Tag: advent

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Mighty Fortress

Wartburg Castle_A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

I’m told this is Wartburg Castle, the inspiration for Martin Luther’s A Mighty Fortress is Our God. That song gives me chills every time, almost enough to make me wish I were Lutheran. In college, my friend Karsten would belt out each line a cappella, and I’d sit mesmerized by his powerful voice but even more by the intrepid story this song proclaims.

This shot appeared on the #adventpicaday advent series a few of us have concocted on Instagram. One might not think the photo belongs in an Advent exercise. Mighty Fortress isn’t often thought of as an Advent tune, but it should be. They tell the same story, a tale of fierce love and bold rebellion against evil and darkness.

The baby came, a bulwark never failing.

 

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Advent Week Two {fire & fury}

See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me…The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight — indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap… {Malachi 3:1-2}

When I was a boy, if I left the house with a dirty face, my mom would seize me before I exited the car. She would lick her thumb and scrub my grubby cheeks until they shined. I don’t know which I hated worse – the wet finger or how my mom could (as any good mom can) scrub down to the bone. She met my protests with a smile and a renewed tenaciousness. “If you’d clean yourself” she’d say, “then I won’t have to.” She made her point. I now wash my face each morning.

My mom had one other standard trick (is there a book somewhere with a list of such things?): soap for washing the filthy or sassy mouth. Best I remember, I never received the oral suds, though it’s entirely possible I’ve blocked it from my consciousness. I do recall the threat, and I do have a vague recollection of my sister’s ordeal at the bathroom sink. Only last week, I channeled my mother and suggested to Miska that we whip out a bar of Dial. I’ve only got a little more convincing to do.

When we think of Christ’s coming – Christ’s adventing – we often consider only the warm manger glow, the angelic carols, the hope and goodwill to all, the merry Christmas everyone. We consider only the delights. This is all most appropriate, as the prophet Malachi reminds us that the messenger who comes is one who indeed is our delight. Still, the prophet’s next question stops us short: who can endure the day of his coming? who can stand when he appears?

The prophet Malachi sets the coming Messiah as one who, not unlike an obdurate mother, arrives to cleanse with kindness and fury.

When the King comes, the King burns with fire. The Holy One washes the world with a cleansing deluge. This is a gracious terror. The Christ child comes in tenderness, but true tenderness can not allow evil to wreck us. Love could never be so feeble. Love must do what Isaiah promised, what St. Luke echoed – love must make the crooked things straight.

Who can stand when the Son of God appears in all splendor and blazing glory? None of us. And yet – each of us, surrounded by the unrelenting love of God. For the end, says Luke, is that all flesh will see God’s salvation.

 

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Doors

duke_chapel_doors.juli_kalbaugh

When Miska and I roamed London’s streets, I was fascinated by the doors. It’s the same when I walk Richmond’s Church Hill neighborhood or Locust Street here in my own fair city. I watch the doors and wonder their story. Who has walked over that threshold and into warmth and life? Who has stood at the stoop, trembling as they knock, hoping against hope that the door would swing wide?

My sister gave me a print of the “Doors of Tallinn, Estonia,” a mosaic showcasing twenty-five doors you’d find if you were to travel Tallinn’s alleys and boulevards. The print sits above my desk, close to my Berry’s “Sabbath 2007, no 9” – the two say something quite similar, though you’d have to pay attention to know. Whenever I happen upon a beautiful or quirky door, I pull out my camera. I’m not unique in this, as doors have always captured the photographer’s eye. This week, these Duke Chapel doors caught my friend Juli Kalbaugh’s eye, and I’m so glad they did.

It’s made me wonder why doors capture us so. I’m sure there are many reasons, but I think this is one: we all want to be welcomed. We all want to be brought in from the cold, from the aloneness, into a warm space filled with friendship. We want to belong. We’d love to have a person fling their door open, burst into smile, throw their arms around us and say, Get yourself in here.

I wish I had more courage at some of these doors I love. Rather than take a photo, I’d like walk up and knock. If someone answers and asks what I need, I could simply say, “Just an invitation.”

 

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Advent Week One {light heart}

Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life… Be alert at all times…{St. Luke}

chairToday’s reading, for the first week of Advent, gives us a neglected term. I’m trying to recall if I’ve ever used dissipation in a sentence. Dissipation is a hoary word referring to the ways we grasp and clinch rather than give, the ways we shovel life down our throat without stopping to savor. We dissipate our life, says Luke, by grabbing too much drink or by grabbing too much worry. Our society knows the ruin that comes from abusing alcohol. I don’t think we’ve even begun to grapple with the abuse of worry, anxiety and fear.

We can’t honestly tussle with this latter vice because in so many ways it is the fuel that turns the engines of our world. What would happen to the corporate apparatus if managers stopped worrying about promotions or being bettered by the younger class? How would our economy spiral if we stopped obsessively pouring over job data and consumer sentiment? What new terror might erupt if we didn’t live, second by second, on high alert? What tragedy will ravage our family if we don’t maintain acute vigilance?

The real danger to all this anxiety, this dissipation of any sort, is that it gives us a heavy heart. Our heart is meant to be light and free; and when we stuff our souls with anything other than love and freedom, goodness and joy, then our heart loses its vibrancy.

I’m given to anxiety. I can work a worry with the best of them. It’s an addiction, and I can surrender to cycles where I compulsively propose every possibility for relational, vocational or family ruin — just to be prepared, to ward off danger. The result, as you’d guess, is that life lived this way knows little joy, little laughter. What danger could I possibly avoid that would be worse than the danger I’m creating for myself by concocting such a confining, agitated life?

Advent is a time for watching, watching for God, staying alert to love, paying keen attention to those places where we’ve let our heart grow heavy. Disappointment, regret, shame, lethargy, willful selfishness – these things breed anxiety. They weigh us down. They shutter the eyes of our heart, and we walk in the dark, our soul heavy and blind.

Last week, I saw this discarded orange chair in front of a friend’s house. I imagined sinking into its broken-in cushions, resting on that corner and watching the neighborhood. Unhurried, unbothered. I would cradle a mammoth thermos of coffee with a few extra cups in case any passerby needed warmth. I’d have an 80’s boom box sitting on the ground playing Scottish bagpipe tunes or maybe Johnny Cash. I’d sit there, with open eyes and open heart, light and free. Advent.

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Advent Hope #adventpicaday

Jeromie Rand.FrozenIt’s been said, at least a time or two, that a picture’s worth a thousand words. I buy it. But, as any son longing for home or any mother listening for love will tell you – it’s also true that sometimes a word’s worth a thousand pictures.

Bottom line: Pictures matter. Words matter. Love matters. Hope matters. A kiss under the moonlight matters. Tucking your boys in at night matters. It all matters.

But we’ll soon be moving into Advent, and the quiet, watchful Advent days are days particularly keen on opening up tired eyes and adding a twinkle when you don’t see it coming. Last year, a few of us helped one another pay attention, to see the days before us, by snapping a picture that spoke of Advent mercies. I figured why not go for it again.

Here’s how it works. This year’s theme will be hope. We’re watching for signs of hope, for things that give us hope – and also for the places we pray hope will arrive. As many days of Advent as you’re able (and please, let this be easy, no pressure or discipline or any such thing – this is Advent, mercy-time, for crying out loud), snap a photo (like the one above – Jeromie Rand gave us this one last year) and post it on Instagram with #adventpicaday in the caption field. That way, we’ll all see what you see.

It is this joyful expectation of God’s coming that offers vitality to our lives. The expectation of the fulfillment of God’s promises to us is what allows us to pay full attention to the road on which we are walking. {Henri Nouwen}

Now that’s hope.

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4th Wednesday of Advent

My apologies for forgetting to include three yesterday, our addition for this final week of advent. Here we are, three to ponder:

Stern (Star) / shannon hayes
Watching for Light / suzanne aultman
Making Light / cathy monetti
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Gift {4th Monday of Advent}

Last night at All Souls, our community surprised us with a poem they had written, expressing what All Souls means for them and has become for them. They had our leaders come to the front, as people stood one at a time reading line by line. It’s a powerful gift to stand there and receive words of deep life. It was a beautiful thing. We live within a beautiful community.

On this journey of life 
Between suffering and glory 
Between salvation and resurrection 
Between ruin and redemption 
Our souls need a resting place 

A gathering space to witness the mystery of transformation 
A place to be enveloped by the warm care of community 
when we are wearied by winter 
So take off your shoes, for you are standing on sacred ground 
God has built us a house of healing
 from the holy rubble of our lives
It is here that we will be encouraged and refreshed 
It is here that our doubt and despair can be destroyed 
by love and desire 

So come, we are eagerly awaiting your arrival 
The welcome mat has been rolled out 
And the door lies open for travellers worn from the road 
In the name of Jesus, we say “Welcome Home” 

It is spacious here 
There is enough room at the table for you 
Love is freely offered in the breaking of bread 
and passing of the cup 

If you hunger 
Come sup with us 
And you will feast on hope, freedom and authenticity 

If you thirst 
Have a drink with us 
And be warmed, awakened and inspired 

Come 
We will help you hear the voice of Jesus 
Come 
Bloom into the real you
Come 
And find hospitality, restoration and shalom 
Come 
And take the peace of Christ 
For you do not have to walk alone 

Come 
Be known 
Be understood 
Be listened to 
Be artful 
Be open 
Be free 
Be beautiful 
Be warmed and filled 
And take off your shoes 

But, most of all 
Be at home 
For this place has been set aside for us 
The fire has been prepared 
And it is burning with great anticipation 
Eagerly awaiting the arrival 
Of 
Your Soul 
Of 
All Souls

___

Here are pictures from yesterday’s #adventpicaday. Let’s do three this final week. That will be the photographer’s gift to the rest of us.

Untitled / labtrout

Untitled / marvelissa

Flickering to Life / worth wheeler

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