Waiting for Christmas

As we swiftly flow from Advent into Christmas, there is limited time for reflection on the worship of the last four weeks. The meetings to evaluate how things worked, how people were affected, and what kind of transformation occurred in our community will take place next month. But now, as I take down the elements of the waiting room, the memories and conversations are still alive in this place:

  • Shocked reactions of people being handed a birth announcement that reads, “Congratulations, you’re expecting!” The snarky comments of white-haired women were definitely more humorous than the glares and “I don’t think so!” responses from fathers of teenage daughters.
  • The pastor openly and adamantly declaring from the pulpit, “You know what I learned from watching a pot of water and waiting for it to boil? That I hate to wait! I want worship to start on time. Oh, that was brutal.”
  • People rolling their eyes at being invited into the worship space by number, and making comparisons with the DMV.
  • The guy who asked, “Next week, can we watch paint dry?”

Then, there are the conversations about having a new understanding of Advent, making connections to the worship we might practice during our everyday waits, and genuine gratitude for the time and thoughtfulness that went into planning and implementing it all.

Applying the philosophy of worship curation in our context led to Advent worship that was engaging, revelatory, and transformational. It gave talented, artistic people opportunities to participate in ways that did not exist here before. It strengthened our faith community and invited the neighborhood around us to join our waiting. It also gave the musical groups a better opportunity to prepare for Christmas.

You may remember from my first blog post, that Advent has not meant much to people in our community. Well, that was because, in previous years, the last three Sundays in Advent were filled with Christmas programs of some kind. Musical preparation for actual Christmas services then became an afterthought. We often would cherry-pick from the various musical numbers that we had done over the previous weeks and musically regurgitate them in our Christmas services. To me, that was fundamentally messed up, but that was the tradition. By curating Advent worship this year, Christmas worship is organically becoming unique and meaningful.

With fewer Christmas programs during Advent this year, our musical groups have created new arrangements of our favorite Christmas hymns/songs. Our Multimedia Arts team is working to bring the outside in by projecting a starry sky on the sanctuary ceiling. I am particularly excited about processing to the outdoor winter garden and placing Jesus in the nativity set as we sing “Silent Night” during our candlelight worship gathering.

Having waited patiently (and impatiently), we now flow into Christmas with hope, gratitude, and excitement for the arrival of the much-anticipated Savior.

How have your community’s Advent practices influenced your planned celebration of Christmas this year?

Image © W. Zachary Taylor

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Dinativity

Everyone knows that the advent of Jesus was around the time that we now call AD 1 (Anno Domini, “In the year of the/our lord”). Actually, some (that is, those hoity-toity types that don’t like notating general history with any reference to Jesus as God) now use CE (Christian Era).

Everyone also knows that dinosaurs existed between the Triassic period (245 million years ago) and the Cretaceous period (144 million years ago). Wait, did you know that? Even if you didn’t know that, at least you are familiar with the middle dinosaur period also known as the Jurassic period (approximately 208 million years ago) thanks to Hollywood and Michael Crichton.

Now, because of the wide discrepancy in time between the advent of dinosaurs and the advent of Jesus (give or take 230 million years) no one really ever stops to consider what might have occurred had these two existed at once on earth. I know I never had. Never, that is, until my son Asher started mingling his Fisher Price nativity scene with his growing collection of prehistoric reptiles (see photo above, click to enlarge.)

I know my son is only a pre-schooler, but at first sight of this monstrosity, I felt certain there were deep spiritual truths to be gleaned therein. Call it ‘supernatural inspiration’ or ‘accidental enlightenment,’ this dinativity provides for us a number of insights into the mind of God and additional reasons for which we can be grateful in this season.

First, take note of the ass that sits above the manger. According to Fisher Price, this is the spot upon which the angel Gabriel (currently middle, left) is supposed to reside. Instead, we find the angel helplessly writhing in pain after a swipe from the right claw of the T. Rex. This scene depicts the current disarray existing not just on earth, but also in the heavenly realm. As we long for Jesus’ second coming, we can look forward to the time when the spiritual powers and principalities will once again be in proper balance. Until then, we fight not against flesh and blood, but against all the unseen forces that threaten to tear down all that is good about our lives and our world. Until then, we must trek our addled lives on the back of asses waiting to be eternally buoyed-up on the wings of angels.

Note also, the baby Jesus, upside-down, but still in his crib of hay. I believe this is a profound allusion to the “upside-down” manner in which Jesus chose to save the world. He did not come as a political leader as many Jews assumed he would. He did not come in power and might as many others of the day would have hoped. He came as a tiny, defenseless, frail human baby. He was even subject to the knocking about by monstrous reptiles (had they actually existed in AD 1). The dinativity reminds us once again that in this world, it is not the first, the brightest, the prettiest, or the most successful that will find a similar spot in the kingdom of heaven. Christ came for the lowly, forlorn, down-trodden, sickly, weak and the poor ones. The kingdom that teenage and grown-up Jesus proclaimed is consistent with this dinativity message. For more on this, see Donald Kraybill’s seminal tome, The Upside-Down Kingdom.

Regard Mary’s position. She is on her back, no doubt initially ending up there from startled amazement at the sight of the Brontosaurus. Or perhaps she was knocked down by the wind of a tail-swat from that enormous creature. The point is, she has chosen to remain there. Face to Heaven. Arms upraised. If we were to hear the soundtrack of this grizzly scene—in addition to Queen Latifah’s addictive beat—we might also hear words similar to those recorded in Luke, chapter 1 coming from the mouth of Mary: “His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation.” It’s like Mary suddenly realizes that God’s mercy doesn’t just extend as far back as the book of Genesis. It goes further. Upon her recognition of the millions of years that came before and the true breadth of history through which the Trinity sustained, blessed, and acted in His creation, Mary magnifies the Lord.

By now, it ought to be clear why God chose in his infinite wisdom not to allow the advent of dinosaurs to coincide with the advent of Jesus. If you haven’t already finished your daily devotions, take a moment now and thank the Lord for his wisdom and his grace. Thank him for his decision to keep modern humanity and prehistoric reptiles at a healthy, 230 million year distance from each other.

Finally, if you have a 3 year old (or 4, or 5 year old), run out before it’s too late and get them a Fisher Price nativity scene. Why don’t you also pick up a couple prehistoric reptiles. You never know what spiritual lessons might be lurking just around the corner.

Image © Eric Herron

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Wrestling with Incarnation

I spent a nice chunk of time last night hanging out with my journal and a bottle of red wine while I processed through a deep personal disappointment. Next to me, on the table, was the Christmas Eve liturgy I’d been working on yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t help but notice that so many of the images of incarnation—of GOD encased in the here and now—and it got me wondering… Do I really believe that I see it? Do I really believe that this is happening all around me?

Yes.

The problem is: I don’t believe that the sign-posts that I’ve been given are pointing in the right direction. AND I don’t believe that incarnation is that in-or-out, here-or-not. Therein lies the rub for me.

The deep soul of the incarnation’s story starts with slow waiting bearing down on hopelessness, with an arduous and messy labor, and with questions hanging around the manger even as people bent their knees to worship. Incarnation—at its very core—is never without wrestling.

Here’s what I wrestle with: Where does incarnation “begin”? Who bears it into the world? Tim Burton, the homeless lady I passed on my way to church, Bach, the nameless nun who hands out condoms to sex workers, a song, a caress? That seems more honest to me than the Contemporary Christian Music or church programming. Does it only count if it’s (manipulatively) branded as spiritual or “redemptive”? How do we acknowledge, nay, even celebrate and tremble at mystery without having an apologetic for it? How often can we say “I don’t know” or better yet, “we don’t know” and still practice and grasp onto incarnation? When can beautiful explode beyond “pretty” and also mean “disturbing,” “grotesque,” “honest” when we talk about this birth of the sacred into the world?

…sigh…

I’m not actually looking for answers. In many ways, these are just rhetorical questions to be spun around and acknowledged as I go along. I am looking for wrestlers, for grapplers, for architects, and dreamers. Those who are the midwives of the sacred. This is my Advent star-seeker’s journey. I carry no disillusion that I will wake up one misty morning with any of these questions put to rest. That would be disingenuous to the process. Not all who wander are lost…

Giving up certainty. Giving up compasses. Giving up self-protected interior spaces. Giving up notions that we know GOD. Giving up spiritual arrogance. Giving up career-oriented church callings. Giving up above-averageness. Giving up against-the-worldness. Giving up consolation. Giving up quantity. Giving up old maps. These are incarnational invitations.

I have to admit, I’ve always been suspicious of those who don’t doubt, wrestle with, speculate on the bigger questions or those who make Advent a season of “and now Jesus is here” finality. Would Jacob have been chosen by God if he’d surrendered without the infamous ferocity and suspicion? Would Job have stood the test if he hadn’t worshipped in the midst of his sadness, questions and crying out while the Presence of God, the revelation of God, seemed nowhere to be found? Luther sparked a reformation with one initial, internal question: is GOD merciful? Really? then proceeded to wrestle with himself, with GOD, and with the Church.

If you are brave enough, if you are weary enough, I have something to say to you: Let the match begin.

Image: “Fear Not” © Mandy Smith

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Someone Said

This Advent, I’d like to invite you beyond a merely sentimental understanding of Christmas as “waiting for the baby Jesus” to an adult and social appreciation of the message of the Incarnation of God in Christ. We Franciscans have always believed that the Incarnation was already the Redemption, because in Jesus’ birth God was already saying that it was good to be human, and God was on our side, and on the side of all creation.

From Richard Rohr‘s Daily Meditations for the First Sunday of Advent

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The View From Your Pew

Date: December 4, 2011

Time: 10:30 am

Location: 26 Concord Road, Sudbury, Massachusetts, USA

Event: Second week of Advent

Church: Memorial Congregational Church, United Church of Christ

Caption: The Advent Spiral, an MCC tradition, was included in worship for the first time. Choir member Rachel O’Brien took this picture from the choir loft. Even though we attempted to darken the sanctuary by covering the large stained glass window, the morning sun found its way into the sanctuary and illuminated the center of the spiral.

Photo © Rachel O’Brien, submitted by Tom O’Brien


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