Advent Archives - Page 4 of 9

Category: Advent (page 4 of 9)

O Sapientia

December 17, 2010 / dougfloyd / 7 Comments

Today the church shifts from looking forward to remembering the coming of Christ into the world, into a family, into a manger. Over the next seven nights, the church across the ages joins in the “O Antiphons” prayers and chants, longing for and looking toward the birth of Christ. (For those unfamiliar with O Antiphons, the hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” follows the seven chant rhythm in its seven verses. Read more about them at Wikipedia – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/O_antiphon)

So we look and long toward Christmas Day. In one sense we hold in tension a longing for the coming of the Lord in three tenses, present, past and future. Bernard of Clairvaux spoke of three Advents: the coming of Christ in Bethlehem, the second coming of Christ at the end of this age, and the middle coming of Christ in this present moment.

We are waiting for His coming. We join with the Shepherds, waiting in the darkness of ignorance. We join with the Wise Men, waiting in the light of heavenly star. We join with the Church, waiting in the fog of a glass darkly.

Tonight the church sings out,

O Wisdom, O holy Word of God,
you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care:
Come and show your people the way to salvation.

We are waiting for the Creator of all things to come and dwell in the midst of His Creation. The Gospel of John opens declaring the coming of the Creator into His creation:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
(John 1:1-5 ESV)

We are waiting for the coming of the Word, for the coming of the One through whom all things were made, we are waiting for the Life and Light of men.

Yet, we wait in the dark.

We deny the darkness of the prisons we’ve built all around us. Surrounded by prisons of affluence, prisons of self-satisfaction, prisons of impatience. These prisons constructed by corrupt human hands are designed to keep out the light.

And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.
(John 3:19 ESV)

We can plan Christmas celebrations in these prisons of darkness. We can sing Christmas songs in these prisons of darkness. We can attend Christmas services in these prisons of darkness. We can celebrate Christ while hiding our eyes from Christ.

Beneath the ring of Christmas bells and dancing elves, we may hear a tin sound, a hollow echo, an empty refrain. By His Grace, we may realize that our mansions of affluence are dilapidated shantytowns, built by the truly homeless who blind to their eyes to poverty, sickness and depravation in their own lives and in the world.

We are dying in the dark and only the Wisdom of God can recreate our discarded images into echoes of glory. During the music and mayhem of the next week, you may hear something that bursts a ray of light into your prison of darkness. Perhaps an offhand comment. Maybe a penetrating story. You might hear an unsettling song.

These gentle nudges are but a whisper on the wind, carrying “the distant sound of the angels’ song praising God and promising peace on earth.”* If you hear this sound, be careful.

In fact, be cautious. Whatever you do be cautious.

For He is coming with Light into your prison of darkness. And His coming is risky.

The babe in the manger died on a cross.

Only the desperate should turn toward Him in His coming. The self-satisfied must run.

For He is coming with Light into our prisons of darkness. And His coming is risky.

His coming unsettles everything. His Light exposes our impoverishment. His Life reveals our deathly paler. His Love manifests the hatred choking our soul.

He is coming with healing in His Wings, but His healing may feel like death.

Don’t ever think Advent is a safe little season of reflection. It stands on the very edge of the creation and destruction of all things.

As we wait and watch for the coming of Wisdom, for the coming of the One through whom all things, all people, all existence is created, let us be wary.

Our days are numbered. We stand at the edge of the end of all things. We stand at the edge of the beginning of all things. It is a thing of dread. It is a thing of glory.

If you are world-weary, battle worn, sick of the stench of your own selfishness, give up. Call off your war against God. Let’s bow before the Lord Creator of Heaven and Earth.

Even now He breathes into our clay forms. Nothing will ever be the same again.

* This phrase comes from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Advent sermon on December 2, 1928.

Advent-ure

Snowy Backroads in NC

I told Kelly we were going on an “adventure.” We left Saturday morning for an overnight trip to celebrate our 22nd anniversary. We left for adventure. Sunday morning as we turned onto our road, we literally clapped and cried thanks to God for bringing us safely from this harrowing adventure.

What happened? I’ll tell you our story in a moment. First let me take a side route to discuss the word “adventure.” JRR Tolkien understood adventure as a side route off the main journey. An adventure is a “there and back again tale,” whereas a journey stretches toward a final, ultimate destination. In The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins goes on adventure and returns wealthier, wiser, and more powerful. Frodo Baggins goes on journey in The Lord of the Rings. He never returns home.

Kelly and I departed Saturday morning on adventure. We had a vague idea of where we were headed. That’s my favorite kind of trip. Several years ago, we took a trip with Jeremy and Dorry. We had a vague idea of heading toward the coast. As we drove, we finalized plans to Edisto and even booked a room from the car.

I like to start moving, and find out later where I’m headed. So on Saturday, we set out on adventure. A couple days earlier, Kelly’s aunt mentioned that she was traveling to Christmas Town USA in North Carolina. Hmmmmm. My curiosity stirred. I started looking. As it turns out, Christmas Town is really called McAdenville.

I got up Saturday morning and dressed to go. As Kelly was getting ready, I looked up Christmas events in Nashville, Asheville, Chattanooga and even Georgia. She came downstairs, dressed and ready to go.

“Grab a change of clothes maybe we’ll spend the night.”

I like maybes. Maybe I’ll read. Maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll like this essay. Maybe you won’t.

So we headed out with a few maybes in mind. As we pulled out of the driveway, I turned to Kelly and promised, “We’re going on adventure!” Then I thanked the good Lord for a safe drive and the adventure awaiting us.

When I was looking up Christmas Town USA, I read about Dillsboro, NC. This little town had a Christmas festival planned for Saturday, and it was only a few minutes from Asheville.

“Let’s head toward Dillsboro. But traveling there through Asheville seems boring this morning. Let’s cross over through Cherokee.” On this sunny beautiful Saturday, we drove through the mountains and were treated to creation’s seasonal exhibit of ice crystals hanging from rock ledges. As we drove, memories flooded my mind of hiking the Chimney Tops in winter, the death-defying hike to Mt Leconte in winter, and the magic of sledding at Newfound Gap.

The world around us sparkled in snow and ice, but the day was clear, so we could see far. Not forever, but far enough. We saw layers of mountain ranges, shades of blue and brown and white; trees silhouetted against a sky of blue and white and orange. Though I’ve seen these ranges and views again and again throughout my life, they always surprise. They always provoke wonder. They always compel worship to the good Lord who surrounds us in a world of glory.

As we drove toward adventure, the Lord came toward us and encountered us in the wonder of His creation. Lately, I’ve been thinking about adventure and advent. My gut distinction between the words has to do with motion. In adventure, we move toward an event. We move toward risk. We move toward an experience or activity that may threaten as well as delight.

Advent on the other hand speaks to me of movement toward me. Advent is an arrival or coming that will change everything. Someone moves toward me. When He comes, everything changes. In fact, His coming sends waves of movement through space and time that change everything even prior to His full unveiling or arrival.

During “Advent,” the church watches and waits for the coming of the Lord. We are waiting, watching, expecting, hopeful of His coming to us.

Both words have the same latin source, advenire, which simply means “to come.” It appears to derive from a Latin word that focuses on a jury coming to a trial. There are special customs, places, clothes and expectations associated with their coming.

Even as we wait for the coming of the Lord, we go forward into adventures. Kelly and I went on adventure. For this adventure, the risk was the lack of planning; the openness to surprise; the willingness to change and move based on what we encountered in the movement.

As we came down the mountain, we arrived in an almost vacant Cherokee. We perused a Cherokee gift shop, and oddly enough, I found a book on Cherokee myths and stories. Then we drove over to Dillsboro.

Turns out this quaint little town was only about a square block of stores that put up lights. Nice folks. In fact, I found a bottle of chocolate wine for some odd occasion. But on the whole, Dillsboro looked more exciting on the web than in person. After a quick tour of the stores, Kelly and I decided to keep driving.

“Let’s find Christmas Town!”

To get to McAdenville, we “must needs” travel through Asheville. As we approached Asheville, we faced two choices. “We can turn left and head back home, or we can turn right and head toward McAdenville.”

Or we could forgo the decision and stop in Asheville for dinner.

Door number 3 please.

Kelly and I decided to drive downtown and partake of Asheville delicacies. We took the wrong exit and instead of driving downtown, we were in a dark neighbor with no ramp back onto the highway. Makes me think of another story from another trip, but I’ll tell that story another time.

Most of the time, I love being lost in a city. I figure if I drive around enough, I’ll find something interesting. We took our cues from the movement of cars around us and eventually found downtown. Asheville was too cold and too dark for much exploration, but we did discover a double decker bus bar, and an art gallery that was having some big event featuring all their artists.

One artist painted pictures of clouds. At first, this sounds like a bunch of white on canvas, but his work astounded us. At the bottom edge of every picture, he painted a thin strip of earth: towns, fields, and mountains. The earth images were overwhelmed with clouds bursting with color and movement and white (of course). What was he trying to say? Not sure, but I was stunned by the heavens overtaking the earth.

After this surprising tour, we ate some pizza, bread and a little more bread. Then we decided, “Let’s head to Christmas Town USA!” A couple hours later, Kelly and I pulled into Christmas Town. Well, actually we pulled off the Interstate into the exit lane for Christmas Town.

We joined the line of cars at 9:55 pm. At 10:30 pm we were actually pulling off the Interstate and turning toward the town. At 10:45 pm police cars drove up and down the line, announcing, “Lights go out at 11:00 pm.”

What? We drove two hours and waited in line one hour to miss the whole show? Yikes.

Kelly and I decided then and there, no matter what, we’re driving through Christmas Town. Light or no lights. As it turns out, we drove through at about 11:20 with some lights. Some lights are better then none. And we were determined to enjoy that even if there was only one candle shining out from a darkened house, we’d cheer in delight.

Now at this point in the story “Google Map” let us down. Or least our inattention to the glaring problem in the “Google Map’s” suggested route home. The map suggested we go home via Johnson City. We drove back to the nearest exit off I-40 to the Johnson City route and found a hotel.

At 12:45 pm, Kelly and I ended our big day of adventure ready to sleep late and rest. Then I realized that in the “adventurous spirit” of deciding to sleep overnight, I’d left my medications at home. Since my kidney medications must be taken at regular intervals, skipping was not an option I wanted. Thus we chose to pop up at 6:00 am and resume the adventure home.

By 6:15 am, I was dressed and almost ready to walk out the door. Looking out the window, I beheld a site of glory, of wonder, of dread. A curtain of white snow fell from the sky. Several inches already covered the ground. Kelly scraped off the snowy blanket while I grabbed us some breakfast from the lobby, and we hit the road by 6:33.

After driving for about 15 minutes, we realized this route was not leading us to a main road. Like a couple of winsome children, we rushed headlong into the backroads of a snowy wonderland. We rushed headlong into mile after mile after mile of country mountain roads covered in snow and ice.

We drove into the beautiful, isolated and mountainous Pisgah National Forest–in the dark. At the base of the first hill, my tires started spinning. My car swerved. I held on tight. Kelly prayed.

Up, up, up, up and up. The car inched up the slick mountain. Then down, down, down and down. The car slid and veered down the mountain. Up, up, up and down, down, down continued for an hour. I held on tight. Kelly prayed.

The snow snowed and snowed and snowed.

As I drove, I kept thinking about living fully in the moment. “I’m in this moment.”

“It’s a glorious moment.”

“It’s a snowy, wondrous moment.”

“It’s a shared moment with my treasured wife.”

“It may be my last moment.”

“Lord, I want to enjoy this moment. Lord, I want to survive this moment. If possible.”

We eventually entered Tennessee through Roane mountain. We eventually made it to I-26. We eventually reached I-81, I-40, Alcoa Hwy and finally our neighborhood. “Hallelujah!” Lots of clapping all around.

The drive was so stressful, we both crashed into bed and slept off this adventure.

Life is filled with adventures, side routes. Unlike the great call and journey, these adventures are not specifically the journey that leads to our final destination, but they are “there and back again” tales. We choose some of these adventures, like our trip to North Carolina. Other adventures choose us.

Some adventures are exciting. Some adventures are wondrous. Some adventures are exhilarating. A new job. A new town. A long awaited vacation. Some adventures are terrifying. Some adventures are painful. Some adventures are confusing. A lost job. A disease. A lost relationship.

These adventures are risky, exciting, threatening and potentially rewarding. Whether we chose them or not, they may involve navigating new ground. Finding a new way home again. Discovering people, treasures and knowledge that can help us. As the origin of “adventure” indicates, we move out toward a new place, a new experience, a new relationship.

Some of these adventures may lead us far away. So far away we forget our way home. But in the midst of our chosen and unchosen adventures, someone is calling, coming, moving toward us. In His timing, He pierces our dark confusion with light. He comes with advent hope into the midst of our unsettling and dazzling adventures.

He comes calling. He comes welcoming us. He comes leading us forward on a journey that leads us away from one home and toward another true and enduring home. Even now, He is breaking in around us, around me, around these words.

Jesus is here calling, stirring, inviting. He is meeting us in the middle of our road and leading us on a journey that will end with love inconceivable.

So whether you’re at home waiting. You’re in the midst of high adventure. You’re reeling from an unwelcome intrusion. Look out. Listen. Watch. For He is coming. And He is calling out your name.

Lew Floyd Memorial

December 9, 2010 / dougfloyd / 8 Comments

My dad acting goofy with his sons: Jeremy Floyd, Lew Floyd, Andy Bickers, Doug Floyd

We gather to remember. Following the rhythm of God’s people from across the ages, we gather, we remember, and we rejoice in the goodness of our God.

Even as we remember the life of Lew Floyd, my father, we are giving glory to God in Christ. For all things are created in and through Christ, and in him we live and move and have our being.

Lew Floyd was a Athlete, Competitor, Adventurer, Artist, Socializer, Dreamer, Joker, Painter, Gardner, Friend, Father and a Storyteller.

Born in the middle of the Great Depression, his life reflected anything but that Great Depression. In fact, he recounted having little memory of struggle and hard times in those raw years. One of the earliest images I remember about my dad is watching a film clip of a two or three-year-old boy feeding chickens. He threw seed on the ground and then threw seed in his mouth.

In the early 1940s, America was busy fighting a war. My dad was busy fixing bicycles, raising rabbits and selling newspapers. He used to recount his experience selling papers on the day America dropped the bomb. He had never seen the word “atom” before, so he stood on the corner shouting, “Read all about it! America drops ate-om bomb.”

As a new optimism took hold in the country during the 1950s, my dad stepped into new possibilities when he graduated from high school. He spent his first quarter at University of Tennessee in Knoxville. After the first day of classes, my dad decided UT was too big and unfriendly, so he got on the bus and went back home.

His mom told him, “Get back on that bus and go back to school!” Of course, he promptly returned to classes. But he ended up winning a football scholarship to Carson Newman and was able to transfer the next quarter. While at UT, my dad served in the Navy ROTC program. Carson Newman did not have a Navy ROTC program at the time, so he wrote the Commander at UT and requested a discharge.

The Commander told him that he had to return his uniform before receiving the discharge. As college life took hold of my dad, he forgot the request and the uniform. Four years later, he graduated from Carson Newman and was promptly drafted into the Army.

Only there was a problem. My dad was still officially in the Navy. When he told the Army, they requested a discharge. The Navy complied. The Army gave my dad credit for serving four years of service, and he entered the service at a higher pay grade.

But before he left, he married my mom. She worked at Sears, and his sister introduced them. My dad always like to say that he got my mom from Sears and Roebuck. They spent their first two years of marriage in Europe courtesy of Uncle Sam.

The 1960s represent a period of dramatic change in America’s history. At the same time, my dad’s own life went through several dramatic changes. He finished his tour of duty and was prepared to settle down to the family business of selling insurance. A friend’s mom suggested he apply to the FBI.

For kicks, he applied and spent the next 25 years serving as a Special Agent in Springfield, IL, Buffalo, NY, New York City, and eventually Knoxville. Eight of those years were spent in the Big Apple, New York City.

This time proved to a pivotal time in my dad’s life. He followed Russian spies by day, and played with us kids in Oradell, New Jersey by night. He told us many stories of his time in the city and his adventures, but the stories I enjoyed the most were the mishaps and funny incidents involving other agents.

Once he told us about a new agent who recently arrived in the city. The other agents encouraged him to eat at a nearby deli because the owner would give agents bigger sandwiches. He stopped in one day and ordered a roast beef sandwich, but the owner was not in and he got a regular sized sandwich. The agent asked for more roast beef on his sandwich, and the lady replied, “That’s the way they come sir.” He promptly pulled out his badge and said, “FBI, more roast beef!”

New York City shaped my dad in some ways, but the greatest impact on his life during this season was at a local church in New Jersey. Him and my mom were looking in the yellow pages for a church when he spotted a church advertising “Air Conditioning” in their ad.

Those two words sounded perfect in the middle of a hot summer. Soon my parents joined this “cool” church. They both experienced a profound encounter with the Lord. Soon their life was defined by serving in various ministries from the church “bus ministry” to the children’s church to the youth group. Their time at First Baptist Hackensack shaped them in ways that impacted the rest of their lives.

In the 1970s, the United States brought our soldiers home from Vietnam. At the same time, my dad and mom returned home to Tennessee. He served at a SWAT team leader, a photographer and eventually a trainer in the local FBI office. My dad also found opportunities to share his faith with the very people he arrested and was known to bring bibles to them while they served in prison.

My dad retired in the 1980s, started a second career in banking and retired from it in the 90s. All the while, he remained active, engaged in life and ministry and full of good humor. He helped start a Sunday School class with a friend Jack Davis. The class became the center of my dad’s focus and energy over the last decade of his life.

In the late 90s, my dad, brother Jeremy, brother-in-law Andy, and me all decided to hike up to Mt LeConte right after Christmas. As the poorly trained hikers we were, we departed for the hike in late afternoon on a snowy December day. We finally reached the trail around four p.m.

Most people appeared to be coming back from the trail as we headed out and up. At first the path seemed fine, but soon we were walking (and slipping) on ice. Daylight was slipping away alongside us. Soon the dark shadow of night was fast approaching.

The trail shifted from a smooth passage over tree roots and rock to a steep climb along the side of the mountain. In my typical less than courageous mindset, I was ready to head back to Gatlinburg and enjoy a good meal! But we pressed on.

Soon a heavy set guy passed us heading down the trail. He stopped and said, “You really shouldn’t go any farther. It’s too steep, too icy and getting too dark.” After he passed out of sight, my dad replied, “Ain’t no fat boy gonna tell me I can’t climb the mountain!”

That one statement captures the energy and fire in my dad’s belly. If you tell him he can’t do it, can’t win, can’t make, he’s sure to give everything to prove you wrong. Thus we trudged upward and onward. I was convinced we’d die on the side of the mountain. But to my amazement, my dad’s drive pressed us all forward, and we made to the top and spent the night up there in a three sided-cabin.

Over the last several years, my dad’s quote became part of the family lore. Even now when facing a hard struggle, one of us will say, “Ain’t no fat boy gonna tell me I can’t climb the mountain!” That one moment (which was so exhausting and overwhelming at the time) has come to be one of the fond memories of time spent with my dad.

As I reflect on that moment, and the subsequent moments and the final moments of my dad’s life, I am reminded of how he lived fully in the moment. When he was serving in the FBI, he was fully engaged. But after he retired, he didn’t sit around and look back, he continued to embrace the moment before him.

We live moment by moment. In fact, every moment is gift. For in every moment we are sustained through the grace and goodness of God.

And in the moment, Christ says “Come”

“Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

In our weakness, pain, suffering and struggles, he calls us to come. In our strength, joy, victory and success, he calls us to come. In the moment, he bids us come.

In the moment, he calls us to love one another. Most of us are born into community. Most of us will die in community. We are created and called to live in community.

In the moment, Christ commands, “Love.”

“Love one another as I have loved you. ”

Yet we are loveless and we waste the moment. We corrupt the moment. We betray the moment through unforgiveness, bitterness, covetousness.

Athanasius said that sin causes a corrupting corruption that infects everything and everyone.

Christ enters the corruption. Bears the suffering. Leads the weary world into death in Himself and life in himself. In Christ, we rediscover love.

We are loved and loved and loved.

In Christ, we learn not simply to live in the moment, but to love in the moment.

Let us love in the moment.

Life is but a series of moments.

Many moments we want to rush through. Some moments we want to slow down. There are painful moments, joyous moments, lonely moments, exciting moments, funny moments, sad moments, mundane moments.

All these moments are gift from our Lord and Father. Just because we may feel pain in this moment, just because we may suffer in this moment, just because we may sit in darkness in this moment, let us not grow deaf to the call of Christ.

Come. Live. Love.

We respond in thanks to the loving Father and seek to obey his command to rest in Christ this moment. To live in Christ this moment. To love in Christ this moment.

We are gathered this moment. We offers thanks to God this moment.

All we have is the moment.

And just a moment ago, my dad was suffering in the hospital.

And a moment earlier, he was hiking Mt Le Conte.

And a moment earlier, he retired from a career in the FBI.

And a moment earlier, he was marrying my mom.

And a moment earlier, he sold newspapers announcing the atom bomb.

And a moment earlier, he was born into a loving community.

Life is a but a series of moments.

And in a moment, the last trumpet will sound,

And in a moment, the dead will be raised imperishable,
And in a moment, we shall be changed.

And in a moment, this perishable body will put on the imperishable,

And in a moment, this mortal body must put on immortality.

And in a moment, Death will be swallowed up in victory.

So let us rejoice in this moment.

Let us be steadfast in this moment.

Let us be immoveable in this moment.

Let us abound in the work of the Lord in this moment.

For our Lord is Faithful, and our obedience to Christ in this moment is not in vain.

In this moment, Christ invites us to come.
You who are weary, you who are heavy laden with burdens and grief, come to Christ.

In this moment, Christ calls us to love.
Beloved let us love one another as God has loved us in Christ.

In this moment, Christ calls us to go,
Let us go out proclaiming the good, good, good news of our Savior’s love for this broken and suffering world.

And in this moment let us say but a momentary goodbye to Lew Floyd.

Christmas Presents

December 30, 2008 / dougfloyd / 0 Comments

Yesterday, I heard a man say “Merry Christmas” and then apologize switching to “Happy New Year” instead. But he was really right the first time. We’ve entered Christmas “time,” and today is only the sixth day of a 12-day feast. During some seasons, Kelly and I have chosen to exchange a gift for each of the 12 days, helping remind us of the extended season of feasting.

Since I love getting presents this makes for a good tradition. While I realize that it is better to give than receive, I find it delightful to get…lots of presents. Presents and Christmas just go together. Some of my fondest memories from childhood include sitting under the Christmas tree and stacking up all the gifts that were labeled, “To Doug.”

During my early childhood, we’ve lived up in New Jersey. Every year we’d receive several large boxes from Tennessee, and each box was filled with presents from all our relatives.

What a delight I had to tear into the boxes, unpack the gifts and stack them under the tree. During the days leading up to Christmas, I’d sit by the tree and gather the “Doug” gifts, shaking, weighing and wondering upon the contents of each pretty package.

Sometimes I think I enjoyed the presents more before I opened them. The fancy papers, the colored bows, the odd shapes, and the varying weights all were a feast for my young imagination. Augustine’s idea that true happiness is found in anticipation of the good was being proved even in my childlike world of wonder.

In a way, this may be why Christmas sometimes seems like a letdown for some children and adults. The anticipation of the event is far more delightful than the actual experience. We discover like Augustine that the good we longed for is still ahead of us and not found in the mere gifts we exchanged.

As he reflected upon our longing for the “good,” Augustine came to believe that this good must be outside of us or we wouldn’t long for it. Then he assumed it must be something greater than what our outer world could supply. Because all our earthly goods never live up to the longing we have.

As he wrestled with this unfulfilled longing, Augustine came to see this greater good as something or someone that would fulfill the “desire” within us that drives us to long. And eventually Augustine came to realize that this “good” must be God, and that true happiness was found on earth in the anticipation of God who is beyond us.

For him, true earthly happiness was found in the longing for the “beautiful vision” of God. We merely touch hints of this vision in present life and will only enjoy the complete vision in the life to come. So even in the delight of a Christmas present, Augustine might see hints of God’s wondrous love.

I like that because my delight with Christmas presents might be seen as an act of spiritual devotion. Then again, it might be my unbridled selfish desires. And oddly enough, I suppose it is really a mixture of both. And God in his grace is working and transforming me in spite of my selfish motives.

But for now, let me go back to the presents! I have a question for you. What is the most memorable present you have ever received? I asked myself this several days ago, and oddly enough, it’s not an easy question to answer. All the presents blur together in my mind. Sweaters and pants and shirts and toys and boxes and bows all jumble together in one confusing mix.

So I’m not sure I can answer the question. After a few days of consideration, I have begun to remember the Bozo riding in the Bozo car that still sits in my house to this day. Then I remembered a Fisher Price circus set and a golf ball yo-yo and a train. Oops now the memories are flooding my mind: multiple race tracks, G.I. Joe dolls, magic tricks, a chemistry set, and a Tootsie Roll machine. Now I can’t stop. On and on I could go for pages listing trinkets and toys that delighted me for seasons of my childhood.

I failed to mention that the first gift which came to mind was a broken toy: a little car with broken wheels. I hated this gift but remember it more than any other gift. My sister and I were attending a youth choir Christmas party. We exchanged gifts using numbers we drew from a hat.

When I opened my little package, I was shocked to find a used and broken toy. Sad to say, I burst into tears. “Why me Lord?” “Why in heaven would someone have given me a broken toy?” As usual, my sister came to the rescue. She quickly pooled some money with another girl, and they ran down to the bookstore to buy me a puzzle.

I appreciated her kindness but somehow always felt a tinge of guilt playing with that puzzle. Why was I so sensitive and selfish over such a small thing? The memory stills haunts me on occasion.

I still wonder, “What is the story on that broken car?” Who thought bringing a broken car as a gift was a good idea? Were they too poor to buy something? If so, maybe this little broken car was actually a treasured gift, and they were giving me something of great value.” I’ll never know the story before it came to me, but I can tell you the story after I received it. Discarded. Trashed. But not forgotten.

Every gift is not simply a gift. It is actually a story in motion. It had a story before I got it and in one way or another it becomes part of my story once I receive it. For every gift that someone bought for me over the years, there was a moment or many moments of wondering, “What would Doug want?” Or possibly, “What can I get the best deal on?”

A whole series of thoughts might have occupied someone’s mind: “What size does he wear?” “What color does he like?” “Maybe I’ll just get him a goofy toy and call it a day.” For every gift someone bought for me, a thought or series of thoughts passed through their mind about me.

Now I realize something rather odd about the gift. It is actually an extension or symbol of the relationship I enjoy with that person. They took a few minutes to think about me and to find a gift for me because I am in relationship with them (even if that relationship consists in simply feeling some obligation to buy something).

Now this might seem odd, but I come to realize that gifts are but symbols for persons in my life. The wonder of gifts might not only point to some deep longing for the God, they might also point to the wonder of human relationships.

Looking around me at all the people in my life, I realize that I am surrounded by all shapes and sizes of gifts. Some talkative. Some quiet. Some big. Some tiny. Some friendly. Some a bit grumpy. And yet, in the mystery of God’s grace all these people are gifts of love and relationship God has granted me in this life: hints of His divine and all-surpassing love.

I can admire the packages. Or I can open up the gifts. How? I listen, enjoy, appreciate the wonder of the people around me. I can realize that each of these people have a story that extends far beyond me. But in some mysterious way I am part of their story and they are part of my story.

Every person in my life will change me and I will change them. I can celebrate them and thank God for them, or I can act like I got a bunch of broken toys. And ask, “Why me?”

I hope I’ve learned that even broken toys have mystery and wonder and stories that may unfold surprising hints of God’s goodness and grace.

As I celebrate the 12 days of Christmas this year, I am opening up gifts. Not physical boxes, but the amazing wonder of people in my life. From family and friends to the mystery of the stranger in the story, I am surrounded by gifts of wonder and glory. May I have eyes to see this wonder and sense the stirrings of a love from deep heaven that binds us together in grace.

Doug Floyd

“From a human perspective, when you compare [God] to the other gods of the other religions in the world, you have to say our God is really sort of odd. He uses the most common of people, people that aren’t any different from any of us here; he comes in the most common of ways, when by his Spirit an anonymous young woman is found to be with child. And the strangest thing is that he comes at all—he’s not the Above-Us-God, too holy to come down. This God’s love is so immense that he wants to come down. And he has proven his love by the fact that he did come down and touch our ground.”
James R. Van Tholen, Where All Hope Lies (cited from ChristianityToday.com)

Merry Christmas!

December 24, 2008 / dougfloyd / 0 Comments

Winter.
Beautiful destruction blankets the old world
in white death.
Baptism.
All the world is buried beneath
the terrible whiteness of God’s love.
Silence.
Laughter, tears and non-stop chatter cease
in the bleak mid-winter night.
Stillness.
One cry breaks the chilling
night of bone cold death.
Baby.
Jesus tumbles down in dead of winter,
coloring this white world with heaven’s light.
Spring.
Love’s fire melts sin’s icy sting,
Raising a new world into vibrant life.

A Christmas Carol

December 23, 2008 / dougfloyd / 0 Comments

I still remember the shock I first experienced when Ebenezer Scrooge (in the guise of Mr. Magoo) saw his name on the tombstone. In some strange way, this odd slightly scary image is one of my earliest impressions of Christmas. And I think of it fondly.

Mr. Magoo introduced me to the wonder of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” and for that I was always be grateful. I can barely imagine Christmas without the wonder of this marvelous story.

Over the years, I’ve watched almost every version of “A Christmas Carol.” And yet, every year I find another one I haven’t seen. This year I had the pleasure of discovering a haunting 1935 version with Seymour Hicks. Drawing elements from German expressionism, this version captures the terrible wonder of this story.

I believe the master storyteller Charles Dickens in all his flaws was graced by God to bless the world with his rich legacy of penetrating stories. (Here is a little essay I wrote on Charles Dickens in the early 90s.)

Dickens saw the suffering of the world first-hand. As a child, his family went to the poor, but Dickens was left behind to fend for himself. For several months, he drifted through a nightmare of existence.

His nightmares became the stories I’ve loved so deeply. Dickens doesn’t hesitate to portray the gritty ugliness of our world and the people in our world. And yet, his loves those people. He loves Scrooge. So he can’t leave him in his dis-grace.

A few friendly ghosts will rescue the old man in his misery. During of night of visions, Scrooge encounters the ugliness of his soul, his need for redemption, and the heart of Christmas joy. While “A Christmas Carol” does not explicitly detail the story of Christ, the image is never far from the surface. Listen to Dickens own words as he talks about his image of Christmas:

What images do I associate with the Christmas music as I see them set forth on the Christmas tree? Known before all others, keeping far apart from all other, they gather round my bed. An angel, speaking to a group of shepherds in a field; some travelers, with eyes uplifted, following a star; a baby in a manger; a child in a spacious temple, talking with grave men; a solemn figure, with a mild and beautiful face, raising a dead girl by the hand; again, near a city gate, calling back the son of a widow, on his bier, to life; a crowd of people looking through the opened roof of a chamber where he sits, and letting down a sick person on a bed, with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking on the water to a ship again; again, on a sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; again, with a child upon his knee, and other children round; again, restoring sight to the sick, strength to the lame, knowledge to the ignorant; again, dying upon a Cross, watched by armed soldiers, a thick darkness coming on, the earth beginning to shake, and only one voice hear, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Dickens saw the “writing on the tree” so to speak. He saw what Christmas envisioned. The birth, life and death of the Savior for all humanity. The only hope in a world darkened by human violence and human oppression.

Alongside Dickens, we learn to love Scrooge as we witness a man wounded and damaged in this world of sin. Scrooge, the grumpy bah-humbug truly becomes the “founder of the feast” that Bob Cratchitt has called him. In his redemption, Scrooge comes to exemplify the very spirit of Christmas present. Joy and generosity overflow from the man who once was a pit of stinginess.

In the 1970 musical version starring Albert Finney, Scrooge is so deeply transformed that he tears up his debt book (bringing up images of Zacchaeus after he encounters Jesus). Then Scrooge dons a Santa outfit and proceeds to pour out gifts and laughter and joy upon everyone in his presence. Wherever Scrooge goes, he brings the celebration with him.

That spirit of abundance, of generosity, of overwhelming joy inspires me to bring the joy, and not to wait for someone or something else to make me happy. I’ve tasted the secret of joy in the goodness of God’s grace, and I want to spread it to all people I meet. Just as Cratchitt loved the unlovable Scrooge, I want to love and call for the best from the people around me.

When Dickens wrote “A Christmas Carol,” the London Times hadn’t mentioned Christmas for over 30 years. But Dickens saw the possibility of what could be, and he wrote about it. Chesterton rightly calls Dickens the “founder of the feast” because he fell in love with the despairing people around him and wrote a vision of their transformation.

Sounds a bit like the wonder of a God who loved and loves his enemies. And his relentless love transforms our dark and hateful souls into something wondrous. Oh Lord, grant me eyes to see your love for the people around me. Just as my haunting memory of the Mr. Magoo Scrooge facing a tombstone, I know we all face a tombstone.

We have a brief sojourn before ascending. Let us love deeply and widely and unreservedly. Let us pray and hope and expect the grace of God to penetrate all the Scrooges in our world.

Advent – Rejoice!

December 23, 2008 / dougfloyd / 0 Comments

The feast is upon us. For those who’ve kept the advent fast and for those who forgot. For those who’ve been watching and for those who fell asleep.

Suddenly an angel appears announcing, “Good news!” And the dark night becomes a festival of light. Thousand and thousands of voices join in the song,
“Glory to God in the highest,
Peace on earth
Goodwill to man!”

What? You don’t feel like singing? You don’t have the Christmas spirit. Your back hurts. You’re in a bad mood.

I would suggest that for all these reasons, you must sing. Sing out! Pierce the darkness of dis-courage-ment with the light of courage to praise. Even now God’s redemption draws near to you. Today is the day of salvation.

It’s a day of good news, great tidings, delicious, delightful, happily-ever-after news. God has declared “Peace!”

In spite of our warring hearts, in spite of our false loves, in spite of our constant failings, He declares, “Peace and Joy!” In the miracle birth of baby Jesus, we behold the Heavenly King who comes to make all things new—even your sad story.

The story that you thought was a story of failure has become a grand adventure. A love story. A song and dance. A fairy tale that out fairy tales even Snow White and Cinderella combined. For the Prince of Peace wakes your dead soul with a holy kiss and invites you to the Wedding Feast.

Even now He is present and the angels are singing all around you. In fact, thousands upon thousands upon thousands of voices have joined in the song. The saints of the ages have joined in the glorious refrain,

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.”
For He who is mighty has done great things for me,
And holy is His name.”

He has not forgotten you. He did not abandon you. Even now He calls you by name. Even now He looks upon you as His beloved.

For the babe Jesus came as King, as Lover, as Healer, and Lord and Redeemer. He did not simply come to restore the people of Israel, He came to restore all of us into His life of love.

Let us join the angel song.

This rejoicing. This singing. This praising. This is why we have our tongues. For once let us use them for their real purpose, to sing hilariously to the good God of Heaven who enters our world of sin and death and pain and suffering, so that we might enter into His world of love and life and joy and peace.

So get up and let us all light up the darkness with the joy of singing, dancing, laughter and love.

Life's Journey in Psalm 23

December 17, 2008 / dougfloyd / 2 Comments

Living our lives involves peace, nourishment, growth, struggle, suffering, surprise, joy and love. In the midst of this shifting world, we must learn to rest confidently in the absolute faithfulness of God…to the very end.

Born into a family we grow and learn and change over time and in space. We move from infant to child to youth to teen to adult. Then our adult life is a separate journey that may repeat aspects of our childhood in differing order. Recently, I was thinking about this passage through time in light of Psalm 23.

I think this Psalm might provide a helpful lens to consider the path upon which we walk and the places we pass through along the way. At the same time, the Psalm may reveal some sense of the journey of Israel, God’s people chosen to bless the world. These thoughts are still forming, but I thought I’d jot them down.

Psalm 23 begins in the place of infancy:

1 The LORD is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
2 He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.

The baby is completely dependent upon the gentle care of the parent. The babe has no wants and trust the parent to provide food, comfort, shelter and care. In the story of Ancient Israel, we see God rescuing the people from Egypt. They are completely helpless and can only survive by trusting in His complete provision. From crossing the Red Sea to drinking water from the rock, Israel must rest in God’s direct provision for their sustenance.

Like Israel, we begin in a place of complete dependence. We cannot safe ourselves. We are helpless, sinful, blind, and enslaved. In His grace, He draws us to Himself and feeds our soul. His love covers a multitude of sins. He showers us with grace. He heals us. Feeds us. And guides us.

But then the babe must begin to grow. They learn obedience, they learn discipline, they prepare to become adults who will carry on the name of their family. The giving of the Law at Mt Sinai is the gift of God to transform the children of Israel into a kingdom of priests who will bring blessing to the world. The parent trains their child in righteousness, and in the same way, the Father prepares us to bear His name. We must grow up into Him, into the life He has called us.

3 He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

There are seasons when He brings us back to the lessons of childhood. For the Father disciplines His true children. If we are to bear His name, if we are to reveal His blessing and glory, we must be trained in His righteousness by His Holy Spirit.

Adolescence can be painful. The shifting from child to man is wrought with emotional and physical development that turns the youth’s world upside down. For some this season may shift from extreme joy to extreme anger to extreme sadness. I would suggest it might be like passing through the “valley of the shadow of death.”

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

As the Father calls us to grow up into love, we also must pass through the “valley of the shadow of death.” In this place, we face our own desperate need for God’s grace. It is here that we will learn the love of Christ. It is here that we will discover the great depth of God’s grace.

And it is here that we will face our greatest trials. For in the “valley of the shadow of death,” we face the wounds that sin has inflicted on our lives and through our lives. There are caves of bitterness and rejection and loneliness and anger. It is here that the seducer of our souls calls out to us. He seeks to lead into the tailspin of self-reliance, into the path of the dead.

In the “valley of the shadow of death” many people forget the green pastures they once knew. In fact, they begin doubt there ever was a shepherd caring for their souls. If you live in a cave too longer, you may quit believing in the sun. And eventually, you’ll become blind in the darkness. The valley of the shadow of death is dangerous and may cost us our life.

This is where advent begins. We join Israel in the valley of the shadow of death. We discover that their exile, their story of being cast into outer darkness is actually our story. For in this dark valley, we realize that we were not as shiny and pretty and wonderful as we had imagined. The wounds of sin have penetrated our memories, our hearts, our minds, and our souls.

Why would the Father so cruelly lead us into to such a place of death? It is here that we realize our deep need for healing and grace. It is hear that we discover a love that touches our deepest pains. Without passing through this valley, we will never know the depths of love, we will never be healed by the depths of love. In the place of death, of darkness, of exile, we must learn to cry out, “Lord have mercy!”

There’s only one way out of this valley of the shadow of death. It is by entering into the shadow. Death is the only way out. So we must enter the one who consumed and the grave. In the cross of Christ, we discover life.

Here we discover Jesus has already gone on ahead of us. He’s passed through this valley and His cross has made a way to another land. There is a feast awaiting us.

Psalm 23:5-6
5 You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.

Weeping may endure for the night but joy comes in the morning. The night of sin and death may seem to last and last and last. But it is but a blink of the eye compared to the joy that is to come in the full light of day. By His grace, we awake in the morning of His love (with the promise of day to come).

We return to the place of rest and trust in the Shepherd of our souls. But now we are adults. Jesus offers His body and blood as a feast of life in the midst of our enemies. The battles are not over. In fact, we may still face great suffering and struggle. But His Spirit has taught and is teaching of the wonder and secret of deep joy.

The joy of children is the joy of innocence. It is beautiful. Playful. Lyrical. The joy of adulthood is the joy that has the power to face the darkness, to drink the cup of suffering, and to continue singing and rejoicing. This is the joy of Paul and Silas imprisoned and beaten unjustly.

No they are not treated fair or right, but they can still rejoice in the Good King, the Savior of the World. In the midst of their enemies, they feast. They eat at the table of the Lord. They enjoy the anointing of God’s Spirit and are filling to overflowing with life that pours out upon the wicked prisoners and jailer around them.

By the great grace of God, we are called to grow up into priests, kings and prophets in the midst of world scarred by sin and corruption and death. We don’t escape this world of pain but we bring goodness and mercy into the midst of it.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
Forever.

As we grow, we learn to draw from the hope that is held securely for us behind the veil. This hope of complete redemption, of eternal glory, of faithful love sustains us. This hope is not in the shaking sand of emotional or mental assurance but in the absolute fidelity of Jesus Christ who cannot be moved but has already been faithful to the end of all things. His complete faithfulness to the Father in and through death continues shining as He raises from the dead, a light of hope bursting back from the end of all things to this moment in time.

So I rest in His faithfulness and know that the Shepherd of my soul will bring me to dwell in His house forevermore.

The Secret of the Christmas Spirit

December 15, 2008 / dougfloyd / 2 Comments

As we wait and watch for the Son, Advent moves from yearning to celebrating. The joy of Christmas penetrates our hearts as we begin to experience the wonder of God’s love. Our culture tries to bypass the desert of Advent longing and enter directly into the fun of Christmas play.

Sadly this often results in hollow celebrations: celebrations that are not really celebrations at all, but festivity to keep the darkness at bay. The twinkling lights, Christmas songs, and Holiday parties don’t seem to work the magic they once did. How often I hear the same refrain, “I just don’t have the Christmas spirit this year.”

In this lament, adults may be acknowledging that there is a joy to be had, but they don’t have it. Children have it. Frosty and Rudolf and Santa bring a laugh to their lips and a sparkle to their eyes. These stories capture the luminous wonder surrounding the Christmas feast. As G.K. Chesterton so often pointed out, fairy tales are food for the child’s imagination. These magical stories invite the children into a world beyond our world, revealing parables of truth as well as intimations of heaven’s love.

But as we grow older, these stories can no longer feed the soul. We enjoy these stories now through the remembrance of childlike joy. It is looking back, remembering, the nostalgia of longing for the innocent wonder of childlike faith we once had.

But something has changed in us. What once nourished our imagination no longer satisfies. As a result, many adults struggle with a slight disappointment in Christmas. Everything is over so fast. The tinsel and the lights and the music fail to satisfy a longing, a craving, a hunger deep inside us.

I might suggest that our lack of “Christmas spirit” may come from not entering far enough into the story. The fairy tales kept us lingering at the gates of wonder when the real and deep joy is “further up and further in” as C.S. Lewis might say.

During Advent, we learn to enter into the story. Not simply the story of a birth, but the story of death and new life. We discover the story of a people, God’s people who’ve been scattered into exile in Babylon, Assyria, Egypt and the uttermost parts of the earth. They have been forgotten in the “valley of the shadow of death.”

As we reflect on their exile, we may come to realize that it is our exile. For we also know the valley of the shadow of death. In this place of trial, we have faced our own disappointments, our own struggles, our own pains, our own sins. Only in the “valley of the shadow of death” do we come to realize our desperate need for a Savior.

If we are not rescued, we will die in our grief, in our sinfulness, in our unforgiveness, in our suffering and sorrow. The only way out of the valley of the shadow of death is through death. So we look to the king who has conquered death. And now finally we may discover that Advent is both a season of the year and a season of our life.

For it is in the advent season in our lives, the season of waiting and longing and grieving and weeping, that we discover the grace of God flowing down like deep joy from a far country.

This is the joy that stands in the face of sin and death and says, “No! The victory has been won!” This is the joy that cannot be shaken. Heaven and earth may come crumbling down around us, but we can still rejoice for our God is faithful and He will not forsake us. This is the joy of Israel when released from her captivity.

Psalm 126
1 When the LORD brought back the captivity of Zion,
We were like those who dream.
2 Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
And our tongue with singing.
Then they said among the nations,
“The LORD has done great things for them.”
3 The LORD has done great things for us,
And we are glad.
4 Bring back our captivity, O LORD,
As the streams in the South.
5 Those who sow in tears
Shall reap in joy.
6 He who continually goes forth weeping,
Bearing seed for sowing,
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,
Bringing his sheaves with him.

This is the joy that we offer to our weak and weary world. Our world is sin weary, war weary, and tired from the long exile. Every day we meet desperate people in desperate positions. We are surrounded by people who question their worth, their purpose, their meaning in life. We come as the people who’ve passed through the valley of the shadow of death. We come bearing news, good news of great joy!

Isaiah 9:6
6 For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

We don’t wait to feel the spirit of the season. The Spirit of the God of the season dwells in us. And by His Spirit we bring the joy to the feast. We bring the joy that the world longs for. Our kingdom is a kingdom of “righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.”

As Demos Shakarian wrote many years ago, “We are the happiest people in the earth.” Let us for forth this season and bring good news of great tidings to all the world. Let us laugh and sing and rejoice.

For we know the secret of deep joy. We know the laughter that echoes beneath Frosty and Rudolf and Santa is the laughter of the God who rescues His people from death and bring us back to new life. Let us make merry for our God in heaven is good and great and most worthy of an extravagant celebration!

Advent – Light In Darkness

December 12, 2008 / dougfloyd / 0 Comments

During the season of Advent waiting, I am confronted with the sinfulness of man and the goodness of God. When Isaiah says that the people living in darkness have seen a great light, we ask, “Why are they living in darkness?”

The writer of Proverbs tells us that the wicked stumble in the darkness and do not know what makes them stumble. The wicked deeds of man thrust him into the darkness. The darkness is the utter sinfulness of sin. What does that mean?

Sin is not simply a violation against God’s law as though God were some kind of ogre that creates rules and slaps us down when we fail. Sin is a violation of love, of relationship, of personhood. Sin violates other persons and in so doing, deforms our own person.

We were created in God’s image for a relationship of love. In this relationship there is an exchange of love between persons. Our very identity, our very essence of personhood is in the loving exchange with other persons. We were created to relate to God as person and to other humans as person.
In the story of Cain and Abel, we see sin corrupting relationship. Cain violates relationship with God and with Abel. He kills Abel, breaks relation with God and is cast into darkness. The violation of love damages him. He is a walking dead man, stumbling into the darkness. He gives birth to warring and violent people who hate, corrupt and ravage other human beings.

When we think of evil and darkness and villains, we point at the other guy: the one in the dark cloak who comes to suck the blood of innocents. The symbolism within the vampire is a symbol of sin and evil. The vampire cannot dwell in the light. The vampire takes life but does not give it. The vampire is threatened, destroyed by the light. But the vampire is not someone else: we are the vampires.

While some modern films may reinterpret the vampire symbol in a sympathetic way, I would suggest that is only because we may be trying to justify our own blood-sucking, life-stealing nature. We may feel sorry for the poor tragic vampire, trapped in a dark world. But this is like feeling sorry for the serial killer who victimized your own family. It is evil and perverse and ignorant.

And we are the evil ones in danger of destroying everything, everyone around us.

When ancient Israel falls under judgment, God gives her over to her sin. And it destroys her. Sin deforms, destroys, and darkens everything. Sin is not freedom but slavery to the worst possibilities within us. The trick is that it seems innocent and justifiable. But it is always destroying our capacity to love and be loved. And that means it always destroys everything in a world created for persons to love in both time and space.

Derrida is rightly the prophet who sees through the empty progress of the personless world of modernity. It is not a Hegelian spirit of progress that will move us to some great destiny. It is not the inevitable synthesis that Marx sees as a correction to the oppression of the worker. Our world of progress is rooted in sinful people who violate and are violated. Thus deconstruction is in inherent in the creation of all our systems, structures, and solutions.

Even as we admire the birth of the baby, we know that birth is but the first step in a journey to death. The complete deconstruction of the person. Living within this tragic cycle of human deconstruction, human corruption, human evil, how can we ever find hope?

Only when we can face the utter sinfulness of sin, can we begin to appreciate the light of Advent. In this Advent waiting, we enter into the story of Israel and discover our own story. When God’s chosen, God’s elect, God’s people are cast into outer darkness, we see the first glimmer of something that will ultimately change everything. Israel, God’s blessing for the world, enters into the dark, stumbling death of all humanity. They are suffering for their own sin, yet they are also a sign that God will not abandon all humanity in darkness.

He promises that a king will come to rescue them. And that king will rescue all people. The hope of Advent is the hope of a God who so deeply believes in relationship that he will join his fallen, corrupted, broken people in the darkness. He will bring light to those stumbling in their sins. Jesus comes as the Israel of God. Jesus, God with us, enters into Israel’s history, humanity’s history. He enters into the darkness of sin and suffering so completely, so perfectly that he dies. In his death, he carries all the suffering and struggling and corrupting of sin in himself.

The opposite of the vampire, Jesus is a life giver. Instead of sucking our blood, he bears our death and offers His blood, His life to us. In his resurrection, he overcomes the destructive and destroying power of sin.

During Advent, we celebrate this light that keeps shining out in darkness. Though we still sin, His light cannot be diminished. We trust that His light will ultimately shine out so completely that all things will be enveloped in His light. Darkness cannot resist, overcome, stand against His light.

So it makes perfect sense to celebrate during the darkest season of the year with lights and laughter and songs. If we struggle to find a voice for rejoicing, let us look beneath the snowmen and reindeers and Santas to the Savior. The snowmen and reindeers and Santas are little lights for children that help them to rejoice and play and sing.

But the fantasy, the dream, the magic they all point to is more real and more wonderful than any child could ever imagine, let alone any adult. Love does triumph. Relationships are restored. God has not and will not forsake us in the darkness of our sins.

So let us sing and play and delight ourselves in imaging and wondering and expecting. For though the day seems long and our own darkness seems so dark, it is not too dark for His light. During Advent, we are looking expectantly, hopefully, joyfully towards the spark of His light that will eventually be the full light of day.

Pilgrim Notes

Reflections along the way.