Some Important Messages

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Little Lord Jesus, [No] crying he makes...

A few weeks ago, New York Daily News dropped a bomb on the American public with this cover:
 
 
The headline is a response to the social media storm that inevitably follows any act of terror or disaster: it seems obligatory for each of us to type out a status of "praying for victims of [name-that-shooting/disaster]." The headline and corresponding article point the finger at politicians [particularly conservative politicians, even though all politicians have a penchant for posting prayers...], indicating that God isn't answering prayers because politicians aren't taking action.
 
I was watching the Today show, eating my breakfast with my husband, when this headline was plastered across our TV screen. I was filled with multiple emotions, knowing that both sides of the argument would represent God in an ethereal, genie-in-a-bottle type way. I felt dread, knowing the responses would be trite and simplistic. I felt disappointment in the way that the world views our God. I know that I am late to the table on this debate; the explosion of debate and heated arguments flooded the internet for the next several days and fizzled as quickly as it arose. But for those of us who follow an incarnational, intimate God and believe in the power of intercessory prayer, this is not an issue that burns itself out nor is it one we can afford to ignore.
 
I was in third grade when the Oklahoma City bombing occurred. I remember writing some kind of essay about it, and I can remember my teacher expressing sympathy in our class for the victims and their families. I can remember people talking about getting justice and the death penalty. It was scary and sad. It was on the news, and we prayed for victims at church on Sunday morning. My family talked about it because my dad's original birth certificate was destroyed in it.
 
 
I was in 7th grade when the shooting at Columbine occurred. This time it felt personal. Our junior high felt insecure and unsafe; a few impish kids tried copycat threats, by bringing small knives or unloaded weapons to school. Groups met in the counselor's office and my Social Studies teacher created a plan in case it should ever happen in our school. I can remember feeling a lot of fear and a lot of sadness. I felt bad for the victims, but I also felt bad for the perpetrators. At the time, we heard they had been bullied, and we were taught to reconsider the way we treated others in our classes. Again, it was all over the news, but I didn't go to church that Sunday. I don't know if churches prayed for the victims, and if I prayed, I prayed for myself and my school and my fear.
 
 
 
I was in 10th grade when terrorists hit the Twin Towers on 9/11. I vividly remember the line down the hall for the pay phones, and I remember one girl clinging to the pay phone sobbing. We learned later that a family member of hers had been killed in the attacks. This was news like nothing we had ever experienced; the TV was entirely immersed in images from the day, and politicians made vows to retaliate, to declare war on terrorism, in short, to do something. It was one of the only Sundays of my time in high school when my family went to church. The pastor asked us to take off our watches because we needed time to be with God after this tragedy. He then proceeded to preach for an hour, during which he placed the blame for the attacks on liberals, sinners, homosexuals, and divorced people alike. I felt angry and hollow. I couldn't understand this God who punishes seemingly at random, who causes terror and violence. If I prayed beyond that, I prayed for my mom, who worked in a skyscraper in Pittsburgh, and again for my fear.
 
 
It wasn't until the shooting at Virginia Tech, that I first experienced a social media explosion in response to terror. I was a junior in college. Facebook was 2 years old, and it was primarily a site for college students. The culture of 20-somethings reigned on Facebook. Virginia Tech was scary because I went to a small liberal arts college in New Wilmington, PA with very little security and a hospital that was 30 minutes away. It was scary because girls I had gone to high school with were on the campus when it happened, and it was hard to get in touch with them. It was scary because, as a student I depended on my university for safety and security; there was very little that I could do to prevent an attack, and there was nothing I could do to ease the pain of those suffering. People posted black ribbons for Virgina Tech and said, "Prayers for Virginia Tech."
 
 
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I can remember this burning feeling of being helpless, of wanting to do something. I can remember downloading that ribbon and creating my Facebook post. I can remember feeling like I did something, like I was a part of a larger movement of compassion. Because of social media, I could do something from the comfort and security of my own dorm room; because of Facebook, I could do something without doing anything at all.
 
Of course, it wasn't like I did nothing. My elementary Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Schwartz, would take our prayer requests, and she would ask us to pray for her as she struggled with diabetes, which ultimately would take her life. Mrs. Schwartz would say, "There is nothing more hurtful than telling someone you will pray for them and then neglect to do so. You are making them a promise that you will bring them to God; you are compelled to make good on that promise." Along with many others, I truly did lift the victims in my prayers, this time feeling a deeper sense of compassion than ever before. And I prayed for myself, for my fear and the fear of my fellow students.
 
 
Fast forward several years to the Newtown massacre. For me, the harm of a child is as appallingly painful as it gets. I cannot even watch the ending of the Dark Knight because Harvey Dent points a gun in the direction of a small child. The tragedy of Newtown was more than I could emotionally bear. Although the pastor at our church expressed anger, grief, and pain from the pulpit on Sunday morning, it wasn't enough to satiate my grief. Again, the internet was flooded with prayers for the victims, but this time, I did not feel united to others in grief. I felt bitter and cynical; how many of these people actually prayed for these victims? How many of them pray any other time of year? The sentiments, however well-intentioned, felt hollow, routine, and even callous. I must not have been the only one who felt this way because the political response on Facebook was more pronounced than I had seen before. Suddenly, my entire friend-list is an expert on gun-control laws and mental illness; where my 10th grade pastor blamed 9/11 on homosexuals and sinners, my Facebook  feed blamed Newton on every person who owns a gun and untreated schizophrenia. Perhaps worse was the flood of memes which quoted Mr. Rogers:
 
 
As though looking at the silver lining could somehow make the tragedy lessen. As though the good being done could somehow outweigh the vastness of the evil.
 
And so it has continued with every tragedy since: we respond with prayer, trite popular sayings, and assignment of blame. We do all of this because tragedy pushes us into what sociologists call "anome" or a state of being when the traditional rules of our world are turned upside down. All of our lives, we are taught that the good-guys win and we live in a safe, secure country; in tragedy, we learn that the bad-guys sometimes make a larger mark on the world than the good guys, and sense of security is a false one. We respond because doing nothing feels miserable and makes us vulnerable to our fear. Our prayers, our quotations, our blame - all of it is an expression of our overwhelming fear. This my friends, is the exact desired effect of those who terrorize; every time we give in to our fears, we submit to the power of those who terrorize. Perhaps new gun legislation or mental health care would make a difference in our country. Perhaps the helpers are examples of what humans can do when we are faced with deep adversity. Perhaps we say earnest and honest prayers to God for what has happened. None of these, in my estimation, are the answers we seek. None of these, as far as I can tell, would eradicate the fear we feel.
 

So...Jesus...

So all of this brings us back to where we started. Is God really not fixing this? Does God hear the prayers being offered up on social media, by politicians and civilians, by believers and non-believers alike? In Christmas, God gives us his answer: God gives us Jesus, who is Emmanuel, which means God. with. us.
 
"She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
"Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him,
Emmanuel"
which means, God is with us.
Matthew 1.21-23
 
God became flesh and dwelt among us in the person of Jesus Christ; God continues to be present with us by the power of the Holy Spirit. It is a simple truth, and yet one that we struggle to appreciate or understand. In fact, God is with us, God is on earth right now, working for good in the world and bringing about his Kingdom on earth.
 
And many people have pointed out that in fact these "helpers" described by Mr. Rogers are the Holy Spirit at work right now. Their actions of kindness and compassion are the acts of God in a weary world. Sure. I can buy that. But it's not enough.
 
Many others have pointed out that God has called us into action through the Holy Spirit. That it isn't God who should be fixing this, but we, who can lobby for our political agendas and create legislation to prevent further gun violence. Sure. I can buy that. But it's not enough.
 
We know it's not enough because as painful as it was to read the words, "God isn't fixing this," on a newspaper, we Christians felt extra pain because it felt far too true.
 

God's answer...

I in no way claim to have some special knowledge of how God is fixing this or responding to our prayers. But I do believe in a God who reveals God's self through scripture, and displays for us that God is not in the business of granting wishes like a genie or leaving the people of the world to their own devices for solutions. God is in the business of answering prayer in God's own time and God's own way. When I say that, I don't mean that God has a reason for senseless violence; and I don't mean that God needed another angel because he doesn't; and I don't mean that God is waiting for us to get our act together before God acts. What I mean is two things:
 
God always has a message of hope
 
When the Israelites cried out while they were slaves in Egypt, God was moved by their cries.
 
When Elijah is persecuted and hiding in the wilderness, God comes to him and speaks to him in a still small voice.
 
When the Jews go into exile and cry out to their God, God leaves the temple and comes to them by the rivers of Babylon.
 
When the people cried out for a king to save them from exile, God sent them a messiah in the form of Jesus.
 
When the thief repents of his sin on the cross next to Jesus, Jesus tells him that he will be in paradise.
 
The most common phrase in all of scripture is, "Do not be afraid." It is a message shared by God and angels alike when they meet people for extraordinary conversation. We are a people drenched in fear, suffocated by terror, consumed with anxiety. God has a message of hope for us, that even in our deep fear, God brings us calm and peace, both internally and externally. I don't know what God is doing to fix the violence in our nation, but I can say with certainty that God's message to let go of fear rings as true today as it did in the Old Testament. When we pray, God is not just a star upon whom we make a wish for peace and lack of violence; rather God is a friend, a confidant, a caring parent. We can confess our fear; we can invite the Holy Spirit to overpower the spirit of fear in the world.
 
God rarely does what is expected.
 
I have no doubt that God is at work, but I strongly doubt that God will act in the ways we expect. God is sort of famous for turning the world upside down and doing things in a different way than we expect.
 
When God brings the Israelites out of slavery, he leads them into the desert instead of the promised land.
 
When God selected a king for Israel, he chose the smallest boy in Jesse's family, David, and made an everlasting covenant with him.
 
When there was a plot within the Assyrian government to get rid of the Jews, God sent an attractive young woman named Esther to save the country.
 
When the Jewish people in exile cried out for a new political regime, God sent a messiah, born in a stable.
 
When the Jewish people found the messiah in Jesus Christ, he didn't overthrow the Roman Empire. Instead, he lived in poverty, ate with sinners, ridiculed the religious leaders, and was put to death on a cross.
 
When Jesus died, the disciples thought all was lost, but God surprised them by defeating death through the resurrection.
 
 

Little Lord Jesus, [no] crying he makes...

On Christmas Eve, Dan spoke in his sermon about how we often imagine a baby Jesus who is calm and quiet, with no crying or fussiness. Dan described baby Jesus as being like any other baby, coming into the world with cry of life, and that Jesus to this day cries for our world. I love this image.
 
 
As we greet Christmas in a world that is broken and grieving, I hope that we do pray. I hope that we lift our fear, our anxiety, our helplessness to our God, who weeps with us, who gives us hope, and who does a new and unexpected thing. In a culture that is accustomed to immediate answers and wishes granted, we do not feel comfortable waiting and we act to assuage our own fears. Let us sit in discomfort and follow the God who acts, perhaps unexpectedly. Above all, may we believe, truly, that God is living and dwelling among us and is at work in the world today.
 

Some other articles you might like

 
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Longest Night, Brightest Light

Every year at this time, the old annual debate comes out over whether we ought to greet one another with "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays." To the point where these memes come forward:
 
 
 
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We Christians want ownership over the winter holiday season; we long for the days gone by when Christmas overwhelmed all of society and brought people together. We believe in our heart of hearts the Jesus came to bring peace on earth, and if folks would accept the Christmas spirit into their lives, this would make for a better more peaceful society. Our intentions are, primarily, good.
 
In truth, the history of Christmas reveals that we did not invent the season. For millennia, not just generations, not just centuries, not even just a thousand years, but for millennia societies have been celebrating a holiday during this the second to last week of December. When Christianity took hold in the Roman Empire, the celebration of Christmas replaced Saturnalia, an entirely pagan holiday.
 
It is entirely on purpose that Christians chose the Winter Solstice to celebrate the birth of the Messiah. The Winter Solstice is the time at which the earth leans furthest away from the sun, and we resultantly receive the shortest amount of daylight and the longest night of the year.
 
As I write this blog, the weather here in Fort Mill could not be cooperating in a better way. It is gloomy, dark, and rainy - a perfect reminder that today in fact we celebrate the Winter Solstice, meaning the longest night of the year occurred last night.
 
We are a people shrouded in the darkness of winter, and it can take its toll. The darkness and the frenzy and the gloom of the weather can contribute to our downtrodden moods, and we are reminded of sour memories, loved ones no longer with us, and ongoing troubles. I am humorously reminded of the Sunday Night Live sketch in which Dana Carvey sings to the tune of Carol of the Bells, "Leave me alone, just go away, I'm doing fine, just go away."
 
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This sketch was so successful because it was a humorous display of sadly accurate truth. The darkness of winter seeps into our bones and builds barriers in our relationships. And in a world full of divorce, debt, war, violence, and illness, we are a people who are familiar with the darkness of winter, with the longest night, with the gloom of despair. People all around the world feel the darkness of our planet; it is an essential truth of this time of year. In a morose way, we are drawn together by our mutual shade.
 

The light in the darkness...

 
This darkness is why Christians 1500 years ago chose to celebrate the birth of Messiah at this time. The gospel of John begins in this way:
 
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
 
The darkness. These words speak to me at this time of year because the Solstice brings with it the gloom of darkness. In Pittsburgh, we have 300 cloudy days per year. Yes, that's right 300 {you can see I flew south...}. This time of year marks the gloomiest time of year for many cities, and today, it marks us in Fort Mill.
 
It seems to me that I have read this passage hundreds of times, but the image of darkness in my mind was always something simple. My childhood friends and I used to play a game called "Darkman" when we would turn the lights off in a room and play tag. The darkness brought thrill and excitement, and there was always the safety of being able to turn on the light.
 
True darkness is another matter. Years ago, I had the opportunity to go spelunking with a group of college students. The leader brought us to one of the larger caverns in the cave and then instructed us to turn off our head lamps. The darkness that followed was different than anything else I had ever experienced. It was thick, inky, and smothering. You couldn't see shadows or shades or even your own hand in front of you. No, the darkness was absolute.
 
This darkness will occasionally spread its shade across our souls. In loss, in anxiety, in disease, in a lack of hope - we are acquainted with this kind of darkness, and we do our best to cast light on it or suppress it.
 
Yet scripture here reminds us that Jesus is the light which shines into that darkness, the light which penetrates the thick darkness, which brings form and substance to the world around us. This absolute darkness may well exist, but the absolute light of Jesus Christ overcomes it. In just a few short days, we will read this scripture at our Christmas Eve services and utilize many symbols to remind us of the light of Christ bursting into the darkness. I can see nothing more appropriate than celebrating the return of light into a dark and weary world as nature itself does the same thing.
 
Individuals all over the world today are celebrating the sunrise after the longest night, knowing that the sun, the light brings hope for a brighter tomorrow, literally. Thousands of people gathered at Stonehenge last night to greet the sun as it rose after the long night. We too will gather on Thursday to greet a different kind of Son, who brings a different kind of light.
 
 

My prayer...

 
 
My prayer for us today is that we would approach this holiday season as people of the light, people who bring light where there is darkness, rather than people who contribute to darkness with cynical thoughts and angry words. I pray that we might care less about what holiday each person is celebrating and care more about the revelation of the light in new and different ways in a broken and weary world. I pray that along with Christians who recognize the light as Jesus and those who acknowledge the light in a different way, we would receive the light into the world with open arms and allow it to illuminate for us the hope, joy, peace, and love that the world so desperately needs.
 
I wish each and every one of you the happiest of Christmas holidays, and I pray that you would indeed experience the light of Christ in this dark winter time.
 
 
 
Here's some info on the Winter Solstice:
 
 
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

When Christmas plans aren't perfect....

There's a holiday commercial out right now that strikes me every time:


The commercial has a double message: that virtually everything a person could need for the Christmas holiday can be found at Big Lots, and that the matron of the family is responsible for the success of the Christmas holiday. The mom here has a perfectly decorated house, perfectly selected gifs, a manicured image...all of the things we worry about.

It is the season of the year when there are hundreds of things to worry about and attempt to perfect. We want to make sure that our kids have the perfect Christmas experience, enough gifts to make them happy and filled with gratitude but not so much that they are spoiled. We hope they make it to enough church events to remember the true meaning of Christmas. Our homes need to be decorated and cleaned, especially if guests are coming through, and/or travel plans need to be carefully crafted.

The stress isn't just familial. Being on church staff during the month of December means extra hours, work, and anxiety. December always brings extra visitors, which means this might be our one chance to tell the good news of Jesus Christ. We try to walk this line between the story of Jesus' birth and the celebration of American culture at Christmastime. It is difficult.

As a perfectionist, this is the time of year when I go into crazy-town mode. I want every event to be filled with Christmas joy and perfectly executed. I want each person to leave Unity feeling uplifted and invigorated, knowing that Jesus wasn't just born on Christmas but is alive each day within us. 

Inevitably, in my time working in churches when I have gotten over-controlling or extra perfectionist about particular events, I come down with some illness which knocks me out of commission and ultimately humbles me. Sunday afternoon I came home feeling not great, and by 3:00 I was completely out of commission with a 101 degree fever, body aches, and lungs that felt like the desert. I missed caroling, which I had carefully planned; I spent a couple of days laying on the couch, missing out on the literal tons of work I need to do. While I would never say that God made me sick, I can certainly say that I was reminded this week that whether I put in 10 hours or 100 hours into planning Christmas Eve worship or the Christmas Party or any such event, the event will happen anyway. And chances are people's experience of the event aren't necessarily intertwined with my ability to make it perfect. In fact, some of the things that happen so imperfectly end up being most important. Contrary to the Big Lots commercial, Christmas is very capable of coming without me, and in fact often does a better job at presenting itself when I am not trying to make it Lindsay-mas.

Think about Jesus' birth...

So let's think about the story of Jesus' birth. We have Mary and Joseph who are engaged to be married. They are young and afraid; suddenly Mary ends up being pregnant, something that was not socially acceptable. We note that this is so startling that Joseph even tries to get out of it (Matthew 1). Not exactly how we'd expect the Messiah to enter the world. Not a perfect entrance.

Then we get to the actual birth of Jesus, which happens in Bethlehem, not their home town of Nazareth. They travel to Bethlehem for census. And not only that, but Mary gives birth to Jesus in an unhygienic, uncomfortable stable surrounded by barn animals. I mean, this was messy and painful, and it could have ended really badly, considering the challenges women and children faced in the child-bearing process at the time. When we really think about what the birth of Jesus must have been like, it is not glamorous, not glittery, nothing to sing about. It's not what we would have planned or expected.

And so we see that the birth Jesus did not exactly go how most people expected it to go. Yes, the angels and the wise men show up later and give some glamour to the occasion, but it starts out humble, challenging, and strikingly imperfect.

Joy in the imperfection...

And that is just the sticking point for me: this ridiculously imperfect, humble event, which includes doubt, questions of fidelity within a relationship, a lonely, messy, painful birth process in the outdoors...this is how God chooses to enter the world.

As a helpless baby.
Through risky birth.
Through controversial conception.

If God didn't need the first Christmas to be glamorous or perfect, then our Christmas doesn't need ours to be either. For me, letting go of perfection is a challenge I have not yet figured out exactly how to do, other than to ask for forgiveness every time I cling to perfection when I should not. It is difficult to say to myself that the perfect Christmas gifts, the perfect Christmas decorations, the immaculate Christmas cookies, and the exquisite Christmas feast are all side notes, are all trivial, because I thrive on the challenge of making a perfect day {maybe it's the Clark Griswold in me, who knows}. So as Christmastime closes in, I am trying to focus on letting go of the pressure to get my Christmas shopping done and my special treats baked and packaged. Even if I don't get my act together, Christmas will come, and the memories it makes will be surrounded by love, by the Holy Spirit in our midst, and by the joy of being around friends and family.

So I challenge us as we get into crunch time before Christmas to seek the joy that can only be found when we give up our perfect plans and give into the plans God has for our Christmas and our time with our families. I challenge us to let go of the pressure of perfection and pursue the joy of God's imperfect entrance into the world.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Forced Christmas Joy: a tale of the church's weird aversion to Christmas

A few months ago, Pasty, our organist/choir director, bounced into my office (if you've ever met Patsy, you know she literally bounced in her energetic little way, into my office) and asked if I'd be willing to work on the Christmas Joy Service. This service has the children's choirs and perhaps some youth leadership, and it happens on December 6. "And this is all Christmas," she said, "We don't try to contain them to Advent, it's just Christmas."
 
The more I spoke with other pastors I know about our Christmas Joy Service, the more I began to hear words of "you sold out" and "Isn't it terrible how Advent has been forgotten?" My Facebook feed is flooded with memes like this:
 
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In the Church, we take particular care to telling the story of Jesus' birth and taking Advent seriously. We really want to get it right; we really want the birth of Jesus to be new and exciting and important. I would even go so far as to say that some of us even feel resentful toward the Christmas hullabaloo with the greed associated with Santa Claus and the surveillance of his creepy Elf on the Shelf. Advent/Christmas activities at the church are given the same priority to other Christmas traditions like decorating the family tree, visiting Santa Claus at the mall, and watching Charlie Brown's Christmas: the church isn't more important; the story of Jesus is just one more fairy tale contributing to the special "magic" of Christmas.
 
And this isn't just 21st century crazy Christian angst. The church calendar and traditions center around Advent in its truest sense. Advent comes from the Latin words ad and venio. Venio means "to come" and ad means "to/toward." So Advent is when we celebrate the coming to us of Jesus Christ; it is a season characteristically associated with waiting for the coming birth of Christ. Advent is the first four weeks of the church calendar year; We begin in the Old Testament with the preparation for and prophecy about the coming messiah's birth. Scripture prepares for the birth of Christ, and so should we. With something as big as Jesus coming into the world, we emphasize the waiting and the watching and the preparing.
 
We read the prophets who tell us of Christ's prophecy.
 
We read about John the Baptist and his preparation for the way.
 
We read about Mary's acceptance of God's call and the Holy Conception.
 
We read about Joseph's initial denial and eventual faith.
 
We refrain from Christmas carols, we light one candle at a time, we even talk about how the Christ child hasn't come yet.
 

There's just one minor problem with all of this...

Er, I hate to break it to you, but Jesus DID COME. God became flesh more than 2,000 years ago. And he remains active in the world through the power of the Holy Spirit. In other words, we're asking fully grown adults to suspend their disbelief and contain their Christmas joy until after our extremely solemn Christmas Eve service, and then you can have 24 hours of cheer far away from the Church. Sure, we will occasionally throw a Christmas party or a caroling event, but when it comes to worship during the Christmas season, we are like a Jack-in-the-Box winding up, waiting to spring into joyful action at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve.
 
Sure, I understand: this is all a part of how we celebrate the same event over and over again each year. I understand that we need to have some preparations in our hearts for the magnanimous event of Christ's birth. Certainly, I understand that we are a people of ritual, who need to be reminded every year of the influence of Jesus Christ and the transformation of our lives.
 
But I have a few challenges. First, because we focus on the story of Jesus' birth as though it were a mythical story, like the Night Before Christmas, we cast ourselves into the same light as Santa, Elf on the Shelf, and Rudolf: as simple children's stories that teach us to be good and buy gifts for other people because it will make us feel better. When we treat the story of Jesus' birth as something that happens in the past, we've made it irrelevant to the world today.
 
Second, because Jesus is already alive, the story becomes old news faster than the birth of Kanye and Kim Kardashian's second child {Saint West...I ask you...}. Rather than take on the solemnity of Advent and the devotional practice of waiting, many of us simply check out of Advent. It seems more and more like the church is out of touch with reality.
 
Finally, why can't our waiting be joyful? For some reason, it feels as though the church is attempting to dictate our emotions: OK, on this Sunday, you should feel a sense of reverent peace. Throughout Lent, you should be absolutely miserable and self-loathing. But on Christmas Day and Easter morning, you should be filled to the gills with joy.
 
And for me personally, that is the most difficult part of Christmas: I can't feel anything when I'm being told to feel a particular way. The Christmas season in the world perpetually tells us to be joyful, to be grateful, to be anxious, to be charitable. Meanwhile, the winter season reminds me of many loved ones I've lost over the years, and I feel sad for them. This will be my first Christmas away from family, and I am sad for that, but also excited. I find joy in baking Christmas cookies and listening to carols and decorating our tree, but it is fleeting, quickly replaced by anxiety or a belly-ache.
 
I propose that Advent brings about a renewed sense of quest: a quest for joy that can only come through Jesus Christ, not from eggnog, presents, or decorations. If Christ is present in the world by the power of the Holy Spirit, why can't we celebrate his birth every day? Why can't we be filled with joy each and every time we see God at work in the world around us? Instead of our endless to-do list in the Christmas season, why can't we pursue an Advent quest of discovering Christ's new life within us and our lives each day?
 
If we are seeking Christ in the holiday season, if we are submitting ourselves to discipleship to Christ, if we are discovering Christ's presence in our midst, then we are discovering true joy. True joy that is not replaced quickly by a belly ache or by credit card bills or by loneliness; a joy that fills us from bottom to top, that changes our lifestyles and uproots us from our monotonous lives. The birth of the messiah, the Word become flesh, the incarnation of God: this is worth celebrating, it's worth getting joyful and excited over because it keeps happening. It happens again when we see people serving one another; it happens again when we sacrifice our own benefits for the benefits of others; it happens when we lay aside our anxiety at the foot of the cross so that we can bravely follow God into a new place.
 
On Sunday, those of us who were there experienced truly the joy of Christ in our midst as we sang together, prayed together, and celebrated new life. It was a perfectly joyful affair, and it inspired me to be a more committed servant of Christ.
 
This week, I challenge us to lay aside our burdens of anxiety and grief and our fake joy found in Santa and cookies. I challenge us to give those things the time of day they deserve and move on to the all-consuming quest for Jesus Christ in our midst. I challenge us to be grateful for the exciting task of finding the Holy Spirit at work and to embrace the quest with joy and excitement.
 
Here's some resources