Advent

Grief and Pain

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

A couple of hours ago I made a mistake through my own stupid arrogance. Okay, it wasn’t that bad, I said something stupid to the neighboring minister when stopping by her office. I said, “I feel like the end of Advent is going to be quiet. I feel like I have paid my dues with Advent drama.” I didn’t knock on wood.

Two hours later I am on the phone with the doctor’s office for my children. One child is sick and the other has a head injury. I have been trying to get information through a phone call for days. I was told repeatedly that their mother wouldn’t tell me the information because I could get it from the doctor, The doctor let me know that they’ve never been given permission to share anything with me. Shared custody or not, there’s no medical information for Dad. All I know is that my eldest has a head injury and that my middle child needs medication to breathe more fully.

Why would I need to know more than that? Isn’t that enough for me to make medical decisions? When will there be medical decisions where I actually get to make a choice or even remain informed if even head trauma isn’t enough to qualify? I should have knocked on wood. More accurately, I should have assumed the worst earlier. You would think I would have learned by now.

I have been thinking about the pain this afternoon. Even as I prepare for the Longest Night Service on Thursday, I find myself coming back to the pain within. I was ready for a drama-free Christmas. I was neither wishing ill nor inviting the Krampus to visit my former partner. I was accepting of the fact that life simply means neither seeing my eldest this season nor seeing my kids on Christmas morning. I was even accepting of the fact that buying Christmas presents for them feels more and more like buying gifts for strangers. It hurt, but it was numb. Suddenly it is as if the bandages are torn away and my soul is bleeding again. I thought about it and turned back to a book I have been reading on and off again for a few years now.

“Following the initial numbing shock of disbelief in the immediate experience of loss, pain presses itself into our souls and bodies. It is sometimes more than we think we can bear. We seek ways to anesthetize ourselves. It hurts too much to allow that gaping hole in our gut to bleed unstaunched. We want to feel anything other than that pain. We want to fill the empty hole within with something—alcohol, drugs, sex, sleep, work, easy love, TV. We are vulnerable to anyone who will offer us a moment’s respite from that unspeakable gap within our soul…

Eventually though, we begin to feel again and the pain sets in. The pain reminds us we are still alive and in need of healing. It will come and go, visiting us when we least expect it. When you can feel the pain of sadness and loneliness, know that this signals that you are growing stronger. When we are not strong, the body numbs us and we don’t feel. If we feel the pain, we are gaining strength. Pain reminds us that something significant has happened. It reminds us that to be human is to feel. Only when we can feel the deep sadness of the loss can we ever hope to feel the deep joy of new life. Feeling is central to the ability to experience the fullness of life as it is being lived.”

Dan Moseley, “Lose, Love, Live: The Spiritual GIfts of Loss and Change,” pg 41

I am really hurting today and I understand, in part, what Moseley is saying here. If I couldn’t handle the pain, then my body, soul, and spirit would surely know enough to anesthetize the wound. Even if it couldn’t heal from the wounds in the past, my soul has become very good at cauterizing internal pain through things like exercise, poetry, eating, music, and even focusing my thoughts on the pain of occasional hunger. When you have no other way to advocate for yourself and when even your attorney has gone on vacation, what choice can there be here?

I get that it hurts and I wish that it wouldn’t hurt. I wish there was something I could do to make the pain go away, but there’s no really good answer other than to embrace the pain. If there’s one thing my former partner has given me, it is the gift of pain. I can hide away from it, or I can accept the simple things it teaches me.

  • I’m alive to feel this pain
  • I’m strong enough to experience this without going into shock
  • I’m alive enough to make choices to reach out to people who care about me
  • I’m alive enough to think about things like the meaning of pain, the lack of justice, and even anticipate the Advent of Christ to stand as the only just and righteous judge who can unfailingly stand in final judgment over situations like this one.
  • I’m alive enough to pray and seek after the Spirit even as the world denies hypothetical rights and shatters the hope of people who have already been broken by injustice

I’m reading Lamentations 5 in worship this Thursday. Lord, I feel it…

“15Joy has left our heart; our dancing has changed into lamentation. 16The crown has fallen off our head. We are doomed because we have sinned. 17Because of all this our heart is sick; because of these things our glance is dark. 18Mount Zion, now deserted– only jackals walk on it now! 19But you, LORD, will rule forever; your throne lasts from one generation to the next. 20Why do you forget us continually; why do you abandon us for such a long time? 21Return us, LORD, to yourself. Please let us return! Give us new days, like those long ago– 22unless you have completely rejected us, or have become too angry with us.”

Lamentations 5:15-22, Common English Bible (CEB)

Longest Night Service: Prayer Poem

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

Innkeeper, street vendor, wool weaver: all sleeping.
Traveler, road watcher, bread baker: all dreaming.
Carpenter, brick layer, clay potter: all dozing.
Cold shepherd, star gazer, wise midwife: wide awake.

Young soldier, wise rabbi, landowner: all abed.
Census staff, messengers, young children: all snoring.
Important, powerful, the “normal”: they miss it.
The outcast, the restless, the strange ones: they hear first.

Heartbroken, discarded, pushed away: still awake.
Broken souls, groaning ones, frightened folk: open eyes.
Mourning lives, empty chairs, lonely ones: let them see
Christmas comes first for those who need the hope’s light most.

No tinsel, no label, no price tag: love comes down.
For the lost, for the sad, for the hurt: love comes down.
Through the tears, through the dark, through the grief: love comes down.
Emmanuel, Prince of peace, Savior: Love and Light,
Meet us here where we wait, wide awake and in need.

Rev. Robert Dean, Composed December 15, 2022; First Shared at Trumansburg UMC’s Blue Christmas Service December 21, 2022;
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A Strange Advent Feeling

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

I don’t really have a Christmas tree desire this year. I love a good Christmas tree and have a lot of fond memories over the years, but this year I am probably not going to put up a tree. There’s a wreath by my garage door and I’ve got my ugly Christmas sweater game on point. No tree though.

Trees are for presents. Trees are for gifts. Trees are for family and I’m not the kind of pet owner who will put presents under the tree for my dog or the fish. I’m getting presents for others, but there’s really no need for a tree.

Instead, this is the year of the Advent Wreath. I’ve put together a really cheesy electric wreath from an inexpensive five candle window candelabra. Three dollars of cheap paint and putting the “wreath” on a smart switch: we’re good to go!

As you can see, cheap is the name of the game, but the other side of things is that it is meaningful to me. Each time I have seen the wreath since I have put it up, I have begun singing the Advent Song from The Faith We Sing: “Candle, candle, burning bright: shining in the cold winter’s night. Candle, candle, burning bright: fill our hearts with Christmas light.”

I don’t need presents. but I do need light. I don’t need wrapping paper, but I do need to be wrapped in hope. I don’t need a continual reminder that there’s nobody here, but I do need to see the light growing week after week.

What do I want for Christmas? Hope, love, joy, and peace. Burn candles, burn.

Anticipation of Advent Worship

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

Last night I was sitting at the kitchen table working through one of the first sessions of “Simply Wait: Cultivating Stillness in the Season of Advent” by Pamela Hawkins. I stared into the light of the Advent flames (as my own celebration of Advent began after Christ the King Sunday) and asked myself a question: “What do I anticipate experiencing [in God’s house during Advent]?”

The flames flickered as the coffee wafted through my nostrils. I pondered the season ahead. What do I anticipate? Do I expect to find a living and loving God bringing hope?

As a pastor, I can testify that Advent and Lent are two seasons of the year that can easily run out of control. I can testify that I have had more staff and volunteers quit the church (and often faith itself) during these two seasons of the year. In truth, with the possible exception of my first year of ministry, I cannot remember one of these seasons passing without a challenge in one form or another. These two holy times can be difficult seasons between special programs, natural disasters, and traditions which sometimes grow out of control.

The question remains: What do I anticipate this holy season? Do I anticipate things rushing out of control? There is a part of my soul that expects the worst to happen and for me to be required to rush around like a chicken with my head cut off. There is also a part of me that longs for something better, something quieter, and something holier.

I stared into the burning advent candles and pondered what it would look like as a pastor to anticipate holy stillness in the house of the Lord. What would it look like to worship in a way where I could sing songs with my heart? What would it look like to have time for silence and prayer? What would it look like to worship in a way where we could focus more on the proclamation of scripture and less on the sermon?

As time shifted, I began to ponder what it would look like as a parent. What would I anticipate this holy season when I came into God’s house? After listening to children tell me their desires for weeks, what would it mean to anticipate moments of waiting? What would it mean for worship to be a place where I do not have to be the only person saying: “Patience, my child.” What if God were to speak those words into my heart as a parent? What if God were to speak those words into my heart as a person?

What do you anticipate this holy season? Is there space for silence? Is there space for peace? I hope we all find that quietness.

The first rays of Advent

/ Robert D / Leave a comment

Today I began one of two Advent devotionals I am undertaking this holy Advent season. I pulled out my copy of “Mandalas, Candles, and Prayer” by Rev. Sharon Seyfarth Garner. I grabbed my colored pencils, arranged my “wreath,” and tried to enter a place of stillness. There will be more on stillness and having children on another day.

Tonight, as my wife was on a conference call, I sat in front of my Advent wreath and colored a mandala while undergoing the spiritual practice of the examen. Gregorian chants played in the background as I prayed and colored.

This week’s mandala is beautiful in construction. Rev. Garner must be very well connected. As the work is under copyright, I will try to explain the design. There are four steps to the examen proposed in the book by Rev. Garner. We begin with contemplation of Emmanuel, journey into gratitude, explore areas for growth, and conclude with seeking seeds of hope for the next day.

The mandala centers on a star which stretches center to edges. I colored as I prayed about how God is with us in this season. I tried to shade the colors of my imaginary sun. I believe I attempted this because I wanted to look back tomorrow and shake my head at myself. Rev. Garner may believe everyone can color, but there is a part of me that wonders if she knew I was coming.

As I colored and prayed about my day, I examined places where I found gratitude today. I thought of relationships with friends, family members, parishioners, myself, and my calling. I went deep with the prayer. I went deeper than expected.

Take my section in what we’ll pretend was stainless steel gray. As I colored, I thought about the dinner I prepared for my family. What did it mean that Emmanuel was there as I cooked a meal? My mother died in December when I was a child. Sometimes holiday meals were “golden brown!” Was God with us as people came alongside me to show me how to use the pans in my kitchen? What did it mean that on the other side of one ray of Emmanuel there was a section where I prayed for my wife who helped me learn? What did it mean that it bordered the color of my clergy shirt over the other ray of Emmanuel? Prayer for my cooking led into prayer for one of my favorite cooking instructors on one side and for the church where I lead a study on the spirituality of baking bread on the other side. Prayer went deep.

As I prayed through the areas of growth around those blessings, I borrowed colors as areas of blessing sometimes came into conflict with other parts of myself. I prayed about how my desire for personal growth occasionally conflicted with my parenting. I grieved how my calling as a minister occasionally led to pain in my marriage as I prayed about missed dates, anniversaries postponed, and vacations shortened. I grieved how being a loving husband occasionally meant I would try to listen to a parishioner while wrestling down reactions coming from my own relationship. Prayer grew really complicated.

Suddenly, there were other colors. There were colors for places of grief where my anger caused me to make mistakes. There were places where the authority of my ordination aided in some places and damaged others. There were places where colors blended and battled. My prayers became complicated. I did not expect this to be so hard!

Suddenly, the flickers of red appeared. I’d put dots of red amid the places where I was grateful to represent the Holy Spirit. Suddenly there were red the stained glass of connectedness were brought into relationship through the Holy Spirit. Suddenly gold appeared as I noticed places where Christ the King stood in my midst and brought healing.

Suddenly I understood that some of my troubles come from not just letting one bit of me stay where it belongs instead of jamming it into another place. To be clear, I never invited my wife on a date to Church Council, but sometimes my work with church members has swallowed the dinner conversation on a date with my wife. Something healthy in one part of my life needed to stay in that one part.

Strangest of all, there were spaces that were left blank. I prayed about what it meant. Suddenly, I realized there are parts of me that I cannot see without help from others and help from God. My soul really is a kaleidoscope of strangeness and beauty.

In the coloring there was realization, contemplation, and even places of healing as I prayed. In the midst of all of this, the rays of Emmanuel poured out from Christ from the center of the season into the rest of my heart.

Around all of this were seeds of hope for tomorrow. I had expected them to all be red for the Holy Spirit, but there was gold! Christ the King claiming my tomorrow as I prayed. If I had socks on my feet at the table, they might have been blown off.

I recommended this book to church members and bought a few friends copies because it looked like it would be interesting. I may not have expected it to be so deep. It is funny how that sometimes happens. We slow down for one moment and we are suddenly caught off guard by grace. I have no idea what my mandalas will look like for the rest of the week, but I can say that my eyes are opened. This practice might be far more intense than I expected.