Advent Four

Today we lit all four advent candles, a complete circle.  At each service we had a family group come up and light the candles together, children and teens and parents taking turns, everyone making sure that everyone else had a chance.

We are getting near to Christmas Eve, but as for me, I somehow wish we could just keep on lighting candles every week, more and more.

Maybe we could make a wider circle, or maybe a long line of candles, lighting another one each week, each one taking a turn, making sure everyone got a chance.

That's one of the things that struck me this year.  In the groups that were lighting candles, they were careful that everyone would get a chance.  It wasn't a small thing.  It was a Big Deal.  A family came to light the candles and asked if their cousin who was visiting could help.  A mother and son asked if a disabled member of the congregation could help.  They wanted to make sure everyone who wanted a turn could take a turn.

There should be more candles, every week.  We should still go on lighting them, until everyone gets a chance.  After all, it is always Advent, in some ways; there are things we never stop waiting for.

At the first service today, when we lit all four candles, we had some trouble.  They were real candles, and the wicks had burned low, and we could not get all of the candles to light.  We tried and tried and tried, until the song was ended and there was this silence while we kept trying to pass the flame to the last two candles.

In the silence the congregation was standing and waiting.  We had finished singing the verse of O Come O Come Emmanuel.  Someone brilliant had lifted of the metal pieces off of the top of the last two candles, so that we could see the wick and light them.  And in the silence I thought that everyone let out a collective breath.

It was all right.  The circle was complete, for today.  Everyone got a chance.

But still we wait.  Even after Christmas, there will be waiting.  There will be waiting for peace.  There will be waiting for love.  There will be waiting for an answer, for healing, for the footsteps of someone coming home.  There will be waiting for your chance, for someone to hand you the fire, so that you can light the candle.

Someday everyone will have a chance.  Everyone will get their turn.  Everyone will be recognized for their created beauty.

In the meantime, make the circle wider, and let us keep lighting candles in the dark.

And the word became flesh, and dwelt among us.
Full of grace and truth.

Advent Pause

So, it is the second week in Advent already, and I have some confessions to make:

1.  I have not put up an advent wreath yet.  (not sure where it is.)
2.  I just put out an Advent calendar in my office, and opened 7 windows at once.  (This is the one I bought at The Cloisters a couple of years ago (3?) when we were in New York).
3.  I haven't done a lot of Christmas shopping yet, although I am making a couple of presents.  Clearly, I should have gotten started earlier.
4.  I don't know for sure what we are doing on Christmas eve, or day, who we are entertaining, and therefore have not planned any menus yet.

Arg.  That is my very profound thought.

The first week of Advent kind of got away from me, to be honest, and I'm trying to slow it down a little, now that I'm practically in the middle of the second week of Advent.  Maybe it's not too late to find the wreath and light a candle or two and pause for a moment and consider not just my headlong attempt to check everything off the list by December 24.  Maybe it's not too late to light a candle and pause for a moment and consider where God is taking us. 

Tomorrow, I am supposed to do a devotion for a short Matins service that we have every Wednesday.  Usually I am not at a loss for themes for short reflections, but I was scratching my head this morning, and trying to think about what to say.  I looked up some verses in the daily lectionary, and one of the suggested Scriptures was the story of Ruth.

And what is Ruth telling me in this season of Advent?

The book of Ruth is a love story, but not just in the ordinary ways.  Of course, Ruth is a Moabite who marries an Israelite.  That's one part of the love story.  But after her husband dies, she decides to go to Israel with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and live among strangers rather than with her own people.  That's another part of the love story.  And then there's the part about Boaz, and Ruth finding a new husband.  That's yet another part of the love story.  And then there's the fact that the foreigner Ruth gets into the geneology of King David, and Jesus. 

That's part of the love story, too. 

Love stories.

So I light an advent candle (or two), and consider that advent is a time of waiting, of longing, of exptectancy.  And the sighs I hear are the sighs of love.

Advent 3: In the Midst

Before worship this morning, I saw our worship coordinator struggling with our church's Advent wreath. We've always had some issues with advent candles. In the past, we had the traditional Advent wreath with four candles up in the chancel area. I always liked to have the children help me light the candles, except that the candles were notoriously difficult to light. And sometimes, even when lit, you couldn't see them.

A few years ago, someone got a brilliant idea and fixed up an Advent wreath contraption that is hung from the ceiling with pulleys. The candles are four blue votives inside four small lanterns hung from the wreath. But it's a little bit of a trick getting the candles lit and inside of the lanterns on Sunday morning. And if you're tall, you might accidentally bump your head on the wreath as you walk into church in the morning.

It means that there is no opportunity to light the Advent candles with the children, something I'm a little sad about.

So I stopped to chat with the worship coordinator. In the midst of her struggle, "I hope I have them in right!", she said. Then she added, "I kind of like it, though. I like the advent wreath like this, in the middle of the sanctuary. It's just like God, dwelling in the midst of us."

What a great insight! I'll look at the suspended wreath differently from now on. As the little blue lights increase, I'll see hope increase with the lights, and I'll see that the hope is coming from the midst of us, where God dwells, where God has promised to come.

"And the word became flesh, and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth...."

We had the children's Chrismas program this morning. So wonderful to sit and listen and hear the story as the children told it, full of warmth and sincerity and grace and truth. I have known some of these children since they were babies. Today they sang and sneezed and said their lines with feeling. Knowing the children as I do, I know a little about their lives, and their families. I don't know them as perfect children, but as people who have sometimes had to deal with tragedy and difficulty, even at their age. And yet they told us about the baby, and believed in his coming.

"And the word became flesh, and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth....."

In the midst of the congregation, the lights shine.