Watch. Repent. Prepare. Behold!

A few years ago, Scott Fisher, an Episcopal priest in Alaska, used these words (in a story using the image of sled dogs flashing through the woods) to describe the waiting period that is Advent.  They help me separate out the different parts of what this season is, and remind me that each has its own place, preferably in this order, though as with everything, it’s a circle, a cycle I go through again and again, this time of year and throughout the year. 

Watch: to me, this means paying attention, being alert, expectant, vigilant.  It means not rushing while I pack the girls’ lunches, but imagining them opening the bags and reaching in for what’s inside, wondering what they’ll be doing then, how they’ll be feeling.  It means consciously blowing my breath out when I feel my chest tighten at the frenzy of commercials, the constant email alerts, the overheard chatter about who’s buying what and how much.  It means letting Advent be Advent, its own thing, its own time, letting myself feel peaceful anticipation.

Repent: this word is pretty loaded, unfortunately, in a culture where some interpretations of Christianity get drowned out by others that scream loudly and with a lot of negativity.  I think it means reflection, consideration of things we would have done differently, more thoughtfully, if we had given ourselves the time to act with more intention than perhaps we did.  It means accepting responsibility for things we did or said that we regret, and committing ourselves to careful choices going forward.

Prepare:  I like to clean.  I like knowing that there aren’t any unattended-dark corners. I like seeing order around me because it feels hopeful, like the chaos in my head doesn’t have to be real.  You would think, then, that my house is spotless, but no; far from it.  That’s why I like Advent, because I feel like I have an excuse to clean things that desperately need it, clearing out drawers or shelves or boxes that have been ignored.  But “getting your house in order” is a metaphor, too; first, actually.  It’s connected to watching and repenting.  Observe what has been, how things are, acknowledge what needs to change, and then prepare a place for God to do good work.

Behold: When I think of this word, I think of silence.  When we are in the presence of something worth “beholding” we are often moved beyond words.  I think of light, of being in darkness but seeing great light, of being warmed and thrilled and held by it.  Watching, repenting, preparing – all well and good, but not if we miss the most important part: “Behold, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

 

Bess

 

The Gift of Belonging

 

Last night as we were sitting around the table at dinner, my husband, Stew, explained to the girls (Maggie, 10, and Sally, 8) that they had a couple of options for the weekend.  They could go with him up to Moosehead Lake to take Tanka, the dog we’ve been taking care of for the last six weeks, back to his owner, and spend the night, or they could stay at home with me, because I had to be at St. Mark’s Sunday morning.  Sally promptly announced, “I don’t want to miss Hearing the Story!”

“Hearing the Story” is one of the rotations we have in our new Sunday School program, along with “Arts and Friends” and “Movie Morning.”  The children move through the different rotations over the course of the month; for example, last Sunday, the 5^th graders and any children older than that watched a movie about the First Thanksgiving; the 3^rd and 4^th graders rolled their own beeswax candles, and the 1^st and 2^nd graders had a lesson about the prophet Ezekiel in Hearing the Story.  Apparently Sally had heard it was “cool” and is looking forward to it; the 3^rd and 4^th graders go there next. 

You can imagine that learning that my children look forward to going to church made me very, very happy.  It hasn’t always been that way.  And when I first told them that they would be staying in the service now, that Sunday School was happening first, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Now, however, they cram themselves into a front pew with a whole bunch of other kids, and have a really good time.  How much they are getting out of the service depends on the day, but I know they are contributing to it.  And they are learning that they belong.

Looking forward to going to a place where you belong.  I think if this is a gift we at St. Mark’s can give to our children, we’re doing pretty well.  We are each one of us a child of God; let’s give ourselves and each other that gift as well.

Bess

We All Have Special Needs

               An older man experiences chest pains in the middle of a church service; EMTs are called.  A baby screeches.  A mother feels faint, and is guided out of the sanctuary.  A young man taps his feet to the music.  An older woman knocks her cup of coffee over in a pew but doesn’t notice; the people around her frantically try to clean it up before she does.  A cell phone rings.  A little girl doesn’t respond when you ask her a question, but looks at you with a shy smile.

               These are all things that have happened in real life services at a church near you.  Some of them were considered disruptive or weird by some of the people there; other events were chalked up to normal things that “just happen” sometimes.

               The difference, unfortunately, is that in some of these cases, the people involved have special needs. Too often in those situations, the perceived “disruption” was not tolerated the way it was, when, for example, the lightheaded mother (me) had to be led out of the service because she didn’t eat enough breakfast.  Surely the sight of me stumbling down the side aisle assisted by two kind souls distracted people from whatever was going on.  I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I was glad people didn’t make a big deal of it, or tell me I wasn’t welcome at church until I could get my blood sugar issues under control.  Sadly, some of the other people in these scenarios were told that they weren’t welcome, or they were invited to listen to the service outside the sanctuary doors, or they were subjected to rude glares or “sh-shing” noises and gestures.  In his All Saints sermon last Sunday, Father John observed that our culture tries to “sanitize death.”  All too often, we try to sanitize life, as well.

               A lot of the time at St. Mark’s, we get it right.  And sometimes, we have really screwed it up.  The standard is high, though, as high as it can be.  As a church, we have to get it right 100% of the time.  There is no room to be unwelcoming, to not be compassionate, to not accept people for who they are, where they are, whenever they come to church, because they come to church for exactly the same reasons we do: to feel loved, safe, accepted, at home.  When we encounter people that we perceive as “different,” we don’t always know how to act.  Staring isn’t polite or helpful, but neither is pretending that they aren’t there.  So what is the right thing to do?

               I asked some parents of children with special needs, and here’s what they said: “My biggest thing is letting people know that respectful questions are always welcome.”  “ I think the important part is to simply be present and kind toward anyone who is a little different.”   “A person with challenges loves to be valued for who they are and feel like they are being recognized - even if they can't participate fully.”  “Meeting (people with special needs) where they are and recognizing that they are a human being just like everyone else is a great first step and will usually be rewarded with a big smile, a big open heart, and the good feeling of knowing that you reached out to someone who often doesn't feel connected in this big crazy complicated world.”

               We can do this.  Church services are not concert performances, yet it is important to honor the service time, the holy and the sanctified.  What is more holy, though, than the very act of gathering together for worship?  Jesus said, “When two or more are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20).  What binds us together is our humanity and our love (“they will know we are Christians by our love”), in all the ways that is manifested in us.  We can recognize ourselves in each other if we really look.  We all have special needs, and we are all capable of helping each other meet them.  Let us not turn away, but let God open our eyes, our arms, and our hearts.

 

Bess