The Message of Advent

Veni, veni Emmanuel! Captivum solve Israel! 

Qui gemit in exilio, Privatus Dei Filio, 

Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel nascetur per te, Israel.

This coming Sunday begins a new Christian liturgical year. The year begins not with Christmas, but with the season of Advent – a time of waiting and anticipating the coming of the Messiah.

For a moment, imagine a world before Christ’s coming to earth. Step back in time to an age of awaiting the coming Messiah. What would it have been like to hear the prophets foretell of a Messiah, a Savior who would save captive and exiled Israel? It is hard to imagine because we know about Christ, His birth, His ministry, His death, His resurrection, and His ascension. But, back then, people didn’t know everything that was to come. They didn't know Christ. They were just waiting, patiently anticipating what God would do to rescue them.

My favorite Advent hymn is O Come, O Come Emmanuel. To me, not only does the Gregorian chant capture the message of Advent, but so does the text. Each verse gives a different name for Christ and speaks of how Christ will save Israel from captivity, tyranny, death, and lead them home. As Christians today, we are now Israel. As sinful human beings, held captive by our sins, we need a Savior to save us from our misery, our despair, our failures, and our weaknesses. I think it is neat that Advent and Christmas falls when the weather turns to winter. The coldness and darkness of winter can represent our souls before Christ comes into our hearts. His light shines into that darkness and frees us from it, giving us a chance to grow into a new creation (like spring). 

The link posted below is an arrangement of O Come, O Come Emmanuel that I feel embraces the meaning of Advent, the promise, the waiting, the anticipation of the birth of our Savior. During this season of Advent, take time to be still and anticipate Christ’s coming and the light and joy that it brings to the darkness of the world. With the rest of the world bustling around with Christmas already in their hearts, may we prepare our hearts for His coming and rejoice when the Incarnate God appears.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iO7ySn-Swwc

O Come, o come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O Come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free Thine own from Satan's tyranny; from depths of hell Thy people save, and give them victory o'er the grave. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O Come, Thou Dayspring from on high, and cheer us by Thy drawing nigh; Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight. Rejoice! Rejoice! 

Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O Come, Thou Key of David, come and open wide our heav'nly home; Make safe the way that leads on high, and close the path to misery. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O come, Adonai, Lord of might, who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height, in ancient times didst give the law in cloud and majesty and awe. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high, and order all things, far and nigh; to us the path of knowledge show, and cause us in her ways to go. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

O Come, Thou Desire of nations, bind all peoples in one heart and mind; 

bid envy, strife and quarrels cease; fill the whole world with heaven's peace. 

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, Israel. 

Elizabeth of Hungary, Fran McCoy, and the Goats

“What’s wrong with goats?!”

-5 year old Joe

Today we celebrated the Feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, the 13^th century princess and philanthropist who has been remembered for her care and nurture of the poor.  She sewed garments to clothe those in need and fished with the common folk in order that they might be fed.  She is a beautiful example of Christian charity and love to the “least of these.”

The Gospel reading for St. Elizabeth today was the story of the sheep and the goats from Matthew.  You know the story:  At the end of the age the Son of Man will separate the righteous from the evil just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  It’s an image of the Final Judgment that many in Jesus’ time would have understood fully. 

Which brings me to 5 year old Joe.  In 1989 my little home parish of All Saints, Norton (VA) called its first female rector, The Rev. Fran McCoy.  Fran would be a fixture at that little parish for 19 years, the longest tenured rector in the history of All Saints.  She brought new perspectives, stretched the congregation when it needed stretching, and preached with abandon, while offering the most pastoral presence one can image from a priest.  She was our pastor in every sense of the word.

The first sermon Fran preached (or one of the first) revolved around this story, the sheep and the goats.  As we filed through the line at the narthex at the end of the service, 5 year old Joe came up to his new priest and ask straight up, “What’s wrong with goats?”  You see, 5 year old Joe remembered his mom driving home on the backroads and seeing goats on the hillsides and commenting how much she loved goats.  So, he wondered, what was so wrong with the goats?

Fran didn’t have an answer then.  But the years passed, and 5 year old Joe became 28 year old Joe, newly graduated from General Seminary and on the verge of being ordained a deacon at little All Saints.  Fran was there that day, and after the liturgy was over and the bishop blessed the food, Fran—who had retired and moved on from All Saints—spoke up.  “Joe,” she said in that commanding voice, “you once asked me after a sermon what was wrong with goats.”  Everyone laughed.  She continued.  “I can tell you now that your job is to go and take care of the goats.”

Such simple words, yet they were powerful in their simplicity.  The ministry of the deacon is a ministry of service—one that I have learned a great deal about from my two favorite deacons, Paula Ott and Preston Mitchell.  That same spirit of service I carry with me as a priest.  But the service is not just to the goats, not just to those who the world might label as unrighteous.  The service is to all God’s children, all the sheep, goats, and everyone in-between.  And Fran McCoy did that.

As a little kid I wasn’t sure what to make of God or this whole business of church.  I knew I loved going to church on Sundays, knew that I loved to serve at the altar and read the lessons and prayers.  Yet as a teenager I struggled with what I was really meant to do.  Was there a next step after being confirmed?  Should I “feel the Spirit” flowing through me like some of my charismatic Baptist friends talked about?  Was I missing something completely? 

And so I experimented.  I prayed in different ways, even taking the Muslim posture of sajdah when I served as an acolyte during the Eucharistic Prayer.  I would pray with my arms out, intently, almost as if I could force God to come down upon me.  It must have made folks in the pews nervous.  Yet all the while Fran let me do it.  She let me explore my faith, ask questions, and grow.  At 13 when I asked her what I was supposed to do next she suggested I preach a sermon (First Sunday of Christmas).  A few years later she encouraged me to become licensed to serve the chalice and lead Morning Prayer on Sundays when she wasn’t there.  And when I came home from college she often asked me to help her out by serving in any number of roles.  She tended to me.  She cared for me.  She saw something in me that I could not see.  Not yet.  And when the time came for me to ask what I needed to do to go to seminary she said simply, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since you were 5!”

The call to serve, to tend and care for one another is not limited to those who wear the collar.  It is given to us all in our baptismal covenant—“seek and serve God in all persons…love your neighbor as yourself…respect the dignity of every human being.”  We are called, every one of us, to care for the sheep and the goats alike.  We are called to nurture them, to feed them, to tend to them, to empower them.  We are called to see in them that which they may not be able to see themselves.  We do so by the grace of God, knowing that God’s power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. 

So thanks be to God for Elizabeth of Hungary, who cared for the least of these.  Thanks be to God for Fran McCoy, who nurtured a curious little boy and brought him to the full stature of the priesthood.  Thanks be to God for all of you who tend and care for both the sheep and the goats. 

P.S.  The answer to 5 year old Joe’s question:  the same thing that’s wrong with the sheep—absolutely nothing!!

A Time for Darkness

Daylight savings time has ended. We are now entering into the season of “darkness”, where the days grow shorter and the evenings longer. This became quite evident to Drew and I on Monday evening when we went for a run at the Arboretum in the early evening. That evening we began our run around 5 pm when dusk began to settle in, and by the time we had finished our run at 6 pm darkness was all around us. As we ran Drew and I both commented on how different it was to run in the dark, and how much we preferred the light. Our bodies nor our eyes were used to spending such a significant period of time (only about 40 minutes) without any form of light. And, although we could see, it was definitely strained.

So often, in our world today, we work hard to keep the lights on and the darkness out. Unless we are watching a movie or going to bed, when the sun goes down the artificial lights turn up. In fact, while we ran the path at the Arboretum I was quite surprised by the lack of artificial lighting. Except for the lamps over the streets or the stadium lighting at UK there were no artificial light sources to be found on the Arboretum's trails.

Barbara Brown Taylor recently wrote on this exact subject in her book, “Learning to Walk in the Dark.” As we ran the dark trails at UK I thought of Barbara Brown Taylor’s book and how we as a culture continual work to keep the lights on and the darkness out. It is the rare event when we seek out the pleasures of the darkness. Running the trails in dark allowed us to concentrate on ourselves, as we had nothing to distract our attention other than the beating of our shoes on the ground, the panting of our breath, the aching of our legs, and the release of the endorphins as we finished our final mile on the trail.

As a child I can remember being fascinated by the dark. I spent many a summer night playing hide and go seek with the neighborhood kids in the dark. I was excited for the seasons to change, and the night to take over the day. I desired to travel to other locations where cities lights didn’t ruin the beauty of the darkness, where the night sky was pure black and stars twinkled brightly. But today, I continually find myself loathing the end of Daylight Savings Time and impatiently counting down the days till springs return. I wake up early to enjoy the morning light and return home quickly to escape the evenings darkness.

As Drew and I went out to enjoy our evening run, we paused and debated turning back to enjoy the safety of the light at the YMCA and the comfort of retreating from the darkness. Spending intentional time in the darkness was a gift and reminder. We were not meant to spend all our time in the light, if we were God would never have created the day or the night. The ancient Celtic’s recognized this fact as they celebrated Samhain (October 31st - November 1st) the final harvest of the season and the beginning of the dark time. This celebration was a time to honor the final fruits of the last harvest, the spirits of the clan members who had passed on before them, and the darkness that was to come. Here darkness was not seen as thing to be feared, but as a part of the cycle of life. The Celt’s understood that without darkness there would not be light, nor an appreciation for that light.

And, so, although the temptation and “natural” inclination to avoid the dark (as Drew and I had on Monday evening) is high, we must begin to return and reclaim our time in the dark. For, the darkness allows us to know and appreciate the light. It brings rest and relaxation at the end of a long day. It allows us to reflect on ourselves, as it takes away the distractions found in the light of day. As we enter into another season of darkness, let us not fear the lack of light, but begin to reclaim our space in the dark as we seek the lessons and knowledge it holds to share.

Thanksgiving and Other Musings

          Recently, I joined Bishop Hahn and most of the other clergy of the Diocese for a Clergy Day at God's Pantry and Food Bank. As I sat there drinking my Starbucks coffee and enjoying a piece of freshly made cinnamon coffee cake, it struck me that I was enjoying both in a building, the sole purpose of which, is to provide food to the poor, to people who do not have enough money to feed themselves and their children the very basics of nutrition, much less a Starbucks coffee or a fresh pastry. I sensed such a disconnect between what I was eating and drinking and where I was sitting. After lunch, we had the opportunity to volunteer as a group in packing food that would later be distributed in the 50 Kentucky counties God's Pantry serves.

          For the past several months, I have had the opportunity to work with someone in my community as she has sought to find a job and a safe place to live. I once was someone who thought anyone could find a job if they really wanted one. I have come to learn that if one does not have a home address, that complicates finding a job. If one does not have the money to ride a bus or owna car, how can one even get to work unless it is just a short distance from one's residence? If one cannot afford a place to live, where does one keep the clothing he or she has? If one doesn't have a job, how can one even pay the rent for a place to live? Of course, most counties and cities have public housing where the cost of one's rent is determined by the amount of one's income. But the waiting lists for such housing are hundreds or, as in Lexington, thousands of people long. One afternoon, when I took this young woman to a job interview, we stopped for lunch at an inexpensive local restaurant. My young friend told me she had never eaten somewhere that she did not have to stand at the counter to order then wait there for her food to be handed to her. The experience left me feeling uncomfortable because something I had considered so mundane had been such a splurge to the young woman.

          Last evening as I drove home, I noticed a house down the road from ours was already  decorated in tiny white lights and wreaths with big red bows at each window. It occurred to me that as Thanksgiving quickly nears, with all the bountiful food and celebration with our families and friends, there will be many, as there are every year, for whom Thanksgiving will be just another day of trying to survive with no place to call home and/or little food to grace their Thanksgiving table.

          Lord, let me never forget to give you thanks for those who have supported me throughout my life: for my parents who carefully raised me and made sure I received a good education; for my family and friends who have unceasingly supported me and helped me become the individual I am; for my country that has kept me safe and given me so much freedom; and for you, God, for your unending love for me and watch care of my days. And Lord, let me never forget my brothers and sisters in my midst who have so little to meet their daily needs. Keep kindled in me the desire to serve and love them even as I serve my family and my friends. Amen.