daily devo — Page 27

An Advent Journey: Stop, Look, Listen – Day 7

December 8, 2012 By Diana

“God, it seems you’ve been our home forever;

long before the mountains were born,

long before you brought earth itself to birth,

from ‘once upon a time’ to ‘kingdom come’ — you are GOD.

So don’t return us to mud, saying,

‘Back to where you came from!”

Patience!

You’ve got all the time in the world —

whether a thousand years or a day,

it’s all the same to you.

Are we no more to you than a wispy dream,

no more than a blade of grass that springs up gloriously

with the rising sun and is cut down without a second thought?

Your anger is far and away too much for us;

we’re at the end of our rope.

You keep track of all our sins;

every misdeed since we were children

is entered in your books.

All we can remember is that frown on your face.

Is that all we’re ever going to get?

We live for seventy years or so

(with luck we might make it to eighty),

and what do we have to show for it?

Trouble.

Toil and trouble and a marker in the graveyard.

Who can make sense of such rage,

such anger against the very ones who fear you?

Oh! teach us to live well!

Teach us to live wisely and well!

Come back, GOD —

how long do we have to wait —

and treat your servants with kindness for a change.

Surprise us with love at daybreak;

then we’ll skip and dance all the day long.

Make up for the bad times with some good times;

we’ve seen enough evil to last a lifetime.

Let your servants see what you’re best at —

the ways you rule and bless your children.

And let the loveliness of our Lord, our God,

rest on us, confirming the work that we do.

Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!”

— Psalm 90, The Message

Sounds like the psalmist has had a rough week. More likely, a rough few years. Can you relate to the very real emotions expressed in this remarkable song? These are core questions, aren’t they?

Must we suffer like this forever?

Where the heck are you?

Our lives are like leaves, falling from the trees —

swept away like yesterday’s garbage . . .

when will you smile at us again, God?

Have mercy, O LORD. Have mercy.

I’ve been struggling with some very hard news from dear friends as they grapple with a fresh, harsh diagnosis of leukemia for their beautiful toddler boy. And word from another friend, who is struggling to find ways to comfort someone whose child was violently killed. And our own moms’ slow fade from the planet.

So sometimes, this is a song I need to sing, a lament I need to raise. There is a sense in which Advent is a time of mourning, I think. A time for recognizing that we live in a messed-up world, filled with too many messed-up people, including me. We live in a world that needs saving, day in and day out.

We ache for things to shift enough to provide some relief. I think that’s why the singer has chosen to use the image of God’s wrath or anger in this song. Because in the midst of the muck, it can sometimes make it easier to bear if we picture God as the source of it all. Then we can turn the blame in a clear direction.

And we know that God is big enough to handle our fussing and fuming and wondering and worrying. And as the song draws to an end, the psalmist remembers the whole picture, the overwhelmingly reassuring picture that God is the God of loveliness and good work, the One who teaches us to live wisely and well.

Even when it feels as though surely God must be angry with us, else why would we be suffering so much – even there, even then, it is good to come round home again. To acknowledge that God is the God who walks beside us, through thick and thin, through loveliness and horror, through joy and sorrow. In the grand scheme of things, our lives may indeed have the transience of falling leaves, BUT God sees those leaves as they fall, each and every one, and God has assigned each one a value beyond measure.

O LORD, there are days when all I want to do is shake my fist in your face and cry out for ‘mercy.’ And so I do. Mercy, LORD, mercy. Yet even as the words leave my lips, I recognize that they are, in reality, the very same word. For you are mercy, my God. Thank you, thank you.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, daily devo, grief, personal journey

An Advent Journey: Stop, Look, Listen – Day 4

December 5, 2012 By Diana

“This is a vision that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem:

In the last days, the mountain of the Lord’s house

will be the highest of all —

the most important place on earth.

It will be raised above the other hills,

and people from all over the world will stream there to worship.

People from many nations will come and say,

‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,

to the house of Jacob’s God.

There he will teach us his ways,

and we will walk in his paths.’

For the LORD’s teaching will go out from Zion;

his word will go out from Jerusalem.

The LORD will mediate between nations

and will settle international disputes.

They will hammer their swords into plowshares

and their spears into pruning hooks.

Nation will no longer fight against nation,

nor train for war anymore.”

Isaiah 2:1-4, NLT

Sometimes I think it would be truly grand to have a vision. To see something spectacular and hopeful and encouraging, to see it in living color, larger than life and rich with meaning.

This vision of Isaiah’s is a corker, isn’t it? Overflowing with such magnificent images! People moving like living water to God’s holy mountain, God himself settling any disputes. And this one – no more training for war. Turning weapons into farm implements — in essence — turning away from darkness and into the full light of God’s glorious presence.

YES! I’d love to have a vision like that.

And then, I realize.

I DO have a vision like that. . . this very one, right here in front of us on this blustery Advent Wednesday. I don’t believe Isaiah wrote this one down just for the heck of it — no, I don’t. I believe Isaiah, or someone writing under his grand name, wrote this down at the insistence of the Holy Spirit, precisely so that we could read it today.

Because this is a vision that every generation needs to see, this is a picture that all peoples need to have hanging on the walls of their hearts. This is a painting dripping with the colors of life and hope and expectation. And this is a vision perfectly designed for Advent, these 24 days of paying attention, of stilling ourselves so that we can see more clearly, of expecting God to show up in ways that surprise us and slow us and save us.

This is a vision of God’s desired future and this is a promise of wondrous things to come. Wondrous things that can begin now, inside of us, and spreading through us, to larger and larger circles of others who have eyes to see what God is up to in this world. “In the last days…” Every one of us lives in the last days. Every generation since Jesus walked the earth has lived in the last days. Every generation since Jesus has been slowly, slowly, slowly heading, like rivers of water, to God’s holy mountain.

And one day soon, we’re going to get there. Glory be!

We’re looking for you, Lord. We’re looking for you on that high mountain. We want to be a twig in that river that will stream upwards toward you! So now, while we wait, while we watch – will you teach us your ways and show us how to walk in your paths? We want to be ready. We want to be ready!

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, daily devo, Encouragement, hope

An Advent Journal: Stop, Look, Listen – Day 2

December 3, 2012 By Diana

“I, Paul, together here with Silas and Timothy, send greetings to the church at Thessalonica, Christians assembled by God the Father and by the Master, Jesus Christ. God’s amazing grace be with you! God’s robust peace!

Every time we think of you, we thank God for you. Day and night you’re in our prayers as we call to mind your work of faith, your labor of love, and your patience of hope in following our Master, Jesus Christ, before God our Father. It is clear to us, friends, that God not only loves you very much, but also has put his hand on you for something special. When the Message we preached came to you, it wasn’t just words. Something happened in you. The Holy Spirit put steel in your convictions.

You paid careful attention to the way we lived among you, and determined to live that way yourselves. In imitating us, you imitated the Master. Although great trouble accompanied the Word, you were able to take great joy from the Holy Spirit — taking the trouble with the joy, the joy with the trouble.

Do you know that all over the provinces of both Macedonia and Achaia believers look up to you? The word has gotten around. Your lives are echoing the Master’s Word, not only in the provinces, but all over the place. The news of your faith in God is out. We don’t even have to say anything anymore — you’re the message! People come up and tell us how you received us with open arms, how you deserted the dead idols of your old life so you could embrace and serve God. They marvel at how expectantly you await the arrival of his Son, whom he raised from the dead — Jesus, who rescued us from certain doom. — 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10, The Message

There are times in life when the sight of one beautiful red leaf in the middle of a rain-soaked sidewalk is enough to carry you through all kinds of puddles ahead. The day may be grim, the majority of the leaves dried up and rattling in the wind, but there it is. That one thing of beauty, the one that makes you gasp and say, “Thank you!” The one that makes you remember the joy.

It’s not that the puddles disappear or that the brown leaves are suddenly green again. No. The ugliness remains. But somehow, all that is dead and dying is more bearable, a kind of balance has been struck. I cannot explain it, I only know it when it happens. “Taking the trouble with the joy, the joy with the trouble.”

And into the middle of gray days and bone-chilling winds and too-early darkness comes. . . Advent. A small candle flickering against the gloom, a beacon of hope and promise. A time to wait, yes. But a time to wait with hope.

Where is your red leaf today? Where do you find hope?

Adjust our vision, Lord. Help us to see the trembling flame, the single shining beacon that will lead us to the center of the fulcrum. Help us to find that balance between trouble and joy. And then embolden us to help others find it, too. It doesn’t take much, does it? Just something the size of a red leaf.

Filed Under: Advent, An Advent Journey, biblical reflection, church year, daily devo, Encouragement, ministry, Spiritual Formation

An Advent Journey: Stop, Look, Listen – Day One, First Sunday

December 2, 2012 By Diana

“O LORD, I give my life to you.

I trust in you, my God!

Do not let me be disgraced,

or let my enemies rejoice in my defeat.

No one who trusts in you will ever be disgraced,

but disgrace comes to those who try to deceive others.

Show me the right path, O LORD;

point out the road for me to follow.

Lead me by your truth and teach me,

for you are the God who saves me.

All day long I put my hope in you.

Remember, O LORD, your compassion and unfailing love,

which you have shown from long ages past.

Do not remember the rebellious sins of my youth.

Remember me in the light of your unfailing love,

for you are merciful, O LORD.

The LORD is good and does what is right;

he shows the proper path to those who go astray.

He leads the humble in doing right,

teaching them his way.

The LORD leads with unfailing love and faithfulness

all who keep his covenant and obey his commands.”

Psalm 25:1-10, NLT

Somewhere on the internet this past week, I saw a little tidbit about Frederick Buechner’s ‘last’ book, one that he, one of the most popular Christian authors of the last 30 years, had a hard time getting published. To say I was stunned would be a very large understatement. So I promptly looked up the book (The Yellow Leaves: A Miscellany) and ordered a copy for myself. It was eventually published — now fours years ago (!) — and consists of remembrances, short essays, assorted bits and pieces from his long, literary life. I am loving it as I chew on a morsel or two each evening.

Here is a brief paragraph that grabbed me by the neck this past week and shook me pretty hard. It is part of a chapter entitled, “Bulletin Board,” in which Buechner describes a variety of photographs scattered around his office, telling a brief story about each person pictured:

“Frank Tracy Griswold, presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, is smiling benignly in his dog collar and steel-rimmed glasses, that strikingly intelligent, articulate, sweet-tempered man. He told me that once when he was taking a shower, he distinctly heard a voice from somewhere saying, ‘Why do you take your sins so much more seriously than I do?’ His first reaction was to burst into laughter. His second was to burst into tears.”

All my life, I’ve been taught that my sins, and the sins of everyone else in this wide, wonderful world, are the reason that Jesus came in the flesh. The love of God was in there somewhere, but my own sin sort of took center stage in the teaching of my youth. So reading a small, explosive paragraph like this one sometimes stops me in my tracks.

Then I read through the psalm for today, the first day of Advent – the first Sunday of Advent. And I remembered: the Psalmist, singing centuries before that Baby was born in the stable, the Psalmist sings about ‘unfailing love,’ about mercy, about God’s gentle guidance in the way that is right and true. This song is about God pointing the way, pointing the right way.

And I began to remember, to see, to celebrate that Jesus came to show us how: how to live in this world, how to die to this world, how to live forever. And showing us the way includes pointing out the sin that cripples and wounds us. It includes the shedding of precious blood and the rending of tender flesh that we might be healed. It includes learning to live in the center of God’s goodness and grace and ‘unfailing love.’

Contrition is right and good and necessary. Repentance is right and good and necessary. But focusing exclusively on how terrible we are ultimately turns the whole wonderful story completely on its head. Love comes first. Forgiveness comes first. Desire for relationship and healing and wholeness – these are far more serious than our sin. And that is cause for wonder, cause even for joyous laughter.

And that is also, of course, cause for tears. Tears of gratitude, humility, and tender homage. Because that precious Baby came — and that Glorious Savior will come — for love’s sake alone. Imagine that!

Point us in the right direction, Jesus. As we step into Advent this year, remind us where we fall short, yes, we need those reminders. But O LORD, whisper to us of love, sing to us of forgiveness, beckon us toward holy righteousness. Because YOU are righteous and because of Jesus, so are we. Thank you!