Renderings

In an effort to set aside the Advent season as a time for reflection and preparation for the arrival of "little 8 pound, 6 ounce baby Jesus" I'm committing to blogging every day from now until December 25th. My posts will be focused on an Advent Devotional Guide one of our adult Sunday school classes is studying called Expecting the Unexpected by Blair Gilmer Meeks (For all you church professional types, Blair Meeks has some great resources for Advent, Lent, and general liturgical use).

There's a hymn assigned for each week, which I'll be posting on Mondays, including a link to the Cyber Hymnal, which will play a scaled down midi version of the hymn for you. There's a focus Psalm for each week as well. Then, there are daily Bible readings and reflections. I'll strive to throw out a few of the reflection questions and share my thoughts. As always, I welcome comments, but please leave a name if you aren't already a blogger user.

So, without further explanation, here goes.

Week 1 Expecting Christ's New Creation
Psalm 25:1-10
Hymn: Lo, He Comes With Clouds Descending

List the images of peace that caught your attention in the two readings from Isaiah:
As for Isaiah 2, I was struck by the emphasis on learning. People flock from all around to learn God's ways that they may walk in God's paths. And this isn't some heady, intellectual, ethereal lesson. This is one of those classes where you get your hands dirty. This is the art room in workshop rotation, or maybe the "real life application" room (Ruth's Real World at Harpeth). But instead of toilet paper tubes, cereal boxes, and old scraps of fabric, the call goes out for these folks to bring spears, swords, and other weapons of war. Instead of creating Christmas tree ornaments with popsicle sticks, God, the ultimate teacher, will teach the peoples of the world to make plowshares out of those swords and pruning hooks out of those spears. Weapons of war will be used to create the tools of planting and harvest. Learning the ways of the Lord does NOT include war. "Neither shall they learn war any more." Not only will there be peace, but people will quit learning how to do the war thing "just in case."

I want to go to that Sunday school class, but I wonder what I would bring for the art project. I don't have any swords, spears, guns, knives (well, besides the ones I use to eat). What do I own that contributes to war? What do I have that needs to be transformed for planting and harvest? What do I own that contributes to the destruction of God's beautiful creation? What would you bring to that Sunday school class?

Isaiah 11: That is a big bunch of animals all living together on that mountain, and, just as in Where the Wild Things Are, a little child shall lead them. Even the animals have learned the ways of the Lord, the ways of living peaceably with all. And in the midst of all these animals is the one with a spirit of wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge, and fear of the Lord. People look at that mountain and wonder just what the heck is going on. Do our churches look like that holy mountain? Do people look at us and wonder just what the heck is going on? For the most part, I kind of doubt it.

On Wednesday, I was scheduled to lead the chapel service that takes place for homeless folks before they eat lunch at Downtown Presbyterian Church in Nashville, TN. Initially, I was going to talk about the call of Jeremiah found in Jeremiah 1:4-10. We're using that on Sunday for a "connect with youth" Sunday, and thought I would try out some of my stuff. Then, about an hour before the service was to begin, I received an e-mail telling me that one of the regular attendees of the chapel service and the free lunch on Wednesdays had been murdered while he slept the night before. Shot in the back of the head.

Needless to say, I didn't talk about Jeremiah. I decided to use Psalm 10, a lament Psalm, that names the pain and suffering of the "have nots" who are oppressed by those who always get/have what they want. I expressed my sorrow at the loss of life, and let the folks at chapel know that I believe in a God who hears our lament, and a God who expects us to be real with our pain, sorrow, doubt, frustration, and even hope. I asked folks to offer up some laments, and then we all responded with the response of "God, You are a revolution!" These are words from a David Crowder Band song called Revolutionary Love.

I'm scheduled to preach at chapel again next week. God only knows what the message will be. I do know that preaching in that context feels completely different than Harpeth. Sure, people are people, but it feels somewhat strange to stand before those folks and speak of matters of faith. Allowing Psalm 10 to do the preaching was the way to go this week. I wonder how the regular preacher does it week after week. Surely he doesn't use the same sermon he preaches on Sunday morning. Or, does he? Anyway, I'm schedule to preach at chapel again next week. God only knows what the message will be.

I've just begun reading Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World, a book about various incarnational spiritual practices. This morning I read a chapter about Reverence, in which she describes lying on her back on the deck at her childhood home and watching falling stars. For a few moments, as I sat there sipping my coffee at The Good Cup, I was transported to the lake at Westminster Woods Camp in rural Kansas. I worked there one summer as a camp counselor, and on the few evenings when there were no campers at the camp (and actually a few times when there were), the camp staff would gather late at night by the lake to lie on our backs and watch for shooting stars. The camp was so remote that there was no ambient light to interfere with star gazing. I've never been anywhere since then where so many stars were visible.

BBT writes, "Reverence stands in awe of something--something that dwarfs the self, that allows human beings to sense the full extent of our limits--so that we can begin to see one another more reverently as well." Lying by that lake in rural Kansas gave me the opportunity to experience reverence...reverence for a cosmos that is beyond comprehension, reverence for a God who set the stars in the heavens, reverence for those beautiful souls who joined me by that lake...

I'm not sure I spent much time experience reverence these days. Later in the chapter, BBT points out that we don't really have time (or make time) for such experiences. I find that to be true in my life. I'm hoping to take some time for reverence in the coming weeks as leaves change and temperatures drop.

Last Sunday, the always inquisitive Lucy King (3rd grader at my church) asked me what I would do of if I won the lottery. I told her I would pay off all of my debts, move to a cool neighborhood in Nashville, endow some scholarships, give a lot of money to charities, and definitely quit my job and explore mission opportunities in some random part of the world. She was very upset that I would ever consider leaving Harpeth, but that's not the point of this story.

Lucy went on to say that she would probably buy a PSP, a lot of games, maybe some new clothes and then she would give, "oh, about $500 to the church." I then asked her if she would give any money to other worthy causes, to which she replied, "You know, I think I'd buy toys for homeless children" and then proceeded to walk off with a thoughtful look on her face.

Today, as I was driving to work, I decided to amend my answer. Now it would include an endowment for my local NPR station so that as long as I'm alive, I never have to listen to another 10 days of pledge campaigns. Seriously, I would make it so I never have to hear any more encouragements to donate money on NPR. I often wonder how much local news I'm missing while they tell me how great NPR is for giving me the news and "unique programming."

So, what would you do if you won the lottery?

First random question of the day: Why do people throw recyclables in the trash can when there's a recycling bin right next to it?

I'm sitting at Bongo Java, one of the cool locally owned coffee shops in Nashville, and I've watched people do it over and over again. I've walked by the trash can and seen plastic cups in there. I mean, seriously. Why is it so hard? I just don't understand.

Second random question of the day: Why do some evangelicals have such a problem with inclusive language?

The top headline in the Tennessean today was about a new version of the New International Version of the Bible that's scheduled to come out in 2011. The article included interviews with evangelical leaders who were highly offended by Today's New International Version that attempted to be more gender inclusive. Um, why is it OK to blatantly ignore Greek and Hebrew for the sake of easier reading, but not OK to change brothers to brothers and sisters, or mankind to humankind? I don't get that.

So, anyone with good answers to my questions, speak up and let your voice be heard.

I've been reading a book entitled The Green Book lately. It gives helpful hints for "going green" in various areas of life. Amongst all of the ways I'm trying to be environmentally conscious is the practice of "If it's yellow, let it mellow..." Yes, I'm making an attempt to only flush every other time I "yellow." It sounds like it should be easy, but man, am I like Pavlov's dog. I'll be standing there thinking, "OK, I'm not gonna flush this time" as my hand reaches out and flushes. Who knew going green would be so difficult.

Reasons why The Good Cup is my favorite local coffee shop:

Local artists are featured on the walls
There are shelves of books to read and even take home if you'd like
The baristas are involved in The New Monasticism movement
The baristas know I like white chocolate mochas
The music is generally great and just the right volume (this porridge is juuust right)


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