The Lent Project

Lent - In Silence

2011-03-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Yeon Joo

Two years ago, the producers at Radiolab posted a sermon Robert Krulwich gave at a synagogue (http://www.radiolab.org/blogs/radiolab-blog/2009/apr/07/in-silence/). In it, Robert wrestles with the twisted love story between Abraham and God. God commands his loving disciple Abraham to kill his son. Yes, Isaac is spared. But I have with me the haunting, terrifying image of a boy tied to a rock and his father standing over him with a knife, ready to kill.

This makes me think of Jesus and God. Many years later, God kills his only son. Yes, Jesus offers himself. Yes, ultimately we, his creation, condemned Jesus to the cross. But it is God's will that ultimately decided that Jesus must be killed. Jesus begged his Father in the garden to take away what was around the corner. But God's will was done - that his son suffer and die.

My heretical confession is this - I do not approve any of this.

Matthew 6:26 says "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" This passage is often used to comfort but during lent it has its opposite intent on me.

Look at Jesus, God's only son. God's will for him was to suffer and die. Isn't Jesus much more valuable to God than me? So what terrible plans does he have for me?

Chocolat

2011-03-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Rebecca

I recently re-watched the movie Chocolat to see whether it would lend me any new insights heading into this Lenten season. I didn’t feel able to summarize it with an adequate review, but came across 2 juxtaposed movie reviews on Ron Reed’s Soul Food Movies blog that each shed some light, from different angles. I thought I’d share an excerpt from both:

From Why those faithful who fast aren't simply chocolate soldiers Frederica Mathewes-Green, Beliefnet

. . . "Chocolat" blunders into a small French village in the spring of 1959 without a clue as to the meaning and power of Lenten sacrifice. It would not have taken exhaustive research to discover that Lent is a period of grieving for the ways humans mess up the world and hurt each other. It is a time that Christians turn inward and ask in the quiet of their hearts, "How have I been part of the problem?" In admitting these faults to God in the presence of a priest they gain profound peace and release, and the power to change their lives.

Since many of these sins are due to lack of self-control -- lashing out at someone in anger, stealing something on an impulse -- Christians do exercises to gain self-control, much as a weightlifter hoists barbells. Delicious things that might be enjoyed at any time are set aside for a few weeks, to make the willpower muscle stronger. Resisting chocolate today can help you resist an angry outburst tomorrow.

This simple concept is totally lost on the makers of "Chocolat." They're not alone; spiritual self-denial in any form is Moon Maid talk to Americans. Why is it so hard for us to understand the concept of spiritual discipline? The practice is present in some form in every world religion, yet we can fathom nothing but bigger, faster, fatter, more. Throughout the ages a universal principle has persisted that the person who seeks to enter the vast presence of God must do so by making himself smaller. Yet in America, dessert comes on a plate big enough for four. And America religion better follow suit, and promise a good time for all, all the time. . . . Yet just about any major religion gives the opposite advice. Self-discipline is a universal, even though the details of, and rationale for, these self-limitations vary widely. . . .

Loren Wilkinson on "CHOCOLAT"

I think it’s time to say a good word or two for Chocolat. . . . All of the bad things which have been said about the film are undoubtedly true (the silliness of the faint French accents in a French town, and the Irish accent in the male hunk, etc.) True also is the complete misunderstanding about what Lent ought to be, the characteristic negative stereotyping of Christians, the vacuous spirituality of the romanticized Mayan alternative, the glorification of self-indulgence, etc.

So what’s good to say about the film? I was pretty upset about the portrayal of the church and of Christianity till very near the end--but by the end found I was able to forgive almost all of the film’s flaws for two reasons, one pretty obvious, the other more subtle.

The obvious reason is that all too often the church DOES act this way towards outsiders who don’t fit in, and all too often DOES have a pretty gnostic view of pleasure, and of the whole material world, which has surfaced all too often throughout the church, both Catholic and Protestant versions. (Consider, for example, the way we have almost completely severed the “communion meal” from any reminder that it was part of not just a meal, but a feast.) It’s pretty obvious that the film is making the point that the chocolate shop is doing what the church and Christians ought to be doing: listening to people’s problems, meeting their needs, going out of their way to help when people are in trouble. Ask yourself: which is most like the church and Christian community in general as you have experienced it: the church as portrayed in the film, or the chocolate shop? In this context, it’s no small point--and an enormous reversal of expectations--when the person who points out that the church ought to behave with embrace rather than exclusion is the Catholic priest, the official voice of the church in the film (not the exceedingly messed up Count). And he does it not by denying the divinity of Christ (he affirms indirectly) but by drawing attention to the fact of Christ’s humanity, and his love.

The more subtle point is that the climax of the film--the Count’s attempt to destroy the chocolate display, and his resulting binge--is presented as a direct result of his prayer before the crucifix. Superficially we might conclude that Jesus is telling him to go break up the chocolate idols. In fact of course the Count’s action leads to the beginning of his transformation--not, I think we can conclude, into a chocolate binging pagan, but into a Christian who knows something of how Christ welcomes the stranger. . . .

St. Patrick's 'Breastplate Prayer'

2011-03-17T22:25:00.000-07:00

I arise today

Through a mighty strength,

The invocation of the Trinity,

Through the belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness

Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today

Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism

Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial

Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension

Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today

Through the strength of heaven:

Light of sun,

Radiance of moon,

Splendor of fire,

Speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind,

Depth of sea,

Stability of earth,

Firmness of rock.

I arise today

Through God's strength to pilot me:

God's might to uphold me,

God's wisdom to guide me,

God's eye to look before me,

God's ear to hear me,

God's word to speak for me,

God's hand to guide me,

God's hand to guard me,

God's way to lie before me,

God's shield to protect me,

God's host to save me.

Christ with me,

Christ before me,

Christ behind me,

Christ in me,

Christ beneath me,

Christ above me,

Christ on my right,

Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down,

Christ when I sit down,

Christ when I rise,

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today

Through a mighty strength,

The invocation of the Trinity,

Through the belief in the threeness,

Through confession of the oneness

Of the Creator of Creation.

contributed by Nelson

Choruses from the Rock - opening stanza

2011-03-14T22:36:00.000-07:00

by T.S. Eliot

The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Brings us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.

contributed by Lance

Run

2011-03-12T00:03:00.000-08:00

contributed by Chris

This photo was taken on my visit to Jerusalem in the summer of 2004 with my friends and YWAM team. The shot is of a young Muslim boy running and laughing down the street in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. He has a sackcloth bag that he was trying to hide behind, but I captured the playful moment as he ran by. Interesting to note, this section of street is traditionally recognized as part of the Via Dolorosa, or the "Way of Suffering". This photo speaks to me of the joy and beauty that can suddenly manifest in the midst of age old rules and ruin. It reminds me of God's hope for all of Abraham's children. In this season of Lent, it helps my focus and meditation on a passage found in Hebrews 12:1,2.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."

Ash Wednesday Prayer

2011-03-04T14:06:00.000-08:00

by Christine Sine

She writes, "I wrote this prayer for Ash Wednesday but plan to use it over the next week to help me focus on the season of Lent. So let us pray..."

God may we remember
All of life is held together with nails
Piercing flesh of the son of man
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember
The power of sin and death are forever ended
Hung upon a cross and crucified
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember
The bread of life broken for us
That we may eat and be filled with abundance of life
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember
God’s blood poured out for us
The deep wounds of love suffered for us
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember ashes on foreheads
And kneel before the one whose love knows no end
With humbled hearts and repentant spirits
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember we are but dust
And walk together into tomorrow’s unknowns
Breaking bars, building bridges, setting captives free
May we remember and give thanks

God may we remember and give thanks
Let us take up our cross and follow
Believing that in Christ all things work together for good
May we remember and give thanks

Come and See!

2010-12-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

That night there were shepherds staying in the fields nearby, guarding their flocks of sheep.

Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared among them,
and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them.

They were terrified,

but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!”
he said. “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people.
The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!
And you will recognize him by this sign:
You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”

Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in highest heaven,
and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”

When the angels had returned to heaven, the shepherds said to each other,

“Let’s go to Bethlehem! Let’s see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

They hurried to the village and found Mary and Joseph.

And there was the baby, lying in the manger.

After seeing him, the shepherds told everyone what had happened and what the angel had said to them about this child. All who heard the shepherds’ story were astonished,

but Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often.

The shepherds went back to their flocks, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. It was just as the angel had told them.

Almost time for the party

2010-12-24T01:00:00.000-08:00

The Magnificat: Mary’s Song of Praise

2010-12-24T00:00:00.000-08:00

Mary responded,

“Oh, how my soul praises the Lord.
How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!
For he took notice of his lowly servant girl,
and from now on all generations will call me blessed.
For the Mighty One is holy,
and he has done great things for me.
He shows mercy from generation to generation
to all who fear him.
His mighty arm has done tremendous things!
He has scattered the proud and haughty ones.
He has brought down princes from their thrones
and exalted the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away with empty hands.
He has helped his servant Israel
and remembered to be merciful.
For he made this promise to our ancestors,
to Abraham and his children forever.”

Luke 1:46-55

When Christmas Comes

2010-12-23T00:04:00.000-08:00

Only God could have thought of Christmas. Its beauty is beyond the wit of mortals, so simple in its sublimity, so homey, yet so heavenly. On a tapestry woven of stable straw and starlight it unveils a picture to soften and purify the heart and to bring us back from a wisdom that is not wise, because it is hard, unholy, and unhopeful. Man would have made this event a pageant, its stage directions as follows:

Array of Great ones

The Army marches by

Fanfare of trumpets

Enter the King!

Man-made pageants pass and fade, but God works in slower and more secret ways. He blows no trumpet; He rings no bell. He begins within, seeking His ends by quiet growth, and by a strange power men call weakness, a wisdom often mistaken for folly. Man has one answer to every problem - force; but that is not the way of God. He did not send an army to conquer the world; He sent a babe to make a woman cry. The divine method is different: Instead of noise and parade there was -

The crowded Inn

A Mother and a Babe

No cradle, just a manger

A man stunned by wonder

A wandering Star.

Such wisdom bends the knee; such beauty breaks the heart - and mends it. It is a scene to sanctify the world, as if to teach us that God enters the life of man by lowly doors, attended by starry ideals and simple shepherd sentiments - the birth of Jesus, just "one of the children of the year." The are wise men who bow at such a shrine, linking a far-off pilgrim star with the cradle of a little child. By such faith, men are truly wise, knowing that no hope is too high, no dream too holy to be fulfilled - even the hope and dream of "peace on earth among men of good-will."

. . . . . .

Must we admit that Christmas is only a fairy story, heart-woven and dream-spun, and that the gray shadows which life casts over us are the grim truth? Is it no more than a figment of fancy, tender and lovely, fragrant with old memories, enshrined in the love and armored with the wonder of child-hood - a day of make-believe tugging at our hearts, with the pull of playtime? ...

No, Christmas is both a fact and a faith; but even if it were only for a brief season of good-will, a holiday from our forgetfulness of others, or just a family festival, it would be welcome. At least it is a day of poetry in the midst of drab days of prose. ...

If man is a being in whom God can dwell, as Christmas affirms, if his soul may even be a cradle of the Eternal Love, then our highest social visions have hope of fulfillment. Then, indeed, we have not only a Divine Ally working with us, but also a hidden ally, potential and prophetic, in "the better angels of our nature," to which we do not appeal in vain. ...

For Christmas is the theology of a civilization yet to be. Like the early Christians, we must live in an air of expectancy, as of something immense, impending, of a profound change to take place. ... Men of spiritual awareness in all lands feel that a time has come in the history of man when he must take a step into a higher range of being, or else lose and slip back. ... To save his life he must reverse the old order of the brute, and assert the diviner law of love, not as a poetic faith, but as the actual basis of his life. Only so can our wounded world be lifted out of the shadow of strife and cruelty into the light of justice and joy. ...

Christmas is a prophetic day, looking not so much backward, as forward. It is a history of the future, of an order of life not yet attained, of a religion not yet realized. To our dull eyes it seems visionary; but to God it is a vision of a world yet to be. ...

God abides in a terrible patience

Unangered and unworn,

And still for the child that was taken

A child is born.

Over an armed camp, in a hard old Roman world, the song of the angels rang out, proclaiming "Peace on earth among men of good-will." How far off it must have seemed on that night! How far off it seems today! Yet it will come true. It is not a myth; it is not a mockery. Surviving ages of slaughter, it still haunts us, proving its immortality. It is not a mortal melody, but a divine symphony. Because it is far off we know that it is not our music, but was sent into the soul of man by One who is as far above us as the stars are above the mists.

It is a song out of the heart of God for a hungry world. It means much that we can hear it, despite gray fears and grim facts, forever singing above the din of strife; and, hearing it, take up its strain in the busy world of today. Not in our day, not in many days perhaps, but at last it will be fulfilled. The world will fill up with men of good-will who keep step with its music and live by its law - men who know that man was made for love, because God is love, and that love and joy must blend in the final note of the great world-song.

(Briefed from "When Will Christmas Come?" by Joseph Fort Newton, in The Atlantic Monthly, December 1925. Used by permission of the author and publishers. Reprinted in "Christ and the Fine Arts" by Cynthia Pearl Maus, Harper and Brothers Publishers, London and New York, 1938, page 48-50.)

contributed by Jeremy

It is as if Infancy were the Whole of Incarnation - Luci Shaw

2010-12-22T12:00:00.000-08:00

One time of the year

the new-born child

is everywhere,

planted in madonnas' arms

hay mows, stables

in palaces or farms,

or quaintly, under snowed gables,

gothic angular or baroque plump,

naked or elaborately swathed,

encircled by Della Robia wreaths,

garnished with whimsical

partridges and pears,

drummers and drums,

lit by oversize stars,

partnered with lambs,

peace doves, sugar plums,

bells, plastic camels in sets of three

as if these were what we need

for eternity.

But Jesus the Man is not to be seen.

We are too wary, these days,

of beards and sandalled feet.

Yet if we celebrate, let it be

that he

has invaded our lives with purpose,

striding over our picturesque traditions,

our shallow sentiment,

overturning our cash registers,

wielding his peace like a sword,

rescuing us into reality

demanding much more

than the milk and the softness

and the mothers warmth

of the baby in the storefront creche,

(only the Man would ask

all, of each of us)

reaching out

always, urgently, with strong

effective love

(only the Man would give

his life and live

again for love of us).

Oh come, let us adore him-

Christ--the Lord.

The Nativity - Rory Holland

2010-12-21T13:14:00.000-08:00

Over the years our family has developed quite a collection of Nativity Scenes – out of wood, wire, ceramic, and even palm leaves – all depicting that same frozen moment of time of just after the birth of Jesus. Around this time the boxes are brought up from the basement, the pieces unwrapped and then each put in their place on the mantel or the shelves around our home.

What strikes me is the wide range of expressions of that event. The Guatemalan Jesus is swaddled in bright fabric, the Ugandan Jesus has distinct African features, while the Italian Jesus looks like a very small adult with arms commandingly outstretched. In each case the reality has been shaped by the perceptions of the artist.

We all want Jesus to be a certain way, and oddly the Bible seems to provide enough latitude for that to be so – otherwise how would we end up with such a wide variety of denominations across the spectrum all claiming to worship ‘the same’ Jesus.

There are a couple of occasions in the stories about Jesus’ life where the question actually comes up. Once, after he calmed the waters his friends asked “who is this man?, or later on even Jesus asks them “who do you say I am?”

I am honestly not sure who Jesus is, or who he was supposed to be when he was born. Sure, I read the definitive statements in the Bible, but those don’t actually come from Him, they come from people trying to figure out Him. Jesus allowed others to define him, but he didn’t spend much time on it himself.

You have to assume, as I look at one of the little scenes in my living room with the shepherds and the wise men, and even Mary and Joseph, at the time they were asking that same question – Who is this little guy?

from "An Examined Life" | December 2 2009

Annunciation

2010-12-20T14:45:00.000-08:00

Fra Angelico

Fresco

c. 1440

contributed by Shari

A Northern Nativity - William Kurelek

2010-12-19T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Aimee

Ukrainian-Canadian artist, William Kurelek's "A Northern Nativity" is perhaps my favorite Christmas book. The paintings depict various Canadian scenes and people groups that a 12 year old boy imagines the Christ child being born into. "A boy imagines that the nativity takes place in northern snows. He dreams that the Christ child is born to Eskimos, to Indians, to Blacks, that the Nativity takes place in a fisherman's hut, a garage, a cowboy's barn, that the holy family is given refuge in a city mission, a grain barn, and a country school." (from the jacket) There is such detail in the paintings. The Holy family is on the fringe, and usually look cold. Yet there is a sense of stillness and peace. And joy, for those who notice and welcome them. I highly recommend tracking down a copy of this book, from the library or for your own collection.

If you'd like to see more images from the book I found a youtube video of the the images set to music. (click here) It gives you a feel for the paintings, but the book has text that accompanies each painting, so don't miss out on that! Also the National Film Board did a short work on Kurelek, you can find that here if you are interested.

2010-12-18T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Elli

Am I a full hotel?

Focused on strangers that don’t stay long

Lots of doors and

Locks

In place of a stable

Do I fill up rooms with arrogance and pride

And have no space for learning

Lock the door on grace

And leave out love?

Have I been booked with busy-ness

And not penciled in silence and stillness

Too occupied with accumulating

To realize the miracle

Could be happening

In me?

As a Woman in Labor (abridged)

2010-12-17T00:34:00.000-08:00

As a woman in labor longings for the birth,

I long for you, O God;

and as she is weary to see the face of her child,

so do I seek your deliverance.

She cries out, she pants, because her pain is great,

and her longing is beyond measure;

her whole body is groaning in travail

until she shall be delivered.

My soul hungers for you.

as a child for her mother's breast;

like the infant to cries out in the night,

who waits in the dark to be comforted.

At night I will cry for your justice,

and in the morning, I will seek you early;

for you O God are the source of my salvation,

and all my nourishment is found in you.

As a woman looks to her friend,

that she may open her heart and be free,

that her words may find understanding

and her fears may be contained;

so do I look to you O God, that you may search me and know my ways,

bringing me a judgment and tenderness, and sending me home released.

As the body of the lover he yearns for her beloved,

so is my desire for your touch.

She cries out from her depths, she weeps,

and cannot speak

because of the beauty of her beloved.

You also have laid a hand upon me,

and I cannot forget your ways.

contributed by Carter

Mary Considers Her Situation

2010-12-16T00:00:00.000-08:00

What next, she wonders,
with the angel disappearing, and her room
suddenly gone dark.

The loneliness of her news
possesses her. She ponders
how to tell her mother.

Still, the secret at her heart burns like
a sun rising. How to hold it in –
that which cannot be contained.

She nestles into herself, half-convinced
it was some kind of good dream,
she its visionary.

But then, part dazzled, part prescient –
she hugs her body, a pod with a seed
that will split her.

Luci Shaw

Close

2010-12-15T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Aimee

I shared this in church on Sunday and thought it would be fitting on the blog as well:

Yesterday I was listening to Carolyn Arends' Christmas album. It touches me deeply every year. Tears being pulled from the deep places of me before the songs even start - just in anticipations of the words...

The opening lines of the song "Come and See" stopped me i my tracks:

Have you heard, have you heard

All the rumors are true

Spread the word, spread the word

This is such good news

The dream is not a dream anymore

Nothing is the same as before

I think the tears are tears of joy from imagining what the arrival of Jesus would have meant for people like Simeon and the shepherds. Years of waiting and longing for the Shalom - wholeness, completeness, peace - that the Messiah would bring. And now, according to the angels filling the sky, the "dream is not a dream anymore". The saviour has arrived. Nothing is the same as before.

But even more so the tears are from hope. That this would become true for me too. That because of Jesus' arrival my life would not be the same anymore. That the rumors I have heard of an intimate relationship with him - knowing his love would be true. For me.

When Lance asked me to parallel the pregnancy experience with discipleship, or the idea of carrying Christ in us with pregnancy... I had nothing to say. I couldn't relate the two. And now I'm wondering if it is because pregnancy and birth are so intimate...

A baby growing inside me, nothing could be closer than that. Always together, a little life growing in me. Causing my body to change shape. Kicking me.

But I don't know Jesus in that way. I am not always conscious of him, him being with me, in me. Not like during pregnancy, feeling the baby's every move inside me. I am baffled by Jesus' desire to dwell within me. It is strange for me to think of him being that close. I alternately long for and run from this intimacy. And I think I'm afraid too of what that kind of closeness might mean. Or lead too. How will my life be shaken up if I open up and receive? But part of me, the truest part, knows that I want my life shaken up. I haven't done a good job ordering it anyways. I long to answer with the hope and trust of Mary. To receive him and to be changed.

There were times, in the early days of pregnancy, when it was possible to forget for a moment that I was pregnant. If my stomach wasn't empty and no one was chopping an onion or frying ground beef within a one block radius, I might for a few minutes forget about the life that was beginning to take shape within me. And I am hoping that is happening with Jesus inside of me. that even when I try to hide from him, or pay no attention to his presence, he is still there. That his life -- like the lives of each of my children began so small - is being formed in me. And I want to believe that as time goes by, his presence in me will become less and less inconspicuous. That it will literally change my shape and alter me.

When Half-Spent Was The Night

2010-12-14T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Nelson

The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. ~ John 1:4

As many of the posts of recent days have shown, the image of light piercing darkness is one that many of us like to dwell on during Advent. I, too, am drawn to it like a magnet, and there are good reasons for this.

For one thing, it's visually beautiful. A simple candle lighting up a dark place can have a mesmerizing effect, fixing me to my seat, focusing my gaze on its flickering glow. It also reminds me of our universal need for light -- its energy and warmth; also its ability to guide and reveal that which is hidden or unclear. And it is a reminder that, spiritually speaking, our 'default' state is darkness, but light is always available to us in the presence of the Spirit. The penetrating power of grace shines brighter because it finds us in the darkest spaces.

About four hundred years ago, somebody wrote a hymn which draws its imagery from an ancient prophecy about a new Branch from David's family that would bear fruit from an old root (Isaiah 11:1). The hymnwriter depicts this Branch as a Rose, which performs its light- and life-giving action when it seems least likely: in the dead of winter, in the middle of the night.

Only a few years ago, inspired by both the poetic truth and the melodic beauty of this hymn, I arranged a version of it for my jazz trio. You may wish to meditate on these words while listening to the music. And, if you're so inclined, feel free to add a comment about what you hear in it.

Listen and/or download your own copy here.

Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming

from tender stem has sprung!

Of Jesse's lineage coming

as saints of old have sung.

It came, a floweret bright,

amid the cold of winter,

when half-spent was the night.

Isaiah 'twas foretold it,

the Rose I have in mind.

With Mary we behold it,

the virgin mother kind.

To show God's love aright,

she bore too us a Savior,

when half-spent was the night.

What's Next?

2010-12-13T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Jeremy

Christmas has always been, of course, a special time for me. Every year the advent season pulls me in. For some reason, though, advent gripped me especially tightly in 2006.

Maybe it was the early snow fall we got that December that had me feeling “Christmassy” a bit earlier than usual. Maybe it was the anticipation of the end of a semester’s worth of work for the Bible College where I was employed at the time, and the deep breath that comes with the satisfaction of completing long-running projects. Perhaps it had to do with the little bit of traveling I was eagerly anticipating during the Christmas break, visiting family members who I don’t live near enough to see as often as I’d like.

But I think the biggest reason that I became so pulled in to the season of expectation that year is that my experience of the preceding calendar year brought me to a new understanding of the purpose of advent. Let me try to explain.

Growing up, going to the little church that was as much a family that raised me as it was the place my parents, sisters and I went to worship, I looked forward every year to the time we’d pull out the old advent wreath and place it on the table in the front of the sanctuary, lighting one more candle each week as we had the week before, until finally on Christmas morning all 5 would be lit, and the Sunday School teacher would give us a brown paper bag with an orange, a candy cane, and some candies and nuts inside. Advent, then, became very much a ‘countdown to Christmas’ for us. Though I’ve learned more about the history and meaning of advent since, my attitude towards the season remained much like this childlike understanding for a long time.

Then came 2006. 2006 was a year that, for me, started on a low note. I stumbled out of 2005, having been hurt in places I don’t typically allow anyone to go near. Out of that hurt came fear, loneliness, and skepticism. On top of that, I found my own family in what resembled turmoil, as old wounds surfaced that we thought had healed. I felt my foundations being shaken, and doubt began to replace faith. I tried to hide it, but 2006 was, for a long time, a dark year for me.

The word “advent” means “coming”. For us, it marks a season where we wait for the coming of the whole point of it all. The coming of something that might make it possible for us to keep going, to have any sort of hope at all, in a life that doesn’t make sense at the best of times, and leaves us reeling with hurt at the worst.

What I began learning that year is that Jesus didn’t just come in to a world that was doing just fine on its own, and throw out an invite to a great party upstairs, should we feel like joining. I began to understand and resonate with the part before he comes, when he was still “coming”. The part where things are just hard and we wonder if we should just toss it all away; and we cry out “how long??” just like the Israelites did. I think advent is a time for us to feel the pain of unfulfilled expectation, to grapple with unrealized dreams, to feel pain and loneliness, and to ask God, “When?” I think in some way, my “Advent ‘06” started nearly a year early, and that the coming of the literal advent season finally named what I’d felt for so long.

Of course, we don’t want to have a season set aside for the struggle. Advent would be a lot nicer if it was just the countdown to Christmas: a time of love, joy, and peace on earth. A season of waiting doesn’t seem like something I’ll enjoy. I don’t always do well with waiting. The 12 minutes it takes to get my plate of food at a restaurant feels like an hour. If my bus that’s scheduled every 12 minutes doesn’t show up within 5 minutes of me arriving at the bus stop, I begin to question the competency of the driver. And yet advent calls us each year to slow down and wait.

To wait, yes… but we don’t always know quite what it is we’re waiting for. If you ever, as a child, peeked in your parents’ closet to find out what they had purchased for your Christmas present, you know that knowing exactly what’s coming takes the wind out of the sails of expectation. To wait in the season of advent is to ask the question, “What’s next?” This is a question asked in the faith that something good might be just around the corner.

So this year, as we light another advent candle every week (or open a little cardboard door to reveal another chocolate every day), take time to join me in waiting. Take the time to “listen to your life”, as Frederick Buechner would write. Allow yourself to remember both the pain and the joy of this past year. Allow yourself to feel the pain of being incomplete, and yet…

…and yet, know there’s something more. Know that we wait, not in vain, but in hope and faith. Ask with me, “what’s next?” And open your eyes to what goodness might be just around the corner…

Before

2010-12-12T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Shari

The rain muffles engines and softens the colors of shiny cars and dark pre-war apartment buildings that fill the view from my window. Behind the curtain of rain, I pour through beautiful black and white, hand-made photographs, fresh from the magical pools of the darkroom.

A dear friend has just given me this series of photographs, a late wedding gift, and they document the hours before my wedding, the preparation, the laughter, the quietness. There are scenes with hair half way completed: curls piled high against waves, scenes of my sister clapping, her hands like flying birds, scenes of my mother looking on as a stylist puts a gigantic feather in my hair. There are images of mirrors, fresh fruit, dresses, ribbons.

Perhaps, at first glance, in spite of the brilliant light and textures of the images, the subject seems rather innocuous and superficial. Why would I want to see the early stages of the day, hours filled with attention to our appearance? Are these photographs about vanity, or is the outward activity an expression of something more?

It is somehow the invisible things that make the visible so weighty and wondrous. It is the story behind the twinkle lights, underneath the cover of stars, inside the smell of pine, hiding in our hearts.

May every outward thing cause us to look in and discover Jesus of Nazareth, and may these days in this season be like palm branches, preparing for His coming.

On Buses

2010-12-11T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Lance Odegard

Buses are the only vehicles you find
driving around with the interior lights on—
rumbling through the city with illuminated strangers,
light spilling out of the windows, melting the watching dark.

Do you find this odd? Surely TransLink
isn’t showing new concern, hoping to provide a few extra
moments for students to catch up on reading,
are they? The driver does know where he's going, right?

He’s not up there with a map draped across the steering
wheel – was that Alma or Arbutus?
And it’s not like we all have lots to catch up on and need to visit—
...is that your new sweater?…

So, why are the lights still on?

They’re not much. They feel faint and foreign,
almost invisible to our indifference—
yet in the midst of this absorbent darkness, light,
quietly resting on the tops of our shoulders.

It’s 10:55pm on a Tuesday night
and I can barely suspend the disbelief to admit this,
to hold the notion that we ride accompanied,
even to say: Emmanuel.

Light

2010-12-10T00:45:00.000-08:00

contributed by Elli

Our Advent log is atrocious. I asked a classmate for some firewood that still had the rounded bark cover to one side. She gave me a wobbley, uneven, cut up ragged piece of wood about 2 inches thick at most. We tried for a couple days to carve out the candle holes with David's leatherman which didn't work, and finally on Sunday night we were able to drill holes with a borrowed electric drill (thanks Aimee!). We got it home and realized the holes were still much too small, and after attempting again to whittle with the leatherman decided just to shave down the bottom of our candles. David then meticulously melted pieces of the cut off wax to secure the candles in place. The candles stick out of the wood like skinny crooked teeth. When the log shifts onto one side all the candles lean so the wax drips onto the coffee table.

For some reason, I am in love with it. I sit beside it every morning to do my devotions and on the Tuesday of the first week of advent David and I had our official First Week of Advent lighting. Our living room still had sheets and pillows from guests the past weekends strewn about, mugs and books and papers that never find a home in files or the recycle bin. We turned off all the lights and I watched with childish excitement as David met the head of the match with its box and the flame grew. I didn't cheap out on the candles (pure beeswax...mmm) so it lit right away. We sat back and without deciding this between us, went into silence.

For me this sort of thing needs some silence. This recognition for both of us that we are disheveled and junky and really don't look like much. But then the light is there, and it really does take all the focus. There was a moment looking at it that I didn't want to light the others; I couldn't imagine it looking any better than it did with just that one candle lit. Just one light was enough for me to feel a bit of hope that words spoken may just be true, and that I really can trust that God's promises aren't forgotten. He sees me.

David and I daily wobble between excitement and joy with this pregnancy, and fear with the knowledge we don't have a clue what we're going to do. I'm going to take a try at believing God's light will guide me on a path of peace. It is so much more alluring and curiously welcoming than the despairing dark corners I tend to find myself in.

Angels

2010-12-09T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Terri

Nelson's grandma continues with her struggle between this life and the next. I went to see her on Tuesday. She slept the entire time I was there. She is definitely approaching heaven's doorway. The family has told her that we are ready to let her go. We talked with Grandma about who is waiting for her in heaven.

On Sunday, while Nelson's cousin was visiting with her, this is what happened (from her email to the family):

"Grandma was awake but much more weak, she was not able to speak very well although she tried a number of times. I thought her hands and arms felt a bit cold so I got her another blanket. After I placed the blanket on her she spoke so loudly it was practically yelling, "Glory to God, Glory! Glory to God, Glory!" Then she turned and fixed her stare on me and as clear as day she said to me, "You be happy. You be happy."

Yes, that is right: Glory to God, Glory! We do not know all that is going on inside Grandma's mind as she gets closer to heaven's entrance. But she has been an amazing blessing to us all as we get closer to the celebration of our King's birth.

Angels by Kathy Eppick

Nelson's Grandma started her new life in heaven on Wednesday at 5pm. She will be missed by many.

Afterwards – Richard Osler

2010-12-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

The Annunciation, by Fra Angelico, 1430

Mystery. Paraclete. God’s particular dance with the ordinary.

Usually, in the great 15th century paintings, shown as the dove.
You have to look up to see it, above the angel. Mary, sees only
the angel, holds fast the gaze of the extraordinary. It’s love,

the lover that hovers high. Waiting. Does it know the answer
she will give to the angel? Can it read already the intricacies
of the human heart? Or does it have to wait to hear from her?
Each wing beat a forever until she said “Let it be.” Afterwards

the world resumed its normal orbit – there, for a heart's beat,
it had tilted closer to the sun – the moon had wavered. All of
the old loyalties had felt the shudder, felt the blow in the feet
and up to the belly. No one divined the nature of the disturbance

but her. The one whose belly now housed the Word, a universe.
This world, now different , the Spirit, taken, made utterly human.
Word translated in a womb to the language we would dismiss or
read as truly fantastic, thrum of miracle in the blood of a woman.

contributed by Nelson

Advent Visitation

2010-12-06T00:00:00.000-08:00

Even from the cabin window I sensed the wind’s

Contagion begin to infect the rags of leaves

Then the alders gilded to it, obeisant, the way

Angels are said to bow, covering their faces with

Their wings, not solemn, as we suppose, but

Possessed of a sudden, surreptitious hilarity.

When the little satin wind arrived,

I felt it slide through the cracked-open door

(A wisp of prescience? A change in the weather?).

and after the small push of breath – You

entering with your air of radiant surprise,

I the astonished one.

These still December mornings

I fancy I live in a clear envelope of angels

Like a cellophane womb. Or a soap bubble,

the colors drifting, curling. Outside

everything’s tinted rose, grape turquoise

silver – the stones by the path, the skin of the sun

on the pond ice, at night the aureola of

a pregnant moon, like me, iridescent

almost full-term with light.

-Luci Shaw

Stephanie Nadeau

Untitled

2009

Graphite on Paper

contributed by Shari-Anne

Why Should We Care About Advent - Rob Bell

2010-12-05T00:00:00.000-08:00

from www.relevantmagazine.com. Rob Bell is the pastor of Mars Hill church in Grand Rapids, Mich. He is also the author of Drops Like Stars,Sex God and Velvet Elvis (all Zondervan) , and is the featured speaker in the NOOMA short film series. Connect with him on Twitter @realrobbell.

Christmas is coming. It may seem like it’s way too soon to be talking about trees and lights and presents and eggnog and all that. But Christmas is the culmination of Advent, and Advent is about the church calendar and the church calendar is something we never stop talking about.

So that’s what I’m writing on here: Advent. But to talk about Advent, we need to talk about sound, and then time and then Spirit.

First, then, a bit about sound.

If you are quiet enough in your kitchen, you will hear a noise. It is a continuous sound, a long, droning noise with no particular beginning or ending. It has very little, if any, dynamic range. It may go up and down in volume, but those changes are rarely perceptible. It is the same flat noise, and it goes on and on and on, hour after hour, day after day. If it’s loud enough, it can grate on the nerves, but otherwise it’s simply there.

Making that sound, mostly unnoticed, there in the corner of your kitchen.

It is the buzzing of your refrigerator.

Now for another noise. I’m currently listening to the new Jónsi album (he of Sigur Rós fame), which I’ve had on repeat for a number of weeks now. From the first bleeps, squawks and chirps of the first song, the album is full of noises. Drums, voices, piano—the noises stop and start, come and go, they’re loud and quiet. Some notes sustain for a measure or two, others come and go within the second. The kick drum rumbles, the cymbals clang, the strings flutter. All those sounds work together to make something compelling, inspiring, beautiful, evocative, confrontative, urgent, hopeful, honest or peaceful—something that sounds stunning.

And so it is noise, it is the sound—but it is a particular, intentional arrangement of those noises and sounds that make it what we commonly refer to as music.

Two kinds of noise, two variations on sound—one we call music and the other we call refrigerator buzz.

Next, then, a bit about time, because time is a lot like sound. A song works because the noises and sounds and voices and drums are arranged with a precise awareness of time. Music divides time up into beats, giving time a shape, a flow, a pattern, a rhythm.

We’ve all experienced the low-grade despair that comes when our days blend into each other—wake up, eat breakfast, brush teeth, go to school or work or the office, change another diaper, do another load of laundry, write a check, fill a tank, cook a meal and then repeat it all over again the next day.

One day looks like the next, everything starts to feel the same, life starts to feel like the existential equivalent of refrigerator buzz.

And that, of course, takes us back to the Exodus. (Didn’t see that coming, did you?) The story of those Hebrew slaves being rescued from Pharaoh isn’t just a story about the God who rescues people from having to make bricks every day—it’s about the God who rescues people from other kinds of slavery as well. Namely, the one involving time.

Life in Egypt was comprised of making bricks for the Pharaoh every day, all day.

Bricks, bricks, bricks, eat, sleep, more bricks, bricks, bricks. Tomorrow will be just like today: bricks, bricks, bricks.

When the Israelites are rescued, however, God gives them commands, one of the most urgent being to take a Sabbath day a week, a day unlike the others. A day without bricks.

Six days you shall work, but on the seventh, don’t. Why is this so monumental? God gives them rhythm. But not the rhythm of sound, the rhythm of time. Life before was an interminable succession of sevens. Seven, seven, seven.

But now, their time is broken up, measured, arranged with a beat: six and one, six and one, six and one.

God is the God of the groove.

We need rhythm in our time—it’s what makes one moment different from another. It gives shape and color and form to all of life.

The first Christians understood this—that time, like sound, is best when broken up, divided and arranged into patterns and rhythms. And so they created the church calendar. A way to organize the year, a way to bring variance to our days, a way to find a song in the passing of time.

For example, Lent. For the seven weeks leading up to Resurrection Sunday, we practice sober awareness of our frailty, sins and smallness. It starts on Ash Wednesday when those ashes are traced on our foreheads in the shape of the cross, a tactile reminder of our origins in the dust. From there we come, and to there we will go.

You want to really live, the kind of living that drains the marrow from every day? Then start by facing your death, your weakness, your smallness. We spend seven weeks facing our death and despair and doubt, entering into it with the fullness of our being—heart, mind, emotions—we leave nothing behind.

We do this for a number of reasons, chief among them the simple truth that Sunday comes after Friday. Only when you’ve gotten through, not around “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” are you ready to throw the only kind of Resurrection party worthy of the occasion—that Sunday when we run huffing and puffing from the open tomb, beating our pots and pans in that clanging raucous outburst that begins with those three resounding words: “He is risen.”

That day when all the amps are turned up to “11.”

But that’s not the end—don’t let your pastor start a preaching series on tithing or marriage that next week—because Resurrection is just the beginning. On we go to the season of Pentecost—the celebration of the Spirit, the One who moves in mysterious ways. Jesus is not with us in body, He’s with us in Spirit. He’s risen, but He’s also here, in ways that transcend language, and so reflect on this for a season, tuning your radar to the divine presence in every moment of every day.

And so we’re headed somewhere, we’re coming from somewhere else, and we’re doing it together, as a community of disciples, as a church.

Finally, then, a bit about Spirit. Because Spirit, it turns out, is a lot like sound and time.

The first thing Spirit does in creation is move. That tells us the deepest matters of the Spirit are constantly moving, shifting and morphing. The life of the spirit is a dynamic reality, taking us through a myriad of emotions, experiences and states of being.

Sometimes we’re exhausted, other times we’re overwhelmed with doubt. Sometimes we’re on top of the world and everything is going smoothly, other times we find ourselves standing in the midst of the wreckage, surrounded by smoldering flames, wondering how it all went so wrong.

What the church calendar does is create space for Jesus to meet us in the full range of human experience, for God to speak to us across the spectrum, in the good and the bad, in the joy and in the tears.

This is the crime of only singing happy victory songs in church (we often ask sad people to sing happy songs)—half of the Psalms are laments.

The math should move us on that. The Bible is not a collection of war chants from victors—it’s an incredibly varied collection of writings reflecting an intensely diverse amount of postures, moods and perspectives.

A lot like how life is, actually. Sometimes you’re furious with God, other times you’re madly in love.

The issue then, as it is now, isn’t just getting us out of Egypt—it’s getting the Egypt out of us.

Rescuing us from sameness, dullness, flatlined routine, reminding us that however we’re feeling, whatever we’re experiencing, wherever we are in our heart—the Spirit waits to meet us there.

And that takes us to Advent. Advent, then, is a season. Lots of people know about holidays—one day a year set apart. The church calendar is about seasons, whole periods of time we enter into with a specific cry, a particular intention, for a reason.

Advent is about anticipating the birth of Christ. It’s about longing, desire, that which is yet to come. That which isn’t here yet. And so we wait, expectantly. Together. With an ache. Because all is not right. Something is missing.

Why does Advent mean so much to me?

Because cynicism is the new religion of our world. Whatever it is, this religion teaches that it isn’t as good as it seems. It will let you down. It will betray you.

That institution? That church? That politician? That authority figure? They’ll all let you down.

Whatever you do, don’t get your hopes up. Whatever you think it is, whatever it appears to be, it will burn you, just give it time.

Advent confronts this corrosion of the heart with the insistence that God has not abandoned the world, hope is real and something is coming.

Advent charges into the temple of cynicism with a whip of hope, overturning the tables of despair, driving out the priests of that jaded cult, announcing there’s a new day and it’s not like the one that came before it.

“The not yet will be worth it,” Advent whispers in the dark.

Old man Simeon stands in the temple, holding the Christ child, rejoicing that now he can die because what he’d been waiting for actually arrived.

And so each December (though Advent starts the last Sunday of November this year), we enter into a season of waiting, expecting, longing. Spirit meets us in the ache.

We ask God to enter into the deepest places of cynicism, bitterness and hardness where we have stopped believing that tomorrow can be better than today.

We open up. We soften up. We turn our hearts in the direction of that day. That day when the baby cries His first cry and we, surrounded by shepherds and angels and everybody in between, celebrate that sound in time that brings our Spirits what we’ve been longing for.

Expecting the Unexpected

2010-12-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

contributed by Robin

For as long as I can remember, my powers of perception have been somewhat faulty. I’m the kind of person that can’t take a hint. So, it should come as no surprise that although Christmas trees and strings of lights have been for sale in Costco since August, I still haven’t quite accepted the notion that Christmas is coming. When Christmas Eve arrives, I am caught off guard. It happens every year.
I try to prepare...
· Have a few hostess gifts on hand for unanticipated invitations.
· Keep a bottle of wine handy for last minute guests.
· Buy a few gifts for friends and family throughout the year.
· Leave extra time for surprise run-ins with acquaintances at the mall.
· Attend all the advent church services
Yet, no matter how much planning goes into my holiday season, God astonishes me with a bewildering, last-minute rush of Christmas spirit that unsettles my best laid plans. He makes a total mess of everything in order to remind me that Christ was born, and then gives me the grace and peace to have a laugh at the chaos.
There is something about Christmas that is, by nature, unexpected. Sure, Israel had long awaited a messiah, but what they received was not a powerful military conqueror. A teenage virgin gave birth to God. A small, screaming pink bundle. He probably had a full head of hair and looked like a little old man. The delivery, well, I imagine no woman is ever adequately prepared to give birth to her first child, especially in a barn, attended by an equally clueless husband.
They knew to expect the God-child, but his arrival into the world – surrounded by barnyard animals, heralded by stars and angels, visited by shepherds and wise men – was, I’m sure, something of a surprise (and something of a mess)!
Jesus came like my prankster little brother. Though I spent my childhood anticipating him leaping out from behind every corner, the event itself still shocked me senseless. But my constant inability to predict a surprise is something I cherish during Advent. Living in this way, expecting the unexpected, is the best way to prepare myself to enjoy the mess, the miracle, and the messiah. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Celebrating God Incarnate

2010-12-03T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Yeon Joo

A couple of years ago, I was faced with the challenge of explaining to a North Korean refugee the meaning of Christmas. It started off as a simple Christmas party invitation. But then she asked, "What are you celebrating at the party?" and it all became unraveled.The conversation pretty much ended with the statement, "So Christmas is like when North Koreans celebrate the birth of our Leader, Kim Jong Il."

So is it? Is celebrating the birth of Jesus any different than celebrating the birth of any other major world leader?
"I am the way the truth the life" (John 14:6). The birth of Jesus means something different for me because I believe that Jesus is truth.

In Colossians Remixed, Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat have this to say about Jesus, our Truth: "Remember, from a biblical perspective truth is not a correspondence between ideas and facts. Truth is embodied in a person. If incarnate truth is to be known in its fullness, then it must be met in the flesh." For me, the miracle of Christmas is this. Truth came down to be met in the flesh. He showed us what it means to live truthfully - feeding the hungry, healing the sick, becoming friend to the friendless, loving extravagantly. I believe this to be good news.

I believe that we, Christians, are called to be witnesses of the truth and hosts of the celebration, a party in which everyone is invited to join in. But when my North Korean friend looks at the body of Christ, what does she see? Do we embody the good news? Walsh and Keesmaat write: "If this truth is not enfleshed in our lives and in the community that claims to bear witness to it, then it quite literally becomes unknowable to us. We cannot know this truth, we are stripped of assured understanding, because - well, we can't see it. In this respect, seeing - experiencing, touching, and feelings - is indeed believing" (Walsh & Keesmaat, p.130).

Advent for me is a time for us to consider again, how incarnate truth can be enfleshed in our lives. What can our Christian community do and how can we live the gospel so that truth can be seen and believed?

Anticipation

2010-12-02T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Jeremy

Advent really is one of my favorite times of year. I like my life to generally take something of a slower pace. My wife can tell you that I often prefer to stay home on a Friday night with a DVD and some tea than trek out to a birthday party or a concert. So it is with some excitement that I greet the advent season, a time when slowing down, waiting, and contemplating become the broader modus operandi of classical church traditions – a time when everyone slows down to my pace!

Advent always carries with it an emphasis on intentionally engaging with the act of waiting and anticipating, and in 2010, I feel as though I’ve been waiting and anticipating most of the year, after Shari and I discovered quite early in the year that we would be having a baby! In the ensuing nine months, we waited and anticipated the time when… well, when she wouldn’t be pregnant anymore, I guess.

For the longest time, the fact that my wife was pregnant felt like enough of an adventure for us, without having to think about the fact that being pregnant generally ends in having a baby, which generally leads to having to actually raise a child. In many ways, the time of being pregnant felt very disconnected from the fact that we were about to have a baby. I spent a lot of time waiting and anticipating, but I didn’t always truly realize what we were anticipating and waiting for. At times we had to deliberately remind ourselves that when the nine months were up, we would be having a baby! It took deliberately meditating on what we were anticipating before I could begin to prepare myself emotionally for what’s next.

Entering advent this year, I’m trying to take that lesson with me. It’s all well and good to enter into the activity of slowing down, anticipating, waiting… but in this time I find it’s important to remind myself what I’m waiting for. I need to be intentional about putting the pieces together. Advent isn’t just about waiting, it’s about preparing myself to really engage with the spiritual and emotional realities of Christmas.

This time, I’m not just waiting for it to be over. There’s something coming at the end of advent, and it's even more exciting than the anticipation.

Patience

2010-12-01T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Terri

I am amazed at how working with clay teaches me to be patient. I continue to learn that a slow and steady hand is the best kind to have. One piece will take at least a couple of weeks to finish, since I need to completely leave it and come back to it for different steps along the way. Recently I have been spending much time thinking about this process and how satisfying it is when a piece turns out. The expectant anticipation is as much a part of the process as seeing the end product. I tend to think of Advent in this way –– waiting for this new birth to happen. Patient anticipation causes me to be so much more thrilled with the thought of this newborn King coming to save me; to save us all.

Born that We No More May Die

2010-11-30T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Nelson

My dad called late yesterday morning from my 97-year-old grandmother's care home in Langley. While the effects of her dementia and congestive heart failure have been getting worse for some time, yesterday he said she hadn't been eating or drinking anything for a few days. Dad said she was getting much weaker, and that her time could come soon.

We arrived a couple of hours later to find grandma bright-eyed and talkative, despite her obvious frailty and weakness. Mom and Dad said it was actually quite surprising to see her like this. She fell in and out of coherent speech, but seemed to recognize us and welcome our presence. We tried to say a few things to her –– memories, words of love –– but she wasn't wearing her hearing aids, so that didn't work too well. Much more significant were the words she spoke to us.

At one point she said, "Come back, come back." We weren't going anywhere. But in that moment, I was reminded that whenever we'd left her place from visits over the years, she would say, "Come again. Come again." We knew we were always welcome at her house.

Once she said, "Kids are so much worth." My brother –– who has three children –– was there at the time. He heard "worth" as "work". He burst out laughing and said, "You're so right, grandma. They are a ton of work." We all figured that since she'd had six kids herself, she probably meant both words.

And then as we said our goodbyes, she hugged and kissed us and pronounced a sort of benediction over us all: "God's blessings be with you...his provision...May God bless you...". There wasn't a dry eye after that.

I don't know whether this was the last time we'll get to be with her before she dies. Grandma's a pretty strong woman; she could bounce back. There are a lot of thoughts and emotions running through the minds and hearts of our family members. One such thought is that these Advent-ish words...words like preparing, coming, waiting, expectation, hope, arrival...they take on new meaning when you're anticipating death as well as birth.

A couple of weeks back my clock radio woke me up with the first Christmas carol I recall hearing this year. It was Hark! The Herald Angels Sing –– Amy Grant's version. (I know, right? Classic.) But more important than who was singing was what she sang. I usually hit the snooze button fast, but that morning the lyrics caught my attention and I had to listen:

Mild He lays his glory by
Born that man no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth

Together with my grandma, we anticipate this holiest of Births knowing that Death is not the end. God's blessings and provision indeed.

It begins

2010-11-28T22:29:00.000-08:00

contributed by Aimee

“The house lights go off and the footlights come on. Even the chattiest stop chattering as they wait in darkness for the curtain to rise. In the orchestra pit, the violin bows are poised. The conductor has raised his baton. In the silence of a midwinter dusk, there is far off in the deeps of it somewhere a sound so faint that for all you can tell it may be only the sound of the silence itself. You hold your breath to listen. You walk up the steps to the front door. The empty windows at either side of it tell you nothing, or almost nothing. For a second you catch a whiff of some fragrance that reminds you of a place you’ve never been and a time you have no words for. You are aware of the beating of your heart…The extraordinary thing that is about to happen is matched only by the extraordinary moment just before it happens. Advent is the name of that moment.”

— Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

I am breathing a little deeper and longing for this type of watchful hushed anticipation to fill my heart this Advent season. May it fill yours too.

Hallelujah Lessons

2010-07-13T10:34:00.000-07:00

The other night in church this quote struck me:

"The way the 148^th Psalm describes it, praising God is another kettle of fish altogether. It is about as measured as a volcanic eruption...The whole of creation is in on the act—the sun and moon, the sea, fire and snow, Holstein cows and white-throated sparrows, old men in walkers and children who still haven’t taken their first step. Their praise is not chiefly a matter of saying anything because most of creation doesn’t deal in words….We learn to praise God not by paying compliments but by paying attention. Watch how the trees exult when the wind is in them. Mark the utter stillness of the great blue heron in the swamp. Listen to the sound of the rain. Learn how to say Hallelujah from the ones who say it right.” Frederick Buechner.

A few weeks ago, I sat at the counter bar in my neighbour’s kitchen, explaining to her that I had this sense that this summer needed to be dedicated to nurturing my spiritual side. I’ve spent some time neglecting it these last several months (years?) and I felt a bit lost somehow, wondering how to reclaim my soul from under the meaningless rubble of my life. Last night, I think I realized that I just haven’t spent enough time saying Hallelujah. I’ve dedicated a bit of time to negativity, to seeing what’s wrong with my life and not the many things that are right with it.

So this morning, at 6:30 am, I ventured out with my dog to learn how to say Hallelujah. I powered down the NPR podcasts I usually listened to and just hiked. And listened. And watched. And thus began my Hallelujah Lessons.

Lesson 1: Embrace mud. Life isn't always clean and neat and my sweet pooch knows that there's fun to be had in the tricky, smudgy, sloppy places. Sometimes good things happen when we're not afraid to get our paws muddy. I'm gonna make more effort to overlook the things that bug me and find the gleeful, puddle jumping opportunity somewhere in the bog. Because if my dog can stand in a mud puddle with that smile on her face, then I figure I can.

contributed by Suvi

An Easter Prayer by Walter Brueggemann

2010-05-15T22:45:00.000-07:00

…On our own, we conclude:
that there is not enough to go around
we are going to run short

of money
of love
of grades
of publications
of sex
of beer
of members
of years
of life

we should seize the day…
seize the goods…
seize our neighbor’s goods
because there is not enough to go around
and in the midst of our perceived deficit;

You come
You come giving bread in the wilderness
You come giving children at the 11th hour
You come giving homes to the exiles
You come giving futures to the shut-down
You come giving Easter joy to the dead
You come … fleshed … in Jesus

And we watch while
the blind receive their sight
the lame walk
the lepers are cleansed
the deaf hear
the dead are raised
the poor dance and sing.

We watch … and we take

food we did not grow and
life we did not invent and
future that is gift and gift and gift and
families and neighbors who sustain us
when we do not deserve it.

It dawns on us, late rather than soon, that
You give food in due season
you open your hand
and satisfy the desire of every living thing.

By your giving,
break our cycles of imagined scarcity
override our presumed deficits
quiet our anxieties of lack
transform our perceptual field to see
the abundance...mercy upon mercy
blessing upon blessing.

Sink your generosity deep into our lives

that your much-ness may expose our false lack
that endlessly receiving, we may endlessly give,

so that the world may be made Easter new,
without greedy lack, but only wonder
without coercive need, but only love
without destructive greed, but only praise
without aggression and evasiveness...
all things Easter new...

all around us, toward us and by us
all things Easter new.

Finish your creation...
in wonder, love and praise. Amen.

Psalm 96

2010-05-10T19:56:00.000-07:00

Sing God a brand-new song! Earth and everyone in it, sing!
Sing to God—worship God!

Shout the news of his victory from sea to sea,
Take the news of his glory to the lost,
News of his wonders to one and all!

For God is great, and worth a thousand Hallelujahs.
His terrible beauty makes the gods look cheap;
Pagan gods are mere tatters and rags.

God made the heavens—
Royal splendor radiates from him,
A powerful beauty sets him apart.

Bravo, God, Bravo!
Everyone join in the great shout: Encore!
In awe before the beauty, in awe before the might.

Bring gifts and celebrate,
Bow before the beauty of God,
Then to your knees—everyone worship!

Get out the message—God Rules!
He put the world on a firm foundation;
He treats everyone fair and square.

Let's hear it from Sky,
With Earth joining in,
And a huge round of applause from Sea.

Let Wilderness turn cartwheels,
Animals, come dance,
Put every tree of the forest in the choir—

An extravaganza before God as he comes,
As he comes to set everything right on earth,
Set everything right, treat everyone fair.

from The Message

2010-05-02T13:10:00.000-07:00

I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.

If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.

Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea air.

"1,12" from The Book of a Monastic Life by Rilke

contributed by Robin

The Celebration Goes On

2010-04-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

"I regard it as absurd and unjustifiable that we should spend forty days keeping Lent, pondering what it means, preaching about self-denial, being at least a little gloomy, and then bringing it all to a peak with Holy Week, which in turn climaxes in Maundy Thursday and Good Friday....and then, after a rather odd Holy Saturday, we have a single day of celebration.
... It ought to be an eight-day festival, with champagne served after morning prayer or even before, with lots of alleluias and extra hymns and spectacular anthems. Is it any wonder people find it hard to believe in the resurrection of Jesus if we don't throw our hats in the air? Is it any wonder we find it hard to live the resurrection if we don't do it exuberantly in our liturgies? Is it any wonder the world doesn't take much notice if Easter is celebrated as simply the one-day happy ending tacked on to forty days of fasting and gloom? It's long overdue that we took a hard look at how we keep Easter in church, at home, in our personal lives, right through the system." N.T. Wright

He is risen

2010-04-04T06:28:00.000-07:00

He is risen indeed!

Inbetween

2010-04-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

Our Saturday is different.

Ours sits

between a Friday called "Good"

and

a Sunday called "Resurrection".

but they had lost

everything.

their teacher

their friend

their hopes for Israel

their hopes for their souls

hopes bound up in Jesus.

now

betrayed

bound

beaten

and

crucified.

their (can't be) Messiah

DEAD .

hope crucified.

and yet

underneath all rational thought

a small soul-seed of hope

undetected

but stirring and sprouting,

pushes through

layers of despair

defying even the laws of nature.

in their hearts,

the faintest longing

hope.

But we,

we know the whole story.

we think we know the whole story.

Sunday comes,

He rises.

we rejoice.

yet, underneath seasonal rejoicing

there is something else we know

there are places in our lives

our families' lives

our friends' lives

where Sunday has not come

where Sunday just is not coming

where Sunday will never come

how can it?

the darkness is too great

the despair too heavy

this Saturday (and every Saturday) as we wait...

maybe in us too...

underneath all rational thought

a small soul-seed of hope

undetected

but stirring and sprouting,

pushes through

layers of despair

defying even the laws of nature.

in our (!) hearts,

the faintest longing

hope

contributed by Aimee

Good Friday

2010-04-02T12:48:00.000-07:00

They went out and followed him,
those who had sat with him at the table.
He led them to a garden
where he prayed while they slept,
prayed while they slept,
prayed while they slept.

He was kissed,
and because he was kissed he was arrested,
and when he was arrested, his friends fled,
some to go into hiding,
one to stand beside a bonfire,
and say I never knew him,
I never knew him,
I never knew him…until a cock crowed.

He was brought before the religious authorities
and accused of the sin of blasphemy
and of threatening insurrection.
Having no power to deal with him,
they handed him over to the state governor,
who listened to the accusations
and then asked the accused:
what have you to say?
what have you to say?
what have you to say?
…to which the response was silence.

He said it all.

He was not found to be guilty of any criminal
charges,
but because he was an embarrassment,
it was decided
that his own people should determine his fate.
This they did shouting,
crucify him!
crucify him!
crucify him!

He was cursed and spat on,
whipped and humiliated.
And on his shoulders a gift was placed,
which he accepted with grace.
Under the weight of this gift,
he stumbled and fell
stumbled and fell
stumbled and fell…
all the way to Calvary.

On top of a garbage dump,
he was nailed to a cross of wood
and left to die,
while soldiers gambled,
critics joked,
religious leaders smiled with satisfaction
and his mother watched and waited,
watched and waited,
watched and waited…
until the end she saw a sign of the beginning.

Savior of the world,
what have you done to deserve this?
And what have we done to deserve you?

Strung up between criminals,
cursed and spat upon,
you wait for death,
and look for us,
for us whose sin has crucified you.

To the mystery of underserved suffering,
you bring the deeper mystery of unmerited love.

Forgive us for not knowing what we have done;
open our eyes to what we are doing now,
as, through wood and nails,
you disempower our depravity
and transform us by your grace.

AMEN.

(Source: Iona Community, Stages on the Way)

Maundy Thursday

2010-04-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

When we worship as God's people on Maundy Thursday, we remember the last evening Christ spent with his disciples in the upper room. On that night, Jesus did three things: he washed the feet of his disciples, he instituted The Lord's Supper, and he gave them the 'new' commandment to love one another. The name given to this day comes from the last of these. 'Maundy' comes from the Latin maundatum novum, referring to the 'new mandate' Jesus gave his disciples in John 13:34:

So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other.

What does Jesus say will happen if we do this?

Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples. (v.35)

Could it be true that our love for each other is the distinguishing mark of what it means to be a follower of Jesus? That's an astounding claim, when you think about it. Will you join me today in reflecting and meditating on what it might mean to join in Christ's mission of love?

Here is a prayer to that end:

Holy God, source of love, on the night of his betrayal Jesus gave his disciples a new commandment, to love one another as he loved them: write this commandment in our hearts, and give us the will to serve others in the same way as he was the servant of all, who gave his life and died for us, yet is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

Prayer source: A Prayer Book for Australia

contributed by Nelson

Miracle

2010-03-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Shari-Anne

the miracle of seeing You

in the Old Testament stories of

two goats and a wondrous flood

in the body of a newborn

the miracle of being created

and creating because of You

the miracle of Words that

open doors and windows

and books and hearts

the miracle of solitude

let me not hide within

my skin the wonder of the universe

may your hands on my mind

be the miracle of this morning

Trust

2010-03-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Jeremy

Maybe I should have lented from stress, or perhaps from doubt.

A little under a year ago I was laid off from a job I'd held for close to four years. The timing was right - I was planning a move already when the news came, and I left a job I enjoyed with no bitterness toward anyone. I quickly applied for Employment Insurance payments and held on until I found new work just a couple months later. That new job came in the form of working with adults with developmental disabilities, a job that was richly fulfilling on many levels. It was a clear sign to me that God was taking care of me in a time of some major transitions in my life (around the same time I moved from Abbotsford to Vancouver, and got married). The job location was very close to our home, the hours were good, the job was generally stress-free, and I've always enjoyed my interactions with people with developmental disabilities, so the job seemed a natural fit for the time.

Of course it came with things that I found difficult, and I knew that the job wasn't completely taking advantage of all of my gifts and abilities, nor was it challenging me in many meaningful ways. Add to that the reality of being a part of a union that was threatening job action in April of this year, and I found myself slowly searching for my next employment step.

I began the season of lent this year with 2 job interviews, for 2 positions I was very excited about. Each promised to get back to me shortly with their decision, and I felt reasonably comfortable that I would have a new job within a few weeks. The days marched on, however, with little contact from my new potential employers, and with the potential of a strike looming in my current job, my stress began to rise. In times like these, I tend to think about my life and decisions I've made, and not necessarily in the most positive way. I wonder why I don't have a more practical college degree, why I never pursued certain promotions, and begin to doubt even what strengths and gifts I know I do have. I know I should instead look back and trace the hand of God through every step I've taken in my life - the incredibly rich college experiences I had and the lifelong friends I made there, the jobs that always seemed to come in the nick of time and that always seemed to fit me so well, the 'divine appointments along the way, and even (or especially) the way he led me to who is now my wife.

Through much of my life, the words of Jeremiah 29:11 have followed my steps. "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.'" It's a verse I've at least tried to hold on to, and seems to come back to me when I need to hear those words most.

So, a few weeks into lent (and after the two interviews), I finally received word from one of my two new potential employers: "We've hired someone else." Few more disappointing phrases exist in our language, and this was from the job I felt I had the best chance of achieving out of my two interviews. Clearly all hope was now lost. For a couple weeks I resumed browsing through job postings, wondering how I would ever find a job that I would enjoy and be good at, and if I was really ready for a life in my parents' basement while working at Burger King.

It was in fact, the morning after the darkest day of these last weeks... the day in which I truly thought I had no hope of new or meaningful employment, that the call came from the first of those two job interviewers, to ask if I was still interested in working with them, because they would like to offer me the job. So here I am, days away from the possibility of a strike in my 'old' job, about to start a new, presently exciting, challenging job... and true to form, it's come in the nick of time. And while it is simply a new job, and while I realize it may not be "perfect", I don't think it's too much for me to look at this as a true Ebenezer.

Thus far, the Lord has helped us. As the ending of Lent draws near and Good Friday approaches, I find myself so thankful that we follow a God who promises plans to give us a "hope and a future." Remember hope in all things.

Jesus, Prince of Peace

2010-03-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

We prayed these prayers together at Artisan last night. Join with me in continuing to pray them this week.

Jesus, Prince of Peace

Jesus,
Prince of Peace,
humble riding on a donkey

Jesus,
disturber of the peace,
you upset bad religion
when it gets in the way of God.

Jesus,
upsetter of the self-righteous,
you turn questions on their head,
offering no instant answers,
but showing the way.

Jesus,
lover of the lost,
you say ‘forgive’
when we want to shout ‘condemn!’

Jesus,
host at the table,
you share your best
even in the face of our worst.
Jesus,
Savior of the world
…yes, even the world
which wants you
until it meets you.

Ride On Ride On

LEADER:
Lord Jesus Christ,
…over the broken glass of our world,
the rumours meant to hurt,
the prejudice meant to wound,
the weapons meant to kill,
ride on…
trampling our attempts at disaster into dust.
ride on,

ALL: Ride on in majesty

LEADER:
…over the distance
which seperates us from you,
and it is such a distance,
measurable in half truths,
in unkept promises,
in second-best obedience,
ride on…
until you touch and heal us,
who feel for no one but ourselves
ride on,

ALL: Ride on in majesty

LEADER:
…and through the back streets
and the sin bins
and the disdained corners of the city,
where human life festers
and love runs cold,
ride on…
bringing hope and dignity
where most send scorn and silence.
ride on,

ALL: Ride on in majesty

LEADER:
For you, O Christ, do care
and must show us how.
On our own,
our ambitions rival your summons
and thus threaten good faith
and neglect God’s people.

In your company and at your side,
we might yet help to bandage and heal
the wounds of the world.
ride on,

ALL: Ride on in majesty Lord Jesus
and take us with you.
AMEN.

Prayers from Stages on the Way by the Iona Community
contributed by Aimee

Walking towards the end

2010-03-28T12:05:00.000-07:00

^{From John 12

1}Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. ²Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. ³Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

⁴But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected,⁵"Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year's wages." ⁶He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

⁷"Leave her alone," Jesus replied. " It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. ⁸You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me."

⁹Meanwhile a large crowd of Jews found out that Jesus was there and came, not only because of him but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. ¹⁰So the chief priests made plans to kill Lazarus as well, ¹¹for on account of him many of the Jews were going over to Jesus and putting their faith in him.

The Triumphal Entry

¹²The next day the great crowd that had come for the Feast heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. ¹³They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,
"Hosanna!"
"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"
"Blessed is the King of Israel!" ¹⁴Jesus found a young donkey and sat upon it, as it is written,
¹⁵"Do not be afraid, O Daughter of Zion;
see, your king is coming,
seated on a donkey's colt."

¹⁶At first his disciples did not understand all this. Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him.

¹⁷Now the crowd that was with him when he called Lazarus from the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to spread the word. ¹⁸Many people, because they had heard that he had given this miraculous sign, went out to meet him.¹⁹So the Pharisees said to one another, "See, this is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after him!"

painting by Paul Stoub

contributed by Aimee

Outside

2010-03-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Shari-Anne

He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces. He was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. Isaiah 53: 3-4

I remember a time when I lived in a foreign country and I felt outside in a way I had never known. I was surrounded with lively people, beautiful streets, a dearly familiar sun and moon, the sounds of the accordions and lyrical voices, and yet, I was outside. I couldn’t understand all these strange words and sounds, I couldn’t read the newspaper, I couldn’t watch the television. I couldn’t visit a friend and have tea and talk about old times or a beautiful book. I had no context for my history, for my identity. It was a quiet season.

photograph by Sandra Juto

In the midst of this I learned to encounter and experience my Creator in a profound new way. He offered Himself to me as companion, as darling friend. I sensed His presence so robust in the cobblestone alleyways, under the starry sky, next to the Etruscan ruins. He listened always and made sense of my aloneness. He welcomed me in, He understood me, and I found my home in Him.

Maybe I experienced a tiny taste of what Jesus of Nazareth experienced when He was here. He was different and gentle and strong and misunderstood, rejected by the culture around Him. I am so amazed at His courage, how He boldly spoke and healed and didn’t hide away when He knew tension was growing.

Do you remember times in your life when you felt outside? Times where you said something and nobody seemed to understand, or times where everyone laughed at you? Times where you made a decision and nobody supported you. Or perhaps you had moved to a new city or a new country and you felt as if your whole world was across the sea, moving on without you?

Most of us likely agree that these feelings are so undesirable. We just want to be a part of things. I wish that every time I experienced these outsider feelings, I recognized Jesus in the midst of it. Imagine if we remember what He experienced on earth, allowing ourselves to taste the pain of His rejection in these moments. Imagine if we really remembered that He is on our side, understanding us, embracing us, and delighting in us in a way more complete than any human ever could?

Sometimes it’s so hard to remember the Invisible in these moments. As we anticipate Easter and Jesus’ death and resurrection, my prayer is that I and we as a community can take our eyes off of our own outsider feelings, our self-consciousness, and lift our eyes and ears to heaven, to our King, who suffered so we could be healed, who died so we could be free.

Returning Home

2010-03-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Return of the Prodigal Son

Thought I'd continue meandering down the musical pathway that Melanie started Wednesday and which Lance continued yesterday :).

A few years ago I wrote a song for Lent. It was part of a project called Keeping Time, Vol 02, a collection of hymns, spirituals and original material on the themes evoked by the liturgical year, recorded by my jazz trio and a couple of guests. Below are my reflections on the song, which were included in the liner notes of the recording. If you'd like to have a listen, click here, then on the song's title, "Returning Home", in the music player on the right.

***

Lent is a time of coming to ourselves, of realizing the distance we have put between ourselves and God. ...Henri Nouwen said, “The spiritual life starts at the place where you can hear God’s voice.” As Jesus so wisely said, it takes ears ready to hear to really listen, and eyes ready to see to really perceive. Coming to ourselves prepares us to return home, regardless of how home is understood.

Kenneth T. Lawrence, ed. Imaging the Word Volume I

Stirred by the truths in Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son (inspired by and named after Rembrandt’s painting), I set out to compose a new song that would somehow convey what “returning home” sounded like. After I finished it and played it, I was moved to tears. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe I was a bit more fatigued than usual that morning. Maybe the emotions came because this was the last piece written for this recording – a sort of ‘composer’s homecoming’. Maybe the images and memories evoked by the title of the piece just had a way of tugging at my heart in some uncommon way. Maybe it was because my wife, too, cried the first time she heard it. Who really knows why a particular piece of music grips us so, while another leaves us unmoved? Probably a question best left unanswered.

contributed by Nelson

Tintinnabulation

2010-03-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

This is Arvo Pärt.
Pärt is an Estonian classical composer who has been composing since the 1970's. Often utilizing simple harmonies, single notes, and large amounts of space, Pärt prefers a pure, minimalism in his compositions. This slow, meditative approach is captured in something he calls tintinnabuli - which Pärt describes as being like "the ringing of bells". One of the first pieces Pärt wrote in this tintinnabuli style, was Fur Alina which was composed in 1976.

Fur Alina appears very simple. The score is only two pages long and the majority of the notes found in the piece are whole notes. There are only 15 bars of written music and there is no time signature given. For a tempo marking, the following is written: ‘Ruhig, erhaben, in sich hineinhorchend’, which roughly translates into ‘peacefully, in an exalted and introspective manner’. The song is played with the piano pedal down, save for the last 4 bars, creating a floating and expansive sound. Everything about the piece, from its composition to performance, invites the listener to dwell - inside the notes and in the silence.

In describing his process of tintinnabuli, Pärt said:
"Tintinnabulation is an area I sometimes wander into when I am searching for answers—in my life, my music, my work. In my dark hours, I have the certain feeling that everything outside this one thing has no meaning. The complex and many-faceted only confuses me, and I must search for unity. What is it, this one thing, and how do I find my way to it? Traces of this perfect thing appear in many guises—and everything that is unimportant falls away. Tintinnabulation is like this. Here I am alone with silence. I have discovered that it is enough when a single note is beautifully played. This one note, or a silent beat, or a moment of silence, comforts me."

I think Lent might be a bit like tintinnabulation - a season we wander into, looking for answers, hoping that everything that is unimportant will fall away. Drawn out of the clutter and noisiness of our lives, in the silence we can be comforted and know that it even one note beautifully played, is enough. Listen to Fur Alina here

"Silence is disturbing. It is disturbing because it is the wavelength of the soul. If we leave no space in our music—and I'm as guilty as anyone else in this regard—then we rob the sound we make of a defining context. It is often music born from anxiety to create more anxiety. It's as if we're afraid of leaving space. Great music's as much about the space between the notes as it is about the notes themselves.” - Sting

* Artisan will be listening to Arvo Part's Passio on Good Friday - all 70 minutes worth! See artisanvancouver.ca for more details.

contributed by Lance

Spring

2010-03-24T13:09:00.000-07:00

contributed by Melanie

I love spring. I love how everything that has been lying dormant and seems dead, suddenly comes back to life. Daffodils come up, camelias, rhododendrons, tulips, even dandelions, start to bloom. It always brings to mind ideas of ressurrection, new life, second chances. The other day I heard a song that really resonated with me and I thought I'd share it with you. I usually go through worship songs and tear them apart word by word, since that is what I was taught to do in Worship school (haha) but for once I just pulled out one line and didn't worry about the rest. What I love about this song is the line that says "for You and You alone awake my soul. Awake my soul and sing." This is my prayer in this "season" of my life - I have been waiting for a personal springtime in my own life for what feels like a very long time. I get glimpses of spring, but I feel as though there are areas of my life that are still lying dormant. Hopefully not dead, just sleeping. But only Christ can do it. Only He can bring my heart back to life again. Spring is a yearly visual reminder for me that resurrection is possible and real. That winter doesn't have to last forever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ljr6lqu2-ec

Mystery

2010-03-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

Mystery is a truth which lies beyond us. It can be entered into, explored, inhabited even; but it can never be exhausted or fathomed. Our age dislikes intensely the idea of mystery, because it directly exposes our limitations.

Cardinal Basil Hume

contributed by Aimee

There Are Days

2010-03-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

There are days

when I believe in

the reconciliation of old walls,

in stone fences giving up

to the weather,

when calla lilies

are white flags

and all the grass bends

to the southern wind,

days when doors open,

the table set for tea,

telegrams arriving

that say I am loved

just as I am,

when I loosen my grip

on the cup, set it down,

turn up my palms,

and they bloom like crocuses.

-Jean Janzen

contributed by Robin

Swallowing Grace

2010-03-21T00:59:00.000-07:00

contributed by Terri

In past Lent seasons I have been incredibly unforgiving of myself. I have strictly followed what I have given up. I remember one year giving up chocolate and popping a chocolate timbit into my mouth in the staffroom at work only to spit it out seconds later after realizing what I had done.

Grace is a difficult thing for me to receive and in some areas difficult for me to hand out. Sometimes I wonder if I can truly be a gracious person if I am unable to receive the grace that has been so freely given to me? I have a hard time receiving from others, trusting in others and I at times find it particularly tough to receive help and grace from my heavenly Father. I love my earthly father dearly. However, my relationship with him has sometimes made it problematic for me to trust in what my heavenly Father says He will do.

This Lent season I have been meditating a great deal on trying to receive God’s abundant Grace that is given to me over and over again. This year instead of forcing myself to spit out my sacrifice I have been trying to swallow it. I have used my sacrifice as a time to remember what Christ all so willingly sacrificed for me. He gave it all for me and would have done it had I been the only one on the planet. That is hard for me to swallow. So this Lent instead of following the rules as rigidly as I usually do I have tried to receive and swallow the Grace that God gives so lovingly. With each time I have failed, instead of spitting out the Grace that God has for me I have chosen to swallow it and enjoy its sweet taste.

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. (Hebrews 4:15-16)

The Incomplete

2010-03-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

contributed by Aimee

As Easter approaches I have been thinking about being saved. Easter is not a big deal if you don't need (read: don't think you need) a saviour. If I can handle things myself... Read a few self-help books... Smooth off my own rough edges... then I don't need Good Friday and I don't need Easter.

As a Christian I would never actually think that I don't need a saviour, but my actions betray me. There is something - for me - that is very very hard about needing. Needing to be saved implies a deficit within me. An area where I don't measure up. And I don't like this, not one bit.

But there are two choices here.

Number one: I can ignore the plain fact that I am imperfect and deeply broken and go ahead and try to save myself. This results in ceaseless, futile, frustrating reaches for perfection. Devastation. And then eventually I realize I need to be saved - not by myself, but from myself!

Number two: I can accept the truth and rejoice that I am not left to save myself, but that Jesus has already done the work and offers grace. Not stiffly and begrudgingly as I sometimes do, but with unconditional love, and joy.

I don't really know why this choice is so hard.

Needing - the thing I have so much trouble with - brings me closer to Jesus. Ignorant independence leads me away.

As Nelson said in yesterday's post - God help me choose well.

------

THE INCOMPLETE
Lance Odegard

With all of my wrongs all of my wickedness/
The repeated harm I’ve done I put it on the Son/
I enter the light empty my pockets in His sight/
For this is how the crooked are made to stand up right/

This is my glory - that I still need a Saviour/
This is my glory - that I can’t out grow grace/
This is my glory - to know the hunger and the bread/
This is my glory - to feel the incomplete/

With all the lights out and the covers pulled up tight/
My wife beside me sleeps as I stare wide at the night/
Eternity calls, whispers loud inside my chest/
Echoes with the weight of loneliness/

This ache is a burning ember/ this ache is a flashlight/
this ache causes me to remember/ this ache is a homing device/
This long longing stretching out from inside us/
It is the rope we need – hand over hand we trust

The Stronger Man

2010-03-19T08:38:00.000-07:00

contributed by Nelson

Luke 11:14-23 (NLT)

One day Jesus cast out a demon from a man who couldn’t speak, and when the demon was gone, the man began to speak. The crowds were amazed, but some of them said, “No wonder he can cast out demons. He gets his power from Satan, the prince of demons.” Others, trying to test Jesus, demanded that he show them a miraculous sign from heaven to prove his authority. He knew their thoughts, so he said, “Any kingdom divided by civil war is doomed. A family splintered by feuding will fall apart. You say I am empowered by Satan. But if Satan is divided and fighting against himself, how can his kingdom survive? And if I am empowered by Satan, what about your own exorcists? They cast out demons, too, so they will condemn you for what you have said. But if I am casting out demons by the power of God, then the Kingdom of God has arrived among you. For when a strong man like Satan is fully armed and guards his palace, his possessions are safe—until someone even stronger attacks and overpowers him, strips him of his weapons, and carries off his belongings. Anyone who isn’t with me opposes me, and anyone who isn’t working with me is actually working against me."

***

I’ll be honest. Anytime a passage about Jesus casting out demons comes up, I get nervous. I don’t know exactly why that is. Perhaps I am sometimes guilty of leaning toward the one ‘extreme’ C.S. Lewis talks about avoiding – the one that doesn’t think demons exist. Maybe I’m so careful to avoid the other extreme (the one that sees a demon behind every bush) that I overcompensate. I suppose we do that all the time. We carry misunderstandings, fears, one-sided judgments and in the interest of staying ‘balanced’ in our perspective, we stray too far the other direction. Life really is about balance; holding tensions that are often unresolved.

And yet the gospels speak of the demonic and Jesus’ power over these ‘strong men’ in very concrete, matter-of-fact terms. Crowds were divided, just like we are. Some were in awe. Some didn’t think Jesus was legit. Others wanted him to prove himself further: 'Do another one!'

What does Jesus do? Knowing all their thoughts, he addresses the naysayers first, pointing out how ridiculous it would be for Satan to cast out Satan. Then he says that if he IS legit, then there is a new administration–a new order–in town. It’s here. Present tense. Get used to it. He uses an analogy of a strong man being beat out by a stronger man. It’s pretty easy to get that. Everyone can tell when opponents are mismatched. There is language of armed guards, physical attack and all-out battle (which, I remind myself, demonic oppression and divine deliverance in fact are: a fight for control, to the death; whether that be physical, spiritual, emotional, physchological, what have you). And finally Jesus demands allegiance. ‘If you’re not with me, you’re against me.’

In other words, if you’re not following me, you’re following someone (or something) else. If you’re not worshipping me, you’re worshipping something else. If you’re not listening to me, you’re listening to someone else. If you’re not receiving me, you’re receiving someone else. If you’re not joining me (in gathering), you’re scattering.

I resist this sharp either/or-ness, and I blame that resistance on grace. I blame it on my biblically-grounded belief in the relentless pursuit of God for his people. How do I balance (there’s that word again) this passage with the ones that talk about us running away and God chasing after us? What about the story of the prodigal? The lost sheep and coin? The cross of Christ himself? We stray all the time ('prone to wander, Lord I feel it...') but we’re told that God’s heart is always to draw us back.

But maybe these two realities are not at odds after all. Perhaps this either/or talk is in fact an expression of God’s pursuit of us. Could it be? Maybe this is one way of Jesus saying, ‘Look. The choice is yours. It always will be. But believe me, you wanna be with me, not against me. The alternative is to be on the losing team. Because–regardless of what you decide–I will overtake the strong man. I AM the stronger man. Choose me now, and you’ll be glad you did. Don’t choose me, and I’ll find ways to stay after you. I won’t stop pursuing or loving you, even if you reject me.’

See, when we hear the words, ‘Anyone who isn't with me opposes me’, we immediately assume that means Jesus is now against us. Wrong:

But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners…For since our friendship with God was restored by the death of his Son while we were still his enemies, we will certainly be saved through the life of his Son. Romans 5:8, 10 (NLT)

Jesus told us to “love our enemies” (Luke 6:27). He wouldn’t tell us to do something that he didn’t model himself. God’s heart is oriented toward those who are against him. That’s the good news. But heed the warning implicit within that very good news. This passage reminds us that there is an enemy who is fighting hard for our souls. He is not ‘out there’ somewhere, but rather much closer and much more subtle than we think. He is constantly hot on our tails. When it all comes down, we have a daily either/or decision to make. We can choose to fight in the corner of a strong man, or we can choose the stronger man.

In this Lent season, God, help us--help me--choose well.

Decluttering the Wardrobe

2010-03-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

contributed by Lance

If one of the things Lent is about is decluttering the distractions, then I need decluttered speech. I need words and more specifically, ways with words that are simplified. This is because I am a liar.

These days, the lying doesn’t happen in the point blank ways it did, say when I was a teenager.

Mom: Lance, I was doing laundry and found these in your pocket [lifts up a packet of Players cigarettes].

Lance: [pause] Oh geeez [said with exaggerated exasperation] Phil!!! He’s always getting me to hold on to his smokes. It’s so annoying because he forgets to get them back from me right?... and then…this happens. Sorry mom, I’ll make sure he quits doing this.

Or.

Dad: [at the kitchen table during Sunday lunch] Why are your fingers so orange?

Lance: Orange? [looking at hands] Oh, I was just eating cheetos.

Dad: [unimpressed stare]

Lance: A lot of them.

Now, the lying is different. I’ve grown up. I’m more refined (debatable) and so is my lying. It’s not so much about telling bold face lies as it is telling partial truths, giving edited accounts of an event. Sometimes it’s about leaving out the shadowy parts in order to put myself in the best light. Sometimes it’s about being intentionally vague when exactness needed. Sometimes it’s embellishing minor details until they become the main points. There are just so many ways of using language to conceal and dodge the truth. And I’m fairly good at most of them.

_____

If you don't know the kind of person I am  
and I don't know the kind of person you are 
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world 
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,  
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break 
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood 
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail, 
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,  
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty 
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy, 
a remote important region in all who talk: 
though we could fool each other, we should consider— 
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake, 
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep; 
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe— should be clear:
the darkness around us is deep.

—William Stafford

“…we will no longer be immature like children. We won’t be tossed and blown about by every wind of new teaching. We will not be influenced when people try to trick us with lies so clever they sound like the truth. Instead, we will speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ, who is the head of his body, the church…Since you have heard about Jesus and have learned the truth that comes from him, throw off your old sinful nature and your former way of life, which is corrupted by lust and deception. Instead, let the Spirit renew your thoughts and attitudes. Put on your new nature, created to be like God—truly righteous and holy. So stop telling lies. Let us tell our neighbors the truth, for we are all parts of the same body.” [Ephesians 4:14-15; 21-25 NLT]

Prayer

2010-03-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

You did not proclaim solemn beliefs

Preach with big words

Or even give me sound advice

You did not look taller than me

But you lay on the ground

At my level, by my side, very close

Your arm rested on my chest

On my heavy heart

As a lifting power

Your breath caressed my cheek

As long as it took

To quiet my own breathing

poem from Here I sit, by Rene Fumoleau

contributed by Elli

An excerpt from A Cry for Mercy: Prayers from the Genesee, Henri J.M. Nouwen

2010-03-16T08:20:00.000-07:00

  O Lord, this holy season of Lent is passing quickly. I entered into it with fear, but also with great expectations. I hoped for a great breakthrough, a powerful conversion, a real change of heart; I wanted Easter to be a day so full of light that not even a trace of darkness would be left in my soul. But I know that you do not come to your people with thunder and lightning. Even St. Paul and St. Francis journeyed through much darkness before they could see your light. Let me be thankful for your gentle way. I know you are at work. I know you will not leave me alone. I know you are quickening me for Easter - but in a way fitting to my own history and my own temperament.

I pray that these last three weeks, in which you invite me to enter more fully into the mystery of your passion, will bring me a greater desire to follow you on the way that you create for me and to accept the cross that you give to me. Let me die to the desire to choose my own way and select my own desire. You do not want to make me a hero but a servant who loves you.

Be with me tomorrow and in the days to come, and let me experience your gentle presence. Amen.

contributed by Kenton

human

2010-03-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

contributed by Robin

I have to confess, I have a hard time with Jesus being human. I comprehend his divine aspects without too much trouble, but my brain can’t seem to grasp that my saviour was once an eating, laughing, walking, talking, pooping person (and yes, I probably will mention poop in all of my posts). I think I put up this mental barrier because I feel guilty for not being more like Jesus. You see, it’s easy to feel okay about not being more like God, so much of God is a mystery that I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be Him. Not being like Jesus, that’s tougher, because I can actually imagine what his ‘human’ experiences on earth were like – I know the soreness of feet that have walked in sandals all day, the frustration of trying to teach a friend who just isn’t getting it, the look of those broken by poverty as they ask you for help, the taste of a meal enhanced by the company of new friends. So, to avoid feeling that Jesus did a much better job with his life than I am, I mentally avoid the acknowledgement such similarities between us - which is easy most of the time. There have been a few times when my efforts have been thwarted unexpectedly, Jesus gently pushing at that sore spot in my heart that doesn’t want to compare myself to him.

Most recently this mental barrier was broken by a painting by Caravaggio. I was sitting in Art History 102, focusing on staying awake as the instructor rambled through her PowerPoint on 17^th century Italian art. My brain was idling, the caffeine in my morning cup of coffee not having kicked in quite yet. Then Entombment flashed on the screen, and I froze the way a cat does when it spots the bird in the tree. I guess the piece worked as Caravaggio intended, the drama of the stark contrasts between dark and light, the altar on which Jesus is being laid extending out toward me, the haggard face of Nicodemus...suddenly I was there, burying one of my best friends.

And I was ANGRY! Even though I know the empty tomb awaits on Easter morning, I sure didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel that it was my sin that Jesus died for, or that this was all a part of God’s plan to redeem Israel. I certainly wasn’t thinking about the divine aspects of Christ that I normally find so easy to understand. Instead I was burning for the injustice of my friend being treated like a common thief and for no good reason. And I was mad that now I’d have to leave him there in a hurry, without proper burial rights because it was the Sabbath. I was thinking about the people who did this to Jesus in 4 letter words. A few hot angry tears jumped to my eyes.

I was glad the classroom was dimly lit.

To me a dead Jesus is the most human Jesus. He was a man, a really good man, the best man, and on that horrible day his heart stopped beating, no breath went out from his lips and he was left cold and alone in a tomb. And his friends and family were devastated. No one was really thinking about what Jesus had said about his death, they were too overwhelmed by hurt, anger, and sorrow. The thought of my name never crossing those lips again, those eyes never dancing with laughter, those hands never reaching out to someone I would never touch...as we so often say, you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

I’ve been thinking of this painting a lot during lent: reconnecting with those feelings, thinking that the best Easter was the first Easter - when humanity reached its lowest lows and highest highs. Like a birthday or an anniversary, the remembrance is never as powerful as the original experience, but this painting helps me connect with that feeling that Jesus is human, and taken away, and that makes that empty tomb on Sunday so much sweeter.

labyrinth

2010-03-14T08:12:00.000-07:00

contributed by Jeremy

In February, near the beginning of Lent, Shari and I were each able to book some time off, and took an inexpensive trip to San Francisco to explore the city for a week. I could write for some time just about the city and the trip, but I want to share about one experience in particular.

In the heart of the city stands a giant stone Anglican cathedral, built in the early 1900’s. We read about it in our Lonely Planet guide to the city, and thought it would be a nice place to see one afternoon, so we made our way there, thinking that we would perhaps stay an hour or so, see the space, and then make our way on to some bookstore or coffeeshop for a while. We ended up staying longer than we anticipated, largely because of an encounter with a prayer labyrinth embedded in the stone floor near the back of this beautiful sacred space.

After taking time to walk through the labyrinth, unsure of what to do or how to interact with the exercise, I sat and wrote some reflections on this simple yet powerful meditative experience… a silent contemplation in the midst of traffic sounds that insisted their way inside, the footsteps and hushed conversations of tourists, and even the distraction of wondering if we still had enough money to pay for the rest of our vacation.

The labyrinth, a large round maze-like shape, has darker grey lines to mark the stone colored corridors, maybe 14 inches wide, which lead the participant on a long, slow journey to the center and back out again.

I began, uncertain what my posture should be, hands in my pockets fingering the hotel key card in one and wishing it were a rosary or something of a more transcendent nature… but a Holiday Inn card it was, and a Holiday Inn card it remained. I was surprised to find myself quickly on a short section of corridor immediately next to the center. This, I’m sure, is by design – a quick glimpse of our destination, to sustain us through the rest of this journey.

Of course, the path of the labyrinth moved me alternately nearer and farther from the destination at the center, in what at times felt like a frustrating back and forth meandering. Certainly the point of the labyrinth, or in fact the journey it represents, is not to get from point A to point B in a quick or efficient manner. Curious, and another reminder to me of the strange, often abstruse nature of God’s kingdom.

As I came to one of the many 180 degree turns, I paused, looking around in an attempt to situate myself. Immediately I became aware that there was no way of knowing how close or how far I was to the start or the end of my journey. I am reminded of the many calls to trust, the steps of faith that we all take, often only knowing the next few steps of the path and trusting that in the end it will have led us anywhere at all.

Frequently as I traveled, I was tempted to simply step out of the labyrinth. Was there really a need to follow this path straight to the end? Haven’t I gotten the point already? Don’t we need to leave soon? For some reason, I didn’t… and I felt richer for having spent the time to slowly travel...

As lent began, I found myself wondering how I could observe this season in any meaningful way. My ideas all seemed so simple and somehow personally meaningless. (Should I stay off facebook? Should I avoid chips and snack foods, or drink only water? ) Encountering this labyrinth experience truly gave me a direction then at the start of the season. It’s difficult to explain and may sound silly, but I chose then to abstain from ‘speed’ for the season of lent – to travel more slowly, and perhaps with more purpose. To see the bits of meaning that God has planted through out our journeys, just as entering this labyrinth – a journey that is slow and inefficient – allowed me to see little bits of truth with every step.

2010-03-13T09:00:00.000-08:00

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
 and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
 which is natural which is infinite which is yes  

(i who have died am alive again today, 
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)  

how should tasting touching hearing seeing 
breathing any--lifted from the no 
of all nothing--human merely being 
doubt unimaginable You?  

(now the ears of my ears awake and 
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
e.e. cummings

Installation by Kristi Malakoff

contributed by Shari-Anne

Cookies for Jesus?

2010-03-12T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Andrea

One rainy morning last fall, I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast with an old friend, when she shared with me something, something that I have chewed on off and on for the past months, but as of yet had not the time to draw all of my random musings into some sort of coherent idea. However, a conversation at church last Sunday seemed to bring a lot of these drifting inklings into focus. So it's here and forming, and this little post will be my attempt at sorting. This disclaimer aside, please forgive my wanderings as I wonder and write.

We have been friends for many years, but it always seemed that one of us was picking up and leaving as soon as the other returned from overseas. We had both now found ourselves settled in the city, and both tentatively moving in the direction of a less nomadic future (for the time being at least). She had just enrolled in school, after a long break, in the fine arts program at Langara, and I, after spending seven months living in India, had no intentions of going anywhere remotely interesting for a long time. For my part, sitting alone in a quiet room was all the adventure I needed.

She was sharing with me the passion and excitement she was feeling at school, her love of the arts and learning, and how inspiration was striking her in the most unexpected places. Myself, on the other hand bemoaned the fact that I could hardly bring myself to get out my paints, let alone find inspiration. I felt slow and devoid of anything one might label as 'creative'. All I do, I told her, is life, the normal stuff. Going to work, coming home, sleeping, cooking dinner, cleaning, baking bread... in the midst of this life maintenance, there was no room or energy left for art. I wondered if I had lost my creativity, if the inspiration would never return.

It was then that she shared with me a documentary she had watched, in school earlier that week. It was about the life and art of Mierle Ukeles, who in New York, during the 70's, explored the idea of 'maintenance art' ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJ9GWlFZz1g ). Essentially, as far as my understanding goes, Mierle decided in her busyness of home making, that her every day tasks and chores were in fact 'art', and labeled them as such. In fact, she even went so far as to advertise a 'performance art' exhibit, in which she would be washing the steps of a New York art gallery from 2pm to 5pm, on June 13^th 1974.

My friend then challenged me to change my perception of the everyday, of the mundane. Why not decide that my chores, that my job as a cashier were in fact my 'art'? Hm.

As I pondered over this in the following weeks and months of daily life, I began to see how scripture too, could be seen to support this idea. Ephesians 2:10 claims that “We are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do”. God the master artist, has created us, indeed as co-artisans (as we are so often reminded by Nelson). And he has given us our 'art projects' along the way, to complete for his glory. I wondered, if these 'good works' that we have been given, are in fact what I always assumed. Is it just 'religious' stuff that falls under the category of my 'good work'? Of my appointed art projects? Hm.

I am then drawn to Colossians 3:17, which says “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him”. In that respect well, then I suppose my cleaning the toilet, my making the bed and ringing people through my till, perhaps these can all be my art projects? The word 'whatever' is pretty all-inclusive, isn't it?

Now to the third and final part of my wandering (thank-you for bearing with me thus far), my conversation on Sunday, with Michelle. She had alluded earlier in the week she had a story to share with Kyle and I, and I was curious to hear what she had to say. Michelle shared how a close co-worker friend of hers, whom she loved dearly and had invited to Artisan on numerous occasions bought some furniture. The furniture she bought however, came from the company that Kyle works for (Kyle being in charge of the warehouse and organizing customer deliveries). Michelle and her friend made the connection and she shared it with Kyle and we laughed over the small world we live in. However, the story isn't over, please bear with the connections that follow... Michelle's friend's furniture needed some maintenance. So Kyle's co-worker, whom Kyle had often invited as well to Artisan, went to do the repairs. At her home, the two co-workers (of Michelle and Kyle) discussed how their two friends had been encouraging them to come to church. Michelle's co-worker encouraged Kyle's to attend Artisan. It was then that Kyle's co-worker began to share how impressed he was with Kyle. He shared three things with the her, which were later relayed back to Michelle, and then back to us on Sunday. Kyle's co-worker shared with Michelle's co-worker that:

a) Kyle is ALWAYS happy

b) Kyle LOVES his wife

c) his wife bakes him COOKIES!

We laughed as Michelle shared the story with us, but she went on to say how impressed her friend was with these facts that to us, just seem like normal life.

In the hours and days that followed, I wondered. I wondered about my chores, about maintenance, about art, about cookies and glorifying Christ in the everyday of life. I wonder that he can use me at home, alone with a cookie sheet, to be a light to Kyle's co-worker, and randomly (or not?) Michelle's as well. In the place of a tidy summary statement, I would be interested to hear what others think, can the mundane be art? Can good deeds really be so simple, with the right motivation? Hm....

Not Can’t. Won’t

2010-03-11T06:27:00.000-08:00

contributed by Melanie

So I failed at Lent this year. Just like I have every other year I’ve attempted it. I even went for giving up two things this time so that if I gave in to one thing I’d still have the other to fall back on. I think the reason I’ve failed to give up my two things for a month is that I really don’t care that much. That must be it, because, really, how hard is it not to eat chocolate or drink chai tea lattes for 40 days? I am so embarrassed that I can’t even sacrifice something so simple. No, not can’t. Won’t. This is what makes me so mad about lent because it brings to the forefront something that is a constant nagging in the back of my mind – that my faith costs me nothing. So far, I have sacrificed very little, if anything, to follow Christ and when I have the chance to make a minute gesture of sacrifice I decide part way through that it’s not really a big deal if I drink a chai latte or not. It’s not that I can’t do it. I just don’t want to. Now it’s time for a random story.

We had a pastor from Vietnam come to our church once and tell his story about what life as a Christian is like in Vietnam. He has been in prison at least twice, adding up to seven years in total, just for preaching the gospel. The first time he was in prison for four years and, in Vietnam, that means living in a 10 x 10 cement cell with no air conditioning in constant, oppressive heat and humidity. During that time his wife and children had to go find jobs selling things in the streets in order to support themselves. When he got out, his wife didn’t beg him to stop teaching people about Christ or to put an end to the secret bible school they had set up. Instead, they both agreed he should go right back to what he was doing before, even though they both knew it would likely mean another prison term and further separation from one another. The second time he was in for three years. He said his favorite thing to do in jail was to sing and pray and was able to keep his morale fairly high. But at some point his wife also got thrown in prison – the same one he was in – and when he found out he finally broke down. He had no strength left and said, in tears and anger, “really, God? I’ve given everything for you and now my children will be left without parents to look after them?” A few minutes later one of the prison guards came to his cell and asked him, “What are you crying for? Your wife is singing over in her cell.” And then he said he felt really embarrassed because he had been so “weak.” But then, through prayer, God told him she would be released in three days and she was. He remained for another few years. He is out of prison now, but both he and his wife continue the work they have been doing all along to help grow and strengthen the underground church in Vietnam. He said that, often, when North Americans pray for them, they pray for the persecution to stop. In Vietnam they don’t ask that of God. They ask for the strength to embrace the suffering so that the church may continue to grow. Perhaps I should write him a letter to tell him how I am struggling to give up chocolate and chai tea for 40 days. I’m sure he’d understand.

I am so frustrated with myself today. I know that there is grace for us, but sometimes, honestly, I think I just use “grace” as an excuse to be selfish and lazy. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to be exactly like the world. I want to be different. I want to be like the girl in the Bible who poured out that bottle of perfume that was worth a year’s wages over Jesus’ feet. Sadly, I think I would have been the one saying, “Why did you do that? Think of all the chai tea lattes you could have bought with that money!” When it comes right down to it, when faced with the choice between my own comfort and sacrifice, I will choose my own comfort almost every time. In my heart I want to make a difference. But I also don’t like suffering. I have a really hard time embracing pain. I figure I’ve had my share. I want life to be good. Can’t life just be good? Today I need to feel the frustration and I think that is part of this whole lent experience. It is not all sunshine and roses in our walk with Christ. Sometimes it is hard. Not to give up chocolate and chai, but to embrace what it really means to follow Christ in this culture of over-consumption. Sometimes I think I’m only cut out for North American Christianity. It requires so little of me and apparently that’s the way I like it.

Aimee posted this scripture but I am submitting it again because it’s one I’d rather skip over than meditate on.

"Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat; I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for?” Mark 8:34

I really hope that if (more like when, the way things are going) the time comes for me to make a stand for my faith, a stand that could cost me my life, that I am ready and willing to do it. If the Lent test is any indication, I’m in trouble.

God-breathed

2010-03-10T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Kyle

This is short, because I have only one short thing to say.

I once had the entire chapter 104 of Psalms memorized. (That's not the one thing. Wait for it, it's coming). I memorized it because I was in training for my time spent in India, and the leaders of the organization encouraged morning memorization as part of our daily routine while at the training facilities. I had always loved that chapter, and so I took it upon myself to memorize it, and I was successful.

Later, Andrea and I decided that we were going to try to memorize the entire book of Ephesians, since it is a book that we both find very uplifting and powerful. We started just before we left for India, but somehow our interest in memorizing fell by the wayside, and our interest in daily Delhi living (aka, staying emotionally and physically intact) took over. Life went on until we found ourselves back in Canada working regular jobs but continuing our mission in Vancouver.

For me, this mission has meant being a light to the guys I work with. This is sometimes hard and sometimes less hard, but it is never simple. I have found, however, that more and more often our conversations are revolving around Jesus or the church or faith in general. This is encouraging, and a lot of interesting and sometimes hard questions have been thrown at me. Whenever these questions have shown up, the small amount of scripture that I do know has come in very handy. I often answer their inquiries with something like, “Well, the Bible says...” and paraphrase whatever it is that I am using to answer their question. But the odd time that I am able to quote the Bible directly I find there is a different feeling in the room. Perhaps it is a small picture of what Jesus experienced when he felt the power go out of him as the bleeding woman touched his robe when he passed by in the crowd. Now, maybe that's pushing it, but there is an authority inherent in the scriptures, and quoting a verse that you have memorized in a situation to which it directly applies can be very effective and can change the atmosphere in a room. It is, after all, the living and breathing Word of the Lord. If any of you think I'm overstating this, go check out the temptation of Jesus in Matthew 4.

I have sat and chewed on this notion for a few weeks now, and Andrea and I have recently renewed our efforts to memorize Paul's letter to the Ephesians. I may never memorize the whole book, but it's worth a shot. It is more than possible that I will eventually encounter a situation where I can apply verses from Ephesians directly, and having them memorized may be the key to introducing God's authority into that situation.

Here's the part where I say my one short thing.

I'm not going to say that as a church we should be sent home on Sundays with a weekly memory verse, but I am going to say that I think it is a discipline that is often overlooked in a contemporary Christian setting. There are a lot of benefits to stretching our abilities in this area, and I am certain that if you suddenly did feel inclined to try to grow in this area, you would see results in your day to day lives as you interact with the people around you.

Well... there you have it. This is what I'm doing for Lent. That's all I'm going to say.

Blessings.

Kyle.

“All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.” - 2 Timothy 3:16-17

Who do you say that I am?

2010-03-09T00:00:00.000-08:00

contributed by Aimee

As I walk through lent towards Good Friday and Easter I am struck that I don't know very well the one whose path I follow. This season I'm hoping to know Jesus more by reading his words in the gospels. I take some comfort too in reading that others - who saw him face to face - often didn't know who he was either.

From The Message Mark 8:27-34

Jesus and his disciples headed out for the villages around Caesarea Philippi. As they walked, he asked, "Who do the people say I am?"

"Some say 'John the Baptizer,'" they said. "Others say 'Elijah.' Still others say 'one of the prophets.'"

He then asked, "And you—what are you saying about me? Who am I?"

Peter gave the answer: "You are the Christ, the Messiah."

Jesus warned them to keep it quiet, not to breathe a word of it to anyone. He then began explaining things to them: "It is necessary that the Son of Man proceed to an ordeal of suffering, be tried and found guilty by the elders, high priests, and religion scholars, be killed, and after three days rise up alive." He said this simply and clearly so they couldn't miss it.

But Peter grabbed him in protest. Turning and seeing his disciples wavering, wondering what to believe, Jesus confronted Peter. "Peter, get out of my way! Satan, get lost! You have no idea how God works."

Calling the crowd to join his disciples, he said, "Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat; I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for?