Monthly Archives: November 2010

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A Christmas Poem

This is a busy time of year for churches and for clergy—often an unexpectedly heavy time as well. In light of that, we’ll be keeping it light here at the Blue Room for the next few weeks.

Here’s something I wrote for Caroline for Christmas a few years back. Every single one of my kids is or was afraid of Santa Claus. One thing that the previous church I served does well is connect Santa with the story of Saint Nicholas, which is a religious story. This poem grows out of all of that.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The family was sleeping, the daddies and mamas,
And three little children in footy pajamas.
Caroline was the older of the two little girls,
She was dreaming of MaDear and cute flying squirrels.*

She woke up at twelve, and said, yawning, “I think
I’d better get up and get something to drink.”
She crept down the hall, turned on the night light,
Heard noises downstairs and thought “Something’s not right.”

The sound was a tinkling of bells and a boot
So she tiptoed downstairs in careful pursuit,
Her first clue was there on the table she passed:
A small empty plate and an empty milk glass!

And that’s when she saw him, right there in the room
Though it was quite hard to see in the darkness and gloom.
He turned and smiled brightly, and that’s when she froze:
Too frightened to move, from her head to her toes.

“Well hello,” Santa smiled, “my sweet Caroline,
Are you enjoying Christmas? Having a good time?”
But Caroline just stared. She couldn’t quite speak—
She tried to respond but her voice just went “Squeak!”

Then she cleared her throat, coughed, and tried speaking once more,
“You scare me,” she whispered, her eyes toward the floor.
He nodded and sighed, stroked his beard with his hand,
And said, “Don’t you worry; I quite understand.

“Just look at me! Why, with this beard long and hairy
And giant red suit, well I’m sure I look scary.
But listen, there’s something I need you to hear:
I work for somebody who loves you, my dear!

“I work for Jesus, sharing God’s peace
I give so the spirit of Christmas will increase!
For seventeen centuries I’ve been spreading joy
To kids through the ages, to girls and to boys.

“Before there were airplanes, or light bulbs, shampoo,
Before there were bicycles, cupcakes, or YOU!
I’ve been hard at work, heeding Christ’s call
To do what I can to spread goodness to all.

“But that’s it!” said St. Nick. “I’ve scared my last kid!
I’m ditching this suit. Of this beard I’ll be rid!”
And he marched to the bathroom and shaved off that beard,
And changed his clothes also, and then reappeared.

In a T-shirt and blue jeans he looked pretty plain
Just like any old guy you might meet down the lane.
And Caroline thought, “There’s no reason for fright;
I guess that this Santa guy must be all right!”

Then Santa Claus said with a smile, “Here’s a thought!
Will you help me this evening? I still have a lot
Of people to help, of kids to make smile,
I’d sure like your company with me a while.”

And Caroline said “Sure!” and slipped on some shoes,
And zipped with St. Nick up the fireplace flue.
Nestled down in the sleigh with a quilt on her lap
With the reindeers in charge they took off in a snap!

They rose o’er the trees, to a sparkling sky
And a view of the world that delighted her eye:
Just look at this beautiful, wonderful earth
Just waiting to celebrate Jesus’ birth.

They spent the whole evening delivering toys
Making sure to give things that each person enjoys.
But they didn’t stop there, they gave help to the poor
(The very best part of their long midnight tour.)

At the end of the night, Santa brought her back down
To her house in the midst of the just-waking town,
And she gave him a hug and said “God bless St. Nick,
Who gives help to the needy and lonely and sick.”

Her family found her asleep in the den,
And she said, “I helped Santa! I’d do it again!
We all should love others, give comfort and aid;
It’s what God really wants for this world that God made!”

Then Caroline thought, “Was it all just a dream?
Maybe it was… but how real it did seem!”
The parents, they doubt her, the family disputes,
‘Til they see in the corner: a pair of black boots.

* an inside joke

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Sometimes It Just Comes to You

One of my father’s favorite expressions was “nature abhors a vacuum.” Apparently this comes from Aristotle, and I am not scientifically literate enough to know whether that categorical statement is still correct. But it’s a useful idea spiritually, that things often come to us more effortlessly if we create space for them. Or perhaps the corollary is more helpful for me: that when I fill my life up with too much activity, too much distraction, too much stuff, then there is no space to receive the unexpected gift, the bit of grace, or even the opportunity to serve.

I was reminded of my dad’s expression last year when my brother quit his job without another one lined up. That’s a risky thing to do in any economy, and sensible people will say you should look while you’re still drawing a paycheck. But in Luke’s case, it worked—the empty space that was created by his resigning was filled up, and quite quickly, by another great opportunity.

Would that have happened anyway if he’d looked before he resigned? Sure, perhaps—but that empty space gave him a sense of urgency and, I would say, a MacGyver-ish creativity to use everything he had to fashion a new career opportunity for himself. Don’t we all know people who do jobs they hate for months and years, all the while dreaming of something else? Don’t you wonder what would happen if they just up and quit?

[Please note that I am not giving employment advice.]

Some time ago I read a book about simplicity and getting by with less. The author suggested that when you find yourself in need of something, to wait and see if it might come to you another way before going out and buying it. The person even suggested telling folks, “Hey, I’m really in need of this—do you have one to spare, or do you have any ideas?”

Something about the way the author presented this smacked of begging, so I dismissed it at the time. On the other hand, if it’s done in the right way, why not put a need out there in the universe and see what happens?

Several times in the last three weeks, something I needed or wanted has come to me without my having to go out and buy it. In no case did I ask someone for the item, but in every case, I made a decision to wait before buying it… just to see. Just to open up some space for… who knows?

One of them was small. After our trip to NYC we really needed some groceries, but I was procrastinating, mainly because I hate shopping, but also to see how far we could get on freezer and pantry miscellany. Two days later a friend gave me two quarts of fresh berries that were being thrown out by the high-end chocolate shop where her daughter works. The berries were no longer pristine but still perfectly good. They lasted for several meals.

I have wanted some additional winter clothes for James, but I’ve been putting off buying any, because again, I hate shopping. While doing yet another quick load of laundry so he’d have long pants to wear the next day I thought, “I would love to be the recipient of someone’s hand-me-downs… but I have no idea who to ask.”

Several days later my friend L offered to give us her son’s clothes after he outgrows them. I’ve gotten several bags full so far, and she’s thrilled to have a destination for this stuff.

The third happened just this morning. Both girls want American Girl dolls, and that’s just not something we’re going to do. But thanks to a Facebook post about gift ideas for eight year olds, we have not one, but two hand-me-down AG dolls coming our way for Christmas. Compliments of a friend and her college-age daughter.

As I ponder Thanksgiving and gratitude, this is what I am thinking about. Gratitude is about appreciating what one has, but maybe it’s also about trusting that things can come unexpectedly from others, not just our own resources, time, and money.

I wonder what needs or desires you have that you could put out into the world… just to see what happens. Or how this idea has worked for you.

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Follow-Up: But What I *Really* Wanted to Say…

Yesterday’s post about gifts wasn’t really at the crux of it, but it’s the stuff I needed to think about in order to get to the crux.

Two things:

1. Most everyone loves giving the right gift to someone. The whole process is very satisfying—the inspiration of the idea, choosing the gift, anticipating the person’s reaction, watching him or her receive it. I have had these experiences and they are wonderful. And only the most curmudgeonly person would say that we should forgo that experience to remain somehow pure in this overconsumptive, acquisitive world we live in.

But what do you do when you don’t have the right gift? That’s really the heart of the matter. Do you just buy whatever? Do you get a gift card? Do you write a beautiful letter? Do you make a thoughtful donation in the person’s honor? That place—when inspiration doesn’t come—is when the calculations start to figure in—dollar amounts and expectations and appearances. And that to me is the place of discernment, the interesting spiritual place of self-awareness.

2. Evidence suggests that experiences make us happier than stuff does. Spending money on the trip of a lifetime brings more satisfaction than an extravagant purchase, because our estimation of the value of the experience goes up over time while our assessment of the worth of the object goes down.

There are many reasons for this, but I have to think that gifts we receive have a similar effect over time as do purchases we make ourselves. Would you agree? And if so, how does that impact what kind of gifts we give? I certainly want to give people things that will have the most impact.

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Advent Conspiracy, Week One

Yesterday our church began a four-week study of the book and DVD Advent Conspiracy: Can Christmas Still Change the World? It was a good discussion with a lot of back and forth. The ideas in the study aren’t new—the DVD is your basic “put Christ back in Christmas” message, this time with hipper graphics and more goatees.

It’s a good study, and a powerful message—one we need to hear again and again. It is so easy to get sucked in. I don’t have the numbers on hand in terms of how much debt people take on as a result of Christmas, but it’s sizable. However, as I’ve written before, this is not an easy issue. Receiving gifts is pleasurable. Giving gifts is too. And some people’s jobs depend on us buying stuff. (One person heard an “it’s evil to be wealthy” message in the study, which I did not hear, but studies on this topic often sacrifice nuance to make their point.)

Side note: I had to chuckle—the topic was “worship fully” and the DVD talked about the shepherds, who were the underclass of the society, and yet they were the first to receive the message. And they went immediately to Bethlehem to check out the story and worship the child. Several dear folks wanted to know what happened to the sheep these shepherds left behind. That wasn’t very responsible of those shepherds!

Someone suggested that perhaps one of the shepherds stayed behind so the others could go to “worship Christ the newborn king,” and if that’s true, that person was definitely a Presbyterian.

Anyway.

For me this Christmas stuff is all about intentionality. (It always is.) This morning I am making our gift list. Once again I am thinking about the Five Love Languages and how this holiday is set up for a default love language—giving and receiving gifts—and not for the others. To what extent can one buck that?

We received an Uncommon Goods catalog yesterday, and the kids and I oohed and aahed over each page. There are some lovely things in there. But that catalog represents everything I struggle with during this season. Lots of beautiful, intriguing, but not-needful things. Don’t get me wrong, not every gift needs to have a utilitarian purpose. But that catalog fits well into the niche of Yet More Stuff for the Person Who Already Has Everything. (See also: Signals and Wireless) I am reminded of a friend who has an aversion to getting stuff she has to dust…

I am also thinking about the people who will give us gifts unexpectedly. Can I receive them without feeling guilt at not reciprocating? Can I assume that they have given to us because they genuinely want to? Or if they haven’t—if they are giving out of obligation or expectations of something in return—then can I just let that be their issue and not mine?

And am I about 10 minutes away from overthinking this? (Don’t answer that—what would blogging be without overthinking?)

Image: Season’s Greetings “Postcarden” from UncommonGoods.

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A Poem for iPhone Users in Cold Weather

I wrote this two winters ago… was reminded of it again this morning when it was chilly enough to put on gloves:

I was curled up by the Christmas tree with Oprah’s magazine
When there among her Favorite Stuff was a thing I’d never seen.
A pair of gloves for iPhone users—featuring a dot
Of rubber on the index finger… I cried, “They must be bought!”

But in my haste I threw that ‘zine on the recycle pile
And when I went to find those gloves, it took me quite a while.
I never did locate the things, despite some time with Google,
I searched and searched, and then gave up on that whole sad bon-doogle.

Until last night, when running errands, driving in the cold
I slipped my gloves on and discovered a gigantic hole.
I stared down at my pasty thumb, its wiggliness poked through,
And thought, “Aha! I’ve finally got my iPhone gloves! Woo-hoo!”

———

I also received some knit gloves last year from Mom that are kinda like this.

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The Shallows and Hamlet’s Blackberry: Double Book Review

I recently finished reading two books dealing with the effects of the Internet on our lives: The Shallows by Nicholas Carr (the book-length offshoot of the infamous article “Is Google Making Us Stupid?”) and Hamlet’s Blackberry by William Powers. Both are well worth reading and complement each other nicely. Though there is some overlap (from Seneca to Marshall McLuhan) they really delve into different aspects of this topic.

Carr’s book is scientific in scope. He cites a dizzying number of studies to show how our brains are being affected by ever-increasing Internet use, and the data ain’t pretty. Take multitasking. At best, it is a misnomer—we don’t truly do two things at once, we switch rapidly between them, with a loss of focus and mental efficiency each time we make the switch. At worst, it is a destructive practice because it impedes our ability to think deeply and focus in a sustained way. (It was during this section of the book, as I considered the 24-hour news cycle and our easily distracted, instant-gratification culture, that I began to fret that we as a nation are becoming ungovernable.)

The most personally convicting sections of the book were his discussions of memory. The kind of reading we do online is having a negative impact on our ability to retain information. I’ve noticed this myself; I have occasionally tried to summarize an article to Robert—that I had just read—only to find that I couldn’t really remember it well. Part of this is that we’re going too fast. But Carr argues that the nature of the computer screen invites a more superficial reading. (In one study, one group of folks read an item on the computer; the other group read the exact same thing on paper. The former group scored worse on a basic comprehension test.)

I am struggling with these ideas. When I was a corporate trainer, our philosophy was not to teach adults every jot and tittle of content, but to hit the major points and then teach them the resources: where to go to find the information they needed. Of course we would do experiential learning things where appropriate, but we didn’t spend a lot of time drilling content into people’s heads. I stand by that as an approach to adult learning.

Now, the Internet has taken this mindset even farther—there’s a shift from storing things in our own brains’ memory banks to storing them on computers. This is the core of Evernote’s business—store your tidbits online, not in your brain. (Their tagline is “remember everything,” which is odd, because with Evernote, the whole point is not having to remember stuff. Their old tagline, as I recall, had something to do with letting Evernote “be your brain.” Could we already be seeing a backlash against the idea of outsourcing our mental processes, thanks to books like The Shallows? Perhaps.)

Carr also spends a lot of time on artificial intelligence, which I didn’t find particularly compelling. I think his point is that the rise of interest in artificial intelligence has led us to rely too heavily on the metaphor of the brain as a computer, and our brains are way more complex than that. Carr also has very little in the way of “now what?” He admits that he struggles with all the same stuff he writes about, but also reports that during the writing of the book he unplugged from the Internet and found his thinking slowing and deepening again over time. I don’t have a good sense of how plastic the brain truly is. Can the losses be regained? I’m not sure anyone fully knows that.

Powers’s focus was more up my alley. His focus is philosophical and historical as he examines other periods in history in which a technological leap required us to think creatively and intentionally about our interaction with the new technology. For this reason, the book is fundamentally optimistic. Did you know that new technologies have often led to cries that the world is coming to an end? And yet we are still here. I find this comforting.

Powers also seeks to provide real-life, concrete practices that can help mitigate the havoc that extended Internet use can wreak on our lives. None of these practices were particularly surprising, which is good in a way—the answers are really quite simple. I liked the fact that an Internet Sabbath was a big part of his solution—as y’all know, I’m a fan.

Carr in The Shallows wants to shake us awake to the tremendous shifts that are occurring in our brains, perhaps so we will be more intentional about the use of technology. Powers in Hamlet’s Blackberry is equally concerned about how the Internet is shaping us, but is ultimately much more reassuring.

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Sabbath: What Does It Mean to Stop Working?

As our family gets more into a regular practice of Sabbath observance, I find myself thinking about how to define work, i.e. that thing that we’re supposed to stop doing during Sabbath time. I tell church folks when I speak about this that the Sabbath is given as a “delight” (Isaiah), so Sabbath time can include those delightful activities that bring us joy. For some people, gardening is restful and appropriate for Sabbath; for others, it is drudgery.

I was talking to a friend about the Jewish observance of Sabbath, with its many guidelines handed down over generations, which he good-naturedly described as “OCD.” (By the way, this friend is Jewish, or was raised Jewish, or is nominally culturally Jewish—I’m not really sure how to describe him, but trust he’ll chime in shortly.)

I’ve done some reading about the Jewish Sabbath, specifically what is and is not, well, kosher to do on that day. As I understand it, many Orthodox observers will turn on the lights they need before Sabbath begins, because while it’s OK to use electricity, it is off-limits to operate it. And they may pre-tear toilet paper so as not to have to tear on the Sabbath. (Hey, Ecclesiastes specifically says there is a time to tear; I’m calling that a biblical basis.) Blu Greenberg writes in the above-linked book:

Preparing paper in advance seems so remote from holy time. The objective outsider might say, ‘This is pure legalism and highly ridiculous besides; there’s no work involved in tearing a piece of perforated toilet paper on the Sabbath.’ To which an insider might respond, ‘Look how clever the Rabbis were: even in as mundane a place as the bathroom, one is reminded of the uniqueness of the day.’

I must admit that I can relate to both perspectives. To the second, I find that Sabbath is more meaningful when I have prepared for it rather than have it be something that suddenly befalls me. Last Friday night I hurriedly finished folding the clothes, not because the next day’s Sabbath would be ruined if I didn’t finish, nor because I wouldn’t let myself begin Sabbath until I’d done it, but because it felt like a clear act of delineation: Tonight, I bring a little order to the chaos in our household. Tomorrow I rest.

But the question remains: What is work? When you have a child who’s still in diapers, and daughters who are only self-entertaining for periodic bursts and certainly not for a whole day, and klutzy parents who spill things on the kitchen floor, there’s just a basic level of upkeep that’s necessary. And while caring for family is a great joy, it is also work. And if you’re already doing that kind of work, it’s easy to find yourself lurching, zombie-like, into other kinds of work without even realizing it.

Another grey area: I am a hopeless Cleaner As I Go. If I’m walking upstairs anyway and I see the pair of shoes I left on the stairs that need to be taken up, what do I do? Does it undermine the restful, leave-it-be mindset to pick them up and take them with me? What if it’s a 30 pound laundry basket instead of a pair of shoes? Does it matter? If I don’t do it and it continues to nag at me, is that a mindset to be overcome, or do I just complete the task, because hey, I have the freedom to define this as I please?

Circling back around to my friend’s “OCD” comment—yes, it does seem that way. But I’m also very sympathetic to an observance of Sabbath in which the boundaries are clear. It’s not the doing of the stuff that’s a burden per se, it’s the deciding whether it’s in or out that causes angst. We’ve all heard those stories about how crippling it can be to have too many choices.

What is work to you? And what does resting from that work entail for you? Here’s an answer from a friend. Here’s my current line in the sand, just because I need one: the work I end up doing on the Sabbath can only grow out of things that occurred on the Sabbath. So of course I’m going to change my kid’s diaper, but I’m not changing the overflowing diaper pail. So I will clear the breakfast and lunch dishes, and may even wash them if we won’t have clean ones for dinner otherwise, but I will not unload the dishwasher from the night before. I will clean up the Thomas track that my son insisted that I build and has now abandoned for other delights, but the pile of library books leftover from a mid-week reading blitz will stay untouched. So there is still work on the Sabbath, but it is all self-contained in its own temporal parentheses.

Regular readers of this blog know that I am a Getting Things Done fanatic, and part of that system is getting the details out of one’s head so as to cultivate a “mind like water”—an uncluttered, unworried mind that can focus on whatever is most important in that moment. Having some boundaries in place feels like a way to have a Sabbath like water.

 

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Balance, Productivity and Creativity

Mary Allison has a great post up about the tensions and interactions between creativity and productivity. She has let go of her organizational system (temporarily) to help her live more graciously within the hours of each day.

I can really relate to this tension. On the one hand, the busier I am, the greater my output, both creative and otherwise. It seems exponential. My only 4.0 in college came while I was working three jobs on the side.

Of course, I ended up with walking pneumonia by Christmas. So the other side of that is that creativity also needs unstructured time, daydreaming time, inefficient time.

Several months ago, I was in one of those “unproductive” times that was very stimulating creatively. I took an online course in spirituality and creativity that was just for me. I wrote stuff that didn’t have a deadline. I assembled collages and hand-made books. The kids and I cooked up projects.

These days I am in a kicking butt and taking names kind of place. Each day, a new to-do list, nicely organized. Each day, the sigh of satisfaction as I cross things off it. And I am OK with that. It has been right for this time and place. But I can feel the beginnings of a nudge to swing things back the other direction soon.

I don’t spend a lot of time seeking balance, though when I think about it, I think about it in terms of the million little course corrections we make in a day or a life. It’s not one cataclysmic moment. But maybe it’s also true that balance can come amidst wild fluctuations. Philippe Petit held a 28-foot pole when walking between buildings. As a novice I would’ve probably tried to hold it perfectly straight. But that’s not how it’s done. I don’t know for sure, but I bet if you measured the arc length on either end of the pole after a tightrope walk, it would look alarmingly long. But the pole actually makes the person more stable and less likely to fall.

Balance is not about walking perfectly upright. Every time you take a step, you are falling. You catch yourself, you adjust, you go on. With practice, it looks more and more elegant and less clumsy.

And then you try it with your eyes closed, or with an apple on your head.

All of this said, part of making room for creativity for me involves letting some stuff go so there is space. I remember receiving some advice before going to college: namely, that success in college depends on knowing what can remain undone. It is simply not possible to complete every page of assigned reading, finish every homework, attend every study session. So the discernment comes in deciding what we can let slide, what is inessential. Sounds like life.

I still have times in which I convince myself that everything really can get done if I just work hard enough. And I feel guilty for leaving things undone. It’s a terrible mindset. For me, Sabbath is the antidote to that poison, and Sabbath time comes whether we’ve finished everything or not. So how to let go?

As I preached not long ago:

Rather than looking at an unfinished task and seeing something I’ve failed to do, I see instead what that unfinished task represents: namely, something else that’s important that I have done:

For example, when I look at our stack of unread newspapers, I think about the hospital visit I did this week. Or when I see the unanswered e-mail piling up, I think about the trip to Baskin- Robbins I took with the family instead…

How about you? Is balance something you strive for? How do productivity and creativity relate to one another?

And thanks to Mary Allison—the other MA—for some great food for thought.

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You Know What Next Friday Is!!!!

It’s the National Day of Listening!

This is a Story Corps-sponsored event in which folks across the country are invited to interview their family and friends and record the conversation.

I love this event because:

  • people are generally together on Thanksgiving weekend, and in my experience, sitting around and talking is just about everyone’s speed following Turkey Day
  • it gives you an “excuse” to reminisce and ask questions
  • I love stories. And Story.
  • it’s a nice alternative to Black Friday.

We dabbled in this a little bit last year. I interviewed Caroline, Robert and his mother. I remember sitting on the floor of our family room with the laptop going… hmm, I wonder where those sound files are?

This year it will just be the Danas for Thanksgiving weekend, but I’m contemplating a remote session with far-flung family.

The StoryCorps website has some suggested questions such as Who has been the most important person in your life? and What are you proudest of in your life?

Those aren’t bad, but I bet we could come up with some really good ones. Leave your suggestion in comments… here’s one off the top of my head:

It is said that bad decisions make good stories. Can you think of an example from your own life?

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More on Advent

The great discussion on the previous post spurred some additional thinking. I started to comment there but it got too long and well, it’s my blog :-)

Teri made an excellent point about Advent providing space for grief. That is huge. I almost decided that Advent is essential for that reason alone. Almost, but not quite.

Having reflected on it more: I think that reduces Advent too much. It almost becomes a mood rather than a theological moment or spiritual season. Yes, Advent is decked in purple and expressed in minor key, but not entirely. (I like the shift to blue, myself.)

Advent is about preparation, and yes, preparation is about expectations that have not yet been fulfilled, which can bring pain. But waiting can also be deeply joyful. We wait in confidence for God’s action in the world, knowing that it is coming. A lot of people gripe about the Advent hymns, and I don’t think it’s because they are unfamiliar—they aren’t; many churches have been doing Advent for decades. Rather I think people complain because some of the hymns are melancholy and brooding. Others don’t resonate well in 21st century December, with talk of deserts and gloomy clouds of night and six-winged seraphs, ever more and ever more.

Here’s what I’m saying: Waiting means something different to the couple that’s been in the throes of infertility for two years, and has just suffered another disappointment, than it does for the couple whose baby is due next week. It is good for them to be sensitive to one another, sure, and the church has to make room for both. But waiting isn’t always decked in purple and played in minor key.

And at the same time, Christmas—the fulfillment of the promise of God’s love being birthed in the world in a particular way—is often joyful, yes, but it can also be deeply reflective, quiet, and even tenuous. It’s “Joy to the World” and “Still, Still, Still.” What does it mean that Love is already here? How are we to live? Those are introspective questions. They are convicting questions. They should evoke a bit of fear and trembling.

I totally agree that Advent can be a corrective to the jingly jangly cheer that is so jarring, and even hurtful, to people who just aren’t feeling it. But Christmas can be that corrective too. There are ways to minister to the brokenhearted while also preaching Christmas. True Christmas, not the storebought version.

I think this relates to the other comment I especially loved, on the importance of patience.

“Right this very minute” is exactly what our culture is telling us. We are unhappy or depressed as you say because what we want we can’t have right now. (stable economy, healthy home prices, low unemployment numbers, etc.) And as much as we want the kingdom to be fully present on earth, it is not. For some reason, God is making us wait.

That is the message that the church needs to proclaim during the Advent season. Some things are worth waiting for…love cannot be hurried…be patient.

It seems that we as a country need that message more than ever, and the church has the opportunity during Advent to live into that.

This is one of the best articulations of the need for Advent that I’ve read.

I guess I would say in response though: The economy will still be bad on December 25. Home prices will still be bad. The kingdom will not have come, whatever that means to us. There’s nothing magical about December 25. It is a human construct. So we’ll do Advent, and then Christmas will come… and then what? We’re still waiting. Unless Christmas is about something more fundamental and life-giving, and if it is fundamental and life-giving, then withholding that message is not helpful, it’s borderline cruel.

I guess it all comes down to how we ‘diagnose’ the culture. I agree that by and large we are an impatient people, and maybe, perhaps, “Wait for the Lord, be strong, take heart” is what is needed. I am as concerned as anyone about the instant gratification culture we seem to live in.

But this year, for some reason, I am inclined to trust that people really do know what they need. This leaning towards Christmas is the culture’s way of saying “We are ready for some good news, NOW.” This year, I’m feeling more inclined to respond by hitting the already of the Christmas story, more than the not yet.

Forget “wait for the Lord,” I’m hearing strains of “Be thou my vision.” Let’s do some realized eschatology: Where is Christ already come? Where has Love gained a foothold in your life today? Where is the light breaking in right now? Those are good questions that can be engaged in worship and education, even if the Chrismon tree is still stuck in mothballs.

I’m kinda with Rumi anyway: how much can we really prepare for this message anyway? “There is no getting ready, other than grace.”

Image: this came up in a search for Advent Calendar. Delightfully random.