Isaiah 35:1-10 • Psalm 146:5-10 • James 5:7-10 • Matthew 11:2-11

Hallelujah.

It was a strange quarter. Beginning as all quarters do: hopeful…This time, I will keep up with my grading. This time, I will give extra time to my students. This time…this time…Fresh starts are hopeful times….

It was an odd class. Not really, all classes have their quirks. And frankly, my classes are known for being welcoming for the quirky. But this particular class, Song of the Church (yes, really) started out with barely enough students to make the class continue, and then kept adding students as the first two weeks went along.  Each had their stories. And several had the need to state them right up front. 

“I was raised in the church…not sure about all of this God stuff now….DON’T JUDGE ME.” She actually said this as if it was all capital letters. This young woman also used to sing, but she lost her voice. I remember smiling and saying, welcome. You are in the right class.

​“I was raised in the church. [notice the pattern?] And I do not attend now. I think the church thinks they have all the right answers.  I think the church pretends to be loving when it really isn’t.  The church….the church….Don’t judge me….” but this was a soft, lower case letters plea.

Today’s Scripture:
Isaiah 35:1-10  •  James 5:7-10  •  Matthew 11:2-11

I was 27 when we moved to Seattle.  Chris and I had left every single person we were related to back in NC.  We didn’t know anyone here.  But we moved in September and it was gorgeous!  North Carolina had been hot and humid when we left and we got here; there were beautiful blue skies and moderate temperatures…best of all there was no humidity.  Our apartment had been this chaotic sea of packing boxes and awaiting us here was a brand new house.  I could do this!  September gave way to a pretty and mostly sunny October but then November and December came.  I was used to a lot of sunlight and turning my headlights on to drive in the middle of the afternoon was surprising and it made me a little depressed.  I didn’t know anyone here and there were two other people in my family…one was two years old and the other one worked all day.  It felt a bit like an exile.

Today's Scripture:
Isaiah 11:1-10  •  Romans 15:4-13  •  Matthew 3:1-12

Every year I am surprised.  Advent begins and I start to settle into the waiting. 

      Waiting for a baby.  I remember waiting for a baby.  Perhaps some of you do to.
      Getting everything ready.
                         Warm things.
                         Beautiful things.

I start to settle into that warm, hopeful waiting, and I feel better – you know?

I know that something special, something beautiful is happening, something that I know, or at least I hope, will bring me to what I want, what I need: 
        peace, new wonderful life, untarnished possibilities
        hopes for new ways of being that are good and lovely.
        We wait for that baby, God’s promise to me, to the world.
        It’s a lovely, warm, beautiful waiting.

And then every year I am surprised, shocked, saddened even, when John shows up.  He shows up every single year at this point in Advent (no matter the gospel we are reading – he is in every single one), and he shows up shouting, proclaiming judgment, promising wrath.

Today’s Scripture:
Isaiah 2:1-5 • Romans 13:11-14 • Matthew 24:36-44

Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord. It is Isaiah’s invitation to Jacob’s house, and our own house too. It is a good word as our flight through the cosmos on this spinning planet promises even longer nights, before we begin the journey in a few weeks back toward the light. Let us walk in the light of the Lord.

So we in the Northern hemisphere become more and more aware at this time of year of the value of the light. We are mindful of the importance of our sight, of our need for lamps to illumine our way, of light to show us the path in the darkness.

Let’s say it another way. Advent is a double-edged sword. It cuts both ways. No doubt we want to fly toward Christmas, avoid this season of uncertainty and move toward that instant gratification that Christmas and all our carols preach. But it isn’t the whole story, and we know it.