Tag Archives: Advent

Advent: remembered

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On Christmas eve, I ate dinner alone (unexpectedly). But I was fine – really. I had a good time, unexpectedly. Then I cried when I got home. I mean – at this age, you’re not supposed to be alone on Christmas eve, right?

The night represents a little how I’ve felt this December – away from home, holidays in general. I’m some one who has been in Baltimore for nearly 10 years; and yet, here I am eating alone on Christmas eve…

but…making conversation and laughing with:
the bar manager who (feeling sorry for me I’m sure) plied me with free wine and cheesecake, Elda – the mom who’s kids were 45 minutes late and the Italian chef from Venice. That was my Christmas Eve in Baltimore.

But what does that have to do with your reflection on Advent (other than dinner), you ask?

a sidenote (bear with me): I’ve been doing these reflections for awhile. And in reading over my previous blogs, I see that I tend to tip towards the melancholy with just a teensy bit of “comfort and joy”.

The truth is, I worry about writing a blog for the friend who’s had a great year while writing one for the one who’s had the hardest one of his/her life? So I end up leaning more on the melancholy side.

And well, the end of the year just makes one a little more pensive anyway, doesn’t it?

And what they don’t tell you growing up: the highs and lows are just what is part of life – everyone’s life. Kind of like my Christmas dinner.

I’ve had some amazing highs this year (explored Spain with my sister!) and some deep lows (made some regretful mistakes). And what stood out to me in the Christmas story this year was very similar to what stood out to me at Lent this last spring: mercy.

But where’s ‘mercy’ in this story? Where it’s mentioned, it precedes God remembering his promise he made so long ago: that he’ll send salvation to his people. Having mercy on his people waiting in darkness for what I’m sure they felt was WAY too long.

Advent means “coming” and it’s often about the ‘waiting’ of the arrival of a baby, but isn’t it really more about God finally remembering? Remembering his promise after 400 years (well, fulfilling it really).

Anyway – I could get all preachy and application-y here (like how in this age of social media and instant access, we all need validation and need to be heard; or how Jesus’ life and ministry was about remembering the ‘un-remembered’ – ahem – you know, refugees, vulnerable …) but I’m just going to stop and say this:

We all want to be remembered. Known. Cared for. Somehow this resonated with me this December – spending it away from all of my family – and especially on my Christmas eve, being bailed on (There’s the connection to my Christmas Dinner 🙂 ). And this year in general.

Because, it’s good to be remembered.
That’s why the angels sang two thousand years ago.
That’s why a whole caravan journeyed miles and miles from the East following a star.
That’s why poor shepherds RAN to some child’s side, then went out and told everyone.
Because after walking in darkness, feeling forgotten, they were finally remembered!

And well – I’ve felt both forgotten and remembered this year in fairly significant ways. And whether or not, this has been an amazing year or a terrible year, I’m sure you have too.

It’s never really occurred to me that Advent was about more than waiting and more than an arrival. It’s really about God remembering. It’s about a promise kept. And that has brought me ‘comfort and joy’.

Whether or not you celebrate Christmas or follow a different tradition, I hope that you are remembered and treasured and feel it down to your core in the new year.

Happy 2019!

Advent 2017: the Maji, Journeys and Hope

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Somehow this year, I’ve been thinking a lot about the “Wise Men” or “Magi” and their own short story. I’m not sure why – because it’s about a journey and movement and I’m not going anywhere right now.

Much of my life has been about movement, change, forward motion.  Now I’ve lived in Baltimore almost 9 years (!) and sometimes I don’t feel like I’m moving very much. But I guess even staying can be a type of journey.

So maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about this and the Wise Men’s journeys. I like that there’s this ‘something’ that compels them – together – who knows how many there were – following a star to something that perhaps they weren’t even fully sure of. But they knew it was something special – something good.

So – keeping it simple this year – because honestly – for me it’s too easy to fall into last year’s hopelessness. Outwardly, I’m a happy person. I love life and people and going out. But in my writing and self-reflection, I tend to tip into despair and pessimism and questions. At heart, I’m a cynic – though I strive to be an idealist.

On reflecting on this over this last month, two things (as I see it) coincide with this Maji-Christmas story that keep me going – that (I think) kept them going.

In all journeys, we face deserts and darkness and setbacks. But it’s our companions that help us overcome them. Sure, I’m grateful for the journey and that which makes me stronger (blah blah blah :), but without those that travel with me, I’m not sure I’d keep moving at times. You know who you are.

And I’d love to stop here with that sweet and touching line, but let’s be honest once again. Who among us hasn’t felt completely alone on that road? There have been times that I’ve said “there’s no one there”. (And I know that I’ve also been one to miss a lonely person sitting there beside me.) But an important lesson I’ve had to learn as an adult (and re-learn again and again) that at this age – in our busy lives – it’s okay to say “I need a day”, “I need help”, “I’m struggling” – Because I think we believe no one else is and we have to look and strive the exact same way.

Then there’s that something – that drew the Maji on the journey, what kept them going – that great Hope, following that star – even if at times, it was only the belief that there was still a star hidden behind the clouds.

I love the part of the ‘wise men’ studying the stars (astrology anyone?) and suddenly realizing that God was born as child. And they follow this star to a place –  All this without a voice, without a visitation, without a dream. All because of a star and a belief.

So much trust. And so much certainty to travel that far.

It makes me ask: Are there times like that in my life that needed so much trust and certainty to propel me forward? Big decisions. Or moves really. My move to Baltimore. My continual stay here. Certainly my faith.

This story of the Maji reflects my own story and reminds me to look Beside me and look Up. It’s a story of a journey together with fellow travelers – propelled with a greater purpose and a belief in something beyond ourselves. Maybe even (maybe often) following something that sometimes we’re not always sure what it is, but certain the end will prove the journey.

For me, that’s hope. Not super deep but sometimes, that’s what keeps me from falling off the ledge :).

And just to end – here are a few of my pieces of hope this year: a place I now call ‘home’, seeing my little nephew after a long summer, old friends that re-surface in my life, new friends that I didn’t think I had anything in common with, sisters who I know will drop anything if I called them, a church that cares about the plight of refugees, immigrants and its own community, colleagues and a job that are more than that, a Thanksgiving that refreshed my soul, fellow travelers that always do, a family that draws me home each Christmas and the reason I celebrate every December.

And you. Taking the time to read this.

thoughts on advent. 2016

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I’ve put this annual reflection off, and now it’s Jan 1, 2017. I haven’t wanted to write it because I don’t like to do things for the sake of doing them. I don’t like saying rote things that could be counted as trite, like I haven’t thought about it. Especially to those who are going through pain. I’ve been the recipient of that, and it sucks.

And I’m weary. A lot of people have said that. They have said they are excited to get rid of 2016. But even that makes me weary. I don’t have a lot of hope for 2017.

There’s been quite a few I know who have just been through it. Like you wouldn’t believe. Family members sick, broken relationships, internal turmoil, death … And others  who have been waiting – waiting for jobs, for a change, for health…

And I work for an int’l development agency, and we’re inundated with news of Syria and millions of refugees fleeing. We hear of children trying to cross the border into Texas because of the violence in Central America. And our country is incredibly divided, not to mention our own families at times. And it’s exhausting.

So I want to be careful about saying just words.

As I began this advent, I thought – I’d like to reflect on PEACE. We need peace in us, in our world, all that…isn’t the Christmas story full of peace?

But then I couldn’t find it. Do you know how many times ‘peace’ is mentioned in the Christmas story? Once.

You can’t force a meditation. And truth be told, there wasn’t much peace. Israel was occupied, under another regime.  There’s a lot of waiting. And in that waiting, so much anxiety. So much fear and doubt.

And when I read the part about Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem. It hit home. How tired they must have been. Finally getting there and hearing, ‘no room’. Mary had to have thought (well I personally would have thought) ‘of course, this is just about how I’d expect everything to go based on this year…”

How exhausting it must have been for Mary, both physically and mentally. Was she full of doubts? Doubts that others had certainly placed in her. Fears she herself couldn’t help but have.

And when they did arrive to where they expected to: “No room”, landing in a stable, placing this baby – whom they had been told is the Messiah – in a feeding trough, Joseph must have felt incredibly inadequate as a husband and a father at this moment.

I’m sure the shepherds couldn’t have come at a better time, bursting in shouting ‘where’s the Messiah we’ve heard about?”.

I see both waiting (Simeon, Anna, Israel) and journeys taken (Mary, Joseph, the wise men) in the Christmas story. But the process is the same. The emotions are the same. The inner turmoil and questions still exist whether you are stagnant or wandering.

Were the wise men disappointed to find a baby in the end? How many times did Simeon and Anna ask God, “How long, Oh Lord? How much longer?”

And then Mary and Joseph again having to get up and flee for their child’s life – really holding the destiny of mankind in their hands – leaving a weeping town behind them… because of them.

So often, I tend to get into myself, and my path feels tired, full of doubt, unrelatable. And just when I think I’ve arrived where I wanted to go, it wasn’t what I expected or it’s even scarier than I imagine.
Or I never move.
At all.
And everyone else does.
It can feel incredibly lonely sometimes. And very far from peaceful. And the people I thought I could trust – well, they disappointed me.

So what’s left? What small piece can I take with me as I enter into a new year?

I’d like to be like those shepherds. I’d like to be able and willing to show up in the right moment because I took the opportunity – without hesitation, confirming to a fellow wanderer that they are on the right path. So much of the violence, pain and hatred of 2016 may not have been directed specifically at me or happened to me, but if I can come around and just be some one who says, “I’m here with you”; then I want to be that person.

I’d like to continue on waiting (or moving) despite my fears and doubts. So I have to ask, how could all these people do that? How does anyone? Really there has to be a very deep motivation for either one – greater than all our unmet expectations, disappointments and feelings of inadequacies and loneliness.

The wise men, Shepherds, Joseph, Mary – all had a deep pull, that only a very deep calling could keep them going.  Something – that in the midst of the oppression, fears, doubts, weariness, murderous threats, fleeing, loneliness, trouble – something greater gave them a reason to continue. And continue in what may have seemed to some a bold or scary choice. I want this courage and this passion. This I want to remember and hold on to.

Theirs was a deep hope in the belief that Mary carried the Savior of the world, and that he was called the Prince of Peace.
There. Peace.
Let me again repeat this line from that old Christmas carol: “the hope and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight …”

Advent 2015: interruptions and fear

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Over the last month, what has stood out to me as I meditate on the Christmas story is perhaps a reflection of what this year has been like both globally and personally: the prolific amount of interruptions in the lives of the people in the Christmas story.

I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Can you imagine the complete change in Elizabeth and Mary’s plans – on both ends of their lives? But they welcomed the (unusual) interruption with a willingness and an anticipation that I doubt I could have.

Then there’s the innkeeper. All the inns in Bethlehem were full (a good problem for them of course), and he could easily turn away this interruption as others had done (that most likely wouldn’t benefit him). But he didn’t, and we remember him as the man who didn’t turn away the Messiah.

Then the shepherds, living their regular daily lives, watching their sheep. Probably frightened out of their wits when an unbelievable amount of angels filled the skies. Sounds story-book really. Still, after the sky emptied, they went to the manger and found Jesus there – just as the angel had said. And from then on: lives interrupted, never to be the same. But they ran to welcome this Messiah everyone had been waiting hundreds of years for.

True, this was about a good interruption, for a hope that brought joy and peace. But it still meant the unknown, a change not planned for, fear, possible rejection, a pause for an indefinite amount of time or a completely new direction. For the wise men, they packed up everything in search of something they weren’t even sure of.

And the list goes on: Simeon, Anna, Mary and Joseph again on their way to Egypt, Herod. oh. wait. Herod. This guy… like them, he was also interrupted and also afraid. And out of his fear, insecurity, jealousy, he reacted in the opposite extreme.

But here’s the crux – where it hits home, because sometimes I’m more like Herod than Mary. No, I’m not killing toddlers, but I have often responded to fear with fear. And that isn’t a solution. It only creates more fear in us and others.

Honestly, most of the interruptions in our lives aren’t the good kind. Most of them don’t promise good news, hope and joy. Most of them do bring fear, the unknown, possible rejection.

When I read the Advent story, I’m also comforted by the amount of times Gabriel has to tell everyone “Don’t be afraid”. Because Mary was. Zechariah was. Joseph was. The Shepherds were. Who wouldn’t be? Who isn’t when it’s the unknown, the unpredictable, the unplanned?

These are the words I cling to in my life. And the fact that they were afraid – even in the face of good news. Like it’s okay.

The thing is -we’re going to be interrupted. By outsiders – like Mary and Joseph did to the innkeeper. Or personally, like Joseph who found himself marrying a pregnant girl (not with his child).

And being afraid is natural.

Maybe that’s why the words of “o little town of Bethlehem” have really caught me this year:

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee tonight.”

We’re not alone. I believe there is One who meets our fears, takes our fears, and in the end, changes it to hope. And if you don’t believe in the Christmas story, the essence is still true – we’re not alone and we are – in the end – part of what the Christmas story is also about: hope. Our response to our fears is so key.

It’s finding the willpower, the fight to respond to that fear with “let it be” (Mary), or respond with the right thing to do even though others around you may whisper against you (Joseph), or it inconveniences you (the innkeeper), or you don’t understand it (Zachariah)… Or maybe you make the choice to hurt others (Herod).

I know it’s not profound. I know that this can sound over-simplified. I know I haven’t faced the situations that others have, but I hope that I will not add to their pain by reacting wrongly out of my own. I can only hope (and I know not always, not always will it work out so easily) that I can bring hope for others.

Thoughts on Advent 2014

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As most of you know – I try to reflect on one very small part of the Christmas story each year – to keep it fresh and personal.
Honestly, this didn’t feel like a super productive year: no big changes or crazy trips. And maybe that’s okay 🙂 – It has felt like a year of Being – of digging in, rooting down – in friends, in faith, in self-awareness, in an ever-growing dissatisfaction with easy answers and a striving to be comfortable with complexities.
As is usually the case, I don’t seem to choose the direction Advent takes me. This Christmas (again), the name “Immanuel” kept coming up – this idea of the longing of of a Holy God to be present with us – a poor struggling human race. And this year, the name took on a deeper meaning for me.Part of my self-learning has not been pretty. I’ve realised that I hate being weak. I hate being vulnerable. I would rather be the one comforting some one else. I don’t like needing help. I don’t like pity and I feel uncomfortable with sympathy.
But I’ve slowly come to value true empathy. What a gift understanding is. What a comfort a simple act of presence is. What an odd relief to hear “I’ve hurt too”. And what beauty can happen when you yourself open up to others.
I can’t help but think that the Christmas ‘story’ really is the ultimate act of empathy. The incarnation is even deeper than “Immanuel – God with us”, but it is “God was us.”
“He knows our need” “To our weakness, is no stranger”. He truly knows our struggles. Not just because he is God. But because He became man.Perna Chodron, a Buddhist nun, wrote “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”This is so beautiful – and yet I didn’t truly appreciate it until I read it from the perspective of the receiver. Compassion means so much more when it comes not from some one reaching down – deigning to give but when it comes from some one reaching across out of his or her own pain and struggles.
 I’m still trying to comprehend it. God. as a baby. Every year, it becomes more and more miraculous to me – and every year it becomes more and more precious.
The Creator wraps Himself in mud and sin and pain and weakness – to reach out to us so we could be part of His light and love and grace.
For many people I know, this year hasn’t been the easiest. And I can’t even begin to comprehend what happened in Pakistan last week or what has been going on in Syria for years.
But the story of Christmas came also at a time of oppression, conflict, murder, loneliness, silence, poverty…
It’s why Jesus came to earth. To know us. To save us – in the deepest most empathetic way possible – He “made Himself nothing, by taking on the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.”
I’m not Catholic, but I have to quote Pope Francis on this:
“God’s becoming man is a great mystery! But the reason for all this is his love, a love which is grace, generosity, a desire to draw near, a love which does not hesitate to offer itself in sacrifice for the beloved. Charity, love, is sharing with the one we love in all things. Love makes us similar, it creates equality, it breaks down walls and eliminates distances. God did this with us.”Understanding and empathy gives us just a little hope that it’s possible to go on out of our own darkness, our own struggles – some one has been there before. Sometimes that’s all we need in order to see just a little bit.  We can make it one more day. Some one understands. Someone is here. There is a light in our darkness. There is hope.
That’s what we celebrate in December.And the thing is – is that when it comes to experiencing this, I find that this love, this hope is revealed in us and to us through others – through each other. I’ve seen this Immanuel “God with us” sense through people – those who for that moment put aside their own lives in order to better enter mine.
Just as Jesus entered our world, we enter in to the midst of each other’s pain (AND joy!). What I can do now for those around me is to be with, a presence, some one who becomes part of their present. With this gift of understanding, of grace, the “I’ve been there” – well, it becomes bearable. That’s what so many have done for me.
So this year – my reflection is less a lesson or platitude, but it’s really a song of gratitude. I can’t help but be grateful for so many who have sat with me. Given me hope. For those who I have gotten to sit with – allowed me to enter in to their vulnerability and weakness. That in itself is a gift.  I’m grateful for my friends and family and even strangers who have been “with me” and I with them. For a God – who somehow became a baby just like me, because of a love for a broken world.
Whether I just met you this year or I haven’t seen you in forever (and really whether we have the same beliefs or not), you have in so many wonderful ways revealed that Christ child and His presence and hope to me.
A heartfelt thank you.
Merry Christmas to all of you!