- by Mike

When I was 12 my grandpa helped me build a stable for baby Jesus. For the last 50 years I have set it up at Christmas. It is a visual reminder that the "Light of the World" came to earth and walked among men. The star signifies the light the wise men followed to be in the presence of God incarnate.

Going to Catholic school taught me about the celebration of Advent. Every Friday in December the whole school gathered as the priest would light a colored candle on the advent wreath, and we would sing "O Come O Come Emmanuel." Emmanuel, we were told, meant God with us. We also learned that God, kind of like Santa, was everywhere. Omnipresent is what the nuns called this magical feat.

So if God is omnipresent and Emmanuel, it begs the question: why do we need to implore him to come? It seemed kinda silly, until I realized that I could easily resonate with Henri Nouwen's words in The Return of the Prodigal Son:

"For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life:  pray always, work for others, read the scriptures, and avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair.  Now I wonder whether I have sufficiency realized that during all that time God has been trying to find me, to know me, to love me."

So how do I go about the process of letting God find me, know me and love me?  To paraphrase Teresa of Avila, we are the only hands, feet, eyes and mouth God has on earth. So maybe, just maybe, it is through the relationships with safe, loving, caring friends. Listening to their stories of brokenness, without condemnation. Rejoicing in healing and sobriety. Grieving with the brokenhearted. Sharing our stories of hope. Visiting the sick and imprisoned. Advocating for the oppressed. Fighting injustice. Giving shelter to the homeless. Feeding the hungry.

In her book Called to Question, Joan Chittister states:

"God is simply right were we are. Which, of course, is why God is so hard to find. We are always looking elsewhere. "There," says the church. "There," says the society. But God is here- right here-all the while. We have God. It is not God we're missing. It is the awareness o God in the commonness of life that we fail to cultivate "

Maybe if we are mindful of the commonness of life. if we watch and listen to the people and events that are around us, everyday, we might start to see and feel the presence of God. Maybe the "Light of the World" will dispel some of the darkness in our hearts and our world.

This advent season may we see and appreciate the miracle of the commonness of our lives.

- by kathy

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." - John 1:14

It is funny how peculiar memories become embedded in our brains. I cannot remember the preacher, but I remember this phrase: the truth is a hammer. I am pretty sure he meant that as a threat that leaves black and blue bruises.

It is no wonder that many of associate the word truth with pain. Many of us have heard the word truth in the context that we were off the mark, in rebellion, out of God’s will. It is often taught as the unpleasant part of God. Truth is the hammer of God, wielded in anger. I don’t think I have ever associated the word “truth” with feelings of warmth and pleasant images. In fact, if I am honest, I am not particularly drawn to the “truth”.

I think we have missed the point. We assume that grace and truth are somehow in opposition that they live in tension. Grace, the nice part of Jesus, filled with pleasant feelings, is the balance to Truth, the hard part, and the part that scares us and is supposed to motivate us with fear. Truth is the hammer and grace is the ointment is how I have mostly believed and lived out this passage. I was wrong.

They do not balance each other, but they actually explain each other. They are similar, not opposite. When you read the following, do you think opposite or similar?

· grace and peace

· health and happiness

· joy and thanksgiving

· wisdom and understanding

· GRACE AND TRUTH

Truth is soft, not harsh. Truth helps, guides, and is the light that rescues us from darkness.

My best example: love requires endurance. I was taught this truth that my marriage to April was for life. I understand that is not possible for everyone, and I am not looking to add to the pain of my divorced friends, but speaking only for me.

Many times, especially in the 10-20 year range of marriage did we consider getting a divorce. I am not sure how to accurately discern if we were close, but I know that a both of us wanted out. But we knew this truth- divorce would be mistake.

My point, I would have never experienced the unbelievable joy of these more recent years. The truth is I don’t have enough days left on earth to invest 31 more years in a relationship. The truth saved us. It does not hurt, but was our saving grace.

Truth is always a soft landing, a better way, an invitation not a condemnation.

As the old hymn says “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling” and He is speaking truth.

- by Stacy

Well….no, I don’t exactly feel like Ebenezer Scrooge. However, like many others, the holidays are just not exactly my favorite time. The hard part is what I really long for in a Christmas season, I also intensely fear. I want a family more than I can adequately express. Ah, the visit of the paradox once again.

Christmas 2000, was the last time that I saw my mom alive. She was in the final stretch of her 9 year battle with metastatic breast cancer, and it was, as can be imagined, a not so festive in my home. Upon returning home to Nevada from college, I knew that the end was coming as soon as I opened the door. While I prayed so hard for her to be out of pain, I was also acutely aware that with her death, I would ultimately be literally alone. She actually died 6 months later, on June 9^th, and while Christmas 2001 wasn’t in my face, the reality of the future absolutely was.

In the Christmas Carol story, the Ghost of Christmas Future or The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, is the spirit that prompts Ebenezer to make decisions to alter his life. For me, though, the visions that I imagine will be my future are not motivating, rather quite paralyzing.

The other day I questioned that internal voice that is full of angst. What if I am wrong about the possibilities of my future? What if I don’t have some built in crystal ball that I am always confident predicts a future full of loneliness and sadness? What if I can hope for a happily married life with kids who are loved and taken care of? What if there isn’t even a ghost, but really a messenger of hope?

“I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11 The Message

What if that is actually true?

Leaning into hope is so scary. Actually wanting and longing and desiring and hoping comes at a cost. Letting go of control, and trusting that God knows what he is doing requires me to stop believing that he doesn’t care about my future.

I want to be less afraid & focused on the pain of my Christmas futures and more secure in the love and relationships in my Christmas present.

So, this Christmas, I am going to try leaning into The Hope of Christmas Present, *and* the Hopes of Christmas Future(s).

- by Michelle

My favorite Christmas was decades ago. All 4 kids were young (3 – 11)….and all had caught a bad flu going around town. So far, I was the only lucky one that hadn’t gotten sick. Doesn’t sound like the setting for a fun Christmas, I know. But we set everyone up on Christmas morning in the living room with blankets and pillows and decided we’d try opening one gift each hour, and rest in-between. Such a peaceful calm was in the air. Fevers were low grade, but enough to seem to keep the kids sleeping between the hourly gift exchange. My husband was not well either, so no groceries were bought for a Christmas dinner, as I didn’t want to cook for just myself! Such a quiet, reflective day, unheard of in a house of 4 typically rambunctious children! All of a sudden, around 5 pm, the fevers cleared, and the tummies started growling and questions about “what’s for Christmas dinner?” started up. I had nothing ready, presuming all my sick family would not be hungry for anything but chicken noodle soup!

Well, they say necessity is the mother of invention. And soon, I was determined to make the best Christmas dinner ever. And in 20 minutes, we sat down to a humble but delicious dinner of stove-top stuffing rolled in turkey lunchmeat; instant mashed potatoes and a can of green beans! It was the best Christmas dinner ever and my most cherished Christmas memory.

My memory of that “forced simplicity” on that quiet Christmas day years ago, calls my heart to choose the simple way with intention, whenever possible, this holiday season. No fevers needed!

- by Jeff

As a young couple, my wife and I had the opportunity to learn some really interesting things about Christmas in small, conservative churches:

• If your children are born in the Fall, they get to portray the baby Jesus while you and your wife play the supporting roles of Mary and Joseph.
• One never has to audition for the Christmas Cantata when there's only a dozen people in the choir.
• People will actually allow you to sing "Silent Night" in its native German merely because you asked.
• Joy to the World has a LOT of verses.
• Holiday Potlucks ROCK!

When Jesus was actually born, things had to be pretty interesting as well. Even as a father, I cannot imagine the anxiety Joseph must have felt when his young wife, Mary, went into labor so far from home among the animals and strangers. This was certainly not the birth he had probably imagined, although he hadn't planned the pregnancy either. Nevertheless, I would like to imagine that when he first gazed upon this little boy, this miracle of miracles, Joseph felt the same sense of joy and love which overwhelmed me when each of my children were born. Joseph may have had shepherds and angelic choirs and all, but that would have been icing on the cake; I think the birth of this child would have been amazing enough for him.

This year, I hope to make the Christmas season better than in recent years past. This holiday, after all, is a celebration of life, not solely of the birth of the most amazing person who ever lived, but a celebration of our own lives, which are so important He set aside deity to save them. I encourage everyone to celebrate life: His, yours, and those of the people around you. 

And in the words of Tiny Tim: God bless us, every one!

- by Karl

I think every story in the bible is a Christmas story. Read long enough, and every story ends with hope and redemption. The Christmas story.

I also think every story is for us, about us. Pain and regret are a part of every human story and life seems filled with our work and healing. The beauty of the Christmas story is that journey is not a venture that must be traveled alone.

Saturday night at church we talked about at the Christmas story found in Psalm 23. Here is how a mash-up of that might look with Luke 2.

Psalm 23/Luke 2 (the Christmas Story)

1 The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3 he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name's sake.
The glory of the Lord shone around them.
4 Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people.

5 You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD.
Forever Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.

May this season bring new hope as your story is embraced and healed. May you know companionship of the Saviour as you walk towards the house of the Lord.

Saturday night we laughed together, ate together, shared in communion together for our last week of advent. For just a little while, we tried to not look back with regret or forward with worry but be present in the moment and let joy in.

This prayer is from The Denver Book of Prayer that everyone received last Christmas Eve. May we try to live in the present this week, noticing unexpected joy in ways we might not ordinarily see, experience, or feel.

Prayer for the Urban Soul

Un-namable God:
there you are
seeping through
the cracked sidewalk
where the man
has parked his cart
and sleeps.
My you meet him
in his dreams
even as he has forgotten
what dreams
feel like.

There you are
in the bright orange
of the graffiti mural,
summoning the blind
to see
and be healed
to live deeply
love recklessly.
May you touch our eyes
so closed to the sacred
that courses through the tangible.

There you are
in the chatter of the city
singing out songs
of mercy,
crafting antiphons
through conversations
and relationships.
May we be transformed
from passive listeners
to song-lovers,
soul-singers, street dancers
so that we may enter
the rhythms of your grace. Amen.

by Michelle

How does one truly forgive when everything in you is crying out to resist, to withhold, to punish the offender(s)? Having come face to face with this question at a deeply personal level, I have realized I can’t do it.  Not really. Oh, I can push it around in my soul and psyche, but the ability to forgive in a deeply organic, inside out kind of way eludes me. I know that forgiveness is a gift I give my self, but when I try to unwrap it, I find layers and layers hiding the gift itself. I knew I didn’t want to become a bitter, angry old woman, so I really wanted forgiveness to happen.   Recently I was reading Gay Hendricks, a devotional writer, who offered up the phrase “organic forgiveness,” which to me, conjures up mental pictures of a beautiful living plant growing out of the depths of my soul.  But how?  Quite basic according to Mr. Hendricks, but not simple:  Feel the feelings, 100%; the anger, pain, shame, hatred, resentment, the confusion, all of it.  Then be willing.

That’s it? Feel the feelings and be willing to let forgiveness grow.  Hmm…  Maybe it is a gift like so many of the other good things that are part of the Beautiful Mystery wrapped up in what we reduce to the three letter label of “God”. Such a gift is really a great equalizer…available to all, no pride in “doing it better” than the next pilgrim on life’s rocky roads…just a gift, planted when the soil of my heart is made ready by tilling it with the full expression of my feelings and watered with my honest tears. Recently, I have begun to feel the organic nature of this kind of forgiveness, and it is quite peaceful, to feel its presence growing in my heart; a work of grace and beauty, a gift of God.

It seems like my ongoing work in this process is to honestly stay in tune with my feelings. This includes even the ones I have been trained to deny feeling, by a misdirected teaching that often stops relational honesty at ‘turn the other cheek’. And then there is the “be willing” part. So I take a really deep breath, let it out slowly, and know that I am.  I am willing to receive this incredible, mysterious, beautiful and life-giving gift of forgiveness.

And I am left to wonder if Mother Teresa was right, when she said “Real love only begins when we learn to forgive.”

this saturday at the refuge karl taught on making room for unexpected light for our second week of advent.  he challenged us to consider emptying some of our "junk drawer" so that we can find what we need.  before communion we shared this prayer from dale and juanita ryan, friends who are dedicated to recovery, healing and hope.

in the spirit of making room for unexpected light during advent, we thought we'd share it here so that we can meditate on it this week:

We know what it is like to walk in darkness. We know what it is like to live in the shadow of death. But we also are beginning to experience what it is like to see. The darkness of denial is giving way to the light of honesty in our lives.

Of course, when you have lived in darkness as long as we have, the light can be painfully bright. We see the truth about ourselves and our self destructive behavior. We see the truth about our refusal of love. We see the truth of our brokenness. We see old pain. We see current behaviors that damage ourselves and others. The light dawns. It is not a pretty sight.

But God does not send light into our darkness to shame us. The exposure may trigger our deep shame, but this is not God's purpose. God's light is like the light of dawn. It is a light that signals that something new is happening. A new beginning is possible. The light that God brings into our dark world is a light of hope.

Recovery is God's light coming into our darkness. The light exposes. We begin to see clearly the ways we have sinned and the ways other people have sinned against us. And the light provides hope. In the light we see the possibility for new beginnings.

Lord, your light hurts my eyes.
It is too bright.
I see too clearly now.
It is too painful for me.
Help me to believe that your light is not to bring shame
but to bring hope into my dark world.
Light of Heaven, embrace me with your warmth.
Heal me with your bright rays.
Give me life.
And hope.
Amen.

This week I was reminded how much we as humans typically hate to wait….stuck in rush hour traffic, my teenage son at the wheel, impatience permeated the car. My only thoughts (other than for my immediate safety, of course), were of how I could utilize this opportunity to teach my son the joys of waiting. His only thought was getting home as quickly as possible to try out the new Xbox game sitting next to him, calling his name. He tried every possible shortcut home he knew…each of them delivering yet another waiting game in the evening rush hour of the city. With each failed short-cut, he finally surrendered to the absolute necessity of simply staying on the road home and going with the snail-paced flow of bumper to bumper cars.

My intention was to model to him the serenity to be found in the waiting. Instead, I realized I was the one with the lesson to learn. Waiting with my impatient son, I realized how very similar I often am to him, in my own life. During this last year, when my flow of life seemed to slow to a snail’s pace (actually, sometimes there was no movement at all!); I too was the one ‘looking for a short-cut’. Every short-cut had its own dead end and I always ended up back on the main road, bumper to bumper with the messy stopped up traffic flow of my life. Like my son, I too finally surrendered to stay on the main road home, and go with the flow, however slow. But initially I did not wait patiently either and I am considerably older than my son. Yet in time, my own surrender to waiting did turn into a quiet, unexpected, joy, even before reaching the ‘home’ my life journey longed for.

It is with this fresh respect for the beauty of waiting that I look towards Advent, eager to see the unexpected ways the Holy shows up in the humble manger scenes of my own life. Advent is a season of the year full of age-old stories of waiting and hoping; of silence and shame; of the birth of holy innocence and promises finally fulfilled. This year, more than ever, I feel deeply a part of these same storylines in my own life. I know it’s easy to get impatient with the rush, the commercialism of this particular holiday season. And yet, I wonder if perhaps this scenario is the modern rush hour equivalent of our hearts that we can fight against and look for short-cuts; or perhaps, we could relax and go with the flow, as our heart slowly but surely finds its way home.