Doug Floyd, Author at Pilgrim Notes

Author: Doug Floyd (page 1 of 8)

Thinking About The Last Supper

July 28, 2024 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

The Last Supper by Jacopo Tinteretto (1594)

Folks all around me have been talking about the opening ceremony at the Olympics in France and, oddly enough, “The Last Supper.” At first, many people suggested that the opening ceremony mocked Leonardo Davinci’s “The Last Supper.”

The Last Supper by Leonardo DaVinci (1492-1498)

Then, a host of voices said that this was not a mockery of DaVinci’s painting, but it depicted “The Feast of the Gods” by Johann Rottenhammer and Jan Brueghel.

*Feast of the Gods by Johann Rottenhammer and Jan Brueghel (1602)*

I started thinking about images of the Last Supper, and I am drawn to Jacopo Tinteretto’s “Last Supper.” His art is part of a post-Renaissance movement known as Mannerism. Many of the paintings contain a black background. These artists were drawing upon techniques from their Renaissance forbears but also exaggerated specific elements.

When I look at Tinteretto’s “Last Supper,” I feel transported to a 16th-century pub. The room is loud and alive with crowds of people eating and drinking. There’s a table off to the side that goes almost unnoticed. It’s Jesus and his disciples sharing a last meal together. Now, I realize this deviates from the Biblical story. No painting of a Biblical story depicts the actual event. They invite us to reflect on themes inherent in the stories or themes that bring the culture in dialogue with the Gospel story.

Tintoretto opens the spiritual world above the disciples, and we see what appears to be angels and possibly even demons. The spiritual world presses right up against the natural world. In this dark world, a light is shining out from Christ and even from His disciples. This makes me think about how God in His goodness does not abandon a world in darkness but descends into the midst of human sin and brokenness to redeem it.

It reminds me of a scene from Graham Greene’s novel, “The Power and the Glory.” The priest is thrown into a darkened jail cell of criminals, drunks, and even a couple of fornicators. When I read this passage, I am usually moved to tears because I cannot help but see the goodness of God, who descends into our brokenness. In His unfathomable love, He has even sent His disciples into places of darkness with the light of His love.

This movement is sometimes called condescension. It is rooted in God’s freely chosen humiliation in Christ (Philippians 2). The divinity descends into humanity. Christ empties Himself, taking the form of a servant, and He continues to humble Himself by dying as a criminal on the cross. He is mocked and cursed, and simultaneously offering forgiveness to His persecutors.

I see another kind of condescension on the Internet. People look down from on high, mocking people from one group or another. Some Christians have cursed a pagan world for a perceived offense at the Olympics. Others have mocked the Christians who failed to see the mythological references.

Both of these responses could easily be seen as condescension without humility. We have all made mistakes and could easily be mocked, so I am always puzzled when we choose to mock others while being blind to our own faults. Paul puts it this way, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). I have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. I cry out for mercy.

I am the criminal on the floor of the jail in Graham Greene’s “The Power and the Glory.” When the priest is cast beside me, I confess my sin and cry out for mercy. I am the criminal hanging beside Jesus and crying out, “Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42-43).

I need grace to look up at those who speak down to me as a fool, as a failure, as a loser. I want to speak the word of grace to them, hoping against hope that they might sense the good God who comes to lead them and me and us all into freedom.

Thanksgiving

November 25, 2022 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

Thanksgiving Day 2022

On this day of thanks giving, I am giving thanks for the last year and its challenges.

In August 2021, I was hospitalized with COVID. I was in and out of the hospital over several months. During that time, I lost my ability to walk and my kidney function. After help from my wife and physical therapists, I started walking again. The kidney is different. I remain on dialysis.

In August 2022, our house burned to the ground. I woke up a little early at five o’clock, and started getting ready for dialysis that morning. While I was showering, I smelled something odd: possibly an electrical item that was overheated or burning. I got out of the shower and searched the house for the source of this smell. I woke my wife to help me look. In a few brief minutes, our house was full of smoke, and we knew something was wrong.

We ran out the front door. Kelly called the fire department. We walked around to the side of the house to see if I could pull my car out for dialysis. The garage was in flames. Within fifteen minutes, the house burned down. Our memories from over thirty-three years of marriage were reduced to dust.

Two major life events separated by a year. Two devastating events that meant loss and pain, and struggle. And yet, I am convinced that God remained present and faithful in the midst of both these challenges. I have felt called to live into the difficulty of both these challenges with trust in the God who turns deserts into gardens.

I don’t believe God caused either event. I do believe that God has not abandoned us in the midst of both of these events. He is and remains present.

In dialysis and in the aftereffects of a fire. Dialysis involves four-hour treatments three days a week. These treatments can be exhausting, and some days I come home and sleep the rest of the day. I have to limit certain foods and the amount of liquids I consume in a day. I’d like these difficulties to go away. And yet, as I live into the difficulty, in the limitation, God is and remains present.

The fire offers a completely different set of difficulties. There are the challenges of working with the insurance company, replacing essentials for day-to-day living, and making plans to rebuild. But there are other issues. There are memories of things lost.

Just the other day, it occurred to me that all the letters and cards I had saved throughout my life are gone. Some days Kelly or I will remember something from our life together and suddenly burst into to tears. Gone. Every fragment of our shared story is gone. While this is a reminder that all things will return to dust, it can be a recurring pain while we are still in the midst of the story. As we turn and remember the good things from our life, we also behold: God is and remains present.

The God who called us into life was present in the midst of the traumas and remains present as we walk past the trauma. He is present even as we remember. He created us with the capacity to remember and to make the past present through our engaged memories. This miracle of memory allows us to rehearse the joys of days gone by. It also allows us to feel to the pain of deep loss. For instance, I almost never talk about my dad when speaking publicly because I feel the anguish of his death all over again.

We are bound to people and places in ways we cannot fully understand or untangle. As I turn toward these precious and painful memories, God is and remains present. He sustains me and calls me forward into today. For today is the day of salvation.

Today I will lift thanks up to the God who is and remains present.

Today I look around see the beautiful wife the Lord has given me. She has strengthened me, walked with me literally through the fire, and laughed and cried with me all along the way. Today I rejoice in a family that loves to see one another, loves to laugh hard and often, and loves well all through the hard times. I am giving thanks for friends far and near who enrich my life, teach me, comfort me, provoke me, and help me to rest in the God who is and remains present.

Today I lift up praise and thanks for the millions of strangers who have enriched my life in ways I will never fully know. From the shoes I wear to the car I drive, I enjoy things made by other people. They live lives filled with joys and sorrows, and through their efforts, I have been blessed. I am grateful.

Today I remember those often forgotten in this world: the refugee, the enslaved, the imprisoned, the sick, the dying. God is and remains present. May I never turn from those shadows but remember them in His good and great love. Mercy Lord.

As I walk through days of struggle or days of calm, God is and remains present. My thanksgiving goes up to a loving God who sustains us each moment and is present in each moment. His love envelopes us in the past, future, and present. Our joys are safe in Him. Our pain and loss is safe in Him. In the end, I believe He will make right the real and tangible losses of our world.

Thank you Lord you are worthy of all our praise.

Sabbath and Living for the Glory of God

February 10, 2020 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

My friend Charles Strohmer recently published a review of James Skillen’s book God’s Sabbath with Creation: Vocations Fulfilled, the Glory Revealed. Here is an excerpt from his thorough review,

“This is a book of exceptional importance. Rarely have I come across a work with weightier significance about what it means to live for the glory of God today, in the here and now. Of course this is a theme familiar to Christians. Yet familiarity can breed inattention. That would be a mistake with God’s Sabbath with Creation. For it is Skillen’s pioneering way of getting us to think about what it means to live today for the glory of God that marks this as a standout book. His subject is the great biblical drama from the creation to the future we anticipate in the age to come, and, importantly, human responsibility within that drama. For Skillen places how we live today not in some existential moment but within God-commissioned human responsibilities, which run throughout history from the creation to the age to come. Even seasoned public voices on this subject should find the book stimulating and memorable.”

To read his entire review visit his blog at Waging Wisdom.

Peace on Earth

December 25, 2019 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

Christmas 2019

They’re pressing in through the dark to see the child. Darkness so permeates Rembrandt’s “Adoration of the Shepherds” (1657) sketch that we can barely see the image of these night visitors. As our eyes adjust, we see the faces of shepherds longing for a glimpse of the baby that sleeps between Mary and Joseph. Their leader carries a lantern to the lead way in the night: another light shines back toward the shepherds from the holy family.

When Rembrandt drew this sketch, he was already a master painter and had produced multiple images filled with striking details and vivid colors. Over thirty years earlier, he painted a stunning image of the “Adoration of the Magi,” but I am drawn to this rough sketch with just an outline of the shepherds gazing at the child.

The shepherds have traveled through the hills in forbidding night to behold this wonder. Their lantern reminds me of the blazing angels who called out to them. “Fear not” the angel declares. In one sense, this is addressed to the trembling hearts that behold the glory of God. At the same time, “Fear not,” resounds in the heart of this sullen world. Not merely the evening at hand, but the deep darkness of the age.

The shepherds survive at the bottom of a social order where human life is often treated with contempt. The Romans regularly crucify, beat, and round up Jewish suspects. At the same time, Herod, the king of the Jews, is ready and willing to kill, behead, and crush anyone who gets in his way, including the innocent children in Bethlehem when he goes looking for the newborn king.

In this mournful world, the light of God’s promise shines out with a message of Good News. The shepherds hear this great acclamation, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” We also hear this word of promise.

For our world so often feels like it is dark and getting darker. Rembrandt also knew a world of striving. He had lived through the horrors of the thirty years’ war where Christians from all sides (Roman Catholic, Protestant, and Anabaptist) tortured and killed one another. He has seen the atrocities of human hearts turned against one another.

In this bleak world of human struggle, the shepherds hear the word of promise, the word of peace on earth, the word of Shalom, of restored well-being, of all creation brought into the proper harmony with God and one another. Shalom points to a day of justice for all: all wrongs made right. Isaiah sees even enemies coming together in love. What a word of hope for our age and our day and even our nation.

The angels do not simply proclaim peace but begin with the pronouncement, “Glory to God in the highest.” Joseph Ratzinger suggests that this is vitally connected to the promise of peace. He writes, “This is what Bethlehem teaches us about peace: peace among men comes from the glory of God.” (Benedict XVI, The Blessing of Christmas, trans. Brian McNeil (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2007), 104.)

The shepherds set out to behold this wonder, this promise of peace, this newborn king who is a Savior to his people. The shepherds set out to behold the “Glory of God in the face of Jesus.” This is a glory that shines out in the deepest gloom, in the pitch-black night. This is a glory that overcomes the dark.

Now, as we gaze with the shepherds at the babe lying between Mary and Joseph, we are seeing the glory of God revealed in the humiliation of Jesus. According to Philippians 2, the Son of God has humbled himself, emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in likeness as a man. Philippians continues, “And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Php 2:8).

Even as we behold the glory of God revealed in the baby Jesus, we are beholding the coming glory of His life poured out in the cross. As Jesus prays in John 17, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all flesh, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him.” (Jn 17:1–2).

Thus on this night of nights, the shepherds behold the day of days. They encounter the “Glory to God in the highest.” They see the hope of all things made new in Christ. They behold the love that conquers the divide of sin and death, and the same love will bring and even is bringing peace, shalom to all the world.

As I continue to gaze with the shepherds in the darkness, I see the glimmering light that will not be put out. Amid wars, political in-fighting, human striving for power on all sides, violence and poverty around the globe, I see the promise of God in Christ Jesus. On this day of days, I rejoice and sing with the angels, “Glory to God in the Highest.” He has not forsaken or forgotten us or those who suffer in various ways across our world.

Now it is time set out with the shepherds who according to Luke, “made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child.” (Lk 2:17). May we all go forth with the word of the angels on our lips even as our lives follow in the way of Jesus Christ whose life is poured out for the life of the world.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

Waiting in the Dark

December 2, 2019 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope. (Ps 130:5)

Waiting in the dark can feel endless. I cannot see any horizon. There is no way to measure distance or time. It is simply waiting in the long, lonely night.

I have waited days, weeks, and sometimes months in the dark. Over the years, other pilgrims have shared their stories of waiting in the dark. In the long night of crying out to God, the heart can feel ill at ease, fearful, alone, forgotten, forsaken.

The Psalmist graces us with words and prayers for these seasons of absence, of loss, of waiting.

Out of the depths I cry to you O Lord!

In the depths of pain and sorrow, the heart cries, “O Lord, hear my voice!”

At times, it feels as though the cry echoes through a bottomless cave. Does it ever rise from the depths to the throne of God?

Waiting in the dark can feel like abandonment. The psalmist cries, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (22:1) It seems as though God has turned his back. It seems as though God is not there.

All through the Psalms, we hear the cries, “Do not forsake me!” And, “Do not hide your face in my distress!” (102:2)

These are the prayers that open Advent. In these cries, I hear the cries of God’s people. Cries that I’ve groaned in seasons of anguish. Cries that rise even now from the mouths of people near and people far. I pass people each day who know these desperate cries in the midnight hour. They still have to work, live, raise a family, and carry secret burdens in their hearts each day.

There those far away who cry from prison cells, “O my God, be not far from me!” (Ps 38:21) Some will die in those prisons, still crying out, still trusting in the goodness of God.

In Advent, we might carry the cries of those around us before the throne God. In this sense, Advent is not simply about warm devotions, but about desperate cries to the God who is faithful, was faithful, will be faithful.

Waiting in the dark can feel like lighting a lamp as we look for the coming dawn. The crying heart learns the mystery of bitter water turned to springs of joy. We cry out with all of God’s people to the God who has entered our cries and prayed them from the place of the cross.

We cry out for all those alone in the dark and even those stumbling in the dark far from the way of the Lord. We pray with the Psalmist,

^“Send out your light and your truth; let them lead [us]; let them bring [us] to your holy hill and to your dwelling!” (Ps 43:3)

Remembering July 4

July 4, 2019 / Doug Floyd / 2 Comments

In my earliest memories of July 4^th, I am waking up with a sense of excitement that today is a bit like Christmas. Something special is going to happen. Unlike Christmas, this something special is happening to our neighborhood, our community. At some point, our family will walk to the end of the street with our neighbors and soon a parade of floats and scouts and bands will march past. Candy is flying through the air.

As the final float passes by, our family and our neighbors join in the procession that marches down to the heart of the town. It was a small town in New Jersey with a large Jewish community. So large in fact, that two days a week buses lined up outside of school to take most of the students to Hebrew lessons. The rest of us stayed behind and learned other languages like French. I forgot the language but remember the bonbons.

That detail was important because as we gathered in the middle of town, we weren’t divided by faith or race or political stripe. It was a mixture of cultures and people, gathering to picnic, play games, hear music, watch a movie, and even see fireworks. As a child, July 4^th was about family and community and picnicking and playing. We waved the flag and stood for the anthem, but this all stood for something about the underlying bond between us and our neighbors. This bond was bigger than the ethnicities and political issues exploding in the 60s. I was too young to understand the arguments at work in the culture, but I was not too young to value the joy of gathering with the community. Yes, there was a distant memory behind this gathering of the founding of the nation, but for me it was a celebration of the people I could see around me.

As I remember these simple events today, I am thinking about the gift of that little town and those people who vanished from my memory when we moved away. Somehow thinking of that little town today in light of July 4^th, seems to be tied with the wonder of being born. GK Chesterton writes, “The supreme adventure is being born. There we do walk suddenly into a splendid and startling trap… When we step into the family, by the act of being born, we do step into a world which is incalculable, into a world which has its own strange laws, into a world which could do without us, into a world we have not made. In other words, when we step into the family we step into a fairy-tale.”

At any point in history, people are born into a world plagued with pain and struggle but also wonder and light. Celebrating this national holiday for me is like celebrating my birthday, my family, my town, my nation. In each of those areas, there are problems and challenges, and yet this is wonder, potential for love, the gift of life, and the opportunity to give back to family, to town, and to nation. I remember the historical moment and forming a statement of belief, of intent in the words of the Declaration of Independence, but I also remember how this moment is bound up with smaller moments, smaller places, and smaller groups of people who learn to relate as friend, as neighbor, as fellow American. I would hope that I might celebrate the larger vision while honoring a smaller path: that I might be a blessing to my neighbor, my fellow citizen, and that together, we might be a blessing to the world.

Attending to Jesus

March 21, 2019 / Doug Floyd / 1 Comment

Tokyo (image by Giuseppe Milo, Creative Commons)

“Pay attention!” the teacher cried out as I gazed off into space.

I was paying attention, but not to her. I was puzzling over whether or not I was from this planet or was merely visiting among these humans.

Over the years, I’ve come to think children are quite good at paying attention, but not necessarily to adults. They actually see and hear the world that most adults no longer see or see dimly. They still carry the wonder of existence burning alive within them.

When Jesus walked the earth, he was often healing blind eyes and opening deaf ears. In past generations, blindness and deafness had been signs of judgment for idolatry. The act of turning away from the Creator and worshipping the creation, deadened the senses and the heart to truly see and hear and know the love of God. Without the love and life of God burning in the soul, humans and other aspects of creation became objects of consumption.

Sadly, we still have a tendency to reduce people and places and all the wonders of this world into objects for our own pleasures while failing to behold the grandeur all around us. First and foremost, creation (which includes everything from planets to people to photons) bears witness to the Glory of God.

We are invited to pay attention to this world of witness. Sometimes it is easier to pay attention to the way people and places let us down. It is easy to pay attention to all the wrongs that inconvenience our lives. It is easy to pay attention to the mistakes of others while looking blindly past our own failings.

We might do well to ask Jesus to open our own blind eyes and dear ears. Lent is one season when we seek to practice the habit of looking to Jesus. As Ole Hallesby says, “To pray is to open our hearts to Jesus.” We turn. We pray. We wait. We watch.

We are learning to “pay attention” to Jesus Christ.

Lent doesn’t mean that we stop working, stop raising children, stop paying bills. We still live in the struggles and distractions of daily living. We might simply ask Jesus to open our eyes to His presence in the middle of the moments in our day. We might simply pause over some verse of Scripture or some prayer of confession.

Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.^[1]

We pause. Lord, how have I sinned against you. What thoughts, what words, what deeds failed in love? We wait. We listen. The Spirit can help us to remember how we turned away from God and His love. He can reveal patterns of thinking, speaking, and acting that move us away from His love. Lord have mercy.

This posture of opening our hearts to Jesus makes room for us to behold His gentle presence around and within us. Yes, He is free to use dramatic crisis like speaking to Moses through a burning bush or knocking Paul to the ground, but He can also walk alongside as we wander toward Emmaus.

Repentance can involve great tears and a great struggle of the soul, but it can also look like the person turning quietly toward Jesus and listening, watching, and waiting throughout the day. In some small measure, we turn toward the Lord when we eat. We pause and offer thanks for the food, for the moment, for the company.

This simple pattern of turning and offering thanks can become part of the rhythm of each moment of our day: whether we are chasing children or projects or sitting in a quiet chapel. A short pause. A quiet thanks. A simple turning.

We may begin to see people as created by God, created in love, created for His glory. I might offer thanks for the officer who hands me a speeding ticket or the server who hands me a drink. Each person, each place, each thing bears witness to the glory of God.

Jesus is teaching us by His Spirit and in His Word to see and hear, to really see and hear the heavens declaring the glory of God and the skies proclaiming the work of His hands. Throughout the day, we are simply joining a chorus already in motion, a song that is already being sung.

This gentle turning to the Lord as we move through the day is not limited to things, it is about people and conversations and books and even buildings. All creation is bearing witness even the creations of humans. Simultaneously, all creation can become an idol in place of God. Part of the healing work of redemption is to deliver us from enslaving idolatries to eyes that see and ears that hear a world created in and for the glory of God.

Repentance is a daily habit to returning. It is spiritual medicine for the soul. We are returning to Jesus, to the author and finisher of our faith. In this turning to Jesus, we are lifting up moments, people, joys, and sorrows to Him in worship and surrender.

There is a long habit in the church of ending the day by lifting up the moments of that day before the Lord: rehearsing special joys as well as pains, personal struggles as well as success. The day is filled with so many moments that we could spend a long time rehearsing the day. Then again, we might pause over two or three moments that stand out. Both good and bad. It might be an argument, an angry thought, a special conversation, a beautiful picture, a great quote, a song we loved, or any number of items. We pause over each one, remembering it in the presence of the Lord. Thanking Him. Confessing our sin. Pausing and listening.

It might be that we see these moments through a new light. That we see the person, the event, the quote with greater clarity. We might see or hear it in light of Christ, of Scripture, of the church. We may even might sense a call to respond.

With this in mind, I return to Ole Hallesby’s quote, “To pray is to open our hearts to Jesus.”

May we begin our days and end our days by opening our hearts to Jesus. And maybe, we’ll begin to sense the promptings of His Spirit from moment to moment each day, and all of life will become an opening to Jesus.

^[1] The Episcopal Church, The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church (New York: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2007), 79.

Advent – Hope Draws Near

December 4, 2018 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

Image by Darren Hsu (used by Creative Commons permission)

Advent tears open the night like a flash of lightning hope. It sounds an alarm, awaking us from the stupor of struggle and toil. Our world is lulled to sleep by the droning of kings, the marching of boots, and the frenzy of crisis. Not just this age, but every age.

When Hebrew exiles finally returned home after seventy years of captivity, they were like those who dream. Years later, the Temple and the land still sat in rubble as discouragement replaced courage to rebuild the ancient ruins. Emperors rose and fell. Rulers came and went. Everyone sought to carve out his own little kingdom, but all the kingdoms were falling even at the height of glory. Kings and kingdoms continue conquering while also failing and falling from glory.

Advent shakes the soul awake to The King, The Judge, The One and Only Hope for all creation. When he speaks the earth trembles, and everything that can shake will shake. He comes not to kill, steal, and destroy, but to heal the brokenhearted, set the fatherless in families, and welcome the weak and weary into His yoke of love.

In this night of worldly worry, let us lift up our eyes for hope is drawing near. The longing of ages, the Savior of humanity is come, has come, will come. He’s breaking into our lives even now.

Remembering Our Story

December 4, 2018 / Doug Floyd / 1 Comment

Image by nerkles (used by permission via Creative Commons)

Christmas lights are popping up in the neighborhood and holiday tunes dance through the stores. It’s time for the yearly gluttony of eating and buying. It’s also time for Advent, a season of repentance, focused on watching and waiting for the coming of the Lord. The call to devotion and the call to consume compete for attention.

It is tempting to bemoan the incongruity, but this juxtaposition of spirit and flesh has been common in every age. Late medieval communities often held the Advent call to times of fasting and prayer alongside the unusual and Christmas rituals of cross-dressing, public drunkenness, gluttony, and the ongoing threat of mobs demanding “figgy pudding” and more from the wealthy residents.

Puritan opposition to Christmas was in part due to the reckless and dangerous behaviors present during the season. They also feared that the various feasts and fasts of the church year could distract from the primary emphasis of each Sunday as Resurrection Day. I value their emphasis on the Resurrection even as I celebrate the rhythms of the year. It simply reminds me of the value of proclaiming and hearing the Gospel each Sunday and feasting at the Lord’s Table.

Keeping the focus on God’s redeeming action has always been a challenge. Popular trends can distract us from observing the rhythms of the church year. It’s easy to feel caught between the demands of work, family and life with the call to worship God in all things. I believe the rhythm of the year can help us as we face this tension. Learning the simple rhythms of the year can help us to grow into a life of devotion over time. We don’t have to escape the culture but learn small ways of turning our hearts toward the Lord.

Ancient Israel felt the tension of surrounding cultures dedicated to land gods. Their harvest festivals included sexual deviancy and other forbidden behaviors. The Lord instructed Israel to turn the harvest seasons into times of remembrance of his grace. During the barley festival, Israel celebrated the Passover feast. During the wheat harvest, Israel celebrated the feast of Pentecost, and during the fruit harvest, Israel celebrated the feast of Booths. Historical events that marked God’s redeeming action in their midst became the focal point of the celebration. While surrounding cultures were celebrating harvest feasts, Israel was remembering the Lord’s action as He redeemed them from Egypt, gave them the Ten Commandments, and led them through the wilderness. These joyful celebrations were a form of festal memory. As the Hebrews rehearsed patterns of trust in God’s faithfulness they were being re-oriented in time and space toward a life of true worship.

Active remembering is not simply thinking or speaking about God’s redeeming action. It includes specific foods, music, movement, and reflection. This physical and spiritual remembering is making the past present. The descendants in the Promised Land could say that they were a slaves in Egypt redeemed by the Lord. In Deuteronomy, the parent is exhorted to train the child in the midst of all the postures of a typical day: standing, seated, lying down, and walking. These daily actions and festal actions were ways of training the memory and the body in the way of the Lord.

I would suggest that the church year is based on this same way of involving the body and the heart in remembering God’s goodness in our midst. In the middle of a world turned away from God, we re-turn to the Lord through the rhythm of daily prayer, weekly worship, and yearly cycles of remembering. The feasts and fasts of the church year are times set aside for remembering the historical action of God in Jesus Christ. As we remember, we bring the range of human emotions and experiences from birth to death into worship. We rehearse in worship, in song, in Scripture, and in story the grief of pain and loss, the hope of God’s faithfulness, and the joy of His surprise coming.

The Door of Advent

November 28, 2018 / Doug Floyd / 0 Comments

Image by Jamie McCaffrey (used by permission via Creative Commons)

When I was little, we hung Advent calendars with little doors that opened for each day leading to Christmas. Then one day I stepped through one of those little doors. It was like stepping into a giant house. When I really discovered Advent, I discovered the church year and a way of walking through days and weeks of the year in the stories and songs of my fathers and mothers of the faith.

For over twenty years, I’ve been exploring old hallways, half-forgotten rooms, and pictures and poems that fill this house of memory. In fact, it might be more accurate to speak of a boat instead of a house. For the church year is like sailing around the globe each year. The tale of St. Brendan the Navigator reveals the church year through the pilgrimage of a small group of monks in search of the Holy Isle. During their seven-year journey, they celebrate the feast days on various islands. Each time they stop, they feast, worship, remember and continue their journey. Their time is shaped by the stories of Scripture and the revelation of Jesus Christ.

You might say that when we celebrate the church year, we step through the door of Advent and onto the boat with St. Brendan. I discovered Advent as a solace. As a place to face my own broken places and my own longing for the coming of the Lord. I watched and waited alongside Isaiah, Jeremiah, Zechariah, and the Jews exiled to the dark land of Babylon. Their stories and longing took form in the cries of John the Baptist as he pointed toward the Coming One.

When I gaze at icons and art of the church, John the Baptist is still pointing to the Coming One. “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” The church year opens with a world on the verge of collapse and the judgment of God looming. In the middle of this dark scene, he points us to our glorious Lord who comes to make things right.

Each season of the year points us to stories of the faithful and unfaithful who are all in desperate need of the grace of God. The church year gave me a way to rehearse and revisit the stories of the Old and New Testament as the story of my family, our family.

Instead of always looking for the latest newest take of spiritual life and formation, we may find a joy in discovering and rediscovering some ancient thoughts on the spiritual life and formation through sermons, prayers, and lives of great men and women of faith who walked in the simple rhythms of feast and fast.

Every year, I begin the journey again. Relearning the rhythm, the dance of faith that can sing in the dark, worship in the face of calamity, and celebrate the mostly hidden gifts that overwhelm us every single day of the year. Whether you’ve walked this path your whole life or are just discovering the pattern of the church year, I invite you to walk alongside as we share stories of faith, prayers of longing and seek to keep our eyes watching as we wait for the coming of our Lord.

Pilgrim Notes

Reflections along the way.