prayers are just thoughts: platitudes cannot protect our children

prayers are just thoughts

platitudes that defer action

personal responsibility,

accountability 

our claimed-to-be-sacred

utterances

resist what is deeper and divine

a collective call and cry

to mobilize change

when will our prayers

become Just thoughts

imagining

dreaming

tirelessly working

for a better world

where all children thrive

as young people alive

no longer captive

to idols

fashioned as guns

or supposed rights and freedoms,

privileges and powers possessed by too few

adults,

charged to be their protectors,

who polish more than they push

for goodness and kindness

non-violence and peace

maybe our prayers are just thoughts

as a Just world costs us what we worship

value

love

more than our children 

Spring Is Here though Gray

spring is here
our third 
since the world 
went gray
nevertheless 
color and life
beauty relents 
if our eyes are those
of a child
able to find goodness 
sprouting 
from the ground
calling us 
look
listen
all is not lost 
hope is here 
once more

On Coaching, Parenting, and Holding Space So Others Can Fly: Learnings from Teresa of Ávila

Teresa of Ávila is the kind of mystic that can make you both misty and mad.  One page she pens words to her beloved Carmelite "daughters" about their value and worth, leaving me in a meditative puddle:

this true Lover never leaves [the willful soul], but goes with it everywhere and gives it life and being."  

The next page, the first woman honored as Doctor of the Church, elicits self-deprecating language as reminder that even the most sacred of saints were products of their times laden with patriarchal language and debilitating religiosity. 

I may have thrown the book across the room a time or two.

But I am so glad I continually pick the book up off the floor and read more of Teresa's pilgrimage through mystical mansions.  As someone who values both the practice of coaching and the wild world of parenting, I cannot think of a more beautiful litany than what she offered those under her tender care:

"It is a great advantage for us to be able to consult someone who knows us, so that we may learn to know ourselves. And it is a great encouragement to see that things which we thought impossible are possible to others, and how easily these others do them. It makes us feel that we may emulate their flights and venture to fly ourselves, as the young birds do when their parents teach them; they are not yet ready for great flights but they gradually learn to imitate their parents. This is a great advantage, as I know" (Interior Castle, 49).

In our own world, ripe with absurdity related to our worth and potential, Teresa reminds us of the timeless call to have space held for us to see what we may not be able to see for ourselves. This can be the most sacred of work- as the Spirit awakens us, through the compassionate curiosity of another, to our capacity for beauty and possibility in the most turbulent times. We are nudged and empowered to take flight when everything around us demands we ground ourselves in cynicism, despair, and trauma-induced idleness.

This is the empathetic work of coach and parent. It is the gift and call of each of us as young and old(er) birds, to consult and be consoled so to learn ourselves best and love others just as well.

This is a great advantage Teresa Ávila invites us all to know.

----

Here is the quote adapted into a litany for whatever purposes meaningful to you; 

maybe a personal meditation or call and response.

One: It is a great advantage for us to be able to consult someone who knows us,

Many: so that we may learn to know ourselves.

One:  It is a great encouragement to see that things which we thought impossible are possible to others, how easily these others do them...so it seems.

Many: It makes us feel that we may emulate their flights and venture to fly ourselves, as the young birds do when their parents teach them;

One: They are not yet ready, we are not ready, for great flights

Many: yet, as they gradually learn to imitate their parents, so we learn to fly by watching others soar. 

One: This is a great advantage, as I know.

Many: This is a great advantage, yes, we know. 

When Your Daughter Finds a Statue and Challenges All You Know: A Belated Mother's Day Post on (Indigenous) Womanhood

A few week's ago, our family went for a Mother’s Day walk along the Schuylkill River trail in Philadelphia. Among all the art, historical storyboards, gardens, skate park, and graffiti, were an abundance of statues- mostly celebrating white male “contributions” to this nation. Shocker. 

Then there was this one, which encompasses strength, resilience, resistance, and a “we can do all the things” spirit. I confess, I have run past this statue infinite times. I have never once stopped to ponder the significance. I don't think I actually knew it was there at all. It took my ten-year-old daughter to linger in the subversive structure as ode to peoples long oppressed, whose ancestry names so many of the places throughout Greater Philadelphia. Contrasted to the over-feminization with pink, tired gender stereotypes and binary tropes often associated with Mother's Day, I believe Boyle’s description of “Stone Age in America” (1887) says it better:

“You’ll see a bear cub at the Native American woman’s foot, but in effect, you have to look at her threats being governmental and military. The least of her worries would be a bear.”  (Read more here.)

Yes! to this brand of motherhood, which works against the many forms of injustices, isms, and oppressions in a still-very-much patriarchal world- all the while caring for their own families. Yes! to this bold elevation of indigenous peoples, especially women, whose stories cry out from this land that is not our land. Yes! to these narratives that often go, not so much untold, rather unheard and dismissed in the name of Western White propaganda of colonization. We must be better at this truth telling, which is often modeled best by the soft hearts and prophetic imaginations of our youngest, children who dare pause and ponder bronze beings on trails previously traveled yet ignored by generations before them. This is our broken, beautiful, and tragic history we must sit with and and learn from- even when on family walks along the river. Kaitlin B. Curtice uncovers this confessional and reconciliatory wisdom in a book our Presbytery is presently reading, Kaitlin B. Curtice, Native: Identity and Belonging, and Rediscovering God:

"In my life, journeying has meant telling the truth, coming to terms with the trauma in my own story, and leaning into the trauma and pain of others with honest listening so that, together, we learn how to be a people who walk alongside one another in order to heal." 

So how might we work towards such truth telling, story sharing, and celebrating of our indigenous siblings past and present, whose land we call home. In so doing may we acknowledge the trauma and pain, courage and resilience able to lead us towards justice and healing across intersectional lines related to gender, ethnicity, culture, orientation, race, religion, and so much more. 

Turn: #AdventWord Day 21

I have unapologetically posted a lot of my kids lately. Frankly, in light of all things pandemic, they have been my entire world. Literally. They have been my co-workers and classmates, students and mess makers, snugglers and toilet cloggers, demanding customers and tech support, beloveds and pain in the...

But we belong to each other and this one has made the turn to FOUR. She is ferociously fierce and wildly independent. Her imagination runs unhinged and her boundaries are impenetrable. Our youngest is determined and resilient and has reminded us each morning is a brand new chance to get at it. Our four-year-old does not ease into the day; she attacks the new round of 24.

Advent is the beginning of the Christian year. Advent and, more so, Christmas is when we hone in on life’s newest beginnings- a child laid in a manger. This year, the turn of the calendar may be more welcome than any previously encountered. We long for 2020 to be over and a new one to bring fresh hope and possibilities, relief and just maybe the coming together again. I know I don’t want to celebrate another Christmas in isolation. I also don’t want to celebrate her fifth birthday apart from her friends and family. So here’s to the liturgical pivot we make this December. May it bring a turn toward healing and justice, reconciliation and community, social gatherings and real hugs, and a whole lot of vaccines, too. I’m ready to attack the next 365 with the fierce resilience I have learned from our child...and the One who was laid in the manger, too.

“My heart shall sing of the day you bring/ Let the fires of your justice burn/ Wipe away all tears/ For the dawn draws near/ And the world is about to turn!” (Canticle of Turning)

Bless: #AdventWord Day 20

The walls of our home are lined with kids’ artwork. They have a hard time seeing the temporal nature of some of their creations, wanting every drawing and painting to last forever. Those pieces that don’t make their way to bless a grandparent’s home often get plastered on the fridge or bedroom headboards or all over the playroom. The imaginations of children run wild and free, which can exhaust parents. It also warrants intentionality with how we tell the Christmas story and sacred images we celebrate.

This Advent, we have spent time with some contemporary icons that portray Blessed Mary beyond the Euro-centric, white Renaissance depictions of the Madonna. Aware the choice to do this is a mark of privilege, we also recognize the urgency not to allow a single hue of the Virgin Mary to be imprinted on their imaginations or our walls forever. We have noticed, as a result, our kids unassumingly talk about and naturally illustrate the nativity with greater diversity and creativity than what we did at their age.

Mary’s Magnificat proclaims she will be called forever blessed by all generations. If we believe this to be true, we would do well to diversify not only how we speak of the Christmas story, but also how we image the related people and events. If not, only one icon will be handed down to our children- and this will likely favor those in power, the very people Mary said the goodness of God would flip upside down.

Beautiful images can be found at https://sanctifiedart.org. What are some that you use as iconography in your home?

Learn: #AdventWord Day 19

This is how we learn in 2020. Tablet. Robe. Extension cord. Zoom. Pajama bottoms if off screen. While in person cannot and should not be replaced, our kids’ need for social interaction more apparent than ever, the virtual platforms have been holy gifts for education and formation in the midst of all things COVID. 

Thank you teachers!

They have also been the avenues to learn about and participate in social movements of our day, explore the beauty of our human connection across the globe, worship and partake in the sacraments, see loved ones most vulnerable to the disease while at a safe distance, and view historical moments in a year that has taken its toll on all of us. We have also learned resilience, modeled best by our children and youth of this generation. 

One of my favorite parts of the Advent pilgrimage is the emphasis on generations and the basic assumption that the faithful have passed this sacred story down throughout the ages. Salvation history was learned and God’s promises clung to with faith and courage, mystery and anticipation, and a fair share of wonder if God would ultimately come through on behalf of God’s beloved creation. The way this story was passed on took resilience and innovation, memory and trust in the midst of the struggles, oppressions, griefs, and turmoil of every age. The same holds true today as we continue to be “like those who dream” (Psalm 126) of God’s promised deliverance once and for all. So learn well in the midst of the madness, hold on hope tight-knuckled, the next generation will need to know of God’s faithfulness, too. What they learn from us can have a lasting impact on their imaginations and dreams.

Mercy: #AdventWord Day 11

On Monday, I came upstairs from a zoom call and our kids were elbows-deep painting at the kitchen table. We are only in December and winter activities to occupy these minions is already a stressor. They had dozens of papers spread out, with colorful works of art ranging from Christmas trees to abstractions crafted by the imagination of an almost-four year old.  Around dinner time, we noticed another colorful canvas- our new curtains. Red paint at about hand height of same almost-four year old. 

“I didn’t do it.” 🙄

We mustered up whatever kind of mercy we could find, not wanting to squash the creative vibes.  At the same time...new freakin’ curtains! Lord have mercy for the words spoken as we scrubbed the fabric clean-ish.

Biblical translators often interchange mercy with loving kindness or steadfast love. The Hebrew word for this theological term is *hesed*. It is all over the psalms, “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet” (Psalm 85:10). The prophets are fond of it, too, “What does the Lord require of you, O mortal? Do justice, love mercy (loving kindness), and walk humbly with God” (Micah 6:8). Much like the paint in our kitchen by way of our four kiddos, the loving kindness and mercy of God is playfully and irrationally splattered throughout the pages of Scripture. Hesed shows up not only in the form of God’s faithfulness to a people whose faith wavers, but also in the same people’s constant quest to mirror the steadfast love of God in their treatment of one another and the stranger. This merciful loving kindness is messy and not always rational; hesed makes room for forgiveness and shows up in creative and colorful spaces to wonder in the waiting. We are in just as much need of hesed as we are called to live into it. Where might you see this mercy? Where might you participate in it all the more? Thanks be to God for Immanuel, hesed in human form. 

*Art by Mayah. Finger paint on construction paper (not curtain). 2020

Patient: #AdventWord Day 10

This candle says it all. In light of present realities, we may find ourselves at the end of our proverbial wicks and struggling to remain illuminated. Patience may be burned down before the day even begins. You are not alone.

I have always cringed when someone has said to me, just be patient. Even worse, in the midst of trauma, that well-intentioned person who naively claims, “God is teaching you patience.” Neither of these work for me. I don’t think there is much theological validation, let alone human decency, for these platitudes either. Patience is not taught or achieved; patience is practiced and, frequently, begrudgingly endured. The patience of God is like the friend who sits with you in the silence of your grief, offering presence over trite answers, hoping against hope that the way things are will not always be. This Advent, patiently waiting may look more like sitting in this kind of solidarity, holding space for the raw rants of frustration and sorrow and daring to believe God is with us in the madness of it all. It’s ok if your wick of patience is burned down and out and you struggle to stay lit. Let other candles patiently hold the light for and alongside you.

**Today, my prayers are especially with those who have patiently endured isolation longer than most, for older adults and those with vulnerable medical conditions. You are loved.

Comfort: #AdventWord Day 9

Our son has had this blanket and kitty since he was born. The cat does not have a known origin. It may have been accidentally snagged from the children’s ministry at our old church. Whoops. The blanket was a handmade gift from a family friend’s mother. Our son has no memory of her. This thing has been through the ringer. Crocheted by a stranger to him, his blankie provides endless comfort as he tickles the threads between his fingers and toes.

As I think of the solidarity I have experienced in moments of struggle, stress, and debilitating angst, sometimes the greatest source of comfort has come from strangers. While those who know you best and love you most can provide their fair share of empathy, there is nothing like the unexpected display of compassion and love from one who has no agenda, obligation, or real or perceived need for reciprocation. The writer of Hebrews calls this demonstration of hospitality (literally translated: φιλοξενίας or love of strangers/foreigners) entertaining angels...or conversely being entertained by angels (13:2). It is a real and holy thing to participate in and benefit from this strange exchange of hospitality. This Advent, may we be open to being both entertained by and the entertainer of angels. God knows we have more than enough reasons to crave comfort.

Check out the calendar of words for sacred imaging through AdventWord.

Strengthen: #AdventWord Day 3

My oldest daughter and her neighbor friend have been at this fort since the beginning of COVID. Socially distanced, at least as best as elementary kids can be in the midst of a pandemic, they have built and rebuilt this minds-eye castle more times than I can count. Twigs. Fallen branches. Stones. Old drop cloths. Rolls and rolls of duct tape. It doesn’t take much to blow this thing over, but each time it collapses they have strengthened their resolve, empowered one another, and become more determined to build it back bigger and better together. This weekend, Christmas music was even heard from their tablet as they reconstructed from the depths of their imaginations. 

Resilience is a buzz word these days- and for good reason. We may need this grit now more than at any other time of our lives, as endless gusts of dejection continue to bluster our way. There is no need to rehash the examples- we know them well enough. Yet this drive may become harder and harder to muster with nights longer, darkness thicker, and air colder. Seasonal stress and sorrow creep these days like dementors that seek to siphon the hope and joy from our spirits. That’s when I look to my backyard at my daughter and her buddy, bundled up and frequently masked, finding whatever resources before them to raise up and strengthen their fort once more. We can do this, beloved siblings of the human family. And every time we dare to enter the struggle with courage and creative collaboration, the story of God with us is strengthened among us all the more (1 Corinthians 1:6).

You got this. You are loved.

Check out the calendar of words for sacred imaging through AdventWord.

Pray for Soft Things and Rainbows: A Child's Poetic Prayer

What’s your prayer
a bedtime invitation
to each child
a liturgical practice
in the midst of our circus
a corporate collect
at the end of long days
sacred
not still
do not be fooled
the rhythm mixed with disruption
sibling strife
get off me
don’t touch me
stop
move
insert territorial growl of warning
only then to make it
to the final intercession
what’s your prayer
as our youngest and wildest
speaks her hope and truth

pray for soft things and rainbows

and we did
and today
and everyday I’ll search
for God’s answer to her prayer
my prayer
for comfort and color in the sky.

*
#deepbreath #covidpoetry #poetry #lifewithkids

Message: #AdventWord Day 23

“Don’t go outside it’s dark,” she cautioned as my nephew attempted to open the back door. 

Our littlest loves visiting her cousins. There she is not the smallest being lead around, but the one able to lead. She gets to be the big kid and deliver a fair share of instructions and discourse to those who look up to her. It is entertaining to eavesdrop on these conversations, to hear what kind of message she is sharing and the storied world she is orchestrating. 

What I love about Christmas is the way children take center stage in the plot line and pageantry. They are given agency to tell the gospel story in sacred spaces that more often than not convey a message that church and related rituals are mostly for grownups. We even typically dismiss them before the most holy parts of our liturgies and practices of the sacraments. But at Christmas, as the prophet Isaiah proclaims, the little children lead us (Isaiah 11). 

My prayer is that we would consider the many messages we can hear from these same children beyond year-end and for the sake of social media pics. My prayer is for all children to feel fully a part of God’s unfolding drama of love and justice every day. And when we as adults find ourselves lost in our ability to be kind to one another, eavesdrop on the imaginations of children at play. They just may be able to lead the way.  

Harmony: #AdventWord Day 12

“When will the music start?” our youngest asked ten minutes into her sister’s first orchestra concert.

The opening pieces of the night were simple notes and basic scales, plucking away at their string instruments. The demonstrations didn’t sound like music, especially not to a three-year-old. Then came Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and the grand finale, Jingle Bells. Their teacher was clear, they needed to demonstrate the basic skills before moving onto the more complicated compositions. The simpler practices enabled them to play in (a pretty slow) harmony as a collective orchestra of elementary instrumentalists. 

That’ll preach. 

Advent is a four-week pilgrimage to the birth of Immanuel, when Divine Love came down as one of us- to show us the basics of what it means to be human and orchestrate us into a collective harmony. Yet, in the midst of so much division and hostility in the world, my question mirrors the expectant bewilderment of my littlest, "when will the music start?"

Grace: #AdventWord Day 10

This is a bit what grace has looked like for us over the last 11 years. Our now aged and tired #beagle, whom we rescued when he was two-and-a-half years old, has transformed from an anxious and skiddish pup to a gentle, kind, and gracious companion. When finances are tight, Jax models trust in daily provision. When the stresses of every day push us to the edge, he walks the neighborhood with us as we blow off steam. Jax was an early running partner when a lone mile was my max- and his, too. Jax’ fur absorbs our tears and his snout rests on our lap when we need that assurance we are not alone. In the midst of our deepest longings for children, Jax provided presence when we knew mostly emptiness. On the other side, our kids now count him as one of their (much older) siblings, extending grace to us as he no long gets prime attention. Animals can be, without question, agents of divine grace. St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals and ecology, especially considered dogs part of his faith community. “You call it a sin that I love the dog above all else,” I recently saw Francis attributed with asking. “The dog stayed with me in the storm, the man not even in the wind.” On this eleventh day of Advent, I am giving thanks for the grace of my dog who has been with us in and out of life’s storms. I am also grateful for the opportunity we have had to live into grace as we have provided a safe home and family for him for more than a decade. 
----
This reminded me of an old post, that time I adopted a squirrel :) 

Worthy: #AdventWord Day 8

I am not worthy. 

Maybe not. 

Maybe neither who I am nor what I have accomplished warrants or entitles me to much of anything. 

Maybe not. 

I know I am not worthy of the amazing wonders who are our four children. Sure, they drive us crazy and get on our very last nerve at times, but they also are brilliant and imaginative and kind and beautiful and faithful reflections of us. And they are, without a doubt, worthy of all it takes to raise, nurture, provide, keep safe, educate, discover, and empower their gifts to impact the world. 

I often wrestle with how much Christian theology and verbiage perpetuates a sense of unworthiness of persons. If the world around us does not tell us we are insufficient and lack enough, we can always count on both traditional theology and kitschy modern worship songs to elevate how unworthy, broken, and despairing we are- we don’t deserve God’s grace, they write into their refrains.

Maybe not.

Or...maybe God does see us as worthy. Maybe God sees us as of even greater value than any theologian or lyricist has ever been able to put into words. Maybe God sees us not so much as broken but as beloved and beautiful, so much so that God would become one of us to aid us in uncovering the wonderful reflections of God’s very self that we are. Just maybe, or definitively, God sees us as worthy in same way a parent would speak of (or should) their own children. Maybe more so. 

This #Advent, may we not only see God as worthy of our love, but also every person as worthy of God’s grace and embrace. After all, each of us could use a little more good news these days.

Raise: #AdventWord Day 5

“Daddy, the tree fell over.”

These are the words that greeted me as I came down the steps early yesterday morning. This year’s tree is not exactly symmetrical and quite top heavy. Add to this the traditional practice of our kiddos front-loading the tree with all their unique and homemade ornaments, our Douglas Fir was bound to face plant on our living room floor. But we raised it up, tied a few dumbbell weights to the trunk and threw a brick on the base and started again.

The gospels are chalk full of stories of perceived disasters and presumed deaths, only for Jesus to enter and call for the dead to rise- to leave tombs, be unbound from the garments of death, to pick up mats and walk, to wake from sleep and grab some breakfast, and more. The call to rise up is even synonymous with discipleship, to move into hopeful, subversive, and spirit-led action when all is perceived as lost and beyond repair.

This is not the first time our tree has fallen over, the last time was ten years ago when we tied it to the wall. Given the circus life we live, it likely will not be the last. And when that day comes, we will raise it back up again. This Advent, may God raise us up from whatever has knocked us over. May we also be those who come alongside others whom have been weighed down and on the verge of toppling over from whatever burdens they have shouldered for too long. May we be agents of love and grace who lean into Christ’s call to rise and be raised.

Unexpected: #AdventWord Day 1

My #AdventWord posts begin again! These daily reflections are accompanied with images I have captured and based upon the daily sacred word offered by www.adventword.org. Check it out. 

This year, #Advent started in a somewhat unexpected way: getting my first #tattoo. I have wanted a variation of this body art for several years, but the timing was not always right and I had not fully worked up the courage to commit to the design or incessant needling. Until now. The experience was unexpectedly sacred, as I shared a portion of my story with the artist, like how we battled infertility for years only to unexpectedly welcome twins, then their brother, and the unexpected arrival of our fourth bird after we were told there was no way. There was also the unexpected gift of an anecdote my artist gave me when he shared the ink was made of carbon, “the same stuff you are made of, my friend.” Then came the unexpected rush of connection I felt as Amber and I were inked at the same time, her design a variation of what she asked me to draw up several months ago. Life, much like the season of Advent, is a pilgrimage laced in the unexpected. Advent hinges on a journey to find “God with Us” when we may have not previously noticed or, even more so, struggled and questioned to see. For me, every time I look on my tricep, I will now be reminded of the ways God has come and will come unexpectedly in the midst of some of my most anxious moments (Matthew 6:25-34). I will be nudged to take comfort in a God whose presence is “comparable to a bird in flight in contrast to a caged bird” (Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction). And, yes, the flight pattern of birds is mysteriously unexpected and holy.

Follow my daily posts here and on both Twitter and Instagram at @gklimovitz. 

Parenting is hard. That is all...

Parenting is the hardest thing I have ever done. Most days, I second guess myself, question if I handled this, that, or the other the right way. Am I holding in a healthy amount of tension both play and structure, responsibility and fair expectations? Are we offering a nutritional enough diet or will they be 18 and still eating chicken nuggets and refusing to do more than lick a vegetable and claim they tried it? Are we pushing them too hard with extracurriculars or are we not offering enough opportunities to develop as both athletes and artists? Is my anger and agitation getting the best of me...and them? How are they doing in school? Is it the right school?

Are they learning that loving-kindness is what really is to shape their life? Are we, as parents, modeling the same in how we treat one another and them as our children? Do we model grace and forgiveness and compassion? Will they look back on their childhood and have fond memories of love and laughter and a home that is, as my wife says, "a safe place to land?"  

Is faith formation in our family and church offering them space to encounter both God's love for them and an inclusive love for all people? Are we allowing them space for questions versus offering pat answers? Do we expose them to the right amount of social realities so they develop empathy for their neighbors near and far or are we isolating them too much? 

Are these questions primarily of privilege? 

As parents of four little ones eight and under, every day feels like a (half) marathon. There are moments where I feel we are at a good pace, our breathing is right, the strides are strong, and we may even have some supporters on either side of us telling us we are doing great- and this carries me. Then there are times when I feel like I am running up hill, my legs are heavy, my strides are off, my breathing is strained, my cell phone battery is nearly dead and so I run in silence and without a GPS (happened for real the other day), and the crowds are gone. This is when I feel a bit alone, as I push it up that last hill on mile 11, wondering if I need to stop and walk the remainder of the route, will I even complete it at all? 

Then I bust through the wall and remember, as my daughter once said as she braved herself to climb the monkey bars for the first time (unaware her biggest fan was watching), "I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."

Yes, I can do this. You can do this. We can do this. 

And parenting is neither a race nor performance. Do the best you can, remembering if at the end of the day your kids have been assured they are loved to love as high as they can count plus one, that will be enough. It will help them to offer the same to others, like when they hold their little sister's hand as her puppy purse is draped over his shoulder on a family run. This love, although surrounded by a fair share of anxiety and insecurity, may even help them reduce their own budding anxieties from classroom to choir, baseball field to art class. They may see all the more clearly they are God's and your beloved because they are, without exception or condition. 

Remind me of this on Monday, family, because it is Friday and the weekends are hard. 

Peace Hoped for and Made: #AdventWord Day 23

PEACE
It may not have been our smartest decision, but our family of six ventured to Philly’s Christmas Village last night. Yes, two days before Christmas we hit up City Hall and Macy’s to see the touted light shows. Let’s just say all was beautifully bright but definitely not calm. It was a mad house. Still, there were two sacred spaces that slowed the haste as people wrote their hopes and aspirations, wishes and a few prayers. One caught my attention: a call for peace in English, Italian, Spanish, and Russian. While possible to dismiss as cliche for the season, it is far better to lift up as a genuine and universal longing for what the Scriptures call shalom. Who needs more cynicism anyway?

Shalom is the crux of the biblical story and is far more than the absence of war and violence, conflict, and aggression. Shalom is the active realization of God’s dreams for the world, visions of wholeness and fairness, kindness and equity, reconciliation and when all have enough and the earth is in perfect rhythm. Shalom is when lions lay down with lambs and swords are forged into gardening tools. Shalom was embodied in the person and work of Jesus, who challenged all that stood in the way of universal welfare as he extended love and welcome to the most unlikely of neighbors. This Jesus then invited us to do and be about the same. After all, peace is a collective movement, actively made and pursued versus passively wished for as though someone else’s responsibility. So this Christmas, whenever you see prayers for peace, consider it a corporate and personal charge, command, and bold invitation to play your part. May peace be something you both hope for and intentionally make in even the most chaotic places and circumstances. Those who do so, Jesus said, are blessed and called the very children of God.