Thine Advent Here

Yesterday I finished my last Advent worship script for this year. I have always liked Advent, but this year, I found the ancient words of Isaiah and Luke deeply moving. Sitting in the predawn hours reading Isaiah proved to be a practice I think I want to continue. The prophet's continual reminder to trust God even in the midst of a marauding empire was humbling. This Sunday my small in number congregation will sing "People Look East" and hopefully as we sing we will remind one another that Love will come as Guest. Love will also come as a Rose, a Star, and  the Lord. Love just continues to come. That is who God is and what God does. The earth is bathed in this love. However, too often, we dismiss love.  In the midst  of earthly violence, despair, and greed, love can seem to be a quaint idea from another time, and Christmas is just another item on the calendar to be checked off come December 26. Let us not be foolish.   

Tyler and I did not put up a Christmas tree this year, but as usual I set out my twelve small gnomes on the speaker by the front window (Well, one figure is actually not a gnome but a small boy who has been with the gnomes for so long that any year now I expect to unpack their box and see that he has grown a white beard.)  I also decorated the mantle. I brought out two small creches, and I found fresh batteries for my candles that sit in the living and dining room windows. I purchased these candles just after 9/11. They automatically come on when darkness arrives, and turn off when there is sufficient light. For some reason, when the batteries expired the last time, I did not replace them. Maybe I needed to get a sense of the darkness of unlit candles - I needed to be reminded  how much a small light matters.  

I am an older pastor. I almost retired last year, but the election brought home to me how  important community is in times such as these.  There are health and mobility concerns  in the congregation now that were not so apparent in past years. One beloved member passed.  About three years ago we sold our much too large for us property. The proceeds have been invested, and we donate any interest we receive to 501c3's who are actively engaged in serving the hungry, the unhoused, and our beleaguered environment. We worship on Sundays in a small historical chapel  on a busy street. I am convinced that when we sing, angels come and listen. Not because we sing particularly well. They come because the acoustics of the building are so good that not only are our voices amplified, but also our hearts.  

 Look for the love; it can always be found, often in surprising places. Listen to the angels who always seem to say, "Be not afraid.". Listen to your heart. I preached all this when I was younger, and I am grateful I can still stand and preach it today.  

I am grateful for all of you.        

        

    

 image:  Gnomes and One More,  2025   

Dreams, Doors, and Shadows

There are strangers at the door   

tall, thin, shadowy,

made of nothing, 

but yet of something.

I am in a house that has been 

showing up in my dreams a long time. 

It is a modest house 

in a modest neighborhood. 

It is not my house. 

Sometimes it shows up as the house of my parents, 

but mostly it shows up as a house belonging to an aunt and uncle 

where Tyler and I stop on the journey 

to see my parents.   

Early this morning it belonged to a friend

who did not appreciate 

the shadowy figures that appeared on her doorstep. 

She locks the door made of glass (usually the door is made of wood.)

They do not leave, but they do not try to come in.   

 But I need to leave. 

I open the door as little as possible,

and squeeze through.  

The figures press closer.  

I shut the door behind me

but it will not lock. 

I am feeling stuck. 

I want to let my friend know 

that the door is unlocked.  

I knock. 

She comes to the door 

and shakes her head no.   

I try to tell her that 

I cannot lock the door.  

She does not seem to see or hear me.  

I worry about that.   

The door then locks.

I worry about that.    

        

  

             

image: When I began to look for an image, I had little hope of finding something that might fit.  However, I think this older photograph does nicely.  If we are fortunate, we all have doors. We certainly all have dreams and shadows, even when we forget.                                                                                   

 

A Dream and a 15th Century Advent Poem

Last night I dreamt that I was traveling through a city that I have dreamt about before. In the dream I am downtown and as always in my dreams, it is dark. There are others with me. I do not know who is driving - it could even be me. However, I do know we are on our way to a class and we are moving through a very hilly downtown. We decide to get out and walk. I do not know why we choose to do that, but now we are walking on a sidewalk that is actually a narrow, crumbling path on a fairly low cliff just above the ocean. The sun reflects off the rippling water and everything is bathed in beautiful light. We cautiously walk in a single file; there is no room to do otherwise, and it would be very easy to get distracted by the beauty and tumble into the sea. The day is clear and the colors are vibrant. The bright light bounces off the brilliantly blue water and sparkles like stars. Gently cresting waves are topped with pristine foamy white on our right, and to the left are small bungalows, each with its own for sale sign. Each dwelling has a small patch of well trimmed emerald green grass for a lawn, and they each are painted a different pastel color from the ones on either side. I marvel that these coastside properties have not been taken up by the wealthy for mansions, and I say out loud that here it seems almost anyone can live by the ocean.

We continue our single file walking, and we begin to discuss where we are going. We are on our way to study with a teacher. I have not met him, but I seem to know what he looks like. I believe him to be East Indian, and he helps people to learn about death. I am told that he will want to touch me on my left shoulder. This is not a somber walk. We do not journey in fearful silence, but neither are we boisterous. We simply seem to be enjoying ourselves and the beauty that surrounds us. I think there are less than ten of us. The teacher's name is never spoken. I believe that this is the first time I have ever been with these fellow students.

At the end of the dream the crumbling path begins to take a fairly gentle downward slope. A paved road is just ahead of us, and despite the fact that we are walking along a cliff, the road seems to cross our path, not just intersect. I do not know which way we should go, and I am grateful there are others ahead of me who are walking confidently.

I then wake.

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Today is the second day of Advent. I love this season when we hear again the ancient stories, hymns, and poems inspired by the birth of Jesus. I never tire of hearing about the dreams, the angelic encounters, the excitable shepherds, the sojourning mystics, and all of those who said yes to being a part of the story. It is encouraging to hear the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah reminding us once more to trust God; the way will be made plain, and that we, too, even though we sit in darkness, will see a great light. Yesterday I reminded my congregation that I believe all these wondrous stories, and I believe the retelling of them is so vital, particularly in these jaded times. We all need to learn to dream again. Perhaps in my dream we were on our way to meet Christ. If that is true, then Christ was with us in every wobbly step.

I leave you with the following poem that I found in a publication many years ago. Alas, that publication,"Thin Places", is no longer in existence, but this beautiful poem lives on. As far as I know, the author and the original source continue to be unknown. The photograph is mine.

I also leave you with the encouragement to pay attention to your dreams. You may be surprised to learn who may be tapping you on the shoulder.

Thou shalt know him when he comes

Not by any din of drums

Nor the vantages of airs

Nor by anything he wears

For his presence known shall be

By the holy harmony

That his coming makes in thee.