The Underground Railroad

Dear Henri, Arriving and In Thin Space -- Advent Week 3, Day 25

A maskil[b] of Ethan the Ezrahite.

1 I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever;
    with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known
    through all generations.
2 I will declare that your love stands firm forever,
    that you have established your faithfulness in heaven itself.
3 You said, “I have made a covenant with my chosen one,
    I have sworn to David my servant,
4 ‘I will establish your line forever
    and make your throne firm through all generations.’”[c] -Psalm 89:1-4

 

Dear Henri,

It's now the end of Hannukah... Advent is almost over... and in mere hours Christmas will begin. Even in a time of darkness and waiting, I find great beauty in this overlap of celebrations of light. May all everywhere be blessed in their gatherings of faith, family, remembrance, community and love.

Finally... finally we come to Jesus.

For Mary, Joseph, Elizabeth, Zechariah, John, Simeon, Anna and others of the Nativity, the waiting has been fulfilled. It's strange to our ears to be reminded that while the entrance of God into the world was/is an unfathomable thing, the Nativity characters had more than their shares of waiting, ordinary moments, recovering from delivering babies, drawing water, praying, worshipping, and generally carrying on with life. 

As Okoro points out, all of these people remembered God and God's promises during the Waiting -- whatever that waiting looked like. Pregnancy, muteness, the desert -- God was and is in the waiting as God is in the Coming. I truly dislike the "Everything happens for a reason" maxim, as I find it trite and not quite honest about the plight of many people.

However, that God creates good in darkness is a promise; that God's timing is well beyond our comprehension is maddening, but true. Perhaps many things happen for many reasons. Perhaps not. However God works, Her people have continued to respond to Her through all of our waiting and want.

"When we speak of God's goodness, we reorient ourselves to the tenets of kingdom living. God creates; we worship and praise. God initiates; we respond in prayer and commitment. God promises; we wait and trust. God calls; we answer. God dwells in usand among us; we mirror God back to each other" (Okoro, p. 98).

Pastor Calvin preached honestly tonight at our Christmas Candlelight service that this year seemed darker to him the other years. I had to agree. We put together more Christmas food hampers this year than in our local food bank's history. A lot of stories; a lot of pain; a lot of anxiety about the future.

I haven't spoken much about hope or joy in these Advent writings. I wanted to be sure there was ample space for me to be honest about how I felt about the world, myself, and God. Jumping to peace and joy felt dishonest and false. 

It hasn't instantly changed now that the clock is ticking down to midnight and the celebration of Christmas begins. But as I left the church tonight, I looked up at the lone street lamp and saw that a light snow had begun. On my way to the service, there was a crescent moon visible. Now... gentle soft snow. 

Silence.

Beautiful silence, echoing the waiting of every person who had attended our service. I took a deep breath in... and out... in... and out... and for a second I was sure that the lazy snowflakes were falling because God only wanted to remind me: 

"I'm here."

"I'm listening."

"I know."

"I'm here."

It's true: we all would wish for a magical god that smites evil and forces good. A powerless baby god makes no senses and hardly meets our expectations. 

But a god who becomes us, walks with us, experiences us, experiences what we experience, feels what we feel, thinks what we think, needs what we need, and identifies with us... now that's a turn for the books that catches me every time.

I can't believe that all my hopes and dreams are going to come to pass. But perhaps, in the still small flakes of a gentle snow, I can believe that I am not alone.

And on Christmas Eve night, that is a tremendous comfort.

Until... next time... Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Reflecting -- Advent Week 3, Day 21

14 Sing, Daughter Zion;
    shout aloud, Israel!
Be glad and rejoice with all your heart,
    Daughter Jerusalem!
15 The Lord has taken away your punishment,
    he has turned back your enemy.
The Lord, the King of Israel, is with you;
    never again will you fear any harm.
16 On that day
    they will say to Jerusalem,
“Do not fear, Zion;
    do not let your hands hang limp.
17 The Lord your God is with you,
    the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
    but will rejoice over you with singing.”

18 “I will remove from you
    all who mourn over the loss of your appointed festivals,
    which is a burden and reproach for you.
19 At that time I will deal
    with all who oppressed you.
I will rescue the lame;
    I will gather the exiles.
I will give them praise and honor
    in every land where they have suffered shame.
20 At that time I will gather you;
    at that time I will bring you home.
I will give you honor and praise
    among all the peoples of the earth
when I restore your fortunes[a]
    before your very eyes,”
says the Lord. -Zephaniah 3:14-20

 

Dear Henri,

145 people shot at school in Pakistan... 132 were children.

2 police officers shot in Brooklyn just today... igniting already flaring tensions between US law enforcement and protestors.

I just spent my first 'day off' from the work for the holidays racing back to the office to make sure one last toy hamper was placed in the right hands. She was a kind old lady, but sad. She had lost her son last March and this is going to be her first Christmas without him. What's more, this isn't the first child she's lost to violence or early death. Now she's left to raise two little grandchildren the best she can, living in an isolated region.

It makes me wonder all sorts of things, Henri. All week we've been peering into the lives of Mary, John and Elizabeth. All week we've been seeing God as refining fire, as One leading us into the Barrens. Okoro has done well painting a picture of the lives these ordinary folks lived -- oppressed, poor, unstable and communal. Here, now, finally, we come to the Annunciation.

By law, Mary could have -- should have -- been stoned for being pregnant outside of marriage. Whether by the powers of Rome or by the local ruling religious elite (the Pharisees and the Saducees), Mary's life was forfeit for being the wrong person, doing the wrong thing, and certainly at the wrong time.

"When God calls us, God equips us with holy strength and human support. No one bears God's word alone, and yet, nothing make us available to God but the state of our hearts and spirits" (Okoro, p.79).

Let's be honest: rarely does it feel like we're equipped with much of anything against such great evil, darkness and division. Rome had Judea pressed under its thumb; but the Sanhedrin had the people divided over what was right and what was wrong, and what really constituted a good Jew or a "god-fearer". When Mary said "Yes" to God, she automatically defied Rome and Judaic Law. This young girl either truly knew when to respond to God, or had a pathological death wish. The state of her heart, while certainly far from perfect, was receptive and warm.

Probably scared.

Probably filled with a thousand questions.

Probably far more aware than we'll ever be about her being pregnant outside of marriage inside of an oppressive community known for its religiosity, zeal, and internalized shame.

We need an Annuciation tonight, Henri. God knows we do. We need a strong vibrant word that will warm our hearts and clear our minds. If you could see the vitriol people are spewing at one another, about each other... Henri, it would make you cringe! We too are divided in so many ways. People of faith use Scripture to prove ideological points, to win fruitless wars, but even worse: to tell other people of faith how they aren't really of God, or how they just have to get past their issues. 

This isn't a new practice, certainly, but it seems it is reaching a breaking point in our generation's time and place. 

Instead of listening with a desire to listen, we listen with a desire to crush the opposing side with beautifully constructed but painful words. We accuse, point fingers, prove how justice is on 'our' side and dehumanize any other 'sides' so that our lives can go on just as they always have.

I don't know what would happen if God announced Her coming to Mary today. We don't live under the rule of Rome, but there are countries in the world where belief in God warrants death; where women are still killed for dressing the wrong way or desiring to go to school; where the ruling religious class in North America bemoans about people questioning it, and declares this to be 'persecution' (what utter nonsense, and what a mockery it makes of those truly facing physical oppression).

What word would God have for us tonight, Henri? What word?

If God needs to send me into seclusion like Elizabeth... send me into the desert like John... or send me into the fray of possible death like Mary, may it be so. I'm not sure how else to respond to such deep division between people who claim to live lives of compassion... who live lives patterned after Christ. I don't know what to do. I don't know who to be. I don't know HOW to be.

Yet, just as a glorious beauty and illogical healing emerged out of Mary's reception to Gabriel, may we too see unimaginable peace and reconciliation emerge out of our reception of God. We are desperate. We are needy.

Until tomorrown, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Demanding and Waiting -- Advent Week 3, Day 19

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]
2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.

4 They will rebuild the ancient ruins
    and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
    that have been devastated for generations...

... 

8 “For I, the Lord, love justice;
    I hate robbery and wrongdoing.
In my faithfulness I will reward my people
    and make an everlasting covenant with them.
9 Their descendants will be known among the nations
    and their offspring among the peoples.
All who see them will acknowledge
    that they are a people the Lord has blessed.”

10 I delight greatly in the Lord;
    my soul rejoices in my God.
For he has clothed me with garments of salvation
    and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness,
as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,
    and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
11 For as the soil makes the sprout come up
    and a garden causes seeds to grow,
so the Sovereign Lord will make righteousness
    and praise spring up before all nations. -Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

 

Dear Henri,

I'm not sure I like at all what Okoro says tonight.

I don't like it at all.

In the season of Advent, we are invited to lay bare our deepest pains, doubts and desires before God. We see people in the Advent story who prayed for years over their own deepest personal aches and see them come to fruition. Like most people, I want that same fruit. I don't want the ache.

Nor do I particularly like Okoro's insight that God's answer to Elizabeth and Zechariah's prayers was not strictly for their enrichment or faith. It was for the greater reconciliation and love and healing of the whole world that these things came to pass. God, while in love with Elizabeth, Zechariah, Mary, and John, saw to bring to healing to the entire created world -- not just four people. 

The individualist in me squirms at this.

The popular evangalical teaching I was so often given that "He thought of me... above all" (the shmaltzy Michael W. Smith song?) steps back at this.

The introvert unwilling to share her life balks at this.

Why? Why can't I have what I long for just for me? Why?!

Why must the greater good be involved? Why must the healing of the nations even be considered? Why must my gifts, should they ever be given, be shared after I've waited so long for them? Why can't I be left in peace to enjoy the answers to my prayers?

"Our personal longings, for which we beseech God and wait on God's answer, are valid; but we remind ourselves that God's self-revelation and promised fulfillment is always intended for the healing and reconciliation in the larger community. We must ask ourselves how we can hold vigil for the groaning of humanity that is larger and more expansive than our own." (Okoro, p.75).

I was not raised in Mary or Elizabeth's world -- a world of communal sharing. Wells were shared, toilets were shared, animals were shared, shelter was shared. While we see beautiful reliefs of God calling these ordinary people into silence and barren places with Her alone, by and large we are brought into a story that reflects God's larger Story: community.

I live in the developed world of the 21rst century -- a world of individual consumption. My bedroom is my own, my basement suite is my own, my car is my own (after I paid the bank), my job is my own, my education is my own, my family is my own, my personal space is my own. To demand I share any of these things is a high call indeed. Perhaps it's innate human selfishness to hold onto material things; perhaps it was the way I, and most of us, were raised. We don't know anything different. Perhaps it's a fear of people coming far too close, and taking what we think we need to thrive.

After all, my happiness is most important in my own life.

God's Story reflected in the lives of Zechariah, Elizabeth, John, and Mary is completely forgeign to me, if I'm honest. I want a child. I want a partner. I want other things or people that would certainly enrich my life. The darkness that has come without them is strong indeed. If ever these things were fufilled, why should I be demanded I give them back? Why should I share?

God's Story is counter-intuitive to me. Releasing what I want the most for the difficult desire of seeing healing come to all people is like pulling teeth without laughing gas. Trust me, Henri, no one is laughing tonight.

But... what would come if, one by one, I released my fingers gripped around these powerful and understandable desires? What if I held them rather gently in my palm and lifted them upwards? What would happen then, Henri?

Perhaps nothing.

Perhaps everything.

No, I didn't like Okoro's words tonight. I am waiting for many, many things -- some of which will never happen. That makes me sad. Yet have I ever thought, or ever been willing, to see the fulfillment of my life in the grander scheme of all of us together?

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

 

Dear Henri, Alone and In the Barrens -- Advent Week 3, Day 19

The Jordan River

In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea 2 and saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” 3 This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
    make straight paths for him.’”[a]

4 John’s clothes were made of camel’s hair, and he had a leather belt around his waist.His food was locusts and wild honey. 5 People went out to him from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan. 6 Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River.

7 But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to where he was baptizing, he said to them: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? 8 Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. 9 And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. 10 The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.

11 “I baptize you with[b] water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with[c] the Holy Spirit and fire. 12 His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

 

Dear Henri,

John had his own barrenness: miles and miles of it -- hot, dry, dusty, rocky, dirty Barrens. We like to think of John as a fire-and-brimstone preacher, shouting sermons to devout listeners who perhaps were overlooking his heat stroked mind. Or perhaps it was all the locusts he ate. I can't imagine a steady diet of insects would balance the brain or the physique all that well.

John was born with purpose.

Even before he was conceived, he was already named and his destiny was marked. He was to prepare the way for Messiah -- Yeshua, his cousin. He was to be raised as a Nazarene in the strictest order, abstaining from all kinds of food and drink, and from cutting his hair. By taking up residence in the desert, it's no wonder he garnered a reputation for being a wild man as well as a prophet. 

Not all of us are born with the stars so aligned, are we?

Most of us have to fight our way through the desert heat, the emptiness, the thirst, the hunger, and the perils lying in wait for us to figure out who we are and why we're here. Sometimes we don't even get answers to those most basic questions. More's the pity.

As Okoro points out, it's only legend that says Elizabeth hid John in the desert to save him from Herod's Slaughter of the Innocents which led to Zechariah's murder when he lied about his son. Perhaps John's own way was not so straight after all. No one can say for sure.

But in being found in the Barrens, John lives a life that perhaps mocks our consumerism. (God I hope it does)

"Americans [and Canadians] live in a culture of excess. We are conditioned to think that more is better, and extravagance is fulfilling. John offers the possibility that seasons and spaces of austerity can redirect our focus to the things of God if we chose to take advantage of such opportunities" (Okoro, p.74).

I dare say that our gluttony in our consumer lifestyle is a barren wasteland. Christmas is coming, and the rush for presents is on. Oh sure we all say "it's not about the gifts", but how many of us on Christmas morning are disappointed with what's under the wrapping? How many of us are quickly bored with that gadget we just had to have? How many of us are in the shops on Boxing Day, swapping our gift out for something we really want? How many of us crash after giving and receiving material presents, because it just wasn't what we were looking for?

I know I haven't always handled Christmas very well, even as a child. Mind you, I never handled any kind of surprise too well either. I always seemed to have delicious visions of what could be under the wrapping paper, but rarely were my expectations met. The disappointment was crushing. I failed to see the love in which those gifts were given, or the wisdom. I tried making Christmas about the Baby Jesus, but really... the hype got to me. Every time.

What were some of your deserts, Henri?

I hear of broken relationships -- with God and others -- so often in your writings. How often was your heart broken? Too many times to count? How many were the rejections? How loud were the dissenting voices?

How many times did you use those desert seasons as opportunities to be alone in the barrens with God?

I know I haven't seen those times as opportunities. 

I see them rather as spaces to make myself feel better. No one else is going to take care of me as well as me, so I will buy presents for myself, care for myself, and love myself. Done.

Don't misunderstand me: I'm in total agreement for self-care and love, Henri. In fact, retreats into the wilderness are often a part of a healthy form of self-care. What I am saying is that I don't trust anyone else in this world to make me happy or whole. I'm the only one who can. That thought pattern in and of itself should be a warning signal, clear as a clarion call across the wastelands.

Have I created my own desert then, Henri?

Sure taking ownership of my feelings and needs can be a sign of maturity, but mistrusting all others completely to be in community with me is perhaps a sign that my pendulum has swung too far the wrong way. I often come to like the Barrens. I like their loneliness; their caverns and caves; their solitude. But it's here I discover that my mistrust of others has turned a desert retreat into a nightmare. I haven't gone as far as wearing camel hair or eating bugs, but I'm close. ;)

Living in the Barrens I am confronted with my most ugly, horrifiying secrets. I am laid bare before God. But sometimes this is preferable to being laid bare before people. Others will see how deeply I've failed, how badly my dreams have come apart (according to me), and laugh... point... spit. I certainly wouldn't be a charistmatic prophet like John. I'd just be back with people again, realizing that the desert is with me wherever I go.

Perhaps there is time and space for the Barrens. But in our quest to see the Barrens as time alone with God, maybe we can see time and space for extravagance too -- not of "stuff", but of deep abiding relationships.

Whether we are hidden in the Barrens right now, stuck in a Costco gift line, disappointed by Christmas, or wanting badly to run back to the desert, may we find season and space to be stripped of what holds us back from wildly preparing the way for our Love.

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Friends and Holy Imagination -- Advent Week 3, Day 18

Henri Houwen and Jean Vanier, 1987

7 Be patient, then, brothers and sisters, until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuable crop, patiently waiting for the autumn and spring rains.8 You too, be patient and stand firm, because the Lord’s coming is near. 9 Don’t grumble against one another, brothers and sisters, or you will be judged. The Judge is standing at the door!

10 Brothers and sisters, as an example of patience in the face of suffering, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. 11 As you know, we count as blessed those who have persevered. You have heard of Job’s perseverance and have seen what the Lord finally brought about. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy. -James 5:7-11

 

Dear Henri,

There you are. With a good and proper friend. I love reading about you and Jean Vanier. I like to imagine the kind of pair you guys would have been, what you would have laughed about, what stories you would have swapped with each other.

I wrote a little bit yesterday about how Mary and Elizabeth may well have connected deep within their spirits, having so much in common even before seeing each other. Like Okoro, I like to believe that there would have been mutual love, support, friendship and depth. If God has created us to be in community, then (being a God of infinite creativity), there are countless expressions of that community. 

Sadly we have made a hierarchy in community -- marriage and the marriage bed. So often in the church we are labeled only as "single" or "married". In many Protestant churches, especially evangelical circles, marriage is venerated as being the preferred state. In many Catholic circles, singleness is elevated in the area of priestly ministry. Neither, I believe, are healthy nor do they include the teeming expressions we could draw upon. 

I don't doubt that many married couples love their spouses as best friends, but such is not always the case nor is it good theology or doctrine. I mean, Scripture was written during a time when women didn't even get to choose their partners. It was all done for them.

Friendship is a holy, depthless well of love, trust, connection and surprise. Could I go this deep with every friend? Nope. Surely not. But friendship is as holy, pure, esteemed, and required as any marital relationship. Just because sex isn't in the picture doesn't make it any less important or valuable. Yet we've done a bang-up job of making it so.

They're just friends.

How I hate that word: just.

"We have allowed our culture's obsession with romance and sex to dictate how we view life-giving relationships. We have dulled friendship's ability to illuminate corners of our lives. We can endure very little without the support of friends. Choosing to open ourselves in friendship abd to expose our vulernabilities relieves the weight of carrying our burdens alone" (Okoro, p.72).

Mary didn't run to her father or soon-to-be husband. In her seclusion, she sought out another woman in seclusion. To the best of our knowledge, Jesus never married and, as Okoro points out, calls his once-disciples friends.

Friends!

I am tired of churches putting singles into singles' groups. Rarely are these places where single people of whatever stripe can share or make friends. Mostly their true intentions are to be meat markets. It saddens me, too, when married people feel too afraid to even be seen with a person of the opposite sex. You have to lose friends to gain your marriage? What's wrong here? Boundaries might shift and change, I'll agree, but to cut people out or to refuse association seems more than extreme.

And in this dark time of waiting, my hope is that we all find a good friend. There are a lot of lonely people on the margins, placed here because of some antiquated sexual veneration or marriage worship. How much richer would our lives become if we allowed ourselves to reach out to someone might not otherwise relate to, and allow them to reach out to us?

Not "just" friends.

FRIENDS.

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Holy and Well Imagined -- Advent Week 3, Day 17

39 At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, 40 where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. 42 In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! 43 But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.45 Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!” -Luke 1:39-45

 

Dear Henri,

For the first time since we started walking through this Advent season, we're finally turning our attention to Mary. So far it's been the stories of Elizabeth and Zechariah. Not that I mind. Even in the dark time of waiting -- this Advent -- I have new persective by beginning a familiar story from a different place.

We doubt; we fear; we lash out; we grieve; we give in to anxiety; we become impatient. Sometimes God calls us to places of silence and stillness so that internal tranformation -- God and human alone -- can begin. Most times, however, we need community. We are created for it. 

When we come together, it can sure be one heck of a mess, eh? (I'm Canadian; let me have just one!)

Our communal fears, doubts, griefs, losses and hatreds can create mob justice or paralysis. We become stuck in places that we can't get out of with no end in sight. Sometimes it drives me batty how some of my youth treat one another: gangsta. It's about pride; it's about RESPECT. 

Respect is big.

And if one person disrespects another, that other takes every right to gather up friends and family and "do what's right".

Except it isn't right.

Everything from online bullying and threats to stalking to vandalism to bodily harm. Sometimes these fueds go on for generations! I can't wrap my mind around it. Father Greg Boyle has been immensely helpful in this area. I might not be part of gangsta society, but I sure know how God's kindship trumps any kind of forced respect we rob from others.

That being said, when we come together (even with grief, doubt, and pain), our communal responses can create a light so bright that it ignites spirits long since cold. Hope is rekindled. Tears are shed, embraces are shared, understanding is met with listening and vice versa, and uplighting laughter brings life to barren places. 

When we have joys to share, look out! Dancing in the streets, my friends. Dancing in the streets!

I have to admit, I'm not always practiced at the joy part. It's not something that comes naturally to me. And with the "happiness is the most important thing" craze clogging up social media and bookstore shelves, I think we often confuse happiness for true joy. It's even further obscured. 

Sometimes joy get drained of power and depth. We turn it into sunshine and roses, and the humanity in me screams "No!"

There is no space for true darkness and hopelessness to be revealed. We can't be joyful unless we are aware, to the best of our abilities, of our deepest pains. The rest is usually fluff. Not always, but often.

"We should not be surprised at the divine consideration in having this young girl and this old woman wait together for the fulfillment of God's respective words to them. God exists within a holy community: the Trinity. God's self is a thriving community, and God created us to flourish in our interconnectedness and mutual support of one another" (Okoro, p.67).

Even though Mary was young and Elizabeth was old (whatever 'old' meant back then), they both were going through a plethora of firsts: first spotting, first cramping, first quickenings, first belly swellings, first cravings, first changes in hair follicles, and first community responses: good or bad. Each would have some fears the other could relate to; each would have some timely advice for the other to absorb; and each would have known some anxiety about "What next?" that they could talk about.

I wonder what the families in Pakistan are doing tonight? How are they coming together after over a hundred students were shot?

A woman sat in my office today who had very recently lost a son in a highway traffic accident. That alone is enough to break anyone's spirit -- her grief is very great. But that is not the end of her story. It involves more pain, more terror, more loss... when will it end for her? Where's her community?

Another woman came in for a Christmas hamper and told me she'd just found out she was pregnant again. With a wide smile and deep satisfaction, the immediate situation of a lack of food barely made it to our conversation. She was simply joyful over the news. What kind of community is coming around her to celebrate?

Okoro is wise to say that we need to discern whom we gather with during times of great transformation and change. Critical thinking and deep questions ought to an open part of who we are, but there are times when our faith requires a touch... a handhold... someone with like experience... empathy. All too easily can we tear down a fledgling faith by being too candid about our ideologies at the wrong time.

May we all find someone this season whose presence suddenly awakens our spirits. 

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Spit-Spot and Refined -- Advent Week 3, Day 16

“I will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me. Then suddenly the Lordyou are seeking will come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come,” says the Lord Almighty.

2 But who can endure the day of his coming? Who can stand when he appears? For he will be like a refiner’s fire or a launderer’s soap. 3 He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; he will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver. Then the Lord will have men who will bring offerings in righteousness, 4 and the offerings of Judah and Jerusalem will be acceptable to the Lord, as in days gone by, as in former years. -Malachi 3:1-4

 

Dear Henri,

"During our lives we experience intense trials that we can use to refine our spirits. The key idea to remember is that we pass 'through' and do not remain in the fire.

There is a noteworthy difference between the fire that refines and one that extinguishes or consumes" (Okoro, p.65).

Have you ever prayed that God wasn't so keen on the refining process? I wonder if Mary or John or even Jesus had moments where they said: "No way, man! Take it back! Take it ALL back!"? Certainly Jesus' words in the Garden point towards a desparation for another path to be found. It's hard to believe us less perfect people wouldn't have similar grief.

I suppose it was different with Jesus. It's not like he had to be refined in the sense that we're talking about refining. Okoro here is saying that God uses trials to melt away dross; make us spit-spot shiny; to remove that which dehumanizes us, and leave only that which the Creator intends us to be.

Still.

I wish it wasn't so fiery.

It took a long time to let go of the literal fire and brimstone, hell and damnation theologies that had me seeing things by the time I was 13 or so. Some kids slept with teddy bears or special blankets. I slept with my Bible. I had night terrors of the horrors of hell. And I was never good enough to squeak into heaven. Somehow I always saw myself being burned alive forever.

So when God speaks honourably and well of the fire of refinement, I'm understandably a little afraid (above and beyond the natural fear any one of us would have over being sent through trials). My past collides with my present, and I worry then about how the future will play out. For better or worse, fire has played a colossal role in my life and spiritual formation.

Okay... stepping away from the burning lake of fire. Let's stay more on point with where Okoro is going with this.

She is sure to insist that we cannot remain in the fire. It's used in a process to help shape who we are; it's not a destination or a realm in which to live. I wonder how many of us lived in self-imposed refineries when God is already on the outside, waiting with cool water? 

And why is it some people seem to be given a LOT of refinement, whereas others appear to only need very little? Maybe we don't have such a good grasp of what the refining process really is. Maybe a trial I would consider as some severe refining would not really be such a trial for another person? Maybe timing has far too much to do with the process that I can't even begin to scribble out how deep that rabbit hole goes. Lots of maybes...

The plain truth is: it hurts. And we don't like to be hurt.

It's not simply survival or self-pity or defense mechanisms that block our desire for refining. It's the reality that our loved ones hurt us badly... we lose relationships... we lose jobs... we are given tasks to do that we never wanted to begin with... food and water dry up... medicine is too expensive. These are all things that send us sideways and, while certainly used (somehow) in the refining process, wound us deeply.

No one ever said that we would come through this process unscathed or unscarred. The whole point of it is transformation, after all. But to lose so much when we love so much... Jesus knew this agony more deeply than anyone else.

The whole 'God won't give you more than you can handle' is a joke. I think more people are beginning to see through that dangerous theology. Of course it's more than I can handle! I'm in a freakin' fire, for God's sake!

So while this fire is not our destination (even though sometimes we make it so), it's pain and burning away of what and who we hold dear truly does help us die to ourselves.

I'm not sure I'm up for that, Henri. Were you? Ever?

Do we have a choice?

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Preparing and Expecting -- Advent Week 3, Day 15

 

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene— 2 during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3 He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.4 As it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
    make straight paths for him.
5 Every valley shall be filled in,
    every mountain and hill made low.
The crooked roads shall become straight,
    the rough ways smooth.
6 And all people will see God’s salvation.’” -Luke 3:1-6

 

Dear Henri,

When you were a kid, did you ever try watching a garden grow? Did you planted to seeds with great care, covered them with soil, watered them tenderly, and then jumped into bed? Trying to sleep was impossible because you were so sure that in the morning a crop full of carrots or a creeping vine full of blossoms would be waiting for you. 

And oh the disappointment when you raced outdoors as soon as the sun came up only to find...

... dirt.

Plain old dirt, just the same as you left it the day before.

It's a peculiar life lesson all children go through: we attend to our life's daily chores, as our parents teach us, and take great pride in our results. But rarely are we taught how to take delight in our waiting while we perform our chores. For when our chores seem to bare only weeds, we become easily frustrated. We can't see the dying of the seeds, the sprouting of infant plants, the breaking through of the soil, or the green before the colour. 

It is does our hearts and spirits good to continue watering, weeding, tending, and digging. We can't see what's quite going on; we only know that something is happening. We saw it for ourselves. Heck, we planted the seeds ourselves! We have faith that our actions will help bear the fruit we need.

You're right: it's not the perfect analogy. But so often I feel like a child: wide-eyed, preparing, expecting, but then struggling with disappointment because my timing isn't the timing of the garden. I believe God came to Mary... that John prepared the way... isn't that enough? Why isn't my life now radically altered?

I read, wait, pray, meditate, write, and wait some more. What else is there to do?

"As we wait, we rely in God's Spirit to keep us turning ever so slightly each day toward God, shifting our crooked ways straighter, as we align ourselves with God's vision for kingdom living. Yes, this is hard work; but we cannot bypass the message of Isaiah 40. God does not expect us to set our own ways straight by our own efforts or good intentions" (Okoro, p. 63).

This isn't a debate between works over grace. This is God's invitation to work alongside Her in tending the world, ourselves, and in worship. This is God's beckoning for us to continue our ordinary, boring lives with the understanding that this waiting will bear fruit.

Ahhh, but doubt.

It's still here!

How long did Isaiah pine for the coming of Messiah? How many days was Mary afraid to return to her home and hearth as her body began to change? How often did John doubt that his cousin was ever going to show up? Once again we get snapshots of the lives of these legendary people, and too often forget their humanity. 

Still, Isaiah kept prophesying; Mary kept expecting; and John continued preparing. The hard work of daily routine, with the promise of what was to come, was lived out in partnership with the Divine. It brought purpose, even in fear; it brought hope, even in doubt; and it brought love, even in the dryness of the mundane.

Where does this leave you and me, Henri? Some days I look at my life and sense that it could not possibly usher in any kind of new heaven or earth. I don't star in movies; I don't write great books; I don't lead grand movements; I don't lead strong political parties. I'm just... me. And I can be quite the introverted, shy, melancholic/phlegmatic, INFJ, boring woman. I get up, I go to work, I come home, I watch TV, I got to bed, and repeat.

Where's the watering and seeding here?

Perhaps I've missed something?

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Reflecting -- Advent Week 2, Day 14

22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”

25 The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
    to the one who seeks him;
26 it is good to wait quietly
    for the salvation of the Lord.
27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke
    while he is young.

28 Let him sit alone in silence,
    for the Lord has laid it on him. -Lamentations 3:22-28

 

Dear Henri,

Waiting can be a nasty business.

I'd like to think sometimes that serenity and trust overcame Zechariah, and he began to enjoy the anticipation and stillness during his isolation. But if I'm honest, the guy probably had ulcers. His wife left him for five long months! If there had been previous miscarriages, five months would have been a lifetime with only the word of an angel to underscore the promise of a child.

Elizabeth would have spotted. Every drop of blood, natural in the progression of any pregnancy, would have been cause for terror. Every spasm, every push, every step in the formation of life and body would have created an almost supernatual anxiety about the impending birth. Again, it all hinged on the word of an angel. Except for Elizabeth, that word came through (or didn't rather) her mute husband. Her trust rested on the second hand muteness of that promise.

Yes. Waiting is a nasty business and we all don't look like calm Buddha statues or lanky, stretched-out yogis. In fact we often looked tangled up, found biting our nails, experiencing moments of insight and peace, but mostly fighting the many ordinary moments where God sounds silent again.

"Most of us do not wake up ready and able to receive or understand God's words. We have to train ourselves to become the type of earthly vessels that can endure the challenging joy of waiting on God, whether we are waiting for the Christ child or for an answer to prayer" (Okoro, p.57).

I could certainly use some training.

Silence often doesn't look as a gift to me. Silence means abandonment, death, or non-existence. The writer of Lamentations says that "the Lord is good to those whose hope is in him" (v.25). When I read that, my first reaction is that once again I have to be good enough, believe enough, trust enough, or know enough before God will do something for me. Quid pro quo, as it were. I know Christianity, as seen through Jesus, really has nothing to do with such capitalist reciprocity (although reciprocity of other sorts are certainly involved), sometimes it seems that teachers of our time shame us enough to believe that God is silence because of our inadequacies.

I know I don't believe enough; I don't believe the right things (if such things there be); I don't trust enough; I don't love enough; I don't listen enough.

For pity's sake, I don't sit still enough long enough for any of the above to actually take root. My patience is wearing thin with God.

No baby.

No partner.

No family.

No sense of where-ness in the barrens; no sense of any kind of boundary between what is self-pity and what is outright lament, and what is a mixture of the two; and no sense that any of it will end anytime soon.

I took a walk into secualr humanism a while back. It was easy to stop believing in God and to rely on strict logic to interpret myself and the world. God's silence was easily seen as God's non-existence.

Yet my stay was short-lived... or at least made more private. While I found two or three atheists, anti-theists, and secular humanists to have deep, meaningful discussions with, by and large I was met with scorn, mockery, derision and condescension. Instead of something new, secular humanism simply replaced anything God-like with all things person-like, and told me what to believe and how. If I didn't think critically enough or logically enough, I was believing in a "fairy-God-man in the sky" and allowing myself to be brainwashed. It was all easy to accuse people of faith of being brainwashed, but to apply critical thinking secular humanism and find the same "brain washy-ness"... well... trust me, Henri, it gets ugly.

It only erased the Divine Being and stuck me in there instead. And quite frankly, Henri, I've failed in certainly every respect. Suffice it to say, it wasn't a healthy, logical or beautiful place for me to remain. There was the same snobbery, the same intellectual violence, and the same hubris that every religion and spiritual path has given and received throughout humanity's history. Nothing was different.

And so I wait. Here I am.

I'm waiting for God to show up.

Gabriel isn't anywhere to be found, but the new eyes on Zechariah's story has perhaps woken a bit of hope inside me. Perhaps silence isn't punitive. Perhaps silence is the strong hand of waiting, calling me to hear what cannot be heard through everything else.

What say you?

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin

Dear Henri, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close -- Advent Week 2, Day 13

36 “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son,[a]but only the Father. 37 As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. 38 For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark; 39 and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. 40 Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. 41 Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left.

42 “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.43 But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into.44 So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.
-Matthew 24:36-44

 

Dear Henri,

Okoro continues her surprising invitation of advent by gesturing us to engage in silence itself. For without it, we continue only to hear what we choose to hear: our busy lives, our families, our co-workers, our media sources, our opinions, our shopping lists, our Christams party dates, and our quite important gift lists. Stuffing all this noise into ourselves, almost perpetually since we demand we remain jacked in and online, we are unable and unwilling to face our fears, doubts and mistrust.

"The idea of being alone with our own thoughts and with God can be intimidating. When we have cleared our lives of distractions and pause to sit in the ensuring space, many surprising and unavoidable feelings and thoughts can surface in our minds and hearts. Furthermore we may hear not only our true selves but also what God is trying to speak in our lives. Silence forces us to name the sources of meaning, value, and identity." (Okoro, p.55).

If you're anything like me, Henri (or Okoro for that matter), silence roars like the ocean when I actually sit down, make space, and listen. For a while, those voices of Christmas lists, dates, errands, gifts and meetings scream between my ears. It's fearsome enough for anyone to believe that this stage is actually all there is.

But if I'm able to make it through the red herring of my own busy-ness, I come to that even more terrifying stage: pure space that enables revelation. I can't hide from my true fears anymore, nor my doubts or pain. It's all there in sharp relief, with barely a lonesome wind whining through the terraces. It's here I run. 

As fast as I possibly can.

Extremely loud, the silence is, and incredibly close -- so close that it whispers in my ears no matter how fast I run or hard I hide. I'm swimming in it, and my attempts at escape look more like a flimsy swimmer escaping the deep end via water. It never stops. It never ends.

Enter God. (scratch that: enter me)

God knows what was spoken to Elizabeth and Zechariah in their respective times of retreat. God knows what was revealed or healed or given new life. God knows if new life gave birth to more questions or even more fear.

Ten years ago this night, Henri, I was packed and ready to fly out of Bucharest. I had spent months in Romania working with orphaned and abandoned children. My sense was to return to Canada, get the correct work visas, and fly back to Romania and continue on. But God had a different sort of retreat in mind.

My mind.

I had already suffered a severe shock just days before. There was an infant girl I had bonded with; one whom I was wracking my brain over how to adopt or become a mother to. Three days before I left Romania, she disappeared from the hospital where we cared for. I never saw her again.

But in the silence I know now that the shock and damage didn't begin with Katie's disappearance. It was years in the making -- years.

I was too exhausted to perceive much of anything at 6am, waiting to catch my flight to Frankfurt. By the time I caught my connecting flight to Frankfurt, I had flutters of excitment over seeing my family again. My younger brother was set to married in just five days!

But then I caught my second connecting flight in Toronto and begain winging my way back to Calgary. As the plane descended on Albertan soil, I recollect the exact moment when I felt the world begin to unravel. My shoulders suddenly felt they were carrying thousands of tons; my chest seized and my breathing became shallow; I despised being back in Canada and wanted nothing more to flee back to Romania; and I was face to face with my current reality: I had no permanent home, no money, and no job... and no savings.

My entire world, already fractured, split apart.

I sat in my room that night in silence.

The heaviness of my situation bore down on me.

And God was nowhere to be found. Fear and trauma screamed in the quiet and had not the words to exhale them out.

In the short time I had between landing in Calgary and traveling to Edmonton for the wedding, I spent what little money I had on photocopying resumes. None came to fruition, and I was told -- for all my ministry experience at that point -- that I was good for little more than a retail job. 

Suddenly the small detail of having nothing to wear to the wedding became the end of the world. Still, I swallowed it all down, walked into a Salvation Army thrift store and found a simple black Calvin Klein dress for $10. Payment in cash.

I made it through the wedding, although I remember little.

I made it to my mother and father's place up north, although I cannot recall how I got there.

And I crumbled.

I remembered sobbing... jibbering this and that to my parents... shaking... sleeping... and sobbing some more. I remember I couldn't get back up.

How's that for a call to silence, Henri? I'm sure you can relate, Wounded Healer. 

10 years ago tomorrow marks the beginning of one of the darkest and most dangerous times in my life, Henri. Even now I wish I could forget sometimes, but forgetting wouldn't be a gift. The gift is being able to remember, to see where God's voice whispered through, and to wonder why God let it all happen to begin with.

Whatever the reason... I'm here now. Light, dark, silence and noise. Extremely loud and incredibly close.

Until tomorrow, Henri,
Love,

Erin