The coming of our Lord is near,
Something new is around the corner,
Love, joy, peace and hope,
We await the promise of your coming.
The coming of our Lord is near,
Something new is appearing,
A child, a saviour, God’s much beloved son,
We await the hope of your coming.
The coming of our Lord is near,
Something new is being birthed,
A new heaven, a new world, a new community,
We await the long expected One.
The coming of our Lord is near,
We wait in joyful expectation for what is emerging,
Love comes down at Christmas,
And we await your coming.
(Pause to light the appropriate Advent candles)
The coming of our Lord is near
and we await the promise of your coming,
Light of the world draw close,
Shine on us with your guiding presence,
Shine in us with your truth and forgiveness,
Shine through us with your mercy and love.
The coming of our Lord is near
and we await the promise of your coming,
Bring light and life and love into our world,
Lead us to the fullness of life,
Where peace and righteousness kiss,
Where truth and justice embrace.
Come Lord Jesus come
You who are love incarnate,
You who give life eternal,
You who are the One in whom all things find completion,
Draw close and teach us the ways of peace.
Come Lord Jesus come,
You who are fully human yet fully God,
Come again into our world,
Come again into our lives,
Draw close, come again and make us whole.
Scripture Readings: read appropriate scriptures for the day.
Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.
God who is justice, come.
Come to refugees and victims of violence throughout the world.
God who is righteousness, come.
Come to all who have been mistreated and abused.
God who is compassion, come.
Come to all who are sick and in need of healing.
God who is love, come.
Come to all who hate and live in fear.
Light of the world come, draw near,
In this Advent season come into our world afresh,
Draw all the world’s people into your embrace,
Open our hearts to welcome you.
Light of the world come, draw near,
Shine your star that we might follow,
Let angel choruses welcome you,
And proclaim your peace through all the earth.
Light of the world come, draw near,
Birth in us something new,
Fill the emptiness within,
Let your love overflow in us, through us, beyond us.
Amen.
As Christmas approaches the tension between the hectic pace of the season and the stillness towards which God beckons us grows. Take a few minutes today to sit in stillness and enjoy the beauty of God’s presence.
On Thanksgiving Day, Denise and I took my son Alec on a hike in the Rocky Mountain National Park. The drive into the park was “interesting” as it was snowing and had been snowing for some time. The road was slick and it had been years since I had driven in those conditions. Despite some ice, getting slightly stuck (Alec, who lives in Minnesota, offered to drive for a bit and got me out of the icy spot), and snowy weather, we were not disappointed with the trip! Alec got to see some Elk and Deer as we drove along. And we had a wonderful hike up to Cub Lake along a snowy trail. The above picture was taken from the trail.
One thing I noticed while we were hiking was the difference between hiking in RMNP during the fall where you can see all the rocks and uneven bits of ground and hiking in the winter when you aren’t able to see the obstacles. As I snapped pictures, mused about life and the mountains, and walked; I found myself focusing intently on my footsteps.
A week later I was reflecting not only on the hike, but on the concept of footsteps and the Sunday’s Gospel reading. Luke 1:76-79 especially hit close to home for me. “And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
The context of this passage is the story of the birth of John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin. After John was born, his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and offered this prophesy concerning his son. In the prophecy, he spoke of the coming Messiah AND of his young son’s role in preparing the way for the Messiah. Verses 78-79 are especially familiar to me from years of using various daily prayer orders.
From my use over the years of the Roman Catholic Breviary (Liturgy of the Hours) and the Presbyterian Church (USA) Daily Prayer Book, these words have been ingrained into my heart and soul. “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Canticle/Song of Zechariah from PC(USA) Daily Prayer)
The previous week’s Gospel reading from Luke was all about the apocalyptic vision which Jesus shared with his disciples. I really struggled with that imagery as I worked on my sermon for that Sunday. Zechariah’s prophecy is a breath of fresh air compared to the doom and gloom from last Sunday. However, it doesn’t avoid the doom and gloom. After all, Zechariah said God will send the Messiah so that “we will be saved from our enemies and from all who hate us.” (verse 71 NLT) However, there is a reason that the people will be saved. That reason will NOT be to carry out acts of retribution on their enemies. “We have been rescued from our enemies so that we can serve God without fear, in holiness and righteousness for as long as we live.” (verses 74-75 NLT)
On September 11, 2001, Denise’s oldest came home from school and shared what others had been saying after the attacks on New York City and Washington, DC. “We should just go over there and nuke them all.” Needless to say, they had a long talk about the matter and he realized that this wish for blood-lust and vengeance was not right. I remember hearing similar statements being made by military members in Nevada as we secured the perimeter at Indian Springs Auxiliary Air Field and wondered what would happen next. Yes, I thought of the fact, and shared with those members, that not every person who lived in Afghanistan was the enemy and that HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of innocent people would die if we did that. Fourteen years and multiple war-zones later, warfare has not brought an end to terrorism. In fact, I would say that it has only increased the size and the scope of those who hate the U.S.
Last week was another week of tragedy as a mass shooting unfolded in San Bernardino, California. Early in the morning on the same day as the San Bernardino shooting, a gunman killed one woman and injured three men in Savannah, Georgia. Last week it was Colorado making the news with the massacre at the Planned Parenthood Clinic in Colorado Springs.
In addition to looking at the Middle East and what is going on with the Islamic State (the name is an offense to the countless decent followers of Islam that I know personally as far as I am concerned) we look to our own nation. Violence doesn’t solve anything. It only leads to more violence. As Jesus said in the garden on the night when he was arrested, “Put away your sword… Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.” (Matthew 26:52)
If ever there was a time when we need a prophet to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins and to guide our feet into the way of peace, isn’t that time now? My prayers this Advent season are a mixture of seeking the guidance that the Lord offers to all who would follow the Prince of Peace and seeking how to respond as a Christ-follower in times of such darkness and violence. It is especially needed as I hear/read/see so-called Christians (yes, lower case is intentional) who have blood-lust in their hearts and cry for retribution or take up the sword literally against any who don’t follow their way.
Will you join me, dear reader, in this quest? Will you join me as s I pray for the dawn from on high to break upon us as we dwell in darkness and the shadow of death?
by Lynn Domina
I see their photos nearly daily without ever fully believing the images. I’ve heard testimony from friends and neighbors and recently even my own daughter. In the deep hours of night, especially as autumn is turning toward winter, northern lights ignite the sky. I’ve never seen them. I used to assume I never would, for they hold such a special mystical significance—something I believe is true, even trust is true, yet know can’t possibly be true. Their beauty is too strange.
I live now along the shore of Lake Superior, which always looks majestic, whether the day is calm or stormy or the sky above it is clear or dark with clouds. I gaze at the lake, resting in its expanse, and then I look up toward the sky, measuring the boundary between water and air. I live now far enough north that at the winter solstice, we’ll see just over 8 ½ hours of daylight. I’ll leave for work in darkness and arrive home in darkness. I wouldn’t want to spend my entire life walking through the dark, but at least for now, such short days still seem exotic. And I know that late one night, maybe next month or maybe next year, I’ll step outside, and there they’ll be, the aurora borealis, northern lights, shimmering waves of green or purple or blue. I won’t believe it.
In this season of short days, I’m waiting for the stretched out light of spring, but even more I’m hoping to see the glorious undulations of the northern lights. I’ll be grateful for both. The feeling is different, responding to the ordinary and the extraordinary. During the long days and the short days, I feel contentment, each day unfolding as it should. When I do see the northern lights, I expect to feel awe, as creation reveals itself to be even more astonishing than I could have imagined.
My response to the light I experience and the lights I hope to see mirrors my understanding of faith. I wander through my days, occasionally perceiving the ordinary grace that envelopes me, grace that is always more than enough to make this life meaningful. I wake up next to my spouse and watch her breathing, and then I hear my daughter rumbling around in her room. I step out onto the sidewalk and see the clouds reflecting dawn. I taste the grilled cheese I’ve made for my lunch, knowing that it nourishes my body as much as it satisfies my spirit. I attend a poetry reading and hear another person creating art through language, dedicating her life to observation and testimony and self-expression. I receive each of these moments as a blessing, knowing that they’re mine because God first created this world and then brought me into it. These moments are as ordinary as the days that lengthen and then contract, and they are enough to make me glad for this life.
And yet, my faith also tells me there’s more, even if I haven’t yet experienced it directly. My faith confirms that the God who created each of us also became incarnated to share our human experiences and continues to sustain us. Being alive in this world is enough. But my faith teaches me that my indirect experiences of God will one day become direct. The light I walk within every ordinary day will blaze across the night sky like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Walking in the light, walking toward the light, walking through the night and waiting for it to flare with color makes life itself an Advent experience. I wait expectantly, aware that my ordinary life and its extraordinary moments reveal the God who also waits, expectantly, filled with hope, exuding light.
by Beth Stedman
How do we lean into the Light of Christ?
When I first saw this question in an email from Christine I honestly dismissed it a little. It felt like a good question and theme to sit with for Advent, but it didn’t resonate with me very much. And then…well, then God started calling me into some really deep soul work. Suddenly this question took on a life of it’s own.
I feel like God’s been going into rooms of my heart, sometimes rooms I didn’t even know where there, hidden away in the dark, and turning on the lights.
“You need to look at this. You need to pay attention to this.” He says, as he points to the clutter, the dirt, the broken windows, and cracked foundations. “It’s time to turn the light on, it’s time to see things for what they are, time to see yourself in truth.”
This has not been easy work. It’s been hard, painful, tear-filled work. It’s been the work of confession.
And I think it has been the work of preparation that I need, the work of preparing for Christmas, the work of Advent.
It is easy for me to forget that Advent was originally (and still is) a fasting season. Advent is to Christmas as Lent is to Easter. Yet that isn’t how I think of Advent, or how I practice Advent typically. Perhaps I’ve been missing something.
When John the Baptist came to prepare the way for Jesus, he didn’t do it with lovely decorations and a calendar full of parties and social engagements. He went out into the wilderness and called out, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.” Repent.
I’ve often heard repentance described as turning and going the opposite direction, perhaps we could also describe repentance as turning on the lights. What I’m realizing is that when I bring my darkness, my brokenness, my sin out into the light, when I confess it and speak it aloud to others, it looses just a little of it’s power and it becomes easier for God to step in and lead me in a new direction.
I have heard people say before “we can’t heal what we don’t acknowledge” and I’m beginning to the think that there is more truth to this than I had ever realized before. What I continue to do is pretend I am alright. Pretend I don’t need a savior, or don’t continually need a savior. I make the cross of Christ’s grace cheap, claiming to walk in his mercy, but continuing on in my sin. My sin exposes the places where I don’t really believe the things I say I believe. So, I hid those things away, from myself, from others, and often from God. Although, “no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account” (Hebrews 4:13).
I’m beginning to think I cannot fully receive mercy and grace for what I do not expose. Perhaps this is exactly the work of sanctification. Exposing, one thing after another, before God, before myself, before others. Perhaps the work of sanctification requires that I see myself exactly as I am, see all of the cracks in my foundations, all of the broken places, the clutter and garbage to which I keep clinging. In seeing these things, in acknowledging, in leaning towards the light and letting it shine in all corners of myself, I am entering into the heart of Advent waiting, which is need.
It is our deep need for a savior, a messiah, that prompts us to call out the holy summons of Advent, “Come. Come, Lord Jesus.” It is our deep need for mercy and grace, for someone to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, that produces in us the holy longing of Advent.
Perhaps Advent is really a season of repentance. And perhaps the first step of repentance is to stop hiding and step into the light. I cannot heal myself, but perhaps God cannot heal me either until I come to him in truth, in confession, seeing my need for what it is.
We often talk about Christ being the light of the world and yet what we forget is that we really like darkness. Darkness allows hiding. Leaning into the light, being people of the light, means coming out of hiding. It means speaking truth even when we want to run in the opposite direction. It means we don’t shove our sin in a dark room and keep it hidden, we bring it out into the light.
I’m not going to say this is easy. It’s not. It is hard to say aloud the deep wounds in my heart, the things I’m embarrassed to admit. It’s hard to face my own sin head on and then speak those things in the presence of someone I care for, who I want to care for me. This is hard work, but it’s holy work, and work that we have largely neglected in the modern church.
We neglect or rush past the fast for the feast, and I think we largely do this because we want to stay hidden. We like the idea of Christ as a light, as long as that light doesn’t shine too brightly in our direction. At least that’s where I think I’ve been, but this season, this Advent, I’m praying a new prayer. I’m asking for light. Not just the light of guidance or the happy feel good of God banishing the darkness around me, but the light that banishes the darkness within me.
Christ as a light, illumine and guide me*
I need you, Lord Jesus.
I need you to come as light.
Come into the darkness,
Come into my darkness.
Christ as a light, illumine and guide me*
You are the light that burns,
and this Advent I ask you to burn away the darkness in my own heart.
Burn away the unbelief.
Burn away the wounds that I’ve carried too long.
Burn away the sins that I cherish, and the sins that I abhor.
Burn away the chains.
Christ as a light, illumine and guide me*
Make visible the things I try to hide.
Make clear the things I try to ignore.
Shine your light in all the dark corners of my soul.
Christ as a light, illumine and guide me*
Meet me here,
In the darkness,
In the light,
In the waiting,
In my need.
Meet me here in mercy.
Meet me here with grace.
Christ as a light, illumine and guide me*
The Christ child comes,
The light of the world breaks forth,
Arise, O sleeper,
Arise from the dead,
Step out of the dark,
And Christ will shine on You.
Amen.
*This particular line is taken from the Celtic Book of Daily Prayer
It would be silly to light a lamp and then hide it under a bowl. When someone lights a lamp, she puts it on a table or a desk or a chair, and the light illumines the entire house. You are like that illuminating light. Let your light shine everywhere you go, that you may illumine creation, so men and women everywhere may see your good actions, may see creation at its fullest, may see your devotion to Me, and may turn and praise your Father in heaven because of it. Matt 5:15,16 The Voice)
The millions of stars that light up the night sky are breathtaking. They don’t disappear when the sun comes up, but we can no longer see them. The brilliance of the sun hides them.
Sometimes we worry that the light of Christ is setting in our world. People are not going to church, they are not reading scripture, they are not praying. As Christmas approaches we want to see visible signs of Christ’s coming – mangers in the park, pageants in our churches, Christmas carols on the radio. Yet I wonder, is their brightness obscuring the million points of light, the Christ light within each of us that is meant to shine in the darkness. We only need beacons to guide us when it is dark. We only become aware of the millions of stars around us when the sun sets.
What is your response?
Think about the public displays of Christmas around you – the manger scenes in front of churches, the Christmas music on the radio and TV, nativity scenes on Christmas cards. In what ways do you think they make people more aware of the true light of Christ? In what ways do you think they obscure that light?
Now think about the Christ light within you. When do you feel it shines most brightly? How could you enable it to shine more brightly this Christmas season.
Photo Craig Goodwin craiggoodwinphoto.com Used with permission.
Interestingly LED lights — which are touted for their energy-saving properties and are being installed in our homes and in cities around the world — are actually making light pollution worse. (Read more here.) As ever brighter night lights creep into our cities, our homes and our lives they disrupt our night and day cycles, confuse animals and give us all more restless, sleepless nights.
These artificial night lights are important but they need to be intentionally focused on where the light is really needed. And they often need to be shielded so that they do not obscure the natural lights that are meant to flourish in the night.
What is your response?
Think about the artificial lights that brighten your life especially in this season in which we wait for the coming of Christ. Perhaps it is consumerism, or busyness, or even the pressure to shine more light on the nativity of Christ at this season. How authentically are you shining as the Christ light of a beacon on a hill? What is obscuring your Christ light so that it is not shining as brightly as it should in the darkness not just at this season but throughout the year? Are their ways in which you should be less focused on being bathed in the “Sonlight”
Watch the video below. Prayerfully consider how God would ask you to “go light your world” this Advent and Christmas season.
Here is a beautiful Christmas prayer by Mother Teresa of Calcutta to meditate on this week.
At this season of the year, I love to use prayers like this to help keep me focused on the real meaning of Christmas and Advent. May we indeed enable our families to be “another Nazareth where peace and love and joy can reign.
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