

And with truths like that, we need a friend in our corner. In this text from the mid-1700’s. we are reminded that God, our best friend, is on our side (your side, my side, all of our sides---but that’s another story for another day). Armed with this knowledge, we are empowered to tackle and solve some of life’s problems. And the others? Those river rapids rushing in the near distance? We are supported while wading through treacherous crossings, a strong arm firm around us lest we slip beneath the surface.

Be still, my soul…there is One beside you.

...being out there

O for a faith, a living faith, the faith that Christ imparts;

belief not locked in ancient creed, but flamed within the heart.

O for a fellowship of love, the love that welcomes all;

that helps the burdened with their load, and lifts them when they fall.

In gratitude for this, our church, a growing faith we claim.

We here resolve, for years to come, to serve in Jesus’ name.

---William R. Hornbuckle, 2007

Almost by definition, a living thing is one that is growing in some way---being changed from the inside out. A living thing is under construction, continually evolving, developing in ways both deep and wide from the nourishment being gathered from its environment. A nurturing, healthy, rich environment means strong, consistent growth---a healthy living thing.

This kind of growth marks a living faith, too; and the church is a natural and wonderful environment for nurturing the kind of development that marks lifelong growth. And the life-affirming thing about the church is that its role in growth doesn’t end with the nurture of personal faith! Because personal faith is not an end in itself, and the church should rightfully be woven into the fabric of not only personal growth, but the very life of the community.

We are strengthened and raised up in a living faith for the express purpose of pouring ourselves into the life of the world around us, with its hurts, and poverties, and divisions, and griefs. We are called to live our faith in the world, among our neighbors, being out there what we’ve learned of Christ in here. Our living calls us, compels us, to be there, in the world.

We have two hands, after all. One to hang on…and one to reach out.

...the table for everyday saints

Here we nurture and encourage as we share this common meal,

While we foster deep communion and our inner selves reveal.

---Larry E. Schultz, 2004

The starting blocks. The finish line. The beginning and the end. In the life of faith, communion serves both as birthing moment and gathering-in, as jumping-off and destination.

When our faith is new, and we are building our muscles of believing and living the life of love to which we have been called, the table provides communal strength and model for our growth. The saints with whom we share the love feast are there to hold our hands during our first tentative steps, to dust us off and brush away our tears after our falls and false starts. As our faith matures, as hopefully it will, we combine drawing strength from the communion of saints with offering our own to those who walk beside and  follow after us --- encouraging, guiding, offering grace, nurturing growth --- always finishing the course where it began, at the table of love.

For this table, for this feast, to nourish us as it could, for its communion to be true and deep, each place must be set as a safe place for the nakedness of honesty to rest, a place where we dare to reveal who we really are to each other. Where we seek to know each other in all our complexity. We must trust each other that much around the table…and being known, and knowing, must matter that much.

That table, everyday saints. Start to finish. Your place is saved. Come home.