The Advent devotional project, #AdventWord is offered by the Society of St John the Evangelist. Each day a word is provided and participants are invited to share images and/or reflections and to use hashtags so our reflections may be included in an Advent Calendar with others from around the world.
“Spying is waiting.”Filed under Cleveland Heights
Advent begins on Sunday, a time of preparation and waiting. In conversations with my son about a discipline we plan to practice together, we decided to make 12:01 AM (EST in the U.S.A.) our starting moment. That may not be liturgically sound. But it is what we choose.
What is sound, and more than sound, as a way to enter the Advent season is to read Advent/Darkness, a post by Christina Cleveland. Here are a couple of excerpts to encourage you to read her whole post:
… Advent isn’t about our best world, it’s about our worst world. …
… But we do the Light a disservice when we underestimate the darkness. Jesus entered a world plagued not only by the darkness of individual pain and sin, but also by the darkness of systemic oppression. Jesus’ people, the Hebrews, were a subjugated people living as exiles in their own land; among other things, they were silenced, targets of police brutality, and exploitatively taxed. …
… Advent is an invitation to plunge into the deep, dark waters of our worst world, knowing that when we re-surface for air we will encounter the hopeful, hovering Spirit of God …
Read Advent/Darkness, re-read, ponder, and pray.
I wish you a holy Advent and a blessed Christmas.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Antiracism, Human Rights
The plane sits
on the tarmac
tethered to the ground
by air control.
The metal tube
surrounds us
as we sit
and wonder
and fume
and fuss
our privileged journey
interrupted,
inconvenienced,
for a moment.
In the cabin
the pilot awaits
the word that
will start us
on our way again.
DCA
6 June 2013
Filed under Travel
Apparently I am not the only one who writes while traveling. On her way home from Ecumenical Advocacy Days, my friend Joann Lee wrote a powerful prayer that addresses her personal situation and expresses universal realities at the same time. Here are some excerpts:
Dear God,
There are so many moments when I am grateful that I am not pregnant and without children:
- Every time I gorge myself on sushi and beer or enjoy a glass of scotch in the evening, I give you thanks;
…
But God, despite all these blessings, I still really, really want to be pregnant, have a baby, and raise children.
Sometimes, I feel like those formerly barren matriarchs of the Bible:
- like Hannah who prayed fervently in the temple, asking, as if drunk, for a child, seeking refuge in her faith and bargaining her child’s future profession in exchange for answered prayers – like Hannah, I say, “Me, too, God. I’ll force my child into ministry, too, if that’s what it takes!” [note: Joann is an ordained teaching elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)]
…
Because I just want so much to…
- to see two lines on that plastic pregnancy test, and since we’ve already experienced that, to then also hear a heartbeat on the ultrasound and witness a healthy baby being born;
…
I want all these things, God. But in the mean time, I’ll continue to eat sushi, drink scotch, travel, and be grateful. Because this, too, is a blessing.
Amen.
Check out Joann’s whole prayer.
I stand in awe of her grace and courage, faith and hope. I hold her and Mike in my prayers in this season of waiting. I pray for all who yearn for a child. I pray that all children experience love. May it be so.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Friends
I wait.
I watch.
I see the pictures.
Flooding streets.
Pounding surf.
Fallen trees.
It has only begun,
my imagination runs.
My heart breaks.
My spirit grieves.
For sisters and brothers
already battered by the storm,
lives lost, homes gone.
My heart wrenches.
My spirit aches.
For sisters and brothers
who have no shelter
from the storm.
My heart leaps.
My spirit soars.
For sisters and brothers
who go into the storm
responding to human needs.
I watch.
I wait.
29 October 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Current Events, New York
Again I wait in privilege.
This time the date is with
Sandy, not Irene.
Hurricane?
Tropical storm?
Frankenstorm?
Whatever name,
I wait.
Sandy approaches.
I have worked my way
through the preparation drill.
Candles bought.
Batteries obtained.
Electronic products recharged.
Water bottled.
Food purchased –
what happens to year-old applesauce?
Does it go bad?
Does it ferment?
I straighten the apartment,
move and position items –
later tonight I will fill the bathtub
and light again the sentinel.
I prepare.
I wait.
Watching football.
Tweeting, posting.
Contacting family, friends
I wait.
I wait and I remember,
yet again,
the privilege that is mine:
I have a place,
a solid place,
a dry place,
a safe place:
a roof above,
walls around;
I have
water to drink
and water to flush;
I have flashlights, candles for light
food that needs no cooking;
clothes to keep me warm;
loved ones who will check upon.
So much I have,
while sisters, brothers have but little,
while brothers, sisters have none at all.
I wait and I remember,
yet again,
the privilege that is mine
I wait and I pray,
for those who have too little,
for those who have too much,
for myself.
I wait and as before I wonder,
after the waiting,
after the storm,
what I will do differently
with the privileges that are mine?
28 October 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Current Events, New York, Poem
Poised
on Advent’s cusp,
I wonder,
I watch,
I prepare to wait.
26 November
Staples Mill Amtrak Station
Richmond, VA
Filed under Poem
Irene approaches.
Hurricane?
Tropical storm?
Whatever.
Irene approaches.
I prepare.
Purchase supplies
Straighten the apartment.
Move and position items.
I prepare.
I wait.
Contacting family and friends.
Tweeting, posting.
Pacing, writing.
I wait.
And the waiting reminds
of the privileges that are mine.
I could have left,
friends would host me,
I chose to stay.
Unlike some whose circumstances
limit their choices,
options were mine.
Unlike some whose choice
was taken away:
New York has not
abandoned me,
devalued me
left me behind
on a landfill-created island
because of what I have done,
what I have been accused of doing,
or where I work,
options were mine.
I chose to stay.
I have a place, a solid place,
a roof above,
walls around;
I have funds to buy supplies;
water, flashlights, candles,
food that needs no cooking.
I have so much,
and others have but little,
still others none at all.
I wait.
And the waiting reminds me
of the privileges that are mine.
I wait.
And I wonder,
after the waiting,
what I will do differently
with the privileges that are mine?
27 August 2011
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem
