Consoling Job

Now, when Job's three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him...they met together to go and console and comfort him. They sat with him seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.
--Job 2:11,13

            What if, instead of immediately rushing to fill the airwaves with commentary after the slaughter of the innocents at Sandy Hook school, the nation had observed a holy silence? What if, instead of shooting at the families who grieved, the photographers had capped their lenses and sat down on the ground around the school and wept? What if, instead of mining for sound bites, reporters had shut off their recording devices and spoke not a word, seeing that the parents’ suffering was very great?

            Silence is not the same as indifference. Sometimes the most compassionate response is quiet understanding.

            I do not fault the photographers and reporters for doing their jobs, or the leaders of cities, states and the nation for trying to give voice to our collective shock and grief. I do not intend to criticize. I merely offer an exercise in imagination. Can we imagine a more compassionate world?

            If we can imagine it, perhaps we can begin to realize it.

Prepare the Way! (Decoded)

9 December 2012

            “My relationship with the Lord has grown cold” she said. “I have to work on that.”

            She wasn’t talking to me. I just couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the booth directly behind me, no matter how hard I tried not to hear it. I mean, you can’t put your fingers in your ears and hum at Perkins. Not unless you are small enough to order off the children’s menu. That sort of behavior is unbecoming in an adult. Likewise, turning around and joining a conversation with strangers is generally not an option. But if it were, this is what I would like to have said: “How is your relationship with your people? Do you have a warm relationship with the people you see every day? Because we relate to God through other people.”

            I was just reading Malachi (the last book in the Old Testament). In Malachi’s day, people were complaining that God did not seem to care about their troubles. People thought that if they went to the temple and offered the usual sacrifice, if they observed the ritual and the rules, that they out to get something out of it. People were starting to complain. Why are we going to all this trouble if God does not show?

Malachi said to them, if you want God to be faithful to you, then you all should be faithful to your wives. If you want God to be fair, you better treat other people fairly. If you want God to be generous, then be generous to people who are in need. Simple really. Simple to understand; it’s the doing that’s difficult.

            This is the Sunday—the second Sunday in Advent-- when we sing about preparing a way in the wilderness. In the metaphorical language of the church, during Advent we prepare a way for Jesus to enter into our hearts. That is poetic language; it’s beautiful. It is also meaningless, unless by “Jesus” we mean people. We open our hearts to other people by getting to know them, so that their joys become our joys, and their cares become our cares.

But that too is meaningless, unless by “opening our hearts” we mean not just being mindful of the miseries of others, but doing whatever we can to relieve the miseries of others, working as hard to relieve their miseries as we work to relieve our own. If faith is just a feeling, what earthly good is that? What difference in the world does it make for us to feel all warm and Jesus-y in our hearts?

            The prophets speak of a change of heart but they don’t stop there. Words of glad tidings are empty if they are not followed by deeds. This is how the Prince of Peace comes into the world, to save the world: First the Godly one is born into our hearts, then our minds, then our bodies. This is how we become drenched in Godliness, this is how the holy works through us. Feel it. Think it. And go and do. This is the good news. Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Tree in Winter

2 December 2012

In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David;

 and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. --Jeremiah 33:15

            To me, there is nothing sadder than the sight of bare naked trees in winter. Trees that have dropped all their leaves—they look so cold, and so vulnerable. In a deciduous forest in winter you cannot tell the living from the dead. All the trees look lifeless, unless you know what to look for, unless you know how to read the signs. If you look closely, you can see the buds, even in midwinter. The buds signify life. The buds are the difference between dormancy and death. The tree is only sleeping.

            This is Advent: it is a walk in a winter wood, looking for signs of life.

            As I mentioned in our weekly newsletter, I was talking with a group of colleagues a week or two ago about the perceived “problem” of Advent. Many ministers feel pressured to skip Advent and go straight to Christmas. I remember a pastor of my childhood reporting a conversation with the “Altar Guild” (a fancy name for the women who took charge of polishing the brass candlesticks and arranging for floral deliveries). One of the ladies complained that the purple candles on the Advent wreath clashed with the red and green. Reverend Ullman patiently explained that purple was the color of the season of Advent. Red and green have no liturgical significance. Purple is the imperial color, the color of kings. Purple is passionate, and so the church has designated purple as the appropriate color for Advent. So don’t blame the purple for clashing with the red and green, blame the red and green for clashing with the purple. And that’s the story of how Rev. Ullman stood up to the Altar Guild. He didn’t stay long after that.

I suppose it is tempting to accommodate the commercial calendar. They are playing carols at the mall, so why not sing them at church? Isn't all this Advent drama just a pretense anyway? We know what's coming on December 24-- Christmas Eve, the birth of Jesus, Angels and shepherds and wise men and fa-la-la-la-la. Why pretend to wait for what we have already received?

Actually, I think the church plays it false when we pretend that Christmas is complete, in and of itself, that the baby king is the Kingdom, that God's salvation has arrived and all is resolved. The truth is, we abide in Advent. Advent is where we live-- somewhere between the announcement and the arrival of the peace of Christ, the realm of God.

Advent is a season of waiting. Waiting in darkness for the lights to come on. Waiting in hunger for breakfast to be served. Waiting in prison for release to be announced. Waiting in debt for forgiveness. Waiting on the battlefield for peace and return.

What are you waiting for? Does it make a difference, hearing that you do not wait alone? How does it feel to know that all the earth is waiting? Why would anyone want to cheat Advent? Advent is as real as life gets.

Even if you can think of nothing for which you are waiting, I invite you to abide in advent. Linger a while. Keep company with those who are waiting for salvation, forgiveness, peace. Our salvation is near. The bare trees, representative of dormant dreams, these trees are budding. Cut a branch, and put it in water. You will see your hope spring forth.