in wonderful exhaustion

Merry Christmas.

I am so grateful for those of you who are with me on this journey to help us all expand our us. I am overwhelmed and thankful for words of encouragement, thoughtful interaction and a willingness to engage with perspectives that feel foreign, unsettling or offensive.  Thanks for walking with me in our first 5 months!

I have spent the last week with family who think and speak and vote differently than me, and I marveled at our ability to love each other well.  I hope that we can all share a common realization this week as we engage with people who see the world so differently than we do, and yet wish them a Merry Christmas as we ask them to pass the gravy  We are actually very good at loving people we don't understand!

  This Christmas week, I simply want to say thankyou, and that taking a moment in this holiday season to express gratitude is no small thing.

No essay this week, but I would love for you to read over all we have explored in the last few months. 

on christmas miracles

Having access to a small child during Christmas is a Christmas miracle in and of itself.  The leap is short from bored to ecstatic, from tired to all-in for another cookie, from uncomfortable to totally delighted by the wonder of it all.  I treasure watching kids love all of it, and I am very lucky to have a 2 year old, who imitates our excitement while somehow showing us how to live during Advent.  She has no clue who Santa is, but she loves to steal Baby Jesus’ from every manger scene she can reach.  She has no idea why people keep offering her “tandies” and “tookties” (she is not what I would call “crushing it” in the speech department), but she greets each opportunity as if it is the first and maybe last time anyone will ever offer her a tasty treat again.  She enters each negotiation as if her life and joy depend on her ability to get that Christmas goodness into her mouth as soon as possible.

“This Christmas, look around and notice all the ways that God is, indeed, wonderfully, with us.”

My favorite part of parenting this Advent though, has been the way she has become my own personal Hark!-er.  Every time her eye glimpses anything that could be loosely associated with Christmas, she squeals and points and too loudly announces, “Isstmass!” Decorative lights, Christmas trees, large yard camels (where do they all come from?), presents, abundant plates of food, pianos, Santa hats, animated tv shows, sweaters (festive or just ugly), the smell of apple cider…she greets all of it with the cry of Isstmass!  Walking through the world with my own little angel intent on announcing the presence of joyful things has been utterly delightful this month.

It has also been a helpful reminder that there are signs of Christmas all around, and perhaps we would all do well to pay better attention.  In honor of my speech-impeded, cookie-hogging, Jesus-stealing daughter, this week I offer my own sightings of Isstmass, in hopes that you can also begin to notice the Christmas miracles around you.

A dear friend was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 months ago, and after 2 difficult surgeries, multiple drains, weeks isolated in bed, she is up again, the heart and soul of her family, a picture of compassion to so many others, celebrating Hanukkuh with deep gratitude for the everyday chaos of life.  A picture of Isstmass!

A young woman came over for dinner last week, struggling through a long day full of bad news. As she sat at our table and said she would be taking a break from college in order to get a job and work on her own mental health, she was full of hope.  She has worked so hard to stay in counseling and find the right meds, and last week I saw the foundation of hope and health she has been laying all these months.  Her bad day did not wreck her, and that looked an awful lot like Isstmass to me.

I saw a group of people, distinct in race, class, denomination, gender and zip code, come together to plan and host a conference on the injustices many marginalized folks of Nashville face.  The planning was slow and messy, and some walked away, but those of us who stayed got to see a picture of the Kingdom of God…what it is and what it could be if the people of God would commit to loving their neighbors with the same extravagant love they reserve for themselves.  Felt like Isstmass.

A friend took dinner to a family shelter serving homeless folks in Nashville.  She and her kids were thankful for the time they spent talking and playing with these kids and their parents.  In fact, she was so moved by the courage of the families there that she called me to say, “Let’s throw a Christmas party where people bring items for the apartments these families will one day have.”  She decided to use her sphere of influence to create joy and to surround vulnerable people with support.  She radiates Isstmass.

My college students prepared presentations on their time volunteering in various Nashville non-profits, and as they reflected on their own biases, they were able to see their privilege, the injustice of the status quo for so many others, and begin to ponder how they can be advocates and allies for others.  Isstmass.

I saw the people of Alabama refuse to give more power to a man known to manipulate young girls with his influence…even if it cost them politically and maybe financially.  Isstmass.

I saw a friend who does not have a job, but is busy doing the work of God’s kingdom in the meantime.  He is not consumed with worry for his future, but with a commitment to be a man who lives and talks and looks and acts like Jesus in his world.  Isstmass.

I saw families celebrating birthdays, laughing together and loving each other even amidst great differences in the way they see (and vote in) the world.  Isstmass.

I saw a couple who shared a deeply painful and exposing story with a group at church be met with empathy, gratitude, connection and love.  Isstmass.

I saw someone apologize for his behavior even though he was still shaking with anger and sadness at the situation which warranted his wrath.  Isstmass.

I saw my children “fight the greed!” that can creep in this time of year, when promises are made to grant their every desire.  Isstmass.

“We need helpful reminders that there are signs of Christmas all around, and perhaps we would do well to pay better attention.”

Advent is a time to reflect on the coming of a Messiah who will rescue and restore the world to God, justifying all, removing shame and bringing a life of flourishing.  The promised one was to be called Emmanuel, or “God with us.”  This Christmas, look around and notice all the ways that God is, indeed, wonderfully, with us.  With us in struggle and disappointment and fear and lack, and surely with us in lives saved, in mental health restored, in hope, in courage, in empathy, in compassion and in living a life where looks of “Wonder!” and cries of “Isstmasss!” are too many to count.

on advent: we need help admitting we need help

In the past month, I’ve had the privilege of sitting with two families as they said goodbye to their beloved, grandmother, sister, wife and friend.  These women lived gorgeous lives, loving and blessing and laughing all the way, each day until they were suddenly taken from us.  Funerals are terrible.  But they are also beautiful. A time to grieve and reflect and honor and remember and thank.  And sometimes, in the most precious of miracles, funerals are a place where deep sadness becomes hope.  Maybe that is why these funerals have helped me become an Advent person. On this, the first day of Hanukkuh, a holiday that remembers when God rescued and restored Israel, miraculously multiplying meager resources, I’d like to argue that Advent is a time to admit we need help, and that this acknowledgment moves us from despair to hope.

As much as I know that binaries destroy our ability to love ourselves and others with the nuance demonstrated by God and required of us, I kinda love them.  I often think of myself as reasonable, and many others as uber-biased, or at least uninformed.  I often think of myself as a person loving people well, while I see selfishness in others.  I often see the vulnerabilities—deficits even—in others, while I see the nobility in my own efforts, and the efficacy in my actions.  These perspectives are utter bullshit, of course.  I am unreasonable, uninformed, selfish, vulnerable and deficit-laden.  In that way, I am human, just as you are human; we should recognize binaries as the toxic delusions that they are. 

“Those who know Jesus have a choice this Advent: Will we continue to live as if we neither need nor know the Messiah described in scripture, or will we get to work—vulnerabilities exposed—building the Kingdom of Christ this world is surely becoming?”

Advent is a season that knows this, although a person could be forgiven for thinking it is a thing designed for comfortable people living in cozy homes, not for people who desperately need to be rescued.  Many of us have sanitized not just the birth of Christ, but His own stated reason for coming.  The truth is that Mary and Joseph were very poor, and very alone, and very far from comfortable people having thoughtful conversations in important places. The truth is that Mary was very pregnant, they were very young, and they were so desperate for rest that they accepted an offer to sleep in a barn.  The truth is that she could have died delivering Him, and it was not at all clear in that moment that this was the protected and predestined moment designed to save the world.  Joseph probably felt the same sense of helplessness and pride that most partners feel when their wives are entering the ring of fire that produces precious life.  It was probably terrible.  And it was probably beautiful too.

I so often act as if Jesus came, angels sang, sheep and cows and horses were super not-terrifying, and the king of the universe became a human.  I add to that misunderstanding of the historical narrative the blasphemy that God sent His Son so that comfortable, American evangelicals could be super clear about who God doesn’t approve of.  That the Messiah came so that awesome self-sufficient people could have awesome quiet times, or so awesome people could attribute to God their remarkable ability to hoard wealth.  When we read the early stories in Luke and Matthew, we know that this understanding of Advent is a deep misunderstanding. 

If we look at the prophecies that predict God’s advent, it becomes clear that the Messiah comes for those who live in darkness, for the burdened and oppressed, for the grieving and captured.  He comes to bring light and ease and comfort and freedom for them.  He comes for those who are ignored, marginalized and abused by the systems that benefit me. 

“ I need to believe in a God who comes after me with rest and healing when I pretend I need neither. ”

When we sanitize the Christmas story and the life Christ lived, it is not just hurtful for those whose vulnerabilities define them to the world.  That outlook also incentivizes the rest of us to act like we are not vulnerable, not in need of rescue; as if we regularly embody our best selves, and our moments of need (stressed, screaming, frantic, cussing, harried, insomniacal gluttons who just want to rest) are few and far between.  But this is not who I am.  

I very much need rescuing, from myself and for myself.  I need to believe in a God who allows me to be a mess, and deeply loved.  I need to believe in a God who comes after me with rest and healing when I pretend I need neither.  An honest look at Advent begs us to remember the way of Christ—from the beginning—is the way of broken, obscure people who long for recognition and rescue.  The beautiful arc of Christian doctrine tells us that Christ came once into the world to provide an eternal avenue to belonging, and that Christ will return to fully establish the earth as a place where all flourish, where all is made right, where the table is big enough for everyone.  In the meantime, followers of Christ are tasked with joining the child born unto us in His work of justice and righteousness; we live to establish a world where the dignity of every person is assumed, where vulnerabilities are met with compassion, and the grace we all live under is obvious. 

“That is the wonder of all wonders, that God loves the lowly…God is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings.  God marches right in.”

— Dietrich Bonhoeffer

In Handel’s Messiah, nestled in the middle of the greatest chorus ever written, lives the line, “The Kingdom of this world, is become the Kingdom of our Lord, and of His Christ, and of His Christ.”  This world, this beautiful-ugly place, has been redeemed, is being redeemed and will be fully redeemed by Christ so that all of us will belong.  Margins will not exist, and people will not hide in shadows.  It seems to me that people who know Jesus have a choice this Advent: Will we continue to live as if we neither need nor know the Messiah described in scripture, or will we get to work—vulnerabilities exposed—building the Kingdom of Christ this world is surely becoming?

Funerals offer us the unique chance to celebrate a well-lived life.  The chance to make meaning out of our attempt to live with others.  The chance to recognize the best in another.  The chance to collectively acknowledge that we are all barreling toward the end of ourselves.  The chance to acknowledge we need each other to flourish, and that caring about each other actually matters.  Perhaps Advent offers us a similar chance to remember our own deficits, to thank God for coming toward us when we are needy, and to align our actions with God’s approach to humanity.   Advent offers us a chance to hope.  If we are not moving toward hurting people with that hope, we are not following the Messiah.