Promise: AdventWord Day 1

This time of year is about traditions and rituals, rehearsing familiar practices that remind us of all we love and who we love.

This time last year, those traditions were cruelly and terrifyingly disrupted, as isolation lingered longer than ever imagined. So we wrote little notes like this one after we put the tree topper away. More than a reminder of whose turn it would be to place the star on our festive ficus, it was a prayer for something better to greet us when we hauled the decorations out after the world made a full cyclical ritual around the sun.

Yet, masks we still wear and Covid still hovers over this holy season like a new traumatic tradition. And the promise of “God with us,” which centers the stories we recite these next four weeks, can feel both distant and broken still. So the waiting of #Advent once again is trivial and tired.

But it’s what we have. It’s what those who first conjured up these stories, maybe even lived them, had. As poet Nadia Shihab Nye wrote, these stories keep us warm in the cold, when #promise and pain are familiar ritual.

Also, a year later, four of six in our house are vaccinated, with the other two ready to be poked by year end. That keeps me a bit warm, too. It’s somewhat promising. 

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This annual discipline is spurred by the good people at AdventWord.

Proclamation: #AdventWord Day 26

 

On this Christmas Eve, things are so very different. It is weird and a layer of sadness lingers in the separation from all that usually occurs on this not-so-silent night. Yet, I am taking comfort in proclamations of God with us not only in virtual worship services, but also makeshift sanctuaries like the local hospital where I went for blood work. I saw and heard first-hand testaments to Immanuel as nurses and medical personnel shared of their experiences receiving the vaccination just around the corner from my appointment.  While the strangeness of a quarantined Christmas is real, I am all the more grateful and lift endless prayers for those who have worked tirelessly- even this night- for the health and well-being of all of us. They have been shepherds of love, magi of hope, and proclamations of good news that we are not alone in the human struggle. Thanks be to God!  Merry Christmas!

Here’s a poem written in light of being deeply, yet unexpectedly, moved yesterday. 

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It was like church

the hospital entrance

made vaccination distribution center

I wanted to linger longer

in my lobby chair

as nave pew

to take in the energy

savor the work of the people

collective vibes of hope

I had not felt in so long

to witness relief on its way

proclamations of a new day

so very close

the waiting room 

for simple bloodwork

became to me 

a new narthex of masked fellowship

as front line workers

emergency personnel

nurses and administrators

greeted one another

pointed to their arms 

sacramental injection locales

of the first round of the

vaccine

calls to celebrate and

litanies of joy lifted 

by those who pilgrimaged 

through the trauma

passing the peace with their eyes

as the wise affirm 

the courage and privilege to receive 

the first dose 

the days will be darker still

confessions and laments

the war is not over

though this battle won

we hear their proclamations

good news in shared laughter

of those who have shed

so many tears

bearing the hopes and fears

of all this year

now a choir of  joy and life

affirmations of faith

in the night

as I walked out

I offered words of gratitude

silent prayers of solidarity and 

petitions for God with Us still 

all the while wearing 

a mask as benediction 

in the midst of the affliction 

encouraged for the road ahead

go in peace

with an end now, 

just barely, 

in sight 

—-

Holy: #AdventWord Day 25

This olive wood pendant cost less than a dollar. The story behind it: priceless. In 2019, I pilgrimaged to Bethlehem with a group of pastors and ministry leaders. One of the organizing pastors arranged for us to stop at a local vendor not far from the traditional site of Jesus’ birth. We had just driven past the 25-foot wall that segregates Israeli from Palestinian land and heard first-hand stories of the occupation. A present-day apartheid, local Palestinians live in fear of military raids that have abducted children and ripped apart families. This U.S. pastor had previously lived in Bethlehem. Early into his family’s arrival, they experienced one of these military raids, only to find sanctuary in the home of this Palestinian shop owner.  “I promised his family,” the pastor shared with us, “that if I ever returned with friends, I would be sure to return the favor in generosity.” I dropped more than a few bucks on souvenirs. Yet this small olive wood dove is my favorite. Every time I wear it, I am reminded of the story and the holy happenings in Bethlehem. 

Holy means to be set apart, distinct, and marked as sacred. Holy is not about extravagance or high price tags. The holy happens in the small acts of loving kindness that point us towards the God of justice and compassion. The holy shows up when we participate in welcome and sanctuary, story telling and advocacy. The holy can be found in brittle olive wood pendants worn as reminders of the fragility of human life and the walls of oppression that run throughout Bethlehem and our communities, too. The holy also happens when we hold onto hope and exercise our faith as imaginative power* until these walls come tumbling down. 

*See Mitri Raheb, Faith in the Face of Empire: The Bible through Palestinian Eyes (129-130).

Rejoice: #AdventWord Day 22

“The old argument,” Voldemort said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncement that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

We are nearly through the sixth book of Harry Potter. I took a screen shot of this page, much to the embarrassment of my kids, so I would remember this brilliant exchange between Dumbledore and Voldemort. Classic nerd and dad move. It says so much about where I am these days- caught between the tragedy of Voldemort’s lost imagination brought about by trauma and the desire to know where to rejoice in love found. Am I looking in the wrong places? Is joy an old argument? 

I don’t think so. This week, as numerous doctors, hospital chaplains, and medical personnel received some of the first vaccinations, love and hope and reason to rejoice was found a bit. In these places, I saw flickers of God with us. 

We are in the home stretch towards Christmas. We are also at a pivotal turn in this pandemic. The days before us may be harder still, joy may be difficult to find in light of such heavy loss, and the call to rejoice seem both strange and unreasonable. We may not always feel it. Be kind to yourself in these moments. Feel what you feel...or do not feel. But also trust the love of God with us is beyond an old argument or magical sentiment. So find a friend to help you look for love in the right, or at least different, places. You may even find it in the manger- the divine assurance that despite the distance and despair, we are not completely alone in this madness.

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)

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.

Pray: #AdventWord Day 18

Several years ago, a conference presenter shared their daily discipline of opening their news app and spending time in prayer for the first three headlines. I have occasionally practiced this digital liturgy and intercessory prayer. These were the top three headlines yesterday. I do not have a lot of words worth writing, only an invitation to consider your own offerings of prayer on behalf of the medical personnel who continue to lay their lives on the line, scientists who make vaccinations and tests possible at an alarmingly fast rate, and even those in legislative power who are responsible for the implementation of economic relief for the many individuals and small businesses struggling financially in the midst of the pandemic. I pray they would do so sooner rather than later. That’s my Advent hope in waiting.

Worship: #AdventWord Day 17

Worship happens in ordinary space and time. While there is a place for the elaborate and extravagant, the story of Jesus’ birth and events that surrounded it remind us worship happens in unconventional places and through people who may not feel so polished in preparation. Actually, these are frequent elements to facilitate the extravagance of God’s love and grace. 

The last few months, worship has occurred in the catacomb of my basement. I have poured orange juice in the cup and placed pop tarts on the plate, both purchased on my pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 2019. I have worn stoles and sweat pants simultaneously, to include a stole made by a local friend and colleague in ministry. I have preached in worship as my kids build with Legos in the living room above me or flushed a toilet as background noise to prayers led. I have virtually participated in ecumenical and interfaith vigils and marches as my littlest curls up on the couch offscreen and plays with her dolls. Worship has happened here with great frequency, despite the separation from traditional liturgical locations. 

While I am eager to get back to being in the physical presence of siblings of the faith, I have found a breath of fresh air in the deconstruction of worship that has taken place these last few months as we prioritize love of neighbor through social distancing. Along the way, we have been reminded that worship is not limited to what we manufacture. Worship hinges on our commitment to follow the One who is with us wherever we go. Worship is the lens through which we view the world and our movement through it...even virtually...or behind an inn as shepherds and magi  from the East gather to pay homage to the great Liberator of all generations. Worship well this Advent. Worship where you are and as you are and for the sake of neighborly love as incarnations of this worship.

Rest: #AdventWord Day 16

What’s your outlet? What practice reminds you life is more than a dead end? 

Over the last five years, mine has been running. Two half marathons, multiple Ten-Mile Broad Street Runs, and countless 5k races for local charities in the books. I have pushed through injuries and endured local routes with little flat terrain. I have learned the value of pace setting and controlled breathing, compression pants and good shoes, scenic routes and a solid playlist. The last nine months, though, have not been kind to my runs. My distances have declined and times slowed. My body has ached and motivation has wavered. There is a physiological reality to running, and when the mind is weary the impact transfers everywhere else, too. 

So at the end of December, I will be committing to the discipline of rest. I will take a five-week sabbath from running to let my body and mind heal. I will also explore a different outlet to stay fresh until I lace up again. After all, to rest is not to quit, but to remember we are not machines. Resting is the sacred settling and holy pause in preparation for the days ahead. God knew what God was doing when sabbath was commanded. People of this generation need rest now maybe more than ever. What’s your rhythm of rest? Find it. Take it. Don’t excuse it away, knowing Sabbath was practiced even in the midst of oppressive exile.

Go: #AdventWord Day 15

Wherever you go there is the chance to encounter holy witnesses to the goodness of humanity. Yesterday’s walk in a local park was no different. As we made our way up the hill to a favorite spot, we saw a random Christmas ball hanging from a tall pine.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Endless trees were marked with single seasonal spheres and reflected the natural surroundings. A few ceramic stars danced from branches, too. We are not sure if the ornaments were hung by park caretakers or strangers (read: elves) on their own hike. The holy is also in the mystery. We do know there was a coordinated effort by the local park to hang beautiful butterfly ornaments on trees that lined the final stretch of the trail, each donated in honor of an essential worker during COVID. These present day heroes go to the frontlines of the ongoing battle against this pandemic to serve those most impacted. The love of God is found in their work, too. This Advent, wherever you go, keep those eyes and ears open to the signs of God with us. Maybe you are the very vessel God will incarnate this love come down at Christmas- quite possibly secretly and without recognition. 

Baptize: #AdventWord Day 12

I lit this candle for the first time last night. These symbols were presented to my parents when I was baptized in the Lutheran Church; I have held onto them since I was a kid. I am not sure why I never lit the candle before yesterday. While I would love to say the first light was a hauntingly holy moment, it was rather ordinary. In my basement office with computer cables in the backdrop, an old couch, and a small window with cobwebs needed to be vacuumed away, the wick only held the flame for a few seconds and then fizzled out. 

I guess 37 years in waiting is a long time to expect much more. 

Advent isn’t always a time when we think of our baptism...but maybe we should. After all, the incarnation is God’s baptism into the fullness of humanity, in all the ordinariness and brokenness, mystery and confusion, chaos and wonder, goodness and despair. The story of Christmas is when we celebrate God’s claim on the universality of human life by becoming human life. We remember the holiness of life is not in perfected sentimentality or over-filtered moments; holiness is in the every day and the ordinary, the unrefined and disheveled. You do not achieve holiness. Holiness is God’s gift and is found when a little one is sprinkled with tap water before the community of faith or an adult is submerged in a creek just beyond the muddy water’s edge. The sacred is encountered when a childhood candle is lit for the first time in 37 years in an unfinished basement in the middle of a pandemic as a memory of God’s love and grace...and then flickers out, only to be lit again and again.  Wherever you are this Advent, remember your baptism. Remember you are God’s beloved. Maybe even consider baptism for the first time.

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.

Speak: #AdventWord Day 8

 

The amplification of our voices has taken on creative modalities the last several months. In order to hear and be heard, we have had to tap into both complex and basic mediums to speak to one another and maintain human connection. Yet, what has been most compelling has been how community organizers have pushed beyond potential communication constraints and creatively taken to Twitter, Tik Tok, YouTube, podcasts, and much more to mobilize social concerns and advocate for a more just world. Siblings near and far have leveraged SMS services and basic phone calls to work on behalf of the cries and concerns of those most marginalized, brutalized, and neighbors whose words have been silenced and final breaths claimed by the powers that be. I have wondered often this last year when God might speak more definitively. In these moments I am reminded this is precisely how- God speaks through each of us, even on the digital circuits. God speaks through us as we speak on behalf of those for whom Christ most identified, the oppressed ones.

On this Feast of St. Nicholas Day, when we remember the badass Bishop of Myra who was abolitionist, advocate for the wrongfully convicted, and relentless pursuer of justice, how are we using our voices? Who are we advocating for? May we earn the right to be heard. And if your voice has been silenced for whatever reason, know there is a God who sees and hears you still. Immanuel, God with us.

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

Glory: #AdventWord Day 7

 

Glory is often presumed a status attained, earned, or even entitled to by someone of perceived importance. Glory is for the champion and the victor. Glory is for the powerful ruler or conquistador. Glory is coveted, craved, and maybe even pursued at the expense of the most vulnerable among us. Glory is capital and collateral. 

What if glory was something else? What if glory was more like beauty discovered as we are left breathless? What if glory was found in the holy imagination of a small child or the humble compassion offered by a stranger? What if glory was the sun setting over the ocean’s horizon? What if glory was the midnight sky as the rain falls in the middle of a pandemic? What if glory was found in the darkness that holds space for the light, like the airglow above shepherds’ fields where stars shimmered and the moon shined brightly?  What if glory was incarnated in the back alley behind an overcrowded inn where a courageous young woman delivered a child and laid him in a manger? 

Gloria in excelsis Deo.

Glory within and among us, too. Dare you have the eyes to see and ears to hear?

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

Earth: #AdventWord Day 4

I’m not the greatest gardener. I can usually muster a single western omelette from the peppers I grow, two if the harvest is plentiful. Toss on top a few shakes of Old Bay, though, and I’m satisfied for a single morning meal. Despite my perpetual novice status, our family keeps at the cultivation of our small section of creation. We believe in passing along the simple truth that fruits and vegetables come from the earth not pre-packaged in vacuum seal at the grocery store. The earth is good and just as much a part of God’s covenantal dreams of renewal as any human past and present. And much like our gardens, while there is a season of passing away and barrenness, it is only to make room for new life to emerge from the resting state- maybe even better than before.

At least that is the ambitious hope. 

Advent is not often a season when we think about the earth beneath and around the manger. Yet, the land upon which not only the feet of Mary tread, but also the soil wandered and worked by generations before was and is a definitive player in the unfolding of the Messianic story. The earth is vital to God’s dreams for universal and cosmic redemption. While the Scriptures speak of the earth “passing away,” (Mark 13:24-37) don’t be misled, it is only for a (re)generative season. All the earth will be made new and right again. So in this Adventing of a new creation, care for the land we call home now. Cultivate and steward love to sustain it in this life and the one to come. May we also advocate for the wellbeing and just practices of those who tend this earth on our behalf...and for more than seasonal consumptive purposes, too.

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

Deliver: #AdventWord 2

My kids have been confused lately. In addition to the US Postal Service, a UHaul truck has been making regular rounds throughout our neighborhood and delivering packages to our front porch. They are puzzled not only by the frequency of these drops, slowly figuring out those packages are not coming from the North Pole, but also because these trucks are typically marked with a different corporate logo or the red, white, and blue. Apparently, contracts have been made with these rental companies to meet higher than normal seasonal delivery demands. There are just too many requests. 

Friends, it is an understatement to say petitions for personal and societal deliverance has peaked and the volume is higher than usual.  We may doubt our capacity to do all that is expected; grief and exhaustion may consume us daily as we wonder if we can shoulder one. more. thing. The good news of the gospel, particularly found each Advent, is we do not journey alone through the wandering and waiting for relief. God is with us and among us, often in one another as the varied vehicles of grace, gratitude, and incarnations of divine deliverance. In the midst of all the despair these last nine months, there have been even more witnesses to the resilience of humanity who have responded to the constraints of the day with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love. God with us has happened and is happening in food distribution centers, live-streaming worship, officiating outdoor baptisms and weddings, doctors providing care on the frontlines of the pandemic, teachers doing their best to educate our children, therapists nurturing increased layers of empathy, local restaurants partnering to employ servers, virtual charity runs benefiting not-for-profits, scientists working around the clock for a vaccine, athletes raising their voices in just solidarity, and organizers tirelessly pursuing dreams of equity through their advocacy. The list goes on, as God’s deliverance makes its rounds in the uncommon and unexpected, the simple and the profound, and sometimes shows up on your front step just in time. Where have you found it these days? Keep your eyes wide open. Also- pray for your mail service personnel :)

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

Tender: #AdventWord Day 1

This year, the lectionary begins Advent with Mark 13:24-37. The writer illustrates a season “after the suffering” and the call to look to the coming of the Human One and those gathered for life lived in the liberation they have longed for so long. Smack in the middle, Mark includes Jesus’ reference to the “tender branch” of a fig tree that sprouts leaves and points to a new season of life and good fruit to be born. 

 

After the suffering and in the tenderness of creation, Mark beckons us, look for signs of life. Jesus, moments later, calls the disciples to remain vigilant and keep alert to this work (gregorēite /γρηγορεῖτε in Greek). As many know, the variation of my name is inked on my right forearm. A tender spot forever marked as a call for vigilance and to remain awake and full of hope.

 

In 2020, the four-week liturgical season of Advent meets us with a layer of pastoral insensitivity. We have already been waiting for so much- relief from the pandemic, justice in the midst of pervasive racism, economic equity, tempering of partisan divisions and hostility, end to virtual learning for our kiddos, and the ability to see, embrace, and safely share airspace with family and friends, neighbors and coworkers. We are ready for Christmas, yes. Twenty-eight days of lingering in hope delayed may be as appetizing as that casserole that shows up every Thanksgiving and yet goes unconsumed. Life may feel too tender, as in wounded, for Advent. 

 

Yet the pilgrimage cannot be evaded. We cannot merely jump from ordinary time to Christmas without the weekly waiting for Christ’s coming. We cannot fast track the deliverance found in the manger. But we can allow Advent to draw us closer to the tenderness of life for which we long, to hold space for gentle illuminations of hope, peace, joy, and love. We can remain vigilant and awake, eyes wide-open to signs of this goodness budding in the most tender of people and places, assured just as Christ came after and in the middle of the suffering of ages past, Christ will come and is already with us in the midst of our own. 

Where do you see this Adventing of Christ? I am finding it in some of the most tender and tiny of hands.

---

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

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.