Advent/poetry

“Advent Sunday” by Christina Rossetti

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BEHOLD, the Bridegroom cometh: go ye out
With lighted lamps and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.

It may be at the midnight, black as pitch,
Earth shall cast up her poor, cast up her rich.

It may be at the crowing of the cock
Earth shall upheave her depth, uproot her rock.

For lo, the Bridegroom fetcheth home the Bride:
His Hands are Hands she knows, she knows His Side.

Like pure Rebekah at the appointed place,
Veiled, she unveils her face to meet His Face.

Like great Queen Esther in her triumphing,
She triumphs in the Presence of her King.

His Eyes are as a Dove’s, and she’s Dove-eyed;
He knows His lovely mirror, sister, Bride.

He speaks with Dove-voice of exceeding love,
And she with love-voice of an answering Dove.

Behold, the Bridegroom cometh: go we out
With lamps ablaze and garlands round about
To meet Him in a rapture with a shout.


~ Christina Rossetti

Uncategorized

To the friend who’s lost hope

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My dear friend,

I’ve been where you are. Stumbling down a back road in the dark, trying to get away from myself and the mess I’ve become. Running from home, not because I wanted to leave, but because I didn’t deserve to stay. I’ve cried up and down both sides of the pavement while the neighbour dogs barked, wondering how I ever came to be the person in these shoes.

And I’ve felt it. The clutching, gut-punching blast of hopelessness.

I’ve looked at the stars and known there is a God, and that maybe He even loves me, but He can’t possibly change me. I used to believe He could. I pinned all my hopes and dreams on that belief when things got tough, when I faltered, and failed, and failed again.

But this time, the failure runs so deep and it’s tainted everything, it has become me and I have become it. And sure, God is gracious and good, but when I look at myself I can’t see how it’s had any effect whatsoever. The problem’s not Him. It’s me.

I’ve lost faith. And I’ve trudged cold-hearted and shame-faced back home, only to stand in the yard and see the lighted windows and feel like a stranger.

And I’ve believed all the beautiful news can be true, but not for me. I’ve tried, and I’m still this sobbing wreck after all these years. This time, I can’t go on. I can’t go in.

And life goes on, and we keep going through the motions because there is nothing else. But we wonder how we’ll ever walk in faith again. We cannot see past this dark night. We cannot see past ourselves.

My dear friend,

I am not so very far down the road, but I think I may just see the morning star. Don’t get me wrong. I have not increased my capacity to create faith. But in the howling waste of hopelessness, there has been a humbling. I’ve been wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked, and I’ve known it.

And somehow I’ve been given the grace to hold on to the truth that God’s goodness and grace are not dependent on how well I’ve performed with them. The promises have seemed so very far from me. And even now I don’t know how and when they will get hold of me and bring about the change I so desperately need.

But even faith to believe in the far off is a gift. And maybe there are days I don’t have it at all. But I know it comes from God the Faithful. All I can do is ask. All I can do is seek. All I can do is knock on that door. And wait. Wait for the sky to break and the sun to warm me.

There have been no magic words, no perfect days, no overnight miracles. There have simply been more days with the possibility of mercy slipping in the back door.

My dear friend, you are not alone.

And I will hold your hand when the sleepless dark seems like all there is. And I will sing of the morning star when it dawns. And we will wait for faith and hope to come, together. There is still a welcome, because He who calls us is Faithful.

~lg

grace/hard things

The Grace of the Weighty Word

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I am startled by the Scripture readings for December 1st and 2nd in Common Prayer.* Isaiah 1:1-20. A hard word, a weighty word, heavy with the justice of God.

Here is a broken Father, crushed by the inconsolable affliction of His rebellious children. Here is the Father weeping over the burned city.

And yet these tattered lepers insist on parading their so-called sacrifices through the courts, keeping up the charade of a glittering festival.

“Your whole head is injured,
your whole heart afflicted.”

Stop the insanity!

“From the sole of your foot to the top of your head 
there is no soundness.”

No soundness. Only noise.
No wholeness. Only fractures.
No peace, no shalom. Only the dizzying dance of hypocrisy even as the enemy draws closer.

Righteousness is under siege, and yet the parties and platitudes continue. The fatherless and widow cry out, but who has ears to hear?

Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble. tremble.

For who can stand against such an injunction? And who am I in the holiday parade?

And yet the word of justice contains a word of mercy. (Blessed be the faithfulness of God.) Here is a diagnosis, and that is grace to the gaping wounded. Here is the naked, ugly truth, and therein lies salvation.

I have known this word. I have sat in complete judgment, rightly accused by the righteous law, the weight of each commandment broken piled on me in succession. And oh, it was hard to bear. I would not have believed in the grace of such judgment had I not known His face. Truth makes free, but only in the ears of the humbled.

“Come now, let us reason together,”
says the LORD.
“Though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be white as snow;
though they are like crimson,
they shall be like wool.
If you are willing and obedient,
you will eat the best from the land;
but if you resist and rebel,
you will be devoured by the sword.”
     For the mouth of the LORD has spoken. 

If I had not already known His kiss, I could not have received His rebuke.

And yes, every word of rebuke also breathes healing, if we come close enough to be washed in His tears. His face is turned to us, even in rebuke.

This is mercy – that He speaks at all.

This is favour – that He rips off our crumbling facades and exposes our aching bones.

This is love – that His word became flesh and bone to bear our sin, to stare us down and call our names, and to restore the ears our own swords have devoured. He does not turn away. He does not forsake.

This is love – do not miss it! This is the Word who will heal.

This is the Word of peace for the trembling.

“Come now.” 

So I pray, in this season, for ears to hear,
for ears to receive the Word,
no matter how He speaks.

* Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals by Shaine Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and Enuma Okoro

~lg

a life of prayer/Advent/prayer

BCP: Advent Prayer 1

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The Collect for the First Sunday in Advent, from the Book of Common Prayer

ALMIGHTY God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life, in which they Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious Majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, now and ever. Amen.

~lg

Advent/Christmas

Elizabeth: The Other Woman in the Christmas Story

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Today, you can find me writing over at Testimony Magazine:

Elizabeth: The Other Woman in the Christmas Story

“She shares my middle name, but not much else. She was born into a family of priests and was the wife of one. Most of her life’s years were behind her, though she had no child to take care of her and her aging husband Zechariah. The first thing we know after being introduced to her is that she is righteous in the sight of God, a blameless keeper of all the commands and requirements of the Lord. So we know it wasn’t her sin that kept her barren, though that’s what most of the market women said.
What a shock to have your husband come home from work unable to speak, and then a few weeks later to realize that the impossible had happened—pregnancy! But Elizabeth did not question, as Zechariah had, paying for his doubt with nine months of silence. And she did not laugh, as Sarah had, hiding behind the tent folds. She simply knew he had seen a vision there in the temple. Something, or Someone, had appeared in the clouds of incense, and now there was life bulging within her. Of course she could not help but think of the women of the Torah and the Writings, women whose empty disgrace had been removed by a miracle. But there were few miracles from God in these days. What could be the occasion of such favour?
For five months she kept her pregnancy secret. They were quiet months, anticipating months. Then in her sixth month, when she could no longer hide the life within, she had a visitor.”
~lg