Wait

The first Sunday of Advent always comes as a surprise to me. Hard to believe since the Sunday ushering in the season is earmarked from now to infinity. I usually am so dialed in to Thanksgiving that on that Sunday, I say to myself: Is today the first Sunday of Advent? Do I have Advent candles? Yes and no. 

This morning I am waiting. It is not a particularly holy place. I can’t think of a sentence that would include holy and Lane Kiffin. But I wait on him, unpopular as he is in my home of Volunteer fans. I am in my own battle between self-hatred and hope. Why do I care what this man does? I will waste no more words on him.

My point is that it doesn’t take long to see how far I have wandered from the Garden of Eden or even from a posture of waiting according to the Word of God. 

In Hebrew the word for hope is qava. The Theological Word Book of the Old Testament expounds on this word:

This root means to wait or to look for with eager expectation. Waiting with steadfast endurance is a great expression of faith. It means enduring patiently in confident hope that God will decisively act for the salvation of his people. Waiting involves the very essence of a person’s being, his soul (nephews; Psalm 130:5). There will come a time when all that God has promised will be realized and fulfilled (Isaiah 49:23; Psalm 37:9). In the meantime the believer survives by means of his integrity and uprightness as he trusts in God’s grace and power (Psalm 25:21). His faith is strengthened through his testings, and his character is further developed (Psalm 27:14).

Not many things show me how undignified I am more than Ole Miss football. Integrity? Uprightness? Not usually if Ole Miss is playing football. We have had a historic season. Every victory each Ole Miss fan feels they have fought for bravely. And now we wait and war. Do we even want him? LSU, really? 

I typically think of the meaning of advent as to wait, but it means arrival. Not only the arrival of Jesus as an infant but more typically throughout church history the second coming. The arrival of Jesus to complete the work of restoring all of creation. 

If Ole Miss football minimally has the purpose of convincing me that I need to be restored, so be it. I am convinced also that what I wait for is infinitely more satisfying than anything this earth has to offer.

I turn to my favorite psalm. 

“I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” Psalm 27:13-14

through the waters

But now, thus says the Lord, your Creator, O Jacob, and He who formed you, O Israel, "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.” 

Isaiah 43:1-2

An apt passage for this day. 

God reminds us that he is our Creator. The Hebrew word for creator is bara, and it means that He made something out of nothing. The same word is used in Genesis 1:1, “In the beginning, God created the Heavens.” This kind of creating cannot be done by human hands. 

Next he reminds us that he formed us. This word is yatsar and is most often used in reference to a potter. The idea is being squeezed into shape connoting a narrow place or a distressing situation. To be sure when God is forming us, it feels narrow and constricting.

As I sit here this morning, a soft rain falls on the roof outside - the remnants of Harvey. This week has been hell for many as the torrential rains of Harvey have left a path of devastation and death. The faces of those displaced and barely alive have burned into my soul. The kindness of strangers and the teamwork in rescues have brought me to tears. Prayers for these folks are on my lips all day. I am not one to step in with a Bible verse like “take 2 and call me in the morning.” When this degree of devastation occurs, we have to sit in the ashes before reaching for the cure. It feels like now we don't have the luxury of sitting. That will come later. Now is the time for us to bring diapers and clean underwear. To send money to those on the ground in Houston. To pray all day and all night. To house refugees if possible. To hold people while they cry and turn faces to God who is our Healer. 

Even now as we are about practical things, we can share our own stories of suffering. I have known periods of darkness when the hand of God seemed to be against me. My circumstances shouted that God had forsaken me. His plan seemed to be about destruction of me and my family and not for our good. My path to find the true face of God included those who shared their suffering, heartache and pain. In naming the truth about my circumstances and feelings, I found an empathetic God who did not spare His Son but gave Him freely for our healing.

Many in Nashville are all too close to the scenarios playing out on tv and social media. Our neighborhood flooded in 2010. I’ve heard from more than one friend about heart palpitations and anxiety as they ache for Houston. We in Nashville are quick to understand that the magnitude of this flood is much greater. But the comfort born from empathy is a true balm for the hurting. 

The Isaiah passage speaks of waters and rivers, fire and flames, captivity and displacement. It tells us of a God who is there in it with us. So often in suffering we feel alone. “Faith is putting ourselves quietly into God’s hands for Him to do His work.” Andrew Murray said those words some 175 years ago. 

I think it’s ok to ask “Why God?” or “Where is God?” because it reveals a searching heart. Literally in the next breath, the seeker could be confronted with the very real presence of God. Sometimes it looks like “Where is God?” and then a moment of seeing His presence in the kindness of a stranger or in a photo showing racial unity or in a sunset. 

In suffering we are reminded to live moment by moment. This moment is all we really have. We can tell the truth about where we are… searching or resting or raging. 

Andrew Murray also said, “Surrender yourself this very moment to abide wholly, only, always in Jesus. It is the work of a moment. Remember, Christ’s renewed acceptance of you is also the work of the moment. Be assured that He has you and holds you as his own, and that each new ‘Jesus, I do abide in you,’ meets with an immediate and hearty response from the Unseen One. No act of faith can be in vain. He immediately takes hold of us anew and draws us close to himself. Therefore, as often as the message comes, or the thought of it comes, Jesus says: ‘Abide in Me, do it at once.’ Each moment there is the whisper: ‘Do it now.’”

In any moment, He is ready to accept and receive and comfort. Do it now. 

new beginnings, new grace

“…there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf!” Genesis 8:11

I am attempting to read the Bible through this year using Meet the Bible by Philip Yancey and Brenda Quinn. Today I read a familiar story of the flood and when I got to this verse something washed over me: gratitude and gladness. After devastation, the dove returns with an olive leaf. I have seen this in my own life. 

Noah had labored and built an ark. And if I understand it correctly, he waited with his family and the animals inside for 7 days before it rained. It had never rained. Then the deluge and horror of losing humanity and all the other animals and the places he must have loved. Then the waiting, sending out the raven then the dove. I cannot imagine standing out on the deck of the ark watching the horizon for the dove. What could he have felt seeing something green in its beak?

Have you ever experienced devastation? Has God ever took a wrecking ball to your life? Have you ever been harmed or watched someone you love be harmed? Have you ever looked out over ruins and wondered if God cared or if He was real? 

God painted something in the sky for Noah, a rainbow. And He wrote a poem:

As long as the earth endures,
seedtime and harvest,
cold and heat,
summer and winter,
day and night
will never cease.

The rainbow is the first recorded covenant by God. God chose beauty to remind us of grace.

The representation of the shower of His grace looks like a rainbow. And when I see it, I have to fall to my knees and receive. I open my hands and let the abundance weight them down.

Today I am thankful for new life, new beginnings, new stories, new adventures. And grace. Yes, I am thankful for grace.

see the unseen

It is quiet here at midday on the first Sunday of Advent. Only the sound of boys chatting and laughing, the sound of Fifa 15 on the Play Station, the sound of the Titans game low in the background break the quiet. My stomach is full of turkey sandwich and the house is littered with Christmas decorations. 

I don’t know how many times I have completely missed the first Sunday of Advent. It is easy enough to do, especially when leftovers from Thanksgiving still stock the fridge. I would get so frustrated with myself over forgetting that first Sunday. 

Today, though, we did not forget. Matthew (23) was home from college so we grabbed the chance to decorate the tree together.  I suppose I have a Norman Rockwell image in my mind of how this should go down. The scene includes hot chocolate and carols in front of a warm fire. Everyone is laughing and chatting. Everyone is engaged and eager to help hang those little ornaments on the branches. 

Today the distractions are endless: Nerf guns,  remote control flying helicopters, football on tv, iPhones and iPads. Matt and I goad the kids to help reaching a shrill tone of voice in desperation to get the task done. The lights take two hours and my back aches from holding light balls over my head. They are much more crowded up in one spot near the top of the tree. Charlie Brown may have done a better job! 

But more than anything,  one feeling prevails on this day. 

Gratitude. 

My eyes are focussed to see the camaraderie of the three brothers. My ears are tuned to hear the laughter and teasing and love. It ends soon enough with Matthew back to Knoxville and Matt to work. 

It is into the everydayness that Christ entered. He stooped down and made Himself a baby so that He could save us. I do not want to miss His incarmational Presence this Christmas. When I see the love of God or when Mystery cracks open my paradigm for life, will I run and hide? Or will I open myself to it? I want to say the same words as Mary. I am the Lord’s handmaiden. May it be as you have said.

Will I give up my notion of Rockwell scenes and perfectionism? Will I embrace the mysterious way the Lord has ordered my life? Will I surrender to Mystery? Will I keep  my eyes open to see the unseen?

For nothing is impossible with God. Luke 1:37

a way out

The Pit is dark and lonely. It is deep. It smells of earth and leaves and mold. The damp makes the cold all the more penetrating. The Pit can envelop you even when you are running errands in Cool Springs on Mallory Lane. It can grab you up in front of the tv when you sit with your boys watching sports. It can put icy fingers around your neck when you lounge with friends over dinner. 

The Pit is familiar. My Pit has furniture like a coffee table with magazines dog-eared and coffee-stained. It says pull up a chair and stay a while.  It is nonetheless dark and lonely. What does your pit look like?

We are in a season of wharp-speed, like many with children or jobs or places to be. Our rhythm has changed in recent months. I don’t like change. The Pit calls my name more often in a season like this. I am likely to fall into the Pit when I am running and have to keep going and don’t have time to stop and be still. 

This morning, however, I stopped. I read about David’s Pit. David says in Psalm 40, “I waited patiently for the LORD; he turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD.  Blessed is the man who makes the LORD his trust, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods.”

David knew the Pit. And his story shows how God lifted him out. I know the Pit. And my story this morning tells of a God who gets in the Pit and gives me a leg up to see out. He gives me strength to grab hold of the grass and His Long Arm boosts me up over the edge. 

There is no pit so deep that God is not deeper still. - Corrie Ten Boom