Advent: Face the Darkness

As the days continue to get shorter and the busy-ness related to Christmas continues, I invite you to ponder these words about Advent:

"To practice Advent is to lean into an almost cosmic ache: our deep, wordless desire for things to be made right and the incompleteness we find in the meantime. We dwell in a world still racked with conflict, violence, suffering, darkness. Advent holds space for our grief, and it reminds us that all of us, in one way or another, are not only wounded by the evil in the world but are also wielders of it, contributing our own moments of unkindness or impatience or selfishness."- Tish Harrison Warren

As we enter this last week of Advent, I encourage you to read the whole article if you haven't already done so.

God of tomorrow, some day, and forever

In the season of Advent, a lot of people look to the book of Isaiah and find hope in how the texts point to the coming of Christ (especially Isaiah 7:14; 9:6-7; 11:1-9). Ironically, though, I find the texts less hopeful when the focus is primarily on how they’ve been fulfilled by Jesus’ birth. I believe that the point of these Isaiah texts is not simply to provide hope to the Israelites that God would some day do something miraculous connected to salvation. Instead, the texts provide hope of how God would be working in the near future for their salvation. God is, after all, God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, or, in the case of this text, a God who works forsalvation tomorrow, some day, and forever.

There is hope in recognizing that God did not act only in history one time: during Jesus’ time on earth. Instead, God is active in all time. God cared enough about the Israelites to provide salvation to them in their time. God gave a sign to Ahaz (and the people of Israel) showing that the siege would end in the very near future. By the time a child not yet conceived was old enough to know right from wrong, the kings attacking them would have fallen and they would have recovered from the current siege to the extent that the child would be eating honey and curds (Isaiah 7:14-16). Isaiah 9 and 11 speak to deliverance through the coming of a king who would bring justice, a king who would do what “was right in the eyes of the Lord, just as his father David had done.” A king would come of whom it would be said: “there was no one like him among all the kings of Judah, either before him or after him. He held fast to the Lord and did not stop following him.” This king was Hezekiah, the son of Ahaz, as described in 2 Kings 18:3-6.

Yet, just as the text gives hope for the immediate future of the people, it also provides hope for our future. Because as much as the text was immediately fulfilled in Isaiah’s time and was more fully fulfilled with Jesus’ birth (Matthew 1:22-23), it has not yet been fully fulfilled. The justice and righteousness spoken about in Isaiah 9:7 and Isaiah 11:2-5 were not fully established with Jesus’ coming. Nor is the peaceful kingdom presented in Isaiah 11:6-9 a current reality. Recognizing the many layers of fulfillment in the text allows me to be honest about how they have not fully been fulfilled. And so we can read these texts with longing and hope. We can honestly lament that, even though Jesus came at Christmas, the world is still so much not the way it ought to be. The injustices that Isaiah speaks about, such as prioritizing profit over the well-being of others (especially the marginalized) have re-surfaced in new ways today, such as the Flint water crisis, sweatshops, and extreme weather because of climate change.

These texts give me space to lament the suffering and injustices of the world. Yet, they also allow me to rejoice in the significance and wonder of Jesus’ birth while longing for Christ to come again and fully bring about the justice that first was established in Hezekiah and more fully in Jesus. And these texts reassure me that my hope in Christ coming back to bring justice is not in vain. Because certainly a God who has been faithful in assuring that the words of these texts came true in the near future and the some day, this God can and will fulfill the words in a future that is still before us.

originally published at the Campus Edge blog

Being a pastor means showing up

The other day a student mentioned that I could borrow his sign for the climate change strike the next day. Because I was going to it, right?

My response was very non-committal. It's the end of the year and there's a ton of things that need doing. I didn't have time in the middle of a Friday afternoon to stand outside with a sign in front of the capitol building.

Except that I'd mentioned in our Bible studies that protests like this are one of the few ways that I, who is not a citizen of this country, can participate in speaking up about areas in which the choices of those in power have negatively affected those who are marginalized. So, if I really believe protests are a part of how I live out my life and seek justice, then I need to follow through: after all, if I'm not willing to inconvenience myself then it's hard to claim that something truly matters to me.

And so, I sent back a message. "I'll be there - and yes, I would love a sign. Thanks for asking and challenging me to come." Because being a pastor means not only showing up and joining others as they participate in new things (like protests) but also being willing to follow through on what I've said.

Welcoming young adults into church/community

Rachel Beveridge, in a helpful article articulating some of the reasons she’s seen young adults leave the church, notes that her generation (millennials) “know that we have to be vulnerable in order to have authentic connection.” Because of this, “when conversations at church or any other community are superficial, sometimes millennials choose to leave. But when someone—perhaps someone whom we disagree with, theologically or politically— asks questions that show real interest in us, or they themselves show vulnerability, we might stay.”

So what does this look like? At Campus Edge, it has meant that we don’t avoid the difficult topics. We regularly have conversations topics like sexuality, racism, justice, politics. In those conversations, people share opinions and I (as a CRC pastor) often share the CRC perspective on things. Everyone’s experience and perspectives are welcomed; yet, in order to practice both authenticity and intellectual honesty, everyone’s perspective (including mine, the pastor’s) is open to being challenged and critiqued. This can be hard, but we’re also learning to be vulnerable with each other about our lives and perspectives, recognizing our need for community and how much we can be encouraged and support by each other, especially in the middle of the challenges of grad school.

originally published on the Campus Edge blog

Reflections on Ezekiel 47

As part of our chapel series at Campus Edge on Hope for all creation, I gave the following short reflection on Ezekiel 47:1-12.

While I have grown to love the book of Ezekiel, I often find it strange. And this passage, despite the beautiful image of life-giving water that it presents, is no exception. It is filled with odd repetitions and details. Why does it matter to us, the readers, which directions the water is coming from? Why are we given measurements?

Going back a few chapters in Ezekiel, there are more measurements. Measurements of doors and walls and rooms and instructions for priests. These chapters look like building instructions for a temple, and many people over the centuries have interpreted it that way. If we build the temple, then Christ will return – and the vision presented here of the water that gives life – will finally come true. It’s one interpretation of Ezekiel 43, which says that these words are written so that people might be ashamed and turn to God, and then they must follow these instructions. And God will dwell among them. And who of us doesn’t want God to dwell among us?

I find something deeply appealing in the idea that maybe – if we just follow this formula or these instructions – then everything will be the way it should be. The water of life, as depicted in this passage, will overflow: "the fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.”

Except experience and history have taught us that God cannot be contained or controlled. I – we - cannot do enough to make and ensure God will come to dwell among us. Any effort we might make to build the temple pictured here actually can't work: the text doesn’t give building materials, the dimensions are too large to fit on the temple mound, and probably most noticeable, it’s lacking a roof. The temple isn’t meant to be built. It isn't meant to be one more thing to do; instead it’s a vision of what already is. It’s a vision that is calling us to turn to God, to turn away from our own efforts to control God – or even try to control and run the world around us. The temple is a vision of God’s presence and another reiteration of God’s repeated refrain throughout Ezekiel – I will be your God and you will be my people. I will dwell among you.

God will dwell among us because that’s what God does. God dwells among us. Genesis 1 tells the story of creation but many scholars recognize that the language is more than just a description of the world coming into being. It is a description of a world that has been formed as a temple: God’s temple where God dwells. Since creation, God has dwelt among us, inviting us to see God through the beauty and power and wonder that creation instills in us.

Throughout the Old Testament, God’s presence was shown to the Israelites through the temple in their midst, but God’s presence was hardly contained to the temple. And this vision of a new temple here in Ezekiel makes that even more clear: no roof, after all, could hold God’s presence when God’s presence is throughout all of creation.

Because God’s presence is not always obvious, despite the beauty of creation, God came among us in the form of Jesus, and today God is present with us in the Holy Spirit. And we can take great comfort that it is not on the basis of our own efforts that God dwells among us, but simply because that is who God is. It is part of how God formed creation. And since then we have been given many gracious reminders of God's presence: a vision of life to its fullness, full of the water of life.


Text cross-posted on the blog from my work

Leaning into 'delighting'

One of the greatest gifts of Sabbath for me is delight. I feel like in Sabbath I'm given space and time to delight - as well as hope and joy so that my soul leans towards delighting instead of annoyance. As I practice delighting on Sabbath, I'm hoping that this will help me learn to 'delight' (or at least appreciate) the normal parts of my life in ordinary (i.e., non-Sabbath) time. I feel like so much of my life is focused on the 'I have to do this and get this done' instead of the wonder of getting to do this and being a part of that.' Even in my work of being a pastor I lean more often towards 'have to' than 'get to,' despite the fact that my work includes the honour of walking alongside people in their faith journeys (what could be more delightful and wonder-filled than that?).

In order to practice delight and Sabbath on a more daily basis, I've been trying to start my work day a bit differently. The beginning is usually getting ready, breakfast, and nudging Lydia so we can drop her off at day care. I'm trying to do that more patiently, recognizing that I do have time to dawdle with her (and this morning she helped me fold laundry, which is definitely worth her arriving later at daycare). Yet, after all the moving pieces involved in getting the little to day care and being faced with needing to figure out what most needs doing for the day, I often feel overwhelmed. Instead of trying to tell myself to get over my feelings (which, even on good days, is only moderately successful), I'm trying to give them space and allow myself to start the day more gently. And so I've been spending 30-45 minutes each day listening to a Bible text or a podcast while often playing simple computer games. It's a combination of allowing myself to do something 'fun' while also receiving words of hope and encouragement that can then give me strength as I go about the rest of the day. After experimenting with this for the last week or two, I have felt that I am more able to approach the rest of the day with delight in the work that I get to do instead of seeing it primarily as things that need to be checked off a list.

The gift of Sabbath

I'm deeply thankful for Sabbath. I see it is a gift, especially of perspective. It challenges our understanding of time, seeing "time not as an enemy to subdue, but as a friend to savor.” (Mary Ann McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs). Furthermore, it challenges how we think about ourselves. We are not as important or as invincible as we sometimes think: the world will continue quite fine without our efforts. As much as God can use us to do good, God is certainly able to do good without us. It also challenges whatever guilt we might have picked up in terms of how undeserving we might be of rest:

“Even if you don’t observe Sabbath, a shift in perception is helpful. It doesn’t ever all get done. We need to train our vision. We see failure when we should see alternatives. Better to focus on the good and important things we did do instead of berating ourselves for falling short of an ideal.” McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs, 105.

I originally received the gift of Sabbath from my parents and then grew to love it even more as I moved out of the house and continued to be refreshed by a weekly day of Sabbath. While I was Seminary - and even my first years in Amsterdam - it remained a gift but got more complicated, as Sabbath could often be lonely when most everyone I knew was busy with other things. And now, Sabbath has become complicated in a different way - as sometimes I need to work on Sunday and taking care of a little is not always restful (although it does often involve delight when I give myself over simply to being with her - and can share the responsibility with Matthijs). Yet, the gift of Sabbath has not changed, nor has my appreciation for it.

I continue to delight in the gift of Sabbath, yet it also requires discernment to know how best to receive this gift in different places and at different phases in my life. I am currently learning the good in practicing practice Sabbath not only on Sunday, but also in small doses throughout the week. So I've been trying to take time to journal or read a good book or by commuting regularly by bike and using that time to think and pray. Even re-instituting a date night with Matthijs is part of trying to practice Sabbath, as I want to be more intentional in delighting in spending time with him. So is learning to wait patiently for the little, so that I might better delight in her presence in our life.

Some helpful quotes and books to keep pondering Sabbath:

• “What happens when we stop working and controlling nature? When we don’t operate machines or pick flowers? . . . When we cease interfering in the world we are acknowledging that it is God’s world.” Lauren F. Winner, Mudhouse Sabbath, 6-7.
• “Sabbath puts the focus on God and God’s gracious invitation to rest from one’s work.” Mary Ann McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs, 22.
• A quote from Sabbath in the Suburbs (89): “It’s not so much how busy you are, but why you are busy. The bee is praised. The mosquito is swatted.” Mary O’Connor.
• A helpful book to read: Dorothy C. Bass, Receiving the Day: Christian Practices for Opening the Gift of Time (2001)

A variation of this is crossposted at the Campus Edge blog (where I blog for work).