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Advent Devotional Guide
Introduction
Part of that refreshment comes to us because of Advent’s refreshing honesty. The world waits for light -- and for all of the things that light can bring and signify -- and Advent knows this. In the Northern Hemisphere, the nearly four weeks of Advent take place in the darkest time of the year, with the days continually getting darker still. Apart from the experience of people who suffer depression connected with light deprivation, the absence of the sun can help us all remember that all around the earth -- and at every time of year -- people wait. They await justice, peace, freedom, the return of hope, the possibility of festival, the rich gifts of full life. Advent takes this waiting seriously, inviting us all to let our waiting for God correspond in honesty to the human condition. Humankind has a deep and aching need. In our hearts we know that all of our Christmas parties -- good and happy as they may be -- will not fill that need. In fact, for some people the growing "Christmas spirit" only seems to intensify an underlying sadness. So, there is something wonderfully refreshing in being honest about that need and in thus waiting with all the needy earth, all the needy peoples. Advent is marked by that honesty. Christians probably began to celebrate Advent in the late fourth century not, in the first place, as a count-down to Christmas. Advent was rather a Christian counter-observance, a way to be before God in quiet and grace-filled prayer while the rest of the culture was going crazy with the self-indulgence of late-Roman winter-solstice festivities: the Saturnalia and the feast of the Unconquered Sun. Even still today, we do not need to be crabby about anyone’s Christmas preparations nor ungrateful for the coming Christmas feast in order to take joy in the rather different tone of our church’s gatherings for worship during Advent. The liturgy in December is a little simpler, the prayers full of longing. The music is a little quieter, many of the hymn-tunes in a minor key. We are letting ourselves be in the darkness. We are waiting with a waiting world. We are intentionally being there, where everyone’s life really is: We need justice, peace, life. We need God, God’s mercy, God’s salvation. Welcome holy darkness, we might say. And darkness, beseeching prayer, simplicity, and blue -- the color of night just before dawn -- are our symbols. But the Gospel of Jesus Christ is also proclaimed with strength in Advent. Here is the astonishing thing: the One we wait for already stands among us. We do not need to wait for the Christmas feast to know that. Nor do we only wait until the end of time. The growing light of the Advent wreath, the content of our scripture readings and hymns, the celebration of holy communion all proclaim it. In the cross, Jesus Christ has shared the deepest need of waiting humanity. He is hidden still among all the suffering and waiting ones. In the resurrection of Jesus Christ, God has begun to wipe away all tears. As the Spirit draws us into the assembly of those who gather around and trust this Gospel, that Spirit draws us into Christ and so before the face of the Father. In a quiet and hidden way, proclaimed in this assembly, celebrated in every act of love and justice, the mercy and salvation of the triune God are already among us. Welcome holy light, we do say. And burning candles, evergreens, the assembly itself, and, most of all, the word of scripture and of holy communion are our signs. Advent is a way the church proclaims the saving Gospel of Jesus Christ into the truth of our experience in this world in winter. What follows here is a little Advent gift from The Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. Voices from our community invite you to go through this Advent season intentionally. They invite you to stand with the waiting ones, opening your heart and your life to them, and celebrating the Present One, being gathered already now into God’s great mercy for us all and living your life out of that mercy. These devotions may be used by you alone, marking some quiet hour of your day. Or they may be used by a small group -- in your family or residential community or workplace. They are intended to echo and reinforce your weekly gathering with the Sunday assembly of your congregation, proposing readings that are drawn from our current lectionary or from the Augsburg Fortress publication, Between Sundays. An outline for a simple form of daily prayer throughout the season is included below. In the honesty of waiting and need, in the embrace of God’s presence and joy, good Advent to you. Outline for daily prayerLight
Song
Word
Prayer
for December 1-7:
for December 8-14:
for December 15-16:
for December 17:
for December 18:
for December 19:
for December 20:
for December 21:
for December 22:
for December 23:
for December 24:
Conclude with the Lord’s Prayer. --Gordon Lathrop December 1 Advent is expectation, a whisper, a rumor unleashed but unconfirmed. It is girded in anticipation, in waiting, its garments a hopeful, bright blue. But it walks in the gray before the dawn, in the darkness prior to the sun’s arrival. Urgent, with eager longing, Advent leans forward toward the promise of what is but is also not yet. "Keep awake." Advent is a real season, one that does nothing to deny the difficulties of life and faith. Aren’t the paths we often walk as much or more darkness than light? Are we not at least as familiar with the "not yet" of God’s presence as we are with the "now" of it? The artificial light that shines in this season blinds by its overbrightness, creating disconcerting shadows on the lenses of our sight. The most fortunate of personal lives are filled with fear, even if it hides beneath a polished surface. Relationships ebb and flow; some grow brittle and shatter. Death takes our loved ones, sometimes suddenly, often little by precious little, but takes them all the same. When Jesus says that God is like one who has gone on a journey without a clear returning itinerary, we know what he means in our bones. We are often weary with waiting, our longing dulled, our hope diminished. But a voice whispers, "Keep awake." It is not the loud and brash, bragging, bright, hard in the darkness to believe, "Joy to the world," but is rather a gentle nudge to stay upright, to keep our eyes open, to hold on to hope. "Keep awake." It is encouragement to strain forward to see through the artificial light, to glimpse beyond it, toward the living flame of Christ that is present still, is discernable amidst the dimming shades of war and more war, a sluggish economy, ubiquitous violence, and terror in our hearts. In Advent we grope about in familiar darkness -- but we are clothed in a royal, hopeful blue. We are stirred from sluggishness by a sharp breath of exhortation and encouragement: "Keep awake." We wait awake for the light that lives and enlivens we who dwell in shadow and doubt. -- Rick Summy December 2
An image of a fountain of cleansing begins the passage and an image of being refined as silver by fire leads to the extravagant promise: "You are my people." And the response can only be: "The Lord is my God" (vs. 9). We, like the false leaders who are attacked by the prophet Zechariah in this tirade, need the spiritual renewal both of being cleansed by water and refined by fire. In order to experience this renewal, the posture is that of waiting. That’s what Advent is all about: to be in the difficult but crucial stance of mixed emotions: expectancy and hope as well as anxiety and dread mixed in with restless tension about the unknown future. Waiting preoccupies our lives: waiting for someone to arrive, waiting in the basement during a storm, waiting for a birth of a child, or "Are we there yet, Daddy? In our language, wait is not only wait for but also wait on: to be a waiter or waitress is to serve. The people in this passage were not serving well and therefore were not serving God. They were not waiting for the Lord or on the Lord. Therefore God prescribed a refreshing fountain to wash away their sin and a refining fire to purify their wrongdoing. On our bathroom wall is a framed reminder written by Luther: "When you wash your face, remember your baptism." In our baptism, God has already forgiven us and says to us: "You are my people; you are my child." Each day we are invited to respond to God’s grace by serving God and serving others. Such waiting on the Lord and waiting on others is surely a testimony that "the Lord is my God." And in the midst of the waiting in Advent, we know that Christ’s coming into the world makes all the difference for each of us. -- Nelvin Vos
December 3 For at evening time there shall be light, a light revealing our sinful nature to the whole world, a light that opens our eyes to our desperate need for a Savior. St. Francis Xavier lived in a time when the church abused its authority, demanding conversions without regard for the individual’s culture, punishing those whose views were contrary to the church without telling them what their crime was and not allowing witnesses, and persecuting congregations that protested the abuses of the church in Rome. He lived at the beginning of the Reformation period and chose to participate in the actions of his church because he did not know differently. As Christians in a different century, we aim to approach mission development differently, calling upon God to convert hearts to Christ as we accompany those who are not yet Christian through their daily lives. As Christians in a different century, we aim to dialogue with those who disagree with our beliefs. As Christians in a different century, we beg God to unify the church though our ecumenical dialogue as we mutually affirm and admonish those denominations different from ours. In every age the church is called to repent its abuses, and we are called to repentance in today’s reading from Zechariah. The Day of the Lord imagery in Zechariah is frightening to hear. In the chaos of God’s battle with evil no one, not even the righteous of Jerusalem, will be unaffected. So true is it today that we are not separate from the raging battles and severe injustices of our world. We walk together in our common humanity with our neighbors in the world repenting of our sin and confident that our Savior, the light coming into the world, has already scattered our darkness. Sin and evil have no dominion or power over us. For the Lord, our God, is one. --Jessicah Duckworth December 4
In a Classic Peanuts comic strip, Sally asks Linus: "Why do I rush from here every morning 10 minutes ahead of time so I won’t miss the school bus -- and then I wait here for 10 minutes hoping it won’t come?" Such an ambivalent response would also describe the waiting for the coming of the Lord as Matthew portrays it here. The images are ominous: "the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will fall from heaven " (vs. 29). But the Son of man comes "on the clouds of heaven with power and great glory and he will send out his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other" (vss. 30-31). And the Lord’s coming will be "as the lightning comes from the east and shines as far as the west" (vs. 27). Christ coming among us illuminates the whole earth. The implications are cosmic. Notice the repetition of "all" in Colossians 1: "For in Christ all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or heaven, making peace by the blood of the cross" (vss. 19-20). We often tend to restrict the presence of Christ both in time and space. Christ was essential to the disciples, but how important is Christ in 2002? Sunday is the time for being aware of Christ’s presence, but on Monday amid the hustle, aren’t we on our own? To see light in the midst of darkness is to see Christ coming in the middle of the so-called ordinary:
Such living is a faithful response to the great gift of Christ coming in the flesh, and to the presence of Christ in our lives now, the triumphant return of Christ coming again. -- Nelvin Vos
December 5
I don’t like to wait. Someone has said that the average American spends more than 11 hours each year waiting in line (and this was before the new regulations in airport security!) "Please hold," we are told by the phone message. "In America an hour is 40 minutes," says a German proverb. "Do it now" and "Get on with it" are what we tell each other. To wait is to be powerless, to be out of control, for that which is waited upon cannot be manipulated. But waiting can be experienced not as something primarily passive but as active. It is to be alert, to be vigilant, to be watchful. It is to trust, to let go. he people described by Micah did not let go. They did not trust. They did not trust in God nor did they trust others. They only trusted themselves. They coveted and exploited their neighbors for their goods and their property. In the first five verses the prophet speaks the word of the Lord to these exploiters who have used their power to oppress the poor, the weak, and the helpless. But the hearers loudly protest: "Do not preach" (vs. 6). "We must shut this man up." The use of power and the oppression of the poor are not proper subjects for preaching. The kind of preaching they are itching to hear would proclaim the glories of wine and liquor (vs. 11) and not hit at the heart of their sinfulness. And in the midst of this vociferous exchange of condemnation and exhortation comes the Advent promise: "Behold your king is coming to you" (vss. 12-13). He will gather those who have been scattered and will lead forth those who have been imprisoned. The familiar image of shepherd is combined with the image of breakthrough of freedom (opening the breach and passing through the gate). The breakthrough into freedom happens to those who follow the shepherd. That promise comes to those who follow the leading of Christ, the Good Shepherd. He opens the door of the prison for us, the prison in which we sinners have been locked. Then Advent has truly come! -- Nelvin Vos
December 6 The feast of St. Nicholas was celebrated in my family with the German custom of placing a shoe outside our door at night. St. Nicholas would stop by during the night and leave our small shoes filled with Hershey Kisses. In the morning I along with my siblings would carefully count our Kisses to make sure we all had the same amount. We would take two for our school lunch and place the rest in separate plastic bags marked with our names, placing the bags in the refrigerator to be guarded and hoarded. More often than not, in the rush of the Advent season, those little chocolates were forgotten, left in their bags in the back of the fridge and not found until Easter. As we grew older, the month of December became even more complicated, with school concerts, church commitments, parties and special activities abounding. Sometime December 7h would sneak up on our family before we even remembered the feast of St. Nicholas, and we would debate whether to set out our shoes the following night. Chapter four of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians is a reminder and a comfort. Paul knows that the brothers and sisters are living their Christian lives in a city filled with rich influences, both positive and negative. Paul reminds these Christians to live in healthy relationship with one another, loving and comforting each other with the good news of Jesus Christ. It is easy for us to become preoccupied with festivities in December. It is not as easy to stop and reflect upon the activities in which we choose to participate. That doesn't mean we should not participate in December’s celebrations. But we should do so with thoughtful reflection as to why we allow so many events to occupy us in this Advent season. On our way to a school concert to be gathered with one kind of community, we might take time on the way to pray or talk as a family, thanking God for the gifts of teachers and students. If our congregation has a Christmas pageant or a special day to decorate the church, we might add a short service of Evening Prayer to celebrate the light of Christ that we are expecting to come into our lives. If we have parties, we might think to invite someone who has no family or friends to be with during this holiday season. Before we rush off to each activity, we might take time to light the Advent candle and sing a verse from "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." I hope that in the future I can encourage my family to take their Hershey Kisses to work or school and share them with others, rather than hoarding them as I did as a child. Finally, during this busy December, consider recalling those family saints who have gone before and are now at rest, for we are assured with the promise that they too will rise at the sound of God’s trumpet and we will all be together with the Lord that day. --Jessicah Duckworth December 7 In these days it is challenging to hear the anger of the psalmist against the enemies of Israel. It is no longer possible to ignore the feelings of anger that others sometimes harbor against the United States. Their feelings are all too evident. When cataclysmic events occur, we search for an enemy and culprit and call on God to make our hurt and our enemy disappear. Within our current context, the psalms of lament give us permission to question God’s silence, demand justice and cry out in anger, "How long, O LORD?" In many psalms we hear human feelings and passions directed toward the Holy One. Revealed through these psalms is anger that wells up within us and which is a natural part of the human condition. This anger limits our ability to see our enemies as partners and neighbors in a fallen world. In our struggle as a nation to make political and economic decisions, we focus our anger on our perceived enemies and not on the one who can absorb every feeling of hatred and denial. We cry out, trying to preserve some semblance of control, only to feel helpless when circumstances leap beyond our control again. The psalmist cries out in anger for God to establish justice in the world, and then calls upon God for deliverance and forgiveness. At the center of this psalm the psalmist calls upon God to forgive. Here is recognition that we are still a part of the whole mess of this world. "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere", as Martin Luther King, Jr. said. All of humanity is broken and in need of deliverance. Ah, this brokenness is the very reason for this season, the anticipation of God’s incarnation in Jesus Christ. We are waiting in anger for God’s response to our pain. We are waiting in sadness for God’s love and mercy to come down. We are waiting in faith for justice and peace to reign. Amen. Come Lord Jesus. -- Jessicah Duckworth December 8 My uncle built his house smack dab in the middle of the woods. Out back was nothing but overgrown, tangled, intricately intertwined bristle, thistle and trees. One time, standing on the back porch, my uncle pointed to the hint of an old path. Apparently there had once been a logging trail. "Someday," he said, "I’m going to cut that path again." Step out on to the back porch. Look around. Wilderness is on all sides.
It is a place of darkness and odd, frightening shadows. Terror and the
fear of terror abound. Fingers point, often in the direction of others.
Violence and a variety of other human ills vie for headline space. Wilderness
surrounds. The haunting, uninhabitable space surrounds us, and, sometimes, it swallows our hearts. Now, he doesn’t to this day know what set him off exactly, my uncle. But one Saturday morning he woke up as a man with a mission. He cranked the starter on his chain saw and started cutting. In the end, he was exhausted, worn-out, scratched raw. But the wilderness had been bested. He gazed upon a renewed path. Now, I don’t know exactly what has or will set us off. If anything. But I do know that clearing a wilderness path is not something we do on our own. If it happens at all, it is in response to the sound of a voice that calls us to action. The voice may be soft as a whisper. Or it may be a shout. Perhaps the voice is the staccato monotone of a persistent teacher. Who knows? The call comes in many ways. But however the sound reaches our ears, if it reaches them at all, it is the voice of John the baptizer that calls in the wilderness: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." And whether by whisper or shout or staccato signal, when we hear that voice, we fire up the chain saw and start hacking away at the wilderness that surrounds us and the thorns that pierce within. We will be scratched and scarred and rubbed sore. It will exhaust us. But, however tentatively, we will begin to clear a path. An embrace heals. An affirmation lifts a sagging spirit. A bit of justice is won. And the wilderness retreats in the face of this holy attack. We are at a family reunion. I ask my uncle about his house, and about the path. "I’ve got to keep after it," he says. "It would grow over in no time." He pauses. "I feel a little funny saying this," he says. "But when I walk that path I feel blessed. There is such a sense of peace." The voice cries out in the wilderness: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." I read a journal article once that said, "With God’s transforming and absolving power, the energies of the shadow can be reclaimed into a creative focus." We can cut the path, but we’ve got to keep at it -- It is a path through the wilderness that is a blessing, the Advent path down which the Lord walks toward us in welcome, bringing affirmation, peace, justice. And a holy embrace. Prepare the way of the Lord. -- Rick Summy December 9 My Spanish teacher once recited this saying from his native country of Spain: "Quien a buen árbol se arrima -- buena sombra le cobija." Translated literally, it means "He who sits near a good tree is covered with good shade." Anyone who has ever sought cool shade on a broiling summer afternoon, or when hiking, has appreciated how a dense forest offers protection from rain and wind, knows the benefits of a "good tree." In these verses from Isaiah, we find the deeper definition of a "buen árbol". We look forward to the day when "the Branch of the Lord will be beautiful and glorious." Isaiah writes that the Messiah will offer the ultimate "shelter and shade," a "canopy" to keep us cool when our world seems unbearably hot, and "a hiding place" to protect us from all of life’s elements. In this season of Advent we look forward to sitting near Jesus, our "good tree," confident that he will bring everlasting relief and protection. -- Catherine J. Singley
December 10 Many people define the season of Advent as a time of waiting for the birth of Jesus. However, in modern Christianity, when we focus on the coming birth of our savior, we tend to overlook the other theme of Advent: death. It is only natural that in the bleak cold of wintertime, we long for something positive, something glorious to cling to, sometimes feeling as Isaiah does when he cries, "My soul yearns for you in the night." But in looking forward, don’t we also purge ourselves of things that are soon to pass away? In his book Proclamation 4: Advent Christmas, Seminary ProfessorGordon Lathrop discusses the origin of the Christmas season and its placement on the calendar. "The darkness of the year’s end," he writes, "readily becomes a metaphor for our fears, our failures, our death. And calling the time a ‘new year’ and experiencing the turning of the sun suggest the possibility of hope." A certain relief comes from doing away with of things that are old, worn out, and rotten. As humans, we welcome the chance to begin again with a clean slate. The change of seasons is fresh and exciting. In the cycle of life and death, a new day is born, and those old "departed spirits do not rise," as Isaiah write. Jesus is our new "ruler," and we welcome him into our hearts year after year, just as, after a long winter, we throw open the windows to breathe in the new spring air. -- Catherine J. Singley December 11 Lars Olsen Skrefsrud robbed a bank when he was 19, and he was imprisoned for his deed. While in jail, Skrefsrud received letters and visits from a young Lutheran woman who aided him in his education about Christian faith. Skrefsrud prayed for God’s forgiveness night after night in his cell. One night, he recalled, God sent him peace. After he was released, his vocational call as a missionary and priest gave him the opportunity to tell his story of transformation. Understanding the human condition, he addressed his audiences as "Fellow sinners." He was known to walk among those whom he led as pastor always saying, "I dare take no other place than the lowest." As the chief priests, scribes and elders questioned Jesus, surely people questioned Skrefsrud and by what authority he preached the word of God. Yet we know that God calls all sinners to proclaim God’s love and mercy to the world. God calls each of us to share a word of grace with our neighbors and friends. At this Advent time we prepare to welcome God’s transforming Word, Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, into our lives. We celebrate that Word which lives in our heart and changes our lives. Each and every day that Word becomes incarnate as we speak about God’s love and mercy which transforms our lives and our world. -- Jessicah Duckworth December 12 Most often I run into the scene while I’m out grocery shopping. A child stands rooted in the candy, snack, or toy aisle with all the passion of Luther at Worms. Arms folded, face frozen in bitter indignation -- maybe the glimmer of a tear emerging from one eye. Somehow it has become evident to this child that he or she is entitled to some item on the shelf. An adult, parent perhaps, has issued a standard ruling: "No, you don’t need that". From the point of view of juvenile wisdom there is one clear conclusion that can be drawn from such a declaration: "You’re mean. You’re not fair." I can’t pass such a scene without remembering how often I was there as a child. So many times it was absolutely clear to me that I deserved some payment or reward for being the wonderful selfless child that I was. I hardly ever asked for something. My life was so sparse and spare in comparison to all my friends and schoolmates, surely no reasonable person could deny one simple request which might make my drab 8th year of life just a bit more bearable. Why can’t we just this once have Cocoa Puffs instead of store-brand corn flakes? A quart of real chocolate milk, not just Nestle’s "Quick"? Anyone who could not see this simple reality is just mean, not fair! I look back now and wonder, what did I know about fair? "Where is the God of justice?" With a question like this people have "wearied" the Lord, says Malachi. The prophet lifts up for his audience what they had difficulty seeing: they were good at demanding justice for themselves, but not very good at doing justice. Malachi also lifts up for his audience the good news that in spite of this, God does not forsake them. God is faithful to them, even when they are unfaithful toward God and unfaithful in their relationships with each other. My parents would rarely comment on my rants or defend themselves from my judgements. If they had been just, they might have done that and even driven the lesson home with some punishment. But what did I know about fair? The best they could do was love me through the times I was sure they didn’t love me, and guide, nurture, and teach me in bits and pieces, what both love and justice might actually be. Malachi, literally "my messenger", points us to one who comes with more than justice. Malachi proclaims the God of covenant, the faithful one who, even when wearied, refines, renews and restores. Committed to us, this God takes us patiently by the hand, leads us away from the candy aisle and walks us home to the banquet of grace. --Bruce Davidson December 13 For four years I served as chaplain at Betak, a long-term care facility for people with AIDS. Betak was operated by the Lutheran Home at Germantown, which met some significant community opposition when it proposed establishing such a facility in a Mt. Airy neighborhood. After a costly seven-year battle, however, Betak’s 28 beds were finally made available to people living with AIDS in Philadelphia. When the Lutheran Home began to plan Betak, it was envisioned as a facility for middle and upper income mostly gay men who would want to spend their last days in a safe, and caring environment. However, during the time it took to get Betak up and running, new options for care and treatment became available for some of these people. This meant that many could now remain in their own home and receive care. Also, several new and modern hospice and end-care facilities had been opened in other places before Betak opened in 1992. There was, however, a growing population of people who did not have the resources they needed to take advantage of these latest care and housing opportunities. They were people with no money, insurance or care providers. They were men and women, straight and gay, mostly people of color. Many of them were homeless. Most were dealing with serious drug addictions. Some were alienated from loved ones due to years of abuse and manipulative behavior. Most were seriously ill with the symptoms of AIDS, and there was no place for them to go. It was as if God let a "sheet" down in front of this church-related ministry of care. Inside this sheet was a collection of people many would call "unclean". These were not the people we originally set out to serve, but by the grace of God, many of us were stretched enough to welcome and respond to the needs of this unexpected population. And it was an incredible blessing to us. With apologies to my Alma Mater, I have to say that the residents of Betak became the most significant teachers of theology I have ever encountered. So many of them were walking and witnessing examples of God’s grace and the sustaining power of faith. The first believers didn’t quite know what to make of the "uncircumcised" who began to be included in the church. Peter’s vision helped him and others to see how broadly God would define the church and its ministry. "John baptized with water", Peter said, "but you shall be baptized with the Holy Spirit!" Peter recognized that only the work of the spirit could build a body in which so many walls and divisions were broken down. The Christ who comes to embrace and save the world gives us the spirit. May the spirit strengthen and encourage us see the full breadth of the church’s ministry of hope and healing! -- Bruce Davidson December 14 Tuesday was a warm summer day -- as far from the December cold as possible. A nurse called me to attend to a family in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital. I had been to this room as a hospital chaplain many times before to visit with Barbara, although she never knew I had been there. Sometimes life’s most bitter fights are with the enemies that attack our physical bodies. This 30-year-old woman fought her enemy for a year. This time her room was filled with people and emotion. The nurse pulled me aside and said that Barbara’s life was near the end and that the family was trying to sing but the words kept getting choked between their tears. I heard the faint hum of the African-American spiritual "Soon and Very Soon" from a corner of the room. I joined the hum with words.
As we sang this third stanza I saw Barbara’s sister sigh and begin a heavy but quiet sob. Barbara died at that moment and yet we continued to sing with conviction that life had not ended for Barbara. Her life had begun.
Barbara was looking at her King. Eternal life began for Barbara with a gathering of saints surrounding her, summoning her King to her and to us. Sometimes advents find us at times other than December. In those Advent-waiting times, when we prepare for the death of someone near to us, we can sing with certainty because we are Christmas and Easter people. We are people who know Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection intimately. We know Christ’s gift of eternal life is for us. Sometimes we cannot see these Advent times as clearly as we want. Moments of death can be very dark. It is then that God provides for us a community of faith -- the community of saints -- who will gather to sing and proclaim Christ’s coming into the world. These gathered saints are a beacon of light in the deepest darkness. And they stand in the company of the angels proclaiming, Glory to God in the highest and peace to God’s people on earth. -- Jessicah Duckworth December 15 Advent, says the church, is a blue season December 16 They cast their nets in Galilee,
Just off the hills of brown; "Troubler of Israel", King Ahab called Elijah. They were never on very friendly terms. However even Elijah’s colleague Obadiah is "troubled" by the command to carry a simple message from the prophet to the King. Reading today’s text gives the impression that by this time in his ministry Elijah is about as welcome in Israel as a three-day flu during finals week. Contention, drought, famine accompany him wherever he goes. Be a friend or an enemy to this man only at your own risk! Yet it is the "troubler" who will bring the good news of God’s faithfulness to Israel. He will proclaim the end of a murderous drought and will be the means through which God will reveal the thousands who have not bent the knee to Baal. God uses the "troubler" to bring light out of the darkness of apostasy. The holiday season rings with the sentiments of peace and goodwill to all. We long for them, look for them, especially in troubling and frustrating times. Yet God calls us to see the unexpected truth that peace may come as a result of those who dare to stir things up: calling for justice, uncovering oppression, startling people out of apathy. When the good feelings fade and the sentiment wanes it may indeed be the voices that we would rather avoid that herald and usher in the coming of true peace. The peace of God, it is no peace, But strife closed in the sod. -- Bruce Davidson
December 17 O Wellspring of Joy, you have made known your mercy in the Word made
flesh. December 18 O God of Splendor, there is no speech nor words that tell of your marvelous
deeds. December 19 O King of Glory, the earth is yours and all that is in it. December 20 O God of Power, stir up your might, and come to save us! December 21 O Lord of mercy and hope, though we may go out weeping, bearing the
seed for sowing, we shall one day come home with shouts of joy, carrying
sheaves. December 22 O God of our Salvation, how long, how long will you be angry? December 23 O Lord of Light, you are our salvation, whom shall we fear? --Maritza Torres Dolich December 24 Once upon a time while the world for a sacred moment stood solemnly still, it came upon a midnight clear. Angels bending near the earth, singing full-throated, fortissimo, a glorious song: Glory to God, peace, good will -- Why? Because to a pair of ordinary unknowns from an insignificant town visiting in an unspectacular village in which they had no decent place to stay, a child was born. It is an odd and unsettling story that we have come to know by heart. We have romanticized and embellished it utterly out of shape. We have drained it of its strangeness. There is nothing new here. And yet, we read it again. Why? Perhaps because in a world that is loud with many sounds, the most holy and often hidden part of us still longs to hear the angels sing. The world is loud with the silence and alienation of weary people. The world is loud with cries of conflict and angry actions; retaliation and revenge run roughshod over reconciliation. The world is loud with the crushing load of the burdens of life. Loved ones lost, lost ones forgotten, little ones shuttled from here to there. The world is loud with many sounds that break our hearts, the fuel our skepticism, that scar our souls, but listen closely as you read this story yet again. Do you hear the sound of angels singing? Glory to God, peace, good will -- Listen. For the angels that sang to stunned shepherds once upon a time still sing. They do. And for those who listen for their song amidst the cackling confusion of the world, they sing a song of hope and peace. They sing the song of a savior born in an out of the way place among ordinary people. They sing a song of God with us, of God for us, of God become one of us so that we might be saved (if not spared) from the loud and deafening sounds around us and within. The angels sing at odd times in unexpected places among ordinary people like us. When, for a moment, we put aside our fears and insecurities and pride and simply love one another as we are never mind our differences. When compassion defeats competition. When reconciliation conquers recrimination. When an elder remembers long ago carrying her lit candle all the way home from Christmas Eve worship so that the light of Christ would live on in her home. Whenever we lift our meager voices in praise of the God who comes to us in the fullness of Christ -- not only infant but dead and raised -- even when some of us can’t carry a tune and don’t know a b-flat from a c-sharp, the angels sing. Glory to God, peace, good will -- There will continue to be the sounds of siren songs in our midst and sometimes or more than that we will be enticed by them, impressed by their power, lured by their false promises. But the angels sing. Present tense. And what they sing makes all the difference in the world, all the difference in our hearts, all the difference in our lives. They sing because a child is born, because God is with us. -- Rick Summy About our writers The authorship team for this little guide is comprised of many seminary voices. They include the Rev. Dr. Gordon Lathrop, Chaplain for the seminary and its Charles Schieren Professor of Pastoral Theology and Liturgy; Jessicah Duckworth, a seminary senior who is a Fund for Theological Education Scholar; the Rev. Maritza Torres Dolich, a recent seminary graduate and Latino scholar who serves part-time in the seminary's admissions office; Dr. Nelvin Vos, a seminary trustee and long-time professor of English Literature at Muhlenberg College; the Rev. Rick Summy, the seminary's director of admissions; Catherine J. Singley, a West Windsor, NJ, scholar in the seminary's Theological Education with Youth initiative, and the Rev. Bruce Davidson, who served many years as president of the seminary's Alumni/ae Association and who is director of the New Jersey Lutheran Office of Governmental Ministry. The seminary is deeply grateful for the contributions and reflections of this team for such a new Advent venture. We hope you enjoy this simple devotional piece. Let us know what you think of it. Mark A. Staples
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There
is a deep refreshment in Advent.