No more let sins and sorrows grow

#blog52 #week49

Holiday weirdness

No more let sins and sorrows grow
Nor thorns infest the ground
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found
Far as, far as the curse is found
– verse 3 from “Joy to the World”

Here we are, a week into the Advent season. Our church’s theme this year is “repeat the sounding joy,” from the second verse of the carol Joy to the World. I’ve started each day this week with a reflection on joy. Tomorrow night is Christmas caroling and hot chocolate, and the next week brings the children’s Christmas program, with Christmas cookies after. It’s a joy-packed season.

And I’ve had a highlight reel’s worth of joyful moments this week: we adopted a sweet new dog last Sunday (my husband’s long-awaited Christmas present); I was in New York for a quick work trip on Wednesday and Thursday and got to see the city all lit up for Christmas; last night we got our tree up and decorated, and it’s giving the house a cozy glow tonight.

Allen with his new best friend, Peri

Wednesday night on 5th Avenue

Our little tree

But all is not joyful. Pretty lights and happy songs are not enough to block out the darkness and grief that stalks us.

There have been 9 mass shootings in this country in the first 7 days of December. Nine. I think only three made the national news, and I’d already forgotten about one of them. 19 people who were just going about their daily lives — working, shopping, going to a football game — killed in acts of mass gun violence. This week.

And then there’s the horrific story and video that came to light this week of 16-year-old Carlos Gregorio Hernandez Vasquez. Sick with a 103-degree fever and the flu, he collapsed onto the concrete floor of his Border Patrol holding cell, where he lay unnoticed for four hours until he was discovered by his cell mate the next morning — dead.

An immigrant child, sick, vulnerable — neglected to the point of death. By our government. By us.

It does not feel like the hap, happiest time of the year. It feels dark and broken and awful.

Which is also the point of Advent, I think.

A people, oppressed and living in a world of darkness and violence, waiting in hope for a deliverer. For things to be made right.

The Christmas story tells us that God showed up then, coming into the world in the form of a baby born to a poor, unwed teenager, an ethnic minority and refugee, without access to basic healthcare at the time of delivery.

(I don’t know why baby Jesus is white; I’m sorry.)

And he grew up (in a blended, working-class family) and then he went around talking mostly about love (love God, love your neighbor) and about taking care of the poor, the sick, and the stranger. About peace, and forgiveness, and generosity. And somehow, that was a radical enough agenda to get him killed.

Which leaves us where?

Still living in darkness, surrounded by violence and injustice. Grieving.

Still waiting for something. For things to be made right.

And Advent somehow reminds us that there is hope. That God is with us, even in the darkness. That God is found in unexpected places, and in the faces of children, and of the sick and poor and vulnerable. (Which is all of us, really, eventually.) And that love is a powerful force; stronger than hate.

I went to Clarkston today, as I often do on Saturdays, to spend some time with my immigrant and refugee neighbors there. And of course I found hope and love there.

In the Welcome sign at Refuge Coffee

With the volunteer crew at the Refugee Career Hub

And where there is hope and love, there can surely be joy.

Joy to the world, the Savior reigns
Let men their songs employ
While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
Repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy
Repeat, repeat the sounding joy
– verse 2 from “Joy to the World”

Leaning into the light

#blog52 #week34

Morning light

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

Amidst the cacophony and chaos of news and life, the sun and moon conspired to capture our collective attention for a few moments. We walked outside, away from our desks and screens and classrooms and conference rooms, and (taking appropriate precautions to protect our vision, of course) we looked up at the sky.

Outside the path of totality: all the picture I took of the eclipse look like — the sun.

And then many of us looked down, and saw that the trees were in on the game with the moon and the sun, playing cool tricks with shadows on the sidewalk.

Moonshadows

The regular patterns of darkness and light were disrupted.

“God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth.”

We were watching something on Netflix last night. It was dark: violence, deceit, corruption, fear. I generally gravitate toward entertainment that’s gritty, with flawed characters, complicated relationships, ethical ambiguity. That’s where the gripping drama and juicy stories are. But last night, Allen — who considers Breaking Bad perhaps the best television of all time and who currently plans his Sunday evenings around Game of Thrones — said, “I don’t know… this may be too dark for me.”

I woke up this morning and, as usual, started flipping through my Twitter feed. A couple of clicks in, and I felt myself falling into a spiraling hole of darkness. Just one news cycle’s dose of new injustice, oppression, division, anger. Sometimes I feel numb to it, but today I felt sickened anew by the heaviness of evil.

And then I got up and got dressed and went to Clarkston, Georgia. On my way to where I was going to volunteer, I stopped at Refuge Coffee. I parked in front of this mural.

And while I was waiting for my iced latte, I looked around and saw groups of people of different colors and cultures and ages — couples, families, friends — sitting around tables together enjoying the sunshine and not-yet-too-hot August morning, laughing and talking together.

“Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love” Ephesians 5:1
“For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth)” Ephesians 5:8-9

Darkness has a pull. It can feel edgy and romantic and dangerous in an exciting way. But real darkness — total, complete, can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face darkness — is terrifying, confusing, lonely, cold. We’re drawn to any light that breaks the void of darkness.

The allure of darkness is nothing compared to the compelling power of warmth and light. We turn our faces toward it, lean into it, bask in its glow.

And if hate and evil are darkness, love is light. It cuts right through. It pulls us out, away from our own hard little hearts, toward our neighbors and the expansive beauty of the world around us. It draws us in, from the margins, from the places we feel like outsiders, and makes a place for us at the table, to join the conversation and share the meal.

There is so much darkness. It can envelop us. All the more reason to look for the light and lean into it.

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu