Andrea Woolley

The four Sundays of Advent are too often seen as the countdown to Christmas, as the time when we get things ready for Christmas. Santa Clause has been out since well before Halloween. Shopping lists are growing and the number of shopping days is shrinking. Menus are being planned. Travel is being arranged. Families are gathering. Expectations and hopes are growing. The countdown is well underway. Trees need decorating and presents need wrapping. Somewhere in all that is the stuff of everyday life – work, school, car pool, sports, paying bills, and running errands. There is so much to do and time is running out. The temptation is to live a "hurry-up, get busy, Christmas is almost here," Advent. That is not the liturgical understanding of Advent. That kind of Advent can only lead to a "hurry-up, get to church, open the presents, take down the tree, Christmas is over," Christmas.

The four Sundays of Advent are not the time when we prepare for Christmas but the time in which we are being prepared for Christmas. Advent is a time when the Church stands up in the face of the busyness of life, shopping, parties, cooking, traveling, and decorating and asks us to slow down, be still, and be quiet. We are to keep awake, looking and listening for the God who is always coming to us. We are called to prepare the way of the Lord. We watch and reflect on who we are. We look for the Christ in all the unexpected places – in the stuff of everyday life, in the poor, the hungry, and the needy. We live with expectancy and anticipation of God’s presence in our lives. We wait for the angelic messenger that promises us that the womb of our humanity will bear a child named Jesus.

That is hard work any time but especially in one of the busiest times of the year which may just mean it is even more necessary. Advent reminds us that waiting and watching are holy work. So how do we do this? Silence is the key. Silence is a way of waiting, a way of watching, and a way of listening to what is going on within and around us. We come to self-knowledge through stillness and silence, through attentiveness and watchfulness.

So I wonder what we would discover if for the Season of Advent we took five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes even an hour each day to just sit in silence and stillness waiting and watching. What would the Coming One show us, say to us?

John Arnett

Advent is that time of year when we turn toward the beginnings of the life of Jesus. Granted, we can’t verify through other sources the events Luke and Matthew record, but Jesus came from some beginning, and the one we have seems to serve us well. The main fact is that God decided to invest himself in the life of a person we could hear and see. We call that incarnation. It’s a creative act of God.

The story of Jesus is much like the architect, owner, and builder of a new house or addition. God "humbled" himself, "becoming as human beings are." He watched his son grow up and, like the patient builder, saw the project through to completion. Unlike the construction of a building though, I’m not convinced that God had Jesus’ life mapped out like a blueprint. I think there was some improvising along the way, and some collateral damage as well. The angels had to intervene to save Joseph and his family, but couldn’t protect the "innocents" from Herod’s sword. A stable had to do when the inn was filled. And some thirty-three years later in the garden, Jesus was searching to know the will of the Father.

But the project was completed, and some 2014 years later we’re still here talking about the beginning. We’re also reminded that our lives are also a building project, and God and the angels stand by ready to assist us with the plans, the construction, and, yes, the improvising. Bless this house.

Brittani Bair

The Kingdom of Heaven… we’re supposed to be constantly proclaiming this. We try to look like it, we try to make it real. As ministers, we strive to collect and maintain instruments of Kingdom-encounter. Our Kingdom-lore tells us the Kingdom is both a place we find at our own death and the place we try to make manifest in life.

I know a lot of people in the Kingdom, I think I always have. Maybe that’s why I never miss church. Even on vacation, I go to church somewhere. This All Saints’ Sunday, Jason’s sermon reminded me why. The divided halves of the Kingdom, the here and there, touch each other in the Holy Space that is worship. Cognitively, I had forgotten this. But the heart remembers. Church has always drawn me like a moth to a flame. The Kingdom calls, constantly, deep within. Even before so many friends joined our "second balcony", that cloud of witnesses that worships with us each Sunday, I could feel the compelling thrall of the Kingdom, the tolling of a church bell in my soul, bidding me come join the gathered Saints.

Jason’s sermon about heaven hit home with the image of a distant shore… "’til Thy harbor is our home," he reminded us. It triggers some kind of deeply fused grief echo when we talk too long about heaven and so by the end of the sermon I was crying. I had decided that was okay because I didn’t have to get up and lead anything until the Prayers of the People. I would have until the end of Communion to compose myself. Then of course… the fire alarm.

When the alarm went off, Andrea left to check on the children and the alarm system. I was needed to fill in at the communion table, the tears still wet on my cheeks and my throat still a bit tight. But at the table I went from grieving my distance from those I’ve "lost" into the Kingdom, to being in awe of my proximity to them as I stood at the table we share with the Beyond. By the time I led the prayer, I realized I hadn’t been composing myself to pray but exposing myself to the Holy.

Quinn Chipley

Karen Blixen wrote of a time in Kenya:

"’Msabu,’he said again, ‘I think you had better get up. I think that God is coming.’ When I heard this I did get up, and asked him why he though so. He gravely led me into the dining-room which looked West, towards the hills. From the door-windows I now saw a strange phenomenon. There was a big grass-fire going on, out in the hills, and the grass was burning all the way from hill-top to the plains; when seen from the house it was a near vertical line. It did indeed look as if some gigantic figure was moving and coming towards us. I stood for some time and looked at it, with Kamante watching by my side, then I began to explain the thing to him. I meant to quiet him, for I thought he had been terribly frightened. But the explanation did not seem to make much impression on him one way or the other; he clearly took his mission to have been fulfilled when he called to me. ‘Well yes,’ he said, ‘It may be so. But I thought that you had better get up in case it was God coming.’ (Out of Africa, Modern Library, p. 41)

I also lived in Kenya for a few years, some sixty years after the event in Blixen’s vignette. I was sent by Baptists as a missionary, one to carry the Gospel. I taught some English, and I experienced many things I will always treasure. But I wonder now how much more I had missed by making my explanations to a people who were still shocked by several generations of a white-skinned arrogance, a brutality that had too often carefully cloaked itself in Christian religion? How often had I dismissed God’s messenger?

Blake Ragsdale

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In this way,

If you want to be heard

truly deeply and completely,

listen

truly deeply and completely

now.

If you want to be understood

truly deeply and completely,

practice understanding

truly deeply and completely

now.

If you want to be forgiven

truly deeply and completely,

forgive

truly deeply and completely

now.

If you want to be loved

truly deeply and completely,

love

truly deeply and completely

now.

If you want to be happy

truly deeply and completely,

create the conditions for other people to be

truly deeply and completely happy

now.

Love now, forgive now,

create happiness in this moment,

there is no other time to do so;

no past, no future,

only this present moment

to love, forgive, listen, understand.

So, begin

then don't stop giving without reservation;

not the giving of miserly sacrifice

but from the abundance of one

to whom much has been given,

even if not fully realized.

This is the path to the peace

that passes understanding;

rooted in giving away what you cannot own,

sharing what you cannot possess;

spontaneously initiated

without waiting for the other person

or for the world to go first.

You are the other person,

you are the world.

Commit completely.

Commit now.

Benjamin Brackney Conver

Advent is a wonderful time of year. For me, it conjures up many wonderful warm memories that center around the fellowship and love of family. But not everyone can share this type of memory, and personally I'd like for my Christian family to always feel they are family to me. But how do I ask for my Advent memories to be yours? Or better yet, how can I help someone who may not feel at home, or part of the family, feel differently this Advent season? For me, this is where one of the less desirable characteristics of my personality actually comes in quite handy. It's been my experience that sometimes even a selfish prayer, if specific enough, can be a very good prayer. The best way it's been explained to me is we can't get to know someone who loves us if we can't first get to know and love ourselves. 

This month has been a heavy month for me- I've been on crutches while several broken bones mended and have been trying to keep a blood clot under control. Being constrained by my brokenness has made it difficult for me to contribute anything more than just my presence at times. But I don't get to decide the times and places that God unfolds his marvelous mystery. The best I can hope for is to be alert and listening when this happens. So I've been very selfishly praying for specific guidance and understanding of how I can better help and contribute to his plan. I'd like to think this devotional is my answer. My thought is to inspire in you what was inspired in me, thus realizing that asking a selfish prayer can in fact be good. My hope is that you invite my prayer into your heart, and let this devotional open a door to enlarge your Christian family. You never know- someone may be praying just for you...

Dixon Martin

How does God speak to you? Is it in the flash of lightening? The rumble of thunder? Howling wind? The reverberation of an earthquake? Or is it the gentle whisper of a loving parent? Are you listening?

God used a windstorm, an earthquake, a fire and a whisper to teach Elijah that sometimes the voice of God is found in quietness.

It is easy for us to let the frenetic pace of the holiday season drown out the voice of God. We are continually bombarded with loud messages: Buying this will mean a wonderful Christmas! Eating this will invoke the joy of Christmases past! Drinking this strengthens friendships! Doing this will bring back all of the delight of childhood Christmases! In order to celebrate Jesus and show your love, you must be merry! You must decorate more, buy better, and give more! There is so much pressure.

Take some time to listen to God’s whispers this holiday season. Get away from the hustle, bustle, noise and lights. Breathe deeply. Think about what is really important.

Eugina Robertson

During my first year at Seminary, I went home for Christmas, in Oklahoma, which would turn out to be the last time I saw my father alive. I was having a difficult time coping with the conflicting feeling of the joy of the Christmas season, and the grief I felt as I was reminded of that last Christmas I had before my father died in February.  I had been visiting Crescent Hill, and the litany for Advent for lighting the candles was, "We are reminded by the darkening of the days through winter that God has sent us a Great Light and the darkness could not overcome it." Throughout the service I was captivated by the window decorations of a lit candle, with a small dead branch and a small branch of holly at the base of the candle. This became a comforting image to me of the light in the darkness with the dead branch and the thorny leaves of the holly representing the paradox of Christ's suffering passion which gave us the joy of new life.  I later attended a bereavement service during Advent for those of us struggling with the grief of the joy of Christmas, which helped me to heal even more. I learned how to honor my feelings of  grief and loss with a richer depth of gratitude and joy. I identified with the melancholy longing and hope of the promised Messiah, along with the joyous celebration of the light that shineth in the dark Bethlehem streets.

John Birkimer

In the summer of 1985 my 20 year-old son John Matthew was killed in a traffic accident. This followed by only a few months my own surgery for coronary heart disease. I had survived; he did not. This began a very dark time for me. A void had opened. I knew time would gradually let other activities fill the time he had spent with me; I doubted the ache in my heart would ever be soothed. Some mornings required a visit to his gravesite at Cave Hill. At Christmas, I placed a small ornament on the wreath on his grave, then recovered it as a remembrance to treasure.

Years passed. Visits to Cave Hill became less frequent but still quite painful. The feeling of loss remained. Then one beautiful October Sunday Sharleen and I were riding our bicycles in the neighborhood near the cemetery. The day was beautiful. Soft sunlight filtered through the leaves remaining on the trees. Other leaves rustled as our wheels disturbed them.

We pulled onto Grinstead Drive across from the cemetery and started coasting back toward Bardstown Road. And I realized then that this life remained good. Cave Hill was no longer so painful. My son was gone, but he was not in pain. He was at rest; as the Catholics say, "eternal rest". And my heart, too, rested.

I cannot say with certainty that God was near that day. But the peace came then. And I will be eternally grateful.

Dorothy Spurr

I have spent much of my life waiting. I took my first college courses after both of my children had finished graduate school. I received my Bachelor’s Degree when I was sixty-five. In my fifties my first piece of writing was published. It was entitled, "Singleness: A Widow’s Perspective," a subject I was acquainted with since I had been widowed in my late forties. A friend asked me recently why I had not remarried until I was sixty. I replied, "Because the right man didn’t come along until then; I had to wait." I believe God has given me the gift of waiting. This is so counter-cultural that frequently I have to explain to people that I don’t MIND waiting. For one thing it gives me time to reflect and anticipate.

This gift of waiting served me best five years ago when I suddenly fell seriously ill. Tests, x-rays, and scans did not lead to a diagnosis. So for two months, I was given six different antibiotics in succession, and was told of several possible causes for the weight loss, cough, and weakness I was experiencing. Finally a pulmonary specialist ordered invasive surgery for a biopsy of an enlarged lymph node in my chest. This and further testing led to a diagnosis of Tuberculosis. The TB clinic sent a nurse five days a week to administer the TB medication. My body quickly responded, and I was out of isolation in just three weeks. But the incision from the biopsy would not heal. So the surgeon ordered an additional nurse to visit every day to check on the wound and care for it. For four months we prayed and waited. I shall never forget the look on my nurse’s face the morning she removed the dressing and saw the beginning of that beautiful new skin. She didn’t have to say a word; I knew. We hugged and wept, and rejoiced! Today I bear the visible scar from that waiting with joy and thanksgiving.

Sharleen Birkimer

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Nutrients are the chemical components of our food and beverages. There at least 18 essential nutrients which can be placed into six categories: protein, lipids, carbohydrate, vitamins, minerals and water. I find God in the way our body uses these nutrients to make cells, organs and organ systems. I can feel God’s presence as I think of the organs of the digestive, reproductive, neurological, cardiac, endocrine and related bodily systems.

I taught hospital patients and university students about nutrition in health and disease from 1963 to 2002. I also did some research in malnutrition, cardiac disease and breast cancer. Sometimes when I was talking to people, or doing research, I could feel God’s presence as I talked or learned about the marvelous, and somewhat mysterious, ways our body takes the chemical components of food and beverages, breaks them down or combines them, and excretes some of them in health and disease. The exact chemical processes that are used to do this are not known and will not ever be known. Through good scientific research God is slowly revealing the mysteries of our bodily processes. When I read both good theological information and scientific research I feel God is slowly being revealed to us.

I recently attended the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics convention in Atlanta. I have been a member of this Academy for 50 years. As I roamed around the exhibits and attended some research sessions along with at least 10,000 other men and women, I could feel God was pleased with what I have been able to do to help people learn about the use of the nutrients in our bodies and to feel closer to having done what God asked me to do in my professional career.

John Arnett

From the Magnificat in Luke1:46-55 (New Jerusalem Bible)

When, as a physician, I miss a diagnosis, fail to order a key lab test, and commit other errors of omission or commission, I find it easy to see the arrogance flee from my heart. Accompanying such mistakes are the twin feelings of sadness for the fate of the patient and the fear of the consequences of being sued. As I graduated from medical school many years ago, I figured I’d be sued about ten times before I finished my tour of duty in this profession, and I’ve had to find a way to continue working despite whatever missteps I’ve made. One coping mechanism is to visualize the worst case scenarios and then realize, especially at this time when we celebrate the birth of a child, that we brought nothing into this world and will take nothing out.

Regret can lead to depression, and years ago I learned to interpret the frequent references to "enemies" in the Psalms as being code words for depression. Thus in Psalm 23, we’re told "he prepares for us a table in the presence of our enemies." In the Benedictus, Zechariah holds forth the promise:

"The Lord God…would grant us, free from fear,

To be delivered from the hands of our enemies,

To serve him…..all our days."

The task before us every day, then is to continue trying to do "what needs to be done" despite our failures. Just as Advent comes around each year, even so, every day offers us a new beginning, and God offers us the gift of forgiveness.

Brittani Bair

Kingdom recipes… that’s how I’ve decided to interpret Advent this year, as a recipe-share. Perhaps this devotion booklet should be seen as a cookbook, a collection of the times we’ve gotten the conditions and ingredients close enough that the Kingdom of God has emerged warmly and deliciously from the cookie sheets and casserole dishes of our souls.

Food is just one potential ingredient in a Kingdom-recipe. It’s a good start, but it’s not mandatory. One recipe I’ve already written about was the "heaven sermon, communion table, fire alarm" recipe. Now I would like to write about the "sleeping bag, campfire, guitar" recipe. (This one has optional food ingredients: marshmallow, Hershey bar, graham cracker, FYI.)

This year I decided the youth needed to try this recipe out together in the middle of nowhere. While they found my actual food planning lack-luster, the Youth Retreat recipe still produced edible Kingdom-moments. Most of these happened around the campfire… which must be something that resonates with humanity on a primitive level. Gathered around campfires for two nights, we sang songs, shared stories, made memories and communed with God.

On the first night, we had Darrell Adams with us. Darrell + guitar + campfire is one of the simplest and best-tasting Kingdom recipes I know. Like a no-bake cookie, when the ingredients get warm, they just stick together Holy.

On the second night, the youth just started telling stories about their grandparents, which for our American youth were love stories and for our Karen youth were ghost stories. Looking into the campfire flames they journeyed across time and space to bring forth these echoes of love, and of loss, mostly for the joy of screaming at the end and scaring each other. Silly as it may have been intended, there’s something Holy about sitting in a circle with friends around a fire. Whether we sing our praises up at the stars, scream our fears out into the darkness, of just howl joyfully at the moon, dancing by the flames of Heaven.

Blake Ragsdale