Advent 2.5: Turn your heart

As a child, Advent was frothy, overflowing with cookies and wreaths. We sang: Advent is the time to wait, not quite time to celebrate. We waited for school to end, waited for Christmas morning, waited to rip open presents.

As an adult, I still cherish the froth, but I also chase transformation. I sing: Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'til He appeared and the soul felt its worth. I wait to understand, I long to see clearly, I yearn to strike the light.

So this year, I added a new Advent practice: praying the hours.

I first prayed the hours this past Lent, using Phyllis Tickle’s The Divine Hours. As Advent approached, I knew that I wanted to do it again, and so I ordered Tickle’s Christmastide: Prayers for Advent Through Epiphany from The Divine Hours. The book contains guided liturgy, Scripture, and prayer for morning, midday, and evening. It’s a mini-worship service—not even 10 minutes—three times a day. You can even chant or sing the passages if you like (I’m sure my dog really appreciates this in the mornings). 

I’ll be honest: I’m one of those stereotypical progressive Christians who doesn’t read her Bible on a regular basis. It’s just never become part of my daily or weekly practice (save for Sunday mornings), even though my red third-grade Bible from Glenn sits loyally on my bedside table. Part of that, I think, is the overwhelmed feeling I get when I try to think of where or how or when to start reading the Bible regularly. Yes, I’ve taken Disciple, and yes, I know I could very well begin at “In the beginning…” but in the midst of the chaos of life, it’s felt hard to establish, or—dare I admit it—to want to establish a routine in this way. That might be a whole other blog post.

For now, I’ll say that praying the hours during these sacred seasons has meant that I more purposefully make time for this quiet prayer, praise, and supplication. I sing the morning prayers out loud at the breakfast table, alone in the house with the obliging dog. I close my office door at lunch, turn away from the computer, and speak them to myself. On the bus home surrounded by other humans, I chant them in my head...

Read the rest of this piece that I wrote for my church's weekly blog here.

Advent 2.4: Fractured thoughts

I must admit, I'm struggling again today. We had our office Christmas luncheon; my free time reading has included articles like "White Women Need to Get Their Shit Together" and "Roy Moore's White Female Voters are Are Part of a Long History of Internalized Misogyny." And honestly, I'm trying to figure out how those very true and self-convicting statements pertain to Advent, to this time of anticipating Christ's arrival in the world. Because somewhere in my heart, I feel like they do. I also don't feel like I have enough energy to tackle that with the mind, heart, and soul work that it requires tonight. But I aim to challenge myself to do that in the coming days.

Tonight, I keep coming back to hymns.

Let every heart prepare Him room.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'til He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.

Lo, flower whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air--dispel in glorious splendor, the darkness everywhere.

Give up your strength the seed to nourish, that in course the flower may flourish.

Alleluia, everlasting God come down.

[Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash]

Advent 2.3: Full and thrumming

Well, I wondered when this posting-every-day-of-Advent was going to hit a wall in terms of inspiration; turns out it's today. 10 days in--not too shabby, in the grand scheme.

Even as I write new pieces this season, I've found myself returning to Advent posts that I wrote five and six years ago, and feeling fresh meaning in them at a very different place in my life. So I want to share one of those pieces today.

I wrote this during Advent six years ago, when I lived in Charlotte, in a cozy brick duplex full of character that has since been heartachingly replaced by a massive ugly overgrown thing that barely fits in the small square corner lot. It was my first year living by myself, my first place of my own, and for that it will always hold a special place in my heart.

The other bit you should know is that I worked at a church just down the road, and this was my first Advent season putting together the worship bulletins. So here we are, a flashback to Advent 2011 (when I also felt less of a need for capital letters and, sometimes, punctuation).

At work I type hymn titles;
they get stuck in my head:
come, thou lo-ong ex-pect-ed je-e-sus
I look up and rain is pounding
born to set thy pe-e-ople free
all I want is a fireplace, cracklecozy
from our fears and sins release us
and union cafe hot chocolate
let us find our rest in thee

I am trying to feel out this time of wait, weight
the ad-vent, in-vent of something new?
I would like it to be more than the sudden
rush, whoosh, jump thump stump, but --
how do you weight, wait, wake, awake
at a desk, in your car, in your sleep?
Hours sleep, seep away and I feel, wait, WAIT!

My favorite time of day, I think, is lunch:
I stand in my tiny sun-soaked kitchen,
reheating beans and rice; water spins in my kettle.
Terri Gross's fresh air voice wraps 'round me.
I feel frozen with potential in this one quiet hour,
imagining what I could do if the sun never set,
and yet --
wake, awake, for night is flyyyyying...

(How can it be both?)

Advent, full and thrumming.
Christ-child coming.